The What's Past Is Prologue Mix by
There's nothing like a party, really. And there's nothing like Vegas. And believe me, when you actually mix the two, it's even better. A party to celebrate Joey Fatone actually officially exiting the dating pool and leaving room for the rest of us? Dude, how could you not celebrate?
Granted, it freed a good chunk of the chick half of the dating pool, anyway, which, while appreciated, isn't quite as much to those of us who are… flexible… as those who are on the proverbial straight and narrow. But still, quite the occasion, and worth the bash we're giving it.
So, Vegas, attractive chicks, attractive guys, not the least of which is any of my bandmates, but, really, why the fuck else do you think we made the assloads of money we did? Yes, our talent helped, but, you know, young nubile boyflesh at least helped us get our foot in the door. Yes indeed, I would not be where I am today had I not collected young nubile boyflesh. And shit that makes me sound like Lou. I've had fuck-too-much to drink, obviously. Granted, our most nubile piece of nubile boyflesh, the Mississippi Albino himself, is probably a good couple more sheets to the wind than even I am. And that's saying something.
But it leads to some good Lancewatching time. One of my favorite hobbies, really. So he's blathering something or other to Joey. Probably some long-winded heartfelt congratulations that Joey'll only wish he had his video camera for. Blackmail purposes only, of course.
So he's going on and on and on… Poor Joey. But at least I get to watch and what the fuck he's coming over here.
"Chris? I gotta say something."
Oh, hell, this won't end well. "Lance, you know you're drunk, right? Hell, I'm drunk too."
"I know. But I gotta say it now, or I won't."
I can just hear it now. Chris, I've noticed your little obsession with me, and it's gotta stop. "Chris, I…"'ve noticed your little— "… have a thing for you."
Wait, wait, what? "You what?"
"I know. You don't even—"
"Do you actually mean that?"
"Yeah, I do. I understand if you never want to even talk—"
"Have you not noticed me undressing you with my mind for the last… oh, five years?"
"Huh?" Oh, the vodka really enhances his cognitive skills.
So I do the only thing I can do. I grab his hand. "Lemme show you. Promise Joey won't notice if we slip out early."
I can't help but grin. "Let's hit my room. I'll show you."
I grin. "That's what I thought."
"It's not a one time thing. I promise."
And, shit, it's marvelous. Even if I planned on it being a one night thing, I'd change my mind. Even with both of us mostly drunk, I don't remember ever getting laid that well.
Which is why it makes perfect fucking sense when I wake up and he's gone with just a note.
And why he won't answer his phone.
Shit, Lance, you flipped out. That's a reaction worthy of… well, of me. Go you.
Oh well. You can't hide forever. Challenge is coming up.
And I can wait.