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.