Shorty
by lancenerd



warning - hetness ahead
thanks to coreopsis and chootoy for beta

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You wake up with a weight on top of you and an ache between your legs. The room is spinning and you know you drank way too much last night. The person on top of you shifts and rolls over with a grunt then settles beside you. Without opening your eyes, you know who it is and where you are and you curse yourself, because you remember everything. You suppress a groan and squeeze your legs shut before the tears come. You immediately hate yourself. You never do this, casual sex isn't your thing, it's too painful, too emotional, too awkward.

You sit up and the room spins some more. Grabbing the edge of the mattress, you shut your eyes and hang on for fear of tumbling on the floor. It takes minutes for you to gain your bearings and it takes a long time before you can open your eyes. Your clothes are in a heap on the expensive carpet beside the bed and it hurts to reach over, but you manage to grab them in your hands, stand and shuffle across to the bathroom in one fluid painful motion, shutting the door behind you.

Your makeup's smeared and smudged and crusty around your eyes, but your hair isn't all that bad. Quickly, you wash your face and make yourself more presentable, using some moisturizer and hairspray you find in the medicine cabinet and under the sink. You stare at yourself as you brush your teeth with your finger and wonder just where the hell in Orlando you are and how you're going to get back to your hotel. Your cell phone is in your purse, but who knows where that is.

Your clothes stink like cigarettes and the bar you were in last night, the smell making you gag as you put them on. Maybe you can steal a t-shirt or something as the bustier you wore last night, doesn't cover as much as you thought it did. Your feet hurt and there's blisters from the boots you wore last night, and you wince as you zip them up. A part of you wants to crawl back into bed with him, but you have to get out of here, you have meetings today and you can't be all hagged out and hung over, which is exactly what you are.

Slowly, you open the door and he's sitting on the bed, a pair of tattered sweats on, blinking sleep out of his eyes. He gives you a short smile and you look at the floor. A shiver runs up your spine as you think of last night and what you've done with him. With Lance. Fucking Lance Bass of *Nsync. Lance who was supposed to be flamingly gay, but turned out to be amazingly straight and very capable of making a woman feel good. There wasn't supposed to be sex, you didn't want sex, you only went back to his place because everyone else was going back there and you wanted to talk about the business, about performing, about management, because you're just starting out here and you need all the insight you can get. That lasted a good five minutes before he had taken your hand and led you upstairs to his room. As drunk as you were, you could have said no, but as horny as you were, you didn't.

"I called you a car," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Thanks," you whisper as you cross to the door leading out to what you hope is the hallway, then stop. "My purse..."

"I think it's downstairs. Under the coffee table."

"Oh," you open the door.

"Hey," he says and comes up to you, hugging you from behind and kissing your ear. "I had fun last night."

His voice rumbles through you and now you know why you went upstairs with him. The porn voice. You can't help but smile and rub his arms. "So did I."

"Next time you're in town, we'd love you to come out again."

"Thanks. Again," you say and force yourself not to sigh out loud. There's no mention of him calling you, or you calling him, no offers of breakfast or brunch, it's just a casual fuck. You hope he doesn't offer to look at your demo, or send it to someone, because that's not why you slept with him, and you don't want that kind of reputation, although that's exactly what you have in your own eyes.

You break away from him and go out the bedroom door and he scoots around you to lead you downstairs. Snoring and other sleeping sounds come from the doors that line the hallway to the staircase. When you descend to the living room, you find someone asleep on his couch, which Lance doesn't seem to mind. It's as if this is all normal to him. There's a five-minute wait for the car and in that time, Lance busies himself with cleaning up. You stare out the window beside the door, the silence of the morning all around you, the sun shining too brightly outside. This is why you don't do one night stands. The morning after sucks.

The car arrives and you smile and say goodbye. Lance takes your hand and kisses it then kisses your cheek, smiling his professional smile. As you go out to the Towncar, you know you'll never see him again.


The End

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