For Wax's Autumn Songfic Challenge, as well as a personal challenge issued to me by Schuyler. The song is The Two of Us.
by Lesa Soja
"Oh, hang on," JC says, and Joey hears his footsteps moving away, and the door closing. Joey bows his head, shifts his knees a little, and waits. What else can he really do? JC likes to do that sometimes, leave him alone to work himself up, and Joey just has to wait it out. Usually JC's not gone for more than a few minutes, although sometimes it's longer. The longest ever was just over two hours; Joey knows this because he wasn't blindfolded that time, though his hands and feet were tied, and he could see the clock clearly. When JC came back, Joey's panic attack had come and gone, and he lay quietly even though JC untied him before putting gentle lips on his cock and coaxing him into a thin quicksilver orgasm.
Sometimes Joey worries that JC will actually forget about him someday, get dragged off to a club with Justin and Chris while he's out there dawdling, and come running back in the next morning with a hand clapped to his mouth. Sometimes Joey thinks JC knows he thinks that.
Subbing for JC can be kind of weird. For one thing, JC's toolbag doesn't look like any kit Joey's ever seen before. It's not that his stuff is so unusual; it's just, well, colorful. There are candy apple red feathers and hot pink silk ties, lemon yellow candles and a Wartenberg wheel with a neon orange handle. There's a whip with pink and lavender and powder blue rubber strands that always makes Joey think of a koosh ball, and of course the handcuffs lined with purple leopard print fur. Joey wanted to laugh the first time he saw them, but JC just grinned at him. "See, I just love the feeling, knowing I can make you smile," he murmured, and snapped the cuffs shut.
So JC digs colors, Joey gets that. There was even a time once when JC made one cut on his back and then paused for so long that Joey finally cleared his throat and said, "C?"
"Sorry, Joe," JC said, rubbing his other shoulder. "It's just such a beautiful shade."
And that's all very well, Joey thinks, that was maybe even a little flattering, if he doesn't think about it too hard, but the extent JC takes it to is really kind of silly. After all, a silver blindfold with green embroidered butterflies is still just dark when it's on. And the worst thing is, the other day Joey walked by a wardrobe rack full of blue snakeskin and red lame, and his cock twitched. JC has really gotten under his skin.
Joey might not feel so stupid about the whole thing if JC weren't so fucking casual about it. He's never really seemed very intent, ever since the first time when he twined his arm around Joey's neck and said offhandedly, "When you get a minute, baby, I was thinking we could hook up."
Joey smiled and said, "Cool, man," because JC was sweet and pretty and it would be fun to spend a night with him. And then they got back to JC's room, and JC said,
"Get me my bag, would you, the red one," and after Joey handed it to him he began rummaging in it and said, "I'm gonna tie you up, 'kay," without looking up.
Joey looked at JC's skinny elbows poking out his brown mesh sleeves, at the wispy bangs trailing in his eyes, and smiled. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," JC said, and he came over and sprawled on top of Joey and kissed him, and knotted Joey's wrists deftly to the bedframe.
JC fooled around for a long time brushing feathers down Joey's legs, smacking his thighs to bring up the blood and then blowing on the heated skin and scratching his nails roughly across it. By the time JC got around to fucking him, Joey was so hard he wanted to scream.
So he started seeing JC in a different light after that, and a few nights later he went to JC's room again. JC was in front of the mirror taking off his makeup. "Hey, Joey," he said. "You need something?"
"Uh," Joey said.
"Oh," JC said. He turned around and smiled his sunniest smile. "Okay. Um, go look in my bag and bring me the blue box, the round one."
Joey fetched the box and kneeled down a little awkwardly to present it. It seemed like the thing to do, although something in him was sneering, to JC? JC??
Inside the box were the handcuffs. After Joey's hands were fixed behind his back, JC sat in his lap and kissed him until Joey's feet were numb and his arms trembled. Joey could see faint marks on his wrists the next day, despite the fur.
But even after all of that, Joey still sometimes has a hard time taking JC seriously. JC never really sets anything up, after all, just touches his shoulder during a costume change and says, "Come by, tonight." Then he flits away and starts pulling Chris's hair like the space case he is. And when Joey gets there, JC looks up and says, "Oh, oh hey, Joey," like he's forgotten all about it in the meantime. It's not exactly reassuring. Maybe, Joey thinks, clenching his hands at his sides, maybe the problem is that JC isn't serious about him.
He's sick of it, suddenly. He feels stupid, and no one's touching his cock, and he's got pins and needles in his calves again. So when JC wanders back in and goes over to rustle some papers on the table for another minute before saying, "Hey, c'mere," Joey's had enough. He gets stiffly to his feet, pulls the blindfold off, and starts for the door instead.
Then he slams into the wall with one arm twisted behind his back and the other bent above his head. "Oh, Joey," JC says in his ear, and it sounds like JC's grinning. "Joey, Joey. You're the best, man. No one else has ever made me feel this way."
Part of Joey's mind is thinking that that's kind of an unorthodox thing for JC to say. But with his dick crushed against the wall and JC's fingers bruising both of his wrists, he finds he can no longer bring himself to care.