Couch Potatoes 10: Justin and Chris "We're braving the elements. This is a test of MANHOOD!"
"We might get killed," Justin repeated.
"You are such a wuss, Timberlake. I can't believe your mom lets you outside."
Chris skipped down the porch steps and went to stand in the middle of the yard. Justin wanted to tell him to be careful, but figured it might be a bad idea. So he sat curled up on the couch and watched Chris brave the elements.
Chris continued to do so.
"Are you coming back anytime soon?" Justin asked. "Cause I'm getting cold."
"I can't HEAR YOU!" Chris yelled, and then added, "Wuss," under his breath, barely audible over the rustle of leaves and the whine of the wind in the roof shingles.
"Oh, Christ," Justin muttered and went to join him.
It started to rain. They stood where they stood. Chris turned his face up. Justin rolled his eyes and did the same. He was a little cold, and the rain made him colder, but it was strangely soothing to feel the drops rolls heavy over his skin. The rain was picking up, and the wind whipped his soaked t-shirt against his body.
"They said it might become a tropical storm," Chris said. He had to raise his voice now, just to be heard, even though Justin stood two feet from him.
"Exactly. Which is why this is stupid."
"Stupid, sure. But it's kinda...sexy, don't you think?"
Justin blinked the rain out of his eyes and stared at Chris. "Sexy?" he said, incredulous. "Sexy?"
"Yeah. The wind and the rain, and you get all cold and wet and still you stand here, strong and...uh, young. Well, you're young. But strong! And it's a battle. Battles are sexy. Thus."
"Huh," Justin said, but he thought about it; looked at Chris and thought some more. It occurred to him that Chris could do that. Always did; made him think in ways he wouldn't, otherwise. That was one of the best things about having Chris around.
"Don't you think I'm sexy?" Chris said and struck a pose. Justin almost said "huh" again, but he looked at Chris, from soaked sneakers to lanky, dripping hair.
"You look like a drenched dog."
"Well, to each his own, I guess," Chris said and winked. There were drops caught in his eyelashes. That was kinda sexy, actually. Justin rubbed his fingers over his own eyes and felt the water in his own lashes. Maybe that was sexy, too. He lifted his face and got slapped by the wind.
"I think we're wet enough," he said. "I think my underwear is wet."
"I'm not wearing underwear," Chris said, but he grabbed Justin's arm and towed him back to the porch. By now, the wind was shaking the whole house, it seemed, and when Justin turned back to the garden, the force of it made him gasp.
"Jesus," he said. "It's really gonna come down."
"Yeah," Chris said, but he sounded pretty happy about it.
They sat on the couch in their wet clothes. That was okay, because the couch was the oldest, stinkiest, filthiest piece of furniture Justin had seen since his grandfather threw away the old easy chair he used to have in the garden.
"And they sat in silence and beheld the storm unravelling around them," Chris said in a pompous British accent.
"Is that like a quote from somewhere?" Justin asked.
"Sure," Chris said and grinned at him, a mischievous grin that practically demanded that Justin grin back. "It's from, um, Florida, oh Florida by C. A. Kirkpatrick. Quite a masterpiece, really."
There were little rivulets of water trickling from Chris' hair down over his forehead, his cheekbones and along his nose. Justin felt a sudden urge to stroke his face, wipe the water away. The next thought concerned other ways of removing water from skin, but he cut that one off quickly.
"I'm sitting here thinking," Chris said suddenly. Justin opened his mouth to say something snarky about that, but Chris held him off by saying, quickly, "yes, yes, I do think sometimes. Deep thoughts. I'm quite a philosopher, young Timberlake, even if I may not look it."
"Oo-kay," Justin said.
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking I should seduce you."
"What?" Justin said. Chris threw him a glance that was either sly or nervous, he couldn't tell which.
"We could pretend that you're Dustin Hoffman, of course, but I think it might be better if you're just Justin."
"Dustin Hoffman?" Justin asked, lost. His brain was still stuck on the seduction part, he thought. What did Dustin Hoffman have to do with this?
"He--" Chris cut off and rolled his eyes heavenward. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot that I'm a dirty old man. Fuggeddaboutit. So, what do you say?"
"I--" Justin said. He didn't have the faintest clue what to say. He looked at Chris' wet face and his eyes. There were still drops clinging to his eyelashes, like tiny jewels or something. Chris was probably fucking with him. Most likely. But this was technically an invitation. Justin could, technically, fuck right back.
He leaned in and kissed Chris' eyelid and waited for Chris to smack him in the chest and yell, "what the FUCK?!", for Chris to hit reverse and turn it around and mock Justin relentlessly. He tasted rainwater and thought it was worth it.
Instead of hitting him or laughing, Chris blinked, quick flutters of wet eyelashes against Justin's mouth, and said, very softly, "I guess that's a yes, then."
Justin backed off a little and tried to collect himself. So, hmm. A storm was raging and they were sitting on the back porch, wet like drowned kittens, and...yes. Things were moving in entirely new directions. He looked out at the garden. Chris had a small collection of garden gnomes, huddling in a tight formation under a gnarled old oak. One of them was wearing a beanie, and the propeller was rotating erratically in the wind, making small squeaky sounds. Justin stared at it without really noticing it.
"Hey..." Chris said, and he turned back to look at him. He remembered, suddenly, catching Chris looking at him like that before - it was almost like déjà vu, a strong flash of memory. Many times before, and he thought maybe this wasn't such a new direction, after all.
"Yeah," he said, half a question, half simply an acknowledgement.
"Good," Chris said. "Come 'ere." And Justin leaned in obediently and received his first kiss, which tasted like rainwater, of course. Chris' hands were cold and wet on his face. He put a hand on Chris' shoulder, felt his skin hot through the wet fabric of his shirt.
So, Justin thought when he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, I'm making out with Chris. Maybe it is a tropical storm, he then thought, and tried to remember what it would be called. That would be something to tell the grandchildren. "I first kissed Chris right during the Tropical Storm Gordon." Or whatever.
Chris slipped a hand under his shirt and he shivered.
"You know, we're totally wet," Chris said after a while.
"Yeah," Justin said. "And cold, too."
"There's a blanket just inside the door," and he let go of Justin and went to get it, and Justin felt abandoned. Then he felt a little stupid.
Then Chris came back and he said, "Are we still braving the elements?"
"Yup," Chris said. "This is high romance, baby. You, me, the blanket and the storm. Feel it?"
The blanket was older than the couch and covered in dog hairs. Justin felt it, all right. But Chris was taking off his shirt, so he didn't complain.
"Off with that wet rag," Chris said. "You'll get sick."
"You made me go stand in the rain!"
"Yeah, and now I'm making you take your clothes off. Cunning plan, don't you think?"
They took off their clothes, and it was oddly commonplace, this. Pulling his wet shirt over his head, just like he might do after a concert on a rainy day. Chris wrapping them both in the old blanket, Chris' hands on his skin, Chris' mouth on his face - those were new things, though.
In all the excitement, he'd almost forgotten to notice these things; what it made him feel to have Chris touch him like this.
He noticed now. Chris' palm sliding down his arm: a tiny curl of heat in the bottom of his chest. Chris' tongue meeting his: a big dollop of heat, like liquid metal pooling somewhere down below.
"Oh," he said.
The storm rumbled in the distance, and Chris pushed him down on the couch and pulled the blanket over them. It was damp and hot under it, sticky-wet skin and cold feet and hands. He forgot to feel self-conscious when Chris put his hand on his dick, because they were both naked and he had dog hairs in his mouth. And it felt good.
"Can I call you baby now?" Chris said when Justin gasped and dug his fingers into his shoulder. "Or maybe sweetheart, or honey, or sugar, or, hmm, what's that JC calls Bobbie?"
"Bitch?" Justin said breathlessly and wiggled underneath Chris.
Chris laughed and licked his neck and said, "No, when he's in love with her."
"Pumpkin," Justin said.
"He calls her Pumpkin? Freak."
Justin could feel Chris' dick rub against his leg, and that felt pretty good, too. A little strange, because, hey. Chris' dick, and that was just weird, but good. Justin thought he might have been waiting for this, somehow.
"Whatever," Chris said, "I'm just gonna call you-- oh, God--"
"I think that's, like, sacrilege or something," Justin said, but he sneaked his hand down, over Chris' side, thigh, and in between them.
"Thank you, God," Chris said and giggled, and Justin laughed a little, too, but then he couldn't because he ran out of breath, and he arched his back and couldn't stop from groaning.
Chris thrust against him, hard, and their hands were squished together between them; wedged between bone and flesh, and Justin found Chris' mouth and kissed him and came.
"Ooh, sticky," Chris said and followed.
Justin lay back and felt his heartbeat slow down, and heard the storm again, the house groaning with it, the rain pelting the roof.
"Justin?" Chris said.
"Mmmh," he said. "What?"
"Just checking. You okay?"
"We should probably go inside," Justin said. He wanted to say, "to bed" but he wasn't entirely sure what Chris' plan was, and this was just the perfect time to get all insecure, wasn't it, when he was already sweaty and sticky with come.
"Yeah, and do it again," Chris said, "pumpkin."
They left the garden to the gnomes.
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