JC's Hitchhiker

Chapters 26-30

 


CHAPTER 26


"Where are we going?" I asked, following Josh down the walkway. 

"To the car," he answered, smiling. 

"Really?" I asked, wide-eyed and sarcastic. "No, I mean after that." 

"Surprise," he said, climbing into the open door as the driver held it for us. 

"You're not going to give me even a little hint?" I asked, snuggling up close to him on the seat. 

"Nope," Josh answered, smiling, and pulling me tightly against him. 

"Would you tell me for a blowjob?" I asked. I was thinking of that old Kevin Costner movie, and how sexy a limousine could be. I didn't know if there was a club for limos, like the Mile High Club maybe, but I was willing to go for a membership. 

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he said, swallowing uncomfortably as I put a hand on his chest. 

"Why not?" I asked, sliding my hand onto his crotch. Something was definitely moving underneath all that bunched fabric. "He's got the little divider up." 

"I'm not worried about the driver," Josh said, watching my hand as I pressed it against his cock, squeezing lightly through the pants. "I just don't want you to fill up and lose your appetite." 

I immediately pulled my hand off of him, settling back against the seat and watching his eyes widen in surprise. 

"Well, now I know there's food involved," I said, crossing my arms smugly. 

"That was evil," he said, smiling. 

"So is keeping secrets," I said, smiling back. 

"It's not a secret, it's a surprise," he said. "That's different." 

"OK," I said, holding his hand and looking out the window. 

We watched the city go by in silence, squeezing each other's hand. If Josh wanted to surprise me, the least I could do is honor his request. Besides, I would find out soon enough anyway. In the meantime, he'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble planning the evening, and I wondered when he had found the time. Maybe this was what he and Justin had done during lunch while Chris and I were out playing detective. 

The limousine pulled to a stop in front of a large hotel, sliding up the curving drive under the awning. The driver opened our door, and we stepped out onto the carpeted sidewalk, where a crisply dressed man was waiting. 

"Good evening, Mr. Chasez," he said imperiously. I looked around uncomfortably, trying to figure out if this was where they filmed "Pretty Woman". It looked like it, but all expensive hotels look the same to me, since I don't usually stay in them. "Everything is as you requested, if you will follow me please." 

"Thank you," Josh said, and we followed quickly as the man walked inside. 

I had a ton of questions, but didn't want to blurt them out in the middle of the spacious, expensively decorated lobby. Josh walked along as if this was completely normal for him, and, for all I knew, it was, but I was definitely out of my depth. We glided through the lobby and down a series of hallways before I could even pause to look around, so the whole walk was kind of a blur of good carpet, expensive flowers, and tastefully bland paintings on the walls, and suddenly we were stopping in front of a door, held open by a rather young looking doorman. Josh handed him a rather generous tip as we followed the first guy inside, and I wondered if it was a bribe. 

We stepped into a small ballroom. The walls were covered in fabric, and columns, interspersed with tables with floral arrangements on them, surrounded the gleaming parquet floor. Off to one side of the dimly lit room I saw a bar, empty, the glassware catching stray flecks of light, and on the other side I saw a small stage covered with empty chairs and instruments resting on stands. In the center of the dance floor was a small round table, the only brightly lit spot in the room, the white tablecloth glowing warmly in the softly indirect light of the many candles in their gleaming candelabra. It was set for two, with fine china and gleaming crystal. 

"This is perfect," Josh said, shaking the man's hand and surreptitiously slipping him what was probably another extremely large tip. "Thank you so much." 

"Dinner will be served momentarily, sir," the man said, retreating. 

"Thank you," I called, wishing I at least knew his name. I looked around the immense room. It really wasn't as big as it seemed, but it definitely wasn't designed for only two people. I looked at Josh, who was beaming as he took my hand and led me to the table. "Josh?" 

"Surprised?" he asked, pulling out my chair for me. 

"Extremely," I answered, sitting down. Josh walked around the table and sat in his own chair. "Are you sure this is, um, wise?" 

"You mean am I sure my secret's safe?" he asked, staring at me across the flowers. The table was small enough for him to reach across and take my hand, and he did. "The hotel prides itself on being discreet, and on not leaking anything to the press. And even if people do talk, it's all just rumor. Now stop worrying about it. This is your special night in Hollywood, Jack, so please, sit back and enjoy it." 

I felt his hand squeeze mine, his fingers brushing over the back of my hand, but before I could say anything another employee appeared as if by magic from the shadows. I jumped, causing Josh to giggle, as the new guy began pouring wine into both our glasses. He sat the bottle in a bucket of ice, on a stand, next to the table, and vanished again after Josh discreetly palmed him a tip as well. Did he have a wad of cash hidden in his pocket? 

"Jesus!" I breathed. "Where the hell did he come from?" 

"You're cute when you're startled," Josh said, smiling. His bright blue eyes twinkled like gaslights. "Just sit back and relax, Jack. Have some wine. Maybe it'll settle you down." 

"Josh, is it really necessary to tip everyone so much?" I whispered as we picked through our salad. He had given a handout to the guy who brought it, and I looked around uneasily, wondering where they kept coming from. So far we hadn't seen the same one twice, and for all I knew they were rising, wraithlike, from the floor. 

"There's nothing wrong with a little extra incentive," he said, shrugging. 

"You're throwing around a lot of money, though," I said, trying to imagine what it might cost to rent a ballroom in a place like this. 

"It's not like I'm poor, Jack," he said. "I told you, tonight is special, so please, stop worrying about it and just enjoy the ride." 

I did during the rest of dinner. We had salad, and soup, and sorbet, and fish, and some sort of meat that I was hard pressed to identify, but which seemed to melt on my tongue. After the last course, the chef himself brought out dessert, a still flaming baked Alaska, so that we could thank him, and Josh could show his appreciation. I felt extremely full, but managed to put away quite a bit of the exquisite dessert anyway. Through it all and apparently endless stream of identically dressed interchangeable waiters cleared our dishes, kept our wineglasses full, and brought out new courses. 

When we finished dessert, Josh took my hand and walked me over to a pair of doors on the side of the room. A pair of little old men, also uniformed, were waiting next to them, and each man opened a door. 

"I'll see you in a minute," Josh said, stepping through one of the doors. 

Josh gave me a little wave, and I returned it and then stepped through my own door, entering a little room where a lot of clothing hung carefully on several racks. There was a full length, three fold mirror in front of the back wall, and I jumped again as the little old man followed me in. 

"Who are you?" I asked, on the verge of freaking out. 

"I'm David, sir," he answered, as if this answered my question. "I'm your valet for the evening. I'm here to help you dress, sir." 

"OK, David, no offense intended," I began, holding up my hands. "But I'm not a model, or a rock star. I would rather just, you know, dress myself. Could you maybe wait outside?" 

"Are you certain, sir?" he asked. 

"Really, this is just really creepy for me, ok?" I said apologetically. "I promise I'll let you look me over when I'm done, but please, just wait outside. If you go next door, the guy getting dressed in there will give you some money." 

"Not necessary, sir," David said, backing out the door. "Please call for me when you are ready, sir." 

I'm sure Josh thought having this guy follow me in was no problem, but really, it was just too much for me. I quickly stripped out of my clothes, and began to put on the tuxedo. Josh had gone all out on this, too, down to the shoes, and it fit so well that I wondered if he had measured me in my sleep. I thought I had it all done up correctly, but when I let David back in he spent a minute or two tugging and pulling at it, adjusting and straightening. I looked in the mirror, and thought that I looked pretty damn sharp. David opened the door again, and I gave him a good chunk of the money from my wallet, hoping he hadn't already sucked down a big tip from Josh. 

The ballroom was completely transformed when I stepped back in. The dinner table and chairs were gone, leaving the dance floor clear. Someone, somewhere, had turned on a fog machine, covering the dance floor with clouds, and the soft, indirect white lighting gave everything a misty glow. A band had taken the stage, actually a small orchestra, and Josh waited in front of the stage for me. His back was to me, but when my door opened he turned and smiled, and took my breath away. In his own tuxedo, he looked not just handsome, but dashing, like a matinee idol. The whole scene was unreal, and as he glided toward me, his feet lost in the fog, the band began to play. It could have been a scene shot in black and white, a reel from Hollywood's golden heyday, and I wouldn't have been surprised if Lana Turner drifted out from behind one of the columns, dripping with diamonds and icy glamour. 

OK, maybe no Hollywood society epic had two guys dancing in the ballroom, but it was still a cinematic moment. 

"May I have this dance, Mr. Springer?" Josh asked, bowing before me and then taking my hand. 

"Certainly," I answered, speechless. When Josh took my hand, a disco ball dropped from the ceiling, and began to slowly spin, throwing tiny diamonds of light over everything. "Wow." 

I watched the light play over Josh's firm, smooth features, noting the way his eyes sparkled beneath his slicked back hair. His face was classically beautiful, leading man perfect, with his cheekbones and his jaw. Josh was a little self-conscious about his nose, but I thought it was perfect. It gave him character, and kept him from being too perfect. Then again, he could never be more perfect to me, and I thought again about how much I loved him as I followed his lead across the dance floor. 

"I didn't know you could dance ballroom," Josh said, still leading. 

"I took classes," I said, smiling. "Carla and I thought it would be a good way to meet guys, so we signed up for these classes." 

"Did it work?" Josh asked, smiling back at me. 

"Not at all," I answered, laughing. "The entire class was people who were engaged, and wanted to look good at their weddings. We made a lot of good friends, and even got invited to one of their ceremonies, but there wasn't a single man there for either of us." 

"How is Carla?" Josh asked. "Have you talked to her since you came out here?" 

"A couple times," I said. "I tried calling her the other day, though, and she hasn't called back." 

"Maybe she went out of town, " Josh suggested. 

"Maybe," I said, shrugging. "At least the class was good for something." 

"You're a man of many talents," Josh said, twirling me. 

"You don't know the half of it," I said, laughing. "But maybe, if you're lucky, I'll show you a couple more." 

"You know any swing dance?" Josh asked. 

"You lead, I'll follow," I said. "We took those lessons, too, and they didn't work, either." 

I don't know how long we danced for, but the night seemed to stretch out forever. The band kept playing, and Josh kept spinning me out across the floor. He had about a thousand times more dance training than I did, and it showed, but I was at least skilled enough to keep up. Eventually Josh thanked the band, and handed the bandleader a large, bulging envelope before leading me out to the elevators. We didn't see anyone on our way, and I wondered if he had paid the hotel to keep the hallways clear. The elevator man knew where to take us without being told, and Josh gave him a large tip as we exited. An idle voice in my head pointed out that I could have paid my rent for a year or more with what he'd spent this evening, but I pushed it away. 

Josh opened the door to a suite that was larger than my entire apartment. We walked into a large sitting room, my feet sinking into the deep plush carpet as I looked around at the sumptuous furnishings. On the far side of the room was a wall of opened French doors, revealing glimpses of a balcony through the billowing gauzy curtains. I stepped out, and Josh followed me, holding my hand as I stood and saw the entire city, lit up and sparkling, laid out before us. 

"Do you like it?" he asked. 

"Josh, this is amazing," I said. "This whole night has been. I'm kind of overwhelmed right now." 

Instead of saying anything, I felt his hand, feather light, trace up the side of my neck. Turning me toward him, he swept me into his arms, crushing my body against his as his mouth urgently sought mine. His lips pressed against mine, trapped by my teeth, and his tongue darted inside, pushing my mouth open further as he tilted my head back. My hand slid up to lace through his hair and pull him even more tightly against me. I could feel the firmness of his chest pressing against mine, even through all the layers of shirt and vest, and I felt his hard cock snaking down the leg of his pants, fighting to escape. 

Josh took my hand and tugged me back inside, and I followed wordlessly, shedding my jacket as we walked through the suite. His own jacket followed, dropping to the floor as he shrugged out of it. We crossed the sitting room and into the ivory and gold bedroom, where I saw an impossibly large bed made up with gold silk sheets, but Josh pulled me past it to the marble bathroom, where I saw that a giant sunken jacuzzi was already running. There were bath beads or something in it, because the water was permeated with a soft, sensual scent. Josh and I quickly stripped each other in the soft light of the bathroom, our hands crawling over chests and shoulders, followed by our mouths, and then we slid into the warm, rushing water. 

"This is a lot nicer than the shower," I said, as Josh pushed my head back and nibbled on my neck. 

"And there's no curtain to worry about pulling down," he pointed out. He slid off of me and pulled a bottle of champagne, already opened, from a bucket of ice next to the tub. "Thirsty?" 

"Champagne two nights in a row?" I asked. "You're spoiling me. You didn't pack the Kinky Lovin' Kit, did you?" 

"No," he laughed, pouring champagne into my open mouth. "I don't think we'll need it." 

Josh poured another draught of champagne into my mouth, and instead of swallowing I held it there, leaning my head back and pulling him toward me. He sucked it greedily from my mouth, his tongue dipping and lapping against mine, and his hands rested on my shoulders as his whole body slid wetly over mine. I felt his cock press against my hip, and sliding my hands down his slick, rippled torso, I wrapped both of them around it, squeezing and pulling as he kissed me. Josh moaned and twisted on top of me, but I didn't let go, and began to stroke him faster, feeling his cock throb against my palms. I rolled one over his cockhead and he groaned my name, pulling my earlobe with his teeth. 

Josh's hard nipples slid over my chest, brushing against mine, and he gripped my head with both hands, lifting and turning it as my hands continued to stroke him beneath the jetting water. I saw the muscles of his back flex in one long, slow play of strength as he pushed his hips against me, thrusting into my hands. Keeping one hand moving over his cock, stroking faster, I reached down with the other and tugged at his balls, pulling them away from his body, squeezing them a little, but not painfully. 

"Oh, God, Jack," he sighed, opening his eyes to stare into mine. 

"I've been waiting all day to touch you," I whispered. 

I let go of his cock and took his shoulders, maneuvering him around the tub until he was sitting in the corner. I pushed upward, and he got the message, hoisting himself out of the tub with a delicious flex of his arms so that he was resting on the edge, legs splayed. Pushing his knees open, I stared at the picture he was while he stared down at me. His tanned skin was a little pinkish from the heat of the water, and droplets beaded and coursed down his rounded chest and firmly curved arms. His face was flushed, his mouth open, and his brownish nipples were hard and pointed, begging to be sucked on. His six pack, smooth and then rippled, flexed into view with every panting breath, and his hard, pulsing cock jutted up against them, the wide spongy head also pinkish from the water. 

I leaned forward, rolling my lips over it, kissing it and then opening wide to take him all the way in with one long, slow swallow. His face twisted in pleasure as his sapphire eyes squeezed closed, and his hands gripped the sides of the jacuzzi, holding him in place as his hips slowly pushed toward me. His arms rippled and flexed, the veins bulging as his muscles danced, and I watched his abs strain in front of my nose as he tossed his head back and forth, letting out a wordless series of high pitched moans as my tongue slid smoothly up the huge vein on the underside of his throbbing cock. Pulling back, I felt his cockhead slide over my tongue, and I ran it around the ridge, tickling the sensitive spot below the slit, where all the nerves met. 

I ran my hands up and down his thighs, feeling them bunch and strain as he moved against me, trying to drive himself even deeper into me, and his feet met in the small of my back, pulling me closer. My own prick was painfully hard, and I almost came us one of the jets blasted against it. As Josh's cockhead slid over my tongue again, I caught the salty taste of his precum, and knew that he had to be close. His breathing confirmed this, squeaking toward those high pitched yelps that I knew so well, and suddenly one of his hands was on the back of my head, holding me urgently in place as he blasted spurt after spurt of hot cum into my mouth. 

He slumped back down into the water, panting, sliding so fast I thought for a second he meant to drown himself. My hands slid up his torso as it rolled past, catching his head and turning it toward mine, and he grabbed me, pulling me tightly against him. 

"Jack," he panted. 

"Josh," I answered. "Thanks for a beautiful night." 

"It's not over yet," he said, reaching languidly for the champagne bottle again. 

We stayed in the jacuzzi until we finished the bottle. Josh remained draped across me, his hands roaming over me as we kissed and shared the bottle, murmuring our love to each other. Every so often his hands would play over a sensitive spot, and my words would be lost in sighs of pleasure as my own hands rested on his smooth, flexing back. Every once in a while my hands dipped below the water to feel the hard, curved muscles of his ass, or to drift around to the front and play with his cock, full but only partially hard beneath the water. My own cock was desperately in need of attention, but I knew Josh would take care of me soon enough. 

I was just kind of mentally drifting, lolling back against the side of the tub, thinking about how nice it was to have Josh pressed against me and how nice the warm water and the bubbles were. The empty champagne bottle lay forgotten on the bathroom floor somewhere, and the heavy scent in the water hung thickly in the air. The only light in the bathroom came from the small bulbs around the mirror, and I wondered why Josh hadn't stuffed the place with a thousand candles again. Maybe he was afraid repetition might be boring. I'd have to assure him later that romance was never boring. Josh shifted in the tub, and I felt his hands sliding under me. 

"What are you doing?" I asked, grabbing his neck as he stood, lifting me out of the tub. Josh had an arm under my back and one under my knees, and stepped out of the tub, laughing. "You're gonna throw your back out." 

"Are you trying to ruin the moment?" he asked, staring down at me. 

"I just don't want you to hurt yourself," I said, feeling his muscles bulging as he held me against his chest. 

Josh carried me to the bedroom and stood me carefully next to the bed. Grabbing a towel, he dried me off, and then pushed me backward until I collided with the bed. I climbed on, sliding over the sheets on my back up to the headboard. I lay against the pillows, watching Josh dry himself, and then he began to crawl up the bed toward me. Josh's mouth crawled up my body, kissing my calves and thighs. He kissed lightly over my cock, popping the head into his mouth for a second before gliding up my abs, stopping at my chest to pull one nipple, and then the other, into his mouth. He kissed his way up my neck, over my jaw, and finally his mouth was on mine as his body crushed me into the soft, overstuffed mattress. My cock was throbbing against his, both of them trapped between our warm bodies. 

"What do you want to do now?" I asked, staring up into his blue eyes as he stared down into mine. 

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "I thought I might ravage you for a while." 

"Ravage away," I whispered. 

Josh shifted on top of me, pulling at my legs, and I let him do whatever he wanted. He tore open a condom, and I wondered where it came from, idly praying that there wasn't a guy under the bed handing him things. After the rest of the evening, it wouldn't have surprised me in the least. Josh adjusted me a little, leaned down, and pushed all the way into me in one huge thrust. I threw my head back, pulling his down against my neck, and realized that I was looking up into my own eyes, reflected in the enormous gold-tinted mirror on the ceiling. Kinky. 

Josh began to thrust in and out, taking long slow strokes that I wasn't in the mood for. Raking my hands up and down his back, I grabbed his ass, bucking underneath him, and he got the message, pounding harder into me. I felt his cock sliding almost all the way out, and then rushing back in, hitting my prostate, sending warm pleasure rushing through me on every thrust. In the mirror, I watched Josh's back flex and twist, seeing my own hands sliding over it, watching his ass cheeks dimple as he strained and pushed his way into me. Josh's chest scraped against mine, and his hands crawled over me as his mouth worked at a spot on my neck. I knew I'd have an enormous hickey in the morning, but I really didn't care at that point. 

Josh stared down at me as he stiffened above me, his open eyes reflecting amazement and lust as his hips jerked against me, pushing him in what seemed even deeper. I felt myself close to the edge, but he must have sensed it, because his hand clamped down hard on the base of my cock. 

"Don't cum," he panted, even as he shot into my clenching ass. 

I nodded, not wanting to speak, as I fought not to, my breath hissing between gritted teeth. I felt my urgency pass, finally, just as Josh pulled out of me. Grabbing tissues, he cleaned himself off quickly, and then began rolling a condom down over my throbbing prick. He followed his hand with his mouth, quickly getting me dripping wet. I personally can't stand the taste of latex, but maybe he couldn't find the lubricant. The bed was big enough to lose an entire person in, after all. Josh slid up my legs, straddling me, and then began to lower himself carefully onto my cock. 

"Oh, Josh," I panted, seeing him wince as my head pushed its way inside. 

"Thought maybe we'd try me on top," he panted, staring down at me. 

My hips pushed involuntarily toward him, but I tried to stay as motionless as possible, wanting to let him take this at his own pace. His whole body gleamed above me, the muscles all standing out, and he looked down at my, eyes wide but then squinting as he began to slowly move up and down on me. 

"Oh, that's good," he panted, smiling down at me. 

"God, yes," I breathed, my back arching beneath him, pushing my cock up into him. 

We were moving at a pretty slow space, but I still wasn't going to last very long. I had my hands on his hips, feeling the smooth, silk texture of his skin, and I watched all of his muscles flexing above me. His abs were crunching, his chest flexing as his hands crawled over me to pull at my nipples, or pull my hands up to his chest. His hair, wet from the jacuzzi and slightly sweaty, hung in his eyes, and he threw his head back, pushing his hair away with his hands. Raising his arms pulled his entire torso tight, and I thought again of how beautiful he was. 

"Hey, Josh," I panted as he looked down at me. 

"Yeah?" he answered, still wincing a little every time he came down on me. It wasn't a wince of pain. 

"Look up," I said. 

Josh tilted his head back again, and the two of us stared up at the two of us staring down. My torso, sweating and straining, framed by the edge of the mirror, flexed beneath Josh's slowly moving form, the two of us moving in unison, working to drive me deeper and harder into him. I slid my hands up his chest, watching them go in the mirror, and saw his eyes staring into mine. 

"That's so fucking hot," he panted, dropping his head to stare back down at me for real. 

Josh began to ride me a little faster, practically dancing on top of me, and I began to push off the bed with my own hips, thrusting up into him as he clamped down on me. Suddenly he did this weird twist, arching his back but clenching his ass hard, and it felt like he was trying to pull me all the way into him. I grunted and came hard, bucking beneath him, throwing my head back and closing my eyes, certain that I was going to pass out from the pleasure. 

When I was done Josh climbed off of me, and I felt his hands carefully cleaning me off. He tossed the tissue wrapped condom aside somewhere, and I felt his mouth quickly slide over my cock as he cleaned it off. The feeling of his tongue brushing over me so soon after I'd come was almost too much, but he quickly pulled off of me, and slid back up the bed to rest against me again. I opened my eyes, and saw his face above me, his eyes staring down into mine again. 

"I love you," I breathed, pulling him down to me. 

"I love you, too," he answered, just before his lips closed over mine. 

We settled back into the bed, pulling the sheet up over us, wrapped in each other. 


CHAPTER 27


For once Josh woke up before me, I think for the first time since I had come to stay with him. I rolled over, awakened by the sound of a door closing, and suddenly Josh was there at the side of the bed, holding out a terrycloth robe for me to slide into. 

"Morning," he said, kissing me as I stepped into the robe. He was wearing an identical one, both of them with the hotel monogram over the pockets. "Come out to the balcony." 

I followed Josh out to the balcony, and discovered a breakfast table, set and waiting. The view, which had been impressive the night before, was now breathtaking as well, and I felt myself going into a sort of magic moment overload. There were covered dishes on the table, and I looked around casually, praying we'd be serving ourselves. Josh giggled. 

"What?" I asked. 

"You're looking for waiters, aren't you?" he asked, smiling. "We're alone." 

"Thank God!" I blurted, squinting at him. I would have brought my sunglasses if I'd known we were having breakfast outside. "I mean, Josh, what was that last night? Where did those guys keep coming from? Were they hatching from the wallpaper? And that creepy old guy in the dressing room. What the hell was up with that?" 

Josh threw his head back, laughing. His adam's apple bounced, and his hair shook in the sun, brown verging on golden as the light filtered through it. He leaned back in his chair, his arms resting on the sides, a wedge of his tanned, toned chest visible where his robe gaped. 

"That's why I love you," he said. "I go to all this trouble, and you think you're in the Twilight Zone. But seriously, did you like it?" 

"Yeah, Josh, I did," I said, spooning out the eggs. "It was one of the most amazing nights of my life, actually. And I wanted to thank you for it." 

"I'd call last night a thank you," he said, lifting another lid to reveal bacon. 

"No, I'm serious, Josh," I said, staring at him. "Nobody's ever gone out of their way to create something like that for me, and you do it on a regular basis. You make me feel special." 

"You are special, Jack," Josh said, taking my hand. 

"Thank you, Josh," I said. "Thanks for being you, and for letting me be with you. And I wanted you to know that I'm ok with you leaving. I'll miss you, but I want you to do what you have to, and know that I'll still be waiting for you when you're done." 

"Thank you," Josh said, squeezing my hand. 

We finished breakfast in a companionable silence, staring out at the city, watching it wake up. When we were done eating, we left everything where it was and showered, and then got dressed in fresh clothes that Josh had smuggled in from the apartment. He really had thought of everything. When we were dressed, we tidied up the room a little, as I didn't want anyone from housekeeping to have to pick up used condoms and tissues, but Josh left a huge tip for them on one of the nightstands anyway. We packed away the tuxedos in the bag Josh had brought our clothes in. 

"Josh, are you sure we should steal these?" I asked, thinking about how wrinkled they were going to get. 

"We're not," he said. "I bought them." 

"You bought me a tuxedo?" I asked, staring at him. 

"Someday I'm going to need to take you to some black tie stuff," he said, shrugging. "We might as well start getting you clothes for it now." 

I didn't really have an answer for that, so I just kind of shrugged. After we had everything, we took the elevator down, and Josh thanked the manager (or was he the concierge?) for everything, handing out another round of big bills to what seemed every employee who happened to be nearby. I was on the verge of telling him there could be such a thing as too much, and it would have the same effect as not enough, but decided to just leave it alone. We weren't in my world, so maybe the rules weren't all what I thought they should be. The limousine was waiting out front for us again, and we climbed into the back seat. I snuggled against Josh, my head on his chest, and he absently stroked my hair. 

"I think I'm going to miss this the most," Josh said, sighing. 

"Riding in big cars?" I asked, staring up through the sunroof. 

"No, just being with you," he said, looking down at me. 

"It's only for a week," I said, thinking about how sappy he and I got when we had to be away from each other. Actually, that was just romantic delusion on my part. We were only sappy when we weren't having screaming, tearful goodbyes. "And I'll be right here." 

"Hanging out with the guys, running with Chris, and pining away for me?" Josh asked. 

"Crap!" I blurted, sitting up. I was in the habit of not actually swearing, from working in a school environment. 

"Huh?" Josh asked, confused, as I dug out my cell phone. 

"Sorry," I said. "Did you tell the guys where we were going last night?" 

"No, why?" Josh asked. 

"I need to call Chris and tell him we're not running," I explained. As I was dialing, I noticed that I had voicemail, because I'd shut the phone off at the cemetery, but decided I'd just check it later. After a couple rings Chris answered. "Chris?" 

"Jack!" he burst. He sounded upset. "Jack, where are you? Is Josh with you?" 

"He's right here," I said. Josh must have caught something in my tone, because he sat up straighter, eyeing me inquisitively. "Chris, what's wrong? Did something happen to one of you?" 

I thought, oddly enough, of Lance. He had seemed so down when I saw him at Justin's door yesterday. 

"No, no, everyone else is fine," Chris said quickly. "Are you guys home yet?" 

"No, we're on our way right now," I said. "What do you mean everyone else? Chris, are you ok?" 

"What's wrong?" Josh asked, taking my hand. 

"I'm not hurt," Chris said. "I just need you guys, to, well, I need a favor." 

"A favor?" I asked. "I'm not following you." 

"When you get back, can you, um, look through the box we gave you the other night?" Chris asked quietly. 

"The Kinky Lovin' Kit?" I asked. Josh's eyes went wide. "Yeah, we can do that. What are we looking for?" 

Chris was quiet for a second, and then he took a deep breath. 

"The handcuff key," he answered, and I dropped the phone, laughing. 

"What?" Josh asked, completely perplexed. I could hear Chris screaming my name, mixed with various obscenities, through the phone as Josh picked it up. 

"Chris is handcuffed to a model!" I blurted, unable to control myself. 

"You're what?" Josh blurted into the phone. "To the bed? He's not cuffed to a model, Jack. He's cuffed to the bed. Yeah, Chris, we'll be home in a couple minutes." 

I could still hear a string of expletives coming from the phone. Tears were rolling down my cheeks from laughing so hard, and Josh was blushing deeply, almost choking, while fighting to keep his laughter in. 

"Oh, and Jack isn't going to make your run today, either," Josh gushed, hanging up the phone in mid-swear. 

The two of us collapsed on the seat in helpless giggles and shrieking guffaws of laughter. When the limo finally dropped us at the apartment complex we raced inside, still laughing, and into our apartment, where we dumped the Kinky Lovin' Kit onto the floor and began to paw through it, pushing and tossing various sex toys across the living room. 

"I got it!" Josh shrieked, holding up the handcuff key. 

"Let's go!" I yelped, jumping up to pull the apartment door open. 

I collided with Joey, falling backward onto my ass like something from bad vaudeville slapstick. Joey didn't even step back. He stared down at me, eyes wide with surprise, as Josh ran over to help me up. 

"Oh my God, are you ok?" Joey asked. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked, standing. "Ow, my ass." 

"I saw you guys come flying in, and I thought maybe something was wrong," he said, looking past me. His eyes fell on the pile of sex toys strewn all over the living room, and Josh hastily moved into the doorway behind me, trying to block Joey's view as one of Joey's eyebrows went up. "If this is a bad time." 

"It's not what it looks like, " Josh said quickly, pushing me out the door and pulling it closed behind him. "We just have to go downstairs for a minute." 

"We have to bring Chris something," I explained as the two of us tried to walk casually to the stairs. 

"Why didn't he just come get it?" Joey asked, following us. 

"Because he's handcuffed to the bed," I blurted, giggling helplessly again. 

"Jack!" Josh yelped, and Joey began to clap his hands and dance back and forth, laughing. 

"Can I see? Can I see?" he begged, dancing in a little circle around Josh. "Please?" 

"Can I stop you?" Josh asked rhetorically. 

The three of us walked down to Chris's apartment, and I pushed open the door, peeking inside. 

"Chris?" I called. 

"Jack! Jesus Christ!" Chris yelled from the bedroom. "What the fuck took you so long? I called you like ten times!" 

"Joey and Josh are with me," I said, unsure of whether or not he wanted them to come in, too. "Where's the girl du jour?" 

"She had a shoot!" Chris yelled. "I don't care who's with you! Just get in here and give me the God damned key!" 

I hurried through the living room, Josh and Joey scurrying along, giggling, behind me. I jerked open the bedroom door and froze in the doorway, feeling fresh laughter bubbling up in me. Joey and Josh collided with my back, almost knocking me over. Chris had one hand free, but the other was firmly cuffed to the bed, which he had pulled halfway across the room in his attempt to reach the closet. I was guessing he wanted to throw on more clothes, since all he was wearing was a tiny pair of gold sequined hot pants, extremely small and extremely tight. He turned and glared at us in exasperation. 

"Oh my God! You're huge!" I blurted, clapping a hand to my mouth as I realized that I'd said that out loud. His bulge was, well, enormous. 

Chris blushed a deep, deep scarlet over his whole body. 

"Wow!" Josh gasped, his eyes in the same place. 

"Nice pants!" Joey screamed, pointing and laughing. "No one can resist Mango-Chris!" 

"Jesus Christ!" Chris yelled, still bright red. He wasn't mad, at least, which was surprising since the three of us weren't exactly role-modeling maturity. "Just give me the key and get out!" 

"Here," I said, handing it to him, not even trying to hold in my laughter. "We'll just, um, we're, we're gonna go, now, right now." 

"Please!" Chris said, turning to unlock the handcuffs. I hoped all the keys to cheap handcuffs really were the same. 

Josh and I hurried away from the bedroom, holding hands as we skittered through the apartment, and behind us I heard Joey chanting in a sing-song voice, "Oh, Chris, your penis is enormous!" 

"Out!" Chris screamed, throwing a pillow at him. 

Joey followed us to the door, quaking with laughter. I thought I was going to wet my pants. 

"Call me if you need anything!" I yelled from the doorway. 

"Fuck you all!" Chris yelled back. 

The three of us collapsed in helpless laughter on the patio furniture, taking a minute to just let it all out, and then to collect ourselves. Joey ran to his apartment, explaining that he needed to call his brother, and Josh and I went upstairs to get him packed. We worked mostly in silence, but every couple of minutes we'd look at each other and just start giggling again. When Josh was all packed up we carried his bags out to the walkway, and walked hand in hand over to Justin's door. Josh knocked, and Justin pulled it open, smiling at us. 

"Hey guys!" he said, pulling us both against him in a quick hug. "Ready to go?" 

"Yeah," Josh said, looking down. I leaned over and kissed him, and he smiled at me. 

Josh and I rode in the back of Justin's car, staring at each other and holding hands. I was so focused on Josh I didn't even notice the high speed daredevil stunt show that Justin's driving usually was, and every once in a while I caught him glancing at us in the rear view mirror, his eyes crinkling in a smile. When we got to the airport, we still had about an hour before Josh's flight, and we spent it in the VIP lounge, sitting by ourselves, staring out the window, just soaking in each other's presence. Justin found a magazine to distract himself with, and sat off by himself reading, giving us our space. 

Finally it was time for Josh's plane to board. Justin and I walked him over to the door, and Justin gave him a quick hug, squeezing him tightly. 

"Good luck, Josh," he said. "Call if you need us." 

"Thank you," Josh said. "I will." 

He turned to me, and pulled me against him. I rested my forehead against his, feeling him breath against me in time to my own breaths. 

"I love you," he whispered. 

"I love you, too," I whispered back. 

Josh let go of me and hurried down the walkway, head down, not looking back. I wondered if he was crying, because I wanted to. I felt Justin's hand settle reassuringly onto my shoulder. 

"You ok?" he asked, squeezing lightly as I watched the plane. 

"Yeah," I answered, turning to him. "Can we just get out of here? Please?" 

"Sure," Justin answered, shrugging. 

As we were leaving the airport I remembered that I needed to clear all those messages from Chris off of my phone. I wanted to keep the voicemail clear in case Josh called and I didn't have the phone with me. Scanning through a string of increasingly urgent and frustrating messages from Chris, I found myself smiling, but I stopped when I found a message from Stacy, the secretary at the studio, telling me I had a letter. 

"Justin, can we stop at the studio?" I asked blandly. "I need to pick up some mail." 

"Sure," he said, shrugging. 

Neither one of us really seemed to feel like talking. I was missing Josh already, and the CD player in Justin's car was on an endless repeat of Britney's albums. Oh yeah, we were sadly, pathetically in love. 

"Can you get mine, too?" Justin asked. "I want to make a call." 

"Sure," I answered, assuming that he was calling Brit. 

I signed in at the desk, and hurried back to Stacy's office. I knocked once on her door, and she turned, hanging up the phone. 

"Hi," I said. "What do we have?" 

"Looks like another card," she answered, holding up a pale pink envelope. "No return address, but it does have a postmark." 

"This is the zipcode we're in," I said, taking it from her. 

"Yup," she said, leaning back in her chair. "There's a post office right up the street." 

"Thanks, Stacy," I said, wondering absently if I should offer her a giant tip or something. 

Why mail this one, when he had just walked the last one right in? I thought about it as I was crossing the lobby, and my eyes fell on the camera again. If I noticed it, surely my stalker had, too. I walked out and saw Justin leaning on the hood of his car, chatting away on his cell phone. When he saw me, he waved, and quickly ended his phone conversation before I had walked close enough to hear any of it. 

"Ready?" he asked. 

"Yeah, let's go home," I said, climbing into the car. 

"What did you get?" Justin asked. "Anything good?" 

"Just a card," I answered, downplaying it. 

"Cool," he said. 

We drove back to the apartment building, and I thanked him for driving us both, and for stopping at the studio. We talked about maybe going to see a movie later, but didn't make any firm plans. As I walked up the stairs to Josh's apartment I saw Justin turn and walk toward Lance's door. I wondered again what the hell was going on with those two, but then remembered that I had problems of my own, and I hurried inside to open my card, filled with morbid fascination. 

This one had a picture of one of those big-eyed Precious Moments kids on the front, and carried the phrase, "Thinking of you" across the top in shiny pink foil. 

"I bet you're thinking of me, " I muttered to myself, wondering if muttering to myself might be a sign of mental instability. 

I opened the card, and a large clipping with two pictures on it fluttered out. I picked it up, recognizing it immediately. It was a chunk of Basil Morgan's stupid gossip column from the paper. At the top was a grainy picture of Justin and I at the airport coffee shop where we thought no one had seen us on the day I almost left, and underneath was a group shot of all of us from our lunch at Spago, a much better picture, all beaming teeth and handsome faces, and me right in the middle. Between the pictures was Basil's latest blurb, which I didn't feel merited being called an article. 

"Pop-ular boyband Nsync appears to have picked up a new friend recently, but the question on everyone's lips is 'Who is he?' The same mystery guest has been seen with the boys at such places as Planet Hollywood, in LAX (above), and at Spago (below), where witnesses said he lived it up just like a member of the band! No one seems to know who he is or where he came from, and a spokesperson for the band offered no comment, saying that the guys have 'any number of close friends'. Really, guys? Where are the rest of them?" 

I had been pretty pissed when I had read that in the paper, but Josh just shrugged, and explained that it was a consequence of hanging out with the band. Eventually someone was bound to notice that I was around all the time. I just wished it wasn't this annoying pig of a "reporter", and I still couldn't believe it was legal for him to write this stuff. For once the clipping wasn't painted over with White Out, and I set it aside, turning back to the card. 

"Wow, Jack, don't you look cozy with your exciting new friends? Too bad it's not going to last." 

What was that supposed to mean? 

I put the clipping back in the card, and stuffed them both back into the envelope. Carrying them into the second bedroom, I pulled down my suitcase and added this to my collection. Sitting on the bed, I tried to call Carla again. This had to be someone I knew, obviously, but I had no clue who, and thought that maybe she'd have some ideas. Her phone rang and rang, and when the machine finally picked up there were about fifty beeps before I got to leave a message. 

"Jesus, Carla, where the hell are you?" I asked. "Call me, day or night! I need help, kiddo." 

I hung up, dropping the cell phone back into my pocket. Looking around, I decided this would be a good time to clean and air out the apartment, so I pulled the window open, and then walked into the other bedroom and did the same. We'd just changed the sheets on the bed, so that was ok, but maybe I'd do the bathroom. Or the kitchen. Or both. Anything to fill my time. As I pulled open the front window, suddenly creating a cross breeze, I heard papers rustling in the second bedroom. 

"Crap!" I yelped, running in. 

The papers on Josh's keyboard, the songs and notes he was working on, were blowing around the room, and before I could slam the window closed I saw a few pages get sucked outside. 

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" I reprimanded myself, peering down through the glass. 

The apartment building sat on a fenced in lot of its own, to give it a little space from the neighbors. I hadn't been in the backyard, since we all spent so much time in the courtyard instead, but I knew you could reach it through the parking lot. I saw Josh's pages caught in one of the bushes down there, and figured I'd better go get them before more wind came and blew them away. 

I stomped down the stairs, cursing myself internally the whole way for being so stupid. There was no way I'd be able to get Josh's papers back in order, since he kept them organized in some sort of system that only he understood, but I could at least make sure that I got them all. Once I explained what had happened, he'd be able to put them back together, and he wouldn't lose any of his work, as long as I didn't lose any. I hurried through the parking lot, and surveyed the backyard. 

Unless you stop to think about it, you tend to forget that the entire state of California is mostly desert. The lush greenery and rolling lawns you see on television are the result of good irrigation more than anything natural, and Jackie apparently didn't believe in irrigating the backyard very often. It made sense, as it was a waste of water to keep a space green if no one noticed it or used it, but it left the backyard looking like a little slice of scrubland. There were a lot of low bushes, and some brownish, scrubby grass, and I wondered if there might be scorpions or rattlesnakes out here, unable to think of any other creature that might live in such terrain. Oh, wait, I was forgetting fire ants. 

Shaking my head to clear it of asinine thoughts of animals attacking people on bad specials on Fox, I hurried around the side of the building. Josh and Chris's apartments made up the back wall, and I found most of the papers on that side. Flipping through them, I realized I had counted six pages from the window, but only had four in my hand. The others must have blown around to the far side, because I didn't see them out here. I walked around to the far side, and saw them caught in another bush. Picking them up, I realized I heard voices, and that Lance's window was open. 

"Do you want me to take it out?" Justin asked, his voice soft and smooth as honey. 

What the hell? A thousand thoughts ran through my head. 

"No," Lance answered weakly. His voice was somewhere between whining and crying. He sounded miserable. 

"Are you sure?" Justin asked again, his voice rolling softly like velvet. "Are you sure you don't want me to take it out, because you sure did the other day." 

Silence greeted this, and I began to walk toward the open window, clutching Josh's notes in my hands, unsure of what I might see but somehow knowing. 

"OK, then," Justin said, his voice changing, sounding like Lance had just made a really stupid choice. 

"Please," Lance asked quietly. 

"Please take it out?" Justin asked. I could hear the smile in his voice. "Sure, Lance, anything to help out a friend." 

I heard the rattle of a buckle, and the slide of a zipper, followed by the thump of a buckle hitting the floor. I was almost to the window. 

"There," Justin purred. "Now what do you want to do?" 

I stared, wide-eyed, jaw dropping open, into Lance's bedroom. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and thought that maybe I'd just had a stroke or something. None of this made sense. 

Justin was standing in Lance's bedroom, his hands resting on his bare hips. They were bare because Justin's pants and briefs were down around his ankles. His cock jutted out from his blond pubes like a spike, curving upward a little, the pink head large and full. Facing Justin, on his knees, with his fact twisted into a mask of confusion, and possibly lust, was Lance. 

Justin smiled down at him. 


CHAPTER 28

 

Lance wasn't looking at Justin, or at least not at Justin's face, so he didn't see the way Justin's smile curved upward as he looked down at Lance. Resting on his knees, too far from Justin to touch him, Lance stared open-mouthed at Justin's cock, which twitched a little as Justin stood before him, hand on his hips, legs spread slightly. I had to admit from personal experience, that, yes, Justin's cock, like the rest of him, was beautiful, and well worth staring at in open-mouthed admiration, but Lance? 

"I hate fags" Lance? 

What the hell was Lance doing on his knees in front of Justin? 

This couldn't possibly be what it looked like. 

"I asked you a question, Lance," Justin repeated. "What do you want to do now?" 

"I," Lance began, tearing his eyes from Justin's throbbing prick to stare up at him. Justin's face was a mask of friendliness, beaming down at Lance. Lance's voice was a low, low whisper, so soft that I barely heard it. His jaw trembled, and his blue eyes looked huge and frightened. "I don't want, I don't, I don't want to do anything." 

"Are you sure?" Justin asked. Justin clenched his ass, and his cock jumped, just once. It was enough for Lance's eyes to fasten on it again. "Are you sure you don't want to do anything with it?" 

"No," Lance whimpered. 

"No you don't want to do anything?" Justin asked, giving his cock a long, lazy stroke. Lance's eyes bulged. "Or no you're not sure?" 

Other than shifting his hand from his hip to his dick, Justin hadn't moved one inch. His feet were firmly planted on the floor, and he seemed to tower over Lance. Lance might think he had a say in what was going on, but it was definitely Justin's show. I stared at both of them, Justin with his strong legs and firm ass, his low hanging balls and his prick sticking almost straight out, and Lance, kneeling on the floor, staring at Justin's cock as if it was the only thing in the room, and the pieces started falling into place in my head. I prayed that it couldn't possibly be what I was thinking. 

"I'm only trying to help you, Lance," Justin purred. "I'm just trying to be a good friend to you, and help you out. I just want you to be happy, Lance. You know that, right?" 

Lance swallowed, and looked at the floor, muttering something I didn't hear. 

"Lance, I can't hear you," Justin said. "Say that again?" 

"Yes," Lance said, a fraction louder. 

Justin smiled again, and I shuddered. 

"So what would make you happy, Lance?" Justin asked thoughtfully. "Do you want to touch it?" 

Lance said nothing, still staring at the floor. 

"You wanted to touch it the other night, Lance," Justin said softly. "Did that make you happy?" 

"Yes," Lance answered quietly. 

"So do you want to touch it again, Lance?" Justin asked. His voice was low, and coaxing. 

"Yes," Lance answered, his voice squeaky, on the verge of cracking. 

"Yes what?" Justin asked, a hard edge sliding into his tone. "Say it, Lance." 

Lance sighed. 

"Yes, I, I want to touch it, " he said weakly, his shoulders dropping. 

"Go right ahead," Justin said, smiling again. He'd returned his hand to his hip, and just stood there as Lance began to slide forward on his knees. "Go on and touch it if you want to, Lance, I don't mind." 

Lance looked up at Justin, his eyebrows wrinkled, searching Justin's face for disapproval, but Justin stared down at him with the gaze of an angel, wide-eyed, beaming a toothy, perfect smile. It was a face that conveyed warmth, friendship, and openness. Lance should have known better than to trust such a face, but he was caught. 

And so was I. 

Standing in the backyard, still clutching Josh's notes, I was unable to move, or even to speak. I was a mute witness as Lance reached out one trembling hand and wrapped it around Justin's cock, squeezing lightly. 

Lance let out a small noise, almost a squeak, but Justin let out a low moan. 

"Oh, that's good, Lance," Justin said, still smiling. He stared down encouragingly. "You're good at that, and your hand is so soft. Do you like touching it, Lance?" 

Lance didn't say anything, but his hand kept moving gently over Justin's cock, not jerking him off, just feeling up and down the shaft, brushing over the head. Justin flexed again, and his cock twitched a little, a bead of shining precum leaking out of the head. Lance absently began to rub it in with his fingers, smoothing them over Justin's wide, pink cockhead. Justin smiled again. 

"It's ok, Lance," Justin sighed. "I won't tell anyone. I won't tell anyone you like it. You do like it, don't you?" 

Lance still didn't say anything. 

"Lance," Justin said, that hard edge sliding into his voice again. "I asked you a question. Do you like it?" 

"Yes," Lance answered weakly. His voice was almost a whisper again. "Yes, I like it. I like touching it." 

"Touching what?" Justin asked, his voice still hard. "Say it, Lance." 

"Your cock," Lance whispered. 

"What?" Justin asked loudly. "You're so quiet, Lance." 

Lance's hand was still on Justin's cock, sliding slowly up and down Justin's shaft. 

"I like touching your cock," Lance said, his voice trembling. 

"I know you do, Lance," Justin said, smiling again, his voice dripping with honey. "And I don't mind. I just want you to be happy. If you want to touch, I'll let you." 

Lance's eyes were locked on Justin's cock, watching as his own hand slid up and down it, squeezing, pulling, caressing. 

"Is there anything else you'd like, Lance?" Justin asked. "Do you want me to take my shirt off again? Do you want me naked, Lance?" 

Lance didn't say anything, but he tilted his head up, staring again at Justin. 

"You do, don't you Lance?" Justin asked. Lance nodded, and Justin sneered, his voice turning hard again. "Say it, Lance. Do you want me to take my shirt off? Admit what you want, Lance. Just say it." 

"Yes," Lance whimpered. "Yes, I want to see." 

Justin grabbed the bottom of his shirt with both hands and pulled it over his head in the smooth, flexing motion that so many guys have. Lance gasped, staring up at him, his hand never slowing its stroking. Justin stared down at Lance, his golden hair catching the sun. He was a tanned, smooth expanse of manhood, from his large pink nipples to the jutting curves of his pecks and the rippled ladder of his stomach, the symmetry of all of it dragging the eyes down the treasure trail of dark blond hair below his belly button and to his cock, which Lance was still working on. 

"You like looking at me, don't you Lance?" Justin asked, squeezing his pec with one of his hands. He pinched his nipple, smiling, before returning his hands to his hips, standing proudly, commandingly, above Lance. 

"Yes," Lance said. "Yes, I like looking at you." 

"I know, Lance, I know," Justin said, reaching out to pat the top of Lance's head. Lance cringed from Justin's touch, but didn't really pull away. "I've always known, Lance. I've always known you looked at me, and I've always known what you wanted to do." 

Oh my God. Justin's words from the other night rushed back into my head. 

"It was all over shit that Lance really has no business talking about anyway." 

When Justin said it, I thought he meant that Lance shouldn't be talking about sex because Lance was a virgin, a fact Chris had shared with me at some point. I had assumed that's what Justin meant, and I didn't ask, but now I understood that Justin had been talking about something else entirely. Lance was yelling and screaming about fags, but he wanted Justin. 

And Justin knew it. 

Justin must have known it all along. He was too smart not to pick up on something like that. Justin knew that Lance wanted him, but Justin had never acted on it. Actually, that wasn't quite right, either. Justin had never acted on it until he was mad at Lance. 

Until he decided that he needed to teach Lance a lesson. 

Oh, no, Justin, don't do this, I thought. Don't do this to him, not even Lance deserves this. 

"It's ok, Lance, I won't tell anyone," Justin murmured again. "I won't tell anyone that you like this. I know what else you like, too, Lance, and I told you, I don't mind." 

Lance's eyes locked with Justin's, and Justin smiled down at him again. 

"Why don't you put your mouth on it, Lance?" Justin asked. "Why don't you suck my cock like you did the other night?" 

Lance didn't say anything, but his hand kept stroking Justin's cock. Justin had begun to move his hips a little, pushing his cock toward Lance in time to Lance's stroking. 

"Do you want to, Lance?" Justin asked. Lance's shoulders slumped, impossibly, even lower, and he dropped his head down, shaking it. "No? Are you sure, Lance? Are you sure you don't want to put it in your mouth, not even just a little? Because I think you do." 

Lance shook his head again, and Justin reached down, hooking his fingers under Lance's chin. Lance flinched again, whimpering a little when Justin touched him, but he still didn't pull away. Justin tilted Lance's head up again, his gaze boring into Lance's wide open, frightened eyes. 

"You want it in your mouth, don't you, Lance?" Justin asked again, his voice still smooth and mellow. 

Lance mouthed the word "No", but no sound escaped his lips. 

"Don't tell me no," Justin whispered. "You wanted it the other night, and you want it now, don't you?" 

"Yes!" Lance whispered suddenly, wrenching his head away from Justin's hand. "Yes." 

"Then go ahead, Lance," Justin said, putting his hands on his hips again. "Go ahead and do what you want." 

Lance leaned forward slowly, ever so slowly. His eyes were squinting, and his face was a continuously shifting blend of reluctance and lust. One second, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was, and the next he only had eyes for Justin. And Justin smiled down at him the entire time. This was monstrous. It was cruel. Lance's open mouth slid over the head of Justin's cock, his jaw dropping, lips stretched wide as they slid over the crown. 

"Oh, Lance," Justin sighed. "Oh, that's nice. Your mouth is so nice, and I like that thing you're doing with your tongue." 

Justin stood still as Lance gently sucked at the head of his cock. Justin's hands were still on his hips, but the grin on his face as he watched Lance was both satisfied and smug. Lance for his part, had closed his eyes, as if resigned to what he was doing. 

"Do you like that, Lance?" Justin asked. "Because I like it." 

I remembered something else Justin had said, too, the other night when Lance had gone running out of his apartment in tears. Justin had told me that he said some things to Lance that he didn't want to hear, but that Lance would come back for the rest. Justin had planned out all of this, days ago, but was there something missing? Was something going on that I wasn't seeing? What could be worse? 

Obviously Lance was having problems with this whole thing, and that was the center of what Justin was doing. Lance, through some combination of his religion, his upbringing, and maybe even his fears, was firmly convinced that homosexuality was wrong, and yet, here he was on his knees with a dick in his mouth, and it apparently wasn't the first time. Lance had been miserable for the past few days, and now I understood that it was because he was undergoing what, for him, was probably a profound internal conflict. Lance was being forced to confront the fact that he himself was something he hated, or at least that he had leanings in that direction, and the whole thing was being forced by Justin. Justin, who had carefully veiled the whole thing in the guise of being Lance's friend, and just helping Lance do what he wanted. 

I don't know why this surprised me. I'd seen Justin manipulate others before. When he decided he wanted to try sex with a guy, he'd thrown himself between Josh and I, throwing himself at both of us in hopes that one of us would go for him, regardless of how it would affect our relationship. Sure, he'd said afterward that it was all just kind of innocent, and that he hadn't really thought it through or intended any trouble, and we'd believed him. Maybe we only believed him because it was what we wanted to hear, because Justin was our friend. For the first time I wondered if he had somehow manipulated the fight with Britney where she kicked him out of the apartment, forcing him to stay in ours. 

If someone had asked me that yesterday, I would have said no way. But watching Justin today, seeing him convince Lance to give him a blowjob and think the whole thing was his own idea, I could believe it. 

Justin pulled his cock out of Lance's mouth, the wet pop jolting me out of my musings. It surprised Lance as well. His eyes popped open, and he stared up at Justin past the slick wet head of his cock. A thin string of fluid, drool or precum or something, connected Justin's cock to Lance's bottom lip. 

"I asked you a question, Lance," Justin said. "I asked if you like having my cock in your mouth. Do you like it, Lance?" 

Lance nodded, staring up at Justin, just the slightest shake of his head. 

"I didn't catch that, Lance, buddy," Justin said, looking down at him. 

"Yes," Lance whispered again. His voice cracked. 

"Why don't you get back to it, then?" Justin asked, putting his hand on the back of Lance's head and easing it forward a little. He didn't have to push very hard, and Lance, closing his eyes again, let his mouth envelope the head of Justin's cock again. Justin laced his fingers through Lance's short hair, getting a grip on it. "You know, Lance, since you like it so much, why don't you have some more?" 

Before Lance could say or do anything Justin's arm bulged, pulling Lance's head forward as Justin slammed his entire cock down Lance's throat. I heard Lance gag a little, but he didn't really struggle, and Justin held him firmly in place, the veins in his arm bulging as he held Lance's nose in his pubes. Justin smiled even wider, sighing, and then pulled Lance's head back, and I heard Lance inhale sharply through his nose as Justin's shaft, spit-slickened and pink, slid out past his lips. 

"That was nice, Lance," Justin said, sugary sweet. "Why don't we do that again, huh?" 

Again before Lance could do anything Justin jerked him forward, sliding all the way into Lance's mouth again. His hips flexed forward as he did it, and then he pulled Lance back, leaving just his head in Lance's mouth, and then slammed forward again. And again. He did it maybe four or five more times as Lance just knelt before him, his hands holding on to Justin's legs, letting Justin use him. He wasn't gagging anymore, but I noticed a sparkle near his eyes, and realized he'd begun to cry. 

Justin noticed it, too, and pulled Lance's head all the way back. Justin's cock popped out of Lance's mouth again, springing up to smack wetly against his abs, and Lance was forced to look up past it to see Justin's face as Justin, still gripping Lance's hair, used it to bend his head back. Lance's arms dropped limply to his side. 

"Lance, are you crying?" Justin asked. "Again? Why are you crying, Lance?" 

Lance didn't answer. He stared mutely up at Justin, his mouth hanging open, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he didn't say anything. Justin sighed. 

"If you're not going to answer, I guess I'm going to leave," Justin sighed. 

Justin moved to step away from Lance, but didn't release his grip on Lance's hair. Lance didn't seem to notice that, though. His eyes widened and he grabbed Justin's legs. 

"No!" Lance yelped, holding Justin in place even though he was still crying. 

Justin stared down at him with a condescending, patronizing look, the kind a parent might give when they're about to lecture a child. 

"Lance, I'm only doing what you want," Justin said. "If you're going to cry, I'm not going to let you suck me. I don't want your snot on my dick." 

His voice went from warm to cold, and back again, so fast that it just seemed to blur together. Lance was beyond hearing the difference. 

"I don't want you to leave," Lance whispered pathetically, tears dripping off his cheeks. 

"Do you want me to get dressed, then?" Justin asked, caressing the side of Lance's head. It was affectionate, but not loving. It was the kind of touch you might give a neighbor's dog, friendly, but not important to you. 

"No," Lance said, trying to look down. Justin's hand, formerly caressing, now held his head in place, keeping his eyes pointed up toward Justin's. 

"If you don't want me to get dressed, and you don't want me to leave, then what do you want, Lance?" Justin asked softly, still smiling angelically. "Do you want to keep doing what you were doing? Do you want to keep sucking on my cock, Lance? Do you want to stay down there on your knees? Because I'll let you, if it's what you want. Do you want to, Lance?" 

"Yes," Lance sighed, sniffling. 

"But Lance, if you want it, why are you crying?" Justin asked, his eyes wide, sparkling with malice. 

"I don't know," Lance answered weakly. He tried again to turn his head away, and Justin's fingers, holding his jaw, tightened, the nails whitening as Justin pressed down hard to keep Lance in place. 

"Don't give me that, Lance," Justin said, his voice hardening again. "Why are you crying? You know." 

"I, I," Lance stuttered. "I, I don't." 

"Answer me!" Justin hissed. "Answer me, or I walk out of here right now, and I don't come back. Why. Are. You. Crying?" 

"Because this is wrong!" Lance cried, shrinking away from Justin finally. Justin let go of his head, finally, and Lance just drooped, sobbing loudly with great hitching breaths. 

"What's wrong, Lance?" Justin asked, sneering. "What is it that's so wrong?" 

I'd wondered what could be worse than what I'd seen already. This was. 

"Is it what you were just doing, Lance?" Justin barked, still standing with his hands on his hips, his cock still proudly at attention. He wasn't just enjoying this. He was getting off on it. "Is it? Answer me, damn it!" 

"Yes!" Lance cried again. Even through his tears his eyes were still locked on Justin's cock, and I wondered how many times they had played this scene before. 

"But you like it, don't you?" Justin asked cruelly, his voice almost a whisper. "You know it's wrong, but you like it." 

"Yes," Lance whimpered, all the fight gone out of him. 

"Yes," Justin repeated, driving that point home. "You like it. You like being on your knees with my dick in your mouth, don't you, Lance? You like it." 

"Yes," Lance answered again. 

"Sure you like it," Justin answered. "You can't get enough, can you? Look at you, down on the floor. You're fucking pathetic, Lance, you know that? You want it so bad, and you'd fucking let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" 

Justin grabbed his cock, pulling it down some, and started to smack Lance in the face with it, hitting his cheeks, smacking it across his lips, leaving glistening smears where the head leaked. Lance just knelt there, accepting it. I'd never seen someone degraded or so deliberately humiliated. 

"You like that?" Justin asked. "You like having my cock in your face? You like letting another guy dick-smack you? You do, don't you, you fucking pussy. Answer me, damn it! Do you like it?" 

"Yes," Lance said. 

"Do you want to suck me off again?" Justin hissed. 

"Yes," Lance answered. 

"Then get on it, bitch," Justin said, planting his hands on his hips again. 

Lance leaned forward without hesitation this time, opening his mouth and sliding Justin's cock right in. He began to bob up and down on it, slurping loudly, his hands on Justin's legs to steady himself. Justin closed his eyes and tossed his head back, a blissfully satisfied grin on his face, and his hips flexed as he pushed forward, meeting Lance's bobbing head. Justin moaned loudly. 

"Oh, Lance, you're good at that," Justin said, his voice all honey and sweetness again. He stared down at Lance, watching his wet cock slide in and out of Lance's stretched lips. "After all your shit, and all the crap you give everyone else, here you are, on your knees with my cock in your mouth. You talk a good game, Lance, but you're so full of shit you stink. You talk shit about fags, and sucking cock is wrong, and here you are, on your knees, and you like it. You're so fucking pathetic, Lance, you make me sick." 

Lance didn't say anything, or even slow down. He kept crying, tears streaming down his face, but he kept sucking Justin's cock like a candy cane. I realized that Lance believed everything Justin said was true. Whether or not Justin actually believed it, and I was inclined from personal experience to believe Justin had no problems with sucking cock, since he'd done it to me, Lance believed that it was wrong, and that he was a dirty, pathetic person for doing it. I remembered what Chris had said, about Justin being very protective of the people he cared about and how Justin didn't take it well when they were hurt. I knew Justin was mad at Lance, and I had thought he might do something, but I never imagined anything like this. I didn't know how to deal with this. I felt physically ill watching the two of them. 

"Suck my cock, Lance, suck it," Justin chanted. He grabbed Lance's head with both hands, pushing his cock all the way into Lance's mouth, grinding Lance's face into him, groaning. "Swallow it, bitch. Swallow my fucking cum." 

Justin's hips jerked a few more times as he held Lance's face in place, and I saw Lance's throat working as he swallowed. When Justin was finished he pushed Lance roughly away, and began pulling up his pants. 

"That was nice, Lance," Justin said, tucking his cock in and zipping his pants. He picked his shirt up off the floor and pulled it back on. "You're a natural born cocksucker, Lance, you know that? You belong on your knees." 

Lance still knelt on the floor, his face a mask of abject misery. Justin looked down at him and smiled, patting his shoulder. 

"You've got some cum on your lip there, cocksucker," Justin said, chuckling, walking past him and out of the bedroom. He yelled back from out of sight. "You just call me next time you need another little talk, ok?" 

Lance didn't answer. As Justin walked away, he began to cry again, and once Justin was out of the room Lance sank to the carpet, curling up on his side, and just rocked back and forth as he sobbed. 

I couldn't watch anymore. The sun was beating down on me, and I felt a little dizzy. Josh had only been gone for a few hours, but already I wished he were back. I didn't want to deal with this alone, but what could Josh do if he was with me? I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to leave Lance alone in the state he was in, but I doubted he would talk to me. How could I explain what I'd seen? I couldn't ask Joey or Chris to check on him, not without explaining a lot more than I, or probably Lance, wanted to share with them. I wanted to call Josh very badly, but wanted to give him his space, and let him do what he needed to do without me interrupting. He'd call when he had time, and I couldn't tell him this over the phone. 

And what about Justin? How could I face him, knowing what he'd done? At the same time, though, I couldn't let him do it again. He might be pissed at Lance, but he was causing him serious mental damage. Something like this could fuck Lance up for the rest of his life. I had to stop Justin, but how? 

And when did I suddenly care about Lance, of all people? 

I walked back up to the apartment in a daze, my mind reeling. I felt like my thoughts were chasing each other around my head, and every time I tried to stop thinking about it, I saw Lance on his knees in tears, with Justin standing over him, feeding him his cock. Replacing Josh's papers on the keyboard, I absently went back to what I had been doing, tidying the apartment. The mindless labor was suddenly a great way to not think about anything. I put some of Josh's jazz on the stereo, cranked up the volume, and went to work. 

I was done with the kitchen, including the oven and all of the burners, had vacuumed the entire apartment and all of the furniture, and was scrubbing down the tile in the bathroom when I heard a knock at the door. Looking around, I realized that the bathroom light was the only one on in the whole apartment, and that it was dark outside. I'd been cleaning for hours. I stood, stretching, and walked over to the door, pulling it open. 

"Justin!" I blurted. "What are you doing here?" 


CHAPTER 29


 

Justin was wearing the same outfit he'd had on earlier, jeans barely hanging off of his slim hips, sleeveless t-shirt stretched tightly across his chest. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and he smiled at me, that perfect glowing smile that lit up his whole face as his blue eyes sparkled like gaslights. He looked so open, and friendly, so damn boy next door (if the boy who lived next door to you was utterly hot, that is) that something inside my head shifted as I tried to reconcile the image of warm, outgoing Justin with the domineering, abusive, sexually manipulative Justin that I'd seen only hours earlier. 

How could he do it? How could he do that to someone who was supposed to be his friend? I wondered if I might really be trapped in a soap opera after all. This would be so much easier to explain if Justin had an evil twin, or a split personality. I stared at him, my mind still reeling, and seemed to actually feel the world turning beneath my feet as we stood gaping at each other. 

"I came to see if you ate yet," he said. 

"What about Lance?" I asked, blurting the first words that came into my head. Oh my God, did I just say that? "Or Chris and Joey?" 

"I think Lance had something earlier," Justin said, so smoothly innocent I wanted to scream. "And Joey and Chris are out somewhere. I think they went to Hooters again. Besides, I thought we said earlier that we were gonna hang out tonight." 

"Oh, that's right," I said. "We did say that, before." 

"Before what?" Justin asked, his head tilting quizzically to one side. 

Before I saw you dick-smacking Lance and enjoying it, some voice in my head muttered. 

"Before we came back from the airport," I said, finally starting to feel like I had myself under control. 

If Justin could pretend nothing was happening, so could I, but not for long. I couldn't sit on what I'd seen forever, but I needed to think about it before I said anything. I couldn't just blurt things out. I needed to plan what I was going to say, and make sure that I actually got the message across before this sudden sense of outrage I was feeling overwhelmed me and reduced me to screaming at him. I wanted to slap him, and then slap him again, and until I got that impulse under control I couldn't talk to him about what I'd seen. 

"Um, Jack, are you going to ask me in?" Justin asked. 

I realized I was physically blocking the doorway with my body as he stood waiting. I stepped aside. 

"I'm sorry," I said, wondering if I should even be letting him come inside. I wished again that Josh was here. 

"Jack, are you ok?" Justin asked, sitting on the couch. He sat down in his classic Justin way, completely comfortable, completely at ease, completely certain that he was the center of attention. "You seem kind of out of it." 

"I'm fine," I said blandly, switching on a lamp. I'm fine, Justin, I'm just worried that somehow I'm going to end up on my knees in front of you, and I won't know how I got there. 

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You're just acting a little weird. Is it 'cause you miss Josh?" 

"Yeah, I think that's it," I said quickly. "I miss Josh already, because I love him." 

Wait, had I just agreed with Justin? That's how he got you! What was I thinking? 

I stopped myself right there. I couldn't keep doing this, or I would second guess every single word I said. I already had enough to think about without this, too. And besides, Justin wouldn't play those games with me. He'd already had his chance, with Josh and I both, and he was our friend. He wasn't friends with Lance, as far as I could tell, so maybe that made it acceptable in Justin's head for him to treat Lance the way he had. Chris had pointed out that Justin was very protective of his friends, and I had to believe that was true. I had to believe it, or I wasn't even going to be able to talk to Justin, much less go to dinner with him. 

"Yeah, I know," Justin said, laughing. "No one said you didn't." 

"Justin, I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head. "I've been in here cleaning all afternoon, and I think I'm kind of out of it more than I thought." 

"Do you still want to go out tonight?" he asked, leaning forward, looking concerned. How was it possible for Justin to look cute, no matter what he was doing? 

"Maybe just to dinner, and not to a movie," I said apologetically. "I haven't heard from Josh yet, and I want to know if he's ok, and how things are going." 

"Well, why don't you bring your cell phone, and we'll just go somewhere nearby?" Justin suggested. "Maybe that little bistro caf place up around the corner." 

"The one by the bread store?" I asked. "Sure." 

Justin stood, stretching, pulling that t-shirt even tighter as the bottom rode up, giving a glimpse of the waistband of his Tommy boxers above his low hanging jeans. 

"I'm going to go grab another shirt, or a jacket or something," he said. "Meet you in the parking lot?" 

"Sure," I said, watching him leave. 

After the door closed behind him I let out a long, slow exhale. That had gone well, once I settled down, but it was still a little uncomfortable. Part of the problem was that I was also always a little unsettled by Justin. I found him extremely attractive, and he knew I did. He wasn't actively throwing himself at me any longer, and we'd had a long discussion about how he didn't really want Josh or I, but that little snippet of sexual tension still lingered between us. Not even the threesome had removed it completely. Now, adding in the newly conflicted loyalties of the friendship I felt for Justin, and trying to reconcile them with the way I felt about what he was doing to Lance, I wondered how I was going to deal with him for the next couple days. 

And then I wondered what was going to happen after that, after I confronted him. Would he think I was spying on him? Would he still want to be my friend? And what was going to happen when Josh found out? I didn't think I needed to tell the other guys, but I was already keeping too much from Josh. I needed to get this straightened out, and figure out what was going on with whoever kept sending me these clippings of myself, before Josh came back. If I didn't get it all worked out, I resolved that I would tell Josh anyway. It wasn't right to keep things from him, and it also wasn't fair for him to be so concerned about being honest with the people he loved when I wasn't doing the same. 

I was still thinking about all of this when I met Justin down in the parking lot. We drove in silence over to the bistro, Britney's songs pouring out of the speakers. Under any other circumstances the familiarity of her voice might have been soothing, but I realized now that she would probably also end up involved in however this worked out. 

"Justin, did you tell Britney about us?" I asked. His head jerked toward me in surprise. 

"Where did that come from?" he asked. He sounded a little annoyed, but mostly just curious. 

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I was just thinking about it, because you have her on the radio. I shouldn't have blurted it out like that, and, you know, it's really none of my business anyway, so never mind. Just forget I asked." 

"Well, no, it's not a problem that you asked," he said, parallel parking with an ease I'd never mastered. "No. I didn't tell her. There wouldn't be a point to it." 

"No point?" I asked. He cheated on her. Was he ever planning to tell her? 

"Well, no, not really," he said, turning off the car. "I mean, it was just a one time thing. It's not like I'm going to end up in bed with you two again, so why let her worry about it? If I tell her, she'll wonder all along if I really still like guys, and every time we go on tour she'll wonder if I'm sleeping with Josh or if I'm thinking about her. Why? Are you planning to tell her?" 

"No, of course not," I answered. "It's not my place to tell her, not if you're ok with keeping it from her." 

Justin put a hand on my arm. He didn't look angry, but I was getting the impression that he didn't really want to have this discussion. 

"Jack, do you tell Josh every little thing that happens to you?" he asked, leaning in. "Every time you look at another guy, and think something sexual? Do you tell Josh everything that you're thinking, all the time?" 

Justin was leaning in very close, and suddenly the car seemed very small. I could feel his breath on my face. 

"No, Justin, I don't," I said, staring into his eyes. I wasn't going to pull away, and give him the upper hand. "And I'm not telling you how to live your life, or run your relationship with Britney. I was just curious." 

Justin let go of me, appearing satisfied, and leaned back. 

"Jack, I played around, but it was only that one time," he said. "If I fell in love with someone else, I'd tell her. If I ever played around, and felt feelings of any kind for that person, I'd tell Brit in a heartbeat. But if, you know, every once in a while, I slip, why does she need to know?" 

So it was ok to cheat on someone, as long as you didn't love the person you were cheating with? What a convenient moral structure. Under that guideline, it was also completely acceptable for Justin to receive blowjobs from Lance, but still feel committed and faithful to Britney. 

"Besides, she does the same thing to me," Justin said simply. It caught me completely off guard. 

"What?" I blurted. "She doesn't seem like she'd do that." 

"Brit and I have an understanding," he said. "As long as we're together, we're only for each other. If we're separated, and one of us slips, it's ok, as long as we're not slipping too far." 

"Interesting arrangement," I said, turning to open my door. "Come on, we've been sitting in the car too long. Let's go get some food." 

"Do you and Josh have anything like that worked out?" Justin asked as I joined him on the sidewalk. 

"No," I said, wondering why he was asking. "Josh and I don't play around on each other." 

"Isn't it hard?" Justin asked as we walked up the sidewalk toward the bistro. "I mean, you know, you get kind of used to having sex. Don't you miss it?" 

"Yes," I said, laughing. Sometimes Justin could be a typical twenty year old. "But, you know, there's more to a relationship than sex. I miss Josh, but I can wait until he gets back." 

"That's cool," Justin said, grinning. "Josh is like that, too. You guys are perfect for each other." 

"What about you?" I asked, keeping it light. We were just two buddies, talking about sex. I had to find out what he'd say. "Are you doing ok with Britney gone?" 

"I get by," he said, grinning. I grinned, too, even though I felt like vomiting. "You doing ok?" 

"It's only been a day, Justin," I said, shaking my head. "Besides, that's what I have a hand for." 

We both laughed, and I followed him into the bistro. We ordered a couple of sandwiches, with chips and drinks, and took them to the little outdoor tables. There was a fence around the table area, so you weren't right out on the sidewalk, but you could still watch the cars and the people go by. Justin and I settled in, watching the people around us. He had on a floppy fisherman's type of cap, which we figured was disguise enough, and no one seemed to have noticed him. After a minute or two, we were pretty sure no one knew who he was, and we visibly relaxed and went back to our food. 

Our cell phones sat next to each other in the middle of the table, and I found myself glancing toward mine for what seemed like the hundredth time, waiting for it to ring. 

"You worried that he hasn't called?" Justin asked, following my eyes. 

"A little," I said. "I mean, I know he's pretty distracted right now, but I thought he'd at least call to tell me the plane landed." 

"I'm sure he'll call soon," Justin said. "He told me that you didn't like it if he called and didn't really have time to talk, so maybe he's waiting." 

"I guess I did tell him that, " I said, shrugging. "It's not too late where he is, anyway, so he'll probably call any time now." 

"You worried about him?" Justin asked. 

"A lot, actually," I answered. "Josh's family is so important to him. What if they don't take it well?" 

"I think they will," Justin said, thinking about it for a moment. "I mean, I know them pretty well. They'll be a little surprised, probably, but they're not going to disown him or anything. Was your family ok with it?" 

"Not especially, but I'm not very close to them anyway," I said. "They've always been more interested in my brother than in me." 

"I didn't know you had a brother," Justin said, finishing his sandwich. "You've never mentioned him." 

"We're not close," I said. "If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think he hated me." 

"Nobody hates their brother, " Justin said, smiling. 

"You don't know us Springer kids," I said, smiling ruefully. "All my life, it's like he's been jealous of me or something, and I don't even know why. He's the one that could never do anything wrong." 

"You talk to him lately?" Justin asked. 

"Nope," I answered, finishing my soda. "I talk to him at Christmas. That's it." 

"That's kind of sad," Justin said. "How do your folks feel about it?" 

"I don't care," I said simply. "Justin, I don't want to talk about this, ok?" 

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "It looks like we're done. You want to head back?" 

"OK," I said. 

We paid on our way out, and I bought a cookie for each of us at the register. Justin smiled and fawned over it as if it had fallen from the heavens, until I finally told him to shut up and eat it. When we got back to the apartment building, we agreed that maybe we'd go out tomorrow night, since I wasn't really feeling it tonight. As we walked upstairs, I realized that I hadn't thought about him and Lance for at least an hour or two, and then I wanted to smack myself in the head for allowing those thoughts to creep back in. 

I wished again that Josh was still here, and wondered again why he hadn't called. I didn't want to call him yet, because I could imagine him sitting across from his sister, right in the middle of a deep personal revelation, at some achingly vulnerable point in the conversation, and suddenly being interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone. Frustrated, I sighed, and looked at the clock. It was late enough that Carla should be home, but not so late that I couldn't call. She hadn't returned the last two messages I'd sent her, so I really needed to see what was up. 

Her phone rang and rang, and when her answering machine finally picked up, it beeped about fifty times, which meant she still hadn't checked her messages. 

"Carla, where are you? I'm starting to get kind of worried. Please call my cell phone." 

Where could she be? As if I needed another thing to worry about. 

I stripped down to my boxers, brushed my teeth, and settled into bed with my book. The bed seemed immensely huge with just me in it, and I wondered if it was possible for furniture to expand while no one was looking. The telephone ringing interrupted my musings on the flexibility of furniture dimensions. 

"Hello?" I answered. 

"Hi," Josh said. His voice was warm, and seemed to roll right out of the phone over me. "How are you?" 

"I miss you," I answered, sinking back into the pillows. "How are you? How's it going? Where are you now?" 

"Slow down, kiddo," Josh said, laughing. "I'm on my sister's couch. Heather went to bed about five minutes ago, and I knew that you've probably been waiting all day for me to call." 

"You know me so well," I said. 

"I didn't want to call if I didn't have time to talk to you," he said. 

"Justin said that, too," I said. "Do you listen to everything I tell you that closely?" 

"Of course I do," he answered. "I love you." 

"I love you, too," I said. "So, how is Heather's couch?" 

"It's not bad," he said, sighing. "We had a good day, Jack." 

"Everything went ok?" I asked. He didn't sound upset. 

"Better than ok," Josh answered. I closed my eyes and shut off the lights. I usually did this when I was on the phone with Josh, because it helped me picture him. "Heather picked me up at the airport, and we went right out to eat. As soon as we were done with dinner, we came back here, and I sat her down for our talk." 

"How did she take it?" I asked. "She didn't put you on the couch because she's mad at you, did she?" 

"She put me on the couch because she only has one bedroom," Josh answered, laughing. "The conclusions you jump to. She took it kind of well. She had a lot of questions, about me, and about the girls I dated when I was younger, and stuff, but she was pretty good about asking them." 

"You think your parents are going to take it well?" I asked, relieved that she hadn't freaked out. I could hear in Josh's voice that he was feeling a lot better about all of this. 

"We talked about that, too, and about how I should tell them," he said. "I'm going to tell my mom first, before I tell my dad or Tyler. Heather and I thought maybe I should make sure she's with me, in case my dad doesn't take it so well." 

"Are you worried that he's not going to?" I asked. 

"Actually, not really," Josh answered. "My parents are pretty open minded. I think as long as they see that I'm happy, they'll be ok with it." 

"I wish I was there with you, " I sighed. "I mean, I want to support you on this." 

"Jack, you are supporting me, " Josh said emphatically. "Just knowing that you're right there, waiting for me, and that I can come back to you, no matter what happens, that's all the support I need. This is something I need to do myself, but I also need to know that you're right behind me." 

"If this is what you need, then it's what I want to do," I said simply. "But if you do need me, all you have to do is call, and I'll be on the next plane, Josh. As it is, I can't wait for you to come back." 

"I can't wait to be back," he said. "I just have to do this first, you know?" 

"I know," I said. 

I didn't want to lay a guilt trip on him, but I really wished he were with me. I wanted to tell him everything, suddenly, just let it all loose, but didn't want to do it over the phone while he was too far away to do anything. I know he could have been concerned along with me, but he had enough to worry about, and, knowing the way he was, he'd want to drop everything and come back. I couldn't make him do that, because I agreed with him that he needed to be honest with his family. Everything going on here would just have to wait. 

"Heather had a lot of questions about you," Josh said, snapping me back to reality. 

"What did you tell her?" I asked, curious. 

"A string of horrible lies," Josh answered smoothly. "After all, I want her to like you." 

"Jerk," I said, smiling. 

"I love you," he said. 

"That doesn't make it ok," I said. "But I love you, too." 

We talked for another hour or so, but not about anything important. He talked about the flight, and his sister, and I told him about cleaning the apartment, and going to dinner with Justin. None of it was very exciting stuff, and most of the conversation just consisted of us sighing a lot, and telling each other we loved and missed the other. Eventually we began to yawn, and I cut the call short, knowing that once Josh started yawning I had about two minutes before he was completely unconscious. He promised to call me tomorrow, and I told him good night, telling him again that I loved him and that I was here if he needed me. 

I set the alarm clock, and went to bed. My last thought, before my head hit the pillow, was that I wished again that Josh were there. 

I woke up sometime in the dark when I felt a hand slide over my chest, caressing, sliding over my pectorals, brushing past my nipples. I sighed, caught in the unthinking boundary between being asleep and being fully awake, and tilted my head back into the pillows as I felt a second hand join the first, easing gently across me, rubbing, massaging. Fingers began to pinch my nipple as the other hand slid up my neck, sliding up into my hair and pulling my head forward. 

"Josh?" I sighed, thinking somehow that he had flown back while I was sleeping. 

"Shhhhhhh," he breathed against my neck. 

I felt his hair, short and bristly, scraping softly against my chin as he nuzzled under my neck, kissing, nipping, and sucking. He was worrying over that spot where he'd left a hickey the night before, and the feeling of him sucking at the bruise was exquisite, pleasure mixed with just the littlest bit of discomfort. I felt his tongue and mouth sliding up, over my jawbone, and then his lips fastened over mine. I thought numbly that Josh had learned a whole new way to kiss while he was gone, because this wasn't a big, sloppy Josh kiss. This was a quick, darting tongue kiss, and his lips felt different, firmer, and his little strip of a beard was gone. The chin scraping over mine was smooth. 

I realized that it wasn't Josh. 

I struggled to wake up, but couldn't. I couldn't even open my eyes, and the hands and mouth sliding over me were setting me on fire. I felt a mouth clamp down on my nipple, sucking and biting, pressed against it in a tight circle, as I felt those hands at the waistband of my boxers, tugging them down. My boxers slid down my legs, and then were gone as a warm, wet tongue crawled down my abs. 

"No," I sighed weakly, writhing back against the mattress as I felt lips against my cockhead. 

"Yes," someone whispered. 

I looked up from the pillow, and suddenly managed to open my eyes, just in time to meet Justin's bright blue ones as he slid smoothly down my cock, pulling the whole thing into his throat. It was like sliding into hot, velvety oil, and my hips jerked up involuntarily as I felt his tongue swirling around my shaft. 

"Justin, no," I sighed again. 

I didn't sound very convincing, even to myself, as I was almost lost in the sensations radiating up from my cock. Feeling myself plunge again and again into his throat, sliding over the sandpaper wetness of his tongue, I thought that it was the hottest blowjob I had ever received. Still, I brought my hands to his head, and tried to pull him off, even as I jerked and thrust beneath him. I tugged at his head, but he seemed attached somehow, like a leech. I felt something shift, some change in the texture of what I was feeling, and the eyes that tilted up toward me suddenly weren't Justin's anymore. 

They were Lance's, wide, blue, and wet with tears. 

I continued pulling at the sides of his head, and watched as my cock slid out of his mouth, his lips clinging to it before releasing it to smack wetly against my stomach. 

"It's ok, Jack," Lance said, still crying. "Justin says it's what I want." 

He began to lean down toward my cock again, and I slid away from him backwards, crawling up the bed on my hands, skittering along. The sheets rustled beneath my fingers, and then crackled and crumpled, and I realized they weren't fabric anymore. They were newsprint, page after page of the stupid gossip column. There were pictures of me and Josh in bed, and me and Lance, and Justin and Josh and I together, things that had happened, and things that had never happened. I looked up, and Lance was standing above me on the bed with a gleaming pair of scissors. 

"I have to cut these out now, " he said, reaching toward me. 

I suddenly felt very unsafe, and turned, trying to get away as he began to bring the scissors down in a sweeping arc, plunging the flashing blades toward me. I pushed the papers aside, ripping through them, trying to climb further up the bed, as I heard him coming closer behind me. Suddenly hands slid up my chest from behind, the arms crossing over me as the hands clamped down on my shoulders, and I knew it wasn't Lance anymore. I felt a hard cock pressing against my ass, and knew it was Justin again. 

"No," I said weakly, trying to squirm away. 

"It's ok, Jack, I know what you want," Justin breathed against my neck. "I know what everyone wants." 

I screamed as he pushed into me, his cock impossibly huge, splitting me open, and then I was sitting up in bed, covered in sweat and breathing hard. My boxers were still on and the bedroom was empty. The sheet was wrapped around me. 

"Jesus," I panted, holding my head in my hands. "Jesus Christ." 

I needed to get all of this worked out, before it drove me insane. 

 

CHAPTER 30

 

"Jesus," Chris said, pulling his door open. "You look like hell." 

"Thanks," I muttered, stepping back. "It's great to see you, too." 

I had only glanced at myself in the mirror this morning, but I had to agree with Chris. I did look like hell, because I had barely slept last night. After the first dream, I had tried to get back to sleep, but that dream had apparently just been a warmup. I was hit with endless dreams about newspapers, scissors, and greeting cards, as well as one particularly disturbing one where a photographer kept jumping out from behind things and blinding me with a flashbulb. As creepy as those dreams were, though, they were nothing compared to the sexual ones. In one dream Josh was on his knees in front of Justin, in another it was Lance in front of me again, and my brain invented every other possible combination of the four of us as well. 

"You ok?" Chris asked. "You sure you want to run today?" 

"I'm fine," I lied. In actual truth, I didn't want to go running that morning, but I thought maybe it would help me focus my thoughts, or maybe clear them for a while. "Aren't you supposed to be leading a model out to a cab right now?" 

Chris smiled. 

"I took a night off," he said, laughing. "Joey and I met some nice girls, so I let him take them both home." 

I gaped at him, and he began to laugh. 

"God you're gullible!" he said. "Ready?" 

"Sure," I said. 

We ran in silence for a while, watching the neighborhood wake up. I noticed bitterly that it looked like everyone else had gotten a full night's sleep, and Chris kept giving me these weird sidelong glances when he should have been looking forward. He almost ran into about four light poles before he brought himself to speak. 

"So, how is JC doing with his family?" Chris asked. 

"Good," I answered. 

"Everything's going well, then?" Chris asked. 

"Yeah," I answered again. I caught him glaring at me, and I realized I wasn't being especially verbal. "Sorry. Josh is still at Heather's right now. They had a long talk yesterday, and I guess she's ok with everything." 

"That's good," he said, smiling. "I'm glad. Did you talk to her?" 

"To Heather?" I asked. "No, I haven't talked to any of Josh's family. He waited until she was in bed to call, because they were up late. He said she had questions about me, but I guess he answered them." 

"She's a good kid," Chris said. "All three of them are. His parents did a good job on them." 

"Chris, do you know Josh's family pretty well?" I asked. It sounded like he did. 

"More or less," he said. "You still worried about him telling them?" 

"A little," I said. "I don't want him to get hurt, especially not by people he loves." 

"What a coincidence," Chris said, giving me one of those sidelong glances again. "Because I don't want him hurt by someone he loves, either." 

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to have this discussion, either. We ran along in silence again, the only sounds from us the thumping of our feet on the sidewalk. I prayed that the run would be over soon, before he decided to push. I began to run a little faster, but Chris was a strong enough runner to easily match my pace, keeping us in conversational distance. I wouldn't be able to put any distance between us unless I broke into a sprint, and that would be a little conspicuous. Looking around, I realized that we only had a mile left, until Chris took the turn that made our three mile run into five. He glanced at me, to see if I'd react, but I wasn't going to. If he could play this game, so could I. 

We both began to run a little faster, which was rough, since we were entering the uphill portion. Straining because we were near the end, we were also running much harder than our usual pace at this part. Where we would normally be sweating some, and enjoying the exertion, today we were straining, breath hissing between gritted teeth as what seemed like gallons of water poured out of us. We were racing each other, pounding the sidewalk, but what exactly were we racing toward? I wasn't sure, but I wasn't going to let Chris win. It was a grudge match now. I don't know which one of us started it, but neither one of us was willing to lose. 

When we finally reached the apartment building, both of us were ready to drop. Chris was leaning heavily against the wall, trying to catch his breath, and I sank onto one of the lounge chairs, doubled over from a stitch in my side. The two of us continued to glare at each other, even though I was pretty sure I was going to either throw up all over my shoes or just pass out on the chair. 

"I, need, water," Chris gasped, holding out his hand. I grabbed it, and he pulled me up off the chair. "Come on." 

"I have water upstairs," I growled, as if I'd be able to climb the stairs any time in the next couple of minutes. 

"The only way you're getting out of this is if you have a fucking stroke," Chris said. 

I thought I could tire him out, but all I'd done was piss him off. Damn. I followed wordlessly into his apartment, and slumped against the wall by the door. Chris pulled himself a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, which I noticed was also filled with beer, and tossed me a bottle as well. I took small sips, fighting the burning in my lungs to get my breathing back under control. Chris leaned on the kitchen counter, apparently not willing to sit if I wasn't. 

"Say it, Chris," I said finally, as we stared at each other. "Just say it." 

"Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked. He didn't sound mad, but it was hard to tell with us still panting. 

"What?" I asked. That wasn't the question I was expecting. 

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Chris asked again. "I can hear everything that goes on upstairs, Jack, and you know it. I listened to you walking around, pacing the bedroom, all night last night, and that time you woke up screaming, well, I heard that, too." 

"I'm fine," I said again, looking away. 

"You can't lie for shit, Jack," Chris said, walking over to one of the couches. He sat, and stared at me. I walked over and sat on the back of the other couch. "Look, Jack, I'm not trying to push, but it's obvious that something is bothering you. Please, man, just let it out." 

I wanted to, I really did, but what could I say? I found myself wanting to protect Justin, because he was my friend even though I thought what he was doing was wrong. I wanted to protect Lance, because his secret wasn't mine to share. I didn't want to say anything to anyone else about it before I said anything to them, but I didn't really want to talk to them, either. And then there was my mysterious, almost threatening pen pal, another issue that I really didn't even want to think about getting into. 

"I can't, Chris," I said finally, looking down. "I just can't get into it." 

"Why the hell not?" Chris asked. He sounded exasperated. "Jack, why are you keeping so many secrets?" 

"Who says I'm keeping secrets?" I asked, as if saying it might make it true. 

"Jack, I'm not stupid," he said. "Remember, I spent a whole morning driving you around for something that you won't tell me about. If you don't want to answer, why don't you just say so? Lying is kind of rude." 

"Look, Chris," I began, chastened. "Some secrets aren't mine to tell." 

"And some are!" he snapped. "You promised me you would tell JC. Did you?" 

"Not exactly," I said, looking away again. Why couldn't he just yell and scream like a normal person? 

"Not exactly?" Chris said. "Jack, you either told him, or you didn't. Did you tell him?" 

"No, I didn't," I said quietly, unwilling to meet his eyes. 

"Damn it, Jack!" Chris said, standing. He walked around the couch, back and forth, waving his hands in the air. "You promised me, Jack. You promised that you would tell JC." 

"I'm going to," I said defensively. "It just wasn't the right time, and then he left." 

"How convenient for you," Chris said quickly. "You fucking lied to me, Jack." 

"Maybe what's going on is none of your business," I countered, tired of being yelled at. "Maybe I didn't tell you about it because it doesn't affect you." 

"If it affects JC, it affects me," Chris said. "Jack, I'm trying to be your friend right now." 

"Maybe I don't need a friend right now!" I blurted, thinking of Justin and Lance, and my stalker, who had to be someone I knew. "Maybe I don't even know who my friends are here." 

"If you don't, I'm not going to tell you," Chris said. "Keep your damn secrets, then, if they're so fucking important to you, but I'm all done helping." 

I stared at him. 

"I mean it, Jack," he said. "Just go. When you remember who your friends are, and you're ready to let me help you, come back. If you're just going to keep lying, stay the fuck away from me. And remember what I told you about hurting JC." 

"I will," I said harshly, standing. "Thanks for the water." 

When I walked out of Chris's apartment, I wanted to cry. Either that, or punch the wall until my hands bled. Maybe I wanted to do both. 

"Damn it!" I yelled, smacking the railing with my hand as I climbed the stairs. "Fucking damn it!" 

I crawled into the shower, resolving once again to sort this all out. 

OK, first things first, I needed to address the Justin and Lance situation. Obviously I needed to talk to Justin first, and make him understand that what he was doing was wrong. I could talk to Lance after that, but I wasn't sure what I'd say to him. Maybe he just needed someone to listen to. Facing those feelings for the first time was obviously a little rough for him, so maybe he needed a friend. Maybe he'd let me be one, but I had to approach the whole thing pretty carefully. Justin was doing enough damage without me there to do more. 

Then there was the issue of my stalker. I needed to build a suspect list, quickly, and start crossing people off of it. That was the most logical way to go about it. It had to be someone I knew, and someone nearby. 

I could rule out Josh, of course, and felt pretty sure that I could rule out Joey and Chris as well. They had no motive at all. Joey hadn't really been around enough, and when he had been, he'd been very nice to me, and seemed very happy for Josh. Then again, the letters hadn't started until Joey had returned from New York. Maybe I shouldn't rule Joey out after all. He could have just been nice all along to keep me from suspecting him. If I couldn't rule out Joey, I couldn't rule out Chris, either. I knew for certain that Chris had all the publications the pictures were in, because I borrowed the paper from him every day. On the other hand, all the pictures were still in the paper when Chris gave it to me, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a second copy. He had helped me track some of this down the other day, but he might have just been monitoring my investigation, and he did keep pushing me to tell Josh what was going on. Maybe he was trying to drive us to a fight. 

If I couldn't rule out Joey and Chris, then I really needed to take a closer look at Justin and Lance. Justin was more than capable of manipulating others. I couldn't think of a reason why he would want to split up Josh and I, unless he thought I was bad for Josh somehow. Or maybe he just wanted to keep Josh in thrall to him. After all, if he'd known all along that Lance was looking at him and secretly wanting him, he must have known for the last year that Josh was in love with him. Sure, they hadn't acted on it, but it was the kind of thing Justin would use if he had to. Still, this thing with the cards didn't really seem like Justin's style. From what I'd seen with the way he and Britney strung each other along, the way he'd thrown himself between Josh and I, and what he was doing with Lance, Justin was a hands-on type of guy. This was almost too subtle for him, and didn't let him play off of his looks or his body. 

However, it would be the perfect approach for someone less attractive, someone like Lance. Lance had some glaring psychological issues, so this kind of psycho behavior was easily imaginable as his handiwork. Even my subconscious seemed to think so, based on that creepy dream. He also had anger to spare, and had been throwing it at Josh and I since we told him about us. Maybe, seeing that the direct approach was failing, and only pushing us closer together, he had decided on a different tack, but why? Breaking us up wouldn't turn Josh straight again, but maybe Lance secretly wanted Josh for himself. After all, if I were in the band and secretly gay, I'd have a crush on the hottest member. Even if it was Lance, though, there was the issue of the very first card. It had been mailed from near my home, and Lance had been here that whole time. 

It's a little known fact that you can mail an envelope, already addressed and stamped, inside another envelope to the postmaster of any city. The postmaster, finding your envelope inside, is bound by his job to take it out and mail it, and suddenly you have a postmark from anywhere, which might actually be nowhere close to where the letter actually came from. I knew that, because I'd read it in one of the many police and crime books that I read for fun, but was that the kind of esoteric knowledge that Lance would have? And if he was going to do that, why not just pick my town? That also didn't explain the handwriting. My first thought had been that the handwriting, even though it was block letters and all capitals, was familiar. I didn't know any of the guys well enough to recognize their handwriting, so it really stood to reason that the writer must be someone I knew, someone who lived close to me. 

Someone like Carla? Wait, was I actually freaked out by this enough to suspect my best friend? Just because she knew about Josh and I, and lived close enough to have mailed the first one, and had handwriting that I would recognize, what was her motive? Maybe insane jealousy. After all, she hadn't been on a successful date in years. Maybe the thought of me finding someone and being happy had caused her to snap somehow. She could be right outside, watching and waiting right now. She hadn't answered her phone in days, and the number of beeps on her answering machine suggested that she was out of town, and hadn't been home to check her messages for a while. There was the letter that implied the author wasn't sure which guy I was with, but that could just have been Carla trying to throw suspicion off of herself. The security guy at the studio had said it was a guy, but Carla could throw on a hooded sweatshirt, a hat, and glasses, and pass herself off for a guy, maybe, especially if it was only for a minute or two. 

I shook my head under the shower spray, wondering if spending this much time in California was making me insane. I'd have to be, to think Carla was some sort of scary stalker. It was just as likely that I was sleepwalking down the street to the post office and mailing these to myself. But if it wasn't Carla, and it wasn't one of the guys, who was it? 

Who else would hate me enough to do this? 

I turned off the shower, and got dressed, trying to figure out how I could apologize to Chris. Really the only way I could was to tell him what was going on, and why I hadn't told Josh, but I didn't want to. I wanted to handle this whole stalker thing myself. Someone was fucking with me, not Josh or the band, me personally, and I wanted to take care of it myself. Maybe it wasn't the best reason to keep things from my friends, but it was my secret to keep, damn it. And the thing with Lance just wasn't my secret to tell. Chris might make it fairly public who he was playing around with, but I had to respect Lance's right not to do the same. 

I decided that I'd start solving my problems immediately, and went to Justin's door. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, but I thought maybe the words would just come, and I'd get by ok. I knocked for about a minute, but he didn't answer the door, so I figured he wasn't home. I looked over toward Lance's door, wondering if I should look for him there, but suddenly felt sick at the thought, and decided to go down to the archway to pick up the mail. Maybe Josh had gotten a magazine or something that would take my mind off what was going on around here. 

As I walked over to the mail bins, I saw a bright green corner sticking out of the door to Josh's box. The corner was a little crumpled, as if someone had tried to force it into the mailbox, and when I pulled it out, I realized that was exactly what had happened. I recognized from the handwriting that it was another note from my stalker, but it hadn't been delivered by the mailman. It didn't have a postmark, or a return address, and on the front of the envelope all that was written was my name. I wondered for a second why they hadn't just shoved it under my door if they could get this far, but then realized that they mustn't have been able to get through the inside gate, which blocked the courtyard from the street. 

They had brought this to the apartment. They knew where I lived. 

Shoving the rest of the mail back in the box, I tore open the envelope. This one didn't contain a card, but instead had a glossy photograph of Justin and I, eating our sandwiches at the outside tables of the bistro. It wasn't a clipping. It was an actual photograph, from someone's camera. I turned it over, barely noticing that my hand was shaking. 

"I see you," the top line read. 

I almost dropped the picture as I jerked my head up, looking around the street. Old lady walking her dog, guy on a bike, twenty or so parked cars, cars going by, my brain noted as my eyes ticked over the surroundings. I didn't think I knew any of these people, but I couldn't see into every car parked on the street. He could be out there, right now, anywhere nearby. I hadn't been scared yet, treating this as kind of a game, but I was now. I felt like the heroine in a bad horror movie, and wondered how long it would be before I was spinning in a circle with my arms out, screaming, "What are you waiting for?" My eyes dropped down to the photograph to read the rest as my other hand fumbled for my keys, knowing I'd need them to get back inside the relative safety of the courtyard. 

"I see you. Do you see me yet? You should, because I know you, and I know what's going on. I think it's time we met face to face, don't you? We're so overdue for a chat." 

Below that was an address I didn't recognize, and below that the phrase, "Last booth." The stalker had also left a note with a date and time, two days from now. I was stuffing the picture back into the envelope when I felt a hand settle onto my shoulder. I spun, fists out, and collided with Joey. 

"Jack!" he yelped, jumping back. "Jesus, Jack, are you ok?" 

I stared at Joey, realizing that I had missed punching him in the face by about four inches, and I just lost it. Sliding down the wall, I crossed my arms over my knees, put my head down on them, and just broke down and started crying. Suddenly it was all too much, all of it. 

"Jack?" Joey asked again, squatting down. He put a hand on my shoulder. 

"No," I sobbed. "No, I'm not ok." 

I didn't look up, but I could hear the concern in his voice. 

"Do you, um, do you want to talk about it?" Joey asked, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles. 

"Chris and I had this fight, " I began, "and I miss Josh, and I can't sleep, and there's all this other shit going on, and I just can't deal with any of it right now." 

Joey sighed, and then gently took both of my arms. 

"Come on," he said, tugging me to my feet. 

"Where are we going?" I asked, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. I still held the envelope. 

"Just come on," Joey said, leading me back inside and then across the courtyard. 

We walked to Joey's apartment, him still leading me, but not talking, and I realized that I had never been inside of his. I hadn't been in Lance's, either, but I liked Joey. He opened the door, and I saw that it was mostly identical to the others, except that there were Superman posters on all of the walls. I remembered reading somewhere that Joey was a collector of Superman memorabilia, and I smiled. How could you feel unsafe with Superman staring at you from all sides at once? Joey led me through the living room to his guest bedroom, and pointed at the bed. 

"Lay down," he said. 

"Why?" I asked, suspicious. I was too tired suddenly, and felt too drained, to think of what he might do. 

"Because I said so," he said. Joey could look very determined when he wanted to. "Lay down, and take a nap, and I'll come wake you when lunch is ready." 

"I don't need a nap," I said stubbornly. 

Joey blocked the door with his body. 

"Then you just lay there, and calm down, and wait until I come get you," he said, crossing his arms. "Got it?" 

I climbed onto the bed, feeling foolish, as Joey closed the blinds, and then closed the door. I lay with my head on the pillow, staring at the wall, and realized I was still holding the green envelope. I put it on the nightstand, not wanting to look at it any more, and turned my head the other way. Before I knew it, and despite my insistence that I didn't need a nap, the next time I opened my eyes was when Joey gently shook me awake. I looked around blearily and realized that the room was a lot darker than when I had come in. 

"Lunchtime?" I asked, sitting up. I could feel that I had red crease lines on my face from the pillowcase. 

"You slept all the way through lunch," Joey said. "It's time for dinner." 

"Joey, I'm sorry," I began, sliding out of bed. 

"Don't be," he said, walking toward the main room. "I ate lunch without you, and you needed the rest. Let's eat." 

I followed Joey to the dinner table, and saw a bowl of pasta, a half loaf of garlic bread, and a bowl of salad. The table was set, but not in Josh's usual artful arrangement, with the candles and everything in just the right place and the napkins folded into birds. Joey set the table like any guy living alone. The food was there, and the plates were out, but there wasn't anything extra or fancy. The only concession was a pair of Superman salt and pepper shakers. The rest of the dishes, I knew, came with the apartment. 

Joey handed me a beer from the refrigerator, and the two of us dug in. 

"This is really good," I said, breaking the silence. 

"Thanks," Joey said. "It's just pasta. The sauce came from a jar, and the bread was in the freezer." 

"That doesn't make it any less good," I said. 

We kept eating, and I wondered why Joey hadn't broached the obvious yet. 

"Joey, are you going to ask me what's wrong?" I asked finally. 

He looked up from his plate. 

"No," Joey answered, and went back to eating. 

"Why not?" I asked, curious. 

"Because you'll tell me if you need to," he said, shrugging. "Besides, I don't think it's what you need right now. You and Chris got in a fight about whatever's bothering you, right?" 

"Yeah," I answered. 

"He'll get over it," Joey said, shrugging again. "If you want to have the same argument twice in one day, then fine, I'll ask." 

"No, thanks," I said. "I'm sorry for crashing on you like this." 

"I told you before not to apologize," Joey said, taking another sip of his beer. 

"But it's so unlike me," I said, feeling uncomfortable with the memory. Joey exuded such a warm presence that I couldn't help but talk to him, whether I wanted to or not. 

"I know," he said, going back to his food. 

"But you don't even really know me," I said, confused. How could he know what was or wasn't like me? 

"I know of you," Joey said. "Since I got here, all I've heard about is you, from JC, and Chris, and Justin, and yes, even Lance, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what you're like. I'm willing to bet that whatever it is you're sitting on, you're doing it because you really think it's for the best, and I respect that. I can also see that whatever it is that you're holding onto is eating you up, and I hope you'll do something to solve it, quick. If you don't, well, I guess I'll still be around to help put you back together, at least until JC gets back." 

"You know all that, and you and I have never even really hung out," I said, finding it all hard to believe. 

"Like I said, I know of you, " Joey said. "And I know you'd do the same for me, or for any of us." 

We finished dinner in silence. Afterward, Joey put a movie in, and I stayed to watch it. About halfway through, Josh called, asking Joey if I was there, and I realized I had left the cell phone in our apartment. I talked to Josh for a little while, explaining that I was hanging out with Joey, and taking the phone into the back bedroom. Josh told me all about the day he had spent with his sister, and how they had talked some more, and how she really was ok with everything. He also told me he was flying out to Chicago to see his parents and brother the next morning, early, so I let him get to bed. When I hung up, I was hit with a crushing sense of loss, and realized again how badly I missed Josh. 

When I walked back into the living room, the movie had ended, and Joey was turning things off to go to bed. 

"I'm going to turn in," he said, staring at me. "If you want to go home, you can, or you can just crash in the spare room there if you want to." 

I realized again that I felt very safe and secure with Joey. 

"You don't mind?" I asked. 

"I mind that you keep asking, " Joey said. "I wouldn't offer if it bothered me." 

"Thank you, Joey," I said, suddenly very touched. 

Joey walked over and squeezed me in another of his bone-crushing hugs. 

"This is all going to work out, Jack," he said. "Now get some sleep." 

I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into the guest bed, thinking again of how safe I felt. My last thought before drifting off to sleep was that Joey was right, and it was all going to work out, because I was going to make it work. 

I was going to talk to Justin in the morning whether he wanted to or not.