Fucking Prince Valiant 

Forty thousand Mississippi, forty one thousand Mississippi, forty two thousand Mississippi-

 “Hey!” 

Forty three thousand Mississippi, forty four thousand Mississippi, forty five thousand Mississippi- 

“Hey! Ma’am!” 

My eyes rolled up (oh god that feels good) and blearily focused on the bartender, who was leaning against the counter, staring at me in concern.

 “What?” I muttered, annoyed that he had made me lose count in what had previously been a very dedicated effort to count all of the little lines in the wooden counter.

 “Are you alright, ma’am?” The bartender called over the loud music, and I blinked in confusion at him. All right? Did I LOOK all right? 

“You want me to call a taxi for you?” He persisted, and I shook my head frantically.

“No. Nothing. I want nothing.” 

Instead of leaving me alone, the guy slid a bottle of water across the counter towards me, the sides of the bottle dripping with delicious condensation. My tongue felt like it had swollen to triple its size, but I shook my head again. 

“No, I’m fine, really…” 

 “No charge.” The bartender insisted, and I bit my lip. 

“Thank you.”

 “I’ll be over here, if you need me, okay?”

The bartender eyed me uneasily, and I wondered what he was seeing, if he saw my large pupils and endless fidgeting and knew what was going on. I wouldn’t doubt it. He worked in a bar, didn’t he? 

 I wrapped my hand around the cold bottle and winced at the heightened sense of temperature, and though I knew that drinking too much water was very dangerous, I could not help myself. I started sucking it down like it was the elixir of life. From the other end of the bar, I could see the same bartender watching me as he opened a beer, and I had to force my mouth away from the bottle.

I wiped my mouth and hugged the water close to my chest. I had started peaking soon after I hung up with Alan (which felt like a million years ago; where was that little fairy?!) and it had felt like no tab I had ever done in my life. Every movement of mine and every note of every song was amplified times ten and my jaw ached from clenching my teeth. It had taken every grain of self control not to rock back and forth on my barstool from the music. I alternated between paralyzing paranoia and hazy indifference. I could not focus on a train of thought for more then a split second, making me very vulnerable to advances or attacks.  I twisted in my chair and clung onto the bar, trying to search above the bobbing, rocking crowd for Alan’s familiar blonde hair, but I could not focus and the spotlights kept calling my attention away from the important matter at hand. I closed my eyes and squeezed my water bottle.  

Please let this be a bad dream. Please let me be in bed at Chris’s house. I am scared. I am scared. Oh, I’m so scared. Alan, Chris, where the hell are you when I finally need help? Hysteria set in, but not for long-

I bit down on my tongue as hard as I could.

 Think, goddamn you, don’t you freak out. Focus on one word at a time. What do you need to do?

 I took a sip of water to wash away the tinge of blood on my tongue.  I need to find Alan and get the fuck out of here and find a room and sober up in it and oh god oh god I need to be touched and where are you, Chris, when I finally want to tell you- 

 Goddamn you, Nyx. One word.  You need to straighten up. People are going to start noticing. Nothing gets done with fear.

 I swallowed and forced myself to sit up straight. With a shaking hand, I tried to catch the attention of the bartender who had given me the free water. He was in the middle of making a martini at the other end of the bar, but I managed to catch his eye.  It seemed to take him eons to serve the drink and give the customer change, but he quickly made it back to me. 

I peered at his name tag. Dustin. I think. Like Justin, I told myself, only with a D. Oh Christ.  

“Can you make me a drink?” I yelled, and he raised a dark eyebrow.

 “Are you sure you want a drink, ma’am?” He hollered back, and I made myself scoff.

“Since when did water get someone drunk? Yeah, pour me a drink, dude…” I could hear my words slurring, no matter how hard I tried to speak normally, but I stared stonily at Dustin (Justin?)  until he sighed. 

“What’ll it be?”  I squinted up at the long line of beautiful bottles up on the bar. So many poisons that would do the job, how to pick? 

“I don’t give a shit.” I burbled, and my eyes rolled back in my head of their own accord, making me almost gasp with pleasure. Dustin evidently thought I was batshit crazy, but instead of kicking me out of the bar, he reached for a glass and started mixing liquors, a skilled magician at his trade.

I giggled to myself. Mercy at the Roxy. Dear Christ, I wasn’t making any sense. He slid a pink/blue/yellow concoction across the bar to me. It had cherries and mangoes and a blue umbrella stuck in it.

I blinked. “What the fuck is it?” I screamed, and Dustin rolled his eyes.

 “It’s a Painkiller. Twelve bucks.” I shook my head, (so much for mercy drinks) but scrabbled in my pockets, throwing a twenty at him. He stared at me as I gathered my drink and slid off of the barstool, the wooden floor feeling like feather pillows beneath my shoes. It was a very discomforting feeling. 

I wandered mindlessly around the edge of the bar, holding my overpriced concoction close to my chest, my hand stuck over the top of it. I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I was doing, and I was blatantly ignoring Alan’s demand to stay put, but I had to move. When people brushed up against me, it felt like millions of tiny orgasms erupting beneath my skin, and I had to fight to keep my feet on the ground. I thanked the darkness of the club for hiding my enlarged pupils and my sweaty face. I felt like I was floating, I shit you not. I finally managed to locate a somewhat abandoned booth near the wall and I plopped down on the suede cushions, my feet buzzing and my head swimmy.

Nobody paid attention to me, a drugged up little Greek girl sitting in the corner.   I set my fruity concoction on the table in front of me and hugged my bag to my chest as if armed thugs were about to bust in and take it.  

No, Nyx, look normal.

 I forced myself to let go of my bag and reached for my drink, picking the fruit out of it and leaving it on an abandoned napkin. The umbrella, I stuck in my hair, as if I were at a fucking luau. I raised the frosty glass to my lips, my only intention to act as if I was drinking it, I swear, but once my nose hit the rim of the glass, all I smelled was the liquor, and I heard myself actually moan. It was tequila, good tequila, and though the fruit smell was overpowering, all I could discern was liquor. It was like throwing a match into old gasoline, and my head flared with the old need. Fill me. Fill me. I haven’t had a drink in forever. Just this once. Please, just this once can’t kill me. Fill me. Fill me.

 I felt cold liquid touch my lips, felt myself actually opening my tightly closed mouth so that it could seep in, and then- 

VVVVVVFT! 

Call it a sign from God, if you will. My crotch erupted in vibration and I jumped out of my fucking skin, almost spilling my $12 Painkiller (aptly named) all over myself.

I barely managed to return the drink to the table, I was twitching and jumping so much.  I was only dimly aware of how psycho I must have looked. I hastily scrabbled in my bag for my phone and located it at the bottom just as it stopped ringing. 

A text from Alan-where r u? 

My fingers shaking, I could barely compose a short reply that I’m sure was in another language. I sent the message (I think) and tried to dissolve deep into the cushions of the booth. The realization of what I had been about to do was not lost upon me and I stared at my drink, seemingly so innocent, just one drink, one twelve dollar cocktail-what could it hurt, really? What more could it do to me?

 Don’t do it. You’re already hanging on to a thin thread of sanity, and you don’t want to cloud your senses any more then they already are. Stay put.

 I did not know where this voice of reason was coming from and I, as much as I needed to move and drink, found myself obeying, knowing somehow to heed it, which was a first for me.  My skin was crawling as my eyeballs pingponged from one end of the room to another, searching dazedly for Alan, Lance, Chris, anyone who was looking at me, waiting to make their move. Adrenaline spiked my blood, and I could taste fear, bitter and coarse, on my tongue. I fought the urge to bury my face in my hands and sob. This was not the point of ecstasy, I thought. You did not get this paranoid or this scared-it was supposed to make you HAPPY.  What if I had been slipped something completely different?  I felt tears start to prick my eyes, and I for once could not stop them. Home. I wanted to go home. Where was Chris?

My eyes felt heavy.

 “Nyx!” 

The voice was coming from a million miles away, and it wasn’t Chris’s, but it was familiar. I blinked; smelling Drakkor Noir. A warm hand grasped mine. 

“Nyx, are you alright?”

 My eyes wandered upward to focus on a blue Lacoste shirt, blonde hair, eyes like pale blue china. Alan. Relief surged through me. 

“Alan…” I murmured.

 “Nyx, talk to me. Sit up.” 

“I’ll go get her some water.” A deeper voice offered, slightly familiar. 

“Okay. Nyx, sit up. It’s me, I’m here. Look at me, babe.” 

I gripped Alan’s hand and he pulled me gently to sit up. I gazed blearily into his eyes, the same eyes that crinkled in concern whenever I’d fall through his door on Friday nights, the ones that never accused, just accepted. I suddenly felt despicable for all the things I had ever said or done to hurt him. I burst into tears. 

“Alan, Alan, I’m so sorry!” I threw my arms around his neck, and Alan immediately wrapped his arms around me, not Chris’s but still comforting.  He smelled like expensive cologne, Gucci, maybe, and I could make out the scent of his hair gel. 

“Babe, what are you crying for? You’re really freaking me out, Nyx, what’s the matter?” Alan demanded, unable to pry my arms off of him.

 “Because I broke your heart and drove you to Christobel and ruined your life and your date with Lance and all I do is fuck things up…” I sniffled, and Alan squeezed me tight. 

“Nyx, sweetheart, you didn’t ruin my life, okay? Don’t ever think that. Things may not have worked out the way I would have wanted them to, but,” I felt Alan chuckle, “you’ve certainly made my life interesting.” 

I was only half listening, I admit, because believe or not, his Lacoste shirt was very soft underneath my hands, and I couldn’t stop rubbing it. 

“That’s good…God, you smell good…lucky Lance…” I inhaled his neck deeply and Alan jumped like I had shot him. 

“Jesus Christ, Nyx, calm down.”  He said hastily, pulling me away to gaze into my eyes. I smiled soppily at him, and he sighed.

“Jesus Christ, you are rolling balls.”

 “I know.” I said distantly. My eyeballs felt like they were vibrating. Alan cursed to himself, looking frantically around for Lance. I poked him in the chest. 

“You love Lance.” I jeered, and Alan smirked despite himself, still searching for the sight of Lance’s blond spikes at the bar.

 “You think so?” 

“I know so!” I singsonged, collapsing against Alan’s side. 

“I probably do.” Alan admitted, and I gasped.

 “Really? Are you going to tell him?!  Are you guys going to be boyfriends?!” Alan sighed wearily.

“Nyx, I love you dearly, but please shut up.”

 “Fine. Meany.” I pouted. 

“Is that your drink?” Alan asked, pointing to the still sweating glass on the counter. I closed my eyes. Cicadas. The noise of the club-music, voices, laughter, shouting, singing-all became foggy. Alan’s voice seemed to come from another time.

 “Nyx? Earth to Nyx! Is that your drink?” 

Fingers snapped in front of my face and I nearly shed my skin. Alan’s face looked like it was two inches away from my own, and I reeled back.

 “Get outta my face.” I said irritably, and he grabbed my wrist and squeezed it, hard. 

“Ow!” 

“Nyx, answer me, goddammit. Are you drinking?” 

I shook my head, my thoughts elsewhere.

“No, I got it to blend in.” Telling him I had ALMOST drank it was not something I was willing to confess. I felt my fingers start vibrating again. I was freaking out.

 “Alan?” My voice was shaky. Alan grit his teeth.

 “Why is it taking so long to get a fucking water?” He slipped his arm around my shoulders and gently pulled me to lay back into his arms, which felt wonderful, even if it was platonic, and he wasn’t Chris.

 “Four dollar water.” I said automatically, and Alan looked down at me. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.”I closed my eyes, thought of Chris’s hands, eyes, smile. He had abandoned me. I knew he would.

 Tears welled in my eyes again. Alan cursed and squeezed me tighter. “Nyx, sweetheart, why are you crying?” 

“Because he left me, Alan. He said he had two more things to do and he never showed up. That’s not Chris’s way. I don’t understand.” I sniffled loudly into Alan’s shirt. Alan winced.

“Honey, I’m sure he got caught in traffic or something. Nobody in their right mind would abandon you. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“I don’t know why.” I whimpered, and Alan squeezed me tighter. “Because I love you, you pain in the ass. And I know Chris does, too. He’ll be here, okay? We’ll find him.” 

I nodded, wiping my eyes. “Okay.” 

“Just sit here and lay against me and try to look normal. Paparazzi caught Lance and I on the way in, so for both of our sakes, let’s try to act like two heteros.”

 I gasped, my tears forgotten, clutching at his shirt. “Oh, Alan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he would come with you.” Alan smirked, though I could see he was worried about the implications of tonight’s drama.

 “Neither did I, but how else am I supposed to get in here, Nyx?”

 “Good point. Do you want to make out?” 

Alan’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “Nyx, what the fuck, are you crazy?” 

“You wanted to look normal!” I pointed out, and Alan shook his head. 

“I said I wanted to look normal, I didn’t say I wanted your boyfriend to castrate me!”

 I scoffed. “Chris would not do that. He’s too nice. And hot. God, is he hot…” My voice trailed off, and Alan made a face.

 “I fail to see how his hotness pertains to not kicking my ass if he sees his girlfriend making out with her ex boyfriend, who is supposed to be gay.” 

“You don’t think he’s hot? At all?” I demanded, missing the entire point. Alan, to his credit, tried not to roll his eyes. “Nyx, I rarely see you get all stupid about a guy’s looks, so yes, I’ll agree-he is very hot in that bad boy way that you like. He’s not my type, though.”

 I giggled and rubbed my head against his shoulder, the contact making me almost purr. “You like em blonde and Southern and sweet, don’t ya? Is he a good kisser? Did you get to see Poofu’s poof?”

 Alan did a double take. “Nyx Dufrene! I KNOW you did not just ask me that!”

 I pouted. “I’m just curious is all, you prude.” 

“No, we did not kiss, and we definitely did not…you know…” Alan’s face was the color of a tomato. 

“Oh, so you’re not butt buddies yet?”

 “NYX!” 

Just then, Lance appeared from nowhere, holding a tall bottle of ice cold water. When he saw Alan and I all cuddly on the couch, he paused, just for a half a second, but smoothed his face into an unreadable expression. I pulled away from Alan hastily. I did not want him getting the wrong idea. But Lance slid into the booth next to me, and he leaned close as if to kiss my cheek in greeting.

 “Are you all right, Nyx?” Lance murmured around the fake smile on his lips, his sage eyes concerned. Understanding the need for discretion and admiring his skill at it, I smiled back and nodded. 

“I’ll be okay.” Lance handed me the bottle of water(which I accepted gratefully)then pulled away and struck a relaxed pose on the couch, not too close, but not too far.   

The water felt so good going down my throat that I almost fainted, and I would have chugged the whole bottle had Alan not pinched me. 

“Nyx, stop it!” He hissed from between his teeth, and I winced and yanked the water from my lips. 

“We’ve got trouble.” Lance said from the corner of his mouth. 

“What do you mean?” Alan demanded.

 “Celebrity narks. They’re paparazzi without cameras. I saw them coming in when I was at the bar. We need to get Nyx out of here fast.”

 This should have caused me severe alarm. Cozily sandwiched between my ex boyfriend and a gay boyband member while screwed up on an illegal drug was not something I wanted printed in a magazine the morning after. But I was peaking again (Jesus this stuff was strong) and just sat there, clutching my water bottle, swaying to the music, my eyes closed, my back straight.

 “How the hell do you suppose we do that?” Alan hissed, and Lance shifted his position on the couch.  

“I’m going to try Chris again. Nyx?”

 “Wha?” I muttered, lost in my own world.

 Lance put his hand on my knee in what looked like a friendly gesture, but it was really to command my attention. My gaze floated to him. I felt like I could sail away on a breeze. 

“How long ago did Chris call you?” I shook my head.

 “Hour. Two hours. Ten minutes? Can’t think.” Lance exchanged a look with Alan that I wasn’t supposed to see. 

“You need to try to remember, Nyx. Something may have happened, and I need to know.” I snapped back to attention at that.

“What do you mean, something happened? Is Chris alright?” I begged, grabbing Lance’s hand in mine.

He remained calm, thank God. 

He leaned as if to whisper a secret in my ear, and I shivered; I could smell some foreign cologne on him and it smelled REALLY, REALLY good. Lance was not my type and didn’t even go for my gender, but I could see why Alan had a thing for him. Maybe it was just because I was rolling and EVERYTHING felt good, I don’t know, but when his cheek brushed against mine, so baby smooth compared to Chris’s stubble, I almost fainted. 

“Calm down, Nyx. I’m not saying anything happened, but I need to know, just in case. Now, when I pull away from you, you need to laugh as if I’ve told you a big queen joke. I’m going to go and try to call Chris.  While I’m gone, you and Alan need to try and act natural, like you’re good friends who haven’t seen each other in awhile. Can you do this?” 

Lance’s breath smelled like mints and I understood that I needed to play it cool for the sake of everyone’s reputation, including mine, but I didn’t know how much longer I could act straight. I was REALLY rolling. 

“Okay. I’ll try.” I murmured back, and Lance chuckled. I almost came. Lord knows I love Chris, but that deep voice was a sin onto itself. 

“Good girl.” He pulled away and I, despite my naughty bits quivering, started to giggle as if Lance had told me the silliest joke on the planet. Alan shifted next to me in irritation-I could feel his jealousy radiating.

 Lance was an old pro at this, but then again, he had to be. He chuckled at my laughter, then made a face and yanked out his phone, as if it had been ringing. He pointed to it and then gestured to the rear of the club, and Alan and I nodded.  I turned to face Alan.  

“He’s going to call Chris!” I shouted over the music, which had gotten louder.  Alan nodded, but he still looked mulish. I rolled my eyes and beckoned for him to come closer to me. When his ear was at my lips, I told him what Lance had relayed to me, and he nodded in understanding. 

“So stop being all jealous.” I snapped, and Alan rolled his eyes, scooting closer to me so we could talk without being heard and still look casual. 

“I’m not jealous, Nyx. He’s gay.”

 “And lucky for you, because I gotta say-while Lance isn’t MY type, he sure as fuck can make you melt with that damn voice of his.” I fanned myself and Alan sighed.

 “Oh, God, I know. It’s almost a sin.” 

I chuckled mischievously.  “No, what’s a sin is that he whispered in my ear before he whispered in YOURS.”

 Alan’s lip curled, I swear to God.

 “Nyx, I know you’re fucked up, but back off.”

 I raised my eyebrows. “ME-OW.”

 “I think lusting after your boyfriend’s gay best friend is slightly fucked up.” He said dryly, and I closed my eyes. My throat felt clotted. The vibrations from Lance’s voice in my ear still had me riled up and though I was worried about Chris, I really wished he’d get here so I could rape him, already. Talk about fucked up priorities. 

“Alan, I did a bad, bad thing.” I said dazedly, and Alan raised his eyebrow. 

“You? Never.” I ignored his sarcasm.

 “I’m serious, Alan. I’m playing with fire.” 

“I’d say so.” He muttered, still not catching my drift. 

“No, I…” I closed my eyes, whatever I had been about to say drifting away. What had I been about to tell him? I fought for the memory, but I could not hang onto a single thought in my head, like earlier. This was not good.

 “Water.” I croaked. Alan eyed me warily.

“Only a little bit, Nyx.” 

“Water.” I repeated, my fingers clenching. He handed me the water bottle and I put it to my lips and sucked the cool liquid down gratefully. My teeth would not stop clenching.  Alan reached over and tapped my knee sharply. I almost choked. 

“Stop it, goddammit. Only a little bit.” He hissed. I let him take it away from me, though I would have happily sucked the rest down in a heartbeat.  

“I’m sorry.” I said quietly, my head spinning. Alan surveyed my face worriedly.

“Your pupils are fuckin huge.” 

“We need to get out of here, Alan. I need to find Chris. He may be hurt.” I clutched at his pants leg, and he took my wrist, gently breaking my grip on him. 

“I’m sure Chris is fine, babe.” But I could see his brows furrowing in worry and I knew he was only trying to placate me.

 “He always calls me back, Alan. Always. And if something happened to him, I don’t know what I’d do. He’s…”

 I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to find the words in my slippery mind, but unable to grasp the right one.  Alan’s thumb rubbed against my hand, and I looked up to find him staring at me. 

“I know.” He said quietly.

Lance stared at his phone with a sense of dark foreboding. He had called Chris at least five times and left a voicemail every time.

Chris wasn’t the best at answering his phone when someone called, but he was usually very good about calling you back, almost immediately. It was very rare in itself when he would forget to charge it, and Chris loved his IPhone so much that the thought of him actually losing it was too ludicrous to believe.

 “Could this night get any worse?” Lance muttered to himself. He had implicated Alan, a closeted gay man with everything to lose, in front of the paparazzi, who had infiltrated the club where Chris’s girlfriend was under the influence of an illegal drug and snuggled into the arms of another man. And now his best friend, his brother, had disappeared.

Lance swallowed thickly. If something happened to Chris, he didn’t know what he’d do. He looked over his shoulder at Alan and Nyx, who were still in the same spot, thankfully, but Lance had to choke down the feeling of intense jealousy when he saw Alan’s arm around the younger girl. 

She’s fucked up. Lance reminded himself. They’re nothing but good friends, and you know it. Besides, it isn’t like he’s YOURS.

 That last thought hurt more then he expected it would, and despite the grave situation they all faced and his fear for Chris, Lance could not help feeling sad. He knew Alan cared for him deeply, a feeling that Lance reciprocated three fold, but he had to curse himself in his choice of men, despite Alan’s sweet nature. The men he chased had one thing in common-they were all, in some way, unavailable. Emotionally unavailable. Straight.  In the closet. Whatever. 

 The point was, from the first second Lance had struck up a conversation with a nervous Alan at Chris’s BBQ, attraction had hit him like a sledgehammer. Being in the midst of celebrities had evidently been too much for Alan, richy rich heir to a shipping company. Couple that with the fact that Alan still had mixed up feelings about his ex girlfriend (Oh yes, Lance could tell, even then) and Alan was a big no no from the start. But he couldn’t help himself.  

And though Alan was evidently smart, sweet and successful, the three important S’s that made a good boyfriend, Lance could not help but pity him. He didn’t want to, of course, but he could not help it. Alan was so jittery and afraid of having the rug yanked from under his feet, so scared of his shrewlike fiancée (Lance had never met her, but he had heard stories) and absolutely terrified of his parents, that a romantic relationship with a man, any man, seemed out of the question.

 And Lance tried to tell himself that, but his number still ended up in Alan’s pocket. And after Alan had FINALLY called him and they had met the first time, Alan ducking at every noise-Lance should have known that it was doomed, so why even torture himself? 

But something, something, kept on bringing him back to the coffee shops, the movies, the secret dinners. When his phone would go off late at night and Lance was out clubbing or hanging out at home with his dogs, he tried to tell himself to not do it, to cut this off at the knees before it fucked him up. But he could not, and here he was, falling for yet another unavailable man who was not only engaged, but had just as much reason to protect his reputation as Lance once had.  

But pity had not kept Lance from falling in love.

 Nyx was leaning against Alan now, and Lance pursed his lips in disapproval. Last thing any one of them needed was to have the papers saying that not only was Chris Kirkpatrick’s new girlfriend a lush (she looked drunk to the unschooled eye)she was also a slut. 

Chris, this is all your fault. 

Lance turned away from Alan and Nyx and hurriedly scrolled through his contacts. On the fifth ring, a groggy voice muttered something intelligible. 

“Joe?” “Wha?” Joey snorted sleepily.

 “Joe, this is Lance. I’m sorry for waking you up, dude, but have you heard from Chris?” 

Joey coughed and Lance could imagine him-his hair sticking in a million different directions, his pillow damp with saliva. 

“No, man, I haven’t talked to him since yesterday. Why?”

  “Joe, I hope I’m just being paranoid, but he was supposed to meet Nyx at Roxy and he never showed up. He won’t answer his phone, either.” 

Joey instantly sounded awake. “Did you leave a voicemail? He might be in the studio and not able to hear his phone.” 

“You know Chris takes breaks to answer that damn phone, Joe. And he was supposed to have left the studio an hour ago. I’m really worried.” 

Lance could hear Joey getting out of bed, pillows rumpling, Kelly’s muffled voice in the background and Joey’s murmured response. 

“Did you call Mike?” Joey asked, his voice at normal volume now. Lance plugged one ear with a finger-the music in here was ridiculous. Someone should punch the DJ, he thought furiously.

 “I don’t have Mike’s number.” 

“I do. Let me call him and I’ll call you right back, okay?” 

“Okay. Hurry.”

Lance ended the call and tapped his foot, debating on whether or not to call Justin and JC. He didn’t want everyone to start freaking out and worrying if Chris had, by some small chance, forgotten to charge his phone, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He closed his eyes and tried to remember where either of them were. Last he remembered, Justin had been on the West Coast, in Vegas. JC was probably back in New York. Who to call first?  

Before he could dial Justin’s number (because Chris and Justin talked more), his phone vibrated in his hand.

Joey. Lance answered immediately.

 “Yeah, Joe?” Joey’s voice was tense now.

 “Mike saw Chris leave an hour ago.” 

Lance cursed and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. Shit!”

 “I turned on the TV-there aren’t any wrecks being reported. And if Chris got in an accident, there’d be something on the news.  I’ll keep watching, and I’ll call Dave and Ernie, too.” 

“Okay, Joe. Thanks, man. Call me if you hear anything. I’m sorry for waking you guys up.” Joey chuckled, despite everything.

“Dude, it’s Chris. I won’t fall asleep until I know he’s alright.” 

“Alright Joe. Night.” 

“Later.” They hung up and Lance bit his lip, trying to decide whether or not to call Justin and worry him. It wasn’t like he could do anything, being in Vegas, but… His finger hovered uncertainly over the CALL button. No, he thought, pocketing his phone. No sense in worrying Justin until he knew something for sure. Like Joey said, if there HAD been an accident, it would be on the news.

 It doesn’t have to be an accident, his mind insisted. Chris could have gotten mugged, or run his car off a ledge…or something. 

Lance sniggered at his brain trying to create worst case scenarios. They lived in Orlando, not Compton, and they had moved around the area without security for a very, very long time. And while Chris carried no gun and was not, by nature, a violent man, he had that plucky schoolyard nerve one acquires when picked on too much in school. 

He’d turn up, Lance reasoned firmly.

 And when he does, I’m going to kill him for ruining my night. 

 “C’mon, move, you son of a bitch!”

Chris growled, hitting his steering wheel with the heel of his hand. The Explorer in front of him inched forward, if that, and almost immediately hit the brakes.

Chris almost howled in frustration. Yesterday had been so hectic at the studio that Chris had came directly home and fallen on his couch fully dressed, then promptly passed out, not bothering to turn out lights or even shut off the TV. Fifteen minutes after he had fallen into a death slumber, the cheerful blonde news anchor reported that the President was going to be in town for some political convention thingamajig.  

Had the TVs in the studio been turned on today and Chris had learned of this, he would have left the studio earlier to avoid the inevitable traffic. And had he not been late this morning to the radio show, he would have remembered to grab his phone charger cord. But, shoulda coulda woulda. The two things he had promised Nyx he would finish had turned into three things, and then five things, and before he knew it he was already fifteen minutes late and the traffic was backed up to hell.  And then his fucking phone was dead, so he couldn’t call her.

 Needless to say, Chris was NOT in a good mood. He was tired and annoyed and he cursed the President for coming to Orlando so late, he cursed the traffic, he cursed himself for not having the hindsight to bring the charger cord, he cursed the alarm clock for not waking him up earlier. All he wanted to do was get to the club, grovel for Nyx’s forgiveness (because she was probably fucking furious by now) and then go home. The meeting with his friend could be pushed back.

 The Explorer in front of him inched forward once more, and Chris banged his head against the soft head cushion. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. He tried to think of a shortcut to get to Roxy, but all the side roads had been closed off, due to an apparent stroke of genius.

 Chris snatched his phone and tried shutting it off and restarting it, hoping to get one little bar of power. Just to call Nyx and say not to worry, he was on his way. He fretted with the thought that they might have another fight when they had been doing so well.  Suddenly the Explorer shot forward in front of him and Chris’s breath caught. He punched the gas and almost cheered in delight when the traffic started moving; evidently the Presidential motorcade had moved past.

 The irony was that he was only six minutes away from Roxy, if that, and before he knew it he was pulling into the driveway. Chris almost screeched with fury when he saw the long line of cars in front of him, but before he could, there was a tap at his window. Chris looked up to see a faintly familiar face peering at him.

Red hair. Valet vest. The same guy that always took his car. What was his name?

He unrolled his window, pasting on a fake smile, but before he could speak, the valet had opened his door for him.

 “Hey, dude, you finally made it! Listen, Lance and your friends are already inside. I’ll get your car for ya.” The valet held out his hand for his keys. Chris stared at him.

“Lance?” What the hell? 

“Yeah, they got here about 30 minutes ago. Be careful, dude, lots of cameras at the door.” The guy said sympathetically, and Chris shook his head, which was beginning to throb with a major headache. What the fuck was this guy talking about? 

“Um, okay, thanks…-“ He peered at the nametag on the guy’s vest. “Trevor. Thanks a lot, dude!” 

Without another word, Chris slapped his keys in the guy’s hand and jogged away, only faintly aware that the guy was calling something after him. He didn’t stop, and he was so confused about Lance (and his friends?) being there that he didn’t prepare himself and found himself caught in the beam of what seemed like a thousand cameras.  

But for once, something went right in his day, and just as they were about to converge on him, someone yelled, “The motorcade! It’s passing!” and the paparazzi rushed past him and hurried toward the street, hoping to catch a snap of the President’s car as it passed.

 He had only to meet the bouncer’s eyes to slip past the rope. Once he was in, Chris let out a deep sigh of relief. The club was packed, yes, and he’d probably have to search every nook and cranny for her, but at least he was here. First he needed a fucking drink. His throat was killing him. He managed to make it through the crowd, who were grinding along to a MJ remix, but when he got up there, he ran right into none other then Lance.

 “Chris! What the hell!?!”

Chris had barely a moment to ask Lance what the fuck he was doing there before Lance socked his shoulder-HARD. 

“Dude, ow, what the fuck?!” Chris demanded, and Lance glared at him.

“I’ve been worried sick about you, you fucking prickhead. Why the hell are you so late?” Chris, who was still rubbing his arm, felt his irritation growing by the second. “Late to what? What the hell is going on here? Why are YOU here? And where the hell is Nyx?” 

Lance sighed and leaned closer to Chris.

“We need to talk!” He yelled above the music. Damn that DJ! 

Chris felt his stomach drop.

“Lance, where the hell is Nyx?” He repeated loudly. 

Lance shook his head.

“Dude, let’s get to a quiet place and I’ll tell you! Narks are everywhere!”  

Despite the arguments he wanted to make, Chris followed Lance to the hallway by the men’s restroom, which was much quieter.

 “What’s going on, Lance?” Chris demanded. Lance sighed.

“Dude, look, while Nyx was waiting on you, someone slipped something into her drink.”

 Chris’s mind reeled in horror and he sputtered for a few seconds, not able to grasp basic sentences. “What…where the hell is she?!” 

Lance held up his hand. “Hang on. Listen. She called Alan while we were at a movie. She thought at first it was a roofie, so we got over here as soon as we could. The paparazzi caught us, but we got here before anyone could screw with her. She’s with Alan, now, but don’t freak, dude. She doesn’t think it’s a roofie.” 

Chris stared at him. “Then what the hell is it?!” 

Lance sighed. “She thinks it’s ecstasy. And I don’t know much about it, but from what I do now, I think she’s right. She is seriously fucked up, dude.” “Take me to her.” Chris ordered, and Lance shook his head. 

“I know you’re pissed, Chris, but…” 

Chris took a step forward, and at that moment Lance was taken aback. Chris’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and though he was a few inches taller then the brunette, Lance had to step away. Chris looked murderous, and it was scary. He had NEVER seen him so angry, except when they had learned of Lou fucking them over. “I said-take me to her, Lance.” 

Wait a minute, I don’t need to take this shit from him-I came to help his girlfriend, fuck this. 

Lance’s eyes narrowed too, and he drew himself up to his full height and bore down on his brother. 

“Chris, CHILL. NOW. I’m trying to HELP you, shithead.” 

Immediately, Chris shrank back. “I’m sorry, dude. I’m just fucking worried, that’s all.”

 “Well, so am I, but you have to realize how bad of a situation we’re in. There’s narks everywhere, paparazzi outside, and your girlfriend is rolling her nuts off. The press would have a field day with that.” Chris growled.

“Dude, do I LOOK like I care? The paparazzi can kiss my fucking ass.”

 Lance had to restrain the urge to throttle him. “Your album’s coming out, goddammit. And you think they’ll care if she was slipped something? They’ll twist it. And then it ends up looking bad on her, and you, and by extension, the rest of us. They’ll make it sound like you, me, your girlfriend, and a heir to a major shipping company were out at Roxy doing tabs and getting drunk off our asses.  And your old little habit of going out and getting plastered will come back to bite you in the ass! Now stop and think, Chris-do you want that shit to happen?” 

Chris looked very much like he wanted to argue, but in the end he sagged. “No, I don’t.” He muttered, and Lance exhaled in relief. 

“Good. Now, I know you want to see her, but we have to figure out how we’re getting out of this place.” 

“The back way.” Chris said immediately, but Lance shook his head.

 “They’re not doing that tonight. It’s a new club-they WANT celebrities to come through the front door.” 

Chris cursed. “Shit. We’ll have to walk out. How bad is she?” 

Lance sighed. “Not sure. Alan knows more about it then I do. She’s not acting like a drunken fool, at least.” Chris shook his head. “No, she rarely does. But she DOES pass out.” Lance looked at his brother with frustrated tenderness. “Chris, man, she’s not DRUNK.”

 Chris yanked at his hair. “I know, but what I’m saying is-can we pass her off for drunk? Tipsy, at least?” 

“We could try.” Lance said doubtfully. 

Chris nodded. “Okay. Look, here’s what we’re going to do-me and you and Alan are going to drink a few beers. I’ll get a drink for Nyx and we can have her pretend to drink it. We’ll stay here for thirty minutes, and then we’ll split. Together. All it will look like is that we came out, got a little tipsy, and left.”

 Lance sighed. “Alan will have to leave separately, Chris. He cannot be implicated with me.” Chris cursed. “You fucking gays and your closets.” 

“Look, if he leaves with us, people are going to think we’re on a group date or something. And he is terrified of being found out.” Lance said harshly. Chris sighed. 

“Bass, you know how to pick them, I swear to God.”

 “Yeah, don’t remind me.” Lance muttered. 

“Look, we’ll figure out the plan while we’re sitting there. Alan might just have to get over it. Bring me to her, Lance. I want to be sure she’s okay.” Chris begged, and Lance looked at his brother and realized, really realized, that Chris was very much in love. Oh, he had KNOWN, of course-Chris never shut up about her, but to see this kind of devotion was unnerving. Chris had never been like this about Dani, and if there had been other girls, he had been very discreet about them. Lance had never doubted Chris’s ability to love; when he loved someone or something, he gave it his all-but they had long assumed Chris would stick to his bachelor status till the end of his days.

 But one chance encounter in a grimy bar with Nyx had completely turned his distractible brother’s head around. Lance had to stifle a grin despite everything; it really was quite cute. Besides, Lance had to admit, Nyx must be special if she could have two men, one of them gay and engaged to her cousin, at her beck and call. 

Must be something about those Louisianans, Lance mused.  Chris snapped his fingers at Lance.

“Earth to Poofu! Come on, dude, bring me to her.” Lance nodded.

 “Follow me.” 

They moved with difficulty through the thickening crowd, which seemed to take forever to Chris. The music seemed to be growing louder and louder and even more annoying, not making his headache any easier. He ached to see Nyx, touch her, feel her, make sure she was okay, and he would KILL for the chance to find the prick who had spiked her drink and kick the little punk’s ass.

And it was all his fault, he thought, grabbing ahold of Lance’s shirt to make sure he wouldn’t lose him. If he hadn’t have been so stupid and just left the studio when he was supposed to, he wouldn’t have hit that fucking traffic, and Nyx wouldn’t be in the state she was in. Chris didn’t know much about ecstasy except the basics. He had seen people on it, of course-he had been in too many clubs to count, but he had never hung out with a person who was rolling. He knew that people died from taking it, sometimes on their first time, and he thought of Nyx’s small frame and health problems and clenched his teeth. God help that little fuckhead if something happened to Nyx. He’d shut the club down and interrogate every person in here until they talked.  

They finally broke out of the forest of dancing people, and Lance turned to face Chris. 

“I’m going to get us those beers. They’re over there in that corner, and listen, Chris?” 

Chris was too busy looking over the heads of people to see if he could spot her, but with a sharp yank of his shirt, his eyes locked onto Lance’s.

 “What?!” 

“Don’t get bent out of shape when you see Alan and Nyx together. She was scared and he’s trying to comfort her. There’s….there’s nothing between them.” Chris nodded, biting his lip, but Lance knew the sight of Alan and Nyx cuddling would bother him anyway. He couldn’t blame him. He’d be jealous too-hell, at one point, Nyx and Alan were almost engaged, from what he understood. 

Chris broke away from Lance without another word, and had to fight his way though another group of girls who were standing around and laughing before he saw her. When he did, he halted in his tracks. 

Nyx was leaning back against Alan’s arm, which was resting along the back of the red cushions. She wasn’t laying against his chest, but their bodies were turned towards each other’s, and from where he was standing, Chris could see Alan’s thumb rubbing against Nyx’s bare shoulder. Lance’s warning went straight through him. Anger broiled his already sour stomach. 

He hurried towards them and when Alan saw him, he withdrew his arm hastily. 

“Dude, she was just resting-“ 

Chris ignored him and slid next to Nyx, pulling her into his arms, not caring how it looked to anybody else. He had hated the sight of her in somebody else’s embrace, more then he had imagined he would. 

“Hey, babe, it’s me.” Chris whispered in her ear. Her hair smelled like smoke, and she felt weightless. 

“Mmmhmmm…Chris?” He felt her breath on his neck, and he closed his eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. You alright?”

 “Mmhmm…you smell SO good. I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re not dead.” Nyx murmured, her voice low in his ear, her nose nuzzling his skin. Chris could not help it-he felt himself hardening.

 Dammit, stop it. This is NOT a time to get horny.

 “Nyx, what are you talking about? Why would I be dead?” Chris gently pulled her away from his neck, and when he saw her eyes, he almost recoiled. Her pupils were so big that he couldn’t even see the hazel of her eyes, and they could not focus on his. 

“Oh, you know…” Nyx waved her hand uncertainly. “You didn’t call me back and Lance couldn’t find you and I thought…I thought something was wrong. I’m…oh…I’m…” One of her hands came up to grip his shirt. “I’m so glad you’re okay…oh, your shirt is so soft…” 

Chris met Alan’s eyes across her shoulder, and they were troubled.  “Did you see the guy who did it?” He asked Alan shortly. Gay or not, the younger man’s body language towards Nyx hadn’t looked platonic at all. Alan shook his head. “We didn’t get here till after. She doesn’t remember anything. Only that she looked in her bag to grab her phone. That’s when she thinks it happened.” 

“Gotti boy.” Nyx murmured drowsily, still clutching his shirt. 

“What?” Chris and Alan asked at the same time.

 Nyx blinked up at Chris. “Gotti boy hit on me. I told him...,” her eyes rolled in her head, “told him to go away or I’d scalp him…” 

Oh, that’s just great. A Gotti boy. That makes up, oh, about 50% of the douchebags in this club, not to mention Florida, Chris thought. 

“Oh, Chris, I’m so glad you’re here. And I’m so glad Alan’s here. And Lancey pants. All together.” Nyx smiled at Chris, her eyelashes lowered in a way that made her look extremely attractive. Chris had to fight down another wave of incredible arousal.  Alan raised his eyebrow wryly.

 “You know, at least she’s not about to kill you for being so late. There’s one benefit of this whole drama.”  Chris glared daggers at him.

 “Oh, yeah, my girlfriend’s loaded off of her ass and that’s a GOOD thing? I’d rather have her about to kill me then this.” 

Alan bit his lip. Nyx’s eyes suddenly narrowed and she weaved in Chris’s arms, poking him in the chest. “Alan’s right! You were…were late…I should be…pissed. Really…pissed.” She hiccupped, and Chris sent another glare toward Alan, as if to say, “See what you did?” 

Alan threw up his hands in frustration. “I can’t win!”

 Chris saw Lance making his way over to them, carrying beers and a small glass containing something red and slushy, which was apparently Nyx’s ‘drink’. He looked down into Nyx’s heavy lidded eyes.  

“Nyx, can you hear me?” 

“Yup.” She hiccupped. 

“Lance brought something for you to drink, but it’s ONLY pretend, okay? Just pretend to drink it so people think you’re drunk. You got that, babe?”

 “Yup.” Nyx bobbed her head in agreement. 

“Okay, good. We’re going to sit back and chill for a few minutes, okay? You’re fine with that?”

 Nyx’s eyes rolled back in her head and he felt her sag in his arms. Panic rose up in Chris like a tidal wave. 

“What the hell…” “Mmhmm, I’m fine. That feels good.” Nyx licked her lips, and he could see her teeth clenching. What felt good? Relaxing? Rolling her eyes? This was not what drunks did.

 Lance approached them and set the beers down on the table. 

“Chris, that daiquiri is non-alcoholic. She can drink it.” Lance said quietly, and handed over the glass, which Chris stuck in Nyx’s hand. 

“Here, babe, are you thirsty?” Nyx looked down at the glass in confusion, as if had appeared out of nowhere.

“Water?” “It’s not water. It’s a daiquiri.” Chris said patiently.

 “She’ll want water.” Alan said suddenly, reaching down and grabbing a water bottle, then handing it to Nyx, who took it immediately and started sucking it down.  “Don’t let her drink too much. Leads to hyper hydration.” Alan muttered.

 Chris looked at him, eyebrow raised. “How the hell do you know about all of this?” Alan shrugged. “Lots of people did it back home.”

 He didn’t meet Chris’s eyes though, and the silent question, ‘Did you do it?’ went unanswered. 

“Nyx, can I have a sip of water?” Lance inquired politely, and Nyx nodded and handed the water bottle over without any fight. Alan put it out of sight on the floor.

 Nyx, thankfully, latched onto her daiquiri, and Chris gently pulled her back against him. She did not resist. It was scary to see Nyx obey so blindly-what if someone had tried to lead her out of the club? She would have gone without a fight. Chris could not believe how weird this situation was. 

Lance, who had settled himself casually on the edge of the booth, far enough from Alan to look innocent, leaned forward. “We really need to get out of here. I can’t be sure, but I think I just saw Perez Hilton.” 

Chris made a face. “Like he’d be interested in plebes like us.”

 “Not you, but me. And Alan, for sure.” Lance replied, and Chris almost laughed when he saw the blush creeping across Alan’s face. 

“So we’re just going to sit here and pretend to be fabulous until we can get up and leave without a scene? Does it not escape you two that there are a shitload of paparazzi outside?” Alan demanded.

 “They ran off after the President.” Chris replied, and Lance and Alan looked confused. 

“What?” 

“Nevermind.” Chris muttered, taking a heavy swig from his beer. Lance shook his head.

“Look, paparazzi or not, we’ve got to get out of here. Sooner or later, some idiot’s going to approach us, and try to sit down and chit chat. And I don’t know about you guys, but it doesn’t take an idiot to realize that Nyx is not drunk.”

 “Not drunk.” Nyx repeated, giggling to herself. 

“Can you act drunk?” Alan asked hopefully, and Chris rolled his eyes.

 “Yeah, encourage her. That’s all we need.” 

“Well if you would have been here, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!“ Alan shot back, and Chris almost stood up to beat his rich face in, but Lance kicked the table-hard. 

“Shut up, the both of you. No time for a pissing contest.” He hissed, and Chris sunk back down into his seat, still scowling at the other man.

 “Now, we’re going to do what Chris said-we’re going to sit here for a few more minutes, then CALMLY get up and walk out of here. Together. Like FRIENDS.” Lance said pointedly, seeing the mutinous looks on both of their faces.

“And we’re going to say goodbye to each other, and Alan can take Nyx’s car, and I can take the Prowler. And if the paparazzi gets in our way, one of us can yell ‘OBAMA NAKED’ or something. It’ll be fine. Just settle the fuck down and drink your beers and try to look normal.”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, normal.” Alan muttered, but started guzzling his beer when he saw Chris’s expression. Chris turned his attentions to Nyx, who was relaxing against him like a pile of warm laundry, very quiet, very still. 

“Babe, you okay?” “Mhmm. Chris, I want to go home.”

 “We will, babe. We’ll go in a few minutes.” He ruffled her hair, and Nyx gasped. He immediately let go of the strands.

“What?!” 

“Oh, do that again…” Nyx breathed, and Chris blinked in confusion. Lance and Alan very pointedly looked away and started to engage in conversation, probably fake. “Do it again, Chris.” Nyx begged, and overcome by the pleading in her voice, Chris obeyed.

She purred in pleasure and snuggled tighter against his side. Chris was starting to wonder, despite their current plight, if this ecstasy thing was really a bad thing, after all. Nyx was NEVER this relaxed, or this sweet, or this accommodating.  Plus, she had never pressed her body up to his like this before-so languid and trusting. It was sexy as fucking hell, and Chris could not help it now-he was officially hard. He squirmed uncomfortably, trying to yank his jeans around so that it didn’t show. 

Nyx didn’t notice. Her eyes were closed, but he could see her eyeballs jiggling, and her jaw was clenching again.

 “Chris, Perez Hilton’s coming this way.” Lance said suddenly, and Chris cursed to himself. Perez Hilton was the last person on Earth who Chris wanted to deal with right now, with a raging erection and a drugged up girlfriend.

 “No, wait, he got sidetracked. Chris, we need to leave NOW.” Lance’s voice was streaked with urgency.

 “Nyx, can you walk?”  Chris asked, giving her a soft shake. 

“Uh huh. If you want me to.” Nyx said dreamily. 

“I definitely want you to.” Chris said between gritted teeth, and grabbed her hand. To his amazement, she stood up, quite steady for someone rolling their balls off. Alan grabbed her backpack and stuck it in her hand, and Chris led her carefully out of the booth, pulling her in front of him. 

He saw Alan’s hand snake around and grab Nyx’s, and he knew it was only to keep Nyx near, but he still had to fight back a nasty remark.  Lance was in the lead and with tremendous difficulty, led them across the club, presumably far from the gossipy clutches of Perez Hilton. They found a somewhat secluded corner by the door and Lance gestured for them to huddle into a small group. 

“Alan and I will go out first. You and Nyx stay behind us, since we’re taller. We can block a lot of camera shots. Can Nyx make it down those steps?” Lance wanted to know, and Chris gently shook Nyx, who was standing silently next to him, her eyes following the colorful strobelights across the room with frightening accuracy. 

“We’ve gotta walk down some stairs, Nyx. You gonna be able to do that?” Alan asked, before Chris could. He grit his teeth. 

Nyx focused on Alan. “Yes.” Her voice was very faint. 

“Don’t trip, Nyx.” Lance warned her, and she sighed. 

“Not gonna.”

“Good girl. Chris, hang onto her TIGHT. You know how pushy they can be out there.” Chris nodded.  

“We ready?” Lance wanted to know, and Chris and Alan nodded. Nyx hummed. Lance and Alan turned  and headed toward the doors, and Chris took one last look at Nyx before following them out. Her eyes were black and her expression was blank, utterly wiped clean. He cursed to himself. She did not look tipsy. She looked drugged.

“Babe, walk fast.” Chris muttered to her, and she dipped her head in acknowledgement. Lance and Alan went through the doors first, and the blinding lights made Chris hesitate. The paparazzi were there, and the flashing lights and screamed questions were both scary and distracting. Chris didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.  He tried to stay as close behind Lance and Alan, but the flashing lights disarmed his depth perception and Nyx, who was not used to this at all, faltered next to him.

 “Chris, when’s the new album coming out?!” 

“Lance, is that your new boyfriend?!” Chris saw Alan's shoulders stiffen.

“Where’s Justin?!” 

“Nyx!” Chris cursed-they knew her name. Shit. 

“Keep moving, babe.” He muttered out of the corner of his mouth, and Nyx nodded, her head down. Chris focused on the back of Alan’s blue shirt in front of him. Only a few more steps to go… 

“Nyx, why did you run away from home?!”

 Nyx froze.

 Oh, shit, Chris thought. Here we go.