Kitchen
Even though Joey’s rules say they can renegotiate the bus arrangements every two weeks, no one’s taken advantage of that yet. Chris and JC have settled into a kind of scary domesticity that strikes Justin as very unnatural when he really thinks about it, and Lance seems to fit in with them just fine. Chris hasn’t said much about it, but Justin gets the feeling that he and Lance are using this time to mend their fences, and to see if they can remember why they used to be such good friends back in the day. Justin wonders what that will translate to in terms of misbehavior, now that they’re older and supposedly more mature and all.Justin is very comfortable riding with Joey. Joey is a very comforting presence, especially when he gives Justin his undivided attention, which doesn’t happen as often as Justin would like it to.
“Hey, J, pass me the lettuce, would you?” Joey’s making lunch, and Justin is helping. Justin passes along the bag of shredded lettuce, and Joey piles some on each of their sandwiches, then tops it with a squirt of mustard and a thick slice of whole wheat bread. Joey’s sandwiches have gotten healthier over the years, but they’re still Justin’s favorite thing to eat when they’re speeding down a highway at 65 mph.
“I’ve been thinking, Joey,” Justin says with his mouth full, after they’ve settled at the small table to eat. Joey raises his eyebrows in response, chewing encouragingly at him. “I’ve been thinking about rearranging the buses. You know, like who’s riding with who.” Joey swallows and takes a long pull at his bottle of beer. He nods at Justin.
“I’ve been wondering about that. I didn’t know if you guys were ready for that.”
Justin shrugs. “I don’t know if we are, man. We haven’t talked about it. I was just thinking.” He glances up at Joey. “What do you think?”
Joey seems surprised that Justin is asking his opinion. He smiles around another mouthful of food and holds up a finger until he swallows again. “I think you should. We’re more than halfway done with the tour, but there’s still plenty of time left. Shit, Justin, I think you guys could use some time together, before the tour’s over and we all go our separate ways again.” That last part is a question, but it’s one Justin doesn’t know the answer to yet. He doesn’t know what he’s doing after this.
The idea of spending time alone with Lance, time that’s not stolen or rushed or in a bathroom, is appealing. It’s a luxury they’ve seldom had, and Justin is smart enough to know that it certainly contributed to their relationship crashing and burning as spectacularly as it did.
He chews thoughtfully as they finish their sandwiches in companionable silence. Joey grabs his plate and gets up, clearing the table. Justin jumps to his feet, too. “I’ll clean up, Joey, you cooked.”
Joey laughs at him. “Justin, they’re just paper plates.”
“Joey, they were just sandwiches,” Justin mimics, grinning at him.
“Hey, fuck you, Timberlake,” Joey splutters indignantly. “They were fuckin’ spectacular sandwiches.”
“That they were, Joey,” Justin sighs, sprawling out over the couch, putting his feet up on the arm rest and watching Joey between his half-closed eyelids.
Joey glares. “Move your feet, dickwad.” He doesn’t wait, just picks Justin’s feet up and sits down, still holding onto Justin’s ankles. He grabs the TV remote. “I wanna finish watching Superman Returns.” The grip he has on Justin’s feet tells Justin he isn’t going anywhere until the movie is over. He closes his eyes and relaxes into dialogue he’s heard so many times he could recite it in his sleep, if that ever became necessary.
He’s comfortable with Joey, but he wants Lance.
~~~~~
Mostly what Lance remembers is the meanness of it all. Three years has done a lot to dull the sharp edges of the cutting remarks and sneering comments, but it’s not like he’s ever going to really forget how it felt. He’d expected a lot of negativity, he’d even known it was going to come from both sides. He’d for sure expected to be attacked either because he was gay, or because he hadn’t come out in a way or at a time that fulfilled some gay political agenda.
What he hadn’t expected was to be attacked for who he was, and for the accomplishments he was most proud of in his life.
The disparaging remarks about NSYNC, the scornful dismissal of his “failed attempt to go to space,” as he continually saw it referred to, came as an unpleasant surprise, and made him very, very angry.
“I didn’t fucking fail,” he’d stormed to his mother at some point. “I did everything right, it was those fucking assholes with the money who failed,” and he was surprised to find himself near furious tears.
“I know, baby,” his mother had soothed. “Just hang on, they’ll find something else to write about soon.”
And they had, but it was still one of the worst experiences of his life.
So as happy as it makes him that Justin’s come out as bisexual, and hinted that he and Lance may have a little something going on, he’s also worried. He doesn’t want Justin to think he doubts him, but he’s waiting to see how well Justin holds up under the pressure. It makes him a little nervous.
It’s actually Chris who tries to reassure him. JC’s busy in the back of the bus with his laptop, probably futzing around with Music Freedom, so it’s just the two of them rummaging around in the bus refrigerator, looking to see if there are any Red Bulls left to get them through the long afternoon on the road. “Lance, do the words wardrobe malfunction ring any bells?” Lance doesn’t really think the Superbowl incident with Janet is a prime example of Justin’s ability to weather a media storm, unless their plan is to disappear from public view for a couple of years, only being photographed while they’re pumping gas and leaving restaurants. Chris seems to have second thoughts on that one, too, because he adds hastily, “The British tabloids have been targeting him for years, you know that. Mr. Trousersnake has dealt with them just fine.”
“I know he has. I’m not saying-”
“And then there’s the whole breakup with Cameron. You can’t say that wasn’t pressure,” Chris goes on, ignoring Lance’s interruption.
And that’s very true. Publicly, Justin handled that as smoothly as he did the breakup with Britney all those years ago, this time even avoiding making a fuck-you video at the end, a real step forward in Lance’s opinion, since that sort of thing tended to belie all his gentlemanly smiles and discreet silences. In fact, there was so little public airing of the grievances involved with this breakup that Lance still doesn’t know exactly what happened.
Mostly, though, he doesn’t want Justin to have to go through what he did. People are just nasty sometimes, in Lance’s experience.
Justin tries to reassure him, too. He tells Lance he’s been thinking about doing it for a long time.
“I didn’t just wake up the other day and say, hey, I think I’ll come out today, you know. I mean, shit, Lance, I know what to expect,” he says with confidence.
Lance peers at him doubtfully. “I know you think you do.” He pauses, then continues. “I never once asked you to, Justin. Come out, I mean.”
Justin nods. “I know you didn’t. But you act like I’ve never dealt with shit like this before, man,” Justin says fondly, kissing Lance until he’s not quite sure why they’re arguing anymore. “Besides,” he says quietly, “You already did the hard part. Do you think I don’t realize that?” Lance frowns, puzzled. “You did it first, Lance. That was the hard part. Doing it second?” His grin is dazzling and he snaps his fingers. “That’s gonna be a breeze.”
Justin really is insane, Lance is almost sure of it.
~~~~~
The 2007 Grammy Awards were being held in LA this year. Lance hadn’t decided which parties he was going to yet, mostly because Joey hadn’t decided yet which ones he thought would be the most fun. Both Justin and JC had been nominated in several categories, so they were sure to attract attention wherever they went.
Lance didn’t particularly want to end up at the same parties as Justin, and he figured they could probably avoid him if they tried. They didn’t exactly travel in the same circles these days. Joey shrugged and said fine, he’d call JC and see where he was going. Lance nodded.
“Works for me.”
JC, however, was going to Clive Davis’s pre-Grammy party, where, as it turned out, he and Justin were actually performing. Lance shook his head no. Joey sighed and said, “Come on, Lance. The party’ll be big enough you can avoid him if you want. It’s Clive.”
So Lance found himself at the Beverly Hills Hotel, a drink in his hand, Joey at his elbow, and keeping one eye peeled for Justin. Justin made himself scarce until after his performance. JC sang the song that everyone knew was a big “fuck you” to Eva, even though JC denied it every time he was asked, and then he and Justin sang the song from JC’s CD that they had collaborated on. Then it was Justin’s turn, and he sang both SexyBack and Lance’s favorite track off his CD, My Love.
Lance soaked up every move Justin made on stage, listened to every note, storing it all away for later. He never knew when he’d see Justin again, and these days he kept every detail of each encounter safely tucked away, to take out whenever he needed it.
And then Justin was on the move, making the rounds, Cameron at his side, laughing, completely owning the room. Lance knew this was the way it should have been three years ago, the last time Justin was up for a Grammy, if the shadow of the Superbowl hadn’t been hanging over his head.
Lance watched it all for a bit, then turned to Joey. “I’ll be back,” and he escaped before Joey could stop him. He was just going to duck into the restroom for a few minutes, wash his hands, maybe check that he didn’t have any of his dinner stuck in his teeth. Just a few minutes, then he’d go back out to the party. He thought maybe they could leave after a while, maybe head to a club, somewhere he could find someone willing to go home with him for the night. Well, okay, Joey wasn’t usually who he took along with him for that kind of thing, but he really needed to get out of here. He’d seen enough of Justin to last him for awhile.
Lance glanced casually away from the mirror as the bathroom door opened behind him. Three men that he’d never seen before came in, laughing at something the tallest of the three was saying. They were all pretty tall, actually, and the one that was laughing was broad-shouldered and kind of cute. He stood there, smiling at Lance, while one of the other two men, who was wearing a denim jacket, stood nervously by the door, and the third one, a skinny red-head, quickly peered into the empty stalls.
The hair on the back of Lance’s neck stood up. He calmly finished drying his hands, tossed the towel into the trash, and turned toward the door. The tall guy’s smile turned nasty and he shook his head slowly.
“I don’t think so, fag,” he said conversationally. “I think we’re gonna have our own little party right here.”
And Lance had no idea what to do. He’d never been in a fight before, not a real one, not with someone who really wanted to hurt him. In his whole life, he’d never even been hit, except once in middle school, and that didn’t count. Not like this.
And Lance wished intensely that it was several years ago, when he always felt safe without having to think about it. He really, really wanted Lonnie, or maybe Eric to be here right now, to open the door and poke his head inside this godforsaken bathroom and say, “Come on, Bass, time to get out of here.”
His heart racing, he tried smiling, but he knew it looked like more of a grimace than a friendly smile. “You don’t want to do that,” he said, and his voice came out surprisingly steady.
“Sure we do,” the red-head said, and then quicker than Lance could react, he and the guy in the denim jacket had hold of his arms, and the tall guy swung, twice in quick succession, hitting him once in the face and once in the stomach. Lance gasped sharply as the air was knocked out of him, and at the same time, pain exploded across his face. Dimly, he thought about his nose, wondering what it would look like after this. He tried to draw a breath, but his stomach muscles didn’t seem to be working. Oh, shit, he thought. Shit.
As if from a distance, Lance heard the tall guy talking, hissing insults at him, and the other two laughing, then he was dimly aware of a fist being pulled back again, and he tried to brace himself, knowing it would be impossible.
And all of a sudden there were other voices, and different laughter, and he recognized Joey and he couldn’t figure out why Nick Carter of all people was with him, but Joey’s voice penetrated the roaring noise in his ears, saying, “What the fuck, motherfucking bastards!” and then Nick and Joey were pulling the guys off him, and oh, God, Lonnie was there. He must be here with JC tonight.
“Carter, watch the door,” Lonnie snapped. He had the front of the tall guy’s shirt wrapped in his fist, and he shook him like a rag doll. “Fucking assholes,” he growled, and the red-head was so white Lance could see every one of his freckles standing out on his face.
The guy in the denim jacket made as if to run for it, but Joey planted a hand in the middle of his chest and said, “I don’t think so, motherfucker,” and they glared at each other as the tall guy struggled in Lonnie’s grip.
“Three against, one, huh,” said Lonnie, shaking his head in disgust. “You guys complete cowards, is that it?”
“He started it!” the tall guy croaked out, pointing a finger at Lance. “Dirty cocksucker tried to get me to blow him,” and Lance was filled with a fury so great he literally saw red. He propelled himself forward, wanting to bash the asshole’s face in, but Joey stopped him, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.
Furious, Lance tried to wrench his arm out of Joey’s hand, spitting, “Let me go, Joey!” His lip hurt and there was blood running down his chin.
“That’s enough,” Lonnie said sharply. He shook the tall guy and gave him a shove. The guy stumbled but managed to stay on his feet. Lonnie didn’t take his eyes off him. “Lance? What do you want to do? It’s your call, man.”
Lance swiped angrily at his bloody nose. “What kind of jail term do people get for hate crimes in California, Lon?” he asked, taking savage pleasure in the look of panic that crossed the face of the man who had hit him. “Gay bashing qualifies as a hate crime, right?”
“Sure does, man,” Lonnie answered. “These guys come after you for a reason like that, that’d make this a hate crime.”
“They came after me because I like dick, yeah,” Lance snarled. The tall guy’s eyes glittered with rage as he glared at Lance.“He’s a f-” started the red-head, who was standing uncertainly in the middle of the room, still rubbing his arm where Nick had wrenched it up behind his back to get him off of Lance.
“Shut up,” Nick said menacingly from his position in front of the door, clenching his fists. “No body asked you.”
“Cops’re right outside the hotel, man,” Lonnie said calmly, looking at Lance, waiting to see what he wanted to do.
Lance wanted nothing more than to have the cops haul these assholes out of here in handcuffs, and to charge them with everything it was possible to charge them with. But there were other things to consider here.
Joey read his mind. He growled, “Don’t even fucking think about it, Lance. This has nothing to do with fucking Justin and JC. You let Lonnie get the goddamn cops in here. Don’t you fucking think you have to make this go away quietly.”
“For what it’s worth, I agree with Joey,” said Nick. “It won’t hurt them any.” If anyone would know how much shit ex-bandmates, or family members, for that matter, could deal with, it was Nick.
Lance nodded. “Okay,” he said before he could change his mind. Lonnie was on his phone before Lance got the word completely out of his mouth. The guy in the denim jacket made another aborted attempt to lunge for the door, but Joey, who was apparently looking for an excuse to hit someone, grabbed him and shoved him against the wall.
Abruptly, Lance needed to sit down. He wanted to sit down and he wanted some ice for his lip and his nose, and he wanted to wash the blood off his face and hands. “Joey?”
Joey looked at him and his face softened. With one last “stay put, asshole” to the guy in the denim jacket, he turned to Lonnie, eyebrows raised.
“There’s a satellite kitchen down the hallway to the right,” Lonnie told him. “Go. Carter and I’ll be fine until the cops get here.” Nick nodded. Lonnie hesitated. “They’ll need to talk to you, Lance. Don’t go anywhere else, and I’ll bring them to you.”
Joey wound his arm around Lance’s waist, and Lance gratefully leaned into him. “Come on, man.” And together they left the bathroom, trying to avoid the curious stares of the few people they passed in the hallway on the way to the kitchen. Once they were there, Joey immediately charmed the woman in charge, and before Lance knew it, he was sitting on a stool while a kitchen worker brought him ice for his nose and Joey carefully dabbed at his cut lip with a wet towel.
Lance felt tears burn his eyes as Joey fussed and tsked over him, poking gently at his face. It hurt. Finally, Joey put down the towel and wrapped Lance up in a warm hug. Lance clung to him gratefully, sitting on a kitchen stool with a busted lip and a sore nose, waiting to explain to the cops that no, he hadn’t offered the guy a blow job first. It was going to be his word against theirs, and it was going to be ugly. With any luck, the assholes would settle out of court.
As he heard Lonnie come into the kitchen, followed by a police officer, Lance said, his voice muffled by Joey’s chest, “Joey, please don’t tell Justin,” even though he knew it wouldn’t matter, Justin would find out anyway.
~~~~~
They have several days scheduled in Mississippi for the Jackson show, and Lance’s mother insists on inviting Justin to stay with them for a night. “Mom, we’re still only talking about things. We don’t even know-”
“Lance, I heard the radio interview. You can’t tell me-”
“I didn’t ask him to do that. He did that on his own. He decided to come-”
“And why would Justin Timberlake come out of the closet, if he didn’t want-”
“Mom, that’s fine, but we haven’t settled anything. You know what touring’s like. There’s never any time to-”
“So you can talk here. It’s settled. We’ll expect you both on Tuesday.”
Lance sighs. He never gets the last word with his mother. He’s pretty sure he never will.
It’s good to have some uninterrupted time, his mother is right about that. Lance and Justin sit on the porch swing, lazily kissing and drinking sweet tea. Lance’s parents leave them alone, and Stacy doesn’t even bring the kids around to see them until supper time.
Lance is all ready with a list, ready to tick things off his fingers one by one. It turns out Justin has a list, too, which Lance should have known. They decide to take turns.
“You first,” Lance says.
“Okay, sure,” Justin agrees. “I think we should share a bus.”
“I think you’re working back to front on your list, Justin,” Lance says with a laugh. “That may be a little premature.”
“Maybe,” Justin smiles. “But I think a big part of the problem last time was that there was no damn time. No time for us to just be,” he explains earnestly. Lance can’t help it, he leans over and kisses him. This happens frequently, and probably adds a good hour to their discussion. Neither one of them are complaining.
“Okay, you’re right. That was a big problem. It was just all so fucking crazy,” Lance says.
“Yeah, it was.” Justin shakes his head. “Totally crazy, man. This tour seems much more sane, with the dates spread out the way they are.”
“Okay. So who switches buses?” Lance asks.
“You and Joey, if he’ll do it. I think he will, I’ve already-” He breaks off as Lance frowns at him. “Hey, we talked about it is all. How are Chris and C to ride with these days?”
“Remarkably peaceful, actually. JC’s figured out a way to rein him in when he really gets going. I don’t know why none of us never thought to offer him blow jobs before,” Lance says dryly.
Justin chuckles. “Oh, there were plenty of blow jobs back then, too. But they seemed to make him jumpier instead of calming him down, for some reason.”
“Well, whatever JC’s doing, he’s doing it right this time. Joe’ll be fine over there.”
“Okay.” Justin smiles and kisses him again. “Your turn,” he says, pulling back.
Lance looks down at his hands. “You spent so many years being mad at me. What if I screw up again? Are you gonna leave again?”
Justin blows out a breath. “Lance, I was twenty fucking years old. Twenty. We were on top of the damn world, man, and I thought I could have it all. And yeah, I was really pissed.” He pauses, staring off across the front yard, and they sit in silence for a while. Lance waits. “But we both made mistakes. And me leaving had as much to do with leaving NSYNC as it did with leaving you. I was ready to be someone different, and since we’d already planned the hiatus, I thought, well, just change every damn thing, start everything all over.”
“And now? What makes now different?” Lance asks uncertainly.
“I’m not twenty years old any more, for one thing.” Lance smiles at that. “Things are less crazy. I’ve already done the solo thing, the movie thing, the girlfriend thing. But you’re gonna have to trust me on that. If you don’t, we might as well not bother,” Justin says.
Lance nods. He knows that. “Your turn.”
“Fidelity.” And Lance knows what Justin means. “We’re not going to rehash every damn thing that happened, man. There’s no fucking point to it. We were young, things were wild. But this time, it’s just us. No one else. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” And there’s only one thing left on Lance’s list, but it’s a big one. “Justin, why did you come out?” He still can’t help think that Justin doesn’t realize what a big deal it is, how nothing, absolutely nothing, is ever the same after that.And Justin seems to read his thoughts, because he says, “Do you think I don’t know? Do you think I didn’t fucking see? Why do you think I stayed away for so damn long, why do you think I kept running? I’m not stupid, Lance, and I’m not blind. And I didn’t do it until I knew I was ready and could handle it.” And again he looks so serious, and so earnest that Lance just has to believe him. Maybe Justin does know what to expect after all.
And that seems to be the end of their lists, and they spend the rest of the afternoon dozing, tangled up together on the porch swing.
After supper, Diane says she and Jim are going over to Stacy and Ford’s for an hour or two. There’s something about a video of Leyton’s most recent piano recital, but Lance isn’t really listening. He’s too busy staring at his mother like she’s grown another head.
“You have to watch that tonight? We’re only here one night!” he squawks indignantly.
“Oh, Lance,” Diane says, rolling her eyes and patting his hand. “We’ll be back in an hour or two. You boys make yourselves comfortable,” she says. Lance swears she’s practically smirking at them.
Stacy winks at him as she tugs a protesting Leyton out the door. “You’ll see Uncle Lance and Uncle Justin tomorrow, sweetie.”
“My mother wants us to have sex,” Lance says in amazement as he watches the headlights disappear down the driveway as his parents leave.
“Why yes, I do believe she does,” Justin says, and then they’re both helpless with laughter, standing in the middle of Lance’s mother’s spotless kitchen. “I always do what my mama wants me to do,” Justin remarks, advancing on Lance, backing him up against the refrigerator. The door is cool at Lance’s back, and Justin presses warmly against him, both hands on the refrigerator on either side of Lance’s head. Lance grins at him.
“I do, too.” He kisses Justin, because he can. “I guess she thought this would be easier if we were alone.”
“Enough talking.” Justin kisses him hungrily, wrapping his arms around Lance and hauling him closer, already hard against him.
Lance pulls back long enough to say breathlessly, “I don’t think she meant we should have sex in her kitchen, Justin.”
Justin just growls “shut up” into Lance’s mouth, and Lance obligingly does.
It’s been too long, and they’re too frantic to do more than shove their clothes out of the way, trying to make up for the years of not touching each other. Justin palms both their cocks, lining them up to rub together, and it’s so hot Lance can practically see the sparks. He closes his eyes, thinking, oh god, they’re finally doing this again, and it’s not just a desperate attempt to connect, it’s because they want to, because Lance might finally have what he thought he could never have again, and with that thought, he groans and comes a lot sooner than he wanted to, and he feels Justin coming, too, thrusting against the warm slipperiness in the hollow of Lance’s hip.
They stand there holding on to each other, just breathing, until Justin says, “I think you’re right about the kitchen. I think she expected us to go upstairs. We should probably do that.”
Lance snorts. “It would serve her right if I let you fuck me right here on the table.”
Justin eyes darken at Lance’s words. “It would, but I’d prefer a bed,” and he grasps Lance’s wrist and pulls him towards the stairs.
~~~~~
kitchen: a place with cooking facilities
