Part 2


JC is upstairs in their closet again the next day, Friday, casually choosing a small assortment of clothes to take with him to Miami that evening. Not that he’s over the bloody moon about going to freaking Miami or anything. It’s just that Rob’s decided that JC being seen and photographed cavorting on the east coast’s most decadent beach with a slew of near-naked gorgeous chicks at something retarded-sounding like “Volleypalooza” would be “tight” for his image right now and all, what with Schizophrenic dropping on Tuesday, you know.

“Dude, you’re trying to convince the chicas of the world in ‘bout every one of your tunes that you’re the horniest, most bad-ass fuck EVER. Might look good on the peepers if you hung out around some tits-n-coochie to sort of, you know, drive that idea home, man. Make yourself look like a player, the real deal. Know what I’m saying?”

JC had known exactly what he was saying. He’d wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Well, fine, Boldt. If you say so, man. But, at the end of the day, I hope you don’t expect me to actually, you know, fuck any of that coochie, man. ‘Cause hello……….Just eeeewwww.”

Rob had howled a laugh through the phone. “Chasez, dude, you are one motherfucking funny sumbitch. But you put on a damn good game, bro. I’ll give you that. You definitely be entertaining. And if you ain’t into the ladies, which duh, you ain’t, then that means more for me. And I can dig that, man. It’s all right by me.”

JC’s folding his favorite white T-shirt — the cow’s-skull one he stole from Justin months ago — and dropping it into his luggage bag on the bed when he hears the weak little yelp coming from the hallway. It startles him at first, and he shudders. Then he remembers.

Fuck. The dog. Forgot all about his little ass, wandering around downstairs. Just fucking great.

Justin is out scoring some tickets to tonight’s Lakers game, which is how he plans to spend his Friday evening once JC leaves on a jet plane for the other coast. Scottie has been roaming around the rooms on the first floor which hadn’t been closed off to him sniffing, exploring, and God-knows-what-all-else. In his task of packing, JC has not remembered to check on him like he knows he probably should have been doing.

Fine damn pet sitter I am. Yeah. That’s me. Put it on the ol’ resume.

He saunters out into the hall and stands at the top of the staircase squinting down to where he can see the pup below the first step. Scottie jumps giddily at the sight of him and squeaks another insistent noise.

“Well, c’mon up here then! I’m not stopping ya. C’mon, boy! Simon sez jump!”

The dog barks again, as if protesting or arguing, still prancing back and forth anxiously. Impatient now, JC glances at his watch and huffs.

“Dude, are you deaf? I said hop on up here. What the fuck’s stopping you?”

Then, in fast response, Scottie tries again, and JC sees exactly what’s stopping him: short, stubby puppy legs that won’t allow him to climb even one stair. He’s too small to master it, although he wants to — wants to be near the only warm, moving body in the house — like hell. With his next desperate attempt to hop on up there as he’s been told, his tiny front paws slip off the carpeted step, and he’s propelled backward into a helpless tumbling, rolling freefall.

“Aww, man! That was pathetic!” JC laughs wildly. “You get negative points on that one, dude. Lame. You should be so ashamed.”

Giving up, the pup sits back on his haunches and his little pup butt and stares up at JC — a little pleadingly, a little defiantly. JC rolls his eyes, mutters, “Like I fucking have time for this,” sighs, and skips down the staircase to scoop up the furry ball that wriggles frantically in his arms, so happy to see him. Back in the bedroom, he giggles at the ticklish, affectionate licks the dog swipes his jaw with before he sets him down.

“All right, hot shot. There ya go. You’re upstairs now. In the penthouse. So scamper on and do your little doggy thing. I’ve got to finish my business here.”

Fifteen or 20 minutes later, JC’s lost inside his own head again as he shoves the final few articles inside the leather bag he’s taking to Florida with him. What’s caught his attention and brought a dawning smile across his features now is the bubblegum-pink Lady Venus razor he prefers — and the memory of how Justin hadn’t batted even one eyelash the first time he’d walked in and found JC at the bathroom vanity counter shaving his face with it.

“Ultra-smooth and moisturizing like the ad says it is, baby?”

“Yep. It’s good. I like it.”

“Excellent……….Kick-ass color too,” Justin had said and blown him a kiss in the wall-to-wall mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary here, folks.

The same thing had happened with the wildflowers-scented bathroom tissue JC had found and fallen infatuated with. Well, sort of . Justin had strolled out into the bedroom with a neat wad of it held to his nose one afternoon while JC lay on the bed reading. Pulling the fragrant tissue away slightly and squinting, he’d glanced down at it and then over at JC.

“Um, Jace. Did you know it smelled like this when you bought it?”

JC had moved only his eyes, flashing them quickly over the top of the magazine like a bolt of lightning to pierce his house/soul mate. “Yes, Justin. I did. Why? A little much, you think? Too dainty for you or something? Too un-he-man-like?”

Justin had brought the wad to his face again and breathed in more of its essence. Then he’d smiled and winked at JC. “For you, baby, I’ma willing to try anything. Yep, this will do just fine. No complaints from me.”

JC had smiled and returned to his article. “Good. ‘Cause we’ve got, like, a 24-roll supply.” Just another typical day in their little domestic world.

JC laughs to himself at the sweet memories — at how they’ve grown together to be so together — and turns to check out the low-growl noises drifting into his consciousness now from the closet behind him. Fuck a duck. It’s the damn dog again. And this time it’s rooting around merrily in some weird little bed it has scavenged and made for itself — consisting of the black Harley T-shirt Justin had slept in the night before and hadn’t quite three-pointed into the laundry hamper this morning plus the pair of loopy-patterned jeans of JC’s he had accidentally knocked off a shelf while packing and hadn’t yet had time to pick up and replace.

“Bloody hell! What are you up to now?” JC hurries over and bends down to rest on his knees at the dog and its messy self-formed oasis. “Man! Look at you! You’re going to get your little blondie hairs all over this shit.” Tentatively, he reaches a hand out to dissuade any potential destructive behavior to the clothes or whatever else strange stuff Puppy Freak From Hades might do.

“Hey, hey! Check out my two favorite boys! Playing and bonding with each other so sweetly while I’m out!” Justin breezes in and shadows the closet’s doorway suddenly and catches the cuddly scene in action. “Aww, you two make my heart melt inside me.”

“Playing and bonding, hell,” JC sneers. “Ol’ ScottsMonster here found himself some duds he wants to take up lodging in, man. He just mooched ‘em, thank you very fucking much.”

“He’s trying to feel comfortable, baby. He’s adjusting to the new environment,” Justin says, light and cheery, easing down behind JC’s crouched form and embracing him around his waist. “Aww, look, Jace. He got something of yours and something of mine. He’s so smart already. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Yeah. Adorable. If he up and pees on one of ‘em, it had better fucking be yours, dude.”

Justin laughs. “Speaking of, I cleaned up all his shit piles downstairs……….Man, that mess smelled rank.”

JC turns his head to give him a sideways peck on the mouth. “That’s what you get for feeding him those damn potatoes au gratin last night, dumbass. I told you not to. His little stomach is delicate.”

“But they were soft and buttery,” Justin pouts, ruby mouth swelling out against JC’s earlobe.

“And garlicky. Puppies should eat puppy food, man. Not garlicky shit. So have fun scooping the pooping, babe.”

Yeah, it was YOUR idea to bring him home, babe. So go for it. Have a blast. Yo, yo, yo.

Justin closes in on him and hugs tighter, brushing the nape of JC’s neck with the soft lips and slipping a hand down between those warm, muscled thighs. “Hmm. You’re hard, baby.”

“That’s what happens when you’re rubbing all on me and breathing all over me and smothering me, J. Like now.”

“You want me to stop? So you can go back to frolicking with the Scottster?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? When I can frolic with you instead?”

Justin vibrates an aching moan onto JC’s throat. “Let’s make love once more before you have to go, Jace. ‘Kay?”

JC pushes backward against him instinctively, arching like a fluid human fountain, and groans. “Okay. Fuck if I’ll pass that up……….But what about him?”

“He’s distracted. He won’t even know we’ve left him. C’mon.”

And Scottie pays them no mind at all as they haul each other up and stumble to the bed. He’s satisfied with his new getup. And, within the half hour, they’re satisfied as well. Achingly, breathlessly, quaveringly so.

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

JC doesn’t really much enjoy the weekend in South Beach, although he puts on his best show of looking like he is every time a nosy photographer get in his face to snap a picture. After all, isn’t that the whole point of being there? To be seen yucking it up and having fun? In the sunlight as well as the nightlife? Exposure equals publicity, doesn’t it?

He’s left his heart back in LA with Justin, though, and so, of course, something is missing. Something special. Half of him. And besides, he’s fighting off some freaking cold symptoms or a flu bug or whatnot too. So he’d prefer to be back in the warm comforts of home, the warm comforts of Justin.

Admittedly, he’s a little shaken when Justin rings him on Saturday to give him the news that Jackson had passed. And most of his sadness stems from knowing so well how hard Lance is surely taking the death, the loss. Silently, he’s glad more than ever that Lance has hooked up with Jesse because Jesse is the first person in a long time Lance has felt enough for to open himself up to and let inside. So JC’s glad to know Lance has someone, a real someone, with him right now to help him grieve. He considers calling Lance and offering his sympathies, but then figures it’s too awkward. He’s not sure exactly what to say.

“Chasez, dude! I heard you and Timberlake adopted yourselves a wittle baby!” Rob prods him at the private soiree he’d insisted on throwing for JC on Saturday night in SoBe in honor of Schizophrenic’s upcoming release three days away. “And you ain’t mentioned it once since you got down here, man. What’s up with that?”

JC rolls his eyes at the reminder of Scottie. “It’s just a fucking puppy, dude. Nothing to be sending out announcements about. And ‘we’ didn’t do anything. It was all J’s idea. Didn’t he fill you in when you talked to him?”

“Yeah, man. He’s crazy ‘bout the little guy. Says it’s into everything and shitting everywhere back at the house.”

“Sounds familiar. And he’s probably still feeding the funny-looking mongrel stuff off his own damn plate. He won’t learn. Dumbass.”

“Mongrel?” Rob glances at JC, surprised. “Dude, that ain’t no mongrel. Do you know what a Scottish Terrier goes for these days? Do you even have a clue what J shelled out for the one you guys have? With all those health clearances and registration papers he comes with? Do you?”

JC squints at his friend, sensing he’s vastly underestimated something here, something that may be important, something he should possibly try and care about. “I couldn’t even guess what the value of the mutt, man. J never mentioned it.”

No, he wouldn’t have mentioned it. Not ever. That’s just how he is. He bought the pup ‘cause he’d fallen in love with it at first sight and wanted it. Not because of its material worth. That’s Justin for you.

“We’re talking 800 bills on this one, C. And some change thrown in too. I ain’t lying. And that don’t qualify as no mutt.”

JC gasps and almost spews his martini. “He told you that?”

“I asked, man. I know a little sum’ing about dog breeding. I’ve got an English Mastiff myself.”

“That’s what that thing is? I thought it was a small, deformed fucking pony all this time.”

Rob rolls his eyes. JC clowning again. “Yes, C. That’s what SHE is. And she’s a beauty. The damn UPS dude is scared to death of her.”

“People seriously pay THAT much for a DOG? Fuck.”

“Yeah, man. And who knows what it cost J to get the ‘little mongrel’ over here from the U.K.”

“Fuck,” JC hushes out again, a little flabbergasted.

“Yep. And I think that’s exactly what I’ll do right now, my man. Fuck. See that fine little brown-eyed, honey-skinned mamma over there? The one that’s been all up on you all night and you’ve hardly even noticed? Yeah, she’s looking like she needs some loving. And since you ain’t interested in giving her some, duty calls, bro.”

JC wrinkles his nose and shrugs. “She’s all yours, Boldt, man. None for me, thanks. I think I’m calling it a night myself. I’m gonna go and call Justin. Hey, thanks for the par-tay and the 4-1-1 on the pooch, dude. I feel so damn enlightened,” JC adds sarcastically.

But Rob’s only half listening. His attention is steeled on the full lips and toned body of the warm, slinky Latin girl a few feet away. “Anytime, man. Anytime. ‘Cause you the hottest chick-magnet around, Chasez.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

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

JC’s tired from traveling what has felt like 12 hundred million sky miles all over the country in the past four days, achy from the lingering flu thing he can’t seem to shake, and just cranky in general when his plane lands at LAX Monday night, bringing him home finally. Justin has a spaghetti dinner prepared and waiting for them and makes JC relax on the bed upstairs with a gentle kiss and a glass of red wine while he unpacks for him.

Scottie, JC learns right away, has made leaps and bounds’ worth of developmental progress, as far as leaping and bounding goes, in the days while he’s been gone. Not only can the rambunctious, fearless puppy now scoot up every step on the staircase with almost no trouble at all, but he can also jump up onto the bed with relative ease by digging his little claws into the comforter and climbing.

JC clenches his teeth and somehow refrains from pointing out the snags and pulled threads already visible (the damn comforter can surely be replaced) just as he’d tried not to groan about the faint scratches on the maple hardwoods in the kitchen downstairs when he’d come in (the damn floor can surely have the scratches buffed out). If Justin cares enough about this pesky critter to make domestic life with it work, then, by God, JC will fucking tolerate it and do the same. He hopes.

“Do you feel like a back rub, Jace? Or maybe a nice, warm bath? I’m sorry you’re feeling lousy, babe. It’s all in your eyes. They look a mess.”

“Gee. Thanks. You and your insults are such a joy to come home to. I’ll bet you don’t slam the dog like that.”

“Aww, c’mon now. You know what I mean. Your eyes look like you’re sick and miserable……….but they’re still the most gorgeous eyes ever,” Justin purrs, folding down languidly onto the mattress beside where JC lays stretched out. “So what do ya say? Back rub? Bath? What can I do to help, baby?”

JC reaches out to touch Justin’s thigh, rests his hand there. “Maybe after chow. I’m okay, J. Just a little run down. The pasta should help. And you. Being around you helps a lot.”

Justin brushes his fingers over the back of JC’s hand. “Hey, we watched you on ‘TRL’ this afternoon……….You were so fucking beautiful evil again.”

“We?”

“Me and the Scottsman. He was hysterical, babe. I wish you’d seen him. He got so wound up and excited when you came on, barking and shit at the TV, that he pissed all over your pillow. Poor little thing,” Justin laughs and slaps his knee.

JC, however, sees no humor whatsoever in the little tale. He jerks upward off the soft cushion he’s been lying on, whips his head around to glare at it, then glares at Justin, and snarls. “He fucking WHAT? Justin! Damnit!”

“Not that pillow, Jace. Chill out. I went and bought you a brand new one.”

“I had that pillow broken in,” JC sulks. “Quit laughing, Justin. It’s not funny.”

“It sort of was, baby. You should’ve been here.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t,” JC mumbles and rolls his heavy, fever-streaked eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jace. Just lay back, okay? I’ll bring the grub up here. We can do the Jacuzzi later. That’ll make you feel better. You’ve gotta be all well for your big drop day tomorrow, you know.”

The dinner and the hot tub had, in fact, improved JC’s physical ailments as well as his temperament. The full-body massage Justin had volunteered and executed afterward with such slow-burn torturing skill had helped amazingly too — especially as it melded into the best blowjob Justin had given him in weeks.

It’s so fucking good, so hot and wet inside Justin’s gorgeous mouth. And, oh, God, that sucking the boy can do, magnificent, tight and fast, swirling spiraled laps around the length of JC’s cock, soft teasing licks to the dripping head. JC’s in Heaven, on his back and grabbing the sheets around him, twisting his ass and moaning as those juicy lips slide down over all of him, that tongue snaking underneath and sweeping steam across his balls.

JC’s hard, very hard, and very close to coming. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his whole body throbs. He’s barely aware of anything else at all other than Justin’s hot, talented mouth and the wonderful things it’s doing to him. He’s certainly not aware of any demonic dog hoisting itself up on the bed and pouncing. Not until the pounce target turns out to be his own naked, glistening chest.

“Son of a BITCH!! FUCK!!” he screeches in panic and pain, and his eyes blaze open as he recoils upward and back, brushing the stinging sharp little claws away from his flesh.

Completely shocked, the puppy yelps and tumbles off of him, scurrying as far away from JC as JC is pulling from him. Wide-eyed and speechless, Justin sits up and wipes his mouth, his savory mission thwarted.

“Would you MIND getting your fucking rabid dog OFF me, damnit?”

“Shit, Jace! What’d he do? Jump on you?”

“Duh! Little urchin tried to maul me! And fuck! Just when I was about to blow!”

“I’m sorry again, baby. I’ll go and put him in the laundry room so he won’t bother us anymore,” Justin promises, sliding off the bed. “Maybe I should get him some obedience classes.”

“Maybe you should get him a lobotomy. Fucking canine nuisance. Mangy health hazard,” JC grumbles, curling up on himself and sinking down into Justin’s pillow.

It takes Justin a good half hour to quiet Scottie down and settle him in the laundry room with his food, etc. He has every intention of picking up where he left off with JC or at least kick-starting the embers to fires again. But when he makes his way back up to the bedroom, he finds it chilly and dark with JC buried safely under the pile of covers. A rumpled mound of smoldering anger.

Justin decides not to jeopardize making the situation worse by nagging JC with more lame apologies. But when he slithers into the bed next to JC’s smooth form and huddles into the waves of heat it’s giving off, JC moves against him, toward him. A warm, unspoken truce.

“J……….Is he okay down there all alone?”

“He’ll be fine. What about you, babe? Did he scratch you?”

“Just a little……….Do you think I’m rabid too now?”

“Jace, I think you’ve always been rabid. It’s part of what I fell in love with. And lust too.”

“Oh, how you sweet-talk me, babe.”

“That reminds me of some unfinished business I need to take care of.”

JC writhes against him, matching the curves of his body with Justin’s. “I think I just want to go to sleep, J. Just like this. ‘Kay?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want……….Hey, it’s your big day tomorrow, Jace. Are you ready for it?” Justin kisses the top of his head.

“I guess so. It’s a whole fucking lot less scary just knowing you’re around to do it with me.”

“I’ll be here, baby. No worries there. ‘Cause you’re just so beautiful when you shine. So all-over beautiful.”

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

Tuesday, the 24th, is The Day — Schizophrenic Release Day. Finally. After all those damn delays and assorted crap. JC wakes up in high, anxious spirits. He’s still feeling feverish and sickly, but his usually hyper energy kicked into warp speed seems to shove the illness to the background of his psyche for the day. All is forgotten on the blowjob interruptus business with Scottie (mainly due to the fact that Justin wouldn’t let JC out of bed that morning ‘til he’d made the whole thing up to him, not that JC put up that much resistance to that Timberlake mouth working on his lower extremes, making them so much more extreme).

JC even grabs the puppy up and holds him, after several cups of coffee, talking to him playfully and letting him lap at his neck. (This contact is PRE-getting dressed, mind you. One can’t risk fucking dog hairs, of all things, on one’s clothes on such a prestigious day when one must be so public and on-view, you understand.)

Justin is very adamant about making him take some strong, non-drowsy cold pills and gives him about three million hugs and kisses before JC leaves the house. “I’ll be waiting and watching, Jace. Me and the Scottsmeister too,” he whispers hotly at JC’s mouth and his hands clasped onto JC’s narrow hips. “Go out there and kill ‘em, baby.”

After the Ryan Seacrest show and live performance, after the never-ending CD-signing stint at Tower Records on Sunset, after several more small interviews and autographs, JC can finally come home again. He and Justin have time to make love only once before their friends and close acquaintances begin arriving for the small, intimate listening party Justin’s put together for his partner that evening.

Erotically enough, the scene of their hurried, hot sexual adventure takes place in their closet, sparked and fueled by each other’s naked skin, as they’re changing clothes — more specifically, on the pastel-colored padded bench next to the Shades of Pink Haven, the one that’s perfect for “riding” and “being ridden” purposes — because they simply aren’t able to wait ‘til they can get to the bed or even the floor of the bedroom. Fast, furious fucking. Just what the doctor ordered.

And Scottie, of course, is an instant first-single hit with all the guests — what with his precious little waddling and yapping and snuggling, all the stuff he’s already figured out humans go ape-shit over. JC laughs and plays along nicely with Puppy Doodle’s obvious charm — especially when Daddy Justin is holding him and making him act up for show.

Sure, JC goes with the merry flow, but he can’t help rolling his eyes a time or two during the festivities at how the small dog has everyone — most noticeably Lance and Jesse — under his spastic little Scottish spell and eating out of his scratchy little Scottish paws.

Later, when everyone has congratulated him hugely on the CD with warm hugs and well wishes and gone home, JC scoops up the puppy again in the kitchen and eyes him face to face, snickering. “You devilish little shit. What a player you are already. Think you’re something, don’t ya? Well, I know what you are. Wicked, wicked, wicked.”

Scottie yelps and wiggles in innocent, hyper response, attracting Justin’s attention as he waltzes in from the living room carrying dirty glassware and saucers. Still laughing at the dog, JC is about to put him down again, but Justin is quicker and unloads his arms so that he can take the energetic bundle, lovingly nuzzling him and giggling.

“What’s up with my boy, huh? Weren’t you just the life of the party tonight? Everybody dug you, baby!”

Off to the side now, JC watches and grins. And vows that he will not, not, not even fucking acknowledge that ridiculous twinge of jealousy that’s just streaked through his bloodstream. Not, not, not say anything as ass-stupid as, “Dude, it was supposed to be MY show tonight, not that damn dog’s. And check it out. Now he’s even scarfing up all of Justin’s attention too. Dingle berry dog.”

Not, not, not. Because there are degrees of craziness, just like levels of Hell, see. Even JC is aware of that. And this one is one he doesn’t care to get cozy with. It’s just fucked. No way. Not, not, not.



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