Rough
“Qu’est-ce que tu fait?”“Excuse moi?"
“Non, non, Monsieur Bass.” Monsieur Clerc, Lance’s Russian teacher, who spoke to him only in Russian, or French, for heaven’s sake, shook his head mournfully and looked at Lance with sad eyes.
Lance looked back at Monsieur Clerc with helpless frustration. “Je regret…je ne sais pas,” he trailed off. If there was anything he had a lot of practice saying in French, it was “I don’t know.”
“Exactement. Regardez-moi, Monsieur Bass.” Clerc pointed to his lips with his index finger as he said his next words. “Repetez. Povtorite. Chto ehto.”
Lance dutifully repeated the words. He thought they meant what time is it, or what time do we eat, or what time does the damn rocket blast off? All he knew for sure was that they didn’t mean time for a break. “What time is it?” he guessed.
“Mais non. Nyet. Ce n’est pas quelle heur est t’il, Monsieur Bass.” Monsieur Clerc sighed. Lance sighed. How anyone expected him to learn Russian from some guy who only spoke French was beyond him. Monsieur Clerc was looking equally discouraged, and highly doubtful that he could teach Lance anything at all.
Lance knew that Clerc thought he was just a rich pop star buying his way into a trip to space, and while that was certainly true, that wasn’t all he was. “Chjortu,” Lance muttered to himself. “Merde.”
Okay. If there was one thing Lance was skilled at, it was overcoming the doubters and the naysayers. He’d certainly had plenty of experience with that. He wasn’t going to let this snobby French guy have the last word, in any language. He squared his shoulders and said with renewed determination, “Okay, again. De nouveau. Povtorite.”
“Tres bien, Monsieur Bass. De nouveau.” Monsieur Clerc looked a little less discouraged, and Lance thought maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny twinkle in his eyes.
An hour later, his head spinning with the seemingly millions of different ways to conjugate Russian verbs, and with Monsieur Clerc’s almost-enthusiastic “Pas mal, Monsieur Bass,” ringing in his ears, Lance headed back to his small apartment. He hoped Freddy was ready for supper. Lance was starving.
It was a good thing Lance wasn’t a fussy eater. If he ever had been, being in a band, and one that traveled a lot, since he was sixteen years old had been enough for him to get over it. The food here wasn’t bad, exactly. It just wasn’t what Lance was used to. Freddy made a face at the egg salad with the pile of beets on top of it, and Lance sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. At least there would be vodka later, when they got back to the apartment.
JC sent Lance a news article about the Russians dropping him into the Black Sea with pretty much only his toothbrush for survival, attached to an e-mail that said, “Dude. At least you get to brush your teeth.”
Lance laughed and wrote back, “Hey, that’s just a rumor, thank the lord…that really would be roughing it, wouldn’t it, lol. Star City is bad enough!!”
In truth, though, Lance loved Russia. It wasn’t what he was used to, but that was what he’d been looking for when he came here. The people whose job it was to look after the money were sometimes cool to him, but mostly he got along with everyone just fine. Most of the Russians he met were down to earth and practical, with a sense of the absurd and an ability to laugh at themselves that rivaled Chris’s. Their attitude towards bureaucracy awed Lance with its combination of resignation and black humor.
Being in a boyband was actually good preparation for all of this, Lance discovered. He was adept at figuring out what was expected of him, working hard, and dealing with people who didn’t take him seriously. It wasn’t all that different from being on tour, really.
Lance was sorry he was going to miss Challenge in July, but he wasn’t entirely unhappy about it. He kept thinking that if only he could see Justin again, make one more attempt to get him to listen, this time it would work and everything would be fine. They’d had some space, some time, and certainly, plenty of distance. Justin should have gotten over things by now. Challenge would have been the perfect opportunity to try again, to persuade Justin not to throw away all the years they’d been together. But the people in charge of his training said no, he’d started late, he was already too far behind, and he couldn’t take time off now. And that was fine, really.
As long as Lance didn’t have a chance to confront Justin, he could still hope that when he finally did, Justin would be ready to hear him.
~~~~~
JC hands Justin a cup of steaming tea with a sympathetic grimace. Justin nods shortly at him in thanks, looking frustrated. “It’s not like it’s going to do any good,” he croaks miserably.
“Shut up, Timberlake,” Chris says cheerfully. “Using your vocal cords to bitch isn’t going to help either. Save ‘em for the show tonight.”
Lance watches Justin sink gloomily back into the couch cushions. It’s only their fifth concert, and Justin’s voice is already getting rough. He hasn’t sung this extensively or this many days in a row since his SexyBack tour a couple of years ago, and although they’re all of the opinion that it’s just going to take a little time for him to build up his stamina again, it’s making him understandably grumpy.
Lance has a sudden desire to go over to the couch and kiss Justin’s bad temper away. He used to be able to do it easily, but that’s not the way things are this time around.
Instead, he smiles at JC and says, “So Tyler’s getting married? When did this happen?”
Justin lets himself be diverted, and soon, the four of them are laughing hysterically at JC’s impression of Karen’s reaction to the news that her youngest son is getting married.
“That’s exactly the expression she had on her face, too,” Chris chortles. “I thought my mom was gonna die.”
“She was just surprised, is all,” JC laughs. “She didn’t expect it to ever happen, I don’t think.”
“Tyler,” whispers Justin, sipping his tea. “He was the most obnoxious little kid.”
“Look who’s talking, dawg. You were no slouch in the obnoxious little kid department, yourself,” JC says, raising his eyebrows.
“Justin was never a little kid,” Lance corrects with a smile. “He was born old and wise in the ways of the world.”
Justin gazes at him from across the Quiet Room, his face expressionless. Lance feels the smile slip off his face as he looks down at his hands. No one else seems to notice, and then Joey comes noisily into the room, talking on his cell phone.
“Bri, you and Mom can come see me next week. Mommy already has the plane tickets.” He rolls his eyes at Lance. “Yeah, sure. Here.” He hands the phone to Lance.
“Are you gonna be there, too?” Bri’s voice is in his ear, and Lance laughs.
“Sure, baby. I’ll be there.”
“And Justin?” she demands.
“And Justin,” he assures her. “We’ll all be here, Bri. You can watch us sing, okay?” He’s aware of Justin’s eyes on him still, again, seemingly always. “Here’s your dad back, okay? Bye, darlin.’” Lance makes a kissing noise into the phone, then hands it back to Joey.
Lance and Justin regard each other seriously for an endless moment, until Justin smiles, and Lance smiles back with relief.
~~~~~
Justin loved London. He seriously thought he might like to live here one day. He wasn’t sure about the whole driving on the other side of the road thing, and he would never consider driving in London himself. He wasn’t that insane.
He spent the afternoon shopping for his mother and grandmother, and Dewayne helped him negotiate the hotel lobby with his packages. Once he was in his room, he decided to grab a shower before meeting Christina for dinner. The phone on the table next to the bed rang shrilly, startling him. He wasn’t expecting anyone to call.
When Dewayne’s voice said in his ear, “Lance is here,” Justin had no idea what he meant.
“Lance?” he repeated stupidly.
“He’s in the lobby. At the desk, getting a room,” Dewayne informed him. “He asked me to tell you he was here.”
“Um,” Justin said.
“Should I bring him up?” Dewayne asked helpfully. He was starting to sound curious. “Justin?”
“Um, sure. Bring him up,” Justin said numbly. He didn’t know what else to say.
He took a very quick shower, not knowing how long it would take them to get up here, and not wanting to be caught either sweaty and disheveled from the day, or in a fucking towel when Lance showed up. What the hell was he doing here?
Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door of his suite. Justin stood in the middle of the room, still clutching the sweater he hadn’t put on yet, not wanting to answer it, knowing he pretty much had to. He finally strode forward and opened the door wide, smiling for Dewayne’s benefit and saying, “Lance! Come in, man. Good to see you!” It was the worst acting job of his life.
Lance smiled uncertainly, and came in. Justin smiled at Dewayne. “Thanks, dude.” Dewayne nodded and Justin shut the door in his face. He waited, just breathing, holding onto the doorknob as if it were an anchor.
He turned around when Lance said softly, “Hey.” They studied each other across the room. Lance looked like shit. He was gaunt, there was no other word for it. There were gray shadows around his red-rimmed eyes, and he looked like he’d been on a three-day bender. His jeans hung loosely around his waist, barely holding on to his hips. He was pale, and there was something in his eyes that looked like defeat. It hurt Justin to look at him.
“Hey.” What are you doing here, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. He watched Lance and just waited. The tension in the room grew, and finally Lance cleared his throat and looked away.
“I finished the program. I’m on my way home.”
Justin nodded. “Congratulations. That's great.” Lance snorted faintly and Justin wanted to pull the words back in. He said, “No, really, I mean it. You did it. You’re a certified cosmonaut and that’s really something. Don’t let them…” he trailed off at the fierce expression on Lance’s face.
“I’m tired, is all, Justin. I’m fine,” he asserted firmly. Justin nodded again.
“I know. You do look a little rough around the edges, though, dude. When was the last time you slept?” Justin said lightly, trying for a casual tone.
Lance shrugged. “Traveling will do that.”
“I know.” Justin didn’t think he’d ever felt more awkward in his whole life, standing here with Lance, trying to have this conversation. He still didn’t understand why Lance was here.
“Are you-” Lance gestured vaguely at the sweater Justin still clutched in his hand. “It’s almost time- I mean, do you have plans for dinner?”
“Um, yeah, Christina and I-” he broke off, not sure what to say. Did Lance expect him to change his plans?
“Oh, sure,” Lance said hastily. “Right. That’s fine. Maybe I’ll see you later, then?” He made as if to move toward the door. Justin didn’t say anything to stop him. Lance looked at him a moment longer, his expression unreadable, then he nodded once and reached for the doorknob. Justin clenched his jaw tightly to stop the words that would make him stay from coming out.
The careful set of Lance’s shoulders as he left Justin’s room almost made him change his mind.
~~~~~
Since three out of the five of them have houses in LA, they’ve scheduled several days here around the concert. It gives them all a chance to check on things, pick up any stray mail that managed to find its way here instead of to Orlando, or water their plants and make sure their plumbing is still working, Chris says, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously as he and JC leave for JC’s house.
Lance feels weird being back in LA. It’s been at least a month since he was here, when he’d flown out in preparation for their upcoming tour. He and Wendy had spent three days winding down several of the business ideas he’d been working on. He’d just begun to formulate plans, to rough out some ideas for movies and TV shows with several different producers and networks when he agreed to go to Orlando last year. He’s only nominally been on top of things since last summer, and there really isn’t much for him to do anymore, which is kind of depressing, but he decides not to think about it. He’s actually enjoying being NSYNC again, and he thinks he’ll just go with that for the time being.
No, the really hard part is the proximity of his favorite clubs, and the knowledge of what’s waiting for him if he goes out. He can barely remember the last time he got laid, and he’d really, really like to. He’s just not sure it’s worth it. For some reason, he’s never been able to hide it from Justin when he has sex, no matter how hard he tries. He really doesn’t want to upset Justin at this point in the tour. The painful memories of the Celebrity tour are indelibly etched in his heart, and he’s already noticed that this time around, the slightest bit of dissention or hint of a disagreement among any of them is enough to make his palms sweaty.
If he’s honest with himself, he likes it that Justin gets bitchy when he thinks Lance has hooked up. He’s nowhere near ready to even think about the possibilities of what that could mean. He’s been down that path before and it leads to nothing but heartache, but he’s starting to be intrigued rather than annoyed by the possessive look in Justin’s eye when he glares at Lance.
Kelly has business out here, which is why she and Briahna chose to fly out and join them this week. Joey is off somewhere with his two girls for the night, and Lance doesn’t want to spend the evening in his empty house by himself. He’s gotten used to being with the other four again, and he doesn’t feel like being alone. Maybe he should just call Wendy and see what she’s doing, instead of hitting the clubs. Before he can make a decision, his phone rings. He checks the caller ID and sees Justin’s name.
“J?” he answers, surprised.
“Hey. Um, are you doing anything for supper tonight, man?” Justin sounds like he’s talking inside a cavern, and Lance can hear footsteps echoing around a huge empty space.
“Where are you?” Lance asks curiously.
“My house,” Justin says.
“Why does it sound like it’s empty?” Lance is puzzled. The last he knew, Justin’s house had plenty of furniture in it.
“Because it is. Lance, you knew I put it on the market a couple of months ago. It finally, you know, sold last week.” There’s a pause, and then, “You knew this. I’ve fucking talked about this.” Justin sounds frustrated.
Lance has a vague recollection of Justin rambling on to JC, or maybe it was Chris, about realtors, and something about the real estate market in Los Angeles in general, he thought, but he swears that’s all. There was nothing about Justin selling his house, he’s sure.
“Never mind,” Justin says. “It’s not important.” There’s silence on the line, and Lance doesn’t know how to fill it. Justin sighs. “Listen, I was going to go grab something to eat, and I wondered, well, if you wanted to go with me.” This last is said very quickly.
Lance blinks, taken aback. Eat dinner with Justin? Just the two of them, alone? Could they really do that? God, he wants to, so much. If nothing else, he would like to be friends with Justin again.
“Okay,” he says hurriedly, before he can chicken out.
They end up going to an out-of-the-way Chinese restaurant that reminds Lance of the place in Star City he and Freddy used to go sometimes. Lance spends a good part of the meal telling stories about Russia, encouraged by Justin’s questions. He realizes that they’ve never really talked about it before, not in any detail. Certainly they hadn’t talked about it the day he’d shown up in London after he left Russia. He’d gone to Justin because he was the nearest one, because Lance needed someone, and because it was a habit to go to Justin when he was hurt. It had been a mistake. Justin hadn’t been ready, and it had made everything much worse.
As they leave the restaurant, laughing at Lance’s imitation of Monsieur Clerc’s long-ago frustrated French, Lance asks Justin if he’s going to the hotel the tour has booked, since his house is devoid of furniture.
“Nah, man, I’m sleeping at Trace’s tonight,” Justin chuckles. “He wanted to rough it at my house, like, you know, fucking camp out or something, but I told him my back’s not spending the night on any floor. He has a guest room, and he can damn well let me use it.” He laughs, sounding happy and carefree, and the sound makes something in Lance’s chest loosen.
Lance goes back to his house alone, but he feels better than if he’d spent the evening getting his dick sucked in the bathroom of some club.
For the first time in a long time, he allows himself to think about Justin when he jerks off in bed that night. He hasn’t forgotten how Justin tastes, or how he feels, not for a minute, but thinking about it, remembering how it was while he touches himself is a luxury he rarely indulges in. It hurts too much, even after all this time.
But tonight seems different, and it feels good, and afterwards, he goes to sleep before the usual regrets can overwhelm him.
~~~~~
There was a party that night, which Lance found out about from Dewayne. Lance went, and he got drunk very, very quickly. Justin and Christina were both there, holding court. Lance thought touring with Christina was a stroke of genius on Justin’s part.
Lance had hoped to stay a few days, but now he knew he’d be going home soon. He’d hoped-well, he’d hoped a lot of things, all of them apparently wrong.
Lance was in the bathroom, taking a piss, when Justin came in. He stopped when he caught sight of Lance standing at one of the urinals. “It’s okay, Justin. I’m done,” Lance waved a drunken hand at him airily. “I’m out of here, I’ll leave you to it.”
Justin just stared at him, which annoyed Lance into speaking again. “What? What are you looking at?” he asked belligerently. Justin shook his head and turned to leave. Lance felt anger bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. He was maybe too drunk for this encounter, maybe already too raw with disappointment and failure, but he didn’t care.
“What’s the matter, J? Afraid to piss with me in here? Afraid I might look at your dick?” Lance laughed humorlessly. “I’ve already seen it, you know. It’s not that fucking great.” He zipped up and turned to negotiate the long walk to the sinks. Why did they put them so far away from the urinals?
Lance reached the sink at the same time Justin reached the door, and suddenly Lance panicked. This could be his one and only chance ever. “Please,” he blurted out. “Justin, please. Wait a minute, okay?” When Justin didn’t move, Lance drew a deep breath and clinging tightly to the edge of the sink, continued. “I know you hate me. I know I screwed up. But, please, can’t we try it again? All those years, Justin. Everything. Please?”
“Don’t.” Justin held up both hands, as if to ward off Lance’s words. “Once was enough. It didn’t work out. End of story. Let it go.”
“Was it the fact that it was another guy? Is that it? Did it make a difference because Wade wasn’t a girl?”
“Yes! No! I don’t know! But I’m not doing it again, Lance. Once was enough,” he said harshly.
“Justin, please,” and now Lance grabbed at Justin’s arm, thinking that if he could only touch him, it would be okay. It always used to be. One touch, and no matter how mad they were, they couldn’t help themselves, one touch was enough to make them forget why they were fighting. Justin jerked roughly away, and Lance staggered backwards, bumping into the wall. Justin’s eyes met his one more time, he shook his head, and then he was gone. Lance slid down the wall, feeling the room spin alarmingly. “Chickenshit,” he muttered to himself. Justin was just a big chickenshit.
He stayed there, sitting on the floor, with his head lolling against the wall, until he heard voices. He found himself being helped to his feet, the room still spinning ominously.
Then he was in a stall, propped up against the wall, using the hand that was buried in someone’s hair for balance. There was coarse stubble rhythmically grazing the inside of Lance’s thigh, and he looked down to see the head in his hand bob in and out of his field of vision.
Lance barely remembered coming, and he didn’t remember if he reciprocated or not. He wasn’t even sure how he ended up back at the hotel, in the room he’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to use. As he passed out, sprawled across the bed, all he could remember was the bleak look in Justin’s eyes as he walked away.
~~~~~
rough: a: coarse b: characterized by harshness or force c: presenting a challenge, difficult d: harsh to the ear e: executed hastily-rough draft f: live under primitive conditions-roughing it
