Date: Tue, 28 Sep 1999 22:54:39 GMT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Lance-In-Shining-Armour-1-2

Let's start off with the obvious.  This is FICTION!  To my knowledge,
none of the members of NSYNC are gay.  (Though I have some suspicions
and a heck of a lot of wishful thinking. :)

Second, sexual content may (probably will) appear in future installments (if
there are future installments).  So if you don't wanna read man/man sex,
then skip the stories that have the sex warning at the top.  Otherwise, it's
just a story with some romantic elements.  I believe that if  the sex is
going to be worth writing, it needs the proper build-up.  A story that goes
"Look there's Lance!  Hey, he's dropping his pants.  Now I'm sucking him"
doesn't really interest me. :)

If it's illegal for you to read this, then don't read this.  :)

If you happen to be a member of the NSYNC group, please, email me. :)

If you aren't in NSYNC, I'd still love to hear what you thought of the
story. Email me at thepoetboy@hotmail.com

Thanks, and now for part one of my first submitted story! :)


Lance in Shining Armour
Part 1

I woke up to a wall of pain.  There was no way around it, everything hurt.
And I'm a sucker for pain, I can't stand it.  But there's a difference
between avoiding pain and living with it, so I opened my eyes.

The room was dark.  There was some light coming in from the hall and a
bit more through the cheap curtains.  It took a moment for my eyes to
adjust, and it was a constant battle not to slip back into sleep.

There's no pain in sleep.

Hospital room.  How did I manage to get into the hospital?

It was a small single room, with (as I happily noticed) a private bathroom.
A nurse walked by the door but didn't look in.  I noticed someone sleeping
in the chair over by the window.  Lord, someone called my mother.  She'll be
complaining about her back for weeks after this.

Now that I knew where I was, I gave up and let my eyes close again.  She can
save her complaining until morning for all I care.

***

When I woke up again, the room was bright an hot.  The curtains were
still closed, but they didn't do much to keep out the full sun.  Not that I
minded much, I just worried about my plants back in my rez room -- I hope I
closed the curtains.

The chair was empty.  It's not like my mother to wander away when her
son is unconscious in a hospital bed with . . .. What happened anyway?

The toilet flushed (mystery solved) and I could hear the sink start up.

"Mom," I yelled, "can you go water my plants?"

It wasn't my mother who came out of the bathroom.  It was no-one I
knew.

"Your mom is talking with the police, she'll be back in a few hours."

This created another mystery.  Why would Lance Bass be using my toilet?

Unfortunately, sleep beat me to my next question.

***

This time, I woke up convinced I'd stay awake.  And the pain had
lessened, not enough for my taste, but I'm not picky.  My eyes opened and
there he was looking down at me, leaning over the bed and staring straight
at my face.

"Beautiful, aren't I?"

He smiled. "Best looking gunshot victim on the floor."

Gunshot.  That'll mean a scar.  A big scar.  Crap.

"Check my IV -- I don't want them force feeding me liquid steak."

"You aren't on an IV, Mr. Vegetarian.  And do IVs even work like that?"

I laughed and then gulped it back -- Lord, that hurt.  And Lance knew I was
a vegetarian.  Mr. Lance Bass knew I was a vegetarian.

I looked up at him.  He looked very concerned and started to reach out for
the nurse call button at the head of the bed, but I shook my head and he
stopped.

"They can give you something for the pain."

"Between having pain and having a muddled brain, I'll choose pain, thank
you.  Especially if a muddled brain will keep me from remembering that I'm
friends with a blond boy with a deep voice who just so happens to be world
famous.  Or are you just candy-striping in your spare time?"

"I came to see you."

"Why?"

He sat on the side of the bed, pulling the blankets up.  I pulled them back
down to my waste, it was too hot for blankets.  I'd have taken the blankets
all the way off, but I didn't no what sort of outfit the nurses had put me
in.  I don't trust hospital clothing trends.

"You remember Jason from the States, you've been emailing him for
about six months now?"

Lord, even his accent was cute.  And normally I don't like deep voices, but
Lance's was so soothing.

"I remember Jason, yeah."

"Well, change his name to James Lance Bass, put him on the road with a
band and you've got me."  Lance smiled at me, but he looked a bit
nervous.  He started playing with his watch.

"I've been emailing you for six months?"

Lance nodded apologetically.

"And you never thought to tell me you were you?"

Lance's smile faded.  "It gets weird when you drop the fake names."

"And you came all the way to Toronto . . . how did you find out I was
here?"

"One of your friends sent a mass mail to everyone in your address book
when you. . . were injured.  I came as soon as I could."

"You thought of me as a good enough friend to have to come up here from . .
. where were you?"

"New York."

"From New York, but you couldn't tell me your name?"

"Sorry."

I made him squirm a bit and then smiled and shrugged.  "When do they
serve breakfast around here?"

He was obviously relieved.  He let out a breath he must've been holding for
. . . . since whenever he decided to come up here.  I'm not much for
grudges, and if the guy bothered to come all the way from New York to
Toronto to see me in my downtime, there's nothing I can't forgive him for.
He was smiling from ear to ear, as if the sun didn't light up the room more
than enough already.

"I can get a nurse," he smiled as he jumped off the bed.

"I was kidding, I don't feel much like eating."

"Not surprising.  The shot got you in the stomach."

"Great.  Stomach scar.  If this was a made for tv movie, there'd be a chart
on the end of the bed.  Pass it to me, please?"

He sat back down.  "No chart, Davey."

I narrowed my eyes at him -- I hate being called Davey.  "Well, reality just
sucks, doesn't it?"

He laughed again, getting comfortable on the side of the bed without
causing too much movement -- he kept looking at me to make sure his
movement wasn't causing me pain.

I didn't notice much -- they pain was a constant, a bit of variance didn't
change anything.

"Why haven't they drugged me into incoherency?"

"Your mother convinced them not to -- she knows how much you hate
drugs.  She said something about wisdom teeth and you refusing to take
any pain killers at all after they were out."

"Where is she, anyway?"

"She'll call later.  She had to get some sleep."

My eyelids were starting a winning battle.  I stifled a yawn as much as I
could before my body responded with a wave of pain.

Lance laughed at me, "Just give up, it'll hurt less."

I smiled back, "Glad to see my pain is keeping you entertained."

He pushed the hair back off my forehead.  I could see right up his nose.  He
looked at me strangely as I started my painful attempts to hold back the
laughter.

"What," he asked, clearly confused.

"I never thought I'd be looking up Lance Bass' nose."

He climbed off the bed, laughing and moved over to the chair.

"Go to sleep, Davey, I'll still be here when you wake up."

"Why?"

"Cause you're my friend and I'm worried about you.  Now go to sleep -- I
refuse to say another word to you until you've slept."

Finally, sleep (and Lance) won out.

***

There was a man in a white coat standing beside my bed.  He was looking
through a chart and didn't seem to notice I was awake.  There was no Lance.
So much for sticking around.

"How long do I have, doc?"

He looked at me and (jeez, a lot of this seems to be happening -- I should
get shot more often) smiled over his reading glasses.  He was middle aged
and a bit pudgy, but I can see that he must've been cute.  A few decades
ago.

"Sadly, you've only got about another eighty or so years."

I rubbed the sleep crud out of my eyes.  "What day is it?"

"It's the 28th."

Only two days.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.

"And I'm trapped here for how much longer?"

"We're going to try you on some basic foods.  If that works out, you'll
probably only be here for two or three more days.  The wound isn't too
serious, and I patched you up like a pro.  You can start with the media
circus whenever you want."

"Media?"

"You're a hero -- they'll all want to see you.  The crowd has been getting
bigger since they found out about your visitor."

Visitor?  Damn.  Lance.  They found about Lance.  No wonder he left.

"Can you tell them I died?"

"Nope -- your mother already told them you were doing fine.  She's sorry she
can't be here, but she'll call.  She had to fly back out to Calgary."

I had a secret celebration in my head.

"I'll check back in with you in a couple of hours -- just ring the nurse if
you need anything."

He turned and left.  I stared at the ceiling and slowly my attention was
drawn to the television.  No sense boring myself to death after surviving a
gunshot.  Unfortunately, someone was bright enough to leave the remote on
top of the television.  I'd have to get a chair over there, and I didn't
even know if I could stand up yet.

Then I noticed Lance peering out of the bathroom.  When he saw I was
alone, he smiled and came to sit on the side of the bed.

"The media knows you're here, Lance."

"Call me James."

"I think the media might see through that."

"No, I meant for you.  Call me James.  I get tired of being called Lance."

"How long are you staying, Jimmy?"

He glared at me.

"I've got to leave on Saturday at the latest.  Then the group's gotta go to
Chicago for a concert, Davey."

I matched his glare, then we both broke into laughter (some more
painfully than others, the bastard. :)

"I've got a mission for you, James.  You've got to scale the chair in search
of the mysterious tv remote."  It'd give me a minute to check out his butt.
"Do you choose to accept?"

He saluted and dragged the chair into place.  He got a 7 for efficiency, and
8 for speed, and a 10 for his butt.

"Mission accomplished."

"Very nice," I said, barely referring to the remote, "Very nice indeed."

He raised one of his perfect eyebrows at me.  If he doesn't have to pluck
those babies, then there is no God.

"How're you feeling, Davey?"

"Not bad, really.  Considering.  You heard the doc, right?  I should be
outta here by Thursday.  Hopefully, by then someone will have thought of me
enough to send me flowers or something -- there's a limited amount of time I
can use a hole in my belly to cash in on gifts."  I giggled. (Horrible
habit, but I enjoy it. :)

Lance nearly folded over with laughter He went over to the bathroom, and
swung the door open to display a bathroom nearly filled with flowers and
teddy bears and cards.  My eyes widened in shock.

"Your mother said to do this, because of your allergies," he fell to his
knees laughing, with tears running down his cheeks.  "It's like trying to
pee in a florists."

I started laughing so hard that the pain nearly made me black out.

We'd nearly calmed down when the pollen finally got to me.  I sneezed. I
thought he'd die of laughter.

I guess you probably had to be there. :)

***

Part 2

"James?"

He was in the chair over by the window -- it was dark.  Well, as dark as
Toronto ever gets.  I think I woke him.

"Yeah?"

"What happened to me?"

The hallway was silent, no nurses and no patients.  A tv was on
somewhere down the hall, but the volume was low.  Lance was sitting in a
chair a million miles away, across cold tiles in a dark room.

"You saved a girl from her father.  You took the shot he meant for her.  You
saved her life."

I quietly thought about it.  It didn't sound familiar.

"You're sure it was me?"

"You've got a hole in your stomach?"

"Apparently."

"Then it was you, Mr. Hero."

"The girl's alright?"

"She's fine."

"Thanks."

I rolled over to go back to sleep.  Immediately realizing that rolling over
wasn't a good idea, I flopped back onto my back.

"James?  Take my keys, you can use my room.  You don't have to sleep in a
chair."

"Just go to sleep, Davey."

***

I woke up to here Lance talking to someone.

"But I am family -- he's my brother."

"I don't buy it.  You're blond and you've got an accent."

"I swear, I am his brother.  Just ask the nurse down the hall."

Another voice walked by in the hall.  It was higher than the one talking to
Lance.  "It's true, Leslie.  David's mother vouched for him."

Leslie was getting mad.  "I don't buy it."

The hall voice came again, echoing up the hall.  "Give it up, Leslie. It
doesn't matter anyway."

Leslie came into the room and dropped the tray on the table beside the
bed.  I pretended she woke me up just so that I could giver her a proper
death stare.

"Your brother can feed you then," she said.

"I can feed myself, thanks," I yawned back.

Lance stayed beside the door, and managed to hold back his smile until
Leslie marched out.

"My mother vouched for you?"

"She did.  She couldn't stay, but she didn't want to leave you alone. I was
a perfect solution."

"Well, one good thing came of this -- I slept through every one of her
visits."

He picked up a dish from the table.  Lime Jell-O.

"Your mom is a nice lady."

"You haven't really met her.  You've met her guilt personae.  Totally
different woman."

He spooned out a bit of Jell-O and brought it towards me with an air plane
sound effect.

"I'll pass.  Gelatin.  Can't eat it.  I'd go to hell."

His eyebrows came together -- almost.  Maybe he plucked them a bit too
much.

"Jell-O is meat?"

"I think it qualifies.  It qualifies enough for me."

His eyebrows lifted hopefully.  Jeez, I'm fixated by his eyebrows.

I shook my head.  "Go ahead, eat it."

I watched him as he polished it off.  I wonder how much he's eaten since he
showed up.  He always seems to be here.  I wasn't hungry, so I raised the
head of the bed and passed him the entire tray.

"No no no, Davey.  You're supposed to try eating so you can get out of
here."

"I'm not hungry."

"Doesn't make a damn bit of difference.  Eat."

So I ate.  Just the oatmeal.  The clumped up, cold oatmeal.  I let Lance eat
the rest.  In a way it was his punishment for making me eat.  I sentenced
him to hospital food.  He served his sentence happily, and quickly.

"Why don't you find the cafe and get a full meal, James?  I can survive for
a few minutes without you."

He seemed uncertain.  He paused with a spoon of something white
halfway to his mouth.  I tried my death stare on him.  He got the point.

I got to watch his butt again as he left.

Hero.  Not a cool little word.  The last thing I needed was media attention,
and the last thing Lance needed was his name joined with mine in media
attention.  If the newspapers asked my friends, and my friends were chatty
at the time, I'd be outed in the papers.  Lines would immediately be drawn
between me and Lance, and I knew Lance had trouble with rumours like that
already.

And he wasn't even gay!  Jason never even mentioned guys.  Lance, not
Jason.  Lance WAS Jason.

I'd met Jas . . . La . . . .JAMES.  I'd met James through a poetry workshop
online.  He'd joined up and I critiqued some of his writing -- it seemed
more like song lyrics than poems.  We'd hit it off and exchanged a lot of
work outside of the workshop.  My writing outed me, so at least I knew that
didn't bother him.

What if the press put some of my poems out?  But they couldn't, not
without my permission.  But they could paraphrase.  Shit.  A paraphrase of
"my god collects pornography" would out me.

But I'm out.  It's not my problem.  It's James' problem.

Which makes it my problem.

Closeted by association.

It was now that the doctor made his grand re-entry.

"How're you today?  Ate everything, I see."  I didn't have the heart to
correct him.  "Good work, David.  How's it sitting?  Any pain?"

I took the easy route and said "no."  I hate doctors and hospitals.  The
sooner I got out of here, the sooner I could heal as far as I was concerned.
  My mother had far too many hospital stories about me already.

The doctor sat down in James' spot, on the edge of the bed.

"We're getting more and more calls from people who want to talk to you.
Feel up to it yet?"

There was James at the door with a tray piled with food.  He was listening
closely.

"Not yet, doc.  I don't even know what I'd say yet."

"No rush.  But they might not be willing to go away empty handed.  A
little comment now could get rid of them."

"So far they haven't bugged me."

The doctor laughed.  "You should see the nurses in reception.  You're
running them ragged.  And in a few days you won't have the hospital to
keep the press away anymore."

I just nodded, lost in thought.  Whenever I'd had fantasies about being a
hero, I'd died in the end.  There were never any messy media relations to
work out.  I saved people, I died.  That's the perfect hero.  Who wants a
hero who just wanders off when he's done, and sits around and ages,
accomplishing nothing that even compares to that one heroic act.

The doctor drew me back to the hospital room.  "Do you want anything
else to eat?  We don't want to overdo it, but a bit more wouldn't matter."

James finally stepped all the way into the room, making his presence
known.  "Davey can eat off my tray if he wants anything."

The doctor laughed (who can trust a doctor who is always laughing and
smiling?) and told me he'd be back before wandering off to laugh at his next
patient.

"Careful with that," I said, turning my attention to James.  "I have a
theory that hospital food is designed to keep you sick or make you sick.
Gets more money for the hospital."

"We could be roommates.  A nice little double room.  Then again, your
bed looks big enough for two anyway."

This time it was MY carefully plucked eyebrow that went up.  Mr. Spock
had trained me well.  James didn't seem to notice, or maybe he was as
good at pretending as I thought I was.

Either way, here was a gorgeous, famous blond boy, who was incredibly
sweet and in desperate need of a shower, eating a pile of hospital food and
making sexual innuendoes in my direction.

Right then I knew I had enough material for a million wet dreams.  And it
got better.

***

Thus ends part two.  I have some basic ideas of where I want this to go, but
nothing firm (ahem, that was meant "storywise").  Hopefully there's someone
out there that feels this is worth continuing, cause I'm enjoying it. :) So
stay tuned for part three!

And email me with comments, critiques, etc at thepoetboy@hotmail.com