Justin realized on his way to JC’s that he was not helping the situation any. But after so long, he just didn’t have it in him to fight so hard. If Lance wanted him out of his life, then maybe he would just have to accommodate that wish. He knocked, still brooding over lost plans. He’d wanted to tromp through the woods with Lance, drink hot chocolate and cut down their tree. There was so much hope for the day -- another chance to reconnect with him. But it was gone now. A strange face opened the door, and Justin blinked. “You must be Justin,” the guy said, waving him in. “Yeah, I am,” Justin replied, off guard. “Chris.” The man stuck his hand out to shake, and Justin accepted it easily. “Nice to meet you.” Justin was quick to note that Chris held his hand a second longer than was customary -- and he got the message loud and clear. Set up. Blinking past Chris to JC, he kept himself in check. But the small glimmer of mischief in JC’s eyes was far too chipper to ignore. So he yanked his hand out of Chris’ and brushed past. “A moment?” he asked, yanking JC up from the couch roughly. He wanted to scream, but there were five other people situated in JC’s living room. He wanted to choke his good for nothing co-worker until his golden pipes were permanently bruised. Shoving JC into the kitchen, he pounced. “What the fuck man? What the fuck?” His eyes seared a direct line into his friend, pinning him down with accusation. And unhappiness. “What? Jesus, Justin. That was just rude!” JC smoothed his shirt before poking his head in the refrigerator for a beer. “What’s your deal?” “My deal?” Justin hissed as JC flung a Budweiser at his chest. “My deal? Oh I have no deal. And that Chris guy? He’s got no deal either I suppose.” JC kicked the door shut with his heel and shrugged, pushing up onto the counter top. “He’s nice, J. So nice. And he’s got a good job. He loves basketball and ...” Justin pounded his beer can to the counter furiously. “... And nothing! Jesus fucking ... shit! No!” Justin was crazed, his blood pumped through his body like firewater, charring his nerves with each thump of his heart. It was insanity -- and he wanted to push out of JC’s house, and head somewhere else. Maybe the studio. It would be quiet and he could work out some demos. “I’m outta here,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. But JC was grabbing his tee-shirt and hauling him back like a rag doll. “You gonna go pine for Lance some more?” he queried. “Because Lance is not coming back, J! He’s not!” The words rang too true for Justin to hear and he shoved against JC harshly. “Shut up,” he grimaced, wishing he’d never agreed to come. Wishing he’d gone to get the tree instead. He could have put it up and had it ready for Lance to see ... ... only Lance would be drunk, he reminded himself -- drunk and probably not alone. If he came home at all. And he wondered why it hurt so fucking much, chipping away at his soul more and more every damn day. His world was miserable, and things that once brought him so much joy seemed muted. Life in general seemed like a faded flower, just too wilted to retain life. “It’s true, man. I’m sorry.” Justin felt tears sting his eyes and he rubbed at them, willing them to stay put. JC was right, he usually was. And no one knew better than the person he spilled his misery to day after day at work. Co-writing songs had unleashed anguish that might have never been leaked otherwise. So JC knew -- and JC was just telling him like it was. He backed against JC and let his breath settle -- forced the ping pong jumping in his chest to slow. JC’s arm looped around him for an embrace. “I miss him too Justin. I do. But that Lance is gone. And it kills me to see you waiting around for a dream that’s never going to come true.” Justin fell -- his entire psyche, every shred of optimism he’d held in his soul.  After all these months or waiting, the understanding was finally at his fingertips, on his tongue, in his heart. The sad fact that he had to move on -- that waiting for Lance was a moot point. Because his Lance had been stolen from him, and while neither of them were at fault, it was a reality he had to tackle. Five beers later and Justin found Chris quite enjoyable. Sexy in an understated kind of way. Knowledgeable in almost as much sport related trivia as he was. Funny as hell. And he had the warmest hands. Justin swam in a haze of shattered emotions, unmeaning to grow so flustered when Chris touched him -- no matter how innocent it was. And in a room of otherwise heterosexual men, no one could tell Chris was anything other than friendly. He wore jeans well, Justin found himself musing. Suddenly the game seemed a little less important than the slither of sexual heat that seemed to be fluttering between them. It was wrong, Justin knew, to press up against Chris slyly -- to take opportunities when Chris got up to shout at the television at horrible plays to stare at him. It was wrong because his heart was still occupied with big green eyes that screamed at him. “I gotta go,” Justin said, aware of the thickness in his jeans, a heat that caused him to ache for arms around him. A Lance who would grin sloppily and tackle him to the bed, rip his clothes off and treat him to an afternoon of sexual delight. The hollow in his gut grew as he pushed such images away, and he felt dangerously close to sobbing. “What? It’s only third quarter,” JC said, standing up to stop Justin. But Justin was losing control with the amount of beers consumed, and he knew he was heading for trouble with Chris. “It’s been nice,” Justin said, refusing to break stride. “Thanks.” He bolted for the door, tripping over his own feet in his haste. The knob was slippery beneath his hands, and he pulled at it as the alcohol buzzed through him. He knew he shouldn’t drink, that he couldn’t hold his liquor well. But it numbed him for a time. It leant him a view into another time when perhaps Chris would have been something he could envision. But not this time. Not now. “Fuck,” he cried as his fingers tried to manipulate the brass circle. “Let me walk you down,” Chris said, brushing his hands away, and opening the door with ease. “Okay?” Justin swallowed his tears down and blinked to make the glassy residue disappear. He wanted to tell Chris to stop being so fucking nice, to just leave him be. But there was a melodious and comforting tint to his voice, something so soft and inviting that he found himself nodding. And cursing himself for doing so. “I’m sorry about that,” Justin finally said as they walked to his car. “I just needed to get out.” “JC kind of told me the deal,” Chris admitted. Justin froze, his teeth clenched in fury. “He did what?” His mind whirled with all the reasons JC would dare do such a thing. Lance was his heart -- his problem to deal with. The blue of Justin’s eyes iced over and he took a step away from Chris. “He shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry he dragged you here  and ...” “He didn’t drag me here, Justin,” Chris snorted, kicking his heel into a shimmer of ice on the pavement. “I came to watch some football. I came because I wanted to meet some new people. I didn’t come with big fangs to bite you.” Justin was guarded as he watched Chris’ breath curl in the cool air. Puffs of steam floated off into the air and he felt dizzy with uncertainty. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, feeling his nose start to grow red with cold. Chris cupped his hands and blew hot air into them, hopping from foot to foot, and Justin thought he might like to kiss him sometime. But not when there was so much unresolved in his life. Namely Lance. “Let me drive you home,” Chris offered. “You’ve had some beers and shouldn’t drive. I’m really a prick on that issues.” Justin pressed his car keys into Chris’ hand and sighed. No use fighting on an accurate point. Chris wanted to talk on the short ride back, but Justin had nothing but a persistent erection and a longing for some relief. Torn in half was not his favorite thing, a clash between what he truly wanted and what he would settle for. Because hadn’t JC said Chris was a ‘nice guy’? So obviously fucking him for revenge would be a horrible thing to do. Midnight had settled across the sky, and Justin stared up at the condo impassively. No lights. Lance wasn’t there. It distressed him -- cut him deeply. He took a shaky breath before turning to Chris. “Wanna come in?” It was more than a simple offer, and he narrowed his eyes, realizing he sucked at the seductive trip -- but still. Drunk was as good a time as any to not give a fuck. He saw Chris debate with a slanted expression. “Maybe just to get a cab back,” he said softly. But Justin was quick, assuming it as a confirmation. “Good,” he said with as much resolve as he could muster. Inside he was a quivering bundle of raw nerves, all tingling, screaming at him to back out. On the outside he was collected and calm, opening the door and flipping on the outdoor light. On the outside he was ready to shove Lance’s nose in his misery -- never comprehending that he was only erecting more walls -- walls guarding his own soul. “Nice place,” Chris said as he stepped inside. Justin nodded and dropped his keys to the floor and stepped forward. “Thanks. I like it.”  He licked his lips and cocked his head. “So, want the tour?” Chris shrugged, and Justin watched him stroke his goatee -- he watched as deep brown eyes drifted around uncertainly. And somewhere within he heard a boy’s voice cry out for him to stop. It stunned him momentarily, and he ran his fingers through his curls. Was it him? Or Lance? He couldn’t determine, but the alcohol was far stronger and he nodded toward Chris. “Shouldn’t take long. It’s not that big.” Justin pressed his lips together as he passed Lance’s room, the door ajar just slightly. He peered in casually and noticed the bed made, ready for the next conquest. And that pain nailed him again, pressing against his heart ferociously, cutting off the oxygen to his brain. Chris was talking, he noticed, questioning him innocently about square footage and such. But Justin was intent, even as tears made their approach. Once his foot stepped over the threshold, and once he had sex with Chris, he knew there would be no retreat -- no where to hide. No one to blame but himself. Wicked green eyes found him in the darkness of the hallway, taunting him with stranger after stranger. His hand hit the door and pressed it open, and he pressed on the bridge of his nose, willing his tears back. Compelling his body forward. He felt Chris behind him, body heat sizzling through the air. “My room,” Justin said quietly, spinning around. “My bed.” He didn’t care to talk, or have to explain a thing. One quick motion and he yanked Chris in, kicking the door shut with his foot. He pressed Chris against the wall and pinned him with eager lips. There was mild resistant and Justin pulled back, his eyes wide and confused. “What?” Chris shuddered and ducked out of his grasp. “I didn’t ... expect. I guess.” He licked his lips and Justin studied him with pained eyes. “Justin, I really don’t think this is a good idea. I mean, we just met and ..” Justin threw himself onto his bed and forced a smile, propping his head up with pillows. “And what? I’m not sexy enough?” He *needed* to prove a point, and so, with unsteady hands, he pulled his shirt up revealing his stomach. A way to seal the deal. He worked hard for his body, and caught many eyes appreciating it. Just not the eyes he wanted to. Soon his shirt was tossed aside, and he saw Chris watching -- he noticed the way his eyes dilated just a bit with desire, and the way he shifted uncomfortably. He also noticed Chris hadn’t moved away. “No, no. God, no!” Chris whispered from the shadows. “Justin, it’s not *that* at all.” “Then what?” Justin wanted to know as his fingers trailed down to unzip his jeans. “Because I want you. And I can see your eyes Chris.” He was acting like a whore, he knew, and swallowed thickly. “I should go,” Chris murmured faintly. “I’ll um .. call JC from a pay phone or ..” “Don’t go,” Justin said, crawling off the bed. “You don’t want to go do you?” He slid across the room with a heavy heart, and a pounding in his body that wouldn’t stop. He slithered up Chris’ body and grabbed Chris’ hands, drawing them to his lips. Chris cleared his throat and backed up a step. Justin blinked up with drunken eyes. He moved closer, stroking his body against Chris’. It was wrong, so fucking wrong it was hurting, but he forced himself onward. And this time when his mouth captured Chris’, there was no refusal. There was only a muffled growl, and a tongue that tangled into his mouth. There were those warm hands fluttering over the skin on his back, curling him closer. Mashing of noses and tattered breaths that exhaled into each other. It was several moments of holding Chris against the wall of his room, exploring his body. Then Justin dropped to his knees and pressed his palm against the denim covering Chris’ erection. He stared intently as he struggled to regain his poise, and then he forced his mouth over it, rubbing his lips along the covered length. He felt Chris dig at his scalp and heard him moan, so he moved again, using his fingers to unleash Chris’ cock. Without thinking, he placed it in his mouth and sucked. And let himself drown. It was rhythmic, serving to block everything out. He let his tongue wrap around and around, and he imagined Lance with each second passing. Only Chris smelled differently, and it brought him back. So he dove in again, intent upon continuing. And he wanted more. But Chris was pushing him away suddenly. “Justin, stop!” He laughed a little because no one ever said no to a blow job. No one was that virtuous. “I mean it,” Chris said again, slipping away from Justin. “Because if you don’t stop, I’m going to let you do this, and more, and you’re drunk.” Justin spun on his knees and watched Chris zip up -- he saw the battle in those dark eyes, a storm of contemplation. “I don’t understand.” And he didn’t. Not really. Chris smiled shakily and grabbed Justin's hand, tugging him up. “I want you, Justin. Jesus Christ, I want to throw you on that fucking bed and ravage you until the sun comes up.” It made no sense, Justin thought, as Chris hugged him. And he wanted to cry as Chris brushed his lips against his ear. “But that would be me taking advantage of you. And I like you. I don’t want to fuck this up with sex right yet.” Chris released Justin and touched his cheek. “I’m going to leave my phone number downstairs for you. Call me in the morning. Maybe we can hook up and hang out. Get to know each other some more.” Then he was gone, and Justin collapsed onto the bed, horny and rejected. His tears repressed and anger took him. “Fuck,” he whimpered into his pillow. And he masturbated in a loud and feral fit. Upset he was caring at all -- of anyone. [ continue ] [ menu ]