Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've enjoyed hearing from all of you.
And now, let's continue.
Joey wasn't up yet when I woke up. I quickly got dressed in the clothes I'd been wearing yesterday, and collected the green envelope from the nightstand, along with my keys. I looked around for paper, but the bedroom was bare. In the main room I saw some Superman comics on the coffee table, but assumed that Joey wouldn't want me writing on them. There was a dry erase board on the refrigerator, so I decided to leave a note there, glancing at Joey's to-do list.
"Call studio - talk to Bruce and Stacy. Find outfit for awards show."
The awards show was coming up in a week or so. I couldn't remember which one it was, since the guys seemed to get invited to everything whether they were nominated or not, but Josh had said he'd be back in time for them to go.
"Take Chris out to Wilshire - scout location. Call Steve."
Steve was Joey's brother. I didn't know a lot about him, but Joey had said that he was in New York right now. Josh told me that Steve usually came on tour with them, to keep Joey from feeling homesick, so I figured I'd meet him eventually.
Unless my stalker gutted me like a fish tomorrow, and left my corpse in a dumpster.
I shook my head quickly, wishing Joey hadn't put that horror movie in the VCR before we went to sleep last night. Finding a space at the bottom of the to-do list, I left Joey a quick note.
"Joey - thanks for being there, and for taking care of me. Not sure where I'll be today, but am going to work on things. Will call you later. - Jack."
I left Joey's apartment and went back to Josh's. It was empty, of course, but inhaling sharply in the living room I could smell the ghost of his cologne, like a shadow of Josh still there with me. I thought again about how much I missed him, and sent him a text message on the cell phone wishing him luck, telling him I loved him, and asking him to call me when he got time. I went out for my run, without Chris, and didn't see him on the streets anywhere. I didn't expect to, since I was about a half hour earlier than our regular time. The whole time I was running, my eyes were darting from side to side, scanning, watching, trying to figure out who might be watching me, but then I decided to just concentrate on one problem at a time. My psycho pen pal could wait until tomorrow, when I knew exactly where he (or she) would be.
Today I was going to deal with Justin.
I flipped through morning television for a while, because I couldn't concentrate on my book, and I thought it might be a little too early to go banging on Justin's door. I couldn't really do much else, as I had cleaned the entire apartment the other day, and I didn't even want to think about the kind of chore that organizing Josh's closet would be. He had a lot of nice, regular clothes, but there were also so many things that I wouldn't even be able to classify. I kept my stuff toward the front of the closet, near his more normal outfits, but had been surprised to note the other day that Josh had actually packed and taken some of my clothes with him.
Not finding anything particularly absorbing on the television, I walked down to the corner store to get the paper, since I didn't want to go downstairs and borrow Chris's. He'd said not to come back until I was ready to talk, and I wasn't ready yet. Still, I kind of wished we weren't fighting, but I wasn't going to be the one who gave in first. Bringing the paper back to the apartment, I noted on my way in that Justin's Mercedes was in the parking lot, but I decided it was still a little early.
Pawing through the paper, I only barely skimmed the major news stories before turning to Basil Morgan's stupid gossip column, which I just couldn't seem to prevent myself from reading. It had been quiet yesterday, but his legion of snitches, as I imagined there had to be, since he couldn't possibly be running around doing all of this himself, made up for it today.
"Feel like dancing? Rumor has it that one of the members of a certain Pop-ular boyband did the other night, renting an entire ballroom at the Beverly Hills Hilton for the whole evening! Dinner was served, and dancing followed, but nobody's talking about who the partner on his dance card is!"
Oh, so the hotel prides itself on being discreet, does it? I had a good mind to call Josh and let him know that the hundreds of dollars in tips had been more or less wasted, because someone had still opened their mouth and blabbed to the press. Then again, it could be worse. There were no on-the-record quotes, and no photographs. A blind item wasn't the end of the world, and my stalker only seemed to like the stories with pictures. Folding up the paper, I decided that I'd procrastinated long enough, and I walked over to Justin's and knocked loudly on the door. Not getting a response, I knocked again, and finally he jerked the door open.
Justin was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a baggy pair of gray sweatpants that weren't tied. My eyes, involuntarily sliding down the lines of his torso, following the dangling strings at his waist, and I noticed that beneath his sweatpants Justin was hard. I wondered if I had woken him up after all as I jerked my gaze back up to his face. He appeared not to notice my wandering visual tour of his sculpted torso or my surprised appraisal of his condition.
"Jack?" he asked, one hand on his hip. He didn't sound sleepy, just surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you," I said, trying not to be distracted.
"It's not really a good time, Jack," Justin said, holding the door open with one upraised arm as he leaned on it. The edge of the door pressed on his pointing nipple, and I wondered if it hurt before jerking my eyes back to his face again. This was not going well, but I was determined to see this through.
"I don't care," I said, putting my hand on the door. "I need to talk to you, now. Can I come in?"
"Jack," he began again, not yielding, keeping the door in place.
"I won't be here long," I said. I hoped not to be, anyway. "I just need to talk to you, and then you can get back to whatever you were doing."
"Fine," he said, stepping aside finally. I walked past him, my shoulder brushing the protruding curves of his pecs, and he closed the door behind me as I sat on the couch. He raised his eyebrows. "Gee, Jack, won't you sit down? What's up?"
"I need to talk to you," I said, stalling.
He still stood by the door, hands on his hips, chest spread, abs relaxed but still visible, cock still pushing out the front of his sweatpants.
"You mentioned that," Justin said, crossing his arms as he leaned back on the wall, biceps bulging enticingly, tattoos dancing. "Is everything ok? Is something wrong with Josh?"
"No, no, Josh is fine," I said, wondering how I could even go about starting this. I used up most of my gumption just getting inside Justin's apartment.
"Then, well, I don't want to be rude, but I was right in the middle of something," Justin said, walking over and sitting on the back of the couch, only about a foot from me. It was classic Justin body positioning. To talk to him, I'd have to look up, past his naked chest, to see his face. I realized that once I knew the tricks, they didn't work so well, at least not to arouse me. I wondered if he was doing it consciously, or if he was just always in psycho-manipulative mode. "So, what exactly was it you wanted to talk about?"
"You and Lance," I said, just blurting it out.
"What about me and Lance?" Justin asked, walking around the couch. He was now perched on the arm at the other end, a little farther from me, but turned, his golden tanned back muscles standing out in the twist and his sweatpants riding a little lower, just above his ass.
"About what's going on with you," I said.
"What do you think is going on?" Justin asked, swiveling a little, now presenting his torso in profile. His voice was still level, and his eyes fairly screamed, "I'm clueless."
"About what you're doing to him," I continued, wondering if he was going to finally say it first, or if I'd have to keep dragging it out of myself.
"What I'm doing to him?" Justin asked, eyebrows raised. "What is it that I'm doing to Lance?"
"You know, Justin," I said, gritting my teeth. "Don't make me say it. You know what you're doing."
If the physical game wasn't working, Justin was apparently going to play his verbal games instead, or maybe he was trying both at once, to see which would land a bullseye.
"Do I?' he asked, sliding down the arm of the couch and onto the seat. He turned, throwing his arm across the back, his torso stretched out in front of me. "I don't know what you think I'm doing to Lance, but all I know is that I'm talking to Lance, and being his friend."
"Justin, I saw you," I said.
"Saw me what, Jack?" Justin asked, his voice dropping lower, becoming huskier. He began to lean toward me. "What did you see, Jack?"
He leaned even closer to me, his torso stretching, muscles flexing, eyes glittering as he sat like a big piece of candy in his low riding, untied sweatpants. Even though I knew what he was doing, and knew that this was all part of it, I only knew it on a mental level. On a physical one, I was hard and throbbing as he sat nearly naked next to me, leaning in.
"Tell me what you saw, Jack," he whispered, licking his lips, pink tongue darting out over them. "Tell me."
I recognized the words, and the whole scene between Lance and Justin rushed back to me. It was exactly the wrong thing for Justin to have done, because suddenly all my rage was back, all my anger, everything I had felt standing in the backyard with the sun beating down on me and my mouth open in shock. I didn't want to fuck him. I wanted to punch him in the face.
"I saw you and Lance in his bedroom the day before yesterday," I spat, glaring at him. I saw his eyes widen in surprise. "I saw it all, Justin, and I heard what you said. You make me sick."
He flinched at that, and I wondered if Justin's friends ever stood up to him. He leaned back immediately, pulling his body out of my space, but I wasn't foolish enough to think he was done playing games.
"You saw what, exactly?" he asked, his face neutral. "You saw Lance enjoying himself? You saw me giving Lance what he wanted?"
"I saw Lance crying," I said. "I saw Lance degraded and humiliated. You didn't even treat him like a human being, Justin. You just forced yourself on him, and made him your personal cum receptacle."
Justin smiled coldly.
"You saw me force myself on Lance?" he asked. "Are you sure that's what you saw?"
"I know what I saw, Justin," I answered. "Don't play semantics with me."
"Oh, I'm not," he said, shrugging. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page. You saw me rape Lance?"
"I never said that," I said. "You're twisting my words."
"No, I'm not," Justin argued, eyes flashing. "I'm just trying to clear up what you thought you saw. You say I forced myself on Lance, but from where I was standing, it looked pretty fucking consensual."
His argument was valid, but I wasn't buying it.
"You tricked him," I said, shaking my head.
"I tricked him?" Justin asked, incredulous, eyes wide, smiling disbelievingly. "I tricked my dick into his mouth? That's a hell of a trick, Jack."
"You tricked him," I said again. "You snared him."
"No, Jack, I gave him what he wanted," Justin countered.
"He didn't want it, Justin!" I snapped. "He cried the entire time."
Justin gave me the same lecturing, slightly condescending look he had given Lance.
"And since he cried, you think it was a bad thing?" Justin asked.
"Of course it was a bad thing!" I answered. Why wouldn't he see this? "It was cruel."
"Jack, did it occur to you that maybe that's what Lance wanted?" Justin asked. "Did you stop to think that maybe he liked it?"
"No," I answered carefully. He was trapping me again, and it had happened so fast I was already caught.
"Of course you didn't," Justin answered. "You assume he didn't like it because it's not what you like. Did it look to you like that was the first time it happened? Because it wasn't, Jack. It wasn't the first time Lance went down on me, and it wasn't the first time I talked to him like that. He likes it, Jack. You heard him say so."
"I heard you force him to say so," I said.
"There you are with that forcing thing again," Justin said. "Did you happen to notice that I was going to leave, twice, and he stopped me both times? Lance didn't do anything he didn't want to."
"He didn't want it like that, Justin," I insisted.
"You're not listening to me at all!" Justin snapped. "That's exactly the way Lance wants it, Jack. Look who we're talking about. Lance is convinced, convinced, Jack, that sex is wrong. Sex is dirty. And two guys having sex is even dirtier."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, Justin."
"Yes! Yes, Jack, yes!" Justin insisted. "He thinks it's wrong, and immoral, and degrading. He expects it to be, and deep down, he wants it to be, because it means he's right. He wants it to be wrong because that means he's not."
"Oh, and you're just trying to help him out?" I asked.
"I'm giving him what he wants, Jack," Justin said. "And you can't say he doesn't want it, because he does. He has for years. When I finally took my cock out for him the other day he dropped on it so fast I thought he'd break it off. If he didn't want it, he wouldn't keep coming back."
I stood, needing to shift, and walked across the room, crossing my arms over my chest. He had me, but I didn't want to admit it.
"Sex doesn't have to be like that," I said. "It shouldn't be."
"That's not true for everyone, Jack," Justin said, leaning back into the couch, throwing both his arms across the back, letting his legs fall casually open. I wanted to tell him to give up. I'd never touch him again, not that way, because he would win. Even if I rolled him over right now, and tore those pants off and gave him the angriest fuck of his life, he'd still win. "What you're really saying is that sex shouldn't be like that for you. You take someone to bed, and you want it to be beautiful, and special, and you want to make sure everyone's happy with it, because that's the way you see it. For you, sex is about love."
"Sex is about love, Justin," I said, shaking my head again.
"No, Jack," Justin said, staring at me. "For Lance, sex isn't about love. It's about sin."
"And for you it's about punishment," I said, leaning back on the kitchen counter.
He looked shocked again, and I went on the attack.
"I know why you're doing this, Justin," I sneered. "You're not doing this because you're Lance's friend, or because you want to help him discover anything about himself. You're doing this because you're pissed at him, and you can see what this is doing to him, Justin. You can't pretend you don't. He looks like shit, Justin. He's breaking inside, and it's because of what you're doing to him, and you know it!"
"Shut up," he said quietly, his eyes darting toward the closed bedroom door.
"I will not shut up!" I yelled. "You know you're fucking him up, and you're enjoying it! What you're doing is wrong, Justin. It's wrong, and you know it. Admit it."
"What?" he asked, staring at me, his mouth hanging open. I don't think Justin ever imagined I could have this much anger inside.
"You heard me," I said icily. "You know it's wrong, Justin, you know it. Just say it. Say it, Justin!"
"Fine!" he blurted, his face turning a furious red, his composure breaking wide open. "You're right, Jack! It's wrong, and I know it, and I'm only letting him blow me because I want to get back at him!"
The two of us stared at each other, both breathing hard, and I realized what I'd done. I had turned the tables on Justin. I had sunk to his level, and used his own tactics, and I'd made him admit something he didn't want to say. I had put the shoe on the other foot, finally, and Justin didn't care for the way it fit. He glared at me, his eyes furious, and I wondered how we could possibly leave this room as friends.
Just as quickly as I'd turned the tables, though, Justin turned them back.
"Maybe what I'm doing is wrong, but what about what he's done?" Justin asked quietly.
"That's not an excuse, Justin," I said, just as quietly.
"Yes it is," Justin said. "I'm just treating Lance like he treats everyone else. You've heard him, Jack, you've heard what he says. You've heard what he said to Josh, and to you, and he wanted the same thing all along! He wanted it, Jack! He's probably just pissed you got to Josh first. He's been talking shit for years, Jack, and he's just gotten worse and worse. He hurt Josh, and he hurt you. Don't you care about that?"
"Two wrongs don't make a right, Justin," I said. "I don't care what he said. He doesn't deserve this."
"Yes he does!" Justin argued. "He's a fucking hypocrite, Jack!"
"You're no better!" I countered. "You talk and talk and talk about your friends, and how important they are, and how you'd never hurt them, but Lance thinks you're his friend, Justin. He looks at you, and he sees someone he trusts not to hurt him, and you're walking all over that. You're just as bad as he is."
The two of us stared at each other again across a gulf of silence, and then Justin stood, and walked over to his closed bedroom door. He smiled at me, but it wasn't a smile of friendship.
"You're right, Jack," he said, practically grinning. "What I'm doing is wrong, and I should stop. I should stop right now."
"Oh, no," I whispered, realizing how badly I had played this as he pushed the door open. I had come here with the best of intentions, and I had given him the worst weapon of all.
"Come on out, Lance," Justin said quietly. "There are some things you need to hear."
"Don't do this, Justin, please don't do this," I said, even as a teary-eyed Lance stepped out of Justin's bedroom.
This is what Justin had been busy doing when I had come to the door. This is why he was barely dressed and throbbing hard. Lance had been here the whole time, and he had heard every single thing we had said.
"You've been listening, haven't you, Lance?" Justin asked smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yes," Lance answered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked back and forth between the two of us.
"It's all true, Lance," Justin almost whispered, smiling at Lance.
"No," Lance said, shaking his head slowly.
"Oh, yes, Lance," Justin said. "Yes, it's all true. I've just been using you, Lance."
"No," Lance said again.
"Justin, stop it," I said, wanting to be anywhere but here.
"Stop it, Jack? Stop it?" Justin asked. "I'm just doing what you wanted. I'm showing Lance the truth."
Lance was shaking his head back and forth, his eyes squeezed closed.
"You make me fucking sick, Lance," Justin said, leaning in close. "You're a hypocrite, and you're pathetic, and you let me use you like a Kleenex. All you are to me is someone who swallows my cum."
"No," Lance said again.
"Oh, yes," Justin insisted. "But that's not the worst part, is it Lance? The worst part isn't that I put you on your knees, and made you suck me off."
Justin leaned in closer to him as I stared in horror.
"The worst part is that you knew it all along, didn't you, Lance?" Justin said, smiling cruelly now. "The worst part is that you knew, and you liked it."
"No!" Lance yelped, pushing Justin away. "No!"
He began to run toward the front door, banging his knee on the coffee table. I tried to grab his arm as he went past, and he shoved me out of the way. He bolted from the apartment, sobbing hysterically, and I heard him running down the stairs to his apartment. I turned, and Justin was right behind me, up close and personal. He smiled again.
"There, Jack," he said, chuckling. "Happy now?"
The sound of my slap echoed through the apartment as my palm connected with the side of his face. He stepped back in wide-eyed shock, and I saw my red handprint standing out on his suddenly white face.
"Stay the fuck away from me, Justin," I said.
I turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving him standing by the couch, gently touching the side of his face in wonder, his hand tracing over the red outline of my anger. His face had to hurt, because my hand was stinging. I slammed the door behind me. For about the fiftieth time since this had begun I wished Josh was here. Running through the whole thing in my mind, I couldn't believe that not only had I stood up to Justin, but that I had slapped him. It hadn't been a light slap, either. It was a good, roundhouse, soap opera slap.
The kind of slap that ends a friendship.
I felt a shudder go through me as I realized this. I now had one friend here in the apartment building; Joey. Chris wasn't talking to me. When he said he was pissed, he must have meant it, although, to be honest, I wasn't talking to him either. Justin was probably in his living room, still touching his face and trying to figure out where he went wrong. Either that, or he was trying to figure out how he'd start to punish me, too. That wasn't a comforting thought at all. And then there was Lance, who had never been my friend.
Lance, who might need a friend right now.
While part of me wanted to go find somewhere to mope and pout and mourn the loss of my friendship with Justin, the rest of me decided that I had cried enough about my problems. Lance was hurt, and vulnerable, and he needed help more than I needed self- pity. While I refused to take blame for the way he was feeling right now, because I wouldn't let Justin put that on me, I was right in the middle of this, and I couldn't leave Lance feeling the way he was. I might not be the best person to help him, and he might not want my help, but I wasn't about to let that stop me.
I walked downstairs and knocked on his door, but there was no answer, so I tried again.
"Lance? Lance, it's Jack," I yelled, knocking hard. "Lance?"
When he still didn't answer, I tried the doorknob, and found it unlocked. Pushing open the door, I was shocked by the condition of Lance's apartment. He wasn't around, but all the signs of someone in distress were. I closed the door behind me, not wanting one of the others to walk by and see this.
"Lance?" I called again.
The apartment was a mess. Clothing was strewn across the room, scattered here and there as if he had just dropped things where they landed, and it wasn't just today's clothing. The garbage can was overflowing, and walking closer I saw that not only was it filled with trash, but also there were empty vodka bottles mixed in. In the kitchen area the sink overflowed with dirty dishes, which were also stacked on the counter. There were a few on the dining room table as well, and a plate and fork sat stuck together on the coffee table. On the far side of the room I saw a dent in the wall, and a book on the floor below it. Curious, I walked over and picked it up, brushing the plaster dust off of the top. One corner was dented, where it had slammed into the wall, and when I turned it over, I gasped.
It was Lance's Bible.
My stomach was a clawing pit of dread as I absently put the Bible down on the couch. I'm not very religious, but I still didn't want to leave it on the floor. I spun toward the rest of the apartment. The doors of both bedrooms were open, showing more of the same, neither bed made, tissues, clothes, and plates and glasses everywhere, but there was no sign of Lance. I looked at the closed bathroom door, and realized that the shower was running.
"Lance?" I called again, fearful suddenly.
In my head a clock had begun to count backward as I walked toward the bathroom door. I'm sure I was moving at normal speed, but in my head it was the sludgy, dreamlike slowness that comes with your worst nightmares. The ticking voice in my mind whispered that Lance had only been out of my sight for a minute, surely no more than two minutes, and really, how much trouble could he have gotten into in that short space of time? Even as I thought this another part of my mind registered that the shirt I just stepped over was the one Lance had been wearing, and then my fingers closed over the doorknob with the same maddening slowness as my heart pounded in my ears.
I pulled open the bathroom door and a cloud, a wave of steam blew out, the humidity slapping me in the face. At the back of the bathroom, the shower curtain was pulled closed, and I could see nothing through it, but Lance had to be in there.
"Lance?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Lance, it's Jack. Lance, please, please answer me."
I walked toward the curtain, my eyes flicking over the bathroom. The garbage can in here was overflowing as well, and the medicine cabinet stood open. Below it, on the sink, I saw Lance's razor, and felt a wave of dizziness wash over me, along with cold, biting fear.
I grabbed the shower curtain and pulled it back, almost ripping it off the bar.
Yes, yes, I know, cliffhangers are evil.