Real
Copyright October 22-November 11, 2005 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex
Pairing: Chris Kirkpatrick/Justin Timberlake
Disclaimer: The young men who comprise *NSYNC are their own people. The author has not met anyone here described, nor does the author mean to suggest that these people act this way in real life. This writing is a work of fiction. I make no money from this venture.
“Yeah, I know,” Justin said, making his, “man, which planet is Chris even from?” face as if Lance could see it on the other end of the line. “Every time I talk to him these days, it’s like, I don’t even know what’s up with him.”
Chris had been more bizarre than usual, lately. For a couple of weeks, now, it… No, longer than that. Months, actually, now that Justin thought about it, and-
What the-
“He what?!” Justin demanded, sitting up.
Chris was rolling pennies into those little sleeves to take to the bank, when the call came. He’d sat down at his dining room table with a mound of pennies and a bundle of sleeves, and now he had a somewhat smaller mound of pennies and a new stack of filled-up sleeves. He wanted to get up and do something else, so to entertain himself he made up “The Penny-Rolling Song,” which, despite his best efforts, had terrible lyrics.
He was very grateful for the interruption of the phone call. Until he answered it.
“Hello,” he said, holding the phone to one ear, swirling the fingers of his other hand through the penny mound.
“What’d you tell Lance?” Justin asked.
Justin sounded angry. Ooohh, not scary. “Lance?” Chris asked. Lance. Lance. “Lance Bass?”
“Don’t give me shit, Chris,” Justin snapped. “You told him that-”
“I know what I told him,” Chris said. “I’m the one who talked to him.” He didn’t bother to be nice. He’d used to care how he treated Justin and how Justin might react, what Justin might think. He’d spent too many years caring too much. It didn’t matter anymore. Justin wasn’t around anymore; Justin didn’t care, so why should Chris?
“You blame me for-”
“I blame you for a lot of things,” Chris said, and his tone of voice was more cruel than it had ever been with Justin, and that made him hurt and hate himself inside. But he wasn’t going to take it back.
“You can’t-”
“I can do whatever the hell I want,” Chris said, and hung up the phone.
That many pennies made a lot of noise when they hit the floor.
Justin didn’t call again until two days later. It was late, and Chris had just come home. The phone rang as he walked into the house.
“Hello?”
“What’s wrong with you lately?” Justin asked. “Why would you say that to Lance? If you have a problem with me, bring it to me.” Justin sounded frustrated and pissed-off, like he’d been yelling at Chris in his head all day and was so fed up he had to call and yell at Chris personally.
“I said it to Lance because Lance understands what I have to say,” Chris said.
“He doesn’t agree with you,” Justin said.
“The fuck he doesn’t,” Chris said. “Joey’s too loyal, and JC’s too nice. They’re not going to say what they want to say, the way it should be said. But Lance understands that sometimes honesty is-”
“You’ve been spreading this around to everybody?” Justin demanded. “Who the hell haven’t you told?”
“I told Lance,” Chris said. “I told Joey, and I told JC. I didn’t tell anybody else because I didn’t want my candid opinions leaking into the headlines. But don’t push it.”
“You’re threatening me now?!” Justin’s voice was outraged. Betrayed, furious, and loud. “You’re fucking - - are you threatening me?”
“Not much of a threat, is it?” Chris asked. “Do you really think that anyone’s going to care what your former, left-behind, sour grapes ex-coworker says about you now? It would sound like jealousy.”
“It is
jealousy,” Justin snapped. “It’s not my fault that you can’t get your shit off
of the ground, Chris. I don’t get this shit from Joey and JC because they’re
doing something.”
Chris was doing something. He was hanging up on Justin.
Three days later, Chris was getting dressed to go out when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“I shouldn’t have said what I said. I didn’t mean to - - you know that I support-”
“Fuck you,” Chris said. “You don’t give a fuck about-”
“I give a fuck about everything you do!” Justin’s voice was, suddenly, too loud. “Damn it.” A frustrated breath. “I care about everything you do.” Calmer, now. “I support-”
“You support yourself,” Chris said. “You care
about us when you can find the time to care about us, which isn’t so much,
anymore.”
“It’s not like that,” Justin said, less calm again. “That’s not
fair.”
“You’ve moved on,” Chris said. “I will, too.” Later. Someday. Not yet.
“I’ve moved on from *NSYNC,” Justin said. “I
haven’t moved on from you and the guys.”
“Me and the guys are *NSYNC.”
Justin was trying to keep his patience. “We don’t have to sing together to be best friends.”
“I guess we do.” Chris hung up and went to get dressed.
The phone rang. He ignored it.
When he got home, and the phone rang as he was dropping into bed, he answered it. “Hello.”
“Stop hanging up on me.”
“What do you want?” Chris asked.
“I want to talk to you about this,” Justin said. “You’re so mad at me, you’re blaming me for everything. I’m not the one and only reason the group stopped. I’m not, and you know it. I’ve gotten a lot of attention and I’ve made a lot of deals, but that doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly somebody different now who doesn’t give a fuck about you.”
“That’s what happened, anyway,” Chris said.
“Are you drunk?”
“I just got home from a bar and it’s three in the morning,” Chris said. “What do you think?”
“You drink too much,” Justin said.
“I don’t drink too much,” Chris said. “What I do too much of, is, I love you too much.”
Silence.
Chris rolled over. He should’ve taken more of his clothes off before getting into bed.
“Is that what this is about?” Justin asked. “Is-”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Chris sat up unbuttoned his shirt.
“I didn’t think - - I mean, you and Lance-”
“That was years ago.” Shrugging out of his shirt, he unzipped his pants.
“Yeah, but after that, things were so weird for so long, I didn’t know if maybe that was going to happen again, or not.”
Chris loved Lance, and Lance loved Chris, and they both knew it. They were just never going to be able to make that work. “You knew it wasn’t.” Chris shimmied out of his jeans, setting the phone aside to pull off his undershirt. Dropping that to the floor, he picked up the phone again, flopping back on the pillows.
“Chris?” Justin asked.
“What?” Chris asked.
“I thought maybe you hung up on me again.”
“Okay.” He hung up.
The phone rang.
He turned off the ringer and went to sleep.
Relaxed on the sofa, talking and laughing, Justin heard the other line beep. “Hold on, I have another call,” he said, and clicked over. “Hello?”
“I want to fuck you.”
Justin froze.
“I want to fuck you,” Chris said, again.
Justin couldn’t believe that Chris was doing this to him. He couldn’t believe - - this? Chris was pulling this? After what Chris had said to Lance, now - - Justin’s body was tense, muscles tight, and he didn’t know why. From shock, maybe, or revulsion, or lust, and how the hell could Chris do this to him? “You’re drunk,” Justin said, carefully. “You-”
“Put your legs over my shoulders,” Chris said. “I want to fuck your sweet, hot, hot little ass.” He was panting. “I want to crawl all over-”
“You’re drunk,” Justin said. He was panicking, and he was furious, and he’d always wanted this from Chris but not like this, not drunk and angry. “I’m going to hang up and-”
“Fuck your tight, hot little ass.” Panting, and moaning. Chris was jerking off. Chris was drunk and masturbating and calling him, wanting him. Punishing him? Was that what this was? The sound of Chris wanting him like this made Justin’s body respond, but his heart was sick. “Give it to me, Justin, give it to me, I want to ram your tight, hot, oh, oh, god, yes, Justin.”
Moaning, groaning, grunts of satisfaction - - Justin hung up, hung up and turned off the phone and sat there, paralyzed.
What had that been?
Was it true? Did Chris really… Really want him? Chris had said, “I love you too much,” and maybe that had been about their friendship and Chris’s inability to let go of the past and move on, but maybe it had been about more. Maybe Chris…
Justin had wanted Chris before he’d even understood what that really meant. He’d wanted Chris for so long, he’d learned how to let it become background noise, a constant hum of desire that didn’t interfere with their friendship. But he’d been sure that it was one-sided, unrequited, especially since Chris had hooked up with Lance.
Why would Chris do this now? Had Chris been too drunk to know any better? Or had Chris been just drunk enough to use that as an excuse? Had this been Chris’s way of spilling the beans? Or had this been Chris’s way of getting back at him for, in Chris’s eyes, abandoning the group in favor of his own success?
“Give it to me, Justin, give it to me…”
Justin wanted Chris so badly, he was sweating.
He shouldn’t have called Justin last night.
He couldn’t remember what he’d said. But he knew what he’d done.
What could he do now? Say it had been a joke? It had been anything but funny.
He could apologize. But he didn’t want to. Apologize for what? For wanting Justin? For disturbing Justin’s special little world with his unwanted lust?
How dare he do anything that might upset glorious, wonderful, overly blessed, universally loved, can’t-do-a-damned-thing-wrong, Justin fucking Timberlake?
Sometimes Chris hated the world.
Although he was pretty sure that the world looked pretty damned sweet through Justin’s eyes.
But that wasn’t fair.
Then again, sometimes, Chris wasn’t in the mood to be fair.
Justin didn’t call.
He didn’t call Justin, either.
Screw the son-of-a-bitch. Chris didn’t care what Justin thought.
Chris stared at his collection of DVD’s. He didn’t want to watch any of them. None of them were going to hold his attention.
It had been a week since he’d talked to Justin. They’d gone a lot longer than that without calling, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop wondering what things would be like the next time they saw each other. If they ever saw each other again.
They’d have to see each other again.
Wouldn’t they?
His cell phone rang.
It was Justin.
He almost didn’t answer it. He didn’t want to be yelled at. Or, worse: he didn’t want Justin to act like that last call hadn’t happened.
But if Justin were calling, he had to know what Justin wanted to say.
“Hello?” His voice came out sounding perfectly normal, which surprised him.
“Are you at home?” Justin asked.
“Yeah.” Why?
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah…” Chris looked around, wondering.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Whoa.
“I want to feel you, in me, fucking me, rock-hard and pounding my ass.”
Chris didn’t know what to do. What the hell was he supposed to do?!
“I want to open up for it and feel it so hard inside, stretching me. I want you to fuck me hard, Chris, fuck me so damned hard, hard enough to make up for all of those nights it was just me and my fingers and my fantasies of you.”
Justin wasn’t saying this to him, Justin wouldn’t say this to him.
“I want to feel your hands on my body in every place that’s been aching for you. I want to feel your body right up against me, naked, and private, and hot. I want…”
Chris couldn’t take this, he absolutely couldn’t fucking take this. “Shut up, shut up,” he whispered, closing his eyes and blocking it out.
“I want to kiss-”
“Stop it,” Chris said, louder. “Stop it-”
“Make love to me,” Justin said. “I want you to give it to me, Chris, I want-”
“Stop it! Stop it!”
“No!” Justin shouted. “I’ve been loving you and wanting you and waiting for you without even realizing that I was waiting for you! I’ve been waiting for you for ten fucking years, and-”
“No, no, no,” Chris said, rejecting it, not wanting it, not wanting this truth or this responsibility. “No, that’s bullshit, I-”
“You called me,” Justin said sharply. “You brought this to me, and now I’m giving it back to you. If you can’t handle it, you should have thought of that before you picked up that phone while your dick was in your hand. It’s too late, now. You said that you want to fuck me? So fuck me.”
Chris hung up.
His heart pounded.
Justin wanted him.
He’d been so angry and so hostile and so resentful and so in love.
And now Justin wanted him.
Justin had always wanted him.
Even before he’d wanted Justin, Justin had wanted him.
Chris carefully located a chair, and sat.
He had to do something.
He just didn’t know what.
Justin came home and found Chris on his doorstep.
Chris stood, dusting off his ass and not really smiling.
“I didn’t know you were in L.A.,” Justin said.
“I wasn’t.” His hair was longer, which made it look thicker, and Justin wanted to run his fingers through it. Chris had on jeans and a T-shirt and a jacket, and he’d only meet Justin’s eyes for a few heartbeats in a row before looking away and then looking back, and Justin loved the way his fingers were curling and uncurling in quiet agitation.
It was Chris. Chris. Which meant that Justin wanted to say “I love you” and “God, you look hot” and “You can stay, right, it’d be okay if you stayed here and never left.” But all he said was, “Come on in.”
Opening the door with Chris standing right beside him made Justin’s palms sweat at how close to him Chris was. Until Chris stepped back. Which made Justin angry and sad. Chris had come here, out of the blue, to see him in person? And now Chris couldn’t even stand near him?
Inside the house, Justin didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to offer Chris a seat and made small talk. He shouldn’t even have to offer Chris a seat; Chris should be at home and act like Justin’s house was his house, the way they always did. The way they’d always used to.
He didn’t want to ask why Chris had come, because he might not like the answer.
They stood there, in silence.
Chris shifted and met his eyes. “You want to go to your room and have sex?”
Oh.
Oh.
Justin stared at Chris, letting that idea sink in, until his heart was pounding so fiercely that it interfered with his ability to breathe. And then he said, with what remained of his voice, “Okay.”
“God, oh god,” Justin panted, pulling at Chris to get closer, closer. The blunt press of the head of Chris’s dick made him groan, digging his nails in. “Ah, yes, I need it, I need it-”
“I know, I know, hold on.” Chris’s voice was breathless and desperate as he eased-
“Oh god, oh god, Chris, Chris, Chris…” Justin winced, twisting, then gripped Chris’s shoulders. “Wait, wait - - oh, god, I want it, just-”
“Are you okay?” Chris asked, gaze flickering up to Justin’s face from the joining of their bodies, doing his damnedest to hold back if Justin needed it.
“It’s just,” Justin panted, “too big.”
Chris grinned shakily. “Never had that complaint before.”
Laughing breathlessly, Justin relaxed his hold on Chris’s shoulders. “Okay, okay, just slower. Go slow, okay, it - - oh, god, oh, god…” Moaning, Justin pushed, grinding the heels of his hands against Chris’s shoulders. “It’s too, it’s too, oh…”
Finally pressing in the last inch, Chris paused, breathing carefully to stay calm, exercising control over his body’s urges. He was finally fucking Justin, and the flexibility and easy physicality and smooth skin of Justin’s body delivered on every promise. His eyes feasted on the sight of Justin’s openly displayed nudity, his lips were warm from Justin’s kisses, his hands obsessed over each cherished line and curve, and his dick was locked into the tightest, sexiest, hottest ass he’d ever lusted after.
He wanted to move, to thrust; his dick craved the motion. But he had to give Justin a chance to get used to the sensation of penetration first, even though it was damned near killing him to wait. God, he wanted to fuck Justin now.
“Oh…” With a slow undulation that rolled over his body in a wave that left Chris wide-eyed and dry-mouthed, Justin flexed his fingers, adjusting his hold on Chris’s shoulders. Gradually letting his touch drift down Chris’s arms, Justin looked into Chris’s eyes, his own eyes dark with anticipation and desire. “This feels so…intense.”
Intense, yes. Intense, and freeing, and terrifying, and necessary. Licking his lips, Chris forced his hips to wait a little longer. “Can I…?”
Confusion flickered through Justin’s expression before his gaze cleared. “Yes, god, yes, don’t - - oh, oh god - - wait for - - ah, ah - - me - - fuck!” Bucking as Chris surged deeper, Justin cried out, rocking urgently against each thrust.
Justin’s eager responses pushed Chris on faster; he fucked Justin’s hungry, willing body, letting out the pent-up need and long-suppressed lust that had been simmering for years and now boiled over. As Justin’s demanding cries grew louder, Chris was driven to give him more and more and more. He’d always felt compelled to be with Justin, driven from a deep-seated instinct and attraction, and now he could express that compulsion, could live it out.
Finally able to connect with Justin on this deepest level and enact his most vivid fantasies, Chris groaned, fucking almost too fast, needing this too much after all of these years. Even if the sex had been bad, god, it was still Justin; but it wasn’t bad, it was fantastic, it was sensational, it was so fucking good he was going to come way too soon, any second now.
“Chris.” Justin’s voice was a stripped-down rush of need. “Chris…”
“Okay, okay,” Chris panted. He didn’t know what he was agreeing to, until his hand slid across Justin’s rippling abs and curled around the long, hard shaft of Justin’s dick. Justin made a tense, hurt, desperate sound that made Chris’s next thrust slam in too hard, and then Justin was bucking under him and calling his name as he worked his hand over Justin’s rigid erection. Sometimes Justin’s gaze was on the ceiling, sometimes on Chris’s body, and sometimes Justin’s eyes were closed; but sometimes Justin looked right at his face, into his eyes, and the flash of I-want-you, I-love-you, we’re-really-doing-this that passed between them, it was too real, and Chris’s stomach twisted around on itself in fear and anticipation and need. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore, it was a fact now, a truth, a reality, and it was hard to wrap his brain around the idea that he was really doing this, really, finally, fucking Justin.
“You’re, oh, going to, oh oh ah, make me, Chris, come,” Justin moaned, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling at Chris to get him closer.
Orgasm and lust were churning around in Chris’s body so hotly that he could barely speak in the correct syllables, but he tried. “Come hard,” he breathed, speeding up his hand. “Come hard for me.” He thrust faster, creating an intense, too-quick rhythm that briefly made his own vision blur as the pressure of nearing climax built. Justin, crying out sharply, shuddered and arched and bucked as slippery cum spilled over Chris’s fingers and onto Justin’s stomach.
“Oh, god, oh, god,” Justin whispered, spasming as orgasm made one final roll through his body. “Oh…” Shivering, he opened his eyes, blinking and smoothing his hands over Chris’s shoulders to orient himself. “Oh, god.”
Chris had slowed down and then stopped to watch Justin come. He’d dreamt about pushing Justin through orgasm for so long, he hadn’t wanted to be distracted from a second of it by his own needs. But now, the urgency throbbing through him wouldn’t be denied. With a soft groan at the loving heat of Justin’s body, he hitched into motion again, rocking his hips, pushing and thrusting and moaning.
Beneath him, Justin watched open-mouthed, panting softly. When Chris’s head dropped as orgasm threatened to break through, he felt Justin’s fingers stroke through his hair. He was so used to closing his eyes and flashing to Justin as he came that he began to do that now, until he realized that he was with Justin in that moment, he was coming inside Justin, this was Justin - - and the reality of it hit him so hard that orgasm crashed through him at the same instant, his eyes snapping open to stare in awe at Justin’s flushed face just as he came, electricity sizzling through him as ecstasy popped and he flooded Justin’s sated body with warm cream.
Justin’s hand rose, fingers slipping along Chris’s cheek and chin, gaze focused like he was memorizing the moment. Then his hand dropped, and the moment was gone, and Chris didn’t know what was supposed to happen next.
He shifted back a little, easing his dick out.
Justin stretched his legs slightly.
Chris had flown out to L.A. to fuck Justin, and now he’d fucked Justin. Mission accomplished. Now what? Was this a temporary glitch in Justin’s life? Was this a new phase of their relationship? Was he supposed to go home and pretend that it had never happened? It had sounded, over the phone, like this might be something that Justin wanted, not just sex but more. A relationship. Love.
“You look so worried.” Justin’s voice was so completely normal that it was startlingly reassuring to hear. It sounded like regular Justin conversation, and that gave Chris room to relax a little.
He looked at Justin.
Justin was trying to stay calm; Chris could see the anxiety twitching around his expression. “You okay?” Justin asked.
“Yeah.” He was. He loved Justin, and he’d taken his chance to fuck Justin, and even if the rest of it didn’t work out, at least he’d had this. It was more than he’d had yesterday.
“Then can you come here and lay down or something?” Justin asked. “You’re making me nervous.”
“You’re not already nervous?” Chris asked. He wished that he hadn’t said that, as soon as it was out, but, hell, there it was. He settled on his back right beside Justin, close but not intimate.
“Yeah,” Justin admitted. “A little.” He rolled onto his side, long-limbed and muscular and perfect, and propped himself on one elbow. His face was red. From the heat of sex, or from embarrassment? “But I already told you that I want you, and that I’m in love with you, and that I’ve spent years jacking off over you, so I don’t know what’s left to be nervous about.” The trembling of his fingers before he curled them in the sheet betrayed him.
Chris didn’t know everything about Justin’s life anymore. “Have you been with guys before?”
“Not like this.” Justin didn’t seem to know where to look - - Chris’s eyes, Chris’s chest, below the waist, towards the wall. “I’ve done some drunken making out, but it never got this far.” That was definitely a blush as he met Chris’s eyes with a shy, brave grin. “It was even better than I imagined it would be. You’re so good, and you felt so damned real.”
Justin had felt that, too, Justin had felt the reality of it. Startled, Chris stared at Justin’s face. They’d shared the same experience. He’d been stunned by the truth of what was happening after years of fantasy, and so had Justin. The heat of Justin’s body, the press of Justin’s hands, the soft wetness of Justin’s mouth - - it had all been so real… And he’d thought, when their eyes had met, that Justin had felt what he’d felt, but that could have been just his imagination. But, no. Justin had been right there with him.
“Can you stay?” Justin asked, and met his eyes, and Chris saw it there, really saw it. Justin loved him, and that was a little scary for both of them, but Justin wanted him, wanted to be with him, needed him around. “Do you have to go back right away, or can you hang out here for a while?”
Chris swallowed. He’d been so angry. Resentful. Jealous. Justin had left him, abandoned him, moved on. But that wasn’t true. Justin loved him, always had. Wanted his time and his attention, always had. Wanted to be with near and near him and around him, always had. Respected and valued and supported him. Always had.
Wondering how he could have been so wrong, how they could have gotten it so wrong, he drew Justin in, pulled Justin to his mouth. Justin opened for him easily, making a soft sound of desire, and when he tugged Justin closer, Justin’s body sank over his, skin on skin, intimate, sexy, arousing.
“Chris,” Justin whispered, kissing him, stroking his face.
Chris’s heart pounded as he kissed Justin back in soft rhythm, hands drifting down the slender, muscular planes of Justin’s back.
“Stay with me,” Justin whispered. When Justin’s mouth left his, he opened his eyes and Justin was right there, close, waiting for his answer.
But he’d been so angry, and Justin had been so distant, and what if Justin pulled away again, what if Justin left him behind again?
But what if Justin didn’t?
But what if Justin did?
He loved Justin, he loved Justin and he wanted to say it, but he was scared, and he was bitter, and he didn’t want to get hurt again.
“Just a couple days,” Justin said. It looked like it was hard for him to say; it sounded like it hurt to make the concession, but he wanted to make things easier for Chris. “Just a few days, maybe a few weeks. You don’t - - we don’t have to decide everything now. We can take it as it comes.”
Chris wrapped his arms around Justin, and closed his eyes, and it felt so real. The sheets bunched under his back, the pillow soft behind his head, the weight and warmth of Justin’s body, the firm press of Justin’s chest, the sweet caress of Justin’s fingers through his hair. Justin’s face tucked against his neck and his heart stuttered a little bit. He opened his eyes and yes, it was all real, he was in Justin’s house, in Justin’s bedroom. This was Justin, not a fantasy, not a substitute.
“I didn’t pack anything,” Chris said. “We’ll have to go shopping.”