Lost Inside Space
By Kim G.

~..~

Can we get connected
I need some love and affection baby
I'll call you on the phone

~..~

It was a game, at first. A joke. Something to pass the time, once in a while, when he was bored and/or horny and they couldn't go out, for whatever reason. The online version of a porn film, sorta. Interactive-style. He never meant for it to become what it did: a drug in his system.

Something he craved; something he had to have.

The more he did it, the more he enjoyed it.

"It's freeing," he tried to explain once early on, to Joey, when the other man wondered why the hell he wanted to hang in chat rooms when he could go out clubbing, instead. His answer made Joey shake his head.

"Dude. It's weird. You need to come hang out, pick up some chicks, get laid."

He couldn't explain he was getting laid every night, several times a night. Sometimes he didn't even need to touch his dick. Just the excitement, the buildup, was enough. Or he would lie in his bed, or his bunk on the bus, hard and aching, throbbing with the need for physical release, mind replaying the different chats, the different things he'd done or watched, and he'd shake with renewed excitement from the mental release.

Baby, Baby, we can do all that we want
We get nasty, nasty
We get freaky-deaky

~..~

JC'd be the first to say he was a very sexual person. Sexual, sensual, anything that pertained to or related to something to experience. He liked just surfing the emotions, the sensations, letting them wash through him and over him and into him. Sex was like that for him, though he knew on the surface it sometimes appeared as though he wasn't interested, even as much as Lance, certainly not as much as Joey. He was; he was just quieter about it, preferring to slip under the radar, so to speak.

He'd often felt hemmed in, penned in, by his own body, his own…being. Male. He wanted to know more about the other gender. Appearing heterosexual. He wasn't; he didn't care what gender his partner was, as long as they clicked. Aesthetics were nice, but everyone had something to offer, so he didn't so much care what the physical package looked like, either.

Which lent a whole other level to the cyber experience…because in there…it was anything goes. Literally.

It was different, far, far different than regular, normal, body-to-body sex. JC knew this. But there was an allure to being able to be anyone he wanted: male, female, lesbian, queer, straight guy. Dominant, submissive, sadist or masochist. Boy.

That one freaked him out. Of course, the 'guy' on the other end could've been someone like him, pretending to be someone else…but JC didn't think so. He wanted to know how old JC was; kept asking him when his birthday was, how old he was going to be. Told him he hoped he was fourteen or thirteen, or possibly younger. Told him in vivid, colorful detail what he wanted to do, touching tender skin and vulnerable places. JC shuddered with guilty pleasure, reading the nasty words, and when the man told him to touch himself, he did, groaning with an emotion that was partly pleasure, mostly guilt, mixed with a generous amount of horror and self-loathing. And still he came.

After he broke the connection, JC saved the guy's screen name into the "Block Messages From" category, and took a scalding hot shower to try and get himself clean again.

It was almost as much fun to watch, as it was to play.

Not watch, in the sense of watching a porn film, but in the sense of being in a room…reading the text as others flirted. Or fucked.

The words sometimes scrolled fast; you had to be able to keep up if you were watching or participating.

He learned he liked to be watched, too.

S/M rooms were the best for that, especially if he went in as a sub. If he wanted to suck someone's dick, there were any number of different rooms -- or individuals -- that could meet that requirement, but the s/m rooms had the big, masculine guys who wanted people watching when they pushed a guy to his knees. Or bent him over a chair, couch, table, whatever. JC liked to do that, have someone push him over the back of the couch and fuck him, describing in lewd detail what they were doing. How he looked. How he felt.

Sometimes they wanted to scene, and he would shudder, fingers shaking over the keys, when his Dom for the evening would describe how he looked, spread-eagled over a bed, or a cross, his limbs stretched taut, skin glistening with sweat or oil, clips and clamps decorating his body. When the flogger touched his skin, streaked over him, JC could almost feel it, could sense the power of the moment, of the person playing him. He could almost feel the eyes of the others in the room, watching, listening, seeing a part of him no one else ever would.

It made his skin tingle, wishing for the real thing.

Then he would remember he couldn't have the real thing, and would lie in his bunk again, stroking himself idly, replaying every moment of the chat, losing himself in the beauty and simplicity of it.

Girls could be even nastier than men, he learned. Dirtier, nastier, but they were soft and slick, too. More descriptive, really, in a lot of ways. Or maybe just better at writing it out. That appealed to the writer within him. JC liked pretending he was a girl; loved getting fucked as one, loved it even more with another woman. It gave him energy he didn't normally have access to, made him feel more special, than when he was in the male/male chats.

The girl-on-girl chats were fun to watch, but he liked doing that one-on-one more. It seemed more intimate, telling someone he was stroking his clit for her, touching his breasts when they did. It was easier, too, one-on-one, to keep that image fixed in his head. JC. Girl. Girl-parts.

He loved his dick. Loved being a guy. But it was fun to pretend differently, to be Any. One. He. Wanted.

"C. Yo. What are you doing?" The…horror in Justin's voice alone was almost worth doing this. JC smiled and tilted his head, looked up at Justin.

"Painting my toenails."

"Um. Yeah." Justin was silent for a moment and JC smiled again, biting his lip to keep from giggling. The girls online liked it when he giggled when they licked him. "Why?"

"I wanted to. Why not?" There. Done. He leaned back and admired the pink-and-purple glittery stuff on his toenails. A toe ring would look really good. The chick he'd hooked up with last night said she wore one. He thought that would be cool.

"Dude. You need to spend less time online and more time outside. Or just out. It's springtime, man. You're missing the greatness that is Orlando in spring. C'mon." And Justin wouldn't take no for an answer, so JC decided he could be a girl later, and go hang with the guys.

But he thought about clits and breasts and fingers and glittery nail polish the whole time he and Justin and Chris played miniature golf, and ignored the concerned looks both men kept giving him.

It was so easy to get lost in this world of space-but-not-space.

JC was glad they were in a hotel room tonight, because it was easier when he didn't have to worry about Chris or Justin wondering what he was doing; when he could hook the laptop up and stretch out on his bed, sometimes rolling himself over into different positions he couldn't do in a bunk.

He liked to fuck women either riding him, straddled, or on hands and knees. Straddling got the best, deepest penetration and when they squeezed around him, he could squeeze his hand -- slick and wet with lube or baby oil -- extra tight and close his eyes for a moment, and imagine himself shooting into a hot, wet pussy. And when he opened his eyes again, with the image still imprinted on the backs of his eyelids, he could read the words again and shudder all over once more.

Talking dirty was just as much a turn-on, and he liked partners who had filthy mouths. Even if it was something he wasn't normally interested in, if it wouldn't normally do anything for him, if it was just having someone tell him those things, it made his belly tighten, made his heart race a little faster.

[I want you to lick me.] [I want you to eat me.] [Piss on me.] [Cum on me.] [Make me beg.] [Slide your hand between my legs and finger me.] [I'm going to finger you until you're begging.] [I'll hurt you until you tell me to stop.] [Shoot on my face and let me feel you lick it off.] [Feel how hard my dick is? All for you, baby. Open your legs for me.]

It made him hard, made his brain ache pleasantly. It was like getting your groove on, in a whole new way. Songs wailed inside his head as he stroked himself, sometimes coming, sometimes not, always turned on, always satisfied.

He started forgetting to write them down, the melodies getting lost in the other words whirling around.

It was so easy. SO easy, to lose himself in this new, free world.

A brave, new world, he thought, snickering as he logged on. Dimly he heard someone knocking on his door, heard the sound of voices, muffled, out in the hallway. Vaguely he remembered someone saying they were going clubbing, but he wasn't interested. Out there…even as JC of Nsync, nothing was a given.

Inside, though…inside cyberspace, there wasn't anything or anyone he couldn't do. All he had to do was make the connection.

The pounding was louder now, and JC sighed and lowered the top of his laptop, shielding his chatroom screen from whoever wouldn't leave him alone. Not likely Joey or Justin; they'd tried and washed their hands of him. He couldn't explain it to their satisfaction; felt he didn't need to. He was an adult, he wasn't hurting anyone, he was having fun. What more could someone ask for?

"What?" Came out more sharply than he'd intended, and Chris peered at him, an eyebrow raised, hand still up to knock again.

"Not going out, dude?" He wasn't surprised when Chris pushed his way into the room, looking around as if he wasn't sleeping in an identical one just across the hall.

"No." Economy of words; he had to save them. Let too many out and more followed, any more. His fingers itched, twitched, he wanted to rub himself, already half-hard from anticipation, from the post-concert high he carried most nights.

"We miss you, C. You never hang with us anymore. What's up with that?" Still looking around, ignoring that JC was standing patiently (almost) beside the door, hand on the knob, ready to open it.

"Just--doing things. Stuff. Writing." Okay. It wasn't a lie. Exactly. He was writing. Right?

"Mmm. Okay. But--tomorrow, dude. 'Cos--Chicago, y'know? We like Chicago, remember? The party town, and all that? So. Promise?"

Chicago? They shouldn't be there yet, should they? But no matter. He nodded. "Fine, yeah, sure. Whatever." He had to go. Needed to get…in there. Inside.

"Cool." Chris rocked back on his heels and JC bit on his tongue, resisting the urge to push him out the door.

"What?"

"You're pale. You need to get out more. It's gonna be gorgeous tomorrow, C. Summer-ish. Let's go hang at Wrigley Stadium, or something."

"Sure, Chris." Finally, he was leaving, moving out the door, and JC practically slammed it on him, locking it firmly.

Tonight he wanted to get fucked. Hard. Get his freak on with another guy. Someone who could bend him in half and fuck him raw.

He shivered as he typed his screen name into the log-on.

He dreamed with his hand on his dick now.

Dreamed in terms of screen names, and parentheses and incomplete sentences. Of dirty words, of sex words, of want and need and thrust and shove and take and give and take take take take.

JC forgot he used to enjoy the sensation of touching a lover's skin. Of stroking warm, satiny-smooth flesh, feeling the minute imperfections of moles and downy hair, of combing his fingers through crisp-soft chest hair. Of the sting and burn from a beard. Of the impossibly soft, slick inner walls of a woman, wet and hot around him. Of the way a man's dick felt, pushing deep inside him.

He forgot how to talk to people that weren't connected to him via computer. Forgot the pleasure of watching eyes light up, or tiny laugh lines crinkle at the corners when someone smiled. Forgot how much he liked the soft chuff of breath against his neck, and the feel of warm, soft-hard lips pressing against his. How good it was to slide tongue-against-tongue, kisses and caresses and the give and take of shared pleasure.

He knew his friends were worried about him. Brothers, bandmates, the ties between them were ages old and blood-deep. He could feel their concern, could feel the weight of their stares, hear the fear in their voices. He wanted to soothe them, tell them it was okay, he was fine, he was happy, he was enjoying so much about life now.

He couldn't remember the words. They were lost in a maelstrom of sex and need, lost in the space outside of the space inside.

He sang, he danced, he bantered onstage because he remembered it; was so conditioned to it. He ignored the whistles and cat-calls and bad jokes when he danced offstage so hard he ached, cock swollen and pressed against soft, springy fabric; his mind was thousands of miles away…locked into a chat room, someone's arms or legs locked around him, someone grasping him tightly, milking him, drinking him, fucking him, licking him.

He was lost.

[Now, baby, please…] [In a minute *wg*… I'm rubbing the tip of my dick against your hole…feels good, huh?] [*whimper*] [Wanna beg, baby? Need it so bad?] [*hissing* yesssss… please…] [Open your legs] [*opening*] [Touch yourself. Let me see how much you want it] [*fingers sliding downward, stroking my cock, my balls, pulling my leg up to tease myself] [Mmmm. Yeah…] [*opening further, rubbing over my hole, twisting to get my finger inside]

And, fuck, the pounding on his door could NOT be for real.

JC groaned and thumped his head against the pillow, unsatisfied need arcing through him, the pounding louder now, rumbling through him, keeping tempo with his heart rate, with the throbbing in his cock, his ass. Fuck. His fingers shook as he typed one handed, wiping the fingers of his other hand on the bedspread beneath him.

[Gotta go. Later]

He didn't even wait to see what his partner's response was, just pushed himself away from the computer, stalked to the door. He was naked. He was fully erect, aching for completion. He was pissed off. It was totally coitus interuptus and whoever the fuck was outside his door at -- checking the clock on his dresser -- FUCK, 4:32 in the morning -- was going to go themselves reamed.

He pulled the door open, snapped, "What?"

Lance was there, fully dressed, palm pilot in hand. He blinked once at JC, then gave a half-shrug. "Uh. C. Clothes, man. You're not--dressed?" He blinked again, looking nowhere but JC's face, obviously not quite comfortable, but not ready to be intimidated. This was, after all, Lance. The unflappable one. JC smirked.

"No shit. Do you know what time it is?"

"Uh, yeah. Half-hour before we have to leave. We have to be in San Diego tomorrow night, remember? So, leaving early?"

Shit. He'd forgotten about that. They'd almost decided to forego the hotel because of the distance they needed to travel between venues from Denver to San Diego, then decided at the last minute to have the luxury of a bed and just leave a couple hours earlier. Shit.

"Jayce? Have you even been to bed yet, dude? And--um. Clothes. Could you--" Lance waved at him and JC realized he was still naked, still partially hard, though his dick was softening rapidly.

"Uh. Yes. I--yes. Dressed. I'll be ready. In a minute. Um, yeah. Sorry." And he slammed the door in Lance's face, hearing the other man muttering something too low to catch, but probably not complimentary. Half an hour 'til they left. He had time to finish up…if he was quick. There was always someone on who would suck dick fast and dirty.

He had twelve messages waiting for him, under two different screen names, when he logged in to his chat account. Three from a guy who'd fucked him the other night; four from women who thought he was another chick. The others were people who'd seen his profile -- profiles, since he had two -- and wanted to hook up. JC smiled and saved the screen names into his YM accounts, humming under his breath. The bus rolled beneath him, a comfortable vibration that settled into his bones, shivered through his body, lent it's own touch to the arousal nearly always constant within him now.

So many choices. So many different people. Should he be a girl tonight? A guy? Did he want to fuck, or be fucked? Maybe an S/M room…he hadn't been in one of those in a couple of days, anyway. He could find someone to work him over…or maybe he'd do the honors to someone else. In spite of the starbursts of energy rolling through him from arousal and sex, he had a knot of anger and dread coiled in his stomach along with it. Bad vibes coming from the other guys; no one understood how much fun he was having, that he loved the feelings, craved the way his body sang from the sensations. They watched him all the time now, constantly. Or--Chris watched him. The others, they gave him looks, muttered things just loud enough for him to hear, but Chris watched him. Silently.

Dark brown concern, liquid and beautiful, surrounding him, but not getting through to him. He could see it, trapped behind the veil of cyberspace, but he couldn't react any more. The message was there, but. He was aware it was there, felt frustrated on some level, knowing he was causing concern for his friends, his brothers, but the rest of him couldn't be bothered to care.

He'd be a girl tonight. For now. Maybe later he'd go into one of the S/M rooms and find someone who would play without limits.

His shoulders twitched and burned, thinking how it might feel for real, but loving the way it felt in his mind, all burning pain turning to pleasure, making him cry out and come before he ever touched himself.

He humped the bunk slowly, grinding himself downward to feel the vibrations from the wheels and road, and logged in to chat.

"Dude. This has to stop."

JC never even heard Chris approaching. A sudden flash of pale skin with fine, dark hairs was all the warning he had before a hand slammed his laptop closed and pulled it away from him. He yelped and reached, but Chris was quicker.

"Hey! My computer!" He lunged, seeing red when he heard the soft thud it made, landing on the lounge couch, and spilled out of his bunk. He ended up on his knees in the center aisle of the bus, panting, cock curving out from his body, body flushed. Chris shook his head.

"No, man. It's stopping now."

He'd thought he was alone on the bus; thought the other guys had gone out for the evening. Apparently he was mistaken, because here was at least one of them, ready to ruin his fun again. JC crossed his arms over his chest and shook his hair back out of his eyes, then glared at Chris. Even through his red haze, he recognized an intervention when he saw one. Which, while he appreciated the effort, wasn't necessary. "What the hell gives you the right? Give me my computer and get the fuck out, Chris."

"It's my bus too, C."

"Fine. Go find your bunk, or find Justin and play Playstation, but leave me alone. I was having fun." He wanted to--he wasn't sure what he wanted to do. Hit something, came to mind. Chris, maybe? God. He ached, he was so hard, so…needed something. Needed it so bad.

"Yeah, about that." Chris drew the words out slowly, like he was tasting them. "Are you even aware of life around you any more? I mean--really?" He scratched at his chin, ran his eyes up and down JC's body. "'Cos dude. You're like--y'know. Freaking everyone out. You never go out any more, you don't talk to us, you're don't sleep-- it's weird, C. Even for you."

"I've tried to explain it to you guys. Not my fault if you don't get it." JC took a step forward, intending to edge past Chris, to get his laptop. Fuck, he'd had no right to do that. Chris blocked him, shaking his head.

"No, man. I meant it. You've--you're like an alcoholic with that cyber shit, C. You need to stop. It's not healthy. Consider this an intervention, if you have to."

"You don't need to--. I'm not hurting anyone." It was cold on the bus, outside of his bunk, with no warm blanket covering him. He shivered once, and Chris sighed, reached up into his own bunk and pulled down the soft quilt he used as a throw, wrapping it around JC's shoulders. He sighed, some of his anger deflating. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. And--bullshit. You're hurting yourself…and all of us."

"Why? I mean--how could I possibly be hurting any of you?" JC shifted and pulled the quilt closer around him, suddenly aware of just how naked he was. He reached into his bunk for the track pants he'd skimmed off earlier, pulled them back up while Chris watched, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He was still partially hard. It seemed to be how he lived life, lately. In a constant state of arousal. Needing something, in spite of everything.

Chris sighed and stepped aside, gesturing for JC to move in front of him, heading for the front of the bus. He all but pushed him onto the couch there, then turned to fiddle with the small stove, setting water on to heat.

"How can you not be hurting us, C?" He reached around in the cupboard, took out the big, heavy mug JC always used for tea. JC tried to remember the last time he'd had hot tea with lots of lemon and honey in it, found he couldn't. He clutched the quilt closer around him and shivered. "We care about you, dude." Chris spun and looked at JC, speared him with that dark liquid gaze, sending another shiver through him. "Do you even know what day it is? What month? Where we are? What venue we played two nights ago?"

"Um--" It was dark out, but he glanced out the window anyway; felt Chris' fingers, small and hard, warm, on his chin. The warmth made him feel strangely colder, and hotter, all at once.

"No. Without looking. C'mon, Chasez. Even if you don't know the where, you should know when it is."

"I--" He wanted to look away. Look at something that didn't look back at him with so much heat. Liquid heat, pooled into two eyes, staring at him, anger, fear, concern, caring all reflecting back at him. He cast a quick glance down the hall, wanting his computer. Wanting the safe world of anonymity, of need that wasn't masked behind anything else. Wanting to not-want the things he saw in Chris' eyes. Fingers tightened on his chin and he shook his head, terror flaming hot-cold in his stomach when he realized he wasn't sure. "No," he said softly. "I'm. I don't. When is it?"

Those eyes sparkled sadly at him. "It's the seventeenth of August, C. We're on our way to Pittsburgh."

August. It was August. The middle of August. JC shivered again. He'd lost…months. Almost literally. "Wow. I--wow."

"Yeah." Chris turned away, shoulders slumping a little, and JC watched him pour the water into the mug, setting the little ball with the tea leaves in it to steep. He took honey out of the cabinet, and JC had the sudden urge to cry. He knuckled his eyes, hating the hot stinging sensation, and turned to look out the window at the darkness spinning past them.

"Where's Justin?"

"On the other bus with Joe and Lance. Tonight it's just you an' me, dude."

He knuckled his eyes again. "Did you draw the short straw?"

"Huh? Here--" Chris handed him the steaming mug, then sat down beside him, crossing his legs under himself. "No, I didn't get the short straw, wise-ass."

"Then why--?"

Chris shrugged. "Drink your tea, man."

They sat there for a while, not talking, just…sitting. JC found it odd; soothing and disquieting all at once. He was used to doing something, talking to someone, touching himself, telling someone else to touch themselves. His fingers twitched, wanting to type.

He thought about the chats, anonymous bodies touching through bytes and bits, words and intent becoming action, and grew hard beneath his track pants. The tea felt good going down, washing heat into his body, warming it from the inside out. It was sensual, sexual, and he stretched and shivered, tried to stand while still looking casual. Chris was curled beside him, not asleep, but not really aware, staring out the window, chin propped on his hand, looking off into the distance. JC took a step--

And fast as a coiled snake striking, Chris' hand shot out and grabbed JC's wrist. "No."

"I'm just--"

"NO, dammit." The fingers tightened on him. "I know what you're just, C, and it ain't gonna happen, dude. Told you, this is an intervention. Think of yourself as an alcoholic or a crack addict, 'cos that's about where you're at."

"I am not." JC struggled, yanked his arm from Chris' surprisingly strong grip. "It's not a big deal. Just--fun. Y'know. No big deal."

"I know what's fun. I've cybered before." Chris laughed; JC was sure his jaw was hanging open. "I DO know how to get online, you know. I know you all think I'm computer-challenged, or something; it's just easier to let the rest of you deal with it. But seriously. This is a big deal. Fun is…sometimes. Not every day. Every night. All night. Fuck, C, you don't even look healthy any more. You're pale, you have circles under your eyes… used to be, we had to drag you out of bed some days. When was the last time you slept all night?"

He stared up at JC, not budging an inch, until JC turned his eyes away, mumbling, "It isn't any different than picking someone up in a bar."

"Yes, it is. You're touching a real, live human being, then." Chris paused. "And unless you had bar habits none of the rest of us knew about, you didn't live in them. You've hardly been away from that computer since we hit the road. And that was May, dude!"

"It's…freedom, Chris." JC sank to the floor, folding his legs under him, leaning back against the couch and huddling in on himself. He was going to have to explain it again, and words just didn't come as easily for him as they used to. Not with the other words filling up his head. "I can. Be anyone I want. Do anything I want to do. No promises, no repercussions, nobody knows who or what I am."

"I get that." JC looked up, surprised, to see Chris nodding thoughtfully. "No, I do. But--it's like anything else, C. Moderation. Y'know? Like what you shoved down my throat after Dani and I broke up? How I couldn't drown my sorrows in a bottle of scotch? Same applies here. Whatever's wrong with your life isn't gonna be fixed by hiding out in chat rooms, fucking every stranger you meet."

"Nothing felt wrong. I just. I was bored, and it seemed like--y'know. Easier to do. Sometimes, all those people out there. I wanted something. I wasn't trying to…fix anything. I just. I liked the freedom, man. I could. It was like, I could be a guy, or a girl…no one knew differently. I liked being able to do anything I wanted…no prices, no consequences. But." His voice was a whisper now; he felt raw and ragged inside. "It did have. Consequences, I mean. Didn't it?" He shivered when Chris' fingers touched his hair, stroked through gently, soothingly. God, someone touching him for real.

Someone touching him.

He'd missed the touching, more than anything. Hadn't even realized he'd missed it…and now…he felt starved for it. A feeling so powerful it went beyond emotion into physical manifestation. He leaned into Chris' hand, shivering again, then knuckled his eyes and sighed. "I'm tired, Chris."

"I know." Chris kept carding his fingers through his hair, rubbing gently at his scalp. "I understand."

"How could you? I don't even understand." He wanted to arch into the touch, his body quivering from the sudden onslaught of what it'd been shut off from for so long now.

"I just do." Strange how someone who was usually so hyper could just sit there, petting him, watching him, soothing him. JC shivered again when Chris' eyes went liquid again, warmth and love shining out, and something caught inside JC's chest, formed a knot that felt like so much shimmering heat, pulsing there quietly, waiting to be released. "You asked why I was here."

"Yeah?" It was hard to talk. He felt--energized. The sort of energy he'd get from cybering, but with a different focus. This energy was internal, washing through him, giving him comfort. Peace. Cybering made him feel on fire, twitchy, like he had carbonation inside him. A good feeling, one that fueled his energy reserves, but didn't give him any rest.

"It's this." And Chris was right there, his hand still entwined in JC's hair, his mouth warm and moist when it touched, pressed, tasted JC's. And after so long, it was like rainfall in the desert, warm and sweet, seeping into him slowly, feeding the part of him that was literally starved.

He moaned softly, mouth opening, ravenous after so long, and Chris responded, sliding off the couch to kneel beside him, mouth open, tongue sweeping slowly, luxuriously slow around the inside of his mouth. Tasting him. Teasing him. Breathing life back into him.

God, he'd missed this. He hadn't realized…had made himself forget. JC shuddered and wound his arms around Chris' neck, pulled him closer, groaning softly when Chris left his mouth to lick and nip at his neck, sucking at the spot where his pulse was fluttering wildly. When he tipped his head back and arched his neck, Chris rewarded him with a stinging bite to the tender spot where his neck and shoulder met, sucking hard enough JC knew there'd be a mark there, even in the morning. He shuddered at the thought, at the knowledge he'd have something to look at, to touch, to remember what'd happened.

When Chris pressed him back to the floor and slid his hand down the front of JC's pants, JC figured he'd have more than just a mark to remember this by, in the morning.

He'd have Chris.

Baby, baby, we can do more than just talk
'Cause I can hear ya, hear ya
And I can see ya, see ya