The calendar had freshly turned to August 9th; JC's birthday was past, and by Chris' decree, the Age of Kirkpatrick was at hand.

The Age of Kirkpatrick, as he announced every August 9th by phone or email, meant that in the days leading up to his birthday on October 17th, they were all "free to plan a really cool birthday party for me. You know, if you want to." He'd then spend the next two months trying to ferret out any secrets they might be trying to hide, because half the fun of coercing your friends into planning a surprise party for you was: One. To find out if they'd taken the bait, and if the bait had been taken, Two. To get as many details beforehand as possible.

They were up to something already, he could feel it; he'd lived with them for nearly ten years and he knew when their little rat brains were in overdrive. But he was a master trickster and they were mere amateurs. It was laughable, really.

"Mmmf."

Chris winced at the hollow, plastic, amplified rattle of a cell phone hitting a hardwood floor. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"Urg."

While JC remembered how to talk, Chris took the lead. "Man, you went to a Simpson's art gallery for your birthday? I mean, on a scale of one to ten, that's G-rated. Well, as G-rated as you could get with Traci Bingham and Simon Rex in attendance, anyway. And what, did you leave your razor on the bus?"

The sounds on the other end of the connection confirmed that his bandmate was nursing a hangover. He'd heard hungover-JC grunts, groans and curses about a million times before. Chris rolled his eyes at the sound of a toilet flushing.

"Yeah, I'm hungover, so, like, don't scream at me." The phone was jostled again, and JC must have covered the receiver; his voice was muffled slightly. Chris thought he heard someone else in the background for a moment, then JC uncovered the phone. "And before you say anything else: All hail the Age of Kirkpatrick. G'bye."

"Hey!" Chris was hurt; JC never hung up on him. Well, nearly never. He hadn't in a few weeks, anyway. "What's with the brush-off, man? You got a fine little honey chillin' with ya or something? Just don't tell me it's Traci Bingham, because...no." Chris scrunched his nose. Then his eyes widened. "Wait! It's the porn star! Simon What's-his-face?"

"Wha...God, no! And I'm on my way up to bed so you've got about four minutes, here. Use them wisely." JC's voice wavered as he spoke, and Chris could almost see him walking up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Nice, C. Nice way to talk to a friend, a guy who called to say that he's sorry he missed the G-rated fun at the cartoon-a-rama and that he misses you and wished the friggin' hiatus was over already so he could tease you mercilessly face-to-face." Finally, finally Chris got a laugh out of JC. But just as he was smiling himself and settling back in his chair for a long post-birthday chat, JC bobbled his phone again, and Chris frowned. More of the muffled thickness of a hand covering the receiver to block the sound, and yes, this time it was obvious that JC was talking to someone.

Now Chris was irritated. What was the big secret? JC wasn't dating anyone at the moment, so it's not like he'd have been cheating if he'd gotten some last night.

Chris hated being left out of things, he liked knowing what was going on with all of them, he liked being surrounded by the chaos of other peoples' lives. If people were happy he wanted to be happy with them. If they weren't happy, he wanted to ease them through it. He hated feeling like something was being deliberately withheld from him, and he'd started to get that vibe, here, and that would never do.

"Okay. Look, fucker," he said, and pushed as much light-heartedness into the word as he could, "you might consider learning how to use the 'mute' button on your phone. And since you're about to climb in bed alone," he coughed as he said it, "I'll hang up now. Happy day after your birthday, you worthless piece of shag carpet in a hat." Since Chris wasn't above laughing at his own jokes, he laughed after he said it.

"Sorry man," JC said, "I'm just. Just a little tired. Long night." Chris could hear soft sounds in the background, probably clothing being removed, the heavier sound of jeans being tossed to the floor, then the fluttery rustle of sheets.

" 'Long night' in a good way or a bad way?" Chris asked. "And that's my last question, I promise. Promise, promise."

"Uhm." And then two thumps that Chris recognized as JC punching his pillow; JC loved a freshly-plumped pillow. In the background, so faintly he almost didn't catch it, he heard the splash of water from the bathroom off JC's bedroom, followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat a little. A male someone. "Long night in a good way," JC answered softly, and Chris heard the smile in his voice. "A very good way," JC said. "Bye, Chris. I'll call later, okay?"

Chris was grinning. "Yeah, yeah. You go attend to...whatever it is you're about to attend to. Love you, man, glad you had a fun birthday. I'll talk to you later."

"Love you, too. Later."

When Chris hung up the phone, one leg bounced as he replayed the conversation in his head. His curiousity was piqued; JC usually played his romances close to the vest, but this felt different, somehow. Chris couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something...something there, he just knew it.

With the day's planned JC-mocking activities abruptly curtailed, Chris heaved a dramatic sigh at Korea.

"My friends are bitches," Chris said. Korea yawned in agreement. Chris looked at his watch again, just to make sure that he'd gotten the time right. 3:10 in the afternoon, Orlando time, meant 12:10, just after noon on the east coast. Noon! JC had awakened hungover at 11:45 in the morning, and had gone to bed ten minutes later. But Chris figured he'd cut JC some slack since the boy had apparently gotten about 87 hours worth of prime nookie the night before.

Noon on a Friday in LA...Justin was probably up and running around on a golf course somewhere, if he wasn't in the studio working on The Big Project. Chris always capitalized it in his thoughts, and when he said it aloud, as well. "Hey, Justin, who do you have lined up for The Big Project?" Justin, who downplayed the solo album when they were all together, would pink up quite nicely before telling Chris the latest news. Justin was so easy sometimes.

He hit the speed dial for Justin's number; after the third ring it switched to voicemail, and Chris huffed a bit in impatience. Damn it, wasn't anyone around?

"Hey J, it's me, the only one of your millions of friends who doesn't have something productive to do with his time off. Called JC to berate him about his lame attempt at a solo birthday, but he's being hungover and boring as shit, so I hung up. Anyway, call me when you can. Later." He ended the call.

He looked at his watch again. "Hmmm." He scrolled through his address listings and gave Korea a glance. Korea's ears twitched, and she looked up at him sleepily. "Guess I'll call the girlfriend," he said, and punched speed dial for the long number.

"'Lo?"

"Lance, baby, it's your straight boyfriend calling."

If Chris weren't straight, he'd have proposed to Lance by now. He'd even drunkenly confessed this to Lance two years ago, saying, "Fuck it, Bass, turn me gay! Do it now!" But Lance had laughed at him, kissed his forehead and tucked him into bed, alone. It had happened during the Age of Kirkpatrick, oddly enough. The Age of Kirkpatrick seemed to intensify Chris' hidden, innermost desire to believe in stable relationships.

He and Lance were platonic soulmates. Justin was on record as Chris' best friend, and Joey was supposedly Lance's best friend, but Chris knew the truth. Lance was beautifully sneaky, coolly subtle and silkily deceptive. Chris wished he had a dollar for all the times the guys had walked into Lance's expertly-crafted traps without suspecting a thing. Chris adored Lance.

"Does my straight boyfriend realize that it's midnight here?" Much like the sounds on JC's end of the conversation, Chris recognized the rustle of bedsheets on Lance's end.

"Yeah, I realize. Uh," he thought about the possibility too late, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" It had been intriguing to stumble upon JC's mystery, but two such discoveries in one afternoon would just be depressing.

"No, I'm alone. Something about the ever-present cameras discourages hook-ups, know what I mean?" Lance sounded a little less groggy.

"Can you talk for a bit, or should I let you go?" Korea curled up in Chris' lap, and he scratched her ears.

"Nah, I've got a few tests tomorrow, but it's mostly stuff in the late morning, early afternoon. Poor baby, are you that lonely?"

"Our friends are boring," Chris said. "Man, this hiatus totally sucks. I hope you assholes are happy." He crossed his legs on the coffee table and examined his scruffy Converse sneakers. "All of you off...doing stuff. FuMan crashed and burned, man, and I'm sitting here lonely, old and bitter on a Friday afternoon. What the hell happened, Lance?"

"Oh yeah," Lance cleared his throat. "All hail the Age of Kirkpatrick," he intoned. "Just wanted to say that before I forgot," he apologized. "Now back to your crisis: I don't know, Chris. Find out where FuMan went wrong and try to resurrect it? Find something completely new to do?"

Chris grunted. "Yeah, sure Space Boy." He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Look, I won't keep you up. Sorry to call so late."

"That's okay, when I come home you can give me a blowjob to make up for it."

Chris laughed. "One of these days I'm going to surprise you."

"Promises, promises. Say goodnight, Kirkpatrick."

"Goodnight, Kirkpatrick," Chris mimicked. He loved a comedy classic.

"Goodnight, Kirkpatrick," Lance repeated, and his sleepy laugh was slow and deep as sun-warmed molasses.

The ache of missing him went clear to Chris' bones.

The Lord of the Rings proved a fruitful way to spend a few hours.

Chris had felt that Melinda owed him compensation for that ridiculous RV-across-the-country story, so he'd whined and badgered her until she bought the Lord of the Rings DVD for him, snarling, "Happy now, you freak? God, you've only got like, a million times more money in the bank than I do. Jesus! Here, take it," when she'd flung the bag at him. He'd hooted, completely unashamed about what he'd done. Chris figured that if she didn't make up such half-assed lies about them, she wouldn't need to be punished. He planned to goad her into getting the four-DVD director's cut for his birthday.

One of the special featurettes was playing; Orlando Bloom was onscreen talking about his character, the elf Legolas. Chris was surprised to see that the blond, blue-eyed elf was in reality a handsome, dark-haired, brown-eyed man. Chris sized him up with a critical eye, wondering what Lance would think of him. Chris certainly approved. They'd look good together; Orlando's warm coloring would complement Lance's creamy peach and gold. Inspired, Chris had just pictured the two of them kissing when his cell phone rang. For a wild second he thought that Lance had read his mind and was calling to ask why Chris wanted to set him up with a dark-haired, brown-eyed elf, but he checked the caller ID and it was only Justin. He muted the DVD player and answered the phone, grinning.

"Timba Timba! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Returning your call, doofus." Justin's voice echoed slightly; it sounded like he was in a warehouse. "What're you up to?"

"Looking for a boyfriend for Lance, at the moment," Chris replied. "What do you think of Orlando Bloom?"

There was silence at Justin's end, then, "Dude, we're having a serious talk the next time I see you." Before Chris could answer he heard JC's unmistakable barking laugh in the background. It sounded distant, and sharp and strange. Sharper and stranger than usual.

"C's with you? And where the hell are you guys, the aquarium at Atlantis?"

"No," Justin laughed. "You know how I've been kinda homeless out here since I broke up with Brit?"

How could Chris forget; he'd thought it was stupid for America's Golden Virgins to buy a house together in the first place. "Yeah, you drop in on Jace or stay at a hotel."

"Not anymore, man. I just bought a house, and it's fuckin' huge. I can't wait for you to see it. Actually, C and Trace are both here right now; C's got his digital camera, so I'll email pictures as soon as I can, probably tonight."

On Chris' bigscreen TV, Legolas was standing on a craggy mountainside, long hair blowing in the breeze as he listened intently for approaching danger. Chris felt like Legolas, except it seemed that he'd missed something somewhere.

"You're gonna freak when you see this place," Justin said. "It's like the Compound without the acreage, but better, because it's mine."

"When the hell'd you decide to do this? How long have you been looking?" Chris wasn't jealous. He wasn't sure about the bitter taste on his tongue, but he was sure it wasn't jealousy.

"Eh, I've been looking for a while. I didn't want to say anything because everybody knows someone who knows someone, and before you know it you've got like, twelve people trying to show you houses." Evidently the house had hardwood floors; Chris heard the basketball court squeak of rubber-soled shoes. Judging solely from the echo of Justin's voice, the squeak of his sneakers and the ringing quality of JC's laughter, the house had big, open rooms.

"Funny thing is that it's right down the street from Brit. It just went on the market the other day; I got really lucky."

"You're cool with living right down the road from your ex?" Chris asked. He didn't know how he'd handle living a few houses from Dani. Probably not very well. He imagined that restraining orders would be involved.

"As long as we avoid each other like the plague, we'll be fine," Justin snorted.

"So, besides buying a house, what else is on your agenda today?"

"Dunno, C's talking about going to a club later, but I might just kick it at the new pad."

"You're going to kick it in an empty house." Justin could be just as weird as JC, sometimes. Chris could hear Trace and JC talking. Which reminded him-- "Hey, guess who got laid good and proper last night?"

"What? You're holding out on me!" Justin sounded delighted. "Who was she?"

"Not me, you freak. Hair-boy got some last night. He didn't tell you?"

"Hunh?" Justin seemed to be slow on the uptake today.

"Hah! I know something the Fabulous Timberlake doesn't?" Chris cackled. "Let me savor the moment."

"Just spill it, you ass."

"I called Jace this morning to hear about the cartoonfest. He kept covering up the phone, but I heard someone - a male someone - in the background. He wouldn't admit it, though. What the hell is with the secrecy?"

"JC doesn't kiss and tell," Justin said.

"Ah, but I weaseled it out of him," Chris said. "He finally told me that he had a very good time last night."

Justin was quiet a moment. "He said that?"

"Why would I make it up? He kept saying he was tired - he was trying to get off the phone, you know how boring he can be - and said he'd had a long night. So I asked him, long night in a good way, or a bad way?" Chris paused dramatically.

"Yes?" Justin sounded just a little impatient.

"He said, and I quote: 'Long night in a good way, a very good way.' But he wasn't skanky about it, it was kinda sweet. Sounds like he's sprung if you ask me," Chris finished triumphantly, proud of his detective work.

"Oh yeah?" Now Justin sounded interested. "Hey, C!" Chris winced.

"Fuck, J! Ow, no, I don't need my hearing or anything, thanks. Fuck." Justin's lung power was frightening.

"C!" Justin shouted again, clearly ignoring Chris.

"Jesus, J, screaming much? What d'you want?" JC's echo got closer, and Chris could hear the slap of his sandals - the snakeskin ones, probably - against the floor.

"Heard you had a 'very good' night last night." Justin's tone was sly.

"Justin," JC said softly, and Chris could practically hear him blush.

"Did somebody rock your world?" Justin teased.

"Fuck you. And yes, if you must know, fucker, yeah, he rocked my world. Happy now?"

"Very," Justin said sweetly. "Hey, Chri-- Hey!"

Chris yelped when Justin dropped the phone, but laughed at what could only be Justin and JC wrestling on the floor.

When Justin squealed, Chris guessed that JC was using the infamous Chasez Pinch on the ticklish place on Justin's hip. They usually avoided it in their tickle wars because Justin would kick in defense, it was so sensitive. Justin squealed again and JC laughed, and then things suddenly went quiet for several seconds.

"J?" Chris said.

"Uhm? Uh, oh, sorry man," Justin said. He sounded only slightly apologetic.

"Nah, it's cool." And it was, mostly. "Just wanted to make sure you guys hadn't killed each other. So," Chris said, "When do I get to see Sparky the Wonder House?"

"Ah." Justin hesitated. "Lemme think..."

"What the fuck, Timberlake?" Chris was genuinely surprised. "Jeez, if it's such a hardship--"

"Man, no, I didn't mean that! I'm just thinking about album shit and when I'll be around and checking out of the hotel and getting food and stuff, that's all."

"Never fuckin' mind, J. I'll just fly out and stay with C if you're going to be a bitch about it." Chris paused the DVD. Orlando Bloom had to be cool. He'd made a movie with his gay best friend, and there'd been kissing and sexy touches involved. That was the kind of boyfriend Chris wanted for Lance; a man who wasn't ashamed to publicly embrace his ambiguous sexuality.

Justin's sigh was long, loud and exaggerated. "Chris, just get your ass on a plane."

"I don't know, man. I don't want to bother you." But Chris had already turned off the DVD player and was heading to his bedroom to pack. "See if I fly out to visit you again," he said.

"Chris--"

"But if you're going to beg..." He cackled and hung up the phone on Justin's indignant screeching.

Chris was surprised to find Trace waiting for him at the airport. Justin had said he'd have a car there, and yeah, there was a car all right, a car that currently had Trace smack dab behind the wheel. Chris gave Trace a surreptitious glance.

"Yeah, I know it's weird," Trace said, and shrugged. He stopped at a red light and they traded looks.

Chris had never told Justin, but Trace creeped him out. He'd known them all for years, but he always seemed to be on a nerve's edge of flinching whenever they were around. Also, he usually looked like he was about to burst into tears; Chris had discovered early on that it was just Trace's natural expression, but it hadn't made him any less creepy.

He'd panicked when he'd first seen Trace waiting for him. Chris had tried both JC's and Justin's phones. Neither of them had answered and he'd left short, scathing messages in their voicemail inboxes. Chris had considered making a break for the rental counters, but just then, as luck would have it, Trace had spotted him and he'd been stuck.

"I've driven out to C's tons of times, I know my way," Chris said.

"Yeah, well." Trace pulled away from the light. Chris thought he was finished, but then he said, "You know how they are. JC went out last night, and J and I took off, too. They're still rolling around with hangovers; J said he forgot to call for a car, so he asked me to come get you. Lazy fuckers probably just didn't want to get up."

Chris agreed with that assessment.

"Besides," Trace continued, "you don't drive, you ride. You probably couldn't find it."

"Do I know you well enough for you to talk to me that way?" Chris asked. "And what do you know about my driving and riding habits, anyway?"

Trace fixed him with a look. "How do you think? J said there isn't a service in LA that you don't have on speed dial."

"Shut up." When had Trace gotten so chatty? Chris tapped his fingers on the car door and hummed along with the radio while he puzzled it out. Usually you couldn't pry a word out of his mouth with a crowbar and a bottle of Scotch. And it seemed that Trace had a snarky side he'd never fully appreciated. Lance needed a good snark partner. He glanced at Trace and away.

No. Too short. Lance, as Lance would put it, appreciated a man with a little height to his bones. Chris had fallen to the floor laughing the first time he'd heard Lance say that, and had wanted to know if it was some Mississippiism previously unknown in the civilized world. Chris had gotten a kick in the shins for that one.

He tried to imagine Trace with Lance. He'd seen a few pictures of Trace walking behind Justin at a respectable "friends" distance, so it wasn't that hard. Even so, Trace would have to trade the respectable "friends" distance for an even more respectable "secret boyfriends" distance. He wondered how Trace would feel about that.

"You're looking at me," Trace said. He didn't look the least bit annoyed.

"Am not," Chris replied, and turned in his seat so he was fully facing Trace. "Now I'm looking at you." And to emphasize his point, he cocked his head. Trace wasn't bad, but Chris thought that Lance might want someone a little better looking. Not that Lance was shallow, because he wasn't. He liked a sharp mind and a sense of humor, but he did seem attracted to pretty things. Chris supposed that was universal.

"So, J's got furniture?" Chris opened his phone and tried JC and Justin again. Same as before, both phones were switching over to voicemail. Assholes. Chris looked at his watch and wondered whether it would be rude to talk to Lance instead of Trace.

"Nah, sleeping bags." Trace yawned. "Nice ones, not the ones like cocoons, but, you know, the rectangular ones. Thick and comfortable, man. It's been fun."

"And JC's been there instead of enjoying his own fully-furnished house in the neighborhood."

Trace laughed. It didn't happen often, and it surprised Chris. Trace usually just looked startled then smiled tentatively when he was amused. "Yeah, he's been hangin'."

Chris had to ask. "Why'd you laugh?"

Trace shrugged and smiled. "It was funny."

"Dude, I know funny and that wasn't it."

"Not what you said, just, funny the situation. Three guys, two of them millionaires, sleeping on the floor in an empty house. But we're at JC's now."

Chris conceded the point. "You're not a millionaire yet? J's not paying for your friendship? Hey, are you dating anyone?"

If Trace was thrown by the sudden subject changes, he didn't show it. He checked the rearview mirror and flipped the turn signal. "One, I'm playing the field. Two, leave me alone." Chris grinned. He'd rather be talking to Lance, Joey, JC or Justin...and maybe Briahna or Korea...but Trace was proving to be slightly amusing. "Justin said you'd been weird lately, so I refuse to answer anything else."

"Aw, man, we were bonding so nicely," Chris said with a smirk.

Amusing, yes, but not good enough for Lance.

When Trace pulled the car into JC's drive, Justin was outside waiting for them. "Dude!" He pulled Chris into a tight hug; Justin smelled good, like expensive shampoo and bodywash. "What was that shit on the phone last night? Don't even think you're not welcome; you know better. A'ight?" Chris swatted at Justin's hand, but Justin delivered a light tap to Chris' skull just the same.

"Respect your elders, boy, and quit hitting. Where's Jace?"

"Shower," Justin said. He appeared to have recently showered himself; his skin felt slightly moist, and the hair on his neck and around his ears curled in tiny, damp ringlets. "C'mon, I want you to see my place." Chris very graciously let Justin take the bigger of his bags, and followed Justin into the house.

"What the fuck?" Chris protested when Justin heaved his bag onto the floor as soon as they were inside.

"Oh please, you expect to be treated like a guest?" Justin grinned and started upstairs, and with his long legs he could take them two at a time. "I'll tell Jace you're here and we're going. Right back." He disappeared at the top of the steps.

The house hadn't changed much since Chris' last visit; JC'd added a couple of paintings to the gallery on one long wall, and the deck furniture looked new. Behind him, Trace turned on the TV and upstairs, JC laughed. Chris leaned his head against the deck door and gazed down at Britney's house. He'd been thinking about it, and he knew there was no way he could live that close to Dani. It would drive him insane, and he didn't know how Justin planned to do it.

"Look." Justin came bounding down the stairs. "That big one is mine." He joined Chris at the door and pointed. "See? It's got a terra-cotta roof. Cool, hunh?"

It was huge and gorgeous, and must have cost Justin a small fortune. "Jesus, J," was all Chris could say. He gauged the distance between Justin's new house and Britney's, then he remembered that he was looking at both homes from JC's deck. "Well, this is...incestuous."

"Man, fuck you. Whaddya think?" A set of keys dangled from Justin's fingers and they jangled as he talked.

"Yeah," Chris said, eyeing the sprawling, expansive mansion, "that's a lot o' roof."

"God, sorry I asked." Justin said. "Just for that, JC's gonna put you in the little crappy guestroom."

"Hey!" JC appeared on the stairs, still damp from the shower. "There are no little, crappy rooms in my house." He pulled Chris into a hug, and like Justin, JC smelled of shampoo and bodywash. "Have you seen J's house yet?"

Chris nodded toward the balcony. "Haven't had the tour yet, but I've seen the aerial view, thanks."

"Yeah, he's all growed up now." JC sniffed and mimed wiping a tear from his eye.

"Awww, Mom, I'll still come home to visit," Justin laughed, and gave JC's neck a squeeze. JC smiled, and leaned into Justin's body for a few seconds, then pulled away. "Oh yeah, I'm taking your car," Justin said, and shook the keys in front of JC's face, and laughed when JC squawked in protest. "Come on, I won't hurt it. Back in a few."

Justin was certainly happier these days. Chris was surprised; he'd thought that considering all the solo work Justin put in right after the Celebrity tour ended, that he'd have been tired and cranky and too nervous to function. Chris was pleasantly surprised to find Justin relaxed and loose. But he'd been hanging with JC and that was good for him; JC'd always had a calming effect on Justin.

They seemed closer than they had for a while, too, and Chris was glad for that. There'd been a few shaky moments during the Pop tour, but they seemed happy and comfortable around each other again, and seemed to be getting along better than ever, even than they had during the Celebrity tour.

Chris grinned, and Justin caught the look and returned it.

"So," Justin said, pressing the little button to unlock the car, "you and Lance."

"Get in the car and drive, little boy," Chris said. "House now, talk later."

Justin glanced at Chris a couple of times, but he kept the unspoken promise not to talk about Lance until Chris decided he was ready. Justin looked good, Chris thought, tanned and rested and happy. He wondered if moving to LA would work the same magic on him as it had on JC and Justin. He cocked his head, eyes narrowed.

"You got laid." He'd known Justin a long time, about two years before the kid started having sex on a regular basis, and had seen the evolution of all variations of his non-chalant looks. The current one he was sporting was the "Yes, I got laid and I don't know how the hell you could tell, but I'm not talking about it" look; Chris had seen it dozens of times. He snickered and settled into one of his favorite hobbies - guessing what his friends were thinking.

"Not talking about it," Justin said, and turned on the right turn signal at a stop sign. He looked both ways, then glanced at Chris and lifted an eyebrow before making the turn.

"Hm." Chris ignored Justin's pre-emptive strike. "Not just laid..." He paused.

"Not talking about it," Justin repeated.

"Someone special," Chris said suddenly, and noted the very faintest flush of color along Justin's cheekbones. Justin was pretty good at controlling his blush, unlike Lance, who still pinked up beautifully when caught off guard. Justin had a fake one that he used in interviews when he wanted to play up the charm, but this was the real thing. "Well, slap my ass and call me late for dinner, you've met someone?" Chris was slightly stunned. "Jesus, first Chasez and now you? What's the world coming to?"

Justin said nothing, just turned off the road and into a low, sheltered drive, and turned off the engine.

"Male or female?" Chris asked as he unlocked the car door. This got him nothing but a sideways glance, so he frowned menacingly. Justin ignored him though, just pointed out the houses of other celebrities in the neighborhood as they walked to the front door.

"Male then, or you'd have answered," Chris said. Justin was quiet while he flipped through the keys on the ring until he found the one he wanted.

Let me guess," Chris said. "You're not talking about it."

Justin turned to him and smiled sweetly.

Chris wasn't impressed with the house. He was, in the sense that it was an impressive house, huge, with an indoor pool and a tennis court in the backyard, but as a place to live out one's life...he was less enthusiastic. How could one person live there? Chris imagined it filled with hip-hop luminaries and Sports Illustrated swimsuit models and Trace at all hours of the night and day. The Playboy mansion, JRT style. Chris shuddered.

Trace's car was gone when they returned, and JC was sprawled on the couch, half-napping, the remote held loosely in one hand.

"Trace gone?" Justin asked, slapping JC's foot lightly as he passed the couch on his way into the kitchen.

"Yeah, said he'd call tomorrow." JC grinned sleepily at Chris. "What'd ya think?"

Chris glanced furtively into the kitchen, making sure Justin was out of earshot. "Eh, it's a house. What do you think?"

JC's grin widened. "It's a lot o' roof."

"I heard that!" Justin yelled from the kitchen.

"You know I'm just teasing," JC called back, but his grin was mischievous when he winked in Chris' direction.

Chris snatched the remote from JC's hand and settled on the floor in front of the couch. He leaned forward slightly toward the entertainment unit, and pulled a basket of video games toward him. "Games!" He looked at the top title. "Jace, my man, you've got the suckiest taste in games of anyone who's ever lived. Like ever."

JC kicked Chris in the head lightly. "I like my games."

"Puzzle games." Chris flipped disdainfully through the basket. "Role-playing games. Where's all the fun stuff?"

"Those games are fun," JC insisted. He kicked Chris again. When Chris turned to scowl at him, JC gave him a grin

"Grrrrr," Chris growled. He flipped the last game in disgust. "I repeat: sucky games." He started to put the basket back in place, when a colorful box in the back caught his eye. "Hey!" He pulled the game out. "How about that, you do have some good games." It was in a smaller basket than the first, it held a small stack of titles that were more Chris' taste. He even spied his current favorite, Blood Bucket Showdown. "Blood Bucket? Woohoo!" Chris waved the game over his head like a trophy; JC looked lazily amused. "Where's your console?"

Chris could read JC like a book, the fleeting expression that meant, 'Hmm, I own an XBox?'

" 'S upstairs," JC said. "In the bedroom."

"You've got eighty-eleven rooms in this house and you've got your console hooked up in your bedroom?" Chris shook his head. "Dude, you're such a freak."

"Hey, I've been practicing so I can kick your ass," JC replied. "But mostly those games are boring and put me right to sleep." He grinned. "That's why it's in the bedroom."

Chris shook his head again and leaned back against the couch. JC's crossed ankles warm against the back of his neck, and he was instantly homesick for their bus. They complained about the cramped quarters and lack of privacy, but sometimes there was nowhere on earth Chris would rather be. He pushed his head back against JC's foot, and then turned to smile at him. JC smiled and hooked a thumb up toward the ceiling. "Want to go play, old man? See what Justin's taught me?"

Chris laughed. "Justin's been helping you? Justin?" Chris snorted derivsively, and Justin yelled "Hey!" from the other room. "C, what Justin knows about Blood Bucket Showdown ain't very much. Forget the evil Timberlake and his teachings and you'll be much better off."

"You're just afraid I'm gonna kick your ass."

"You've got to be kidding me," Chris laughed. He stood, and picked up the smaller basket of games. "Come on, Chasez, let's get this over with." He started for the staircase.

"You guys hungry?" Justin asked, stepping into the open entryway between the two rooms. "There's stuff in the fridge, but if you want something edible we should probably order."

"Got any Mexican delivery?" Chris asked, one foot the landing.

"Uhm. No," JC answered. "Go on, I'll be up in a second," he said.

Chris continued upstairs, smiling at their good-natured arguing from the kitchen, and made a note to ask JC about Justin's mystery man.

Chris tried, but he didn't get much out of JC.

People underestimated JC when they first met him, but he was wily. If Lance practiced for a hundred years he wouldn't match JC's craftiness, and that was frightening. So, when Chris told him that Justin had a boyfriend and JC expressed surprise, Chris didn't believe it for a minute.

"If you knew," Chris finally asked, "would you tell me?" JC just smiled at him.

"If Justin had a boyfriend and I if knew about it and if Justin wanted me to tell you, yeah, I'd tell you."

Chris shook his head. "You, sir, are a bitch."

"You love me." JC's eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Chris was overcome with a rush of affection.

"Yes, Chasez, I do, you sweet freak." JC eeped when Chis threw an arm around his neck and gave him a wet smack on the cheek.

"Great, thanks for the critter cooties!" JC shreiked and wiped at his cheek. "Critter cooties!"

"Spazz cooties!" Chris echoed and noogied JC's head. "And," he said, threading his hands through JC's hair, "what's with this mess?"

"You don't like it?" JC tilted his head so Chris could pet him more easily.

"Nah, it's nice, just a little wild."

"I like it wild," JC grinned, a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, about that," Chris began, "what's the story on your love life, starting with that guy you were with the other night?" JC didn't respond, and Chris nudged him. "Come on, pretty boy, let's hear it."

"Dude, seriously, nothing to tell," JC said, but Chris knew he was lying.

"Chasez, why do you try to hide these things from me?" JC gave him a sly sideways glance, and Chris tugged his hair again. "So, does loverboy like this wild mess?" That got a grin, though JC lowered his head to hide it. "Saw that," Chris teased, and pulled JC to him for a gentle kiss on the temple. "If he makes you that happy, I like him already."

"Yeah?" JC cocked his head and smiled, bright and pure.

"Yeah," Chris answered.

"It's kinda shaggy. Will you trim it? I don't want to go out." Chris smiled at the hopeful, puppy dog look JC shot Justin's way. Justin, for his part, refused to take the bait.

"Have your guy come here." Justin settled more comfortably into the couch.

JC made a face. "Unh, J, you know I hate doing that. It's like star-trippin or something." JC shuddered. "Come on, man, please?"

"Are you shaving?" Chris asked. JC'd been working a very scruffy vibe since the hiatus, and he was just this side of sporting a full-blown beard.

"Nope. I'll probably hit it with the clippers on the lowest setting," JC said thoughtfully. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin.

"So, who's going to notice your hair?" Chris laughed. JC rolled his eyes.

"Oh, good Lord. Grab a towel, I'll get the stuff," Justin said. JC looked gleeful and headed toward the laundryroom. Trims were usually entertaining, especially when dares and shots of tequila were involved. Since it involved neither dares nor shots of tequila, Chris thought he'd skip this one, and stretched out on the couch for a nap instead.

Chris snuffled to wakefulness slowly, warm under the throw that one of them had placed over him as he'd slept. JC's laughter drifted out from the kitchen, and Justin's voice held a teasing tone. JC's response was too low for Chris to make out, but Justin laughed in return. Chris burrowed more deeply into the couch, feeling a contentment he hadn't had for months. He missed this, missed napping while the burr of familiar voices rolled over and around him. Absence really did make the heart grow fonder. He thought immediately of Lance.

He was just drifting off again when a bubble of laughter pulled him back from the threshhold of sleep. In the kitchen, JC and Justin talked softly, their voices pitched low and full of secrets. Bastards, Chris thought. Probably in there talking about the boyfriends that neither one of them wanted to own up to. Sharing without him, eh? Well if he snooped and found stuff out, it was their own damn fault.

Chris sat up quietly, just enough so that he could see over the back of the couch and into the kitchen.

JC sat with a towel around his shoulders, Justin behind him, scissors in one hand, the other in JC's hair, fluffing it experimentally. JC bounced, ready, it seemed to Chris, for the trim to end. Justin gave a gentle tug, however, and JC stilled. For another few minutes the quick snick of the scissors punctuated their conversation until Justin untucked the towel from JC's shoulders.

"Done," Justin said, folding the towel to catch the trapped hair. He fluffed JC's hair, then leaned down and kissed the back of his neck. It was sweet, and it made Chris smile. Then Justin bent again and pressed his mouth to JC's skin, less a kiss than before, and Chris thought he saw a flash of Justin's tongue. JC laughed, low and throaty and not at all like his usual cackle.

Chris blinked in surprise.

Then Justin said, "take your shirt off, don't get hair all over" in his everyday voice and it was like the moment hadn't happened. He busied himself with the scissors and comb, and pushed tiny tufts of hair into a pile with his toe.

Chris replayed it in his head and wondered exactly what he'd seen.

JC, meanwhile, had stood and pulled his t-shirt over his head, exposing the long, lean line of his back. Justin made a noise and reached for the t-shirt; balling it tightly, he stepped around the chair and stood behind JC to sweep the shirt over JC's shoulders and back. "You're done," he said, and tossed the shirt on top of the folded towel. Chris heard JC murmur thanks just before Justin curled one big hand low on JC's hip, and fit the other to JC's scalp. He slowly combed his fingers through JC's hair, and JC leaned back against Justin's body.

Chris' eyebrows rose. The earlier kiss on the back of JC's neck might have been written off as affection, but there was no denying the fingers that disappeared beneath the waistband of JC's pants. Chris watched in indignant disbelief as Justin stood snugged tight against JC's body and trailed his fingertips up JC's sides, moved his lips over the nape of JC's neck.

"J," JC said softly. "Fuck, babe...gotta stop." Contrary to his words, though, JC angled his head for Justin's lips; Justin wrapped his arms around JC and kissed JC's neck again. When JC slipped his hand between his body and Justin's, Justin's reaction was immediate; he curled more closely around JC and moaned low in his throat.

"Shhh," JC whispered. "We're not alone." His arm moved, and Justin's hips flexed.

"He's asleep." Justin continued his slow grind against JC, lowered his forehead against JC's shoulders. His hands were busy in front of JC's body, and when JC began to press back against Justin's hips, Chris guessed that they were seconds away from giving him one hell of a show. Sure enough, Justin kissed JC's neck again and moved away, quickly and quietly, to the nearest cabinet. Justin's pants were open, Chris saw, and his face was flushed. JC was busy with his own pants, and had them completely unbuttoned when Justin finally pulled a bottle of olive oil out of the cabinet.

"Bathroom," Justin said softly.

"Shouldn't," JC murmured against Justin's mouth when they met again, but the kiss was urgent and Chris guessed they wouldn't be stopping anytime soon.

"Yes," Justin said, hands roaming, moving lower. "C'mon, baby, it's been hours," he whispered.

Hours! Chris' jaw dropped, and for a moment he seriously considered storming into the kitchen to ask what kind of freak whined after a few hours without sex. Hours! Knowing Justin, he probably whined after a few minutes without sex.

And Chris immediately forgot his irritation because, whoa, hands sliding into the fronts of boxers and backs of jeans and JC pressed against the wall with one long leg sliding up to wrap around Justin's waist and holy Hannah, had they forgotten that he was asleep in the next room? Mere. Feet. Away?

Chris closed his eyes and felt slightly ridiculous. God, the crap he endured for these morons. He slipped back down on the couch and tossed and turned a few times, and yawned loudly. He sat up and stretched. As he thought they'd be, JC and Justin had buttoned up, zipped up, and moved to opposite sides of the kitchen. JC was very industriously sweeping up the pile of clippings, and Justin was studying the label on the olive oil bottle, looking for all the world as though he were about to cook. When the two of them looked up to acknowledge his presence, Chris was hit with a wave of deja vu.

There'd been times on tour when the guys had thought JC and Justin were fighting, when they'd enter a room to find the two of them looking slightly flushed and irritated. Justin would be snappish for a while afterward, and JC would simply go silent.

They hadn't been fighting, Chris knew now. Far from it.

"It's alive," JC joked, and Justin laughed, but there was the barest hint of agitation around his eyes.

"Hey." Chris stood slowly, making a great show of it, and stretched again for good measure. JC emptied the dustpan and Justin puffed out a tiny sigh and put the olive oil away as Chris made his way into the kitchen. Chris leaned against the counter and cocked his head. "Lookin' good, Scooby."

"Thanks to Monsieur Justin," JC said with a flourish, grinning at Justin, who smiled but still looked very slightly agitated. Chris almost laughed at him; he'd make sure their temporary aggravation would be more than worth it in the long run.

"So," Chris said, and touched his fingers to JC's newly trimmed locks, "you're gonna look fabulous. Too bad I won't be there."

"What?" JC and Justin exclaimed at the same time. "But, the party's tonight! Like in three hours!" JC exclaimed.

"You're going, Kirkpatrick." Justin's agitated frown deepened into a real one. "Don't make me beat your ass into submission."

But Chis just shook his head and stroked his chin. "Nah, that kinda stuff's for wild young things like yourselves, not old coots like me."

"Even though it's in about three hours and you're already here," JC sputtered, "you're gonna ditch my birthday party...why?" He looked bewildered and hurt and indignant, but Chris focused on the gift that JC didn't know he was about to receive.

"JC, you won't even notice. You're gonna party with this one," Chris bumped Justin's shoulder, "and everyone else who's there, and you're going to have a great time."

"But it's my birthday!" JC protested. Justin was probably about two seconds from touching JC, if Chris could judge from the way his hands were clenching. Sure enough, Justin touched JC's elbow lightly and Chris wondered how he could have possibly missed this thing between them.

"Jace. I love you, I do. But, come on. Would you really know that I'm there? How much hanging with me would you be doing? C, you two go. Have fun. I'm going to--" he stopped, and swallowed, and used the one card he knew they'd let him play. "I'm gonna call Lance. You know. The call," he said, and couldn't believe that his cheeks felt so hot. He couldn't possibly be blushing, but if JC's wide eyes and soft expression were any indication, Chris guessed that he was.

"Yeah?" JC glanced at Justin, who sighed, "Jesus, finally!" at the same time. "I mean, I'm sorry that you're gonna miss the party, but this more than makes up for it."

JC hugged Chris and Chris panicked for a moment when he realized that he'd two-stepped himself into a neat little Lance-shaped corner. And God, he couldn't stop blushing. He examined a painting on the nearest wall, since he couldn't possibly look into JC's and Justin's faces at the moment, so pleased and happy for him.

Chris cleared his throat. "I think I'm gonna roll down to Mexico, see what's happening. And I wanna get an early start--"

"You're gonna what?"

Good God, JC had amazing range and volume. Chris winced, but forged ahead, "--and you guys are gonna come back all drunk and stupid tonight--"

"Mexico?" Justin screeched. "What the fuck?"

"--and wake me up. So do you mind if I sleep in your house?"

"You want to sleep at my house? What the friggin' fuck? Why?"

Because, Chris wanted to shout, that way you and your secret boyfriend can come back here and get it on in peace, numb nuts! But he was actually very calm when he said, "Justin. You're going to come stumbling in at God knows what time and you'll be drunk and giggling and stupid. And loud," he added. "I know how you are, both of you. If I'm at your place," he paused slightly, "you guys can make all the noise you want up here and I won't have to deal with your silly asses." He raised an eyebrow. "So whaddya say?" Chris could see the moment it all fell into place.

And Justin barely missed a beat when he rolled his eyes and said, "Jeez, you puke on a guy once and you never live it down."

JC flicked his gaze toward Justin for the most fleeting of moments.

And suddenly, neither of them protested his absence overmuch.

Once he made the decision to go, Chris didn't linger. Ignoring JC's and Justin's protests, he collected his duffel bag from the foyer - in the same spot that Justin had originally dropped it - and hoisted it over his shoulder.

"You sure you won't stay?" JC's look was hopeful and a little sad, but Chris shook his head. Any minute now one of the two of them would realize that once he left, they'd have plenty of time to finish what they'd started in the kitchen.

"Nope, I'm outta here." Chris poked JC lightly in the chest. "Go take one of your five hour showers and get purty for your party. Have fun. Be a bad boy tonight. Get drunk, get wild, get laid." He turned to Justin. "And your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to make sure that this one has a good time tonight."

Justin nodded. "He's in good hands."

Chris bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

"Yes, sir," JC laughed, and wrapped Chris in his long arms. "I really wish you'd change your mind, though," he said, and squeezed tightly.

"C'mon, C, let him go and say goodbye," Justin said, just before he put JC in a headlock and pulled him off of Chris. JC slapped at Justin's hands until Justin released him.

"God, you're bossy," JC grumbled, but he was grinning.

"I'll be down tomorrow to drive you to the rental place." Justin gave Chris a quick, tight hug, and pushed him away gently. "I'll be there early. Take care of my house, Chris."

"Take care of my car, Chris," JC added.

Chris shook his head. "Nag, nag, nag." He started down the steps. "Well, I'm off to get myself a broken heart."

"Man, you're not going to get your heart broken," Justin said. "Just make the call." He smiled suddenly, wicked and sly. "Tell Lance we said--"

JC covered Justin's mouth with his hand. "Tell Lance we said hi." He tugged Justin back toward the house. "Say `Goodbye, Chris,'" he said to Justin. Justin's words and laughter were muffled behind JC's hand, but he waved.

The next thing Chris knew they were wrestling. Justin went for another headlock and apparently licked JC's palm, judging from the way JC grimaced and yanked his hand away from Justin's mouth. Justin's braying laughter stopped when JC swiped his hand over Justin's forehead. JC stood and cackled while Justin lifted the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face.

Justin's body was lightly tanned and sleekly muscular, and his jeans hung scandalously low on his hips. The dips and valleys and smoothly curved places of his body beckoned, and Chris was amused to see that JC couldn't resist a fleeting glance. Then JC looked away and licked his lips, and it was definitely time for Chris to go.

Continue to the rest of the story...