Cecilia said: subJC/slightlyroughChris. She didn't say to rip off Wax's JC style, though - I did that all on my own.

by Lesa Soja

Weird dancing alone. Not alone. Crush of strangers. Dancing without singing, without a headset. Without four shadows on every step. Where are they? Joey went to get a drink. Justin, where's Justin? Here a minute ago. Hands down, hands up. Spin. Swivel.

Head yanked back - shoulders, spine, hips go limp. Knees brace just in time. "Fuck!"

"Wow, C," and that's Chris's voice. Scalp pulled tight, elbow between shoulder blades. "I didn't know you did that."

"I don't." Shifting, struggling to get weight back over feet. "Let me go."

His laugh, dark amusement. "I don't think so." Another wrench, throat goes up, propped against his arm. "The way you just melted? Not a chance, boy."

Melted? This sagging? Didn't mean to. Didn't try to. Shove against back, staggering forward, don't have balance and wrist in hard grip - stumbling, tripping, following.

Could fall. He doesn't care. Fall, trip, split lip. There's a song in that. Better not - wouldn't sell. Where's he going? Following, no choice. Hallway back here? Mirrorball flashes don't reach this far. Hair floating up where he let go. Darker. Cooler air.

Lightning turn. Cooler - yeah. Arm twisted back, cheek pressed up against paint. Concrete under there. Breath in ear. "Damn, you're pretty."

Justin's pretty. Lance is pretty. Arm pulled higher. Hand on back, running, rubbing. Hand on ass. Smack. Jeans tonight, stupid, stupid. Could have felt that - there. Felt that. Chris. Chris.

"I know you suck cock." Yeah. Well. "I've seen you," and what? What? When? Hand in hair again, skin pulled sticking away from wall. Watching? "You gonna show me your best stuff?"

Would nod. Move chin a little. He laughs. "On your knees." Hands gone, turn around. Shins hit floor.

His shirt in his hands. Pale skin, steps behind. Bend head. Cloth over eyes, fingers against back of head. Hair in knot. Twinge. "There." Steps, steps - leaving? Breathing gone shallow. Metallic glide, right in ear, thank goodness. Nudge on cheek - that's - "Open your mouth, songbird." His cock.

Reach up, find base. Other hand, hold head still, fit mouth around it. Chris. Quick suck. "Ah, c'mon, JC -" Yeah. Yeah. Wider. Start in for real. "Yeah."

Know this - can't see it, but know it. Yeah, right here. Sliding and swallowing.

Time to think. Sharp eyes, strong thighs. Song in that too. Oh, no - wouldn't sell. Maybe.

Hand on neck, hand in hair. Heavy. Holding.

Brought here, led here, like some kind of force. Kneeling. Some kind of fate.

Hand stealing down. Can almost - "No. Uh-uh, C. You wait till I'm done."

Damn. Damn. Right, though - enough for now. Open, suck, glide. Hits throat. Don't gag. Not long now - his legs tensed, no breaths and then gasps. Hips thrusting, just open, just open. Again. Again. "Aah -" Again, and there - there it is. Yeah, c'mon, Chris!

Hands loosen, sink back on heels. Head bent. Long breaths now, deep breaths. Want to smile.


Can't answer. Grip under arms, pulled up. Palm on shoulder, spun around, bent. Arm across throat. Arm around waist. Hand on stomach, inside jeans. Open jeans. Oh, oh please. Chris. Please. Dry sound from throat. "Please."

Chuckle. "Yeah, C. I think you deserve a little." Hand stroking. Arm forces chin higher. "You are pretty good, y'know." Pretty good? Pretty? Pretty.

"And to think," muttered, "I coulda had this all this time." Building. Rising. "Whyncha grow your hair a little sooner, huh?" Can't answer, no answer. "You're so good - you're such a -" squeeze "- good -" jerk - ohh "- boy - sing for me now -"

- teeth, teeth on neck, harder and harder and can't, can't, bucking, caged by arms and can't shake free - can't - Chris - breaking - free...

Arms gone. No strength. Sink to floor.

Steps. Fingers. Blindfold gone. Open eyes, blinking.

His face, and he's smiling.

Hand grabbed, pulled up to standing. Hard mouth on sore lips, once, twice. More times.


Last swipe of mouth. "Come on, let's go back." Fingers tight over bones of wrist.

Light-headed walking. Going, yes. Back, no. His quick steps leading. There's no going back from this.