There was no way Justin could find sleep with Lance lying beside him. He stared into the shadows at the back of Lance’s head and his body was torn. What would it harm if he let his arm fall across Lance’s waist, he wondered, and slowly, in the still of the night, he let it happen. Lance mumbled sleepily and snuggled closer. Justin wanted to smile, but he was guarded, not at all certain what this newest move meant. Since the attack, Lance hadn’t sought him out so intently. Not even once. Now it seemed he was prepared to drop some walls and let friendship sail through. Justin lay still and his mind whirled, trying to resolve the crisis in his head. It leant him no comfort as Lance’s hand slipped over his own, rubbing gently. It had to be Chris, Justin thought sourly. Lance knew about Chris and suddenly wanted to topple barriers that had been nine months in the making. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t *want* to break them. It seemed insane and Justin let out a soft, indecisive sigh. He longed to flip the light on and corner Lance, make him talk. But his head was marching to the tune of a thousand drummers from drinking, and the scent of alcohol still lingered on Lance’s breath. Talking would be a moot point. So he watched Lance’s shoulder rise and fall, and he pondered what waking with Lance in his arms would feel like. Not exactly *how* he imagined it, but it was something. Then he felt Lance shift, and move his hand lower. Every nerve in his body tingled, and his heart rapped inside his chest at double speed. Heat flushed over his body as his fingers brushed through a patch of kinky hair, and then ... Lance’s erection. For one delicious moment, he allowed his hand to be guided over the sensitive skin, relishing the heat that radiated from it. For one moment, he allowed himself to press his nose into Lance’s hair and let a tiny moan fall from his mouth. For one moment, he let himself lapse into a situation he’d dreamed of forever. He heard Lance exhale contentedly and yanked his hand away, rolling onto his stomach. He hated being weak, and wanting Lance. And he despised the fact Lance was using events of the night to turn things around. “Justin?” Mostly, he hated the little boy voice Lance used when he wanted something. “What, Lance?” “Why’d you stop?” Justin could hear a tint of disappointment, which fueled him further. Because he didn’t know if he was feeling more hurt or angry. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kick Lance’s ass out of his bed, or roll over and kiss him. “It’s wrong, Lance. It’s fucking wrong.” Lance rolled over and propped his head up in his hand, trailing a finger across the back of Justin‘s neck, and he wanted to fool around. He wanted to delve into Justin and taste him. Make it right somehow. “It’s not wrong, Justin. Why is it wrong?” “Because,” Justin spat, twisting his head around to face Lance. “I’m not going to be some substitute for a fling. Because I fucking love you and I’m not ready to fuck you so you can get off tonight. Because you mean more to me that all that. And I’m sick of sitting around waiting for you.” Lance recoiled like a snake, pain blazing through him. He was stunned, and unable to say anything. He could see Justin’s eyes steady in the dimly lit room, and he curled up inside. He didn’t know what he’d expected Justin to say, but that was a lot to swallow. And he didn’t know what he’d expected by dragging Justin’s hand over his dick, either. A reaction, perhaps, to jealousy and maybe he *was* no better then Justin thought. So he scrambled from the bed, unspeaking, and hurried down to his own room. Noting Justin didn’t call out to stop him. Once shrouded in the sanctity of his own bed, he pulled the sheets over his head and chewed on his lip, and he touched himself but didn’t know why. His orgasm was conflicted, and not at all satisfying, but it lulled him into slumber. Where he didn’t have to face anything. Justin heard the door slam, and he rolled onto his back with eyes wide open. And he wept honestly because he couldn’t handle it anymore. His fingers still tingled where they had laid on Lance’s skin, and he wanted to let out a vicious scream. But he didn’t. He never did. He only took whatever was handed to him, and said ‘thank you’ -- even if it was a sword in his side. ********************** Lance was gone when Justin woke, and he was glad for the quietness that fell over the condo.  JC left a half dozen messages, none of which he felt like answering. So he ignored them, and made a hot cup of cocoa before settling down in front of the television. While his favorite team was playing, Justin had little interest in what the score was. He was engrossed in thoughts, and war with his own conscience. By half-time he was close to tears, dredging up all the emotional turmoil of the past few months, the pain and anxiety, and without thinking, he dialed JC to request Chris’ phone number. Because he’d had enough of waiting for Lance Bass. ************************ Lance wasn’t all that stunned when the dark haired Italian guy slid up to him at the coffee stand. Nor was he shocked when the man offered to pay. “Name’s Joe,” the stranger said, offering his hand. “Lance.” Lance took his hand and smiled from under his shield. His exterior was hard once more -- all thoughts of Justin pushed away. He blew into the cup and looked up at Joe. “Thanks for the coffee.” “Anytime,” Joe answered, nodding toward a bench. Lance looked like hell, he felt like hell, and suddenly his charm wasn’t at all up to par. He was on guard, and still reeling over Justin’s blurted confession, and while he knew he *shouldn’t* seek the attentions of Joe, he still did. And he felt easy, like he was expected to accept the subtle flirts and the way Joe’s hand brushed against his thigh heatedly. He smiled and let his eyes twinkle with sexuality, and he sipped his coffee slowly and sat on the bench with his legs spread. For the view, he supposed. “You’re pretty,” Joe whispered into his ear, and Lance didn’t miss the slide of a tongue over his lobe. He sighed and played the part, forging ahead because that’s what he did. “Pretty?” Lance countered, dangling his hand between his legs, brushing against his crotch suggestively. “Hot I’ve heard, sexy. Um, fine. Pretty I never heard.” His fingertips slid over the metal zipper of his jeans and he wondered where the shit he spewed came from. He wondered what harm it would have done to just stay home and wait for Justin to wake so they could talk. Somehow running always won out over facing the problem. “Well, your eyes. They’re pretty. And you have soft hands. Like a girl.” Joe grabbed Lance’s hand from between his legs and rubbed the back of it. “Like a girl?” Lance spat. “A fucking girl? I’m no girl, lemme say that now.” He was being far too sensitive, he supposed, but he was miserable and had no idea how the fuck to get out of his funk. “Whoa!” Joey exclaimed, smiling impishly. “Sorry. I just meant I’d like to take you home and ravish you for a while. That’s all.” Lance raised an eyebrow. “Why the fuck didn’t you say so?” He took another long sip from the stryrophome cup and grinned. “I’m not into games, man. If you wanna fuck, you gotta say it. I’m not a flowers and candy type of guy.”  His entire body shook as he accepted Joe’s offer, without thinking. Thinking hurt and he was too hurt as it was. “Let’s go then,” Joe said, tossing his coffee in the trash can. “I don’t live far.” Lance nodded and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and he trailed behind Joe, only half listening to him ramble on and on about random things, and all he could see in his head was Justin. And he thought about Justin’s confession which made his insides go weak and watery. Which made him press ahead defiantly. Because he *needed* anonymous sex. It was the only thing he could imagine. Somehow, as he stretched out over Joe’s bed, his body was refusing him. His mind was swimming in endless thoughts, and as Joe climbed over him, he balked. “Uh, listen,” Lance laughed, twisting his head to the side. “I think I may have changed my mind here.” His palms pressed against Joe’s bare chest, and he shivered, even though he was still fully clothed. “Changed your mind?” Joe queried, bending down to nip at Lance’s chin. “Like you’re not so horny anymore?” Lance forced a laugh and squirmed up a bit. “Something like that.” He brought his hand up and rubbed at his eyes, suddenly exhausted in every way a person could be. “I’m really sorry about this.” He didn’t like the way Joe looked at him, with a glare or hint of trouble buried deeply within his brown eyes. There was a tinny taste of fear in the back of his throat and he licked his lips nervously. And for a moment, he feared Joe wasn’t going to let him get away. But then he was clear. Lance watched as Joe crawled off the bed and shrugged. “You ain’t feeling it, you ain’t feeling it. No prob.” A tiny smile twitched at Lance’s lips and he scuttled from the bed. “Really, Joe. Shit! I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers over the back of his neck and stared at his shoes -- embarrassed. He always followed through with sex. It was expected of him. Or so he assumed. Piece of ass, that’s all he was good for. That’s all anyone wanted him for. They liked to grope and stroke his flesh, stare into his eyes and growl as they thrust into him. They pawed at him, and sometimes held his wrists down. They loved to suck his cock and tell him how beautiful he was. It made his skin crawl, all of it, and as he met Joe’s eyes, he sighed. “I’ll just let myself out,” he said quietly, watching as Joe leaned back and stroked himself lazily. “Sure thing.” Lance turned to leave, but his body tingled and something made his feet stop. Something he couldn’t explain -- something he didn’t want to explain. “Fuck it,” he said with a scowl, ripping his shirt over his head in a fit of helplessness. Helplessness because he couldn’t stop. It pained him greatly, but still. He couldn’t seem to stop letting his body be used as some wall to block out reality. He *wanted* to, but as he slipped out of his jeans and swatted Joe’s hands away, he found himself in that same pattern. The destructive one that sailed him out further into the ocean of despair. The one that caused him to float away from Justin, wave by wave. And as his lips closed carelessly around Joe’s cock, he closed his eyes tightly and made his mind go blank -- swallowed bile and the bitterness of life as he moved robotically over the man he’d met less than two hours previously. It wasn’t Justin, and it was never going to be Justin. So he listened to moans that were jaded, and tasted flesh that was sour, and stared into the black of his mind. continue menu