Date: Thu, 14 Aug 2003 18:06:18 +0300
From: Neea P. <nea_1@hotmail.com>
Subject: Needing You chapter 32 (boy bands)

My apologies for taking so long with this one. Life got in the way of
fantasy and my figurative Muse dumped me. Special thanks to Izzy and
Frithjof for beta! Thanks for support and encouragement also go to: Summy,
Kor, Tazy, Sascha, Rob&Dan, Arik, JT Poole, and Ryan.

If anyone is interested in what's been going on in my life since I posted
chapter 31: I came out to most of my family, changed majors at the uni,
finally met my best friend in person, moved house, got a summer job, got a
new apartment, got a tan, wrote about 20 poems, wrote about 300k of my
first BtVS fic, saw Bruce Springsteen live in Helsinki, and had my laptop
fixed twice.

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 32
By Neqs

"Everything's falling apart."

Marshall looked up from his paper to Lance, who was curled in the opposite
corner of the sofa.

"Is that supposed to be news to me? The world's always falling apart. Maybe
it's doing it a little more than usual right now, but we're not at World
War III yet. Or were you referring to the division of income that's making
the lives of people who don't have six figure wages increasingly harder?"

"Well that too, but I was actually referring to us, to me. I used to dream
about coming out, you know. It was like the Holy Grail of sorts, it was
going to change everything for the better. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we
did it, but it didn't just magically take away all my problems. It created
a few new ones, but nothing I can't handle. What's really bugging me
is...what next?"

"What do mean?"

"I feel like I'm drifting, like I'm without purpose. I know it's silly, but
I feel like I should be doing something, striving for something, dreaming
about something. Instead, I just...am. So what happens now?"

"What do you want to happen?"

"'And they lived happily ever after...'"

"James, I love you, so don't give me that crap. It's horrible how far
removed the fairytales they tell to kids really are from reality. 'Happy
ever after' is the easy way out for storytellers. We live from day to day,
conscious of every week, month, and year. We have to make it happen and
roll with the punches, and work for the happiness we get. There are always
bad times to balance the good times, and we don't always have the power to
influence whether there's more good or bad stuff."

Pause.

"Is this about the wedding?" Lance asked. Marshall sighed and laid his head
in Lance's lap.

"It's all just too much sometimes. The guest list is a mile long, and we
still haven't picked the flowers or menus or tuxes or Best Men or a million
other things, even though your mother, who I'm actually really fond of, has
been running us ragged for the last ten days.  There's some great exposé
about the wedding in the tabloids every day! I'm just a bit tired," he
said, giving Lance his best puppy dog look.

Lance smiled indulgently down at his lover. "I know, Em, things have been
crazy lately. Why don't I go run you a bath? Strawberry okay?" Marshall
groaned gratefully, already expecting the blissful relaxation that only a
hot bath could provide. Well, a hot bath and good sex, but a bath just
smelled better. And was much more hygienic.

"Make it green apple, please, with lots of bubbles?" he asked fluttering
his eyelashes pleadingly at Lance before letting him up from the
sofa. Lance pretended to frown at him, but his eyes were laughing.

"One extra-bubbly green apple scented bath coming up! Won't take but a
minute."

"Thanks."

Marshall watched as Lance disappeared around the corner, and sighed in
contentment and lazy anticipation. The bath would help him relax, and it
shouldn't be hard at all to persuade Lance to share it with him. Because,
sex in a hot bath with the man he loved?  Heaven.

* * *

Lance pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He inhaled slowly
through his nose, stifling an urge to scream. He settled for groaning with
his mouth closed, making a noise in his throat that was reminiscent of a
sick cat. Or maybe it was an upset, pregnant cat, he really couldn't
remember - anyway, the feline was plain miserable and so was Lance.

He loved his mother, he truly did. He loved his sister, and his friends,
and his friends' mothers. But he didn't love the experience of being caught
in the crossfire of their plans for his wedding. At first he'd been glad of
their help, but that had faded when they just plain took over the whole
thing. Somehow he'd lost all control over his own wedding. And the people
who were running the show were running him ragged. Marshall seemed no
better off.

And that was why James Lance Bass of Nsync was pacing the length of the
apartment he and Marshall were sharing, muttering under his breath and
slowly losing his mind, when Dre knocked on the door and walked right
in. He looked at Lance.

"You okay, kid? You look wound tight." Lance tried for a snort, but it came
out more like a hysterical giggle. Perfect. Not only was he going insane,
he was also turning into a person who giggled. Lance took two steps and
flopped down on the sofa. He hid his face in his hands, beyond caring how
ridiculous he must look. He was surprised when he didn't hear the sound of
the door closing after Dre, but instead found the producer taking a seat
next to him.

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then," Dre said with a mild frown. "Want to talk
about it?"

"I, no, yes, argh!" Lance muttered into his hands. "It's all such a big
fucking mess, you know? I'm sorry about freaking out in front of you," he
added, looking up at Dre, his normally smiling face tired and drawn. Dre
turned to face him, resting his forearm on the back of the couch.

"That's all right, we all need freak out sometimes. I guess the whole
wedding thing's running you two ragged?"

Lance barked in laughter, rubbing his face with his hands. This time, there
was a glimmer of his usual good humor in his eyes when he looked up.

"You could say that. We're going crazy, and it shows." He was silent for a
minute. Dre didn't feel the need to say anything. "Your acceptance means a
lot to me and Em.  Especially since my father won't even acknowledge my
existence... Well, I know Em doesn't see you as a father figure, but he
looks up to you so much. And I really appreciate the way you're stood by
him in this publicity circus."

"I'm not his father, but I'm his brother, and as a big brother, it's my job
to look after him. We're the family he's chosen for himself, and that makes
us even closer. Oh, he might bitch and rant and do crazy stuff, but he's a
good man underneath his bluster. He's not the guy he was a few years back,
before he came to his senses and cleaned up his act. He's also not the guy
he was when you met him about a year ago. He's happier and more grounded,
thanks to you." Dre smiled at Lance. "You're probably wondering where I'm
going with all this sappy crap. Well, this means that you're my baby
brother too. Welcome to the family, kid."

Lance blinked rapidly, a slow, wide smile curving his
lips. "I...wow. That's so great. I'm speechless," he said with a little
self-deprecating laugh. He leaned back on the couch, totally at ease for
the first time since he'd last seen Marshall. "You really made my day, you
know. I was such a mess..."

Dre smiled at him, letting his guard down in a way he only did when he was
with close friends or family. He let his arm drop from the back of the
couch to rest on Lance's shoulders. Lance was slightly startled, but moved
so that he could rest his head on Dre's arm.

"You do realize that if anyone were to see us right now, they'd think that
we're lovers?" Lance asked with a droll smile. Dre raised an eyebrow and
chuckled.

"Well, they'd be wrong. You're a nice guy and not ugly at all, but I'm not
attracted to men. Besides, you're with Marshall, and I'd never steal his
boy-toy," he said with a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Lance
laughed and mock-punched him, curling closer to the larger man.

Dre was like a calm oasis of sanity in the chaos that was wedding
preparations. The position they were in, sitting close together on the sofa
might have looked very bad to a stranger. It should have looked completely
innocent to anyone who knew them. Unfortunately, Marshall wasn't in a state
of mind you could call reasonable.

"What the fucking hell is going on here?!"

The angry roar and the sound of the door crashing into the wall caused
Lance to jump and swivel to face his furious fiancé.

Marshall was...wow. "Wow" was the first thing that came to Lance's mind
when he saw Marshall standing in the doorway, his face suffused red, eyes
shooting blue fire, and powerful body trembling with rage. The next thing
that occurred to him was that this was not the time for lust. Marshall
looked extremely upset, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side
like he was on the verge of attacking someone.

"Em, what-" Dre started to rise from the sofa, and Marshall's eyes narrowed
dangerously. He took a step towards them, and Lance jumped up from his seat
to stand between them.

"Stop! What the hell is wrong with you, Em? You know damn well that neither
Dre or I would ever do anything to hurt you!"

For a long moment Marshall just stood there, his jaw working silently. Then
his anger seemed to bleed out of him, causing his shoulders to
slump. Slowly, Lance made his way to his lover, carefully pulling him into
his embrace.

"I...fuck. Yeah," Marshall muttered into Lance's neck, his body relaxing
against his lover's.

"It's okay, love. We're stressed out and that's why our emotions are all
over the place. Actually, that's what Dre was doing: giving me a pep talk
and talking some sense into me after I panicked about the wedding," Lance
said gently.

Marshall groaned. "Please, not the W-word. It makes me want to vomit," he
said, squeezing his eyes shut. "And it's all your fault!" He yipped and his
eyes shot open when Lance thumped him.

"How the fuck is it *MY* fault? You're the one who proposed, you
het-spirited, macho bastard!"  Lance spit out, glaring at Marshall, who
glared back just as furiously.

"Who are you calling het-spirited, bitch?" Marshall growled, and Lance
jumped forward, going for the eyes. Bloodshed was narrowly avoided, thanks
to Dre, who risked his health by stepping between them and laying a large
hand on each man's heaving chest.

"Guys! Calm the fuck down. God, you are such drama queens." Then Dre was
backing down, palms raised in front of him, trying to stave off a suddenly
united pair of fuming, overwrought celebrities.

Well, at least I got them to agree on something, he thought, and Lance and
Marshall must have realized it too, because they stopped in their tracks
and looked at each other. Something in the room seemed to shift, and Lance
was the first to smile. Dre relaxed when Marshall did, blue eyes reflecting
the warmth in Lance's green ones.

Dre was a brave man. Brave, he told himself, was a much nicer word than
stupid. He demonstrated his bravery by interrupting the Moment the lovers
were having before they could drift into la-la land and forget the issue at
hand...until the next time something triggered their strung nerves.

"Lance, Marshall. This little tiff was just a symptom of a bigger problem,
one you can't keep ignoring. Can't you see what it's doing to your - I
can't believe I'm saying this - relationship?"

The pair's ardor cooled again, but they held hands when they sat down on
the sofa. Dre seated himself opposite to them

"So why don't you tell us what our problem is," Marshall asked calmly, but
with a hint of belligerence. Lance squeezed his hand in his, but turned his
eyes to Dre, who just raised his eyebrow, not in the least intimidated.

"Your problem is the wedding. You wanted to make your love official by
having this special celebration witnessed by your friends and family. Well,
this special celebration is turning into a special pain in the ass. I now
understand why so many couples break up over the wedding
preparations. Can't you see what this is doing to you, what you're doing to
yourselves and to each other? Is it really worth it?"

Lance opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He turned to face Marshall,
who was similarly struck dumb by Dre's insight into their relationship and
his passionate words.

"I...fuck it," Marshall said, shaking his head slowly. "James, I love you.
But I don't want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with
you, yes. I want to be with you and you only, yes. I want to be married to
you, yes. But this prolonged torture session called 'getting married' is
killing us. I don't have fun anymore; we don't have fun anymore." He looked
at Lance, who squeezed his hand again and smiled reassuringly.

"I guess getting married is the adult thing to do, but being a responsible
adult doesn't mean that you're not supposed to have fun. It means that you
understand that limitations on your fun, and the consequences of it, and
take responsibility," Lance said seriously.

"So now you've decided that the state of things needs changing, good. Now
you need to think about a few things: what you want to do, what you need to
do, and what you feel you should do. The three can be very different." Dre
sat back. "Again, these are just suggestions.  It's your life. I'm just
trying to help you, but even with the best of intentions, helpful people
can be a bitch."

Realization dawned, together with acceptance. Lance turned to his
fiancé.

"Em... I don't want to marry you either. Not like this, anyway. This whole
wedding circus has got to stop; either it ends or we split."

"What!?" Marshall yelped. "If you think we're splitting up, James Lance
Bass, you are wrong!"

"Uh...I meant that we'd split, full stop. As in getting the hell out.
Together," Lance specified gently.

"...oh. Well, that sounds more like it!"

"But can we really do that?" Lance asked seriously. "I mean... everybody's
worked their butts off to make this happen. My mom, Stacy, all the guys'
moms, the guys, your guys...  and all the guests!"

"Too bad. So, yeah, they've worked hard, but did we ask them to? They've
been having the time of their lives, especially Joshtin." Marshall smirked
at the affectionate appellation, and then his eyes widened and his smirk
widened into a devilish grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Lance grinned back just as evilly. "It's horrible, and I love it! Let's do
it."

* * *

Justin was getting irritated.

"Lance, wake the fuck up! And turn on your cell phone! Marshall, kick him
for me, and that was K-I-C-K, not K-I-S-S!"

"Justin, sweetie, you know you have the key, right?" JC asked
delicately. He pulled his hat lower. It was too early. The sun was all
bright and shining and...yeah, the sun was shining. It was very pretty, in
spite of being a little painful on the eyes. He started finding rhymes for
"ray." Stray, okay, pay, day, may, hey, hay - wait, no country. Gray,
decay? Too...unpretty.  Whey - um, no. Gay, now there was an interesting
idea...

"Jace, you coming in or not?" Justin asked his lover, who had a far-away
look in his eyes and the cutest look of intense concentration on his
fashionably scruffy face.

"Hmm? Yeah," JC hummed distractedly. Justin rolled his eyes and closed the
door behind them, as loudly as he could.

"Rise and shine, lovebirds! Only seven days until the wedding and you're
already late for your appointment with the tailor. Which means that you'll
be equally late for your lunch meeting with the caterers," Justin
hollered. JC just gave him a sideways glance, his eyes crinkling with a
smile, and hummed under his breath. Despite his impatience, Justin had to
kiss him. It crossed his mind that it would serve Lance and Marshall right
if they crawled out of their bedroom only to find JC and him screwing on
their dinner table. Or the couch, and the carpet was starting to look
pretty damn great...

"Wanna?" he breathed into JC's mouth, nibbling his lip. JC purred and
ground his hips against Justin's.  As clothes started flying in all
directions, Justin hoped that Lance and Marshall either waited for them to
finish before opening the bedroom door, or that they'd at least have the
decency to close it again and let them fuck in peace.

Half an hour later, Justin raised his head to look at the bedroom door.

"Do you think they died of shock?"

"Envy, maybe," JC said.  His hair was tousled beyond what was fashionable,
and even though the just-had-wild-sex-on-the-floor look might go over well
at night, it was morning. Which reminded him...

"I'm starting to think they're not even there. I mean, if that didn't wake
them..." Justin squinted.  "Is there something taped to the door? Like a
piece of paper or something?"

"Hmm. Looks like a note." JC rose from his sprawl with the limber grace of
a cat, and Justin leered but followed when his curiosity got the better of
him.

"Oh dear."

"What? What does it say?"

"They're...gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"In the 'but the truth remains, you're GONE' way. Although it's not really
the same, because..."

"The wedding is in a week and the fuckers are eloping? But the place, and
the flowers, and the band, the food, the flowers, the guests...oh God, the
guests! I'm going to hunt them down and drag them here even if it makes
this a shotgun wedding."

"...and they say that it's a shame for all the preparations go to waste, so
we should get married in their stead."

"WHAT??" Justin snatched the note from JC. He read it once, his face
screwed in angry lines. He read it again, and blinked rapidly, then
smiled. "So...what do you think?"

"Well, considering the fact you haven't even proposed to me-"

"Ex*cuse* me, but I think *you* should be doing the proposing. I'm younger,
after all."

"But, but... I have longer *hair*! And, I'm prettier."

"Whoa! Hold it right there. This could get real ugly real quick. Why don't
we both propose to each other... and neither of us will wear black at the
wedding. In fact, we can put it in the invitations that guests are
forbidden to have outfits that are more than forty per cent black..."

"Baby, the wedding is in seven days so I think the invitations have been
sent ages ago," JC reminded him, sending Justin scrambling for his clothes.

"Seven days! Come on, Jace, we've gotta run! The tailor will need to work
miracles, and the card people are going to kill us, or bless us for making
them millionaires, or maybe we could do that invitations electronically..."

JC's pointed cough made him turn his head back, but he still kept pulling
on his pants.

"What?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Justin blinked and frowned.

"We can see about the flowers and the band tomorrow, but we really need to
call Diane and all the other mothers as soon as we can."

"No, I meant something that you usually do before you start the wedding
preparations. Something starting with 'will you...'"

"Oh, that. Jace, babe, will you marry me?" he asked as he finished pulling
on his shirt.

JC beamed at him. "Yes!" Then he, too, started getting dressed.

"Um, JC?" Justin asked tentatively.

"Hmm, yeah?" he asked, preoccupied with buttons.

"Ask me already!" Justin whined.

JC just smiled and hummed as he combed his fingers through his hair and
headed out of the door.

"JC!"


*THE END*

(Epilogue with more wedding stuff to follow.)