Bouquet - Part Two

[pensnest]

Angelica
inspiration

Lance had not expected to be the odd one out in JC's house. He should have known, he told himself, sourly. He should have known that the two of them would get along like long-lost twins. Apparently they had been 'bonding' over the phone while he had been getting on with his actual work, and when Adam arrived, JC had greeted him with cries of rapture. Their excitement now they were actually in the same room was running at fever pitch, and the decibel level in here was getting dangerous.

It was fucking irritating. The fact that Lance felt like a sucker had already put him into a bad mood—which he was doing his best not to reveal—and the sound of the two of them finishing each other's sentences was just too fucking much. Added to that, it turned out they weren't going to record this thing at all how Lance had expected. He'd assumed—yeah, that was dumb—he'd be singing the lower line, the monotonous bit, and Adam would sing the high, more melodious part. Turned out, Adam was going to do both, and just wanted Lance to sing the monotonous bit an octave down. Which he could do, sure, but he could have done it back in New York and emailed the file. Instead Lance had let himself be persuaded by Adam's sincerity (and Chris's interference, but mostly Adam), and allowed himself to be caught up in JC's excitement, and Lisa's, and actually flown back to California for, what, a half-hour in the studio that was probably going to be semi-audible on the finished song, just like always. It wasn't going to take him long, not even JC's perfectionism could get much of a hold on this.

"It's good to see you back in the studio," JC said, startling Lance out of his thoughts. Damn JC for his endearing smile. Lance could feel himself smiling back, and knew that he was going to forgive JC for this whole stupid endeavor, because he always did. He should stop doing that, Lance thought.

"I've been in plenty of studios," he replied. Not completely true, 'plenty' was a bit of an exaggeration, but he'd done enough session work over the past few years not to have forgotten how to do this. He hadn't been in JC's own studio before, though, and he was impressed—it was a whole lot bigger and more comprehensive than Chris's, but then, he'd expected JC to have the latest everything in here. JC never scrimped on music stuff.

Adam, it was decided, would go first, and of course it took a while to get everything set up, so Lance fitted himself into the chair in the corner, ignored what was coming through JC's spare headphones, and got out his cellphone. Might as well catch up on his emails.

But communications from Wendy about pre-production meetings and from Lisa about his schedule and from Tommy and Joe about the New York set-up and from Stacey about Leighton and the boys didn't hold his attention once Adam started on the song. It was. It was. It was not what he'd expected at all.

Fuck.

They couldn't be expecting Lance to do that? Could they? Surely they'd just want him for balance, just a straightforward bass line singing the tune, such as it was, all, what, five notes of it? They wouldn't want him to sing something so fierce, so aggressive, so furiously sexual? They knew—JC knew, surely, surely Adam knew that Lance wasn't a solo singer, not like that, he couldn't do it like that?

His stomach felt full of knotted snakes. He might not know Adam but he knew JC, and he was beginning to be certain that JC would want him to do it exactly like that. And he didn't know how. He was going to make a complete ass of himself in front of Adam Lambert. Shit, shit.

CALL ME PLS!!! VV URGENT He sent the text, and prayed.

JC and Adam were conferring together, nodding over tiny improvements that might be made. Adam seemed to be encouraging JC's obsessive tendencies, and obediently sang again and again until both of them seemed to be happy with what they'd got. Lance would have been happy with the first take, which was probably why he wasn't a music producer. Or a solo singer. Fuck.

He went outside to warm up. Come on, Joe, come on. Call me.

All too soon, JC's voice summoned him back inside. And, blessedly, at that instant, the ringtone started up.

"Sorry, 'C, I gotta take this," he mumbled, and JC sighed at him in exasperation (because Lance had only been kept waiting for hours already, and JC was going to have to wait for, oh, five minutes now) and went back inside.

He had so much to say to Joey, a tumble of words inside his head, but all that came out was, "Oh, God!"

Oh, man, what's up?

"Joey, I—I need help. I need, like, an emergency. I can't do this."

Sure you can. What is it?

"This fucking song! I can't do it like they want me to!"

The thing with JC and Adam Lambert? What's so hard about it?

"It's not like I thought it'd be. I can't sing it like Adam sings it."

He doesn't want you to sing it like he sings it. He wants you to sing it like you sing it. Joey's voice was entirely too calm and reasonable when the situation called for panic. Otherwise he'd just have gotten a producer to repitch his own voice.

"Yeah, but he was amazing, all growly and, and I have to do it, like, angry, and I don't even know how to do that. How do you sing angry?"

You just—Joey sighed. Lance couldn't blame him. It was a lot to ask—teach me how to sing in a completely different style, right now. Can't you, like, think about something or somebody that makes you angry, and sing it at them? Sing it like you're telling them how angry you are—like they're in the room with you?

He wouldn't even need to imagine, Lance thought, darkly. "I, but. I'd feel stupid. It'd just sound dumb."

Not if you do it with everything you got. You have to forget about looking dumb and do it anyway, do it like you really mean it. Throw everything into it. Take it all the way. Trust JC, he'll tell you if you go too far, he'll pull it back for you if that's what it needs.

"I know what it needs." He knew what it needed. He'd heard Adam, he knew exactly how he ought to do it. He just didn't know if he could.

So, then you can do it. You do this all the time, you take on stuff nobody thinks you can do, and you do it. You did acting classes, you did a Broadway show, you can do this.

"That was easy," Lance protested. "I mean, I just had to look like I was having fun. This is like—"

No. No arguments. You do it.

"I just... I hate feeling stupid. I can't, like..." bare my soul, he thought, but didn't want to say it because how melodramatic was that?

I know, but trust me, you can. I know you never did it before, and nobody pushed you because it wasn't what we needed you to do, but you can do it if you want to. Joey paused. You just gotta commit. It only looks stupid if you hold back. Do you get what I'm saying?

Lance heaved in a breath. "Yeah. I. Guess."

Then get in there, and don't hold back.

"I'll try."

There is no try!

Lance disconnected, and snarled at his phone in frustration. Shit. No escape. He went slowly inside, and down the stairs. "Sorry," he said briefly. The two of them looked up at him in surprise, as though they'd forgotten he was there.

"Right," said JC. "So, okay, Lance, this is what I want you to do—"

"Look, JC," Lance interrupted, "can I just do it like I want to do it? At least the first time?"

"I... guess." JC looked confused. He probably didn't expect Lance to have any input. Lance had always been willing to do just as he was told in the studio before, but Lance had a strong feeling that if JC came up with a list of precise requirements for exactly how he was to hit each syllable, he'd never manage it. They could be here for years.

"Gimme a few minutes, I need to, uh, get it clear in my head," he said, feeling extremely foolish. But he couldn't just go straight in there and do it, not when the song he'd been practicing before had been easy and expressionless.

"You want a drink of water? JC?" Adam suggested, brightly. He was all pleased with himself. He hadn't had any problem with the fucking song.

"Please," Lance said. At least it'd get him out of the room for a few minutes.

"I'll, um, you won't be able to find stuff," said JC, getting out of his chair.

"I'm sure I can find your kitchen, JC. And the refrigerator."

"No, but, there's—I keep the—I'll come show you." And mercifully, the two of them cleared out, leaving Lance with his lyric sheet and the stubby pencil he'd brought for notes.

Who was he angry at? Stupid business partners, he thought, who didn't do what they said they would. Russians. Asshole comedians. Perez Hilton. Reichen Lehmkuhl. Jesse. Justin, for being Justin. JC Chasez, nitpicking record producer.

Adam Fucking Lambert.

Okay. He scanned through the lyrics again, though he knew them by heart, and scrawled the names where he needed them, where he needed to remind himself to feel rage or bitterness or some other flavor of angry. Commit, he told himself, and felt kinda sick. What if it came out sounding dumb anyway? He thought it worked, the new version in his head, but...

JC and Adam came back down the stairs, and Adam offered him a bottle of Evian. Lance took it with automatic thanks, put it straight down without noticing, then headed for the microphone. Headphones on. Listened to the track once, trying to hear his own voice with the intonations it needed to hold. Looked up at JC to signal him to cue it up again, and caught sight of Adam Lambert smirking at him.

Fuck you, he thought, and sang.


That... actually felt like it went well. Lance took a deep breath and raised his eyes. Adam Fucking Lambert was still smirking at him, but JC had producer-face and was nodding his head. "That was good, Lance, that was great, next time can you get a bit more, like, venom in the second verse, and build it even bigger at the end?"

Here we go, Lance thought. Years. But he thought maybe he could do it again better, so he did.


It was better, even better, than the first time, and he really hoped JC would just let it go at that, but of course JC couldn't make it easy, there had to be dozens of micro-adjustments before he would let Lance get out of here. Sometimes he didn't even bother to discuss them with Lance, only with Adam, and Lance would stand there with a fuzzy noise coming through his cans and the two of them enthusing at one another over some detail that could be perfected. The trouble was, the longer this went on, the more Lance could feel his hold on the song slipping away. He was pretty sure it was actually getting worse, and JC was all frowny and frustrated.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Adam said, mercifully to both of them. "I think we should sing it at one another."

"Uh..." said Lance, uncertainly.

"Just to get the feeling that we're fighting as we sing. I think if we get up in each other's faces we can get that hostility back again."

"Sure," JC said, eagerly. "Go for it."

He played the bare, minimal backing track through the speakers, and the two of them stood there, a yard apart, singing the fucking song at each other, and Lance had never felt so ridiculous.

JC stopped the track. "Lance," he said, sternly. "Don't hold back, you don't have to. You're not singing with Justin here. Adam has a big voice, you don't need to keep it low power, just let it out. Hit it hard."

Yeah, Lance thought, because it's just that easy. But he was damned if he was going to let Adam Lambert laugh at him again, so he filled his lungs and said, right, and this time he sang it hard, he sang it like a weapon, glaring up into Adam's eyes and hurling out the words point blank, fuck you, I'll make you like it.

Then it was done, and he was suddenly exhausted. I'm never going to do solo stuff, he thought to himself. Not if they have to do this all the time. Pulling out emotions and throwing them at the music, it was too much.

"You got a lot of voice there," Adam said, and was that grudging admiration? Surely not.

"Yeah!" said JC, almost whooped, in fact. "That was fantastic! You guys wanna hear how it sounded?"

So they listened to it, and after that, Lance thought he could try it one more time because he was still feeling the rage, and this time it came out perfect.


"Are you sure you don't wanna take another shot?" JC sounded more disbelieving than disappointed, which Lance figured meant it was fine.

"Is there something you want me to change, 'C?" he asked, and drained the last drops of Evian with relief. He'd never felt so shattered in the studio before, not even after one of the marathon sessions.

"Nnnn-o-o-o," JC admitted reluctantly. "But, you know."

"No, then." JC would do a thousand takes, if a producer was fool enough to let him. Lance wasn't willing to do that. He was done. He felt better, a lot better, because he knew he'd gotten it right. JC could use what he'd got, and Lance was going to take Wendy out to dinner, far, far away from here, and talk about his nice, familiar business.

"I'm gonna want to do mine again," said Adam.

"You don't need me around for that," Lance said quickly. "I should get over to see Wendy. I'm done here, right, 'C?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, almost," said JC. "All I need from you now is sex noises."

"What?"

Adam Lambert burst out laughing, an annoyingly rich belly laugh, seized JC by the ears and kissed him right between the eyes. "Sex noises! JC, I love you! You are a genius."

JC backed up a bit but grinned enthusiastically. "Yeah. Just background, you know, but it'll be really cool. We want some really happy noises, like, moaning, and some grunting and, you know, uh, uh. Just like you were fucking."

"You want me to make... sex noises." In front of you and Wonder Boy here. Not going to happen. "No."

Two pairs of beautiful, sea-coloured eyes looked at him like he'd just killed their puppy.

"But," JC began.

"Absolutely not." Nobody had said anything about sex noises. JC seemed to realize that it was game over. He still looked pathetically disappointed, but Lance was not giving in, not this time.

"You would make such great noises." Adam didn't appear to recognize a flat veto when he heard one. "All deep and dark and sexy, grarrrr! Don't say no! This song is going to be so, so awesome, let's make it perfect, yeah? It won't be right with just my voice in the background, we need your bass. Please?"

And Lance felt his resolution sliding. God damn it, he thought, how does he do that? I didn't even want to be here in the first place, and now... "Oh, for fuck's sake," he said.

*

"Is JC out?" Adam asked curiously as their distracted host checked his files just one more time. "I don't wanna say the wrong thing."

"JC? He's not gay."

"Really? But he's all..."

"Oh, yeah, he does that. Music turns him on."

Adam looked at him suspiciously, but Bass didn't seem to be joking. "Did he get hard on stage?"

"Oh, yes."

"So... didn't it get kinda embarrassing with all those thirteen-year-old girls watching?" Adam knew the feeling, but he was generally playing to a more mature audience.

"I think the girls who were old enough to notice were also old enough to appreciate it," Bass said. "Google 'JC Chasez, happy pants'. You'll see."

"And he's—just enjoying the music, right now?"

"I think music and sex are pretty much different places on the same spectrum for JC."

"Huh. Interesting. Maybe we should write something together."

"Hoo, boy," said Bass, and laughed, but didn't explain what he meant. Ah, screw him. It could be cool, writing with JC. Adam had looked him up on Wikipedia and talked to a few people—he couldn't rely on Katy for all his info—and his solo album was a blast. Plus, they were totally on the same wavelength with Flower, which was going to be the awesomest thing ever. Well, until the album was done.

"JC, I am not doing any more grunting. If you haven't got the perfect orgasm noise, do it yourself. I'm leaving."

JC emerged for a quick hug. "Fucker. You know, if you get horny later, you could always tape—no, okay, okay. We're good."

Bass rolled his eyes, but grinned. "You just go put it all together and make it sound like some crazy orgy, or whatever it is you're gonna do." He held out a hand to Adam. "Thanks for asking me to do this. I hope it turns out okay."

"Thank you," said Adam, promptly. "You did a great job."

"Give me a heads up when you're leaking it, okay? We don't want to get our stories crossed." And he left.

Adam turned to JC. "You got some sounds you can use, right? I wasn't so convinced by the sex noises."

"I can use them. Have to do some tweaking. I don't think it was exactly Lance's thing, you know?"

"Maybe he just has a boring sex life," Adam suggested.

"I wouldn't know about that," said JC, primly, then looked at Adam with a frown. "So, you and Lance, you're not—"

"No, we're not!" Really, why did everybody assume he was fucking Lance Bass?

"No, I guess you wouldn't shake hands if you were. Huh. Lance does all kinds of crazy stuff for his friends. But I really didn't think we'd get any kind of sex noises, not after he said no, usually when Lance says no, that's it. He was always the final word, you know, on all the business decisions for the group, and when Lance said enough, we stopped."

Adam was surprised. He didn't get the impression of Bass as an authority figure. Anyway, it didn't matter. "I wanna re-record my track, before we get on to the countermelody. I think I can do more, now I have the bass line to work with."

"Let's get to it," said JC, eagerly.

* * *

So, how'd it go?

"Hey, Joey. How did what go?"

The recording session, what else?

"Oh, yeah. Good. It was good."

You managed to sing angry?

"Yeah."

Told you. There is no try. What was he like to work with?

"JC? Surprisingly—"

Hey, none of that. Adam Lambert, what was he like? Did you enjoy it?

"We sang together, Joey, you make it sound like we did something dirty."

I bet you don't wanna play your grandma that song, Joey said, evilly.

"Oh, God. JC had us make... never mind. But I think it's going to be good."

And Adam?

"What about Adam?"

How did you get along?

"Fine. He's very professional."

Is that it?

"What else is there?" Lance kept his tone light and indifferent, hoping that for once in his life Joey Fatone would take the hint, but no.

The way I see it, he's just your type, tall, dark and handsome, and gay. So...?

"He's really not my type," Lance insisted. But Joey knew him well, and just laughed. "Okay, he's good-looking, but, you know. We're a lot different. He wears dresses!" Lance knew that wasn't entirely fair, but there were pictures.

You look good in a dress, remember?

"I thought we were trying to erase that from our minds?"

I'm just saying. Adam Lambert, hot guy. Surely you've thought about it?

Attack was the best form of defense. Lance deepened his voice. "Think very carefully, Joe. Do you really want to know about my sex fantasies?"

There was a long pause. Briahna really loves that book you sent her, Joey said eventually.

"Horton rocks." Lance smirked. "Is she reading it on her own?" He didn't think he'd have any more nonsense from Joey.

* * *

Purple Carnation
capricious, whimsical, changeable

"So, how are you?"

Oh. You know. Fine, really. Busy.

"Okay, that sounds terrible. Come on, tell Uncle Kris all about it."

It's just that, I don't know, I thought Drake was going to stick around for longer. I mean, sure, I was touring, but he knew that, and he came to visit and I thought he was okay with it, and I thought he was okay with us not being exclusive, it didn't seem any more fair to him than to me.

"Because he got just as many guys coming on to him as you did, right?"

I—no, but, you know what, he probably had more time to go out looking! Kris's mouth twitched. Right. And then he said it's all or nothing, and so...

"And you went for nothing," Kris said.

I wasn't ready to commit to Drake that way. He knew that, at least I thought he did. I couldn't lie to him, I wouldn't do that.

"It seems like you did the right thing. You wouldn't want to be in a relationship that felt wrong."

I just don't seem to be able to get it right. But Kris thought he sounded as much puzzled as miserable, so maybe things weren't quite so bad after all.

"Maybe he was just your rebound guy. You aren't supposed to stick with your rebound girl, guy, whoever. Now you can start again."

See, I don't really buy that. I don't see why the relationship right after a breakup should automatically be doomed. I mean, if that's true, all relationships would be doomed, wouldn't they, except your first love.

Kris, who had married his first love, could see the justice in that. "But it was your choice, wasn't it? You chose to break up with him."

Yeah.

"So he wasn't right for you."

Adam sighed. No, I guess. But what if that wasn't true? What if I just made the wrong call?

"Do you think you made the wrong call?"

...No.

"There you go, then."

You know, Uncle Kris is supposed to be a lot more sympathetic than this!

"Tough love, baby. It's what all the coolest uncles are into these days."

Well, my favorite uncle was the one who used to sneak me candy when I was little and cash when I was a teenager, so I think you've got a ways to go. He paused. I guess... it's not really Drake I'm missing, it's not like we got to spend that much time together anyway. It's, it's having someone. Ah, hell, let's talk about something else.

"Tell me how the album's going," Kris said before Adam could ask him the same thing. Because he had a notion that Adam's mood wasn't just caused by the breakup, and hearing about Kris's completely problem-free life might not help a whole lot.

And that was Adam's rueful laugh. Yeah, you know how I told you there'd been some changes among the suits at RCA? Turns out some of them are a bit wary of me doing the music I want to do. There's been all kinds of talk about how I should tone it down, make it a bit more respectable, bit more mainstream, whatever. It's so fucking stupid, it makes me crazy.

Kris shook his head in disbelief. "So... not going so well, huh?"

Most of it is going great. I've been working with these amazing people, so much of what we're doing is exactly what I wanted to do. Then the fucking suits come around and whine about needing something commercial for the single, which I get, I really do, but you know.

"They really don't know what they've got, do they." It wasn't even a question. Kris's own album had been going so smoothly it was hard to believe, he still woke up every morning thinking, is it real? Is it really happening? But he could imagine how Adam's brand of flamboyance was hard for the 'suits' to get a handle on.

Plus, they don't want me to write songs about fucking boys. He sounded downright sulky about that, and Kris had to stifle a laugh.

"How many songs do you have about fucking boys?"

Oh, you know. Not that many. Not all of them. I have plenty of songs that aren't about fucking at all. But I'm not going to write stuff about falling in love with some girl when everybody knows that's not me. And there has to be room in the market for somebody to be doing this stuff. My fans are going to want it, and people who don't get me and don't like The Gay aren't going to be buying my album anyway, so what are they about? Sorry, I guess I'm getting very boring on the subject. Let's just say, I'm mostly happy in my work, so long as I'm allowed to actually do it.

"Everybody hates management," Kris offered, helplessly. Truth was, he was getting on fine with his own suits, but then, there wasn't exactly an image problem with a sweet, old-fashioned, happily married Christian boy who wore plaid because he liked it. His problem, he thought, would be getting himself noticed among all the other nice guys. The only solution he had to that was writing the best songs he could write and singing them the best he could sing them, and he was doing that, so. "Oh, I almost forgot. Katy wants to know when she's going to hear that song you did with Lance Bass. She about died of envy when I told her you were recording with JC Chasez."

Yeah, JC's great. And that's another thing, I wanted to maybe do a couple of numbers with him, but—sorry, sorry. Back to the whining, gotta stop that. I don't know if anyone's ever going to get to hear Flower. It kills me, it's so good and I can't—Sheilagh and I managed to convince the old suits that it'd be good publicity, but the new ones aren't going for it. They say I don't need that kind of publicity. It's all the same crap, over and over. But I can send you a copy. I, um. Not sure Katy's going to love it, though.

"I'm pretty sure she will."

Adam laughed. Um. Hmm. Okay. I'll email it, but if she doesn't like it, tell her it's okay, she doesn't have to.

* * *

Katy thinks it's fantastic. So do I, by the way, but she's about ready to fall down and worship you.

"Cool!" said Adam. "I love that girl."

Yeah, me too.

No kidding, they were adorably gone on one another. Sweet and... uncomplicated. Adam envied that. It felt like he was never going to find someone who'd stick with him. Ironic how Drake had finally ended things while Adam was in LA, when he'd been one of the reasons Adam had wanted to record Flower there. Not the only reason, sure, but still. Drake wanted more than scraps of time and he didn't have any more than scraps while his career was taking off like a runaway semi, he couldn't just abandon the wheel.

"So," Adam said, wrenching his thoughts back on track and trying to sound upbeat. "A positive audience reaction. That's good!"

And, if you want more, Katy told me, well, she has some advice for you. Marketing stuff, how to speak to the suits. You get them to look at Flower as a market test.

"Er, yeah?"

You weren't planning to use it on your album, right?

"Of course not."

So you persuade the suits to use the song as a test of the market. Let it out, pretend it got leaked by accident, see what the response is like. People do it all the time. If it gets hot, then you'll have the proof that the kind of stuff you want to do is going to sell. If it doesn't... okay, if it doesn't do anything, then the suits win. But it will.

Adam felt a slow grin spread across his face as he assimilated this. "You know, that's—that could work."

You need to talk it up better'n that, obviously. I don't do the marketing-speak, but.

"That's okay, Sheilagh can do that. She was pissed when they vetoed it in the first—the second place, she'll go for this, I bet. I think we can make it work." He laughed. "And if we can't, at least I'll get to see their heads explode when they hear it."

* * *

Lance had this weird feeling in his stomach. It took him some time to figure out why it felt familiar, because it had been a while, but eventually he identified it as the same feeling he'd had back when they'd had an album out, or a new single. Especially way back at the beginning. When they'd just recorded their first single, it had been agony waiting for it to hit the airwaves, hit the stores, waiting to see if anyone liked it. He'd had the same kind of feeling waiting for No Strings to make it big, too, not as much, though, because he'd been confident it would, and by the time Celebrity came around he'd been pretty calm about the whole deal. He hadn't felt so involved with Celebrity anyway, not when he'd been up in Canada filming while half the album was created, and it had been the Justin and JC show all the way.

But now. Now, he'd been really involved. He'd been important. His voice mattered. He'd heard the finished track—JC had sent him a copy a mere three days after their studio session, which had to be a record for JC—and it was amazing, yes, even the sex noises. As long as his parents never, ever got to hear it, he wanted it out there. He hadn't even played it to Lisa, because he had promised not to share it with anyone, and Lisa had given up pleading and just went around with big sad reproachful eyes all the time, which was fucking irritating.

And it seemed that Adam Fucking Lambert wasn't going to do anything with it after all. Not a word, nothing, and the song was just languishing. It was all right for Adam, he was busy making his actual record, and if he recorded a bunch of tracks that didn't make it onto the album, that was just par for the course. But he'd made out that Flower was so important. Maybe Adam had seriously just wanted to make the recording and it didn't matter what happened after, but Lance wasn't like that, he didn't record stuff just for the artistic satisfaction, he wanted it to have a point.

Eventually, Lance couldn't stand it any longer. He called Joey to gripe.

Oh, yeah, Flower. It's amazing, man, I was going to call you right this minute! I told you you could do it. How come you didn't send me a copy?

"I was just—I was—it was Adam's thing, not mine, I didn't share it with anyone yet. Don't tell me JC sent it you."

Sure. I called him just a few minutes ago, he said he was leaking it and did I want it, so I said sure.

"JC is leaking it?" Lance felt something clutching queasily in his stomach. If Adam wasn't ready to have this public, and JC let it out...

Yeah, of course. You know he's been letting a bunch of songs out onto the internet lately, he just passed it along like usual.

"Oh. Okay. I should probably call him, find out what the story is."

Sure. But, Lance? It really is good.

"Yeah. Thanks, Joe."

*

You did know it was going to be leaked. JC sounded as though Lance was the one being unreasonable. I mean, that was the point, right from the beginning.

"Yes, but, I didn't—how come you leaked it?"

Oh, you know, plausible deniability for Adam. He talked his suits into it—

"He told me they agreed already!"

Oh, that was different ones, you know what record companies are like. And I've been letting stuff out anyway, you know, so this was the easiest way to get it out there. Can't wait to hear the buzz!

"No. I mean, right."

So the story is, we were just messing around in the studio together, and you guys tried this song, you know, just casually, and then it got mixed up with some other stuff and was never supposed to be leaked.

"Nobody who's ever met you will believe you produced it 'casually', JC."

JC huffed. Okay, just for fun, then. Anyway—

Lance's phone beeped. He checked the number. It was Adam Lambert. "JC, I have a call waiting, I think I should take this one. Talk to you soon, okay?"

* * *

Zinnia
thoughts of friends

Katy says thank you for the flowers.

Adam grinned. "She deserves them. If it wasn't for her, I'd never have gotten Flower out, and if it wasn't for that, there's at least four songs that wouldn't have made it onto the album."

Your suits were convinced, then.

"Oh, yeah. The fan sites are buzzing like crazy. It's been such a trip watching it all, like, people not believing it was for real, and all the arguments about who was really singing it. Did you see what Lance Bass put on his Myspace?"

You linked me to it, remember?

"Oh, right, I forgot."

I thought he did it beautifully, pitched it just right.

"Hmm. I thought he could have used a spellcheck," said Adam, who was particular about spelling. Lance had called him to suggest he should put out a 'confirmation of the fan rumors' message, and he had done a good job, it was true, but 'absolutly'? Pah.

But it was sorta bashful, gee shucks mom, I did this thing with some friends and now everybody knows about it, I thought that was smart. And hey, if you think Lance's spelling is bad, don't read the comments.

"God, no. If they're like everywhere else it'll be all speculation about are we sleeping together."

You can't possibly be surprised about that. Two famous, good-looking gay guys, what else did you expect?

"You think Lance Bass is good-looking?" Adam pretended to pout, which was a bit pointless since Kris was five states away.

Hey, don't pout. But obviously psychic. Adam sat up and stopped pouting. Sure, he's good-looking. You could do a lot worse. Anyway, if it takes the heat off me... And there was Kris's wicked, deep-in-the-throat chuckle.

"You know, it's funny, I thought I'd get the song out of my head when we'd recorded it, and I kind of did, except... now we're working on the video for my single, I can't help wishing we could do one for Flower. I mean, it's crazy, but it's in my head."

Did you ask Lance if he'd make a video with you?

"Oh, hell, no. I said I thought it would be cool, and he got all practical about how much it would cost and how it wouldn't fit with our story about just doing the song for fun."

He probably thinks you're a lunatic.

"Nah, he's just boring. I mean, okay, I know it's crazy when I have so much else going on that I need to do, stuff that actually matters, that I have this completely unnecessary thing in my mind. It's funny. It's like, I'm giving myself time not to think about my own songs and how important this album is for me."

Thinking about a video you can't make lets you relax a little bit?

"Yeah, it does. There's no stress, you know? I mean, I love what we're doing with the single, I really do, it's going to be fabulous. It's just, you know. Pressure. The single really matters. And I've been focused on the album for so long. And we shoot the video the day after tomorrow. I have to think about something else or I'll really go insane! And with the Flower video I don't have to get into the actual details, you know? Just the concept and the imagery and how to make it sexy."

I'm afraid to ask.

"Oh, no, it's not, well, it is a little, it wouldn't be that outrageous. Not like—wait till you see what we do for the single! No, it was just, when we were working on recording with JC, the two of us sang it sort of at each other, because honestly I think he was having trouble keeping the focus and I thought maybe doing it together would help, and it did, and now I have this visual of us singing right in each other's faces." Himself in something black and leather and flamboyant, big flashy rocks in his ears; Bass in a white T-shirt, tight across the shoulders. "Profiles, either side the screen, getting closer all the time until we're up in each other's faces. Of course, he'd have to stand on a box. He's practically a midget." Adam grinned to himself at Kris's splutter of indignation. Bass was taller than Kris. "And images, hands crushing flowers, pink roses or peonies, something big and showy, and petals falling down, and also..." Also clothes ripping and falling, and images of sheets and naked flesh and hands, too quick to be sure what was happening. Though the fans would frame by frame it, he thought wistfully. "Oh, well. Not gonna happen."

Hmm. It sounds kinda sexy.

"Oh, yeah. It'd be really hot."

So are you rethinking the whole Lance Bass, not my type, thing?

"What? No!"

Are you sure?

"You know, that's the thing people seem to be missing about Flower. Everyone's obsessed with are we fucking now, but it's really about us being completely different. Like, I'm me, and he's just... He's all wholesome and family-friendly, and spends half his time at the gym and the other half in the pool." Not that he had noticed Lance Bass's exercise-toned waist. Or his arms. Not noticed noticed.

You seem to spend an awful lot of time thinking about stuff the two of you could do together.

"It's not Lance Bass, it's the song! Seriously, he's so not my type."

You know, Katy said to me, if one of her girlfriends kept insisting that a guy wasn't her type the way you keep saying about Lance, she'd be sure they'd be dating within a month. And in my house we have a rule that Katy is always right.

"Maybe, but I'm not a girl."

You look awful good in a dress, though.

"You know, if you were here right now I would so smack you for that!" Kris chuckled. He was an evil little brat sometimes. Which was basically why Adam liked him so much. "Anyhow, I'm sorry, but Katy's wrong about this. I am not interested in dating Lance Bass."

Maybe you just wanna have sex with him.

"Okay, I think we're done with the subject of my repressed longings for Lance Bass's fine, fine body. Tell me what you've been doing since last week."

*

Adam didn't have a lot of time to spare for watching television, but Katy had emailed to let him know that Lance Bass was going to be on one of the late-night shows and she was sure he'd be asked about Flower. He didn't intend to bother with it, but somehow, he found himself channel-surfing at the right moment and ended up watching Lance Bass being sweet, charming and self-deprecating (and fidgety as hell) as he talked about some TV pilot he'd done. They played a clip of it, and Adam was surprised. It was funny.

He answered the Flower question very cleverly, too, managing without actually lying to convey the impression that he and Adam had just somehow happened to find themselves in JC's studio and he was as surprised as anyone to find that the song had become something of an internet phenomenon. Looked completely genuine, too, all big green eyes and toothy smile. And he said some very flattering things about Adam that he didn't actually need to say. Which was nice.

Whatever. He still wasn't Adam's type.

*

Writhing and heat and the most fantastic noises and slicksmooth sweaty limbs tangled and big green eyes and hothothot fucking, slamming, ramming, and—

Adam woke up suddenly, heart racing and almost painfully hard.

He was not alone in the bed.

He couldn't have, surely he couldn't have... except, right next to him, an untidy dirty-blond head facing away from him on the pillow, and the sheets were a riot, and had he really had incredible sex with...

"Lance?" he said tentatively, touching a bare shoulder.

"The fuck?" said a voice that was more of a tenor than a bass, and when the guy turned around his dark brown eyes were glaring. "The name," he said, coldly, "is David." And got out of bed and went... wherever. Adam was so thrown by the whole thing he didn't get his wits in order in time to cajole, er, David out of his perfectly justifiable pique. Not that it would have been easy. Adam knew he'd gaped like a goldfish when the face that turned to him wasn't Lance Bass's face. Crap. If he'd ever been more embarrassed in his life, he couldn't remember it.

It had been good sex, too. But the dream sex was better.

*

A couple of mornings later, he was fortunately alone when he woke up to the memory of another ridiculously erotic dream featuring Lance Bass, and a raging hard-on. Okay, he thought, let's go with it, so he deliberately conjured up the images again, those strange green eyes looking up at him, that mouth stretched around his cock, deep silk-wet heat and bass vibrato.

Ohhh, yes.

Showering off the mess, he had to think about this. Why the fuck was he fantasizing about Lance Bass? Dreams—couldn't help what happened in dreams, except if they were supposed to mean... something. But Lance Bass as a symbol of—of what? No, that didn't work. These were sex dreams, no significance attached. They just meant that somehow he'd got Bass and Flower permanently mixed up in his head. He'd been thinking of the video images, that was all.

Because of course he'd been imagining a video with blowjobs.

Admit it, he told himself, that doesn't fly either. Even if it was just the association with Flower—and if Adam was going to be truly honest with himself he had to concede that it wasn't—he was going to have to admit it to himself. He thought Lance Bass was... attractive. Sexy? No, not sexy, fuckable, he was fuckable. Sexy implied it was Lance Bass in his entirety who was attractive, and Adam was not going there. He stepped out of the shower and began to towel himself dry.

Leaving aside the fact that he and Bass had nothing in common apart from being gay, it would be insane to even contemplate getting involved with him. The publicity would be horrendous. It had been bad enough when they'd leaked Flower, every prurient paparazzo in the city—in the country!—assuming they were fucking and doing his best to get pictures of the two of them together. "Which, luckily, we weren't," he reminded his reflection, which nodded decisively back at him.

Anyway, he didn't have any desire to get involved with Lance Bass, who was as conventional as an ex-boybander turned Hollywood businessman could possibly be. Adam tried to imagine Bass at Burning Man, shaking hands with everybody and handing out business cards. He couldn't be interested in someone like that.

He was probably dull in bed, too, or at any rate he'd be conventional. Safe. Missionary position and blushes. What would it be like to kiss him properly, deep and dirty and wet and—

Adam was supposed to be not thinking about that.

No, wait, maybe he should think about it. Maybe if he thought about it when he was awake he'd stop having these incredible dreams.

Or. Maybe. He should do it. Maybe the way to stop the fantasies was to have the reality right there for reference, reality sex that would just be ordinary sex, not blazing white-hot erotic masterpieces.

Hmm.

Adam examined the idea as he dressed. Fuckable Lance Bass was not, as far as he knew, in any kind of committed relationship, so no foul there. The paparazzi had stopped paying them particular attention, so no risk of anything crazy blowing up from it, not immediately anyway. What was the worst that could happen? Bass might turn him down... Like that was going to happen—Adam's memories of their first meeting were clear enough. No, he thought. He won't do that. So the worst that could happen... would be bad sex, which would actually be good, because that would stop the fantasies. Really, this was the perfect solution. The more he thought about it, the more appealing it was. In fact, if he didn't have to get back to work he'd lie back down on the bed and think about it some more, but he couldn't be late.

Anyway, problem solved. All he had to do now was have sex with Lance Bass.

* * *

Part Three

Comments

[rikes]

Ahahaha, Lance's list of hates!

JC and Adam would really be scary in the studio.

ADAM MOCKING LANCE'S SPELLING. ♥

[pensnest]

JC and Adam would really be scary in the studio.

Oh, indeed! Poor Lance.