Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
-
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.
-
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.
That said, on with the show, and back to the story in progress.
Lance knelt on the floor, weeping, wanting to be anywhere else, but unable to move. He tried to turn his head, tried to look away, to move his mouth away, but Justin had his face pinned between both of his hands. Justin's fingers pressed into his jaw painfully, digging in, and he couldn't fight them as Justin tilted his head upward. He wanted to close his eyes, but his eyelids wouldn't obey his screaming mental commands, forcing him to see everything, to see Justin's naked cock, dripping and wet, spiking out above his face. Beyond it, glowing, impossibly beautiful, was Justin's bare torso, his abs rippled and golden, his pecs curving out like mountains, capped by his pink nipples with their hard, jutting tips. Justin's skin was glistening, sparkling, glowing with unearthly health, and his face beamed down at Lance, golden as the sun, his smile a dazzling ribbon of pearly white, his bright blue eyes like lasers, searing into Lance, searing through him into his heart, into his soul, into the places where he stored all of his secrets from the world. Justin was so beautiful it hurt Lance to look up at him, but it was a frightening, terrible beauty.
"You want it, don't you?" Justin whispered, over and over, like a chant. It bored into Lance, drove itself between his ears until it was all he could hear. "You want it, I know you want it, you want it, because you're bad, bad, dirty, wrong, you want it, don't you, Lance?"
Justin's voice whispered over and over as he loomed above Lance, as his cock loomed above Lance's open mouthed, upturned face. Lance heard himself protesting over and over that he didn't, he didn't want it, and then, his heart freezing inside him, he heard his own voice crack, and squeak out one word.
"Yes."
Above him, Justin laughed, booming like thunder, and his cock surged forward toward Lance's mouth.
Lance woke up screaming, thrashing, his body covered with sweat. He felt arms around him, holding him tightly, and he knew they were Justin's.
"No!" Lance yelped, struggling against them as they pulled tighter around him. "No, no, no!"
"Lance, Lance, you're safe," a soothing voice said above him. "Lance, you're safe, it's just a dream, you're safe, Lance."
Lance realized that the chest he was pressed against was fully clothed, and smaller, not as wide as Justin's, although it was just as well built. The arms holding him weren't hurting him, weren't doing anything but clinging to him. The smell around him wasn't Justin, and the voice was warm, and soft, not harsh. Lance suddenly remembered where he was, not on his knees in his bedroom, but with Howie.
"Howie?" Lance asked quietly, afraid to look up, afraid to see Howie's expression of disgust.
"I'm here, Lance," Howie sighed quietly, smoothing Lance's hair back off of his forehead. "I'm right here, Lance, and I'll never hurt you. You're safe here."
Lance looked up, finally, tilting his head up, and blinked fresh tears from his eyes so he could see. Howie stared down into Lance's green eyes, his brown eyes warm and wet with tears of his own, and felt his heart breaking to see Lance in so much pain. Howie's face was twisted with concern, lines etched around his eyes, the shadows under them standing out sharply in the sunlight spilling in from the windows. Lance noticed that Howie's chin and cheeks were covered with a scruff of whiskers, and suddenly he felt everything welling up in him again, and let it all spill out.
"He hurt me, Howie. He used me, made me, made me do things to him. He just did them over and over, and I kept letting him. And he said things, the things he said, over and over. I let him do it, Howie. I let him do things to me, and I thought it was what I wanted. I thought it was what I wanted, but I didn't want it that way! I didn't want it like that, I didn't!"
Howie continued to hold Lance, running one hand in soothing circles around his back, stroking his hair softly with the other.
"I didn't want it that way," Lance repeated, sobbing against Howie's chest.
"I know, Lance, I know," Howie whispered, letting Lance cry himself out.
When Lance's tears appeared to have mostly subsided, and his breathing to have returned to normal, Howie carefully sat up in the bed, pulling Lance up with him. Lance stared at him, wide eyed, as if wondering what he was about to do. Howie had already noticed that every time he moved in certain ways, or even just in unexpected ones, Lance flinched, became fearful, his green eyes bulging as he waited to see what Howie would do next. Howie felt something inside him breaking all over again.
"Lance, why don't you go in the bathroom, and wash your face off?" Howie suggested. "Your eyes are all puffy, and the cold water might make you feel better, too. And then, while you do that, why don't I call room service and order breakfast? Would you like that?"
"Yes," Lance said, looking away, thinking of the bathroom.
Howie might think cold water would make him feel better, but Lance knew what he needed. His face was dirty, so dirty like the rest of him, and he needed to scrub that away. Howie watched Lance walk toward the bathroom, slump shouldered, and sighed again, thinking about how hard this was going to be, and how hard it must be for Lance. In the end, though, it would all be worth it. He just had to make Lance see that, too. Howie ordered breakfast from room service, asking for a little of everything since he didn't know what Lance would want, and then turned toward the bathroom, noticing a billowing cloud of steam drifting from the partially opened door. Walking over quietly, he pushed the door open, and stood, surprised.
Lance was standing in front of the sink, rubbing a washcloth furiously over his red face. The faucet in the sink had been turned on as far as it would go, and water was spraying into the bowl with such force that it was splashing up onto the counter. The bathroom was full of steam, clouds of it hanging around the ceiling and the lights, and the walls were wet with little tickles of condensation. Lance continued scrubbing at his face, crying, staring into the mirror which couldn't possibly be showing him anything, fogged as it was.
"Lance!" Howie said sharply. Lance turned toward him, wide eyed, and then he just crumbled, skittering backward away from Howie as Howie walked slowly toward him. "Lance, what are you doing?"
Howie's voice was low and quiet, but filled with pain and confusion. Lance knew that Howie wouldn't hurt him, but he felt the washcloth in his hand, felt his face burning, and realized that he had done it again, had scalded himself again. He sat on the counter, crumbling, feeling like everything inside him was just in a freefall collapse. Howie twisted off the faucet as he walked over to Lance, and Lance realized that tears were standing in Howie's eyes, unshed. He felt so ashamed.
"Lance, what are you doing?" Howie asked again, quietly, putting a hand on Lance's shoulder, grateful that Lance didn't flinch away from it.
"I just want to be clean," Lance answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just felt so dirty, again, and I wanted to scrub it away."
"Lance, come here," Howie said, taking Lance by the shoulders. He turned him back toward the mirror, and swiped a large part clear with a sweep of his hand. "Lance, look in the mirror. Really look, and tell me what you see."
"I see you," Lance said, staring at the reflection of Howie's face next to his own face, which was an angry red below his wet, wildly disarrayed hair. "I see you and me."
"Look at us, Lance, really look," Howie said, holding him tightly with one arm as he pulled the washcloth out of Lance's hand with the other hand. "No dirt, Lance, no dirt and no stain. Just you and me, and you're perfect."
"No," Lance said, trying to turn away. Just because Howie couldn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there. Lance could feel it inside of him, just under the skin. "No, not perfect."
"Yes, Lance," Howie said forcefully, overriding him. "Lance, you're perfect to me. Perfect. Please, just, please stop hurting yourself."
"I'm sorry," Lance said, looking down. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me, Lance," Howie said, reaching over to gently blot his face with a towel, barely touching him. "Just please, don't hurt yourself anymore. I have some moisturizer. Do you want me to put some on?"
"Yes," Lance barely whispered, looking away still.
Howie squeezed a little of the lotion onto his fingers and began to gently rub it into Lance's face, barely touching him, afraid of hurting him. His skin was so red it must have hurt to be touched, like he had a bad sunburn, and Howie wondered if he should be administering first aid of some kind. Since he didn't really know any, it kind of rendered the idea a moot point. Lance sighed as Howie's fingers traced lightly over his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, over his cheeks, under his chin to his neck, and finished by tracing gently under his eyes.
"Thank you," Lance said, taking Howie's hands in his own, gently pulling them down from his face. "That feels better."
"Lance, I don't know how to help you if you won't tell me," Howie said quietly. "If you feel a certain way, or I do something that makes you feel bad, please tell me. Please let me help you, Lance."
"I'll try," Lance said quietly, wishing he could do more than just hold Howie's hands. He wanted to reach out to him, wanted to hug him, to kiss him, even, but as soon as he thought about it, his heart started racing again, and the room seemed so small. All he could do without wanting to leave was just hold onto Howie.
The two of them walked into the suiteroom, Lance sitting down on the sofa while Howie went to answer the knocking at the door. A waiter rolled in breakfast on a little cart, the tray brimming over with plates and platters. Bottles of juice and milk tinkled next to a coffee pot and a pot of hot water sitting next to a basket of tea bags. Lance looked at the cart, covered with enough breakfast for about ten people, and maybe a few pets, and smiled. Howie watched him laugh as he tipped the waiter and closed the door.
"Expecting both our bands to show up?" Lance asked, waiting for Howie to take a plate before he did.
"I didn't know what you liked," Howie began, motioning for Lance to come over, "so I ordered everything on the breakfast menu."
"Do you, um, can I help cover this?" Lance asked, and Howie laughed.
"Lance, I know you guys made more on your tour than we did, but we're not exactly hurting for cash," Howie answered, spooning some scrambled eggs onto his plate as Lance speared a waffle. "It's just breakfast."
"Maybe I'll get lunch, then," Lance said, shaking his head.
"You'll still be here at lunch time?" Howie asked, hopeful. He'd been afraid that any second Lance was going to burst into tears and run from the suite again, and that this time he might not come back.
Lance looked up at Howie, surprised, worried suddenly that Howie might not want him here. When he saw Howie's face, though, he realized that Howie looked just as scared, but also hopeful.
"I will if you want me to be," Lance said quietly.
"I do," Howie said, smiling at him shyly.
The two of them sat on the couch, next to each other, glancing over at each other every once in a while and smiling as they ate their breakfast. Lance got up for a second trip to the cart, for some oatmeal, and felt Howie watching him as he did. He wondered, briefly, if Howie was looking at his butt, and then wondered if Howie liked what he saw. He found that he liked that idea, suddenly, and it sent a little shudder racing up his spine. When he sat back down, he looked at Howie again, falling into his brown eyes. Lance felt like he could get lost in them, and it was a place where he might want to stay.
"Howie, can I ask you something?" Lance began, wondering if this would upset Howie.
"Sure," Howie answered. "You can ask me anything, Lance."
"Are you gay?" Lance asked, looking away and blushing. "I mean, I know you like me, but are you gay, or are you bi?"
"I'm gay, Lance," Howie answered quietly.
"How long, when did you know?" Lance asked, not sure of how to phrase the question.
"I think I kind of always knew, but I didn't really admit it until right before we started the group," Howie answered.
"Do the guys know?" Lance asked. "Because we didn't know about Josh, and I haven't really told them about me, either. I think they know about me, though."
Howie looked down, swallowing.
"Yeah, yeah, they know," he answered, not really wanting to talk about this. If Lance asked, he would answer, but otherwise he didn't even like to think about this. "I told my family, and I told the guys right at the beginning, when we were starting out."
"Did they take it ok?" Lance asked, remembering how emphatic Howie had been that they had done an amazing thing by supporting JC. Howie looked pained, swallowing again, and Lance took his hand.
"No, they didn't take it ok," Howie said quietly. "Kevin did, and so did AJ. They know a lot of gay guys, so it didn't really bother them. It bothered Brian a little, but he and I have talked about it a lot, and he's kind of come around. Nick's never been ok with it, though. Most of the time he doesn't really care, but sometimes he can just be, you know, a little nasty about it, like if he's mad about something else."
"I'm sorry," Lance said, squeezing Howie's hand.
"We had a talk about it, in the beginning," Howie said, surprised and grateful that Lance had reached out to him. "And I told the guys that we could decide as a group, and do whatever was best for the band, and that I'd go along with it. We decided that it would be too hard to make it, to get ourselves off the ground, if I was out, because people would focus on the gay thing, so we kept it quiet. And now you guys have gone that step that we wouldn't take."
"You still could," Lance said. "Is that what you and Nick were fighting about?"
"Yeah," Howie answered. "We actually met backstage at the show to talk about it again, and then again in the limo. I'm not going to come out, Lance. They almost said yes. AJ thought it was a good idea, and I think Kevin and Brian would have gone along with it, but Nick said we couldn't. He said that it would be like we were copying you guys, and that people wouldn't take it so well. And now that you guys are starting to catch a little flack, I don't think the other guys are going to come around."
Lance sighed. They were getting a little more flack lately, beyond that guy who was calling for the record burnings. Some radio stations were refusing to play their records, and some people were condemning Josh for trying to make being gay seem cool somehow, but it wasn't too bad. They expected it to all blow over soon, anyway, as it had been almost a week. Any day now another story would come along, and people would have something else to talk about.
"Howie, have you, um, have you been with a, you know, have you dated a lot of guys?" Lance asked uncertainly, stammering the words out.
"No," Howie answered. "I've only dated two guys, and neither one for very long. It's hard to find someone who, you know, is ok with my staying in the closet and who's ok with the kind of pressure I'm under."
"Howie, I want to, um, I want to ask you something," Lance said, feeling the walls close in again. He closed his eyes and willed them away, willed all of the bad thoughts away from himself. "But first I have to explain something to you. I like you, Howie. I like you a lot. You said that you feel like there's a bond between us, and I feel like there is, too. I've thought about this. I've thought about it a lot for the past couple days, just laying on my bed and staring at the wall. I want to stay in the closet, too. I don't want this to come out. I'm not ready to tell my family, or really anyone besides the guys, about me."
"Lance, are you asking me," Howie began, smiling. He felt his heart racing, and he squeezed Lance's hand even tighter.
"Not yet," Lance answered, shaking his head.
He looked at Howie again, staring into his eyes. He wanted to look away, wanted to look anywhere else, because he didn't want to say this, but he owed it to Howie to be honest with him, and let him know everything before he asked him to make a decision. He had to give Howie the chance to say no, to walk away. If he did, Lance thought his heart might break, thought he might not be able to get out of bed at all tomorrow, but he had to tell Howie everything.
"I have to tell you that I, I won't be able to be with you," Lance said, and saw Howie's eyes widen. "I don't mean I won't be able to be around you, because I like spending time with you, and holding your hands, and hearing you laugh. I like everything about you, and the way you make me feel, but I can't, I mean, you know, I can't have sex, Howie. I can't have sex with you, I can't be with you that way. I can't, right now I can't touch you that way, can't share that with you, and I don't know when I will be able to. I'm trying, and when you kissed me, I wanted you to so bad, but it, there's stuff inside me, and I don't know when I'm going to be past that."
Howie looked at Lance, seeing the tears running down his cheeks that he seemed unaware of. He realized how hard it must be for Lance to say that, how much it must hurt him, and how scared he must be waiting to hear what Howie would say.
"Lance, I'll wait for you," Howie said. "I'll wait until you're ready."
Lance looked at Howie, surprised but glad. He felt a wave of warmth flooding through him.
"Howie, would you, um, would you be my first boyfriend?" Lance asked, swallowing. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might burst through his chest as he waited for Howie to answer.
"Yes," Howie answered. "Yes, I will. I'd be honored to be your boyfriend, Lance."
Lance swallowed, and licked his lips. Leaning in, closer, closer, he felt his own lips brush softly over Howie's, pressing gently. He pulled back, and saw Howie grinning at him.
"Although, you know," Howie began, holding both of Lance's hands. "I think I'd rather be your only boyfriend than your first one."
"OK," Lance said, smiling.
They sat on the couch, holding hands, staring at each other and sighing.
"So, um, what do you want to do now?" Lance asked, grinning.
"I kind of want to get in the shower, actually," Howie said. "Do you want to watch TV?"
"Sure," Lance said. "I probably need to take a shower, too."
"You could, um, you could join me if you wanted to," Howie suggested, his eyebrows raised.
"I, uh, I," Lance stammered, thinking of being naked in the shower with Howie, naked under all that water, where Howie could see him.
"Or you could go after me," Howie said quickly, watching Lance pale.
Lance swallowed, and looked down, suddenly very sad.
"I, I don't think I can do it," he said quietly, and started to cry. Howie put an arm around Lance, and pulled him tightly to his chest. "You deserve someone better than me, Howie. You deserve someone who can be there for you, in every way, not someone, someone like me."
"Lance, I don't want anyone else," Howie said, rocking slowly back and forth as he cradled Lance to him. "I told you, I'll wait until you're ready. We'll get through this together, Lance, I know we will."
They sat like that for a few minutes until Lance collected himself, and then Howie got up, making sure Lance was comfortable. Lance assured him that he was, and watched as Howie went into the bathroom and closed the door. He heard the shower start, and then his phone rang from where he'd dropped it in the bedroom, where he'd forgotten he left it turned on. He picked it up and answered.
"Hi, this is Lance."
"Hey, Lance, it's Chris."
"Hi, Chris," Lance said, wondering why he was calling. "How are you?"
"I'm good," Chris answered. "I'm on my way to the airport to pick up JC. I stopped by your door to ask if you wanted to go, but you're not home, and Joey said your car wasn't here all night. Are you ok?"
"I'm fine, Chris," Lance answered, surprised that anyone had even noticed he wasn't around. "I'm with Howie, at his hotel, and I'm fine. I slept over here."
"You talked to him?" Chris asked. Obviously he had. It would be hard to sleep over without speaking to him.
"Yeah, everything's fine," Lance answered. "Can I tell you something, but you know, can you keep it quiet?"
"Sure," Chris answered, grinning.
"Howie's my boyfriend," Lance whispered, feeling like a seventh grader. "But I want to tell the guys myself."
"Congratulations, bro!" Chris yelled, laughing.
"Thanks," Lance said. He heard the shower switch off. "I have to go, ok? But I'm fine."
"OK," Chris said. "Have fun!"
Lance hung up the phone and looked up as Howie stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. His shoulders, chest, and hair were wet, dripping with water that glistened in the light coming in from the windows, and Lance felt all the breath go rushing out of him. He'd never seen Howie without a shirt on, never known that he was so handsome, so well built and defined. All of his muscles were cut, his abs firm, his pecs smooth and rounded and capped with tan, brownish nipples. There was a sprinkling of black hair between them, and a dark trail of it leading down from his navel, disappearing beneath the towel.
"Lance," Howie said, shaking Lance out of his dreamy perusal of Howie's body. "I'm done with the shower. Do you need to borrow some clothes?"
"Uh, yeah, probably," Lance said, shaking his head.
"I don't think my pants will fit you, since, you know, I'm shorter, but I have everything else," Howie said, noticing Lance's eyes sliding over him.
Maybe it wouldn't be long at all before he was cured, if the look on his face was any indication. Howie hadn't thought of that when he came out of the bathroom, and realized that he needed to be more careful. He didn't want to do something thoughtless that might upset Lance. He decided that, from now on, he'd just have to pay close attention.
"OK," Lance said, not wanting to stand up. He realized that he was hard, painfully hard, staring at Howie's torso, and his eyes, which seemed so much more prominent and striking beneath his slicked back wet hair.
"I'll get some stuff out after I get dressed," Howie said, walking into the bedroom. He shut the door behind him, and Lance bolted to the bathroom.
He got in the shower, making sure the water was at a normal temperature, and let it wash down over him.
I wish I could say the three days that I was without Josh flew by, but they didn't. They crawled almost painfully slowly, filled with the mundane tasks associated with dismantling your life. I was struck several times by that odd thought again that something just wasn't right, that my life before Josh must have been completely empty, because it seemed almost too easy to just pack everything up and move on. After all the times in the past week that I had stopped to ponder whether or not I was losing myself by becoming one of Josh's accessories, I was now starting to wonder if I even had a self to lose.
On Monday, when I went in to pack up my office at school, I discovered that Carla had thrown together a going away party at lunchtime for me, in the main cafeteria. My friends from the faculty were there, and the kids all came over to say goodbye, but the atmosphere was off somehow. A lot of people smiled and wished me good luck, but I also heard a lot of whispering, especially from the kids. A few of them asked if Josh was in town, or if I was bringing him to the school with me, and their faces fell in disappointment when I explained that he was in Los Angeles, working on the band's next album.
On Monday night I talked to Josh on the phone for a while. I had lots of privacy, since Carla was out on her date with Tom, my former neighbor. The papers had carried a small blurb in the entertainment section talking about the vandalism at my apartment and the petition, neither of which would have been worthy enough news to send over the AP wires if I were dating anyone else. Josh and I had finished tweaking the official statement about he and I dating, and had given it to the publicity department to release, along with the additional information about our forthcoming interviews on the subject. I told Josh that since it was part of the story, it was ok for them to also let reporters know that I had resigned my position, rendering the petition invalid, because I was relocating. Josh also shared with me the rather interesting tidbit of information that Lance hadn't come home Saturday night or Sunday, and that Monday morning he had been dropped off at the studio, in front of the other guys, by Howie.
"So, like, are they a couple?" I asked.
"Lance didn't say anything, and none of us wanted to ask," Josh answered. "We were afraid he'd get upset, but he looks happy, Jack, really happy."
"Good for Lance," I said, grinning.
On Tuesday I watched the movers pack up everything I owned, and then I said goodbye to all of my neighbors and turned in my keys. My landlord had been completely accepting of the idea that I pay for all the damage in exchange for breaking my lease, so at least that wouldn't be a problem. On Tuesday night I took Carla out to eat, and then on Wednesday morning, after another rough night's sleep in a big empty bed by myself, Carla took the morning off and drove me to the airport. Knowing how bad I am at goodbyes, she gave me a quick hug at the gate, but we were both sniffling.
"Good luck, kiddo," she said, forcing a smile. "Be happy."
"Thanks," I said. "It's not like you'll never see me again, you know. We can fly you out anytime."
"I know," she said, grinning. "Maybe I'll get to go to the Oscars after all."
The plane ride couldn't go by fast enough for me. I was fidgety and antsy, which gets noticed in first class. The flight attendant kept trying to bring me things, or get me a pillow, but there was just no helping me. All I wanted was Josh, and when the plane landed, I hustled through the gate, looking everywhere for him.
"Jack."
I spun around, but it wasn't Josh.
"Howie?" I asked, confused. He stepped toward me, smiling, holding out his hand, so I shook it. "Are you here for me?"
"JC asked if I could pick you up, since I was right there," Howie said, starting to walk toward the baggage claim. "He's at the studio with the other guys. I'm supposed to take you there, and then I think JC is taking you over to the hospital later."
"The hospital?" I asked, confused and a little scared.
"JC didn't tell you?" Howie asked, his eyes darting around nervously.
"No," I answered, taking Howie's arm. I hadn't noticed before that he was so much shorter than me, like a little elf, but I remembered that all of the Backstreet Boys were smaller in person. Still, I could feel muscle in there. "Tell me what, Howie?"
"It's not any of the guys," Howie said quickly. "They're all fine. It's just, it's better if JC tells you, ok?"
"OK," I answered, letting him go. Bullying him would serve no purpose, especially not in the airport.
We collected my suitcase and headed for the car. We were just pulling onto the freeway when another thought occurred to me, and sent a shivering chill down my spine.
If it wasn't any of the guys, was there something wrong with me?
You didn't think I'd be able to go forever without a cliffhanger, did you? Honestly?