Date: Sun, 02 Feb 2003 22:33:14 +0200
From: Neea P. <nea_1@hotmail.com>
Subject: (Boybands) Needing You chapter 1 repost

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...