Inked

By liquidglitter

____________________________________________________

They’re all over at Justin’s house because Chris decided that, really, it had been far too long since they’d spent any “quality time” together. So Justin invited them all over, armed with clean guest bedrooms, pizza, chips and a couple of crates of beer.

So now they’re all in Justin’s living room, basking in the flickering warm glow of his newly-installed fireplace which according to Justin is, “Rustic chic, yo”. Chris secretly thinks Justin’s been swindled by his designer who quite obviously found most of the furnishings on a daytrip to his local dump, but he doesn’t say so.

JC loves it, however, and the two have been talking endlessly about “What You’ve Done With The Place”. Once again Chris muses on the truth of their profuse claims of heterosexuality.

Joey and Lance sit on the sofa, JC is in the easy-chair and Justin is splayed out on the floor. Chris is sitting in the big comfy armchair, feeling totally dwarfed by its sheer size. It’s late and they’re all pretty wasted.

Justin is wearing a t-shirt and one sleeve has ridden up a little to show the cross tattooed on his bicep. His skin looks warm and golden in the firelight,

“J, once more I gotta ask, why’d you get that tattoo?”
Justin shrugs, and he’s lying on carpet so his whole body scrapes up and down with the movement,
“I don’t fucking know.”
JC, who’s been quite for some time now, suddenly says,
“I like it. I think it’s sexy.”
“You think everything is sexy. You think pink leather pants and cowboy hats are sexy. Hell, you think Chris is sexy.” Lance says
“I am sexy.”
“You’re too short.”
Chris’ lips set into a thin line,
“Go to hell. Or to space. No wait, you can’t, the Russians won’t let you. Failed astronaut bitch.”
Lance doesn’t say any more.
“I kinda like Justin’s tattoo,” and that’s Joey, slightly muffled, talking from out of his beer can.
Chris rolls his eyes,
“Pleeease, I bet, like, ten bucks Justin couldn’t have gotten an uglier tattoo if he’d tried.”
Justin sits bolt upright, his mouth set in determination,
“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that,” and he gets up and storms out the room, muttering something about getting more beer. A few minutes later they hear a car screeching away,
Chris says, belatedly,
“Dude, it wasn’t, like, a challenge”
Joey shakes his head sadly,
“Chris, you stupid fuck”
“Shouldn’t we have stopped him or something?” JC says
Lance sighs loudly,
“You know what he’s like. A strange boy, that Timberlake. Stubborn. Not unattractive, though.”
The others pretend to ignore him. Lance drunk is just fucking weird. JC giggles to himself and Chris starts to sing “Starry, starry night”


The others are all downstairs eating breakfast in a morose hung-over silence when Justin trudges in looking like he slept last night in a skip,
“My fucking head” he mutters and scratches his bare stomach absently.
JC hands him a glass of water and some paracetamol. He gulps it down, mumbles a vague “Thanks” in JC’s direction. Says,
“What the fuck did I do last night? My back hurts like a bitch”
They all shrug. Lance says,
“You were pretty wasted”
Justin sits bolt upright, feigns surprise,
“No Lance, you’re kidding. Honestly, I was? How. How did you find out? ‘Cause y’know waking up with a fucking awful hangover and no memory of last night, that sure didn’t clue me in. News flash, Lance: stop stating the fucking obvious and try to get laid. I know it’s tricky for you, being...as you are and looking...as you do... and,” he sighs dramatically, “oh fuck you all I’m going back to bed” and with that he pushes his chair back with a screech and gets up, ready to stomp back upstairs.

Chris looks at his retreating back. Wait, what…what the…?
“What the fucking hell is that?!” Chris yells, standing up and pointing wildly at Justin’s back. The others turn and look, see what has to be the ugliest tattoo ever. EVER. In the history of…anything.
Ah. Chris has a little flash of memory,
“I bet you ten bucks…”
And he starts laughing loudly, unstoppably. He collapses onto the floor and wheezes with laughter. He hears Lance and Joey start laughing, too and soon Joey’s joined him on the floor and Lance is propping himself up against the table to keep from falling over.
Justin snaps round to face them,
“What’s so fucking funny?”
Lance, Chris and Joey can’t answer. Literally, they can’t. JC seems unwilling to. Chris forces out,
“You...fucking...idiot! You’re such...a stupid...”and he rolls over and can’t stop laughing.
“Lance?” Justin says, curtly, “Is this about me calling you constipated? Is. It.? Tell me now before I go and flush your fucking chocolate flavoured laxatives down the toilet”
Lance pauses to say briefly, irritably,
“J, how many times...they’re not mine” then he remembers that hideous cherubthing and falls over.
Chris picks himself up, goes over to him, still giggling, and says,
“Well you sure showed me! Here’s your ten bucks” and he hands a confused and pissed-looking Justin a crumpled $10 bill and stumbles back into the kitchen, muttering, “sucker” and bursts out laughing again
JC walks over to him, places an arm on his shoulder and whispers,
“Go and look in the mirror”
And Justin’s body, tense and hard and strumming like a tight string, turns and stamps loudly into the bathroom. There’s a brief silence before a piercing scream, followed by;
“Chriiiiiiis! You motherfucking piece of shit! You are going to fucking pay for this you short fucking prick, I fucking swear to god-”
Chris has stopped laughing. Joey and Lance have frozen, too . JC is fidgeting nervously with his hands. Justin sounds PISSED. Capital letters. Chris looks frantically around for a means of escape, sees Joey and Lance’s eyes darting around, wonders how much it would hurt to just dive out the window. Considers his own size in relation to the size of the fridge, decides to just run. And hide.
They hear the bathroom door click open and loud, quick pounding steps heading towards the kitchen-living room. Oh. fuck.

They see Justin enter, his jaw twitching, his fists clenched by his side. Chris wonders if Justin would ever hit a friend, thinks, yes, possibly and hears the shattering of glass and a loud “Fuck, ow!” as Lance launches himself through the French doors and bolts to safety. Joey dives under the table and JC just stays where he is, paralysed. Justin’s fist tightens and he stomps over to Chris, moving like black thunder and heavy drums. Chris stares around, sees the Lance-sized hole in the glass doors and wonders if he could fit through.

His thoughts are cut off when suddenly Justin is right in front of him, teeth clenched,
“You. fucking. ASSHOLE!” He grates out.
Chris chews his lower lip,
“It was you who got the tattoo. Don’t blame me.”
Justin shouts,
“Why didn’t you stop me you fucking awful fucking friend! You knew what I was going to do since you made the fucking bet!”
Chris mumbles,
“It was a theoretical bet, moron. Why the hell would I bet you to get a tattoo? Give me some credit.”
Justin raises his fist, and for a brief second Chris thinks he’s going to hit him but he turns round and storms out instead, anger and frustration humming through his body.
From under the table Joey says solemnly,
“There are no winners”
“Shut the fuck up, fatty” Chris snaps and storms out, too.


A week later and Chris has been banned permanently from Justin’s house. His security guards have been told to “Attack on sight” and Chris doesn’t doubt it.

JC comes to see him, looking distraught and twitchy,
“Uh, I need to talk to you…about, um, it”
None of them can say “the tattoo”, it’s just. It’s So Fucking Ugly. Chris shudders even thinking about it.
“Um, so I don’t think you know. Like, no one knows, but uh, Justin and I, we’re. We’re sleeping together”
Chris says blankly,
“Oh”
“But that’s not the thing, “JC amends quickly, “it’s just...it. Like, I can’t. um. It’s affecting my, like, ability.”
Chris raises a hand, shakes his head,
“JC, stop. What the hell are you on about? You’re screwing Justin...so? I mean it’s a bit of a shock,” he pauses, “well, no it’s not really-“
“Fine,” JC cuts in, “I can’t fuck him with that- that thing on his back. It’s completely off-putting”
He looks to Chris to respond,
“Uh, right. I, um, see that it...could be”
“Damn right,” JC continues, on a roll now, ”it’s a fucking cherub with his mom’s fucking initials on it! I mean I love Lynn and all, but I don’t want to think about her whilst my dick is up her fucking son’s ass! It’s fucking disturbing!”
“Right. Yes,” Chris says, nodding vigorously in what he hopes is a compassionate and understanding way, “It must be tricky”
JC growls in frustration,
“It is. We’ve not had sex, well not successfully anyway, since it appeared and Justin’s starting to think something’s wrong and I’m just frustrated and fucking horny”
Chris nods, wrinkles his brow in deep thought, says,
“Can’t you just tell him? Ask him to get it removed?”
JC bursts out into a wailing sob,
“I think he likes it”

Chris decided it’s time to take action. JC has now made five such visits to his house and Chris thinks if he has to hear about JC’s sexual repression any longer he’s going to just fuck the guy himself so he decides to send Justin a letter. A mystery letter.
It reads as such,
“JuSTiN,
HeLLo. I Am a fAN. WAs. YouR New TattOo is fuCKinG HoRRiBle. GeT iT REMovED. Or ElSe.
LoVE CanDy KiRkIspY”
Meanwhile, Lance starts a petition. He gets 15,000 signatures. 5,000 are from him and Joey. Amazingly, 10,000 are not. As it turns out, no one likes the tattoo. Chris notices Lynn’s signature is there. In fact, so is Randy’s, Trace’s, Paul’s, Pharrell’s, Chad’s, Nelly’s…So is JC’s, except it’s badly disguised as ‘JB Chussex’ He sends the petition to Justin along with the note.

Two days later there’s a knock at Chris’ door. Chris ambles over, scratches his ass, looks through the peep-hole, sees. Whoa. Justin. He opens the door and Justin pushes in past him,
“Hello, Chris. You’ll never guess what came in the post today”
“No, what?” Chris says, all innocence
“A petition. And a menacing letter signed,” he pauses and looks down at the piece of paper in his hand, “ ‘Candy Kirkispy’”
“What an odd name,” Chris says, shaking his head sadly, “people today”
“Yeah that’s what I thought. Then I thought of you and that fake name you give people when we go out sometimes- what was it? Krispy Kirkispy? Something really fucking lame like that. And I thought to myself, hmm, coincidence? No. And so Chris, really, I appreciate the thought, no wait I don’t. You don’t think I know I have a fucking goddamn cherub on my back?! Thank Lance for me too, and Joey. Tell them next time they fake signatures maybe don’t use names like “Bance Lass”, “Lancho Baggz”, “Foey Jatone” and “Poey LaFat” Come on, yo! “Lancho”?! “Poey LaFat”?! Do you guys think I’m fucking stupid?”
And he throws the papers at Chris and storms out.

A week later Chris reads in the National Enquirer (and no, he does not subscribe, thankyou, it’s Lance’s copy) that Justin has been in to a ‘secret clinic’ to have his tattoo removed.
The next day he receives a huge bouquet and a crate of champagne “With many, many, MANY thanks, Lynn”
JC sends him all the phone numbers of hot girls he’s ever met, with a card saying,
“I LOVE YOU”
Joey and Lance receive similar gifts.

Justin races back to the top of all the “sexiest…” polls.

JC doesn’t visit any more.

Justin comes round one day, shows Chris his lovely clear back, tells him how much it fucking hurt to get the damn thing removed, and whisks him away on a “surprise trip”. Chris is suspicious.

They go into a little café and walk to the back of it, through a secret door. Suddenly Chris is pressed up against the wall by Justin and Joey, with his arms flat out. His eyes are covered. He feels a sharp pricking pain inside the crook of his elbow.

When he’s let up he looks down, sees his arm is red and swollen and. Huh. Inked inside his arm is a small picture of himself and three little words, “This is uglier”.
He looks around for the others, prepared to start a fight with the smart-ass little fucks, but finds he’s alone.

Fuckers.


End

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