"Sucker"

Sucker

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairings: Backstreet Boys/*NSYNC/O-Town

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise the Backstreet Boys, *NSYNC, and O-Town 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.

Continued from part seventy-eight

Erik had fucked JC in a kitchen before, and it had been fan-freakin’-tastic. Today, it had been even better. He wondered where else JC liked it.

Fantasizing about where he wanted to screw JC led to fantasizing about where he wanted to screw JC and Howie, which led him to fantasize about watching Howie screw JC, which reminded him that he hadn’t completed his mission.

Dragging his clothes back on, he sent JC to go shower so he could set up Howie’s gift.

Brian had laughed.

The things that Brian had said. Brian’s embarrassed, overwhelmed smiles; Brian’s pleased, flattered giggle.

Just that morning, Chris had considered Justin a best friend, an ally, someone who understood and supported him, someone he understood and supported. Now, he placed Justin in territory formerly occupied only by Lance. He hated Justin. He loathed Justin. The idea of Justin made him want to skin himself alive. He didn’t want to see Justin, think of him, hear about him, or be aware that he even existed.

Justin had shown up in Brian’s home, declared love, and stripped naked. He’d committed unspeakable acts of utter betrayal that made Chris’s brain misfire. It was nearly impossible to think about what had happened without screaming and becoming unnaturally violent.

Or clawing his own face off.

Or passing out.

Brian had done things. To Justin. With Justin. Things with body parts, things where Justin was naked, things that, oh, oh, oh god, he was going to have to lose his mind.

And that thing that Brian had said. Those words, in that order, “his back was so pretty.” Chris knew what that meant, he knew what that meant, and was he supposed to feel sorry for Justin? Was he supposed to feel empathy for the friend who’d, who’d, Brian had sucked Justin’s dick. Twice. Chris was going to slam his own head into the wall until he could stop those thoughts from existing.

Who’d whipped Justin? Had AJ done it? Would Justin take that from someone who wasn’t Kevin? Chris didn’t know. He hated Justin and he hated himself and he loved Brian so desperately that he really, really wanted to believe that Brian had lied to him.

Because if Brian had told him the truth, then he might have to turn into a twitching, drooling mess. If he hadn’t already.

But he knew Brian. He knew Brian in ways that even he didn’t understand. And there was a certain kind of pain that only the truth could inflict. Brian adored that pain. Brian loved to hurt him with reality. Brian liked to twist reality and fantasy, because it was fun to twine them together and watch Chris unravel.

He’d experienced Brian’s fantasies and he’d lived Brian’s realities, and he knew the difference. Brian had told him the truth.

Which meant that Justin had approached Brian and declared love. Which wouldn’t, couldn’t have been Justin’s idea or at all heartfelt. Justin didn’t love Brian. That didn’t make sense any way Chris looked at it. So someone had sent Justin to proclaim love for Brian. And someone had whipped Justin. And if those things were true, then Justin had to be approaching, if not experiencing, a new level of emotional trauma.

Part of Chris wanted to help him. Wanted to support him, guide him, reassure him. But a larger part had to stay the fuck away from him, because if Chris got anywhere near Justin, vitally important parts of Chris’s brain might malfunction. And that could get very ugly.

It was true, of course, that Chris had already had sex with Kevin numerous times. Kevin had fucked him very well. But that didn’t make him feel any better. It didn’t give him a sense of justice or vengeance. It didn’t even seem to make things equal. It certainly didn’t change his burning fury. He still wanted to lobotomize himself with his own hands.

Brian had taught him that reality was a flexible thing.

Maybe that was why undeniable truths seemed so damned vicious. Justin had declared love for Brian, and Brian had delighted in it. Justin had stripped for Brian, and Brian had sucked Justin’s dick. Twice. And Justin had let it happen. Had probably participated.

The idea of Justin’s dick pumping into beautiful Brian’s perfect mouth was so fucking obscene and grotesque and unfathomable, Chris wished that he knew how to make himself lose consciousness so he wouldn’t have to allow the possibility of it for one more second.

He wanted to hunt Justin down and do unspeakable things.

He wanted to hunt Lance down, too, while he was at it.

He wanted to run back to Brian and then take Brian away somewhere so that they could be alone, the two of them and no one else, so Brian couldn’t hurt other people or use other people to hurt him.

He wanted to go to AJ and demand to know what the fuck was going on. Wasn’t AJ in charge of Justin these days? Had AJ simply enabled someone else’s plan, or had this all been AJ’s brilliant idea to begin with? And would castrating AJ get across the message that Chris didn’t approve of the damned plan?

Justin wouldn’t have gone to Brian of his own volition. Someone had sent him there.

“Someone” needed to fucking pay.

Justin needed to stop existing before Chris lost it in a whole new way.

Brian needed to stop saying things and doing things and fucking other people. Chris couldn’t take it anymore. Brian was his, Brian had used to be his, Brian had said so, they’d made promises, they’d agreed, they’d, they’d…

They’d…

Why did things have to be like this? Why was everything so wrong? Why couldn’t anything be right? Why was it all backwards and upside-down and completely fucked up? Why couldn’t anything ever get better? Why was life so damned unbearable?

Why was this what life was like?

Why was this what love was like?

Seeing Justin like that gave Lance all of the motivation he needed to go to the store and buy the latest in surveillance technology.

He’d failed with Justin, which made him want to check on the other guys, wanted to make sure that someone was still sane, that someone was still talking to him. JC didn’t answer, and Joey was out with Nick. Chris didn’t answer either.

Given the choice between following up with JC or with Chris, Lance chose Chris. Chris’s grip on reality was a little more tenuous than JC’s. The Brian connection was there, but the Howie one wasn’t. He realized that Chris probably didn’t want to see him, but if things were all right, he wouldn’t stay long.

His first clue that things weren’t all right was that when he pulled into the driveway, he parked behind Chris’s car and saw that the driver’s side door was open.

The front door was open, too. Not simply unlocked: open. Ajar. Immediately concerned, Lance hurried forward. Ideas flashed through his mind - - burglar, stalker - - as he rushed into the house, closing doors as he went, already pulling out his cell phone. “Chris?” No answer; he rounded the corner, on the lookout for anything out of place, any sign of an intruder. “Chris?” He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but there weren’t a lot of good, happy reasons for Chris’s door to be open like that.

No Chris in the kitchen, no one in the game room, no one in the bedroom. Turning to leave the master bedroom, Lance glanced into the closet.

Chris was there, sitting on the floor, half-turned away. Silent and utterly still, which was so unlike Chris, Lance felt a sharp spike of fear.

“Chris?” he asked, stepping into the closet.

With a yelp of pain, Chris clamped both hands over his ears.

“It’s okay,” Lance said, softening his tone. “It’s okay, Chris, it’s just me.” Gently touching his hand to Chris’s hair, he knelt, stroking down Chris’s back. “Are you okay?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Chris whispered, rubbing his ears like he could get out the sound of Lance’s voice. “Shut up, shut up.”

Swallowing an automatic, “Sorry,” Lance clenched his jaw to keep his mouth shut. He wanted to ask what was wrong, what had happened, why Chris was sitting alone in the closet, and several other questions. But he already knew that most, if not all, of those answers would lead to Brian.

Not a nurturing man by nature, Lance wasn’t sure what to do or how to help. He found himself running his hand over Chris’s back in even, rhythmic strokes, the way he’d used to pet his dogs. He even scratched a little, gently. It eventually seemed to help Chris relax, if the fact that Chris picked up a nearby sock and began to toy with it was any indication.

Deciding to respect Chris’s wishes, even if he didn’t understand them, Lance flipped open his cell phone one-handed and thumbed out a text message.

Chris’s phone beeped. Setting aside the sock, Chris checked his phone. He coughed, scratched his chin, and replied to Lance’s text message with one of his own.

R u ok?

Bad morning

Brian?

You expected maybe santa?

Okay, he’d deserved that. Can I help?

Time machine

You want to go back? To when?

Any day thats not today

Lance nodded, stroking Chris’s spine. He wanted to go back, too. Back to before Jacob and before Brian, when he and Howie were together and everything made sense. Maybe back to when he’d first fallen in love and he’d believed in the promises in Howie’s eyes. Maybe back…to Puerto Rico.

Pulling himself away from that thought, Lance glanced over and saw that Chris was typing in brian brian brian brian.

This really had to stop before JC got too used to it. Set up together on a shelf in his closet were a small jewelry box, a letter, a bottle of wine, and a huge bouquet of flowers.

Standing beside the shelf was a long, rolling rack of clothes he’d never seen before.

“Honey.” He didn’t know where to start. “Baby.” He gestured helplessly. “Erik-Michael...”

“You want a drink?” Erik asked, producing two wine glasses from behind his back.

“Honey, I…” Wait. JC took the glasses from Erik’s hand, holding them to the light. Letters were etched on them. Initials. HDD. JSC. “Where did you get these?”

“From Howie.” Erik pulled a bottle opener from the pocket of a pair of pants on the rack.

“Where did he get them?”

“I don’t know, somewhere.” Bottle open, Erik reached for a glass, filling it halfway. “You should read the letter.”

Exchanging glasses with Erik, JC sipped the wine. Sex and a shower had relaxed him; the wine eased the last of the tension from his body. “Have you read it?”

“Yeah.” Erik swallowed too fast, like someone used to drinking for the effect of alcohol and not the taste. “You’ll like it.”

Not sure how much faith to put in Erik’s assessment, but trusting Howie, JC opened the letter. Taking another sip, he read.

It’s getting harder and harder to let time pass without you. It’s not days and nights anymore. It’s hours and minutes. I want to get in the car and drive to you, to wherever you are. I pick up the phone to call you. I want to be with you, JC. I have to be with you.

Do you know how much I love you? Do you understand how much I miss you? The sound of your voice? The sight of your smile? The blue of your eyes? I love that you laugh too late and too long. I love that you spend as much time on your hair as I do on mine. I love that you’re loyal, I love how much your friends mean to you. I love how private you are and how giving you are and how well you kiss.

You’re not here, and it’s driving me crazy. I want to talk to you and listen to you and make love to you and sing with you and take naps with you, and you’re not here.

I love you, JC, and I respect your choices. I don’t want to put pressure on you or make demands. Please come to dinner tonight, at my house, at eight. I won’t expect anything, just dinner. Wear whatever you want. We’ll talk about whatever you want. We don’t have to talk at all. I just need to be near you again. And I hope that you’re ready to be near me.

Dinner. With Howie. They could finally make up. They could finally be partners again. They could talk and plan and scheme and share and screw. They’d only been apart for a short time, but it felt like ages.

Giving Erik a quick hug for effect, taking a sip of wine, he asked, “Are you going to be there?”

“No,” Erik said, returning his embrace. “Just the two of you.”

Thank god. Grinning hugely, JC let go. He had to decide what to wear, and Howie had generously provided him with many fine choices. Running admiring, appreciative fingers along the rack, JC examined pants, shirts, jackets, belts.

“You’re going?” Erik asked.

“I’ve just been waiting for an invitation. He sent it, so here I come.” This shirt was perfect, these pants would - - no, these pants - - oh, damn, he had to put these jeans on right now. “Were you with Howie when he bought these?” he asked, shimmying into the jeans.

“Yeah. We had a good time. He has great taste.”

JC checked himself out, turning before the mirror. “I love it. What do you think?”

“I think that I shouldn’t enjoy seeing you change clothes this much.” Erik refilled his glass. “You were just waiting for an invitation? Why didn’t you send one?”

“I wanted to make sure that Howie wanted it. It had to be up to him.” These clothes were fantastic; he couldn’t believe that Howie knew him this well. “Do you know what he’s wearing tonight?”

“You’re worried about clothes?” Erik asked.

“They’re kind of what’s right in front of me, honey,” he pointed out, pulling a shirt from the rack.

“But aren’t you worried about what to say, or…I don’t know, how to act?”

“This isn’t the first relationship I’ve been in, and this isn’t the first fight I’ve had with a lover. I’ve been through make-up scenes and break-up scenes and everything in between, sometimes all in one night. I’m not that worried about how to act, and what I say…” He slid into a jacket and met Erik’s eyes. “I’m going to be honest. I’ve really missed Howie, and I want to be with him. We can make it work, I don’t have a doubt about it. I just needed a sign from him that he was willing to try, and so far,” he gestured at the gifts surrounding them, “he’s made that clear.”

“That makes sense,” Erik said. “You’re being really mature about this.”

“I’m just excited that the waiting is finally over.” He couldn’t wait to see Howie, and he couldn’t wait to find somewhere to wear this jacket. “What’s he wearing?”

“Oh, uh, a suit.”

Remembering Howie and Erik dressed in suits having their very own version of tonight’s dinner, JC smiled to himself. Remembering the ensuing sexual escapades, he smothered laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” He turned his smile on Erik, feeling his eyes sparkle and crinkle. “I’m really looking forward to tonight. Maybe I should bring him something.”

“All Howie wants is you. If you show up, he’ll have everything he needs.”

That was sweet. JC found a few elegant suits on the rack, including a dark pinstripe. Examining the offered selection of belts, he said to himself, “I might need new shoes.”

“There are shoes and hats and stuff out in the truck,” Erik said. “I’ll get them.”

Watching Erik go, JC decided that there were definitely benefits to playing this game.

The doorbell rang.

Scrambling to his feet, Justin smoothed his clothes and patted his hair and checked his breath. “Kevin,” he said eagerly as AJ rose much more casually. “Do you think it’s Kevin?”

“Probably,” AJ said. “Stay,” his hand pressed Justin’s stomach, pushing Justin back a foot, “there.”

“Go,” Justin urged. Kevin shouldn’t be kept waiting.

Strolling over to the door, AJ opened it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Kevin walked right into the house. Justin stepped forward eagerly; AJ pointed in his direction without looking, and Justin stopped short. Swallowing his pride, he retreated. “How’s everything going?” Kevin asked.

“Dinner worked out,” AJ said. “Jacob behaved himself. Lance came over this morning, and he managed to escape without any serious blood loss.”

The line of Kevin’s jaw was fierce. Kevin’s legs looked deliciously long. Despite the butterflies in Justin’s stomach, his mouth watered. Swallowing, he tried to hold still.

“How’s Justin?”

The sound of his own name spoken in Kevin’s voice made Justin start forward; restraining himself by sheer will, he grew hot, silently begging AJ to answer in any way that wouldn’t incur displeasure.

The last time he’d seen Kevin, he’d been punished. He had to do better this time.

“He tried to keep Brian, Howie, and Nick happy,” AJ said. “He kept his shit together in front of Jacob even when things got rough. He’s a little dick dependent, but I never mind fucking.”

“He’s always been a whore.” Kevin glanced in Justin’s direction. “All right. Let’s go. Get in the truck. Alex, you know about the new feed?”

“Yeah, Brian told me.”

“Okay.” Kevin opened the door. “Move your ass. Don’t make me waste even more of my time on you.”

His heart pounding, Justin scurried.

On the floor of the closet, Chris and Lance sat back-to-back. Chris was talking a mile a minute, telling a story about himself and Brian and a French coffee shop. It was a happy memory; the pain had left his voice, and he sounded amused and animated. Maintaining his silence, Lance text messaged his replies, responses, and questions. He couldn’t muffle his laughter, but Chris didn’t seem to mind.

Midway through the story, with coffee spilling across the counter, Chris having almost knocked Brian unconscious with the napkin dispenser, and a stray dog munching on biscotti, the doorbell rang.

Chris broke himself off in mid-sentence to ask, “Who’s that?”

Trevor? Lance suggested.

“Maybe.” Chris got to his feet slowly; Lance followed suit, straightening the wrinkles from his clothes. “Stay here,” Chris said, and without meeting Lance’s eyes, he left the closet.

Pocketing his phone, Lance strolled out of the closet, closing the doors behind himself. He wondered what had happened with the coffee and the dog. He’d liked the Brian in that story: fun, easy going, quick to laugh. He’d liked the Chris in that story, too; it was a Chris he remembered. The Chris he’d used to know; the Chris he’d loved. A Chris full of life and energy and wit.

He supposed that, long-term, he knew how that story turned out. Whether or not they ever cleaned up that coffee, the story had the same ending. Brian broke Chris’s heart. Brian shattered Chris’s identity. Brian left, and Chris never figured out how to pick up the pieces.

The sound of footsteps; Chris walked into the room, pale, anxious, still avoiding his eyes. “Dan’s here.” Chris’s fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt; he was practically dancing in place. “He wants to talk about…” Making a vague gesture, Chris closed his eyes and pressed a shaking hand to his head.

“Justin?” Lance asked. Dan had come to talk about Justin? Why - - whoa, “Are you okay?”

Wiping sweat from his face, Chris said, “I know my lines, I know, Kevin told me what to say. Do you, did…”

“Yeah.” He and Brian had talked about it.

Nodding, Chris looked absolutely nauseous.

“We can tell him that it’s a bad time. If you don’t want to do this, we-”

“I can’t let them down.”

“They’ve done a hell of a lot more than let you down,” Lance said. “Dan can go to someone else.”

Shaking his head, Chris left the room.

If Chris was going to do it, Lance wouldn’t let him do it alone.

JC rarely drank this early in the day. The last time he’d done it, he’d been in L.A. with Nick. He’d wakened before Nick, and ordered room service. Croissants and fresh fruit and champagne. He remembered waking Nick. Having breakfast. Being pulled onto Nick’s lap, kissing, Nick’s hands sliding under his robe. Being interrupted by something. He couldn’t recall what the interruption had been - - Chris pounding on the door, maybe - - but he had a vivid recollection of coaxing Nick awake, of Nick sipping champagne from gold-tipped crystal, of brushing croissant crumbs from Nick’s lips, of being drawn in for a kiss. He could almost feel-

“You okay?”

Coming back to the present with a quick breath, JC plastered on a smile over his immediate irritation. “I was just thinking about something.”

“About Howie?” Erik guessed, putting a discarded shirt back on its hanger.

“Yeah.” He had to stop living in the past. He had to focus at least on the present, the game, Erik, Howie. His most immediate concern was dinner. “Which one do you think I should wear?” he asked, considering his new suits.

“Whichever one looks best with this,” Erik said, pressing the small jewelry box into his hand.

He’d almost forgotten about it. “Howie has to stop giving me things.”

“You can tell him that tonight.”

Curious about his gift, he opened the box.

A ring. A streamlined silver ring with a sparkling garnet. JC immediately liked it so much he felt a physical compulsion to wear it. Sliding it on, he curled and uncurled his fingers, enjoying the way it felt on his hand, studying the way it looked there.

Nick’s stone.

Howie had given him Nick’s stone. Maybe simply because it matched the one in his piercing; maybe as a peace offering, as a token of respect. Howie understood that he loved Nick, just as he understood that Howie had a past with Lance. They could acknowledge that and still form their own partnership.

It was a generous, respectful move on Howie’s part. JC couldn’t help but feel grateful.

“It looks…fancy,” Erik said.

Without looking away from the ring, JC could interpret Erik’s tone. “You think it’s feminine.”

“It’s kind of girly,” Erik admitted. “But that works on you.”

“Erik-Michael,” JC faced him, “what would it take for you to stop seeing everything as masculine versus feminine and macho versus girly and manly versus gay?”

“A miracle?” Erik guessed. “A severe blow to the head? I don’t know. You and Howie keep telling me to get my head out of my ass.”

“What about your bracelet?” JC asked. “It isn’t feminine?”

“That’s bling,” Erik said. “Bling’s different. Every guy’s got to have something to flash.”

“Why?” JC asked, curious, amused.

“To show you’ve got enough money to take care of your girl,” Erik said. “If you don’t have a little extra cash to throw around on fancy shit, how can you prove you can treat your girl right? Or your guy,” he added.

“Honey, you didn’t pay for that bracelet.”

“Oh.” Erik shook his wrist, watching the bracelet flash. “Then I guess it just looks good.”

Justin couldn’t take another minute of silence. “Kevin-”

“Take your clothes off,” Kevin said, closing the door to the garage and walking over to lean against the kitchen counter.

Blushing red-hot, Justin began to undress. His body hadn’t belonged to him in a long time. He remembered Brian’s light, gentle, whispering touches; he remembered Nick’s smacks and slaps and pinches.

Naked, his clothes piled at his feet, Justin turned to Kevin, head lowered modestly. He waited for the response, however it came.

“Brian liked your body.”

Justin closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. Shame crawled around inside his skin.

“Do you like that?” Kevin asked. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“No,” Justin whispered. He wanted to hug himself, hide himself, cover himself. What was Kevin looking at? What did Kevin see?

“Then why do you work out?” Kevin asked. “Why bother, if it’s not to please other people, to attract their attention?”

“It’s for you,” Justin said. “It’s all for you. Everything I do is for you.”

“Even when you spread your legs for other people?” Kevin asked. “Even when you open your mouth for other men?”

“Yes.” Yes. It was. He’d done that for Kevin.

Kevin snapped his fingers.

Obeying the command instinctively, his training kicking in immediately, Justin stepped closer, on his knees before Kevin within seconds. He dared to look up as Kevin’s thumb rubbed across his lips.

“Pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Kevin murmured. “You think that you can get away with giving head, and it means you aren’t a whore. A couple of blowjobs here and there, that isn’t sex.” The slow, tender fucking of Kevin’s fingers in his mouth made Justin hot, made him want more. “Where the dick goes doesn’t make a difference. It’s still dick. You’re still a slut.”

He’d done it for Kevin. He hadn’t wanted it, he’d hated it. He’d felt sick, he’d felt angry, he’d felt violated. But could he explain that? He couldn’t make his point without insulting Nick, and that wasn’t a safe thing to do. Even though the crude son-of-a-bitch deserved it.

“Who’d you like best?” Kevin stroked the roof of his mouth.

Justin considered his answer with great care. When Kevin’s fingers slipped from his mouth, he quietly said, “I love all of them.”

A smile. “You’re learning.”

Dan had intended to talk to Chris and then to Lance; seeing both of them at once saved him a second trip. Still, he would’ve rather spoken with them separately; it might’ve been easier to get through to them one-on-one.

He didn’t know Lance well at all, but he remembered Jacob’s warnings. As he accepted the offered seat on the couch, he wondered if Lance was the same kind of “friend” to Justin that Joey had turned out to be.

“You wanted to talk about Justin?” Lance asked, sitting beside him as Chris perched on a chair. “What about him?”

“His emotional health,” Dan said.

“This again.” Lance sat back with a tired sigh. “You really have to stop spreading these rumors before they reach the wrong ears.”

“I’m not spreading any rumors,” Dan said. He couldn’t believe that he was getting this reaction. And not from just anyone; from Justin’s best friends. How blind were they? How wrapped up in their own lives could they be? Did they spend any time with Justin at all? “Justin needs help, and I-”

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked. “You want Justin to drop AJ and come back to you? You didn’t get enough action the first time around? Justin’s not going to give you another shot,” he insisted. “Ever since he hooked up with AJ, no one else has existed for him. You’re lucky that you got as much as you did.”

“When Justin commits, he commits,” Chris said. “AJ has all of his time, all of his attention, all of his energy.”

“There are a lot of ways for that to be unhealthy,” Dan told Chris.

“Is this the part where you accuse AJ of abusing him?” Lance asked.

“They have a passionate relationship,” Chris said. “AJ’s an intense guy. Me, I don’t need that, I don’t want to live in a soap opera. But Justin thrives on it.”

“They fight with each other,” Lance said. “They argue, they get jealous, Justin can be demanding.”

“Diva fits,” Chris said.

“I’m not talking about a tumultuous relationship,” Dan said. “I’m talking about abuse and trauma. Justin shakes and cries and has nightmares. Someone’s convinced him that he’s worthless trash. He wasn’t always like this, he couldn’t have been.”

“He got upset because he wasn’t with AJ,” Lance said. “They’re back together now. I was just at his house this morning, and he was fine.”

“He gets weird when AJ’s not around,” Chris said. “He does things to get AJ’s attention. He tests AJ, sometimes. He plays games.”

“They do a lot of pushing and pulling,” Lance said. “Justin ignores AJ, or flirts with someone else, and then AJ throws a fit, and then they spend a week climbing all over each other like they can’t breathe without each other. Then AJ ignores Justin or flirts with someone else, and Justin throws a fit, and it’s the same thing all over again.”

“And when Justin shows up bruised?” Dan asked.

“Bruised?” Chris asked.

“I’ve never seen AJ hit him,” Lance said.

“You’ve never seen him bruised,” Dan said. “He’s never come to you for help. He’s never seemed upset. He’s never-”

“If Justin needed our help, he’d have it,” Lance said. “If he wanted to break up with AJ, I wouldn’t care. But he loves AJ, and AJ makes him happy, and if that’s what he wants, then it’s fine with me.”

Dan looked at Lance in disbelief. He couldn’t comprehend how blind and unspeakably self-absorbed, how completely out of touch, Justin’s friends were. How could they live like this? How could they be this oblivious to Justin’s suffering?

Then again, Justin had hidden his problems very well from the media and the public at large. Maybe he’d hidden it from his friends, too. But it had been so obvious, so apparent…

Maybe he’d only shared his secret with Dan.

But why would that be? Why him?

The alternative was: Lance and Chris were telling the truth, Jacob was right, and Justin had played him. To get AJ’s attention? To pass the time?

Could that kind of suffering be faked? Could Justin have been lying the whole time?

The tears. The shaking. The bruises. No one could fake bruises. And Justin wouldn’t have deliberately bruised his own face just to get attention. No way.

No one was that crazy.

Justin wasn’t that nuts.

“Does Justin lie?” Dan asked.

“To us?” Chris asked. “No.”

“He lies to girls,” Lance said. “If he wants to shake them, if he wants to juggle a few too many at a time. He’s lied to AJ.”

“I don’t think that AJ’s lied to him,” Chris said. He shrugged, tucking his feet up. “At least not that I know of.”

“Justin always lies to AJ just enough to get caught,” Lance said. “He’ll say that he stayed in one night, and that’ll be the same night that there are reports of him being all over some girl at the club. He wants to get caught, it’s like he wants to get in trouble.”

“He wants attention,” Chris said. “AJ’s attention.”

Justin would lie to get attention.

If what Dan understood to be true wasn’t true, that didn’t mean that Justin simply had lied to him. That meant that Justin was capable of a whole different kind of deception, on all-new levels. To get his attention? To get AJ’s?

He’d talked to AJ. He knew AJ’s passion, AJ’s intensity. He’d seen AJ and Justin together. He’d seen Justin’s haunted expression. He’d seen Justin’s terror. He knew Justin.

Justin hadn’t lied to him.

But his reality didn’t match anyone else’s. None of it made sense. Could Justin’s friends possibly be this oblivious? Could Justin have hidden it this well?

Justin had lied to them. Justin had lied to him. Either way, Justin was a master of deception.

The only question was, had Justin tricked everyone on the planet, including his four best friends? Or just one gullible fool?

Erik lounged on the bed, drinking champagne, while JC decided what to wear. It wasn’t just which suit, it was which suit, which shirt, which shoes, which socks, which everything. After JC spent half an hour deciding how to style his hair - - not actually styling it, but deciding how he wanted to style it when the time came - - Erik said, “You’re driving me nuts.”

“I only have one more thing,” JC said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Just one more, I promise,” JC said. “What color should my underwear be?”

Erik grinned. “Model it all for me so I can make an informed decision.”

“I could go with traditional white, black, or gray,” JC said. “I could match it to the suit. Or, Howie likes purple.”

“You own purple underwear?”

“I could buy some.”

“Do you think that Howie really cares? It’s underwear. It’s all the same size and shape and everything, isn’t it? You’re just worried about color? Howie doesn’t care what color it is, he cares how fast he can get it off of you.”

“Maybe I should get a new kind.”

Erik sat up straighter. “Now you’re talking.”

“Talk to me.”

Talk? Justin blinked, dumbfounded. Sitting naked on the opposite end of the couch from Kevin, he nervously rubbed his hands over his bare thighs. He didn’t want to risk Kevin’s displeasure, but he had to ask, “About what?”

“Anything.” Kevin shrugged, stretching out his legs. “I’ll tell you to change the subject if I don’t like it.”

There were too many places to start. “Brian told me that Lance talked to you about me. I’m sorry, Kevin, I didn’t know that he’d-”

“Do you think that I’m worried about Lance’s opinion of me or of anything that I do?” Kevin asked, raising dark eyebrows.

“No, of course not.” Never. “I had no idea that he’d try to talk to you, I never would’ve let him do that.” Kevin didn’t like being told what to do; he’d never appreciate Lance’s interference. Was Lance in trouble? Justin couldn’t imagine a good way to ask. “I can’t believe that he’d do that to you. He thought that he was looking out for me, but he’s wrong, he’s so wrong, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, I-”

“Change the subject.”

Justin tried to switch gears mid-emotion. “Brian’s been so good to me, he’s been really generous, I’m so grateful for-”

“Change it,” Kevin said, resting his elbow against the back of the sofa, his temple against his fist.

“I love you.”

Kevin sighed.

Working up his nerve, Justin looked down at his hands, ignoring his own nudity. “Being with AJ is… When you and I… We were only together, you and me, either alone or with just our friends. Last night, and other times, I’ve had to be a couple with AJ in front of other people. It’s just O-Town, but it’s still… I’ve never been another guy’s boyfriend before.”

He glanced over; Kevin was listening, waiting. Patient.

Dropping his gaze again, Justin continued on. “I’m not used to being gay in front of other people. I’m not used to people looking at me and thinking that. Knowing that. It makes me feel so…exposed.”

Kevin crossed his ankles.

“I wasn’t even sure that I was gay. I think that I am. If it even matters.” Whether he was gay or not wasn’t Kevin’s problem; he hurried on. “The weird thing is that they think I’m with AJ. They think that I’d be with him, that I’d choose him for a partner. They don’t know that I love you. They don’t know how I really feel, who I really love, who I really want. So maybe they don’t really know any more about me than anyone else does, after all.”

“You’re too good for AJ?” Kevin asked.

Caught, Justin scrambled to free himself. “No, no, he’s too good for me. I love AJ, I just love you so much more. I love you more than I could ever love anyone else.”

“Then you do love AJ,” Kevin said.

“Yes, yes, I love AJ,” Justin said. “I love Brian, I love Howie, and I love Nick, too.” Lying to Kevin made him sick inside, but he had to do it.

“Really.” Kevin’s gaze glittered. “I thought that you could only ever love me.”

“I love them because I love you,” Justin said. “I love them because you love them. You love them, and they love you, and the five of you are so close, I understand that loving you means loving them, too. I’ve given myself to you, so that means that I’ve given myself to them, too.” Holding his breath, Justin prayed that he’d passed the test.

“You love them,” Kevin said. “That’s why you gave Nick head.”

His stomach churned. “Yes.”

“Because you love him,” Kevin said. “Because you wanted him. Because you wanted it.”

“Yes.”

Shifting, moving, crawling forward, Kevin dared him. “Then say it.”

Sinking back against the armrest, Justin felt familiar shame, fear, and personal horror. “I love him.” Kevin pushed him back, pinning him with one hand against his naked chest, kneeling over him. “I wanted him.” Kevin’s eyes were so green, it was impossible to look away. Justin’s voice trembled. “I wanted it.” He felt open, terribly exposed, shamefully soiled. He hadn’t wanted it, he’d wanted anything except it, he’d wanted everything other than it.

“Then it turned you on,” Kevin said, and pushed his thighs apart, hooking his calf over the back of the sofa. “You got off on it.”

Knowing better than to close his eyes at that moment, Justin fought through his own mind. He could guess what was coming, and there was only one way that he was going to get through it. He’d never survive this if he were forced to recount his memory of Nick. But he’d make it, if he replaced Nick with Kevin. As nearly impossible as that seemed in some respects, in other respects, it would be simple. After all, as crude and demeaning as Nick had been, he’d gotten worse from Kevin.

Daring to put a hand to Kevin’s chest, feeling hard muscle beneath the cotton of Kevin’s shirt, Justin whispered, “Yes.”

Slow fingers stroked Justin’s jaw. “What did you like about it?”

Gazing into Kevin’s eyes made it too easy to slide back in time, back to the way Kevin had made him feel. “I liked kneeling in front of him. I liked being on my knees and looking up at him and feeling his power over me.”

“Because you’re weak,” Kevin whispered. The touch at his cheek was a tender caress.

“I’m weak for him.” He saw it coming, parted his lips for it; Kevin kissed him. Moaning, Justin kissed back eagerly, hands rubbing greedily across Kevin’s chest and shoulders. Hot and hungry all over, he wrapped his legs around Kevin’s waist, rubbing the sole of his foot down the back of Kevin’s leg.

“Tell me more,” Kevin murmured, his voice low, his thumb rubbing across Justin’s wet lower lip.

Unable to stop clinging, he chewed on his own lips, needing Kevin’s kiss again. Keeping his voice soft to match Kevin’s, he said, “The second I saw it, I wanted it. It wasn’t hard yet, but it was so beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” Kevin whispered, drawing his fingers across Justin’s naked chest.

“I had to put my hands all over it.” Kevin’s dick, god, how many times had he been desperate for it? “I kissed every inch of it, I started licking it and I couldn’t stop, I wanted it so much. It got hard, so hard, it made me hard.”

“Dickslut,” Kevin muttered, kissing his nipple, sucking gently, making him moan.

Pushing his fingers under the collar of Kevin’s shirt, stroking skin, Justin rolled his hips, rubbing his hard-on against Kevin’s firm stomach. Groaning, he ran his fingers up through Kevin’s hair as Kevin’s kisses continued downward. God, that felt good. “It was long, and thick, and delicious. Sucking on it made me feel like I never wanted to do anything else in my life.”

The caress of Kevin’s tongue licking slowly across Justin’s abs came within an inch of where his arousal rose over his stomach. The tantalizing nearness made Justin ache and moan. “You’d do it again,” Kevin said.

“I’d do whatever he wanted,” Justin panted, fingers creeping in agitation through Kevin’s hair. “I love him.”

“Whatever he wanted?” Kevin asked. Raising his head, he met Justin’s eyes as his fingers gently pressed the pucker of Justin’s asshole. Pressed against. Pressed into.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Justin squirmed as need and fear washed over him. He wanted it, yes, yes, Kevin, yes, yes, “Yes, yes.” But not from Nick, no, not from Nick, not from anyone but Kevin, “Kevin… Please…” Gasping as Kevin stroked his prostate, as pleasure pulsed within, as Kevin’s thumb wiped pearls of pre-cum from the head of his erection, Justin twisted, brokenly moaning Kevin’s name.

“Did you like it when Brian kissed your dick?” Kevin asked. “Do you love it when AJ fucks you?”

“Yes, please,” Justin panted, groaning, rocking his hips desperately. “Yes, yes, I love it, I need it.”

“Because you’re a slut.” Kevin’s voice was soft and controlled and vicious. “Because you’re a whore.”

“Yes.” The too-slow, rhythmic fucking of Kevin’s fingers over his prostate made Justin buck erratically as need wracked his body; the unpredictable sweep of Kevin’s thumb made his breath catch and stutter. “I’m a slut. I’m a whore.” Please, please, “Please, Kevin, I’m so close, I, I, uh, uh, ah…” Yes, yes, oh, “Kevin…” Justin groaned. Wanting it, needing it, he scooted his naked foot between Kevin and the couch, nudging his toes where the hardness of Kevin’s arousal pushed against worn denim. Moaning, he clamped down on Kevin’s fingers, begging.

Rubbing up the shaft, Kevin stroked the head of his dick. “If you need it,” he popped his fingers out, “give it to yourself.”

Abandoned, shocked, Justin stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open.

Kevin’s expression was stone-cold; his eyes were glittering hot.

Intimidated, embarrassed, Justin untwined himself from Kevin, one hand snaking down to his dick. Hesitantly, he touched himself.

Kevin stared into his eyes, never glancing down.

Justin came with a few muffled grunts, spilling over his hand. He lay still.

“Nick shouldn’t have given you his dick.” His voice was ice. “You didn’t deserve it.” Kevin got off of him. “Worthless bitch.” Kevin was gone without another look.

As soon as the door closed behind Dan, Chris dropped heavily onto the nearest piece of furniture, a low table. Lowering his head, pushing his fingers through his hair, he jerked like he’d been struck, then fell still.

Lance couldn’t believe how well Chris had kept it together during Dan’s visit. Considering how strangely Chris had been acting only minutes earlier, it was amazing that he’d participated in the conversation like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He’d fidgeted incessantly, but that was par for the course.

Now, though, it was obvious that the strain of appearing normal had taken its toll. Lance crouched down in front of him, wondering how to help. “Do you-”

“Get out.” It was a tense whisper.

“I don’t-”

“Get out,” Chris said, like he wanted to hit Lance but couldn’t. “Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.”

He’d been forced out of Justin’s house. He wasn’t going to walk away from Chris. “Can you tell me anything about what happened this morning?” He tried to pry tightly clenched fingers loose before Chris lost handfuls of hair.

“Get out get out get out!” Fingers twisting, Chris grabbed Lance’s hands, suddenly glaring up at him. “He loved me! He was mine! You can’t take that away from me!”

Several responses occurred to Lance, like, “That was never real,” and, “He already took it away from you.” But what he said was, “I don’t want to take that away from you.” He’d fight tooth and nail if anyone tried to take “Howie loved me, he was mine” away from him. He tried to slip his hands free, but Chris wouldn’t let go.

“You don’t deserve him,” Chris said. His stare was furious. “You’re not good enough. He should never have to put up with you. You don’t love him. You don’t understand him. You don’t know him. You’ll never make him happy.”

What was he supposed to say? What could he say that he hadn’t already said? Apologies, excuses, explanations, he’d gone through them over and over, out loud, in his mind. He understood Chris’s position; he’d been there with JC. Chris understood his position; Chris had been there with Justin. Not to mention the fact that Chris had specifically told him to have sex with Brian, to give whatever Brian wanted.

“I know Brian,” Chris said. “I know Brians you’ve never met. I’ve loved Brians you could never imagine. I’ve played basketball with them and bought jeans with them and made spaghetti with them and made out with them. I didn’t know what making love with a man could be like, before Brian. I didn’t know what love and sex and forever really meant, before Brian. You don’t know what you’re in the middle of. You don’t know him.”

“Then tell me who he is,” Lance argued.

The fight went out of Chris like someone had flipped a switch. Withdrawing his hands, he lowered his head again, drawing his knees up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just go.”

Continue on to part eighty

matthew@matthewtime.com
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