Pairing: Joey and Lance
Words: composed; burglar; knowing; Willa


"I want to be a burglar.  Make me a burglar.  Like the HamBurglar."

Every year, Halloween just gets weirder.  Lance contemplates
fleeing the state.  Maybe the country.

"You should be Willa, Chris.  I bet you could pull it off."

Chris brightens.  "Then I could hit on Nick!"

"You could try, but he might hit you back," Joey says.

"Not that kind of hitting."  Chris makes kissing noises at Joey.

Lance glares at him from behind Joey.

"Uh-oh.  Better stop.  The boyfriend's getting that look in his eye
again."

Since he and Joey aren't dating, that deserves only one response. 
Unfortunately, they aren't near the pool so Chris can't be thrown
into it.  "Save it for Nick," Lance says curtly.

Joey looks back over his shoulder.  "Hi, Lance."

Lance nods to him.  "Hey, Joey."

"Why aren't you my boyfriend, again?" Joey asks.  See, Chris inis--
isins-- insisisit-- says that they have to get drunk for Halloween.

Chris whoops.  "Oh, this is gonna be good!"

Lance scowls at him.  "If you leave right now, Chris, I won't
replace your video games with educational games or have your
motorcycles painted pink."

Chris considers it for a long moment, the choice obviously
difficult for him.  "Oh, all right.  But I want details!"

Lance closes the door behind Chris and looks at Joey.  He pats his
shoulder.  "Because we aren't dating."

"Why not?" Joey asks.  "It's because my feet smell, isn't it?" he
says knowingly.

"Yes, Joey," Lance says without a trace of a smile.  "You're
straight because your feet smell."

"I'm not straight.  I'm crooked as a three dollar bill!" Joey says,
outraged.

"Yes, I know.  You're a big, tough Italian guy, and you've got
connections.  I wasn't trying to cast doubts on your masculinity."

"No, I'm *gay*.  Well, like, part gay, anyway."

Lance sits down.  He's strangely tired.  Unlike Joey, he hasn't
gotten into the booze yet -- plenty of time for that later -- and
he should be energized, thinking of the party to come.  He's not. 
"Which part?  Your hands, maybe?  An arm?"

"My ass.  It slept with Chris."

"It did what?"

"It slept with Chris.  We all liked it."

Lance closes his eyes.  "Maybe you and Chris should get together
then."

"No.  It was a long, long time ago.  And Chris is mean."

Lance snorts.  "I know.  He claims that's the good part."

"No.  He's mean mean mean.  Like *mean*!  It's not my fault I was
all sexy when I was young."

Lance's eyes snap open.  "What kind of mean?" he asks carefully. 
"How isn't it your fault?"

"It's not my fault because I didn't *try* to be sexy and stuff.  I
just *am*!  I can't help it!  Or I couldn't.  Now I'm old and less
sexy.  What was the other question again?"

"How was Chris mean to you?"

"He didn't wanna do it any more.  And he wouldn't let me look at
you, because you were *younger* than too young."

"Well, you're old enough now.  You and Chris could do it again."

"I don't want Chris.  And he doesn't think I'm sexy aaaaaaaaany
more.

"Well, good," Lance says, meaning that it's good that Joey's all
right and that Chris didn't actually do anything to *scar* Joey or
something.

"It's good Chris doesn't think I'm sexy?"

"Um."  He's not sure what to say to that.  It's one thing thinking
Joey's sexy, but straight, and another thing knowing that he's gay
enough to sleep with Chris.  Which is pretty gay.

Joey sighs forlornly.  "If I were smart, I'd've composed you a song
a long time ago and then you'd think I was sexy even though my feet
smell."

Lance arches his eyebrows.  Where the heck had that come from? 
"You think the way to my heart is some sappy lyrics about love set
to music?"

"No."

"Then why would you have written a song for me?"

"Because you don't *eat*."

That takes a second for Lance to wrap his mind around and then he
gets it.  "A box of chocolates isn't going to sway me, and neither
are flowers."

"No, I *cook*.  And you're always on a diet."

"Yes, I am.  Because of image, because of..." Lance shakes his
head.  The reasons aren't worth going into.  "Let's cut to the
chase.  What do you want, Joey?"

"You.  Lots of stuff about you, but you."

"I'm right here," Lance says simply.  And he is.

Joey stand up and tugs until Lance stands up too.  He carries Lance
to the bed and curls up around him.  "Nice Lance."

Lance sighs and pets Joey's hair.  That's the problem really.  He's
always been right there.  "S'okay, Joey."

"Lance, are you old enough yet?"

"To hold you while you pass out?  I've always been old enough."

"Am I old enough?"

"Yes."

"When I'm not drunk, are you going to pretend this didn't happen?"

"Yes, I'm going to pretend we never had this conversation."

"Why?"

"Because it would embarrass you.  And me."

"Oh.  It won't embarrass me."

"Sure it won't," Lance says, stroking Joey's head.  Always agree
with the drunk people.  Unless they were Chris and planning to drop
things from balconies.

Joey sighs heavily.  "Okay, fine.  I'll just have to wait until I'm
sober and say it again."

"You haven't said anything yet."

"I wanna hold you all the time and touch you lots and kiss you,
too."

Lance really isn't bitter.  Much.  Okay, he's bitter.  Not so much
so that he'll take it out on Joey, but enough so that he's going to
get excited and start thinking this is something.  "I'm holding you
now and touching you."  He kisses Joey's hair.  "There.  Now you've
been kissed."

Joey kisses Lance for real.  "Now I've kissed you," he murmurs when
he draws back.  Lance's lips are shiny.

It should hurt.  Or maybe be the best thing he's ever had.  But
Lance doesn't feel anything.  He doesn't *let* himself feel
anything.  "Now you have," he agrees.

Joey nods and holds Lance.  It takes a very long time for Lance to
fall asleep.  It takes even longer for Joey to get sober.  But they
sleep through Halloween.  And it's *not* Halloween when Lance wakes
up.  And Joey's not drunk.

"Hi."

Lance is stiff and it's morning.  "Hi.  You okay?  You were kinda
out of it last night."

"I'm fine.  And I still want to hold you and touch you and kiss
you."

Lance squeezes his eyes shut.  He's dreaming.  Joey's still drunk. 
Joey only means kissing.  One of those has to be true.  "Yeah?"

"Yep."

"I can't."

"Can't what?"

Lance sits up, pulling away from Joey.  "You...  Joey, I love you. 
You're my best friend.  But I can't... be whatever it is that
you're asking me to be.  To lay around with you and kiss you and
touch you and leave it at that.  You... if you want that, maybe you
should go to Jayce.  He's good at that."

"Um, no.  I told you my ass was gay.  So get all gay on my ass."

Somehow, that's worse.  "I'm not going to do the casual sex thing
either."

"Me either.  Not with guys.  Besides, I don't really think I could
ever be casual with you."

Lance crosses his arms over his chest, hugging himself.  "Joey,
just say it.  If you mean it, just say it."

"I want to be your boyfriend, with everything that can mean."

"Everything?"

"I think so.  Unless there are goats involved.  I'm scared of
goats."

Lance hunches into himself.  "This isn't funny, Joey.  That isn't
and the whole situation isn't.  I'm... you have no idea."

Joey frowns.  "Look, if you don't want to, just say so.  Just
*tell* me so I can stop hoping.  I've been hoping for seven years
now.  I don't know how much longer my stomach lining is gonna last. 
I'm about to hope myself into an ulcer, here, so just... Just
*tell* me."

Lance gives him an incredulous look.  "Waiting?  On what?  Me to
throw myself even further at your feet?  For yet another woman to
get pregnant.  Goddamn it, I've..."  He's shaking, and even his
arms around himself aren't enough to hold himself together.  "I
waited and hoped until I fucking well gave up, and you...  you tell
me *now* that you want my ass and expect me to just roll over for
it?  When I've been in love with you for so long that I can't
*stand* it anymore?  Go to hell."

"I never said that I expected you to--  Fuck, Lance!  I don't think
of you like that.  And don't go off on Bri, you were dating *Chad*
then.  And he was better than me even when he broke your heart and
I was the one holding you all night long.  You still went home with
him.  So fuck that.  And, and.  We're both idiots."

"I went home with him because I knew what I could have and what I
couldn't have, and I was dangerously close to taking what I
couldn't have.  And I didn't say a word against Bri.  I love Bri."

"Yeah, well.  We've both been fucking stupid.  Right *now* you have
a choice to make."

"Between what and what?  I think I've been pretty clear here.  If
my choices are between you getting 'gay with my ass' as you put it,
and walking out, I'm walking out."

"No, you idiot.  You wanted to know if I just wanted to love you,
hold you, touch you and kiss you.  And I said, no, you were more
than welcome to get 'gay on *my* ass' as well.  As in sex.  As in
yes, that's part of what I'd like.  Along with the lovey stuff."

Lance looks at him.  "You didn't say 'love' before."

"I thought it was implied in the long list of loving stuff."

Lance shakes his head.  "Implied's not good enough.  Starting
something with you that was just sex would..."   He can't think of
a word strong enough for how he'd feel then.  "Destroy me," he
finishes.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," Lance says quietly.  He loosens one arm and
reaches out for Joey.

Joey takes Lance's hand and pulls him close.  "There.  Now we're
good."

"Okay," Lance says, and lets himself start to believe.