Sex N the City

AU Slashfic: Sex *N the City -- Ep 2 (0/4)

Title: Sex *N the City, Episode 2: Inauspicious Beginnings

Author: Parlance (par_lance1@yahoo.com),

Based on a story idea by Parlance and Sammie (lalabebe76@aol.com)

Honest, constructive feedback always appreciated. Flames will be used to contribute to global warming. And you wouldn't want to be responsible for that, now would you?

Website: Sublimation at boyskank.com: http://www.geocities.com/par_lance1 Pilot episode and future episodes can be found there. The pretty version of the current episode will be posted in parts.

Pairing: All over the map. But there is some `teer love.

Classification: AU, real person slash. Drama, humor... call it a dramedy. Rating: R for foul mouths and (homo)sexual situations.

Summary: Four friends live, love and get laid in San Francisco. Justin's introduction to the gang doesn't go as planned.

Disclaimer/Author's Notes: Fiction. Don't know 'em, don't wanna. Loosely (and we do mean loosely) based on "Sex and the City," which belongs to Darren Star and HBO. Any similarities are completely intentional. Don't sue, unless you want a bunch of *Nsync beanies. Yeah, those are worth a lot. Don't read if you're under18 or offended by the subject matter.

Mr. Peepers (TM) courtesy of Saturday Night Live.

Shout outs to Sammie, Cat, Kamadu, e.Beth, Fluttergirl, and Robert for beta'ing and putting up with general anxiety over my first complete story in over a year. Jess for her input. O. for inadvertently providing Justin's lingo. T. for the name of the club. Dwanollah and Joeyful for inspiration. All the boyskanks just because.

And a major thanks to everyone who encouraged Sammie and me to write a new installment.

Time stamp: Spring 2000, one year before the Pilot episode.

Pecs was the gay male answer to Hooters. During the day and early evening it was a restaurant with waiters who wore only jockstraps with the "Pecs" logo painted on them. On weeknights, it turned into a male strip joint, but the near-naked waiters still served drinks and appetizers.

Friday through Sunday nights, the strip shows took a backseat to a dance club with "special entertainment" only twice a night. Justin normally only worked during the week on strip show nights because he hated the techno music the club featured when it turned into a disco ("Euroshit!" he spat whenever it was played). But one Friday night he had to fill in for another DJ.

JC was working on an article for Camp on male strippers. He had already interviewed many of the dancers from Pecs and other places. His article was due in a couple of days, so JC made one more trip to Pecs for last-minute inspiration. He had been there a few times before, but only when he was alone. Lance hated the place and wouldn't set foot anywhere near it no matter how much JC begged. That Friday, Lance was on a date, so JC bee-lined for Pecs and proceeded to dance and get slightly buzzed on a Long Island Iced Tea.

Tonight's DJ was someone JC didn't recognize and he didn't seem to be the type to be playing dance music in a place called Pecs. He was wearing a black bandana over a mop of curls, a black Skunk Anansie t-shirt and black jeans. He also looked a bit young -- like he wouldn't have gotten past the ID check if he hadn't been working there.

"Who is that?!" JC yelled above the music to the tank-topped guy he was dancing with.

"That's Justin!" the guy yelled back. "He's usually playing here during the week!"

"Excuse me for a sec!" The Tea was making JC bold so he sidled up to the booth in beat to the music while sipping his drink.

"Hi, um, Justin? I..."

"If you wanna make a request, write it down." Justin barely glanced at JC as he sifted from one Euroshit disc to another. He couldn't be bothered with the dance bunnies that frequented the club on the weekends, and this one didn't appear any brighter than most.

JC shook his head. "I'm not making a request. I'm doing an article on male strippers for Camp."

Now Justin squinted down at him in the dim light. "Oh, yeah, I've seen you around."

"Can I talk to you for a few when you have a break?"

"Yeah, I'm going to take a smoke break in a minute. We can talk outside where it's quieter."

Justin got someone to fill in for him and JC followed him outside "Leave the drink inside. You can't drink out there," Justin commanded. "Oops." JC giggled and set his drink down while Justin rolled his eyes.

Outside, it was cold, and JC had checked his leather jacket at the door. The sharp breeze sobered him up a bit. Justin lit a cigarette and offered JC one. JC didn't smoke but he took one anyway to warm up. He immediately choked. They were unfiltered.

"Jesus, how can you smoke this shit?" JC was getting ready to extinguish the cigarette.

"Hand it to me. You don't waste a good smoke." Justin gently stamped out the flame on the wall of the club and placed the cigarette back in the pack. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"How long have you been working here?"

"Six months."

"How long have you been DJ'ing in general?"

"Six months."

"Six mo- how'd you get the job?"

"Through a friend. I'd DJ'ed a bit back home, but not for pay."

"Where's home?"

"Tennessee."

"And when did you move here?"

"Over a year."

"Have you ever danced up there?"

"Nope."

"Too shy?"

Justin smirked. "Hell, naw. I just don't have the look they want. Anyway, I like being in the booth." Justin reached out and turned over JC's wrist. "Quarter to midnight. I have to get back."

"Can we finish this another time?"

Justin gave JC a thorough once-over and grinned. JC was wearing a white form-fitting t-shirt and the cold was bringing out a couple of his assets. "I get off at 2. What are you doing later?"

JC raised an eyebrow. "How old are you?"

"21."

Now it was JC's turn to smirk. In spite of his ratty punk appearance, the golden-haired boy looked positively cherubic. In an unexpectedly queeny turn, JC put his hand on his hip and told him, "You ain't no damn 21."

Justin gave him a hard look. "I work in a 21 and over club. Ergo, I'm 21. I'm not jailbait if you're worried about that."

JC smiled in spite of himself. He took Justin home with him that night.

Hours later, they'd already gone at it twice and JC was lying on his back panting and drenched in sweat. "Oh... God... where the hell did you learn that?!"

Justin chuckled with self-satisfaction and prepared to light a cigarette. "Not in here," JC told him, waving him away, exhausted. "Go to the balcony." Justin nonchalantly padded over and opened the glass door. "Aren't you going to put some pants on?" Justin turned and regarded him with amusement and leaned against the doorway, showing San Francisco everything he had to offer. //I see what he means about not being shy.// Nevertheless, JC enjoyed the view.

"You got a nice crib, man." Justin commented idly. JC wasn't sure if he said thank you; he was still in the midst of post-coital meltdown. Justin finished his cigarette and closed the door. He approached JC's bed. "Wanna go again?"

JC's eyes widened with panic. "Again?!" //He's going to kill me!//

"Oh, yeah," Justin responded and straddled the older man. "We haven't even scratched the surface of everything I've learned, darlin'." He began to lick at JC's neck and worked his way down until he was nipping at the sensitive flesh of his cock. Tired as he was, JC's body responded anyway. //To hell with it, I'll die with a smile on my face// he thought, as Justin effortlessly swallowed him whole.

******************************************* Break for commercial. *******************************************

JC dozed off for a few minutes after the third round. When he came to, Justin was already fully dressed and holding a black duffle bag he'd brought to the apartment.

"You're leaving?" JC asked sleepily. "It's like..." JC squinted as his alarm clock. "...4:30. Why don't you wait until morning? Well, you know. Real morning."

Justin sheepishly stopped in his tracks. "I should head out. Get back home."

"Well... let me drop you off, then." JC propped himself up on his elbows.

"Nah. That's okay."

"No, it's not okay. It's too dark for you to walk around and I think MUNI stopped in this neighborhood anyway."

"I -- you don't want to drive me home. I don't live in a great neighborhood. I'll be fine."

"Where do you live?" Justin silently pulled on his bottom lip with his teeth. "C'mon, where?"

"North of Market. Near the Tenderloin."

"Well, that settles it. I'm definitely driving you home."

"You don't have to..."

"I know I don't have to..."

"Listen, I don't want a ride home," Justin said firmly.

"Then why don't you make it easy on both of us and stay here until it's light out?"

Justin was torn. He didn't really like walking home this late. Last time he did, he got mugged. Luckily he never carried much cash on him because he never had much to begin with.

"Oh, Jesus, Justin, it's a difference of 2 or 3 hours. Sleep on the couch if you're uncomfortable sleeping in the bed. I really don't mind." JC could see that Justin was considering the offer. "Look, if you're the kind who doesn't like hanging around after a one-night stand, don't feel obligated. But I'd feel bad if you felt like you had to leave."

Justin stared at JC for a moment and then dropped his bag. He walked back over to the bed and sat down. "I guess I'm not good at this."

JC frowned. "Good at what?"

"Well..." Justin shifted uncomfortably. "This is the most vanilla thing I've ever done."

JC snorted as he rubbed at the bite mark on his shoulder. "That was vanilla to you?"

"Yeah," Justin said, smiling slightly. "I really only rock it with BD boys. We usually just play and then leave. I don't know what to do with anyone else. I don't even know why I hit on you. I guess I was just really horny tonight."

JC tried to grasp what he'd just been told. "BD - you're into BDSM?"

Justin shrugged. "Yeah. Always. Well, at least until tonight."

"So, I guess I should be honored that I broke your vanilla cherry."

Justin laughed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"And I guess I should be thankful you didn't try to hang me upside down and beat me in my own apartment, then."

Justin's expression became somber. "Nah, I'd never play with someone unless they knew what they were getting into. It'd be rape otherwise. And you know that could have happened with anyone you picked up -- not just a leatherboy."

JC shook his head. "Sorry, it was a bad joke. I didn't mean to imply..."

"I know. It just has to be said. You get crazies everywhere. But we always get the bad rep." Justin looked at JC as if for the first time. "I'm sorry, what's your name anyway?"

JC laughed. "JC. And you're Justin. Someone at the club told me."

"JC. That's right. I've seen your name in the magazine. Sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude running out..."

"I know. But you can stay if you want. You're going to have to take off that rag if you do, though."

Justin looked up at his head and laughed. He slipped off his bandana. At JC's beckoning Justin shed his clothes and climbed back into the bed next to him. They faced each other and rested their heads on their hands while they talked.

"So, why do you live near the Tenderloin?" JC asked Justin.

Justin shrugged. "It's cheap, man."

"DJ'ing doesn't pay much?"

"It's okay. I have two jobs anyway."

"What else do you do?"

"I'm a trainer at a gym."

"It sounds like you make a decent living. Couldn't you live someplace better?"

"Well, maybe. But I end up spending a lot of my money on toys and they cost a lot. Like, hundreds of dollars."

"Toys? You mean, vintage toys?" Justin blinked. "Oh, I'm an idiot. You mean sex toys."

"Well, whips and stuff. Leather. Rubber." Justin grinned. "It's all toys to me."

JC inclined his head in the direction of Justin's bag. "So, is that your toy bag?"

Justin's grin grew wider. "Yeah."

"Man, I was just kidding. You really carry that around?"

"You have to be prepared. You never know who you're going to meet or who's gonna call. Especially if a master calls, you never want to be caught without everything you need." Justin threw out the term "master" without irony, and he watched JC's reaction closely.

JC cocked his head to the side. He was fascinated. "You have a master? You're in a master-slave relationship?"

"Well, no, probably not what you're thinking, or I wouldn't be out with you. But I was trained and I started living with a top -- Master Lonnie. He took me in a little after I moved here. I'm still a bottom boy and I still call him Master Lonnie... and I call any other top Master just out of respect even though I'm no longer being trained.

"But even when I was living with Master Lonnie, I wasn't his `slave.' I was his houseboy and I answered to him, but he didn't have control over everywhere I went and everything I did. Some people live that kind of life, but he didn't want that and neither did I. But he introduced me to the leather community here and he trained me."

JC sensed pride in Justin's voice as he spoke. "So, can I see your toy bag?"

Justin smiled. "You really want to?"

"Yeah, of course."

Justin eagerly pulled out what he called his "trick bag" and emptied the contents on JC's bed while he explained the usefulness of each of the items: cotton rope so it doesn't cut into your skin - never silk scarves, forget what the porno novels tell you. White candles because colored wax burns too hot on skin. Some of the items were fairly standard -- condoms, finger cots, dental dams, lube, latex gloves. Even the plastic handcuffs and clothespins weren't enough to get a reaction from JC. The adjustable nipple clamps and cock-and-ball cage, however, were enough to raise an eyebrow. The black gloves that came with their own restraints so that they could be attached to hooks of any doorway or platform were interesting, as was the isolation hood that zipped at the head and mouth. But then they got to the paddle, the slapper, the whip, and the cat-o-nine-tails of various sizes and JC was impressed.

"Holy fucking shit!" JC exclaimed as he pulled out a whip with rubber tails almost the entire length of his leg.

"Yeah, the rubber stings but it doesn't leave a bruise unless you're going at it a while, so some people like it better than leather," Justin told him matter-of-factly.

JC picked up a much smaller whip with tails that looked like foosball material. He slapped his arm with it and shook his head. "No offense, but I could never get pleasure out getting hit. But I guess some people are wired differently."

"Well, yeah, that's it exactly. Unless you're into it, you can't understand. People think it's all about people feeling guilty and needing to be punished -- and, y'know, some leatherboys are like that. But for me, it just feels good. It's just all about..." Justin closed his eyes as he searched for the word. "...sensation." JC smiled at Justin's enthusiasm for explaining his world. He rummaged through the contents of the bag some more and grew even more intrigued.

"You have an enema kit!"

Justin nodded, unfazed. "I'm not into the high colonics, but you gotta douche, man."

JC shook his head, amused, as he helped Justin reassemble his trick bag. "So, do you still see Master Lonnie?" he asked him.

Justin nodded. "I'm part of a group he started -- it's mostly Black and Latino leathermen. Some Asians. I'm the only white boy in the group..."

"How come?"

"See, I grew up in a Black neighborhood. Some people think the way I act that I'm trying to be someone I'm not but, but most of the time I just don't really feel comfortable playing with other white guys. I've tried it, but it's not me. So my friends - they have monthly play parties and I go to them every time -- like, religiously. They're really important to me."

JC nodded, enthralled. "Wow. You're the first person I've met who's really into that. Will you let me interview you if I do a story on the subject?"

Justin shrugged. "Well, sure, I guess. But you'd get a better story talking to the veterans."

"Well, yeah, I'd like to talk to them too, if they'd let me."

Justin looked pensive. "I bet they would if I asked them. As long as you'd promise to write a respectful story -- like, nothing that would make them look bad..."

"No, no. I don't do that kind of writing. And if they want, I could pass on stuff I've written so they can judge for themselves." Justin nodded. "I can see you're very protective of them," JC remarked with admiration.

Justin nodded again. "They're like family to me. I'm grateful to them. They look after me, I look after them."

"You were lucky to find them after you moved here, then. What- over a year ago, you said? You must have been pretty young." Justin looked at him suspiciously. "I'm not asking you to tell me, I'm just saying."

Justin sighed. "I was 17, about to turn 18. I'm 19 now. Don't tell anyone at the club, though. I'll lose my job."

"I wouldn't do that. So did you move out here with family?" Justin froze. "Uh, I'm sorry. I'm being nosy."

Justin waved him off. "It's okay. No, I didn't. My father kicked me out of the house when he found out I was gay."

JC shook his head sadly. He'd been lucky in his coming out experience and couldn't imagine anyone treating his own child that way. "I'm sorry."

"Actually, it was worse than that. He caught me in bed with another kid -- a Black kid. I was tied to the bed with my mouth gagged and he was beating me." Justin laughed. "It would have been funny if my father hadn't gotten so pissed off.

"So I figured I'd go where it wouldn't be a problem and I hitchhiked to get here. I had to make ends meet so I turned a few tricks when I got picked up. So, um, in answer to your question about my learning all that stuff... some of it I learned on the road."

A chill ran up JC's spine. "Oh. Oh. Justin, I- Wow, I..."

"Don't feel sorry for me, JC."

"I wasn't... just... damn, Justin, you're a survivor."

Justin read JC's eyes and found nothing but utmost respect. A silence passed as Justin contemplated everything he'd just told JC. "I've never talked to anyone about all that. And I've certainly never talked to anyone outside the life about being a leatherboy."

"Well, I appreciate that. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

"No, no. It's just - you're the first person. You're good at making people talk."

JC smiled. "That's what I've been told. That's why I went into writing."

"So is that what you've always done? Is that what you always wanted to do?"

JC raised his eyes heavenward, thinking. "Yeah, pretty much. I've been writing since I was a kid."

"That's cool. That's really cool you're doing something you like."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Doing something you like?"

"Oh. Well, yeah. I like being a trainer -- meeting people. Master Lonnie owns the gym -- he gave me the job. And I love DJ'ing. Well, I'd like it more if I could spin more of the music I like."

"Like what?"

"Industrial. Punk. But it's not always techno at Pecs - I spin deep house and hip-hop some nights, and I listen to that too, so that's cool. And it's a job and I'm lucky to have it." Another pause. "So, where are you from?"

"Me? Maryland."

"What part?"

"Silver Springs, outside of D.C."

"Oh. So you're from city Maryland, not Maryland Maryland."

JC laughed. "No, I'm afraid I didn't live south enough of the Mason-Dixon Line." Justin smiled at the fact that JC knew exactly what he meant. "But my best friend is from Mississippi. You should meet him -- you two probably have a lot to talk about."

"Really? I haven't met too many people from the South. That's cool."

The two men talked on into the morning. They talked about growing up in the suburban East and growing up in the rural South. They talked about their parents and coming out, and about their siblings and how much they missed them. They talked about the music they liked as JC questioned Justin more about DJ'ing at Pecs and Justin asked JC about the concerts he'd covered as a critic. JC learned about traveling across America with the clothes on one's back and Justin learned about college life. The two men could not have been more dissimilar, but their desire to learn how the other half lived was mutual and sincere.

JC wasn't normally given to taking strange men home. He was too paranoid about contracting diseases, one-night stands turning psycho, or waking up to find all his furniture gone to make it habit. Nevertheless, when JC occasionally succumbed to the call of the wild, he felt far more secure having sex on his own turf than trapped at someone else's.

Plus, a quick assessment of Justin led JC to the conclusion that he could have easily taken him out should the need have arisen; he hadn't been nicknamed "Spaz" just for his dancing style. In the end, JC was not disappointed in having trusted his instincts about Justin.

As for Justin, his one foray into vanilla sex exceeded all expectations when he found someone who seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him. Justin was used to being considered a subordinate or anomaly among his friends and play partners, whether it was due to his age or his skin color.

JC, on the other hand, made him feel like he was confiding in an older brother he'd never had perhaps because he asked the right questions or simply listened without passing judgment. And most importantly, JC didn't want to coddle or take care of him. If Justin had sensed anything of the sort, he would have bolted.

On the contrary, JC was simply fascinated with Justin, and it wasn't until the sun began to shine into the apartment that the two men thought about getting sleep.

Nevertheless, JC's body woke him up after only three hours. Justin stirred to the sounds of JC tooling around in the kitchen. He was far too bright and chipper for a Saturday morning. Justin, however, was a grouch until he had eaten.

"Want some coffee?" JC called out as soon as he heard Justin moving around. "It's one of the few things I can make without starting a fire." Justin grunted his assent. "I've got cereal, too, if you want it. I don't eat it, but I keep it around for other people."

"What kind?" Justin asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Um... Raisin Bran, Honey Grahams, Cinnamon Apple Jacks..."

"Apple Jacks? Well, now I'm in love," Justin said, bounding out of bed with uncharacteristic morning-person vigor. As he sat down at the breakfast nook, he heard jazz fainting playing on the stereo.

"Who's that?" Justin asked.

"Coltrane," JC answered with a grin, pouring coffee for Justin.

"That's tight," Justin responded, bobbing his head to the music.

Mr. Peepers greeted Justin at the table with a meow. Justin grinned and crouched down to pet the cat, who turned and batted at his hand to allow for optimum adoration and worship.

"You know, I was thinking," JC began while he set a bowl and carton of milk on the table. "I have friends I meet for brunch every Saturday. Do you want to come with?"

"Brunch?" Justin echoed dubiously. "Sounds expensive."

"Um. I don't think it is. But it'll be my treat anyway because I want them to meet you. They're really cool."

Justin shrugged. "Okay. Thanks, man." He grinned. "You know, you're pretty cool yourself for a disco bunny."

"Gee, thanks." The two men laughed.

******************************************* Break for commercial. *******************************************

Lance was already seated at an outside table when JC and Justin arrived at Le Musquerat. At his feet were Jacques -- his toy poodle -- and the usual spoils of Saturday morning shopping. Lance smiled and waved JC over, unaware that Justin was with him.

Lance and JC hugged in greeting. Justin took one look at the nelly, frivolous-looking man before him and disliked him immediately. Lance glanced at Justin. "Oh, hello, there. Pierre didn't tell me they got new help..."

JC quickly tried to avert disaster. "Uh, Lance..."

"Well, they certainly are trying to appeal to all types now, aren't they? Listen, could you please be a dear and get us some water -- bottled -- including a bowl for my little pooch. Bottled for him too, of course."

"Lance, this is Justin."

Lance blinked at JC. "Okay. Justin," he began as if he were addressing a child. "Could you please be a dear and get us some wa-"

Justin turned to JC and thumbed at Lance. "Is he serious?" Turning to Lance he responded, matching the blonde's condescension on the last word. "Well, I could, but you'd probably be better off asking an actual wai-ter."

"Um, Lance." JC was nervous. This wasn't going well at all. "Just- Justin is our lunch guest today."

Lance, incredulous, looked at Justin, looked at JC, thoroughly surveyed Justin up and down, and turned back to JC. "Excuse me?! Could you not have cleared this with anyone first?"

"Excuse you is right," Justin said. Turning back to JC, "Please tell me this ain't the cool friend." Justin reached into his jeans and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.

"Um, no, darling, darling -- hello? Allergies. Not here," Lance shooed at Justin, who didn't budge.

JC placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Justin, I'm sorry about this. Would you give us a second?" Justin rolled his eyes and stomped off to a more open area.

"Lance, you're being really rude!" JC hissed at his friend.

"I'm rude?! Did you forget that we have an agreement? You know - the rule you created? No strangers at our brunches? `This is our time?'" Lance mimicked.

The realization dawned on JC. "Oh, shit..."

But Lance was on a roll. "The one time a week we all get together and get to see Chris and talk and vent and share and -- and -- and -- you bring someone without even asking us? This is so inconsiderate, C. I never would dream of suggesting I invite someone, much less just bring someone."

"Lance, I'm so sorry. I totally spaced."

"Nice to know these gatherings are important to you." Lance sat in his seat in a huff.

"Lance, listen." JC took the chair next to Lance. "He's really nice. And he's really young. He's been in the city a year, but I don't think he has that many friends and I wanted him to meet you and Chris." Lance still had a frown on his face, but JC could tell he was listening. "I think you'll like him if you just give him a chance. But don't take it out on him - this is my fault. Look, if you want, I can tell him to go."

"Oh, no, don't do that on my account," Lance muttered. "Damage is already done."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. But don't do it again. I don't care if you want to bring Madonna. Well, maybe I'll let you slide with Madonna... But that's it!"

"Thank you. And I'm sorry again. I'll make it up to you." JC raced to find Justin before Lance could change his mind.

As soon as JC approached, Justin told him, "Um. I should go."

JC was desperate. "Justin, please don't. It was my fault. I fucked up. It's always just three of us getting together and I forgot that we had made a pact about it. But look, I talked to Lance and we want you to stay. He shouldn't have been rude to you, but he's angry at me and that's how it came out. I really want you to meet my friends. It'll be fine. Really."

"Oh, yeah, it's great so far."

"Please?" JC pleaded with his eyes.

Justin rolled his eyes but he was half-grinning. "Okay, okay. But don't think it's because you're making those eyes. I just can't stand watching you be pathetic in public."

JC giggled. He was giddy again and he took Justin by the arm and dragged him back to the table. By then, Lance had arranged for a fourth setting and water was set for them all, including Jacques.

"Okay, let's start over. Lance, this is Justin. Justin, Lance."

"Charmed," Lance stated without much enthusiasm. He was extremely unhappy to see that JC had befriended such an uncouth boy. The two shook hands begrudgingly, and JC took his chair beside Lance. Justin squatted in front of Jacques. He hated little rat dogs but he figured if he could make nice with Jacques, maybe he could make nice with his owner.

"Hi, there, doggie." He reached out to pet the dog. Jacques snarled and barked at him.

"You should always ask before you pet someone's dog," Lance informed him. Then he sniffed at the black-clad punk with disgust. "It's the cologne you're wearing. He doesn't react well to it."

"Sorry I didn't clear my toiletries with your dog beforehand," Justin began before sitting down on JC's opposite side. "Next time I'll make sure to wear the Eau de Bitch's Butt. Maybe that'll be more to his liking."

Lance grimaced and JC bit his lip to keep from laughing. It was about time someone rose to the challenge of Lance's sharp tongue. "Your friend's a delight, C," Lance remarked while picking up a menu. "How do you two know each other?"

"In the biblical sense," Justin told him.

Lance's head snapped up. "Oh, I get it. So is this what our brunches are going to be about now? Show and tell? Well, that'd be appropriate since he looks about 12."

"Lance," JC began through a frozen smile. "Be nice."

"Cradle robbing. Never would have pegged you for it, C."

"Hey, guys." Chris mercifully appeared just when JC's patience was ebbing and sat down heavily between Lance and Justin. He was dressed in a suit and tie and looked out of place among the other three. He called over a busboy by raising his index finger. JC greeted Chris but Justin was silent as he waited for another storm to brew about his presence at the table.

"Hello, Chris." Lance's voice was suddenly treacle-sweet as he flashed the number one choice on his eligible bachelors list a dazzling smile.

Chris grinned at Lance but seemed oblivious to the friendliness in his tone. "Bourbon. Straight. Thanks," he told the busboy. He turned to Justin. "Hello, I'm Chris."

"Justin."

"Justin's our guest for brunch today," JC told him with a tight smile as he, too, waited for Chris' reaction.

Chris looked down at his empty plate, furrowing his eyebrows, as if he were trying to remember something. "Oh. Okay." He looked up at JC. "Are we allowed...?"

"Not normally," Lance interrupted before JC could explain. "But we're allowing C the special privilege today." Chris shrugged. While Justin and Chris became acquainted, Lance made a rocking cradle gesture with his two index fingers and pointed at JC.

Chris' bourbon arrived and he downed it as if it had come in a shot glass. Justin was watching the scene before him unfold, and he noticed the sad looks on both JC and Lance's faces as Chris tapped the glass and nodded to request a refill before the busboy could leave the table.

In an attempt to divert his own attention from Chris' drinking habits, JC pointed to his suit and asked, "They have you working today?"

Chris nodded as he swallowed his second glass and winced as the alcohol burned his throat.

"What, the 80 hours you put in already weren't enough?"

"Client's freaking out. Everything he had was in IT venture capital so I might have to talk him off a fucking ledge. I can't stay long today. I'm sorry."

"Well, this lunch is going just swimmingly today," was Lance's observation.

"You're not supposed to, um, schedule meetings if they, ah, conflict, you know." JC cringed inwardly as he said this, knowing he sounded like Lance.

Chris sighed. "I couldn't help it, JC. I did my best. That's why I'm here. I didn't cancel, did I?"

JC reluctantly relented. "No, you didn't," and said no more. He was glad to see his friend and always feared that the older man's grip on his sanity these days might be so tenuous that he risked pushing Chris away.

An awkward silence ensued until they ordered. As Lance and Chris told the waiter what they wanted, Justin tried to figure out when JC told him that brunch wasn't expensive if he was referring to the bread rolls or the bottled water. He mentally calculated the cost of an appetizer against what he had in his wallet. JC noticed his hesitation and nudged him under the table. When Justin looked up at him, JC signed for him to order what he wanted, it was on him. Justin half-nodded but mostly ignored him.

"Um, I'll have the..." Damn the menu for being in French. "um, um..."

"We're not too hungry today, Phillippe. We're going to share the poulet roti." Justin silently thanked him with a smile for saving him from the embarrassment of attempting to pronounce French words in front of Lance, whom Justin was sure would have had a field day.

"So, boys, I wanted to show you what Trevor got me to buy today." Lance showed off his new wares as he did almost every Saturday: shirts, slacks, and two new belts. The others praised Lance in his tastes while Justin commented:

"Nice. Mommy and Daddy been good to you. What's this for? Straight A's or `just for being you'?"

Lance narrowed his eyes. "So, Ozark Boy's got me all figured out, does he?"

"'S'matter of fact, I do. Because you remind me exactly of every southern belle from my hometown. The only thing missing in your life was the fuckin' cotillion." Justin began ticking off items from an imaginary list. "You came from a good home and your parents adore you. You went to an Ivy League school or you went to Stanford and you always knew you would because you're a legacy." Lance turned red. "Oh, I got that one, huh? Score one for Appalachia. You got your job through Daddy's connections but it's not a real job with real work because that's just distasteful. But it got you same kind of Miata or Jeep every other queen in this goddamn city drives. You haven't had to worry about paying the bills because Mom and Dad are always there to bail you out when you max out the credit cards because they're understanding like that..."

"Look here," Lance interrupted Justin, and pointed his index finger at him. "I assure you my parents have nothing to do with anything I've acquired. Some of us make our own money and work hard for it. And by the way, that would be through means that don't involve the use of the phrase "quarter bag."

"Guys, stop it!" JC whined before Justin could respond. His plea created a temporary cease-fire until Justin asked JC to point him in the direction of the restroom.

"I'll give you a hint," Lance began. "It doesn't involve any place green or growing out of the ground."

Justin left mumbling a comment about uptight people who might do well to make a few trips to the john to loosen up.

When Justin returned, JC, searching for a safe topic of conversation, mentioned that he rented a movie two nights ago. "It had the trailer for `Priscilla, Queen of the Desert 2!'"

"Did it look good?" Lance's eyes widened with delight. Even Chris was temporarily shaken from his haze long enough to look interested.

"It was fabulous. I can't wait for it to come out!"

"Neither can I." Lance turned to Justin. "Oh, and just to clarify. That would be a movie trailer and not the kind of living arrangements with which your people would typically be familiar."

"Lance, let's not go there..."

Justin had finally had it. "Listen here, you contemptuous little pissant." Lance raised an eyebrow. "Big enough ten-dollar word for you? I'm not the backwoods dumbshit you think I am. And one thing I know is that the only thing worse than a snot-nosed southern belle is some queen with a tree up his ass perpetrating at bein' a snot-nosed southern belle!"

"Oh, boy," JC muttered.

"And the only thing I hate more than a trifling piece of white trash," Lance shot back through gritted teeth, "is a trifling piece of white trash with a sense of entitlement!"

"Entitlement!" Justin hollered. "Aw, ain't no entitlement about it, baby!"

"Don't you call me..."

"Baby, I gladly worked to get to where I am."

"And to what position would that be? Cashier or leaf blower?"

They continued trading barbs while JC held his head in his hands and Chris watched in mute fascination. The funny thing was that when Lance and Justin became angry, their accents became thicker. And JC knew all bets were off once Lance started rolling his neck. Had they not been complete strangers, the sight of two gay Southern men bickering at the top of their lungs might have been downright hilarious (and heaven knew, once they'd became friends they would unwittingly provide hours of amusement for all parties involved). As it stood, the scene was just plain ugly. Eventually, the maitre d' felt obliged to approach the table and discreetly ask them to lower their voices.

"Oh, nice!" Lance spat. "We finally find a restaurant we could all agree on and homeboy nearly gets us thrown out of it!"

"You were right, JC," said Justin, turning to his new friend. "We're getting along just swell." JC contemplated crawling underneath the table and remaining there until closing.

******************************************* Break for commercial. *******************************************

"Ohhh-kay," Chris interjected as soon as the combatants paused for a breath. "While you two double-handedly raise the South again, I'm going to go meet my client."

Lance was about to launch another attack but stopped and turned to Chris. "Oh, Chris. Can't you stay a little longer?"

"Sorry, Lance. It's not you. This was entertaining, really. But I really will be late if I don't leave now."

"See ya, Chris," JC said miserably. Chris gave JC money for lunch as well as a pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic grin before he left.

The remaining three ate the rest of their brunch in silence. Lance and JC normally would have ordered coffee after their meal, but they seemed to agree telepathically that there was little point in prolonging the torture. Lance called for the check and excused himself to visit the restroom.

As soon as Lance was out of earshot, JC apologized. "That was not the first impression I would have chosen."

Justin shrugged. "It's not your fault."

"But it was."

Justin waved him off. "Dude, you're so cool. Really, don't worry about it. In fact, I was, uh, kind of wondering if I could get your digits so we could hang out again."

"Sans Lance, I'm assuming?" JC asked smiling as he pulled out his organizer and wrote his number on a pad.

"Well... sans the other two. Why are you hanging out with those guys anyway?"

"Lance takes a little getting used to, I'll admit. But what's wrong with Chris?" JC tore off a page and handed it to Justin.

"You mean other than the fact he's drinking himself into oblivion?"

"You noticed, huh?" JC sighed. "Well, this truly was an unmitigated disaster. You sure you want to hang out again?"

"No it wasn't. Like Chris said, it was entertaining. Trust me, I've been called worse than whatever Lance can dish out by people I actually care about." Justin grinned and gave JC his number. The older man returned the smile.

The check came. "I'll get that," JC said quickly. He saw Justin already preparing to produce his wallet.

"Nope."

"I already told you this morning it's my treat."

Justin reached for the bill. "Just hand it to me so I can see what I owe."

JC held it out of his reach. "No."

"'Kay, well, I'm going to estimate then." Justin said, thumbing through the contents of his wallet. He placed a ten-dollar bill on the table. It didn't even begin to cover Justin's portion, but JC kept that information to himself.

Lance returned just as Justin was laying down his money. As carefully as Justin had tried to conceal the wallet from JC's view, Lance could see from his vantage point that it was now completely empty.

"I'll get that, C." Lance smoothly swiped the bill from JC's hand and sat down.

"Oh, Lance you don't have to..." JC objected.

"Put that back," Lance told Justin, sliding the money back towards him.

"I'm paying my way." Justin slid the money back.

"No, no, it's okay." Lance pushed the money back at him.

Justin addressed Lance in the same firm tone in which he'd declined a ride home the night before. "No. It's." He wadded the bill and threw it towards the center of the table. "Not."

"Fine." Lance shrugged. "You have Chris' portion, C?"

After they settled the bill, JC again offered Justin a ride. "Ah, no, it's okay. I saw a record store down the street I wanna check out. Thanks though. I'll see ya around." He hugged JC and took off.

"So, what are you up to now?" Lance asked his friend.

JC was incredulous. "So we're going to act like nothing happened?"

"I'd rather not belabor the issue." JC sighed. "You're not getting sweet on him, are you?"

"Lance, I told you. I don't know him well yet, but so far he seems nice when he's not being goaded. Haven't you ever known someone you thought was really cool the moment you met him?"

"Yeah, but I didn't invite him to brunch."

JC rolled his eyes. "It's a meal. I didn't propose to him. Oh... let's just agree to disagree, Lance." JC then shook his head and smirked, thinking back on the argument. "Anyway, I don't think I've ever seen someone match you word for word like that before."

Lance rolled his eyes and covered them with sunglasses. "Hardly. Oh, well, honey. Give me a hug so we can forgive each other." JC obeyed. "See you at the homestead."

Lance and JC parted ways -- Lance having valet-parked and JC, having searched until he'd found a coveted spot, parked eight blocks away.

"You're my kind of guy, JC," Justin had told him as they were walking to the restaurant.

"Why is that?"

"'Cause you a damn cheap-ass."

Lance tipped the valet and climbed into his 2000 Explorer. He would have preferred to drive something less wieldy and far sexier than an SUV in the city, but it was must for anyone running his own business in the food service industry.

Lance had driven only a block when he spotted Justin, standing next to a bus stop counting coins. Lance pulled over next to him and rolled down the window.

"Hey, um, Justin... Justin, is it? Let me give you a ride." Lance Bass wasn't in the habit of making apologies. But he did like to make amends.

Justin started, clearly embarrassed to be caught in the middle of his earlier lie. He recovered quickly. "I'm fine. I got it."

"Justin, I know you used your last of your change in the restaurant. I'll give you a ride."

Justin looked around him to see if anyone else waiting for the bus had heard and moved in closer to the car. "You don't listen very well, do you? I said I'm fine."

"Justin, I realize you're trying to do the self-sufficient thing -- and you're doing an admirable job of it -- but how the hell are you going to get home? Beg for change?"

Justin narrowed his eyes. "Fuck you, I never beg. I work for it."

Lance let out a harsh laugh. "Work for it?! What, are you going to put out your scarf and do a song and dance?"

"I beatbox." Justin didn't blink or smile as he announced this. He was clearly proud of himself for having a means for getting by.

Lance lowered his eyelids. "You beatbox for money."

Justin puffed out his chest. "Yeah, I beatbox. I represent. I hold it down."

"So, how much money do you make, ah, `representing'?"

"Enough for MUNI."

"And how long does it take you to make this money, Justin?" The curly-haired boy fell silent. "Oh, damn, Justin. I can't bear the thought of you standing out there for the next 3 hours spitting at people. Get in the goshdamn car and I'll take you home."

Justin relented and climbed into the car, half-grinning. "Goshdamn? That's so quaint and Bible Belt of you."

"Suck it. The only reason I'm being nice is because JC's taken a liking to you."

"Well, I guess I can at least admire your loyalty."

Lance slammed the car into drive. "Where do you live?" Justin gave him the address, and Lance didn't bat an eye.

"Guess you're not surprised."

Lance shrugged. "Didn't think about it, really. We don't all follow type. You were wrong about the Miata, for instance."

"Well, you know us Southerners. No matter where we are, we still have to drive something resembling a pick-up truck."

Lance smiled in spite of himself. "But I left my gun rack in Mississippi." Now Justin smiled.

Afterwards, they didn't speak until Lance got a cell call on the way towards the Tenderloin. "Lance," he answered. "Oh. Is she okay? All right, I'll swing by." Lance hung up. "Someone at work went home sick. I have to take over until we get someone to fill in. It won't be long." Justin said nothing, but he was curious to see where Lance worked. Lance detoured to Noe Valley and parked the car in the garage at home.

Justin furrowed his eyebrows. "You work out of home?"

"No, I work 3 blocks from here."

Justin realized that the neighborhood looked familiar, even though it had been dark when he'd last seen it. "Are you roommates with JC?"

"We used to be. We just live in the same building now."

Justin followed Lance to 24th Street. When they arrived at The Icing on the Cake. "Now, didn't you just give me shit about being a cashier?" Justin demanded.

Lance deadpanned, "I'm not the cashier, hon." Lance held the door open for Justin and greeted a person behind the counter who was decorating a birthday cake. He indicated one of the tiny tables inside the shop. "Make yourself comfortable. You want some coffee?" Lance swept over to the counter and climbed under the trap door.

Justin shrugged. "You know I don't have any money."

"Don't worry, I won't tell the owner." The cake decorator smiled to herself. "How do you take it?"

"Uh," Justin stumbled. He suddenly realized that Lance meant that he was the owner. "Black with sugar."

Lance poured coffee for the two of them and then cut a couple of pieces of mocha crunch cake and sat down in front of Justin. "Since we didn't get dessert at Le Musquerat," he explained.

"Oh. Thanks." Justin was taken aback. And damn, the cake was good. Even the coffee was the best he'd ever had. "You bake these yourself?"

"My recipes. I do more management now, but I preside over special occasions." Lance forked a piece of cake. "So what do you do for a living, Justin?"

Justin hesitated before he answered. "I'm a trainer at Fitness Connection. And I DJ at Pecs. That's where I met JC." Lance nodded, rather impressed. "Not exactly quarter-bag work."

"Yeah, well, mommy and daddy didn't pay for this place, either."

Justin didn't respond at first. He wasn't much in the habit of apologizing either. "When did you open the shop?"

"Three years ago."

Justin's eyebrows shot up. "How old are you?"

"24." Lance excused himself before Justin could express his surprise. He watched as Lance greeted a favorite customer.

"Mrs. Nelson, good to see you! How is Mr. Nelson and how is Jessica doing in school?" Justin observed his charming manner as he chatted intently with his customer and took her order for an anniversary cake while offering her a complimentary cup of cappuccino. It quickly became easy to imagine Lance owning a successful business.

Justin suddenly felt even more self-conscious at the bakery than he had at the shi shi restaurant arguing with Lance. When Lance rejoined him at the table, Justin told him, "I gotta shoot outta this mug."

"Excuse me?"

"Gotta go."

"Oh, well, if you can just hang on, my back-up's on his way and I'll drop you off."

"Actually, I have an appointment in an hour and we're closer to the gym now." It was another lie but Lance would have to accept it. "So, thanks for getting me this far." Justin excused himself to visit the bakery's public bathroom in the back, leaving his leather jacket on the chair.

Lance was pensive for a moment. Then he seized the opportunity to pull a couple of dollar bills out of his wallet. Keeping a close eye on the bathroom door, he snuck them into an inside pocket of Justin's jacket.

"You didn't see that," he warned his employee.

Justin returned and grabbed his jacket. "Okay, thanks again. Nice place you got. Um, good cake." He left.

Not everything Justin told Lance was a lie. He was in fact within walking distance of the Fitness Connection and he figured he could swing by and bum a ride home from someone. Barring that, he'd find a crowded corner and bust out the Human Beatbox.

As Justin walked down the street, he put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Something crinkled in an upper pocket. He reached in and found two dollar bills he'd missed in his previous search for change. He looked around for a bus stop with a relieved expression on his face. But suddenly he stopped in his tracks; Lance had planted the money.

Justin turned around and was prepared to march back to the bakery and tell Lance he didn't need his charity. But Justin wasn't completely sure if he hadn't hidden the money in his pocket for emergencies and forgotten about it. Dammit. There was no point in making a scene if he was wrong. The sonofabitch had him in an awkward position. He headed back towards the train stop.

"And anyway," Justin muttered aloud as if Lance could hear him. "It's only a dollar for MUNI." As he spoke, Justin spotted an oncoming train. He crossed the street, but not before handing his spare change to a homeless man.

******************************************* Roll credits

A Parlance script for a Parlance and Sammie co-production *******************************************