Disclaimer: This story is not meant to imply anything about the true sexuality or personal lives of the celebrities mentioned. If you're underage or it's illegal where you live, do not read it.
NEEDING YOU CHAPTER 1 By Neqs
'I don't fucking believe this shit. I spent months writing that album, opened my soul to all and everybody to see, and they don't even give me a fucking award.' He took a swig of Finlandia Vodka while still fuming, but had to stop to appreciate the flavor. 'Man, those Finns sure know their fucking vodka.'
His moment of quiet enjoyment wasn't enough to totally dissipate his anger towards the self- righteous shit-heads who'd smirked at him after the award show. 'Fucking boy bands. Fucking boy bands might not be so bad,' Marshall Mathers thought, lounging on the sofa of his hotel room. 'I sure wouldn't mind a fresh piece of pretty, teeny, yet preferably legal ass,' he thought.
Marshall wasn't afraid of admitting to himself or to his posse that the ass he preferred was exclusively male. He'd had his period of denial, resulting in a nasty marriage and a bitter divorce. He'd fucked up his life quite grandly, the only positive outcome of the farce being his little daughter Hailie.
'God I miss her,' he thought. Because of his troubles with the law, drugs, and alcohol, he was rarely allowed to see her anymore. He felt himself sliding down the familiar slope of depression, and shook himself. 'Damn, Marshall, think of the positive things in your otherwise fucked-up life. You've got the guys, who'd kill for you and bury the body. You've got tons of money, you get to rap, and you get respect. People know you and fear you.'
Well, the last one might not have been a very positive thing. His badass image was mainly caused by his quick temper, which had been especially easy to trigger during his self-searching in the previous years. And now, when he was calmer and, well, saner, Marshall found himself with a public image that would be hard to change even if he wanted to. He rather preferred having people respect his personal space, even if it made it a little harder to get company sometime.
'Yeah, and the tracks where I bash the people I'd like to fuck don't help much either,' he mused bitterly. But there were always guys who found the conflict between Marshall's mean image and his semi-angelic looks a definite turn-on. Who doesn't enjoy a brush of danger?
Besides, the provocative lyrics were also a business decision; who'd want to listen to a nice badass rapper? Marshall wasn't stupid. In fact, he was much more intelligent than everyone thought he was. He just liked to speak his mind, fuck being politically correct. In private, he'd listen to Paul Anka and read Jane Austen novels or some George Orwell if he felt like it. On the outside, he'd pretend he didn't know what iambic pentameter was. Now that he'd come to terms with his sexuality, he permitted himself to begin thinking with his own brain instead of being frightened by his confusion about his sexuality and then angered by it.
'So what if I'm gay? It's nobody else's problem if I like dick and can suck like an expert if I want to, even if I don't to it for every guy. It shouldn't matter to anyone that I like to stick my big dick into hot, tight, velvety male asses instead of slick, slack pussies. That I love the feel of a firm male body squirming beneath me, moaning in ecstasy while I pound his plump, firm ass hard, oh so hard...' Marshall noticed that his breath was coming quicker and his loose jeans were slightly tented. 'Man, I've got to get laid,' he thought, reluctant to use his hand when his dick would like a hot mouth or ass so much better. 'Now all I need is a hot, willing guy knocking at my door.' That's when Marshall heard a muffled thud from outside his room.
James Lance Bass was pretty sure the last shot of Tequila had been the one with the problem. Lance himself was just fine, thank you very much. It was just the seven or so shots of Tequila in his stomach that made the hotel hallway curve in strange places. His head was a little fuzzy, too.
Usually Lance was the clear-headed, sensibly one in Nsync, the one who stayed to work when the others roamed the night. Lance rarely went clubbing, for several reasons. First of all, he didn't like the smoke or the loud music or the girls wanting to get into his pants just to be able to say they had slept with Lance from Nsync. Lance did smoke sometimes, mostly after sex. Lance did enjoy music, though mostly at a lower volume than was fashionable at the clubs. And Lance did have sex, but just not with female fans, or with fans of any gender. No, the blond, green-eyed singer liked to share his bed with men who had no interest in endangering his public image and career. This usually meant celebrities like himself. Not that Lance had had many such relations - just a string of fumbling one-night stands that left him feeling vaguely unfulfilled in the morning.
Right now Lance was doing great. The band had won two awards earlier that night. He'd been to a club and actually enjoyed himself. He'd danced, laughed at his band mates' obvious inebriation, and accidentally gotten slightly drunk himself. Now sometime a.m. he was unsteadily making his way to his hotel room.
'Now, if the floor stopped angling upwards there'd be no problem. And yeah, if I'd had sex in the past four months I wouldn't be so damn horny,' Lance mused. But he didn't have the energy to go looking for a fuck. If something dropped into his lap, he'd be very swift to grasp the opportunity, but what were the odds of that? And right then, the previously bumpy hallway floor seemed to jump up at him.
Marshall put the bottle of vodka on the table and carefully rose to his feet. He directed his steps towards the door and the noise he'd heard from that direction just a moment earlier. He was a little wary and curious, yet preferring any entertainment to his boredom.
'Probably just some smelly drunk too fucked up to walk straight,' he thought with vague interest. He wasn't prepared for what he saw when he opened the door.
'It's a drunk alright, but not too smelly.' A slim, blond drunk in tight leather pants and a silver sleeveless top. If he smelled of anything it was sweat from dancing and some exotic cologne, and the combination filled Marshall's nostril in a lustful rush. The light green eyes blinking up made up his mind: tonight he'd get some of what he'd been missing.
It took Lance a minute or two to comprehend what was happening. One moment he was walking in a strangely unsteady hotel hallway, and the next he was sprawled up in a doorway, looking up at the expressionless face of Eminem, also known as Marshall Mathers.
'Oh fuck... I hope he won't kill me,' was Lance's first thought. 'God he looks hot.' was his second. He didn't have time for a third one before the blond rapper pulled him up from the floor and dragged him into his room.
"What do we have here?" asked Marshall rhetorically while eyeing the blond pop star he'd dropped onto the sofa. "A pretty little boy who can't hold his drink. Now what should I do with you?" Marshall knew what he'd like to do to the young man sitting dazedly beside him, but he wouldn't really enjoy it if the other didn't want it. He wasn't into that kind of shit. He decided to talk some more, maybe offer a drink, but the other man would have to make the first move.
Lance was still a bit confused by the suddenness of what had just happened and by the alcohol he'd imbibed earlier that evening. Here he was, in what was apparently Eminem's hotel room, sitting on the sofa next to the rapper who allegedly hated Nsync's guts. He was reassured by the fact that other than to pull him into the room, the blue-eyed man hadn't laid a hand on him. The rapper was just sitting there, observing him in an unthreatening manner, and looking very good in his loose jeans and large white t-shirt that failed to hide the hard, muscular form underneath.
"Umm... What's going on?" Lance asked hesitantly while furtively watching the other man from beneath his thick lashes.
'Mm, lovely lashes, I wonder how that deep, southern voice would sound moaning lustfully?' wondered Marshall to himself before answering the question.
"You decided to come for a visit. It's nice to have some company; I was getting seriously bored sitting here by myself. Want a drink? The name's Marshall, by the way. And you are?"
Lance was stunned, both by the barrage of questions and by the surprisingly friendly attitude. "James Lance Bass, call me Lance, please, Marshall," Lance managed to blurt out. "And yes, please, I'd love some of that vodka if that's ok."
"Are you always so fucking polite?" retorted Marshall, while getting a glass for his guest and pouring him a drink anyway. "You belong to one of those crooning boy groups, don't you? And don't worry, I'm not gonna beat you up if that's the case," he added as he handed the drink to Lance, who sipped it distractedly, concentrating on examining the other man's face.
'He looks quite friendly,' Lance thought. 'If I didn't know better, I'd say there's some lust sparkling in those piercing eyes.' A noticeable shiver of excitement went through the bass at the thought of getting into bed with the fierce rapper. Belatedly he remembered to answer Marshall's questions. The man seemed to have a lot of those.
"I'm from small-town Mississippi, so it's a habit to be courteous. It's also a part of the image. My group Nsync caters to the preteen/teenage female crowd, who expect us to be clean-cut, all- American boys next door," Lance replied straightforwardly, forgetting to fear Marshall's reaction.
"Ah, image. As you've noticed, I don't go around kicking boy band ass for fun or bashing gays. It's all part of the image. We sell an image and it often reflects very little of who we actually are in real life." Marshall bent forward to retrieve his own glass of vodka from the side table while sighing in an introspective and what he hoped to be encouraging manner.
'Did he just... He looks so hot sitting so close to me, so strong, and what is that bewitching scent? Some wonderful manly aftershave, I'm sure. Do I have a chance with him? I must at least try.' Lance's thoughts were working fast while he listened to Marshall's ruminations. He smiled in agreement, a warm, languorous smile that brought a sexy, cocky answering grin on Marshall's face.
"Really?" Lance drawled. "And if a man put moves on you, not in public, mind you, what would you do then?" the younger man asked curiously. The answer would determine how the rest of the night went.
"If I found him attractive and knew he wasn't a threat to my public image, I'd be glad to fuck him bow-legged."
Marshall's frank statement took Lance's breath away. Slowly he put his glass on the table and slid onto the floor, finally kneeling between the rapper's spread, denim-clad legs. Steadying himself with his hands on Marshall's thighs, Lance purred. "Do you find me attractive, then? I could use a good fucking, Marshall. Please fuck me until I can't walk straight," he practically begged, sliding his hands ever closer to Eminem's rapidly rising cock.
Marshall's lust exploded to a new level at the southern boy's forwardness. "How can I say no when you ask so nicely? Especially when you look so beautiful and sluttish down there. Why don't you ask the one who's gonna do the work?" Marshall growled softly, nodding at his crotch.
Lance didn't need to be told twice. He dove for Marshall's cock with an enthusiasm that would have been amusing if Marshall hadn't already been swept away by waves of lust.
The zipper was lowered in a flash, and as Marshall was wearing no underwear, Lance was faced right away with a largish, beautifully formed cock. He stared at it for a minute, entranced by its pulsing glory, until he felt Marshall's hands on the back of his head, pushing him downward. He willingly complied, opening his pink lips and sucking the big head into his mouth. He held it there a second, admiring how good it felt there, and then began to lower his blond head, carefully guiding the delicious cock down his throat.
Marshall threw his head back and hissed; the hot mouth on his already leaking dick felt so good. He let Lance take swallow him to the base at his own pace, offering praise: "Good boy! Oh fuck that's good!" Then, after the blond head had slid up and down a few times, Marshall began to thrust upwards, fucking the wet and willing mouth on his cock, while Lance just moaned wantonly, his eyes closed in passion and his mouth full of hot, hard cock.
The vibration of the low bass rumble around his cock brought Marshall closer to coming as he fucked Lance's soft, pink mouth. Holding the velvety mouth to his cock by gripping Lance's hair, Marshall made a few more spasmodic motions with his hips before exploding into the younger blonde's mouth with a satisfied groan. Lance sucked ferociously, wanting to collect every drop of the rapper's hot spunk, swallowing it in loud gulps. The taste and the feel pushed Lance over the edge, and he came into his pants bucking and whimpering while his mouth still worked on Marshall.
When Lance lifted his head, they were both slightly out of breath. Marshall has leaned his head back when he came, but had kept his hands on Lance's head, rubbing the soft blond locks. The panting blonde still kneeling on the floor was practically purring, if a human throat can be said to emit such a sound, and butting his head on the caressing hands.
Their eyes met, and they shared a satisfied smile.
They stayed like that for quite a while. One man slumped on the couch, his softening member still sticking out of his loose denim pants. Another man kneeling between his spread legs, a warm wetness in his tight leather pants. Both of them young, fit, blond, with cheeks colored by post- orgasmic flush. They were physically connected through their hands, which caressed scalp and thighs respectively. During those quiet moments together, they also shared a connection through their eyes, which seemed to echo each other's intensities.
Lance was the first to break from the spell, as his head began to nod from exhaustion. The long day and the alcohol he was not used to combined with tremendous sexual relief started to wear him down. It was still Marshall who broke the eye contact first by glancing at his watch. "Damn, it's almost six a.m.!" he exclaimed. "We'd better hit the sack before we hit the floor in a passed-out heap," he stated, rising to his feet.
Lance did the same, not sure whether he should get lost at this point. Marshall made up his mind for him by leading him by the hand towards the bedroom. Lance followed, stumbling again, this time more from tiredness than inebriation.
"Come on, baby, it's not far," Marshall whispered encouragingly, not knowing why he was whispering at all. Lance seemed to appreciate it, though, leaning on the allegedly frightful rapper. When they reached the bedroom, which really wasn't that far, Marshall had to help the half unconscious Lance undress. The tight leather pants put up a good fight, but finally they came off, revealing long, slender legs and a sticky wetness between them. Leaving Lance half-sitting, half- dozing on the edge of the bed, Marshall ducked into the bathroom to snatch a towel. He wet it, and went back to clean the mess Lance had made. The younger man was too exhausted to be embarrassed. The skin-tight silver top also had to be peeled off, but at least the material gave in a little.
Marshall's own clothes were easier to get rid of. His loose jeans had already fallen off him after he'd stood up from the couch with them still unzipped. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, and the covers down on the bed. His guiding hand and encouraging murmur made Lance crawl under the covers. Marshall came right behind him, and when Lance turned to face him, their lips seemed magnetized as they grew closer together, and met in a sparking hush.
They kissed for a moment, too tired to explore the new feelings arising. They thought along the same lines as they sank into oblivion still curled up in each other's arms.
'That was so hot, he's got a wonderful mouth,' thought Marshall. 'Maybe there could be more to this than just a one-time fuck. Besides, I'd love to take him up on his offer sometime.'
'That was so hot, I haven't shot in my pants in ages,' Lance thought. 'This feels nice too, holding each other like this,' he reflected. 'Maybe...' but Lance was too tired to finish the thought, dreamy scenarios flashing trough his foggy mind. His last thought before consciousness fled him was 'Justin will never believe this.'
TBC...