nsync in black and white

Disclaimer: this is fiction. We made it up.

Bon-Bon Fire of the Vanities

by Phaballa, for Micha

Hey, Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here. I hope you kept cool this summer because things are about to heat up major. Spotted at La Guardia International terminal: the infamous J with suitcase in hand. Looks like the prodigal son has returned, which has us all wondering: what will C do when he finds out? Closet cases can be sooooo much fun, especially when reputations are at stake.

Got more summer goss for me? You know where to send it. You know you love me!

Gossip Girl

JC hates parties, probably, he thinks, because it's just a bunch of rich snobs boring each other with exactly how rich they are, and he almost can't wait for school to start so he can get the fuck away from his parents and their obsession with him fitting in and networking and making contacts or whatever other bullshit they think he needs. If JC had his way, he'd be in South America right now, smoking up and partying his way through Argentina with some hot mamis of his choice. But his parents pretty much have his entire life planned out for him, and unfortunately, Brazilian orgies aren't a part of it.

At least they're leaving, off to the West Coast to handle business there, which means JC gets to fend for himself at the Waldorf because "I just don't trust Lucita to take proper care of you and the house while we're away, Joshy. You know you'll enjoy room service, so I don't understand what you're complaining about." His mother can be completely crazy sometimes, but she's kind of right. He does love room service.

So his parents leave in two days and school starts on Monday, but until then JC is stuck at this boring as fuck party with only Lance for entertainment. "Please," JC says, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, "tell me we can get out of here soon. I hate these fucking things. If it weren't for the new clothes I get for them, my mother could never get me to come."

Lance smirks. "That's disgusting, C. You know how I feel about incest, implied or otherwise."

"Ha ha, fuck you. I'm adopted, anyway, so fuck you twice."

Lance checks his BlackBerry, frowning as he scrolls through his emails. "There's a party at Carter's place, but he has all those annoying sisters, ugh. Last time I was over there, BJ got so drunk she grabbed my ass and puked on my shoes. And they were nice shoes. The new D&G's I got from the pre-sale that--"

"Okay, so not Carter then. Moving on," JC says with a tight smile. After Justin left last year, Lance is JC's new best friend, but he's more of a minion than anything else, and it's really not the same. Too bad Justin turned out to be a total asshole who makes sex tapes that mysteriously end up on Gossip Girl. Of course, there's no proof that it's JC in the tape--Justin had the sense not to get JC's face on film--but still, everyone pretty much assumed it was JC, and now they all knew what he sounded like getting a blowjob from his best friend for the first time. Awesome. JC tries not to think about how it was probably the last time, too. Justin may be a complete fucktard asshole, but he sucks dick like a pro. Also, losing his best friend was totally harsh, too, but JC's over it now. He's so completely, totally over it.

Lance would probably suck his dick if JC asked, but JC has standards, and wonky-eyed, frosted-tipped minion boys do not qualify. Well, maybe if he was really stoned and Lance wore a bag over his head.

"Britney is having some sort of girl's night out thing at Pastis if we want to crash." JC just rolls his eyes at that, because seriously, spending the last Saturday before school with a bunch of lower school girls is too lame to even contemplate. "Okay, um." Lance messes with his phone, eyes widening suddenly before he shoves it deep in his pocket and says, "Let's just go to the Carters. They always have weed at least. We could just smoke and run, and then--"

"Lance. What's going on? You hate the Carters, and not just because BJ puked on your D&Gs. You think Nick is a fat, stupid hack and you can't stand anyone who made their money in the last decade."

"It's nothing, seriously. Let's just go."

JC takes a long drink of champagne and gives Lance his best look of superiority, which is very superior and a little bitchy, too, because that's just how JC rolls. He likes to get things done, or really, get things done for him, and if he has to be a bitch about it, he's going to fucking take pleasure in it, is all. His mother always says it's important to like what you do, and JC likes what he does very much, especially if it involves intimidating his minions into doing his bidding.

"Lance," he says, "look at me. What the fuck is going on?"

"Justin's back in town," Lance says, running his words together so quickly JC can barely understand him. "It's all over Gossip Girl. Someone saw him at the airport. So, yeah. J's back." Lance coughs and flushes, staring down at the carpet like he's afraid to look at JC.

Fucking Justin, JC thinks, downing the rest of his champagne in one. Justin fucking Timberlake, back in the city after a year abroad like nothing fucking happened, like he has any right to be within a ten-square-mile radius of JC ever again after the shit he pulled last year, leaving JC alone and practically friendless to deal with the messy aftermath. The news is like an electric shock through JC's system, because somehow, he never thought that Justin might actually come back. They're about to start Senior year and Justin missed most of Junior year, so JC just thought that he was gone. He resigned himself to Justin being gone because even after the sex tape debacle, even though he was so angry and hurt he deleted all of Justin's emails and changed his phone number, he was still hoping Justin would come back. He was hoping, JC thinks, that Justin would come back for JC, because it wasn't just blowjobs that night. He was hoping Justin would come back for his best friend. But three months went by and Justin stopped emailing and stopped writing, and that was when JC knew--Justin wasn't coming back at all. That's when JC got really angry.

Justin's back. Lance's words echo in his head and JC can't even think right now. He can't think about what this will mean and the idea of seeing Justin again makes his stomach knot up unpleasantly, like it's trying to eat its way through his intestines.

"Christ. I think I'm going to vomit," JC says.

"I know, right? I can't believe he's back."

"No, really, I think I'm going to puke," JC says, pushing his way past Lance and hurrying for the bathroom. Once safely locked inside, kneeling on Mrs. Richardson's imported Italian marble floor with his cheek resting on cool porcelain, JC breathes deep and waits for the feeling to pass. He hasn't thought about Justin much at all since the letters stopped, partly because he's very good at self-deception, but also because, well, it hurts. It still hurts, and he tells himself it's because they were close and Justin betrayed him, but it's more than that, and he knows it.

Because before the tape got leaked, before the entire school knew Justin was a fag and pretty much decided JC was too, before he fucked his way through most of the junior class at Constance Billiard School for Girls to prove he wasn't--before all that, JC sort of thought he might be in love. Stupidly, retardedly, he thought he might be in gay love with his best friend, and not in a creepy Bad Education, pose-as-your-brother-and-plot-to-kill-your-sugar-daddy kind of way, either. And he sort of thought Justin might love him back. But instead, Justin fucked him over and took off before he'd have to face the consequences. Asshole, JC thinks, and vomits spectacularly into the toilet.

Champagne is never really a good idea at two in the afternoon.


Spotted holding court on the steps of the Met: Queen C in the last fall fashions, with Princess Frostylocks at his beck and call as usual, keeping away the undesirables, which means anyone who doesn't have a trust fund and a hospital wing named after him. I'd stay away if I were you, Baby J. The worker bees are buzzing and this isn't going to end with Tina Fey leading a group intervention in the gym.

Justin stares at himself in the mirror, pulling at the knot in his tie and wishing that uniforms could be done away with. He sort of wishes the entire idea of school could be done away with, too, but he'd like to start with these uniforms, because seriously, navy just isn't his color and blazers are for real estate agents and public school teachers, not for anyone who actually cares about fashion. It's his first day back at St. Jude's after a year away, and he wants to look his best because. Well, just because, and he's trying really hard not to think about the reason, except that JC is the only one who could ever help him accessorize these stupid uniforms right, and now he's just going to look like a total fucking tool his first day back, because oh right, JC hates him.

So much for not thinking about it.

"You look fine," his mom says from behind him, leaning in the doorway of his room. Well, his room in their suite at the Waldorf, which isn't really his at all but his mom is redecorating or fumigating or doing something to their actual house since it hasn't been lived in by anyone but hired help in a year, so here he is in a hotel on his first day of school, and no matter what she says, he does look like a total tool.

"You have to say that because you're my mom," Justin says, worrying at his tie. "I hate these fucking uniforms."

"Justin, baby. You know I hate it when you talk like that. Now stop messing with it and get to school or you'll be late."

"Do I have to go?" He tries his best puppy dog eyes on her, but over the past seventeen years she's somehow become immune.

"Things will be fine, baby," she says, smiling a little like she's remembering her own undoubtedly charmed days as a school girl, except Justin knows for a fact that she didn't go to a school like St. Jude's and she didn't have friends like JC, because that's what happens when you marry into money. She's his mom and Justin loves her, but she's never going to understand how complicated things are with JC. Justin doesn't even know what he did, but he knows from Britney who heard it from Nick who heard it from Lance that JC hates him now, even if no one is willing to say why. Oh, and somehow everyone knows about his big gay gayness. But it's not like Justin ever tried to hide that. He likes shoes way too much to ever be considered even remotely straight.

His mom looks him over, frowning, probably because she's noticing the look of utter desperation Justin knows is on his face, because he is desperate and scared and he really doesn't want to face the guys at school but especially not JC. "Stop worrying about JC," his mom says, fixing his tie for him with a few quick tugs. "He'll come around, you'll see. Besides, who could resist you?"

"You have to say that because you're my mom."

The car service picks him up in front of the Waldorf and heads for school, but Justin stops him when they pass the Met, saying, "Here's fine, I want to walk the rest of the way." He climbs out of the car slowly, shouldering his black and silver Louis Vuitton bag and feeling like he's about to face his doom at the hands of his ex-best friend. His ex-more-than-that, actually, but That Night is another thing Justin doesn't let himself think about. He doesn't know what happened after because he had to leave so suddenly, and when he tried to call, JC's phone had been disconnected. Letters were returned unopened. It was a bunch of Jane Austen drama that would've been almost laughable if it hadn't hurt so much.

Probably, Justin thinks, it was just a sexual identity crisis and JC wanted to pretend he'd never gotten the best blowjob of his entire life that night. Or that he'd returned the favor.

They're on the steps like they always are, and Justin can't believe he's been gone a year and absolutely nothing has fucking changed. JC sits a step up from everyone else, eating his yogurt and looking even better than before Justin left. His hair has grown out and it's all soft curls now, and just looking at him makes Justin feel achy and also like he might puke. He can't do this, he can't face JC without even knowing what he did wrong. He's just going to walk away and hope they don't have any classes together, Justin thinks, but then he thinks about the way it felt to touch JC and think for a few days, anyway, that they had something. Justin might be a fag, but he's not a pussy, damnit, and he's not going to act like one. He straightens his shoulders and takes the steps two at a time until he reaches the group.

"JC, I need to talk to you." Justin looks at the group of boys sitting on the steps pointedly. "Alone, if you don't mind?"

But JC just keeps eating his yogurt and telling Lance about the new Hermes scarf his mother bought him in Paris last month. "It's gorgeous, Lance, you'll see. I can't wear it until after Labor Day, obviously, but you're going to be so jealous."

"JC, I'm talking to you. Don't be a dick, man, I know you can hear me."

JC turns hard eyes on him and says coldly, "Do you smell that, Nick? It's the foul stench of betrayal. You know, like when your best friend totally and completely ruins your reputation and then fucks off to fucking Italy for a year, and then comes back and tries to pretend like it never happened?"

"Um," Nick says, looking confused and trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone, "Not really?"

"I think we should leave," JC says, standing up and brushing his pants off with his free hand.

"JC, wait. Please, just listen to me for one second--"

JC drops his half-full yogurt container at Justin's feet, watching with a smirk as it tips over and dumps directly onto Justin's new limited edition Pumas. "Oops," JC says, giving Justin a blank look. "Looks like someone needs to take out the trash."


Break out your winter coats, Upper East Siders, because a cold front just moved in. Looks like Christmas came early for Baby J, and the other reindeer are revoking his membership. No fun, no games, and certainly no partying at Queen C's traditional start-of-term bash.

"Go away," JC says, looking up from his book to give Britney his best death glare. It works really well on Lance, but Lance is sort of lame and a tool and he does have pregnant-lady hips, so it's not as if he's a challenge. Britney, however, is pretty and has a great rack even if she's not the smartest cookie on the plate, so she is completely unintimidated by JC. She just glares right back and doesn't budge.

"You're being a total bitch about this Justin Thing," she says, grabbing his book when he pretends to go back to reading and tossing it across the courtyard. JC huffs and sits back against the brick wall behind him. Britney's the bitch, in his opinion, and she's definitely not getting invited to his party on Friday. She can spend the evening fucking herself, for all he cares. And okay, so maybe she's hostessing and he can't really officially ban her or whatever, but really, he never liked her anyway. She was always Justin's friend, Justin's the one that pulled her in, and now JC's the one who has to deal with Justin's mistakes, just like always. At least this time he won't have to fuck an entire spirit squad to prove he's not gay.

"I'm not talking about the Justin Thing to you," JC says. "But for the record, I am not being a bitch. I am simply giving him exactly what he deserves in the face of total and heinous betrayal, thank you very much."

"You might want to start by telling him what he did wrong," Britney says. "And don't give me any bullshit about the tape, because we both know Justin would never do that."

"Well I didn't fucking do it! What are you suggesting--some psycho snuck into Justin's bedroom, planted a camera, somehow went back to get it later, and then just gave it to Gossip Girl without even trying blackmail first? That's ridiculous."

"Considering the people we know, it's kind of feasible, JC. Plus, wasn't there a party that night? It's not like the house was locked up all secure or something, and no blackmail means no incentive for cash, which means--"

"Which means," JC interrupts, "that it was Justin. Now go away, Britney. Also, you owe me a new copy of Twilight."


Wednesday is the new Friday when you live at the Waldorf, apparently. Spotted at the hotel bar: Baby J and Princess Frostylocks having a heated debate. No confirmation as to possible topics, but I'm betting they didn't include the Princess's atrocious bleach job.

"Isn't it a little too '90210' to get plastered on a Wednesday night at a hotel bar where half the school will see you?" Lance asks mildly, slipping onto the stool next to Justin's and signaling the bartender.

"I'm thinking of quitting," Justin says, and wow, he could barely understand himself there, but that's probably just because of all the Old Fashioneds he's had in the past hour. No idea what's in them, he just knows they taste like booze and more booze with booze on top, and that's exactly what he needs after three days of living this new hell that is his life.

"You can't quit Wednesdays, Justin. Project Runway is on Wednesdays. Try Tuesdays. Nothing good is on on Tuesdays."

"You make a good point," Justin says, pointing at Lance to emphasize his, uh, point, "but I made up my mind. Wednesdays suck. All the days suck. I'm going to be like, like Nick Cage in the one with the hooker who gets ass raped by a frat house. Drink myself to death. And then--no more Wednesdays! Or Tuesdays. Or any of the other days."

Lance turns cold eyes on him. Even the wonky one, which Justin and JC used to laugh about privately behind Lance's back, and oh god, they're never going to do that again even though it was so much fun, and Justin can't figure out why. It really, really sucks.

"Maybe," Lance says slowly, "you shouldn't have fucked C over like that. Maybe you shouldn't have outted him to the entire fucking school. And maybe you shouldn't have left like a fucking coward before you sent the whole thing to Gossip Girl."

"Okay, no, wait! Because, see. I don't know what you're talking about like, at all. Gossip Girl? As if I'd ever associ--assoc--connect myself to the person who compared my Monolos to something a drag queen would wear! Please. Like a drag queen could afford those shoes. I don't think so."

Lance stares at him, takes a sip of his drink. "You really have no idea, do you?" he asks, smiling a little.

"Not a fucking clue," Justin says, and lays his head down on the bar. It's safe, he tells himself, because this is a very fancy hotel and they probably clean the bar every twenty minutes at least. Besides, rich people don't have the same germs as poor people anyway, so it's totally safe, except that Lance probably touched it and Lance is a known slut so probably Justin shouldn't be putting his face on the bar. Also, people might think he's drunk. Justin sits up and rubs his face with both hands. He's just so tired. Three days of trying to get JC to talk to him. Three miserable days of being treated like the lowliest low that ever did low, and he can't even figure out why.

"Well," Justin says finally, "are you going to tell me, or what?"

"Not a fucking chance," Lance says, smiling sharply, before he gets up and leaves.


Overheard on the steps of the Met: Queen C getting into it with Bitsy over plans for tonight's exclusive fete. Everyone knows that when it comes to Queen C, holding the title of Official Party Hostess is totally empty, sort of like Bitsy's head. Decidedly not on the guest list: Baby J, of course, who's been trying all week to get back in C's good graces. If only he knew that C doesn't have any.

So JC hates parties. He hates boring parties thrown by adults who do dignified things like only have one glass of wine and talk about how well their stocks are doing or are they going to buy the slightly bigger yacht and when is Cousin So-and-So getting married, again? JC doesn't give a shit when Cousin So-and-So is getting married or having babies and he certainly doesn't care about his stock portfolio as long as it continues to put piles of money in his bank account. He also doesn't tend to enjoy the way his mother tries to sell him off to families with age-appropriate daughters and big trust funds like he's a poor relation and/or governess in a bad Victorian novel. Or, you know, a Mexican hooker.

But the point is, adult parties suck, and JC hates them. His parties, however, are the most amazing parties in the history of parties, and he is constantly astounded by his own party-making skills. This is what he tells Britney when she tries to argue that having the party at a club would be "oh my god, way cooler than another lame-ass house party."

"Firstly, I have never in my entire life thrown anything that could be described as 'lame-ass,'" JC says scathingly, snatching Britney's notebook away with a huff and narrowing his eyes at the guest list. "And secondly, it would technically be a hotel party, because I don't live in a house at the moment, remember? Thirdly, you dumb whore, we can't drink at a club, no matter how much they look the other way on a normal basis. Fifty St. Jude's and Constance B kids running around a club? I don't give a shit that we could collectively buy the entire island if we wanted, there's no way a club will agree to that."

Britney glares at him murderously. "I'm not dumb," she says.

"Then you'll do as I say and take notes for future reference, my dear. Because this is going to be the best party we've ever had."

JC skips his afternoon classes the next to day to make sure the caterers have everything under control, requisitioning a few hotel maids to help him with the decorations. He pays them more in tips than the hotel does a week, so they will pretty much do anything he asks, and JC is happiest when telling people what to do and making them do it exactly the way he wants. Britney offered to skip her classes too, but JC just gave her a look of pity and said, "Oh, honey. I think we both know you need to go to every class you can."

By eight o'clock, the suite looks perfect. JC detests theme parties but he loves sparkling lights and any excuse to wear glitter, so he compromised with "glamour," to be interpreted in any way his guests see fit, as long as Fergie isn't involved in any way, shape, or form. Lance comes over early so they can get ready. Lance isn't as much fun as Justin was because for one thing, Lance has birthing hips and cannot carry off the best fashions the way JC and Justin can ("You should just stop eating altogether," JC tells him on a regularly basis. "It's the only diet that truly works."), but he's better than nothing, and he's willing to let JC try out his most outlandish accessorizing techniques on him.

"I'm Lance Bass," he tells JC loftily as JC carefully applies green glitter eye shadow on Lance's lids. "I get what I want, and everyone wishes they could be me. Or at least have my trust fund, so. Same thing, really. Why should I be worried about anyone's opinion?"

"Nice modesty there, Princess," JC says dryly, hissing when Lance opens his eyes to glare at JC, smudging the makeup across his cheek.

"Don't call me that. You know how I feel about Gossip Girl."

"Um, you love it and you read it every day?" JC says, snapping his fingers at Lance until Lance closes his eyes so JC can finish. "If it hadn't been for the tape, I might feel the same way. She's so delightfully catty. But I can't even read it anymore. I feel very strongly about not supporting a person or persons who willingly and gleefully expose people's, um, gayosity to the hate-filled public."

"Gayosity isn't a word, C. And come on, everyone already knew Justin was gay. It's not like that's a shocker. The kid is flaming. He wears Manolos, for fuck's sake. He never tried to hide it."

"Well. No one knew about me, obviously. Okay, open. I'm done."

Lance looks at him with wide eyes. The green sparkly eye shadow was a genius touch, in JC's humble opinion. Well, it makes Lance's eye look less wonky than normal, anyway.

"So, it was you in the tape?"

JC rolls his eyes. "Duh. Who else do we know that has a body this gorgeous and thin?" JC asks, turning to look at himself in the mirror. "But don't get the wrong idea, Princess. I'm not gay."

Lance smirks. "I saw the video. Looked pretty gay to me."

JC rolls his eyes and disappears into his closet, searching for his new pink and silver Gucci tie that will go perfectly with the fab silver vest his personal shopper found at a resale shop in SoHo last week. "Justin isn't a normal boy, though, Lance. He's Justin. I'm pretty sure the Pope would go gay for that mouth. And have you seen his abs? Fucking ridiculous. He's so hot it makes me want to puke."

"And apparently turns you gay."

JC emerges from his closet in his new vest and stands in front of the mirror to adjust his tie and admire the way the black silky shirt contrasts so nicely with his vest. "God, I look so fucking great. I'm a total London boy in this. And there's zippers all over! This jacket might be hotter than I am."

"Well I think you look like an ass," Lance says, raising one eyebrow.

"You're the one wearing sparkly green eye shadow. So really, who's the asshole in this scenario?"


Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose the fairest one of all? Watch out, Baby J. I think Queen C might have his own special brand of poison if any party crashing in on the schedule for tonight. And you know what they say about revenge: what goes around comes around. If anyone gets it on tape, you know where to find me!

Justin absolutely was not going to crash JC's party, even though it's only two floors up, even though it would probably be the best place to get JC to actually talk to him instead of sneering or ignoring him or ruining his brand new four hundred dollar sneakers. Besides, Justin hates these parties, just a bunch of kids he doesn't even like anyway, getting wasted and hooking up. And JC doesn't want him there, clearly doesn't want him there because he made Britney take Justin off the guest list and Justin knows JC's had Lance whispering in his ear since Justin got back. Lance, Justin thinks, is a jealous, creepy bitch. Lance is like Heavenly Creatures creepy. Justin wouldn't put it past him to murder his own mother if she decided to send him as far away from JC as possible, although probably, Lance would find a cleaner, neater way to do it than a brick in a stocking.

So Justin wasn't going to go, but then Britney sees him in the hotel bar on her way in with her army of minions. She takes one look at his disheveled school uniform and the large glass of whiskey in front of him and sends her girls on. "Justin, sweetie," she says, taking the glass away and setting it on the bar out of his reach. "This is just getting pathetic. I know you have feelings for him or whatever--"

"Not feelings," Justin says loudly, which makes the large group of businessmen seated at one of the low tables across the way turn around to stare. "I love him. I'm in love with him, okay. It's not just, like, some stupid feeling in the pit of my stomach and it's not just that I really miss sucking dick. I want him back, Brit. And he hates me and it sucks and my life is fucking over. I should've just stayed in fucking Italy. At least the men there know how to dress."

"But they also refuse to wear deodorant and drive those horrible scooter things, which means the constant putting on and taking off of helmets, which in turn means disastrous hair issues. I know. I've seen The Lizzie Maguire Movie." At Justin's look of disgust, Britney just rolls her eyes. "What? Jeremy Piven is in it. Don't tell me you wouldn't fuck Jeremy Piven."

"That's a good point. But none of that really helps me with the whole pathetic JC Situation." Justin reaches for his glass and Britney slaps his hands away.

"No, no, no! Bad Justin! You need to be sober."

"But I don't want to be sober. I want to drown my sorrows in my new best friend, Jimmy Walker, and not try to figure out how I managed to make my best friend hate me so much just by giving him head. Oh my god, what if that was it? Maybe I'm just really bad at oral! I was pretty drunk and what if teeth were involved?"

"I'm going to take pity on you," Britney says, pulling out her iPhone and tapping at the display with quick fingers. "I just happen to have this bookmarked. Not, um, for any personal reasons or anything. I mean, I barely watched it at all once I realized it was you because, you know, I like totally respect your right to privacy and all that. But I thought it might be handy so. Here. There's something you need to see."

Ten minutes later, Justin has the very strong desire to murder whoever made that tape, maybe via brick-in-stocking, but possibly with his own bare hands. He also, horribly, is achingly hard inside his uniform because Christ, they were fucking hot that night. The noises JC made—Justin can't believe he forgot even a millisecond of what happened, but he didn't remember JC's fingers on his cheeks, rubbing so gently and JC saying, "Fuck, I can feel me in there."

"So," Britney says, looking at him impatiently. "Now you know. Are you gonna fucking do something about it, or would you rather spend the night with your new best friend and let whoever fucked you over get away with it?"

Justin hates admitting that Britney is right about anything, ever, but he wasn't working with all the facts before so can let it go this one time. The elevator ride up to the fifteenth floor is the longest, most excruciating five minutes of Justin's life, but then Britney's opening the door and pulling Justin through the throngs of party-goers and Justin thinks, I can't do this. No fucking way.

The suite is lit by softly glowing fairy lights and a projector globe set up on a small table by the couch, flashing the night sky onto the high ceilings above. Britney finds JC pretty quickly anyway, and Justin just stares at him while Britney whispers in his ear for a long minute. JC looks fabulous and ridiculous all at once, and more than anything, Justin just wants JC to look at him like he used to, before all this fuckery ever happened.

Britney steps away and JC looks at him. It's not quite the same, it's not quite what Justin wants, but JC jerks his head and turns away, gesturing Justin to follow. Lance watches with narrowed eyes and when he tries to follow, too, JC just says, "It's fine. Go get another drink."

They reach their destination and Justin has to laugh a little. "A closet, JC? Isn't that a little too cliché?"

JC smiles a little before catching himself and pressing his lips into a thin line. "It's a walk-in." He doesn't say anything else, just looks at Justin with a bored expression on his face, like he's so totally over this.

Well, Justin just found out about it, and he's not fucking over anything. "I saw the tape," he says. "And I can't believe you actually think I sent it to that hack, Gossip Girl. For one thing, it was shot from my bad side! My nose looks fucking huge and you know how I feel about that." Justin takes a deep breath, staring at the floor and not at JC because he knows if he looks at JC, he's never going to be able to say this. "And secondly, I was--I thought that it meant something, that night. I mean, it did mean something to me. It meant a lot and I thought it meant something to you, too, but then you stopped taking my calls and my letters all came back unopened and my mom was in hysterics over my grandfather's cancer so I just figured I was wrong. I hoped when I came back that maybe we could still be friends but then—"

"Stop," JC says quietly. Justin looks up and JC is staring at him, looking so sad but happy, too. Looking like he did before, looking at Justin like he did that night. "I didn't know any of that," JC says finally. "I thought. Well, Lance and everyone said it could only be you, and you left so suddenly it was pretty suspicious. I." JC swallows and takes a step closer to Justin, and then another, until he can reach out and touch the back of Justin's hand. "I'm sorry. It, it did mean something, okay? It does, I mean. It means a lot." JC laughs a little and waves his hand in the air. "You know what I mean."

"I'm your best friend, C. I always know what you mean." Justin takes one last step forward until they're so close Justin can feel JC's breath against his cheek. "Is this okay?" he says, sliding his fingers into the soft curls at the base of JC's neck.

"For serious, it's way more than okay," JC says, and kisses him. All Justin can think as JC's tongue brushes his and JC moans softly into his mouth is, yogurt on his four hundred dollar limited edition Pumas was so totally fucking worth it.


Hey Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here, and boy, do I have news for you. Every dog has its day, and it looks like Queen C's lap dog is about to get his. Now that Baby J and C are back together, what will become of poor, scheming Princess Frostylocks? I would never reveal my sources, but something tells me this amateur videographer is in for a nasty surprise.

At least those long, boring, closet-filled days are finally over at last. Welcome to the club, Queen C. Now you've officially earned your crown. You know you love me!

Gossip Girl

"What should we do to him?" JC asks, leaning his head on his hand and staring down at Justin spread out on his bed, looking so fucking hot it'd turn JC into a raging jealous bitch if it wasn't all for him. JC trails two fingers across Justin's chest and down across the lines of his abs, smiling a little when Justin shivers at his touch. "Castration? Maybe disembowelment? No, too messy. My mother would kill me if she had to pay to replace the carpets."

"Lance deserves the same sort of mental anguish and heartache he put us through," Justin says, wiggling a little in an attempt to get JC's fingers lower. "But I don't think he's even capable of feeling human emotion unless it involves a shot at your dick, so probably that won't work."

JC makes a hmming sound and lets his hand drift beneath the sheets, stroking the tip of Justin's dick with light touches. JC never really thought he was that into dick, mainly just into Justin, but the last two days have really changed his mind. He fucking loves dick, especially Justin's, and if he had his way, Justin would always be naked in his bed, with maybe just a few scarves and bondage tools for accessories. Justin always did appreciate JC's talent for accessorizing, after all. He thinks Justin would look very nice in a collar and cuffs, as long as they were black and complemented Justin's skin tone.

And he really, really missed Justin. He didn't let himself admit it before, but now, after two days of sex and room service, JC knows he was just lying to himself when he ever thought he could possibly be over Justin. Justin's his best friend, and JC trusts that now. Plus, he's got a fantastic ass.

"JC," Justin says, "C'mon. Are we gonna plot revenge, or are we gonna fuck?"

"I think," JC says, wrapping his fingers around Justin's dick in a tight grip and giving it a few quick test strokes, "that not getting to have me is punishment enough. I vote for fucking." JC releases Justin's dick and slides his fingers back until he's touching Justin's hole, rubbing his finger over it before sliding it inside in a quick, twisting motion. "Hmm," he says, mouthing at the long column of Justin's throat, "I love it when you're still ready from the last time. Is it fucking, or making looooove?" JC asks, watching Justin's eyes flutter closed as his hips flex so beautifully, trying to shove himself further onto JC's finger.

"I'd fucking love you if you'd fuck me already," Justin gasps, letting out a stuttering little high-pitched moan when JC pushes a second finger inside him.

JC pulls out and shoves the sheets away, makes Justin roll over until he's sprawled on his stomach with his legs splayed wide and JC can see everything from here, how open and ready Justin is, how he rolls his hips when JC presses the tip of his dick against Justin's hole before pushing in, in, until he's all the way inside. Justin's so hot and tight and perfect and JC can't believe they wasted a fucking year of not doing this and not feeling this because of fucking Lance Bass of all people. JC should've known better, because it's Justin. JC chose Justin as his best friend in the first grade, and JC has always had excellent taste. He should've never doubted himself, he thinks as he jacks his hips hard, shoving himself as deep inside Justin as he can get before laying down across Justin's back and licking the sweat from the nape of Justin's neck.

"You totally love me," JC says, twisting his hips until Justin shudders and moans, unable to push back with JC's weight on him. "It's because I'm so fabulously amazing."

"You love me, too," Justin says, trying to turn his head to look at JC, only to have his cheek pressed hard into the pillow by JC's hand on his neck. "It's because I'm practically, ah, fuck, C. Practically perfect in every way."

"Okay, Mary Poppins," JC says, grinning against Justin's neck. "Does this mean that next time you want to play naughty governess?"

"Who doesn't?" Justin moans, and comes all over JC's 900-thread count imported-directly-from-Egypt sheets. Oh well, JC thinks as he hauls Justin to his knees and thrusts in fast and hard, I guess that makes up for the Pumas.


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