| ...part five... He could have anyone he wanted, he reasoned as he headed out of the hotel to hail a cab. A fan rushed him from out of nowhere, blindsiding him into the wall. "Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod," she chanted, digging her nails into his back with avengence, hanging onto him for dear life. Lance caught his breath and regained his stance, using his arms to pry her off him. Christ, when would learn to pay attention before just walking out into the street. He looked down at her, no more than 16 or so. "Hey," he said, trying so hard to hide his annoyance, because she was young, and tears fell down her face. He was still puzzled that he, Lance Bass could ignite this type of fire in people, to make them attack and cry. "It's okay," he whispered as strangers gawked while walking down the street. He grabbed her elbows. "Look, stop crying, okay?" Lance forced a smile as the doorman stepped over. "Shall I get rid of her?" he asked, thinking about the hundred dollar tip Mr. Bass had given him the day before, and that was just for hailing him a cab. Lance shook his head and mumbled a 'thanks'. "Please calm down," he begged her, watching as Justin gazed out from the saftey of the lobby, a smirk on his rotten face. "Do you want an autograph or something?" She nodded, barely able to look at him. Lance stood there, waiting for her to produce a pen or something, but fuck, the girl just stood there, trembling. He eyed Justin, who was shaking his head, no signs of mercy in those baby blues. "Hey," he said softly. "Would you like to meet Justin?" He was guessing, by her baby blue coat, mittens, and hat that Justin must be her favorite. "Come on," he urged, smiling at Justin, as his face fell. "Justin, here, meet one of your fans." Justin's eyes widened as the girl clung onto him, and Lance snickered, moving back out to hail that cab. Once in front of the MTV studios, he faltered, just a bit. He wanted this girl, really wanted her. Not as a girlfriend, not even as a friend, just sex. It was crazy. Normally, he would have just moved on, but she had something in her eyes, something different and intriguing, something that told him sex with her would be amazing. He paid the cabbie and stepped out, glad the TRL fans hadn't formed yet. He pushed the glass door open and headed up the stairs to the studios. Lance passed Carson on the way, waving as he continued his pace. He was focused, dammit, and nothing was stopping him this time. As he walked through the hallway, he spotted her, bending over some papers, studying them intently. Her hair fell over her face, and he noticed the plain way she dressed, jeans and a sweatshirt, the glasses firmly in place. Grinning, he headed her way. "We meet again," he said, quite pleased with the way she jumped when her eyes met his. "You!" she hissed, carefully since her boss was right there, and mouthing off to Lance Bass would not be a good career move. She rustled the papers in her hand and forced a smile, underneath the scrutinous gaze of her superior. "What are you doing here?" Lance was amused, again. He tilted his head, knowing he had affected her much the same way. She just hid under her anger. Oh, she wanted him, as much, if not more than he wanted her. "Do you get a break?" he asked, his gaze hot into hers, the unmistakable scent of lust in the air, stifling them both. "I...uh..no." She shook her head, angry with herself for letting him get to her again. This time, he was fucking with her career, though, and no one did that, not even him. "I'm sorry," she said, gathering the folders in her arms. "It was so nice to see you again." The hand on her arm startled her, and she stared at her boss. "You can have a break now," he said, taking the workload from her arms. "Don't disappoint Lance." The man smiled at Lance, knowing in this crazy industry that having a favor owed him was far better than anything. Lance grinned triumphantly at the horrified look on her face. "Good, then. Come on." He took her hand and pulled her back through the hallways, dragging her along. "Don't be like that," he chided gently. "You like this." She yanked her hand away with conviction. "Stop this!" she growled at him, keeping her voice low. "Leave me alone!" Lance wasn't listening, and he took her elbow, quickening his pace. "Lunch," he promised. "Nothing more, not unless you want." He paused to wait for the elevator, not wanting to drag her down stairs. "And I know you want." "Who the fuck do you think you are?" she cried, frustration filling her eyes. Her body was betraying her with it's want for him. If only he wasn't so fucking sexy she would have a chance, but everytime those eyes searched her face, or danced over her body, it made her knees weak, and she felt woozy, and never mind the heat that surged through her body. "Why are you doing this?" Lance pulled her into the elevator easily. "Because you want me to." She shook her head at him, completely unconvincingly, but did it anyway."Lance, I don't. I don't know what you're doing to me, but I need this connection here at MTV, and you're dangerously close to ruining it for me and...." "Shut up," he whispered gently, capturing her mouth in a kiss, letting out the previous night's anxiety and lust, and she resisted, held back, keeping her lips tightly shut, pushing against his chest with her arms. Her fighting spirit excited him to new heights, and he left her lips, moving to her neck, kissing and licking it. He was sure this was what she wanted, but her knee connected with his groin, causing him to double over in pain. "Bitch!" he hissed, grabbing at the pain. She smiled, unable to help herself. "Serves you right," she said simply, pushing the lobby button. He was on her again, ripping at her zipper, catching her offguard. He hit the stop button and forced her to the floor. "Just give it up," he growled, pushing her sweatshirt up, pleased to find a front clasp bra. He unfastened it quickly, and she squirmed under his weight. "Don't," she gasped, fire in her eyes. She wasn't scared, oh hell no, she was pissed. Her body wanted him in the worst way, but she refused to be another fuck toy, not like this, not even for him. "Get the fuck off me!" She pushed at his face as his hands pushed her jeans down. "Get off me!" she yelled again, yanking at the little blonde spikes on his head. He looked down at her, smiling devilishly, his face flushed, and she felt the hardness between his legs pressing against her. "You want me to get off you?" he murmered, bending to catch her lower lip with his teeth, biting gently. "If you really want me off you, say so." She laid there, her jeans half down, and her shirt around her neck, bra hanging open, and no words would come out of her mouth. It was open as he tugged at her lip, and a deep moan came out, much to her disgust. The words, so simple, 'get off me' wouldn't come out again. "That's what I thought," he grinned, unbuckling his own pants and sliding them down. "Let's just do this. Then, maybe, we can be friends." Her eyes grew wide as his hand slid down her panties, dipping into her, finding her more than ready for him. Her eyes closed immediately and she couldn't remember the last time she'd been this ready, this prepared, and if he moved his finger just a little to the left she would scream his name and erect a shrine to the blonde n sync god, and oh shit! Lance watched her face as she orgasmed, the shudders running through her slowly, but firmly. Her lips were parted and a small whimper fell from them as she came, so soft, and he blinked hard at the feeling it caused inside of him. "Fuck," he grimaced, rolling off her. He sat up, hating the rush of cold air that took her body heat's place. Without thinking, he stood and pulled his pants back up, running his fingers through his hair, and he just couldn't look at her. "Better get up," he warned as he started the elevator going again. She gazed up at him, still shaky. Why wasn't he going to complete the deed? Tears filled her eyes, and she frowned. She had never orgasmed like that, ever, and that must be why she was crying. She deluded herself into believing it wasn't him, the fact that he didn't finish, and why the hell should she care anyway? She didn't seek him out, he fucking came to her. No, Lance Bass was not going to ruin her. It was an orgasm, nothing more, just a sexual release. She gathered her wits, standing up and refastening her bra, slipping her jeans back over her hips, and stared at the back of him, wondering why he had stopped, and just what he was thinking. The ding of the elevator pierced the silence, and as the doors opened, he stepped out. "Lance," she called, when she realized he wasn't going to say anything, just walk away. Lance turned, unsteady, and quite unsure about what had just happened. "Yeah?" he asked, not recognizing his own voice. "You okay?" He laughed. That was funny, was he okay. Hell, wasn't that his line? Oh, yeah, he hadn't actually had sex. "Fine," he answered curtly. "See ya around." Suddenly, he just wanted to get the fuck out of MTV studios and go back to the hotel, pack and go away, far away from this nagging feeling. He was sure it was God punishing his behavior, his less than moral ways, by giving him this feeling, this little angel on his shoulder saying 'don't do it'. He cared, for chrissakes, he actually cared enough not to fuck her in that elevator. His balls were aching fiercly, and he cursed them, cursed himself as he got a cab back to the hotel. He was outta here, out of this damn city. Justin was right. Time to go |