nsync in black and white

Disclaimer: this is fiction. We made it up.

Fantasy Number Two Thousand Five Hundred Fourteen

by Lydia, written for mixedsignal

JC's keys twirl in his hand, as he sits on the couch in the living room. Keys made for a two person house, two sets, two key rings. He sighs, closes his eyes, and thinks to himself what can possibly go wrong now.

JC has yet to fuck Eva.

It's not necessarily that he doesn't want to, but for some reason it doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel arousing to think of it. There's only one reason why he does not try to make that final move in the relationship.

Justin. It's because every time he moves to strike up more chemistry with Eva, he always sees Justin on his eyelids, feels Justin's touch on the inside of his skin.

Every time he gets hard, he feels the vacancy inside him, the place where Justin belongs.

It's been three months since Justin left him, seeking success in a different way, seeking success in a solitary way. Justin had always wanted to be the next Elvis; he'd always wanted to be a superstar, one remembered forevermore. JC thought he could have compromised, moving the both of them into this house in the Hollywood hills, closer to what Justin wanted.

It was not enough. Justin said that JC would not only hold him down, but make him mediocre as well. And the last thing JC ever wanted was for Justin to be mediocre, no matter how much it would hurt to let him go. While JC hates being so withheld from his life because of Justin, he hopes every day that Justin comes back, that Justin realizes the choices he's made can be reversed.

JC just hopes the choices they've made can be reversed. He's bitter about the harsh words said, the way the break was made. He's been insulted, and JC knows he should move on, he deserves better.

JC knows what he wants, he knows what he deserves.

And he knows that what he wants is Justin.

JC doesn't pay attention to Eva until her legs cross his field of vision. Sometimes, he knows why she's there, and sometimes he wonders if she can pick locks. She's always here and he can't ever remember letting her in, or giving her the keys. She says she likes to come here because the studios are closer to his house than to hers, on the other side of town. JC thinks the real reason she likes coming is because he's here.

She's damn near naked in front of him, fully relaxed even though every window in the house might as well be opened. Her hair's in a messy bun and she's only wearing heels and a pair of pink and white panties. She's covering herself with an arm while the other hangs onto the strap of her bra as it drags the floor behind her. JC knows this is exactly what every single male in the US wants right now. He knows he's lucky to have it.

"Tell me, baby," Her voice is like honey, as she licks her lips, "What's your dirtiest fantasy?"

JC doesn't think she'll appreciate his mention of Justin.

So he pours over fantasy after fantasy, trying to find one where he can substitute Justin for Eva and have it make sense. He groans when he comes to the realization he cannot.

"Well," He says, getting up, putting the keys down on the table and walking up to her, "It's…complicated."

If she only knew, JC thinks to himself. It's complicated because JC still lives and breathes Justin in the hazy air of this place on a summer's day. He still has a virtual filing cabinet in his head, where every fantasy he's ever had in the last six to ten years would be treated like a case-file. Numbered, thoroughly described, tps-reported, Polaroid-pictured, color-coated and filed away in order of date, time, and fantasy matter.

It's like number eighty-three, where he's been in the studio for a day and a half, straight, plugging away with Dallas and Justin calls him home, to come quick. He'd make a remark about how Justin was acting like a girl, but Justin would plead for JC to come home. There would be finely orchestrated dinner on the table, Justin waiting with a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses at the door, sweeping caresses and candles on the stairs as Justin pulled him up, one by one, into the bedroom. There would be coaxing and Justin would be as gentle as if he were petting something small and fragile, as if JC's skin had been composed of several unstable things glued together. There would be everything. Everything. And the satisfaction would radiate off JC's skin, the orgasm freshly pulled out of him as if it were everything Justin's life had depended on.

It would be a thing of beauty. Not unlike the thing of beauty before his eyes, standing right in front of him.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" Eva asks, and JC suddenly can't find it within himself to look at her. "You miss him. Don't you?"

Oh god, he misses Justin so much.

"A lot," JC sighs. She touches his lips and kisses his cheek and he walks backward, as if in some kind of zombie-like dance. He sits back down, and Eva sits beside him, lays in his lap. As if second nature, his hand covers her shoulder, and she purrs into his thigh.

"It's sick that he does this to you," She says.

"It's sicker that I let him," JC sighs.

It is, JC thinks bitterly. He's usually not this lovesick when he breaks up with someone; he's not usually this horrible. He made clean breaks with Tony, Pharell, even Tara. They all still talk to him, talk with him and he never found himself jonesing for any of them in the way he's jonesing right now.

This is bad, JC thinks to himself, trying to even remember how he and Pharell looked in the mirror as they fucked each other in the studio one night and can't even come close. It's bad that only Justin affects him this way.

"You don't have a choice, or anything." Eva whispers, and it reminds JC of Fantasy number twenty-five, when Justin whispers in his ear on a dark and stormy night. It sends sensation down his spine just thinking about that whisper, thinking about the sweet kiss that follows. Things stop, bodies melt with layers of clothing still between them, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and head on Justin's shoulders as they watch and listen to the rain, sexual attraction be damned.

"I love you," Justin would hiss, curling into him. "Baby, I'm so lucky. So lucky."

There would be more long, slow kisses, but JC would put his hand over Justin's mouth and laugh and walk away to get a glass of water as Justin walks up to a window and opens it, listening to the unmated sound of rain.

JC's eyes lift up to Eva, shaking his head, "Maybe I do."

It's worse, he thinks, when Eva's away. It's worse when he's at home, not in the studio or writing or painting, but doing something so simple as taking a shower or shaving, cooking or watching a movie alone. JC knows he shouldn't be so wimpy about this. He's not a very weak person and when he is, he doesn't let it show very often. There's just something in Justin, inside Justin, wrapped around Justin that makes JC feel at home, make JC feel regular and sane, good, like he's home.

It's a whole lot worse when JC's going out to a diner or going to buy a cup of coffee, it's worse when JC goes out to a fucking club on his own. It's worse when he's in the shower, touching his lips or his hair. He remembers Justin being there, Justin always being there, Justin doing these things with him Justin doing these things for him. JC remembers Justin's southern nuances, the ones that still remain even through years of travel, fame, fortune.

It's worse when he's fixing up to go to Malediction, one of Justin's favorite clubs even though he's too golden to actually let the admission come out of his mouth, fixing up with eyeliner and paint, with mousse and gloss, with vinyl and leather, liquid metal poured onto muscle-laden skin. He doesn't wear the bands on his face like he used to, like Justin used to paint on him. It's because of things like Fantasy number one hundred and seventy six, where Justin's persistence shines through. Where Justin spends a half-hour painting JC's face while JC paints his and pinning back JC's hair from the messy set of ironed flat curls into a full faux-hawk with braids that dangle down his back. After all that work, Justin's lips stretch into a smile that could scare children, but his words short circuit JC. Justin thinks he's too pretty to party with, too pretty to dress up, but not pretty enough not to destroy. And he throws JC down on the bed and teases him, taunts him for an hour, lightly raking hands over naked skin. It would look something like a deleted plot arc from Enter the Thunderdome and by the time Justin had actually fucked him, JC would be screaming, begging, senseless with pleasure, buzzing with three or even four orgasms all tied together in a hurry as if Justin were going to kill him after.

And maybe, JC thinks, as he looks himself in the mirror with glossed lips and eyes heavily disguised in kohl, it's better if he just stayed home.

The next day, Eva motivates him to go out with him. JC follows her from shop to shop, walking in a daze. He slides close, a hand privately on her hip. He kisses her neck and she grins, dropping the shirt she was looking at from her hands. His hand slides lower, and when she turns around, her hands go around his neck. Wrenching down his head down, Eva's mouth opens and she takes JC's lips.

For the first time in a long time, JC no longer feels scared of anything. Not even as the camera snaps right in front of them.

"You're addicted, JC," Eva says, a cautious look on her face. "You're addicted to him. You wouldn't be acting this way if you weren't."

JC's fingers pick a grape tomato out of her bowl of salad, thinking when and where did she get that salad from, anyway, as he puts his head down on her shoulder. "I guess you're right."

"Tell me how I can make it better?" she asks, her voice hoarse.

He closes his eyes as the tomato slips into his mouth and suddenly, flashes of unfinished files, fantasies yet to be written and never to be completed, sew themselves together and berate him on the back of his eyes. A backseat of a car, a new dining room table with fresh décor, a living room couch comically oversized and designed to make it look as if two bodies on it were merely ants, the bottom of a waterless pool and the top of a company building high in New York.

All waiting for him. All waiting for moments to be written and obsessed about. All moments that should be devoted to Eva, devoted to taking the objectification of Justin and twisting it until Eva's the aim of his affection, until Eva's the reason why he lives, loves, sings, writes, dreams and fantasizes.

"Where did you go?" Eva asks him, as she drives them back home.

"Someplace I've never let anybody into."

"Would you think of letting me into it?" Eva asks him, looking down at his lips as she inches close to him.


Eva's skirt is long and hot pink and flowy so it sweeps the floor as she moves after she's pulled it down around her hips. It looks good on her with the black shirt and no bra. Her mouth tastes like raspberry vinaigrette, and when he finally takes her, coaxing and unraveling the knot of sexual tension between the two of them, she makes desperate noises and asks him to touch her here or there, call her this or that, fuck her hard or fuck her slow. She asks for all of it.

He sees Justin from Fantasy number three eighteen laying on the couch, and Justin from Fantasy five twenty six on the wall, so he pins her to the hardwood floor and fucks her through the floor with her skirt hiked up and her breasts bouncing under her tight shirt.

Making love is more often than naught reserved for a bed, JC thinks to himself. It is also often reserved for Justin.

It's not like he hasn't tried to imagine Eva in Justin's place, It's not like he hasn't tried to fall in love all over again with her brown eyes and smile and her need to help as if he were her brother, not a science project the way Bobbie and Tara and even Bai had.

It's not like Eva's attempts have not been noble, it's not like the papers say. There have been fantasies, files that only Eva could fulfill with him, Like the ones where she tries on dresses in a suitcase she carefully packed only for him to slide them off her shoulders and let them pool at her feet, or the ones where she becomes so very pliable while he bends her over backwards on a counter or on the bed or a chair as he works his magic with only slim, weak vibrator, his mouth and his hands and that sportsmanship and mercy that JC learned from his mother.

It seems, these days, that those fantasies are the only kinds of fantasies that JC can make into reality.

"You don't fool me," Eva whispers in bed, hands tossing hair off her shoulder before leading long nails down the line that spanned from her mouth down to the valley of her breasts, squeezed into a tight bra, "I have you figured out."

If Eva really had him figured out, she would probably see the seventeen different scenarios in his head involving this bed and Justin. She would probably know that JC could see five or six different Justins along the walls, in different states of pleasure, of beauty, of body and form. She would know that his fantasies, all of them, aren't floaty but well defined, guided, illustrated flawlessly and thoroughly as if they're case files, evidence of obsession.

She would realize that JC's at the point where Justin's a missing possession, something that leaves an emptiness in a room once its gone, something that makes everything a little bit more real to JC, in ways Eva has yet to uncover. In ways that JC's pretty sure that Eva will never uncover. JC grins, licking Eva's skin, thinking of the ways Eva will never know him.

It makes JC's blood boil. It makes him ache with need. It makes him feel the loss of Justin's presence all over and oh god, does he hate it. As he kisses Eva, long and slow and like he's never going to stop, JC beats himself up over this. He knows he's not so weak.

"I know you well," She smiles on his shoulder. He pulls her up on top of him and kisses her hard, until he can't feel his lips anymore so he doesn't have to talk.

He wishes Justin wouldn't do this to him, and wouldn't twist his control so much, so quick, so hard.

JC's laugh is fake, telling, soft. "I'm sure you do."

"You have the power to be a very strong person when it comes to him. You just have to start becoming one," Eva whispers.

It's times like this that JC misses Justin the most. He thinks of Justin's curls as he slides his fingers through Eva's hair, he thinks of Justin's laugh as he hears Eva's. He wants to feel Justin's skin under his fingers as he touches her, and he can only think of Justin's lips as he slowly kisses hers.

This is sick. JC's in withdrawal, and Justin had every right to leave him like this, like the way he's acting. And he can't get over it.

Eva's in the bathtub in the morning when JC walks into the bathroom. There's a pot of coffee with a cup off to the side, and JC smiles to her, bending over the sink. "You're so thoughtful."

"I try," she smiles, a simple pretty smile in the mirror behind him. It's the smile of angels, JC knows as he stands up straight. He pours himself a cup of coffee and walks over to the bath. "It's in the little things, you know. It's the little things that make you love someone."

"You love me?" JC asks.

"You could say," Eva smiles. "But I know you love Justin more than I love you, too. Here, get in."

JC looks at her funny, hair up in a pile on her head; naked as the day she was made and body down in the spot Justin often sat in. He gets in the tub and the water's temperate.

"Uh…you realize that you're still wearing your jeans, right?" Eva asks.

"No, but you know what," JC smiles, a hand sliding against her leg. "It doesn't matter, either."

Eva's right, JC decides after she's left, sitting down to a plate of re-warmed Thai, chopsticks in hand. It's the little things that JC loved the most about him; it was the little things that he clung to when the fantasies, the millions of files and scenes neatly organized in his head weren't enough. It's the little things he wants back.

It was the little kisses that made him ache in their absences, the glass of water and two aspirin on his side of the bed when they'd been out drinking the night before. It had been the cookbooks in the empty kitchen that had looked used, cracked spines and little notes in the margins of recipe pages featuring peanut butter cheesecake and chicken Marsala, sweet couscous with grilled pork and rock candy. It was the smiles, the impromptu serenades, the pout, the sneaker collection that used to infest the closet.

It was the little moans and how the salt and pepper were always closer to JC's side of the table and how the remote was always on his side of the sofa, even though they'd get into fights about what to watch. He'd fallen in love with the sway of Justin's hips as he danced without whim, need or choreography; the lingering looks of lustful determination in Justin's eyes. Missed Justin's wide foot on his calves as they rolled around on the floor, night after night when they first found this house, when JC put his name down on the deed.

There were fantasies, thoughts, echoes of love often never acted upon but there, lazing in the corners and carpet and hardwood floor and elevated ceilings of every room. Thoughts of what could have been take JC away from everything, including his lukewarm Pad Thai.

Damnit. He should cook.

If this part of JC's life were a movie, it wouldn't sell. The plotlines are too blurry, there's no evil involved. Eva's not trying to rip him away from his Justin, if anything, Justin's the villain who never makes an appearance, the one who makes his negligence known by driving JC crazy with need. However, there would be no explosions and the film would most likely be too grainy and at least one cock would be shown, so it would automatically be NC-17, as if to retain some kind of dignity because nobody cares about the plot in porno films.

Although If they had coverage of fantasy number one thousand, five hundred and twenty two, it would most likely be turning into a porno movie. Of course, there would be the foggy, unclear edges denoting that it was a fantasy, and as Justin walked over in his golden skin and plucked a small vine of grapes from the bowl on the counter. JC would smile, pull Justin close, lick the grape juice from his lips and kiss him as if he were giving first kisses to the young boy he fell in love years ago. It would be slow, classy, and god, once it devolved into actual sex, JC would have slid Justin's pants down to the floor, slid Justin into his mouth and he would have used as much muscle as he had in his throat to not only make Justin so hard he can't stand it, but make him limp again, as well. Justin's reaction would be enough to turn it into porn so explicit, it would probably need four x's instead of three.

"Fuck," Eva groans, lying on the sofa. He must have given her the key, JC thinks to himself, because there's no way in hell that he leaves his door unlocked for such a long time.

"What's wrong?" JC asks her.

"You look like you've barely moved since I left. Why are you letting him do this to you?" Eva says.

"I don't even know anymore," JC says. He sits on the couch, next to Eva, and she crawls up under him and it feels like Justin in Fantasy four hundred and seventy five, where Justin sidles up to him, kissing his neck, running hands down his back. JC would try to resist but soon, he'd be all over Justin, pinning him down to the couch, hands pinning Justin's hips down to the couch, forcing his legs open to grind on him between two layers of denim, and god knows what else. He fits his face into the crook of Justin's neck and drives him wild until Justin groans like he's dying.

"Then why are you letting him do it now?" Eva asks, as Justin's hands wind into the back of JC's shirt.

"He's not doing anything," JC whispers.

"So why are you acting like this?" Eva asks, but Justin's groans are silencing her, arching into JC's chest and working his hips as quickly as if he can. His brows are furrowing, his toes curling. "You're treating him as if he belongs to you."

"Because it feels like the only thing I can do right now," JC says, and his mouth tastes like the skin on the curve of Justin's collarbone. "Because it felt like I own him, in a way. Or at least that I wanted that. I don't think it happened."

"And you think he's doing the same thing over there with her?" Eva asks. Justin's shaking, convulsing under JC's touch. JC can hear the begging, the panting in his other ear.

"Who's 'her?'" JC asks, and Justin's so close, so close, he's begging JC to take it out, finish him off.

"Cameron Diaz," Eva says, and all of a sudden, fantasy four hundred seventy five disappears comically, and there's a lull between them that feels as though been created for the humor of the audience.

Why does JC's life feel like a sitcom instead of an independent NC-17 rated documentary?

"Cameron Diaz," JC looks at her.

"He had a Charlie's angels fetish, didn't he?" Eva asks. JC's eyes widen. "I know, I found the gun and the boots in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. With the dildos, handcuffs and that riding crop."

"You found all that?" JC asks.

"It wasn't like you were hiding it, necessarily," Eva says. "And obviously, you took his sense of style, along with the toys."

"He's dating Cameron Diaz?" JC says, plainly.

"Did you just…not see her in the photographs? Or have you been up in your head for the last seven weeks?" Eva asks.

"Shit," JC groans.

"Almost enough to make you want to set that little file-box of fantasies up there in your head on fire, right?" Eva says.

"Tell me about it," JC says, draping his arm over her.

Eva pushes herself into JC's lap, "No, You tell me what you're going to do about it. Or, the least you could do is tell me how the hell these fantasies of your started, you know."

JC won't tell Eva how the fantasies began, so the only thing he can do is figure out what he's going to do about it. Going back to Justin, to find him and get him back is out of the question, so he has to take what he has and form things again.

Eva undoes her hair from the messy bun and lets it falls down around her face, "Or, the option I suspect that you'll take."

"Which is?" JC asks.

"Me taking your mind off things, as I often tend to do, nowadays," Eva says, kissing JC's lips and rubbing her hips against him.

Eva does take his mind off things, but not in the way he expects. Her stripping is a lot different than Justin's. Justin's is all about the one thing JC wants, that chest, those abs, that ass, that cock, that moan, but Justin doesn't want him to have it. Justin had been a pro at the tease of stripping, revealing to dangle what he has, then taking it away, knowing that JC wants it but that it feels even better when JC has to wait for it. Justin would have fun, not take everything so seriously the way that Eva is. Justin would put on his best performance, rolling shoulders, flexing muscles, climbing onto his table and putting on his best hair-band stripper routine. Justin knew things about JC that he doesn't think Eva will never uncover.

And as Eva stretches out on the floor, JC can't help but think of how it was when Justin did this for him, to him.

Moving on is the first thing that JC thinks he can do, but as much as he wants Eva, he wants Justin, too. As much as kissing Eva satisfies him, it doesn't push Justin's hands out of his mind, it doesn't push Justin's cock away from his muscle memory. Lying with Eva makes JC feel satisfied, but unattended to, no matter how hard she tries.

It only re-structures all of the fantasies, all of the files, and adds her in where appropriate.

If JC's life were a movie, it would be really, really confusing right now.

There would be a black and white vignette, the newly revised and overhauled Fantasy number three thousand two hundred where Eva comes into the room wearing a white dress and looking like she's stepped out of the fifties and Justin takes wide strides up to her as if he were ready to eat her alive. They'd say lines, lines, lines, as JC sat back in the corner of the room watching it as if he were on the other side of a TV screen, sipping wine casually as Justin and Eva proceeded to have an emotional, passionate argument, proceeded to roll up skirts, undo shirts and fuck each other into the wall. And even though he was as quiet as a mouse, JC would feel as if he were in the driver's seat as though he could simply snap his fingers and Justin would stop fucking Eva, and back away so that JC could marvel at two of the most beautiful, sex ruffled people he's easily ever seen.

And for a minute, lying there in Eva's arms, He can almost think that the three of them could work. Really.

"You know," Eva smiles, "You never told me."

"Mmm, told you what?" JC asks, turning to her, holding her close. She lifts her mouth to his ear and tugs on his earlobe.

"You never told me about that fantasy of yours," She says, trying to be as casual as possible, but it doesn't come off in that Eva Longoria kind of way, and she looks more like a little girl. She feels like a little girl as she lies on his chest, she blinks, moves, and smiles like a little girl.

JC racks his brain over what to tell her. He doesn't want to lie, but being genuine is not an option. He could tell her something about wooden chests, make a joke about an enclosure fetish, but he knows that she has several chests in her house, and that would be misfortunate. And then he could always just say something remarkably stupid like Usher and that'd make it all go to fuckall, really, because didn't she say something about dating him, as well? He opens his mouth and as soon as the words come out, he instantly regrets it.

"I've never been arrested before. And I like cops," JC says.

"Cops," Eva says.

"Well, not real cops, but, I guess I like senses of humor. I like to laugh and I like it when people laugh with me. I like performing for people, and I like it when people perform for me too. So I guess you could just say I have a serious role play kink, but …cops, There's something especially nice about cops. " JC explains. Eva looks at him strange, but nods her understanding.

"That's a rather interesting way to put it," Eva says.

"Perhaps," JC says, Justin's smile from Fantasy number eight thirty three, which contains nothing but fingers fucking and tickling, on the back of his eyes.

He thinks of something better the minute the words come out of his mouth. Like fantasy nine hundred fifty six, Where Justin's working on his bikes and he's covered in dirt, sweat, oil. He's bending over in impossible positions and working at insane angles on his engine block as patiently as he possibly can. Justin would smile, cursing in the softest of whispers when he couldn't torque a bolt just right. And when he'd be done, he'd wash his hands and undo his jeans and rip his shirt over his head and lean JC over the motorcycle, undoing the buttons on JC's jeans and sliding his hands up JC's shirt, leaving traces of dirty, old motor oil as he fucks JC hard against the bike, sandwiched between acres of skin and hotly padded metal, toes curling bare on the foot rests.

He thinks of fantasy number fourteen, where Justin's wearing nothing but leather pants and black-dyed lace gloves, leftover gauze wrapped around his lower torso as if to hide the present of Justin's abs for tantalizing seconds instead of flaunting them. The shades are turned down, the furniture pushed aside in a pile, clocks and lights unplugged. For the look of it, Justin decided to be an ass today and drill holes for hooks into the floor, so eyelet hooks are spread around the place, and Justin's lit candles all around the room, all types of different candles, and a pair of leathery handcuffs that shouldn't make JC so nervous, so aroused, so electric but makes him feel all three.

JC rarely ever remembers Justin flaunting something in front of him on purpose. Justin knows that flaunting sometimes isn't the best thing to do, and that it's almost never good enough to arouse JC.

He never expected that Eva would take his request seriously. Which, in movies, often means that she will.

And she does.

Shit, JC thinks to himself two days later, head still on his pillow. Eva's left for filming and he's laying on his back, Imagining Fantasy number three twenty six, where Justin's laying on top of him on a morning kind of like this one, whispering dirty words in his ear, clutching JC's thighs and riding him hard. Justin would lay back and there'd be re-arranging of limbs and before he knew it, they'd be under the sheets, Holding each other's hips as the friction takes them over and oh shit yeah, that hits the spot just right. Justin comes in JC arms, in his sheets, in his hands.

A pastrami sandwich and chips with a soda at noon, and JC prepares to go down into the studio for the rest of the day, but at twelve thirty on the nose, a knock is at JC's door.

Eyebrows furrowing, he walks to the front door, and looks through the peephole. JC's not prepared for what he sees.

Justin. In cop-style aviator sunglasses.

The doorbell rings again, this time a knock following it and JC can hear Justin's voice say 'Police'.

JC opens the door, and before he can even think to wonder what he looks like, or how badly he wants to tug Justin into the house and fuck him on the couch a la fantasy thirty eight, Justin's already talking. The both of them hold up their badges.

"Hello, I'm Sergeant Timberlake and this is my partner, Lieutenant Longoria, Los Angeles Police Department, Ovarian Group, and we got a complaint against this house today, and would like to talk to you about it," Justin says and JC's hand goes to his mouth so he can quietly laugh about Justin's especially twangy southern accent. Eva's behind him, wearing a skimpy cop uniform, fishnets, a pair of stiletto boots suitable for strippers only, and a particularly gaudy bra of which JC can see because the upper half of the costume was left unzipped.

JC squints, "Ovarian Group?"

Justin may be wearing a normal cop uniform, but fuck it, JC thinks, this just exceeded NC-17. It's pretty much just exceeded all hopes of any kind of movie based on JC's life in general, actually.

"May we come in, sir?" Justin asks, tearing JC away from constructing the score for this pornographic film in his head.

"Of course," JC says, quaintly, and Justin walks like an old seventies cartoon character past him. Behind Justin, Eva swaggers in, throwing her hips and ass left and right so vigorously that JC thinks she'll need back surgery before she leaves the house.

Justin's ripped out a pad of paper and a pen and taken a big whiff of the place.

"May I get either of you some coffee?" JC asks, trying to be proper about this but all he really wants is the time and space to laugh spastically and go inside his head to make heads or tails of the situation.

"Actually, Mr." Justin looks down at his notepad, "Chavez, we'd like to just talk to you, in and out, you know how it is."

"Of course," JC nods. "So…"

They work quickly after JC walks into the kitchen, Justin prowls up behind him, slamming JC's face down into the tile countertops and ripping his arms backward, handcuffing them tight.

"You have the right to remain silent," Eva begins, opening her blouse a little and leaning down onto the other side of the table to talk to him eye to eye, "You have the right to refuse to answer questions, you have the right to a lawyer and the state will provide you a lawyer if you cannot afford one."

"What are you arresting me for?" JC asks, slightly paniced.

Eva continues, "Will you willingly answer our questions and do what we ask now?"

"What am I being arrested for?" JC asks, bucking against Justin's grip.

"Prostitution and disturbing the peace repeatedly, son," Justin says, his corny accent more comical now than it was before.

"I don't whore myself out," JC says.

"But you should," Eva smiles, "With an ass like that."

"I bet he bottoms," Justin says, first copping a feel, then slapping JC's ass so hard it stings through his pants.

"Says the porn star and the cartoon character," JC groans.

"You see, we were going to let you off easily, but…I don't quite know about that now," Justin says.

Pushing JC up the stairs was a humbling experience that made JC search for a fantasy that even resembled this, but once Justin threw him against the bed and began to strip, something had changed. With a few tugs of fabric, Justin's stripped down to his police belt and a strange stripper like police suspender underwear outfit, and Eva's standing there with nothing but a pair of panties, fishnets and shoes and her belt.

Yep, JC thinks to himself, this is totally porn.

But JC realizes all his fantasies will not help him now, especially as his premonition that he cannot do anything stimulating for Justin crashes to the ground. However, this moment of uplifting JC's self esteem is pushed aside very quickly as JC's pants are ripped off him and Justin crawls on top of him. He opens up something on his police belt and pulls out a bottle of lube.

"Sergeant, what are you doing?" JC asks.

Justin's regular voice comes back and he rips off his glasses while he opens the bottle. "Shut up and let me fuck you."

And oh god, that voice, so demanding and erotic and sex-lazy could make JC do anything for him. It's the kind of voice that makes JC lay back and set his whole body on fire voluntarily, helpless with his hands cuffed behind his back and his girlfriend standing in the corner, watching as she not only undressed but kept in character, swinging her nightstick around while chewing gum and re-adjusting her sunglasses.

When Justin first slid in, JC moaned at the very thought of being whole again, moaned as he thought he never wanted this to end, never wanted Justin to pull away.

Justin looks over his shoulder, and smiles to Eva. "You were right, he has been jonesing for it."

"Of course he has," Eva says as JC opens his legs wide and tries to suppress moan as long as he can so that he doesn't look desperate or needy, or so that he doesn't look like he's been feeling the emptiness of Justin for the past three weeks.

Justin bends down to JC's ear and sing-songs, "I bet you like this more than you're letting on. I bet this makes you so hot. I bet you know just how hot this makes me. Nice and hot, tight. I bet you like this a lot."

"Fuck you," JC spits.

"I'll let you if you're good and don't come until I tell you to," Justin says with a cutting tongue and JC sighs.

"God," JC gasps.

"That's not my name, but thank you for the compliment," Justin says, as JC closes his eyes and tries to melt down into the bed as much as he can. Justin moves slow-cocky-sure and slides one hand onto JC's thigh, keeping his rhythm. JC feels as though this could go on forever.

When Justin comes, JC's looking up at him, watching him turn away and shake through his orgasm, and it feels as though he should have had some kind of camera, like in Fantasy number eighty six, where Justin's spread out and JC's got all kinds of cameras, polaroids and 35mms so that they have to be developed and Justin has to act embarrassed while he picks them up. And there'd be a flash, and Justin would just lie there naked on the cool black floor of the bathroom and be a model for JC's wide-angle lens.

Eva, in the corner, has gotten dressed and left, as Justin slides out of JC and lays backward.

"Can you let me out of these cuffs?" JC asks.

"If you're good," Justin sighs.

"What does that mean?" JC asks. "Look, don't you start getting all self-righteous about this. You were the one that left me."

Justin slides an inquiring hand down the inside of JC's leg as JC uncurls down to the bed.

"Don't touch me," JC says.

"Yeah, sure, like That's hard to do," Justin grins, crawling off the bed and peeling the last bit of clothing off. JC looks at him, as he shifts in the handcuffs. "I could leave you here until Eva gets back from the set."

What Justin doesn't realize is that there are so many fantasies that take place here, ones that mean that Justin's bumping into likenesses of himself, pressed against walls and floor, with bowls of ice cream and lit candles, with curly hair and a shorn scalp, enough of them all over the bed that JC can imagine that there are seventy different re-incarnations of Justin in this room.

JC balls up again and shimmies through the circle of his arms as much as he can so that he can see as his hands in front of him instead. It seems as though there's some delicate, wondrous dance of fulfillment going on, as Justin smiles at him and JC reaches to slide a thumb down the shiny metal bracelets on his wrists.

If this were that movie, that NC-17 independent film with artsy angles and substantial plot, Justin would see all these carbon copies of himself. These other forms would seduce Justin the way they seduce JC in his head. Hands on hips and fantasy three fifty seven would feed this Justin his ice cream, and fantasy from seven twenty nine would casually pick at one of his nipples as the Fantasy fifty eight would take Justin's head into his hands and kiss him while hands that were made in his likeness touch, rub, stroke and tongues made to feel like his own would lick and suck until they looked like insects eating their wounded.

"Where do you go, up in there?" Justin- the real Justin- asks, shaking JC out of his thoughts.

"The way we were," JC says, lying back in the bed.

"Why must you…" Justin begins. "I saw what you did."

"Why must I what, live in the past?" JC says. "Justin, Do you ever think about me that way? Or are you too busy looking out for yourself and Cameron? "

"Are you serious?" Justin asks, "You think…Cameron and…"

"And I am supposed to think otherwise?" JC says. "Get me out of these fucking handcuffs, Justin."

"No," Justin shakes his head. "Now you sit here and you listen to me. Do not get hinged upon me. I'm fine. I'm fine without you. You've got Eva and you should be happy. You look happy, the last time I had checked. Why do need more?"

"Because the more I want, the more I don't get, and the more I don't get it, the more I want it. I want you, Justin, not her, nor anybody else. Only you," JC says. Moving downward on the bed so his t-shirt pulls tight across his ribs. Justin looks down at it and smiles, as if the costume department had really gotten their sense of irony. "But I understand, you and her and…"

Justin's smile is ironic and wide. "Ja…Jace. Baby. She and I dated for three weeks and then we fizzled out, baby. She doesn't even talk to me unless she absolutely needs to."

"That only means that It's not her, then. It could be god knows how many combinations of girls," JC says, looking over out the window. Justin sidles up to JC in bed and it's like Justin's been assimilated until he's only a fantasy, as well.

"I…I regret doing that to you, JC," Justin whispers softly on JC's skin.

"Right," JC spits. "And I'm sure that you're only saying that and don't mean it at all."

"Fuck you," Justin says, pulling JC around. Soft words from Justin's mouth feel like gusts of wind on JC's lips. "As a matter of fact, I think I will."

Justin crawls on top of JC's legs and it's like fantasy number five thousand, three hundred and forty six, where Justin's cocky eyes hold JC's and Justin's hands press JC's arms to the bed, and Justin's hands fall down JC's body and Justin's smile disappears into JC's skin as he kisses and licks softly down JC's torso.

"You gonna …" JC asks.

Justin rests his face in the crook of JC's hips and speaks into the vee of where bone and skin dip. "Do you want me to?"

"Please," JC whispers.

"Please what?" Justin asks with a toothy smile, "I won't do anything if you don't fucking tell me."

"Fuck," JC whispers. "Fuck, Justin, please. Suck my cock. God suck my cock."

Justin obeys without a second thought. JC relaxes into the bed and slides his legs open, and trembles under hands and lips and a silky, skillful tongue not unlike the methods he used to make Eva fall at his feet in orgasmic pleasure.

"Justin," JC gasps. "Baby, oh god, baby. I…ohh."

Justin's laugh echoes through JC's body and JC begins to shake.

Justin slides back up on his knees, watching JC as he wiggles in the middle of the bed. Legs open, eyes closed, hands buried in the bed, cuffs rattling on JC's wrists, yellow shirt halfway up his chest so Justin has to squint to make out the words that say 'Raquetball, The Sport Where Blue Balls Are Fun!'

JC looks up at Justin through his lashes and Justin's chest heaves with the realization of this, the way JC looks at him.

This is the beginning of fantasy number one.

In the movie of JC's life, there'd probably be frayed edges and Gaussian blur and just enough camera angles so that it could be artsy. JC would have long soliloquies, monologues that would tell the audience that he feels too much like a girl, taking Justin back so easily, and that He feels so bad about everything he's made Eva go through.

But all of that seems to so easily come out as, "I knew you did all of those cop movies for a reason."

Eva's smile is dazzling, admiring, and JC wonders if he ever paid proper attention to her as she undoes his handcuffs at the end of the day.

She speaks softly, even though Justin's downstairs. "Did you and him settle things straight, or did you just fuck?"

"Fuck you, Carlita," JC jokes and Eva's smile grows wide.

"I could always just forget where I stashed the key, you know," Eva says, digging in her pocket.

When JC's arms get free, he pulls Eva to him, kissing her slowly, thoroughly, wonderfully. She melts into his arms and he groans, hands sliding into her hair.

"Look," JC says when they break apart, foreheads touching as if they've been lovers for years instead of for days or weeks. "I can't feel good about this when you're in the situation. You don't deserve this kind of treatment."

"You're right," Eva's voice is soft, but firm. "I don't."

"And so I was thinking, I'm willing to share. So anything that I have is yours," JC says. "Anything. Including him, if you want."

"I appreciate it, but I can't bring myself to do that. I could never do that," Eva says, and somehow, it doesn't register until JC's kissing her again. "I love you, JC. I love you a lot, but I've seen the way you look at Justin. I saw It today, believe it or not. And I can't possibly love you and be selfish about it at the same time. So that only means that I'm going to have to be creative."

"Creative," JC repeats and Eva laughs. JC realizes just how pretty her laugh is.

"I'm not worried. So don't worry about me." Eva says. "One thing."

"Anything," JC says.

"Those fantasies of yours?" Eva says.

"Yes?" JC asks.

"How many of them do you have?" Eva asks. "Hundreds, thousands?"

JC rests his head on her shoulder and tries to think, hard. "I can't even count them, honestly."

"Are they all about Justin?" Eva asks.

"Some of them are about you, too," JC says.

"Are all of them about what we can do for you, or what you can do for us?" Eva says. "People can't read your mind, JC, but you can read your own, and it's a lot easier fulfilling these kinds of things when they're in your hands, not in Justin's and not in mine."

"How do you know these things?" JC asks.

"Because I know men. After all, my ex-husband was one," Eva's snicker is just as pretty as her laugh and she pets him softly. "Things will work out, you know. You just have to have faith that they will. And when that faith runs out, you'll probably have to go to him and make him fucking remember why he loves you so damned much, but that won't be too hard with you, either."

"Is this supposed to be uplifting?" JC asks.

"No, not necessarily. But please, when you two are here and fucking, don't leave the key under the Gilgamesh statue on the porch. I don't think it'll be to flattering to see you two together in that way. Or at least figure out a way to give me fair warning."

JC looks at her strangely. So that's how she always got in. Interesting. "So I guess that means you'll still be coming around, and we'll still be friends and all."

"As long as your house doesn't pick its ass up and move, you're still closer to the set than me, so unless I start dating Britney, I think so," Eva says, shrugging away and tying her hair up before smoothing out her shirt and walking over to the door. "I'll see you later, babe. And think of what I said, okay? "

JC feels like sappy music should be playing, that this should be part of some strange crazy fucked up after school special that ABC filmed yet never intended to air. He nods, and feels again like he's a girl. "Okay. And Eva?"

"Hmm?" She asks, as the hair falls back down onto her shoulders and she sighs, trying to ply it out of her eyes.

"Thanks," JC smiles.

Eva smiles back, like she's a little girl again. JC feels bad for neglecting her, and feels bad that he can't repay her for what she's done. And yet, she does it again. "No problem. Now get that boy of yours and fuck him senseless."

"Fuck who senseless?" Justin asks, sliding into the room. Eva kisses him on the cheek and walks away quickly with a wink.

"Oh, nobody, nobody," she smiles, and JC listens for her soft steps down the stairs until she's left.

"I told her to stay for grub, you know," Justin grumbles, as JC closes his eyes. He's never fantasized about Justin's domesticity, but its one of the little things that JC knows he should love. "I ordered extra for her and everything and…"

Without warrant, JC catches Justin's lips between his, keeping them there until they feel like they've been sucked raw and Justin tries to move away.

"Fucker," Justin whispers and it's not good enough, because the light in his eye only beams, it never smolders.

JC realizes that he wants it to smolder. He realizes that Justin's body looks beautiful when it's pinned to the wall like a butterfly under glass, head tilted painfully to the side because JC doesn't have enough arms to pin Justin down and press his forehead to the wall as well.

JC slides two fingers in Justin's mouth and pulls his shirt over his stomach, over his chest, over his head to rest at his shoulders, revealing the skin of Justin's chest. Justin moans and sighs, sliding his ass forward and back on JC's crotch. JC's other hand caresses Justin's stomach and then slides down to the buckles of his belt and the zippers that hold his pants together.

"You look strange in my clothes," JC whispers in Justin's ear. "You might look better out of them."

And as JC undoes the last zipper, the pants fall down to pool at Justin's ankles. JC grins and pushes Justin further up against the wall. "No underwear?" JC asks. Justin sneaks a lick at JC's fingers and a furtitive glance at JC's Cheshire face. "I think I should spank you for being such a naughty boy. But I bet you want something else, don't you? I bet you want something a little more pleasurable."

Justin's groan is more than enough proof. There's nothing that feels as good as Justin's ass against him, JC thinks to himself and indulges in the feeling for a few seconds before unzipping his trousers as well.

"I wanna do this on the bed," Justin says around JC's fingers and JC laughs as he bites down on them.

JC thinks to himself that this is probably fantasy number fifty in his head, or as close to it as he can get without it being dark and during some kind of power outage, and without him being in his bathrobe. Justin will want to be a brat about it, Justin will groan and go into his own little world of whining and demands, until he's screaming from the orgasm of a lifetime, heaving and sinking his nails into JC's arms above him, toes digging wells into JC's ass.

Justin can feel the smile of remembrance in the skin on the back of his neck.

An exhale and JC sighs, quickly lubing and sliding his fingers into Justin. Toes curling, Justin shakes free of the pants around his ankles and pushes them aside quickly to spread his legs wider.

"You can't always get what you want, Justin," JC says.

Justin tries to spit JC's fingers out but he's shaking too much after JC's hit the right spot, He's pushing his hips back to meet JC's and he's twisting, trying to get all of the feeling out of this experience. And soon, JC's hand slides away from Justin's mouth to hold onto his other hand while he slides the two wet and slick fingers down over Justin's cock while Justin's trying to get more leverage anyway he can.

And while Justin's screaming, burning, gasping for more, JC smiles a bittery smile, and rips himself away.

"I don't think I trust you enough to give you anything of mine," JC says, closing his eyes and walking away. He knows how this should work out, but he's actually telling the truth this time. JC likes thinking that things will turn out well for him in the end, but that doesn't mean that things between him and Justin will.

"You gave me your clothes," Justin says, turning around and leaning against the wall, shivers caressing his skin openly.

"I let you borrow my clothes," JC hisses, walking away. He flings the shirt he had on over his head and balls it up, throwing the shirt clear across the room into Justin's hands.

"Does that mean you'll let me borrow your cock for a few minutes?" Justin asks.

"I'm not ready for that, yet," JC says.

"You sure as hell look ready for it," Justin says, letting the shirt fall from his hands. "You want to know what I think?"

JC looks at him with ice cold eyes and for the first time in a long time he feels empowered. "No. I don't. I want you to lie down on that bed and be a hole for five more minutes so that I can get off and you can run back to whomever you were fucking before today.

"You're being too vindictive, JC," Justin says, cock straining hard. "You're trying to…"

"I'm trying to what?" JC asks. "Make you want to be with me again?"

"You're trying to make this a bigger show than what it needs to be, 'C," Justin sighs, pounding against the wall. "You've been trying to all along, and you got Eva into this. As if it's bad enough you're being so fucking vindictive about this shit."

"We wouldn't even be doing this if you weren't the way you are," JC says. "You're the one who told me I wasn't good enough for you, I was dead weight. Are you aware of how furious I still am about that? I'm dead weight until Eva comes over pleading a case about how I really do believe I'm dead weight without you. I'm dead weight until you've broken up with Cameron. I'm dead weight because I love you, I'm dead weight because I'm not on your status list anymore."

"It's not that," Justin says.

"What is it, then?" JC asks. "Surely it's because I'm not a girl and you don't feel like you can't keep a fucking secret anymore because you have too many people to impress. If I'm going to be your dirty little secret, it's going to be for another reason than your being a fucking pop-star."

"You don't understand," Justin whispers. "I want this. I want you. I…"

"You act like you want a series of one night stands so you can run off and play with your little Hollywood pals and whoever else you're fucking," JC says. "You act like you just don't care about what we had, what we said we were going to have."

"And what was that?" Justin asks.

"I bought you a fucking house, Justin," JC screams. "A house. I did everything you asked and that wasn't enough because you fucking wanted what I couldn't give you. You wanted someone on your arm all the fucking time so you could get as many photo ops as you could. You wanted someone to be a whore with you. Someone who would help you get your name out to every corner. You wanted someone who was willing to help you do that."

"JC, you don't understand," Justin says. "I tried, I seriously did, I tried so fucking hard to do that. And it worked for a few months, but how long have we been apart. Eight fucking months. Eight months. And even when I was supposed to be happy, I wasn't at all. I just wanted more, I wanted it harder, I wanted too much. Don't you understand that? I've wanted you so bad. So, so bad."

"And you just didn't do anything," JC says.

"You looked happy," Justin sighed.

"I looked happy without you or with Eva?" JC asks.

"Both, actually." Justin replies. "All I know is that I wanted you all over, inside me and around me and I missed everything about you but you were always out of reach."

"So were you."

"What will make you realize that I'm not just saying this to you to get back into your good graces? I love you, I'm in love with you, I'm sorry for what I did and oh god I wish every day that I could find some kind of way to take it back," Justin says. "Look at me, JC. You've got me turning into a fucking girl for you. You've got me wanting you inside me and ready to cry at the same time."

"It's not about the sex," JC says.

"Well, if it's not, then could you please, please, please find somewhere in your heart the kindness and courtesy to pin me to the bed and fuck me?" Justin asks.

"That came out nice and easy, Justin," JC laughs. "How many times did you go through that, in your head?"

"Did it come off overly polished?" Justin asks.

"Your acting kinda helped." JC admits to how stupid that sounds, but it's true for the most part. He also wonders if Justin would actually be able to say lines ripped out of porn with more vigor, such as, 'My boypussy comes complementary with the purchase of the cigar you're smoking and the scotch you're drinking as we speak. If you'd like, sir, I could loosen my pants and get down on my hands and knees so you could take a peek.'

Nah, JC thinks with a bit of a snicker.

"I'm not that bad," Justin asks, "am I?"

"No," JC says. "Now, tell me how you want to get fucked."

"It's quite simple, actually. You'd just have to push me over to that mattress over there," Justin points to the bed, in its duvet covered, throw pillowed glory. "And then you open my legs and fuck me until I'm screaming. And then keep fucking me. And fuck me some more. And I'm pretty sure I'll be writing checks my balls can't cash by then, but you know what, you could always fuck me a little bit more. And be angry about it, too. Be nice and vengeful and…"

"You're too much of a control freak, Justin," JC says, slinking close to Justin, "I think you might need to be taken down a peg."

"Fuck you," Justin hisses.

"That's the kind of thing I'm talking about, Justin," JC breathes into Justin's ear, "Get on the bed, Justin. Spread your legs, lay on your back. And I would hope you're ready to take whatever I decide to give you."

Justin obeys without a question as he crawls onto the bed, spreading himself across the center. JC looks at him from afar, and smiles, another order coming to mind.

"You know what, Justin? Get up on your hands and knees," JC says, getting on the bed as Justin shifts around.

"You don't want to see me?" Justin asks.

"Don't act like such a girl," JC hisses, draping himself over Justin's back, rubbing his cock in the crack of Justin's ass. Justin groans, head hanging down.

"Fuck," Justin whispers.

"I know you want it," JC whispers, "but it's been eight painful months. I bet you haven't even stuck a finger in there. You need to be loosened up, I bet you're so fucking tight down there. I know you're so fucking tight. Cameron never even looked at this, did she? She didn't know what she was missing."


"I wonder if you taste the same," JC whispers, kissing Justin's back as he slides down his body. "Do you, Justin? Should I?"

Before Justin can answer, JC's rolling his tongue in the crack of Justin's ass, pushing his legs further apart. Justin's crying out, balling his fists in the cover. JC groans and sticks his tongue further into Justin's ass. He draws patterns, shoves deeper, and makes Justin shake.

And he doesn't stop until Justin has come, gasping and violent with JC's name the only word he knows.

JC laughs as Justin heaves, and works his way to turning over.

"Am I loose now?" Justin says, a furrowed brow and wide smile.

"I think it might be time that we see," JC whispers, picking up Justin's hand to wipe his mouth.

"Asshole," Justin whispers.

JC pins Justin down and opens his legs wide, and proceeds to pound into Justin, until Justin's screaming with passion and groaning. His back is arching with rapture and twisting left and right as JC slides into him hard.

Justin's brows are furrowing, he's breathing funny and damn near sobbing, asking and demanding even though JC doesn't give him any leeway. And when Justin finally loses his control, JC groans and lets go after him.

And the whole fantasy system comes crashing to pieces in JC's head. There's just glass fragments of fantasies all meshed together until Justin's standing in a pair of leather pants so low it looks like it stretches his torso to highway like lengths, crawling on his knees as he licks his glossy lips and bats his painted eyes and rolls over until He's twisting JC into his grip, eating grapes off the vine, and screwing in the dressing room at the next Nick Carter concert.

JC sighs into Justin's skin, and thinks of how things will change. He thinks of how things already have.

Watching Justin and Eva bound around with Eva's puppy in JC's backyard, JC thinks of how that film of his would turn out at the end. It would be a good movie, JC thinks. It would definitely get its NC-17 rating, for there would be too much Justin in the movie for anybody under seventeen to handle, and the heterosexual subtext would certainly freak out the girls who came to see a love-triangle-chick-flick where the boy took the girl home in the end. Add penis- and lots of penis would have to be in this flick- into the mix and it would certainly spell disaster and angry parents were the movie given a bland R rating for a movie marketed to open minded twenty somethings but that would be sorely attended by curious middle schoolers if it had gotten branded so meagerly.

JC thinks about how much the film would have to be scored, because he doesn't listen too much of anything musical anymore, he never does that while recording. He also thinks about who would play him, and who would play Justin, and who would play Eva, who might be vain enough to play herself, but only under the request that she gets to star alongside Justin and JC.

Eva's holding the dog up by the legs now, holding it up as if the little furry, shaggy white monster were a toddler, letting its lower legs and tail dangle and kick happily as it licks her face. And JC grins wide, thinking of how much he really would hate to read the reviews and what the critics had to say about this story that seems to encapsulate this point in his life. He thinks of how strange the movie would really be, how stylized the director would make it, how much would get switched around. If this really were a movie, JC thinks to himself, they'd probably switch it around, the movie company would order that JC be with Justin while he's trying to get over his fantasies of Eva and that's just not the truth, no matter how uncomfortable that would make some people in some movie theatre in Nebraska.

Does Nebraska even have a movie theatre that plays nc-17 movies, anyway?

He supposes that it would probably go on tour, hitting the big movie festivals before doing gay, lesbian and transgendered film festivals, with the hope that it would actually keep people awake more than putting them to sleep.

JC's life makes him tired, he thinks to himself. Since Justin came back around, he hasn't been getting enough sleep, as if he were getting enough sleep after Justin left him. He yawns, under his breath, trying to hide it from Justin, who's standing over at the barbeque pit that JC rarely even thinks of using. Justin sees it anyway, and smiles as he comes across the yard to JC, picking up the bottle of beer dangling from between JC's fingers.

"You look tired," he says, voice timid and kid-like. He takes the bottle in his grip, placing the head of the neck between his lips and drinking from it, a steady chug until the bottle's empty. JC smiles.

"Moocher," JC grins. "And besides, I'm not tired."

"Perhaps you should go and take a nap," Justin says. "The meat won't be done for another few hours, if I want it to be right. Who knew you had a fucking rotisserie on your grill, man?"

"I don't even know why I bought that thing, in all honesty. It might do manicures and pedicures and I'd have no clue. It's been just sitting around here for the better part of a year," JC groans. Justin wonders about what this means. JC shrugs and sighs.

"Would you want to get a manicure and pedicure with that thing even if it gave them?" Justin's laugh sounds just fake enough to promise other, better courses as the night goes on.

"No," JC sighs. "No I wouldn't."

Justin opens JC's thighs gently in the chair, laying between them slowly. Without thinking, JC grasps into Justin's hair, pulling him upward, breathing on his lips, upside down.

"Ahh," Justin hisses, and his hand goes up to JC's in his hair, but he feels JC's skin and tucks his hand away.

"You said you didn't like mercy, Justin," JC smiles on his lips, "that leads me to believe that you won't mind it when I take you as forcefully as possible tonight."

"Of course I won't mind," Justin laughs, reaching up to kiss JC on the lips.

JC's laugh is hazy-hot and he licks Justin's lips after pulling away. Justin growls and JC smiles and begins thinking of when he'll possibly be sleeping anytime soon. And as he can't think of when he'll squeeze that time in, JC leans back in his chair and takes his hand out of Justin's hair.

"I love you," Justin says, shaking JC back into his thoughts.

JC takes his keys out of his pocket and plays with them, whirling them around his fingers. There's one less key there. And one more key, there, too. The key to Justin's apartment, which JC's sure he can convince Justin of moving out of, back to here, where he belongs.

"I love you too, J."

JC thinks of the fragmented fantasy three hundred forty eight, as Justin looks at him with concerned eyes, but JC forces himself to stop. Instead, he thinks of the dinner Justin's preparing, and the dessert show that he's preparing if Eva chooses to stay. His tongue is already itching for penetration of all kinds, and he wonders if Eva's into audience participation.

He won't be fantasizing about the one thing he has anymore. JC wants to make sure he never has to again.


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