Pairing: Justin and Nick
Words: tush; bourgeois; floodlight; baby
Justin pushed the door open, and smiled. "Hey, baby... oh. Nick. What are you doing here?"
The blonde looked up from his magazine. "Waiting for you." He smirked. "This is your dressing room, isn't it?"
"Yeah. It's mine. What are you doing in it?"
"Like I said. Waiting for you. Who were you expecting?"
"No one."
"Was it male or female?"
"None of your business." Justin pushed past Nick and went to the mirror. The bright bulbs at the edges dazzled his eyes. He was tired of being under the lights; the spotlights, floodlights, every kind of device being shone upon him, marking him out as the star, as The Justin Timberlake, Here To Make Your Dreams Come True.
In the mirror, he could see Nick watching him. Justin looked away and started wiping the make-up off. He could have someone do it for him, but he'd thought tonight there would be a reason to have privacy, a reason not to be surrounded by the hired hands who made up for the absence of the four other men who had once been his life.
"Nice ass," Nick said approvingly.
Justin grimaced, but didn't look over.
"What, too bourgeois for you? Nice tush, how's that?"
He dropped the sponge and turned. "Look, Nick, I don't give a damn what you think about me. Yeah, fine, I have a nice ass. Great. A lot of people think that. They don't have any more right to it than you do. Now, do you have a reason for being here, or do I get someone to show you the way out?"
"Touchy subject. Yeah, I had a reason for being here."
"Fine. What is it?"
Nick stood up and prowled toward him. Justin held his ground, and tried to look tough, but felt wilted and small, tired after the performance. Nick stopped just outside of touching range, and leaned in. "The person you were waiting for? The one we're not naming? He's discovered a preference for another boy bander turned solo artist. And it's not you. Get my drift?"
"You're full of it. He wouldn't. He would have said..."
Nick arched his eyebrows. "The way I understand it, he did. Plenty of times. Only you weren't listening. But then, you never listen to anyone but yourself, do you?"
"I listen," Justin protested, but he was already wondering if this was what the abrupt phone calls had meant, the terse emails that had never really seemed to come to a point.
"Good. Then listen to this -- Lance isn't yours. He's mine now. And no matter how cute your ass is, you aren't getting him back. Because I'm not too stupid to know that he's more important than the approval of people who are going to make up their minds regardless of what I do. Got it?"
Justin didn't know what to say. He was still trying to grasp the essential point of Nick's argument. Lance had left him? For Nick? When? Why?
Nick held his gaze for a moment longer then laughed. "You don't get it. You really don't. Well, that's fine, because you aren't getting him either. Goodbye, Timberlake."
The door closed sharply behind Nick, and Justin stared at it. He was alone now. But then, he'd been alone ever since the day he'd decided to leave NSYNC behind and go solo. He just hadn't realized it.
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