Smell
The smell of roses was overwhelming and it was making Lance’s nose run. He looked around the room, searching for both a box of tissues and Britney. He could barely find either among all the bouquets and vases full of flowers that covered every available surface of Britney’s hotel suite.Las Vegas didn’t do anything half-way, Lance thought with amusement. Not even the flowers they provided to commemorate a short-lived, spur of the moment, pretend wedding to an old high school playmate.
He peered around an enormous arrangement of pink roses and located Britney at last. She was curled up in a corner of the couch, tissues clutched in her hand, sniffling sadly. Her bare feet were tucked under her, and her face was tear-streaked and free of makeup. Lance thought she looked about twelve years old. Crossing the room to the couch, dodging flowers along the way, he bent down and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. Then he shook his head at her. “Britney Jean, what did you do?”
Britney threw him a dirty look. “Don’t you give me a hard time, too,” she pouted.
“Not me,” Lance assured her. How could he? He didn’t always make the smartest decisions in the world, either. He had no room to talk.
“What’re you doing here?” Britney asked him between hiccupy little sobs.
“I just wanted to come and see if you were doing okay, honey,” Lance told her.
“No, I’m not doing okay,” Britney said irritably. “I feel like shit, and everyone’s mad at me.” She sighed. “They already made Jason go back home to Louisiana.”
She looked small and sad, and Lance couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. He sat with her through the long afternoon, while the people around her made decisions about her life without consulting her or taking into consideration what she might actually want.
They’d been through a lot together, him and Britney. Lance still thought of her as his friend. They had a lot of things in common, he thought, as he held her hand and listened to her cry.
~~~~~
“What the hell is that stench?” JC demands as he boards the bus after the concert.
“Bass is teaching me how to make his mama’s fried chicken,” Chris says, pointing a tuna-covered finger at Lance, who’s sitting at the table with a bottle of water and an apple in front of him.
“I am not,” Lance protests laughingly. “That smell is entirely Chris’s doing.”
And indeed, Chris is standing at the small stove, stirring a noxious-smelling mixture of boxed macaroni and cheese, a can of tomatoes, a can of tuna, and a lot of garlic. Lance knows it’ll taste fabulous when it’s done, but in the meantime, cooking canned tuna is never a good idea in an enclosed area like a bus kitchen.
“I need my post-show carbs,” insists Chris. JC comes up behind him and wraps one arm around his waist, pushing Chris’s hair off his neck with the other. JC plants a soft kiss on the exposed nape and Chris actually blushes. Lance looks away, staring out the window at the lights of the venue as the bus pulls onto the highway. The other bus is right behind them, and Lance wishes he could see inside, through the tinted windows, to where Justin and Joey are.
Chris’s post-concert concoction does taste wonderful, and Lance is properly groggy when he’s finished eating, sleepy enough to overcome the restlessness that threatens to keep him from sinking into his bunk and letting the rhythm of the road lull him to sleep. He hears JC and Chris’s voices from out in the lounge, rising and falling in a counter-rhythm to the bus tires. Then that too fades away, and although he wakes up once to the sound of a hoarse cry and a muffled groan, followed by a quiet laugh and a whispered, “Shhh, you’ll wake Lance up,” he mostly sleeps okay.
Lance is restless because he’s not used to being alone while they’re on tour. With the Celebrity tour being the obvious exception, he’s used to being with someone, being with Justin, and he’s surprisingly lonely, even on a bus with JC and Chris. He spends a lot of time wondering what Joey and Justin are doing over on their bus.
It’s not so bad when the schedule keeps them in a hotel for a night or two, because then he can spend time with Joey. They’re working on some things for when this tour is over, they have an idea or two for another TV show, or maybe they’ll finally get around to the comedy album Joey’s been threatening to do for years. None of them thinks this reunion is permanent, but now that they know they can all scatter to do their own thing, and then come back together whenever they want, it’s actually very freeing.
Lance spends a lot of his time thinking about Justin. They’ve been apart now longer than they were together, and Lance tries not to see any significance in that fact. It doesn’t mean anything, really.
Lance wakes up the following morning to find that JC and Chris never made it to their bunks. They’re tangled together on the couch, nothing but JC’s hair showing above the edge of the blanket that’s covering them. Lance is happy for them, whatever it is they’re doing, love, fuckbuddies, he’s not sure at this point, and he suspects they aren’t either, but it makes him feel all the more alone.
He starts the coffeemaker and ducks into the bathroom. By the time he gets out, the dark aroma of brewing coffee has done its job and woken the other two up. Chris stretches, arms high over his head, and yawns widely. He catches Lance’s eye, and blushes again as Lance looks pointedly between him and JC, but he tilts his chin up defiantly until Lance smiles. Then he grins back and slaps JC on the ass through the blanket he’s buried under.
“Time to wake up, C,” he says, still smiling at Lance.
Chris rarely blushes, so it must be love, Lance decides. Who would have guessed? “Coffee’s ready, C,” Lance tells him. He hears an answering groan coming from the huddled form under the blanket. Some things never change.
~~~~~
Lance watched in fascinated dismay as Justin ripped the red bodice off Janet’s breast in super-slow motion, exposing her nipple for what seemed like the twentieth time in the past fifteen minutes. He gazed, horrorstruck, at the nipple ornament Janet was wearing, shown on every TV channel from CNN to CBS to ESPN in excruciating, loving detail. He listened indignantly as commentators gleefully described the incident, virtuously pontificated on the sure sign of the moral decay of Western civilization exemplified by the tawdry half-time show in general and Justin and Janet’s actions in particular, and sanctimoniously decried the inherent chauvinism and racism in a white male so crudely exposing the breast of a black woman.
A wardrobe malfunction? Oh, Justin.
Lance couldn’t quite suppress a small smile at the frenzy, even though he knew how it was affecting Justin. He could read Justin’s facial expressions better than anyone, and the brief flash of see how cool I am had quickly given way to oh shit, what have I done as he hustled Janet off the stage, having draped his jacket around her like the true Southern gentleman his mama had raised him to be.
Lance could sense that this was going to be big. And not in a good way. This had the aura of a catastrophe about it, and Justin was right in the eye of the media hurricane it was going to produce.
Lance hoped Cameron was up to the job of getting Justin through this. He was half-tempted to call her up and give her some pointers. Justin was bound to try and bluff his way around the issues, relying on his charm and likeability, his smile and his sense of humor. He was well-liked in the entertainment industry, and that would help with the backlash. That had always worked for him before, although he’d never had to deal with anything of this magnitude before. He would be just fine.
The last thing Lance expected from Justin was a subdued retreat.
“This really stinks,” he fumed to Jesse, who rolled his eyes at him, since that was about the tenth time in an hour Lance had said the same thing. They watched the interview with the guy who caught Justin just as he was coming out of rehearsals for the Grammy Awards. Lance was an expert at knowing when Justin was close to tears, and when he talked about his grandmother, that’s when Lance was convinced Justin hadn’t known what Janet was going to do. “That bitch.”
He ended up watching the Grammys on the phone with his mother, holding his breath while Justin apologized. Lance didn’t think he’d ever loved JC more than he did at the moment he leapt to his feet with Lynn at his side, the two of them applauding madly for their boy. The cold fury in his mother’s voice made Lance glad he wasn’t Janet. No one was more formidable than his mother when one of her own was hurt, and Justin was hers almost as much as Lance and Stacy were.
There wasn’t a thing in the world Lance could do about any of it. Not one, single thing.
Justin wasn’t used to failure. He didn’t know how it felt, hadn’t experienced much of it before this. The closest he’d come was when the Mouse Club had been cancelled, or maybe when he’d lost on Star Search. Come to think of it, the expression on his ten year old face when he’d heard his score and had to smile graciously at the girl who won had been remarkably similar to the look he’d worn while apologizing to America for the cardinal sin of exposing a female nipple to the virgin eyes of its children during a violent game played by men on drugs and surrounded by cheerleaders whose main talent was how well their tits bounced.
Not that Lance felt strongly about it or anything.
Justin went through life assuming hard work and talent were enough to conquer anything. Lance knew better. He’d learned that failure was indeed sometimes an option. It was also survivable. Now it looked like Justin was about to learn that very same lesson.
A week after the Grammy Awards, Lance’s cell phone rang in the middle of the night. He fumbled for it in the darkness, grabbing it off his bedside table, almost dropping it on the floor. Lance squinted, trying to see the number. He thought it was blocked, but he was too sleepy to really care. “Hello?” he said, trying unsuccessfully to smother a yawn.
There was no answer, but Lance could hear someone breathing. He waited a minute or two for whoever it was to say something. When they didn’t, he spoke again.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Lance thought he heard the breathing hitch, and there was a definite sniff. Lance sighed, and Jesse rolled over in bed, opening his eyes and peering blearily up at him.
“Who is it?” he asked sleepily. The breathing on the other end of the phone stopped abruptly. Lance held his own breath and shook his head at Jesse.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly into the phone. He could hear the breathing softly resume. “Really. Everything’s going to be okay.” He listened for a few more minutes, and then he hung up.
~~~~~
Justin frowns into his drink as he watches Lance dance on top of the table in the middle of the VIP section of the club, grinning down at all the encouraging faces below him. It’s been a long time since Justin’s seen this, although it used to be a pretty common occurrence. Whether it’s at private parties or public events like Challenge, Lance seems to have an affinity for table tops and bar tops, once he gets a few of the right kind of drinks in him.
Justin has no idea why Lance does this, but there’s enough photographic evidence to provide blackmail material for life, if Lance cared, which he doesn’t. Not anymore.
Justin used to think Lance was reckless. Now he knows that Lance is fearless.
Justin’s the one who came into this whole reunion thing with plans, plans that he really hasn’t done a whole lot about yet. He suspects Lance was right about him all those years ago. He’s a big chickenshit about stuff when the outcome isn’t a sure thing. It’s been almost a year since they gathered in Orlando to begin recording Back to Back, and while he and Lance are no longer engaged in the silent guerilla warfare of the last seven years, Justin really only has a fragile peace between them to show for the time he’s invested.
Well, no, that’s not true. He has peace with all of them, peace with NSYNC, and peace with his own heart. That’s something, but it’s not everything he wants.
Lance’s face is flushed and he’s almost helpless with giggles as he tumbles off the table into the arms of, well, several of the people surrounding the table. They put him safely on his feet, and he looks around happily until someone hands him another drink.
Justin checks the place out for somebody Lance could potentially hook up with, but he doesn’t see anyone who really looks like Lance’s usual type. He turns back to his drink and realizes JC is watching him with a knowing smile on his face. “Shut up,” Justin scowls.
JC snickers. Justin sets his drink down on the table with a resounding thunk, and it sloshes over the side of the glass, making JC’s smile grow even wider. Justin bites his lip to keep from giving in and smiling back at him, and says, “I’m going to the bathroom.” He heads off in the direction of the VIP restrooms just as Chris bounces over to their table, grinning merrily at JC, his bandana wildly askew and his hair sticking out on all sides. Good timing, Justin thinks. He’s lucky to have escaped before JC has a chance to tell Chris what he’s laughing at. The two of them together are becoming a bit obnoxious, now that Chris has decided that love doesn’t automatically fuck everything up.
It’s a nice bathroom in a nice club, but it’s still a public restroom, and the smell of disinfectant is noticeable, at least to Justin. He’s staring at himself in the mirror while he dries his hands, trying to decide if those tiny lines around his eyes make him look old and tired or wise and experienced, when Lance comes in, laughing at someone on the other side of the door.
He stops when he sees Justin. They watch each other warily for a moment, then Lance smiles. In fact, he laughs and shakes his head in rueful amusement. Justin relaxes and smiles back at him in the mirror. He turns around, bracing his hands on the sink behind him and says, “Hey.”
Lance eyes him speculatively. He comes a little closer, tilting his head to the side. “Hey.” It’s not the biggest bathroom Justin has ever been in, and he suddenly finds himself practically pinned between Lance and the sink.
Justin hasn’t been this close to Lance in years, not like this. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of Lance, his soap, his expensive cologne, and underneath it, the warm, sweet smell that makes him Lance. He’s still using the same soap he always did, and the sense memory takes Justin back to all those times, all those years when Lance’s soap was something he smelled everyday. Justin closes his eyes and remembers.
Lance reaches out and tentatively touches Justin’s cheek with a careful hand and Justin’s eyes fly open. Lance’s eyes are wide and Justin sees fear in them, but Lance doesn’t draw back. He cups Justin’s cheek, and his hand is shaking. His thumb traces over Justin’s lower lip, and oh, God, Justin remembers this.
Justin can’t help himself, and he leans forward and kisses him, the barest touch of his lips, and he pulls back quickly, afraid of what Lance’s reaction will be.
Lance licks his lips, his tongue swiping over them once, then again, his eyes never leaving Justin’s. Lance has had a few drinks, but he’s not drunk, and Justin remembers how that goes, how pliant and accommodating that makes him. Lance closes the distance between them again, and this time the kiss lasts longer, more than just a simple touch.
Justin has never forgotten how Lance tastes, or how his mouth feels under his own. They move together, Lance’s lips soft and sweet, his tongue tasting Justin’s mouth, his teeth catching Justin’s lower lip, nipping slightly, his tongue tracing an apology across it.
They’re not touching anywhere else, just their lips and Lance’s warm palm on Justin’s face. Justin sucks Lance’s thumb into his mouth, and it tastes like lime and salt.
Justin kisses across Lance’s jaw, behind his ear, then buries his face in Lance’s neck, breathing him in.
Lance finally pulls back, his mouth wet and his eyes dark. He caresses Justin’s cheek one last time, then he turns and walks out the door.
Justin’s still leaning against the sink, and he’s trying to catch his breath, but it’s not easy. He touches his hand to his mouth, and his lips feel bruised, although he knows they’re not.
He kissed Lance, and Lance didn’t deck him, didn’t tell him to fuck off, didn’t walk away.
Lance kissed him back.
Justin thinks that’s an excellent thing. He’s not a chickenshit at all, and he has a kick-ass plan.
Lance doesn’t dance on any more tables tonight, but every time he looks at Justin, his eyes light up, and that’s enough for Justin.
~~~~~
smell: a: the quality that makes a thing perceptible to the olfactory sense b: to have a characteristic aura or atmosphere c: the characteristic odor given off by a substance, person, or plant d: to perceive odor or scent through stimuli affecting the olfactory nerves
