It was an unusually sultry day, and of course there was no air conditioning here, so they'd flung the glass doors open hoping some hint of cool air would blow in as they worked sweatily through the routines for the ten thousandth time. The tapping against the glass was what alerted them to a new presence. They swiveled as one, eager for distraction, and saw a milk-colored horse, dark-eyed and elegantly proportioned. With a silver horn spiraling from its forehead.
It whinnied impatiently.
"Now there's something you don't see every day," Chris muttered.
"Well," said Joey, trying not to laugh, "it ain't here for me, I know that much."
"I guess it's here for one of the babies," said JC, sounding just a tad wistful. Beside him, Justin meeped indignantly, and hid behind Joey. But the unicorn had found, apparently, what it was seeking. Lance was outside on the stone path, stroking the creature's pale flank, and murmuring endearments as it nuzzled against him.
"Surprise," said Chris, rolling his eyes.
* * *
News of the unicorn spread like wildfire among the hotel's staff. Everyone, from the snooty receptionist with the great rack to the chambermaids to the lugubrious manager seemed to know that Lance had a unicorn. Nobody went close, though, not after one of the porters attempted to approach (with a carrot) and was met with a purposefully lowered horn and a lot of very pointed hoof-stamping.
The besotted creature peered through the nearest open window into the private dining room annexe as they ate their dinner. Half-way through the meal, the head chef arrived with great ceremony, bearing a basket of apples which he offered to Lance for the unicorn to eat.
After dinner, a small crowd gathered in the gardens, at a respectful distance, to watch Lance feed the animal. It took the apples daintily from his palm, while the chambermaids sighed and the kitchen staff exchanged comments in a language Chris did not recognize—possibly Turkish, he thought. When the apples were all gone, the unicorn followed Lance all the way to the hotel steps. It balked at coming inside, however, and settled for nuzzling affectionately at Lance's shoulder before delivering a loud neigh which sounded disconcertingly like 'Good night'.
The five of them managed to get upstairs without saying anything, but as soon as they'd piled into JC and Chris's room, someone (Justin) snorted, and there was an explosion of general mirth.
"What?" said Lance.
* * *
Lance bore the inevitable mockery in good part, even when bleary-eyed over breakfast next day. Then business kicked in again, rehearsals all morning, then a radio appearance and two more interviews. The unicorn, whickering plaintively outside the window, was not mentioned at any of these.
Lance went off to the kitchen for unicorn-fodder, and returned to the terrace outside the rehearsal room bearing more apples and a bucket of muesli, with the creature trailing devotedly at his shoulder. Their arrival seemed to cause an argument to erupt among a section of the fascinated audience of hotel staff, but Chris had no difficulty in ignoring the high-pitched squeaks of rage. It sounded rather like his sisters squabbling over something, and he had years of experience at blocking that.
Lance appeared to be having a conversation with the creature. At least, he was rumbling to it, and it nodded and snorted back at him.
They were moving on, tomorrow. Chris wondered what would happen to the unicorn then. He had no idea how fast horses could run, and maybe a unicorn was different, but still, he was pretty sure it wouldn't be able to keep up with the van. Be as well if it didn't, anyway. The sight of a unicorn galloping along the autobahn would probably mean a road full of crashed cars and a shitload of trouble.
* * *
He asked Lance about it at breakfast, as Lance yawned and blinked at him.
"I dunno, really. I mean, he goes ver' fast," said Lance. "He let me ride him last night, in the moonlight. Don't know how far we went. It seemed pretty far. But I don't know if he'll follow us or not."
"You rode the unicorn?" JC sounded beyond envy.
"Yeah." Lance ducked his head and grinned. "Bareback, of course, but he has such a perfect gait—"
"I guess that's why you're walking funny this morning," Joey offered, between bites of buttered roll. Lance glared at him.
Chris rolled his eyes. "Hey, Joe, unicorn, remember?"
Joey shrugged, and looked pensively at Lance, who had returned his attention to his breakfast.
* * *
Lou called that evening, as they settled into the new hotel. He had been informed of the presence of Lance's unicorn, and was not happy. He seemed to think it was some kind of practical joke, and warned them in a benevolent-uncle voice with undertones of concrete that it was going to stop being funny if it went on too long.
Lou's remarks seemed mostly addressed to Chris and Lance, and when Chris afterwards expressed his indignation at practically being accused of faking a unicorn, Lance pointed out rather tartly that since Chris usually was the one responsible for all manner of weirdness, Chris had no right to be surprised that his claims of innocence weren't going over too well now. Then he stalked off to find the kitchens. The unicorn, nowhere in evidence en route, had announced itself with a joyous whinny as soon as they'd unpacked their suitcases, and Lance took his responsibilities seriously.
* * *
Joey seemed to be particularly interested in Lance at breakfast next morning, Chris thought. Odd, really. Joey had been eager to head out to the club last night, leaving too-young Justin and too-tired Lance in the hotel, so why was he watching Lance with such fascination today? Wasn't like Lance was a pretty sight at breakfast, his head nodding over his cereal bowl and his hair wildly uncombed.
"So, Lance," Joey began, but he was interrupted by a shrill neigh, and slumped back into his seat with a sigh.
* * *
Chris and Lance scrambled frantically for the door as the phone rang, so it was JC who got to talk to Lou before the show that evening.
He looked very thoughtful as he joined them for the hacky.
* * *
"Dude," said Joey with respect, as JC sat down to breakfast. JC looked up innocently. "Swedish twins!"
So that was why JC had left the club early last night! Two dazzling blonds, one female, one male, had also left before Chris could circle his way into their vicinity, though in truth he had been procrastinating just a little bit, trying to convince himself that the Kirkpatrick brand of charm transcended language boundaries. Apparently the Chasez brand translated better. Oh well. Go JC.
"Lou's thinking of flying down here on Saturday," JC was explaining, though what that had to do with Swedish twins Chris could not begin to guess. "So, you know, sometimes you have to—"
"What happened to Lance?" said Lynn, settling in to watch fondly as her offspring staggered, zombie-like, to the cereal boxes on the counter. "It's not like him to oversleep."
"I was just—" The sound of hooves, and an imperative tap on the window from an impatient horn, silenced JC.
"I'll go get him," said Joey, hastily.
* * *
"It's gonna be okay," Justin whispered, sliding onto the plastic chair next to Chris. One day they'd get a real dressing room. "I talked to my momma."
Justin had infinite faith in Lynn's powers to fix whatever needed fixing in his life, and Chris had to admit, she was rarely defeated by any of the kid's little difficulties. Right now, though, he had no idea what Justin was talking about. But if he asked, if he gave Justin an opening, he'd probably be listening to Justin's momma's infallible acne cure, or how she managed to obtain Twinkies in the back of Eurobeyond, right up until it was time to get on stage, and he wouldn't be able to amuse himself by bashing his head against the wall instead because Justin with a story to tell was as persistent as an ant with a rubber tree plant. So he just said, "Cool," and "You wanna see if we can convince JC he's got a spider down his shirt?" instead, and they did that.
* * *
Chris went out for a while after the show, because he wasn't going to let anyone think he might be running out of stamina, but his heart really wasn't in it. In fact, he was pondering just what might be done about Lance's unicorn, given that Lou would be with them tomorrow and really, Lance had enough problems with Lou, who didn't seem to care how much effort Lance had put in to catching up with the four professionals in the group, who only noticed that Lance's dancing wasn't as sure and fluid as Justin's yet (and hell, that was true of everybody in the world except JC), and tended to shake his head and frown a lot when he looked at Lance. The presence of a unicorn... Well. There was no knowing quite how Lou would react, but it probably wouldn't be good.
The best thing, Chris felt, would be to make sure that the unicorn was no longer a presence in Lance's life.
He toyed for a while with the notion of obtaining outside help for this task, but on the whole, he concluded, if you wanted a job done properly, it was best to do it yourself. Besides, it was just possible Lance wouldn't care to have someone, um, brought in.
Also, Chris was not that altruistic.
So he had a quick but thorough shower, brushed his teeth, pulled on jeans and sweatshirt, and crossed the dingy corridor to Lance's room, knocked firmly and breezed in.
There was a distinct scent of something in the air, and the windows were wide open. Possibly Lance had dropped a bottle of cologne. Chris sniffed at the familiar scent. Mmm, not bad, a bit girly maybe. He dismissed the matter from his mind and concentrated on Lance.
Lance had apparently just finished showering, too. He was wearing one towel round his waist and rubbing at his overbleached head with another, and blinked in surprise at the sight of his unexpected bandmate.
"Rejoice, Bass," Chris announced, "for I bring you the answer to your pray—problems."
Lance looked cynical. "Don't you mean, you're gonna make things worse?" he replied, but there was no malice in his words. He sat down on the edge of his bed and looked mildly interested.
"Certainly not. I have applied my mighty intelligence—" there was a snort, but Chris ignored it superbly—"to the matter of your unicorn, and I have the solution. Me."
Lance looked at him warily.
"Yes," Chris continued, warming to his theme, "I am making available to you this fine, desirable booty," (he smacked it resoundingly) "for the purpose of ridding you of your pesky virginity, as symbolized by yon mythical beast." Perhaps the third rum and Coke had been overkill. Whatever.
"Oh. Well. But." Lance's eyes were wider than ever.
"And I'll do you too," Chris added hastily, "just in case, you know."
"Wow," said Lance. "Um."
"Get with the program, Bass! Do you want me or don't you? One night of fine Kirkpatrick loving, and you'll never see the unicorn again," he leered. He hoped he hadn't miscalculated here. "And if you should find you want more..." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Lance stared at him, shook his head in apparent wonder, grinned, and lay back on the bed. The towel round his waist flopped open, displaying a tempting triangle of sturdy, pale thigh. "Okay, then," he said. "Show me what you got."
* * *
Confused, Chris patted at the bed next to him, where there should have been warm, silky, incredibly responsive bandmate. There was not.
Chris sat up. This was not what he had expected. Not that he'd exactly expected to be awake at—he peered at Lance's alarm clock—three forty-seven a.m.—but if he had, he would certainly have expected Lance to be right there next to him in the bed, either sleeping solidly and ready to be snuggled up to, or sleeping lightly and available to be groped awake for another round.
Yeah.
But no. No Lance. This was bad. Chris listened carefully in case of bathroom sounds, but there were none.
He had a feeling that it had been the snicking-shut of the door that had woken him up. So where had Lance gone at this time of night?
A sudden impulse led Chris to the window, and he stared out at the half-moonlit gardens at the back of the hotel. There was a movement, yes, that was Lance, he was—no! No way! No fucking way! There was no way that the damned unicorn was still hanging around! Because Lance was definitely not qualified, he'd seen to that.
Muttering furiously to himself, Chris pulled on his clothes, shoved his feet into a spare pair of Lance's sneakers, and ran silently through the hotel down to the gardens.
Lance was murmuring to the unicorn, a low, mellow rumble of indistinguishable sounds at first, but as Chris, suddenly cautious, sneaked closer, he could make out the words.
"Y'see, it just isn't fair on him. He went to a lot of trouble to make it good for me, and I want to do it again, and if he sees you're still here he'll be all, how is that possible, and thinking I didn't like it, or something. Chris can be sappy that way." Lance sighed, and the unicorn snorted sympathetically. "Yeah, I know, but people are complicated. And I will miss you, you're a beautiful ride, yes you are, you're a beauty, aren't you, but you know, I don't think I can keep up the pace much longer."
Chris couldn't contain himself any longer. "What," he said indignantly, huffing a little in the cold night air, "is that creature doing here? You don't get to keep the unicorn after you, you know."
Lance looked extremely guilty. So, indeed, did the unicorn, shifting and hiding its beautiful head behind Lance's shoulder.
"I was just, um, saying goodbye," Lance explained. "Get on, then, Horny." He patted the beast's nose, then smacked it firmly on the rump. WIth a reproachful whinny, it cantered off into the darkness.
Chris stared. "You named the unicorn 'Horny'?"
"What else would I call it?"
When you put it like that, maybe—oh, hell, of course it was strange, but that was Lance all over. You never knew quite what to expect from Lance, which was one of the reasons Chris liked him so much. "Anyhow, it's gone now," Chris said with satisfaction. "Good thing one of us has the sense to take the, uh, unicorn by the horn. We don't want Lou selling it to a museum, or making it part of the act, or something."
"That would have been bad," Lance agreed, calmly. "I think Horny would have been scared of the fans. I know I am."
"I should have known you wouldn't do anything about it yourself," Chris continued blithely. "But I can't believe none of the other guys thought of it either."
"Um," said Lance.
Chris stopped moving. "You mean they did?"
"Yeah. They did. It's been... quite a week. There's something about a unicorn, people just can't seem to resist." Lance started walking again, back towards the hotel, and Chris followed.
"But, but..."
"Monday night, it was one of the chambermaids. Tuesday, that Turkish waiter with the really neat little ass."
"What?" What?
"They showed up at my room when y'all were out clubbing, to help me with my 'unicorn problem'. Like you did."
Chris's eyeballs seemed to have swelled to vast size. He didn't think he could close his eyes if he tried. "But. You said, the other guys..." he managed.
"Oh, yeah. Wednesday, there was a very stacked redhead in my bed when I got back after the show, she told me Joey had sent her to..."
"Help you with your unicorn problem," Chris chimed in.
"Right. Then last night, JC brought the Swedish twins up to me." Lance considered. "Which was pretty cool, you know?"
"Wow," Chris muttered. No wonder Lance had been so incredible in bed. He'd had tons of practice. "But how come the unicorn didn't leave? After the waiter, no, the chambermaid, Monday night, when you weren't a virgin anymore?"
"Wasn't a virgin before, either." Lance shook his head, like a schoolteacher disappointed by dimwitted students. "All of y'all see the unicorn as a mythical beast with some very traditional values. I just saw a real pretty horse with a horn."
"So it didn't mean anything. The unicorn."
"I think it just liked me."
"Huh," said Chris. "So you could have sent it away whenever you wanted. Which means my great personal sacrifice in saving you from the wrath of Perlman was actually a waste of time."
"Well," Lance was grinning, "I wouldn't say that, exactly. I appreciated the... sacrifice."
Chris sniffed, although he was glad to hear it. He had had a fucking good time, or a good time fucking, whatever. But it was just a bit galling, all the same. "Everybody's ahead of me but Justin."
Lance said nothing.
It was a strangely eloquent silence.
"No! No! Do not tell me Justin Timberlake pimped out your fine ass to—what, who? Damn it, if that kid—tell me! Right now!"
"C'mon, Chris, you know what Justin does when he has a problem!"
"He tells his momma. She takes care of everything."
"Uh huh."
"She takes care of... she takes... she... holy mother of God."
Lance frowned in disapproval. But Chris thought that on an occasion like this, a little blasphemy was understandable. Expected. Practically essential.
Chris found he had stopped moving. Actually, he thought his entire body had seized up. Which was good, because it meant he couldn't give in to the impulse to run around in small circles and scream. Neither could he lie down on the ground and laugh and laugh, which was very much what he felt like doing when he thought about what Justin might have expected his momma to do, and what she had, apparently, done.
"So," he said after a few moments. "I'm gonna pretend you did not say what you just said. We will never speak of it again."
"Okay," said Lance, equably. "You wanna go back to bed now?"
"I guess." Though it wouldn't be half as much fun without Lance in it.
"Good. How 'bout if I ride you this time?"
"You still want—"
"Hell, yeah. You're much more fun than a unicorn."