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've enjoyed hearing from all of you.
Let's get back to Season 3 now, shall we?
After group ended, Lance drove around the city for a while, riding up and down the main streets in a kind of endless loop that he knew was bad for Los Angeles's already smog filled air. He didn't really have anywhere to go, and he didn't want to go back to the apartments yet. He knew that Josh and Jack were still at the studio, but he didn't want to go there, either. He didn't want to be around any of his friends right now, not because he was mad at them, but because he just couldn't face their concern. He hadn't expressed that thought to anyone, because he knew they meant well, but sometimes over the past couple of days he'd just felt unable to deal with everyone's overwhelming attention to his welfare, and their constant glances and silent questioning of whether or not he was ok.
It wasn't that they weren't right to be concerned. Lance had no problem admitting that they were. If Jack hadn't found him when he did, and forced him to come to his senses, anything might have happened. Lance realized that he'd been sliding down a slippery slope, one that led to a dark place that he didn't really want to consider, a place that seemed unreal out here in his car in the bright light of day. His friends had every right to wonder if he was in pain, or in need, because he'd almost put them in a tremendous amount of pain, even if he did only recognize that in hindsight. What really bothered Lance about the whole thing wasn't that his friends were concerned for him, or even that their concern was ever-present and pervasive, hanging in the air like smoke around them.
What bothered him was that he didn't deserve that concern.
What had happened to him, what he had allowed Justin to do to him, was his own fault. It was what he had wanted, what he had always wanted, and never admitted. And the way that Justin did it, the way he degraded and humiliated him, and made him beg, well, he deserved that, too. It was his punishment, for wanting something so unnatural, for wanting something that everyone knew was wrong. And it was his punishment for lashing out at others, at his friends, because they were doing what he wanted to do, for not being afraid to do it, like he was. It was his punishment for being a hypocrite, and a liar.
It didn't matter to Lance that Jack had told him it wasn't his fault, or that Dr. Centano had, or even that Justin had apologized, and said it was wrong of him to do that to Lance. Lance knew the truth, in his heart, in a dark place he would never admit. At the same time, though, he also knew that they were right. He knew that he had been a victim, that Justin had used his own feelings in a horrible way to hurt him, and that his feelings were not wrong, or immoral, or unnatural, despite what he had been told. He knew both things to be true, and there was his conflict.
That was why Lance never spoke at group, or at least hadn't yet. He went to two different groups. One was for people who had been victims of sexual abuse. In that group, there were a lot of people who seemed to feel the same way he did, a lot of people who felt like they had somehow invited what had happened to them, that they asked for it or in some other way deserved it. Sometimes Lance wanted to agree with them, the people who said that. He wanted to open his mouth, and tell his story, explain what had happened to him and why, explain how he had wanted it and asked for it and even begged for it, down on his knees. Only someone flawed, someone who was defective inside, would have done that, and allowed that to happen to them, and that was how Lance knew that he deserved it. But at other times he wanted to speak up and agree with the other people, the people who said that no one deserved to be treated that way, that no one ever asked to have a bad thing happen to them.
The other group he went to was for people who thought they might be gay, or bisexual. It was supposed to help you sort out your feelings, or come to terms with them, and let other people support you either way, but all it seemed to do, like the other group, was make Lance more confused. Some of the people in the group, who had been coming for a long time, seemed very at peace with who they were. They told their stories, and talked about the feelings they had inside, and how they had come to terms with them. More than anything, Lance wanted to be one of these people. He wanted to understand his feelings. He wanted men, thought of touching men, and looking at their bodies, the way he had with Justin, but he also still thought about meeting the right girl someday, and getting married, and having children. Was that something he really still wanted, or just something he'd made himself think he wanted for so long that he couldn't let go of the idea? Some of the people in the group were bitterly, almost violently opposed to the feelings they had inside, and told stories that horrified Lance, stories about punishing themselves, cutting themselves or worse, to drive those feelings away, or about finally giving in to them and going on wild sexual binges with hordes of strangers that left them feeling even more dirty and ashamed. Lance was terrified that he might end up like one of these men, who sat slumped in their chairs at group, thin, haggard, dark circles standing out under their eyes.
Lance never spoke because, in both groups, he felt conflicted. Both groups just left him feeling confused about what was inside him, and what he should do about it. He knew, though, that someday he was going to have to make a decision. Dr. Centano had mentioned that he had not shared at group, and had asked if he felt uncomfortable, or if there were some other groups that he might feel more at home in, but Lance agreed that these were the groups he should work with. These were the issues he needed to work through. He was just unsure, and a little afraid. Sometimes he found himself more afraid of actually making a decision than he did of what that decision might actually be.
Lance knew that whatever decision he made, his friends would still be there for him. They'd support him, and help him however they could, but sometimes, like this morning, he just couldn't take being around them, couldn't stand the way they looked at him so protectively. He'd felt it when Justin walked in this morning, and he wondered how Britney could possibly not have seen it. As soon as they saw Justin, the others stopped what they were doing, muffins halfway to their mouths, coffee cups paused in mid- swallow. Lance had seen Joey's eyes squint a little, even as Jack's widened anxiously. Josh froze, turning to stone, his face sliding shut, cutting off all feeling within, and Chris's jaw set firmly, his teeth grinding. The tone in the room had immediately shifted from good-natured, light-hearted humor to tension and barely suppressed anger, just because Justin had walked through the door.
Justin.
Now, there was an issue Lance was unsure of. If he felt confused during group, he couldn't even begin to describe how he felt when Justin walked into the room, any room, near him. So many emotions were layered on top of each other, swirled together like paint, that the whole picture was completely obscured. When Lance saw Justin he felt shame, revulsion, betrayal, and fear, but he was even more disturbed because of the other things he felt, things like longing, and even a little flutter of lust. Every time he saw Justin he felt like the entire world was turning beneath him. Staring into Justin's wide blue eyes, his tanned skin, the way his chest pushed out his shirt, Lance felt like he was spinning out of control, and so he did what he had done this morning. He spoke to Justin as little as possible, and practically ran away from him. The other guys thought he was cutting Justin off, and, really, he was, but it wasn't out of hurt or spite. It was because he had no idea what he might say, and that scared him, too.
He found himself at a mall, walking around aimlessly. He didn't need to buy anything, really, but he almost never did. When he did want a book, or a CD, or a movie, he usually just ordered it online, or asked one of the band assistants to pick it up for him. He didn't have Justin or JC's passion for buying clothes, or Chris's video game addiction, or Joey's comic book hobby. He had no idea what Jack spent money on. Coffee, maybe? Lance usually didn't even go shopping, unless he was with one of the other guys, or a holiday of some sort was coming up. Strolling through the mall, he was thankful that no one recognized him, and that he could just have some quiet time to take a breather. Dr. Centano kept telling him that it was important that he have places of his own, places where he felt safe, to retreat to, so that he could collect himself, and right now the mall would do as well as anywhere else.
He had wandered into a pet store, and was staring at some rather unhappy looking fish, when his cell phone rang.
"This is Lance," he answered quietly, looking around. Nope, no one was paying any attention but the fish.
"Lance, hey, it's Howie!"
Howie's voice was warm, and seemed to roll out of the phone and wash over Lance. He wasn't sure why, but just hearing Howie he suddenly felt calmer, less tense somehow. Jack had asked earlier who Lance was going out with, and Lance had told him it was just a friend. Technically, Howie was barely that, more of a friendly acquaintance, but Lance felt something when they had talked the other night, some sort of bond, and maybe something else. Something he wasn't ready to admit he felt yet.
"Hi," Lance said shyly, feeling self-conscious, as if the fish were watching him.
"You said to call this afternoon," Howie reminded him. Lance could hear Howie smiling over the phone. "Are we still on for dinner?"
"Sure," Lance said, smiling goofily at no one. "Where do you want to go?"
Howie thought it over for a moment. Lance tried to picture him, but nothing came to mind except his face. Howie's face was kind of rugged, with firm lines, the way Lance had always wanted his own, rounder face to look. Lance's own face still had a young, boyish look to it, but Howie had the face of a man, a good looking man. He had brown eyes, and a full mouth that seemed easily given to smiling, flashing his perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth. It was his eyes that Lance saw in his mind more than anything. They just seemed so open, and warm, like the eyes of a puppy.
Not like Justin's eyes at all.
The thought of Justin was like icewater poured down Lance's back, and all of the good feelings he was just experiencing drained into the floor as he realized that Howie was speaking and he hadn't caught a word.
"Howie, I'm sorry, I didn't catch any of that," Lance said, shaking his head.
"You ok?" Howie asked, concerned.
"Yeah, yeah," Lance said quickly, wishing he didn't feel so stupid and tongue tied. "It's just been a long day. You must think I'm a huge moron."
Howie laughed, a strong, full laugh, and Lance started to feel good again. Howie was laughing with him, not at him.
"I know what that's like," Howie said. "Some days I'm so tired I can't even remember my own name. You sure you still want to go out?"
"Absolutely," Lance said, suddenly worried that Howie might cancel on him. "I mean, if you still want to."
"Of course I do," Howie said. "What I was saying before was that maybe we could head out to Santa Monica, down to the pier. It's a little early for dinner, but maybe we could walk around first, hit the park, maybe ride the coaster, and then grab some seafood."
"That sounds great," Lance said. "I'm out at the mall right now, but do you maybe want me to pick you up? There's no point in taking two cars."
"Actually, that would be great," Howie said enthusiastically. "I've been using drivers, since I'm at the hotel."
"I'll be there in about twenty minutes," Lance said, checking his watch. "Should I wait for you in the lobby?"
"Why don't you just come up?" Howie said. "I'll leave word at the desk."
"OK, I'll be right there," Lance said, walking out of the pet store. The fish watched him go.
"Can't wait," Howie said.
Lance hung up, and then tried to figure out what that meant. Why was he so excited to spend a night hanging out with Howie? He barely knew him. They had spoken maybe a few dozen times, and the other night in the garden was the longest one. Lance sighed. Maybe it was just that Howie was nice to him, and didn't seem to want anything from him other than an evening of fun. Maybe he was just excited to have a friend who didn't know about everything that was going on. A friend who just took him at face value, and liked him for who he was, and wouldn't spend the evening worrying about him.
He sped over to the hotel, barely aware of the traffic around him. Stopping at the desk in the lobby, he was directed to go right upstairs, where Mr. Dorough was waiting for him. Lance fidgeted the entire way up in the elevator. Checking himself in the reflection of the doors, he made sure that his shirt was straightened, and his hair was ok, and then he stopped himself. What was he doing? He was just going out with a friend. This wasn't a date or anything.
Was it?
Was that why he felt like this when he thought about Howie? Was that why he felt all fluttery and light headed, so tongue tied and clumsy? He didn't want to have these feelings, not about a guy, but suddenly he was. That didn't tell him how Howie felt, though. Howie didn't feel like this, couldn't possibly. It would be too much to hope for. Right after he thought that, Lance paused, realizing that, just for a second, he had hoped for it. Just for a second.
He knocked on Howie's door, and his breath caught when Howie pulled it open. Howie was wearing a green silk shirt, with the top couple of buttons undone. There was a flash of collarbone, and the smallest glimpse of his chest, smooth and tanned, his skin a light caramel, almost like honey. What couldn't be seen through the opening of the shirt collar could be easily imagined, as the shirt clung to Howie's chest, the sweeping curves of his pecs pushing it out. It clung to his arms, as well, loose at the forearms as it gathered at the cuffs, but tight on Howie's upper arms, bulging as his biceps shifted. Lance's eyes swept up guiltily from Howie's chest, sliding up his strong neck to his face, and then they met Howie's eyes, which sparkled. Lance felt almost like he was falling into them.
"Hey," Howie said, smiling broadly, reaching out to shake Lance's hand. "That was fast. Do you want to come in, or just head out?"
"Well, um, if you're ready, we could just go," Lance said, suddenly uncomfortably anxious at the idea of being alone with Howie behind a closed door.
"Yeah, I'm ready," Howie said. "Let's head out, then."
They rode the elevator in silence. Lance glanced over at Howie, but when Howie glanced at him, Lance looked away, to the floor. When Lance glanced at Howie again, he saw Howie's eyes go sliding quickly away to check the numbers of the floors they were passing by. Howie danced back and forth on his feet, not lifting them, just kind of rocking, while Lance fidgeted, picking imaginary lint off of his clothing.
"So, um, didn't you used to have long hair?" Lance blurted. He wanted to fill the silence somehow, and that was the first thing that came into his mind. He mentally smacked himself. That's how he chose to start a conversation? With that?
"I got it cut," Howie said, mentally smacking himself as well. Yeah, better tell Lance he got it cut, because, you know, it wasn't obvious or anything. Lance probably thought he was an idiot, and what he said next certainly wouldn't help. "Didn't you used to be a blond?"
"I let it go back to my natural color, for my movie," Lance said, wondering if Howie had been calling him stupid by making an off-handed blond joke.
"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," Howie said, smiling. "You worked on that with Joey, right?"
"Yeah, it was a lot of fun," Lance answered, smiling. His movie was safe territory. He'd done so many interviews about it that he almost felt like he could discuss it on autopilot. He discovered, though, that he didn't want to. He wanted whatever he talked to Howie about to be important, not just trivial stuff. He realized he didn't even know anything about him, really. "Tell me about your movie, though. You said you were doing a cameo?"
"Yeah, it's just a little thing," Howie said, shrugging as they stepped off the elevator and crossed the lobby. "Practically a walk on, but it's been kind of fun. I have some lines, and I'm working with some good people."
"Do you want to act?" Lance asked, curious. He wasn't sure about his own acting. It was a fun side project, but he already had a lot on his plate with the group, and the other groups he managed.
"I'm not sure," Howie answered. "I mean, it's been fun, but I haven't done as much as you."
"Me?" Lance asked. "I have the movie, and I've done a couple cameos, but that's it."
"No, you did television, too," Howie reminded him. "I remember seeing you on '7th Heaven'. That's more than I've done."
Lance smiled, while wondering at the same time that Howie seemed so informed about his career, and blushed a little.
"I'm sure you're good, too," Lance said, piloting the car out of the hotel lot. "So, um, how is your hand?"
"Oh, that," Howie said, holding it out. "It scabbed up a little, but, you know, at least it isn't broken."
The two of them laughed, Lance glancing over to verify that Howie's hand actually was ok.
"I still can't believe I did that," Howie said. "It was really, really stupid."
"Well, you seemed kind of upset," Lance said, not sure if it was his place to say anything else. He felt a little of his own darkness closing over him suddenly. "Sometimes when people are upset they do dumb things, things they wouldn't normally do."
"Yeah, I guess," Howie said, noticing that Lance suddenly looked dimmer, as if a shadow had passed over his face. Howie wondered if it was something he had said. "It was just a band argument. You know how those go, I'm sure."
"Yeah," Lance said, feeling worse, thinking about the kinds of things his own group had been arguing about.
"You know, I have this idea," Howie began, smiling at Lance. "Why don't we not talk about our bands for tonight, huh? Just for now, why don't you be Lance, and I'll be Howie, and Nsync and the Backstreet Boys can just take care of themselves for a night."
"I think that's a great idea," Lance said, smiling. Howie had somehow known exactly the right thing to say.
Before long they were cruising through the neon archway over the entrance to the pier, nosing their car through the traffic with everyone else. They drove past the famous carousel, with its forty-four horses, and a few of the stores and restaurants, before parking the car along with everyone else's in the main lot, determined to pretend, just for tonight, that they were two normal guys, just hanging out and having a good time. After Lance paid the parking fee, they went straight to Pacific Park, the amusement park. The sky was darkening to a dusky twilight, the lights on the rides gleaming, and it gave everything a dreamlike, unreal feeling.
They smiled as they walked by the glowing octopus on the sign, paying for their wristbands. It wasn't a large park by any means, only a dozen rides, but they went on all of them, even the little kid rides. They rode the roller coaster three times, so that they could experience the front, middle, and the back. Lance found himself, for the first time in weeks, laughing openly and really meaning it. Watching Howie try to win something, anything, at the games, he found himself almost doubled over, and wondered if anyone could really possibly be that bad, or if Howie was throwing the games on purpose, just to see him laugh.
Howie, for his part, was, more or less. When he had talked to Lance in the garden the other night, and again on the way here, he had noticed that Lance seemed troubled, and he wanted to do what he could to lift that. If he had to throw a couple games, and make a fool of himself for the barkers, just to see Lance smile, well, maybe it was worth it. When it came time for the ferris wheel, though, he wasn't acting.
"Lance, we don't really have to ride that," Howie said, shaking his head as they looked up at it, watching the spinning lights.
"Howie, we've done every ride," Lance said. "Come on, it'll be fun. You can't go to a park and not go on the ferris wheel. Besides, we'll be able to see the whole pier, and the city, and we'll be able to see the ocean, too. It'll be fun!"
"No, no it won't," Howie said, shaking his head again.
"Howie, are you scared of the ferris wheel?" Lance asked, suddenly realizing it. "We don't have to go on if you don't want to."
"No, no, of course I'm not scared," Howie said, forcing himself to grin. He walked quickly toward the line. "Come on, Lance."
Lance followed him.
"Howie, we really don't have to do this if you don't want to," he began, but Howie held up a hand, stopping him.
"Come on, Lance, it'll be fun, like you said," Howie said, grinning again.
Lance shrugged, not sure why Howie was suddenly determined to get on the ferris wheel when he obviously didn't want to, but he wasn't going to keep arguing it. Maybe Howie didn't want to look weak, or scared. Maybe he wanted to get on the ferris wheel to prove something to himself. Or maybe, maybe, he wanted to because he knew it was something Lance wanted to do. Lance shook his head, realizing that it couldn't possibly be that. As they climbed into the gondola, sitting across from each other with the pole in between them, Howie leaned forward, and wrapped both hands around it. The wheel began to move, and Lance saw that Howie was gritting his teeth, and had paled, as much as it was possible for him to beneath his natural skin tone and his deep tan.
"You're not ok, are you?" Lance asked quietly.
"Um, no?" Howie said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the falling scenery. He sucked in a quick breath, and it hissed through his teeth. He turned back to Lance, and his eyes were wide. "I'm a little scared of heights."
"Really, I hadn't noticed," Lance said, smiling. He started to shift toward Howie, and Howie's eyes bulged.
"Don't get up!" Howie blurted, practically hyperventilating. "It shakes the gondola!"
"I'm not getting up," Lance said, smiling. "I just thought I'd slide over a little closer to you. The ferris wheel is completely safe, you know. People ride it all the time."
"Yeah, sure they do, crazy people," Howie muttered.
"Howie, at least open your eyes," Lance said. Just as he said that, and Howie started to open them, the wheel stopped. They were the highest gondola.
"Oh, Jesus," Howie whimpered, gripping the center pole so hard his fingers were turning white. Lance was getting a little concerned, and he reached out to fold his hand over the top of Howie's.
"Howie, it's ok, they're just letting some people out, or some more people in, or something," Lance said. His hand shaking, Howie let go of the pole, and gripped Lance's hand tightly. Lance found that he didn't mind this at all, and he carefully took Howie's hand between both of his, squeezing it gently. "Howie, it'll be over in a minute. Why did you get on here if you didn't want to?"
"Because you wanted to," Howie answered, finally opening his eyes. Lance glanced away, quickly, feeling as if he might cry suddenly. Howie continued. "You were having such a good time, I didn't want you to miss out on something."
Lance glanced up, and felt himself falling into Howie's eyes. They seemed to lock onto his own, to bore into him and hold his gaze, as if he was stuck. Lance could still feel Howie's hand shaking a little between both of his, and Howie's other hand still had the center pole in a white knuckled grip, but Howie's eyes were filled with nothing but concern for Lance. Neither of them noticed that the wheel had started moving again.
"Howie, I, um, I appreciate you thinking of me," Lance began, swallowing as he felt a strange lump rising in his throat. "But you didn't have to do this for me."
"I know I didn't have to," Howie said, swallowing as well. He leaned in a little closer, and Lance discovered that he was leaning in as well. "I wanted to."
"But why?" Lance asked. "Why would you do that just for me?"
Howie swallowed again, and his pink tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip.
Before he could answer, though, the wheel bumped to a stop, and they realized they were now the lowest bucket.
"That's it, guys, everybody out," the operator said, grinning at them.
Just like that, the spell was broken. Lance dropped Howie's hand and jumped up, leading the way out of the gondola. Howie, unsure of what had just happened, jumped up quickly to follow. As much as he hated the ferris wheel, he wouldn't have minded a bit if it had gone around just one more time. He hurried to catch up with Lance, who was practically running down the exit walkway.
"Lance, wait up," he called, and Lance jerked to a stop.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was walking so fast," Lance said quickly. What had happened on the ferris wheel? What had Howie been about to say? Lance wondered why he was wishing that the wheel had gone around just one more time. He was sure he had felt something between he and Howie, but was it what he thought?
"It's ok," Howie said, smiling. "I, um, thank you for helping me through that. I'm not really good with heights."
"You mentioned that," Lance said, smiling. He pointed upward. "You mentioned it right about there, as a matter of fact. Now, do you want to go grab some dinner?"
"I'd love to," Howie said.
They had a nice, quite dinner in the back of one of the seafood restaurants, laughing and sharing a bottle of wine over some tuna steaks and salads. During dinner, they both opened up a little, and talked about themselves, their families, and how they had come to be where they were. In keeping with their earlier agreement, they didn't really discuss either band, but by the end of dinner, Lance felt very close to Howie, and Howie felt the same way. After dinner, they walked around the pier, peeking into the shops, and stopping at the arcade, where Howie found a photo booth.
"Come on, it'll be fun!" Howie said, pulling Lance inside.
"No, I hate getting pictures taken," Lance protested, allowing himself to be pulled into the booth.
"I don't see why," Howie said, pulling the curtain closed. "Now smile!"
Just before the camera flashed, Howie jabbed a tickling hand into Lance's side, and Lance squirmed, screaming with laughter, as he tried to bat it away. When the pictures came out, both of them were grinning in them, and looked like the happiest people in the world. Howie ripped the little strip of four pictures neatly in half, and tucked half into his pants pocket as he handed the other half to Lance. Lance tucked it immediately into his shirt pocket, and the two of them began walking to the car.
On the way back to the hotel, they didn't really speak, both a little tired from their long days, but feeling good about the evening. When they pulled in, Howie got out, and was surprised to see Lance following him, handing his keys to the valet.
"I thought I'd, you know, see you to your door, if that's ok," Lance said, looking at his feet quickly before looking back up at Howie.
"Is that the fabled Southern charm they teach you in Mississippi?" Howie asked, laughing.
"Something like that," Lance said, following him inside.
They were inside the elevator before either spoke again.
"I had a really good time tonight," Howie began.
"Me, too," Lance said. "Thanks for inviting me."
"Thanks for coming," Howie said, smiling. "I'm still in town for a couple of days. Do you want to catch a movie tomorrow?"
"I'd love to," Lance said, his whole face lighting up.
They arrived at Howie's floor, and Lance walked Howie to his room. Howie paused in the open doorway.
"Well, um, goodnight, Lance," he began, staring into Lance's eyes. "Unless, maybe, do you want to come in for a second?"
Lance stared at Howie, and felt that lump in his throat again. He did want to go in, suddenly, he did more than anything, but then he felt something else rise up in his throat as well.
"It's really late," Lance blurted, grabbing Howie's hand and shaking it. "Goodnight, Howie. I'll call you tomorrow."
Lance turned and ran back toward the elevators, his hand tingling with the memory of Howie's touch.
Howie watched him go, a little disappointed, and then wondered aloud, "What the hell was that?"
More to come soon.