And, baby, I know just what you need JC adored blueberry strudel. Because it, like a lot of things in his daily life, reminded him of Justin. Oozing syrupy-blue and so, so sweet. Maybe sometimes a bit buttery-flaky delicious. And always topped off with that creamy-white splattered frosting that JC could never seem to get enough of as it dripped and sizzled on his lapping tongue. He savored a few last lecherous mouthfuls of one as he sat cross-legged in the middle of their king-sized bed (the one they shared in JC’s LA crib) and drank in delectable images of his Justin from a smorgasbord of recent popular magazines he had spread out around him — one of his favorite pastimes……….adoring and lusting over the celestial loveliness that went with the earthly name of Timberlake………. There was the “Teen People” that JC hadn’t been able to resist buying simply because his boy had looked so hot and butch on the cover in one of his Harley T-shirts and those huge, rough hands balanced so innocently on his leather belt, thumbs tucked inside the jeans, strategically covering his crotch, his head tilted downward as if to tease, “Want it? Come and get it.” Then came the “Entertainment Weekly” shoot with the sloppy white dress shirt and loose-hanging skinny, black tie where Justin’s caught in a genuine mid-guffaw like Chris had just told him something idiotic such as, “No, no, no, man. Cheerios are NOT donut seeds, bimbo.” JC had even picked up “US Weekly” — the one on which Justin had graced the cover alone (without the nastiness of former prop Britney) — because the strand of turquoise JC had given him as a Christmas gift a year ago was colorfully close-up and prominent in that shot. As it was again on that breath-stealing “Rolling Stone” cover. Oh, fuck. Shirtless, shaved chest; toned, muscled abs; and the flat stomach with streaks of veins rippling out on the lower abdomen just at the top of his unbuttoned white trousers where the darker, courser hairs could barely be seen before they crept down further toward what JC knew as heaven between Justin’s thighs; lickable, bitable, savorable planes and ridges and nipples. JC was well acquainted with the beautifully masculine terrain. He’d navigated over it at many speeds on many occasions. And he didn’t really mind millions of subscribers admiring this much of it too. Not as long as the hidden-from-view parts were on display for himself only. Haha. The sweet “Seventeen” shoot had been done out in the desert, as JC remembered. He hadn’t been there, but he could easily imagine that he had when he stared at the printed pages. Sweaty, gritty Justin. In dirty boots. Straddling motorcycles………. Damn him and that obsession with the bikes. Those dangerous, unpredictable, loud fuckers creeped the bee-jesus out of JC. But he couldn’t deny the equally dangerous, unpredictable, and loud stirrings that whipped up in his blood when faced with visions of Justin manhandling one. Damn. That was HOT. Hot like the cover of that “Seventeen” mag………. Justin grinning with surreal gleaming-alabaster teeth and crystalline-blue eyes. Stubbly reddish whiskers on the tanned, sloping jaw line. Whew. JC felt the warmth seep off that visual image and spread into his lap, heating and swelling the flesh there. This specimen of male, his very own heart mate, was incredibly handsome. Without a doubt. And here laid out before JC were pages on pages on pages to prove it. Even on the front of “Details” when they’d tried to make Justin look avant-garde hip edgy-cool with the black vest, white sleeveless shirt, and yet another thin black tie. He hadn’t been too thrilled with the result (“Fuck, man. Couldn’t they queer me up a little MORE?”) But JC had found the different slant quite stimulating. The full pink lips doing their sultry pout on the cover, the blurred crotch-grabbing table-of-contents pic, and those black/white bare-torso, oh-so-rugged boxing shots inside. Yes, JC had no problem with those at all. Not one bit. His hardening cock was evidence enough of that. He rubbed his palm over it slowly and moaned. Just so damn tempting………. Ah, “The Advocate.” *Coolest Straight People of 2002, Starring Justin Timberlake*. Turning-on-both-sexes-at-once attractive, defiantly crossed arms, seductive smirk and all. JC hadn’t been able to stop laughing madly at THAT gorgeous irony, he remembered now. And he’d been so proud of his lover for taking the offer to do a magazine that caters to gays and for standing up to their cheeky Q/A interview, even playing into their assessment that his “Arena Homme” shoot had been homo-erotica at its best. Haha. Their own cover was erotic enough — bulging biceps, tight white muscle-tee, low-slung belted jeans, and another glimpse of that veined taut abdomen with its beckoning bristly hairs. JC leaned backward on the stack of pillows, slipped his hand down inside his shorts, and wrapped it around his growing erection. Gripping gently with the sleek combo of slender fingers and smooth palm, he moved the grasp slowly up and down and reached for the “Vibe” magazine Justin had donned the cover of. The black/white casual shots in this one of Justin in those white cowboy boots never failed to drive JC wild with lust. The mere mental vision of his boyfriend standing behind him, bending JC over the nearest table, dropping both their jeans to their ankles, and slamming into JC while holding his hips and wearing only those boots was sufficiently vivid to get JC off every time. But he wasn’t ready to shoot his wad yet. He still had the weirdly tinted but lovely Italian “Vogue” issue to peruse and feast on. Casual, at-home Justin. JC’s stroke pace along his cock sped up slightly when his gaze fell on the image of Justin standing in the kitchen and slurping cereal and white, frothy milk from a bowl. That one was a hot, hot winner. His grip tightened around the hard length more as his other hand flipped through the pages of “Interview,” “Maxim’s Blender,” “Twist,” and a couple of others he always added to the pile — Justin looking sexy-sleepy as he slumps into a corner and cradles a cup of much-needed hot coffee between his thighs; Justin in clinging-wet, desperately translucent light shirts that invite a slow peeling off; Justin in a profile shot, wearing a dark football jersey and leaning his forehead against a jukebox, angsty and brooding; Justin curved beautifully into an almost perfect human “U,” sitting with his back to a wall, bare feet propping up his long, fluid legs, a heavy silver chain dangling off the rounded hips and ass that tight black denim molds around and hugs like an ebony velvet glove. But, oh, it was “The Face” that was his absolute, um, hands-on favorite. JC groaned and pumped himself while gawking at the androgynously “beautiful freak” on the cover, decked out in a flamboyant dress shirt that screamed in pinks and purples. He could almost taste those luscious candy-pink lips and feel their plump juiciness pillowing around his cock s they slid down over it and encased it in their hot suction. Gently, JC flickered the tip of his thumb over the leaking opening at the head of his aching organ and the brushed the warm moisture to slick up the length as he stroked it. And it didn’t take much more of the tight, up-and-down-squeezing massage to detonate the reddened, elongated missile — the sight of Justin’s broad, freckled, tattooed back, right arm raised and reaching, with a hint of butt crack at the bottom of the page. Acres of salty-sweet skin JC had leaned over and licked and kissed at a ton of times as he’d slid between those firm ass cheeks into a hot, snug passage that swallowed him in and closed around him. “Ahhhhh, yesssss, fuck……….Yessssss, damn,” he moaned with his eyes clamped shut and pumped himself into a frenzied explosive release that wracked shudders throughout his body and dumped a fistful of hot, thick goo all over his shorts. “Shit,” he whispered, his chest moist and heaving. “That was intense as hell.” When he’d regained some blood flow in his limbs, he crawled over the sea of Justin porn mags and off the bed to find some fresh boxers. Then he sat back down in bed, craving another blueberry strudel now, and took in, once again, all the sexy covers on which his baby had been displayed. “Yo, Chasez. Whatcha UP to, man? Whacking off to J’s pics?” JC flinched, startled out of his post-fireworks reverie. He hadn’t heard Joey sneak up the stairs from the den where he’d been engaged in serious (loud) Xbox combat with Chris. Damn. If he been so fucking intrusive just two minutes earlier………. Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, Joey tapped his fingers on his biceps and waited for an answer. “You were, weren’t ya?” JC glared at him from his comfortable, safe position on the bed. And lied. “Not yet. Why? Wanna watch?” “Uhhh……….Want me to hurt ya, dude?” “And you’ll be turning 12 when, Joe? In January?” “Real clever, C. You were always the wittiest one……….NOT.” “Well, you asked. And so what if I *was*? Check out the view here. These photos. They’re gorgeous enough to get *anybody* off, man. Just look at him……….He’s Adonis.” Joey snorted and rolled his eyes. “A *what*?” “Fuck you, moron.” “C’mon, C, for real. Jesus fucking Christ. Why don’t ya just wait ‘til he gets home and do the REAL THING instead of wasting your special sauce on some glossies?” JC blinked slowly, as if summoning up some much-needed patience or as if he could somehow make Justin materialize there by the bed to deflect this needless, annoying attention off him. “Um, thanks, man, for your free advice on the quality and timing of my orgasms. But you really don’t need to care so much. I’ve……….no, WE’VE got it under control.” “Asshole. Like I would really give a fuck.” “You’re up here in our room ranting about it, no?” “Ya need help, Chasez.” “No, I don’t. I’ve got Justin.” And he wished to hell he had Justin *right then*. “So where is he today?” JC shrugged. “Don’t know exactly. He had stage rehearsals this morning and then a couple of meetings with a soundboard guru and a promotions coordinator. He’ll be back soon.” “You sure? What if he’s out getting a little on the side?” Joey taunted and chuckled. “Go to hell, Fatone,” JC seethed defensively, knowing he should just pop his earphones in and be done with this tiresome juvenile shit. Joey went on. “Oh, yeah. I forgot how fucking MARRIED you two are.” “Maybe you didn’t hear me. Got to hell, Fatone.” As if he truly didn’t hear him, Joey persisted his jabbing, clearly enjoying it. As usual. “Yo. Look. Here’s my projectile hurling at Joshtin, JuC, ChazLake, Closet Meese, and whatever the fuck else you two get pegged as on the Net.” “Wow, Joe. You’re really up on your slash lingo there, dude. You only left out ‘Teer Bois and TimberKitten……….Sounds like you do a lotta double-fisted reading there yourself, man. Are we your fave pairing? Or do you get off more on those about — what are they called? SuperTrick? — you and CK? Haha.” “Barf. Spare me, Chasez.. You’re making me sick as fuck.” “Fine. But shall I remind you again that *you* brought it up?” Joey ignored the comment and glanced toward the dresser where an array of Justin/JC private-stock photographs stood proudly in a variety of sizes and frames. “Hey, you going with him to the U.K., or you guys still dicking ‘round about that fine point?” Again, JC lifted and lowered his broadly angled shoulders in slow motion. “He wants me there with him for the start of the tour at least. For support, you know. And can you fucking blame him? He’s scared out of his mind, being on his own and all. So yeah. I’m going along. For that loving support. I’ll stick ‘round ‘til it’s time to head back for Zootopia promo and stuff. Plus I’ve got that gig on the tenth to choose a marching band and shit. So I can’t stay with him long. Like a week. That’s all.” Joey seemed to soften his disposition into more of a teddy bear. “You guys got it working, man. I’m proud of yuse. You’re so……….holding it together and happy. Looks good on both of ya.” JC realized he shouldn’t be lulled into a false sense of the “Let’s Fuck With JC” game being over so soon. But his fuzzed-bristly cheeks tinted pink anyway when he smiled helplessly at the compliment. “Thanks for noticing. We try.” “So how ‘bout we give ‘em a party? Let’s celebrate big-time before they both embark on solo-dom forever! Yeah! That’s the ticket, so let’s kick it! Whadda you guys say?” Suddenly, a wide-eyed Chris loomed in the bedroom doorway next to Joey. Joey turned and frowned at him. “Yo, Chris. You drunk already, dude?” “Nah, man. I ain’t even close to trashed yet. I only had a few beers. You been downstairs with me. You saw. And so what’s going on up here anyway?” “C’s spanking the monkey to Ju’s pics. Go figure,” Joey told him, sounding bored and uninspired. Chris stared from Joey to JC, as if he’d been told something far more incredulous. “No shit? For real? Why not just let The Baby *handle* things when he gets back?” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “Some people’s warped kids. I swear to God.” Joey snickered. “Yo, that’s what *I* told his ass. Ju’s pro’bly gonna want to get his freak on, and his man here will be all jismed out. Won’t that suck?” Silently, JC watched them from the bed and then rolled his eyes with melodramatic disgust. “Great. It’s Beavis and Butthead. Doing play-by-play commentary of my sex life. Maybe ‘cause it’s far more fucking exciting than their own.” He wondered absently why they were here — here in LA, for starters, and here at his house, more specifically. He couldn’t recall their reasons for being in town this week, probably because they had nothing better to do and just nomaded their asses here to mooch up Justin’s beer. Justin wouldn’t be pleased. “Wrong, Chasez,” Chris countered. “You and your kinky getting-off does not interest me in the LEAST. Pun intended. Haha. So you and Timberbrat can just go at each other and fuck like bunnies all you want.” “Um, we will, thank you.” “Yeah, man. We’re just here for your toys,” Joey said. “And your booze.” Then JC remembered. They were here at HIS house in the Hollywood Hills because LANCE was staying in one of the wings of JUSTIN’s villa two miles up the road. And Lance did not, under any circumstances, allow the beyond-messy and carelessly rambunctious living habits (or “squatting,” as Lance called it) of Joey and Chris anywhere near his lair. Even if he was really only squatting himself. He’d permanently banished them to JC’s place when they were in LA. And, since JC was with Justin most of the time — whichever residence they chose for that day/night — he wasn’t all that concerned with Chris’s and Joey’s lodging whereabouts. Until they appeared right up in his face. Like now. Where the hell was Justin anyway? Shouldn’t he be home by now? “Well now, here’s an idea. Why don’t you little kids trot yourselves back downstairs and enjoy whatever it is you came here for and stop standing there drooling over me? Huh? I need to get dressed before Ju comes home.” “Hey, y’all. Is this where the party’s at? What’d I miss?” Speaking of Lance. His smooth, sunny face and booming voice joined the crowded doorframe now, and he grinned. “Aww, you didn’t miss much, Bass. Just Josh jerking off ‘cause Justin’s gigantic landslide of publicity is hotter than Justin himself,” Joey explained to the newcomer and then giggled. “Yeah, J lost out to JC’s vise-like, organ-grinding. Hahahaha,” Chris chimed in, elbowing Lance. Lance chuckled with them and then let his sparkling eyes wander into the bedroom. “Is that right, C? I’m too late for the show?” JC groaned and threw his hands in the air, slapping his knees with the palms when they fell. “Fucking perfect. Beavis and Butthead’s little brother. And NO! I wasn’t pleasuring myself, if you MUST know. You three stooges need to grow the hell up, stop ambushing me and wasting my time, and leave me alone. What the fuck are you doing here anyway, Lance? I thought you were in rehab.” “Ouch,” Lance mumbled with a spreading smile. “That hurt. The pretty butterfly’s got a nasty stinger. What’d *I* do, man?” “You’re an accessory by being with ‘em. Tough shit for you……….And, Joey, man. Don’t you have some plastic placemats or some chintzy shit like that to be hawking and signing down at the K-Mart?” “OooEee!” Joey wrinkled up his face, bizarrely playful and ham-like over-reactive. “That hurts, dude. You left fucking teeth marks, C.” Not finished yet, JC narrowed his eyes and glared through the slits. “And as for you, CK……….does anybody really CARE?” “YIKES!” Chris bent over double and groaned with flair, as if kicked in the gut. But his boisterous hyena-like laughing gave him away. “Chasez, you’re a vengeful bitch. You know that?” And the three stooges held onto each other in their spasms of snickers while JC sighed tiredly. Would they EVER grow out of this silly shit? Lance wasn’t so bad about it, surprisingly, being the youngest of the three. But sometimes in their presence, Joey and Chris just sucked him in and pulled him down with them. JC decided to ignore them and their recessive puberty fun (i.e., MORONIC CRAP) and glanced around the room for his portable CD player and the tiny headphones. Then, like a grand and glorious superhero action guardian angel in 3-D charismatic living color………. “Dudes! Whassup? Y’all harassing my boy again up in here?” Beaming beautifully with a 1000-watt smile and disco-dancing azure-ice eyes, Justin burst onto the scene, liquidly and lithely, slipping in between the bodies of his three friends almost invisibly so that he could get to his desired target: JC. “We were trying, Ju. But he’s a slick one. He burned us all to the ground with that sharp mouth,” Lance told him, still laughing with the others. “Yeah, he hurt my feelings, Timberlake,” Chris pouted. “Mine too, J. He’s all snooty and bratty and can’t play well with the other kids.” “Hey, sweetness,” Justin whispered to JC as he sank down onto the mattress beside him and wound his long body around JC’s as if no bones at all supported the pliant flesh and muscles. “Miss me?” he hissed, sneaking arms around JC’s waist and pulling him backward to rest against his chest. “Yes, baby. I did. And these rude cretins didn’t help much,” JC purred, falling into Justin’s warm body and holding onto the strong arms that surrounded him. “Are they bothering you, my love? I thought I’d warned ‘em about that shit. Hmm. Shall I obliterate them from the planet with my Troll-Be-Gone mega-powerful laser? Just for you?” Justin spoke in layers of black, shimmering satin and brushed aside the cascading dark curls of hair to kiss the back of JC’s neck. “‘Cause I will, ya know.” JC’s eyelids fluttered slightly as he leaned into the touch from Justin’s warm, soft mouth. “I think……….I’ve already……….forgotten……….they were here.” “Me too. You taste so good, sweetness.” Justin squeezed him and licked his moist throat. “I missed you too.” “So are you two gonna make out while we fucking stand here?” Chris barked at them, huffing impatiently. “Yeah, dudes, ‘cause there’s a smut channel on the satellite jacked-up times better than this shit. Better’n JC jacking off too,” Joey tossed in and giggled. Still melting against Justin’s all-over embrace, JC slowly opened his eyes and shone the stark blue at the uninvited spectators. “And I hear it calling your names. ALL of you. So scram.” “*Scram!*” Chris mockingly slapped his own knee and guffawed. “You’re such a gay dork, C.” Justin snickered but kept his full and warm attentions focused on JC. “Thass just wrong, baby. And they know it. I keep telling you we’d rake in millions if you’d just let me put up one of those reality TV web cams in here. I’d bet 90 percent of the world population would kill to see JC Chasez in his real, live bed every damn day.” “Um, no,” JC breathed out quickly. “There’s only room for *you* in my bed, love. Forget the web cams.” And his smile was pure complacency. “Okay, c’mon, guys. Let’s take a hike and leave ‘em be. I’ll whip us stooges up some kick-ass margaritas downstairs.” Lance laid a hand on Joey’s and Chris’s shoulders. “Yo, heard that,” Joey rang in. “Yo, me five,” Chris echoed. “And how was your day?” JC asked softly when they were finally alone, Justin’s hard, glittery diamond stud grazing his cheek. “It slammed, baby. Today was an excellent day. In fact, I brought home a little surprise all for you.” “You did?” “Yessums. Waiting downstairs. And you’re gonna cream your jeans over it, sweetness.” Justin squeezed him tighter and licked at his earlobe. “How was *your* day, by the way?” “Satisfactory, I guess. That one track that was tripping me out? I got the beats to come together and jive like I wanted ‘em to. Tried some new stuff. And it worked. Damn. After tightening that shit for what? Days? Yeah, it’s rocking now, babe. I’m close to the finish line on the whole thing, Ju.” “Hmm,” Justin mused, pressing his cheek to JC’s temple. “I’m so psyched for ya, baby. It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?……….Can I hear it later? That track you whipped ass on?” “Of course. You must. You’re my most important critic.” Justin wetly kissed the corner of his eye, tickling him, and then glanced around the bed at what covered every last inch of it. “So after major studio success, you stole away up here to, um, relax?” “Well, yeah,” JC giggled and felt warm rosé spreading over his high cheekbones. “A little recreational time never hurt anybody, did it?” “Okay. I can respect that……….And judging from the reading material of choice, was Joe correct about your ‘recreational’ activities then?” JC laughed quietly again. “C’mon, man. How could I resist? You’re so damn hot.” Justin whispered at his ear, accentuating his words with hot smacks from his mouth and inching a large hand down and around to tenderly capture JC’s groin. “Am I……….hotter……….in……….person?” “Ah, absolutely,” JC assured him and moaned as he turned his head to catch some of the sweet contact from those moist, thick lips. “You’re the fire in my soul, baby,” he exhaled in a hush after a deep, binding kiss that poured as much loving sustenance into him as it sucked out. “And that’s *damn* hot.” ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~ The “surprise” Justin had been so pumped to show his boyfriend turned out to be — of all fucking things — a new motorcycle. JC stared at the showy spectacle and somehow held in his low growl of disappointment and unease while everyone else ooohhhed and aaahhhed and tiptoed around the scary, still machine in awe and petting it admiringly, jealously in the sunlight on the driveway. Justin, so effusively pleased with himself, glowed and bounced from his new prize to his solemn partner, grinning and giddy like a five-year-old on Christmas morn. “See, sweetness? Isn’t she a beauty? I special-ordered this baby just for you months ago. Sleek and easy to handle. You’re gonna groove on this one, hon.” JC blinked in the brightness of the afternoon with skeptical hesitancy, hanging back a safe distance from the bike. But, not wanting to seem completely like a pathetic wimp and most certainly not wanting to bruise Justin’s sentiments and good intentions, he put on a winning smile. “Does it have a name?” Undaunted by his lack of enthusiasm, Justin slapped JC’s ass affectionately and bounded off to circle the object of everyone’s attention again, touching different spots delicately. “She’s a smoooooooth, sleeeeeeek bitch, sweetness. A Yamaha 2003 YZF-R6, but you can call her Lady Crotch Rocket……….Flashy, fast, high-performance sportbike……….Five-spoke wheels, ultra compact, four-cylinder engine, suction-piston fuel injection……….Babe can hum between your legs, hug corners like a racing pro, and rock your world like nobody’s fucking business, I’m saying……….You like, Jace? Justin stopped his sales pitch and looked at him longingly. JC shifted his feet and sighed. He hadn’t really comprehended a damn word Justin had just spurted out, but he’d felt a little flutter in his cock just watching Justin prance around that thing and rave so passionately about it. Honestly, he didn’t care what all those hot-sounding mechanical specifics meant. But he cared about Justin. A fucking LOT. So he smiled again and leaked some honey into his melodious voice. “Nice. Very nice. The blue’s a lovely shade.” Justin frowned for a sec and then bloomed again. “Blue? Baby, that’s ‘Royal Cyan.’ It reminded me of your drop-dead-gorgeous eyes……….so vivid and heart-stopping.” A violent gagging sound blurted forth from behind JC. And he didn’t even bother turning around. “J, man, for God’s sake. Don’t make us group-heave over here,” Chris warned. And Joey laughed so hard he had to sit down on the stoop of the steps. JC shrugged, trying to work up some fervor, realizing he was again the social oddball here. “Um, where’s the Carrera? You didn’t (gasp) trade up, did you, babe?” Justin laughed loudly and good-naturedly. “No, Jace. I’d never diss Miss Platinum like that. I know she’s the one you’re so sweet on. She’s in storage at the Yamaha dealership ‘til I go back and fetch her. It’s all good. Don’t wig.” “Well, then……….” And JC knew he needed to come through here better and stronger than his current lame-ass showing in the polls. He was, yes, totally, sucking hot air. So he bolstered up and tried to project an all-out grin. “Will you give me a test drive then?” Justin radiated full, iridescent, fluid sunshine, and the other three in the peanut gallery clapped and cheered extravagantly. “Ah, I thought you’d never ask, sweetness.” “Go for it, C. Have a blast. And the combat boots rock, by the way. Awesome footwear choice for this event,” Lance told him and nudged his bicep encouragingly. “Thanks,” JC answered softly. He’d only pulled on the clunky black boots because they drove Justin wild. A little flushed from the tequila, he turned and shot the other two a defiant bird as he passed his salt-rimmed margarita glass to Lance. Then he faced Justin again who was standing at the bike, hand on hip with a half a ton of sex, and waiting patiently for him. “Okay. I’m ready.” “Then c’mon, sexy. Let’s take a ride.”
To let your hair down so that you feel free, yea
Don’t you wanna feel the breeze?
And forget everything, baby?
Let’s take a ride
— Justin Timberlake