Lance had already taken a beating for the cowboy hat and rhinestone shirt, so it wasn’t that. He looked past Chris in time to catch Kevin Richardson scowling in their direction. He then looked back into a pair of brown eyes that hadn’t been innocent since Jimmy Carter was in office.

“Now what?”

Chris still seemed unable to speak and simply hooked a thumb back across his shoulder. Lance glanced past him again at a Kevin Richardson who now had extended his middle finger and was bouncing it rhythmically. Lance raised both eyebrows, then looked back at Chris who had begun wiping his eyes, a sure sign that he was no longer able to control his laughter. Lance sized up the situation immediately.

“What was it? The Rex Harrison hat he wore yesterday or the Zsa Zsa scarf tonight?”

Chris squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Lance wanted desperately to look once more in the direction of the lone Backstreet Boy, but he was afraid of what might happen if he did. Despite Lance's new physique, Kevin Richardson still had a good six inches on him. It would not be a fair fight. He looked instead at Chris and waited. Chris cleared his throat and tried to speak. Instead he started laughing again and waved Lance off, eventually steering them both to a corner where Kevin could not see them.

“It’s not him.” He started giggling helplessly again. “Give me a minute here.”

Lance waited while Chris prowled back and forth, trying to get control of himself. Whatever it was, it had to be good. Chris had only smiled at the brouhaha surrounding Justin's claim to have never seen JC's dick. They'd all agreed that JC's dick was big, so this had to be some-thing much bigger if it had moved Chris Kirkpatrick to helpless tears.

A minute later Chris's face had returned to its normal color and he was able to stand upright. Lance started to speak, but Chris instead grabbed him by the lapel and pulled him close. His breath was cool and he smelled of champagne. Lance thought that he sounded a little like DeNiro with a cold. All in all, not a bad combination.

“The Turtle had a message for me.”

Lance snickered at the reference. Chris had affectionately labeled each of the Backstreet Boys except for one. Brian Littrell had always been so nice that it took all the fun out of it, so Chris had left him alone. The others however, had been fair game, especially Kevin who had never been particularly nice to anyone and who had, unfortunately, been part of another fab five at one time in his career. The Ninja kind at Universal Studios. Chris Kirkpatrick had a long and painfully accurate memory. To him, Kevin would always be Michelangelo.

Lance adopted his best Al Pacino in response. “Did he make you an offer you couldn't refuse?”

“He said he hoped we were happy.”

Chris snorted loudly, then stepped away. He was just reaching back to smoothe the front of Lance's new shirt when that same Lance pushed his hand away, but not before checking to see if anyone had noticed the intimacy of the act.

Except for some harmless canoodling at a celebrity golf tournament in Bangkok and a little dirty dancing at Mark Anthony’s wedding reception, they had both been very, very careful. Until this moment, Lance had been absolutely sure that no one suspected that he and Chris were together.

When he spoke, his voice had lost its playful tone.

“This isn’t funny.”

Chris saw the look in his eyes and tried to straighten his own features to match, but he'd started laughing again and had to walk away. By the time he'd pulled himself together enough to speak, Lance had crossed his arms over his chest and was tapping one hand nervously on his bicep. Chris recognized the behavior right away. A very pissed-off Diane Bass. Chris had seen it for the first time last Christmas after telling what he thought was the perfect holiday joke. The one about the Cajun wife found floating face down in the bayou with five blue crabs on her back. There had been absolute silence then too. And the crossed arms. Not even Lance's brother-in-law had dared to laugh.

Chris checked Lance again. Like mother, like son. Even in his rhinestone cowboy shirt, Lance was one pissed off Southern gentleman. Chris sobered quickly. His brain had made the jump to hyperspace that Lance had obviously made under the given circumstances. Course adjustments were in order.

“Lance, the message was from AJ.”

Chris expected the arms to drop immediately and the lazy smile to return, but nothing happened on either front. Instead Lance narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t care who it’s from, Chris. You promised.”

If Lance had punctuated the last part by stomping his foot, Chris would have grabbed him and kissed him right there in front of everyone. Lance wasn’t angry. He was pouting. Chris loved pouty Lance. In fact, over the past four months, he’d learned to love a lot more than that. Chris breathed a sigh of relief. This could be fixed. Lance was his queen. He would never do anything to hurt him.

“The Halloween party at Justin's? AJ and Christina? I guess it didn't last too long. Seems Christina, in her new found glory, has been tongue-kissing every woman in LA, but won’t give AJ the time of day.“ Chris stopped for a second and knit his brow. “Wait. I may be on to something here. I’ve been tongue-kissing you for months and I won’t give AJ the time of day either. Hmm.” He paused again as if lost in thought, then shook his head. “Anyway, McLean's left holding his own dick. And we're to blame.” Chris's voice dropped to a lower register. "He told me to watch my back. And yours. Or else."

He punctuated the story by making a slashing motion across his throat with the appropriate sound effects. Lance loved it when he was melodramatic. Chris checked to see if they had lift-off.

Roger that.

Lance was smiling again and had put his glass down on a nearby table. He began pushing Chris toward the door of the hospitality suite. There was a slight flush on his chest now, where the buttons of his shirt had come undone. And he leaned close as they passed a bank of photographers. His hand was on Chris's back now, but he didn't seem to care. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper.

“Take a deep breath.”

Chris smiled to hear the expression he'd used over and over again to quell Lance's fear of exposure. It had come out now in a slow, sexy drawl. That was something else he'd learned in the past few months. Lance Bass could make anything sound like foreplay. Chris felt the hand that had been on his back slide up and down his spine, then settle firmly on his hip. He made a purring sound as they headed for the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.

“Joey's always said that Kevin's not a bad guy. So I don’t want to hurt him if I don't have to. But I would, you know. I would. For you.”

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