Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them.
Back to the story in progress.
Jack
"Dear P Diddy," I began, writing carefully on the engraved note card. "No, wait, Dear Puffy. Dear Sean? What the hell does he go by now?"
"Um, the card says Sean," Chad said, reading it carefully from the couch on the other side of the coffee table.
"Better go with that, then," I said, shrugging. "Dear Sean, Thank you so much for the, paperweight? Sculpture? Chad, what the hell is this thing?"
Chad picked up the blue glass object between us on the coffee table and held it in his tanned, long fingered hands, his light blue eyes crawling over it carefully. His frosted blond hair was gelled back today, and he was wearing a vest that emphasized the thin, firm lines of his torso. His gold hoop earrings, two in each ear, glittered in the light as he looked questioningly at the wedding present, before he finally shrugged, and set it down on the table. He was cute, but almost a stereotype.
"Could be a candleholder," he said finally. "It's got this weird little hole in the back."
"It's not a bong, is it?" I asked, afraid to pick it up again. "I know he's Josh's friend and all, but Jesus, he's such a thug. Maybe I'll just refer to it as a nice gift, and tell him it looks great in the breakfast nook."
"You guys have a breakfast nook?" Chad asked, looking up from the envelope he was addressing for me to put the note into.
"No, but he doesn't know that," I said, smirking. "Can you put it back in the box while I finish writing this?"
"Sure," he answered, passing me the envelope.
I put the card in while Chad put the blue thing away, and then I added the envelope to the pile of notes that Josh needed to sign, so that we could seal and send them. We'd been at the gifts for three days, and seemed to be making no progress at all. Once we were done with the endless pile of wedding gifts from the actual guests, Josh told me that there was a rented storage space somewhere in town with gifts from fans. When we needed a break from the gifts, we worked on the mail for a while, but neither task ever seemed to get smaller. I was worried that I was going to need more than just Chad to get through this, but for now Josh and I had agreed that we only needed one personal assistant, even if we hadn't agreed on which one we'd wanted to hire. Like all of our arguments, it was settled quickly, but I still wasn't sure if I was happy with the outcome.
We'd asked for applicants from the Jive secretarial pool, and in the end had narrowed it down to a very nice lady, who had been a secretary for about ten years, and Chad, who was maybe twenty-three and who had been working the phones at the main offices for about three months. I wanted the nice lady, who was obviously very qualified, but Josh wanted to give Chad a chance, because he was young and inexperienced, and Josh wanted to give him a break. I'd finally relented, but Chad still gave me a little nagging feeling in the back of my mind, because he was young, cute, and unquestionably gay. Josh thought it was a good thing because he'd be pretty understanding of our issues, and that we should be helping out our gay brethren, but I understood a little better how Josh felt when I said I thought Kevin was cute. I tried not to let it bother me, and Chad did seem really nice.
Both of us looked up as we heard a door open close at the front of the house, and then Josh was striding into the living room. I could tell from his face that he was a little upset about something, and he came straight to me, and wrapped his arms around me, laying his head on my shoulder. I held on to him, letting him soak up whatever comfort he needed from my presence, and waited for Chad to leave. I glanced at him finally, over Josh's shoulder, and he got the message, blinking and standing. He was nice, but a little dense, which Josh kept telling me was just Chad being blond.
"I'm going to, um, head out," Chad said, leaving everything where it was. "Tomorrow?"
"Come by at ten," I said, nodding. As he walked out I continued to hold Josh, noticing the way he smelled, and the smooth texture of his neck pressing against mine. "Josh?"
"I love you, Jack," he said, still just holding me. "I just need to hold you for a minute, ok?"
"Of course it's ok," I said. I didn't want to press the issue, but I needed to know what was going on, and if he needed me. "You're home early. Is, um, everything ok?"
"We just, we had a bad day at work today," Josh said, pulling back finally and offering a weak smile. I kissed him on the forehead, and he leaned down and kissed me on the mouth, pressing his lips softly to mine as I led him over to the couch. We sat down, and I held his hands. "We stopped early today because Wade has a lot of work to do over the next couple of days. All the old songs, and some of the new stuff, we have to rechoreograph everything, Jack. We should have known, should have realized it."
"Why?" I asked. "What's wrong with the choreography?"
"The moves, Jack," Josh said finally. His face looked pained. "The thrusts, and the, you know, the stage humping. We started doing some of the old routines just to warm up, and Justin, he can't do it, Jack. He broke down in the studio, in tears, and then he just curled up into a little ball against the wall. We tried to help him, but he wouldn't talk to us, and Lance took him home. We're going to take a couple of days off, and Chris figured we could tell people that we've changed everything to give the fans a new show, or something. It was just, you know, it was bad, Jack."
"I'm sorry, baby," I said, holding onto him. He smiled at me to let me know he was ok.
"It's all right, Jack," he said, sighing. "It just hurts, you know, seeing that Justin is still so messed up, so broken, and there's nothing we can do to help him."
"I know, Josh," I said. "All we can do is be here for him, and for Lance, too."
"If they let us," Josh sighed, leaning over. He rested the side of his head against mine, holding my hand. I thought for a second.
"Josh, I have an idea," I said. "But first, you know, I have another idea I need to talk to you about. Chad and I were talking, and I think I found a job, but I need to talk to you about it first."
Lance
Lance looked out the back window, watching Justin walk around the backyard with his putter, tapping a ball along over the grass. They'd been back from the studio for a couple of hours, and after Justin had calmed down, he said he wanted to go outside for some air. Lance didn't want to push him, knowing that Justin would come to him if he needed him, so he stayed at the back of the house, puttering around and watching Justin through the windows. He seemed ok, just very quiet, and had called his therapist when they got back to set up an extra appointment this week. Lance should have guessed that Justin wouldn't be up for the dancing, at least not that kind, but it hadn't occurred to him, and he guessed it hadn't occurred to Justin, either. Lance sighed, knowing he should have seen this coming, especially after what had happened between him and Justin in bedroom the other night.
Since the night a couple weeks ago, when Justin had asked Lance to sleep in the bed with him, they had done it a few nights since. Lance went to sleep in his own bed, but sometimes Justin woke him and asked if he would come over to his bed, or if Lance would let him climb into his. Lance always agreed, knowing that Justin needed the comfort, and it made him feel better to be able to offer it, too. When Justin got in bed, he would slide back against Lance, or lay his head on Lance's chest, and the two of them would talk for a little while about what was bothering Justin before they fell asleep. If Justin didn't want to talk, just wanted to be held, Lance just held onto him, feeling him shake beneath his t-shirt as he laid his head on Lance's bare chest. It wasn't a sexual thing for either of them, not really, just two friends seeking comfort, but they were also guys, and sometimes things happened that couldn't be helped, which had happened the other night.
Lance's eyes popped open as he heard Justin cry out, and when he looked over, across the room, he saw Justin twisting, clawing at the sheets that were wrapped around him. Justin's face was covered with sweat, and Lance could see spreading blotches of it on Justin's shirt in the dim light coming from the small nightlight plugged in by the door. The light was a recent addition to the room, because Justin panicked if he woke up and couldn't see who was near him. Justin's eyes were closed, and his face was twisted in agony as he tried to escape the confines of his dream.
"Nick, no, no," Justin said, his voice high and pleading. "No, please, please don't. Please!"
"Justin!" Lance said sharply, feeling something wrench inside him. The pain in Justin's voice, mixed with fear, was too much for him to listen to. He remembered when Justin had abused him, and how he had seen it in his head all the time for weeks, and prayed that Justin wouldn't have to relive what happened with Nick every night for the rest of his life. Across the room, Justin's eyes popped open, and he inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Lance kept his own voice calm, knowing Justin would be disoriented. "Justin, Justin, it's ok. It's ok. You were just having a dream, Justin. You're safe. I'm the only one here. You're safe, Justin."
"Lance?" Justin asked quietly, his hands holding the sheet tightly. He looked over at Lance, his eyes wide, and then his face scrunched as he began to cry, a sob bursting out of him almost painfully. "Lance, I, he was, it happened again, and he just kept, kept pushing, pushing in me, and he was so heavy, and it, it hurt. It hurt me."
Justin's voice trailed off as sobs shook him, and Lance had trouble picking out all of the words.
"Justin, do you want me to come over there?" Lance asked. "Do you need me?"
Justin nodded, unable to speak, and Lance pulled the sheet back and stood. Before he realized what was happening, he saw Justin's eyes widen in fear, and Justin jerked back against the wall, pulling the sheet around himself.
"No!" Justin screamed, paling.
"Justin?" Lance asked, confused, stepping toward the bed.
"No!" Justin's eyes were wider than Lance had ever seen, bulging from his face in panic, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he shook his head back and forth in violent negation. "Please don't hurt me."
"Justin, what?" Lance began, and then followed Justin's eyes. They weren't on his face, they were lower, and Lance realized as he glanced down at his briefs that he had woken up with an erection, and that was all that Justin was seeing. Lance immediately stepped backward, pressing himself against the far wall of the bedroom, and grabbed a pillow, holding it over his groin as he tried to will his hardon to subside. It wasn't for Justin, it was just a simple erection like most guys got in their sleep, but Justin wouldn't understand that. "Justin, it's not for you. Justin, I promise, I promise, I'm not going to hurt you. It's just me, Justin, just Lance, and I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."
Justin stared at him, still holding the sheet around himself, still panting hard, almost hyperventilating as his whole body trembled beneath the sheet. He was still watching Lance, but Lance folded down into a sitting position, dropping his face down so that it was level with Justin's. He stared into Justin's eyes, keeping his face neutral, not moving toward Justin in any way, doing his best to look nonthreatening, and kept the pillow in place. His erection had subsided, but he wanted to make sure Justin was settled before he removed it.
"Justin, it's just because I was asleep," Lance said. "I'll never hurt you Justin, never. You know that. You're safe here, safe. It's just from sleep Justin, and it's gone now. It's gone away."
"Lance?" Justin asked finally, his face shifting a little as he seemed to actually see Lance for the first time. "Lance, please, please don't, don't do that. Please, please don't hurt me."
"Justin, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," Lance said, listening to the fear in Justin's voice. "I'll never hurt you like that, Justin, never."
"Never?" Justin asked, his face so hopeful, but still so afraid.
"Never, Justin, never," Lance shaking his head. "Never. I will never hurt you."
"But why?" Justin asked. Lance was confused for a second, wondering how Justin could even need to ask why Lance wouldn't hurt him, but then Justin continued. "Did you want to? Did I, did I make you want to, did I make you want me, like, that way?"
"No, Justin, no," Lance answered, shaking his head. "It was just because I was sleeping, and I, I don't know, I just woke up with it. Guys do that, Justin. You know that. You didn't do anything to make me want to, to do anything to you."
"You didn't want to, to hurt me?" Justin asked quietly. "You weren't thinking about it?"
"No, Justin, no," Lance said again, trying to reassure him. "I wasn't thinking it, I swear. You didn't do anything to make me want to, or to make me think about it. You didn't do anything, Justin, and I won't do anything, either."
"Nick wanted to," Justin said quietly, looking away. "Nick did it, did that to me, because I made him. I made him want to. That's why he did it, Lance. It was my fault, because I made him want to."
"Justin, no," Lance said quickly. "It's not your fault, Justin. It was Nick's."
"No!" Justin said, shaking his head again. "I made him do it! I made him want to! I made him, made him hurt me!"
Justin launched himself across the room, throwing himself against Lance, and Lance held him, soothing him with his hands, as Justin sobbed against his bare chest. Lance rocked him a little, trying to calm him down.
"Justin, it wasn't your fault," Lance said. "Please, Justin, please don't blame yourself. I did that, Justin. I still do that, and I don't want you to. It doesn't make the pain go away, Justin. It doesn't do anything but make you feel worse, make you hurt more. You didn't want Nick to do it. You told him no, and he didn't listen to you. That wasn't your fault, Justin. That's all that matters. It wasn't your fault."
They sat like that for a while, Lance holding Justin as Justin cried himself out against Lance's chest, shaking and trembling as his body was racked with sobs. Lance whispered to him over and over that it wasn't his fault, and that he was safe, and eventually Justin's crying began to level off. Lance walked him carefully down the hall to the bathroom and washed his face off, not because it was dirty, but because he knew it would make him feel better, the washcloth cool and soothing against his skin. Bringing Justin carefully back to the bedroom, he settled him into his bed.
"Lance," Justin asked quietly, reaching up to run his hand along the side of Lance's face. "Lance, please hold me. Please hold onto me. Make me feel safe."
"You're always safe with me, Justin," Lance said, sliding into the bed with him, pulling the sheet up around them both. "Safe, Justin. I promise."
"I'm so afraid," Justin said quietly.
"Of me?" Lance asked, wondering if he should get out of bed.
"No," Justin said, wrapping his arms more tightly around Lance. His face was in the space beneath Lance's chin, his hair brushing Lance's jaw. "I'm afraid that if, if someone sees me, if I make them, make them think about it, think about that, they'll do it, Lance. They'll want to hurt me, and I, I'm afraid."
"No one will hurt you, Justin," Lance said firmly. "I promise."
He hadn't really given it another thought. Another morning he had woken up hard, again, and Justin had seen it, looking away, but he seemed secure in knowing that Lance wasn't going to do anything to him. Lance hadn't really thought about the dancing, though, the way the moves might give Justin a flashback, or the things it might make Justin think about, and he had been as stunned as the others when Justin just burst into tears and dropped to the floor. He was so weak, and fragile, and Lance didn't stop to give the other guys a second thought as he walked Justin to the car and brought him home. He'd seen how much JC wanted to help, holding the doors, saying Justin's name quietly, and he'd noticed how Chris looked like he wanted to, but didn't know what to do, rocking back and forth from foot to foot, not knowing how to jump in. Joey had looked surprised as well, but Lance had caught Joey's eyes narrowing as he scooped Justin up in a hug, letting Justin hold onto him, and it was the anger at seeing that which made him take Justin home.
Lance was startled from his thoughts by the doorbell, and he walked to the front of the house, opening the door. He didn't bother looking out the peephole, as Justin, like the others, lived in a pretty secure gated community, but he found himself wishing he had when he saw who was on the doorstep. Chris smiled at him, and Lance wondered if he should just shut the door. He wasn't mad at Chris, but he was wary of another scene like the one Joey had pulled, especially with Justin home and so upset already. On the other hand, while Justin was sure that Chris disliked him, Chris hadn't given any indications of that, and Lance didn't have any problems with him at the moment, so he decided to hear him out.
"Lance, is Justin home?" Chris asked, dancing back and forth from foot to foot again. Chris was a nervous twitcher, always a little hyper, but they'd all mostly grown not to notice it.
"He is, but I don't think he wants to talk to you, Chris," Lance said, trying to say it nicely. "I mean, I didn't want that to sound, you know, like that, but I don't think Justin wants to see you."
"Maybe I could ask him that?" Chris said, also trying to sound nice. He had seen the way that Lance protected Justin now, the way that Justin turned only to him while Lance buffeted everyone else away, and he didn't want Lance to shoulder that alone. He wanted to reach out to Lance, too, but the two of them had never been very close. They'd been friends, but he was much tighter with Justin and JC, while Lance and Joey had always been their own pair as well. One of the good things about JC falling in love with Jack was that Jack was close to all of them, and had drawn them closer together as they welcomed him into the group. "Lance, I promise not to hurt him, ok? If he asks me to leave, I'll go, no questions asked, I promise. I just want to talk to him. Please?"
"OK," Lance said. "He's in the backyard."
Lance led Chris through the house, even though Chris knew the way, and he paused by the back patio doors, taking Chris's arm.
"Chris, please don't upset him," Lance said quietly. "He, you know, you were at the studio. I'm worried about him, Chris."
"I know, Lance," Chris said, taking Lance's hand. He held it lightly. "I'm worried about both of you. That's why I'm here. The two of you have been locked up in here since we left the resort, and I let you go, because I don't want to intrude, but I'm here for you guys. I'm here for both of you, if you guys need me."
"I know, Chris," Lance said, hugging him. "But Justin doesn't."
"I know," Chris said sadly. "That's why I came."
Lance followed Chris outside, standing in the open doorway of the house as he watched Chris walk down the yard. He knew that Chris wanted privacy, but he wanted Justin to be able to see him. He wasn't sure what Justin's reaction would be, especially after the incident earlier, so he wanted to be here if Justin needed him, and he also wanted to be close enough to hold Chris to his promise if he had to. He'd made a promise to Justin that was more important to him than his friendship, or anything else. Nothing would be allowed to hurt him, not while Lance could help it, not even if it was a friend.
Chris walked down the slope of the backyard, knowing that Lance was still on the patio. Lance wouldn't be able to hear them speaking, but he could still watch, and Chris understood that Lance had his reasons. He could accept that. He didn't want to startle Justin, though, so he waited until he was about ten feet from him before softly calling his name.
"Justin?" he said, watching Justin jump a little anyway. He had apparently been deep in thought, tapping the ball around on automatic while his mind turned over other things. When he saw Chris, Justin's eyes immediately ticked up toward the house, but he looked reassured when he saw Lance. "I wanted to stop by and see you, if that's ok."
"Why?" Justin asked, standing rigidly as he stared at Chris, confused. Why would Chris want to see him? Chris hated him, was disappointed in him, didn't want to be his friend anymore. He had said so. "Why did you want to see me?"
Chris knew that Justin wasn't doing well, but he was stunned to see how bad it was. Justin was doing a lot of fronting with the guys, a lot of covering, but now that Chris had caught him off guard, he was seeing him with the masks down. Justin looked very young, his face smooth and sort of sad, and he also looked very wounded. His eyes were a little shadowed, something they had all noticed, but Chris was surprised to see that somehow Justin, who was taller than him, seemed so small. Justin normally exuded self confidence, energy, and a kind of glowing humor, but now he just seemed fragile. Chris had caught glimpses of weakness over the past few days, since they had gone back into the studio to start rehearsing, but the strain of keeping up the appearance of being all right was starting to tell on Justin. His therapist might be helping, and Lance as well, but Justin needed more than that. He needed all of them, and needed to know that they would be here.
"I came to ask if you would forgive me," Chris said quietly, figuring he should just cut right to the chase. It would give Justin a chance to decide, right now, if he wanted Chris to be here or not.
"Forgive you?" Justin asked, unsure. "For what?"
"For not being here for you," Chris said quietly, not moving. He wanted to scoop Justin up and hug him, hold onto him until he felt safe, but he knew from what had happened to Lance that Justin might feel threatened if someone was in his space. Any touching had to come from his end, not Chris's. "For keeping my distance. For not being a friend when you need me."
Justin looked away, still holding his putter.
"We're not friends," Justin said quietly. "Not anymore."
"I know," Chris said, just as quiet. It hurt him to hear Justin say it, but he understood that it was the way Justin felt. It was the only thing that explained the way Justin had been treating him, and he needed to change that. "But I don't know why. You and I were so close, Justin. We used to talk, and hang out, and I always knew what was going on with you, and we don't do that anymore."
"Because you said so," Justin said, his shoulders down. "You said it to me, before. You said it after the night at the club, and the, the bad thing I did with Nick, in the bathroom."
"Justin, I was upset," Chris said. "I was upset because of what you were doing, because of the way you were acting. I said it because I was frustrated. I couldn't understand why you were acting that way, Justin, and you wouldn't talk to me."
"I couldn't talk to anyone," Justin said, sitting down on the grass. Chris walked closer.
"Justin, can I sit by you?" he asked, looking down at him.
"Sure," Justin answered. Chris settled down beside him, and waited. "I couldn't talk to anyone, because it hurt too much. I didn't know what else to do, Chris. I didn't know anything. I thought that I could give Josh up, but it was hard, Chris, it was so hard. And Nick? He made me forget. He made me not feel, and I needed to, because it hurt, Chris."
"I know, Justin," Chris said. "Remember? I was there. And I was so proud of you, Justin. You were so strong, and so selfless. I was so proud of you, proud to be your brother. I thought you knew that."
"I did," Justin answered, his voice cracking a little. "But you, you said you were mad. You said that I proved you wrong, that I hadn't changed, and that hurt, Chris. I thought you were my friend."
"I am your friend, Justin," Chris said. "I said that because I didn't understand why you were acting that way. Justin, I know what you worry about. I know how scared you are that you're, that you haven't changed, but you have, Justin. You've changed so much, grown so much, and you can't see it, but I can. I can see it because I'm your friend, Justin. I said that because you were undoing it, because you were acting like you used to, and you're so much better than that. It hurt me to see you doing that, Justin. It hurt me to see you drinking so much, and taking so many risks, and acting like you hated yourself."
"What?" Justin asked, looking at Chris, finally, his blue eyes wide and curious.
"I know you loved JC, Justin, but you didn't love yourself," Chris said. "You gave everything up for him, but you needed to keep some of it for you."
"But he believed in me," Justin said. "He thinks I'm special. He always has."
"Justin, so do I," Chris said, reaching out to flick a tear off of Justin's cheek. "You are special, Justin. The things you do for other people, I don't know if I could do them. What you gave up for JC, and what you were going to give up for Lance, that says so much about you, about the kind of person you are."
"I'm not, though," Justin said softly, looking away again. "I'm not a good person, Chris. I'm trash."
"No, you're not," Chris said, not sure how he could convince him. "You're not trash."
"I hurt my friends, all of my friends," Justin said.
"Not on purpose, Justin," Chris said. "Never on purpose."
They were quiet for a moment, sitting on the grass. Chris glanced over at Justin's golf club.
"You know, we haven't played in a while," Chris said. "We used to all the time."
"Yeah," Justin said, holding the club.
"Justin, what I said to you, I only said because I was angry," Chris said, looking down. "And afterward, there didn't seem to be any way to apologize. It might be too late now, and I'm sorry for that, too. Maybe if we weren't so busy pushing each other away, maybe things would have happened differently."
"Did you mean what you said, Chris?" Justin asked. He turned to Chris, his eyes watering, his lip shaking a little, and Chris saw how much Justin was hoping for it to be true. "You were proud of me?"
"I still am, Justin," Chris said. "I've always been proud of you."
"And we're, we're still friends?" Justin asked, tears spilling over onto his cheeks.
"If you'll still have me," Chris said, holding out his arms. Justin leaned over, resting his head on Chris's shoulder, and Chris felt Justin's arms gripping him tightly.
"Good," Justin said, his voice squeaking as he began to cry a little harder. "Because I need you. I need you all so much."
"I know," Chris said, holding him tightly as he saw Lance hurrying down the back lawn toward them. "That's why I'm here."
To be concluded.