| ...part two... Lance shivered in the bitter winter air, wishing MTV would fucking move to Miami or LA, or someplace where the temperature didn't constantly dip into the teens. He blew hot air into his hands and watched as Justin hailed a cab. "Hey," he grimaced, moving closer to his friend. "Why can't we take the car?" What good was having money and fame if he had to stand on the street corner like a regular joe hailing cabs. Justin sighed as the yellow car pulled to the side. "I told ya'. We're going incognito. That means no security, and no special shit. Just plain ol New York City guys out for a good time." He pulled the door open, and climbed in. Lance headed in after him. "Then you should have left your damn bandana in your room," he countered, staring at the blue fabric that graced Justin's head. Justin touched it gently, smiling. "Jealous are we?" Lance shook his head. "Not when some fucking gang shoots you thinking you're in a rival gang. Long as I don't get popped." The cabbie, an older Iranian man, tisked at the boys, not nice talk for such a grand city. They didn't have those obvious gang problems, not like LA. He pulled into traffic. "Where to?" he asked in broken English. "We need some sex shops," Justin said plainly. The guy had no clue who they were, so why beat around the bush. "Good ones." "Ah, peeping shows?" the man asked. Lance stifiled a giggle. Peeping shows, who the hell called them that anymore. But Justin was cool, as usual. "Yeah, peeping shows," he repeated, grinning at Lance. "But upscale ones. None of that shit with benches full of cum stains and god knows what else." He sure as hell didn't want to see one of those. Hearing about them from Joey was bad enough. He was nearly 20 and had no intentions of ever actually seeing one. No, indeed, upscaled porn places were the only places that were going to be graced with Justin Timberlake's presence. Lance shook his head at Justin's cockiness. He rather enjoyed his flamboyance, and wondered how the guy kept it together, his temper in check and all that shit. Lance didn't have patience for it, not anymore. The sweet fans he remembered encountering in past years were disappearing, being replaced by twenty somethings who thought they owned him, or worse, like he owed them. They came right up to him, no tears, no screams, just an attitude. Some took their shirts off, or rubbed against him, or grabbed at him, sticking their tounges down his throat. He hated them. And when he did see a sweet girl, one who sat by quietly or shyly, well, then, and only then, did he allow nice Lance to come out. "Yo!" Justin screamed into his ear. "Earth to Lance!" Lance blinked. "What?" "I said you wanna light up before we go in?" He pulled a joint out, and Lance pursed his lips. Justin was getting high way too much lately. Smoking too much of that shit gave him a headache, so he shook his head no, aggrivated when Justin lit up anyway. Fucking rude was what that was. The neon lights screamed down at them as the cab pulled in front. "This the place?" Justin asked, a cheesy smile on his boyish face. The cabbie nodded, not minding the sweet smokey smell. One good thing about NY, but usually the passengers asked him to indulge as well. This night, he wasn't so lucky. Lance leaned over and paid the fare, stepping back out into the fridgid air. "Rainbow" was the name of the place, and he noticed several well dressed men entering, as well as some women, which interested him greatly. Justin tumbled out after him, high as a kite, and giggled at a passer by, clad in silver hot pants and rollerskates, a guitar in his hands. He stared at the sight, pointing. Lance swiped at his hand, not caring to play babysitter tonight to Justin's immaturity. "Come on," he urged, pushing him inside. "Knock that shit off." He hated to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves, and patrons were already staring. "For chissakes, Justin, stop laughing." Justin tried, really hard to keep a straight face, he did. Lance could be such a pain, though, demanding and unreasonable. He wanted to have fun to. As soon as they paid the cover fee, Lance shoved him away in disgust. "You jerk," he growled. "We're gonna get noticed. Shut the fuck up." "Fine," Justin smiled, heading off on his own. Lance sighed as he disappeared behind a curtain marked "Pussywhips". He wondered what was back there, but another glittery door caught his eye, and he stopped at the bar for a beer before heading in that direction. He pushed the door open, only to be plunged into darkness. A female voice licked through his ears. "What do you desire?" she asked. Lance didn't know what he desired, some fun, some time away from all the shit that muddled his mind. He shrugged as a soft light filtered through the room. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he turned around, freezing when he saw her eyes. What the hell was she doing here? "Ohmygod!" she hissed, taking a step back. "It's you!" he gasped, remembering his ruined shoes from earlier. "You work here?" His eyes trailed over her body, covered only with small pasties and a g-string. She immediatly turned back into a sniveling intern, even though she ruled this club, keeping the job only to make money for college. Lance Bass, what was he doing here? She was mad, angry that she let him intimidate her here, a place she'd worked for almost a year. He was the stranger here, not her. Finding some strength, she stood up straighter. "I think you'd be better off with another girl," she spoke evenly, heading out. He grabbed her arm, intrigued by her urge to run. True, she had been a clutz, ruining his shoes, but the very fact she had a double life made him think of himsef in a way. "What's wrong with you?" he asked roughly, suddenly wanting to devour her with hot kisses, push her over the soft sofa that sat along one wall of the room, and fuck her like mad. Earlier, at MTV, he had just wanted her out of his fucking site, but now, well, this was interesting. "No," she stated firmly. "You know who I am, and you have some kind of power to get me fired. I won't service you. Janna can do it. She's quite beautiful...." Lance placed his beer down on the floor and captured her in a tight embrace. She stuggled against his advances, considered screaming, but thought better of it. He was big time in the music industry, and if anyone could fuck things up for her budding career, it was him. Suddenly, she felt very vunerable, and wary. "Get off me," she squirmed. He'd never had a woman fight him before, and it made him throb with excitement, his eyes glowing with lust. "I don't wanna hurt you," he whispered lowly, sucking on her lower lip. "I just want to...." Dare he say it? What if she ran back to a tabloid and spilled his escapade? No, she wouldn't since she was in the same situation. He was sure of himself, dangerously so. "fuck you," he continued, pushing her back to the couch, already tugging at his jeans. She stared up at him with hateful eyes, burning their way into him. Who the hell did he think he was? She struggled to sit up before he could get his pants down. "Get out," she said, her voice calm. Inside, her blood was on fire, and she cursed herself for finding this asshole attractive, in any way. He was a jerk, first class, and he'd berated her at work, in front of people. She hated him, hated everything about him, and oh God....he was hard already, and so well endowed, her mouth went dry. "I see it in your eyes,' he grinned, moving closer to her. "I know you want me." Her eyes betrayed her, but she wouldn't allow her body to. "I said get out!" she said again, with a bit more conviction. "Just go. I won't tell anyone you were here, and I'll even introduce you to Jenna or..." Lance shook his head and leaned over her, his hands prying her g-sting to the side with ease. She was ready, he could tell. A woman's body never lied, as he dipped his fingers into her. "You," he smiled, attacking her neck with his lips. "I want you." He was not used to being turned down, not by anyone, not a model, or actress, and sure as shit not by some part time MTV intern who doubled in a sex shop. "Wait!" she cried, pressing her hands against his tee shirt covered chest. "Condom! Condom!" She would have laughed at the chant, except for the seriousness of the situation. Lance motherfucking Bass was about to fuck her and she was freaking out. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. He backed up on his knees, a frown creasing his face. "Don't you have them here?" She glared at him with as much hate as she could, hoping it would cover up the lust she was feeling. "No! I'm not a fucking hooker. You're supposed to come in here for lap dances, or to talk. I don't fuck my customers." Great. On top of all of this, he thought she was a paid whore. She pulled herself up off the couch and shook her head. "Get dressed. I can't do this." Lance obeyed, curious at her outburst. "Okay," he relented. "But you want me, and before I leave this city, I'm going to have you." He put his erection away and pulled his pants up. "You amuse me," he laughed, backing her up against the wall and touching her cheek. "People like you don't normally do that." She growled at him, placing her hands on her tiny hips. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Her voice was getting loud, and she shook her head, which still spun with the heat from his lips on her. "You fucking pop stars make me sick." Lance raised his eyebrow at her. "Fucking pop star?" he repeated. "Oh, you mean becasue you meet so many of us at MTV when you're knocking into us like a clutz, hiding those sexy blue eyes behind glasses and a mousy hairstyle? Who are you kidding? You fucking love being near me. You do. I could tell." His eyes challenged hers, and his words caused her face to contort with anger. "Get out!" she said again, pointing to the door. "Or I'll call my bouncer. I will." She knew she wouldn't, she knew he'd captured her with his roughness and his underlying sexiness, huge fucking green eyes that told her body just how attracted to him she was, and goddammit, if he jumped ontop of her right now, condom or not, she'd fuck his pretty brains out. She growled at herself again, ashamed and pissed. Lance smiled at her once more before backing out of the room, pausing to grab his beer. He could wait for her. She might actually be worth it. |