nsync in black and white

Disclaimer: this is fiction. We made it up.


by sola fiamma, written for lydia

“You know,” Justin says, tilting over the edge of the couch and peering down the aisle of the bus to make sure JC is safely shut away in the bathroom, “I’ve been thinking—”

“Never a good start,” says Chris, eyes glued to TV screen where Bruce Lee is ripping out a handful of Chuck Norris's chest hair. “Pass the remote or turn up the volume so I can just pretend to listen, 'kay?"

"Shut up, dude. This is important, and I can't say it when JC's here, so we don't have much time."

"Just my luck he'll be constipated and I'll have to listen to you for the next hour."

"He said he was taking a shower." Justin hits the mute button and shoves the remote under the cushions. "Which you'd know if you could drag your attention away from this is for five seconds." It's the third time they've watched Return of the Dragon in the last week, so he doesn't feel the least bit guilty making Chris miss the ending.

"Fuck. Start talking then. You have," Chris checks his watch, "exactly two minutes. Any longer and I'm gonna noogie your forehead till it bleeds. Go!"

Justin rolls his eyes, flipping Chris an I-don't-fucking-think-so bird, but he edges closer and lowers his voice. "It's just, I've been thinking, Chris. That. Um. Well, don't you think that. Uh. What I mean is, has it, like, occurred to you—Hey, ow!" Glaring at Chris, he rubs the side of his head and slaps his knuckles away.

"For fuck's sake, Timberlake, JC could have had fifty-four showers in the time that's it's taken you to say exactly nothing. Spit it out or give me the damned remote, already."

"Asshole! You know I hate when you do that. Now I'll have a bruise the size of a freaking tennis ball and makeup's gonna kill me. God. You're such a dick. All I wanted to say was haven't you noticed that JC's looking a bit, uh,--"


"Huh? No—"


"Uh, no—"


"No! Knock it off! Fuck, I don't even know what that means. Gay, alright? He's looking a little bit. You know. Gay." God, Chris can be annoying. If Justin didn't have important shit to discuss, he'd bury him under the couch cushions and bounce up and down on him for the rest of the evening, but JC's going to be back any minute and they're running out of time. "I mean, haven't you noticed? You must have noticed."

"C? Hmmm." Chris stares out the window like the answer's rolling along the interstate right beside them. "Hasn't he always looked gay?"

"No." Justin thinks about it for a minute. "Well, okay. Maybe. But not this gay. He's kinda way gayer looking now, don't you think?"

"Dude, remember that feather boa thing? That was pretty gay."

"Shut up, that was just fooling around. This is different."

"I don't think it's different. I think he looked just as gay then as he does now. Maybe gayer even. I mean, what about that Roman centurion hairdo he had going back in the day?"

"That wasn't gay, Chris. That was just stupid." Justin shudders at the memory. "Oh, man, that was stupid. What was he thinking? And it was different, and he does too look gayer now. Come on, look at his hair. And that thing on his chin."

"A chin stripe is gay? Since when? And what's gay about his hair? It's just hair, dude."

"It's long, though. Longer than it used to be, for sure. And it's curlier now, too and he spends more time styling it and shit."

"Um. Yeah. But so what? Hulk Hogan has long hair. You think that makes him look gay? 'Cause, seriously? I just think it makes him look like he lost his barber's phone number. Ugly."

"But. But it's different with JC. His hair doesn't make him look ugly. It makes him look. I dunno."




"No!" Although, truthfully, when Justin thinks about it, he had to agree that, yes, JC is definitely prettier now. Not that he would have called him pretty before, exactly, because it's not like he really thinks of JC that way. Mostly.

"French? I think it makes him look a bit French. Especially with that chin stripe. And he is French, so that's cool." Curling back into the couch with a satisfied sigh, like he's just solved everything, Chris holds out his hand. "Remote, please?"

"Fuck you. We're not finished. He does not look French. Or pretty. Well, maybe he does, a bit, but mostly? He looks totally gay, and I just don't think you're taking this anywhere near seriously enough. Because there could be, like, consequences. And stuff."

"Consequences?" says JC.

Justin spins around so quickly he almost dislocates his spine to find JC standing less than a foot away, hair still dripping from the shower, chest bare except for the purple towel draped around his neck. "What the fuck, man! Don't creep up on people like that! It's just. It's creepy, yo!"

"Oh, whoa, chill. It's just me. Move over," JC says, squeezing himself in between Justin and Chris, even though there's only about six inches between them and there's acres of room on the end of the couch. "What consequences? What are we talking about?"

"Well," Chris starts.

"Shut the fuck up, Chris!" Justin yells, but he knows it's too late, knows it was probably too late before he ever started this stupid conversation, and why he ever thought Chris would try to be serious for five consecutive minutes was a mystery in itself.

"Justin thinks you're too gay. And that, because of it, stuff might happen."

"I hate you. A lot" Lunging across JC to thump whatever part of Chris's anatomy he can reach at the exact moment JC leans forward, Justin ends up with a mouthful of elbow instead. "Fuck! Ow!"

"Oops. Sorry, J." JC pats Justin's mouth, which totally doesn't help at all, but he looks so distressed that Justin decides not to sack him. "But, hey. I'm too gay? Too gay for what?"

"Umph," Justin says, opening his mouth to answer and finding it inexplicably full of JC's fingers. He spits them out with an apologetic smil, hoping that if JC decides to wipe them off he at least does it on his own jeans. "That's not what I said. I said you looked too gay. There's a difference. Even if some people," he glares at Chris, "are too stupid to figure it out."

"I look too gay?" JC looks back and forth from Justin to Chris. "Too gay for, like, what?"

"Well, too gay to replace Bruce Willis in the next Die Hard movie, anyway," Chris says, eying JC critically. They both snicker, making Justin want to bang their heads together. Hard.

"Heh. We all look too gay for that, dude. But really, what do you mean, J? What am I too gay for?"

"Not. Too. Gay," Justin says very, very slowly. God, has everyone but him suddenly become retarded or something? "Too. Gay. Looking."

"Yeah, whatever, Timberlake," Chris pokes JC. "You want me to call Lance and Joey to see what they think?"

It really doesn't matter what JC wants, or Justin for that matter, because Chris is already dialing, and he must have called Lance because the phone is answered so quickly Justin doubts it's even had time to ring.

"So, hey, Justin says JC's too gay. What do you and Joey think?"

"I do NOT think he's TOO FUCKING GAY, okay? Why won't you guys LISTEN to me?"

"Oh, geez, don't be such a princess. Sorry, not you, Lance. You go ahead and be as much of a princess as you like. Apparently, Justin thinks JC looks too gay. Which, you know, if he'd just said that in the first place, he wouldn't be hyperventilating and whining like a little baby. So, anyway. What's the verdict? Where do you and Joey stand on the JC looks like a big fat homo issue? Uh huh. Uh huh. Yeah, okay. I'll tell him." Snapping the phone shut, Chris smiles sweetly at Justin. "Lance says he's gonna kick your homophobic piece of shit ass next time he sees you. Joey's too busy giggling to be coherent."

Sometimes it would feel so good to wait till the bus is doing about 80 miles an hour and then fling open the door and shove Chris out. How many years would a person have to spend in prison for doing something like that, anyway, Justin wonders.

"So, um. Not to beat a dead horse to death or anything, because, hello, redundant," JC says, "but too gay for what?" He looks back and forth from Chris to Justin, stroking Justin's leg in a comforting sort of way to let him know, Justin assumes, that he won't be offended whatever the answer. It is comforting, too. Makes him not want to kill Chris quite so badly, although if the opportunity to stick a fork in his throat presented itself, Justin would be all over it.

"Oh, to hell with it. Look, all I meant was that maybe you're looking a bit more gay than you actually are—"

"I'm pretty gay, Justin," JC says seriously, rubbing Justin's leg a little harder for emphasis. "By and large."

"Bi and large!" shrieks Chris. "Bi! And large! Get it, Justin? Get it?"

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him. If Justin's going to get through this conversation without breaking down and weeping, he's going to have to pretend Chris isn't on the couch. Or on the bus. Or even in the same state.

"—and it's just," Justin plows ahead, keeping his eyes on JC and acting like he can't see Chris acting out "bi and large" like this is a stupid ass game of charades instead of a discussion that could well affect their entire future, "if you keep looking that gay, then someone's going to pick up on it sooner or later. Someone in the media. And then you're going to, you know. Out yourself. That's all I'm saying. And I'm just thinking, are we really ready for that? As a. Whatever. Group. Band. That's all. I mean, sure, it worked out okay for Elton John, but you have to admit, he's kind of homely to begin with, so it's not like anyone was likely to care all that much, right? It's a little riskier for us. So, if you could maybe tone it down just a little?"

JC's eyes squinch closed and his hand on Justin's leg stills. For a couple of uncomfortable seconds, Justin thinks maybe he's gone too far, but then JC shakes his head, gives Justin's knee a squeeze and laughs.

"Dude, the media already think we're gay, don't they? All of us. All boybanders everywhere. I don't think I look any gayer than, say, Nick Carter, for example. He looks pretty gay, don't you think, Chris?"

"Oh my god, yes. I can so see that boy down on his knees in a public washroom."

"Totally," JC nods. "And Brian looks kind of gay, too. I mean, he's not, but he could pass."

"I kind of hate you both right now," Justin says, pushing JC's hand off his leg. He regrets it immediately, though, because. Well, because it had felt nice, actually, comforting, just like JC had meant it to, and now that it isn't there, Justin realizes that he very much wants to be comforted and he should be comforted on a regular basis if he has to share a bus with these two assholes. God dammit, he's earned the right a bazillion times over to be comforted, he thinks, gazing wistfully at JC's hand, which is now stroking his own leg. In a pretty gay way, too, if the truth be told.

"Oh, don't be like that, J," JC says. "I mean, I don't really get what the problem is. If you've got issues with the way I dress—"

"No, no, you dress fine. Except for that red jacket. And your white pants. But mostly, you know, fine."

"Well, if it's my hair—"

"Hey, dude," Chris says, "I told him, Hulk Hogan has—"

"Oh, SHUT UP! He doesn't care about Hulk Hogan. Nobody cares about Hulk Hogan. It's not his hair, okay? It's not his clothes. It's. It's something else. It's just, JC, you're staring to look like someone who'd do guys. That's all."

"Cool. In that case maybe I'll get lucky when we hit Chicago," JC says, and then he and Chris are falling all over one another, giggling like they're nine years old and one of them just farted. God, it sucks to be the most mature member of the group when you're only twenty years old.

"Whatever," Justin says. "If this hits the tabloids and nobody wants to buy the new CD, don't come crying to me." With that, he picks up the remote and cranks up the volume on the TV. He'd turn his back on them, but then he wouldn't be able to see the TV, so he settles for shoving a couple of cushions between himself and JC and staring past them like they don't exist.

It doesn't stop JC from reaching over and rubbing his head as though he hasn't even noticed how pissed Justin is. This time Justin's smarter. Instead of pushing the hand away again or maybe even biting it which he's totally irritated enough to do, he heaves an ostentatious sigh of resignation, tosses the cushions on the floor and scooches a little closer. Might as well get a neck rub out of this fiasco.


"You know," Justin says, stretching out on the couch, cell phone pressed to his ear and a bowl of chips balanced on his lap. "I've been thinking."

"Oh, yes?" Joey sounds a bit hesitant, probably because Lance has been filling his head with all kinds of shit. Lance is still ticked with Justin for saying JC is looking a bit too gay, or at least he's pretending to be. Either way, the end result is the same: Justin is now the butt of seventy five per cent of his retarded practical jokes instead of the usual fifty.

"No, look," Justin says quietly, eying JC who's sprawled on the opposite couch, eyes closed, headphones securely attached, a blissful expression on his face. Engrossed in his music or asleep, or so Justin hopes. He's pretty sure JC can't hear him, anyway, because before he'd offered him some weed before calling Joey and JC hadn't even twitched. "I know Lance is pissed at me, but I've been thinking about this. About, you know. The whole JC thing."

"Uh huh. The gay thing. Gay looking thing, I mean. Sorry."

"Whatever. See, I've been thinking about it, and I realized that this isn't really so much about JC, because. Well, it is about JC, but it's more about all of us, you know? It's just, I think it's finally sinking in how huge we've become. I mean, think about it, Joey. We're huge. Really, really huge. Like, bigger than Beethoven, man. Or that other dude. Mozart. Way bigger. I bet they didn't have anywhere near the fan base we have."


"You see what I mean?" he asks around a mouthful of chips.

"No, not really," Joey says. "Or actually, not at all. What does our hugeness have to do with JC's gayness?."

"It's just that, sometimes when I think about how big we are, I get a little freaked out, you know? I mean, I start wondering how easy it would be to bring all this down. How badly would we have to fuck up for the fans to find some other band to go crazy over? Maybe it wouldn't take much at all, Joe." There's movement on the other couch, and Justin pauses, but JC's just reorganizing his limbs into a more comfortable position. "Anyhow, I guess that's what made me start worrying about our public, whatsit. Persona. Personas. About the images we're presenting to our public."

"Hmmm. I see your point. Maybe we better start feeding Chris valium with his cornflakes."

Justin snickers. "Yeah, no shit. Especially on interview days. You never know what's going to come out of that crazy bastard's mouth. But, for real, Joe. Now that we're this big, people scrutinize us that much more intensely."

"I think we've been pretty intensely scrutinized for quite a while now, J, and we seem to be holding up just fine."

"No, but, Joey, think about it. It's just, now that C's starting to do the guy thing, well, people might notice. The wrong people."

"Dude, JC's always done the guy thing."

"No, he hasn't!"

"Yes, actually, he has."

"I think I would know, Joey. I think he would have told me." Of course, JC would have told him, Justin tells himself, watching JC's fingers drumming lazily against the arm of the couch.

"Well, I'd think you'd know, too. It's not like he's ever kept it a secret. Maybe if you hadn't been so busy stalking Chris like a love-struck twelve-year old, you would have figured it out."

"Oh. Huh." Justin feels his cheeks getting warm. He hadn't realized anyone had actually noticed. Oh, god, had Chris noticed? Obviously not, he decides in relief, otherwise he'd have been hearing about it every waking moment of his life since. "Well, whatever. My point still holds." At least he hopes it does. He can't actually remember precisely what his point was. "Dude, the bottom line is people are going to be watching. More closely than ever. And whatever you say, JC is definitely getting more noticeable. To people with an eye for these things."

Silence. Thank god. Maybe he's finally getting through. And if Joey's on board, then Lance will soon follow, and Lance will be mean to Chris until he sees the light, and then, well, then they can all work on helping JC figure how to tone it down. In the meantime he takes advantage of the lull to cram the last of the chips into his mouth, trying not to spill any onto his neck and chest, because chip crumbs down your shirt are just annoying. Also, they're greasy and he's already had two showers today. He chews quietly with a hand over his mouth so as not to disturb JC.

"Um, J?"

"So, you get it, right, Joey? Thank god."

"Well, sort of. But, you know, first, even if people are watching, I really don't think JC's going to ping their gaydar now any more than he ever has. And if he does? What's the worst that can happen? It's not like he's going to get arrested for looking gay. Or even being gay, for that matter."

"Stuff could happen, Joe. They could. Maybe the chicks will think we're all, gay, even me, then we'll start losing our fans, sales will go down, people will start heckling. And he totally could get arrested, Joey. He could. Like, what if we're on tour in, I dunno, Czechoslovakia or somewhere like that? And JC accidentally hits on a waiter or something? And then some reporter happens to notice and then starts stalking him all over eastern Europe? And it turns out that the reporter is really a police informant, and then when we're doing our final show in the Ukraine or wherever, all these KGB guys storm the stage and arrest him?"

"Okay," Joey says, using his calm, don't-have-a-cow-BUT voice, "Justin, that scenario is wrong on so many levels. Is homosexuality even illegal in eastern Europe? And also? There are no KGB agents in the Ukraine. There don't even have KGB in Russia any more. You've gotta to stop watching those old spy movies, man."

"Dude, you are so missing the point here. So, whatever, maybe he'll be safe in Europe, but what about Iran? You can't tell me he wouldn't get into some serious fucking shit in Iran."

"So, let me get this straight. On the off chance that at some point in the future, probably around the time hell freezes over, we're invited to tour Iran, you think JC should stop seeing guys. Is that it?"

Justin considers this for a few seconds. Okay, it sounds pretty stupid when Joey puts it like that, but what the fuck ever. He's not backing down now. "Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I think."

"We have a greater chance of being kidnapped by marauding dwarves than we have of being invited to tour Iran, dude. And, hey. What about Lance? You think he should stop seeing guys, too?"

"That's just stupid, Joe. Lance would never stop seeing guys."

"And you?" Joey asks.

"I'm not seeing guys right now. Or anyone. I should be fine. It's JC I'm worried about. If you guys would just back me up a little on this, it would really help."

"Uh huh. So, essentially," Joey says with exaggerated patience, "you'd like us to tell JC to get his gay off and start dating women exclusively. Is that right?'

"Um." Well, no, that doesn't sound quite right. Justin studies JC, who's now tapping his left foot and wiggling his hips in time to whatever he's listening to. As Justin watches, he reaches down to adjust himself, which makes Justin blush, even though he's seen JC fool around with his package, like, a billion times by now. Mostly in the last two weeks, it seems. Why he can't keep himself organized in his pants is anyone's guess. Maybe he has a rash or something, which would totally serve him right for causing all this trouble. "No. Maybe not. I don't think we can really trust him to pick appropriate women. Maybe he could just. I dunno. Be celibate for a while."

As Joey snorts and hangs up, JC smiles, a private little smile, like he might start laughing any second, or singing. His left eye cracks open, just a faction, and then closes, and it looks for all the world like a wink, but it can't be because JC is lost in the music. Just a twitch, Justin reassures himself, a reflex thing.


"You know," Justin says, as they all pile onto the bus, "I've been thinking."

"I highly doubt that," says Lance, nudging him in the back with the case of beer. "If you were thinking, you'd get the fuck out my way before I drop this all over your new Nikes."

"Fucker. You wouldn't dare. No, I've been thinking about something Joey said last week."

Ignoring Justin, which is just so typical, Lance pushes past him and heads to the galley. "How the hell can you guys be out of beer already? Joey and I still have at least three cases left."

"You and Joey are pussies," says Chris, hauling out the Cheetos and a bag of Oreos. "Clearly."

"Also, we invited some of the sound guys in for a party last night," JC admits, grabbing a beer and heading for the couch.

"Figured as much. I can drink you losers under the table any day of the week," says Joey.

"Guys! Shut up. I was talking. And, hey, pass me a beer, will you, Lance? Are they cold?" Justin hates warm beer. He'll drink it if he has to, of course, because if he doesn't there won't be any left, and that would be even worse, but god he hates it..

"You're always talking, Timberturd. Why would we start listening now? Hey, Lance," Chris says, wrapping an arm around Lance's waist and blowing a raspberry into his throat. "Give me one, too, 'kay? Since you're playing Molly Maid. Or Chef Boyardee. Or whatever it is you pretty boys get up to in the kitchen."

"I'll cram it up your ass if you slobber on me again." Slipping out of Chris's grasp, he tosses Justin a beer, grabs his arm and herds him onto the couch facing JC. "Go ahead, Justin, tell us what you were thinking. And don't leave out one thrilling detail, okay? Especially if it has anything to do with secret police doing nasty things to JC with billy clubs."

Fuck Joey anyway. Justin glares in his direction, but it's pointless because Joey is studiously ignoring him, feigning a fascination with the fine print on the Heineken label. Bastard.

JC smiles at him, though, leaning forward to hear what he has to say like he's genuinely interested, so Justin decides to ignore Lance's bitchy tone. "Okay, see, the other day Joey said something about me being kidnapped by dwarves, and it got me think—"

"Ahahahaha! Dwarves! Dude, you didn't tell me that part!" For some reason, Lance seems to find this terribly amusing, and Chris does too, naturally, so Justin has to wait a few minutes for them to shut the fuck up and pay attention again.

"As I was saying," he resumes when they've brought themselves back under control, "when Joey said that about me being kidnapped--. Shut UP, Lance! It just got me thinking about how, you know, except for the dwarves part, that could actually happen. Because I'm, like, way famous, plus I have a fuckload of money. So, really, it could happen. I mean, I'm not saying it's likely to or anything, our security's really tight and those guys do an awesome job, but it's definitely within the realm of possibility, right?"

"Oh, god, I hope so," mutters Chris.

Ignore him, ignore him, Justin tells himself.

"Anyway, I was wondering, if I was kidnapped, and the kidnappers sent a ransom note, and they said to not call in the police or they'd kill me, would you guys call the police?"

"Good question," says Lance. "So, what kind of ransom are they asking?"

"Huh? What does that have to do with anything?" Justin thinks about it for a minute. What's the going rate for kidnap victims? Mega wealthy kidnap victims? "I dunno. A couple of million, say?"

"Hmmm." Lance ponders for a minute. "And how much would we have to pay them to keep you?"

A lot of high-fiving and back slapping follows this witticism, but Justin rides it out. He knows they'd pay the ransom. They love him, even if they are assholes. "Really, though. What would you guys do?"

"God, I don't know. You kinda have to call the cops, don't you?" asks Joey. "Because what if they're not planning on giving you back even if we do pay the money?"

"Even though they said they'll kill me, you'd call?"


"So," says JC, "so, what would you be wearing?"

"What?" says Justin.

"What?" say Chris, Joey and Lance.

"What would you be wearing? Would you still be in your regular clothes, whatever you had on when they kidnapped you? Or would you be, like, naked?"

"Uh. Dude. That's kind of weird, don't you think? What difference would that make?" For some reason, this whole conversation is starting to feel a tad surreal and also kind of embarrassing, because all the guys are staring at him now like they're picturing him naked and that's just messed up.

"It makes a difference," says JC with all the authority of someone who deals with kidnappings and kidnappers on a daily basis. "If you're still wearing your clothes, I'm gonna guess the kidnappers haven't really thought this through. They're probably amateurs. If you're naked," he pauses, eyes traveling up and down Justin a couple of times, "it's gonna be harder for you to run away. Especially if they have you stashed away somewhere up north where it's really, really cold, like in a log cabin up in Canada or something. Yellowknife, maybe."

"Good thinking, C," says Chris. "I always keep my kidnap victims naked. It's just good planning, really."

Lance and Joey nod their agreement and raise their beers in a toast of approval.

"Okay, fine then, whatever. I'm naked. They have me naked in a cabin in the frozen north."

JC nods. "Keep going."


"Are you tied up? Like to a chair? Or to a bed or something? I'm just trying to get a sense of these kidnappers, how their minds work, you know?"

"Uh." Well, he probably would be naked, Justin thinks. It's not like smart kidnappers are going to take a chance on him climbing out a window or something, even if he is naked. A chair would probably get pretty uncomfortable after a while, especially if he were naked. For sure his joints would start to cramp pretty quickly. "A bed, I guess."

"And I'm guessing they probably have a fire going in the cabin, right? Because they don't want you to freeze to death, damage the merchandise and all. They've got a good blaze going, so you're warm and toasty, maybe even sweating a bit?"

"Yeah, I guess." In fact, Justin's starting to sweat a bit right now. Trust JC to take this straight into the Twilight Zone.

"So, there you are, right?" JC's staring into his eyes, so intense it's almost freaky. "In a cabin way up north, buck naked, warm and sweaty and tied to the bed?"

"Um. I." Oh, fuck.

"Damn, baby," says JC, running a hand over his crotch, "now you're getting me hot."

Joey makes a desperate squeaking noise and drops his beer on the floor. "Fuck, C, do you have to do this shit in front of me?"

"Jesus, JC. Warn a person, will you?" Lance says, patting Joey's shoulder. "Come on, Joe, let's go home. I think this party is getting just a little, shall we say, overheated."

Joey doesn't need to be told twice. He can hardly make eye contact with any of them, and his cheeks are so red he could probably stop traffic with them. They're probably almost as red as Justin's feel. Yeah, like that's possible.

Justin barely registers as Lance and Joey head to the front of the bus to get the driver to pull over. All he can do is think whoa, dude, oh my god, whoa, what the fuck and stare at JC, even though it's just making his cheeks hotter still, and he can feel himself starting to get hard, just from JC's eyes on him, which, what the fuck?. He has to keep looking, though, because if, oh god, this has to be a joke, right? Any minute now he's going to see the punch line on JC's face, because it has to be a joke. So he watches JC and waits for laughing to start, but JC doesn't laugh. He just sits there, smiling at Justin, looking unequivocally like someone who'd do guys, who'd do Justin, right here, right now. Like someone Justin would very much like to get done by, as it turns out.

As Justin's wondering what now and thinking he needs to figure that out very soon or his face is going to burn right off his skull, JC crooks his finger and moves his legs apart and before he has time to think, Justin is down there on the floor between those legs, struggling with JC's fly, and, oh man, what the hell is up with JC's freaking pants that it takes someone with a degree in physics to fucking well get them open. But it's all good, because now JC's helping and he apparently knows his pants really, really well, because he manages to undo them before Justin breaks all his fingernails off.

And then his mouth is full of JC's dick, and it occurs to Justin that JC has probably been with a lot of guys, guys who know exactly what to do to make a dick go hot damn that's one fine mouth, and that maybe he's hoping or, oh god, expecting Justin to know that too. Not that Justin doesn't know what he's doing, because he totally does, even if he hasn't sucked all that many dicks, but he really doesn't want JC comparing him unfavorably to some of the other, perhaps more prolific suckers of dick that he's been with.

JC doesn't seem too worried about it, though. He's making these incredibly lewd moaning sounds and stroking Justin's head, and Justin can feel the tension in his fingers, can feel him wanting to grab hold and fuck his way down Justin's throat. And whoa. Just the idea of that, of JC holding him in place and going to town is so amazingly hot, and suddenly Justin's dick is urgently in need of breathing space. He snakes one hand down to free himself, groaning at the first touch of skin on skin, and the groan is all the permission JC needs. He's bucking up into Justin's mouth, muttering things that sound like sweet and oh, fuck shit cocksucker yeah and splazmo galaxy and Bournemouth. Although the last one might have been porn mouth. It's hard to tell over the wet, nasty sounds of JC's dick sliding in and out of his mouth, and the distant ocean sounds of JC's hands moving over his head.

It's too fucking good to last. JC makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a song, and Justin manages not to disgrace himself by choking. He almost has time to be relieved, but then he's coming, too, the orgasm kicking through him like a mallet to the side of the head.

It takes a few minutes for Justin to catch his breath again. Enough time for him to think wonder what kind of mess they've made on the couch and how he's ever going to be able to make his legs carry him down the aisle to his bunk. Enough time to wonder whether they'll be sharing a bunk. He's just about to ask JC this when there's a throat clearing noise from the other couch.

"So, hey," says Chris brightly. "Either of you ready for another beer?"


"So," Justin mumbles into JC's hair, "I've been thinking."

The morning sunlight angling through the half-open blind makes him blink, and he closes his eyes, snuggling in a little closer, which isn't very much closer at all since they're already pretty much as close as two people can get without being the same person. Justin's bunk feels way less roomy with two people in it that it does when it's just him, but they've managed, after a certain amount of wiggling and shoving, to sort themselves into a reasonably comfortable arrangement of limbs. For a while, there had seemed to be so many arms and legs under the blankets, Justin could have sworn Chris had climbed in too, just to be an asshole, but fortunately even Chris isn't that obnoxious.

"Mmmmm?" JC turns to face him, coming dangerously close to tipping Justin onto the floor in the process. "Mmmmm." His hand slides down Justin's back to rest on his ass. "Mmmmm."

"I've been thinking about this," Justin says, trying to ignore JC's hand. "About, you know. You. And me."

"I look too gay for you, maybe?"

"No!" Justin's eyes fly open, but JC's smiling, just teasing.

"Any KGB agents following us?"

"Oh, shut up. Fuck Joey and his big mouth."

"Well, then, you want to know what I think? I think you were right all along. If a person goes around trying to get himself noticed by pretty gay boys, eventually a pretty gay boy is going to notice him. Like you said, baby. Consequences. But right now I think maybe we should both stop thinking and," JC pauses to let his tongue pay another lengthy to Justin's tonsils, "find some other way to pass the time. What do you think?"


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