No fancy introduction, just a thank you to all who have continued to email me their comments.
Disclaimer: This story does not wish to imply the sexualities, or personalities of the celebrities mentioned, nor do I know them.
If you don't like homosexual relationships, or have no wish to read about them, I suggest you go read 1984 by George Orwell, a bit depressing but essential reading. Thank you.
Something Like Justin- Chapter Six- Dreaming
The last night in New York was spent pleasantly in a family run Italian restaurant just Joe, Stephanie, Ashley, Emily and myself. The relaxed, intimate nature of the meal was just what we all needed before our early flight to LA and to reinforce the friendships we had with one another, which, with touring and promotional work, had become slightly strained.
"So what's happening to the Buick?" I asked Stephanie.
"Oh. Damn, that won't fit on the plane, will it?" She laughed lightly.
"Someone will have to drive it to LA." Joe chuckled.
"Sounds like an adventure." I enthused.
"But we can't do it," Ashley interjected, "Because we've got performances in the first few days, so we all need to be there for it."
"I can't leave it here." Stephanie said quietly.
"Who could drive it over?" Emily wondered aloud.
"Management?" Joe suggested, poking his pasta with a fork.
"No, I have an idea..." Emily smiled wickedly, "Think; who else do we know who will be going to LA?"
"N Sync!" Ashley cheered, then frowned, "But they won't be there for another couple of weeks."
"Okay, I'll rephrase." Emily cut in, "Whom does Chris know that will be going to LA?"
"Chris?" Ashley looked at me intrigued.
"What, Matt?" I said bemused, "I hardly know him. I can't just ask him that kind of favour."
"Why not?" Emily intertwined her fingers in front of her, resting her chin on the fleshy platform, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind driving it over."
"It'll take days though, won't it?" I stressed, searching my mind for knowledge of American geography.
"This is Ryan Phillippe we're talking about, right?" Ash questioned.
"He's called Matt." I snapped.
"Ok, so it's Ryan." Ash grinned.
"He could be too busy." Joe supported my doubts.
"Remember this is my car!" Stephanie cried out, "He might wreck it!"
"Anyone could wreck it, Stephanie." Emily laughed, "I doubt he's that unsafe. I'm sure it will be fine."
"We can't just expect him to do that." I shook my head.
"I'll ask Chris to suggest it, if you like." Emily relented, "I'm sure he'll see the logic."
I sipped at the glass of water painting condensation on my fingers and played lightly at the ice cubes suspended within the liquid with my tongue.
"Whatever," I groaned, "just don't tell him it was my idea or anything."
"I won't. No mention of the name. Nah-nah." Emily smiled.
The flight back to LA was, predictably, slightly unnerving, but blissfully short. A car had been arranged at the airport and we piled in, eager to discover what our home for the next few months looked like. The dusty road and desiccated ground stretched away behind us as we neared our destination, our tired minds as fragmented as the dry earth bordering the freeway.
Cast in the grey-blue light of the dying evening, our house forced a jagged silhouette from the surroundings. Its size at first overwhelmed me, as I had expected bargain basement treatment, but it seemed our management had faith beyond measure. We stormed into its spacious, initially hostile interior, until we had busied ourselves getting our suitcases in and switching on the lights, starting a fire (in the wide fireplace) and soon began to explore its unfolding in a much more patient way.
It was a wood framed, weather boarded type with large sash and casement windows, an open plan downstairs and resembled those that I had seen in movies about America before I came here. It had its oddities though, like the fact that three bedrooms were on the ground floor and the other four were on the first floor. We had already planned to turn one of these into a music room for practicing by ourselves, or for working out riffs and melodies.
The dogleg staircase led up to a mezzanine that over looked the double height dining area, with its broad, oval table, assortment of chairs and refreshing areas of full height glazing which allowed light into the kitchen, below the mezzanine, central to the house. The mezzanine rose to the rafters of the roof, which had glazing so it was like a solarium with the bedrooms positioned around this square space.
One thing in particular which excited me greatly, was that two bedrooms shared a bathroom between them; something very unfamiliar in Britain, but I thought I could handle sharing with one, as opposed to four, people. There was a bathroom on the ground floor that could be accessed by guests from the dining room.
The house was very sparsely furnished, as of course, none of us had any furniture to begin with, having only lived with our parents before we started touring in America, and hadn't had time to acquire any. The management had sorted out some important things, like the dining table and chairs, beds, chests of drawers and a few comfortable chairs in the huge living room, but it was so big, it seemed to shrink the furniture to insignificant proportions. I could predict a few fights might break out if certain people found themselves without a comfy seat.
However, I knew that this house would only bring good things for the future.
"Okay, hello Little House on the Prairie." Emily said, giggling.
"We should start calling each other Bobby-Joe, or Maryanne-Louise." Ash cried out, "Bags Kathy-Anne."
"Can I be John-Boy?" I asked sweetly, continuing, "Well, I'm bushed. See you guys tomorrow."
"Good night John-Boy!" Emily shouted after me as I climbed the stairs to grab a bedroom.
The next few days passed quickly, occupied by explorations of the house, familiarising ourselves with the local entertainment, and doing the required performances and interviews. Our second single was due to be released in a week or so, so we were really trying to get ourselves about performing it, without there being too much exposure in case people got sick of it.
We also waited the arrival of Stephanie's car, having got the remarkable help of Matt. I tried to brush off my friends' sneaky comments and innuendos, but still found myself lingering about the veranda at the front of the house when we had a spare moment at home, casting frequent glances along the road.
I stood at the kitchen counter, making myself a sandwich, when I heard the tickle of the gravel on the drive and a consequent, victorious sounding of a car horn. I skipped hastily to the front door and out onto the veranda. The shiny Buick lounged elegantly outside the house. Stephanie came running from around the back of the house, her eyes wide with excitement.
Matt appeared from the car, smiling proudly at Stephanie and I, even though his eyes were obviously tired. Stephanie hugged him, muttering her thanks as I walked down the steps to greet him.
"Hi." He said with amusement as he watched Stephanie running her hands over the car body, familiarising herself with it and checking for any damages in the most discreet fashion she could muster.
"Hi." I smiled awkwardly, rubbing a hand at the back of my neck, "Do you want a drink, or something?"
"It has been a long ride." He ascended the steps at my side.
"You haven't driven all the way, in one go?" I gasped.
"Oh, no. I made a few stops, and stayed overnight somewhere." He laughed, "But I've been driving since about eight o'clock this morning."
"Ah!" I murmured sympathetically, "I'll make us something to eat."
He sat on a stool in the kitchen as I busied myself with pulling out dried pasta, tinned tomatoes and herbs from the cupboards.
"I hope you like pasta and tomatoes." I grinned.
"My favourite." He laughed lightly.
"Good. It's mine too." I said seriously, but with a small smile, turning to the fridge to get some cream. What the hell, it's a special occasion.
I found his eyes on me as I prepared to cook the sauce slightly unnerving at first, but relaxed more as he began to tell me about the work he would have to be doing whilst in LA. Stephanie came in and hugged him again, evidently satisfied with his treatment of her car, chatting lightly to him, hoping to get to know him better.
"Ash suggested we go out for dinner," She said vaguely, looking at my simmering saucepan, "But I can see you're already catering for yourself, so, I guess we'll see you later."
I knew she was elaborately telling me that I had some time alone with Matt, so I smiled thankfully at her.
"Oh, well, it was nice to meet you, Stephanie." Matt grinned.
"You too Ryan. Sorry, Matt." She chuckled.
"It doesn't matter; you can call me Ryan if you like."
"Okay then. Goodbye, Ryan. See ya Chris."
"Bye." I called back from the hobs, absent-mindedly stirring the reddish mixture.
"So, is it ready?" Matt asked hopefully.
"Umm, no, if we leave it another ten minutes or so?" I noticed his slight grimace, and I offered, "We can have some wine in the meantime." I extracted a bottle.
"That's right. Get me drunk." He smiled.
"How are you getting home?" I enquired, "I mean; you don't have a car."
"I was going to get a taxi."
"You could...never mind." I shook my head, pouring out two glasses.
"What?" He smirked, "I'm interested now."
"You could stay if you like. We have extra rooms, so if you didn't feel like...oh, don't listen to me, I don't know what I'm saying. Why wouldn't you want to go home?" I laughed it off.
"I'd love to stay." He grinned, making a mock innocent face and adding, "Though I don't have any pyjamas."
"Oh, do people still wear them?" I asked, throwing him a mischievous grin.
"I'd have never believed it!" He giggled, "Look, we haven't even drunk any wine yet, and already we're turning into troglodytes."
"Oh yeah, like you aren't one anyway." I laughed, throwing some basil into the pan.
He laughed and took a mouthful of his wine, as I dropped a few handfuls of pasta into the bubbling water, stirring it frantically with a wooden spoon. We talked easily to each other throughout dinner, doing the usual things like swapping funny stories, talking about our families and discussing work a little. I soon noticed that a few hours had passed by,
"My God, look at the time." I exclaimed.
"Shall we have drinks on the veranda?" Matt suggested.
"Let's." I smiled, adding, "I'm not too sure what we've got though. That was our last bottle of wine..." I knelt and started sorting through the cupboards, "We've got some lager," I answered his raised eyebrows, "Oh, I mean, beer...I can put that in the fridge whilst we have some...vodka!" I cheered, dragging the bottle out from Emily's pitiful hiding place.
We moved our effects onto the veranda, sitting on the floor, as we didn't have any chairs yet. I ran back in to fetch us an obscene amount of cushions whilst Matt poured generous amounts of vodka over ice and lime. He laid back appreciatively into the mound of cushions I had assembled warning,
"I don't often drink vodka, so be prepared for me to start growing extra limbs or something."
"Grow another pair of arms and you could be Vishnu." I said enthusiastically.
"Sorry?" He creased his brow.
"Hindu god of war." I explained, "I've got a few Hindi friends back home."
"You have friends everywhere." He grinned thoughtfully.
"How do you mean?" I sipped tentatively at the squat glass, knowing that the first sip was the worst.
"Well, your band is pretty mixed; I mean you all have different dress sense, that's obvious, your music is serious, but you're friends with N Sync."
"You're friends with N Sync!" I protested, "And I don't think they'd appreciate you insinuating that their music isn't serious."
"I'm a friend of Chris's; not really with the others." He took a hesitant draught of the consuming broth, "Anyway, I just meant that all different people like you; not just the people who like the same things as you, or look the same."
"Ah, but one thing must unite them." I said knowledgeably.
"What's that?"
"All desperate for friends." I giggled, "That's why they are friends with me."
"Don't undersell yourself. I think you're a great person."
"Well, you can't be my friend then, can you?" I said uncertainly.
"Can I be more?" He leaned towards me, his eyes flicking between my lips and my eyes.
My God, he was handsome, and so real in the fading, afternoon light. Even though his mouth was a foot or so away from mine, I could feel his breath lightly on my lips and cheeks. I could smell the scent of his cologne and trace the individual hairs on his head. His eyes drilled into mine, so hopeful, so expectant...
"I'll go and get those beers." I dragged myself up from the cushions and rushed indoors.
His shadow followed me, pausing as he stood in the doorjamb.
"I'm sorry." He said openly, leaning on the wooden frame and looking down at his hands, "I read the signals wrong, and I'm sorry."
His voice was so beautiful, almost like the words were too big to flow out of his mouth, catching on his palate and rising in a bubble from his throat. I leaned on the kitchen counter, squeezing my eyes tightly shut for a second to force back any tears of exasperation.
"No, you were right." I said, gulping heavily, "I just...I'm not..."
I felt his warm hands on my upper arms as he held me lightly, but securing from behind.
"It's okay." He said so softly, it seemed to be borne on the wind.
"No, it's not." I complained desperately as I spun around to face him, "I like you and I can't..."
His lips pressed to mine, taking me by surprise. I pushed them out in shock as his moved lightly against mine. Allowing myself to give in to the powerful, intricate feelings of his mouth to mine, and the persistent touch of his hands through my shirt, I let him use me as he wanted. The fragile, pink skin of his lips roughened and smoothed my own, rubbing delicately and propagating unknown joys through the softest and harshest of motions.
We stayed like that, all at once barely touching, then at moments pressing hardly against one another as if to reinforce the tangible nature of one another, for what seemed an all too brief eternity. My breathing was shocked into quick gasps and long periods of daring not to breathe, as if my actions would cast him away. Then, a I became lost in the novelty, I sensed the moist brush of his tongue at my lips and teeth, modestly requesting passage.
I obeyed, my back tensing slightly as he slid into my mouth, stroking my own tongue carefully and hesitantly as he encouraged me to respond to him. I could feel the flow of blood to my crotch with the heavily erotic sensation as he suckled my tongue, rubbed his hands up and down my arms, and pushed our bodies together.
The base, physical stimuli along with the awesome knowledge of being wanted so passionately, so physically, and so expressively dissolved my apprehensions and anxieties: my neuroses and self-reflections. I was wanted in his arms, longed for by his lips and I could not imagine greater feelings than those I was receiving.
The garish, synthetic angles of the room around me fragmented, as all I could perceive was his smell, his touch, his taste and his intent. I gripped at his hips and torso frantically as I felt his fingers spider up, under my shirt, expertly caressing the tight skin on my lower back, and travel gingerly down to the virgin skin and warmth between my buttocks.
End of chapter six
So, what did you think? Graphic? Not graphic enough? Credible? Like to see more of Justin? Tell me and I'll be grateful.
Kris