Took me long enough, eh? The excuses, as usual, are many...First of all, this chapter was extremely difficult for me to write, not that the next one will be much easier. Coming out can be a bitch. I'll try to get it done before Christmas, though! RL has been a pest, too, had a few medical scares that didn't mix well with writing. (well, except some angsty poetry...)
Thanks to Izzy (beta goddess - hang in there, love!), Kor (my Baby with wonderful ideas), Summy (my lovely Birthday girl!), Libby, Rob and Dan, Writie, Metra, Peter, Ryan, Andy, Myoshi, Julienne, Trish, Bethany, Jimmy, Lincoln, JT, Angel, Nyn, Cindy, at, and all the other wonderful people who have graced me with their kind and helpful comments. Hell, it's to everybody who takes the time to read it! Enjoy...
Disclaimer: This story is not meant to imply anything about the true sexuality or personal lives of the celebrities mentioned. Adult (m/m) content, probably foul language, don't be illegal, stuff like that. Any likeness to people personally known to me is either purely coincidental and unintended, or devoid of malevolence.
NEEDING YOU CHAPTER 28 By Neqs
Lance kissed Marshall one more time before turning to look over the room, grinning widely. The party was in full swing, the champagne was flowing and the dance floor was full of joyously gyrating bodies. He fought down a sudden urge to throw back his head and crow; he was so heady with excitement and released tension. Over the throb of music, he could hear the sound of AJ's trademark cackle. It pleased him to see the post-rehab drabness evaporate from the out and proud Backstreet Boy.
Suddenly a lithe, well-muscled body clad in light blue silk and denim straddled his lap. Startled but not alarmed - he'd already been on the receiving end of many effusive thanks from tipsy stars tonight - he looked up into laughing blue eyes.
"Justin, how's it going?"
"I'm doing great, but you? What do you think you're doing, sitting here moping in your own party?"
"Well, we needed to catch our breath a little. Besides, I think moping is better than jumping in other people's laps. Their significant other might be offended," he added with a quirked eyebrow, nodding towards his fiance, who'd been sitting by his side uncharacteristically docile all the while.
"Hey Marshall," Justin chirped and leaned in to kiss him smack on the lips.
For a minute the rapper seemed nonplussed, but then he smirked and returned the kiss. When he finally pulled back, Lance, Justin, and JC (in purple velvet and denim) were all staring at him, stunned speechless. Surprisingly, Justin was the first to regain his ability to speak.
"Damn!" he gasped, licking his licks and panting a little. "Now I know why you keep him!"
Lance blinked at the man still sitting on his lap, then at his fiance who'd just kissed that man. Then he smiled. "Yeah. Because he's got such a great sense of humor, he loves my family, and he's always willing to try new things. Oh, and he doesn't mind other men sitting in my lap if he gets to play with them."
"Hey!" The exclamation sounded from three directions at the same time. Marshall, Justin and JC looked at each other and smiled. By silent agreement, Justin went first.
"I protest to being called a 'thing!'" he declared imperiously.
"And I think my lover should only play with me," JC added good-humoredly.
"And I will personally castrate any other man who tries to sit in your lap, lover. Even if I would get to play with them. Can't figure out why I would want to..." He tugged Lance closer and kissed him passionately. Lance thought he could almost taste Justin in Marshall's mouth. 'Kinky,' he thought naughtily.
"What about Howie? You didn't castrate him earlier."
Marshall shrugged. "He was drunk. Besides, he reminds me of a puppy. Can't really see him as a threat. Sorry."
"So you wouldn't mind us being close friends?" Lance teased gently.
Marshall growled. "Just not too close, babe. You're mine."
"The ownership's mutual, hon."
It had started out almost like any other music industry party, but there were a few things that seemed unusual. First of all, the extensive guest list included actors as well as musicians, established names as well as up-and-coming stars. Second of all, several of the guests had come a long way for the night, flying from a tour or a movie set.
Of course, any party thrown by Lance Bass of Nsync would have a wide and varied guest list, but that still didn't explain the peculiar undercurrent of expectation and excitement buzzing through the crowd. There were the Backstreet Boys huddled together, looking genuinely cheerful. Ben Affleck, Tom Cruise, and Ricky Martin were engaged in an animated conversation in a corner near the wet bar. Nicole wasn't far, laughing brightly at something either Ashley Angel or Pink had said.
The host of the evening could be seen sitting on a sofa in the elevated section of the room, chatting with Carson Daly. He seemed to be in exceptionally good spirits, even for him: he was positively glowing, his eyes sparkling with a secret joyfulness. A warm smile rarely left his handsome face, and his low laughter was seductive in its sincerity.
Carson, who was pleased by the invitation to the party but slightly miffed at having been requested to leave his camera crew and recorder at home, was determined to find out what had put Lance Bass in such a great mood.
"Hey Lance, this is a kick-ass party! Great music, lots of people having a good time. The party looks like a success, is that why you're looking so happy right now?"
"Hey Carson, and thanks. Yeah, it's great that people are having fun, even though the party hasn't even really started."
"Oh? What do you mean?"
"Well, the guest of honor hasn't even arrived yet..."
"Guest of honor, who's that?" Carson was about to continue the interrogation when there was a small commotion near the entrance. He paused, eager to see if there was a fight between rival bands or something equally dramatic happening, but when the crowd parted before a group of people heading into their direction, he blanched.
"Lance, I think you have a problem here..."
"What are you talking about, Carson?" Lance asked cheerfully, clearly not seeing the danger he was in.
"That's Dr. Dre, D12, and Eminem, walking this way! I'm pretty sure they're here to cause trouble. Where's the security?" Carson was getting antsy. He wasn't here in his official capacity, so he didn't have even that protection from the volatile rapper, not that the immunity of the press had ever stopped him before. Besides, he'd been pretty nasty in his comments the last time the guy had been on TRL...Damn! Carson swore that if he came out of this confrontation unscratched, he'd try to be nicer to people.
The group had finally made their way to where they were sitting. "Hey guys, thanks for coming."
Carson's eyes bugged out. Lance had invited them? It was one of the members of D12 that answered. "Thanks Lance, couldn't miss this. Now, I'm heading for the bar." With a friendly but guarded nod, he and four others melted into the crowd - leaving Dr. Dre and Eminem still standing there in front of the couch.
The black man was the next to speak. "Lance, how are you?" he asked with a smile, making Carson almost choke on his drink. He could only stare as they shook hands like old pals.
"I'm doing great Dre, thanks. I'm really glad you could come and I hope you'll enjoy the party," Lance said.
"I think I'll join the guys at the bar. Good luck!" And then he, too, was walking away. Now there was only Eminem left. He hadn't spoken yet, but now he stepped forward until he was right in front of Lance, and pinned him down with his heated gaze.
"Bass," Eminem said in a neutral voice, his face expressionless except for a strange glimmer in his eyes that Carson interpreted as barely suppressed murderous urges. He sank back in his seat, wincing when Lance spoke. For an allegedly intelligent and levelheaded guy, Lance seemed to like playing with fire. It was madness to make the violent rapper any angrier than he was already.
"Eminem," he said back with a tone of playful solemnity, almost sing-songing the syllables. The mock innocent look in his eyes mirrored the faint, amused smile playing on his lips. Carson cringed, biting back a whimper, when Eminem bent forward until he was right in Lance's face.
"Is there something you want to say to me, pretty boy?" he growled at the green-eyed man. Carson started hurriedly searching the room with his eyes, hoping to see the big, burly shape of a bodyguard or security officer, but the only large bodies he could see belonged either to guests, like Vin Diesel, or gatecrashers - D12 and Dr. Dre.
"Actually, I think you're very pretty yourself," Lance said with a wink, his smile broadening into a sexy grin. Carson almost started hyperventilating. A wink? Oh God, they were all going to die! Any second now Eminem would pull a gun and start shooting people. Then, suddenly, a larger worry began nibbling on the edges Carson's panic. Sexy? Had he just thought that Lance's self-destructive smile was sexy?
Before Carson could whip himself into homosexual panic, things started happening -- surreal, twilight-zone things that demanded his full attention.
Marshall moved so quickly that it took Carson in his preoccupied state a moment to realize that the rapper wasn't trying to bite Lance Bass' nose off: he was KISSING HIM. Full on the mouth, passionately, with a great deal of affection, possessiveness, and unmistakable familiarity.
And admirable absorption. Carson had time to restart his brain from where it had screeched to a halt. He picked his jaw off the floor. Then he crossed his legs, rolled his tongue back in, and wiped his mouth for possible drool. He'd never thought he'd admit it; hell, he'd never thought he'd see it, but the sight of two gorgeous, male celebrities locked in a fiery kiss, practically wrapped around each other on the sofa by now, was beyond hot.
Carson coughed into his hand and started at the high-pitched sound. He took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat again. Finally the two men heard him, or maybe they just had to come up for air - in any case they pulled apart slightly, sharing a few more nibbling, lingering kisses before turning to face the flushed man at the other end of the sofa.
"What...what the hell is going on?"
"Well," Eminem drawled with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, seeming oddly at home in Lance's arms. "I just kissed my fiance, if that's what you mean."
Carson's eyes bugged out almost comically. "Your what!"
"Oh, Carson, I guess I forgot to introduce you to the guest of honor. I'd like you to meet Marshall Mathers, my future husband," Lance said with twinkling eyes.
Carson digested the news for a minute, but then his reporter's instincts kicked in. "When did this happen, and how? The last I heard, Marshall - can I call you Marshall?"
"Sure, Carson. Just don't abuse the privilege."
"Right. As I was saying, I always thought that Marshall was a super macho, badass homophobe. Was it just a front, or did Lance's love make change your opinions? This is love where dealing with, right? Does TRL get an exclusive?"
"Slow down, Carson, we'll answer your questions in due time. We'll let you know which parts of the story we want the public to know. It all started after a party, and we wouldn't be where we are today without the inhibition-relaxing influence of vodka..."
Lance watched Carson waylay another celebrity and used Marshall's neck to hide his laughter, snuggling deeper under the arm around his shoulders. It was great to be out, or at least third-way there. First Carson, then TRL, then the world - or something along those lines. Right now Lance felt like everything was right in the world. Sure, once it was public knowledge they'd lose a few fans and get nasty comments, but maybe they could surprise people into reconsidering their opinions. In any case, they wouldn't have to live a lie anymore. They weren't fools: they knew that they were still celebrities, always in the public eye. Nevertheless, things were getting better fast.
"Carson seems pretty happy, don't you think, Em?"
"Well, he just landed an exclusive to the news story of the century. And with all the scurrying around that he's doing, he's going to get a lot more."
Carson had listened to their story with rapt interest, moaning happily and making notes on a napkin. At first he'd been devastated by not having it all on camera, but he was mollified when they promised a live interview in the following week. When they mentioned that they were far from being the only ones intending to come out there that night, Carson had reacted as if bit.
"Who? Where? Will they grant me an interview?"
"You'd have to ask them, but I'm sure some of them would do it. Not everybody here is gay, though: we don't discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation, you know?" Marshall added with a wry smile that totally escaped Carson's attention.
"Right, right, of course not. I think I'll just, uh, go mingle or something. Congratulations, Lance and Marshall. We'll talk more during the interview, won't we?" Carson's eyes were already roving the floor, searching for his next victim.
The host and the guest of honor exchanged amused glances. "Sure, Carson, we'll talk then. Have fun at the party!" Not waiting for further encouragement, Carson scurried off.
Carson was tired but happy when finally plopped down on a sofa in a quiet corner of the large room. All in all, he'd had an extremely productive evening. The biggest entertainment news of the century, and he had the exclusive! He was naturally thrilled and honored by their trust, but at the same time also slightly timid. This wasn't just big, it was HUGE, and he wasn't sure that he liked having the power to affect so many lives. He loved it, of course, but he wasn't all that sure if he liked it. With great power came great responsibility and all that crap.
Determined to get rid of his maudlin mood and enjoy the party, Carson shook his head and looked around him, hoping to see a waiter: he was feeling thirsty after talking all night and too lazy to walk to the bar.
There was no waiter in sight. Instead, when he looked up, his gaze met the most amazing pair of warm brown eyes. Like...chocolate and laughter and he really needed to say something now or he was going to look really stupid just sitting and staring into those amazing eyes...
"Hi there." Voice. More chocolaty vibes.
"Uh, I, hi." Could he sound any more stupid? He was the high priest of the teenage nation, the avatar of American music, Mr. TRL - he wasn't supposed to act like a love-struck teenager! "Great party, isn't it? Lance sure knows how to throw them!"
"I guess he does, I wouldn't know. So, you know Lance?"
"Yeah, you could say that. He's a great guy."
"You look thirsty, want me to pour you a glass?" It took Carson a few moments to connect the words (voice!) to the pitcher of ice water on the other man's side of the table. He was thirsty, but not only for the cool liquid anymore. He yearned to know more about his companion.
Carson studied his new friend over the rim of his glass. Was he attracted to the guy? Hell, yes. Did he want to get to know him better? Definitely. Was he ready to fall madly and passionately in love, buy the guy a ring, come out and live happily ever after? No, he wasn't stupid. There was nothing wrong with being gay, he knew that - but there were still lots of people who didn't. He'd take whatever happiness he could get, one day at a time, and maybe one day he'd do what so many brave people where doing tonight: come out of the closet.
It was a gradual project, of course. He recognized the party as a sign of unity of sorts, an effort to bolster confidences, to celebrate what they had been taught to shame. Sure, it was just like any other party in some ways, an opportunity for beautiful people to meet their friends and adversaries, to gossip, squabble, and overindulge. They were only people for God's sake. Being gay didn't make them saints. Nah, the only gay guy he knew who'd look natural with a halo was Elton John. Carson tried to imagine Eminem wearing a halo almost choked on his drink.
"Hey, are you okay?" mystery guy asked when Carson coughed and wheezed, moving as if to help and settling down only at Carson's abortive gesture.
"Yeah, I'm fine, just had a mental image," Carson said, regaining his calm -- which wasn't really calm at all. Storing his ramifications to the back of his mind, he turned up the volume of his smile. Tonight was his, theirs: tomorrow would take care of itself.
TBC...
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