Notes: Thanks again to Lily. And to Lily's friend, who made the tape! I wish I knew who performed the song about the Disney movie, but I didn't have a tracklising either!

THE SHAKER AESTHETIC

Justin looks up from his book and says, “the diminution of adoration to affection and bemused tolerance.”

Lance looks up from his laptop and says, “What?”

“I’m reading. Diminution, that’s like diminished, right? It means making smaller, or something, right?” Justin furrows his brow and stares across the hotel room at Lance.

Lance thinks. “Dude, let me look it up.” He logs onto dictionary.com and reads the definition. “Yeah, the act of becoming smaller. Which seems kind of obvious.”

Justin clenches his jaw and looks down. He sighs. Then he looks up and half smiles. “Yeah. I did sort of know that.”

Lance inhales sharply. He tries a smile. “Yeah, and I had to look it up, so we’re both sort of smart.”

Justin smiles a real smile. He gets up and taps Lance on the shoulder as he walks by. “Dude, set that up on the bed.”

Lance looks down at his laptop. He knows what that means. Lance will sit on the bed and try to work and Justin will twine around him and get antsy in a half hour or sooner, and then Lance won’t get anything done. Lance hoped for an hour or so of actual work. But he closes the laptop. Lance was the last to screw up, so he gives in. When Justin screwed up, Lance got to make the occasional demand, and Justin gave in. Now it’s Lance’s turn. Lance didn’t use it as much as Justin does, but Justin doesn’t demand quite as much as Lance expected.

Justin half sits on Lance in some twisty posture that normal humans wouldn’t find remotely comfortable. Lance has to reach over Justin’s hips to type. He sighs. Lance hits play again on his Walkman and rests his elbows on Justin’s hip. He found the tape in a mess of tapes and listened to the first song before realizing it was a mix tape. He’d put it away and then this morning popped it in again. He doesn’t recognize most of the songs and he’s become a little obsessed with figuring out what each one is.

He listens to unfamiliar strains and tries to figure out the title of the song he’s hearing. He figures out the title, and then searches for lyrics on the net and that tells him the artist. It’s worked pretty well so far. It’s a pointless, time-wasting exercise and the fact that he’s been doing it while working for the last few hours tells him he’s reaching his saturation point with touring.

He rubs Justin’s hip and turns around so he can see Justin’s face. When people started being nice to Lance to meet Justin, Lance would clench his fists and think he won’t sleep with me so I certainly won’t help you sleep with him. And Lance can cite all the reasons people want to sleep with famous people and all the reasons people want to sleep with Justin specifically. He wonders about his own reasons sometimes. He wonders more about Justin’s reasons for wanting to sleep with him.

“Justin. Listen to this for me and tell me what songs you recognize.” He hands over the Walkman and Justin puts away the book.

“Why?” Justin holds one of the expensive headphones away from his ear but he’s already listening. Lance explains it, and Justin understands the way touring works so he just nods and starts listening.

Justin fast-forwards through the songs he doesn’t recognize. He sits up and leans on Lance’s shoulders to read what Lance has figured out so far. While he listens and fast-forwards, he kisses Lance’s neck and runs his hands through the hair at the back of Lance’s head. They’ve been doing this for four months and on some removed level from his general happiness Lance has noted that Justin tends to obsess about places on his body. He tries not to think about what happens when there’s no part of him left that Justin hasn’t memorized and catalogued. He tries not to wonder if Justin did this with Britney and when he finished with her body.

Justin taps him and says, “This is Erykah Badu. It’s a good song, man.” Lance adds it to the track listing. He turns a little and sees Justin listening to the song, rocking in place. Then Justin turns off the Walkman and places it on the floor. He looks over Lance’s shoulder and reads the track list. “Lance, whoever made this tape, they hate our band. Look at that - college rock, alternative, Bob Dylan. They hate us.”

Justin has lately become obsessed with pointing out people who hate them. People who think boy bands and pop music are evil and N Sync are the worst of all. Two days ago Lance and Justin went with bodyguards to get coffee and passed a woman struggling with a large box. The woman had dyed black hair and three tattoos. Justin turned around and asked if she was going to the post office, and if so, could he carry the box for her. She did a double take, looking up at him. Then she said yes and Justin carried her box for a block. She started babbling about where she worked and how the box was mailings for the charity she worked for and studiously ignored the bodyguards and Lance walking behind Justin. When they dropped it off, she looked at the floor and said, “Thanks. Thanks, uh. Mr. Timberlake.”

Justin just grinned and waved bye. When they got outside, he turned to Lance and said, “She hates our band. Bet she would have spat at us, if we hadn’t been nice, you know.”

Lance closes his eyes and leans back into Justin’s embrace. Justin is generally nice, and it’s always funny how surprising people find it. They expect him to be a raving psychotic, Lance thinks, since he’s been famous for so much of his life. Lance thinks Justin gets too much credit because of that. Justin is just himself, about above average nice for normal people and he gets elevated to sainthood because he’s nicer than they expect him to be.

Justin kisses Lance’s neck and moves his hand around Lance’s side to pull at his pants. Justin raises his head for a second and says, “And also, some of those songs sucked. On the tape.”

Lance inhales. “I like most of them. I like that one, the one I can’t find at all.” The song is slow with an organ and a man playing guitar. Lance first heard it this morning and he found himself holding his breath until each note ended. The lyrics were simple. The singer talking to someone he loved, offering to take them to a movie, a Disney movie. Lance had listened and breathed and watched Justin, wrapped in his towel straight out of the shower walking around the room. The song, Lance realizes, is all about the singer, raging against the diminution of adoration into affection and bemused tolerance. He inhales sharply and reaches for Justin.

Justin whispers, “I know you want to work but we’ve only got an hour before we have to get the stadium.” Justin kisses him again and his hand is wrapped around Lance’s cock.

“It’s okay,” Lance says quietly. “It’s always okay, Justin.”

It's all for Lance this time, the heat and the smell and the ache when Justin enters him. He thinks about writing a song for Justin, but then he thinks that it wouldn't come out right, that he'd forget a word or confuse a definition. His mind tries to form a melody and he can almost hear it when he comes.

They fuck again, quickly, at the stadium while the opening act is performing, and both of them are sweaty before they hit the stage.

The show is a blur like always, and they're so hot afterwards that Justin doesn't even touch Lance. Backstage, JC goes straight for the shower, leaving the others to cover with Anthony, the reporter who's shadowing them.

"Touring really wipes C out," Justin says.

"Yeah," Joey adds, eating a hot dog. "It's not easy to be that pretty all the time."

There's a knock on the door while Lance is talking up his production company to Anthony. It's Bobby, and Lance watches as Chris disappears with him into the hall. Justin loosens his belt and lets his pants fall to the floor, then waddles after Joey calling, "My baby! My little boy! Come to Mama!" It keeps Anthony occupied until Chris and Bobby come back.

Bobby's stiff and nervous in front of the others. He stands by himself next to the refrigerator until Chris puts in "Bye Bye Bye" and he and Joey lip-synch to Justin and JC's parts. Then he loosens up and has a beer and tells Anthony what it's like to work for Creed.

Justin leans over to Lance and says quietly, “Creed hate us. People who like Creed hate us.” Justin’s breath tickles Lance’s ear.

The next morning Justin steals the mix tape from Lance’s Walkman. Typical Justin, Lance thinks, when he notices that Justin keeps fast forwarding through the songs he doesn’t like, even after Lance asks him not to.

“What the fuck, Lance?” Justin says, throwing the Walkman onto the couch. Anthony is sitting at the table, talking to Joey and they both look over at Justin. Justin keeps complaining. “You can make a copy. You can buy the damn cds. Who cares if I fuck up the tape?” Justin settles back into the couch and rubs his eyes.

Typical Justin, Lance thinks and frowns. Justin, who has over four hundred pairs of shoes and expensive cars and motorcycles, never understands the need to be careful with other people’s things. Lance doesn’t even want to start on this. Lance says quiet enough that Anthony can’t hear it, “Then make a fucking copy if you intend to fuck it up, I don’t know what all the songs are.”

Justin says “fine” in a pissy voice like he’s fourteen again and takes the tape out of the Walkman. He gets up and walks back to the stereo. Anthony raises an eyebrow and Lance stares intently at the TV. In the reflection on the screen, he can see Justin standing at the stereo with a foul expression on his face, staring intently at the buttons. Lance wonders how all this will read in Rolling Stone.

Justin gives Lance the original and listens to the copy. He hits fast forward with emphasis as they sit on the couch. Lance keeps watching the TV, even when MTV plays that Slipknot video Lance can’t stand.

They get into the next town late at night and go straight to the hotel. Justin watches Anthony walk into his room and then grabs Lance’s arm and they walk to Justin’s room.

Lance brings it up while they’re lying in bed. “Did you have to be such a brat about the tape this afternoon?” He hears a little whine in his voice.

“Whatever, dude. Do you have to be such an anal dork about some tape that isn’t even yours to begin with?”

Lance wants to say that he wasn’t a dork, that it was just more of Justin being a brat because he thinks everything can be replaced. Justin thinks money will take care of everything. Lance sits up and rubs his eyes. “Never mind,” he says. “Whatever.”

Justin sits up, laughing. He rubs Lance’s neck and starts humming Smells Like Teen Spirit. Lance sighs. “Look, Justin, that stupid reporter is supposed to meet me in the morning. I should actually sleep in my bed.”

Justin stops rubbing. He leans against Lance’s back for a moment. Then he says, “You wanna fuck again before you go?”

Lance contemplates saying no, to see what Justin would do, but he's getting hard just thinking about Justin's hands on his body. He turns around suddenly and there is almost violence in the kiss because Lance is still a little angry. Justin wraps his leg around Lance's body and clutches at Lance's back with sweaty palms. Lance hears JC's voice outside the door as he's pulling the wrapper off the condom.

"Jay? Dude, Juju, you in there?"

"Fuck him," Justin says, his mouth against Lance's throat. "Come on."

Lance pulls the condom out of the wrapper and starts to roll it on.

"Justin, bro, come on, man. I just gotta -- can I talk to you, man?"

"Fucking JC." Justin digs his nails into Lance's bare ass. "Get in me."

Lance throws Justin's legs wide and rubs him with lube, then slides in. It doesn't take either of them very long to come. Lance leans down to kiss Justin, and then wipes off Justin's stomach with his t-shirt. JC is still whining outside the door when Lance gets out of the shower.

"Dude, let him in already."

Justin flips channels on the television. "I don't want to."

"Fuck you guys, I can hear you talking."

Lance meets Justin's eyes. Justin makes a masturbatory gesture and Lance laughs as he opens the door.

JC's wearing one of Chris's shirts over a pair of surgical scrubs. His eyes are still red.

"You guys have a nice night," Lance says. "I gotta go to bed."

JC tosses his head back. "Dude, stay. I want -- I want to talk to you, too."

"If we get my mom and some cheesecake in here, it'll be like an episode of The Golden Girls." Justin is still flipping channels.

"Dude, I just don't know what to do, okay? I'm a fuck-up. I fucked up." JC looks at the floor.

"Seriously, just keep it in your pants." Justin shrugs his shoulders. "It ain't that hard."

"Good advice from you two." JC crosses his arms.

"Honestly, dude, he's seeing somebody else." JC looks at Lance. "Chris, I mean. So you should just leave it alone."

"Does he like this guy?"

Lance sits on the edge of the bed. "I don't know."

Justin puts the remote down. "I'm not trying to be the asshole here, but can we just go to bed? I don't want to talk about this, man."

JC runs a hand across his face. "Okay." He turns around and mumbles, "Sorry I bothered you" as he shuts the door behind him.

"Well."

Lance slips into a pair of Justin's pants. "Yeah."

"Dude, just sleep in here tonight."

"Call downstairs and make your wakeup call early."

Justin reaches for the phone. "Okay."

Lance gets to his room before Anthony and rolls around on the bed a few times. They have one of those conversations where Lance never lies and never says anything about himself that matters. Justin comes over to his room as Anthony’s gone. He flops into a chair and starts reading a book with a pink cover.

“Justin, what is that book? Is that one with the diminution of adoration thing?”

“Yeah,” Justin throws it down on the floor. “It’s stupid. My mom sent it to me, after the big break-up.” Justin rolls his eyes.

“It’s like a self-help book? How to go on after dumping a pop princess?” Lance sits on the bed, laughing.

“It’s like, well, first off, it’s stupid. It’s all this advice for women, advice for men. And I’ve been reading it, like thinking of us - and I can’t figure out which of us is the girl, here. So I think it’s you and the book says you should be way more submissive to my will.”

“You’re the girl.” Lance starts imitating Justin primping in the morning.

Justin laughs. “Fine, neither of us is the girl. In which case, that book is not fucking helpful. And stupid besides.” Justin looks around. “Let’s go buy books.”

They end up at a big independent bookstore in downtown. Justin walks through the literature aisle and looks lost. He turns to one of the bodyguards. “Who’s your favorite author?”

The bodyguard looks at him and considers. He says “Richard Wright.”

Justin claps his hands and finds the Richard Wright section. He grabs a new copy of Native Son. Lance points out a used copy right next to it and Justin waves him off. The other bodyguard likes murder mysteries so they troop over to that section. Justin ends up with a stack of Tony Hillermans, Julie Smiths and Sue Graftons. He pokes Lance as they walk up the stairs to the third floor. “Dude, buy a book. Don’t be all illiterate.”

Lance just laughs. “I think you’re buying enough. I can’t borrow yours?”

“Cheapskate,” Justin says with a giggle. “You’re almost as bad as JC.”

Justin walks up and down the books about music aisle. He stops in front of the new Kurt Cobain biography. He stands near Lance and runs his finger up and down the cover. He turns to Lance and Lance waits for the inevitable “he would’a hated our band.” Lance starts to roll his eyes. He’s ready to blow up about this, to tell Justin to stop fucking talking about how everyone hates their band.

Justin looks at their bodyguards standing at either end of the aisle and the deserted aisle. He leans over and kisses Lance. Tender at first and then something Justin does with his tongue has Lance hard and clutching Justin’s ass. Justin pulls away and smiles. He taps Lance on the chest. “Buy a book, Lance, okay?”

Justin spends one hundred and forty dollars at the bookstore and doesn’t buy anything used. Lance spends three bucks for a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, used.

Justin’s still listening to the tape and Lance still can’t figure out who the one song is by. At a radio interview, the deejay asks what they’re all listening to. Justin cocks his head and says, “Bob Dylan.”

Chris starts giggling and the deejay does a double take. “Bob Dylan?”

“Yeah. Uh, Blood on the Tracks. I really like that song, Idiot Wind. That’s a great song.” Justin says it seriously, and Lance remembers that Idiot Wind is the Dylan song on the tape. He can’t believe Justin’s listened to all six minutes of the song. The deejay boggles for a moment and goes on to the rest of the standard questions.

For a week, even after Anthony stops shadowing them, Justin won’t stop talking about Bob Dylan, Patti Smith and Lou Reed. Once he mentions Husker Du, and Lance has never even heard of that band. The rest of the band just giggle, except JC who waits until after an interview to ask who Lou Reed is. Before a show, Justin hands Lance a printout of the Rolling Stone daily e-news thing. Under the heading “We don’t know what to make of this either” it says: ‘Apparently reeling from his break up with Britney Spears, N Sync hottie Justin Timberlake has Idiot Wind by Bob Dylan on repeat on his stereo. As noted above, we don’t know what this means either, but we hope it’s not prep for a cover by N Sync.’

Justin smiles wide and says, “Dude. Fuckers are all pissed off.” Lance doesn’t get it at all. After the show he finds Justin at his laptop, reading newsgroups. “Man, look!” Justin points at the screen. Lance reads over his shoulder and it’s a whole thread on the R.E.M. newsgroup bitching about Justin and his new love of Patti Smith.

“That’s my favorite one,” Justin says with a grin. He points at a particularly long post that argues in great detail that Justin is too stupid to understand all the nuances of Smith’s albums.

Lance frowns and looks at Justin. “What the fuck, Justin?”

“Hate me more,” Justin says with a laugh. “Hate me more, fuckers.” The next day, Justin stops talking about all the bands from the tape and goes back to talking about rap and r&b.

Lance finds JC and Joey in the common room on the bus that Justin, JC and Lance share a week after JC waited outside Justin's door.

"It's like that song, man."

JC furrows his brow. "What song?"

"That Tom Waits song that Justin was talking about before. 'I've lost my St. Christopher, now that I've kissed her.'" Joey takes a swallow of beer.

JC takes a bite from his sandwich. "What's that mean?"

"St. Christopher was a martyr."

"Okay." JC pauses. "What's a martyr?"

"It's somebody who dies for a cause they believe in," Lance explains, taking a bottle of water from the fridge. "St. Christopher died for his religious beliefs."

Joey raises his eyebrows. "Well, well. Somebody's been to the library."

"Lance, dude, that's cool, but, like, I still don't get what the lyric means and I don't get what it has to do with me and Chris."

Joey takes a potato chip from JC's plate. "I don't know, dude, I just thought it sounded cool."

"You're full of shit." JC throws a napkin at Joey.

Lance drinks from the bottle and thinks about To Kill A Mockingbird. He goes into Justin's bunk and digs around in his stuff until he finds a Dramamine. He washes it down with the water and settles onto the couch with the book twenty minutes later. Justin comes over with Native Son and rests his head on Lance’s lap while he reads. Joey looks at the two of them and laughs.

“Fuck you, Joey. Why are you even here? Don’t you have your own bus” Justin snarls.

Joey sits down and looks over at JC playing with food. “Well, bookworm, Chris and Bobby are on my bus and I like to give them some privacy.”

Justin looks back down at his book and says, “Fuck off.”

That night, Lance lies spooned against Justin in Justin’s bunk. He rubs Justin’s side while Justin reads. “Dude, let’s sleep.”

“Yeah, whatever, gimme a minute.”

“We have to be up in five hours, so, you know …”

Justin puts the book down. “Dude, close your eyes and sleep. Don’t let me stop you.”

Lance points at the overhead light and gets up. Justin ignores him and picks the book back up. Lance sighs and moves to get out of the bunk.

Justin grabs his arm. “Fuck, Lance, stay.”

“Can’t sleep with the light on, you know that. So. I want to sleep.”

He watches Justin consider. Justin puts the book down and switches off the light. Justin pulls Lance close and whispers in his ear, “I sleep better with you here. Don’t be so fucking pissy.”

When Lance and Justin were babies, when they were in Germany, Joey took it upon himself to explain important things to them. Lance remembers him saying, “Men say I love you in three cases. The first two are the most common. One: when he has achieved orgasm with another person and not his hand.” Justin giggled and Lance just blushed. Lance can still recall the smell of Joey’s beer sodden breath. “Two: when he is in danger of not getting to achieve orgasm with that other person. As in, I love you, don’t leave me, forgive me.”

Justin piped up, “What’s the third one?”

Joey took a draw off his beer and said, “When you mean it. But that’s pretty fucking rare.”

Lance wakes up and pulls his arm out from underneath Justin. His arm’s fallen asleep and he rubs it and winces through the pins and needles. He thinks about what Joey said and he’s sure, he’s pretty sure that with he and Justin, there’s only been the ‘forgive me, I want to fuck you in the future’ type of I love yous. He wishes Justin weren’t such a fucking brat. He wishes they could get through one day without Justin pointing out someone he was convinced hated the band. He wishes this wasn’t all power plays and bullshit.

Justin wakes up a little and curls around Lance. He kisses Lance’s neck and mumbles, “Sorry if I was being an ass last night.”

Lance swallows and says, “It’s fine.”

The five of them are eating lunch at a fancy restaurant, the band at the table, bodyguards and the rest at the other tables around them. Justin looks over at the waiters milling by the kitchen entrance. “They fucking hate us.”

Lance inhales sharply and slaps his spoon down on the table. “Man. Justin, I’m at the fucking end of this. Can we fucking stop talking about this? Not everyone likes us. Get over it.”

Justin glares at the tea bag and saucer in front of him. “Fuck off. I’m saying, lots of people hate us. Think we suck.”

“Yeah, and that’s not gonna change anytime soon. So, damn, shut up about it. Lots of people do.” Lance looks up and silently prays the waiters bring the food soon.

Justin looks around at all the guys. “Why do you think they just hate us?”

Chris leans back in his chair and rolls his eyes. “Cause young girls like us, and things young girls like are automatically shit.”

Joey nods. “Lots of people don’t like pop music, they want it to be all tortured.”

JC fiddles with his fork and watches Chris. “Also, they think we’re all manufactured and not real and they think real is something that matters in whether music is good or not.”

Lance sighs. Justin looks down at his cup of tea. He says, quietly, “They think we’re stupid. They think if we were smarter, we’d make different music. And we’re stupid.”

Lance looks at his water glass and runs his finger around the rim. Joey is looking at him intently and Lance looks at Justin. Justin is staring at him, too. Justin bites his lip and looks down.

Chris leans forward and hunches over the table. “We’re not stupid. You’re not stupid. And there reaches a point, you gotta ask, is it worth it to worry so much about what other people think.”

Justin snorts. “We’re in the business of worrying about other people think. We have to worry about it. C’mon, listen to us in interviews. When’s the last time you gave an answer that wasn’t about what other people think?”

Lance laughs. “Well, if we were honest in interviews, we’d be saying that three-fifths of this table has boyfriends.”

JC winces. Joey giggles and says, “We worry about certain people. It’s not like we, you know, per se, lie.” He laughs again. “If we were in some metal band, we’d be giving pat answers, too, man. Just they’d be all about how much coke we snorted and all the porn stars we were dating.”

Chris is grinning, too, now. “Yeah! Where’re my porn stars?”

Joey and Chris coax the conversation past Justin’s frown with jokes about porn stars and metal stars hiding bibles from reporters. Justin even cracks a smile and drops the subject. In the dressing room, before the show, though, Justin turns to Lance and says, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, there. I mean, I knew you think I’m stupid but it’s nice to know for sure.”

Lance frowns at Justin’s slumped posture. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I think some of things you worry about are stupid. It’s different.”

Justin pulls at his fingers. “Fine. And, you know, thanks for saying that without me, you know, prompting it.”

Lance sighs. He imagines himself making a note in his daily planner for two weeks hence to tell Justin that he’s not stupid. He wonders if that will be long enough for Justin to think it’s without prompting. He walks over to Justin and rubs his shoulders. “Justin. Come on.” He kisses Justin’s neck and waits for Justin’s mood to pass.

At the hotel, JC arranges for a masseuse to go up to Chris's room. He follows the masseuse up and starts singing after Chris gets on the table. Bobby comes out of the bathroom with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other and laughs. Chris asks JC to leave, but he demands to talk to Chris alone. Bobby drops the cigarette into the beer bottle and Chris asks JC to leave again. The masseuse is trying not to laugh and JC doesn't leave until after Bobby hits him. JC tells this to Lance as Lance holds ice on JC's nose.

"Hit my fucking face, dude."

Lance reaches over and grabs a bottle of aspirin. "What'd you expect, JC?"

"I -- I thought he'd like it." JC winces. "Hold it up higher, dude."

"C, hold it yourself. What were you thinking, going up there like that?"

JC closes his eyes and takes the ice bag from Lance. "Well, I didn't think his boyfriend would be there."

"You didn't think at all, bro." Lance places the aspirin in JC's hand. "JC, your heart's in the right place, but I don't know where the hell your head is."

JC swallows it dry. "So what are we gonna do?"

Lance shakes his head. "This is your thing, dude. I'm not getting involved."

"No, I mean, about this." He repositions the ice. "He hit my fucking face."

"They can cover it up."

"Whoa!" Justin steps into the room and laughs. "What the fuck, dude?"

"Bobby."

"You probably had it coming." Justin stands behind Lance and wraps his arms around him.

"Fuck you."

"You just gotta talk to him, you know?" Lance leans against Justin. "Like, you know, just get him alone and stuff. Don't try that fancy shit because he's not gonna like it."

"Plus, it's dumb."

Lance chuckles. "Yeah, there is that."

"No, really." Justin pulls away from Lance and sits next to JC on the couch. "Cause, like, doing that shit, with the singing and stuff? That's not hard for you. There's no effort, you know?"

"I wrote a new song for him." JC balances the ice on his nose and lets his hands fall to his sides.

"But dude, the point is that it's not hard for you to write a song. Writing and singing, dude, that's your job." Justin leans forward and looks thoughtful. "Say you're sorry. Tell him how you feel. It'll mean more cause, like, he'll know that it was hard for you to say."

Lance wondered if Justin got that stuff from the relationship book, or if he came up with it on his own.

Justin pats JC's knee. "You should rest, dude."

"I am resting."

"Like, in bed or something." He winks at Lance. "Or at least in your own room."

JC manages a small smile. "It's not like I haven't heard you before."

"We're gonna go eat." Justin stands and takes Lance's hand. "We'll wake you up when we get back."

"Thanks, dude."

In the hallway, Lance pushes Justin against the door and nuzzles his neck. "That was nice, what you said."

Justin shrugs. "I don't know."

"No, it was. I liked it. It was a cool thing to say."

Justin shrugs again and squirms away from Lance. "Come on, dude," he says, halfway to the elevator. "Let's go eat."

The tour will be done soon and then there’s the break. Lance doesn’t know exactly what happens now. He has work stuff and production company things and Justin has time. He watches Justin eat, scooping up pasta sauce with bread and then sipping water. Lance thinks he should ask. Instead he says, “How’s the book?”

“Hmm. Native Son? It’s good. It’s deep. I mean, seriously, lot going on there. I’m gonna read it again, when I finish.” Justin looks down at his half-demolished meal. “Joey’ll think I’m the slowest reader ever. Maybe I’ll put a different cover on it or something.”

Lance taps his fork on his plate. “Fuck Joey.”

Justin laughs. “I’ve never wanted to do that, frankly. I mean I like Joey and all, but, man, I don’t completely get what girls see in him at all.”

Lance smirks. “Well, you know, good. But, seriously. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

Justin just looks at his food for a moment. They finish their meal in silence.

Justin wakes up JC by tapping lightly on the bruise on his face. JC leaves for his own room. Justin strips and just sits on the bed. Lance sits down next to him, feeling odd still wearing his boxers but being naked doesn’t feel right either. He looks at Justin. “Yo. What’s up?”

“Lance.”

There’s a moment of silence. Lance just stares at Justin staring at the room. “Lance is my name. I am sitting here. What’s up, Justin?”

“We’re not ... we’re not very easy, are we?”

Lance thinks. They’ve only been in the room a few hours and it still looks like both of them. A mess of things Justin has left lying around and Lance’s neat stack of bags. Lance’s laptop is closed and exactly centered in front of the chair. Justin’s shirt lies discarded in the middle of the floor. Lance suddenly feels chilly. Only two weeks left of the tour and then there they are. No more hotels rooms or buses for a while and Justin would have to choose to spend time with him, not be shoved into endless rooms with him. Lance thinks he can finally have a neat room. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing. He leans against Justin’s shoulder, tracing the tattoo on his arm with his finger. “I guess. But that makes it worth more, right?”

Justin laughs. “Fine. Screw it, let’s fuck.” He puts his hand on Lance’s chest and pushes him down onto the bed. Justin tugs off Lance’s boxers with one quick motion. He’s lying on top of Lance, kissing his neck and chest. “Let’s fuck,” Justin says quietly.

Lance turns Justin over and watches as Justin scoots back on the bed with his elbows. Lance looks for a minute at the smooth skin on Justin's stomach and the tattoos on Justin's arm and legs. Their eyes meet but Justin doesn't smile. Justin's lips are turning red and Lance notices dark smudges beneath Justin's eyes. Justin looks away first. Lance studies the line of Justin's hand, how his fingers curve, how his wrist arches back and blends into his arm. Justin makes a small sound. Lance licks his palm and runs his palm over Justin, then opens his mouth.

He runs his tongue along Justin's cock, then around it, then below it. Justin rocks against him slowly and makes another small sound. Lance slips inside. He tastes ice and fire and oxygen bubbling on his tongue and feels weightless. He wants to swim in Justin, to float with him, to feel nothing but water and skin. He dips further into Justin, tugging, lapping, pushing, swimming. Justin is in him, on him, everywhere, and when Justin comes, Lance feels drunk with it all.

Lance crawls up the bed and flops down next to Justin. Justin's fingers rest in the spaces between Lance's ribs. He scoots over and lets his head rest on Lance's pillow, and Lance can feel the press of Justin's stubble against his shoulders.

"I used your computer today," he says.

Lance pulls Justin's hand off his ribs and folds their fingers together. "That's okay."

"I found some cool stuff. Like, you know."

"Like music and stuff?"

Justin exhales and his breath on Lance's skin gives Lance goosebumps. "I saw some stuff about, like, Eastern religions. And I didn't understand all of it, you know, because it's a whole different thing. But there was this one part that I really liked." He sits up and slides under the blankets, then looks at Lance. "'Words are like fingers pointing at the moon.'"

Lance slips into bed, too. "What's it mean?"

"Just think about it for a second, dude. 'Words are like fingers pointing at the moon.' That's like, seriously, the most beautiful thing, dude. I had to keep reading it over and over because I didn't get it, you know? But then it made sense."

Lance rests his head on his arm. "Explain it to me."

"Okay, the dude who wrote it said that, like, the fingers direct your attention to the moon, and that's a good thing. But you shouldn't mistake the fingers for the moon. They're just showing you this thing in the sky, but the moon's always there, whether you're looking at it or not. The fingers aren't the beautiful thing here." He takes a breath. "And so words, right, words aren't the beautiful things, either. The dude who wrote it was talking about different gods and religious experiences and stuff, but I think it works for, like, us, too. Cause what's beautiful are the feelings."

Lance nods. "Okay. That makes sense."

"Yeah?" Justin smiles. "Good. Because, like, that reminded me of us, dude. That whole thing. The way that I feel about you, that's what's important."

Lance feels his heart pounding, and then reminds himself that he's not a fourteen-year-old girl. But then Justin's eyes are so round and so full and so honest that Lance can't breathe, and it doesn't matter how old he is. "How do you feel?"

"I love you." Justin strokes two fingers down Lance's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you," Lance says back, his voice deep and barely above a whisper.

Justin keeps stroking Lance's cheek. "And that's like the moon. It's always there. So." He laughs a little. "Fuck, I sound like I'm in a romance novel."

Lance kisses Justin's palm. "Keep talking."

"It's just...the words...don't think because I don't say it all the time...fuck." Justin wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay, I love you and it's not something that I always tell you, but I do. 'Words are like fingers pointing at the moon.' You understand?"

Lance places his hand on Justin's neck and draws Justin to him. "I do." He fiddles with Justin's ear. "You could put that in a song."

Justin smiles. "Yeah, if you're the one who explains it to JC."

"You're not stupid." Lance says it suddenly, and pulls back to really look at Justin. "Look at what you just said. Look at what you can do. These fucks out there, dude, let them think whatever. They don't know. They don't know you. But you're not stupid, Justin, not at all."

Justin doesn't speak. He rises slowly and lets his lips meet Lance's. He's sitting in Lance's lap, just kissing him, and JC knocks on the door again. Lance half-laughs, half-cries and puts his forehead to Justin's chest. Justin kisses Lance's neck, then climbs out of bed and pulls on a pair of pants. "Go take a shower. I'll talk to him."

Lance washes his hair twice with Justin's shampoo because he likes how it smells. He almost wishes Britney's bag was still around so he could leave a note for Justin, in lipstick on the mirror. He wraps himself in a towel because he forgot to take a change of clothes into the bathroom, and when he opens the door, he can hear that JC is still there.

JC and Justin are sitting on the couch with an open box of pizza between them. Lance takes a slice and sits on the armrest next to Justin.

"How's your face?"

JC shrugs. "It doesn't really hurt that much."

"It will in the morning," Justin says.

"Yeah, cause you're so tough. You know from bar fights, dude." JC rolls his eyes.

Justin picks a mushroom off his slice of pizza and looks at Lance. "Dicklick says that Chris and Bobby are fighting."

"Because he hit you?" Lance reaches for a second slice.

"That's what Joey said." JC plays with his hair. "I don't know if it's true, though."

Justin stuffs the crust into his mouth. "Why would Joe make it up?"

"To make me feel better?"

"Joey doesn't care that much, dude."

JC touches his face. "I'm going over there."

Lance stifles a yawn behind his hand. "To talk to Chris?"

JC nods. "Do you guys want the rest of this? Because I thought I could take it with me."

"Dude." Justin shakes his head. "You're gonna give him a half-eaten pizza?"

JC furrows his brow. "Yeah?"

"Hold up." Justin goes to his bags and rummages through them until he finds the relationship book from his mother. "Take a look at that, too."

"Another book?" JC balances it on the top of the pizza box and reads the back.

"If you get a chance." Justin stands behind Lance and puts his hands on Lance's shoulders. "Night, dude."

When JC's gone, Justin and Lance sit on the couch. Lance pulls Justin's feet into his lap. He rubs Justin's ankles and watches Justin's eyes flutter closed, and thinks about closing his own. He thinks about what Justin said before, about words and the moon, and thinks that it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard, too.

"Dude."

Lance looks over and sees that Justin's eyes are open. "What?"

"That book you're reading, is it good?"

"'To Kill A Mockingbird'? I finished it, but yeah, it was really good."

Justin leans over and picks the book up off the floor, then tosses it to Lance. "Read it to me."

Lance grins. "Should I put on my spectacles?"

Justin grins back. "Read."

Lance turns on the lamp on the end table next to the couch and opens the book. "When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem's fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury...."

THE END

Onto the last story in the series Emma Flood, My Best Friend

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