Chris/JC

damp; luminosity

JC looks hot to the touch. Brightly burning on the stage, the sweat shining on him an afterthought in danger of sizzling away like steam off of red coals. Chris watches from backstage, feeling the chills rush down his back, again and again. He's always cold these days. The moment he stops moving, stands still for more than three seconds, it's like his body heat starts leaking out of him. His eyes go unfailingly to JC then. The way he shines, exuding waves of it, almost making the air shimmer, draws him like nothing else. Standing in the wings, Chris feels strangely like a reptile, sunning himself in complete immobility.

When JC runs off the stage, wet and beaming, Chris has to shake off a feeling of lethargy to be able to move, to raise his hands, to smile, to say something. His body creaks to a start, muscles like ropes pulling water from a well in winter. JC collides with his hands and then crashes into his body, an impact of lifewarmthenergy Chris feels every millisecond of. Rain forest heat and quicksilver power streams back into him and his arms pull JC closer, fingers pressing around wrists and along ribs in familiar patterns with regained strength until JC breathes more heat over his face, growing calmer and more pliable. Chris relaxes, muscles running smoothly again, and walks JC to his dressing room, one hand resting on the cooling skin beneath his shoulder blade.