Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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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.
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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.
That said, on with Season 7.
Jack
"You're aware that's cheating, right?" Andrew asked, staring at me. My eyes met his over the top of my "Chess for Dummies" book.
"It's not cheating," I said, shaking my head. "I'm just trying to broaden my mind, and better myself in a hobby that my husband and I happen to share, and which he happens to be better than I am at. I'm leveling the playing field, that's all."
Andrew grinned, shaking his head.
"And I see you've been hard at work rationalizing it, too," he said, laughing. "Spend a while working out that speech?"
"Not really," I answered. "It's just part of my natural charm and wit."
"Yet another puddle from your endless stream of bullshit," Andrew said, going back to the newspaper. He was on his third one, and had already shown me each mention of Justin's reportedly violent illness. Most of the speculation had been squelched by the concert last night, but some days it still seemed like Justin couldn't fart without someone, somewhere, printing it. "Does JC know you're reading that book?"
"He knows I'm reading a book," I answered evasively. It wasn't really an answer, since I was always reading a book. Josh and I frequently read the same books, which gave us something else to talk about, but he didn't know I was reading this one. My competitive streak wouldn't let me lose another chess game without at least putting up a good fight.
"But he doesn't know you're reading that one," Andrew said, nodding. "You know, Jack, I have a professional obligation to report to JC everything that goes on while I'm watching you. It look like I'm going to have to report this, too."
"Oh really?" I asked sarcastically. "And what would it take to make you turn away from your professional obligations, and keep this quiet?"
Andrew's newspaper rustled thoughtfully, and when it dropped he was grinning at me.
"Get me a date with Britney Spears," he suggested, almost giggling.
"Sorry," I said, sighing. I hadn't even spoken to Britney since before I was kidnapped. "We lost Britney in the breakup. We don't get to talk to her anymore. Besides, I heard that all she does since they broke up is eat too much, and then diet."
"Damn," he sighed, lifting the paper again.
The two of us were killing time in my hotel room, Andrew sitting in the chair and me lying on the bed. I was supposed to leave in about an hour to head over to the college where I was speaking, but until then they had given me this free time to rest, as if flying from New York to Boston was somehow exhausting. Andrew had a room of his own, next door, but I didn't feel like hanging out by myself, and apparently neither did he. I pushed the open box of chocolates on the bed toward him with my foot.
"More Godiva?" I asked.
"Does he want you fat or something?" Andrew asked, reaching blindly into the box to take one. "I've never seen someone send so much candy. I mean, you get a box like once a week from him."
"Josh forgets that we don't all have his metabolism," I said, stealing myself another truffle. "You and I are hitting the hotel gym in the morning, Mr. Bodyguard."
"There are mornings when we don't?" he asked. In much the same way Hank had gone running with Chris and I in the mornings, Andrew had fallen into my routine, too. If I went to the gym, so did he, although I would have preferred not to. When we were home Chris or I drove to each other's houses, and jogged our neighborhoods, or went to a beach trail, but when we traveled, we all had to make do with gyms.
"Andrew, what happened to you?" I asked, wondering. He looked up again, trying to read my face.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "When did something happen to me?"
"I don't know," I answered. "That's why I was asking. Between when I met you, and now, what the hell happened to you?"
Andrew frowned.
"Oh, that question," he said, nodding. "You want to know when I actually started to like you guys."
"Yeah, I guess," I said. "I mean, when you started, I didn't know what to think. You were always giving us these weird looks, and making funny comments, and some days it seemed like you were actually hostile."
"Well, I kind of was," Andrew said, shrugging. My eyebrows went up in surprise. "I took this job because Hank said you were nice guys, and you were a lot of fun, but I didn't really believe him. Most of the other people I've worked with, it's like I'm an accessory. I follow them around, and we don't really talk much, and they certainly don't sit me at the table for dinner. Do you know how many times I've had to wait in the car while someone eats?"
"No, not really," I said. It was so rare for Andrew to actually open up that I was afraid of saying much. "I never had a bodyguard before Hank, so I didn't really know how to treat one."
"Hank told me that, too," Andrew said, smiling. "He said that JC would be really nice, but that you would be a little, um, resistant."
"Look where that got me," I said, shaking my head.
"I'm sorry about that, by the way," Andrew said, and saw my look of confusion. "On the first day, I said something about what happened to you, and it upset you. I just, I thought I had to take a hard line with you, right away, and make sure you didn't like me. This is going to sound really stupid, but, well, I figured I had to make sure we weren't really close, so that you and JC wouldn't, well, hit on me."
"What?" I blurted, almost choking on the chocolate in my mouth. "You thought we'd hit on you? Did Hank tell you that? Because I never hit on Hank, ever, and I don't think Josh did, either."
"No! No, Hank never said anything like that," Andrew said, blushing. His face was turning scarlet, as if he knew that what he was saying was stupid, and I realized that I'd never seen him blush before, ever. "Promise you're not going to get mad?"
"I promise," I said quickly. Andrew knew so much about me, and my life, and I still didn't really know anything about him. "I won't get mad, or throw you one of my patented Jack Springer hissy fits, or pretend not to be mad but bitch at you later anyway, or anything."
"Thanks," he said, grinning at me. Another crack in the stone face. "Before I came to work with you guys, I never really was close to any gay guys. I wasn't ever around any for very long, and I definitely wasn't friends with any. Where I grew up, there just weren't that many, and you only called someone that if you really wanted to hurt them. My father had very strong ideas about them, and he always told me about the agenda, and the way that they were always looking for straight guys to convert, and how you were all child molesters, and sissies, and everything else."
"I thought you said you were from Seattle," I said, thinking back. "They must have gay guys out there."
"I told you I lived in Seattle before I moved to LA, but I grew up in a little town outside of there," Andrew said. "Not so big. And I did see gay guys in Seattle, but only in passing, and my attitudes were kind of set by then, anyway. And remember that band I was in? How I told you it broke up? Well, the reason we broke up is that our singer told us, after we moved to LA, that he was gay, and he kept hitting on our drummer. He was straight, and he kept saying no, but it just made everything really uncomfortable, and every time we went out drinking or something he'd just start hitting on him again. It got to be really bad, and the band just kind of broke up after that."
"And when you came to work with us, you thought Josh and I might hit on you?" I asked, kind of amused. "Why did you even take the job, if you thought we were these big flaming queers who were going to try to convert you to our secret agenda?"
"Do you know how much you're paying me?' Andrew asked, grinning, as he reached for another chocolate. "I mean, have you seen those checks, Jack? You don't turn down that kind of money, and, like I said, I figured if I kept up this really severe distance between us, it would be ok."
"So, what happened?" I asked. "You never answered my original question. I'm pretty sure we're friends, so how did that happen, exactly?"
"Well, you know, I guess, with all the time we spend together, and seeing all your speeches and stuff," Andrew began, thinking about it, "I guess my opinion changed a little."
"My speeches changed your opinion on gay people?" I blurted, stunned. Wow. I was amazing.
"No," Andrew said, throwing a balled up candy wrapper at me. "You're not that good, Jack. I guess it was just, you know, hanging out with you guys. I didn't really know what to think when JC told me I was coming on your honeymoon, because I didn't know you guys got married. I mean, I knew, but I didn't think it was like a real marriage, you know? I didn't really think it would be the same way it is for a man and a woman, like if I got married, because I always thought that with you guys, it was just about sex."
"Hey, we eat sometimes, too," I said, trying to keep it light.
"I know," Andrew said, smiling again. "It's just that seeing you guys so much, and seeing the way you act with each other, I can see that it's love. It's not just the sex. You guys hang out, and you drink beer, and JC watches football. When the two of you are together, you go to movies, and out to eat, and all the kind of stuff that I would do if I was on a date. The two of you aren't like these big, sissy fags. The two of you are just like regular guys, except that, you know, you go home with each other, instead of with girls."
"I guess I'll take that as a compliment," I said, smiling back at him. "I'm just like a regular guy."
"Well, JC more than you," Andrew said, deliberately jerking my chain. "You're psycho and neurotic."
"You think Josh is the butch one?" I gasped, feigning hurt like a true drama queen. "Have you seen the things he wears? It's not me who picks out sequined t-shirts and leather pants."
"Whatever," Andrew said, lifting his paper again. Another thought occurred to me.
"This is why you don't like Chad, isn't it?" I asked. "Because of the way he is?"
"Not because he's gay, since I know that all of you aren't like him," Andrew clarified. "Bluntly, he annoys the shit out of me. He's like the really annoying girls who wanted to be friends with the cheerleaders in junior high. I'm sorry if that makes me, I don't know, a hate-mongering bigot or something, but I just can't tolerate him."
I sighed.
"I don't like him either," I admitted.
"No! Really?" Andrew asked sarcastically. "Because you've been so good at covering it."
"Shut up, asshole," I said, rolling my eyes at the ceiling. This is what I got for having a moment with Andrew. Sarcasm and mockery. "I'm just glad you're smart enough to realize that he isn't like that just because he's gay."
"No, it's because he's an airheaded moron," Andrew said, lifting his paper again.
"Exactly," I said, going back to my book.
Lance
Lance paced around the suite, trying to settle himself, and also trying to keep himself from walking across the hall to check on Justin. He knew that Justin was trying to take a step, and was trying to prove to himself that he could do things on his own, but Lance didn't for a second believe that it was just something Justin had decided to do. Lance knew Justin almost as well as he knew himself, or at least he thought he did, and seeing Nick up close like that should have made him shut down more. Seeing Nick, and being touched by him, should have made Justin even more fragile, more afraid. As far as Lance could guess, Justin should be barely functioning right now. Maybe that was it. Maybe Justin wanted his own room because he didn't want to be around anyone. Maybe this was his way of withdrawing completely, of blocking himself out from everyone.
Or maybe it was because of something Lance had done. Lance couldn't think of what, couldn't think of anything, unless Justin blamed him for what happened. Maybe Justin thought that Lance should have been there, that Lance should have kept him from going into that bathroom by himself. Lance had promised to protect Justin, had promised over and over that Justin would always be safe and that Lance would never let anything happen to him, and he had failed. Maybe Justin couldn't forgive that, and just didn't want to tell him. It would explain Justin's weird behavior, the way he was pushing Lance away one second, and then crying in the bathroom and needing Lance to talk him through the next. He'd seen Justin do it before. When he couldn't face the way he felt about JC and Jack, he left the room until he got himself under control again, holding his face and keeping everything bottled up inside. If he was mad at Lance, why wouldn't he do the same thing?
If he was right about Justin, he couldn't just leave him over there to think about it. What would happen if Justin had a nightmare? Who would go with him if he wanted to leave the suite, or if he wanted to stop by the hotel gym in the morning? He couldn't leave Justin over there by himself, especially if Justin felt hurt by him. Justin needed him, damn it, and he had to make sure he was there for him. He stalked over to the door, jerking it open, not sure of what he would say but knowing he needed to say something, and collided with Chad in the hallway.
"Chad!" he blurted, surprised. Chad was holding an empty bag, so he must have just come from JC's room. It was the first time Lance had seen him since the kiss at the doorway.
"Lance!" Chad blurted, his eyes going wide over his tight white t-shirt, a sliver of his flat stomach showing above his flared jeans with their jangling wallet chain. Immediately Chad's face began to turn red, and he stepped back. "I, uh, I."
He jerked, as if he was going to bolt down the hall, and Lance put a hand on his arm.
"Wait, Chad, please," Lance said. "Can I talk to you? Please? About the other day?"
"I know I shouldn't have done that!" Chad blurted, nearly hysterical, breathing quickly. "I know I shouldn't have kissed you and it was completely inappropriate and I should have asked first, and I'm so, so sorry! Please don't be mad, please, I didn't mean it, it was nothing, I swear!"
"It was nothing?" Lance asked, tilting his head to one side. "Because you said you kind of liked me."
"I didn't mean it!" Chad said quickly, watching Lance's face. His expression grew a little less panicked. "Or, um, I don't think I did, unless you're not mad, and then, you know, maybe I did mean it, a little."
"Look, Chad," Lance said, sighing. "I think we need to talk, and we obviously have a lot to talk about. Do you want to go downstairs and get some dinner?"
"You want to go out to dinner?" Chad asked, tugging on his shirt, his hair standing in wildly gelled spikes, fake diamonds glittering in both ears. "I'm not dressed for dinner. I mean, I need a better outfit for that, you know? I can't go out like this, not with you, not with Lance Bass."
"Stop, please," Lance said, putting a hand over Chad's mouth. "I'm asking you to come eat with me. Not Lance Bass. Me. And you're dressed fine for downstairs. We're just going to sit in the back, and talk, and get something to eat, ok?"
Chad nodded, and Lance took his hand away, trying not to think about how soft Chad's face was. As they walked down the hall, Chad a little behind Lance, he raised his hand to his mouth and touched it, thinking about how Lance just had his hand there. Lance just touched him, right there, on his face, and now he wanted to have dinner with him, too. Lance Bass! Chad had to restrain himself from clapping his hands and squealing out loud as he followed Lance to the elevators.
In his room across the hall, Justin watched them go, and smiled a little. He'd known that once he slid out of the picture, once he wasn't in the way distracting Lance so much, being so needy, that Lance would start to think about himself again. Things were working out already. Justin turned back to the room, aware suddenly that he was here alone. He'd already gone through and looked in all the closets, and under the bed, and he had fastened every lock on the door. He would be safe here, as long as he didn't leave the room. If he stayed in here, nothing, and no one, could get at him. He thought about going down to the gift shop, to get a magazine, but he didn't want to go by himself, and something could happen to him out there, something bad. He could watch television, but he might see him again, on one of the channels. There wasn't anything he could do, nothing that was safe, besides sitting here, and watching the doors. If he let his guard down, even for a second, something could happen. He remembered turning his back and being tackled to the floor, the carpet rushing up at him, and squeezed his eyes closed, breathing hard. He couldn't let that happen again, he couldn't.
Downstairs, Chad laughed brightly at something Lance said, and Lance sat back and settled in for a nice, long dinner, his concern for Justin temporarily forgotten as he focused on his other problem. Even though they were supposed to be talking about the other night, Lance and Chad both avoided bringing it up, talking about the tour, the city, the show tomorrow night, anything they could think of that would keep them from having to talk about the kiss in the hallway. As dinner progressed, though, they began to run out of ways to dance around it, and when dessert came, Lance finally raised the subject. He still wasn't sure how he felt about Chad, if he liked him as a friend or if he liked him in a way that left other possibilities open, but he couldn't just leave things hanging where they stood, either.
"Chad, I think we still need to talk about the other night," Lance said finally. Chad's head jerked up, his fork severing his pie and striking the plate so loudly the whole restaurant must have heard it. "Please don't start apologizing again like you did in the hallway."
"OK," Chad said, chewing. "Should I say something else? I don't want to say the wrong thing, or upset you, or say something stupid, or make a bigger ass of myself than I already have."
"You haven't made an ass of yourself, Chad," Lance said, smiling. "I guess, um, what you did the other night, and what you said, it kind of surprised me a little. I mean, it's not like I get kissed at the door every day."
"Was it bad?" Chad asked, blushing.
"I didn't say that," Lance said. Chad was so cute when he blushed, looking all sheepish and bashful. "It was over so fast it's hard to say if it was good or bad."
Chad looked stricken, and Lance quickly jumped in, trying to cover it. Why couldn't he talk tonight?
"Not that I didn't like it," Lance said quickly, covering. "It was nice, just, you know, a surprise. I guess I wanted to talk more about what you said, about, you know, liking me."
"I guess I do," Chad said quickly. Now Lance looked a little surprised. "I mean, not, I guess, but I do, you know, I like you. It's nice to hang out with you, and you're so polite, and nice, and handsome, and, you know, I haven't ever really known a lot of guys like you."
"Uh, thanks," Lance said, wondering exactly what a guy like him was like. "That's really nice of you to say, but, you know, I'm not like that special, or anything. I'm just a regular guy, Chad."
"No, you're not," Chad said. "You're different. You haven't dated a lot of guys, have you?"
"No, not really," Lance answered. Did what happened between him and Justin count as dating? "I, um, I haven't dated a lot, but they were pretty, uh, intense."
"I can tell," Chad said. Lance looked up at him questioningly. "Your eyes are dark sometimes, like you've seen terrible things, but other times you look so, I don't know, so innocent. A lot of the guys I've been with are really jaded, and bitchy, and you're not like that."
"I don't think I've dated enough to be jaded," Lance said, shaking his head.
"That's not a bad thing," Chad said. He swallowed, staring at Lance again. "Lance, when I told you I liked you, you haven't really told me anything. Do you like me? It's ok if you don't."
"Chad, I don't know," Lance said honestly. "I mean, I like you as a friend. I think you're a great person, but do I like like you? That way? I don't know."
"That's ok," Chad said, folding up his napkin. He looked disappointed, a little crushed, and started to reach for his wallet, to pay for his half of dinner. Lance laid a hand on his arm, sending a shiver through him.
"I didn't say I didn't want to find out," Lance said. Chad blinked at him. "I guess what I'm saying, Chad, is that I don't know if I like you that way, but I'm open to the possibility, and I might like to, um, to explore it."
"Explore it?" Chad asked, carefully plucked eyebrows raised. Lance grinned.
"I'm saying I'd like to try going out with you, somewhere," Lance said, almost giggling. Chad sighed, settling back into his chair, and they were both quiet.
"So, uh, what do we do now?" Chad asked, finishing his pie.
"Well, I'm not real experienced with this whole dating thing," Lance began, grinning again, "but I think now we sort of, you know, go on one."
"We're at dinner," Chad pointed out. "Does that count?"
"It's a start," Lance said. "There's a, um, a garden terrace thing attached to the hotel. You want to go for a walk?"
Chad beamed.
"Yeah," he answered, nodding vigorously. "Yeah, I do."
As they walked through the garden, Chad keeping up a steady stream of semi-nervous babble, Lance let his mind drift. It was nice hanging out with Chad, knowing that Chad liked him, but that he didn't really need anything from him. Chad seemed happy just being around Lance, walking with him, talking with him, chattering away about the guys and the band and a lot of other stuff that Lance took for granted and never really gave a thought to. Despite the fact that they had both decided that this was, in fact, a date, neither had made a move to hold hands, or do more than just walk along beside each other. It gave Chad a little more time to adjust to being with Lance, let him calm down a little, and it gave Lance a comfortable space to be in, a safety zone, and it also gave him time to try to figure out what exactly was going on here.
He hadn't lied to Chad, exactly. He did like him, and liked hanging out with him, but did he like him enough? The honest answer, right now, was that no, he didn't. At the moment, he was just kind of going through the motions, waiting to see if, given time, he might grow to like Chad. Right now it was nice to be with someone pleasant who didn't need him so much, but that was about all he felt. On some physical level, he could admit that he was attracted to Chad, that he liked the thin contours of Chad's body, and his hair, and that Chad had pretty eyes, so blue and soft, and on a more mental level, he liked Chad's personality, once they hung out long enough for Chad to relax and let it shine through. The rest was where his confusion came from, though.
When he had been with Howie, in the beginning, there had been an immediate attraction between them. The first time he looked into Howie's eyes, really looked, the wind had been knocked right out of him. He'd tripped over his own feet and almost fallen down, feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut. Considering the way the relationship had turned out, getting punched in the stomach was a pretty apt metaphor, but Lance pushed that thought away, thinking that it was a little more bitterly sarcastic than his usual ones. Maybe he was hanging out with Jack too much. Getting back to the problem at hand, though, he was confused because being around Chad wasn't the same as being around Howie had been. He didn't feel that punch in the gut, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to. Did love always feel the same way, or was it different every time? Maybe it was different every time, with every guy, or maybe this was supposed to be telling him that Chad was all wrong for him.
"Lance?" Chad asked, tapping him on the shoulder.
"Huh?" Lance said, jerking his head up.
"I asked you the same question twice," Chad said, smiling a little. "I think maybe I got my answer."
"I'm sorry," Lance said, blinking. Chad didn't look mad, so whatever answer he had interpreted from Lance's behavior couldn't be a bad one, but that still didn't make it ok. "What was the question?"
"I asked if you wanted to turn in for the night," Chad said, turning toward the elevators. Lance followed. "You look kind of tired, and a little out of it, so I asked if you wanted to say good night and call an end to our evening."
"I'm sorry," Lance said, blushing a little. "I guess I just, you know, tune out sometimes. Justin calls it turning space cadet. He says sometimes it's like he's still down here on earth, and I'm up orbiting the planet."
"It's nice that you guys are so close," Chad said neutrally. "I always heard about how you're all brothers, but it's nice to see that it's true."
"Yeah, that's us," Lance said. "Brothers."
They traveled the rest of the way through the hotel without talking, and before they realized it, they were back at Lance's room. The hallway was empty, and quiet, and they both stood uncomfortably at the door, looking at their shoes, or the walls, or anywhere but at each other.
"Well, um, good night," Chad said. "I had a really nice time, and I guess, um, I hope you call me."
He started to turn away, and Lance put a hand on his arm.
"Chad, remember that kiss the other night?" he asked, curious. "How about we try it again, a little slower?"
Before Chad could answer, Lance was pulling him a little closer, both of them leaning in, and then Chad's eyes closed as his heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't really be doing this, couldn't really be kissing Lance, Lance Bass! Against all odds, though, he felt Lance's lips softly brushing his own, pressing a little, but not really lingering, and then when he opened his eyes he saw Lance's green ones backing away.
"Much better," Lance said, keying his suite open. It was better slower, but he still hadn't really felt that flutter, that twitter of excitement. "Good night, Chad."
"Night," Chad said softly, trying not to pass out.
Across the hall, Justin watched through his peephole, listening to them through the door. Everything was working out for Lance, it seemed. Everything was going to be ok for him, and he would finally have the chance to be happy, the chance that Justin had ruined for him so many times before. Justin slid down the door, trying to ignore the tears streaming down his face, and forcing himself to think about what was best for Lance.
To be continued.