The house had been dark and quiet for almost an hour when Howie poked a cautious nose out the door of his room. He looked up and down the hall, seeing only closed doors and dimmed lights, though he could hear the low murmur of voices from somewhere, and further away, someone was strumming a guitar.

He moved cautiously out of his room and to the stairs. As much as he loved his bandmates and his bandmate's boyfriend's bandmates, all of them together in one place was a bit much for him to handle. Even if it was his own house. Two hours ago, AJ had been balancing full shot glasses on his nose, and Joey and Kevin had been screaming drunkenly along to "Sweet Emotion," and Howie had fled unashamedly.

Something crunched under his feet as he made his way down the stairs, stepping carefully over Wade, who was asleep in the stairwell. Howie thought he looked kind of uncomfortable curled up there, but wasn't about to wake him up to move him. Goddamn that kid could talk. He stared for a moment at the party mix that was scattered all over the carpet down to the living room...kind of like a trail of breadcrumbs, he thought idly, and spared a thought of premature thanks for his cleaning service.

A thump, followed by a giggle, snapped his head up, and he moved silently down the rest of the stairs, and peeked around the corner to his kitchen, and froze.

Nick had Justin pressed up against the refrigerator, almost obscuring him from sight, but Howie could see his thigh bent high between Justin's legs, the helpless wanton tilt of a curly head, Nick's broad shoulders moving in and in as be bent to kiss him. Justin's hands came up softly, fingers of one curling into the short cropped hair at the back of Nick's head, the other cradling a shoulder, pulling him even closer. A soft needy sound, and they were kissing, and Justin wrapped a long leg around Nick's thigh, digging an ankle in behind his knee, moving restlessly against him. Nick chuckled low, hitched Justin's leg higher on his hip with a firm hand, and mumbled "sweetheart" before kissing his smile again.

Howie winced, and backed away, licking his lips. He remembered the taste of Nick's kisses, so long ago, but not forgotten. Never forgotten. His heart lurched a little in that old familiar way, and he laughed at himself scornfully, poking at the pain until it subsided again. He was Nick's best friend, and this was Nick's anniversary party, and if Nick chose to make out with his boyfriend in Howie's kitchen, well. It wasn't unexpected. They deserved some of the freedom to be together that they so rarely found, and here, it was safe. He smiled, shaking his head, scooping up two empty beer bottles and a half-full plastic cup of something that looked vile, piling them on the hall table with the others. Trust Nick to find happiness in the most difficult and unexpected of all possible relationships he could have had.

He flipped off the outside lights as he moved to the living room. No one was driving home tonight, and he just hoped that everyone had at least found somewhere comfortable to crash. Through the door to the den, he could see Kevin, long legs dangling ridiculously off the end of the loveseat, with Kristen using him as a full-body pillow, dead to the world. Chris and Joey were on the floor, Chris lying tangled with some dark haired girl whose name Howie should remember, Joey propped against a chair, AJ at his side, both with beers still in hand, snoring. AJ's was tilting dangerously. He tiptoed over, gently gently pried the bottles out of their hands, and set them aside, breathing a sigh of relief when AJ just mumbled something and smacked his lips and collapsed over until he was leaning on Joey. He had to remember to put the aspirin and lots of water glasses out before he went to bed. This place was going to be hangover hell tomorrow.

Wrapping paper and ribbon caught at his feet, and he gathered it up, wincing at the crinkling sound, grabbing halfheartedly at a few nacho chips as well, before giving up the cleaning idea as a bad one. It was too late, he was too tired and more than a little tipsy himself, and really, the thought of seeing the faces of his friends when they realized how they'd trashed his house was more than a bit appealing. So, it was definitely bedtime, once he'd turned off the lights of the Christmas tree.

All the lamps in the living room were already off, but the tree lights were bright and new and he could see easily. Someone had popped one of his beanbag chairs, and it was lying half-empty and forlorn, surrounded by a sunburst of tiny polystyrene beads, and he sighed as he stepped over it, sighed again when he realized the little beads were wet, either with beer or wine or some unknown and unnamed substance. A blond girl was sprawled face-first on his couch; he didn't recognize the shape of her, but was reassured when she breathed loudly and moved a little.

He could hear singing. He hadn't even noticed it, as familiar as it was to have someone humming or singing or whistling around him at all times; hazard of a music career, he supposed, and this singing was low and quiet. He couldn't figure out where it was coming fr-

Someone was lying under his tree, tangled in a half-unstrung strand of fairy lights, singing. He could only really see feet, but from the tune it had to be an N Syncer. From the voice, it had to be Lance. He moved around the tree, smiling a little, curious.

Lance was flat on his back, hands crossed on his chest, staring up into the branches of the christmas tree with half-lidded eyes, crooning "It's beautiful under my tree. It's beautiful under my tree. It's beautiful under my tree." He sounded like a sleepy broken record. There were lights wrapped around one arm, and caught under his body, and he looked thoroughly tangled. Howie stared. Lance had always had pretty skin, flawlessly smooth and pale, but the tree lights were casting little soft halos of blue and green and gold and red onto his face and hands, and Lance...Lance glowed.

"It's beautiful under WHOSE tree?" Howie spoke quietly before he even knew he had anything to say.

Without looking at him or moving, Lance changed the song. "It's beautiful under your tree. It's beautiful under your tree."

Howie smiled gently, and crouched down to unwrap a tinsel garland from Lance's foot. Had Lance been trying to climb the tree? Looking up at him, sprawled bonelessly, huge blown pupils barely rimmed with green visible even through half-closed eyes, Howie wouldn't dismiss the possibility. He smiled again.

"There are more words to that song, right?" He eased a glass ornament out from behind Lance's knee, sighing in relief when it didn't break. "Those aren't the only ones you remember?"

The song broke off abruptly as Lance actually moved, lifting his head from the floor to gaze at Howie. "Those are the ones I like."

"Oh, OK." He tugged lightly at the strand of christmas tree lights that was pinned between Lance's hips and the floor. "Lance, you're a fire hazard. You gotta move."

"I'm a fire hazard." Lance giggled suddenly, surprisingly, though the look he sent Howie was unexpectedly lucid. "Why, Mistah Dorough, I b'lieve I shall take that as a compliment." Then he ruined it by snorting a laugh, and Howie grinned too, and rolled him to his side with a hand on his hip, freeing at least one string of lights.

"Were you trying to undecorate my tree? What on earth, Lance."

Lance peered at him through lashes painted green and purple with light. "The lights were. Hmmm. Too thin, down here, I wanted more. So I got more. Did I wreck your Christmas tree?"

"No. Actually, it's in much better shape than the rest of my house, so thank you for your restraint. Here, roll over again..." He shoved at Lance's hip again, and he moved back over to his back, as pliant as a child.

"Yeah, this place is a mess." Lance sounded amused. "How'd you get roped into this anyway? I mean. Of everyone." Lance blinked at him. "I didn't think you'd be hosting the party for the golden boys."

Howie hoped his flinch didn't show. "What do you mean? Nick's my best friend, you know that. I asked to host the party." And it was true, he had, and he'd stubbornly insisted even when AJ was raging at him about being a masochistic motherfucker with no sense. AJ had apologized later by promising to bring his famous cheese dip, which he had, and which now as far as Howie could tell was mostly smeared on his stereo.

"Yeah, your best friend who stopped sleeping with you when Jup came sniffin' around." Lance scoffed. "What, you think we didn't know?"

Howie ducked his head, picked idly at some fallen tinsel. "Well, he's still my best friend. And he's happy, really happy, so it's cool, you know." He could feel Lance staring at him, then there was a gentle hand on his arm, tugging him sideways out of his crouch, down beside Lance, and, surprised, he went.

"Look." Lance was warm against his side, looking up into the branches again, and Howie looked. The branches were a canopy, warm with light and sparkling ornaments, the occasional flash of tinsel. Dark green needles going up and up, more lights like fairies hiding, brown branches here and there, and the smell...rich and clean and pine. He breathed, and smiled. Remembered nights when he was growing up, when he'd sneak out of his room and crawl into the space under the tree, lit all night, and stare at the lights and dream of Christmas morning until he fell asleep.

He glanced sideways at Lance, whose smile was curling his lips up at the corners, and laughed a little. "OK, it really is beautiful under my tree."

"Yep." Lance's fingers were still on his arm, rubbing softly, fingertips smooth on his bare skin. He shivered slightly, and tensed to move away. "Howie." That low rumble, he could feel it pass from Lance's body to his, and he shivered again. "Stop cleaning. Stop stressing. Relax. Just. Relax."

Howie had always been good at taking direction, and did as he was told, letting his tight muscles loosen, his breathing ease, his head fall heavily back against Lance's arm. It was so nice, just being here. Touching and being touched, not worrying about it. He looked at Lance, though, instead of the tree. Sparkles and twinkles reflected in huge green eyes, mouth smiling softly, aquiline arch of nose, long smooth neck and tousled tangle of short hair. He looked happy. Lance had grown up so well, Howie thought, and the thought made him happy too. He was curling closer without thinking, and Lance was letting him, even pulling him in a little tighter and humming contentedly. It was dark and quiet, and the lights were so pretty, and maybe Lance had the right idea, sleeping here. This was a good place. Howie could-

Lance turned his head and kissed him, just like that, and before Howie could process it, the warm smooth press of Lance's mouth on his own, the taste of whisky and pot and salt, he'd pulled back and gone back to his humming. Howie blinked. Oh-kay. What now? Was he supposed to kiss back? Was it just a friendly, hey-I'm-glad-you're-here-under-the-tree-with-me kiss, or was it more? Did Lance want him to do something now? Hadn't Lance come with a girlfriend? Was Lance hitting on him? Did he even want Lance to be hitting on him?

"Dude." Lance's voice, warm and amused, yanked him back. "Stop thinking so loud. You're messing with my vibe." Howie stared at him, feeling his eyes go big.

"Um. Sorry."

"Better be." Lance rolled to his side, wincing a little when he crushed something that made a muffled tinkling sound, and propped his head on one fist, looking down at Howie. Howie offered a tentative smile, still totally at sea. For a guy who had seemed semi-comatose minutes before, Lance sure was active, and there was a look in his eyes Howie couldn't quite trust. "Just relax, Howie," he repeated, and dipped his head and kissed Howie again.

This time the taste wasn't fleeting, the touch wasn't brief, and Howie found himself savoring the slow, sure way Lance licked at his lips, asking wordlessly if it was ok. Howie opened for him easily, gratefully, and Lance sucked his lower lip into his own mouth, licking it over and over, tracing it wetly, before releasing it and letting his tongue slide against Howie's. The sound Howie felt in his own throat was almost embarrassing, something between a moan and a sigh, and the room spun suddenly and crazily around him as he closed his eyes and just let himself feel. Lance was hard and sure against him, leaning half over his body, braced still on one hand as he kissed Howie, deeper and deeper and more, and Howie's hand lifted up, stroked his cheek and slid into soft hair, a little sticky from gel but prickly and nice against his palm. Oh, kissing, just kissing, he'd forgotten, almost, how much he loved this, another tongue in his mouth, tracing his teeth, tangling with his own, the little sighs of shared breath, the brush of another face against his.

Lance's hand came to rest in the dip above his hip, and rubbed there lightly before moving up his side, as Howie pushed his body helplessly into the touch. Lance chuckled into his mouth, swiped his tongue over his lips, and slid a little lower to suck gently at the pulse point in his throat. Howie tipped his head back, staring blindly up, lights blurring into colored fuzzy starbursts as his vision unfocused with the feeling of hot wet suction on his neck, moving up to his ear now, teeth closing lightly over the lobe. He shivered, and fisted his hand in Lance's hair, holding him close and breathing in his smell, layered over with pine. Aftershave and gel and warm male body, and he was feeling so good…even better when that delicate, long-fingered hand passed over his chest, stroking, and they were past just making out now. Howie had only the vaguest notion of the traditional bases, but he was pretty sure that this constituted at least second.

"Lance," he breathed, and "Lance," again when the fingers slipped the buttons from their holes and touched his naked skin. "Oh, Lance." He'd found a nipple, and Howie was almost sure he could feel a smile on the mouth that had returned to his neck, licking now instead of sucking, but still wet, still hot, still insistent.

"Mmmm." Warm sound of pleasure, and Lance moved closer, hovering over him, hard at his hip, heavy on his shoulder. Howie arched up again, desperate for the touch, it had been so long…he grabbed suddenly at Lance's shoulders, pulling him up to his mouth again, kissing him hard and deep and trying to let Lance know just how much he loved this. Lance made a startled sound and then kissed him back, fingers still plucking at a nipple, then pulling out of his shirt and moving down and jesus, cupping between his legs, where he was already hard and aching, and he felt his cock jump in response. Lance pushed his hips forward a little, and Howie could feel him, too, just as hard, just as ready, and Lance was fumbling at his fly and suddenly someone else in the room knocked over a beer bottle.

Howie jumped about a foot, startling back hard away from Lance, who was apparently too mellow to startle much at all, since he just peered at Howie, lips kiss-swollen and wet and red. Howie stared back, feeling the heat of a blush in his face, then glanced out into the room. The blond girl on the couch had turned and kicked something over, he could see her face, and from this angle, there were feet somewhere not too far away, sticking out from behind the easy chair. Maybe JC, he didn't know too many other people who would dare to wear spats…

Lance was reaching for him again, still in a lazy half-sprawl on his side. "Howie…Howie, c'mere. C'mere." He moved back.

"This is…not a good idea." He couldn't meet Lance's eyes, knew that Lance could tell just by looking that he was still painfully hard. "There's-" he gestured around him vaguely, taking in the room. "-people here, and I should really clean, and isn't that your girlfriend?"

Lance glanced over at the couch, and smiled again. "Yeah, kinda. She's pretty much out cold, though, C's got good stuff." He licked his lips shiny again, and Howie stared. "It's not that bad an idea. C'mere."

Howie shook his head stubbornly. "It is a bad idea. Think how weird. When there's awards shows. And things."

An amused eyebrow arched at him, and Lance edged a little closer. "We see each other, what, four times a year?" He reached for Howie, and Howie didn't resist. "Barring random encounters in grocery stores and pet stores and shit." Lance's hand held him and pulled him closer. "Plus, you know, I'm a nice guy. If you give me your cell number I'll call you and everything." Lance's mouth was really close to his own, and Howie was weak, and he knew it, and he was caving. "And maybe take you to dinner, because I think you're really sweet and pretty," whispered against his mouth, and his brain was just gone, and Lance was a bad man, very bad, but tasted like heaven.

This time it was quicker and more sure, Lance blanketing him with his heavy, solid body, peppering his mouth and face and skin with kisses like he was afraid Howie was going to get up and leave at any moment, and that intensity let Howie relax. Lance wanted this too, and maybe the casual amusement was more of a put-on than Howie had suspected…he reminded himself that Lance was an actor, and melted into Lance's touch, sure hands on him, skimming his body and legs and arms and touching him everywhere that was wonderful. He let himself touch Lance back, feeling the heavy curve of muscle in his shoulders, the groove of his spine long and elegant, swell of hips that fit his palms perfectly. Lance groaned, deep, into his mouth at that touch, letting his body settle into the space between Howie's thighs, and Howie gasped back, and they were trading sounds now, and breath, panting at each others' lips loud in the silence of the room, and this time when Lance unbuttoned and unzipped him almost roughly, Howie just grabbed his arms and raised his hips, letting Lance strip him to his knees.

Before he could even catch a breath, Lance was sliding down his body, confident and smooth, and Howie mourned the loss of his kiss for as long as it took him to take his cock in his hand, and then his mouth, and then Howie was moaning and mindless, eyes on the rainbow of light, body completely focused on that sucking wet furnace of a mouth and clever fingers and the jolts of pleasure shooting through him every time he moved. Lance was a master, running a rough tongue up the vein on the underside, then swirling it around the tip before taking him all back in again, and Howie's hands were fisting convulsively in the carpet, against his side, in Lance's shirt at his shoulder, the feelings so intense that Howie bent at the waist, trying to sit up and straining towards the huge tide of sensation that was just. so. close…And Lance swallowed around him, and he maybe shouted, because he felt like his spine was being sucked out through his cock in the best possible way, every nerve firing and his legs spasming and he was coming, pure silver sensation spiking through him and Lance swallowed him down.

He was still panting hard when Lance looked up, smirking slightly, and met his eyes. That was enough, and more than…Howie summoned a burst of energy from god-knew-where, and flipped Lance over, grinning down into startled green eyes. Lance's skin was as soft as it looked, he found, and Lance made the most delightful tiger-cat noises when Howie lapped at his nipples. His belly was soft, gently curved in contrast to the sculpted muscles of his chest and back, and when Howie's tongue dipped into his navel, Lance lurched up and swore reverently. Howie wondered for a brief giddy moment if his mouth would scorch around the burning-hot velvet of Lance's cock, hard and smooth and salt, and Lance knew just how to hold his head, hard but not pushing, letting him feel that need that forced his hips up into the welcome of Howie's tongue.

When Lance came he went utterly silent and still, only his shaking hands in Howie's hair letting him know that it was good.

Howie hid his face in Lance's thigh, smooth skin against his lips, feeling fingers combing idly through his hair for a long moment. Then Lance sighed, and tugged up a little, and Howie went, fumbling at his own boxers and jeans as he went. The kiss was slow and sweet, flavored with the bitter salt of come on their tongues and the lingering bite of liquor, and Lance smiled at him, and curled around his side, and stroked his arm again. Howie almost giggled. Wasn't this where he had come in? Only now he was relaxed, and the tree was shining, and he really, honestly couldn't give a shit about the water glasses. The drunk fuckers could drink out of the tap tomorrow for all he cared. Except Lance. Lance just might get breakfast in bed.

"So." His voice was rough in his throat, and he cleared it and tried again. "So. You're taking me to dinner?"

Lance gurgled, like he was trying to hold in a laugh, and finally got his own jeans refastened one-handed. "Oh yeah, Dorough. You think I'm letting a mouth like that go to waste on food?"

Howie hid a smile in Lance's throat, and let his eyes fall shut on the glory of the Christmas tree, dragged down into sleep by the warm comfort of Lance's body and his own sublime lack of tension, and vowed, with his last conscious thought, that there would be dinner. In a really nice place, where they had to get dressed up, he'd always liked the look of Lance in...a..suit...