Ten

“Well…how do I clean up?” Lance asked, coming out of the bedroom. JC looked up from the television and did a double-take.

“Damn,” he said weakly. He had seen pictures in magazines of Lance in a tuxedo at various functions, but seeing him in the flesh took his breath away. He quickly recovered. “I mean, you'd look good, if you didn't have Lobster Face.”

“Kevin would kill me,” Lance moaned, going back to the bathroom and checking himself out in the mirror. “It's all your fault. I allowed you to let me lay around by the river without sunscreen.”

“You were sleeping, and I didn't know the French word for sunscreen,” JC retorted.

“You're a bad liar,” Lance called from the bathroom.

JC got up and turned off the television. He smoothed down his own tuxedo jacket and nervously waited for Lance. “Ready?”

“Relax,” Lance murmured, coming over to kiss JC. “What's wrong?”

“This is some fancy charity thing. Normally I GET charity, not go give it.”

“I'M giving the charity,” Lance reminded him. “YOU'RE there to be my arm candy.”

“Oh, yeah,” JC said, as if he suddenly remembered this fact. He knew Lance was kidding. 

“Amazing,” JC whispered, taking a sip of the excellent wine as he stood in front of a painting. Lance was off talking to someone, and JC had been in heaven, strolling from painting to painting.

“You're an artist?” A heavily accented voice said from behind him. JC turned around.

“I paint, but I'm not artist,” JC said modestly. “How could you tell?” He immediately looked down to see if there was paint on his socks or shoes.

“You have the look,” the man said. “Your face…total reverence.”

“True,” JC admitted.

“You are American?” The man asked. JC nodded. “Michael.” The man held out his hand and JC shook it. “Actually, Jean-Michel, but I like the American form better.”

“JC Chasez. Actually, Joshua, but I prefer JC.” JC turned back to the painting. “Cassatt is one of my favorites.”

“Mine, too.”

They stood in silence for a moment, then JC said. “You're an artist?”

“Very amateur, I'm afraid,” the man said with a sigh. “I'm in business for myself and don't have much time for my hobbies.”

“I'm lucky. Art IS my job,” JC said. “I run a gallery back in the States.”

“Really? Something I'd have heard of?” Michael asked.

JC hid a smile. “Doubtful. Quite small.”

“Josh.” JC turned to smile at Lance. “You're wearing a hole in the floor here. I've been keeping my eye on you, and you've been in front of this painting for way too long. The other paintings are getting jealous.” JC felt a light hand on the small of his back.

“Lance, this is Michael,” JC said.

Michael shook Lance's hand. “Lance Bass. I've seen your movies. It's an honor.”

“My pleasure,” Lance said, though he was barely polite.

One of the benefit's organizers walked over and spoke to Michael. He sighed. “You must excuse me. Duty calls. Joshua, it was a pleasure.” He shook JC's hand again and smiled into his eyes.

Lance sent smoldering looks at his back as he walked away. “Thinks just because he owns half the country of France he can move in on MY man?”

JC laughed. “Half of France? He's in business for himself, Lance, that's all.”

“Didn't you recognize his name, Josh?” Lance asked. He repeated the man's last name, which the organizer had spoken as she approached. JC's mouth fell open.

“THAT was him?”

“Yes, babe. And he was hitting on you.”

“He was not,” JC said, blushing. Lance smiled.

“I love when you get embarrassed. That tasty place behind your ear gets all pink.”

“Stop it,” JC muttered, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously as they moved on to another painting. 

“So…what do you want to do now?” Lance asked as they climbed into the back of the limo.

“I'm not tired, though my feet hurt a bit from all that standing,” JC said.

“Well, I was thinking we could go out to a club,” Lance suggested, pulling off his tie. “But if you're too tired.”

“A club? Interesting…that'd be fun,” JC said. He couldn't imagine Lance in a club.

“I DO dance, Josh,” Lance said, amused. “I dance like a white boy, but I dance. And it's a gay club.”

“Really?” JC tried to imagine Lance in a gay club, and it was even harder than imagining him in a club in general.

Lance laughed. “You're adorable.” He reached over to run his fingers through JC's hair. 

They went home, showered, changed clothes, and were out the door in an hour. Instead of calling for the limousine again, Lance hailed a cab and they arrived at the club shortly after. Lance paid their cover and someone hurried over to him. The man rattled off rapid French, and Lance laughed, shaking his hand.

“This is the manager,” Lance told JC. “He wants to know if I wish to be put in the VIP section.”

JC looked around. No one seemed to care that Lance was even in the building. “Do you?”

“Well, there's like a semi-VIP section. It has its own dance floor and is less crowded.” Lance had to yell over the music.

“That'd be great,” JC replied, and Lance led the way to the second floor. The room was still crowded, but not AS crowded, just like Lance had said.

“Can I get you a drink?” Lance asked.

“Let me,” JC said, grinning. “Since you're so poor and all.”

“I know.” Lance pretended to turn out empty pockets. “Just get me a beer of some kind. I'll be over there. I see some people I know.” He waved a hand in the general direction of a table and JC nodded.

JC stood in line at the small bar, his body shifting in time with the music. “Can I buy you a drink?” An American voice said in his ear.

“Thank you, but no, I…” JC froze as he turned to look at the speaker. AJ McLean grinned.

“I saw you come in with Lance, right?” AJ said. He wore a dress shirt whose sleeves had been cut off at the shoulders, and a pair of baggy black pants.

“Yes, I did,” JC said, trying not to act too nervous. AJ obviously didn't remember him from the night in the hotel when AJ had surprised Lance in his suite.

“I'm AJ.”

“I know,” JC said without offering his own name.

“Lance's flavor of the month, right?” AJ touched JC's shoulder and JC leaned back slightly. AJ flashed his demonic smile.

“I'd say YOU hold that title,” JC retorted. A space opened by the bar and JC moved into the hole. He pointed to the tap and held up two fingers.

“You're his rebound man, you know that, right? I was his first.”

“First what? Mistake?” JC asked. He hated himself for getting angry, but AJ was his nightmare in human form. AJ chuckled.

“See you later, baby.” AJ drifted back into the crowd and JC gripped onto the edge of the bar to try and calm down. Thankfully it was almost ten minutes before the bartender handed him two frothy glasses.

He paid for the beers and turned to weave back through the dancing mass of people. He headed for where Lance had said he'd be, and froze. He saw Lance, who was standing with his back against the wall. AJ stood next to him, leaning against a hand that was on the wall above Lance's head. He had his head dipped down so he could talk in Lance's ear. Lance smiled, seemed to giggle a bit, and stared down at his feet. Lance looked up at JC, caught him staring, and the smile left his face. JC shoved the beers at the nearest person, turned, and fled.

< Over The Hill >