Part 3


The next few days are, well, days around the Chasez-Timberlake household. Days that get lived, for whatever good and/or bad they’re filled with. Scottie is growing, munching down on his special-formula gourmet puppy food Justin’s veterinarian had recommended. Growing, yeah, and wreaking havoc on every room in the house he’s given access to. Tearing, rooting, gnawing, scratching. Just like a puppy.

“He’s breaking in his teeth and getting used to the new surroundings,” Justin says often, with undying enthusiasm. “Look how chubby he’s getting, Jace!”

“He’s chewing up and wrecking everything he gets his fucking little mouth on, Justin. Plus how much fun is it going to be when this place starts stinking like dog piss? Huh?” JC counters sharply and sullenly, sashaying through the den, dining room, and kitchen spraying sanitized air freshener and smirking. “And if you give him one more damn chicken wing so his sneaky little butt can hide it under a rug that I’m going to step on in the middle of the night……….I’m going to jack your ass, man. That shit’s not fun. So cut it out.”

“Sorry, Jace. I didn’t know he was stashing ‘em.” Justin grins and blows JC a kiss of atonement from the recliner where he’s relaxing and catching an NBA game on the TV.

“Of course you didn’t. I am the one he’s trying to cripple.”

“C’mon, baby. He loves you.”

“Sure he does. He proves it every damn day, the crunch-happy little wanker. No. More. Chicken. Wings. You got that?”

“Okay, okay. Wings. Bad. Very bad.”

“Quit spoiling him, J.”

“Like you’ve spoiled me, baby?”

JC doesn’t have to turn and glance over across the room because he knows already what’s there in the chair: that sun-kissed, insolent half-smile/half-smirk that simmers up one side of Justin’s handsome, boyish face. “Oh, gimme a break, J. You don’t get away with trotting around, hiking a leg, and peeing everyfuckingwhere you feel like it. I’d be blistering your cute, cheeky ass with wadded newspaper if you did.”

Justin snickers. “I’m still spoiled, though. ‘Cause of you. C’mon. Admit it.”

“You’re just a punk.”

“Fine, babes. No more chicken wings for Scottie. No more pepperoni either. I swear.”

JC stops aiming and shooting with his weapon of Lysol, spins around, and narrows his eyes at Justin. “You gave him pepperoni too? Spicy pepperoni? Are you completely dumb?”

Justin shrugs, the smile still flirting around his mouth. “He ate it. Gobbled it up, in fact.”

“He gobbles everything up, Justin. He doesn’t know any better. You’re feeding him too much altogether, man. The fat little shit is gonna explode. THEN you’ll have a fucking mess to clean up.” JC turns again and sighs. “And if all that expensive puppy grub isn’t enough, he feels it necessary to chomp on every damn newspaper and magazine his dumpy little legs will let him reach and then rip it and shred it all over the house.”

The b-ball game forgotten now, Justin watches the liquid-satin motion of JC’s sleek, limber body as he gracefully struts around the den picking up dog-strewn toys and other assorted randomness and fussing about it — the way the midnight-blue silky boxer shorts smooth against and define the round curves of his ass when he bends over, the way the lean muscles of his thighs tense and relax under taut skin as he moves between the furniture, the way the snug sleeveless coral tee stretches tight across his broad shoulders and chest so that Justin can just barely make out the shape of the tiny platinum studs in his nipples.

“Jace, come sit with me. Stop stressing. I’ll clean that crap up. C’mon. Relax. Your ‘Sharon Osbourne’ episode is about to pop on here.”

“Fuck that.” JC grimaces and pushes a stray curl off his high cheekbone, tucks it behind his ear, nonchalantly but elegantly. “The bitch didn’t even know who I am.”

“But you set her straight, didn’t you, baby?” Justin says with a grin and swallows unconsciously, entranced with how JC’s wide leather watchband wraps around and hugs the creamy, smooth flesh of his forearm.

JC snaps his head, flips his wrist, and rolls his eyes with lightning speed. “‘Straight’ being the NON-operative word there, babe. I’m about as straight as I am a damn Backstreet Boy. Perhaps I should’ve filler her old ass in on that bit of info too. You think?”

Justin snickers, sensing hot embers waking up in his groin. Feisty, bitchy, attitude-spiked JC never fails to get his motor started. “At least she didn’t strap you into O-Town or have you hitched to Jessica Simpleton. Now that would just be fucking wrong.”

“Goddamnit, J! Look at this!” JC hisses and whirls around with a paper object he’s just grabbed up, his blue eyes flaming as much as the rest of him. “Monster Pup has gone and chewed himself up some chunks of the Ocean Drive! The one I was in last summer! I swear that no-leg little fuck goes after MY shit and leaves yours alone.”

“We’ve got a couple more copies of that issue in dry storage, baby. You know it was one of my faves you’ve done so far. I saved some. No worries. Now come sit down. Right here.” Justin pats his lap. Gently.

“No. First, he ruins the throw-cover in the theater room that MY mom gave us. Then he pees on the carpet on MY side of the bed. And now MY magazine is the tastiest one he can find. None of the 50 bazillion YOU’RE splattered all over. Why’s he got it in for me, baby?” JC mewls, his mouth falling into a perfectly timed drop-dead-gorgeous pout.

Justin feels melting going on inside at the lethal expression on that face that mesmerizes him and at the tender desperation in that soft voice he loves. “He’s not out to get you, Jace. It’s all just coincidence. He’s just at a difficult stage……….Say, where is the Scottster anyway?”

JC flings the ragged-corner glossy magazine, the latest casualty of the puppy, down and rolls his eyes. “Probably consulting with Lucifer to decide what thing of monumental importance he’s going to fucking destroy next. Something that belongs to ME, of course.”

As if on cue, the small dog comes teetering into the room as fast as his short legs will carry him and barks at both of them. Justin laughs and tries to call him over to the recliner, but Scottie prefers the company of JC more. Er, well, JC’s bare feet, to be more exact. He darts quickly to where JC stands and immediately begins licking all the fresh skin his baby tongue can get to.

JC jumps back and squeals. “Stop it, you weird little freak! Shit! Puppy slobber on me! Gross! Just don’t, dude!”

“I told you he loves you, baby. That’s his way of giving you a sign,” Justin laughs and laughs and laughs.

And he knows he’ll never have the nerve to tell JC that he’d caught Scottie nibbling JC’s toes while he napped on the couch in here yesterday. It had been a truly adorable vision, and if he hadn’t feared not-so-adorable consequences (such as JC manually de-limbing him), he might have taken a digital snapshot. For posterity’s sake. To preserve the fun and charm of Scottie’s rowdy, obnoxious puppy days.

“Grrrr,” JC growls as he yanks his feet away and shimmies out of the den to escape the lick-zealous terrier. And Justin giggles still as he listens to the singsong voice trailing off up the stairs. “Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails. That’s what you’re made of, Justin Randall Timberlake. You’re wicked, I tell ya. You and your little dog too, asshole.”

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

Saturday of that week turns out to be D-Day for the cozy little abode. “D” for destruction. Doggy Destruction.

Damn you, Scottster. Why? Just fucking why?

JC has given it his best shot all week. He may have been snarky and cynical about it, and he may have dawged the little guy out, in a manner of speaking. But he’s still tried and tried and tried to get used to the new puppy, to tolerate it and all of its annoying puppy habits. He’s made substantial effort to come close to liking it. For Justin’s sake. Because Justin cherishes the dog, and JC cherishes Justin. Simple as that.

And it’s such a cute scenario to walk in from yet another tiresome interview and find Justin asleep in his recliner, legs stretched out on the elevated footrest, and Scottie snoozing peacefully as well on Justin’s lap, his own large paw curled around the animal protectively. Yes, it’s cute. JC has to admit. It makes him smile.

What’s not so cute nor smile-worthy is the scraping of little puppy claws on the other side of the bedroom door and the whining, persistent little puppy voice while they’re trying to make love. (After the infamous pouncing incident, Scott’ems is forbidden to be on the bed at all and not allowed in the room when they’re getting busy.)

“All right, J. That noise is fucking distracting. Do something, babe, ‘cause it’s either that dog or me right now,” JC had finally halted the sweaty, sexed-up bedroom activity and protested in a breathy gasp the night before.

Justin had sighed audibly but hadn’t argued as he got up and secured the puppy in the laundry room. Things were, well, a fucking blast after that.

Saturday’s domestic drama, however, is frayed and intensified. And JC decides during the course of it that, once and for all, he is absolutely not a dog-friendly person when this particular dog — their dog — is yet again not very friendly to him (and his belongings).

He doesn’t even realize how hard he’s gritting his back teeth as he stoops down in the closet’s Shades of Pink Haven that afternoon and picks up his favorite pair of thong flip-flops — the comfortable black leather ones with thick lavender straps that were embedded with tasteful orchid-pink-tinted cubic zirconia stones. He’d found them in some little boutique on Paradise Island the last time the group had performed at the Atlantis resort down there. His all-time best-loved pair.

Wait. Nix that “pair” part of the above. Make it “one.” A pair isn’t a pair if there is only one. And this lonesome one he’s looking at now is not only solitary, but it’s damaged too. Yes, that is correct. Damaged. Only slightly, but damaged nonetheless. There are tiny visible teeth marks in the left-side strap, and one of the stones is loose in its soft, leather nook.

Little bastard. You just couldn’t resist, could you, mutt? And you just HAD to go for THESE too, didn’t you? THIS particular pair. Damn. Even if it is salvageable, it’s got damn dog spit all over it. Like I’m going to wear it now. Right. This is so fucked up.

Over the roar of hot, angry blood rushing in his ears and the rapid thump of his heart, JC can hear his mind screaming, “Where’s the other one? What’s happened to it?”

Somehow it matters. Somehow it’s all he can think of right now. So he bolts out of the closet in frantic, determined search of the shoe’s mate. When he finally tracks it down, far up under the bed (on Justin’s side, of course), he instantly wishes he hadn’t.

If the first one had been “slightly damaged,” then this one can be considered “terminally mangled.” Lavender straps are torn out of the leather and ragged on their ends. Shiny stones are either dangling from their former spots or missing altogether. The tragic defilement of something pretty. An unholy mess. An irreparable disaster. At the hands (mouth and claws) of Scottie, a.k.a. Satan.

“Fuck! Shit! Damnit! Fucking hell!” JC shouts the bitter string of curses and slams the ruined sandal down on the mattress. “It’s a damn good thing you’re not here right now, you assified little piece of shit, or I might just beat the crap out of you with this. It’s totally worthless now, except for that.” He takes in and releases a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. “This shit has got to stop! Toto needs to go-go!”

He sees a towering wall of hot-red in his mind and knows he’s madder than he’s been in a long time, more pissed-off and steamed up than he cares to be. It’s not just the demise of the shoes. It’s much more than that. It’s a mounting culmination of everything going on over the past 10 days that’s been disruptive to their normal-life routine. This, now, is just The Last Straw.

JC needs something like crazy, an outlet for this burning anger thundering through him. And he knows he can’t stay here, can’t be still and wait. Can’t. Nope.

Justin has taken Scottie out for a walk in some park somewhere, and his cell phone is out of range when JC tries to ring him. In hindsight, JC figures that to be a good thing in this situation. Because he’s sure he would’ve unleashed some ultra-heated, ultra-regrettable choice words.

For several lonely minutes, he paces from room to room upstairs in the big, silent house, simmering with his rippling infuriation. He breathes deeply a few more times and tries to settle himself before calling back and waiting for the answering service to click on. But even then his words still come out in broken, choppy sounds and uneven breaths.

“Hey, baby. Um, listen. I don’t know where you are, and I’m not sure where I’m going. But I gotta get out of here for a little while. Just to take a drive maybe and get some air, you know. Something. Anything. Shit. Um, the dog, damn him, got my flip-flops. The purple ones……….Fuck. They’re totaled. Gone. Tell the brat thanks a million for me……….Sorry, J. I’m just a little……….miffed, rattled……….kind of at the end of my rope, so to speak, you know……… Ah, never mind. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter now………. Look. Just, um, get him checked out at the vet. He may have swallowed a cubic zirconia piece or two. See you later. When I get home……….I love you.”

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

Justin hears the inside signal of the security gate opening at the end of his driveway and is waiting at the back door for JC when he comes in that evening well after sunset. He’s waiting with soft, blue eyes, a gentle smile, and a warm hug that wraps around JC seemingly endless times over, like an electric, down-filled blanket. His voice is quiet, wispy.

“Hey, you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. You?”

“I’m always okay with you back in my arms. I was worried about you, babes. You sounded all kinds of upset on the cell.”

“I was then. Pretty fucking upset. Yeah……….But I’m okay now, J. Sorry I acted like such a bitch……….It was just a damn pair of shoes, for fuck’s sake.”

Justin holds him closer and rubs soothing circles into the muscles of his back. “No, Jace. It was something special of yours. And it wasn’t fair to you to have to lose them like that. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, J. He’s just a puppy. Puppies chew shoes. Fact of life.”

“I’ll get you another pair, baby. Even if we have to custom-order them. And Scottster won’t even get a chance to rip ‘em up this time.” Justin whispers and brushes a loving palm slowly over JC’s hair.

JC relaxes into the comfortable, familiar body heat surrounding him. “Hey, J. You know what? Out driving around on the highway today, I felt SO like what’s-her-face on ‘Sex and the City’ — Carrie Bradshaw, that’s it — throwing a bitch fit over some of her damn Manolo Blahnik come-fuck-me heels……….Pathetic. See the big ol’ ‘L’ on my forehead?”

Justin snickers and sways them a little, back and forth, to some unheard melody of their own. “It’s okay, baby. You know I don’t mind. You deserved to go all diva-hissy.”

JC’s quiet for a moment, listening, hearing only the rhythm of Justin’s breathing. “Thanks for understanding……….Did you take the Scottie Monster to the vet? Had he swallowed anything he shouldn’t have?”

“I did, and he’s perfectly fine.”

“So where is he? I don’t hear the little shit being his little shit self,” JC giggles, feeling much better now.

“Eh, he’s not here. He’s gone.”

“Wait. Gone?”

“Gone. Today was kind of like the day of enlightenment, like a big-ass billboard of a hint that it wasn’t going to work out after all with him. It was obvious. We had to part company, man. I had to get rid of him.”

JC lifts his head off Justin’s warm shoulder and glares a squint at him. Conflicting reactions to what Justin’s just said swirl and clash in his head. “Are you serious? You got ‘rid’ of him? But……….but……….you were wild about that dog, Justin. What the fuck?”

“But not wild about him making you miserable, Jace. That’s no good, and I won’t have it.”

JC huffs, confused. “Justin, man, c’mon. Sure, me and the furry poot-head had our differences. Lots of ‘em. But, dude, I can learn to live with a little, bitty puppy, for chrissakes, if you love him. I’m over the flip-flop travesty now. Ancient history. Don’t just toss him out ‘cause of something stupid like that.”

Do you seriously think I want THAT on my conscience? No fucking way, man. Get real.

Justin shrugs. “I know you could, baby. And that’s awfully sweet of you to try and put up with him for me. Yeah, craploads of sweet. But the thing is……….it wasn’t just your shoes he wrecked.”

“Really? What else then?”

Justin’s nose wrinkles as he grimaces. “He took himself a big ol’ dump.”

“Yeah? And what else is new?”

“On my fucking brand new Nike Air Huaraches.”

“The basketball ones you had custom-designed for you? That you’ve only worn, like, once?” JC struggles to hold in a tidal wave of giggles and doesn’t do so well keeping them out of his sparkling eyes.

“Yep. The very ones,” Justin mumbles.

“No, he didn’t!”

“He did. Pissed on one of ‘em too. So see? It wasn’t just your stuff he targeted, babes.”

“Damn. The little bugger had a freaky shoe fetish.” JC tries hard to control his overpowering laughter. “Baby, I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

“Sure.” Justin smirks. “Guess that’s what I get for not clearing pet acquisitions with you first.”

“Hey, it’s your house, babe.”

“No, Jace. It’s our house. Our home. You get a say. In everything.”

JC sidles over close enough to gently graze Justin’s lips with his own. “Well, in that case, I say I love you……….even if you DO pick demon-possessed dogs from foreign countries to get yourself all attached to.”

“I love you too. You’re sort of an awesome boyfriend. Like all around.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Sorry about my imported hellion croaking your sandals, baby.”

“Ah, it’s cool. Forget about it……….So where the fuck is the creature? What’d you do with his shitting-everywhere, gnawing-everything butt? And don’t even try to tell me you left him at the pound. I know how much coinage you spent on that rascal of a puppy. Dude was an expensive trial run of a house pet if you no-joke got rid of him.”

“How do you know how much he cost?”

“Boldt filled me in. You’re both fucking blabbermouths. Now where’s the mutt? And you’d better not have sent him to Fatone’s place, J. Bri’ll be dragging him around everywhere by his squat little neck.”

Justin smiles a smile loaded with sleek and coy. “My, my! Check you out! All caring and concerned for his welfare now. Interesting.”

“Fuck you, Justin. I always cared about his welfare. I’m not the one who let him lick peanut butter off my fingers and gave him soggy Choco-Puffs after I was done with them. Ass.”

Justin giggles and tugs at the belt loops of JC’s jeans. “He has a new home, baby. He’ll be loved and well cared for.”

“You checked out the people before you just turned him over, I hope.”

“I did. They’re cool. Stop worrying, cranky princess.”

“Where the fuck is he?” JC hisses impatiently.

“He’s at Jesse and Lance’s crib now. Happy?”

“For real?” Blue lights deep in JC’s eyes glimmer, and he grins full and bright.

“For real, Jace. Remember how they were so wild and crazy about li’l Scottmeister at the party Tuesday night? They couldn’t put him down. And he took to them too, like, right away. Plus Bass just lost Jackson too. He needed something to fill up that hole in his heart. So I figured I’d ask them first, and they fucking jumped all over the chance to have him for their own. And, man, you should have seen Foster and Dingo bonding with him, crawling on him and all frisky-like and welcoming him to the house when I took him over. He was so excited and in fine company and right at home before I left.”

JC laughs, picturing the scene. “That’s fabulous. You’re brilliant, sweets. Seriously.”

“Yep. Maybe. A happy ending for everybody. And he stays in the family, well, sort of, and they said we could have visiting rights anytime we want to come over and see him. So if you miss him and all……”

“Um, I wouldn’t go that far. But you might, J. You really wanted a pet, love.”

Justin shrugs again casually and pulls JC’s waist closer to his own. “Yeah, I did. Still do. We could get another one, you know. A different kind. Not a menacing little dog that’s gonna drive you insane. How ‘bout that?” JC pinches his eyebrows together doubtfully, and Justin hurries to clarify. “A pet that you pick out, baby. One that you are wild about……….If you want to, of course. It’s up to you.”

“Hmm. Pick out from where exactly? You got that all figured out too?”

“Well, Jesse was clueing me in about this place he knows of called Pets Are People Too. It’s kind of a sanctuary for strays or pets people have to give up. A shelter-type joint, I guess. But real vets work there, and the animals are supposed to be all healthy and neutered and vaccinated and all that important shit.”

“So it’s free too?”

“Free too. The place runs on donations. See, Lance and Jesse tried to compensate me for Scottie, but I said fuck that. No way. It wasn’t a money thing. So they’re making a contribution to that shelter instead. Cool, eh?”

JC’s gaze roams over Justin’s face as he muses silently. “So we could go there and maybe find a pet I could maybe get along with better?”

“Maybe so. If that’s what you want. You know I’m game.” Justin smiles and kisses JC’s warm, pulsating temple.

“Maybe that would be nice. I mean we can at least just go and take a peek……….I mean it’s, you know, really fucking quiet around here now. Without all of, well, you know, his little noises echoing everywhere.”

Justin laughs and embraces JC again. He understands it all. “Sure, baby. I miss him a little too……….We’ll go tomorrow and have a look-see.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, J.”

“So? They’re open 24/7. And Jesse even gave me the name of a kick-ass vet who volunteers her services there on the weekends. Dr. Marie North. He says she can hook us up if we swing in there.”

“Cool. Then let’s drop by and check her out.”

“We’re there, baby.”

“That sucks he crapped on your Nikes, babe. I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s not big. I can always buy more.”

“And now what the hell is for dinner? I’m famished. That being-a-parent thing is fucking exhausting,” JC whines, his mouth pressed to the large, throbbing vein in Justin’s throat, his tongue inching out to swipe the sweet-briny skin covering it.

“C’mon, babe. I’ll fix you.”

“Yeah. You always do.”



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