Pairing: Lance and Joey
Words: honorary; empower; gnarled; lament


Joey heaves a huge sigh.  "This is a total waste of time, man. 
We're, like, the honorary boyband attendees."

Lance lifts a glass.  "High quality refreshments, though."

The dinner was a charity of some kind.  Lance would know, but Joey
had no clue.  They'd been sent because Chris was doing something. 
And JC was doing something.  And Justin was doing something that
probably had to do with music or women or both.

"Eh.  It's a bunch of overdressed people and their undereducated
boy and girl toys, all of them trying to impress other people as
shallow and meaningless as they are.  And we're just like them." 
Joey drinks his expensive, imported beer, but it lacks thrill. 
Everything lacks thrill when wearing a tux.  Except sex, of course.

"Old and cynical beyond our years."  Lance's mouth is set in amused
lines.  He's watching the dance floor, where gnarled octogenarians
are taking part in a formal pattern dance.  "What I want to know
is, why invite boyband members at all?  I don't recognize anyone
here other than you."

"I don't know.  Maybe we're token pop stars.  These are just, like,
donor-type people.  The probably thought we were the only ones
stupid enough to come."  Joey makes a face at the crowd.  "There
aren't even any hot chicks."

Lance snorts.  "Sure there are.  If you're over 60."

Joey casually smacks Lance.  "Don't be an ass, man."

Lance flinches and edges his chair away from Joey.  "It's true. 
Pick out anyone over the age of 40 down there.  Or 50 even."  Their
position on the balcony gives them a great view of the dance floor.

Joey watches for a long moment, then points to two red-heads
standing in a corner near the far side of the room.  "There."  A
man and a woman, watching the dancers with the same carefully
neutral expression as Lance and Joey are wearing.  "Them.  Both
hot."

"Both?" Lance arches an eyebrow at Joey.

"Yeah.  Don't you think?" Joey asks, smiling back at Lance.

"Definitely.  Just wondered when your tastes changed."

"I'm expanding my horizons in my old age," Joey says simply. 
"Besides, man.  Broadway.  It was inevitable."

Lance rolls his eyes, then stops and looks closely at Joey.  "Uh,
Joey?"

"Yeah, man?" Joey asks, watching the two red heads start to dance.

"Your hair?  Has it always been gray around the..." he reaches up
and brushes his fingers over his own face, where he'd be growing
sideburns if he had any, "side there?"

Joey glares at Lance.

"No, really.  I'm serious.  It's gray.  Not just a little gray
either -- not just a couple of strands of hair.  It's really gray."

Joey sighs.  "Yeah.  I'll dye it later tonight."  Damn.  What kind
of a life is it where you have to use dye, like, every day?  That
sucks.

Lance shakes his head and looks back down at the dance floor.  "The
redheads are gone."

"Damnit," Joey says without heat.  He laments the fact that he
couldn't dance with one or the other of them -- in one way or
another.  "Wonder if I can find them," he muses.

Lance glances at his glass to see if he needs more whiskey and lets
out a startled gasp.  "Um, Joey?  I don't think you're going to be
able to."  He holds up a hand that's considerably more withered and
wrinkled than Lance remembers it being, with prominent liver spots
that seem to be appearing even as he watches.  "Oh, fuck."

"Dude.  Dude.  What happened to you?" Joey asks, reaching
out to the heavy lines by Lance's eyes.

Lance raises his face to Joey's.  He blinks.  His voice trembles
when he speaks, but not with age.  "The same thing that's happening
to you.  What's going on here?"

Joey reaches up and touches his own face.  "Um.  We're getting as
old as we feel?"

Lance grimaces.  "That'd be why you're pushing 50 and I'm what? 
Going on 70?"

Joey wraps his arm around Lance.  "You wanna get out of here?"

Lance looks at his hands again in disgust.  He shakes his head. 
"What if... what if it's not just limited to here?  What if we're
stuck this way?"

Joey looks around, and no one is watching them.  He kisses Lance
softly.  "Then we'll go cuddle.  I'm not wasting my whole life."

Lance chuckles.  "Good ol' Joey.  World about to end?  Go have
sex."

"Not with you.  Not just sex."  The thought that he doesn't have
the decades he expected empowers Joey.  "I don't want one night
with you.  I want the rest of my life."

"At the moment, it looks like your life is going to be considerably
longer than mine."  The changes seem to be holding constant now. 
Lance is dismayed by what he can see of himself.  The tuxedo covers
nearly everything; if he had a mirror, he wouldn't look into it. 
If he's not perfect, who is he?  Joey looks just as Joey as ever. 
Just as vital, but more dignified somehow.

Joey pulls Lance's face to him with a hand behind his neck.  "Let's
get out of here.  Come home with me."

"But what if...?"

"What if what?  Whatever it is, I'm staying with you."

Lance smiles sadly at him and then leans into Joey's arm.  "What if
leaving makes it permanent?  It happened after we came here.  What
if there's some way to change back and we screw it up by leaving? 
We'll be old.  No one will even know who we are."

"Sounds good to me," Joey admits.

Lance gives Joey a shocked look.  "That sounds good to you?"

"What?  Not being stared at by strangers?  Being able to do
whatever I want without worrying about public criticism?  Being
able to raise my daughter and not sell autographs?  Damn right it
sounds good.  I like our lives, Lance, but there are distinct
downsides."

"There are distinct downsides to this too.  Like dying."

"Yes, dying would suck."

"So we've gotta stay."

"Maybe it'll go away if we leave, though."

Lance gives him a wry look.  "The only way to test that is to do
that, and I'm getting this feeling that this is some unreal place,
and that if we walk out, it won't even exist anymore."

"So what do we do?" Joey asks.

"Ask someone?"  Lance gestures at the dancers.  "Someone else has
to have noticed."  He pales.  "You remember how I said I didn't
recognize anybody here?  What we do know them and they're
just a whole lot older?"

Joey stands up and takes Lance's hand.  "Come on."  They make their
way-- slowly-- down to the floor, asking everyone they pass.  No
one has any answer.  It's as if they can't even hear the question. 
"Okay, I'd buy some of them being deaf, but all of them?" 
He looks at Lance in bafflement.

Lance shakes his head.  "I have no idea what's going on.  Um.  Are
they even there?"

Joey bumps casually into one man.

"Excuse me.  Didn't see you there," the man says, and drifts away.

"Yep.  They're here.  Apparently they're just not helpful."

Lance snorts.  "I'm beginning to think we aren't real."

Joey pinches Lance.  "Feel real to me."

"Joey!"

Joey laughs.  "This can't be real.  We're either dreaming, and it's
not.  Or it is, and there's nothing we can do about it.  So, shut
up and dance with me, Bass."  He leads Lance onto the floor.

They're playing a waltz.  Lance resigns himself to following.  "At
least now I have an excuse for why I can't dance."

Joey laughs.  After the first song, he lets Lance lead.  "You can
dance."

"Not anymore.  I feel feeble."

Joey holds Lance closer, breaking the formal post.  The song is
slow, anyway.  He holds Lance close and kisses him.  When Lance
opens his mouth to protest, Joey kisses him again.  And again and
again.  Finally he covers Lance's lips with his fingers.  "Don't
worry, Lance.  Just dance."

Lance nods and rests his head against Joey's chest.  There's no
leading and no following like this, just them holding each other
and swaying in time to the music.  He closes his eyes and wishes it
were all just this simple.

"It is all just this simple," Joey says, hearing the words even
though they were at the volume of a whisper.  He places a kiss on
the top of Lance's gray hair.  "Whether we stay old or get young,
this is what matters."