Lance planned his days out in carefully measured blocks of time.  His schedule didn't allow for things like sleeping in, so he was justifiably annoyed when the phone rang a full twenty minutes before his alarm was set to go off.  Annoyed or not, he still managed to keep the snarl out of his voice when he answered. 

"Hello?" 

"Lance? Sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you about something.  Seth Sherman, he's, he needs your help."

"Stephanie." He sighed and scratched his fingers through his sleep-flattened blonde hair.  He could hear his roommate, Joey, snoring from the other room.  "Please.  It's not even six yet." 

"I know.  Which is how I knew I'd be able to catch you.  You never have your cell phone on."  Her pout came through the line loud and clear, and Lance resigned himself to hearing her out.

"Fine.  About Seth?" 

"Right.  He's been different lately…everyone's noticed it.  The first night back to school, he was drunk, and he didn't even care if we knew it.  He's out of control, and someone needs to do something." 

Lance sat up in bed.  He didn't know Seth very well, but he knew where she was going with this. 

"You need to talk to him, straighten him out.  He's supposed to be heading up the witnessing program this semester.  How can he actually lead people to Christ if he's living like that?  It reflects badly on all of us, Lance." 

She was right, it did reflect badly on them if one of their leaders was living in an ungodly manner, but Lance's schedule was filled. 

"And it has to be me, why?" 

"Because people listen to you.  They look up to you, and…"  She trailed off uneasily, giving her claims a little more credibility.  "…the rest of us all have our own little…shortcomings.  You're the only one who can really correct someone, because you're the only one beyond reproach." 

"I'm not,"  Lance protested, but at that point they both knew he'd be doing it.  He always did.  

***

 He decided to talk to Seth after writing class, where he took the third seat back, just like always.  The window seat.  Writing held far less interest for him than his other business-oriented classes, and he liked to watch the people outside when he got bored.   There were two girls having a heated argument on the lawn, and he watched them toss their hair about and scowl at one another until he heard the teacher say something that drew his attention back into the classroom. 

"…into pairs, and you'll draw a predetermined topic to write about." 

This was the thing he hated most about Professor Bartling: his fondness for assigning group work.  Lance's experience with assignments like this had soured him on it completely; he either ended up doing most of the work or cringing when he saw the other students' shoddy efforts that would bear his name, as well. 

"Andrews and Artlett, Bass and Chasez…"

Lance kept his face neutral as he turned his head to find his partner.  Joshua Chasez.  It could be worse, he thought, looking at the gangly brunette with whom he'd been paired.  Josh seemed a little spacey, but he was into writing and Lance knew he usually got A's in this class.  His eyes traveled down to Josh's red converse tennis shoes, which Lance could've sworn were glittering with sparkles, and when he looked back up, Josh was smiling, gesturing for him to come over.  The room fell into chaos for a few minutes while everyone change seats and dragged their desks together.  Lance did the same, and pushed a desk up next to Josh's. 

"Hi," he said, smiling politely.  He could see by looking into Josh's unzipped backpack that everything was lined up, tidy and organized.  That was a good sign, and his smile became a little less forced.  Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. 

"Hi," Josh replied.  His eyes flickered over Lance's face before he looked away shyly.  He seemed uncomfortable, Lance realized, but couldn't think of a reason why he would be. 

"Not a fan of the group effort?" he asked, and Josh looked blank for a second before laughing and shrugging it off. 

"It's okay," he said.  "Although, the last time, that girl over there- Amy…" he nodded with his chin over to a redhead who was speaking loudly to her new partner.  "God.  I was praying I wouldn't get her again.  She wrote 'dramatic' instead of 'traumatic', and when I tried to correct her, she insisted that they were the same thing.  When I tried to get her to change it- because my name's on the paper, too, you know…she just freaked out."  He shuddered, but his eyes were smiling when he looked at Lance.  "She threw her notebook at me and said that since I knew everything, I could just be in charge of writing." 

"So, what did you do?"

"I wrote."  Josh grinned widely and tapped his pencil on the desk.  "I was afraid to refuse." 

Lance chuckled at this.  He  had a lot of extracurricular activities with Amy and because of her volatile temper, she was used to getting her way.  "I promise not to throw anything at you," he said solemnly, just as Professor Bartling approached them with a handful of index cards. 

Lance chose one and read it aloud for Josh. 

"Argue the benefits of legalizing same-sex marriage."  His face twisted into a frown because now he was going to have to argue for something that he was fundamentally opposed to on every level.  He'd been hoping for something with the death penalty, welfare, or politics.

JC sat perfectly still for a moment, before nodding slowly.  "Okay," he said, his expression unreadable. 

Lance looked down at Josh's shoes and winced.  Those were sparkles. 

***

Justin burst through the door to JC's apartment and announced, "I'm starving!  Please tell me that you losers have food!" 

"We've got food," JC said, barely looking up from his laptop, which was set up at the kitchen table.  "Chris did the shopping, though, so I can't promise that it'll be anything edible." 

"I heard that!" a voice growled from the living room.  "I am right here, you know." 

"You told me not to talk to you."  JC replied patiently, clicking at his mouse.  "You told me that you wouldn't hear me, that you were in a creative place far, far away." 

Justin laughed and closed the door behind him.  JC was obviously involved in homework so he stepped into the living room.  Newspaper crinkled softly under his feet, and judging by the expression on JC's roommate's face, he was not in that creative place that he'd hoped for. 

"Fuck off!" Chris yelled, even though the kitchen is only a few feet away.  "I just totally fucked my landscape, and I need to be over half done by now."  Chris, an art major, hated landscapes with a passion.  He'd rather paint people, or abstract works where he had more creative freedom.  Justin took a look at what Chris had so far, and thought that most of Chris' problem was being too critical of his own work

"Chris, these are amazing."  Justin shook his head in disbelief.  "You need to take a break or something." 

Chris stripped off his dirty smock and ran stained, yellow fingers over his face.  "I know.  I need to just…start over," he said, disgusted.   

"By the way, someone's coming over in a little while," JC said finally looking up from his computer.  "Bartling has me working on a paper with this kid, Lance, and he said he'd be here at six."  He pulled a face, and Justin laughed before sticking his head in the refrigerator. 

"What's wrong with him?" he asked.  "How old is this yogurt?"

"Read the expiration date."  JC stretched his legs under the table, sighing.  "Nothing's wrong with him, exactly…  He's just, he's Vice-President of Student Government and President of the BSU.  We're writing about why same-sex marriage should be legalized.  You should've seen the look on his face." 

Chris laughed manically from the living room. 

"What's BSU?" Justin asked, and sat down with JC at the table. 

"The Baptist Student Union."  Chris had his brush in hand again, and was making tentative strokes across the canvas.  He worked better in a busy environment, which was probably why he'd been having trouble before with only JC sitting silently in the other room.  "They're all about Jesus." 

"Hooo, boy," Justin whistled, and licked the yogurt from his fingers.  "Does he know you're gay?" 

JC shrugged.  "I don't know.  I doubt it.  He's never really talked to me before.  Anyways, he's nice.  He was nice to me." 

"That blonde kid?"  Chris said, and added some more white to his sky. 

"You know him?"

"Yeah, right.  Like our paths would ever cross.  I've seen him around.  Smooth, preppy, nice ass."

"That's him.  He-"  JC was about to say more, but the doorbell rang and Justin jumped up, delighted.  Chris smirked from behind his easel. 

***

Lance took care of business with Seth Sherman in less than twenty minutes.  It wasn't as big a deal as Steph had worried.  He'd just explained to Seth why his behavior was unacceptable, and laid down the consequences for him.  Seth had turned remorseful almost immediately, and why wouldn't he?  No one wanted to mess up their own life.

In the car, in Josh's parking lot, Lance opened his organizer and drew a dark line through Seth's name with satisfaction. He stared at the next words- Josh Chasez 6PM- before slamming the book shut.  Just another block of time. 

The door was thrown open by a tall, curly haired boy with eyes nearly as blue as Josh's.  "Hi!" he said eagerly, and gestured Lance inside.  "Lance, right?" 

"Right," he replied.  Josh's apartment was twice as large as Lance's, and twice as cluttered.  The walls couldn't possibly fit any more paintings on them; not just paintings, but pencil drawings and charcoals as well.  The living room had been transformed into an art studio; everything covered with newspaper, every available surface covered with cups, brushes, tubes and things that Lance didn't even recognize.  It smelled a little like turpentine, but mostly incense, which was probably the point. 

"Hi." Josh motioned for Lance to put his stuff down in the kitchen.  "Lance, this is Justin.  We grew up together." 

"Nice to meet you," Lance said, and took Justin's offered hand.  "Freshman?" 

"Yup.  Music major, like JC.  We're gonna be famous."  He flashed Lance his most winning smile, and Josh rolled his eyes at Justin's young arrogance.  Justin felt the need to charm every person that he came in contact with, and apparently Lance was no exception.  

"And that's Chris Kirkpatrick, my roommate," he interrupted, pointing into the living room.  "He's a senior.  Art major."

 Lance stepped cautiously into Chris' area and received a sharp look from the guy at the easel, a young man with a bandanna tied around his head.  A mop of tiny black braids stuck out from underneath, and when Chris finally gave a clipped, "Hi.  Nice to meet you," Lance could see the glint of something silver in his tongue.  His ears both held multiple piercings. 

"Yeah," Lance replied stiffly, and stepped back slowly.

"Wanna get started?" Josh asked from the kitchen, and Lance joined him at the table.  Justin seemed to be fascinated with what they were doing, judging from the way he just stood slumped against the counter, watching them while he drank his soda.  Josh didn't seem to mind, and Justin seemed like a good kid. 

"So, did you write down some reasons we can use?" Josh asked, and Lance reluctantly slid his piece of paper across the table.  They read over one another's notes while Justin watched them.  Josh's notes were extensive, and he didn't seem to have any problem finding good reasons to support same-sex marriage.  Lance had only thought of one, and he wasn't even sure that it was a good one. 

"I'm- usually better at this," Lance murmured, embarrassed.  "I just couldn't…" 

"It's okay," Josh assured him.  "The more we read up on it, the more reasons we'll be able to come up with.  And, I think you're onto something with your idea about how it'll save money in the legal system.  You're a business major, huh?" 

Lance nodded and stared down at Josh's neat handwriting.

Josh printed out articles while Lance chatted with Justin.  Justin was like Joey, wanting to talk about music all the time, and Lance was more than happy to engage him.  Lance loved to sing, but if he didn't live with Joey, he'd probably never get the chance.  Joey loved to drag him into the music, but he drew the line at joining in with the choreography, which Joey was forever practicing.  He described some of this to Justin, who found it hilarious, especially the time he'd tricked Lance, who can't dance, into auditioning with him. 

"I was so pissed," Lance remembered, shaking his head.  "And then he told everyone I was recovering from hip surgery." 

JC smiled over the top of his computer. 

"I can't hear you!" Chris called when they started working again, taking notes from the articles.  "I can't work like this…distract me."   

JC gave Lance an apologetic shrug.  "Sorry.  He works better with a lot going on.  As you can imagine, this place is usually pretty crazy.  Sorry we're boring you!" he called back. 

"It's okay.  I'm about to take a break, anyhow," he said, and carried some brushes to the sink.  His black combat boots stomped obnoxiously across the linoleum, making it impossible for Lance to concentrate.  How did JC manage to keep his grades up, with studying conditions like this?  He tracked the sound of Chris' boots out of the kitchen, then back in.  He was carrying something this time; a framed canvas. 

"Check it out, C.  I got my project back today.  A plus."  He flipped the painting over, and Josh gasped into his hands. 

"Ohmygod, Chris!" he squealed.  "It's…it's so, I have no words." 

Lance agreed.  He had no words, either, for a painting that was most definitely a nude Josh, from the waist up.  Chris had perfectly captured the pale, curving expanse of his back, and given a glowing, ethereal quality to his subject.  The expression on Josh's face as he looks over his shoulder at the artist is solemn…and faintly, inexplicably sexual. 

"It rocks!" Justin exclaimed, and hopped up on the counter. 

Chris barely acknowledged Justin's comment, but braced his hand on the table near Lance.  "What do you think, Bass?  Ever seen anything like it?"  His tone was quietly mocking, and Josh uttered a, "Chris," in warning. 

"Um." 

"I knew you'd like it." Chris winked and propped the painting up against the refrigerator.  "Now, where shall we hang this fine masterpiece?" 

Lance decided to ignore him.  He'd been harassed plenty in high school by jerks like Chris, and the only method that had ever worked was to pretend they didn't bother him.  "So, Josh," Lance began, only to have Chris interrupt, hooting,

"Yeah, Josh, better get back to work." 

Josh blushed faintly, and wrote something in his notebook.  "Um, yeah.  You can call me JC, Lance.  It's what everybody calls me." 

"Oh.  Okay.  I didn't know."  He wished that Chris would quit breathing down their necks, would leave so they could get back to work.  The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get out of here.

"Well, you did know that JC's a big, flaming, homosexual, right?" he asks offhandedly, all the way in the living room again.  Justin and JC protested the comment loudly with groans and reprimands, and Lance felt his face burn even though he was pretty sure Chris didn't expect an answer.    

"Wanna get back to work?" JC asked.

"I think that's best," Lance replied.  He glared at Chris, who was blatantly staring from the other room.   

"Yeah, better get back to work.  You don't want to be late for your Bible study, or something," he hollered. 

"What is your problem?" Lance asked coolly, and slammed his essay book closed.  He wasn't going to get anything done here.  "You've been on my case ever since I got here.  I do have a Bible Study tonight, actually.  Why?  Did you want to come?" 

"Hell, no!"  Chris scowled and pulled off his bandanna, scratched at his braids.  "I just really don't like the idea of you sitting here with my friend JC when you and your group spent last semester boycotting Jeremy Landry's exhibit in gallery A." 

"Ah."  Lance nodded carefully.  "I see.  But for your information, my group is the BSU.  The group that boycotted your friend's show was the Campus Crusade for Christ." 

Chris' momentary expression of confusion was worth the awkwardness. "Whatever." 

"But to be honest, we have pretty much the same beliefs.  And I didn't go see the exhibit because I find the subject matter offensive."      

"Chris, back off."  JC was clearly unhappy with his roommate.  "Even I found a lot of those pictures offensive, so don't even."  He gave Chris a long, hard look and even Justin seemed reproachful when he suggested that he and Chris go get something to eat, despite the fact that he'd been eating since Lance arrived.

Fed up, Lance rose and put his papers in order. "I'd better get going.  Maybe next time we can meet at my place.  My roommate doesn't have a personality disorder." 

JC's forehead crinkled up in concern, which Lance didn't like to see, but there was nothing he could do.  "You have a roommate?" 

"Yeah."  Lance tugged at the stuck zipper on his book bag.  "The theater major, remember? Joey Fatone." 

"Joey Fatone is your roommate?" Chris' voice merged with JC's in a single expression of shock.

"Yes." 

"But he's so…"  JC looked up at Lance with a surprised innocence that Lance wouldn't have expected from someone who liked to sleep with men.  Even in the painting, which Lance had tried not to look at for too long, JC's face had held that same kind of earnest wholesomeness. 

"Yes?"  Lance quirked an eyebrow.  He would be amused if he didn't have so much to do and weren't in such a hurry to get out of there. 

"Um, uh, nothing. I just mean, he's just.  So…" He trailed off, then took a deep breath.  "I just, I know him.  He's cool, really cool.  I'm sorry, Lance." 

"It's okay.  Justin, it was nice to meet you.  JC, give me a call and we'll work something out."   

He'd never been so glad to get out of somewhere in his life. 

***

"…so, then, he practically accuses me of being a bigot, and I'm sorry Joe, but I'm sitting there trying to write a paper on why same-sex marriage is good for the country." 

"Whoa.  But, yeah.  That sounds about like the Chris Kirkpatrick that I know."  Joey did four last pushups and collapsed onto the floor.  Lance handed him a towel and Joey sat up, wiping at his neck. 

"JC's nice enough," Lance sighed.  He reclined across the couch and wiggled his sock feet, tired, but too stressed out to sleep.  "You should've seen, though.  Chris showed me this painting that he did of JC, and it was…I dunno.  Very subtly sexual, I guess.  He was naked, but it didn't show anything.  It was obvious that Chris was just trying to freak me out." 

"Sounds like it worked." 

"Of course not."  His head hurt, and he hadn't gotten any of his paper written. 

"Uh huh."  Joey slapped a large, sweaty hand down on Lance's thigh before getting up.  "You're not freaked out at all.  I've gotta shower." 

He wasn't.  Lance Bass was one hundred percent unflappable. 

***

Bartling gave them a quiz in class on Wednesday, and Lance thought that maybe he'd gotten a reprieve from working on the doomed project but when everyone was finished, the professor told them to get with their partners and take a library day for their papers.  

He took his time getting his things together until he and JC were among the last few people in the classroom.  They hadn't spoken since the other night. 

"Hey," JC murmured.  His hands were shoved into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the floor.  "So, sorry about the other night.  Chris is just an ass sometimes, and I know it didn't seem like it, but that was coming from a good place, at least.  He worries about me."

"He hates me." Lance said flatly, and noticed that JC was carrying a girl's backpack.  It had Snoopy on the pocket, with Woodstock hovering around the top zipper.  "He hates me because of what I am, which is ironic, because that's exactly what he wants to accuse me of doing.  Look, it's no big deal, but I have some things to do, so maybe we could just get together later."

"Sure, okay.  I'll catch you later."   

Lance headed for the Grove, an on campus coffee house where he could work one of his many other projects; projects that he could actually get behind. Projects that made sense.  He ordered some coffee, sat down and got to work.

"So, the paper's giving you a hard time?"

Lance looked up at JC, who was still carrying his Snoopy backpack.  His expression wasn't malicious, only curious as he blew on his coffee and waited for an answer.  Lance sighed.  He hadn't meant to be so obvious. 

"A little," he admitted.  "I'm sorry.  It's nothing personal.  It's just hard to see it any other way than how I've seen it my whole life." 

"Yeah."  JC shrugged.  "That's why Chris gave you such a hard time.  He's pretty sensitive about people judging him…although, I think he hated you long before you even met." 

"Why- Chris is gay?"

JC shrugged and wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve even though he had a napkin in his hand.  "Mostly, yeah.  He hasn't dated any girls since his freshman year, when he got dumped." 

"How'd you hook up with him, anyhow?"  he asked, and instantly regretted asking.  His skin prickled with paranoia, as though JC might be able to tell just by looking at him how much Chris had gotten to him. 

JC sat down across from Lance and let his backpack drop onto the ground.  Lance tried not to look at it. 

"Um, Chris."  That shy smile was back.  "We were in chorus together last year, but he never talked to me.  We went to the same clubs and parties and stuff, but we weren't friends.  I guess because I was a freshman, I dunno.  But there was this guy who was always giving me kind of a hard time.  With the rest of his friends."  He looked up from his coffee, more serious than Lance had ever seen him.  "They were…pretty mean." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah.  Chris saw them messing with me one night…he went nuts on them, beat the crap out of the worst one- Randy Thatcher- and they've left me alone ever since." 

"Randy- Chris was the one who did that?"  Lance remembered Randy's broken nose, his broken face, how terrible he'd looked afterwards.  How he'd said that some punks had jumped him in the parking lot. 

"A friend of yours?" JC grimaced. 

"No, no.  I know him, though.  I always thought he was an okay guy." 

"Sure.  If you're you, he's an okay guy.  If you're me, he's a nightmare.  Anyhow, after that, I hooked up with Chris."

"Who's a nightmare if you're me," Lance pointed out, making JC grin in spite of himself.

"Exactly!  I really am sorry about the other night, you know.  I guess you don't have that problem with a roommate like Joey."

"Um.  You'd think."  Lance said wryly.  "One time, I brought this girl home to tutor her, and Joey yelled from the bathroom that he needed me to come help him shave his legs.  And I'm completely mortified until he actually comes out from the hall in his underwear, and there's shaving cream all over his legs, he's all…oh, God."  He broke up into laughter.  "It was so embarrassing." 

JC laughed so hard that his eyes watered.

**

"Lance!" 

Lance turned his head slightly, not wanting to give away that he'd heard his name until he'd made sure it was someone he felt like talking to.  Before he could catch a glimpse, a figure bounded into his line of sight. 

"Lance, hey!  I didn't think you heard me."  Justin slapped him on the back and hopped around in excitement.  Lance couldn't help smiling back at Justin's young, unrestrained enthusiasm.  Justin would make a good candidate for student government, he thought, and made a note to ask him about it later. 

They chatted for a few minutes until Justin looked at his watch and said, "Whoa, I've gotta go.  Can you do me a favor?  You have class with JC in a little bit, right?" 

"Yes..." 

Justin dropped his backpack to the ground and knelt next to it, unzipping and rummaging around inside until he found what he was looking for.  "Here," he said, squinting up against bright morning light and holding up a tiny glass pyramid.  The sun caught the multitude of prisms inside the pyramid and put out a thousand tiny rainbows.  "Can you give this to JC when you see him?  Do you think he'll like it?  He loves stuff like this." 

Lance took it from him and rotated it around, watching the glimmering magic inside.  "Sure," he said, and gave an absent wave as Justin ran off. 

He began walking toward the English building, weighing the pyramid in one hand while weighing the meaning of it in his head.

Lance knew what a gift like this meant.  He remembered the first time his sister had come home with a bracelet from a boy, how starry-eyed she had been and how his parents had frowned at the implications.   Being responsible for bringing that sentiment between two men wasn't exactly the kind of thing that Lance was proud of, but he knew as he looked at the collection of light in his hand that JC would probably laugh with happiness.  It seemed worth it. 

***

"I can't believe you're going out with JC Chasez." Joey laughed at Lance for the millionth time as he rubbed gel into his bright red hair. 

"I'm not going out with him; you and Justin are coming, too.  It sounds fun.  I had no idea there was a drive-in around here." 

Joey smirked at his own reflection.  "That's because half the people there are doing something illegal, and all your future-senator friends wouldn't risk the scandal." 

Lance ignored him and pulled on a blue t-shirt.  He stood in front of his closet.  "Jeans?" 

"Yeah." Joey reached over and mussed Lance's hair with a slick hand until the blonde spikes stood up in an acceptable way. 

"I can do my own hair," Lance complained, but let him do what he wanted.  Joey had never steered him wrong. 

It had been a hot day, Indian summer, and when they pulled up at the drive-in it was still a half-hour till sunset, still hot and muggy.  The theater was almost out of city limits, and the truck stirred up a cloud of dust on the long dirt road.  At the end, Lance could see that everything was contained inside a clearing surrounded by trees.  The admission booth was old and run-down, but already the lot was nearly full, so there must've been some draw to it.  An old man with a money box sat in a folding chair next to the booth. He sat perfectly motionless, eyes closed, and Lance exchanged a look with Joey just before someone bounded out of the booth and up to the window.  There was a flurry of motion at the driver's window, and a face that Lance recognized peeked in.  Chris. 

"Hello boys," Chris said, and craned his neck to peek at Lance and Joey. 

"Chris!" Justin hollered, and they slapped hands before Chris delivered a peck to JC's cheek and said, "Twelve bucks."  JC handed him the money.  "Chris works here," JC explained before they pulled through to the bumpy road to find an empty space.

Lance was amused by Justin's instructions on finding the perfect spot and how to perfectly angle the truck once they've found it.  "Now, a little more forward…no, way too much!  More to the left.  Left, JC!" he bossed until JC got tired of it and jumped out so that Justin could do it himself. 

"We do this every time," he muttered to Lance, as Justin moved the truck exactly two millimeters before declaring it perfect.  "Fucking perfectionist." 

JC and Justin seemed to have a well-practiced routine down.  JC climbed into the back of the suburban and put down the seats so that Justin could pile pillows and blankets in the back.  Next, JC set up a couple of lawn chairs while Justin did something in the front seat that had Lance wondering until Justin crawled back through the truck on hands and knees and smugly announced, "Bar's open."  Joey peeked in the passenger window and whooped with approval at the bottles lined up on the floor. 

"Can I get you a drink?" Justin asked Lance. 

"I don't drink."  

"He doesn't," Joey affirmed, as though no one might otherwise be able to believe it.  He rested his elbows on the open window while Justin surreptitiously and skillfully mixed the drinks.

"Joey drinks enough to make up for it, though," Lance said, perched on the edge of the truck with JC.   He fought the need to remind them that they were all underage.  The air still hung thick with humidity, but now that the sun had almost set it wasn't too hot for them to throw a ball around for a while until the movie started.  When the horns started blaring, Lance settled into the back of the truck with JC. 

At the end of the first movie, there was a brief intermission.  JC laid back, kicked his shoes off and let them fall onto the dewy grass. 

"I'm hungry."  Joey climbed awkwardly into the back with them, his limbs heavy with alcohol, and lay his head on Lance's shoulder.  He batted his eyelashes imploringly.

"I don't have any food." 

"There's a snack bar right over there." 

Lance squinted in the direction that Joey had pointed.  "That concrete hovel with blacked out windows?" 

"Yup." 

Lance wasn't sure that he'd want to eat anything prepared in the dirty, cracked building that he'd seen on the way in, but JC didn't say anything so he figured it must be safe.  It was a cloudy night, so dark that he tripped twice on the way, and when he pulled the heavy metal door open, it took several seconds to adjust his eyes under the fluorescent lights.  The air was heavy with the scent of popcorn, buttery and hot, but there wasn't any air conditioning so it wasn't appetizing, just stifling.

Quickly, he scanned the overhead menu for the items that he'd been instructed to bring, but half the letters have fallen off so he gave up and browsed what was right in front of him; hot dogs rotating on the grill, red and blue slushies churning in their container, an oversized jar of gigantic pickles.  

"Can I help you?" 

Lance blinked under the harsh lighting.  "Chris." 

"None other," Chris said smoothly.  "Can I interest you in some fine, deep-fried cuisine?" 

It wasn't being put off by Chris that made Lance hesitate before answering.  It was just that he looked so out of place behind that snack counter, and Lance just didn't get what Chris' deal was.  The black t-shirt and baggy army fatigues that hung from his hips made him look like something from a rock video, not to mention the wild braids and the hoop earrings that someone like Lance could never, ever get away with.  Just looking at Chris made his stomach tighten uncomfortably. 

"I need a corn dog, nachos, cotton candy, and a pickle." 

Chris unscrewed the lid to the enormous pickle jar.  "What, nothing to drink?  I guess Justin's got that covered, huh?" he grinned wickedly. 

"Yeah.  I think that's why they sent me to get the food.  They'd never make it back."  Lance wanted to grin back, but something about Chris kept him off-kilter and too suspicious to let his guard down.  He watched Chris preparing the food, watched the way the chains hooked on his pants swung as he walked. 

When Lance gave Chris the money, Chris arched an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "Dude, this food is for my friends," he said, and a lot of things about Chris were an enigma to Lance but it was obvious that right now, he was offended.  There wasn't much he could do besides thank Chris and try to make it back to JC's truck without falling and spilling all of the free food. 

Joey and Justin were loudly cheering when Lance got back, but not for the food.  JC sat on the edge of the truck, feet dangling in the air, throwing back shots of something from a paper cup while his friends yelled encouragement.  He gave Lance a loopy smile. 

"Hi," he slurred sweetly.  "I'm winning." 

"You are so not, C!" Justin laughed, and stumbled into Joey.  They all piled into the truck, but there was plenty room if no one minded someone else's feet draped across their legs. 

"Chris was working the snack bar," Lance told JC, who giggled with a hand over his mouth. 

"Oh, yeah.  He practically runs this place.  Did you see the old guy when we first drove up?  He owns it, but I mean, he's about to drop dead any minute.  Chris gets it, you know." 

"The whole drive-in?"  Joey asked, and Justin snorted.  

"Yes, this whole entire piece of crap establishment." 

Before Lance could reply, the radio crackled and a familiar voice came through the speakers.  "Our last feature is now beginning.  Please be considerate and turn off your engines, lights, and if anyone leaves their garbage on the ground, I will personally kick their ass.  Especially glass bottles, Justin."  The radio crackled again, and the sound of the preview playing onscreen came through the speakers. 

"Justin!  The dumpster's only twenty feet away," JC scolded, but Justin shushed him under the pretense of watching the movie. 

By the time the second movie was over, Joey and Justin were passed out in the corner, drooling on JC's pillows.  JC looked over through the darkness to Lance.  "They're drunk," he whispered loudly and clucked reproachfully, as though  his own cheeks weren't flushed with alcohol.  His hand reached down to pet Justin's wilted curls.  "He's so pretty," he murmured, but it wasn't at all how Lance had imagined it might be when a man looked at another man in that way.  JC's mouth quirked into a half smile, his eyes soft and affectionate as he watched Justin sleep.  

"Um.  Listen, JC.  Why don't you just give me your keys and I'll drive us home?" 

JC gave up the keys easily enough, which was a relief because Lance usually had to wrestle Joey for his.  He closed up the back of the truck and took all the garbage to the dumpster.  By the time he finished, all the other cars had gone and only Chris remained, leaning against the Suburban. 

"Hey.  They all passed out back there?" 

Lance nodded and fingered JC's keys uneasily. "I, uh.  Don't really know how to drive a stick." 

"What the fuck?" he asked, his dark eyebrows pulled together in a frown.  "I thought you were from Mississippi." 

"What does that have to do with anything?" Lance asked crossly.  He wiped his sweaty face on his t-shirt, then tugged it back down quickly when he saw Chris eyeing his bare torso.

"Well," Chris said slowly, bringing his eyes back up to Lance's.  "You know.  Tractors, and stuff." 

Lance groaned loudly.  "For your information, I have never driven a tractor or any kind of farm equipment.

Chris held out his hand and Lance tossed him the keys, which he caught in outstretched fingers.  When the truck started moving, JC began to sing drunkenly from the back. 

"Jayce, watch singing back there?" Chris asked.  Lance watched the way his hands effortlessly operated the gearshift, bringing them out of the darkness and onto the main road.  It was an ordinary, everyday action but for some reason that Lance couldn't comprehend, it made him think of the time he'd walked in on Joey with a girl, Joey's hand up her skirt, moving methodically.  Skillfully. 

"A love song," JC replied, and sang a few bars.  "…jump up, oooh jump back, well I think you've got the knack…now that you can do it, let's make it shake now.  C'mon, baby, do the locomotion…"

"Dude!  In what fucked up universe is that a love song?" Chris demanded.  "That's not even funny, your taste in music is completely fucked when you're drunk."

While Chris slowed for a winding section of road, Lance  watched him again.  Chris, he thought, was the opposite of himself in every way.

"What?" Chris snapped, bringing Lance out of his thoughts.  He'd been staring.  "See something you don't like?" 

"No.  Sorry.  I was just…" 

"I know what you were doing, Bible boy. 

"You don't," Lance insisted, but he knew a losing argument when he saw one.

"Whatever.  Don't fucking look at me," Chris muttered, and turned the radio all the way up.  

***

"Thanks for totally wussing out last night," Chris murmured, barely looking up from his textbook.  JC took a seat next to him at the table that Chris had staked out in the library. 

"Sorry."  His grin said that he was anything but sorry.  "Joey was…persuasive.  It seemed rude not to drink." 

"Which forced me to socialize with Bass.  God, JC, why do you hang around with that guy?  He's so…"

JC's shoulders straightened defensively.  He was tired of hearing about this.  "So what, Chris?" he demanded.  "So polite, smart, interesting?  Because he's all of those things, and you won't give him a break." 

JC and Chris had been friends for a while, so Chris knew to back off when JC got worked up over something, which wasn't often.  "Whatever.  Sorry."  He went back to the report that he was supposed to be writing, and was just scribbling his name at the top corner of the page when JC came out with a soft, reproachful,

"You shouldn't be.  Thinking about it." 

Chris' hand slowed on the paper, but he kept his eyes fixed on the loops and angles of his writing.  "What?"

"Lance isn't like that," JC said, determined to make his point even if it made Chris go all quiet and strange like he was now.  "He's.  He likes girls." 

"I know."  Chris closed his eyes and leaned his head onto JC's shoulder.  The braids tickled against JC's neck, but not in an unpleasant way. 

"Hey," he said, and slid his arm around Chris' shoulder, feeling an unnatural heat.  "Are you coming down with something?" 

***

"I'm just dropping off this disk." Lance looked past Chris into JC's apartment.  Chris didn't give him any insults, though, just retreated back into the living room, to his nest of blankets on the couch.  He looked pretty bad, even worse than the time that Joey had been sent to the hospital with pneumonia. 

"Are you all right?" Lance shut the door behind him and ventured through the kitchen.

"Fine," Chris muttered, and wiped at his face.  There was something endearingly non-threatening about him like this, with his watery eyes ringed with dark smudges of fatigue.   For the first time since he'd met Chris, Lance didn't feel the need to pick a fight.

The living room was a living room once again, and Lance entered with caution. "Do you need anything?"

"The angel of death would be nice."  Chris' fever burned brightly on his cheeks.  It hurt looking at him.  Lance nodded. 

"I'm on my way to my Bible study," he told Chris.  "I-we'll pray for you."

"Don't bother," Chris replied.  Above his head hung a mostly black canvas that rippled gradually into grey and finally to a hazy shade of white.  Lance found it intriguing. It was different; striking, and mature.  Chris' paintings seemed to hold more admirable qualities than the artist himself.

"What's this?" He pointed at the piece.

"Ah, post-breakup painting." Chris sighed wetly and reclined against a red, overstuffed pillow.  "I call it Nuclear Winter." 

"I like it," Lance said, finally.  A breakup. It was hard for him to picture Chris with anyone, romantically.  What kind of girl would date someone like Chris?  He seemed too antagonistic to attract anyone, except he wasn't like that toward JC and Justin.  With them, he was affectionate, protective.  "It must've been a hard breakup." 

"Yeah, well."  Chris shrugged.  "She dumped me so she could date some guy in button down shirts and well-pressed khakis." 

Lance looked down at himself, at the clothing that Chris had described.  "I-"

"Yeah.  So, you know where the door is." 

Chris didn't open his eyes until after Lance was gone. 

***

Lance got a lot out of his Wednesday night Bible studies.  It was more than getting a chance to learn more about the God to whom he'd devoted his life, although that was a big part of it.  He liked the order of everything, the circle of people turning pages, taking turns and sharing similar thoughts. 

He needed this time to regroup, needed some quiet time to listen because he'd been praying for answers lately.  He had so many questions.  Lance knew that wisdom would be granted to those who asked for it, but he was short on patience these days.  These days, he felt short on just about everything. 

"Hey, Lance."  Amy touched his shoulder and interrupted his quiet thoughts.  She didn't bother keeping her voice down; it was meant for everyone to hear.  "I've seen who you've been hanging out with."

"I hang out with everyone." 

"More like anyone." 

"Amy!" Mark cut in, and threw an apologetic look in Lance's direction.  "Jesus was persecuted for hanging out with prostitutes and tax collectors.  He was just trying to reach them, and Lance was probably doing the same thing." 

"I doubt even Jesus would've associated with Chris Kirkpatrick."

"Can you please stop comparing me to Jesus?"  Lance's words were useless, drowned out by twenty people haranguing Amy for daring to take a swing at him.  It was nice to be liked, but the blind respect sometimes made Lance uneasy.  He was fairly certain he didn't deserve it.

Amy was right about one thing, though.  JC wasn't just his study partner any more; he was a friend.  It also wasn't uncommon for Lance to come home and find Justin, who had hit it off with Joey, sprawled on the couch, eating their food or watching Joey rehearse. As for Chris…Lance wasn't sure what Chris was to him.  Chris was more like a wild animal, circling warily, uncertain whether it's about to attack or be attacked. 

And it had certainly never occurred to Lance to try and minister to Chris. 

Amy was partially right, but she made Lance wary, having taken to outright attacks in the past few weeks.  She'd always been a good friend until Lance had been chosen to be the Adelle University representative at the George Simmons Crusade in January.  The privilege entailed a breakfast prayer meeting with the famous evangelist George Simmons himself, and Amy had been bitter about losing out on the opportunity. 

Lance, on the other hand, was so excited that sometimes he could hardly stand it. 

***

"What the fuck is with those people?" 

Lance didn't need to follow the direction of Chris' nod.  He'd spotted Amy and Mark a few minutes ago, parked across the row, a few cars down with a few of Lance's other friends.  As soon as they'd seen Lance, their loud revelry had dropped into tense whispering. 

"They're my friends," he replied, and picked glumly at his styrofoam cup that was full of soda of course, it was always only soda because anything stronger would be a weakness; something to make him less of a role model.  It had never occurred to him to be anything else. 

"They seem real friendly." 

"They're mad at me," he said.  Onscreen, the previews were beginning to play, and he settled back into the pillows.  "They wanted me to speak at the Sex Can Wait workshop next weekend." 

"Sex can wait," Chris repeated.

"It's for the teenagers," Lance explained.  "Youth groups come from all over the state to participate.  And it's a good program.  I just…"  he trailed off and pretended to watch the movie.

Chris was quiet for a few seconds.  "Ohhh, I get it."  He shot Lance an inscrutable look.  "It's a great program but you and your girlfriend got all hot and heavy, and you can't do it now that you've violated your vow of abstinence, or whatever." 

"You know I don't have a girlfriend.  And no, I didn't- I haven't…no.  But…it's something like that." 

It was something like that, but Lance couldn't say what.  Lately, he hardly knew his own thoughts. 

If someone were to ask him what had him so turned around with such vague, deep, wanting, he wouldn't have been able to reply.  He wasn't even sure exactly what it was he wanted, but the maddening ache in his gut was a constant reminder that if the opportunity ever presented itself, he would not be the pillar of restraint that everyone seemed to think he was. 

"Hey, if you don't wanna do it, you don't wanna do it."  Chris stretched back next to Lance and offered a rare, genuine smile.  "But don't hide back here.  You don't owe them anything."

"I'm not hiding," Lance protested.  He could only see the bright gleam of Chris' eyes in the darkness, and the pale skin of his face in the moonlight.  Other than that, the back of JC's truck was dark; the perfect hiding place.

Maybe he was hiding. 

"I just don't know how to deal with them right now.  They have their idea of what I am, which is why they're angry--I didn't live up to it.  It's to the point where I feel like I'm not allowed to have any flaws.  Which, of course, I do." 

"So why do you do all that stuff, if you hate it so much?" 

"That's just it."  The sound of JC and Justin's rowdy laughter carried from outside, and Lance's eyes flickered briefly to the movie screen.  The movie held little interest for him, but talking to Chris was inexplicably appealing.  Chris' advice was sometimes a little blunt, but it was always a fresh, honest viewpoint, and Lance had found himself seeking it out more and more often.  "I don't hate it.  I care about this stuff, about studying the Bible and doing what God wants me to do.  I can honestly say that I'm personally committed to every cause  I'm a part of." 

"Oh.  Whoa.  So you're really, I mean…about the Sex Can Wait thing.  You, you're, um." 

"Yes, Chris."  Lance exhaled with a loud sigh, and pulled a red flannel blanket up over his legs.  The weather had cooled and the drive-in would be closing soon for the season.  "Can we not talk about it?" He shivered in the damp chill. 

Chris noticed and moved closer, tugged his own blanket over Lance.  "Only a couple more weekends," he said softly.  "We'll close up till spring."  He sounded sad.

"You'll miss it."  

"Eh.  Winter is when I paint." 

Lance thought about this.  He didn't have anything like painting; the numbers and statistics that he lived by were available year-round.  He would miss it.

***

"…and when the terrorists were just dangling there, I was all, whoa that's gonna be messy!"  JC and Justin talked about the movie all the way up to the apartment and continued to do so as they cleaned up the kitchen. 

"I know!" JC agreed, nodding eagerly.  "And when-"

"-Lance is a virgin," Chris blurted. 

JC put down the stack of plates he'd been holding.  "Huh?" 

"I know," Justin said, nodding at Chris.  "I knew that."  Justin liked to know things about people, and he loved to learn secrets.  He just wasn't very good at keeping them.

JC wiped his wet hands on a dishtowel and shook his head.  "It's really none of our business.  I don't think we should be talking about it," he added nervously.

Chris ignored him and sat down at the kitchen table.  He found this topic fascinating, and wanted to discuss it in great detail, right now.  "How the fuck does a guy who looks like that get to be twenty years old without someone getting into his pants?  And that means nothing for them, you know.  Everything counts.  Hand jobs, blow jobs, everything."  

Justin nodded seriously in agreement.  After having spent his entire teenage years waiting for one specific person to notice him, he couldn't imagine someone purposely denying themselves something that they could have anytime they wanted.  He was still waiting.

"Chris," JC warned.  "We talked about this." 

"I know," Chris growled, and dropped his forehead onto the table.  "I know," he repeated mournfully, his voice muffled.  

"Talked about what?" Justin demanded. 

"About Lance.  God, where do I start?" JC asked, and resumed filling the sink with dirty dishes.  "He's straight, he's celibate, he's my friend, Chris, so don't fuck with his head." 

"I'm not!  I just…"  Chris sighed, defeated, into the cool surface of the table.   There wasn't really any defense for what he was thinking.  It was lucky that JC knew him well enough to read his mind and intervene when necessary.  It'd saved him more times than he could count.

Still, every time he pictured Lance, Chris marveled the fact that he'd never been touched.  And the worst part was, Chris knew that no matter how much he wanted it, he would never be the one to touch him.

JC was right.  He really shouldn't even be thinking about it. 

***

JC added his and Lance's name to the cover page of their paper.  "I think it's done," he said.  "Finally." 

Lance looked at the computer screen from over JC's shoulder.  "Looks good.  I actually learned a lot." 

"What do you mean?"  JC tipped his head up to look at Lance.  He'd been curious from the beginning about Lance's feelings on the subject, but Lance was too reserved to ever show any personal opinions on JC's lifestyle.  Their budding friendship depended heavily on both of them making allowances for the other, but something about it just worked. 

Lance blushed, a tiny smile playing at his lips.  "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that," he chuckled.  "It means…I think I understand why two people of the same sex would want to get married, and it's definitely cast doubt for me on whether or not the existing laws are fair.  Because, I've always just blindly assumed that anything preventing people like, um, that…"

"People like that," JC repeated dryly.  "People like me."

Lance sighed.  The last thing he wanted to do was damage the friendship he'd built with JC.  "The research isn't what changed my mind, JC.  That was part of it, but seeing you and Justin together…it isn't how I thought it was between men." 

"Justin?"  JC turned around in his chair and narrowed his eyes on Lance.  "Me and Justin?"

He looked so flustered that Lance was brought up short.  "I…yeah.  I mean, seeing you showed me that this kind of love isn't ugly and…why are you looking at me like that?" 

"Justin and I aren't like that, Lance.  We're not together." 

Lance couldn't see the truth in that statement, but there was no reason for JC to lie about it, either.  He couldn't help picturing the way that Justin always had some small gift for JC when he came over, offerings that Lance had perhaps assumed too much about. 

"You said he was pretty," he said, unable to let go of his notion. "That first night at the drive-in." 

JC stood and walked to the window.  This was a topic that even Chris steered clear of.  "I didn't mean to say it," he lied.  He remembered the moment vividly, how freeing it been to say what he'd said.  At the time, Lance had been enough of a stranger that it hadn't mattered. 

"But you still meant it." 

"I meant it."  JC said, and leaned his forehead against the nearly invisible glass.  Lance kept a clean house, and JC could almost believe that there was nothing separating him from the gray, heavy sky.  "Justin and I have been friends since grade school," he began slowly.  "We've been through everything together.  He used to talk about girls when we were younger, and then all of a sudden in high school, he just- stopped.  He never says a word.  As far as I know, he's never really liked anyone.  At least, no one that he mentions to me.  And I'm too embarrassed to ask because I think he'll know why I'm asking.  What I'm…wishing." 

"He doesn't date?" 

"Not seriously.  Some dances in high school, that kind of stuff.  And here's the other thing.  He's seventeen." 

"No way." 

"Yeah, there are three years between us, but he was put ahead in school.  He's always been…" 

Lance pictured Justin's serious, worldly eyes and the well-defined body that had Chris forever bitching for him to put a shirt on.  "Mature?" he suggested, smirking at JC. 

"Yes," JC sighed, and Lance was pretty sure that JC was picturing the same thing.  "Sometimes I imagine myself like, kissing him or something, but it seems manipulative, like I have too much influence over him.  His mom's already pissed that he followed me here, out of state.  If we ever became something more than friends she would never forgive me." 

"You should say something to him."  

JC didn't reply.  Lance was right.  He'd wanted Justin for so long that he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't, which couldn't be right because he'd known Justin as a child.

"I'm sorry," Lance said, taking JC's silence for anger.  "I shouldn't have- look, I don't know anything about relationships.  The only important relationships I have in my life are with my family, God, and Joey.  Not exactly a lot of room for romance in there." 

"No, it's okay."  JC turned around to face Lance.   "You're probably right.  I just don't want to mess things up." 

"Then, don't.  But seriously, JC.  You should talk to him." 

***

"How about this?"  Joey held up a jewelry box.  Every drawer boasted a knob fashioned from large, fake jewels.  Lance cringed. 

"Seriously?"  Lance would never give his mother or sister anything remotely resembling this piece of garbage, but he had met Joey's family, and their tastes ran toward the whimsical.  Still, he couldn't in good conscience allow Joey to send this home to his mom for her birthday.  "Let's keep looking." 

Joey had been dragging Lance to the monthly flea market ever since they'd first met.  The gaudy disarray of the tables and haggling vendors had slowly grown on him.  He especially loved going in the fall when they burned bonfires on the edge of the massive lot, which smelled like the best of autumn memories to Lance.

"Check this out," Joey called from across the table, and held up an ornate, gothic cross.  "In case you run into a vampire."  Lance rolled his eyes, but walked around the table to Joey's side. 

"Can I see that?"  He took the cross from Joey and felt the weight of it, cold and heavy in his hand.  It looked old, but in an elegant way, like an antique. 

"Oh, hey, you could give that to the famous Billy Graham when you meet him if you're not too busy groveling at his feet."  Joey's words held a note of mocking, but Lance didn't mind. 

"A guy like that can't have enough crosses, right?" Joey asked.  He was probably serious.

"I think it looks like Chris," Lance murmured, running his fingers over the surface of the design.  It was a little scary for his liking, but Chris' bedroom was full of things like this.  He closed his hand around the cross, his fingers barely meeting around the wide base.

Joey headed for a table of records, making Lance grab his arm and steer him toward the jewelry section.  "Your mom first, then you,"  he instructed. When he was certain that Joey was focused on the task at hand, he stood beside him, still holding the cross.  "Joe?" 

"Yeah?"  Joey sifted through some bead necklaces. 

"Um.  Did you think that JC and Justin were together, like, a couple?"

Joey looked up sharply over the tops of his sunglasses, but Lance pretended to be busy searching for the perfect gift. 

"I used to," he said.  "But, they're not." 

"How did you find out they weren't?" Lance pressed. 

"Lance," Joey smiled widely, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "They're two hot, young guys.  I know JC is all gentlemanly and shit, but if Justin were willing, trust me, you and I would've gotten more than an eyeful by now." 

There were women's scarves two for a dollar across the aisle, and Lance watched a gust of wind carry them gently to the ground.  "Oh."  He didn't want to think about what that meant. 

***

Lance scooted over to make room when Chris clambered into the back of the truck..  "Not working tonight?"

"Nah."  Chris settled himself between Justin and Lance.  JC preferred to sit outside, in spite of the cooling weather.  "Geezer's here, and Fat Guy with a Van's running the snack stand," he explained, and Lance chuckled low in his throat.

When Chris rose up and reached back with one arm to grab a beer, Lance remembered what was in his pocket.  He waited until Chris was settled back in again before dipping his hand into his jacket pocket and wrapping his fingers around the cross, warm from his body heat.  He'd brought it tonight because the old man--or as Chris referred to him, Geezer-- had told him that Chris tended to get melancholy on the last night of the season.

"I…"  In his mind, he'd brought the trinket over to the apartment and casually handed it over, Chris saying something like "Cool, thanks," but now that he was actually giving it over, it was more difficult than that.  A bigger deal.

 "I got you something.  Actually, it's nothing," he added, when Chris perked up with interest.  "Just a.  I thought you might like it."  He surrendered the cross to Chris. 

"You got this for me," Chris said, turning it over in his hand and shooting Lance a baffled look. 

"Yeah, just…at the flea market." 

Chris ran his fingers over all of the designs before nodding slightly.  His eyes were smiling. "Cool," he said.  "A present.  Thanks, Bass." 

"Really nice," Justin agreed.  "Maybe I can go with you guys sometime to that flea market?"  Lance immediately thought of the tiny glass pyramid.  Of course Justin, always searching for something new to make JC light up from the inside, wanted to come along.

"Sure." 

Justin gave them a happy look and slithered down to the edge of the truck bed and onto the ground with JC.  When he was gone, Chris tipped his head onto the backrest and studied Lance.  "You gave me a kick-ass present.  What can I give you?"  He smirked, pushing his braids back with one hand.  "A beer?" 

Lance didn't protest, so Chris lifted up and reached again, stretching lithely to grab another beer.  The side of his stomach pressed against Lance's shoulder as he did so, but Lance didn't move away, just as he hadn't the other time.  He was used to Chris, now.  He'd gotten comfortable with JC, Justin, Joey and Chris in a way that he hadn't ever been able to get with his other friends.  It made him wonder if he even had any other friends.  Sure, his voicemail  was always full of messages, but those people wanted him, they didn't necessarily want to know him. 

Chris pushed the wet, glass bottle into Lance's open palm, and Lance took it even though he knew he wouldn't have more than a few sips.  For some reason, they were all endlessly thrilled when he had a drink with them, especially Joey, who had seemed as proud as a new father the first time Lance had accepted a cup of beer. 

Lance looked straight ahead at the movie screen, trying to appear busy until he could hide how much Chris' acceptance of the gift had pleased him.  At first he'd thought that just because he and Chris went head-to-head over every issue and liked to snark at one another on a regular basis, they couldn't be friends.  Eventually, he'd realized that it was just another way of relating.  He liked being able to coax out one of those elusive Kirkpatrick smiles, probably because of all the sunny, overeager people who were always trying to touch Lance with their phony joy. 

A small part of Lance felt that maybe dark interior of JC's truck wasn't the best place to be, that it wasn't conducive to staying on the blameless, righteous path that he'd always kept to.  It wasn't a part of himself that he was used to disregarding, but he found himself doing it more and more, as well as stifling the constant, low-level warning signals that always seemed to pop up when Chris was around.

 It was just a matter of overcoming his upbringing, really.  Lance had been taught his entire life that people like Chris were dangerous, that they were somehow less than everyone else.  He wasn't, though.  So, maybe he swore and drank and occasionally got in people's faces, but he was funny and quick, and Lance saw genuine, gentle qualities in Chris that pleased him. 

And, the combined scent of turpentine and incense had really grown on Lance. 

**

"I hear you gave Chris a gift," JC said gleefully, practically clapping his hands.  Lance eyed him suspiciously. 

"Not really.  I mean, it was just something…it was only a few bucks." 

"Joey said it was thirty dollars." 

"What, you discussed this with Joey?" Lance threw a handful of popcorn at JC, who dodged it artfully, falling onto Justin's lap. 

"You sure weren't about to tell me," JC defended, and grinned up at Justin.  "Save me," he pleaded, but Justin shook his head.

"I told you not to bring it up."

"Where is Chris tonight?" Lance asked.  They'd just gotten back from Joey's opening night, and he'd been disappointed that Chris hadn't shown up. 

"Oh, he dates a lot right after the drive-in closes…until he realizes why he hates dating," JC added. 

Lance turned away from the tv screen, away from the Botox-faced news anchorman.  "Chris is out with someone?"

"Yup."  Justin nodded.  JC wasn't moving from where he'd landed on his lap, so he twirled some of JC's curls idly in his fingers. 

Lance turned back to the tv and tried to pay attention, but he couldn't stop thinking about Chris.  He could barely imagine Chris on a date, and he didn't want to.  He wanted to stop thinking about it altogether, but Chris chose that moment to come home and his date was with him, just a few steps behind. 

"Benji, hi," JC said, but kept his eyes on Lance.  "Did you guys have fun?" 

"Yeah, and we're about to have even more," Chris cackled.  He peeled off his jacket and dragged his date toward his bedroom.  "If you all don't mind…" 

Lance only let himself take a peek, which was more than enough to see that the guy that Chris was kissing open-mouthed in the kitchen was not anyone he'd ever met.  He had even more piercings than Chris and heavy black makeup lining his eyes. 

"Dude, that's Lance Bass on your couch," Lance heard him say before the door to Chris' bedroom closed behind them.  Laughter followed.

***

Lance knocked once on the door to Professor Lou Pearlman's office before entering.  Lou had been his advisor since he'd arrived at Adelle.  His father had arranged it that way because Lou was an old family friend.  Professor Pearlman also oversaw the BSU, so Lance knew him well and considered him a second father. 

"I'll be with you in a second, Lance," Lou said, and motioned for him to sit down.  Lance took a cushiony leather chair and looked glumly at the clock.  The day had sucked so far.  Being called to Lou's office never meant anything good, and now Lance was going to miss part of his next class.  On top of that, he still carried a bitter taste in his mouth about Chris' new beau. 

The way that Lou prattled on endlessly into his cell phone struck Lance as uncharacteristically rude, but that quickly became irrelevant when Lou hung up and started actually speaking to Lance, spouting out a lecture that Lance couldn't comprehend, especially when it started sounding an awful lot like, revoked your selection, surprised at this whole situation, and not appropriate for our representative.  When he was finished, Lance opened his mouth, finding it almost too dry to speak. 

"What?" he asked hesitantly, as though there was still the slight chance that he had misunderstood.  "It sounds like you're saying that I'm not- that I.  How can I be unselected?" 

"Lance."  Lou folded his hands together into one fat fist resting on his perfectly ordered desk.  "When you were selected, there were certain expectations we had."  

"Expectations?"

"Our representative is someone who lives by his or her beliefs; a role model for all other students, and most importantly, someone who is beyond reproach of any kind." 

"I don't understand, sir, are you sure that you've got- I mean…" he took a breath around the knot in his throat.  "Are you talking about me?"

"I can't believe it either, Lance."  Lou sighed heavily, but he seemed distant.  Like a man who's already made up his mind.  "I've heard a lot of things the past couple of months, but I didn't take a serious look at them until you withdrew from the Sex Can Wait event."

"I didn't withdraw!  I never agreed to do it in the first place."  Lance shook his head, then stopped when he got dizzy.  This whole exchange was dizzying.

"Yes, and that doesn't make sense.  Sex Can Wait is your area of expertise, you did a fantastic job last year.  Those kids look up to you and when they see a popular, smart, attractive kid like you taking a stand, they feel like they can, too.  People are talking about your motives for refusing." 

Lance narrowed his eyes on Lou.  Now he was being accused of refusing and withdrawing, and Lance Bass wasn't stupid.  "What else are they talking about?" he asked, grateful for his years of experience on the debate team that had taught him to put on a calm front.  Inside, he simmered with indignation. 

"Since you asked…it's come to my attention that you were involved in a brawl at a nightclub."

"I- I wasn't involved in anything."  Lance felt his mask slip slightly.  He wasn't lying, though.  Chris had gleefully taken the entire altercation completely in hand, giving as good as he'd gotten.  Toward the end, Joey had had to jump in after Chris' eye was completely swollen shut, but it hadn't deterred him in the slightest.

Chris thrived on chaos, but Lance thrived on steadiness, diligence and honesty. 

"That's not our biggest concern." 

Lance waited. 

"People are worried.  They say that you don't socialize with them anymore, that you spend all of your spare time with JC Chasez who, in case you didn't know, is one of the most vocal, well-known homosexuals on campus."  He waited with the accusation hanging between them.

"I knew." 

Lou nodded, heaving out a deep breath and rubbing his forehead wearily.  Weary because of Lance and some bogus, contrived situation.  "So you can see our concern." 

"I-" 

"I have a department meeting in five minutes," Lou said.  "Come by later if you have any questions.  I'm sorry." 

Lance was on his feet and out the door before Lou even finished his sentence.  He had to get out of there before he started to cry, and he could tell it was going to happen by the way his insides were shaking so uncontrollably.  All he needed was a few minutes alone to compose himself enough to make it home.  No, he decided.  He wouldn't go home, he would go to his next class and act as though everything was fine until everything actually felt fine. 

Down the front steps, around the building and into a semi-private alcove, Lance leaned against the brick wall and tried to still the mad drumming in his chest.  It was the first time he'd ever felt this out of control, unable to grab his thoughts into any sort of order.  Even his breathing betrayed him, emerging in harsh, sobbing pants that refused to go away. 

His parents, he thought suddenly, mournfully.  They'd been so proud, and now he was going to have to tell them-

"Fuck, Bass, there you are!  I saw you come out but you were moving so fast, man.  I didn't see where you went." 

Lance turned quickly so Chris wouldn't see him like this.  A mess.  The brick before him was a trembling, wet blur.

"Bass, hello…what are you doing out here?  It's fucking cold.  Let's…"  Chris paused uneasily, then continued with well-intentioned, forced cheer.  "Let's go somewhere warmer.  I was just on my way home." 

"Go away," Lance said thickly, glancing over his shoulder at the last person he felt like seeing right now. 

"Oh, okay.  I'll go away and leave my friend to cry on a wall for no apparent reason." 

"It's not for no reason," Lance stuttered out, horrified at his voice, his wet eyes, the shake of his shoulders.  "They took my spot, they t-took it away.  I'm not going to meet George Simmons, Chris." 

Chris may not have thought much of George Simmons, but he thought the world of Lance, and his chest ached with sympathy.  "Lance…"

"It- it's okay," Lance choked, with a terrible attempt at a smile.  He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder.  "I'm gonna…" 

"Nuh-uh," Chris said.  "C'mon.  You're not going anywhere.  C'mon."  Lance didn't know where else he could go in his ruined state, and the idea of  a place that smelled of incense and turpentine sounded like heaven, so he let Chris throw an arm over his shoulders and lead him to his beat up Cadillac. 

Through sheer strength of will, Lance forced his body into obedience for the duration of the car ride only to lose composure as soon as Chris sat him down on the couch and said, so kindly that Lance couldn't bear it,

"Okay, so, tell me what happened and I swear I'll do my best to fix it, Bass." 

It was awful to actually cry onto someone's shoulder, not at all the way it was in the movies with gently sniffing heroines and a perfectly timed ending.  He became aware of Chris' soggy shirt far sooner than his pathetic sobs actually began to abate.  The only thing that made it bearable was the way Chris treated the whole situation, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary and nothing that he didn't deal with on a regular basis. 

"I'm sorry," he said, finally, drawing back.  "I'm- it's not-" 

"Whatever," Chris said, brushing off any impending apologies.  "Tell me what happened, okay?" he coaxed, and Lance almost started to cry again. 

"I.  Professor Pearlman is my advisor," he said slowly, trying to handle it in a matter-of-fact manner.  He'd learned that things were less painful that way.  "They're not letting me represent the school at the seminar.  Because I'm- I'm not.  A good example anymore." 

"You're not a good example."

"I know!" Lance said, and felt his sorrow giving way to an anger that sparked, flared, and died.  "I've always done everything they wanted, and the one time I don't- they punish me for it." 

"Sex can wait," Chris said knowingly. 

"Yes.  And because of that, he accused me of breaking my, you know, my promise."  Chris arched an eyebrow and Lance sighed, averting his eyes.  "My promise to save myself…for marriage.  And I kept my promise, I always do." 

Lance twisted his hands together helplessly as it occurred to him that he was far, far away from marriage.  He didn't even have a girlfriend.  He would never have sex and never meet George Simmons and never trust his two-faced advisor again. 

The truth churned bitterly in his stomach, and he curled in on himself, about to break apart from sheer frustration.  So many people had claimed that Lance led a charmed life, and some said it with admiration, some with accusation.  Lance hadn't believed it, but now he did.  He'd always taken it for granted that he'd come out on top if he worked hard and did what he thought was right. 

Chris' hand slid around to the back of his neck, and Lance dropped his head onto Chris' chest, letting the strong, slightly calloused hands rub out some of his tension.  "It was because of JC," he mumbled, feeling tears pricking again at the seams of his closed eyes.

"Hmm?" Chris asked somewhere near Lance's ear.  He used both hands to knead Lance's shoulders.

"Because of my friendship with JC." 

"Pearlman hates JC," Chris said, and Lance realized that there'd been this finely drawn boundary between him and JC all along. It was understood that JC wouldn't question his extracurricular activities and he wouldn't question the faintly reproving look in JC's eyes when he mentioned them.  There was a reason for this, only Lance hadn't wanted to know, he hadn't wanted to choose. 

"He hates JC," Lance parroted, stupidly.  Nothing made sense.  Lou was supposed to be a shining example of Christianity, but he harbored a hatred for one of the kindest people Lance knew.  Lou was supposed to be like a father to him, but Chris, who was supposed to be someone dangerous, was bringing comfort. 

Maybe, then, it made sense that Lance, who had always walked the straightest line, would let his hands wander to Chris' waist where he touched his fingers to the skin under the hem.  "Chris," he said quietly.  He lifted his head and kissed at the corner of Chris' mouth. 

He'd never done this before. 

He'd never done this before, so he wasn't prepared for the way that another person's mouth might open and stroke a hot tongue against his for just a few brief, searing moments before withdrawing and he wasn't at all prepared for that withdrawal to leave him empty and shivering with something didn't want to put a name to.

"Lance, this is.  No fucking way," Chris said, jerking away, holding Lance at arm's length.  Lance couldn't place the expression on Chris' face, but it looked an awful lot like fear.  "You don't want it like this.  You want some sorority girl with white panties and a degree in finance."   

He was wrong.  Lance suddenly wanted the exact opposite of that and what could be more opposite than Chris and his wild irreverence, his stained, painted hands and incongruously sweet voice?  But Chris had said no. 

Lance fled. 

***

"That looks like Lance." 

Chris pushed his bandanna up further onto his forehead and nodded, not taking his eyes from his canvas.  

"And…it's one AM." 

Again, Chris nodded.  JC collapsed onto the couch and watched Chris swirl three colors together with a paintbrush.  "So, it's one AM and you're painting Lance." 

"It's not Lance." 

JC groaned, exhausted.  "Really.  Then, who is it?" 

"It's Saint Quincy, JC.  The patron saint of sexually frustrated artists." 

"Ah.  Look, it's late.  Why don't we just skip the questions and you can tell me what's on your mind." 

Chris just kept painting, though.  In the painting, St. Quincy wore only a frown and unzipped blue jeans that revealed the barest hint of the bulge beneath. 

"Tasteful," JC said, and wasn't being completely sarcastic.  It was tasteful, for Chris, who sometimes lacked subtlety.  It was also pretty damn hot.

For the next twenty minutes, JC alternately dozed and squinted at the emerging portrait.  He was used to Chris' strangeness, but he hadn't been able to reach Lance on his cell phone or home phone all day, which was worrisome, especially now that he knew Chris was involved.  Finally, as JC was drifting off into a dream about being a mute housepainter, Chris sat down on his carpet of newspaper and dropped his face into his hands. 

"Lance tried to sleep with me," he said quietly. 

"Uh.  Huh?"  JC jolted back to consciousness, unsure whether or not he'd dreamed it.

"He was upset, so we came here and…I swear to god, Jayce, it wasn't me.  He kissed me.  I think he wanted me to sleep with him." 

JC sighed into the throw pillow.  He wasn't surprised, not really.  At first he'd worried about Chris' interest in Lance, but then the two of them had seemed to work out a tentative friendship on their own terms.  "And you didn't do it?"

"What?  No!  Of course not.  It was right after Lou Pearlman, your favorite person, tore into him and took back that stupid trip with George Simmons that Lance is always going on about.  So, if you can imagine how upset he was…anyhow, he didn't want me, he wanted…revenge.  I just happened to be there." 

"Wow.  So, he came on to you?  What did he- did he kiss you?" JC curled into an afghan and hailed farewell to any chance of making his eight o'clock class. 

"Yep." 

"Did you kiss him back?" 

Chris straightened his shoulders.  "Well excuse me, I am human, you know." 

"Mmm.  Why'd you say no, then?"  

Chris didn't even bother claiming he hadn't wanted Lance.  JC would never let him get away with that.  "Because it's Lance Bass.  He's…" 

"He's not," JC interrupted.  "Everyone wants you to think that he is.  He's a product of mass hero-worship, nothing more.  Not that he doesn't deserve it," he added quickly.  "He's never faked anything, which, of course is the problem, because of all the religion stuff." 

"I know."  Chris omitted the part where he worried that he actually might have taken Lance up on his offer just to spite all the people who looked down their noses at him; to ruin something that they held dear.  And that, he knew, was why he could never touch Lance. 

One of the many reasons. 

***

Joey was late coming home, later than usual for a school night, and Lance didn't need to ask to know where he'd been.  Joey wasn't the type to keep secrets and unfortunately, as Lance found out, neither was Chris.

Joey tossed his coat in the corner and parked himself on coffee table between Lance and the infomercial he'd been watching, but that was okay; he didn't have anything that needed vacuum-packed, anyhow. 

"So," Joey said carefully.  Chris had probably made him sound like a basket case.  Maybe he was.  

"I'm fine, Joe."  The couch felt scratchy on his face, but if he got up now, Joey would see the imprint of how long he'd been lying there.  Watching infomercials.  He really was a bad example. 

"Okay.  I hear you had quite a day." 

"Yeah.  I lost my spot in the evangelizing program, which means I don't get to be rep and meet George Simmons," Lance said flatly.  "Also," he added,  "I tried to have sex with Chris." 

Joey made a sound of choked laughter.  "Um, yeah.  He mentioned something about that, warned me that you might try and jump me when I got home, too.  I'm not actually in any danger, am I?" 

"No."  Lance couldn't blame Chris for thinking that way.  He'd presented himself terribly and there was no doubt that there were far better ways to get someone to sleep with him.  Unfortunately, he didn't know what any of them were. 

"So," Joey continued.  "You- don't you think it's a little weird that you, who don't even date, are suddenly all hot and bothered for Chris Kirkpatrick, who, yes, I like, but he is not your type, Bass." 

Right.  Chris had described Lance's type.  A sorority girl with white panties and a degree in finance, he'd said. 

"It's not sudden." 

It wasn't sudden.  This wasn't new, it wasn't sudden, and Lance, at twenty years old, didn't know anything about his "type."

"You always said how it was a sin, though.  You were pretty clear about your beliefs," Joey pointed out.  

"Well maybe I'm sinful, then, Joe," he snapped.  "I've never suggested otherwise, have I?"  He stopped and took a deep breath.  "I.  I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed, a bare whisper.  Joey strained to hear.  "What I did, I'm so embarrassed.  I wasn't going to, I was never going to." 

"Well, buddy, you did it, so there's no point being embarrassed."

***

Later, Lance locked himself in the bathroom and faced his reflection.  It was the same clear green eyes that faced him, the same strange features that he hadn't yet grown into.  Sometimes, he was afraid of growing into them because he had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to turn out to look exactly like his mother. 

He parted his lips and touched them with his finger.  Chris' tongue had been in his mouth, and it had felt…Lance pulled his fingers away and stared at his own wide eyes, remembering the hot, wet pressure of Chris' tongue.  In his mouth.  Sex, that's what it had felt like.

At least, it was what he'd always thought sex would feel like.  He'd never really let himself think about it very much.  Joey found it impossible to believe, but Lance's well-disciplined conscience wouldn't let him dwell on it very often. 

Even now, he wasn't brave enough to imagine anything too graphic.  It was enough to think of Chris' mouth, his hands, and what might have happened if things had gone any further.  Chris might have kept kissing him, climbed on top, pinned him to the couch.

He braced his hands on the counter and looked at himself again, this time noting the blush creeping up his neck and shining, black pupils.  Arousal.  He'd never seen it on himself before, and couldn't help thinking that he shouldn't be seeing it now; not for the reason that had put it there.  The flush deepened, arousal mixed with shame, a sickening combination. 

He'd never wanted anything before that everyone else hadn't wanted him to want, but here it was, and after what he'd done there wasn't any point in denying the obvious. 

Joey was outside in the hall waiting to pounce; Lance could hear him pacing across the squeaky floorboard, over and over again.  He turned the water on and let it run.

***

"Old business."  Lance glanced down at the minutes that Melissa, the Student Government secretary, had handed him a few minutes earlier.  He felt surly and impatient, especially since Amy was right across the table.  She would be taking his place at the George Simmons weekend.  "The fundraiser for the winter dance didn't happen.  Why?" 

A few girls at the end of the table fidgeted nervously and fluttered some papers around.  The fundraising committee.  Finally, one of them spoke up.  "Well, see, there was…a misunderstanding.  And.  We had to, um." 

"-Look," Lance interrupted.  Misunderstanding, right.  The four of them had gotten into a catfight and refused to speak to one another for six weeks.  "Spare me the excuses.  Come up with a solid plan  by our next meeting, which is going to have to be…" he glanced at the schedule and rose and eyebrow at Melissa, who quickly opened her own calendar. 

"How about Tuesday," she suggested. 

"Fine.  Tuesday."  He looked around the table at the rest of the student government.  "Is there anything else, or can we adjourn?" 

Amy raised her hand.  "Actually, there-"

"Fine," he said loudly, and clapped his hand on the table.  "Meeting adjourned." 

Afterwards, he sat at the long, empty table and opened his planner.  He drew a line through the words Student Government meeting, and shuffled thoughtfully through the rest of the week.  Slowly, calmly, he began drawing more lines, then moved on to the next week, and the next, and the next.

***

Lance stood behind Chris for a moment, watching silently.  He'd been avoiding this for long enough, but a few seconds longer couldn't hurt.  Chris looked so carefree as he painted.

He cleared his throat, and Chris made three wide indigo strokes across the wall before turning.  He didn't seem pleased about who he saw. 

"Hi."  Lance stepped forward on the dead, straw colored grass.  Winter had come, in more ways than one.  "JC told me you were out here." 

"Yeah."  Chris sniffed and stood back, surveying the outside of his drive-in's snack bar.  The braids were gone; his hair hung loosely at his shoulders, tousled and shiny in the afternoon sun. "I've always wanted to do this, just never got around to it." 

"It looks good."  He didn't know what else to say. 

"Thanks.  I did the inside last week."  Chris gave him a break, and continued with his work.  Lance watched him kneel and pour a bucket of red house paint into a tray. 

He spoke in front of people every day.  He carried Student Council meetings, led groups of people through God's word, and mapped out business strategies, but somehow, a simple apology to one man seemed impossible.  Chris made it easy for him. 

"So, are you here to make out, or will you be re-embracing your devout Christian upbringing?" 

He sounded so easy, and Lance envied him that.  He envied JC too, and Justin, with his happily oblivious infatuation with his best friend. 

"I came to apologize." 

Chris glanced over his shoulder, a streak of crimson adorning his cheek.  It made him look tragic and vulnerable, but Lance knew better.  "Don't worry about it." 

"I think I'm beyond not worrying about it, Chris.  It was kind of a big deal for me.  And I wish I could do it all over again, but I can't.  So, I wanted to apologize for putting you in an uncomfortable position." 

"Fine.  You didn't really mean it, blah blah blah.  Apology accepted,"  Chris said bitterly.  His brush dragged harshly across a block of concrete. 

"You're mad." 

"No.  Just really fucking…"  Chris sighed and ran his hand through his hair.  "…pissed.  So, yeah.  It's no big deal, Bass.  I'll get over it." 

"It's not what you think, Chris." 

"How do you know what I think?" 

"I don't.  I don't know what you're thinking about the other night, but it probably seems like I was…taking advantage of your friendship." 

"Probably."   

He nodded.  He hadn't really expected Chris to let him out of this with grace, and he didn't deserve it.  It was just so hard to say. 

"It wasn't like that," he said, and stepped toward Chris.  "I wasn't just upset.  I wanted to.  I'd wanted to for a while.  That last night at the drive-in…"  His stomach hurt, but Chris deserved the truth.  "I was…" 

He closed his mouth; it was too hard to say.  Chris might be experienced in this area, but Lance hadn't ever kissed anyone the way he'd kissed Chris, so he didn't know how to deal with the aftermath.

Chris finally looked like he was listening. 

"I was, under the blankets, I was…" he coughed, blushing fiercely, but plowed forward because Chris only responded to truths like this.  "I was-" 

Hard, his brain supplied, because of you, but the words wouldn't come because even in the midst of this mess, he was still Lance Bass.  "-I'm sorry," he said in surrender, and headed for his car. 

"Wait!"  Chris jogged over and caught up with him before he could unlock the door.  He looked up at Lance in disbelief.  "You had a hard on that night, you were turned on?" he asked, then with more surety, "You were sitting there talking about being a virgin, and all along you wanted me to put my hand under the covers and touch you."  He chuckled and moved closer.  Lance felt the car pressing into his back; there was nowhere to go. 

Chris held Lance against the car with his body so that there was nowhere for Lance to go, not even when Chris unashamedly slid his gloved hand between them.  He held Lance with his eyes, as well, curious and fascinated.  

He should've been used to Chris' unpredictable behavior by now but he wasn't, and Lance gasped as his pulse leapt frantically in his throat, his temples, everywhere that mattered. Chris had to have known what he'd find.  It felt like a betrayal because Lance had just offered up that closely-guarded secret, and if Lance hadn't been ready for that, certainly he wasn't ready for this. 

"Chris," he managed, and wrenched his head to the side, stared at a far-off cluster of trees.  "All I'm saying is that when I kissed you, it was stupid and impulsive but it wasn't insincere."  It was all he could manage when he was realizing how impossible it was to hide from someone whose body was pressed up against his own. 

So, Chris knew.  It wasn't like he hadn't known before.

Still, it seemed an eternity before he finally took his hand away, exhaled loudly and stepped back.  "Apology accepted," Chris whispered, his breath frosting the air. 

By the time Lance pulled himself together enough to drive, Chris was already painting again. 

***

"I knew he liked you."  Justin nodded knowingly and dipped a breadstick into the marinara sauce.  He waved his food at Chris, who was slumped unhappily in his seat.  "Dude, he gave you that present, he tried to make out with you.  Why are you acting so surprised?" 

"Because he's Lance Bass," Chris snapped. 

JC looked up from his notebook at that.  "Justin, Lance has a lot of responsibility in his circles.  He's like, legendary for his perfect reputation, and fooling around with guys isn't part of that." 

"It could be," Justin insisted, readying himself to sulk.  He wanted to see Chris and Lance together again.  It had sucked the past few weeks, with both of them avoiding the other.  "You just said that he admitted he wants you, he's hot for your body.  I know you like him, too, so I don't get how you can just do nothing." 

"Drop it," JC muttered.  He shut his notebook and sighed, looking across the table at Justin.   "I'm so sick of hearing about this!  He's doing the smart thing, okay?  Lou Pearlman has a stake in what Lance does, and it'll only hurt Chris and Lance if they started something and were found out." 

"You're just scared of Professor Pearlman," Justin accused. 

Chris rolled his eyes.  He did not want to talk about this, and neither did JC, who preferred to act as though the man just didn't exist. 

"Shut up." 

"When are you finally gonna tell me what happened with that guy?"  Justin folded his arms across his chest in a pout.  "We tell each other everything, but you never told me what happened. Lance doesn't know, either." 

"Because, you asked him?"  JC scowled at Justin, and looked around for the waitress.  He needed more root beer. 

"No, he asked me.  He thinks there's something bad between you and Pearlman." 

"He can ask you himself; he's right over there."  Chris nodded toward a group of people settling themselves in a booth.  There he was, looking handsome and collected under the dim lighting, so different than the last time Chris had seen him, when he'd been shaking apart with nerves. 

Their table fell silent. 

"Go talk to him," Justin urged. 

Normally, Chris would be thrilled at the opportunity to approach a table full of Bible-beaters and smug political science majors, but the thing with Lance was too raw, too new.  His annoyance over his own fear ended up being what propelled him to his feet, across the room and up to the booth. 

"Hi!" he said brightly.  He'd never seen so many phony smiles in his life.  Lance's, however, was sincere after only a second of hesitation. 

"Chris, hi.  Meet David, Amy, Ryan, Julian and Seth.  Guys, this is Chris."  He was a born public speaker, cool and smooth to the very core, and Chris couldn't take his eyes off of him.  A white t-shirt peeked out from under his black sweater, and Chris was suddenly gripped by a something fierce and possessive.  He knew what they were all thinking: Lance was completely out of his league. 

"Hey, Jayce, c'mon over and meet Lance's friends," he called, because to these people, the only thing that could be worse than being approached by Chris Kirkpatrick was being approached by Joshua Chasez.  JC skittishly made his way over and pressed into Chris' side. 

"Hi," he waved.  "Hey Lance." 

"Joshua Chasez," Ryan said.  "So, will you be contributing anything to the Creative Review this semester?" 

JC made a small sound that only Chris heard, but spoke with strength and grace.  "I am," he replied.  "Hopefully this time the editors won't censor the life out of it." 

"Edit the smut out of it, you mean," Amy said meanly, and Chris stepped forward, palms flat on the table.  He got a sick satisfaction from the way they all shrank back when he drummed his black fingernails on the tabletop, but he could feel the way that JC was shrinking into him now.  The unfairness of it all grated at his flesh, silent and invisible but just as destructive. 

He was just about to inform them of his personal, fine appreciation for smut, when Lance said, "Enough, all of you."  He tapped his knuckles on the table and gave Amy an accusing look, which was enough to elicit a mumbled "Sorry," from Ryan.  Amy just looked at Chris' fingernails.   

Afterwards, she asked Lance if he might be able to introduce her to Justin.  He pretended not to hear her. 

***

"You have a thing for Lance," JC said on the way home. "I sort of thought you'd be over it by now."   

Chris gave him a nasty, sidelong look.  "What, like a passing thing?" 

"Benji," JC reminded him. 

"Woohoo!" Justin called from the back.

"A good lay," Chris said thoughtfully.  "But JC, it was only a couple dates.  Plus, I ended up doing his brother too, so…"

"His…"

"Yup.  Twins," Chris said, and the pride in his voice wasn't just due to his conquests, it was over having distracted JC from his original subject. 

"Whoa, Chris," Justin said, frowning deeply.  "That's…how can you."  He cut himself off and slumped back into the backseat.  He couldn't imagine just pushing aside his feelings for his One True Love and making due with someone else. 

"Anyhow," Chris interrupted, before Justin could start in. "Don't you have a date tonight?" 

"Yeah," JC said, and braced his arm on the dashboard.  Chris took the corners too fast.  He waited for Justin to say something about it, but there was only silence from the backseat. 

***

Lance parked at the Oasis and  hurried inside.  Justin had been a mess on the phone, completely forlorn, lost…and drunk.  He was too young to drink, and Lance had gone nearly twenty miles over the speed limit on the way over because a drunk Justin was too trusting, affectionate and stupid to be left on his own. 

He found him in the bathroom, laughing with a group of stoners that had come in to get high.  The air was too thick for Lance to tell whether or not Justin was high, too.  When Justin saw Lance, he rushed at him and fell into his arms.

"Lance, Lance, Lance," Justin chanted, and buried his face in Lance's neck.  The stoners laughed and catcalled, but Lance ignored them. 

"Justin, tell me what happened," he said, frightened.  Why hadn't Justin called JC, or even Chris?  Justin sniffled hotly into his shirt collar, making Lance feel fiercely protective of his young friend. 

"Nothing," Justin insisted, then immediately contradicted himself.  "He went out with this- this guy, this really hot guy," he moaned. 

JC.  Lance hugged Justin tightly.  "I'm sorry, Justin.  C'mon, let me take you home, okay?" 

"'kay." 

Lance felt for him.  Justin had been crazy about JC for as long as Lance had known them, hanging on his every word, bringing him all kinds of music, food and anything he thought might make JC look at him that way. 

Justin had no idea that JC already looked at him that way.  Lance was tempted to say something to one of them, but it wasn't any of his business.  He helped Justin into the car and drove him home. 

"Where are we?" Justin asked groggily when they pulled into the parking lot. 

"JC's apartment.  You practically live here, right?"

Justin laughed sadly.  "Yeah.  JC is on a date, Lance.  With some guy from the basketball team.  Some guy who doesn't even like music." 

Lance touched Justin's curls gently.  "Then you don't have anything to worry about, do you?" 

Justin didn't seem all that reassured, and in the next hour Lance found out far more than he ever wanted to know about the details of Justin's true feelings for JC.  According to Justin, they were not only larger than the universe, but as inexorable as death itself. 

"Let's get you to bed, okay?" Lance finally said in his most soothing voice.  "You'll feel so much better after getting some sleep." 

He got Justin, who was nearly passed out at this point, under the covers and was nearly out to the living room when Chris came through the front door. 

"Hi."  Chris stopped short and swiped at his tangled hair.  He'd been dancing, and showed the signs of a long night out.  He looked excited, flushed, and dangerous.  Lance wanted to touch him. 

"I brought Justin home," Lance said.  "He's drunk." 

"Aw, fuck. I was gonna stay home with him." 

"I'm surprised that JC's not home yet.  Surprised that he's dating at all, I guess.   I sort of thought he was…

"He is," Chris said quickly.  "He's…it's always about Justin.  But sometimes he just needs to get out, get some." 

"I guess you would know about that." 

"And I guess you wouldn't."  Chris didn't know why he was already raising his voice.  Something about his bad luck, he supposed.  Coming home buzzed and horny to find Lance standing in his living room, looking every bit as innocently tempting as his likeness, St. Quincy, who was still sitting on the easel. 

It pissed him off. 

"Not for lack of trying," Lance replied.  

Chris snorted.  "Used to getting your own way, huh?  It was bad timing," he explained.  "You were all distraught and shit, and it was only a matter of time before you realized that you were in way over your head." 

"I wanted to be," Lance argued.  "I'm not some kind of--" he pointed at the portrait, which he'd noticed as soon as he'd walked in.  "I'm him, Chris.  I mean, you want me like that, right?  I can-" he reached his arm out one last time toward Chris, knowing he wouldn't try again.  "-I can be that." 

He appeared to be sincere, and even though he was still troubled by suspicion, Chris shrugged his jacket off onto the floor and moved toward Lance.  "Okay," he said, , half-expecting Lance to back away in a panic.  He didn't, and Chris got to taste him again, taking his mouth the way that he'd wanted to that first night. 

Usually Chris went straight for the good stuff, but he found himself lingering with above-the-waist touches and slow, wet kisses because kissing Lance was a reward all of it's own.  He'd never had anyone respond to the brush of his hands the way that Lance did, with breathy sighs and moans and the way he threatened to shake apart whenever Chris licked at the inside of his mouth. 

He had thought a million times about what Lance had said about that last night at the drive-in, but none of the dirty fantasies he'd constructed about that night could compare to how it felt to really have his hands on Lance's face, his neck, and the ass that Chris had been following with his eyes for far longer than he'd even known Lance. 

"Oh," Lance breathed, when Chris slid his hands over the back of his jeans and rubbed hard, bringing them even closer together.  Fuck, Chris thought, but pulled his lips away from Lance's. 

"Okay?" he asked, though it killed him. 

Thankfully, Lance nodded, breathing hard, and was just about to reclaim Chris' mouth again, when JC unlocked the front door and walked inside.  Chris cursed out loud this time, laying his head on Lance's shoulder, his hands still holding his waist. 

"Um.  Hi," JC said cautiously, jiggling his keys nervously. "I'm…oh.  I'm interrupting.  I'll just-"   He started toward his room, but Lance blocked his path. 

"No, JC.  Sorry.  But.  Justin's in there."  

"In my room?"

"In your bed," Lance replied.  His face burned with arousal and embarrassment at being caught like that, but JC, living with Chris, had probably seen much worse.  "He's pretty drunk.  I had to go get him.  Maybe…"  He trailed off uneasily when he saw Justin stumble out of JC's bedroom and toward the three of them. 

Justin had apparently caught his second wind, though he hadn't sobered up much at all.  His eyes were bright and shiny as he lifted a finger and said, "JC.  I'm glad you're home.  Because I have some things to say to you." 

JC glanced nervously at Lance, then Chris, and the amused smile died on his lips when he saw their faces.  "Um.  Okay." 

"Listen to me, JC!" he ordered, swaying dangerously before bracing a hand on the hallway wall.  "In my head, you are my boyfriend." 

Chris turned his head away so that Justin wouldn't see his smile, but JC just looked confused.

"I'm serious," Justin explained.  "And I'm sorry if that is inconvenient to you, but I have put in a lot of years trying to get you, and I get first dibs!" 

Lance cringed.  Justin would have a better chance of getting further with JC if he refrained from mentioning "dibs", or anything else that would remind JC of his reasons for staying away.  He would have really liked to have stayed to see how everything turned out, but Chris tugged at his hand, guiding Lance toward his bedroom, and he figured that he could get the condensed version tomorrow morning. 

***

In Chris' room, Lance completely forgot about Justin.  He let Chris undress him, and it felt so strangely thrilling when Chris unzipped his jeans that he didn't know how he'd make it at all when Chris actually touched him.  He tried to get his composure as he lay on the bed waiting for Chris to undress, but as soon as Chris slithered on top of him and took his mouth again, he ignited under the press of a warm body against his own, and all Chris had to do was writhe against him a few times before he was coming hard, holding onto handfuls of Chris' hair.

"Oh," he said into Chris' neck, his fingers burrowed into the mess of silky black hair.  "Chris," he panted.  He was still hard, and so, so turned on that he didn't even feel like himself anymore.  It scared him, a little, how much he felt. 

"Damn," Chris whispered, rocking against Lance.  His dick enjoyed the newly slick glide across Lance's stomach, and he rocked faster, just thought about licking Lance's nipples, and felt the familiar starburst of pleasure gathering in his balls and thighs.  When Lance started panting again, saying "oh, oh, oh," which was apparently all Lance could say when he was turned on, Chris arched against him and came hard. 

"Baby," he said to Lance, then, thinking that it sounded stupid, kissed him instead of finishing the thought.  He didn't want Lance to freak out, wanted Lance to like it and like him so they could do this every day, and even more than this eventually, so he kissed him gently like he thought a virgin might like to be kissed even though Chris had no idea how virgins liked to be kissed.  Maybe he was the one freaking out, he realized, and that was a scary thought so he didn't think about it anymore, just licked against Lance's tongue with his own until he eventually fell asleep. 

Chris was gone when Lance woke up. He stretched and rolled over into the mess of covers that smelled like Chris, inhaled deeply, and sat up. After waiting for a while to see if Chris would come back to bed, he got dressed and shuffled sleepily out to the living room.

St. Quincy had been relegated to a spot near the window so that Chris could work on whatever had him going, now. His hair was bound up with a blue bandanna, sexy as hell, and the intensity with which he studied the canvas reminded Lance of the way Chris had looked at him the previous night. Lance took a step forward, admiring the way the muscles in Chris' shoulders and arm shifted and flexed as he moved his hand on the canvas. Sexy; everything was sexy now. Maybe this was what happened once you had sex, he thought, which was worrying since he still had to do things like going to classes and church, and visiting his parents.

He cleared his throat and Chris immediately lifted his eyes from his work. "Hi," he said, and scratched lightly at the dark hair covering his stomach.

Sexy, Lance thought, but said "Hi," in return. "What're you, um. Painting?"

"Not anymore," Chris said, and lay his brush on edge of the easel. Turning, he rummaged for a rag and came toward Lance when he found one, smiling and wiping his hands; a sexy, disheveled artist. Lance clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, uncertain how to act after doing all the things that he'd done with Chris the night before.

"What's the matter?" Chris leaned in, smiling against his lips, and relieved, he had to smile back before opening up.

"Nothing," he sighed, bringing his arms up around Chris' waist. Already, he wanted to lead Chris back to the bedroom and do more touching, kissing, anything to get closer to him. Just when he was getting up the courage to suggest it, Justin came stumbling out of JC's bedroom, moaning loudly.

Chris kept his hands on Lance, but turned his head and asked, "Hard night, Jup? Underage drinking's a bitch, ain't it?"

Justin scrubbed a hand through his curls and looked blearily at the two of them. "Shut up, Chris. I feel great," he croaked, and quickly cleared his throat. "I feel great," he repeated more convincingly, which wasn't very convincing at all. "I heard you guys last night," he accused.

"Congratulations. I heard you, too," Chris said. "Puking like a freshman. I'm sure that made JC want to sign right up for that boyfriend position you so politely offered."

Apparently Justin wasn't having any problems remembering the previous night, because he colored darkly at that, and covered his face with his hand. "Shut up," he whispered, mortified, then groaned again. Lance felt sorry for him. "I'm a loser," he said, making his way into the kitchen. "I threw up on his leather pants and passed out before I could help clean up."

"That's why I don't drink," Lance offered, and felt Chris' muffled laughter on his shoulder. "But it's not that bad, Justin."

"Yeah." Justin looked so miserable there slumped against the counter, all sallow skin and bloodshot eyes, even Chris eased up on him.

"No big deal," he told Justin. "I've thrown up in his car, on him, and on the couch. He's immune to it by now; hell, he probably expects it. He and Lance will never truly bond until Lance makes him break out the Lysol at two AM."

"Thanks." Justin sniffed and poured some coffee into a travel cup. He didn't look up. "I'm taking this, ok? Catch you guys later."

As soon as he was gone, Lance shook his head. "They should've talked," he began, but it was too distracting with Chris so near. There was a smudge of green across Chris' shoulder, and Lance bent his head, licked at it gently. It didn't budge, but he found that Chris tasted the same as he had last night.

Chris shivered under the light touch. "They'll work it out," he mumbled, perplexed. He'd been suspicious about Lance's sudden and unexpected interest from the very start of all this, but Chris couldn't deny the hard press of his arousal as he leaned into Chris, leaving a trail of kisses along his neck. It was still puzzling, but Chris was beginning to believe. Lance wanted him, even now.

***

When they emerged from the bedroom again, it was well after noon and JC was sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the Sunday paper.

"So how was the date?" Chris asked, flopping into a chair with a smug smile.

"Date?"

"Come on. You date like, once a year? I doubt you've forgotten the date that you were on last night. The gorgeous basketball player who doesn't like mu-sic." He mimicked Justin's hitching, forlorn voice on the last word.

"Doesn't- what?" JC pushed the paper away in annoyance. "Chris, what are you. Who are you supposed to be?"

"Oh, nobody," Chris griped. JC wasn't stupid, but he insisted on being dense where Justin was concerned. He suspected it was because JC wasn't quite sure he'd know what to do with Justin once he got him.

"Justin told me that, too," Lance confessed, joining them at the table. "About him not liking music, and, um. Not being Justin." He sat and exchanged a shy, knowing smile with JC. Now he knew how Joey's girls always felt the morning after when they ran into Lance, when everyone knows what everyone did the night before but is too polite to mention it. "He was pretty upset when he called me, JC. And now he feels humiliated."

"As he well should," Chris piped.

JC shook his head, stunned. "The things he said last night. I can't- are they true?"

"They're true," Lance assured him, but JC didn't seem to believe it.

***

Lance gave up on studying sometimes around seven o'clock, yet continued to sit at his computer, staring at an already-memorized document of notes. Being surrounded by his books gave him the illusion of studying, the illusion that things hadn't drastically changed since the last time he'd sat at this table.

Justin had been following Joey around the apartment all evening, relaying the story of his disaster the night before and Lance knew that if he looked up from his computer, Joey would jump on the opportunity to drill him for information. As it was, he'd badgered Lance for, "Details, man!" for at least an hour.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about what had happened with Chris; rather, it was the only thing he could think of. But it was too new. He could still practically feel the imprint of Chris' hands on his skin, and all he had to do was think about Chris and his body responded to the memory. If he attempted to tell Joey about it, it would be like showing him what they'd done, and it was much easier to pretend nothing had happened.

"You know, the longer you stay away, the weirder it's gonna be," Joey was telling Justin. Lance agreed, but stuck to his plan to stay out of it. "Cause, you're always over there, and it's not like he's not gonna notice."

"I'll start over tomorrow," Justin said in a small voice. "Just…if I go over after classes, maybe he'll pretend-"

"-That's your whole problem," Lance said loudly, shutting his computer with one hand. "You've both been pretending, and now your friendship is at risk. Just call him, Justin."

Joey tossed Justin the phone and he eyed it warily for a only few moments before reluctantly dialing. As they listened, Joey raised a questioning eyebrow at Lance, who shook his head quickly. It was almost funny, how much it was killing Joey.

"Hi, JC," Justin said, and paced the room anxiously. "I. Sorry about your pants." A short pause, then an awkward, "Because…I'll get them cleaned, if you want." Lance scowled at him until he took a big breath and said, "So, maybe we should…do you wanna go for a drive?"

***

"We've never been here before," Justin said.

JC shut off the engine and lights, leaving the radio on. Even in the darkness, they could see the outline of trees and foliage, but little more. "No," JC said, and took off his gloves, folding them nervously. "I usually. I mean, I've been here before with…people, but. It's a good place to talk."

Talk. Justin wasn't sure, but this definitely didn't seem like the best place to talk. In fact, dark, remote, and secluded, it was exactly like every lover's lane Justin had ever been to…which wasn't very many.

"Okay," he said, and turned in his seat to look at JC. If he let himself think about it, he knew he would be too nervous for this talk because JC was beautiful in the darkness, his curls highlighted only minutely by the sliver of moon. Justin could feel JC looking at him and could hear the faint, wet sound of his mouth parting to lick quickly at his lips.

"JC," he whispered. JC had picked him up in Chris' old Caddy, the one with the bench seat in front. JC had brought him to this make-out spot, and Justin knew- he suddenly, absolutely knew that it would be all right for him to reach over and, with unsteady fingers, touch JC's hand.

They touched every day in so many ways, but this was so different than anything they'd done before. For once, JC didn't try to pretend it wasn't. He spread his fingers, letting them slide between Justin's until their hands were twined tightly together.

"Last night," JC began, "When you said you wanted to be with me… I didn't believe it, Justin, it's-" he stopped abruptly, but rubbed a thumb lightly over Justin's palm. "We've been friends for such a long time."

"It was true," Justin confessed. "I didn't mean to tell you."

"You should have," JC said quietly, and moved forward just enough to place a brief, experimental kiss on Justin's lips. When he tried to draw back, Justin surged forward and held him there, sliding his mouth over JC's cheek, across his jaw to a resting place at the base of his neck.

"Stay here," he breathed into JC's skin. The winter had seeped into the car and JC nodded, folding his hands over Justin's back and reveling in the closeness. It seemed so easy, too easy, to be here with Justin how he'd always wanted.

"Your mom," he whispered, trying to keep track of his reasons for waiting so long.

"She knows why I came here," Justin confessed, and followed the same path with his lips until he met once again with JC's warm, wet mouth. This time, he pressed JC into the seat and slid a hand into the wild curls, holding him in place for a kiss that left them both hot, breathless, and dangerously aching. It was only a matter of time before the windows had steamed and Justin had turned, throwing one leg onto the other side of JC's thighs to straddle him as they kissed.

He only began to grind against JC's lap when it became absolutely necessary, vital to his sanity and well-being, but JC didn't mind, only encouraged him by slipping his long fingers into the back of Justin's loose jeans and guiding him to the right rhythm and pressure. Every once in a while one of JC's fingers would slip further than the rest, slide lightly onto the place where he wanted it the most, and the result was electric and shivery, more of a tease than Justin could take. He clutched at JC's shoulders desperately, almost frantic to have what he wanted without actually asking for it, but JC was apparently on the same page because the next time his finger wandered, it did so with a smooth, firm pressure, rubbing between Justin's legs until Justin curled into JC and moaned as he pressed his hips into JC's, shaking apart with pleasure.

"Justin," JC gasped. He could tell that Justin had just come- against him, on him, because of him- and that knowledge sent him reeling, dizzy with sensation and balanced so close to the edge. Hardly able to breathe, he groped around for Justin's hand and dragged it to the front of his jeans, held it there until Justin took the hint and curled his fingers around the thick length.

"Yeah," Justin said, stunned that he was allowed this liberty, to touch JC and stroke him and even more stunning was JC's fevered response; the way he panted and writhed, beautifully open. After only a few seconds of this, his head fell back and Justin could feel his cock jerking, pulsing, spreading damp heat against the palm of Justin's hand.

He fell forward, letting his forehead rest on the back of the seat, JC's breath hot on his shoulder. Slowly, their breathing returned to normal and Justin realized that JC was probably waiting for him to get off of him. Reluctantly, he climbed back to his own side. The windows were completely fogged, and Justin was almost surprised when he swiped a hand over the window, leaving a streak of black night in it's wake. It felt as though it should be morning.

JC started the engine and cranked on the heat. He'd intended to leave right away, but he was drawn to Justin, his hands drifting toward the sweaty, flushed curve of his cheek. "Hey," he said, and Justin turned from where he had been staring out the window.

"Yeah?"

JC let his hand fall from Justin's face, down onto the chilled fabric of the seat. Everything was so delicately balanced right now, one wrong move and he feared it could all fall apart, be ruined forever. All he had to do, he was sure, was made Justin smile, for things to be normal again.

"Do you, uh. Want to go get a shower?" he asked, and Justin only let the silence continue for one more brief moment before he laughed, loud and bright in the small space of the car.

He took it as a yes.

***

Lance didn't have to look over at JC to know what he looked like. He'd been walking around all day in a blissful fog and couldn't stop saying stuff like, "Oh my God, Lance. It was- Oh my God."

Lance worried that maybe JC wasn't the best person to be around today because there was a very good chance that his own expression mirrored JC's. He understood every heartfelt, "He's so…I don't know, I just love him," as though it were his own, and that embarrassed him because Chris was not a hearts and flowers kind of guy and he wouldn't expect Lance to be.

"Never confuse sex with love," his mother had always said, so Lance had a healthy fear of doing that very thing. He wasn't experienced enough in either area to know the difference, but the truth was, to Lance they both felt so closely related- sex and love- intertwined into one enormous feeling that was all directed toward Chris.

"I have to stop drop off my tutoring time-sheet real quick," he told JC, and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him toward the right path. "Then we can go."

JC followed easily enough, chattering about the holiday concert and all the perfect songs that had been passed over. It wasn't until they reached the steps of the large brick building that his steps slowed and halted, his expressive eyes showing everything he felt, as usual.

"What's wrong?"

"I- this is. Are you dropping something off with Professor Pearlman? Because, I can wait here."

"C'mon, JC," Lance pleaded. He didn't want to go up there alone, and right or wrong, JC was sure to be a good Pearlman-repellant. "He's probably not even there. It'll just take a second."

JC couldn't say no, so they made their way up to the third floor, their conversation fading and dying by the time they reached the second stairwell. Quick and stealthy, Lance slipped the time-sheet into Professor Pearlman's box and they practically flew down the stairs, wild with relieved laughter by the time they hit the front lawn.

Breathing hard, they wiped their eyes and chuckled some more, feeling ridiculously victorious. They took the path to the library and even though he was curious to the point of bursting, Lance let JC enjoy their high spirits until they had almost reached the sprawling, three-story building.

"JC?" he ventured, coming to a stop. "I know it's none of my business, but…will you tell me what happened with Pearlman, that you're so-" He didn't want to say afraid, though that was exactly what he thought JC felt when faced with the prospect of meeting up with Lou. "-uncomfortable?"

He regretted it immediately because JC wilted before him, the elated light in his eyes fading into something dull and angry. "You mean he didn't tell you?" he asked icily.

Lance shook his head. It had never occurred to him to ask Lou.

"You're not going to like it," JC warned, but when Lance didn't say anything, he shrugged his slim shoulders and sighed. "You know about the Creative Review, right?"

Lance knew. The school's Arts magazine came out every spring, and it took submissions of poetry, essays, art and fiction. Chris had several past issues in a pile under his bed, and a while back he'd dug them out and shown them to Lance, smiling modestly when Lance had sought out Chris' impressive submissions.

"Well, I had a piece…it was actually a song I wrote, but it was submitted as, like, poetry." JC stared off at the horizon, frowning at the memory. "It wasn't actually smutty or anything, but it was about Justin and it was from my heart, you know? A bunch of people, including Professor Pearlman, protested. They didn't want it published, but the Review Advisor said that we'd just change a few words here and there. It wasn't the same, but I really wanted it published so I was willing to…compromise. Still, they were pretty mad. That was when I got jumped, that time I told you about. Randy Thatcher."

"Yeah."

"So, that went on for a while, but…I don't know what I was thinking. It's really embarrassing, Lance, so I'll just say it."

Lance nodded, not sure whether or not he wanted to hear the rest. One page of prose didn't seem worth all the drama, but JC and Justin seemed to be all about drama, so maybe it made sense.

"Professor Pearlman caught me going down on a TA in the science building." JC let all the words escape in one quick, painful rush.

"Oh."

"Yeah. So, after that we had an understanding that I'd pull my submission. And I did."

"Oh," Lance repeated. It was no worse than he thought it might be, but no better, either. JC's story explained a lot, from Lou's insistence that he was a bad influence to JC's pale, ashamed reaction whenever they caught a glimpse of Lou on campus.

"So, uh…" he searched for something that would make JC feel like he wasn't judging him. "JC…what the hell were you doing in the science building?"

JC smiled bashfully and snickered over the question, but Lance didn't even hear his reply because there was still something unsettling about what JC had told him. JC had been going down on someone. On a guy. JC did that, Justin, too. And, he realized…Chris.

Lance didn't get very much work done.

***

What do guys do in bed together?"

It had sounded like a legitimate question in Lance's head and he knew exactly what he'd meant. After all, he'd been waiting long enough to ask. He'd waited through JC taking two hours to find the exact journal he wanted in the library, through thirty minutes of waiting while Joey gave him the play-by-play of how he'd gotten turned down by the redhead he'd spent weeks working up to. He'd waited until Chris showed up at nine o'clock and patiently let Joey and Chris play video games for an hour before finally, finally Joey went to take a shower and there they were, alone in the living room and he could finally talk to Chris about this. Now, with Chris' suppressed laughter and the inane sound of his own words, he wished he hadn't said anything at all.

"Well, I dunno, Bass," Chris said, leaning back in Joey's armchair with great amusement. He kicked his feet up on the footrest and scratched his chin. "It seems like if you can't remember, then I really shouldn't tell you."

"I remember," Lance murmured, his fingers creeping up to his neck, willing away the easy blush. Yes, they'd been to bed together and they'd kissed, touched, and pressed up against one another until they'd come, but he couldn't stop thinking about what JC had said. He suspected that Chris was going slow on Lance's account. "But, I mean…what else? What do you usually do…besides what we did?"

Chris had been idly flipping through channels, but now he put pushed the off button and pushed the remote onto the floor. He eyed Lance thoughtfully. "It's not really something that you explain," he finally said, a smirk playing at his lips. "I'd have to show you."

"Oh," Lance said, nodding as though his pulse hadn't just spiked to near-dangerous levels. "Yeah, I uh," he said, but Chris was already out of the chair and down the hall.

"I've never been in your bedroom, Bass!" he called, and Lance could already hear the sound of things moving around. It made him nervous so he followed, adjusting himself in his pants as he went.

The sound Lance had heard was Chris getting undressed, apparently, and tossing various articles of clothing haphazardly onto the floor. He was already naked, and his mouth was wet on Lance's neck as he made quick work of Lance's shirt, pants and underwear.

"Uh, Chris," he said, because maybe Chris had been right before to keep things slow. Maybe Chris had been right, yet Lance's hands couldn't stop touching the soft slope of Chris' back, the curve of his hip and in a moment of boldness, the column of hard flesh between his legs.

"What? Are you-" Chris shuddered at Lance's touch, but pulled away. "Do you want to stop? This is what you were asking, right?"

"No, yeah. Yeah. I just…what are we…" He couldn't help it. It was his nature, he liked to know what was coming, how it would happen, where it fit into his life. So far, he'd allowed Chris to break every rule he had.

"C'mon." Chris tugged at his hand, and Lance was helpless to follow, sitting where Chris led him, onto the edge of his boring plaid bedspread. Kneeling on the floor between his legs, Chris nuzzled at his chest and whispered, "Sexy. Your room is sexy. It's just how I thought it'd be."

Lance shut his eyes and didn't say anything because his room was the polar opposite of Chris' room, and if anything was sexy, it was Chris and everything that belonged to him. It almost scared him, his reaction to Chris, the way his skin ached for the slightest touch. He wanted too much; for the first time in his life he felt like the guys he'd always looked down on, at the mercy of the heavy throb between his legs, willing to do anything, anything at all so long as Chris would touch him.

Now, Chris stroked his hands down Lance's naked thighs and licked his lips, showing a flash of silver that never ceased to amaze Lance. "You know what I'm gonna do, right?" he asked, eyebrows raised high and amused, and Lance suddenly realized how transparent he'd been, though up until now he really hadn't known what he was asking for.

Chris had known, though; he had always been able to see through all of Lance's phony layers of crap and he didn't wait, just dipped his head and curled his hand around Lance's penis, brought it to his mouth and made his lips into a tight circle around the head. Tight, it was so tight and slick inside Chris' mouth; with all the kissing they'd done, Lance thought he should've known by now but he hadn't, and it was this marvelous, thrilling surprise.

"Chris," he said urgently, but it felt ripped out of him, like he couldn't control his own words, his own body, it was just Chris and his name was the only thing that could possibly emerge from Lance's mouth. One hand burrowed into the long, dark hair and the other clutched at the bedding, trying to still his hips from moving the way they wanted to, into Chris, deep and lasting.

Volatile heat pooled in his thighs, his belly, his balls, lurking dangerously as Chris sucked him, and it wasn't nearly long enough before Chris found the perfect rhythm, touched one too many of his pleasure spots and Lance was coming- shockingly, though he did nothing to stop it- with Chris' mouth still fastened on him. His tongue rubbed leisurely against the underside of Lance's penis as he finished gasping, shaking, and slowly untangled his fingers from Chris' hair.

Lance couldn't take his eyes from Chris, because it was so dirty, the dark head bent to rest on his stomach, fingers still playing idly between his legs. Dirty, definitely, and hot.

"So, is that what you were wondering?" Chris asked, and climbed up onto Lance, pushing him down on the bed.

He wasn't sure whether or not he should tell Chris how fantastic it had been, and he thought maybe he should be cool, the way Chris always was, but that didn't stop him from blurting, "That felt incredible, it was…do you…" He could feel Chris' cock pressed against him, rubbing wet, persistent streaks onto his belly. "…do you want me to…what do you want?"

"Here," Chris grunted, and sat up straight, straddling Lance's hips, looking down intently at Lance. "You can…" he arched his back, making his cock jut out from his body, demanding and obvious. Without any prompting, Lance reached out and touched it with his fingertips, which slid along the length and caught on the ridge of the head. It was strange, but he loved the way Chris arched even further when his thumb swiped gently across the tip and came away wet. He wanted to do this, wanted to make Chris feel good but his hand was unsteady with inexperience, so thankfully, Chris folded his hand over Lance's.

"Yeah. Like that," he said, his voice rough and low. He showed Lance how he liked it until Lance took over, jerking Chris off with the utmost concentration, not even noticing that he'd begun moving his own hips in accord with the strong, steady strokes he gave Chris. No wonder everyone had been so worried that he'd broken his promise of abstinence, he thought. They must have known what he was missing, known that not doing this would be the hardest thing in the world.

"Just, uh, faster," Chris panted after a minute, his gaze fixed on Lance's face, and Lance immediately obeyed, tightening his fist. It wasn't like Lance hadn't ever done this to himself, but it was so completely different like this, seeing Chris so excited and close to coming, pushing his hard dick into Lance's hand. Better. It was like what Joey had talked about so many times, and even though there was still the lingering feeling of regret, the bothersome notion that he was going to be in trouble, he couldn't imagine anything more thrilling than the way Chris looked when he planted his hands on Lance's shoulders, his cock alive in Lance's hand, shooting wet heat onto Lance's chest.

"Yeah, Bass, you're a natural," Chris purred, lowering himself onto Lance, licking lazily into his mouth. Lance thought about being offended by that remark, but Chris was suddenly sleepy, warm and affectionate, which was pretty much how Lance felt at the moment, so he decided to take it as a compliment. They lay together for a few minutes before Chris wriggled away from him and sighed deeply, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Shower?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Lance said, grateful for the few minutes of solitude. It was stupid, but he craved quiet time after being with Chris, and had needed it last time they'd been together, too. Maybe it was the newness of it, but he felt too full, like there was too much feeling in him, in his heart…more than Chris would prefer to know about. What he needed, he knew, was to ask someone who knew about this kind of thing. Not Joey, because as sweet and loving as Joey had proven himself to be, Lance had never seen him spend more than a few weeks at a time thinking about a particular girl.

It wasn't that Chris wasn't the type of guy that was open to frank conversation, because he was. He was mostly free of macho bullshit barriers, but without knowing exactly where Chris wanted to take this, Lance was reluctant to broach the subject. He didn't want to do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, do anything at all that might jeopardize this tentative, new, thing between the two of them.

He would talk to JC.

***

"You going home for Christmas?" JC asked, wrapping his blue-tinged fingers around a cup of coffee. He was always so cold, but he still loved winter and everything that it brought. Lance, on the other hand, always appeared toasty and warm in his thick sweaters and suede gloves.

"Yeah." Lance nodded, his pink cheeks the only sign of having been out in the weather. "I sort of wanted to talk to you about that."

JC perked up and tapped his spoon idly on the side of his mug, dripping mocha drops onto the table. "About what?"

"I wanted your opinion on something. It's about Chris."

"Boys!" JC said, embarrassingly loud, and clapped his hands together while Lance shot furtive, paranoid glances around the room.

"Um, yeah," he said. JC's sparkly tennis shoes didn't freak Lance out anymore, but that didn't mean that he wanted the entire student body to overhear their conversation about his relationship with Chris. He trusted JC, though, more than he trusted anyone else with this secret of his, and valued his opinion. Also, he wasn't sure how much of a secret he wanted Chris to be. It had been two weeks since they'd taken the first amazing, terrifying steps toward being together, and even though he knew it would make waves in his otherwise orderly life, Lance was proud of Chris, thrilled and sometimes unable to believe that Chris was his.

Which was the whole problem, because he wasn't sure whether or not Chris was actually his.

"What's wrong?" JC asked.

"Nothing," he said quickly, because JC always looked so sad when he thought other people were having problems. "But I've never had a serious relationship before, and definitely not with a guy. I'm not sure how things work."

"You guys are serious?" JC practically squealed.

"No, no that's the thing, JC. I don't know. I know how I feel, but I don't know how he feels. What he wants."

"Wow. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, JC. But, I was thinking that if he felt the same way I do, I'd want to tell my parents about him. Because…" a faint blush colored Lance's cheeks, and this time not from the cold. "I really like him, JC. I want to be with him all the time. He's so amazing, I mean, I'm sure you know this, you live with him."

"You're in love with him." JC smiled behind his hand.

"No, I." The words alone were enough to make Lance's stomach lurch sickly. Chris had never said anything about love, nothing stronger than the fact that he liked Lance's ass, his hands, the way he sang. Yet JC had a startling sense of intuition, and Lance had grown to trust him. "I don't know what our relationship is!" he burst out, frustrated. "Jayce, I don't know what he's doing, what he wants. If this is…"

JC, who had been listening intently, spoke up, head tilted against his shoulder. His ears were cold, too. "If this is real?" he asked, frowning deeply. "I didn't know you were wondering, Lance. I'm so- I mean, don't you guys talk about what you're doing?"

Lance snorted. "Sure, we talk. But it's either about regular, everyday friend-type things, or about how much he likes my ass."

JC nodded. "Oh. But, seriously. I know Chris, and you should talk to him. I think you'll be happy with what you hear. He's very…focused on you," he said firmly. "He's never been like this with anyone, Lance. He actively seeks you out, and believe me, he's never done that. I can't tell you his exact feelings, but the two of you seem so in sync to me."

"I think so, too," Lance said. "Most of the time. That's why I asked you here, though. I wanted to ask you some things…about you and Justin. They're kind of private, though," he added.

JC glowed.

"Of course! You can ask anything, anything at all," he assured Lance. JC loved, above all else, to talk about Justin.

"All right. Thanks." Lance looked around again, checking for eavesdroppers. "Do you tell him that you love him?"

"Of course. And I do, so much, Lance."

"Oh. And…he says it back?"

"Yes."

It was pretty much how Lance had thought the conversation would go, but he didn't get to finish, because Chris came bounding up to the table, his black trench coat sprinkled with moisture.

"It's snowing!" he announced. "Fucking weather. I swear to God, I'm going somewhere warm for Christmas break." Lance smiled, because he knew that Chris would never be anywhere but with his family for the holidays. "Move your skinny ass, Chasez," he ordered, scooting next to JC in the booth, but JC pushed him back and slipped out, grabbing his coat.

"I have to go," he apologized. "Chorus practice. See you guys later," and with a wink at Lance, he was gone. Chris slid into the now empty booth, across from Lance.

"So," he said thoughtfully. "What's he all guilty about?"

"Nothing," Lance said quickly.

Chris didn't give up easily, though. "Let's see, we know it's not trouble with Justin. And since Jayce is such a nice fucking guy, that rules out cheating, lying, stealing…" he tapped his fingers on the table, annoyingly. "But knowing him the way I do, I'd say he was probably…gossiping, like a girl."

Lance rolled his eyes. "If I tell you, will you please shut up? It's no big deal."

Chris shucked off his coat and settled in, fiddling with a leather wristband that sported several sharp metal spikes. "Go for it."

"We were talking about you," Lance confessed. Chris had probably already figured that out, anyhow. It was probably why he had to act like such an annoying ass. "I was thinking that I might tell my parents about you."

Chris' fingers froze on his bracelet but his eyes stayed down, hiding his reaction.

Lance waited quietly, painfully, as Chris privately absorbed what he'd said. Maybe it had been a mistake, he thought worriedly, but no. If Chris wasn't as into this as Lance was, then Lance should know now, before he started saying things he'd regret later on.

Finally, Chris spoke, very slowly. "What exactly would you tell them?" He didn't sound angry or freaked out or any of the things that Lance had feared, but he still kept his eyes a secret, away from Lance and fixed on his own hands.

"I would tell them that I'm seeing someone. That I have a…um. Boyfriend. And that I'm really happy with him. With you."

"I didn't know you wanted to be that," Chris said, finally raising his eyes to meet Lance's. Steady, but full of surprise. "I have to admit, I'm pretty fucking blown away, here."

"What did you think, Chris?" Lance said, bordering on anger. "Do I really seem like the kind of person who would risk everything just so I could experiment a little? For sex?"

"Of course not," Chris hissed back. He leaned across the table, toward Lance, and lowered his voice. There were still a lot of people around. "I just. You never said," he finished lamely.

"Yeah, well." Lance shrugged tightly, with no answer to that. He didn't exactly want to admit that he'd been too chicken to say anything until now.

"I already told my mom," Chris confessed, rubbing at his face. When he brought his hand away, he wore a sheepish smile. "Like, two weeks ago."

"You ass," Lance declared, but it applied to both of them, and he couldn't help laughing at himself, full of relief, happiness, and that other thing that he had yet to mention but still danced through his veins and reduced everything else in his life to a shade of beige insignificance.

"I want to put St. Quincy in a show," Chris blurted suddenly. "I hadn't planned on it, but fuck, Bass, everyone who's seen it has fallen in love with him."

"You mean, a show where the general public is invited to come look at a painting that may or may not be a slutty, half-naked version of me?" Lance asked suspiciously.

"That's the basic idea, yeah."

"I don't think so," Lance replied. He couldn't think of anything he wanted less than to have that particular painting up for public viewing. "It's kind of…private, don't you think?"

"I knew you'd say that," Chris sighed, and picked up JC's abandoned coffee. "It's cool. You can think about it. I'll ask again later." He wiped his mouth and then fixed his attention on Lance. "So, your parents, huh?"

"Yeah." Lance said into his coffee. "I just- can we get outta here?"

Chris threw a ten onto the table and they bundled back into their clothes. Lance wondered if it was a coincidence that Chris' hand brushed against his every few steps, but he didn't care. All he knew was that he would follow Chris out to his car and they would be kissing before Chris could even turn the ignition. Sure enough, they tumbled into the front seat and when Lance leaned in, Chris was right there to meet him with eager mouth, tongue, and hands that cleverly maneuvered under Lance's winter coat, between his legs.

"You're gonna tell your parents you have a boyfriend," Chris breathed hotly against his neck, and Lance gasped at the hundred shivers racing down his skin. He couldn't tell if the words were mocking, or curious, or what kind of reaction Chris was having.

"I'm in love with you," he said, low and urgent, pulling away from the distraction of Chris' mouth. "So. You should know, in case that's not what you thought was happening here."

"Fuck, Bass," Chris said, and retreated back to his side, eyes falling shut. Lance watched him, waiting, because Chris sometimes took a while to process new information. Most people would find it surprising, but he trusted Chris not to hurt him. "I swore I wouldn't let this happen," Chris said quietly, his gloved hands back in his own lap. Lance felt colder for their loss. "But then there I was, jerking off to St. Quincy and then there you were, coming out to the drive-in with your…stupid, embarrassing apology."

"Gee, thanks."

"And then…" he waved his hands helplessly and shrugged at Lance, his eyes glowing with feeling. "You're not who I thought you were, Bass. I mean, you're exactly who I thought you were, but without all the bullshit I thought you'd bring along with it. I can't believe I get turned on by your stupid preppy sweaters, but…it's. I guess that's how it is when you're in love." The tips of his ears were red now, but not from the cold. Lance found it adorable and slid over toward Chris for more kisses, long and slow this time, for the implied promises they'd just made.

END