ext_1481 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
withdiamonds.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2007-02-23 09:38 pm
withdiamonds.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2007-02-23 09:38 pm
To Sail You Home by jchalo (R)
Fandom: POPSLASH
Pairing: Chris/JC, Chris/Lance
Author on LJ:![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
halowrites
Author Website: Idol Hands
Why this must be read: This is the one story that is guaranteed to make me cry, but in a good way. It's deathfic, although the death in question is something that has happened in the past, before the story starts. It's two beautiful love stories, which are part of the one big love story that is NSYNC. It may not be for everyone, because it's sad and bittersweet, but there's so much love there that for me, it's okay.
Two hours later, and okay, Chris is a little surprised-- that he can still stand, given that the whiskey bottle is now empty, lying on it’s side, discarded and alone in a shadowy corner of the polished floor. "Hopeless," Lance had proclaimed, leaving it there after fruitlessly trying to re-fill his glass. "This is just hopeless." He’d set upon all the other unopened boxes in a single-minded and determined search for something else to drink. Chris can still hear the rustle of newspaper, and he dreads to think what the rest of the house looks like. Lance on a mission can be a terrible, terrible thing.
"A boat." The man himself stands in the doorway, swaying slightly, a spatula held loosely in one hand. "That’s what you need. Big house here, right by the water. It’s not right you don’t have a boat." He points at Chris, blinks and frowns, and looks a little surprised himself when he catches sight of the spatula he’s holding. "Um. This is yours." He places it carefully on the floor, and weaves off again, heading toward another pile of boxes.
"I don’t want a boat." Chris leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window, looks out over the black velvet of the water. "I don’t need—"
"I’m buying you one. Call it a housewarming gift."
Chris turns around, frowning. "Lance—"
"Hey!" Lance’s hand flies up in the air, and it’s either a nervous twitch or he wants Chris to shut up. Chris is figuring on the latter. "The judge’s decision is final. You’re getting a boat. Aha!" A flurry of newspaper tearing, and then Lance’s other hand is waving in the air, clutching a bottle, a look of triumph on his face.
Chris peers closely. "Dude, that’s cooking sherry."
"So?" Lance shrugs. "Sailors aren’t fussy."
Chris sighs and shakes his head. Looks like he’s getting a boat.
To Sail You Home
Pairing: Chris/JC, Chris/Lance
Author on LJ:
halowrites Author Website: Idol Hands
Why this must be read: This is the one story that is guaranteed to make me cry, but in a good way. It's deathfic, although the death in question is something that has happened in the past, before the story starts. It's two beautiful love stories, which are part of the one big love story that is NSYNC. It may not be for everyone, because it's sad and bittersweet, but there's so much love there that for me, it's okay.
Two hours later, and okay, Chris is a little surprised-- that he can still stand, given that the whiskey bottle is now empty, lying on it’s side, discarded and alone in a shadowy corner of the polished floor. "Hopeless," Lance had proclaimed, leaving it there after fruitlessly trying to re-fill his glass. "This is just hopeless." He’d set upon all the other unopened boxes in a single-minded and determined search for something else to drink. Chris can still hear the rustle of newspaper, and he dreads to think what the rest of the house looks like. Lance on a mission can be a terrible, terrible thing.
"A boat." The man himself stands in the doorway, swaying slightly, a spatula held loosely in one hand. "That’s what you need. Big house here, right by the water. It’s not right you don’t have a boat." He points at Chris, blinks and frowns, and looks a little surprised himself when he catches sight of the spatula he’s holding. "Um. This is yours." He places it carefully on the floor, and weaves off again, heading toward another pile of boxes.
"I don’t want a boat." Chris leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window, looks out over the black velvet of the water. "I don’t need—"
"I’m buying you one. Call it a housewarming gift."
Chris turns around, frowning. "Lance—"
"Hey!" Lance’s hand flies up in the air, and it’s either a nervous twitch or he wants Chris to shut up. Chris is figuring on the latter. "The judge’s decision is final. You’re getting a boat. Aha!" A flurry of newspaper tearing, and then Lance’s other hand is waving in the air, clutching a bottle, a look of triumph on his face.
Chris peers closely. "Dude, that’s cooking sherry."
"So?" Lance shrugs. "Sailors aren’t fussy."
Chris sighs and shakes his head. Looks like he’s getting a boat.
To Sail You Home