Love And Other Miscommunications
by Deirdre
© December, 2004

JC looked up as the bell above the door tinkled merrily and Nick, pink-cheeked from the cold, his bright blond hair dark with moisture, stepped into the bookstore in a billow of icy wind. Nick grinned, shook himself like a big friendly dog, and wiped his booted feet on the rug just inside the doorway. Snow sparkled for a heartbeat on his long black coat, on his jeans and boots before melting away in the heat of the room, and surprised, JC twisted around on his tall stool behind the counter to look out the huge plate-glass windows at the streets outside. Hey, cool. The fitful rain had changed to snow sometime in the past few minutes, huge clumps of flakes dropping from the clouds like handfuls of feathers. Sorta pretty, and if it didn't start accumulating, it would be great to ride his bike in the flurry.

"Hey, dawg," Nick said, and unslung his backpack from his shoulder, dropping it with a heavy thud on the worn wooden floor beside the old counter. He set a white bag on the top of the counter, and a drink carrier with two lidded cups. "Lance says hi. He made your chai just how you like it, and he says to get off your narrow ass and proof his paper for him tonight."

"He thinks he can buy my attention and affections with double-strength chai," JC said, and reached for one of the cups. He popped off the top, and fragrant steam wisped upward into his face. He inhaled deeply, and the heady scent of spices made his mouth water. "And he'd be right. I'm so easy."

Nick laughed and opened the bag, reaching in and coming out with a muffin the size of Alaska, scattering chocolate crumbs all over JC's counter. "I've heard that about you," Nick said with another grin. He easily avoided JC's half-hearted swat at him. "However, unless you've grown boobies in the last twenty-four hours, I don't think he'll be interested much." Nick leaned over the counter and blatantly ogled JC's flat chest beneath his hoodie, waggling his brows comically. "Nah, sorry. No chance with him now, dude. But if you did have tits, I'd bet they'd be perky."

JC straightened and ran a hand down his chest, striking a cheesecake pose that threatened to tumble him off his stool before he caught his balance again. "You bet. I'd have like, the perkiest that ever perked. Way better than Andrea's."

Nick broke off a chunk of muffin and offered it to JC. "Man. He still chasing after her?"

"Yeah," JC replied, taking the offered bit of muffin. "He's going through a girl phase right now. The holidays always bring out the het boy in him." JC took a bite of muffin and shrugged one shoulder. He and Lance had an easy on-again, off-again sort of thing, based primarily on laziness and convenience, although, JC reflected, Lance's possession of a very fine ass did significantly factor into it.

"Oh, yeah. The overwhelming drive to bring a nice girl home to meet mom," Nick said, popping off the lid to his cocoa and taking a sip. "The call of tradition. Not that I'd bring home a girl to meet my mom, but hey, Mrs. Bass is pretty nice. I can understand it."

"Yeah, she's pretty cool," JC agreed. And she was, as sweet-natured as Nick's mom was...unpleasant. Yeah, that was the kindest description of Mrs. Carter that JC could come up with on such short notice. He slanted a glance over at Nick, and saw his blue eyes start to darken, and decided to change the subject before Nick had a chance to tumble into depression about his relationship with his mother. "Thanks for the chai," JC said, his mouth curving in a little grin. "I appreciate it, and while I enjoy having you around, you're a little early for Justin. He doesn't breeze in for oh, about another half-hour."

Nick's cheeks pinkened more, and his red mouth sketched a quick grin before he ducked his head a little and rubbed at the back of his head. It was a shy, charming gesture, a sweet little smile, and JC didn't understand why it had no effect on Justin. Nick was big, broad, blond, good-looking, with a great laugh and quirky sense of humor, and if Nick didn't have a thing for Justin, JC himself just might be tempted by Nick.

Of course, predictably and frustratingly, Justin seemed to prefer tall, gangly, and skinny with brown curly hair. JC wanted to roll his eyes, because well, no. Justin was a senior in high school, for god's sake, a kid. Off limits for him, but certainly not for Nick, who was just a freshman in college, only a year older. JC didn't have many hard and fast rules about whom he slept with, but high-schoolers? No way. Of course, that hadn't stopped Justin from trying. Justin held the firm conviction that repeated exposure to his charming company would eventually wear down JC's resistance, and nothing JC said or did could convince him otherwise.

"Fuck off," Nick said, but his smile took the sting out of the words. JC couldn't help but laugh. Nick was easy to tease, and generally took it well, so JC had a hard time resisting. "Like you have any room to talk, man. It's three o'clock."

The last bite of muffin went down wrong, and JC took a quick gulp of chai to wash it down. It scalded his tongue and he whooped; in an instant Nick practically leapt the counter and started pounding on his back. Unfortunately Nick didn't realize just how strong he was, and JC struggled to get away from him before the hard smacks of his big hands did something like dislocate every bone in his spine.

He skittered out from behind the counter and away from Nick, coughing and waving him away. Once Nick stopped beating on him, JC could catch his breath. Bent over, his hands on his knees, JC looked accusingly up at Nick through teary eyes. "You did that on purpose," he wheezed.

"Did not!" Nick's denial was swift and automatic. "Well. Maybe a little. But you asked for it. You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," JC said, and cleared his throat noisily as he straightened, wiping at his eyes. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd snorted chai through his nose; it burned. "I think I blistered my tongue. And my tonsils. And my sinuses." Gingerly he ran his fingertip over his tongue.

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?" Nick took a step forward, grinning wickedly, and JC backed away rapidly, his feet soundless on the wooden floor. "No. Thanks, but no."

Nick shrugged. "Your loss, dawg," he replied. "I've been told I'm a really good kisser."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," JC replied, honestly. Nick had a pretty mouth, wide and soft-looking, and Justin was an idiot for not seeing what Nick offered. JC crossed the floor and went behind his counter, hitching himself onto his tall stool, his bare toes curling around the rungs. "Just between me and you? I think Justin's pretty stupid, sometimes, for not seeing what's right in front of his face."

Nick leaned over the counter, arms folded easily, supporting his weight. His shoulders looked like a mountain range. JC always forgot just how big Nick was, easily half again as big as his own yardstick-thin body. "I figure he'll come around sooner or later. He's just temporarily distracted by the pretty. He'll eventually get tired of you saying no, and I'll be there to make him smile. To comfort him in his hour of need." Nick pressed a hand over his heart and struck a dramatic pose. JC had to roll his eyes at the sheer amount of cheese.

"Whatever, dude. You're a lot more patient than I'd be," JC said.

"I know what I want," Nick said simply. "Hey, you're missing your show," he said, and reached over to snap on the radio.

A voice that managed to be both smooth like rich black velvet and rough as a cat's tongue slid from the speakers, and a little thrill skittered down JC's spine. It didn't matter that the dj talked about upcoming events at the college---the subject matter sailed over his head, because it was the voice that caught him, a husky baritone that seemed made more for the bedroom than a college radio station. It certainly had that effect on him, anyway; JC's nipples tightened and heat swirled down his body, his dick growing heavy and full beneath faded denim.

"Wow," Nick said, and JC opened his eyes; when had he closed them? Nick stood leaning against the counter, his chin in his hand, watching intently, and JC felt a warm wash of embarrassment at the close scrutiny. "You really get into him, don't you?"

"Shut up," JC muttered, but he guessed he deserved it after teasing Nick about Justin. He scrubbed a hand through his wild mop of unruly curls. "Yeah, I kinda do," he admitted as the dj, AJ, segued into a commercial for a local pizza parlor. "He doesn't do a show on the weekend, and so Mondays, it kinda gets me sprung, after not hearing him for a couple of days."

"Really." Nick leaned way over the counter to peer at JC's groin, and never had JC been so glad his hoodie was a size too big; it covered a multitude of problems. JC pushed at Nick's shoulder, and knew that when Nick fell back, it was only because he allowed it.

"Chill," Nick said with a grin. "I'm not gonna tease you. Too much," he amended truthfully. "I know you have a thing for voices. Or accents. It was both of those that first got you interested in Lance, I know."

And that was pretty much true; JC couldn't deny it. Lance had a low, deep voice that seemed to vibrate somewhere at the base of JC's spine, and a Mississippi accent that was as rich as hot fudge over ice cream. JC had been smitten from the first time he'd heard it in the student union, raised in an argument with another student about physics that he'd had no hope of following. But what he hadn't known about physics, he certainly knew about attraction, and sex, and had later followed Lance back to his apartment. "Well," JC admitted. "That, plus his ass."

"It's pretty nice," Nick said. "Not that I've spent a lot of time looking, or anything." His grin was bright.

"Oh, no, of course not."

"And the rest of him is okay, too, I guess." Nick hooked a thumb at the radio. "I'll bet this one looks like a geek, though. Voices hardly ever match their owners. I mean, look at me---you'd think I'd have Lance's voice, and he'd have mine." He shrugged philosophically; JC knew he'd come to accept his light tenor, though he certainly didn't like it. "This guy prolly wears big old horn-rimmed glasses and has a pocket protector and greasy hair and snorts when he laughs, like those guys in those Revenge of the Nerds movies."

JC made a face. "Man. Way to crush a fantasy."

"So glad to be of service." Nick's gaze slid over JC's shoulder, out the huge plate glass windows that made up the front of the Well-Fed Head bookstore, and JC didn't have to turn around to know that Nick had spotted Justin striding up the sidewalk, moving with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

The bell tinkled merrily again, and Justin stomped snow from his boots, brushed it from his shoulders. "Hey," he said cheerfully. "It's freezing out."

"That happens when it snows," Nick said reasonably, though JC caught the amused glint in his eye that Justin missed, because although Justin lounged against the counter next to Nick, Justin's attention went directly to JC.

"Hey, Jayce," Justin said with a smile, his voice dropping into its lowest registers. His cheeks were pink, which made his dark blue eyes even brighter. Justin had the best skin, smooth and blemish-free, and he had started growing out of boyish prettiness; he'd be a handsome man, if JC didn't kill him first. He looked up at JC through long dark lashes, and JC didn't dare look at Nick, who so clearly wanted to laugh at the painfully obvious flirtation. "How's things?"

"Not bad," JC replied. "Other than Nick trying to dislocate my spine."

Nick shrugged expansively when Justin's attention shifted to him a moment. "Sorry. So I like really athletic sex. I thought he was bendier than that."

Justin's eyes grew huge a moment, flashing from JC to Nick and back again, then he flushed darkly and scowled. JC had to laugh when Justin snatched the knit hat from his head and whacked a cackling Nick with it. "He's just jerking your chain, and you know it," JC said with a grin.

"Asshole," Justin said, but the corners of his mouth had turned up, so he wasn't mad. He quit smacking Nick, who had laughed during the attack, and had ineffectually fended him off. "Quit saying shit like that." Justin pulled the cap back onto his head, tucking in his gold-brown curls.

"Can't help it," Nick said, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. "You make it too easy." Nick edged around Justin, and picked up his backpack. He slung a companionable arm around Justin's neck and squeezed until Justin's eyes bugged. "C'mon, give me a ride back to my apartment in that fancy new car of yours. Bet we can find enough snow to do donuts in. It'll be really cool, you'll see."

Nick walked toward the door, his arm still around Justin's neck, and Justin had to backpedal with him, or be strangled. "Hey! I just got here!"

"You can come back later," Nick said, already at the door. "If it keeps snowing, you can give him a ride somewhere. It'll be way romantic."

Justin flailed and made a squeaky little noise as Nick pulled him through the door, and JC waved merrily at him. He'd get Nick later for that comment, because while Justin might be brash, he was at heart a romantic, and would now do his best to turn a simple car ride into something more than JC wanted.

He shook his head and brushed muffin crumbs from his counter, threw away cups and the bakery bag, and opened his history text to study. The words were dry and boring, though, and he soon found himself drifting, his chin on his palm, half-listening to the music---something trip-hop today, because AJ had eclectic tastes, and each show tended to be different than the ones before---but mostly listening to the rhythm of AJ's raspy voice.

AJ backed through the main door of the station, lugging a milk crate heavy with records and cds and tapes, swearing under his breath as his backpack started to slip off his shoulder. He juggled everything desperately for a moment, then managed to get in without dropping anything, though he figured he'd managed that only through luck or divine intervention.

As the door banged closed behind him, he saw Joey sitting on the couch, his huge booted feet propped on the coffee table, a magazine open on his legs, his textbooks opened and abandoned on the cushions beside him. Joey looked up and waved. "Looks kinda heavy, McLean," he said cheerfully.

"Yeah. Thanks for getting the door," AJ said darkly. "I appreciate the help. No, really. You're a prince amongst men."

Joey laughed, almost impossible to insult. "Not a problem, man." But he closed the magazine and tossed it to the table. "Got another crate out there?"

"Yeah," AJ said, heading down the hallway toward the set-up room. "But it's locked in the trunk."

"Ooh," Joey said, and out of the corner of his eye, AJ saw him scrambling over the back of the couch, sending books and papers everywhere. He scowled. The bastard could move pretty quickly when he found the right motivation. "Do I get to look for the keys in your pockets again?"

"No," AJ said. "You felt me up the last time you did it, you pervert."

"Pervert? Hah. Pot, kettle, man." Joey darted in front of him, and plastered himself across the huge glass window that opened onto the studio where Howie worked on his show, Acoustic Café. "You liked it. I could tell by the noises you made." And with that, Joey launched into loud sex noises: moans, groans, gasps, with an occasional "oh God, Joey, harder, harder," thrown in. Joey ran his hands through his hair, over his face, and down his chest, writhing in a display of ecstacy that would've won an award in the porn industry. AJ bit the tip of his tongue to keep from laughing. He'd seen the act before countless times; Joey needed very little provocation to bring it out, the big ham.

A dark, spiky head poked out of the office, eyebrows raised. "There had better not be sex going on in the hallway," Chris said sternly, "because I didn't get an invitation."

AJ glanced through the big plate glass window into the studio where Howie sat, headphones hanging off one ear, ready to cue up the next song. He glanced up, saw them, and his teeth flashed brightly as he laughed soundlessly at Joey's antics and AJ's undoubtedly long-suffering expression.

"Sheeyah," AJ said dismissively. "As if I'd freak his skanky ass."

"Skanky?" Joey stopped the sex act, which had evolved---devolved?---into something that looked like a pole dancer's routine, sans pole. Huh. Who knew he was so flexible? He had the most mobile face AJ had ever seen, and it shifted in an instant from a goofy I'm-so-sexy look into mock outrage. "I'm mortally offended."

"If the condom fits," AJ said, and pushed past him, Chris' laughter ringing in his ears.

"Hey!" Joey protested, "You're my boything. You're supposed to defend my honor, you asshole, not laugh at his vile insults."

"Well, you did fuck the entire cast of the summer production of Guys and Dolls," Chris replied, and his light voice had a definite amused lilt. "AJ might have a point, dude."

"I can't help it if I just have too much sexual mojo for just one man. And besides, that was two years ago. And the result of a bet. My honor was at stake."

AJ turned the corner and staggered into the set-up room, adjacent to the record library and the studio. Their voices faded, though even distance and a half-closed door couldn't mute Chris' high-pitched laugh. AJ heaved the crate to the tabletop and let his backpack drop to the floor with a loud thunk. By the time he finally graduated, he'd have muscles of steel from lugging all his shit around. Either that, or a hernia.

Something slow and rich and Spanish-flavored from Howie's show drifted through the speakers as AJ sorted through the records and cds and tapes he'd brought with him, figuring out what he wanted to play for his show today. Chris, as station manager, would've set out a box of today's must-plays in the studio itself, organized into heavy, medium, and light rotation, and he had his commercials and PSAs to set up, but beyond that, he could play anything he wanted, and did; his tastes were wide-ranging and mercurial. Today, he'd felt like post-punk. Chris would like it, but it would make Joey weep, which only increased the appeal.

With a little trill, Dinah jumped up on the table and butted her head against his arm. "Hey, baby," AJ said, and scooped up the long-haired calico and cuddled her close to his chest. She immediately began a loud, rumbling purr, rubbing her face against his chin. She'd been a stray the station had adopted without the knowledge of the campus authorities, who would've insisted they find her another home. Chris had wanted to name her Kawasaki because of her loud purr, but AJ had insisted on Dinah, after the cat in Alice in Wonderland, because certainly, the station and its staff were something right out of Lewis Carroll, and it had stuck. She was affectionate with everyone, but loved him best, following him around, jumping into his lap at every opportunity. AJ didn't mind; it was sorta nice to be able to offer affection freely, with no expectations in return.

AJ planted a kiss on the top of her head and let her slide to the table so he could finish his prep work; Howie would be finished with his show in just a little while, and he wanted to be ready, so he could take over without any drama. He didn't mind doing things off the cuff---he loved the unpredictability of live shows on location---but in the studio, he preferred being prepared and at ease.

He decided he wanted his other crate of music, because while the station's library held a surprisingly large number of records and cds, it didn't have what he looked for today. He strode from the room, Dinah trotting in front of him, plumy tail waving like a flag. Chris' office was on the way out to the main lobby, so he stopped to see if Joey had the new ads done yet.

"God Almighty," AJ said, and backed out of the doorway. "Put up a sign, or something, willya? I'm traumatized, now."

Chris pulled away from Joey, who leaned back against the wall in Chris' office, looking rumpled and a little dazed. They both had their clothes on, and everything remained buttoned and zipped, but if he'd been just a few minutes later, AJ bet that wouldn't have been the case. Chris looked flushed and his dark eyes snapped. "Knock, next time, McLean, and your eyeballs will be spared boy on boy action."

AJ flipped him the finger. "Fuck off, you dick. What if it had been Kevin? Or Brian? Or God forbid, administration? I know they don't care much how you run the place, but I'm thinking they wouldn't be too happy seeing it," AJ slid his eyes insolently down Chris' body, to his straining jeans, then back up to his face, "in the flesh. So to speak."

Chris flushed darker, and his mouth opened to say something cutting, because Chris had a black temper and could be as sharp as a razorblade. AJ braced for it, prepared to give back as good as he got, but then Chris' mouth snapped closed, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah, sure," Chris said finally, and AJ knew he'd won, and that was as much acknowledgment of the fact as he'd get out of Chris. "What did you want?"

"Fatone. You get the new ads done?"

Joey cleared his throat and pushed away from the wall, adjusting himself in his jeans without the slightest bit of shame. He slid past Chris out the door, and his hand dropped out of sight a moment. Chris jumped as if goosed, and Joey grinned, easily sidestepping Chris' retaliatory punch. "Sure. I gave them to Howie. They're already in the cart, ready for you."

"Thanks." AJ nodded at Chris, then turned back down the hall toward the lobby. Joey fell into step with him, slinging an arm companionably around his shoulders.

"Sorry about that," Joey said, once they reached the front door. "I know we push it sometimes, but man. Chris is just so." He released AJ and made vague motions with his hands that were supposed to mean something, but what, AJ had no idea, and figured he was probably better off not knowing. AJ pushed open the door and Joey followed him out into the dim cold late afternoon, and they clattered down the steps together. "Intense. Hard to resist."

AJ huffed out a breath in a white cloud, digging through his jeans pockets for his keys. "Yeah, well. Not like I'm gonna tell anybody. I'm just saying. There's such a thing as discretion, man."

Joey made a rude noise, then waved and smiled at someone across the parking lot. AJ had never met a guy more popular than Joey, who could make anyone fall for him, gay or straight, romantically or platonically. It was like a gift, or something. He was as mellow and laid back as Chris was hyper and on edge, and AJ supposed they helped to temper one another.

They'd been together since AJ had started school that fall, and still seemed to be going strong heading into the spring semester. From Joey's stories, he'd been a wild thing before he'd settled down with Chris, sleeping with anyone, but now, he seemed content with just Chris. Although, AJ reflected, Chris was active, volatile, and interesting enough to keep anyone coming back for more; he might've made a play for Kirkpatrick himself, if Chris hadn't been so obviously smitten with Joey.

"So, I'm thinking," Joey said, as they reached AJ's beat up old car and AJ popped the trunk. "And quit rolling your eyes at me, jerkoff."

"What? Would I do that?" AJ asked, and peered at Joey over the tops of his shaded lenses. He smoothed his face into innocent lines.

"Yes, you would. I think that's why you wear shades all the time. To keep us from knowing just how often you do it."

"Well, maybe if you idiots didn't give me cause to do it, then maybe I wouldn't, huh? But I wear shades because I look damn good in them," AJ said, and lifted the second milk crate full of music from the trunk, setting it down on the damp pavement. Which was partially true, because AJ was self-aware enough to know that he did. But it was less a display of vanity and more a habit leftover from a time when he'd had less wholesome habits, when he wore them to help disguise pupils either constricted or blown from drugs or alcohol. He didn't do either anymore, hadn't for a year, but he'd not given up wearing shades, or shaded lenses. He liked how he could observe others without being observed closely himself.

"Whatever," Joey said. "Hey, you got any porn in here?" He ducked his head beneath the trunk lid, just as AJ started pulling it down.

"As if I'd give it to you if I did," AJ replied, pulling Joey out of the way by his collar. "Your whole life is a porn flick. You don't need it."

"No, I guess not," Joey said. "But I'm always interested in sex. Can't fault me for that."

"Yeah, what with all that wicked sexual mojo you've got going there," AJ said dryly.

Joey straightened, and AJ closed the trunk. "Hey, I can't help it. It's a gift." He leaned down and waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. "Wanna take a spin on the Fatone love machine?"

AJ couldn't help but laugh. "Kirkpatrick would have my balls if I so much as laid a finger on you, and you know it. And man, I like my voice as it is now. Don't wanna sound like him, all high-pitched and girly."

Joey's laugh rolled over him, as warm as one of his hugs. "I guess that's true enough." He bent and scooped up the crate before AJ could, and AJ shrugged; if Joey wanted to lug it into the station, he surely wouldn't object. "But like I said, I've been thinking."

"Yeah? About what?" AJ stuck his cold hands in his pockets. If he positioned himself just right, he could walk next to Joey and Joey would block a lot of the chilly wind.

"About you."

AJ stopped abruptly, and the wind slid cold fingers down the back of his sweatshirt. "Dude. Do me a favor, and don't. Because that gives me hives, the thought of you thinking about me."

"Not like that, you moron. You're too skinny for me, and besides, taken, y'know? No, I've been thinking that you need to hook up. I can't think that you have, since I've known you. Unless you're hitting bars or clubs, or that sort of thing."

"I don't go to bars anymore," AJ said, and fell back into step with him. "Not so often to clubs, either."

"I didn't think so, 'cause you never say anything about it. I know you go to local shows, but if you pick up there, you never say anything about it."

"Not all of us have to talk about it all the time, y'know. Some of us are actually interested in school and work and stuff beyond sex."

Joey snorted. "Right. You're what, twenty-two, twenty-three? Don't tell me you're not interested. But you are a little stand-off-ish---at least, at first. Pretty cool, though, once you let your guard down. So, I'm gonna get you hooked up with someone I know."

"As if I want your cast-offs," AJ scoffed, and trotted up the stairs to the radio station, holding the door open for Joey. "Thanks, but no."

"You little shit. I haven't fucked everyone I know," Joey protested. "I do have just friends. Take Kevin, or Brian, for instance."

"They're the straightest straight boys I know," AJ said. "I'd like to see it if you could bend them a little."

Joey stopped and looked speculative. "You willing to offer money on that?"

"No. And I don't want to hook up with them, either. I like them just fine as friends, but they're not my style."

"What is your style, then? C'mon. Gimme a chance. I can hook you up with someone really nice. Or pervy, if you like that sort of thing." As they passed the studio, Joey tipped his head toward Howie, chatting with someone on the phone line. "What about Sweet D there? You don't get any nicer than him."

"Howie's nice," AJ agreed, and as if he knew they were talking about him, Howie looked up and waved. AJ nodded back, and continued down the hallway toward the prep room. "But he's a friend, not someone I want to sleep with."

"Or, if you prefer the fairer sex, I can tell you that Christina likes you," Joey said, and heaved the crate up onto the table beside the other. "She's always giving you the eye. I think she'd happily hook up with you if you'd just ask."

"I really think I can get my own dates, Fatone. And I will, when I'm ready, so fuck off, m'kay?" AJ grinned at him to show no hard feelings, and Joey rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Fine. Languish in the dark pits of despair. Burn with unslaked lust. Just see if I care."

AJ started sorting through the crate. "I've been in the pits of despair. This ain't nothing like that, bro."

He could fairly feel Joey's sudden curiosity, running over him like something prickly, but he didn't look up, didn't acknowledge it. He knew that Chris had told Joey nothing; for all of Chris' noisiness, his rambunctiousness, he held secrets close, and those of others even closer. And Joey might be loud and flamboyant, but he related well to people, and knew when to back off; it was one of his better qualities. He knew now, and let it go.

"Okay, man. You've got twenty minutes before on air time. I'm gonna go do some homework, and let you get ready. Break a leg. Or any limb of your choice." Joey patted AJ's back, and for a moment, AJ thought he'd hug him---Joey was the most touchy-feely guy he knew---and he tensed. But Joey just noogied his head lightly through his knit cap, and went out, calling for Dinah, and making little kissy cat-calling noises. AJ relaxed again after he left. Joey meant well, was a good guy, but man, he was just much too much, sometimes.

When he had his picks for the day loaded into one of the crates, he waited until the red light above the door went off that indicated Howie was live, and slipped into the studio, deftly blocking out Dinah, who meowed piteously at the slight.

"You are such a mean, mean man," Howie said with a smile. "I should report you to PETA."

"Nah, that's more Kevin's move than yours," AJ replied. "He's all Mr. Activist. You'll just drag me to church and try to make me confess. And besides, you know that PETA would just take one look at her fat cat ass and laugh in your face at any accusations of abuse."

"Probably true," Howie said with a light laugh. He kept an eye on the commercial playing, the earphones hanging off one ear so he could hear both AJ and what he played. "You doing okay?"

"Sure." Howie nudged his own boxes of music out of the way so AJ could make room for his. "Lots of homework, but nothing too hard. Stupid busywork, mostly."

"Yeah, the gen eds are awful like that. But once you get them out of the way, it's a lot more fun. You still thinking Sociology?"

"I like Lit more, but dunno if I want to teach, so yeah, looking at that. But I don't have to make a decision soon, so I'll just take a bunch of stuff and see how it works out."

"That's the way most of us do it. Well, except for Joey, who was a natural for performing arts and knew what he wanted from the beginning." Howie frowned, and slid equalizer levers on the mixer board until whatever he heard pleased him a little more.

AJ sat down in the second chair and rolled to the mixer board, settling the earphones over his head. Once, he could've said the same thing. Once, he'd had it, had a solid career in singing and dancing and comedy, had been destined for more, and then he'd let it all slip through his fingers. Well, he thought, actually more accurately, down his throat and up his nose. But that was in the past, and it didn't make any sense to dwell on mistakes he'd made then. He was clean now, and liked his life, though it had nothing to do with Orlando or show business or money or growing fame.

Or maybe, that was exactly why he liked this life so much. He was dirt poor, a freshman in college, but he was free to do what he wanted, how he wanted, with no demands or expectations from anyone, and he wouldn't give that up for anything.

"This is Howie D, and its been a pleasure to be your dj for Acoustic Café. Next up at three p.m. is my man AJ with his show Eclectic Avenue. Acoustic Café will be back Friday at noon for another block of great acoustic music from around the world. I'll be looking forward to seeing you all again. Bye for now." Howie sent them into a series of public service announcements so AJ would have time to cue up music of his own.

"And it's yours. Have a good show, man." Howie disconnected his earphones and scooted out of the way for AJ to take over.

"Thanks, D. Good luck with the test tomorrow. I heard McKinnison is a bear." AJ said, his hands flying over the board and turntables, setting up a couple of records for the time he went on air.

"Not so bad," Howie replied, pushing his boxes out of the way with a little grunt, then picking up the nearest one. "Oh. My mom wants you to come over for supper on Sunday after Mass. She wants to feed you up. Says you make her heart hurt, you're so skinny. A man should have some meat on his bones."

AJ stuck out his tongue. "Oh, no, D. I know how that goes. She feeds me the best food I ever put in my mouth, gets me all full and stupid, then the next thing I know, I'm married to one of your hundred sisters. I'm wise to that little game."

Howie laughed. "Okay, okay. I got it. No marrying you off. Yet."

"Ever, probably," AJ said, and flashed a grin. "Hey. Your mom making flan for dessert?"

"She can," Howie said, "if she knows you're coming."

"I'll be there. But no matchmaking, deal?"

"Deal," Howie said, and slipped out the door just as the PSAs ended and AJ pulled the microphone closer.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then clicked on the mic. "Hey," he said, letting his voice drop into its lower registers. "This is KKMU, the best damn college radio station in the Midwest, and I'm AJ, your dj for three hours of Eclectic Avenue, featuring whatever I decide to bring in on the spur of the moment. Today, we'll have a bit of music guaranteed to kill the souls of all you lovers of pasturized pop---we'll be listening to some post-punk era music featuring artists such as Echo and the Bunnymen, Love and Rockets, The Psychadelic Furs, Joy Division, and more. Let's start out our show today with Bela Lugosi's Dead, by Bauhaus, their debut single from 1979."

He cued up the record and let it rip. The corners of his mouth curved up into a smile. He had no fame, no money, but he had his self-respect, and that was worth more than anything.

"Oh my lord, what is that godawful racket? It sounds like cats being tortured."

JC didn't look up from his perusal of Lance's paper. "Ministry," he said absently, and took a sip of the double-strength Godiva hot chocolate that Lance had brought as a bribe. "And I'm fairly sure no cats were injured in the making of that song."

"Ha fucking ha," Lance said, and wandered to the huge windows in the front of The Well-Fed Head and stood looking out at the rain-slick streets. JC paused, and pushed his wire-framed glasses to the top of his head, rubbing his eyes. They felt like someone had poured something gritty in them. Sand, maybe. Or salt. His mouth curved as the "don't pour salt in your eye" skit from the Kids in the Hall tv show skittered through his mind.

He scooted off his stool and stood beside his counter, stretching hugely, then padded on bare feet over to where Lance stood. Lance fairly radiated heat, and so JC moved just a little closer, trying to unobtrusively siphon off some of it. He'd just come from work at the Starbuck's three blocks over, and smelled like coffee and chocolate and muffins, a homey smell, but beneath that, JC caught a whiff of a citrusy cologne, and the tang of sweat, a purely masculine fragrance.

"Quit sniffing me, you freak," Lance said, not taking his eyes from the traffic crawling outside in the rain. But he smiled as he said it, his voice a deep rumble that made the hairs at the nape of JC's neck---and other things---rise.

"I'm not," JC protested. "Well, much," he amended honestly. "But I don't think you should begrudge me a little sniff, given that I'm editing your damn boring paper."

The Christmas lights outside sent color flashing across Lance's strong profile. His smile widened, and he turned to look at JC, his green eyes sparkling in amusement. "Oh, I know all about you horny English majors. It's all 'Ooh, I love a good rough draft,' and then it's 'Edit me, baby. Edit me aaaaaall night long.'"

JC laughed, even as his dick grew harder beneath his jeans and his toes curled against the floor at the low, porny rumble of Lance's voice. "You never complained about my editing skills."

Lance turned toward him, and JC let his eyes slide down Lance's body, lingering on his thick, muscular thighs and his crotch, hidden behind an extra-long sweater. When he returned to Lance's face, he could see color chase across his high cheekbones. Lance cleared his throat. "Oh, I never had any complaints about that."

JC took one step closer, drawn by the heat that seemed to rise from Lance's skin, the color that pinkened his cheeks and soft wide mouth. He could smell the fruity scent of Lance's hair gel, see the darkening of his pale eyes. "I can close the shop. And we can go upstairs." He ran his fingertips over Lance's arm, plucking lightly at the thick wool sweater. His fingers closed over Lance's forearm, and squeezed. "Make it worth your time, Lance."

Lance swayed closer, an almost imperceptible movement, and JC willed him to give in. He liked Lance, and sex with him was good, was easy; they fit together well, suited one another, even if Lance's tastes ran more to vanilla than the spice JC favored. JC leaned in so his mouth brushed across Lance's ear. "C'mon," he whispered, and Lance shivered.

But then Lance drew in a deep breath, and took a step back, JC's hand falling from his arm. "As much as I like foolin' around with you, JC, I can't. I started dating Andrea for real, and I don't cheat."

No one said 'foolin' around' anymore, and certainly no one but Lance could make it sound so illicit and enticing, like something JC really wanted. But while he didn't think that whatever Lance had with Andrea would last---Lance liked dick too much---he'd respect his decision. His own dick wasn't happy with it though, and it was an effort not to adjust himself, but he made himself smile, and thought it must've looked convincing, because Lance smiled back.

"That's great, honey," JC said. "I didn't know it was that serious, and if it is, I'm really glad for you."

"Well, thanks." Lance looked down at his hands, and JC tried not to notice how long his eyelashes were on his pale cheeks. "I don't mean to be a bitch about it, because you're great, really fucking great, but we both know it was just for fun. Didn't mean anything."

"Yeah, just for fun," JC said, and evidently it was the right thing to say, because Lance looked up again, obviously relieved. "If it doesn't work out with Andrea, we can have fun again." One shoulder rolled in a shrug. "It's all good, cat."

The bell above the door tinkled, and they both turned to see a handful of girls, lugging backpacks, spill into the warmth of the store. Their cheeks were flushed, their hair tousled from the wind, and almost as one, they waved and chorused, "Hi, JC!"

"Hey, Lance, look at all the pretty mamas," JC said, and smiled when they erupted into giggles. "How are y'all doing? How was school?"

He looked over his shoulder at Lance and dropped a quick wink, and saw Lance roll his eyes in return. The girls, all students at Justin's school, often came in to sit on his comfortable couches and chairs in the adjoining room, and he didn't mind. They were pretty, lively, and he liked the rhythm of their voices as they talked amongst themselves. He didn't expect them to buy anything, and they seldom did, but they brightened up his afternoons when they dropped by.

They gave him a quick rundown of their day, then trooped into the next room and settled in for awhile, spreading their homework around on the coffee table and switching on the floor and table lamps against the encroaching darkness. JC kept a thermos of hot chocolate and another of coffee available for his customers, and the girls helped themselves to it, taking the chance to look at JC and Lance, and giggle again as they did.

"Sucker," Lance whispered, and JC shrugged before turning away from Lance's low chuckle to take a seat on his stool, pull his glasses back down onto his nose, and focus his attention on Lance's paper again.

He'd been singing along under his breath with AJ's radio show as he worked; he knew most of the songs, if not by heart. Music seemed to hum just below his skin, sparkle along his nerves, move in muscle and bone, and he seldom needed to hear a song more than once before he'd memorized it. He'd always thought it a pity that nothing else came quite so easily.

Nick came by a few minutes later, laughing and cheerful, shaking himself and sending water flying everywhere. He hung his coat beside Lance's and JC's on the coatrack, and made himself at home as easily as Lance had.

"Justin's got basketball practice today, Nick," JC said, writing, 'no, stupid, you can't say it that way,' and then writing in the margin the corrected version. He thought the purple ink lent his criticism a certain panache. And besides, Lance really hated the purple pen, which just made using it all that much sweeter.

Nick had the audacity to look outraged. "You think the only reason I come here is just to get a glimpse of His Curliness?"

"Yes," Lance and JC said in harmony.

"Fuckers," Nick said, loudly enough that the girls giggled. Color brightened his face as he gave them an embarrassed little wave. "Um, sorry, girls." They giggled even more loudly, and Nick flushed a darker red before rolling his eyes and turning back to JC.

JC snortlaughed at him, then leaned backwards, stretching to get the kinks out of his shoulders. On the radio, Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart faded, and AJ's husky, raspy voice came up.

"Okay, Chris, our station manager...."

"And host for the best-*ever* punk show Little Red Monsters!" interrupted a high-pitched, cheerful voice.

"....has handed me a bunch of swag...."

"I'm on Tuesdays and Thursdays at eight p.m.!"

"....that he wants me to give away," continued AJ, apparently unruffled by Chris' interruption.

"And it's actually good stuff this time!"

"It's free stuff," AJ said, and his tone made it clear he didn't share Chris' opinion of the quality of the swag, "and it's yours if you're the first caller who can give me the correct answer to the questions I'll be asking over the next hour."

"They're really easy questions," Chris said. "So if you don't get them, you can feel free to consider yourself really stupid."

"Chris. You can't say that," AJ said. "That's rude, man."

"Oh. Okay. Consider yourself a musical Philistine if you don't get the right answers. How's that?"

"That's better...."

"But it still means you're stupid," Chris interrupted.

AJ laughed, and JC, who'd been paying attention, shivered as the sound stroked down his spine and curled in his belly. It was a laugh soft and husky and somehow, wicked and intimate, and JC shivered and instantly wanted to hear more of it.

Nick snickered loudly and nudged him for his reaction, and JC slapped at him, scowling.

"Okay. Here's the question. What English band adopted their name from a popular piece of American slang from the Roaring Twenties? Call in your answer at 555-9203 and win this beautiful---what the hell is this you gave me, Chris?"

"It's a tee shirt. It's from the local band Angry Panda. See? It's a panda bear, and he has a little Uzi. Isn't it sweet?"

"Riiiight. Call in with the correct answer, and it's all yours. The number again is...."

"It's 555-9203! Woo-hoo, look at the board light up! And you said this was a stupid idea, AJ."

"No, I said you were stupid. There's a difference."

"Difference, smifference," Chris said, and JC could practically see him waving his hand in dismissal. "C'mon. Start answering the phone, dude."

JC cleared his throat. "It's 23 Skidoo," he said, and picked up his pen, twirling it in his fingers. He tried to concentrate on Lance's paper, but somehow, physics seemed to hold less appeal than AJ's voice.

"Well?" Nick said impatiently. "What're you waiting for?"

"I'm not calling in." JC could feel warmth creeping up his throat and up into his cheeks.

Nick reached over the counter and snatched up the phone, taking a step backward when JC made a grab for him. The answers began coming in: Flogging Molly, no; Young Marble Giants, no; Killing Joke, no. Nick dialed the number rapidly four times, and then whooped and handed the phone to JC, who fumbled it before getting it to his ear.

"And your answer is?" The voice was AJ's, and JC felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, felt heat gather in his chest and plummet down his belly, arrowing directly to his dick, which evidently had no sense at all when presented with what it liked. "You there, caller?"

JC gave a wide-eyed look to Lance, who looked amused, then looked back to Nick who laughed, the bastard. Oh, Nick would pay, JC vowed, and cleared his throat.

"Um. Yes. I am," JC managed, and the steadiness of his voice surprised him.

"Good to know," AJ said, and his voice almost purred with amusement. "Want to give me your answer? If you know it." The amusement changed to a sly challenge, and JC's mouth firmed, because hey, it was music, and he knew music.

"Sure, I know it."

"Want to tell me, then?" The echo from phone and radio was disconcerting. "Hey, man, turn down your radio so I can hear you a little better."

JC reached for the radio, but Nick was quicker, turning it down to a low murmur, and the doppler effect faded, leaving him with AJ's own rich voice, undistorted. "Thanks, that's better."

"Answers! We want answers!" he heard in the background, then Chris began singing the Jeopardy time song very loudly. "Da da da da da da da, da da...."

"It's 23 Skidoo," JC said, if only to shut up Chris, who was making him nervous and annoying the hell out of him. He suspected Chris had that effect on a lot of people.

"And that's the correct answer," AJ said. "We have a winner."

"A weener!"

"What's your name?"

"JC. Chasez."

"Well, JC Chasez, you've won this lovely...."

"....and valuable!"

"....tee shirt. Stay on the line, and we'll get some information from you, okay? Up next is Lips Like Sugar, from Echo and the Bunnymen."

"I'm going to kill you, I swear to god," JC said to Nick, who practically bounced up and down with excitement, unfazed by JC's threat.

"I've had people say that to me before," AJ's voice said in his ear, "but not for giving them a free tee shirt."

"Oh. Sorry. Not you. I was talking to someone else."

AJ laughed again, and the sound curled around him and slithered down his belly and made him harder beneath his jeans. He wriggled a little, trying to find a bit of comfort without reaching down and adjusting himself.

"'s okay. I say that to Chris a lot. So, JC Chasez," AJ pronounced his name correctly, and that alone earned him points, "I need something that we can use to identify you as the real JC, and not some cheap imitation JC trying to show up here and claim your valuable prize. What's your phone number?"

"It's 555-4925."

"All right," AJ sounded distracted for a moment, as if he were writing it down. "Got it. JC Chasez, of 555-4925, feel free to come and pick up your prize at any time. All you have to do is identify yourself to one of the bozos who work here, and they'll be glad to give it to you. Thanks for listening to KKMU, and you have a good evening."

JC clicked off his phone and set it down. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head and glared at Nick, who appeared remarkably undisturbed by it.

"You realize, of course, that you gave him the bookstore's number," Lance said, ambling up to the counter.

"You did! Dawg! How do you ever get laid, if you can't give out the right phone number?" Nick looked as if he wanted to smack the back of JC's head, but wisely refrained when JC narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh, don't give me that look. You know you were curious about Mr. Sexy Voice. Now you'll get to see him for yourself. When did he say you could meet him?"

"He said that I could come and pick up the prize anytime I wanted. He didn't say a thing about meeting him."

"Let's see. The show is over at six." Nick ignored him with the careless ease of long experience, and checked his watch. "If we hurry, we can make it over there before he goes. Lance, can we borrow your car? If we ride our bikes, we'll be late and wet. JC's pretty, but he looks like a drowned rat when he's wet." Nick glanced over at JC, who scowled at the casual insult. "No offense, dude, but you do."

"Has it never occurred to you that he's in all likelihood straight?" JC waved his hands to get Nick's attention, and Nick looked at him with impatience. "Most guys are, you know. You've just been hanging around with us, and so you think everyone's gay."

"Or bi," Lance put in mildly.

"If he is straight, then nothing's lost. If he's not, then who knows? Maybe you might get lucky. But take the chance, Jayce." Nick snapped his fingers. "Keys, Lance, c'mon. It's for a good cause. True love, or at least, true lust."

"Nick, I think maybe you have a little too much invested in this," Lance said, but he dug his keys out of his jeans pockets and gave them a toss, grinning.

Nick snatched them easily out of mid-air. "I have ulterior motives," he said, and slid into his coat. "See, this is the way it works. JC falls for this AJ guy, Justin will have his heart broken, and I'll be there to help him in his time of need, because I'm just too good-looking to resist, and have tons of natural charm and a sympathetic nature." Nick's grin was sunny. "Works out all around."

"As a plan, it has a couple of sketchy places," Lance said, leaning on the counter, chin in hand. "I could point out...."

"Don't mock my plan," Nick said. "And where the hell are your shoes, JC? For god's sakes, you're worse than my little brother. C'mon, move your skinny ass."

Nick on a mission was like a tornado, impossible to resist. With a sigh, JC pulled his socks and boots from the bottom shelf behind the counter and tugged them on, Nick practically fidgeting himself to death, bouncing from one foot to the other.

If nothing else, JC thought, he'd get a new tee shirt out of the deal, and he never turned down free stuff. And besides, he was curious, truth be known, to see what AJ looked like. He had an image of him based on the low, growly voice, an image he might have jerked off to once or twice or ten, but as Nick had pointed out, voices didn't necessarily match their owners.

"Marshall's not here yet to take over," JC said, tying his boot laces. "He's a little late on Wednesdays." JC stood, and Nick nearly bowled him over trying to stuff him into his jacket.

"I'll stay until he gets here," Lance said. "I'm pretty sure you have porn stashed behind the counter. It'll keep me occupied."

"It's not porn," JC said indignantly, and Nick chimed in with him, "it's erotica."

Lance laughed. "If it's got nekkid people doing the nasty, it's porn, JC, no matter how artsy the magazine is."

JC could've argued the point, but Nick had him by the sleeve and dragged him toward the door. JC knew then how Justin had felt the other day; it was like being mauled by a large, overly-friendly dog. "Nick, fuck off. I can walk on my own." He tried to shake off Nick's grip, but Nick didn't let go until he'd gotten JC out the door.

"Not fast enough, though. You know the traffic is gonna be a bitch this time of the evening."

And it was. But Nick was determined, and so they arrived at the campus and found a parking space in the lot behind the station.

The college radio station, KKMU, wasn't in one of the newer buildings that had gone up over the past few years, but in an older two-story house, converted to meet the station's needs. They parked in the lot, which had once been a backyard, and went up to the front door. JC fidgeted with his scarf, and Nick rolled his eyes. JC gave him the finger, felt a little better, and drawing a deep breath, opened the door and went in.

The living room served as the main lobby, with wooden floors like his bookstore, and beautiful woodwork like they just didn't do any more. The furniture was casual, with lots of plants, and a fire in the fireplace crackled merrily. Nice, JC thought, homey.

He could hear classical music pouring from hidden speakers, Handel's Water Music, and he knew that it was Kevin's show, Allegro, currently on, and it helped soothe his suddenly-jangly nerves.

"Hey." A guy poked his head around the corner. He had an exuberant shock of dark hair, but the tips of his hair were an aggressive magenta. His eyes, though, were the friendliest JC had ever seen, and the warmth of his grin could've melted the south pole. "What can I get for you?"

Nick grinned in return. "We're looking for AJ," he said, and said, "ow, dawg!" when JC deliberately stepped on his foot.

"Well, I'm not AJ," the guy said. He stepped around the corner and leaned against it, arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes flicked over them both in a cheerfully obvious leer. "Pity, that."

JC felt heat crawl up his throat. "We're actually here to pick up a prize I won in the contest today. It's a tee shirt. I'm JC Chasez."

"Chasez, huh? Parlez-vous Français?"

JC shook his head. "Just got the name, not the language," he replied. "Sorry."

"Vous tes tellement un plutôt garçon," he said, and grinned hugely. "Eh, my accent sucks, anyway. Hang on, and I'll get AJ."

He rolled away from the wall with a grace that seemed odd given his size, and disappeared. The moment he did, Nick hooted with laughter.

"What?"

"He said you were such a pretty boy. And he's right, his accent really sucks. He's also right about you being all pretty." Nick ruffled JC's wild curls, and JC ducked away from him, though Nick couldn't really do too much to make his hair any crazier.

"Cut it out," he muttered. "You are such a pain in the ass. I don't know why I let you hang around."

"I'm cute," Nick replied promptly. "And I'm trying to keep Justin from humping your leg. You should appreciate me, man."

"I'll appreciate you if you can actually do that," JC replied, and then shut up as another guy came around the corner from the hallway, carrying something white in his hand.

If this was AJ, then he wasn't what JC had imagined, at all. He was small, shorter than JC, and whipcord lean, though he apparently thought to conceal just how small he was in baggy clothes---his bright red sweater reached mid-thigh, and the sleeves hung down to his fingertips; his nails were painted with black polish. JC bet that he, Nick, and AJ could all fit into it easily. But in spite of the too-large sweater, the baggy jeans, he moved wonderfully, like a dancer, like a big cat, with a slinky glide that had all of JC's attention.

"Hey," he said, "I'm AJ. Joey said y'all were looking for me."

And, wow. Yeah. That was AJ's voice, low, growly, a sexy rasp that sent a shiver down his spine and a curl of heat to his lower belly. So much better in person than on the air, or on the phone.

AJ wasn't particularly handsome, not like the men JC generally found attractive, but he did have intense, arresting eyes behind wire-framed glasses. They were sharp and intelligent eyes, big and so dark that if they weren't black, they were close enough to count, and easily his best feature. His skin was good also, a smooth, pale olive that made JC think that maybe he was partly Italian, or perhaps Hispanic.

Beneath a backwards ballcap, his hair was cropped short and close, and looked black, as was the finely-trimmed goatee. Two silver hoops glittered in each ear, and a long chain with a simple silver cross lay on his chest. His gaze slipped from Nick to JC, and lingered for just a moment too long, but his expression remained aloof, distantly curious.

He seemed vaguely familiar, but JC couldn't put his finger on why. Like maybe he'd seen him somewhere before. Maybe around campus? The djs for the station were generally college students, he knew; Kevin, a Poli Sci major, had been in his shop before, and they'd talked a little.

"Yeah," Nick said, when JC didn't say anything. "JC here won your contest this afternoon, and we thought we'd swing by and pick up his tee shirt."

"That so?" The corner of AJ's mouth curled up just a little. "You're prompt. I've been told that's a virtue. Me, I wouldn't know much about that one."

"I've always been cursed with it. Always the one to keep an eye on schedules. It's not as glamorous as it sounds, I tell you." JC wanted to clap his hand over his mouth and roll his eyes at himself, because hey, wow, with the total uncoolness. Nervous energy zinged around inside him, and he didn't particularly understand why; he'd never been this geeky around guys. But then, he'd never really crushed on anyone without seeing them before, so he supposed that this was a different situation, and it allowed him to be stupid. It was a little dismaying that he was so good at it. He found himself fidgeting with the fringe on his scarf, and made himself stop, sliding his hands into the pockets of his grey jacket.

AJ's dark eyes glittered with amusement, then flicked from his hands to his scarf, and up to his face. "Really, now. Maybe I should keep you around, and some of that might rub off on me," he said, his voice sliding into a teasing tone, and the aloofness faded, replaced by interest. It made his face come vividly alive, and suddenly, it didn't matter that he wasn't handsome; when AJ focused his attention on him, JC felt as if he stood in a bright, warm light. "So you're JC Chasez. I'm assuming the real deal, and not a cheap, imitation JC Chasez."

"Um, yeah. I'm it. The real thing, I mean." Beside him, JC could practically hear Nick's eyes roll. "I don't know of any others. Chasez isn't exactly a common name, especially around here. And I'm gonna shut up right now, because I'm sounding more and more like an idiot. Which I'm not. Really." JC could feel heat wash over his throat and face, and knew he flushed furiously. He'd never been this uncouth-well, not since junior high school, at least. And he halfway suspected he'd been smoother, then.

To AJ's credit, he didn't laugh, but both corners of his mouth quirked up, and his eyes were lively. "Anyway, man, I'm glad you came by to pick this up." He padded closer, enough closer that JC could see he had the longest eyelashes he'd ever seen on a man. And really beautiful eyes. As JC stood there, his mouth dry and his heart fluttering in his chest, one of those long-lashed eyes dipped in a wink. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Oh, lots of things, JC thought, and wondered for a moment if the words had actually escaped out of his mouth. But Nick wasn't cheering, and AJ wasn't laughing, so he suspected he actually hadn't said them. And then JC realized that AJ had winked at him, and that maybe, he wasn't acting like a complete idiot, after all. That maybe, AJ might like what he saw, also, and that the attraction could be mutual. That was an encouraging thought.

JC relaxed, and smiled, and felt most of his geekishness slip away. This, he could do, because he knew he was good looking, knew others found him attractive. So he'd been a little rattled by AJ; that was over, and he found himself on more familiar footing.

"Maybe you can," JC said. "If you like coffee, and like talking about music, that is."

JC could almost feel the interest that emanated from AJ, like a warm wash of sunlight over his skin. "Oh, I do," AJ said, and his voice dropped to a low purr that made every cell in JC's body come to throbbing life. "I like both...."

The sound of running feet and a panicked, "AJ! AJ, man!" broke the spell and turned them both toward the hallway. The guy with the magenta-tipped hair burst into the lobby, and he looked frantic. "It's Dinah. She got out, and Brian was pulling in...."

"Fucking hell!" The relaxed slouch AJ'd held while talking to JC disappeared, and his body went taut and tense. He glanced back at JC, apologetic. "I've gotta. I've gotta go. Now."

He thrust the tee shirt at JC, then sprinted away, pausing at the hallway. "I've got your number," he said, and disappeared.

JC drew a deep breath, and let it out. "Should we call an ambulance?"

"Um." JC glanced over at Nick, who stood running his hand through his hair. "I think he said she 'got out.' That sorta makes me think this Dinah's not a person. A pet, maybe?"

"Bad enough," JC said. "C'mon. Let's get out of the way. Get on home."

Nick shrugged, and they stepped out the door and stood on the porch. A blue pickup truck pulled out of the driveway, a blond man driving, and AJ in the passenger seat. He'd pulled off his red sweater, and had something bundled up in it, holding it close to his chest. His white tee shirt was very bright against his skin. He glanced up and saw them, and before the truck pulled out into traffic, he offered them a half-smile, then returned his attention to the pet in his arms.

"Oh, man," JC said, "I hope it's going to be all right." He remembered when he was fourteen, and his dog Baron had escaped the yard and gotten hit by a car. It had hurt terribly; he'd had Baron for years, and it was like losing a brother. He didn't know AJ, but still, he didn't want him to feel like that.

"He might call you later and let you know, since you got over your geek vibe," Nick said, and elbowed JC hard enough that he grunted. "And what was that, anyway? Besides a pretty damn good Steve Urkle imitation. Here I'd been thinking you were like, Mr. Smooth with guys. Definitely not sexy-cool, JC."

JC elbowed him back, but it was like poking a mountain. "Shut up, you ass." He found himself fidgeting with the length of his white and pink scarf, and made himself stop. "He wasn't what I expected, is all. And well, he made me think of someone, but I can't put my finger on it."

Nick unlocked Lance's car and opened the door, flipping the switch to unlock JC's door. "Yeah, kinda looked familiar to me, but I dunno who he makes me think of. I'll think of it, though. I'm pretty good with faces."

And that was the truth; if Nick had seen AJ, he'd eventually remember it. He gave a shrug and climbed in, buckling in and settling back, smoothing the tee shirt over his knees to look at the front.

"Oh, it is sorta cute. The panda bear has a little pink vest as well as the Uzi," he said happily.

Nick laughed, and pulled out of the parking lot.

AJ liked Tuesdays and Thursdays. He didn't have classes those days, but he wasn't at loose ends by any means. Those days he worked eight hour shifts at the college's writing center as an English tutor. It wasn't a high-paying job, but then it wasn't stressful, either; it gave him a little bit of pocket money above and beyond his student aid and loans. He liked working with the people who came in looking for advice on their papers; he'd discovered he had a knack for finding just what the writer needed to do to improve his or her paper. His favorite clients were the ESL students---English as a Second Language---for them, he apparently had boundless patience.

The amount of work at the writing center varied, ebbing and peaking, and he usually had time to work on his own homework between clients, a bonus. He liked his co-workers, as well. Some were younger, some were older, and all of them interesting enough to keep him occupied when he didn't have either a client or homework. The women tended to bring cookies or other sorts of finger foods, and Dave, the director, always had an unending supply of coffee or cocoa. Those days, he only had to provide his evening meal, another reason he liked working, because he hated cooking for himself.

Thursdays were usually his laundry days before going in to work, and so the next morning as AJ turned out the pockets of his jeans, searching for loose change, he found the slip of paper with JC's number on it. He set it down on the kitchen table, and returned to looking for coins so he could do his laundry. When he'd found enough---the old couch seemed to hoard coins like a bank---he stuffed his dirty clothes into a duffle, dressed in what he had left, and returned to the kitchen to make a bowl of cereal.

The piece of paper still sat there under the edge of a coffee cup, JC's name and number written in his own, large, blocky writing. He poured a bowl of frosted corn flakes and after a sniff at the last of his milk, dumped that in, also. Sitting down, he shoveled the cereal into his mouth as he thought.

For a moment last night, AJ had thought JC might bolt in spite of the little tickle of interest he'd felt from him; he'd had that half-surprised look that he'd seen on the faces of straight guys he'd tried to pick up, or had teased just for the hell of it.

But then JC had relaxed and smiled, and AJ'd thought, oh holy hell.

The other kid, the tall blond one, had been good looking without a doubt, but JC was beautiful. Those big blue-grey-green eyes, that wide soft mouth, all that curly brown-red-gold hair, that slim body, should've made him somehow feminine, but that was the furthest thing from AJ's mind. No, JC wasn't girly at all, and the look in his eyes, the smile, the interest, had been purely masculine. He'd felt the spark of something warm and alive in his body, something that began to course through his blood.

He'd liked it, a lot.

Glancing at his watch, he decided that maybe ten in the morning wasn't too soon to call. He finished his cereal, rinsed the bowl and put it into the sink before going over to the phone hanging on the wall. He flicked the paper back and forth in his fingers for a few minutes, then drew a deep breath and blew it out. He was actually nervous about calling; he'd never been nervous before. Of course, most of his pickups had been done under the influence of alcohol, not stone cold sober. There was a difference with this, as in with most things, he'd discovered.

"You are such an asshole," he growled. "Get over yourself." He picked up the phone and dialed.

"Well-Fed Head Bookstore," came a male voice heavy with a Chicago accent. "Yo. What can I do for you?"

"Excuse me?" AJ looked at the number again, wondering if he'd dialed it correctly, but he had.

He heard an annoyed noise. "Wrong number, man?"

"I didn't think so. I'm looking for JC Chasez. This is the number I have for him."

"He's not working right now. Got classes. He'll be in later, after three. You wanna leave a message?"

"No, I don't think so. Wait. Where're you located?"

"Corner of Walnut and Benton. You know where that's at?"

AJ thought for a moment. "Downtown, right? Not far from the square?"

"Yeah. Just west of it. Hang on a sec." AJ heard the phone go down onto the counter, and the man's voice angrily say, "If you put that book in your backpack, I will fucking break both your legs. You got it? Get your shoplifting ass outta here right now." After a moment, the man came back on, sounding as normal and calm as before. "Kids. Anything else you need, man?"

AJ laughed. "Nah. I think that's it. Thanks, man."

"Ain't no prob, bro," the man said, and hung up.

AJ drummed his fingers on the cracked countertop. He'd be in the writing center until eight, and most bookstores stayed open until at least nine. It wouldn't take long to drive the distance from school, even in his old clunker. Doable. Laundry, then work, then coffee with JC, if he wasn't already booked; guys as great-looking as Chasez seldom stayed idle in the dating game. He liked having his days planned; he didn't mind being busy. In fact, he preferred full days. It was when he had nothing to do that he felt the cravings intensify for a drink, or something stronger. Best to keep himself really busy and avoid temptation whenever possible.

Humming under his breath, he pulled on his hoodie, grabbed his duffle of dirty clothes, and headed out to the laundromat.

Hours later, running a little late because of a student who'd wanted to argue every single point about his paper that AJ had brought up, AJ pulled into a public parking lot on Benton, just a couple of blocks down from the bookstore. Benton was a one-way street, without parking any closer to the store. AJ didn't mind walking, though the wind seemed intent on slicing him into little slivers of shivering misery. He pulled up his hood over his knit cap, stuck his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, ducked his head, and powered his way through the wind. The warmth was the only thing he missed about Orlando; he wasn't sure he'd ever get over just how cold it was now.

Downtown was the oldest section of town, now going through some sort of urban renewal. Someone had told him that most buildings had been falling-down dangerous, but then the yuppies had moved in, refurbishing with a vengeance, turning eyesores back into loft apartments, restaurants and shops of all kinds, restoring the buildings to their former stately beauty. The Well-Fed Head was no exception, he saw as he approached; it might once have been some sort of mercantile store, ages ago, the front composed mostly of huge plate glass windows that allowed him to see inside. It looked golden and warm and cozy within, and he hurried to get inside.

A little bell tinkled merrily as he entered, his cheeks flaming from the sudden warmth, his glasses fogging. He pulled them off and hooked them into the neck of his hoodie until they cleared. Off to his right he saw a large counter, but no one sat there. Before him stretched rows of bookcases, no more than five feet high, and all along the back wall, bookcases stretched to the ceiling, one of those sliding ladders running along the line of them, to reach the top shelves. He saw three people wandering around, browsing. On the other side of the counter, next to the windows, a couple of chairs and a couch sat on a funky old rug, the area lit by floor lamps.

AJ walked into the next room, his boots loud on the wooden floors. That room was much the same as the first, though the floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered all available walls. Another group of chairs and couches and sidetables sat next to the windows, with a coffee table piled high with books; a couple sat on one of the couches leafing through picture books of some sort, and an elderly man sat dozing in one of the chairs.

The sound of a door opening and closing toward the back caught his attention, and he saw JC approaching, carrying a huge silver thermos that he set carefully on a small table that held an identical second thermos, some paper cups, and a plate of cookies. JC straightened everything, then turned and saw AJ standing there, hands in his pockets. JC blinked, ran his hand through his crazy curly hair, and smiled.

And, oh. AJ had thought maybe he'd embellished in his mind just how good-looking JC was, and in that moment, realized he hadn't. Tall and slim and fucking gorgeous, with a smile that could light the entire city. He wondered abruptly just why he thought he had a chance, then told himself, fuck it, he'd never been afraid to go after what he wanted. What was that old saying? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and his mouth curved, just a little.

JC moved toward him with the loose, loping gait of a man who felt comfortable with himself, who had nothing to hide. He wore a white Henley that stretched tightly across his chest and arms, tucked into a pair of low-slung jeans tight enough that AJ had to fold his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to see if JC's hips would fit as neatly into the palms of his hands as he thought they might.

"Hey," JC said warmly. He reached up and brushed his hair out of his face, and the light flashed off beaded bracelets on either wrist, and a huge yellow watch on the left. "Nice to see you."

"Hey," AJ replied. He glanced down. "You don't have any shoes on."

"Or socks," JC replied cheerfully, looking down himself. He wiggled his toes, and AJ saw he had a toe ring on the second toe of each foot.

"Don't your feet get cold?" AJ's own feet felt like blocks of ice in his heavy socks and boots.

"Sometimes," JC said. "But I'm mostly okay. I don't like shoes."

"Guess not," AJ said. "Doesn't the store owner have something to say about it?" His own boss, Dave, would've had a fit if any of his tutors had shown up barefooted, though he was generally pretty cool about anything else.

"Since I'm the owner, I don't think so," JC said, and his grin turned huge, crinkling his eyes into little half-moons. "And yeah, I've been told I'm a freak, so go ahead and think it. You sure wouldn't be the first. I prefer the term free spirit, though freak is sometimes pretty accurate, too. Hey cat, hang on, customer." JC patted his shoulder as he slipped by. "Get some coffee or something."

While JC went to take care of business, AJ pushed back his hood, put on his glasses, and poured himself a cup of coffee, mostly to warm his fingers. He munched on a green-sprinkled sugar cookie as he wandered through the shelves, just looking. JC had a huge selection of books, all used, in good condition, each section neatly labeled. It would be a pleasure to spend some time there; the atmosphere was calm and totally relaxed, and the chairs and couches, while old, looked inviting.

He'd pulled out a volume of Shakespearean sonnets and started reading when he glanced up and saw JC watching him intently over the low bookshelf, his arms crossed on the top of it, chin resting on his sinewy forearms. AJ jumped, surprised; he'd not heard JC approach. "Shit, man, give me a heart attack." He guessed that JC's quietness was a good defense against shoplifters; at least, less threatening than the one he'd heard over the phone that morning. He couldn't imagine JC saying such a thing and meaning it, somehow.

"Sorry," JC said, but his grin ruined any attempt at sincerity. He nodded toward the book in AJ's hands. "That's a really good edition. I like it better than most."

AJ glanced at the price neatly penciled in on the inside of the front cover, and regretfully put it back. "It's cool, yeah."

"So, what happened last night? I saw you carrying something small-a cat? Did it...."

"Nah. She's fine. Got away with just a broken leg. Brian was almost beside himself with guilt. Paid for the whole vet bill, himself. But she'll be fine. Her name's Dinah."

"Like Alice's cat," JC said, and smiled.

"Most people anymore don't get the reference," AJ replied, pleased. "The great unread masses."

He'd learned to appreciate literature when he'd gotten bored in the downtimes between appearances before the camera or on stage, and had soon read everything he could get his hands on. He'd loved the escape from stress that reading had given him. Well, he had before he'd discovered a different kind of escape through chemical means. AJ pushed that thought deliberately out of his mind; that was the past, and there it would stay.

JC shrugged. "I'm an English major," he volunteered. "Sorta helps with the bookstore. Victorian Lit is my specialty. All dark repressed sexuality. Pretty cool, actually."

Unable to help himself, AJ let his eyes slide down JC's long throat, over his surprisingly broad shoulders. When he lifted his gaze back up to JC's face, he found JC's cheeks a little flushed, his changeable eyes suddenly darker. "You don't strike me as the type who goes in for much repression."

JC's pink tongue slipped out and ran quickly over his full lower lip, a nervous little gesture, and AJ watched it avidly. It was so easy to imagine that tongue, warm and wet, gliding over his own skin. His whole body tightened, his dick stirred between his legs, and the rings in his nipples made them ache in the most wonderful way. He was glad he had on so many layers to help hide his response.

"It's interesting, psychologically and sociologically," JC said. "But no, not something I go in for personally." His wide mouth curved; it seemed most natural smiling.

"Good to know," AJ replied. "When do you close the store?"

"Nine," JC replied without hesitation. "Which is half an hour or so. Then I have to close out the register, clean up a couple of things. Should be done by nine-thirty."

JC's quick answer encouraged him, and AJ smiled. "Want to go out and get something to eat afterwards? Talk about music and books and art?"

"You know very much about art?" JC tipped his head, his expression honestly curious.

"Hell, no. But I can fake it, if it'll get you to go out with me."

JC laughed, and it was an open, free sound, so unguarded that AJ, accustomed his whole life to hearing everything hidden behind layers of deceit, loved it. "Oh, I think that's pretty much a given at this point."

Then the phone chirped, and with an apologetic shrug, JC went to answer it.

AJ browsed a little while, surreptitiously keeping an eye on JC. He was good with people, his manner open and easy, friendly and just a little flirty. Though he didn't pressure anyone into buying anything, he was so enthusiastic and appreciative of his customers that they purchased almost anything he put into their hands. It was a gift, and one he used well. AJ tried to reconcile this JC with the awkward one of last night, and couldn't. That JC had been really nervous, and AJ wondered why. He gave a mental shrug.

By nine, JC had gently shooed everyone out, with purchases or not. Sitting on the couch, a book on paper airplanes open on his lap, and his various successes or failures at folding them scattered on the cushions beside him, AJ watched as JC roused the old man, put wrapped cookies in his pocket, and helped him into a cab he'd called.

"That's Mr. Feldman," JC explained as he returned, locking the door behind him and turning over the closed sign. "He comes in to read, and sometimes falls asleep." JC gave a little shrug and began counting out his register.

AJ picked up his paper airplanes and dumped them into the trash, then reshelved the book.

"Who did the pictures you've got up everywhere?" he asked, leaning against the counter. "I don't know anything, but they look pretty good to me."

JC looked up, blue eyes scanning quickly over the sketches and watercolors hanging on what wall space he had, or propped up in or on the bookcases that AJ had indicated. "Oh, those are Nick's. The guy who was with me last night. He's an art major. And yeah, he is good. He likes the anime-graphic novel type of work best, and that's what he wants to do. But in classes, you have to do what they dictate, so when he finishes something, he usually brings it to me, and I frame it and hang it. When he becomes rich and famous, I'll have a bunch of early Nick Carter pieces, and then I can sell them for outrageous amounts of money and retire in fabulous splendor." JC grinned and winked before returning to his counting. "The sculptures and textile arts are for sale, too. Friends do stuff, I put it out, and sometimes, it sells." He didn't particularly sound as if he cared whether it made him a profit or not.

AJ watched as JC counted money, and separated it into two stacks, making notes for each stack. One pile went into a blue bag, and the other into a pink one with Hello Kitty on the front. JC looked up and caught AJ looking at the bag, amused.

"Oh, go ahead and laugh," he said with a long-suffering air. "But I swear to god I didn't pick it out. Nick's little sister Angel gave it to me a couple of years ago, and I didn't have the heart not to take it. Marshall threatens to kick my ass over it about every other day."

"I'll guess that Marshall was the one I heard on the phone today threatening to break someone's fucking legs for attempted shoplifting," AJ said.

"Sounds like Marshall. He's all bluster." JC laughed, and zipped the bags closed. He considered a moment. "Well. At least I hope so, because really, violence is so uncool." He reached back and flipped off the main lights. Tucking the money bags under his arm, and picking up a pair of hiking boots from behind the counter, he nodded and slipped from behind the counter. AJ followed him as he clicked off table and floor lamps from the seating area in the first room.

"Would you get those lights?" JC asked when they entered the adjoining room, and as AJ moved to comply, JC disappeared into the back room. AJ stopped to pick up the thermoses, and JC poked his head out the door. "Oh, thanks, man," he said, and came out to take them from AJ. "C'mon into the kitchen. I won't be a minute, I swear."

"No hurry," AJ said, and followed JC through the door into a small galley kitchen. "You hungry? I thought maybe we could go to Ziggy's Diner. They have really good fries, and the waitresses don't mind if you stay a long time."

"Yeah, that's cool," JC said. "I study there, sometimes, when I'm sick of my apartment. Which actually doesn't happen as often as you'd think."

AJ leaned against the wall and watched as JC pushed up his sleeves over his sinewy forearms, dumped out the thermoses of coffee and cocoa, and washed them, setting them into the drainer. He liked the way JC moved, all long-legged, lanky grace, and whatever he did seemed to involve his entire attention. Then he half-turned, and the light above the sink gilded his strong profile, and AJ found every bit of his own attention focused on JC, because, oh. Yeah. JC looked at him from beneath his lashes, and his mouth curved, and AJ wanted, wanted with a strength that made his knees shake.

He stirred, pushing away from the wall, but in two steps JC had crossed the floor and pushed him back, one hand in the center of his chest. AJ, who'd never let himself be manhandled by anyone, let himself be pushed, because hell, to have that attention focused unblinkingly on him was worth it. His eyes moved from the wet hand on his hoodie up to JC's face, determined, beautiful, and fierce, like the angels in old pictures he'd seen.

AJ fisted one hand in JC's Henley, pulled, and JC came to him. He smelled earthy, male, like some musky spice he couldn't identify, but his mouth tasted sweetly of cocoa and vanilla sugar cookies when AJ opened to him. Soft full lips, clever slick tongue curling around his own, the press of JC's hard chest against his, long thigh sliding between his, and oh, yes, JC's hips fit perfectly into the palms of his hands, like he knew they would.

His blood surged through his body in a heavy tide, swirling and eddying deep and low in his belly, pounding with the rhythm of his thudding heart. Electric sensation sparkled down his spine and feathered out over his body until even his fingertips, dug tightly into JC's hips, tingled. JC moaned into his mouth, his hands sliding over AJ's arms and shoulders, curving around the nape of his neck, thumbs rubbing lightly over the hinges of his jaw, coaxing him to tilt his head to a better position. It was sweet and fierce, so good, so amazingly good that AJ could've happily stayed there forever, caught between the wall and JC's hard, hot body.

He only realized he moaned when JC broke away from his mouth and the sound escaped, low and ragged and thick with want. JC's breath was hot and moist against his mouth as he panted, and JC pressed harder against him, a liquid roll of hips that made him gasp and push back against the delicious heat of the rigid dick beneath JC's jeans. He himself was hard, so hard he ached, his dick caught behind denim, the Prince Albert piercing rubbing and pulling against his clothing, the rings in his stiff nipples tugging with a sweet pleasurepain, and oh yeah, it had been so long since he'd been this excited that for a minute he thought he'd burn to a crisp with the sheer power of the sensations.

"Again," JC said against his mouth. His tongue flicked over AJ's lower lip, and then his teeth sank into it in a sharp nip that had AJ moaning and shuddering, had his hands scrabbling to pull the soft shirt from the waist of JC's tight jeans to feel hot, pliant skin against his fingertips.

"Yeah, man," JC said, his voice low and hoarse. "Oh, yeah, like that. I like to hear that."

And before AJ could get the shirt free, JC slid from his grasp and sank down onto his knees, his hands gathering up AJ's heavy hoodie and sweatshirt and undershirt, fighting to get to bare skin. AJ's whole body jerked and shuddered when he felt the slick, wet slide of tongue against his belly. His hands skittered down and wound in thick warm hair; it curled around his fingers, and when his fingers tightened, AJ heard a moan and then felt the sudden nip of teeth at his navel.

His eyes flew open; when had he closed them? He looked down the line of his body and saw a slice of nose, the fan of long lashes on JC's cheekbone, the curve of his eyebrow, the tumble of soft brown curls. And oh, holy fuck, tongue and lips dragging over his belly. Beautiful man on his knees, mouth hungry on his skin. So familiar; it could've been the memory of any of a thousand meaningless sexual encounters; beautiful men or women who'd meant nothing to him but a skilled mouth or the hot, slick recesses of their bodies, places to let himself sink into oblivion.

He wanted more than that, now. He wanted it to be different than all those fucks in that life he'd left behind. He wanted it to mean something.

Although his dick felt so full and hot he thought it would break off, AJ tightened his fingers in JC's hair and pulled him away from his belly. JC's eyes were heavy and dark, his mouth wet and slack, and AJ's dick throbbed, hard, wanting. Every instinct howled at him to let JC go back to what he'd started, and he knew that his soft mouth would be a warm and welcoming haven. JC's body pressed against his thighs, one hand curled around his hip, trying to pull himself closer.

"No," AJ said, and his voice cracked, sounded hoarse and alien to him. He tried again. "No, JC."

JC blinked, and the fog began to fade from his eyes. His expression sharpened a little. "What?"

AJ closed his eyes a second and marshaled his strength of will before opening them again and looking down into JC's upturned face. "What are you doing?"

"If you don't know, cat...."

"No. I mean. You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to do anything I don't want to do," JC said reasonably. "And I don't, believe me. Who said I didn't want this?" His hand slid over AJ's loose jeans, curled around the erection tenting the heavy material, and squeezed gently. It felt so damn good, and his body screamed for more, more, now. AJ's hips rose into JC's touch before he could stop the motion, and he bit his lower lip, made himself pull away and press back against the wall. JC's hand slid down lower, cupped his balls. "And it pretty much looks like you want this, too."

"Oh, I want," AJ admitted, drawing a ragged breath. "Fuck, yeah, I want. But. But want isn't everything."

"No, it's not," JC said. "But sometimes, things are just that simple." He unfolded and rose in one fluid, graceful motion, and AJ wanted to keen in frustration as JC released him. AJ's eyes skated down JC's lean body then back up; he looked as hard as AJ felt, his dick a fat bulge stretching toward his left hip, trapped beneath tight denim. He wanted to work his hands beneath JC's tight shirt, to touch his flat belly, to press his mouth to a firm pectoral and bite. AJ curled his hands into fists to keep from doing just that, and jerked his gaze back up to JC's face.

"Some things are worth more than just want," AJ said.

"Like what, honey?" JC leaned in closer, and AJ could feel the heat rising from him, scent the musk of their arousal, strong and heady enough to make him dizzy.

"Like you," AJ replied. JC seemed determined to press even closer, and AJ brought a hand up to his chest and held him back. He could feel JC's heart pounding beneath his palm, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Like me?" He stopped and tipped his head a little to the side, curious.

"If I wanted just a quick fuck, I'd have asked for that," AJ said firmly. "I've fucked more people than you could even imagine, so I never had a problem asking. You're gorgeous---shit, anyone would want you, and I do---but I want more. I want to learn about the man behind the face and body. I want to talk to you, get to know you. Not just fuck you."

JC blinked, and straightened to his full height, his expression slowly shifting from sensual intent to thoughtfulness. He studied AJ as though he'd never seen anything quite like him before, like he was a puzzle or a problem that needed solving. AJ stood quietly, his chin up, and let him look, and think, though within, his stomach decided suddenly to do flips. He wasn't certain when or why this had become important, but it was, and he hoped he didn't piss off JC.

"I don't think anyone's ever said that to me," JC said finally, after a long moment. AJ couldn't tell from his tone whether to be pleased or not, or what JC himself thought; his tone was totally noncommittal, and his usually mobile face had smoothed into unreadability.

"Don't think I ever said it to anyone before," AJ said honestly. "But I mean it."

"I know I've certainly never said it," JC said, and the corner of his mouth quirked upward, just a little. "The other way is a lot easier. This sounds like it might be a little bit of work, this getting to know someone."

"Good thing I've got a fucking strong work ethic," AJ said. The little bloom of amusement in JC's eyes encouraged him, and his own mouth curved.

"How convenient that I do, too," JC, and then he smiled, and warmth blossomed in AJ's chest, because JC really had such a beautiful smile. Like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, or some other romantic shit like that; AJ wanted to roll his eyes at himself for even thinking such a schmaltzy thing. But it was damn true.

"You still want to go get something to eat with me? I could fake knowing something about art. I'm sure you'd find it funny as hell."

"I could eat," JC allowed, and something tense and tight within AJ loosened, relaxed. "And I'm always up for a good laugh."

"I'm your man, then, because watching me attempt regular date-type behavior ought to be pretty damn amusing, given I've not done it for a long time. You might want to put your boots on before we go, though," AJ said. "Being that it's all freezing out."

JC glanced down at his feet. "I could, at that." He looked up again, and his eyes crinkled with amusement. "So. This getting to know one another thing. Does that include kissing? Because really, I liked that. A lot."

AJ tipped his head a little to one side, tapping his forefinger on his chin, and scrunching his face into a thoughtful expression. "I suppose it does. I guess I could force myself to do it."

JC laughed, and it echoed in the small kitchen, a warm, merry sound. "You shit. I'm a good kisser. No one's ever complained about my kissing technique. It's even legendary around here."

"Well. I wouldn't know that," AJ said primly. "I've only had one example of it, and that's hardly enough to base an opinion on. Scientific method says you have to have a large sample on which to..."

JC leaned in again, a sweet brush of lips and tongue, and this time his kiss felt flirty, playful, though no less warm and wet. AJ stretched upward to deepen it, and JC's hand brushed over his cheek, a gentle touch, before he pulled away.

"...base your hypothesis," AJ finished, and his voice sounded breathless, even to himself. "Okay, yes. That was pretty good."

"Honey, that ain't nothing," JC drawled. "Just wait until I get serious about it."

He smiled, and it was the smile of a man completely self-confident in his own abilities. It might've been arrogant from someone else, but JC delivered the statement with such honesty and charm that it didn't seem as such. And besides, AJ didn't doubt him one bit. JC winked, and stepped away to put on his socks and boots.

AJ adjusted himself, and straightened his clothes, watching as JC hopped around, putting on his socks. He peered at him. "Are those socks pink?"

"Don't even start, man," JC said, and pulled on his boots, tying them. "Besides, they match the scarf."

AJ tilted his head to one side, and then the other. He stepped closer to the painting, then away. As JC watched, amused, AJ covered his eyes with his hands, then peered between his fingers. He sighed. "It's a blob, JC. A really ugly blob, too. Looks like maybe it has indigestion. Or maybe it's someone else's indigestion."

JC laughed at the scowl on AJ's face, and the expression faded, one corner of AJ's mouth crooking upward.

"Okay, Art Boy, what's it supposed to be, then?" AJ crossed his arms over his chest, and shifted his weight to one leg, looking as if he had every intention of waiting for JC's explanation, even if it took forever.

JC circled around AJ, close enough to brush against his back, against his ass, and AJ slanted a dark, challenging look back over his shoulder. JC liked the long smooth curve of AJ's neck, exposed by the low neck of his sweater; it had a peculiar grace. He wanted to lick from the place AJ's shoulder met his neck, all the way up to his close-cropped hairline. Instead, he settled for a quick sniff of his warm skin. He smelled of cool dark woods, and JC liked it. He let his hand brush over the small of AJ's back before moving to stand at his side.

"Well," he said, and pulled his attention from AJ to the gallery painting. "It's about the human spirit. Really."

"Really," AJ said, deadpan. "Oh. Yes. I see it so clearly, now. How could I have missed it?"

"Although," JC said, studying it more closely, "it does look sorta like an upset stomach. Or maybe amoebas mating."

"Hah. I told you it...." AJ stopped and looked at the picture again. "Wait. You think everything looks like sex."

"It's just the way my mind works, cat." JC grinned down at him and sauntered off toward the next exhibit.

It was Friday, and JC had asked AJ to come with him on the winter Art Walk, a walking tour of all the art galleries, sponsored by the refurbished downtown area. He'd been planning on going alone, but it hadn't been difficult to wrangle another ticket. When he'd called AJ at the station, AJ had sounded doubtful, but had agreed when JC mentioned that each gallery provided a big spread of food, because hey, free food, and AJ was a big fan of food. When they'd been at the diner, JC didn't think he'd ever seen anyone eat so much before. Where AJ put it, he had no idea, because it certainly didn't show on his slim body.

JC glanced behind him. AJ had gotten caught by the artist herself and stood listening politely. Or at least, he appeared to be listening, though he flashed a 'help me' look in his direction. JC leaned against the wall and watched them, amused. AJ had cleaned up nicely; he wore a black sweater over a black tee, and a pair of loose black trousers, belted tightly to his slim waist. Black suited him; it made his pale olive skin almost glow. The silver cross on the long chain hung around his neck again, and he wore heavy silver bracelets on each wrist. He'd left his ever-present cap behind, and JC now knew why he wore them all the time; he had curly hair, though it had started receding at the temples. That alone would've bothered JC, because he liked pretty people, but oddly, with AJ, it seemed all right.

AJ excused himself, and made his way over to where JC stood. "You asshole," he said, though it didn't carry any heat. "You could've rescued me."

"You were doing fine on your own," JC replied with a grin. "You totally charmed her."

AJ made a rude noise. "And guess what? The damn thing was about the human spirit. Fuck me sideways."

Soon, I hope, JC thought, but what came out was "I told you so," and he pushed off from the wall without waiting for a reply. "C'mon. Free food, like I promised."

"The whole reason we're wandering around from gallery to gallery in nut-freezing weather," AJ muttered.

"Not the whole reason," JC replied. "There is my charming company to consider." He laughed at AJ's expressive eye-roll.

The table laden with trays of finger foods had proven to be the most popular attraction in the place, and predictably enough, also the most crowded in the last three galleries they'd gone through. JC picked up a plastic glass of red wine and sipped at it. The cups were small, but he'd had several during their tour; he felt warm and glowy, friendly and expansive, pleasantly buzzed. AJ didn't drink, sticking with coffee. He'd looked a little odd when JC had offered him some wine, but then had laughed a little and brushed away the offer.

AJ was a curiosity, a puzzle, and JC wasn't quite sure how the pieces fit together yet. The insistence on getting to know him before sleeping with him had been surprising, and frustrating, given his state of arousal at the time, but oddly flattering. Something old-fashioned and definitely out of step with JC's own free and easy sexual mores. He'd always been one to sample the delights life offered without hesitation. Hooking up randomly had a sort of simple, brutal honesty: here, you're pretty, suck my dick and I'll suck yours in return, bye now.

This thing he had with AJ, whatever it was, seemed a whole lot more complicated. More involved, more fraught with the potential for really screwing up his life. He'd always separated people into friends and into people he fucked. Lance had been the only guy he'd seen more than twice, could count as a friend, the exception rather than the rule, and even then they kept everything free and easy and not complicated. No one before had ever asked for more, had wanted to know him, had wanted to cross and blur and erase those lines, as AJ had, and it seriously messed up his whole compartmentalization approach to life, which had worked perfectly fine up to this point.

But then he caught a glimpse of AJ at the end of the table, all expressive, liquid dark eyes and wry smile and sharp mind and thought, well, maybe AJ just might be the exception to a lot of rules.

"In January, I'll be eighteen," Justin said.

JC's fingers stilled on the keys of his laptop, and he hit save reflexively. He'd absolutely kill someone or something if he lost the last draft of the paper he'd been working on for the better part of a month. Particularly since it was due in his professor's mailbox by ten a.m. tomorrow. "Yeah, I know," JC said. "Since you've only reminded me like, a million times this month."

"Just saying," Justin said. "Because then, legal, yo."

JC looked up and blinked owlishly. Justin stood in the doorway to his apartment's kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, long legs crossed at the ankle. The pose looked casual, but JC could fairly feel the nervous energy pulsing around Justin. Beneath the bravado, he could see a little thread of uncertainty; if he hadn't known Justin so well, he might've missed it.

JC pushed his glasses to the top of his head and rubbed his tired eyes. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment. He could hear Nick playing some noisy video game in the living room, the sounds of things blowing up, and Nick's triumphant crow of, "ha, take that, you fucker!"

"Justin," he said slowly. "That's always been a part of it. But not all of it, and you know it. I've told you before---repeatedly, loudly---that it won't work between us. There's too many years, too much life experience that separates us. It's not just the fact that you're in high school. Though that's enough, on it's own."

"I won't always be in high school," Justin said, and unfolded, moving forward in a smooth glide. He'd never been awkward for as long as JC had known him, a creature of surprising grace; JC had always envied that, as he himself had been unbearably awkward and clumsy once he started growing into his height. "Nobody stays in high school forever. Except maybe Trace," Justin added with the faintest smile. "I'll be in college soon enough."

JC closed down his laptop and rose, stretching the kinks out of his back. Tactical error, he thought, as he caught Justin's dark blue eyes sliding down his body, fastening on the sliver of belly that showed when his tee shirt rode up. Color chased across Justin's cheeks, and his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. Nick had always said Justin had the perfect mouth for sucking cock, and yeah, he'd been right; it was soft and pink and JC wondered for a second if it tasted as sweet as it looked. That thought made heat curl in his belly, though he didn't want to think about it. JC tugged down his shirt, suddenly self-conscious.

He moved to the counter to put a little distance between them, opening the cabinet door to pull out a glass for some juice. When he turned back, Justin stood before him, right in his space, close enough he could feel the heat radiating from him. Justin put both of his hands on the counter on either side of JC's hips, trapping him in place, and JC scowled at him. His slim, muscular body brushed against JC's, a slow, deliberate, liquid shimmy of hips, and JC drew in a quick breath, because, oh, damn, his body really appreciated that.

"I've always liked you," Justin said, and his soft, light voice deepened. He pressed so close that JC could see the little flecks of gold in his blue eyes, could feel just how much Justin did like him. A hell of a lot, evidently. "Kinda think you like me, too."

JC found his own voice, because this was wrong, on so many levels, age being the first of a long list of them, the thing, the whatever he shared with AJ being the most current. "Justin, back off, now. It's not like that, it won't be like that. Not now, not ever. I've tried to be nice about it...."

"I could be so nice to you," Justin said, his breath hot and moist against JC's neck. JC strained back against the counter, and shuddered, hard, when Justin licked up his throat. "So nice, Jayce," he murmured into his ear. "C'mon. Let me show you."

And oh fuck, his body responded to the low sexy tone, the roll of Justin's body against his, because he wasn't made of stone, and Justin's hips had to be connected to his body in some way that other men's weren't, because surely no one else could move like that. JC's hands curled around the edges of the countertop to keep from touching, from pulling Justin even closer and thrusting against him. Justin must have sensed some weakening in him, how much he wanted to do just that, and one long arm slid around his waist, fingers kneading into his side. When had he gotten so tall, so strong? He'd never really noticed when it had happened, because he'd not let Justin get so close before.

"I said, no," JC said, and brought one hand up to Justin's broad shoulder, and pushed, though Justin didn't move much. "No means no, so fuck off, now."

And then JC looked over Justin's shoulder and saw a big blur moving toward them, and he staggered as Nick's hand fisted in the back of Justin's shirt and jerked him away with an ease that might be frightening, if he didn't know Nick so well. As it was, he stumbled forward before catching his balance again.

"Hey!" Justin's voice sounded shocked.

"I swear to god, you are the most fucking stupid person who ever lived," Nick said, and his voice filled the room as his anger washed through it, hot and prickly. He gave Justin a hard shake that made his teeth snap together. "He said no. He's always said no. What the hell were you gonna do?"

"Let go of me!" Justin tried to worm free, but Nick's grip appeared unbreakable, and his normally sweet face looked thunderous.

"You think that whatever you want, you're gonna get. Golden boy." JC blinked, because he'd never heard such a scathing tone in Nick's voice before. "Well, think again, shithead. You don't always get what you want. You're no different than the rest of us, like that." He paused, and his mouth twisted. "No different than me."

Justin swung at Nick, but Justin wasn't a fighter by nature, and Nick held him too far away for it to do any damage. Nick shook him again, harder, and Justin subsided, his expression angry and sullen. "Oh, yeah? Fuck off, man."

Nick's fist unclenched from Justin's shirt. "You're so set on what you want, so blind to everything else that you don't even see what's in front of you. What's always been right in front of you," he said, and he suddenly sounded more tired than angry. He dipped his head and turned away, broad shoulders hunched.

"Nick," JC began, but then Nick turned back. His blue eyes looked suspiciously bright in his flushed face, and the hurt was so obvious that JC's heart went out to him.

"Don't, JC," he said. He turned back to Justin, who'd subsided, embarrassment written all over him, but whether it was embarrassment over his actions, or at Nick's words, JC wasn't sure. Nick took another step toward Justin, and to his credit, Justin held his ground. Nick's hand curved around the back of Justin's neck, and then he took one last step, right into Justin's space. His bright blond head tilted, dipped, and he kissed Justin.

Justin started as if shot, arms flailing in obvious surprise, and Nick's mouth covered his muted squeak of surprise. Nick's fingers tightened on the nape of Justin's neck, and his other hand spread over his chest, big and strong enough to hold Justin if he struggled, but the touch looked heartbreakingly gentle. Nick's mouth moved softly on Justin's, and JC thought it might be the sweetest, sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

Nick pulled away from Justin, and his mouth looked red, and a little swollen. Justin's eyes were huge as he blinked at Nick, and JC had never seen anyone look so completely poleaxed before. Nick licked his wet lips, and stepped away, color hectic on his cheeks. He shot a glance toward JC, then turned and strode from the kitchen, without a word. A moment more, and JC heard the door to his apartment open and then slam shut loud enough to rattle the glass on the counter.

Justin stood there, blinking, his fingers on his mouth. "What the hell?" he asked, and his voice cracked, as it hadn't for years.

"Nick's right. To be so smart, you're sometimes the stupidest person I know," JC said, and pushed away from the counter. He brushed past Justin and went into the living room, muting the noisy game. The room was a mess, as always when Nick and Justin came to visit, and JC raked a hand through his hair. Nick had left his backpack with all his homework, his portfolio, and his cell; he'd have to come back for them. JC opened the door and saw his mountain bike still propped against the wall in the hallway. On foot, then, and no way to contact him until he decided to return. He closed the door again, a lot more quietly than Nick had.

"So," Justin said from the doorway, his voice subdued, "how long?"

"He's been crazy about you a long time, cat. For years. I can't believe you never noticed."

Justin ran a hand over the back of his head, and blew out a big breath. "Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't you?"

"Justin. For years now, I've been telling you no. Just how much good did that do?" JC spread his arms in frustration. "You're totally single-minded when you get something in your head, in case you haven't noticed. Besides, it wasn't my place to tell you. It's his, and he finally did."

"Yeah, well," Justin said. He looked thoughtful.

"Yeah, well," JC repeated. "Listen to me. Nothing. Will. Ever. Happen. Between. Us. You're smart, charming, good-looking, and basically sweet-natured. I like you. But that's it. Don't waste any more time on me. Not when there's someone who's crazy about you, who would be so good to you, for you. Nick's a great guy. Give him a chance."

JC picked up Justin's coat and tossed it at him, and held out his backpack. "Now. Get the hell out of here. I have a paper to finish, and finals to start studying for. You need to do some serious thinking about stuff, and I want you to do it someplace else."

Justin shrugged into his coat. "Fine. Going, already." His lower lip pushed out a little, into a tiny pout. "You don't have to be an ass about it."

"No, but it makes me feel better," JC said, and shook Justin's backpack until Justin took it from him, frowning. Justin shouldered past him but stopped at the door, his hand on the knob.

"I've spent a lot of time wanting you," he said softly. "I just thought. I just always hoped that you'd quit saying no, after awhile."

"I won't," JC said, softening a little. "I'm sorry, Justin. I'll always be your friend, though. That won't change. The things you've felt about me? Nick's felt the same about you, for just as long. All I'm asking is that you think about it."

Justin's dark blue eyes flicked over him once more, and he nodded, a sharp, curt movement. Then he was out the door and JC heard his feet clattering down the steps. JC leaned against the door, every muscle taut with tension. This was the last way he'd choose to spend a Monday night, embroiled in some teenaged soap-opera triangle psychodrama.

Shaking his head, he stepped to the tv and turned it off, nudging the X-Box controllers out of the way with his foot. He'd pick them up later. He drew in a couple of deep breaths and let them out, then bounced on his toes, shaking his arms, trying to get rid of tension. Either Justin and Nick would work it out, or they wouldn't; they were both stubborn and strong-willed, and he couldn't control them. Didn't mean, though, he didn't have the occasional urge to knock both their thick heads together. Repeatedly. But for now, he'd have to settle for fantasizing about it, because he had to finish his damned paper. With a sigh, JC headed back into the kitchen and opened up his computer once more.

When the outer door buzzer sounded, JC looked up from typing the last sentence, surprised to find that two hours had passed by without notice. He blinked, and stood, then swore as a charley horse caught him in the left calf. Swearing loudly, he stretched it out as the buzzer sounded again, then hobbled to the door when it finally subsided enough to walk. He thumbed the intercom. "Nick?"

"Yeah," came his voice, sounding tinny and distorted. "Let me in, JC."

"C'mon up," he said, and hit the button.

He unlocked the door to his apartment as Nick thumped up the stairs. JC held the door open for him, and Nick slipped past him, head down. JC closed the door and trailed behind Nick, who threw himself onto the couch. His ears and cheeks were scarlet with cold.

"Were you outside the whole time?" JC asked, and when Nick nodded, JC rolled his eyes. "It's a wonder you don't have frostbite." He went into the kitchen and made a big mug of cocoa and brought it back to Nick.

Nick had shed his coat, and sat with his elbows on his knees. "I was walking around. Just had to think, dawg. So. How much does he hate me, now?"

JC handed him the steaming mug. "He doesn't hate you any more than I hate him, honey," JC said mildly. "He does have a lot to think about though. As he should."

"Like he will," Nick scoffed, but his heart wasn't in it.

JC folded himself onto the couch, knees to his chest. He looped his arms around his legs and idly toyed with a toe ring. "Oh, I think he will."

"I'll have to see it. I like him, but he can be pretty self-centered, sometimes. And hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so. So." Nick made vague gestures with his hands that JC supposed meant something about violence. "But when I came in and saw him rubbing all over you, I got really jealous." Nick rubbed a hand over his cheek. "I mean, I know you didn't encourage it, but still. I wanted to thump somebody, really hard."

"Well. I'm glad that you decided kissing Justin was better than hitting anyone, because I sorta like my nose the way it is. Doesn't need to be any bigger, man." JC smiled and reached out a hand to pat Nick's forearm.

"Guess we'll see how things turn out. It'll either be good or not good." Nick laughed, a little jangly sound. "And boy, wasn't that profound. I need to be writing self-help books, huh?"

"Maybe you should stick to art," JC replied, and his smile grew a little bigger when Nick slanted him an amused look. He looked tired, though, worn out by the evening.

"Probably." He drained the last of the cocoa, and set the mug on the table. "Well. Whatever happens now, happens." He shook himself like a dog and almost visibly put the whole thing behind him. "How did the date-thing go on Thursday?" JC hadn't had a chance to talk with Nick, who'd spent the weekend with his family.

JC felt his mouth curve into a smile, a little curl of warmth in his chest. "Nice. Really good." And it had been. They'd stayed at the diner, talking, until almost dawn. He'd been surprised by how well-read AJ was, how perceptive, in spite of---or perhaps, because of---having never attended school formally. He'd not been able to determine exactly how he'd been educated, because the topic had changed into something else interesting, and he'd gone with it. He'd found AJ sharp, opinionated but flexible, willing to look at all points of an argument, a good conversationalist but a better listener, something JC didn't often find. He had a good sense of humor, both sly and crude, and JC had laughed more with him than he had in ages. He'd enjoyed himself, and had hated for the time to end.

And when AJ had dropped him back to the store, he'd declined the offer to come up to JC's apartment above the bookstore, but hadn't denied him a goodnight kiss. Well. Kisses. He wasn't sure how long they stayed in the parking lot, kissing, but when AJ had finally pushed him away, his mouth had been swollen and tingling, he'd been harder than he could ever remember, they'd steamed up all the car windows, and the sun had risen.

"Must've been," Nick said, and flicked JC's toes, curled into the cushions. JC felt his cheeks warm.

"It was. And Friday. We went to the Art Walk. He really doesn't know shit about art," JC said with a laugh. He'd had enough wine that he'd gotten loose and giggly. AJ had stuck with coffee, and remained sober, walking him home, and practically carrying him up the steps, all the while fending off his wandering hands.

JC had wanted him then, would've happily let AJ suck and then fuck him, had asked for it with probably embarrassing frequency, but AJ had tucked them both onto the couch and kissed him until he grew relaxed and pliant and drowsy. When he'd woken up the next morning, AJ had already gone, leaving behind a note thanking him for the date. It had been strangely sweet, reassuring that AJ hadn't taken him up on his offers when he'd been mostly drunk. It made him really believe that maybe AJ was serious about wanting to know him before sex, and that maybe, he was a really nice guy as well.

JC remembered how smooth AJ's honey-colored skin had been beneath his sweater, how lean and hard his body, how warm he'd been. And how his brown nipples were pierced. That had turned him on something fierce when he'd discovered that, had made him squirm and arch and touch, made him want to lick them, to suck them, but AJ had distracted him with the whole kissing and cuddling thing, and that had turned out to be really nice, too.

JC shifted and squirmed a little, because just remembering made him half-hard. Of course, Nick noticed, and laughed. "Yeah, I saw you guys at the Allen Gallery. But you looked pretty absorbed, and I didn't want to mess with the whole date-vibe you had going."

"Well, thanks. I appreciate that." JC picked at a toenail, until Nick reached over and smacked his hand. JC smacked him back. "We went out again on Sunday, to the Mudhouse, for coffee and to talk. Just that, and it was calm and relaxing. No expectations of anything else, just...talking." JC rubbed at the back of his neck, and slanted a wry look at Nick. "It's kinda weird. This whole dating thing."

"Well, for you, I guess so. I don't think I've ever seen you actually date, and I've known you for years. You're like a tom cat, and this guy seems like a more serious type."

JC might've been insulted, but he couldn't deny the truth, so he shrugged, instead. "More serious than me. He's...nice. Not smooshy nice, because he has a foul mouth and a really wicked sense of sarcasm, but nice, like decent. He could've fucked me while I was drunk, because I practically begged him to, but he didn't."

"A lot of guys are decent," Nick said mildly. "Hell, I'm decent. You just never gave anyone much of a chance before. Just quick fucks. You can't find anyone like that."

"Who said that I wanted to find someone?" JC frowned. "Maybe I'm fine with the way things are."

"Maybe so. But most people eventually reach a point where they're willing to give up random hookups for something with a little more substance. Sounds like AJ's at that point." Nick looked up from his folded hands. "And if he is, and if he's as nice and decent as you say, then maybe he's not for you right now, if all you're interested in is fucking around. No sense in stringing him along, hurting his feelings, if you're not as into it as he is."

JC clasped his arms around his knees and drew them up even tighter. Maybe AJ was at that point, but JC wasn't sure if he was yet. Sport fucking was all he'd ever known, as much habit as fun. But he had to admit he'd enjoyed himself so far; he really enjoyed AJ's company. He'd certainly enjoyed the kisses and caresses; he had no doubt of the chemistry between them. He didn't want to hurt AJ in any way, but it might be worthwhile to hang in a little longer with this whole dating thing, see where it led. "You know, I really, really hate it when you get smart about things."

"I'm an artist. I'm all sensitive and shit, man. Ow!" Nick rubbed his arm, where JC hit him. "I thought you were a fucking pacifist!"

And then there was no more time to think, because Nick pounced, wrestled him to the ground, noogied his head mercilessly, and then sat on him until JC surrendered and agreed to forevermore call him the glorious blond god of graphic novels.

It made Nick feel better, though Nick had twisted his leg just a little too vigorously trying to bend him in half. Still, worth it to hear his cackling laugh, JC reflected later, sitting at his laptop, a bag of frozen peas draped on his propped-up ankle. If only every problem could be helped so easily.

"Oh mah god," Joey said, one hand to his heart, the other flapping an imaginary fan in his face. "Y'all are seeing a young gentleman? Why, Ah may just swoon from the sheer excitement of such news."

AJ threw a magazine at him, and Joey broke character to catch it, laughing. "That is the fucking worst Scarlett O'Hara imitation I've ever had the misfortune to hear, Fatone."

"Shows what you know, you cinema cretin. It's Miss Melanie." Joey put a hand to his forehead and swooned over the back of the couch, tumbling onto Howie, who emitted a high-pitched squeak and tried unsuccessfully to scramble away. Joey sprawled all over him and his books and papers, his arms and legs flung wide. He fluttered his eyelashes. "Oooh. Give us a kiss, Dorough," he said, and made a smoochy face. Howie whapped him over the head with a spiral notebook, and pushed at him. Joey clutched his head and rolled off into the floor, landing with a loud thud. "I'm suffering for my art," he said plaintively.

"No need for me to suffer with it," Howie said. "You squashed my notes. Go away. Some of us are trying to study."

"Unlike those of us, who shall remain nameless but have magenta hair, who had all their finals in the first two days," AJ said crisply, shuffling his history flash cards.

"Good thing I'm thick-skinned," Joey said. He rolled to his side, half under the coffee table in the station's lobby, his cheek in his hands. "Because I'm definitely not feeling the love here."

"No love," AJ agreed. "Go fuck off, willya?" He shifted, and Dinah, in his lap, flattened her ears in protest. AJ murmured something soft to her and scratched the back of her neck, just as she liked it, and she settled, shifting to accommodate the cast on her leg.

"But I want to hear about this boy. Is he prettier than me? I know that's a difficult concept to wrap your head around, but inquiring minds want to know."

"Inquiring minds?" AJ looked up from his cards, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, mind, singular. Me. But it's always about me, y'know. Me, me, me."

"Right. It's a Fatone-centric universe. How could I forget."

"I dunno," Joey said, scratching at his beard. "But after me trying to set you up with all the available young men---Sweet D, here, included---you hie off and get yourself a boy. I'm naturally curious."

Howie's eyebrows climbed. "You tried to set me up with AJ? I can find my own dates, thank you very much."

"What I said," AJ replied. "I didn't need his castoffs."

"I am not one of his castoffs," Howie said with some asperity. "I'll have you know that I have standards."

"Hey!" Joey protested from the floor.

"I know you do, D," AJ said, shuffling his flash cards again and beginning to flip through them. "I wouldn't presume otherwise."

"Thank you," Howie said, smoothing out the pages of the books Joey had landed upon.

"Rejected on all sides. I am a broken man," Joey said mournfully. He popped up from the floor at AJ's knee, his expression gleeful and not at all broken. "So. Who is he?"

AJ put away his cards and gently picked up Dinah, cuddling her to his chest. Joey wouldn't do anything physical to him if he held her. She purred loudly and butted his chin.

"You remember the contest three or so weeks ago? The guy who came in to get his tee shirt the night Littrell ran over my sweet baby?"

"Brian didn't do it on purpose," Howie said reproachfully. "Don't let him hear you say that."

Joey's face scrunched in thought, then brightened. "Oh. The pretty one who didn't speak French?"

"Your French sucks ass, so like you have any room to scoff," AJ said. "But yeah. JC Chasez. English major."

"JC?"

They both turned at Howie's voice. A dark flush spread over his cheeks. "Um," he said, and suddenly pretended to be very interested in his book.

"Oh, no, D," Joey said, and scuttled over to the couch. His big hand closed over Howie's geology text and pulled, but Howie struggled to hang onto it. Joey won by going for Howie's ribs with his free hand. Howie squealed and gave it up, covering his ribs defensively. Joey gave the book a toss over the back of the couch. "What do you know? Spill. You date JC before?"

"Well." Howie tugged nervously at his ponytail, sending a pleading glance in AJ's direction. "I'm not sure that date would really be the right term. JC doesn't date. He just...." He cleared his throat.

"No? Then what?" Joey waited a beat. "Oh, Howie," Joey said with a broad leer. "It's always the quiet ones."

Howie flushed a darker red. "I'm not sure this is such a good thing to tease me about, what with AJ seeing him, and all."

"Hmm. Maybe you're right," Joey said thoughtfully. "Don't want to get my ass kicked."

"Live in fear, Fatone," AJ drawled. "It's okay, Howie. I know about JC."

"You're really dating him? As in, seeing him more than just once?"

"As in," AJ replied. "We've been out several times. Well. Not with finals going on. No one does anything but study, then." And call daily, if only for a quick bitch session about papers and tests and fucking demanding professors, but he didn't mention that.

"Wow," Howie said. "He just doesn't date. Like, ever. I'm just really surprised."

"Well, if anyone could tame the wild thing, it would be AJ, with those big soulful eyes and that bad boy into serious student vibe and that big dick," Joey said with a huge grin.

"Bigger than yours, for sure," AJ said deadpan, and Howie laughed.

"I'm secure in my manhood," Joey answered. "Really."

"So, how...." Howie trailed off. "I mean. I can't help but wonder why he changed. But I'm glad for you. He was...really nice. Um. Considerate." Joey looked terribly interested, and Howie frowned a little. "And that's all I'm saying, so quit looking at me like that."

Joey turned to AJ expectantly, and AJ held up one hand. "Don't even look at me. I'm not like you, and have the compulsion to tell everyone everything about my sex life. So just lay off."

Although they would both probably be surprised by what they actually did when they had time to get together, which was mostly talk. JC had been restless at first, and AJ had thought that maybe this really wasn't for him, but after the third date, he'd settled, pleased to talk. And he talked a lot; he was sharp and intelligent, but had a tendency to ramble somewhat, and AJ didn't think anyone had ever let him talk as much as he liked, before, without interruption.

He'd heard all about JC's family, his friends, his schooling, about working with his dad to refurbish the old building that held The Well-Fed Head bookstore, and the apartments above it. That had surprised him; while he expected JC to know vast amounts about literature and literary criticism, he really hadn't expected JC to know one end of a hammer from the other, but apparently, JC did. He'd taken AJ through the still unfinished apartments on either side of his own, and had proudly pointed out his drywall work, his painting, the wooden floors he had sanded, the cabinets he'd helped his dad install on weekends when he wasn't in school, and while Marshall worked the bookstore.

And then he'd pulled JC down onto a pile of old drop cloths smelling of paint and dust, and kissed him until they were breathless, because he knew JC had never shown anyone but his closest friends this part of him. They lay in the tangle of musty cloths in a pool of pale, wan sunlight, their breaths white clouds around them because the apartment had been unheated, coats unzipped and hands burrowed beneath shirts next to warm skin.

Because JC had shared so much with him, AJ had told him everything: an entire life lived in fickle show business, all his time devoted to singing and dancing and acting lessons which had paid off in too much success too soon. Too much pressure, not enough guidance, and not enough coping mechanisms had led to an alcohol and drug habit that had taken everything and landed him in rehab off and on for a year at age twenty-one.

JC had whispered "thank you," had wrapped his long arms and legs around him, had curled into him, and they'd stayed like that, breathing one another's breath, until the cold had seeped into them, had made their joints creaky, like those of old men, had forced them to seek out warmth.

AJ thought it had been that moment of openness and trust that had somehow sh