Justin came into the bedroom the next afternoon and wrapped himself around Lance, sitting on the bed and reading. Lance tried not to giggle.

"What are you reading?" Justin murmured against Lance's chest.

"Um. Shit."

Justin sat up a little and looked at him. Lance showed him a page from the book, some glossy thing on the Backstreet Boys aimed at teenagers. Justin groaned and burrowed closer to Lance.

"JC bought it at a garage sale, near the place he was painting yesterday. I'm sorry, dude. This is, like the funniest thing. I'm really, really enjoying this section on your ideal girl."

"Man. I don't even -- shit, they gave me a list when I was thirteen." Justin moved his leg and started rubbing Lance's foot. "Tell me about my ideal girl."

Lance started giggling. "Uh. Optimistic! Self-assured. Not clingy. Not judgmental. And, can I note in passing, there's a very sad over-use of exclamation points in this book. Shit, I could write this better. Joey could write this better. Oh, and you want girls who like to go out and party or rock climb." Lance paused. "This book is such a fucking rip-off. An entire page talking about your astrological sign and how Virgo girls have a great chance with you. I don't even believe in astrology and I feel burned." Lance started laughing again.

Justin made a noise. "Wonder how much money I didn't make off that thing?"

Lance snorted. "Well, there's that. Hey," he poked Justin. "Tell me how old you are in this picture."

Justin sat up and stared at the picture. "Fourteen."

Lance shuddered and closed the book. "I am going straight to hell. I am seriously going to straight to hell. I'm as bad as that damn choreographer."

Justin laughed a little and settled back against Lance. "You weren't dating me then, dude."

"But. Justin, I was looking at the picture thinking you were hot. You were fourteen. I should be arrested. Did you, was there a moment anywhere in your adolescence, or your life where you looked bad? Or awkward, even for a second?"

"It's called airbrushing, man, look it up."

Lance sat back and put his arm around Justin. "I don't believe it." He rubbed Justin's head, felt the short curls under his hand. "Did you -- fuck, they gave you a list when you were thirteen? You weren't still saying that stuff, like, before you left, right?"

Justin sighed and murmured, "Yeah. It's easy to just be on auto-pilot."

"So, tell me about your ideal girl."

"Uh. First off, boys are okay."

Lance smiled. "That's good."

"Yeah. Um, Southern. Like, Deep South. I could maybe even narrow it down to, uh, Mississippi. College degree. I like 'em educated. Blond. Hot. You know." Justin rubbed Lance's stomach.

"Justin. I'm your ideal girl. That works out well." Lance put his hand over Justin's.

Justin shifted around and straddled Lance. He smiled down at Lance. "Well, you know, when I get to choose my own fucking answers."

The lawsuits kept going, with depositions and motions. Lance got a Florida driver's license, even while he worried that he had no plan here at all. His mother still hesitated when he started talking about Justin, but she said his name and stopped calling him "that boy." She did ask about the lawsuit, at least. One night Chris and Lance were reviewing documents Chris had pried out of TransCon when Justin walked over to the two of them, scowling. "When is this gonna be over, Chris?"

Chris looked up and sighed. "Hard to say. I mean -- if we go to trial, it could be a while. You know. They may decide to up and settle at any time."

Justin crossed his arms and frowned more. "What's -- what's the worst case scenario here? Like, a year or something? 'Cause we're all like nearly broke already."

Chris clasped his hands together on the table and looked down. "Worst case scenario? I've told you this, Justin. We go to trial, we lose, they win, you owe them a shitload of money and they take it out of your hide by keeping you on the road and in the studio for the rest of your life. And yeah, if that happens, I'm broke and probably bankrupt. And so are you. I don't think it will. But I've told you."

"So, I have to work for Lou? For-fucking-ever? They, like, make me?" Justin started pacing, swinging his arms around.

Lance stood up and walked over to Justin, reaching out to rub Justin's arm. "Justin, they're not gonna come to your house with armed guards." Then Lance blanched, because maybe they would just dope Justin up again, take him off the street.

Chris stood up by the table and tapped the papers. "They can't force you -- they don't own you. But you wouldn't be able to do anything and you'd owe them a lot of money."

Justin shrugged off Lance's hand. "I won't work for him anymore. I won't do it. I won't do the fucking interviews, nothing. I won't." Justin rubbed his throat and then started rubbing his left wrist hard. "I won't do it."

Lance stood behind Justin and saw the tense shape of his shoulders. "Justin, it will be fine. We're not gonna lose. And even if we do, they can't make you show up."

Justin hugged himself and stalked back into the bedroom. Right before they fell asleep, Justin turned towards the window and said, "Trying not to be an asshole, here, I swear."

Lance nodded. He said, "I know," and meant it.

Two days later, Justin showed up at Lance's office around five pm. Lance looked up, startled, at Justin dressed in his suit from the press conference.

"Joey dropped me off. There's this thing -- dinner. Can you head out now?"

Lance looked down at his planner and tugged at his tie. "Let me check." Just as Lance stood up, he saw his boss walking over.

When Lance had gone back to Clinton, he'd called Bev from the road and said something about a family emergency. She'd cooed nicely and sent his last check to Clinton. When he'd come back to Orlando and she'd asked again why he left, he'd said, "I broke up with my boyfriend." Right after he'd said it, he'd looked at her, and her white hair in its perfect flip and thought, shit. She'd blinked twice and then hired him back, full-time instead of part-time and didn't mention it again. And it was a nice job, he did like it.

He smiled nervously when Bev walked over to his desk. "Bev, I've got this thing and is it okay if I leave now?" Justin had moved behind his desk and was poking at the pictures on Lance's desk.

Bev stood in front of his desk and tapped her nails on his desk. "Well, sure, but a little warning is always nice."

"My fault," Justin said, clearing his throat. "I, uh, forgot to tell him."

Lance rubbed his forehead. "Uh, Bev, this is, uh..."

Bev nodded. "The boyfriend?" She smiled and held out her hand.

Justin grinned and shook her hand. "Yeah. Some people call me 'uh' but usually, it's Justin." Justin poked Lance's hip and left his hand there, hooking his finger in the belt loop. Bev winked at him as they left.

Justin sat quietly in the car and fiddled with the radio. He stared out the window except when he gave directions. As they got out of the car outside a chichi restaurant, Justin turned to him and leaned against the car. "Lance, look, I hope I didn't get you in trouble at work and stuff, but I really needed you to come to this thing."

"I guess we're meeting with someone, right? Justin, it's a really bad idea to have these private meetings with people you're suing. Seriously."

Justin turned around and walked to the restaurant. As they were walking in, he said quietly, "I know all that, I do. I just gotta do this."

The maitre'd recognized Justin and lead them to a table set for two where Kevin Richardson sat. A waiter shuffled up and began setting a place for Lance while Kevin glared. "Justin, I thought this was just you."

Justin sat down and rubbed his spoon. "I wanted to leave under my own power, you know, not carted off to the loony bin again."

Kevin sighed. "You know, Justin, that place might have done you some good, if you'd let it."

Justin just rolled his eyes. Lance looked down at his menu and noticed there were no prices listed. He tried to remember how much space there was on his credit card. Kevin sat back and started to talk to Justin about some of the crewmembers, neutral chitchat about mutual acquaintances. Justin relaxed and even grinned a little. Lance thought, for a moment, he could see how Kevin had held everything together over the last eight years.

Justin looked down and picked at his salad. "Look, Kevin, there's something I need to make sure you understand. Which is why I called you."

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. I think I understand your position, Justin. Teams of lawyers understand your position."

Justin looked up and glared at Kevin. "I just want it really, really clear. I want out, man."

Kevin blinked. "You don't mean out, like, show off your boy here all over town, right?"

Justin rubbed his mouth and grinned. "Would that be so bad?"

Kevin gripped his fork and then put it down carefully. He just stared at Justin. "You're not that stupid."

"Why not? Is it so stupid?" Justin grinned again. Kevin just fumed.

Lance pushed his salad away. He cleared his throat and said, "Gay fans are very loyal. Barbra, Bette, Maddy? We love 'em forever. We're here, we're queer, we buy lots of records."

Kevin shot Lance a look full of hatred. "You're a fucking industry expert."

Justin tapped his fingers on the table. "Shut up, Kevin. I meant I don't ever want to work for Lou again. Like, I won't do it. And I wanted to make sure you were really clear on that."

Kevin leaned forward. "You really are that stupid. Justin, I'm confused. We're the biggest band in the fucking world. Sold one point seven million records in one week. It's a fucking record and no one's come close to breaking it. And Lou got us here and that's not enough for you?"

"We don't have the kind of money that says we're the biggest fucking band in the world, Kevin."

"Money's in publishing. And we have enough money. Or some of us do. You got a nice house? Your mom's got a nice house? Ever given a moment's thought to those years when we weren't selling shit and Lou supported us? You know these fucking arguments, Justin."

Justin shook his head and looked down. "We deserve more. And every moment of our lives are controlled. Nobody wants to hear our opinions about the music or let us write anything or produce. Every answer, every move."

Kevin laughed. "It's hardly every moment. And, yeah, we cater to our audience. We give the answers that sell records. Everyone does it, Justin. You think things'll change when it's just you?"

Justin kept his eyes on his plate. Lance reached under the table and grabbed one of Justin's hands, coiled in his lap. Justin gripped Lance's hand, and Lance almost gasped. Justin muttered, "I'm twenty and I won't do this anymore."

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "We control you. You were so fucking under our control. It just drives me crazy when you start saying that, Justin. We so fucking controlled you, you didn't, you know, overdose twice in the last three years. We weren't hustling some fucking rent boy out of your hotel room last year after he tried to rob you. I don't get where you come off."

Justin had crushed Lance's hand and he had to grip the edge of the table with the other one so he didn't fall out of his chair. He concentrated on his plate, looked at his salmon and the baby potatoes. Rent boy, he thought.

Justin looked up, his face pale. "Maybe if I could. Maybe if I was allowed to date who I want, I wouldn't be -- maybe if I had something to do at night and wasn't always. Fuck you, Kevin."

Justin let go of Lance's hand. He waved to the waiter and signaled that he wanted his and Lance's food to go. He stood up and rubbed his arms. Lance stood up slowly, tried to massage feeling back into his hand. When the waiter brought their food in boxes, Justin looked at Kevin. "I just wanted to be really clear. I won't ever work for Lou again. Swear to God, Kevin, I will cut my throat before I do."

They sat in the car in silence while Lance flexed his hand, waiting for the pins and needles to pass. Lance grabbed his cigarettes from the glove compartment and felt Justin cringe away from him. Lance slapped the pack down between them and lit his cigarette. He looked over as Justin opened the pack and snagged one. Justin took the lighter and lit his cigarette, looking out the window. He didn't even cough when he first inhaled.

"That, fuck, that, Justin, is the fucking last straw." Lance started the car and pulled out. He burst out laughing and heard how jagged his laughter sounded. "I can't fucking believe you. You're fucking smoking! You." Lance giggled. He accelerated and took a long drag from his cigarette. "I have -- this is so fucking insane. This is like, bizarre-o world. Land of the fucking insane, population: Lance! And you, of course. But I'm like, just, new to this place. I'm learning the lay of the land."

Lance waved his hand and looked over at Justin. Justin was pressed against the corner of the seat, clinging to the boxes on his lap. It might have looked sad but Justin was six feet tall, and the Honda Lance had brought from Clinton was a compact, so it just looked absurd. Lance started laughing again. "You're smoking. You. Mr. Lance and Chris need to quit and smoking is bad. And, really --"

Justin took a shaky drag off his cigarette. "I can explain." His voice was like a wisp of smoke. "I mean -- I'm a fucking lightweight, okay? So, like, both times, Nicky and AJ took the same amount of stuff I did, and they were just wasted and I'm all." Justin paused and looked out the window. "And, like, I only had to go to the hospital the second time. The first time was just downers and booze and I just kind of walked it off. AJ made me puke it up and all that. But, um, the second time was coke and yeah. I -- fuck. You knew I did drugs. And the rent boy thing? Okay, I just wanted to get laid. And, like, whatever, Nicky wasn't available and I didn't want to fucking deal with a fan."

Lance started laughing again. "Dude, I know that feeling. All through college, wanted to get laid. So I just dialed 1-800-rentboy, and they sent a guy right over. Amazingly cheap in Lincoln, you know? You probably paid more."

Justin flicked his cigarette out the window. "It was New York. You can get anything in New York."

"Mine was named George. And you?"

Justin leaned his head against the window. "Shut up. You're, like, scaring me." Justin sighed. "His name was Wade. And it was, like, the only time I ever did that."

Lance giggled again. "Cause he robbed you?"

Justin's voice was still quiet. "He tried to. Like, I fucked him and it was time for him to go and I don't know -- whatever, AJ and the bodyguards threw him out. And, you know, AJ smokes. And when we didn't have to perform or be in studio, sometimes Nicky and I would have a smoke or two. You still should quit, but uh. So, okay, everything explained. Now, stop wigging out. Cause you are seriously freaking me out."

Lance burst out laughing. He laughed for a minute or two and he even teared up. He sputtered, "Okay. Sure. Cause this is so fucking run of the mill. My boyfriend, his band mate, overdoses, cocaine, rent boys! It's so fucking everyday! It's like, shit! I saw this on an episode of Seventh Heaven! Reverend Camden, and the rent boys and the cocaine and Matt couldn't get a date."

Justin said quietly, "I don't know that show. Look, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? What are you sorry for? Not everyone watches Seventh Heaven. God, Justin. I have never, in my life, even seen cocaine. I guess on TV or something, but." Lance tried to talk through a fit of giggling. "I have no idea -- what the fuck do you see in me?"

Justin hunched over the boxes. "Well. You're, um, you're really nice. Like, not in a people walk all over you way, but like, you were nice to me from the moment we met and you still call me on shit. So, there's that. And, uh, you don't look at me like I'm Justin fuckin' Timberlake and famous, you look at me like I'm Justin. You want things from me, but it's just regular boyfriend things. Hmm -- when we first met, there were a couple of moments there when you were all fan boy, but not for long, so. And you're, uh, hot." Lance glanced over at Justin again, still hunched a little over the boxes. Justin looked at him and looked away.

Lance pulled over to the shoulder and lit a new cigarette off his old one. He put his hand over Justin's on the boxes. "I'm hot, huh? Hotter'n Wade the greedy rent boy?"

Justin tentatively smiled at him. "Totally." Justin leaned over and kissed Lance. He tasted a little of the cigarette but still a lot like lemonade.

While both sides await the start of the trial, fans camp out on the courthouse steps and depositions roll on. Kirkpatrick has not only become a fixture in front of Judge Summers, but has proved popular with all the participants in the small circus outside. Timberlake's lawyer is always good for a quote, including the day he told a Canadian TV station that Timberlake was paying him in autographed pictures.

Kirkpatrick is less popular with Jive Records. Their best-selling act has been off the road and is four months behind schedule on a new album that Jive hoped would be the best seller of the summer. Some in Jive credit Kirkpatrick's skill in "prolonging this pointless bid for more money from a willful teenager," in the words of one A&R rep from the company. Another insider from Jive speculates that if the legal imbroglio continues, Jive may pressure TransCon to cut Timberlake loose. "I bet it could work with five guys," the insider said.
-ROLLING STONE, Rock & Roll

Two weeks later, Lance found Justin in the basement doing laundry when he got home from work. No one else seemed to be home. He watched Justin carefully fold t-shirts and put them in one of four hampers behind the dryer.

"Hey, you did the laundry?" Lance raised an eyebrow and leaned against the washing machine. This sort of thing had never happened before. With his class over Justin spent his days working out, going to court, and fucking around on his guitar. He never did chores and Lance wondered what the hell had gotten into Justin.

"Yeah, I've got fuck all to do the during the day, why not?" Justin shot a glance at Lance and went back to folding. "I had to ask C some questions and some other people, but, I'm done now and nothing's shrunk or turned pink. So."

"Where's everybody?"

"Chris has a non-date with his ex. Some chick named Dani? I dunno, they're having dinner. And Joey and JC are out for their anniversary thing." Justin checked to make sure the dryer was empty and then leaned against the small pile of clothes on top of the dryer.

Lance rubbed Justin's back, listened to him purr for a moment. "It's their anniversary? That's cool."

"Well, yeah, I guess. They have, like, three anniversaries. Cause, you know, have you heard them argue about this? They don't agree about when their first date was. So, they have two anniversaries right there. And then they have that goofy I-love-you anniversary."

"I don't -- they don't agree when their first date was?"

Justin chuckled and shifted a little under Lance's hands. "Don't get them started. Seriously. It's this very lengthy story. The short version is that, you know, they've known each other for ages, and the Mouse thing crapped out and JC's, like, mostly out gay boy and Joey's kinda not, back then. And JC thinks this specific time they went out as friends was actually a date and Joey completely disagrees. Joey thinks their first date was two weeks later. And they get into these lengthy back and forths about, I dunno, bagels and plastic cups and shit and all this stuff -- they've been together so long, sometimes I think they've invented their own language. Anyway, tonight, JC thinks it's their sixth anniversary. Joey thinks it's in two weeks, but he humors JC."

Lance leaned over and kissed Justin's neck. He moved over and bumped his hip against Justin's. "Wow. Six years."

Justin grabbed one of the hampers and cocked his head at Lance. Lance nodded and grabbed another one and they walked upstairs. Justin put Chris's hamper in his room and followed Lance into JC and Joey's room as he dropped off Joey's. Justin paused at the base of the stairs and looked back at Lance. "We've been together, like, four months? Right? Cause we met on the eighth and we -- we don't have any argument about when our first date was."

Lance grabbed his own hamper of clothes and Justin dumped his own small pile of clothes on top of it. Justin grabbed the remaining one and they tottered out of the basement. Lance went straight to their room and started putting clothes in the drawers. He grinned when Justin walked into the room. "This is so fucking domestic."

"Yeah. So we deduct that month we weren't -- when we broke up and it's been, like, four months. Huh. I guess that's not that impressive, but it's, like, the longest real relationship I've ever had. You know, beats my six days with Eric." Justin flopped on the bed.

"Yeah, I mean -- well, you know what a loser I am. So, me, too." Lance put away Justin's few clothes in the drawer. Lance looked over at Justin. "What's an 'I love you' anniversary?"

Justin rubbed his eyes. "The anniversary of when they said 'I love you' to each other. It's some goofy Fatone thing. So, Joey told me that one is in, uh, two months and I'm all, wow, you guys moved quick. And then Joey's like, that one's a five-year anniversary. So, they were together for, uh, 14 months before they said it."

"Huh." Lance watched Justin stretch on the bed and then looked away.

"They could have said it on the first date, you know, those two? I think they prolly just had a moment and it was like, yeah. Him." Justin sat up and sighed. "I'm so fucking broke. Like, I don't mean to complain. But." Most of Lance's paycheck went to paying part of the mortgage payment on the house and the groceries for the house. They couldn't touch any of Justin's money, thanks to TransCon, and they couldn't ask Justin's family for money for the same reason. Chris was, at this point, working for nothing, all of Justin's ten grand gone and living off a small loan he'd taken out, along with the money JC, Lance and Joey pitched in. Lance gave Justin money and neither of them called it an allowance.

"Well. Um, this too shall pass."

"I thought, maybe," Justin grinned and looked up at Lance. "I thought I could get Joey to take nude pictures of me and we could sell 'em on Ebay. I mean -- non-sexual ones, or something, so it's not like it's porn. It'd be art. And I bet people would buy 'em."

"That's a thought." Lance grinned.

"I could be, like, a rent boy." Justin flopped back on the bed.

"You know the people to call for that, after all."

"True. I wonder how much I could get." Justin scratched his stomach through the t-shirt and Lance tried not to think how much he'd pay for Justin. He still had some space on his credit card.

"You know, not all your clients would be hot young queer pop stars, like, say, you. Probably a lot of skanky older men with trophy wives, and guys into kinks." Lance sat up on the bureau, fiddled with his tie.

"Maybe I could request only certain clients. Or something. I mean -- I'm a washed-up celebrity. I might have some clout." Justin sat up again, grinning.

"You're not washed up, Justin."

Justin shook his head and stood up, standing between Lance's legs and holding Lance's waist. "Anyway, I'd be a crappy rent boy. 'Cause I'd be all saying your name, probably. You know, 'oh, oh, Lan - I mean - George!'" Justin giggled and kissed Lance by the ear.

"Maybe, uh, you could just say 'baby,' or 'honey.'" Lance ran his hands along the waistband of Justin's jeans. The jeans were warm, straight from the dryer. He pushed up Justin's t-shirt a little so he could rub Justin's back. He giggled a little. "Were you, uh, doing laundry naked? Your clothes are all warm."

Justin leaned in closer. "In my boxers, dude. Joey was here until about an hour ago. Do you, uh, have some kind of weird laundry kink thing?"

"Hey, haven't you ever sat on a washer when it's all moving and churning -- okay, it's weird, but it's kinda hot." Justin leaned in even closer and rocked his hips against Lance. Lance laughed. "Like that."

"I've never done that, uh, I haven't been near a washer and dryer since I was twelve, besides living here, you know." Justin started loosening Lance's tie. He kissed Lance's ear and then nibbled at it a little.

Lance opened the top button of Justin's jeans. They were Justin's jeans, not ones he'd borrowed from Joey or Lance, one of the three pairs he had. Three pair of jeans, four t-shirts, one sweatshirt. Lance sighed. He looked at Justin's slim neck and kissed it. "Let's, uh, mess up the sheets. Then we can wash 'em. I'll show you."

Two days later when Lance got home from work, he heard laughter from his room. He walked back and saw Joey and JC leaning against the door while Justin sat on the bed surrounded by bags. Lance's mother stood in the middle of the room, cutting price tags off shirts. "Mom! What are you doing here?" Lance shook his head. "You -- you didn't call. Is something wrong?"

Lance's mom looked up and smiled. "Honey, you're home. There's nothing wrong. I just felt like stopping by and you were at work, so we went shopping." Justin waved at him and held up a dark blue long sleeve t-shirt.

"You felt like stopping by? Just swinging by on your way home from work in Mississippi? Mom, what's going on?" Lance grabbed at his tie. He wondered if something was wrong with his dad.

"Chill out," Justin said, grinning, hugging the shirt. "Don't worry, Poofu."

"Mom!" Lance turned and saw JC and Joey giggling at him. "Mom! How could you?"

She stood up straight and walked over to Justin, putting her hand on Justin's shoulder. "Lance. I have waited a very long time for you to have," she paused and swallowed, gripping Justin's shoulder a little tighter. He smiled up at her and winked at Lance. "I have waited for you to have, uh, to have a special someone that I could tell these kind of stories to. So, finally. I am a mother and I have been waiting to tell these stories since you were born." She smiled at Justin and laughed a little. She ruffled Justin's hair and grabbed Lance's arm as she walked out of the room. "Come with me, honey."

"Don't take too long, Poofu," JC called.

"Mom, JC isn't special to me at all." Lance stood in the hallway and looked down at her. "Seriously, what's going on?"

She furrowed her brow and looked down. "I called here a few days ago and you were at work and I ended up talking to Justin. He had some questions about doing the laundry. We started talking a little and I was trying to tell him he couldn't do much about a rip in his jeans and he should get a new pair and." She pursed her lips. "He was a little sniffly."

Lance hugged her. "You came down here to buy my boyfriend clothes? Mom, you are so cool."

His mom sighed. "I'm trying."

She took them all out to dinner. Chris let her stay in his room and put his bedding on the couch. He shooed them all out of living room and said something about certain people trying not to be too loud while an innocent mother slept across the hall. JC just nodded and then Chris said, "Like, you know, people who say really loudly every single fucking night, 'Joey, harder.'" JC giggled and blushed. Chris looked at Joey, "You ain't figured that part out yet, man?" Joey laughed and left the room with a spring in his step.

In bed that night, Justin gripped Lance's head while Lance sucked Justin's cock. "Ah," Justin breathed. "My favorite Poofu."

Lance sat up and pursed his lips. Justin grinned a little. Lance said, "Seriously. I won't ever do this again if you call me that a third time."

Justin laughed. "Okay, okay. Never again. Come on." Justin giggled for a bit and then gasped as Lance bowed his head again.

Lance drove his mom to the airport the next day. She looked at her hands clasped in her lap. "I like Justin. He's nice," she said.

"He's very nice. I'm glad you like him. It was nice of you to come down here and do all that for him. How, uh, how much did you spend on him, by the way?"

"We went to the outlets, honey. It was only about two hundred. We used to spend more on you for new school clothes. Don't worry about it."

Lance tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "I could've done without the Poofu thing."

She laughed and then stopped. "So, maybe, for Thanksgiving, you and Justin could come back to Clinton? That would be nice, right?"

Thanksgiving seemed years away. The lawsuits might all be settled then and then what? Justin would be back to being Justin fuckin' Timberlake, maybe on a tour of his own or something. Lance tried to imagine how he would fit into the schedule of a pop star and sighed. "I don't know, mom. I'll ask, you know, but things are kinda weird now. We don't plan that much ahead."

She nodded. "Well, do think about it. Maybe his family wants to do something with you two, also, so. We'll see."

Joey was outside smoking and poking at JC in front of the door when Lance got home from work. Lance leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. JC said, "Lance, your mom is great. She knows her way around a sale."

Joey laughed. "And JC would know that. But, man, yesterday? Driving to the outlet malls, it was like, the Jeep of Lance love."

Lance took a drag on his cigarette. "What are you talking about?"

"Dude. Your mom, Justin, sitting in the back seat talking about how you're the best guy in the world. Your mom talking about you in high school and college and how nice you are and how smart and then Justin going on about how they love you at your job and how Chris thinks you're so smart. I fuckin' hated you by the time we parked the Jeep."

JC smiled and said, "Still. It was cute. Joey's mom wouldn't fly down here if I was a little sniffly on the phone."

Joey flicked his cigarette butt into the can by the door. "Dude, my family likes you."

JC frowned. "Your family tolerates me. They put up with me and make fun of me when I leave the room. It's fine, Joey, but they don't like me."

Joey frowned and opened the door. Lance ground out his cigarette and followed them in. He sat down at the kitchen table across from Justin. Justin was chewing on a pencil, reading a fat book and taking notes. Lance toed off his shoes and tapped Justin's foot. Justin looked up and grinned. Lance smiled and said, "New shirt, baby?"

"You know it." Justin bent his head over his book. Lance opened his LSAT study guide and noticed a check tucked in the front page. His mom had left him a check so he could take the test. He grinned. They sat in silence while Joey started cooking dinner. After a half hour, Justin looked up and grinned. "Man, if it'd been you instead of Nicky and AJ when I was a kid, I would be doing a lot better in school right now. You, like, actually study."

"You're not in school now, right? Class over, I thought."

Justin frowned and looked down. "Yeah. And, you know, my teacher from that class called me back, later, when I got out of the loony bin. He said I'd done really well and I should take a credit course, like creative writing or something. He thinks I'm pretty smart so I guess I fooled him. And, well, I can't take a credit course. So."

Lance watched Justin fiddle with his pencil. "We could find a way to pay, Justin."

Justin sighed. "It's not the money, man. It's the getting in part." Justin tapped his pencil on the book. He leaned back in his chair and lifted up the book so Lance could see the title. A GED study guide.

"Ah. You, uh. I didn't know that."

"Yeah. I'm pretty fucking ignorant and uneducated." Justin put the book down and closed it. He put his head down on the table.

"My mom bought you that book, didn't she?"

Justin giggled. "Yeah. Seemed like she really liked me or something."

Jive continues to play a complex PR game. The record company is happy about anything that makes Timberlake seem less important than the other band members, but, says one insider, "Obviously, he was a part of the group from the beginning. Even if we end up without him in the group, we don't want to taint the previous work." Leaks from depositions have already begun to appear in newspapers that paint Timberlake as promiscuous, unstable and prone to drug use.

One Orlando scenester points out another side of the Timberlake debate, saying, "You think he did this stuff all by himself? He's out drinking and whoring and everyone else in the band was back at Bible Study?"
-ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY, News and Notes.

The trial date approached and Chris got antsy. He was convinced that the judge favored Justin, as much as he could tell, but he told Lance that he worried about TransCon's lawyers and Jive's lawyers and weaselly rich lawyer tricks. Lance came home for three nights in a row to Chris throwing Justin questions and Justin growing increasingly frustrated.

"Fuck this shit," Justin said and stomped out of the room. Lance sat across from Chris and grabbed the list of questions. Drugs, sex, missed concerts.

"He never missed a show. Even when he OD'ed the day before, he was performing the next night." Lance tapped the notes with a pen and looked over at the corridor that led to his room.

"I know. But I have to ask these things so he's ready when they do." Chris sighed and sipped at his coffee.

"No questions about the gay thing?"

"I don't think they'll bring it up. Seriously, they want him back or at least not a negative on their future. And they can't take him back if he's gay. And if he's gay and it comes out in testimony? Fuck, let's ask Justin who he lost his virginity to, shall we? They're the ones fucked up the ass if he answers that one."

Lance heard a sigh and saw Justin walk back into the room. "Okay. Okay. I'm done. I'm done. Let's, uh, finish this shit, Chris." Justin sat down on Lance's lap and wrapped his arms around Lance's neck. "Ask the fucking rest of the questions."

Chris called two days later and made everyone meet him at a karaoke bar. Lance was the last to arrive and he sat next to Justin. JC slapped the table and said, "Okay, Chris, now tell us. What the fuck are we doing here?"

Chris grinned his widest grin. He ordered drinks for everyone, stiff ones, even for Justin. "I propose a toast. A toast to the fact that fucking TransCon and fucking Jive made a fucking settlement offer today!"

Lance gulped down his drink and it burned his throat. He grinned and felt his stomach drop, and then laughed. He saw Joey and JC kissing and Justin smiling like his face would break. Justin said, "It's over?"

Chris bit his lip. "No. It's a shitty offer. There's no way you should sign it. But man, we get to make a counter-offer, we get to negotiate. And I bet you serious money, serious fucking money, that it will be over in two to three weeks."

"It's a bad offer?" Justin said weakly.

Chris nodded his head and whipped out five pages from his briefcase. He sent Joey and JC off to sing or whatever and started going through each page. Justin listened, nodded, and then said, "So. Yeah. I'm out of the group, aren't I?"

Lance rubbed Justin's hand, looked at Justin's pale face. "You knew that, Justin. You knew that was the likely ending, here."

"It's like -- like the difference between being told someone's dead and actually being at the funeral, you know?" Justin sipped his drink and sighed. "Okay, okay. This is me, being calm and mature. I can handle this." He rubbed his eyes. "Okay. Why don't I, uh, sign up for a song and then when I come back, we'll talk about the next step?"

Chris nodded and Justin walked away. "He's doing better. You know?"

"Yeah," Lance said. "You mean better than you expected in reacting to this?"

"I mean he's doing better. He's growing up. Which is good. Cause, you know, shit hitting fan serious time is upon us. Not to get all doo-doo-doo-dee ominous music here."

Lance looked up at the stage and watched Joey and JC singing "I'll Be There" to each other. Justin came out of the bathroom and sat down with a sigh. "Not singing yet. What's next here, Chris?"

Chris grinned. "This is the fun part." JC and Joey sat down, their hands entwined. "Guys, guys. This is where we decide what to put in the counter-offer."

Lance grinned. "Oh, yeah. We want everything."

Chris poked Justin with his pen. "What do you want, Justin? Tell me everything."

Justin leaned back. He rubbed his chin. "I want -- I want them to pay all my legal fees. Like, pay you and Lance back for all the money you're put out."

Chris sighed a little and Lance sat forward. "No. No fucking way, Justin."

"You -- you don't want to pay Chris?" Justin crossed his arms.

"No -- Chris should get paid, but not me. I'm not taking a fucking cent -- I won't make money off you, Justin. Not ever and definitely not from TransCon. So, leave in the part with Chris, but not me."

Chris inhaled sharply. "Okay, that's down, but Justin. Come on. Look, this is our dream ask here, this is the most we're gonna get, so ask big. Money. You want money? How much you want?"

Justin bit his lip. "One-sixth. I want one-sixth."

Lance grinned. "Of everything? Royalties, profits?"

Justin smiled. "All of it. Royalties, profits from tours, from every fucking pack of pop rocks and lip balm with my fucking face on it. All of it. I want my back pay, man."

JC said, "And make them give you a real accounting of it. No saying nothing made money, you want certified results or something."

Joey grinned. "Get those accountants who do the Oscars, someone real reputable like that to look at all the books."

Chris laughed. "Definitely. See, isn't this fun? What about future earnings?"

Justin grinned and stretched his arms out behind his seat. "Well, I want one-twelfth of everything they make from now on, cause I helped build that fucking band. So. And they don't get shit of mine."

Joey grinned. "Can I have a pony? I want a pony."

Justin laughed. Lance said, "We can do that. Of course. Chris had to provide security for Justin, and as payment for those services, Mr. Fatone requests compensation in the form of one pony."

Chris burst out laughing, spitting booze out his mouth. He wrote it all down around the wet spots of spit on his legal pad.

Justin leaned forward and put his hands on the table. He said, "I want an apology. I want Kevin to fucking have a press conference and say Justin's not an addict. Justin didn't steal anything. I want my shoes back. I want to give interviews as soon as we sign this shit and I want to say everything. Every fucking bit of it. Like, who I slept with, where I got the drugs, how Lou used to creep me out and Nicky and all of it. I won't sign any confidentiality agreements. And I'm gonna say they locked me in a loony bin."

Chris smiled and looked like a devil. Lance was glad Chris was on their side. "That will work out fine, Justin. You're gonna scare the shit out of them." Then Chris sighed. "But know, we won't get all of this. We'll get some of it, and some we compromise on. You understand that?"

Justin nodded. "I've been in contract negotiations. I swear. They never let me talk, but I have been there."

Chris threw down his pen. "Now, we sharpen all this in the morning. Let me show you young'uns what singing is." Chris went up to the stage and they all trailed behind him. Lance giggled as Chris shoved the mic stand away and chose his song.

They all stood in front of Chris and cheered as he sang "I Am Woman" in his sweet falsetto. "Yes, I am wise but it's wisdom from the pain! Yes, I've paid the price but look at what I've gained!" Drunk women from another table came over and stood behind the guys, cheering lewdly so Chris rocked his hips and vamped it up. When he finished everyone cheered and someone threw a bra on the stage. Chris held up the lacy white thing and said into the mic, "I'm interested. I'm really interested -- Chris Kirkpatrick, ladies, I'm in the book!"

Justin jumped on the stage and grabbed the mic from Chris. He pulled the other guys up and handed them all mics. "Okay, this is a little funeral and we're gonna do it right. I'm singing this now and, like, never again." The lyrics to Bye, Bye, Bye popped up on the screens. Justin quickly ran each of them through their parts, told JC to sing Nick's part.

They started singing, Justin tapping each of them when they needed to come in. It was mind-boggling to Lance, he'd heard Justin sing, of course, but not quite like this. Justin sang around the house, sang in the shower but except for the one concert last year, he'd never seen Justin with a mic in his hand and real back-up. Justin was just amazing. The drunk women stood up and danced and most of the patrons who could still move were swaying to the beat. It was a good song, but Justin had them all in the palm in his hand. Justin fuckin' Timberlake in effect.

When the song was over, people stood and cheered and Justin grabbed Lance's hand. He said, "Thank you!" into the mic and started to throw it down. He glanced back at Lance, grinned and then put it down carefully. "Let's go, I'm done," he said and jumped off the stage. The rest of them trailed behind him. Lance heard someone calling out Justin's name and tried to drop Justin's hand but Justin looked back and held on tight. "Bye, everyone!" Justin called. He held his hand and Lance's high, "Justin fuckin' Timberlake! Final performance of that song ever!" Justin didn't stop giggling the whole drive home.

The settlement talks will most likely end with Timberlake out of the group and the remaining five Backstreet Boys free to finally record a follow-up to the record breaking Millennium. Everything else is up in the air. Issues to be settled include whether Timberlake will receive any money or future royalties from the group he joined when he was twelve, and whether Timberlake will be able to bill himself as a former member of the Backstreet Boys if he wants to. Other sticky issues include endorsement deals the six member Backstreet Boys landed with such luminaries as Coca-Cola and McDonald's.

Once everything's tied up and signed, Timberlake is sure to be wooed by every record company in town. Even TransCon can't dispute the twenty-year-old's charisma, talent and popularity.
-ROLLING STONE, Rock & Roll

Justin fuckin' Timberlake in effect, Lance thought. As soon as the settlement talks started, managers and record companies started sniffing around. Lance quit his job, after Justin asked, and he sat next to Justin at restaurants and in their house while Joey loomed over them and people made roundabout offers of money and the like to Justin. Justin didn't want to see the managers, and hinted around for two days before breaking down one night when they were in bed and asking Lance to be his manager. Lance turned him down. "Justin, seriously, I don't want to make money off you. This is a bad idea." So Justin met with people who wanted to manage him and Lance wondered if he'd been right.

So the fuckin' Timberlake effect was in effect and Justin snarled and asserted himself when people tried to talk down to him. And it was weird, one more weird thing for Lance to file and try to process, because he'd spent nearly six months dating Justin out of his element. He'd never really dated Justin the pop star, he'd dated Justin the runaway. He didn't think too much about whether the pop star would want his cute boyfriend around when he got back to being famous and amazing. Lance's mother told him not to worry, she talked to Justin all the time now, and he was deeply in love with Justin, but Lance had stopped trying to understand how things worked in Justin's pop star world.

Justin liked to bait people, seven months of being spat on and gossiped about sharpening his wit. He started with the managers. With the first two, he played stupid, looking over at Lance and asking him to explain what they'd said. He abruptly ended both meetings when the managers tried to talk Lance instead of him. Justin made sure they always got a doggie bag.

Lance woke up early and watched Justin sleep. Joanne jumped up on the bed and worked her way between them until she was curled up by Justin's neck. She swished her tail in Lance's face and he climbed out of bed.

In the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth, but he didn't shower. He pulled on socks and jeans and Justin's sweatshirt, thinking of settlements and sleep, and walked slowly through the house. In the living room, he flipped the light on and was surprised to find Joey sleeping on the couch.

"Hey."

"Hey." Lance raised his eyebrows. "Do you want me to turn off the light?"

"No, it's cool. I wasn't really asleep anyway." Joey sat up and crossed his legs.

"Did -- did you and JC have a fight?"

Joey laughed and pulled on his blanket. "No, he just -- he snores. Usually, I'm okay with it, but tonight, it was just driving me up the wall." He rubbed his face. "What time is it?"

"I don't know, it's like five-thirty."

"Do you want to go get something to eat?" Joey stretched. "We're going to wake up everybody if we keep talking."

Lance wasn't hungry, but he didn't feel like sitting around the house, either. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Awesome." Joey grinned broadly. He stood and began walking to the bathroom. "I'll meet you in the car, dude. I'll be out in five minutes."

Lance sat in the driver's seat and smoked out the window. He studied the exterior of the house, counted windows and found his bedroom. A light went on inside, dull against the sunrise, and then flickered off. Lance sighed and tossed the rest of his cigarette into the grass.

Joey ran out with a smile and tossed Lance the keys, then fiddled with the radio. "What do you want to listen to?"

"It's too early for music, Joe."

"Dude, it's never too early for music." He let the dial rest on an R&B station, but kept the volume low. "So what's up with you?"

"What?"

"Well, Lance, you're up at the fucking crack of dawn. Which isn't that unusual except for that you don't look very happy."

Lance drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Tired, tired, Lance thought. Tired of watching Justin turn back into a big fucking pop star, tired of managers staring at him with wondering eyes, tired of everything. "Look, this breakfast shit was your idea. So why don't I just leave you and the car at IHOP and I'll walk home?"

Joey blinked. "Lance, dude, chill. I'm just saying, things are finally going good and you're all sad and shit."

Lance sighed. "I'm not...I'm not sad, Joey. Really. And you can turn up the radio, if you want."

"Okay. Just to let you know, this is one of those moments where I'm going to assume that you're telling me the truth. That, you know, you're really okay and that I can listen to music."

Lance flipped on the turn signal. "You should do all of those things."

The station played Motown and Joey hummed along until they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. They got a spot close to the front and a booth in the smoking section.

"I'm fucking starving," Joey said, rubbing his hands together and studying the menu. "Dude, before we leave, remind me to get JC some waffles. He loves the waffles here."

Lance sipped his water and felt bad that he didn't think of doing things like that for Justin. He never picked up videos on the way home from work or splurged on a nice bottle of wine because he knew Justin would like it. He didn't have six years with Justin under his belt and he wondered if he ever would. He looked at Joey and thought, six years. "What do you -- okay, so I'm going to say something now, and you can, like, hit me if you want."

"That's never a good way to start a conversation."

"Look, before I -- before I left, JC told me something." Lance took a breath and decided to just say it. "He told me that you cheated on him."

Joey drummed his fingers against the table and looked Lance in the eye. "I knew that he told you."

"Really?" Lance thought about Justin, still asleep and all the things Lance didn't say to him.

Joey nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I wasn't mad at him or anything. He said that he told you because he was trying to get you to see what you have with Justin, and I really couldn't argue with that."

"So." Lance lit a cigarette and passed the pack to Joey. "Can we talk about it?"

"The cheating?"

"Yeah." Lance looked down and blocked the image of Justin kissing Nick from his mind. Then he thought about Justin stalking out of yet another meeting, walking with a pop star strut.

Joey started to say something, but they were interrupted by their waitress, who wore a bright smile and introduced herself as Frances. Lance still wasn't hungry, but he ordered coffee and juice and a blueberry muffin. Joey ordered something with eggs and sausage, and then lit a cigarette of his own. "Lance, seriously, it's not something I'm totally cool with talking about. Wait, you're not asking cause you cheated on Justin, are you?"

Lance choked on smoke and coughed. "Fuck, Joey, no. I just wanted to know, like, how did you guys get past that?"

"Here's the deal. I'm not Mr. Touchy Feely. I hug you guys and all that, and everybody knows that I love JC, but this is, like, the one and only time I'll ever talk about this. Okay?"

"Got it." Lance tapped his ashes into the ashtray and tried to look casual.

"So, okay. We were together -- this was before I hurt my leg, so a couple of years, I guess. And you know that business of how we didn't say we loved each other for, like, fourteen months into the relationship."

Lance nodded. "Yeah."

"And before that, it was good and it was cool, and I knew that I loved him from, like, way before we said it, but it was still casual. Saying it made it, I don't know, this thing. You know?" Joey stubbed his cigarette out and didn't look at Lance. "And it was scary. JC was -- I think -- I mean, I knew it was forever. So I wanted to see what I could do."

"To push him away or what?" Lance thought that sounded suddenly tempting and hated himself.

"Maybe. To see what he'd put up with, what he could take." Joey rubbed his forehead. "God, I'm such a fucking asshole."

Lance leaned back as Frances placed their drinks on the table. "So what happened?"

Joey sighed. "He didn't suspect anything. I mean, not a fucking clue. And it just broke my heart, dude. So I told him." He sipped his milk. "And he didn't cry or anything. Me? I was a fucking mess, bawling and shit, and JC didn't say anything. He just listened to what I said and watched me fucking cry all over myself, and then he just got up and left. I didn't see him for, like, a month."

Lance tapped a sugar packet against the table. "Wow."

"I called him and stuff, but he wouldn't call me back or anything. And then one night, I came home from work and he was at my place, and we talked about shit." Joey pulled another cigarette out of the pack. "And that was it. We haven't talked about it since. That's the thing about JC -- he doesn't do stuff that he doesn't mean. He doesn't say stuff that he doesn't mean. He said he forgave me and he did, and that was that."

"Fuck." Lance wished he had an inkling of how to be like that.

Joey exhaled through his nose. "My hand to God, I don't know what I ever fucking did to deserve something like what I got with him. He's fucking incredible."

Lance ran his finger along the rim of his juice glass. "But that's the thing, though. You guys have this fucking, like, this amazing thing."

"He'll still love you when this is over. He'll still want you, Lance," Joey said suddenly.

"I -- "

"I know you've been worried about that." Joey spooned ice from his water glass into his milk glass. "Actually, that's not true. JC thought you might be worried about that."

Lance took a drag from Joey's cigarette. "He's pretty fucking perceptive."

"He just worries about you guys, you know. Like, he wants me to make sure that Chris gets enough sleep and that Justin gets enough to eat and that you know how much Justin loves you."

"That's not JC's job," Lance said quietly.

"And this isn't a conversation you should be having with me."

Frances brought them food and left their check underneath a bottle of ketchup. Lance picked at his muffin and ended up giving it to Joey. He took a refill on his coffee and lit another cigarette. "So what, exactly, happened to your leg? I've heard about this fucking leg injury for months, but I've never heard the actual story."

Joey spread butter on the muffin. "I used to work construction, and I was walking through this building that we were working on, you know, just sorta going about my day, and the fucking floor collapsed."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, that's one way to put it. Busted the fuck out of my knee, got puncture wounds and shit. I couldn't walk without crutches for, like, six months."

Lance stirred cream into his coffee. "But you got workman's comp and stuff, right, for that whole time you were off?"

Joey shrugged. "Yeah, but it all went to paying the lawyers. Because that floor was seriously not stable. And it was a really fucking long time before I got the settlement money."

"What did you do for cash, dude?"

"You know all about the Mouse?"

Lance nodded. "Yeah."

"JC was trying to break back into the music business. For a couple of months, it really looked like he was gonna get somewhere, and then the deal with the floor happened." Joey stopped.

"Okay." Lance paused. "That doesn't sound like the end of a story."

"The deal with the floor happened and, like, we suddenly had no income, and he quit with the demos and started painting houses. He still does voice work, you know, and he's done more lately, but he just fucking gave up his dream for me." Joey looked down and twisted the barbell in his eyebrow. "There's a reason I don't talk about this, man."

Lance smiled. "I'll go stretch my legs if you want to blow your nose on your napkin or something."

"Fuck you," Joey said, but grinned. "He's all heart, bro. That's why he worries about you guys all the time. He just...that's how he is. And he comes off as spacey and stuff, but he knows what the fuck he's talking about." He looked at his watch. "We should probably get going."

Lance studied the bill and tossed money on the table. "Don't forget the waffles."

Onto the happy CONCLUSION!

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