Everything here is all made up. For entertainment only. Because we love them. Written for the Boyband drabble exhange, and the drabbles by all the amazing authors are collected at the Boyband Drabble Community Archive by the wonderful Butterfly. These are the ones I wrote.

Justin/Lance
"No, seriously, I like it," Lance said with a smirk that meant he wasn't even trying to be convincing as he lied.

Justin grit his teeth and counted to ten. He said, "I have no idea why I put up with you."

Lance prodded Justin's thigh with his foot, giving Justin that typical view of Lance, lounging back, legs spread like a unsprung bear trap. Lance said, "Chris is whipped on JC, Joey's straight, JC loves Chris like he's the air that he breathes --" Lance chuckled and continued, "You're too afraid to pick up strangers, Brit can't give head for shit and she's not about to fuck you and I'm hung like a horse."

Lance/Justin
A thousand and one reasons they don't fit together and even more why this won't ever work and one more day when Lance looks at proofs and says out loud that Justin couldn't possibly stand any closer to Chris. Justin holds up some picture of Joey and Lance drunk and it's completely absurd because Joey is all about pussy and Lance doesn't have one of those. Lance thinks about slamming a door and finding a convenient exit. "You never stand that close to me."

"Well, duh, spaceboy. Then everyone would know."

So, yeah, he can make one more day without leaving Justin.

JC/Joey

"I'm never gonna see Crossroads, you know?" Joey scratches his beard and JC grins.

"Me, neither." JC rubs Joey's thigh, feels the warmth. "Those fuckers won't get any of my money."

Joey laughs, one of those full-body gales of laughter that JC can feel through his hand on Joey's thigh, and even the air laughs along with him because who can resist Joey, JC thinks and then thinks, no one human. "I don't blame Brit, and Justin might get pissed if you say that in front of him, you know." Joey smiles and puts his hand over JC's.

"Fuck him," JC says.

"He's not the one I'm interested in."

JC/Justin
It should be indecent that he can remember with perfect clarity what Justin looked like at twelve and still fuck the grown up and twenty one year old version of Justin every night. But at twelve, Justin was occasionally annoying and mischievous and hardworking and just a cute kid.

He's still occasionally annoying, because JC is convinced that Justin is conducting a scientific experiment in driving one's boyfriend insane by playing Thriller on repeat. Every day. The entire album, every moment on the bus. Which might also count as still mischievous.

He's not cute anymore, he's the fucking sexiest person JC has ever seen and if there's nothing decent about the way Justin arches beneath JC at night, there's nothing wrong either. He never wanted the kid.

Lance/Chris
Lance fell in love with Chris the time he saw Chris show the camera pictures of his grandparents and then two minutes later, when the cameras were off, insult the condescending director so efficiently and obscenely that everyone laughed and the director turned beet red and never talked to Chris again.

He told Chris that story the first time they had sex, after the thrusting and the sweating and the kissing but before Chris fell asleep whispering Lance's name, maybe. The next morning, after Joey burst in and said, "Ohmy GAWD!" and then Justin and JC ran in and Lance scrambled to cover both of them with a stupid workout jacket because the couch didn't have blankets, after that, Chris said, "I'd insult anyone for you," which was the same as "I love you, too."

Justin/Chris
In a club in New York, because it's always New York, Lance waves his hands. "It's different for gay men," he says, "the age difference thing isn't so big."

Justin almost knocks the drink out of Lance's hand and says, "Fuck off."

JC hovers and finally says, "Imitation is the highest form of flattery but flattery is an insincere way to get someone in your bed."

Justin stalks out.

Joey laughs and says, "Everyone knows you want to fuck Chris." Justin doesn't punch him and doesn't talk to him for four straight days.

Justin thinks that everyone doesn't know because if Chris knew, Chris would do something about it.

He's almost positive of that. Almost.

Justin/Lance
Justin has his hand on his dick, moving up and down, still he's thinking. He read in Esquire that only 25% of men masturbate every day and Justin thinks the other 75% are lying or insane. Sex is great, sex has Justin's endorsement, as yet not allowed to say in interviews, as one of the top ten fun things to do ever. Justin's performed in front of 100,000+ people, so he knows fun. And when it's just his hand on his dick, and maybe his other hand a little, someplace else, it's still pretty fucking awesome.

He grins at Lance, sitting in the chair and thinks it's even more fucking awesome when it's just foreplay.

Lance/AJ
Lance thinks he should cut down his drinking after he saw AJ again.

Lance remembers laughing, bites on his ear, his neck, his chest, his stomach. Licking AJ's tattoos, every one. No more laughing and just grunting, sweating, pushing, fire in all the right places, arching not quite enough and wet and sticky. Hotel rooms always smell antiseptic even after the best sex. Lance remembers the wallpaper.

But it's clear AJ doesn't remember any of it, and he smiles his awkward new post-rehab smile and Lance smiles his fake smile for all occasions where nothing real is allowed and orders a Coke.

Justin/Chris/Brian
"I hate you," Justin said.

"Hey, it really isn't that bad," Chris said.

"You BET me in a poker game with the Backstreet Boys. And LOST."

"Technically," Lance said, "It's only for one night, and it's both of you."

"Lance, shut up. Chris, I'm not something you own. And why didn't you just bet money?"

"I always say 'you're mine,' and you don't object. And nobody was betting money, we all have too much. Besides, it won't be bad, he'll just read to us from the Bible about the evils of homosexuality."

"Guys? Brian, he actually has this whole set-up in his basement. Whips, chains. Bondage stuff."

"How do you know that, Lance?"

"Dude, JC told me."

Justin said, "Well. Now I'm not so mad."

Justin/Lance
"I'm mad at you, yes," Lance said and slammed the door after Justin walked in.

"I didn't mean --" Justin started to say.

"I didn't take calling me a Big Gay Slut a compliment. I didn't take you listing every guy I've slept with in the last five years as a warm fuzzy." Lance glared.

"That wasn't --" Justin looked at his hands.

"I'm young, I'm clean, I'm not ready to settle down. I haven't broken anyone's heart."

"That's not true," Justin said softly, not looking at Lance. "I was just. It's a long list. And I'm not on it."

Joey/Justin
Sick. Sick. Joey thought being this rich and famous, there'd be special drugs Johnny would bring in black bags with velvet strings that would cure anything. But it's Nyquil. Green and the first ingredient is alcohol. It'd be nice to breathe and not ache. It'd be nice.

Justin rubs his back and breathes hot and sour on his neck. "Out like a light and better in the morning." Justin rubs circles with his big hands and still can't cover all of Joey's back.

"I fucking hope so." Joey swallows and then licks the plastic cup dry.

Justin doesn't say anything and just rubs his throat. Joey gets the message. "I'll see you in the morning," Justin says quietly.

"Yeah, I fucking hope so," Joey says after Justin's gone.

AJ/Nick
AJ said, "I can't believe you picked Valparaiso."

Nick sniffled. "It's a pretty name." Nick took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"Look, before Brian got married, we'd do all our picks together. It would be fun. Now he just doesn't have the time."

AJ shrugged. "Still, seriously. And Holy Cross? Nick, Nick, Nick." AJ ran his finger up Nick's shoulder and his neck and left his finger on Nick's lips.

Nick said, moving his lips just a little against AJ's finger, "I have Kansas in the final four. You think that'll happen?"

"Maybe," AJ said. AJ replaced his finger with his lips against Nick's pouting mouth.

"Next time, I'll help you," he said before kissing Nick again.

Lance/Justin
"So, it's not like I've loved you forever or something," Lance said, blushing.

Justin moved closer, close enough to lick Lance's neck and kiss the place where his ear met his jaw. He did both. Justin spoke against Lance's skin. "Me neither."

Lance shuddered. "Just for a little while."

Justin laughed and didn't move. Lance's hands came tentatively around, shaking a little on Justin's waist. Justin said, "A little while here, too."

"How long?"

"Um," Justin kissed Lance's cheek, saw Lance's eyes close. "Like, since a month ago. You?"

Lance's hands tightened on Justin's waist, fell away. He said, very quietly, "Since I met you."

Justin took Lance's hands in his own and kissed Lance's nose. "So, don't you think you've been waiting long enough for this? Open your eyes."

Justin/Lance
Justin sweats and sweats because what the fuck, fucking Houston in the summer and whose damn idea was that? Humidity like a living thing surrounding him and pressing in and wiping its greasy palms all over him. Sweat beads on his forehead and the back of his neck. Sweat everywhere, he must smell great and his clothes are sticky and gross and it's so hot. Justin says, Canada, Canada over and over again like it'll summon a stiff blast of cold or maybe just a hockey player to body check him and he'll wake up in an air-conditioned hospital.

The hotel has the air-conditioning on high and Lance licks him clean and the heat's not so bad after all.

Lance/Justin
Sometimes things are perfect. You wake up together because it's a hotel night and you didn't fight the night before about all the things that remind you that you two don't really fit. You wake up and your first thought isn't work, FreeLance or space things, it's just warm. Warm against you. You wake up and he's a little already up, just enough to not be cranky but not enough that his litany of early morning thoughts has started up.

He kisses you and you say, "Perfect," even with the sour morning breath. You say, "Good morning, Justin," and he says nothing much, just kisses you back.

"This is pretty perfect," Justin says and you don't fall back asleep as much as you want to because perfect doesn't come too often.

Chris/JC
Chris thinks they might've met a hundred ways. Reaching for the same gay porn at the little store near Chris's apartment, maybe, exchanging small smiles. Chris would've said, "Hey, forget the video, I'm cuter that guy," before JC had a chance to say, "Excuse me." Could've happened, because Chris recognized one or two cases in the box JC kept hidden under his bed when he did finally get to JC's room back then.

They could've met a hundred different ways and Chris has imagined them all, scenarios where they smiled and JC blushed and Chris made the first move. Stupid jokes, bad pick-up lines, even saving JC from a heat-stroke-addled cartoon character at Universal. He thinks about it sometimes when he runs his hand down JC's naked back and remembers that night in the club, and JC pulling him into the bathroom and kissing him before Chris could say a word. Chris imagines he made the first move but it doesn't matter because they're still here, now, in the same bed anyway.

Justin/Lance
Justin figured out Lance was gay two weeks after Lance joined the band. Justin walked into a room too soon and too quietly and Lance was there. His pants were bunched around his thighs, and the guy next door had his tongue down Lance's throat and his hand on Lance's. Lance's penis. Dick. Which looked bigger than Justin's maybe, when it was like that, red and hard.

Justin should've maybe been freaked out, but he was happy. Now he had a visual when he jerked off. And Justin was pretty sure that they'd be somewhere else and Justin could be the guy next door, with his hand right there. On Lance.

Chris/JC
JC wears gray pants with flowers on them and he giggles a lot. He's fucked more guys than even Lance and that's some variety of impressive. But JC will never ever say the words, like "gay," or "queer" or "bi" when he talks about himself.

JC looks down at the girl under his arm with all the blinding attention he always has for whoever he looks at and Chris thinks JC should be looking at him like that. Chris would set him straight. Or not straight, really.

Joey/JC
JC always tastes like summer, no matter the weather. Lance says it's because of his cologne. "Or that shit he calls soap."

Joey doesn't care. Doesn't care that Lance got there first, because now Lance isn't tasting JC. Doesn't care what JC uses for soap or cologne because Joey's the one who gets to taste JC.

Joey thinks JC tastes like summer because JC is summer. Too hot sometimes, cool in the evenings in way sometimes that calms and exhilarates. JC is flowers blooming, kids playing in the spray of water, no school, blockbuster movies that are worth the wait. JC tastes like that all the time because he is.

Chris/Justin
When Justin figured out that there wasn't anything wrong with him, that he was just gay, he ditched the self-help books for books about gay history.

He said, "See, here, this kid is fourteen and he lived in Boise in the 1950s and he was still a fucking machine. All his male cousins. And some guy who's 28 and they fuck in the back of his car!"

Chris said, "What happened to him? And the older guy?"

Justin skimmed ahead and frowned. Put the book down. Said, "Not important."

Chris sighed.

Justin pointed at the book with one finger, said, "1950s." Pointed at himself. "1990s." Two fingers, pointed at the book, "14." Pointed at himself, "18." Three fingers, pointed at the book. "Fucking Boise." Pointed at himself, "Seattle." Then he smiled and said, "Come to bed, man, and let's fuck. In honor of, you know, vive le difference!"

NOTES AND DISCLAIMERS: Happy Birthday, Jenn! Apologies all around. All made up. For entertainment only. Much quoting of Tori Amos and the song Silent All These Years. Justin sings the Lightning Seeds.

THESE JEANS OF HIS

He takes her places all the time. Justin holds her hand and he pays for things, though, fuck him, she does have some money. Of course, Jenna's money doesn't compare to his at all, and she doesn't complain when he pays. She doesn't complain about anything.

She goes places with him and he talks to her, dances with her. He says he prefers to go out with friends, people he knows. She gets it, she really does. He's Justin Timberlake and he can charm the pants off anyone he meets, from record executive on down to gofers, but he'd known her for weeks and slept with her once before he could look her in the eye. Weirdly shy, she thinks.

There are all sorts of weird things about him. Not as weird as Janet, and she loved working for Janet, but he's still weird. He's shy and obsessive about his shoes and she thinks it's weird that he's pretty average in bed. She expected more from someone so naturally gifted at dancing. They've only had sex four times, but. She can't decide if he's just bored when he's there with her or if he's just never had to work when he's in bed. She gets off better with her vibrator.

So he calls her up and takes her places and she always says yes and it's been like that for almost five months, except for the three weeks he was fucking Janet. She wonders if he was better in bed with her, and assumes so or it wouldn't have lasted past the first night. It's not like he keeps her so busy. Still, it was a boring few weeks. She sat at home and watched soap operas and waited for jobs to come her way. Like most of her professional life, really, when she's not on tour, but it seemed somehow more boring after a month or two of Justin Timberlake.

Britney called, when it had been going on with Janet and Justin for two weeks. Jenna picked up the phone and there she was. Justin talked about her, sometimes. He'd loved her, that much was clear and he was mad at her and he still didn't say bad things about her. And then there was Britney on the phone. She said, "You know, he's fucking your damn boss. How does that feel?"

She sounded tight, like she was crying, maybe. Jenna was mostly pissed, though, no time to feel sorry for the little pop princess. Fucking bitch to call her. Jenna said, "Yeah, you think I give a fuck? I know my place. You miss yours?" Britney made a sound but Jenna hung up.

She isn't in love. She's not stupid or anything. She likes to go places, she likes him, but she thinks she knows the score. It's hard work being that famous, and finding people to just talk to and hang with. People not after your money or a chance to be in a magazine or something. She figures that's the score. She's like a wedding ring on his finger, something to scare off the girls. Good company at the same time, or he wouldn't keep her around.

So she puts up with Trace, who's a sleazy fucking troll. One time he even hit on her and she said, "No, damn it," and batted away his hand.

Trace said, "Man, bitch, you don't think he cares, right? He wouldn't give a fuck if we did it."

"Yeah, but you're a sleazy fucking asshole, so."

"I'll be here long after you, bitch." Like she didn't know that. Like she cares. She's young, she has a long time before she has to worry about forever. In the meantime, Justin's nice and funny and she gets into every party and every club because he walks in first.

When she's bored, and she's frequently bored with him, she sings Tori Amos songs in her head. He asked her once if she liked Tori, he said he did, and she said she didn't. She just didn't want him to know. She's not sure why, he doesn't mind when she disagrees with him. He likes to talk about things, leaning over in a club and girls that are taller than her, skinnier even than her, push up against him and he ignores them. He's a fun date, really, if she ignores the part where he almost never kisses her and isn't that great when he does.

She's barely met the other guys. Briefly, for the Grammy thing, but otherwise not really. If one of the guys are going to be wherever he's going, he doesn't need her. When she sees him around them, he's so relaxed and happy. He laughs and leans into them and he's just like a child, home at last.

Sometimes, she sits next to him when he calls them. The guys. She's sometimes not sure which one he's talking to, but she can always tell it's one of them. His face looks unguarded. She doesn't pay attention when he's on the phone, she just sings Tori in her head. So she doesn't know who he's talking to the time he sings some old song. She looks up and he's singing, eyes wet, "and now you're crying in your sleep, I wished you'd never learned to weep, don't sell the dreams you should be keeping pure and simple every time."

She looks away because his eyes are wet and she's not supposed to see that. He keeps singing, quietly but she hears a line about "lift me up to starry skies, there's stardust in my head." Then he's done and quiet and he says "goodbye" and doesn't say anything to her for a few minutes. She doesn't ask.

They go somewhere, a party and then somewhere else after and he pulls her down a corridor in some house. Someone's house, not his. She's zoning out and in her head she's singing "what if I'm a mermaid in these jeans of his with her name still on it." She once wore a pair of his jeans, she picked them up accidentally the second time they slept together. She put them on and didn't think twice about leaving with them on. She turned down the waist in the bathroom, later that day, and saw written there with a sharpie "T + B." She thought the "T" must have been an "I" at some point, maybe. Or Timberlake plus Britney? She doesn't think about it often.

He pulls her up the stairs. He's on the phone and he says, "A surprise? A surprise for me? Just keep going, fine, man, I'm gonna kick your ass if it's just some fucking joke."

She thinks he's weird. He says he never lies to the press but he says he hasn't kissed anyone in months. He's kissed her a few times and he must have kissed Janet. But he says it anyway.

His hand is big and he tugs her towards a room. It's just a boring room with boring furniture but Justin's just looking at Lance. Justin exhales and drops her hand, walks toward Lance. She looks at his hands and he's trembling. She's never seen him shake, even before the VMAs when he was so nervous he almost threw up. She looks up again and they're touching, Lance's hands on Justin's waist, Justin's hands on Lance's face. She can't hear what they're saying, just sees their lips move.

She doesn't look away when they kiss. Not at first. And she gets it, then, along with everything else, because he's never kissed her like that. He's never looked like that with her. T + B, she thinks, and she turns around and waits outside.

In her head she starts singing songs from Little Earthquakes. She gets from Crucify all the way to Mother before he comes out. She thinks "somebody leave the light on, just in case I like the dancing, I can remember where I come from" and he opens the door. His lips are red and bruised and his shirt's untucked but she doesn't say anything. He says, "Sorry to make you wait," but doesn't look at her. He's smiling, she thinks, and then she shrugs and follows him downstairs. He has to go back to the party and she'll stand next to him and it will be just another night. Except now, well, maybe she is a mermaid, but his jeans were never hers to wear and she knows for sure now. She keeps walking to where it's loud and the drinks are free.

THE END.

One in a Million

You and your mom are a team. You're lucky that way. Other moms don't care if their kids make it, they don't tell their kids when they screwed up.

Those three times she slapped you, you deserved it. You screwed up and she needed to make sure you really remembered. You're talented, but being one in a million means there's two hundred people out there just like you in the United States alone. Your mom had to explain that, the population of the US is something like 227 million or something.

You have to be perfect for every audition because you can always be replaced. You're very talented and you're going to make so much money you can buy a big house for your whole family. You're going to take care of everyone.

But you can be replaced. You could grow up ugly, fat, with chronic acne and no one will want you then. Talent only gets you so far. You better pray you grow up to look like Kevin. You better not eat so much, Mom says, because you never know, you could be one of those boys who ends up chubby. You better not eat fries so much because what if you start breaking out? Two hundred boys out there as good as you, you're only one in a million.

Another damn growth spurt and your shoes are tight and you have to relearn everything every time your legs are that much longer, and you fell on your ass.

Your mother twists your arm, hard. She says, "When you screw up they won't ask us back and maybe they won't pay us. You can be replaced."

Brian's face is right up next to yours. But he's not in your face, he's in your mother's. He says, "We won't replace Nick ever."

Brian always says "ma'am" to your mom. You think he doesn't this time because she's still holding your arm. It hurts. It hurts that Brian is never ever anything less than polite to everyone, but he was just rude to your mom.

Kevin pulls at your other arm and your mom lets go. She's glaring at you, like you deserve. You don't rub where she grabbed you because you're lucky to have someone who cares so much that you succeed.

Something in you says you're not so lucky.

Kevin says, "Aren't you guys hungry?" He pulls you towards AJ, Howie and Brian. Kevin says to your mom, "We'll take good care of him, don't you worry." He smiles, false and angry. You don't understand.
Your mom shakes her head and says, "Fine." Angry, too. "Bring him home on time."

Howie straightens your jacket, AJ rolls his eyes and winks and Brian grins his stupid smile. Kevin says, "The five of us, no more replacements."

One of five, something in you says. Maybe you're lucky in a different way than you thought. When you look back, your mom is gone, and you rub your arm where it hurts.

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