Worth It
by lancenerd
Thanks to C for being so supportive and crazy and nuts ! I love you, man. And Jen for squeeing.
And both for beta.
You can hear him in the kitchen typing on his laptop. You don't need to go in there to know he's surrounded by neat piles of contracts and financial statements, trade magazines and daytimers. He has an office upstairs in one of the bedrooms, but the large table in the kitchen gives him more room to spread out.
The movie you're watching is ending. Yawning, you stand up and stretch; it's past midnight and you should go home. It's hard to believe that just under an hour ago, you two were cuddled together on the couch watching television together until a phone call interrupted the evening. He wasn't even going to answer the phone, but it was A Happy Place calling and with a movie coming out, he couldn't afford not to.
Quietly, you go into the kitchen and look at him. He's pissed off; his eyebrows knit together, making them arch even more than normal. He's muttering under his breath as he frantically types on his keyboard, and you can distinctly hear the words 'cocksucker' and 'motherfucker' coming out of his mouth. He smacks the keyboard and frowns deeper then sits back and crosses his arms across his chest before looking up. His face immediately softens as he sees you, then grows sad. "Sorry," he says.
You shrug, "'sokay. Movie kind of sucked anyway." You step toward him and move behind him, rubbing his shoulders. You glance at his laptop screen and see that in the past five minutes alone, he's received at least half a dozen e-mails from people at Miramax. Caressing his arms, you bend down and kiss the back of his neck.
"You gonna stay?" he asks hopefully, apology in his voice.
"If you want me to," you reply, lips against the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
He turns around and cups your face then kisses you quickly, because his phone is ringing again. He answers with a curt "Lance Bass" and his face darkens as he listens to the person on the other end. You can see him getting mad and pull away, but he takes your hand and squeezes it for a moment then kisses it, but then it's back to business.
"I don't give a fuck..." you hear him say as you leave the room.
You go upstairs and into the bathroom, Lance's angry voice carrying up from the kitchen. Methodically, you floss and brush your teeth, taking care to rinse with Listerine, holding it in your mouth till it burns the insides of your cheeks and your gums. You don't know how he does it, how he willingly puts up with all this bullshit. You've hired people to do that for you.
After washing your face, you undress and get into bed. There's a Stephen King book in the bedside table that you'd left here last time and start reading it. You remember when you got this book. It was a hot summer night in the middle of nowhere. Chris had made the buses stop to get some junk food, as if he didn't have a cupboard crammed with it already. The drivers gave you twenty minutes to stretch your legs. The book was an impulse buy, something you never do, but one of the crew was talking about this book and how good it was, and by that point in the tour you needed a diversion from Justin and Chris and their constant hyperactivity.
Just before the busses were about to leave, Justin and Chris had started throwing a football around and pretty soon you all had divided yourselves up into teams, tackling each other under the bright lights of the parking lot, trying not to dig each other into the concrete too hard. It started to rain, and everyone ran for the busses, except Chris and Justin who ran around the parking lot chasing each other until they were soaking wet and the driver was screaming that they'd be left behind if they didn't get on the damn bus. Laughing, they came on the bus, shaking water all over you and getting you all wet. You forgot about the book until the tour was over, and when you found it, you thought of that night and it made you smile, as it did now, but now there's no distraction to prevent you from reading it.
Half an hour later, your eyes are closing and are about to reach over and turn off the light when he appears slouched in the doorway, leaning up against the frame. You smile at him and he comes to bed, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your chest.
You squeeze him and kiss his hair, gaining a contented sigh. He rubs your chest, stroking the hair there mindlessly. You notice the lights are still on downstairs and you know his thoughts are with his computer and contracts and movie deals and the problems he has to face tonight. You know it mustn't be easy, but can't help to feel jealous that he's abandoned you for the evening. Instead of saying something, you just squeeze him tighter and he sighs, his breath warm against your neck.
After a short while, you drift off, but wake when he gets up to go back downstairs; when you're not on the bus, you tend to sleep light. You feign sleep, knowing that he'd feel guilty for waking you. He gets out of bed, kissing you on the forehead and soon you're asleep again.
A few hours later, you feel the mattress dips and he slides in beside you. You whimper as you wake up and move back against him as he spoons up behind you. He whispers apologies in your ear and kisses your neck and shoulders, his hands running down your body, hooking one finger in the waistband of your underwear.
Soon, you're both naked and he's over you, pushing you back into the mattress, breathing 'C' in your ear and whispering 'I love you'. He fills you, moving back and forth, bringing you both to the brink more than once before slipping over into ecstasy.
Afterwards, he holds your face in his hands and kisses you delicately, like you'd break. You feel the care and attention all through your body and down to your core. He holds you in his arms, knowing that nothing can replace the feelings you have for each other, no matter how many things preoccupy your time together. And this moment; it belongs to you, and it all seems worth it.
The End.
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