One night.
Justin stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and swore he was only giving himself the night off, that he'd be right back with the program, dealing with this weird, freaky, not-JC in the morning, but for right now, he needed a break.
He got it, he really did--there wasn't anyone else to be trusted with this, but it sucked. The rest of the guys could roll their eyes and tell him to grow up already, but they weren't the ones living on a bus with a stranger and trying to teach JC 101--to JC!--in the middle of a tour.
Ever since the…the whatever happened, Justin had no idea what was going to come out of JC's mouth, and that was wrong on so many levels, he didn't even know where to start. He'd known JC all his life, it felt like, and he knew JC, and now it turned out that maybe he hadn't, not at all.
The JC he knew wouldn't have laughed at the bleached-out 'fro, or said anything nasty about the tattoo on Justin's back, or told Justin he was obsessive. But apparently, the old JC would have thought all that, just not said it, and Justin wasn't sure how he was supposed to deal with that.
So, fine. Tonight, he wasn't.
Tonight, they were going out, there would be clubbing and VIP and music that wasn't his. Justin wasn't saying 'no' to anything--there was nothing on the schedule for tomorrow or the next day; he hadn't had a good night off in forever; and he was so unbelievably tired of keeping a positive attitude when nothing seemed to make a difference, when every time he looked at JC, a stranger looked back.
One night off--it wasn't what he wanted, but it was all he could manage to make happen.
Rain was Rain--they could have gone anywhere, but it was right there and it didn't matter if they got recognized. VIP there was big enough that they could start their own country if they wanted to. Justin moved them through security and into the booths as fast as he could. The sooner he got to serious alcohol, the sooner he wouldn't have to watch how JC smiled at the bartender and shimmied to the pounding beat, how he smoothed his t-shirt down over his ridiculously low-cut jeans whenever he saw a hot guy watching him, how warm he felt, pressed against Justin as they rode up in the elevator.
Because that was another thing Justin didn't have a clue how to deal with: JC and guys. And Chris and Joey could seriously stuff a sock in it, because it wasn't like Lance and guys. Justin hadn't ever tried to sleep through Chris and Lance double-teaming a girl on the bus, for starters. He knew for a fact that JC liked girls, and nothing happening now was going to change that, but the boys were another of those things that Justin apparently hadn't known.
Trace had the waitress bringing a round before JC even stopped wriggling on the damn water-filled cushions at the table, and Justin was just about to throw one back when he saw JC reaching for a glass, too.
"C, man, wait," Justin yelled over the music. "It's, you're, we don't know what's up with your brain, and what if this makes it worse?"
"No, J," JC answered, all earnest eyes and serious mouth and for that instant, everything was familiar, right. "It was the amulet, dude, like I keep trying to tell you. I'm fine, I--it's not my brain," he finished, and Justin wanted to scream, it was so wrong.
He shook his head and slapped his hand on top of the glasses, covering them and keeping anyone from drinking them while he tried to think of something, anything, to say.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Timberlake," Trace snarled in his ear. "Quit bein' such a pussy. The guy's been trapped on a bus for a month." Trace glared at him, and Justin glared right back and didn't move his hand. "What is your deal, man? Let him get trashed if he wants. And do not stop him if he goes off and picks out a nice twink. The dude hasn't gotten shit in the last month, and you know how he gets when he isn't getting any."
And yeah, Justin knew how JC got without sex, but this wasn't JC and he didn't understand why people kept thinking he should just forget all about the guy who'd read everything Justin had ever written, even when he was sixteen and they all sucked; the one who listened to Justin worry about how he should kiss Britney for the first time, listened patiently every night for a month and then listened for another month about how right and perfect it had been. Justin couldn't forget any of that, but every single day, this JC looked at him and Justin had to deal with being the only one who remembered now.
"Yeah," he said finally, tired of everything all over again. "Yeah, sure, C. Go ahead." He picked his hand up off the glasses and grabbed one blindly, so he wouldn't have to watch how JC looked at Trace and grinned, picking up the next glass before he'd even stopped licking his lips from the first.
Justin closed his eyes and swallowed and cinnamon exploded on his tongue. He choked a little, and glared at Trace again, ready to give him shit for the girly drinks, but JC transferred his smile from the tray of drinks to Justin and Justin felt his mouth curve in answer. Night off, he reminded himself, and reached for another.
He didn't know if the staff had told the DJ that they were there, but the music had shifted to stuff he loved and he didn't need the second shot--or the third--to loosen him up enough to hit the dance floor. Those were purely for fun.
"C'mon, C." Justin leaned close enough to JC to smell cinnamon and the tea tree shampoo JC used, deliberately ignoring everyone's personal space. He told himself it was because that was how it used to be between them. "You can't just sit here."
JC hesitated, the earnest face coming out again. "You sure, man? It's not, like, gonna blow your heteronormative image to be out there with me?"
"Fuck that," Justin said, as the DJ started mixing Patti LaBelle into Brother's Vibe. "They make up worse shit than that about me." JC still hung back but Justin knew it was only a matter of time. If JC was still JC, like he kept saying, there was no fucking way he could resist.
"You like to dance," Justin said, sliding out of the booth and stomping down on the little voice in his head that whispered, How the hell would you know, Timberlake? For a split second, Justin thought the voice might be right, but then JC smiled--the big, happy grin--and followed Justin out.
That was the last time Justin listened to that nasty little voice in his head. It started to say something later that night, much much later, after too many rounds (always of fireballs, because JC liked them and it didn't take long for Justin to admit that he liked watching JC liking them); after too many monster remixes that bled together, one into the other, and made it easy to stay there on the dance floor, surrounded by the lights and the music and the projections; after Justin had put JC's hands on his own hips and danced close, all the moves that they'd always worked on a dance floor coming easily to JC.
It started to say something after all that, but JC was right there, in Justin's room, the door solid and cool against Justin's back and it wasn't hard for Justin to ignore it, not at all, not with JC's mouth moving on his and JC's hands back on Justin's hips.
Justin thought he should tell JC that they'd never done anything like this before, because he didn't want JC to think they would just go out and hit a club and then come back and fuck like it was nothing, no big deal--because JC needed to know this was a very big deal--but all he could manage were noises, hoarse and desperate and wordless.
JC kissed him through it all, slid his hands up under Justin's shirt and over his ribs, turned him and kissed him again and guided him backwards across the room, stepping carefully and gently, until Justin was on the bed, his T-shirt on the floor and JC's hands working the buttons on his jeans. Slow, easy, not trying to touch Justin's dick, but not trying to avoid it either and Justin thought he might shake out of his skin before JC got the denim and cotton out of his way and dragged his thumb the length of Justin's cock.
"JC," Justin gasped. "JCJCJCJC…"
JC stopped, stayed still until Justin opened his eyes. He was braced over Justin, all his weight on one arm, the other hand still curved around Justin's dick, watching Justin with a familiar, sharp intensity.
"You," Justin started. "I…"
JC smiled, that little quirk of a smile, and Justin had just enough time to wonder why so much was familiar now, when this was nothing that was even remotely normal, before JC shifted, and his tongue flicked once where his hand had been. Justin tried to breathe, but he was pretty sure it was more like wheezing.
"Yes," JC answered, looking up and grinning. "Me. You." He licked again. And again, light and teasing, nothing that was going to get Justin off anytime in the next fucking decade, just enough to turn the wheezing into whimpering. Justin reached down with shaking, clumsy hands and ran his fingers over the soft, wavy hair just starting to grow back out and tried not to be That Guy, the one who pulled hair and ears and generally acted like a fucking prick.
It wasn't the best blowjob Justin had ever had, not technically, but nothing had ever made him crazier than the way JC took his dick in and swallowed him down.
He heard himself babbling, JC's name and God and pleasefuckplease and didn't care at all, because JC was making just as many noises, humming and murmuring around Justin's dick and it was all so fucking good Justin could hardly believe he wasn't asleep on the bus, dreaming this whole thing up while Trace snored on the couch in the lounge.
He spread his legs wider, arched his hips and tried to hold still when JC licked lower, nuzzled his balls, bit a hard kiss high on the inside of his thigh.
"Roll over, baby," JC murmured, his breath cool and quick on Justin's sweat-dampened skin. "Want you, want to taste you all over." His fingers slid down Justin's cock, over his balls and kept going, teasing and circling, not quite pressing inside. Justin shivered at the pressure, at the promise of more, and JC went still again. "Please," he whispered.
"Yeah. I--okay," Justin stuttered, but he was clumsy and uncoordinated and JC had to help him move, hands rubbing low and soothing on his belly, and then his back; help him get his knees up under him so that his ass was high and his legs spread wide, and he was open and naked and so fucking exposed he almost couldn't breathe.
JC soothed him, petted his back in long strokes, chased his fingers with kisses and soft bites and smooth brushes of his tongue, until Justin forgot to be uncertain in the pure rush of JC's thighs between his, nudging them further apart, in the slide of JC's hands down his back, thumbs pressing firm and steady on either side of his spine, not stopping until they spread his ass wide, in the sudden warmth of JC's breath against his skin.
His own breath caught high and hard, trapped somewhere in his chest with the first flickering touches of JC's tongue, there and gone and back again, and then once more before JC bit sharp and quick at the curve of Justin's ass.
"Fuck, C," Justin gasped, air rushing back into his lungs. JC laughed and did it all again, teasing Justin's ass open, not just the soft, quick licks, but long, lazy strokes that ended with his tongue pressing inside, and hard sucking bites that sent bright shocks to chase the pleasure.
He growled when Justin started squirming and rocking back, held him down and made him take it, made him beg for it, made him wail into the pillows before he finally, finally wrapped his hand around Justin's dick and started jacking him with the same rhythm he was using to fuck his tongue into Justin's ass. Justin shuddered, not knowing which way to move, shaking and whimpering until he came hard, his legs giving out under him, just aware enough to reach back and pull JC closer, still coming as JC ground into him and followed, hot and slick and wet on his skin.
It should have been awkward, Justin thought. Showering and fixing the bed so nobody had to sleep on the wet spot and figuring out just exactly how to both be comfortable--all of that was supposed to be weird the first time you had sex with someone, but with JC it was easy and simple and good. It probably shouldn't have surprised Justin that JC liked to talk after sex--why should that have been different than any other time? But since it came with something pretty damn close to cuddling, Justin didn't have any complaints.
And if things got a little silly and the only possible response to some of the things JC was saying was to go for the sensitive spot under his ribs and start a tickle war that ended with Justin on his back, with his legs up over JC's shoulders, getting fucked within an inch of his life, well, Justin wasn't ever going to bitch about that either.
The room was cool and dim when Justin woke, just enough light leaking in around the curtains that he could see JC next to him, awake and watching him sleep. He opened his mouth to say… something, but JC leaned into him and kissed him quiet.
"Are we chill, cat?" JC whispered against his mouth.
Justin kissed him back and nodded, sliding his hands down JC's back, touching him and tasting him and holding him close while JC rocked into him. It was lazy and slow and JC cleaned him up after they both came.
"Sleep," JC said, kissing him again. "And then we'll get room service for breakfast."
"Waffles," Justin mumbled, and JC laughed and bit lightly at the point of Justin's shoulder.
"Waffles," he agreed, and Justin slid into a half-doze. JC stayed with him for a while, but then got up and Justin heard the shower start. He could sleep again--he was tired enough to sleep for a week--but JC was singing, so he stayed awake and listened and waited for JC to come back to him.
