Story: "Rough Night"
It was nearly four in the morning, and they had to be at the studio by ten, so whoever was ringing his doorbell over and over at this un-fucking-godly hour was about to get his ass kicked. Justin unlocked the door and pulled it open with a jerk. There stood JC, hands in pockets, gazing up at the early-morning sky. "What the hell do you want?"
JC turned wide eyes towards Justin, as though surprised to find him standing there, and shrugged.
"Do you know what fucking time it is?" Justin demanded.
JC shook his head, "What time is it?"
Justin clenched his fists, "Half past too-fucking-early o'clock. What the fuck are you here for? Someone better be either dead or dying."
JC brushed past Justin, went into the living room.
Justin slammed the door shut and followed him, "We've got to be at the studio in a few hours. You know that, right?"
JC walked around the room, one hand still in his pocket, the other casually trailing over the back of the couches, the top of a lamp shade, stopping to pick up a book. He studied the cover, turned it over to read the summary on the back.
"JC, fucking talk! What the fuck are you here for?" Justin plopped down on one of the couches, stretching out so he was laying on his back with his feet hanging over the armrest.
JC crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, stopping when he stood before the couch. He looked down at Justin, an odd smirk playing on his lips. "What am I here for?" His voice was heavy with amusement.
Justin raised his eyebrows, "Are you on crack? What's your problem?"
"I'm not on anything, that's my problem." JC's hand finally came out of his pocket, he showed Justin the plastic baggy he was holding, "Like red-heads?" Same amused tone, same peculiar smirk.
Justin took the sack from JC, opened it and sniffed. He licked his lips. This was almost worth getting woken up for. Almost. "Why didn't you just wait till tomorrow?" He scowled at JC, took another long whiff of the weed.
"Didn't thing you would mind." JC shrugged, reached for the baggy, "But if you want me to go..."
"No," Justin said quickly, pushing JC's hand away. "I mean, I'm already up..." He nodded towards the ceiling, "Go get a bong from the rec room." Justin hid his collection of bongs and pipes in the upstairs rec room closet in a big cardboard box labeled 'X-mas Decorations'. He closed his eyes and listened to JC's footsteps as he went to fetch one. A few minutes passed, and then JC appeared, holding a two-foot tall glass bong. It was beautiful, painted with swirling shades of light blues, the carb strategically placed in between bumps molded for a handgrip. It was named Rambo, and for good reason. Every one who smoked out of it agreed, "Rambo will kick your ass."
Justin and JC sat side by side on the floor, Indian-style, leaning against the front of the couch. Justin was pleased to find that JC had already filled Rambo with water. Justin carefully filled Rambo's dime-bowl, doing it just right so that it would burn evenly. When he was done, he looked at JC expectantly. JC knew what Justin wanted to hear, "You can spark." He handed Justin a lighter. Justin gave him a thankful smile before flicking the lighter and taking a long, steady hit. He held it in for a while, then let it go with a satisfied sigh. He did it again, listening to the bubbling noises the water made. When he was done with his second hit, he offered the bong to JC. JC shook his head, "We'll go bowl-by-bowl. You smoke this one, I'll smoke the next." Justin wasn't going to argue with that.
All too soon, Justin had cashed the bowl. He looked around for an ashtray, and, not finding one, just dumped the ash out onto his carpet. He put the bowl back in place, and filled it again. He looked at JC, who was watching him. He held out the lighter. JC shook his head, just a little, and that was all Justin needed. He smoked the bowl by himself, glancing at JC from time to time to see his expression. Every time he looked, it was blank.
After a while, Justin wasn't sure how many bowls he'd smoked, but he knew JC hadn't smoked any. The lights had been turned out, and JC sat down next to him, handing him a bottle of water. He didn't remember JC getting up in the first place. "Thirsty?" He was. He took the water gratefully and gulped it down. It tasted good. He'd smoked his way passed cottonmouth and munchies, but it tasted fucking good. "You gonna finish the sack?" JC asked, and Justin's answer to that question was always yes. Justin didn't mess with hard drugs, but he loved weed. A lot. He loved the process of smoking, the taste and smell of it. If he had weed, he smoked it. All of it. But he wasn't sure if he could finish the sack, he was really far gone. When he closed his eyes he felt that sinking feeling like when you're falling asleep. As though he could read Justin's mind, JC stuffed the baggy back into his pocket. "Actually, I think you're done, don't you?" Justin would've answered, but his mouth was on vacation. "Maybe just finish this bowl?" Justin put his mouth to the chamber, fumbled with the lighter, but it wouldn't work. It was broken. Or maybe his hand was broken. JC took the lighter away, flicked it alive easily, "Come on," he urged, "Suck." And Justin sucked.
After you reach a certain high, it's like your lungs don't exist anymore, and when you're inhaling, you're filling your entire body with smoke. There's no coughing, no limits to the amount that you can inhale. Justin sucked for a year, year-and-a-half. Inhaled a galaxy, let it come leaking out of him like a cloud. When the bowl was finally done, JC stood, picked up Rambo, and placed him carefully by the television. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you." He told Rambo, then smiled at Justin.
Justin could barely see JC, the only light in the room was the pale morning that shone through the windows. He leaned against the couch, let his head fall back onto the seat cushion. JC was standing over him now, his feet on either side of Justin's splayed legs, and he clucked his tongue. "Well, well, well. Look at you."
Justin lifted his head, looked down at himself. He was wearing a wife beater and a pair of boxers that had bunched high around his thighs. He looked up at JC, who was inspecting him carefully. Finally JC realized Justin was looking at him, and met his eyes. JC reached out, stroked Justin's cheek before cupping his chin, "Hmm...so pretty." He murmured thoughtfully. Justin moved his head away from JC's hand. Pretty. He hated that. JC knew he hated that. Justin stared straight ahead at JC's crotch, scowling. If he was sober, he might have told JC to go to hell. If he was sober, he might have said something about the erection tenting JC's pants. But since he was someplace far from sober, he just stared at it with mild fascination.
Suddenly JC's face was in front of his, and JC was sitting on the thighs of Justin's outstretched legs, and JC's hand cupped Justin's cheeks, then trailed down his neck, shoulders, down his arms, and back again. JC leaned close, too close. Justin tried to turn his head, but JC held it still, and when he spoke, his lips brushed Justin's, "Justin, Justin, Justin." It was a teasing whisper, "Do you want to play with me, Justin?" Justin tried to turn his head again, and this time JC let him. He ran his hands down Justin's chest, laughed softly, "I want to play with you..."
JC reached into his back pocket, brought out a leather packet. He opened the packet and slowly pulled out a knife. A dagger. Justin's legs were starting to fall asleep, and he jostled them a little. JC laughed, riding the movements of Justin's thighs. He kneeled, taking his weight off of him, "That better?" But grinning to show he didn't really care. JC pulled Justin's wife beater away from his skin and cut it with the dagger, the material making a sick ripping sound as it tore. Justin's eyes closed as JC licked his jaw line, spoke against his skin, "That better?" JC slid the material over Justin's shoulders, let it fall in a puddle at his wrists. JC held the dagger between his teeth so his hands were free, and lifted Justin's hands out of the armholes of the ruined wife beater. JC turned his head, spit the dagger onto the floor, "Put your hands behind your back."
Justin's head was leaning back against the couch; his eyes still closed. He didn't move. He couldn't move. His thoughts were like a thick soup. JC sensed that he wasn't disobeying to be defiant, and didn't get angry. He simply moved Justin's arms himself, bending them behind his back. He tied Justin's wrists together, tugging and knotting the white material until it bit into his skin. The pain cleared Justin's head a little. He vaguely attempted to move his arms.
Wet softness ran over his neck, lapped at his nipples, and he squirmed, grunted. He didn't realize he was hard until he felt JC tugging his boxers down over his erection. "Well, look at that." JC grabbed Justin's cock roughly, squeezed it. "You little slut." He released his grip, and Justin moaned. JC's hand covered Justin's mouth, his fingers digging into his cheek, "Shut the fuck up, you fucking whore." A current of fear ran through Justin's body, sobering him a bit. JC removed his hand, slapped Justin's cheek, and then slid both hands down Justin's back, under his boxers and over his ass, down the back of his thighs and calves, sliding the boxers down his body and over his feet, until he sat naked, exposed, vulnerable. Justin tried to pull his arms free, but JC had tied the restraint securely. He started to lift his legs to kick, but JC quickly picked up the dagger and pressed it to his neck. Justin froze, and JC laughed, running his free hand down Justin's torso, pressing his palm against his lower abdomen. "You asked me earlier what I was here for," JC turned his hand and clasped the base of Justin's erection, "Want three guesses?"
His mouth opened to retort, but JC pressed the knife harder to his neck, and he gasped. "That's right, Justin. Shut up and take it like a slut." JC licked over Justin's open lips, but didn't put his tongue inside Justin's mouth. "I want to taste you, but I don't want you to bite me." JC sat back on Justin's thighs, "Put it out for me." Justin hesitated, didn't know what to do. He wiggled his arms, even though he knew it was pointless. Holding the dagger in his teeth again, JC stripped off his shirt, threw it aside. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down. Taking the dagger from mouth and holding it to Justin's neck, JC stood up and used his free hand to take off his pants and boxers after kicking off his socks and shoes. Naked, he resumed his place on Justin's upper thighs, looked at him expectantly, "Put out your goddamn tongue." The dagger slid against Justin's neck, making a small cut that burnt and felt much larger to Justin than it actually was. "Don't make me hurt you. I don't want to have to cut up your pretty face."
Justin looked into JC's eyes, and the raw lust he saw shocked him further into sobriety. He opened his mouth wider, stuck out his tongue, and JC swooped down on it like a vulture, instantly sucking it into his mouth, sucking so hard it almost hurt, moaning and sliding further up Justin's thighs. Their erections bumped, and JC pulled away from him, laughing. "Still? Justin, Still?" JC used the dagger to point to the cut he's made on his neck, "Even after this?" Justin didn't know what to say. He was scared, ashamed, and his erection was throbbing. "You fucking slut." JC kneeled, backed away from Justin on his knees, took the dagger in his mouth so both his hands were free to grip Justin's thighs and yank him down, until he was lying on his back. He stared up at he ceiling helplessly, felt JC lay the dagger across his abdomen. JC's hands bent Justin's legs, cupped his ass and lifted it off the floor. Justin tried to lift his head to see what JC was doing, then gave up and closed his eyes. He thought about screaming, but remembered the knife laying across his stomach and thought better of it.
JC's hands were kneading his ass cheeks, pulling them apart. He jumped when he felt JC's tongue on his hole. Low, soft laughter, and hot breath, and that tongue licking and pushing inside. He bit his lip, afraid that if he made a sound JC would stop. A finger replaced the tongue, which left to make a wet path up to his scrotum, and then lap at the silky sac like a cat with a bowl of cream. His eyes shut tight; he gritted his teeth. He was aroused as hell and scared as shit.
Then a hand was stroking his hard-on, sliding up and down quickly, and his balls were sucked into JC's mouth, first one and then the other, and the finger in his ass turned into two, and pumped him in time with the hand on his cock. He wasn't breathing anymore, but rather taking in and releasing a rapid series of gasps and sighs. He pressed his feet against the floor and bucked his hips, thrusting into JC's hand. In one quick motion, the hand on his cock and the mouth on his balls switched places. The hand tugged on his heavy sac as JC deep-throated the pulsating erection and swallowed. He came hard and fast, his mouth wide open as if to scream, but all that came out was an almost painful-sounding moan. JC pulled back as Justin came, taking the cum into his mouth but not swallowing it, and then spitting it into his hand. He rubbed his cum-covered hand over his own cock, and then Justin's hole, before wiping his wet palm over Justin's face, smearing Justin's cum across his mouth. Justin instinctively started to lick his lips, but JC stopped him. "Keep your fucking tongue in your mouth, slut. That's for me."
Justin opened his eyes when he felt JC's dick rub against his ass, probing for the entrance. JC's hands rested on the floor on either side of his head, propping JC up. When the head of JC's cock eased inside of him, Justin whimpered, and then felt ashamed. Ashamed because it wasn't a scared whimper, or even one of pain, but an eager, pleading sound. JC looked up sharply at the noise, looked him in the eye and smirked, "You fucking slut." He slid into Justin with one long, slick thrust. His face buried into Justin's neck, and he growled against it, "You fucking slut." JC pounded into him mercilessly, and Justin hooked one leg around JC's waist, the other still bent for support, and rolled his head as JC hit that spot, that spot that sent heat shooting through his veins. JC fucked him hard, his balls slapping Justin's ass as he rammed into him, and he leaned down to lick Justin's cum off of his lips. Justin's body was sliding with the assault, the carpet rubbing harshly against his skin, and his arms ached. He struggled futilely to break free, his body burning with pain and pleasure. "Please..." he gasped, "Please..." He didn't know if he wanted JC to stop or never stop. He could feel JC's muscles tensing, and knew JC was about to cum.
JC leaned back on his knees, gripped Justin's hips and yanked him close as he dove deep and hard, throwing back his head with a harsh cry as he came. He stayed like that for a few minutes, panting, until his cock softened and his breathing evened, before pulling out and releasing Justin's hips. He collapsed on top of Justin's body, and as skin met skin, Justin realized the dagger was no longer on his stomach. It must've fallen off onto the floor. Justin's body was sore, he felt sweaty and used. He didn't know what he wanted more: sleep, or a shower. JC was sucking on his neck, on the cut he'd made earlier, and Justin moaned. JC bit at the tender flesh, pressed his tongue against it. "Fucking whore. Goddamn fucking slut." JC slid down Justin's body, laid his head on his chest, and his breath was soothing on Justin's skin. Justin was so tired, so sore and so tired, he fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.
The doorbell was ringing again, wrenching Justin into consciousness. He sat up, and his entire body protested at his movements. He was naked on the living room floor, his arms aching but free. His wrists were pink and raw, and he reached up to touch the cut on his neck. The doorbell rang again. He reached for his boxers and pulled them on, and as he stood he spotted a knotted, torn ball of white material. He kicked it under the couch before going to answer the door.
"I knew you wouldn't be ready!" Chris told him, then called over his shoulder, "Didn't I tell you he wouldn't be ready?" Chris pushed past him and headed for the kitchen, "You've got twenty minutes, Curly. We've got to be at the studio at ten."
Justin stepped back, opening the door wider so the they could come in. "What up, J?" Joey greeted him before following Chris into the kitchen.
"Hey, man," Lance smiled, "You got any bagels?"
"Uh..." Justin was trying hard not to look at JC, but he could feel the his eyes on him "I don't know. I might. I'll check."
"All right," Lance followed Justin to the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at JC, "Dude, you coming?" Justin tensed as he waited for the answer. He wanted to turn and look at JC, but didn't.
"No," He heard JC say, "I gotta go to the bathroom."
Justin went into the kitchen and opened a cabinet, pulling out a bag of whole-wheat bagels, "There's cream cheese in the fridge." He tossed the bag to Lance.
"Cool, thanks." Lance went to the fridge, which Joey and Chris were currently raiding.
Justin made his way down the hall to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. "Hey."
Justin jumped at the voice, turned to see JC standing behind him. "I thought you said you had to go to the bathroom?"
JC stepped closer, backing Justin up against the door and pressed their bodies together, leaning in so their lips brushed as he spoke, "I lied."
Justin kissed JC urgently, threading one hand into his soft brown hair and cupping his ass with the other. JC moaned into the kiss, opening his mouth for Justin's eager tongue. After a few moist moments, JC pulled back, kissed the small cut on Justin's neck tenderly. He took hold of Justin's wrists and examined the chafed skin, ran his lips along them gently. "You look tired." JC murmured.
"Yhea, well," Justin grinned, leaning in for another kiss, "I had a rough night."