| Lance nodded to his personal bodyguard. His lips were set in a thin line, and his expression was hard to read, unless you knew him, that was. His eyes, the ones fans swooned over, were hidden beneath two hundred dollar sunglasses, and he moved through the crowd barely looking up. He'd caught the one he desired for the moment, so his job was done. He entered the hotel lobby and headed up to his room, brushing by Justin and Chris who were engaged in a duel game of some hideous handheld video game. "Yo, Lance," Justin called, pausing his game. "We gotta hit outta here in an hour." Lance waved his hand in Justin's general direction, not bothering to look back. He entered to elevator, solo, and frowned. Only an hour. Well, she would have to work quick, and in the back of his mind, he hoped his bodyguard would get a move on and hurry the fuck up. Once on his floor, he barely agnowledged the looming presence of hotel security who protected the entire floor from stray visitors. He pocketed his sunglasses and entered his room, kicking aside some dirty clothes and immediately checking his messages. As he listened to them, a faint knock on his door caused him to look up. Cradling the cell on his shoulder, he crossed the room, opening it, and stared at the pretty young girl from outside. He nodded at the bodyguard, who turned around, posting himself outside Lance's door, as was the routine. When he was through, he would send her out, and it would fall upon the bodyguard to dispose of them. Marilyn Manson had nothing on disposable teens, not like Lance did. "How old are you?" Lance asked, hanging up the phone. He was not into nicities, not anymore. His eyes roamed over her body, and he was guessing she was at least 19, he hoped. "I'm twenty," she replied, brown eyes shining up at him. "My name is..." "Ah, I don't want to know," Lance grinned, pulling her to him, crushing his lips down on hers in a forceful kiss. She was taken back, not expecting this at all. Her body jerked back against his grip and she quickly turned her head. "What are you doing?" she cried, backing up. He narrowed his gaze at her, and tilted his head, but let her go. "What did you think?" he asked, as if it made all the sense in the world. "You were asked to come up to my room. Did you think I wanted to play checkers?" The girl stared back at him, her eyes welling with tears. How could he be like this? She thought him so different, the nice one, the kind one. Not like this. Her image was squashed, but still, she had a chance with him. If she did as he wanted, maybe he would see how great they would be together. Her mind danced with visions of them attending the awards show together, posing for magazine photos, all the perks of being with Lance Bass from N Sync. He folded his arms across his chest, annoyed that he'd misjudged her. His radar must be going, for he was getting good at picking the girls who would drop their clothes, service him, and leave. He'd thought her to be one of them. But she was hesitating, and after Justin's little run in with the crazy fan the previous month, he wasn't sure it was a good idea to keep her here. "Look, you can leave," he said, turning his back to her. "Go on." Lance felt her approach, her body heat fanning his back as she touched him cautiously. "I'd like to stay." His mind wavered, for just a moment, then he surrendered, forgetting about Justin's problem, forgetting about the warnings he'd been issued by legal, hell, by management, not to mention JC and his sermon. All that mattered was she was a warm body, wanting him. "That's more like it," he laughed, his deep voice capturing it's next victim. He pushed her back onto the bed, and stripped her, ignoring the trembling of her body. The well defined curves of her nakedness intoxicated him, like a drug, and he took her roughly, pressing himself into her without any tender caresses, no foreplay, just the mechanics of sex. He ignored the small noises she made, assuming they were pleasure. After all, she was with him, and that was pleasure enough, wasn't it. A few pumps and he came with a grunt, immediately rolling off her, his eyes closed. "You can go now," he breathed, turning his back to her. It was the hardest part, sometimes, but they deserved it, he reasoned. They're the ones who came up to his room, they're the ones who consented to the sex. Christ, if he wanted a fucking girlfriend, he'd bring roses, or ask them out, not have his bodyguard do it. "I don't understand," she said, her voice shaky. "I thought..." He spun his head around to look at her. "I said, you can leave. If you thought this was more, I'm sorry. It wasn't." Lance heard her small sniffles as she dressed, and covered his head with the pillow. He hated cryers, just plain hated them. He treasured the ones who came up willingly, knowing what they were in for. They were the ones he wished were in every city. When the door clicked shut, he got up, headed for the shower and bathed the stench of random sex off him. Standing under the spray, he wondered how long it would be before Justin or JC were banging on his door, hurrying him along like a child. He didn't have to wonder for long as the loud noise crept into the bathroom. "Dammit," he hissed, rinsing the soap from his body, still recovering from the purely physical pleasure he'd just had. Wrapping the towel around himself, he padded to the door, swinging it open. Justin stood there, grinning like a chesire cat. "Not bad, Lance. Not bad at all, although she cried the whole way out." He pushed his way into the room, and sat on the chair, avoiding the sex stained bed. "Is that what you're here to tell me?" Lance pulled his boxers on, then some jeans. He didn't need Justin's approval, he didn't want Justin's approval. It was just a matter of them being so fucking close to one another, 24 hours a day. They knew more about one another than they really wanted to. "I wouldn't talk if I were you. At least I'm not being sued." Justin feigned a hurt look, clutching his heart."Ugh! That hurts!" He caught Lance's eye in the mirror and the two broke into laughter. "That story ain't what it seems, and you know it." "I don't know. I know how you are when fans don't bow at your feet. Someone saying JC is cuter, well..." "Fuck you," Justin growled, suddenly feeling agitated. The media had blown the entire thing so out of proportion, it was crazy. Not that he was unused to shit like that, but still. The very idea he would take a fan upstairs to yell at her for saying JC was cuter, it was ludicrous. It just never happened. "Anyhow, Chris and I are going out to get fucked up tonight. I assume you're in with us?" Lance ran the towel through his hair and sighed. "Sure, I'm in. Where we going?" He grabbed his wallet off the dresser and put it in his back pocket. "Strippers row, baby!" Justin grinned broadly. "That okay?" He knew damn well it was alright. Lance nodded. "Hey, what if we see Larry King out? Would he be so disappointed in us?" He laughed sourly at the thought. The entire live show had been carefully tainted by the five of them, up to and including Justin clasping his hands together like a goddamn cherub. "Maybe this time, he can sing a fucking tune." Justin stood up and stretched. "Not in this millenium." He followed Lance out into the hall. "You know, I do think JC liked the guy. I mean it. He gets really pissed off when me and Chris make fun of the whole thing. Says we're not serious." "Like Chris is ever serious?" The two headed down to the lobby to make some appearances while still in LA. Joey chatted on his cell phone, while JC watched the hotel pianist with interest. Chris stood in the window, waving to the hords of fans that lined the entrance. Justin headed over, waving himself. Lance stooped to re tie his sneaker, catching a glimpse of the teary eyed girl still there. His heart pounded. Why was she still there? Quickly, he looked around for his bodyguard, who was at the front desk on the courtesy phone. She stared at him, accusing eyes and defensive pose. Lance smiled weakly, and headed over to the front desk, to see what had gone wrong. They were supposed to be gone, he wasn't supposed to have to face them again. "Why the fuck is she still here?" he girimaced, his eyes burning with anger. "I'm trying to get her a freakin cab," came the heated response. "Unless you want to send her back out there with all those adoring fans." The sarcasm was not lost on Lance, and he scowled instinctively. "Shit!" The girl was cowered against a wall, her pretty features muddled with disappointment and regret. He shoved his fists deep into his pockets. There was no way he couldn't go over to her. Even his hardened sense of fuck all was crumbling, and he inhaled sharpley, heading her way. "Hi again," he tried, not knowing what else to say. Her soft eyes stared at him, hurt. "Hi," she replied softly. "I was told to wait here." "You don't have to explain," he said easily. His eyes darted about, unsure what to do. "Did you meet Justin yet?" He hated to drag his friend into this little game, but he was truly stunned that she was here, and felt some kind of obligation to her until the cab arrived. She looked at him wearily. "No. I didn't meet anyone. I got swiped out of the crowd to come to your room for 20 minutes, then ushed out like a piece of fucking cattle. I didn't happen to pass Justin on the way." Lance's eyebrow raised, unused to being spoken to in such a manner. This girl had guts, and he liked that. "Come on," he said,dragging her over to the window. He nudged Justin and Chris. "Guys, this is..." He rocked back on his heels. "What's your name?" She rolled her eyes at him. "Tara." "Tara. This is Tara." Justin and Chris looked at Lance, then at her. They couldn't believe Lance was actually introducing them to her, a groupie. This was definetly going to be discussed later. Way out of the rules. Justin plastered his public smile on his face. "Hi Tara, nice to meet you." She pursed her lips, not at all impressed with the show. "I'm sure," she drawled, that same sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Look, I know you don't want me here, and I'm leaving as soon as a cab gets here." She sighed. "So don't feel the need to make chit chat with me." Turning on her heels, she walked over to the front desk to find out how much longer. "She's a pistol, Lance," Chris snickered. "Wow, talk about taking no shit." Lance stared after her, running his hands through his hair. Shaking his head, he returned his attentions to the limo that was pulling up for them. "JC, Joey! Ride's here. Let's hit." One last glance at the one afternoon stand he'd had, and he was out the door, regretting nothing, heading out for business, his mind already set on partying that night. |
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