Dirty South—the Ranch AU

By liquidglitter

Part1

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--ignite

JC squints out through the windshield at the bleached-bright landscape rolling towards him. Underneath the car the dirt road cracks and spits, hissing up puffs of red dust into the blue sky. JC breathes in, tastes burnt copper thick at the back of his throat, smiles, remembers all the reasons why he decided to come back to Tennessee.

Outside, fields of bossy gold glance past, punctuated with hot earth and gnarled vegetation. The dry heat buzzes, sizzles past the window. JC swats a fly against his neck.

Upon arrival at the ranch, JC gets out of the car, stretches and relishes the warmth seeping into his skin. The leathered wood of the house is ripped at the corners and JC smells the warm burr of hot, dry timber.

“An’ you must be Joshua.”

JC turns round, takes off his sunglasses and sees a young blonde man walking towards him, dressed in faded jeans and a dirty blue t-shirt. As he walks over, he wipes his hand down his side, smiles and offers it to JC, “I’m Lance, Lance Bass. I work here, keepin’ the books, helpin’ out with the horses.” JC shakes his hand, returns his smile, “Joshua Chasez, the temporary new owner. It’s nice to meet you—Lance.”

“You, too. C’mon, I’ll show you ‘round the place. A lot’s changed since you were last here, I’m guessin’.” JC nods, “Last time I was here I was ten years old,” he glances up at the house, “seems very different.”

Lance starts to walk off, calls JC over. JC jogs quickly over to his car, locks it, hears Lance laugh, “We’re miles away from our own animals, let alone other people.” JC smiles sheepishly, “Old habits.” Lance waves him over again, says, “Follow me. I’ll introduce you to the others.”

They walk around the side of the old house. JC stares, entranced, at the footprints he leaves in the red earth, snapshots of movement in the sickly-still air.

Lance points out the stables and barns, briefs him about the people currently working on the ranch, “Well, as I said, I keep the books here, manage accounts an’ all that, I also help look after the horses. That’s my lodge over there. I’m a part-timer, I go home on Saturday nights, come back Sunday evenin’. All of us do that, ‘cept for Justin. He lives here permanently. He’s in charge of the horses, knows some veterinary medicine. He keeps an eye on us, makes sure everyone’s doin’ their work. Bit of a ranger; at one with the earth an’ the animals an’ all that shit. I’m tellin’ you he could navigate this area in the pitch-dark. Then there’s Joey, he’s your maintenance man, does all the odd-jobs, fixin’ stuff up...Randy, Paul and Jackson, they work the fields. We got a new girl, Britney, she cooks an’ cleans, just came last month—hmm, talk of the devil—“

JC turns to see in the direction that Lance is facing, sees a slim, pretty blonde girl walking over. She smiles sweetly, flash of perfect, white teeth, “You must be Joshua. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Britney.” JC kisses her hand and she giggles, “Such a gentleman! I bet you got yourself a beautiful girlfriend back home, huh?” JC nods, smiles a little, “Yeah, her name’s Tara--” Britney tuts, shakes her head, smudges a speck of dirt down her neck with the pad of her thumb, “Well ain’t that a shame.”

Lance looks at her, raises an eyebrow, “I thought—you an’ J—you guys were getting’ pretty close—“ Britney laughs, “Darlin’ the only thing Justin ever got close to was his right hand. Although not for want of tryin’ I might add.” Lance chuckles, answers JC’s look of confusion, “See, Justin’s got what you might call a, a—reputation.” Britney hoots, turns to JC, “Hoo boy, he’s gonna have fun with you, honey.”

A broad, dark-haired, roughly-stubbled man walks over, “Lance, Brit, and—Joshua I’m guessin’?” JC nods, “I’m Joey, welcome.” JC shakes his hand, “Thanks, it’s great to be back here.” Britney fiddles with the hem of her shirt.

Lance turns to Joey, frown crinkling his brow, “Joe, you seen J today?” Joey shakes his head, scuffs his foot in the dirt, “Naw, I think he’s still asleep. Late night or sump’m.” Lance shakes his head, “That boy.” “Mm-hmm.”

Britney excuses herself and goes up to the house, hips swaying slightly as she walks away. Lance leans in close, whispers, “I think you got yourself an admirer.” JC looks alarmed so Lance amends, “Oh don’t worry, she won’t act out of place. She knows you’re taken.” Joey looks at Lance, mutters, “If only we could say the same ‘bout our other young friend.” Lance nods gravely, “We should prob’ly warn you about Justin. He’s—he can seem a bit—overwhelmin’ at first. But when you get past that—he’s a great guy. Just give it—“ Lance stops,

“J!” he yells, “What the hell time d’you call this?”

JC looks over, snatches in a breath.

Whatever he was expecting of Justin, it wasn’t this—

This—this creature, walking—no, swaggering—towards them, wearing dirty frayed jeans that hang obscenely low on slim hips. He runs a hand through a mess of sandy curls, stretches, taut bronzed skin rippling, smooth sweatslick caramel dusted and blurred with dirt. A faint line of gold splinters down his chest, dips below the waistband of his pants.

Justin looks at Lance, grins widely, “Mm, I’d say this was ‘bout lunchtime, actually. You seen Brit—?”

He pauses, seemingly noticing JC for the first time. His eyes soften, gaze sweeping languorously up JC’s body and his smile widens, “Who’s your pretty friend, Joe?”

Joey rolls his eyes as JC feels his face heat up. He’s never been appraised so—blatantly before. He stares down at his feet, draws squiggles in the dirt with his shoe, furiously wishing away the blush seeping up his neck. Lance whispers, “Just ignore it” as Joey says calmly, “This is Mr Chasez, the new owner. So watch that mouth of yours.”

Justin stands next to Lance, locks eyes with JC, a sharp flash of blue, and JC looks away, feeling his face burn. “Ah, so you’re Joshua,” Justin says, treacle-slow, “I’m Justin. It’s a delight to meet you.” And the air seems practically glacial compared to the heat scattering across his skin.

JC reluctantly meets his gaze, clears his throat, “You—you, too.”

And the heat fades to a dull glow as Justin turns his attention to Joey instead. JC tunes out of the conversation, tries to think about Tara—his wonderful, sweet, beautiful Tara.

Tara, who doesn’t strut when she walks or wear obscene clothing. Tara, with her expanse of smooth, pale skin who doesn’t sport the dirty, dishevelled, sun-beaten look.

JC snaps back when Justin sashays away to his lodge. Lance calls after him, “Put on some goddamn clothes” and JC secretly blesses Lance, feels his breathing relax a little.

“So,” Joey says brightly, “that was Justin—“

…………………………………………………………………………………………

--simmer

The blue sky has bled red and mauve and JC sits on the end of his bed, contemplates unpacking. Thinks he can’t really be bothered. The sweltering heat of midday has simmered down to a warm haze that slips deliciously over JC’s skin as he peels off his t-shirt.

He lies back on the bed, keeping his legs slung over the edge, feet on the floor. He stares up at the whitewashed ceiling, splashed lavender in the dusk. One hand rests idly on his stomach; thumb tracing tiny whirls around his navel.

He mulls over the events of today, decides he’s glad he came. It’s odd, really, how he doesn’t connect this house with his grandparents. The place seems strange and unfamiliar. He can’t picture anyone living in the large, hollow rooms. JC sighs, thinks maybe it’s time he called Tara—he could suggest she came down here for the weekend or something, take a break from the city. Then again, Tara’s not exactly a country girl.

A crisp knock startles JC out of his thoughts. He sits up, eyes wandering over to the doorframe and—

Justin, leaning feline against the doorjamb. At least now he’s wearing a tee, “Hey,” he says softly, an entirely different voice from earlier, low and silky and dangerous. JC figures his alarm must have shown when Justin says, eyes innocent-wide, “oh—sorry if I startled you. It’s just—we’re all havin’ dinner over at my place tonight, Brit’s cooked up somethin’ of a feast in your honour,” his eyes melt, “she likes you, you know. But, yhea, she won’t do anythin’ about it.” He looks down at his hand, examines his nails, flicks his eyes up to JC’s, grins velvet-slow.

JC doesn’t move, sits, paralysed on his bed, acutely aware of Justin’s presence in his room. He’s afraid he’ll blister if he gets too close.

Justin steps towards him and JC suppresses a little panicked sound deep in his throat, “I don’t bite,” Justin says, unconvincingly. He stops abruptly, and a quivering little sigh escapes his lips. He stares at his feet, “look, perhaps I spoke out of line earlier, sometimes my mouth gets away from me—please, just come.” And JC feels horrible, just horrible because he looks so sincere and on the verge of tears and all JC could think while he was speaking was ‘that sounds so dirty’.

So he gets up, places a hand on Justin’s shoulder, and hey, they’re about the same height. He smiles a little, shakes his head, “No, no. I was—I was just a little taken aback. That’s all. I mean, flattered but-“ and--

--Oh.

So the wrong thing to say because the wicked smile from earlier is back and Justin laughs brightly, says, “I’m just messin’ with you, Josh. But yhea, do come. And, no, seriously, if I offended you—“ he stops abruptly, and JC almost shudders from the intense focus of the blue eyes homed in on him, thinks his hand might possibly be welded to Justin’s arm, “You’re, you’re not, like homophobic are you?” And JC laughs loudly, lets his hand drop, “No—dear God, no,” JC says, relieved that some of the tension seems to be dispersing. He adds, “But I’ve got a girlfriend.”

Justin nods, drapes an arm around JC’s shoulders, “Good for you”. And JC gets the feeling that Justin really isn’t convinced, wants to say—and her name’s Tara and she’s five foot five and likes dancing and here’s her goddamn phone number if you don’t believe me—but he bites it back, knowing it sounds suspiciously defensive.

And huh, Justin’s arm is still there, so casual that it obviously isn’t.

Justin’s fingers are skimming spider lines on JC’s shoulder. “I need to put on a shirt,” JC says, cutting into the silence. Justin lifts his arm, frees him. Although ‘frees’ is really the wrong word because it wasn’t as though JC was desperate to get away. Um.

He walks over, flips open the lid to his suitcase, gaze scanning over the various clothes stuffed in.

“I think you should wear the blue one.” Justin says, leaning back against the doorframe. “What?”

“The blue shirt. It’s the same colour as your eyes.” JC blinks, looks at the shirt, picks it up, looks back to Justin—who nods—and JC slips it on, still buttoning it up as they walk out the door.

“So, what’s it like bein’ a lawyer?” Justin asks, looking askance at JC as they walk down the stairs.

JC, glad of the distraction, talks willingly, “Well, it’s dull a lot of the time. I have about a ton of paperwork to do for every case I get and that’s a fucking nightmare to sort through. But, y’know, it’s worth it at the end of the day. When I know I’m helping people out, making a difference.” Justin nods, “I’d like to be a lawyer maybe, if I wasn’t workin’ here. But I’m happy here an’ I figure jus’ do what makes you happy. What makes you feel good—“ and JC could swear that Justin’s voice just dropped a little on those last syllables. Why does everything that he says have to sound like sex?

Outside on the porch Justin’s hand rests lightly on the small of JC’s back, guiding him towards his lodge. JC knows the way, feels Justin’s thumb rub gently at the base of his spine and fuck, but how is he going to make it through the next two weeks without succumbing to this beautifulsexy boy? Man.

Not a boy. Definitely not a boy.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

--scorch

Approaching the back door to what must be Justin’s lodge, JC hears the warm rumble of laughter coming from inside. He stops before the door, apparently to let Justin in before him—manners or whatever.

But Justin stops.

Right behind him.

Right behind him.

In fact, flush up against his body.

JC leans back into him, not entirely unconsciously. Mostly.

Warm hands curl around JC’s sides and rest on his hipbones, nestling him back into Justin’s body. JC can’t help it, really cannot help it that he moans, lets his head fall back on Justin’s shoulder and shit, but they’re not even properly touching. JC shudders when he thinks what it would be like if they did, thinks he’d probably fucking spontaneously combust or something. And he feels about thirteen again, the way his body reacts around Justin. Embarrassing, really, how over-sensitised he is right now, from just one brush of fingertips.

Justin’s breath feathers against his throat like warm wings and JC’s hands, still by his sides, clench into fists. Justin’s hands splay down, under the waistband of JC’s jeans and lips like hot gems press against his neck, scarring kisses into his skin. JC hisses, “fuck”, eyes nearly rolling back into his head when Justin’s mouth starts a trail of slick fire up to his jaw.

Long fingers burn lines down the socket of his hips, shooting a swell of blood to between his thighs. JC’s hips curl up a little and the denim strains a tight heat across his cock. JC closes his eyes, breath coming in little spurts, gasps, and licks his hips back into Justin’s body, and—oh yeah—Justin’s just as hard as he is.

JC feels a slice of teeth graze his jawbone before soft, wet lips press down, sucking hard, marking. And JC shivers, thinks ‘everyone’ll know’ and grins as ice sprinkles down his spine. He wonders when he made the decision to go for it but doesn’t really care. As long as Justin carries on what he’s doing, JC couldn’t give a damn.

And oh, they’re still outside the door. People are inside. And um, this really isn’t safe. “Don’t worry ‘bout the others,” Justin breathes against his throat, “they’ve prob’ly figured it out anyways. It ain’t like they’re gonna come looking.” And JC feels the cool spread of teeth, knows Justin is grinning.

Justin bites gently at the juncture of JC’s neck and jaw and JC groans as fractured heat rips up his spine. Justin begins to grind against him, lips and teeth smudging into JC’s neck as he murmurs and gasps against the soft skin. And really, they’re wearing way too many clothes.

“Fuck,” Justin rasps, “fuck”, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips, thick heat of his cock pressing lewdly against JC’s ass. Practiced fingers flick open the fly to JC’s jeans and a palm flattens against JC’s dick. JC groans loudly, face contorted into a strained, “Shit, Justin—ohhh” and he thrusts up blindly into the pressure, scraping desperately into Justin’s hand.

JC thinks his knees might possibly just cave in right now, and images of him on all fours with Justin rocking into his body flood his brain and Tara? Tara who?

They haven’t kissed—which strikes JC as a little odd. He imagines Justin would taste like copper and dirt and honey-roast sunlight. Frankly he’s amazed that he can form such articulate thoughts right now. Thick fingers curl deliciously around his flesh and JC hisses, it’s all he can do to not just howl and—he was saying?

His head lolls back onto Justin’s shoulder, lips parting into a soft ‘Oh’. His gaze flicks open and the yellow glow of the porch light burns into his eyes. He blinks, flashes of round light skating his vision.

Justin’s fingers lick long and slow down the length of his cock, following the vein. Splinters of white fire prickle under his skin. JC bites his tongue when he feels the rough scratch of nails, tastes rust seep into his mouth.

Hips jar up into Justin’s fist which is pumping searing-tight along the heavy heat between his legs and JC’s panting a loose line of “--oh fuck, Justin, Oh--”. Justin grabs JC’s arm, twists it back and stuffs JC’s hand down the rasp of his jeans, clamps it against the slick swell of his cock, grinds into JC’s palm brutal-hard, “Aw—aw, Josh. Shit, shit, Josh.”

And JC thinks he really isn’t going to last much longer at this rate, with Justin jacking him off in long, nasty slides and rubbing himself into JC’s palm. JC’s body is rolling in constant liquid movement, mouth gaping open, gulping in breath. Justin is hard and searing against him, muttering vague obscenities against the nape of his neck and smudging his cock into JC’s hand.

And then—what? What the fuck? Why has Justin stopped moving? And JC lifts his head off Justin’s shoulder, opens his eyes blearily and—

--oh. Oh. Right. They have company.

Justin clears his throat a little, “Hi, Lance,” he says, voice low and gravelled, “what can I do for you?” and JC closes his eyes, stares at the floor, at the blue shadow pooled at their feet—pointedly ignoring the sight of Justin’s hand around his cock—and just prays, prays that Lance will go away. He’s beyond caring how he looks—how they look, at that stage where nothing else matters apart from just getting off. Lance has probably seen it all before, anyway. He feels his hips shift impatiently.

Lance doesn’t go, “J, all the food’s nearly gone. Brit’s wonderin’ where y’all had gotten to,” he gestures vaguely at them, “an’ yeah, I figured, but uh, she was insistent that I found you and dragged your sorry asses inside, so—“

Justin sighs deeply against JC, rucking their shirts up between them, and withdraws his hands from JC’s pants, zips them—with considerable difficulty—back up, does up his own fly, cussing as the metal slides over the straining bulk of his dick.

Lance has gone.

JC notices for the first time that the sky has melted deep blue, paintbox blue. Aquamarine. The soft glow of the porch light splashes strange shadows over the frayed wood of the house.

Justin swivels JC round to face him, runs a hand through his curls, laughs shakily, “Well, we better be getting’ in.” He leans in close, tongue in JC’s ear, whispers, “we’ll finish this later.” JC nods helplessly and lets himself be led inside, vaguely aware that they must look just this side of obscene.

JC shuffles awkwardly over to one of the empty chairs, and Justin sits opposite him, having turned his somewhat impaired walk into a swagger. Joey wolf-whistles, “Holy fuck, J,” he says, awed, “you sure do work fast.” Lance nods in mute agreement, though his eyes flicker to JC.

JC wonders just how many times has this happened? And yeah, good, keep saying things like that and the mood’ll soon be killed.

He doesn’t hear Justin tell them to shut up.

As his thoughts slowly become more lucid, less clouded with lust, JC remembers all the reasons why he wasn’t going to let Justin screw him. And god, he just wants to curl up and die right now because—Tara! How could he ever forget her, think she was insignificant? And shit—Justin wouldn’t tell, would he?

JC feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, looks up to see Britney gazing at him worriedly, “You alright there, darlin’?” she asks softly, brow slightly crinkled. JC nods instinctively, then shakes his head, “I—I don’t know what I was thinking,” he murmurs. Britney smiles “Honey, I understand. Heck, we all do. You think livin’ around J is easy? He’s like this, this magnet—if you get too close you’ll end up bein’ pulled straight in—never quite knowin’ how it happened. We’ve all been there.”

She leans further towards him, looks up at him with those painfully sincere brown eyes, says, “Look, let me tell you sump’m, on my very first day here I met him and I thought he was the most charming, the most handsome—the goshdamned sexiest man I’d ever met. Found myself in his bed that very same night, an’ quite a few nights after that let me tell you.”

She clears her throat a little, “But then this friend of Lance’s came over for a while, this drop-dead gorgeous man called Tony or sump’m and he was straight, as straight as a man can be, borderin’ even on homophobic. So the next day he seemed strangely quiet and withdrawn and we we’re all wonderin’ what’d happened—although really it should’ve been obvious—and he’d slept with Justin. On his first night here.”

“And that was it, I was out of the picture, jus’ like that. An’ I was angry—I was so angry I thought I was gonna leave—but nobody can ever be mad at J for long, he’s just too sweet and funny and he doesn’t even realise what he does to people. I don’t think so. He maybe doesn’t understand fully, anyway. He doesn’t understand about love. Everybody falls in love with him a little and that’s what he just can’t see.” Britney turns away, mouth curved slightly in a sad smile.

“It breaks my heart,” She says softly, not looking at him. Then she shakes her head a little, leans in close, lips against his ear, “Don’t make the same mistake I did. He ain’t worth it.” Then she smiles at Joey and starts a loud conversation with him about the best way to eat potatoes.

JC determinedly avoids Justin’s eye.

At the end of the meal, after Justin ushers the other out, slaps Britney on the ass, he turns to JC, slow smile syruping his lips, “Hmm, why don’t we go upstairs?” and JC feels ice trickle down his spine, because he can’t—he can’t.

“I can’t”

Justin blinks, “What?”

“I can’t do this,” JC states carefully, “I have a girlfriend. I’m your supervisor. I can’t.” And Justin frowns, “The hell? You weren’t complainin’ before. Don’t give me that girlfriend shit, guys who love their girls don’t press their fuckin’ dicks into my hand.”

“Justin, you don’t understand—I love her. Before I was—I wasn’t thinking properly. And you—don’t even try to pretend you weren’t seducing me.”

Justin laughs, “I’m not pretendin’. You know I wanna fuck you. Don’t attemp’ to blame your little slip-up in fidelity on me. It takes two to fuckin’ tango. You’re the lawyer here, JC.”

“Don’t call me that,” JC snaps, “that’s what my friends call me.”

And god, that was not a smart thing to say and Justin steps forward, coiled tension strumming through his body, “Well, Mr. Chasez in that case it’s a good thing I’m not your friend ‘cause I’m askin’ you to get the fuck outta my house.”

And JC backs away, panicked. Justin’s face looks weird and different in the flickering orange house-light: menacing, waiting. And JC runs.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

--fizzle

JC wakes up and opens his eyes to the crisp lines of morning light on the wall. It takes a second for him to remember where he is.

Memories of yesterday slam into his mind, snapshots of colour and touch and sound.

And huh, so he did almost have sex with Justin. Not clever, JC, really not clever. And now he’s got to live for the next month with a hotsexyboy who hates him. And the danger of succumbing to temptation suddenly pales to insignificance against the very immediate danger of getting mashed to a pulp.

He acted like a jerk last night. But really, it wasn’t his fault—was it? No, it was Justin.

It was Justin who followed him around, infrequently dressed, making lewd comments and radiating sex. It was Justin who kept coming on to him. And just how long is any man supposed to endure that without eventually giving in? JC’s only human after all.

He likes the others, though. Especially Lance and Britney. And that makes it sound as though he doesn’t like Justin—which isn’t entirely true. Justin makes him nervous, edgy. And he believes Lance when he says that there’s a decent guy inside, just wishes Justin would drop the façade to let him show.

But. There’s this niggling little voice inside JC’s head which says—but you wouldn’t like Justin if he was nice and demure, would you? You like him dirty and raw and—JC purses his lips, mutters, “Shutupshutupshutup.” And, uh, yeah, JC has to admit that OK, so maybe Justin like this is—interesting. Or something.

He sighs. Interesting is just not the word. Sexual, yes, unbearably. And this isn’t a productive train of thought at all, JC realizes, seeing the covers tent up a little between his thighs.

JC gets up, decides he needs a serious distraction, scratches his neck. He pads over to the bathroom, wooden slats warm and uneven beneath his feet. Briefly he considers jerking off, but he doesn’t want to give Justin the satisfaction, it would be like, surrendering; admitting defeat.

Wandering back out and over to the dresser, JC picks up his phone and calls Chris,

“Hey C, what’s up?”

“I’m down in Tennessee.”

“The fuck? Why? Who the hell goes to Tennessee?”

“I was born here, man.”

“Oh. Still.”

“Well whatever—I need to talk to you”

“Shoot”

“Ok, so my grandparents own this ranch—owned—but they decided to sell it. And, yeah. So basically I’m staying here ‘til the new owner comes, sometime in late August I think.” JC begins to pace around the room.

“Right—“

“But that’s not the thing. The thing is—uh. Uh. I, well—I cheated on Tara.” He pauses, stares at his reflection in the mirror, winces.

“You fucking weirdo, she is fine.”

“I know, I know.”

“So who with? She better have been hot.”

“Um, yhea. He was. Like, really, really hot. And—oh god. What do I do?” JC slumps back on the bed.

“Wait a minute here, back up—did you just say ‘he’?”

“Uh-huh”

“You cheated on Tara—superhot party girl—with a country boy? Are you strange? No, really, are you?”

“You don’t get it Chris. You haven’t met him.”

“Makes no difference. They’re all the same.”

“Dude—no. Don’t say that, just don’t,” JC sighs, “look, I want you to come down here, just for a few days. Keep me company.”

“At a ranch?”

“Yes.”

“With animals?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck off.”

“Come on, Chris, please.” Beat. “There’s a really hot girl here.”

Silence.

“Oh alright. Fine. Twist my arm why don’t you. I’ll fly down tonight.”

JC breathes a sigh of relief, “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

“Whatever. I gotta go buy me some ranch clothes.”

And he hangs up.

Ok, so only a few hours of Justin to endure until Chris gets here. JC figures he can probably avoid Justin almost completely. Staying away from the stables and Justin’s lodge seems like a good start.

JC gets dressed, walks downstairs, steps outside into the thick air, halts, blinks, momentarily blinded by the glare of the late morning sun.

He runs into Britney by the side of the house, “Hey, Josh,” She says, smiling, “I heard what you did to J last night.” And JC’s heart sinks because of course Justin told them. But Britney doesn’t sound angry. “Oh,” JC says, “um.” And Britney laughs, a honeyed sort of sound, “He was bitchin’ and moanin’ all last night—you’re the first person to turn him down. Ever,” she giggles helplessly, clutches her side, “Oh you should have seen him! That boy’s never experienced rejection before in his life! He was so confused—like just couldn’t understand it—“ and she trails off, collapsing in on herself with laughter.

JC tries to laugh but it sounds hollow.

Britney looks back up at him, clears her throat, “Not—not findin’ Justin so funny then, huh?” JC nods, “Something like that.” Britney sighs, places a hand on JC’s arm, “Don’t let him get to you. He’ll move on in a day or two. Then you might get to see his better side, the side that isn’t intent on lurin’ you to bed.” JC smiles reluctantly, because she’s sweet and pretty and he’s glad to be in the company of someone who doesn’t make him burn.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

--scar

The dirt track leads JC through alleys of tall, rusty trees. Britney told him there was a secluded pool about a mile down and that’s where he’s headed. Solitude and tranquillity and whatever. He’s just glad to be a safe distance away from Justin. And it’s not as though this is a strain on the eyes, either. In fact it’s beautiful and it’s wild and it’s remote and it’s all the reasons JC sometimes hates the city. He smiles, despite himself.

A little further on, white light skims over dark ripples and JC knows he’s found the pool.

He walks over through the mottled shade, smiles to himself because this looks like the perfect place to kill a couple of hours. The water slips around some trees, out of view, and JC follows the curl round, stops dead in his tracks—

--Justin.

And really, this is just too predictable, like something out of a bad—whoa. Porno. ’Cause Justin’s stepping out of the water, and yeah, he’s naked.

And JC gasps, can’t take his eyes off the lean body, shimmered with water and sun and shadow. Patterns dancing across smooth gilded skin. Water runs down the sleek curve of his back, trickling lines of mercury—and JC stares, gapes, feels whorls of dark heat seeping down his body.

It happens in slow motion, or it seems to. JC steps on a twig and a sharp crack cuts through the air. Justin’s head snaps round and his eyes widen in shock and then narrow to a cold glare. Justin turns his whole body around to face JC, and stops. Stays unmoving. JC isn’t sure where to look. He can see Justin’s body loaded like a compressed spring, ready to launch on the offensive.

But he can’t stop staring at Justin’s dick. Because, uh—and yeah, he’s going bright red, can feel the colour bleeding into his cheeks.

JC takes a tentative step forward, heart pounding, not least because Justin looks dangerously predatory, “Uh,” JC says and yeah, that’s great JC, really articulate, “sorry—I didn’t realize you’d be here” Justin stays still for a beat then, as though someone’s just pressed play, he slips back into movement, spits, “Don’t worry, Mr. Chasez, I was just leavin’” and JC winces, steps closer and Justin, tugging his clothes on roughly, drawls sarcastically, “Jus’ you stay right there, wouldn’t want to come any closer ‘cause you might jus’ get accidentally seduced again or somethin’.”

JC stops, looks down at the ground, can’t think of anything to say.

Justin, now dressed, stands up to his full height, crosses his arms, stares coldly at JC. JC meets his eyes and they’re not that beautiful molten sapphire they were last night. They’re glacier blue, cut with steel and silver.

“Well,” he challenges, “seein’ as you got nothin’ to say I guess I’ll be gettin’ back.”

“No,” JC says desperately, “wait—look, Justin, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It was me who—who started in last night. I’m sorry about what I said, I was just tired and irritable and,” JC sighs, concedes, “and I was fucking horny, thanks to you. And I felt guilty as hell about cheating on Tara and about maybe giving you the wrong impression, so. Sorry. Really. I’m really sorry.”

Justin’s stance relaxes a little. “Al’right,” he says carefully.

There’s an awkward silence. “So I guess I’ll be seein’ you back at the ranch.” Justin finally says. JC nods, “Yeah.” And Justin walks away, hips lilting.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

[Part 2]

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