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.

Mitch woke up in the darkness, hearing Lance moving around the suite. The bathroom light was on, but he only had the door open a tiny crack. Mitch could tell he was trying to be quiet, so as not to disturb him, and he listened for a second. When he heard Lance collide with something, letting out a soft little, "Ow!", he decided he couldn't let him keep wandering around in the dark, and flicked on the lamp by the bed. Lance spun, his face quizzical as he knelt in front of the closet.

"Did I wake you?" Lance asked, his green eyes flashing, his voice low. Mitch felt a shiver go through him every time he heard Lance's deep voice, which almost seemed incongruous coming from him. "I was trying to be quiet."

"No, it's ok," Mitch said, sitting up, brushing his hair back from his eyes. He'd never bothered to find the rubber band after Wade had pulled it out, so his hair was kind of falling everywhere, hanging down around his shoulders. Lance looked at it and quickly looked away, turning back to the closet. "Did you have a nice dinner with the guys?"

"Yeah, it was good," Lance answered, carefully moving suitcases around. "JC asked about you. So did Joey. I told them you were just tired."

Lance stopped what he was doing, letting out a little frustrated sigh. Mitch sat on the edge of the bed, watching his shoulders slump.

"Lance?" he asked, thinking about what Wade had said about the guys. Were they asking because they thought he'd left, or were they really uninvolved? In the end, it really didn't matter. "What's wrong?"

"Did you see a smaller suitcase?" Lance asked, turning to Mitch. Mitch saw that Lance looked upset, not like he was about to cry, but definitely unhappy. Lance framed the size of the suitcase with his hands. "About this big? It's brown?"

"No," Mitch answered, shaking his head. "I thought they put all of your bags in the closet."

"They're supposed to, but it's not here," Lance said, frustration clear in his voice. "I've looked all over the suite, and I can't find it."

Mitch walked over, kneeling awkwardly beside Lance, finding it hard to bend his leg just right with the cast on. He ended up in a kind of graceless squat on the rug, but it didn't hurt, so he was comfortable with it. He put a hand on Lance's shoulder as Lance stared into the closet, as if willing his bag to appear. Lance turned and smiled at him, not a full teeth smile, but an appreciative one.

"It'll be ok, Lance," Mitch said. "I'm sure it's just still on the bus or something. It's just a suitcase."

"It's not just a suitcase!" Lance said sharply. The anger immediately drained out of his face as he saw Mitch flinch and pull back. Lance put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. It's just, I have some stuff, some personal stuff, in there. Maybe I should call some of the crew, and see if they know where it is."

"Lance, it's almost eleven at night," Mitch said, frowning. "Are you sure you want to wake them?"

Lance sighed, but realized that Mitch was probably right. As much as he wanted his suitcase, wanted to know it was safe, it really could wait until morning. It was probably sitting on the bus, like Mitch thought, or delivered to one of the other guys by mistake. It happened sometimes, especially since he and Joey had the same luggage, and the two of them would switch it back when they noticed. He'd check with everyone in the morning.

"You're right," Lance said, standing. He took Mitch's arm and helped him up, refusing to let himself notice how soft Mitch's skin was, or how he could feel the muscles shifting as he stood. He looked around the suite and frowned. "I forgot to have them bring up an extra bed."

"Oh," Mitch said, looking down. He didn't want to say anything, but knew that he had to. He felt his stomach twisting as he began to speak again. "Lance, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but it is kind of a big bed, and it was, well, it was nice sharing it with you last night. I wouldn't mind if you, you know, if we had to share the bed again."

Lance swallowed, remembering what it had been like to fall asleep holding onto Mitch, to feel his warm body pressed against his own, his heart beating, his back flexing as he breathed. He thought of how comfortable it was, and of the silky feeling of Mitch's bare skin sliding against his own when one of them shifted. He also thought, fleetingly, of what Mitch had done, and how good it had felt, and how it had been really, really hard to tell him to stop. He quickly pushed that thought away, but his cock had already twitched knowingly in his pants. He tried not to think about it, knowing that he wanted Mitch, and that Mitch would do whatever he wanted him to. He didn't want Mitch to do it because he felt obligated, though. He wanted him to do it for the right reasons, because he cared about Lance, not as some kind of payment.

"If you're sure," Lance said. "I mean, you need it more, with your leg, and all."

"Lance, it's your bed," Mitch said, torn between hoping that Lance would say no, that he would continue to push him away, and happy that Lance had said yes, that he could fall asleep again with Lance so close. "If anything, I should be asking permission to share it with you, not the other way around."

"It's a big enough bed," Lance said, shrugging. "I'm going to go brush my teeth and stuff."

"OK," Mitch said, going to his own bag for his toothbrush.

The two of them went through their motions of getting ready for bed without really looking at each other. When Mitch came out of the bathroom he flipped off the light and found himself in complete darkness, Lance already beneath the sheets, his clothes neatly folded on his side of the bed. If Mitch didn't already know where the bed was, he would have been completely lost. He crossed the room slowly until he felt his knee tap the mattress, and he began to pull his clothes off, stripping down to his boxer briefs, wondering if Lance could see him at all in the dark. His own eyes still hadn't adjusted from the darkness, not completely, but he could tell that Lance was facing him as he slid into his side of the bed. The two of them lay in silence for a moment, neither moving.

"Lance, I'm sorry," Mitch said quietly, knowing why he felt so awkward.

"For what?" Lance asked, not sure why they were both whispering.

"Last night," Mitch whispered back. "I know you said to forget about it, but I'm sorry that I forced myself on you. I had no right to do it without asking you, even if I thought it was something you wanted. I know that's why we're both laying here, pushed as far apart as we can."

"I'm almost falling off my side of the bed," Lance admitted, sliding a little closer. "Mitch, please don't apologize again. We talked about it, and I know what you were thinking, and I understand. I don't want it to make things awkward between us. Last night it felt like we were so close, and I don't want what happened, with, you know, you and me, to be like this wall between us or something. I appreciate your apology, but maybe, um, we should just look at it as a misunderstanding, and not talk about it anymore, ok?"

"OK," Mitch said, sighing. "You know, Lance, I did feel really close to you last night. Thank you for listening to me, and, you know, not hating me after I told you all that."

"Mitch, I couldn't hate you, not for that," Lance whispered, wishing he could see him. Was this why Mitch was so upset before, and so moody all day? Did he think that telling Lance all of that was a mistake? "The stuff that happened, it wasn't your fault, not all of it. I could never hate you for the things you had to do to survive. If anything, I admire you."

"You? Admire me?" Mitch asked skeptically.

"Yes," Lance answered. "I admire you, because you're so strong, and so brave, and you don't even seem to realize it. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I don't think I deserve it," Mitch said, a little bitterly. "Not the way you think."

"Don't say that," Lance said, reaching out to gently pat Mitch's shoulder. "Don't ever say that. I'm your friend, Mitch, and you deserve that, too."

Mitch slid a hand up his arm to rest it over Lance's on his shoulder. Both of them sighed at the contact, and Mitch squeezed Lance's hand warmly.

"Lance," Mitch began, feeling that knife stab into his guts again. Keith's face floated up in his mind, and he knew that he had to do this, even if it hurt. "It felt really nice, you know, falling to sleep with your arm around me like that. I felt really protected, and really safe. I haven't felt like that in a really long time."

Lance swallowed, his throat feeling really tight suddenly.

"Do you, um, do you want me to do that again?" Lance asked, realizing that he wanted it, too, hoping that Mitch would say yes.

"You don't have to," Mitch said quickly, trying to give him that last out, even though he wanted it, too. "I mean, listen to me. I'm a grown man, and I'm acting like a baby, like I can't fall asleep without someone to hold onto me. I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid," Lance said, sliding across the bed. He pulled Mitch toward him, gently, letting Mitch slide himself over until he was spooned back against Lance. "You're just scared, and you feel alone, but you're not. I'm here for you, Mitch, ok?"

"OK," Mitch whispered, feeling Lance's arms draw tightly around him as the two of them shared the center of the bed, drawing ever closer to betrayal. Mitch's shoulders shook once as he felt a sob rip through him, and he pushed it away, swallowing hard to keep the sound from escaping.

"Mitch?" Lance asked, feeling him shake, knowing that he was fighting something, holding something in. "Mitch, please, you can tell me."

"Lance, I can't," Mitch whispered, his voice tinged with real suffering, not acting. He'd give anything, anything, at that moment to have this be real, to have Lance holding him and caring for him without any of the lies in between them. Lance felt something twist inside him as he heard the pain in Mitch's voice. "Not right now, ok? Please?"

"OK," Lance said, holding him, pressing him back against his firm chest. "OK. But when you do need to say it, I'm here, Mitch, and all I want is to help you."

"I know," Mitch said quietly, thinking bitterly that Lance couldn't help him. No one could. He couldn't even help himself.

When they woke up in the morning, the two of them showered, separately, and got dressed. Mitch, again, was wearing casual clothes, pants from JC and another tour shirt, because they were comfortable, and nicer than his own clothes. He had better clothes put away, at the apartment he shared with Keith, but the clothes he had brought here were kind of old, and beat up, and he didn't like wearing them. Lance, though, was dressed a little flashier, with a patterned shirt, leather jacket, and oddly patterned jeans. As he was pulling on a pair of boots, checking the clock, he caught Mitch staring at him curiously above the top of a magazine.

"What?" Lance asked.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Mitch asked. "It doesn't look bad. It's just kind of, I don't know, flashy."

"We have an interview today," Lance said. "Then we have a fan lunch, and an appearance at a radio thing before sound checks later. Do you want to come to any of that?"

Mitch looked away. It sounded like they were doing a lot of public appearance stuff, where there might be a lot of photographers, possibly even television crews. While the risk of him being spotted was extremely minimal, it was still a risk.

"I don't know, Lance," Mitch said uncertainly. "That's a lot of people, and it sounds like you would be really, really busy."

"You can stay here today, if you want," Lance said. "Hang out, watch TV, order some nice room service for lunch. Do you want to see the show tonight?"

"Sure," Mitch answered, watching Lance's smile burst across his face.

"Cool," Lance said. "I'll send someone back to get you, and you can have dinner with us again, and see the show. We're having an early night after, though, since tomorrow is a travel day again."

"That's ok, Lance," Mitch said, pointing at his cast. "I'm not really set for clubbing, anyway."

"Good point," Lance said, checking his hair again. He sprayed some more gel on, fluffed it with his fingers again, and decided he was ready. "Let's go to breakfast."

It was Chris's morning to host breakfast in his suite, having lost that round of Rock, Paper, Scissors on the bus, and he'd also lost the round that determined whose turn it was to sleep next to Justin and Wade. Despite the discussion he'd had with Lance, Justin's resolve to be quieter had been quickly forgotten in the throes of passion, and Chris was looking a little grumpy when Lance and Mitch tapped at the door. Everyone else was already there, and smiled and called good morning, except for Wade, who didn't bother to control his scowl from his couch. Mitch gazed back at him levelly, and then turned to JC, who stopped on his way back to his seat with a plate of food.

"Hey, we missed you at dinner last night," JC said, smiling, but still looking concerned. "Lance said you were tired. Did you get enough sleep?"

"Yeah, thanks," Mitch said, following Lance to the table where the food was laid out. He started to lean his crutches on the wall, but Lance put a hand on his arm.

"No weight on the foot," Lance reminded him. "I'll carry your plate."

"Thanks," Mitch said, pointing at what he wanted.

He was aware that the others were watching them, but that they all looked away and pretended not to have been as soon as he and Lance turned around. Everyone was dressed more or less like Lance, in flashy clothes that no one he knew would actually wear anywhere, with lots of prints and layers and jewelry and sparkles. He thought Joey's jacket might actually be made out of a garbage bag, but didn't want to ask. There was an empty chair and space on a couch with Chris, and Lance motioned for Mitch to take the couch seat, handing him his plate after he'd settled in.

"Hi," Mitch said, wondering why Chris was looking at him like that.

"Hi!" Chris said, reaching over the side of the couch for a bag. "I was hoping you would come this morning, because I have some stuff for you!"

"Stuff?" Mitch asked, glancing at Lance. Lance shrugged.

"Yeah," Chris said, pulling up a backpack. The others went back to what they were doing, eating and occasionally talking to each other, although Lance and JC both were keeping an eye on Mitch and Chris. "See, I don't know if Lance told you, but I have this clothing line, and I've been giving out free shirts and stuff on the tour. You know, throwing it into the crowd and stuff. Anyway, I went and picked through it yesterday, and I picked out some stuff for you."

"You don't have to do that," Mitch said, feeling a tightness in his chest. He didn't want the guys to be nice to him. He wanted to believe what Wade had implied, because it would make things easier, but none of the things they did agreed with what he'd said.

"No, hey, it's nothing," Chris said, unzipping the bag. "I mean, they're freebies, Mitch. I was giving them away anyway, so I might as well give them away to someone I know, right? Here, let me show you what I found."

Chris took everything out of the bag for him, showing him each thing, asking if it was the right size, or if he needed a different color. There was a hat, a visor, a couple different short sleeved t-shirts, a couple different long sleeved t-shirts, and the bag itself. Joey watched, smothering laughter, as Chris more or less went through an entire sales pitch, telling Mitch about fabric and catalogs, unfolding each shirt and showing it to him, telling him how the designs were put on and how they'd hold up to laundering. Mitch listened carefully, soaking it all in as he slowly ate his breakfast, smiling at Chris's enthusiasm. Chris explained that he didn't have any pants, but that he'd called to have a jacket shipped out for Mitch to make up for it.

"No, Chris, you really don't have to do that," Mitch said, shaking his head. "I already have a jacket."

"Yeah, but this one has fire up the sleeves!" Chris said, pointing at the wall, where a nice black jacket, with fire printed on the sleeves, was hanging. "Like that one! I'm wearing it to the interview. Look, I already asked for them to send it out. It's going to be at the hotel tomorrow, ok?"

"OK," Mitch said, taking the bag. "Thanks, Chris. Thanks a lot."

"Hey, no problem," Chris said. "You need some clothes of your own, not that crap Lance wears."

"Yeah, better that he take the crap you designed, instead," Joey said, giggling. "It's not really fair of you to turn him into a walking billboard for you, Chris, just 'cause he's too nice to say no. Mitch, I'll get you some clothes later, so you don't have to turn into Chris's fashion victim."

"No, that's ok," Mitch said quickly. He turned to Chris. "Really, Chris, thank you. And Joey, please, please don't buy me anything, please, ok?"

Lance could see that Mitch was getting a little uncomfortable. He knew that the guys meant well, but he didn't want Mitch to get upset again. He was starting to wonder if that was what had Mitch upset last night, all of this at once. He'd have to talk to the guys later about taking it a little more slowly. It was great that they wanted to help and all, but Mitch was obviously having trouble coping with his sudden change in lifestyle, and until Lance figured out how to help him, he felt the need to protect him.

"Guys, we better finish up," he said, glancing at his watch. "You know, we have to go soon, and we don't have time for Joey and Chris to get in an argument."

"Lance is right," JC said quickly, remembering what had happened yesterday. He knew what Lance was thinking, and figured he could use a little help heading the others off. Lance smiled gratefully at him, and they all began setting their plates aside. "OK, five minutes everybody. Check your faces, check your hair, and Chris, this time check your teeth. We don't want another rehash of that poppyseed incident. Mitch, Wade, are you riding with us today?"

"I'm going to stay in the suite today," Mitch answered, hoping no one would question him. As much as he didn't want to, he needed the time alone to start going through Lance's bags, to look for that evidence. Whatever else he had said, Keith was right about the need to do this quickly. Mitch wouldn't be able to drag this out, not without hurting himself even worse. If he was going to follow through with the plan, as it now seemed that he had to, he wanted to get it done as soon as possible. "I'll be there for dinner and the concert, though."

"I'm going to have a car come back for him," Lance explained.

"OK," JC said, nodding. He smiled at Mitch. "If you get stir crazy here in the hotel, I'll leave our schedule down at the desk, and you can ask there to have someone to drive you over to wherever we are."

"Thanks," Mitch said, summoning a small smile.

"Wade, what about you?" JC asked, turning to him and Justin.

"I have to go to the arena," Wade said crossly, annoyed that he wasn't going to be able to confront Mitch again. He'd had plenty of time to think about Wade's offer. Not only that, but Wade was itching to push him again, after he'd had the gall to say no, to refuse him. "I need to over some stuff with the light crew and the pyro guys, after Justin and Chris almost got set on fire the other night. I'll meet up with you guys for lunch."

"OK," JC said, nodding as he stood. "Meet in the lobby in five minutes, people."

Everyone began moving toward the door, Mitch hopping along carefully on his crutches, which he was becoming quite adept with, and Lance walking along beside him. When they got to the hallway, Lance tapped him on the shoulder, ignoring the others as they walked to their rooms in search of toothbrushes and last minute globs of hair gel.

"I have to talk to Joey about some stuff," Lance said, pointing down the hall. "Are you sure you're going to be ok by yourself?"

"Yeah," Mitch answered. He reached out, his crutches tucked in his armpits, and gave Lance a quick hug, not surprised when Lance hugged him tightly back. Joey, watching from his doorway, almost dropped his keycard, and pretended not to be looking as the two held each other for a moment. "Have a good day today."

"You, too," Lance said, breaking the hug. When he leaned back, they were both grinning and blushing, and Mitch looked shyly down at the floor. "I'll, uh, I'll see you at dinner."

Mitch nodded, and began swinging himself down the hall to their room. Lance watched him go, and wondered again if Mitch was feeling anything like what he was feeling. He walked toward Joey, grinning, and almost seemed to be skipping. Joey watched, amused, but said nothing, not wanting to intrude. It was so nice to see Lance with a smile, and his eyes all lit up, to see him walking around out from under that damn cloud, that he didn't want to say anything to break the mood.

"Hey," Lance said, following Joey into his suite.

"Hey," Joey said, fighting giggles. Lance looked like he was about to float over the furniture, rather than walking around it. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, sorry," Lance said, blinking. He couldn't seem to stop smiling. "I wanted to ask you something. Did you get my little suitcase by mistake?"

"No," Joey answered, worried a little. Being Lance's best friend, he knew that was the one Lance kept his personal stuff in. They all had a bag like that, where they kept pictures of their families to set up on hotel dressers, with little knickknacks and keepsakes that were special just to them. It helped make being on the road more like being at home. "Are you sure you don't have it? Have you asked the crew?"

"I'll ask them later," Lance answered, shrugging, as he sat on the bed. The past few hours with Mitch had taken some of the urgency off of his worry. He still wanted his bag, and didn't know what he would do if it was lost, but he didn't feel like worrying too much about it. All he could think about right now was Mitch's eyes, dancing through his head, or the way it had felt to have Mitch's arms around him again. "I'm sure it'll turn up."

"OK, wait a minute," Joey said, leaning out of the bathroom door with a mouthful of toothpaste foam. He walked over and put a hand on Lance's forehead. Lance leaned away, rolling his eyes. "Are you feverish? Do you feel ok? Or am I actually supposed to believe that obsessive compulsive, I know exactly which truck every piece of the stage is packed in, my clothes hang in my closet in spectral color order James Lance Bass is missing a suitcase, and hasn't woken the entire crew and hotel staff to find it? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Well, you know, it just seems silly to worry about it until I'm sure it's gone," Lance said, swinging his feet back and forth on the bed. He reminded Joey, for a second, quite a bit of Justin. Maybe he was flighty because he was so damn happy all the time. "I called this morning and asked Mickey to look around for it. I just don't feel like stressing out about it right now."

"Really?" Joey asked, smiling wider as he sat down next to Lance. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain Mitch Hawk, crippled houseguest, would it?"

Lance let out a girlish little whimper as he leaned over, resting his head on Joey's shoulder, and Joey laughed, throwing an arm around Lance's shoulders.

"You got it bad, kid," Joey said, laughing.

"I know," Lance sighed, biting on his bottom lip. "Joey, I don't know what to do."

"OK," Joey said, still hugging him. "Tell Papa Joey all about it."

"He's just, he's so sweet, and nice, and he's been through so much, Joey," Lance said, sighing again. "He told me all about his background, and his family. He's had a hard life, Joey, a really hard life, and it hasn't touched him, not inside, not where it matters. I just, he's so cute, and so perfect and shy. Can I tell you something, something secret?"

"Of course you can," Joey answered, smoothing out his smile as Lance turned and stared seriously into his eyes.

"You have to promise not to tell anyone, not any of the other guys," Lance said gravely, and Joey nodded. "Mitch is gay, Joey."

"That's good, right?" Joey asked carefully, wanting to jump around the room cheering. If this is what Mitch could do for Lance after only a couple days, Joey was completely in favor of keeping him around forever.

"Yes, but it's not, too," Lance answered, and saw Joey's confused stare. "See, I like him. I really like him, but I'm worried about telling him. I want him to like me for me, Joey, and I'm worried that he might, you know, that he might just like me out of some kind of gratitude. I'm worried that he might feel obligated to like me, because of what I've done for him."

"That's a good concern, Lance," Joey said, nodding. "I'm glad you thought of that, but, you know, based on what I've seen, and what JC and Chris have said, it doesn't really seem like he even likes taking things from you, Lance. He's grateful, yes, but it's like one step shy of resentful. Aside from that, though, he certainly seems to like you."

"You think so?" Lance asked, smiling hopefully. "Because I think he does, but I'm not sure."

"I think you can be sure," Joey said, laughing. He stood, pulling Lance off the bed, and led him toward the door. "I haven't ever seen that many puppy dog eyes outside of a pet store. Now come on, before we're late."

"OK, I'm coming," Lance said, following Joey into the hallway. "But what should I do?"

"Duh," Joey said, smirking at him. "Obviously, we need to get to work on a little romance for you two."

They were at the elevator before Lance spoke again, smacking Joey lightly on the arm.

"You guys talked about us?" Lance asked, grinning.

"Shut up, goo goo eyes," Joey said, smacking him back. "We have work to do."

The doors to their elevator were already closed before the one next to it opened, so neither of them saw the roadie carrying Lance's small brown suitcase. He checked his note again, and carried it down the hall to Lance's suite, flashing his crew pass at the hotel security guard sitting in the hallway. He knocked on the door, wondering if he would have to leave the bag at the desk, but Mitch opened the door, leaning curiously on his crutches.

"Yes?" Mitch asked. The roadie held up the bag.

"This belongs to Lance," he said. "It got mixed in with crew bags by mistake. Can you make sure he gets it?"

"Sure," Mitch said, remembering how badly Lance wanted to find that bag last night. "Could you set it on the bed? I can't really carry it with, you know, these."

The guy carried the bag in, and then left. Mitch sat down next to it, and took a deep breath. He didn't want to do this, knew that this was wrong, and that this was a horrible betrayal of Lance's trust, and of Lance himself. His hand shook as he reached for the clasp, but he had to do this. He had no choice, not if he wanted to get out of this, away from Keith and away from the streets, and away from everything else. He flipped open the lid, and quietly began to look through it, carefully and reverently lifting things out, not wanting to damage anything in the slightest. There were pictures of Lance, smiling, with people who had to be his family, people who had his eyes and smile and face, and there were pictures of him and the guys. Finally, in the bottom, Mitch found something he thought he might be able to use. It was a plain, leather bound book, and his heart seemed to skip a beat when he opened it and read the first words.

"Dear Diary."

To be continued.