The following tale is a written record of thoughts running rampant in my imagination that I wish to share with the world - in other words, none of the following is true (and if it is, I don't know about it). Any personalities or entities that parallel any real individual(s) ought not be taken as factual information, but should be recognized purely as a creation of the author.
         If anyone is reading this, and alternative material is personally objective to you, or illegal in your area, immediately stop reading and leave.  If this doesn't apply to you, feel welcome to respond with praise and/or criticism (

I Got What You Need

JC Chasez/Thomas Dublin

         "No Josh. We can't do that yet -- I'm not ready."

         "Why not?"

         "I don't feel that we're at that place yet."

         "Sex is sex, Thomas."

         "But, that shit hurts.  I tried it once.  And, I'm not just going to go around and let just anyone poke at my asshole."

         "I thought we had a relationship.  I thought I was more than just a fuck buddy to you."

         "We've only been dating for seven weeks.  Touching, kissing, and rubbing is fine.  Head is fine. Rimming is fine.  But anal sex is NOT fine with me this soon.  When I'm ready, I'll bring it up.  But for now, it's NOT HAPPENING. And, I'm going to sleep."

         Thomas got up from JC's bed, and walked off to the guest bedroom.

*     *     *

Thomas Dublin

        This time, AJ and Brian seemed more enthusiastic - I was the distracted one in the studio.  We started off by finishing the recording of "I Don't Play", and then we worked on a song that Kevin had come up with -- a nice soulful ditty that gave the guys a chance to show their vocal ability.
         But, I couldn't get my argument with JC out of my head.  Last night, after dinner, we decided to have each other for dessert.  Well, we actually had cheesecake for dessert, but we decided to have each other too.  So, we go upstairs, and fuck around for an hour -- I come, and he comes.  After we lay there for about 20 minutes, he's ready to go again, which is fine with me.
         But JC wants to have anal sex, and I told the muthafucker that it wasn't happening.  So he tries to cop an attitude and shit.  Wouldn't speak to me this morning and shit.  Took back the keys to the Benz and shit.  Left without saying goodbye and shit... I swear, nig... I mean, men ain't shit (except for me).
         After JC stormed off, I called Lance, who picked me up and drove me to the airport to pick up a rental car.  Thank God he didn't ask what happened, because I wasn't in the mood to go into the story.  He just played to good manager this morning.  I made it to the studio on time -- I just hope the guys haven't noticed how distracted I've been.


         I look up to see Nick Carter waving a hand in front of my face.

        "Why are you doing that, Nick?"

         "Well, I called your name five times before you answered me.  You seem distracted, dude."

         "Well, I do have a few things on my mind, but I'll be all right."

         I look around and see that we're the only two in the studio.

         "Where are the others?"

         "It's seven-twenty Thomas. They've already left for the day."

         "Oh." We had the studio booked until 7pm.  Whoever has studio time after us must be running late.

         "Hey, do you want to get a drink or something?"

         Fuck it -- why not?  Nick seems cool enough.  "Okay.  Where?"

         "I know this quiet little spot about a mile from the airport.  You can follow me."

*     *     *

         Nick and I end up at some hole-in-the-wall place near the airport.  It's small and a little grimy, but the gin and cranberry that I'm sipping on is off-the-hook.

         "So, what's distracting you?" Nick asks.

         "Oh, just some personal issues."  Shit, Nick Carter don't know me that well.

         "Did you and JC have a fight?"

         WHAT THE FUCK!!!

         We sit there in silence for what seems ½ an eternity.

         "So, I guess you and JC did have some kind of argument or something."

         "What are you talking about, Nick?"  Maybe playing dumb will work...

         "You're trying to play dumb, Thomas."  Damn!

         Nick continued on. "Let me explain myself.  Yesterday, as you pulled off, I recognized the Benz that you were driving -- by the way, I also noticed that you have an Acura from some rental place. But anyway, I said to myself last night, ` Isn't that JC's Benz that Thomas is driving?'  So, I took a shortcut over to JC's house to check.  After about 10 minutes, I saw you pull up into JC's house."

         Well, it makes sense -- with his nosy ass.  But I need to be sure.  "But Nick, JC lives in a gated community."

         "Two things Thomas -- you just told on yourself.  How did you know that JC lived in a gated community?"

         Damn.  I did get caught, didn't I?

         "... And two -- I'm Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys. So, how do you know JC?"

         I'll keep it as vague as possible. "JC and I met in New York City about two months ago.  When I told him that I was coming to Orlando to work on some projects, he invited me to stay with him."  And that's true -- I just didn't mention my work with *NSYNC or that I was fucking around with JC.

         "That's pretty vague, Thomas."

         Damn, is he another Justin or what!

         "I have a theory.  I think you're fucking JC."

         That's more than a theory.  "What makes you say that?"

         "Well, JC is pretty protective about his cars -- not as protective as Chris, but protective nonetheless.  So, for him to let you drive around in his Benz... you have to be fucking."

         I like his reasoning.  If he wasn't a pop star, maybe he could be a private detective or something.

         "Am I right, or am I right?"

         "Yeah. Sure."

         "I knew it!"

         I take another sip from my drink. "You know, you're a nosy little muthafucker."

         "First off, I'm taller than you; but I'm glad you recognize my investigative skills."

         "You need a hobby, man." Or maybe a life.

         "I do. But, I still can't believe that you and JC..."

         "Whatever" I think it may be time for me to leave.

         "Thomas, I don't care about you being gay.  Hell, I know lots of gay people.  Britney, Christina, Sisqo, Luther, Ashley... hell, there's gay people in Backstreet."

         "Yeah, I heard about Howie... but who's Ashley?"

         "Ashley from O-town; actually, he's bi. But, not just Howie.  Brian is bisexual."


         "Really?  Brian?"  I can't believe my ears.

         "Yep.  He's madly in love with Leanne, but he used to swing the other way..."

         I can't believe that Brian likes the beef!

         "But, he's become a big homophobe since he got married."

         Oh, so he's one of those self-loathing gays...

         "And, I've done my thing from time to time, too."

         Nick just keeps dropping bombs.

         "What did you just say?"

         "I said that I've fooled around a few times with guys.  Usually one of the backup dancers on tour or something.  Occasionally a celebrity -- like after the VMA's.  I hooked up with Joshua Jackson.  He really knew what to do with his..."

         "I don't want to hear this, Nick!" I interrupt.  I do want to hear it, but I'm still processing all of this.

         Let's break it down.  Nick is a celebrity stalker. Nick knows about JC and myself (although that's kinda shaky right now).  Nick just told me that Brian is a self-loathing homo/bisexual.  And Nick told me that he also is gay.  And, on top of all this, I still have my problems with JC. WHAT am I supposed to do with all of this?
         Fortunately, my cell phone takes me away from my rhetorical question.


         "Thomas, it's Lance."

         "Hi.  What's up?"

         "I was wondering if you've talked to JC today.  I've tried reaching him, but I've had no luck."

         "I haven't talked to him today."  I try to say it as nicely as possible, but I know my words had too much attitude behind them.

         "Oh. Well, where are you.  I call the house, but got no answer.  Are you still in the studio?"

         "No.  I'm having a drink with Nick Carter."

         "Nick Carter, huh?  Well, catch a cab home, okay?"

         "Yes, daddy"

         "And, if you talk or run into JC, please tell him to call me."

         "Sure thing, L-Boogie. Is it anything important?"

         "L-Boogie -- I almost forgot about that.  But, actually, I just found out that we have to go out to L.A. for a week for a charity event and promotions, and I wanted to tell him to pack. Plus, I need to talk to him about some of his personal issues."

         "Well, if I see his ass, I'll tell him."

         "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Thomas."

         "Sure thing.  Peace."


         I put my phone back into my pocket and look at a Nick, who has the biggest smirk on his face.

         "What, muthafucker?"

         "You must have really pissed off JC."

         "Why do you say that?"

         "I'd bet my car that it was Lance on your cell, looking for JC because he's pissed off and ran off somewhere.  Every time JC gets mad, he either shuts himself up in that house of his, or he drives off somewhere -- usually to the ocean."

         "I didn't know that."

         "Yeah.  Once, I ran into him in Tampa when he was experiencing one of his little moods.  He and Justin got into an argument, and he drove to Tampa.  I put him up for a couple days, and convinced him to take his impulsive ass back to Orlando."

         "That bad, huh?"

         "Yeah. So, you had to have really struck a nerve with him if Lance is looking for him."

         "Is Lance the designated JC finder or something?"

         "Something like that. Everyone knows that JC is Justin's keeper, but most people don't know that Lance is JC's keeper.  And, Lance doesn't have a keeper; neither do the other NSYNC guys, now that I think about it."

         "Oh."  This is enlightening.  Is Nick a blabbermouth like Justin (seeing that they already have so much in common), or is it the alcohol?

         "So, do you want to talk about it?"

         "Talk about what?"

         "Whatever went down between you and JC?"

         "Not really."

         "Cool.  But I think you should deal with it A-S-A-P. I can't have you and that stick of a boyfriend of yours interfering with the Backstreet Boys."

         I had to laugh at that crack -- that boy is thin.

        But, I don't know how to take Nick's spying on me.  "Nick," I start, "thanks for the drink, but I don't really appreciate you following me and shit..."

         "Thomas, I didn't mean to offend..."

         "Well, you did."

         "I was just curious.  I mean, JC can throw a major fit over his cars.  He almost got into it with Chris over his Benz once.  So, I couldn't believe that he would let you drive that same Benz.  But, I wasn't trying to offend you."

         Damn, I can't stay mad -- life is too short to stay mad.  Plus, Nick seems sincere enough.

         "You're forgiven Nick.  But, you couldn't ask a brotha, you know?"

         "Okay." Nick raises his drink to me. "Are we still friends?"

         "Were we friends in the first place?"
         "I hope so..."

         "Okay."  I raise my drink. "Friends."

*     *     *

Lance Bass

         I guess that JC is in one of his moods again.

         The first indicator is when Thomas calls me in the middle of Tae-bo to drive him to Avis to pick up a car.  Then, when I call JC to ask why Thomas is driving a rental car, I get no answer.  I called his house, his cell phone, but to no avail.
         I started to ask Thomas what happened, but I felt it better to ask JC.  Plus, there is a chance that Thomas may not know what happened -- sometimes, JC gets mad and keeps the reasons to himself for days and weeks before confessing the source of his anger.
         I left him messages at home and on his cell -- hopefully, he'll respond. And hopefully, he's still in Orlando. I remember that time he got mad and drove to Chicago.  We almost had to postpone a tour date because of that.

         I hear the doorbell as I grab another Heineken from the fridge.  "I hope it's JC," I pray to myself.  I guess God heard my words, because who do I see on my front steps but Mr. Joshua Chasez.

To Be Continued...