Part 26


JC just lay there, body splayed diagonally across his bed, legs stretched out in a wide "V" formation, sheets tangled and pillows tossed all around him. He closed his eyes and let out a long, low sigh - a smooth, sweeping whisper from inside himself that screamed, screamed how he hadn't felt this depressurized, this peaceful in……….in……….he couldn't remember when.

After Justin had left his loft, he'd figured he could easily fall back in bed and sleep for hours. At least until he had to get up for a 3:00 racquetball appointment. But that was not to be. Sleep seemed to elude him, distance itself from him, tiptoe off away from him and hide. And even though his limbs felt heavy and sluggish, his muscles drained and sore, it wasn't from fatigue or lack of rest. It was from the delicious weight of memory, of Justin and all they'd done to each other the night before, the dense humid energy they'd created together, all of it all over him, pressing on him, warming him, drowning him in the thick sweetness of it.

And he couldn't fall asleep. Just couldn't. So he lay there under the spell of it, the swell of it, going over it all again behind his eyes.

Wow. Had being with somebody - either intimate or otherwise - ever felt that fantastic before? That synched up? That natural? That real? That……….right?

JC sighed again and lazily reached for a pillow beside him, dragging it to his body. The pillow that Justin had slept on. His arms slid around it as he snuggled it to his face. And his dick stiffened a little when he breathed in the now-familiar scent that Justin had left behind.

Wow. A guy could certainly get used to that smell, couldn't he? He could so get used to that great body too and how good it felt laying up against it, right? And he could absolutely get used to being looked at with those brimming blue eyes that lived a life of their own, no?

JC had hotly anticipated last night's date. He'd looked forward to it tons. He hadn't had a clue what to expect from it. And it had all turned out a million times better than he'd hoped, 12 million times better than his average date usually turned out.

So what about tonight? Justin had asked him over for dinner. And he'd accepted, of course. So was he allowed to anticipate the hell out of this date too? Was it fair that he was already looking forward to seeing Justin again, like he was looking forward to his next breath? Even though Justin had only been gone - what? - 16 minutes? And could he be blamed for wanting the attraction thing, the chemistry, the connection they'd established between them to keep going and keep going and keep going?

He was still a little rusty on the rules of this hooking-up and hanging-out game and all, but he didn't think so. It was okay, he was sure, to indulge this simmering anxiousness, to enjoy this hot craving for more of what felt so incredibly good.

His eyes still closed, he hugged the pillow closer and breathed in Justin's sweet, masculine scent once more. The rich, intense afterglow settled into him more, tingled over his skin, tightened around his balls. Why couldn't he just fast-forward through the damn hours of this damn day and get to the damn part that really damn mattered?

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

Still half-asleep and mostly grumpy, Chris didn't even notice the tall, willowy young man already on the elevator of his building when the doors slid open and he stepped inside. He wasn't overly thrilled to be up and on his way out at nine fucking a.m. on a Monday morning in the first place. But his sister had begged him to meet her for breakfast, and he always let his sister have her way. After all, she had to put up with being his sister, didn't she? She'd earned the right to get her way. But hell. She'd better be forking over the moolah for this bacon-and-eggathon since it was HER idea, he thought.

Chris snorted, sipped from his insulated coffee container, and tried not to think about the nerve-grinding traffic that no doubt awaited him on the L.A. streets. Cables creaked above the elevator car as it lowered itself to the basement floor, and his mind drifted from one random topic to another until it eventually landed on JC again, and again he wondered how his buddy's date with that new guy had gone down the night before. He'd have to swing by JC's place when this torturous breakfast thing was over and grab the scoop. Maybe JC would have his cute little sleeping-late ass out of bed by then.

The stranger on the elevator with him coughed quietly and discreetly, and Chris glanced over at him, becoming aware of him for the first time. He could only see the profile view from where he stood, but hey. Wasn't that fine, light-brown stubble on the guy's cheeks at least, hmm, a day old? And didn't those trousers and that jacket look a little, um, worn-before? Hadn't they lost a bit of their "fresh" crispness?

Okay, the dude in question wasn't all that wrinkled or disheveled, but he was sure as shit giving off that "morning after" vibe, wasn't he? Well, now. Ain't that a bitch? Interesting way to kick-start the Kirkpatrick curious-mind powers this morning, wasn't it?

Chris eyed him through a sneaky, stealth squint. Yep. This one had all the telltale markings of exactly what he thought the situation was. The guy was leaving in the same duds he'd arrived in. As Chris watched, he stuck his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like a small, square napkin or two and glanced down at some ink scribbling on one of them.

His brain in high gear now, Chris burned his tongue as he distractedly gulped in too much of the steaming coffee in his hand. He sniffled to mask a little wince of pain. As he did so, a brazen and bizarre idea rolled all over him.

Wait, wait, wait. Didn't this dude fit the description of JC's hot new boy toy? He did, didn't he? From the few stingy details he'd been able to wriggle out of JC, Chris was dead-positive this guy was a perfect match for - what was his name again? - Justin. The hair, the build, the age. And just how deliciously coincidental was it that he could be coming from JC's loft on that floor upstairs right now? Um, yeah. After some overnight, well, tricking and treating with Mr. Chasez up there? Didn't JC say that he had some kind of wheeling-dealing office job?

Yep. Fucking A. That was fucking it. Dude here was just leaving the lust nest. So he could get to work.

Maniacally, Chris smiled.

Oh, man. This was just too slap-me-silly good.

The elevator doors squeaked open on the parking garage level, and the young guy shuffled out, eyes darting left and right for where he'd left his ride. Chris followed right behind, keeping a watch on him, wanting to get a better look at his scruffy face. And then, as the Kirkpatrick luck would have it, one of the napkins slipped from the guy's hand and fell to the cement floor as he walked on, not realizing his loss. Chris stopped just before it at his feet and stooped to pick it up.

"Hey, man, yo! You dropped something!"

The guy froze and spun around, blasting Chris with bright blue, gentle eyes. Obviously, he'd been lost in a maze of thoughts in his head, one Chris's voice had startled him out of. He smiled, and it too was bright and gentle. His face - even with the stubbly, unshaven growth of beard - struck Chris as angled and handsome.

"Oh. Thanks, man," he answered and took the napkin from Chris as he approached with it. "I get clumsy when I'm late for work, you know."

Chris inhaled nonchalantly, sniffed the air so subtly his nostrils didn't even flare. And he smiled back. "Yeah, no problem. I know where you're coming from, dude……….Er……….I mean I know, um, what you mean. Being late bites. So here ya go. I thought it might be something important you need to hang onto."

They both glanced down at the napkin for a second, and Justin carefully tucked it back into his pocket. Just before he turned to go, he looked up at Chris again and nodded.

"Yeah. It is. Something I'd like to keep. Thanks again. I appreciate it. Later, man. Have a great day."

"And I'm sure I will," Chris muttered to himself and grinned as he about-faced and left in the direction of his polished-violet PT Cruiser, Justin already hustling off to his own car.

Chris had felt the plush thick weave of the high-quality, fancy cocktail napkin. He'd recognized the signature silver Beverly Monarch emblem embossed in one corner of it. Man, he had used his share of those little "buggers" himself, hadn't he? Yeah, sitting there in that lounge on Saturday nights boozing it up with that hot-mama redheaded bartender while JC crooned his little heart out, right? Definitely.

Chris knew exactly where that napkin had come from. He knew where this strikingly attractively young man had come from too.

"Plus," he whispered as he strolled through the thinning parking lot alone, "that handsome little devil there had that smooth lay-me-down-face-first-on-a-bed-of-roses voice that my boy JC said he had. Not to mention how he reeked of Parfume de Just-Been-Fucked." Chris giggled to himself. "Way to go, Chasez! Yowzers, baby! If the kid I just saw was smiling his ass off, I'm betting the farm that you are too, buddy. Man, how much can I NOT wait to get through this fucking Waffle House Hour with the sis so I can get the full spanking report from you, dude? Nah, I won't buzz you on the cell up there right now 'cause you're probably zonked out cold and sleeping it off after crumpling that boy up like that last night. But I'm coming over to your crib in a bit, and you'd better not even try holding anything back either, man. I am wanting all the horny, porny, DE-TAILS, I'm saying."

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

Justin called CEO Johnny's extension at Austin-Adair first. To say he'd be in a bit later than usual today. But Johnny wasn't there yet himself, so Justin left him a message. Trace the Admin Assistant didn't pick up his phone either, and Justin checked his watch as he drove out of North Hollywood, away from JC's loft. It was 9:19 a.m. Trace got a brief, I'll-be-in-soon voicemail as well.

Honestly, Justin couldn't have cared less if nobody in the whole company showed up for work that day. Truthfully, he wasn't caring about much at all this morning. He was still immersed in his high, still floating on the magic of being with JC. He'd been so wrapped up in what was spiraling in his head, he'd barely even noticed that stocky guy in the elevator with him, the one who kept snorting and sniffing for whatever reason. Not until the dude had rescued that napkin Justin had been doodling on at Avalon the night before while JC sang his request.

When he got home, he'd shower and wash the past 24 hours off himself. But he'd still feel the residual electric shockwaves of their being together hot and trembling all over his body. He smiled and shivered with the surrealness of the memory of it.

Samson and Delilah would probably be real bitches to him now for leaving them alone all night. They'd be jumpy-happy to see him at first - until he refilled their food bowls and took them outside for a walk. But then they'd give him the cold, pouty-puppy treatment for a while to punish him. Oh, well, he thought. Maybe having JC over tonight - somebody new and friendly to them - would appease them a little. He knew that having JC's warm hands rubbing affectionately on him would certainly work wonders. Hmm. Yesss. In his lap, his cock thudded against his thigh at the thought.

There weren't any messages on his cell phone when he checked. But there was one missed call from Lance's home number from the night before. Funny, he thought, his friend hadn't left some kind of message. Probably figured Justin wasn't answering because he was getting lucky. Yeah, you could call it that. Haha.

So, wired on the lingering adrenaline and needing an outlet as he drove toward home, he punched Lance's Austin-Adair direct line digits and waited through two full rings. Finally, Lance picked up and growled a response.

"Mondays can blow me."

"Lovely morning to you too, sweetheart." Justin knew Lance would be in. He was obsessively never late, even when he felt like death warmed over. "What if I'd been a client with you answering like that, hmm?"

"You're not a client. Hello? Caller ID. Ever hear of it, Timberlake? Why are you calling me from your cell anyway?"

"Ah, I'm so glad you asked, Bass," Justin breathed out smugly. "Because, see, I'm not in my office to use that phone."

Lance sighed, painfully and impatiently. "Okay. This is me taking the bait. Why aren't you here? Where the hell are you then?"

"Another excellent question. You're two for two. I am in the car, on the way home to change."

"Change into what? Tinkerbelle? Princess Charming? A fucking toad? Somebody who's gonna yank my chain all damn day?"

"Tsk. Tsk." Justin shook his head, picturing irritable and frustrated Lance back at the office. "You are so grouchy today."

"Ugh. Today can die. Answer the question, J. I'm in no mood. You started this. So change into fucking what?"

"Into some clothes I haven't been wearing - well, off and on - since yesterday."

Clearly hung-over and out of touch with his reasoning faculties, Lance needed a few thumped heartbeats against the dull ache in his temples to put things together coherently. He squinted and groaned as he raised a hand to his forehead, wanting more coffee, needing some aspirins, ignoring Justin's snide snicker in his ear.

"Cut the crap, Justin. You're starting to annoy me. Are you saying-"

"That I didn't have to make my own bed this morning? That I haven't even seen my own bed yet this morning? Yes, ma'am. That's precisely what I'm saying. So could you at least pretend to be awake and get some congratulating going on up in here, you grumpy ass?"

Lance almost choked. "You spent the night at Sir Racquetball's place?"

Justin made a face in the car. JC was already so much more than just racquetball to him now. "I absolutely did," he whispered proudly.

"Okay. Today's April first, isn't it? This is your idea of a stupid, moronic joke?"

"It's not a joke, Lance. And you can kindly kiss my ass."

"Well, I'll be damned. You slut."

Justin chuckled. "Let me amend my last statement. You can kindly bite my ass."

"And so? What the hell happened?" Lance barked, more rejuvenated now.

"Um, hello? Consensual sex? Ever hear of it?"

"Back down with the smartass smug-ocity, Timberlake. Just 'cause you get some dick finally doesn't mean you can go all cheeky and sassy. Not to me anyways……….Wait. You did get some dick, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah. Most definitely." Justin wet his smiling lips.

"Ho-bag."

"Fuck you, Lance."

"Well, hell," Lance snickered. "As slow as you two muthas are moving in this little courtship thing of yours, I was figuring it'd be another eight or nine years before you got around to the good stuff, the nekkid-n-nasty part. Me and Jess had a bet."

Justin laughed. "Courtship. Haha, Lance. I get it. Clever."

"Yeah, unintentional clever shit flows out of me constantly. Now tell me, J. How does it feel to rejoin the Society of the Recently Fucked? Hot damn, it's about time you got bent over and grabbed your ankles! You hear me?"

Justin chose to overlook Lance's graphic crudeness and smiled at the pleased excitement in his voice. "It feels……….Well, I'm a little sore, but it feels awesome. Still. It feels like it should feel when it's right."

"Aww, how sweet. Is the dude as good in the clutch as he looks like he is? 'Cause, man, that one sure as hell looks like he knows what he's doing."

"He does. It was……….amazing," Justin whispered dreamily and shuddered again.

"Has he got you walking bow-legged today, J?"

"I already told you I'm sore, man. But I'm walking fine, thank you very much."

"Justin, as long as it's been since you did the horizontal tango with somebody, fingering could make you sore, dude."

Stopped at a traffic light, Justin rolled his eyes. "Lance, you're gross. I see your pervert 12-step program isn't working."

"So how's he hung? Is his dick huge? I'm betting on 'yes.' Enormous even."

"Lance! That's personal."

"Well, personally tell me then, man."

"Shut up, Lance."

"Yep. I thought so. Big penis."

"Enough, Lance. You're being a tool."

"Panties or commando?"

Justin sighed. "Those adorable boxer briefs. And they looked damn hot too - for the two whole seconds I saw them actually ON his fine-ass body," Justin simpered.

"Hmph. You don't have to gloat, J."

"Yes, I do. I deserve to gloat. So sue me if you don't like it."

"Are you bringing your gloating, cocky, smartass in here at some point today, or just laying around your house and whacking off to the memory of J-Sex-C and his enormous memberage?"

Justin snorted. "I'll be in as soon as I go home and shower. I don't need to whack off either, FYI. He's coming over for dinner tonight."

"There you go with the damn smug gloating again."

"Yeah, yeah. You just wait 'til I get there and you get a fat fucking dose of it in person." Justin laughed.

"Damn. Heaven help us," Lance moaned, and Justin knew he was rolling his eyes. "I'll send out a company-wide e-mail: Justin Freshly Fucked will be hell to be around today, folks. He got his clock wound last night, and now he thinks he's the shit. Stay out of his bow-legged way."

"I'll be smiling," Justin smiled.

"Oh, I'll bet you will. As big and bright as the damn sun."

"Lance?"

"Yes, Justin. I'm beside myself with happy for you about this. Proud of you. Seriously. And no. I don't think seeing him again tonight is moving too fast either. If it feels as right as you say it does, run with it."

"Sure?"

"Positive. On both counts. Absolutely."

"You know me too damn well." Justin breathed out an audible, relaxed sigh. "Wanna do lunch later, buddy?"

"Will you drop me some of those nekkid-n-nasty specifics? A sliver or two of juicy bedroom dish?"

"Nope."

Lance huffed. "Asshole."

"Okay. Maybe one. Maybe."

"Ha! I knew you'd cave, you pussy."

"Only because you're such a damn perv."

"Sure, Timberlake. You're the one shacked up all night fucking at some dude's place and can't make it to work on time the next day, and I'm the damn perv. Oh. Kay."



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