Never again, JC swore silently, never again will I *ever* attempt to drink Chris under the table.

JC slitted his eyes open and for a moment, wondered if he was under the table, literally. Really, he wouldn't have been surprised. He moaned as light sliced like a laser into his brain, carving big holes into it, and he squeezed his eyes shut again. Swiss cheese brain. Oh, yeah, he could picture it, because it certainly felt as if his brain had dozens of holes in it, each hole filled with tequila. Or maybe the little worm at the bottom of the tequila bottle.

That thought made him grimace, because worms-no. Tyler, his little brother, had gleefully chased him around with the nasty things when they were kids, and he'd never forgotten it. He had a sudden crazy urge to call Tyler and cuss him out, and it was probably a good thing that his cell wasn't in its usual place, clipped to his belt. He patted the carpet blindly, searching for it, and wondered if Chris had gotten it away from him last night and called every person he knew, all over the country. It wouldn't surprise him much.

He rolled to one side, and swallowed hard as his stomach seemed to want to roll on across the room without the rest of him. With a moan, he opened his eyes again, and found himself staring at Lance's expensive Italian shoes. Well, shoe, singular. The other currently dug a gouge out of his side, and he fished it out, giving it an uncaring toss behind him. His head thumped, a slow, steady, rhythmic pounding, and he moaned again.

Or, maybe not, because that was way deeper than his own voice, definitely out of his register. JC clapped a hand over his mouth to make sure no noise escaped, and sure enough, it wasn't him, because the sound continued. And then he realized the thumping wasn't his head at all; his head pounded, a distinct difference.

Oh, hell. JC blinked, and the room around him swam lazily into focus. The inline skates, the black Chuck Taylor sneakers, the battered Docs, the torn jeans, the jeans jacket with the sleeves ripped off, decorated with colorful patches and buttons, the hockey stick, baseball mitt, the basketball-it looked like a college boy's dorm, so yeah, Chris' room. It simply took a moment, from his perspective on the floor, to realize where he was.

JC reached up, grabbed a handful of bedspread, and levered himself up to a sitting position with a moan of his own that harmonized neatly with the low rumbles and the breathy, higher cries that had started. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut waiting for the spinning nausea to pass, and wondered if a truck ran over his head it would stop the ache. It certainly couldn't hurt any more.

He opened his eyes, and peered over the side of the bed, and.

Whoa.

JC blinked and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. Yeah, whoa. He'd known Lance had a fine ass; he'd certainly stolen surreptitious looks at it often enough. But looking at it draped in fine woolen trousers or in pressed khaki pants or in loose cargo shorts was completely different than seeing it in its naked glory. Firm and round and so, so *yeah.* JC's fingers curled into the bedspread to keep from touching, and he ran his tongue over his dry lips. Fine ass, firm, muscular thighs, and wow, a lot of power in his thrusts. No wonder Chris always looked happily sated, the lucky fucker.

He shouldn't be gawking, because, hey, they were his best friends, but it was *way* better than the very best porn he'd ever seen in his entire life, and surely they had to cut him some slack. Lance, sweaty and sleek, fucked slowly and relentlessly and determinedly, long fine hands holding Chris' narrow hips in a strong grip. He snugged up close behind Chris, who had braced himself on his hands and knees, head dropped down between his arms, long black and red braids swinging back and forth as Lance drove into him. JC pressed his nose and mouth into the bedspread to keep from squeaking in delight, his headache and nausea forgotten for the moment.

Lance fucked like he had all day to do it, smooth and unhurried, and JC watched the strong muscles work in Lance's ass and thighs as he thrust into Chris' body. JC could see Chris' dick, looking almost painfully hard, slick and red, bobbing with each thrust, as he twisted and corkscrewed himself back onto Lance. He caught a glimpse of Chris' face, flushed and sweaty and tight with pleasure, red mouth opened and panting. JC felt heat curl low in his belly, felt his own dick twitch and begin to swell as he had a sudden flash of himself in Chris' place, impaled on Lance, and then an equally appealing picture of himself fucking Chris. He bit the cover to keep from moaning out loud as his hand slipped down and cupped himself; his baggy jeans seemed suddenly too tight.

And then he made the mistake of looking up; he felt the shock of meeting Lance's eyes all the way to his bones. If Lance felt embarrassment, he didn't show it; his pace never altered. His pale green eyes were almost all pupil, dark and drowning deep. His mouth curved into something that was more smirk than smile, an expression indicating that Lance knew JC's every thought, and JC had a crazy moment of wondering whether his head had suddenly gone transparent, leaving his thoughts easily read. Of course, his hand moving slowly on his crotch probably helped give him away.

Lance dropped a slow wink, and then tipped his head back and let himself go, thrusts hard and fast. Chris grunted at the change in pace, then keened in pleasure, his voice rising high and pure. He tossed his head back, and when Lance reached forward and dug his hand into the heavy mass of multicolored braids and pulled, Chris yelped and came hard all over the sheets beneath himself.

Four more spine-rattling thrusts and Lance moaned, low and so deep that JC felt it at the base of his spine then came, entire body taut and tense. A moment later, he folded forward, draped himself across Chris' back, and they slid slowly to the bed.

Black sparkly dots swirled around the edges of his vision, and JC suddenly realized he'd been holding his breath. He whooped for air, and the scent of sex, of musk, of come, swirled heavily into his nose, his lungs, and oh, he was so hard, his dick throbbing demandingly between his legs. It had been awhile since he'd slept with anyone-the last was that boy he picked up at Starbucks, with the amazingly red hair; JC had been pleased to find out after getting him back to his apartment that he'd been a natural redhead. But that had been three weeks ago at least; he'd kept company with his own hand since then.

"G'mornin' C," Lance said, his voice a lazy, husky drawl, and JC felt heat scorch his face. He tried looking everywhere but at them, but wasn't successful; they seemed to draw his eye like a magnet drew iron. Lance stroked his hand over Chris' arm, down his side to his hip, which still bore the red marks of his fingers, the movement slow and possessive. "Wondered where you ended up. You were behind the couch, last I knew."

Chris' laughter rang high and wicked, piercing through his head like...well, like something really sharp, and JC had the sudden urge to unscrew his own head and stuff it under the bed to muffle the sound, because ow, ow, ow. "Fuck, man, you look like a scared owl."

JC reached up automatically and tried patting down his thick curls; sleeping tended to afro them to bizarre proportions. He attempted glaring at Chris and ignoring his nakedness, but figured it was hypocritical to do that when he'd spent the last few moments watching them. In action, even. "Shut up," he said, and thought, wow, good comeback, so witty. His mouth never seemed to say what was in his brain, and probably that was a good thing most of the time. But not when he wanted to be all cool and snarky.

"Oooh, crushing comeback," Chris said, then wriggled beneath Lance, who looked comfortable, and showed no signs of moving. "And speaking of crushing-Bass, get off me. You're squishing me, and I'm in the wet spot."

"You made the spot," Lance pointed out reasonably, but he kissed Chris' shoulder and pulled back and out with a wet sound, and JC most decidedly didn't look at his dick as he did. Not directly, anyway.

"Fucker," Chris said, but his voice sounded more fond than annoyed. Still on his belly, he stretched, humming, satisfied, his face half-hidden by his braids. JC felt a flash of envy, both for the fact that Chris never seemed to suffer hangovers from drinking, but more that he had someone who cared for him, who was there for him.

Lance levered himself out of bed, stretched hugely, and ambled off in the direction of the bathroom, scratching his ass, his muscles gliding smoothly under his skin. Chris' snicker and "want a picture? I have a few," made heat crawl into his cheeks again, because hey, staring again.

Chris' dark eyes glittered with amusement as JC jerked his attention back to him. "Um, no, thanks." Chris had a really fine ass himself; the curve from low back to ass looked very lickable. JC closed his eyes, because, *Chris,* one of his best friends in the whole world, and he shouldn't be ogling his ass. Well, he thought he shouldn't, anyway. "Um, I think. I don't think I should drink tequila anymore. I should, um, go."

"Don't get your panties into a twist, C," Chris said lazily.

JC's eyes popped open, and heat burned more fiercely in his cheeks. "It was just that one time, and you *swore* you would never say anything about it!" When Chris began snorting with laughter, JC wanted to take Lance's shoe and beat himself in the head with it. Or maybe Chris. That might be more constructive, actually. He'd had enough of embarrassment for the day, and it still felt early. "I need to go. Like, yesterday, before we started drinking." He rubbed his forehead; his headache had returned with a vengeance, and his belly rolled, sourly. Unfortunately, his dick still tented out the front of his jeans, and that was entirely *their* fault.

Chris reached out and snagged JC's wrist as JC struggled to his knees. His hand was small, but his grip surprisingly firm; JC had a long history of failed wrestling matches with Chris, who was both strong and completely unashamed to fight dirty.

"Hey, hey, wait, you asshole," Chris said, still grinning. "That was a figure of speech, C, seriously." He paused, and JC felt dread sweep over him, because he knew Chris simply couldn't keep his mouth shut, could never resist a dig. "But man, you have to admit, you made one sexy little bitch in those clothes...."

JC felt his mouth pull down in a frown. "I'm leaving now. This is just too weird for me."

"Too weird for La Freaky Chasez? No such thing," Chris teased, and when JC struggled to his feet, ready to leave, Chris launched himself across the bed and wrapped his arms around one thigh, clinging like, well, something clingy. A leech, maybe. But leeches made him think of worms, and his head spun and his belly rolled alarmingly. It would be poetic justice if he threw up all over Chris, because it was Chris' fault he'd had so much tequila-Chris had talked him into doing shots, and he *knew* JC had no tolerance for it. "Bass! Get your fine ass in here-he's trying to leave!"

JC clutched at his head, threading his fingers through his curls-hell, Chris had the most piercing voice, ever, like an ambulance siren. All he wanted to do was to get away from his crazy naked sex-fiend friends, go home, pull up the covers, sleep away the rest of his Saturday, and hope like hell his Sunday was a lot quieter.

"Quit hollering," Lance said, his voice a slow deep drawl, soothing after Chris' shrieking. Did guys shriek? JC wasn't sure, because it sounded more like a girl thing, but he'd be willing to say Chris did. He had a high-pitched voice almost like a girl's, anyway, and a bazillion long braids, and big dark eyes as pretty as any girl's, but JC could attest he was most definitely a guy, if only from the activities of the last few minutes.

JC peeked out from beneath his fingers, and yeah, Lance had found a pair of flannel sleep pants and put them on, though they hung precariously from his hips. Safe to look, now. He looked down at Chris, still clinging, and Chris grinned and waggled his eyebrows at him. JC tried shaking him off, but had no luck doing it. Stupid fucking Chris.

"Hang around awhile, C, and I'll make you some tea and toast," Lance said, and slid onto the bed. He ran a washcloth down Chris' back, over his ass, between his cheeks and legs, and Chris hummed happily. His grip on JC's thigh loosened, and JC took the opportunity to wrench away.

Unfortunately, his head still spun, and the quick movement was too much for it; he stumbled backwards over shoes-probably Lance's-and went down in a heap with a thump. He laid there a moment, watching the ceiling spin in lazy circles, then squinched his eyes shut and willed himself not to hurl. Oh, hell. Now everything hurt. He wiggled his fingers and toes then moved his arms and legs, trying to see if anything had broken. Nothing but his head, evidently.

And if Chris didn't stop laughing, he was going to pull the hockey stick out from beneath his back, and use Chris' head as a puck, honest to god, he was.

"You break anything, C?" Lance sounded mildly concerned, not like that laughing asshole in the bed next to him.

"No, luckily sporting equipment broke my fall," JC replied. What he wouldn't have given for a transporter, like they had in Star Trek. Push a button, see sparkly lights, and then be home, in his own bed, with water and Tylenol and a cold washcloth for his head. It sounded pretty much like heaven.

"You didn't break my stick, did you? I've had that since I was a kid, man." Oh, *now* Chris sounded concerned. JC wasn't certain in that moment why he'd ever liked Chris.

"I hate you," JC said tonelessly. "I really, really hate you."

"Don't be that way, C," Lance said, and JC opened his eyes to see Lance standing over him. He looked curiously tall, though JC knew he wasn't, not at all. Lance held out his hand, and after a moment, JC sighed and took it, and together, they pulled him to his feet. He wobbled, and Lance held his arm until he steadied. "You don't hate Chris, and you know it."

"Not yet, anyway," Chris said cheerfully. "But the day is young, and that will probably change."

Lance had promised tea and toast, hadn't he? JC really, really wanted something to settle his stomach. He rubbed the back of his head-was that a lump forming there? Then Chris' words sank in, and he peered at Chris through one slitted eye, because the light still hurt, though he didn't think he really had holes in his brain anymore.

"What?" He couldn't keep the suspicion out of his voice, because Chris was likely to do anything. Chris liked to call himself free-spirited; JC simply thought he had impulse control problems.

Chris propped himself up on his forearms, and scratched at his short goatee. He pushed his braids out of his face, evidently not in any hurry at all to explain himself, and JC kept himself from screaming only by the thought his head would probably split open if he did.

"Well. After we decided to do shots, you decided to spill the goods on your love life-if you can call something that *pathetic* a life. Personally, I think it's like dead, buried, decomposed, but hey, that's my opinion. If you want to waste the best years of your life, and not use the fucking fabulous body given to you by nature's random spin of the genetic roulette wheel-"

"Chris. Chris." JC tried to keep his voice even. "Is there a point anywhere at all in this?" Lance reached over and patted his shoulder, gently, and left his hand there. It felt warm and reassuring.

"Sorry, my opinion, not necessarily shared by you, obviously. So. Anyway, since you're a young man with a lot-" he made air quotes with crooked fingers "-to offer, we decided that you need to get out, get away from that soul-sucking corporate job of yours, and live a little."

"Oh, no, don't get me involved in this. There was no *we* at all in this," Lance said. "I just kept you from doing anything with JC that involved hanging him upside down and naked out the window. By the way, C, you owe me for that one, because he was pretty determined. I had to blow him to get his mind off the idea."

"He owes you? How the hell do you figure that? Dude, you should be *grateful* you get to blow me on a regular basis-"

"Chris. Chris." JC knew if Chris got distracted, he'd never find out anything, and from the steady rise of Chris' voice, he could sense an impending rant, probably on the virtues of his dick, and JC really wasn't in the mood to hear it for the five hundredth time. "What do you mean by live a little?" JC didn't like the sound of that; uneasiness wiggled down the back of his spine. It might've sounded innocent coming from anyone else, but from Chris? No way anything good would come from it.

"Oh. Yeah. As in, meet someone new. Someone bold, exciting, full of life and energy. Someone who can release the sexual beast trapped inside you by your own insistence on living like you're a ninety year old nun. Someone you can meet on ManDate."

JC blinked for a moment, unsure what Chris meant in the tangle of words, and then when he sorted it out. He could feel the expression of horror all over his face, and looked at Lance, who shrugged, as if to say he had nothing to do with it. Then he turned back to Chris. "Oh, you fucker, you did *not* do that! You did not sign me up for that show."

"*I* didn't do it! You're the one who thought it was a good idea, man. You were all, 'oh yeah, I'll do it, sign me up, find me a hot cat.'" Indignation rose in JC, because he was *sure* he'd never said that, and *certainly* he wouldn't have worn such a goofy expression even if he had. "Your words, C. I swear *I've* never called anyone human a 'cat' in my whole life." Chris tried for a look of wounded innocence, but JC doubted he'd been innocent since the moment he came from the womb, and he certainly never had been in the years JC had known him.

"I would never say I'd do that," JC protested. "You know I think it like," JC tugged at his curls, trying to pull the words out of his sluggish brain, "like objectifies people. Is that a word? If it isn't, it should be, because that's what it does. I'm morally in opposition to it. I know it's your show and all, but still, no." He turned to Lance, annoyed. "I didn't say I'd do it, did I?"

"Sorry, C," Lance said, and he looked maybe a little sorry, but still, amusement glittered in his pale eyes. JC decided he hated Lance almost as much as Chris, in that moment. "You did. I was there, and mostly sober."

"But I was drunk. You can't hold me to that. I don't remember it." JC crossed his arms over his chest. He'd never agree to it, no matter how many shots he'd had. He was a man of principle.

"See, I said you'd say that, so I insisted that we write it down, so you'd remember when you sobered up. And, by the way, C, you're surly when you're hungover. It's not an attractive trait." JC rolled his eyes at Chris, and immediately regretted it as they felt as if they would pop out of his head. He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets to keep them in place.

"I want to go home," JC said plaintively, but sick curiosity kept his bare feet glued to the floor.

"So, anyway, we decided to write down the agreement, so you wouldn't weasel out of it. But we didn't want to write it on paper that you could tear up, because I knew you'd try. So, being drunk, we-"

"No, remember, not *we.* I refuse any culpability for this whole thing." Lance insisted, and JC peeked between his fingers to see Chris flip him off before continuing.

"So *I* decided it was a great idea to use a more-permanent-canvas." Chris grinned, and pushed himself up onto his knees in his wrecked bed. "Like, me."

Oh, hell, JC thought. He uncovered his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Chris had always been a hairy little bastard since JC had first met him back in college, but now he gleamed pale and smooth-he'd shaved his chest and belly, and it looked-odd. JC blinked, because on that hairless expanse, he could read writing.

In black magic marker. In his own handwriting.

He put a hand over his mouth, and unwilling, took a step forward, compelled by curiosity. Chris posed proudly, arms extended, completely heedless of his nudity, his head tipped back, his expression smug and pleased with himself. JC took another step forward. His head pounded in time to his heart.

"I, JC Chasez, hereby promise to appear on next week's ManDate. Chris Kirkpatrick is the man," JC read aloud.

"You didn't have to add that last part, but I thought it was a nice touch," Chris said happily.

His signature scrawled across Chris' lower belly, the 'C' of 'JC' curving neatly around his navel. The loop of the 'z' on 'Chasez' wiggled down into the fold of his groin. "That doesn't look like my signature," he said weakly.

Chris looked down, his face hidden by his braids. "It is, I swear. It only looks funny because it tickled and I laughed. But that's your writing, man. And it's a contract legally binding in all fifty states. Or at least it should be. No, I'm sure it is."

"I wrote on your naked body." JC rubbed his forehead. He wasn't certain what horrified him more-that he'd agreed to be on Chris' gayboy dating show, or he'd been *that* close to Chris in his nakedness. Which was a very fine nakedness, without a doubt; no arguments from him on that point. He wasn't smoothly chiseled like Lance; he refused to go to the gym and so he had a soft, rounded belly-he was small and compact, very appealing anyway. He wondered if he'd gotten hard while writing on Chris, and if Chris had been hard at the same time, then decided that he really didn't want to know.

"After I shaved," Chris pointed out, clearly wanting JC to know the magnitude of his sacrifice. "Which is gonna itch like a mother when it starts growing back, let me tell you. That's true dedication to our friendship." Chris paused, then added honestly, "And my ratings."

Too surreal. His life had often had moments of weirdness-with Chris in his life, it couldn't help but be weird-but this seemed more odd than usual. He tried to take it in stride, to look at it reasonably, though he didn't have much hope for it turning out that way. "Why didn't I write on Lance? He wouldn't even have to shave."

Lance looked horrified. He gestured at himself, at his bare chest and belly, his skin smooth, lightly tanned, and looking soft and perfect. "You've got to be kidding. Do you realize how much money I spend to get my skin looking this good?"

"Pussy," Chris said derisively, though he dropped a quick wink in JC's direction. "He's a high-maintenance bitch, but a good lay, so I put up with it."

"Dickhead," Lance replied with a grin. He squeezed JC's shoulder. "Gonna go make you some tea. Looks like you could use it."

Lance ambled away. He never hurried; Lance was the calmest, most laid-back person JC knew. JC scrubbed at his face, and peeped back at Chris.

"Please. Chris. Naked." He'd seen enough nakedness for the morning. And whoa, that was a sacrilegious thought-was there such a thing as too much naked? That was not something he thought he'd ever say, an offense to gay men everywhere, and he had a moment where he wondered if he really was gay. Or maybe dead. He peered at Chris again, and felt his dick twitch happily. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, because yes, his hormones liked boy bits, so he was both gay and alive, all right.

"Fine, fine," Chris said, and rolled off the bed. He fished around on the floor, and found a pair of boxers decorated with the Tasmanian Devil, and pulled them on. "I realize that this much masculine beauty is too much for your poor hungover eyes, so I'll cover it up."

"Thank you," JC said gratefully, and Chris grinned at him.

"Y'know, I could take that as an insult, but I'm feeling generous this morning." He picked up an elastic band from his bedside table and swept up his braids into a ponytail at the back of his head as he walked around the bed.

"I'm just grateful you didn't write on me," JC said, then a tingle of panic shivered down his spine and made him pull up his own tee shirt and look, because he'd been drunk, and Chris had a magic marker, and that was so not the best of combinations. Not shaved, not marked. He sighed in relief; he'd gotten his body hair late, and had despaired of not having any for so long that he was very fond of it. "And surprised, really."

Chris reached out and tugged at his chest hair as he passed, and JC squeaked and curled away from him. "Well, if I shaved and wrote on you, wouldn't you have claimed that we'd sat on you and done it by force? This way, there's no doubt. Your fine ass is mine for the show."

JC glared at Chris' retreating back. "I don't know why you're so, so. Insistent. You never seem to have any problem getting guys to be on the show-why me?" Not wanting to yell to have a conversation, he followed Chris into the living room.

Chris stopped to pick up a tequila bottle and several shot glasses and turned with them in his hands, one eyebrow raised. "You are kidding, right? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, dude? Well, not now, not with the 'fro-" JC reached up automatically and tried to pat down his wild hair, which made Chris laugh, "-and not with the hungover pastiness, but generally? You're pretty. Who wouldn't want to date you? You've like, blossomed, or some shit like that in the past year."

"Your beauty is unfolding like a fresh young rosebud," Lance said, lounging in the doorway to the kitchen, his Mississippi drawl even more pronounced than usual. The corner of his mouth crooked up and he winked, entirely too cheerful. JC scowled at him.

"I am not blossoming, and I do not need help with dating, you assholes. I'm doing fine when I choose to date. I'm just...really busy with my career right now, and so I'm not trying to get laid every single minute I'm awake, unlike *some* people I could name. And now, I'm leaving. I've had enough of the both of you. Where are my shoes?" He winced as Chris dumped shot glasses into the sink and the bottle into the recycle bin; the noise made his eyes rattle in his head and his teeth ache.

"C. You're one of my best friends. Can you blame me if I want you to find disgustingly sappy domestic bliss such as I experience?" Chris stepped up behind Lance and wrapped his arms around his waist, hooking his chin over Lance's shoulder. Lance reached back and patted his cheek, avoiding the snap of Chris' teeth.

They really were disgustingly sappy, and did share domestic bliss, JC thought, even if they didn't live in the same apartment. He'd never been certain how they stayed together, because they were from totally different worlds-Chris was an independent film maker and chief programmer and director for a crazy cable network, and Lance was an investment banker-and their personalities were complete opposites, but somehow they made it work. JC could admit a little envy along with his happiness for them, because really? As much as he wanted to advance in his career, sometimes he thought it would be nice to have someone to lean on, just a little.

Lance attempted to shrug Chris off, but Chris clung like, well, cling wrap, until Lance jabbed him in the side with a sharp elbow, and with a squeak, Chris let go. He pounced on JC before he could get away, wrapping an arm around his neck and dragging him to the table, making him sit. As Lance poured a mug of hot water for his tea, Chris gave JC a sloppy, wet smooch on the cheek, and with a frown, JC scrubbed it off.

"It won't be so bad," Chris promised. "It can be fun. And even if you don't win as a contestant, it won't be a total loss. I'll give you all the emails I'll get when you appear on air. All the good looking guys get tons, and who knows? You might find a Prince Charming or a Prince Charming-Enough-For-Tonight in there." He ruffled JC's wild hair. "You're welcome to have them all. Except for the really smutty ones. Lance likes those, the perv."

Lance shrugged and set down a plate of dry toast. "So I like poorly written smut. The lack of grammar and punctuation and any sense of coherency really turns me on. Oooh, baby," he said with a straight face, though his pale eyes twinkled.

JC sighed and dunked his teabag in the water. Surprise and dismay at his apparent agreement to appearing on Chris' show-and he couldn't deny that was *his* writing decorating Chris' chest and belly, oh not at all-had settled into a more-or-less acceptance of his fate. He really hadn't dated in ages; the boy from Starbucks had been more a fluke thing, a spur-of-the-moment-let's-fuck-now-thing. The last guy he'd seriously dated had been George from the accounting department, and that hadn't lasted all that long or been that interesting. Chris always had a wildly differing mix of men on the show, from preppies to punks, from twinks to leather bikerboys; it might be interesting to see what happened.

Honestly, though, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment toward Chris, who had maneuvered him neatly into doing his-nefarious?-bidding. That sounded evil enough, so JC nodded to himself. Nefarious. Chris knew he'd never wanted to do it, disagreed with it, but also knew JC would never break a promise, once given. Knew JC had absolutely no tolerance for shots, but did it anyway. It was very underhanded and sneaky, and even if Chris really did have his best interests at heart, and maybe he did, JC still didn't like being tricked into it. That stung.

Maybe he wasn't as quick as Chris, whose nimble mind seemed to run on high speed all the time, but he was no slouch, either. He knew he was sharp, creative; he was advancing upward pretty quickly for a junior-level architect, after all, playing all the little political games involved in climbing the ladder of success, and playing them well. He could surely come up with something to get Chris back for this. Too bad he couldn't ask Lance, who was the equal of the devil himself at plotting revenge, but Lance was too firmly on Chris' side in this, and wouldn't help.

JC took a sip of tea, and waited a moment to see if it would settle, or make a repeat appearance. His stomach accepted it, and JC felt a wash of gratitude, because he hated throwing up. "Well. Maybe. Maybe it won't be so bad?"

Chris turned from rummaging around in the fridge. He had JC's shoes in his hand, and JC wondered how they'd gotten in there, but decided against questioning it, because it probably involved some bizarre drunken behavior on his part, something Chris could tease him about endlessly.

"That's the spirit-lukewarm acceptance. I can work with that," Chris said cheerily. "It'll be fun, JC-you'll see."

Maybe, JC thought. But we'll see just who ends up having the most fun. He smiled and took another sip of tea.

After Lance and Chris had dropped him off at his apartment-he slammed the door on their argument as to whether they should go to IHOP or Waffle House for breakfast that was actually lunch, then gotten his bike out of Lance's trunk-JC shouldered his backpack and heaved his mountain bike up the steps and into the foyer. They'd asked if he wanted to go with them, and normally he would have, but he'd had enough of them for awhile and wanted only to go home to his own apartment and sleep, thanks.

As he passed the buzzers for each apartment, he had a crazy notion to press all of them, then decided his head still hurt, and it wasn't worth the resultant yelling, so he picked up his bike and climbed the stairs, cursing each one.

Upstairs, he fumbled with his keys and finally got the door open and went inside, propping his bike up against the wall in its usual place and kicking off his shoes. He dropped his backpack into the chair next to Nick's ratty backpack and his guitar case. He wasn't surprised to see Nick's stuff there-Nick frequently spent the weekends with Joey.

He could hear Joey singing from the kitchen-'Beauty School Dropout' from 'Grease,' his high school drama class project-at ear-piercing levels, and he could hear Nick singing something else entirely over the running shower. JC wished he had a volume knob for the both of them. If he had a volume knob for Chris, it would be on mute. Constantly.

JC stood in the kitchen door way and watched Joey sing and dance and cook, all at the same time, and all pretty well. Joey must've gotten laid; he always cooked afterwards. The weekends were almost always one huge sex-and-cook-a-thon for Joey, and so they always had plenty to eat during the week. JC just hoped they didn't have sex while Joey cooked, and if they did, he didn't really want to know.

His mouth crooked in a fond smile. Joey had a great voice, great range, and moved with surprising grace and agility. It was, however, a bit too loud, and made his teeth rattle; he was surprised the people downstairs weren't thumping on the ceiling. Maybe they liked musicals. Well, they hadn't liked 'Singing in the Rain,' but JC supposed it was more Joey's dancing and stomping around the apartment they'd objected to, rather than the music itself. JC thought Joey's rendition of 'Make 'Em Laugh,' complete with couch-tipping and jumping and backflips, some of which had actually been successful, had been really good.

Joey cut off in mid-warble, and grinned. "Hey C. You look like shit. Nice hat, though."

JC had stolen one of Chris' driving caps, a black one from his rude boy ska days. He figured he'd keep it as a partial payment for all the annoyance he'd endured. "Sorry, and thanks. It's all Chris' fault."

"Usually is," Joey said sagely. He offered JC carrot slices, and when JC shook his head, shrugged and went back to slicing. Looked like stuff for salad to go with whatever smelled so good in the oven. JC recognized the rich scent of baking dough and spinach as spanikopita, and would've been ecstatic if his stomach were in better shape, because Joey didn't make it often. "You guys get drunk?"

"Yeah." JC moved to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. "Shots, unfortunately."

Joey winced in sympathy. "Ow, man. Never ever do shots with Chris. He's like, immune, or something, I swear. We did shots this one time, and I got totally wasted. Trashed, man. He and AJ dragged me outside, stole my clothes, and left me passed out naked on the hood of my car with a big red bow tied around my dick and a note that said I was a present for the mailman. The mailman and I were both less than amused." Joey grinned over his shoulder as JC's sip of water went the wrong way and he coughed and spluttered then whooped to catch his breath. "He didn't do that to you, did he, because I can whup his ass if he did."

JC wiped his mouth and his nose where he'd snorted water. Better water than soda, because soda burned like hell in the nose. "No, nothing like that. Though really, I'm surprised. He's like twelve on a good day."

"On a good day," Joey agreed, dumping the carrots in the salad bowl with the lettuce and beginning on the tomatoes. He sliced stuff like they did on the cooking shows they liked to watch-blindingly fast, and all perfectly even. JC knew he'd have cut off several fingers before getting even halfway through the tomato if he'd tried that. "So what did he do to you? I know he did something, because you're too good a target to resist." He gestured with his knife. "He didn't give you a mohawk, did he?"

JC reached up and pulled off the cap, shaking out his curls, and Joey sighed in relief. Joey loved the longer hair, and when they watched tv together, JC always found Joey's fingers in his hair, as if Joey simply couldn't resist. He didn't mind-sorta liked it, really, because it felt nice, like being petted. Joey was the most touchy-feely guy he'd ever met, completely free with affection, but then Joey's entire family was like that; going with Joey to his house for supper was like attending a hugging convention.

"Well, good," Joey said, returning to his chopping. "So you actually got away without him doing something to you? I'm really surprised."

JC slid into a chair at the kitchen table. "I only wish. But compared to what he could've done, it was pretty small. Minor. Evidently, I agreed to be on ManDate."

Joey's eyebrows drew down. "Really? But don't you hate-"

"Yeah, I do. But tequila apparently makes me horny and agreeable to anything-" he broke off as Joey stopped, went over to the whiteboard where they kept lists of stuff they needed, and wrote 'tequila' in big letters, then waggled his eyebrows and leered comically at him. JC would've kicked him, had he been within reach, yet he couldn't help but grin. "Asshole," he said fondly. "So I'm stuck going on a show I don't like, because I promised."

"Are you sure you promised? I mean, do you remember?"

"I don't remember, but I um, wrote out something that said I would, and signed it, and it's in my writing, so." JC felt heat crawl up his neck and into his cheeks, and deliberately turned his mind away from thinking of Chris lying smooth and warm and naked beneath him, because thoughts like that would just make him spring a boner, and he didn't want that. Joey looked at him, his whole face a question, and JC waved the unspoken question away. "I think he tricked me, but I promised. So I'm stuck."

Joey made a thoughtful 'hmm' sound. "So you said you'd show, right?"

JC twirled the water bottle around on the table, watching the condensation from it make little beads of water on the tabletop. "Yeah, next Friday, when they tape the show." Chris did the show live; he said it made for better tv. JC thought he just took pleasure in knowing that he could make people squirm on the air. "I'd really like to do something to get even. I've been thinking over things, but I'm not the best at revenge type stuff."

"You just have to appear, right? There was no...agreement to look any certain way, was there?"

JC looked up. Joey's face had taken on a gleeful maliciousness, and JC found himself grinning back. "No. Chris had said something about how I'd gotten *pretty*----" JC scowled at the word, "---but he didn't say anything about how I had to look for the show." He grinned wider as he realized the direction Joey's thoughts wandered. "Nothing at all."

"Weeeeelll now," Joey said. "I think we might have something there." Joey wiped his hands on a towel and crossed over to JC. He took JC's chin between thumb and forefinger, and tipped his face from one side to the other, studying him, dark eyes warm, wide mouth curved in an amused smile. "C, you are pretty. Accept it and go on. But if pretty is what Chris expects, is counting on, I think we can fix that. At least for the taping of the show, huh?"

He pinched JC's chin and ruffled his hair before dropping a kiss on the top of his head and going back to his salad making. JC had a moment of wistful longing, a moment of regret that he wasn't Joey's type, which ran to big and brawny, because it would be so easy to love Joey, who was possibly the happiest, most content guy he'd ever known.

"Count me in, Joe," he said. He wasn't by nature malicious, or vengeful, but Chris had pulled so much shit on him over the years, knowing JC wouldn't try and get him back, that excitement bubbled along his veins at the thought of returning the favor.

"Hey, C," Nick said, appearing in the doorway, toweling off his hair. JC thought for a moment he would swallow his tongue, because. Nick. Naked. Naked Nick.

"What is this, national naked day?" He didn't feel the compulsion to cover his eyes, because Nick wasn't a close friend, like Lance or Chris, but still. He was Joey's boyfriend, and he probably shouldn't be looking, just out of respect for Joey.

But still. Nice, very nice. Seemingly miles of big, muscular, goldenly-tanned young man. And oh. Well. That was. Yes. Impressive. JC felt his face go hot, and heat curled down in his lower belly. Oh, fuck, he was *definitely* a gay man, no questions about it. He tried to think of Mrs. Bancroft, his old fourth grade teacher, all wrinkly, naked, tried to think of worms, anything to keep his unruly dick under control, and finally just said, "Nick. Nick, towel. Now, please."

"What?" Nick stopped drying his blond hair, and looked down at himself, as if just realizing he was naked. "Oh. This bother you?" He dropped the towel, his bright blue eyes gleamed, and his red, red mouth curled into an evil grin. JC had a moment to think, oh shit, before Nick licked his lips, thumbed his pierced nipples, shimmied and did a couple of pelvic thrusts that JC felt certain caused some sort of sonic boom, because, whoa, a lot of power in his hips. And surely, that *secondary* bounce had to hurt, or at least be a *little* uncomfortable.

Joey's laughter, crazily high-pitched for someone his size, brought JC out of his daze. He felt himself flush again as he realized he stared, and shut his open mouth with a snap. Nick's laughter rang bright and clear, and JC's face burned hotly beneath his own palms.

"Dawg! Your face!" His whole body shook with laughter, and JC deliberately did not look below his waist. Joey wrapped an arm around Nick, both of them red-faced with laughter.

JC mustered all the dignity he had, and stood, ignoring the hard-on tenting his jeans. "I'm going to lie down now."

He pushed past them, clinging together, laughing, and JC swore he actually heard a "hee hee hee" from Joey. Morons, the both of them, and about age ten, collectively.

Or maybe not. Standing at his door, JC couldn't hear laughter anymore, but wet kissing sounds, and he wanted to roll his eyes. Everyone got laid but him, evidently. And then he heard a heavy thump, and a clatter of dishes, and a low moan. Oh, man, not the *kitchen table*, he thought, his face scrunching. But he didn't move; his hand stayed still on the doorknob, and he listened to a scuffling sound, a grunt, and another moan that rose into a high, keening gasp.

"Dammit, not the olive oil-I'm gonna smell like a deli-oh, fuck, Fatone, that better be *you* and not a cucumber," Nick said breathlessly, and JC's eyes widened. He jerked open his door and slammed it behind him. He leaned against it, his head spinning with pictures he didn't want there, and faintly, heard them both laughing at his obvious eavesdropping. Those fuckers, he thought, and stalked to his stereo, turning it on and flipping the volume high enough to drown them out; hip hop surged into the air and he continued on to his bed, stripping off clothes as he went, his head pounding in time to the pulse of the music.

JC slid into bed with a sigh; his sheets were wonderfully cool and crisp beneath his hot skin, and he stretched and curled against them. Rolling around his bed, he rubbed himself luxuriously against the sheets, humping against them in a slow tease, biting his lip to keep in the low moan that bubbled up in the back of his throat, because it felt so good to slide his dick against the smoothness of sheets, to press into the firmness of the mattress. Pleasure trickled down his spine, down his belly, flowing warmly down his arms and legs to his fingers and toes, and he thought, what the hell, why not do it right, make it feel the best he could?

His tongue flicked out over his lower lip, touched the middle of his upper lip, and then he smiled to himself and rolled slowly to his back, closing his eyes against the dimness of his room, letting his imagination carry him along where it would. Just a little touch to warm himself up to the pleasure; he licked his palm before wrapping his hand around himself and giving himself a long, smooth stroke. He shivered; it felt so good to touch himself. After everything today, he ached, his whole body flushed with need.

Deliberately, he emptied his mind of any pictures of Lance or Chris, or Nick, or Joey, because, no. It seemed kinda skeevy to use them to jerk off-he'd known them too long to think of them in quite that way, though he'd had no problem *looking* at them, admiring them, because each man was beautiful in his own distinct way. Instead he filled his mind with pictures of someone else. The boy from Starbucks had been a good fuck-small, slim, wonderfully responsive, but that wasn't what he wanted at the moment.

Instead, he let himself imagine someone taller than him, more muscular, but not by too much. Just enough stronger to test his own strength against, more an equal. Broad shoulders to suck on and bite, skin that would taste clean with just a bare flavor and scent of sweat and musk---yeah, that was good. Firm biceps he could nuzzle and lick. He wriggled against the sheets as he stroked himself a little harder, a little faster. His free hand thumbed his nipples, pinched them, and he enjoyed the little streak of electricity, of sensation as it skittered down his body. He slid his hand down his belly, ran his fingertip around the edge of his navel, plucked at the line of hair that led downward, and hummed low in his throat. His legs parted as his hand slid down, cupping his balls, rolling them gently as he jerked himself just a little harder, a little faster. Yeah, good, and then better, so much better, as his fingers slipped down further, sliding back until his fingertips rubbed over his opening in time to his other hand on his dick.

That someone would have a soft pink mouth, warm and sweet, good to kiss, perfect to have on his dick, and he shivered at the thought, his dick pulsing in his hand, precome slicking his hand, smoothing his strokes. He could see himself, leaning in and kissing that mouth. Biting at the lower lip, feeling it grow hot and swollen against his own. He could wrap his arms around him, slick his tongue along his, suck at his mouth until they both grew dizzy from lack of oxygen, parting finally with a gasp.

Long legs to wrap around him, high up over his ribs, or to drape over his shoulders as JC fucked him, slow and steady and deep, so deep. He could almost hear the sounds his lover would make, the breathy little "ah, ah, yeah," the "more," the "deeper, harder," the low moans of pleasure. He could imagine the dazed look, that cocksucking mouth open and panting, saying his name like maybe it was the only thing he could remember, hips thrusting back against his own, sleek and powerful, his body muscular and tight around him, hot, so very hot and slick and perfect, as only fantasy could make him.

Desire and passion wound tighter and tighter within him, and when JC imagined licking into that pink mouth, tasting a pleasure and need as great as his own, swallowing down those sexy little noises, those sweet hot moans and whimpers, he pushed his finger inside himself, and his own orgasm rose up within him, hot and thick and sweet like honey, and it washed away everything, leaving him blissful and sated, floating lazily in the aftermath.

JC lay savoring the good feelings until they began to fade. Reaching down, he picked up his tee shirt, and gave his belly and groin a swipe before tossing it back in the floor and rolling over, pulling the covers up over him. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow just because it felt good, his day's growth of beard skritching against the soft fabric.

Fantasy was all very fine and good, JC decided sleepily, but it would be nice to have someone real to curl up next to in bed, someone to wake up with, someone he could laugh with, talk with, someone to know and who knew him as well, someone who would be around after the sex was over. He couldn't deny the thrill of the hunt, of pursuit-he'd spent his early twenties playing that game, but lately, he'd found it tiring, empty.

He groaned and pulled the other pillow over his head, because if that wasn't a girly thing to think, then nothing was. His life was good right now; he worked hard, intent on moving up the ladder, intent on eventually having the recognition for his work he wanted; already he pretty much had his choice of assignments. He didn't need to complicate things by looking for a relationship. Casual sex was fine, was good, was all he needed, and damn Chris for insisting he needed more. He was fine just the way he was.

Fucking Chris. JC pulled the pillow from off his head. He fumbled for the remote to the stereo, and dropped the volume to a murmur, something a little more nap-friendly. His headache had faded to a dull ache at the base of his skull, and his stomach had decided to be less rowdy, thank god. No more shots, ever. Beer and wine, he could handle, but evidently shots made him do crazy shit he'd never do normally.

The thought of writing on a naked Chris still made him squirm uneasily, though he knew Lance wouldn't have let him do anything really stupid, like try to fuck him, because JC couldn't imagine losing them as friends because of something monumentally stupid he'd done while drunk. JC rubbed his forehead gently and decided that no, his brain wasn't full of holes like Swiss cheese, though it had certainly felt like it earlier.

He'd go on Chris' damned show, because he promised, but he'd make sure that Chris would be the one squirming for once. The thought comforted him, and with a little smile, JC let himself slide into sleep.

"Oh my *god* what have you *done* to yourself?"

And whoa, JC didn't think Howie's voice could hit such a shrill pitch; he was very glad he was sober, and not hung over, because it would've drilled right through his forehead. But he wasn't drunk, and in fact, felt quite pleased with himself, if he could get such a reaction from Howie, who was normally pretty easy going.

"What?" he asked innocently, sliding into the makeup chair another contestant had just vacated. The man, a tall, good looking guy who looked as if he might've stepped off the cover of GQ, snickered, and JC beamed at him.

Howie stood there with his hand over his mouth, his big dark eyes rounded in horror. He darted to the door of the tiny room that served as the makeup room, and yelled, "AJ! AJ! AJ, I need you right now!"

JC hummed happily to himself, watching Howie's reflection in the mirror. He didn't need to look at himself; he knew very well what Joey had done to him. Howie cast another glance in his direction, and JC heard the slow thump of AJ's boot heels on the concrete floor. AJ was too cool to run.

"What the hell are you yelling about, D?" AJ had a raspy, low, sexy voice, and sounding annoyed and aggravated only made it sound more so, in JC's opinion. His toes curled in his cheap shoes, and he shifted in the uncomfortable chair for other reasons than its discomfort. "It better be something important, and not some shit like running out of eyeliner, or I swear to god I'll-"

JC didn't get to hear the remainder of the threat as AJ shouldered into the room past Howie then came to an abrupt halt. AJ raised a hand and tugged his ever-present sunglasses down his nose and studied JC's reflection a moment. JC smiled and waved at him, a little nervous, because AJ was a very intense, up-in-your-face kind of guy; no one jerked his chain and came away without his arm ripped off and presented back to him. He didn't think AJ would do such a thing to him, but then, he'd never screwed up anything AJ involved himself in. Until now; AJ was the host of ManDate, along with several other shows Chris produced.

Howie shifted from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting from his mouth to his hair to the collar of his black silk shirt, like nervous butterflies, but AJ stood there as if carved from granite, his face expressionless, one hand on his hip.

"You see?" Howie said, his soft voice aggrieved. "I think a little yelling is justified this time."

AJ's mouth quirked, and then his chuckle rolled out, rough-soft, before sliding into low laughter. JC felt the tension shiver out of him, and his own mouth turned up again. This might actually work.

"It's not funny," Howie protested, but clearly, AJ thought differently. "How am I supposed to make him look good? He looks-well, *awful.*"

"Honey," AJ said, wiping at his eyes and smearing his own eyeliner, "I think that's the whole point." He patted Howie's cheek before prowling over to JC, perched in the makeup chair. He spun JC so they both faced the brightly-lit mirror, their faces close. "Chasez, you are a piece of work, man."

"Thanks," JC said, because AJ meant it as a complement. "I promised I'd be here. But I never promised how I'd look."

"Chris is gonna shit a brick," AJ said, and he looked distinctly happy at the prospect. "How the hell did you get in without him seeing you?" Chris managed to be practically everywhere at once, and JC had never quite figured out how he pulled off that little trick, but it was a great talent to have when he had to oversee so much. A bitch, though, when it came to anyone sneaking around, as he could now attest.

"Joey and Nick distracted him, talking about the next showcase Nick and his band are planning," JC replied. "He almost saw me, but then Nick flashed Chris his nipple rings, and it was easy to sneak by."

AJ chuckled again. "Yeah, he has an unholy fascination with piercings. A pity his prissy banker boy won't get anything done." AJ studied JC's face in the mirror, amused. "You look like an escapee from that 'Revenge of the Nerds' movie, man. The pocket protector is a good touch, as well as the bow tie."

JC laughed. "Actually, I borrowed the pocket protector from a guy I work with," he said, and ran the tips of his fingers over the pens and mechanical pencils nestled in the white plastic. "The bow tie I got from a thrift shop," he touched the red and white polka-dotted monstrosity, "as well as the pants." He ran a hand over the blue and green plaid polyester pants, cringing at the feel of them against his skin. They were too big, and he'd had to cinch them in with a belt. His plain white shirt was one he'd borrowed from Joey, and he practically swam in it.

Huge black-framed glasses with plain glass lenses sat crookedly on his nose, a prop from Joey's drama department's stash of junk. It had taken most of a jar of extra-strength gel to get his headful of thick curls straightened out and plastered to his skull; Joey had parted it down the middle, and had given him a cowlick that stuck up in the back. The gel had darkened the bronzy-brown color to black, and made it look shiny, but more a greasy shiny, not its normally healthy shiny. He'd tucked it behind his ears, and with the middle parting and how they had shellacked it to his head, it made his nose, already noticeable, look absolutely huge.

He looked simply-

"Dreadful," Howie breathed, coming up on his other side. His hand brushed across JC's hair and he cringed. "Oh, how could you do this? Such a pretty man, and now, oh."

"Chris tricked me into appearing on this show, so I think giving him back a little of his own will be good for him," JC said firmly. "And I'm not pretty." He wanted to roll his eyes at everyone's insistence on that point, because he *wasn't*-he was tall and thin, all long arms and legs, with crazy hair and a big nose, and a nasal Maryland accent. Definitely not pretty.

"Well, not now, that's for fucking sure," AJ said. He patted JC's shoulder, then caught Howie's eye. "I know you want to fix this, and baby, you can do wonders, but leave him alone. Do just enough to keep him from washing out under the lights. And don't say anything to Chris. Okay?"

Howie ran a hand through his own dark curls, and blew out a breath. He looked very unhappy, and JC felt a little twinge of regret at being the one to make him that way; Howie was possibly the sweetest guy he knew.

"Can't I just-" he picked up a makeup pencil, and JC shied back from him, fending him off. "You are just killing me here. Crushing my artistic nature. I'm going to have nightmares."

When Howie draped the paper bib around his neck, JC patted his slim forearm. "I'm sorry, Howie," he said softly. "I'll make it up to you. I'll give you my sheer black shirt-the one I wore on my birthday. You really liked it, and you always look so good in black."

"Sweetheart, you don't have to do that," Howie said, picking up the powder and a big brush. "I'll get over it." But his soft, full mouth twisted into an unhappy shape that made JC squirm, because he knew Howie took pride in his work, and was skillful at it.

"Girls," AJ said. "You're both girls, I swear." He pivoted on his heel and stalked back out to do whatever he did.

"I'm serious," JC said earnestly. "I really will give it to you-"

"Well, okay," Howie said quickly, "but just because I *do* look fabulous in black." JC grinned at him. One of Howie's long-lashed dark eyes dropped in a wink, and his soft mouth curved into a smile. JC removed the clunky glasses, settled back and let Howie work on him.

Why couldn't he have fallen for Howie, pretty and sweet and gentle? He'd known Howie for three years now, but nothing had ever developed beyond occasional weekend lunches, movies, or shopping trips, the odd dance at clubs when their paths happened to cross-Howie had *lethal* hips on the dance floor. Opportunity had been there, but JC had never acted on it, and he figured they worked better as friends than as lovers.

JC relaxed under the soft flick of the brush, the hum of some song under Howie's breath, the sexy scent of his cologne. He almost drifted off, when he felt Howie's mouth warm on his, a fleeting kiss. Opening his eyes with a start, he smiled at Howie, who returned it, apparently back in a good mood again.

"Nice," said an unfamiliar voice, and they both turned their heads to look at the guy standing in the doorway, a muscular, good-looking Asian guy with spiky hair, dressed in a Godsmack tee shirt, old faded jeans, and a black hoodie. "If I'm a good boy and behave, do I get a kiss, too?" He grinned, revealing perfect white teeth and deep dimples.

They both blinked at him, then looked at one another, because, god, yes. Howie snatched the paper bib from JC's neck, and practically threw him out of the chair. He spun the chair around, and his own smile for the newcomer was warm and brilliant. "Sure. I always reward good behavior," Howie said, and one of JC's brows arched in surprise; if Howie had purred like that at him, then he'd have gone to bed with him in an instant, and would probably still be there.

"Excellent," the young man said, and crossed the room to slide into the makeup chair. "I'm Travis Chang. One of the contestants."

"Hey, Travis, I'm Howie. Dorough. I do hair and makeup here." He tipped his head to the side, appraisingly. "Though I don't need to do much. You have excellent bone structure and skin." Howie made a discreet shooing motion behind his back, and JC took his cue and left. Even if Travis didn't win, JC doubted he'd be going home alone.

Chris' studio was an old converted warehouse; JC could remember Chris dragging him down to look at it and give his opinion on its worth as a studio. It was structurally sound, acoustically great, and the huge open space lent itself to whatever configurations Chris and his crew needed. On his approval, Chris had snatched it up, and his indie cable network, FuMan, gained a home.

All Chris' friends had contributed in some fashion or another: JC had done all the architectural plans and written music for some of the shows; Lance had worked on the books in the beginning, until it had grown enough to justify its own accountant, handpicked by Lance; Joey had done voice overs and recorded songs; Nick had designed the logo, a skater punk with a stylized mosquito head and a long Fu Man Chu moustache. Kevin, AJ's boyfriend and an ad exec, had gotten them clients, and developed an ad campaign. Other friends had done carpentry work, electrical work, plumbing. Whatever Chris had needed done, he'd somehow found someone willing to do it gratis or for a minimal fee. For someone who could be so exasperating that JC wanted to pummel him on a more or less daily basis, Chris had charm and a silver tongue when the need arose. Chris worked hard though; JC couldn't deny that, and as JC had a healthy dose of the puritan work ethic himself, he had to admire Chris for his drive, if nothing else.

JC picked his way carefully through the cables on the floor as he worked his way toward the front of the ManDate set. Over the general hubbub of the crew laughing and talking, he could hear the murmur of the audience. It wasn't a large audience, maybe thirty people, but still, JC paused at the edge of the back wall to the set. He'd known he'd have to sit in front of the audience, but until now, he'd successfully put it out of his head.

It wasn't that he minded an audience, really; he'd done karaoke, and had happily sung in cafes and coffeehouses to help put himself through college, but this was just a little different. Chris' audiences for ManDate were known to be a bit, well, rowdy at times. Verbal. Chris liked it that way, and AJ had the personality and skill to keep them from going too far, but still, it gave JC pause. He knew they'd nail him the moment he stepped out in front of them.

"It's okay. They don't bite much. Hurry up and take your seat. You're number three. It'll be fi-"

JC turned around at Christina's voice. Her pale blue eyes went wide as she recognized him and her canned reassurances stopped abruptly. "Holy shit," she said. "Well, fuck me. JC, is that really you?"

"In the flesh. And the polyester," JC said, his mouth crooking upward as she stood there, the fingers of one hand pressed to her soft pink mouth.

Christina pulled off her headset, and looked around, her long pale hair swirling. "Oh, man, has Chris seen you?"

"Not yet. I'm hoping he won't until the show starts, and then he can't do anything about it."

She turned her attention back to him, eyes sweeping him from head to toe, before covering her mouth to stifle her giggles. "He's been practically bragging how you're gonna be on, how good-looking you are, stuff like that. This is...it's fucking brilliant. My hat's off to you."

JC didn't have time to brace himself before Christina pounced and hugged him. He patted her back gently, and then she stepped back and slipped her headset back on. Her hand wrapped firmly around his wrist, and before he had a chance to protest, she dragged him out onto the main set.

He blinked owlishly at the bright lights, stumbling over a cable snaking around the edges of the flooring. His face heated, but clumsiness only helped with the illusion he worked on; no way would the audience pick him for whatever poor sucker would be on the other side of the partition asking questions.

Christina practically pushed him into one of the three tall barstools that held the contestants. She fluttered around him a second, and before he could say a word, she had a mic pinned to his shirt, and straightened both his bowtie and his glasses. With a wink, she strode off into the organized chaos.

And as he expected, the audience laughed and hooted and catcalled him. His face burned more, but he managed to grin and wave at them, trying to project "geek" to them. He suspected he'd projected it thoroughly, from the laughter and comments. JC tried not to squirm too much, but he'd not had anyone make fun of his looks since his junior year in high school, and it stung. He'd never considered himself particularly great-looking-he wouldn't scare small kids, or anything-but he'd known he could get anyone he chose, so this was enlightening. Not pleasant, but eye-opening as to how others might be treated. Something to think about, anyway.

He squinted, trying to see into the audience, but he didn't see Joey and Nick. He knew they were around-they wouldn't miss this for anything. They were probably with Chris. Behind the camera, he saw Brian, hooting with laughter, wiping his eyes. He waved at him, and Brian gave him a thumbs up sign before disappearing behind the camera once more.

AJ appeared before them, moving as if he were something liquid-maybe quicksilver-as Christina got Travis seated in the chair next to him. Travis winked at him, and JC smiled and thought, oh, yeah, he's Howie's now, before turning his attention back to AJ, warming up the audience before the taping started. His humor was totally raunchy, but undeniably funny, and the audience loved him. AJ had a gift for working with groups; he came alive in front of them, and in moments, he had them securely under his spell. It didn't hurt that he was sexy and pantherish, his slim body in low-slung black jeans and a white tank that left his heavily tattooed arms bare, his fingers and wrists and neck and ears flashing with the silver jewelry he favored.

JC recognized the gearing up of the crew; he'd been to tapings of the show before. Nervousness washed over him, and his knees felt suddenly like jelly; he was very glad he didn't have to stand up. His belly did a slow roll, and he swallowed hard.

But before he could work himself up into a state of nerves, arms frantically waving and shaggy blond hair, bright in the semi-darkness beyond the set lights, caught his attention. Nick. He tuned out AJ and the audience as Joey and Chris came into view, Chris talking non-stop, as usual, unheard above the noise of the crowd. Nick folded his arms over his chest and grinned as they stepped closer.

And then Chris saw him.

The uncomfortable scratchy clothes, the ton of gel slicking down his hair, the cruel catcalls and mocking of the audience-all those things suddenly seemed worthwhile to see the expression on Chris' face. Chris' mouth opened and then closed, then did it again, his expression utterly horrified. JC grinned hugely at him, and gave him a little wave. Even over the other noise, JC could hear Joey's high-pitched laughter. AJ stopped, and laughed also; JC didn't think anyone had seen Chris look so flummoxed before.

The audience's attention shifted from AJ to Chris, behind them and off to the side, and they laughed also, not sure what the joke was, but clearly appreciating Chris' expression. Chris' attention slipped from JC to the eyes looking at him, and from what JC could see, he flushed darkly. He shook his head, his long ponytail of braids swishing, then recovered himself and grinned broadly, waving at everyone. JC knew that while he might not be pleased at the moment-and he *wasn't*-Chris would later laugh at the deception, because he loved a good joke, even those at his expense. Not that there were many of those; few dared to risk his retaliation.

And wasn't that a comforting thought. JC had an idle moment to contemplate the form Chris' vengeance might take, and the possibility of escalating pranks-because he wasn't going to take stuff lying down anymore-but then Chris cued Christina that it was time to start, and she began the countdown to going live.

Realistically JC knew that he would only be on air about fifteen minutes, because the other half of the show featured the winners of last week on their date, complete with commentary by AJ and the two contestants, but each of those fifteen minutes promised to stretch forever. When he heard the theme music come on, and heard AJ's introductory patter, he froze, terrified. He longed to be back in his workroom with its precisely-tilted drafting table, with the comforting smell of paper and ink, the scritch of pencil on carefully-calculated architectural plans, the sound of his favorite music curling around him. He longed to be at home with his guitar, picking out tunes. He longed to be curled on the couch, head pillowed on Joey's thigh, watching nature shows while Joey scratched through his hair gently and talked on the phone to Nick, or graded tests. He longed to be anywhere but there.

On the other side of the partition that screened them from the contestant, he could hear AJ's introduction. He caught part of it; college student, a senior, majoring in media communications. Interests in sports, music, clubbing, motorcycles.

"...And so, fresh from Memphis, Tennessee, here's Justin Timberlake."

From the cheers of the audience and the expressions of the faces he could see, JC figured the guy must be pretty good-looking. It took a moment for them to settle down, and JC wished suddenly he could see, but he was as in the dark-not literally, of course, because it was damn bright and hot under the lights-as this Justin himself.

"Hey, thanks, man. I appreciate y'all choosing me to be here." The voice was soft, a clear tenor, and his accent sounded a little twangy, a lot like Brian and his cousin Kevin, who were from Kentucky, but not quite, a little more southern, but not really like Lance's slow Mississippi drawl, either. Kinda nice, JC thought.

"Put your fine ass down in this chair, and I'll introduce you to the guys who'll be competing to get with you on a date."

The audience cheered, and JC wanted to sink down in his chair and disappear. GQ guy-JC thought his name was Evan, but he wasn't certain-said hello, and his smile looked predatory and remarkably like Lance's shark smile when he knew he was on the verge of winning something. Then Travis said hi, and the audience cheered even louder. JC felt a little of the tension inside him relax; obviously, Travis was their favorite, and they would probably choose him.

"Number Three," AJ's voice said, ringing sharp and clear, "are you awake, man?"

JC jumped, startled out of his thoughts. "Um, yeah?"

The audience laughed, loudly, and JC felt his face burn.

"Then say hi, man." AJ sounded amused as hell, and even through his embarrassment, JC promised himself he'd do something terrible to him. And then something *worse* to Chris. The thought gave him some measure of comfort.

"Um. Hi," JC said, and then mentally rolled his eyes as everyone laughed again. He apparently didn't need to act the part of a geek-he *was* one.

"Okay, let's get this thing going," AJ said, "Ask your questions, Justin, and we'll get you a ManDate."

JC heard Justin clear his throat. He didn't sound particularly nervous, and JC both admired and envied that, because he was a wriggling mass of nerves. Once on a nature show he'd seen a knot of snakes in a den underground, all tangled together, and although he'd been repulsed, he thought maybe his stomach felt a little like that now.

"Number One," Justin said clearly, "I really like sports, both playing and watching. What about you?"

JC only half-listened; Evan didn't like them much, evidently. Strike one against him, he thought, surprisingly pleased by that; he wanted Travis to win, even though he also wanted him to go out with Howie. JC thought he looked like a guy who could date a couple of men at once and make them both happy.

"Number Three? What about you?"

JC jumped again, and the audience tittered. "Um," he replied. He loved sports, and had a fiercely competitive streak on any playing field completely at odds with his normally laid-back personality. Basketball with Chris or Nick frequently left them all bruised and scraped, but in high spirits. In softball, he could pump out homers with regularity. Their tag football games never stayed tag-they always ended up tackling; Joey liked that part of it, if nothing else. But that wasn't what he should be answering. "I like frisbee," he said. "But I'm not very good at it."

The audience laughed, and JC could imagine the face Justin must have made; it probably matched his own. A glance over at Chris showed him with his hand covering his eyes, shaking his head. That cheered him a little but still he resisted the impulse to check his watch and see how much longer this would go on.

Justin asked a couple more questions, both directed to Evan and Travis, and they went to commercials. AJ kept the audience engaged, entertained, and Evan leaned forward to look at him, one brow raised. "Frisbee?" His disdain was obvious, and JC decided he really didn't like him.

JC scowled at him. "Frisbee," he said firmly, and Evan snorted and leaned back. JC glanced over at Travis, who looked supremely amused.

"I talked to Howie," Travis said, and grinned. "You've got balls, man."

"Thanks. I'll just be glad when this is over and I can get out of here," JC said. He could feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck, on his upper lip, and his hair felt like plastic, glued to his head, but he didn't dare rub or scratch anything. A hot, hot shower and a whole bottle of shampoo and body wash sounded pretty much like heaven.

Christina counted them back onto the air, and AJ stopped teasing the audience and went back into his patter. Justin had a really nice voice, JC decided, smooth and soft, with just enough of an accent to be interesting, with a musical undertone that he appreciated. JC bet he'd be a good singer, and wondered if he did sing for fun.

"Number Three?"

JC blinked. "What?"

The audience laughed again, and he wondered what he'd missed.

"It's okay," Justin said. "I said, music is important to me. How about singing a little song for me?"

The audience laughed again, and JC straightened, then fidgeted with his bow tie and then his glasses. "You want me to sing you a song?" He stalled for time, hoping they'd go to another commercial, and he could think of something to get out of it.

"Sure. If you wouldn't mind." Justin sounded amused, but it didn't sound malicious, unlike the audience. Points for him, JC thought. He tried to remember if Justin had said anything about his musical preferences. Country? No, he didn't think so. Folk? Rock? Alternative? R&B?

"Number Three, we're on a schedule," AJ called. "C'mon, man. Give Justin some fine music."

JC felt his eyes narrow as the audience cackled, clearly doubting that he could deliver. Although he knew he was supposed to be playing the geek, was supposed to be losing the game, it still smarted. He could sing; it was his hobby, what he did to relax, and he was *good* at it.

"Okay, fine," JC replied. His hands itched for his guitar, but he could sing a capella just as well. He drew a deep breath and let it out, and closed his eyes against the disbelief of the audience. He thought of the last café he'd sung in, and its warm, relaxed, coffee-scented ambience, and let that settle around him like a favorite soft sweater.

Although he'd not consciously chosen a song, when he opened his mouth, the words to "Dock of the Bay" flowed out, smooth and mellow and strong. After the first verse, the audience quieted, and his voice gained more strength as he hit the first chorus. By the time he hit the second verse, he knew he had them-he could *feel* it-and opened his eyes again; they were paying attention completely to him.

On the edges of his awareness, he saw Chris move forward, smiling, waving away Christina and her stopwatch; JC knew he was taking too long, but Chris wasn't cutting him off. And if Chris wasn't stopping him, JC wasn't going to stop, and at the bridge of the song, he let himself go, singing with everything he had, letting it flow through him, golden.

And after the last note from the chorus faded away, he smiled hugely as the audience cheered and clapped, because yeah, he knew he'd nailed it. He'd won them over. He felt flushed, and hot, and hard, because singing, and singing so well, always gave him such a rush. It was almost as good as sex.

"Whoa, Number Three," AJ's voice said over the audience, "I think you've impressed someone. And now, we've gotta cut for a commercial break so we can pay for all this fun shit. Back in a few!"

JC glanced out into the audience, and caught Joey and Nick laughing, waving their arms back and forth, Joey with a lighter in his hand. He couldn't help but laugh in return; they were such idiots.

AJ hopped off the set and his dark head bent slightly to talk with Chris, and he wondered what they were talking about when he saw both sets of dark eyes cut to him. He thought, oh, shit, and his belly dropped to his knees when they both grinned; JC knew how the little antelope felt when chased by cheetahs. No good was bound to come of it.

In comparison to most shows on ManDate-the ones he'd been forced to watch, anyway---this one had been really tame. Contestants in Justin's place generally asked more risque and salacious questions, and the trio of men would answer in kind; the audience loved that sort of show. Only Evan had done that, trying to put more sexual innuendo into the questions that Justin asked him; Travis had been straight-forward, amusing, and JC himself-well, geeky was the kindest thing he could say about himself. Right on target.

AJ had stepped away from Chris and started teasing the audience; JC could feel the excitement level rising, and realized that hey, when they came back from commercial the audience would choose one of them to be Justin's date. Thank god it was almost over. Well, they'd choose either Travis or Evan; he felt pretty secure in that. He'd go home, shower all the shit out of his hair, put on his most comfortable tee shirt and sleep pants, brew some tea, and work on the sketch of the house he someday planned to build for himself. It was Friday night, so Joey would probably be at Nick's show; his own high school class production of 'Grease' had reached the end of its run already. He'd have the place all to himself, and he could listen to music and do whatever he wanted. For a moment, he thought of Chris telling him he lived his life like a nun, but it pleased him even if it didn't measure up to Chris' definition of fun, which was admittedly pretty twisted, so Chris could just fuck off, as far as he was concerned.

AJ hopped back onto the stage and took his place, as Christina counted them back on the air. JC couldn't see him because of the partition separating them, but he knew AJ practically vibrated with excitement.

"Aaaaaand, so now we're back. Justin's asked his questions, the contestants have answered them with various degrees of success, so now it's time for you, the audience, to choose a ManDate for him." The audience cheered, and JC could just imagine AJ's grin. "So. Under your seats you'll find three laminated cards, each with a number, from one to three. You get to choose, based on the answers you heard, which man will be the lucky date of this great-looking guy. As always, ManDate provides them dinner, this week at Le Beau Jardin, Orlando's best French restaurant, followed up by clubbing at Gravity, *the* place for the young, gorgeous, and gay. All of this filmed, of course, by our own cameraman, the oh-so-beautiful Brian L." Brian stepped out from behind the camera, grinning, and waved at them, then disappeared again. "Then, next week, we'll all see how it went. So, members of the audience, vote for your pick by raising the card that matches the number of your choice. One of these days our producer will quit being such a stingy bastard and we'll get computerized voting, but until then, we'll work with what we have." Out of sight of the camera, Chris gave AJ the finger, and JC grinned. "Okay, boys and girls, cards up, now."

The audience shuffled around a bit, and the cards began coming up into view. A lot of twos; perfect. Not many ones. Even better. No threes-excellent. No wait. There, there, there. And there, there, there. And then there, and....

And JC felt his stomach drop through the floor. There were a lot of threes. Way too many of them. He cleared his throat; there was a really, really large lump there. It was probably a tumor, his mind supplied. Malignant.

He looked for Chris, and wished he hadn't found him; Chris practically bounced with malicious glee. Although he couldn't hear him well, he could see Nick, doubled over laughing, and Joey stood there, a mixture of bemusement and surprise; when he caught JC looking at him in growing terror, Joey shrugged broadly, and held his hands out, as if to say, "well, I don't know."

"That it? Everyone? Yeah? Okay. Looks like the overwhelming favorite is...Number Three. We have a winner." AJ sounded completely unsurprised, totally pleased, and the audience burst into cheers and applause.

JC looked back at them in mute horror. What the hell was wrong with them? He wasn't supposed to *win.* They were supposed to pick either Evan or Travis; either of them actually wanted to be on the show. He wasn't supposed to be chosen, or to even be a reasonable contender. It just must be the casual cruelty of a large group that made them pick him, certainly not anything he'd done to encourage it.

In his shock, he realized that Evan and Travis were going out to meet Justin, neatly handing off their mics to a tech. I was supposed to be going out there as a loser, JC thought, not as the winner.

"And now, Justin, it's time to meet your own hand-picked ManDate dream date," AJ crowed, entirely too happy about the whole thing. The tech popped up and unsnapped the mic before JC could take a deep breath.

"He loves bird-watching, collecting butterflies, playing chess, and of course, frisbee-" JC wondered where the hell AJ got all that, and decided AJ was almost as twisted as Chris "-Get ready to meet JC, native of Maryland, now living in beautiful, sunny Orlando!"

His head throbbed, and his hands cramped from gripping the armrests of the high stool so tightly. His stomach decided to do a backflip as neatly as any he'd ever done in gymnastics class as a kid. I shouldn't have won, JC repeated to himself, I wasn't *supposed* to win, and now I-

"JC. C'mon, man, don't make Justin wait, and don't make me come over there and haul your ass over here," AJ said, and the audience laughed. "No need to be nervous, I promise."

JC peeled his hands from the arms of the chair, and stood up, trying to ignore the laughter of the audience. He could do this. Maybe he could cash in his share of the date. Maybe he could bribe Brian to go film someone else. Maybe Justin would back out. Maybe.

He made himself walk to the edge of the dividing wall. Taking a deep breath, he stepped around it and came to an abrupt stop as the audience laughed in sadistic glee.

Next to AJ stood Justin. And, oh. *Oh.* Not quite how JC had pictured him, just from listening to his soft voice; he'd expected someone small, more like Howie, or Chris. Not tall. And built. And broad-shouldered. And long-legged. And fucking gorgeous.

And fucking *shocked* by the expression on his face. The expression probably matched the one on his own, if for completely different reasons. But then Justin rallied, and the expression smoothed into pleasantness, and his mouth curved into a smile that while not real, didn't look as sickly as the one on his own face felt.

JC stepped forward, and Justin held out his hand. Big hand, bigger than his own, warm and slightly callused at the fingertips, and it wrapped securely around JC's own, drew him closer. A jolt of awareness ran up his arm at the contact, and curled lazily down his belly. Oh, god, not *now,* JC thought, and willed himself to stay soft, but his body had other plans. Worms, snakes, spiders, naked Mrs. Bancroft, he recited to himself. He really hoped the horrible pants were loose enough to hide his erection, growing in spite of his embarrassment.

"Glad to meet you, JC," Justin said, and his tone sounded sincere enough to pass for real. JC bet Justin's mom would be proud at the good manners he displayed.

"I. Yeah, me, too," JC replied, and drew back his hand as AJ slung companionable arms around both their shoulders, turning them toward the camera.

"So, these two lucky boys are off to Le Beau Jardin, and then to Gravity. And then after that, who knows?" AJ wiggled his brows then tugged down JC's face and smooched his cheek loudly; JC elbowed him in the chest hard enough to make him grunt, much to the delight of the audience. JC didn't dare look at Justin, but instead tried to wriggle out from beneath AJ's tattooed arm; AJ had a surprising amount of strength, and kept him in place as he went on about the rest of the show coming up.

And the Christina counted them down to another commercial, and they were free. JC had never wanted to escape from somewhere so much in his entire life. AJ ripped off his mic with one hand and palmed it before leaning in close to JC's ear and growling, "Don't run off, you slippery fucker. You're going on the date, and we're filming."

JC struggled a minute before going lax. "I never expected to win," he hissed.

"Well you did, so show some balls and do it," AJ replied, and released him. Christina hustled them off, through the crowd of crew people, and JC didn't protest. She put them both in the area that served as the lobby, and then patted JC's cheek before running back.

In the lobby, the noise of the studio sounded muted, as if they were underwater in a bubble of some sort. JC looked at Justin, and Justin returned the look, levelly. He had the bluest eyes, JC thought, dark blue, an unusual color, and long, long lashes. Amusement and intelligence sparkled in his eyes, sat well on his handsome face.

"So," JC said, after clearing his throat. He shifted from one foot to the other, unsure, feeling out of place, uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" Justin sounded as amused as he looked, and JC ducked his head, and rubbed the back of his neck before slanting a smile up at him. Justin stood there, his weight on one leg, long arms crossed over his chest.

He really was easy on the eyes, JC thought. Good-looking, with a sharply-defined jaw, strong square chin, an aggressive nose, and a soft-looking pink mouth quirked in a half-smile. His dark blond hair had been cropped really close, but not so short that JC couldn't see that if it were longer, it would curl crazily. He didn't look smug and superior, as a lot of great-looking guys did, in JC's experience, but wore a quiet self-confidence that fit well and felt as comfortable and appealing as a favorite tee shirt.

"Listen," JC said, and straightened. "You don't have to do this, really."

"Why not? A deal's a deal, man. I won you, and we've got free food and clubbing." One broad shoulder shrugged, and oh, JC thought, that was *nice.*

"I'm pretty sure I'm not...what you were expecting," JC said. "I won't hold you to it."

Justin's blue eyes skimmed over his face, lingering on his mouth long enough that JC's lips tingled warmly, then moved down his slim, narrow body, and JC just barely kept from shivering; Justin's gaze felt as heavy as a real caress, and hell, if his body didn't like that. JC cursed silently at the heat that curled down his belly; he really needed to get laid more if he couldn't control himself better.

"No, you're not what I expected," Justin said frankly. "But I'm a lot smarter than to believe everything I see in front of me. This-" Justin reached forward and flicked both the pocket protector and the crooked bowtie with a long finger, "-this isn't you. I'm observant, because that's part of what I do, and you don't stand, don't walk, don't move like a guy who really lives like you've dressed. It's a costume, and I'm not sure why you've done it." The corner of his mouth crooked upward. "But I'll tell you, I'm a *really* curious kind of guy. And persistent when it comes to figuring out mysteries."

"I didn't expect you'd get caught up in it, really," JC said. It bothered him that Justin was the innocent party in all this when he'd just wanted to get back something of his own with Chris. He'd never once considered that someone else might get caught up in it, and guilt pricked him; he'd never been one to be casually cruel to anyone, and this seemed like it, somehow.

Justin looked at him, head tilted a little to one side, his arms crossed again, waiting. JC sighed. "It's a long story."

Justin smiled, a real smile, and JC felt his stomach drop to about the level of his knees. He hoped that he didn't drool, because, damn. "Hey, we've got awhile. Enforced company and all that." He nodded toward the door where Brian and Trevor entered, arguing good-naturedly and dragging all kinds of equipment between the two of them. When JC looked back to Justin, Justin winked and grinned, and JC felt a slow smile curve his own mouth.

The music pounded into him, vibrating his very bones, and JC couldn't help but move with it even as he leaned against the railing of the balcony overseeing the dance floor, watching the dancers writhe against one another. He could see Justin dancing with some pretty blond boy, and could Justin ever move; JC wondered idly if his bones and muscles were connected in the same way as everyone else's, because he danced like water flowed, smooth and sparkling.

Or maybe the sparkle was just in JC's eyes. That was entirely possible, because JC found he liked Justin, more than he thought possible on such a rocky start.

The dinner at Le Beau Jardin had been stilted at first; he'd been nervous, with Brian and Trevor hovering around, the camera right in their faces. JC had wondered how they were supposed to act anywhere near normal with the bright hot lights and Trevor's microphones. They didn't seem to bother Justin, though; he acted as if it were an everyday occurrence to have a camera in his face, and once JC had found out that Justin was a media communications major with an eye to sportscasting, his ease made perfect sense.

JC found that around the main course he started relaxing a little, because Justin, charming and amusing and smart, put him at ease. Justin could talk about almost anything and everything, switch topics as easily as drawing a breath, and once JC had relaxed and made himself forget about the cameras, it had been fun. As soft-spoken as Justin was, his laugh was not; it was loud and raucous, and JC found he liked the realness of it, and went out of his way to make Justin laugh. And Justin had laughed a lot when JC told him the whole story behind his appearance on ManDate. JC had relaxed a lot after that; in the back of his mind he'd worried that Justin would be at best annoyed and at worst, pissed off at ending up in the middle of an elaborate hoax, but he'd loved the idea of it.

After dinner, they'd gone in Justin's car to Gravity, and had danced awhile. Justin had stuck by him, and for that, JC had to give him credit, because Justin could've had his choice of almost anyone. JC had thought him impressive before, but when he shed his black leather jacket in the heat of the club, his tight black tee and black jeans molded to a body that had him practically salivating.

After someone tried to cut in on him for what felt like the hundredth time, JC had slipped away to the bar, leaving Justin to dance with the latest contender for his attention. Justin had followed him, loyally, but JC had gently pushed him back out onto the dance floor, and with a shrug, Justin had gone. So now, with drink in hand, JC stood at the balcony and watched, Brian at his side, filming.

Normally, JC loved to dance, to move, to lose himself in the beat, but for some reason, he felt awkward, unable to find his normal ease. He wasn't sure it was from the camera's presence, or his discomfort with the way he looked, or the bitchy verbal cuts from those around him. It might've been the looks of pity passed Justin's way as they'd danced together; he wished he could be oblivious to them, but they had stung, had made his body stiff and unyielding, and he'd retreated from the dance floor.

Down below on the dance floor, now sandwiched between two lesbians, Justin waved and beckoned him back down. JC smiled and shook his head, raising his glass so Justin could see he was drinking. Justin pulled a face, then began moving out of the crowd, heading toward the staircase that lead to the balcony.

Oh, so pretty, JC thought, as he watched Justin make his way toward him, smiling but rebuffing those who flirted with him. When Justin reached his side, he plucked the glass from JC's fingers and drained the rest of it; JC watched his throat move as he swallowed, and then blinked, hoping the longing didn't show on his face.

"You didn't spike this, did you?" Justin leaned forward and slung an arm over JC's shoulder.

JC could smell the alcohol on his breath, and Justin's light cologne, mixed with sweat; the tee shirt had plastered to his body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He wanted to reach up and rub his thumbs across the hard little peaks of nipples, just to see if that got a reaction, but instead put his hand on Justin's waist. He could feel the heat of his body through the damp material.

"Not that desperate," JC replied flippantly, and Justin laughed.

"Listen, man. I hate to cut this short, but I've got a presentation due Monday, and since I haven't done much of anything on it, I'd probably better get up early tomorrow and start on it. Plus a week full of finals." Justin's long fingers dipped below the collar of his shirt, smoothed gently over the back of his neck, and JC shivered. "Let me take you home?"

"Sure," JC said, "I understand." His thumb smoothed over Justin's side for a second, and he pulled his hand back as Justin stepped away. Justin smiled at him, a sweet smile, and JC didn't feel stung by the rejection. His own mouth curved up. He wished for a moment they'd had a regular, real date, because it would be so easy to like Justin.

Justin rescued his jacket from Trevor and slipped it on, and then led JC out of the club and back into his car. They waited for Brian and Trevor to get themselves loaded into their car, and JC hummed lightly under his breath.

"I really liked the song you sang," Justin said, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. His face was a pale blur in the darkness. "I grew up listening to R and B, and that was always one of my favorite songs. You've got a great voice, man-ever think of doing something with it? You could."

"I thought about it in high school, but I always liked architecture, drawing, planning things out." JC shrugged. "Joey, my room mate, is a lot better than I am, and he couldn't get a career off the ground, so I never figured I had much of a chance, if he couldn't get something stirring. I sang to put myself through college, and I write music for Chris-the producer of ManDate-so I've had my share. I'm happy doing what I'm doing, so no regrets."

"Hmm," Justin said, and pulled out, followed closely by Brian. "That's great, man. Sportscasting wasn't my first choice. I played basketball all through high school and most of college. Varsity. On the fast track towards pros, even though I'm kinda short for them." He flashed a quick grin. JC didn't think him short-Justin was a good three inches taller than him, but guessed that really, Justin was right; he must've been very good to be considered for the pros in spite of his height. "I blew out my knee last year, and so I had to rethink things. Sportscasting gets me close to it, and sometime in the future I'd like to do a bit of writing. We'll see. Opportunities are there if you're brave enough to risk taking them."

JC leaned back against the seat and watched the lights flash on Justin's face; he didn't look unhappy with the way things had turned out. He'd be good at interviewing; he had a natural, easy charm that people couldn't help but respond to happily.

At JC's apartment building, Brian insisted on filming them going up the steps, and made them wait until he'd set up in the foyer. JC felt like a chess piece, a pawn, maybe, or like one of his sister Heather's dolls, moved around for this or that game. Still, it was almost over, and he could go back to his quiet life without cameras and makeup and geek costumes. He liked his quiet, liked a routine, liked his life as it was; it suited him.

"You know," Justin said softly, leaning in close enough that JC could see the flecks of paler blue in his dark eyes, could see how long his lashes were, "they expect us to give them a kiss goodnight, since we weren't at each other's throats all night, like some dates. I'm thinking we were pretty boring, really."

"Boring is underrated," JC said, and his knees felt a little wobbly, as if they had springs in them. He leaned against the foyer wall and tried not to imagine how soft Justin's mouth would be; it looked so soft and pink, and when Justin's tongue darted out to moisten his lips, JC's fingers flexed against the smooth coolness of the plaster to keep from reaching out and touching him. He slowly raised his eyes from Justin's mouth to his eyes. "If you want to kiss me, I think I might be able to bear up under the strain."

"You're a brave, brave man," Justin said, and shifted closer, enough that JC could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell his cologne and sweat.

"Mmm," he said, because words completely deserted him as Justin raised a hand, fingertips sliding over his jaw, then over his mouth. His lips felt hot and tingled, and he opened his mouth, but Justin's fingers left his mouth, pushed the heavy black-framed glasses to the top of his head.

"Pretty eyes," Justin breathed, and his breath felt warm on JC's mouth. "Shouldn't hide them."

"Okay," JC agreed, but his mind had almost shut down; he'd probably have agreed to anything at the moment, because he really wanted to kiss Justin. He tilted his head, and then Justin's mouth slicked across his, warm and soft. And, oh. JC always loved first kisses, the anticipation of it, the newness of another, the touch of mouth to mouth, the taste of lips and tongue, the closeness of it, because kissing was such a sweet, intimate thing to do with someone.

So soft, and not nearly enough; JC wanted more, and when Justin started to pull away, JC slid an arm around Justin's waist beneath the leather jacket, fingers sliding over the small of his back, dipping into the little valley of his spine. Justin made a soft inquiring sound, and JC slid his other hand around the nape of Justin's neck and pulled him back, because no, he wasn't done yet.

His blood immediately pooled into his groin, gave him a throbbing hard-on he had no power or inclination to control. It jerked so hard that JC was surprised it didn't burst right through his scratchy polyester trousers.

Shivery heat boiled through his body, seemed to affect every cell in his body. He licked into Justin's mouth, and oh, so much better. Hot and wet and sweet; Justin tasted like the best dessert, the best wine, the best *anything* JC had ever tasted. He ran his tongue over slick hard teeth, over soft inner surfaces, slid it against Justin's own tongue, which had taken a decided interest in everything.

With a low growl of hunger, Justin pushed forward, and JC hit the wall behind him. One big hand slid up his throat, and held his face still, fingers hot on his face as he took control of the kiss. Not that JC minded; his blood sang quick and hot in his veins, and desire coiled tighter and tighter low in his belly, a steady, wonderfully carnal throb.

As well as Justin could charm, could dance, could move, he kissed even better He suckled at JC's mouth, slow, deep sweeps of his tongue against his, then pulled back enough for a sharply erotic tug at his bottom lip that sent sparkles of sensation down to his groin, that had JC moaning low in the back of his throat. JC swore his bones melted and when Justin pressed up close, his body hard and strong, any trace of thinking stopped. Sensation and want took over, and JC didn't think about the camera, didn't think about Brian and Trevor, didn't think about whatever dug uncomfortably in his shoulder blade, because all he felt was the driving need for more and now and naked.

Vaguely JC became aware of a thudding sound, and he realized it wasn't his heart when Nick's voice roared, "I'm gonna knock your fucking heads off, you stupid little shits-"

Justin pulled back and stepped in front of him; from over his shoulder JC blinked his eyes back into focus and saw Nick skid to a stop almost at the foot of the stairs. He had a baseball bat in his hands, and was red-faced and flustered-looking, his boxers inside out, and his rumpled shirt was Joey's; it had a big picture of a rooster with a saddle, and below it, in large red letters, Free Cock Rides.

Nick blinked at them all, and the anger suddenly whooshed out of him, like a balloon blown up and then released. His blue eyes found JC, behind Justin's broad shoulders. "Um, C?"

"Yeah." JC's voice sounded hoarse, and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Yeah, it's us, Nicky." Gently, JC pushed Justin aside; it was nice that Justin seemed willing to protect him, and he'd undoubtedly do a good job, because all those muscles surely weren't just for show, but JC didn't need protection; he'd fought his own battles for years.

Nick's hand came up to cover his mouth. "Oh, shit, I'm so sorry," he mumbled, and turned even more red, though JC hadn't been certain that was possible. "I didn't realize you guys were filming-I thought it was that jerk going around buzzing all the apartments." JC tried not to look guilty, because he'd done that himself, a time or two. "I'm really sorry."

JC thought of how Justin had pushed against him, and how he'd felt something digging into his back; it must've been the buzzer to their apartment. And he must've been leaning against it a *long* time, to get Nick out of bed and down the stairs, ready to commit mayhem, but then, Nick always did have a short temper.

"I'm afraid it's my fault," JC said. He felt heat creep up his throat and into his face, and his lips felt hot and swollen. "Sorry. Thought you had a show tonight?"

"Yeah, we did, but the assholes cancelled us. So we just came home." Nick edged up a stair, then another. He tried to hide the bat-one of JC's aluminum ones-behind his back as he did so, but it just clanked against the steps. "I'm um, gonna just go back to bed now, okay? I'm just. I'm gone." And Nick turned and pounded up the steps, and then faintly, JC heard Joey's voice before the door closed on his high, merry laugh.

JC glanced at Justin, who looked amused. "Your room mate?"

"Nah. Room mate's boyfriend. We've, um, been having trouble with kids pulling pranks lately." JC shrugged. "Nick's a little hot-tempered sometimes."

"I guess so. Can't blame him much," Justin said, and cut a quick look beneath his lashes at JC that made JC's blood bubble and sizzle hotly. Justin turned, and JC wanted to kiss him again; Justin's mouth looked dark pink and swollen, well-used. JC had a flash of that same sweet mouth on his dick, and nearly combusted on the spot.

"No." Already Nick slid from his mind, and Justin took his place. Justin, who looked like sex with a capital S, and if he wasn't the sexiest guy he'd ever seen, he was definitely in the top ten. Make that the top five, JC thought, as Justin smiled at him. JC swallowed hard. "I guess it's time for you to go?" JC wanted to curse at himself, at the way his voice rose, breathy.

"You throwing me out?" Justin's hand, big and warm and strong, slid up his arm, coming to a stop on his shoulder, thumb rubbing gently across his collarbone through Joey's too-big shirt.

"God, no," JC said. He couldn't help but lean in; it was like Justin was a magnet, and he couldn't help but be drawn closer and closer to him. "I want you to stay. But your presentation-"

"Fuck the presentation-I can bluff my way through it," Justin said, his voice dropping low and husky, sounding like sex and soft sheets and the slide of skin against skin. JC closed his eyes and imagined that, and his dick twitched, hard, because oh, if that wasn't a fucking great visual, then nothing was.

"I'd rather fuck you," JC said, opening his eyes again, and he'd never meant anything so sincerely in his whole life. He pressed himself against Justin, and fuck, yeah, Justin seemed to be in complete agreement, if the hard dick digging into his hip was any indication. JC smiled and whispered, "C'mon upstairs," then licked at Justin's earlobe, the little diamond stud sharp against his tongue.

He felt Justin give a whole-body shiver, felt the big hand squeeze his shoulder hard for a moment, and it made him smile to know he could do that, make Justin want him. When he pulled back slightly, Justin's eyes had gone very dark and deep.

"Yeah," Justin replied, his voice soft. His hand slid down JC's arm, folded around his hand, and JC smiled at him as they moved toward the steps. He'd gone up two before he remembered the cameras, and turned back, flushing as he realized Brian had filmed everything; he'd been so caught up in it that he'd forgotten completely about the camera.

Out of camera range, Trevor grinned and gave them a thumb's up; JC could barely see the flash of Brian's grin. JC smiled. "Say goodnight, Gracie," and squeezed Justin's hand a little.

"Goodnight, Gracie," Justin said, though he obviously hadn't had the benefit of hours of watching old tv programs with Joey to get the reference. He smiled for the camera, but it was nothing compared to the dazzling one he bestowed on JC. JC's heart did a little flip, and he tugged them quickly up the steps.

At his door, he fumbled with the keys and almost dropped them as Justin slid an arm around him from behind and cupped him; he knew he'd always deny the embarrassing little squeak that escaped him before the moan.

"Nice," Justin said against the side of his neck, and then rubbed against his ass. JC dropped the keys. JC braced himself against the door frame and ground back against Justin's groin; Justin's dick, even through the denim, fit just perfectly between his ass cheeks, and his breath caught on a moan as Justin's fingers stroked and squeezed his dick just perfectly.

JC pulled away from him; he could come so easily just like that, and it was way too early. He knelt and picked up the keys, and when he turned his head, there was Justin's crotch, with his dick tenting out the front of his jeans. JC couldn't resist running his hands up Justin's slim thighs, couldn't resist rubbing his cheek against the swell of his dick trapped behind black denim. Justin's own moan sounded low and needy, and JC thought for a second about unzipping him right there, but he'd put on enough of a show for one night, and made himself stand up, made himself turn away and unlock the door.

They made it inside and closed the door before Justin pounced, pushing JC against the door and going for his mouth again. JC grunted as his back hit the door, and knotted his fists in Justin's jacket, pulling Justin to him. Their teeth clicked together as his head hit the door, and he grunted again, but was unwilling to do more than that, to turn loose of Justin, who was like a consuming flame.

They wrestled together, JC trying to pull off Justin's jacket without releasing his mouth, and Justin's hands tugging at the back of his shirt, trying to get it out of JC's trousers, to reach skin. It had been so long since he'd had sex with anyone that his skin felt hungry-no, *ravenous*-for touch, and he couldn't seem to stop himself, though in the back of his mind a little voice insisted that fucking Justin on the rug in the living room wasn't the best of ideas.

He managed to get Justin halfway out of the jacket, which meant Justin had to let him go to shake out of it; unfortunately, he sent the jacket sailing, and it hit something with a thud, which landed on the floor with a crash. Something breakable, then. Justin released him and tried to pull back, but JC didn't care; whatever it was, he could replace, and Justin's mouth was too hot, his body too deliciously hard and muscular for him to think about anything else.

Their mouths parted with a wet sucking sound as Justin tried to look around to see what he'd broken, and JC licked over Justin's jaw and down his throat. Justin immediately lost interest in broken items as JC bit him lightly. He tasted of sweat and musk, and a shiver crawled down JC's spine as Justin gasped and pulled hard at JC's shirt. His hands felt huge and hot on him, and JC pushed at him, trying to get them on the way to his bedroom. Justin pulled off the ugly clip-on bow tie and tossed it over his shoulder, then started on JC's belt, his mouth wet and hungry on JC's neck.

By the time they stumbled into the hallway, bouncing off one of the walls, their panting loud in the confined space, Justin evidently lost patience with JC's shirt, and jerked hard at it. Buttons popped and pinged against the wall and floor. JC didn't care-he'd get Joey a new one, because oh, hell, Justin's *hands*....

JC heard himself panting, and his whole body throbbed in time to the beat of his heart, the pulse of his dick, hard and wet and pressing painfully against his belly, against the zipper of his trousers, against Justin's belly, and god, *yes,* against the palm of Justin's hand. It was so good, so amazingly good, and it only got better when Justin slid his hand down inside his trousers, into his briefs, and wrapped his fingers around JC's dick, and slicked from root to tip.

And JC knew he was noisy; he'd always been too loud during sex, and Joey had teased him about it mercilessly, but he didn't care as Justin licked down his throat, over the arch of his collarbone. His shirt hung open, and his nipples drew up hard and achy, and yeah, that was his shout that echoed in the hallway when Justin ducked his head and licked over one, then bit lightly.

JC's hands scrabbled up Justin's back, over his broad shoulders, and up into his hair, but Justin's hair was too short to grab. So instead he pulled on his ears until Justin yelped, and brought Justin's face even with his own. He wanted to kiss him again, wanted to taste him as his hips rolled against the stroking of the fist up and down his dick, slick with his own precome, Justin's grip tight and hot and perfect.

He had started to pull Justin's head down to his own, opening his mouth to Justin's, when the short hairs at the nape of his neck prickled. Or would've pricked, it they hadn't been weighted down by gel. JC turned his head enough to see past Justin, and practically jumped in place, his whole body tingling in surprise.

Because they weren't alone.

Nick and Joey stood in the hallway, watching avidly, unashamedly. JC stiffened with shock, and Justin's head tipped, looking for whatever had distracted JC. When he saw the two of them standing there, his hand tightened on JC's dick, and JC squeaked, because damn, if Justin wasn't strong. Justin muttered something, an apology maybe, and pulled his hand out of JC's trousers so fast JC wondered if he didn't leave a layer of skin behind on the zipper.

"What the fuck are you doing?" JC asked, because no, no interruptions, not *now.*

Joey grinned and waggled his eyebrows; the exaggerated leer would've made JC hoot with laughter if it hadn't interrupted some seriously hot sex; his body already missed Justin's hands on him. Justin had pulled away a little, flushed, his straight dark brows drawn down in a frown.

"Are you *serious?*" Justin asked, unbelieving, looking from the two of them to JC.

JC wasn't surprised though; his friends had always been weird, and he'd accepted that.

"What?" Joey tried to look insulted, and failed. "I hear all this thumping and bumping and crashing of things-thanks a lot, C, for breaking the lamp, by the way, and hey, that *was* my favorite shirt-so I came out to make sure you weren't being. Um. Coerced."

"Do I *look* coerced?" JC snapped, and Joey had the good grace to blush.

"Well, no. But in the sexual Olympics, you do get a nine-point-nine for hotness, even if you only get a five for technique-it was an eight point five before you broke the lamp and ruined my shirt. You do get a ten for choice of partner, though," Joey replied with the grin JC could never resist.

"C'mon, Joe," Nick said with a grin, and tugged at Joey until he had him moving back toward his bedroom. "Leave 'em alone."

JC had never loved Nick as much as he did in that moment. Nick bodily pushed Joey into his room, and waved at the two of them before closing the door firmly behind them. Justin drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it rush out. He looked down at JC, his face flushed, eyes still dark, but a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth instead of a frown. JC gave Justin more points for humor and adaptability; most others in his place would've been angry or upset at the interruption.

"I guess that's your room mate?"

"Um. Yeah. Joey," JC replied. He felt cold with his shirt hanging open, without Justin pressed closely to him; that had been so very, very good. No, not good-whatever word meant good multiplied by a thousand times-that was how it had been, and his body shrieked at him to get back to it as soon as possible.

"That doesn't happen all the time, does it?" Justin turned his full attention back to him, and JC's body chanted more, more, naked, now.

"No. I just. I don't...a lot, y'know?" JC felt heat creep up into his cheeks. "So with this, the way I look, he really wasn't expecting it." JC licked his lips; they felt swollen and tingled, and he could taste Justin, which sent a cascade of longing down his body, made his dick twitch in response. "I wasn't expecting it."

"Well," Justin said, and moved closer, sliding a big hand around the nape of his neck, thumb caressing JC's jaw, "What caught my attention was your mouth-it's fucking sexy, your mouth. No matter how much you tried to hide, you can't disguise that."

"Mmm," JC purred, swaying closer, "you could kiss this mouth some more if you wanted."

Justin smiled and brought his other hand up, and would've slid his hands through JC's hair to tip his face up-if he could have. But there was no sliding his hands through JC's hair. *Over,* maybe, but not through, and they both froze.

"Wait," JC said, and Justin dropped his hands, wiping them on the legs of his jeans, and JC couldn't blame him-it was disgusting feeling, he knew. "Tell you what. I'll go shower, and you wait in my room, okay, and then it'll be me, the real me, who comes back, okay?"

When Justin hesitated, JC slid his hand down the front of his jeans and squeezed him, stroking until Justin's long lashes fluttered. He felt thick and long beneath the heavy denim, and desire surged again in his blood; he wanted Justin so much, but he wanted him on his own terms, as his own self. "Will you wait for me? I'll make it worth your time, I swear."

Justin licked his lips, and opened his eyes. "Um, yeah." He swayed toward JC again, mouth parting, wanting a kiss, but JC released him and pushed him gently in the direction of his room. When Justin opened the door and stepped inside, JC darted to the bathroom.

It took four shampooings to get the gel out of his hair, before it finally squeaked cleanly between his fingers; he felt ten pounds lighter. He jerked off with quick, almost brutal efficiency-he wanted to last more than ten minutes with Justin, and he knew, unless he did something about it, he wouldn't last any time at all once Justin touched him.

He stepped out, toweled off and then wiped off the mirror. His reflection was faint and watery, but he looked like himself once more, his hair curling wildly, softening the strong angles of his face. Raising his fingers to his kiss-swollen mouth, he smiled, thinking of Justin's words to him, and it was a wonderful thing to feel wanted and desired even as he'd looked before.

Quickly he brushed his teeth and wrapped himself in his old flannel robe before padding barefooted down the hall. As he approached his room, he could hear music softly floating through the partially-opened door, and he smiled again; Otis Redding.

JC pushed the door open, and saw Justin, barefooted and stripped down to jeans slipping down one narrow hip, swaying to the music as he stood with his back to the door, looking at a framed picture JC had drawn.

Justin was all broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, almost as narrow as his own, and long, long legs. His arms swelled with muscles, and as he half-turned, JC saw perfectly-sculpted pecs and a tight, toned washboard stomach; he was smooth and perfect, a blend of fortunate genetics and hard work. On his left upper arm he had a tattoo of an ornate cross, but he seemed bare of any others. Justin rubbed his belly absently, his thumb moving in slow circles that mesmerized JC. Even unaware of scrutiny, Justin simply exuded strength and self-confidence; pure sexual heat seemed to shimmer on his skin, and JC felt helpless against the strength of it. He couldn't remember ever being so affected by anyone so quickly-it was as if something within him vibrated whenever he found himself close to him.

JC wanted him, really wanted him, more than he'd ever wanted anyone.

His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath left his lungs in a soft whoosh of longing, and he had that strange, odd sense of his bones dissolving in the heat of raw lust and desire. He felt his face flood with heat, and it didn't seem to make any difference that he'd just jerked off moments before, because his dick grew heavy between his legs, hardening quickly as he thought of licking down the nape of Justin's long neck, sliding his hands over all that smooth skin, spreading him out naked on his bed and just feasting on him for hours and hours.

Justin chose that moment to turn, and JC stood still and let him look, Justin's gaze warm and heavy, like a caress. Then Justin's mouth curved into a smile and he said, in an atrocious British accent, "Good heavens, Miss Sakamoto-you're *beau*tiful!"

JC couldn't help but laugh, because just a month ago, he and the group-Chris, Lance, Joey, Nick, AJ, and AJ's boyfriend, Kevin-had gone out to Joey's favorite bar, a cheerful place that had karaoke, and Chris had sung 'She Blinded Me With Science.' He'd repeated that phrase to Lance at least a hundred times, until finally, AJ had doused him with a pitcher of beer to get him to shut up.

He ran a hand through his hair, over the back of his neck, and Justin's smile grew larger, warmer. JC stepped in, drawn to him. He closed the door behind him and flipped the lock, because he didn't want any interruptions, and he couldn't trust either Joey's exuberance or Chris' unpredictability.

Justin had unbuttoned his jeans, and it exposed a deep vee of pale skin, tight and taut, a fine line of dark hair that lead down to shadows, and whoa, no underwear, JC realized with a rush. Justin was naked under his jeans, and knowing that he'd been like that all evening made JC shiver with lust.

"Y'know," Justin said, stepping forward as JC moved toward him, "I think I might miss the geek look. You carried it off with a certain flair. Geek chic."

"You've got to be kidding," JC said. He reached out and spread his hand in the middle of Justin's chest; he could feel the beat of his heart beneath his palm, and watched as Justin's nipples tightened.

"Fuck yeah, I am," Justin breathed, and slid his hands into JC's hair, fingers tightening and tipping his head to the angle he wanted before covering JC's mouth with his own.

And oh, yeah. Perfect, JC thought dreamily, and gave himself over into the kiss. His hands roamed slowly over Justin's shoulders and back; such soft skin, such strong muscles, and for the moment, all his to touch. He loved the clench of Justin's hands in his hair, the press of his hard chest against his own, the slide of tongue against his, and oh, yeah, Justin was so hard against him, hips moving, pressing, grinding against him. A shiver snaked down JC's body and he slid his hands down Justin's hard body, over his narrow waist, and pushed the jeans down, hand slipping down to cup a tight ass cheek, the other curling around Justin's dick.

Justin broke away from his mouth with a little noise-he sounded so hungry; it made JC feel powerful to know he could pull such a sound from him. Justin panted against his cheek, his throat as JC stroked him from base to slick tip, watching the shifting expressions, the flutter of his long lashes, watching Justin's tongue flick out to wet his pink mouth, listening to his breath grow louder, sharper, more hitching.

As sweet as it would be to stroke Justin until he came, it wasn't what he wanted; JC wanted to lick, to taste, and so he gave Justin one last long stroke and pulled back. Justin opened his eyes, and they were so dark, so deep JC thought if he looked too long he might drown.

"Not this way," JC said, and his voice sounded deeper, huskier to his own ears. "Want more." He pulled Justin's hands from his hair, then smiled a promise of more, of better than he'd already given, and slid to his knees, hands hooked in the waistband of Justin's jeans, easing them down and off. Justin's hands gripped his shoulders as he balanced on one long, narrow foot and then the other.

From his position on his knees, JC smiled up at him, rubbed his cheek against one thigh, dragged his lower lip over his heavy balls, then licked up the underside of Justin's dick with the flat of his tongue. Justin moaned and shuddered, and oh, it felt good, to touch him, to taste him. JC slicked his tongue over the fat wet head, and Justin swore, his voice high, breathy, before fisting his hands in the lapels of JC's robe and pulling him up.

JC went easily enough, licking his lips. Justin looked almost desperate, and JC remembered he hadn't already come once, and pushed him toward the bed. When the backs of Justin's legs hit the edge of the bed, he sat with a whoosh of breath.

"Lie back," JC said. For someone so strong, so aggressive, Justin proved remarkably obedient, lying back on the sheets, raising himself up on his elbows. "You're a good boy," JC said, and thought that might have kinky possibilities for later. He fully intended for there to be a later; Justin was too hot to let get away after just one night.

"I'm a *very* good boy," Justin replied, but his voice sounded strained.

"Hot boy," JC said, and stepped between Justin's spread knees, edging them a little further apart. "Beautiful boy."

JC reached down and untied the belt of his robe, and let the garment slither to the floor. He felt good naked, secure in himself, and displayed himself openly for Justin to look, one hand stroking himself; he was fully hard now, and Justin watched his hand move; he looked so hungry, so needy.

He looked good like that.

Justin let himself sink down onto the bed, and his body rippled on the sheets. Oh, JC thought, oh. Then Justin brought his hands up and smoothed them down his throat, over his chest, thumbing his own nipples, his eyes half-closing against the sensation. His dick, arching red and swollen against his belly, throbbed, and JC felt his whole body throb in response.

"You could fuck me if you wanted to," Justin said huskily. "I like it." His eyes glinted dark beneath his lashes, and a flush spread over his fair skin, and his white, white teeth bit into his full pink lower lip.

JC swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. His fingers closed hard around his dick to keep from coming in that second, because, oh, the visuals that conjured up, of himself buried deep in Justin's beautiful body, of tight, tight heat surrounding him, of long arms and legs wrapped around him, of Justin's mouth on his. Justin smiled, and it was a smile of a man fully aware of himself, of his sexual appeal. He raised his left leg up and out, showing himself shamelessly, his fingers sliding down over his dick, over his balls, and down further, fingertips rubbing lightly over his opening.

JC drew in a deep breath, and that didn't help; male musk seemed to coat his tongue, his throat, made him almost dizzy. "I. I don't. I do, but I don't, not. Not on the first date," JC managed to finally say. His brain felt heavy, sluggish, but his body felt bright, bright, sharp and alive, awake and quivering with sensation.

"No?" Justin licked his lower lip, and looked disappointed, but only for a moment; a sly look crossed his face and he brought his leg up and rubbed his foot lightly over JC's flat belly as his big hand stroked himself; the sight of the wet red head popping in and out of his fist made JC growl.

He pushed away Justin's foot. "No," he said more firmly. "But I do lots of other stuff."

Kneeling on the carpet between Justin's widely-spread thighs, JC smiled as he ran his hands up Justin's legs, ruffling the fine blond hair. He laid his head against one thigh, breathing in his scent, musk and sex and heat, before shifting just a little to brush his mouth over the tender skin of his inner thigh. Justin sighed, and his hand moved to slip through JC's hair, letting it ruffle through his fingers. JC licked up the inside, along taut, firm muscle, and sucked gently on the tenderest flesh, just beside his balls. Justin jumped a little, a nervous twitch, and his fingers tightened in JC's hair, a low, breathless sound escaping him.

So good. Justin shifted, trying to spread his legs further, and his hand in JC's hair urged his head down; JC didn't mind, because Justin's touch remained gentle, though his body quivered with tension. When JC licked all around his balls, up his dick, just teasing him with wet little touches, Justin writhed under him, and his soft voice murmured, "Please, please...suck me...."

JC hummed happily. Justin's bare, smooth skin felt warm, almost hot, where he touched him. JC let his fingers wander down lower as he sucked first one ball and then the other, in the way he knew felt good to him. From the soft sighs and breathy moans, it must have felt just as good to Justin. JC loved touching and licking him; loved the smoothness of his skin, the little trail of hair from navel that spread into kinky curls just perfect to nuzzle into. But he could feel the tension building in Justin, turning from pleasure into discomfort, and so he took mercy, licking up the long, thick length of dick before sucking the slick, plump head into his mouth.

Justin swore, a sharp jagged sound, then his voice smoothed into low moans that made JC shiver, made his own dick throb with pleasure, felt it gathering low in his belly, in the stretch of his thighs, in the beginning ache of his jaw as he sucked, as he moved up and down his length. Justin was so hard and hot, smooth and thick against his tongue, the taste salty, a little bitter, but oh, JC loved it. He loved knowing he could make Justin feel good, loved that he could give pleasure like this. He loved the whole experience of it, loved how it made him feel strong and masculine and powerful.

With a little wiggle, Justin thrust once, then again shallowly, both his hands in JC's hair, gently guiding him. When his grip tightened a little too much, when his thrusts went too deep, JC grunted, and Justin shuddered and let go with one hand; slanting his head a little, JC watched as Justin ran his hand over his own chest, pinching and pulling at first one nipple and then the other, his breathing growing loud and erratic. So hot, JC thought, so fucking hot, and heat flashed through his veins. He thought he could come again, just from this.

JC pulled off Justin with an obscenely wet sound, licking him, making him wet for his fingers wrapping around him. He began pumping his fist up and down his length even as he sucked the head back into his mouth. The fingers of his free hand slipped down lower, to rub against the opening of his body.

Justin gasped and wiggled more, pulling his legs up and open, shuddering again when JC's fingers pressed harder against him. When one finger slid inside, Justin gave a strangled little sound, arching against his hand, then began moaning with every intake of breath as JC fucked him slowly as he sucked him. After a moment, he slipped two fingers in, surprised at how easily they slid in, at how Justin wriggled, trying to get them deeper. Bottom boy, JC thought, pleased; he loved bottom boys.

A little twist, and Justin's voice rose, and he jerked hard against JC. His ha