Lance hardly knew what to say -- what to do or how to be. So he learned. He gathered Justin closer that he’d gathered anyone, holding him close physically. He learned how to comfort with tiny strokes along Justin’s arm, and how to serve food that didn’t upset or trigger pains in Justin. Lance learned how to hold Justin just so, until he drifted off comfortably, and he learned to ignore the tingling in his arm all night while he watched Justin sleep. It neared Thanksgiving and Lance learned that Justin was the  most important thing in his life -- and he learned to listen to each word spoken with special interest. He learned to shove his fears down at the prospect of waking one morning and not seeing Justin's chest heave with life. He called his family and told them where he was -- and sobbed when he heard his momma’s voice because she was the epitome of comfort in his life even after so long. Learning wasn’t so bad, Lance thought, as he watched the daylight crawl into the loft. As he watched the sun tumble over Justin’s face. As he leaned down to kiss the precious lips that lay so still --  resting sweetly. It nearly made him weep silently each day, to see how fearless Justin was. How he managed to carry on without pity or mangled feelings of ‘why me’. “Morning,” Justin said, feeling Lance brush against him. His eyes stayed closed as his arms fell over his head and an extended yawn fell from his mouth. “Morning,” Lance replied, nuzzling his face in Justin’s neck. “How’re you feeling?” Justin’s eyes fluttered open in slow exasperation. “Why do you ask me that every morning?” he sighed. “I’m the same as I was when I went to sleep.” His hand lifted the sheet that folded over his body and he peeked down. “Maybe a little more horny,” he shrugged, blinking slowly. “But still okay.” Lance bit his lip with a smile, his dimply pressing gently into his face -- his eyes sparkling coyly. “I wasn’t sure ...” he said honestly. “I mean, about ...” His hand waved toward Justin and he ducked his gaze a bit. “Sex and all. I didn’t want to push.” Justin laughed and tucked his hands under his head. “It’s been four days, Lance. I’m sick not a priest.” “Very cute.” Lance shook his head and scratched his nose with embarrassment. “Jesus, Justin. I’m not like you all the time. I can’t shake things off like that.” The pout Justin shot out and stabbed Lance’s gut -- made his stomach curl with desire. The lips that jutted just so and the big eyes that slanted seductively. The way his expression turned from little boy to man in mere seconds. Deep hooded glances that sent fire racing around inside of him. Sick or not, Lance decided he wanted Justin. Like the earth needs the rain he needed him. It was like a higher feeling -- one of protection and love. One of purity and strength. It consumed Lance, but he wasn’t scared. He was happy. Calm. Feeling like he could share his soul. Like maybe if he touched Justin enough, his death would never come. “Are you gonna kiss me?” Justin laughed, running his hands over his stomach. “Because if you’re not ...” Lance smiled shyly. He wondered when it had become such an innocent flutter that attacked him. Like this new level of purity that seemed to shroud him. Like sex should be appreciated and not used simply for a physical release. So he did lean over and brush Justin’s lips, still fearful of breaking the fragileness he’d witnessed in the hospital. Thinking about the wish on a falling star. Knowing no matter what Justin said, it was his wish to heal him -- pray for miracles. Live on the failing hope that perhaps he would agree to chemo and the tiny chance it would extend his life. Justin was having none of it, however, as he yanked Lance to him. As he pressed up into him, demanding for normality. As he grabbed Lance’s ass in a fit of desire. As he urged Lance to treat him the same. And Lance did fall into it, let himself get thrown into the beauty of the moment. He savored Justin inch by inch, plying his body not just with desirous licks and nibbles, but also with tender kisses. There was so much he wanted to do to -- so much he wanted to let Justin feel. Fearful that time was such an issue. Justin ran his hands along Lance’s back and let out tiny moans. Little signals that he was happy, content. Taking his time was a new sensation for Lance. To pause between each motion to kiss Justin, to swipe at him with his tongue. To nuzzle his neck and rub against him. He wandered Justin’s body with renewed interest, scanning the slope of his chest, appreciating the ripple of muscles under his skin. Straying between his legs with bright eyes. Lance liked to watch the flutters that fell over Justin’s face as he ran his lips over sensitive flesh. He enjoyed feeling the desperate grip on Justin’s fingers in his hair, and the grind of his hips demanding more. It caused his body to tingle with life, and his mind to sweep with passion. “Lance? My god ... I ..”  Justin’s words were cut off as Lance used his tongue fancifully, tracing ridges and planes, circling like silk along the length. Enjoying every second to the fullest. He ached to make love to Justin suddenly, in that throe of desire. As Justin’s head rolled back and forth in incomprehensible lust. It was making love, Lance thought, as he smiled down at Justin's  face. As he let himself into Justin with a newfound gentleness and caring. He wanted to watch Justin, etch each section of his innocent face into his mind forever. To feel Justin’s fingertips dig into his shoulders was enlightening as his hips rocked back and forth slowly. To discard his own want for a while so Justin could enjoy the sensations was suddenly second nature. As Justin orgasmed, Lance swore he saw tiny lights fluttering overhead. Like angels, he imagined, letting tears burn him. When he collapsed into Justin with little more than a tiny grunt, he knew. He knew that it would be the last time for them. He knew that it was the defining moment of lovemaking for Justin -- perhaps the last time altogether. A sob echoed inside his soul, but he didn’t fight it. Instead, he curled Justin to him, and kissed his head. And when Justin’s breathing deepened, Lance snuck from the bed and padded to the kitchen, making a breakfast that Justin would enjoy. Forcing himself to remain a rock in Justin’s life. Planning on moving there whether Justin wanted it or not. Sliding back up to the loft with a tray full of food, Lance smiled. Justin was open eyed and smiling sleepily, a seemingly perfect image of health. “Egg white omelet?” Lance offered. “My hero,” Justin laughed, scooting up higher in the bed. “And yeah, that cured the horniness.” Lance shook his head in amusement as Justin noshed on a piece of toast, glad for the peaceful unpained look that eased over Justin’s face. ************ Later than day he found himself in some random grocery store with Britney, tagging along at her heels while she grabbed item after item and tossed them carelessly into the cart. “We need sweet potatoes,” she giggled, pointing Lance toward produce. “Go get some.” And he did, with a smile, because this was his way of helping. Of making Justins Thanksgiving a success. Letting him have Britney and Chris come for dinner so they all could give thanks for life and for love. As Lance stared at the potatoes, he wondered how Justin was doing. Chris had been adamant about getting Lance out of the house. Since the hospital, he’d cooped himself up with Justin, not daring to leave his side -- not wanting to. But this day, Chris had insisted and Justin had seconded it. “We need dinner,” Justin had said simply, tugging Lance onto his lap. “Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Nothing is ready.” So he found himself like hundreds of other people, purchasing dinner to celebrate. Only Lance felt as if he had much more to celebrate this year. He grinned as he plucked a plastic bag from its holder and filled it with the orange vegetables, hoping maybe he could talk his momma into sending her famous sweet potato recipe to them. For Justin he would try to cook. For Justin he would damn near do anything. He found Britney near the turkeys, gazing at them in confusion. “How big?” she asked with a light sigh. “I mean, I’ve never done this before.” Lance shrugged, heaving a fifteen pounder into the cart. “Looks good to me,” he said, cocking his eyebrow. Britney laughed and pushed her pink glasses higher on her nose. “You’re good for him,” she said, touching Lance’s arm. “For Justin I mean. I see this sparkle in him that wasn’t there before.” “Nah, he’s always sparkled,” Lance said with a blush. “It’s not me.” But inside, he hoped for it to be him. He hoped that maybe he could be the one to urge Justin along -- let him know how very important fighting to live was. Maybe, Lance thought, he could be the one to change Justin’s mind about Chemo. Extending his life. Making him live longer. “Not like that, Lance,” she said, pushing the cart. “Not like he is when he looks at you.” She nudged Lance gently and nodded. “It’s love, dude. I think my little boo bear is in love.” The smile extended across Lance’s face, and stayed there until they arrived back at the beach house. Until he walked in the door and came face to face with familiar blue eyes. Blue eyes that didn’t belong to Justin. JC. And Justin was gone. Lance dropped his groceries to his feet in shock. In a moment of panic and dread. Staring into JC’s eyes was hard, so much more difficult than he’d imagined. And while he knew that he had to face it sooner or later, he was betting on later. Much later. “Hey,” JC said softly, his hands running through his wavy hair nervously. “Hey,” Lance returned, stooping to scoop up the contents of the dropped bag. His eyes wandered around to Britney, who had one hand clamped over her mouth in obvious shock, then to Chris who was rocking back and forth on his heels. Like he’d known. “Where’s Justin?” Lance asked, his voice barely audible. His mind fracturing. His entire body shaking. No reply was forthcoming, sending spikes of fear throughout him. His fingers were jittery, dropping items into the bag absently. “Chris? Where is he?” Britney laid her hand on Lance’s shoulder and when he blinked up at her, he could see the confusion wretched in her dark eyes. “I’ll get those, honey. You go on and talk with JC.” Visibly shaken, Lance struggled to stand. His legs were heavy and thick as he forced himself to look up at JC -- into the face of the man he’d destroyed time and time again. And the guiltiness of his previous acts solidified within him. The nights he’d stranded JC emotionally and physically -- the hurtful and unthinking words -- mangled memories of the near past that sat sourly in his belly. He managed to nod and make it to the deck, touching JC’s arm on the way. Wishing to fuck that he had been able to talk with Justin before this surprise had been sprung on him. It was as if all the bricks of his New York life were back, pressing at his back without mercy. The salty air did nothing to soothe him, and instinctively Lance looked out over the surf, hoping Justin was there. Praying he was there. There were no souls on that beach, however, least of all the one soul he needed at that moment. Determined, he turned to face JC, to face the past and try to heal what he could. “How did you know?” Lance asked softly, taking a seat. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand and sighed. JC stuck his thumbs in the pocket of his jeans and smiled weakly. “Justin. He called me.” Lance laughed bitterly. “He told you huh? About his little experiment with me?” It was too easy to fall back into his past life -- to drift back into sour feelings and the hurt that edged him. The fact maybe Justin didn’t love him at all, rather used him for some fucked up little personal challenge. Baby scurried over and hopped in his lap, and Lance eased up immediately, scratching her ears. Biting his lip in bewilderment. Trying to sort out all the emotions that had come with JC‘s appearance. “I didn’t come to make things harder on you, Lance,” JC said. “I came because we need to heal some things. Because I’m afraid I can’t be whole again if I don’t.” Lance scrunched his face up, stunned. In wonder that he had so much effect on JC still. “I want you to heal, JC. I do. I want us both to heal. I just don’t know how.” Silence rambled over them as the waves pounded in the background. “You look good,” JC said finally, not daring to move from his spot. “Healthy. Tan.” Lance let Baby down and shrugged. “Thanks. I like the sun.” He felt like an idiot, like so little of a man. Like he was supposed to be saying these monumental things to JC to make it all better. Only nothing significant was emerging. Mindless chit chat about his skin tone was ridiculous. “Do you think about me?” JC asked softly. “Us? Ever?” The wind sucked out of Lance’s lungs as he raised his gaze to meet JC’s. And there was that boy he’d fallen in love with all that time ago with intense blue eyes and a slightly hesitant stance. With big hearts of love still in his expression. And adoration that had never left. Lance couldn’t answer -- not the way he knew JC needed him to. Too many feelings battled inside of him. Seeing JC standing there in faded jeans and a comfortable sweat shirt reminded him of Justin -- reminded him of laid back and relaxed. Only JC held hurt with the love in his face. Justin held something different. “I have to go,” Lance stammered, bolting for the steps. There wasn’t enough oxygen to make him breathe. JC moved forward and clamped his hand on Lance’s arm. “No. Don’t run, Lance. Please!” But Lance squirmed away with a sorrowful look, and dashed down over the sand, letting his shoes fill with the grainy substance. Letting tears blur him as he headed down the shore to the tune of a dull hum that filled his ears. Suddenly, he felt very alone again. Like Justin abandoned him. Like Justin turned him in to his old life. Like he had no one to help him out of the mess he’d created steadily for so many months. So he ran harder, longer. And let out a feral scream to the wind as he crashed. part ten sweet november menu part twelve