by Elina


That's right, honey. Shake his hand goodbye. Don't you dare kiss him. Don't even let your hand linger too long in his. Piranhas like me would love that.


How sweet. Chris is here for the obligatory lunch-with-a-fan, and Lance can't tear himself away, even to avoid the crying and hyperventilating. There he goes, off into the bar. Dollars to donuts Jive leaks something about Lance's plans to buy into this place, or some shit like that. I guess that would explain his deep and abiding interest in the merchandise behind the bar. Because everyone knows that a straight member of a straight boyband would never drink to drown the thought of his lover making nice with a girl in the next room.


Zoom. Click.

Damn, Chris, you are good at this. How many times have you sat across from a breathless, wide-eyed piece of jailbait? And why don't Justin and JC do this job more often? And why am I assigned to you, anyway? Everyone knows those two guys are where the action is. But no, I get stuck covering Old Spice just because I caught one lucky shot of him with Drunk Spice there. I don't give a fuck about the chemistry sizzling between them and pouring off of my photos, or whatever shit Marjorie said. The only sizzling I want to hear about is the one coming from my bank account when I sell a picture, and Justin is what sells.

Click. Zoom.

Where did they find this girl? She's got that look ... the same look they all have, but more. Like her eyes are almost glittering, and not just from the actual glitter stuck to her eyelids. At least she doesn't have bad acne or anything, so I can use her in some of the shots.


Huh. She's getting a little frantic now. Chris'd better watch out - that last wave of her fork almost took a chunk out of his hand. Yeah, smart boy, lean back, play it cool. Where's -

Scan. Zoom. Click.

Oh, there's Lonnie. Looks like he's got his hands full with Lance.

Click. Click.

Good boy, Lance. Go back to the nice barstool, drink the nice drinks.

Zoom out.

What the fuck?

Zoom. Zoom. Click.

What's she - is that a gun?

Click. Click. Click. Click.

No way she's gonna -

Click. Click.

Lonnie'll get to her first.

Click. Click. Click.


Click. Zoom. Click. Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick.

Holy shit. Oh god, here comes Lance.


He's too late. Chris is already lying on the floor, chest exploded, blood everywhere, oh Christ ...


Click. Click.

Amazing. Lance still looks beautiful, even hunched over the mangled body of his lover. Shit, that must have been some serious ammo she used, to get that kind of damage with just a few shots.


What's he doing? Lance is ... he's coming this way. He's looking right at me. How did he see me over here? He's ... giving me the finger.


Alright. Fine. Just a few more shots of the girl fighting with the guards, and ...

Clickclickclick. Click.

There we go. Now I can toddle off to the police, show them what I've got. Maybe make a couple of stops along the way. Marjorie would cream her pants for these. Hey, somebody's bound to make money off these pics. Might as well be me, right?

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