nsync in black and white

Fiction by Pen . . . . . not real, made up, purely intended for entertainment


in which Sir Ian appears as a distinguished thespian, and Lance is bemused

"Oh. My. God."

"So, you enjoyed it, I take it?"

"Oh. My. God."

"Not quite what you were expecting, hmm?"

"You wore a dress! Actually about a thousand different dresses! And a purple wig!"

"Darling, please. It was lilac."

"Yeah, and you had those huge—"

"Magnificent, aren't they!"

"I'm traumatised."

"You poor thing."

"I—it—you said pantomime! Not cross-dressing and the audience joining in!"

"Interactive theatre, darling. It's traditional."

Lance glowered. "You sat on my lap!"

"It's a very nice lap. And you were in the front row."

"You got me the ticket. You're a bad man."

"Possibly, possibly." Ian's mouth twitched. "I'm a very good woman, though. Kind to all my friends..."


"Toiling all day in the Chinese laundry..."

"You cut that out, right now."

"You know you like it really."

"No, I don't."

"Oh, yes you do."

"Oh, no I do—ack! You stop that! Right now! You're a bad, bad man!"

"What, stop this? You want me to stop this?"


"Or perhaps, I shouldn't be doing this?"

"No... that's okay."

"I wouldn't want you to be traumatised any further."

"Really, it's fine."

"Seeing me in curlers can't have been good for you."

"Do not stop! Don't you dare stop, okay?"

"You know, there is another line that rather fits the situation."


"He's behind you!"


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