Thieves

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1. If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.

2. I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them.

Author's note: This story has nothing to do with "JC's Hitchhiker" or with "Brian and Tommy".

"Harder, Wade! Harder! Oh, God, yeah!"

Lance lay in bed on his back, staring at the ceiling, with his hands over his ears, drumming his feet on the mattress under the sheets in frustration. He knew that he should have been used to this, should have known that he wouldn't get any sleep, but he'd lost the round of Rock, Paper, Scissors with the other guys, which meant it was his turn to sleep next to Justin's room, and to listen to Justin and Wade go at it all night. It could have been worse, he supposed. He could be in the same room as them, instead of on the other side of the wall, listening to them completely unmuffled, without the benefit of a few inches of plaster and wallpaper.

"Unh, Wade, unh."

Then again, maybe being in the same room with them wouldn't be so awful after all. Lance could see them in his mind's eye, all tangled up in the bedsheets. Justin would be on the bottom, all that lean, tanned muscle straining to match the urgency in his cries through the wall, sweat rolling over him like it did when they were onstage. He could see Justin's toned arms flexing, his back glistening as he twisted, impaled, beneath Wade. Lance could see Wade as well, his hips pistoning, driving himself into Justin, pounding away at him, roughly, but still with love and caring. Wade's shaggy blond hair would be stuck to his forehead, his long legs tangled with Justin's, his broad chest scraping over Justin's back.

Then again, it was Justin. Touching him, at this point, after all their years together, would be as awkward as touching his own brother. On an intellectual level, and a purely physical one, Lance could agree that Justin was very attractive, but every time he looked at him the attractiveness dissolved in a glow of camaraderie and friendship. The two of them had decided a while ago, when they were out to each other but not to the rest of the guys, that it would be impossible for anything to happen between them. Justin was too much like family. They'd shared too much, and grown too close in other ways, for either of them to want to jeopardize their friendship. Lance sighed, knowing that part of the problem with listening to them, and trying to sleep through it, was that it had just been too long since he had been with anyone. It had been too long since he had even been on a date, much less been intimate. Justin had been lucky enough to meet someone who worked closely with them, someone who was on the road with them and part of their lifestyle, but Lance hadn't been able to.

"Wade, oh, God, Wade, do it! Unh! Yes! Yes!"

Lance cursed silently at the ceiling, wishing the two of them didn't have so much stamina. Justin's cries and yelps began to get louder as he urged Wade on, and Lance finally surrendered, hopping out of bed. Padding across the room in his boxers, he tugged on a t-shirt, grabbed his room key card, pillow, and a blanket, and left his suite. Walking down the hall, he nodded to Keith, the bodyguard on duty by the elevators, and walked to Joey's suite. He tapped softly, but didn't hear anything, so he knocked louder. Finally he heard Joey stomping toward the door, and then it was jerked open in front of him. Joey stood before him in Superman boxers and a plain undershirt, and he took one look at Lance, noting the dark circles under his pale green eyes, the scowl that was becoming more characteristic lately, and the pillow and blanket.

"Couch or bed?" Joey asked, rubbing at his eyes. "I'll flip you for it."

"I'll just take the couch," Lance said, following Joey inside. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not," Joey answered, flicking on a lamp so Lance could see the couch. "I've lost the round before, too. I know what you're trying to sleep through."

"They don't mean it, though," Lance said, shrugging, as he pulled his shirt off and wrapped the blanket around him. "I'm sure if they knew how loud they were, they'd try to stop it."

"I'm not gonna be the one who tells them," Joey said, chuckling as he shook his head. "You ok there?"

"Yeah," Lance answered, moving around on the couch, trying to get comfortable. It wasn't too bad, as couches went. "Thanks, Joey."

"Anything for my best friend," Joey said, flicking off the lamp. He paused at the doorway to the bedroom. "Lance, are you, you know, ok?"

"Yeah, this is fine," Lance answered, rolling toward the sound of Joey's voice, since he couldn't see him.

"That's not what I mean," Joey said carefully. "Listening to Justin and Wade, does it, you know, does it bother you? Does it make you think about Mike?"

Lance sighed.

"No, not really," Lance answered, a little sadly. "Mike and I, well, we didn't work out. It happens."

"I know," Joey agreed, wishing there was something he could do for his friend. Lance and Mike had broken up months ago, longer than they'd even been dating, but nothing seemed to make him smile anymore, not really. "But Lance, aren't you lonely? I mean, you haven't even gone out on a date. Are you going to?"

Lance knew that Joey just wanted him to be happy, but there really wasn't anything either of them could do, not now, and not with the way Lance's life was. For the good of the band, Lance and Justin stayed in the closet, keeping their personal lives to themselves. JC, Chris, and Joey were completely supportive of them, but Lance and Justin had agreed that they had all worked too hard to have it undone by something that wasn't anyone's business anyway. It had been a group decision, for the good of everyone, but being in the closet made it a little difficult to meet guys, and most guys weren't happy with the pressure and commitment involved in keeping the relationship a secret. For now, it just meant that Lance had more time to focus on his work, and his friends. That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.

"I will, Joey, sometime," Lance sighed. "I just haven't met the right guy."

Nearby, in another hotel room, a very different young man was reviewing a packet of information. He had read all of it before, but his partner had told him over and over that preparation was key in one of these jobs, and this was a start on everything he would need to know. This was a comprehensive list of favorites and dislikes, autobiographical material, and all sorts of other random trivia, because you never knew what was going to be important, and what you might have to know. Until he followed through on the plan, and actually got to meet Lance, he wouldn't be sure of what might be useful, and what kind of stuff was just garbage.

The crowning part of the packet, though, was the inside information. While the rest of the stuff he'd been reading had come from the internet, and magazine interviews, and transcripts of television appearances, this was inside information. This was the kind of stuff that wasn't in the tabloids, or the magazines written for teenagers in line next to the checkout at the grocery store. This was the kind of material that was kept out of the papers, the kind of stuff that was discounted as rumors and covered up with stories about Nsync's charity work, buried in employee confidentiality agreements. There was information here on the other kinds of clubs Lance went to, how late and how often, and the kind of guys he talked to there. The details of Lance's relationship with Mike were all laid out as well, a kind of awful Cliff's Notes summary that reduced the relationship to its bare bones.

It was the kind of information that you only got from someone inside the circle, and it was the reason why this would work. This whole thing was the inside guy's idea. They had done some of this sort of work before, blackmailing older, married businessmen who had indiscretions with the young man. It had been profitable for both of them, but this plan dwarfed those, not only in ambition, but in the gains, too. If they could pull this off, they could split the profit, and they would be set. The young man would have enough money to finally sever himself from his partner, as much as he hated to think about it. They'd been through so much together, but the young man had been thinking about the way he was treated, and the balance of power in this partnership. More and more often, he felt used, like a tool, or a whore, and that was the life he'd been promised an escape from.

Leaning back, he ran his hands through his hair, blinking to clear his eyes as the words began to swim together. His hair was stringy, dirty from not being washed for a few days, and it felt rather disgusting to him, but he needed the authenticity. It was all part of the plan, and now that he had committed to it, each part had to be handled with care. When he was clean, and shaved, he looked much different, much more attractive than right now, and beneath his grungy, ripped, and smelly clothes he was hiding a tight, toned body, the kind that men loved to touch, and couldn't get enough of. It was the kind of body that Lance wouldn't be able to resist, either, especially combined with his new identity. Putting aside the information on Lance Bass, he closed his eyes, and began reviewing his own character again. He needed to know it inside out, needed to become the part, because it was his role on which this whole thing would turn. It wouldn't be hard, though. For the most part, the part he was playing was him, more or less, a variation on the original.

He wondered what Lance was doing right now, and what he was thinking of. He knew where he was, which room in which hotel on the other side of town. If things went well tomorrow, according to the plan, he would know personally.

"Hey, Lance," JC said, sliding up next to him at the bar. Lance hadn't seen him leave the dance floor, but here he was, sweating a little, but flushed and grinning, his fingers linked through some blonde's.

"JC," Lance said, nodding. "Tired of dancing?"

"Yeah. I think I'm, uh, going to head back to the hotel early, and, you know, talk to Linda here a little more," JC said, indicating the girl with a nod of his head. Her eyes were crawling all over JC, and, judging from that and from the sly grin on JC's face, Lance didn't think they'd actually be talking for very long. "Can you say good night to everyone for me?"

"Yeah, sure," Lance answered, shrugging. He started to turn back to his drink, but JC put a hand on his arm. When Lance turned, he saw JC looking pretty serious, Linda more or less forgotten as he looked at Lance, his blue eyes narrowed.

"You ok, bro?" JC asked, watching Lance's face carefully.

Lance stared at him, wondering how he should answer, and realized that he was unsure himself. He knew he was in a funk, and had been for days, but this wasn't really the place to talk about it. He knew, as well, that JC really was concerned, and that he'd drop this girl in a heartbeat if Lance needed him. Lance wondered, though, if that was part of the problem. Was he jealous that JC could so easily find someone, that he could just walk into a club and dance with some girl, and then bring her home, and not have to worry about who would see it and what they would think? That wasn't JC's fault, though, and there was no point in making him miss out on his fun. The point in going out tonight had been for all of them to relax and have a good time, but Lance wasn't. JC wasn't to blame for that, either, though.

"Yeah, I'm good," Lance lied, smiling. JC saw through it, but knew when not to push.

"Hey Lance, let's do something tomorrow," JC suggested, ignoring the tugging on his hand coming from Linda, who was apparently feeling a little neglected. "You and me, we'll go shopping or something. You want to?"

"Sure," Lance answered. He could tell that JC was trying, and really it might be fun for just the two of them to hang out. They hadn't done anything together in a while, except for touring, and that was becoming more like work and less like just being together and having a good time. "Have a good night, JC."

"I hope to," JC answered, grinning, and gave Lance a little final wave as he and Linda headed out to look for a cab.

Lance grinned, shaking his head a little. JC would go home with that girl, fall into bed with her, and by tomorrow he'd either be head over heels in love, or would have completely lost interest in her. None of them were ever sure, exactly, of what the indicator was, what some girls had that others didn't, but JC was either really clingy, or completely fickle. Lance hoped that he'd be happy, but really the odds for this girl weren't much better than they'd been for any of the girls before her. Knowing JC, it was probably something really odd that only made sense to him, like whether their bra and panties matched or something.

Lance looked around to see how the rest of their friends were doing, and wondered if they were ready to pack it in as well. It was getting late, but in New York it seemed like the clubs were always open. Joey had already left as well, pleading family obligations, which meant he had to go back to the hotel and call Kelly, to check on their daughter. Out on the dance floor, Justin and Wade smiled and laughed under the lights, some girl sandwiched between them. This was how they'd worked out the issue of not being able to dance with each other in public. They found some girl, threw her in between the two of them, and proceeded to dance against her all night while they watched each other, grinning. It made Lance grin sometimes as well, and he hadn't ever heard any of the girls complain about it, but tonight he just wasn't feeling it. Over at the bar, Chris was drinking quite a bit, not really realizing it, as he sat in the middle of a crowd of people, cracking jokes under the watchful eye of their bodyguard for the night, Keith. Everyone else looked like they were having a great time, so Lance sighed and went back to his soda, watching the music videos flash by on the television screens.

The young man sat in an alley, near the club, huddled between a pair of garbage cans, hoping not to be noticed, and hoping tonight would be the night, so that he could stop sitting in these places. They weren't clean, and they weren't especially safe, although he'd been in worse places before. Back in his old life, the one he'd been taken out of, the one he'd been promised he'd never have to go back to, he had slept in alleys, coat curled around him, barely asleep as he shivered and stayed watchful for anyone else to come near. People might try to take your stuff, or search you for drugs, money, food, or anything else they might think they needed. You might be on someone else's turf, or they might just feel like hurting you for their own reasons. When he'd left, though, when the other man had finally taken him out of this, he'd been promised he'd never have to go back to that, as long as he went along with the plans.

And yet, here he was, in an alley, at night, alone. It was part of the plan, though. Looking around carefully, making sure no one was watching him, he carefully removed the cellular telephone from his pocket, and checked for a text message. The rendezvous was one of the trickier parts of the plan, but if they pulled it off, everything else would fall into place. All he was waiting for was the message that would tell him to get into position. They'd been over this a hundred times, and he really didn't care for this part of it, but they'd both agreed that it was their best chance. It was extremely risky, and would probably also be extremely painful. He just needed to focus on what it would get him, and what he would be able to do.

"JC Joey gone. Proceeding. Be ready for next."

It didn't matter either way if all five of them were there, or if it would be Lance by himself, but it was still nice to know that Joey, the best friend, and JC, the smart one, would be out of the way. If Wade was with them, Justin was distracted, but what was his partner going to do with Chris? He'd said that getting Lance into position meant neutralizing Chris, but what, exactly, did that mean?

"Lance, we have to get Chris back to the hotel," Keith said, suddenly appearing at Lance's side. Lance jumped a little, looking around for Chris, or any of the others, but saw only Keith, looking a little urgent at his side. "Justin and Wade have him in the bathroom."

"What's wrong?" Lance asked, starting toward the bathroom. Keith put a hand on his arm.

"Too much to drink," Keith said, shrugging. "He was about to throw up, so I had them take him to the bathroom. Can you run out front and have the valet get the van? I'm going to go help them, and see if we can get him out without too many people noticing."

"Sure, ok," Lance said, taking the valet ticket.

It wasn't like Chris to get drunk enough to be sick. None of them ever did, at least not in a public club. He had been drinking a lot, though, maybe more than Lance had noticed. Lance walked out to the front, waving at the people who recognized him and called his name, and handed the tag to the valet. By the time the van was back around, Keith and Wade were walking Chris out of the club between them, Justin trailing along helplessly behind. Chris was stumbling a little, and mumbling incoherently, leaning on Wade's shoulder, slumped against the taller man as Keith scanned the crowd. They began walking Chris to the van, practically dragging him, and Keith turned to Lance as Wade pushed Chris onto the seat.

"Lance, can you drive? We have to get him out of here, before someone starts taking pictures," Keith said, climbing into the back.

"Sure, I guess," Lance said, walking around the front. "I don't really know where we are."

"Jesus, Lance, can you just drive the fucking van, please?" Wade snapped, trying to get everyone moving. "Just get behind the wheel, please."

"I'll tell you where to go," Keith said, waiting for Justin to get in. He stood at the curb, glancing frantically back and forth between Chris, Keith, Lance, and Wade.

"Is he ok? Should we do something?" Justin asked, wringing his hands.

"Come on, Juju, get in so we can go," Wade said, tugging on his arm. Justin didn't handle trouble well, and was probably about five seconds away from panicking right there on the curb.

"But Chris," Justin began, pointing, just as Chris let out a low groan. Keith tapped the side of Chris's face a little, but he didn't seem to come around. Wade took Justin's hand and pulled him into the van.

"Come sit in the back with me, Justin," Wade whispered, his voice low. "I'll do things to you, and no one will be able to see."

"Yeah?" Justin asked, Chris suddenly forgotten.

"Yeah, baby," Wade said, pulling Justin toward him on the seat.

Lance rolled his eyes at the ceiling of the van and pulled out, not caring if they were sitting down yet or not. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noticed that Chris looked pale, but not deathly ill, in the seat right behind him as Justin landed on top of Wade in the very back.

The cell phone chirped.

"Leaving now. Good luck."

The young man switched off the phone and tossed it into one of the garbage cans. Standing, he walked to the front of the alley, noticing how dark and deserted the street was. No other traffic would be coming, and if they had just left the club he had only a minute or two to mentally prepare himself. He hoped this would work out ok, as this was the physically riskiest part of the plan. He would have offered up a prayer, but, considering what they were doing, he wasn't sure that God was on his side on this one. At the end of the street he saw the van turn the corner, a bright purple minivan, just as planned. It was too unusual a color to be anyone else.

The young man crouched at the mouth of the alley and waited as the van began to drive slowly down the street.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Lance asked, driving slowly down the dimly lit street.

"It's a shortcut," Keith said, scanning the sides of the road. "We'll be back at the hotel in a minute."

"He's right," Wade said. "I know where we are. Just keep going this way, but go slow. Cops."

Chris was now leaning against the window, his eyes closed, as he drifted toward sleep. In the back, Justin and Wade were kissing softly, somehow still making enough wet sucking noises to fill the van, punctuating their actions every few seconds with a giggle or a sigh as their hands drifted downward out of Lance's view. Keith was watching Lance's eyes in the mirror as Lance glanced back to check on Chris again, and then suddenly Lance saw Keith's eyes go wide.

"Look out!" Keith blurted, startling everyone.

Lance glanced up just in time to see someone run into the street, bursting out of an alley he'd barely noticed. He slammed on the brakes, seeing a blur cross in front of the headlights, and felt a sick twisting in his stomach as he caught a face, pale, with wide eyes, just before he felt the front of the van collide with a dull thud. Lance felt his whole body go cold.

"Oh my God!" Justin shrieked. "Oh my God!"

"What was that?" Wade asked, pulling himself out from under Justin's chin.

"Lance?" Keith asked, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Lance?"

"Oh, Jesus," Lance breathed, reaching for his door handle. "Oh, Jesus, I think I hit someone."

They sat in silence for a second, all of them processing what Lance had just said. The only noise in the car was a light snore from Chris, his face pressed against the glass of the window. Under any other circumstances, it might be kind of funny to see him drooling against the glass, his face squashed and pulled out of shape, a truly photographic moment, but not now. They all glanced at Chris, and then were all moving toward the doors of the van at once, Lance shaking, Justin muttering "Shit, shit, shit," under his breath, Wade and Keith numbly silent. As they opened the doors, they heard someone moaning in pain around the front.

Lance hurried around the front of the van, unsure of what he was going to do, still trying to deal with the fact that he had just run someone over. As he rounded the hood he saw a man slumped across the road in front of them, rocking back and forth and holding his leg. His face was twisted in agony, lips curled back, teeth gritted, and his arms were wrapped around his shin, holding it tightly. Lance dropped down next to him, and saw a pair of bright, crystal blue eyes staring at him from between stringy strands of brownish blond hair.

"Are you all right?" Lance asked, not sure if he should touch him.

"It hurts," the young man said, grabbing Lance's arm. "Help me, please."

Lance saw the pain in his face, and the fear, and didn't know what else to do, so he hugged the young man against his chest, noting dimly in the back of his mind that the guy was rather filthy, but wanting to comfort him just the same.

"I'll help you," Lance said. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The rest of them rounded the other side of the hood, all three of them skidding to a stop as they saw Lance kneeling by the bumper, holding onto a dirty homeless guy. Justin pulled out his cell phone, and Wade clamped a hand around his wrist.

"What are you doing?" Wade asked, trying to stay calm. He couldn't let Justin do something stupid and thoughtless that would compound the situation, which was bad enough on its own. Justin blinked at Wade, his eyes wide.

"We have to call someone!" Justin said, his voice a high whine. "We have to get help!"

"Justin's right," Keith said. "We should get him to the hospital."

"We should drive him ourselves," Wade said, shaking his head.

"I don't think we should move him," Lance said, shaking his head.

"Guys, he's fine," Wade said, dropping down next to him. "We'll take him ourselves."

"You're not a doctor," Lance said firmly. The homeless man whimpered against him, still holding his leg. "Justin's right, we have to help him."

"Can you walk?" Wade asked, tugging on the man's arm. "Can you get into our van?"

"Please help me," the man answered, looking up at Lance, ignoring Wade. "It hurts so much."

"I'll help you, I promise," Lance said, nodding. "Wade, look."

"No, you look, Lance, and listen carefully," Wade said. "You just ran someone over. You, Lance Bass, in the middle of the night, on your way back from a bar, with Chris passed out in the back seat. Do you know what'll happen if people find out about this? Do you?"

"Wade, we have to help him," Lance said again.

"Baby, please," Justin said from behind him. Wade dropped down next to Lance.

"I know we have to help him," Wade said. "What I'm telling you is that we should take him ourselves, and then take Chris back to the hotel. There's a hospital right around here somewhere, and we can take him over, and drop him off."

"I'm not just going to leave him in the hospital," Lance said, shaking his head. "I can't believe you're even thinking like this."

"Someone has to," Wade snapped. "Wake up, Lance, and look around. I'm trying to do what's best for you, and Chris, and Justin. Work with me, here, damn it."

"I think Wade has a point," Keith said, dropping down next to him. "Lance, I was supposed to be driving, not you. I'll lose my job if they find out about this, especially if they find out because the cops show up with some ambulance. And that's nothing compared to what'll happen to you."

"Remember when Nick Carter got arrested?" Wade asked, nodding. "Remember all the news stories? What the hell do you think they'll do with this, Lance? Is that what you want to happen to everyone? To yourself? To our friends?"

"I'm not leaving him at the hospital," Lance said firmly. "I did this. I'm not just going to walk away."

"Fine!" Wade said, shaking his head. "Let's just get him in the fucking van."

Lance held the man on one side as Wade held him up on the other, keeping his weight off of his leg, and they got him onto the seat with Chris. Justin climbed back in, and Wade pulled the door closed behind him as Keith hurried around to the front. Chris snored on, oblivious to it all.

"Do you know how to get to a hospital from here?" Wade asked.

"Yeah," Keith answered, pulling away from the alley.

"I'll get you some help," Lance whispered the to man, still holding onto him. "This'll be ok, I promise."

The young man whimpered, his face pressed against Lance's chest, but he was smiling. Lance was hooked. Now he just had to reel him in.

To be continued.