Date: Thu, 12 Sep 2002 21:20:53 +0300
From: Neea P. <nea_1@hotmail.com>
Subject: (Boybands) Unlikely Unions

Disclaimer: The following is not meant to imply anything about the true
lives of the celebrities mentioned. If you do not wish to read about
homosexual themes, if you are underage, or if reading this kind of material
is illegal where you live, please do not read on.

Inspired by Izzy. She's the man.


UNLIKELY UNIONS
by Neqs

Lance knew he was what he needed the second he saw him. Raw, angry energy,
wild and furious; he'd probably by an animal in bed - hard to get there,
too. Lance loved challenges.

Lance figured that after three months of wine, art, and tender, sensual
lovemaking with JC he should balance the situation with some quick and
dirty with Eminem.

It wasn't even that difficult, really. A few enticing views of his ass and
a discreet invitation, and he soon had his mouth full of drunken rapper
dick. That was nice, but he wanted something more. A few more words, and
then they were in a hotel suit with a big, comfortable bed.

It was almost a pity how easy it was. Eminem had obliged by getting drunk
enough for the alcohol to impair his judgment, but not too drunk to get it
up. The hardest part was making contact without anyone noticing it, but
Lance was sure he'd pulled it off. He got dressed quietly, careful not to
wake up the passed-out rapper. Parts of his body were pleasantly sore, but
he has no intention of sticking around for a probably explosive
morning-after. It had been a one-time thing.

Except that it wasn't. In the next industry party Lance felt eyes on him,
and was surprised to see searing heat in the ice-blue depths. So he hadn't
been too far-gone to remember what had taken place before he passed
out. Lance was still trying to decide whether that was good or bad when the
rapper nodded towards the door. This time they fucked in the limo and Lance
spent the night.

* * *

The morning after was an interesting experience.

"Oh, fuck."

"Good morning to you too."

"Oh fucking hell, this is just what I fucking need!"

"Thanks, I guess."

"It's just fucking, okay?"

"Sure, just sex. Suits me just fine, stud. Here's my number if you need
it."

"Okay, I might just fucking call. Oh, tell anyone and you die."

"Sure thing."

"I'm not your fucking boyfriend, not in a million fucking years, you got
that?"

"Don't worry, the day I think there's something more than just sex between
us is the day you buy me a diamond ring."

* * *

Dark eyes followed Lance as he slunk out of the suite.

"What's going on, Marshall?" The man in question jumped.

"What do you mean?" Blue eyes avoided brown ones. He still wasn't dressed.

"Since when do you like guys?" That acted like an electric shock.

"What! Fuck, I ain't no faggot!"

"So what about that guy I saw leaving this morning?"

"I...um, fuck! He's nothing, trash, another ho, you know?"

Dre regarded him steadily. "You know that stuff doesn't matter to me,
right?  You can fuck men, women, or sheep for all I care. Just try not to
make the papers with it, okay?"

"Fuck yeah! He's a good fuck, but not worth...just not worth it."

As he left the suite, Dre wondered what the boy was worth, then.

* * *

"He's not there." The blonde spun around to face the voice.

"I...he called me just an hour ago." Green eyes flashed at him
calculatingly, calm but uncertain.

"Well, Hailie called him half an hour ago, and he had to leave. He won't be
back tonight."

The guy swore quietly in frustration and turned to leave.

"I could use some company, though... Since you're lonely, and I'm lonely?"

He turned slowly and his eyes scanned the black man from head to toe. He
smiled appreciatively.  "I've always liked older men."

* * *

Inside the suite, things didn't go quite as he'd expected. He was offered a
drink and some sweets, and they made small talk in the sitting area.

"My name is Andre Young, but people call me Dre."

Lance raised his eyebrow in inquiry. "'The' Dr. Dre? I thought you looked
familiar. I'm honored."  He received a smile in response. "I'm James Lance
Bass, but call me Lance, please."

"So you're a singer?" The man seemed interested, and Lance relaxed.

"I'm in Nsync, I know it's just pop but it's a living," he said a little
defensively.

"There's all kinds. I'm not a really a fan of your music, but it takes
courage to succeed in anything.  I think I remember hearing about you guys,
you're big in your field."

"Thanks. I don't listen to rap, but my friend Justin does, and I understand
you're something of a legend."

Dre guffawed. "Hardly a legend, but thank you. I like what I do so some
success is understandable."

Lance set his tumbler of whiskey down on the table. "You're too modest.
Eminem, he's a quarrelsome border baron, but you're the king of rap."

Dre eyed the younger man crawling seductively to him with hunger. "A
starfucker, hmm?"

"Let's just say I've never had my ass reamed by royalty before. Besides,
you're one hot man and you know it yourself. A boy's got needs..."

"I'll see what I can do about those."

* * *

Later that evening Lance fell in his bed with a dreamy sigh and a
wince. Oh, he was sore, but it was the blissful kind of soreness, the kind
that would allow him to remember every detail of the evening for a day or
two.

It had been such a novel experience just to talk with someone who accepted
him as he was, and didn't idolize him or force him to apologize for
it. From the first minute, he could tell that Dre was a man who'd seen
things and learned from them. The age difference didn't bother him; it made
him feel flattered and safe somehow. Besides, it was just a fuck, a great
one, but still just a fuck. Even if the man had treated him well, like a
true gentleman.

He'd been literally swept off his feet and deposited on the wide bed. It
was unbelievably arousing to be with someone so powerful, so masculine and
sure of himself. Eminem was so full of bluff and bluster and badly hidden
uncertainty, but Dre was Man all over.

And the sex had been out of this world.

Lance had grown up to believe that there were certain rules to sex: I do
this and then you do that, and then we do this. Dre had thrown all his
preconceptions out the window, touching him in places he'd never thought of
as sexual and making him delirious with pleasure. He'd refocused when he
felt his legs being gently coaxed onto the black man's shoulders, and
eagerly helped as much as he could. The slow, steady penetration had left
Lance squirming and gasping for more, and moaning and thrashing in ecstasy
when he got what he asked for.

He hadn't realized how much he'd missed kissing during sex. To share his
breath with someone else, someone with whom he was at the same time
intimately connected, to match the tongue action with the rhythm of the hip
thrusts.

After it was over Lance would have liked nothing better than being able to
sleep for a week and then do it again. However, an apologetic Dre shook him
out of his daze.

"Lance, I'm sorry, but you can't stay the night. Marshall will probably
stop by in the morning, and he probably wouldn't like the fact you made do
with me while he was gone."

"Didn't make do nuthin, you were amazin', better'n him, wonderful..." This
time Dre chuckled as he shook Lance.

"Thanks, but I'm serious. C'mon, I'll give you a ride back to your hotel."
He'd even given him a kiss before dropping him off. Lance sighed
again. What a gentleman! Even though he knew Lance and Eminem were fucking,
he hadn't treated him with any less respect. A pity it was just a one-time
thing.

Except that it wasn't.

* * *

Dre shut the door and poured himself a drink. He flopped into the armchair
and tried to figure out what the hell had happened.

He'd just had sex with a man. That wasn't so unusual, even though he
usually went for women.  He'd been around the block enough times to realize
gender didn't mean shit.

The boy had been delicious, a bit young at twenty-three, but he'd seemed
intelligent and mature for his age. Lance was his name. Dre made a point to
remember the names of the people he fucked, it was just decent. Of course
he tried to make them enjoy it as much as he did, but it didn't hurt to be
nice about it too.

Dre didn't understand why he couldn't get the low-voiced boy out of his
head. He'd been with better-looking men and women, and with people he had
more in common with.  Although he was sure they'd have lots of things in
common if they only had a chance to sit and talk. But they didn't have that
chance. Or did they?

He knew there wasn't anything serious going on between Lance and Marshall,
he'd heard that much from both of them. They were just fucking. He was
surprised Marshall would do even that much with a guy, but then again what
he'd gone through with Kim might have turned him off women
completely. Couldn't really blame him.

Dre wanted to see Lance again, but he couldn't do it while Lance was still
having something with Marshall. The boy was clearly something more than
just one of Marshall's hos, and he couldn't treat him like one.

* * *

The next time Lance and Eminem fucked, Lance felt like something was
missing. There were no caresses here, no feeling of security. Just a fast,
furious rut towards an orgasm that left him unsatisfied. When he tried to
kiss Eminem, he got a stinging slap in the face that made him gasp.

"What part of 'just fucking' did you not get, bitch?

Lance felt his lip for blood and found none. He was oddly disappointed, but
hadn't really expected anything more. "Jeez, you could've just said it! No
need to fucking hit me!"

He dressed with calm, precise movements that would have belied his fury to
someone who knew him better, and turned to go. Over his shoulder he said:
"Oh, and my number?  Fucking lose it, man.  I won't answer your calls. Bye,
it's been real."

Lance had thought this was what he wanted after JC's sweetness and light:
hard, vitalizing, lust- driven sex. Now he wasn't sure. If he wanted to
feel alive and desirable he might just as well do it with someone who
treated him with a little respect.

* * *

He called Dre the next day. He hadn't expected how hard it would be to get
the number, especially when he didn't want people wondering why he wanted
to talk him.

"This is Dre." Just hearing his voice made something inside Lance go still
and warm.

"Hey, it's Lance." He hoped he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

"Oh, hello. How have you been?"

"Okay, I guess. Listen, could I see you?"

"I'd like that, but I don't think it's a good idea while-"

"I'm not fucking Em anymore. It's over, I ended it yesterday."

"What- okay. Why don't you come over, I've got a place not far from town.
I'll send a limo for you."

"I...Thanks. See you then."

* * *

The limo ride seemed to take forever, but it was less than an hour. The
'place' was really a mansion, though, complete with a ten-foot high
security fence with cameras. Dre met him at the door, his eyes instantly
zooming on Lance's lip.

"What happened to you?" Lance's silence told him all he needed to know.
"Fucking punk! I'll bust his ass! I know he's been through some rough shit
but that's no excuse for this!"

"Hey! Whoa, calm down. It's nothing, doesn't really hurt anymore, and it
made me think about things. Really, I don't want any trouble. Can we just
forget about it?"

Dre couldn't ignore the plea in Lance's eyes, those eyes he'd dreamed
about, asleep and awake.  "Forget- sure, fine. Come on in. Would you like
something to drink?"

"Sure, some Jack D would hit the spot."

Dre directed him to a couch and fixed him a drink. He stiffened in anger
when Lance winced, the alcohol burning the cut on his lip. He reached out a
finger and carefully touched the lip, admiring the contrast of his dark
skin against Lance's pale complexion and pink mouth. He raised his eyes to
Lance's when the younger man kissed his finger.

"I guess we should talk." Lance nodded, his face a mask of calm despite the
emotions darkening his eyes.

"Yeah. I, um, I really enjoyed spending time with you. Not just the, uh,
sex, but also talking to you."

"I liked it too. So what do we do now?"

"I'd like some more, talking, and the other stuff too." Lance was blushing
suddenly. "After I got out of my previous relationship, I thought all I
wanted was some hot sex and excitement, no emotional ties, zero
romance. Now..."

"Is that what you meant about Marshall making you think about things?"
Lance nodded. "I guess there's something good about everything. I, I wanted
to call you, but it wouldn't have been fair when you still had that thing
going with Marshall, whatever it was."

"It's over now. That slap was the last straw."

"I'd like to-"

"Forget it, please. It was actually your fault, you know."

"MY fault? How's that?"

"You did something to me that night...you left me wanting something Em
couldn't give. You could say you've ruined me."

Dre's frown transformed into a tender smile full of amusement. "I guess I
could say the same thing about you."

Lance's face brightened with hope. "Really?"

"Yes. There's something about you that has captured me. I can't say what
exactly, I'd need time to figure it out, but-"

"I can give you all the time you need," Lance said quietly, with a hidden
glow about him. Dre almost had to squint his eyes to see him properly.

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh' is right." They grinned at each other in perfect understanding.

"Starting right now."

"Right now, huh? I'd better hurry..."

"Take your time-" Lance was about to continue, but a hot mouth on his and
big hands touching him exactly where he needed to be touched made speech
impossible.

* * *

Marshall frowned at his phone. Lance wasn't answering his calls; all he got
was the machine. He hadn't thought he'd really been serious about his
threat. Huh. It'd been just a little slap; he'd gotten worse from his
mother before he could walk. Besides, if Lance wouldn't even talk to him,
how could he apologize?

He still didn't know what had made him go with Lance that night. Maybe it
was the eyes. They were so pale and shit, mysterious. And he had a really
great ass, for a guy anyway. Marshall had never fucked a guy before
Lance. The idea had revolted him, and he still wasn't really comfortable
with it. That didn't make it any less incredible, though. He'd never
ass-fucked a woman, and all those...ass muscles (the thought made him
uncomfortable)... felt amazing when they squeezed his dick.

There was something really sexy about Lance. It was the ass and the eyes
and that irritating crooked smile he had. His small feet and delicate
hands, and the way he'd looked over his shoulder when he left. It had taken
Marshall a few minutes to realize he wasn't coming back.  And a few days to
realize he wasn't coming back, ever.

He hadn't meant to slap him. It'd been reflex, instinct. He had no reason
to hurt Lance, who squirmed under him so free of restraint, blinked
furiously when he came in warm splashes on his stomach, and collapsed into
a boneless, adorable heap after orgasm.

He couldn't find and explanation for the emptiness that had seeped into the
pit of his stomach after Lance was gone. There'd never been anything there,
hell no. It was the bitch that was supposed to have an empty feeling
there. He was puzzled and that pissed him off.

He needed to talk to Lance and explain. Maybe even say he was sorry. But
first he had to get in touch with Lance. He sat down to think about
it. Dre! Dre would know what to do.

* * *

About an hour's drive from the city, a phone rang.

Lance giggled and took a gentle nip at his lover's shoulder. "Don't answer
that."

"What if it's something important?" Dre's tone was lazy though; he had no
intention of letting go of the man in his arms.

"'Something important?' What could be more important than this?" Lance's
attempt to sound indignant was ruined by the laughter threatening to
bubble.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," Dre murmured into his ear, pulling him
closer. Lance snuggled in happily, sighing into the crook of Dre's neck. A
cool breeze from the garden made the heat less oppressing and the soft
lapping sounds from the pool lulled them into sleep.

* * *

Marshall resembled a statue as he stood in the doorway; he was so still and
lifeless. Only his eyes moved, roaming over the peaceful forms intertwined
on the tousled bed. He spied an antique sword on the wall, a dangerous
decoration. His hands itched for it, but he restrained himself when a
thought overcame the dozens of others buzzing in his mind. He reached into
his pocket and pulled something out. He regarded the object for a moment,
weighing it on his palm.  Then he threw it out of the window where made a
muted splash when it landed in the pool.

Someone would be surprised to find a jeweler's box with a diamond ring in
it at the bottom of Dre's pool one day.

*The End*

Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please send some to nea_1@hotmail.com if
you have time.