Sitting in a hard high-backed chair in a warehouse downtown, Justin felt relaxed. The warehouse looked like it used to be a canning factory or a place where car parts were made - something where fathers had made livings and supported families, probably turning to drink when it closed down. Now the windows were busted out and the hole in the roof let dusty rays of sun inside. Now it was just a good place for a photo shoot.
Justin closed his eyes obediently as Martin fluffed skin-toned powder on his face; sat immobile while Martin dabbed cover up on the zit on his forehead.
"So you really want to do this?" Martin said. Justin looked up at him but Martin's eyes were focused on his forehead, his finger dabbing gently against Justin's skin.
"Yeah. I'm sure. I'm serious."
Martin narrowed his eyes at the zit, making sure it was covered to his satisfaction, and stood back in a way that made him look like all his weight was on one hip. "Sweetheart, don't you think the fit is going to hit the shan if they figure out what you're doing?"
Justin jerked forward in his chair, grabbed Martin's arm and tugged him in so they were almost nose to nose. "Yes. I'm sure. Now are you going to help me or not?"
Martin pried himself loose and shook his arm, muttering "Jesus" before he grabbed the neutral lip gloss from his monster assortment of cosmetics. "Yes, I'll help you."
Justin opened his mouth automatically when Martin leaned in with the lip gloss. "What do you think I should do?"
"I think you should stop moving your lips."
"I mean after that."
"Let me think for a second." Martin's eyes focus intently on Justin's lips. Justin sat patiently, so used to being touched that he didn't even flinch when Martin picked a speck of something off Justin's eyelash.
Martin stood up straight and screwed the lid back on the lip gloss. "Get him drunk."
"Get him drunk?"
"Yeah." Martin shrugged. "Whenever I want to come on to a cute boy, I go out drinking with him."
Justin noticed Martin's eyes wander a little to the left, looking behind him. "But anyway," Martin said, way too exaggerated to be natural, "I think the lighting in here is fantastic for your skin tone."
He had just finished the sentence when Lance sat down in the chair next to Justin.
"I have to go get something from the car," Martin said quickly. Justin didn't have time to protest before Martin was strutting across the warehouse with that Martin flourish and that Martin swagger.
Justin sighed deeply, staring at his newly-manicured hands, wishing his nails were longer so he could pick at them.
"I'm sorry," Lance said quietly.
"No, I'm sorry."
"No, really. I'm sorry. I'm the one being weird. You're not doing anything wrong."
"Shut up, Lance. I'm sorry."
"You have no reason to be. I'm the one who should be sorry."
Justin took a deep breath. He sensed Lance doing the same thing. "I'm sorry," Justin said. "Don't make me come over there."
Lance actually laughed, and not in an irritating way. Next thing Justin knew, he was laughing too. It seemed like it had been so long since he and Lance had actually laughed about the same thing. In the faint yellow light of the warehouse, Lance's hair looked to be the exact same tone as his skin color, like all of his features were washed out by one big mass of blond.
"Why don't you let your roots grow in a little?" Justin asked suddenly.
Lance picked at the front of his hair. "You don't like it the way it is?"
"No, it looks fine. It just...." He paused. He wasn't sure why he said it. He definitely knew he couldn't explain it now. "...I'm just trying to make conversation."
Lance nodded slowly, looking down at his hands like he wished he had nails to pick, too. "How about those Yankees?"
More laughter! Another joke! They were on a roll now. Laughing with Lance made Justin feel a little bad for wanting to steal his boyfriend, and suddenly he just wanted to stop the conversation. He wanted to get out of the chair and get the shoot over with and go on about his day with Lance nowhere in sight.
The laughter faded and Justin wiggled his feet absently, just wishing he could get up and get the fuck out of there. He couldn't tell if the silence was uncomfortable or if it was supposed to be one of those friendly silences where neither person felt like they had to talk. He got similar vibes from Lance, sensed him doing the same thing.
"I'm in love with him," Lance said.
The words shattered Justin's train of thought so quickly they might as well have been the sound of breaking glass. He looked back at his fingers again, his heart thumping so hard he imagined Lance could hear it. There was a slight rushing sound in his ears, a low hum in his brain, and he opened up his freshly-glossed lips before he even knew what he was doing.
"So am I."
Justin's eyes widened in spite of himself, the look on his face probably resembling Jim Carrey's in "Liar, Liar" when he couldn't stop telling the truth no matter how hard he tried.
Jesus, Justin thought. He's going to hit me. He's going to leap out of that chair and grab the hot curling iron and beat me with it. He had no idea what had possessed him to say that. The longer it took Lance to reply, the longer Justin had to think, and the longer he thought, the less he could believe it. He never thought three words that weren't "I love you" could make the Earth spin out of orbit so quickly, but everything around him seemed different now. The air was clammier, the baby-powder stench of new makeup thick in his nostrils, his skull pulsing to the beat of his heart until it sounded like the bass line of a horror movie soundtrack.
He looked over at Lance, knowing his eyes were wild. Lance sat perfectly still, picking at what little fingernails he had, his expression still calm. Finally he spoke.
"I know."
Justin tried to slow his breathing, tried to stop the slight tremor in his hands. It *was* a horror movie soundtrack now - screaming violins, haunting synthesizers, the far-off voice of a woman that sounded like a dark angel's as it climbed octaves.
"I'm sorry," Justin said weakly, meaning it more now than all the other times combined.
Justin watched Lance's profile as Lance nodded slowly. "What do you need to get over it?"
"What do you mean?"
"One night." Lance's voice sounded low and sure - so sure that it took Justin a second to clue in. "One night is all you get, and then he's mine and that's the end of it. Okay?"
Justin started to reply when he heard Martin's sing-song voice behind him. "One more thing and you're done, Justin."
Martin didn't seem to notice that Justin and Lance were absolutely quiet, neither even clearing his throat, both still reeling from the conversation they'd just had. Justin closed his eyes as Martin gave him one last sweep with the makeup brush.
Justin turned sideways in the chair, studying Lance's profile carefully. "Okay."
Crossing the warehouse to where the rest of the group stood, Justin could barely keep this thoughts straight. If JC was Justin's boyfriend, would Justin let JC have one night with a guy who was in love with him? No. He wouldn't. So why was Lance doing it? Was it because Lance knew that if he didn't concede somehow, Justin could take him head on and snatch JC away from him? Was it because this kind of tension was the sort that broke up bands? Was it because he cared about Justin and didn't want to see either of them get hurt? There were so many questions that he couldn't just come out and ask. He wondered if it might even be a boobie trap - he'd get JC alone in a room and Lance would come in and they'd both stand and laugh at Justin for being so pathetic.
JC smiled broadly when Justin stopped next to him, and it crossed Justin's mind that JC might be in on it. Had JC talked Lance into it? Did JC know that he and Lance were negotiating over him like he was Microsoft stock?
So many questions and no one to ask. He thought about running back over and asking Martin, since Martin was the only outside party who knew the whole story. Instead he posed patiently for the pictures, his arms around his band mates, his photo shoot smile turned on full blast the way it always was, even when it killed him.