Date: Wed, 11 Sep 2002 14:07:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: Parlance <par_lance1@yahoo.com>
Subject: Re: Sex *N the City - 2nd episode

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
*******************************************