Date: Fri, 05 Jul 2002 13:08:07 +0300
From: Neea P. <nea_1@hotmail.com>
Subject: (Boybands) Needing You chapter 16

This is to Izzy, my Glasgow guys Rob and Dan, Metra, Peter, 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...

Thanks to everyone who sent me info on D12! I couldn't have done it without
them! Or, I could've, like, done a Google search on them or something, but,
that's too easy. I'm weird.

Disclaimer: This story is not meant to imply anything about the true
sexuality or personal lives of the celebrities mentioned. Adult (m/m)
content, don't be illegal, stuff like that. Any likeness to people
personally known to me is either purely coincidental and unintended, or not
in any way malevolent.

NEEDING YOU
CHAPTER 16
By Neqs

Lance's eyes went impossibly wide as he stared at the two big, black men
standing at the foot of the bed. His naturally pale skin went white with
shock, and he tightened his arms around Marshall reflexively. Then, as the
realisation that they were both completely naked under the skimpy sheet
crept in, he blushed a deep, deep red.

Marshall was a little slower to attain coherence than Lance, who'd had the
advantage of a nap on his flight. He blearily blinked at his two friends,
the fact that he was with Lance, in bed, butt naked not quite
registering. Well, he knew he was with Lance, but on a more instinctive
level, so he couldn't connect the dots with his logical brain. Yet.

"Swift? Harry? Waddafuck's goin' on?"

"We could ask the same from you, Em. Who's the blonde?"

Only then did Marshall notice that his arms were wrapped around a precious
pile of panicked pop star-flesh.

"Oh! Um, guys, uh... fuck!" Marshall was too flustered to really answer,
amusing the two rappers to no end.

"What's this, Em? This little kitty steal your tongue? What'd he do, fuck
you into coma? Nah, he looks too sweet to be a good fuck!"

Marshall was speechless, but Lance was quickly shedding his embarrassment.
He sat up on the bed and turned to face Marshall, one sharply curving
eyebrow raised expectantly.  He was not happy with his lover right
now. That look acted like a cold shower, jolting Marshall out of his shock.

"Out!" The gaze he levelled at his two friends was nothing if not dead
serious. "I'll- we'll talk to you later." The rappers took the hint, and
left to share the news with the rest of the group. The news? Marshall had
found a new fuck-toy. Maybe he'd lighten up now that he'd gotten laid.

* * *

Stony silence reigned supreme after the door had slammed shut. Lance's
expression was icy, and his arms were crossed over his chest in a defensive
manner that made Marshall want to groan.  Lance was the first to speak, his
tone chilly and his words clipped. "Thank you so much for sticking up for
me, Marshall. I'm thrilled to have made such a wonderful first impression
on your friends, Marshall. It's great to know they won't have the wrong
idea about our relationship, Marshall. Oh, did I say 'relationship'? I'm
not sure that's the right word to describe us now, or what do YOU think,
Marshall?"

Marshall cringed, both at Lance's words and at his tone, cool as wind over
a glacier. Lance's face was as closed and impassionate as a stone carving,
but Marshall could see the traces of hurt that slithered through the cracks
in Lance's armour. Those unique eyes were hot with tears that he refused to
let out, stubbornly holding together the jagged shards of his wounded
pride.

Marshall wanted desperately to fix this, to make the hurt and
disappointment vanish. It hurt him that he'd caused this pain Lance was
experiencing, and now he had to try and make it go away. Had to succeed in
it.

He wished he could lick and kiss those pink lips, now pressed into a thin
line to hide the fact that Lance was biting the inside of his lower lip to
hold the tears back. But he knew that while he needed to prove his love to
Lance, it should first be done with words and actions that eased Lance's
mind, and only then could he reassure Lance on the physical level

"James...You know I love you, right? I'll say it again, just to make
sure. I LOVE YOU. I'm so sorry I ever made you doubt that. I'm so, so sorry
that I didn't beat Swift and Harry senseless, no matter how good friends
they are, because they had no right to talk about you like that. I was just
still half-asleep, and in shock. It's no excuse, but please let me try to
set things right, to make it up to you?" He paused and gazed at Lance,
trying to see whether his words had had any effect.

Lance, no matter how hurt and angry he was, couldn't ignore his lover's
plea, or pretend he didn't see the naked fear in his eyes. Fear of losing
him, he realised with a start he covered with a cough.  He bent his head
slightly, both at the words and as a confirmation of his thoughts. Marshall
took that as his signal to continue.

"I know I hurt you, and that breaks my heart. You mean more to me than
anyone ever, more than my career, more that anything. I'd say I'd die for
you, but I won't stoop as low as to quote one of your songs, love." Honesty
and tender humour, that might work.

"You've listened to our songs?" Lance fought to stop his lips from curving
into a coy smile. He wanted to stay mad. He WAS mad. But he was a bit more
willing to listen, now.

Marshall sensed that he was getting somewhere. "Babe, you've made me do
things I'd never have done before I met you. I own two of your albums, and
I've downloaded some stuff from the net to hear your voice, or to see
you. You do things to me, James, even when you're a thousand miles away. I
know I don't deserve you; I don't think there's anyone alive that does, and
I'm amazed and eternally grateful to have you. Please, please let me try to
make things right again!"

Lance's face softened as Marshall went on, laying out his deepest feelings,
basically offering Lance his heart on a platter. True, it was a slightly
thorny, gnarled, complicated heart to suit the man whose chest it resided,
but nothing to be sniffed at. Especially when it was offered freely, with
no strings attached.

Lance smiled, letting the sparkle in his eyes reassure the pleading wreck
of a man before him.

"So you love me more than anything, huh? I do things to you, is that so?"
His voice was low and husky and so close to a purr it made Marshall's toes
curl. Want to curl, anyway. Want lots of things.

"Yes! You- I'd do anything for you, James. I'll get on my knees and beg if
you want me to. Is that what you want, babe?"

The blonde singer was taken aback. The proud, independent rapper would do
that, just for him? He looked into those ice-blue eyes and saw a man with
nothing to hide and everything to lose. No, he couldn't humiliate the man
he loved like that. It awed him to see the way he affected this man a big
part of the world feared and distrusted. He could see the vulnerability the
offer caused in Marshall's eyes, and shuddered. He wouldn't be the one to
break this man, and he'd do anything in his power to protect him from
others who wanted to do just that.

"No. That's not what I want, Em. Come here," Lance murmured, spreading his
arms in silent invitation. The endearment made Marshall's eyes water, and
he hid his face into the crook of Lance's neck. They stayed that way for
several minutes, Lance taking strength from Marshall, but most of the
reassurance going the other way. Finally Marshall pulled back with new
serenity, meeting Lance's eyes calmly.

"Now, let's go set some rappers straight, okay love?"

"Let's rock'n'roll, hon."

* * *

Despite the late time, all five black rappers were there when Marshall and
Lance entered. All eyes were on them instantly, and knowing smirks melted
into confusion at Marshall's hot glare.

"Sit." Sharing puzzled looks, the five obeyed. Only Bizarre seemed have
some idea of what was happening.

"Now shut up for a minute. Lance, meet my friends Rufus Johnson, also known
as Peter S. Bizarre.  Denine Porter, usually called Kon Artis. O'Moore, but
obeys the name Swifty McVay. Von Carlisle or Hannz G., called Kuniva, and
DeShaun Holton, aka Proof or Dirty Harry.  Guys, this is James Lance Bass
from Nsync, my boyfriend. I love him and I'll knife the first dumbshit
motherfucker who disses him. Understood?"

During the introductions, Lance had given each named man a level look and a
nod, but the ending made him turn to Marshall, surprised.

"Em?" The questioning tone made Marshall instantly turn towards him and
take his hand.

"What, babe?"

"Aren't you being a bit harsh, hon?"

"Nah. They're really dumb fucks, so I need to lay it really thick for them
to catch on. Plus, I REALLY don't want them to get the wrong idea about us,
love."

"Hmm. I think you're succeeding."

The rappers had followed the exchange in stunned silence, too shocked to
respond to Marshall's insults right away.

"Who you calling stupid, Slim?"

"How were we supposed to know you'd decide to get lovey dovey?"

"Yeah!"

"Hmm. As long as you understand that Lance means very, very much to
me. Now, let's socialize!"

The silence following the announcement was tentative, hesitant, as everyone
was being extra careful not to cause trouble. Kuniva was the first to break
the ice.

"I, uh, liked that remix song you made with Nelly. Especially, um, the
parts with Nelly."

Lance's reply was diplomatic, but the quirk of his lips revealed that he
was not deaf to the humour in the rapper's dubious compliment. "Yes, they
really are great musicians, and cool guys too. It was a pleasure to work
with them. I don't listen to rap much, I'm more of a country guy, but I've
got a soft spot for this badass rapper," Lance said and flashed a smile,
tousling Marshall's short hair affectionately.

The topic was open now.

"So, how did you two meet?" Kon Artis asked, glowering accusingly at
Marshall, not appreciating being left in the dark about things. Bizarre
decided not to tell anyone he'd been in on the secret for weeks already.

Lance and Marshall shared a tender look and a small, secretive smile.

"We, uh, sort of stumbled into one another awhile ago. We got to know each
other, liked each other's company, and so on. And we fell in love. That's
it, basically."

Marshall's vague explanation didn't really answer the question, but the
rappers weren't all that interested in the details. They weren't entirely
convinced of Lance and Marshall's undying love yet, but they'd get along
with a pop star to keep their little brother happy.  Besides, the
green-eyed blonde seemed pretty smart and polite, so maybe he wouldn't be
too much of a pain.

* * *

When they finally entered their room later in the night, Marshall let out a
big whoosh of air of relief.

"We're in!" he whooped suddenly, grabbing Lance into a huge hug. Lance just
rolled his eyes good- naturedly, but revelled in the closeness. They hadn't
had a chance for physical contact after the fight, and this... togetherness
made Lance sigh in contentment.

"I'm so glad they are okay with all this, babe. I mean, why wouldn't they
be, but still, I'm glad," Marshall mumbled into Lance's ear, licking and
nibbling the lobe gently.

Lance wasn't so sure that everything was settled, but he didn't want to
rain on his lover's parade.  As long as the rappers were civil, he could
handle them without problem.  Right now, he had more important things to
worry about, like wonderful, glorious make-up sex.

* * *

In the cool, comforting stillness of the dark hotel room, laying next to
his sleeping lover, Lance wondered why he hadn't been horribly nervous at
the thought of meeting Marshall's friends. He'd been worried over making a
good first impression on Dre before they'd first met, even though he hadn't
shown it at the time. But today, he'd kept calm and collected, projecting
self-assurance that for once wasn't far from truth.

On the other hand, he hadn't really had time to agonise over the impending
confrontation.  Everything had happened so fast, without planning. And he'd
been so pissed at Marshall just a moment earlier.

Lance thought more about his anger. It had been more like... humiliation.
The degrading comments of the two men, friends of his lover, had smarted.

As a pop star, he was used to being laughed at. They were easy targets with
their loud costumes and provocative performances, constantly thrown in
people's faces. It was natural that some people got irritated. It was just
that they seemed to think that celebrities were just acts put together to
entertain them, to offer them someone to scorn, to joke or gossip about, to
admire and to simultaneously look down to. No one remembered that fame
didn't make you less human inside, even if you on the outside had to live
the glamorous, dazzling life everybody wanted for himself or
herself. Everybody but fame-weary celebrities, that is.

No, it wasn't the insults that had stung the most; it had been Marshall's
failure to protect him from the slurs. Lance immediately snorted at his
maudlin though. He wasn't some wimpy maiden in need of a knight in shining
armour. Marshall had been half-asleep, not really understanding what was
happening. And he'd apologised so fervently, after. The memory of that
scene still made Lance's heart skip a beat and his entire body flush warm
with pleasure.

The meeting had gone pretty well. The rappers seemed to accept their
relationship and the depth of Marshall's feelings surprisingly
docilely. Lance suspected that it was because they really didn't believe
it. He refused to fret over it. With time, he'd win their respect, and
maybe one day they'd see how much in love he was with Marshall.

Marshall... Despite his tough act, Marshall had been desperate to have the
others accept them, to make them like Lance. He'd followed their
semi-amicable, polite conversation with almost child- like earnestness, and
Lance didn't have the heart to disillusion him. They'd all get along, for
Marshall if for no other reason.

At least there had been no unpleasantness, except for the misunderstanding
in the beginning of course. Well, why would there have been? It wasn't like
Marshall had been in the closet to his friends and band mates, far from
it. There was just the little detail of Lance's pop star status, and the
serious, romantic nature of the relationship. No big deal, right? Right.
Lance almost believed it himself.

No use to worry about that, though. Lance banished the negative thoughts
with a determined shake and curled around the body of his lover. Another
obstacle had been overcome, and they were still together, stronger for the
hurdle. Worry-time over. Sleep now.

* * *

Waking up to sweet, hungry kisses and the feel of a warm, naked body on top
of his own was a nice surprise. Very nice. Something Lance could get used
to doing every morning, but now that the only person acceptable for him was
Marshall, he'd make do without it. That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the
experience fully on those rare and wonderful occasions that it happened. He
swore they'd work on making them less rare in the future.

Marshall rolled them over so that Lance was on top, and proceeded to stroke
and caress the younger man into full awareness. Slowly, delicious aromas
began to sift through the pleasurable haze of sleep and love.

"What is that divine smell, Em my love?" Lance murmured between kisses.

"Breakfast," came the breathy answer.

"But I thought YOU were my breakfast," Lance complained plaintively.
Marshall chuckled, enchanted by the golden stillness of the morning, and by
Lance's sleep-sexy playfulness.

"Babe, I'll be dessert. But you gotta get some energy first, so let's eat.
Come on now Jamie, there's French toast."

That got Lance's attention. "French toast, I love that stuff!" A moment
later. "'Jamie'?" he asked Marshall, lifting his eyebrow questioningly.

"Yeah, it's cute. Like you're cute, deadly cute. Don't you like it?"

"Hmm. I guess I can live with it. But don't let any of my friends hear you
call me that, okay hon?  I'd never hear the end of it. It's just for you,
Em."

"Aw, thanks Jamie darling. Now, breakfast?"

Happily munching on his French toast with cinnamon and powdered sugar,
Lance wondered when was the last time he'd had breakfast in bed. It had
been ages. He was torn between his desire to lengthen the pleasure by
eating more slowly, and his instinct to be quick about it so he'd get to
the dessert faster. Easy choice, he thought, gulping down the last of his
coffee, offering his sugary fingers to Marshall to lick clean with a lusty
grin.

Dessert, after all, is the most important meal of the day.

TBC

Comments are greatly appreciated.  Please send some to nea_1@hotmail.com if
you have time.  Even a short note lightens up my day and encourages to
write. I'm especially glad to hear your ideas for the plot. I take requests
if I find them interesting, and I often do.  Thanks for the wonderful
feedback I've received so far!