More AC!JC
Justin knows that there are things JC misses out of his old life. He wants to go back into the past, pick out all those tender things that JC used to hold so important.
No, there’s nothing wrong with JC’s life right now, lavish and luxurious and JC practices self control every day of the week. Still, there’s something missing. There’s always something missing, when it comes to JC.
They lay together on the couch in the same way they’ve done for days. They’re in silence, in darkness. JC just lies there, as if he’s separated from the rest of the world in his little room with Justin. There’s something strange about that, he guesses. And even through the sensory deprivation, there’s an unsavory, unsatisfactory feeling inside the pit of his stomach.
JC sighs, nuzzling deeper, naked skin upon naked skin. JC’s fingers spread out on Justin’s chest, just a little, in a ticklish spot. And Justin has to suppress his laugh, because it would come bellowing out, and as much as JC’s happy, laughter is just something out of style for him.
JC does it again. Justin’s toes curl. He does it again, Justin starts to toss and turn under him.
And soon, JC’s hands are in a flurry all over, making Justin laugh long and hard like he’s playing an instrument.
There’s something nice and cacophonous about it, about the way JC cracks a smile that glows in the dark, and the way Justin fights until his hands can rise up as well and he can tickle JC back, until they’re both rolling off the sofa, onto the floor, convulsing in laughter, in pure, lighthearted joy. JC’s laying on his side and convulsing in his laughter and it’s all too much, because JC’s batting away his hands and arching off the floor and laughing without remorse, laughing even as Justin stops, rests his hands, rolls off JC’s naked body.
It’s like he can’t control it. He doesn’t want to control it. And he rolls over with his hands across his stomach because he’s gotten a stitch, one thing Justin knows he hasn’t felt in a very long time, with a body like that.
JC’s curling into a nice, tight little ball, strangely enough, while still laughing, curling up next to Justin’s left arm, happy pulses of breath and joy are breathed upon its skin.
Justin really doesn’t know why. He does know, however, that this is a side of JC that has been gone for too long, close, happy, like the clouds and blue sky over the smog that is JC’s new persona.
Of course, what goes up must come down, and soon, JC’s back inside his cocoon of depravity. And suddenly his hands are all over, he’s activated, he’s turned into a mangled cat, a shadow to the person he used to be yet again. And it doesn’t matter, because Justin switches onto autopilot, letting himself be taken over.
JC makes love to him like an old spice girl song, a period piece of performance art, raunchy and gleeful, sentimental and depraved, a cacophony of sensation. They roll around on the floor, JC keeping inside Justin, staying reserved to anything but pleasuring Justin. It’s as if he’s accustomed to thinking that he doesn’t have to matter.
Justin never remembers being so generous when he was on top. Both literally, and figuratively.
It doesn’t stop, either, the generosity that JC shows him. It doesn’t stop after Justin gets off, it doesn’t stop after JC sucks him hard again, it doesn’t stop when JC tongue-bathes Justin from head to toe.
Justin, after he gets off the third time, turns over, and spreads JC’s legs. He uses his own come as quick lube to enter JC easily, quick and dirty. As much as Justin wants to return the miraculous favor of being so selfless, JC’s holding onto him tight, both inside and out, grunting deep and moaning low. He rides the crest of Justin’s every thrust, amazing Justin with how quickly he can change, how quickly he can submit.
“Fuck me, oh…”JC growls at him, growls in that sexy-nasty growl he’s known for, “Ooh, yes. Mmmh.”
And JC comes hard, squeezing around Justin hard, but trying his best to not look like he was falling apart. Justin can feel him shaking, but it’s as if someone else is with them, in their home, and JC doesn’t want them to know.
After, while trying to pick up the pieces of their bodies and catch their breath, JC rubs against Justin, arms wrapping him, slithering down his body like an endless massage. And it feels good, feels like there’s nothing wrong with him, feels like there’s love surrounding him from head to toe. He would debate there is.
That night, he dreams of watching JC and Britney dance with each other in a steamy club in the middle of a dark. It’s twisted and seductive, because Britney’s shining in this club, wearing silver-dyed lace and dark painted eyes and she’s dyed her hair auburn, and JC’s wearing a pair of lacy pants and a sweater that looks like he wouldn’t war over his dead body. Either way, they tango with professional skill. JC looks utterly dominant against Britney, the other couples, the smoke in the room. He leads them all around as if he is the center of the universe, as if he really does remote control Britney. And they keep doing it, all the way up until JC turns and tells him ‘Justin, Justin, there’s a phone call for you Justin! Justin wake up!’
Justin rolls over in the bed, and moans. It’s Britney on the phone.
Britney.
Britney meets up with him at the next industry function. They both watch as JC and Eva stroll in like ethereal children of the world again, as they almost always do. Britney almost looks miserable when she sees it.
Then again, from the sound of it, Britney has a lot of things to be miserable about. She’s gotten her second divorce.
“Thank god we didn’t have that baby,” She quips, the cigarette she’s holding sliding up and down her two fingers.
Justin thinks that Britney looks the way he feels, like decayed glam, decayed fame. He remembers the time when they were light versions of JC and Eva, all beauty and casual sex and lie after lie. To watch it now, to see JC in that place after languishing in riff-raff for so long is scary. He knows where they’re both headed.
It doesn’t matter, though, because once Britney and he get to JC’s house, opening the door, JC’s got Eva spread out on the stairs. Britney turns away and giggles quietly, but Justin’s drawn in.
He’s got Eva’s dress rolled up, silver on silver on brown, smooth skin, and He’s diving into her hard, making her cry out with every thrust. They’re locked up at the waist, but they’re locked up as the mouth as well, and Eva’s hands are wrapped inside JC’s, gathered comfortably at the small of his back, pulling his arms backward with every thrust,
“Come on, baby,” JC whispers, “Come for me.”
And that’s the final nail in the coffin, because Eva’s screaming with the force of her orgasm, jerking under him, uncomfortable and contradictory. JC shivers with his own minutes later. They both slow down, after, Eva’s hands going into JC’s hair, JC’s hands going around her waist.
Justin exhales slowly, he feels as though he’s invaded an intimate moment between the two of them, one that he can remember so quickly from his own past. Britney’s got unshed tears in her eyes, and he’s afraid to ask why.
“Enjoy the show?” JC finally asks, addressing the two of them. Justin pauses to say something, but JC stops him. “Oh, come on, It’s not like we don’t like the attention.”
“But…” Britney stops.
“Eva?” JC interrupts.
“Yes?” She asks, standing up from the stairs and fixing her dress. She pouts at a certain wrinkle she can’t comb from the dress, but shrugs it off after.
“Did you mind?” JC asks.
“I liked it,” Eva smiles. “Didn’t mind at all. In fact, I liked it as much as I like watching you and him together.”
And there it is, that decadent smile from the both of them as if they’re linked in some rapturous way. And JC walks up to Justin, kissing his lips slowly, devouring the taste of skin yet again. And when they break away, Justin’s lips burn with lip-gloss, the lip-gloss that both JC and Eva are wearing. And there’s something so sadistic about it, something recognizably evil.
Justin has to have more.
Britney looks horrified, as the two of them kiss again and hold close, rubbing against each other’s foreheads.
JC breaks away reluctantly, but tells Justin to be a gentleman and take care of his makeshift date first, escorting her home, perhaps staying the night.
“You sadistic bastard,” Justin laughs. JC grins, but says nothing.
So Justin does just what he says. And goes one step forward.
When he gets home, JC’s there, on the couch.
“I didn’t think you were going to be a gentleman and actually stay the night,” JC smiles, He’s got a glass and a bottle of southern comfort at his side, prim and properly capped and clean. “You do anything I would do?”
“All that’s reserved for you,” Justin says, “We just talked.”
“I will always and forever admire your self-control. We raised you right, babe,” JC whispers, as he sees Justin lay down. They kiss long and slow, and Justin sighs after.
“Thank you.”
They just lay there for a while, watching as the sun comes up. JC sighs, and lays idle in Justin’s lap, curled under Justin’s body. He falls asleep there, and soon, Justin lays down on the sofa, and sighs, falling asleep as well.
When he wakes up, he realizes that JC’s writhing against him, nuzzling his skin, drinking in his muscles. Justin realizes that his body is taunt with arousal, and JC’s only doing more to make him hard than give him relief.
“You awake?” JC asks, looking across the sofa at him.
“Mm, yeah,” Justin purrs back. JC’s cheeks suck in a little bit, and Justin realizes that he’s hurting JC’s condition as well, by simply sounding so saited, sounding so good.
He knows it’s uncouth, but Justin gets up anyway, and unscrews the cap off the bottle of southern comfort, pouring some into a glass. JC watches him with amused eyes as he takes a swig.
“Want some?” Justin asks.
“I’d rather drink it from you,” JC smiles, sitting up on the other side of the sofa and pulling Justin’s face to his own, kissing him slow so he can bask in the taste of sleep and sweet liquor. He strives to get each corner, to taste everything he possibly can. It doesn’t matter to him, does not give him any trouble at all.
JC strips out of his clothes, grinning like an idiot and trying to get Justin to do the same. “I’m gonna do what I wanted to do last night.”
“What was that?” Justin asks.
JC curls up against Justin and rubs against him like a cat.
“Fuck me?” JC asks.
“Gladly,” Justin says, and there’s that voice again, that voice that makes tremors go through JC’s body, makes him wonderfully submissive, as if it’s the only thing Justin can use in an arsenal that could have brought millions of others to their knees years ago.
They fuck hard on the couch, messy and hot and JC lays there and takes it, laughing softly, He drinks the southern comfort from Justin’s mouth, fucks himself hard on Justin’s cock. He moans when he feels Justin’s hands all over him in drunken passion, he sighs when Justin shoves in a little harder, a little further. JC comes with a scream, shaking without control.
And finally, Justin feels selfless.
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