Joey wants a smoke. It's one a.m. already, and everyone else seems to have disappeared. They usually stay in one room - his, maybe, like last night, or Chris' or anyone's - for hours, watching the Home Shopping Network and thinking up alternative uses for the dumbest products, but tonight, everyone had seemed a little tired. Or maybe just bored with each other's company.
So he's alone, and no one is around to stop him when he goes out on the balcony to indulge in a Marlboro Light. The balcony stretches all along the side of the hotel; the NSync entourage takes up all of this side, he thinks. Most of the rooms are dark. These are hard working people.
There's a soft, yellow glow two doors down, though. He does the math and figures it's Justin's room. Justin's a fun-loving guy. Maybe he'll be open for some suggestions. They could watch a video. Play cards. Joey's bored, so he'll even play gin rummy with Justin, even though he knows Justin tends to both cheat and be a sore loser.
He stomps up to the gently lit French windows and is about to knock when he notices that a) the gentle light is candle light and b) one of the pale ochre curtains hasn't been properly pulled, and he can see into the room.
And he sees.
Fuck me, he thinks, the kid is actually getting laid. On a Thursday night. With candles in the room. All over the room, in fact. On the dresser, on the coffee table, on the shelf next to the phone and the room service menu. On the mini bar. On the bedside tables.
And in the bed is Justin, pretty much completely naked, sprawled on top of the chick, kissing her neck, moving languidly, his hands stroking the pale, smooth skin of her side. It's weird, watching Justin like this, because Joey has never really thought of him as, well, as someone who has sex. Justin's such a kid most of the time, just a fun kid to hang out with, and it hasn't actually occurred to Joey - he now realises - that Justin is also a grown up now. Has been for a long time, actually.
And he's a good-looking grown up, that's obvious, and of course he'll sometimes pick up some chick and have sex with her on his hotel room. Hell, Joey does that. They all do, he bets. Except maybe Lance, who had some sort of house rule about that. But that's probably bullshit. Lance just doesn't like talking about sex, for some reason.
But now Justin's arching his back and rubbing his whole long body against the chick, and Joey wonders who she is, what she looks like, because he can only see the occasional glimpse of her, a tuft of short, dark hair, an arm slipping around Justin's back - and she's a strong thing, too, there are muscles on that arm. Joey really likes muscular women; the way they can wrap their legs around you and just squeeze. It's hot. Looks like Justin is into the same thing, because they're really getting down. Justin's back is long and muscular and glows golden in the candlelight, and his curly head is bent low over her dark one, and it's actually looking hot, like really good porn. Joey thinks it might be slightly rude to check out your buddy getting hot and heavy, but hell, it's late and he's bored, and it really is hot.
Should he worry about popping a boner over Justin getting down? He has, and he does, for about two seconds, but then they start moving, in slow, liquid thrusts, and it's almost annoying, how Justin is covering the view there, although Justin's looking good, looking better than a lot of porn stars, that's for sure, and they're about to roll over now, and Joey thinks about watching some more and then going back to his room and jerking off good and long, and then Justin arches back and lifts his head and--
Fuck. Fuck. Joey feels his mouth drop open like he's a fish on dry land, because that is not a chick, that's not, that's - Justin is fucking JC and they are really into it, they're still moving like running honey and the candle light flickers mellowly on their skin.
He's never seen two guys have sex before. Not like this - like this, with the candles, romantically, so slowly and gently that he can almost hear the Sarah McLachlan soundtrack. He watches them kiss, and JC closes his eyes and pulls a hand through Justin's hair, and it doesn't look gross or off-putting or even particularly gay. Just two very beautiful people touching. It's strange and ... strange. And disconcertingly hot, and Joey still has a hard on. He backs away from the window. He thinks it's time to find a woman and think about something other than Justin and JC candle-lit and wrapped around each other like the romantic leads in a Merchant Ivory film.
She's hot and she's very open to the idea of following him back to the hotel. That's all he is ready to think about right now, and it's probably only luck that she's also clean and mostly sober, and has a pretty face and full breasts and round hips. She's short and curvy and soft when she presses against him. He looked right past the sporty, muscular chicks in the club. He didn't need that. Doesn't. This woman is built like Marilyn Monroe, maybe a little rounder and softer than fashion today dictates, but she feels good to touch, and her mouth is full and red. When he kisses her, she lets him in and her hands are small and sharp-nailed on his back.
He pushes the hotel room door shut and slides his hands down, circling her waist. Her chest heaves against his, and he likes the fullness there. He nuzzles her collar bone, licks it, licks up along her neck, and she throws her head back, and he remembers JC doing that when Justin traced a line along his throat and all the way up to his jaw and his ear, and the girl is gasping and wrapping a leg around his hips.
He kisses her again, deep and hard, and she folds into his arms until he's holding her up. It's not hard to get a good grip around her ass, her round, pretty ass, and lift her up. She obliges, giggles in his ear and wraps her legs around his waist.
And there's the bed, and he lets himself fall down on it, careful not to crush her, because she's a lot smaller than him, small and not as strong, not the way JC and Justin are almost the same size, although Justin is a little broader and longer, but not enough to matter, really. Joey likes feeling women's fragile bones under his hands, likes having to watch himself a little so he doesn't hurt them.
She's squirming underneath him, rubbing herself against him, and he slides a hand under her skirt. She's silky-smooth and warm, and spreads her legs to welcome him.
And even more warmth, and slick wetness, and he thinks, there's nothing like this, no way, no way a guy would feel this - fucking - perfect to touch. And she's mouthing his jaw now, dragging her nails along his neck, breathing hot little pants in his ear, and she smells warm and flowery and female, and he's not seriously wondering what JC smells like when he's sweaty and sex-warm, because, well, because Joey already knows what JC smells like. Because they've spent a lot more time than is strictly healthy sweaty and panting and pressed together, and sometimes performing is like having sex, it's a rush like ... like nothing else, and Joey thinks it might be even more so for JC. Maybe Justin, too; he lives for it, for the crowd roaring and the beat and the strain of dancing like it's the last day you will be able to move like that. And now this girl is bucking against his hand and inviting him with her hands on his back and she's so small and soft and she wouldn't - couldn't - fight him if he were to, say, pin her arms above her head, like that, like that - no, she just heaves and moans and her heels scrape against his ass, and he can hold her arms there with just one hand.
He's done this so many times before, but it never loses its charm. Just ... never. Not even when the thought of slim hips and muscular arms won't go away and he has to look hard at the girl underneath him and her breasts still covered in a white, lacy bra, and her mouth and her big eyes - blue eyes, big, blue eyes, with long, dark lashes. And that doesn't help, so he buries his face in her hair; there's a lot of it, and it smells like hairspray and cigarette smoke, and that doesn't help. His body is urging him on, but his head is spinning. He's pushing her down a little harder now, but she's not protesting, she just follows his moves and gives in the right places and she's very close to perfect right now, so why can't he help thinking about how Justin had kissed JC, and JC closed his eyes and arched his back and touched Justin's hair like Joey's touching this girl's hair now? Things you need to think about when you're having sex: the slip-slide of skin against skin; the hot warmth inside her; the flowery smell of her perfume that is strongest right there on her throat. Things you do not need to think about when you're having sex: JC's arms wrapped around Justin's neck; Justin's hips moving; JC's eyes closing and the way his lashes fluttered, dark and long against his cheeks.
He thinks he screams when he comes. He's not entirely sure, because the rush of blood and the sighs and moans and contented murmurs the girl is making sort of overruns his own voice.
He flops down on his back, and she rolls after him, laying her head on his shoulder. He notices that they're still mostly dressed, just her skirt pushed up and her shirt open in the front, and his jeans undone. He grins a little at her, apologetic, because maybe it was a little hectic, maybe he was a little rough with her, but she just lifts her head and grins back.
And he puts an arm around her and feels her hair tickle his nose, and he relaxes, and doesn't think about Justin and JC probably curled up together in a tangle of long, golden-toned limbs just two doors down.
