Lance nearly lost his plan to leave once he saw the tranquility of Justin’s home. The beach house sat serenely off the road, down a windy driveway with no signs of security whatsoever. No iron gates or burly men as had been so frequent during N Sync days. Nothing but simple living in a down home way. The ocean beat against the surf methodically and Lance felt a calm wash over him. As Justin dug haphazardly for his key, Lance wondered when he’d become so disorganized. This was the same Justin who had to have a place for everything yet now he stood with a sheepish grin searching for a key. “It’s here,” he said with a grin. “Ah ha. See?” He held up the tiny brass key and Lance blinked as it glinted in the sun. One key. One key for one home. No alarm codes, no separate dead bolt key. “You’re not afraid, Justin?” Lance queried as he followed Justin into the bright homey living room. “What of?” Justin countered, bending down as a little dog scurried across the floor to jump in his arms. “Oh, my baby girl,” he cooed. “I’m home now.” Justin nuzzled the dog to his chest, ruffling her fur and plying her with baby talk. “Daddy brought a friend home. Uncle Lance.” His blue eyes sparkled as he stood up and held the dog out. “Say hi to her Lance. This is Baby.” Lance moved back as the mop of fur lapped at his face. “Yeah, hi baby. Ugh, Justin, she’s like slobbering.” Justin laughed and let the dog down. “Prissy, man. You got all prissy. Remember Busta? You fucking loved that dog, and he did a hell of a lot worse than slobber you with kisses.” Justin shook his head and moved into the living room toward the sliding glass doors. “He pissed in your shoes.” It was a memory that made Lance’s lips curl -- the little mutt that traveled cross country with them -- the dozen or so pair of shoes that had been ruined without a harsh word from any of them. Yeah, Busta had done a lot worse. “Come out here, Lance. See the ocean. Breath the air.” He inhaled deeply and tossed his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the deck. “God’s beauty.” The plan Lance had so carefully planned was falling apart as he stared at the ocean past Justin. The four hour time difference leant him a precious hour or two to enjoy the last of the day and he stepped gingerly through the living room to stand beside Justin. Who was shedding his pants. “Justin what are you doing?” Lance cried, noticing with wide eyes that Justin continued to enjoy going commando. “You’re not getting naked.” “Shit, Lance. It’s not like you never saw it before,” Justin giggled, running off with Baby down the sand into the cool surf. Lance shivered. While it continued to be much warmer than New York, the mere thought of jumping into the Pacific Ocean in November wasn’t something he wanted to do. So he took a seat on the hand carved bench that adorned Justin’s deck and watched. He watched the way Justin laughed and how his long legs flexed with structured muscles -- how his eyes smiled brightly and his body glinted in the late day sun. How perfectly free he seemed to be, uncaring of the world around them. Lance chewed his lip, reverting once again, and shook his head. Maybe he would stay just the night. Allow himself to remince a bit. Soak in some of Justin’s presence. Return to New York with a new lease on life and possibly search out JC, apologize, make things right. Lance leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched Justin flop to the sand and dig. And it made him smile -- to see life being lived to such a crazy extent. Made him wonder what had happened to Justin after the break up of N Sync to give him such a personality. Although he hadn’t cared before this to ask. Baby yipped her way back up the deck to Lance’s feet, and Lance warmed a bit as the pup lapped at his fingers. “Hey girl,” he cooed gently. “You’re daddy is whacked. You know that?” He didn't’ hear Justin creep back up the steps, wet from the impromptu dip in the ocean, his tanned skin goose fleshed, his blue eyes the color of the sky. “Whacked huh?” Justin chuckled deeply. He knelt down and took Lance’s hands in his. “I may be whacked but I know how to live, Lance.” Lance became lost in the face before him -- disoriented by the pure honesty that emitted across the air between them. It was insane, he knew, to even be drawn in by Justin. Disastrous in fact. But there was something so gentle in his expression -- something teetering on anxious that intrigued Lance. So when Justin leaned in to kiss his lips, he stayed still. And when Justin’s tongue darted out to run along the roof of his mouth, he let it. And when Justin’s hand pressed his thighs apart, he gasped but let it happen. Because there was a slow burn slipping over him that was unstoppable. Even as his brain screamed at him that this was *Justin*, his former friend -- the person he’d gone to school with between gigs -- the one he shared hotel rooms with from time to time -- it was Justin. But suddenly those innocent images were gone, in some heated flash of distant and faded memories. And the Justin that was kneeling between his legs was grown -- a man who was making Lance curious -- and horny. It was overwhelming, in fact, and the harder Justin pressed against him, the more Lance lost control. He was no longer contemplating going home -- he was simply wondering where the nearest bed was. That’s what his mind focused on. The nagging ache that seemed to surface out of no where for Justin. He groaned into Justin’s mouth and let his fingers run along the damp skin of his back, urging him closer to taste more of him. Justin was on his feet, yanking Lance up with a playful smile. “You feel it?” he whispered, leaning in close, nipping at Lance’s earlobe. Lance grabbed his crotch and grinned. “I feel something.” And it felt good to laugh, to be unusually bold and sigh into this wondrously odd feeling Justin was creating around him. “Well let’s go then,” Justin chuckled, hugging Lance from behind and propelling him into the house. The feel of Justin’s wet body sent shivers through Lance’s clothed body, and when Justin dropped his hands to grope at his erection, it made Lance weak in the knees. The whys meant nothing to him anymore as Justin pressed unmercifully against his ass, and the world was a blur. Justin managed to use his foot to slide the doors shut, his teeth nibbling roughly at Lance’s neck, his hands fumbling with the zipper and buttons of his pants. “Tell me that you want this, Lance,” he murmured intensely. “Tell me that you’re going to let go and enjoy the fuck out of this.” The words came from an echoed hollow -- somewhere Lance couldn’t quite finger. They slithered around inside his ear, creating a hot pit in his gut -- pure want. “Mm hmm,” he croaked, reaching out blindly with his hands to grab onto the mantle over the fireplace -- needing to steady his shaking body. As Justin pulled his pants down, Lance shuddered. Simple touches were magnified on levels he didn’t quite comprehend. The feel of Justin’s thumbs under the waistband of his boxers was like silk, and when his large hands rubbed down the sides of his hips it was like velvet. Normal was nothing while erotic reigned. He couldn’t stop the feelings that surged and spun around to face Justin in a moment of confirmation -- to make sure that this was real, to see the returned longing in those sapphire eyes. And the look was there, so simple but so mutual. A yearning that seared straight to Lance’s soul -- a darkness that was laced with sex and appreciation. In a move that shocked him momentarily, Lance dropped to his knees, eager to please. It had never been his strong suit as a lover -- to give. But this came so naturally to him, to look into the soul before him and *want* to taste him. Want to make his head spin around like a demon possession and scream out in pleasure. Want to see those eyelids flutter with pure satisfaction -- and know that he had put that there. But Justin grabbed at his hair just as he lapped at his tip, and Lance looked up in bewilderment. “This is for you, Lance,” he said thickly. “This is a moment in life for you to release and enjoy on planes you never imagined.” All Lance could do was stare up from his spot on the carpet with wide eyes and a body that throbbed with a desire unrivaled. It was confusing to have such devious sexual thoughts mingle with such virtue. A man in all his glory prepared to take time and delve into psyches that were unexplored -- untamed. Unchallenged. Justin took Lance’s hands and lead him up the open stairwell to the loft where dusk ached to settle in distorted tones of the day’s last light and pushed him back onto the down comforter. “Just relax,” Justin whispered as he lit several candles, sending the aromatic scent of jasmine through the air. Slight breezes sighed through the open window as gauzy curtains fluttered. It was the closest to heaven Lance thought he’d ever been. Justin crawled over Lance’s body, pressing him back into the mountain of pillows, pausing along the map of his body to kiss his hip, to dip his tongue into a belly button that had been neglected. To worship Lance  in every way. To delight in the guttural moans the fell from pink lips. There was a bit of frustration as Lance tried to let go, as he struggled from some cavernous place inside where he was always in charge. As he dredged up memories of sex with JC -- never romantic, always just needy. On his part entirely. A dull ache sat in his heart, regret that he’d never taken time with JC, that he’d failed miserably when his main objective in life was to succeed -- at everything. Once the bitter idea embedded itself, Lance could no longer focus on the strong touches gracing his body, and he reached to tug the hem of his shirt back down -- to cover his stomach and chest in a protective maneuver. Shaking from a horrible bought of conscience suddenly. “What’s wrong?” Justin asked, as he swiped Lance’s hands away. “Don’t go there, Lance.” He peered up into troubled eyes, no longer sedated with that euphoric shroud. Lance growled from deep within, and the sound ricocheted from the pale walls. He felt the anger bubble -- the frustration. With one move, he pounced on Justin, pinning him to the bed. “Don’t tell me where or what to do,” he seethed, bending his head to attack Justin’s mouth -- without warning or tenderness. Without any of the unsullied emotions before. His cock was hard against Justin’s and he wanted in. He wanted to impale Justin, make him cry out and pay for this entire battle waging inside of him. As he dug his fingers into the body beneath him, and forced him over, he felt his control return -- that jump in his body that coerced him on in his daily life. There was no malicious intent on his part, to be forcible to someone against their will -- because, Justin was not resistant. He was flexible, and unfighting. He was spreading his legs and as Lance readied himself for entry, a tiny whimper was all that was heard. Baby. Lance blinked down at the tiny pup who was gazing up with large brown eyes and a hesitant thump of her tail. “Oh my God,” he gasped, rolling off Justin in a moment of clarity -- of enormity of what had almost happened. Of taking something so right and tainting it with his fear of intimacy. “Justin, Jesus, I’m sorry!” Justin rolled over, and Lance saw the tinge of fear in his eyes, the little slivers of hurt that shattered the bright blue. Lance recoiled, scrambling for the loft stairs, but Justin caught him. “Don’t,” he said lowly, holding onto Lance with a ferocity that rocked both men. “Why am I so fucked?” Lance cried, grabbing onto the arms that surrounded him. “Why Justin? Why am I so screwed up?” “You don’t love yourself, Lance,” Justin whispered, kissing his neck gently. “You don’t love your life. You don’t cherish things that once brought a smile to your face.” He spun Lance around slowly. “You don’t love anything but an idea of what this world is about -- and that’s false anyway.” Lance crumpled inside as Justin held him, and he wanted to just cry, sob it all out and let go of the hostility. Yet his body wouldn’t let it go -- and a sharp stab pitched into him sending all breath from his lungs. “I gotta go,” he gasped, pushing Justin back. “I can’t be here anymore.” He scampered down the stairs in a blind haze, dashing for his pants. Barely time to zip them, and he grabbed his laptop, reaching for his cell as he flung the door open. “Lance! Jesus! Lance!” Justin was on his heels, struggling to dress. “Don’t do this. You promised me one month!” His pleading went  unheard as Lance ran from the property, and Justin sank down on the front steps of his home. Watching without interference. A headache raged behind his temples and he wobbled against the railing. Lance grew dimmer and dimmer with each moment, and Justin clawed at the banister as the pain grew. Nausea flooded his stomach and he crawled back inside the house, collapsing on the floor. Lance kept running until he was certain Justin wasn’t following. Tears wanted to make an escape, but they were held back by some sense of duty -- of obligation to himself that grown men simply did not cry. Not over this anyway. He was fucked up. That was true. A fact he’d been unwilling to face in times before. He dialed a cab once he hit the road, and sank down on a roadside rock to wait. A Benz flew by him at top speed, and he blinked at the girl behind the wheel. A few yards down and the car screeched to a halt. Then it backed up. Lance blinked at the girl, a bright pink wig adorned her head, huge yellow tinted glasses batted his reflection back at him. “Lance Bass?” she asked, a thick southern twang lacing her voice. “Well fuck me silly. It is you!” “Excuse me?” Lance sighed shakily, on alert, unsure how much more stress his heart could actually withstand. “It’s me!” She removed her glasses and Lance almost laughed. “Britney! What in the name of fuck are you doing sitting here by the side of the road boy?” And Lance did laugh, more of a snort, with a lot of bitterness to it. “Jesus, what happened to you?” Britney climbed out of the car and circled around, tossing her wig off. “Oh you no like? Pink afro not your scene?” She placed her hands on her hips and smiled. “Oh, yeah. As I recall boys were your scene.” She hiked her torn fishnets up higher on her legs and tapped a blood red high heel shoe. He was not amused as he stood. “Fuck off princess,” he grumbled. “Ooh, touchy are we? No southern gentleman to be found here, eh?” She jumped in front of him and grabbed him into a hug. “Jesus, why is everyone so damn huggy?” he cried out, exasperation thick with his question. “Just leave me be!” He forced her arms down and turned. “It was ... um ... yeah interesting to see you. I’m going now.” “No shoes!” she yelled. Lance threw his hands up and let his teeth mash together. He glanced down and stared pathetically at his bare feet, at the small taint of blood oozing from his heel. “GOD!” he screamed, falling to the ground once more. “No, not God,” she giggled. “Britney. B-R-I-T ..” “Shut up,” he muttered. She was on him in minutes, tugging him to his feet with her tiny frame. “Up boy. I’m assuming you’re in the neighborhood because of Boo so let’s go.” “Boo?” Lance snorted. “Oh come *on*.” Nevertheless, he had to get his shoes, and she was a hell of a lot stronger than she looked. “Talk to me city boy,” she said as they headed up to Justin’s again. “What are you doing back in town? I head talk you were some big mogul New York City type. All major celebrity and shit.” Lance cocked his head at her mouth. “When did you get a gutter mouth?” Britney laughed and threw her head back. “Fuck you, Bass! I am woman. I can say fuck and cock and ...” “Enough!” It was too much. His body was not used to the insanity that appeared to control this little edge of the world. So pulling back into Justin’s house was a defeat of sorts for him. But as Baby yipped out of the house and jumped at Britney, he smelled all was not right. “What’s wrong Baby?” Britney whispered, bending down to pick the dog up. But Baby only wriggled away, running back and forth from the house to the path. Lance bolted forward as he saw Justin’s feet on the floor, peeking out sickly from behind the door. “Christ! Call 911!” Sweet November 3 Menu Sweet November 5