Go Without

Did I disappoint you/or leave a bad taste in your mouth/

You act like you never had love/and you want me to go without

~~U2~~

*****

They tumble laughing into the back of the black SUV, Justin tugging Lance in after him, hand warm on Lance’s wrist. Lance’s giggles subside as his head lolls on the seatback, and his eyes drift shut. They open again when he realizes that Justin’s fingers are still hot and tight around his wrist. He slowly turns his head and meets Justin’s eyes, sees them gleam with something Lance doesn’t think he’s seen there before. The grip on his wrist tightens more and Justin grins, a slow, lazy grin that makes Lance’s breath catch in his throat. Lance is drunk, but not drunk enough that he doesn’t know what a bad idea this is. That thought is fleeting though, because really, how could it be a bad idea to have Justin looking at him like he’s both prey and dessert? Lance licks his lips, still able to taste whipped cream and thinks, right, dessert’s already been had tonight.

Justin mirrors his actions, tongue poking at the corner of his own mouth like he’s looking for leftover traces of whipped cream, and Lance has a quick flashback to Justin’s pink tongue flicking over a brown nipple, the dark-haired stripper laughing down at him indulgently.

That cocky grin makes another appearance, and before Lance even knows that Justin is moving, he straddles his lap, knees on the seat on either side of Lance’s hips, not quite touching, but radiating heat that goes straight to Lance’s dick. Justin lowers his ass, settling on top of Lance’s thighs at the same time that he licks at Lance’s mouth, searching for sweetness. "Mmm," he says, like he’s found the whole aerosol can right there. Justin’s tongue is very, very talented, Lance thinks, opening his mouth under the persistent persuasion.

Justin still has Lance’s wrist in his hand, pinning his arm to the seatback next to his head, while his other hand moves smoothly over Lance’s throat, fingers fluttering lightly across his Adam’s apple. They move down his chest, then up under his shirt, thumb slowly circling his nipple.

Justin’s fingers are also very, very talented, Lance decides, and he wants them further south. He shifts his weight and suddenly his dick encounters Justin’s and the layers of denim between them make the contact seem rough, yet not nearly enough. Lance moans with frustration and Justin laughs softly. Lance thrusts his hips up irritably and Justin’s laugh turns to a gasp. Lance pushes up again with satisfaction, and Justin says, "Dude, whoa, hang on a minute." He laughs again and slides off Lance’s lap onto the floor of the car, reaching for Lance’s belt. There’s not really enough room for him there, and he bumps the back of the driver’s seat with his shoulder. Lance looks up to see Lonnie watching them impassively in the rear view mirror. He blushes and tugs on Justin’s arm.

Justin looks up at him questioningly, and Lance jerks his head toward the front seat. Justin frowns and Lance feels a moment of panic. If they wait until they get to the hotel, Justin may think better of this whole thing, and Lance really doesn’t want that to happen. Now that he’s decided it’s not such a bad idea after all, the last thing he wants is for Justin to change his mind. But although he doesn’t care what Lonnie knows, or thinks he knows, there’s no way he’s doing this with an audience, no matter how discreet.

He leans forward and flicks his tongue in Justin’s ear. He blows softly and says, "J, wait just a bit, okay?"

Justin looks doubtful, then smiles. "Sure, baby. I can wait." He crawls back up on the seat next to Lance and slips his hand under Lance’s shirt again. His fingers lazily stroke Lance’s stomach, and he closes his eyes and hums to himself. He’s not even breathing hard. Lance starts to panic again and Justin’s eyelids flutter open. His eyes glitter hotly in the light of the passing traffic, and Lance feels a flush of heat. He’s pretty sure Justin’s not changing his mind.

They stagger off the elevator, giggling drunkenly, with Lonnie behind them, still expressionless. Lance wonders whether Lonnie thinks this is a bad idea. Lance’s brain is stupid with vodka and he keeps changing his mind. Hanging out with Justin, trying to take his mind off Britney, is one thing. Fucking him is another thing altogether. Somewhere in the fog, though, he knows he wants to, bad idea or not.

Justin swipes his key card and pushes Lance through the open door. Lance looks back over his shoulder at Lonnie, but doesn’t see an answer there. The door shuts behind him and it’s too late now for second thoughts.

Justin has him up against the wall as soon as the door closes. They’re not really coordinated enough at this point to be attempting something as complicated as sex standing up. Lance’s head is clear enough to know that at least. He pushes Justin towards the bed, and they make it about half the distance before hitting the floor. Justin seems a lot drunker than he did in the car, but Lance is feeling pretty out of it himself, so maybe not. Time seems to be moving forward in leaps and bounds, and he’s not really sure from one minute to the next how he arrives at any given point. It’s all slipping away without his control, just like the room is. He shakes his head to stop the spinning, but it doesn’t really help.

Justin is humming again while he fumbles with Lance’s zipper. Lance thinks if he’s upright his head will be clearer, so he struggles to sit up. Justin sighs with exasperation. "Dude, would you just chill? Relax and stop making this so hard." He giggles at the word "hard" and pushes Lance back down to the floor.

Lance closes his eyes and he’s swirling in space. Time shifts again and Justin has tugged his pants and boxers down his thighs and his nose is in Lance’s navel. Lance’s cock bumps Justin’s chin and he shivers at the contact. Justin laughs and he lowers his head and licks once up Lance’s dick, then swipes his tongue around the head. Talented, Lance remembers, and he shudders. Then he’s nudging the back of Justin’s throat and he bucks his hips up. Justin stops sucking and lets Lance feel his teeth, and Lance holds very, very still. Justin hums his approval and then it’s just heat and Justin’s tongue and Lance comes with a moan. He drifts in darkness again until Justin tugs at him and says, "Yo, Lance. My turn, dude."

Right, Lance thinks, Justin’s turn. Justin is already naked and Lance doesn’t know when that happened. He feels like a big dork for almost passing out before he can reciprocate, so he tries to make it up to Justin by giving him the best blow job he can offer in his present condition. It’s not up to his usual standards, but Justin is vocal in his appreciation, so Lance figures he did okay.

They manage to get themselves off the floor and into bed without breaking any limbs or denting any furniture. Justin is asleep before his head hits the pillow, but Lance is quietly freaking out, and he lays there shivering and feeling drunk and nauseous. Stupid. I am so stupid, he thinks. Justin is only looking for a diversion, Lance knows this, is fine with it. But they can’t do this again, because Lance has been half in love with Justin for years, and he definitely doesn’t want to fall the rest of the way. Unrequited love sucks, he knows this, too.

Lance wakes up to a knock at the door. Justin is spooned around him, breathing softly on the back of his neck. The knock comes again and Lance extricates himself from Justin’s grasp, pulls on his boxers, and opens the door. Lonnie frowns down at him and says, "One hour until we leave. I thought you might want to get back to your own room before the wake-up call comes."

Lance wishes his head would follow through on its threat to explode and get it over with. "Right," he says with as much dignity as he can muster in his underwear, and closes the door. When he reemerges with his pants and shirt on and his shoes in his hand, Lonnie is nowhere in sight. Lance thanks God for small favors.

He doesn’t meet Lonnie’s eye on the way out to the bus, and he’s asleep in his bunk before they even pull out. When he wakes up, Joey is watching TV and Lance can smell coffee. He stumbles wordlessly to the kitchen, pours himself a cup and carefully sits on the couch next to Joey. He nudges Joey’s shoulder in silent thanks for the coffee and stares at the TV while he drinks. He’s not really feeling any more human by the time his cup is empty, and Joey goes to get him a refill without being asked. He sits back down, but holds the coffee out of reach until Lance looks up and says, "What?"

"I could ask you the same question. As in what the hell do you think you’re doing?"

"As in what the hell are you talking about?" Joey frowns and his lips are tight. Lance sighs. "What, Joe?"

"Where did you sleep last night?" Joey looks slightly embarrassed about asking the question, but he obviously isn’t going to let that stop him.

"What are you, my mother?" Lance feels a flash of annoyance, because he knows what Joey’s asking, and what he’s gonna say about it. The only thing he doesn’t know is how Joey knows. He arches an eyebrow at Joey, but that just makes his head hurt worse and he lowers it again.

"Justin was looking for you earlier."

"So?"

"He called over here. When I told him you were asleep, he got a little weird about wanting to talk to you."

"Weird how?"

"Pushy. Didn’t believe you were sleeping." Joey is eyeing him speculatively now.

"That’s not weird. That’s just Justin." Lance concentrates on his coffee and pretends not to notice that Joey is frowning at him."

"Lance." Joey’s don’t bullshit me, Bass, voice.

"Joey." Lance’s back off, Fatone, voice.

Joey sighs. "Just be careful. Make sure you know what you’re doing."

"I don’t have the slightest idea what I’m doing," Lance admits, settling back against Joey’s side and tipping his head to Joey’s shoulder.

"I know, man. I know." They watch TV in silence until they get to Boston.

*****

"Christ, Timberlake, enough. Lance, take this fucker out and get him drunk, or laid, or something. Anything. Make him stop with the moping already." Chris’s voice is impatient, but not unkind. He and JC are the ones cooped up on a bus with Justin all day, and Lance understands that Chris is almost at the end of his rope. Chris usually has infinite patience with them all, and with Justin in particular, but because there’s nothing he can do to fix this, he’s easily frustrated and it shows. He can’t make Britney come back, and he can’t make time speed up so that it can heal all of Justin’s wounds. Not even Chris can do that for Justin.

Justin is looking at Chris with hurt eyes, and Chris smiles at him apologetically. He smacks a loud, wet kiss on Justin’s cheek and says, "Dude, go out with Lance. It’ll do you good."

Justin eyes Lance hopefully. "Can we gamble? There’s casinos here."

Lance nods and immediately looks at Joey. "Come with?"

"You know it, man. I’m there." Joey grins with anticipation.

Justin’s face falls. Lance shoots him a puzzled glance, but Justin recovers quickly and Lance thinks he may be imagining things. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks, and a sadness that never leaves still in his eyes, and Lance really thinks it’s been enough time for that to go away. But Justin is a great believer in love, and who is Lance to judge anyone else’s timeline?

As Lance leaves to go change his clothes, Chris grabs his arm. "He tilts his head and peers at Lance curiously. "You don’t mind, do you?"

From the very beginning, whenever Lance or Justin were in trouble, they looked out for each other. Maybe it came from being the only ones with their moms around all the time, or the only ones who were too young to drink, even in Europe, but it was a bond forged early on and even now the whole group both expects and accepts it. Even as it gets harder for Lance to do it, he knows he won’t stop. Some things are more important than unrequited love. Lance smiles. "Nah,‘s okay, Chris."

*****

Lance looks across the casino to where Justin is playing blackjack, and Joey jabs him with his elbow to bring his attention back to the craps table. Lance avoids being alone with Justin whenever possible, but he’s always aware of where he is. Joey’s been a big help with this plan, joining in on the fun, inviting himself along whenever Justin needs to be diverted from his heartbreak over Britney. Keeping Lance and Justin company. Always there, hanging around. Never leaving them the fuck alone. Lance decides he really hates Joey, but then he remembers that he invited Joey on this particular excursion, and Lance decides he loves Joey, doesn’t appreciate him enough for all he does. When Lance becomes aware that he’s getting teary-eyed over his uncharitable thoughts about the best friend anyone could ever have, he knows he’s drunk again. This seems to be the pattern since the Big Breakup. Go out with Justin, get drunk, but go to bed alone. It’s the night that involved a deviation from that pattern that’s fucking with Lance’s head. That’s why it’s good to be anal, Lance thinks, then he doesn’t deviate and things don’t get fucked up. Of course, he doesn’t get fucked either, so there’s that. But one drunken blow job does not a relationship make, and Lance knows what it means to be on the rebound. Justin’s actually been kind of quiet around Lance since the night in New York, watching him out of the corner of his eye when he doesn’t think Lance is looking. But, no more deviation.

Joey elbows him again and he pokes back. "Quit it, asshole," he growls, baring his teeth. Joey snorts.

"Where’s J?" Joey asks.

"How the hell should I know?" Lance snaps. Joey smirks at him and Lance sighs. "Over there," and he jerks his head in the direction of the blackjack tables.

Joey whistles. "That’s quite a stack of chips he’s got for himself. Boy’s kind of intense about this gambling shit."

"He’s kind of intense about everything, Joey. He’s Justin."

"Right." Joey looks over at Justin again. "Hope he quits while he’s ahead."

"That’d be a first," Lance replies. Joey nods his head in agreement.

Lance doesn’t feel like waiting around for the waitress to bring them drinks, so he goes for them himself. The waitress would only flash her cleavage at them, and Joey would get all distracted and lose even more money than he already is, and somehow he would find a way to blame Lance. He heads back to the craps table, juggling four drinks, because they’re watered down and one won’t be enough for either of them. It’s not easy, and he’s walking the slow, careful walk of the pretty damn-drunk.

He approaches the table and Justin is there, talking animatedly to Joey about something, looking very intense. Lance rolls his eyes. Justin is intense about everything these days, from which shoes he wears to what kind of cereal he eats for breakfast. It’s like he’s focusing on all this minutiae to avoid thinking about anything big.

"Fuck, Joey, I just want him to, you know, pay some attention, to acknowledge that it happened. He acts like it never even happened." Justin slaps his hand down on the edge of the table, and the woman standing next to Joey frowns at him.

"J, you know how he is. If it’s really important, forget it, he’s gonna hide. Keep trying, kiddo, that’s all I can tell you."

Lance comes up beside them and Joey catches sight of him. "Hey, finally, man. Whoa, let me help you, there."

"Two for the price of one, "Lance replies. He carefully does not look at Justin.

"Very cool, man."

Justin glares at Lance for a moment, then practically flounces away. Lance would have to call it flouncing, if pressed. Joey clears his throat. "Don’t even start, Joe. Just forget it."

Joey puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, whatever, man. Not starting anything, here."

Lance ends up winning five thousand dollars, the same amount that Joey loses. He doesn’t know about Justin. Gambling in Mississippi, Lance thinks as the bus rocks him to sleep in the early hours of the morning. Amazing.

*****

They’re on the dance floor, the music is thumping, and Justin is grinding his hips against Lance’s ass. Drunk again, Lance thinks as he pushes back against Justin’s hard heat. Lance still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that the tour is finished, even though he’s been waiting impatiently for the last concert. He knows JC is sad, and yesterday, after they’d finished recording "When You Wish Upon a Star," JC had cried a little on Joey’s shoulder. Chris seems kind of lost, and Justin is like a racehorse at the starting gate, eager to break into the lead on his own. Joey is just tired and ready to rest before trying something new. Lance knows it’s been obvious for the past several weeks that his mind is elsewhere, that he’s just been marking time until he can go to Russia for good, just stay there and fucking get it done.

He feels another surge of impatience, he wants to go there now, and suddenly he feels impatient with Justin, too. He’s not exactly moping, even if that’s what Chris calls it. It’s just that he’s quiet sometimes, and his eyes haven’t regained their sparkle. Lance knows that Justin and Brit were in love a long time before they went public, and if ever he thought two people were soul mates, those two were it. Justin places a lot of faith in romantic love, and he still can’t believe it didn’t work out. But it’s been a while now, and Lance is tired of dealing with it. It’s better to have loved and lost, J, than to never have loved at all, so suck it up and get over it. He wants to say that, wants to tell Justin to get a grip, deal with it, move on, whatever. He wants to tell Justin that he’ll love him, if he wants to be loved so badly.

Lance moves away from Justin. People are used to them at Roxy’s, but still, it’s maybe time to cool it off a bit. Besides, he’s thirsty. Justin looks at him curiously, but doesn’t say anything, just follows him back to their table in VIP. One last night of drunken revelry before they go their separate ways, and Lance can’t wait. He needs to get away from Justin, and he really has no idea why they’re together tonight. Justin had called him, said, "Dude, let’s go out." He hadn’t whined about Britney, or being lonely, and against his better judgment, Lance said yes.

*****

Deja fucking vu, Lance thinks, as Justin pushes him against the wall. This time the wall is in Lance’s house and they’re less drunk, so they’re more coordinated than they were the last time they did this. Justin kisses him hard, then pulls back, hands at Lance’s fly. He turns Lance to face the wall, and whispers in his ear, "Dude, pull your pants down." Lance shoves his pants down to his knees, and Justin tugs them the rest of the way to his ankles and yanks his hips back. Lance’s forehead is against the wall and he braces himself with his hands on either side of his head. Justin is on his knees, nuzzling the crack of Lance’s ass, and his tongue is there, hot and soft and wet. Then Lance feels cool air and he looks over his shoulder to see what the holdup is. Justin’s finger is moving slowly in and out of his mouth. "C’mon, c’mon," Lance says, and Justin’s grin is lewd around his finger. Lance presses his heated face to the cool wall and waits. Justin pushes his saliva-slick finger in Lance’s ass and Lance’s knees buckle. Justin keeps him up with a hand on his butt, holding him open, and fucks him slowly with one long finger. It’s maddening and Lance wants more, but Justin doesn’t give him more.

Lance spreads his legs as much as he can with his pants around his ankles and pushes back against Justin’s hands and Justin laughs. "Dude, you’re so hot like this." He reaches in front and wraps his free hand around Lance’s dick and Lance can’t believe how perfect it feels, caught between Justin’s big, perfect hands, Justin’s mouth hot on the small of his back. He rocks back and forth and he hears Justin laugh as he crooks his finger and Lance comes hard.

Justin pulls his finger out and wipes it on Lance’s shirt, still grinning. He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up and Lance hopes he wipes the smile off. Lance wants Justin to fuck him so desperately he can barely breathe, but there’s no way he’ll let that happen. He pulls his pants up and manages to zip them halfway, feeling less exposed. He puts a hand in the center of Justin’s chest and shoves. Justin stumbles backwards and Lance pushes him again. Justin’s eyes darken as he stares at Lance, waiting for the next push. Lance obliges and Justin sprawls on his ass on the couch, legs apart, looking at Lance from under his eyelashes. "Dude."

Lance blows Justin quick and dirty and can only thank God Justin doesn’t call him dude when he comes. He tells Justin that he has things to do in the morning, and Justin seems to go home willingly enough, hesitating only a minute before shrugging and fixing his clothes, avoiding Lance’s eyes. That makes Lance feel worse than all the rest of it.

*****

Lance’s birthday passes in a blur of packing, phone calls, and family. His dad’s not going to Russia with him this time, only Freddy is, and Lance’s mom alternates between trying to pack his suitcases for him and talking sternly to Freddy in the kitchen.

He vows not to get too drunk at his birthday party, but Justin’s not there, so it really doesn’t matter, he’s safe. The other guys are there, to see him off on his great adventure, but Lance doesn’t know where Justin is. Chris glares at him when he asks. "You were supposed to fix him, Bass, not make things worse."

"Chris," Joey says. "Don’t."

"What are you talking about?" Lance looks at their faces, puzzled.

"Well, he’s still all sad. I thought you were gonna, you know, cheer him up or something." Chris looks like he wants to say more, but he glances over at Joey and shuts his mouth.

Or something. Right. "Chris, I took him out and got him drunk a few times. It really didn’t change anything, you know. They’re still broken up." He’s not sure why Chris thinks he has the ability to fix Justin this time.

Joey clears his throat. "Okay, Chris. It’s Lance’s birthday."

Chris eyes him another moment. His face relaxes and he says, "Sorry, birthday boy. Go blow out your candles."

Lance winds up getting shit-faced by the end of the night.

*****

Freddy manages to find all this tabloid shit and then he leaves the screen open on Lance’s laptop so he doesn’t miss it. Freddy can be a spiteful bitch when he wants to be, Lance knows this. Lance has been avoiding the obvious option of finding solace in Freddy’s bed, which is why Freddy is being a bitch.

Lance thinks being in Russia should mean he’s safe from the NY Fucking Post, but apparently not. He remembers the Janet Jackson poster on Justin’s bedroom wall a million years ago. He remembers how obvious Justin’s infatuation was when they opened for Janet. And now, Lance thinks, how typically Justin. How many people get to fuck their teen idols, after all?

"Maybe it’s not true," Freddy says with patently false sympathy. "It’s just a tabloid, right? I wouldn’t pay any attention to it, if I were you. I mean, you didn’t fuck Kathy Lee when they said you did. Did you?"

Lance tells Freddy to fuck off, and Freddy laughs as he pulls on his coat and goes out into the cool Russian evening.

*****

This time Freddy leaves a copy of the actual magazine on the desk. US Weekly. He must have had it sent over from the States. Lord in heaven. A dance-off? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And did Justin argue with Jenna about Janet, or with Britney? Or maybe he argued with Brit about Jenna. Or about Janet with Brit. Wait, Janet wasn’t there, was she? And who the hell won the dance-off? He starts to laugh at himself when he realizes he’s trying to make up his mind who’s the better dancer, Justin or Britney. He decides they’re both better than Jenna and declares it a tie. He doesn’t feel nearly as queasy during the hyperbolic flights when he gets to experience weightlessness as he does reading this shit. He feels kind of bad for Justin, even if he does bring it on himself sometimes.

*****

Lance tosses the magazine on the table with an angry flick of his wrist. Fucker. Then he sighs. It’s not like US Weekly is some sort of unimpeachable source, offering irrefutable evidence that Justin is still chasing tail, but it pisses him off anyway. This time it’s Jenna again. Lance tries not to roll his eyes, but decides Freddy isn’t here to call him on it, and he rolls them so hard he almost sprains something vital to his success as an astronaut.

*****

In August, Lance goes to Houston. JC comes to see him, bless his heart. Lance saw the Hollywood Access footage of Pat O’Brien at CFTC asking the guys if they were going to Russia for the launch. Chris and Justin had looked at each other like, "What? Go where? What for?" Even Joey stood there with his thumb up his ass. Then JC jumped in and said he already had his plane tickets and Lance almost cried. Freddy smirked at him, but Lance has been a little unsteady from the constant roller coaster ride of his Space Adventures. Or, rather, his Attempt-to-Get-to-Space Adventures. Up and fucking down and it’s taking a toll on his emotional stability.

So JC is here and Lance asks him about his birthday party. "An inflatable doll, C?"

JC laughs. "Yeah, dawg, you should have seen it. I think J ended up taking it home with him." He snickers. "Or maybe I’m getting it confused with Alyssa."

JC’s grin is beautiful, as always, but Lance looks away from this one. He lets JC’s enthusiasm for what Lance is doing and his fascination with all the cool stuff at NASA take his mind off Justin.

*****

They all call him after the news hits that he’s been kicked out. JC even offers to fly over there, but Lance won’t let him, just like he won’t let his parents come either. Sympathy and comfort would just distract him from trying to salvage something here, even if it’s only his dignity. Freddy’s abrasive support is what he needs right now. Whatever their personal relationship has become during these months of enforced togetherness, and for the life of him, Lance can’t imagine what he was thinking when he thought that was a good idea, Freddy knows it’s to his advantage for Lance to succeed. They’ve stopped sniping at each other, for the most part, and that allows Lance to concentrate on the business at hand.

It was so sudden, although not completely unexpected, and so coldly done that Lance feels like he really has been dropped into the Black Sea. He’s struggling to keep his head above water, and it’s only at night, in his bed in his Moscow hotel, that he wishes he had someone to hold on to.

"Are you sure, honey? I can be there day after tomorrow." JC sounds so worried, and it makes Lance want to cry. He remembers what he said about crying at the NASA press conference, such a short time ago, and he knows he can’t cry, because if he starts, he won’t stop. So, no, JC is not what he needs right now.

"God, C, I can’t, don’t. Not now. Not yet." He forces the words past the lump in his throat.

JC gets it and stops pushing. "I love you, man," he says before he hangs up. Lance throws his phone across the room, but it doesn’t break.

*****

Chris is angry on the phone. "What the fuck is going on, Lance? What the hell is that asshole Krieff doing?"

"It’s the sponsors, Chris," Lance replies wearily. "They want guarantees." He appreciates Chris’s anger, it reminds him of how Chris reacted to Britney, but he doesn’t quite have the energy for it. "We’re working on it. I’m gonna stay here, at least try and finish the training."

Silence, then Chris says, "J call yet?"

No," Lance says stonily.

"You know," Chris says conversationally. "This big media push they’ve got him doing. Sometimes I’m not so sure he’s got a handle on the fine art of doing solo interviews."

Lance is well aware that Justin is in over his head a bit sometimes. Lance has experienced a little of that himself this summer, not having the other guys to take the pressure off, to distract the press when he starts to ramble. No Joey to say something silly and self-deprecating, or Chris to cut through the crap or play the clown, no JC to go off on a tangent about taking things to the next level, or Justin to pontificate earnestly about their fans. At least Justin can still say it’s all about the music, Lance doesn’t even have that to fall back on. So, no, Lance isn’t mad about Justin’s occasional jokes about pop stars in space, if that’s what Chris is worried about.

"Well, it’s definitely not easy to do, not something any of us are used to."

"Right." Chris seems relieved at that. Another silence. "Okay, go kick some ass, Bass." He hangs up without saying goodbye.

*****

"You know it’s not your fault, right?" Joey’s voice is insistent and Lance sighs. "Right, man?"

"Yeah, Joey, I know. Not my fault. Right." Lance is aware of Freddy watching him from across the room, and he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. "It’s not over, Joe. There’s still a few things we can try." He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince, himself or Joey. Joey can always see through his bullshit, but for once he doesn’t call him on it. "So, tell me about the show. I wanna see it, definitely, I’ll get there when I can. I bet it’s amazing."

Joey is kind enough to allow him to change the subject and the rest of their conversation is about Rent and Briahna. "She misses you man. I can tell."

Lance comes out of the bathroom after they hang up and Freddy is still watching him. "Lance," he says.

"I know, Freddy. Thanks."

*****

Justin is tentative on the phone, like he doesn’t know what to say. "So what are you gonna do?" Justin thinks that if you try hard enough, if you work hard enough, you’ll get what you want. It’s one of his more endearing qualities, and it usually works for him, but it’s also naïve enough to be annoying at times. Lance is beginning to think that it doesn’t matter how hard he works, and he’s already worked as hard as he knows how, this time he might be fucked.

Lance shrugs. "Keep trying," he says. "But nobody’s budging on this, I don’t think. The Russians, it’s different here, it’s like two different worlds, and no matter what David says, he can’t get anyone to change their minds."

Justin’s a professional, a perfectionist even, and he wants to know details. He seems to understand what’s happening here, and Lance appreciates the sounding board. Justin approves of Lance staying to complete the training, even if he has to pay for it himself. It’s what he would do if it were him.

Finally, Lance sighs into the phone. "I gotta go, Justin. I have things to do."

Justin hesitates, then says, "Okay, dude. Um, take care, and uh, you, know, it’ll be fine."

Lance’s vision blurs. "Right. Bye." He’s still sitting there with the phone in his hand half hour later when Freddy comes back with dinner.

*****

After he gets his Official Cosmonaut Certificate, he goes to London, and Justin. He’s not afraid to go home precisely, but he doesn’t think he can muster up the energy that will take yet. He knows he shouldn’t choose Justin for this, but London is nearby and the temptation is too strong. He tries not to think about why he’s here. Justin welcomes him with a hug, wraps his arms around Lance and doesn’t let go.

"Christ, Bass, what the hell happened to you? You’re all skin and bones." Lance’s eyes burn at the worry in Justin’s voice and he hangs on like he’s drowning. Justin pulls back and looks at him with concern and it’s that look that finally allows Lance to cry.

He was right, once he starts it seems like forever before he can stop. They end up on the couch in Justin’s suite, Lance’s face in Justin’s shoulder, Justin’s strong arms around him. There’s snot and tears all over Justin’s shirt, which Lance thinks is so ugly the mess can only be an improvement. When they first met, Lance thought Justin was so self-assured, compared to himself, anyway, that it was a point of honor not to cry in front of him. Lance did all his early crying on Joey, who was just naturally built for that sort of thing. Then, one night in Germany, after a brutally long day, Lance walked into the room he shared with Justin and found him wrapped around his pillow, tear-streaked and quiet. Lynn wasn’t there that week, and Lance thinks it was right around the time Justin started having trouble with his tonsils. He had hesitated, then crawled onto the bed and put his arms around Justin, and after that, they just always took care of each other.

There’s a party that night, of course, and Lance is grateful. At first he watches what he drinks and tries to enjoy himself.

Later, Lance closes his eyes so he can’t see the two of them at the bar. It would work, except the image is still there, behind his eyelids. He wonders idly what it would take to wipe his retinas clear and clean, then decides there’s nothing caustic enough in the world to erase the vision of Justin laughing at Christina standing next to him, their postures proclaiming their intimacy, just like Justin’s omnipresent hoodies proclaim his wannabe thug appeal. And even if he could wipe it away, it would still be there in his mind’s eye, which Lance knows from experience can’t be blinded, no matter how much alcohol he consumes.

He decides to give it a try anyway.

*****

Lance has been home in Orlando for a month when Justin breaks his foot. He wonders if Justin is upset at having to cancel so many promotional activities, or if he’s relieved at the enforced respite. Some of his recent radio interviews seem to indicate a level of frustration with the process of self-pimping that is unusual for Justin. He’s a consummate professional, wants to keep everybody happy, and he’s always surprised when others aren’t equally so. However, if Justin weren’t so busy giving everyone, Lance included, the impression that he’s sleeping with almost every person he meets, maybe the questions wouldn’t be quite so nasty and intrusive.

But the Michael Jackson jibes are way out of line and make Lance quietly furious. He wishes just once Justin would tell those assholes to fuck off. Lance streams every interview he can, picking up the phone several times to tell Justin to stop letting the fuckers make him look stupid, but he never does. Let somebody else be there for Justin this time, like Trace, Lance thinks. It’s someone else’s turn.

Lance has been laying low since he got back, knowing that people are wondering where he is, what’s he’s doing, if he’s offed himself yet. He lets Joey comfort him when he can, but Joe’s busy living his own dream. The night Lance sees Rent, he sits unnoticed in the audience, quiet tears slipping down his cheeks. He’s so damn proud, and so happy for Joey, and so sad for himself.

He avoids the other guys for the most part. JC was so excited about the whole space thing, he’s almost as upset as Lance is and Lance doesn’t have the reserves right now to deal with JC’s disappointment, too. He doesn’t know what to say to Chris, so he doesn’t try. He feels like a failure, although he knows he’s not, not really. He lies in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, going over it all again in his head, wondering if he did everything he could, wondering how he could have made the outcome different. He wanders around his house during the day, eyes hot and dry from lack of sleep and he knows his mother wants him to come home to Mississippi. He tries not to think about going to Memphis, to Justin.

*****

When they all arrive in New York for the Wax Museum thing, Lance doesn’t know what to expect. Like what kind of mood everyone is in, or what Chris’s hair looks like. If Joey has any new ugly-ass tattoos. What JC will be wearing. Who Justin is fucking this week.

It’s so good to be with them again, and Lance thinks maybe he was wrong in avoiding them all this time. Justin’s eyes are warm and Lance decides it doesn’t matter if Justin is fucking the entire former cast of 90210, right now they’re all together and he feels safe with them. He has a great time at the Museum, playing with the figures, posing for silly pictures. When Joey licks JC’s wax replica, Lance can’t stop giggling. Joey grins and hugs him tight. "Asshole," he says fondly. For once, Lance doesn’t get drunk, and he goes to bed alone.

They all go their separate ways again afterwards, but Lance feels soothed in his soul, and the hurt that was deep and implacable is somehow eased and he’s able to go home for Christmas with a lighter heart.

*****

Lance stays away from Justin’s birthday party. After seeing the guest list, he’s glad he did. He can’t figure out what Tara is doing there, last he knew she was with JC. He wonders if Tara and Trace being together now is just a smoke screen, if Tara is really with Justin, but it’s not like Justin hides any of his other dalliances. Unless it’s meant to protect him from Britney, Alyssa and Christina. Lance’s mind boggles at the idea of all of them being at the same party together, and he’s doubly glad he didn’t go.

*****

Lance is fuming. Justin’s flight from London landed yesterday afternoon, and Lance can’t figure out why Justin isn’t dead from jet lag. Why he’s practically glowing with energy, beatboxing all over the damn place and just being generally annoying. They’ve been rehearsing for about an hour now, and Lance should be enjoying the hell out of it, he’s missed this so much, but instead he just wants to kill Justin. Chris’s voice is kind of scratchy, he’s having a little trouble with "Stayin’ Alive," and Lance just wants Justin to shut the fuck up.

"Justin, can’t you just shut the fuck up for five minutes?" he snaps. The others stare at him in astonishment and Justin looks away, but not before Lance sees his eyes widen with hurt and surprise.

"Sorry, yo."

There, Lance has effectively squashed Justin’s good mood. He should be happy but instead he feels like a heel. JC tightens his lips and even Joey is frowning. Chris just says, "Hey, guys, can we try this one more time?"

They try it a lot more times until they’re satisfied. Lance knows Chris is nervous, because so is he, and because it’s been such a long time since they’ve sung together. And it’s the Grammys, which of course means they’re going home empty-handed, but it also means they have to kick ass. They shorten the ending of "Stayin’ Alive" to accommodate Chris’s voice, and when Lance is adamant about not doing the solo on "How Deep is Your Love," they change that too.

As they head off to the hotel, Justin hangs back, waiting for Lance. "You wanna get some dinner?"

"No, Justin, I don’t want to get any dinner. I have things to do." He stalks on ahead, trying to catch up to Joey.

"Hey, Lance?" Justin says quietly. Lance turns around impatiently.

"What, Justin?"

"Eat with me, dude. We can talk." Justin smiles uncertainly. He looks hopeful.

"Isn’t Kylie coming for the Grammys? Maybe she’s already here. Maybe she brought her sister. Go eat dinner with them. Maybe pick up where you left off two days ago." With that parting shot, Lance turns on his heel and walks out of the theater. He’s breathing hard as he calls, "Wait up, Joe."

It’s almost midnight when the knock on his hotel room door comes. He’s surprised, didn’t know anyone else stayed in. He thought he was the only one too lame to take advantage of being in New York tonight. He opens the door, and Justin is standing there. Looking beautiful and lost. "Lance. Please, talk to me."

Lance is terrified. He can’t do this. "No."

They get a standing ovation, and the Gibbs seem pleased with the performance. Lance is not pleased, however, with Justin’s performance. Can I grab your ass? Lord. At least Kylie had enough class to say no. During the rounds of the various after-parties, including their own, Lance doesn’t see much of Justin. He busies himself with Carrah and Joey and tries not to wonder where Justin is and what he’s doing. Who he’s doing.

*****

Lance is completely hung over. Head-pounding, stomach-churning, better-off-dead hung over. Getting out of bed is not something he wants to contemplate, and he appreciates all over again his foresight in including an extra day in New York in his itinerary. It’s almost automatic by now, allowing for hangovers in his travel plans.

There’s a knock at the door and Lance groans and pulls a pillow over his head. At the next knock, the blankets follow. It doesn’t help, whoever’s out there is damned persistent. Lance hates them.

"Go away," and his own voice hurts, reverberating in his head. Since all that actually comes out of his mouth is a moan, the knocking doesn’t stop. He kicks off the covers, which don’t seem to want to let him go, and struggles to get up. The battle with the bedclothes makes his head throb and his stomach roll, and he can’t decide whether to answer the door or vomit.

He ends up doing both, yanking open the door before bolting for the bathroom.

There’s a warm hand on the back of his neck and a cool washcloth dangled in front of his face. He grabs it with a grunt of thanks, then sits with his forehead resting on the toilet seat. Justin reaches past him and flushes, for which Lance is exceedingly grateful.

After what seems like an eternity or two, Lance lurches to his feet and clutches at the sink. There’s no way he’s looking in the mirror. Justin, who hasn’t had the common decency to leave him to die in peace, hands him his toothbrush, toothpaste already on it. Lance brushes his teeth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t make him gag, and Justin hands him a glass of water and a handful of aspirin. "Think you can keep this down?"

Lance makes the mistake of nodding, groans, and swallows the pills. He staggers back to bed and pulls the sheets over his head. At least Justin wasn’t cruel enough to open the drapes. The light from the bathroom is plenty bright enough, thank you. He feels the mattress dip as Justin sits next to him and tugs the covers off his head. Lance clutches at them feebly and Justin gently disentangles the sheets from his hands. Lance turns on his side away from him and Justin rubs soothing circles on his back. As Lance drifts off to sleep again, he feels tears on his cheeks.

When Lance wakes up for the second time, he feels slightly more human. Maybe he’s going to live after all, although he’s making no promises to anyone. Justin is stretched out on his side next to him, propped up on his elbow, watching him. He reaches out and traces the dried tearstains on Lance’s face with a fingertip and Lance feels like a tool. Fucking Justin. He wishes he’d just go away. He closes his eyes against the look of tenderness and worry on Justin’s face. Justin wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. Lance knows he should struggle away, but he can’t make himself do it.

"Shh, baby, you’re okay," Justin croons, although Lance isn’t crying now.

Lance doesn’t answer him, which is fine, because Justin keeps talking. "Um, listen, you need to tell me what’s up with you. I thought, well, before, I thought maybe we, you know, had something going on. I kinda hoped we did, anyway." Lance still doesn’t say anything. "But you seem so mad at me, and I don’t know why." Lance starts to protest but Justin continues as if Lance hadn’t spoken. "Talk to me, dude, tell me what I did."

"What do you want me to say, Justin? It didn’t mean anything, you were just feeling bad, and I was there. It’s fine, but I don’t wanna do it anymore. I’m not mad at you." Lance keeps his eyes on Justin’s shirt so Justin won’t see what a liar he is.

"Fuck, Lance." Justin pulls away and Lance lets him. He feels cold where Justin isn’t touching him anymore. "Is that what you think? It didn’t mean anything? Shit." Okay, so now Justin’s mad. Lance looks up and sees stormy blue eyes and Justin is frowning at him. "I thought it meant something," Justin says.

"What?" Lance asks. "What exactly did it mean? I may have been the first one on your list, but it was a long damn list, you know."

"Because you wouldn’t! I tried, and you wouldn’t." He stops, frustrated. "It wasn’t really that long of a list, you know," he says.

"Justin, come on." Lance really doesn’t want a recap of all the people Justin has fucked in the past year.

"You don’t know, you just think you do. You read all that shit, you think you know? God, I don’t fucking believe you. I thought you knew me." Justin sits up, on the edge of the bed, his back to Lance.

Lance doesn’t think he’s ever been this scared in his life. Not when the German suits wanted him gone, not the first day he arrived at Star City, not when he got the phone call that said he was off the mission, not even when he got the first phone call that said he was in. This, this is everything, and he’s terrified. It’s everything, and he’s letting it slip away. "Justin," he says, lost. He doesn’t know what to do. "I’m sorry." He touches Justin’s back. It’s rigid under his hand. "Justin, please."

"Please, what? What, Lance? What do you want?" Justin’s voice is impatient and Lance knows he needs to do something here.

Lance takes a deep breath. "You. I want you." Justin doesn’t react, but his back loses some of its stiffness. It feels like forever before Justin turns around to face him again. They stare at each other and some of the anger leaves Justin’s eyes.

"You have me, dude." Justin shrugs. "Here I am." He looks unsure all of a sudden, like he doesn’t know what to do next.

Lance sure as hell doesn’t know either, so they just kind of sit there until Justin rolls his eyes and says, "Damn, you’re pigheaded. Come here." And Justin’s arms are around him again and Lance could stay like this forever. God, I’m a girl, Lance thinks as he sniffles into Justin’s chest.

Justin’s arms tighten a moment, then he pulls back and kisses the tip of Lance’s nose. "How’s your head, man?"

"Better," Lance mumbles. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he just blows his nose on his t-shirt.

Justin’s face lights up with amusement. "Eww, man, that’s gross. Get rid of that," and he tugs the hem of Lance’s shirt up. Lance hesitates, then lets Justin pull the shirt over his head. He shivers once at the sudden coolness, and again when Justin puts his hands on him.

Justin kisses him, and it’s hot and sweet and perfect. It’s as if he’s never been kissed before now, not like this. He kisses back like he’s drowning and Justin is oxygen. Justin pushes his sweats down over his hips, cups his ass and pulls him closer. Justin’s jeans are rough against his skin, and it’s impossibly hot. Maybe he’s finally safe like this, with Justin, and they’re kissing and Lance never wants to stop.

Justin breaks the kiss, breathing hard. He rests his forehead against Lance’s. "God, Lance. Damn." Justin pulls back and looks at him, his eyes hot on Lance’s body, and Lance feels it on his skin like a caress.

Lance reaches for Justin’s shirt, his jeans. Justin scrambles back and skims his shirt off, has his jeans off in a heartbeat. Lance pushes him down on his back and thinks in amazement, this is mine now, not sure he really believes it yet. He takes his time, touching everywhere, Justin’s skin soft and smooth over hard muscles. Justin pulls Lance down on top of him, and Lance loves the feeling of skin on skin, loves the feeling of his sweatpants against the back of his thighs, while his dick rubs against Justin’s hard stomach. He puts his mouth on Justin’s neck and Justin groans and rolls them over and Justin’s weight is pinning him to the bed and Lance wants to stay there forever, under Justin.

But Justin moves away and says hoarsely, "Where, do you have anything, shit, Lance, tell me where."

Lance can’t think, he doesn’t know where. "Try my bag, um, pocket, in the suitcase."

It feels like hours, then Justin is back and he spreads his fingers out over Lance’s chest, and Lance’s skin burns with it. He can’t breathe when Justin slides his hands down his sides to his hips. Justin holds him still, holds him down. He sucks at his collarbone, bites it hard and Lance cries out. He struggles in Justin’s grip, and Justin lets him go. Lance twists over onto his stomach and he hears Justin draw in a sharp breath. "Jesus, Lance." Lance pushes up onto his elbows and looks back over his shoulder with wordless entreaty.

Lance’s breath hitches in his throat as Justin kisses the back of his neck, down his spine, tongue warm on the small of his back. He needs to spread his legs and he can’t, his sweats are in the way. He wiggles and Justin drags his pants down his legs and Lance pulls his knees up under him and arches his back. Justin groans again. "Fuck."

Slick, cool fingers inside him, and Lance can’t help it, he moans, "Justin, please." Justin licks his shoulder and Lance presses back against his fingers. "Please."

"Okay, wait, okay?" Justin pulls his fingers out.

"No, now, come on, come on." When Justin pushes inside, Lance knew he was right to be afraid of this. He’s had a lot of sex in his life, but nothing that prepares him for what he feels when Justin slides into him. Heat and pain, and he didn’t know he was so empty until he’s filled with Justin. Justin’s big, perfect hands are everywhere and Lance trembles with the intensity of it. He’s on his knees and he can’t stop saying Justin’s name, gasping it into the pillow as Justin grunts behind him, grinding his hips against Lance’s ass as Lance pushes back for more. He’ll never recover from this, but it’s fine now, maybe he doesn’t have to try.

Lance is coming apart under Justin’s hands, his mouth, his body. He keens helplessly as Justin thrusts into him, strong and sure enough for both of them. The hard, tight feeling in Lance’s chest, the one he was so used to he almost forgot it was there, loosens.

Afterwards, they talk.

*****

MTV.com:

General Motors pre-Oscar bash: "Things take a tender turn with unexpected performances by *NSyncers Lance Bass and Justin Timberlake. Backstage, the boys shared hugs and noogies, with Timberlake affectionately telling Bass, "You’re stupid, ha, ha." Bass, who logged more time onstage than he did training for the Russian space shuttle, takes even himself by surprise. "I just knew that this was supposed to be, like, a really great party," he explains. "I knew my friend Eve was performing, and then all of a sudden Justin is onstage, so I thought, ‘Oh, I’m going up, too.’"

Lance looks away from his laptop, over to the bed where Justin is sleeping. Yes, he is stupid. Stupid for Justin. He smiles as Justin stirs in the early morning sunlight. Amazing.

*****

I couldn’t have done this without canalbaby’s amazing NSync Chronology. And never in a million years could I write a word without my own Maggie to beta and push and nag encourage me and tell me when it sucks. Thanks, babe.

This was written for JCHalo’s U2 challenge.

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