Part 8


“Woo-hoo! Look at you! Sharp-dressed man out on the town. Looking good, buddy.” Lance whistles kudos as he sidles up to JC at the *InStyle* AIDS Foundation Oscar Party that evening and gives JC a careless, casual hug.

“Dude! Whassup?” JC laughs a little nervously and silently hopes one of those cocktail pimps breezes over his way soon ‘cause he’s hurting bad for a drink. Damn, wouldn’t some alcohol loosen him up and give him that bit of a buffer to be able to tolerate this madness a little better? Maybe he should’ve just stayed home. Fuck. “You like the threads?”

“Man, you look hot. No joke.”

“Thanks,” JC says succinctly and turns his blushing smile down to the floor. If he’d known previously that Lance was going to be here tonight, he’d forgotten all about it. He’s honestly surprised to see him.

“Oh, and hey. James Bond called. Wants his x-ray-vision shades back,” Lance chuckles heartily, his eyes sparkly and his cheeks glowing a lovely shade of primrose pink.

JC figures *he* hasn’t had any trouble flagging down the cocktail-pimping folks. Hell, Lance is probably well on his way to oblivion by this point. Boy doesn’t waste any time with the juice. He’s serious. Yeah, Lance lives on 80-proof and acetaminophen. Haha.

“Bite me, Lance.”

Lance laughs some more and slaps at JC’s well-attired upper arm. His bright-white teeth luster with his full grin. Baiting the lurking photographers. “Aww, C, I’m kidding. You really do look good. The Secret Agent Man thing works on you, man. No lie.”

“Well, um, it wasn’t me. This is J’s doings. He dressed me, you know,” JC shrugs.

And then he adds in his mind only: *Yeah, after he UNdressed me and nailed me to the steamy wall in the shower. Damn, does he have some fucking stamina and dead-aim driving power and hip movement of death or what? All puns intended, baby. Fuck. Slick, hard tile never felt so damn good pressed against the ol’ cheek……….while something else was pressing against the ol’ prostate.*

Back in the real world, Lance looks him over again approvingly. “Well, gotta hand it to Timberlake then. He’s got some style sense. That’s for sure. You’re killing it tonight, man.”

JC squints, though no one can see it behind the blackest opaque sunglasses in the universe. “Dude, are you trying to hit on me?” He laughs. Or, rather, does a splendid imitation of a laugh.

“Um, right. And have him kick my ass all over southern California? I think not.”

“Well, you look good yourself. Is this a ‘boy’ night for you or a ‘girl’ night? Did you bring Jesse with you or one of those blond-n-busty Bass Hags you keep a trusty little collection of for when you want to play fucking straight?”

Lance giggles uncontrollably. “Bass Hags. C, you’re nuts. You should try hanging with chicks more often. They’re loads of fun.”

JC shakes his head while glancing around for either a waiter or a nearby bar. He’s growing impatient — no, make that downright fucking perturbed and tormented — with this cold-sober, jittery state of mind. “Um, no thanks. My Will-and-Grace phase with Tara was enough, man. Fuck that. Don’t need it.”

“Okay. Whatever, JC. Be surly if you want. Doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it. And, by the way, I brought Claire tonight as my date. Jesse’s out with Evan and those clowns. We’ll hook up later.”

“Claire.” JC wrinkles his brow, thinking. “Oh. The least bimbo-ish one. Yeah, she’s all right. For a girl.”

“JC, you’re impossible,” Lance snickers and bounces around anxiously where he stands.

“Dude. Those bleach-bottle chicks you drag around and show off are, well, skankified. You need to wake the hell up.” JC makes a perfect “yuck” face and laughs. “You always had better taste in men than you did the ladies.”

“Yeah, yeah. You *would* say that, JC.”

JC laughs again, smugly. “Yep. I just did.”

“Brilliant.” Lance rolls his sea-green eyes like a pro. “Fake relationship advice from the guy who refuses to have one. Perfect.”

“Man, what does a dude have to do to get a fucking drink around this place anyway?” JC changes the subject to the more important one in his head.

And, magically, smoothly, Lance secures the attention of someone to take a beverage order for them. When JC mutters that he’d like a vodka martini, Lance leans in to the waiter and whispers, “Yeah, and he’d like that shaken, not stirred, thank you,” before breaking up in another fit of giggles.

“You. Are. Such. An. Ass,” JC hisses quietly when the waiter skitters off.

“Yeah, but an entertaining one.”

“Um huh. Barrel of fucking laughs. I know I’m entertained,” JC says and waits for Lance to finish scanning the large room packed with roaming celebrities before he speaks again. And when he does speak, it’s low-toned and gentle.

“Hey, man. I’m really sorry, you know, about Jackson. Sorry you had to lose him. I know how special he was to you. It got to me too. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Lance’s eyes soften, maybe even mist over a little, and his smile fades slightly. “Thanks, C. It’s been tough. And I still miss him. But I’m coping……….Jess helps. A ton.”

“I wanted to call, but I didn’t know, um, how to say —”

Lance throws up his hand to stop JC’s stammerings. “It’s okay. I understand. And I got your e-mail. It was awesome. Thanks.”

“Cool. And so how’s that obnoxious little beastmaster Scottie?”

And Lance is back to the snickering stage again. “Yeah, Justin said you and the puppy weren’t, um, ‘jelling,’ I think is how he put it.”

JC flips his shades up onto his head and rolls his eyes while Lance hands him his just-delivered cocktail from the waiter’s tray. “Hey, I didn’t hate on the little guy, but, dude. Hello? Is your whole place, like, wrecked to hell yet?”

Lance laughs knowingly. “Man, he’s a handful. Full of energy. Never a dull moment with that one, I tell ya. But he’s great! And the other dogs love him to pieces. He’s fitting right in. We adore him. But you know? I can totally see how he wouldn’t be *your*, well, type of house pet.”

JC sighs. “He didn’t exactly endear himself to me while he was around, but Justin loved the hell out of him. And, you know, at the end of the day, I sort of regretted seeing Monster Mutt go. Sort of.”

“Justin’s a dog kind of guy, C. You? Not so much.”

“Yeah. I know.” *Fucking wonderful. And now we don’t have a dog anymore. We’ve got a kitten.* “And now we’ve got a kitten,” he finishes aloud.

Lance’s eyes widen, and his face lights up, a little flushed. “Seriously? A kitty? No way!”

“Yep. Way, man. A ‘bitty kitty,’ as he calls her. We picked her up at that homeless pet joint you guys turned us on to. She’s all black with blue eyes. Fucking gorgeous. I’ll send you a photo on the camera phone tomorrow. If I remember.”

“That’s awesome. A kitten seems more your speed anyway, JC, you being all cat-woman-like yourself.” Lance snickers, and JC shoots him a glare that he promptly ignores. “And that clinic rocks. I mean, for a clinic, you know. Doctor Marie is the best. Jesse’s crazy about her.”

“Yeah, she’s cool. Led me right to the kitten, like she knew just what I should get. And Calli, she’s kind of sweet on me. Follows me around everywhere, man. Like an angel……….But the thing is……….she doesn’t have much to do with J.”

*And that, if you’re keeping score here, folks, sucks. Really sucks. That lost, helpless look I saw in those sky-blue eyes of his today. Sucks. Sucks. Sucks. Out loud. You can probably hear it sucking over in fucking China.*

“Aww, she probably just got used to you first or something. Lemme guess. You’re kind of sweet on her too, right? Babying her and all that good stuff? She’ll come around. Give her time to warm up to him,” Lance assures, as if he’s now the world authority on pet-human relations.

“Man, I hope so,” JC whispers. “He’s home with her tonight. So maybe there’s something going on over there besides them ignoring each other. Maybe they’re ‘jelling.’” *Maybe.*

“And Justin was, like, WAY too generous giving Scottie to us. He didn’t want any kind of payback at all. Did he tell you that part?” Lance gushes happily, touching JC’s shoulder with ease, as if he hadn’t heard JC’s somber words. “We SO got lucky. Just what we needed after Jackson left. And he’s such a well-bred, fantastic little dog. HAD to be expensive.”

“So I hear,” JC finishes half of the vodka martini, relishing the promising burn as it goes down. “And that reminds me……….I’ve got to call Miss Babelicious — Lord, help me. I sound just like Justin. Bastard. — yeah, Miss Marie at the shelter,” he mumbles to himself.

Suddenly, he wants very badly to be away from here. He wants to be at home. With Justin and Calli.

“What’d you say, man? It’s getting loud in here. Damn.” Lance raises his deep voice over the dull grind of dance music coming from an adjoining room and leans closer to JC.

“I said I need to bounce here in a sec and see if I can find Sir Elton. Need to pay my respects and all that good shit before I bon voyage.”

“JC, you just got here,” Lance whines/scolds. “One more drink at least, man. C’mon. As sexy as you are tonight, damn. Show it off.”

JC looks around tiredly at the chaotic media field day surrounding them and huffs. *Boring-ass, pretentious jerk-offs. Not my scene at all……….What the hell time is it anyway?* Then, as Lance’s last words sink in, he squints at him again.

“Whatever, Lance. And, dude, if I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you’re wanting to get up on me and fuck me senseless so bad you’re hurting.”

Lance laughs smugly and rolls his eyes. “Right. Guess again, sweet thang. Been there. Done that.”

JC sneers and shoots him a middle finger. “Mouthy little bitch. Some things never change. Think you’re so cute, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Lance snickers. “You don’t?”

“Well, look. Here’s the thing. Find a stray photographer so we can get a shot of us together. The fans’ll love that shit. So will those wanks at Jive. And then I got to make my rounds and book.”

Lance smiles and winks. “Okay. That sounds cool. And I’ll be sure and give little Scottie a kiss from you, buddy.”

“Yeah, you do that. And then, I’m guessing, he’ll puke all over the best rug in your house.” JC upends his drink glass and smirks beautifully.

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

Justin, in a very different section of Los Angeles, is having a very different sort of evening. His begins the same as JC’s does……….Heated, slippery, slick, sliding sex………. tiny hot streams from the shower’s designer faucet water-falling over naked, pink-blistered, glistening skin of two connected muscled forms, soaking into their hair……….one toned and tensed male body melded around and shoving against, shoving *into* another toned and tensed male body……….large rough hands mapping and squeezing warm wet flesh and stroking fire over thick throbbing parts……….slightly smaller elegant hands plastered to the steamy tile wall with fingers slowly curling inward to palms at each sleek hit-the-right-spot thrust……….. gasped whimpers, growled moans, grunted curses, and guttural ahhhhhhh’s……….two lovers rocking and riding together, lost in the wet rhythm, wet intimacy they’ve created, nerve endings on fire and heat racing through veins despite the drenching downpour……….not speaking, only feeling……….moving, shuddering, finally releasing and spilling……….in time with each other.

“Fuck, Justin……….I didn’t think……….I’d ever stop……….fucking coming,” JC had panted, his forehead pressed to the tile now and his hands spread flat against it, bracing their joined weight.

“Holy bat-gasm, baby……….Me too,” Justin had hushed, slumped bonelessly over JC’s body, his cheekbone lying on JC’s spine.

“I think I love you, babe.”

Justin had attempted to giggle, but it had come out as a deep hum that vibrated all over JC’s still-bristling flesh. “Because I can make you feel this fucking tight?”

JC had constricted his inner muscles around Justin’s softening cock to emphasize *tight*. “And because of a thousand and twenty-nine other things too……….Mainly because I just do.”

“I love you too, Jace. Whether we’re doing this right here or laying together on the couch watching a flick or sitting in a stupid-ass meeting with Johnny and the rest of the guys……….Because I just do too.”

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

Not long after that, JC had been lying on his back on the bed, curls still damp and hanging to his bare shoulders, black cotton boxer briefs riding upward over his thighs to the hip joint as he pulled his legs up into twin upside-down V’s. He’d smiled, watching Justin leave the steamy bathroom and cross the bedroom silently in nothing but worn jeans that draped low on his hips.

“So let’s call for a pizza. What do ya say?”

“I thought you had a ‘commitment,’ babes.”

“Not for a couple of hours. It’s early, J. We can do dinner.”

“But, man, you’ll have a spread of caviar and truffles and smoked salmon and tenderloin and lobster and all that good shit to munch on later. You don’t want a fucking pizza.”

“Says fucking who? You? Um, wrong, J. I don’t want that crap. The ‘good shit’ is here, sweets. With you. Now toss me the phone. I’m ordering.”

Justin had sighed, grabbed a random T-shirt from the open armoire he’d been staring into, and finally turned to smile at JC across the room. At JC who, he’d known at that point, was doing this — this kind, loving compromise thing — all for him.

“Okay, baby. If you want a pizza, fine. But you don’t gotta.”

“Yes, I do. I’m, like, starved now after all that, um, showering. So stop being a pain in the bloody arse. Okay?”

Justin had laughed softly. “I dig it when you cuss in another language.”

“I know. That’s why I do it. Now where’s your damn cell? Do you want Gino’s or Puccini’s?”

“Gino’s has got better crust,” Justin had answered, easy and mellow, officially conceding, although he would have anyway, grabbing his tiny phone off the dresser and under-handing it over to the bed. “And extra jalapenos on my half, por favor.”

JC had cocked his head to the side slyly. “J, please. Like you’re not hot enough already.”

“Gimme a break! I said ‘on my half,’ didn’t I? Fuck me.” Justin had snickered feather-like again and absently scratched the top of one bare foot with the heel of the other.

“C’mere. And shut up. Punk.”

“Yo, where’s the princess, Jace?”

“She’s right here, babe. By the bed, keeping time. See?” JC had smiled bigger and raised his right eyebrow as he nodded toward the nightstand beside him where the kitten lay wrapped in a black half-moon against the electric warmth of the clock radio.

In the dim lamp light, Justin hadn’t noticed her. “Damn. Cats — kittens, I mean — get in the fucking weirdest places, don’t they?”

JC had stretched his legs out comfortably on the cool sheets. “She’s fine, J. C’mon. Over here.”

Justin had watched as the middle of her little body swelled and then deflated with her regular sleep-breathing rhythm. Then he’d flung the T-shirt to the floor and shuffled over to join JC on the bed. As he’d crawled across the firm mattress and settled down along the length of JC’s warm body, JC had found the number to Gino’s in the cell’s address book. Then, while JC had rung and described the pie they wanted, Justin had laced an arm over his waist and held him, nestling his head into JC’s side.

“Skip the double peppers, baby,” he’d murmured. “This is plenty hot enough for me. This is just right.”

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

“All right, just fucking quit it, Jace. Lemme fix this,” Justin had hissed with a vast reserve of patience some two hours later. “Stand still, damnit.”

They’d been standing face-to-face just inside their closet, in front of one of the floor-length mirrors. Justin had been adjusting JC’s overall dressy look in the Valentino pinstriped suit and shimmery platinum-blue shirt he’d picked out for him. Oh, and tightening that fucking red tie. JC had just HAD to have SOME variation of pink on his sexy body before he’d go out in public. Justin had rolled his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing? You said five minutes ago I looked damn fine,” JC had moaned and shaken his head. He’d been quite tired of Justin fussing over his clothes, “tweaking’ him, as Justin had put it.

“Stop fidgeting, Jace. I mean it. I will smack you upside your head if you don’t settle the fuck down.”

JC had broken up then in a body-shaking spasm of giggles. “You’ll fucking do WHAT? You and whose ARMY?”

“God. And you call *me* the immature punk. Stand up straight.”

JC had laughed wildly again, twisting away from Justin’s ministrations. “Sorry. I can’t, babe. The ‘straight’ bit. Won’t fucking work on me.”

Justin had stood back a step and smirked. “Fine. Look like a dumbass in front of all those cameras if you want. I was just trying to help. Fuck it.”

JC had tried to serious-up his face, had succeeded in toning the rambunctious guffaws down to a radiant grin, and pulled Justin into a light hug. “I’m just playing, babe. Loosen up. Why are you so stick-up-the-ass ill tonight?..........Look. I’m sorry. Fix me. I want to look good. Okay?”

Justin had leaned in and kissed his neck, lingering there at the smooth fresh-shaven flesh for many extra seconds and breathing in the light scent of the cologne JC had dabbed on. Then he’d stepped backward once again, just a little, looked JC over from head to toe, brushed a fleck of lint off his suit’s lapel, and rearranged a few errant dark curls in his hair. Then, after many more extra seconds of gazing, he’d whispered.

“You are so fucking……….gorgeous.”

“All thanks to you, sweets.”

“No. Wrong. I had nothing to do with it.” Justin had shaken his head quickly. “Just naturally. Gorgeous.”

“Stop, J. You’re making me blush,” JC had laughed and looked away for a second.

“And if you’ve *really* got a date, you’d better damn tell me, baby, ‘cause I *will* kill the motherfucker. I am NOT kidding.” Justin had pointed his finger at JC and grinned, kidding.

At that moment, Calli had come trotting into the closet to find out what she’d been missing. She’d stopped at their feet, dropped the spongy catnip toy she carried in her tiny mouth, and let out a single, soft meow. They both had glanced down at her. JC had smiled when her blue eyes locked on his equally blue ones.

“Whassup, baby girl? You wanna go and hit the town with me tonight, Calli? Check out this big ol’ shindig thrown by a big ol’ queer friend of your Daddy Justin’s?”

“She’s going to go psycho on me when you leave, baby. Like you’ve abandoned her or I’ve sent you away or something,” Justin had laughed. Just a little. He hadn’t even acknowledged the diss to Elton. Why bother? “I hope I’m still in one piece when you get back.”

“That’s bullshit, Justin. She’ll be fine. It’s only for a couple of hours. And she’s just a baby. Surely to fuck you two won’t get into THAT much trouble while I’m out.”

Calli had slowly blinked upward several times, glancing at each of them, finally landing on JC to stay. Then she’d peeped again, still very quietly. And Justin had grinned. He hadn’t heard her be so vocal to date.

“Yo, she must’ve seen your stylin’-n-profilin’ Grammy’s red-carpet interview, Jace. She wants to know if you’re tapping into any of those ‘where the beautiful people hang’ after-parties tonight.”

JC had snickered and turned to face Justin again. With his eyes, he’d smiled. “And you can tell her the answer to that is ‘no.’ The only after-party I’ll be kicking it at is right here……….where the only beautiful person I want to be with will be.”

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

After JC kisses him sweetly on the mouth (Lonnie standing behind them by the door in the kitchen, tapping his heavy foot and rolling his dark eyes) and leaves for the soiree thing that night, Justin feels the thick, suffocating regret seeping in and souring his outlook. Regret that he’s still in this crappy-ass mood — “stick-up-the-ass ill,” as JC had called him — and even more regret that he’d let it bust through into his afternoon/early evening time with JC, that he’d been a pissy bitch for no reason, that he hadn’t been able to fight it off or kick its fucking ass.

But once JC *is* gone and he’s left to mope around the gigantic quiet house all alone, he “epiphanizes” on why he’s restless and blue in the first place. With JC’s absence haunting around him, it’s all clear to him now.

His inner workings (psyche, soul, heart, libido) are already subconsciously dreading the inevitable point not too far in the future when he and JC will have to part company again and be separated for weeks at a time, existing on nothing more than the sounds of each other’s voice over the phone, pictures and hilarious-as-shit gossip on the Internet, and, of course, their own private memories of each other.

Their precious, well-guarded time together, for now, is running out. He’s going to Vancouver to film *Edison*, and JC’s hitting the road to show the world his fine ass and his superstar talents. Miles and miles, time zones and time zones between them.

*Fuck*.

Justin sighs and shuffles through the downstairs quarters of the house, thinking, but not very coherently. He remembers how Chris — chunky, hairy, inked troll that he is — loves to give him hell by the truckloads for being “such a whiny fucking woman” and missing JC like he always does.

Chris laughs evilly and rolls his dancing eyes as he says, “Dude, it’s just Jace. I know he’s sexy and all that, but grow a spine, you sappy fuck. You’re pathetic.”

And Justin always lowers his eyes and does the melancholy shrug and reminds him, “You’re not in love with him, Tricked-Out. You don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to share a life with him and then have to be without him, man. So step off. Got it?”

To that, Chris usually chuckles again and slings a friendly, supportive arm around Justin’s shoulder and carries him off for another distracting rum-and-Coke. “C’mon, little brother. I know just what you need.”

*Fuck. That. Shake it off……….Check your e-mail, dude. That’ll kill a little time.*

On his dreary way to the study, with a beer in his fist, he remembers the kitten and glances around for her. He hasn’t seen or heard her since JC took off, and he doesn’t figure that’s too unusual considering, hello, cats are known for being quiet and slinky. And he assumes she’s off hiding or prowling somewhere since there’s no JC around anymore to be near and adore.

“Calli, girl,” he whispers, calling her and peeking into rooms on the second floor now of this section of the house. (He absolutely refuses to refer to them as “wings” except when teasing JC about the gigantoid closet. “Sections” is much less showoffy-esque.)

“Where are you, angel baby? Don’t be scared, honey. I’m here. If you care.”

*And I’m betting you don’t.*

There’s not a hint of her anywhere that Justin can detect except for the small pink ribbon strewn out on the carpet in the library. JC had found it in the bedroom while he was getting dressed earlier and had bent to his knees to dangle it over the kitten. She’d rolled onto her back happily and batted and grabbed at the loose swinging end with all four of her paws, going at it frantically and energetically like her little life depended on it. Justin had smiled at the simple object giving her so much freaking amusement. He’d smiled at the way JC had laughed and laughed at her, at how she’d given him so much freaking amusement.

*Damn. The little booger must have wrestled with that fucking ribbon all the way up here. Girl ain’t afraid to get around when she wants.*

“Calli? Are you lost up in here, sweetie?” he calls out softly, again, hoping she’ll recognize his voice, guessing she won’t, reminding himself that, duh, she’s only been here at the crib for, like, a day and a half now.

*Chill out already. Jesus Q. Christ the Third. Give her a chance to learn you, dude.*

He drums his fingers impatiently on the desk, waiting for the PC to fire itself up when he turns it on — swallowing back a big ol’ gulp of the cold beer when he remembers how JC calls this “The Game Room Reloaded” rather than “the study” because, although there are at least two other official “game” rooms on the premises filled with Justin’s toys and gadgets, he ends up spending bucketfuls of time in this one, playing hard at various computer games, both online and off.

So what the hell. Maybe he’ll check out a little bit of that action when he’s finished deleting e-mail.

He has forty-eleven thousand messages waiting in his Inbox since he hasn’t logged on for several days now. (But fuck, he’d been busy, okay? With Scottie and with JC. Screw the WWW and all that crap when you have the golden chance to get “busy” with *that*. Haha.)

After he’s trashed all the penis-enlargement, generic-Viagra-online, and young-pink-hairless-pussy-XXX horseshit spam, he scrolls hurriedly through the others and finds one from Joey (superphukkah@yahoo.com) that has potential to be vaguely interesting. Vaguely.

It has photos attached, so Justin takes himself another mouthful of beer as he taps the down-arrow key and gazes at, predictably, new shots of beautiful Miss Bri. He grins and awwwws and whispers that she’s “such a doll” to nobody else in the room, until one of the pictures rolling up on the screen contains Kelly as well.

Justin stops and laughs spastically. “Damn, girl. Atkins could be your friend, I’m just saying. Think about it.”

Just then, just when he’s so intently focused on the message and about to compose a typical smartass reply to superphukkah, a sudden whir of fur, as black as night outside, comes flying out of a nowhere abyss and lands with a jolting pounce directly on the keyboard in front of Justin. The computer burps a couple of angry beeping sounds, and this spooks the surprise-attack intruder and causes her small, dark, ruffled body to scramble over keys and then leap fiercely away from the threatening noise. When she does, the half-full beer bottle is knocked to the floor, spilling the foamy contents on the carpet.

“Holy hell motherFUCK!” Justin shoves the chair backward and jumps three feet into the air, his heart pounding from the unexpected fright. “Fucking kitten scared the bee-fucking-jesus outta me! God almighty!”

The PC monitor shows the blue error screen of death now, and he looks around for his aerodynamic feline visitor while he’s trying to catch his breath again. But she’s vanished again into the same thin air she’d sprung from.

“Calli? Where’d ya run to, babe? You’re not hurt, are ya?”

There’s not a smidgeon of an answer from her. Not sight nor sound. Justin growls and hisses when he steps into a cool puddle of liquid with his bare feet as he leans forward to switch the computer off. He’s had enough.

“Shit. To hell with this.”

After he soaks up what he can of the messy beer from the carpet with a towel from the adjoining bathroom, he ambles downstairs again, tosses the bottle in the garbage, and grabs another from the fridge. Hell, for that little freaky escapade he’d just survived, he reaches for slice of leftover pizza too and then heads for the sanctuary of the den. Taking care not to crunch any kitty toys underfoot, he makes his way to the chaise lounge, plops down, stretches his legs out, and clicks on the TV with a handy remote.

It’s another two hours or so later when he’s reminded that he’s not entirely alone in the house.



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