one

Lance's mom came out to him a week into his vacation. It was a lazy afternoon at his parents' house, after he'd gotten out of the habit of waking up in anticipation of some unplanned appointment, some business snafu he feared he hadn't looked into, and she sat him down at the kitchen table and took his hands in hers.

"Honey," she said, in a slow, careful voice, sure to make eye contact, "I want you to know I love you so much, and I'm so proud of you for all you've done."

Lance smiled at her, nodding. "I love you too, Mom," he said, and wondered what he'd accomplished recently besides spending the night. She'd said the same thing when he'd graduated high school, when he'd been accepted at Nebraska, and when their dog Belle had died, when Lance had been twelve, and so had Belle.

"And that nothing," she went on, "has made me happier in my life than raising you and your sister, and seeing you grow up to be the wonderful people that you are." Her eyes, warm and brown, were moist, but she was smiling, a peculiar little smile.

Lance's smile faded only slightly. "Uh. huh." Oh, God, let her be okay, he thought, the panic center of his brain whirring slowly into activity. Diane's voice carried the thickness of emotion, and suddenly he found himself thinking in terms of scenarios. He thought of his grandparents, whom he'd been planning on visiting that coming weekend, of his aunt's struggle with health problems. Lance swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Mom? Is everything okay?"

Diane smiled at him again, that same strange smile, and stroked the backs of his hands with her fingers. For a long moment she said nothing, touching his hands as if she wanted to memorize them. "Mom, seriously," Lance said, and his voice cracked a little. "You're scaring me."

"Lance," Diane pursed her lips. "Baby, I'm gay. Everything's fine."

Later, he'd remember gaping at her far more than he'd have liked, and the uncomfortable moment of silence before he'd managed to croak out, "Wow. I'm. I'm um. Uh, happy for you? But, um." he pressed his fingers to his lips for a moment, willing them to stay still while he sorted words into sentences in his mind. "But. I mean, you, what. I. What about Dad?"

Nearly twenty-eight years of marriage, he'd thought, and he'd heard about things like this before, but this was his mom, and he. Well, it was his mom, and that was it, really. His mom, who had been so understanding when he'd told her he liked guys, and at the time he'd just thought she was the best mom ever. Now, he thought, she wasn't just understanding; she'd understood. Two kids and twenty-eight years of marriage and his mom was gay.

"Honey, your father knows," Diane said. "He's known."

He called Stacy, because it was the only thing he could think to do. Stacy would understand.

"It's just so. It's gonna take some real getting used to," he confessed to her, over coffee and cake in what used to be his living room. He liked what they'd done with it, what it looked like when real people who had the time to live there had imprinted their touch on the surroundings.

"But you're okay with it?" Stacy asked him.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I really am. I mean... weird, but yeah. I'm okay with it." He frowned. "You're not?"

"No, I am, too," she said, uneasiliy. "It's just that... she's my mom."

That she was, Lance thought. The coffee table Stacy and Ford had picked out to replace Lance's glass one was mohogany, and when Lance moved his hand, it left a print on the finish. He hadn't realized he'd been sweating.

"You wanna talk about it?" Lance's dad had asked him softly, and that was how they ended up going on an impromptu fishing trip. Lance had wished for a moment that he'd thought to have the lake at Stacy's house stocked with actual fish; but now, looking out on the seemingly endless water of the reserve, he cherished the time with just the two of them alone, to think and to question.

"Dad," Lance began, "how do you--" he stopped and tried again. "Mom said that. that you knew. And I don't-- I mean, did you--" He wanted to know, was desperate to know how that worked, how you got through that, but couldn't think of a more inappropriate subject to be discussing with his father, and wow, his mom was really gay. He still hadn't absorbed that yet.

"Your mother and I had an understanding, Lance," Jim said, keeping his eyes out on the lake, the rod in his hand perfectly still.

"And it never," he wanted to know. "I mean, there never was--"

"I told her," Jim interrupted, "that I was in this as long as she didn't feel held back." He turned to look at Lance then, with wide green eyes that mirrored his own. "I love her, and I promised I'd support her. And if this is what she feels she has to do, this is my end of the bargain."

Lance smiled a little at that. Parents who still loved each other, one coming out of the closet and the other rooting her on. Lance's life was made up of Hallmark movie moments. "Well, what about you," he asked. "You're still young, you know. You're still a catch. Would you start looking for someone?" He punctuated it with a nudge, the perfect height to deliver it. He hadn't been fishing with his father in far too long.

Jim allowed a grin, and jerked his line. "Maybe in time," he said, "we'll see," in the same tone Lance used when people asked if he was ready to get into a serious relationship; the one that meant 'really, probably not ever.'

"I'm going to be leaving; you realize this, right?" Diane told him gently, and Lance offered up his house in Orlando in case she ever needed anything. Stacy, too, insisted that Diane come and stay with them if she ever wanted to get away -- or, "you know," Stacy added shyly, "meet. people. Not that I would know where you could, um."

"No, it's okay," Diane told her, smiling. "I think. I think I'm pretty set for a while; don't worry about me."

A likely story, Lance thought, and tried to be the best queer and queer-supporting son he could be; Diane still had rainbow pins all along the inside of her backpack from when he'd come out to her. But when he bought her a book on Stonewall, Diane just smiled. "Honey, remember," she said, "when you came out to me and your father, and you said you thought you'd need time to figure it all out?"

Lance nodded.

She put a hand on his shoulder, then cupped his cheek. "I don't need that, Lance. I figured it out a long time ago." She pointed to the book. "And I have this book already."

"Okay," Lance said, and kissed her on the cheek. "Um. I'm gonna go home pretty soon, I think, because. Because I love you, very much," he took a deep breath. "But I need to freak out, and I don't want you to see that."

Diane beamed at him and hugged her duplicate copy of the Stonewall book happily. "Go to town," she told him.

two

When Lance got home, he resolved to spend his remaining vacation time cuddling with his pets, just drunk enough to not be able to think. He carried Jackson in his arms with him everywhere and did stupid things like drink and look through all of his parents' anniversary photos, and drink and call up Joey to talk and then decide he didn't want to talk.

"Joey," he said, "remember when we had that thing? That thing, when we were at the party."

"Dude, Lance," Joey laughed. "Which of the million parties this year do you mean?"

"The one where--" Lance sighed. "The one. There was chocolate syrup and poker, and we. You know, in the hall. That one."

"Oh," Joey said. "That. yeah. we were, um. not gonna talk about that again, were we?"

"Yeah, hear me out," Lance said. "I just. Look, Joey. You've got, like, you've got a good thing goin' with Kelly and Brianna, and I mean. Don't, you know. Don't decide, when you're like, forty, that you really liked what we did back at the party and then go march at Disney, okay?"

Joey was silent for a moment. "Okay, what the fuck?"

"I gotta make another call," Lance muttered, and hung up.

To JC, he said, "okay, so tell me. Tell me this. Say, like. Say your dad was like, hey. hey, um, hey, Josh, I'm an alien! And you're, uh, you're half alien, and I have to go back to my home planet now. And you went to your mom, and your mom said, yeah, I've been preparing for the day when he had to go back home. And she was totally okay with it. And you were. you were not okay with it! Not at all! What would you do? I mean, how would you get okay with it?"

"Lance, two things," JC said slowly. "One, have you been drinking, and two, are you making fun of me?"

Chris came over on the morning of the fourth day and found him nursing a Jack and coke in his kitchen, and Jackson, who loved Chris, leapt from Lance's free arm, yipping madly. "Lance duty!" he bellowed, letting himself in like he lived there. "JC called me, and frankly, I'm a little hurt you called everybody but me."

"I didn't call Justin," Lance pointed out, but it was a token protest: first, if he told Justin he'd as good as told Chris because Justin couldn't keep anything from anybody to save his own mother, and second, he was afraid he'd get too emotional if he brought up the subject of marital strife, knowing that Justin had been a child of divorce. Lance was such a Mama's boy even he couldn't stand it sometimes.

Chris rooted through Lance's cupboards with the familiarity of one who had spent weeks rummaging through Lance's things, and presented a bottle in one hand. "When you're done with that--" he pointed at Lance's glass-- "want a vodka?" he offered. When Lance shook his head, he raised a carton of orange juice in the other hand. "Orange juice?"

They huddled around the counter island in Lance's kitchen while Lexi curled around Lance's feet, and Chris met Lance drink for drink, which oddly impressed Lance, even though he'd had a head start and was in his stride. "So you're not gonna tell me what's bugging you," Chris said, and Lance shook his head. "Great," Chris said. "So hey, my mom's gay, did you know that?"

Lance lost his grip on the glass and sent half of the mixed drink spilling out over the sides before he could right it, with sticky-sweet-slick fingers. "Um. She's-- wow-- uh--" déjà vu-- "no, no, I didn't know that," he said, reaching across the counter and pulling a ream of paper towel off of the roll, balling it up to soak up the spill.

"Yeah, me neither," Chris admitted. "Funny thing, that; your mom telling you something like that after she's been married twice and had six kids. Or, you know, maybe that's why. Who the fuck knows?" He took a healthy swig of his juice. "All I know is, suddenly my mom's out and proud, and I'm coming out with a rainbow FuMan line." He paused, then pointed accusingly at Lance's open mouth. "If you make a crack about me saying 'coming out' just now, I'll fuck you up."

Lance closed his mouth, then opened it again. "My mom's gay, too," he blurted, looking down at his hands where they gripped the glass so tightly he feared he'd break it. Joey had broken a glass that way, once, when he'd found out someone had leaked contact information about Kelly. A very unemployed someone, a half hour later, which was worth the stitches in his finger, Joey'd said.

When his hands started to shake from the tension against the glass and Lance began to doubt that the stitches would be worth it in this case, he looked up again. Chris had put his glass down altogether and was studying him intently. "Okay," Chris said slowly. "Either you're joking in the poorest taste, or that's. That is. That's really gotta be the fucking weirdest thing."

"It's pretty, uh." Lance nodded, wiping his hands over his face and smelling the remains of Jack and coke on them. He needed another glass. "Like, I kinda wish you hadn't told me, kinda fucked up."

"Twilight Zone fucked up," Chris agreed. "Like, what, you think they planned this? Double whammy?" He mimed putting a phone to his ear. "Oh, hey, Diane, I'm thinking of coming out. Oh, you too? Great. Great, we'll do it then; perfect!"

"Maybe they did," Lance suggested. "Maybe they got to talking, and they, like, encouraged each other, and this was their way of making sure they could give each other moral support."

"Yeah, moral support," Chris nodded, and finished the rest of his vodka-juice, toasting Lance. "Here's to moral support."

"Want another one of those?" Lance offered.

"Please."

"So," Chris slurred a little at him, a short time and a few drinks later, "I take it you didn't tell Joey yet."

Lance shook his head, swished the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. "Nope. I'm kinda givin' him weird calls and hopin' he guesses, instead."

Chris toasted him again. "Because Joey's just that astute," he said. "I give Justin weird calls just on the principle of the thing. So, yeah, he doesn't know yet either."

Lance raised his eyebrows. "You didn't tell him? You didn't tell Justin, but you told me?"

Chris shrugged. "You've been pranking the guys drunk all week and nobody knows why, man. I figured a little 'you show me yours, I'll show you mine' approach might get it out of you."

He was watching Lance sharply, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and Lance felt his face get hotter under the glare. "You okay with it? Your mom being gay, I mean?"

"Oh, yeah," Chris nodded vigorously. "Oh, yeah, I'm totally. I'm happy for her -- I'm like, hey, Mom, you know Rhonda from the tour? She's gay, you like that kinda girl? I mean, she laughed, but seriously. It's just sort of unexpected," he shrugged again, "like it should be the thirty-year old coming out, and not the thirty-year old's mom. It kinda made me wonder if maybe she would've experimented more back when she was sixteen if she hadn't had me, but we both agreed the whole thing makes us both feel younger, so it's all good. Wait." He frowned. "Why wouldn't I be okay with it?"

"Just." Lance slurred and gestured blindly. "Thinking your mom's one way, and she turns out to be completely different, after all this time. 'S'all."

"Well," Chris said, "I'm used to expecting anything from my mom, I guess. Completely different situation, you and me. How'd your dad take it?" he asked softly.

"Pretty good, actually," Lance said. "He, um. He knew, I guess. Before. So."

Chris cocked his head. "Okay, now that's really something else," he said.

Lance shook his head, not comprehending.

"No, seriously," Chris said. "Think about it. It takes two, right? So it's not like your mom only just figured this out about herself, first thing," he said, checking the point with his finger. "Then she didn't lie about it and just lead your dad on for how many years, second thing. Third thing, your dad knew and he still stuck around and they both made it work all this time. That's love, man. That's the kind of relationship most people want, and they're both straight or whatever. Do you know what they're gonna do now?"

Lance blinked, sighed, and shrugged. "I don't know. Mom said she's taking a leave of absence to just kind of chill for a while, I guess try to sort some things out with Dad or something. Then she wants to travel." He shrugged again and rested his chin on his hands on the counter. "I guess they'll probably get a divorce then," he added, suddenly sullen again.

"Yeah, divorce is hard," Chris acknowledged, turning around and leaning back next to Lance. "Even when you're an adult. And the step, um. moms, I guess, in your case, are harder." He stopped. "You think your dad'd ever get married again?"

Lance shrugged a third time. "I hope so," he said. He did. He'd feel awful if he didn't.

He sort of didn't. Just a little bit.

Chris declined Lance's offer to stay for dinner, but also realized that he was in no shape to drive, and stayed after all, watching as Lance cooked. "You know," he commented, while Lance calculated pasta servings in his head, "if it was me, I'd just throw some beans and some rice in some water, and we'd have, well. Beans and rice. Also, you're drunk, and distraught," he added. "You sure you should be standing near boiling things when you're like this?"

"I cook better under stress," Lance mumbled, then said it again carefully, more loudly and slowly, because he wasn't sure if his lips had actually moved the first time. He didn't say a thing when he gripped the handle too close and burned his finger on the edge of the pot, just thumped the heel of his palm against the counter and then the cupboard, hard.

"Do you think," Chris said, over the elaborate dinner plate -- Lance had really outdone himself this time, had even laid out sprigs of parsely and everything. He'd be beaming with pride if he weren't so genuinely upset -- "the reason you and me are feeling so weird about this is because we maybe think we should've seen it coming?"

Lance frowned. "Hmmm?"

"Our moms being gay," Chris explained. "You don't think we should've known? We should be the authorities in spotting gayness by now, and we're their kids for God's sake. I feel like I was asleep at the wheel and missed something I shouldn't've or something."

"I don't know," Lance said. "I mean, what should I have looked for, huh? My parents were together forever, they seemed happy; it's not like the first thing you think of is that one of your parents might be gay."

"Or both," Chris interjected. He was so mean, Lance decided.

"So, you know," Lance continued. "I just assumed--"

"A-hah!" Chris barked, slapping the table hard and making the cutlery jump. He pointed at Lance accusingly. "And you know what they say about assuming."

"You know what?" Lance rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm not gonna sit here and say you should guess every happily straight person in the US is potentially gay just so you won't be surprised later on."

"So you're telling me you've never thought there might've been something you missed, some lady friend of your mom's from the past that suddenly makes you think twice," Chris said.

Lance thought back, to Danny Suskin's mom, who had been almost inseparable from Lance's mom the summer Lance had been eight, before the Suskins had moved to New York. He thought of Miss Cullovitz, his fifth grade teacher, who'd come over one night to discuss Lance's grades with his mom, and kept coming over long after the subject had been exhausted. He thought of Sarah, simply Sarah, whom his mom had met one day at the pool when she used to go to the gym. His mom had gone to the gym a lot, he remembered, his dad had even commented on it. "You've been going to the gym a lot these days," he'd said, and his mom. his mom had said "can we talk about this later?" and Lance couldn't recall an argument, but then his dad went on a business trip, and. and his mom said she stopped going because she said she missed spending time with them. Shit, Lance thought.

"Dave, almost-stepdad number two, used to call my mom a dyke when he got mad at her," Chris said. "Well, that and throw things. You know, not that that means anything, or that he knew his head from his ass; just," he shook his head. "All kinds of stupid shit from the past goes through your head, and you catch yourself wondering if you should've seen it coming; if you should've known. Or I do, anyway."

Lance just nodded miserably.

three

Lance cooked like a maniac, but tended to lose his appetite when he was stressing over something, and Chris would have none of that. "Comfort food over alcohol, anyday," he said simply, showing up at Lance's door with barely visible eyes and his arms stacked full of pizza boxes, and Lance groaned. "Come on, I even got split toppings; no mushrooms for dainty boy. Look!" Chris kicked the door and struggled to lift the lid of one of the boxes without dropping the others. "Um. A little help here--"

Jackson came scampering down to dance excitedly around his feet, and Lance was afraid Chris would trample on him by accident. "Okay, look. Only if you help me eat them," he agreed wearily, and Chris stuck out the same hand to shake, while Lance rescued six toppling boxes.

"Aren't you all curious now?" Chris wanted to know, two boxes later and well sated. "Don't you sorta wanna know how your mom found out, if she experimented, who she fooled around with, when she knew, why she made the decisions she did, all that stuff?"

Lance shrugged uneasily. "I kinda do, but. It's just. Some of that's kind of personal, don't you think? I mean, for my mom?"

"Maybe for your mom," Chris agreed. "My mom doesn't spare details, man. But hey. Your mom came out to you, she had to have expected questions. Maybe she was like you one day, maybe she was just this confused sixteen-year old, and she didn't know what to do. I bet that's what happened with my mom, 'cause I know she did a lot of crazy stuff when she was younger." Chris sat up enough to take another bite, then lay back down while he chewed. "I know that's how she ended up with me in the first place."

Seven slices of pepperoni pizza did a flip-flop in Lance's stomach. "I really don't think I'm gonna ask her," he said.

"Would you tell her that stuff about you if she asked you?"

"I don't know," Lance said, and he didn't. He was sure that somewhere between the mortification and praying for the earth to swallow him up whole, the truth would get out, though, because he had never lied to his mother's face and didn't expect to start.

Chris looked so guileless that Lance was reminded of the way he seemed when he'd rigged a practical joke. He felt the urge to pat himself down in search of booby traps. "Would you tell me?"

He shrugged. "You know more about my sex life than anybody outside the group, what could you possibly want to know?"

"My first gay experience that I can remember," Chris started thoughtfully, "was Greg Litowski, fifth grade," Chris fanned his hand out on his belly as he laid back on his other arm. "We got naked in his bedroom and played Doctor, and when it was over he paid me twenty bucks not to tell."

Lance smiled. "You wouldn't have told, would you?"

Chris snorted. "Are you kidding me? Easiest twenty bucks I ever made." He turned and nodded at Lance. "Your turn."

"Brian Anderson." Lance sighed. "Ninth grade, and he was the only person who wasn't my mom to compliment the way I looked in braces, 'cause he had 'em, too. We only kissed a couple of times, though, no tongue." He grinned. "We were terrified our braces would get locked together or something."

Chris nodded at him. "Did you like it?"

"It was nice, yeah," Lance admitted. "Now I kind of wish I'd used my tongue." He laughed and bit on the inside of his lip. "What about you?"

"I never met a game of Doctor I didn't like."

"First kiss?" Lance suggested next, and Chris shook his head.

"I really didn't do so much on the kissing front. I mean, it was usually more like a 'hi, lips-straight-to-dick' kind of deal," Chris said, and Lance could sympathize now, but wouldn't have back then, couldn't have imagined just jumping into sex. Not like that. "When was yours," Chris went on, and waggled his eyebrows. "With tongue."

"Would you believe Justin?" Lance told him, and laughed again. He remembered being so thrilled, then, at seventeen and ungainly wallflower, to score the boy every girl in Europe had been dying to have a piece of. Chris nodded.

"Sweet," he said appraisingly, drawing the sound out. "How'd that turn out? I mean, besides the obvious."

Justin had had the most glorious tongue Lance thought he'd ever taste, and hard, smooth biceps that clenched under his palms, and Lance could hardly believe at the time that Justin was younger than him, had that amazing body, when Lance had felt so ordinary. But he didn't say that. "Well, you know," he shrugged. "We really just. Made out a little, really. That was it. It wasn't a big deal."

"Okay, so here's a good one for you." Chris scrambled back up to a sitting position and slapped Lance on the thigh, the heat of his hand seeping into the heat of the sting. "When did you know you liked it?"

"I always liked it," Lance started, but Chris cut him off.

"No," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "You know what I mean. When did you know you liked it, life-changing 'I really dig this' kind of liked it?"

"Oh, hmmm." Lance pursed his lips and thought about it. "Remember Mike, from when I was eighteen?"

"Awww," Chris crowed. "Puppy love!"

"It was," Lance admitted, smiling, and glanced down. "He was. Yeah. He was my first," he said. He'd also been the first person Lance had ever had sign a confidentiality agreement. They were so routine and expected now, but it was the first time Lance had dated anybody that anyone might care to know he was dating. "So then, yeah. I knew." He looked back up and Chris was still watching him. "I'd have said Justin, but Justin'd make anybody reconsider, you know?"

"Oh. yeah," Chris nodded. "I know how that goes."

Lance propped himself up on his arm and took a slice of pepperoni from his half of the pizza. He remembered when Chris used to stick mushroom toppings to his fingers and chase Lance around like he was a little kid, but Lance used to squeal and run anyway, because the truth was that Lance loved to be chased. Chris was too good to him. "Excuse me? You know how that goes?"

Chris nodded. "Oh, yeah. You know the deal. Made out a little-- no," he said, when Lance gaped at him. "It was one of those things where I guess we could've gone somewhere with it, but we didn't, so now we just understand what we have."

"I always kind of," Lance waved a hand. "I don't know. Assumed you two had. I don't know if I ever thought, you know. That there was something. Between you two."

"You thought, or you don't know if you thought?" Chris squinted at him. "Well, there wasn't. There kinda was, and then there wasn't." He poked into Lance's slice with a finger, licking off the sauce. "I mean, what was goin' on with you and Joey for a while there?"

"Nothing," Lance said, probably too quickly, but it was the truth. There hadn't been anything, just a few mostly drunken displays of affection that went too far and left both of them feeling uneasy until they decided it wasn't worth pursuing. Joey'd asked Lance if he thought Joey should break up with Kelly, stop seeing other people, and Lance thought that was insane, had said as much, and that was that. It was over; not even worth mentioning. "You know who, um." He widened the hole Chris had made and studied his handiwork instead of looking at Chris. "You know, I was pretty much in, um. Love with JC for a long time," he said, and lifted the slice, sliding his finger through the hole and wiggling it on the other side.

Chris was frowning thoughtfully when he glanced up. "JC," Chris said. "Hmmm," he tilted his head. "JC. I think we've all been in love with JC at some time or another, you know. He's real easy to love. He's crazy about you, it could've worked," he said, and nudged Lance. "So what happened? You guys ever fool around?"

"We. we tried -- lots of times it was touch and go, but." Lance shrugged. "I'm not sure what happened," he admitted. "I think it just... passed, the time for it just went away and never happened, I guess." It sounded kind of depressing when he put it that way, and he tried again. "I mean, it's not like I'm not, you know, okay with it," he explained. "I don't know, I just. I really love him a lot, I--" Lance sighed. "We have a thing," he finished lamely. "So now we just. understand what we have." That was it; he couldn't explain it, couldn't explain why his heart clenched every time JC smiled at him, how he beamed with pride for JC's accomplishments as if they were his own, and yet still knew JC would never belong to him. JC belonged to too many people already.

"Okay, fair enough," Chris nodded briskly. "So tell me this. Perfect world, all things running smoothly. Do you get with JC, or no?"

"Hey, don't I owe you a couple questions by now?" Lance grinned. "Perfect world, all things running smoothly." He eyed the ceiling as he thought, twisting the piece of pizza over and around his finger. "Perfect world. all things running smoothly, I don't think I'd trade what I have with JC for anything."

"You're still in love with him." From the tone of Chris's voice it wasn't a question, and Lance tossed his head in annoyance.

"Of course I'm still in love with him, he's JC, but it's not like that. He's crazy about all of us." He took up his mangled slice and bit into it calmly, nibbling the bits around his finger until it was all gone. "So we have a thing. so, yeah."

"The love that dare not speak its name," Chris said solemnly, laying a piece of pepperoni on Jackson's nose that Jackson snatched up greedily.

Don't feed my dog pizza, Lance wanted to say, but he just didn't have it in him.

"So -- hey, you know what? We never had a thing," Chris greeted him when Lance went over to Chris's the next night, and Lance paused in setting Jackson down on the floor. He clutched the Taco Bell bags he'd brought with him to his chest and frowned.

"What?"

"You and me. A thing," Chris said patiently, and that right there was pretty funny, Lance thought -- Chris saying something patiently. "You and JC have a thing, you and Justin had a thing -- hell, you and Joey had a thing -- but you and me never had a thing. Ever wonder why that is?"

And just like that, Chris had put him on the spot again. Lance didn't know what to say, so he waited until he was comfortable on Chris's sofa before saying "you comin' on to me, Chris?" hearing the accent heavy in his voice and rolling his eyes. If he played it right, Chris would hear it, would change the subject, would think the eye-roll was directed towards him.

"No," Chris shrugged, sitting down next to him. "Just wondering why you and me never had a thing. Coulda been a nice thing," he added softly as an afterthought, inclining his head.

"Yeah, well," Lance pulled one leg up under him and patted his thigh so that Jackson would jump up on it. He suddenly felt the need to pet him. "I always figured I wasn't a slut as long as I didn't work my way through the whole band, so." He grinned, self-conscious and silly, and shrugged.

"Oh, you're a slut anyway, Lance," Chris told him, then slapped the cushion suddenly. "It's the beard horns, isn't it," he said.

"Chris--"

"I knew it," Chris cried. "I knew you wouldn't be able to look past the beard horns to my inner beauty--"

"It's not the beard horns," Lance protested weakly, but the train had already left the station and Chris was on a roll. The thing was that Lance didn't even mind the beard horns, though he didn't understand Chris's constant need to do things that obscured his cuteness -- because if Lance thought about it, Chris was cute, and now he was thinking about it, and Chris was very cute. He'd wonder, himself, why they hadn't had a thing, but he already knew why.

"...'cause I may be thirty, but ain't ancient, I mean," Chris was saying, and Lance said, softly,

"Look, I didn't think you'd have me, okay?"

"--I can still get it up on command, dude--" Chris stopped, and Lance knew he'd been heard. "What," Chris said flatly. Lance thought Chris really did hear everything, no matter how insignificant, and would call you on it immediately, unlike Lance, who merely stored it all away for later.

"I said, um." Lance delicately picked at the fur between Jackson's eyes, and Jackson squirmed towards Chris. Kariya sauntered in from behind Chris's couch, and Jackson clambered down to greet her. Jackson was neutered, but still straight. "I said I didn't think you'd have me."

"You're a tool," Chris said simply, and Lance stared at him, tried to read him, tried to figure out if Chris really had no idea just how undesirable he'd made Lance feel for so long. "You're such a tool," Chris went on. "You acting like you were scared of me or some bullshit. That's fucked up, do you even listen to yourself? Didn't think I'd have you," he muttered, "shit, you're fucking dumb, that's what."

On the floor, Jackson barked and headbutted Kariya, who was tiny like him but remained immobile, and Kariya peed at the corner of the couch. Chris hissed his teeth. "Okay, I can't help but think that's supposed to be a metaphor for something," he said.

"A metaphor for what," Lance said bitterly, "your incontinent dog?" So he was dumb. He knew this. He was dumb about Chris, had always been dumb about Chris, and he'd come to accept that. Now Chris, knowing this, would never let him forget it either. So things were par for him and Chris, as far as he could tell, but at least now Chris, who was grumbling and stalking around the kitchen slamming things and ripping paper towels off of the roll, would forget about it for the time being. Lance intended to buy Kariya a gift basket in pink.

four

"Okay," Lance told JC the next day when he called again. "So, um. So there's this. The thing I was trying to tell you before?"

"When you called me an alien," JC said.

"When I called you-- I did?" Lance raised his eyebrows. "Okay. Well, the. the thing is this. Um, okay. My mom. my mom's gay. She's gay, and she just told me, and, so... she's gay." There was a silence, and Lance leaned into the phone like he'd hear it better if he did. "JC?"

"Your-- your mom's gay?" JC said. "Oh my God, how exciting!" he crowed. "So is she dating anyone?"

Lance nearly dropped his phone. "What? No!" he shouted, horrified. "Oh my-- what're you-- no!"

"Well, I just. I. I thought maybe. You know, she." JC stammered weakly. "Maybe she had a reason for saying this now. I."

"Well, no," Lance said, his voice softening. "No, she just. I don't know why she came out now, C, I just." He chuckled and rubbed at his forehead, tried to smooth some of the wrinkles. "Don't even joke about stuff like that, man. I can only get used to one thing at a time."

"Well," JC said, the smile evident in his voice, "just be ready, is all I can say."

And with that, Lance figured he'd had enough time to get used to it, had had enough comfort food to last him the rest of the year. And Chris was great, he'd helped Lance deal, but now Lance wasn't sure that was what he needed anymore. He couldn't keep doing that shit. He hadn't even worked out all week, and he'd pay for it; he felt sluggish already, felt like he was losing ground he'd gained.

The drinking, Lance decided, had been a better idea all along. He'd only wanted to freak out a little, not let himself go entirely. Also, he thought, if they'd been drinking the night before, he and Chris would probably have just made out for a while and then forgotten about it instead of what had happened. What had happened was that Chris came up behind him as Lance got ready to leave his house, whispering, "you're great, Lance, I think I'll have you one day." The pinch to his ass that followed had startled Lance, but the breath on the back of his neck had made him hard. So yeah, really, drinking was way better. Lance planned to do more of it in the future.

His mom called from her cell something like ten seconds after Lance had hung up with JC, cheery and chipper and on the road. "I'm taking a little road trip," she said. "I was thinking of dropping by." Lance could hear the radio changing channels in the background. "Do you think you're gonna be home? I wouldn't want to keep you there or anything."

"No, no," Lance assured her. "I'll be here -- why didn't you fly? I could've picked you up and everything."

"Oh, I needed the time," Diane said dismissively. "I've just been drivin' around." She changed the channel again and muttered something to herself, and Lance smiled. He missed his mom and her chatter so much. "So have you seen the other guys since you've been down there?"

Lance laughed. "Do you remember who you're talkin' to, Mom? I just got off the phone with JC, and I was at Chris's last night."

"Oh, you were?" His mom said happily. "Oh, that's great, that's really." She cleared her throat. "Well, you know. I just wanted to check in with you, and see how you were doing. You sound. a little bit better. I'm glad."

"Yeah," Lance lowered his voice. "And, um. Mom. Sorry if I didn't sound, um. as happy as I could, for you. I really am, I'm really happy for you, I think you coming out is great, and I'm totally behind you, and I love you, so."

"Oh, honey, I know," she sighed. "With some things you just need a little time, is all. You remember that, okay?"

"I will," Lance said. His mom was the greatest.

Lance was already sweating, already up to sixty reps on the butterfly press when Chris came over, later than usual, bearing burgers. "What the hell are you doing, working out?" Chris demanded, when Lance opened the door in his work-tee and shorts, hair flat against his head, sticking up where he'd pushed it back. "C'mon, man, I super-sized. Let's get our priorities straight here."

He hadn't thought Chris would come. He'd thought things would be awkward and weird and that Chris would stop coming and he'd just have to deal by himself, which was what he'd wanted but not really what he'd wanted. "And when would you have me do it, Chris?" Lance asked, glancing over his shoulder at him as he shuffled back into his weight-room.

"When I'm not around, naturally," Chris said, and bent down and fed Jackson a french fry.

Lance groaned. "Look, Chris," he said calmly, "my dog doesn't need fast food, and I don't need to comfort eat, okay? I just needed some time and company, and I'm pretty much over it and all, so--"

"So?" Chris raised an eyebrow and ate a handful of fries himself. "So, so so, you're, so what?"

"So," Lance said. "So, just stick around and keep me company."

"Huh." Chris ate more fries and opened up the bag, peering inside and shaking it. "While you work out?"

"Well, yeah."

"You realize this defeats the whole purpose of eating comfort food," Chris said, and straddled the bench press, setting the bag between his legs.

"God willing," Lance agreed.

He wasn't that used to working out with an audience -- working out with someone was decidedly different from working out in front of someone. And usually he was with someone who was at least as into the working out as he was, like Justin, or his personal trainer Freddy. Chris just... watched, eating slowly and with concentration as Lance pressed and lifted and pushed and sweated and grunted through the higher reps. He was decidedly self-conscious; he was strangely proud; he was slightly aroused. He didn't think he was imagining Chris's gaze on his thighs.

Chris talked incessantly, and Lance realized the folly of working out when the person you were with had nothing to do themselves. Chris really enjoyed trying to mess with Lance's count, telling him horror stories about body builders whose arms had come off -- Lance was pretty sure that hadn't really happened -- and the dangers of internal muscle bleeding, and Lance was still hard.

He thought about his mom, he thought about making out with their bodyguards, he counted backwards from a thousand, and "is, uh," Lance said, when he couldn't take another story and he thought he'd explode under Chris's stare, "that food any good?"

Chris shrugged. "Hell if I know, I haven't tasted a damn thing." He stood up abruptly. "You know what," he said, "I'm thinking I should just leave you alone right now, to your. your working out. That'll be good. 'Cause, I mean, obviously you're not into the gifts I bring," he shook the bag to make the point, "so."

So it was like that. Lance sighed and sat up. "Chris, no. Look, Chris." He plucked at the front of his shirt where it was sticking to his chest, fanned himself a little bit. "Don't leave. Don't go. I know it's all cliché and all that, but really. I mean, don't go, okay? I'd like you to stick around." He didn't know how long a stay he had in mind. He decided he liked that.

After a moment of studying him some more, glancing around, Chris nodded. "Okay then," he said, and pointed to Lance from behind a fry. "You done?"

"C'mere," Lance said.

He'd been trying to seduce Chris, Lance knew this now, and he was a bit surprised that he hadn't realized it before, because normally he was very definite about things like that. He wanted a boy in bed, he got a boy in bed, but Chris was so difficult to set plans around that he hadn't even tried. So he'd kissed Chris on the mouth, tentative and soft but with his mouth open, and Chris had kissed back, and that was how it had started; how Lance had seduced Chris. He was pretty sure it was him who had done the seducing, anyway.

Chris kissed slow and sultry, Lance knew, from seven years of seeing him in action; but it was another thing entirely, having Chris's tongue in his own mouth, working the room, while they were both sober, both aware of what they were doing. He felt Chris's hands settle on his thighs, fingers pressing into the sides, and let Chris pull him closer, until their knees touched. He reached out with both hands and slid them over Chris's soft sides, up under his shirt, where the skin was warm and smooth, and moved closer still, until his ass was off the bench and he was hovering above Chris's knees. He mentally thanked Freddy for the muscles in his thighs, and palmed the small of Chris's back; then Chris broke off their kiss and nipped at Lance's neck, and Lance's knees gave out.

"Spend the night," Lance asked so that it wasn't a question, breathing a bit harder than he'd hoped, when Chris cupped Lance's ass in his hands and brought him right up to straddle him. He hooked his ankles around Chris's and rode up just a little, just enough to feel Chris's hardness against his own, and held it there for a beat before lowering himself.

"Probably, yeah," Chris nodded. Bucking up, he added, "so, you're, uh. Pretty hot, you know."

Lance couldn't tell if the flush rising in him was from the workout, arousal or modesty. Probably all of the above. "You're very," he began. "I kind of want, um." He rocked his hips again, and closed his eyes. "This is very weird," he decided. He felt the silkiness of Chris's chest hair against his fingers and drew back, wondering when and how Chris's shirt had gotten open.

"Weird?" Chris said, and pursed his lips while he thought about it. Great lips, Lance thought. Great pink wet lips, yeah, this is weird. "Yeah, we should probably," Chris said, "probably stop. Before, you know, something happens that. I mean, regret would be bad."

"I totally agree," Lance said carefully. "We should stop." He nodded. Chris's chest heaved under his hand, and he could feel Chris's heartbeat rabbitting under his palm.

"Right." Chris nodded as well. "Um. Lance?"

"Yeah?"

"The window of opportunity for you getting off me before this gets out of control? Is getting so narrow right now, you have no idea."

"Those aren't very good odds," Lance agreed, his hips rocking slowly, of their own volition.

"Not at all," Chris said. "You get this far with Justin?"

Lance shook his head. "We, uh. We took off our." He pointed to Chris's open shirt, trailed his fingers down to Chris's stomach, and unbuttoned it the rest of the way, fingers coming to rest against Chris's belly. Quickly he reached for his own shirt and tugged it up and over his head in one swift motion. "Okay, now we--" he said, before Chris put a hand on the nape of his neck and pulled him down to kiss again, the other hand guiding him closer, so close he thought he could crawl into Chris's pants, and mmmm, he thought that would be really nice right now, getting out of his pants and into Chris's. Lance was on fire, so close he felt his thighs start to shake, and squeezed Chris with his knees, so close, too close to stop. They broke apart, panting, and Lance came with a gasp when Chris slipped a hand down between them.

"We totally just crossed the 'weird' line, didn't we," Chris said, eyes glazed over.

Right on, Lance thought, I'm taking you with me.

After taking a shower and throwing Chris some of his own clothes so that Chris could do the same, Lance was back to good old drinking again. Chris called Justin to tell him about his mom, because Lance confessed that he'd told JC and Chris thought it was unfair that they weren't even anymore. Chris spent a lot of time on his phone saying things like "I'm not shitting you, I'm serious," and "hey, it takes a while to figure it out sometimes, man," while he sprawled out over Lance's stomach, drinking the half-can-full of warm beer that Lance had poured into his soda cup for him.

"You know, I'm not wearing any underwear under these sweats of yours," Chris informed him, as an aside.

"Then they're your sweats now," Lance said.

"It's not like you never experimented, kiddo," Chris continued into the phone like Lance hadn't spoken. Then he shrugged and said, "I'll call you what I want. Anyways, Lola, may he who's never had his tongue in another man's mouth cast the first stone and all that." Lance smacked Chris's shoulder, and Chris nodded. "Yeah, I know it's cool; my mom's cool."

"Tell him about my mom," Lance said softly, before he could have a chance to think to talk himself out of it, and nudged Chris's head with his elbow. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, he thought. Lance was also chasing every swallow of beer with a swig of Johnny Walker, so he was feeling pretty okay about the whole thing.

"And oh, hey, you know who else is gay?" Chris said, without breaking stride. "Lance's mom." He frowned. "Yeah, well, fuck you, too," he said, then hung up and tossed his phone over the end of the couch.

Lance giggled. It was so funny; his mom was gay, and Chris's mom was gay, and he was gay, and Chris was gay, and it was hilarious. "Didn't believe you?" he smirked. Beer. Johnny Walker.

"So what if it sounds a little crazy," Chris said, sitting up and rubbing his hands over his face, careful of the beard. "Doesn't mean I'd just make something like that up."

"Look who you're talking about," Lance said, "we're the two biggest liars we know," and Chris scowled.

"Fuck you, too," he said, and slumped back against Lance hard, knocking the wind out of him. Lance coughed, but didn't protest.

Chris got him to call Joey and put him on speakerphone, and said, "one, two gay moms of *nsync! Ah! Ah! Ah!" in a Transylvanian accent and Lance laughed until his already aching stomach muscles were really hurting him and he couldn't take it anymore, and kept laughing anyway. They hung up before Joey got what they meant, and somehow they lost time. How much, Lance wasn't sure, giggling and silly and warm and drunk, Chris climbing over him like Chris was little and Lance was a tree.

"What would it take to get on Springer, do you think?" Chris asked him. "You think we qualify yet?"

Lance didn't look up, watching his beer foam up as he swirled it in the can. He wondered what would happen if he poured it directly into the rum. He wondered why he hadn't thought of that before. "What, you mean the drunken orgies and drug binges didn't qualify us already?"

"Uh huh," Chris nodded so hard that Lance could feel the couch tremble. "I see your point, but where's the lesbians in all that, you know?" he said, leaning on Lance's lower belly with his elbow. Lance really could barely breathe, his stomach making sloshy noises whenever Chris hit it, but Chris was still there, because Lance had asked him to stay. Lance knew that had to mean something.

Blinking was more of an effort and Lance didn't want to get up, didn't want to tell Chris to get off of him so he could go up to bed. "My mom called today," he said tiredly, and put his hand on the top of Chris's head. "She said she's driving down to see me."

"Cool," Chris said, and twisted, arching his back, his heel in Lance's thigh. He pushed his legs out until they were stretched over Lance's lap and flopped forward on to the arm of the couch and stayed there, breathing deeply. "It'll be good for me to meet the in-laws," Chris murmured, and it was the last thing Lance remembered, his hand on Chris's side and a smile on his face.

five

Lance dreamed that his house was on fire; that he woke up to a thick, choking smoke over his head and his first thought was I need to save my pets. He crawled through the darkness, and remembered all of the fire drills from elementary school, feeling every door before opening it and everything. Lexi and Jackson were the first to go, Jackson huddled under his shirt and Lexi curled over the crook of his arm, but when he went back in, he couldn't find the cages for Dirk and for Frodo and Squirtle the chinchillas, and was paralyzed with worry; he felt for the first time that he had too many pets, that Chris had been right, with his smug little face and his hands and his--

Lance's house smelled like burning toast and fruit when he woke up with a start, still on his couch. He needed to go to the bathroom, but forsook peeing for panic and raced out to the kitchen, trying to remember when he'd last changed the batteries in his smoke detectors. When he got there, he pulled up short. Chris was standing over his gourmet stove, waving a dishtowel over the pan in front of him, eggs and toast already set aside in a plate next to the stove. That part of it looked appetizing; the blackened mess in front of Chris less so.

"What are you doing to my kitchen?" he demanded wearily, grimacing against the smell. He thought he might never eat breakfast again.

Chris glanced over his shoulder at him, then back at the pan and back to Lance again. His towel-waving flagged slightly. "Okay, here's the thing," he said slowly, very careful about setting the spatula back in its place, which Lance appreciated-- "you said you liked your peanut butter and banana sandwiches fried--"

"Lightly toasted," Lance said, starting to understand and becoming more appalled by the second.

"--so the problem is, you didn't say how long or what to look for," Chris continued, "and I kept peeking on the bananas but the fucking toast started to burn, and now--"

"Oh, jeez," Lance muttered.

"--and now," Chris said again, louder, "I thought your peanut butter and banana tastes were fucked up before, but shit, this stuff's nasty, Bass."

Lance smiled despite himself. "You sayin' you made peanut butter and banana sandwiches for me, Chris?"

Chris held up the pan, and charred bits of something dropped off on to the burner. "Not so much with the finished product," he said.

"Well, good thing your eggs look so good, then," Lance told him, smacking Chris on the ass, and took the plate of eggs and toast with him to the bathroom. These things had to be guarded with Chris, Lance knew; he'd seen Chris lick a circle around an entire pizza just to claim it before. More than once.

He tried not to think about it in the bathroom, tried not to read too much into it after sitting down to eat, but "so, um," he finally said, after alternately staring at Chris and averting his gaze, "you, uh. stayed. overnight. at my house."

Chris nodded and took a huge bite of his toast and egg. "Uh-huh."

"And you're still here."

"Yep."

Lance raised his eyebrows. "Well, do you have any thoughts about this?"

"Well, see, I looked at it this way," Chris said, cocking his head as he chewed. He deliberately took a sip of his orange juice. "I didn't wanna leave and then have that awkward morning-after feeling, like we'd had this ecstatic hot sex last night or something, 'cause we didn't. I mean, we're guys, it's cool, it's perfectly normal for me to stay at your house and watch you work out and then fool around afterwards. 'Cause I mean, working out, you get hot, that happens. So I was just trying to spare us the weirdness."

"So instead," Lance said, "you stayed, so we could have awkward morning-after weirdness because you stayed."

"Something like that, yeah," Chris mumbled.

Oh, hell, Lance thought, watching Chris stab at his eggs until they bled yolk over his toast. He was pretty much wrecked at this point, would never think of Chris quite the same way. He leaned over and pecked Chris on the cheek, stubble poking hard on his lips, because Chris could grow a bad enough five o'clock shadow in minutes, but left overnight his face was pure jungle. He grinned when Chris glanced up at him. "I won't feel awkward if you won't feel awkward," he said.

"Well," Chris said, "that's good to know." He turned his head and kissed Lance back, his lips salty and warm and soft, slightly parted. Their tongues touched, traced each other, and Chris's eyes were narrow little slits when Lance pulled away.

"Chris? I think," Lance licked his lips. "I think we have a thing."

"You think?" Chris said.

Chris left after they finished eating and making out a little, because "it's a little creepy here, wearing your pants, man," he admitted, pushing Lance from behind by the shoulders as if to steer him towards the door ahead of him.

Lance opened the door for him and leaned against the doorway. "Your pants," he said. "I don't want 'em back."

"Whatever," Chris said. "I'm not exactly comforted by how close your boys have been to mine in these, either." Lance wanted to point out that they wouldn't have been in this mess if they hadn't gotten that close in the first place, but decided that it wasn't worth it.

So Chris left, and Lance cleaned up after him, smiling stupidly, and spent a lot longer than he'd have liked to admit staring at his couch thinking things like this is where it happened, thinking he'd get hard every time he worked out from now on, thinking about what happened there. Lance sometimes thought about things that way, but only when it mattered; which meant he only thought about things that way when it involved one of the other guys. None of the others had spent the night, after, like they were his boyfriend or anything. He'd never asked; he didn't do the boyfriend thing well. He didn't do the girlfriend thing so well, either, but at least he tried.

He didn't know what to think, how to feel about it, because this was Chris, who could be so flighty, even flightier than JC, and more obstinate than Justin. But he'd stayed the night, and he'd ruined a perfectly easy meal trying to cook for Lance, and Lance really, really liked Chris; he did. He was amazed at how quickly his love of Chris had crossed over from the friendly crush he had on all of the guys and into this. Into this thing where Chris stayed the night and had breakfast at Lance's place like he was Lance's boyfriend, and Lance liked it.

It was two in the afternoon and his mom hadn't called with an update, so Lance called her cell instead, and got her voicemail. He left a stupid message; he couldn't remember what it was exactly, because he left messages on autopilot, but it was something inane about the dogs missing her and it being a beautiful day. He had a book on how to leave effective phone messages, but he'd never read it. Effective waste of twenty bucks, Joey called it, and used it as a paperweight.

Two-thirty, and Lance was a dork, because he kind of missed Chris already and wanted to go over to his place, but it was too early for a good supper. Joey came over instead, Brianna on his arm, and yelled, "You called me two times and said weird things and I wanna know what's goin' on right now!" in a voice a two-year old would use; no inflection or anything. Joey had clearly been spending too much time alone with Brianna.

"You've been teachin' your daddy how to talk, haven't you, sweetie," Lance told her when she said 'hi', and took her from Joey, burying his nose in her neck to make her giggle. She smelled like flowers and baby and applesauce, and her hair was finally long enough to braid in pigtails. Lance doubted that Joey'd done that, though. Lance wanted a baby just like her one day.

"Where's Kelly at?" he directed to Joey, as they made their way inside, then "is she good?" he asked next about Brianna, slowing, when they passed the kitchen. Brianna looked up at him with wide blue eyes and reached out to grab his nose, muttering "uncola" under her breath, because she couldn't pronounce 'Uncle Lance' yet.

"Yup, she's all good and fed and changed and everything," Joey told him. They sat down on the couch, the couch; Lance rolled his eyes at himself, setting Brianna in his lap. "Kelly's having her 'tired of being Mommy' day, so it's just me and her, all day long," Joey explained, and held out his fingers, so that Brianna could bat at them. "So you gotta tell me, man, what's goin' on, what am I missing," he added, almost absently. Brianna could draw him out of a conversation like that, Lance knew. Joey was the most attentive father, he loved it.

"Okay, um, Bev? Chris's mom Bev?" Lance's knee was jiggling, out of control for no reason; but the benefit of it was that Brianna liked that, vocalizing in a vibrating voice and drooling, because she was teething again. Down the front of her summery dress she drooled, on to on his hands where he held her. "Uh. Bev is gay."

Joey raised his eyebrows and made a little sound of disbelief. "Seriously? Bev? Wow." Then he cocked his head and shrugged. "Good for her, though. That's cool."

"Um, also, my mom's gay. Like, both of them are gay. At the same time." Lance peeked at him from beneath his lashes and held his breath. Brianna squirmed and pulled at his fingers a bit, so Lance let her down to stand between his legs.

Joey's eyebrows looked like they were going to meet his hairline. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, "what?" Six years of theater and six years out, and dramatic gestures were an inseparable part of Joey's natural personality. "Oh, I get the -- oh. I mean, that's," he nodded. "That's also cool. Twice as cool, actually, I guess. Is it a full moon?"

Lance shrugged uneasily. "I'm not sure if I was supposed to tell you about Chris's mom without him," he said, knee jiggling away, "so, you know. Sort of..."

Joey nodded again, and took Brianna from him. "Act surprised when I find out," he said. "Got it." He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Lance. "How are you holding up?"

Lance looked down at his hands, damp with baby drool. "I'm okay with it," he said.

"No," Joey said simply. "No, you're. You're happy. What's. you're happy about something, you. I think you..." he jabbed a finger in the air thoughtfully, and Lance felt his face warm up. "Ah!" Joey crowed. "And the cheeks! The red cheeks! You look, like--"

"Joey, no," Lance mumbled, and covered his forehead with his hand.

"Freshly-- freshly--" Joey put both hands over Brianna's ears, and she clapped like she was part of the joke and knew the punchline. "Freshly fucked!" he whispered loudly. Lance sighed. "Who's the guy?" Joey asked.

"Okay Joe, this is totally-- okay, first," Lance said, "we didn't. it's. not that. and, uh, second. Uh. it's Chris."

Joey dropped his hands. "Really," he said. "You sure?"

Lance knew what he meant, and shrugged. "Nothing really to be sure of yet."

"So you are sure," Joey said.

Four-thirty, and Lance went over to Chris's empty-handed. "So I didn't bring any food," he said to himself in the car on the way there, rehearsing. "But that kissing stuff we were doing earlier?" He sighed. He was not being clever at all. Chris was, more often than not, not clever himself, but he was an astute judge of cleverness and delighted in skewering Lance when he fell short in that area. That hadn't happened much recently, it was true, but it had been a while before Lance had grown out of the habit of waiting after every comment in case Chris would shoot it down. Lance was pretty sure Chris wouldn't shut the door in his face if he asked Chris to do that thing where his hand was down Lance's pants again, but he really didn't want to take the chance.

"So I didn't bring any food with me," he said, when Chris got the door. "Can I still come in?"

Chris looked him up and down, and Lance fought the urge to check himself over. He knew his hip was jutting out the way he was standing; he was proud of that, of the sleek line of hip and groin muscle he'd developed. He also knew that if the wind blew right it would flip up the end of his shirt so that maybe Chris could see a little flesh above his jeans. Lance wanted Chris's hands, Chris's mouth, on that flesh. "But come on," Chris argued. "If you don't have any body fat on you, your body doesn't have fat to burn."

Lance suspected that there was a problem with Chris's logic, but wasn't sure what it was. Still, he figured that Chris had seen flesh, because he let Lance in.

Chris had definitely seen flesh, because it wasn't long before he got Lance pinned back against Chris's cheesy patio furniture, and thank God for private property, Lance thought, squirming happily under Chris's weight, under his tongue on Lance's neck. He slipped a hand down the back of Chris's pants -- actually Chris's this time, he noted -- and squeezed his ass and said "just don't, just don't bite me," but mentioning the biting made him want Chris to bite him anyway, so he hoped Chris would know Lance was full of shit and ignore him.

"Mmmm," Chris was saying against his neck, humming snippets of songs Lance didn't know. "You're so. You taste so clean, how do you do that? You taste clean all day." Chris licked his Adam's apple. "Freshly scrubbed all day, I can't get enough." Chris talked constantly, and Lance was just no good for conversation when someone was licking his neck. He wanted to tell Chris that, but instead he said

"ah," and spread his legs and arched his back, his head rolling back so that Chris would have more neck to lick, and maybe bite. Chris splayed his hands out over Lance's stomach and started smoothing down his shirt, then pushing it up and running his fingers over the skin, and every so often his fingers would dip below the waistband of Lance's jeans; Lance shimmied his hips, wondering what it would take to get Chris to put his hands on him. Chris was busy kissing his mouth, and Lance was busy squeezing Chris's ass, hoping that Chris would get the hint.

Lance could hear himself whimpering, knew he was thrusting up against Chris's thigh, and Chris was either dense or stubborn, refusing to go south. "God," Lance said, and reached down, hooking his fingers with Chris's, guiding their fingers to his dick together. Chris's hand curled around him through his jeans, and Lance banged the back of his head against the back of the patio sofa, groaning loudly. It was all good; Chris knew where the zipper was, Chris knew how these things worked, it was out of Lance's hands now.

Chris ran his hand up and down the outline of Lance's erection just to get him writhing again, then pulled back and looked at him. "You tryin' to tell me something, Lance?" he asked, and then Lance's phone, clipped to his belt but mostly forgotten in the scheme of things, started ringing.

What did I ever do to you? Lance thought, both to Chris and the phone. "Shit," he pronounced carefully, and looked down at it, willing it to melt and wilt under the weight of his stare. He'd left it on, but with very explicit instructions to only call if an actual building he had investments with was in the process of burning to the ground. He was going to kill somebody. He was sure he'd miss them, after.

Chris looked down at it, too. "Hey there," he said. "Is that a phone in your--"

"I'm just really happy to see you, Chris," Lance sighed, and pulled back to look at the caller ID. He'd be happier if his phone hadn't rung, but the caller ID said "Bass, Diane" so that wilted things somewhat, even as Chris was opening his jeans and tugging his underwear down just enough to get at him.

"Mom!" he answered loudly, and batted at Chris's hands. Now they wanted to be in Lance's pants; that was just great timing on Chris's part. "Did you get my message?"

"Sure did, and I'm on my way! How are you doing?" she asked.

Lance reached down and gripped Chris's wrist, which was doing this amazing twisting thing, fingers flicking over the head of his dick, and sat up a little bit more. "You're on your way now? I'm." Chris stilled his hand and leaned up, kissed his neck. "Hmmm, I'm okay," he said carefully. "I'm over at Chris's, though, so tell me where you are and I'll just head home in--"

"Oh, no!" Diane said. "No, that's fine, I'll. We can meet there, at Chris's. That's fine." Her voice softened. "We can go back to your place later, if you like."

"Uh." Lance closed his eyes and allowed himself a couple of quick thrusts into Chris's hand, truly scandalized by his own behavior. "Of course I'd like," he said. "You're bein' silly, of course I'd like."

"Well," she seemed strangely unconvinced. "I'll see y'all later, then."

He hung up and glanced at Chris sideways. "My mom's comin' over here," he told Chris, as Chris got a rhythm going again in his lap.

"Great," Chris said, eyes on the prize. "We'll have a little party."

"We should talk," Lance added, and closed his eyes again, to Chris's kneading fingers, Chris's increasing speed. "Um. after."

"So we'll talk after." Lance felt the shrug rather than saw it, and agreed whole-heartedly, coming over the bottom of his shirt with a quiet moan. Right. after.

He gave Chris head because he loved giving head, even though he didn't think he was that great at it. He was willing to practice, and he thought that was important; especially on Chris, who made great noises that should have been funny but were really sort of cute and sexy instead. Chris kneaded Lance's shoulders while Lance blew him, came quickly and mumbled, "okay, not so much about the stamina today," but Lance didn't mind, taking it as positive testimony instead.

"I've been gettin' better," he said hopefully, as he pulled off his shirt and accepted the clean one Chris handed him when they got inside.

"Technique, I give you a seven," Chris admitted. "But where you really bring it home is with the eleven in enthusiasm."

"Well, you make me enthusiastic," Lance said, and smiled like he was just being good-natured about it, but he meant it.

Chris's house was neat on the inside, despite what Chris would have Lance think, so cleaning up for Diane mainly consisted of flipping the cushions on the couch and Lance constantly re-examining himself in the hallway mirror for hickeys, touching his kiss-swollen lips tenderly.

Diane arrived an hour later, and Lance hugged her so tightly that she tried to let go three times before he would relent. He picked her up and swung her, and she laughed, patting his arms playfully when he set her down. "Oh, it's good to see you again," she said, hugging Chris. "I got a surprise for you," she added, when she let him go. "You ready?"

"You bought me a pony," Chris said.

She laughed again. "No--"

"You bought me a racehorse."

"Chris," Diane said, smiling all the while.

"You bought me a..."

"I brought you something," Diane said, and leaned back out of the doorway, and when she came back, Chris's mom came in.

"Surprise!" Diane said, and Bev waved.

"Surprise," Bev said.

Chris sat them all down across from each other after insisting on taking Bev's and Diane's bags, saying "I can always get them for you at the end of the night, it's no big deal," and Lance hadn't stopped thinking from the second Bev walked in. His mom and Chris's mom had taken a road trip together, and Lance thought that was great. He thought it was great that they had something to bond over.

"So, were you guys on the road all day?" Chris wanted to know, leaning past Lance to talk to their mothers. Lance thought it was a bit weird that his mom hadn't told him that she and Bev were taking a road trip together, but if she figured he would tell Chris, and they wanted to surprise Chris, he thought that made sense. That was okay.

Diane nodded. "We swapped off on the driving," she explained, "but I really love to drive, and Bev--"

"Well, you know I'm not crazy about it," Bev put in, and shrugged, nodding. It was a pretty far drive from Pennsylvania to Orlando, Lance was thinking. He wondered where Bev and his mom had met up. It would've been way easier for Bev to just fly; that was a bit weird, too. He thought he might be getting a tension headache.

"So it was mostly me," Diane finished. "But I don't mind."

"So you planned on coming down together?" Chris asked, and nodded like he already knew the answer.

"Well, we thought it would be best," Bev said, and nodded back. Lance stuck his tongue between his teeth and narrowed his eyes at Chris's coffee table.

"I mean, what we actually wanted to, um, come down for, was," Diane delicately picked at the fabric of her pants at the knee, then smoothed it down, and did it again. "Bev and I, hmmm."

"We, uh, were doing some talking," Bev supplied, and when Lance looked up, she was looking at him.

"And it just so happened that--" Diane glanced at Bev-- "we've. We're. We care about each other very much," she said, addressing it to Bev and not the room. Bev reached out and put her hand over Diane's, linking their fingers over Diane's knee.

Okay, no, Lance thought. No no no no.

"So. you. you're..." Chris half-stood, pointed, then withdrew his finger and sat down again. "Okay," he said softly, and that was all.

"Lance," Bev said, and turned even more to take Lance in, and why was she staring at him, Lance wanted to know. "You guys," she said, but all Lance could see was that she'd moved her hand and let it slip around Diane's shoulder. "Guys, we know this must be a lot to take in right now--"

"How," Lance was surprised by how calm his voice sounded; so far away. "How long have you. you been."

"Um," Diane cleared her throat. "About seven months?"

Lance felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. Chris was on his feet again. "You. This is serious. You guys are serious. Are you serious?"

They glanced at each other, nodding slowly. "There's. there's this place we were looking at, in Vermont--" Bev began.

"Vermont?" Chris laughed. "You never. Shit, Vermont," he said, shaking his head.

Lance couldn't have put it better. He bit his lip and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Are you. are you guys getting married or something?"

Diane and Bev exchanged glances again. "You know, we're really kind of taking it day by day," Bev said.

"We just wanted to take some time to spend together," Diane added. "That's what this place in Vermont is for, it's just a ranch, it's just a getaway." She paused, uneasy. "I'm moving up to Pennsylvania, as soon as we get things sorted out, and. Well. That was really all we wanted you boys to know," she finished, her voice soft.

Lance was staring at the coffee table but not seeing much of anything. He knew he would see, if he looked up, Diane leaning into Bev the way she only ever did with his dad. He didn't look up.

"You know, I think this calls for a drink," Chris announced, spinning on his heel towards the kitchen. A moment later he slid back in. "I'm sorry, did you ladies want anything?"

six

"You know," Bev said suddenly, and stood. "I think I'm gonna help Chris with those drinks. Thirty years and I still don't totally trust him around glassware, so." She hunched her shoulders and chuckled a little.

It was a relief. Lance cleared his throat and smiled apologetically at her. "Sorry," he offered weakly. "I guess I can't. Um. I can't really think of anything to, uh. Ask, I guess?"

Bev waved him off. "Oh, write 'em down; you can always save the questions for later." She grinned at him and was gone. Lance looked at Diane, and she smiled ruefully at him.

"So," she said, patting the spot Bev had just vacated. He took it.

"So," he responded, as they linked fingers. "Mom. I'm a little bit... more freaked out. So."

"It's okay," Diane told him, and petted their joined hands. "I never expected this either, you know. It just happened so gradually, and before we knew it, well." She grinned at him. "Well, there was this."

Lance couldn't swallow behind the lump in his throat, the faint ache in his chest. He couldn't look at her with anything like accusation in his eyes, so he looked away. "You could've told us you were seein' each other," he said, his voice a little thick, and tried again. "Right? You could've."

When he glanced back, his mother's gaze was on him. "You were on tour," she said evenly, a bit of weariness around her eyes. "And I wanted. I wanted to tell you in person." She looked over in the direction of the kitchen. "I wanted to show you."

"Did Dad know about this, too?" he whispered, and she nodded, her smile fading a little.

"He. He understands, Lance. He's okay." Her expression became more concerned and slightly saddened. "Are you okay?"

He didn't know, and he didn't know why. "Yeah, I'm okay," he said, and it didn't occur to him until later that he'd lied.

"So, I mean," Chris had said, a little into their impromptu cocktail party, "the girls already know, right, that Diane's coming to live with you?" and that was when Lance knew he was in trouble. Chris had already been nodding, and they were finishing each others' sentences, his mom and Bev. Lance thought they sounded pretty married, and he peered down into the vodka-sprite mix that Chris had made for him, wishing he'd asked for straight liquor, but he didn't want to get drunk in front of his mom; not like this.

He didn't hear Chris the first time Chris called to him, so he started when he felt Chris's fingers dancing up his spine, tickling against his skin. "Hey, you," Chris said, standing over him, his gaze sharp like he was trying to read Lance at the same time as he spoke to him. "You wanna grab your mom's things and move 'em in with my mom's stuff so they can stay here for the night?"

"Sure, yeah," Lance nodded, and got up.

The guest room Chris had set aside for his mom whenever she came to visit was respectably large and patterned entirely for the things Bev liked; Precious Moments figurines on the dressers and piano keys on the walls and a sizeable porcelain sculpture of a working woman, hair tied up and dress dishevelled, sprawled out on a bench in exhaustion. Lance knew as soon as he saw it that Diane would love it too.

Chris stopped him outside with a hand on his shoulder and lowered his voice. "You can crash here too," he added casually, like it wasn't the invitation it clearly was. A few days ago it might not have been.

He couldn't; he just couldn't. Lance grinned what he hoped was brightly, regretfully. "Nah," he said. "I've actually got, um. Some stuff I should be workin' on, and I haven't. So."

"Oh, really?" Chris said. He was standing next to Lance but with distance between them, shifting weight from one foot to the other, and Lance wondered if Chris was debating between arguing with Lance and touching him again. If Chris touched him, Lance decided, he'd change his mind. He'd stay.

Chris didn't, and Lance kissed his mom and Bev goodnight and left.

Lance stared at his laptop for exactly one hour and thirty-seven minutes until he got tired of the blinking light on his phone indicating that a call was coming through with the ringer off. Then he called Joey.

"Cheer me up, Joe," he said when Joey picked up. "Tell me somethin' good. Anything. How's Bri?"

"Snoring little baby snores," Joey said, the grin evident in his voice. "She got that from her mom."

Lance smiled. "She got that from you."

"Shut up, I don't snore!" Joey laughed. "Oh, you wanna hear good news? Remember when Bri was born and you said I'd never be able to look at porn the same way again and I said no way that'd happen?"

"Yeah?" His fingers were cramped from holding the phone so tightly. He tried to loosen his grip.

"Well, I guess it took moms to make it happen. All that lesbian porn? Totally burning it. I'm saving the outrage for when Brianna's a teenager, though." Joey chuckled and Lance's fingers went numb.

"Wow, that really did the trick," he said weakly, and forced a laugh. "Whatever would I do without you?"

Joey was very good about accepting excuses and knowing when to let Lance go.

He watched the light on his phone blink, stop, blink again, stop, and blink again before stopping for good. Then he went to bed and dreamed of Chris; of Chris's small hands stroking his back, inviting him to spend the night. In his dream, Lance said yes.

He liked going over to JC's because JC didn't need to say or do anything to make Lance feel better; JC knew better than anyone else that Lance could be bothered by a half-dozen different things at once and not be able to articulate a single one of them. So after his mother came by the next morning to say goodbye, Bev dancing from one leg to the other on the threshhold like she wasn't welcome -- which was ridiculous, because just because Lance was freaking out didn't mean he still didn't love Bev and want to see her -- Lance went over to JC's. JC took one look at him and said, "oh, baby, get in here," and that was that.

JC made tacos with Hamburger Helper and ate it with Lance, sitting next to him cross-legged in the living room, and didn't say anything during the TV shows, only during the commercials, and it turned out to be just what Lance needed to calm down a little bit.

"So," JC said conversationally, an hour into watching the news with the volume turned low. Lance knew this meant that JC was going to say something he thought Lance should pay attention to. "Chris called me earlier."

"Really," Lance said, poking around the napkin on his plate. The plates were these ridiculously fancy smoked glass ones that JC had picked out of a catalogue. They looked like the kind of thing you get as a wedding gift, but they were strangely right up JC's alley.

JC nodded. "Yeah," he said. "He wanted to know if I'd talked to you lately."

He needed a new manicure, he noticed; a couple of hangnails had sprung, signs of his nervous nail-biting and exascerbated by everything else. "What'd you tell him?"

"I said no," JC said softly. "You should probably call him," he added.

Lance shrugged.

"Lance." JC laid a hand on Lance's arm. "How long has your mom been seeing her?" he asked softly.

Lance sat up abruptly, his pulse thudding in his ears. "What do you mean?" he demanded, fighting shallow breaths. "Who. How-- has--"

"Lance! Lance," JC said, and rubbed Lance's shoulder. "It was. kind of easy to guess," he confessed. His eyes were sad, but warm. "Don't tell me you didn't see this coming? Even a little bit?"

Lance hadn't, not even a little, and it made him feel worse every time he thought of all the things that he could have seen and didn't. "I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" he said, sighing, and slouched back down on the couch so that JC's arm was around him and JC's hand on his hair. "She's been seein' Bev," he added after a moment, and tilted his head up to look at him. "For like, ever. Seven months."

JC's eyes widened a little. "Bev," he said, thinking. "Bev..." he snapped back into focus. "Bev?" he asked. "Bev Eustice Bev?" Lance just closed his eyes and nodded. "Wow," JC said. "Wow."

"Seriously. Am I awful for feelin' bad about this, Jayce?" Lance asked him.

"Lance," JC sighed. "There. You're having a." He pursed his lips, and Lance's stomach sank. If JC had to think of the words, he was a lost cause. "I think you just... you need to think about what if it was you, you know?" JC finally said, and petted Lance comfortingly. "That's all."

"It is me, though," Lance moaned. "Me and Chris. Kind of."

JC nodded. "Oh," he said.

"Maybe not," Lance said, shaking his head. "Anymore. I dunno."

"Then you have to call him," JC said urgently.

"I can't," Lance said.

It was about time Lance stopped avoiding and started doing, he thought. A great plan, he thought, and so okay, Chris would probably be annoyed with him for bailing out the way he had, but Chris knew Lance, knew Lance's neuroses, and so yeah, it was time to start doing. Chris would be snarky and biting, and then Lance would apologize, and offer a gift, a token of his appreciation. He was thinking something like a cozy for Chris's motorcycle. Whatever Chris dished out, Lance was sure he could take it.

Chris had, as Lance had thought, left messages on Lance's voicemail. Seven of them. They started off nice, and Lance put his chin on his hand as he listened to them.

"Hey, Lance, it's me," Chris said. "In retrospect, I'm thinking I should've made you stay, 'cause I'm thinking you weren't in the frame of mind to make the right decision here. Like one of those legal guardian deals. Come over so I can make sure you take your meds on time and all that." Then he hung up. Then he called back and said, "that means call me. Okay."

"Okay," he said, when he called back later. "Just letting you know I called Justin and we're probably gonna be doin' something tomorrow, so I'm probably gonna call you later. 'Cause I think we probably need to have that talk, you know." He paused, then yelled "you've got me whipped, you fucker," and hung up.

"Hey, Lance," he said again. "So okay, I stopped by, but you're not home, so it's cool, I'll just call back later, or call me and lemme know what's up."

"Okay," Chris said tightly. "So I was thinking. Why's your phone off? Just asking. I wanna talk to you, man."

"You cannot seriously be avoiding me because of our moms, right?" Chris said, and he sounded annoyed. "'Cause it looks like you're avoiding me because of our moms. We were doing this together, remember? Call me so I can beat your ass." Lance wanted to call him immediately and make him feel better, but the call had been hours earlier and there was another one left. He dreaded hearing it.

"You know what your problem is, Lance?" Chris was hitting something in the background repeatedly, a clickclickclick that timed his words, framed them in a rhythm. "You're upset, and that happens, that's okay. You didn't have it like me. Your parents were together for, like, ever, and you were all, portrait of an American family, and that's your thing, and that's okay, too. And now all that's gone and it could be my mom or it could be Bob the bodybuilder from the gym your mom's moving in with, it'd still freak you out. I get it, okay, Lance? I'm not you, I don't know what it's like for you, but I get it. Okay? Okay."

Lance listened to the last message over and over, and wished fervently that he knew what he felt, what to say.

"Okay. Chris," he said, when he gave up on trying to plan his words and just called instead. "I'm. Joey's. Lesbian porn, Chris, I can't even--" Lance heaved a huge sigh into his hand.

"You're so fucked up right now I don't even know what to do with you," Chris said. "I don't know if you've done the math, Lance, but you're gay, too. You know how this works, right?"

"I know how it works," Lance said, "and now I feel like. Like. I don't know, like it's just unfair or something. I. All my life I've wanted what my parents had, and... and then I couldn't, I can't, because of this, the group, me being gay, everything. And then... and now Mom's--" he took a deep breath. "Okay, look. Chris. I want you, okay? I want all of it, the. the friendship and the kissing and the sex, I want all of it, want you. And I thought I wasn't gonna just--" he waved a hand-- "let that go, just. not go after it, just because my mom and your mom wanted it for themselves, too. And I mean, I knew you first, right? I was gay first. We came first, the group came first, we loved each other way before they did, so if anybody should feel weird, it's them. But instead I'm the one feeling weird, and I'm just. upset, right now. I just am. And I'm sorry. Just... just don't... don't quit on me, okay?" He paused, then added, "please?" He held his breath waiting for Chris to reply.

His chest was just starting to ache when Chris said, "wait, wait. You were gay first?"

Lance smiled a little to himself. "You, too. We were totally gay first; what do they know?"

"We invented gay, I'm with you," Chris agreed. "So, this weirdness. Is it gonna interfere with our hot, sweaty sex lives?"

"I sincerely hope not," Lance said. "Maybe? A little? Probably not?"

"Your uncertainty worries me."

"It does."

Chris wasn't finished. "I mean, what do you want me to do, Lance? I mean, just 'cause your mom's an adult, and she's in a new relationship, and she's having sex--"

Lance winced. "You don't have to get into the--"

"Lots and lots of sex," Chris said over him, "probably, doesn't mean you can't accept it, 'cause that's just the way it is." He paused. "I mean, I don't know, man, but I've seen my mom get in and out of one bad relationship after another, and this is the one time I know one-hundred percent that she'll be treated really good, the one time I've seen her so happy. So your mom's in love, and she's gettin' laid, Lance, suck it up."

"I'm. I can be happy for her and still feel-- you're an asshole," Lance said.

"Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em," Chris replied.

"I'm comin' over," Lance told him. "I'm gonna-- I have to do something, but I'm comin' over after, so we can. I dunno."

"Welcome to the land of the living," Chris said.

"Mama?"

Lance heard Diane catch her breath at the tone of his voice and rested his forehead against his wrist, cradling the phone in his other hand. "Baby, what's the matter?" she said, her voice low, like... like she didn't want Bev to hear her, he thought, which was probably true.

"Mama, I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh, honey," his mom said. "Honey, it's okay." She didn't even know what he was apologizing for, he wanted to say. She didn't even know.

"I'm really, so sorry," he repeated, his eyes welling up a bit.

"Lance?" She was concerned now, and don't ask, Lance prayed, don't ask. She didn't need to know, he didn't want her to know, and if she asked, it would all come out.

He blinked a few times and his eyes cleared. "I'm gonna go now, 'kay?" he mumbled, and waited for his mom to say okay before he hung up and put his head on the cool edge of the table. A couple of deep breaths later, and he almost thought he could pass for okay.

"What I'd like to know is how this got from not serious to really serious without informing me," Chris said into Lance's ear, as he backed Lance up into his bed. This time, it had been slow, unhurried, and they'd made out for what felt like hours, until Lance's cheeks, his jaw, everything ached with it. Like they were making up after a fight they'd never really had. This time Chris had kept his hands above-board and Lance had wanted it that way, and when Lance sat down on Chris's bed and pulled Chris with him, it finally felt like the rest of what they were doing made Chris Lance's boyfriend, and not just the afterwards stuff.

"What're you thinking?" Chris asked, and spread himself out over Lance, naked and warm and startlingly beautiful. "I can hear the gears turning from all the way over here, and it's messing with my mojo."

"Just counting my blessings," Lance said.

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