new fic
Is it wrong to want to Blame Widget for this? That's wrong, isn't it? I'm crossing the streams.
This is for the Closet Challenge, February 2004. There would be a wacky synopsis here, had I thought of one.
I conceal, tease...and feel before I let you have it
by Gale
SUMMARY: In which JC Chasez Writes A Rock Opera.
"So I'm writing a rock opera," JC said one morning,
impossibly cheerful at four AM - and holy fuck, no he
*wasn't* dreaming, it was four *in the morning*, and
JC had better have a really great fucking reason for
this - "and I was wondering if you'd want to listen to
a couple of demos, see if I'm out of my mind for even
trying this."
"You're writing a rock opera," Justin said without
opening his eyes. "I'm gonna go with 'yeah, just a
little'."
"It's sort of hard to explain. The working title is
Buffy Frees the People From the Matrix, but I'm pretty
sure I'm gonna have to change that, 'cause there's no
way Joss Whedon or Grant Morrison are gonna give me
the working rights to that."
"Grant Morrison didn't write The Matrix."
"Well, no, but he was totally ripped off," JC said,
blithe as anything, and Justin remembered that it was
one in the morning in Los Angeles. One in the morning
in LA, JC's just hitting his stride. It was shaping up
to be a very, very long phone call.
"Okay, so. Songs?"
"Yeha." A couple thousand miles away, Justin could
hear JC shuffling through papers. "I don't know,
though. I was thinking yeah, okay, a couple of ballads
for the chicks-"
"You can't call them chicks. You couldn't call them
bitches, you can't call them chicks."
"The girls *I* know don't mind."
"The girls you know-" Justin made himself shut up. It
was incredibly stupid to be jealous of Tara Reid -
Tara *Reid*, who JC was still friends with and who he,
technically, never had sex with. Oral sex, JC had
argued, didn't count as sex if you're not in a
relationship with the person you're going down on. One
day, Justin intends to figure out exactly how he got
from Mennonite to *that*.
"Fine, okay. A couple of ballads for the *ladies*," JC
said. Justin could almost hear him rolling his eyes.
"There's a lot of rock stuff, 'cause, hi, rock opera,
and I can't figure out which one I want more - the
machines singing spirituals, or the Greek chorus of
teenage Japanese girls."
"Well, if you're marketing more towards - wait, how do
machines sing spirituals?"
"Very loudly," JC said. "Lots of screeching. Sounds
like Trent Reznor having sex with the cast of Stomp.
Um. In my head, anyway."
The answer didn't surprise him. "Okay. Do you *need*
the chorus? Is it an actual plot device, or do you
just think it's cool?"
"Both. I mean, it looks cool, but ths thing sort of
requires a chorus, man. There's *backstory*."
"Okay." Justin rolled onto his back and stared up at
the ceiling. He couldn't believe he was having this
conversation at four in the morning. "I'd go with the
chorus," he finally said. "I mean, unless you can work
in the machine thing, and it's important to the plot,
I'd go with the girls."
"Really?"
"Please. Tiny Japanese girls in schoolgirl uniforms?
I'd knock *you* out of the way."
"No you wouldn't." He could hear JC grin. "Thin
Japanese boys, maybe-"
"Get off my phone!" Justin said, very loudly so JC
knew he wasn't kidding. "Go write your opera! Some of
us need our beauty sleep!" Most people wouldn't think
it, but insults - unless they're in the middle of a
fight - are code for "I love you". It was slightly
fucked up, but not terribly surprising. They'd both
spent way too many years around Chris and Lance.
"You don't need that, moron," JC said, and hung up,
but Justin knew he meant "I love you too".
====
"I need a word or a phrase," JC said, "that rhymes
with 'insaitable.'"
"Most people say hi first." Justin slouched down in
the backseat and stretched his legs out, staring up at
the ceiling. Nothing as much fun as circling the arena
and waiting to approach. Waiting in line to get into
an awards show: just one of the many things no one
told you about being famous.
"Hi." He could hear JC writing on the other end of the
line. "So. Rhymes?"
"You haven't even asked me how I am." And wow, *that*
sounded petulant.
"Justin," JC said patiently, "if something was really
wrong, you'd have told me by now, or Lonnie would have
called, or *someone* would have called. Like your mom.
And there would be hospital noises in the background.
I sort of figured you were all right."
All of which was true. It still made him feel a little
whiny. "So." Justin wiggled his toes inside his dress
shoes. Stupid dress shoes. He'd worn sneakers to this
damn thing a year ago; he didn't see why wearing an
actual suit made it so important to have grownup
footwear. "Why do you need a rhyme for insaitable?"
"Because that's what I just ended the preceding line
on," JC said. "I figured it sounded classier than
'can't stop fucking'. Also, that's harder to find a
rhyme for."
"Well, not necessarily," Justin argued. "Is this for
the musical, or for you?"
"*Rock opera*," JC stressed. Justin could almost hear
him roll his eyes. "And yes. It's for one of the
ballads."
"You're writing a ballad with the word 'insaitable' in
it?"
"It's tender!"
"It's sort of creepy." As soon as the words were out
of his mouth, Justin clapped his hand over his mouth.
Uh-oh. The hummingbird mouth strikes again.
"Well. Maybe." JC sounded - relaxed. Scarily relaxed.
"Anyway. Sorry to bother you, I know you have a big
night ahead, so I'm just gonna-"
"Jayce, no, I'm sor-"
"-go ahead and let you go, and you have a good night,"
JC said, totally cheerful. There was a two-second
pause, and then a dial tone.
"-sorry I'm a dick," Justin said into the dead phone,
and closed his eyes.
====
"There's no direct rhyme for insaitable," Justin said
as soon as JC picked up. "I mean, there's plenty of
-ble words, but the middle consonant's what's gonna
screw you up every time. I'm not trying to harass you
or stifle your creativity. It's rules of English. And
I'm sorry I was a jerk earlier, and that I hurt your
feelings. I'm a terrible boyfriend." He paused. "You
can talk now," he added.
"Oh, that." He could almost see JC wave a hand. "I'm
over that."
"What? No you're not."
"Yes I am." There were more writing sounds on the
other end of the line. "And it's not like you're
wrong." There was a very slight pause. "But, you know,
you could have phrased it a little better. I mean,
yeah, okay, you're under stress, but next time try to
sound less like a pissy little bitch, okay?"
"Not a bitch," Justin said. "A jerk. C'mon, man,
insult me using the right words."
JC snorted. "Anyway, I changed the scene," he said.
"It's not like you were wrong. It's sort of creepy,
and hard to rhyme without messing up the consonants
and stuff. So now I've got Tatiana-"
"Who?"
"My heroine."
"Ah."
"So now I've got her doing a dramatic monologue using
the ammo the other side's using as a metaphor for her
doomed love affair with her commanding officer. Also,
she's only wearing a bra and panties, so that should
keep the guys in the seats."
"Also," Justin said, "Aliens homage."
"There is that," JC said. Justin heard the pen make a
very small thunk against the paper as he put them both
down. "I'm sorry about the Britney thing, by the way."
Justin shrugged. "It's not a big deal. It's not like I
didn't know she was into making out in public with
women. Remember? My 20th birthday?"
"Don't remind me," JC muttered. "It took almost a
month for that goddamn piercing to grow over."
"It could have been worse." Justin undid his cufflinks
and set them down on the dresser. He'd put them in his
duffel bag later, after his shower. Easier to pack as
he went, rather than have Lonnie wake him up 45
minutes early to make sure he didn't leave anything
behind. The last time he'd forgotten, a pair of JC's
underwear had ended up on eBay. Of course, the maid
had thought they were his, but it wasn't like JC had
been thrilled with that explanation any more than he
had the other one. "So when do I get to see this opus
of yours? It's been almost two weeks."
"It usually takes more than a fortnight to write a
play," JC said. "Especially one with, you know, songs
dead-smack in the middle to provide a lot of
exposition. You'll be the first one I show it to, I
promise."
Justin let out a long-suffering sigh. "*Fine*."
"And in the meantime," JC added, "you could help me
with a plot point. See, I was looking over my outline,
and what the doomed love affair really needs is a
scene with phone sex. So, you know, you might want to
help me research that."
That was more like it. "I'm sure I can help," Justin
said, unbuckling his belt.
====
When Justin sat up and fumbled for the lamp switch,
snapping it on with clumsy fingers and mostly-closed
eyes, somehow he wasn't at all surprised to see JC
sitting at the table next to the window, smiling at
him over a pad of paper and a pen.
"Hey," he said softly, blinking. Blinking always made
him wake up faster. He'd learned that trick from JC,
actually. "What're you doin' here, man? It's-" glance
at the clock "-2:15. In the *morning*."
"Not out in LA," JC said, cracking his knuckles. He
rolled his head from side to side and tried not to
yawn. "It's not even midnight out there, so I'm not
even sleepy yet."
"You just yawned."
"Yeah, but not because it's quarter after two in the
morning. I've been up for three days now." He beamed.
"The opera's finished."
"Really? Cool." And it was, but - 2:15. In the
morning. What, he couldn't have waited for *daybreak*?
And sometimes Justin really wondered if JC was
psychic, just a little, because he shrugged and added,
"I know it's really early, but I figured this would be
easier than trying to surprise you when you were
awake." He put the pen down and got to his feet,
started towards the bed. "You can read it in the
morning," he said, hands undoing his zipper as he
walked. Justin loved that. It was so hot that JC
could, like, multitask. If he'd learned anything from
being in relationships, it was that he couldn't
combine walking and undressing. It never ended well.
"That's good," Justin said. Talking seemed
superfluous, now, but it seemed like the thing to do.
Also, he couldn't quite seem to get his mouth to stop
moving. "I mean, I said I would, and you said I could,
so that's good. I like reading."
JC slid the jeans down and kicked them away, then
pulled the covers back and slid into bed next to
Justin, kissing his shoulder. "You're rambling," he
said, grinning. JC really liked it when he rambled;
said he didn't do it near often enough.
"Maybe a little," Justin said, suddenly feeling
defensive. "But it's not like *you* don't do it.
Jesus. Remember that one time-" and then he shut up
entirely and tried not to make unmanly noises, because
JC had licked his thumb - fucking licked his thumb,
like, right in front of him, like this was the set of
a fucking porno movie, and he was *so* having Lonnie
check the closet before he checked out - and slid it
under the covers, trailing it over the head of
Justin's dick. Slick little wet tease, the kind of
thing that made Justin go crazy.
"I like it when you ramble," JC said, still impossibly
cheerful for someone who got that focused during sex.
He cradled the length of Justin's dick in his palm and
rubbed the head very lightly, teasing it. "Gets me all
hot to realize you can't form coherent sentences
anymore."
"Can too," Justin said, and that was *not* a gasp,
he'd swear so in court. Except this would never go to
court, because JC was his boyfriend, not the
plaintiff, and it wasn't like they didn't usually
follow the apologies with sex anyway. He drew his legs
up and bent them at the knees, trying not to wiggle.
Wiggling would be unmanly, too.
"See? Like that." JC stroked him a couple more times,
then pulled his hand away, grinning wider when he
realized Justin had slid forward to try and follow
him.
"Gets me all hot," JC murmured, and slid one leg over
Justin's waist, planting himself firmly in his lap,
"gets me all crazy." And then he was easing
himself down, down, and oh holy god JC had gotten
himself ready before he'd even woken up, and he was
still wearing a slightly-faded Bikini Kill t-shirt and
that was all, and they were doing it, actually fucking
having sex after about a thousand years, and Justin
stopped paying attention to anything that wasn't
directly related to JC, or sex, or noises, or the way
JC bit his shoulder when he came, panting slightly but
not actually making any other noise.
====
"So can I see it?" Justin asked a while later, looking
up from JC's hand. Their fingers were linked together,
twining in and out and generally being very girly. But
fuck it, he hadn't seen him in a month. He was allowed
five damn minutes of girliness.
JC blinked at him. "See what?"
"The rock opera. You know, the thing that's kept you
away from me for the better part of a month."
"Okay, first of all, that makes me sound like a sea
captain's widow," JC said. "Stop it."
"But-"
"Second, um." JC tried not to look guilty. "I sort of
never finished it."
Justin sat up. "What?"
"Or got past Act Two," JC added. "Or wrote more than,
like, three songs, and they both sucked. So, you know.
might have been fibbing, a little."
"The Elders are gonna be so mad at you," Justin
marveled. JC poked him in the shoulder. Hard. "Ow!"
"Don't make fun," JC said, poking him again. "I don't
mock you reading The Celestine Prophecy and visiting
Buddhist temples and going with your grandparents to
church on Christmas Eve, do I?"
"Because that makes *sense*," Justin said. "A bisexual
Mennonite who writes songs about sex and goes vegan
eleven months out of the year-"
"Justin," JC said mildly, and Justin shut up. He was
mostly just teasing, and it wasn't worth a fight.
Certainly not now. His toes were still uncurling.
"Okay," Justin said, changing the subject. "So when
you said you were working on songs for the damn
thing-"
"I *was*," JC protested. "Um. working on songs. Just
not for that particular project, which died a bloody
and gasping death when I realized that I'd, like, have
to go into musical theater and shit. And that means
producing, and raising money, and, like, staging
stuff, and that's. no." He made a face. "Plus, if I'd
gone with what I actually had written, I'd get sued by
about fifteen different people, so that's not an
incentive, so much."
Justin raised an eyebrow at him. "So when you picked a
fight with me because of your word choice, that was to
have makeup sex?"
"No, I really was giving that a shot," JC said, "just
not for the play. And you *did* piss me off for the
better part of six hours."
"Dammit."
"It's okay." JC kissed his shoulder again and settled
next to him on the bed, relaxing into the mattress.
"You're weren't exactly wrong. And the song works
better now, so."
Justin fell back against the mattress and looked at
him. "So no more rock opera?"
"No more rock opera," JC said. "I mean, with the
choreography and the guns and the high notes? No. No
no no. I'll leave that to Roger Daltrey, thank you
very much."
"Probably a good idea," Justin said. "And hey! He can
leave the gay sex to you."
"I like the way you think," JC said, smiling, and
leaned down to kiss him again.
This is for the Closet Challenge, February 2004. There would be a wacky synopsis here, had I thought of one.
I conceal, tease...and feel before I let you have it
by Gale
SUMMARY: In which JC Chasez Writes A Rock Opera.
"So I'm writing a rock opera," JC said one morning,
impossibly cheerful at four AM - and holy fuck, no he
*wasn't* dreaming, it was four *in the morning*, and
JC had better have a really great fucking reason for
this - "and I was wondering if you'd want to listen to
a couple of demos, see if I'm out of my mind for even
trying this."
"You're writing a rock opera," Justin said without
opening his eyes. "I'm gonna go with 'yeah, just a
little'."
"It's sort of hard to explain. The working title is
Buffy Frees the People From the Matrix, but I'm pretty
sure I'm gonna have to change that, 'cause there's no
way Joss Whedon or Grant Morrison are gonna give me
the working rights to that."
"Grant Morrison didn't write The Matrix."
"Well, no, but he was totally ripped off," JC said,
blithe as anything, and Justin remembered that it was
one in the morning in Los Angeles. One in the morning
in LA, JC's just hitting his stride. It was shaping up
to be a very, very long phone call.
"Okay, so. Songs?"
"Yeha." A couple thousand miles away, Justin could
hear JC shuffling through papers. "I don't know,
though. I was thinking yeah, okay, a couple of ballads
for the chicks-"
"You can't call them chicks. You couldn't call them
bitches, you can't call them chicks."
"The girls *I* know don't mind."
"The girls you know-" Justin made himself shut up. It
was incredibly stupid to be jealous of Tara Reid -
Tara *Reid*, who JC was still friends with and who he,
technically, never had sex with. Oral sex, JC had
argued, didn't count as sex if you're not in a
relationship with the person you're going down on. One
day, Justin intends to figure out exactly how he got
from Mennonite to *that*.
"Fine, okay. A couple of ballads for the *ladies*," JC
said. Justin could almost hear him rolling his eyes.
"There's a lot of rock stuff, 'cause, hi, rock opera,
and I can't figure out which one I want more - the
machines singing spirituals, or the Greek chorus of
teenage Japanese girls."
"Well, if you're marketing more towards - wait, how do
machines sing spirituals?"
"Very loudly," JC said. "Lots of screeching. Sounds
like Trent Reznor having sex with the cast of Stomp.
Um. In my head, anyway."
The answer didn't surprise him. "Okay. Do you *need*
the chorus? Is it an actual plot device, or do you
just think it's cool?"
"Both. I mean, it looks cool, but ths thing sort of
requires a chorus, man. There's *backstory*."
"Okay." Justin rolled onto his back and stared up at
the ceiling. He couldn't believe he was having this
conversation at four in the morning. "I'd go with the
chorus," he finally said. "I mean, unless you can work
in the machine thing, and it's important to the plot,
I'd go with the girls."
"Really?"
"Please. Tiny Japanese girls in schoolgirl uniforms?
I'd knock *you* out of the way."
"No you wouldn't." He could hear JC grin. "Thin
Japanese boys, maybe-"
"Get off my phone!" Justin said, very loudly so JC
knew he wasn't kidding. "Go write your opera! Some of
us need our beauty sleep!" Most people wouldn't think
it, but insults - unless they're in the middle of a
fight - are code for "I love you". It was slightly
fucked up, but not terribly surprising. They'd both
spent way too many years around Chris and Lance.
"You don't need that, moron," JC said, and hung up,
but Justin knew he meant "I love you too".
====
"I need a word or a phrase," JC said, "that rhymes
with 'insaitable.'"
"Most people say hi first." Justin slouched down in
the backseat and stretched his legs out, staring up at
the ceiling. Nothing as much fun as circling the arena
and waiting to approach. Waiting in line to get into
an awards show: just one of the many things no one
told you about being famous.
"Hi." He could hear JC writing on the other end of the
line. "So. Rhymes?"
"You haven't even asked me how I am." And wow, *that*
sounded petulant.
"Justin," JC said patiently, "if something was really
wrong, you'd have told me by now, or Lonnie would have
called, or *someone* would have called. Like your mom.
And there would be hospital noises in the background.
I sort of figured you were all right."
All of which was true. It still made him feel a little
whiny. "So." Justin wiggled his toes inside his dress
shoes. Stupid dress shoes. He'd worn sneakers to this
damn thing a year ago; he didn't see why wearing an
actual suit made it so important to have grownup
footwear. "Why do you need a rhyme for insaitable?"
"Because that's what I just ended the preceding line
on," JC said. "I figured it sounded classier than
'can't stop fucking'. Also, that's harder to find a
rhyme for."
"Well, not necessarily," Justin argued. "Is this for
the musical, or for you?"
"*Rock opera*," JC stressed. Justin could almost hear
him roll his eyes. "And yes. It's for one of the
ballads."
"You're writing a ballad with the word 'insaitable' in
it?"
"It's tender!"
"It's sort of creepy." As soon as the words were out
of his mouth, Justin clapped his hand over his mouth.
Uh-oh. The hummingbird mouth strikes again.
"Well. Maybe." JC sounded - relaxed. Scarily relaxed.
"Anyway. Sorry to bother you, I know you have a big
night ahead, so I'm just gonna-"
"Jayce, no, I'm sor-"
"-go ahead and let you go, and you have a good night,"
JC said, totally cheerful. There was a two-second
pause, and then a dial tone.
"-sorry I'm a dick," Justin said into the dead phone,
and closed his eyes.
====
"There's no direct rhyme for insaitable," Justin said
as soon as JC picked up. "I mean, there's plenty of
-ble words, but the middle consonant's what's gonna
screw you up every time. I'm not trying to harass you
or stifle your creativity. It's rules of English. And
I'm sorry I was a jerk earlier, and that I hurt your
feelings. I'm a terrible boyfriend." He paused. "You
can talk now," he added.
"Oh, that." He could almost see JC wave a hand. "I'm
over that."
"What? No you're not."
"Yes I am." There were more writing sounds on the
other end of the line. "And it's not like you're
wrong." There was a very slight pause. "But, you know,
you could have phrased it a little better. I mean,
yeah, okay, you're under stress, but next time try to
sound less like a pissy little bitch, okay?"
"Not a bitch," Justin said. "A jerk. C'mon, man,
insult me using the right words."
JC snorted. "Anyway, I changed the scene," he said.
"It's not like you were wrong. It's sort of creepy,
and hard to rhyme without messing up the consonants
and stuff. So now I've got Tatiana-"
"Who?"
"My heroine."
"Ah."
"So now I've got her doing a dramatic monologue using
the ammo the other side's using as a metaphor for her
doomed love affair with her commanding officer. Also,
she's only wearing a bra and panties, so that should
keep the guys in the seats."
"Also," Justin said, "Aliens homage."
"There is that," JC said. Justin heard the pen make a
very small thunk against the paper as he put them both
down. "I'm sorry about the Britney thing, by the way."
Justin shrugged. "It's not a big deal. It's not like I
didn't know she was into making out in public with
women. Remember? My 20th birthday?"
"Don't remind me," JC muttered. "It took almost a
month for that goddamn piercing to grow over."
"It could have been worse." Justin undid his cufflinks
and set them down on the dresser. He'd put them in his
duffel bag later, after his shower. Easier to pack as
he went, rather than have Lonnie wake him up 45
minutes early to make sure he didn't leave anything
behind. The last time he'd forgotten, a pair of JC's
underwear had ended up on eBay. Of course, the maid
had thought they were his, but it wasn't like JC had
been thrilled with that explanation any more than he
had the other one. "So when do I get to see this opus
of yours? It's been almost two weeks."
"It usually takes more than a fortnight to write a
play," JC said. "Especially one with, you know, songs
dead-smack in the middle to provide a lot of
exposition. You'll be the first one I show it to, I
promise."
Justin let out a long-suffering sigh. "*Fine*."
"And in the meantime," JC added, "you could help me
with a plot point. See, I was looking over my outline,
and what the doomed love affair really needs is a
scene with phone sex. So, you know, you might want to
help me research that."
That was more like it. "I'm sure I can help," Justin
said, unbuckling his belt.
====
When Justin sat up and fumbled for the lamp switch,
snapping it on with clumsy fingers and mostly-closed
eyes, somehow he wasn't at all surprised to see JC
sitting at the table next to the window, smiling at
him over a pad of paper and a pen.
"Hey," he said softly, blinking. Blinking always made
him wake up faster. He'd learned that trick from JC,
actually. "What're you doin' here, man? It's-" glance
at the clock "-2:15. In the *morning*."
"Not out in LA," JC said, cracking his knuckles. He
rolled his head from side to side and tried not to
yawn. "It's not even midnight out there, so I'm not
even sleepy yet."
"You just yawned."
"Yeah, but not because it's quarter after two in the
morning. I've been up for three days now." He beamed.
"The opera's finished."
"Really? Cool." And it was, but - 2:15. In the
morning. What, he couldn't have waited for *daybreak*?
And sometimes Justin really wondered if JC was
psychic, just a little, because he shrugged and added,
"I know it's really early, but I figured this would be
easier than trying to surprise you when you were
awake." He put the pen down and got to his feet,
started towards the bed. "You can read it in the
morning," he said, hands undoing his zipper as he
walked. Justin loved that. It was so hot that JC
could, like, multitask. If he'd learned anything from
being in relationships, it was that he couldn't
combine walking and undressing. It never ended well.
"That's good," Justin said. Talking seemed
superfluous, now, but it seemed like the thing to do.
Also, he couldn't quite seem to get his mouth to stop
moving. "I mean, I said I would, and you said I could,
so that's good. I like reading."
JC slid the jeans down and kicked them away, then
pulled the covers back and slid into bed next to
Justin, kissing his shoulder. "You're rambling," he
said, grinning. JC really liked it when he rambled;
said he didn't do it near often enough.
"Maybe a little," Justin said, suddenly feeling
defensive. "But it's not like *you* don't do it.
Jesus. Remember that one time-" and then he shut up
entirely and tried not to make unmanly noises, because
JC had licked his thumb - fucking licked his thumb,
like, right in front of him, like this was the set of
a fucking porno movie, and he was *so* having Lonnie
check the closet before he checked out - and slid it
under the covers, trailing it over the head of
Justin's dick. Slick little wet tease, the kind of
thing that made Justin go crazy.
"I like it when you ramble," JC said, still impossibly
cheerful for someone who got that focused during sex.
He cradled the length of Justin's dick in his palm and
rubbed the head very lightly, teasing it. "Gets me all
hot to realize you can't form coherent sentences
anymore."
"Can too," Justin said, and that was *not* a gasp,
he'd swear so in court. Except this would never go to
court, because JC was his boyfriend, not the
plaintiff, and it wasn't like they didn't usually
follow the apologies with sex anyway. He drew his legs
up and bent them at the knees, trying not to wiggle.
Wiggling would be unmanly, too.
"See? Like that." JC stroked him a couple more times,
then pulled his hand away, grinning wider when he
realized Justin had slid forward to try and follow
him.
"Gets me all hot," JC murmured, and slid one leg over
Justin's waist, planting himself firmly in his lap,
"gets me all crazy." And then he was easing
himself down, down, and oh holy god JC had gotten
himself ready before he'd even woken up, and he was
still wearing a slightly-faded Bikini Kill t-shirt and
that was all, and they were doing it, actually fucking
having sex after about a thousand years, and Justin
stopped paying attention to anything that wasn't
directly related to JC, or sex, or noises, or the way
JC bit his shoulder when he came, panting slightly but
not actually making any other noise.
====
"So can I see it?" Justin asked a while later, looking
up from JC's hand. Their fingers were linked together,
twining in and out and generally being very girly. But
fuck it, he hadn't seen him in a month. He was allowed
five damn minutes of girliness.
JC blinked at him. "See what?"
"The rock opera. You know, the thing that's kept you
away from me for the better part of a month."
"Okay, first of all, that makes me sound like a sea
captain's widow," JC said. "Stop it."
"But-"
"Second, um." JC tried not to look guilty. "I sort of
never finished it."
Justin sat up. "What?"
"Or got past Act Two," JC added. "Or wrote more than,
like, three songs, and they both sucked. So, you know.
might have been fibbing, a little."
"The Elders are gonna be so mad at you," Justin
marveled. JC poked him in the shoulder. Hard. "Ow!"
"Don't make fun," JC said, poking him again. "I don't
mock you reading The Celestine Prophecy and visiting
Buddhist temples and going with your grandparents to
church on Christmas Eve, do I?"
"Because that makes *sense*," Justin said. "A bisexual
Mennonite who writes songs about sex and goes vegan
eleven months out of the year-"
"Justin," JC said mildly, and Justin shut up. He was
mostly just teasing, and it wasn't worth a fight.
Certainly not now. His toes were still uncurling.
"Okay," Justin said, changing the subject. "So when
you said you were working on songs for the damn
thing-"
"I *was*," JC protested. "Um. working on songs. Just
not for that particular project, which died a bloody
and gasping death when I realized that I'd, like, have
to go into musical theater and shit. And that means
producing, and raising money, and, like, staging
stuff, and that's. no." He made a face. "Plus, if I'd
gone with what I actually had written, I'd get sued by
about fifteen different people, so that's not an
incentive, so much."
Justin raised an eyebrow at him. "So when you picked a
fight with me because of your word choice, that was to
have makeup sex?"
"No, I really was giving that a shot," JC said, "just
not for the play. And you *did* piss me off for the
better part of six hours."
"Dammit."
"It's okay." JC kissed his shoulder again and settled
next to him on the bed, relaxing into the mattress.
"You're weren't exactly wrong. And the song works
better now, so."
Justin fell back against the mattress and looked at
him. "So no more rock opera?"
"No more rock opera," JC said. "I mean, with the
choreography and the guns and the high notes? No. No
no no. I'll leave that to Roger Daltrey, thank you
very much."
"Probably a good idea," Justin said. "And hey! He can
leave the gay sex to you."
"I like the way you think," JC said, smiling, and
leaned down to kiss him again.