Later the guys would blame it on the alcohol. But really, it was the sentence "and those tits would definitely get a pearl necklace" that began all the trouble.

Which is to say, the guys had been discussing women again. Or more specifically, Joey and JC had knocked back a few at the hotel bar, and what Chris termed the "Male Chauvinist Pig" gene started firing, leading to a spirited discussion of which of the ladies in the bar most caught their fancy as a potential porn starlet.

JC jabbed Joey in the ribs. "You're supposed to call 'em breasts nowadays."

"The hell you say," Joey declaimed, a little too loudly but hardly slurring his words at all. He took another swig of beer and dropped the bottle back on the bar, reaching for a handful of slightly-stale pretzels from the wooden bowl between them. "If it's porn, you gotta say tits."

A hand made contact with the back of Joey's head as Chris plopped down onto the bar stool next to him. "Do my ears deceive me, Fatone? Are you being an insensitive pig and failing to use the correct terminology for gazungas?"

Joey leaned an elbow on Chris's shoulder and pointed with his chin in the opposite direction. "The redhead, Chris. Doesn't she have a nice pair? Think she'd look good in a lesbian threesome with Kobe Tai and a blonde?" The redhead in question was sitting at a table about twenty feet away, sipping on a mimosa as she chatted with her girlfriend; noticing that Joey was looking, she shot him a sultry look from slanted green eyes, obviously quite unaware that she was currently eating out a beautiful Filipina with a shaved pussy while getting dildo-fucked by Jenna Jameson. At least in the fevered imaginings of a horny twentysomething Italian with booze breath.

As Chris contemplated her thoughtfully, JC shook his head and combed back a lock of streaky hair that persisted in interrupting his view. "They're too natural for porn, Joey. Porn doesn't have real ones. Even the ones that look it."

Looking crushed, Joey turned hangdog eyes on JC. "Not even the ones I was chatting up the last time we were at the mansion?"

Taking another sip from the Corona that Chris had grabbed as he rounded the bar, which of course had started life out as Joey's, Chris chuckled. "On Rachel Hunter? Sorry, but I hate to break it to you that those magnificent gifts from the Lord God Himself are regrettably courtesy of a very wealthy doctor living in a mansion somewhere in southern California. Now c'mon, you're scaring the other patrons, and dinner's getting cold." Slipping easily off his stool, Chris dropped one hand on Joey's left shoulder and the other on JC's right.

Normally they'd be heading out to eat, but tonight was cheesy 80s movie night by general consensus. That meant stuffing their faces with bad takeout and beer, and a general night of lounging around on couches doing Absolutely Nothing.

Dutifully slipping off their stools and laying down a handful of crumpled fives for the bartender, JC and Joey followed Chris, Joey still looking a little mournful.

As they rounded the corner out of the bar and headed for the elevator, Chris gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder with the back of his fist. "It ain't all bad, O Lover of Women. Even the fake ones can be fun. Sometimes you'd never know there's a bag of salt water making that lovely B cup into a whopping triple-D." He jabbed at the button for the elevator, which dinged in an aggressively cheerful manner.

Joey shot him a look. It was the "I feel so much better now, except not really" look. He was rather proud of it, really.

Chris leaned up against the polished wood, scuffed a toe on the plush red carpet, and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Well, what do you expect, Joey? It's porn. Nobody pays to see lovely B-cups but the lesbians."

Joey sighed and slumped against the wall. The elevator dinged again and opened its doors, so he went and slumped against the railing of the elevator instead. "It's just not right, y'know? Girl got a lovely pair of jugs, what she wanna go puttin' crap in 'em for? All she's gotta do is eat a bit more, hey?"

Chris curled his fingertips together and shook his upturned hand in front of Joey's face. "Eat, eat!" he exclaimed dramatically and with an extremely poor Italian accent. "You too skinny, how you gonna get a husband?!"

"He's got a point though, Chris." JC was sprawled against the railing, leaning both elbows on it with his feet kicked out and one heel resting on the other ankle. "Real is definitely better."

"Well, of course. A naked girl in your bed beats a threesome on TV anyday. Even with the whipped cream and industrial-size tits."

"The thing is, you'd think they could at least try to make it look plausible." JC's sleepy blue eyes were sparkling with a little too much alcohol and a touch of indignation. "I mean, c'mon, y'know, I like watching the occasional skin-flick as much as either of you, but when's the last time a girl just walked in the door, took her clothes off, and started sucking you off?" Joey started to open his mouth, hand raised slightly to make a point, and JC looked exasperated. "Okay, okay, but Joey, she was your girlfriend!"

Making a mock-sulky face, Joey tucked his hand back under his crossed arms. "That's not the point," he grumped.

Chris shook his head. "That's not the point of porn anyway, my friends. When guys are watching porn, they don't want to see realism, they wanna see mouths on cocks and dicks in asses and cum on titties. Men don't want the trappings of plot; for that they can watch a real movie. No, no, porn is all about the pump-pump-squirt."

JC winced. "Chris."

"What?" Chris shot him a look that was all innocence; he practiced those looks for moments just like this, when he'd been caught being deliberately crude.

Ding.

JC uncurled himself and paced out of the elevator ahead of the other two. Turning around, he stepped lightly backwards, gliding on the balls of his feet. "I know it's all about the fantasy, I do. But it grates on me sometimes, y'know what I mean, the fact that all of it's fake from beginning to end. I wanna see a little reality now and then; real moaning, real chest, real girl, real sizes. Real... you know. Like real sex, but on TV." He paused at the door to the suite and apparently decided it was time to stretch. When he was drunk, JC had a tendency to turn into a human pretzel. He kicked a foot up against the wall and leaned over to clutch his ankle.

Chris tilted his head at JC as he turned knob of the door to the suite. "Sometimes, JC," he said patiently as he swung the door open, "you just gotta detach your brain and enjoy watching some energetic fucking."

"Now there's a line to have you walk in on," Justin cracked. He was sprawled on the couch with a beer in hand, one ankle propped on Lance's shoulder as Lance sat in front of him with the TV on. His loose tee bagged over his jeans, and he was comfortably barefoot. "So where did that come from? You gonna slip JC the ol' Fruit Roll-up, Chris?"

Lips pursed in a slight smile, Chris grabbed Justin's ankle and dumped his foot on the floor. "Move over, junior, this is man-talk."

Swinging the foot back up, Justin nudged Chris in the belly with the top of it before returning it to its former place on Lance's shoulder. The other two watched in amusement as Chris made to grab it again, curling the fingers of his other hand in tickling gestures. Justin planted an elbow on Chris's thigh.

"All right, all right, knock it off," Lance grumbled. "We're hungry."

Chris widened his eyes. "And you waited on our account? Pf. Dig in, my friends, eat and be nourished, and let us talk no more of fake boobies, that we be not depressed!" He danced his way to the table and grabbed a slice of pizza, cramming the greasy wedge into his mouth and taking a huge bite.

"Fake boobies? This definitely needs some explaining." Chris had his mouth full and was making quiet noises of ecstasy over his pizza, so Justin looked at Joey and JC, who had respectively taken over the armchair and perched on the arm of the couch. Joey just shrugged and made a vague cupping gesture like he was groping his own chest. JC lifted his shoulders very slightly and tilted his head to the side.

"I just-" JC shrugged again. "I dunno. We were lookin' at ladies at the bar, and then we talked about porn, and I was just saying, you know, it'd be nice to see a little realism in porn for once."

Lance cracked up, and JC chuckled a little himself. "I know, I know, it's just, I mean, it's a little tiresome after a while, yeah? Like, why can't some of it be a little realistic?" He wandered into the kitchenette, and his voice floated back slightly muffled as he rummaged in the fridge for another bottle of beer. "Like, c'mon, not everybody's shaved. And not everybody deep-throats. And that's just not sexy, y'know?" He came back in, bottle in hand, and continued. "Some chick with amazing breath control, doing things most people just can't do, so it's hard to picture, say, your girlfriend doing that. It just doesn't look real."

"Well then, why don't you show us how a blowjob should look?" Justin leaned back and cocked an eyebrow, quirking up a corner of his mouth.

JC stammered to a halt, apparently realizing that his mouth had gotten him into trouble. He glanced around to see everybody looking right back at him. Lance had a smirk plastered across his face, and his tilted eyes were gleaming. "Well?"

JC glanced at Chris, who looked fit to crack with suppressed laughter, then looked Lance right in the eye. "Aren't you the expert here?"

Lance smirked a little more widely. "I'm such an expert I don't have to demonstrate to prove it. C'mon, bigmouth, show us how it's done."

Justin stuck his fist up to his mouth and plumped out a cheek with his tongue. He pumped the fist up and down a couple inches and rolled his eyes back in his head in mock-enjoyment. "Mmmyeah," he moaned.

A pillow made contact with his forehead. "Not your turn," admonished Chris as Justin rubbed his head. "Let the man demonstrate how dick oughta be sucked in peace."

A little wheezing sound came from Joey's corner. His lips were pursed tightly, the skin at the corners of his eyes was crinkled, and his shoulders were hunched, as though he was slightly uncomfortable but also rather like he was trying not to crack up in spite of himself. The result was a mildly constipated, cross-eyed look.

JC chuckled and shot him a reassuring wink. He then turned his attention to the nearly-empty beer bottle in his hand. As he curled his tongue-tip and stroked it lightly across his upper lip, his shoulders heaved once as his belly muscles tightened with suppressed laughter. Bringing himself back under control with a short, quiet bark of throat-clearing, he dropped his gaze to the rim of the bottle.

JC curled the fingers of his left hand around the base and braced it against his knee. Taking one more look around the room with a lopsided grin that quite clearly said, "yes, I'm about to blow a beer bottle, yes, I know this is rediculous", he licked his lips again and slowly stroked his right thumb up the side, ending just below the lip. His forefinger followed, tracing a little S-pattern in the beads of water. Pinching them together, he slid them back downward, hooking his thumb so the nail caught the edge of the wet label. It ripped with a wet scraping noise, and he peeled it off and dropped it to the side. Slowly. A little smile twitched up the corner of his mouth as a very soft rasping chuckle sounded from across the room, and he concentrated very hard on not looking up. If he did, he'd lose it, and while it may be that sometimes people burst out laughing upon revealing the object of the blowjob-to-be, he was damned if he was going to put quite that much realism into it.

He laid his fingertips back on the neck, cupping it loosely. With a downward-bending wrist, he dragged his fingers after, letting the glass slow the motion and pressing down to keep it smooth. When his ring finger touched his other hand, he flicked out his pinky briefly, then reversed and dragged upwards. Down, up, caressing as he watched his own hands intently, lips parted slightly. He tightened his group under the lip until his hand was fisted around the neck with his thumb pointed skyward as though popping a champagne cork. He repeated the motion, putting a slight corkscrew twist into it.

Here JC paused and licked his lips again, from left to right, leaving them pursed and glistening. He leaned down, hovered a moment as his eyes unfocused and drifted slightly upwards, teeth bared playfully as though to nip at an imaginary navel. Running his tongue-tip over the rim, flicking at it in a little kitten lick, he closed his eyes and the muscles in his neck rippled. Twitched. He burst out laughing after all, shaking his head from side to side as he heard echoing laughter around him. He pulled himself back together, cleared his throat, and looked back down with a determined expression.

Another little lick, this time on the other side of the rim. Another, at the back edge. Another, the side of his tongue slipping past and curling back onto the rim. Flick. Flick. He moved lazily, teasingly, laying out the scene in his mind, in the darkness behind his closed eyes, skin hard, warm, and slick under his hands. He wasn't making himself look ridiculous in front of his friends, he was mouthing living flesh. He sighed, and the curving glass reflected it back to him deeper, breathier, a low baritone moan that did not come from him.

He dipped his head a little further and dragged the flat of his tongue the length of the shaft, ending with a swirl around the top. Another, this one even more languorous and deliberate. Another, this one faster, almost exaggeratedly sensuous, his lip pulled back to show teeth in a savage not-quite-grin.

Joey swallowed, pupils contracting and dilating. He pinched the skin of his wrist a little, hoping nobody noticed since his hands were already clasped together. Those lips made him think about lips on him - Kelly's, he reminded himself, Kelly's - but he couldn't help but wonder. He closed his eyes and imagined punching himself in the face. You are not popping one up over watching one of your best friends go down on a beer bottle. No. Not.

Justin leaned over to Lance. "He looks like he was born to have a cock in his mouth," he whispered. Lance elbowed him. "You're interrupting the show," Chris hissed.

JC ignored them, except for a little sputter of laughter that brought his eyes open for a moment. He reined it in and turned his attention back to the task at hand. Right. He was currently sucking off Mister Anheuser-Busch, who was enjoying it rather a lot, thankyouverymuch.

He ran his tongue up the side one more time, aiming a sultry look at Chris as he did so, then closed his eyes again as he closed his lips over the rim of the bottle and laid his hand just below them. Easing his mouth down a little, he worked a loose fist over the bottle. Fingers fluttered in a wave as he pulled back up a little and lashed his tongue back and forth against the underside of the rim.

Breathing onto it again, a hollow rasp echoing back up to him, he tilted his head and swivelled his mouth back down onto the neck of the bottle, twisting his hand in a countermotion. He started bobbing slowly, pausing every few strokes to blow a cool breath, slip a light lick across the surface, then begin again. Slowly, he sped up, a steady accelerando.

Chris burst out laughing, an alto almost-shriek from somewhere deep in his belly. JC froze, mouth halfway down the beer bottle, and his eyes popped open, blurred and confused. As Chris continued to laugh, he extracted the top of the bottle from somewhere behind his tonsils and arched an eyebrow. "Hey, Chris, what gives?"

Shaking his head, Chris continued to howl. He waved his hand in the air, palm out. "The- " He lost it again, and flapped his hand around a bit more. He wheezed a little as he pulled himself back together, shoulders still quivering. By now the guys were all staring - Lance smirking, Joey chuckling a bit, Justin, well, sniggering, as he watched Chris, and JC looking a little indignant as the laughter spread.

"All right, what?" he burst out finally. "My technique isn't that bad- "

Chris giggled. "Naw, man, your technique is fine, but your choice of subject is all wrong! A beer bottle?"

JC's face crinkled up a little in confusion. He thumped the bottle back on the table. "Well," he shrugged, "it was the closest thing to hand."

Chris shook his head. "JC, JC, if you're going to go on and on about the realism that porn doesn't have, you can't very well be blowing a glass bottle to demonstrate what it should look like. How real is that?" He waved a hand dismissively. "How many porn starlets have you ever seen going to town on a tall cool one to demonstrate their blowjob abilities? You don't - you see 'em sucking real dick! Maybe not very realistically, but still. We're talking the real twig 'n' berries here!"

Justin snorted a laugh through his nose. "Just talking about the.. uh.. twig 'n' berries isn't very realistic either."

Chris looked at him sardonically. "Okay then, shall I call it a cock? Or perhaps the clinical and sterile 'penis'? Certainly not love-muscle, God forbid. Because nobody calls it that unless the camera's rolling."

"You never screamed out 'oh, suck my love-muscle' in the throes of passion?

"I certainly did not." Chris said with a very insulted tone and stuffy British accent.

"Well, how about dick? Dick's a perfectly good word."

Chris looked heavenward and arched his eyebrows innocently. "Nobody knows what I call it but the ones who get to touch it." He looked down and locked gazes with Justin for a long moment. "And the doctor doesn't count."

"What about playing doctor?" Justin grinned maliciously, and again there was that silent pause as they stared at each other.

Chris harrumphed. "That's not the point, Justin. The point is-"

"Yes, what is your point, Chris?" Justin leaned forward, as though he couldn't wait to hear.

"My point is," Chris said, lunging across to whack Justin in the side of the head before settling back to smile at JC as though he'd never moved, "is that demonstrating with props is as fake as a porn blowjob. The only way to demonstrate realism is to, well, demonstrate."

"Why don't you demonstrate, then, Chris?" Justin spread his legs and tapped the edges of his hands on his thighs.

A ripple of chuckling moved around the room. "He's got you there, Chris," laughed JC, shedding the indignation as the spotlight turned on Chris. "Why don't you show me?"

Never one to pass up a chance to be outrageous in company, Chris hopped to his feet. "Oh, I'll show you all right," he purred. He strode across the room, whacking Justin on the shoulder as he passed him and muttering "wiseass". He planted a hand on JC's chest and a foot right between his thighs. He grinned maniacally, licked a wet tongue up JC's cheek, and wiggled his toes.

"Eww," muttered Joey, hand going to his face as if it was his own that was currently covered with Chris's spit. Lance and Justin laughed, shaking their heads in synchronized motion. Justin grabbed a bottle of beer from the center table. It probably hadn't been his, but it was his now.

JC jumped, his eyes going wide with startlement. He blinked incredulously at Chris and rubbed a finger over his cheek. "Aw, man, what the hell was that?"

Chris beamed. "Just making sure I've got your undivided attention."

JC gulped a deep breath. Miming a blowjob was one thing; the thought of getting blown by his best friend and sometimes-mentor gave part of him the screaming heebie-jeebies. Oh, he'd had lips on his dick before, male and female (lovely hot mouth sucking baritone rumbling heat wet needing /more/), but never these lips and never in this kind of company.

The other part of him, he had to admit, was getting uncomfortably hard under tight denim.

JC mentally shook himself. Of course Chris wasn't actually going to whip it out and blow him right here, right now. They'd all just gotten a bit carried away. Chris was probably going to do a comic mimic and they'd have a good laugh about it, then go back to drinking and bullshitting.

His grin getting impossibly broader, Chris leaned down, breath hot on JC's earlobe, and whispered, "Don't you know never to dare me to do anything?" He nibbled lightly on the lobe and murmured, "Just lay back and think of England. And realize that your four best friends are about to see your dick, bare for all the world to see."

Chris pulled back, leaned to the side to block JC's view of the other guys, and winked. JC blinked at him. Then again-

Chris levered himself to the ground with a hand planted on each of JC's knees, grabbing a pillow on the way down to crouch on. He tucked the pillow under himself and curled up comfortably, ankles crossed, knees spread wide and just touching JC's shins. He rubbed his thumbs lightly over denim seams, scratching a light rasping from them with his nails. He leaned forward, pushing his hands apart and spreading JC's legs with them. Over a bit more, eyes narrowing and gleaming with anticipation, he sank his teeth into the flap of denim and jerked open the button-fly with a toss of his head. A startled intake of breath sounded from behind him.

Baring his teeth almost delicately, Chris tongued up the tab of the zipper and closed them around it. He tilted his chin down and started pulling the zipper open, tooth by tooth, with gingerly tugs. JC planted his hands flat to either side of his hips, elbows locked and shoulders raised a bit. "Uh, Chris?"

"Mmmf?" Eyes open wide, zipper caught in his mouth, Chris gave him an innocently curious look.

JC gestured awkwardly at himself. "I'm.. uh..."

Comprehension. "Mmmhmmm." The tugging resumed.

"Ooo, naughty boy is freeballing it, hey?" Justin jumped in with a mock-disapproving tone, grinning wickedly.

Shrugging, JC muttered, "Well, y'know, didn't have a clean pair handy after the show, so..." he trailed off.

"Uh-huh. So you decided to freeball it." This from Joey, who went freeballin' at every opportunity. He chuckled, his eyes fixed firmly at throat level, neither meeting JC's eyes nor looking any lower than his nipples.

"Again." Lance grinned with a touch of cheerful malice.

"Hey, shut-" JC sputtered to a halt as a hand slapped over his mouth.

"Hey, I'm trying to blow you here, all right? Pipe down up there!" JC attempted to mouth something against Chris's hand, and Chris pinched his nostrils shut between thumb and forefinger. His last word caught somewhere between his soft palate and his sinuses, a squeaky sound emerged from somewhere under the gripping fingers. "Look, I'll be careful, okay?"

Chuckling in spite of himself - an oddly muffled, underwater sound with his nose closed off - JC subsided.

"That's better." Taking the tab back in his mouth, Chris resumed tugging, easing it carefully over the contours underneath. The click-clicking of the metal teeth parting sounded loudly in the quiet room, overlaid with the hiss of Chris's breath. The puff of air touched skin, and JC jumped a little. Chris soothed him with the flat of a hand stroked up his thigh and gave the tab one last pull. Stroking his other hand up, he braced them just below where the denim creased, leaned in a little more, and dipped his head to take the outer flap in his mouth. He pulled the flap to the side, then collected the other one and eased it over, sliding the flat of a lightly stubbled cheek across the top of JC's cock as he did so. He hooked his thumbs up to hold the flaps away and breathed a second slow, easy puff of air between them as muscles twitched under his hands.

Easing a hand into JC's jeans, he slipped his fingers under JC's cock and coaxed it free of the denim. He closed his hand gently around the base, placing a light, open-mouthed kiss on the skin and flicking his tongue between his lips to slowly, teasingly trace a circle.

Chris paused at the sound of a quick inhalation. He looked up to see JC's hands fisting at his sides. Looking up a little further, catching JC's gaze, he held it for a moment. JC breathed once more, let it out with a little shudder, and nodded. "I'm okay," he murmured. He wasn't really sure, and fuck, this was bizarre. Chris on his knees for him. But it felt good in spite of that. He lay back; he thought of England.

Reassured, Chris rubbed his thumb along the side of JC's cock, reassuring in turn. He dipped down, scraped the flat of his tongue up, then pulled back and breathed. Again. Tightening his hand, he licked a slow S curve upwards, ending with a little sideways flick. Another flick, this time in the opposite direction, tasting fresh soap and skin and water.

He settled into a rhythm, slowly easing his hand up and back, licking to the side and back, never quite fully putting his mouth on JC, never completing a full stroke. He watched JC as he moved, watched for the breath catching, watched for the involuntary twitches.

JC leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes and relaxing into the sensations. Sighing low in his chest, he laid a hand lightly on Chris's head, caressing the close-cut hair involuntarily, hand drifting down the side of Chris's face to lie on his thigh. Warm mouth, God it had been a while, warm hand on him, sparking shudders in his belly.

He muttered something softly, unaware, maybe "please", maybe "more". Maybe "no", meaning yes, meaning God don't stop, bucked his hips into the teasingly licking tongue.

A hand held him down, held him back, and a voice chuckled softly, "no, not yet." He shuddered, breathed, held himself still.

Chris's mouth closed fully on his cock, and he hissed in a breath, let it out on a moan. Our Father, who art in heaven... A laugh caught at the back of his throat. Praying during a blowjob, of all things.

Pause. He looked down to see Chris gazing back up with a look of slight puzzlement. With a wry smile, he shook his head. "Nothing." Chris pulled back, continuing to stare at him quizzically. "No, really, it's nothing."

"No, c'mon, does this tickle or something?"

"No, it's fine. More than fine. Good. Really good." He became aware that he was babbling and shut his mouth.

"Are you sure?" Joey chimed in. "You looked like you were having a religious experience or something there." His tone was light and teasing, but with an edge to it. His eyes had a slightly desperate look, like he was weirded out and trying to joke his way around it.

Caught off guard, JC laughed. "You could say that, yes." He wasn't going to tell them he'd found himself reciting the Lord's Prayer in his head, or he'd probably never hear the end of it. He looked around, a touch embarrassed, sitting there with his pants open, Chris's hand on his cock, and the guys watchimg him blush.

"Hail Chris, full of stamina, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed is thy blowjob among blowjobs-" Justin was cut off by an elbow to the ribs from Lance. "Hush," sotto voce from Lance. "The man's busy. Or rather, gettin' busy." Justin rubbed his ribs, which were getting sore from all the jabbing, and mock-sulked at Lance, then flashed a beaming, mischievous (and slightly drunken) smile at JC. He wriggling his eyebrows and saluted JC with the bottle.

Blushing harder, JC looked away.

Chris turned his head and placed a finger to his lips and shushed them dramatically. "Silence," he said imperiously. "I am giving a blowjob."

He turned his attention back to JC, fluttered the fingers he still had wrapped around JC's cock. A wicked little smile curled his lips as JC's breath caught and his eyes half-closed.

It was time to stop playing, time to do this, do it right. He wrapped his fingers tightly, took JC in his mouth. Clamping his lips, he dragged them down smooth skin and muscle, dragged them up with a moan ringing in his ears, rough and ragged. Again, again, pushing against bucking hips, cock hot in his mouth, deeper in his throat, more, yes, moan louder, I own you, this is mine, you're mine, you're mine.

Chris snarled, the sound vibrating up JC's cock. Mine as JC's body heaved under his hands, mine as JC screamed a pure high tone, mine as salt and sweat and need filled his mouth. Mine.

He wanted to watch for the cues, wanted to look up at the moment when those JC's eyes went blind, or closed, or clenched tight. Wanted to be listening for the moment when JC went over, wanted him to come, wanted to know when he was coming. Wanted to see JC lose his body, lose his self, lose everything but Chris's hands, Chris's tongue, Chris's breath.

Wanted.

He lost the cues, lost the watching, lost everything but the savage satisfaction of feeling JC writhing under him, hands clenching on his shoulders as he dragged JC to the edge and threw him over.

It caught him by surprise when JC came. It should have been loud, vicious, shattering. But the only sound JC made was a tiny whimper, high-pitched and strangled, subvocalized behind a clenched jaw, as he arched up and threw his head back, muscles going rigid. His fingers dug into Chris, his hips twitched, he trembled once, went loose.

Chris held still, throat working. When JC sagged back onto the couch, he let go and ran his hands down JC's thighs, rubbing gently, soothingly. listening to his breath catch and slow as he twitched in reaction. "It's okay, man," he murmured, just loudly enough for JC to hear. "Just relax a minute." He sat back on his heels, looking pleased with himself, and continued rubbing JC's knees.

JC exhaled slowly, fully. Eyes glazed, he fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, licked his lips. Finally succeeding in getting himself zipped up and buttoned, he sat a moment, then dragged his hands through his hair, fingers catching in the tangled, sweaty curls.

Chris patted him on the knee. "Why don't you go take a minute and get cleaned up, JC." JC nodded, dropped his head in his hands. After a minute, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled off to the bathroom.

Suddenly remembering that, yes, there was an audience, Chris licked his lips once, then got up and seated himself on the couch where JC had been.

The other guys were looking in various different directions, obviously searching for something to fill the silence which was lengthening into awkwardness. Joey appeared to be fascinated by his shoelaces, Justin had the expression that meant he was working on a bratty comment, and Lance had a far-off stare that settled somewhere over Chris's left shoulder.

Lance cleared his throat, a harsh rumble in the quiet. He jumped into the void and attempted to pick up the thread of the earlier conversation with, "And why is it that threesomes always have to be two girls and a guy? Why not the other way around?"

"Easy." This from Joey, who looked up from his laces with an expression of relief. "Because guys don't want to see dick on the screen unless it's their own. And if he's seeing two, either there's been a terrible accident or one of 'em ain't his." Lance cleared his throat again. "Uh, straight guys, I mean."

Chris shrugged. "It's a power dynamic. In porn, unless it's chicks with strap-ons, the man's always the one in control. He runs the show, and the girls take what he gives. Two women at once means he's virile and masculine. But the flip side, two guys, is a power clash - at least to straight men. They aren't supposed to be sharing, and they're certainly not supposed to be doing anything with each other. Straight porn doesn't really get that there isn't always a top and bottom, or that the top and bottom roles aren't clear-cut. Whoever's giving dick isn't necessarily who's in control. Whereas in gay porn, okay, there's some of that, but there isn't the automatic assumption that whoever's got the cock in his mouth - or up his ass - is an emasculated pussy. It can go both ways."

"I say it can't work," Justin stated firmly.

Chris shot him a look and licked his lips ostentatiously. "It just did, or weren't you paying attention?"

They looked up at the sound of a door opening, and JC wandered back into the room. He looked a little dazed, eyes still a little unfocused, with that undefinable "I just got laid" looseness to the way he moved.

He paused at the threshold to the bathroom, looking straight across the room at Chris. Their eyes met, and Chris lifted his eyebrow a little in the way that meant, "are you okay?" After years of trading nonverbal signals with the boys, JC recognized it right off. He quirked a little lopsided smile in answer, walked across the room, and settled down next to Chris on the couch.

As he sat, Chris turned his head and tipped his chin down, in the way people who wear glasses do when they want a firmer, more intimate contact unimpeded by lenses. He peered over the frames and lifted his eyebrows, as if to say "Are you sure you're okay?" Catching the motion out of the corner of his eye, JC half-turned his head to meet the look sidelong. He nudged Chris with his shoulder in a friendly, manly way, reassurance that yes, he was fine. Very good, in fact.

"Look," Justin said earnestly. "No guy with a dick up his ass is going to be able to keep any kind of masculine dignity. It just doesn't work that way."

JC held his hands up, as if to say, "Heard part of this in the bathroom, but I'm out on this one." He reached for his bottle of beer, stopped a few inches short, as if suddenly remembering it was empty, and laid his hand back in his lap. He studied it very carefully, as if the answer was hiding somewhere behind the ragged edge of his thumbnail.

"That's not necessarily true. The receiver isn't necessarily giving up any power or masculinity in the act of being the bottom in anal."

All eyes turned to Lance. He coughed, and muttered, "Well, until you've actually tried it, you have no idea what you're talking about." As they continued to regard him curiously, he shrugged. "I'm just sayin'." He then clammed up and looked back at Justin.

Justin shrugged. "I got no proof, of course. But some guy's on you, you're taking it up the ass, you're reduced to a thing." Lance cocked an eyebrow at him, with the expression that he reserved for when he wanted to tell someone they were full of shit and didn't know what the hell they were talking about but didn't think it prudent.

Justin ignored the look and continued, "There's no dignity there, there's no equal sharing or whatever. It's just the way the dynamic works with two guys. I mean, if I think about myself in that position-"

Lance left the eyebrow cocked and squinted the other one for good measure. "You've thought about it, have you?"

Justin coughed and blithely pretended he hadn't heard the question. "-I don't see how it'd be an equal situation." He spread his hands. "C'mon, seriously, if I was facedown on the bed, I certainly wouldn't be feeling like I was equally in control of what was going on." He flicked a look at Chris and stopped talking.

Chris smirked at Justin. "Why don't you bag the bluster and put your money where your mouth is?" He rested his elbows on his knees, rested his chin on laced fingers, and stared unblinkingly at Justin.

Justin looked him straight in the eye. He tilted his chin up and to the side, eyes narrowing, still holding Chris's gaze; accepting the challenge without a word.

Chris grinned evilly. The game was on. He panned the room, looking for the victim. Having issued the challenge, he wasn't going to be the one to follow through. He considered it his duty to officiate, as it were.

First, he looked at Joey, who looked back with a slowly-panicking expression as the penny dropped. Chris chuckled. Too straight.

Next. There was a little smile playing across Lance's lips, and as Chris met his eyes, Lance slowly shook his head. He wouldn't mind getting a piece of that, but if there was one thing that Lance had settled in his own head a long time ago, it was that he wouldn't be the one to deflower Justin-Fucking-Timberlake.

That left one person. Chris did a slow turn to face back to the couch. JC had been trading looks with the other guys, sharing an incredulous moment of "he did not just...". He looked up at Chris as Chris turned to him, and Chris gave him an evil little smirk. "You're up."

Comprehension dawned, and JC's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to protest, shut it again. Chris continued to look at him, smile fading to seriousness. "Shit," JC muttered. A little of the smile came back, tinged with understanding, as though Chris knew JC had never done this before either. Hell, he probably did; they spent so much time in each other's pockets that Chris could probably tick off the last person each of the other guys had slept with, name their fetishes in alphabetical order, and produce the appropriate sex toy for the last act committed.

JC folded his arms and chewed on his lip, a little freaked out, but - he had to admit - also a little turned on by the idea. He'd wondered about what Justin was like in bed (oh, Britney told some wild stories), but he'd never expected to find out for himself, and certainly not in company. He could refuse, but no, he couldn't back out now. No way in hell he'd be able to back out of this, especially not with Chris giving him that little "I just blew you, you're about to get another dose of action, what're you bitching about?" look.

He reflected on that just-gotten action for a moment, wondering if he was up for for another round, especially considering how much alcohol he'd had with the other guys so far that night. JC thought he remembered hearing somewhere that it took at least as long in minutes as the guy's age to be ready again, wondered if it was true, and then realized with some startlement that it wasn't going to be a problem in this case. He nodded slowly.

Chris turned back to Justin, who had likewise folded his arms across his chest. Justin lifted his chin stubbornly and then jerked it toward the bedroom. "Okay," he said shortly. "But you gotta provide the stuff." If he was going to let Chris dare him to get fucked in the ass, Chris was by god going to provide the toys to do it with. Chris shrugged and headed for the bedroom; there was the sound of a drawer opening, then some rustling.

As they waited, Justin and JC shared a look. JC noticed that while Justin still had his chin up very stubbornly, there was a slight look of panic in his eyes, as he realized that he had just committed himself to getting fucked up the ass by one of his very best friends - as though this had not occurred to him in the moment of accepting the challenge. It probably hadn't; Justin took after Chris in never being able to turn down a dare.

A bag landed at Justin's feet with a soft thump and rattle, presumably the "stuff" he had requested. "Thanks," he said without turning his head. Chris sketched a courtly bow and settled himself on the floor with his back braced against the couch.

There was a moment of silence, when nobody moved. Justin shrugged and dropped his arms. "I suppose we get naked now, eh?"

"Well, you don't have to, but unless you're very flexible, it could get a bit awkward." Lance smiled in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring or teasing, but showed a bit too much tooth to be really convincing.

"We're dancers, of course we're flexible." Joey did a manic little hip-shimmy to demonstrate, seizing the opportunity to lighten up the situation in any way possible. He appeared not to notice Lance's grin. Either that, or he was unable to figure out whether it meant glee that Justin was going to have to pay the piper, relief that it wasn't him in the hotseat, or discomfort with what their slightly drunken discussion had led to.

"Ah. Right." Lance then apparently remembered that he was supposed to be clamming up and clammed up.

Chris waved his hands. "Uh, guys? Remember the objective here? Porn sex? The only clothes I ever see in porn are the ones that get torn off, and occasionally some high heels."

"Well, since we're not in high heels, I guess that means we do it jaybird-style." JC tried to make it sound light, but his pulse was speeding up; nerves, fear, anticipation, he didn't know what, but he was feeling jittery now.

He reached for the buttons on his shirt, had two open when Chris stopped him. "Hang on a sec, JC. Porn, remember? You're supposed to be ripping each other's clothes off or something."

JC crossed his arms protectively over his shirt. "Huh-uh, man, this is my favorite flannel."

Chris threw up his hands in mock-despair. "Christ, at least strip each other."

Justin rolled his eyes. "So now you're the porn director?"

"Of course," Chris said, as if this should be obvious. "My dare, my porn flick."

Shooting a long-suffering look at Chris, Justin shrugged at JC. "Smut director says, we do." Chris cackled. "But don't get any bright ideas, Chris. No whips or bunny suits, okay?" Chris assumed an innocent look; one could practically see the gleaming halo crowning his angelic expression.

JC and Justin shrugged at each other, stood, crossed to the center of the room. Hesitantly, JC reached out and tugged at Justin's tee, pulling the tail of the shirt from his jeans. "Arms up." Dutifully, Justin lifted his arms and JC pulled the shirt over his head, revealing Justin's trim torso and the cross tattoed on his shoulder, a stark black patch against his skin. He regarded the shirt in his hands for a moment with a puzzled expression, as though not sure what to do with it, then suddenly twirled the shirt in a circle and let it fly to land on the back of the chair where Joey was seated. Lance wolf-whistled.

"Hush, perv." JC looked relieved, as though hamming it up made it so this was all a game, a joking striptease rather than a prelude. Justin followed suit and started unbuttoning JC's shirt, making a production of it, flicking open each button deliberately and flinging the tails wide when he was done. Sliding his hands up JC's chest, he eased the shirt off his shoulders and winged it at Lance, catching him full in the face.

Joey leaned over to Lance and hissed, "Have we really had this much to drink?"

Lance thought about it as he peeled the shirt off his face. "Nope." He took another look at JC and Justin, who were now sharing an overdramatically passionate kiss. "...yup."

"Ah."

Joey played with the cuff of his shirt uneasily. He hadn't bargained for this, watching his best friends preparing to do things his momma had never told him were possible. He briefly entertained the idea of leaving; this was private stuff, he wasn't supposed to be watching. At the same time, he thought, he should stay. These were his boys, there was about to be some heavy shit going on, and by god if somebody was gonna take it up the ass, he figured he should be there to support them.

Lance watched Joey shift uncomfortably in his seat sympathetically. He understood what was going on - straight male freakout moment. This being a problem he didn't share, he turned his attention back to the action at hand. And goddamn if it wasn't hot watching Justin Fucking Timberlake being stripped mothernaked right there on the floor of a hotel suite.

Chris shot them a smirk. Yes, that expression said. Yes! My own personal porn show right in front of me. Damn, I am so good.

JC missed all of these looks and soft words, his attention solely on Justin now. In the middle of the kiss, Justin had thrown his arms around JC, like a passionate lover. Justin's embrace was tight, almost desperate. JC was torn between conflicting desires to curl up in a ball and stick his fingers in his ears, cuddle Justin and call the whole thing off on his behalf, or drag Justin to the carpet and sink his teeth into Justin's shoulder.

Instead, JC held him close, gentled the kiss to something personal instead of an exhibition. Justin shivered, and JC stroked his back, unsure if it was fear or arousal or both. He wasn't playing now, and evidently neither was Justin.

JC kissed him again, liking the sensation of having Justin in his arms. He'd forgotten that they were being watched, distracted by the feel of Justin's tongue in his mouth and the warm solidness of his body. He smiled a little against Justin's mouth. This was rather nice, really.

He pulled back, laid his hands on Justin's shoulders, and pressed down, easing them both to the carpeted floor. A pillow landed next to them, and JC made as if to place it under Justin's head. "Mm-mm," he heard. He looked up to see Chris making a cupping motion and indicating his butt, then crooking his finger in a "come-hither" gesture. He nudged Justin back towards Chris, ending with Justin sprawled on his back, head resting on Chris's tucked-in calf, JC kneeling beside him.

JC laid a hand on Justin's chest, ran it gently over the muscles and down to his belly. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the cross tattoo (Our Father, who art in heaven...), ran his hand down further, tugged at Justin's zipper, eased the jeans down over Justin's hips - lifting them and nudging the pillow underneath as he pulled the denim down, off.

Tossing the jeans aside, JC returned to kneeling next to Justin. Unsure of how to proceed, he looked pleadingly at Chris, who gripped his naked shoulder firmly. "Take it slow, JC," Chris told him quietly. All of his flippancy had bled away. "Loosen him up, get him relaxed. Just be with him for a while."

Normally that would be Justin's cue to snark about how he was here, thankyouverymuch, and they didn't need to be talking about him like he wasn't, but Justin didn't appear to be listening. He looked like he was off somewhere in his own head.

JC nodded and turned his attention back to Justin. He just grazed the tips of his fingers down Justin's body, over his hips, thighs. Light strokes. Just be with him. The inside of his head was shrieking something about the unreality of all of this, but Justin's skin was warm under his hands. He was here, undeniably here.

He stroked featherlight touches over shoulders, chest, belly, watching carefully. When Justin sighed, JC used his palms, tracing the paths of muscle across skin, nibbling a line of kisses up the side of Justin's throat.

JC spread him out, spread him open, left him bare and waiting. "Beautiful," JC murmured in his ear, breath caressing his cheek, a hand slipping down the curve of his hip.

Justin heard rustling, a metallic click, and a whisper over him to use this. JC pulled back a minute, and he waited.

A finger, chill and slick, touched him. The shock of it shot him rigid, eyes open. He gasped in a breath. Shit, shit, it was real, it was happening. A hand on his chest, JC's, smoothing, soothing. "Are you okay, Justin?" Concerned eyes, looking anxiously into his.

Chris laid a hand on his head, thumb caressing his forehead. He leaned low, breathed a light breath across Justin's cheek. It brought him back, familiar scent of beer and cigarettes and musk. He closed his eyes again. Chris was there; it was okay. "Justin," he heard, very quietly. "Justin. Open your eyes; look at me."

He didn't want to look, not like this, naked, exposed, shaking. "Look at me." The voice was low and insistent, and he yielded to it.

"Yeah?" His voice was steady, if breathy. He was proud of that.

"You don't have to do this." Chris's brow was furrowed, expression - compassionate, yes, that was it. Chris would let him off the hook, give him no shit for bailing. Free pass, zip up, forget JC's hands on his body, mouth on his neck, attention fixed solely on him (attention whore, Chris sometimes called him, and he couldn't deny it). Game reset.

He didn't want to bail. He wanted this, had wanted an opportunity like this, and Chris knew it, damn him for giving him this chance, for setting him up, and with his best friend, dammit, touching him, licking him, hard for him, hard to take him, break him, fuck him-

He pulled his skittering, spiraling thoughts to a halt, breathed deeply. "Shut up," he said through gritted teeth, taking refuge in being mouthy. "I said I would do this, alright? So let's do this."

Chris ignored the bite and bravado in his words, continued stroking his forehead with a soft thumbtip. He dipped down, and Justin felt the lightest of kisses laid on his head, soft lips held for a moment to his hair, as if in benediction. The lips moved, barest whisper of sound. "Don't be a tough guy, Justin. If it gets to be too much, just tell him to stop." A finger laid across his lips stopped the protest he hadn't started to make. "I mean it. If you have to, need to, or want to, do it."

Justin closed his eyes, nodded. He wouldn't admit he wished Chris hadn't given him the option, wanted to be committed by more than his own will. He trusted JC, he did, but side by side with desire was a panicky terror. He wanted Chris to tell him what to do, dammit, he wasn't sure he could do this on his own.

JC kissed his shoulder, moved his lips next to Justin's ear. "Just relax, baby," he murmured. "I'll take care of you. Just go away inside your head and let me." If he was unsure himself, he did a good job of hiding it. Justin let himself be convinced; he wanted to be convinced that someone else was going to take care of things, someone else was going to make it be okay.

Justin laid his head back down on Chris's leg, closed his eyes, looked for the still place in the center of his chest, the one that echoed overtones in fifths when they sang and it was on, that he went to when the roar and the flashbulbs and the screaming got to him. The place where he went when when he talked to God at two in the morning and waited to hear if He would ever talk back.

JC's hands were on him again, tracing lines of warmth down his body. It felt good; JC was tender, as he would have thought, had he taken time to think about it. Kissing, touching, massaging his shoulders with strong hands. He let himself be touched, surrendered to the warmth and allowed himself to be cherished. Warm glancing touch over his cock, and he sighed.

"Justin, he's going to put his finger in you again. Are you ready for this?" He nodded, and the finger touched him again. He was ready this time, thought he was, but he clenched up tight at the chill shock.

JC rubbed his other hand over Justin's abdomen. "Easy, baby, easy. Breathe for me." The finger slipped inside him, slowly rubbing, stretching. JC's other hand settled onto his dick, moved over him, point, counterpoint, as JC crooned, "That's right, feels good, yeah."

It did feel good. The sensations blurred into one another, chill sparks up his spine as JC twisted his finger slightly, hot lightning as he pressed his hand down Justin's erection. "Yeah," he echoed involuntarily, low rasp in the back of his throat.

Another finger, opening him, and he craved it, arched to it. It felt wrong, it felt foreign, invasive, and he wanted to be invaded. Chris's chuckle vibrated under his head. "Don't be greedy, Justin. Let him take it slow for you."

He tried to be still, but JC's fingers were in him, and he was hot for more. He pushed up, and JC pressed back. The heat moved up through him, and he tossed his head against Chris's leg. More. "More."

He didn't realize he had spoken until JC stopped, withdrew, leaving him gritting his teeth with yearning washing through him and centering in his dick. Chris's hand, which had been resting on his head, stirred and fluttered through his hair, stopped as JC pressed into him again, withdrew, eased a third finger into him.

It was enough, it was more than enough, it was almost too much. He sucked air, and Chris whispered to him, "stay loose, stay easy, Justin." He tried, but he was dancing on the line with pain, and his fingers tightened in the carpet next to him.

"Hold up, JC." At Chris's words, JC immediately stopped, held still, except for the hand he still worked lazily over Justin's cock. After a minute, JC eased his fingers into him again, more slowly yet, wiggling gently until he relaxed as much as he could. Withdrew.

JC was slipping off his pants, he heard the rustle of denim, and warmth settled next to him. JC was lying on an elbow next to him, gloriously naked except for the Leo pendant he always wore. He reached to touch it, and JC intercepted his hand, laying it across his chest, skin hot under his palm. JC's hand held it there, fingers caressing the back of his, intimate lover's touch. Justin looked down, avoiding his eyes. God, he knew JC was supposed to be well-endowed, but suddenly it seemed to matter a whole lot more with JC's cock just brushing his hip. He swallowed, looked back up.

Chris was talking, low rumble over his head, but he didn't hear. He focused on brown eyes, blond-tipped lashes, a fragment of cheese at the corner of Chris's mouth.

Warm hands were gently lifting his hips. The moment of truth. He closed his eyes, tried to retreat inside his head. The heat from JC's skin settled over him, taut skin pressed to his, chest, belly, thighs.

"No, baby, look at me. Justin." JC laid a hand along his cheek, thumb caressing his lips. "Look." He looked up, met wide eyes that were just a few inches away, dilated and tender. "Are you okay? Are you ready?" A puff of breath on his cheek, light kiss on his collarbone. He sought the darkness behind his eyelids again, just do it already caught behind clenched teeth. "Stay with me, Justin. Keep your eyes on me."

He watched, eyes flicking in and out of focus. JC moved back a little, settled with his cock just resting against Justin's ass, paused there. "I want to hear it. Tell me you want this."

Shit. Playing consent games. Dammit, why couldn't he just-

"I want it." The words leaped from him before he could finish the resentful thoughts. "You. JC." Before he could bite them back, hanging in the stillness.

With a little smile, JC eased forward, a little rippling motion that began at his ribs and flowed to his hips. He held there, watching, waiting, let Justin get used to the sensation. And when Justin nodded, again that fractional push, that sensuous little gliding motion. A little more, a little more, and it burned and it was tantalising and it was goading a little voice screaming inside him to make it stop. And at last, a slow, steady thrust.

Justin clutched the air blindly, lunging upwards with hands, trying to curl into himself. Chris caught his hand, grasping tightly, twining his fingers into Justin's. "I'm here, Justin."

"Stay with me, Chris. Talk to me. Keep talking to me."

A whimper crawled at the back of his throat, and he held it there with his tongue, Chris's voice in his ears, his lifeline, murmuring words he no longer knew how to hear. JC's hand lay across the point of his hip, fingers curled over the edge of the bone, and he focused on it, on the dampness of fingertips, points of warmth prickling his nerves. He imagined he could feel the whorls of prints sinking into him, ridges touching layered skin, flesh, bone. Reaching inside him, JC was sinking inside him, body falling over him, into him, in him. In him.

Stillness again, harsh breath in his ear, in his lungs, on his ribs. He breathed out; Chris breathed in; JC breathed out. They all held, as if posed, silent tableau, except for Chris's fingers on his face, still gently tracing runes and spirals and patterns across the side of his cheek.

The fingers slid down, cupped his chin, tilted his head back. He resisted, not knowing why, fighting to stay in the space inside his head that kept the outside places at one remove. But his head was tipping back, and Chris's eyes were on his opening ones, on him.

"Are you okay?" One soft question, but the eyes asked all the other questions. Are you here, are you gone, are you lost, are you in there, are you out here, are you in your head, are you in your body, are you struggling away, are you pulling closer, are you panicking, are you rejoicing, are you feeling, are you feeling pain, are you feeling good, are you are you are you?

He swallowed, dryness in his mouth. "Yeah- yes." One soft answer, but it was the answer to all the questions, too. He was all these things, and more. He was in the hands of his mentor, he was in the arms of his friend, he was fighting the urge to crack that this was where he was supposed to announce how deep JC was in his ass, he was fighting not to cry, he was in the pads of his fingers and the skin of JC's wrists and the hand on his chin and the cock in his body, and he was all right, and he was all right.

It was enough, it seemed. Chris pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and released him.

After that, things started to get blurry. He stopped being able to distinguish the individual sensations. The rocking motion (stress on beats one and three, some corner of him whispered) of JC moving with him and in him. Chris's hand holding his, one ragged nail cutting into the skin of his hand. Sweat, his or JC's he didn't know, trickling down to pool in the small of his back and burning in his eyes to leak out in tears. Carpet, chafing his shoulders. Rough denim on the back of his neck. Skin on skin on skin. Accelerando, a ragged stuttering 11/8 compound meter of heartbeat and knotted muscle and raw sex. JC crying out harshly into his ear. It all ran together into a stream of Sensation that roared into the silent places in him, shrieked in his lungs, and dropped him panting and cold onto the floor with unfulfilled need still burning in his blood.

Somewhere along the way, time started again. He became aware of a slick weight pressing onto his chest and hips, a warm chin tucked onto his shoulder, lashes brushing his earlobe in sporadic flutters.

He heard a gentle rustle and raised his head a little to see, through bleary eyes, Lance nudging Joey and nodding to the door. They beat a hasty, almost furtive, retreat. And then it was just the three of them, curled into a knot on the floor.

JC rolled to the side, leaving him feeling chilled with cooling sweat. Stroked his shoulder and nibbled down his bicep. "You okay, Justin?"

He lay there a bit longer, collecting himself, then nodded. "Yeah. Think so." He stretched slightly, winced, and lay back onto Chris, who curled an arm around his neck.

Chris's knee shifted slightly under his head as Chris wrapped his other arm around JC and rubbed his shoulder. They all lay there together, snuggled and quiet.

When JC's lids started to droop, Chris tapped him on the shoulder. "JC? You should sleep."

JC sleepily started to protest. "But Justin-" He moved his hand over Justin's shoulder.

"I've got him, C," Chris said. He pointed with his chin to JC's bedroom. "You get yourself off to bed; early morning."

JC looked at him for a long moment, and something wordless passed between them. Question, answer, command, acquiescence. Finally, he nodded. With a last tender brush of his hand over Justin's head, he hauled himself up on slightly wobbling legs. Stooping to pick up his clothes as he went, he vanished into the other room with a last look back.

Justin made as if to get up, and Chris simply pressed his arm down to hold him. "No, you stay." His voice was soft enough that nobody who wasn't lying in his lap would hear. "Just come back down."

"I'm cold." Justin' voice was weak and raspy (tea with honey for him in the morning, Chris noted absently). Chris pulled Justin up gently until they were sitting together, back to chest, and wrapped his arms around to share heat.

"God, we made a mess," Justin finally observed.

Chris laughed. "I'm sure housekeeping is used to far worse. C'mon, let's get you put back together and into bed." He stood first, easing Justin to his feet, and walked him to the bathroom.

With a damp washcloth, Chris rubbed him down slowly, careful of tense muscles and sore flesh. Justin stood limply leaning against the wall, a rag of exhausted human. Chris got him into a robe, then simply picked him up over his indignant but unconvincing protests and staggered into a bedroom.

Laying him in bed, Chris sat next to him and pulled the covers up. "Go to sleep, Justin. We'll talk later."

Justin didn't bother to protest; he simply curled up, laid a hand on Chris's hip, and slipped off into sleep, eyelids bruised-looking and skin pale with fatigue.

Chris watched him a moment longer, a gentle little smile curling his lips, then stood up and went to find his own bed.

***

None of them brought it up for a good three weeks, which surprised nobody except Justin. It was eventually Joey who broached the subject over beer in their room, late one night when everyone else had gone to sleep.

Joey rolled the bottle in his hands and laid it on the table. He eyed it thoughtfully for a minute, then looked up at Justin. "So dish, man. What was it like?" He looked faintly surprised as he said the words, as though he hadn't expected to actually ask the question that had been running through his head the past few days.

Justin took a swig from his own bottle, the brew wonderfully cool on his throat, and sighed. "You mean that night." He didn't bother to say which.

"Er, yeah." Now looking faintly embarrassed, Joey reclaimed his beer and looked at it fixedly.

Justin shrugged and stared at his hands. "Shit, Joey, there's really no way to explain it. I wanted to know what it was like, I had an opportunity, I took it. It was something new. It was good." He paused. "It was maybe something I'd do again. Maybe not." He hoped Joey didn't notice that the last sentence was tossed in quickly, like an afterthought.

Silence fell again as they drank. Joey finished his beer, put down the empty bottle, and punched him companionably on the shoulder. "Good 'nuff for me. I'm gonna hit the sack."

Justin nodded, whacked him on the back heartily, and wished him a good night. He sat alone on the scratchy hotel couch for a while, enjoying his drink in small sips, thinking. He eyed Chris's door, chewing on his lower lip and rubbing his fingertips along the side-seam of his jeans.

With a decisive motion, as though to emphasize his having made a choice he'd been mulling over for quite some time, Justin set the bottle down with a small click on the endtable. He stood and stretched slowly, spreading his arms wide and throwing his shoulders back. He shot a quick look around, listened to the sounds of breathing and gentle snoring coming from the other rooms of the suite.

Satisfied that the other guys were all asleep, he padded quietly to Chris's door. Paused a moment. Tapped. The door squeaked open and revealed Chris standing there in tee shirt and boxers, an ink smudge on his cheek from whatever book he'd chosen for the night's reading. Chris cocked an eyebrow at him inquisitively and said nothing, waiting.

Justin swallowed, lifted his chin cockily, and tossed out the first words that came to him. "Don't think this excuses you for being a manipulative motherfucker, you manipulative motherfucker. And I want a reacharound this time."

Chris merely grinned and held the door open wider.