Date: Wed, 7 Jun 2000 02:07:10 -0500
From: Kimmer <justme@astound.net>
Subject: Playing For Keeps #1 {Kimmer} {MM Celebrity Boy-Band} [1!?]

Hello, one and all!  I've been a reader for a quite some time now, however
this is the first story I've written for Nifty.  There are a lot of great
writers on this site, I only hope I can live up to the high standards
they've put forth.  Ok, now I have a little warning to get out of the way:
The beginning of this story is a little dark. It's a very important, but
small part of the story. It is not the sole plot.  Not even close!  So
consider it like a prologue, and bare with me, I promise it gets a lot more
intriguing as we go on. Remember things aren't always what they seem!
**WINK**

Disclaimer: This story is a complete work of fiction.  It implies nothing
about the sexual orientation, beliefs, thoughts or actions of the real
members of NSync.  While it is not a "pure sex" story, if you are under 18
or offended by male/male relationships, please go away.

And one last thing, I need to thank a good friend of mine: Evan your
enthusiasm gave me the encouragement and desire to write this story.  Thank
you so much! You've been wonderful.

By the way, if you haven't checked out the story Justin's Dark Angel, I
HIGHLY recommend it.  It's a very suspenseful story with a unique
plot. It's incredible!! Check it out! You won't be disappointed.

Any and all feedback is welcome! I'd love to hear what you think.  Send it
to Justme@astound.net.  Now on with the story!


			** Playing For Keeps **

Chapter 1

Sitting alone, wrapped in darkness, he found peace.  The shadows wrapped
around him like a child in their favorite blanket.  It was comfortable,
familiar: he wore it well. If not for the small shard of morning sunlight
ripping its way through the heavy drapes, the room would be completely
cloaked, a black void.  He'd sat there motionless for more than an hour,
completely quiet, enjoying the tranquility.  But now a soft knock against
the door threatened the silence.

"Yes, what is it Hillman?"

The door creaked softly as it opened. A large burst of light assaulted the
room, casting eerie shadows across the book selves lining each wall.  In
the center of the room a pair of overstuffed leather chairs sat stoic atop
a plush Oriental rug.  Hillman found the man sitting in one of them.

"Good morning Sir."  Without being invited, he entered the room and placed
a small, yet elegant silver tray on the serving table alongside the empty
chair.  "I trust the flight went well."

"As well as expected, but it's good to be home."

Hillman smiled as he carefully poured some hot tea into a cup and handed it
to the gentleman in front of him.  Pillars of hot steam danced above the
cup, caressing the man's face as he took a small sip. "Thank you."

"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of checking on
your...guest."  The last word was spoken with reservation.

"How is he doing?"

"It seems he's been quite a hand full." He paused.  "He refused the drugs.
Put up quite a fight, as I hear it."

"Hmmm. And now?"

"Sleeping like a baby."

"Fine.  Inform me the minute he wakes up.  I want to see him." He placed
the cup once again on the tray and reached for the new, finely etched,
leather journal lying in his lap. He discovered it while strolling through
a quaint village near Vienna. It surprised him how easily he'd found it.
It was exactly what he needed.

"As you wish, Sir.  Will there be anything else?  Camilla prepared a rather
extravagant welcome home breakfast for you.  She's feisty, but I believe
she missed you more than she lets on.  I would appreciate if you did not
tell her I told you."

For the first time the small glimmer of a smile escaped his employer's
lips.  "Your secrets safe with me.  Tell her I'll take my breakfast on the
south patio in 30 minutes."

Hillman dismissed himself with the usual, "Thank you, Sir," closing the
door behind him.  Again the room fell into darkness.  He wished it were
possible to write in the dark. He sighed deeply, and resigned to the fact
that the lamp would have to come on.  Removing the pen from inside the
journal, he began to write:



Day 1 - And so it begins.

Today he remains safe.  Tomorrow is mine.  Tomorrow the wounding begins.
Tomorrow the walls crumble to stone.  A giant will fall...A god will rise.



"Hey, don't start the b-ball game without me!" Grinning as he picked up his
jacket, Justin bounded toward the patio door. "Lance you gonna play? With
Mikey here, I think we need ya to even out the teams. "

Walking to the refrigerator, Lance shook his head as he called over his
shoulder, "Having me on the team is NOT going to help even things
out. Remember the last time we played, I made one basket. ONE! And that was
only cuz J.C. fouled me!"

Justin laughed to himself, just teaching this guy to dance had been a feat
in itself.  He was right, dribbling the ball and running at the same time
was not his strong suit.

"Aw, come on Scoop!" Justin pushed his lower lip out in a mock pout. "You
can be on my team.  Just stand there and block, while I work my magic on
the court!"  In what resembled a bizarre tribal rain dance, he dribbled an
imaginary basketball around the dining room table, weaving and bobbing
amongst the chairs.  Then throwing his hands in the air, he flicked his
wrist smoothly, tossing the non- existent 'ball'.

"He shoots! He scores!...And the crowd goes wild!!" Justin laughed, jumping
up and down; finally focusing back on Lance, who ignored him completely.
He was struggling thru an array of leftovers and various condiments to find
something to drink.  "Just grab something already. Jeez! Its not that
complicated, you know?  There's some soda way in the back. Second shelf, I
think."

Turning his back to Lance, he glanced out the kitchen window.  The backyard
buzzed with his family and friends. Birthday streamers littered the trees,
colored balls floated aimlessly about the pool, baby blue balloons floated
from any object heavy enough to hold them down, and eighteen candles graced
the top of a cake so large it barely fit on the picnic table.  Okay, so
there was little difference between this party and his twelfth birthday,
but he really loved all the hype and silly decorations. Of course if anyone
asked, it was all his mom's doing.  He was still "her little boy." How
could he possibly break her heart! So for her, he was willing to suffer
through the baby treatment. Luckily, the guys never questioned it.

Scanning the yard, his eyes fell instinctively to the basketball
court. "Hey, Lance!  Everybody's already hangin' at the court. So hurry!"
Lance groaned, mostly to himself. Once again, Justin wasn't taking no for
an answer.

It wasn't as if Lance really had a choice in the matter.  The guys would
hound him until he gave in anyway.  Actually, rarely did he make his own
decisions anymore.  Whatever was good for the group... It was the motto
that built Nsync.

But now that same vow haunted him:

In ways that kept his dreams dark.  In ways that made looking in the mirror
painful.  In ways no one would ever know.  NO ONE... except Justin.

"Yeah, yeah...whatever.  I'll play." He sighed, dreading the inevitable
string of wisecracks the guys hurled at him whenever he played sports.
They meant it in a playful manner. It was a "guy thing."  He knew that.  He
even laughed with them...usually.  But deep down the constant reminders of
his rather clumsy, anything but athletic, abilities made him feel like a
outsider, not quite one of the guys.  They had a bond he'd never share.

God, why did he have to be so awkward! It's not like he could even blame it
on genetics.  The Bass family home was strewn with trophies honoring his
father's track skills and a fairly prestigious college soccer career.  As a
youngster, Lance would gaze at the shiny gold men poised high upon colorful
pillars.  Track lighting positioned just right made the wooden and plastic
icons seem larger than life; and his father a god.

 "Those are called trophies," his mother told him once when he was four.

 "I like troppies! They are very pritty mommy!"

She tussled his fine blond hair, her smile soft and proud. "Someday you'll
grow big just like your daddy. And he'll teach you how to win trophies
too!"

"Really?" His young eyes sparkled with delight, as he wrapped a sticky set
of hands around his mothers leg.

"Yep, I promise. Would you like that?"

He answered her with a smile so big it seemed painted on, "I getta be like
daddy!"

Then, as often happens to little boys with even littler attention spans,
his eyes caught hold of a favorite toy spaceship hidden halfway under the
sofa and he was off.  It was one of his earliest memories, and one of the
only promises his mother wasn't able to keep. Growing up Lance saw very
little of his father.  Between working at Biotech Labs fulltime and
attending graduate school at night, Jim Bass simply didn't have spare time
or energy to devote to extracurricular family activities.

Sundays were the exception.  Mom had a rule and it was simple: God made
Sundays for family.  No matter what was going on in their lives, no matter
what deadlines needed to be met or chores needed to be done, the Bass
family would stop everything and spend the day together.  Church, always
the forth pew from the altar; and Sunday School were the priority; but the
afternoons were given to picnics and playgrounds.  If weather was bad, the
picnic was moved indoors where Dad taught them the finer points of chess or
Stacy ran the bank in Monopoly.

Lance waited eagerly for the weekends and this time together. Basically,
Sundays rocked.  He'd wake up early, put on his best dress pants, pressed
white shirt, black socks and small L-shaped onyx cufflinks given to him by
his grandfather when he turned thirteen.  Grabbing one of the two ties he
owned, he'd gallop downstairs, a little too loudly, and wait for the rest
of the family to wake up.  Dad was usually the next out of bed.  Strolling
into the kitchen, he'd mumble a good morning, grab coffee and slip quickly
behind the Mississippi Herald.  Okay, it was quiet, but at least they were
alone. Later, his father's time would be divided.  Mom and Stacy needed him
too.  And on those special Sundays, grandparents and extended relatives
might also be thrown in the mix.  Sure, Dad wanted to spend as much quality
time as possible with each of them, but even devoting Sundays seemed
tough. From early on, he could feel his father being pulled in two
directions.  Lance would catch him glancing at the clock, distracted by
other priorities or some uncompleted task that needed to be finished before
Monday rolled around.  There was always something important to be done.

Something more important than him.

Lance knew he wasn't the only one who felt the pull. His older sister,
Stacy, was in what mom referred to as the "boy crazy zone."  Put simply, a
guy had to be sixteen, have a car and be breathing before Stacy paid any
attention to him.  The criteria was low, but apparently Dad didn't qualify.
But Mom, well, he knew she felt it too.  Her smile never faded. Not in
public. Not in front of the kids. But more than once he caught her silently
rolling her eyes, scolding Dad mentally, as he watched preciously needed
minutes fade away in the name of family.  Later, when she thought they were
alone, the confrontation would come.

"The kids need you Jim." She was firm yet quiet, " I need you."

"Diane, we've been through this before. I'm trying, but there's only one of
me," He matched her tone; hushed.

"And we need that one HERE."

Maybe they didn't know, but the 40-year-old walls were thin.  Too thin.

"That's not fair. What choice do I have? I HAVE to go to work everyday.  I
don't like the long hours either, but the lab can't always just shut down
after eight hours.  It's not a bank, it doesn't work that way.  And sure,
I've got class twice a week, but we talked about that. We agreed!"  The
house vibrated as his father's stocking feet paced heavily across the
kitchen floor.  " You know it's not like I'm hang out at the bars. I don't
drink. I don't gamble. What more do you want? I come home to you every
night.  I am here!"

A sarcastic laugh echoed out, "No... no your not.  Your body's here, I'll
give you that.  But every time I turn around your either sleeping or hold
up in that office of yours, sitting in front of the computer.  Jim, just
tonight at dinner Lance tried to tell you about his choir tryouts.  Do you
remember that?"

Dead silence.

"No."

"No, of course not.  Because you cut him off with some excuse about being
tired and needing quiet."

"It's not an excuse! I spend all day with people yapping in my ear,
hounding me.  Dammit, sometimes I just need to sit in peace.  Is that so
much to ask? "  They were starting to get louder. He was starting to swear.

"Well he needs you.  He needs your attention. Can't you see how much he
wants your approval, your support."

"Oh please, I support both him and Stacy.  God! Why do you think I'm
killing myself to advance my career? It's to make a better life for us.
Don't I put food on the table? A roof over their heads?  Shit, college
alone is going to cost..."

"You know that's not the support I'm talking about. Don't you dare start
playing games!"

"You mean the singing thing?  Christ Diane!  I know the kid can sing.  But
he's fourteen, let's be realistic.  At this point he's interested in
everything.  A month ago, he wanted to fly ."

"It was a year ago, and he wanted to be an astronaut."  There was more, but
it was mumbled, below Lance's ability to hear.  He was glad.

Silence filled the house, then small, high pitched sobs.  **Oh god, she was
crying.**

His fathers voice softened, barely audible. "So did he make it into the
choir?"  It was his attempt to call a truce.

"Don't you think you should ask HIM that?" Lance flinched at her harsh,
biting tone.  **Don't mom. Just let it go.**

A large thump.  Then something crashed.  A glass?  "Forget it! Just fucking
forget it!"

Jim stormed up the stairs, ignoring Lance's bedroom door as he passed by.

Lance sat motionless at his desk.  His grasp on the pencil steadily
increased causing his fingers to ache, yet he hadn't written a single word.
His history paper remained empty.  **It's okay. Really. I understand.** He
lied to himself.  Squinting his eyes shut tightly, he willed the message to
his mom. **I'm sorry.** He hated making his mom sad. He hated the
fighting. He loved his dad.  **Why did I even bring it up?**

Okay, so what.  He'd never have the same athletic abilities as his father,
but maybe in the end that was for the best.  His childhood practically
revolved around his mother, and she was incredible.  In every memory, she
was there; laughing, loving and playing.  She spent hours teaching him the
piano, and in turn, he loved to watch as she rehearsed with the First
Baptist United Choir. Almost trancelike, he'd sit mesmerized as her angelic
voice filled the sanctuary.  Lance credited all the time he spent with her
as the spring board to his own singing talent.

"Laaance...Yo! Lance!"  Hearing his name, Lance's suddenly found himself
back in the Timberlake kitchen, his head buried in the refrigerator; eyes
fixed on a half eaten pan of Nana Timberlake's homemade peach cobbler; his
nose unbelievably cold.  The childhood memories quickly faded into the
background and once again were hidden away.

"Huh? What?"

"Man.  Where was your head?  I've been calling your name for like 5 minutes
already!" Justin voice softened as he watched Lance straighten up,
registering his surroundings, slowing willing himself once again into the
present. "Whoa, you okay?"

Lance ignored the question.  "Sorry.  What were you saying?"

"Well, it's just..." He moved a step closer, "you sounded...I don't
know...tired?  Hey, if you really don't want to play..."

"No, no, its okay.  I'll play." Lance smiled sincerely at this friend.  He
shook his head and smirked to himself.  **Justin recognizing that someone
might not feel like playing basketball? Man it was almost blaspheme! Never
saw that one coming.**

Bending down, he pushed the milk aside. Reaching for a raw carrot, he
popped it into his mouth, then continued his search for the soda. Without
even forcing it, his voice again became upbeat and alive.  "Can you just
give me a minute here, Curly? I need energy if I'm gonna have to watch you
pounce around all day."

"I don't pounce, I move with attitude with style!  Not that you'd know..."
Justin moved toward the open patio door, his attention switching to
J.C. and Joey's ongoing game of one-on-one. "Hey Joey, watch out for..."
Just then the telephone rang, interrupting Justin and pulling him back
toward the kitchen.

In a move as graceful as any dance step he performed on stage, Justin
slipped his head into the light blue pullover jacket while picking up the
receiver.  A single, fluid motion.  "Hello" he sang into the phone,
giggling to himself as Joey tripped over Busta on his way to what just
might have been a perfect layup. **Damn I love that dog!**

"Please hold for Mr. Huxley." A nasally, high pitched voice rang out.

Immediately the smile on Justin's face disappeared. As his legs faltered
beneath him, he reached out, grasping for the kitchen counter in an attempt
to steady himself.  **Gabe. Oh my god. Please not again. Not today.**

While the house around him bounced with activity and laughter, Justin was
only aware of his own heartbeat pounding in his ear and the cold silence on
the other end of the phone.  Glancing quickly at Lance, who remained buried
deep within the refrigerator, Justin contemplated hanging up. He pleaded
silently with each muscle of his body to move. To just hang up the phone.
But it was too late. He stood there, white knuckled and frozen as the deep,
professional voice seeped across the line.

"Hello, this is Gabe Huxley.  With whom am I speaking?"

Justin felt the blood drain from his face and his normally radiant
complexion paled considerably.  Just the sound of the man's voice sent
chills through the 18- year-olds body.  He opened his mouth in an attempt
to speak.  He needed to say something; anything! This was not a man he
wanted to piss off.  Yet the knot tightening in the back of his throat
prevented any sounds from escaping.

"Hello?... Hello?!" Gabe raised his voice, yet stifled the yell, "Is
anybody on the line?!" **Damn that temp agency**. This was the third time
in as may days that he had been disconnected. Frustrated, he glanced at the
calendar sitting perfectly square on the left-hand corner of his mahogany
desk. Embossed in 14 carat gold lettering , the words 'Gabe H. Huxley
~Talent Promoter' graced each page.  Only two more days until Sheila
returned from vacation. Maybe then things at the office would return to
normal. Things would run smooth. In the meantime, he was damn well going to
have a little chat with...with...**why was it he could never remember her
name! Her enticing green eyes and surgically enhanced breasts, sure, but
not her name.**

In an attempt to free his hand, Gabe awkwardly cradled the silent receiver
between his ear and shoulder, letting the folds of his neck hold it in
place.  But then, as he was about to transfer the call back to the
rent-a-secretary, a small sound cut across the line.

"It's Justin." A voice choked, barely audible.

"Excuse me?"  Silence. "Is someone there?" Gabe's brow furrowed. He waited
in silence. Had he imagined the noise?

"Um...yeah..."Again the voice wavered. "It's me Gabe.  Justin."

Taking up the receiver in his right hand, Gabe slowly eased back into his
leather chair and smirked. Glancing quickly at the promotional NSync poster
that graced the wall opposite his desk, his thin white lips molded into a
small, crooked smile.  Aw, perfect! The golden boy himself had answered the
phone. And, as a bonus, he was trembling.  Justin's fear hung so thick
across the line, Gabe could actually taste it . A warmth ran across his
body and settled deep into his pelvis. He controlled everything.  This was
too easy...

___________________________________________________________________________

Lance stopped everything; for a moment he wasn't even breathing.  Frozen in
place, not because of the cold breeze emitted by the refrigerator or the
iced can of Dr. Pepper he finally settled on. It wasn't even the slight
tremor he'd heard in Justin's voice.  No, it was one word that petrified
him.

Gabe.

Lance stood there, hand on the refrigerator door, catatonic. To an
observer, his trance-like gaze appeared to be nothing more than an
overwhelming fascination with jelly jars. When in reality his mind had
pulled itself inside, running for cover. His entire essence, which had
freely floated cloud-like around him, suddenly closed in on itself; a black
hole. He gasped slightly as if the wind had been knocked out of him; as if
he'd been hit.

Something...no...someone...HAD hit him. Repeatedly.

Gaining his composure, he backed out of the refrigerator, shutting the door
as quietly as possible. By now it was instinct.  Be quiet, be small,
disappear and maybe this time he won't touch you. Turning, he saw Justin
looking directly at him.  But the moment Justin caught him staring, he
blinked hard and looked away.  Complete silence filled the room.

Lance watched as Justin collapsed onto a kitchen stool, placing his elbows
on the counter, he carefully cradled his forehead in his left hand. The
receiver occupied the right.

"Yeah, but today's my..." He cut away as Gabe's voice interrupted him. "No
I know the deal , but couldn't we maybe..." Again Justin fell into silent
compliance waiting for the harsh voice to finish.  "I understand that, but
my mom's got all these people here and...No! Don't do that... you don't
need to talk to her." Keeping his head down, he ran his hand back through
his hair.  A meek, surrendering breath escaped his lips. "I can find a
way...I'll get away."

Lance's vision tunneled falling into focus on Justin's face.  He saw
Justin's head bob and nod, saw him bite his lower lip and rub his
temples. Words left his lips, but they no longer registered in Lance's
brain.  His gaze held steady, yet almost involuntarily, his body slowly
began to move backward, guided by some unseen force, trying to get away.
Unfortunately his back ran into the refrigerator door, blocking his escape.

Suddenly, Justin snapped upright and stared directly into Lance's eyes.
Nervously pulling at his bottom lip with his left hand, his eyes widened
with panic as they darted from Lance to an unseen spot on the floor then
back to the older blond.

Lance didn't have to hear the voice to know the question.  **No. Please. I
can't do this.  I'm not here. Don't say anything. You haven't seen me.**

"Yeah, he's right here."  Justin shut his eyes and flinched as he heard
Lance's head pound against the freezer door.

"Yeah, ok.  I'll tell him." Justin had yet to open his eyes, "One hour
then."  With those words, the line went dead.  Neither party bothered to
say good-bye.

Instead of hanging up the phone, Justin quickly dropped the receiver as if
the shiny black plastic object had burnt him. It crashed against the floor,
then snaked it's way toward the wall, pulled by the spiral cord attaching
it to the base.  The sliding noise brought Lance to attention.  He glanced
at the phone lying on the floor, ignored Justin, and walked into the living
room. Absently setting the Dr.  Pepper down on the counter as he passed by.

Justin, making no attempt to retrieve the phone, followed closely behind
him.  Lance sank uncomfortably onto one of the many folding chairs
positioned about the room.  Leaning forward, he braced his elbows against
his knees and cradled his head in his hands.

Justin simply stood there watching him.  Neither boy said a thing.  About
five minutes into the silence, Justin began to fidget anxiously.  He
couldn't take it anymore.  "So, you gonna go?"

The reply was quick. "I don't really have a choice do I?  He knows I'm
here."  His deep voice was accusing, and cut to the bone.  He turned and
glared at the younger boy beside him.  "Thanks J.  Really, I mean it.
Thanks a lot."

Justin slumped down in the faded blue recliner across the room from Lance.
Eye contact was not even an option.  Instead, he stared at his tennis
shoes.  They were a birthday present, opened just this morning.  Back when
this day was wonderful and full of potential.  Now? Now, one of his best
friends, a brother really, hated him.  And for good reason. He'd sacrificed
Lance to the wolves.  He hated himself too.

"I don't know why I told him that.  It just popped out. He makes me so
nervous."  His voice was tightening and he tried hard to fight the tears
that threatened to come. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "I just
got scared.  I never expected it to be HIM on the phone...I'm so, so sorry
Lance.  Maybe I could just..."


"No, just forget it. I'm the one who's sorry.  I didn't mean to say it like
that. It's not you, J. He already knew I was here.  He just wanted to make
you say it."  He paused, frustrated. "I just really hate him, you know?  He
such a fucking bastard."

Justin smiled weakly and rubbed his moist eyes.  Lance never swore, and
although the situation certainly called for it, somehow it just sounded
silly coming out of him. "Next time put more emphases on the 'fucking'
part. You need to really push out the 'F' sound.  The way you say it is
just...well...polite."

Lance looked at him incredulously, like he'd lost his mind.  "WHAT?!!"

Both boys stared at each other, then suddenly broke into laughter.  And
although it was short lived, it eased the tension between them. Composing
themselves, they fell silent once again, but this time they were of one
mind. Both reflecting on the torment facing them in less than an hour.

 Lance spoke first.  "So what's his excuse this time."

"Legal papers we need to sign."

He rolled his eyes and sighed as he lifted himself from the chair. "Right."
It was more matter-of-fact, than sarcastic.

Justin rose too and moved to the large picture window behind his chair. It
provided the perfect view of all the backyard activities.  He silently
thanked god that no one else was in the house when the call came.  Maybe it
was because of how long they'd let it go on, or how cold Gabe had become,
but both boys were finding it difficult to hide the anger burning inside
them.  To put up that cheerful front whenever his name was mentioned; to
graciously agree to spend holiday parties at his house; or to wrap an arm
around him and smile for a photo shoot.  It was painful to watch everybody
else love and trust this man. He was their buddy, their confidant, their
friend. Hell, he made them famous.  But it came with a price that somewhere
along the line Lance and himself agreed to pay.

Just then, Justin caught sight of Chris crossing the yard toward the
house. "Crap."  He wiped at his eyes again.  No tears had actually fallen,
but he was sure they were red.  "Chris is on his way in. He can't see me
like this."

Before Justin finished speaking, they heard footsteps run across the deck
and into the kitchen.

 Lance turned and scanned Justin's worried face.  He was right, Chris would
know something was wrong.  " Okay, okay...you go upstairs and clean up in
the bathroom.  I'll cover down here." He kept his voice low and gave Justin
a quick shove toward the stairs.

"Hey, Just!  What's the hold up?  I thought you were coming out to..."
Chris' voice trailed off as he realized he was talking himself.  The
kitchen was empty.  "Oh well, it's not the first time."  He laughed loudly.
"That's it Chris, just keep talking."  Moving toward the hallway in search
of his youngest band mate, his eyes caught sight of the phone still
abandoned on the floor. "What the..." He grabbed the receiver off the floor
and replaced on the wall. **Odd.** Then quickly dismissing the sight, he
ventured farther into the house.  "Justin! Come out, come out where ever
you are!"

Turning the corner into the living room Chris jumped out of his skin as he
unexpectedly caught sight of Lance.  "Holy shit! Don't ever sneak up on me
like that again!  You scared the hell out of me!  Why didn't you say
anything when I yelled?"

"Hey, it wasn't MY name you were screaming out." Lance smiled at him.  "And
I think you got that backwards.  As I see it you snuck up on me, rather
loudly, but still, its kinda hard for me to sneak up on someone when I
never moved from this spot."

"Hey yeah, what were you doing anyway?"  Chris glanced around, searching
for a clue as to why Lance was standing there, by himself, in the middle of
the room.

"Um...Actually, I'm waiting for Justin to get changed." It was the first
thing that popped into his head.

Chris leaned against the railing of the stairs directly in front of him and
yelled, "Oh sure Justin! Go ahead and change into that lucky bandanna of
yours! Your going to need all the help you can get!"

Turning his back to Lance, he lowered his voice and moved once again toward
the kitchen "Man I gotta win this one!  I need to get my money back from
that cocky kid! Thinks I'm too old for hoops.  Please!  Hey, your playing
too, right?"

Lance followed right behind him.  "Um, no.  And Justin going to be a no
show too. Sorry, guess you'll have to win that money back another day."

Shocked, Chris stopped short and spun to face Lance, who practically ran
into him. "What?! Why?"

Lance backed up and looked past him, avoiding eye contact, "Gabe called. We
have some, ah, papers to sign."

"Today?  Right now?"

"So it seems."

Chris seemed confused, "Just you and Justin?"

"Yeah, remember that 'Americas Top Teens' show we co-hosted last week?
Well, apparently we forgot to sign some legal release forms or
something. And of course, it HAS to be done before it airs.  Figures, huh?"
Not bad for shooting from the hip.

"Well, if the birthday brat thinks we're stopping this party just cuz he's
gone, tell him I said ~ NOT!"  Chris laughed at himself, "He'll just have
to catch up when you guys get back."

"Whatever.  Hey, you wanna pass the message on to his mom.  Tell her and
everyone else, we'll be back as soon as we can."

Chris grabbed the unopened Dr. Pepper he found sitting on the counter and
moved through the patio door. "Sure thing."

"Thanks Chris."  Chris was already outside, but Lance said it anyway.

______________________________________________________________________________

The thirty five minute car ride was largely silent.  Justin drove, his long
fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel.  Lance sat along side him, gazing
out the window, mindlessly playing with the ring that graced his right
hand. He kept his mind blank, save one single thought: He wished somehow
the car would go slower.

Lance leaned forward to turn on the radio.  Not so much for the music, but
as an excuse to glance in Justin's direction.  To see if he was okay.  But
Justin's oceany blue eyes were clouded and blank. Void of all recognition.
Already he was moving into his safe place.  Somehow Justin had the ability
to seemingly transport his mind somewhere else.  When things got bad or
even if he just got nervous, he would go into a fully functional,
trancelike state and remain there until he felt safe again.  They guys had
noticed it for the first time while doing an interview for German
television, back when NSync was just getting off the ground. When they
asked him about it, he described it as 'opening up this door in my head and
walking through.  I still know what's going on, but it seems distant.  Like
it's happening to someone else."  At the time, they all laughed at
him. Chris went so far as to break out his psychology books and list all
the disorders associated with that kind of thing.  He had Justin believing
he needed medication. Poor kid. He was really scared for while there.
Lance felt sorry for him.

Now, driving towards Gabe Huxley's office, Lance envied him.  **I would
give anything to go where you are right now.**

With this thought still in his head, the car pulled to a stop outside
Gabe's home office.

_______________________________________________________________________________

From behind his desk, Gabe caught sight of Justin's car.  He shoved the
stack of mindless paperwork he was working on carefully into the side draw.
**It's about damn time.** On Saturday's he ran with a very limited staff,
but even those employees had been sent home over forty-five minutes ago. He
stood and moved just far enough away from the window. From this distance,
no one would be able to see him, yet he could still see out.

He saw them get out of the car.  He saw them hesitate.  They were talking
about something.

Gabe would have given just about anything to hear what they were saying.
Well almost anything.  But as quickly as the conversation started, it was
over.  Together, silent and side-by-side, they walked toward his office.
That's it guys.  It's easy. One foot in front of the other. He had already
unlocked the spare office.  It was empty and Lance would go in there.  He
liked to keep things separate.

___________________________________________________________________________

The small front lobby was empty, Gabe's secretary no where in site.  They
turned left, down a short narrow hallway and stopped outside Suite 9.

Just as Lance was about to knock.  Justin grabbed his hand.

"I can't do this." It wasn't so much panic, as a statement of fact.

"Justin, it's going to be ok."

"How can you say that? You know he's going to hurt you more than me."

Lance felt his stomach turn, "No, I'll be fine. Besides it's been a long
time, maybe it's not what we think."  He smiled weakly, knowing a lie when
he heard one, then knocked on the door - quietly.
__________________________________________________________________________

(40 minutes later)

"Get up." Gabe ordered coldly as he removed his hand from the small of
Justin's back, releasing the pressure that held the young man prisoner
across the desk. He pulled his pants back onto his hips and tightened the
belt around his waist. The floor creaked slightly under his weight, as he
moved to the small bar area in the far corner of his office. This called
for a drink. Pouring himself a shot of brandy, he swished the alcohol into
a whirlpool that danced inside the glass.  Gabe inhaled the glistening
oasis, allowing the sweet aroma to draw him in.  He was pleased.  Snapping
his head back, he tossed the entire drink against the back of his throat,
swallowing hard. **One blond down, one to go.** Suddenly a loud crash
erupted behind him, forcing his attention once again to the forgotten boy.
A green, marble container lay overturned on the desk, his perfectly
sharpened pencils spewed like pixy sticks across the Persian rug.

Justin instantly gasped, his aching body frozen in place. **Shit!** In his
struggle to get dressed, his knee buckled, pitching him forward against the
desk. He landed hard, causing the office supplies to spill.  His tear
swollen eyes immediately darted in Gabe's direction. As Gabe turned around,
Justin watch the older man's jaw line harden, his teeth clench, his eyes
narrow.  The look of pure contempt made Justin's heart stop.

"My WIFE gave that to me as a gift." He scolded, glaring steadfast at the
boy.  The tone alone caused Justin to visibly cringe. He diverted his
guilt-ridden eyes down to the pullover jacket that remain clutched in his
hands. It was the only security blanket available.  **God, this is all my
fault. Why do I do these things?**

Justin stammered nervously, "Oh god...I didn't mean to...sorry...I'm so
sorry..."  he bent down in front of the desk, eye cast downward, "I will
pick it..."

"NO!" Gabe raised his voice forcefully and charged forward, "Dammit! Can't
you do anything other than look pretty?!"  Justin cowered and threw his
hands out as if to prove he hadn't touched anything. But it was too late;
Gabe didn't seem to care. He grabbed Justin's arm.  HARD.  Crushing his
skin as he yanked him up into a standing position. Justin, winced out loud;
he could feel exactly where each bruise would develop by morning.

"Please..." he began, but quickly cut himself off.  Pleading only made
matters worse.

Gabe half dragged the lanky young man, still clad only in his boxer shorts
and a oversized t-shirt, across the office and into his private bathroom.
He moved his hand to the back of Justin's neck and shoved him onto the cold
tile floor.  Looking down at the kid kneeling at his side, Gabe felt
another rush of lustful excitement overcome him.  Even at the age of
eighteen, Justin remained tender and boyish.  He had the ability to show
such enthusiasm, playfulness and energy.  This carefree passion for life
exuded from every aspect of the kid. And from the beginning Gabe needed to
possess it...to control it...even own it.  He reveled in the knowledge
that, with just the sound of his voice, he alone could dull the glimmer in
Justin's eyes.  Through humiliation, and yes, a lITTLE pain; he'd played on
their insecurities, skillfully wielding his power over both young
men. Neither boy had ever really protested.  Not really. And now, Gabe
dominated their every move.

His hand lingered on the back of the boy's head, allowing the soft, golden
locks of hair to encircle his fingers. **So beautiful** Gabe's face
softened slightly.  Slowly he leaned in and caressed Justin's cheek with
the back of his fingers.  "Don't worry, you'll always be my golden boy."
His hot, musky breath swept across Justin's neck, invoking a wave of nausea
deep within him. From his position on the floor, he closed his eyes and
eased away from the man, until his flushed, crimson cheek fell against the
cool bathroom wall. He concentrated on the cold, allowing it to engulf
him. Without opening his eyes, Justin knew Gabe had left; he felt his
shorts being thrown at him as he heard the familiar slide of metal entering
wood. Gabe locked the door.  It was the routine: waiting it out until Lance
was free to go.

Justin's body quivered as he suppressed the overwhelming need to vomit.  He
felt heavy and numb. As if in slow motion, he pushed his head threw the
pullover jacket and snaked his legs back through the shorts. Drawing his
knees up tight against his chest, a tear slid down his cheek as a single
word escaped his lips.

"No."

It was the first time he'd ever said the word out loud. The first time he'd
protested.

No one was around to hear him.

____________________________________________________________________________

Gabe's sports coat still hung neatly on a hanger behind the door to the
vacant office. He had removed it before his lunch meeting to avoid any
unsightly spills from damaging the silk.  Slipping his hand into the breast
pocket, he retrieved a small gold key. It was risky keeping it there, but
recently leaving it in the little wooden box it usually occupied on the
shelf next to his never read copy of The Seven Habits of Highly Successful
People posed a greater risk.  Last week he had walked in on
what's-her-name-with-the-knockers dusting his office shelves.  Sheila would
never stoop to dusting. As-a-matter-of-fact, Sheila would most likely drop
kick him and spit in his face if he even tried to ask. **God he missed
her!**

 The twisted smile spread once again across his thin lips.  In a swift
motion he unlocked the top drawer of a large metal filing cabinet. It was a
drawer Lance knew too well. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn't.  A
morbid need-to- know-what-was-happening type of curiosity took over.
Suddenly Gabe's hand, which had been buried within the depths of the
drawer, emerged with the all too familiar silk straps.

"Please don't bind my hands. I won't fight, I promise.  I'll do
anything...I just don't want it to be that way." Lance's soft deep voice
begged, his eyes pleaded.

Carefully withdrawing the pieces of silk in one hand, he continued to
contemplate what other "toys" would satisfy him. Gabe remained with his
back to the pale, blond boy.  "Lance, my dear boy, I think we will both
have more fun playing this way. Don't you? " His voice was cheerful and
calm, as if discussing the rules of a card game. Yet sheer terror quaked
inside Lance's head.

**Where is Justin's hiding place. I need to find it. I need to be there,
not here, not now.**

He blinked and saw Gabe walking towards him.

Closer.

**RUN!** His mind pleaded with him. **I can't.**

Closer.

**THEN HIDE INSIDE** **I can't find the door. I don't know how Justin gets
there. I don't know where he goes.**

Gabe stopped face to face with the pale blond. His eyes held a sadistic
twinkle of anticipation. Briskly, he grasped the back of Lance's head. The
boy gasped and closed his eyes as he felt individual hairs being pulled
from his scalp. **I surrender... Again**

But then Gabe did something he'd never done before, he kissed Lance. Not
tender. Not loving.  Hard and blunt. If lips could be callous, his
were. Lance recoiled against the kiss as if he'd been slapped.  He had
expected to be slapped.  He was used to that. It is how this game usually
began.  Pulling away as much as his the older man's grasp would allow,
Lance felt Gabe's heavy body lean into him, suckling his lower lip. In a
stoic, yet feeble attempt to regain control, Lance bit down hard on Gabe's
top lip, causing him to pull away, but not before Lance tasted the salty
sweet blood he left behind.  He expected to see anger flash across his
tormentor's eyes.  What he saw startled him more; Gabe's eyes smiled. He
wiped the pooling blood away with the back of his hand.

 "I KNEW you wanted to play." Gabe's reached out and rubbed his thumb
across Lance's pouty lower lip, removing a small trace of leftover
blood. With that, Gabe grabbed at the young blond's wrists, wrapping them
tight.  **Let the games begin!**

__________________________________________________________________________

Forty-five minutes later, Justin heard the bathroom door unlock.  He'd
waited out most of the time sitting on the stool, afraid of catching even
the slightest glimpse of himself in the mirror.  That had become the
hardest part of the whole thing, facing himself.  He counted out 60
seconds, then went out the bathroom door.  Thankfully, to leave Gabe's
office, the door was only five feet from where he now stood, no where near
Gabe's desk. Justin could make a clean break.  And as for Lance, he would
already be in the car.  That was the routine.

Moving towards the door, Justin didn't have to hear the papers shuffling to
know Gabe was again working at his desk. Business as usual.  It didn't
matter, Justin was leaving, two more steps and he'd be free again.  But
just before he reached the door, Gabe's voice seared like a knife through
his brain.

"Hey, Justin?"

He stopped cold, his hand already on the doorknob, he refused to turn
around.  "Yeah?"

"Happy Birthday."

Justin opened the door and slammed it behind him.  He'd probably pay for
that in the long run, but right now he didn't care.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Okay, I warned you it was dark.  But I wouldn't put these characters
through it if it was necessary.  Like I said before, this is really only a
small part of a much larger story.  So please be patient.  If all goes
well, we still have a long way to go!

Thanks for reading!!

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