*****
Justin tells people that he doesn’t like computers and cell phones and things like that, but it’s a lie. He gets twitchy if he’s not in the same room as his laptop for more than five minutes, and when he’s on tour, his cousin Theresa guards it with her life. Okay, maybe not her life. She’d narrowed her eyes at him when he’d mentioned handcuffing herself to it to keep it safe.
“In your dreams, Justin,” she scowled at him.
Justin hadn’t pushed the issue, but he actually does own a pair of handcuffs, and he keeps them in the right side pocket of his big blue suitcase, tucked away next to a snapshot of him and Lance in Germany, Justin’s arm slung around Lance’s shoulder. He keeps them there just in case…well, he doesn’t know exactly in case of what, but he likes to think he’s prepared for anything.
Justin does a lot of things on his computer. He has music on there, both his own and other people’s. He keeps in touch with his friends and family, he has a ton of photos saved, he follows national and world news, and late at night he searches the web for new pictures and sightings of Lance.
Justin’s amazed at all the sites and communities devoted to Lance. There’s one in particular, called Still Gay, that he knows will almost instantly post anything that pertains to Lance’s whereabouts and activities. He imagines a cadre of women--and maybe some boys, too--scouring sites like Eonline and TMZ, hacking into random people’s MySpace accounts, triumphantly pumping their fists in the air whenever they find something juicy about Lance.
And Justin’s very grateful, because he’s really too busy to do it himself right now. He’s got a world tour to conduct.
Justin settles down in bed, laptop on his knees, and starts tapping the keys. Lance’s face looks out at him, unnaturally bright in the glare of the paparazzi’s flash. He’s smiling in that annoyed way which Justin knows so well, and that he misses with an actual physical ache.
Justin can pinpoint the exact moment when he realized he was in love with Lance. It was the game show thing, when Lance dressed up as a banana to play Let’s Make a Deal. How could anyone resist Lance in a banana suit, smiling big enough to split his face? Some time has gone by since then, Justin knows, but it’s taken him this long to figure out what to do about it.
Ignoring it didn’t work, although he’d tried really hard. Hard enough that things got a little weird for a while. When Justin found himself telling Ryan Seacrest that no, he hadn’t talked to Lance before Lance came out on the cover of People magazine, he knew he needed a different approach.
So now he’s employing the stalker method. He does his best to disregard the voice in his head that’s telling him this might not be the best course of action, either. He’s constantly being confronted with pictures of Lance looking completely hot with other guys, pictures that Justin stares at, imagining Lance’s hand on his neck, running down his arm to grasp his hand.
Maybe, he thinks, as Lance smirks back at him from the computer screen, it’s time to actually involve Lance in all of this.
*****
Lance checks his voicemail, and there are three messages from Justin. With a faint feeling of alarm, he listens, his concern changing to confusion as Justin first informs him that that his mother’s been wondering how Lance is doing, secondly, that Justin just made a rather impressive contribution to GLAAD in Lance’s name, and lastly, could Lance have dinner with him tomorrow night?
To Lance’s surprise, Justin actually answers his own phone when Lance calls him back.
“Lance!” Justin cries happily. “How the hell are you?”
“Um, I’m fine, Justin.” Lance isn’t sure how to respond to Justin’s enthusiasm. “What the fuck, Justin?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t as tactful as it could have been.
“Lance.” Justin’s voice is full of reproach. “Lance, I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve missed you, man.”
“Oookaaay,” Lance says. “I miss you too, Justin.” Lance doesn’t add sometimes to that sentence, but he figures it goes without saying.
“Good, good,” Justin burbles happily, completely missing the subtext. “So, dinner tomorrow night, then?”
“Um, sure, I guess,” Lance agrees, wondering what Justin wants. Maybe he’s planning to tell him there’s no way NSYNC is getting back together and Lance should stop hoping. That’s not exactly big news and Lance is kind of insulted that Justin would think Lance is spending his life waiting around for Justin to get bored with his solo career. Lance has a perfectly good career of his own, thank you very much.
When a fruit basket arrives at Lance’s house the next afternoon, with a note from Justin that says Looking forward to tonight, Lance almost calls his mother to ask her what she thinks might be going on. Then he considers calling Lynn to ask her if Justin’s shown any signs of psychosis recently, until he remembers that Lynn can’t always tell.
In the end, he just eats an apple and a banana and then takes so long to decide what to wear that he’s close to not being ready on time.
Justin insists on picking Lance up for what’s starting to feel more and more like a date to Lance. By the time Justin rings his doorbell, Lance almost expects to open it to find Justin standing there holding a bouquet of roses in his hand.
“Since when do you ring the doorbell, Justin?” Lance demands, flinging the door open and allowing the irritation that’s been building since yesterday to show on his face. Justin’s been barging into all their houses without knocking for years. This is just weird.
Justin’s face falls for a moment at Lance’s tone, then he rallies and smiles blindingly, holding out a box of Kinder Eggs, waving his hand around to indicate that Lance should take it. It’s enough like flowers to make Lance gape at him, standing stock-still in the doorway until Justin thrusts the box into Lance’s stomach and says, “I bought them when I was in Europe last week. You used to like them, and I saw them and thought of you.” He brushes by Lance, not meeting his eyes, his face tinged with pink.
Clutching his box of chocolate eggs, Lance watches Justin warily. Yes, Lance loved Kinder Eggs when they were touring in Germany, and he remembers Justin peering over his shoulder in the van, asking him eagerly what toy he’d gotten, then trying to steal it when Lance let himself be distracted by Justin’s smile. It’s been years since he’s tasted one, so when Justin finally turns to look at him, Lance says, “Thank you,” and Justin’s grin lights up the room.
Justin takes Lance to an obscenely expensive restaurant, one with small, private dining rooms tucked away in the corners, dim recesses behind silky drapes, with soft candlelight reflecting off the silverware. The wait staff is so smooth and unobtrusive they’re practically invisible. As the waiter quietly slips away after filling Lance’s champagne glass, Justin reaches across the table and briefly touches Lance’s hand, then leans back, spreading his arms expansively across the back of the leather booth. His smile is cocky as he says, “So, isn’t this a great restaurant?”
Lance is positive he’s entered the Twilight Zone.
Dinner is fabulous, some kind of French-South Florida-Asian fusion food, and Justin makes sure the Cristal flows all night. His eyes sparkle in the candlelight as he regales Lance with stories from his tour. Lance manages to stop wondering what the hell is going on long enough to relax and enjoy himself.
There was a time when he used to have Justin’s undivided attention on a regular basis, but that was so long ago Lance can barely remember it.
It’s nice to have it again. They leave the restaurant with Justin’s hand resting lightly on the small of Lance’s back, and as they wait for Justin’s car to be brought around, Lance says, “What are we doing, Justin?”
Justin pulls his hand back, and Lance misses the warmth.
“Nothing,” Justin says, looking oddly hopeful.
Lance doesn’t say anything else, because he has no idea what he could possibly say. They drive back to Lance’s house in silence, Justin focusing all his attention on his driving, Lance letting his thoughts drift. He’s thinking about Germany again, and even though it seems a million years ago, he remembers silences like this one, quiet and companionable, and he wonders when he and Justin stopped being so comfortable together.
It’s a beautiful night, and LA’s light pollution is actually letting one or two stars shine through. There’s a warm breeze blowing as Justin walks Lance to his door, and Lance can smell the flowers his landscaper planted around the front of his house. Lance half expects Justin to kiss him goodnight, that’s the kind of vibe he’s been getting all evening, but he doesn’t, thank goodness, he just smiles sweetly and says, “Later, man. This was nice. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Justin. Thanks, I had a good time.” Lance feels a little like a girl in some 1950’s sitcom, and he thinks there should maybe be someone inside his house to flash the porch lights on and off to make sure he hurries inside before his curfew is over.
He falls asleep to thoughts of Justin, wondering just what in the hell he thinks he’s doing, and when Lance is going to get to hear the punch line.
True to his word, Justin calls the next afternoon, and asks if Lance wants to go to a movie.
By go to a movie Justin means a private showing of Shrek 3 in his living room. Lance doesn’t ask how he talked the studio into giving him an advance copy, but he does ask if Justin thinks he could get a copy of Transformers early. Justin laughs and says, “Maybe. If that’s what you want.”
They sit on the couch side-by-side, a bowl of popcorn between them. The third time their hands bump together as they reach for the popcorn, Lance decides he’s been transported back to middle school. He waits for Justin to yawn and stretch and casually drop his arm on the back of the couch behind Lance. When he does, and when his hand keeps brushing Lance’s shoulder, Lance has had enough.
He sits up straight, turns his head to look at Justin and says, “Justin. What in the hell is going on here?” Once the words are out of his mouth, he’s half sorry that he said anything. He knows what it feels like is going on, knows what he maybe hopes is going on, but he also knows it’s sure to be something else. This whole whirlwind romance thing has got to be a figment of Lance’s imagination. He’d stopped thinking along those lines somewhere around the time of the lawsuit against Lou.
He thought he was better at repressing things than this.
Justin clears his throat and keeps his eyes glued to the TV. “What do you mean, dude?” he asks airily.
“Justin, these last couple of days, it’s like…” Lance breaks off, unable to find the right words to describe what he’s feeling.
Now Justin turns, a look of gentle reproach on his face. “Aren’t you having fun?”
“Well, uh,” and Justin looks so sad at Lance’s hesitation that Lance hastily adds, “Yes, of course I’m having fun, it’s just….” He stops, because once again, he really has no idea what to say.
“I’m wooing you.” Justin says it so quietly Lance almost misses it.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m wooing you,” Justin repeats patiently.
“Why?” Lance asks blankly. He’s not getting this at all.
“I’m in love with you.” Justin sounds very earnest, like when he’s trying to convince an interviewer of what a regular guy he is, instead of Justin Timberlake, superstar, who can have anything he wants, any time he wants.
And just like that, Lance is pissed. “Very funny, Justin. I’d ask you if Chris put you up to this, except I know you don’t talk to him any more often than you talk to me these days.” He stands up, and finds he’s shaking with fury.
He stalks to the door, glad he’d driven himself over here instead of letting Justin pick him up the way he wanted to. “Fuck you, Justin. And this movie isn’t anywhere near as good as the first two,” he adds meanly, and then he’s out of there.
Lance doesn’t hear from Justin for three days, which just confirms the fact that, for whatever reason, Justin has decided to fuck with Lance’s head. Maybe he was bored. It’s the only explanation Lance can think of, and it hurts.
Finally, there’s a voicemail. Lance doesn’t answer his phone when he sees Justin’s number, which is why it’s a voicemail and not an actual conversation. He spends the day with Alphonso, watching Joey and Kym rehearse for this week’s Dancing With the Stars, the phone in his pocket a constant reminder of what he’s surprised to discover he wants so badly he can’t bring himself to believe it could happen.
While Alphonso shows Kym a few of his dance moves during a break, Joey pulls Lance aside to demand an explanation for the circles under his eyes. Joey knows Justin as well as anybody, and Lance finds himself telling Joey all about the past week.
“He said he’s in love with me,” Lance says angrily. “Why would he do something like that?”
Joey shrugs and wipes sweat out of his eyes. “It’s Justin. You know he has a reason.” Joey peers closely at Lance, looking concerned. “Maybe he means it. Why are you so pissed?”
“Why would he just up and decide he’s in love with me? I don’t understand.” Lance is dangerously close to whining, which is something Joey never lets him get away with.
“You’re asking the wrong person, doofus. You need to ask Justin.” Joey turns to the couple in the middle of the room. “Hey, Ribeiro, give me my partner back!”
Joey’s right, and Lance knows it. He waits until he’s home alone that evening, well-fortified with a bottle of Grey Goose beside him, to listen to Justin’s voicemail.
“Lance. Um, hey, it’s me. Listen, I only had a week between gigs, I had to go back to the UK for a while. I’m sorry I made you mad, I didn’t mean to, man. It’s not a joke, um, I’m in love with you. Really. I have been for a while, I just didn’t know what I was supposed to do about it, how to tell you.” There’s a pause and Lance almost hangs up, thinking Justin is done, but then Justin’s voice comes back, sounding small and somehow younger. “And I talk to Chris all the time, I do, I don’t know why you think-” and then the message ends and there’s silence.
Lance listens to the message about twenty more times, and by the time he falls asleep, half the bottle of vodka is gone, and he wakes up in the morning with his face smashed into his couch cushions, his phone stuck to his cheek.
*****
Justin snarls at Theresa when she hands him his interview schedule for the week. She snarls back at him, and now he’s going to have to apologize before she tells his mother that he’s being a dick. He sighs, and checks his phone for messages again. He’s kind of been hoping Lance would call him, text him, something.
He’s knows he screwed things up, but he’s not sure how. He has no idea why Lance reacted the way he did to Justin’s announcement that he was in love with him. He has no idea why his plan didn’t work. It was a good plan, he’d thought.
“You’re Justin Timberlake,” Chris explains when Justin asks him.
“I’m paying for an international phone plan for this?” Justin asks, exasperated. “I already know who I am, thanks.”
“You can be a bit overwhelming, Justin. That’s all I’m saying. And these days, you’re diff-”
“If you say I’m different, I swear to God I will kick your ass the next time I see you,” Justin promises him darkly. “I’m still me, and Lance should know that.” It’s not like Justin’s made a habit of fucking with Lance’s head over the years, or anything.
Chris concedes the point and then says, “I gotta go. Gotta go watch Joe dance. We made t-shirts, did I tell you?”
“Yeah, you did. Go. I love you, man.”
As Justin hangs up, he suddenly gets a brilliant idea. It’s so brilliant that he takes a day to think about it, examining it from every angle, looking for flaws. He finally decides it doesn’t have any, and he goes to find Theresa, to tell her he needs to make some new travel arrangements.
*****
This time when Justin calls, Lance has pretty much gotten over himself and he answers the phone. He’s known and loved Justin for years, and while Lance may occasionally question Justin’s sanity, he doesn’t usually question his intentions.
They both act like nothing’s happened, as if Lance’s last words to Justin weren’t fuck you, telling him that he’d ruined a wildly successful movie franchise with the mere presence of his voice. Lance asks Justin how the tour’s going, and Justin tells him he’s coming home again for a few days.
“Can you do something for me? A favor?”
“What is it?” Lance asks warily. Justin’s requests for favors are legendary, and he could want Lance to do anything from checking on his dogs to investing in a new restaurant to, God forbid, playing golf.
“I want to go see Joey dance. On the show. But I don’t want anyone to know I’m there.” Now he sounds embarrassed. “Dude, you know if I’m there, sitting at a table front and center, it’ll be about me, not Joey.”
Lance does know that. It’s something that just is, and it’s not really Justin’s fault. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Go with me.”
“Justin, that’s not going to help with the whole low profile thing. The producers like having someone from the group there, they’re not going to let me hide. They’re sure as hell not going to let you hide.”
“We could sit in the back, you know those back table are usually pretty dark, and I could wear a hat, or something.” Justin sounds like a little kid, asking for his favorite flavor of ice cream.
“Right, because no one’s seen you in a hat before.” But Lance’s sarcasm is only half-hearted, and he’s thinking furiously. It could be done. He can wrangle a back table, one in the shadows, he knows he can. Joey’s parents are going to the show this week, so there’ll be someone on camera for Joey, to make the producers happy.
“When can you get back here?” Lance says into the phone, and Justin laughs happily.
Three days later, Lance stares at him in amazement. “That’s what you’re wearing? That’s your idea of a disguise?” He snorts. “You look like you’re about to do a porn shoot.” He tilts his head critically. “And I really don’t think not shaving your neck is gonna make people not recognize you.”
“Shut up,” Justin says. “I think it works.” He pushes his fake mustache more securely onto his upper lip, and pulls the brim of his trucker hat down further over his eyes.
“Where in the hell did you get that hat? It looks like something Trace wore about five years ago.” Justin nods cheerfully and Lance gives up. “Okay, let’s go.” He wags a finger at Justin. “But I’m not taking responsibility for any of this, you got that?”
“I got it.”
Justin vibrates with excitement when Joey and Kym dance, and Lance realizes with surprise that he’s been feeling left out by not being a part of this for Joey. It’s kind of sweet, really.
The studio is a madhouse after the show wraps, what with the audience interviews and the entertainment press hanging around everywhere. Lance and Justin manage to avoid Joey’s parents, and Lance pulls his own hat low on his head as they duck out a side door.
Where they are immediately busted, surrounded by frenzied paparazzi.
“Lance! Lance, over here!” “Look this way, Lance!” “Hey, Lance, what did you think of Joey’s performance?” “Lance, who’s the new boyfriend? Lance! Over here!” “Hey, who’s the guy?”
There are cameras everywhere and Lance and Justin take off running towards Lance’s car.
By the time they get back to Lance’s house, TMZ has video up. In the dim, wobbly light of the camera, Justin looks like a fugitive from the law and Lance turns around and flashes devil horns at the paparazzi right before he and Justin jump in the car and drive away.
In Lance’s office, Justin just looks at him.
Lance shrugs. “It’s a habit.”
“It’s a bad one,” Justin says. Then his fingers fly over the keyboard, and there’s more video, and the usual speculation about Lance’s love life that shows up every time Lance gets within ten feet of another man. “Boyfriend,” Justin muses. “They think I’m your new boyfriend.” He’s sitting at the computer and Lance is standing behind him, looking at the screen over his shoulder.
Lance can feel his face getting warm and he says, “Yeah, well, it’ll be someone else tomorrow.”
“It better not be,” Justin says, standing up and turning around to face Lance.
Lance looks at Justin, hope blossoming in his chest. Justin looks back at him, that ridiculous mustache still plastered crookedly to his upper lip, and says firmly, “I told you I’m in love with you. Nobody gets to be your boyfriend except me.”
Justin’s eyes are serious. He actually means it. “Well, you are kind of hot,” Lance replies, feeling giddy with relief.
Justin smiles smugly at him. “So I’ve been told.” He sweeps his eyes down Lance’s body, lingering at Lance’s crotch, and Lance wiggles a little in anticipation. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
*****
Justin convinces Lance that this is their third official date and that means it’s perfectly okay for Lance to put out. Lance protests that he hasn’t even been kissed yet.
Lance insists on Justin losing the mustache, and then Justin kisses him until they’re both breathless, and Lance takes him to his bedroom and carefully strips him out of his clothes and spreads him out on the bed, eying him in a very predatory way.
Justin shivers under that gaze and wonders what the ladies at Still Gay would say if they could see Lance now. They’d probably be besides themselves with glee, Justin thinks.
He can’t wait to see what their reaction will be to the pictures of Lance’s new “boyfriend.” Maybe later he’ll sneak down to the computer to find out.
But not right now. Right now, Lance’s dress shirt is hanging open and he’s unzipping his pants, the soft black wool draped tantalizingly across his thighs. Justin is really happy they had to dress up for Joey’s show. Lance looks even better in a suit than he did in his banana costume.
Okay, he looks even better wearing nothing at all, Justin is pleased to note, right before he’s lost in the feel of Lance’s skin against his own. Justin takes his time, because it seems like maybe he’s been waiting for this even longer than he’d thought he’d been.
Lance is obviously fine with that plan, and soon he’s shuddering under Justin, moaning, and his voice is the hottest thing Justin has ever heard.
Which is saying a lot, because Justin’s heard some really hot things over the years, some of them even involving Lance’s voice.
It gets even better when Justin swirls his tongue around the head of Lance’s dick. The way Lance says please, Justin, oh, god, please is just pure porn and Justin couldn’t be happier.
And that turns out to be not true at all, because when Lance is planting kisses down Justin’s spine, sliding a slick finger into him while Justin tries to fuck Lance’s expensive 1000 thread count sheets, that’s when Justin knows he’s found true happiness at last.
Later, with Lance wrapped tightly around him, Justin is just about to drift off to sleep when something occurs to him.
“Lance,” he whispers, poking Lance gently in the ribs.
“What?” Lance murmurs sleepily in Justin’s ear.
“Do you still have that banana costume you wore on Let’s Make a Deal?”
*****
I love these two boys together, I really do. Thank you so much to Terri and Vaudevilles for having such a great challenge, the Sparkly Glee challenge.
