Part 1


I took a walk around the world

To ease my troubled mind

I left my body laying somewhere

In the sands of time

I watched the world float to

The dark side of the moon

After all, I knew it had to be

Something to do with you

I really don’t mind what happens now and then

As long as you’ll be my friend at the end

 

If I go crazy, then will you still

Call me Superman

If I’m alive and well, will you

Be there holding my hand

I’ll keep you by my side with

My superhuman might

                        — 3 Doors Down

 

 

“So you wanna hit a club later on? Have some drinks, maybe do a little dancing?”

 

Justin asked his short series of questions softly, almost hesitantly, and watched the person sitting across from him. The one he preferred to call his “partner” or maybe “significant other” or even “better half” rather than “boyfriend” — because, well, he was certainly no longer a boy, this one, and he was definitely far more to Justin now than a mere friend.

 

Ah, and then there it was. The slight shift of the angular shoulders, barely noticeable, but Justin caught it. He’d been waiting for it, expecting it. As usual. Same with the quick little twitch of the dark-pink bottom lip that came next, which Justin could have easily predicted.

 

His “companion” used all of the beautiful parts of his body to communicate, not just his voice. On stage in front of thousands, as well as in Justin’s private audience of one. And Justin figured he was more familiar with that lovely language than anyone on the planet. Hell, he’d damn well *better* be.

 

“Um, I don’t know. Aren’t you sorta beat? After all that hard work on the shoot and then the long plane ride?” The silk-like voice drifted out into the air as the up-tilting of the dark head gave Justin access to eyes the color of a clear sky on a late afternoon in mid-August.

 

He basked in the intense, focused glow and shrugged. “Eh, I’m tired. Dawg-ass tired. But this crazy, raw adrenaline’s cranking me up, man. Feel like I gotta do *something*. Know what I mean?”

 

“Well, there are other ways to burn off excess energy, babe.”

 

The quiet, affectionate name and the sly, one-sided smile created a tiny fluttering in Justin’s aorta. And a warm surge in his cock. He grinned in return.

 

“I figured I’d worn your fine ass out already. After that fuck-n-suck marathon this afternoon.”

 

The shiny, coffee-brown curls re-arranged themselves in the mop as the head shook slowly. “Jesus, Ju. And you kiss me with that mouth?”

 

“You know it.” Justin laughed as his right leg bounced giddily. “All the hell over that sexy body. And you know you get off on it, C. Don’t play all innocent.”

 

After Justin had completed his practically-nonstop two-day shoot for “Like I Love You” in Hollywood the day before, the two of them had hired their usual private jet to go from one coast to another. They now sat facing each other out on the enclosed, mostly-secluded balcony of the apartment they sublet from Eytan when in Manhattan. A light rain fell between the buildings around them and danced off everything with a steady rhythm, and random flashes of far-away lightning occasionally revealed heavy, slow-moving clouds in the distance.

 

JC rolled his eyes at Justin’s last comment and then cast them back downward to the large white drawing pad in his lap, the smile still playing around his mouth. “A real charmer, you are. You know that? Even in your little MTV Diary show. Your chance to be your own man, and there you go leaking in the cuss words like you done sneaked away from Mama Lynn and Daddy Wright and can be a bad-ass boy now……….Trash-talking brat in the hood. Lord, help us all.”

 

Justin snickered again, at the faux scolding tone and the small pink tip of JC’s tongue as it quickly peaked out to dab at the full top lip. “Hey, that IS, like a cable channel, man.”

 

“Okay. Whatever. My boy’s all grown up now. And too damn cute too.” JC chuckled and concentrated on his project at hand, the sketching.

 

Justin huffed, faking frustration. “Look now. Stop busting my balls, sweetness. You ‘sposed to be helping me through this brand new flying-solo gig. Not dawging me out.”

 

“You know I’m here for you, Ju. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

 

“You’d better NOT is all I gotta say,” Justin told him and stretched out his long leg to nudge JC’s bare foot. “I’ll hunt you down, man, because……….”

 

JC’s hand, holding a fire-orange pencil, swept across the page in front of him with colorful flair. Listening, yes. Glancing up, no.

 

“Because?”

 

“Because, well, you’re my good luck charm,” had come tumbling out of Justin’s mouth hastily.

 

But what had been resounding in his head captured the real, on-the-spot truth far more precisely: *Because it’s your warmth I want to feel next to me every night and your serenity that makes me sane in the chaos around us all the time……….Because I need you……….so much*

 

And, as if he’d willed them to, the smoky-blue eyes rose up to meet him again. One thick ebony wave of hair fell from its messy tuck behind the ear.

 

“Okay. Cool. I’ll stay.” JC winked at him with that faint smile still intact and then went back to his artistic meanderings in his lap.

 

Justin watched him silently for a few moments, absorbing as much as he could of the strong, unpretentious peacefulness his lover gave off. To maybe slow down the spiraling stray thoughts in his mind, the beginnings of anxiety that would soon creep in with the surrounding mega-hype over the new CD — or, as referred to in some circles, the new “joint”.

 

“Hey. Whatcha drawing?”

 

“A sunset.”

 

“A sunset? Are you fucking kidding me? Dude, only you would envision a sunset in the damn driving rain.” Justin giggled and nudged the foot again.

 

JC sighed patiently, undaunted. “Not a sunset *here*, dumbass. Use that over-active imagination of yours, love.”

 

“‘Kay. Hit me with some clues.”

 

“Go back a coupla months……….Remember that weekend in Key West? Just you and me? Dark shades and stupid hats? Quiet and privacy?”

 

“Aw, yeah.” Justin slumped backward, letting his head rest on the chair and recalling. “That was like Paradise. Craploads of dark rum and lotsa kick-ass sex in the bungalow after hours on the beach……….Damn……….I know for sure which one was hotter……….You beat the damn sun hands-down, sweetness.”

 

“How ‘bout the sunsets? Remember how slow and vibrant? Glowing and beautiful? Shades of the horizon changing every few seconds as we watched time move in techni-color? How it was enough to get us high, just sitting there and looking at such a naturally gorgeous phenomenon and feel so together?”

 

Justin closed his eyes for a heartbeat and let out a loud, deep breath. For a second, he’d gone back there, to those sweet days they’d shared at that locale.

 

“It was awesome, Jace. The whole weekend. Just us. Like we’d found a little love nest or something we could hide out in.”

 

“Yeah, exactly. So romantic,” JC whispered, almost as if to himself alone. His hand brushed over the paper as he saw the scene in his mind all over again. “And sometimes I go back to that weekend when the madness rushes right up in our faces.”

 

Justin rolled his head around on the cushion to see him better. “And you recreate our sunsets?”

 

“Yes. I try to.”

 

“Can I see?”

 

“Of course. When I’m done.”

 

“I love you, JC. Ya know?”

 

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I feel like doing this. A domino effect, ya know.”

 

Justin pondered that last comment as he hopped up on his feet and leaned in to attach his lips to the side of JC’s neck for a sloppy-wet taste of the salty skin. On his way to the kitchen to fetch them another beer, he determined that the “domino effect” — at least in this case — was a good thing. One positive something triggering another.

 

*I love JC, and so JC creates. He feels loved. He feels inspired. And that makes me love him more……….Circular domino effect. Cool*

 

And what could be wrong with that simple process? What? What?

 

“My turn,” JC said as he grabbed Justin’s arm on his return and pulled him down to plant a sucking/biting kiss on Justin’s throat.

 

Justin snickered and backed away. But not before grazing his beer-dampened mouth over JC’s. “Hmm. You’re the bad boy, yo.”

 

“Thanks for the brewski. And I’m not that bad, yo.”

 

Justin plopped back down in the chair across from him and laughed. Always laughing.

 

“I guess I can live with ya no matter how ya are. Since you’re so cute sometimes. Know what I’m saying?”

 

JC glanced up briefly and swigged from the cold bottle he held. “Jeez. Thanks for the vote of confidence, baby.”

 

“Aw, I’m just playing. So are we gonna hit the town or what, sweetness?”

 

JC contorted his face into a grimace and sighed again. “I’m not exactly in the mood for all that loud noise and the smelly people and whatnot. But you go ahead if you want. You’re all wired and edgy. Go shake your pretty ass and have a few cocktails. You deserve it.”

 

“Not without you, C,” Justin whined and puffed out his bottom lip in a perfect pout. “That would suck.”

 

“Ju, don’t be a baby. Now c’mon. Go out and have some fun……….Hey, why don’t ya give Marcella a ring. She’ll go with you.”

 

An acidic scowl broke across Justin’s smoothly-chiseled face before he could stop it. “Marcella? What do I want with HER? That’s YOUR ho. Besides, da bitch hates me anyway. And don’t even try and tell me you don’t see those ‘eat shit’ looks she gives me when I’m around.”

 

Switching colored pencils, JC continued to draw. “She doesn’t hate you, babe. She’s just envious that you’ve got what she can never have.”

 

“Your dick.”

 

JC looked up, unfazed by the familiar crass honesty. Highlights deep in the blue orbs shimmered. “And my love. Don’t worry about her. She’s nothing but a friend to hang out with. You know that.”

 

Justin’s nose twitched. “A friend who’s always got her grabby little hoochie hands all over you,” he snarled out in a gravelly whisper.

 

“Jealousy isn’t very attractive on you, sweetheart. And I already told you she means zilch to me. You’ve got my heart. Only you.”

 

“Fine,” Justin huffed petulantly. “But I’m not clubbing with her skinny ass. No fucking way.”

 

JC smiled at him, attempting to dispel the storm clouds. Also familiar. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m a dumbass.”

 

“No, you’re not. I’m just mental.”

 

“You’re not mental.” JC leaned across to rub his hand down Justin’s denimed leg. “You’re just stressed out and tense. You’ve been working too hard, pushing yourself for too long now. You need to burn off some steam and loosen up. Going out and ‘getting rowdy,’ as you say so adorably, would prob’bly do you some good, baby.”

 

“Maybe.” Elegantly, Justin shrugged his broad shoulders. “I was just hoping you’d come along with me. I wanted to be with you.”

 

As JC sat back and picked up his pad again, Justin felt the warmth of his touch fading far too quickly. *Not enough. Can I have more? Or does that make me greedy?* The sounds of the endless light rainfall drummed in his ears. Something feverish and prickly sneaked its way ominously through his bloodstream, building a dark pressure against his veins.

 

Unsure of where this frenzied, jittery nervousness had come from, he also didn’t have one hint about how to get rid of it. Was it just fatigue or something more threatening? Should it be released or satisfied? What he did know, however, was that he’d have to do something soon before it raced to a peak and boiled over dangerously.

 

And so what JC said next was very much akin to standing in a pool of gasoline and dropping a lit match.

 

“I’ll be here when you get back, babe. And anyway, Lance is going to buzz me later so we can finalize plans for Houston on Tuesday. I need to hang around for his call.”

 

Justin wasn’t quite sure about how many (or more like how few) bitter curse words screamed silently in his head before the rolling wall of bright red flames washed over him and instantly consumed the weak leash he’d had on his self-control. All he saw and felt for a moment was the searing crimson of his tsunami temper.

 

“What the fuck? You’re standing me up for LANCE?”

 

JC stared at him, not yet comprehending the sudden outburst. “I’m not standing you up for anybody. What are you talking about? I told you yesterday he was calling tonight. What’s the problem?”

 

“And that’s why you want me outta here then? So you can fucking talk to him in private?”

 

“What?” JC squinted, more and more confused. “It was YOUR idea to go out, Justin. Not mine.”

 

“But you kept on at me to go, to just get the hell outta here. So you could have Bass all to yourself.”

 

JC flung his pad of paper to the floor beside his chair. Clearly, he was making an effort to stay rational here so as to not make the situation worse. And, clearly, he wasn’t doing very well at it.

 

“Look, Justin. I’m not arguing with you about Lance or anything else tonight. We talked about this, about me visiting him while he’s back from Moscow. You assured me you’re okay with it. It’s just two days.”

 

“And one fucking night.”

 

“Oh, for chrissakes! You’re totally off the hook now!” JC threw his hands in the air and let the palms fall and smack against his thighs. “What are you trying to say? Lance and I are OVER! Been over for what now? Two years? Do you honestly think I’m screwing around on you, Justin? Do you? Because if you do, that will really piss me the hell off. To think you don’t trust me after all this time together. That’s whack.”

 

Justin glared out into the dark rain, seeing nothing. “You’d rather stay here and talk to him than go some place with me. Fuck it,” he growled.

 

“That’s your answer? ‘Fuck it’? What does THAT mean? No, wait. I’m not doing this with you. You’re wound up and tired and freaking out over nothing. I’m not gonna fight with you like this.”

 

“Hmm. Didn’t see THAT coming,” Justin sneered.

 

JC sighed, exasperated. “Justin, if you wanna sit here and scream at me like a spoiled kid, then fine. Knock yourself out. But I think what you need to do is track down your posse — did I get that right? — and go somewhere to clear your head. We can talk about it later.”

 

“Fuck you, JC. You’re not my damn father.”

 

“No, I’m sure as hell not. But *somebody* needs to beat your adolescent ass for you right now.”

 

Justin stood and towered over JC in the shadows of the balcony. Quietly, he hissed his response. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, babe. I’m getting outta your face like you want me to. Enjoy your evening as much as I fucking plan to enjoy mine.”

 

“Justin! The hell?”

 

If he’d been given an answer, JC would have elaborated: *What the hell happened here? What’d we do wrong to fuck up the good time we were having? Why? Why?*

 

But all he received was the slamming of the apartment’s front door 10 minutes later. After Justin had re-wardrobed and charged out into the night.

 

For two hours, JC sat in the same chair and hardly moved, just listened to the wilting sadness in the constant downpour outside and wondered why it had sounded so much more pleasant and comforting when he hadn’t been alone on the balcony. He remained still and pensive until his cell phone came to life and jarred him at midnight, 11 p.m. in Houston.

 

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

 

At 2:30 a.m. when Justin still hadn’t returned to the apartment, JC poured himself one more shot of Crown Royal and decided to try his cell phone. Okay, he admitted to himself. He was worried sick about this punk asshole he loved so frighteningly much.

 

And he knew Lance would have encouraged him to as well if he’d spilled his guts to him in their phone conversation earlier. Now that they were just best friends again and had somehow survived a bad breakup. Lance had always been there for him to lean on and cry to during the few fights he and Justin had ever had. Lance would have known how to handle this.

 

“Reach out to him, JC. Find him. Sounds like he’s running scared of something. Help him even if he doesn’t know he needs help.”

 

JC hadn’t burdened Lance with his affairs-of-the-heart problems this time, though. Christ, Lance had plenty enough controversy on his own plate to fret over at this point in the game, with the space flight funding ordeal and all. He could live without JC’s petty angst.

 

JC knew, however, that he’d have to resolve this crap with Justin by Tuesday or else get himself a life-like mask. Otherwise, Lance would surely see it all over him in two seconds flat.

 

“What up?” was yelled into the phone when JC finally got an answer after at least 12 rings. Thumping dance music roared in the background.

 

JC rolled his eyes and breathed deeply for composure. Just frigging wonderful. And appropriate too. Good ol’ Trace Ayala. What a damn surprise. JC had absolutely no doubt in his mind at all that, if he and Justin ever carried out their vague plans of a commitment ceremony, Trace would haunt the backdrop of every fucking photo taken. Justin’s hired shadow.

 

“Hey, man. It’s JC. Where’s Ju?” *And why the hell are you answering his phone? You his secretary now too?*

 

“Uh, well, he’s here somewhere, dude. It’s, like, way crowded in here. Bodies every-fucking-where.”

 

“Where’d you guys decided to party?” *And do I REALLY want to know?*

 

“Spa, man. Where else?”

 

*Duh, Chasez. You RE-tard. Could you, like, borrow some fucking hipness from somebody cool?*

 

JC closed his eyes, going for calm, trying to ignore the attitude that didn’t really surprise him. “Ah. Guess I shoulda known.”

 

“Better yet, guess you shoulda been here, bro. Why don’t you sling on a little black-dress number and scoot on down here? You’re blowing off all the damn fun.”

 

JC smiled at the comebacks he knew Justin would fire off at that last comment. But still, the calm was beginning to fail him.

 

“Canya just get Justin for me, Trace? I called HIS phone to talk to HIM. Know what I’m saying?”

 

“Whoa! ‘Scuze me then, man! And don’t let the panties be bunching up. Stay cool. Just for you, I’ll march my ass right out there on that jam-packed dance floor and rescue my boy from his slither-and-grind partners if that’s whatcha want, C.”

 

“Did you say ‘partners’?”

 

“Yep. Some dude and some chick. All three all up on each other. Kinda sexy, if ya ask me, bro.”

 

“And you’re just *watching*? Damnit, Trace! Aren’t you supposed to keep an eye on him and reminding him ‘bout the damn macho image he’s gotta uphold in public? You’re just standing there and letting him dance all over some other guy?”

 

Trace laughed. “Dude, I’ll be the ‘flame’ guard for you two all you want. But this show ain’t fairy. It’s hot as hell. You should SEE this shit. Live fucking soft porn……….although I’d bet millions on certain body parts in the threesome not being ‘soft’ right now, if ya know what I’m saying. Haha.”

 

Trace giggled over the din of noise in the club. And JC grit his back teeth, desperately fending off the mental image of Justin bumping and grinding with another “dude.”

 

“You know what, Trace?”

 

“What, JC?”

 

“You should try downloading some class and, oh yeah, maybe even a personality off the fucking Internet. You might seem much more like a real person then. Asshole.”

 

“Look, man. You wanna have a lover’s beef with J, then have a lover’s beef with J. But don’t take that shit out on me. It ain’t my fault, ya know.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” JC forcefully swallowed down the clump in his throat. “Just watch out for him. I’m counting on you for that.”

 

“Hey, don’t I always?”

 

JC pressed the No button on his phone and wanted to hurl it across the room into the huge mirror that stared back at him. But he didn’t. He refrained.

 

Instead, he used it to ring Jake, his bodyguard and assistant, and tell him what he wanted arranged immediately. Jake would make it all happen, with no questions asked.

 

And, in the meantime, JC grabbed his notebook and pen and sat down to write a note of explanation. Justin could read it tomorrow morning. After he woke up, sobered up, and wised up to the fact that he was now all alone in the apartment in NYC.



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