As hard as he tried and tried, Justin couldn't seem to burn off even a fraction of the bundled, bristling, live-wire energy inside him that Sunday, the day of his second date with this guy he'd met called JC. He and Lance hadn't stayed out all that late the night before. As usual, Lance had grown tired of ragging on "Wade's skank ass" and, after about the fourth strong (and double) cocktail, had started missing Jesse. Justin had taken him home and helped him inside the house long enough to say "hello" to Jesse, who had taken over at that point. Then he'd driven home himself. However, all of Lance's talk about spotting and actually meeting JC that afternoon in Santa Monica had served to fuel the fires of anticipation inside up to three-alarm levels. It had taken him 'til half past forever to get to sleep. But after lots of restless tossing and turning and scrambling up the sheets, he'd slept soundly 'til half past 10 that morning, his body finally giving in to the pent-up exhaustion. He'd then done some mindless, haphazard cleaning around the house. He'd taken the Shelties, Samson and Delilah, out to the nearby park for a walk. All the usual, routine Sunday crap he always did. On an anything-but-usual-and-routine Sunday. His brain still on feverish auto-pilot, he'd called up Raymond, a friend he lifted weights with occasionally, and they'd met up for a game or two of hoops - which was strenuous and heart-revving, yes, but not so much as to put even a small dent in Justin's massive reservoir of simmering go-go juice. As he absently glanced at the clock in the kitchen around 6 p.m., he realized he'd been too anxious and wound tight all day to remember to eat anything. Odd for him since his metabolism was normally fiercely active. Still not feeling hungry, not even for his mom's hearty macaroni-n-cheese left over from dinner the evening before, he downed a huge glass of orange juice on his way to his bedroom. While he stood in his circular, extra-wide shower and let the hot flow of water stream down over his tense muscles, relaxing and soothing them, he grinned slowly as the image of JC's face flashed on the screen of his memory. Crystal-blue eyes with a shine capable of breaking through shadows and cutting straight into the heart, one of those thick dark curls falling helplessly down across the side of his forehead, and perfectly shaped red lips that moved creased waves upward over the smooth ridged structure of his features when they formed a soft smile. Justin felt himself swelling and hardening between his thighs as the water and the vision tingled all over him. But he wouldn't jerk off. He didn't want to. The intense anticipation of being near JC later, the thrumming of the hot blood under the pelting steamy water, was all too sweet to want relief from yet. A sensation he hadn't had around to savor in a long time. No sense in squirting it all out on the marble tiles with a quick self-hand job and watching it wash the hell down the damn drain. What a waste. Just roll with it. Just let it build. When his shower was done, he saw that Britney had left a message on his home phone AND on his cell. But he didn't return either of them. She'd sounded almost hysterically irate - something about how Wade's slimy ass was using her to pry into other people's damn business, and he was just up to no fucking good, and Justin ought to watch his back, and enough was enough, and she was fucking over his shit, and a lot of other shrill hissed curses Justin was half listening to. He couldn't risk ruining his mood, he decided. Not this late in the day. (What was it now? 6:20? He glanced at the clock on his nightstand.) Britney had been upset like this before. Usually over some guy. He'd get back to her and sort it out, whatever it was, tomorrow. He needed to fill her in on the new, juicy JC storyline anyway. Maybe by tomorrow she'd be calmer and not so insanely wrapped up in the Robson psychodrama so that she could maybe focus on him and his, well, affairs. He just couldn't deal with it now. By 6:45, he was fully dressed and ready to go. And far too keyed up to sit still or even pace through the rooms of his house any longer. He poured himself some whiskey from the bar in his den and stood at the floor-length mirror in the foyer inspecting/second-guessing his appearance while the brown syrupy liquid slid tangy fire down his throat. Not certain what he and JC might be doing tonight after they met at the bar, he'd chosen dark blue slacks, a soft-cotton Polo knit shirt in a shade of peach, a lightweight sport coat that matched both, and his new black leather loafers. If they decided to go more casual, he always kept a clean T-shirt, jeans, and running shoes in his car. (Just in case, right? A guy had to be prepared for anything, didn't he?) He'd taken special care not to nick himself as he'd shaved. (Damn. How unattractive would that be?) And he'd only dabbed on a tiny bit of his Burberry Touch cologne because, you know, he didn't want the guy to puke or have a seizure if he happened to be allergic to men's fragrances or something. Hello? As the alcohol burned its trail downward and settled warmly in his stomach, he smirked at his reflection, turned for a side view and then a butt shot over his shoulder in the mirror, and finally decided, reluctantly, that he looked, well, okay. Acceptable. Maybe. He can always kick me to the curb after this one, can't he? Hell yes, he can. "You'll do, I guess, for a pathetic fucker who's so godawfully out of practice in this boy-meets-boy game here," he whispered and then wrinkled his nose at how ridiculous it sounded in the cavernous foyer. He and his reflection tossed back another swallow of the sedating booze. Then, at exactly 7:00 p.m., Justin glided out his front door and hopped in his car, knowing already he'd never, in a million years, be able to keep his jittery ass planted on a barstool inside that Raine place and wait for an hour for JC to get off from work and join him. No damn way. Yep. Here he was: a perfect picture of restless. It would only take him 20 minutes to reach downtown L.A. from where he lived - 30, if traffic was in sluggish-nightmare mode. And he already had a pretty good idea of how he would be killing some of that anxious time between now and ground zero. He sighed and smiled as his Beamer smoothly leaned into the tricky curves down through The Hills. ~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ He'd never been inside the posh, elusive, exclusive Beverly Monarch, although he'd dropped off and picked up business clients there plenty of times. For convenience's sake - and because his mind was too twisted and frenzied to process a suitable alternative - he drove around up front to the valet station and left his car with them to be parked. Inside the massive double doors, held open for him by a smiling steward, he stepped slowly through the elegant lobby that sprawled in all directions around him with mauve marble floors under his feet, soft-light chandeliers above his head, velvet and leather chairs and sofas scattered randomly for hotel guests and their guests, assorted doormen and bellhops wandering about discreetly in search of anyone who might require assistance of any kind. Two Guest Services desks lined each side of the ballroom-like area in non-conspicuous shadows. And the elevators were obviously located in the back, past the botanical atrium and gently-streaming water fountain. Justin inhaled a nervous deep breath and kept walking at an even pace, not wanting to draw any attention to himself among the other people passing by and milling about. Yes, he knew how much of a risk he was taking by even being here. JC had said he'd rather meet down the street at Raine after his shift was over, hadn't he? But that magic moment was still a good 45 agonizing minutes away, and could Justin help it if he couldn't fight the urge to check out one more little aspect of what JC was really like, to unravel and experience yet another sweet mystery about this person he so wanted to get to know so much better? Could he? It was like Lance had said - the delicious, titillating newness of it all, the joys of discovering someone fresh, someone you like, someone you feel a connection with, peeling back layer after surprising layer as you learn more about him and open up your own mysteries to him. JC had said he worked here on the weekends and "helped with the entertainment" in the lounge. Justin had assumed from that, without much detail to go on, that he booked performers or did the DJ-ing or set up equipment or worked the sound system or something like that. And his intent was to grab an out-of-the-way seat in the lounge in question, maybe have a drink or two while he waited for JC to be free, and get a feel for a place JC frequented. That was all. Really. That was all he wanted to do. "May I be of any assistance to you, sir?" The masculine voice was gentle and almost whispery, and Justin hadn't been aware that he'd stopped in his tracks and now stood still, listening. Beneath the muffled noise of the bustling lobby, he'd picked up the distinct and delicate undercurrent of soft, solitary music drifting into his head from somewhere. It was the faraway sound of quiet piano playing, artfully arresting, full of grace and poetry and sunshine and many other things beautiful. A sound to reach inside to the soul. His eyes darted to the concierge-type young man who'd approached him, and he returned the wistful smile, hoping he didn't look grotesquely out of place. Or disoriented. Or drunk. Hesitantly, he answered, "I, um, I was looking for someone, actually. A friend. He's an employee of the hotel, I think. Maybe in a lounge by the name of Avalon?" "Yes, of course. And the gentleman's name, sir? I'll be glad to page him for you," the uniformed man said, and the confident twinkle in his eye never wavered as it assured Justin that he would, indeed, be glad to do whatever Justin needed. "JC Chasez." The smile on the man's face flickered and widened a little, recognition shining in those dark pupils. It seemed to give him unusual pleasure to nod and extend a hand out to his side in an ushering sweep. "Yes, sir. You've come to the right place in the hotel for Mr. Chasez. Avalon is to your left when you pass through the archway. Just follow the tinkling ivories. And thank you for visiting the Beverly Monarch. Enjoy your evening." ~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ As he sauntered through the curved doorway and entered the lounge area with a bit of cautious reserve, Justin's gut continued to flutter with unseen agitated butterflies, and he suddenly felt as if he'd stepped from one universe into an entirely different one. He even turned and glanced over his shoulder for a moment to make sure the swank hotel was still behind him. Unlike the vast, glowing lobby he'd just left, Avalon was richly dark and muted, shadows and shaded lights wrapping around him like a warm, expensive cloak and welcoming him in. It was a large lounge room with a small jazz-nightclub atmosphere, cocktail tables as well as more plush sofas and chairs clumped here and there in the semi-darkness, soft whispers and murmurs coming from some of them to blend in with the sounds of clinking glassware and those same "tinkling ivories" that had lured him in here. Justin squinted as his eyes adjusted to the abrupt change in their intake of light, but he couldn't make out many details about the source of the lulling music on the far side of the joint - except that it was a shiny midnight-black grand piano with someone sitting there, playing that baby with easy, graceful mastery like nobody's business. The litany of notes echoing calmly in his head, he breathed out heavily and made his way over to the half-circle of a bar that wasn't lit much more than the rest of the room. As he sat down slowly in one of several empty stools, a sharp-looking woman about his mother's age with spiky auburn-red hair and lots of well-applied cosmetics glided up to him on the other side of the polished granite counter and smiled as she gave him a subtle once-over with her bright hazel eyes. For a second, he feared she was about to card him. But, instead, she grinned a grin that overtook her whole face. "Ah, and good evening to you, lad, and welcome to Avalon. I'm Sharon O. What'll it be for you to start off the night, eh?" "Hmm. A Guinness Draught, if you've got it," he answered quickly, not thinking too much about the choice. Truthfully, he didn't much care for the heavy bitter taste of Guinness, but the bartender's thick British accent had apparently triggered his brain to let that one slip out of his mouth. He always tried to stay up on international brands of everything. It helped to impress clients when necessary. She tossed back her head and cackled, perfectly white teeth flashing. "Brilliant selection, love, if I do say so myself. And of course we have it. We have everything you could ever imagine asking for here. This is like the Emerald City in that yellow-brick-road flick!" And you, love, are my wizard of thirst-quenching delights, right? Justin snickered quietly to himself, aware that the alcohol he'd already drunk was sloshing around in his empty stomach and making him silly. "It's not too much trouble?" She pshawed him with a flick of her long, scarlet fingernails. "Trouble? Bollocks! I'll be right back with it, hon." "Thank you. You're kind." He said that sincerely, but he was honestly glad that Sharon O (Um, did that "O" stand for "Oz" maybe?) was not only quick and efficient behind that bar but that she courteously disappeared again immediately after setting his glass of dark, frothy Guinness down in front of him with a wink. He really wasn't craving the company at the moment. As he sat there in the elevated chair at the bar, in the darkened quiet lounge, the stunning piano playing permeated his senses again. So melodic, so warm, so keenly strumming strings inside. Sweet, tremulous music that wrapped itself around his heart, rose up through his chest, and calmed him like an affectionate caress. All of the anxiousness that had made his body tight and his mind tense all day slowly vanished, and he felt the muscles in his shoulders and stomach relaxing, his self-confidence restoring. Then, not even really tasting the stringent flavor of the beer, as he was settling into the thick, warm mood around him, he heard a voice join, co-mingle, intertwine with the peaceful waves of music, a voice from out of nowhere that floated down, perhaps, from heaven and laced with the melody as it drifted through the room. The lyrical range of angels, soulful raw elegance, liquid suede caressing the eardrum, up and down the keyboard along with the fingers skillfully playing over it. Exceptionally gorgeous sounds coming out of full, capable lungs, echoing entrancingly throughout the lounge. A gentle male voice, someone who seemingly lived life without sensors, without filters - someone who sees and feels too much. That's what the singing whispered. Someone for everyone but no one for me Constantly searching for the love I need to Build my world around, around I'll be the lonely one until I find someone The one I build my world around, around So bring the arms of love until I find the one The one I build my world... Justin shivered a little as a sudden realization breezed over him like a ghost kissing the back of his neck. He knew he'd heard this voice before. He knew he'd heard it recently. The mellow tone and cadence of it was ringing familiar in his brain as he listened. He knew he'd heard it, not resonating beautifully like now but talking more quietly. To him. Talking to him. Like a powerful whirlwind, the recognition circled and embraced him beyond his control. He knew the voice. It was JC's voice. That was JC over there, singing. Playing the grand piano and singing. "Helping out with the entertainment." Justin whipped his head around in the direction of the grand piano again and squinted and peered. He still couldn't see much. It was quite far away. But he could now see enough. And he no longer had one single doubt about the identity of the person occupying that bench, the person wearing a black suit with a maroon dress shirt and no tie, dark hair brushed back into tame waves that lay against his ears and collar. It was JC, for sure. Justin stared, smiled instinctively, and felt his stomach (and maybe his heart too) flip over completely. Could this possibly be what it felt like to swoon? "So here's a shot of English bourbon on the house for a nice, handsome bloke like yourself. And I'm putting odds on you not being alone for much longer this evening. No sir. How about a refill on that draught too?" Sharon O grinned hotly in front of him, breaking into his sweet, surprising epiphany with a full shot glass she'd just plopped down on the bar for him. Justin turned bright, excited eyes to her. "Thanks! You're wonderful!" he oozed out in a soft whisper. "Ah, no problem. It's me job. See, right then, you looked like you could sure as fancy-tit use a shot, my friend. I had my eye on you. I swear you pulled a face like you'd just uncovered a treasure chest full of silver and gold." He laughed breathily, collecting himself and taking the shot glass, still so in tune with the background music that had burst its way into his foreground. "Well, sort of. Yes. You might could say that. And, again, you're awesome, ma'am. Thank you." He smiled. "Ma'am is totally not necessary, handsome," she purred and cut her eyes over her shoulder for a moment. "So you like our lounge lizard, as you yanks like to call 'em? He's brilliant, eh?" Justin was sure he was blushing in the shadows. His whole body felt flushed and hot. Maybe from the booze. Maybe from something else. "Yes! He's great. I'm, like, hypnotized." Sharon O nodded and smiled back. She'd seen the direction of his attentive gaze. She's seen him lick moisture over his lips unconsciously. But she didn't point any of that out. "The lad often has that effect on people when he plays and sings. He's amazing. Good kid too, bye the bye. He works hard and looks fantastic. Great combination, eh?" Coyly, she tilted her head to the side and winked at Justin. Justin glanced over at the piano again and then back at her, his smile and a burst of an idea pooling in his blue eyes. "Does he, um, take requests? Like from people out here?" Again, she nodded slowly, knowingly, already sliding a fresh napkin and ink pen across the bar toward him. "Absolutely. If he knows the tune, that is. He has to know the tune, of course. But he's kicking good. Trust me. He knows just about everything, mate." Justin swallowed a gulp of the beer and, with a sweaty hand, picked up the pen to write. Biting at his bottom lip, he discreetly eased out his wallet and folded a $20 bill around the napkin before pushing the bundle back across to Sharon O. "I think he'll know this one. Could you please get it to him? I'd really appreciate it, and you really are wonderful." Smiling, she winked once more and pat the back of his hand as she took the napkin. "Sure, hon. No problem. It's me job. Just sit tight. It's taken care of." ~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ JC sat on the sleek, wooden bench where he sat most every Saturday and Sunday night and bowed his head downward as he silently opened the small napkin parcel he'd been handed by one of the servers. The time was 7:50 p.m. Ten more minutes until he was off. Ten more minutes until he was closer to getting closer to Justin again. He read the pretty masculine script on the stark-white napkin. Then he smiled, something thick and unexpected swelling in his throat. Dear Mr. Music Man, It would slay me if you'd do "This I Promise You." I've got a gut feeling that you've done it before somewhere, and I'm sure you can kill it tonight better than anybody. Please? Thank you. For the racquetball and all the rest too. Justin T JC breathed deeply and steadied his hands that held the note, the smile holding on his face while he forced down the lump in his throat and gathered his shattered thoughts back together after a surprise attack from an incoming missile named Justin. Whoa. Where did this guy come from? What a way to spend his last 10 minutes. His smile was threatening to bloom into a grin. Warmth and tingles spread all over his skin. This kid with a heart was surely going to be the death of him. Or maybe the life of him.