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In case there is any confusion: the following story is not real, nor do I intend for you to believe it. Seriously, don't. Pure, unadulterated fiction. Written for Don We Now Our Gay Apparel. Massive thanks to Kaneko for an excellent mentoring/beta experience; she held my hand through my first experience with DWNOGA and made excellent suggestions to improve the story. Also, thanks to Faemovana for encouragement and read-throughs. A Fine Romance
Lance awoke to the realization that he was dying a horrible death. There was no doubt in his mind that his head was going to explode at any moment. To be honest, he wasn't sure he cared, as long as it relieved the pressure pounding against the inside of his skull. Of course, the brain matter might be hard to get out of his sheets, and the noise could possibly disturb the person breathing on his neck. He was on the verge of falling back to sleep when it occurred to him he had no idea who was breathing on his neck. Groaning, Lance twisted around, dislodging the heavy arm across his chest. His bedmate moaned and burrowed into the pillows. Lance frowned. The back of that head was very familiar. Light brown hair, just long enough to curl a bit. And below, a long, muscular, body with a very distinctive tattoo inked between the shoulder blades. Lance blinked, hoping the vision would disappear. It didn't. Instead, it let out another moan, and an arm flailed, nearly hitting Lance in the nose. "Justin?" Lance winced at the sound of his own voice. He was a bass; he wasn't supposed to be able to hit notes like that. Justin moved his arm again, groping around until he found Lance's hip. Lance heard a sigh from the pillows, but Justin showed no other signs of waking up. It wasn't like he hadn't shared a bed with Justin before, Lance thought as he stared down at his band mate in horror. Economy, sub-freezing temperatures, and plain homesickness had let to a lot of bed-sharing in the early days. The key difference here was nakedness. Lance was pretty sure they'd had a rule about that back then. "Oh my God, I've slept with the Infant," Lance said aloud. No matter that Justin was twenty-three and had just possibly slept with more people by now than Lance. In some warped, grudge-carrying mind, he would always be the Infant. Lance's already-queasy stomach rolled. "Chris is going to kill me." He made it to the bathroom in time, but only just. After, when he was brushing his teeth, he caught sight of his face in the mirror. Pale, drawn, dark circles under his eyes--he wasn't even going to leave an attractive corpse. And the worst part was, he couldn't entirely remember how he'd gotten in this predicament in the first place. Parts of the previous day stood out. Watching Joey, incredibly sexy in his black tux, smile down into Kelly's face as she stood beside him, radiant in her wedding gown. Dancing with every single female who could claim some connection to the Fatone gene pool and quite a few who couldn't. Smiling as he made a toast, as he said how happy he was for Joey and Kelly because he was, even though his heart felt like was being ripped apart fiber by fiber. The taste of champagne almost constantly on his tongue. Cheering the bride and groom on their way, Justin's arm heavy around his shoulders. JC dragging him away from the dance floor to slip out with the other guys. They'd ended up at Chris's house, the four of them. Lance had felt that the absence of the fifth was reason enough to drink more, and so he had. A lot. His last clear memory was of Chris and JC on one couch, JC nearly asleep on Chris's shoulder because alcohol always knocked him out, and Lance curled against Justin on the couch across from them. He remembered listening to Chris and Justin going on about something he couldn't focus on as he sipped at his glass of whiskey. He'd had the profound thought that nothing would ever be the same, and then things pretty much went black. How he'd gotten from there to naked in bed with Justin was a mystery. Whether or not anything had happened beyond sleeping was a mystery, too, but it really didn't matter. For Chris, the nakedness would be incriminating enough. Lance was going to die a slow, horrible death, and he couldn't even remember if he'd done anything to deserve it. All because Joey had gone and gotten married. Joey was married. With a groan, Lance leaned over the toilet again. Justin awoke to an empty bed. He'd had a fair amount of alcohol the night before, but not enough that he couldn't remember pouring Lance into bed and crawling in beside him. The bedroom he always used at Chris's was just down the hall, but Lance had drunk enough that Justin hadn't wanted to leave him alone. So much for that plan. Wincing at the light stabbing into his eyes, Justin pushed himself out of bed. His clothes were puddled on the floor where he'd dropped them. With a grimace, he grabbed his pants--no way was he touching the underwear--and pulled them on. As he was buttoning them up, he heard a groan from the bathroom. Lance was a pitiful sight, sitting naked on the floor with his forehead resting against the side of the bathtub. Justin sighed. "Bass, you look like shit." Lance glared at him. "I'm dying. Leave me alone." "You're still drunk, dude. What were you thinking?" Lance just groaned. Justin sighed again and reached over Lance to turn on the shower. "Come on, get up. Drown your sorrows in water this time. You'll feel better once you're cleaned up." "I hate you." Justin grinned. "Come on, while you're in there I'll find you some aspirin." "You're a god." Lance held up his hand to be pulled up. "But I still hate you." Once he was convinced Lance wouldn't really drown, Justin left him to his shower and went back to dig clothes and painkillers out of his bag. Unfortunately, the aspirin would only help the hangover, not the pain in Lance's heart. Justin had seen Lance drink a lot at various times, but never as much as he'd had yesterday. Justin had tried to stop him. So had JC and Chris, but Lance could be stubborn when he wanted to be. Finally, Chris had taken them back to his place, where at least there would be some privacy when Lance collapsed. It had been weird without Joey, and weirder still with Lance so grimly silent as he drank. It was like he'd made it his personal mission to consume all the alcohol in Florida. Which was understandable, given that he was dancing at the wedding of the man he'd been in love with since he was sixteen, but still a little scary to watch. Back in the bathroom, Lance was leaning against the wall under the spray, looking miserable. Justin sat on the counter to wait. Finally, long after the water had to have gotten cold, Lance turned it off and pulled back the shower door. "Hey, hand me a towel." Justin grabbed one and tossed it to him. "Feel better?" "Depends on whether you found that aspirin." Justin nodded to the bottle on the counter. "Get some clothes on, dude, then help yourself." "You planning on watching?" Lance asked dryly. "Just till I'm sure you're not going to fall over and crack your skull open." Lance sighed. "I'm fine, J. Go away." Justin studied him. He did look steadier, but there was something in his eyes that said he wasn't fine at all. Justin hated that look. Last night, somewhere between Joey pulling him aside and telling him to look after Lance and Lance wrapping himself around Justin on the couch, Justin had decided to do something about it. "You are not fine, dude. You're miserable, but that's okay. I know what's going to make you feel better." One leg in his pants, Lance paused and looked up at him. "Who's still drunk?" "You are, but that's not the point. The point is, you need to have an affair." According to Justin, the beauty of his plan lay in its simplicity. Lance was depressed because he'd lost the man he loved; therefore, he needed a good romance to take his mind off the pain. But not just any romance. He needed the thrill of courtship without the stress of worrying about whether there was a future to the relationship. He needed someone who cared about him, but who wasn't looking for 'happily ever after' any more than Lance was. "And where exactly am I supposed to find this guy?" Lance asked, morbidly curious. "You aren't supposed to find anyone," Justin said, handing him a mug of coffee. They'd gone down to the kitchen, semi-quiet in deference to Chris and JC still being asleep. Once in the kitchen, Justin had started banging dishes and cabinets around like he owned the place, leaving Lance to wince with every noise. "Dude, I've seen the guys you find. I'm not leaving this in your hands." "Why am I even listening to you?" "Because I'm right, and you know it. Anyway, I already know the perfect guy." "I'm afraid to ask." Justin gave him a beatific smile. "Me." Lance choked on his coffee. Justin grabbed his mug and set it safely aside before pounding on his back. "Are you insane?" Lance gasped at last. "J, get off, man. I'm fine." "It's perfect," Justin protested. "Listen. We've known each other forever, so it's not like we're suddenly going to start seeing fireworks every time we look at each other. But we're already friends, and you wouldn't have to worry about me outing you to The Enquirer or something. What could be better?" Lance could only stare at him. "Yeah, because it worked out so well the last time I fell in love with one of my best friends." "You're not listening. I never said anything about falling in love. Just a little romance, maybe some sex, everyone has a good time, and you get to be happy again." "I'll be happy if we never have this conversation again." Justin patted his shoulder and handed him his coffee again. "Trust me, Lance. It'll work." Justin's expression of serene confidence told Lance that he was doomed. Leaving for L.A. came as a relief for Lance. He was convinced that Chris was giving him the evil eye, and the sooner he put several thousand miles between them, the better. Even if it did mean spending hours on a plane with Justin being weirdly attentive. All Lance really wanted to do was to spend the flight coming to terms with the fact that Joey was, completely and finally and without any turning back, married. He'd been dreading this day since long before Joey had proposed. Even though he'd known Joey was straight when he'd first fallen for him, even though he'd known Joey was in love with Kelly for almost that long, he'd held out a faint hope. Or, maybe, more of a dream--that some day Joey would wake up and realize that what he felt for Lance was more than just the love of a brother. Lance had loved him for so long; surely that had to count for something. Apparently not. Lance sighed, leaning his head back against the headrest. It wasn't that Joey didn't love him. He could never doubt that. It was just that Joey's love wasn't, couldn't be, what Lance needed it to be, no matter how much Lance wished for it. Sometimes he thought Joey felt guilty, like he'd failed Lance in some bizarre way. It was Lance's fault, though; he was the one stupid enough to fall for his best friend, the only one of his best friends who happened to be irrevocably straight. He probably deserved the aching hole in his chest. "Stop that," Justin said, poking him in the side. "No brooding allowed, remember?" Lance glared at him. "Keep that finger to yourself, Timberlake, or you're going to lose it." "Hey, you think Chris was acting weird this morning?" Justin asked, unfazed by the threat. "He seemed all quiet and shit." "Probably hung over." Or planning Lance's demise. "I think he and C finally did it. They were hanging all over each other last night, and C had that look on his face this morning." Justin grinned, obviously pleased with his bit of gossip. Lance didn't look around to see if anyone was listening. He really didn't want to know. "Way to be discreet, J." Justin shrugged. "I'm just saying. It's been years, dawg. If they did, it's about time." "You really think Chris would finally give in after all this time?" Lance shook his head. "I don't think so." "You never know. C's persistent." JC was stubborn beyond all reckoning, but Chris could still give him a run for his money. Lance contemplated what it would be like if JC finally had managed to crack the last of Chris's defenses. He was ashamed to realize that his main reaction was jealousy. JC had loved Chris for about as long as Lance had loved Joey; why should he get what he wanted when Lance couldn't? "Leave me alone, J," he snapped, more than a little sick of himself, and sent up a silent wish that JC and Chris were happy together. Under the cover of the armrest, Justin reached over and squeezed his hand. It was comforting in a way Lance didn't really want to think about. He didn't pull away until the stewardess showed up to ask if they wanted drinks. By the time they landed, all Lance wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed for a few days. Preferably with a bottle of bourbon. He turned down Justin's invitation to go clubbing that night. In retrospect, he probably should have been suspicious about how easily Justin accepted his refusal. When he opened the door that evening to see Justin standing there with a pizza box and a six-pack, he just sighed. "Aren't you supposed to be at some club or another?" Justin stepped past him into the house. "It's hard to court someone who's not there. Besides, I knew you'd be lying here in the dark feeling sorry for yourself, so I figured pizza and movies would be a good cure." "I was not lying in the dark feeling sorry for myself," Lance snapped at Justin's back. There was still plenty of light coming through the windows. Justin ignored him, and somehow Lance found himself spending a second night on the couch, cuddling with Justin. Not that he'd intended to cuddle. Justin, who had gotten freakishly strong in recent years, had grabbed him as he walked past and pulled him down. For his part, Lance had tried to protest, but Justin hadn't listened. Finally Lance had given in, but he told himself he wasn't enjoying the experience. Not even when Justin slid a hand under his shirt and rubbed his belly, or when he started dropping little nibbling kisses around Lance's ear. The fucker knew Lance had sensitive ears. It wasn't fair, and Lance didn't like it. At all. But it had been a long day. It was easier to just stay where he was, listening to the movie with one ear and the steady beat of Justin's heart with the other. He could pretend the growing warmth in his belly was from the pizza, that the faint tingling in the skin of his neck was from the beer, that the hands touching him so tenderly were Joey's . . . He sat up abruptly, taking Justin by surprise. "We can't do this, J. This is wrong." Justin frowned at him. "Why?" "Because we're friends, we're in the same band, we could screw everything up. It's a crazy idea. We'd both regret it. I'm not in love with you, and you're sure not in love with me. Do I need to go on?" "Were you listening at all this morning, dude? The whole plan is based on the fact that we are friends, we already care about each other, and we don't have to worry about falling in love. This is just about you feeling better and both of us having a good time." Justin reached for Lance's hand, rubbing his clenched knuckles soothingly with one thumb. "I'm not trying to make you do something you don't want to do, Lance. If this really bothers you, I'll stop, I promise. But I think I can help you feel better if you'd just give me a chance." Lance opened his mouth to say no. That was really what he intended, but somehow, maybe it was the gentleness in Justin's tone or the affection in his eyes, Lance found himself leaning forward. Kissing Justin, knowing he'd lost his mind but letting his hands come up to grasp Justin's shoulders anyway. Feeling the heat, the electric touch of Justin's tongue brushing against his. Justin pushed him back against the cushions. He pulled Justin with him, devouring his mouth, gasping as he felt Justin's weight pin him down. Already he was hard. So was Justin, rubbing against him with a tantalizing slowness as Justin pulled back from his mouth. "Oh, God," he gasped. "Lance." And then he was back, licking the spot just under Lance's ear, sucking, and Lance groaned. Justin was still rocking against him. Lance pushed his hips upward, desperate for more, harder, now, his fingers digging into Justin's back. Deep inside him, the heat was welling up, almost ready to explode. Only Justin's weight, his arms locked around Lance's body, kept Lance from shattering. He pressed his face into Justin's neck, tasting salt as Justin's pulse beat just under his skin. Arched upward. The heat was scalding, unbearable. Justin pressed down, his moan vibrating in Lance's ear. And Lance came, crying out as the heat erupted throughout his body. Justin collapsed against him. Hot breaths brushed against Lance's neck, but he couldn't manage much more than the faintest twinge of interest. "Wow," Justin said finally. "That was . . . " "Yeah." Lance turned to look at him, searching for--something. Regret, maybe, or embarrassment. All he saw was a sort of bemused satisfaction. "You okay?" Justin grinned. "I'm great, man. How about you?" Lance felt pretty great, too. A little sleepy, but surprisingly trauma-free considering that he'd just had sex with Justin. He'd just had sex with Justin. "Oh, shit, Chris is going to kill me." Justin pulled back. "Dude, that is totally the last response I was expecting." Lance squeezed his eyes shut. "He's going to skin me alive and feed my balls to an alligator. Then he's going to kill me. I am such a dead man." "Lance," Justin said, his voice very patient, "what the hell are you talking about?" "There's a rule. No sex with the Infant, or else Chris gets to kill you. It's right up there with Don't borrow JC's clothes, or else all your CDs will mysteriously be replaced with Barney soundtracks. Thanks a lot, Timberlake." "You're kidding me, right?" Lance just groaned. Maybe Chris would believe he'd suffered from temporary insanity and settle for breaking both his legs. "You're not kidding." The disbelief was thick in Justin's voice. "Lance, has it occurred to you that I've been over the age of consent for several years now? That Chris no longer cares who I sleep with, except when he wants to hear about the really hot ones? That you've completely lost your fucking mind?" "Maybe if I start running now. I know some people. I can get a fake passport. I wonder how hard it is to learn Norwegian?" Justin sighed loudly. Lance could feel him moving around, but didn't open his eyes until he heard the unmistakable sound of a cell phone being dialed. "Chris, hey." Lance groaned, his worst fears confirmed. He would have started running then, but Justin was still lying mostly on top of him. "Listen, dude, Lance and I just had sex, and now he thinks you're going to kill him." Justin listened for a minute, then winced. "Yeah, but . . . . Chris, I know, but . . . . He's not . . . . Yeah. . . . Okay . . . . I know. Love you too." Justin hung up and dropped his head down to Lance's shoulder. "Thanks a lot, Bass. Now Chris is going to kill me. He said I was taking advantage of you when you were depressed, and I ought to be ashamed of myself. And I think I heard JC laughing at me in the background." Lance frowned. "He wasn't mad at me?" Justin shook his head, curls tickling Lance's neck. "I told you. Unlike some people, Chris doesn't still think I'm fourteen." "I don't think you're fourteen," Lance protested. He knew exactly how old Justin was; it had taken him almost a month to find the right birthday present. "Then quit freaking out, man. We had sex. I enjoyed it, and it looked like you did, too. Quit looking for problems." That was easier for Justin to say than for Lance to do. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that he'd somehow taken advantage of Justin, if not because of his age, then because he wasn't really the person Lance wanted to be lying beside. Justin pulled back again to give him a look, one that suggested he knew exactly what Lance was thinking. "Hey. No strings, no worries, just fun, remember? Relax and enjoy yourself for once." Lance sighed, and nodded, and poked at Justin until he got off so that Lance could get cleaned up. Over the next few weeks, Lance did his best to follow Justin's instructions. Hanging out with Justin was usually fun, so it wasn't exactly a hardship even with the added element of Justin's attempts at courtship. Lance got used to having fresh flowers around the house and to finding little gifts or notes in unexpected places. He even grew accustomed to feeling Justin's hand on the small of his back when they were walking together. And the sex, well, that seemed to get better each time they did it. Lance tried not to be bothered by the fact that, after that first time, sex only happened when he initiated it. Justin was always willing, but he never started anything. Lance wondered occasionally if Justin was only doing it for Lance's sake. But he did seem to enjoy it, so Lance put the worry out of his mind. Mostly. "I'd just feel better if I knew for sure it wasn't just a pity fuck," he told JC one afternoon while Justin was occupied out in the pool. "I mean, I don't want him to feel obligated or something, you know?" JC laughed. "Man, if there's one thing J has, it's a very clear sense of who he does or does not want to fuck. Trust me, if you weren't on the 'does' list, he wouldn't be in your bed, no matter how sorry he felt for you." "Thanks." Lance frowned. "I think." JC was quiet for a moment, except for that soft humming thing he did when he was trying to think of how to say something. "Lance, listen, I want you to be careful, okay? Justin keeps saying this is all fun, which, yeah, you both could use a little of. But I worry, you know? Like, one of you is going to start taking it too seriously." Lance sighed. "That's not going to happen, C. I'm not looking for anything here, and I know Justin isn't. We're just friends." JC sighed. "Just . . . I'm here, you know? If you need anything." Then Justin came in, dripping, and stole the phone, so Lance was left knowing that JC wasn't convinced. With a shrug, he put it out of his mind and went to mop up the water Justin had tracked in. But somehow the conversation kept niggling at him. He started noticing things, like how his first impulse when something happened was to tell Justin. Of course, they'd been spending a lot of time together, so that didn't necessarily mean anything. That also explained why Lance felt so off-center when Justin flew home to visit his family for a few days. It didn't exactly excuse the stupidly happy smile that he couldn't get rid of when Justin came back, arriving in the middle of the night and climbing into Lance's bed with a little sigh of contentment. The final straw was when Lance looked at the calendar one day and realized that Joey's honeymoon had been over for almost a week and Lance hadn't thought to call him. In fact, he hadn't actually thought about Joey at all. He and Justin had been busy with publicity stuff and fooling around with a couple of songs Justin had been writing, not to mention just plain fooling around. Joey had been the furthest thing from Lance's mind. Lance sat down heavily in his desk chair, staring at the circled date on the calendar that indirectly bore witness to exactly how fucked he was. He knew this feeling, this hollow, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He'd lived with it for years, watching from the sidelines as Joey fell in love with people who weren't him. How could he be so incredibly, monumentally stupid as to get over Joey only to find himself in love with Justin? He laughed, the sound painful even to his own ears. He should have let Chris kill him when he had the chance. He watched Justin carefully that night as they danced at the club they'd chosen, looking for signs that Justin might be feeling the same thing he was. He saw friendship, affection, that hint of gentleness that Justin showed to everyone he cared about, but nothing more. Justin was having a good time, and that was all. Suddenly the club was too crowded, too loud for him to handle. He grabbed Justin's arm, pulling him down enough to yell in his ear. "I'm beat, man. I'm going home. You can stay if you want." He'd hoped Justin would stay; he really needed some time alone to get his head together. But Justin wrapped an arm around his shoulder and turned toward the exit. "No, I'll go with you. You feeling okay?" "I'm fine," Lance lied, and hated himself for leaning into Justin's side. He had to get used to not doing that anymore. But just for a few minutes more, he indulged himself. He was quiet on the ride home, not really listening to Justin's chatter. He knew he had to say something to Justin. He just didn't know what. At least, he thought wryly, he'd learned one thing from all those years of loving Joey: he wasn't even making an attempt to fool himself into believing something would come of his feelings for Justin. It was better to end it now, tonight, before he dug himself in any deeper. He was so lost in thought that he barely noticed when they arrived at home. His mind was still hunting frantically for something to say when Justin grabbed him and pulled him around so that they were face to face. "Okay, Bass, talk. What's wrong with you tonight?" Lance looked up at him. Concern, edging toward worry, but only what someone might feel for a friend. He took a deep breath. If that's the way it was, so be it. Justin's friendship was no small thing. "It's time for this to stop, J." He pulled his arm free, but gently. He didn't want Justin to think he was angry. "It's been fun, but it's time to stop." Justin frowned, his eyes searching Lance's. "What's going on?" Lance shrugged. "I'm not in love with Joey anymore. Your plan worked. We can stop now." "My plan was for you to get happy. You don't look happy, Lance. What's wrong?" Lance had hoped he would get away without telling, but he knew the stubborn set of Justin's mouth all too well. Justin wasn't going anywhere until he got the answers he was looking for. "You know how you said no fireworks?" He smiled, hoping it was more wry than sad. "I've been seeing sparklers for a while now." Justin blinked, then reached for him. "Lance . . ." Catching his hand, Lance leaned up and kissed him, but softly, on the cheek. Like a friend. "Go home now, J. I'll be okay." He didn't know if he was more depressed or relieved when Justin turned and left. Justin hated it when Chris was right. Or, at least, when he was right in a way that made Justin wrong, which happened more often than Justin cared to think about. Chris had warned him that his plan had been a bad idea. Actually, "the mother of all dumbass ideas" was a little closer to how Chris had put it. Lance, according to Chris, was as much on the rebound as it was possible to be if you hadn't technically been in a relationship in the first place. Putting him in a position where romance was involved was just asking for trouble. Justin had insisted he could handle it. The truth was, he couldn't imagine a situation where he and Lance might fall in love. Justin had loved Lance almost since they'd met, but he was about the last person Justin would ever consider falling in love with. Mostly because Lance had been in love with Joey forever. It was like a fact of the universe: the sun rose in the East, dropped objects fell downward, Lance loved Joey. And Justin came up with stupid plans that ended up hurting the very people he was trying to help. "I told you so," Chris said, his voice carrying no satisfaction over the phone line. "Didn't I say to leave him alone?" "I was just trying to make him feel better," Justin protested, but then he remembered the look on Lance's face the last time he'd seen him. It was the exact same look as the one he'd worn the morning after Joey's wedding, only about ten times worse. "I suck." "Hey." Chris never let anyone get away with insulting his boys, even when they were doing it to themselves. "You meant well. You just should have thought it through a little better." "Yeah." Justin rubbed his forehead. He'd had a headache for days now. "So what do I do?" "Have you talked to him?" "He's not picking up his phone or answering the door. JC's talked to him a couple of times, so I know he's still alive, but he sure doesn't want to talk to me." "Then give him some time. You know Lance. If you try to rush him, he'll just back himself into a corner and gnaw his leg off or something." Justin frowned. "Dude, I think you're getting your metaphors fucked up or something." "Whatever. You know what I mean." "I'm just afraid I've really screwed up this time. What if I've gone and messed up our friendship? It's only been a few days and I already miss him. What if he never wants to talk to me again?" Chris sighed. "Welcome to third grade, man. Don't worry, if he gets too stubborn I'll come and sit on him until he starts talking to you again, okay?" Justin's head throbbed. "You're my hero." "Just make sure you pick me first on the playground." Justin didn't let himself call more than three times a day. Partially because he didn't want to piss Lance off more than he already was, and partially because he couldn't think of anything to say. "I'm sorry I made you fall in love with me," while somewhat accurate, came off sounding a little too egotistical. "Please don't hate me, I just wanted you to be happy" made him sound like a stalker. Usually he settled for, "I'm sorry. Call me, okay?" with an occasional, "Come on, Bass, pick up the phone. Please?" for good measure. So far, he hadn't gotten any response. He'd always hated it when one of the guys got mad at him. Even more than that, he hated knowing that one of them was hurting. The knowledge that Lance was mad because Justin had hurt him, even unintentionally, was practically enough to give him an ulcer. He couldn't sit around the house waiting for Lance to pick up the phone, and he didn't really feel like going to any parties or clubs. With Joey's wedding and honeymoon, they didn't have anything planned as a group except the occasional appearance, so he didn't even have work to distract him. So after rattling around aimlessly for a day or two, Justin finally got in his Escalade and started driving. Several hours on the road quieted his brain, and he had his cell phone with him, just in case Lance decided to call. As the days passed, he heard nothing from Lance, but at least got to put the Escalade and the Range Rover through their paces, which he hadn't had time to do since he'd bought them. He would have enjoyed himself if he only knew that he'd come home to a message from Lance. He never did. But on the sixth day, he came home to find the back door slightly ajar. Later, he thought about how incredibly stupid he'd been to walk in. He had no way of knowing what might be waiting for him inside. At the time, he'd thought vaguely that his mom or one of the guys must have shown up and let themselves in. But when he stepped into his den and saw what looked like everything he owned strewn across the floor, he knew something was wrong. Moving on autopilot, he grabbed his cell phone. Lance never picked up when Justin called. If he was going to make himself fall out of love with his band mate, he needed some distance. He couldn't quite stop himself from listening to the messages, though, even though they always said basically the same thing. This time, Lance knew even before Justin had said two words that something was different. His voice sounded odd, tight and almost frightened. "Lance, I need you here." Lance tried calling on his way to the car, and again while he was driving. The first time, the phone was busy. The second time, it rang until Justin's voice mail picked up. Swearing under his breath, Lance thought about calling the other guys, but they were all in Florida. No point in scaring them when he didn't even know if anything was wrong. His heart pounded faster when he pulled up to Justin's house and saw the police cruiser parked in the driveway. He didn't let himself think what that might mean. The front door stood slightly open, and he didn't bother to knock before walking in. The first person he saw was a uniformed officer bearing down on him. "Can I help you, sir?" "It's okay. He's a friend." Lance looked around quickly, spotting Justin on the couch next to a man in a suit who was holding an notepad and looking a little irritated at the interruption. 'Detective,' Lance's TV-trained brain supplied helpfully, but his attention was on Justin. Justin looked--thank God, he looked okay. Unhurt, even if he did look so tense he could shatter at any second. Lance took a deep breath and forced himself to be calm as he stepped forward. "Justin? What happened? Are you all right?" Justin stood and met Lance with a hard, desperate hug, and didn't completely let go even when he sat back down, pulling Lance down to sit beside him. "I'm okay. Someone broke into my house." His voice sounded stunned, lost. Lance wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "There's been a rash of robberies in the area," the detective said, his tone polite even though he was tapping his pad against his leg impatiently. "The robbers are bypassing the alarm systems on these houses like they're not even there. Luckily, they've only hit empty houses so far, so no one's been hurt." Justin's hand tightened where it was locked around Lance's wrist. He stayed calm, answering the detective's questions as smoothly as if he were in an interview, but every once in a while, he glanced around the room and Lance felt him shudder. Finally, the policemen left. Justin stood to see them out, then stood in the center of the room, surveying the damage with a lost look on his face. "I suppose I should clean it up," he said softly, then glanced around the room and shivered. His eyes were shadowed as he looked at Lance. "I really don't want to be here right now." Lance went to him, pulling him into a tight hug. "We'll spend the night at my place. We can tackle cleaning up tomorrow." Justin held it together through calling his mom and Chris, although he let Lance call Johnny to let him know what happened in case the press got hold of the story. Lance wanted to do more to erase the lost look in Justin's eyes. The only thing he could think of was to stay close, which wasn't nearly enough, but it seemed to make Justin feel better. It wasn't until they went to bed that Justin's control started to break. Lance had offered him one of the guest rooms, but he'd looked so sad that Lance hadn't pushed the issue. They'd shared a bed before when they were just friends. Lance could handle it for one more night if it made Justin feel better. His resolve was put to the test almost immediately when Justin curled around him the way he always did after sex. Friends, he reminded himself firmly, and squeezed Justin's hand where it rested against his stomach. "It'll be better in the morning, J," he said, the same mantra he'd used when they'd cuddled for warmth in dingy hotel rooms across Europe. "Just try to get some sleep, okay?" Justin sighed, the breath warm against his neck. "It just freaks me out, you know? Someone in my house, touching my stuff. Taking my stuff. I should be mad, but all I can think is, someone was in my house." "I know, man. I'm sorry." Justin wiggled a little closer. "Thanks for coming. I know you're all mad at me and stuff, but . . . " "Hey." Lance couldn't turn around to see Justin's face, so he settled for giving his hand a sharp squeeze. "I'm not mad at you. I never was. I just needed some time to get my head together, but any time you need me, I'm there. You know that, right?" "Yeah, I know." For the briefest of moments, Lance was sure he felt Justin pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. Then Justin's breathing deepened, and a few minutes later, Lance was asleep. Justin awoke, far too early, to the realization that he was in Lance's bed. With Lance. And he was unaccountably happy, given the fact that he'd been robbed the day before. It was a feeling that had been lurking at the back of his mind ever since Lance had walked in to his house yesterday. He'd been sitting on the couch, angry and scared and trying really hard not to show it because he wasn't going to look like a wuss in front of the detective. Then Lance had walked in, and suddenly things were just . . . better. Not perfect, because he still had several thousand dollars worth of things missing and someone had still been in his house. But with Lance there, all calm and steady and strong, he could keep himself together for as long as he needed to. He pressed his face to the back of Lance's neck, breathing in the slightly spicy scent he'd grown so familiar with in the past few weeks. He'd missed this, even more than he had realized. He didn't want to lose it again. Disentangling himself gently, he sat up, watching Lance sleep as he examined that thought. He didn't want to lose Lance again. Not just his friendship, but him. Waking up in the same bed. Turning to talk to him and finding him there. Making love. Seeing fireworks. He grinned and leaned forward, just brushing Lance's cheek with his lips. "Wake up, Bass," he said tenderly. "It's the Fourth of July." |
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