Pairing: Lance and Brian
Words: bastard; crisp; jellyfish; cufflinks
Someone slid into the spot next to him at the bar. "Stop me if you've heard this one. 'Two boybanders walk into a bar...'"
He tossed back his drink. He didn't know if the other man would try to take it from him, but even if he wasn't going to give him a lecture on the evils of drinking -- accompanied, no doubt, by examples of what it had done to AJ -- Lance rather thought he might need the fortification of additional whiskey for this conversation. "I don't know if I've heard it. I don't think I want to hear it. But I doubt that will stop you."
The man next to him was dressed in a tuxedo, resplendent in basic black. He was out-of-place in the bar, but not drastically so, as the London crowd was dressed more upscale than an equivalent American crowd would have been. He rested his wrists on the bar, gold cufflinks glinting. "Fine. I won't tell you then. I'm not sure I really had an ending for the joke anyway."
"Is there something I can do for you, Brian?"
The bartender came over, and Brian ordered lemon squash, earning himself a disgusted look and a nod.
"No -- I'm just curious. I heard you were in town. I was a little surprised, actually. I thought you were in Russia."
He really didn't want to talk about that. The Russians were screwing him around, and he didn't know what to do about it. Besides the obvious, of course, what he'd been doing since the day he joined NSYNC -- smile and look pretty for the cameras. "Publicity."
"Great publicity. I hear your date from last night is still looking for her insides." Brian's drink was delivered. He thanked the bartender and sipped at it.
Lance snorted. "She shouldn't have tried to keep up if she couldn't handle it. You don't drink like that unless you've got experience with it."
"Yeah, you've got to have what, five or six years experience now?"
Lance was 23. Admitting to the truth, even to Brian who presumably knew exactly how early in life you could get started wanting to toss back a few shots, was still taboo. Members of NSYNC did not drink before they were legal; that was the story and he was sticking to it. Even if there was photographic evidence of it. "I should've said something about body weight also. You've got to know your limit."
Brian eyed the glass in front of Lance, which had been refilled twice while he'd been sitting there. "Yours is obviously impressive."
"Why don't you just get the anti-drinking lecture out of the way?" Lance said, biting his words off crisply, to make the point that he still could, that he wasn't impaired enough to slur them. Not yet. But then, his accent covered up slurring quite nicely. By the time he went back to his room, he would be speaking with a pronounced Southern drawl. People found it charming. He thought of it as one more weapon in his arsenal. "I know you want to give it to me; why not do it and get it over with?"
"Because I don't think you'd listen to me," Brian said candidly.
"So you do want to lecture me."
"Lecture's not the right word. Ask you what you think you're doing, why you're doing this at all. I don't know enough about you or what you're going through to tell you what you're doing is wrong. For all I know, you have a chronic condition which requires ingestion of a certain amount of alcohol every day or you turn into a jellyfish."
He really didn't want to smile. But after enough whiskey, everything was funny, and everyone was beautiful, and even Lance was happy. He grinned. "No. No chronic condition."
"That's good. You'd have a hard time touring as a jellyfish."
He raised his eyebrows and knocked back the latest shot. Brian was interrupting the flow. By now, he should be halfway to not caring. He wasn't. He was still firmly on the ground, anchored to the albatross of a reality that included a failing production company and a singer who'd dumped him like he was Lou Perlman.
"So why are you drinking?"
"It's none of your business. And if you'll excuse my language, please stop asking before I become a complete bastard in order to get rid of you."
"I've heard language like that before, surprisingly enough. I've also had a lot of experience with complete bastards. What makes you think that either will get rid of me?"
"Fine." Lance laid a bill on the bar for a tip, then added another in case English money was worth half of what American money was instead of double like he thought it probably was. "You just got rid of me. I don't need this."
Brian stuck to his elbow. "What do you need then?"
Answers flashed through his mind. Including the obvious -- for Brian to go away. Fame, more money, safety, love, silence, space... It wasn't that he didn't have dreams. He had dreams aplenty. It was that he didn't know what to do with his dreams when he got them. He wouldn't know what to if Brian left right now. It would feel empty though. The closest he came to feeling all right these days was when he was extremely drunk and wrapped in someone else's arms, or lying across their lap, or touching them somehow. The touching was made all right because he was drunk, as it was no longer all right for him to touch Joey. Joey who was appalled by his drinking, despite having been the one who had once encouraged Lance to become one of the guys and start. Joey, who was once again seriously involved with Kelly, and very likely going to marry her. His best friend, one of the four friends who had once upon a time held his life together -- made up his entire life -- and who, like the other three, was growing apart further every day. Growing into his own separate identity outside of NSYNC. Lance had too. He had a life outside of the group. He would have one, whatever it took, because there was nothing else to be done about it.
And, in the meantime, while his last dream hung in limbo, he drank.
Lance punched the button for the elevator and leaned against the wall, looking at Brian. "What do I need? I need to grow up."
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