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: I am aware that Nsync travels in multiple busses, so that the guys have more room, but for the purposes of this story, they're on one big bus, like in the old days.

JC stood outside Lance's door, trying to hear if they were up or not before he knocked. He knew Lance's schedule fairly well, and figured that he would be awake by now, but he didn't want to seem intrusive. Really he was just at the door to do something nice, but he was afraid that Mitch wouldn't take it the right way. He wanted to help, but didn't want to wound Mitch's pride again. He could see where Mitch was coming from, especially after the talk the two of them had yesterday morning, but still, they'd never be able to help him if he wouldn't lower the walls a little. JC raised his hand to the door, shrugging, and decided that if Mitch wouldn't lower the walls, then maybe they'd lower them for him.

Lance answered the door, looking a little tired. He had circles under his eyes, not too bad, but enough to make JC wonder if he was ok. Had something happened last night?

"Hey," Lance said, smiling. "Good morning."

"Good morning," JC said, holding his bundle to his chest. "Is, um, is Mitch up yet? I have something for him."

"I don't know if," Lance began, unsure of whether Mitch would want to see anyone right now. He'd been so quiet this morning, barely speaking at all. Lance could understand, after the night they'd had, and he didn't want to push, but Mitch was very withdrawn. When Lance asked if he was ok, he insisted that he was fine, just tired, and he had smiled at Lance before Lance got in the shower, but other than that, he seemed deep in thought.

"I'm awake," Mitch said quietly from the bedroom door. Lance turned, and saw him standing on his crutches, the garbage bags in one hand, in the Nsync t-shirt Steve had grabbed for him at one of the vendor stands and his boxer briefs. JC noticed dark circles under Mitch's eyes, too, and noticed that both of them seemed a little subdued. He found himself even more worried. "Hi, JC. Good morning. I was just going to get in the bath while Lance packs his stuff."

"Oh, then it's good that I stopped by," JC said, smiling. "I brought you these pants."

He held out a couple of pairs of folded snap pants, the kind with the buttons up the side, to Mitch, and saw his face tighten a little suspiciously. JC bit back a sigh, instead smiling as he continued.

"I was packing up the stuff I bought yesterday, and there wasn't enough room in my bags," JC lied. It was the best story he'd been able to think up, however flimsy. "I figured that, you know, since they didn't fit, and they're snap pants, they'd fit over your cast, so you could use them. I mean, otherwise you'd have to wear the same pants you wore yesterday."

"God forbid," Lance said, snickering a little. Only JC would think it was a tragedy to wear the same outfit two days in a row. He hoped Mitch wouldn't take this as insulting, or more charity. JC was trying, although the story wouldn't hold up to questioning of any kind.

"Are you sure you won't need them?" Mitch asked quietly, looking up at JC. His eyes still seemed a little shadowed, and JC couldn't believe that he actually looked torn about deciding whether or not to take a couple pairs of pants.

"Really, Mitch, they don't fit anywhere, in any of my bags," JC said. "If you don't take them, I'll just, you know, throw them away or leave them behind."

JC wouldn't actually throw clothes away, ever, but he couldn't think of anything else.

"OK," Mitch said, taking the pants. He couldn't seem to meet JC's eyes, and was just staring down at the clothing in his hands. He turned away, hurrying toward the bathroom as fast as he could on the crutches. "I don't want to make Lance late. I'm going to go take that bath now."

"We're going to have breakfast on the bus, Mitch, ok?" Lance said. He'd explained earlier that it was a traveling day. He saw the downward slope of Mitch's shoulders, and decided to try talking to him again after his bath.

"Yeah, ok," Mitch said quickly, without turning back. "Thanks, JC. Thanks for the pants."

"No problem," JC called, watching Lance's face fall a little as he went back to his packing. Once the bathroom door was closed, JC tapped Lance on the shoulder. "Lance, you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok," Lance said, running a hand through his hair. He sighed. "We just, it was a rough night last night. I don't really want to talk about it, ok?"

"Are you sure?" JC asked, not wanting to leave Lance in pain, but not wanting to poke at him, either. Lance nodded, his face looking more tired than hurt. "I mean, do you need anything, or Mitch? Is there anything I can do for you guys?"

Lance turned, and hugged JC quickly, surprising him.

"JC, I know I told you this before, but thank you," Lance said quietly. "Thank you for being my friend, and for not caring about, you know, the way I am."

"Lance?" JC asked again, patting him on the back as Lance held onto him. Where on earth was this coming from? Lance stepped away, smiling, although it was a small one.

"I'm sorry," Lance said, going back to his bag. "I just, you know, I was thinking about that, and I wanted to say thanks, while you were here. And I'm ok, I really am. I can tell that you're about to ask again, so I'll just tell you that I'm fine. I just need some more sleep, and I'll get it on the bus. OK?"

"OK," JC answered, smiling. Beneath his grin, he was thinking that he really needed to talk to Joey and Chris, and see what they thought about this. "I'm going to go finish my stuff, then. I'll see you guys on the bus, and if you need me, you know where I am, ok?"

"OK," Lance said, smiling. He was lucky to have his friends, he really was.

Mitch, listening through the bathroom door, was thinking the same thing. He looked down at the pants on the bathroom counter while he waited for the tub to fill, and thought about how careful JC had been to give them to him without upsetting him. Granted, they'd spent the whole day together yesterday, more or less, but JC had no reason to worry about him. He had no reason to give him pants, either, but if he was going to, all he really needed to do was stop by and drop them off. He didn't have to try to be so damned careful. This was all so damned confusing. He wanted to believe that Lance and his friends really were just nice, kind people, but if he did, if it was true, what about Keith? What about everyone else, all the people he knew, and all the things he knew about people?

And what about himself?

Essentially, Mitch thought of himself as a good person. He'd helped to do some bad things, but they were to people who more or less deserved it. The men they had blackmailed had just used him, so it was ok to use them back. Some of them were nice, like Lance, but they had always treated him like an employee, a cheap trick. They said nice things, but that attitude was always there, that sense of superiority, and that had left Mitch feeling angry, and used. Granted, his choice of employment was all about being used, but it didn't have to be insulting. It left him feeling dirty, the way that they just said thank you and dropped money on the desk, or asked where they could get him a cab to. Some of them didn't even ask him his name, and they left him feeling less human, less like a person, and more like trash.

Feeling like that made what Keith wanted easier. When Keith picked him up for the first time, he hadn't taken him to a hotel room. He had, instead, taken him to a restaurant, not a fancy one, but just a diner, and he had sat down and talked to him. Mitch didn't know then what had attracted Keith to him, and still didn't, but he had seen him cruising the neighborhood for a few nights before he pulled over. He had been watching the boys, and Mitch and the guys he used to know then had made a few jokes about him, laughing over whether or not he would work up the courage to pull over and talk to one of them. When he finally did, and had driven him to the diner, Mitch had thought for a minute that he was just shy, but quickly changed his mind. Keith had started asking him questions, even before the food came, and his demeanor was so matter of fact that Mitch actually wondered if he might be a cop. Cops didn't take you to dinner, though, so he didn't really know for sure what to think.

"How would you like to get off the streets?" Keith asked finally. Mitch looked up at him from his plate, wondering where this was going.

"I might like that," Mitch answered carefully.

"Good, because I think maybe we can help each other," Keith said, grinning.

"Are you a cop?" Mitch asked finally. "I mean, I didn't think you were, but are you?"

"No, I'm not a cop," Keith answered, shaking his head. "Furthest thing from it, actually. What I am, Mitchell, is an entrepreneur. Do you know what that is?"

"I'm not stupid," Mitch said. This was getting weirder and weirder, but it was starting to sound like there might be a little more money in it than he'd thought when he got in the car. "It means you're kind of a businessman, someone who looks for opportunities."

"Very good, Mitch," Keith smiled condescendingly. "I knew you were a smart one. I could tell when I saw you on the sidewalks. You're not like those other guys you hang out with, those other boys you stand with. I can tell, just by talking to you, you don't belong out there, and I think I can help you."

Mitch stared at him questioningly, still eating. Just in case this guy turned out to be some sort of nutcase he wanted to pack in as much food as he could while he still had time, and things were relatively normal. If, that is, this weird string of unbelievable flattery could be considered normal. Did this guy think no one had ever said that to him before? He knew he was smart, and he knew he was good looking. He didn't need this weirdo, whoever he was, to tell him.

"I can help you, that is," Keith continued, leaning across the table a little, "if you're smart enough to take the opportunity I'm offering. I have something special all worked out, but I can't do it alone. I need a young man of rather specific talents, and I think you can be that guy. Interested?"

Mitch thought about it for a minute. This guy sent out a pretty butch, straight vibe, so his idea probably didn't involve Mitch getting fucked tonight. That alone meant it might be worth listening to him a little more, if it meant he might have somewhere to sleep tonight and wouldn't have to do it with the lingering taste of Listerine in his mouth, or that loose, stretched feeling in his ass. After Mitch agreed to hear him out, they left the diner, and went to a hotel, where Keith explained his plan. At first, Mitch was a little wary. He didn't like to hurt people, and didn't want to, but the way Keith explained it, Mitch wouldn't have to. Mitch would let himself get picked up by guys, the kind of guys who wore good clothes and drove nice cars, and he would bring them back to a room, claiming it was his. The cameras would already be set, and Mitch would allow the guys to perform whatever acts they wanted to on him, making sure the lights stayed on. While the guys were cleaning up, or whenever else he got a chance, Mitch would peek into their wallets and get their names, or Keith would just get their license plate number and trace them, and then they would blackmail the guys with pictures.

"But that's illegal," Mitch said, frowning. Keith looked at him, smirking.

"Yes, yes it is," Keith said. "So is hustling, by the way, in case you were unaware. Look, Mitch, these guys are already paying you. What's wrong with making them pay a little more?"

Mitch was still a little unsure. It seemed kind of wrong, even if the guys were already using him, and even if he didn't like the way most of them treated him. It was wrong to use people like that, to play on their feelings, and it wasn't the way he'd been brought up. Then again, when had anyone cared about his feelings? When had people worried about using him? And as for the way he'd been brought up, well, maybe there wasn't much to say about that, either. Look what his parents had done to him, where they'd let him end up.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Mitch said quietly, torn.

"You won't have to," Keith said. "You won't even have to see the guys again. Once we get the pictures, I'll handle everything else. You never have to see their faces again, and it won't really be you who's doing anything to them. Look, Mitch, we can make a lot with this. I can give you a place to stay, and you won't have to be out there anymore. You're a smart guy, Mitch, and I'm trying to be your friend."

"And what if I say no?" Mitch asked, concerned about his own safety now that he was here alone in some strange room with Keith, who he really didn't know. He casually dropped his hands to his lap, slowly sliding one toward his pocket, where he kept a knife. "Now that you told me all of this, what if I don't want to go for it?"

"Tell you what," Keith said, standing and walking toward the door. "I'm going to leave the room key right here on this dresser. You can stay here for the night, whether you want to do this or not. If you're interested, I'll be back in the morning. All you have to do is be here."

And that was how it had started. Mitch didn't sleep much that night, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought Keith might be right. He could make money from this, and if he was careful, and saved up his share, he'd be able to save up enough to get an apartment, and a job. He'd be able to buy himself some of the things he wanted, some nicer clothes, stuff like that, and he'd be off the streets. Sure, it was illegal, but so was what he was doing now, and in the end, it was give and take. Besides, it wasn't Mitch actually hurting anyone. It was Keith doing all the blackmail, and all the dirty work. It was a fine line, but it was one Mitch thought he could draw, and when Keith came back in the morning, tapping at the door, he grinned widely at Mitch and stuck out his hand.

"Pleasure to be working with you, partner," Keith said, squeezing his hand tightly as he shook it.

A knocking at the bathroom door startled Mitch out of the memory.

"Mitch?" Lance asked through the door. "Are you ok? We have to go soon, and I need to pack my hair stuff."

"Yeah, ok," Mitch said quickly, glancing at the twenty or so bottles on the counter. He flipped the drain switch and heard the water start to swirl through the pipes. "I'll be right out."

"Don't hurry," Lance said quickly. "I don't want you to slip and get hurt, ok? Just take your time, and go ahead and get dressed, and I'll just be in here watching TV."

"OK," Mitch said, glancing in the mirror as he pulled himself up and reached for his towel, water coursing down his body. He glanced away from the mirror, not wanting to meet his own eyes, whispering quietly to himself, "I don't want you to get hurt, either, Lance."

He really needed to talk to Keith. He didn't know if he could still do this, or if he still wanted to. When he finished drying off and getting dressed, he hobbled out into the bedroom, trying to master hopping around on just one crutch, since the two of them were just so gangly and hard to manage. Lance smiled at him as he carried his bag into the bathroom, and Mitch sat down by his own bag. Opening the top, he reached for the bag he had purchased after lunch at the mall, and carefully pulled it out. When he had bought this, his intention was to use it as just another way to get to Lance, another trick to get past his defenses, but now he felt like he kind of actually did mean it, which left him feeling even more confused. When Lance walked out of the bathroom a minute later, he saw Mitch sitting on the bed, his shoulders slumped, staring down at something in his hands.

"Mitch?" Lance asked, sitting down next to him. "You ok?"

"Yeah, I am," Mitch answered, fighting the different and conflicting feelings swirling inside him. He couldn't meet Lance's eyes, because he was afraid of seeing more of Lance's concern, of seeing more of that understanding that seemed to burn its way into him like acid, crawling beneath his skin whether he wanted it to or not. "I, I got you this yesterday."

He held out an envelope toward Lance, and Lance took it. Tearing it open, he found a very plain, very simple Thank You card. Inside, Mitch had simply written "thank you" again, and signed his name. Lance read it, noticing that his hands were shaking a little, and that Mitch wouldn't look at him, almost as if he was afraid to.

"You bought this for me?" Lance asked. "You bought this with your own money? For me? You didn't have to do that, Mitch."

"I know I didn't have to," Mitch said, his voice almost a whisper. "Lance, nobody's ever treated me the way you do. I just wanted to say thank you, because I really mean it. I do, Lance."

"Of course you do," Lance said, throwing an arm around Mitch's shoulders, frowning when he felt Mitch stiffen. He quickly let go, wondering what was wrong.

"Yeah, of course I do," Mitch said bitterly, standing quickly.

"Are you ok?" Lance asked, standing with him, finally catching Mitch's eyes. They were wet, as if he were fighting back tears, but his whole face also looked twisted, like he was fighting with something else, too.

"I'm fine," Mitch lied, crutching quickly toward the door. "We should go. I don't want to make you late."

"OK," Lance said quietly, looking down at the card in his hands. He tucked it carefully into his shoulder bag, and left all the other bags in the room. Following Mitch, he thought sadly about how hard it was for him to just say thank you, and accept that someone could be nice to him.

Chris watched carefully as everyone poured out to get on the bus, each of them carrying a small bag, the rest of their luggage being handled by others. The sky was barely light, and they had to spend almost the whole day on the road, so he wasn't surprised to see that they all looked a little groggy. Justin was chipper as expected, since he went from zero to sixty as soon as his eyes popped open in the morning, but Wade looked a little surly. Joey was hugging Steve goodbye as he showed him to a cab, and, oddly enough, JC seemed completely awake, carrying a huge travel mug of coffee, as if using it to keep himself aware. Mitch seemed withdrawn, although he hadn't been especially social the night before, seeming a little unsure of himself in the whole group of them, and Lance looked like he'd barely slept at all. He led Mitch over to the bus door, a hand on his shoulder, his face lined with concern, and Chris felt that little tickle again. He needed to talk to Joey and JC.

"Take care of yourself, and here, take this, too," Joey said, pressing some money into Steve's hand as he leaned into the cab. He knew Steve didn't need it, but he liked to spread his good fortune around his family when he had the chance to.

"Good luck with the rest of the tour," Steve said, and then his eyes ticked past Joey, to settle on Lance and Mitch as Mitch hopped awkwardly up the bus steps, Lance and Justin standing ready to catch him while Wade just crossed his arms and frowned. "And with that, too. Call me, ok?"

"I will," Joey said, smiling. He looked back at the others. "I think that'll be ok, too, but I'll think about what you said. Love you."

"You, too," Steve said, rolling up the window. He hated saying goodbye to Joey, and to the others, and he hoped things would work out for Lance.

Joey watched the cab pull away, wishing Steve could have come on this tour, too. He got so homesick for his family when he was away from them, and missed them almost as much as he missed Bri, his little girl. He turned back as Lance turned back to Justin and Wade, and wished he was close enough to hear them. He also thought about what Steve said, and decided that he really needed to talk to JC and Chris.

"Justin, Wade, can I talk to you guys for just a second?" Lance asked, tapping Justin on the arm.

"Sure," Justin answered, smiling, as Wade stood sulkily off to the side, crossing his arms. Wade was inside the bus already, but the others all found some reason to stay outside, not wanting to miss this, whatever it was. "What's up?"

"I wanted to, well," Lance began, fidgeting nervously. "This is kind of awkward, actually."

"Is something wrong?" Justin asked, concerned, while Wade just glared. He knew what Lance was trying to apologize for, and he didn't have any intention of making it any easier for him. If he was going to be Justin's friend, he had to stop being so damned jealous that Justin had someone and he didn't. Banging on the wall like that had been rude, even if Justin had giggled and forced Wade to finish quietly, holding his hands over his own mouth to keep in the screams that Wade drove from him. "Because sometimes when I'm nervous about something, I remember this trick that JC told me when we were on the Mickey Mouse Club, and it was to pretend whoever you're talking to is in their underwear. It'll even be easy for you, because you've seen me in my underwear, lots of times, and if you just think about that, it'll make you less nervous about whatever you want to tell me, and then we can just laugh about it and everything'll be ok, right?"

"Right," Lance said, smiling. Justin was such a sweetheart sometimes, no matter what kind of asshole he was dating. If Wade didn't make Justin completely happy, and didn't so obviously care about him, even if it was in an overbearing, career dominating sort of way, Lance would have talked to Justin about getting rid of him a while ago. "I just wanted to say I was sorry for banging on the wall last night. I was a little upset about something, and I didn't mean to take it out on you guys."

Before Wade could say anything to the contrary Justin started answering for them.

"Oh, we're sorry, too," Justin said quickly, blushing bright red. "I mean, I didn't realize we were so loud, and I didn't ever want to bother you. I hope we didn't keep you up or anything, but, you know, Wade is just so good, and I can't help it, but I'll try really, really hard to keep it down from now on, ok? We both will, right honey?"

"Sure, baby," Wade answered, glaring at Lance through narrowed eyes.

"Are you sure you're not mad?" Lance asked, more to Wade than to Justin. "Because I really am sorry."

"No, we're not mad," Justin said, shrugging, as he climbed up into the bus, Lance following him. Wade sighed, his hands clenching as he watched them go. JC smirked, knowing he shouldn't, having been close enough to hear the whole thing.

"Don't look so down, Wade," Chris said, patting him on the shoulder. "Justin's bound to show a glimmer of independent thought every once in a while. I'm sure you'll suck it out of him again soon."

"Literally," Joey said, walking up to them as well.

Mitch glanced out the window from his couch, glancing away from where Justin and Lance were setting their bags down and settling in, and saw Chris and JC talking to Wade as Joey walked over from further down the curb. Mitch, for all his other skills, had never learned to read lips, but he would have given anything to know what they were talking about. He didn't really think it was relevant to him, but he could see from the expression on Wade's face that he wasn't too pleased with whatever was being said. Mitch ached to know what they were saying to wipe that smug grin off Wade's face now.

"Eat me," Wade sneered.

"You seem a little cranky this morning, Wade," Chris said. "What's got your panties in a bunch today, sweetie?"

"Piss off," Wade said. He glared at the three of them as Joey sneered, and Chris grinned. JC shook his head.

"OK, knock it off," JC said, watching Joey and Chris frown at being denied their fun, and watching Wade bristle at being mothered again. If everyone didn't act like little kids so often, JC wouldn't have to mother so much. "Whatever's bothering you guys, put it away before we get on the bus."

"Yes, mom," Joey and Chris said, grinning like monkeys. JC turned to Wade, seeing him cross his arms again.

"Wade?" he asked, wondering if he should send the other two away. Wade and JC had a sort of grudging friendship, mainly because JC and Justin were best friends, and the two of them tried to keep things pleasant between them for Justin's sake. "Something else bothering you?"

"Just Mitch," Wade said again. Joey and Chris rolled their eyes. "Yeah, I know, we already had this discussion. I still don't have to like it."

"No, but you did agree to keep quiet," JC said. "We want to help him out, and you agreed to respect that."

"I didn't agree to like it," Wade said, frowning. "Why don't we just let him sit on the stage tonight? I mean, we're bringing him on the bus, too? Isn't there a rule or something about the bus being band members only?"

"No, we haven't ever needed one," JC said. "There's no rule like that."

"Lucky for you," Joey said, nodding, watching Wade through narrowed eyes. "If there was, you can bet it would be all inclusive."

Wade and Joey locked eyes again, tension crackling between them, and then Wade turned away and began climbing the bus steps. Mitch watched the other three begin speaking again, and then Lance tapped him on the shoulder.

"Do you need anymore sleep?" Lance asked, as Justin hurried up to the front to hug Wade. Lance and Mitch were in the back, Mitch on the couch and Lance leaning over him.

"No, I'm ok," Mitch said, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the three other were still talking outside the bus.

"I'm going to be in that bunk there, then," Lance said, pointing. "If you need to sleep, you can wake me, or maybe one of the guys will let you use theirs."

"He can use mine," Justin called from the front. "I'm awake."

"Thanks, Justin," Lance called back, as Mitch also quietly thanked him. Lance leaned in closer, his hand on Mitch's shoulder, and Mitch looked up at him, his blue eyes wide but, as always, unreadable. "Mitch, we haven't really gotten to talk about, you know, everything from last night. Are we ok?"

Mitch swallowed. This would be so much easier if Lance didn't care.

"Yeah, we're ok," Mitch said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I just need to think, ok?"

"OK," Lance said, tapping him on the shoulder as he walked toward the bunk. He felt an urge, sudden and almost overwhelming, to kiss Mitch on the forehead, and almost tripped. Clearly Mitch wasn't the only one who needed to think.

The bus driver gave the horn a little tap, letting the guys on the sidewalk know it was almost time to go. JC sighed.

"We're out of time," he said, frowning. "We need to talk, though."

"About Wade?" Chris asked, but JC shook his head.

"About Lance and Mitch," JC said. "I think something's going on."

"Yeah, me, too," Joey said.

"First rest stop?" Chris asked as the three of them walked toward the door of the bus.

"Sure," JC answered, and Joey nodded. "First rest stop."

Mitch watched them walking toward the front, and wondered what they were talking about. Whatever it was, they looked pretty concerned.

To be continued.