Part 4


["I'm not into pointing fingers, showing who's right and wrong. I just want to keep it real 'cause maybe I was doing fine on my own."]

It was minimally controlled (and even less organized) mayhem in the backstage hallways and open areas of the Staples Center that afternoon. The nature of the beast of live-feed awards shows. Frantic bustling about of well-attired bodies. Whispered urgency to hurry up or "Look! Isn't that -?" Cameras aimed and either following or flashing. Friendly chats between music-industry peers.

JC managed to slip through most of the bristling, shadowy hoopla unnoticed. Most of it. He felt Lonnie's body heat hovering directly him protectively as he was stopped a few times by people he knew who wanted to either offer sympathy for his Pro Bowl rejection or to invite him to a "kicking" after-party later or to just say "hi." And a couple of seat-filler fans recognized him and called out his name and then proceeded to squeal spastically when he turned to wave at them

"That was some tight-as-hell jam session Ju pulled off out there, man," Lonnie murmured, rich and low, as they walked down the corridor where a page had told them Justin's dressing room was located. "Your boy can rock a piano, I'm saying. No Janet booby sneak peaks like last Sunday, but still impressive. Guess that's why the little punk is such a huge-ass star."

JC let out a deep breath quietly and chose not to correct his talkative security professional on the wrong part of his Timberlake Grammy Performance Review. The part about Justin being "his boy."

He was tired, see, of reminding people how that wasn't the case at all and asking them, with edgy sarcasm, didn't they read People magazine or any of the 19,000 piece-of-shit tabloids or watch "ET" or "E!" or "AH" where you could get majorly informed, 24/7, in living fucking color, all about Justin and his megafamous gorgeous "girlfriend" and that he was HER boy now and nobody else's.

Yes, JC was tired of explaining the obvious. He was also tired of feeling all the rage and negative energy of the past week consuming him alive. He was tired of being helpless to its incendiary power.

So, since he'd gotten the news on Friday afternoon that he would be more than welcome to attend the Grammys ceremonies this weekend ("Oh, yes, Mr. Chasez! Please! You must come to the event! We're delighted to extend to you a special invitation with our kindest regards."), he'd worked on dousing the fiery rage, on calming the turbulent storms in his head. He'd been successful too. What had felt like an out-of-control wall of fire inside him on Thursday was now a simmering irritation, a mound of smoking embers only.

Eventually, he hoped, resolutely, to get it down to a void of silent numbness, where he felt nothing at all. He hoped.

"Yeah, man. It was pretty damn good. J's never been afraid of trying anything, even under the pressure of all that controversy," he said now to answer Lonnie. "And you know me. I'd SO rather see some dude up there with him blowing on a trumpet than some chick's naked tit. Because, hello, gross."

Lonnie laughed like rolling thunder. "Chasez, you crack me up, man. And you are killing it tonight with this whole cool-cat aura thing you got going on. You make it look easy as hell. I'm proud of you. You know that? You came through all that shit from last week smelling like a rose. You are ah-iight, man."

"Thanks, Lon. It was a bitch. But I survived."

And it was true. He had made it through. Case and point: Justin's performance with Arturo Sandoval had been impressive. And JC had been able to not only sit there with Justin's mother and admire him, but to also stand next to her and applaud him - ice-tempered and stoic.

"Yo. Hold up. This is his place, man." Lonnie's giant-sized hand spread open and barely grazed down the length of JC's silk-suited spine as they stopped outside a door marked only with "JT." Very few people loitered in this vicinity of the suites area because building security had kept them off this section of the hall - most likely at Justin's decree. "I'll wait for you right over here, C. Take your sweet time. We got all of it you need."

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks, man. I won't be long."

JC stood there alone, staring at the nondescript door, knowing Justin was on the other side, only inches away from him. He wasn't sure if he'd be in there long or not. In fact, suddenly, he wasn't sure if he should even go in there at all.

Maybe, he thought, he should simply turn and walk away - away from Justin forever. Maybe that would be best for both of them. Did he have the right to decide that? Did he have the strength to do that? To just leave things like they were and be done with it all? Could he just leave Justin?

The large cooling vent above him shot out a blast of air that had sharp little teeth in its current, biting. JC shivered and released a lungful of breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. He knew that if he chose to about-face and keep walking down the corridor, Lonnie would be back at his side in two seconds flat, accompanying him like he should and not asking one question or offering any commentary.

"You two can work out your personal shit without my interference," he'd told both of them time and time again over the years they'd been together. "Matters of the heart ain't my area of expertise, white boys."

JC hadn't knocked on the door yet. Hell, he was still considering a big blow-off to this whole idea of a friendly little "visit." But the door swung open anyway, and Trace came within 10 or 11 millimeters of bulldozing head-long into JC. When he caught himself and looked up, he grinned a broad, squinty grin.

"Dude! Look who the fuck it is! JayCee Shah-ZAY! Fuck me on a trampoline! What's going on, man? I heard you was here!"

JC smiled a little unevenly. On an average day, Trace had a habit of unnerving him without even trying to. And today certainly wasn't an average day already. But he was glad to see him here in front of him now. If there was tension or maybe just weirdness with Justin, Trace would be the perfect human buffer.

Ah, I've finally come up with what exactly the fuck it is Trace does.

"Trace! Man, what up? Yeah, I'm here. My other date for tonight sort of, you know, stood me up."

Trace laughed his ass off. "Yeah, man. I heard. They totally dissed you. And how much ass did that suck? Those twisted fucks."

"It sucked a lot of ass, man. But it's done and over now. Gotta move on. And at least I got back in this gig."

"Totally, dude. This is SO the place to be tonight. So whatcha doing out here, C? I didn't mean to 'bout run you over, man. I was gonna try and find Elisha. Who knows where that girl's done run off to now. More trouble than the bitch is worth. You know what I'm saying?" Trace snickered, and JC could smell the Essence of Wild Turkey wafting off him.

"Yeah, I hear ya. That's, like, why I don't have one. Too much trouble."

Trace laughed way too hard again. He'd always thought JC's humor was off-the-wall-whack. "Right, C. That's totally why you don't have one. And maybe 'cause you ain't got no use for one too, right? They got all the wrong parts, right?"

"Right, Trace. More for you that way, man. In case you change your mind and decide not to tie the big knot, you know."

"Yeah, well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" Trace chuckled. "Maybe I ain't done sewing my wild oats and shit yet. Know what I mean?"

JC was tiring of this audience with Trace. He could almost feel Justin's presence lingering close by, and he didn't want to spend much more of eternity dreading/anticipating it.

"Look, man. I just thought I'd stop by for a sec and shout out at Justin before I take off. I was, you know, standing here about to knock when you flew out."

Maybe. Maybe I was about to knock. Maybe I was about to leave. We'll never know now, will we?

"Dude, c'mon in! J will be shocked shitless to see you, man! I think he's in the back changing clothes or something. C'mon!" Still grinning like a fool, Trace waved him in hurriedly and shut the door.

The room JC found himself in then was alive with about 12 people he didn't know, who were either feasting off the buffet table and fiddling with their press passes or drinking a cocktail and adjusting their tiny tape recorders. All media types, he assumed. He glanced around quickly and couldn't spot Justin anywhere, although all of the electric buzz and hushed chatter he could pick up on was clearly centered around him. He shivered again and longed for one of those drinks, a very 80-proof one.

Not that the thought of seeing Justin made him nervous or anything. Certainly not. It was just that a little mood embellishment never hurt anyone, did it?

Then, just as one or two of the media types or lackeys or whateverthehell they were turned in his direction and recognized him - their eyes lighting up with the irony of the potential opportunity to seize on him with their attentions and questions - something or someone grabbed his hand from behind, and he was suddenly being pulled through the teeming crowd to the back of the room, through another door and into a larger and much quieter, more relaxed room that was lit by only one dim floor lamp and lots of flickering candles scattered all around.

It was a room, JC realized immediately, that was full of Justin. Unlike the outer, less private room had been. This room, with its wide leather couches and over-stuffed lounge chairs, its scented pillars of burning wax, its atmospheric lighting and soft ambiance, was all Justin.

"Jace. You're here. I can't believe it."

In one fluid, swift motion, Justin had closed the door behind them, swept around JC, and now stood in front of him, whispering, with glowing blue eyes and a hesitant smile. "You're really here."

"I'm really here. I had to say congratulations, J. You're kicking ass out there tonight, man. Way to go. I knew you'd come out on top," JC whispered back, trying his damnedest to pick the right words and to keep his voice and his coolcoolcool exterior from breaking. Trying not to feel the fading sizzle in his hand from when Justin had squeezed it in his own.

"Thanks, baby. You don't know how much that means to me. I'm sorry you're not doing the Pro Bowl, but I'm glad to see you. I really am."

JC shrugged and half-smiled. "Ah, well, I wasn't too big on seeing Hawaii again anyway. You know?"

"Thank you for just being here." Justin sighed and shifted a little, and JC could feel the electromagnetic energy flying off him in almost-tangible sparks. He was still riding the high from his first Grammy solo performance and full to the brim with bubbling excitement. It was buzzing all over him.

"Hey, I was there for the VMAs, wasn't I? I had to be here for this."

"We've done lots of big-ass firsts together, haven't we, Jace?"

JC glanced away behind the dark glasses he still wore and wondered if Justin could see his eyes in these shadows. He hoped not because, well, he'd just noticed how Justin's shirt was unbuttoned completely as if JC's arrival had caught him in the middle of undressing, and the smooth beige flesh of his torso could be glimpsed through the opening. No sense in letting Justin see how JC's eyes might react to sights like that, was there?

"Who the fuck are all those people out there?"

Justin shrugged, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides and never taking his focused gaze off JC. "Hell if I know. That's why I'm hanging back here. The advantages of having a suite."

"More like the perks of being Justin Timberlake," JC said snippily and instantly wished he hadn't.

"Yeah, well……….Hot damn, you look fine tonight, Jace. Whoa," Justin said, in a groaned whisper, fancyfootworking over to a different subject and stepping back to take JC in with approving, roaming eyes. "Sharp. And that is no lie."

Just like with the lingering post-show high spirits, JC sensed his envy immediately. Envy hot and wild curling through Justin and requiring lots of self-restraint. Envy not that JC looked the way he looked tonight, but envy that Justin wasn't able to take advantage of it, to touch him, to claim him as his own.

"Everything you want you just can't have it all." Fucker.

"Thanks."

"No, seriously, baby. You look so fucking hot. Inhumanly handsome. Anybody ever call you that before?"

"Wipe your mouth, Justin. Somebody might see."

"See what? Excess of drool? Me lusting all over you? Fuck 'em. They can't get back here anyways. I locked the damn door in case they even try," Justin said quickly, still openly eyeing and salivating over JC's image.

"That was a ripped show you put on out there, man," JC said, doing his own little diverting-the-subject trick. Again. "And it was cool I could sit with your moms for it too. I haven't seen her in a while. She's such a sweetheart."

"She loves you. Always has."

"Yeah, I love her too, J. She's aces, man."

Justin edged in closer, surreally without seeming to have moved at all. "Fuck, Jace. You smell to damn good too. You're killing me here."

"Um, okay. That was random," JC laughed. But he'd already picked up Justin's jittery, tangy, adrenalized scent too, and it was seductively intoxicating.

Justin breathed him in deeply and then sighed, grabbing his eyes as he had grabbed his hand. "I, uh, got the b-day gift you sent. Ruby solitaire for my ear. Thanks, Jace. I love it. It's perfect."

"No problem. I remembered you said last year in Miami how you lost your other one. Happy late birthday, J."

The breath Justin exhaled was drawn-out and ragged, a fluttery preface to his next question. "Remember the blue sapphires we had a couple of years ago? Each of us wore one in the same ear when we were away from the public. Complementing each other. Like a sign to everyone else that we belonged to each other."

"Yeah. I remember. During the whole 'Celebrity' tour. I remember," JC whispered.

How in the fuck can I ever forget?

"I still have mine."

"I still have mine too."

Then Justin seemed to get a volt or two of energy from somewhere, to kick him out of nostalgia. "Man? Where are my fucking manners? I'm an ass! Would you like some champagne, Jace? Please, come, sit down. Since you're here."

JC's eyes followed his sweeping arm as it gestured toward the sofa to his right. "More random, Justin. Shouldn't you be getting back out to TV-Land?"

"Please, baby. Just a glass. I've got some chilling on some ice over here. Fuck the show. I'll get back out there when I'm ready."

"Such the diva you are. Who's the bubbly chilling for? Besides you. Got a date?"

Justin laughed a little nervously. He'd moved toward the sofa, but JC hadn't budged from the spot where he stood. "A date. Right. Um, hardly. It's for me. I was planning to down it while I got dressed. Just me. But now I can share it with you. Which is a hell of a lot better. I mean shit. I still can't believe you're even here. Since you avoided me during all the rehearsals."

Silky butterflies scurried around in JC's hollow stomach. This certainly wasn't what he'd expected. If he'd expected anything at all. He was trying so hard to maintain the icy veneer, to stay in control of himself no matter what. Despite the suffocating truth that Justin always had that inborn ability to sling him off-balance. Every time. And this was inching up on off-balance material here, folks.

"Please, Justin. I wasn't avoiding you at rehearsals. I just figured you didn't need one more body yapping in your face with everything else you had going on."

"Hey, I don't mind YOUR body being near me ever, Jace. Don't talk crazy."

I guess we'll just forget about the past six months then, won't we? What the fuck was wrong with my body during all that time? Fucker.

JC bit at his bottom lip and found something else to say. "Well, besides, I had tons of people I kept running in to and talking to. I was busy too. Lots of folks wanted the scoop on why I was there and not, you know, at the big game."

"I should've hunted you down. I thought about it. Will you have a seat now and relax? This shit is the good stuff. Bling bubbly, as that freak Trace would say."

"Okay. One glass. Lonnie's waiting."

One glass couldn't hurt, could it? And wasn't I just jonesing for a drink only minutes ago?

Justin rolled his eyes and grinned. "Lonnie gets paid to wait, Jace. That's his fucking job. Waiting for you. C'mon. Sit. Please. Do I have to beg?"

"Sounds to me like you're begging already."

JC pushed his Ray-Bans up to the top of his head, resting them in his feathery-straight, coiffed hair, and blindly followed Justin further into the room. He watched the contoured tails of Justin's dress shirt slap against his ass as Justin darted gracefully around the furniture to reach the full ice bucket.

He glanced at the long, wide sofa and - for a brief, sultry, hot-flash moment - he saw the two of them tangled up in each other, nude bodies sliding against the slick leather, Justin above him, on him, in him, their mouths colliding and their breaths commingling, their grunts and moans echoing in the room as they desperately, achingly tore into each other like they hadn't done in a hundred years.

"Here, baby. Nice and chill."

Justin's sleek whisper and pale blue eyes wrangled JC from the dirty-sweet fantasy in his head. He trembled.

"What?"

"Bubbly for you. Here, Spazz. Sit down. Where'd you go there, baby? To the fucking moon?"

Yes. As a matter of fact, I did. And proceeded to fall right the fuck off it. Thanks to you and those eyes of yours. Bastard.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks. I think I'll stand. Been sitting all afternoon. My ass is sore."

"Your ass is hot. All kinds of fine."

JC smirked. "Justin, please. Give me a break. Overkill with the charm and flattery."

After ages now of absolutely nothing from you. Asshole.

"Jace, would you just sit down? 'Cause, see, now that you're here face to face, I wanted to say some things to you. One-on-one. Okay?"

"What things?"

JC relented again and sat down in a corner of the couch nearest him. He watched the insecurity ripple all over Justin's features, under that shiny, cocky façade. He could see plainly how Justin was struggling - how it was taking all the willpower he possessed to keep from running to JC and wrapping himself around him. Calmly, he sipped his champagne. Beneath his own façade.

Justin grabbed a flute of the cool liquid for himself and set the ice bucket on the table beside them. Then he folded his long body down next to JC, their knees barely grazing each other under the white pants they both wore. He drank about half of the bubbly and then turned to look at JC, his eyes full of everything he wanted to voice.

"Jace, I know it's been a tough week for you, and I'm sorry as fuck for what I did to make it that way."

"Justin, we already went over this. We don't need to again. I don't blame you. No hard feelings. Okay? Life goes on."

Justin finished off the contents of his glass as if it were spring water, and JC watched the muscles in the column of his throat writhe as they took the fluid down. When he gazed at JC once more, his face seemed tight with something not unlike sadness and regret.

"But the things I most wanted to say is that it's been longer than just this past week that I've been making life shitty for you, baby. And it needs to be talked about. I mean……….things between you and me are all fucked up, and it's my fault. ALL my fault."

"There is no 'you and me,' Justin. Not anymore. At least that's what all our friends say."

"Is that what you say, Jace?"

JC sighed and emptied his own glass of champagne. The tiny alcoholic fizzies weren't seeping into his bloodstream and invading his brain fast enough. Not for this. No, this was definitely not what he'd expected when he'd come in here. Maybe he would have wished for it. If he'd even allowed himself that much optimism. But he never allowed that anymore. Not with Justin. It hadn't paid off recently. Not in a hundred years.

He wasn't surprised either that Justin had just swooshed him in here like this and started up with this tense topic so boldly and forthright. Patience wasn't something Justin had ever picked up. And yet he'd been forcing JC to become intimately acquainted with it for months now.

"I'd say how can there be a 'you and me' when you hardly even remember that I'm alive, Justin? Except for that stroke-of-midnight cell phone booty call on New Year's Eve, when's the last fucking time you even rang me up? That's what I'd say……….But I don't want to fight with you today, Justin. I didn't come here for that. So let's not."

"I called you last month to say I got the Super Bowl gig and see how you were doing, didn't I? And New Year's Eve wasn't a booty call, baby," Justin argued and poured more from the bottle into their glasses.

"The hell it wasn't." JC rolled his eyes. "Your Hollywood superstar sweetheart was out partying without you, so you think of me. When you're all dumped and lonely. Boo-hoo, Justin. That equals booty call, man. And a pathetic one too, seeings how I was across the damn country from you at the time."

"All right, Jace. I know you hate Cameron. And I totally understand. I've read your little deliberate jabs at me in the interviews about how you'd never date an actress 'cause they're too high-maintenance and how you never know if it's her you're talking to or some role she's playing. I got it all loud and clear, baby. You weren't that subtle. Especially after all that visible time you spent with Tara……….But, baby, Cam isn't competition for you. No one is."

JC rolled his eyes again and sat back against the corner of the sofa with his refilled champagne. Not relaxed. In fact, less relaxed than he'd been all day. Justin's thigh slid closer to his, and he could feel the warmth of it through their trousers.

"I don't hate Cameron, Justin. And I know she's not competition. I mean, hello, no penis. What I hate is how you lied to me about her being damn temporary and how she's turned you into something different than you used to be. Or at least helped turn you into it. "

"What the fuck does that mean?" Justin peered fixedly at JC, seriously blue. His question could have been a bitter snarl. But it came out as only a feeble whimper.

"What it means is that you've changed, J. A lot more with her fucking influence too. And not for the better. You're different. And I don't know when the fuck it began. Maybe with the solo stuff, maybe before that. But you're NOT the same Justin Timberlake anymore. Not the one I've known all these years. Something's missing. Like your humility. Or humanity. Or both. Definitely your innate sweetness……….And that's the you I miss most."

JC stopped himself because maybe he'd said too much already. He hated the way something inside him had just spewed it all right the hell out like that, something fiery that seemed to want to take over him again.

Justin huffed, frustrated but not giving up. He scooted over flat against JC's leg. "Baby, I'm not different. How much of that for-crap in the media do you believe? Have I been away from you that long that you don't know me anymore? Have I, Jace?"

"Rolling Stone isn't for-crap, Justin. It's legit. And it was a fucking interview with you, for chrissakes! Stuff you actually said! Do you realize how much shit I had to take off the other guys and my own friends because of your outright arrogance and aloof superstardom attitude in that article? Do you know how much fucking explaining and covering for you I had to do to make you look like not so much of an asshole after what all you said? And maybe you didn't mean for it to sound that way, but it did, Justin. It upset a lot of people……….And it hurt. Because you just don't seem to give a fuck about the consequences anymore of what you say and do. As long as you're in the almighty spotlight."

JC hadn't intended to go that far, hadn't wanted to have this blisteringly-real argument with Justin at all, and especially not now. He wished he could just shut it all up and keep it inside. But the alcohol was taking shallow effect in his blood. It was dancing around the edges of those smoking embers of anger in him, teasing and taunting them to flare up again.

The thought that maybe he should go returned, that maybe he shouldn't be here at all. But when he told his body to get up and take a hike away from the scene, it went stubborn on him and refused. Because Justin's hand was on his thigh. Pressing, squeezing, so warm and electric. And when JC glanced up, those piercing eyes had clouded over, and raindrops had formed in them. But they still drilled into him, into his soul.

"I'm sorry, Jace. It wasn't supposed to hurt anybody. Especially not you, of all people. It was just part of this bigger-than-life star, this monster celebrity creature the Jive fame machine has been trying to turn me into for a while now. It wasn't enough that the CD was way successful and that the tours were bringing in shitloads of cash. Nothing was enough. They wanted more. A fucking lot more. Cameron was just the beginning, baby. And they say now that it won't look good if she and I split, that I won't get public sympathy, and that'll be bad. Especially before my flick comes out. They want her and her movie connections around at least 'til then……….Jace, they've created a super-me and spun me out of control. Even the crazy Janet thing. All hype. All pretense. And that time it backfired on them, but I have to keep moving. Because they've always got new fucking ideas to build me up into the biggest thing in the universe. Every public thing I do is somehow all tied back to their master plan……….Scary, huh?"

"More than scary."

"But the main thing is……….do you believe me, baby?"

"That blows, Justin," JC whispered, holding Justin's gaze as he reached for more of the alcohol. "It blows hard that you let it get that far out of hand. You're their prisoner, and that's so wrong."

He sat back again, swallowing hard at how very close Justin was leaning in toward him now. Even if he'd wanted to try, he couldn't have denied the friction of their hips rubbing together and the unbuttoned shirt dropping open to show more of those taut planes of Justin's chest. Something in his head screamed from far, far away, faint and scratchy, and he was sure it was trying to tell him he was giving in too easily.

"I know, baby. But only for the time being. It won't last. I swear to you. I'm still me in here." Justin had deposited his own empty glass on the table now and brushed his fingertips over the left side of his ribcage inside the shirt. "I'm still the old Justin who loves you so much, Jace. I never stopped loving you."

Powerless to move and aware of it, JC inhaled the scent of Justin that was enveloping him, invading his head, and gulped. How had he fucking let himself get in this damn position? And how much did he even care? Who knew rage could be such a stunning aphrodisiac? Or was it simply Justin himself doing all the arousing?

"Um, I assumed you had. Stopped. I was afraid you had," he whispered again, sounding as disjointed as he felt.

"No, Jace," Justin hissed, full red mouth glistening inches from JC's own. "Don't even think that, baby. I know I've given you plenty of reason to believe otherwise, and I'm, like, insanely sorry about that. It's all been fucked up. But it isn't true. You're still the keeper of my heart. You're still what makes me feel everything I feel, even all the aches of being without you……….Please forgive me, baby. Please. I'm begging. You have so much life in you. So hot. And I want to share it all with you again, Jace. Like we used to. Always and always. I'm sorry for hurting you so much."

Justin hovered breathlessly above him, emanating flourishes of heat and desire, waiting for the go-ahead sign, until JC managed to wince out a tiny syllable of permission. "'Kay."

He wouldn't recall later if he'd dropped the champagne flute to the floor or if Justin had taken it from him in a sweltering rush to remove all obstacles between himself an JC. All he knew at that moment was the hot, sweet taste of Justin's lips descending on him and covering into his own and melding into them, how tangy and cool they still were with the clinging flavor of the bubbly. He gasped against Justin's mouth, hungry for his touch and his taste - starved to just be all wrapped up in Justin again - and raised his hand to slip fingers inside the waistband of Justin's slacks, grazing the fine hairs on his abdomen, and pulled Justin down onto him. Finally.

No surprise that Justin was hard already and straining against the snug material, and he moaned at JC's jaw when JC's hands slithered inside the shirt and up the washboard of his torso. Finally JC could touch that chest and those abs he'd subconsciously been wanting to manhandle since he'd walked in. He squeezed the swollen dark nipples, making Justin groan again, and then massaged them gently with his thumbs, trying to somehow slide his slick mouth downdowndown the salty skin of Justin's throat and savor them with his tongue.

Pinning and pressing JC backward into the pliant corner of the couch, Justin drove his erection into JC's and rubbed against him maddeningly. His mouth and hands couldn't seem to spread over enough of JC's lean body fast enough. Their slippery mouths sliding together, he fumbled with the buttons on JC's shirt until he freed enough of them to get his hands inside and feel the warm flesh he wanted. JC panted at Justin's earlobe, raking over Justin's spine and tight back muscles with his fingertips, reaching between Justin's legs to palm his balls.

Hot, frantic, desperate, and yet still delicious and sensuous. A furious flurry of kissing, licking, groping, writhing, touching each other in any way they could. Bucking into each other and grinding their cocks together through their clothes, the need for each other swelled and choked the air around them like the thick tension had done moments ago. Tangled up together much like the bolt-flash fantasy JC had seen in his head earlier, their reuniting was a constantly moving one, shifting, surrounding, swallowing. Like quicksand.

In the sauna-like haze his mind had become, JC started to wonder if he'd stashed any condoms in his wallet or if they'd be requiring one (or several) at all. The aching and throbbing had begun in his balls, and he knew he could get off just like this, especially if Justin kept grunting and whimpering in his ear and wedging a large hand between their abdomens to grab and stroke JC like he was doing.

"Fuck, Justin," he purred, reaching around to hold Justin's ass as his pelvis gyrated and thrust into JC.

He couldn't remember being so hot and ready to come and see screaming-white-hot nothingness in a long time. He most certainly hadn't made this little backstage trip to get laid. Not even to make out, for chrissakes. Hell, he'd almost passed on walking in here at all. But he wasn't going to stop this now. Fuck, no. Not when it felt so damn good and he was so damn close.

And then it happened. The fucking unbelievable.

Their passionate little rendezvous, their little reconnection with each other, or whatever they were doing stopped itself in midair at 30,000 feet.

"Jace, baby……….I love you," Justin hissed steam on JC's neck.

"Love you too, J………You've always known that."

"Fucking cool that the ball-n-chain is M-I-A tonight……….Fucking cool too that you're here to show me some love and support, baby. That's gonna say a hell of a lot to the paparazzi pigs about how you're not sore at me for what went down. That'll take a lot of fucking heat off my ass, to be okay with you……….Thanks, Jace, for sitting down front with Mom while I played. You could've sat there the whole show. I got you a seat. But you said you didn't want it……….I'm glad you dropped by back here too, babe. Word will get out we're still friends. I so need that right now."

Those smoldering embers of JC's lingering rage not only got kicked and stirred up to glowing red-hot coals. They got fanned to flickering flames and then burst into engulfing wild fires he could feel hotshrieking through his veins with a painful but familiar viciousness and making his blood boil all over again. He jerked his head backward, gasping, and pushed roughly at Justin's chest with both hands.

"Get the fuck off me. Now."

Justin jumped back a little, stunned. "What, baby?"

"And don't fucking call me that again."

"What's the deal, Jace? What'd I say?"

"You don't even know, do you? See? That just proves how fucking jaded you are, man. Why'd you even have to open your mouth at all and fuck things up?"

"Jace, tell me! What is it?" Justin stared, wide-eyed and desperate.

Black fire leapt from JC's eyes, dark and deadly-hot. "You seriously think I'm here tonight at the fucking Grammys just to support YOU? Just to prove to the goddamn world that you and I are still tight? That's why you wanted me here, Justin? That was your agenda? And this - this sincere-sounding little bullshit speech about how you're the same inside and you still love me and this getting all up on me - this is my little REWARD? For saving your ass in front of the damn cameras?"

Flushed and breathing hard, Justin backed up on the couch a little more and blinked at JC. "No, Jace. There was no 'agenda.' I didn't even know you'd come back here at all."

"Bullshit, Justin! And the pink shirt you wore in to this motherfucker. That was a not-so-subtle ass-kiss to me too, wasn't it? It's not like everybody and their half-wit cousin don't know I'm into pink. And you owed me a little 'homage,' eh? That's just really messed up, man. Way to play the media, Justin. Way to fucking play me too. Thanks a hell of a lot. Damn, does what they say about you really determine your worth?"

"No. I don't care what they say. And the pink shirt……….It was for you, baby. Not them."

JC shuddered as the unleashed, revved-up anger shook through him yet again. But he managed to hold his voice steady and harsh. "And I didn't need your damn front-row seat, hot-shot asshole. I have my own connections. I have my own life. It may not be as sparkly and fancy as YOUR life. But I was doing fine by myself. I don't need the awesome Justin Timberlake stooping from his throne to help me out. Why don't you just fuck off and remember that next time, man. It's not always all about YOU."

Rattled by this in-the-flesh volatility of JC, Justin reached out to touch him again. "Jace, wait a second. What I said came out all wrong."

JC recoiled away from him and narrowed his eyes to a snarl. "Fuck that. It came out exactly the way you were thinking it, and you know it. You're not the same, Justin. You're their shiny little product, and you don't even realize it. You're fronting all this shit that's not even real, including your damn love life."

"Jace, please. Don't be pissed off. Let's talk. Please."

JC hardly stopped at all, as if he hadn't even heard Justin. "You know what? I decided after what that fuck Lou did to us that nobody was going to control me and my work again. Nobody. It's one thing to have management. But it's something else to be totally manipulated. And that's what you've let Jive do to you, man. You're their boy. They determine everything you do. You said so yourself. And there's just something sick and warped about that, Justin. It's not right. I'm not being a part of that. No fucking way……….And I'm not letting you manipulate me either."

"They don't control how I feel about you, Jace," Justin whispered, choked.

"They don't? Really? What if, say, we wanted to come out publicly and confess our queer, homo relationship? Tell people we fuck each other? Would your management be all jumping for fucking joy over that?"

"No."

"Bingo! Fronting! That's why you've got that cover-girl bitch attached to your nuts. You know, the one who's squirreled you away from your friends and family and your REAL lover - who just happens to be your MALE bandmate."

"You're right. It's fucked. I'm sorry, Jace."

"Me too. And yeah. It's fucked."

"But it's not the real me, baby. You have to believe me."

JC breathed in and out slowly, trying to squelch the livid heat burning him, and watched as shimmering tears flooded Justin's eyes. It was hitting him again, with stinging clarity, that he should go, that he should just get out of there and leave, that he should face the raw, undeniable truth that their situation was a fatal train wreck and that he'd never be free of the hurt or feel any kind of peace again if he didn't get the hell away from it. Should. Not that he wanted to. Just that he should.

"Maybe it is the real you now, J. Maybe they've stolen your soul, and all you know how to be anymore is what they want you to be. Maybe now you're just playing yourself……….And this time, forgive me for taking my life personally, but I don't want a supporting role. I don't want to be just one of your sidekicks that gets caught up in the swirl whenever you want me to. I'm finally done with that. Done with it. Game over."

JC stood up to rebutton and smooth out his clothes. As he did so, he felt his heart deflate and fall flat to the pit of his stomach. But he had to do this. It would be best for both of them, wouldn't it?

Justin looked up at him through the tears that were about to break down over his cheeks. "Don't go."

"I have to go, Justin. I can't stick around this time. I won't. It's too late."

"Why?"

"Because you're not 'you,' and so we can't be 'us.'"

"Are we done for good? Jace, don't say we're done for good. I can't handle that."

"You'll get used to it. I have," JC lied, sadly and not even laced with sarcasm.

"Jace, please. It's not too late. It's not. It can't be."

"Look, Justin. Look inside and find some inspiration for yourself. Deep inside. You know it's there. Fix the situation. Stand up to them. Start to be your own person again. Like me. Like I try to do. Hell, it hasn't gotten me very far, has it? But fuck it. At least I can look back and say I made my own choices and decisions. I'm not anybody's bitch. I won't be their fucking pawn without a mind of my own. Not for Jive. Not for the damn NFL. Not for any fucker. And I can live with that. I can live with myself because of that……….And when you get back to being your own person again, J, maybe that person will still love me. Like I love him. Like I've loved him……….forever."

"He does, baby," Justin choked out again. "He still loves you. I still love you. For always."

JC bent down to pick up the sunglasses that had fallen off his head during their long, long ago tryst on the couch. "Break the chains, baby. I know you can."

"And you'll be waiting? I grow some balls and get my shit worked out, and we can be together again?"

"We can try. Unless this new you turns out to be the you you want to stay permanently. I can't love that one."

"You know what I want permanently," Justin whispered, pleading with those blue eyes for JC to sit back down and not move any closer to the door. "You know what, Jace, what I love."

"Congratulations on tonight, J. And I mean that. You earned it all……….I'll……….I'll see you in the movies."

JC spoke the final sentence softly, like silk falling on silk, and shoved the glasses on his face to once again hide the pain in his eyes. The rage had either burned itself out or been mysteriously extinguished. It was gone. All that was left in its wake were two warm puddles, one brimming in each of his sockets behind the smoky shades. He turned and started walking, forcing himself to be strong enough to at least not look back.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

FINI

Author's Note: If this ending wasn't the ending you were hoping for or if you're terribly disappointed with it and need something else, you have to option of reading the following epilogue which contains another scene that could have happened, a scene that was in my head and therefore I wrote it out. If, however, you are satisfied with the way things ended here, then the "FINI" above is for you. The story is over. Please feel free to choose for yourself. And thank you, as always, for reading. :)



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