| He tried to sleep, honestly, but with Mya's body laying peacefully next to his, nothing was further from his mind. Lance lay in her bed, his arms wrapped around her, her head resting on his chest. The strands of her hair fell just below his chin, and he inhaled her scent, kissing the top of her head every so often. She smelled of coconut, and berries, sweet and pure, refreshing and calm. His heart beat in time with hers, and his stomach flipped with every breath she took. When she exhaled, it tickled his chest, and sent flutters through his body. Whatever this feeling was, he wanted to bottle it up, hold it inside his body forever. He spent hours just staring at her, knowing he'd made the right choice by not sleeping with her. Moonlight floated in through her window, and he saw it rise over the horizon, burning brightly. It had taken some talking, but she agreed to let him stay, and they fell into her bed, exhaused, emotionally and otherwise. There was just something about her, something he wanted badly. He chuckled softly, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what Joey would say. He'd laugh, most likely, and shove him aside, telling him love at first sight just didn't exist. There was no way. Lance sighed, finally letting himself drift off. His mind was filled with angels, and clouds, rainbows, and huge overflowing honey pots. ***************************************************************************************************************************************************** The smell of bacon wafted through Lance's mind, and coffee, and he rolled over, reaching for her. Finding her gone, he pried his eyes open, rubbing at them. She was gone, but he heard clattering in the kitchen and smiled. Lance let out a huge yawn, and snuggled down deeper in the mattress. He knew he should be worried about leaving, getting back to the hotel to get his shit, but his body wanted no part of that plan. "Morning," Mya grinned, entering the room with a bed tray full of breakfast. "I hope you eat eggs," she said, pausing in the doorway to think about it. "Of course," he laughed, sitting up. When the hell was the last time he'd eaten breakfast in bed, breakfast that wasn't a doughnut, or bagel, or someone's crazy idea of french toast. He glanced at the tray, full of coffee, and juice, strawberries and eggs with toast. Even the morning paper was folded neatly on the side. He chortled happily, munching on a piece of toast. "What did I do to deserve all this?" She sat cross legged across from him, rubbing his leg through the sheet, staring intently at him, drowning in his face, his stubble, his dimple, everything about him, knowing he was leaving, and what the hell was she even thinking about? "Look, I know the way things work with you rock stars and..." "Woah!" he gasped, looking up. "I'm not a rock star. Oh God, far from it." He was amused by her talk, the way her brows crinkled, and he knew she was letting him off the hook, a hook he wanted to be on. "Okay," she frowned, picking at a strawberry. "Whatever. But, I do know you're outta here and I know that leaves us in a funny state, but it's okay." She put the rhind of the strawberry on her plate and sipped her coffee. "I had fun though." He tilted his head at her, at this funny girl who he'd met just days before in a cafe during a video shoot of all places. She was so intoxicating, and he had a gut feeling that she was meant to be with him, a wave of euphoric pleasure that her smile brought him. "I want us to try this," he said seriously, taking her hand and rubbing it firmly. "I like you, a lot, and I don't like many people." "Ah, that's a lie," she said, putting her cup down. "I can't imagine you not liking people. You're a people person if I ever saw one." Lance bit on his lip, thinking about that statement. It was true, there was no denying it. "You got me," he smiled. "I love people. I love my fans, and my family, and my friends. I love to watch people, and I see them." Mya looked away, unable to meet his gaze. How could he love people, know people, and like her, not knowing the real her at all. Images of her clients flashed before her, and for the first time, she was ashamed, so ashamed. A red blush crept up on her, and she slipped away from him. "Lance, it won't work. You live far away, and I have a life. You'll have no time..." "Bullshit," he spat, leaning back against the pillows, studying her. "You don't know me well enough to make that decision." "So tell me all about you," she challenged, sitting across the room in her pappison chair. "Tell me all about yourself." Lance shook his head, trying not to become annoyed at her tone. She was being difficult, and all he wanted to do was offer himself to her, give her something he'd not given anyone before, and she was all but refusing it. "Okay," he stated, folding his arms over his chest. "My real name is James, but no one ever called me that, only my mom when she was majorly pissed off at me, then she used my whole name. I was born and raised in Mississippi and went to church every Sunday, but not always by choice. I was forced most of the time. I loved hanging out with my friends, combing the woods for stuff, and climbing trees. I joined N Sync when I was 16 and cried myself to sleep for the first 6 months I was away from home. Joey is my best friend, and Justin is the one I'd most like to kill. I'm scared of flying and have a slight heart murmer. I have a sister who's married and trying to conceive, but she might not be able to. I own some buisnesses unrelated to N Sync, and I'm scared to death of failing...." he took a deep breath before he continued, "...and of being alone for the rest of my life." Mya stared at him, open mouthed, totally unexpecting him to dive so quickly into his life. She felt miserable. What would he expect from her now? He was looking at her, staring, right through her, waiting for her response. "Wow," she laughed shortly, trying to stall. "I didn't know any of that." Lance pushed his tray away and climbed from the bed, from the warmth of the covers and headed over to her, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands. "Mya, tell me," he urged, kissing her palms. "Tell me everything about you. I want to know it all." She tried to pull away, push him back and run away. He held her still, comforting her trembling hands. "Lance, it's no good. It's not a good idea. I can't let you in that much." "Goddammit," he cursed, backing away a bit. "I want to know. Why can't you understand that?" The look in his eyes was intense, sending shivers through Mya. "Okay," she sighed. She hadn't known him long enough to care. He'd be gone soon, and then she'd be alone, right where she started, and the hurt would disappate, of that she was sure. It always did. She didn't dare look into those big eyes of his, for fear she'd chicken out, dash out of the room and not return. "My name is Mya Danielle Barone and I was born in Miami where my dad was a teacher and my mom was a piano teacher. My father was killed in a drive by when I was 14 and we moved here where I've been ever since. I told you about my brother already and, oh, I have a roommate. I graduated college with a degree in communications and that's me." She carefully avoided her job, hoping maybe he would let it slide. "So a degree in communications? What do you do for a living?" The question itself was innocent, inciting frustration in her, simple curiosity in him. Mya stood up, stepping over him, pushing back the lump that forced her words back. She eyed him evenly and took a deep breath. "I'm a dominatrix, Lance." There, it was out, she'd said it, those words she handn't wanted to. Lance rubbed his ear tenderly, unsure if he heard correctly. Was a dominatrix the same thing in Mississippi that it was in NY? He sure as hell hoped not. No, she couldn't be. It wasn't right. His ears burned brightly and he stood up to face her head on. "A dominatrix?" he repeated. "What do you mean?" Her fear was gone now, replaced with self defense. "A dominatrix, Lance. Men pay me to harass them, sexually and otherwise. I tie them up, whip them, torment the recesses of their souls and minds, push them to the brink of pain and sexuality. I drip hot wax on them, pierce their genitals, mask them and hide their dirty secrets. I'm a fucking whore, okay?" Her eyes were on fire, and her entire body shook with the truth. "It pays my bills, more than any other job could, and I need the money." It was more of an excuse than anything, but hell, who was Lance Bass anyway? She didn't ask for him to sashay his way into her life, she didn't ask for a budding romance, or those fucking sexy eyes, or that unkempt hair that crushed to his head. And goddammit, here came the tears. She wiped at her eyes, furious that she was going to sob, for what? For defending her very happy way of making a living. No, she was not out to impress anyone, especially not him. "So, that's me. Not quite as cheery as your little "i cried myself to sleep' speech, huh?" Her eyes narrowed as her voice grew louder. "Welcome to the real world, Lance. The world ouside your fantasy life that real people live." She felt her sanity racing away, and could no longer stand the look of confusion and shock in his face. Turning quickly, she ran into her bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her. "Fuck you for coming into my life and making me go through this!" Lance stood there, frozen, suddenly chilly. He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, unsure of what to do. Dominatrix was not a good thing, of all things. He could never date her, ever. The media alone would rip her to shreds, not to mention his family, and oh god, JC and Justin would have kittens, and fuck, fuck, fuck! He wallowed in his awful luck, his continual choice of wacko women. If there was a god and a heaven, why wouldn't it want him to feel love? He just didn't know, and the little spins he'd once felt like doing were gone, replaced with a sinking feeling. There was no way, she was right. He hated that, the fact she'd known, she'd been dead on all along. Slowly, he gathered his things, numb from the declaration, pain still embedded inside his heart. A fucking dominatrix? He pulled on his sneakers and sniffled loudly, pausing at the bathroom door, listening at her sobs tugging at his gut. There was no choice. N Sync was leaving this town, and he was going, heading out and not looking back. Looking for love in all the wrong places, yeah, that was him. He brushed past her roomate on the way out, letting the fridgid cold assault his body, stinging his eyes. It didn't matter. He was done. Home awaited, home and a stiff drink. THE END |