Date: Wed, 17 Jul 2002 18:36:36 -0400 From: Writer Boy Subject: thieves - part 16 Obligatory warnings and disclaimers: 1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here. 2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction. Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them. *** "Are we sure we want to do this?" JC asked, standing between Chris and Joey in the hallway, outside of Wade and Justin's door. "Yes," the other two answered together, nodding. "Who's doing the talking?" JC asked. The other two looked at him hopefully. "Oh, come on you guys. Why is it always me?" "Because it just always is," Chris said, shrugging. "We'll do it together," Joey said, smiling. He looked at JC. "Go ahead and knock." JC knocked, wondering why he had to do it when they were allegedly doing this together. It was always his turn to be the leader, or to be the one who brought the other guys bad news. If something came down from management, JC told them. If they lost their vacation, or had to add in another rehearsal, it was always JC, and if one of them had to be spoken to about something they'd said or done, it was always JC who had to cushion the blow. Figuring that Wade and Justin might be in the bedroom already (actually, he thought, it was practically a given, since they'd been in the room alone for more than ten minutes), he knocked louder, banging on the door with his closed fist. The bodyguard in the hall looked at them curiously, wondering if something might be wrong in Justin's room, but Chris shook his head, giving him an "everything's ok" gesture. When they still didn't answer it, Joey raised a hand began knocking, not stopping until Wade jerked the door open, bare chested and sweaty, holding a sheet around his waist. "What?" he barked as Joey finally lowered his hand. "We need to talk to you," Joey said. "And Justin," Chris added. "Both of you." "Now?" Wade asked incredulously. First Lance was banging on the wall in the middle of the night, and now the other guys were pounding on the door. What the hell was going on around here? "Now," JC answered firmly, pushing his way inside. "Go get Justin, and get dressed. We need to see both of you." "Wade?" Justin called from the bedroom, confused. "We'll be right out," Wade said, pissed. He stalked into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. The other three looked at each other, and sat down, waiting for the two of them to get dressed. Over in Lance's suite, Mitch stared at him, stunned, as his brain turned over what Lance had just said. "You know?" Mitch asked quietly. Lance nodded. "Yeah, I know," Lance answered. "How?" Mitch asked. There was no point in denying it. He knew Lance well enough by now to know he wouldn't lie. Sadly, he couldn't say the same for himself. "I thought I was careful." "You were, I think," Lance said. "It was just a little slip, really, and I only found out because I wanted to do something else for you, something else to help you. After the other night, I was thinking about how you hadn't talked to your family in years. I was thinking about the way you said they treated you, and how they didn't know what they'd done, didn't know what they'd driven you to, so I thought I would hire someone to find them, and that maybe you guys could talk." "Oh, God," Mitch said, turning away. It figured. Lance, again, had been trying to do something kind, to do something Mitch would never have expected, and it had undone him. "I told you I didn't want to talk to them." "You told me a lot of things," Lance said. His voice was flat, neutral, and Mitch couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling. "Were any of them true? Any of them at all? Or was that just a story?" "No, Lance," Mitch said, hobbling back to the table. If they were going to have this discussion, the least he could do was look Lance in the eye. He stood, a few feet away, and stared down at him. "It was true, all of it. Everything I told you about my friends, and my family, and how I ended up on the street, it was all true, except for my name." "I know," Lance said again. He felt a little relieved, knowing that Mitch hadn't lied about everything. He wondered for a second why he believed him on that point, when he'd been dishonest about so much else, but for some reason, he did. "There aren't any Hawks in Alcoa. I thought maybe they'd sold their house and moved, but you never went to the high schools, either, not even the private ones. There's no record of you there, anywhere, or your family. I told them to check again, but it's true. There is no Mitchell Hawk in Alcoa, and there never has been." "You would have been ok looking for Jonathan Mitchell Prescott, though," Mitch said. He smiled ruefully. "They've always called me Mitch, because Jon is also my father's name, and my grandfather's." "Oh," Lance said, nodding. He wasn't sure what else he should say. "You knew all day, didn't you?" Mitch asked. Lance nodded. "You knew all day. It's what you were on the phone about. You probably worked on it yesterday, too, while I was at the hotel." Lance nodded again as Mitch turned away, crutching back over toward the windows. "You still set all this up, though," Mitch said. "You still lined me up a job, and kept me here in your room, and didn't treat me any differently, even though you knew I lied to you. Why, Lance, why did you do that?" He felt Lance's hand on his shoulder, jumping a little. He hadn't even heard his chair move. When Lance answered, his voice was soft, but firm. "I did it because I love you." JC, Chris, and Joey all looked up as Justin and Wade came walking slowly out of the bedroom. Wade, wearing a robe and probably nothing underneath, still looked pissed, but Justin looked a little scared in his pajama pants and white beater. They all wanted to reassure him, but even Justin could tell that something serious was wrong if they all came to the door when they knew what he and Wade were doing. "What did you need to talk to us about?" Justin asked quietly, looking from one to the other, trying to read their faces. He sat on the couch next to Wade, holding Wade's hand tightly in both of his own as Wade ran his other hand in circles over Justin's back, trying to keep him calm. "We, um, we," Chris began, and looked to JC, his voice faltering. JC sighed. "Justin, there isn't an easy way to say this," JC said, his lips pressed together into a thin line. "We need to talk to Wade about something, and you need to hear it, too." "What?" Wade demanded. "You're upsetting me, and you're upsetting Justin. Whatever your problem is now, just spit it out." "Fine," Joey said. "I heard you in the lobby earlier, Wade. I heard everything you said to Mitch." "That's none of your fucking business!" Wade said quickly. "You made it our business!" Joey snapped back. Both of them looked like they were about to jump out of their chairs. "Stop, please," Justin said quietly, his eyes darting back and forth between them. "Why are you shouting? Baby, what did Joey hear?" "Nothing, Justin," Wade said quickly, hugging him. His eyes dared the others to challenge him, but they'd had enough. With what they'd heard, they had all agreed in the lobby that it was time to solve the Wade problem. "Right, guys?" "Wrong," Chris said, not smiling. They weren't happy to do this to Justin, but they were damn happy to be rid of Wade. Wade blinked in surprise, but JC kept going before he could say anything else. "Justin, Wade offered Mitch fifty thousand dollars to leave and never talk to any of us, or Lance, again," JC said, hoping Wade wouldn't make them share the rest. If he was smart, he would just let this go, and walk away. "He told Mitch it was from all of us, and let Mitch think that none of us wanted him here." "What?" Justin asked, letting go of Wade's hands. He stared at him. "Justin, baby," Wade began, reaching out for him, and Justin slid back across the couch. "You lied?" Justin asked. "You lied to Mitch, and to us? You promised you would leave it alone, that you would go with what we decided. You promised, Wade!" "Justin, I did it for you," Wade said quickly, catching one of Justin's hands. Justin shook his head in confusion, unsure of who to trust, his boyfriend or his best friends. "I did it to protect you, Justin. I know I lied, a little, but I did it because I love you, that's all, because I love you." Joey caught JC's eyes, and JC nodded sadly. "That's not all I heard, Justin," Joey said quietly. "Wade was, um, he." "Shut up!" Wade screamed. "Just shut up, you fat piece of shit!" "He came on to Mitch, Justin," Joey said firmly, over Wade's protest and Justin's sharp gasp at what Wade had just called Joey. "He tried to get with Mitch, Justin, behind your back and behind Lance's." "No," Justin whispered, jumping up off of the couch. He backed away from Wade, shaking his head, but he didn't need to ask. He could see that it was true, all of it, from the look on Wade's face. "Justin, please," Wade said, watching Justin's face, realizing that everything was slipping away and he hadn't even seen it coming. He walked toward Justin, reaching out again. "We can talk this out, Justin. If you just let me explain, just you and me." "Don't touch me," Justin said coldly. His back hit the wall, and he stood up straight, staring into Wade's eyes. Wade reached out for him again, and Justin raised his voice a little. "Don't fucking touch me!" "Baby, don't be like this," Wade said. The others stood, afraid that he might do something to Justin, might hurt him in some other way. "If we can just talk." "I don't want to talk to you," Justin said, shaking his head. His voice was cold, his eyes dry. "You lied to me. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you, and I don't want to touch you. I don't want you near me. I'm going to sleep in JC's room tonight, ok?" "That's fine," JC said quickly. He wondered why Justin wasn't crying, and wondered if he might be in shock. Wade, on the other hand, now had tears in his eyes, his face turning red, and JC wondered if maybe Wade really did love Justin after all. If he did, he'd blown it. "Thank you," Justin said, nodding at him. "Wade, I'm going to go now, over to JC's room, and I don't want to see you anymore. I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to listen to you, and I don't want you to be here in the morning. You lied to me." "Justin, please," Wade moaned wretchedly, sinking to his knees in front of Justin. The four of them stared at him, watching tears run down his cheeks as he stared up at Justin, waiting for Justin to take him back. JC put a hand on Justin's shoulder and guided him toward the door. "Come on, Justin," he said, pulling him gently. Justin moved slowly, like a sleepwalker. They stepped into the hallway, and when the room door clicked closed, cutting off the sight and sound of Wade breaking down, Justin burst into tears. JC held him tightly, unsure of what else to do. Mitch turned, staring into Lance's eyes. "What?" Mitch asked. "I love you," Lance repeated. "You don't even know me," Mitch said quietly. "I'm not who you think I am, Lance." "Because you didn't tell me your real name?" Lance asked. "It doesn't matter to me, Mitch. You had a good reason, whatever it was, for what you did, and it doesn't change who you are, not to me." Mitch laughed bitterly, stepping away from him. "It doesn't change who I am?" Mitch asked, laughing. He didn't mean to, didn't want to, but Lance just didn't seem to understand. "I'm a thief, Lance. That's who I am. I threw myself in front of your van on purpose so that I could get close to you." "What?" Lance asked, stepping away. "You heard me, Lance," Mitch said sharply. "I was supposed to get close to you, and gain your trust. Then I was going to get proof that you were gay, and I was going to blackmail you. I was going to do it for money, Lance. That's who I am. That's the guy you think you're in love with." Lance turned away, taking it all in. He knew that Mitch must have had a reason for lying, for not telling him his real name, but he didn't think it would be this. He never would have guessed this in a million years. "That's not who you are," Lance said quietly. "It is, Lance," Mitch insisted. "Everything else might be a lie, but that's the truth. I'm a thief. I came to steal from you." "That isn't the truth, Mitch," Lance argued, shaking his head. "That isn't the truth. It doesn't have to be." "Lance, I was going to blackmail you," Mitch said again, wondering if he just wasn't getting it. "But you're not going to," Lance said, shaking his head. "You were going to, but you can't now. You could have gone along with this, could have stuck around, could have taken the job, but you didn't. You told me the truth, Mitch." "You're right," Mitch said, nodding. "But that doesn't change anything, Lance. Just because I'm not going to blackmail you now doesn't mean everything is ok. It doesn't suddenly make me the person you think I am." Lance turned to him again, staring into his blue eyes. "Mitch, you're already the person I think you are," he said firmly. "Lance, don't," Mitch said, shaking his head. He felt like he was dying inside. "Don't see something that isn't there." "I'm not," Lance said, taking Mitch's arm. He led him toward the couch, sitting him down and setting his crutches aside. "Mitch, you just told me that you were going to hurt me, but you didn't. That's not who you are. You're smart, and funny, and loyal. You're kind, Mitch, and caring. Am I wrong? Am I?" "I'm not, I can't hurt you, Lance," Mitch said finally, looking down. Their hands were linked. "Then take the job, Mitch," Lance said. "Take the job, and walk away from whatever this is you were supposed to do. You've already taken the first step. Please." Mitch sighed, looking at their hands again. "Lance, I've never met anyone like you," Mitch said finally. "I've never met someone who doesn't want anything from me. I don't know what to think, or how to feel, when you say things like that. Every time I turn around, you're there, and you just want to help me, and that, I don't know how to deal with that. Lance, when you talk to me, or when you, you hold my hand, or touch my arm, I just, I don't know what to do." He smiled suddenly, snickering. "Listen to us," Mitch said. "We sound like one of your songs." "I guess we do," Lance agreed. He looked down at their linked hands as well, wondering why this was so hard when they obviously cared about each other. "So, will you do it? Will you stay here, with us?" "Why do you want me to stay?" Mitch asked. "Why do you want me to stay here so badly?" "I told you already," Lance said, squeezing his hand tightly. "I love you. I don't care why you came, or what you were doing. I want you to stay, because I love you." Mitch swallowed, feeling his hands shake. He looked up, unsure, afraid, and saw Lance's bright green eyes staring back at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. Lance's face was warm, and open, not threatening or demanding. He let his eyes crawl over it, thinking about the way Lance's eyes crinkled when he laughed, or the way his soft pink lips moved when he smiled. "Say that again, Lance, please," Mitch whispered, leaning a little closer, falling into Lance's eyes. "I love you," Lance whispered back, leaning forward as well. He could see how torn Mitch was, how everything was fighting inside of him, but he could also see that Mitch cared about him, could see the depth of feeling in Mitch's blue eyes. "I love you." Their lips finally touched, at last, brushing over each other, pressing against each other. Mitch raised a hand to Lance's chest, feeling his heart hammering under his jacket and shirt. Lance, watching Mitch's eyes slide closed as his mouth slid open a little, lifted a hand up to catch the band in Mitch's hair and pull it out, running his fingers through it as it fell around Mitch's shoulders. Lance closed his own eyes, and felt Mitch's tongue, tentative, brush his own, darting in and out of his mouth so quickly that it almost seemed not to have been there at all. They pulled back, both gasping for air, and Lance saw Mitch's eyes blink open again. "Love me, Lance," Mitch breathed, his hands sliding up Lance's back as Lance slid forward to kiss him again, deeper this time, his hand now laced through Mitch's hair and pulling his head toward him. "Love me." Lance hooked an arm under Mitch's legs, kicking the crutches aside, and stood. Mitch wrapped his arms around Lance's neck, neither of them breaking their kiss, and he moaned into Lance's mouth as Lance carried him into the bedroom. Dinner sat, forgotten, on the cart as the candles burned in the empty dining room. In Justin's suite, Wade had long since finished crying. He thought bitterly about Mitch, and Joey, and all the rest of them, the smug bastards, the guys who had never liked him, and never accepted him, as he jammed his clothes back into his bags. He was going to pack and leave, to get a suite of his own with the rest of the crew, and then he would work this out. When he could just talk to Justin again, they would work all of this out. They could get past this. Maybe they hadn't fought before, not like this, but they could work this out, and when they did, he would make sure that the other guys never got between them, never got in his and Justin's way, again. Lance and Mitch twisted on the bed, not struggling, both just trying with all of their being to touch the other, to feel each other. Their clothes lay scattered around the bed, and the sheets and bedspread were rumpled beneath them. Lance couldn't stop touching Mitch, running his hands over him, feeling the smooth skin of his back, the flex of his arms. Their legs tangled together, their calves brushing each other, Mitch's hands sliding over Lance as well. One of them slid down, brushing past Lance's chest, caressing his abs briefly, fascinated with the feel of them beneath Lance's silken skin. He slid it lower, wrapping his fingers around Lance's throbbing, hard cock, and heard Lance groan. Stroking him lightly, Mitch squeezed tightly for a second, and then pushed Lance over onto his back, his head sliding down Lance's chest, kissing a path down the center of him as Lance's fingers tangled in Mitch's long hair. In JC's room, Justin lay on his side on the bed, facing the wall. He had his arms wrapped around a pillow, holding it to him, and JC sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his shoulder gently. He had cried himself out a while ago, sobbing against JC, but he was mostly finished. Every few minutes he let out a little sob, or his breath hitched, but his cheeks were dry beneath his eyes, which were still a little wet. "Can I get you anything?" JC asked quietly. He had asked before, but as Justin calmed down he wondered what else he could do for him. When he went through his own frequent breakups, he got a little depressed, and immersed himself in his music for a while, but Justin was apparently a crier, and JC wasn't sure what else he could do to soothe him. "No," Justin answered quietly. His voice was hoarse, and kind of breathy. "Do you need to talk about it?" JC asked, still rubbing Justin's shoulder. Seeing him like this he couldn't imagine how Wade could ever do anything to hurt him. "No," Justin answered again, his eyes closed. It felt good just to have JC's fingers brushing over his shoulder, and to know that his friends were here and cared about him. "JC, do you think I'm stupid?" "Oh, Justin," JC sighed, knowing how much it must hurt Justin to ask him that. He'd asked JC once before, too, a long time ago, back when they'd been on the Mickey Mouse Club, and some of the other kids had made fun of him. "You're not stupid. You just don't worry about the same things we do. Different things are important to you, that's all. That doesn't make you stupid, Justin." "Do you think Wade thinks I'm stupid?" Justin asked. His voice trembled, and JC wondered if he was going to start crying again. Maybe he needed to. "Justin, I think Wade is stupid," JC answered truthfully. Wade would never find someone else like Justin, someone who believed in everything he said and loved him unconditionally. "Me too," Justin said, his voice cracking. He started to cry again, and JC continued to rub his back and whisper to him that it would be ok. Mitch crawled back up Lance's body, guided by his moans and sighs, sliding easily over him. Mitch's hands danced all over Lance's body, pinching, caressing, and Lance groaned and moaned loudly beneath him, his bass voice seeming loud enough to make the walls vibrate. He rained kisses down on Mitch's face and neck and shoulders as Mitch settled above him, and then Mitch rolled off of him, pulling Lance over on top of him. Lance ground himself against Mitch's back, feeling Mitch writhe and press back beneath him as he kissed and sucked at Lance's shoulders and the sides of his neck, pushing Mitch's hair aside. "Lance," Mitch whimpered beneath him, feeling Lance's hard chest against his back as his throbbing cock slid up and down his ass, pressing into his crack. "Make love to me. Please." "Yes," Lance bellowed, moaning again as Mitch pressed himself against him. Mitch moaned as well, feeling Lance's need, his urgency. "Hurry, Lance," Mitch encouraged, as Lance climbed off of him, running toward the bathroom in search of anything that might serve as lubricant. When he returned to the bed, Mitch groaned again as he felt Lance's hands slide all over him, touching him, loving him, and Lance moaned in response. They were beyond words. Joey lay in bed in his suite, listening to the sounds coming through the wall, and giggled. It sounded like things were going pretty well over in Lance's suite, and Joey was glad. Lance deserved to be happy again, after that mess with Mike. Joey, for a long time, had felt kind of personally responsible for the bad way that had turned out, since he had set the two of them up. Maybe now, if Lance could be happy again, Joey could stop feeling like so much of Lance's unhappiness had been his fault. Maybe Lance and Mitch could make things work. Joey hoped so, more than anything he wanted for himself, and, from the sounds of it, they certainly seemed to be pretty compatible. As Lance slid inside of Mitch he whispered over and over that he loved him, and Mitch just sighed in answer, feeling that slow, building pressure as Lance began to gently thrust into him. Lance ran his hands down Mitch's arms until he reached his hands, and then he laced their fingers together. Mitch gripped him tightly, feeling them flex in unison, Lance pressing above and Mitch straining beneath. Lance fought to slow himself down, trying to make it last, as Mitch, beneath him, encouraged him to go faster and harder. Mitch tossed his head back, flexing up from the mattress, and Lance latched onto the side of his neck, sucking and biting, both of them groaning and sighing. Lance's chest, his nipples hard, scraped over Mitch's writhing back, and both of them were slick with sweat. In his room, Chris stared at the ceiling and wondered if God had cursed him somehow. He'd lost the round two hotels in a row, having to sleep by Justin and Wade again, but he'd started to think earlier that he might actually get a full night's rest. He hadn't planned, though, on the noise coming from the other side of the paper thin walls, as Mitch and Lance were apparently determined to make up for the absence of groaning in Chris's suite. He was happy for Lance, he really was, but if there was ever a time when he wished that he owned earplugs, it was now. Then again, it could be worse. If Justin and Wade were in their room, he'd be trying to sleep through this from both sides. "Five star hotel my ass," he grumbled, reaching for another pillow to press against the side of his head. "Walls are made of fucking construction paper." When Lance woke up, the first thing he did, before he opened his eyes, was reach for Mitch, sliding his hand over the mattress, looking for the warm, smooth shoulder that he knew was over there. Last night had been amazing. He and Mitch had made love for hours, in and out of each other, before they finally finished, and drifted off to sleep. It had been a long time since someone had touched Lance that way out of love, had wanted him with his heart instead of just his body, and he could only imagine that for Mitch it had been the same. Now, he wanted to kiss him awake, to hold him close, and tell him that he loved him and that everything would be ok. His hand, though, only found empty mattress, and the sheet was cold. "Mitch?" Lance asked, opening his eyes. The bed was empty. Lance sat up, looking around the room, and listening. He didn't hear anything out in the suite room, but the bedroom door was closed. There was no sound coming from the bathroom, either, but if Mitch was soaking in the tub he wouldn't make a lot of noise. Lance climbed out of bed, picking up his boxer briefs out of the tangle of his clothes on the floor, and he noticed that Mitch's clothes weren't there. "No," Lance said quietly, shaking his head. Lance walked quickly into the suite room, where the table was still set, the food still untouched on the cart. Mitch wasn't there. The bathroom door was open, but the lights were off, the bathroom dark. He walked back into the bedroom, jerking the closet open, and saw that Mitch's bags, the beat up duffel bag and the shoulder bag Chris had given him, were missing. He picked up his shirt and pants off of the floor and hastily pulled them on. As he did so, his eyes skated across the dresser, and he saw his wallet sitting on top, opened. "No, Mitch, please no," Lance said quietly again, knowing that Mitch couldn't hear him. He jerked open the door of the suite and spotted the guard in the hallway, reading the paper in his chair by the elevators. "Did you see Mr. Hawk go out?" "Yes, Mr. Bass," the guard answered, nodding. "He left several hours ago." "Did he say anything?" Lance asked, hearing his voice rising, but unable to control it. "Did he say anything about where he was going?" "No, I'm sorry," the guard said. Chris opened his door, looking sleepily into the hallway. "Is everything all right, Mr. Bass?" "Lance?" Chris asked, wondering what time it was. Lance turned to him, and Chris saw that Lance was about to break. His lip trembled, and he was pale, chalk white. "Mitch is gone, Chris," Lance said, shaking his head as if to negate it. "He's gone." *** To be concluded.