Penance
by Scotty

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Things were less complicated when he was going into space.

Yes, he was spending the better part of the summer a continent away with a bunch of strange men. Yes, he would then spend the better part of October even farther away with two more strange men. All of that had been okay. But two nights in September, with men that AJ McLean knew all too well was not okay. And would not be okay until Lance Bass agreed to go shopping. And to wear a hair shirt in the process.

“You do know that we have access to limos and taxis and other forms of private transportation?" AJ' s voice was unnaturally loud and he frowned as he took Lance’s arm, steering him through a sudden wave of shoppers, some of whom toted bags large enough to hold service for twelve and a generous selection of fruitcake. "Joining the proletariat in the subway is not my idea of a good time.”

Lance smiled indulgently. “Riding the subway is part of the New York experience. And what are we quoting here, ‘Arsenic and Old Lace’? Very impressive. Let me guess. You did the play in high school and still remember your lines.”

AJ waited while Lance dropped a token in the turnstile, then followed him down the concourse. “Shall I be bowled over by your depth of knowledge or insulted because you assume I played a woman?”

Lance corrected him smoothly, adding a brief kiss on the cheek as they stepped into the subway car. “Love interest, dear. Love interest.”

As the car moved out of the station, Lance felt the warmth of a hand slip below the waistband of his slacks and tuck itself comfortably against his skin. He looked at AJ out of the corner of his eye.

For the first time all morning, the bad boy of Backstreet fame was actually smiling.

-::-

AJ had looked up, then stopped, refusing to move any farther. “We’re not going in there.”

The bustle of the crowd carried them to the sidewalk and under the red awnings of one of Gotham’s most famous landmarks, a permanent fixture not only on the corner of Madison Avenue and 61st, but in the hearts of New Yorkers everywhere. Especially those transplanted to Las Vegas or LA. As far as city folk were concerned, there were only two stores in town worth bothering with. Barney’s was one of them.

Another wave of shoppers, heading for the 59th Street station, pushed past them. AJ however was now a permanent fixture in own right. One-hundred and sixty pounds of immovable object.

“I said I’d go shopping with you, not pose with Ricky Martin at the perfume counter.”

He turned back toward the corner and Lance took hold of his arm, guiding him away from the street. The flow of shoppers moved past them, quickly blocking their view of the intersection. Lance moved his face close to AJ’s and spoke quietly.

“Barney's is one of my best investments. They showed a loss last quarter of $7.2 million which enabled me to balance the growth in other areas of my portfolio. It is also one of my favorite stores. They carry Cavalli. I want Cavalli. They use personal shoppers. I have one here. I need a new suit. So we’re going in. Now.”

He brushed AJ’s lips boldly with his own, then walked past him to the entrance.

-::-

Lance stepped off the escalator and moved toward a smiling salesman who greeted him affectionately. Everyone seemed to greet Lance affectionately these days. There wasn’t much AJ could do about it. There was something about Lance that brought out the Lester's Possum Park in people. Handshakes just weren’t enough anymore.

AJ gave the holiday decorations a cursory glance. Conservative. They probably still carried Nehru jackets for the big-bellied hipsters on Wall Street. He hated the place already. But it was still better than their original destination, Patrick Cox. A year ago, Joey Fatone wouldn't have spit downwind of the place. Now it was his favorite boutique. Things sure had changed. These days Fatone wore blue suede loafers and carried a mock croc purse. New York did that to you somehow.

The salesman was gesturing furiously now, telling a joke of one kind or another. Lance looked amused. And frustrated. He was standing with one hand in his pocket. The other hung limply at his side, like he didn’t know quite what to do with it. He probably didn’t. It was his phone hand, the one permanently grafted to a tiny communication device. Lance had left the phone at the hotel so that they could have the day to themselves, uninterrupted. It was another small sacrifice that he had agreed to without comment. AJ had found that one particularly satisfying. In the circles Lance Bass traveled in, a man without a phone was not a man.

AJ smiled to himself as Lance motioned him over. The affectionate sales associate was no longer in sight. AJ winked mischievously.

“You gonna sell your clothes and go home in your skivvies?”

Lance heaved a full-bodied sigh. “Leave me some dignity, will you?”

AJ shook his head, “Not you. I was talking about Kramer. You remember that episode, don’t you? He got stuck in the women’s dressing room at Barney’s in his underwear and lost Uma Thurman’s phone number?" AJ’s affinity for Seinfeld often bordered on obsession.

Lance poked him playfully, then pushed him toward the dressing room. AJ however was undaunted. “You got to look out for the mirrors too. They make you look skinny so you’ll buy more stuff. Elaine said so.”

Lance rolled his eyes as they entered the wardrobe room reserved for special clients. “Barney’s was the first store in New York to carry Armani. And you can get a good sweater here, like Prada, for around $300. Besides, we wouldn't even be here if you didn’t have issues. Now sit.”

AJ sank into one of the bucket chairs in the corner. He pretended to pick at his cuticle until Lance was inside the dressing area, then he spoke up.

“You owe me and you know it. I'm tired of hearing jokes about you and Timberlake being the Bobsey Twins or worse, sharing clothes. I don't have issues. I just want you to buy another suit. Then we burn the pin-stripes and whole thing is over. Now hurry up. I’m starting to get hungry.”

The suit itself was nothing special. And the black shirt had looked good, open at the neck. Lance wore no jewelry, but it really wasn't necessary. A discreet glimpse of what lay beneath the shirt was enough. Skin so smooth that it made AJ squirm just thinking about it. The look was classy and Lance wore it well. But so did Timberlake, so it had to go.

AJ leaned back and rested his head against the wall. It was a tiny victory really, getting Lance out of that suit. He'd given it a lot of thought and that's all he wanted. A small, but significant show of good faith that he was more important to Lance than they were. He knew he was. He just wanted them to know it.

It had been a serious error in judgement. While AJ waited anxiously for him to return from Star City, Lance had hit Justin’s release party and Chris’s new joint before landing on his doorstep. He didn’t like it. So the suit was a small price to pay. Not coming straight home from Moscow had been wrong and Lance knew it. He tried hard to please everyone, but this time he'd really screwed up. And he was willing to pay for it. Within reason.

“Where do you want to eat?” Lance’s voice fluctuated as though something had been pulled over his head. Probably the cashmere sweater. AJ’s voice softened.

“How about The Papaya King? We can experience some more of New York.”

Lance’s laughter filled the suite.

“How about Cafe Luxembourg?”

AJ smiled again. Lance was what Kevin called 'high maintenance'. Every inch a Mississippi Queen. But that’s what AJ liked about him. Lance would ride the subway to soak up local color, then insist on lunch at a place that charged fifty bucks for salad and a glass of wine. He'd watch National Geographic one night and some of the raunchiest porn AJ had ever seen in his life the next. He had a library card in his wallet and a red silk thong under his designer jeans. AJ was crazy about him.

“Do they have an unflappable staff or just regular waiters?”

Lance stepped out of the dressing room and AJ felt his mouth water. The black blazer and charcoal grey slacks looked like they were tailor-made. The shirt was still black, but AJ couldn’t complain. He looked good enough to eat.

Lance smiled at him, then stepped in front of the mirror, fiddling with his new, longer hair. “What were you saying? All I got was waiters. It’s not a sushi bar, if that’s what you think. JC said they have roast duck and great pasta,. We take the #3 train and get off at 72nd.” He caught AJ's eye in the mirror and winked. As he walked back into the dressing room, Lance could hear AJ grumbling under his breath.

“Chasez likes it? Probably has lousy food. But good lighting.”

-::-

They had exchanged presents early. Lance had been away most the year and AJ had understood when he wanted to be home for Christmas. They would meet again on New Year's Eve. On this night, Lance was exactly where he wanted to be. Standing shoulder to shoulder with his mother and his sister. Singing an ancient hymn and thinking about praline pie.

His mother reached over and touched his arm. Lance didn't have to look. Diane Bass always cried on Christmas Eve. Happy tears for another year of good health, good family, and good friends. Lance reached into his pocket, searching for kleenex. There was none. He smiled to himself. He was wearing the black blazer for the first time. There would be no tissue in the pocket. He shook his head and his mother turned away. As an afterthought, he patted the other pocket and felt something inside. He slipped his hand under the flap and immediately touched what felt like a picture. At that same moment, his mother again touched his arm, this time nodding toward the aisle. Lance closed the flap, touching the pocket protectively as they exited the church.

At home, he offered to check the Christmas lights so that his father could go inside. And so that he could have a moment alone. He walked to the edge of the driveway, then slipped what appeared to be two pictures from his pocket. The first was of AJ wearing a very familiar pin-striped suit. Lance shook his head and smiled. The second took his breath away. It was another picture of AJ. Without any suit at all.

He tucked the pictures into his pocket and walked back toward the house, grinning like a kid who had just opened his first gift. It was bitter cold and he was anxious to get inside, so that he could stand by the fire and drink mulled wine. And so that he could discreetly slip upstairs and check his ticket. To make sure that the flight to Miami on Friday was indeed non-stop.

AJ McLean, in whatever suit he chose to wear, would not be kept waiting again.