Pairing: Lance and AJ
Words: over; lasers; charlatan; grinding


So it was over with JC, not that it'd ever really started, but that
didn't mean Lance was a failure.  He had a whole world of people
wanting to love and adore him, so what was the love of one person?

Everything, unfortunately, because he could count on his fingers
the number of people he truly trusted and respected.  So, yeah. 
Failure.  And the likelihood of getting anyone to truly like him
for him was vanishingly small.  He was a 23-year-old
multi-millionaire pop star.  Finding someone non-fucked-up who
could look past all of that to him -- and who he could still relate
to?  Impossible.  It was over before it'd begun, because you pretty
much had to have known someone since before you became famous to
get something like that going and even then, it was no guarantee
that they'd understand what you went through.  Look at Joey and
Kelly.  Or Justin and Britney.  Similar problems with both couples. 
His money was on Kelly though.  She was down-to-earth and didn't
take shit, and Joey was, at heart, a good guy.  Justin and Britney,
on the other hand?  Clash of the Titan Egos.

And then there was JC and Chris.

Lance went to Toronto, that being as far as he could get away from
JC at the time.

And failed.  At getting away.  At making the movie a success.  At
everything except denial and self-delusion, because he was already
good at those.

And there was still a gaping hole in his heart, and he still hated
Chris every time he saw Chris touch JC possessively, not that Chris
did that much in public, but there was other stuff Chris did too. 
Like -- Chris had laid down the law, with the support of the
others, that there was to be no computer-generated noise or cell
phone calls in the Quiet Room.  Which?  Fine.  Lance wasn't *that*
attached to hearing his windows maximize and minimize.  He could
turn his computer sound scheme off.  And had always felt there was
an unspoken rule that anyone could say, 'Hey, enough's enough, take
it outside,' and that would be that.

Except.

Shortly after that, after Lance had been glared out of the room
when his cell vibrated off the table, JC had wandered in with a
cell phone, chatting brightly to someone on the other end.  Tony
Lucca, from the sound of it.  And Chris had just smiled, laid down
with his head in JC's lap and let JC pet him while JC talked.

So Lance kinda really didn't like Chris anymore and he wasn't all
that sure about JC either, except JC was still nice, and yeah, he'd
kinda known that JC would still be, but he didn't like it as much
anymore, now that 'Hi' meant 'Hi', not 'Hi, I'm so glad to see you'
and 'thank you' no longer meant 'thank you, only you could have
helped me so well' and 'please' was only a politer way of saying
'move your fat ass, Bass' or 'now, *damnit*', and not JC's way of
secretly saying how much he appreciated everything Lance did for
him.  They were just words now, no longer laden with significant
meaning, and yeah.  He'd been stupid and childish and it'd been a
teenager's crush, and he was so over it.

He went to Russia.

Almost far enough away, and Lance thought maybe, when he got into
space, that would take care of things.  Ease his restlessness.

The good part about Russia was that he was thousands of miles away
from nearly everybody who cared who he was.

The bad part was that he was stereotyped just as fiercely by the
new audience -- as a walking wallet, outsider, invader, a nitwit
blonde American boy with more hair than sense.  More money than
sense, except of course, he didn't have the money either, Krieff
had it, or said he had it, but he didn't.

Not Lance's fault, but no one knew Krieff's name and everyone knew
his.  Krieff was the charlatan, the man behind the curtain who had
promised miracles in the name of the Great and Terrible Oz -- and
Lance was the one set off into the wilds of a foreign country to
vanquish a Wicked Witch without any magical powers or support from
the mighty Oz.

Unlike Dorothy, though, Lance was a failure.  Several times over
now, and if there was anything the public adored, it was a failure. 
A scapegoat.  A bad example.  The kid in the fairy tales who did
everything wrong and ended up as a failure because evil and
stupidity had to be punished so people would know what to do and
could feel smugly superior about knowing better.

So he came back, because he didn't have anywhere else to go, and he
put up with the bad humor of late night comedians -- and his own
bandmates -- because that was the way you were supposed to do
things.  To rise above them with good grace and, if you were hoping
your enemies got torn apart by Austin Powers-style sharks with
laser beams strapped to their heads -- well, you certainly didn't
*say* so.  Even if you were looking into the price of lasers.

At any rate, he was home and doing his best to be gracious about
his multiple failures while simultaneously downing enough whiskey
to make up for all the good vodka he'd drunk -- when Chris showed
up.

Chris, Lance reflected, was a nuisance.

Lance was avoiding JC for obvious reasons.  Joey, for different and
not so obvious reasons.  The obvious part was that Joey was
successful when Lance was not, that Joey would try to make things
better than could not be made better and that Joey was in one of
those periods where he was trying to reconcile with Kelly.

The most obvious reasons were not always the correct ones though.

The real reason he didn't want to talk with Joey was that they'd
had sex while they were in Toronto making 'On the Line' together. 
And it had been good.  Better than the furtive, clandestine
encounters with near-strangers that were pretty much the whole of
Lance's experience.  Getting off was getting off, and it *was* also
pretty much true that there was no such thing as a bad orgasm.

Except.

Joey wasn't gay.  He was flexible when it came to his friends and
taking care of Lance, and while he loved Lance, he wouldn't ever be
*in* love with Lance.  The better part of Joey's heart was reserved
for Briahna and Kelly now, and Lance didn't begrudge that.  Which
was why he hadn't gone to Joey.  Joey would take him in, no matter
what, no questions asked, because Joey was like that.  He'd open
his house, his heart, his arms, whatever was needed to make Lance
better.  But.  Lance wasn't going to do that, wasn't going to take
attention away from Briahna and Kelly.  Wasn't going to steal
something that belonged to someone else, wasn't going to take just
because he could.  Besides, he wanted something of his own, someone
just for him.  Which, unfortunately, seemed to be too much.

So JC was out, and Joey was out, and Justin had too much to do, and
Lance had *assumed* that Chris was also out because Chris hated
him, but apparently not, because Chris was standing in front of the
door to Lance's hotel room, glowering at him.

"Well, are you gonna let me in or what?" Chris demanded.

Lance blinked and stepped aside.  "What are you doing here?"

Chris barreled past him.  "What are *you* doing here?"

He shrugged.  "Publicity, the usual stuff."  Drinking, forgetting,
smiling pretty for the cameras and concentrating on not grinding
his teeth.

"Right.  You're hiding."

"Not all that well, obviously.  You found me."

"Ah, but my ways are mysterious.  Plus Melinda told me."

Lance cocked his eyebrows and went back to his laptop.

Chris followed him.  "Not gonna ask me what I'm doing here?"

"No.  We both know if I ignore you long enough, you'll tell me."

"Hah!  You're talking to me right now.  It doesn't count."

Lance went back to answering his email.  He was currently trying
out a spam filtering program he'd downloaded, that would hopefully
cut down on the amount of email he received.  As it was, he thought
the only real alternative was to change his email address every
couple of months, and that would be massively inconvenient. 
Unfortunately, there wasn't a similar service to the spam filtering
program available for real life.  Short of taking vows at a
Trappist monastery anyway.

Chris grabbed for the laptop.  Lance growled at him, and Chris
quickly pulled his hands back.

"Okay, Bass, you win.  I'm here 'cause you're being a sissy girl."

Lance looked at him.  "Thanks," he drawled in his deepest speaking
tones.

Chris stuck his tongue out at him.  "You gotta move on, man.  Get
over JC.  Grow up.  We all know you're looking for someone -- you
practically exude waves of 'Get your dangerous man-lust here'.  But
you're too frickin' needy.  Girly.  And not in the good way.  You
gotta be more manly.  Self-reliant.  Be like John Wayne and learn
to love yourself."

Lance made a face.  That just gave him a really weird image of John
Wayne jerking off, and he didn't really need to be picturing things
like that.

"'Cause, y'know?  Sulking doesn't bring in the hot men.  And
neither does moping."

"Yes, well, that's one way of looking at it."

"It's the only way of looking at it.  I watched my mom go through
this over and over.  As long as she kept thinking that she needed
a guy -- she kept picking losers and getting screwed.  That's you,
numbnuts.  If you don't start acting like a grown-up.  You can't
expect another person to make you happy if you aren't happy
already.  It doesn't work that way."

"Thank you for pointing that out," Lance said evenly.

"Don't lie.  You're not supposed to lie.  You'll get sent to hell."

"Contrary to popular belief, lying isn't considered to be a sin,
only perjury.  Plus, there's the little detail where Jesus
suspended all of the Old Testament rules and replaced them with
'Love thy neighbor as thyself.'  Not that you'd care about any of
that."

"Sure I care.  So you think you're going to escape Hell on a
loophole then?  Think it's okay to despise everybody since you
already despise yourself?"

"Gives a new meaning to murder-suicide, certainly," Lance said.  If
he'd had any kind of weapon at hand, even a butter knife, he would
have stroked it in a meaningful manner.  As it was, he just looked
at Chris and hoped his expression got the meaning across.  Not that
he was *serious*, but anything to get Chris to drop the subject
and, if possible, get him to run screaming.

Unfortunately, Chris was the sort of person who liked to send
*other* people running screaming.

"Sure, fine, whatever.  Play with semantics if you want.  You, my
friend, are getting out of this miserable dump--" Chris waved
around at Lance's luxurious hotel suite, "--and getting a life."

"Right.  Because I know what to do with the one I already have."

"The one you already have is pathetic."

Lance studied his hands.  Wondered how many typical 23-year-old
guys worried about their manicures on a regular basis.  Maybe that
was one of the reasons he'd liked JC so much -- around JC, Lance
had felt normal.  "'Multimillionaire pop star' sounds more like
wish-fulfillment fantasy material to me.  Didn't we always say that
was what we wanted, that this is it?"

"Yeah, well, not the way you do it.  You do it wrong.  Get your ass
packed.  We're going golfing."

"I don't golf."

Chris set his chin mulishly.  "You're going to Jamaica with me
while I golf, and that's final."

"What, JC's too busy to go with you and you thought I'd make a good
substitute?"

"No," Chris said, not backing down.  "I thought, 'Hey, I'm Lance's
friend.  I'll do something to make him better, whether he likes it
or not', because that's what friends do."

"Oh.  I kinda thought you hated me."

"Well, yeah, but that only makes harassing you for your own good
more fun."

By the time they'd left Jamaica and gotten to Thailand, Lance
admitted that he was at least having some small amount of fun. 
He'd met a girl in Jamaica who'd almost restored his faith in the
concept of being able to find someone who suited him, except it did
no good to him to be able to relate to girls since he was, after
all, gay.  And most guys weren't girlish, and Lance wasn't sure
he'd like them if they were.  Effeminate-acting men, like the
hairdresser Justin had camped it up as at the end of 'On the Line',
did not appeal to him.

But Jamaica was different than the United States, less stressful,
less difficult to be him, and Thailand even more so.  For one, he
didn't understand the language in Thailand and so all jokes about
him being a space cowboy and so forth just sounded like any other
kind of comment.  And he was used to people talking about him and
around him and staring at him and pointing.  Mostly.  He'd gotten
over the feelings of paranoia, at least, as long as there were
bodyguards close at hand.  People were definitely out to get him,
and some of those wanted to strip off his clothes and have their
wicked way with him, some of them wanted to ridicule him -- and
some of them wanted worse things.  So, yeah.  People talking about
him, bad.  But unavoidable.

What with one thing and another, it was nearly Valentine's Day and
Lance still had not managed to completely ditch Chris.  He'd think
he'd gotten away from him, and then Chris would pop back up,
usually with his golfing paraphernalia near at hand, and drag Lance
out to watch Chris golf.  Mostly, Lance let people take pictures of
him with Chris while Chris was hitting a few practice shots, then
escape to the clubhouse for a few drinks.  When he was unlucky, he
ended up in the golf cart, being dragged about while Chris
harangued him in between holes.

Lance wasn't sure why he put up with it, except attention *was*
attention, and Chris was paying attention to *him* and not the some
imagined version of Lance who was easily interchangeable with any
other pop star out there.  "Oh, Justin Timberlake?  With the
Backstreet Boys?  The guy who wanted to go into space?  What a
joke."  At least Chris, however annoying, knew who Lance was.

Plus, Chris was pretty restful.  Whenever he wasn't actively trying
to get Lance to See The Light.  Aside from that one obsession,
Chris had his own life and didn't want or expect anything out of
Lance but his company and that was nice.  After Russia, at any
rate.  As a steady diet, well, it'd be good to have someone to talk
to that understood where he was coming from and didn't call him a
'freakish man-girl who's gonna grow breasts any day now, just you
wait and see!'.

So, yeah, it was a nice change when he did the nod and smile with
Chris at yet another golf course and he saw a familiar figure doing
similar things a ways away, also accompanied by cameras.  The other
man finished up first, perhaps because there was only one of him,
and came sauntering over to them.

"McLean," Chris said, not entirely friendly.

AJ nodded to him.  "Kirkpatrick."

Lance didn't recall any period of hostility between them to account
for the way they were acting.

AJ ignored Lance, smirking instead at Chris.  "And how's your boy,
JC?"

"Fine," Chris said, biting the word off.

"That he is.  I meant, how's he doing?  Last time I called him, he
was still worrying about whether Jive would back his album and what
La Timberlake would say."

"Yeah, well, JC's fine."

'Fine' again, and while AJ was smiling at Chris -- or smirking --
Chris' return smile was more a baring of teeth than an expression
of warmth.  Like, 'back off'.

And Lance stepped forward.  Held out his hand.  "It's good to see
you again, AJ."

AJ looked from his outstretched hand to him and grinned.  Took his
hand and shook it sorta.  More like, he clasped it firmly,
fingertips stroking Lance's wrist, then let go.  "Good to see you,
too, even if you *are* hanging out with this guy.  How you doing?"

Lance smiled.  "Fine."

"You don't look fine."

Blunt honesty, and that was a shock.  If Lance were Chris, he'd
have said something funny-flirtatious about his fineness and how he
was at least as sexy as JC if not more, but Lance wasn't Chris, and
he didn't care, so he shrugged and said, "Wasn't my idea to come
here."

"Yeah," Chris added on.  "If I'd left it up to him, he'd still be
locked in a hotel room somewhere, drinking himself into oblivion."

Lance was pretty sure that the retort that he was capable of
getting drunk in public just as easily would not go over well with
AJ.  He wasn't exactly surprised at Chris' lack of taste at
bringing up alcohol-related issues around AJ.  It wasn't something
Lance would have done.  It seemed... impolite, somehow.  While
Lance wouldn't have changed anything he did to accommodate AJ,
neither would he have chosen to rub the other man's nose in it. 
That was just tacky.

AJ lifted an eyebrow at Lance.  "Yeah, well, I can understand that. 
Can't agree with that, but I know where you're coming from and
sometimes it seems like the only way out."

Lance was pleased with AJ's display of good manners.  No so much by
the judgment passed on his situation, but, under the circumstances,
he didn't think there was a more gracious response available.  And
AJ's response *had* been gracious.  A lot more so than what Chris
had said.

"It's not about trying to find a way out," Lance said, because AJ
had been serious and honest and because it no longer mattered,
except to him.  "It's about trying to forget," and about not liking
the person he was anymore.  And, when he was drinking, he could
forget who he was for a while and just *be*.  But he wasn't going
to say that.  "The only way out is forward."  If there was a way
out.  He wasn't convinced of that yet.

"That's something," AJ said.

"Yeah, Lance," Chris said.  "Isn't that something?"

Now, Lance was pretty sure that being part of NSYNC meant that he
was gonna be mocked for his shortcomings -- past, present and
imagined -- forever, including stuff he used to say, and that was
okay.  He was used to it.  Or, it'd be okay, except he was pretty
sure Chris didn't mean it in a friendly fashion.

"Yeah," Lance said, not letting the smile slip off his face. 
"That's really something.  So, y'know, you guys have a good day out
on the course, okay?  Maybe I'll see you later, AJ.  Good luck."

And he started walking away, because he didn't really feel like
making conversation anymore, not with Chris and his little barbs
and his hidden motives.  He didn't want to be made better, not for
his own good or anyone else's.

"Hey," came a voice from behind him, and Lance turned to see AJ
jogging to catch up with him.

"Yes?" he said, the same smile rising easily to his lips. 
Let-me-help-you, buy-my-record, buy me packaged in conveniently
individually wrapped parcels and pretend that you have any part of
me when *I* don't even have me.

"Wanna come out with me?  Share in the golfing experience?  Shoot
the breeze, enjoy the sunshine?"  Lance's smile didn't falter and
AJ raised his hands defensively.  "Nothing preachy or anything like
that, man.  I may not agree with how you live your life, but it's
your life, not mine, and I won't tell you how to live yours if you
don't try to tell me how to live mine."

Lance's eyebrows narrowed.  He'd been planning on getting a start
on the night's drinking.  Chris had 'accidentally' broken Lance's
laptop two days ago -- the third laptop in a row he'd
'accidentally' demolished -- and the new one was still on its way. 
Lance had special-ordered it.  The new one was the kind they
strapped to the outside of military planes.  If the U.S. Air Force
thought it was capable of surviving high altitudes, variable
weather and possible fall damage from very high places, then it
might also be capable of surviving Chris Kirkpatrick.  Maybe.

He nodded.  "Okay.  But I don't know anything about golf."

"All the better," AJ said cheerfully, walking somewhere, probably
toward the first hole.  Lance followed alongside him.  "If I tell
you 28 strokes is the normal number needed to get the ball into the
hole, you'll believe me."

"Of course I would.  It'd be downright rude to doubt your word."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely.  Now, if maybe someone else wants to know how well you
did, I'd have to tell them that you did splendidly on the first 18
holes with your score of 504."

AJ gave him a sideways look.  "How about this?  You don't tell
anyone anything and *pretend* like you think I did well."

Lance stuck his hands in his pockets and hid a grin.  "I can do
that."

"Ex-cellent," AJ said in a Montgomery Burns accent.  He wrapped an
arm around Lance's shoulder and Lance tensed reflexively.  AJ
raised his eyebrows, but removed his arm.  "Hey, man, what's the
matter?  No cameras on us now and even if there were, big deal. 
Not like we were getting busy in a sand trap or something."

"Nothing," Lance said, and took a breath.  "I just wasn't expecting
it, that's all."

AJ gave him a friendly smile.  "My bad.  Kevin gets like that, near
the end of a tour.  Won't let anyone near him who he hasn't seen
coming.  You gotta make sure he recognizes you before you try to
grab him or he freaks."

"Kevin freaks?"

"Well, y'know.  Scrunches his eyebrows together and gets this mean
look in his forehead.  You wouldn't notice unless you knew him and
were looking for it, 'cause the guy practically never smiles
anyway, but y'know.  I figure, after a while, it just gets to him,
more than the rest of us."

Lance nodded.  JC was like that, but he didn't flinch or startle. 
He just detached more and more until it was difficult to get him to
pay attention, until it was like the rest of the world just didn't
exist, that the crowd were a special effect, to be ignored or
danced around, just like the pyro or the stage set.  Lance wasn't
sure what he himself was like.  He tried to give a good show, to
smile, and sing and dance well, and he didn't know what else he
could do.  Not that it was relevant at the moment.  Fairly soon,
they'd be marking the first anniversary of a year without touring,
and that was an amazing thing, a frightening thing, when he'd been
working 12-18 hour days six or seven days a week since he was 16.

"So, hey, I'm sorry.  Didn't mean to push or anything.  I'm just a
touchy-feely kind of guy."

"It's all right," Lance said.

AJ snorted.  "No, it's not.  I think it's a fucking shame that
there's no way to tell people to back the fuck off and leave us
alone, short of having bodyguards and security cordons wherever we
go, and even then you have *their* hands on you, and everything
else."  He shrugged.  "Only thing good about the tattoos and the
bad rep was that it made people back off a little."  He made a
face.  "Except now, with the alcoholism thing, everyone always
wants to *hug* me."

The word 'hug' came out as more of a curse than 'fuck' had, and
Lance was startled into a genuine laugh.

"You think I'm kidding."

"No, I don't.  I just... it was funny, the way you sounded, like
that was the worst possible thing anyone could ever do to you.  And
the expression on your face..." like he'd bitten into a sandwich
and gotten a mouthful of slugs.

"It is!  Well, except for the people who want to know just which
higher power I decided on, 'cause of the whole 12-step thing about
that."

"Good to know there's something worse than hugging," Lance said
with a straight face.  "How do you deal with them?"

AJ stopped walking, fished through the pockets of the bag carrying
his clubs and came up triumphantly waving a piece of paper in his
hand.  He gave it to Lance.

It was a tract for the Jehovah's Witnesses.

"You..."

"I give that to them.  I've also got ones for the Mormons and the
Church of Satan."

Lance snickered, then thought about it and laughed harder. 
"Church... of... Satan," he gasped and gave up and guffawed.

AJ waited for him to calm down and when Lance had almost completed
regained control over himself, said smugly.  "Yep.  Gotta have
something to give to the Wiccans."

"You don't give those to the Mormons?"

"No way, man.  They'd think it was an opportunity to convert me. 
I give them the Jehovah's Witness stuff and vice versa.  Works
great."

Lance laughed again, then wiped his eyes.  "Oh, my Lord.  You're a
shameless reprobate."

AJ stuck out his tongue.  "I know you are, but what I am?"

Lance handed back the tract.  "Apparently, you're a Jehovah's
Witness."

"Hell, no.  I believe in God and Jesus and the Bible and all that. 
I just don't believe in churches."  He gave Lance a hard look. 
"And I'm not saying anything more about that.  I don't argue
religion with anyone."

"Of course not.  That's what the tracts are for."

AJ relaxed.  "Exactly."  He tucked the paper away.  "Nothing worse
than people bothering you all the time about stuff that's none of
their business anyhow."

They walked along in silence for a bit, and Lance said, "Thank
you."

"For what?  The only laugh you've had in a week by the sound of
you?"

"That, too.  But for telling me what you believe in."

"Forget about it.  It just slipped out."

"Got it."

"Thanks for coming along with me," AJ said, breaking the silence
that had fallen.  "I mean, everyone plays in groups so you're never
really *alone* at one of these things, even when there aren't
people crowded around watching you blow a three-foot putt, but it's
not the same."

Lance looked at the sky.  Beautiful clear blue.  Resolutely sunny. 
It was going to be hot later on, and he liked that.  It'd been a
while since he'd felt warm enough.  "Yeah.  It's hard finding
someone to talk to who understands what it's like and who *isn't*
also screwed up at the same time."

AJ nodded.  "Yeah.  Can't stand people who're all full of
themselves, divas wrapped up in maintaining their long-lost glory
or telling you how great they are or both."

"While simultaneously snorting coke and chasing underage girls."

"Or boys.  Yeah.  I dunno if it's all more annoying when you're
clean, but it seems to be getting worse.  The fame spiralling out
of control thing.  Like, people do whatever they can to get their
15 minutes of fame, then spend their entire 15 minutes acting like
the biggest asses they can and all the time after that trying to
remind people that they were famous so they deserve to act like
asses."

"I don't think you're imagining it.  I--" his mouth twisted,
"haven't given up drinking, and I've noticed the same thing."

"Huh," AJ said, but left the subject of Lance's drinking alone. 
"Why do you think they do that?  Turn into fame-mongering demon
hose beasts?"

Lance snorted at AJ's description.  "Because they can?"

"So we're all secretly psychotic, self-obsessed sociopaths just
waiting for a chance to let out our violent me-me-me tendencies and
get everybody to do our bidding and then throw fits when they
don't?"

"Actually," Lance said, because AJ's description was accurate, but
reminded him just as much of Briahna as it did the kind of people
who ran in their circles.  "I think we're all trying to be
two-year-olds again, with unconditional love, and all of the
attention on us all the time, and getting what we want whenever we
make enough fuss about it.  Or something."

"If we all want to be big babies, who're we gonna find to be our
parents?"

"People too poor and unknown to behave like babies, of course,"
Lance said cynically.  If he hadn't believed in the fundamental
venality of human nature *before*, he certainly did now.

"Hmm.  What if we *want* to be grown-ups?"

"What?  And miss out on all this?"  Lance waved his hand around at
the expanse of rolling lawn and the sky.  "It's Tuesday.  Ordinary
people, *grown-up* people, *work* on Tuesday."

"And you didn't work to get here?  I know *I* did."

"Well, yeah," Lance admitted.

"Exactly.  We deserve this."

"Which is exactly what the fame-mongering hose beasts think," Lance
said in a perfectly reasonable voice.

"There's a difference between deserving the right to pose for
pictures and play golf on a Tuesday -- which, by the way, still
counts as working--"

"By that logic, so does going to 7-11."

"Doesn't count unless you give a press conference," AJ came back
with instantly.

"Some people would."

"Some people are fame-mongering psycho hose beasts."

Their conversation went on like that, never completely serious or
completely light, and critical of very nearly everybody except
Lance.  AJ was willing to put himself in a bad light, but when
Lance attempted to do the same thing, AJ would counter it
immediately with some bit of the truth that rather made Lance feel
like he was supposed to be standing up for AJ in return.  It was
very strange talking to someone who didn't follow either of the
normal patterns of conversational gambits.  Who neither used the
female mode of reassuring someone after a self-deprecating comment
-- or the male mode of insulting the person further.

Lance wasn't quite sure what to make of AJ, this
up-close-and-personal friendly-golfing-buddy AJ who was no one
Lance had ever met before, but he thought maybe he kind of liked
him.

They spent the time waiting for AJ's tee-off time talking about
fame and the socio-cultural implications of any moron being able to
grab their share of it and how this could correspond both to the
infant-toddler stage of human development as well as the teenager
('pay attention to me now!') phase and whether appearing on
'Survivor' was the equivalent of starting fires to get people's
attention.

Lunch found them inside, having a light snack.  AJ was downing
water, and Lance had ordered tea out of respect to his host.  It
wasn't like he was an alcoholic, who couldn't go a meal without
drinking.  Even Chris would be having a beer with lunch.

They discussed investments and the stock market while they waited
for their food to arrive, and the conversation devolved from there.

"I'm just saying," AJ took another gulp from the third bottle of
water that had been brought to their table.  "You don't get rid of
the current political party if things are going good."

"So you're a Democrat?"

AJ snorted.  "Not sure if I'm even registered to vote or where I'm
registered if I am, much less which party.  Like I care.  They're
all fucked in the head."

"If you're not a Democrat, why do you care if Bush got voted in? 
If you didn't vote, you don't have any right to complain."

"Like one vote is going to make any difference," AJ scoffed.  "No,
the thing is, with Clinton, everything was fine.  No serious wars,
decent economy, and *he* could play a musical instrument.  Then the
dumbass American people voted in Bush and look at the things are
going.  Major recession--"

"You can't blame that on Bush.  The bottom was bound to fall out of
the Internet start-up craze.  None of those companies had anything
like the returns to support their stock prices.  And the one-two
punch that took down the economy was that -- shaking people's faith
in the economy -- and September 11th, which shook people's faith in
their basic security.  With their faith shaken, they started
holding back, stopped spending money, started hoarding, keeping to
themselves and not going out, first out of fear for terrorism, and
then, well, that's what caused the recession.  When people don't
buy things, the retailers and the manufacturers lose money and they
cut back and lay off people who, in turn, are out of work or making
less and have less money to spend and thus have to save more and
spend less.  It's a vicious cycle and it's not Bush's fault.  You
have any idea how much New York's -- heck, that whole area's --
tourism industry lost in the last quarter of that year?"

"Yeah, but even if that's so, he's the one in charge.  Bush should
be doing something to change it."

"Like what?"

AJ shrugged.  "I dunno.  I'm not the President.  I'm just a guy who
sings sometimes."

"As much money as both of us have invested in the system, you
*should* care."

"What's a couple hundred thousand bucks between friends?  No, I
have people who care about all that stuff for me.  I'm a twerpy guy
who can halfway sing and who doesn't know jack shit about money or
politics or anything else.  I got enough money for me, and that's
the important thing."

"That can be affected by the overall economic climate though."

"Not as much money as we've got, it can't.  I'm affected by the
recession, sure, but I play it safe with my portfolio.  I don't
take a lot of risks and I don't keep it all in one place either." 
AJ shrugged.  "I kinda think of it like hitting the lottery.  I
won, I got my lump sum pay-off, and now it's up to me to make that
last as long as possible.  'Cause, well, you know."

"Yeah."  The Backstreet Boys were effectively dead and they were
getting screwed on their royalties as well, so no ongoing income. 
NSYNC wasn't, but then they'd learned some very hard lessons from
the debacle with Lou and had been determined not to let anything
like that ever happen again.  Backstreet had apparently not been as
cautious.  "Sorry about that."

"Not your fault.  And I'm damn lucky as it is."

Their lunch arrived then and they spent the time mostly talking
about the food.  After lunch, it was back out to the golf course.

"You go on the Internet much?" AJ asked.

"I'm always on emailing," Lance said, "and there's a couple of
sites I like to use to keep up with what's going on in the world."

"No, I mean, for fun."

"Um."  He thought about it and shrugged.  With a wry smile, he
said, "I'm not sure I remember what fun is.  I use the Internet for
work mostly."

AJ shot him a sideways glance.  "Huh.  So it'd do no good to ask
you what the best porn sites are."

"Chris'd know."

"And you think he'd tell me, why?  He'd send me to some site on
fish spanking."

"Yeah, well..."

"He thinks I'm after his boy, I know."

Lance shrugged.  "Dunno why he thinks that.  You're engaged, after
all."

"No."  AJ stepped away to make his shot.

When he came back, Lance said cautiously, "You're not engaged?  Did
you elope?"

"No, I'm not engaged as in, I'm not getting married to Sarah.  Ever
as far as I know."

"Oh.  I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm not."  AJ bared his teeth.  "Thought that was a good deal I
had going there, that she was it.  She stuck with me from when I
was completely gone through when I went clean.  I figured that
meant she loved me and could handle the worst of me."

"Hmm," Lance hummed encouragingly, as a 'go on' sort of noise.  If
AJ wanted to talk about it, that was fine, but Lance didn't know
what to say.  That Sarah was maybe one of those people who
preferred it when their partners were doing badly so that they
could feel superior?  Lance knew people who did that, who acted
like that, and he didn't think it was a particularly admirable way
to behave, but it seemed extremely rude to suggest anything about
AJ's former fiance, particularly when Lance had no idea what had
actually happened.

"Turns out, I was wrong.  Easy as that."

"Wrong about what?"

"The bit about her loving me no matter what.  We were opening to
each other, y'know, letting each other see all of our dirty little
secrets, like my love for women's lingerie -- and she freaked. 
Said she was gonna call the wedding off until I got my priorities
straight.  I told her that wasn't gonna happen and she said,
'Fine'.  And that was that."

Lance was outrageously curious at this part.  What could possibly
have caused a reaction like that if AJ's well-known drinking and
depression and anger problems as well as his much-publicized yen to
wear women's underthings didn't faze her?

"You wanna know, don't you?" AJ asked.

"Yes, but it doesn't seem polite to ask."

"Fuck polite.  Polite is for people who want to keep other people
away from them, who what to keep everything in neat little boxes. 
If you want to know something, ask, and if I don't want to tell
you, I'll tell you to fuck off and stop being so nosy."

"You don't get tired of people asking you questions all the time?"

"Sure.  But that's *people*.  Not you.  If *you* want to know
something, just ask."

Lance wanted to feel special being singled out like that, but AJ
probably just meant that Lance was a fellow member of the boyband
club, not that Lance was allowed to know stuff about AJ that AJ
wouldn't normally talk about.  Lance'd learned his lesson with JC. 
People being nice to him didn't mean anything other than that was
the way they were.  AJ was just naturally an open kind of guy. 
Heck, he'd confessed on national TV to the lingerie thing.  Wasn't
that proof?

"Anyway, it was porn," AJ said.

Lance frowned.  "She broke up with you over porn?  Like you were
making porn or something?"

"No."

"Over an addiction to porn?" Lance hazarded cautiously.

"Nope.  No more so than any guy.  She found out that I watch porn
sometimes when she's not there."

Lance blinked.  "Doesn't everyone?"

"That's what I said.  I think it was the guy part, I dunno.  She
came in, looked at me, looked at the TV, wrinkled up her nose and
said, 'Porn.  Oh, gross,' and stood there glaring at me.

"What'd you do?"

AJ shrugged.  "What could I do?  I finished beating off."

Lance snickered.  "Of course."

"Yeah.  She grabbed the remote and turned the DVD off right at the
good part though, just as this guy is jumping on the bed and
getting the cock right in his mouth."

"Where the guy kinda bounces all around and then just falls right
on it and you kinda wonder how he manages it without choking?"

"You've seen it!"

"Well, the guy kinda looks like Chris."

"Hey, man, whatever floats your boat."

Lance frowned, then shook his head.  "No, not because of *that*. 
Someone pointed it out to one of us -- Joey, I think -- and there
was like this big thing where we tried to embarrass Chris by
comparing him to a porn star."  He made a face.  "*He* thought it
was cool."

AJ snorted.  "He would.  So, with Sarah, it was her or the porn. 
I tried telling her, honey, all guys watch porn and the ones who
say they don't are lying about it, but she said that there were
groups for sex addiction too and that I should just admit that I
had a problem already, but that she wasn't going to marry me while
I was still fucked up and in denial about it."

There was a logical question after that, and Lance wasn't sure
whether he should ask it, but AJ'd said to forget about politeness,
so Lance shrugged mentally and asked, "Are you?"

AJ looked at Lance over the edge of his sunglasses.  "What does
that mean?"

"You said she thought it was a problem.  I was just wondering what
the definition of a problem was in this case."

AJ relaxed.  "Oh.  Since she only walked in on me the once and I
didn't say anything than that all guys jerk off and it's normal, I
figure *her* definition of a problem was any kind of porn at all."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Just wondering..."

"Spit it out already."

Lance shrugged.  "Well, y'know, if you met before," he waved,
"everything, and she knew what you were like then and it was okay
that you were maybe sleeping with whole lots of other people, how
is porn any worse?"

AJ returned the shrug.  "Women.  Who knows?  Maybe it was 'cause we
were getting married and she thought that meant something."  He saw
Lance's face go studiously blank and added, "Not that I was gonna
sleep around after we got married, but there's a lot of difference
between not sleeping with other people and giving up jerking off. 
Not that there were ever a lot of other people before.  Contrary to
popular belief, I'm not the kind of guy who sleeps around."

Lance raised his eyebrows.  He was pretty sure *that* was a damn
lie.

"Anymore," AJ said.  "The stuff I did while I was fucked up...
yeah, it was me, but it's not *me* if you get what I'm saying?"

Lance didn't know why AJ felt the need to justify himself to him,
but he did get it.  "Yeah."

"Good.  So, yeah, not getting married.  Not a good idea to change
just to keep someone happy.  'Cause it's the right thing to do,
sure, but there's a big difference between giving up drinking and
giving up ever watching porn.  I mean, *porn*.  C'mon."

"Maybe it was that it was gay porn."

"Doubt it.  She knew I'm bi."

"Strange."

"I know!" AJ said.  "We're guys.  Guys look at porn.  Where's the
wrong in that?"

Lance shrugged.  "I know, when I was growing up, that it was
supposed to be wrong.  I mean, they didn't even talk about
masturbating at church, but sometimes they'd talk about porn and
how it wasn't anything a good Christian needed to do."

"And?"

"And that just seemed kinda ridiculous after a while.  I understand
some of the things the church was trying to get across -- teenage
pregnancy really is a tragedy for most of the people involved, and
I believe in marital fidelity, but masturbation?  I can't see who
it's hurting for the most part?"

"Huh?  What's that supposed to mean, 'for the most part'?"

Lance gave AJ a wry smile.  "What?  You don't think it's possible
to take it to excess?"

"Well, yeah.  It's possible to take anything to excess.  Look at
those people who were getting drunk on drinking water.  But that'd
just be pathetic.  I mean, the whole *point* of porn is that you're
not going out looking for sex.  I mean, how the hell do they expect
a guy to live without jerking off?"

"They're women?"

"Yeah, but not all women are uptight, sexless nuns."

"They think differently though."

"True.  Too true."

AJ got a 6 on a par 4 and seemed pleased.  Lance wasn't sure why,
since AJ'd been grumbling earlier about getting a 5 on a par 3, and
that was the same number of extra strokes.  So it should be the
same, as far as Lance knew.  Except, obviously, it wasn't.

He would have asked, except that would mean expressing interest in
golf and he had absolutely no desire to be dragged into the
insanity.

Late in the afternoon, AJ said unexpectedly, "Y'know, if you don't
wanna be here, you don't have to follow me around.  I mean, it's
pretty obvious you don't like golf."

By this point in the day, Lance saw no reason to make a polite
denial.  "I don't like golf, but I like the company."

"Really?"  AJ looked pleased.

"Yeah.  I don't -- there's not a lot of people I can talk to where
I don't feel like there's something wrong with me or with them.  If
I can talk to them at all.  Press interviews don't count as
talking."

"You don't talk with Kirkpatrick?" AJ asked.  "If I didn't know he
was with Jayce, I'd say the way he was dragging you with him when
you don't even like golf meant something."

"It's for my own good," Lance said.

"Yeah?" AJ looked thoughtful.  "I remember hearing that a lot. 
Doesn't seem like it did a lot of good until I actually decided to
do something about things on my own."

Lance shrugged.  "Chris showed up in my hotel room and said I was
going golfing.  He keeps showing up and I keep going."

"Why?"

AJ seemed like he genuinely wanted to know.  Lance was beginning to
wish he hadn't flinched from AJ's embrace that morning.  Ever since
then, AJ had been avoiding even brushing against him accidentally. 
Not like Lance had the plague -- AJ was doing it very casually. 
But he was still doing it.

"Nothing better to do.  And..." he hesitated.

"Yeah?"

Lance shrugged.  "At least I know he wants me around."

AJ gave him a long level look, "I don't know who's the bigger idiot
-- you, him or the rest of the world.  But someone sure the hell
is," pushed his sunglasses up on his nose and sauntered off to take
his next shot.

He watched AJ hit the ball.  AJ had good form, in the sense that he
was graceful, coordinated and not in the least bit painful to
watch.  The ball soared off -- where to, Lance had no idea, because
he'd been watching AJ.

"So," AJ said, putting his club back, "which one is it?"

"All of the above?"

"Nah, don't think so.  You don't strike me as the idiot type. 
Gotta be the rest of the world.  And Kirkpatrick."

Lance smiled.  Grimaced, really.  "I'm an idiot.  Trust me on
that."

"Trust no one," AJ said solemnly.

"No, really."

"I know what you mean."

"Yeah?  You know how much of a failure I am?  How pathetic I am
that people I don't even like very much feel moved to drag me out
and make me socialize 'for my own good'?"  Lance's mouth twisted. 
"I'm not just a pathetic failure.  I'm an *obvious* pathetic
failure."

"*That* isn't what I meant."

"What did you mean then?  'Cause it's the truth."

AJ moved closer, almost close enough to touch.  "I meant, I know
what it's like to not believe in yourself."  He shrugged.  "Not
sure how much I believe in myself anymore.  Used to think I could
do anything.  I was AJ McLean.  I was god because all the people
were screaming for me and that had to mean something.  Couldn't
figure out even then why it was that it *stopped*, y'know?  How I
could go from being everyone's hero to being just me and how
everyone could love what I was up there and be so unhappy with who
I was the rest of the time.  I liked him better than me, except I
knew he wasn't real and that it wasn't real and that it was gonna
fall apart sooner or later and that I'd go back to being just me
who I really didn't like being and shit kept happening to *remind*
me that I was still me and not the superstar in big glittering
lights and yeah.  Got some idea maybe of what you're talking about. 
Could have my head up my ass though.  I do that a lot."

Self-deprecating again and Lance didn't know how to handle it. 
Didn't know how to respond except he wanted AJ to stop hurting and
to stop hurting himself.  There was nothing he knew how to say and
AJ was close enough to touch and so Lance reached out.  Put his
hand on AJ's shoulder and squeezed.

AJ looked up at him, sunglasses slipping down and AJ had expressive
eyes.  Vulnerable.  Needy, waiting for Lance to kick him if he
wanted.  Not wary, just... raw.

Lance stepped forward, not sure if he was doing the right thing,
and put his other arm around AJ.  Hugged him.

He meant it to be a quick hug.

AJ, though, had other ideas.  He stepped into Lance and turned the
loose embrace into a tight hug before letting go of him.  "All of
that goes double for you," he said, stabbing a finger into Lance's
chest.  "You got a lot to be proud of and nothing to be ashamed
of."

"Failed movie, failed businesses, failed attempt to go into space,
drinking problem--" the last slipped out; most days, he didn't
think that, "oh, yes, I have lots to be proud of."

"You tried all of them and kept going.  That's something.  You
haven't given up.  And Fatone seems to be doing well for himself,
all because of what you did for him, getting him out into the
acting world."  He grinned at Lance and started singing in
falsetto, "Did you ever know that you're my heeeeee-ro?"

Lance could've smacked him.  "Please, no."

"And everything I would like to beeeee."

"AJ."

"I can fly higher than an eaaaaaa-gle, but you are the wind beneath
my wings."

"Are you done now?"  Lance had his arms crossed over his chest, but
there was a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

AJ smiled and bowed, then waved at everyone -- both his real and
imaginary audience -- "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week. 
And, for my next number--"

It was really rude, but Lance gave into the impulse and lightly
smacked AJ on the arm.

AJ grinned at him.  "What?"

"No singing."

"But it's what AJs do best!"

"Not sex?" Lance drawled.  He wouldn't normally have said something
like that, but AJ'd been giving him a hard time, and it felt fair
to give it back to him.

AJ, though, waggled his eyebrows at Lance and said, "What?  You
wanna find out?"

"Thought you weren't into casual sex."

"I'm not."

Lance raised an eyebrow at him.  "So you were just joking about
that?"

"Nope.  Not joking.  You're good company.  Wouldn't mind trying the
dating thing with you if you wanted.  Except..."

He didn't know what AJ was up to, couldn't really believe he was
serious.  Lance didn't walk into good things.  He planned things
out, did things slowly, carefully and methodically.  Sometimes he
even got what he wanted.  Not lately though.  "Except?"

"I said I wouldn't preach, but I'm not gonna date anyone with
substance abuse issues either.  Now, I noticed you got a tendency
to be overly hard on yourself, so maybe you have a drinking problem
and maybe you don't.  But either way, you get help for it if you
need it and you don't drink.  'Cause you might be that strong --
hell, you're probably stronger -- but I'm not."

Lance thought that if everyone was offered the choice between
drinking and AJ McLean, the bottom would fall out of the alcohol
industry.

AJ held up his hands when Lance didn't immediately respond.  "Hey,
man, no pressure.  Just thought maybe you were interested. 
Dropping the subject completely."

"No, I'm interested," Lance said quickly.

"Oh?" AJ didn't look him over, which Lance half-expected him to do. 
Instead, he gave Lance a wary look.

"What does this mean to you?" Lance asked.  "Because I do casual
sex, but."  But he was looking more for someone to talk to than
sex.

"But what?  I'm not hot enough for you?"

AJ was wearing plaid pants, a blue shirt that clashed with the
plaid, golfing gloves and shoes, and a hat that rivalled Chris'
visors for sheer unbridled ugliness.  "Yeah, hot's exactly the word
that comes to mind when I look at you."

AJ preened.  "Okay, so what's the problem?"

"Just wondering whether dating means having sex or includes certain
fringe benefits."

"Most people think sex *is* a fringe benefit."

"Most people can't get sex by snapping their fingers."  Not that
Lance had ever *done* that.  Not exactly.  But fan sex was fan sex
and casual sex was casual sex and none of it was all that much more
interesting than any of the rest of it.  All cats are grey after
dark.

"Point.  What kind of fringe benefits were you thinking of?"

Lance shrugged.  "Something more than that."

"So you wanna be my boyfriend?"

"Maybe.  Would you have a problem with that if I did?"

"Long as you get the drinking thing straightened out, nope.  That's
what I meant by dating.  You're cool to talk to, you get what it's
like and you're not an asshole.  All good things.  And you aren't
female, which is a plus at this point."

"I can't promise not to drink at all," Lance qualified.  "It's
going to cause too much publicity if I stop altogether, but I can
promise not to do it when I'm with you."

"That's a step in the right direction, but I'm not real comfortable
with it even being around me on a regular basis.  Temptation,
y'know.  Like at your house, if I'm over."

Lance considered.  "Yeah, I can do that.  I can't promise what will
happen if someone drops in with the stuff, but I can make it clear
that it's not welcome."  He didn't need the alcohol.  It helped,
but it was a habit he'd gotten into more heavily as things started
to go wrong in Russia.  He could give it up.  "And I don't know
about hotel mini-bars or things like that.  It's a lot of fuss to
demand that they restock and too much attention if anyone notices."

AJ nodded.  "S'okay.  I can ask for all of that and no one even
thinks about it.  They just do it."

"Yeah, well."  Lance wasn't sure whether to say what he was
thinking, but so far, AJ'd been very understanding about everything
Lance had had to say.  "If people are going to say I went through
rehab secretly, I want to actually do it."

"You thinking about it?"

Lance shrugged.  "Not sure they have a program for the kind of
stuff I have problems with."

"Overachievers' Anonymous?"

"Is that a real group?"

"Probably.  So what's the verdict?"

"Yes."

AJ's eyebrows went up at the one-word response.  "Try not to sound
too thrilled."

"Part of me keeps asking 'What's the catch?'," Lance admitted. 
"I'm not used to actual relationships.  The one time I thought
there was the possibility of something, I was really wrong about
it, and I'd kinda given up hope of finding someone who wanted me
who I'd want back."

AJ made a face.  "Got it.  Had enough of that already myself. 
People who see me as the sex god--" he flashed a grin, "not that
*that* one isn't fun -- the bad boy, the alcoholic, the sinner
needing to be saved, and everything in between.  I'm AJ, damnit,
and that's it.  Plus, y'know, a lot of people don't want to put up
with the clean lifestyle.  Makes people uncomfortable.  Even the
people I used to work with."

Lance was curious.  "How do I stereotype you?"

AJ shrugged.  "You don't, not as far as I can tell.  You're
treating me like any moderately fucked-up maniac who wandered into
your day off and dragged you away to watch him hit a ball with a
stick and then asked you to have sex with him."

That surprised a laugh out of him.  "No, not really.  My usual
deranged maniac is a lot less fun, constantly nags me and -- thank
God -- never wants to have sex with me."

"Kirkpatrick?  Boy's not right in the head."

Lance ducked his chin and didn't say anything.  He wasn't going to
badmouth his bandmates to AJ, but he wasn't sure he disagreed
either.  He certainly didn't understand Chris' motivations.

A hand squeezed his arm and Lance looked up.  "Sorry," AJ said,
"you're loyal to your guys and that's fine.  I get pissed off when
someone says something about mine, too, sometimes even when I know
they're being assholes."

Lance summoned a small smile for him.  "It's fine.  It's just," he
waved helplessly.  "I don't know what's going on in Chris' head,
but I think he means well, and I should be grateful for that
instead of questioning his motives."

"Grateful?" AJ's mouth gaped open.  "You don't have to be grateful
for anything.  You..." AJ stomped along as he walked, fuming before
finally looking back at Lance, who was following him, hanging a
pace back.  "Damnit, that's the kind of thing friends are
*supposed* to do for you because they want you to be happy.  Not to
drag you along and let you be miserable while you try to feel
grateful for the misery.  That's just wrong.  You need better
friends."

"Why, what kind of friends do you have?"

AJ thought about it and stopped stomping.  "Okay, so I have sucky
friends, too, who do stuff to make me miserable if they think it's
for my own good, even if it really isn't.  But that's because good
friends are hard to find, not 'cause I like it that way."

"I know," Lance said softly.  "And I do have some good friends. 
One good friend.  I know he'd take me in no matter what and try to
make sure I was happy, but it didn't seem right to make him put up
with me when I'm... like this."

"He's that bad of a friend then?"

"No, I just don't want to intrude."

"You gonna pull that shit with me?  'Cause it's not the kind of
thing I'm gonna put up with.  You got something to tell me, you
tell me.  If you hate my guts, wish I'd die, then I want to know
about it."

Lance slanted a cynical look at AJ.  "Yes, but would you do
anything about it?"

"Maybe.  Depends on the circumstances.  And the person.  But one
thing I have learned -- painfully -- is that nothing gets resolved
if you just ignore it."

"Dunno.  Some people seem to get by all right like that.  Even
married people."

"Yeah, well.  I don't think it's much of a relationship if you
never talk to the other person.  If you're gonna hook up with
someone for stuff other than sex, they gotta have something.  And
since I've already got enough money and just about everything else
fame and fortune can buy, about the only reason I can think of to
shack up with someone for an extended period of time is because you
like talking to them and being with them.  The way I figure it,"
and he looked directly at Lance, "is that you need to find someone
who'd make a good friend first."

"Some people think it's about falling in love," Lance said
neutrally.

"Bah.  Love is a lot of times a word people use to rationalize
sexual attraction.  'Ooh, she's hot, I wanna screw her', then, bam. 
Love!"

"That's... um... depressing?"

"Well," AJ shrugged.  "You tell me then why people do that thing
where they get to be good friends with someone of their sexual
persuasion and then refuse to date them.  'Cause you know people do
it."

"People are idiots."

"Granted, but it's all about the sex for most people, I think. 
Only, see, I've had lots of sex, more sex than most people can
imagine--"

"I believe you," Lance murmured.

"Shaddup, you," AJ said, but flashed a quick grin at him.  "So,
y'know, not all of my rep is wrong.  But with all that, I've got
some idea about sex, and while sex is great, it ain't everything. 
It's not even most of everything."

Lance opened his mouth to make a comment, but then stopped and
thought about what AJ was saying, about what it implied about what
he wanted from Lance.  "And you want more than that with me?"

AJ rolled his eyes.  "Duh.  That's only what I've been *saying* for
the last however."

"You'll have to forgive me for being slow.  My experience with
smart, sexy, interesting people without obvious mental problems is
that they're always already with someone else."

AJ looked pleased.  "That really what you think about me?"

"So far?  Yeah."

"Cool.  Very cool.  So, you gonna take me up on it?"

"I'd be a fool not to," Lance said.  Lots of changes to make and
this was by far the strangest relationship he'd fallen into.  He
always fell into the good things, though.  Could never plan for
them; they just showed up when he was least expecting them. 
"What's this going to mean?"

AJ shrugged.  "Dunno.  You're my first boyfriend.  Guess we'll have
to make it up as we go along.  You okay with that?"

"Yeah."  Lance smiled at AJ, squeezed his shoulder, and if they
weren't in public, he probably would have kissed him as well.

Instead Lance changed the subject and started talking about the
realism of the Iron Chef setup and whether a chef really could
improvise that many dishes without knowing the theme ingredient in
advance, and whether American culture had affected it by imposing
reality TV standards on Japanese television, or if -- as AJ
believed -- the philosophy of Iron Chef was derived from wedding
the samurai archetype to the art of cooking.

AJ had smiled back at Lance after the shoulder squeeze and was now
gesturing animatedly to counterpoint his argument, waving his hands
to indicate that his new boyfriend was a thoroughgoing idiot who
couldn't be trusted to know the price of tea in China.

Lance laughed.