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've enjoyed hearing from all of you.
Back for season three, but I warn you now, it's going to be a little different.
I took another drag from the cigarette I'd bummed off of Leonardo DiCaprio in the kitchen and listened to the party raging in the house behind me. Leo hadn't been able to find his lighter anywhere, but Fiona Apple had hers handy, and waved it toward me without pausing in the rambling discussion of global megacorporations and Amazon basin deforestation that she had Leonardo trapped in. I lit up quickly, and fled out the first door I saw, which luckily led to an empty deck. My head was spinning, and I needed air before the walls started closing in on me.
I had no idea whose house we were at, or how long we would be staying. The house was massive, as I'd always expected that houses in California would be, and was packed with so many celebrities that I felt like I'd wandered into a photo shoot for Tiger Beat, or maybe a cameo studded Robert Altman movie. I pulled on the cigarette, half my mind thinking of how nice it was to have one, and the other half marveling that Leonardo DiCaprio had given me this. I was so grateful for it that I didn't even ask him what the hell he was thinking when he thought making "The Beach" was a good idea.
Josh had held my hand through the entire awards show, leaving me only when the guys had to go backstage to get ready to present. Britney was also gone at that point, getting ready to perform after the next commercial break, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by well-dressed seat fillers. I greeted them warmly, but they weren't very talkative on the whole, probably trying to figure out where they were supposed to be next. Chris told me that they would spend the entire evening moving around the auditorium, making sure that people in the audience at home never saw a blank spot. I kind of envied them. They were so good at their jobs that people didn't even notice them, barely nodding to them as they slid into the empties. I, on the other hand, caught people glancing at me every time I looked up, and their expressions, for the most part, were inscrutable to me.
What were people really thinking? Did they think I was some kind of gold-digger? A celebrity wanna-be? Did they think I'd corrupted Josh in some way? Would this serve as confirmation for all the people out there who insisted that all of the guys in every boyband were actually gay? I realized that I was letting my ego run away with me. Most of these people had no idea of who I was, and I was probably beneath their notice. I might be dating a celebrity, and Josh's public outing of himself on national television might be a hot topic of discussion for a little while, but I was still just a guest in the world that these people lived in. Chris and Joey had warned me that a lot of people out here were pretty fake, and it made me kind of wary of anyone who had spoken to me at the party.
When the guys took the stage to read their lines off the teleprompter, Josh looked right at me and winked, grinning widely. I smiled back, even as I heard another flurry of whispering sweeping through the crowd around me. Josh was on cloud nine, practically floating across the stage with the rest of the guys, and he was giving me huge puppy dog eyes like a lovesick teenager. He was completely at peace with his decision, and I inwardly applauded again that he had decided to completely be true to himself, and be honest with the world, and that the rest of the guys had backed him on it. At the same time, though, I was a little afraid. Sure, people had clapped and cheered, but at some point people were also going to start saying ugly things, and I wasn't sure how Josh would take that. Josh had explained to me once how much it hurt him that most people didn't consider him a real musician, and how much he struggled to be taken seriously sometimes, and now he had just taken on another set of issues entirely.
When the guys returned to their seats, Josh immediately laced his fingers through mine again, and he leaned over to whisper to me that he loved me. I felt his lips brushing my cheek as his breath tickled my ear, and I wondered if a camera was watching us. I leaned over, inhaling his aftershave, and told him I loved him, too. After the awards were all given out, and the curtain closed on the final performance of the night, the seven of us evaded the press and slipped into our pair of limousines, heading up to this house for an after-show party.
"You guys were amazing," Lance said, sitting across from Josh and I. "I can't believe you did that."
"Only one of us knew we were going to make out on live MTV," I said, leaning back against Josh. He pulled me close as I snuggled up against him.
"Yeah, well, we knew you were coming, Jack," Chris said, smirking. "We didn't know JC was going to put his tongue in your mouth."
Chris had opted to ride with us, as he still wanted to punch Justin in the face a couple of times. We had agreed to keep everything from Britney until Justin decided to tell her, but no one was requiring him to. Maybe he would decide to be honest with her at some point, or maybe not. Either way, I had my fill of involvement in Justin's personal entanglements, and the rest of the guys seemed to feel the same way. The only reason Joey was in the other limo with them was because it would have looked pretty suspicious for all of us to pile into one car and leave the two of them in the other, both to Britney and to the media.
"I told you I wasn't going to hide any of this anymore," Josh said, smiling. He turned and kissed my forehead, his lips soft, but firm. "Jack and I are in this for the long haul, and I want everyone to know."
"You're so amazing," Lance repeated quietly, looking away. He frowned, as if he wanted to add something, but he didn't let it out.
"Jack, you're quiet," Chris said, looking at me.
"I'm sorry," I said, glancing away from Josh.
"You ok, babe?" Josh asked, brushing my hair away from my forehead. His wide blue eyes stared into mine, his joyous enthusiasm immediately melting to concern.
"I'm fine," I said, shrugging. "It's just, you know, been quite a day. How do you guys do this all the time? All those cameras, and reporters, and having to smile, and all those people."
"You get used to it after a while," Josh said, hugging me tightly against him. I could feel his muscles bunching under his suit.
"It's just so draining," I said, resting against him.
"I know, Jack," Josh sighed, kissing my forehead again. "But now we're going to go have some fun, and then we can go back to the apartment and relax, ok?"
"Sure, Josh, whatever you want," I sighed, kissing his cheek.
Chris clapped his hands excitedly.
"Yay! Jack's going to his first Hollywood party!" he said, grinning. Lance summoned a wan smile for me, too.
As exciting as my first Hollywood party promised to be, though, it got old fairly quickly. Except for the fact that most of the party goers were really famous, and I had spent large portions of my life seeing them in magazines or on television, it was almost like being at a high school party again, just in a much bigger house. There were still little cliques of people who didn't talk to each other. Maybe no other house party I'd ever been to had waiters and caterers, but otherwise it was pretty similar. Stereo cranking in one room filled with people dancing, lines for the bathrooms, people making out in darkened corners, popular guys and girls surrounded by crowds of hangers on. If I turned back the clock about ten years, I could be back home in Ohio, although I'd probably also be in acid-washed jeans and a Bugle Boy shirt.
I lost track of Chris and Lance within the first twenty minutes of the party. Josh, Justin, Brit, and I ended up in the big room where everyone was dancing, and Joey was off to the side talking to one of the girls from Destiny's Child who wasn't Beyonce. There were a lot of people I didn't know, and a lot of people whose faces I knew but couldn't put names to. A lot of people stopped to talk to Josh, to tell him that they thought it was just great that he'd come out, and they seemed excited to say the same to me when Josh introduced me, but it was hard to tell who meant it. None of it seemed real. Josh didn't seem to be feeling any of the same unease, but after we danced for a while I decided I needed air, which is how I'd ended up out on the back deck, with the cigarette I'd bummed from Leonardo.
"Hey," I heard Josh say from behind me.
I turned and saw him stepping out of the kitchen. I could still hear Fiona speaking loudly about slash and burn agriculture, but Josh closed the door behind him, the light from the kitchen washing over his profile. His hair was tousled, and curling, like it tended to do when he sweat, or when it was humid out. He had pushed it back with his hand, brushing it off of his high forehead. My eye followed the curves of his cheekbones, and the straight line of his nose, but as he walked toward me, backlit, all I saw was the sparkle of his ocean blue eyes and the soft white gleam of his smile. He'd undone his shirt collar while we were dancing, leaving the strong cords of his neck out, offering just a hint of the rise of his pecs below the hollow of his throat, where I liked to put my mouth.
"Julia Styles said she saw you head toward the kitchen," he said, wrapping his arms around me, crushing me against his chest.
"Did she?" I asked, suddenly amused, hugging him back.
Josh's long, tanned fingers reached up and plucked the cigarette out of mine.
"Where did this come from?" he asked, frowning at it.
"DiCaprio," I answered, shrugging. "He offered, and, you know, I'm a follower. Peer pressure and all that."
Josh sighed, dropping the cigarette to the deck and crushing it out beneath his shoe.
"Can I have a real answer now?" he asked, leading me over to the railing by the hand. We sat, and he lifted a hand to my face, turning my head toward his, fingers brushing feather soft over my cheek. "Jack, are you all right?"
"I don't know, Josh," I said, shrugging. "This is, all of this, is just, you know, it's a lot to deal with. I mean, you're used to this, but I'm just worn out. There are just so many people, and there were all those cameras. I just feel like everyone's looking at us, and I'm not sure how to act, or what I'm supposed to do."
Josh hugged me again, holding me tightly against him. His hands were on my back, sliding over my shoulder blades, and we were cheek to cheek. I could feel his heart beating next to mine, through the layers of our matching suits, and the smell of his sweat was mixed with our cologne and aftershave.
"Jack, I'm sorry," he said, his lips close to my ear. "I didn't think about how you'd take this. We're used to it, but we've had years to get that way. I forgot, I guess, that this was your first red carpet, and all the rest of this. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Josh, there isn't anything wrong with you," I said, kissing him quickly on the lips, feeling how smooth they were as his little strip of beard scraped my chin. "I'm just kind of overwhelmed. I can't believe you're not."
"I think I will be later," Josh admitted, squeezing my hand. The two of us stared into the kitchen, watching everyone pass by the glass as if on a television screen. "Right now I guess I'm just still really excited. My heart's been pounding all night, Jack, and I feel like everything is just spinning. I feel so, I don't know, so alive, like I'm on top of the world."
"I'm glad," I said, bringing his hand up so I could kiss the back of it. "I'm proud of you, Josh. I'm proud to be your boyfriend."
"I know," he said, draping his arm around my shoulders to pull me closer to him. "And I know you'd be proud of me either way. I remember when I first flew out to see you, I asked if you would move in with me, and you asked if I had thought about what it would really mean to tell the world who I was. Well, I've told the world, and I feel completely free. And I know it's not going to be easy from here. I know that there are going to be people who still make fun of us, and people who are going to speak out against me because of this. I know that everyone isn't going to be happy for us, but it doesn't matter to me, because I'll still have you, and you're all that's important to me."
"I love you, Josh," I said, brushing his hair back away from his eyes with my hand.
"And I love you," he answered, pulling me in close.
Josh's lips pressed against mine, sliding against them like smooth silk as his hands gently caressed the sides of my face. I felt his tongue pushing gently against mine as our teeth pressed against our lips. Josh groaned softly, and I felt it vibrate through my mouth as well as our tongues fought each other, sliding and pressing against each other like snakes as I tasted him and he tasted me. He pulled back, but I leaned forward, kissing him again, and then again, before he finally pulled back a second time, his lip caught between my teeth, sliding through them as I gently let go. Josh's eyes stared into mine, wide and blue, and I saw myself reflected in them, in the low light escaping the kitchen. His face was flushed, but smooth, and then it crinkled as he smiled.
"Hey, I have an idea," he said huskily, his voice low and sexy.
"What's that?" I asked, staring at him.
"Why don't we go tell Chris or Joey that we're leaving," Josh purred, standing and pulling me off the railing as well. "And then why don't we go home and make love until neither one of us can walk?"
"I think that's a great idea," I said, dropping my hand quickly to his crotch, to squeeze his hard cock. His hips jerked toward me. "Oh, Josh, you're as hard as I am. I want you so bad right now."
"Why don't we go home, and you can show me?" he suggested, grinning wickedly.
We practically ran, hand in hand, back to the kitchen, leaving the back deck behind, completely unaware of what was going on below it.
Below the deck, the well landscaped backyard spread in a wide expanse of rolling lawn, dotted here and there with groupings of trees, and the occasional bench. In some parts of the city, lots were so expensive that there was no yard at all, just a massive house and, frequently, a pool or a tennis court. Once you started getting into the hills and canyons, though, houses started having a little land around them, or, in cases like this, a lot of land. There were party lanterns hanging in the trees over the benches, made to look like Japanese paper lanterns, but obviously electric, as no one was going to play with fire in high summer. Here and there a partygoer or two sat on the benches, talking and laughing, but for the most part the backyard was empty.
That suited Lance just fine. He didn't want company, and had gone into the backyard through the door in the game room specifically to avoid being around so many people at once. It wasn't that he didn't like people. Normally, he was just the opposite, outgoing, fun-loving, extremely social, but now, now he didn't know how he felt. Thrown into a room with so many people, he just wanted to leave, to get away, before someone else started talking to him. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk. He just didn't know what to say, because everything was so jumbled up inside of him right now, and he didn't know how to feel. Everything was confused right now, and he felt like if anyone started talking to him things would just start to spill out, all kinds of things, things he wasn't ready to think about yet, or worse, things he thought about too much.
He had been in the game room when Christina Aguilera had tugged on his arm and begun gushing about how awesome she thought it was that JC had decided to come out.
"I mean, it's like, so amazing that he's just going to be who he is, and it's too bad, because he's you know, kind of hot, not hot like Justin hot, but kind of hot, but I guess that doesn't matter now, because, you know, it's like more important that he's true to himself, you know, instead of like, living a lie or something. I never thought, not ever, when we were on the Mouse that he was like that, but I guess he was, and maybe he was just hiding it really well, but aren't you excited for him, Lance, that he, you know, is being true to himself, and found somebody, and he's not going to keep hiding it or let anything hold him back, you know? I wanted to, like, talk to him about it, because I know a lot of gay guys, but he was dancing with that guy, the boyfriend, you know, and they just looked so cute together I didn't want to interrupt. It's so cool, too, that you guys like totally support him on it, too, because coming out can be really hard, I heard, and it's so great that you're all ok with it, right Lance?"
Lance had stared at her, his mind reeling, before he quickly mumbled something about needing air and ducked out into the backyard.
Not for the first time, Lance looked up toward the sky, and wondered why he was being tested like this. He didn't know what to do about the feelings that were churning inside him. He'd been talking to Dr. Centano, and was supposed to go talk to him again tomorrow, but he was still torn about what was going on inside him. On one hand, he felt a strong attraction to other men. He had for almost his entire life, but it was wrong. His parents had told him that, his minister had told him that, hell, everyone he knew always told him that. Everyone knew it was wrong, and that there was something wrong with guys who felt that way, and acted that way. They called them "queer" for a reason, after all, because they were abnormal.
On the other hand, Lance had never been sexually attracted to a girl, never. He had girlfriends, but never very serious ones. He'd barely ever even kissed a girl. Most of his relationships never went beyond handholding, or occasionally hugging. Sometimes a girl tried to take things a little past that, tried to tempt him or force him into doing something he didn't want to do, but he quickly broke things off with those girls. They weren't the girl for him. He told himself all along that someday, when he met the right girl, and it was true love, when it was meant to be, that he would feel the right way, and that these other feelings that he had sometimes would finally go away.
But what if it wasn't the right girl that he was waiting for? What if it was the right guy? What if this wasn't just a passing phase? After all, he'd certainly felt those feelings when he was with Justin.
Lance shook his head violently at this thought, trying again to push it away. Dr. Centano told him not to run from what had happened, to accept it, and find ways to work through the pain, but every time Lance thought of Justin, every time he saw him, he felt dizzy. He felt bile rise in his throat, felt his stomach turn and his knees shake, every time he thought about Justin, and what Justin had done to him. And what he had done to Justin. And how he had felt about it.
How he had liked it.
Because that was his real problem, when he got down to it. That was the real feeling he didn't want to face. Justin had abused him, yes, but Justin hadn't really forced anything on him, when you got right down to it. Sure, Justin had a way of talking you into things, and suggesting things, and making you do things you wouldn't do otherwise, but deep down, hadn't Lance wanted to do those things? Hadn't he really wanted to all along? And he'd liked it, hadn't he? Even now, when the memory of the times he'd knelt before Justin with his mouth open, begging for it, filled him with shame, it also sent a little shiver through him. He'd wanted it, he'd deserved it, and what kind of person did that make him, really?
Lance was shaken from his own introspective reverie by the sound of people arguing off to his left. It was too dark for him to see who it was, but he thought he recognized the voices of the two silhouetted men. Standing under the deck, hidden among the supports and the plants put up to camouflage them, he knew they couldn't see him. He also knew that eavesdropping was wrong, but he didn't want to go back inside, and he was curious.
"For the last time, I don't care, ok?" the taller one said. "We talked about this, and you said that you would go along with whatever we decided, and that's what you're going to do."
"Oh, sure, what you all decided," the shorter one said, sounding sad. "What about me? How is it supposed to make me feel?"
"If you didn't feel like this, we wouldn't have these problems," the taller one spat. "I told you, I don't care what you do with your life, but you keep it to yourself! Keep the rest of us out of it."
"But the other guys would come around if you weren't always so loud, and so angry, and so upset about everything," the shorter one pleaded. To Lance he sounded almost like he was begging, but for what? "Please, we could do it, you could let me just be honest about it, and no one would care. You saw that tonight."
"No," the taller one said, his voice cold. "Tonight, no one cares, but you wait to see what people say tomorrow. They're already saying it now, whispering behind their backs, making jokes. I'm not going to let them do that to us, too. You said we'd decide this as a group, and we did. The answer was no, and I don't want to argue about it anymore."
"If you would just think about it," the smaller one began again, sighing. He seemed to know his cause was futile.
"No, for the last time, my answer's no," the taller one said, turning away. "I'm going back to the party. Why don't you just stay out here, and be yourself?"
He stalked away, around the side of the house, too far and too shrouded in shadow for Lance to get a good look at him. He caught a flash of blonde hair, but that was all. Turning back, he saw the other guy, the shorter one, punch the tree, and then yelp in frustration, cradling his hand.
However inappropriate it might be to eavesdrop, Lance couldn't leave someone else in pain.
"Careful," he said, walking over slowly. "The tree might decide to hit back."
Lance's breath caught in his throat as the guy turned toward him, wide, chocolate brown eyes meeting his green ones. He took it all in at once, the firm jaw, speckled with just a hint of stubble, the tanned, honey gold skin, the short dark hair hanging down over his ears and almost covering one eye, the smooth lips, not pink, but almost brownish. Somehow his feet tangled in each other, as if he'd never walked before, and Lance almost tripped and fell as he walked over toward the tree, where Howie was crouching and holding his hand, trying very hard to look like it didn't hurt.
"New feet?" Howie asked, mustering up a smile. How much had Lance heard?
"No, I think there was a tree root there or something," Lance said, shaking his head as if to prevent himself from noticing the way that Howie's pale blue sweater clung to his chest, highlighting the muscles there, drawing his eyes along the curve of Howie's pecs to his nipples, which he could almost see through the thin, tight fabric.
What was wrong with him? He'd seen Howie, and all of the Backstreet Boys, before, and had spoken to all of them, dozens of times, if not more. The media and the public might consider them rivals, but they were actually all on a nodding sort of acquaintance with each other. With both groups making their home in Orlando, and the guys traveling in so many of the same circles, it would be hard for them not to speak to each other once in a while. But why did he suddenly feel so clumsy, and why was his heart pounding? And why was Howie looking at him like that?
"Did you hurt your hand?" Lance asked, afraid to say anything else. He felt almost tongue tied, as if he had to force the words out.
"I'm not sure," Howie said, still holding it. "I guess that was kind of a dumb thing to do."
"Hey, somebody has to show the trees who's boss," Lance said. He sat on the bench. "Come over here under the light, and we'll look at it."
Howie sat down next to Lance, still cradling his hand. It stung, but he was a little afraid to take his other hand off and actually look at it. What if he had to go to the hospital? God knew he'd never hear the end of it from Kevin on that one. Lance held out his hand, his eyebrows raised, and Howie gingerly placed his wounded hand in it. Lance took it, noticing how smooth and soft Howie's hand was, noting the scattering of dark hair on the back. He was suddenly so nervous that he worried that his own hand would start shaking. Why did he feel like this?
"You skinned your knuckles a little," Lance said, reaching into his shirt pocket. "Here, I have a handkerchief."
Lance blotted at Howie's knuckles with it, dabbing at the blood. Howie flinched a little.
"Sorry," Lance said, suddenly realizing that he was still holding tightly to Howie's hand, even as he swiped at the slowly oozing blood with his handkerchief. He held it out to Howie. "Here, you can do this."
"No, it's ok," Howie said quickly, avoiding glancing at his hand. "The blood is, you know, I get a little squeamish."
"OK," Lance said, pressing the handkerchief down onto Howie's knuckles. "Does it hurt to move it?"
"No," Howie answered, squeezing Lance's hand. Another little shiver raced through Lance, moving up his arm and spreading over his whole body.
"I didn't really hear what you guys were saying," Lance began, still pressing down with the handkerchief. "But, you know, you looked pretty upset. Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I think so," Howie sighed. "Nick's just being Nick. It's just stupid band stuff. How are you guys doing?"
"Well, you know, you kind of saw tonight," Lance answered, shrugging, not wanting to get into it. "It's been pretty intense."
"I can imagine," Howie said. He sounded strained, but he smiled quickly, as if forcing himself to. "I hear you guys are doing some recording here."
"Yeah, we'll be out here for another couple of weeks," Lance said.
"I'm going to be out here for a few more days, too," Howie said. "I'm doing a cameo in a movie, so I'll be here until they get that done. The rest of the guys are leaving tomorrow, I think."
"You'll be all by yourself?" Lance asked. "Do you know anybody out here?"
"Well, I know you," Howie answered, smiling.
Staring across the bench at Howie, their faces only inches apart, Lance suddenly felt dizzy. He realized he was still holding Howie's hand, and he quickly let it go.
"It looks like, um, the bleeding stopped," Lance said, standing. "And I, uh, have a lot of, you know, stuff to do tomorrow, and it's getting really late, so I think I'm going to call it a day. It was good talking to you."
"You, too," Howie said, staring up at him. Lance started to step away, and Howie spoke again. "Lance, do you want to maybe get together tomorrow, and grab some dinner or something?"
"Um, sure," Lance said, reaching into his pocket for one of his cards. "Sure, I'd like that. My cell phone number is on here. Why don't you call me in the afternoon, and we'll figure something out?"
"OK," Howie said, taking the card. "Good night, Lance, and thanks for the first aid."
"No problem," Lance said quickly, turning away. "Good night."
Lance hurried away toward the house, his heart fluttering and his head spinning. Why couldn't he get Howie's eyes, Howie's wide, warm brown eyes, out of his head? Why did his hand still tingle where Howie's had been? And why was he suddenly looking forward to dinner tomorrow, more than he'd looked forward to anything for weeks? Howie eyed Lance's back speculatively as he walked away.
Look, no cliffhanger. And Lance isn't crying. Told you this season would be different.
Happy New Year!