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beansideThis is all Nix and Cari's faults. I swear.
Title: Precious Illusions
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Crossover N'Sync/Metallica *blink* That looks so wrong.
Disclaimer: This so totally didn't happen that it boggles the mind. I don't know these guys, I mean no disrespect or offense, and make no claims about them.
I know this is useless, but hey, why not? I walk up to the charter desk, and smile at the tired looking woman. "I--"
"No. We're shutting down for the night. The storm's expected to last until at least three in the morning, and I'm not making my pilot stay half the night. No more flights 'til tomorrow morning."
Fuck. Sometimes, you've just got to accept the shit life throws at you. It's one of the down sides of doing appearances in the middle of spring.
Still, you'd fucking think Mother Nature would give you a fucking break now and then.
"What? No, I can't wait 'til tomorrow. I've got a concert tomorrow afternoon!" a low voice says.
I'm struck by two things at once. One, that's a voice that could do serious damage to a man's nervous system, like velvet on your spine. Two, apparently, not everyone is so accepting. I turn, expecting to see someone who matches that voice.
Not even close. Instead, I see a harried looking baby. Okay, he's not in diapers, but he's not been out of them that long.
Maybe as long as Metallica's been around. Maybe.
"I'm sorry sir, there's nothing we can do. The FAA has grounded all flights for the duration of the storm."
"But-"
"I'm sorry sir. We open the desk at eight am, that's the best I can do."
He sighs, his shoulders dropping. "Is there a hotel nearby?"
She shakes her head. "No sir. The nearest one is twenty miles away, at the truck stop. But, Hazel Rogers down the road lets her carriage house out as a bed and breakfast. Maybe the two of you could share? I could call her for you."
He looks at me for the first time, and I smirk. Yeah, there's another person here, fucker. He smiles, offering his hand. "Hi, Lance Bass. N'Sync."
I get the feeling that he's not used to dropping the band name. He doesn't' seem comfortable using it, but I guess he's hoping it'll impress me. Me? Fuck, please. Even if it is combined with a thousand watt smile, and puppydog eyes.
"Lars Ulrich. Metallica." I offer my own smile, and am gratified to see him blink. That's right you little boyband shit. I know my smile isn't nearly as pleasant.
"Oh. I should have recognized you."
"No big. We haven't been at many of the awards shows lately. I didn't recognize you, either." I'd have remembered trying to keep Kirk from jumping him if he looked that good before.
Hell, I might have even taken a shot at him myself.
"I, uh. I guess we could share. If it's okay with you."
The last bit is added hastily, with a glance from under his eyelashes. I won't even pretend that I don't like being the big bad wolf in this duo. "Works for me. You have a car?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Nah, I took a cab."
He turns and walks towards the door. After a moment he glances back at me. "You coming? This isn't curbside service, y'know."
Maybe he's not a total loss after all. I glance back at the woman at the counter. "If you would call her, that would be great. Thanks." I turn, walking out into the rain.
It's one of those things you only see in the south, I think. One of those amazingly beautiful storms, lightning streaking across the heavens, thunder snarling, and the warm rain, seeming to billow in the air, soaking you as soon as you open the door. I love it.
By the time I get in the car, he's on the cell phone, talking a mile a minute. "No, there's no way, Tony. The storm's covering half the south. I'll just have to get the first flight up there tomorrow morning." He pauses for a moment, and I hear a sharp voice on the other end. "I know it's going to be cutting it fucking close! I can't do anything about it!"
As I slide into the car, he rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Look, just put JC on, okay? No, not--Justin," he says sweetly. "How are you?"
I muffle a snort behind my hand.
"Yeah, I'm stuck here. Yes, I know we have a concert tomorrow afternoon. There's not a whole lot I can do about it, is there?"
This time, the words carry clearly to me. "You couldn't have gotten an earlier fucking flight?"
"Justin, I did what I could. I'm fucking sorry it didn't meet with your approval. I'll get there when I can. And if I don't get there, the mighty Timberlake'll just have to learn to sing bass, now won't you?" He disconnects with a vicious poke. "Diva bitch."
"What time is your concert tomorrow?"
"We've got an afternoon benefit show in Seattle at one tomorrow."
I wince, mentally doing the calculations. Five and a half hour flight, leaving at eight thirty or more likely at nine, gets him touched down in Seattle at twelve thirty Pacific time.
Making the opening song is not looking good for Mr. Bass.
"It gets better. The woman at the counter said that they only have one plane in the hangar, and I'm guessing that one's yours, since your flight was scheduled earlier."
No one has ever said that I was a nice guy. Hell, a lot of people have said the opposite. I'm not that big of a dick, though. "I'm not in any huge rush to get home. I can tag along, we can hit Seattle, drop you off, and you can make the second song without too much trouble, then I can head down to San Fran."
You have thought I offered him my fucking kidney. "You wouldn't mind?"
"It's an extra couple hours of flight time, no big deal. I'm not desperate to go back and listen to James and Kirk bitching over the guitar riffs on the new album, while our producer threatens to fucking kill them both."
A smile tells me that some things are universal, no matter what music type you play.
We pull up outside a small antebellum mansion that somehow bears a startling resemblance to the Bates Motel. "If her son runs the place, I say we drive the twenty miles," Lance mutters.
I nod, more than agreeing with that sentiment as we step out of the car.
Instead of Norman, the front door opens as we reach the bottom of the steps, revealing a well rounded older woman. She smiles as we hesitate. "Don't just stand there child, come in out of that rain.
"Mrs. Rogers?" I ask.
"Just call me Miss Hazel, honey. Everyone else does. Have either of you eaten yet?"
"No ma'am," Lance drawls, the southern accent suddenly more pronounced.
"Well, then you'd better just come on into the kitchen, and I'll fix you up." She turns, bustling off into the house.
Lance shoots a helpless look at me. "Miss Hazel, we couldn't--"
He may be a little slow on the uptake. I've already figured out that this is a woman who is Not To Be Argued With. She reminds me of our wardrobe mistress, actually. And I'd sooner slit my wrist than argue with Mary.
I follow him into the kitchen, where in a remarkably short time, she has a more than respectable dinner assembled. We eat obediently, making small talk.
"Now, the carriage house only has one bed, is that going to be all right for you? It's a king."
Lance smirks. "I can behave if you can."
Oh, this one could be dangerous. He's loosened up as the meal has gone on, the smiles coming easier, freer. Still, under it all is a familiar tone, a far too familiar look in his eyes. He's used to being in control.
It's the same look I see every damn day in the mirror.
She gives us the key and directs us out the back door to the small outbuilding. It's actually pretty comfortable, complete with a few cushy chairs, a small desk, a television. Most importantly, it's got air conditioning.
Lance glances at the desk. "Do you need-?" He holds up a laptop case.
"Nah. Go for it. I'm going to give my band a call, take care of some minor business on my cell."
He nods, settling into the chair as I flop into one of the recliners and pull out my cell phone.
"Hey, Lars. Back in town early? I'm making dinner if you wanna swing by, I can throw another veggie burger on the grill," Kirk says, not masking his amusement.
"Nah, I'm still in Georgia. There's a hell of a storm on, so the fuckers closed the airport for tonight."
"Damn, no veggie burger for you then. So, what's up?"
"Got a pen? There's a couple things I was supposed to do tomorrow, but I'll be on the plane, so you're in charge."
"Cool. I get to be in charge. Do I get to boss James around?"
I chuckle. "Kirk, you do that anyway."
"Oh, yeah. Whatcha need me to do?"
"Let's see. Call Stefan, tell him to reschedule the round table until the day after tomorrow in the evening, so I'm awake when we're doing it. Then, call the record company, tell them that we'll be calling Friday, instead of tomorrow to set up a meeting. Then, call Bob, and let him know that I'll be in early on Thursday morning to work on the drum fills. With me so far?"
"Yeah, got it. What else?"
"Call the guy from Rolling Stone, tell him I'll be back on Thursday instead of tomorrow, and I'll give him a call to reschedule. Oh, and could you or James take the KNAP interview tomorrow during morning drive time?"
"Yeah, I can do that. That it?"
"Yeah, that's it. I can take care of the rest when I get in."
"Okay. Cool. Take it easy, and don't get struck by lightning, got it?"
"Will do. Oh, don't forget to mention all this to James, so he's not up my ass wondering where I am."
Kirk laughs softly. "Not a problem, man."
"Thanks, Hamlet. I'll owe you one," I murmur affectionately.
"I'll pick somewhere good for the dinner you'll be taking me to."
"As long as it's not strictly vegetarian, it's a deal. Take it easy."
I disconnect, and glance over, seeing a surprised look in Lance's eyes. "What?"
"I was trying to figure out how you planned on doing business without a laptop, or a palm pilot, or something, but damn."
I grin. "Eh, I'm more of a technophobe than anything. Hate fucking computers. I've got it all right here." I tap my head.
"Wish I could do that, but I always get the band stuff confused with the movie stuff, and so on, and I can't afford to fuck it up." He shrugs eyes darkening. "Do you ever get the feeling that you've got the band on your shoulders, and one misstep, and it'll slip and crush you under it's weight?"
I blink. God, that's exactly how I felt for years. I just didn't know how to put it into words. "We always called Metallica the Mighty Machine. I always imagined it as a steam roller some how. And for the longest time, I felt like I was in front, guiding it, but if I slipped and fell, it would grind me into the pavement."
He sighs. "I've had nightmares like that. How do you deal with it?"
My smile is dark. "I'm probably not the best one to ask, considering that it damn near ran me over last year before I learned to let my bandmates take some of the load."
"And what if they can't take the load?"
"Then either you're underestimating them, or you need new bandmates."
He smiles tiredly. "Careful, you'll break the teenyboppers little hearts. They're all convinced that Justin and JC are the be all end all of the universe."
"What about the rest of you?"
"Let's see. Chris is the comic relief, Joey's the media's whipping boy, and me? I don't register much at all. Oh, except when I make a dog of a movie, and then, it somehow reflects back on the rest of them. So I guess I'm the fan that the shit has to go through to splatter them all."
"Thanks for the fucking mental image."
He chuckles. "I just wish-" He breaks off, shaking his head.
"Wish you could go back, and kill some trends before they started? Wish you could change things? Don't we all."
"I wish when we started, I'd known how hard it would be, that it takes as much as it gives from you."
Ouch. "I guess in one way, Met is better with that. I still have a personal life, and our fans are pretty good about letting us live it. The fans in San Fran are really cool, they barely notice us any more. You've got a different crowd though. More obsessive."
"I almost feel like there's two of me in here," he says. "Lance Bass, N'Sync talking head, and James Lansten Bass, normal guy who'd like to be allowed to go on a date now and then."
"You can't date?"
"Only if it's a cute little actress or singer."
"This is a problem?"
"When you'd rather date her co-star, yeah."
"Oh."
"Shit. I shouldn't have…..Look, I can sleep out here."
I laugh softly. "Again, you've got a bigger problem than I do. Most of the gay bars in San Fran don't exactly blast Metallica. I've heard plenty of N'Sync songs there, though."
"You're--"
"Yup."
"Oh. So I don't have to sleep in a chair?"
"Nope."
He considers for a moment. "Cool. So, when did they start letting Gods of Thunder be gay?"
"Fucking brat," I return, flipping him off with a half smirk.
"But not a diva bitch," he says cheerfully.
I smile, wondering when it started feeling abnormal to relax like this. "Not a diva bitch. I'd have pitched your fucking ass out into the storm if you were."
"Ditto."
"Gee, thanks for the fucking compliment." I let my head fall back on the chair. "I could get used to this. Nothing to do, no one to deal with. I could--"
"Handle about two days before you'd be running out into the street, begging for someone to recognize you," Lance finishes, flopping onto the arm of the chair with a sigh.
"Exactly." Before I can stop myself, I reach up, tousling the spiky hair, letting my fingers brush a soft cheekbone.
He leans into it, fathomless green eyes regarding me with an odd mix of curiosity and dare I say…..interest? Hey, one way to find out.
I curl the hand around his neck, tugging gently. It works like a charm, sending him sprawling onto my lap.
Would have worked better if he hadn't landed on my dick, but I'll live. Good thing he doesn't weigh all that much.
He smiles up at me, face alight with laughter, and I can't help myself, bending to press my lips to his.
Title: Precious Illusions
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Crossover N'Sync/Metallica *blink* That looks so wrong.
Disclaimer: This so totally didn't happen that it boggles the mind. I don't know these guys, I mean no disrespect or offense, and make no claims about them.
I know this is useless, but hey, why not? I walk up to the charter desk, and smile at the tired looking woman. "I--"
"No. We're shutting down for the night. The storm's expected to last until at least three in the morning, and I'm not making my pilot stay half the night. No more flights 'til tomorrow morning."
Fuck. Sometimes, you've just got to accept the shit life throws at you. It's one of the down sides of doing appearances in the middle of spring.
Still, you'd fucking think Mother Nature would give you a fucking break now and then.
"What? No, I can't wait 'til tomorrow. I've got a concert tomorrow afternoon!" a low voice says.
I'm struck by two things at once. One, that's a voice that could do serious damage to a man's nervous system, like velvet on your spine. Two, apparently, not everyone is so accepting. I turn, expecting to see someone who matches that voice.
Not even close. Instead, I see a harried looking baby. Okay, he's not in diapers, but he's not been out of them that long.
Maybe as long as Metallica's been around. Maybe.
"I'm sorry sir, there's nothing we can do. The FAA has grounded all flights for the duration of the storm."
"But-"
"I'm sorry sir. We open the desk at eight am, that's the best I can do."
He sighs, his shoulders dropping. "Is there a hotel nearby?"
She shakes her head. "No sir. The nearest one is twenty miles away, at the truck stop. But, Hazel Rogers down the road lets her carriage house out as a bed and breakfast. Maybe the two of you could share? I could call her for you."
He looks at me for the first time, and I smirk. Yeah, there's another person here, fucker. He smiles, offering his hand. "Hi, Lance Bass. N'Sync."
I get the feeling that he's not used to dropping the band name. He doesn't' seem comfortable using it, but I guess he's hoping it'll impress me. Me? Fuck, please. Even if it is combined with a thousand watt smile, and puppydog eyes.
"Lars Ulrich. Metallica." I offer my own smile, and am gratified to see him blink. That's right you little boyband shit. I know my smile isn't nearly as pleasant.
"Oh. I should have recognized you."
"No big. We haven't been at many of the awards shows lately. I didn't recognize you, either." I'd have remembered trying to keep Kirk from jumping him if he looked that good before.
Hell, I might have even taken a shot at him myself.
"I, uh. I guess we could share. If it's okay with you."
The last bit is added hastily, with a glance from under his eyelashes. I won't even pretend that I don't like being the big bad wolf in this duo. "Works for me. You have a car?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Nah, I took a cab."
He turns and walks towards the door. After a moment he glances back at me. "You coming? This isn't curbside service, y'know."
Maybe he's not a total loss after all. I glance back at the woman at the counter. "If you would call her, that would be great. Thanks." I turn, walking out into the rain.
It's one of those things you only see in the south, I think. One of those amazingly beautiful storms, lightning streaking across the heavens, thunder snarling, and the warm rain, seeming to billow in the air, soaking you as soon as you open the door. I love it.
By the time I get in the car, he's on the cell phone, talking a mile a minute. "No, there's no way, Tony. The storm's covering half the south. I'll just have to get the first flight up there tomorrow morning." He pauses for a moment, and I hear a sharp voice on the other end. "I know it's going to be cutting it fucking close! I can't do anything about it!"
As I slide into the car, he rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Look, just put JC on, okay? No, not--Justin," he says sweetly. "How are you?"
I muffle a snort behind my hand.
"Yeah, I'm stuck here. Yes, I know we have a concert tomorrow afternoon. There's not a whole lot I can do about it, is there?"
This time, the words carry clearly to me. "You couldn't have gotten an earlier fucking flight?"
"Justin, I did what I could. I'm fucking sorry it didn't meet with your approval. I'll get there when I can. And if I don't get there, the mighty Timberlake'll just have to learn to sing bass, now won't you?" He disconnects with a vicious poke. "Diva bitch."
"What time is your concert tomorrow?"
"We've got an afternoon benefit show in Seattle at one tomorrow."
I wince, mentally doing the calculations. Five and a half hour flight, leaving at eight thirty or more likely at nine, gets him touched down in Seattle at twelve thirty Pacific time.
Making the opening song is not looking good for Mr. Bass.
"It gets better. The woman at the counter said that they only have one plane in the hangar, and I'm guessing that one's yours, since your flight was scheduled earlier."
No one has ever said that I was a nice guy. Hell, a lot of people have said the opposite. I'm not that big of a dick, though. "I'm not in any huge rush to get home. I can tag along, we can hit Seattle, drop you off, and you can make the second song without too much trouble, then I can head down to San Fran."
You have thought I offered him my fucking kidney. "You wouldn't mind?"
"It's an extra couple hours of flight time, no big deal. I'm not desperate to go back and listen to James and Kirk bitching over the guitar riffs on the new album, while our producer threatens to fucking kill them both."
A smile tells me that some things are universal, no matter what music type you play.
We pull up outside a small antebellum mansion that somehow bears a startling resemblance to the Bates Motel. "If her son runs the place, I say we drive the twenty miles," Lance mutters.
I nod, more than agreeing with that sentiment as we step out of the car.
Instead of Norman, the front door opens as we reach the bottom of the steps, revealing a well rounded older woman. She smiles as we hesitate. "Don't just stand there child, come in out of that rain.
"Mrs. Rogers?" I ask.
"Just call me Miss Hazel, honey. Everyone else does. Have either of you eaten yet?"
"No ma'am," Lance drawls, the southern accent suddenly more pronounced.
"Well, then you'd better just come on into the kitchen, and I'll fix you up." She turns, bustling off into the house.
Lance shoots a helpless look at me. "Miss Hazel, we couldn't--"
He may be a little slow on the uptake. I've already figured out that this is a woman who is Not To Be Argued With. She reminds me of our wardrobe mistress, actually. And I'd sooner slit my wrist than argue with Mary.
I follow him into the kitchen, where in a remarkably short time, she has a more than respectable dinner assembled. We eat obediently, making small talk.
"Now, the carriage house only has one bed, is that going to be all right for you? It's a king."
Lance smirks. "I can behave if you can."
Oh, this one could be dangerous. He's loosened up as the meal has gone on, the smiles coming easier, freer. Still, under it all is a familiar tone, a far too familiar look in his eyes. He's used to being in control.
It's the same look I see every damn day in the mirror.
She gives us the key and directs us out the back door to the small outbuilding. It's actually pretty comfortable, complete with a few cushy chairs, a small desk, a television. Most importantly, it's got air conditioning.
Lance glances at the desk. "Do you need-?" He holds up a laptop case.
"Nah. Go for it. I'm going to give my band a call, take care of some minor business on my cell."
He nods, settling into the chair as I flop into one of the recliners and pull out my cell phone.
"Hey, Lars. Back in town early? I'm making dinner if you wanna swing by, I can throw another veggie burger on the grill," Kirk says, not masking his amusement.
"Nah, I'm still in Georgia. There's a hell of a storm on, so the fuckers closed the airport for tonight."
"Damn, no veggie burger for you then. So, what's up?"
"Got a pen? There's a couple things I was supposed to do tomorrow, but I'll be on the plane, so you're in charge."
"Cool. I get to be in charge. Do I get to boss James around?"
I chuckle. "Kirk, you do that anyway."
"Oh, yeah. Whatcha need me to do?"
"Let's see. Call Stefan, tell him to reschedule the round table until the day after tomorrow in the evening, so I'm awake when we're doing it. Then, call the record company, tell them that we'll be calling Friday, instead of tomorrow to set up a meeting. Then, call Bob, and let him know that I'll be in early on Thursday morning to work on the drum fills. With me so far?"
"Yeah, got it. What else?"
"Call the guy from Rolling Stone, tell him I'll be back on Thursday instead of tomorrow, and I'll give him a call to reschedule. Oh, and could you or James take the KNAP interview tomorrow during morning drive time?"
"Yeah, I can do that. That it?"
"Yeah, that's it. I can take care of the rest when I get in."
"Okay. Cool. Take it easy, and don't get struck by lightning, got it?"
"Will do. Oh, don't forget to mention all this to James, so he's not up my ass wondering where I am."
Kirk laughs softly. "Not a problem, man."
"Thanks, Hamlet. I'll owe you one," I murmur affectionately.
"I'll pick somewhere good for the dinner you'll be taking me to."
"As long as it's not strictly vegetarian, it's a deal. Take it easy."
I disconnect, and glance over, seeing a surprised look in Lance's eyes. "What?"
"I was trying to figure out how you planned on doing business without a laptop, or a palm pilot, or something, but damn."
I grin. "Eh, I'm more of a technophobe than anything. Hate fucking computers. I've got it all right here." I tap my head.
"Wish I could do that, but I always get the band stuff confused with the movie stuff, and so on, and I can't afford to fuck it up." He shrugs eyes darkening. "Do you ever get the feeling that you've got the band on your shoulders, and one misstep, and it'll slip and crush you under it's weight?"
I blink. God, that's exactly how I felt for years. I just didn't know how to put it into words. "We always called Metallica the Mighty Machine. I always imagined it as a steam roller some how. And for the longest time, I felt like I was in front, guiding it, but if I slipped and fell, it would grind me into the pavement."
He sighs. "I've had nightmares like that. How do you deal with it?"
My smile is dark. "I'm probably not the best one to ask, considering that it damn near ran me over last year before I learned to let my bandmates take some of the load."
"And what if they can't take the load?"
"Then either you're underestimating them, or you need new bandmates."
He smiles tiredly. "Careful, you'll break the teenyboppers little hearts. They're all convinced that Justin and JC are the be all end all of the universe."
"What about the rest of you?"
"Let's see. Chris is the comic relief, Joey's the media's whipping boy, and me? I don't register much at all. Oh, except when I make a dog of a movie, and then, it somehow reflects back on the rest of them. So I guess I'm the fan that the shit has to go through to splatter them all."
"Thanks for the fucking mental image."
He chuckles. "I just wish-" He breaks off, shaking his head.
"Wish you could go back, and kill some trends before they started? Wish you could change things? Don't we all."
"I wish when we started, I'd known how hard it would be, that it takes as much as it gives from you."
Ouch. "I guess in one way, Met is better with that. I still have a personal life, and our fans are pretty good about letting us live it. The fans in San Fran are really cool, they barely notice us any more. You've got a different crowd though. More obsessive."
"I almost feel like there's two of me in here," he says. "Lance Bass, N'Sync talking head, and James Lansten Bass, normal guy who'd like to be allowed to go on a date now and then."
"You can't date?"
"Only if it's a cute little actress or singer."
"This is a problem?"
"When you'd rather date her co-star, yeah."
"Oh."
"Shit. I shouldn't have…..Look, I can sleep out here."
I laugh softly. "Again, you've got a bigger problem than I do. Most of the gay bars in San Fran don't exactly blast Metallica. I've heard plenty of N'Sync songs there, though."
"You're--"
"Yup."
"Oh. So I don't have to sleep in a chair?"
"Nope."
He considers for a moment. "Cool. So, when did they start letting Gods of Thunder be gay?"
"Fucking brat," I return, flipping him off with a half smirk.
"But not a diva bitch," he says cheerfully.
I smile, wondering when it started feeling abnormal to relax like this. "Not a diva bitch. I'd have pitched your fucking ass out into the storm if you were."
"Ditto."
"Gee, thanks for the fucking compliment." I let my head fall back on the chair. "I could get used to this. Nothing to do, no one to deal with. I could--"
"Handle about two days before you'd be running out into the street, begging for someone to recognize you," Lance finishes, flopping onto the arm of the chair with a sigh.
"Exactly." Before I can stop myself, I reach up, tousling the spiky hair, letting my fingers brush a soft cheekbone.
He leans into it, fathomless green eyes regarding me with an odd mix of curiosity and dare I say…..interest? Hey, one way to find out.
I curl the hand around his neck, tugging gently. It works like a charm, sending him sprawling onto my lap.
Would have worked better if he hadn't landed on my dick, but I'll live. Good thing he doesn't weigh all that much.
He smiles up at me, face alight with laughter, and I can't help myself, bending to press my lips to his.
