nsync in black and white

Disclaimer: this is fiction. We made it up.

Sport of Champions

by Strippedhalo, written for kira
The whole thing starts because one of the buses breaks down, and they all end up crammed into one bus, just like old times. Exactly like old times, because Joey makes them watch Stand By Me for the zillionth time, and Chris rewinds the pie-eating-slash-projectile-vomiting scene twice, while Lance hides his face in a pillow and puts his hands over his ears and says, "Groooooss," over and over until it's finished.

They have three concert-free days coming up, with a photoshoot on the first day and a full day of interviews on the third day, with a full day of nothing scheduled in between. Not long enough to really do anything, but long enough to get bored when you're stuck in a hotel and you've already seen everything showing on HBO.

And that's how the pie-eating contest is born.


Lance refuses to take part, citing not only the vomitfest in Stand By Me ("That was on purpose, dork, he drank all that gross shit before," Chris points out), but also the gluttony victim in Se7en, which had been Justin's pick the night before. "Your stomach can explode," Lance insists, stubbornly, despite JC's assurances to the contrary. "I'm not doing it." It doesn't stop him from appointing himself referee, though.


The betting is inevitable. Lance collects $500.00 from everyone and squirrels it away in a secret location until the contest is over and the winner is declared. Two thousand dollars is nothing to sneeze at, even now, but Justin has something extra in mind for when he wins.

He finds JC in the back lounge on their way to the hotel they'll be staying at during their down time, drinking from a mostly empty bottle of water. "So hey," he says, waiting for JC to acknowledge him before he continues. Then he gets distracted, because JC swallows and meets Justin's eyes and drags the back of his hand slowly across his mouth, all at the same time.

"Uh," Justin says, intelligently.

JC raises an eyebrow and scratches the back of his head questioningly.

"Right," Justin's brain kicks back in. "So I was thinking we could make a bet. Whoever eats the most pies wins."

"Yeah, we made one, remember? I already gave my stake to Lance to hold."

"No, another bet. Just between you and me." Justin takes a deep breath and goes for it. "And not for money."

"Oh. Hold on a minute." JC leaves the lounge, and Justin jitters in place until he comes back, another bottle of water in his hand. "So what are we betting, then?"

"Um. Well, I don't know what you want if you win, but if I win, then I want you to give me a chance." Justin tries not to hold his breath waiting for JC's answer, but he maybe does a little bit.

"Justin." JC's got that stupid expression on his face again, that patient, sympathetic look that screams, oh, poor kid, but that also means no, and Justin cuts him off before JC can let him down easy. Again.

"Come on, JC, it's been months. Months, man, and I'm fine. I'm ready, I promise." Justin is ready, has been ready since practically the day after he and Britney split. Hell, most of the reason for the breakup was that Justin was totally in love with JC. Well, that and the thing where Britney totally cheated on him with Wade, but whatever. The point is, he's been hitting on JC for months, and JC just keeps brushing him off with endless bogus lines about how he doesn't think Justin is over her yet. Well, no more. Justin wants JC, he wants him so much, and if he has to eat a million pies to get him, then that's what he'll do.

"Just give me a chance, okay?"

"Okay." The look hasn't totally gone away, but at least JC's nodding. "Yeah, okay. If you win." With that, he twists the lid off the new bottle of water and chugs it down in thirty seconds flat.

"Jeez, C. Thirsty much?"

"Nah, training. Getting my stomach used to being stretched out. I plan on eating a lot of pies, man."

JC's smile can only be described as wolfish, and Justin thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's totally screwed.


After that, everyone (except Lance) starts training their own stomachs. Justin and Joey stick to water, like JC, but Chris makes the dubious decision to drink mass quantities of Mountain Dew.

"Man, you're so going to puke," Justin tells him for the third time that day.

Chris doesn't puke, but after he's poured almost four litres of Mountain Dew down his throat in under half an hour, it pretty much sucks to be stuck on a bus with him for the rest of the day.



"Ugh, too messy. Apple?"

"Too filling. And probably a choking hazard, too."

"Lemon merangue?"

"I still say blueberry. Blueberry is traditional."

"No. What about pumpkin?"

"Oh my god, I definitely will puke if it's pumpkin."

In the end, it's blueberry, because that's the only pie that hotel room service can supply in quantity. Joey gloats, and Justin sulks, and Lance buys three cans of whipped cream to spray on top. Only one of the cans actually makes it to pie day - one gets used up in an escalating series of bus pranks, and Lance claims another turned out to be defective, though Justin suspects that by "defective", Lance really means, "I ate it" - but there is still enough for a healthy dollop on the top of each pie.


Justin wins. Joey gets disqualified for using his hands to shovel pie into his mouth, and Chris does puke, mostly because he continued his Mountain Dew "training" up until an hour before pie time, but the important thing is, Justin wins. He gets to do a victory lap around the hotel suite and everything.

JC grins widely at him. "Congratulations, man," he says. "But you know I cheated, right?"

"Huh?" Justin says, brightly.

"I let you win, dude! I could've eaten another two, maybe three, easy." As if to prove his point, JC whips a fork out of nowhere, and starts in on one of the remaining pies, albeit with a good deal more decorum than what had just taken place. "But it seemed like it meant a lot to you to win, so. You know. D'you want to claim your winnings now or later?"

JC looks ridiculous. He has blueberry filling smeared all over his face, and bits of pastry mashed into the spaces between his teeth and along his gumline. There's even whipped cream in his hair.

Justin doesn't bother to dignify the question with a verbal response, just fists his hand in JC's pie-covered shirt and pulls him forward until he can kiss him full on his sticky, sticky mouth.

And it's awesome.


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