JC's Hitchhiker

 

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CHAPTER 61

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JUSTIN'S POV: 

I knew Howie was upset, but I didn't see the punch coming. I should have thought of it, since I'd sucker punched Lance in anger that time and almost broken his nose, but somehow getting popped is always a surprise. Since Howie is shorter than me, it was more of an upward punch than a straight head on blow, and I felt it scrape painfully across my cheekbone as my head rocked back. I don't know where Howie learned to fight, but he put in a quick jab to my stomach, knocking the wind out of me as I doubled over in pain, trying to back away from him. 

"You son of a bitch!" Howie screamed, swinging again. I stepped back, and my feet tangled in my chair somehow, spilling me to the floor. Howie kicked me in the side, twice, as I tried to roll away. 

"Stop it!" Chris yelled, grabbing his arm. 

Lance stood frozen, watching, and I curled into a ball in pain, trying to protect myself, as I felt Howie kick me squarely in the back. Chris was trying to push him away, and Josh, who had been standing in the doorway, his mouth gaping open in shock, grabbed Howie from behind, pulling him back. Howie struggled against both of them, yelling obscenities, trying to get close enough to hit me again. I couldn't get any air back into my lungs, and couldn't seem to pull myself off the floor to try to defend myself, either. Howie elbowed Chris in the stomach, hard, and Chris let him go even as Howie somehow squirmed out of Josh's grip. He lunged for me as Josh lunged for him, catching a handful of his shirt, and then Lance stepped in front of me, blocking me. 

"Stop it," Lance said quietly. "I won't let you hit Justin again, Howie." 

"What are you doing?" Howie screamed at him, his face flushed, his hair wild. Chris and Josh stood on either side of him, ready to grab him again. "What are you doing, after what he did Lance, after what he did to you?" 

"Howie, I know how you feel, " Chris began, as Lance fumbled for an answer. Howie spun toward him. 

"You don't know how I feel!" Howie screamed as I rolled over, staring up at them, one hand clutching my face. I felt blood on my fingers, but was afraid to move my hand and see how bad it was. "You don't know what he did!" 

Lance's eyes were filling with tears, and I saw Chris's jaw working soundlessly as he groped for an answer, for something to say to Howie that would make this all ok. Suddenly realization blossomed across Howie's face. 

"You knew," he said quietly. Chris looked away, and Howie glanced at Josh, who was also looking guiltily at the floor. "You all knew! You knew what he did, and no one said anything? No one did anything?" 

"It wasn't like that," Chris began. 

"We didn't find out until later," Josh said at the same time. 

"You knew what he did!" Howie screamed, and both of them flinched away. "You knew!" 

"Howie, I'm sorry," I said from the floor, starting to get up. My ribs and back were throbbing where he had kicked me, and my face was burning, radiating pain. 

Howie lunged toward me again, and Lance put his hands on Howie's chest and shoved him backwards. Howie stared at him in shock, and then looked back down at me. 

"Get out," he said. 

"This is my house, Howie," Lance said coldly. "I decide who leaves." 

"Lance, how can you, after what he did, how can you not hate him?" Howie asked, staring at him. "After what he did to you? After what he did to us? How can you even be in the same room as him?" 

"Howie, there are things you don't know," Lance said, shaking his head. He looked oddly calm, much calmer than I was. My heart was racing, and I realized that blood was oozing out between my fingers as I pressed my hand to my cheekbone. I glanced at Howie's hand, saw a ring glinting, and realized that he must have hit me with that. "Howie, I know you're upset, but you need to calm down, and we can talk about this." 

"What's to talk about?" Howie asked, stepping away from Lance. "He hurt you, and you never told me. You never told me it was him. Didn't you trust me?" 

"Howie, I trust you more than anyone," Lance said, stepping toward him, putting a hand on his arm. Howie twisted away, stepping back again, and I saw Lance's face crack. 

"Not as much as you trust these guys," Howie spat. He glanced down at me. "You don't even trust me as much as you do him. He fucked up your head, Lance. It's his fault, and what do you do? You hang out with him every day! You work with him! You invite him over to dinner, all of you, and you all pretend it didn't happen!" 

"Howie, please just listen to me," Lance said, his voice shaking. 

Chris and Josh had been standing at Howie's sides, watching everyone. 

"Howie, you don't know the whole story," Chris said sharply. Howie turned toward him. 

"I know enough!" Howie snapped, turning toward the door. Tears began to roll down Lance's face, and Chris grabbed Howie's arm. You didn't mess with Chris when he was going into full out protective mode. He didn't let any of us get hurt if he could help it, and he wasn't going to let Howie do this to Lance. 

"No, you don't," Chris said harshly, slamming Howie's back against the wall. He leaned in. "Listen carefully to me, Howie Dorough. Right now, you're pissed at Justin, because of what he did when he was fucked in the head and not dealing well with his own issues, much less anyone else's. You're pissed at the rest of us, because we all knew about it and none of us have told you because we didn't want to intrude on yours and Lance's relationship. And you're pissed at Lance, because he didn't trust you with something that he couldn't even tell us until weeks after it happened. Am I right so far?" 

"Yeah," Howie answered grudgingly, relaxing a little. Chris let him down off the wall, and I saw that he had actually lifted Howie off of the floor when he slammed him up there. 

"Good," Chris said. "Be pissed, be angry, but don't be stupid, Howie. You and Lance have gone through more to get where you are than anyone else I know. Whatever Lance didn't tell you, he had reasons for keeping to himself, and if you walk out of here right now, I don't think you're ever going to hear them. If you love Lance as much as you keep telling him you do, then you two need to go somewhere, right now, and talk this through. And when it's all done, if you're still pissed at us, fine. If you still hate Justin as much as you do right now, fine. Just do it with the whole story, and do it for the right reasons." 

There was a second when no one said anything. Chris and Howie's eyes were still locked together, sparks practically flying between them. Josh was still watching them, standing against the wall, his face almost as white as his t-shirt. Lance was still looking achingly at Howie, tears trickling down his cheeks as he waited to see what Howie would do next. I was still on the floor, pressed back against a cabinet with my legs out, holding my wounded face, feeling blood smear all of my fingers and my side and back still throbbing painfully where Howie had kicked me, and I was realizing that this was all my fault. Lance had told me that he forgave me, and maybe he really had, but what I had done was still hurting him, even now, months later. What I had done was still coming in between him and Howie, and if they broke up over this, that would be my fault, too. 

"Fine," Howie said, turning away from Chris. He stared at Lance, both of them looking like they wanted to reach out for the other, but neither seemed sure of what to do next, or what to say. 

"Why don't you two go upstairs or something, and the rest of us will clear out," Chris suggested. 

"OK," Lance said, and Howie nodded. 

The two of them walked quietly out of the kitchen, side by side but not touching, and I heard them treading heavily up the stairs. Josh and Chris turned back toward me, finally. Both their eyes widened, bulging comically out of their faces, and Chris dropped to his knees as Josh grabbed the countertop, going even whiter than he already was. 

"Oh, shit," Chris breathed, staring at my face. "JC, towel! Now!" 

Josh fumbled across the counter for a towel, his eyes wide. I pulled my hand away from my face to stare at my fingers, and saw that my entire palm was red. My fingers were coated with blood, and it was running down my wrist. On the edge of my vision little black dots began to dance, and Chris slapped the other side of my face, startling me back to reality. 

"No passing out!" Chris said sharply. He grabbed the towel away from Josh and pressed it to my cheek. Taking my hand, he pushed it onto the towel, and then grabbed my arm. "Hold that down, Justin, and get up. JC, here. Go start my Jeep." 

"Where are we going?" Josh asked, eyes wide, taking Chris's keys. "Oh my God, there's so much blood. Justin?" 

"We're going to the emergency room," Chris said, pulling me to my feet. He leaned in and whispered to me. "Talk to him, Justin." 

I realized that Josh was scared, that the reason he looked like that was that he was afraid for me. I needed to start talking him down again, no matter what I felt like, because he'd had enough trauma. It was going to be a chore, though, because I was in serious pain. My face was on fire, but that was just the start. I wasn't sure, but I felt kind of like Howie had broken one of my ribs when he kicked me in the side. Even if it wasn't broken, it hurt, and so did the middle of my back, where he'd landed that other kick. I'd kind of always thought that Howie, however nice and good for Lance, was a little bit on the fairy side of gay, but Jesus could he do some damage when he was pissed. I felt like I'd fallen under a truck. 

"I'm ok, Josh," I said weakly, trying to smile. Maybe I should try to keep my face from moving. "It's not as bad as it looks." 

"Yeah, head wounds always bleed a lot," Chris said reassuringly. 

"Are you sure, Justin?" Josh asked, following behind us fretfully instead of running ahead to start the car like Chris had told him to. He seemed very concerned with my welfare suddenly. Was it because we were best friends, because he was leaning on me so much lately and needed me to be ok for him, or was it something else? "Are you sure you're ok?" 

"I'll be fine," I said, hoping it was true. 

More or less, it was. We had to wait for almost two hours at the emergency room, as none of us really wanted to play the "I'm a celebrity" card. We wanted to keep this quiet, although I knew it would be impossible. There was always someone watching and waiting to report things to the newspapers, especially things about me. I loved being the center of attention, always throwing myself into the middle of every photo shoot, or at least I had before. I wasn't like that anymore, didn't think that way since I'd started realizing that the world didn't actually revolve around me and what I wanted, but the damage was already done. You couldn't think of Nsync without thinking of Justin Timberlake, and Justin Timberlake couldn't walk down the street to McDonald's without someone, somewhere, reporting it. 

When I finally did get in to see a doctor, who was probably just an intern if all the times I'd watched "ER" were correct, she cleaned out the cut, and told me that it needed a few stitches to close it up. Howie's ring, catching my cheekbone at just the right angle (or just the wrong one, depending on your point of view), had more or less sliced the side of my face open, although it wasn't as bad as it could have been. 

"It'll probably just leave a small scar, and even that might be able to come off with surgery after it heals up," she said, shrugging. "Let me go get something to numb that up a little before we stitch you up, ok? I'll be right back." 

"OK," I said. 

Josh and Chris were waiting in the little room with me, Chris leaning on the wall and Josh sitting quietly in a chair. The girl had checked out the kicks, too, but thought that I'd just be bruised for a while. Adding in my bruised shoulder, and my skinned knuckles, the week or so since Jack left had been pretty rough for me, at least physically. Looking over at Josh, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, and the way that he was staring at me with such concern and caring, noticing the way that his hard brown nipples pressed against his t-shirt in the chill of the air conditioning, I realized that the week had been pretty rough emotionally, too. Josh had been on a roller coaster, and so had I. His heart had been ripped out, thrown on the ground and trampled on, and mine? Mine was shifting. My heart was fluid, bubbling and churning, shifting like a lava lamp. I looked at Josh, and I saw my best friend, but I also saw something else, someone I was starting to see as more than a friend. I wasn't just turned on by Josh, wasn't just attracted to his body. I was feeling something else, too, something deeper. 

And I was realizing this in the emergency room, while I got treated for injuries inflicted by the boyfriend of the guy that I had psychologically and sexually abused and driven into a spiral of self-hate and abuse that had, honestly, almost killed him, and while my girlfriend, who was practically my fiancee, sat at home after probably spending the day in bed with another guy. Jesus. I had no business being anywhere near Josh. I was too fucked in the head to love anyone besides myself. 

"Look, Justin, you're gonna be a little while longer, and I really need a cigarette," Chris said, shrugging. "I'll be outside by the ambulance bay, ok?" 

"Sure," I said, handing him my phone. "Can you call Brit and let her know I'll be home soon?" 

"Sure, bro," Chris said, taking the phone. Josh looked at the floor, a strange expression crossing his face when I mentioned Brit. "What should I tell her?" 

"Make something up," I answered. Lie to her, Chris. It wouldn't be the first time. "Tell me later what it was." 

"OK," Chris said, walking away. He passed the doctor on his way out. She was carrying a little tray with a needle and thread and a bunch of other stuff all neatly laid out on it. 

"OK, Justin, I want you to sit right there, and try not to move, ok?" she said, pulling out some wipes. I don't know why she was cleaning it again, since it had already been washed out, but I guess it would keep me from getting infected. It stung a little, and I winced. "This might be easier if you hold onto something." 

"Here," Josh said, standing beside me and taking my hand. 

His hand was warm, and soft, and he squeezed mine tightly. I realized that I was a little afraid, actually, but it felt good to have Josh there with me, holding onto me. When the doctor pulled out the first needle, Josh closed his eyes, turning his head away, and I remembered that he was terrified of needles. That was why we all had tattoos, and he didn't. I squeezed his hand, comforting him as much as he was me, and I closed my eyes, too. When she finished up, the doctor wrote me a prescription for some painkillers, just in case my side and back bothered me, and Josh and I went outside to find Chris, so that we could all go home and get some sleep. 

"All set?" Chris asked, crushing out his cigarette with his foot. He glanced down at our hands, and I realized that Josh and I were still linked. We both let go at once, looking away from each other a little guiltily. 

"Yeah," I answered, running my hand over the little group of stitches, only three, and thinking about how odd they felt. "All fixed." 

Chris dropped us off at my house, figuring that one of us could scoot over to Lance's tomorrow to pick up the car. Josh and I started to climb out of the Jeep, and Chris put a hand on my arm. 

"Josh, can I talk to Justin for a second?" he asked. Josh nodded, and got out of the Jeep, walking over to the bench by my door and sitting down. Chris turned to me. "Justin, what Howie did tonight wasn't right, and we know that. He only did it because he was upset, but I have to tell you that I know how he feels." 

"You hate me, too?" I asked, blinking quickly as I felt tears rising up in my eyes. How could Chris say that? He'd been finally warming up to me again, like all the guys had, finally treating me like I was part of the family, and like we were past all the other stuff. 

"Justin, you're my brother," Chris said. "I don't hate you. But I was ready to kick you out. When Lance told us what you did, how you made him feel, I was ready to wash my hands of you right then. When we said we wanted you out of the group, I think we all meant it, and when you begged us to let you stay, when you promised to go get therapy and get some help, I really just thought it was a ploy. I only went along with it because Lance and Josh did. I don't know if this is going to come out right, but, you know, what's going on with Lance and Howie right now, well, I don't think you're evil, Justin. You're not a bad person. You made some mistakes, but I wouldn't be sitting in this car with you if I didn't think you were genuinely sorry for what you'd done. Do you get what I'm saying, Justin?" 

"Yeah," I answered, wiping my eyes, clearing away those unshed tears. "Thanks, Chris." 

"You're welcome," he said. "Now get some rest, and get the hell out of my car. Vlada's flying in, and I need to pick her up at the airport." 

We both laughed, and then Chris gave me a quick hug and wished me goodnight. I walked up the driveway and met Josh at the door. I don't know what prompted it, but maybe we both looked like we needed a hug, because we reached out for each other, throwing our arms across each other's backs. Josh laid his head on my shoulder, and I traced my hands in little circles over the wings of his shoulder blades as his hands rested on my back. We pulled apart, staring into each other's eyes, our faces only inches apart, and I felt that stirring again, felt something inside me. What I couldn't tell, though, couldn't fathom, was whether Josh felt it, too. 

"It's been a really long day, " he sighed, looking away finally, denying me those sky blue eyes. 

"Let's go to bed," I said, opening the door. Josh followed me inside, and we walked in the dark through my house to the stairs. Climbing them, we stood in the hallway. 

"Good night, Justin," Josh said, reaching out for my hand. He squeezed it, and then turned to his room. 

"Good night, Josh," I answered. "I'm right here across the hall if you need me." 

I think Josh nodded, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. I caught a little scent of his cologne as he drifted into his room, the air from his open window carrying it to me on a breeze, and then he closed his door. I opened mine, not really thinking about anything, well aware of how much my body hurt, how much pain I'd been in physically today, but I also just felt tired inside. I wanted to go back across the hall, to talk out my problems with Josh like I'd always been able to, before. I wanted to go back to the old days, the way things were before when we were so close, because I needed someone to talk to, needed someone to listen to me and tell me it would be ok, and I needed it to be someone that I would believe, someone I'd always been able to believe, but I couldn't do that now. Josh had enough of his own problems now, had enough of his own heartbreak to deal with, and didn't need me dumping my shit on him. He needed to be able to dump shit on me, so I needed to just put my own issues away for a while, for as long as Josh needed me to. 

When I flipped on the light, though, I found one of my own issues, stretched across the bed in a slutty scrap of lingerie. I wasn't sure, since she jumped up when I opened the door, but I think she might have been fingering herself. She flung herself off of the bed, threatening to spill out of the top of whatever it was she was almost wearing, and came running over to me, almost toppling in her stiletto heels. How anyone could keep believing Britney's continued claims to be saving herself for marriage was completely beyond me. She pressed herself against my chest, squashing her implants, which she denied (hey, I'd seen the scars, ok?), against my pecs as she ran her manicured fingers up to my shoulders. 

"Oh, baby, let me see your stitches," she whispered, turning my face to the side with her spade-shaped fingernails, painted to match her outfit. I almost choked on the acrid, overly floral perfume that flooded my nostrils. Her finger scraped lightly across my skin, just below the stitches. "Did it hurt, baby?" 

"A little," I admitted, stepping back. She was just too close, too much. I needed air. 

"I waited all night for you to get back," she purred, keeping herself against me. I realized I'd stepped back toward the bed, and she shoved, hard, pushing me into it. I lost my balance, and she landed on top of me, stretching herself out against me, grinding slowly against my body. "I waited right here, for you to get back, and I thought about you. I thought about all the things I'm gonna do to you to make you feel all better. Do you want me to make you feel better, baby?" 

Her hands dropped down to my belt, working at the buckle, fighting with my zipper. 

"Brit," I said, trying to get her attention. 

"I've been waiting all night, Justin," she continued, tossing my belt aside. She began to tug at my pants, trying to fight them down over my throbbing dick. I didn't want her, but like I said before, if you play with it, it gets hard. "I want you to fuck me, Justin. I want you to throw me down on the bed, and tear this off of me, and I want you to slam your big, hard cock up inside me. I want you to make me cum, Justin, and I want to scratch my hands down your back. Fuck me, Justin." 

I lay beneath her, motionless. 

"Fuck me," she panted again, looking up at me. 

"No," I said quietly. She blinked at me. "Brit, we talked about this last night. I don't want Josh to hear us." 

She leaned up on her hands, breasts spilling down at me, as she stared into my face. 

"You don't want Josh to hear?" she repeated flatly, her eyes flashing beneath the mascara and heavy strokes of eyeshadow. "You won't fuck me, because you don't want Josh to hear us?" 

"Yes," I said, scooting to the side to get out from under her. I sat up and began untying my shoes. 

"What the fuck is your problem?" she snapped from behind me. "Who are you fucking, Justin?" 

"I'm not fucking anyone," I answered honestly, pulling off my socks. "Oddly enough, Brit, there's more to life than sex." 

"Don't pretend to be philosophical with me, asshole," she sneered, pacing the room in front of me as I kicked my pants off. She stopped in front of me. "Do you still love me?" 

"Brit, of course I love you, " I answered, shaking my head. 

"You won't prove it," she said, hands on her hips. 

"Brit, I told you, I don't want Josh to," I began, but she cut me off. 

"Fuck Josh!" she snapped. "I'm tired of hearing about Josh! Every day, it's Josh this and Josh that. I'm tired of hearing about fucking Josh, Justin. I'm your girlfriend, not Josh. Me!" 

"Brit, you're being unfair," I began. "Josh needs me right now." 

"Josh needs you," she sneered again. "What about what I need? What the fuck, Justin? You act like you're in love with him." 

I stared at her, and before I could say anything I saw her face shift as she saw something, some little slip, in mine. 

"Justin? What the fuck?" she snapped, grabbing my shoulders. I stood, and she shook me. "Are you, do you like Josh? Are you into guys, Justin?" 

"Brit, I don't want to talk about this with you, not when you're like this," I began, too tired to think of a good lie. She slapped me. 

"You fucking are!" she said, shoving me away. "You like guys! You've been playing me!" 

"Brit, I love you," I began, not sure of even how to begin to explain. 

"You love dick," she hissed. She looked around, and began picking up her clothes from off the floor. "I'm not going to be your fag hag, Justin. I'm not going to have people talk about me like that, make jokes behind my back." 

"Brit, it isn't like that," I tried to explain, feeling my heart twisting again. 

I didn't want it to be like this, didn't want to have to explain it to her this way. Brit and I played around on each other, we did all the time, but we kept it within limits. We never developed feelings for anyone else, and I'd never told Brit that I was bi. Hell, at the beginning of the summer, I hadn't even known I was. And the way I felt about Josh was different. I didn't just want to sleep with him, didn't just want to touch him. I felt something else for Josh, something deeper, something I hadn't ever felt with Brit. I didn't want to hurt her, though. 

"Oh, it isn't like that?" she sneered, stuffing things into her suitcase now that she'd thrown some clothes on. "Have you fucked him?" 

"What?" I asked, blinking at her in surprise. 

"Have you had sex with Josh?" she asked quietly. 

"Only once," I answered, looking away, thinking that it might help to be honest. 

It was exactly the wrong answer. Wiping at her black tears with the back of her hand, Britney grabbed her bags and ran out of the room, charging down the stairs as I ran after her. 

"Brit, wait!" I yelled. "Don't go like this!" 

"Fuck you, Justin!" she snapped back, not even slowing down as she went out the front door, pulling out her phone to call for a car. "Fuck you, and goodbye." 

I stood in the doorway and watched her walk down the driveway, my vision blurred by the sudden flood of hot tears that sprang into my eyes. 

"Shit," I sighed. "Shit, shit, shit." 

I'd really fucked up on this one. I punched the doorframe, and punched it again. Slamming the door, I stumbled into the kitchen, sobbing now. I did love Brit, I really did, and she was my friend. It always hurt me when my friends were mad at me, and I'd never intended to hurt her, not this way. I tried to think about how she felt, what she would do, and decided I didn't want to think about anything. Reaching into the cabinet under the sink, where I kept all my liquor, I grabbed the first bottle I found, and unscrewed the top. I felt the vodka burn its way down my throat, and I took another long pull off the bottle. Carrying it out of the kitchen, I climbed the stairs, and saw Josh standing in the partially opened doorway to his room, light spilling over his bare torso as he stood in his boxer briefs. 

"Justin?" he asked, reaching toward me uncertainly. "Are you, are you ok?" 

"No," I answered simply, raising the bottle to my lips again as I walked into my bedroom. 

I shut my door behind me. 

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CHAPTER 62

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JUSTIN'S POV:

After I shut my door, the house was silent. Josh didn't knock, didn't try to talk to me. In my room, there were no sounds either, except the sloshing of the bottle as I raised it to my mouth again and again, swallowing, waiting for some forgetful oblivion to swallow me. My clothes didn't make more than a hushed dropping noise as I stripped down to my briefs, just shedding everything with abandon wherever it landed. The sheets didn't make any noise, either. The only thing I really heard, finally, before I dropped into sleep, passing out, was the empty bottle dropping to the carpet with a muffled thump. 

It went on like that for days, the silence. Josh and I drifted through the house like ghosts, alone in our pain but near each other. I was afraid to reach out to him, afraid to talk to him about what had happened to me, what I had done. I had hurt everyone around me, in some way or another, and I couldn't hurt Josh, too, not while he was lost in pain of his own, carrying around his own heartbreak. At least Josh wasn't to blame for what happened to him. Jack had left him, had walked away from Josh, but it wasn't because of anything Josh had done. I had driven Britney away, had hurt her with my lies. She and I had built our whole relationship on dishonesty, had always made ourselves see it one way even when it was another, but there were some things we couldn't lie to ourselves about, some false truths that neither one of us could stomach. 

If Brit thought I loved her, she was willing to put up with anything else. She was willing to let me sleep with groupies, and I let her sleep with dancers or random club guys, because we knew that we still loved each other. The sad truth was that I did love Brit. Maybe it wasn't true love, maybe it wasn't the love that would last a lifetime and leave the two of us growing old together holding hands on a porch somewhere, but I loved her as much as I could. I loved her like a sister, and I loved her like a girlfriend. I loved her enough to miss her now, loved her enough to wish things had gone differently, but in the end I hadn't loved her enough not to hurt her. You might argue that there was no way, after everything that had happened, for me not to hurt someone, but that was wrong. If I had never slept with Josh and Jack, I never would have had anything to keep from Brit, and none of this would have happened. I would maybe still have felt the same way about Josh, maybe still felt those same little twinges inside, but there's a difference between feeling something and acting on it. 

What was done, though, could not be undone, could not be taken away. I could add this to the list of things I wish I could take back, but I also needed to add it to the list of things I had to live with. Brit was gone, for better or worse, and Josh was still here, still lost inside himself. When I left the room on the second day to go down to the kitchen and get a second bottle, whichever one came into my hand first, I saw him in the living room, curled up on the couch, staring out the window. I was just strolling the house in my briefs, but Josh was dressed, and appeared to have showered. Still, he was in as much pain as he had been, still withdrawn. The circles under his eyes seemed almost permanent now, and he never smiled. He didn't even glance at me as I shuffled past, heading for the kitchen, and when I passed by again he was still in the same position. 

I heard him, sometimes, during those few days when everything was gray, when everything was lost to me. I heard him moving around the house. I realized on the third day that I hadn't eaten in days, and I wondered if maybe Josh hadn't, either. I had to push him to eat, before, and God only knew what he was doing now that I wasn't eating, either. I pulled myself out of bed, finally, on that third day since Britney left, and realized that my knees were shaking. All I'd done for two days was drink, and I felt weak, suddenly. I felt dizzy, and my stomach lurched. I stumbled somehow, tangled in the bed sheets, and toppled to the floor. I lay on the rug, my stomach suddenly cramping sharply with hunger or hangover or both, and I counted four empty bottles on the floor, two more than I remembered drinking. 

The door opened as I tried to get up, my head splitting, the room spinning around me, and Josh looked in. Seeing me, he rushed over to the floor, scooping me up in his arms the way I had carried him back at the hotel. He put me down on the bed, leaning over me, brushing my forehead gently, trying to bring me around. 

"Justin?" he asked, leaning over me. His face was so close, so handsome, and I could feel his breath on my cheeks, on my mouth. "Justin, are you all right?" 

"I'm sorry," I whispered, realizing that my voice was little more than a croak. "I just got a little dizzy." 

"I think you're dehydrated," he said, squeezing my hand. "Justin, you have to get up, ok? Please?" 

I wanted to get up, I did, but I barely had the energy to move, and I felt sore all over. 

"Josh, I can't," I whispered, closing my eyes. 

I think I was still a little drunk, because I grayed out again for a while. When I came to, Josh was sitting on the side of the bed, pressing a wet washcloth onto my forehead. On the nightstand next to him I could see a tray, and when he saw my eyes open he carefully brought a glass of orange juice to my mouth, lifting my head up with one hand. I noticed that the daylight coming through my windows had shifted, and realized that I must have been asleep for several hours. I wondered if Josh had stayed here the whole time, but realized he must have gone downstairs at least long enough to make the sandwiches piled high on the plate. The first swallow of juice seemed almost to burn my mouth, but after it hit my throat I began to greedily suck it down, my whole body suddenly crying out for it, and I grabbed Josh's wrist as he tried to pull the glass away. 

"You have to go slow, or you're going to throw it up," he said, gently removing my hand. 

Josh set the glass down on the tray, and leaned over me, so close that our faces were almost touching. I gasped a little as I suddenly felt his hands sliding up my sides, and realized that I was still only in my briefs, even though he had pulled the sheet up over me. His hands were warm, and firm, and I felt gentle pressure as he pulled me up a little. Realizing what he was trying to do, finally, I slid up the rest of the way under my own power, until I was sitting up with my back against the pillows propped between me and the headboard. I thought maybe Josh's hands lingered a little longer on my chest than they had to, seemed to caress just a little as he withdrew them, but it could have just been my imagination. When he saw that I was sitting up all the way, he handed me the glass again. 

"Slowly," he said, almost like a mom. 

His eyes looked less shadowed, somehow, and I realized that I had inadvertently given Josh something else to obsess over. Now he was focused on helping me, and it was distracting him, at least a little. Josh leaned over to the nightstand and picked up the tray, where the plate was piled high with sandwiches. He set it down on the bed next to his legs, and picked up a sandwich. In typical Josh fashion, they weren't just sandwiches thrown on a plate. Each one was neatly cut in half, and they were stacked on the plate in an overlapping, almost architectural design. The sad part was that Josh did this kind of stuff unconsciously. 

"Do you feel like eating something?" Josh asked, holding out the sandwich half toward me. I saw that it was peanut butter and jelly, and wondered if I even had any other food in the house. If he'd asked me when I first woke up, when I was dizzy and weak and could barely get out of bed, I would have said no, but now suddenly I felt my stomach growling, and I took the sandwich from him. 

"Thanks, Josh," I said, biting in as he took one for himself. 

We ate in silence for a while, Josh handing me a sandwich half each time I finished one, and eating several himself, as well. I don't think he realized that he hadn't been eating until he started making some food for me. He had the jug of orange juice, too, and refilled my glass each time I drained it. For himself he had a bottle of water, and drank it slowly as he watched me eat. When I asked Josh what day it was, I was surprised to learn that three days had gone by since Brit had walked away from me. Three days that I could barely remember. 

"You really scared me today, Justin," Josh said quietly. 

"I'm sorry, Josh," I said, looking guiltily down at my bare chest. "I didn't realize I was drinking that much, and I don't think I was supposed to mix it with those painkillers." 

"You could have died, Justin, " Josh said, looking away as his voice cracked. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, steadying himself for a minute. "You scared the hell out of me, Justin, and what would I have done if you left me, too?" 

"Josh, I'm sorry," I said again, reaching out a hand toward him. He turned, and grabbed me, hugging me against him. We just held onto each other for a few minutes, not crying, just clutching each other. When we finally let go, I looked away again, aware of how much pain I'd almost caused everyone around me by trying to escape my own. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Josh asked, handing me another sandwich as he took another for himself. 

"Do you want to talk about Jack?" I asked. 

"No, not right now," Josh answered quickly, looking away. 

"Me either," I said, chewing a sandwich that suddenly tasted like paper. We finished the last of the sandwiches, and when I looked up from brushing a few crumbs off my chest I found Josh staring at me. 

"You have some jelly on you, " he said softly, reaching out. His thumb wiped at the skin near my mouth, and I turned my head a little. Flicking my tongue out, I licked the jelly off of Josh's thumb as he rubbed it across my lips. I felt how soft his skin was, and I shivered, chills racing down my spine as I felt his thumb brushing over my lips, as I caressed it with them. Our eyes were locked together, but then, blinking, he stood, practically jumping off of the bed. Gathering up the plate, my glass, and the juice jug on the tray, he turned back to me. "Are you ok to get up by yourself, now?" 

"Yeah, I think so," I answered. I really needed to get up and take a shower, a cold shower, based on what I felt happening beneath my sheet. "I'm gonna take a shower and clean up, ok?" 

"Yeah," he answered from the door, not glancing back as I climbed out of bed. "And then maybe you should come downstairs. We need to talk about some stuff." 

"OK," I answered, wondering what it could be. Not what I was thinking, was it? As it turned out, it wasn't what I thought it was, after all. I had been sort of half hoping that maybe Josh would say something, anything, about the way he felt about me, or maybe that he had heard what Brit had said, or something, but it turned out to be none of those things. 

Josh was sitting at the table, sipping another glass of water, waiting patiently for me to come downstairs. I looked around to see what he had been doing, and was surprised to see a book near him. Josh, while not stupid, never read books, not for fun. Looking down at it, I noted with even more surprise that it was the book Jack had left in the hotel room, the one he had been halfway through when he decided he was through with Josh. The place Jack had left, marked with a dollar, was still there, but I noticed another spot, marked with a tissue, that must have been Josh's place. I wondered if he was reading it because he was curious, or because he was bored, or if maybe he thought he might find something in there that might explain what had happened. He looked up at me, his eyes sparkling, but he didn't smile. 

"What's up?" I asked, curious. He had a pad in front of him, not the notebook he kept carrying around the house with him. It was the pad I kept near the phone in my kitchen. 

"You have a whole bunch of calls to return," Josh said. "I thought maybe I should tell you what's been going on for the last couple of days." 

"Why, is it bad?" I asked. Why on earth would we need to have a talk about my phone messages? 

"Well, Brit told everyone under the sun that you two aren't together anymore," Josh began. My eyebrows went up. So much for keeping our private lives private. "She hasn't told anyone why, but, you know, lots of people are calling for statements, so you better call Johnny and tell him what to tell people." 

"What kind of stuff has she been saying?" I asked, curious. OK, I knew that us breaking up would be big news, so I should have thought of this already. I was also surprised to realize that when I thought about Brit and I, I didn't feel quite so upset anymore. I still felt a little sad I'd hurt her, and I had an empty feeling when I thought about she and I not being friends anymore, not being able to just call each other and chat, but when I thought about the rest of it, thought about not sleeping with her anymore, not kissing her, not holding her hand, I didn't really feel that crushing sense of loss that Josh seemed to whenever I caught him thinking about Jack. 

"Umm, you know, stuff," Josh said, swallowing and looking away. He glanced back at me and sighed. "OK, I believe her exact quote is that she broke up with you because she'd like to date someone who doesn't hurt her, and who isn't stringing her along and wasting her time." 

"She said that?" I asked, swallowing. Josh took my hand as I felt my eyes water a little. I knew she was angry, but she must have been really hurt to throw everything out in front of everyone like that. 

"She said that on TRL, to Carson Daily," Josh said, squeezing my hand. "Justin, I'm sorry for you. I'm sorry she's doing it this way, but at least, you know." 

"I know, Josh," I said, squeezing his hand back. At least Brit wasn't hiding from me, leaving me to try to figure it all out on my own. Poor Josh. "So I need to call Johnny. What are the rest of them?" 

"You need to call your mom, Chris, Joey, Brit's mom, and then you need to decide if you're talking to any reporters," Josh said, reading down the list. "People magazine is doing a story on how we both got dumped, but I'm not fucking talking to them." 

"I'm not talking to anyone, either," I said. It was hard enough breaking up without having the whole world watching, especially for someone like Josh, who was such a private person. I stood, taking the pad from him, and he stood as well. "I guess I'll make some of these calls now." 

Josh started to walk away, and I put a hand on his shoulder. When he turned back, I held out my arms, and he stepped into them, laying his head on my shoulder as we folded our hands around each other's backs. 

"Josh, I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry for the last three days, I'm sorry I wasn't here for you like I was supposed to be, and I'm sorry I scared you so bad. I'm sorry I wasn't thinking about you at all, and it means so much to me that you stayed here to take care of me, and to watch my phone, and wait for me to pull out of this. I don't know how to make it up to you, I don't know how to show you how much I appreciate you being here, and how much I love having you as my best friend." 

Josh sighed against my neck, and I felt wetness there. I realized that Josh, who always had his emotions so close to the surface regularly, not to mention how raw they'd been lately, was crying a little against me, and I held onto him. Maybe Josh just needed to feel like someone still needed him. Maybe he needed to feel like he was still worth something to someone, that someone still wanted him around. 

"It's ok, Justin," Josh said, sniffling as he tried to get himself back under control. He pulled away from me, his wet blue eyes staring up into mine. "I haven't thanked you, either. Maybe instead of, um, maybe instead of us worrying about who's taking care of who, maybe we should just concentrate on being here for each other." 

"Maybe we should," I answered, looking down at him. 

It was another of those moments, the ones we kept having so often lately, the ones where our faces were so close to each other, where we were looking into each other's eyes. I don't know what Josh thought during these little emotional flashes, don't know if he ever felt what I did, but I know that I felt tension. I felt a stirring in my heart, felt something inside me warming when I looked at Josh. He looked up at me, I looked down at him, and I felt myself falling down into his eyes, felt the world turning beneath my feet. His breath brushed across my face, across my lips, but I wasn't breathing at all. More than anything, I felt like scooping Josh up, swooping him against me like some romantic movie, and then crushing his lips to mine. 

Josh blinked, and stepped away. 

"I'll let you make those calls, now," he said, grabbing his book off of the table. 

"Thanks," I said quietly, watching him walk away. 

I talked to Johnny first, since I figured the phone must be ringing off the hook at our offices. He asked how I was doing, and how I was holding up, and I realized that Johnny was the best manager we'd ever had, unlike that bastard Lou, who always treated us like property. I told Johnny that I'd be keeping a low profile for a while, and that I wasn't going to talk about the breakup with anyone, because I wanted to keep my personal life to myself for a while. I did give him a statement to give out, though. 

"Tell them that I said I'm very sorry to Britney for any pain that I might have caused her, and that it was never my intention to hurt her, and that I hope that we can remain friends despite this." 

"Justin, are you sure you want to say that?" Johnny asked carefully. "I mean, it may not be the easiest thing for you to say it that way. It makes it sound like it's your fault." 

"It kind of is," I answered, shrugging. "Johnny, that's what I want to say, and that's how I want to say it. Please don't change it. I want to be honest, ok?" 

"OK, Justin," Johnny answered. "I just wanted to make sure you were aware." 

Oh, I was aware. Now that it was too late to change anything, now that it was well after the fact, I suddenly seemed to be completely aware of everything. I could see all the possible effects of my actions, and needed to start thinking about ways to make up for them. Maybe publicly apologizing and taking the blame for the failure of our relationship, since it was my fault, would do something to patch things up between Brit and I, or at least start to. 

I called my mom next, and we had a long talk about what had happened. I didn't really explain to her what the issues involved were, because I wasn't ready to talk to my mom about me liking guys, too. I really didn't want to tell her that I'd slept with Josh and Jack, either, because I wasn't really sure about how one even went about having that conversation. Maybe I'd have to ask Josh for some pointers. After all, his parents had taken it really well. Then again, they always took everything Josh did really well. It wasn't hard to accept whatever your kid did when your kid was more or less perfect. I don't mean that in any kind of jealous way, either. Josh is just one of those people who's really good looking, really nice, and really good at anything he's ever applied himself to. I'm good at some things, and I'm pretty cute, probably even cuter than Josh, but he's the total package, and I'm just pieces. 

The call to Brit's mom didn't go well at all. When she finished screaming at me, and I finally got a chance to talk, I wasn't even sure what I should say. She called me a lot of really awful things, because Brit had been completely honest with her mother, unlike me, and I almost hung up on her. She explained that the only reason why the two of them hadn't told the press everything was that they didn't want to hurt Britney's reputation by having it come out that I had left her for a man, even if she had left me. It really wouldn't do much for her sex-symbolism for her to be seen as a fag hag, or a woman who turned straight boys gay. I mentioned to her mom that I was kind of hoping that maybe Brit and I could be friends again someday, and she rudely informed me that I had hurt her daughter enough and needed to stay the hell away from her before loudly slamming the phone down. Knowing her, she was probably already lining up the next power date for her darling daughter. I missed Brit, but I'd never miss her mom. 

After she hung up on me, I felt kind of like crying all over again, but I swallowed it. I'd been called worse, by worse people. She could only hurt me if I let her. 

I called Joey next, but he wasn't picking up, so I left him a message. 

"Hey, Joe, it's Juju. Josh told me you called to check on me, but I was kind of out to lunch for a couple days there. I'm doing ok, better than I was, but I wanted to say thank you for calling to check on me. It means a lot to me knowing you guys are still here for me, after everything I've done, and I thank God for all of you every day. Tell everyone I said hi, hug Brie for her Uncle Justin, and come back soon. We miss you." 

I called Chris next. 

"Finally, we hear from you!" Chris said. "I came over, but JC wouldn't let me go up to your room." 

"When was this?" I asked. I didn't remember hearing anybody in the house. 

"Yesterday," Chris answered. "He said that you weren't feeling well, and that I shouldn't go disturb you because you were sleeping." 

"That was kind of a lie," I said, trying to keep to my new guideline of being completely honest. "I was actually drunk and passed out." 

"Oh," Chris said, and then seemed to just run out of words. 

"It's ok, Chris, I know it wasn't a good idea," I said, pacing the kitchen. "I just, I don't know, I zoned out for a couple days, there." 

"Justin, maybe this isn't my business, and maybe you don't want to tell me over the phone, but what happened? JC said he heard you and Brit arguing, but didn't know what it was about, and then she was running out the front door and you locked yourself in your room." 

Josh hadn't heard what we were arguing about? I thought maybe he was just being polite when he asked if I wanted to talk about it, or that he had meant talking about my feelings instead of about the breakup itself. If Josh hadn't heard, then he didn't know what I'd told Brit. He didn't know why we had broken up, and he didn't know that my feelings toward him were a little more than friendly, a little less than innocent. My feelings were still my own, and wouldn't intrude on our friendship. I just needed to keep them under control. I couldn't reach out to Josh now, or he might think I was rebounding, and I couldn't push him, because he might not be ready. 

"It started out as just this dumb fight, Chris, because she wanted to have sex and I didn't," I began. 

"You?" Chris asked, laughing. "You're the horniest kid I know. Well, I mean, other than me." 

"Believe it or not, I wasn't in the mood," I said, laughing along with him. "I was afraid Josh would hear us, and I thought it might upset him, but then she got all pissy, and then somehow right in the middle I told her that I, well, um." 

"You um?" Chris asked. 

"Remember when we had that meeting? When you guys were gonna kick me out?" I asked quietly, not really wanting to recall that day. "Remember how Josh talked about how I'd flirted with him and Jack, and played games with them, and that's why Jack and Josh had that big fight and he almost left? Well, Josh and I left something out of the story. We, um, we had a threesome. That's what started the fight between the two of them, and that's what I told Brit." 

Chris didn't say anything for a couple seconds, and I wondered what he was thinking. Finally, though, he spoke. 

"Justin, I kind of figured that out already. Not the part about you and Brit, but the part about you and Jack and JC," Chris said. "Nobody ever said it, but, well, with what you did with Lance, and with the way all the rest of that went down, I think we all kind of figured it out once we figured out you're bi. I'm assuming Brit didn't take it well?" 

"No, not really," I said, shaking my head. "I've heard there was this TRL thing I missed." 

"Yeah, Carson's a real prick sometimes," Chris sneered. I could picture his expression over the phone. 

"Chris, what am I gonna do?" I asked, practically falling into one of the chairs. 

"Well, that depends," Chris began. I heard a cigarette lighter flicking. "Do you want her back?" 

"No, no I don't want her back," I answered without hesitation. "But Chris, I miss having her as a friend. I don't know what to do about it, or how to make it up to her." 

Chris sighed. 

"Justin, I haven't really been in, you know, this particular situation, but I was in something similar once," Chris began, and I tried to imagine how many models might have been involved. "OK, maybe more than once. Anyway, I think you need to just give Brit some space. You've probably made her feel kind of inadequate, like she wasn't good enough. I know that you guys slept around with other people all the time, and God knows I'm the last one to say that's a bad thing, but this is a different kind of sleeping around. This is something she can't compete with, and that probably threatened her a little. Maybe after you let her get used to it, she might want to talk again, but Justin, you also need to realize that she might never want to." 

"Should I send her flowers or something?" I asked, not sure of what else to do. 

"Nope," Chris answered. "For now, just let her go. You're going to see her eventually, because we always see everybody else at some point, and I think you should let her set the tone for those. If she talks to you, talk to her. If she gives you the cold shoulder, just say hi to her, and then leave her alone." 

"Thanks, Chris," I said. If he thought it was for the best, I'd listen to whatever he told me. I realized that I had another question, too. "Chris, I looked at all the phone messages that Josh took for me, and there's one from you, and one from Joey, but Lance didn't call me. Are, um, did him and Howie break up?" 

Chris sighed again. 

"No, Justin, they didn't," Chris answered. "Lance and I have been talking about it, and he's been talking to JC, too. Howie is still upset, and he's still pretty pissed at you, but they're still together. They went out of town yesterday, and they're going to be away for a week or so. I'm not sure where they went, but Lance wanted some time for them to just be together." 

"Thanks, Chris," I said, glad at least that I hadn't hurt Lance any further. 

"Justin, can I ask you something else?" Chris began. "I mean, I was going to ask JC when I was there the other day, but it's about Jack, and I got the impression that JC doesn't talk about him at all." 

"He doesn't," I answered. Jack had become the elephant in the room around here. We knew he existed, but no one mentioned him. "What's up?" 

"Justin, you were there," Chris began, and I could tell already that this was going to be bad. "Did any of this seem a little funny to you? Are you sure Jack left on his own?" 

"What do you mean?" I asked, but then I remembered that little twinge, that little off feeling when I had read the note Jack left. I pushed it away quickly, because I realized that I wanted Jack to stay away. He had hurt Josh enough, damn it. "Chris, why are you asking this?" 

"Remember when I was going to put you guys in touch with a private investigator? Well, I hired him anyway," Chris explained. "Justin, he hasn't been able to find any trace of Jack, not a car rental, a plane ticket, nothing. How much sense does that make?" 

"Chris, Jack said not to try to find him," I stubbornly insisted. 

"Justin, what if he's in trouble? What if he needs someone to find him?" Chris asked. "I think we need to tell JC about this." 

"I don't think we should," I said quickly. I was saying it to protect Josh, not for my own selfish reasons. "Chris, Josh is just starting to get over this. He's just now starting to pull himself out of this depression he's in. If you tell him this, what then? What if he throws himself back into it, and then he goes to find Jack, and he finds out that Jack really did leave him? What then?" 

"But Justin, what if Jack didn't want to leave?" Chris asked, almost pleading. I felt my heart tearing in three directions at once, and didn't know what to do, or how to answer. I wanted to protect Josh, but I was worried about Jack, my friend, but I also wanted to keep Josh here with me, safe in our own little world. 

"Chris, your investigator hasn't found any evidence of that," I pointed out. "So far he hasn't found anything that contradicts what we already know. I just don't think it's a good idea to throw all of this is Josh's face for no reason." 

Chris sighed. 

"Fine, but the second he finds something, either way, we're going to JC," Chris said. 

Chris and I talked for a little while longer, and made plans for the three of us to go out to eat the next day, if Josh was up for it. I thought it might be good for both of us to get out of the house for a while, since we hadn't gone anywhere in days. We needed to see a little bit of the world again, needed to be around people besides each other and our few close friends. It might clear our heads a little, or at least give us a change of scenery. I went to look for Josh, to ask him about it, but I couldn't find him. He wasn't in his bedroom, or the bathroom. I checked the living room, but he wasn't there, either. He wasn't in the music room, but I saw his notebook sitting on the piano bench. 

Curious, I walked over to it. It was a bound journal type of book, a large one full of blank pages. Josh tended to work in these pretty often, on songs, or just writing, or drawing sometimes. Like everything else, he was a pretty good artist, too. I know it was a violation of his privacy, but I suddenly found myself flipping through the heavy, unlined pages, wondering what he had been working on in here the past week or so, as he had carried this around the house and yard. 

Flipping through, I saw that this was an older book, from the beginning of the summer. There were some pages of lists, with neat check marks by them, of things he wanted to do, or people he needed to call. There was a list titled, "Romantic things to do for Jack" that made me smile as I saw that it was devoted to all the things he had done for Jack when they'd been separated, right after they got together. There was a number for the florist, a number for that chef, and sketch of the living room set he bought. There were also some journal type entries, but I didn't read them, or even skim them, not wanting to pry into his thoughts that much. I was also kind of scared to see what he might have thought and written about me, as I realized that I was getting to the part of the summer where he'd been at his parents, where everything had fallen apart. I didn't want to read pages where Josh hated me. 

There were pictures scattered through as well, some of them just little quick sketches, but some of them fleshed out and shaded. There was one of Jack reading, a couple quick ones of Jack by the pool, and one of Jack throwing something to some birds at his feet that made me smile. He had caught Jack so well, his easy laid back manner mixed with that ever-present expression of practical irony, his mouth always caught in that little twist of a smile that made you think he saw everything as somehow amusing. As cute as the pictures were, though, the next pages, the ones from the past week, really caught my attention. This is what Josh had been working on every time I saw him carrying this around the house. 

It was written as a letter, a letter to Jack, but it was a song, too. I don't know which Josh intended it to be, but there were sections crossed out, and put back in, words changed and rearranged. Reading it, I felt the sense of longing Josh had. I felt the need to know what had happened, the struggle to understand. Not only that, but I felt the sense of loss. I felt Josh's incompleteness, the sucking hole that hadn't been there before. I felt his struggle to get up, and get through every day, trying to find his way without his love. Not only that, but I felt hope, and realized that it was because Josh did, too. Reading this, I realized that Josh was still in love with Jack underneath it all, still hoping, somehow, that he would come back to him. People, and even us, don't always give Josh credit as a songwriter. After all, it's not like "Digital Getdown" is destined to be a classic someday, but this, this "Dear Jack" letter, was the most moving thing I'd ever read. I had to get Josh to put this to music, had to get him to share this. It was too good not to. 

I stood, intending to go find him and explain it to him, but then I noticed that there was something on the next page, too. Turning it, I gasped when I saw a drawing of myself. It was a full sketch, shaded and streaked, of me, sleeping. The sheet was pulled down to my waist, and I lay on my side facing the viewer, every inch of my torso, every line of every muscle, carefully drawn in. My tattoos were all drawn and shaded, and my face looked peaceful, my mouth a little open and my eyes closed. Looking closely I saw that he had even drawn in the little trail of hair on my stomach, leading down from my navel. The details of the rumpled sheet, and the shape of the bed, were barely drawn in, just plain lines, but every inch of my body was rendered with exquisite care. 

When had he drawn this? It must have taken hours. 

Glancing at the top of the page, I saw that he had done it yesterday. He hadn't mentioned being in my room yesterday, hadn't said a word about coming in to watch me sleep. Had he come in for something else? 

Setting the book down on the piano bench where I'd found it, I thought about going to the backyard, looking for my golf clubs. I needed to do something to take my mind off of Josh. Something fluttered out of the book as I set it down, though, a postcard. Picking it up, I saw the Seattle skyline. Turning it over, I gasped again. 

"I'm happier without you, and hope you can be happy without me. - Jack" 

It was written in Jack's handwriting, which I'd seen enough times to recognize, and signed. It must have come to the house in the past few days, while I was dead to the world. I looked at it, thinking about how empty Josh seemed again, and felt my heart breaking for him all over again. It didn't matter what Chris thought. Jack really was gone. 

---

CHAPTER 63

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JUSTIN'S POV: 

For the next three or four days, things were more or less quiet at my house. The phone calls about me and Brit tapered off, and the ones about Josh and Jack had dropped off a while ago. Josh still drifted around the house, carrying around his notebook, but he didn't seem to be crying quite so much. Either that, or he was doing it alone at night behind his closed door. We didn't talk about either breakup, and I didn't mention the postcard, but we weren't ever more than a room or two apart, no matter what we were doing. If Josh went for a swim, I hit some golf balls around, or got in the pool with him. If I went to the music room, or to the living room to play video games, Josh came and sat with me. We spent hours playing chess, or cards. On one interminable evening we tried to play Trivial Pursuit, but the game took forever, because neither one of us are very good at it. 

Our dinner with Chris was fun, but there was a lot of press. We had thought we'd be largely unnoticed, since we usually were in Orlando, but while we were inside the restaurant somebody called some reporter, who called some other reporter, and by the time we finished dinner there was a little crowd waiting at the door of the restaurant with their cameras out. Chris and I put Josh in between us, as he was still kind of fragile, and we didn't know how he'd do. We tried to walk through without saying anything, not even a "No comment," but it was hard. 

"Justin, have you talked to Britney?" 

"Is it true that she's dating Ashley from O-Town? How do you feel about that? 

"Chris, who are you dating?" 

"Josh, why did you and Jack break up?" 

"Were you cheating on him?" 

Josh spun, his eyes watering, about to say something, and I could tell he was ready to scream. I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him into the car as the reporters continued to scream questions at us, directing most of them toward Josh now that they'd seen they'd almost gotten a response. I wondered what kind of vulture would pick at someone who was so obviously in pain as I climbed into the back of Chris's jeep with Josh, pushing him across the seat as he wiped at his eyes. I thought Chris was going to get in, too, since he had taken the keys back from the valet already, but he turned back toward the crowd of press as I closed my door. 

"Look, I know you're just trying to do your jobs, but these are my friends, my brothers, and they're in a lot of pain. Why don't you just back off, and leave them alone?" 

It was a good thought, but it had no effect whatsoever. There was a moment's pause, just for a second, and then the questions started up again as Chris climbed into the car. 

"Chris, is that the band's official statement?" 

"Do you speak for Lance and Joey, too?" 

"Chris, just one picture!" 

Chris peeled out rather quickly, giving them just one picture of his flashing taillights. In the back of the car, Josh sat leaning on me, trying to wipe the tears that kept trickling down his cheeks away. 

"How can they say that? How can they say stuff like that, Justin?" he asked quietly. "I would never cheat on Jack. I never cheated on Jack, never. How can they say that? How can they even ask that, how can they think it's my fault, Justin?" 

"I don't know, Josh," I answered, cradling him against me as he pressed his face against my chest. I noticed Chris watching us in the rearview mirror, but he didn't say anything, and his eyes were impossible to read. "They don't know you, Josh, they don't know anything about you. They don't mean anything by it." 

"I just don't understand," Josh said quietly, letting me cradle him against me even though he was done crying. He had one hand up on my shoulder, and the other around my waist, as he leaned against me with his eyes closed. 

"It'll be ok, Josh," I said, smoothing his hair off of his forehead with one hand while I ran the other in steady circles around his back. "It'll be ok." 

Chris dropped us off at my house, wishing us a good night, and apologizing that it hadn't gone well. I promised we would do something again soon, but Josh didn't say anything, just wished Chris a good night and walked toward the door to wait for me to follow. I know he had his own house key, because I gave it to him, but he had yet to actually go into the house by himself. I think it was part of the manners his mom had worked so hard to instill in him or something. He still felt like a guest in my house, no matter how many times I told him not to. I told Chris goodnight, and he stared at me for a second, a strange look on his face as if he was thinking of saying something, but then decided not to. I called him later and told him about the postcard, telling him where it was mailed from and what it said, and he promised to send his investigator there, too, but neither of us were very hopeful. I sensed something in our conversation, some awkwardness, as if Chris was holding something in, but whatever it was, he didn't say it. 

Josh and I stayed in the next day. I was up before him, so I thought I'd surprise him with breakfast, and I put together some waffles and sausage while he showered upstairs above my head. When he came down, as I was setting it all out and putting on a pot for his tea (Josh hadn't picked up Jack's coffee habit; instead, he drank tea, with lemon, for his throat, the way he always had), he looked at the table and smiled, a real smile, one of the first I'd seen since this whole thing started. Watching his eyes light up like that, watching his face crease in that old, familiar, smiling way, in a real, teeth showing grin, I decided it was well worth the pound of burned sausage that I'd already stuffed into the garbage disposal. The day after that, Josh surprised me with breakfast, getting up early on purpose to make omelets, grinning proudly as he carefully ladled one onto my plate, cheese and peppers bulging out of the sides, the way I liked it. 

Later that day I was in the music room again, playing around on my mixing boards, when I suddenly felt like playing with the piano. Josh was out in the living room, watching something on the History Channel, so I didn't think I'd bother him. He hadn't been watching much television, preferring to stare at the wall or work in that notebook, but gradually he was starting to do it again, which I thought might be a positive sign. Sitting down in front of the piano, I folded back the keyboard cover, and then just stared at it. I didn't know how to play the piano, actually. I had bought one because the decorator thought I should, because it seemed like there should be an actual instrument in the music room, and not just gold records, the stereo and all my discs, and all of our awards, but the only thing I could actually play was a bad rendition of "Chopsticks", the song everyone who doesn't know how to play the piano can play. Maybe now that I had some time on my hands I should hire a piano tutor. 

I was tapping tentatively away, tinkling my way through the same part of the song over and over, when I heard Josh behind me in the doorway. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, leaning on the frame. 

"I don't know," I answered, smiling. "I felt like playing on the piano." 

"That's all you know how to play, isn't it?" Josh asked, smiling a little. 

"Yeah," I answered, grinning sheepishly as I felt myself blush. Josh was pretty skilled on the piano, like he was at everything. 

Josh sauntered across the room toward me, moving with the easy natural grace that everything he did projected, hips rolling a little, arms swinging back and forth just enough to pull his shirt tight across his chest. He sat next to me on the bench, his warm side pressing against mine, his thigh against my leg. Our arms, both bare in our short sleeved shirts, pressed against each other, muscle to muscle, skin to skin. Josh looked at me, still smiling. 

"Move over a little," he said softly, and I did. I wondered for a second if he thought I was too close, if he didn't want to be near me, but then realized that he needed room for both of us to move. He set his hands on the keyboard. "Put your hands where mine are, Justin, down there at your end." 

"OK," I said, following directions. I waited to see what he would do next, looking at his face, following the line of his cheekbones and the slant of his jaw. 

"Justin, watch my hands," Josh said, shaking me from my reverie. "Watch what I do, and then you do it." 

He went really slowly, playing a few notes at a time, and eventually had me playing the same melody over and over. I slipped up a little, but I was basically a quick study, and soon I had it to his satisfaction. I knew the song, but couldn't place it. 

"OK, now we're going to change it up a little," Josh said, putting a hand on mine to stop me. His hand, as always, was soft and warm. "You keep playing your part, keep it right at that speed, and I'm going to play a harmony, ok?" 

"OK," I said. I sat, staring at him, as he sat ready with his hands on the keys. 

"Justin?" Josh asked, looking at me again. 

"Yeah?" I answered, staring into his bright blue eyes. I'd never noticed before that they had little flecks in them, little shades of darker blue. 

"Play," he said, smiling again. "I'm waiting for you to start." 

"Oh, sorry," I said, wondering what was wrong with me. 

Josh wasn't any cuter today than he had been yesterday. Why did I keep zoning out? I started playing, slowly and carefully, and after I played through one time Josh added the harmony, tapping it out carefully. I laughed, realizing that we were playing together, grinning at my accomplishment, and heard Josh chuckle as well. He started to play around with his part, adding little flourishes, playing it with both hands on two different octaves while I continued painstakingly tapping out the melody on my end. Josh's foot was tapping along, and I was bobbing my head as we continued our little duet. 

"Josh, I know this song," I said, smiling. "What is it?" 

"It's 'Heart and Soul', Justin," he answered, dropping back into the simple harmony he had started out with. "It's the other song that people who can't play the piano know how to play." 

We both laughed, and then I slipped up, and our little duet broke down and fell apart. 

"Josh, will you play something for me?" I asked. 

"Sure," he answered, not hesitating. "What do you want to hear?" 

"I don't know," I answered, just happy to see him at the piano. "Just play something." 

I sat back, watching, as Josh began to play. The song that came out was soft, and light, but kind of happy, and as he played it I watched Josh's face, watched him smile as he put on this little private concert for me, his feet working the pedals as his tanned hands flashed back and forth over the keys. When he finished, I clapped excitedly, and he turned toward me, blushing. 

"Josh, that was great!" I said, hugging him quickly. He hugged me back tightly, and when he pulled back I saw that he was still smiling, his face red as he looked away uncomfortably. Josh doesn't take flattery well. 

"Thanks," he said, looking down. 

"Josh, maybe after dinner, do you think you could play something else for me?" I asked. "Please?" 

He smiled at me again. 

"Sure, Justin," he answered, smiling wider. He squeezed my shoulder. "I think maybe I can." 

And after dinner, he did play, for a good hour or so, just sliding from one song to another as I sat curled up on one of the couches in there, watching and listening. As Josh was playing, I wondered if he had missed the piano, if he had missed letting the music pour out of himself these past two weeks. I hadn't realized that much time had gone by, but it really had been almost two weeks since Jack left him, since we had stood in that club and waited for Jack to come back from the bathroom, two weeks since Jack had walked away, and left Josh blasted and empty, hollow inside. Josh played like he'd just discovered the piano, like he hadn't realized it was here in the house. He switched back and forth between popular music and classical, falling into jazz and ragtime, mixing it with Mozart, Bach, and some riffs of songs I'd heard yesterday on the Top 40. 

When he finally paused, I jumped up, clapping again, and handed him a bottle of water. 

"That was great, like my own little concert," I said, dancing back and forth from foot to foot. "You didn't even have any practice. I can't believe you haven't played in so long and you still sound that good." 

Josh glanced away suddenly, his face folding up again, almost guiltily. 

"I guess I just, you know, haven't felt like it," he said quickly, turning away. 

"Josh?" I asked, wondering if I should reach out to him. 

"I, um, I'm gonna go soak in my tub for a while, ok?" he said, walking away, keeping his face turned away from me. "I'm kind of tired, you know?" 

"Yeah, ok," I said, trying to be understanding. Did he feel bad for enjoying something, for having fun, or did he feel bad because I'd enjoyed something he did? "Thanks for playing for me." 

"You're welcome," he said quickly, walking out of the room. "Good night, Justin." 

"Good night, Josh," I called after him, sinking into the couch. 

I had been almost there, damn it. Over the past couple of days, I had done so much to pull Josh out of his shell, to get him to smile again. Tonight, for just an hour or so, he'd almost seemed like the old Josh, had almost seemed like himself again, but just like that he'd folded up again, pulled back in. Every time it seemed like I was getting somewhere, some specter of Jack would appear, some dark cloud on Josh's horizon to remind him of what he'd lost. And I wasn't doing this for myself, wasn't trying to move into Jack's place. I just wanted Josh to be happy. I just wanted Josh to smile again, to laugh again. That was all. I might want Josh, might think I was starting to actually fall in love with him, but that wasn't important. That would just get in the way of Josh's healing, and that was the most important thing. 

At least, that's what I kept telling myself. 

The next morning he was quiet again, not fully withdrawn, but not as bright as he'd been for the past few days. He didn't look as if he'd slept very well, and I wondered if he was ok. We spent the day reading mail and magazines, and playing chess, and then after dinner I was in my exercise room, working out, when the CD on the stereo switched to the next disc, and I heard the piano playing in the pause between. Walking carefully through the house, I peered into the music room, keeping myself mostly in the hallway, and saw Josh hunched over the piano again. He was playing slowly, tentatively, and had that notebook open before him on the stand. He would play for a while, and then stop and write something in the book, and I realized he was writing music to the words of his "Dear Jack" letter. 

I don't know what Josh's usual writing style was, but this song was a far from painless process. He would play, or look back over the words again, and wipe at his eyes, or hold his head in his hands. A few times he broke out in full-fledged sobbing, his shoulders shaking, rather than just letting tears trickle out, and sometimes when he went back to playing his fingers were almost pounding on the keys. Jack had told me that sometimes when he and Josh had an argument that Josh would take it out on his electric keyboard, and I could see some of that now. I wanted to go to Josh, but instead I went back to my weight bench, not wanting to push. If he was trying to find peace, trying to reach inside himself, I needed to let him do it. 

When I finished my work out, I walked past the music room again, on my way to the shower, and saw that he had closed the cover and the notebook again. He sat with his head on top of the piano, on his folded arms. He wasn't crying, but had been. I think he was trying to collect himself. 

"Josh?" I asked from the doorway. "You ok?" 

"Not really," he answered, looking up at me. His face was red and blotchy, and his eyes were still wet. 

"Can I do anything, Josh?" I asked, walking over to him. I knelt on the floor, so that my eyes were at the same level as his. 

"Justin, why does it hurt so much?" he asked quietly, wiping at his eyes with one hand while he reached out for my hand with the other. "Is this what love is really like? This kind of pain?" 

"I, I don't really know, Josh," I answered, holding his hand, brushing my thumb over the back of his hand. I thought about love, real love, the kind of love I thought I felt for him. "Sometimes love hurts, Josh. I know that sounds kind of cliched, but sometimes you can want something so badly, want to be with someone so much, that all you feel inside is hurt, unless you're with them." 

"But Justin, why don't you feel like this?" he asked. I must have looked hurt, because he squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. I just, you know, you don't seem like you miss Brit this much. It doesn't seem to hurt you like it does me. Are you just covering it up?" 

I thought about it for a second, trying to put my feelings in order, trying to figure out what I should say. 

"You're right," I said quietly. "I don't miss Brit like you miss Jack. I miss her as a friend, but what you felt for him, what you guys had, we never had that. I never felt that way about her, and I don't think she ever did about me. We told ourselves we felt that way, and we tried to make ourselves believe it, but the kind of love you guys had? We never did, Josh." 

Josh reached out, taking my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks, one of them just below the stitches that I needed to have taken out soon. He was looking at me with such warmth, such compassion, that I thought I might start crying after all. Our faces were so close, and his eyes were so wide, filled suddenly with nothing but concern for me. 

"Justin, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know you didn't have to just tell me that, and I want to thank you for being honest with me, but I'm also sorry you've never felt this way. I'm sorry you've never known what it's like to totally be a part of another person, to completely share their thoughts and their feelings. I miss Jack, Justin, I miss him so badly that it feels like it's eating my soul sometimes, and maybe sometimes I hate him, maybe sometimes I'm angry at him, because I don't understand, but what we had? I wouldn't give that up for anything. I might never feel that way again, Justin, but I'd never give up the chance I had to feel it once, at least for just a little while." 

"Josh, you'll feel it again, " I said, my hands over his, holding them to my face. "You'll find someone again someday, maybe when you least expect it, and you'll be whole again." 

"Maybe I will," he said, looking down, but not letting go. "But right now I don't want to." 

We were both quiet, and then I stood, trying not to feel like Josh had just stabbed me. I know it was selfish of me to hope that he'd reach out to me that way, but I hoped it just the same. I hoped that he would open his eyes, and that some morning he might look at me that way, just for a second, or maybe forever. He looked up at me as my face slid from his hands. 

"I'm gonna go get in the shower now, ok?" I said. "Let me know if you need me." 

"OK," he said, looking down at his hands again. 

The house was quiet when I got out of the shower. I got dressed and went downstairs, looking for Josh, thinking that we might make some popcorn and watch a movie or something, but when I found him he was out on the back patio, looking out over the dark backyard with a bottle of scotch and a glass. His face was wet, and I wondered what could have happened in the half hour I was gone, while I had stood beneath the steaming spray, trying to collect myself and get my heart under control, trying to put all my thoughts and feelings back under the shield I'd kept around them my entire life. 

"Josh?" I asked, standing in the patio doorway. 

"Justin," he said, smiling. He raised his glass, drained it in one long swallow, and then refilled it. "Come sit with me. Grab a glass if you want. Hell, grab another bottle." 

I'd never seen Josh quite like this. I had seen him sad, depressed, and tearful, and I'd seen him angry, but I don't think I'd ever seen him seem so, so bitter? Was that the word I wanted? Maybe it was. He looked miserable, but he smiled when he looked at me, a sad smile, the wry kind of smile people have when they know the joke's on them. I figured he might talk more if I drank with him, so I grabbed a glass from the kitchen and joined him at the table. When I sat, he poured me a glass, and raised his in a toast. 

"Cheers!" he said loudly, clinking our glasses. I took a swallow, feeling it slide down my throat. My housekeeper picked out nothing but the best when she kept me stocked up on groceries. 

"Josh, what happened?" I asked, setting my glass down on the table and watching as he refilled us both. 

"Carla called," he answered, sipping again. 

"Oh," I said quietly. That explained quite a lot. I took another sip, and waited for him to continue. 

"She says hi," Josh said, sipping slowly. "She also says that I threw things away with Jack, that I should have stayed in LA and tried to find him. She says that if I really cared about him the way I said I did that I wouldn't have been so quick to believe that he meant it." 

"Has she heard from him?" I asked, holding out my glass for another refill as he topped off his own. 

"Nope, but she says that he can't have really been serious," Josh said, sipping again. "She says that it was probably just some dumb little Jack thing again, but that now I've made sure it was permanent by just walking away. Is she right, Justin? Do you think she's right? Was Jack testing me, and did I really just throw it all away like that?" 

"No, Josh, no," I said, taking his hand. He shook my hand off so that he could refill his glass again. "Josh, if anyone threw anything away, it was Jack. He threw it away the moment he left that note, the moment he took his ring off and walked away from you. He walked away from you, Josh, not the other way around. You left, but you were the second one who did, and even if you haven't looked for him, well, he hasn't looked for you, either. He threw away everything you gave him, Josh, everything the two of you built together. Him, Josh, not you." 

"Maybe," Josh said, not agreeing with me, but not disagreeing, either. We sipped our scotch for a few minutes, Josh refilling us, and I realized that we were draining the bottle pretty quickly. I was starting to feel a bit of a buzz coming on, and could only imagine that Josh, a much lighter drinker than I am, was feeling one pretty strongly as well. "Justin, he left. I know he didn't take anything with him, but I think he threw his phone away like he threw me away. I think he just walked away from everything, and didn't want to keep anything from me. That's why his phone was out under the dumpster, Justin. And he sent me a postcard, too. A written one, not typed. I had someone bring my mail over here the other day, and there it was. He really did leave me, and when I told Carla that, she didn't say anything." 

I realized that he had been thinking it through the whole time. Chris and I thought he'd been too distraught to face things, that he had missed all of those oddities and just didn't want to see them, but he had been right on top of it all along. Everything he said made sense, suddenly, except for the inexplicable fact of Jack leaving him in the first place. 

"Justin, can I ask you a question?" Josh asked, looking up at me. 

"Sure, Josh," I answered, swallowing another mouthful. "You can ask me anything." 

"What happened with you and Brit?" he asked, looking me in the eye. "I heard you guys arguing, but what did you tell her? What did you say to her?" 

I decided to just be honest. After all, it was Josh. He'd been there for what happened, had been an active participant. 

"I told her about us," I answered, suddenly glad for the scotch. "I told her about sleeping with you and Jack. I didn't tell her in the best way, it didn't come out quite right, but that's what I told her." 

"Wow," Josh said quietly. "You told her everything?" 

"Not quite," I said, slamming back another glass. I held my empty out, and Josh granted another refill. I must have been drunker than I thought, because what came out next surprised even me. "I didn't tell her about how hot it was. I didn't tell her what it felt like to have your mouth on me, or Jack's. I didn't tell her what it felt like to feel your heart beating under my lips, or feel your bodies sliding over mine. I didn't tell her that it was the most amazing sexual experience of my life, or that I'd do it again in a heartbeat." 

Josh blinked at me, his mouth open. Little beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. 

"You, that's how you think about it?" Josh asked. "That way?" 

"Yeah, it is," I answered, staring right back into his eyes. I realized that I was hard, and wondered if he was, too. "Do you ever think about it, Josh?" 

"Sometimes," he answered, swallowing, his voice barely a whisper. 

"Me, too," I said. 

We continued staring at each other, blue eyes locked together, Josh breathing heavily through his parted lips, me throbbing painfully in my track pants. I realized that we had, between us, consumed the entire bottle of scotch, and I wondered if that had something to do with my feeling that the whole world was spinning right out of control. Josh swallowed again, and then looked away finally, breaking the moment. 

"I think we should head to bed, now," he said quietly. 

"Sure," I answered. 

In the hallway we told each other goodnight, and went to our separate rooms. I stripped down to my briefs, my painfully throbbing cock tenting the front of them, and then I just decided what the hell, and kicked them off, too. I climbed into bed, shutting off my lights, and spent what seemed like hours tossing and turning, before I finally ended up just lying flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. 

Now that I'd thought about it, had allowed my mind to start replaying the one hot night, I couldn't get it out of my head. Every time I closed my eyes I saw it all again, Josh's sweating chest, Jack's eyes squeezed closed with lust, my cock pushing between both their lips as they attacked me together. Every time I shifted in bed, the sheets slid against me, but it wasn't the sheets I felt, wasn't the cotton. Instead it was their hands, sliding over me, touching me, caressing my body. It was their hands, and their lips, and in my ears I heard the sighs, the pants, the groans, the little yelps of pleasure. I dropped my hand down to my cock, figuring that I needed to just jerk off and be done with it, when I heard my bedroom door open. 

Sitting up, I saw Josh in the doorway, dressed only in a pair of clinging boxer briefs. I couldn't see his face, because the only light was coming from behind him, but he walked slowly, carefully, over to the bed, and stood next to it, staring down at me. His chest was rising and falling, all but heaving as he stared down at me, panting heavily, and I blinked up at him, trying to make out his features in the darkness. 

"Josh, do you need something?" I asked quietly. 

He dropped down, not answering me, and grabbed my face roughly with both hands. Pulling my head up toward him as he dropped toward the bed, I felt his soft lips close over mine, and then his tongue, scotch flavored, wet, and warm, slid into my mouth. 

---

CHAPTER 64

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JUSTIN'S POV: 

My eyes were wide open with surprise as Josh knelt above me, climbing onto the bed, straddling me with just the sheet and his boxer briefs between us. He groaned into my mouth, the vibration coursing through me as his soft lips pressed against mine, his little beard scraping over my chin as his tongue pushed its way into my mouth, smooth and muscular, pressing inside of me as my own mouth just hung open. His hands on the side of my face were warm, holding me in place as he attacked me. He was pressing his face to mine with such force that I could feel his teeth pressing against mine through our lips, through the skin of our faces, and he was attacking my mouth with such urgency that I wondered if he was trying to consume me somehow. 

I wondered for a second, running my hands over his arms and down to his hands, where they held my face in place and he continued to groan against me, his moans mixing with my own, if this might be a dream. I wondered if this could be some sort of fantasy produced by my alcohol and lust clouded brain, but I realized that the taste of Josh's mouth, the silky sandpaper feel of his tongue, the smell of scotch on him and the velvet smoothness of his skin was real. The hard cock I felt grinding against mine was no dream. 

There was enough light filtering in from the hallway that I could see Josh's face, or at least his eyes, and they were closed. His eyebrows were squeezed together a little, his whole expression one of urgency and need, and I could see his eyes darting behind his lids. If Josh didn't want to talk, neither did I. Sitting up in the bed a little, leaning forward, I slid my hands up Josh's bulging arms to his shoulders while he kept holding my face, and, closing my eyes, I gave in as well, surrendering myself to Josh and whatever it was he wanted from me. Actually, I knew what he wanted, because I wanted it, too. 

Pulling my head out of Josh's hands, I tilted his head back, and buried my face under his neck, kissing and sucking at it as he straddled me, sliding my mouth over his hot skin. I felt his neck vibrating, the power in his voice box as he groaned above me, his hands sliding over the back of my head, rubbing through the short hair. My shaved hair was growing back, but was still short enough that it gave me a charge when anyone touched it, and Josh was running his hands through it as he pressed my head against him. His neck was soft, but firm underneath, and slightly sweaty, a little salty under my tongue. Running my hands up the muscled expanse of his back, I grabbed the tops of his shoulders from behind, bending him backwards a little, causing his hard cock to press even more tightly against mine as I licked my way down his chest to his firm brownish nipple. 

I ran my tongue in a circle around it, just lightly using the end like a feathery tickling finger, and then I tickled at the hard nub with it, rewarded with another loud moan above me. I closed my mouth in a tight circle around it, sucking hard, as I brought my hands down to his cotton clad ass, squeezing his firm cheeks tightly as I caught the point of his nipple with my teeth, nibbling and pulling at it. Josh's ass flexed as he danced on me, grinding his crotch into mine, and I felt sweat starting to break out on myself as well. We hadn't even barely done anything yet, and I was already as hot as hell. I'd wanted this for so long, exactly this, wanted to feel Josh twisting and writhing with pleasure beneath me, wanted him to be with me the way I dreamed of, the way that had been keeping me up at night. 

I wanted Josh to want me as much as I wanted him, and now, suddenly, he did, and I wanted to reward him for it. 

I slid my mouth across his chest, kissing and sucking at the muscles jumping beneath his skin, marveling in the idea that he was jumping because of me. Josh was moaning because of me, because of what I was doing to him, and I liked that as much as I liked doing it. Sex for me is about love, true, and it's also about the pleasure and the act itself, but I've always gotten off on power, too, on knowing what I was doing to the other person, and what I was could make them do. Sometimes that could be a bad thing, of course, like it had been with Lance. The fact that I had made him do those things had turned me on more than what he was actually doing. Luckily for Josh all I wanted for him to do was get off. I wanted him to enjoy this, and that was all. I cared about him too much to ever want anything else, to ever force him to do anything. 

As much as I just wanted Josh to lay back and enjoy it, though, he had ideas of his own. Grabbing my head with both hands again, gripping painfully tightly at the sides of my face, he smashed his mouth down onto mine again and pushed me back down onto the bed, grinding me into the mattress. I slid my hands inside his boxer briefs, kneading his warm, smooth ass, as he grabbed the sheet and clawed it off of me. I looked up into his face, wanting to see what he would think when he saw me, what his expression would be when he looked down at my naked body and my hard, throbbing cock, hard for him, but his eyes were still closed. He continued to kiss me, all but choking me with his tongue, as both of his hands wrapped around my prick. I was a soft kisser, more of the peck and run type, but Josh's kisses were all tongue, as if he had to penetrate you however he could. 

One of his hands tugged at my balls, rolling them around in my sack, squeezing them. He tugged at the short blond hairs on them, pinching them with his fingers, something no one had ever done to me before. It was almost painful, almost, but mostly it was just hot combined with the feeling of his other hand sliding up and down my shaft. He pulled his mouth off of mine, and then began to slide down my chest. My hands lost their grip on his ass as he slid away from me, trailing over his sweaty back to catch in his hair, twining and gripping. Unlike the slow, suckling trip I'd taken, though, Josh wasn't interested in taking his time. This boy wanted it, and he wanted it bad, dragging his mouth right down the middle of my torso, following the line down my chest and abs. He ran his tongue around my navel, dipping it in for a second, and then he was at the head of my cock. 

My fingers tugged at his hair as I felt his mouth sliding down over me. Josh's tongue washed over my cock, and he pressed it into the opening of my slit, jabbing and tickling at it as I twisted beneath him. He started using the tip of his tongue to massage the sensitive spot just below my slit, where the head met the shaft, as he lightly sucked my entire head into his mouth, moaning and humming around it. Without warning he suddenly sucked the whole thing into his mouth, pulling my cock all the way into his throat. My head swam, the room spun, and suddenly I couldn't breath as my hands pressed down on him, holding his head in place as I let out a little scream and shot into his throat. Normally I last a lot longer, but this was all so sudden, and Josh had me so turned on, that I had lost all restraint. 

I watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and then he was sliding back up my body. He lapped at my cock for a minute, getting it nice and clean, while I whimpered and tried to pull him away, too sensitive now to last for very long. He washed over my abs, tracing their outlines with his tongue, pressing his mouth to them, and then traced up the curves of my pecs, nipping at them before folding his mouth over my nipples. He spent forever on them, what seemed an eternity, as he sucked and nibbled at them, rolling one between his fingertips as he mouthed one, and then switching. For someone who hadn't had much experience before Jack, Josh sure had been trained well. Then again, like I said before, Josh was good at everything he put his mind to, or, in this case, his mouth. He finally chewed his way up my neck, over my chin, and brought his mouth to mine again. Somehow through all of that kissing and sucking he had still managed to hold a little cum in his mouth, and it dripped into mine as his tongue dipped down again. 

I wanted this, needed this for so long, and now that it was here I wanted Josh to feel as good as I did. 

Grabbing his shoulders, I rolled him over, pressing him into the mattress, and I lay on top of him, pressing my entire body to his. I felt his chest flexing beneath me as our tongues continued dueling in each other's mouths, felt my cock poking at his balls through the cotton of his boxer briefs, which really had to go. Dragging my mouth down its earlier path, I sucked and bit at his neck again, and then attacked his nipples for the second time. His chest was sweaty now, hot and warm, and tasted salty as I dragged my tongue over it. I was lost in the taste, in the feeling of his skin, of his breathing beneath me, and I wondered if my brain might be going into some sort of sensory overload, or if maybe I was a lot drunker than I thought I was. Josh certainly seemed to be, but it wasn't slowing him down any as he bucked and twisted and pressed my head to his chest. He still hadn't spoken, not once, and when I looked up at him, I had yet to see his eyes open. Maybe tonight he just wanted to feel, and that was all. If it was, that's what I would give him. 

I hooked my thumbs into the waist of his boxer briefs and tugged them down, fighting them over the stiff rod of his erection. His cockhead caught in the band, and when I finally got it past them it sprang out, smacking into his stomach loudly. I trailed my tongue through the little line of dark hairs below his bellybutton, and then skipped his cock entirely and began to lap at his sweaty, full balls. I pushed them around with my tongue, sucking one and then the other into my mouth. He groaned loudly as I pulled them both in at once, chewing lightly at them, but not really biting. They are, after all, balls, and guys have rules about what you should and should not do with that part of us. Letting them slide wetly from my stretched, spitty lips, I kissed my way up Josh's cock. I didn't really have a lot of experience with this, having only gone down on Jack that one time, and never done anything else to a guy, but I knew what I liked, and figured that he'd like it, too. 

My guess must have been right, because before long he was yelping, panting, and shooting into my mouth. It was warm and salty, thicker than I thought it would be, but I swallowed it all, because it was Josh. Josh was here, and he was mine. I slid back up his panting chest, watching his pecs rise and fall as he struggled to catch his breath again, and I kissed him, softly, one of my kisses, before cuddling against him, laying my head on a pillow. He turned away from me, started to slide out of the bed, but I put my hand on his shoulder, wanting to keep him close, and he slid back against me, pressing himself close, nuzzling in, as I folded myself around him. I grabbed the sheet and pulled it up over us, tucking it around us both, and we fell asleep with his back to my front and his body cradled in my arms. 

I woke up before Josh, not surprising considering how much he'd had to drink last night. We'd separated in the night, drifting to opposite sides of the bed, and I rolled onto my side to watch him as he slept, propping myself up on my elbow. Sunlight peeked around the edges of my heavy curtain, turning his hair to a warm golden brown transparency where it fell, making his tanned skin even more honey gold. The sheet had slid down, toward his waist, leaving the top of his chest exposed as well, and I let my eyes crawl over his pecs, staring at the way they curved up into his shoulders, winged to the sides to meet his arms. His neck was corded below the exquisitely handsome lines of his face, and I felt a surge of feelings as I remembered last night, and thought about how nice it was, how complete it felt to wake up next to him. I realized then that it was real, and it was serious. Sometime over the past few weeks I had stopped loving Josh, and had fallen in love with him. Everything changed at that moment, and then it changed again. 

Josh opened his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, and blinked sleepily at me. 

"Justin?" he asked, surprised. Who was he expecting to find next to him? "What are you doing?" 

"Watching you sleep," I answered, smiling. 

Josh sat up, looking around, and then looked down at himself as I stayed where I was, grinning when he lifted up the sheet a little and saw that he was naked. 

"Justin, how did I get in here?" he asked, turning toward me. 

"Huh?" I asked, confused. 

"Did I come in here last night?" he asked, sliding away from me, clutching the sheet to himself. He didn't sound upset, just a little baffled, and I tried to figure out what was going on. "Where are my shorts?" 

"On the floor somewhere," I answered, suddenly fearing the worst. "Josh, you came in here last night, after I went to bed." 

"Oh, Justin, oh my God, I'm so sorry," he said quickly, standing. He grabbed the sheet, covering himself, which pulled it off of me. I giggled as he quickly blushed and looked away. The spreading redness flushed over his chest, too. 

"Josh, we don't have anything the other one hasn't seen before," I said, staring at him, trying to keep it light as I felt my heart fluttering. This couldn't be what I was afraid was happening, was it? 

"Justin, I'm so, so sorry," he stammered again, fishing his boxer briefs off the floor and turning away from me to pull them on. He tossed the sheet back to me, and I pulled it up, not wanting him to be embarrassed. 

"Josh, you don't remember coming in here?" I asked. "You don't remember anything?" 

"No, no I don't," he answered, looking away. I could tell he was lying, but his face begged me not to question it. He wouldn't look me in the eyes, and I wondered if he felt guilty. Should I confront him on it? "I must have been a lot drunker than I thought. Justin, I didn't, um, I didn't bother you, did I?" 

"No, Josh," I answered quietly, turning away. "I'm always here if you need me, Josh, to talk to or whatever. It's not a bother." 

He continued to stare at his hands, not looking at me. 

"I'm gonna go get in the shower," he said finally, walking toward the door. 

"Yeah, I should, too," I said, sliding out of bed. 

In the shower I sat down on the floor, letting the water beat down on me, as I tried to sort this out. Josh had come to me, had kissed me, had climbed into my bed, but now he said he didn't remember any of it. I could tell that he was lying, had known him too long not to recognize when he wasn't telling the truth, but why? Did he feel guilty? Was he ashamed? Did he think he had forced me to do something, that I didn't want him that way? I thought I had made myself clear when we were drinking last night. Even if I was drunk, and hadn't meant to say all that out loud, I had assumed that was why he had come to my room, why he had climbed into my bed and jammed his tongue into my mouth. Had he changed his mind? Or had I done something? What could I have done to make him come to me and then turn away so quickly? 

And what about me? I knew that I loved Josh now, loved him that way, but I wasn't quite like him. I was bi, and I wasn't just saying that in a self-denial way, either. I still liked girls. Hell, I still liked Britney, when you got right down to it, but right now I just wanted to focus on Josh. How long would that last, though? Did I love Josh in a permanent way? Josh was the monogamous type, but I had never been in a monogamous relationship. Was I even capable of that? Did I want to be? Could I limit myself to one person, and one sex? For Josh I'd be willing to try. 

Josh and I kind of avoided each other for the rest of the day. You might think that two people, being the only two people at home, would have problems not seeing each other, but we managed just fine. A couple times I heard a door losing as I opened one, or heard him walking around above or below me, depending on where I was. I went out to the garage, and heard the patio door closing as I walked back in. I went to the basement, and heard Josh walking up the stairs to the second floor. I felt almost like we were playing a game, some weird sort of cat and mouse hide and seek sort of thing, but why? Was Josh still thinking about last night? Did he feel guilty? Did he feel anything? Did he really not remember what had happened? And why was he running away from me? It wasn't just Josh running, though. I was avoiding him, too, because I was hurt. I had thought we'd crossed a bridge last night. What had happened meant something to me, and it hurt me to think that Josh might not feel the same way. 

As dinner time approached, I decided I was tired of playing games, and tired of reorganizing the shelves in the basement, too, which I'd been working on for a couple of hours, so I ordered Chinese, figuring I could lure Josh to the table with his favorite foods. It worked. He sat across from me, his eyes mostly on his plate, pretending nothing was wrong. I let him get about halfway through dinner before I decided I couldn't wait anymore. 

"Josh, we need to talk," I said, waiting to see what his reaction would be. He set his chopsticks down carefully as I mirrored his actions, dropping my fork onto my napkin. "We need to talk about last night." 

"I know," Josh sighed, still staring at his plate. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and blue as the sky, and I felt myself losing focus, felt myself falling into them. Yeah, I had it bad. "Justin, I'm so, so sorry about last night." 

"What?" I asked, blinking. "Why are you sorry? Because you lied this morning?" 

I didn't ask it in an accusatory tone, but he flinched a little anyway, as if I'd stung him. He looked up at me, grinning ruefully. 

"I should have known you'd see through that, but I just couldn't think of anything else to do," he said, shrugging. 

"But Josh, why did you lie?" I asked. "Did you feel bad?" 

"Actually, yes," he said, looking surprised. "I woke up, and it all came rushing back to me, and I felt so bad that I didn't even want to talk about it. I just wanted to get away, to think. I'm sorry, Justin. I'm sorry I lied, and I'm sorry I took advantage of you." 

"Um, Josh, I really don't think I'd say you took advantage of me," I said, grinning. I expected Josh to blush, but he didn't. What was going on here? "I'm a consenting adult, Josh. You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to." 

"Justin, you don't understand," Josh began, reaching out for my hand. I took his, but cut him off before he could continue. 

"No, Josh, I don't think you understand," I said. "I care about you, and I told you, I'm here for you, however you need me." 

Here I was, throwing myself out before him. Why wasn't he taking me? Why wasn't he scooping me up in his arms? 

"Justin," Josh began again, looking pained. He tried to pull his hand away, and I wouldn't let go. I loved him. Why couldn't he see that? 

"I mean it, Josh," I said, trying to show him, trying to make him see. 

"Justin, last night I pretended you were Jack." 

I let go of his hand. It dropped to the table, and the world dropped out from under me again. Josh immediately began going on the defensive as I felt myself going cold inside. 

"Justin, I never meant to hurt you, I didn't. You know I'd never do that, not on purpose. It's just that last night I was drunk, and I was thinking about what Carla said, and what you said, and I was thinking about Jack. And then I went in to talk to you, just to talk to you, and I saw you on the bed, and you looked so innocent, but so hot, and your eyes, I could tell that you'd do it, and I just, I stopped thinking," he said, but his words were all running together to me, all running into a blur. 

I'd been with Josh last night, but he hadn't been with me. I stood stiffly and walked away from the table, no longer hungry, feeling the food churn in my stomach, wondering if I was about to throw it all up. Josh followed after me, his voice taking on a pleading tone, as I walked through the living room, not sure of where I was going. 

"Justin, please, I'm so sorry," Josh began, wringing his hands. "You have to believe that Justin, you have to. I just wasn't thinking, wasn't thinking at all, and then when I woke up this morning and saw you, saw your face, I panicked. I pretended you were Jack last night, but somehow I believed it, too, and when I woke up I thought, just for a second, that it would be him, that this whole thing had been some kind of dream. And then I saw you, and I realized what I'd done, and I saw that you thought it was something else, and I couldn't tell you, Justin." 

I stood in the middle of my entranceway, letting Josh's words fall on me like rain as he stood before me, his face twisted. He hadn't wanted me at all, not the way I wanted him. I had been honest with everyone, but lied to myself. All those times over the past two weeks that I'd reached out to him, all those moments when we'd been standing close, looking into each other's eyes, when I'd felt something surge up inside of me, I'd lied to myself. It had always been Josh who pulled away first, Josh who broke eye contact, but I hadn't let myself see it. I had fallen in love with Josh, but he was still in love with Jack. 

"You used me," I said quietly, almost in awe. 

"Oh, God, Justin, I'm so sorry," Josh began, starting to cry now as I stood numbly before him. "Justin, you don't know what it's meant to have you here for me through this, you don't know how much you mean to me, and I never meant to hurt you, never. Justin, you have to believe that! I wish I hadn't done it, I wish I knew how to make it up to you. Please Justin, just please believe how sorry I am." 

"You used me," I said again, wrapping my mind around the concept, fitting the words together inside my head. 

Josh had used me, and I had let him. Me, the master manipulator, the guy who always came out on top, who always got what I wanted. I had blinded myself, had allowed myself to be unselfish, to be led along by my own emotions, and this is what had happened. Josh had used me for his own ends, and sure, he might be sorry, but that didn't make it all better. That didn't take the pain away. Josh had used me, and I never let myself get used. I walked toward the door, spotting my car keys on the side table. Lance had dropped it off before he and Howie left for their trip, but of course I hadn't seen him, because I'd been too busy drinking away my feelings for Brit, who I'd lost because I wanted to be honest, because I'd wanted to be a good person. 

"Justin, please, please don't walk away from me!" Josh said behind me. "Please, just say something, Justin." 

I turned back to him, taking note of the anguished slope of his shoulders, the twisting of his hands, the furrow between his eyebrows, and the tears on his cheeks. Josh had hurt me, but he was hurting, too. I couldn't go to him, though, couldn't reach out to him, because I wouldn't know if he was hugging me, or if he was just using me to hug Jack. 

"I'm going out," I said quietly. "Good night." 

I closed the door behind me, not slowing down as I walked to the car. I needed to get out, needed to get away. I had all this anger inside, and this hurt, and pain. I loved Josh, had let myself fall in love with him, had let myself feel past the boundary we'd set. I'd crossed that line, but Josh hadn't crossed it with me. Instead he was hung up still on Jack, who had thrown him away. I was right here in front of him, with my love right there for him to just reach out and take, and he'd rather have the man who used him as a doormat, the man who'd thrown him away. I realized that I was just being cruel, that whatever Jack's reasons were for leaving must have been good, because it must have hurt him as much as it hurt Josh, but I pushed that thought away. I was getting really good at just deciding not to see things that were right in front of my face. 

I needed to find something to take this pain away, needed to find some way to get past this, to not feel like this inside. I felt small. I felt like I always had all those years ago, when people hadn't respected me, hadn't cared about how I felt. I felt my heart wrenching, and I needed to let it out. And thinking that, thinking about the things I'd always done, I realized there was no point to changing. There was no point to becoming a better person, or feeling guilt, or being sorry for anything I'd done, because nice guys would always finish last, would always end up on the bottom, and I was nobody's bottom boy. I needed to find some to respect me, someone to worship me, someone to remind me that I was somebody. I needed to find someone and just use them, the way I'd been used, the way I turned to other people for comfort so many times before. 

I drove to a club, not really caring which one, not really caring that I was dressed a little casual for clubbing. People here knew who I was, people here would know that I was somebody important, somebody special. People here would fall all over themselves for the chance to be the one I took home, for the chance to sleep with Justin Timberlake. People here would fight over me, would be willing to sell out their friends for me, and would let me do whatever I wanted to them. I gave my keys to the valet, letting him park my car, and waved at the people on either side of the velvet rope, smiling for the photographers, strolling into the club and feeling all those eyes on me. 

I didn't drink much, because I wasn't here for that. Instead, I slid out into the middle of the crowd on the dance floor, sliding in between guys and their girlfriends, the force of my personality, my charm, my looks, pulling all of the eyes in the room toward me. I started dancing with the first girl I saw, pulling her against me, squashing her breasts to my chest as she grinned, letting her feel how hard I was just having someone completely abandon themselves to me, and knowing that she thought it was just for her when really it would have been for anyone. Another girl threw herself against my back, the two of them pressing tightly to me in a sandwich of writhing flesh, and I let her, reaching back to squeeze her ass with one of my hands while the other held the girl in front of me by the waist, holding her to my crotch as the three of us ground to the music. 

I danced for hours with more people than I can remember, a string of girls who threw themselves at me as I willingly accepted their attention. A couple of times, when the crowd shifted, I found myself dancing face to face with a guy, but, like I said, I'm equal opportunity. I'll take fawning attention from anyone, and I pulled a couple of the guys against me, too, letting them feel my cock throbbing against them for a second before I cast them aside for the next partner, the next person to give me a little piece of themselves and help me feel whole. 

Eventually I needed a drink, and a change of scene, so I found myself at the bar. People moved aside for me, cleared a chair for me, as they should. After all, I was somebody, and tonight I was somebody everyone wanted. I kept throwing off that vibe, too, kept letting people think they might actually stand a chance, and I felt myself feeding off of it, the attention, the hope. I was playing everyone in this room, and I was enjoying it. Fuck all of the stupid things my therapist said. This was the way the world really worked. Everyone was using everyone, everyone was out to get whatever they could for themselves, and as long as I ended up on top I didn't care what happened to the people underneath. 

I was sucking slowly at a beer someone had bought for me, some girl who wrote her name and number on a napkin that I'd probably leave right there at the bar, when I heard a familiar voice next to me. 

"So, this is life after Britney? Clubbing alone?" 

I turned my head and found myself staring into the wide, slightly vacant blue eyes of Nick Carter. It wasn't too much of a surprise running into him at a place like this, since the club was hot and trendy, and we were all more or less based in the same area. We saw each other out a lot, and we'd been spending a little more time around the Boys on and off since Lance and Howie had gotten together, but Nick and I never really hung out. Maybe we realized we were actually the same guy, more or less, the spoiled prima donna youngest member of our respective groups. We were both the favorite, the heartthrob, and we didn't spend a lot of time around each other because we both knew it split the attention. At parties we avoided each other like the plague, usually keeping ourselves on opposite ends of the room, so I was a little surprised to see him right next to me. 

"Nick," I said, tilting my beer at him. 

"Justin," he answered, nodding at me. Nick was a little sweaty, his face a little flushed, and I realized he must have been dancing right near me the entire time, but I hadn't noticed. "How are you?" 

"I'm good," I answered. It wasn't a total lie. I was feeling pretty good right now. "How are you?" 

"Not feeling any pain," he answered, grinning. 

He sipped his beer again, sliding his mouth over the end of the bottle for a second as he tilted his head back and swallowed, his blonde hair falling back off of his forehead. It was a move designed to call attention to him, designed to make your eye follow the lines of his face and neck, but you'd only know that if you knew all the moves yourself. Oh yeah, Nick and I were birds of a feather. 

"Sorry about that Britney crack, by the way," he said. "I meant it as a joke." 

"It's ok," I said, shrugging. "I'm over her." 

He grinned, turning toward me. His shirt was hanging unbuttoned off of his shoulders, his undershirt clinging to his chest, stretched tightly by the twist of his body. 

"So what brings you out tonight, Justin?" Nick asked, his eyes sparkling in the flashing lights. 

"I don't know," I answered, wondering if this was going where I thought it was. "I guess I just wanted to look around, but I'm kind of bored tonight." 

"Yeah, me too," Nick sighed, surveying the room. He turned back to me, grinning again. "Were you looking around for anything in particular, Justin?" 

I grinned as well. Who, exactly, was playing with whom here? 

"Just some fun," I answered, sipping my beer again, letting my mouth linger just a fraction of a second too long on the top of the bottle. 

"You know, we never talk or hang out," Nick said. "I think that's really a shame. You want to go somewhere quieter?" 

"Did you have somewhere in mind?" I asked, leaning back on the bar, letting my legs fall open a little. 

"I was thinking about my place," Nick suggested, his tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip. 

"Why not?" I said, standing. 

Nick practically fell off of his bar stool jumping up to join me. We chugged the rest of our beers, our eyes locked together. Chris had said once that Nick slept with everything, and it was more or less pretty true, at least as far as any of us knew. Nick was well known to be bi, at least in our circles, but I wasn't, so he probably thought he was about to make a score. Good. Let Nick think that. I was looking for someone to distract me, someone to worship me, someone to use to take my mind off of Josh. 

Nick Carter? 

He'd do. 

I followed him out of the club. 

---

CHAPTER 65

---

JUSTIN'S POV: 

"So," Nick began, sipping at his beer. It was good beer, some sort of microbrew, and I was sipping mine slowly as Nick and I stared across the room at each other. "What happened to your face?" 

That Nick, so tactful. Actually, he probably didn't mean anything by asking it that way. He was just a little more sloshed than I was, but that wasn't really a problem for me. It had certainly made for an entertaining ride home, though, as we sped through the streets with Nick at the wheel, and I waited to see if we'd get pulled over. I called from my cell phone to have someone pick up my car at the club and drop it off at my house, and then I turned to phone off. I didn't want to hear from anyone, not right now. I wondered absently which group the bad press from a DWI would affect more, Nick's for having a drunk driver among their members or mine for being a passenger with someone who was clearly not in any condition to safely operate a vehicle. Luckily we didn't get pulled over, so we'd never know. 

Nick kept up a steady stream of meaningless chatter all the way to his house, not really nervous babble, but more of the overexcited kind. I wondered if he was always this hyper, and figured he just needed something in his mouth to shut him up for a while. I'd have to see what I could do about that, figuring that it was going to be a rather fulfilling night for us both. He talked about what his group had been up to, and how surprised they had been to see Howie and Lance as a couple, and how hot some of the chicks at the club had been, and how bored he'd been lately, and apparently everything else that popped into his head. I smiled listening to him, and wanted to tell him not to try so hard. After all, I was a sure thing, even if he didn't know it yet. 

When we got to his house, it was nice, as all of our houses tended to be, and he took me on a quick tour of the downstairs, which ended in what he called the Rec Room. It was a large space, the walls painted in dark colors, and was set up to look almost like a club of his own. There was a large television in a dark entertainment center that, I presumed, held other electronics as well. On the side there was a large jukebox, which Nick set for automatic play when we walked in with a remote control, and across from it was a pool table, lit from above with hanging lights. There were a lot of overstuffed black leather couches, subtle blue neon lighting along the walls, and a well stocked bar curving around part of the room. 

I sat on one of the bar stools, leaning back, one of my legs casually hanging down, while the other was folded up onto the footrest, my bulging thigh stretching the leg of my pants tightly. I looked casual and uncaring as I leaned back on the bar, holding my beer, but knew that my shirt was pulled tightly across my chest, and I could tell from the view that Nick liked what I was showing so far. He was sitting in one of his couches, across from me, his legs flung open to show his basket as he scratched lightly at his stomach, his posture looking as casually innocent and unplanned as mine. 

"The stitches?" I asked, sipping again, watching him watch me. "Got in a fight." 

"Lover's quarrel?" Nick asked, grinning. 

"I wish," I answered, sighing. "No love for me since Brit left, unfortunately." 

"That's a shame," Nick said, shaking his head. 

"Yeah, I'm hoping to solve that problem some time soon," I said, sipping my beer again. I wasn't even a third of the way through the bottle yet, but Nick was drinking his pretty quickly. I needed to get moving before the poor boy was too drunk to do anything for me. "So, Nick, was there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?" 

"I don't know," he answered, shrugging. His eyes were pretty blue, and he was tanned and looked pretty well built. Yeah, he'd do. "What do you want to talk about?" 

"Well, we could talk about you looking at me," I began, leaning back again, locking my eyes with his, which widened in surprise. "I mean, you've been staring at me since we walked through the door. Did you see something you liked, Nicky?" 

He didn't answer, but started swallowing his beer pretty quickly as his bulging eyes followed my hand to the top button of my shirt. Deftly, one handed, I undid the buttons of my shirt quickly, and let half of it drop open. I wasn't wearing an undershirt, and I watched his eyes crawl appreciatively over the half of my abs and the rise of my pec. He licked his lips, grinning slightly, as I slid my palm quickly over my nipple, making sure my headlights were on, before I returned my elbow to the bar, leaning back again, pulling the exposed half of my torso tight. 

"How about now, Nicky?" I asked, grinning at him. I casually sipped my beer, and then let the bottle drop down to the level of my crotch, just above my cock, rather than returning it to the bar. Nick was starting to look pretty hot and bothered, although it wasn't like I was being subtle. "See anything you like now?" 

"Maybe," he answered, finishing his beer, blinking at me. His face looked a little flushed, and he had this dumb expression, like he couldn't believe this. Had he really thought he was going to seduce me? 

"Nicky, it looks like you finished your beer, there," I said, nodding toward it. I tilted mine a little, watching his eyes drop down to the bottle, and to my crotch, as the light caught the glass. "Want some of mine?" 

"Sure," he sighed, standing finally, walking toward me. The front of his pants was tented out enticingly, and he was practically running across the room toward me. I lifted the bottle, watching his eyes follow it. 

"Come and get it," I purred, pouring a little beer over my chest. 

"Oh, God," he sighed, leaning forward. 

His tongue, thick and pink, stretched out, and began sliding up my chest in long, wide strokes. Nick closed his eyes, licking my pec, and rasped his tongue firmly over my nipple, moaning a little as I smiled down at him. Nick's hands slid up my sides, brushing aside the other half of my shirt, and I shrugged, letting it drop away to the floor. I chuckled, and poured the rest of the beer onto my torso, splashing a little into Nick's hair and onto his face, but he just groaned and kept licking up and down my chest, sucking at my nipples, biting a little at my pecs. I casually tossed the bottle onto the bar, and heard it roll off of the other side and break. Nick didn't seem to notice at all. 

Sliding my hands up, I laced my fingers through Nick's hair, getting a good grip on his head, as he dropped to his knees. He groaned again, nuzzling against my hands for a second, not opening his eyes, before he resumed licking my chest. Now that I had him though, had him by the mouth and the hair, it was time to take charge. I began to drag Nick's head back and forth, not pulling hard, but he submitted to the pressure, licking away wherever I pulled him. 

"You like that, don't you, Nick?" I asked, purring, keeping my voice low. Whatever his intentions had been when he brought me home with him, the boy was mine now, he was hooked. Knowing that, I was hard. I tugged Nick's head over. "Here, why don't you work on my nipple, ok?" 

Nick groaned his acceptance, licking and sucking at my nipple, chewing on it. Smiling, I pulled his head over to the other one and pressed his face down, letting him know what he was supposed to do. Not opening his eyes, his face flushed and coated with a light sheen of sweat, Nick folded his rosy lips over my hard, pink nipple, and went back to work. He sucked and bit and kissed, rolled his tongue around and over my nipple, and then I pulled him back to the other one, feeling him leave a wet trail across the center of my chest, over and over, as I dragged him back and forth. I began tugging his head a little lower on each pass, until finally I had his face against my abs. He pressed his mouth to my navel, dipping his tongue in, running it in a circle around it, tracing my happy trail as he washed back and forth over my abs, which I crunched for him as he mouthed them. Sighing, I tightened my grip on his hair, and pulled his head back, all the way back, so that he was staring up at me, past the wet curves of my chest to my face, with his mouth open. 

"Are you enjoying that, Nicky?" I asked, smiling down at him. He stared up at me, his face smeared with spit where he'd drug it across my body. 

"Hell yes," he panted, his mouth hanging open vacantly as he looked at me, his face clouded with lust. 

"Me too," I said, not letting go of his head. "You're really good at this, Nicky. You've got a hot little mouth on you. You know what I'd really like for you to do with it? Do you, Nicky?" 

"Yeah," he panted, his voice strained. Oh yeah, he wanted it. 

"Why don't you get my cock out, then, and get to work?" I asked, smiling. 

It wasn't really a question, and he knew it. While I kept hold of his head, fingers gripping his hair, my arms locked just enough to keep him down on the floor, Nick's hands slid up my legs to my waist, crawling across it like spiders as he undid my belt, sliding it through the loops and tossing it to the floor. He undid the button and unzipped my fly, and tugged my pants down, leaving me standing above him in my plain white briefs, my tanned muscles contrasting with the tightie whities. Nick lunged forward and brought his mouth to my throbbing cock, gnawing at it through the briefs, pressing his lips over it, forcing spit through the cotton. Oh, yeah, he'd been around this block a few times before. 

"Oh, Nick, that's nice," I sighed, starting to lose myself in the feelings radiating up from my hard prick. 

He continued wetly mouthing my cock through the thin cotton, soaking it with spit from his side as I soaked it with precum from the inside, until my wide pink cockhead was plainly visible through the fabric. Nick's hands slid up my legs again, this time caressing my bare thighs, rubbing at them, brushing over the hair there, and he grabbed the top of my briefs, pulling them down and away from my cock as he slid them over my ass as well. My dick sprang out, hard and ready, chilled a little by the air as it hung, covered in spit, before Nick's face. I pulled on his hair again, thankful he kept it so long, tilting his head back. 

"Stick out your tongue," I whispered, staring down at him. 

Nick's wide blue eyes stared up at me, expressionlessly blank, as his jaw dropped open even further, and he stuck his tongue out like a patient in the doctor's office. He groaned with lust as I began to rub the bottom of my cock back and forth over it, teasing him with just the head before sliding my whole shaft up and down it. Each time I pulled back the end of his tongue lifted up, reaching for my dripping prick. This was what I wanted, what I had been seeking when I left the house. He was on his knees, in my grip, and had completely abandoned himself to me. I could do anything I wanted to him, anything at all, and he'd like it. The thought was so hot I almost blew my wad right there, all over his face like a messy porno, but I wanted a little more action first. 

"Open up, Nicky," I said, pulling my hips back a little. "I got something for you." 

He pulled his tongue back into his mouth, letting his jaw drop open, and I pushed the head of my cock past his lips. Pulling his head forward, I slid in, watching his mouth stretch, watching his eyes slide closed, as my shaft pumped all the way into his mouth. I pumped my hips as I continued to pull him forward, feeling his tongue wash over my shaft, feeling it swirl around the head, and finally I felt his nose collide with my pubic hair. His hands were on my ass, cupping it, hanging on, and I had my cock all the way down his throat. Resting for a minute, letting him get used to it, letting his mouth stretch open a little, I looked at his closed eyes, at his smooth, flushed face, and realized he liked it this way, liked being on his knees. 

I began to slowly rock my hips back and forth, flexing my ass, pumping into him as I pulled his head back and forth at the same time, feeling my cock slide in and out of the warm tunnel of his mouth. Looking down at his kneeling body, I realized that he was still completely dressed, while my own clothes were all over the floor. I saw his knees planted on either side of my foot, and I slid my leg forward until my shin pressed against his hard cock. He groaned around mine, the vibration coursing though me, and I began, ever so slowly, to rock my leg back and forth, pressing and releasing. Almost immediately his hips began to move, pressing his cock up and down my leg, humping it like a dog. I had done this to him, me, and it was making me so fucking hot. 

Nick as almost ready to go as well, I could see. His face, flushed, was covered with sweat, and his moans around my dick were starting to sound a little urgent as he continued grinding his cock against my leg. I felt myself getting close, too, as he worked his skilled mouth over me, and his hands gripped and kneaded my ass, and I watched him transformed into a little pile of need at my feet. I continued rocking my leg back and forth, helping get him off, as I jerked his head forward and back, my hips slamming into his face as I fucked it with full out abandon. 

"Nicky, take your cock out," I said, not missing a beat. "I want to see." 

Without opening his eyes, Nick pulled one hand off of my ass and undid his pants, working furiously to pull his cock out. It looked nice enough, big enough to have some fun with, and redder than mine. As soon as he had it out he began to stroke it, beating off feverishly as he gobbled me. That was too hot for me, too much of a turn on, and I felt myself pulling up, tensing, getting ready to shoot. Slamming my cock all the way into his throat, I looked down at him, mouth stretched wide open, hand a blur on his own cock. 

"Nicky," I whispered. "Cum!" 

His eyes popped open, and he yelped around my cock as his whole body tensed, cum splattering out of his dick. At the same time, I threw my head back, and shot down his throat, feeling it work around my dick as he swallowed. When I was done, I pulled my cock out slowly, and finally let go of his head as he sat, panting, on his knees at my feet. He looked up at me, blinking, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"So, Nicky," I asked, looking down at him with a wide smile. "Was it good for you?" 

"Yeah," he answered, staring up at me. 

"Me, too," I said, caressing the side of his face with my hand. "It's been a long day, and I'm kind of tired. How about you finish the tour, and show me the bedroom?" 

"Sure," he answered, standing. 

Nick took my hand and led me, fully dressed while I was stark naked, through the rest of the house and up the stairs. His bedroom was all white, even the silk sheets on the bed, and I slid onto the comforter and stared up at him, knowing the contrast of my tanned body would be a turn on, making sure that he could see everything from where he was standing. Nick might have just cum, but I was just getting warmed up. My cock hung down from my crotch, full, but not hard, and I saw him glance at it as I lay there on my side, watching him. Nick began to slowly undress, staring down at me, licking his lips, the same awed expression on his face as if he still couldn't believe he had me in his bed. I watched as his chest slid out from under his shirts, wider than mine, well built but not as defined. He kicked off his pants and boxers, and stood at the side of the bed, staring down at me. His cock was still rather full as well, but like me some of the urgency had been taken off. 

"Nicky," I began, holding out a hand to him. "Come to bed." 

He slid into the bed, reaching for me, and I grabbed his shoulders, turning him a little so that he was on his side, facing me. He stared at me, and his eyes fluttered a little as he sighed softly when I ran my hand over his side, up from his hip to his face, pulling his head toward mine. I brought his lips to mine, and he sighed again, almost a whimper, as I kissed him softly, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth and catching it with my teeth for a second. I was still running my hand lazily up and down his side, feeling how warm and silky smooth his skin was, like velvet over marble, but he hadn't moved yet. I took his hand and put it in the middle of my chest, watching his eyes pop open. 

"It's ok, Nicky," I said, smiling. My voice was honey soft and sweet. "You can touch me if you want. You can touch me anywhere." 

He sighed again, another high pitched little whimpering sigh, as he continued to kiss me, and ran his hands all over me. I could tell he was getting worked up again, and so was I. 

"You like me, don't you Nicky?" I asked, chewing on his ear. "I can tell." 

"Yeah," he sighed, his voice high and breathy. 

I began to slide down his neck to his chest. 

"You have a fantastic body, Nick," I said, kissing softly, feather light, toward his nipple. His chest rose and fell beneath me, his skin smelling faintly of some floral soap. I licked my tongue over his nipple, wetting it, and then blew on it, watching him shiver as he let out another little yelping sigh. 

"Oh, God, Justin," he sighed, his hands still sliding over me. 

"Is this what you wanted, Nicky?" I asked, nibbling my way back up his neck. I fastened onto a spot just above his collarbone, sucking hard. I was gonna mark this boy. He was all mine. "Is this what you were thinking about back at that club?" 

"Oh, Justin," he panted, a hand on the back of my head, holding me to his neck as I sucked and bit. "I never thought." 

"Never thought what?" I whispered, sliding up his neck, kissing and licking. 

"I never thought you'd, you'd be like this," he sighed as my mouth closed over his again. I pushed my tongue inside for a second, penetrating him, before pulling back and kissing along the side of his face. He didn't say what exactly I was like, but I could tell. As big and bad as Nick was, sometimes he liked to be the bitch. I was ok with that. I liked to be in charge. 

"You like it, though, don't you?" I asked, kissing the side of his neck near his ear as I brought my hands down to his ass, pulling myself closer, letting him feel my whole body press front to front against his. My cock was hard now, and it rubbed against his equally hard rod. 

"Yeah," he sighed, groaning as I kneaded his ass, grinding his prick against mine as I kissed at his neck. 

"You know what I like, Nicky?" I asked, letting my fingers slide through his ass crack as I continued to massage his cheeks. 

"What?" he groaned, his hips moving toward mine now, pressing our cocks together. Oh yeah, I was pushing all of his buttons, and my own as well. 

"I like to fuck," I whispered, sliding my tongue up the curve of his ear as I brushed my fingers over his asshole. His hips jerked back toward my hand as his eyes popped open in front of mine. 

"But, but," he began, eyes wide, sweat breaking out on his forehead. I kept my finger pressed against his hole, not pushing in, just rolling it back and forth, and kept grinding my cock into his. 

"But what, Nicky?" I asked, kissing him again. His face was almost panicked, but also flushed. He wanted it, you could tell. "You didn't think you were going to fuck me, did you? Because I don't get fucked, Nicky." 

I popped my finger inside him, pushing past the frantically clenching muscle, and he groaned into my mouth. As I began to roll my finger in and out, he moaned against me, high pitched, whining little boy moans. He might say he didn't want it, but his cock was still throbbing, and he was pressing his ass back against my invading finger. 

"You know what, Nicky?" I asked, chewing on his jaw, pumping that finger in and out, grinding my cock against his as they slid over each other in a sea of leaking precum and sweat. "I think you get fucked, don't you?" 

"Unh," he grunted in answer, a twisted half groan, half sigh. 

"Do you want to get fucked, Nicky?" I asked, popping a second finger in. "Do you?" 

"Unh, Justin, ungh," he panted, twisting and writhing against me, his hips jerking back and forth. 

"Just say the word, Nicky," I whispered, my mouth right against his ear. My own cock was steely hard again, watching his defenses break down, watching his masks crumble beneath my probing hand. "Just say it." 

"Justin," he sighed, his voice high and squeaky, his face tight. 

"Say it, Nicky," I whispered, catching his earlobe in my teeth. 

He grunted again, a loud, bellowing groan. 

"Justin, fuck me!" he panted, throwing his head back. "Fuck me!" 

"Love to," I said, grabbing his shoulder with my free hand. 

I turned him roughly, pressing him face down into the bed, my hand sliding over his sweaty back as I kept the other plunging in and out of his hole, opening him up, stretching him out. Panting, moaning, and whimpering, his eyes squeezed tightly closed, Nick lifted the front of his body up, propping himself up on his elbows as he continued rolling his hips back toward me. Leaning over him, I reached into his nightstand, knowing that every guy keeps everything in the top drawer, and I retrieved a condom as my knees pushed his legs apart, opening him up to me. Keeping my hand at work, I slid a third finger into him as I rolled the condom down over my dick, and then I pulled my hand away suddenly, and collapsed down onto his beck, pressing myself to it, the head of my dick pushing against his hole. My mouth was right up against his cheek, my breath hot on the side of his face. 

"You want it, Nicky?" I chanted, almost teasing. "You want it?" 

"Yeah," he whimpered, face half tense but half relaxed. It was an expression I love, that mix of pain, pleasure, defiance, and need. His hips pressed back toward me, but I wasn't in yet. My head was poking at his hole, almost there. 

"Good," I sighed, tensing. "Here it is." 

I flexed, pushing my head in, and then slammed all the way into him in one long, fast stroke, until my pubes collided with his ass. He yelped in surprise, his ass clenching around me, but he couldn't hold me out. He jerked under me, his back pressing into my chest as if he was trying to get away, but I had him by the shoulders. He wasn't going anywhere, and I didn't really think he wanted to. Giving him a second to adjust, I paused, looking down at his sweaty shoulders, at his tanned back, seeing his face twist as he turned his head to the side, completely impaled beneath me. 

He began to whimper, little high pitched sighs of pleasure, as I began to slam in and out of him, thrusting hard, almost roughly, pressing him down into the bed with my locked arms as I pounded my cock in and out of his ass. Each time I slammed forward I could tell I was hitting his prostate, and his whimpers would shriek up in pitch, so that they were almost yelps. He writhed beneath me, raising himself on his hands, so that he almost looked like he was about to start doing pushups, and used his arms to throw himself back against me in time to my thrusts. I raked my hands up and down his back, watching him toss his head from side to side as he moaned and whimpered with pleasure. 

"You like it, Nicky?" I asked, needing to hear it, needing to hear him say it. 

"Yes," he panted beneath me, fighting for air. 

"You like having my big cock up inside you, Nicky?" I asked, grinning down at him. "Is that what you like?" 

"Yes, Justin," he panted, whimpering, his face tensing as I slammed home again. "Yes. Fuck me, Justin! Fuck me!" 

Egged on by Nick's coaxing, I began to slam even harder into him, lunging forward, pushing as far inside as I could while his tight, hot ass clenched around me. My fingers dug into his shoulders, my nails whitening, as I pounded into him, the bed shaking, headboard smacking into the wall. Sweat dripped off of us both, running down my torso, streaking down Nick's back. This was hot, and good, rough and kind of dirty. Sex with Josh wouldn't be like this, I thought suddenly. Sex with Josh would be slow, and tender, loving, not this hot rutting like two animals on the silk sheets. I didn't want to think about Josh. I was here to stop thinking about him, damn it. I began to pound into Nick even more angrily, and I slapped his ass with my hand, watching it turn red as he yelped beneath me. 

I pulled out suddenly, watching his eyes pop open in surprise, his hips sliding against mine as I missed the beat. Grabbing his shoulders, I rolled him over onto his back, and he stared up at me as I grabbed his sweaty, firm legs, pulling them up to my shoulders. 

"I want to see your face," I growled, slamming my cock into him all the way to the hilt, watching his eyes roll up in his head. I wanted to see Nick, not Josh. 

I pounded into him just as hard, his ankles at my shoulders, bending him in half as I forced my way in. Beneath me his chest was also covered in sweat. It was running in rivulets down his pecs, and over his abs, and his nipples were hard, jutting points that I grabbed with both hands and twisted, knowing it would hurt. He rewarded me with a loud groan of mixed pain and pleasure, and his asshole clenched around me again, but I kept thrusting in. Every time I hit bottom, my cock stabbing into his prostate, I saw a little wave wash over Nick's face, a little tightening. He was enjoying this as much as I was, but he wasn't going to last much longer if the throbbing cock trapped between us, rubbing against my abs, was any indication. 

I dropped my hands down to it, touching him there for the first time all night, and thought of how different it felt. Sure I hadn't felt many to compare it to, and you'd think they'd all be more or less the same, but so far there had been a different feeling to each, and I wondered if maybe it was a mental thing. Nick's hands fastened down over my own, all four of them now jerking his cock as he threw his head back and forth beneath me, pressing it from side to side into the pillows, his sweaty face red and straining, all the cords in his neck standing out. I let go of his cock, letting his hands replace my own, and grabbed his face with both hands. 

Leaning down, I jammed my tongue into his mouth, feeling the thrumming vibration of his loud groan as I slammed forward, my whole body tightening as I came again. I jerked twice in him, finishing up, and then felt warm wetness splatter my chest and abs as he came again as well, panting and sighing under me. I let his legs drop down, rolling off of him onto my back, and looked around for something to take care of the condom with. Nick leaned over and pulled the condom off, tossing it aside, and slid his mouth down over my sticky cock, sucking me clean as I sighed with pleasure. When he finished, taking a last couple of licks over the head, he licked his way across my abdomen and up my chest, cleaning off all of his own cum with his tongue. He had some on his own stomach as well, and I scooped it off with my fingers, pressing them to his mouth as he sucked them inside, rolling his tongue around them. 

When he finished, he slid up alongside me, facing me again, and I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. 

"That was good, Nicky, really good," I sighed, grinning. 

"You're fucking amazing," he panted, staring at me. 

"Thanks," I said, reaching for the light. "Let's go to sleep." 

Nick lay against me, his head on my chest, as I stared up at the ceiling, absently stroking his hair. I felt satiated, satisfied, and relaxed, but this hadn't been what I wanted after all, I realized. I couldn't go back to the way I had been, couldn't just turn to sex for comfort anymore, because I didn't feel fulfilled. I felt hollow inside, empty. 

Nick was nice, and he was a hell of a good fuck, but he wasn't Josh. 

 

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