Date: Sun, 05 May 2002 09:41:05 +0300
From: Neea P. <nea_1@hotmail.com>
Subject: (Boybands) Needing You chapter 9

Sorry for the long wait! This is to Izzy, my Glasgow guys, 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...

Disclaimer: This story is not meant to imply anything about the true
sexuality or personal lives of the celebrities mentioned. Adult content,
don't be illegal, stuff like that.  Any likeness to real persons is purely
coincidental and unintended.  Ex-boyfiends in a huff can go fuck
themselves. Yeah, that means you, H. Have a nice life.

NEEDING YOU
By Neqs
Chapter 9

Lance's determination was fading by the minute, seeping out of him as his
doubts threatened to overshadow his sternness. He really didn't like
confrontations. They made him feel small and scared and miserable. He
didn't want to do this, but he felt he had no choice. This was something
that needed to be said, talked through. Denial and avoidance wouldn't
resolve the issue.

It was not that he wasn't happy with Marshall. He was. He really, really
was. The rapper had surprised him by his gruff gentleness, his intelligence
and warmth. And the sex was great. Except...

No, everything was not perfect in their little personal paradise, and Lance
wished his lover would come home soon. Home. Lance decided he wouldn't
cry. He wouldn't. Oh fuck with the decisions he'd made today.

* * *

Marshall Mathers was almost whistling when he got out of the elevator. He
remembered at the last minute that there was a clause in his contract that
prohibited whistling, humming, and other non-aggressive exhibitions of
mirth in public. Oh, well.

He didn't let such trivialities destroy his happy mood.

Marshall glanced at his watch. It was past eight. 'I hope James hasn't been
waiting long. At least we agreed to eat separately so he's not starving,
but he did mention he'd like me to be home as early as possible.

Home. Some might find it odd to think of a hotel room, no matter how
spacious and luxurious, as home. To Marshall, home had most often been the
place where he could sleep safely. Now the word home carried undertones of
green eyes and a warm, supple body.

'James.' He was so beautiful, an adorable mystery Marshall couldn't wait to
unveil.  Metaphorically and literally. So quirky and cute, it made his
chest ache.  And the sex was great. The way his lover moved under him,
twisting and gasping and purring and sucking Marshall deeper into his warm
cavern.

Everything was wonderful, the man known as Eminem mused with a slight smile
as he opened the door to the suite.

* * *

"Justin, do you have a minute?" Lance's uncharacteristically subdued
question was enough to turn Justin's attention away from flirting with the
beautician over his lunch.

"What's up, Lance? Why the long face?" Justin had been worried about Lance.
This was his first serious relationship, after all, and Marshall Mathers
could seem a little intimidating at times. Not that he'd ever tell Josh
about his reservations. The older man procrastinated enough already, and
knowing Justin shared his doubts would only encourage his pessimism.

"Well, I don't know, something's been bothering me and I just need another
opinion, if you have time that is," Lance said quietly, sitting down next
to his friend.

"Nah, I wasn't busy or anything, just making Josh jealous again. You know
how he gets when I pretend to be interested in other people. All that
adrenalin, testosterone... Anyway, tell Uncle Justin your worries!"

"Have you ever been with a partner who was, um, exclusively a top or a
bottom?" Lance asked all in one breath, red in the face. His fingernails
had suddenly become wildly fascinating to him.

"Hmm. I assume this is a strictly hypothetical question in the sense that
it has nothing to do with you and Eminem?"

Lance didn't answer.

"I've been with a few total bottoms in my time. Fewer absolute tops. Some
people just like different things and are sensitive in different
places. Sometimes it can also be psychological, like those guys who don't
think they're gay because they don't get fucked. That's pretty pitiful. I
mean, I'm not into labels much, but it doesn't make you straight if you
only give and don't receive. It might make you an asshole, but not any more
straight. Little minds..."

"What about- tell me if I'm out of line, I mean we talk about things, joke
about them, but this is different. What about you and Josh?" Lance had to
ask.

"When we first got together, Josh rarely showed any interest in topping. I
like both equally, so I was in a bit of a quandary. I mean, I wasn't gonna
go and cheat on Josh just to get what I need, I don't do that. So, I
schemed a little. Remember what I said earlier about making Josh jealous?"

Lance made an agreeing sound.

"Well, he gets like that when I flirt. I don't go too far, and I don't play
with him, but if I get him hot enough he'll fuck me good. I usually flirt
with girls, there's more of them around, anyway, but if I really need my
brains fucked out, I flirt with a guy, preferably in a bar. He goes so
wild! It's like he thinks that if he'll rub his skin against mine enough,
his scent will stick to me and scare others away. I let him try, because I
love it so much. He can be so intense, you know? When he takes me it's like
I'm the only thing that exists for him," Justin said with a dreamy smile.

"I see. Well, fuck. I know you were ready to give me way out of talking
about Em and I and my reasons for asking you, but... What you told me
doesn't help me much. I really love it when he takes me, and when he takes
me in his mouth, but that's it. It's been him on top since the beginning,
and even though I enjoy it, I also enjoy it the other way round, even if a
bit less. But I feel like it's not about what feels good and what doesn't
to him, but that it goes deeper than that. A few days ago he just said that
by the way, his ass is off limits."

"That sounds awfully final. He didn't say he doesn't like that, but that he
doesn't do that?" Justin was frowning. "So what are you going to do?"

Lance sighed. "I guess I have talk to him about. I don't believe in
pretending problems don't exist, it doesn't help any. Sooner or later we'll
have to talk things through, because although I cherish what we have and
could have, I'm not gonna pretend it doesn't bother me. Maybe we can just
talk things through..." his words trailed off.

Justin squeezed his hand sympathetically. "You know you can come talk to me
anytime. In the middle of the night, if things go bad. I think talking
about it is the smartest thing to do, so good luck. I think you're being
really brave."

Then why did Lance feel terrified under his grim determination?

* * *

"Babe, you here?" Marshall looked around as he entered the suite, searching
for Lance.  "Sweetie? Hummingbird? Sexy? Where the hell are you?" he
called, puzzled as he saw no sign of the other man.

The bathroom door opened. Lance stepped out, his face looking freshly
scrubbed. His smile was slightly off, but his gaze was even as it locked
into Marshall's.

"There you are, sweetling! Everything okay?" the rapper asked his lover,
who responded by sighing and gesturing towards the couch.

"Let's sit down." They did, and now Marshall was truly puzzled, as the
jade-eyed man didn't snuggle against him as he always did. His blue eyes
were full of questions, but he voiced none of them.

"Em, we need to talk," Lance said quietly, holding his gaze.

"What about? Did something happen, James? Is someone bothering you? I'll
break their necks, I swear," Marshall growled, suddenly alarmed.

The pop star sighed again before speaking. "No, it's nothing like that, Em.
It's- it's about us."  This time the silence stretched between them like
Grand Canyon.

"Tell me."

"Something you said a while ago got me thinking about things. I'm not sure
I like how you see me. I'm not breaking up with you, God it's not that, but
I think we have to talk about this, or it'll fester, and poison what we
have together."

Marshall's voice was gruff now. "Let's talk, then. Spit it out. I'll
listen, and do my best to be reasonable."

"Em, there is no 'girl' in a guy-guy relationship. I'm not your blond,
busty sidekick. I might be cute and sensitive and insecure and adorable at
times, but I've also got an independent side. I love the way you're
protective and possessive of me, but you can't slip into the old way of
thinking where you're the breadwinner of the family, strong and buff, and
I'm the pretty, soft thing you like to pamper. I mean, you are strong and
buff, and I might look fragile and vulnerable, but we're supposed to be
equal partners, two own persons and not one and an accessory.  I'm sorry if
this sounds harsh or extreme to you, but if we allow ourselves to be forced
into the safe old roles, we'll be trapped into the friggin' fifties and
it'll all go straight to hell."

"Where did this come from?" Marshall was lost, and shaken.

"It got me thinking when you said your ass was off limits. If you just
don't like being penetrated, I can respect that, but you made it sound like
you're the 'guy' and I'm the 'girl'. Does it have something to do with your
image, Em?" Lance looked at him earnestly.

Marshall had gone very, very pale. He looked stricken even though he was
trying to maintain his cool façade. "So this is what it's like. You want
to get into my pants and tell everyone you've fucked Eminem in the ass, is
that it?" His eyes bore into Lance, heated and icy and haunted and accusing
all at once.

"Fuck, no! That is so not what I'm after! What I'm trying to say is, this
is supposed to be an equal partnership, right? I'm not saying that we
should be fifty-fifty or anything, but it should be open for negotiation. I
can be very understanding and I'll be more than happy to meet you halfway,
but you have to talk to me. Please, just talk to me." Lance pleaded.

Marshall's eyes were hooded, his thin lips pressed into a tight line, like
a scar. "You're not asking much, are you?" he rasped out.

"Just to talk to me, Em! Please, I'm begging you. We're good together. We
could be so great, if we could just talk about things. Don't shut me out."

"You just don't know." Marshall was shaking his head, leaning limply
against the back of the couch, his eyes on the ceiling. "It took me years
to get over being gay.  Ever wonder where the hate and venom of my earlier
lyrics came from? I though being gay meant doing that, doing things like
that, to people who don't want it, like I didn't want it, and, fuck-"

Lance had never seen Marshall closer to breaking. He was almost
hyperventilating, gasping for air and blinking rapidly. His eyes were wide,
wide like a chasm, looking like the edge of a glacier, empty and desperate,
young and so old at the same time. The singer's mind was reeling from the
implications of what the other was saying.

"Do you mean-? Did someone-?" Lance couldn't seem to finish his sentences,
his throat was closing and his brain was shorting out.

Marshall took deeper breaths, calming down a bit. "No. I mean, they tried,
you know, but- it was close, okay. After that, I've been totally turned off
being fucked. I've regained some peace of mind, and I've fucking built the
man I'm now from scratch, so I've got to protect that. Protect me."

Lance let loose a relieved breath. "I'm glad it didn't happen. And I admire
you for being your own man, for accepting your sexuality despite your
trauma, and for becoming the man you are today. You do what you dreamed of,
and you know how to separate your real self from your image.  You take
correspondence courses in secret while having a day job, now that's
admirable! You're a good man, but don't let your fears limit you."

"You think it's still about that? Fuck, it was nothing. Just some thugs
slamming me to a few walls, groping me, ripping my pants off, and trying to
bend me over a trashcan. Nothing even happened!" Marshall was shaking now,
with a freezing, bitter, heart-breaking mockery of a smile curling his
bloodless lips as he contradicted his earlier words. "I'm just not like
that, I'm a man."

"I see. I don't feel any less manly just because I've had a dick up my ass.
I probably would feel less of a man if I wanted someone to take my body in
such an intimate manner but was too afraid to let them. Em. You're not
being logical, you're acting purely on emotion, old, not dealt with
emotion. Don't let it mess your head up anymore."

"My head's just fine, James. I'm great, in fact. Wanna fuck? I could use a
piece of your nice, plump ass."

"Oh no, you did not just call me fat! Who are you? Eminem or Slim Shady? I
can't really tell the two apart. I'd like Marshall, or preferably my Em,
back now, please."  Lance's eyes were narrowed as he struggled to remain
calm and to remember how upset his lover was. He really shouldn't pay
attention to anything that came out of his mouth. Why did it hurt so much,
then?

"If you don't like it, fine, that's not the issue Em. If you make a
principle out of it, then it's an issue. I'm willing to make compromises,
but I don't take second best in life. I'm not built that way.  I might have
a lousy self-esteem, but I've learned to think that I deserve more than
that. I have to take care of me, too. We're alike, in some ways. Maybe
that's why we fit together so well."

A flash of regret skittered over the ice of Marshall's cool gaze, but then
he summoned up his stony mask again. "I don't know what the fuck you're
talking about, and neither do you." With that, he was gone, the door
swinging despondently in the wake of his departure.

Lance Bass stared at it for five minutes and half eternity, then he twisted
his body up from the couch, hobbling to the door and closing it. He turned
the lights out, because felt appropriate for the occasion to sit in the
dark and cry like he'd just lost the man he loved.

Oh, yeah, he had.

* * *

Marshall Mathers was beyond furious. As he paced along the edge of the
hotel roof, he felt like the air should sizzle and crack from the heat of
his rage. He was simultaneously bursting with a thousand emotions, and
feeling tired to the bone. A sense of dread was beginning to creep over
him.  James. He'd lost James. Hadn't he? What the fuck had he been doing?
Try as he might, Marshall couldn't figure out the one single cause to the
disaster.

'Oh, yeah, he wanted to fuck me. Well, fuck. Too bad. I just don't do
that.'

'Why don't you do that? James seems to enjoy it.' His inner voice was
against him. Join the club.

'I just... I've never done it. Those creeps-'

'Never too late to try. And those creeps have only the power you give them.
Are you going to let them destroy what you and Lance have together?'

'But how could I ever do it?'

'It's all in your head, Marshall. You've gone through lots of ordeals and
come through alive, but this you have yet to deal with.'

'What's up with the flowery language, anyway?'

'I'm the voice of reason. I'm smarter than you are, so shut up.'

'You shut up! I-' Marshall paused and shook his head. 'Here I am, arguing
with myself, about myself, on the roof of the fucking hotel, when I could
be curled around James.' The thought made him smile.

'Okay, let's get this over with, so I can go and find James.'

'You just stormed off in a huff thirty minutes ago. You said some pretty
harsh things, so he might not be too happy with you at the moment.'

'I'll apologise. I'll grovel. I'll even-' He swallowed. 'I'll even let him-
you know.'

'That's great! What made you see reason?'

'James is my reason. He is everything all at once. To hell with me if I'm
gonna loose him over something like this.'

* * *

Lance blinked as Marshall put the light on, his hurting eyes sore from
crying.

"What the fuck are you sitting here in the dark for?" the other man asked
gruffly.

"Uh, I felt like it? Em-" Marshall's voice cut him off.

"You know what, Lance? I'm nothing like you. I'll take second best,
although you're always the best, I'll take you any way I can get you, up to
and including in my ass, if need be."

Lance was shocked. He also felt like he was going to burst with
joy. "What-?  How-?" He couldn't seem to be able to hold one thought long
enough to voice it properly.

"Simple. When I first saw you, I knew I wanted you. Somewhere along the
line I ended up needing you. In an incredibly short time, you've become
vastly important to me. There isn't much I wouldn't do to keep you."

"Come 'ere." In a flash the two men were embracing like the other was the
only thing keeping them standing. That might have been the case, as they
were both exhausted and emotionally drained from their eventful evening.

"I'm sorry, James. I'm so, so sorry sweetie," Marshall was murmuring over
and over again.

Lance was smiling sweetly through his happy tears. "I know, hon, I know,
and believe me when I say I'm sorry too."

Together they stumbled into the bedroom, not wanting to let go of each
other, as if the other would disappear without physical contact. They
crawled into the bed, not bothering to undress. It had been a tough night,
and they were feeling very, very asexual. The morning might be an entirely
different matter, though.

After soft goodnights and gentle kisses, Lance and Marshall squeezed closer
together in a tangle that must be uncomfortable, but that seemed like the
most natural position in the world. They were floating deep in the world of
dreams within minutes.

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!

(I've been informed that the quote from chapter 8 was the opening sentence
of 'Tale of Two Cities' by Charles Dickens. Thanks again, Izzy!)