// Part 2 // Justin was dreaming of sex. He could feel his dick throbbing with want, a pulsing of desire that trilled through every nerve. Kisses, sweet light things that barely brushed his skin. Teeth on nipples, pulling the rosy tips into erect nubs. Tongues that dueled, sweeping over lips and teeth. Fingertips that drew circles on him, that set him on fire. It was pitch black, no light to see her face, so he reached for the bedside lamp, wanting even in his dream state to drink in her incredible beauty. His hand was swatted away with a hissed, "Leave it off." The feelings were becoming more powerful every moment. He reached around his lover's body and drew her to him. He gasped.  This wasn't right. The body was too heavy, the skin rough with unshaven beard, and the erect dick that rubbed against his own was definitely not Britney's. Then the low bass voice whispered in his ear, "Isn't this what you want , babe?" He moaned, yes and no. God, the sensations were overwhelming. But it was wrong, all wrong. He couldn't, didn't want this. Yet, as he continued to dream, his body betrayed him, soaking up all Lance had to offer and coming in great spurts on the bed sheets. He woke in a sweat, ashamed, hoping Brit had slept through it all. She was awake though, her nose wrinkling at the musky smell of cum. "Sorry, baby girl." "Tell me, Ju, what were you dreaming of?" "What do you think?" he asked. "Better be me, babe," she answered, trying to keep a lightness in her voice. The note of fear was there though and he didn't miss it. He turned to her and gathered her in strong arms, swearing that she was all he ever thought, dreamed about. They pulled off the sticky sheets and snuggled under the down comforter and Brit pushed aside the worry that this was all wrong. Justin replayed the dream, agonizing over it, rewinding a hundred times. What the fuck? This had never happened before. Even when he was younger and wet dreams were common, it had never been Lance. Now as he watched the scene play over and over, he felt his dick hardening once more. He turned his thoughts away. He thought of nasty things—spiders and snakes and math. It worked and he finally fell asleep reciting the multiplication tables in his head. They never did see Contact. They snuck out of the city late Sunday night after their Superbowl party had ended. Flying home they held hands and Brit's head rested against Justin's shoulder. The flight attendant commented to her companions that they had to be the world's prettiest couple. Justin listened with his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. "I heard he's gay," a male voice offered. "I wish." The last was uttered with a sigh and met by quiet giggles. "Does it look like he's gay?" This came in an offended tone. "Hell, yes, he's as flamey as they come, girl," the male countered. "Haven't you ever seen him in concert. And what about that Elton John dealie? He sure as hell looked at home with my man." "Ssh, you'll wake them up. Out!" A new voice, an in charge voice. "Out! That's what  * I * say," the male voice said with a giggle. And then the sounds faded as they moved away. Justin fought down the nausea. He shifted in his seat and turned his face to the window, hoping that the tears that were slipping down his cheeks were hidden from prying eyes. The conversation went onto loop, repeating in his head, adding fuel to the incipient fire. He couldn't sleep and by the time they landed, he felt drained—emotionally and physically. Britney  studied him with concern and finally asked softly, "What's wrong, babe?" "Nothing," he lied, "just couldn't sleep." She gave that little shake that said she knew it was a lie but wasn't going to pursue it any further. She stretched catlike in the seat, waiting for the royal treatment. With the two of them, America's royal couple, it was guaranteed. She loved being seen with him. They matched perfectly. Ken and Barbie. The walking, talking version for all the little girls and the not so little girls. He adored being with her, protected and loved by an icon. Right on cue, the flight attendants cleared a path and they were whisked away, life seemingly one giant perk. Justin lay back in the limo, peace stealing over him as he anticipated seeing Lance. And then he jerked up, perspiring, his face mirroring some of the inner turmoil. "Shit, Justin, what is it?" Britney asked sharply, freaked by the rapid change in his demeanor. "Uh, nothing," he replied. Nothing. Just that the only time he felt happy anymore is when he was thinking about, talking to, or hearing Lance. What kind of fucked up shit was that? The stomach thing again. Home. As soon as they were inside, Justin turned to Britney and hugged her tightly like she was some kind of amulet that would ward off evil. When he finally let go, she looked at him with the concern of a long time friend and forced a smile past the fear. "Anytime you need me, Justin, anytime—I'll be here. You know that, right?" "I * do* know that, baby girl. Thanks," he replied, that trademark soft voice full of a sadness that he couldn't put into words. "Let's get some sleep. First thing in the morning, I have to go see the guys. Tell them our plans." She hesitated, wanting to suggest that they do it together  but she could see he needed something she couldn't give so she simply nodded. Hours later, after a restless sleep, he was gone so he didn't see her hugging herself as she listened to the BMW roar out of the driveway. Gravel crunched as he pulled into Chris's driveway. He had so many questions and this was his best friend. He tapped his foot impatiently until Chris answered the door, rushing through into the den where he knew Playstation would be on, even at this hour. "Hey, you interrupted my game. Now be a good boy and wait while I finish." He grabbed the controller and resumed the game, ignoring the anxious pacing. "Stop, Chris, I have to talk to you," Justin finally blurted out. The tone was the clue. Chris cocked his head and the game ended. "Serious?" "Very." Justin wasn't sure where to start. He focused on the fear. "Do people * really * think I'm gay?" "Are you?" "No. Of course not." "Well then, why do you care? They hate my `horns' but I ain't cutting them." It was taking a mighty effort for Chris to stay focused on the conversation. It just seemed like another in the long list of Justin's insecurities. "I don't know. It's just weird, if people wonder about me. What the fuck? I screw Brit on a regular basis." "Um, baby boy, every male in the world could get it up for her. But aside from that, what do you want to know? If there are `rumors'? Snide comments? Yada, yada, yada?" "Yeah, exactly." "Okay, well, I'd like to finish my game so I'll just supply you with some reading matter and check back with you in a few." He stood up and leaned over the computer, his fingers flying until some list full of messages about the great Justin Timberlake filled the screen. He stepped away and rooted in a pile of papers. "Knock yourself out, Ju," he said, tossing a tattered copy of the Village Voice to him. "Page 15. Michael Musto's bit." Then he was gone. Justin caught the paper and flipped to the page. He began to read, "… okay, deliver me from evil and big holes, but Justin Timberlake's fascinatingly foofy career choices have me wondering if the cutie has a memoir coming out. Justin—here comes another list—played a swishy hairdresser in the NSYNC movie ( a role he'll reprise on Friends),wanted to do the film version of the AIDS musical Rent, portrays the young poofter Elton John in Elton's new video, posed for a homoerotic spread in Arena Hommes Plus, went to Beige and Asseteria with girlfriend Britney Spears, and reportedly might don drag for Britney's new video. Ain't no lie. Bi, bi, bi." He could feel the bile rising into his throat. He dropped the paper and like a moth drawn to the light, he sat down and began to read the messages. The speculation was rife, messages filled with "evidence" that he was truly gay. He was still reading when Chris came over, his game finished. "So?" Justin swallowed hard, the lump in his throat preventing speech. He coughed and stood abruptly, heading for the kitchen, Chris trailing after him. "Well, buddy? No news there, eh?" Justin whirled and faced him, eyes shiny, pink spots on his cheeks. "Shit," Chris said, a long exhale following. "You really didn't know, did you?" Justin pulled on his inner reserves, ones that he hadn't known were there until this minute. "No, I didn't," he answered simply, masking the fear and pain that were just under the surface. He abruptly ended that line of conversation. "Brit and I are getting married on Valentine's Day." Chris's eyes narrowed, "What brought that on?" "I'm, we're, tired of waiting. These last weeks have been wonderful and it's what we want." He hoped he sounded convincing. "Tell any of the others yet?" Chris asked. "Nope. Best friend. You're first," he was able to reply with a smile. "You're too young," Chris said flatly, his face crinkled with worry. His need to protect his little brother stirred his honesty. "God, I'm thirty and I'm not ready. Our lives are too fucked up at the moment to settle down." Seeing he was making no impression, he gave it one last shot. "Jesus, you two grew up doing this. What the hell do you know about relationships—at least the kind required to commit to marriage?" Justin was rigid. "Is that your way of saying `Congratulations'?" "I'm sorry, Ju. I love Brit, I love you both, but it's just wrong—a huge fucking mistake." Justin headed for the door and angrily brushed Chris's hand away. "If  *you're* saying this, I can't wait for the others." Chris watched from the doorway as the car tore out of the driveway. He debated preparing JC but thought better of it. Fuck it. JC answered the door with a smile. "Hey, what brings you here so early? This is not the Justin we know and love." Joey rounded the corner with a cup of coffee. "Fancy meeting you here, baby boy." "Uh, I don't suppose Lance is here, is he?" They looked at one another and laughed, "No. No, he's not. So why are you here?" JC asked. "I'm getting married on Valentine's Day," Justin blurted out. JC looked stunned momentarily and then erupted, "What the fuck? Jesus Christ, Justin, are you out of your mind?" Justin stood still, waiting for the storm to gather force and then blow itself out. JC continued, "You can't. It will destroy the group. It is stupid and irresponsible and lame-brained. Say something, Joe." Joey had stood in silence, watching JC and waiting for an opportunity to throw a few cents worth in. Watching the hurt on Justin's face was painful. "C, calm down. Let's hear the baby out." "I'm  * not * a baby. You guys seem to forget that. I'm 21 now and can make up my own mind." "And take us down with you, right?" JC sneered. "It's  *my * life, C." "Oh right, I forgot. Whatever Justin wants, Justin gets. Justin wants to get married so the pop prince and princess can reign supreme. As if the two of you weren't already splattered all over every paper and magazine in the world." "It will be a secret. Just you guys and our families. Maybe Trace." "A secret?" JC laughed out loud and even Joey smiled. "Brit's PR people never heard that word, babe. Guaranteed by the next day, it will be all over the news, `leaked' by some source close to the couple." "Whatever. I need to do this. Joe, anything to say?" "Good luck, kid. You'll need it. Kelly and I ain't even married and it's no picnic in our business." Justin sighed. "C, you gonna stay mad?" "Not forever, Justin, but for today? You bet your ass. Ha, you tell Lance yet?" "No. I'm going over there now." Joey clucked sympathetically. "He will be nursing what could possibly be a Guinness book record for Worst Hangover. So tread lightly. Later might be good." "I'll remember to check for flying objects," Justin said, at least smiling now. He drove to Lance's, mixed feelings fed by thoughts. He wanted to see Lance, just see him, soak up the …what? Fuck. He was at it again, fantasizing, waxing poetic about Lance when it should be Brit. On the other hand, Lance was hungover and after the reaction from the other three, maybe he shouldn't be expecting anything even remotely positive. It scared him that it didn't matter what Lance said. It was enough to be with him. He pulled up to the gate and punched in the code. He sat in the car for a good twenty minutes, rationalizing that every minute longer gave Lance that much more time to recover. He was still sitting there when the front door flew open and Lance stood in the shadows, waving angrily. Justin couldn't hear clearly but Lance was saying something to the effect of `Justin, get your ass out of the car and get in here.' Justin scrambled to comply, anxious to keep from pissing him off any further. "Hey," he called as he ran up the steps and when Lance winced, he realized Joey hadn't been exaggerating. Lance shut the door gently and followed Justin to the den where he laid out his aching body. Justin was pacing, making soft, swishy noises on the carpet. After the third circuit, Lance's voice sliced the air. "Sit or leave." His eyes were closed against the small amount of light in the room and he still seemed to be in considerable pain. "Uh," Justin began, "it might be better if I came back later. Or tomorrow." It no longer seemed like even a glimmer of a good idea to give Lance this news while he was in his present condition. "You're here. There's got to be a reason. You were in New York last night. What's up?" He knew he was acting like a child, words tumbling out in an attempt to get the shock over with. "I asked Brit to marry me and she said yes and we're going to do it on Valentine's Day." He watched Lance intently. It seemed so important for Lance to be okay with this, to give them his blessing. Lance didn't respond. Simply raised his arm and covered his eyes. "Lance?" "What?" "Aren't you going to say anything?" "I'm thinking." "Should I wait or call you later?" "Not *that* much thought." "Oh, okay," Justin said softly and waited, looking at his hands, folding and unfolding, prayers offered for understanding and love. Lance sat up carefully and held his head, as if to keep it from flying apart into a million pieces. "Timing always has been one of your weak points." It was a statement of fact. Lance looked up, focusing bloodshot eyes on his friend. "You are one fucked up boy." "What?" Justin wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "Fucked up. You're fucked up." It was another statement of fact, not even the hint of doubt. "Why? Because I love her? Because we want to end this farce that we're not screwing our brains out?" "The last qualifies but that's not what I meant. Fuck, Justin, go get me some Advil. The whole bottle actually. And three sips of water." Justin scurried off to do Lance's bidding, finding the desired items quickly and handing them to Lance before sitting down next to him. Lance swallowed a handful of the pain relievers and leaned his head back, eyes closed. Justin held his breath now, waiting for Lance's pronouncement, assuming it would change his life. "You're fucked up cuz you ain't heterosexual. At the very least you're bi." "Could you be a little more direct?" Justin asked, laughing nervously. "No joke, baby boy. I'm dead serious." It was Justin's turn to lay his head back and close his eyes. Shit, shit and double shit. In one sentence Lance had laid his biggest fear out on the table, ready to be studied. "Justin?" Lance called softly. Justin opened his eyes to see Lance watching him, big green (and bloodshot) eyes full of pity. The tears came suddenly, too quickly to stop or even hide. They slid down Justin's face, dripping off his chin, and plopping onto his chest. He couldn't look at Lance. "No," he whispered, "that's not true." "It is true, Justin. You *know* it's true." "But I love Britney." "I love her too. What's not to love? But it doesn't mean I'm not homosexual." "No. I'm not bi or gay. I'm not." "Justin, you are. Want me to tell you how I know?" He hesitated until Justin nodded, their eyes not meeting. "You love *me*." Justin shook his head violently, trying to rid his brain of that thought. Lance studied him as his shoulders began to tremble and then huge sobs broke out of someplace so deep that Lance was sure Justin had never been there before. Headache or no headache, Lance moved closer and tried to hug Justin. The attempt was met by withdrawal, a shrugging off of the comfort offered. Lance didn't force it. Simply waited, rubbing his temples with strong fingers. The sobs finally trailed off and Justin looked up with puffy swollen eyes. He sniffled loudly. "You're wrong, Lance. I love her and we're getting married." "Go ahead. Marry her. Fuck her. Give her babies. Just admit what you know. Cuz if you don't, it will eat you alive." Justin stared. Now what? The one person he looked to for support and acceptance was too dangerous. He stood. "I don't love *you*. Brit. I love Brit." Lance's head was pounding and he felt last night's libations threatening to make a return visit. He pulled himself together for one last attempt. "Love who you are, Ju.  Let yourself know that guy. He's wonderful and him being bi or gay or whatever will never change that." "I was expecting more from you guys." And then he was gone and it was Lance's turn to cry. He knew the turmoil, recognized the pain. He wanted Justin to be happy and his attempts to fool himself were sad. But Lance knew from himself and others that it takes what it takes to tear down the wall of denial. And until Justin was ready, he would defend it to the death--literally. Justin was never sure how he got home. Britney wasn't there, thank God. He needed time. He got in the shower and cried again. Then he curled up and hid from everyone. ( three ) ( back to menu )