Date: Sat, 07 Dec 2002 22:36:44 +0200
From: Neea P. <nea_1@hotmail.com>
Subject: (Boybands) Needing You chapter 28

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...

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 take requests if I find them interesting, and I often do. Thanks
for the wonderful feedback I've received so far!