Sestina
by Shine

The Hudson River rolled past Lance's window, deep steel-blue and speckled with traffic, freighters and yachts and tugs weaving in and out in a complicated, fascinating pattern. He'd been watching it for almost an hour when the door behind him opened, and he didn't move to turn around.

"Hey," he said to the glass, and there was a quiet sound from the door.

"Just talked to Jackson--the DC thing's a go," Chris said, coming into the room on jittery feet, and Lance didn't need to see him to know Chris was angry. It was in every footstep, in the frustrated sound of his breathing, in the tense hand laid on his shoulder, rubbing reflexively. Lance bent his head, turned around and kissed the fingers laying on his t-shirt, and was rewarded by a faint sigh, the weight of Chris's head resting between his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and he was. Chris hadn't called Michael Jackson by his first name in almost a year. Justin was like Chris's little brother, and Justin had spent three months jumping whenever someone touched him from behind. Lance didn't want to know what it had cost Chris to agree to this plan.

"Are we sure we want to do this?" Chris sounded like he knew it was hopeless, but he had to ask. He wouldn't be Chris if he didn't.

Lance sighed. He hated to sound callous, but the facts were plain: the publicity would be phenomenal, they'd been invited personally by Michael Jackson himself, and to say no would be professional suicide. He didn't like it either--in fact, he probably hated it with as much fervor as Chris, since these days, he pretty much felt whatever Chris did. But they didn't really have another choice. In two weeks, they'd be playing the nation's capital.

Chris touched his arm, a warm palm pressed close, and Lance felt seared to the bone. It hurt, shocky and sweet, and he never wanted it to end. "It's okay," Chris said. "I know. I know."

"I'm sorry," Lance said again, helplessly, and Chris wrapped his arms around him, rested his chin on Lance's shoulder, and together they watched the ebb and flow of the New York Harbor. It was a beautiful day, and the glare of the sun on the water made tears prickle Lance's eyes.

It was just the sun, of course, he told himself.

Nothing more.

Fin