Getting It, by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)


Part I: Getting It


"I'll tie you up and tease you as much as you like, honey," JC said
into his ear, "if that's what you're looking for."

Lance's public smile froze into place, then slid off like ice
cracking and falling to the floor.  "I... no."  He fled like a
startled deer, taking cover near Lucille Ball's wax figurine. 
Thank the Lord, none of the reporters present at the opening of the
NSYNC exhibit at the wax museum had heard JC's sotto voce comment.

If this was what he got for meeting up with the rest of the group
after having avoided them for so long, he would rather continue
avoiding them.

Lance didn't see Chris watching them with a thoughtful look, only
JC's back and Joey's preoccupied happiness.

****

It was days later when Chris knocked on his hotel room door.  Lance
wasn't expecting him; they were scattered to the four winds now and
the only one he wanted to see was the one who had the least time --
Joey.  But it was Chris.

"Um... hello?" Lance said, looking at him.

"I know what's going on, Bass," Chris said firmly.

Lance was glad someone did, because he didn't.  "Really?" he asked,
but Chris slipped under his arm and into the hotel suite.  Lance
had no choice but to close the door behind him.

Dark eyes, and Chris was intense about everything, even his
teasing.  Lance knew to match that intensity with equal intensity
or be run over, stampeded over, and the one thing Chris never was
was restful, and the one thing Lance needed most was rest.

"I know about you and Joey."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

And Chris came up to him, invading his space.

Lance stepped back, but Chris took his arm and pulled him down into
a chair.  He went stiffly, sitting there, waiting for the next
accusation.

But instead, Chris put his hand on the nape of Lance's neck,
covering it with his hand that was smaller than Joey's, but still
so warm.

And Lance bent.

Let his head roll forward in familiar, learned response, and hoped
to God Chris knew what he was doing, because if Chris dropped him
now, Lance would shatter and there was no way Chris was Joey, with
Joey's easy, friendly admonitions for Lance to take care of himself
interposed with touches that branded Lance's skin.

Chris let out an indrawn breath and pulled his hand back a little,
to trace a finger up the curve of Lance's spine into his hairline. 
"Didn't think you'd actually do it," he said in a mutter that might
not be meant for Lance at all.  "Hoped you would.  Thought you
might.  Seen you do it often enough, but fuck, Bass, you have no
idea how hot it is to just sit you down and push you over with a
fingertip."

His index finger nudged Lance's head gently.

Lance's head fell further forward.  He didn't feel like he did with
Joey when Joey did this to him -- the comfortable sense that he had
given the responsibility to his well-being into the hands of
another and that he could finally, finally relax.  No.  He felt
electric anticipation.  Not knowing what Chris was going to do,
what he himself was going to do.  But his body, his self, was used
to reacting one way and he did.

"Jesus, Bass."

Joey usually started like this, too, but his next commands were
usually for Lance to relax, to lie down, to stop working, to stop
stressing, to just go to bed and get some sleep already, and
accompanied by good-humored jollying him along, Joey's hands on
Lance's shoulders and back, guiding  him, molding him, his voice
friendly and surrounding Lance.

Chris was not friendly, was not platonic, was not simple.  He was
dangerous.

"Is this what you need, Lance?  What you were getting from Joey? 
It isn't what JC was offering you, I get that.  You don't want to
be tied up.  You don't want a little friendly sex, you want..."

The hand on his neck shifted, and Chris came around.  His legs were
in Lance's line of sight as Lance looked at the ground.

Lance sighed.  This wasn't what Joey gave him.  He didn't know what
it was.  "Chris..." he spoke, to stop it, to keep this from going
somewhere.  He didn't want it to go into admissions and actions
that couldn't be taken back.  He didn't know what he wanted.  What
he'd gotten from Joey had been a little of what he needed, and yes,
he wanted that now, but he wasn't going to get it here, he didn't
think.  He couldn't explain it to Chris.

Chris stroked his hair and Lance quieted despite himself.

"Yeah, baby, just like that.  You need this.  C'mon."  And Chris
tugged Lance up, one hand on his arm, the other one sliding from
his hair to his shoulder and that was familiar, too.  Hands.  Hands
on his body, and Lance would do anything for that, obey them like
dressage signals, letting Chris lead him into the suite's bedroom
to stand at the foot of the bed.

"C'mon, take your clothes off, I want to see you."

And Lance could have stopped there because the hot thrill of
excitement had nothing to do with the way he'd played this scene in
the past, had nothing to do with how Joey'd gotten him to slip off
his shoes, strip down to his underwear and put him to bed, nothing
to do with comfort and sleep, but.

But Chris was watching him and his hands were on Lance, and Lance
stripped.  When he pulled his shirt up, Chris' hands were there,
following it up, running over Lance's chest, exploring.  The same
clever fingers helped him undo his belt buckle and slip out of his
shoes when Lance forgot to take those off before his pants.

And Lance didn't get naked with Joey.  Never stood there and just
let him look.

Chris' eyes were hot as they roamed over Lance.  He was completely
clothed and Lance completely naked.  Lance flushed.

"Oh, no, no.  Don't be shy.  You're gorgeous.  But you know that,
you've gotta know that.  Look at you.  All hard and rippling and
shit."

And he was hard, in more ways than one, but Chris was ignoring
that, or at least not paying any particular attention to that. 
Lance felt *seen*, *wanted*, and that and the contrast of his
nakedness to Chris' clothedness was what was making him throb, but
not what was making him lean into Chris' hands as they petted him,
learned him.

"Nice, very nice, especially getting to touch you.  Always wanted
to touch you, didn't think I should or could.  Jealous of Joey, the
way he could just put his hand on your neck and you'd follow him
anywhere.  Always wondered if you'd follow me anywhere if I put my
hand there, but I didn't have the guts to try, not when it looked
like you had a good thing going that I'd just screw up.  Except it
isn't going for you anymore, is it?"

Chris had stopped his circling now, and was standing still at
Lance's right side.  His hand came up to wrap around Lance's nape. 
"You gonna follow me, Bass?  If we're somewhere, and I put my hand
here, are you gonna get up and come with me?"

Lance moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.  He wanted
to ask Chris what he had in mind, whether Chris was going to take
care of him, *what* he was going to do to him, but he found himself
instead promising, "Yeah."

"Good."  And Chris pulled him in, and Joey had never done this,
never crushed his mouth to Lance's, never invaded him, lips taking,
marking, tongue tasting and exploring.  Lance's skin felt hungry,
sensitized to the brush of Chris' clothing, and he was rubbing
directly against Chris' denim-covered erection, groaning and nearly
mindlessly writhing when Chris pulled back, eyes lit up.  "Oh,
yeah, oh, yeah.  Just like that, baby.  Just like that."

"Chris..." Lance pleaded, then subsided, didn't say anything.  He'd
never had the right to before, always been grateful for whatever
care and affection Joey could show him, and Joey *was* very
affectionate, free with his caring.

"Hey, hey," Chris soothed, sweeping his hands over Lance's body,
his torso, his back, his ass.

Lance knew what to do as long as he was being touched.  It was only
when the touching stopped that he got confused, but Chris' eyes,
his gaze, was almost as palpable as a touch, and his words...

Lance shivered.

"C'mon, lay down," Chris urged him, and Lance backed up until the
bed hit him in the back of his legs, then sat down and scooted
backward, up the bed, not taking his eyes off Chris.

"Hot.  So fucking hot.  You have no idea.  You should see
yourself."

*Chris* should see himself, Lance thought.  Still fully clothed,
Chris crawled up the bed after Lance, pushing Lance's feet apart
and coming to kneel in between Lance's spread thighs.  He rested
one hand on Lance's hip for balance; Lance felt pinned down through
him, solid.

"What do you want out of this, Bass?" Chris asked.  "That was what
I never got.  You and Joe coulda been doing anything behind closed
doors, but from what we saw, all he ever did was put his hand on
you--" he laid his free hand on Lance's bare thigh, thumb stroking
slow circles, which Joey would *not* have done, "and you'd just
stop what you were doing and either go where he wanted you, or fold
up with him on the couch, or anything else he wanted.  Anything he
wanted.  What did you get out of it?"

Lance closed his eyes.  He didn't want to explain, didn't want
there to be a need for explanations.  If Chris didn't just *get*
it, then Lance wasn't going to be able to explain it to him.

"Because if it was sex..." and Chris moved his hand just a little
until the back of it was brushing Lance's erection.

Lance sucked in his breath and exhaled in a long, shuddering gasp. 
"You wouldn't understand.  That *was* the point."

Chris -- Lance couldn't see Chris with his eyes closed, but he
couldn't help feeling him -- shifted his hand again, turning it to
pet Lance's cock, not jerking him off, just barely on the right
side of feather-light teasing.  "So you guys weren't fucking? 
Because we all wondered."

"No.  Never."  It wasn't fair.  He would have done anything for
Chris from the moment Chris put his hand on his neck.  This wasn't
necessary.  Was unnecessary.  Cruel, even.

"Oh.  Huh."

And Chris stopped, and that was a relief, almost, because it wasn't
about sex, not this thing Lance did, never had been and he didn't
know what it meant to have it altered, didn't know what Chris
meant, but then Chris moved again, climbing over Lance.  The bed
dipped on the side, as Chris sat.

Lance rolled away from Chris, opening his eyes as he started to get
up and put his clothes back on.

"Wait, hey, Lance.  Where are you going?  What?  What the hell do
you think you're doing?"

"This was a mistake," Lance said steadily, not looking at him.  He
bent over, grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head.  Stooped
again to try to make sense out of the tangled mess of the rest of
his clothing.

A scramble behind him, and then a hand again on the back of his
neck.

Lance froze.  "Please," he said without any real hope.  "Please
don't do this.  Not when you don't mean it.  It's hard enough as it
is."

Chris knelt next to him, no, in front of him, forcing himself into
Lance's line of vision.  That was the thing about Chris.  He made
it impossible to ignore him, which made it even more obvious when
he went away.  "What's hard enough as it is?  What was Joey making
easier for you?"

Lance bowed his head.  Chris was stroking his neck.  It was
probably unconscious on his part.  But it still meant something to
Lance.  "This.  Everything.  Existing."

"Would you have wanted to fuck him if he'd wanted it?"

He shrugged.  He knew what his and Joey's silent game looked like. 
He hadn't thought his bandmates had noticed -- they were notorious
for being unable to keep anything to themselves and he would have
thought they'd mention it if they *had* noticed.  It looked like
sex, like master and servant, bondage and dominance stuff, except
Lance didn't want to be tied up, didn't have any desire to kneel at
some all-powerful master's feet.  Except he would have bent and
folded and collapsed at Joey's feet.  What would he have done if
Joey swung that way, if he'd not just tucked Lance in one night,
but tucked himself in along with him?

"Yeah," Lance said.  "I would have."

"And me?"

It had to be awkward for Chris to kneel there like that.  Hard on
his knees.  Difficult to face Lance and keep a hand on Lance's
neck, to hold him still.  But Chris didn't seem to notice or care. 
Just looked at Lance.

"I... Chris..."

"Yeah?"

"If all you want is sex, there are easier people.  Just..."  He was
tired, so very tired.  "Let go of me and we can fuck.  If that's
what you want.  If that's what it takes."  If that was what it took
to end Chris' fascination with him, to get him to leave.

"No."  And Chris didn't let go.  "I want what you give Joey."

Lance smiled painfully.  "It was never about what I gave Joey.  I
don't think so anyway.  It was always about what Joey gave me."

"What Joey gave you...?"

Lance had picked his boxers out of the pile and fished out his
shoes.  "Like I said.  If you don't get it, you aren't going to."

"Goddamnit, Bass, what's the big secret?  He spanked your tanning
bed ass?  Sang you lullabies and burped you after you had a bottle? 
Tied you to the bed and left you there?  What?"

"Uh.  No.  None of that."  He hadn't thought any of *that* was
going through Chris' head.  "It wasn't anything like... he just...
when he told me to lie down, to rest, to go to bed, I felt like
maybe it was okay, that if he said I deserved to, then I did.  That
I'd been good enough, if he thought so.  That's all."  His cheeks
were flaming red now, more so than when he'd stripped naked.  Lance
felt stripped naked.

"You think you're somehow not good enough?" Chris asked slowly.

A snort escaped him.  He *knew* he wasn't good enough, except good
wasn't the right word.  Finished enough.  Done enough.  He had so
much to do and there was no relief, never had been any relief in
slacking off in his duties.  If anything, there was more pressure
to keep going, because he felt worthless when he paused, like he
hadn't accomplished enough to earn the right to rest.  He didn't
sleep well at night on his own.  When he went to bed, he laid there
for a while before everything he had to do, everything that'd gone
wrong and was continuing to go wrong overwhelmed him.  Usually, he
got up, because he might as well keep going, might as well keep
trying to wear himself out, to earn rest, rather than lying there,
wrestling uselessly with things that would never change as long as
he just laid there.  If there was a top, a master, in Lance's head,
that person was impossible to please and never satisfied.

"Yeah, okay.  Okay, Lance.  I get it."

He wanted to say that Chris couldn't get it, would never be able to
get it, except Chris stood up.

Lance started shaking out his boxers as soon as Chris let go of
him, readying himself to get dressed.  Began standing up,
preparatory to putting them back on, when Chris came back.

He flinched as Chris' hand settled on the back of his neck.  Did
all of the guys know his weakness?  Was he going to have to put up
with jokes from them forever after this?  Sideways glances, or
worse, touches, preying on his soft spot?  "Chris..."

"C'mon, Bass."

Chris cupped his hand and tugged Lance upward.  When Lance was
standing, he said, "I don't get how this works, maybe, but I get it
enough."  He caressed Lance's shoulders, then brought his hands
down under the edge of Lance's shirt.  "Off."

It was wrong, so wrong to do this when he didn't trust Chris'
motives, when he expected Chris to hurt him with a word, but it was
easier to give in than to resist and it was Chris.  Lance took his
shirt off.

"Good."  Chris smiled at him, then pushed on Lance's right arm. 
"Turn around.  Get in the bed."

When Lance turned around, he saw that Chris had pulled back the
covers of the bed.  He wanted to question, didn't want to do this
now.  It wasn't sexual, wasn't sensual, wasn't even right without
the belief that Chris knew what Lance needed, that he would give it
to him, but Chris was behind him, stroking his back, and Lance
always knew what to do when he was touched.  He got in the bed. 
And waited.

Chris covered him up and tucked him in.  Tucked Lance in and sat on
the edge of the bed.  Like Joey.  Like he'd never said Lance was
hot or that he wanted him or anything at all.

"Chris, what..."

Hand on his forehead, stroking down over his eyelids, forcing Lance
to close them.  "Ssh.  Go to sleep."

It wasn't the same.  Wasn't Joey, was flawed by Lance telling Chris
that he needed this, but Chris just sat there, and Lance had no
option but to obey and that was as familiar as hands on his body,
as familiar as touch, the way it had been in the beginning, Joey
telling him that he was going to make sure Lance slept and that
Lance was going to do it or be sat on until he did.  And maybe it
wasn't that Chris didn't get it, maybe it was learning to surrender
his control all over again, surrendering his headaches, his
burdens, his *soul* into the hands of someone else.  And maybe he'd
be shaken apart and put back together in a way he didn't want, but
that was what he'd needed, what Joey had done for him, what Chris
was doing for him now and Chris' hand was on his arm, and that was
enough.

There was a hand on his arm and that was permission, that was
enough, that was more than enough, because Lance had never been
able to *ask* Joey for what he'd needed, and so Joey never knew
that he was Lance's master, Lance's god, in control, keeping him
safe and well.

Chris knew, and maybe that was better.  Maybe it was okay that
Chris was only now getting it.

Lance slept.


Part II: Getting Used To It


It wasn't that Chris was honest or paranoid or even particularly
noble.  That wasn't why he'd stopped.  Why he was sitting there on
the bed watching Lance sleep.

It was easy to forget, while Lance was talking, convincing, being
Hollywood Lance, that Lance got tired, stressed or anything at all. 
It was easy to see Lance as going places, as in control, as
powerful.

But he's seen Lance fold to his knees for Joey, felt him today,
bending under his hand and then later, falling apart, and Chris
knew now that Lance didn't think he controlled anything at all.

Chris didn't know until then how things were.  Thought Lance was,
although understandably disappointed by his backers leaving him
high-and-dry on the Russia thing, still on top.  Capable.  Assured. 
Thought Lance was maybe now months past coming out the other end of
a relationship with Joey where Joey was going, left, gone, because
Joey was on the verge of finally admitting that he was a family
kind of guy and a faithful kind of guy, too, and that he was gonna
settle down with Kelly and Briahna for once and for all.  And that
Lance was on the other side of that, over that, no more involved
than with any other ex, and that their relationship had been all
about the kinky sex games, but Chris could be about the kinky sex,
had wanted to be about the kinky sex from the first time he'd seen
Joey lean on Lance and Lance just *give*.  Wanted that, with
surprising hunger, and wanted it from Lance.  That complete
surrender, and Chris'd imagined it a lot, jerking off, thinking
about Lance's body under Chris' hand, that body, that *Lance*
giving in to him.  And yeah.  Hot.  Completely hot, but not as hot
as actually doing it, and Lance doing everything Chris told him to.

Chris frowned.  Everything.  And that bugged him, because it made
sense when it was a kinky sex game.  A kinky sex game and hey,
maybe Lance would be on his knees then, but the rest of the time,
he'd be Lance and what you chose to be when you were turned on
didn't have to mean anything the rest of the time.  Yeah, it'd be
hot to put his hand on Lance in a crowded room and *know* Lance
would follow him out and they'd fuck soon after, but still.  That
was sex.  This was...

More.  Different.  Other.  That was why he'd stopped.  Stopped
pressuring Lance, because if Lance and Joey hadn't been fucking,
then what Chris was doing was... well, it had seemed an awful lot
like taking advantage of a quirk in Lance's psychology in order to
have sex with him.

And Chris didn't do that.  Didn't take advantage, wouldn't take
advantage.  He'd take anything Lance would give him, but it'd
better damn well be because Lance was giving it willingly, not
because...

Chris sighed.  Okay, sure, there were times when he'd have sold his
soul for a good night's sleep and maybe Justin's along with it, but
Lance didn't need to do that, not when Chris could just sit here
and make it happen for him.  And Lance was asleep, snoring
unmusically.  Lance'd curled in on himself a little, fetally, but
around the point where Chris' hand rested on his arm.

Yeah.  And wasn't that a pisser?  It made Chris want to gather
Lance up and protect him, except of course, the waking version of
Lance would normally never allow such a thing.  The only version
who would was this one, the one who bent under the weight of Chris'
palm on his neck like it was the yoke he'd been waiting his whole
life for.

It was a lot of responsibility Lance was putting on him, had put on
Joey, and Chris thought maybe Joey had semi-deliberately taken the
chance to let Lance go, that if Joey'd known how much
responsibility it was to be the one who told Lance how to order his
life, to keep Lance sane, that Joey might not have done it at all,
that there was no way Joey could have known what he was tacitly
agreeing to here.

Chris was on the verge of explicitly agreeing to it, and he was a
little horrified at the scope of it.  Not because he couldn't or
wouldn't do it, because he was a protector; he was happiest when he
had someone to take care of, obsess over, and it was Lance.  Well,
yes.  It could very much work.  But what Lance needed... he was
horrified for Lance, that they hadn't noticed or seen.  This wasn't
about a little casual sex, about a kinky game, and he knew
perfectly well now why Lance had turned JC down, because this had
nothing to do with sex.

Or almost nothing, because Lance would have wanted that if Joey had
been into it, only Joey wasn't, Joey was straight and not
interested in the hijinks his less gender-biased bandmates got up
to.  That was what gave Chris hope, that if Lance had at least
wanted that from Joey, then maybe he'd want it from Chris, too,
except it wasn't possible to enter something like this lightly, had
to enter it like a contract or a marriage.  It was the entirety of
a relationship at the beginning, and Chris couldn't understand how
Lance expected someone to just accept that as a non-explicit
contract, how he thought anyone could just give him that.  Chris
was kinda appalled that Lance could just do that, but then, it
wasn't like Chris didn't know Lance, like Lance didn't know Chris
and maybe that somehow made it all right in Lance's mind.

Not in Chris', but then again, he'd been willing to do the kinky
sex game thing without talking about it.  Wasn't the same though. 
Sex was less than this.  Sex might seem more intimate, more than
just putting someone to bed, but this was Lance's soul, entire,
placed into his hands, and.

And Chris didn't want it any less than he had before.  Chris still
wanted what Lance had given Joey, but now that he knew how little
that had been, he wanted more than that.  More than maybe Lance was
willing to give, and that was the issue, really, right there.  He
needed to find out what Lance was willing to give and, too, decide
what he was willing to give Lance.  If he could give him this.

Chris thought he could.  It would be more difficult, separated as
often as they were now, but he didn't have a whole lot to do and
nothing that was more important, certainly, than Lance, and
Lance...  He thought maybe Lance was deliberately filling his own
calendar with make-work to keep from thinking about the Russia
thing, but yeah.  Lance could use some sort of break, if he could
be compelled into taking one.

So, yeah.  He was able and willing to give Lance what Joey had
given him, but he wanted to give him more than that.  If Lance
would take it.

Wanted more.  Needed more, but all of it seemed bound up in the way
Lance's neck tilted under the palm of his hand, the way Lance gave
himself over, surrendered, and Chris wanted very badly to fuck him. 
Had wanted to see what he could get Lance to do, if he could get
Lance to just lie there and let Chris fuck his mouth and then scoot
back and part those lovely tanned thighs so Chris could fuck his
ass.  If Lance could be turned on, wanting, still eager to please,
if Chris could get him to crawl, to clean Chris' dick off with his
tongue.

Yeah.  Chris adjusted himself with his free hand.  None of *that*
now.  But, yeah.  He'd wanted that, wanted it still, and he'd've
made it good for Lance after, good during if that was the kind of
thing that got Lance's motor running.

Except it might not be, that was the point he kept coming back to
over and over.  Lance had been turned on, sure, but Lance'd stopped
it.

What did Lance want?  Some benevolent daddy figure to set limits
for him?  Hell, in between Chris, Joey and JC, they could ride herd
on one bass.  They'd managed it with Justin, after all, standing in
loco parentis for him more often than not through NSYNC's
evolution.  What Lance needed was a little different, but they
could do it.

Or did Lance want something more, too?  Chris wanted it to be
something more.  Damnit.  He really wanted that now.  Sex and
surrender.  The whole package.  Not just sex -- the way Lance had
said he'd let Chris fuck him had been... chilling.  Yeah, that was
the right word for it.  Chilling.  And wrong.

Chris wanted all of Lance, and he'd been waiting, thinking Joey had
Lance all sewn up, but Joey didn't; Lance was free, but maybe, just
maybe, Lance would want to be his.

Belong to Chris.  And Chris would have to be very careful with his
new possession, because it was nothing as simple as Lance's body or
Lance's heart.  It was everything, and Chris knew that now.  He
wanted it all.  He wanted all of Lance, whatever he had to do to
get it.

Chris was getting stiff.  And cold.

His shoulder was cramping, and his eyes were hot and tired.  He'd
been up a long time today, arranging the flight here and making it
to Lance.  And it was late.  He wanted to get some rest.  Morning
was soon enough to deal with this.

Chris let go of Lance, who shifted in his sleep, even then aware
that something was missing.  He got off the bed, shucked off his
shoes, then pulled back just the top cover of the bed, leaving
Lance covered by the flat sheet and the blanket.  Chris wasn't
going to take, not when it wasn't his right or even his duty, he
was just going to stay.  A promise.

Lance was stirring, waking up, and Chris curled up on his side of
the bed, then flung his arm over Lance.  "Stop it, Bass.  Go back
to sleep."

Lance snuffled, never opening his eyes and burrowed into Chris.

Chris sighed in amused, fond exasperation.  "Don't get your snot
all over me, Bass," but Lance wasn't awake, didn't wake up, just
let out his breath, then breathed more heavily, until he was
snoring again, head tucked into Chris' armpit.

"And I need this why?" Chris asked out loud, but Lance was dead to
the world, and Chris sighed again and closed his eyes.  Really, he
was just grumbling for the sake of grumbling, because he was used
to falling asleep in uncomfortable places, with uncomfortable
people, and with all sorts of noises going on in the background. 
This didn't even begin to qualify as a difficult situation.  It
was, in fact, something kinda nice.

It wasn't what he'd signed on for, but Chris thought he could get
used to this.


Part III: Getting It Right


Lance woke up curled on, around and under Chris, which was
definitely different.

He didn't wake up with other people much.  For one, he didn't sleep
with the people he fucked.  It wasn't very restful to do so, and he
didn't spend 90% of his life living with other people just so he
could turn right around and do it the rest of the year, too. 
Although, living with other people wasn't the same as sleeping with
them.  During the tour, Lance had slept alone in the fall-out zone
of the Fatone family debris area on the bus, with Dirk safely in
his cage.  Living near other people was not the same as sharing a
bed, or as, in the case of Chris right now, sharing every inch of
his personal space.  Not the same at all.

Not the same at all, and the real question was, why?  What was
Chris doing here?  He'd put Lance to bed, Lance remembered that
very clearly, but why had Chris stayed?

Lance stared at Chris, who was fast asleep, drooling, breathing
shallowly and fast through his mouth.  Chris had stayed.  Slept
with him even.  Joey had never done that, and Lance was beginning
to wonder if maybe he should just stop comparing the two, if such
comparisons were completely useless, because this was Chris, and
yeah, that was very Chris-like, too, to be so uniquely himself to
make all comparisons useless.  New rules, new hope, and Lance
watched Chris sleep.  There was no way he could disentangle himself
anyway without waking Chris up.  They were too closely woven, and
Lance wouldn't have thought he could sleep like that, except that
obviously, he had, and he felt better than he had in a long time,
less inclined to go running out of the hotel screaming than he
might on other mornings.

He was still naked, but except for Chris' arm stretched out of the
mass of blankets, they weren't directly touching and Lance didn't
know what that meant either.  What any of this meant.

So when Chris opened his eyes, sleepy, and not at all intense like
the night before, Lance asked him, "What are you doing here?"

"Sleeping," Chris said grumpily.  "Or trying to.  You think too
loud, Bass."

"Fine."  Lance pulled back, preparing to get out of the bed and let
Chris have it to himself, but Chris rolled a little, pinning him
solidly down.

"Hey, hey.  Don't go running off like that.  We need to talk about
this."

"Nothing to talk about," Lance said reflexively.  His weakness
wasn't something he talked about, had ever discussed before last
night.

"I think there is."  And Chris, damn him, was running his hand over
the part of Lance's upper back that had been bared when Lance tried
to get out of the bed.  Chris moved again until he had Lance
cradled, one hand still on Lance's back and the other in his hair,
Lance's face against Chris' t-shirt.  "The only way the two of us
are getting anywhere is to have this conversation, and I wanna get
somewhere with you.  So stuff whatever ideas you have about it
being something I just have to 'get' back into your head.  Maybe
you never had to talk about any of this before, but I don't think
you were all that happy about what you were getting either.  And,
yeah.  Joey's straight and I don't see that changing, so it was the
smartest thing you could have done really.  But I'm not, and you
don't have to pull any of that crap with me.  I can take it.  I
want to take it.  I told you I want what you gave Joey, but what I
didn't get and what I get now is that you weren't giving him
everything, and I want that, too.  I want what you weren't giving
him.  I want what you'll give *me*."  Chris emphasized that word
fiercely, and Lance glanced up, startled, but Chris' hands remained
gentle despite how his voice and eyes were snapping and Lance
trusted hands.  "I think I can give you what you need, Bass.  I
think I get what that is now, and yeah.  You want it, you got it. 
But I want all of it.  All of you.  You got me?"

"Um, no?"

Chris laughed a little.  "Okay, yeah, it's funny that it's you
who's not getting things now."  His voice went soft.  "What don't
you get, Lance?"

"What exactly do you want from me?" Lance asked bluntly.  How much
more of himself did he have to expose?  What more of himself was
there left to give when it already felt like he had nothing left? 
Lance had nothing to give; didn't Chris understand that?  His life
was being drained out of him by all the numbers and meetings and
publicity and everything else he had to do, and there was nothing
coming back in.

"If I understand the way it works, the way it *has* to work, when
you're with me, when we're like this, like *that*, I want
everything.  I want the full package.  One Lance Bass, size
medium," Chris paused, but Lance didn't respond to the mild
teasing, "for fun, games and taking care of.  That's what you want,
right?" Chris asked, the hand in Lance's hair coming down to stroke
over his chin, fingers close to Lance's mouth, close to dragging
over it and exploring it.  "To be taken care of?  To give it all up
to someone else -- to *me* -- and let me care for you?"

Lance held his breath.  Thought about it.  Let his breath out
again.  The question had never come up before.  He'd had
*something*, sure, and there'd always been a vague yearning for
*more*, but Lance had never let himself think about what 'more' was
or, for that matter, what he had right then.  Don't count your
chickens before they're hatched, except the chicks had walked away
on their own once the eggs hatched.  "Maybe.  Sort of.  I don't
know.  I never -- *we* never talked about it.  Joey and me.  I just
-- he just *did* it and it worked, but you."

"Yeah," Chris agreed.  "But I what?  Scarred you hopelessly? 
Ignited all your maiden longings?"

"This isn't a joke."

"Hey.  Hey, I know that.  C'mon, I'm sorry.  I what?"

"You... if you're serious... Please Chris, be serious, mean this,
don't joke."

"Not a joke, no joke.  I mean this.  Don't worry about *that*."

"Then, yeah.  Last night--"  Last night had been so drastically
different than anything Lance had done and, at the same time,
completely familiar, submission and sex all woven together -- "I
wanted that.  Want that.  Was disappointed when it turned out that
it wasn't *real*, that you didn't mean it."

"What do you mean, I didn't mean it?  Hell, Bass, I wanted to fuck
you through the mattress and then some."

"But you stopped.  When you were," Lance gestured, "when you were
kneeling over me.  When you found out Joey and I weren't doing it. 
You stopped."

"Because I figured out that this wasn't just some kinky sex game to
you, yeah.  I thought -- at that point, I thought you and Joey were
into kinky sex and that JC's mistake was offering you the wrong
kind of kinky sex, that he'd gotten wrong what you liked.  I
stopped 'cause I got that you weren't in it for the kinky sex at
all, and no matter what kind of dirty man I've always been for
starting up a group half-comprised of jailbait -- or maybe because
of it -- I don't take advantage of people.  If you need someone to
sing you to sleep, you don't have to whore yourself out to get it. 
You shoulda figured that out already with Joey.  We're your
friends.  If you need to be tucked in at night, then we're here for
you.  JC, too, I'm sure, if you wanted him to be.  It's weird,
yeah, but it's not *wrong* or anything."

"Oh.  Okay.  Is that what..."

"Don't get me wrong.  That's not what I *want*.  It's what I'll
settle for, if that's all you can handle.  But it's not all I
want."

"And what all do you want, Chris?  You said 'everything'.  I don't
have 'everything'.  Don't you get it?  That's the point.  I don't
have anything left.  I'm just..."  He shook his head against Chris'
chest and wished he had the strength of will to pull away.  "I
don't have anything to give you.  It's all gone; I'm already
putting out everything I have.  I can't afford one more thing, one
more person to take care of or responsibility to spread myself out
over.  It just isn't possible.  I don't know how to meet half my
commitments as it is or how I'm going to do everything I need to
do.  You want me to give you something?  Give you *what*?  You want
maybe I should just yank my heart out of my chest and give *that*
to you?"

"Hey, no," Chris sounded alarmed, maybe by the reference Lance'd
made to his heart.  None of them tended to take anything about
Lance's heart lightly even though the collapse had been years
before.  "No, I don't want that.  Jeez, why didn't you *say*
something if you were under that much stress?  No wonder you need
a keeper."

"Yeah, I need a keeper all right."  After he admitted to it, Lance
cringed a little.  He'd said it half-sarcastically, but he did, he
really did.  He wanted that desperately, but it *sounded* stupid. 
And.  Then there was the other thing.  "I don't have anything to
give you, Chris.  You wanna strip me bare of everything, take
everything I have left, I'll probably let you.  Hell, it'd be a
relief even maybe.  I don't know.  I just don't think I can handle
having one more thing to take care of, to worry about."

"That wasn't what I meant.  Not like that.  It's... you gotta slow
down, Bass.  I mean, the reason you feel like this is because
you're doing too much and yeah, I get it that you don't know how to
do anything else, and that's why you let Joey help you with it, but
you need more than that."

"I know.  I'm very well aware that I'm a failure and a reject who's
in need of help.  I just don't see how you get from there, from me
needing help, to me giving you anything.  I don't see how you can
expect me to give you anything when I don't *have* anything to
give."  Lance was pretty sure that was a good point.  He was
practically hollow with lack of substance.  Style he still had in
abundance, but nothing else, and it was a good thing that
razzle-dazzle was all most people wanted from him, except he was so
tired most of the time that it was an effort even to do that.

"Bass, you're an idiot.  I'm a loser several times over, and let me
tell you, you're nothing like me."

"Gee, thanks," Lance interrupted.  "That makes me feel so much
better."

"Hush, you.  I'm just saying.  You aren't.  But that's beside the
point, which is that if all you've got is being worn out, or all
you've got is failure, or if you've got nothing at all, then I want
that.  Let me decide for you what you can and can't do and stop
ever-loving worrying about it.  I'll take care of you if you just
give it all up and let me."

"All of it?" Lance asked tentatively.  He'd never done it that way
before.  His arrangement with Joey, unspoken as it was, had only
ever provided temporary relief and he hadn't given anything up so
much as let Joey tell him how to behave for a short period of time. 
"Why would you want to do that?  And, Chris, that's... a lot.  A
lot of trust.  How can you expect me to... how can I just... let go
of everything?  I mean, I know you, but *everything*?  You can't
possibly want to deal with everything I have to deal with in a
normal day, much less a normal week.  *I* don't want to deal with
it."

"I wasn't thinking so much of me doing it as telling you which
parts you can do and which parts to leave alone.  You do too much,
Bass."

"Tell me about it."  Lance sighed.  It sounded peaceful, almost. 
"I don't know if I can ask you to do that."

"Why not?  God, Bass, if that's all you want, you should have said
something years ago.  It's our lives, too, you know.  Me and JC and
Joey and Justin.  We let you drag our lazy asses, I know, but..."

"It's not just NSYNC.  It isn't even mostly NSYNC.  It's. 
Everything."  Space.  A Happy Place.  FreeLance.

"Ah."

He thought maybe that would make Chris give up.  That Chris would
see it wasn't his problem at all, that it was Lance's, and.  Yeah. 
He couldn't believe that Chris had any idea what he was offering,
that he could be offering that much.  Lance just wanted to be able
to sleep once in a while.  Wanted the freedom of knowing he could,
that it was someone else's responsibility, that it was okay.  That
he was okay.  Just that, and maybe.  Well, yeah.  The maybe was
something else, something he'd known he couldn't ask Joey for, but
yeah.  If it was good to get the release of sleep, how much better
would it be to get more?  To get sex, and more than sex, comfort
and caring and affection, and Lance could get sex anywhere.  Sex
was currency of the body and it was one more thing, one more way he
spent himself over and over, and got next to nothing from it.  Not
nothing, or he would have stopped, but what he wanted was more of
that affection Joey gave him when he came to Lance and put him to
bed, that unspoken care that Lance wished could be spoken, that he
wanted... from Chris?  How long had Chris been watching him?  When
had Lance started noticing, or had he never noticed until Chris put
his hand on Lance's neck, that he could have *this*?  Because this,
lying against Chris, Chris stroking his face, the solid beat of
Chris' heart under his ear, was pretty good.

"That too," Chris said.  "Not so much our responsibility, but yeah. 
But do you want to go for all of it, or just the parts that get you
more sleep?  'Cause, Bass, I'm all for you not throwing yourself
out a window some day, but hell, I'm a guy, I'll admit it -- I want
the other part, too."

Lance stiffened.  "Like, some kind of bargain?  You help me, I fuck
you?"

"I'm beginning to think you have some major mental malfunction in
the sex area, 'cause every time I mention it, you get upset. 
Except there's the way you acted last night when I had my hands on
you.  If it wasn't for that, I'd just drop it, y'know?  'Cause I
can take a hint.  Believe it or not.  And then there's the Joey
thing.  So I'm thinking maybe what you're really trying to say is
that you don't want sex if it doesn't mean anything and, for some
reason, you think that's what I want.  Meaningless sex.  And I
don't, you know.  Maybe we're speaking different languages here, I
dunno.  I'm trying to say I want you with all your freakish
problems and hang-ups.  And I want you with sex or without.  Either
way isn't going to change *that*.  I just think it'd be hot to,"
Chris swallowed, fingers tracing the line of Lance's mouth, "do
everything, y'know?  Have it be everything, but only if you want it
like that.  Whatever you want, Bass."

He wanted this.  He wanted more, things he didn't know what to
call, what names to give them, but had a lot to do with Chris' hand
on his face and wanting to suck those fingers into his mouth, or
better still, wanting Chris to push his fingers down a little,
levering Lance's mouth open for him and slip them inside, and Lance
thought, maybe, yes.  If he made this one last choice, Chris would
take the other choices from him, and Lance could be free, and be
simply whatever Chris wanted him to be and that would be enough if
the person Chris wanted was worth being.  He probably would be.  He
trusted Chris, mostly, knew Chris and if Chris wasn't always
careful, wasn't always reliable, he was always there and yes. 
"Yeah, okay."

"Which one?"  Chris was being unusually patient with him.  Chris
generally reserved patience for important things.  It was very
strange being important to Chris.

"Both.  All of it.  Whatever you want, Chris."

"Hell."  Chris' finger froze on his face.  "Hell.  You have no idea
what you sound like saying that.  So fucking hot."

"I'm not trying to be."

"You are, though."  Chris slid down a little, tugging Lance up at
the same time.  Looking him in the eye.  "Last chance to back out,
Bass.  'Cause otherwise I'm going ahead and making a fool out of
myself if I'm wrong about what you want."

It felt... it was very weird to be talking about this.  He wanted
to just let go.  "I'm not sure.  I don't know what I want, because
I've never had it.  Not like you want.  But... I think maybe you
can give it to me.  I'm willing to try."

"A trial period, huh?  Fifteen day free evaluation period?"

"Something like that.  I didn't... Chris, this is a lot to agree to
all at once.  I mean, what if you're not ready or I'm thinking what
you mean is something different..."

Chris' eyes were even with his, looking at him.  Intense, awake
now, unflinching.  "I'm not gonna tell you can trust me.  If you
don't know by now whether you can or not, it's kinda late to make
up your mind on that.  But if you want to try before you buy, I can
handle that.  I don't want to get this wrong either.  I want to get
it right for you.  And for me."

"Okay."  He laid his head down, moving away from those eyes. 
"Okay."

"So what I'm thinking is that we get up, do the personal hygiene
routine, I seduce you, then we have breakfast and I go over your
schedule and figure out what parts of it work and which parts
don't.  And you can tell me then what else you got going and I can
make some decisions.  And then lunch, and then you take a nap. 
After that, we'll see."

Normally, on a day off, Lance would have gotten up early, ordered
coffee and been on the phone from then until mid-morning, when he'd
switch to working out, usually through lunch.  Then shower, change
and go over contracts and more calls until dinner time when he'd
inevitably have something to do, even on his days off, a dinner
with someone important, an appearance, something, and he'd be out
until late, usually drinking, and doing his best to razzle-dazzle
whether it worked or not, until he came back to wherever he was
staying and worked some more, usually on his computer or on the
phone to people in different time zones until he was finally
exhausted enough to sleep.

That was a day off.  Days on were usually more full.  Lance didn't
exactly like it, but he didn't know how to live any other way. 
Compared to the early days of NSYNC, it was almost a low stress
lifestyle; he was conditioned to a life full of activity.  NSYNC
had started off full-tilt with too-short days cram-packed with
rehearsals, shows, more practices, tutoring, travel and sleep
fitted in as an afterthought, and stress was the name of the game. 
In comparison, his normal life was almost low stress.

Almost.  He didn't know that he wanted to do all of it anymore, but
he didn't know who he was if he didn't do those things.  He'd tried
the opposite route -- taken a week off for solitude and rest in one
of his houses, with his cell left behind and no one knowing where
he'd gone.  The very definition of peace and tranquility.  He'd
nearly gone nuts.  Thank the Lord, he'd left his laptop locked in
the trunk of his car or he *would* have gone insane.  Lance hoped
Chris knew this about him, that he didn't think Lance could
suddenly just stop doing everything, because Lance knew he
couldn't.  But then, he wouldn't be alone this time either.

He nodded agreement into Chris' chest, and Chris' hand slipped
around to the back of his neck, sealing the deal.  He hadn't done
that since last night, and Lance was pretty sure Chris knew what
that gesture meant to Lance.  His head sagged under the touch. 
Acceptance.  He belonged to Chris now.

"You're so easy.  I love that.  Go take a shower, make yourself
pretty.  Don't bother getting dressed afterward.  I like you the
way you are."

He blushed.  He didn't know why.  It wasn't like he wasn't aware
people all over the world lusted after him.  For some reason, it
was different hearing it from Chris.  Knowing he meant it.  With
Chris' hand on the back of his neck.  Knowing Chris wanted to fuck
him, was going to, in just a little while.

He was hard again, and Chris was going to see it when Lance got up. 
Feel it later.  Do whatever he wanted about it.  Which only made
Lance harder.  "I wanted to suck your fingers earlier," Lance said
suddenly.  "When you were touching my mouth."

"Damnit, Bass, you're distracting me with your hotness.  Go take
your shower, brush your teeth and when you get back, you'll get all
the sucking you can handle, okay?"

The hand on the back of his neck slipped around a little, Chris'
thumb just resting on the very edge of Lance's jawbone.

"Okay," Lance said, and smiled.


Part IV: Getting It On


Chris watched Lance get out of the bed and head for the bathroom. 
Acres and acres of tanned skin and it was all *his*.  In every
sense of the word.  He didn't envy Joey anymore.  He felt pity that
Joey was too straight to know a good thing when he saw Lance.

A really good thing, and Chris got out of bed when he heard the
shower start up, and went for his bag.  Toothbrush, razor -- his
haircare regime had simplified tremendously lately, not that it
probably mattered all that much this morning.  He didn't have any
hair to mess up, but he was looking forward to messing up Lance's. 
Chris didn't think he was going to need a change of clothes for
another hour or so, unless he wanted to exploit the naked-clothed
kink that both of them seem to have going.  Which, actually, wasn't
a bad idea, so Chris shrugged and took the whole bag into the
bathroom with him.

Lance was in the shower.  And, okay, yeah, sharing a bathroom was
nothing new, but it was new knowing he was going to have sex with
Lance in a few minutes, and Chris was doing his best to think
unsexy thoughts as he brushed his teeth.

When the shower stopped and Lance pulled the curtain back, Chris
handed him a towel.  Lance took it with a small smile, and Chris
was hard all over again.  Yeah.  Better exploit the clothed-naked
kink or he was gonna just be bending Lance over and doing it.

And.  Oh, God.  Lance would.

Would, would, would.  Chris gave Lance another towel and firmly
pushed him out of the bathroom.  He hoped Lance had brushed his
teeth and used the toilet first, 'cause Chris didn't think he was
going to be able to give him another chance.

But, just to make sure, once Lance was gone and the door safely
locked behind him, Chris jerked off in the shower.

He came out, feeling better and less completely horny, beard
trimmed, clean, breath minty fresh -- and nearly lost it when he
saw Lance, still naked, lying on his side on the bed, turned toward
Chris.  The towels had disappeared and it was just Lance on the
rumpled bedding, hard and waiting for him.

"You have no idea.  You couldn't have any idea.  Do you?  So
incredible.  The way you look, lying there, waiting for me.  God,
Bass."

Lance just watched him, and Chris went over and put one knee on the
bed, half-kneeling.  He leaned forward, wrapping one hand around
the back of Lance's neck.  That spot.  Chris didn't think he'd ever
get tired of the way Lance reflexively relaxed into that,
completely and totally his.

He got more onto the bed, and brought his hand around, trailing his
fingers across Lance's face to his mouth.  Pretty mouth.  Nice
lips.  He stroked Lance's bottom lip.  Lance's lips parted slightly
under his touch, and Chris rested two fingers on that bottom lip.

Lance was breathing slow and deep, completely focused on him.

Chris slipped his fingers inside Lance's mouth and Lance
immediately started suckling on them, eyes closing.  "Oh, yeah,
just like that.  You look like you love it, you know that?"

Lance didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, but he let Chris'
fingers slip out enough to nip gently at them before sucking them
back inside.

Chris wanted to be inside that mouth so bad.

He pulled his wet fingers out of Lance's mouth and brushed his
cheek.  "So fucking sexy, Bass.  The way you want it."  Lance
turned his face to follow Chris' fingers, kissing them and licking
at them.

Oh, god.  He could do it.  Just like he'd wanted to.  Lance
wouldn't mind.  Lance would...  Chris glanced down Lance's body;
yes, he was still hard.  Lance would probably love it.

"Lie down.  On your back."  Lance rolled.  "Yeah, like that.  Just
like that.  I wanna fuck your mouth, okay?  Wanna use that pretty
mouth, feel you on my dick the way you were on my fingers.  Okay?"

Lance nodded, reaching for Chris' pants.

Chris swallowed hard.  Lance didn't think Chris got anything out of
this?  Hell.

Lance unfastened his zipper, got him out, and pulled Chris forward,
gently tugging him to kneel over his chest.

"Jesus, Bass.  Jesus."

He was straddling Lance's face now and, fuck if Lance didn't have
his mouth open, ready to take him in and Chris wanted that bad. 
Very bad, but.

It was a little late now to have the safe sex discussion, and Chris
didn't know anything about Lance's activities of late, and
regardless of that, Lance couldn't have any idea what Chris had
been up to.  Chris hoped Lance was smarter than to have unprotected
sex in this day and age, but he seemed ready to just do this with
Chris without a word either way, and maybe it was because he
trusted Chris, but it seemed like a really bad way to repay that
trust by abusing it.

"Wait, wait," he said, although waiting was the last thing he
wanted to do and dug in his pants pocket.  "Condom, condom, know
I've got one..."  Please don't let him have to go through his bag
for one, aha!  His fingers closed on the distinctive wrapper and he
pulled it out.  He *had* been hoping to get lucky, after all, just
not this lucky.

Lance took it away from Chris and got it on him, then took him in
his mouth, and that was a vile taste, but Lance was sucking with
the same abandon as he'd sucked on Chris' fingers, and oh yeah,
just like that.  In Lance's mouth and it was an awkward angle for
Lance and there was a bit of teeth, but that was entirely made up
for by getting to just fuck Lance's face and Chris only held back
the smallest bit once he knew Lance could take it, was just
*taking* it, *wanted* this.

Pumping his hips, denim against Lance's face and he hoped the
zipper wasn't hitting Lance anywhere painful because it felt so
good to Chris.

Thank god, he'd just jerked off in the shower, because this was
totally hot.  But, hot as it was, Chris wanted the rest of it, too,
and he pulled out, backed away.  He swung off Lance, bent down and
kissed him thoroughly.  Second time ever and better than the first
time.  Lance just gave and gave and he was moaning into Chris'
mouth like this was the hottest thing *he'd* ever done and not just
hot for Chris, and yeah.  Knowing Lance wanted it as much as he did
just made it better.

"Want you.  Want to fuck you.  God.  Yeah.  C'mon, spread your
legs.  Oh, yeah.  Just like that."  Chris watched Lance spreading
wide and swallowed.  "Oh, yeah."  He moved down between Lance's
legs and stared at Lance, at Lance's cock, hard and jutting up, and
the curve of Lance's ass below...

"You want this.  You want me to fuck you.  You want me inside you." 
He reached out and stroked Lance's dick, petting it.  Lance was
trembling, focused completely on Chris and what Chris was doing. 
And yeah, no idea how Lance was used to taking it, what Lance was
willing to accept or anything at all.  Chris wanted to fuck Lance
just like this, not with Lance on his stomach, but where he could
see him, have Lance see him too and yeah.  Should've maybe asked
about that before, asked more questions, but there was no way Chris
could've just laid there and calmly discussed *this*.  Hard enough
to pretend to be something remotely approaching calm now.  "How do
you take it, Bass?  How can you take it?  You need lube? 
Stretching, what?  Dunno how long it's been for you.  Wanna be
inside you..."  His hand left Lance's dick.

Licked his fingers and then ran them in between Lance's buttocks,
over his asshole, hot and tight and contracting against his
fingertips.  Like Lance wanted to take him in there, was trying to
pull him in.  Chris let a fingertip slip inside, just that, and
Lance was shuddering like that was the best thing ever, like no one
had ever wanted to just play with his ass, just tease him like
this.

Chris slipped his finger out, and Lance was moving his hips back
and forth, his legs opening wider as he pushed at Chris' hand. 
"You like that, don't you?  Just like that.  Would love to have
been the one who taught you to like this."  He slipped his
fingertip in again, and Lance stilled, breathing shallowly,
completely concentrated on what Chris was doing.  Chris gave him a
little bit more than last time, just a tease, because Lance could
easily have taken more than a fingertip, *wanted* more than a
fingertip in that gorgeous ass, but Chris was only giving him that.

Lance felt good that way.  Hell, there wasn't a way yet that Lance
*didn't* feel good, and Lance hadn't said anything, indicated any
kind of preference or anything but his total willingness to take
whatever Chris wanted to give him.

Fuck, and thank fuckity-fuck that he'd been prepared for kinky sex
when he'd come down here, because Chris wasn't going to use just a
condom on that ass, and he had lube with him.

He hadn't softened at all, which wasn't surprising since he hadn't
come yet, and Chris got that condom-safe tube out and used it
liberally.  Had to take care of Lance.  Growling protective
instincts were coming out in force now that had previously laid
latent and it was strange, but Chris liked it.  Liked pretty much
all of it, and he ran a lube-slick finger around Lance's asshole
and inside before kneeling up, hovering over him.  "Hope you're
ready, Bass.  Want this, want *you* so bad.  No idea.  You have no
idea at all.  Fuck."

Awkward angle, awkward everything, but worth it to watch Lance,
watch him as Chris got inside him for the first time and yeah. 
"Bass, fuck.  Hold your legs.  Oh, yeah.  Just like that, you
magnificent bastard.  Feels so good.  Wanted you for so long. 
Wanted this."

Hot and tight and Lance was flexing around his dick, squeezing him,
and Chris' eyes were crossing and Joey was an idiot, JC was an
idiot, they were all idiots, and Chris would do anything for Lance. 
He'd tuck him into bed and sing him lullabies every night.  Mow his
lawn, anything Lance wanted, just for this and Chris had to bite
his tongue to keep from telling Lance because otherwise he would
have blurted it out and yeah.

Oh, yeah.

He was going to come very soon and he had to do something, bring
Lance with him, share this.  Urgently, he said, "Wrap your hand
around your dick.  Jerk off, but don't come.  You got that?  Don't
come."

Lance nodded and shifted, and his leg wrapped heavily around Chris
as Lance stopped supporting it, but Chris was past the point of
caring and, oh yeah.  That was so fucking hot, Lance jerking
himself off and not coming all because Chris told him not to and
Chris was going off like a rocket, like fucking fireworks, hating
the condom completely because yeah.  Would be so much better
without it, but this was damn good, so fucking good, and Chris came
down, thrusting in and out a few more times to get the last little
dregs of it out, Lance twisted under him, still remembering to milk
him even while he was masturbating.  That was one talented ass;
Lance was superbly talented.

"Good, Lance.  Fucking good, Lance.  Lance," Chris said, pulling
out, shifting to one side, one leg over Lance's, cradling Lance's
face between his hands and kissing him hotly.

Something sticky and wet against his leg.  The condom.  Oh, yeah. 
Messy, yuck, and Chris spared a moment to throw it away -- thank
god for highly developed basketball skills -- before tucking
himself away, and Lance was still doing that, still slowly jerking
himself, and Chris kissed him again, fully dressed now to Lance's
complete openness and nudity.

"God, Bass, I had no idea.  Woulda stole you away from Joey years
ago if I had any idea.  So stupid not just asking you.  Wasted
time, and you wanna come?  You want it, Bass?"

He wasn't going to make Lance beg, didn't know if Lance was into
that, and besides, he was feeling generous.

Chris snaked his hand down, rubbing over Lance's, replacing it with
his.  "Anytime you feel like coming, you go right ahead, baby."

And fuck if Lance didn't just inhale sharply as soon as Chris
touched him, coming no sooner than Chris had a firm grasp on his
cock.

"Oh, fuck," Chris breathed out.  "You're so easy, Bass."

Looking faintly embarrassed, Lance closed his eyes.  "It was the
way you did it -- jerking off while you were fucking me was just...
I wanted to come then, and having to hold it back..."

"You liked it," Chris surmised.  "Nothing wrong with that.  Any
kink of yours is okay with me.  Heck, consider any kink of yours a
kink of mine from now on."  He brought his hand up to Lance's lips
and Lance licked it clean and god.  "Wanna fuck you again already
damnit, but breakfast.  Promised you breakfast, and you need to eat
anyway.  You're too thin."

He pulled his hand away from that wonderful mouth and poked Lance's
side.

"I don't know," Lance said, a troubled look on his face.  "I mean,
some people are saying I finally look muscled and thin enough,
y'know?"

Chris kissed him.  Nothing elaborate this time, just the press of
his mouth against Lance's, because he could now and because he
wanted to reassure him.  "You always were a sexy fucker.  You don't
need to be like this.  And there's a difference between healthy and
starving."

Lance shrugged.  "I'm not usually all that hungry anymore."

Worse and worse.  Chris was familiar with how starving one's body
into submission worked.  "It's not up for discussion."  To
emphasize what he meant, he reached up and slipped his hand behind
Lance's neck.  "Okay?"

Lance nodded, dropping his eyes.

Chris kissed him again.  "Hey.  I'm not gonna try and stuff you or
anything.  I just want to take care of you.  It'll be okay, Bass. 
Besides, now that we're getting it on, you need to keep your
strength up."

Lance nodded again, and Chris let him go, rolling over to sit up
and look for the room service menu.  He knew better than to try to
get Lance to eat a whole lot or stuff that Lance wouldn't have
wanted to eat anyway.  He wasn't *stupid*.  But now that Chris was
paying attention, it was incredibly obvious how miserable Lance was
and how poorly he'd been taking care of himself.  He hmphed to
himself as he fished the menu out of a drawer in the nightstand and
started going through it.  Fresh fruit, maybe.  Something so
obnoxiously wholesome even *JC* wouldn't be able to find an
objection to it.  And something less wholesome for Chris because
Chris didn't care one way or the other about his cholesterol count. 
If and when they started rehearsing for the next tour, he'd lose it
all anyway.

Behind him, Lance had sat up and was heading back to the bathroom. 
He cleared his throat, and Chris looked around.  Lance was standing
in the doorway.  "Chris?"

"Yeah, Bass?"

"Thanks.  For... y'know, everything."

Chris gave him a quizzical look.  "You're welcome.  In case you
missed it, I liked it.  And I'm not going anywhere, you know. 
After breakfast, you're still going to give me your schedule and
you're still taking that nap.  Nothing's changed."

"Yeah, well.  It feels like something has.  To me.  Just so you
know."  He disappeared into the bathroom.

Chris went back to the room service menu and wondered what Lance
was talking about.


Part V: Got It


Dizzy, dizzier, dizziest, and that wasn't much of a way to describe
post-sex lethargy, but Lance didn't have any better words for it. 
For having his world turned inside out by Chris Kirkpatrick, and
yeah.  They'd got it on, Chris had got it and now it looked like
Lance would be getting it on a regular basis.

If he knew what was good for him, he'd count his lucky stars, but
Lance had a long history of not knowing what was good for him, and
the stars?  Not his, not going to be his, he was pretty sure. 
April was a hope he didn't believe in and the only reason he was
still hanging onto it at all was that hope seemed less cruel than
despair, but that might not be true.  T.S. Eliot and 'The
Wasteland', and he'd paid attention to that much in bus school,
"April is the cruelest month, mixing memory with desire", and yeah. 
Sometimes, he thought, hope was the thing that was worst of all,
because it kept you moving when maybe giving up would have been
kinder.  Lance didn't know.  Didn't know anything, except that once
again, he had somehow fallen into something that was very good for
him, like he'd somehow fallen into NSYNC, like being called up,
asked to come and audition, a nobody, the misfit.  Like being kept
when he didn't belong, couldn't dance, didn't know anything, didn't
fit, and yet here he was, and Chris.  When Lance had given up on
Joey, had given Joey up to Kelly and just about given up on
everything, there was Chris and Lance knew he didn't deserve
anything he got in life.

He wasn't good enough to deserve what he got, he didn't work hard
enough or in the right directions.  What he tried for, what he
worked hard at, he lost.  What he'd never thought of getting fell
into his lap.

Lance didn't understand the way the world worked, but sometimes he
thought it was about breaking you down until you just gave up and
let do what it wanted to you.  Breaking you to the bit and the only
people who could afford ideals were those too young to have been
broken yet or too stupid to know when to give up.  And that was
something else he half-remembered, mostly because he'd repeated it
to Justin, who'd said that obviously he was going to die young: 
Hemingway and, "The world breaks everyone, and afterwards, many are
strong at the broken places.  But those it cannot break, it kills. 
It kills the very good and the very brave and the very something
impartially.  If you are none of those, you can be sure it will
kill you as well; there will just be no special hurry."  Justin was
maybe right.  Lance, on the other hand, was fairly certain he was
being broken.  He thought maybe he'd rather go the other route, but
there didn't seem to be any element of choice involved.  He was
being broken because he wasn't good enough to kill; he had been
rejected by fate as well as by the Russians.

There wasn't a power that could convince him to give up Chris now,
but Lance wasn't worried about that.  He was worried about when
Chris was going to give up on him.

He came out of the bathroom dressed, and thus suitably armored, he
hoped against the future.

Chris, ensconced at the table in the sitting area of the suite,
gave him a nod.  "Got you something I don't think you'll hate too
much."

He smelled bacon and eggs, so he wasn't so sure about that.  He
went over to the table and lifted the metal cover over the plate
across from Chris.

A bowl of fresh peaches was sitting there.  There was a small white
stone pitcher in the center of the table; cream, he supposed.

It wasn't what he would have eaten, because he wouldn't have had
breakfast at all, or lunch for that matter, but still.  He was
surprised by Chris' thoughtfulness.  "Thanks."  He sat down,
noticed the crystal glass of ice water by his plate and the
conspicuous lack of something essential.  "Where's the coffee?"

"No coffee.  You're wound tight enough as it is, Bass.  Plus,
you're going to take a nap after this, remember?  Don't think
coffee would help much with that."

Well, no, it probably wouldn't.  The purpose of caffeine was to
wake him up and keep him up when he'd slept badly, and he hadn't
slept badly the night before.  It was habit more than anything
else, except he liked the taste of coffee.  "Decaf?"

Chris shrugged.  "I can order some if you want it.  Not really my
kind of thing.  I don't see the point of it if there isn't caffeine
in it."

Normally, he didn't either.  Ordering coffee did seem like a lot of
trouble to go to when it'd probably arrive after he was already
done eating.  "Oh.  Nevermind, then.  Maybe tomorrow?"

"Sure," Chris said with a small half-smile.

Lance frowned and poured some of the cream in with the peaches.  He
wondered if it was whole cream or half-and-half or something else. 
He'd've asked, but he doubted Chris would know.  Oh, well.  This
once wouldn't hurt him too much, and he could smell the peaches. 
It'd be wrong to eat them without the cream.

Before he knew it, he was fishing the last bit of peach out of the
bowl.  He stuck the spoon in his mouth and closed his eyes,
savoring it.  It was wonderful.

He was reminded suddenly of the story, "James and the Giant Peach"
by Roald Dahl.  James, the starved orphan boy, fleeing from his
evil aunts aboard a gigantic peach with a lot of similarly gigantic
insects, all of whom were kinder than his actual relatives, who
eventually came to live in Central Park, either with a job showing
tourists the peach pit or living in the peach pit himself, Lance
couldn't recall which.  It was a lot of pressure to put on a mere
peach, but Lance remembered the story anyway.  He knew it was
silly, because James was a very common name, but it was hard not to
pay more attention to things with his name on him.  It was like
they were about *him* somehow, even though he knew better.

Except there weren't such things as magical peaches, or miraculous
rescues from impossible situations.

Weren't, and yet, Chris was there, sitting across the breakfast
table from him, cheerfully stabbing at his scrambled eggs with his
fork.

Lance worked hard.  Intellectually, he knew that.  He worked very
hard, did everything he could to advance his goals, and he worked
just as hard on his company's goals and the group's goals as he did
on his own personal goals.  There was nothing hard work could do
that he had not doing.

But he'd still failed, was failing, and.  Yes.  Maybe a lot of this
was beating himself up after the fact.  Maybe he was trying to
punish himself for his own lacks, for what the Russians had done. 
What his backers had done.  Because he was the only factor in the
whole mess than he *could* control and someone had to pay, someone
had to be responsible, and he didn't know even how to begin to
shift the mountain that lay before him, how to achieve his goal,
but like everything else, it had to be done one step at a time, one
breath at a time and there was no way, short of dying or giving up,
to avoid it.

Lance had thought about that, about giving up, squatting in the
dark of one of his houses, and refusing to move, to exert himself. 
It was an option, a luxury available to him that wouldn't be
available to most other people.  He could shut his businesses down
in an orderly fashion, bank the proceeds and live out the rest of
his life like a hermit if he chose.  If he didn't know already that
he'd go insane rapidly from lack of things to do.

Whirling, whirling, and the ride didn't stop, but he'd got on the
merry-go-round of his own free will and he could get off if he
really wanted to, but he didn't, not really.

He just wanted to throw up.

Except that was the thing about vomiting.  About exhaustion and
fatigue and Lance had been through *that*, too, through the pure
bodily exhaustion caused by pushing oneself through too many hours
of physical exertion on too little sleep with too little water.

Swallowing back bile, and you might think you wanted to throw up,
except throwing up only helped when you were drunk, when you were
expelling a foreign substance from your body.  The rest of the
time, it made you sicker, had made him sicker when he was stupid
enough to give into the urge, because it caused you, caused him, to
lose valuable fluids in the war against dehydration.  And
starvation was just another weapon to use against himself,
starvation and exhaustion and there was no one safe, no one he
could be angry with but himself, no one to take the anger out on
but himself and he was drowning in it, but he could no sooner cry
than vomit because it was fluid, water, precious life, except life
was only theoretically precious when it was this painful, but was
he sicker because he cried or because he wouldn't let himself?

Okay, so that was a lousy metaphor.  Lance wasn't the songwriter of
the group.  He'd never claimed to be good with words.  He'd claimed
to be good with responsibilities, except that was obviously a lie
given how he was doing, had done.  Justin was the Prince of Pop,
and Lance was the Prince of Lies, and he was going to Hell,
assuredly.

Chris laid a hand on his arm and Lance jumped, startled.  He hadn't
noticed Chris getting up or coming around the table.  "You think
too hard, Bass.  C'mon, show me this schedule of yours.  I know
you've got it written down, probably in multiple places."

"Yeah," Lance admitted.  "On my laptop and my Palm."

"Figures.  Let me see it."

Lance dug his PDA out of his bag, turned it on, took out the stylus
and tapped on the Datebook icon, set it to agenda view so it would
show both calendar items as well as his to do list, and then handed
it to Chris.  "That's the basics.  Appearances, stuff like that. 
Things I need to get done.  I've got it in detail through about the
second week of January, and after that, well, you know how things
can change at the last minute.  A month ahead is about as far as I
really trust any of that; a lot of it'll change as things get
closer."

Chris nodded, took the stylus and tapped the keys.  "You're pretty
booked.  To Do List full too, I see."

"Yeah."

"You got other things you do regularly that you don't bother
writing down because you do them so often you know you won't forget
them?"

"Yeah."  Lance shrugged.  Of course he did.  He used the Palm to
jog his memory and to keep details that might blend together
otherwise, not as a replacement for his brain.

"Figured as much."

Chris, Lance remembered, had crashed and burned rather
spectacularly with Fumanskeeto.  Lance felt a surge of panic.  What
if everything fell apart because of this?  If he wasn't on top of
everything all the time, it might go bad, might self-destruct and
the only person he knew he could trust, the only person he knew he
could blame, was himself.

Chris traded Lance's PDA for a notepad and a pen.  "Go ahead.  Hit
me with it."

He could take it back, Lance assured himself.  Change his mind. 
This was in no way final.  He was just going to try it Chris' way. 
If it didn't work, if things went bad, Lance could go back to doing
things the way he was now.  How much damage could two weeks of
inattention do to everything he had going?

Too much, his mind assured him.  The only one he could trust was
himself.  And.  Far worse than the possibility of things going bad
and Lance having to somehow work even harder to fix a thousand
brushfires this could start was the possibility that he might like
it.  Might enjoy having less responsibility, might feel encouraged
to let things slide.  He could see all of the forgotten
responsibilities, like a table piled with unopened letters.   If he
didn't open each letter himself, how was he to know what was
important and what was not?  How was he supposed to know that the
matters represented by those letters had been taken care of and the
letters properly disposed of, properly filed and everything run
smoothly?  Wasn't Chris just proposing that Lance ignore the
mounting pile of mail?

"Bass?" Chris prompted him.  He was twirling the pen in his
fingers, tapping the end on the pad absently as it went around. 
Twirl, tap, twirl, tap, twirl.

"Oh, um.  Well.  I usually check in daily via email with, well," he
waved his hand at the laptop.  "There's a list.  Make sure things
are still going all right with FL and the Place.  See if there's
anything I should be doing that I'm not."

"Makework," Chris summed up.

"It's not," Lance defended.  "I mean, they're both mine.  Without
me, they wouldn't be anything at all.  Even if I have other people
now who do a lot of the legwork, they're still mine to fail with or
succeed with."

"Uh-huh.  And you trust the people you've got working for you?"

"Of course.  But they're not in charge.  It's not their job to make
the kind of decisions that I do or take the responsibilities that
I do.  Running a business is hard work."  As soon as he said that,
Lance knew he shouldn't have.  That he was implying Chris didn't
know that, that Chris thought businesses were fun and games. 
Except, Lance did kind of mean that, thought deep-down, that if
Chris had really wanted Fumanskeeto to succeed, he could have made
it happen.

Like Lance really could have gotten to space if he'd really wanted
*that* to happen.  Like he really could have ushered Meredith
Edwards to country music stardom if he'd tried harder.

And, yeah.  So maybe he shouldn't have said that, or said it like
that.

But Chris just nodded.  "Anything coming up that you don't have
written down?"

Lance frowned.  "Birthdays.  I think I'm skipping Justin's party,
whatever he's doing; I'm not sure about that.  And I haven't
ordered Joey's present yet.  Oh.  And the wedding."

"You're going to AJ's wedding?"

"Well, no.  Actually, I think you lucked out as the designated
NSYNC representative for that.  But I know I need to send
something, and I don't think I remembered to write that down."  His
fingers twitched toward the Palm.

Chris scratched down a note.  "Okay, got it.  Stop worrying, Bass."

"You wrote that down?"

"Yup.  If I didn't, you'd just stew over it, and if I let *you* put
it in *there*," he nodded toward the PDA, "you'd start thinking
about everything else you're supposed to be doing.  Easier for me
to just write down..." he looked at the notepad, "'buy sexy undies
for AJ' and be done with it."  He winked at Lance.

"I wasn't going to get him lingerie for his *wedding*," Lance said.

"But you would for something else?" Chris asked.  "But, nah, I
didn't think you would.  I know what it means, though.  And, hey,
if I've got to go to this wedding thing, you wanna be my date?"

"What, you're not taking JC?"

"Don't you know?  You're the only one I want, Bass."

And yes, he had sorta kinda knew that.  Knew that maybe that was
what this all meant, but he hadn't really expected Chris to just
come right out and say it so matter-of-factly.  Like maybe he was
serious.  "Um, I don't know.  I'm not sure what I'm doing that
day."

"That a tactful way of saying 'no', or do you just have no idea
what you're doing then because no human being could possibly keep
up with everything you do?"  He must have hesitated, because Chris
added, "C'mon, Bass, my delicate little ego isn't going to be
bruised by hearing you don't want to join me in celebrating AJ's
blessed union before God and everyone."

"A little of both," Lance admitted.  "It's not that I don't want to
go with *you* -- if I had to go with anyone, I wouldn't mind going
with you.  I'd just rather not go if I don't have to.  Not to that. 
It's just, well... it's a long story.  But I probably do have
something else I'm supposed to be doing then, too.  I always do."

"I *said* you wouldn't bruise my fragile little ego, Bass.  Geez." 
But Chris seemed kinda happy that Lance had given him an
explanation.  "That everything then?"

"Pretty much.  Everything important anyway."

"Okay then.  How are things going right now, generally?  How are
your companies doing, and what projects do you have ongoing?"

"I've got a few things pending with the Place.  They're in there,"
he nodded at the PDA.  "With it, I'm mostly looking at things to
take on, and feeling out the book thing."

"The movie about the booger guy?"

"Yeah, that one.  Wendy's on it, but you know, there's things..."

"Got it."  Chris made a note.  "Anything else there?"

"Mostly just trying to make things happen.  The Place isn't really
doing what I want it to be doing yet.  No one takes it very
seriously.  I thought I had something with the Anne Hathaway thing,
but that fell through and..." Lance shrugged.  "I'm working on it."

"Okay.  Next?"

"FL is pretty much in wait-and-see mode at the moment.  When
Meredith jumped ship, it kinda left FL without anyone big.  There's
a few developing artists.  I want to do more there, but I just..."
he made a helpless motion.  "There's never enough time, and..."

"You've got better stuff to do," Chris suggested gently.

"No.  Never.  Just.  Other stuff.  I *should* be doing more there. 
I *know* I should.  I know what it's like to try to break into the
business.  And some of these people are good.  Better than I was,
definitely.  They can make it.  I just need to do more."

"Bass, you give a damn, and you're trying.  That's more than a lot
of people do.  You're no Lou, at least."

"He got us out there.  That's more than I've done."

"Don't be a dumbass.  You do your best."

"What was that line from 'The Rock'?  You know, Sean Connery? 
'Losers always whine about doing their best.  Winners go home and
fuck the prom queen.'"

"Okay, first, Bass, you wouldn't *want* to fuck the prom queen. 
And, second, your Irish accent sucks.  Never do that again."

"Scottish."

"Whatever.  It was still bad.  What else do you have going?"

"There's.  It's all on the Palm, too, but it's harder to find some
of it because the Palm doesn't let you categorize its calendar. 
The rest of it though -- I keep everything categorized, you know--"

"Figures."

"Under 'Space'."  He really didn't like talking about it.  "I know
it isn't going to happen now.  I mean, there's April, but if they
let me down once, they could just as easily do it again, and.  It's
stupid giving them another chance.  Giving everyone another chance
to make fun of the boybander trying to go to space, to make fun of
NSYNC, and it isn't fair asking y'all to put your lives on hold any
longer for something that isn't going to take place, but."

"I get it, Bass.  And it's a once in a lifetime thing.  I get that,
too.  You don't give up on something like that if you've got any
chance at all.  Anything else?"

He felt very tired and a lot older than 23.  He'd been living in
dog years since the start of NSYNC, and things'd never gotten any
slower.  "Yeah.  A couple of things.  It's mostly in the Palm, too. 
Should be anyway.  Categorized if it's more than a couple things or
under Miscellaneous if it's just one thing."

"Geez.  Got your Christmas shopping list on here, too?"

He smiled weakly.  "Had a personal shopper do it all just after
Thanksgiving.  Ditto on Christmas cards."

"Huh.  I dunno whether to be scared or glad you're on our side. 
So, you say you're used to checking in with your companies once a
day?"

"Well, I usually don't talk to them by phone more than that, no. 
But we email back and forth more than that.  I normally spend a
couple of hours a day doing email."

"Because they really need that much of your time?"

"They deserve more of my time," Lance said defensively.

"So, no."

"If I had more time to give them, they'd be more successful.  I
don't work hard enough."

Chris shook his head.  "Bass, I'm not gonna tell you that you can't
achieve what you want to achieve.  You've done more at your age
than I did, that's for sure.  You're going to do a lot more with
your life than I ever will, and that's fine, because I've
accomplished just about everything I ever wanted to do when I was
a kid.  I'm rich, my family's set for life and I never have to
worry about them.  I can take care of the people I love, and that's
what really matters to me."

"Oh."  Lance didn't know what to say.  That wasn't anything he'd
ever really thought about it.  He tended to think about what goal
he was going to go after next, what he could do, about being *more*
and better and everything like that.  He wanted it all, but.  He
thought maybe Chris was the smarter one of the two of them, because
at least Chris could have what he wanted.

"But.  You somehow have this idea in your head that you've got to
work eighteen hours a day every day and, okay, maybe we all did
that at one point, but you can't do it forever, and you know it. 
If you didn't know it, we wouldn't be here right now.  You gotta do
less, and that means either cutting out some of what you're doing
or cutting back on how much of it you're doing.  Now, I think you
can get away with checking in on your companies fewer times a week
unless they have some crisis that actively needs your attention."

Lance bit his lip.  He didn't want to do that.  He *wanted* to give
them both more time, but Chris was right -- short of cutting
something else out, he didn't know how to do that.

"It's either that or admit you can't handle looking after one of
them," Chris said gently.  "I think you're doing great to be this
on top of them, but."

Lance nodded.  "I've been thinking for a while now that maybe,
well.  The Place is doing better, but FL is what I wanted to do the
most.  I don't really know which one of them to let go of.  And. 
It seems like giving up."

"You don't have to decide that right now.  Just try to live a
somewhat saner life until you stop looking like death warmed over. 
Actually, I."

Lance raised an eyebrow when Chris cut himself off mid-sentence. 
"Actually you what?"

"I guess I'm kinda ashamed of myself that I didn't notice anything
was wrong.  You look like hell, you know.  Not all over.  But
around the eyes.  You.  I shoulda saw what you were doing to
yourself.  Shoulda said something.  I mean, I'm glad I'm here,
but."  He shrugged.

Chris was feeling guilty?  Lance didn't know why that made him feel
warmer, like somebody cared.  He'd been feeling progressively
colder and tired since... he wasn't sure how long.  May maybe?  Bad
things always seemed to happen around his birthday.  No, later than
that, because he'd still believed in May that it would all be worth
it.  Later.  When it'd all started falling apart.  Maybe around the
middle of July, when he'd found out he wouldn't be able to go back
to Florida for Challenge for the Children.  The beginning of the
serious dancing around on the part of the Russians, when his
carefully constructed plans had started to collapse under the
weight of reality.  It was like that song from Sunday School, about
the wise man who built his house upon the rock and the foolish man
who built his house upon the sand.  And Lance knew which one he
was.

"It's all right, Chris.  I know what's happened to me has been,
*is*, my own fault."

"Bass."  Chris set the notepad next to the PDA and came over to
Lance.  Put his hand on Lance's shoulder, rubbing it.  "Damnit.  If
the mess with the space thing is anyone's fault, it's the jerks who
said they'd give the money, then backed out on you.  You did
everything you could and then some."

"You don't know that."

"I know you.  You would have done everything and then some.  You
did, didn't you?"

"I tried."

Chris' hand settled.  "I figured as much.  C'mon, Bass; I think I
have as much information as I can handle for right now.  Back to
bed.  Get some more sleep."

"But I just got up," Lance protested.

"You tired?"

"Yeah," Lance admitted.  "I'm pretty much always tired."

"Then what are you arguing for?  C'mon, beddy-bye now."

The hand on his shoulder curled around to the back of his neck. 
Lance was bending for it even before Chris' fingertips brushed his
vulnerable nape.  He wanted it badly, craved it even.

"Hey, Bass," Chris whispered, bending over him.  "It's gonna be all
right.  Don't worry so much.  I'll take care of you and you can
take care of everything you need to, and it'll work out.  You'll
see."

Lance nodded.  Let Chris brush his fingers over his neck and
shivered.

"C'mon, back to bed."

He stood slowly, careful not to dislodge Chris' hand, because he
wanted it there, but Chris dropped it anyway, disappointing Lance,
and turned back the covers of the bed.  "Hop in."

He hadn't put his shoes back on, so it wasn't much trouble crawling
into the bed.  Just like the night before, Chris covered him up
with the blankets, tucking him in.

It was exactly what Chris had promised, but Lance felt like there
was still something missing, something more that needed to be done,
that he needed.

Then Chris sat down on the bed, grabbed the PDA, notepad and pen,
and arranged himself against the headboard, sitting up with a
pillow behind his back.  He patted his thigh.  "C'mon, Bass. 
Snuggle up and go to sleep."

Yeah.  Lance sighed.  That was what he'd been missing.  He turned
on his side, wrapped his arm over Chris' leg, rested his cheek
against Chris' thigh and closed his eyes.

Chris' hand came down and stroked through his hair.

Lance sighed again.  Yeah.  Just like that.  "Chris?"

"Yeah, Bass?"

"Don't.  Don't change your mind now, okay?  I know... I *think* I
know that you've got it and we've got it straight and that you'll
be here so we can get this right together, but.  I think maybe I
need this and.  Please don't leave.  Not now.  Okay?"

"You couldn't beat me off with a stick, Bass.  You got me now, like
it or not."

"Oh, I think I like it.  Too much maybe, but.  Yeah."

Gentle hand in his hair.  Soft touch, stroking it away from his
face, off his forehead.  He trusted that hand; he trusted the
possessor of that hand.

"I'll take care of you.  I promise.  Now go to sleep."

Lance believed him.


Epilogue: Good


Joey'd never really expected *all* the guys to show up for his
birthday party.  He hadn't been able to make it to JC's, after all,
and he didn't think he was gonna try dragging Kelly with him to
Justin's.  And he didn't want to go without Kelly.  It was really
cool having someone he wanted to do everything with and, yeah, he
wasn't sure the guys were gonna believe him that *he'd* finally
decided to settle down, but he knew this was what he wanted.

Honestly though, it was okay, because what he really wanted for his
birthday was not an NSYNC reunion, but to see the people he really
loved and that meant his family, Kelly, Briahna, and Lance.

Lance especially, because Joey knew his family would be there, no
question, but Lance?  Joey hadn't seen a lot of him lately and he
missed his best friend.

"He'll show up," Kelly assured him, passing him another glass of
punch.  Bri was being cooed over by various family members in the
living room.  Joey'd volunteered to fetch more punch from the
kitchen, but he'd mostly wanted a chance to grab the phone and try
calling Lance one last time.  He'd gotten Lance's answering service
though, not Lance.

"He might not.  He didn't want to talk to me at the wax thing. 
What if he's mad at me?"

Kelly wrapped her arm around his waist and laid her head on his
shoulder.  "He won't be mad at you."

"Yeah, but -- RENT.  The movie.  *I'd* be mad at me if I was Lance. 
I did everything he wanted to do, acting-wise."

"Joey, Lance is your best friend.  He'll be happy for you, not mad
at you."

"How do you know that?"

"Because if he isn't, then he isn't your best friend," Kelly said
simply.  "And he is."

"Yeah, well..."

The door to the kitchen banged open, and Chris filled the doorway
with sheer exuberant presence.  "Aha!  Here's where he's hiding! 
Bass, getcher ass in here.  Fatone didn't run off to a foreign
country after all."

Joey found himself grinning without even realizing it.  "Chris!" 
He set the punch glasses down on the counter, strode across the
kitchen and grabbed him up in a bearhug.  "Good to see you, man."

"Oof.  Ow.  I think maybe you're a little *too* happy to see me,
Joe.  Isn't Kelly taking care of you these days--"  Joey set him
down, and Chris waved at Kelly, "Oh, hello, Kel!  Didn't see you
standing there, nosiree."

She chuckled and punched him in the arm.  "I take great care of
him, Chris.  He was just saying how much he missed seeing you guys. 
You said Lance came with you?"

"Yep."

Joey looked down at the tiled kitchen floor.  Kelly poked him in
the ribs just in time for him to look up and see Lance tentatively
poke his head through the kitchen door.  "Chris-- oh!  Kelly,
Joey."

He didn't sound all that pleased to see them.  But Lance did look
a little better than he had last month; less stressed, happier --
and Joey knew how to really read Lance, too, knew how to see past
the perpetual smile and look at his eyes, which almost always told
the truth.

Lance was looking at Chris now, who was rolling his eyes.  "He's
not gonna bite, Bass."

Kelly cleared her throat and picked up the punch glasses from the
counter.  "I'll just go and make sure everything's all right in the
other room, why don't I?  It was good seeing you guys.  Don't run
off before we cut the cake, okay?"  She didn't wait for a reply,
but went toward the door.  Behind Chris and Lance's backs, she made
a motion at them to Joey and raised her eyebrows meaningfully
before going through and letting it swing shut behind her.

Joey got her meaning perfectly.  He just wasn't sure he wanted to. 
"So..."

"So..." Lance said.

There was a long moment of silence while they both looked away, at
the floor, at the ceiling, at anything but each other.

Chris sighed impatiently.  "You two idiots sort this out, okay? 
Don't make me knock your heads together."  He clapped Joey on the
shoulder.  "Happy birthday, Joe."

He left the kitchen, too.

Joey watched him go.  "Chris?  Chris--"  He looked at Lance.  "He's
not leaving, is he?  Because if he is--"

"No," Lance said.  "We kinda came together.  He wouldn't--"

"Oh, okay."

They kept looking at the fascinating contents of the kitchen for a
while before Joey said finally, "You're looking better."

"Thanks."

"I didn't mean it -- it wasn't supposed to be an insult."

"No, I--- I didn't think you meant it that way.  I just.  Yeah, I
wasn't feeling all that great, and I'm feeling a little better now,
so."

They looked away from each other again.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Lance began.

At the exact same time, Joey said, "You're not mad at me, are you?"

They stopped and looked at each other.  "Uh, thanks," Joey said.

"No," Lance said.  "I'm not mad at you."

"But you were."

"Not at you.  I was.  Things were bad for a while there.  After I
got back, and before then.  Ever since things started going bad. 
It didn't have anything to do with you.  Well," Lance corrected,
smiling, "not much to do with you."

His eyes weren't smiling.  His eyes said hurt, and old pain.

"I'm sorry," Joey said.  He meant it.  There wasn't anything he
could have done about it, he didn't think.  Not when Lance had been
avoiding him and not when Joey'd been tied to the City, doing RENT,
and then there was Kelly and Bri, but that didn't mean he wasn't
sorry.

"It's.  Things really are going better now."

"Good."  Joey smiled at Lance, unsure.  "Still friends?"

"Of course," and that was something like shock on Lance's face like
he couldn't believe Joey would ever think otherwise, and his eyes
this time said he meant it.

Joey slung his arm around Lance's shoulder, feeling better now
himself.  "Good.  Really good.  I thought maybe you hated me, and,
well, never mind what I thought.  I'm glad you don't."

"I don't," Lance assured him.

"C'mon.  Supposedly, there's a party going on somewhere here." 
Joey pulled Lance out the kitchen door, back toward the living
room.  Several people looked up as they came in, including Chris. 
Kelly smiled and came over to them, giving him a look that meant
both 'I knew it would be all right' and 'I told you so'.  He smiled
at her, because she *had* been right.

"Happy birthday," Lance said.

"Thanks."  Joey took another, sideways, look at Lance.  His friend
always had trouble slowing down.  He felt a little guilty that he
hadn't been there to help Lance, but they'd both had other things
to do, different paths to walk or some shit like that.  It *was*
shit, too, any excuse that kept you from helping out your friends,
but Lance had gone away first, to Russia, and it wasn't Joey's
fault that he'd found other things to do... hell.  It still felt
like his fault.

His hand around Lance's shoulder came up to the back of Lance's
neck.  "You okay?  Getting enough sleep?"

Lance ducked his head.  "Yeah."

"Really?" Joey asked skeptically, because Lance could lie to
anyone, even him, if he didn't have to look at them.

"Really," Chris answered instead of Lance, and that didn't make any
sense to Joey, or maybe it did, because the skin under his hand
heated as Lance flushed, and Joey wasn't stupid.  He wasn't sure
whether he was reading stuff in that wasn't there, though.

Lance shrugged away from him, out from under his hand.  Chris
seemed to relax a little.

"So," Chris asked.  "You guys get things sorted out?"

"Yeah," Joey said.  "I think so."

Lance nodded.  "It's good seeing you again," he said directly to
Joey.  "I was avoiding you.  I'm sorry."

"Hey, man, it's okay," Joey said, because it was.  "What are
friends for?"

He hugged Lance, and then Kelly reclaimed him because it was Bri's
bedtime and she liked having her daddy put her to bed.

Later, after Joey came back downstairs, the house was a little
quieter, maybe because they were waiting for the birthday boy to
come back, and, as he came around the corner, he had a chance to
see Lance and Chris together when they weren't aware he was back
down yet.  It wasn't anything much.  Just Lance sitting on the edge
of a couch, and Chris talking to him.

They weren't doing anything much, weren't touching, were just
talking.  Chris' face was in shadow, but Joey could see Lance, and
Lance's eyes, and Joey knew.  He wasn't imagining it.

Wasn't imagining anything, and Kelly came up behind him and wrapped
her arms around his waist.  "They look happy together," she
commented.

"Yeah," Joey said.  He didn't know how she knew, but Kelly was a
pretty perceptive woman.

"They'll be good for each other."

"They better be," Joey said fiercely, meaning, Chris had better be
good for Lance, because Lance was still his best friend and he
wasn't ever going to stop caring about him.

"You can't take care of him forever, Joey."

He shrugged and wrapped his arms around hers.  "It doesn't mean I
can't try."

"No," she agreed, "it doesn't.  You're a good man, Joey."

As they watched, Chris reached out with one hand to ruffle Lance's
hair.  The look in Lance's eyes was everything Joey had ever wanted
to see there, everything he had ever wanted for Lance.  He hadn't
been able to do it, but Chris had, and it was all good, however it
had happened.

"Happy birthday, Joey," Kelly said, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Yeah," he said.  "Happy birthday to me."


-the end-