For Velma, whose idea it was, and who supplied many mprov words and many readthroughs. *mwah*

"Well, well, well," Chris said, sliding into a booth. "What have we here? Little Brian Littrell, the good boy of Backstreet, the Yin to AJ's Yang, Brian Thomas Littrell likes the International House of *Couscous*?"

"It's like rice," Brian said, "only different."

Chris peered at him. "Have you been taking JC's vitamins again?"

"No." Brian picked at his food, trying to seperate the peas.

"If I didn't know better," Chris said, "I would think you were following me. First we meet at the supermarket, then the IHOP, the Waffle House on Friday, Outback on Saturday, and now, on Monday, here we meet again."

"And yet," Brian said, "I was here first."

"Brian, Brian, Brian. Clearly no one has taught you better, since you haven't lived with me for the past seven years, but as the eldest person at this table, *I'm* the one who gets to act like a three-year-old. There shall be no whooping with joy, flinging of mashed vegetables, or reckless sexual abandon unless it is done by *me*."

Brian choked on his soda. "What kind of three-year-old," he asked, "*were* you?"

"Fuck that," Chris said. "What kind of 27-year-old are you?"

"Are you hitting on me?"

"Are you going to hit me if I say yes?"

"I'm marr--" Brian sighed, and glanced at the ring of pale flesh on his left hand. "I'm not interested in a relationship."

"Who's talking relationships? I want sex."

"So you followed me to the International House of Couscous?"

"Hey, look, if the Fine Kirkpatrick Ass is too much for you--"

"It's the Fine Kirkpatrick Stalking abilities that are bugging me at the moment."

"I wasn't stalking you," Chris said. "I was checking you out."

"At the supermarket, and the IHOP, and the Waffle House, and the Outback?"

"You're hot," Chris said. "I liked to look."

"Um. Look, Chris. I'm flattered, really. And it's not that I'm, you know. Homophobic or anything. I mean, look at AJ. and Nick, and Kevin, and Howie... it's just. Not *all* boybanders are gay, you know?"

Chris gasped. "You."

"And I just got divorced, and--"

"They told me about you. In boyband boot camp, they *said* there were legends of the Lone Straight Danceboy, but I scoffed it off."

"And you can't just *assume* that I'm going to *jump* into bed with you, I'm not. Casual sex isn't my thing, really, and--"

"'Ridiculous,' I told Justin. 'Everyone knows we're fags.' And hey! I assure you, when I'm done with you you won't *want* it to be just casual, you'll be *begging* me for more. You'll be like all the other girls, bringing 'Shake That FKA' signs to my appearances and screaming on the Fuman boards about my great looks and dark, sexy stare."

Brian ducked his head.

"Aww, are you blushing? I would've thought ten years of Nick would fix that."

"I don't like being compared to girls," he said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, jeez. You guys too? It's not just an us phenomenon?"

Brian jerked his head up, eyes wide. "Kevin," he said.

"Joey. and I have my suspicions about JC, but don't tell AJ or he'll kick my ass. and that would make the teenies cry."

"Anyway, I'm not interested."

"No, I guess you wouldn't be."

"You're not exactly my type, is all."

"Being male."

"If you were female, I'd be all over you."

Chris cracked up.

Brian glared at him. "What?"

"You have never, in your entire life, been all over *anyone*."

"I have too! There was Jessica Morten, in 5th grade. But we broke up, 'cause my mother said she wore too many cosmetics for an 11-year-old."

"Cosmetics?"

"Make-up. I'm from the South. Then there was Mary-Kay Parker, in 6th. Elizabeth Susan Linthrop, also 6th grade. Betty Winters, 7th. And Quincy Winters, right before Kev called me."

"Quincy," Chris said slowly, "is not a female name."

"Well, no. That's how I know I'm straight."

"And yet you listed dear Mr. Winters as someone you were 'all over'."

Brian blushed.

"I think," Chris said, "that you have simply never tried again."

"I'm 27."

"Yes. and your point is?"

"My *point*, is that I'm perfectly *happy* with women, and I see no reason to go suddenly have wild and crazy sex with a man just because my ex-wife started seeing someone else."

Chris leaned across the table, gently nudging Brian's plate of couscous aside. "I can make you scream so loud," he said, "your voice will be hoarse for 15 days."

Brian swallowed.

"I will take you home," Chris said, "and kiss you senseless, running my fingers through you hair, anointing every patch of skin that I oh so slowly strip bare with the touch of my lips and tongue. I will bend you backwards over the bannister, and blow you until you see stars. I will walk you up the stairs and into your bedroom, and fuck you senseless. The paint on the wall behind your bed will be chipped from being slammed into before I'm done. Your leg muscles will quiver, because while you dance for a living, this is an entirely new choreography, gripping your ankles around my waist, squeezing, pulling me deeper inside you. You will ache in places you never knew existed, and by the time I have to leave, you will ache for me to stay. And all you have to do is toss some bills on the table, smile at me, and whisper 'yes.'"

Brian reached for his wallet.

* * *

Brian rested his head on Chris' chest. He wasn't used to being held, to feeling someone else trace lazy circles on his hipbone, to relaxing and being taken care of. Fucked.

It was nice.

With Leigh, he had been the holder, the one in charge, the man. The fucker, of course, because Leigh was just a little too repressed to consider a strap-on, and he was too much of a Good Southern Gentleman to ask more than once. As it was, he had wished for the first time in his life to be Catholic, so he could kneel in penance and Hail Mary his sins away. Leigh was a good girl, a good friend, but so meek. So willing to submit, to let him do everything. Or maybe it had just been him, because his friends told him Leigh was the talk of the town, with her new man.

But it couldn't be him, because here he was, in Chris' arms, and it felt wonderful. He felt lazy, and languid, and even the slight chill on his shoulder, where the sheet didn't quite cover him, wasn't enough to make him move.

When he had wrapped his legs over Chris' waist, had stretched his neck and accepted -- received -- *been* kissed, bitten, licked. It had been the hottest sex of his life, much better than Quincy Winters when he was 17 and not quite a virgin. He remembered very little of it -- sweat, and grunting, and clenching, and losing himself. He didn't need to remember, didn't need to think about it all, because here he was, in bed with Chris, and somehow that was even better.

"With hindsight," Chris said, "you gonna be okay?"

Brian pushed himself up on his elbows, and studied Chris' face. He looked earnest, maybe a little worried. Not regretful himself, just. Concerned. Maybe apprehensive.

Maybe Chris didn't want to be completely in charge either.

Brian pressed a kiss to his jaw, murmured something unintelligable. Chris let out a soft sigh.

"Okay then," he said.

"Okay."

* * *

"Frick! Friiiiick!" Nick bounded through Brian's front door. Brian always made the best breakfast. "FRI--Oh, Holy God!"

Brian scratched his chest and took a spoonful of cereal. "What?"

"WHAT? *WHAT*? Chris Kirkpatrick is cooking eggs. in your kitchen. NAKED. CHRIS. *NSYNC's Chris."

"Oh, fuck," Brian said. "I thought you were in O-Town."

"Sorry, man." Chris turned the heat on the stove down a little. "I wanted to join them, but at the time, they wouldn't leave Lou."

"Spit when you say that name," Nick said. "And for God's sake, put some pants on. Make me some, too?"

Chris rolled his eyes, but cracked a couple more eggs and added them to the pan.

"So are you guys fucking, or what?"

"Nick. Breakfast."

"Yeah, but after breakfast we've got studio time, and then I can't grill Chris."

"I could go with," Chris said. Brian handed him a "kiss the cook" apron. "I'll be your new bodyguard, or something."

Brian snorted.

"Dude. You think I'm letting another man *near* your body? I'm not done making you scream, yet."

Nick look revolted. "That's just wrong, man."

"Keep that up and you won't get any breakfast," Chris said. He stirred the eggs a couple of times, then took out plates. Nick noted in the back of his mind that Chris seemed perfectly comfortable with the layout of Brian's kitchen.

"Dude. It's just. Brian doesn't. I mean. He didn't kiss Leigh till their third date, you know."

"I was marrying Leigh," Brian said. "Chris I'm just fucking."

"BREAKFAST," Nick said. "I'm trying to EAT."

Brian ruffled his hair affectionately, ducking the idle swat Nick aimed at his head.

"Anyway," he said, "what would you do at the studio with us, besides fool around with AJ -- Nickolas, get your mind out of the gutter and back on your eggs -- and make us run late?"

"I could warn Howie about the dangers of working with Wade."

"Howie doesn't have a girlfriend Wade can steal," Brian said.

"I don't care. Wade is more than just a stunter of emotional growth. He is more than the creator of a gnarled and useless body, with knees that constantly pulsate and a back that aches when the wind is Southerly. He is, and I'm not exaggerating even one iota, the Spawn of Satan and the only man in all of Orlando that I want to shoot as much as Lou."

"Spit when you say that name," Nick said around a mouthful of eggs.

"Oh, Nicky. Don't you know? A real man *never* spits."

"BREAKFAST," Nick said petulantly, but Brian just raised an eyebrow and went back to his coffee.

"It's true," he said.

Chris smirked, and ground more pepper over his eggs.

* * *

Nick bounded into the studio ahead of Brian and grabbed Howie from behind, twirling him around.

"I have a secret," he said.

"I'm fucking Chris Kirkpatrick," Brian said.

Nick pouted.

Howie grinned.

AJ lowered his sunglasses.

Kevin spit his coffee across the soundboard.

"That's okay, right? I mean, AJ's fucking JC."

"I'm *dating* JC," AJ said. "I'm in a meaningful *relationship*. I don't fuck, I make love."

Nick mimed cracking a whip behind his back.

"Okay," Kevin said, mopping at his shirt with a napkin. "Let me get this straight. AJ is in a meaningful relationship. and Brian. My cousin, Brian. Who has never shown an interest in any guy except that one in high school. Who goes to church every Sunday, even if we performed the night before, even if we were out partying until 3 in the morning. Brian is *fucking* someone?"

"Sounds about right," Brian said. "Is it my turn to sing yet?"

"Chris is cute," Howie said. "And he's been eyeing you for ages. What?"

"Since when has Kirkpatrick been eyeing our Bri?" AJ asked, "and why didn't JC tell me?"

"Because JC wouldn't recognize he was about to be hit if a double-decker bus was one foot from his face?"

AJ tackled Nick, screaming, "Take it back."

"Make me."

They rolled across the floor, knocking into the catering table. One leg buckled, and within twenty seconds they were covered in vegetable dip and potato chips.

"If there was anything to be said for them drinking," Kevin murmured under his breath, "it was that they were too hungover to move."

"I like it better this way," Howie said. "If I get really hungry, I can just lick their cheeks."

Kevin glared at Brian.

"What?"

"I counted on you to support me in the Mostly-Straight Man's Disgust at that statement."

"Sorry," Brian said. "Chris is a good fuck."

"You don't think it's a little soon?"

Brian's eyes darkened for a second, with a sadness that had been haunting Kevin for weeks. "No," he said softly. "A little late, if anything."

"Kevin?"

"Yes, Nick?"

"In our next video, can I dress as Robin? And AJ as Batman? And we drive around the city, taking explicit-lyric CDs away from kids?"

"I wanna be Eminem!" AJ said.

"I thought of it first!"

"I can kick your ass!"

"You can *try*!"

"You could *sing*," Kevin said. "And no, there shall be no Robin, no Batman. If we're copying *anyone*'s music videos, it's not someone who threatens to kick the ass of Brian's fuck buddy."

"So there," Brian said. "Besides, tights chafe."

AJ snorted. "How would you... I don't want to know."

"When I went over for breakfast this morning," Nick said, "Chris was cooking naked."

"What part of 'I don't want to know' do you not understand, Carter?"

"The part where I listen to your scrawny ass."

AJ glowered. "Don't make me knock over the drinks," he said.

By the time Brian finished his vocals, the carpet was covered in Sprite.

* * *

Chris called a group meeting.

Forget that Lance was in Russia -- speakerphone could handle that. Forget that Joey couldn't find a baby-sitter -- since when would they not want to see Bree? Justin could tear himself away from whoever-the-fuck he was collaborating with on his album, and JC could tear himself away from AJ, and Chris and Brian could come out as fuckbuddies.

"I still don't see why you need me here," Brian said. "Your guys already know you're gay."

"Because," Chris said, "either Justin's gonna strangle me on purpose for going to the dark side -- no offense -- or Jayce's gonna strangle me by accident from excessive hugging. And squealing. And clapping his hands."

"He *is* a guy, right?"

"Ask AJ."

Justin peeked his head around the door. "A-ha!" he shouted, "there you are. He's out here, Joe!" He grabbed Chris' wrist. "Come on. I gotta get back to the studio. Oh, hey Brian, what're you doing here?"

"Fucking me," Chris said, stumbling inside the conference room.

Joey grabbed Briahna from JC and wrapped his arms over her ears. "Watch your language in front of my kid."

"Sorry," Chris said, "but it's true. Brian and I are fucking. Aren't we, Snookums?"

"Call me that again and you won't get your post-perandial blowjob. Pookie."

JC squealed.

"I can't hear!" Lance's static-filled voice called from the telephone. "Someone is ducking? Was Chris arrested?"

"Can't you call it making love or something?" Joey asked. Bree was struggling to get away from him and back to the plush moose toy that was in imminent danger of being bounceed on by JC.

"But we're not," Chris said.

"We're fucking," Brian said.

"Ducking *what*?!" Lance said.

Justin frowned. "Does this mean I have to hang out with Nick?"

"Rick?" Lance said. "Are you going to *Canada*?"

Brian picked up the receiver. "Chris and I are fucking."

"Oh," Lance said. "Okay. Can I go back to training now so I don't die in space?"

Some people, Chris thought, had no sense of proportion.

* * *

Justin didn't exactly *miss* Britney. He told JC and AJ how much he didn't miss her all the time. He'd tell Chris, but Chris wouldn't rub his back soothingly or force Brian to get him tea and honey, the way JC did with AJ.

He didn't miss Brit, and he *certainly* didn't miss the days when she'd curl up in their bed, clutching her stomach, a picture of perfect misery.

The last time it happened, she'd snarled at him and said, "Giving birth had better be freakin' worth it, Timberlake."

"Um, Brit," he'd said. "Brit, you aren't--"

Her water bottle had hit him in the cheek before he could finish.

"If I were fucking *pregnant*, I wouldn't have these goddamned *cramps*! Either get me some Midol or get the *fuck* out!"

It had occured to him that even Chris couldn't be that high maintenance. And there hadn't *been* any Midol, not in the house, and it was pouring rain out, and he was *tired*, and.

He didn't miss her, so much, as he missed having someone around. Someone to take care of, and yeah, worship a little.

He should've just gone to the store, of course. Chris laughed at him whenever he said that, and called him an idiot.

Justin always expected Chris, who grew up around 5 women, to treat them as reverently as he himself did. Chris, who grew up around 5 women, always hoped Justin would know better.

He'd think it was a gay thing, but he'd seen how Brian treated *his* mom. Not to mention Lance, but what with Russia and all the excitement leading up to Russia, he'd seen a whole lot more of Brian lately.

Maybe it was a Yankee thing.

"Maybe it's a loser thing," AJ said.

"Oh, go fuck JC."

"Go fuck yourself, then," AJ said, and dragged JC to their bedroom, which was really pretty mean of him, Justin thought. Since Brit had left, he pretty much had to fuck himself, didn't he? He hadn't spent so much time moisturizing his hand since he was 16 in Germany with an invisible sign 'round his neck reading "jailbait."

Kevin probably treated *his* mom right. Maybe he was free to hang out.

* * *

"Did you know Kevin and Justin have been hanging out?"

Chris looked up from his guitar. "They what?"

"You've been ditched," Brian said. He leaned over the back of the couch, lips twitching. "According to the gossip column of the Tribune, 'The eldest and youngest members of once rival boybands have been making the strip club rounds, sources say. The one newly singly, the other married but a red light regular nonetheless, these two men have been spotted all over Orlando, practicing their dance moves well into the morning hours -- or watching others dance for them. Bye, bye, bye to clothing -- these guys are Drowing in naked flesh.'"

"That little *shit*!"

Brian arched an eyebrow. "You would've gone to the strip clubs with him?"

"Well du--no. No, of course I wouldn't. But that doesn't mean he's allowed to go without me. Besides, he said he was done with the post-Brit party-to-show-he's-not-hurt phase."

"He told you that himself, huh?"

"We have to fix this." Chris put his guitar away, locking the case carefully. "We need a plan."

"To stop Justin from going to strip clubs with Kevin?"

"To stop Justin from doing *anything* with Kevin. He's *my* baby boy. Why can't Kevin play with Nick -- that came out wrong."

"What do you want to do," Brian asked. "Set up playdates?"

Chris jumped up, planting a warm kiss on Brian's lips. "I *knew* there was a reason I fucked you," he said.

"You mean, beyond my nice ass and skill in bed?"

"Apparently." Chris grinned. "Who knew?"

* * *

Nick watched Brian stir spaghetti sauce, frown, and turn up the heat on the burner. "So, okay," he said, "no offense or anything, but what am I doing here?"

"My home not good enough for you?" Brian asked.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. What's up?"

Brian kept his attention on the stove. "Chris is lonely," he said.

"Chris is lonely?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Nick said. "Um. Just to be clear here. Your boyfriend--"

"Fuck buddy."

"Fuck buddy is lonely, so you invited me over for dinner and a movie?"

"Pretty much," Brian said.

"Okay. Okay. Frick. The thing is. Like. Okay, you two can burrow down in your domestic den of sin, or whatever, and that's fine, but, man, I don't. You know. I mean," Nick blushed, "not that it wouldn't be cool and all, but, you know, I--"

"Chris is lonely," Brian said.

"Well yes, okay, but--"

"Chris is lonely, so he invited Justin over. You're my reinforcements."

"Oh. Oh! Oh, okay," Nick said.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Brian tossed in some basil and smirked.

Nick smacked him. "Dude," he said.

"Sweet. What's mine say?"

"Dude," Nick said, "you shoulda just told me."

"But then I wouldn't've seen how much you want my man."

"Whatever." Nick crossed his arms. "You were fucking with me," he said.

"And?"

"Just sayin'."

Brian added the sauteed garlic.

"Fuck buddy," Nick said.

"What?"

"He's not your man, he's your fuck buddy."

"Yeah," Brian said. He offered Nick a taste.

"Yeah," Nick said. "'s good."

* * *

Justin squinted at his grapefruit. It didn't have enough sugar on it -- he could still see areas that weren't covered in little mounds of now-pink granules. Of course, he wasn't prepared to like it no matter *how* much sugar he drenched it in, because it was a grapefruit and therefore an affront to nature.

Kind of like dirty-blond, good-looking, solo-album-putting-out youngest-members of rival boybands. At least, when they were bouncy and happy first thing in the morning.

"Gooooooooood morning, Orlando," Chris said. Nick laughed, and swung him around in a circle -- and what the fuck was Nick doing swinging *Chris* around, anyway? -- and plunked him into a chair.

"Sit," he said. "I'm makin' waffles."

Brian poked Nick in the stomach. "Thanks, little donkey."

"Hey!" Nick fended off Brian's fingers with the use of a wooden spoon. "There's only one ass in this room, and his name isn't Nick."

Justin glared, and pulled his grapefruit closer.

Brian sat down in Chris' lap. "Justin doesn't like waffles?"

"Justin doesn't like breakfast."

"You're out of Captain Crunch, fucker."

"Caustic names will hurt me not," Chris said haughtily, waving a hand. "Just because I refuse to pollute Brian's kitchen with little yellow nuclear pellets doesn't mean I'm a fucker."

Brian grinned. "The fact that you fucked me, on the other hand..."

Justin spit his grapefruit wedge across the room. It landed in the back of Nick's hair.

"Uh-oh," Brian said. He grabbed Chris' hand, and pulled him under the table.

Nick picked up the wooden spoon.

"You spit grapefruit in my hair."

"It was a natural reaction to a blatant attempt at unnerving me," Justin said.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. This, on the other hand," Justin flung a piece of grapefruit at Nick's nose, "is because I don't like waffles."

"This is because I don't like Captain Crunch," Nick said, and threw a spoonfull of batter at Justin's chest.

"Captain Crunch is the greatest cereal ever to grace the breakfast aisle at Target," Justin said, and hit Nick's shoulder with another wedge.

"Captain Crunch," Nick said, "is a stigma on the name of breakfast cereals everywhere. And," he added, grabbing a handful of batter and smearing it down Justin's cheek, "anyone with any taste whatsoever would know that."

Chris started crawling out from under the table, Brian behind him, heading for the living room.

"I have taste!" Justin said. "I have taste enough to avoid your waffles!" He picked up the bag of chocolate chips, pulled on the wasteband of Nick's boxers, and emptied the bag.

Nick growled, and dumped the remaining batter over Justin's head. Within seconds they were rolling on the floor, covered in chocolate, batter, flour, and the occasional bit of grapefruit.

"Well," Brian said from the doorway, an arm around Chris' waist. "We'll have to invite them back again next week."

"I'm still hungry," Chris said.

"I can fix that," Brian said, and tugged him upstairs to their bedroom.

* * *

"Stop wriggling," AJ said, "you'll fuck the paint up."

"Man," JC said. "I wanna see my toes."

"They're pretty, and sparkly, and pink, and you can see them when I'm done painting. I swear to God," AJ said, "you fuck them up after I've done a bottom coat and two coats of pink and a coat of sparkles and two top-layers, and I'm never painting your nails again."

"You chipped your fingernails," JC said huffily.

"I chipped my fingernails after a *week*," AJ said. "Besides, fingers are different. And chipped black is a totally different look. How many people do you know who walk around with chipped sparkly pink toenails?"

"I've been thinking about trying out Zoroastrianism," JC said.

"Do they have sparkly pink toenails?"

"No. And they don't really convert people. But they have fire and stuff, I think. I dunno. It sounds cool."

"Okay," AJ said. "As long as we don't have to do the Tantric shit again."

"You liked the Tantric sex."

"I liked the sex."

"AJ?"

"Hmm?"

JC sat up carefully, his toes spread apart by cotton balls, and slid forward on the bed until he could slip his arms around AJ's waist and hook his chin over AJ's shoulder.

"I think," he said, "that Brian and Chris are in love."

"I thought Chris didn't believe in love."

"Chris doesn't believe in Dani."

AJ nodded. Brian was pretty much the same, with Leigh. "They fuck an awful lot," he said.

JC grinned, nibbling on AJ's earlobe. "Sometimes fucking can lead to being in love," he said happily.

AJ twisted around. "Speaking from experience?" he asked. His hand was warm on the small of JC's back.

"Mmmm," JC said. AJ lowered him gently onto the bed. "Don't smudge my toenails."

AJ kissed him. "I'll paint them again," he said.

* * *

Joey grabbed a hot dog from Gray's Papaya after the matinee, and gave Kevin a call.

"When did I become everyone's favorite Backstreet Boy?" Kevin asked.

"What are Brian's intentions towards my bandmate?"

"Pardon?"

Joey was very good at being a menacing brother. He'd learned from Steve, who ganged up with his dad on Janine's dates. Playing Angelo hadn't been so much acting as going home. "I said," he repeated, "what are your cousin's intentions towards my bandmate?"

"What are Chris' intentions towards my cousin?" Kevin said.

"I asked first."

"I'm older."

"I have more mob connections."

"I have a Southern Momma."

"Fuck."

Kevin laughed.

"I may have lost the battle," Joey said, "but the war is yet to be won."

"As far as I know, Brian thinks he wants a good fuck. On the other hand, I've never known my cousin to be anything less than a pipe-and-slippers man."

"Brian Littrell smokes a pipe?"

Kevin's rolled eyes were pratically audible over the phone line. "It's a metaphor. He's a one-wom--person man."

"Chris, too," Joey said.

"Good," Kevin said. "'Cause if he isn't, I have a shotgun and a shovel. And if I don't do it, I have two brothers. And cousins. and my uncle. and my mother. and my aunt."

"I get the picture," Joey said. Somehow, before he'd made the phone call, his family had seemed so much more intimidating. Of course, he should have known better, because Diane and Lynn were far scarier than his mom. His mom got her way by stuffing people with food until they were too full to disagree. Diane and Lynn, on the other hand, tore people's limbs off.

"Chris isn't about to leave Brian," Joey said.

"Brian isn't about to leave Chris."

"Have they been convinced of this yet?"

Kevin rolled his eyes again. "Brian has a head made of granite. You might as well talk to a wall."

"Then he's definitely the right person for Chris."

"Shit," Kevin said.

"Yeah," Joey said. "That's why I called."

"Shit," Kevin said.

"You're repeating yourself."

"Fuck off."

"Actually no, I won't. I want Chris happy, and I don't care what I have to do to make it happen."

"Call Howie," Kevin said.

"Fuck," Joey said. "No. No fucking way."

"You asked."

"He's your bandmate."

"He's not gonna eat you or anything."

"He's. He's, like. JC. Only less incoherent and more gay."

"Now there's a thought."

"JC?"

"JC."

"Huh," Joey said. "JC."

* * *

"Can you call it a group meeting when you have 4/5 of one group and 3/5 of another?" Justin asked.

Nick shrugged. "There's a group of people here, right?"

"Yeah, but that's not what group meeting means."

"Fine," Kevin said. "So it's a most of two boybands meeting. Can we start now?"

JC snuggled closer to AJ and whispered, "Is he always so grouchy?"

AJ laughed, and wrapped an arm around JC's waist. "His favorite Muppet was Oscar."

"The Sesame Street characters aren't Muppets," JC said.

"Maybe not," AJ said, "but Kevin is."

"Can we get back to the subject at hand?" Kevin asked.

Howie was busy embroidering a peasant-shirt he'd made for JC with little blue flowers. "What *is* the subject at hand?" he asked.

"Brian and Chris," Joey said. "We want them to realize they're in love, and not just fucking like bunnies."

"They can keep fucking though, right?" JC said. "Even if they're in love? Because sometimes, you know, you can love someone a really lot, but still have, like, a kink or something, like say--" AJ kissed him.

"Oh, great," Justin said, and dropped his burger back onto his plate. "Now I'm not hungry."

Nick reached for the burger, and Justin slapped his hand away. "I'm not *that* not hungry," he said. Nick threw a french fry at him in retribution. Justin threw a pickle slice back, but Nick ducked and it hit AJ's nose instead.

AJ crossed his eyes, staring at the pickle.

JC giggled.

"Run," Nick said. "Run now, and don't look back. Ever."

"Can we have our meeting before the Ritual Slaying of Timberlake?" Kevin asked.

AJ raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry," Howie said. "I'll sit Brian down for a talk, and JC can do the same with Chris. It'll all work out, you'll see. They love each other."

"Told you we should just talk to Howie," Kevin said.

"No you didn't," Joey said. "You said *I* should just talk to Howie."

AJ reached up with two fingers and removed the pickle slice. He held it in front of his face, examining it. He cocked his head, looking at Justin, and then the pickle.

"Nick," he said, "do you remember what happened to that liver I was saving?"

Justin bolted.

* * *

Chris looked at the menu, at JC, and then back at the menu. He frowned. "This is the kind of place that only serves eggplant burgers and soymilk shakes, isn't it?"

"No," JC said. "They have tofu."

"Jayce."

"I'm kidding." JC grinned at Chris. "There's a non-vegetarian menu on the back."

"A stealth menu, hmm?" Chris flipped his menu over. He tilted his head. He squinted. Finally, he turned the menu upside down and looked at the bottom right corner (or top left, but then the writing would be upside down.) Then he glared at JC. "Turkey burgers do not a non-vegetarian restaurant make."

"AJ likes them."

"AJ like you."

"Well, yes," JC said. He blushed a little, and wiggled his toes under the table. "See, we're in love."

"I know. For awhile, I thought I was hallucinating or something, but when I realized AJ McLean not only was at our karaoke bar but was also, in fact, singing Uptown Girl, with the rest of his group backing him up, while you blushed and stammered and smiled into your beer and giggled to Lance about how cute Backstreet Boys were, I realized that "AJ and JC Have An Announcement Night" was not an excuse to make us all get drunk together and bond but instead your fucked up way of telling us he was your man."

JC smiled dreamily. "He's my backstreet guy," he said.

"You do realize that makes you a girl, right?"

"Girls are cool," JC said. "Nobody yells at them for wearing pink."

"It's not the pink, Jayce. It's the pink eyeshadow."

"It was a dare! You do that all the--what are you doing?"

"Blowing bubbles in my water glass. It makes the ice burst upwards. Plus, farting sounds."

JC rolled his eyes.

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Suave, Mr. I Study Wine and Art, but some of us get bored easily."

"ANYWAY," JC said. "AJ and I are in love."

"Bored," Chris said.

"BUT," JC said, "we didn't used to be."

"Yeah, I know," Chris said. "There were the Bobbee years." He made his water fart extra loud as a commentary on the Bitch Ho of Skankiness.

"You're gonna drip all over the table," JC said.

"She was a bitch," Chris said.

"I know."

"And a ho."

"I know, Chris."

"And ska--"

"I KNOW!" JC pulled Chris' water glass away. "That's not the point," he said.

"There's a point?"

"Yes. The point is. The point. Um."

Chris reached for the salt and pepper shakers.

"Oh!" JC batted his hand away. "The point," he said, confiscating the ketchup on general principle, "is this. AJ and I started out just, you know. Having lots of kinky sex, because um. Well, kinky sex. But! Then we realized we *did* love each other, and we *did* want a relationship together, and we're so much happier now than we could ever have imagined being, so even though I was *really* nervous about talking to him about love -- you remember, I threw up all over Joey? -- well, so, anyway, it was really, really, really, really, *really* worth it." JC smiled beatifically at Chris. "Really."

"That's not a point, it's a thesis," Chris said, and spit a napkin ball into JC's hair.

JC took his straw.

* * *

"Howie," Brian said. "Howie, I'm not eating here."

"What? It's good."

"It's "an exotic blend of Southern American and French." It's not good."

"You haven't even opened the menu," Howie said. "Anyway, isn't Cajun a blend of--"

"No!" Brian said, horrified. "New Orleans is its own style entirely. Southern is. Southern is grits, and home fries, fried chicken, fried--"

"Snails?" Howie said.

"There are *not* fried snails on this menu."

"No, there aren't. Which you'd know if you opened it."

"Are the courses going to be seperated by servings of sorbet to cleanse the palatte? Do we get an amouse-bouche to start, before our appetizer of corn on the cob? Is--"

"Shut up," Howie said. "I don't know why I invite you to these places."

"I don't know why we can't eat at Waffle House."

Howie looked affronted. "I'm not going to unveil my master plan at a *Waffle House*."

"Aha! So there *is* a master plan." Brian pulled out his cellphone and hit speed 1. "Chris? Fifty bucks, baby." He laughed. "Howie *always* has a master plan, you fool. What? Yeah, well. I'm not the one who has to buy a feather duster and lacey apron, so I think you should just shu--hey!"

"Brian can fuck you later," Howie said into the phone. "Right now he's being reprogrammed." He hit the off button. "Where was I?"

"We were discussing the likelihood of Haley's Comet coming around again in our lifetime. Either that, or my chances of getting food I can eat." Brian stared glumly at the menu. "They seem about equal," he said.

"I remember the days when AJ, Nick and you would scarf down anything that could remotely be considered edible."

"I remember the days when AJ, Nick and I could annoy you and Kevin into eating at every McDonald's in the Western world."

Howie rolled his eyes. "Master plan," he said.

"Fine." Brian pouted, but gave the waiter his order. "Brainwash away."

"Join the navy," Howie said.

"Buy Coke," Brian said.

"Buy Gap."

"Buy Microsoft."

"Free Willy."

"Free love."

"Love Chris."

"Lo--what?"

"Kiss," Howie said. "The band?"

"Howard."

Howie leaned forward. "I'm only gonna do this once," he said, "because we're not actually in a karaoke bar, or in private, or anything, but you need to get it through your thick Southern skull, and music has always been prime for subliminal messaging."

"Howard."

Howie began to sing. "I know something about love -- you gotta want it bad. If that man's got into your heart, go out and--"

"Shut up," Brian said. "We're in a restaurant."

"You sang 'I Touch Myself' in--"

"A McDonald's."

"I thought it was a Burger King."

"It was a McDonald's," Brian said. "This is different."

"You're not a fad," Howie said, "that passes into and out of style. He really likes you."

"We're not having this conversation."

"Oh yes we are. It's past due. Kevin--"

Brian stood up. "I'm going home," he said. "If you need to talk to me, don't."

"He's not Leigh, Brian."

Brian paused, his back already to Howie. "I know," he said softly, and walked out the door.

* * *

Chris kept a schedule on how often to have Justin and Nick over. He was convinced that if he didn't see Justin at least twice a week, he wasn't doing his job as Best Friend, and that the same rules applied for Brian and Nick, so they might as well kill two birds with one stone and make both babies come visit at once.

"I'm busy," Justin said.

Chris pulled the receiver from his ear, examined it to make sure it wasn't damaged, and held it up again. "What?" he said.

"I'm busy, dude."

"All day?" Chris asked.

Justin nodded, and batted away the hand that was creeping along his stomach. "Yeah," he said. "All--" he cleared his throat "all day."

"You're busy," Chris said slowly, "all. fucking. day."

Justin giggled.

"J," Chris said, then decided he wasn't being whiny enough, so tried again. "Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay."

Chris was the only person Justin knew who could turn his nickname into a fifteen-syllabe word. "No," he said. "It's important."

"Brian's gonna force Nick to come over," Chris wheedled. Brian rolled his eyes.

"Nick?" Justin squeaked.

"Yeah, Nick. You know, Nick Carter? The guy who hangs out over here a lot and isn't you, me, or Brian?"

"I don't want to see Nick," Justin said. "He sucks."

Nick bit him on the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"What?"

"Nothing," Justin said quickly. "Just, um. The upholstery? On the. Couch. Is sticking to my skin -- 'cause I'm wearing shorts, see, and it's hot, and--"

"You're fucking someone, aren't you?"

"What? No!"

"You are," Chris said. "You're fucking having *sex* with someone while *talking* to me!"

Justin felt his sex drive begin to shrink as Chris started ranting. "Chris," he said desperately. "Chris!"

"What?"

"Go fuck Brian." Justin hung the phone up and rolled over, pinning Nick underneath him. Nick grinned, wiggling just a little. "'Bout fucking time," he said.

"Chris is a wordy motherfucker." Justin bent his head, his tongue brushing against Nick's lips, pushing inside, to warmth and wet and the faint salty tang of Justin, and Chris slipped out of his mind entirely.

"Justin doesn't love me anymore," Chris told Brian, pouting.

"'S okay, Pookie," Brian said, without looking up from his paper. "I do."

"Oh, well," Chris said. "Okay then."

Brian turned the page. "Yeah?" He said.

Chris smiled. "Yeah. Snookums."

"Call me that again, and you're sleeping on the couch, Kirkpatrick."

Chris leaned over Brian's shoulder, plucking the newspaper from his hands and tossing it away. "I didn't really plan on sleeping at all tonight," he said.

"Oh," Brian said. "Ohhhhhh... yeah, right there. Yeah, okay. Sleep is -- oh -- sleep is for the wea--oh, fuck!"

"Yeah," Chris said. "I plan to.
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