"Hi, JC," she smiles at him. She'd mangled 'Chasez' beyond recognition the first time he'd come here, and he'd asked her to call him JC. She never forgets. "Are you meeting Mr. Bass? He's at an outside table." She gestures gracefully to the side, where the patio laps over the sidewalk, putting the diners in places where seeing and being seen is all part of daily traffic. JC wonders if she's a dancer in her spare time, and resolves to ask. Sometime when Lance isn't waiting for him. Waiting for him in a cafe in West Hollywood, and JC shakes his head as he follows her to the table.

Lance looks...JC hunts for the proper word. He looks amazing, of course, JC's seen the recent pictures, Lance's deep tan and brilliant white teeth and the shocking green of his eyes against his brown face. He's wearing a white and blue shirt, casual and stylish and just a little too tight, open a few buttons. His sunglasses probably cost a lot. JC's are from the bin at Wal Mart; he loses them too often to pay for nice ones. Lance looks okay. Not tense or miserable, and JC feels something inside of him relax as he slips into the opposite seat at the little table.

"Hey," Lance drawls, a smile tugging at his mouth. That's Lance for you, he hasn't seen JC in months, but he's not gonna make a scene. He's lounged down in his own chair, of course, sprawled like he's two seconds away from a cat nap. JC is grinning huge and dorky, he can tell, but he doesn't care.

"Hey yourself. Man, it's so good to see you!"

"Likewise." Lance grabs his hand, squeezes tight for a moment, and then relaxes back. JC leans back too, satisfied.

"You're one suprising cat, Lance. Man, you disappear for weeks, and then you call my cell, tell me to get my ass to *here*? What the hell are you doing in LA?" It can't be business, THAT JC would have heard about.

"Missed my favorite spaz," Lance shrugs casually, grinning. "Just couldn't stay away. I'm just kinda travelling around, you know? Seeing people, and stuff."

Their water arrives, JC's with the twist of lemon that he likes, and he turns his face to the sun, enjoying just being here with Lance on a warm Sunday afternoon. It's nice, comfortable, like JC can only really be with four other people in the whole world. He'd missed Lance, more than he'd realized.

"So this is, like, what? Your world tour? Vacation? What?" JC's genuinely interested, interested in what Lance is doing. It's strange, not to know what's going on with him.

"Kind of. Maybe. I dunno. I saw J yesterday." Lance slants his crazy eyes sideways at JC. "Lord. Boy needs to shave."

"Hey!" JC frowns a little. "That goatee, man, it's okay. It's like, he's growing up, you know, he's not a baby any more, he can grow facial hair."

Lance's eyebrows lift incredulously. "C, even you must be able to see that that shit is just fugly. I mean, painfully bad and wrong."

"Like when you tried to look like Abraham Lincoln? With that...thing?" JC traces a line on his own jaw, reminiscint of Lance's chin scruff from not so long ago. Lance winces.

"Yeah. Like that, only worse. Anyway, we didn't really talk about facial hair, believe it or not."

"Like he'd listen."

"Exactly." Lance sighs, and then smiles politely at the waiter as they order. Brunch. JC has always enjoyed brunch. It's one of the few meals he feels should be lingered over and enjoyed at length, guilt-free. He doesn't need to chatter away with Lance, either, which makes it even more pleasurable. He sits back and sips his water and watches Lance watch the boys on the sidwalk, eyes cool and remote and not giving anything away. JC looks too, sees broad shoulders, slim hips. Dark knowing eyes, bright smiles, flirtatious glances, that tension when eye contact is made. He loves West Hollywood, there's something so beautifully sexual about it, though JC doesn't dine at the buffet. Lance, though...

Lance has always watched the boys. First with naked longing, very early on, back in the days that even JC could barely remember. Then he'd grown up a little, toughened up, and pulled back, hiding, and now, looking at him, JC would barely know. The sidewalk boys aren't fooled, though. One struts by, making eyes at Lance shamelessly, and though Lance just sighs and looks bored, the boy flicks his hips and blows a kiss and JC has to laugh.

"Oh, my. Why the hell did you pick here, anyway?"

"Scenery," Lance drawls deadpan, and JC giggles some more.

"It's not really, though, I mean, there're bound to be pictures, you know, and we ARE in WeHo..." and there go the eyebrows again.

"WeHo? JC, baby, is there something you aren't telling me?"

"There's this really cool vintage store RIGHT over there," JC points, "and Carlita, the drag queen who owns it--I told you about Carlita, right?--anyway, she holds all the good stuff for me and things. Anyway."

"ANY-way," Lance agrees, grinning. "Nah, it's safe enough. I'm here with my brother, right?" There's just the tiniest trace of faded bitterness there, that JC doesn't acknowledge. It's been hard, for Lance, this life, and JC knows his eyes linger longest on the couples on the sidewalk, hand in hand or hand in back pocket. He has a feeling Lance chose here because he honestly doesn't give much of a damn any more.

"You are, man," JC agrees, and offers him a smile, which Lance returns easily. "How's Farrah?"

"Carrah," Lance sighs, and plays with his straw. "She's fine. Whatever. But I'm not here to talk about my beard, JC."

"I thought you were just here to say hi?"

"Oh, yeah. I packed up my shit and flew to Los Angeles just to say hello." Lance rolls his eyes. "Nine fucking hours, that flight, not counting all the time at security. I coulda called."

"Oh, right." JC leans in, more interested now. "So you're here to discuss something. Everything's okay, right?" And Lance's blooming smile, wide and genuine, answers him without words, and JC almost squeaks. "Lance! You're...you've got a boyfriend!" He bounces around in his chair, watching Lance's cheeks turn pink. He knows he's right.

"Um, sorta," Lance's voice is low, hesitant. "We're, kind of, trying? And yeah, I kind of wanted to tell you in person, because it's Chris." He's staring hard at his drink, and JC sits still in shock.

"Chris? Like, Kirkpatrick, Chris? Short, thinks he's funny, needs medication?" He can't quite wrap his mind around it.

"Oh, come on, JC." Lance huffs a little. "You knew we had, before, you know."

"That was ages and ages ago!" Chris is bi, they all know this, but he'd been sticking to women because it was easier, after that whatever-it-was with Lance back in the early days. The other guys had stayed entirely out of that, and JC still thought that had been a good idea. The fallout hadn't been pretty.

"Well, we're trying again." Lance's jaw is set and stubborn, and JC knows better than to voice any objection. He wants to know so many things, why and why NOW and how and where and details, but he knows those will be answered later.

"Oh. Hey, cool, that's cool, that's excellent. Good for you!" Lance's shoulders fall out of their defensive hunch, and JC's glad he managed to say the right thing. "So, you're boyfriends. Wow. You have GOT to tell me this story. Um, this is kind of big, huh?"

"Yeah." Lance's smile is back, and he looks so fucking happy JC can't help but grin again. "Huge. And...good, I think. Really good."

"You're a brave man, Lance, putting up with him." JC snickers. "Patience of a saint." And then he realizes that Lance really *does* have the patience of a saint, and wonders why he'd never seen the rightness of this before. Probably just distracted, he thinks with a sigh.

"Oh, he's got his hands full too," Lance remarks, licking his lips like a cat with cream, and JC hides his face in his hands.

"Oh my god, it's gonna be like porn, isn't it? When we record again? Ooh, I bet you'll make Justin cry."

"Only if we're very very lucky," Lance grins, and JC laughs harder, not stopping until the food comes and Lance is talking about Chris and then his new film project and JC blinks his eyes against the brightness of the sun and Lance's smile.

[end]