Completed August 23, 2002
If one more person walked by and touched my mohawk, I was gonna kill them with my bare hands. Or at least knee them in the groin. I halfway hoped Joey would walk by just so I could ruin his night because he couldn't keep his damn hands off my head. And it was his fault I even had the fuckin' thing. He thought it'd be funny to do a mohawk when I decided to go buzzed so he grabbed the clippers and went at it. I still can't believe I let him near me with a sharp object, but he liked the results. I only kept the 'hawk because he said it made me look sexy in a rough punk kind of way, and that was cool. Better than looking sexy in the pop prince way like Justin, Joey rationalized.
But for the last two days, people have been running their hands all over it and girls think it's sexy to want to touch the shaved part, but its not. Not for me anyway. The only thing that made me feel sexy with is was when Justin walked by on his way from the VIP booth to the floor. He reached behind my ear and scratched the short hair with a smile and said that he still liked it, even it the spikes were fucked up.
I could have kneed him in the balls because I promised myself I would, but instead I flipped him the bird and flinched away from his hand leaving him free to snicker with his tongue between his teeth on his way to the floor.
The little punk didn't care that everyone in the club had their eyes on him as he danced with the random guy of the moment. He didn't care that people would talk about how close they danced and how 'gay' they looked because the glass in Justin's hand would prove to anyone that he was drunk and probably out of his head.
I, on the other hand, didn't care because I was left standing in the corner wearing ill fitting leather pants that were beginning to bunch around my nuts. I reached down to try to discreetly adjust myself and cursed the day Joey told me I looked hot in these pants. I never would have bought them if my ego didn't demand a little stroking every now and then. The pants alone weren't terrible, but I was freeballing it at Joey's insistence of course. Because leather pants with panty lines is unattractive, according to the Fatone Fashion Master. Freeballin it in tight leather pants means one thing; your balls sweat like it's their fuckin job and things get a little pinched.
So I stood there drinking my Sam Adams because that's what Lance handed me before he traipsed upstairs to the VIP section with a blonde on his arm. Her boobs bounced unrealistically as they took the steps and I had to shake my head. Lance's abundance of straightness made up for the lack of straightness in the rest of us. Its like he was over compensating. For every guy Justin banged at random Lance was right there with two girls. Of course Lance had the equipment, and the skills to use it. For the longest time I wished he was gay, or even fuckin bi just so I could give it a go. Just once. But no. Lance was straight and he'd stay that way. Which was fine. With all the girls coming and going from the hotel it looked like we were all scoring chicks. Because no one noticed a random guy or two leaving with smug grins.
No matter how close to the wall I stood, people still managed to bump into me, which of course made me spill that fuckin Sam Adams down the front of my already damp shirt. The damn thing is cotton but it hugs like a glove and is just about as comfortable. Joey said I look sexy in it though, so me and my fuckin ego had to wear it tonight. Joey's dumb though because the pants are too tight and the shirt is too tight and it does nothing but accentuate my pudgy stomach and my misshapen ass. Yes. It is misshapen.
I watched Justin as his pants inched lower to ride on his narrow and young hips. Bastard was freeballin it too. The fucker. Couldn't he just wear underwear like a good kid? Did he have to fuckin tease all the time? I mean, even the guy he's dancing with is getting teased. Because yeah Justin will take him back and blow him, but the guy would never get the pleasure of seeing Justin's ass. That's one of the weird things about him. He didnt like people to see him naked which is nuts because we spend half our time backstage naked it seems like. We've all seen his ass, but he insists thats different because none of us want to, as he put it, "bury the beast in it." Which is so far from the truth I almost have to laugh.
JC, I know, has thought about it. A lot. JC does a lot of 'thinking' about it though, since he's technically still in the closet and has the arm candy girlfriend to prove it. I went down on him once on the bus after a long night of Sega and I think he's still kinda freaked out about that. But he's gotta know you can't make joystick jokes all night and not expect to get attacked afterwards. He's such a cocktease.
Joey? Joey can't deny that Justin is just about the most fuckable guy on the planet, but he's got this thing about Justin being a kid and how he cant get the image of the mamas boy sitting in Lynn's lap when we got our first gold record over seas. I can understand that I guess. The whole incest thing just grates on his mind. And the age thing, which really makes me feel like a dirty old man.
Then there's me. I can't even watch him dance without getting a hard on which is real uncomfortable in the leather pants. Which is also probably why I don't wear leather pants very often because watching Justin dance is just something I do. Not like I can avoid it. I stand within ten feet of him dancing almost every day. Add that up, it's a lot of hard ons. If I wore leather pants all the time I'd be one blue balled, chaffed, dirty old man.
But I deal with it because I have to. And I dealt with it that night. I thought of my grandma naked or worse yet, Lance's grandma naked. That'll kill any sexual feelings that linger. It worked too, my pants fit a little better for a little while after I tore my eyes away from the Boy Wonder on the dance floor and worked my way up to the VIP lounge to grab Joey away from whoever it was he was flirting with to stand at the balcony and make fun of the girls trying to get in JC's pants.
They at least had a chance there, because he'd do whatever he could to protect his little tricky closet door. It got flung open every now and then, but he never came out. He'd just bring the chicks in with him and move on.
Joey asked if I still liked my mohawk and I lied and told him I did. He said it was still sexy, so that means it'll stick around for a little while longer. Because dammit, what Joey says goes which is why I do half the things I do. Which is why when he nodded at Justin I looked, and why when he told me to go get him and save his ass from the groper, I went.
As amazing as it seemed at the time, Justin actually looked happy to see me when I walked up and stepped between him and the groper. He ran his hand over my mohawk, smiled with his head tilted, then leaned in and kissed me. His cold and narrow tongue flicked over mine and for a moment I found it funny that action in my mouth caused tightness in my pants. But it was Justin. And damn him for always drinking midori sours. The tang of the liquor didn't mix well with the beer I'd had and I actually found myself thinking that I should have had that whiskey instead because that would have least complimented the sour. When he was done counting my teeth he laughed and asked me why I shaved my head as if that was the right moment to be asking such stupid questions.
Justin was wasted, completely wasted. I on the other hand was just a little drunk. Well, more than a little but a lot less than Justin. The guy Justin was with kept talking about going back to his house and Justin was sounding like he was gonna go do that. We couldn't have that so I grabbed Lonnie from his position at the door and helped him get Justin out the back where we could drag him into the van and back to the hotel. I climbed into the seat beside Justin and fidgeted around because my leather clad legs stuck to the cheap vinyl seats and Justin was falling over on me. Then out of nowhere, dammit all to hell, the kid falls completely over and lands with his head in my lap. Which really didn't improve my situation. He must have thought that I was the guy from the club because he kept asking me what my name was, and I kept making shit up just to confuse him. If he was going to lay on me he was at least going to be confused as all hell about it.
The night began to go downhill when the van turned sharply and Justin rolled over onto his side. That's when I bit my lips so hard I bled and almost killed the boy. Rolling over made it so that his ear was on my thigh and his face was right where I'd always wanted it, and every time he mumbled or talked or breathed even my dick twitched.
If I had any kind of sense at all I would have grabbed a handful of his baby curls and tossed him to the ground because dammit, I didn't need that. But I didn't. I just let him lay there with his nose pressed up against my leather covered hard on. By the time the van pulled up at the hotel I had managed to keep from coming twice and I was about at my wits end. And again, if I had any kind of sense at all I'd have let Lonnie carry Justin's wasted ass up to his room, but no. I insisted. He leaned his six-foot frame against my shoulders and we stumbled into the hotel and onto the awaiting elevator. I didn't have to worry about making a spectacle with the bulge in my pants because I was mostly hunched over and the pants were too fucking tight to let anything move.
His room was directly across from mine which meant that I had the pleasure of hearing him and Brian? Brad? Whoever he was he was apparently very, very happy to see Justin the night before last. Either that, or he was really religious because God's name was mentioned almost as often as the Boy Wonder's.
I waited for a minute, hoping that Justin would snap out of it and fish his room key out of his pocket but instead he kept asking me what my name was and if this was my place. The damn kid thought I was his trick of the night, another Brad or Brian. I didn't say anything I just stared at him, debating whether or not to go along with his drunken fantasy so that I too could be religious. But before I could decide his head lobbed backwards and he looked me square in the eye with a deep set, and dead sexy, frown.
He informed me that I'm Chris and I'm his best friend ever in the whole world, which I'd have to be considering he had just left a trail of drool from my shoulder to his bottom lip. I reached up and wiped his mouth then looked at my hand. For some reason I didn't know what to do with it, so I wiped it across the front of Justin's shirt, intentionally feeling for his nipple ring. If he could torture me in the car on the way here, I could fuck with him in the hall. He shuddered involuntarily and placed his mouth on my neck. I think he might have meant to kiss me, which would have ended our career then and there because screwing in the hall of a family establishment was almost definitely against some kind of law.
Instead he just left his open mouth against my neck and snorted. The damn kid was going to fall asleep and leave little old me standing there holding him. I asked him again where his key card was, but he didn't know. I worked my hands around and checked in all of his empty pockets. No I.D. as usual. No cash. No key card.
I mumbled obscenities under my breath as I fished my own room key out of the back pocket of my pants. He must have heard my swears and took them literally because the next thing I knew Justin's hand was rubbing my constant hard on through my pants. Without thinking I heard the words, 'no, no, no not now' leave my mouth. I don't know if I meant 'not now' as in 'wait until we get inside', or 'not now' as in 'right now in my life this isn't what I need' but either way I pushed my door open and practically shoved Justin into the bedroom. He landed flat on his back across the bed with his feet on the floor and his arms splayed out like Jesus on the cross.
For a full minute Justin didn't move. He just laid there breathing, which at that point was the fucking sexiest thing I'd ever seen in my life. His pants rode low and his shirt inched up when he fell so there was a patch of uncovered skin just above his hip. Instinctively my hand went to the button on the front of my pants to free myself. I'd waited long enough and he was out like a light.
I jerked off shamelessly with my eyes open and my bottom lip between my teeth because pain was better than nothing. Justin had no idea how often I did this with that exact image in my mind. Him asleep in my bed. Yeah sometimes, most of the time, in my mind he was naked because that was such an easy image to come up with. But right there he wasn't naked, and that was fine with me because the little patch of skin that was showing was enough to get me off that night. Hell, he could have been covered in puke and fully dressed in sweats and I still could have gotten off. I'd spent half the night hard because of him; I was going to get off on him if it killed me.
And it almost did. After holding it in all night and being fucked with in the club and in the car and in the hall I practically screamed when I came. Miracle of miracles though, I didn't totally ruin my leather pants. A little cum never hurt anything, I thought to myself as I shuffled to the bathroom where I cleaned myself off then carefully peeled those damn leather pants off. Which is what I should have done in the first place, and I would have if I thought I could have waited.
I pulled my inexpensive boxers and sighed with content. I was spent, and I was a million times more comfortable in those boxers than I was in the leather pants. The shirt landed on top of the pants in the corner of the bathroom and I stood there for a second looking at my reflection in the full wall mirror. Not too shabby for a 30 year old punk. My hand went to my head and I messed up my mohawk, it actually did look kind of punkishly sexy, maybe Joey was right. What were the chances of that?
I sighed and shook my head as I walked back out to the room to where Justin was laying completely still on the bed. His chest rose and fell at regular intervals so I knew he wasn't dead. Which is a damn good thing because there's no way I could explain that one away.
Running my hands over the sides of my bare head, I willed myself to keep my mind on what needed to be done. Shoes. Shoes. I had to keep my mind on his shoes. I knelt by Justin's feet and pulled his shiny black boots off. How he could dance in those I'll never know. They made a soft thud on the carpet when I dropped them, then I peeled his socks off and shoved them in the neck of one boot.
While I stared at the window above Justin's head, I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled then off in one quick motion. He was halfway naked on my bed, and the half that was naked was the important part. He had been naked in front of me before. Lots of times. It was almost as if we didn't notice we did it anymore. But I noticed. Dammit I noticed more than I should. Especially that night. I grumbled to myself, then hoisted his bare legs up onto the bed and did my best to get him laying straight.
He looked like an angel when he was asleep. A young, sweet, innocent angel. But I knew he wasn't, and I knew that if he hadn't gotten himself so wasted he'd be doing something truly un-angelic with the pretty boy from the club. Letting him lick suck and fuck any part of him he wanted to in the dark.
So not innocent.
I turned the light off then crawled over Justin to the far side of the bet. I didn't pause when my hips straddled his; I forced myself to keep going. When I made it safely to the other side, I pulled the blankets back and slid in beside him. He grunted when I folded myself against him, my hips at his ass, my knees on his thighs my hand carefully placed on his arm. I drew circles on his hairless bicep and traced his tattoo. The tattoo I had to talk him into getting that he loved to show off and talk big about.
If I really was a dirty old man I'd have taken advantage of Justin. He never would have known it. Or maybe he would have. And maybe it wouldn't have mattered.
Copyright © 2002, Amy Lynn