***
"Poofu's gay, man."
"Yeah, totally. Like, what's with the song? 'Poofu, Poofu, we love you,
please come out and play?' Dude, that's so hinting at coming out of the
closet."
"I'm not gay, y'all."
"Course you're not. We're talking about Poofu, Lance, not you."
"What the fuck ever."
Lance slammed his chair into the table and stalked off.
"Guys, how many times do I have to tell you. Lance is really sensitive
about the gay thing."
"But we were referring to his pre-fame occupation. Remember? Poofu the
Talking Dog?"
"I know, Chris, but how hard is it to lay off of him every once in a
while?"
"Hey, it's not my fault he's, like, girly and pretty and soft and clean
and shit."
"Shut the fuck up, Chris."
"Oh, yeah, Fatone, I forgot. You like femmes."
"Fuck. Off."
***
Joey knocked.
"Lance, it's Joey."
"G'way," was the muffled response. Lance was crying, again.
Motherfuckers.
"Lance, come on. I'm not gonna tease you."
"Go. Away."
"Jesus." Joey turned the knob. Unlocked. Figures.
Lance was huddled in a corner of his bed, his face buried in pillows.
"Aaw, Lance. We've gone through this so many times. Why do you always
let them do this?"
"I *sob* can't help it, Joe. It hurts. I'm *sob* not gay."
Joey sat next to Lance, rubbing his back. He shuddered, then stopped
crying for a moment.
"We know you aren't. It's just. You know Chris always likes to have his
fun. You want I should noogie the bastard?"
Lance shook his head.
"How about I windmill him for a couple of minutes?"
More furious head-shaking.
"How about I tickle him non-stop for, oh, forever?"
Lance froze. He knew what was coming. Joey assaulted his ribs with a
series of stabs. Lance laughed in between sobs, his voice still choked
but slightly more comforted. Joey was glad it was always so easy to make
him smile.
Lance turned over, clutching his ribs, still giggling softly. He was
flushed red and smiling. Tear-stained, but smiling.
"I don't get it, Joe. Why do they always make fun of me. I mean. I
don't scream or dress like whatever or anything. I mean. JC! He's always
been the gay one."
"It's because you're so vulnerable. You're soft, and clean, and you're
pretty." Joey mentally scolded himself for repeating Chris.
A short pause. Lance looked at him thoughtfully.
"Do you think I'm pretty, Joe?"
Hesitant reply. "Oh, yeah. I think you're very pretty." Joey thought he
could see the beginnings of a blush. He rubbed Lance's shoulder
briskly, eliciting a sigh.
"But I'm not gay."
"I know., Lance. I know."
"Joey."
"Hmm?"
"I like this guy."
"Christ, Lance, make up your mind."
"Does that make me gay?"
"Um, I don't know. What do you imagine yourself doing with him?"
Lance grinned. "Things I would never tell my momma."
Fucking accent got him every time. Joey sighed.
"Okaaay. So I guess you are."
"But I like only one guy. That doesn't make me gay."
"Fuck, Lance. Fuck. Oh. Shit."
Joey bent down, pressed his lips against Lance's. He felt the tip of
his tonge probe his mouth. Shit. Lance. kissing me back. Trouble.
A minute turns into an hour turns into a decade.
Joey draws back, Lance's eyes fixed on his mouth. Flushed. Maybe even
pleased.
"Um."
"Joey."
"Yeah."
"I like you. Does that make me gay?"
"Jesus, I don't know. Think it over. Schmo."
Lance sat up, planted another slow, swift kiss.
"I guess I'm, uh, gay, just with you."
"Okay. That's a start."
And in a flash, kazaam! Naked Lance.
"Joey."
"Mmm." Whimper.
"Just with you."
Joey pulled him closer, licked his mouth.
"That suits me just fine."
***
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