Lance was emotionally drained as he sat on the back of Justin’s Harley, his hands firmly on the body between his legs. It gave him time to think -- to take a few moments to ponder his idea. To cement the fact he would gladly give up New York and his life there to be with Justin. In California. With the beach and the sunny weather. With the tiny dog that was such an significant part of Justin’s life. And with Britney who was quirky at worst -- an angel at best. His hands rested on Justin’s waist as the motorcycle roared along the winding roads, spitting gravel up as the tires crushed along the pavement. It was almost therapeutic to be speeding along with the wind whipping at him -- slapping concerns away. Replacing it with bright skies and fresh air. “Flowers,” Justin hollered, pulling the Harley over. Lance looked up, bewilderment perching in his face. “Where?” “There!” Justin kicked the stand out and climbed off, stretching his arms out to the sides. “Big old meadow full of wildflowers!” Lance wrapped his arms around himself and smiled thoughtfully. “Wildflowers?” “Yes, wildflowers. Chris is crazy about them!” Justin clapped his hands together and smiled easily, amusement crinkling at the corners of his eyes, his lips curling at the edges. It was a joke, perhaps, to drive the heaviness of the morning from Lance, and Justin laughed carelessly, jogging off into the thigh high grass. His voice echoed through Lance’s ears, calling to him, urging him to step up his pace and pursue him. Follow in the dance he’d begun. Lance’s legs pumped faster in the hopes of capturing Justin -- just once. Justin’s legs were far longer and more powerful, he knew. A sharp stab stopped him cold, and he ran his hand over the muscles in  his side, gasping for breath. But Justin never stopped. He continued his mad dash deeper into the sea of flowers as Lance collapsed to the ground. The sky spun dizzily around and he let out a tight breath, pushing the pain out, taking the crisp air in. Carefree. Loving the air and the gentleness with which the ground accepted him. Knowing Justin would come back for him. Not even minding the jagged ache the dug into him. He lay still, listening as birds sang overhead -- as the clouds floated by unhurriedly. He heard other cars and trucks zip by, but didn’t blink. He simply sighed into the air until Justin’s shadow crossed over him. “Lance?” And there was concern buried within the blue that stared down at him. Lance only chuckled, reaching over to pluck a wild daisy. “Come lay with me,” he grinned, extending the flower to Justin. A show of peace and an assurance to the fact he’d indeed changed -- had life altering visions that speared his entrance into a new line of sight. A future that included Justin in every way possible. “You’re too fast for me,” Lance pointed out, as Justin took the daisy and sat down beside him. “I’m New York City boy now. A marathon for me is trying to catch the subway to the Yankees game after work.” Justin sniffed the delicate flower, pressing his lips together as Lance showed him what he already knew. But his temples ached, and nausea rolled about in his gut. He forced a slow and steady smile, fluttering his gaze out from under his long lashes. “Well, we‘ll have to change that,” he grinned, trying to keep his composure, ignore the pain that besieged his body. “But it’s all good now.” “Oh it is?” Lance asked, lowering his voice to undeniably sexy proportions, knowing he had that power over people -- that way of managing to turn his prey to jelly with one resonate whisper. He leaned in and kissed Justin, with purpose and desire, with excitement bubbling inside him. Lance allowed his hand to drift over Justin’s shoulder to grip the back of his neck -- to keep Justin locked into him -- to let him know that this kiss meant something big. Something huge. Justin took the cue and rolled on top of Lance, wincing minimally as his headache raged, letting Lance’s tongue invade his mouth sweetly. There was no hint that Justin was anything but perfect to him, and Lance drew his hands up to his cheeks, pulling his face away gently. “Let’s move in together,” he blurted, his eyes dancing happily, his body high on pure exhilaration. “I want to move out here. I want us to be together.” The words flew hastily, without break or hesitation -- as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Justin glanced down, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “What? You want to move in together?” He rolled off Lance instantly, into the grass. He sat up, running his hand over his face in apparent shock. “You want to move out here? To California?” Wide eyes turned their gaze over to Lance, and there was nothing inspiring in them at all. Misunderstanding hit Lance hard -- springing him to a sitting position -- sinking rejection deeply into his heart. His eyes squinted in the burrowing sun, and he reached out to touch Justin’s arm. “Yeah. I don’t want this just to be November. Why not forever, Justin?” He ached to have Justin look back at him -- to be able to read whatever was in that precious expression of his. But Justin kept his gaze elsewhere, shrugging Lance’s hand from his body. Blinking repeatedly as if in pain. His hands trembling and unsure where to set. He stood abruptly and cleared his throat -- looming over Lance, forcing him into his shadow. “We’re gonna be late,” he stammered, dropping the daisy to the earth. “Flowers. I’ll be right back.” He dashed off a few yards with tears stinging his eyes, refusing to look at Lance for fear of going back on his rule. His rule. His November rule. The one he’d created and pledged a vow to. His intent chivalrous if nothing else. To spend an entire month focused on Lance -- teaching him how to live, and love. Hoping he’d return to New York with an appreciation of JC -- and what he had. Lance watched as Justin hurried off, stooping every so many feet to gather some flowers in his hands. Drawing his knees to his chest, Lance pouted a bit inside, letting his high drift off into a sinking feeling. Rejection, he supposed. His fingers plucked absently at the grass on the sides of his ankles, and he let out a heavy sigh. He’d just have to work on Justin was all, show him how badly they needed one another. Make him see how they were meant to be together -- how fate had waved her wand and brought them to one another after a years time. Studying Justin in the sunlight, he frowned, throwing the picked grass to the wind. He was so strong, Lance observed, so hard and powerful. Everything about him screamed perfect from the cut of his jaw to the brawn of his arms. From the optimistic twinkle that always set in his eyes to the fluid way he made love. Too perfect perhaps. As Justin made his way back over, a huge bouquet of wildflowers snagged in his large hand, he nodded toward Lance as a signal to go. No smile. No extension of a hand. Nothing to let Lance know he was with him. It hurt. A lump stopped Lance from swallowing as he realized he’d been wrong -- he’d *done* wrong by asking Justin such a thing. The pain spread over his body like a time release capsule, and he struggled to stand. To make sense of what was happening. To see that Justin didn’t want him past November. Silently he crept back to the bike, taking the flowers from Justin and placing them in the saddle box behind him for safe keeping. Lance swung his leg over the bike and placed the helmet back on his head, leaning back as far as he could to give Justin some space. Because he was hurt, and didn’t want to feel Justin beneath his fingers anymore. Because he’d offered himself for the first time ever, and been shot down in the harshest of ways. Because he was falling in love with Justin, he feared, and the emotion was not being returned. “I appreciate the offer,” Justin said, slipping his helmet on. “To move here. But it’s only for November, Lance. That was our deal.” Lance nodded and looked away, afraid to respond in any way, afraid his lips would flap in an unnecessary manner and cause more of a rift. He focused instead on swallowing the horrible bulge of pity in his throat, and held onto the sides of the seat as Justin roared off. Fighting not to let those walls back up. It was a short but tense ride to Britney’s home -- a sprawling palace with million dollar views. Lance hopped off the bike, stranding the flowers where they were. He needed to breathe, to get away from Justin for a moment. To try not to take it so personally that Justin hadn’t wanted him all along. But Justin’s hand was on his waist before he could get very far, and the warmness of the touch sent him trembling once more. Weakness. “We’ll talk later,” Justin promised, pulling Lance’s chin over with his fingers. Leaning in for the briefest of kisses. Lance stiffened, backing away with a bitterness he wished hadn’t emerged. “Whatever,” he said coolly. “It’s all good as you would say.” His eyebrows were a slight more pointed than he would have liked, and his arms folded defensively across the broadness of his chest. One hip jutted out in a clear sign of hurt, and he sniffed as Britney’s high pitched voice sailed across the driveway to them. “My darlings!” she shrieked, jogging out in bare feet and Chris’ sweatpants. “You’re here!” Lance twisted his body from Justin and forced a smile. “Jesus, girl. Is that a bra?” He braced as Britney jumped into his arms, knocking him back a step. She landed a wet kiss on his cheek and squeezed him tightly. “Baby it’s all about the bras! You don’t like?” Lance let her down and held her at arms length, studying the neon pink padded lingerie with a lopsided grin. “Whatever apparently floats that boat of yours, Brit.” She rolled her eyes and wiggled a manicured finger at him. “Don’t be pissing on my wardrobe, Bass. I can scratch you down.” Lance saw the talon orange nails and nodded, not quite sure what ‘scratch you down’ meant, but not at all caring to find out. He watched her hurry to Justin’s side, clucking and fussing over him. Heading into the house, he heard his name. “Chris?” “Yeah, dude. Over here!” Lance looked to the left and right. He saw no one. “Side of the house.” He heard giggling from behind -- from Britney. Suddenly he was eager to see Chris, to make some other kind of connection. His feet trudged along the pavement, over the multi-colored rocks, toward where Chris was. Still reeling from Justin’s snub. Still feeling the harshness of it tunneling inside of him. The force hit him unexpectedly, knocking him to the side. A body that had suddenly attacked his back, latching on without mercy. “Gotcha!” “For the love of GOD!” Lance hissed, his body toppling to the hard soil. “Jesus, Chris!” Chris pounced off him, a makeshift suit of amour decorating his tiny frame. “You dare come not prepared to fight?” He cackled and threw the silver hat to the ground, revealing familiar brown eyes, and a sincere, playful expression. Lance had to laugh. The cape draped around Chris carelessly, and he looked hideous. Expecting no less from him. “New FuMan outfit?” Lance chuckled, brushing the dirt from his jeans. Chris threw his hand out as he stood up, assisting Lance to his feet and pulling him into a warm embrace. “Hell no. FuMan is still about the trend, man. I’m about the individuality!” “As if I never knew that!” Lance exclaimed, clapping his friend on the back. “Good to see you.” “Come on boys!” Britney yelled, and Lance looked over to see that troubled look fold over Justin’s face -- a look of trepidation and fright. Of lost or lonely. Of not knowing exactly what to say or do. And he felt guilty for pulling back. “She’s a regular Martha Stewart!” Chris said, tossing his cape over his arm. “Went nuts about six months ago when she pulled herself out of rotation. Got a heart of gold.” Lance was curious and took breath to ask, but Chris was dragging him into the house by his shirt, leaving him no time to say more. Still wondering why the top female performer had left the industry. It was in the sprawling kitchen that Lance saw the intimate glances between Justin and Britney -- the expressions that spoke silently, questioning and answering with a simple flicker of the eyes. He was jealous of it, angry that secrets seemed to be flying. As Justin cut some vegetables, he was laughing, chuckling with Britney over some memory that Lance didn’t share. Chris pressed a glass of wine into his hands and nodded toward him, urging him from the room. Lance tripped over his feet to escape, the pit in his gut growing with each ticking moment.  Desperate to discover just what the hell Justin was keeping. “Tell me, Chris,” he begged once outside on the terrace. The city lights danced as twilight began to set, and Lance wanted to know the truth. He wasn’t blind, and didn’t want any secrets. It was too hard anymore. Chris’ brow wrinkled as he took a slow sip of his wine. “Lance, man. It’s not for me to say. He’s to himself. We let him live his life without question, without interference.” Lance gripped the stem of the crystal glass tightly, his jaw setting in frustration -- pain ripping around deeply in his eyes. “Jesus, Chris. He’s not telling me.” Lance spun around and forced a cleansing breath, begging himself to keep composed. “Chris, is he alright?” He felt Chris’ hand set on his shoulder, and squeeze slightly. “Just be with him, Lance. If he wants you to know he’ll say. It’s all I can offer you.” “Dinner!” Britney stepped out onto the terrace, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, senseing immediately the thickness in the air, smothering and swelteringly tense. “Everything okay?” Justin trailed, eyeing Lance carefully. “Lance?” Lance frowned as he swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp, his eyes never leaving Justin’s. “We’re fine,” he garbled, handing the empty glass to Britney as he brushed back inside. “What happened?” Britney cried, twisting her gaze to Chris. “Jesus, what the hell happened out here?” “He knows, man,” Chris said, sipping his wine. “You need to tell him, J. He’s ripping up.” Justin’s face fell, his eyes swimming with grief. His body in shambles of pain. “Not for him to know,” he whispered, wobbling backwards a bit as his head throbbed. And in mere moments, he was down on the ground, fainted away in a plethora of severe pain. Lance turned in time to see his head crack sickeningly against the tile, and he froze. His body moving forward quickly. His eyes searching for explanation -- for hope as he touched Justin gently. “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on,” he whimpered, stroking Justin’s head. “Please!” Britney fell into Chris’ arms, sadness creased in her brown eyes, no allegiance worth seeing the anguish in wild green eyes that looked to her for help. “Lance, my God, Lance. He’s dying.” She pressed her face into Chris’ chest and sobbed. Lance had no oxygen as a cloud of ashen grief wafted over him. He cradled Justin's head to his chest as his body went numb. And his heart broke. part eight sweet november menu part ten