When JC finds the egg on his front porch, nestled in a wicker basket surrounded by a yellow blanket with green dinosaurs on it, he doesn't think anything of it. Fans are always leaving random things on his doorstep, and usually they're well-intentioned or at least edible, although in that case, it's always better to have Tyler taste the gift first to make sure it's not poisoned or mushroom-containing. It's not that JC is paranoid, it's just that he really hates mushrooms that won't even get him high and also, there are quite a few people out there who would like to see him dead. Like, say, every girl he's ever kicked out of his house at three in the morning after blindfolding them and letting them suck his dick. But it's not like he doesn't give them cab money, so JC's pretty sure all the angry morning after notes are completely unjustified.
There's no letter in the basket, though, just the egg and the blanket and a fluorescent green post-it that says, "HATCH ME." JC brings the egg inside and sets it on his kitchen table to examine while he has his coffee. It's a pretty big egg, he thinks, picking it up and resting it in his lap to inspect. It's shiny and heavy, like the world's biggest pink football with lavender swirls spiraling out from the ends, and he sort of wants to shake it but thinks that's probably a bad idea for whatever's inside. He doesn't want to scramble the baby…whatever.
Tyler stumbles into the kitchen, wandering from the hallway to the coffee maker to the bread box to the table before he notices that JC is holding a giant pink egg. He blinks at JC questioningly in his special Tyler language that luckily, JC has been fluent in for several years now. "It's an egg," JC explains, "I'm supposed to hatch it." Tyler just shrugs and goes back to his breakfast.
It's quite a pretty egg for being, well, an egg, JC thinks. He sets it back in the basket, but after a few minutes the pink starts to look a bit mauve and definitely less cheerful. JC frowns. "Does the egg look sad to you?"
"It looks like a giant egg," Tyler says. "I don't think eggs have, like, emotions."
JC glares at him and picks the egg back up, cradling it carefully in his lap. "Shhh," he hisses at Tyler, curving his palms around as much of the egg as possible. It's warm beneath his hands and the pink is definitely brighter when he's touching it, almost glowing. "It's going to hear you!" JC whispers.
Tyler shrugs and eats his croissant. "It doesn't have ears, so I'm pretty sure it's not gonna be offended. Also, because it's an egg. Kind of a big egg, though. Where'd you get it?"
"I found it on the front porch," JC says, smiling down at the egg. He read a book about this once, and maybe it was a really poorly written book, but it got him through a transcontinental flight last year and there were hot elf chicks in it, so that made up for a lot. The book was very clear about pretty-colored eggs and destiny and heritage and things, though, so JC's fairly sure he knows what this is all about. "I'm pretty sure it's a dragon," JC says. "A pink one, probably, judging by its, um. Coloring."
"Yeah, okay," Tyler says, and pulls out his phone. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm calling someone sane who doesn't have exams next week and can deal with this."
"I'm supposed to hatch it," JC repeats, watching Tyler scroll through his address book with narrowed eyes. "There was a post-it, with big letters on. See, this is why the kid in the book didn't tell anyone until the dragon got too big to hide and started eating like, sheep and things. People are so prejudice against mythical intelligent life forms."
"Only the kind that breathe fire," Tyler says, and dials.*
Lance comes over while JC is trying to find an animal supply center that will rent him an incubator. "No, not for chicken eggs," he says for the third time, rolling his eyes at Lance because if anyone can understand annoying people on the phone who can't seem to understand what he wants, it's Lance. "It's a—it needs to be a lot bigger. Like, big enough for a football."
"Sir," the lady on the phone says, "I'm going to have to strongly advise you not to put any sporting equipment in an incubator." She sounds annoyed and JC wonders how many incubators they've had returned to them with bits of melted balls inside. People can be so stupid, trying to hatch footballs.
"No, it's for. Look, I have a really big egg, okay? And I just, is it illegal to try to hatch it? I mean, it came with a post-it and everything so—"
JC is cut off by Lance grabbing his phone away and saying, "I'm sorry, ma'am, my friend is a little confused. Off his meds, you know how it is. Mmmhmm. Bye, now." He hangs up and gives JC a Look. One of his Lance Looks that's supposed to be all intimidating and exasperated and in which JC secretly delights. Lance is so much more fun when he's expressing an emotion beyond mild amusement.
"JC, what the fuck is going on here? I get this crazed call from Tyler that you've officially lost it, and now you're trying to hatch an egg? Please tell me this is a joke. I'm being Punk'd. Fucking Ashton Kutcher is hanging out in the kitchen watching us and smirking his stupid face off right now."
"Um," says JC, "I'm pretty sure that show's not on the air anymore, Lance. But I did find an egg." JC frowns and narrows his eyes at Lance. "I found it and I'm going to hatch it. I'm an adult, you can't stop me."
"Huh," Lance says, slumping down onto the couch next to JC and nudging him a little with his shoulder. Lance smiles a little. "Well, I guess it's better than doing nothing. Let's see this egg, then."
The egg is right where JC left it in its makeshift nest next to JC's bed. He's been heating up towels on his towel warmer (which is by far his favorite bathroom accessory, because the rain forest shower head is nice for masturbating peacefully under and all, but nothing beats a warm towel after you've stepped out of the bath) and changing them out every half hour, which is why he needs the incubator because there's no way he's going to wake up every thirty minutes to change the towels at night. The egg seems to really enjoy being warm, though, or at least it definitely looks pinker and happier to JC when it's warm, and he doesn't want to make the egg sad and cold after someone entrusted it to his care and all. Lance lifts the towel covering the egg and stares at it for a second, says, "Huh, there really is an egg."
"I'm not delusional," JC says.
"Not this time," Lance agrees. "Well since I'm already here…" Lance drops the towel back over the egg and stands up, tilts his head and smiles again, wider this time. "Wanna get freaky?"
"Oh. Yeah, okay," says JC, "but it's gotta take less than thirty minutes because I need to keep the egg warm or else—"
But then he forgets what comes after "or else" because Lance's hand is on his dick and that is very distracting, indeed.
The thing about JC and Lance is, they've never actually fucked. They make out sometimes, or Lance sucks JC's dick or jerks him off, but Lance doesn't really let JC touch him, and by 'doesn't really' JC means 'not at all,' even though JC is all about reciprocation and always offers. But Lance always brushes JC's hands away from his very inviting-looking crotch and says, "Not today," which is pretty weird, but JC doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about it. It's Lance. Lance is pretty weird. They've only been doing this not-fucking thing for a year off and on now. JC figures eventually it'll be the right day. Sometimes he wonders what Lance is waiting for, but then he decides it doesn't matter because it's Lance and he'll never understand Lance's Lancey brain or Lancey ways. Plus, JC isn't one to look a gift blowjob in the mouth. Metaphorically speaking.
So JC doesn't spend too much time thinking about it, just lets Lance kiss him and rub his dick through his sweat pants. JC more than lets him—he wholeheartedly approves of anything involving his dick getting touched. Lance drops to his knees, slides one palm across JC's stomach and mouths the head of JC's dick where it's trying to escape his pants. Lance is so good at this, JC thinks, way better than any girl who's ever sucked JC's dick, maybe because Lance doesn't let JC blindfold him so he can actually see what he's doing, but also because Lance isn't all tentative and he understands about how it's a two-party system with the stick and berries, and not just the stick which is what most girls think, completely ignoring the berries which can sometimes be even better than the stick in JC's opinion, and far more tasty besides. And then Lance does that amazing thing with his tongue and slides his finger back behind JC's berries—er, balls—rubs slow and slick right there, and JC comes in his face.
"Mmm," says JC, and drops down on the bed, smiling happily. "Sorry about that. It's, uh, been a while."
"Apparently," Lance says, wiping the come off his face with a dirty t-shirt from the floor. Lance lies down next to him, brushes JC's hands away when JC reaches for his crotch. "Not today," he says. "Besides, don't you have an egg to hatch?"
JC sits up with a screech and yanks his pants up, rushing over to the egg and carefully removing its towel cover, pressing one palm gently against its shiny pink shell. "Are you okay?" he says, rubbing the shell in slow circles. "Lance, do you think it heard us? Someone left it in my care and the first thing I do is, like, traumatize it with gay sex!"
"So sex with me is traumatic now, huh?"
JC looks over his shoulder at Lance and frowns. Lance never really looks menacing because he's Lance and, well, he's Lance, but if JC didn't know better, he'd think that maybe Lance might possibly be angry with him and that pinched-mouth thing might mean that Lance is resisting the urge to punch something, like, for example, JC's head.
"It's not like that," JC says, biting his lip and petting the egg gently. "I just. I'm supposed to take care of it, Lance. I don't want to be a bad, um. Hatcher person."
"Whatever," Lance says, getting up and walking to the door. He turns and shakes his head, gives JC another Look. "I let you come on my face, you fucker. On my face."
"I've heard it's good for the skin!" JC says, but Lance is already gone, slamming the door behind him.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he tells the egg. "We can listen to some of my favorite Donna Summer records later. Won't that be nice?"
The egg lies in its basket, glowing faintly pink against the white of the towels. JC sighs. Parenting is really hard work.
Chris comes over while JC is rotating the egg in the incubator, which the lady at the rental place said he didn't really have to do, but JC's pretty sure he remembers this part from the fourth grade when they hatched chicks in class. There was definitely rotating involved, JC thinks, but the incubator lady didn't seem to believe he even had an egg, so JC's obviously not going to follow any directions she gives. She's never hatched a dragon before, he's pretty sure.
"I heard you had a dragon in here somewhere, but clearly someone is telling me lies because that?" Chris points, "Is an egg." Chris bends over to stare at the egg through the plastic of the incubator. "It's a pretty egg, just your color, C. But it's an egg. Frankly, I'm disappointed. I was promised mythical beasts, and instead I find the world's biggest omelet."
"We're not turning my dragon into an omelet," JC says. "Don't even think about it, Chris."
"Can we name him Norbert?"
JC closes the lid on the incubator with a loud snap. "No, we can't. We cannot do anything because the egg wasn't left for we to take care of; it was left to me. With very specific instructions."
"That's funny, because Lance told me some psycho left it on your doorstep with a note that said 'HATCH ME.'"
"Which is pretty specific. Also, Norbert is a bad name. I'm thinking of calling her Delilah. Or Deantha."
"Norbert is classic. Hagrid-approved. What about Destructacon? Or Deathboto!"
"It's a dragon, Chris, not a robot."
"You don't know that," Chris says, wandering into the kitchen and taking a beer from the fridge. "It could totally be a robot in that egg. Maybe the egg itself is a robot. A Transformer. Disguised as an innocent-looking egg, and then when you hatch it, it turns into a man-eating robot from outer space."
"Yeah, that's really likely," JC says, rolling his eyes. "Aliens don't need robots. They're already aliens." JC grabs a beer, too, because he needs to get all his drinking done before the baby—er, dragon—hatches, because afterwards he'll be too busy taking care of the dragon to drink a lot. Plus, Chris is always more fun when JC is drinking. "What are you even doing here?" JC asks, twisting his beer open. "You don't live here."
"I'm not allowed to visit? JC, you're going to hurt my feelings. Besides, I heard Bass was giving out blowjobs and I thought I'd stop by and see if he's as good as the rumors say."
JC coughs. "I'm sure I wouldn't know. Doesn't he have a boyfriend right now?"
Chris raises one eyebrow and smirks a little. "If he's as pretty as yours is, Lance is a lucky fucker."
"I don't—look, just because I'm standing next to someone in a picture doesn't mean—I have a dragon egg! Let's talk about that!" JC says, swallowing the rest of his beer in one long gulp. Chris just laughs.
"So I heard you got an egg," Joey says, and JC regrets ever answering his phone.
"But Lance said—"
"No, you can't come over and see my egg. And neither can your kid. I don't care how cute you think she is, that kid is destructive and has no conscience about destroying people's valued possessions. I don't think I need to remind you about the Naked Lady Statue Incident."
"JC, she was four years old, that's what kids do when they're—"
"I don't want to hear your excuses, Joey. I love you, and sometimes your kid is okay when she's not breaking the things I love, but you're not getting anywhere near my egg."
"Okay," Joey says, and he's using that particular tone of voice that JC hates; the one that conveys just how insane he thinks JC is. "But JC, you know it's not really a dragon, right?"
"I have to go," JC says, narrowing his eyes at Chris, now on his fourth beer and second bag of Cheetos, the special bag JC was saving for a rainy day when he already felt fat. Chris just grins and shrugs.
"C, for real, it's not a—"
"Prank caller, prank caller!" JC hisses, and hangs up.
Lance comes back the next day while JC and Chris are taking turns holding the egg. "And try to say nice things to it. Like, compliments or something, because I read that babies can hear you from inside the womb and we want to make sure she comes out with positive vibes."
"JC, do you even know what a womb is?" Lance says while Chris cradles the egg and whispers sweet nothings into its shell. "Do you have any idea what the female reproductive system even looks like?"
"In case you hadn't noticed, I am not a gynecologist," JC says loftily. "I don't, like, go deep sea exploring when I'm getting frisky with a hot mami. Usually, you know, they just want to get to the good stuff."
Chris raises one eyebrow. "Are you sure you should be talking about hot mamis in front of the b-a-b-y?"
That's a good point, actually, so JC takes the egg back and slides it carefully into the incubator. He's trying to be a good Hatcher Person and not corrupt his unborn dragon-baby, but sometimes it's really hard. Like when Lance wants to blow him, or when Chris wants to get him drunk so he'll talk about all the kinky shit he likes to make groupies do which Chris claims isn't kinky at all, just asshatty. JC is pretty sure 'asshatty' isn't a real word though, so.
It turns out Lance is there because Chris called him because Chris is sick of staying in JC's house all day watching the egg not hatch and he wants to go out and do something. "Like what?" JC says, eyes darting to the egg, safely nestled in its incubator, warm and pink and happy. He could maybe do dinner if it's quick, like the really greasy Thai place that always burns the rice and charges him entirely different amounts for pad thai every time he goes. It's just, he doesn't want to leave the egg too long in case it hatches. If Harry Potter is any standard to go by (and JC is pretty sure it is, because he totally thinks Imperio at Lance every time he wants a blowjob) then JC needs to be the first thing little Delilah or Deantha or Destructacon sees so she'll know that JC is the mother. Father. Hatcher Person, whatever. JC needs to be here, is all.
"Just get dressed," Lance says, shaking his head. "You have ten minutes. Make sure it's clean, and for fuck's sake do not wear anything that looks like my grandfather might've owned it seventy-five years ago."
"Wear that silver jacket!" Chris calls up the stairs, "With the black bondage scarf thing that—mmph!"
"Don't give him ideas!" Lance hisses, and JC shakes his head. He doesn't have time for bondage scarves tonight. Not if he wants to make sure to be home for the hatching.
The thing about Lance is that he's got that Lancey brain and when it gets combined with Chris's spine-tinglingly superior intellect (Chris's words, not JC's) then JC is sort of, well, doomed, and that is his excuse for ending up at the gay strip club on drag night. Which wouldn't be a big deal if they were dressed properly for such an occasion but instead, JC is wearing his new favorite Dior vest with the zippers and mesh, and Chris's t-shirt has a beer logo on it and Lance is Lance and everyone already knows he's gay so it doesn't matter what he wears, but still.
"Lance, don't you know anything about your own kind?" JC hisses, grabbing Lance by the arm and trying to drag him back out of the club. "You can't just show up to drag night looking all normal!"
"You call that normal?" Chris says, shaking his head, and Lance pulls JC further into the club with his surprising Lancey strength, and then they're at the bar doing Jäger bombs with the tallest, fattest man in a pink sequined dress and blonde wig that JC has ever seen, not counting Divine in that one movie with the dog shit. "This will not end well," JC says, thinking yearningly of his precious egg, home all alone with only the warm light of the incubator to comfort it.
"Just like JC's music career," says Chris, and they drink, even the drag queen, who pats JC's arm soothingly and says, "It'll be okay dear, and for what it's worth, I really liked that song you did about the lesbians."
Lance goes off to dance with a very hot drag queen dressed like Britney, which JC tries really hard not to think about just exactly how attracted he is to her—him—the drag queen, because that's gross and wrong, and gross. Chris stares after him and says, "Do you ever think about it?"
"About getting freaky with Lance?" JC says, sipping at the umbrella-and-fruit covered drink that the man in the corset across the bar sent to him. "Because um. Well. Not that Lance ever lets me get freaky with him, if you know what I mean, but like, his mouth is well acquainted with my junk, so it's not like I haven't—"
"I meant," Chris says loudly, "have you ever thought about coming out? Look how happy Bass is. Getting more tail than any of us—"
"—I get plenty of tail, excuse me! There's, like, a line of up-and-coming models just waiting to get a chance with the Chasez Experience—"
"—and his career has never been better," Chris continues, ignoring JC completely. And rudely, JC thinks. "Well, I guess Nsync was probably better, but he never got laid when we were on tour. Don't you think you'd be happier? If you just came out already?"
"But I'm not gay! Chace is just a good friend, okay? We've never even made out." JC considers this sadly, because it's not for a lack of trying on his part. He hung around with Playboy bunnies for that guy. Those girls have no fashion sense. It was like being in a satin-and-cotton ball filled hell. And satin, as everyone knows, is a ghetto fabric.
"What about Lance?"
JC finishes his drink and sets it down. "Lance is different. He's Lance. I, you know. He's Lance. Plus, he won't let me touch his dick. So it's not nearly as gay as it could be."
"Do you want to touch his dick?"
"You've seen him in jean jewels. Who doesn't want to touch Lance's dick? Plus, it feels wrong, not giving back to the, uh, hand that feeds me or something."
"Or something," Chris says, and when Lance comes back from the dance floor, smiling and sweaty and looking like someone JC would very much like to lick, Chris orders more drinks, and JC can't help but notice that his eyes drift to Lance's crotch several times. Not that JC can blame him.
Two Jäger bombs, half a bottle of Goldschläger and a body shot later ("That mami had really nice boobs," JC mumbles, and Chris says, "Especially for a guy."), JC is sort of very drunk, and Chris says, "Dude, I think he's going to throw up. You better take him to the bathroom."
"Why can't you take him?" says Lance, and JC frowns and stares at his shoes, which are shiny and red and have Velcro on and are his favorites and so he'd really like to not vomit on them.
"Because you're the gay one. If I take him to the bathroom, someone's gonna say we're getting it on."
"That doesn't make sense at all," Lance says. "If I'm the gay one—"
"Proven fact: you are. You can't deny it now, Princess."
"—if I'm the gay one," Lance says louder, glaring, "then wouldn't it be weird for me to take JC because then people would automatically assume that—"
"Someone better take me now," JC says, "or I am puking on the bar and then you'll be embarrassed and Not Divine will never let you back here."
Lance grabs him by the arm and starts steering. "If this ends up on some blog tomorrow," he says, "I'm going to tell Entertainment Tonight that you asked me to be best man at your wedding to Chance What's His Name."
"Look, just because we stood next to each other in a couple pictures doesn't mean—oh. OH," JC says, and vomits in the urinal.
"Sexy," Lance mutters. "I should've left you home with the dragon."
By the time they make it back to JC's house, JC feels slightly less drunk, has nothing left in his stomach to puke up, and is very happy to be reunited with his egg, which is lovely and warm and adores him, unlike Chris, who is mean and mocking him for not being able to keep up with a guy wearing a pink dress, and Lance, who is mean because he refuses to let JC blow him even though JC promises he's really good at it and he's had lots of practice and why can't today be the day?
"Because I don't want to trigger your gag reflex and have you vomiting on my dick," Lance says while tucking JC into bed. He pulls the comforter up to JC's chin and hands him a glass of water and some Tylenol PM. JC takes the pills and frowns at Lance.
"But someday, right? I mean, it's not fair. I let you blow me all the time. Like, whenever you want, practically. It's just, it's not fair, Lance."
"I feel really sorry for you," Lance says.
"I just." JC looks up at Lance and thinks, oooh, pretty. "I want to make you happy."
Lance smirks. "I'm sure my dick would make you more than happy," he says soothingly, "but you're very drunk right now and you need to stop thinking about sex and go to sleep."
"Will you at least check on Delilah for me?" JC mumbles into his pillow.
"The egg, stupid."
"Oh right, the egg. How silly of me." Lance looks at him for a moment, rubs one hand over JC's shoulder beneath the blankets. "You're such an asshole," Lance says, but JC is already asleep.
By the time JC wakes up the next morning, both Chris and Lance are gone. The egg is safely in its incubator, but it's still showing no signs of hatching and JC starts to wonder if maybe it doesn't need more personal attention. Maybe, he thinks, if he gets one of those baby sling things and wears it around, the egg will like, bond to him or something. And then it will know it's safe to hatch. It's sort of a long drive out to Target, but when he gets home and gets the egg nestled happily in its sling against his chest, JC can already tell the whole thing was worth it. Delilah or Deantha or Destructobot looks so much happier, JC just knows she's going to hatch really soon.
"I'm really starting to worry," JC says next time Lance comes over to hang out and watch So You Think You Can Dance and, after, to service him orally. "She's not showing any signs of hatching. I mean, she just lies there looking all pink and sparkly and—"
"JC," Lance says, pulling his mouth off JC's dick with a loud "pop" and looking up at him with annoyance in his Lancey eyes. "If you're not going to at least pretend like you're enjoying this…"
"No, no, I am!" JC says, nudging Lance's cheek with his dick in a friendly way. "I'm just, you know, worried."
"We'll figure it out," Lance says soothingly, and bends down to suck at the tip of JC's dick in what JC likes to think is a very comforting manner. Orgasms always do help him relax, he thinks, and wonders how the egg is doing.
One morning exactly two weeks after finding the egg on his front porch, JC opens the door to bring his mail in and finds Justin sitting there. He's not in a basket and he doesn't have a direction-giving note of any kind attached, but JC brings him inside anyway and sits him at the kitchen table. "What's up?" JC says, walking over to the incubator and pulling the egg out, strapping it carefully into its harness and stroking its smooth pink shell. "You look upset about something."
"I think my girlfriend is breaking up with me and my latest single only hit number one for a week and Madonna's album isn't doing very well and everyone thinks it's my fault, so. So yeah, I'm a little upset."
"I feel really sorry for you," JC says, and pets his egg. It's going to hatch really soon, he thinks. At least, it better hatch really soon, because the incubator is expensive and he needs to save money since his music career is over and all. The movie rock opera thing, though, that's totally going to make him some green. He has a good feeling about it.
"Don't be sarcastic, JC, you totally suck at it. Hey, is that an egg?"
"Yes," JC says, cradling it carefully against his chest. "But you can't see it. We're bonding right now."
Justin raises his eyebrows. "You're bonding."
"With a ceramic egg?"
"It's not—oh my god, why would you say that? You can't just go around insulting innocent unborn dragons, Justin! It's not ceramic, and I am deeply offended right now! Maybe you should leave."
"If it's not ceramic," Justin says slowly, "then why does it have a seam?"
JC opens his mouth to deliver what he is sure would've been an extremely clever and cutting comeback, but snaps it back shut again when he looks down and realizes that Justin, because he's fucking Justin and he's always fucking right, is totally right. Around the center of the egg is a very thin line that JC always just thought was part of the egg's special coloring pattern or something, but now that Justin has said the word 'seam,' JC knows it's true.
His egg is not an egg at all. It's a decorative ceramic thingy. JC feels like crying.
"Well aren't you going to open it?" Justin says. He pats JC's knee kindly, like JC hasn't spent the past two weeks trying to hatch a children's toy or anything crazy like that. JC sniffs.
"I'm not sure if I want to," he says, and sets the egg on the kitchen table. There's no dragon inside and he doesn't have to be careful anymore because it's not a real egg at all, but he makes sure it doesn't roll off the table and watches as it settles against the bowl of oranges in the center, sparkling cheerfully and not looking at all like it just betrayed its own mother—father—hatcher person by the very fact of its existence. "I feel dumb," JC says.
"Hey, no, I've seen these things before, so I knew. Jessica has a whole collection of them. Anyone could make the same mistake," Justin says. He picks up the egg and sets the bottom half between his knees, twisting the top half with both hands until it loosens and Justin can unscrew it. JC feels a little like his heart is breaking. The death of Delilah the Destructobot, he thinks, and wipes at his eyes.
Justin gets the top off and when JC finally gets the courage to look over, Justin is lifting a dragon out of the egg. For a moment, the entire world freezes and JC thinks, if his life were a movie, this would be just like that scene in Tombstone where the guy who isn't Doc Holiday goes all Badass Jesus on the red sash cowboy guys in the river and he's all, "NOOOOOOO!!!!!!" in slow motion, so that you can practically see the exclamation points at the end of his sentence.
"NOOOOO!!!!" JC yells, because it really is a dragon inside the egg and Justin was wrong, he was totally wrong and JC was right for once because it's a dragon and it needs to see its mommy—daddy—hatcher person—whatever, but it needs to see JC first so it knows and—
"Oh man, this is adorable, C. Someone sent you a stuffed dragon! And it says 'I *heart* you!' on the front."
"Oh. Awesome," JC says, and passes out. But it's been a very emotional ten minutes and he practically gave birth that morning, so he figures he's allowed to show weakness, just this once.
When JC wakes up, he's on his living room couch and Lance is leaning over him, holding the dragon. It's pink and soft and has sparkly lavender piping on its wings, and in the very center of its chest in silver threading are the words 'I *heart* you.' Justin was right again. It is pretty adorable, even if it's not an actual dragon. JC holds out his arms and Lance hands the dragon over solemnly.
"That's nice and all," JC says, still holding out his arms, "but I kind of wanted something a little more real."
"Oh," Lance says, and smiles. He leans down and rests his head against JC's shoulder, shifts around until he's lying almost on top of JC with JC's arms around his waist and it's nice, JC thinks. It's very nice, even with the dragon squished between them, its right wing poking JC in the neck. "Justin wasn't supposed to open it," Lance says.
"Justin is always fucking shit up," JC says, and Lance laughs against his shoulder. "So. So it was you, huh? I mean, why didn't you just say something? Like, oh, during one of the many blowjobs you've given me over the past two weeks?"
"My mouth was kind of full," Lance says, and JC laughs, "Yeah it was, my dick is huge."
"But seriously," JC says, "you could've just been like, 'Hi, I like you, let's be lovers for real.' You didn't have to let me make an idiot out of myself for two weeks trying to hatch a dragon."
"I didn't have to," Lance agrees, "but it was so amusing that Chris made me promise not to come clean."
They're silent for a while and JC's just enjoying this, being close to Lance and being allowed to touch Lance and wondering how far Lance will let him go, because he's been wanting to grab Lance's ass for like at least a decade now, and he thinks that maybe, finally, Lance will actually let him.
"I wanted you to be ready," Lance says finally. "I wanted more than just fucking around and I thought. I just wanted you to be ready."
JC turns his head and kisses Lance once, softly, and also takes the opportunity to grab Lance's ass and squeeze, because yes, because that's what he's been waiting for, fucking finally. "Maybe," JC says, grinding against Lance a little and squeezing some more, just because he can, just because Lance isn't saying no this time, "maybe you were waiting for you to be ready, too."
Lance makes a delicious, throaty gasping noise and says, "See? My plan totally worked and now today." He pauses, grabs JC's hand and shoves it between them, right onto Lance's dick, which feels just as fantastic as it's looked for the past year and yes, JC is very very happy right now. Maybe the egg wasn't real and maybe he spent two weeks looking like an idiot trying to hatch a big hunk of sparkly pottery, and maybe he spent a couple thousand dollars renting an incubator ("Which you're totally reimbursing me for," JC will tell Lance later, while licking happily at Lance's perfect, lovely dick), but in the end, all that matters is that he got Lance with his incomprehensible Lancey brain, and JC really, really *hearts* him.
"Today," Lance says, moaning happily as JC's fingers slide inside Lance's pants and wrap around his dick, "is definitely the day."