He's just drawn the smoke in, eyes closed against the night and everything in it, when the sliding door creaks open and the soft sound of bare feet on cement floats toward him.

"Chris?"

Chris sighs inwardly and blows the smoke out, then pinches the end off the joint. So much for quiet time.

Justin's voice is nearer now when he calls out, "Chris? You out here?"

"Over here." He'd picked the far side of the pool hoping to stay hidden, but Justin seems to have spidey senses when it comes to finding him. There's nowhere Chris can hide that Timberlake doesn't find, eventually. "Thought you were in bed, dude," he says when Justin plops down beside him, folding his long legs up under himself. It makes Chris's knees hurt to look at him like that.

"Can't sleep." Justin bumps his shoulder to Chris's. "My legs hurt. Momma says I'm probably growing again."

"Either that, or maybe you just danced too much tonight." Twelve hour practices are hard on all of them—even the fifteen-going-on-twenty-five Justin.

"Maybe." Justin's still for a minute, then he wiggles again, straightening his legs out before settling with his feet in the pool. "Got any more left?"

Chris doesn't pretend to misunderstand. "Not good for you, J."

That gets him a scoff. "And it's good for you?"

"No, but the trip to jail would be worse."

"I ain't gonna tell anyone."

"You go back in the house reeking like pot, and you won't need to. Your mom'll call the cops, and that'd be all she wrote." Chris lights the joint again anyway, taking a deep drag on it before passing it over to Justin, who only smirks at him a little bit as he takes it.

"You're talking about my momma?"

Good point. Chris sighs. "So you can't sleep 'cos your legs hurt—what's the real reason, J?"

Justin shrugs. Chris can't see it in the dark, but he feels Justin's arm brush his with the movement. Or maybe it's just Justin moving closer to him. Their fingers touch when Justin hands the joint back, and the scent of warm boy and sweat is heavy on the air, beneath the sharper scent of pot.

"Do I have to have a reason?"

"Nah." Sometimes, like now, Chris can't sleep either. Too many things in his head, but nothing that will slow down long enough for him to focus on it. Just a lot of fast-moving, swirling images and thoughts and plans, which was why he got the pot from Angelo in the first place.

They share the joint back and forth in companionable silence, just the chirp of crickets accompanied by palm trees rustling in the soft breeze. By the time it's been smoked down to almost nothing Chris feels relaxed, peaceful, and Justin is boneless against him, head resting on Chris's thigh while Chris rubs his fingers through soft, curly hair.

"Know what's best 'bout night," Justin says drowsily, his voice low and breathy, almost like he's talking in his sleep. Chris tugs very gently on damp curls.

"Mmm?"

"This." One hand moves, waving past Chris's nose. He catches it in his own hand, lowering it down so Justin doesn't do injury to one or both of them. "'S quiet, and nice, and you're comfortable. I like you."

"I like you too, baby," Chris says quietly, rubbing Justin's head again. Petting, really, just letting his fingers go without thought to how or where. "Ready to go to bed?"

"Mmm," is all Justin says, snuggling in closer. In the end, Chris has to practically carry him into the house, and he vows silently never to smoke up with Justin again unless they're closer to his bedroom.

He brushes a kiss over Justin's forehead before tiptoeing out of his room, then wonders later why he did that.

Must've been the pot. No way it was anything else.

It's not like he's unaware, exactly. Timberlake's like a big, affectionate puppy, draping himself over Chris at every turn, wrestling with him, following him around, sticking to Chris's side like velcro. It could be all kinds of irritating, except Chris honestly likes the kid, and if he's honest with himself, he likes the attention. It's kind of neat, the whole hero-worship thing, until the day Chris realizes he has a bit of a crush thing going on.

That's not so neat, not so good, and he does his best to shove those feelings way down deep, to convince himself he's happy with him and Justin being good buds, nothing more.

Dani starts out as a distraction for him, and becomes so much more than that, or even 'just' a girlfriend: she becomes a good friend. Someone who is smart, sexy, funny, who puts up with his shit and dishes out her own. Someone who helps him distance himself from things he knows he shouldn't want, and can't have anyway.

Can't have, because Justin's discovered the world of women, of girlfriends, himself. He and Britney are the reigning Pop Prince and Princess, and Chris has to admit they look good together, both young and bright and shiny. She's good for Justin, too; makes him laugh and smile and relax a little, so he's more like the eighteen-year-old he really is, rather than someone who's going on forty.

Eventually, Chris almost believes himself when he looks at his reflection in the mirror and says Justin is just his friend, nothing more.

It starts innocently enough: a phone call to bitch about this and that, just to touch base. Things feel so fragmented lately with all of them apart and doing their own things, and sometimes phone calls are the only way to catch up with any of the other guys. Especially Justin, and particularly since Justin's shaking his ass all around the UK right now.

Chris says, "You should come down for a weekend when you're back in the states; we could take the bikes out, or I could kick your ass on the Playstation." It's been ages since they went riding together. Ages since they really did much together at all.

Justin hums under his breath, something that almost sounds like agreement, then says, "I--did you know I'm seein' someone?"

It feels like a loaded question and after he shakes his head Chris realizes Justin can't see him so he says, "No. Who?"

"Cameron. Um, Cameron Diaz."

'Seeing someone' can mean a lot of things to Justin, who's been playing the swinging-single-rich-carefree-playboy since he and Brit broke up, but there's something in Justin's voice. Something that feels a little like a warning, so Chris squashes down that little trickle of hope and projects as much enthusiasm into his voice as he can manage, and says, "Whoa, really?"

"Yeah. And I really like her a lot, Chris. She's a cool chick. We just--we clicked."

Chris rolls his eyes, grateful Justin is at the other end of a phone line so he can't see. "Yeah? Cool. When do we get to meet her?"

There's a long pause on Justin's end, then he says quietly, "I dunno. Maybe at Challenge. I mean, depends on what her schedule's like and all that." Another pause, and Justin asks, "Did you really--don't you read the gossip rags, dude?"

"I try not to; that shit's bad for my stomach. And my blood pressure." Chris realizes his knuckles are white and makes an attempt to unclench his fingers from the tabletop. "How long you been dating, Timberlake?"

"Couple of months," Justin says, and he sounds distracted now. There's someone else talking -- Trace, maybe? -- in the background, and a muffled sound like a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and whoa, a couple of months? Maybe, Chris thinks, he should start reading those trash mags. How'd he miss this?

If you didn't try to bury your head in the sand, Kirkpatrick-- Okay, he really hates that little voice that pops up from time-to-time.

"Chris!" Oh, oops. Too hard to listen to the voice in his head and Justin, apparently.

"Yeah?"

"Dude, sorry, I gotta jet. I'll call you in a couple days; maybe I'll have more time to talk then."

"Sure, J. Love you, dude."

"Love you too, Chris. Later."

Justin clicks off, and Chris stares at his phone for a minute before hanging it up. A couple of months. They clicked. Chris remembers clicking with Justin and makes a note to go out and get laid, or get a girlfriend, or something, because this is just fucking pitiful. He used to have better control than this, and he needs to get a grip again because if Justin wanted him, there were years' worth of time he had to say something, do something, anything.

Years' worth.

Cameron's nice enough, but Justin's--something's going on, there. Chris spends most of Challenge alternating between making sure Lance and Joey don't accidentally kill each other with their oneupmanship pranks, that JC hasn't died of sun poisoning and trying to get ten minutes alone with Justin to talk to him. When he does finally corner him, with no one else around, including Cameron or bodyguards, the first thing he does is hug Justin hard.

Hard enough to feel bones, and the fine tremble running through Justin's body. He starts to pull back and Justin clutches at him, holds him tight, until Chris wonders briefly if Justin's trying to meld them together or something, and then wonders why he cares. It's been a long time since they had much face-to-face time and Chris feels vaguely skin-hungry in a way that has nothing to do with sex or romantic love and everything to do with missing someone he's known for years and cares a lot about.

Justin releases him, draws back into his own space with a shaky smile. "Hey. I missed ya, dude."

Chris eyes him up and down and considers force-feeding him a meal or ten. "Missed you too, J. Everything okay?"

Christ, this feels awkward. They weren't this awkward together the first time they met, back in the dark ages. It's a shock to realize 'dark ages' isn't far off; he's known Justin for nearly ten years, now.

Justin smiles at him, but he looks tired. Bone-deep weary, and Chris knows how that feels. It sucks that Justin knows how it feels at twenty-one and if it was within his power to whisk Justin off somewhere for six months, to make him rest and relax, Chris would totally do it. But he's not Justin's mom, or girlfriend, or caretaker--he's just his friend.

"I'm okay, Chris. Stuff's okay. Quit lookin' like that."

"Like what?" There are chairs in here; it's a nicely appointed suite, just like his own, over in the other hotel, so Chris sits down, hoping Justin will, too.

"Like you think I'm going to--I dunno. Self-destruct, or something."

"Blow away in a good strong wind, maybe, but you don't look self-destructive." Much. Mostly. Chris raises an eyebrow. "When was the last time you slept? Ate?"

Justin waves the concerns away, making a face at him. "You ain't my momma, Kirkpatrick."

"No, but I am your friend." Justin sits, finally, and Chris sits back, relaxing a fraction. "Seriously, is everything okay? Tour? Girlfriend? Life in the fast lane?"

"Tour's fine, just kicking my ass. I'm not used to carrying the whole show. Takes a lot out of you."

"Well, yeah. I would think so." Since he doesn't have anything to say about that, really, that he hasn't said before, Chris is going to keep his mouth shut. Not that he's not proud as hell of Justin or anything, but it's still a sore spot, them all scattered and separated. Never supposed to be permanent, but the longer they all stay apart, the more permanent it's beginning to feel. Chris clears his throat. "Cameron's--nice," he says lamely, because really, he hasn't seen much of her and can't really get a vibe off her. Even JC seems a little unsure of her, and JC likes everybody.

"Yeah," Justin nods enthusiastically, "she is. It's really good with her, like, we just fit. We're good," he finishes, and there's silence again, long and awkward and painful.

Chris is just on the verge of asking Justin if he wants to sneak out with him later, and go for a quick ride--they can rent bikes, or something--when there's a sharp rap on the door just before it opens. Cameron's all smiles, aimed at Justin, and Chris's stomach twists sharply.

"Justin, let's go down to the pool, baby, and get some sun. Oh, hi, um--"

"Chris," he says, nodding at her. "Hi, Cameron."

She nods back, but her attention is one hundred percent on Justin and the atmosphere in the room has changed, thickened, and Chris has never wanted out of a place so bad in his life. He stands up and edges around Cameron, waving in Justin's direction. "I'll catch you later, J."

Justin smiles and waves back, but he's focused away from Chris now. "Sure, later, man."

It shouldn't hurt as much as it does, but the fact remains, it hurts like a sonofabitch. Fortunately there's a liquid fix for things like this, since he can handle a hangover any time over the other pain.

Chris actually does start reading the gossip rags because over the course of the next few months, save one fantastic night in August when he joins Justin in DC, it's his primary way of tracking where Justin is, and what's going on with his life.

The evening in DC really is fantastic, mostly because it wound down in Justin's hotel room with the two of them sitting on the couch in the suite's living room, watching SNL re-runs on the Comedy Channel, and eating French fries and onion rings while they talked about the show.

Justin's slumped on the couch, half-asleep on Chris's shoulder when there's a knock on the door and one of Justin's personal assistants is calling, "Justin--Cameron's here. She'll be up in a few minutes."

Justin rouses up and rubs his eyes, and it makes Chris smile, thinking about how Justin used to do that after they had all-night movie marathons, or after a long day of rehearsals and concerts. "Okay, thanks." He turns to Chris and shrugs. "I'm heading out later today anyway. Guess I can sleep on the bus."

"Make sure you do. And have good dreams, J." He wants to hug Justin. Pull him into his arms and just--hold him. Not let him go.

Justin smiles. "Guaranteed, man." He reaches out, pulls Chris into a tight hug, and when he mutters, the words are warm against Chris's neck. "Thanks for comin', Chris. It--I'm really glad."

"Me too, baby," he says, hugging back, and it's been years, literally, since he called Justin 'baby'. Weird. Justin doesn't seem to notice, though, or care. He just hugs a little harder and it's good to feel Justin against him like this.

He doesn't want to let go, but like usual, the minute Cameron enters a room Justin's attention is one-hundred percent on her. He lets go of Chris, slaps his arm gently, and is reaching for Cam almost before Chris is completely out the door. It's close to the feeling of getting sucker-punched.

After that, there's distance again, and all levels of weird. Sure, they still talk on the phone at least once a week, but everything feels different again. Uncomfortable. It's even weird and uncomfortable at Joey's wedding, though Cameron isn't in attendance. They talk, a little, but Justin's withdrawn into his own world; Chris can't remember what it was like to be able to shoot the shit and just hang out with him. The times when they played basketball, or playstation, or just sat and talked about music and where they wanted to go with the group seem so far behind now, and totally out of reach.

He's tempted a couple of times to find Justin and just tell him, get the shit in his head out of his head and be done with it. That seems more in line with pathetic than helpful, though, so instead Chris hangs out with JC and Lance, and tries to pretend

Joey and Lance go with him to Jamaica, and they hang out with Nick and Jessica, and Pat O'Brien and play golf. Well, Lance doesn't play so much as watch. The rest of them play, though, and it's really a lot of fun. Chris very determinedly doesn't think about tee-times and putting greens and time spent golfing with Justin, and when not thinking about it gets him nowhere, he gets spectacularly drunk at his birthday party.

Lance and Joey drag him off to bed some time around when the sun's starting to pinken up the sky, with Lance staggering slightly beside him. Joey seems fairly sober, but he fakes it better than the rest of them.

Chris is settled on his bed, drapes drawn against the coming sunrise, when he spies the phone on the table beside the bed. "Did Jush-in call? F'r my birthday?"

Lance shakes his head. "Don't think so. You can call for messages later."

"He might've called. I sh'ld chick. I mean check. He always calls."

Joey settles one hand on Chris's shoulder, pressing him to the bed. "Sleep first, check later, man. The message will still be there, if it's there now."

It ought to make sense, but Chris can't think of anything but calling Justin, and right now. Lance catches his arm as he reaches for the phone. "Chris--Justin's probably still sleeping. It's way earlier out--wherever he's at. He'll call you later, or you can call him. Go to sleep, okay?"

"I jush--" Chris waves his hands, nearly smacking Joey in the process. "Love 'im," he mutters, eyes suddenly weighing about three thousand pounds each. Everything is swirly around him, Joey and Lance's voices blending into soft background noise. There's light beyond his eyelids, but not enough light to keep Chris awake or to bother him. Just a little bit, that wavers and shifts. He hears...Lance, he thinks, because it's low and soothing, say, "we know, Chris. Now go to sleep."

He does. It's easier, that way, really.

It's never good when the phone rings early enough to wake him up, though Chris realizes he has a slightly skewed version of 'early', as compared to a lot of people. Still, it's not much past seven a.m., and he didn't get to bed until, Christ, some time after four.

"H'lo," is the best he can do, since his tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. There's movement beside him, and for one moment of blind panic, Chris can't remember who's in bed with him. The person shifts, baring one shoulder and long, dark hair. Still no help. Hopefully no one who's going to wake up any time soon.

"Chris? You there?"

"J? Yeah, whassup?" Maybe swallowing a few times will help, but no, not really. Chris reaches blindly toward the night-table, but the only thing there is a stale, watered down glass of some indeterminate beverage. Still, liquid is liquid...and hey. This one started its life as coffee, Chris thinks, shuddering as he swallows. "You all right?"

"Yeah." There's a long pause, and Chris blinks sleepily at his ceiling, trying to stay awake. And remember the name -- and gender, since that seems gone as well -- of the person sleeping beside him. "Um. Before you hear it on the news, or in the tabloids--"

Chris braces himself mentally, positive Justin's about to tell him he's in the hospital, or dying, or something potentially earth-shattering. "What, Justin? Just--spit it out, okay?"

"I asked Cam to marry me." Okay, that wasn't one of the possibilities his admittedly hung-over brain considered. Chris breathes in and out slowly, trying to think of something to say, trying to think, period, except nothing's coming to him. "Chris?"

"Yeah. Uh. Congrats, dude. When's the wedding?" Maybe he'll be forgiven for sounding less than congratulatory because he's had about two hours of sleep, and he's still more drunk than not, and what the fuck is the name of person in bed with him? He doesn't feel like he had sex, not nearly relaxed enough--

"Dunno. I mean, I just asked her."

"Did she say yes?" There's always a slim chance, after all.

"Yeah. I just. It's--right, right? If you. If you love someone, then, you spend time with 'em, and want to keep spending time--right?"

In the back of his mind Chris hears a stoned, fifteen-year-old Justin saying I like you, his head warm against Chris's leg. He hears scared, homesick sixteen-year-old Justin crying quietly at night because his thumb hurts, and his legs hurt, and they're working twenty hour days in countries where no one speaks their language; feels him burrow under the covers against Chris, trying to relax and get warm while they're bumping all around Europe in assorted tour buses. He hears Justin, the night they made their decision to fight Lou, saying We're like...like the five musketeers. All for one and one for all, right, guys? Remembers Justin's misery and anger when he and Britney broke up--as well as his own...happiness, to have his buddy back. God.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and resists first telling Justin that yes, that's what you do with someone you love--and dammit, what about all the time I spent with you?, and second, just hanging up on him and later telling him the phone cut out. Instead he says, "Yeah, J. And--if it feels. If you think it's right, that's what you should do."

It's probably the single most grownup moment of his entire life.

There's another pause and Chris braces again, though he's pretty sure Justin's done all the damage it's possible to do for the moment. He's surprised when Justin says softly, "Thanks, Chris."

"Sure," he says finally, around a lump he can't swallow down. "And, um. Let me know--when. Okay?"

"Yeah." Justin's voice changes; Chris can hear the smile in it. "You'll be my best man?"

It's his turn to speak softly. "Always, J."

Even if it kills him.

It doesn't kill him, exactly, but it's painful nonetheless, pretending he cares about anything -- and especially about Justin's impending wedding. Presumably impending, because as the weeks go by, there's still no date set, and Chris can't decide if it's worse knowing or not knowing. At least without an actual date, he can kind of pretend there won't be a date. Sort of. Even if it makes him feel like a lame, loser-type person.

There's a brief reunion of four-fifths of Nsync when JC calls to say he's in town, and Lance is with him. Joey's still laying low and playing husband and daddy, but says he's up for a night out with the guys, and they all decide meet at Joey's to decide where and what to do--but knowing it's going to be just them, no one's posse, no outsiders, just the four of them.

Chris is reluctant to go out -- as in, leave his house -- because that means facing the real world. In the light of day it was a lot harder to face Justin's news than when he'd been mostly drunk and half-asleep, but JC and Lance manhandle him out to JC's Jeep and that's that, the option of choosing is no longer his.

"Y'know, most friends ask a guy before hauling him out of his house," Chris mutters, sulking in the back seat.

"Friends don't let friends--something. Wither away. Dude, how long since you got out and got some sun? You're kinda pale back there."

"Fuck you, Chasez. I get out and I get sun."

Lance snorts. "Tell someone who doesn't know you're lying out your ass. And quit pouting back there. We have a surprise planned for you."

"I don't like surprises." He should've never opened his door. Chris considers throwing himself out of the Jeep, but for starters, it's a two-door, so that would make the getting out part difficult if not impossible, and then there's the little matter of the fact that JC drives like a maniac, and is currently going about twenty miles over the posted speed limit.

"I think you'll like this one." Lance gives JC a look, and JC nods and cuts across two lanes of traffic to make a turn that does not go to Joey's neighborhood.

"I thought we were going to Joey's?" Okay, he's trying not to sound too suspicious, but--fuck it. "Guys," when he doesn't get an answer. "Seriously. Where're we going?"

"If we told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

The option of throwing himself out of the Jeep, even at seventy-plus mph, is beginning to look more and more attractive. "I'm gonna remember this, come Christmas," Chris says finally. "Plus, you're all officially written out of my will."

"You had us in there to start with?" Lance smirks at Chris over his shoulder.

"Everyone but you, Bass."

Lance blows him a kiss. "Love you too, Kirkpatrick. Now shut up--I promise, you're going to like this surprise."

It's twilight, but Chris can still see, still follow the street signs. They're heading into the city, but nowhere he's familiar with. Up front JC and Lance bicker about what to play on the radio until Chris hisses at them to just turn it off if they can't decide. It's hauntingly familiar; all they need is Joey and Justin snarking in the backseat to make it complete.

Thinking of Justin makes Chris's chest ache and he wishes he could turn it off. Turn his brain off, shut it down completely. Preferably without turning into an alcoholic.

JC slows down in front of a hotel Chris has never seen before and pulls into the drop-off, waving the valet away when he starts toward them. Lance gets out of the Jeep, and it's then Chris realizes he's supposed to get out--and stay, apparently, since Lance is handing him a cardkey, with the number '1012' scrawled on the paper folder it's inside of.

"What am I doing here? And more importantly, why aren't y'all coming up with me?" Maybe it's good to be suspicious. "You guys didn't get a hooker or something for me, did you?"

"Would we do that?" JC does better than Lance at sounding innocent--but he's still missing the mark. Chris snarls, "In a heartbeat."

"No. No hooker, no...something. Well, there is something, but not a bad something. It'll be good. Go on, and go up, and we'll see you tomorrow. You can call us--we'll be at Joey's." At some point while he was turned around gawking at the hotel and trying to figure out what the hell was going on, Lance got back into the Jeep--and Chris just stares as the taillights fade and disappear into the twilight-turning-night.

Well, at least he has a room. Hopefully either Bass, or JC-the-cheapskate is paying for it; he'll empty out the mini bar and have a good laugh. Maybe make a few long-distance phone calls to Asia. Either way, it'll be fun all around.

Room 1012 is actually a suite, and a really nice one, at that--at least from Chris's first glance around after stepping through the door. He locks it behind him, and turns around, and nearly has a heart attack when Justin appears out of nowhere.

"Jesus! Warn a guy, would you?" He's still clutching at his chest, rooted to the spot he's standing on. Justin gives him a half-smile.

"I was afraid if I said anything before you got in, you wouldn't come in."

Chris shrugs. "I can't leave--my ride left me. And speaking of which--why all the--" Chris makes some sort of arcane gesture he hopes Justin can interpret as why-the-hell-didn't-you-just-come-to-my-house, "Getting me here. Stuff. Why involve the other guys?"

"I thought about it--coming over. But I wouldn't know if anyone was there, or if you'd be there, or anything, and I kinda--I wanted to talk to you in private. I just told JC and Lance I needed to talk to you, asked 'em to get you here."

Justin takes a step toward him and Chris squashes the urge to step back. "Okay, so, I'm here. What're you doing here? I thought you were--wherever. Filming, or planning your wedding, something."

"I was. Filming, I mean." Justin cocks his head to the side and for an instant looks so much like he did when they first met that Chris holds his breath until his chest aches. He looks young, uncertain, maybe a little scared. "C'mon in? There's a full bar in here; I'll get you a drink."

Chris lets himself be led further into the suite; the entryway opens into a large, comfortable living area, and he can see the bedroom off to the side. There are floor-to-ceiling windows in front of him, blinds open to show off the night sky and skyline of Orlando, lights twinkling and sparkling until he isn't sure what are stars and what are other lights. It's dim and quiet inside, the lights turned down low. If he concentrates, Chris thinks he can hear traffic noises outside, but it's so much white noise, just a background murmur.

"Sit, dude. Seriously." Justin's back beside him; he hands Chris a glass and sits down on the couch. Chris sniffs, then tastes it, and whoa. It's vodka and--pineapple juice. "We're out of o.j.," Justin says, giving him a small smile. "I drank it all earlier. Sorry."

"Nah, this is fine." He tosses back half the drink, then sits down at the other end of the couch. After a few minutes of Justin fidgeting and the awkward silence growing, he finally says, "Okay, what the hell is going on, J? Just--spill it, okay? I can handle it, I promise."

He hopes.

Justin fidgets some more, then takes a deep breath. "There isn't gonna be a wedding."

"There isn't?" Chris tosses back the rest of the drink and drops the glass gently on the floor beside the couch. "Since when? Why not?"

"Since--I dunno. A few days after I called you, I think? I just--she's great, I still think she's great. But she's not--" He trails off, looking away from Chris. "She's not. It's not right. She's not right. She's not you."

Okay, maybe the drink packed more of a punch than Chris realized, because he's sure he just heard Justin say--

"What? No, seriously, dude--what the hell?"

Justin gets up off the couch, pacing restlessly, tossing little glances toward Chris as he moves around. "It was great, at first. With her, I mean. She likes basketball, and dancing, and she can drink me under the table. We talked about all kinds of shit, and she made me laugh. But there just--I missed you. I missed all the stuff we did. Had. Not group stuff, but you-and-me stuff."

Chris blinks. "You--you pulled away, J. Not me."

"No, I know." Justin stops in front of Chris, the night sky dark behind him, his features slightly in shadow. Just out of reach. "I thought it would--I crushed so hard on you for so long, Chris. And I thought, if I could just--but I know it kind of wigged you out that I was so much younger, so I figured if I could wait...and then you started dating Dani, and y'all seemed so tight, but we were still friends, and I figured that was good. We were good like that."

You started dating Dani. The words ring inside Chris's head until he feels dizzy. "But you and Brit--"

"Chris, man, you were already with Dani, and you always looked so happy, and that's all I wanted, was you being happy." Justin kneels down in front of the couch, in front of Chris. "I didn't know what I wanted, besides just hanging with you. I mean, I knew, but. I didn't...I'm still not--I don't know, about, that--I mean--" He breaks off looking embarrassed and uncomfortable, and Chris raises an eyebrow.

"You never been with a guy?"

Justin flushes a dull red. "No." He swallows and Chris can't help but watch his Adam's Apple bob. "I want to, though."

He's so close Chris can see how dilated Justin's pupils are, wide and dark in the dim light, only a trace of blue iris around them. "Feels kinda like Christmas," he mutters, leaning in to touch Justin's mouth with one finger, tracing it over his lips. They're a little dry, chapped from too much time out in the wind or sun, and Chris wants to moisten them. Wants to lick across them, press them open with his mouth. He swallows against the urge and bites his own lip when Justin licks at his finger, nipping the tip gently.

"I kept waiting," Justin says breathlessly. "All those nights in Germany, or on the buses, and you were right there--"

"Stupid," Chris murmurs. "Me, you, both of us." He cups Justin's face in his hands, smoothing his thumb again over Justin's mouth, hovering just above, a little torment for both of them, a little more pain before pleasure.

Justin surges upward, forward, closing that last bit of space between them, and his mouth is sweet, wet, warm and welcoming. He's not passive, but lets Chris take the lead, opening for him, letting Chris explore and taste. He tastes like orange juice and Chris sucks on his tongue trying to get at the flavor. He licks around inside, testing soft palate and hard enamel, then pulling back enough to lick at Justin's mouth, wetting his lips thoroughly before diving back in, chasing the elusive orange-juice-and-Justin flavor.

When they separate to breathe Justin's mouth is swollen, his lips shiny-wet in the dim lamplight. Chris traces his mouth again, shivering when Justin licks at his thumb, then nips it before drawing it into his mouth.

"You learn fast," Chris says hoarsely, watching Justin's mouth form a perfect 'O' around his thumb, and imagining it elsewhere.

"Kissing's not so different," Justin mutters, letting Chris's thumb slide from his mouth. "The rest might be, though."

"We'll go slow." There's a couch somewhere back behind him, Chris is sure. He doesn't remember scooting so far forward.

Justin smirks and shifts -- no, it's more like a lunge -- lunges forward. "The hell we will. Ten fucking years, Chris." Each word is punctuated with a quick, hard kiss, as Justin shifts and settles them to his satisfaction, Chris pinned beneath him. When he rubs downward, Chris can feel just how ready just is, how much they're not waiting. He's hard and thick behind his jeans, and hey--this is definitely a good start.

"Think of it as foreplay," Chris says, nipping at Justin's neck. "A whole helluva lot of foreplay."

Justin shudders against him and moans low in his throat when Chris maneuvers one leg out from under Justin and hooks it over to bring them closer together. It's awkward, since they're both dressed and the couch really isn't long enough for Justin to stretch out on comfortably, but it feels fucking incredible, Justin's mouth on his, his body hard and hot and ready, rubbing and pressing down against Chris's. They're moving together and Chris wishes he could just...get...his hand between them--

"Oh, fuck, Chris--" Justin bites the words into Chris's neck, licking almost frantically where he bit and shuddering when Chris manages to get the buttons popped open on his jeans, then on Justin's. They scrabble at each other's clothing, pushing and tugging until they're mostly naked, sweatdrops glistening on each other's skin as they move.

Chris comes first, breath catching in his throat, his chest tight as pleasure washes over him in a hot, sweet rush. He reaches down between them then to stroke Justin, swallowing his moans down when he arches and pumps into Chris's hand, as thick, warm liquid spills over and spreads between them.

"Oh, my God." Chris raises his head up to brush a kiss over Justin's forehead, then falls back. "I can't believe we did this on the couch."

Justin shifts, wrapping himself around Chris like he plans on never letting go. Which would be perfectly fine with Chris, actually. "I can't believe it took us this long to have sex on a couch."

"At least we did," Chris says, feeling sleepy and sated, and warm where Justin's covering him like a living blanket.

Justin snorts. "Can we do it again?"

"Right now?" Chris opens one eye sleepily. "I'm an old man, J. My recovery period's a little longer than sixty seconds."

"Not right now, asshole. Later. Tomorrow. Whenever." Justin waves his hand and Chris reaches out to catch it and bring it back in close. "Just--again."

"Oh, man, absolutely." Just thinking about it is enough to help that recovery period along--though he seriously needs some time just--hanging on. Holding and being held. Which might translate to 'cuddling' in someone else. Maybe even for him, given his mood right now, which can best be described as elated. Or possibly stoned.

Heh. Stoned on good sex. No, scratch that. Stoned on Justin Timberlake.

"Gonna hold you to that," Justin whispers, tugging on something that turns out to be a blanket Chris never noticed draped over the back of the couch.

"I'm just gonna hold you, period." He's sleepy, he's warm, he has Justin. It doesn't get any better than this.

Justin makes a sleepy sound, and smiles against Chris's neck. "That sounds good, too."