There's only one rule in Justin's kitchen. Well, two really, but JC argued that the second wasn't actually a rule, just simple common courtesy and that anyone with any kind of decent upbringing would know that when you take the last of something, you write it down on the notepad magnetically attached to the refrigerator door. And because JC can be like a dog with a bone sometimes, the others agreed. And since Justin was a sponge and soaked any and everything up, he took this courtesy as one of his own. The first was that he who cooks does not clean and since Justin hated to clean, he made sure that they ate at his house a lot.

They were all surprisingly good cooks. Well, it was more that JC and Justin were good cooks while the others had their small repertoires of dishes they prepared well.

Justin enjoyed trying new recipes then experimenting to see if he could get a better taste. He liked that he could put all these separate ingredients together to make something greater than the sum of all its parts. It reminded him of his life.He'd once prepared fettuccini six nights in a row, stopping only because Chris threatened to do bad things to his Mercedes with spray paint. Justin had a fleet of cars but the M Class was his baby so he desisted.

JC liked the sounds of the kitchen, the music of cooking; the thunk of the knife against the cutting board as he sliced vegetables, the gurgle of water boiling in a pot, the hiss of grease meeting the heated surface of a pan. He liked to hum along to it. He also enjoyed the textures of the different foodstuffs he handled and would often call one of the others into the room to "feel this!"

So it was natural that JC and Justin be the ones to prepare Lance's 'We Hope You Get It Even Though We're Freaked To All Fuck At The Thought Of You In Space' dinner. It had been a long while since the five of them had had a quiet night together and lord only knew when the next one would be. JC and Justin bickered for over a week about the menu, Justin wanting to try some of the more exotic dishes he knew Lance liked. JC argued that Lance would have nothing but exotic meals in Russia and that his last meal with his four best friends should be something simple. In the end, because JC can hold a grudge like nobody's business, they decided on good ole' Southern fare: fried chicken, macaroni casserole, corn on the cob, refried beans (none for Joey, thank you) and sweet cornbread with peach cobbler for dessert.

But then they got into an argument about exactly how southern fried chicken should be made. Justin insisted that he knew how because he was from Memphis, Tennessee and his granny's the best cook this side of Purgatory and JC should just shut up and let Justin do his thing. JC insisted that, though he was born in Maryland, he'd been raised in Florida and that's the south. He didn't get any further than that, though, because Justin and Lance both had very vehemently defended their South and the fact that it has not ever, does not now and will never include Florida. Florida, Lance had explained is in the south, but is not in The South.

JC conceded that argument, knowing that it was one he wouldn't, and didn't really want to, win. And then he'd kicked Lance out of the kitchen, not wanting to ruin the surprise. Lance laughingly informed him that he couldn't be surprised by what he already knew, but he left, followed the cursing and howls of defeat to Chris and his battle with Halo.

JC turned back to Justin to find that he'd put his little laptop computer on the butcher-block island that floated in the center of the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking up the recipe."

"Why? I thought you were the King of Fried Chicken," JC taunted.

"I am. I just want to make sure we get it right."

"Then we should go to the library," JC offered as he pulled himself up on top of the counter.

"Why?" Justin licked his lips as he looked up at his friend. He almost winced as his eyes again caught the cacophony of colors that was JC's t-shirt before he narrowed them on his friend's face.

"'Cause they have real cookbooks at the library."

"Jayce, I can get more recipes from a few sites on my computer than I can from all the cookbooks in the library," Justin reasoned. He was feeling lazy, didn't want to change his clothes. "Besides, the nearest library is, like, twenty minutes away."

"Not the way you drive and you know it. C'mon, don't be a bitch, just go put on some clothes and let's go the library."

"JC, I don't want to go to--"

JC pushed himself off the counter and grabbed a cookie from the jar. He leaned in close. "Be a friend, Justin. Think with more than just your head. Lance is going away to Russia. Chris will be here in America..." JC let his voice trail off and moved his hand in a gesture that indicated for Justin to finish the thought.

"So, you want me to think with my dick?" Justin grinned and grabbed himself.

JC smacked him on the back of the head and headed towards the living room. "Get changed, moron."

Justin headed towards the stairs, grinning. He was halfway to his room when his mind caught up. Chris and Lance. Alone. In his house. Fuck. He'd have to buy a new couch.



"Jesus," Justin breathed as he stared at the long rows of books. "Who knew there were this many cookbooks in the world?"

"J."

Justin turned, spotted JC at one of the computer terminals. "I thought you didn't want to use a computer," he frowned as he moved to stand behind JC and peered over his shoulder.

"Gotta narrow it down or we'll be here forever," JC muttered as he pecked out the words 'southern fried chicken.' Both men gasped at the number of entries found.

"So, how do you wanna do this?" JC planted his hands on either side of the keyboard and looked up and over his shoulder at Justin.

"Shit." Justin's eyes roved over the list. "Let's just choose random ones."



Fifteen minutes and four stacks of books later, Justin was bored out of his mind. His usual when-there's-nothing-else-to-do-and-Chris-isn't-around-to-entertain-him activity was people watching. But the hutch JC had chosen was behind the copiers and shelves hid the main portion of the room so Justin couldn't see anyone and no one could see him.

As far as Justin was concerned, the question of which recipe to use had been solved in the car on the way over when he'd finally realized and pointed out to JC that all they had to do to get a primo recipe for fried chicken was call his grandmother. Of course, her portions would tend more to "a handful" of this and "a knuckle's length" of that, but they were smart guys, they could figure it out. But JC pointed out that if they used his grandma's recipe and it didn't taste exactly like hers, Justin would pout and curse and pout some more and then blame everyone else. Justin realized the truth in that and so he quietly drove the rest of the way to the library. And now he was boredboredbored and trying desperately not to think of what Chris and Lance could be up to. On his leather couch. White leather. Coach leather. Shit.

Justin shifted in his seat, his foot accidentally brushing against JC's. JC looked up, offered a faint smile then went back to his reading. How anyone could get so caught up in recipes was beyond Justin but he'd long ago given up trying to make sense of JC. As he watched, JC lifted a finger to his mouth, wet it. Justin was struck by how elegant JC's hand was, fingers long and thin, nails neatly manicured. His eyes followed as JC lowered his hand and used his spit-wet finger to turn the page. His skin looked soft, creamy. Not at all how you'd think a man's hands should look, but not at all effeminate either. Justin wondered what it would feel like against his skin, JC’s hands hot on his face, his chest, shoulders, thighs.

Justin smiled to himself. Not like they hadn't done it before. His smile grew wider as his eyes roved JC's face. Taken individually, he thought JC's features were nothing special. Well, his eyes were a spectacular mixture of blue and green. Or sometimes gray, depending on what he was wearing. And you could sharpen a knife on his cheekbones. And his bottom lip was perfectly pouty. And the underside of his jaw was particularly nibble-able. Also, he could do this really incredible thing where he massaged his tongue against yours and it's so good you think you're going to come in your pants.

And then Justin was remembering the few times he and JC had been together. His eyes fell on JC's lips and he thought back to how JC would moan into his mouth when Justin would suck on his bottom lip. Justin licked his own lips, said softly, "Why don't we get together anymore?"

JC didn't even look up from his book. "Dude, J, you know how it is, man. Joey's on Broadway and Lance has his space training and you got the record deal and--"

Justin interrupted before JC could tell him more things that he already knew. "No, I didn't mean get together. I meant get together."

JC blinked at him and Justin could almost see the question mark hovering over JC's head. Subtlety was out. "Why don't we sleep tog--have sex anymore?"

"Oh." JC sat back in his chair, placed his hands on his thighs and stared at Justin. "I got the impression that you didn't want to."

"What?" Justin raised his eyebrows. "Where'd you get that?"

"Well, I think it was when you said 'I don't want to.'"

"I never--" Justin sputtered. "When did I say that?"

"Reno. No Strings tour."

Justin smacked his lips. "Man. All I said was that I was tired."

"Yeah."

Justin rolled his eyes. JC was one of the most book smart people he'd ever know but he could use a little tutoring on the people skills. "I meant that I was tired. As in sleepy. No sex that night, not no sex ever."

"Oh. So why didn't you say something?"

"I don't know, I thought maybe you freaked out and didn't want to talk about it or something."

"That's what I thought about you!"

They regarded each other in silence, both thinking about miscommunication and missed opportunities. Then JC smiled, slow and sly. He wriggled his eyebrows. "So. You wanna?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Justin's face before he shoved his chair back and rounded the table.

"What, here?" JC squeaked, eyes wide with excitement.

Justin sat in the chair next to JC, pulled it as close as he could get, angled his body to face the other man. He relaxed, made his entire body go limp. He sucked in his bottom lip, held it in his mouth for a second, smiled around it. He let it slip between his teeth, still smiling and did something that could only be described as fluttering his eyelashes but with none of the feminine connotation that phrase holds. He knew how mouth looked, red and slightly swollen and wet. He looked down and pretended not to notice JC's stare. "Well, we can't go back to my place," he murmured, "and your place is out."

"But here? Justin, it's the library."

"Nobody can see us," Justin pointed out then assumed a cockney British accent. "Go on then. Give us a kiss, love."

JC smiled as he leaned forward. "You're a freak."

Justin closed the distance between them. "You love it."

JC mumbled something like, "You're right, I do," but their mouths met just then and his words were lost. Justin remembered this, wondered how he'd lived without it, wondered why he'd given it up without a fight, this hotwetsexheatneed that was the core of their relationship. JC tasted bittersweet, of root beer and candy. Justin pulled back to look and see. This is what he'd missed the most, that heavy-lidded look that promised nothing in one blink of an eye and everything in the next.

They kissed again, longer, wetter, hotter. JC was practically in Justin's lap and Justin's hands roamed freely under JC's shirt. He tore his mouth away from JC's to press wet open-mouthed kisses on his neck. He nibbled along his collarbone before licking at the underside of his jaw; something he remembered made JC go wild.

JC's fingers dug into Justin's shoulder and he hissed through his teeth as he breathed, a sharp 'sssss' that Justin was sure everybody in the library could hear. He didn't stop, though. He used his tongue to spell out his name on JC's skin then sucked hard enough to leave a mark. JC moaned in the back of his throat, a high girlish sound that was almost like singing.

Justin kissed his way back to JC's mouth, hands as busy as his tongue. JC's pants were undone in the next second and Justin cupped him, rubbed and fingered him. JC let out a moan that Justin was sure would bring someone to investigate. Still stroking, he pulled away from the kiss to check over his shoulder and over JC's. When no one appeared, he went back to work. He used the backs of his knees to push his chair away and knelt between JC's legs. He used his free hand to pull JC's shirt up, exposed JC's heaving chest and belly for his questing tongue and hand. He traced the contours of JC's muscles with his tongue, alternately thought what a shame and what a blessing it was that JC was willing to show the world his mind, heart and soul but not his body. He felt honored that he was one of the select few to be able to see, much less touch and taste. He released JC, used both hands to guide him to lift his hips off the chair. He had JC's pants past the curve of his ass before JC realized his intention and belatedly tried to stop him. Justin licked lower, just above the patch of dark hair peeking out over the top of Calvin Klein underwear and JC went liquid, all struggle gone.

Justin pulled the pants and underwear down just low enough. He sat back on his heels, studied JC’s erection. It was exactly as he remembered it. Which made sense. Cocks didn’t just up and change. But he’d expected it to be different somehow. Why or how, he didn’t know. He just did.

And then JC put an end to his inspection with one sweating hand at the nape of his neck, getting Justin right where he wanted him, hot and wet and oh god yes around his cock.

JC was the only man Justin had ever given head to and it had only been twice. But he remembered every second of it, what JC liked and didn’t like, what made JC’s toes curl and back arch. What made him make that noise in the back of his throat, what made him shudder and moan and almost come.

He wanted so badly to play. To make JC suffer for his pleasure. To take him to the brink and yank him back. But it was the library. So he used what he knew to bring JC to a quick orgasm. He pulled back when he felt the sharp tug on his hair, used JC’s underpants to stem the flow. He wasn’t all about the swallowing. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, rested his chin on JC’s knee. JC just after an orgasm was JC at his prettiest, he thought. Skin flushed and damp, eyelids fluttering, mouth relaxed, chest heaving, pulse beating heavy at his neck. Perfect.

JC inhaled deeply, opened sleepy eyes and smiled down at Justin. He opened his mouth to speak then froze as they heard the sharp ‘clickclickclick’ of high heels on linoleum.

Justin threw himself back in his seat as JC frantically stuffed and pulled and zipped and tried to appear decent and god-fearing as the library aide peeked around the corner of the hutch.

“The library is closing in fifteen minutes so if you want to check anything out, you’d better do it now.” She took a closer look at them, shuffled nervously. “The intercom is broken so we’re going around to tell everybody.” She sniffed, looked like she wanted to say something else but turned abruptly on her heel and quickly walked away.

Justin and JC resisted looking at each other for a minute then gave in. As soon as their eyes met, they burst into laughter. JC straightened his clothes and Justin stacked the books into a semblance of order. He pulled JC out of his seat, planted a quick kiss on his mouth. “What say we go kick Lance and Chris outta my house?”

They were almost to the car when JC spoke. “You know they’ve completely ruined your couch, right?”

Justin sighed as he unlocked the car. “I know.” He slid into his seat and buckled his seat belt, then turned to JC. “It’s okay. I have the spare key to Lance’s house.” He wriggled his eyebrows.

JC laughed then whooped as Justin pulled out into traffic.