Date: Sat, 11 May 2002 16:02:07 +0300 From: Neea P. Subject: (Boybands) Needing You chapter 10 This is to Izzy, my Glasgow guys (thanks for the inspiration, rd!), and all the other wonderful people who have graced me with their kind comments. Hell, it's to everybody who takes the time to read it! Enjoy... ATTENTION! I've been thinking about writing another story. YOU have the opportunity to influence who it's about. It's not quite a poll, but I try listen to my readers. So, Em, Nsync, or even BSB? I'm thinking maybe JC... What do you think? Disclaimer: This story is not meant to imply anything about the true sexuality or personal lives of the celebrities mentioned. Adult (m/m) content, don't be illegal, stuff like that. Any likeness to real persons is either purely coincidental and unintended, or not in any way malevolent. NEEDING YOU By Neqs Chapter 10 "Chris Kirkpatrick, you're gonna get your ass kicked!" Marshall Mathers was looking very unrappery right that moment, running around the hotel suite, jumping over sofas and chairs in his wild chase of the miniature singer. On the other hand, his red, red face gave some indication of his livid state very appropriate for an angry, white rapper. Chris was dividing his attention between dodging furniture, squealing from laughter, and calling for help. "Lance, help me! Your wild toy boy is going after my ass! Aren't you jealous or something? He's all yours, I swear, just keep him away from me!" That he could get all this out, being as short of breath as he was right then, was quite amazing. His need to make witty comments, however, led to his very literal downfall under a furious Eminem, to the carpet-covered but still very hard hotel floor. 'Maybe I should take up miming,' was his last, fleeting thought before he went down with a bang. * * * It had seemed like such a fun idea. He should have known by then that the more fun something was, the more it would piss people off. Well, that had never stopped him before, so why should it now? One word. Eminem. Or was that, like, three words? Anyway. The plan had been simple. Keep an eye on Lance and Marshall, who had dozed off while watching a movie together with the guys. Grab Eminem's cell phone from the nearby table. Dash to the other suite, gloating with success, and call everybody on the speed dial, first politely introducing yourself and then singing 'Girlfriend' at the top of your voice. The reception had been very gratifying. Highly irritated, befuddled rappers all cussing like madmen and demanding to know where the fuck Marshall was. It had all been wildly amusing until one of them had the wits to call the suite, finally reaching and rousing Marshall Mathers. * * * It had been a rude awakening. One moment, he was in warm and peaceful slumber, cradling his lovely (but independent!) James in his arms. The next thing, a white-as-sheet JC Chasez was trying to thrust a hotel phone towards him with shaking hands. "It's- it's Dr. Dre," the lean musician had managed to quack out before collapsing. Marshall let Prettyboy Timberlake take care of the unnerved pop star and answered the phone, getting a very unpleasant surprise. "Wha?" he yawned to the phone. "What the fuck is going on in there, Em? There is an Nsyncer in control of your cell and he's been freaking us out for the past fucking half an hour!" Dre was loud when he was mad, and he was being very loud. "Whadda fuck?" Ok, so Marshall wasn't at his most coherent. He scanned the room. Justin was shushing the trembling Josh, rubbing his back and whispering soothingly. Lance was waking up, making protesting noises and looking absolutely fuckable. 'Ok, bad thoughts when in the phone with Dre,' Marshall decided. Craning his neck, he spotted Joey on the floor, pawing through the discarded pizza boxes in the hopes of finding leftovers from earlier. That made four boy band members. Which meant... "He says his name is Chris Kirkpatrick, and he croons some terrible pop ballad over the phone. Your phone. He almost made Bizarre cry! I swear, when I get my hands on the freak-" The silence in the other end of the line was not threatening, but puzzled. "Em? How the fuck did he get to your cell? You're not fucking the freaky pixie, are you?" Dre was horrified, now. "Fuck, no!" Better get that straight right away. "Good. Then, how?" Dre sounded very non-committal. "I might maybe, possibly, oh fuck it, I'm dating his band mate." Marshall held his breath. Dre was ok with him being gay, but messing around with boy bands was an entirely different matter. "Which one?" Still no clue as to what was going on inside Dre's head. "The quiet and polite blond one. Not Timberlake, no way in Hell! It's Lance, the bass with pale green eyes," Marshall explained, chewing on his lower lip despite himself. "Ok." "Ok?" "Ok. Is he good in bed?" "The best. But it's not just-" "I know. Or else you wouldn't have said 'dating'. I suppose me coming over and demanding to know what his intentions towards you are would be a bit over the top?" "Yeah. But- thanks." "Anytime, man. Can I speak to him for a moment?" "Sure." Marshall handed the phone to Lance, who by now was fully awake and watching him steadily with his intelligent, catlike eyes. Hearing only one end of the conversation, it was difficult for Marshall to keep track of what the fuck was happening. "Hello? This is Lance Bass." The blond singer looked serious for a moment, then he broke into a slight smile. "Yes, that's right. Uh huh." "He's good. No tantrums in the past few days." A small laugh. "Don't I know it!" "You're right, we should get together sometime." "Don't worry, I'm sure we can make it happen discreetly. How do you think Em and I get to be together without the public finding out?" "Yeah, the secrecy is a bitch, but there's nothing we can do at this point but endure." A sigh. "It IS worth it, yeah." "Yes, I'll make sure he puts enough time into his studies, and that he relaxes every once in awhile. Thanks. You too. Bye." And with that, Lance handed the phone back to a very perplexed Eminem. "Dre? What's going-" He didn't have time to finish the sentence before Dre boomed forth with his opinion. "Marshall, that's a nice boy you have there. Don't fuck this up like you usually do. And I want to meet him. I'm not into guys, you know that, but I'd like to have a real face to go with the phone-sex voice, and I'm not going to go search the web for it!" To say Marshall was stunned would be like saying the Shawshank Redemption is just a movie. "Boy, you still there? Stop gaping and go kill Kirkpatrick. Oh, and have that meeting arranged." The dazed rapper was roused to action by the mention of the perpetrator. "Chris fucking KIRKPATRICK!!!" * * * "No, please, I can't take it! That hurts, get your big ass off me right now!" Lance found the fact that Chris was laughing through his tears hugely reassuring. Judging from Marshall's facial expression and colour he was less murderous now, too, more exasperated. "You pixie shit! You just had to touch the rapper's cell phone. Nobody touches my cell! I'll make you piss yourself!" And then he launched into another bout of fierce tickle torture. By the time Chris really looked like he would pee in his pants any moment now, Lance's amusement for the spectacle had waned enough for him to bother intervening. "Em, hon, I think he's had enough," he said, laying a calming hand on his lover's shoulder. "I'm not so sure, James. See that? I think he's smirking at me." Marshall was twisting the short pranker's hands behind his back, unconvinced. "I'm positive, sweetie. I think it's really a grimace. He's probably in pain or something." Lance began to rub the rapper's shoulders in soothingly circular movements. "You think so?" Ok, maybe James was right. And besides, Marshall had better things to do with his time. He leaned into the other's touch, savouring the feeling of those soft, delicate fingers massaging the smooth musculature of his back. "Uh, guys?" The two blondes paid on heed to the timid voice. Their eyes had locked, their hands remembering where to touch fleetingly, where persuasively or playfully. The soon breathless lovers rapidly forgot all about the increasingly alarmed man at the bottom of the pile. "Hey! Not funny! Help! Get off me, you lewd sodomites!" It was only the last word that made Chris again the centre of attention. "What did you just call us?" Marshall asked incredulously. "Uh, sons of bitches?" Chris was still on very shaky ground here. "Whatever. We're not through yet, Kirkpatrick. I'm gonna kick your ass for real one day," Marshall dismissed him. "Hey, hon, why don't you write a song about it. That would be a civilised way to bring him down," Lance suggested. "Maybe one day. But now I'm much more interested in this certain green-eyed blond guy with a killer bod and the sweetest smile, not to mention his lovely, absolutely kissable lips..." And further incident was avoided as Marshall rolled over, pinning a very willing Lance into the floor, stealing his breath with a kiss that was full of raw sensuality, yet oddly gentle. Chris Kirkpatrick was quick to escape the suite. 'That was scary. I have NO wish to see Lance and Eminem get it on.' Chris shuddered at the thought. No one should be forced to see that. Who'd even want to imagine such a thing? * * * Marshall was, in want of a better word, spent. He'd made love to Lance twice in the space of three hours, first on the floor, later against the shower wall. It had been wild, fun, and familiar in the good, fuzzy way. Lance was asleep now, totally exhausted, but Marshall wanted to think about things before he gave in to the urge to snuggle even closer to Lance and match his breathing with him. His mind flitted back to their big argument like a restless, nervous bird. It had been a few days now, but Lance hadn't brought it up again, so neither had Marshall. He was relieved that he wasn't expected to deliver right away, but determined to do it when the time came. Lance seemed to have been satisfied by Marshall's promise. Maybe it was about the principle and being equal partners. Maybe- Marshall squashed the hope rising within. No, this he'd just have to follow through. He should face his stupid fears sometime. 'And admit it, Marshall, you'll have to get over your image.' Any way around, it would be Lance, his James, so all would be well. He knew he could trust the blond singer, who was rapidly and perhaps unconsciously fighting his way to the number one spot in Marshall's guarded heart. The top spot was still held, though only by a hair, by Marshall's little daughter. 'Hailey. I haven't seen her in, what? A month? God, that's too long. I'll have to call Kim and grovel to her satisfaction to get a meeting time.' That unappealing thought made Marshall bare his teeth and tighten his hold on Lance, and then immediately loosen it at the sleepy protest. 'I'd love it if they could meet. I've got to find a way to make it work. They're both so important to me that they should meet each other. Which reminds me...' He'd told Dre he'd arrange a time and place for him and Lance to meet and talk, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. What had held him back? Lance and Dre had gotten along famously on the phone, short as the call was. Dre had no problems with gays, or more specifically, with his protégé being gay. Lance being a pop singer and a boy band member could be ignored among intelligent and unprejudiced people, like Dre was, no matter what some might think. So what was the- Oh, that. Hadn't thought about that. A bit childish, don't you think? Selfish, too. Greedy little Marshall, always wanting to keep things and people all to himself. * * * There was something different about Happiness after the short period of unhappiness. It had changed, evolved, and acquired new shades and overtones. Not like the loss of innocence. Well, a bit like it, but not the same. The situation before it all started was that of blissful well being, oblivious to the turmoil and strife ahead. The spark: a sudden realisation, which turned the previous happy existence with its trusted certainties upside down. The red pill and down the rabbit-hole with Neo. And then, what once used to be, was gone. Not like in that whiny Timberpretty song, but irreversibly, bitterly, gone. Well, maybe a little like in the song. The happiness wasn't gone, though. The silly, dreamy quality was still there, albeit tempered with the knowledge that they could discuss their problems, maybe fight, and come through all the stronger for it. There was no bitterness or sense of loss in the reverent kiss Marshall Mathers placed on his love's forehead before laying down to rest beside him. * * * "So you weren't flirting with that red-headed guy? What do you call smiling at him and laughing at his stupid jokes, Justin?" Josh was fuming. The younger man smirked secretly while he turned to close the door. "I was just being friendly, that's all, babe. Besides, how do you know his jokes were stupid, you were in the bathroom?" An innocent look. "He was standing awfully close to you. You didn't encourage him, did you?" "Would I do that, Joshua my one and only love?" A slight teasing tone now. "I don't know, would you?" Josh was frowning. Justin stopped folding the clothes he'd spread on the bed earlier when searching for the perfect jealousy outfit, and went to his lover. "You know I want only you, Josh. You're all the man I want," Justin crooned, rubbing the older man's arms in a manner that was supposed to seems soothing, but feel anything but. The brunette shot the other man a smouldering gaze, gripping him at the wrists and tumbling him down on the bed with a sudden move. "Maybe I need to remind you that you're mine, Justin. He might get to talk to you in some smoky bar and tell you an idiot joke, but I'm the one who gets to have you. And you love it..." Justin just moaned as his lover began to possess him with heated caresses and burning passion. Gentle, so gentle and powerful. Those piano player's fingers... Justin always loved it. * * * "What's love got to do with it?" "Love lifts us up where we belong." "I'm drowning in your love." "Hey! You should be ashamed of yourself for that! I'm not the sort of person who falls quickly in and out of love, but with you I made an exception right from the start." "Baby, sometimes love just ain't enough." "All you need is love." "Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds." "That's not from a song, dummy! It's Shakespeare's love sonnet 116. You lose!" "What was the prize again? This was a stupid game. My poor concentration might have something to do with you wiggling around in my lap, but I'm not pointing any fingers. I'm not a sore loser like some here." "Stop grumbling, babe. The prize was one erotic full body massage, and I'd like to have that right away, please." "Whatever. I'm just saying that you distracted me. But I'll happily massage your lovely body, sweetie. You're so pretty!" "Hey! None of that! I expect my masseurs to behave in a strictly professional manner. Now go heat the oil, James my love." "Sure thing Em. Are you saying you'll turn me down if I jump your bod later on?" "Later on, you can jump me all you want. But now, I just want my massage!" * * * "A little lower. Yeah, like that. Uh." "Are you sure, hon?" "Yeah. Oh. That feels. Nice. Real nice. Great actually. Ugh. Keep going, love." "With pleasure. As long as it gives you pleasure as well." "It does! Wow. I never- This is. Ooh. More!" "Ok. I'm so glad. You sound so hot. You make me want to- Ah, never mind." "No, do it. I want you to. I need you to. Please, James." "Turn over so I can look into your eyes." "Okay. Let me put that on you." "Ready? Are you absolutely sure you want to do this, babe? I might not be able to stop after this if you change your mind, so-" "Yes, I'm sure! Stop being such a wuss and do it already! Do ME already." "You're not gonna get me to slam right in and hurt you. I'll be so gentle, so slow... Oh so slow." "Ah! Hold on a second." "There's no rush, love. Take your time to get used to it. Tell me when." "Okay. I'm ready to go on. Oh! Ahh. Oh, yeah! Why didn't you tell me -ah!- it was this great?" "You'd never, have believed me, if I told you. God, you're so beautiful!" "Oh, yes! This is nothing like (gasp) I though it would be! It's a hundred, a thousand times better. It's...beautiful." "Just like you! You have no idea how divine you look right now, underneath me, all around me. You're the only source of light in this room, and you glow like the sun." "Aahh! Ditch the poetry, lover! You feel so right. I've never felt closer to anyone in my life. It's like nothing can touch us." "I'm, ooh, getting close. You're so hot, you grip me like you're trying to pull me all the way inside you." "Maybe I am! I'm almost there too. Now, harder! Show me what it means to be yours." "You're killing me here! But what a way to go... Ah! Oh! Em!!" "James! Oh baby yes!" "Love...you." "Love you too. Sweet dreams." "zzzz" TBC Comments are greatly appreciated. Please send some to nea_1@hotmail.com. Even a short note lightens up my day and encourages to write. Thanks for the wonderful feedback I've received so far! Again, I've quoted a million things without having a clue who they belong to. Too damn good aural memory... Anyway, their stuff, their creds, my bad. Please don't sue, I'm penniless!