"Boyfriend"

Boyfriend

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing: Lance Bass/Chris Kirkpatrick

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise *NSYNC are their own people. The author has not met anyone here described, nor does the author mean to suggest that these people act this way in real life. This writing is a work of fiction. I make no money from this venture.

Notice: This story is set at CFTC, but in no specific year. It seems to be CFTC7, in 2005, but I reserve the right to alter any and all details.

Ahem. CFTC is Challenge for the Children. It’s an annual *NSYNC event, held each summer in a different U.S. city. Various celebrities (recording artists, actors, athletes, etc.) participate. In past years, there was a celebrity event first (a scavenger hunt), and then the next day the two teams (Knights, Daze) competed in a skills challenge. That included various odd little games. Then there was a basketball game the following day. For this last CFTC, there was no skills challenge; instead, the celebrities bowled, but fans could only get tickets to the basketball game. Usually there are official and semi-official parties each night all weekend.

At this moment in time, during 2005's CFTC, Chris has very nice longer-than-usual hair that looks very much like it needs to be touched.

banner by Vanessa

“-so Lance was all upset and I was like dude, what’s your problem, and he said all of this stuff about how Johnny was all subtly hinting around about him not bringing a date or anything, you know, like he should show up solo. I was like, okay, right, so what, Lance, you don’t even have a boyfriend. And he said that’s not even the point, it’s not like he wants to make out with some guy on the court but if girlfriends can come along for companionship and moral support and all of that, then why can’t he bring a male friend? I told him that we’d all be there if he needed a friend, but he said that there’s something special about a shared experience - - I don’t know, he’s pissed that girlfriends always get to go but he can’t bring a discreet male guest.”

Chris looked at JC thoughtfully. “Hunh.”

Lance typed with one hand, picking up his phone in the other. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

Chris. “Hi,” Lance said, quickly flipping through his mental files in case there was anything he had to cover with Chris before the weekend.

“JC told me you’re pissed that you can’t bring a boyfriend.”

Lance’s typing slowed. He generally kept Chris and his love life-sex life separate. Chris’s position had been clear years ago.

“I’ll be your boyfriend,” Chris said.

Lance’s fingers stopped. “What?” If Chris was setting up a joke, it already wasn’t funny.

“I thought about it, and since you don’t already have a boyfriend, you’ll need to find one fast. And if it’s one of us, Johnny can’t tell you to leave him at home. Joey’s married, and Justin and JC are taken, so that leaves me. I’ll be your boyfriend for a weekend. We can start Thursday.”

Dealing with Chris made him too tense, too tired. Lance leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on the desk. In a slow, clear voice, just as a reminder, he explained, “Chris, you’re straight, crazy, and homophobic.”

“So we won’t have sex,” Chris said. “I can fulfill all other boyfriend duties.”

Lance wasn’t in the mood for this, whatever it was. “I know that you don’t mean it, and I have a lot of things to take care of, so-”

“I’ll let you go,” Chris said. “I have to make some preparations of my own. But let me ask you, is there anything special that you like to be called? Anything specific like ‘sweet pea,’ or does the standard ‘baby’ apply?”

“Good-bye, Chris.”

“Good-bye, sweet pea.”

Lance hung up and got back to work.

He stopped and looked at his phone.

Chris wasn’t serious.

Chris was serious.

But not serious-serious, just Chris-serious.

He shouldn’t have vented to JC.

Since when did Chris support Lance’s interest in male companionship?

Lance got off the plane and took out his phone, business in motion. As he made his way outside, security ushered him to the waiting SUV. Ending his call, Lance got inside, dropping to the seat and rubbing his eyes. No more business until he got back home. Time for a long weekend of fun, friends, parties-

“Hi, sweet pea.”

As the car moved into traffic, Lance lowered his hands. Chris grinned at him from the front seat. Chris. Chris with those happy dark eyes and that thick dark hair and that happy “gotcha” smile. “God, you look amazing,” Lance said. “What are you doing here?” He’d called around and checked, and he was supposed to have been the first one in.

“I came early to greet you,” Chris said, crawling back from the passenger seat to join Lance. Lance got a tight hug, a warm and welcoming hug, longer than usual from Chris. “How was your flight?”

Chris’s hair was longer than it had been the last time they’d been face-to-face, and Lance wanted to run his fingers through it. To sink his fingers into it. “It was fine.” Chris had come early to pick him up? “How’ve you been?”

“No one else is here yet, so it’s quiet as hell, but I’ve kept myself busy.”

That usually wasn’t a good thing. “When did you get here?”

“Yesterday,” Chris said. “I had some things to take care of.”

“Things like what?” Mentally, Lance crossed his fingers. He hoped that Chris had dropped the “I’ll be your boyfriend” idea. He didn’t understand Chris’s motivation for coming up with it in the first place.

“Things like things,” Chris said. “You’ll see.” He looked past Lance, pointing out the window behind Lance’s back. “Hey, look at that.”

“What?” Lance asked, turning to see.

“That,” Chris said, still pointing over his shoulder. Lance strained to see, looking around for anything out of the ordinary. Then he heard, right in his ear, far too soft for the driver to hear, “You look great. I can’t wait to be alone with you.”

Lance turned back to face Chris, giving him a suspicious look. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Chris said with round-eyed innocence. “When are the other guys getting here?”

“Not for a few hours,” Lance said, checking his watch. He’d ignore Chris’s irrational behavior until it became unbearable. Which might not take too long, depending on how much interaction they had. “None of the other people are coming in until later tonight.” Without the other guys, without even other friends and celebrities around, he was trapped alone with Chris for hours. “I’m meeting someone in half an hour, and then-”

“No, you’re not,” Chris said.

Lance frowned. “Yes, I am. I-”

“No, I met him this morning,” Chris said. “I didn’t want him to take up all of my Lance time, so I rescheduled him and took care of it myself. He was pretty nice.”

“You met him?” Lance asked.

“Yeah,” Chris said.

That wasn’t possible. Lance stared at Chris, wondering what had possessed him. “What did he say?”

“That he’d have the room all set up by noon,” Chris said. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Yes, but… “You can’t do that,” Lance said.

“I did do that,” Chris said. The car stopped. “Oh, look, we’re here.”

Lance had to get Chris alone, in private somewhere, so that he could tell Chris to get a grip. Whatever Chris’s scheme was, whatever little plans were whirring around that crazy brain, Lance didn’t want to have any part in them. Chris wasn’t being friendly or being helpful, Chris was up to something, and Lance had to make it stop.

From the car until they reached Lance’s room, Chris and security were with him. Once the room was officially cleared and his bags were deposited, Lance went inside with Chris and closed the door, turning to face Chris, his mind made up that-

Lance stared at Chris, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. His mind and body were screaming at him, but his voice was a shocked whisper. He’d wasted years waiting for the impossible moment of kissing Chris, but he’d never expected, he’d never thought, he, Chris, it was, “What the hell is wrong with you?!” God, Chris, Chris had kissed him, Chris had kissed him, but why? As soon as he’d come out, it had been obvious that their friendship would never be the same. He hadn’t been able to cut his losses and move on, for several strong reasons, but he’d come to terms with it. But now…

He couldn’t stop staring. In shock, largely, but also with private, desperate regret. God, if only. Chris, the man he’d been in love with for nearly a decade. How often had he dreamt about the soft press of those lips? How often had-

Lance slammed that door shut. He knew better than to indulge himself. It was never going to happen. His only problem now was making Chris stop playing this painful game before he let Chris hurt him the way he’d promised himself he’d never allow.

“I just wanted to say hello,” Chris said. “You don’t kiss your boyfriends?”

Lance found himself presented with choices. He could tell himself not to overreact and calmly attempt to persuade Chris to leave him the hell alone. He could ignore Chris until the harassment stopped. Or, “Yes,” he said looking Chris straight in the eyes. “I also fuck my boyfriends, so if you really want to do this, you’re in for a good time.”

“Our relationship hasn’t progressed that far,” Chris said. “I’m an old-fashioned boy.” Taking Lance’s hand, he started to walk towards the bed. “Come sit down and talk to-” Chris stopped as he realized that Lance wasn’t budging. “Sit down and talk to me,” he said, tugging harder on Lance’s hand. “Sit down and talk to me,” he repeated, digging his heels in and pulling.

Lance snatched his hand free, tempted to smack Chris with it. “What’s the point of this?” he demanded.

“You don’t have a boyfriend, but you want the experience of sharing this weekend with a special someone,” Chris said. He grinned. “I’m very special.”

Sometimes Lance was tempted to see Chris not as funny, but obnoxious. Unfortunately, deep down, he always found Chris hilarious. “You’re very special,” he agreed. “But you aren’t my boyfriend, and you don’t want to be my boyfriend, and I don’t want you to be my boyfriend, so why are you here?”

“I could be a great boyfriend,” Chris said, pretending to be hurt. “Especially for you. We have so much in common.”

“We don’t listen to the same kind of music, we don’t have the same interests, we don’t hang out with the same people, we-”

“We have five very important things in common,” Chris said.

“What are they?” Lance asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We sing together, that’s a big one,” Chris said. He ticked the next few points off on his fingers. “JC. Joey. Justin.”

“That’s four,” Lance said, unimpressed.

“Each other,” Chris said. “Who do you list first as your very best friend?”

“Joey,” Lance said.

“Okay, after Joey,” Chris said.

“JC,” Lance said.

Chris glared at him. “After JC.”

“Justin,” Lance said.

“After Justin!” Chris snapped, frustrated.

“You,” Lance said. “By default.”

Chris poked him in the chest. “You’re trying to hurt my feelings.”
They were getting off-track. “Chris, we can have a great weekend as friends. The five of us can hang out together, you and I can hang out together, we can have fun. But I don’t need a boyfriend, and you’re acting like an idiot.”

“It won’t be as easy to get rid of me as you think,” Chris said. “We’re sharing a room.”

No, they weren’t. “What are you talking about?” Lance asked, not wanting to know.

“I stayed in my official room last night, but from now on I’m staying in here with you. I’ll have them send my stuff over. It’ll be good companionship boyfriend time, sharing a bathroom, sleeping together.”

“I thought that our relationship hadn’t progressed that far,” Lance said dryly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No sex doesn’t mean no cuddling,” Chris said, insulted. “Now sit down so we can talk before the other guys get here. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“You know what I’ve been up to,” Lance said, standing his ground. “We talk every day.”

“We do not,” Chris said. “We text each other a few times a week. That’s not the same thing. We only actually talk to each other once a week, about professional bullshit and the other guys. You haven’t told me how you actually are, what you’ve been thinking about, what you’ve been going through-”

“You could have asked,” Lance said. It hurt to know that Chris knew that and hadn’t bothered to push the issue until now. It pissed him off to be confronted about it. “You never tell me any of those things, either.”

“You could have asked,” Chris said, right back to him.

“You’re not the most receptive audience,” Lance said.

“I get my best Lance news from JC,” Chris said. “He tells me how you really are, what you’re really going through. You went through that whole thing with Mark and Paul and never said a thing about it.”

“JC talks about me?” Lance asked. When had private JC turned into a gossip?

“I need someone to keep me informed,” Chris said. “You don’t tell me anything.”

“I have to get my Chris news from Joey,” Lance snapped back. Chris knew about Mark and Paul? What had Chris’s reaction to that been? He didn’t tell Chris things for a reason. He hated not sharing with Chris, hated not being open, hated being secretive with one of his closest friends, but he wasn’t comfortable telling Chris about his love life, his sex life, his romantic-sexual thoughts and feelings and desires and experiences. “What if I had told you about Mark and Paul? What would you have done? You would’ve changed the subject or made some stupid comment.”

“I would’ve asked you why the hell you’re wasting your time on complete assholes,” Chris said. “What does Joey tell you about me?”

“How things actually are in your life,” Lance said. “Your family, your career, what you’re doing, how you spend your time. All you ever tell me is that you’re fine, that not much is happening, that things are okay. There’s no information there!”

“We used to be a lot closer,” Chris said.

“You used to want to be around me,” Lance said.

Chris stared at him. The look in Chris’s eyes reminded Lance that the truth hurt, but Chris didn’t like to show it. “You’re one of my favorite people to be with,” Chris said.

Lance kept his mouth shut, swallowing words on how Chris hadn’t demonstrated that in years.

“We’re not used to being together anymore,” Chris said. “We’ve stopped sharing our lives with each other the way we used to. We got into stupid habits of skimming the surface. A few days of intensive boyfriending should change that. If it doesn’t, we’ll try couples therapy.”

Lance had to be clear. “You want to change that?”

“I miss you,” Chris said. “I know you miss me.”

“You don’t know that,” Lance said.

“I know you miss me,” Chris repeated.

Of course he missed Chris. “We don’t have to share a room to change things.”

“It’ll be just like the good old days,” Chris said. “Except this is a much nicer room, and you won’t wear the horsie pajamas.”

“That was one time,” Lance said. Chris was grinning at him; he couldn’t help but smile back, loving that grin, loving their shared memories. “One time!” he protested. “I was cold, they were warm, it-”

“Light blue flannel with happy little horsies all over them,” Chris said. “I didn’t understand how a kid wearing a three-year-old’s jammies could have a voice like that.”

“At least my voice dropped,” Lance said. “Maybe you should take hormones. Do you think that steroids would help, or do you need an operation?”

“You can make as much fun of me as you want,” Chris said. “At least no one ever called me Jammie Horsie Boy.”

They made fun of each other for a while. Then they sat down on the bed, settling into regular conversation. Lance wasn’t ready to tell Chris all about his sex life, but he did gradually open up, and so did Chris, and they ended up having an extensive conversation that rambled over topics they hadn’t explored in-depth with each other in too long.

Time sped past, and suddenly hours were gone and JC was knocking on the door.

Right after JC came Joey and Justin, and the five of them had a reunion. They went out to dinner together, just the five of them, and then to a club.

Being with the rest of the guys was like nothing else. Any time the five of them were together, everything just clicked, that old bond snapping instantly into place. Lance could hardly bear to tear himself away, but after enough hours, he had to leave them for a minute to visit the bathroom.

In there, alone, Lance had a moment to himself, a moment to think about everything. Joey’s last joke. Justin’s last story. JC’s last laughing fit. Chris.

He already felt closer to Chris. Maybe that was crazy, but after their afternoon together, after admitting that there was a problem and demonstrating a willingness to work on it, now when their eyes met, there was an openness of communication between them, a spark of new and special recognition.

Chris had kissed him. The briefest brush of lips to lips, but a deliberate kiss. Chris had kissed him, and he couldn’t remember it without a fierce pounding of his heart.

After the first club, they dropped by a second, but eventually it closed. When they got back to the hotel, everybody hugged, and said good night, and promised to kick each other’s asses in the upcoming events, and parted ways.

Chris followed Lance into his room.

As the door closed, and Chris locked it, Lance sighed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Time for bed, sweet pea,” Chris said. “I’ll tuck you in if you tuck me.”

“That’s a new way to put it.” Lance ruffled his hair, tired and drunk enough to admit, at least to himself, that he wanted Chris to stay. “How are you going to explain this to other people?”

“I won’t,” Chris said. “We’re friends. I can sleep in your room if I want to. Which side of the bed do you want?”

Chris got into bed in underwear and a T-shirt. Lance did the same, as a concession to Chris. With the lights out, it took a moment for Lance’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“You had a good time tonight,” Chris said.

He always did, with the four of them as his companions. “So did you.”

“You looked great tonight,” Chris said. “You should have danced more.”

“I wanted to talk to you guys.” The idea of Chris enjoying the way he looked still got to him. When was he going to get over being in love? When was he going to get over Chris?

Sharing a room with Chris still provided the old, delicious thrills. It was a chance to examine Chris close-up, to study and observe Chris’s habits. The way Chris groaned and popped his shoulder getting out of bed. The way Chris puttered around in a sleepy fog before getting some momentum going. Watching Chris dress and groom himself was a sweet pleasure for Lance. Not staring openly, pretending to go about his own morning routine as he normally would, proved to be ridiculously difficult, just the way it always had.

He hadn’t been given this chance in a long time, and he didn’t know when it would come again, so he soaked it up, as surreptitiously as possible.

He still wanted to lick his way over Chris’s thighs. Chris still made him hot with lust. And now Chris’s hair was longer, and so thick, and if Lance could just-

“Ready?” Chris asked.

Lance didn’t even remember getting dressed.

They had a busy day. Group meeting in the morning, general meeting with everyone at the event after that, greeting and hanging out with the other celebrities, another meeting, and on, and on, and then it was time to go to a party before the first official events began the next day.

Lance found himself back in the hotel room, watching Chris change clothes for the club. The way those jeans hugged Chris from knee to waist made Lance’s own pants tighter. That had been the only real drawback to rooming with Chris, or spending any time at all with Chris; finding new and different ways to disguise and cover his arousal.

They went to the club in the same car. Lance managed to keep up with Chris’s conversation on the previous events of the day, but it was hard. Chris kept making eye contact, which was incredibly distracting. Looking right into Chris’s eyes, seeing the rich color there, seeing all of Chris in there, all of the life and personality and energy and awareness that was Chris, it made Lance’s breath catch with a new rush of love each time.

He was surprised he didn’t hyperventilate.

Maybe there was a reason he and Chris hadn’t stayed super-close. Being around Chris this much was rough. Loving Chris from a distance was difficult, too, but at least he could let other things absorb his attention, and he could pretend that Chris wasn’t the main focus of his life. Interacting directly and openly with Chris this often made it impossible for Lance to lie to himself. Nothing took precedence over Chris.

Inside the club, Chris stuck close. They hung out with the other guys together. They circulated among the other stars together. They drank together. They talked together. They laughed together.

As the night progressed, Chris grew more attentive. Maybe it was the alcohol. Sometimes Chris’s hand was on the small of Lance’s back, sometimes it was between his shoulder blades, sometimes it was on his hip, but it was always on Lance somewhere, resting familiarly on Lance’s body like it was comfortable there. He made sure that Lance had a drink when Lance wanted one; he made sure that they had somewhere to sit if Lance wanted to sit; they talked to whoever Lance wanted to talk to. He was funny, interesting, and seemed genuinely happy to be there with Lance.

If they really were boyfriends, they’d have real nights like this.

Lance didn’t know whether to savor every second of it, or be horribly devastated by the fact of its gross inauthenticity. Since being devastated would end the night, and he couldn’t bear to break away from Chris’s conversation and Chris’s laughter and Chris’s gaze and Chris’s hand on his back, he stayed and savored.

In the car on the way back to the hotel, Chris’s body was a warm weight at his side. He didn’t move away from it, and Chris made no effort to put space between them. Chris was so close that Lance could only risk eye contact a few times, spending most of their slowly rolling, privately hushed conversation watching the road and various points inside the car. There was a faintly textured pattern on Lance’s jeans, and Chris began to stroke it, tracing its line with absently caressing fingers.

Chris had never been comfortable with this kind of physical contact. Chris was willing to touch a lot for the sake of playing around; Chris was a very physical comedian. But touching just to be touching?

“Your other boyfriends don’t call you ‘sweet pea?’” Chris asked.

Other boyfriends. Like Chris was one of them. “No,” Lance said.

Chris’s touch roamed across Lance’s thigh. Lance found it harder and harder to breathe normally. Chris smelled like alcohol and sweat and club smoke. “What do they call you?”

“Lance.” Amazing, that he could remember his name when Chris’s fingertips were rubbing slowly up and then down his thigh.

“I already use that one,” Chris said. “What else?”

“Baby,” Lance said. “Babe. Honey. Nothing that interesting.” Pet names weren’t his thing.

“What about sweetie?” Chris asked.

“Not really.” Lance’s dick was rock-hard and within inches of Chris’s straying touch. If Chris couldn’t see it in the inconstant light of the road, Chris might soon feel it. Not pulling away was taking a big risk, but Lance couldn’t help but hold still and try not to moan out loud. His thigh was hypersensitive, his toes curling, his heart racing, his breath shaky, his stomach clenched from the anticipation of not knowing where Chris’s fingers would travel next, from the tension of holding back and not kissing Chris, not touching Chris in return, not pushing Chris’s hand to where it was most desperately needed.

“What about Big Dick Bass?”

Oh, god, were they having this conversation now? “JC told you that?” Lance and JC needed to have a serious discussion about what JC chose to share with other people.

“Do you want me to call you that?” Chris asked.

“No.”

Chris’s laughter was soft and a little drunk. “What should I call you?”

“Lance.” They were pulling up in front of the hotel, which signified two very bad things. First, the glorious torture of Chris’s caress was about to come to an end. Second, Lance was about to walk around in public with a major hard-on.

“Everybody calls you that,” Chris said. “I want you to have a special name just from me.”

“Let me know what you come up with so I can make you stop.”

Chris laughed as security opened the door. Just like that, Chris’s hand lifted and Chris climbed out. With his own quiet groan that expressed a variety of suffering, Lance followed.

It was only Thursday night, early Friday morning. He had a whole weekend to go. Lance was never going to make it.

Lance made it through the lobby and upstairs without incident. He jacked off in the bathroom in record time, biting his fist to cover the sound of his moan of release. After wiping up splatters of cum and flushing the toilet, he crawled in bed beside Chris, draping his forearm across his eyes and praying for the strength to make it through this beauteous hell, this agonizing heaven.

Chris rolled over, nudging a knee against his thigh, pushing fingers between Lance’s back and the mattress. Lance raised his arm and looked over; Chris fell asleep right in front of his eyes.

The light was still on. In another minute, Lance would have to get up and turn it off. He watched Chris sleep. He wanted to stroke Chris’s stubble. He always did.

Chris’s life hadn’t always been easy. Professional and financial success didn’t solve personal issues. Old wounds could still cause twinges of pain. Lance wanted to better Chris’s life. Wanted to give Chris emotional security. Love. Stability. Being in love with Chris didn’t just mean that Lance wanted to have sex with Chris. It meant that he wanted to be allowed to express his love for Chris in every way he could, that he wanted the freedom and permission to let out the love he felt inside, to live it.

He wanted to stroke Chris’s eyebrows. They were fascinatingly expressive. Instead, he got up and turned off the light.

He heard Chris roll over in the dark. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that Chris had rolled away from where he’d been. Getting back in, he rolled onto his side, facing Chris’s back.

This was painfully familiar, bringing up rich, haunting memories. How many nights had he shared a bed with Chris and watched Chris’s back? How many nights had he looked across a room and watched Chris sleep in the other bed? How many nights had he fought, warred with himself? The old questions came back now, the ones he’d struggled with over countless long nights. What would happen if he touched Chris? If he touched Chris, where was safest? What if Chris woke up? If he broke through his own barrier and did it once, would he do it again and again, until Chris noticed one too many times? What if he pretended that it was an accident? What if he just touched Chris’s back? What if he just said that he’d bumped against it?

Lance’s hand hovered in mid-air, an inch from Chris’s spine. Closer. Almost brushing the cotton of Chris’s shirt. Fingers trembling with desire.

Friends touched friends, didn’t they? All five of them touched each other, at various times in various ways for various reasons. Why couldn’t he touch Chris? He’d touched Chris earlier in the day and lightning hadn’t struck.

That had been in daylight, with Chris’s knowledge and consent, for practical purposes. This was at night, in the dark, while Chris slumbered unaware and an ache built deep in Lance’s body.

Deep in Lance’s heart.

He loved Chris.

He would never have Chris.

It hurt to concede defeat once more, but Lance lowered his hand without making contact.

Some things didn’t change.

Friday was challenge day. Lance was busy all day in a weird mix of friendly and professional activities. Chris was almost constantly by his side, bringing him cold drinks, hustling him away from a particularly long-winded celebrity, letting him know when he was needed elsewhere. He shared the day with all four of the guys, but particularly with Chris, gathering up memory after memory of fun and friends and fans and laughter and competition.

Afterwards, he and Chris relaxed with JC for a while, and then with Joey, before the inevitable trip to the club. They sat with Justin, and while he and Justin engaged in some friendly trash-talking about the upcoming game, Chris bought a bottle for the table and casually rubbed his lower back like petting him was an unconscious gesture.

It was a good night. The other stars were getting more familiar with each other and were settling in for another day or two, and everyone just hung out for a while. Then JC left for another club, and Justin took off, and then Joey heard of a great dance club.

“You want to go?” Chris asked Lance, stretching his arm across Lance’s shoulders.

“No,” Lance said. He was content right where he was. His spine loosening, he relaxed, tempted to let his eyes drift shut. Normally he’d be up and moving, active and talking, but he just wanted to sit and soak up the night, the moment, Chris’s company.

“You two look cozy.” A certain actor Lance wasn’t wild about leaned against their table with a smirk.

“We’re very cozy, thanks,” Chris said. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”

“Don’t get any more snug, or someone’s going to start talking,” the guy said with a smug laugh.

“Talking about what?” Lance asked with a polite smile.

“Yeah, what?” Chris asked, and kissed Lance’s cheek. One, two, three kisses, Chris’s lips against his skin. “We’re boyfriends,” Chris announced to the actor.

“Boyfriends,” the guy repeated. “Whatever,” he said, and left.

“Witty,” Chris said.

“Very witty,” Lance agreed.

“There’s a little, you have a little something, right there, on your cheek,” Chris said, rubbing his thumb over Lance’s cheekbone.

“What?” Lance asked.

“A spot I missed,” Chris said, and kissed him there.

“We’re in public,” Lance said.

“Is my mouth on your dick?” Chris asked.

Wow. Lance swallowed a quick, “Can it be?” and said, “No.”

“Then no one’s going to say anything.” Chris kissed his temple. “You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot in here.” So hot he wanted to climb out of his skin and into Chris’s. The weight of Chris’s arm over his shoulders, the casual press of Chris’s body against his all along his side, the recurring brush of Chris’s lips against his face, it all conspired to make Lance feel more hot and intoxicated than a mere club and alcohol could.

Chris’s mouth on his dick? Chris’s mouth on his dick? Chris’s mouth on his dick?

“You’re pretty hot all by yourself,” Chris said.

Now Chris was flirting with him? “Thanks,” Lance said, giving in to it. “So are you.”

Chris laughed, the arm around his shoulders giving him a little squeeze. “I sure am.”

When the club closed and they went back to the hotel, Lance wanted Chris to go to sleep so that he could have some time alone to process everything, but Chris apparently felt newly chatty. Lying on his back, eyes periodically drifting shut, Lance prayed for Chris to roll over and sleep, but Chris kept talking at him, rubbing his upper arm.

Lance was tired, and drunk, and overloaded on Chris, so his attention wasn’t entirely on exactly what Chris said. Sometimes he just closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Chris’s voice. Sometimes he just gazed at Chris’s face and into Chris’s eyes and zoned out on eye contact.

The constant, slow stroking of his upper arm felt great. Chris’s hand kept slipping under his sleeve to get direct skin on skin contact. When this weekend ended, Lance was either going with Chris or taking Chris’s hand home with him, because he was now officially addicted to Chris’s touch. He’d never had it this good in his life.

There was no chance, absolutely zero, that he’d ever get to make love to Chris. The odds of his dick entering Chris’s body were nil. There was just no way.

He had, on occasion, weighed the odds of being given the opportunity to give Chris head. He’d spun numerous improbable fantasies of Chris needing relief or accepting his attention in that specific way. There were many things that he would never get from Chris, and there were many things that he would never be able to give Chris, but guys liked head, so maybe, one day, someday, under a certain specific set of circumstances…

“Are you falling asleep on me?”

Lance struggled to open his eyes, drawn by the sound of Chris’s voice. “I’m listening,” he said, focusing his gaze on Chris’s face. If he could just kiss the hair on Chris’s chin… If he could just touch it. Maybe even nuzzle it, just a little…

Oh, his eyes were shut again. He tried to blink them open.

“Good night, sweet pea.” Chris kissed his forehead.

Lance was in love.

Game day.

The morning was busy, as usual. Chris didn’t hover, he was just always there, somehow, making sure that Lance had everything he needed, making sure that Lance was fed and hydrated, making smart comments, making Lance laugh.

Chris was playing for the Daze. Lance was not only playing for the Knights, he was coaching as well. When they parted ways, Chris hugged him and said, “I hope you coach better than you play.”

Lance smiled. “I hope you play better than you sing.”

Chris laughed and put a gently squeezing hand on his hip, kissing his opposite cheek. “Good luck, coach.”

Lance watched Chris walk away.

He was supposed to have his mind on the game?

“You won!” Chris burst out of their hotel room and launched himself at Lance, who caught him, staggering back against the wall of the hallway. “You won!”

“Whoa.” Lance put Chris down. Chris was not light. “Where have you been?!”

“You won,” Chris said again, peppering kisses across Lance’s face. “I’m so proud of you, sweet pea, you’re the best charity game basketball coach in all of *NSYNC.”

“Thanks,” Lance said. He was pretty proud of himself. For one thing, his team had won. For another thing, he’d managed to pay attention to the game more than to Chris, which had been quite a feat. Watching Chris jog up and down the court, thick dark hair flopping, those legs… “Where have you been?” he repeated. Chris had stopped kissing him, but his face felt hot, and Chris’s hands were on his waist, fingers slowly twisting in the hem of his T-shirt.

“I had to take care of something,” Chris said.

Lance wanted to put his own hands on Chris’s waist. Chris was standing too close, and Chris’s mouth was right there for the taking, and Chris’s eyes were looking right at him, dark chocolate brown with such thick black lashes…

“You’re staring at me,” Chris whispered.

Caught, Lance cleared his throat, looking over Chris’s shoulder at the ajar room door and wishing that he had somewhere to put his hands.

“It was nice,” Chris said, raising one hand to turn his face back, knuckles brushing Lance’s jaw. Lance was looking right into Chris’s eyes again, and already he couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to look away. Chris’s voice was soft. “Do you like what you see?”

Lance had never felt more trapped. Chris was coming on to him. Chris didn’t mean anything by it, was only playing boyfriends, and all Lance had to do was make some smart-assed reply and the moment would pass. But he couldn’t think of anything witty to say. All he could think of was feeling Chris’s lips on his again.

What kind of question was that, anyway? Did he like what he saw? It was a yes or no question, and no wasn’t an option by any stretch of the imagination. No, he didn’t like what he saw. He didn’t like the way Chris looked. He didn’t like the richness and depth of Chris’s eyes. He didn’t like the soft, tempting curve of Chris’s lower lip. He didn’t like the dramatic arch of Chris’s eyebrows. He didn’t like the thickness of Chris’s hair. He didn’t want to stroke Chris’s dark goatee. He didn’t want to stroke Chris’s ears. He didn’t want to kiss Chris’s neck and slide his fingers across Chris’s necklaces and-

“Lance.” Chris’s hands slid slowly, firmly, up from Lance’s waist, up over Lance’s abdomen, up to Lance’s chest. His already stiffening dick twitched, his nipples hardening. “I want to be a good boyfriend.”

Lance finally had Chris back again, as good a friend as ever, even closer than before. He couldn’t jeopardize that by alienating Chris with the wrong word, the wrong look, the wrong touch. One bad move, one hormone-fueled decision on Lance’s part, and Chris would be gone again. Having Chris’s friendship meant everything to him. He couldn’t risk it. So he swallowed a moan, held his hands and hips still by sheer force of will, and said, with a smile, “You’ve been pretty good so far.”

“My sweet pea won the game, and I’m so proud,” Chris said, his hands sliding down and flattening themselves against Lance’s stomach.

“I gathered that,” Lance said. He’d tried to capture each kiss in his memory.

“We don’t have to go to the club until later,” Chris said. His hands curved back around Lance’s ribcage, holding Lance’s sides, and he tugged gently, coaxing Lance forward as he stepped back. “Come into the room with me.”

Lance knew that Chris wasn’t inviting him to bed. Lance knew that Chris had no intention of having sex with him. Oddly enough, that made it easier for him to let Chris guide him into the room. He was curious about what Chris wanted, and he was eager to find out. Chris was many things, but never dull, and if Chris had something in mind, Lance wanted to know what it was.

Then, as the door swung wide and Chris backed into the room, Lance saw what it was. Red fabric draped over the lamps. Red candles lit around the room. Red rose petals scattered across the floor and furniture. A red tablecloth spread over an intimately set table for two.

The door fell shut behind him while Lance was still staring in wonder. “You didn’t do this for me,” he said, looking around the room in disbelief.

“Of course I did,” Chris said. “This is your big night. Your team won.”

Lance looked at Chris. “What if I’d lost?”

“Then all of this would be blue instead of red, and I’d do a lot of gloating,” Chris said. Chris’s eyes closed as he leaned in and placed a tender, lingering kiss on Lance’s cheek. “Congratulations,” he whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

It was so hard to keep “I love you” from falling out of his mouth, Lance had to bite his own tongue.

Chris’s hands slowly left Lance’s body. “Go sit down,” he said with a gentle push before backing up, physical contact ended. “There’s one last touch.”

“There’s more?” Lance asked. He sat at the table, reminding himself to savor every second of Chris’s wonderful attention, remembering that he could have an emotional breakdown once the weekend was over.

Which would be sooner than he was willing to consider.

“One last thing.” Chris picked up a remote control from the nightstand, and one of Lance’s favorite slow, country ballads began to play.

He laughed, the terrible aching knot in his chest already loosening. “You hate this song.” He loved being with Chris. He loved being in Chris’s company. He loved that Chris could always make him laugh. Chris made even the worst pain easier to bear.

“It sucks,” Chris said. “But you like it.” He sat across from Lance, reaching for the lid of the first covered dish before them. “Ready to eat?”

While they ate, they talked about the game, which had been a lot of fun. Everyone had relaxed and had a good time, playing around and acting as foolish as usual. Lance had enjoyed his coaching duties; thinking and strategizing and planning were more fun for him than actually playing.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Chris said. “Your team sucked.”

“We had good people,” Lance said.

“I think Justin went easy on you,” Chris said. “He didn’t want you to suffer a humiliating loss.”

“Justin wouldn’t throw the game,” Lance said.

Chris shrugged. “I would.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.”

“I could have paid everybody on my team fifty bucks to let you win,” Chris said.

Lance raised his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t have, and they don’t need your money.”

“I’m just saying. You have no idea what went on during our team huddles.”

“Here’s what I’m just saying,” Lance said. “You wouldn’t have been proud of me for winning if you’d thrown the game. You’d only be proud of me for winning if I’d actually won through effort.”

Chris sipped his wine, then gave Lance an irritated look. “You know me too well.”

Lance smiled.

The official celebration party started out loud and busy. Then people started breaking off into smaller groups, taking off for other hot spots. Eventually, the party dwindled to something quieter and less active.

“Is it us?” Lance asked Chris. “Do we drive people away?”

“We must,” Chris said. “I think it’s my breath. Is it my breath?”

“Probably.” Lance poured himself another glass, relaxing into Chris’s arm around his waist. “Maybe we should just call it a night.”

“You want to go back to the hotel?” Chris asked.

“It can’t be any less exciting than being here.” Lance looked around the room, then at Chris. “Unless there’s somewhere else you want to go.”

“We can go back to the hotel,” Chris said. “But I’m not cleaning up those rose petals.”

The food, table, and chairs were gone, but the rose petals remained. Lance scooped a few from the bed, rubbing their satin smoothness between his fingers as he turned on the CD player Chris had set up in one corner. The player held three CD’s, each one apparently made and labeled by Chris. Dinner 1, Dinner 2, and After Dinner Refreshment. The first two were slow country ballads. Lance tried the third one.

Slow, sultry R&B came out of the speakers as Chris came out of the bathroom. He looked surprised to hear the music, but he grinned at Lance. “You want to dance?”

“To this?” This was rhythmic, seductive, let’s get naked music. How far was Chris willing to go to complete his role as Lance’s boyfriend for the weekend?

“Sure.” Chris came closer, offering a hand. “You have to let me lead.”

Lance was so scared, so painfully eager, that he acted contrary in self-defense. “Why do you get to lead?”

“Because it’s my CD.”

Chris was right in front of him, one hand semi-patiently waiting. Lance looked into Chris’s eyes, and his throat closed up on him. He looked at Chris’s hand, and his heart contracted. But he couldn’t say no, because he wanted it too badly.

Lance let the petals on his palm fall softly to the floor, and put his hand in Chris’s. As Chris’s arm snaked around his waist to bring his body closer, he closed his eyes and prayed that when his body reacted predictably and he got a hard-on, a miracle would occur and Chris wouldn’t notice.

“Relax,” Chris murmured by his ear, holding him closer. “I’ve danced before.”

Relax? How was he supposed to do that? He was dancing with Chris, moving with Chris’s body. His heart was pounding. He was so self-conscious he felt clumsy and awkward. What if he pressed in too close? What if he-

“Lance, where’s your other hand?”

Lance panicked. Where was it supposed to be? Where was it? Was he-

“Put it on my waist or my back or my shoulder or something,” Chris said. “Put it on my ass if you have to, but don’t leave it flapping out there.”

Oh. Now feeling incredibly stupid, Lance gingerly rested his hand on Chris’s shoulder. It was warm. Heat and awareness spread in from Lance’s palm.

“Try closing your eyes.” Chris’s arm tightened around his waist, drawing him closer; Lance realized that he kept gradually backing away from Chris as they danced. Constantly afraid that he was getting too close for Chris’s comfort, he was overcompensating by backing up. “Relax, sweet pea.”

Lance closed his eyes. It didn’t help, but he stuck with it. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“I told you, I want to have a pet name for just you from just me.”

“But why sweet pea?”

“Oh.” Chris dropped Lance’s hand, wrapping his arm around Lance’s shoulders and bringing his other arm up to join it, effectively pulling Lance’s chest against his. Lance’s newly freed hand fluttered for a moment, unsure, before Lance decided to put both hands on Chris’s waist. Chris’s body was warm, and solid, and Lance’s hands were in love with the feel of him. It was hard not to moan as Lance’s dick stiffened with whole-hearted enjoyment and keen interest. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Lance pushed himself to pretend to keep up with the conversation. He was touching Chris. They were dancing together. They-

Wait, no, they weren’t. When had they stopped dancing? They were just holding onto each other, swaying slowly with the music.

“I think it’s because your eyes are green,” Chris said. “Peas are green.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Did it? Lance’s hands wanted to move, to stroke over Chris’s body. Slowly, they slid along the line of Chris’s waist, careful not to stray down, until his fingers met at Chris’s spine. “And what about the ‘sweet’ part?” It was incredible to be touching Chris, really touching Chris, at last. So incredible, his fingertips tingled, and his voice was breathy, and his dick ached.

“I missed you,” Chris said. His voice was soft, and he wasn’t really answering Lance’s question, but that didn’t matter because those words were perfect.

I love you. With his eyes still closed, Lance had less sensory input, and he put more of his attention into the feel of Chris in his arms, the feel of Chris’s arms around him, Chris’s chest against his, Chris’s back against his hands. He and Chris swayed slowly together. “I missed you, too.” His voice was soft, low, and he couldn’t express his love with words but it was bleeding into his tone.

Chris’s arms tightened around him. Chris’s palm cupped the back of his head, fingers sliding through his hair. “Lance.” Chris’s cheek was against his, and they’d stopped moving altogether, simply holding each other, holding still.

Lance soaked up Chris.

They breathed together.

Lance wondered if Chris knew.

Lance wondered if saying “I love you” would be redundant.

But what if Chris didn’t know? Suddenly, the idea of Chris not knowing was equally as frightening as the possibility of Chris finding out. What if Chris never knew how much Lance loved him? What if Chris never knew how important, how special, how vital he was to Lance’s life?

Lance masturbated in the bathroom. He was so hard, so ready, that it barely took a second before he was gasping and coming.

In his T-shirt and boxer-briefs, he dusted rose petals to the floor and got into bed. Rolling onto his side, he faced Chris’s empty half of the bed, letting his hand stray across the invisible barrier.

It felt good to love Chris. It felt right to be in love with Chris. It was difficult, sometimes, and it hurt more deeply and more often than he would have preferred. But he no longer wanted it to end. He wanted to love Chris. He wanted to go on loving Chris.

The lights went out, and Lance pulled his hand back. Chris got in beside him. He felt a hand on his thigh, and he expected it to be quickly removed, because of course it had been an accident.

Except, it didn’t leave.

It patted up until it found his hip, and stayed there.

“What time do we have to get up?” Chris asked. He was awfully close.

“The car’s coming for Justin at eleven, and JC and Joey are leaving at noon,” Lance said. “We’re supposed to meet for breakfast at nine.”

Chris’s palm rubbed gently over Lance’s hip. His thumb stroked a few inches over Lance’s pelvic bone.

After Justin, JC, and Joey left, it would be time for Chris to go. Lance would have to say good-bye. What would separation do to them? What if emotional distance crept in as physical distance increased again?

“Maybe I’ll come out to visit you for a while,” Chris said.

Lance would love that. His heart leapt at the suggestion. “When?”

“Next weekend.”

That soon? “Really?”

“If you’re busy-”

“No, that would be great.” He already couldn’t wait. A visit from Chris, next weekend. Chris staying in his house. “That would be great,” he said again, because he was too excited to stay silent but unwilling to express his true level of happiness.

“You know what we should do the weekend after that?” Chris asked.

If his heart kept doing all of this pounding and leaping and tightening up on him, Lance was going to be in serious trouble. “What?”

“You should come to visit me.” Chris’s hand stroked up his side a little, then over and down and…Chris was rubbing his stomach. Chris was rubbing his stomach and it was seriously turning him on. “We can hang out.”

“Yeah,” Lance said, while his dick swelled with each stroke and press of Chris’s hand. “That’d be great.”

“Good.” Chris’s hand rested on his hip again. “Good night.”

Lance told his dick to take a break, but it was excited by Chris’s nearness and Chris’s hand being so close and all of the events of the past weekend and all of the possibilities of the weekends to come. “Good night.”

“Chris.” Lance was showered and dressed, and Chris was still clinging stubbornly to sleep. “Chris, get up.”

Chris swatted at the air in Lance’s direction. “Ten more minutes.”

“We’re meeting the guys in five minutes.”

“They’ll wait.”

Lance wrapped one hand around Chris’s wrist and put his other hand on Chris’s shoulder and pulled. “They won’t have to wait, because you’re getting up.”

Chris reached out, twisting himself around and pulling Lance down, and suddenly Lance found himself sprawled beneath Chris’s body. “How many minutes do I have?” Chris asked.

Flushed with heat and almost entirely breathless, gazing up into the face of the man he loved most in the world, Lance felt dizzy. “Five.” He barely remembered what that word signified. Chris’s eyes were so, so, so... God, he was in love with Chris, and if that rendered him inarticulate, so be it.

Chris climbed off of him. “I can be ready in four.”

That must have been the quickest shower on record. Chris had on a baseball cap and hadn’t shaved, but Lance thought that he was the sexiest man in the restaurant.

Lance, Chris, JC, Justin, and Joey sat around the table. While they ate, they talked about the weekend, about their plans, about everything. It was a ridiculously fast two hours, and then Justin had to go. Lance hated to see him leave. The four of them went back to the hotel and hung out in JC’s room, but then it was noon and JC and Joey were saying good-bye.

Lance knew that it was ridiculous, because they were grown men with full lives, but he hated to part from them. Walking back to his hotel room, oddly hollow inside, Lance felt Chris’s hand rub reassuringly over his back.

In the room, Lance sat on the foot of the bed, looking around the room. Filmy red fabric still covered the lampshades. Candles and rose petals littered most surfaces. “Guess I’d better pack.”

“I asked JC something about you,” Chris said.

Lance looked up at him. “When?”

“Two months ago.” Chris’s hands came to his shoulders as Chris climbed onto him, straddling him. “He wouldn’t tell me.” Chris pushed him onto his back, leaning in until Lance was looking up into Chris’s eyes. His body was tense, alert; his brain gave him only static. “He told me that he couldn’t tell me because it wasn’t right to share something that personal.”

“What was it?” If JC had been feeding Chris information all of this time, what would JC not share?

“I asked Justin. He said he wasn’t really sure.”

What would JC know that Justin didn’t know? It had to be some detail about his love life.

“I asked Joey.”

If JC knew it, chances were, Joey knew it, too. Lance’s stomach knotted up around his breakfast. “What was it?”

“Joey told me you do a little of everything and a lot of some things. He said you’re definitely a top and you lose your mind if you get your dick down the right guy’s throat.”

Oh, god. Lance stared up at Chris. They’d reconnected so well over the weekend, he felt closer to Chris than he’d ever been, but this? Was he ready for Chris to know about and discuss his private sexual habits? He’d kept those details from Chris for so long…

“Was he right?” Chris was staring down at him like this was a test, like Chris needed Lance to give the right answer. But what did Chris want? What would the right answer be? What would happen if he gave the wrong answer?

If Chris was comfortable enough with Lance’s sexuality to spend the weekend sharing his bed, stroking his thigh, and kissing his face, then Chris was comfortable enough to talk about Lance’s sex life. Wasn’t he?

Chris’s hand left Lance’s shoulder and trailed over Lance’s fly. “Was he right?” Chris repeated, his voice softer now.

The odd, faint note of vulnerability in Chris’s voice scared Lance, and when he felt Chris opening his jeans, he pushed Chris’s hand away. “What are you doing?” He didn’t sound firm, he sounded startled. He didn’t understand what Chris was up to, he didn’t know what Chris wanted from him, none of it made any sense. He couldn’t stand the idea of turning Chris down, but if Chris was going to offer sex out of pity, he wasn’t going to put either one of them through it.

Chris’s finished unzipping Lance’s fly and looked into his eyes. “I want to give you head.”

Chris - - Chris - - Chris’s mouth - - Lance’s brain short-circuited. “No, you don’t.” The idea was so wonderful it was unbearable, but Lance wouldn’t do that to Chris, not when Lance knew what it would do to him. Maybe Chris knew that Lance was in love with him; maybe Chris just wanted to prove something. Maybe this was Chris’s misguided notion of how to repair their friendship.

“Yes, I do.” Chris’s fingers stroked over the waistband of Lance’s underwear. “I want you, Lance. I know what I’m doing. I talked a few friends into letting me practice with them. It felt good, but I want to do it with you. I want you to be the one.” His fingers slipped down inside Lance’s underwear, skimming the length of Lance’s dick, his palm covering Lance warmly.

He was dreaming. He was fantasizing. Lance blinked rapidly but Chris wouldn’t disappear, and the gently exploring pressure on his dick felt too real. “No,” he said. “This isn’t happening.” It couldn’t be happening. Chris wanted him? Chris was experimenting with gay sex? Chris was groping him? Fondling him? Not Chris, not in this lifetime. “I don’t, you can’t-“

Chris slipped his hand free, then tugged Lance’s jeans and underwear down to Lance’s knees. Sliding back off of Lance and to the floor, he finishing tugging the whole way down to Lance’s ankles.

“You can’t,” Lance repeated, “you don’t-”

Chris wet his lips, ducking his head and taking Lance’s arousal in one hand, guiding the head to his mouth and licking around the rim of it.

“Chris, Chris, no, unh, yes, yes, oh god, please…” Groaning too loudly, Lance unleashed the ache of a lifetime, letting it take over, letting all of his pent-up desire and lust and fantasies and forbidden dreams fill him as his erection filled Chris’s mouth. God, “Chris,” oh, “Chris,” it felt incredible, it looked amazing, it was so much more than he’d ever thought he could hope for. Chris’s inexperience showed, and that only made Lance hotter, but the rhythm was dead-on and the suction was intense, and Lance’s back arched as his body tensed around impending orgasm.

Chris could have been grossly amateurish, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Lance’s dick was in Chris’s mouth. Chris was licking him, sucking him, jacking him, moaning around him. Chris wanted him. Chris wanted him enough to make the first move, enough to take his dick out and give him head.

Moaning, writhing on the bed as his need twisted through his body, Lance called out Chris’s name in desperate tones, begging for release, tortured by his own response to Chris. He tried to watch, but he was increasingly unable to do anything but shiver and groan, too overwhelmed to muster any kind of coordination. Chris was jacking him, sucking him, and his dick throbbed heavily and eagerly in Chris’s mouth, the constant slide of Chris’s lips bringing Chris’s name from deep inside Lance’s soul. God, he’d wanted this so badly for so long he’d stopped letting himself fantasize about it, and now it was here, it was happening, it was real, it was Chris, “Chris, yes, Chris, please, oh, yes, Chris, yes, Chris!”

Shattered, Lance couldn’t move. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t have happened. Not him. Not Chris. He was dreaming. His mind had snapped.

He’d loved Chris so fiercely for so long, he’d had ample time to contemplate any and every possible scenario between them. During long bus rides, he’d imagined how he’d seduce Chris. During long plane rides, he’d imagined Chris suddenly needing him. He’d gazed unseeingly at his computer screen and imagined how they’d spend their fifth date, their third anniversary, their steamy nights.

Several dozen times, several hundred times, he’d fantasized about Chris giving him head. But those times had been long ago, when he’d forced himself to maintain some kind of hope. He’d lost hope since then, and he didn’t remember what those scenarios might have dictated that his next action should be.

Should he thank Chris? Reciprocate? Offer his ass? Wait for Chris to say something first?

“I knew it.” Chris dragged himself onto the bed and up Lance’s body, breathing heavily and red in the face. “I knew I was in love with you. I knew it.”

Lance stared at him, stricken, then coughed. “What?”

“I came in my pants. I haven’t done that since I was thirteen, and those were very extreme circumstances. Can you believe I came in my pants? I knew I was in love with you, I knew I wanted you way too much for my own good.” Chris rested his warm weight on Lance, running one hand down Lance’s thigh. “What do you like to do, do you want to mess around for a while? You didn’t seem too into the whole kissing thing earlier, but I might lose my mind if I don’t get to kiss you, so we’re going to have to work something out.”

Lance grabbed the front of Chris’s shirt in one hand and opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He was so filled with so many emotions, he didn’t have any words left.

Chris kissed him.

Lance’s world exploded.

Years of holding back, years of denying himself. Years of loving in secret, years of yearning. Years of passion, desire, lust, need.

Lance had made love to Chris.

And now he wasn’t going to let Chris go. He couldn’t even stop touching Chris. Being able to put his hands on Chris, directly on skin, caressing intimately without fear, without worry, without restraint, it was like a dream. Like living out a fantasy.

Feathering his fingers through Chris’s thick hair, Lance kissed him, rolling back as Chris pursued his mouth, welcoming Chris’s body onto his.

“I knew you’d taste like this,” Chris murmured, kissing him again, lifting his knee to bring his thighs more snugly around Chris’s waist. “I knew you’d be so good, so hot, so sweet.” Rocking slowly, smoothly against him, Chris kissed Lance with steady desire. “So good.” Chris’s hands moved over him like Chris luxuriated as much in the feel of him as he luxuriated in the feel of Chris. “So hot.” Chris’s kiss deepened as Lance moaned. “So sweet.”

Groaning, not sure what to do with this living fantasy but consume it, Lance curled his fingers around Chris’s arousal, fisting it slowly, arching and moaning Chris’s name. “Chris… Chris…”

“God, I want you,” Chris said, kissing him hungrily.

Lance moaned as Chris’s erection swelled in his hand. Rolling over, taking Chris with him, he pushed Chris’s thighs apart, kissing Chris with freshly released need. “Let me make love to you. Let me,” he panted, “love you.”

They were unable to say good-bye in the hotel, so Chris went with him in the car. They couldn’t bring themselves to say good-bye in the car, so Chris went into the airport with him. They talked their way into a private lounge and locked themselves in.

“I love you,” Chris said, and even though the way Chris’s hands were massaging his ass might have suggested a less pure intention to the words, there was nothing but love in Chris’s eyes.

“I love you,” Lance whispered. He could finally say it. It could finally mean everything he felt. He didn’t want to turn into a pathetic sniveling wreck, but more poured forth. “I’ve loved you for so long, I love you so much, I-”

“Ssshhh.” Chris hugged him, rubbing his back. “We’re going to talk about all of that this weekend.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Lance said against Chris’s neck, burying his fingers in Chris’s hair. Now that he finally had Chris, he was supposed to let go?

“Call me when the plane lands,” Chris said. “Then call me every fifteen minutes after that, all week.”

“Okay.” Chris’s embrace was exactly where he wanted to be. Exactly where he wanted to stay.

“I’ll call you in between,” Chris said.

“Okay.” Chris loved him. Chris loved him. Chris loved him. His heart beat in rhythm with it.

“We can be boyfriends all next weekend,” Chris said. “And the weekend after that.”

“Tell me I can make love to you again.”

Chris raised Lance’s chin to meet his eyes. “Now? Here?”

Lance kissed him, unable not to. “This weekend.” He licked across Chris’s lower lip, then licked inside, deepening the kiss, sliding his hands over Chris’s chest.

“I’ll show up lubed and naked,” Chris promised, kissing him, holding him even closer.

Security knocked at the door.

No. Lance closed his eyes as fear and denial gripped his heart. No. He was gripping Chris too tightly but no. He wasn’t leaving. He couldn’t leave Chris. He couldn’t let that horrible distance creep in between them again. Not after this, not now that he’d experienced the unending beauty of being loved by Chris, of being allowed to express what he carried inside.

“Lance.” Chris kissed him tenderly, stroking his cheek. “Look at me, sweet pea.”

He looked.

Chris kissed him again. “I love you,” Chris said quietly, looking right into his eyes. “I love you. I’ll come to see you this weekend. You’ll come to see me the weekend after that.”

Lance kept his voice calm. “What happens after that?”

“After that, we spend the rest of our lives together.” Chris’s thumb caressed his temple. “I promise.”

Security knocked again.

“I love you,” Lance said, stroking his fingers down Chris’s cheek. Chris had to know. “I’ve always loved you.”

“I love you,” Chris said, and kissed him, and wouldn’t let go.

Security knocked.

Chris finally, slowly, ended their kiss. His eyes were full of emotion. “Good-bye, sweet pea.”

“Good-bye.” Stepping away from Chris was the hardest thing that Lance had ever done.

After passing the security checkpoints, Lance walked with his bodyguard to his gate. Halfway there, his phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Lance smiled. “Hi.”

There was a brief pause. “I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Lance’s walk slowed. “This weekend?”

“From today until forever.”

Lance was in love. “Okay.”

“From today, not counting this past weekend. That was just practice. The real thing starts right now.”

“Okay.”

“How’d I do, though? As a boyfriend? I did okay?”

“You were perfect,” Lance admitted. “You made me feel so good about loving you.”

“When you wouldn’t let me kiss you, I thought I’d fucked up. I thought I was wrong. I couldn’t call it off, I had to stick with it, I had to find out.”

“Find out what?” Lance asked.

“If you needed to be with me as much as I needed to be with you. If you were in love with me the way I was in love with you.”

Lance wanted to run right back to Chris. “How’d you figure it out?”

“You popped a new boner every five minutes, but that could’ve been lust,” Chris said. “You gazed into my eyes like I was the best thing on the planet, but that could’ve been friendship. But when I touched you, and you moved right into my hand like your whole body had been waiting for it, I knew.”

Lance almost stopped walking. “I never did that.”

“You did it every time I touched you. You responded to it like we were making love right then. It felt like your body was asking me where I’d been all of this time.”

Lance did stop then, right in his tracks. “Come home with me.”

“I will.”

“Now,” Lance said. “Today.”

“I am,” Chris said. “I’m at the ticket counter right now. If you get back here, I’ll buy you a ticket, too, so we can sit together on the way home.”

Lance turned, immediately retracing his steps. “I love you,” he said, striding quickly.

“I know,” Chris said. “I love you, too.”

Author’s note: “Inauthenticity” is not a word, but it expresses exactly what I want to say, so I’m leaving it there.

matthew@matthewtime.com

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