Leaving Lance Vegas

by Karen and LB
© 2002

A little bit o' fluff inspired by Lance's comment about working in a Vegas strip club on weekends... Disclaimer: Don't bet on it.

"Whoa, JC, whoa! I just wanted some extra cash."

"What's wrong with an occasional tupperware party?"

"C, no one buys tupperware any more."

"What do you need the money for anyway? Don't I take care of you? Don't I give you whatever you want?" 

"But JC, I want to take care of you too. I want to be able to buy you nice things." 

"Aw, honey, that's so sweet. But you know you don't have to do that."

"But I want to. I don't want you to pay for everything. It makes me feel so . . . inadequate."

"Baby, I never knew that. Of course you should have a little job if you want one. But no more strip clubs, okay?"

"But JC . . . I like to strip."

"Am I not enough for you? Is that it?"

"C, please don't get mad. Of course you're the only one for me. It's just . . . I like it. I like the freedom. Of course, you've never come to my shows . . . "

"How could I? You never told me. I had to find out in an interview. In front of strangers. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"

"I'm sorry, C, I'm really sorry. I didn't do it to hurt you. I just . . . wanted to be able to do something for you. I won't do it anymore. But maybe . . . "

"Maybe?"

"Well, maybe if I showed you what I do you wouldn't be so mad."

"Go and watch all those other people watching you . . . ? I don't know if I could handle it." 

"No, Josh, a private show. Just for you. Just so you can see it's not so bad."

"Private show?"

"Come with me."

"Now?"

"Now." Lance holds his hand out and waits for JC to decide.

JC put his hand in Lance's. "Okay." Lance leads him to a back room, where there's a couch, a low table, and a CD player. He leads JC over to the couch and orders, "Sit." Then he moves to the CD player, where he sifts through a stack of CDs, finally smiling as he selects one. He turns to JC. "Now, normally I have this costume." He looks away and rolls his eyes. "It's a . . . cowboy hat and stuff." He shakes his head embarrassed. JC is not amused. 

JC is still having a hard time getting his mind around Lance--HIS Lance--stripping for strangers. Look at him, he thinks. He's embarrassed even talking about it. How can he possibly DO it?

The smile is gone from Lance's face as he turns back to the CD player. He knows JC is hurt by what he has revealed, but he hopes that if he shows JC what he does, and does it for JC alone, that he will change his mind. He clears all thoughts from his mind and gets set to concentrate on the dance. He's going to convince JC if it's the last thing he does. When he pushes "Play" the sounds of Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" seep out of the speakers. Keeping his back to JC, Lance pulses one leg, then begins to sway his hips back and forth. 

Much as JC hates to admit it, much as he hates the idea of Lance doing this for just anyone, he's getting just a little aroused by the whole thing. He pushes that thought away quickly and tries to concentrate on what Lance is doing. 

Lance continues to move his hips slowly in time to the music; then, when the chorus of "Let's Get It On" comes on, he turns around in one fluid motion and takes a step forward. He runs his hands down the length of his torso and brushes his fingertips against his crotch, then brings his hands up to the open collar of his shirt and pops open the first button his fingers come into contact with. He eyes JC intently, waiting for any kind of reaction. He turns around slowly, unbuttoning the shirt as he does so; when he comes full circle, the shirt is completely open. 

JC is stunned. Is THIS the guy who had been so completely lacking in confidence about how to dance and move his body only a few years ago? It's killing him, he refuses to show it yet, but he LOVES what Lance is doing. Then he remembers that Lance has been doing this for anyone who can pay a cover charge and he feels angry and hurt again. How can Lance expect him to see this as nothing? 

For a moment, Lance sees a flicker of something in JC's eyes-- desire, perhaps? But then that look is gone and is replaced with hurt. How can Lance convince JC that he does what he does only for the money and the thrill, and that the people in the crowd mean nothing to him? That he does it because it allows him the freedom he needs to help him build the confidence he needs to get up on stage with such great dancers as JC and Justin, so that he doesn't look like a bumbling idiot in comparison. 

The music continues its erotic melody, and Lance slowly brings the shirt down his arms, revealing his smooth, white chest. He looks off to the side as he slips the shirt off, and with one hand spins it over his head and tosses it at JC. It floats through the air and lands in his lap.

JC finally cracks a smile. Okay, so there's SOMETHING to be said for this. He lifts the shirt to his face and breathes in Lance's scent, his eyes never leaving the moving figure in front of him. 

Lance spins around again, needing to hide his smile. Okay, now we're getting somewhere. He bounces once, removing one sneaker with the heel of his opposite foot, then bounces again doing the same to the other sneaker. He kicks them aside and flicks open the button on his jeans. Once again, he turns to face JC, this time taking long strides across the room so that he stands in front of him. He slides one hand down the length of his bare chest, places to fingers on his crotch and gives a quick thrust. He crouches low and looks directly into JC's eyes. 

JC is still conflicted. He still doesn't like the idea of this, but Lance is just so damned sexy. He feels a stirring in his groin and tries to hate himself for it. And fails.

Lance sways back up to a standing position and spreads his legs. He lowers the zipper on his jeans and slides his hand inside, briefly. He jumps and turns around and lands square on his feet. He places one hand on his ass and bends forward, locking his knees and sliding the other hand down one leg. He peers through his legs and winks at JC. 

How can JC stay mad when Lance is just so damned cute? And it's not that he doesn't trust Lance--he does. This is just--he never thought he'd have to deal with something like this. 

After that last move, Lance can tell that he's starting to crack the surface of JC's wrath. He pulls himself up and swings one leg around so he's facing his lover again. He begins to move his hips again, lowering his jeans one beat a time, revealing tight boxer-briefs underneath. When the jeans are around his ankles, he steps backward and out of them. He points one toe, lifting the jeans, and kicks them aside. Keeping his leg in the air, he grabs his ankle and brings his leg higher up. Then, he slides his hand down the underside of the leg and then lowers it to the ground. He takes one catlike step toward JC, then another, until he is standing directly in front of him, his crotch level with JC's face. Lance closes his eyes and places his hands on his head. 

When did Lance get this confident? Where did he learn to do this? JC is not mad anymore, but suddenly he's very sad. He has never been able to engender this kind of confidence in Lance. It took dancing in some strip club for Lance to find it. JC suddenly feels like a complete failure. 

Lance stands there for a few minutes, waiting, confused. He opens his eyes and gazes down at JC; what he sees there almost breaks his heart. It's not the lust and desire he was expecting, but sadness and disappointment. Lance feels a lump rising in his throat. He drops his arms and turns toward the CD player. Storming over, he shuts it off, then hurriedly begins collecting his discarded clothes. 

JC is suddenly right behind Lance, placing his hands on Lance's shoulders lightly, as if he fears Lance is going to shake him off and having a firmer grip brushed off would be even more humiliating. "Lance, please. Don't be angry. I'm really, really tying to understand. It's just that I--you . . . You look so wonderful doing that. Really wonderful. Confident, secure. And it makes me feel like such a failure that I couldn't give that to you."

Lance starts, stunned by what he's hearing. "A FAILURE?" he practically spits the word out. He shrugs off JC's touch and crosses the room. "Do you even know what the word means? You want to know why I do this? You think I LIKE doing this?" Lance's emotions completely take over, and once he starts he knows there's no turning back. "I KNOW what they say about me--about my dancing. 'Lance Bass looks like he's counting out the beats in his head.' 'Bass watches his friends as if looking for approval.' Do you know what it's like, night after night, to stand next to you or Justin and KNOW that I can't even begin to compete with you? That I'll never be as good as you, no matter how many extra hours I spend with Wade or Darren." His face is red now. "So I thought if I tried this," he gestures at the clothes scattered around the room, "it would free me up," his voice gets quiet, "give you something to be proud of." Suddenly, he feels exposed, vulnerable. He's already said more than he ever wanted JC to know. He finds his pants and, with shaky hands, begins pulling them on. "JC Chasez, you don't know the meaning of the word 'failure'." 

JC slumps back down into his seat. "I do now."

Lance blinks. He's confused. "What do mean?"

"I have spent the last two years loving you. Trying to let you know that I think you are the most amazing, talented, wonderful person in the world. You say you want me to be proud of you. Well, I am. Every day. But if I can't make you see that, what good am I?" 

Lance suddenly feels more embarrassed now than when he stripped onstage for the first time. He kneels down in front of JC so that he's at eye level. Placing his hands on his lover's knees, he says quietly, "I guess I never felt it because I couldn't understand what you could see in me. I see the way people look at you--I hear the way fans scream your name. How people just gravitate toward you. I never wanted to do anything to embarrass you or make you feel ashamed of being with me. I love you, Josh. I never meant this to hurt you, because if I hurt you--that would hurt ME more than anything else in the world. To see your face like this." The tears start to come now and he can't stop them. "I'm sorry, Josh, I'm so sorry." He stands up and faces away. "Shit." 

JC rises and enfolds Lance in his arms. He leans his chin on Lance's shoulder, his lips next to Lance's ear. "What are we doing, Lance?" he whispers, his voice thick with his own tears. "We're fighting because we love each other? Because we admire and are proud of each other?" 

"D-do you really admire me, Josh? You know I only do this for you. When I'm out there on that stage, I don't even see the faces in the crowd. I see only you."

"It's the same way for me, baby."

Surprised, Lance pulls away. "You do?" He blushes. "Oh, Josh, when I see you out there, moving the way you move. You don't know what it does to me. If I could move one tenth the way you do . . . " 

"You do better. You move like YOU."

Now Lance is forced to smile. JC always knows the right thing to say to brighten the moment. "Sure, if you like a guy with two left feet." 

"I'm serious, Lance. I love the way you move. When you're onstage. And when you're with me." 

Lance doesn't know what to say. Finally, he does speak. "There's another reason I do this, Josh. I wanted to get you something special, without you knowing." He reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small velvet pouch. He tips the pouch into his other hand and something golden pours out. Lance drops the pouch and holds up the object, delicately dangling it from two fingers. It's a long, quarter-inch-thick gold chain, at the end of which is a large, solid gold G clef studded with diamonds. "I know, it's kind of flashy, but you're always buying stuff for me and paying for stuff and ever since you moved in you hardly let me buy anything so I just wanted to get you something to say . . . how much you mean to me." 

"Lance, baby, you don't have to buy me things to tell me that. But I love that you did. It's beautiful."

"Turn around." He reaches over JC's head and brings the necklace around so the cold metal touches JC's warm skin. He fastens the clasp and kisses the back of JC's neck. "I won't strip anymore." 

JC savors the unfamiliar weight of the necklace against his chest. He reaches up to touch Lance's hand, still smoothing the chain against his neck. "No, Lance. You do what you need to. I'll figure out a way to deal with it." 

Disappointment and puzzlement cross Lance's face. He thought . . . wanted . . . JC to fight him on this. "I-I don't want to do it anymore, JC. Not after seeing your face when I just did it." 

At Lance's tone, JC turns around and embraces him. "Lance, if you don't want to do this anymore, I will be incredibly happy. I just don't wanna be the guy who orders you around and tells you what to do, you know? And I want you to know that I trust you, no matter what you do." 

Lance hugs him back, relieved. "I just want to make you happy, Josh, the way you make me happy. You know you make me happy, don't you? I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." 

"You do make me happy, baby. Every day." 

Lance hugs JC and reaches for his shirt. "You know, I did make good tips." 

JC grins. "I'll bet you did, baby." 

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