baby if you wanna be wild, you got a lot to learn
I.
one step forward
Chris' hands settle on his hips. They rest lightly, not pressing but not skating away. All Chris says is, "Now?"
The question is for Justin, because he already knows Chris wants to do this now. Justin can see Chris' desire in the wide, flat way his eyes are dilated, the way he breathes from high in his chest.
Justin feels dizzy even though his buzz wore off hours ago. It's like his body is humming second-hand, by proximity. He steadies himself with a palm on Chris' shoulder. Chris' hands never shake and Justin wills himself, mind over matter, to move as cool and confident as possible. Eyes closed, Justin knows exactly what he wants, and when. He can't believe he ever let himself forget.
I want this, Justin thinks. I want this now.
His mouth doesn't open, but his eyes do, and it seems like it must be pretty clear what he would have said if he hadn't lost his nerve. Chris' tongue darts to the corner where his lips fold into each other and then back again. Justin shifts his weight and Chris grins almost cruelly.
Justin wrests Chris' chin towards him and kisses his mouth open.
two steps
Chris sits in the big living room of Justin's suite with no light except the television. MTV is rerunning the show back-to-back and he flips between that and an old Sixers game on ESPN Classic. If he hits the return button fast enough it's almost like the two shows have been edited together, but when that stops being funny, and when Justin stops looking like he pulled it off and more like he blew an easy shot from the foul line, Chris turns off the TV and waits in the dark.
Justin comes in carefully, quietly. Not quite apologetically. Chris doesn't pretend to be asleep. He has his own room for sleeping. "Hey," he says.
"Hey," Justin says, almost whispering. "Whatcha watching?"
"Nothing," Chris says. Justin nods, and Chris asks, "Did you have fun tonight?"
Justin nods into his laugh like a barking seal, like it's the punchline to a dirty joke.
"Before that," Chris says.
"Oh, well. Uh, you know. Not as much as when it's all of --"
Chris shakes his head hard, standing up. "That's not what I'm talking about," he says.Justin shrugs. "Didn't fuck anything up. I think it went pretty good."
Chris takes a step closer.
back
Justin is so good that Chris gets a little scared, like standing so near the edge that he's pushed back by the force of a passing train. He doesn't want Justin to fail. Of course he doesn't. It's a mean, rare, stupid thought and Chris is mostly proud of himself for not saying it out loud.
After, though. After, Chris is pissed as fuck because there's basking in a little solo glory and then there's blowing off your friends. Joey and JC left an hour ago. Chris isn't drunk, even if he's not quite sober. He's sober enough that when Jeff, this old friend of Justin's who's really a new hanger-on and not much of a friend at all, tells Chris that Justin wants to be alone, he actually takes a minute to consider if Jeff is smarter and funnier than he originally gave him credit for.
"Nah, man, he was serious," Jeff says, a hand on Chris's chest. Jeff is wearing an artfully distressed faux-vintage T-shirt and Chris wonders if he gets anxious, if it takes him an hour to get dressed because he's worried that today Justin will decide his willingness to play guard dog has outlived his modicum of coolness.
"Fuck you," Chris says, shoving his way through. One foot in the door and there's Justin's white-as-can-be ass, dark legs wrapped around his waist, his pants still hanging around his ankles.
Justin looks over his shoulder with slanted, glassy eyes. The girl's face is down, buried in his neck. He smiles slowly. "Busy," he slurs, blinking and lazily thrusting in counter-rhythm.
Chris sighs and backs out. Jeff grins. Chris doesn't hit him, and he doesn't have another drink. He just leaves.
II.
one step forward
Justin strips slowly for Chris. Chris is sitting in the overstuffed chair in the corner of the bedroom. Justin is standing at the foot of his bed. He pulls the shirt over his head, drops the fabric behind him and stays stretched out like that, like he's hanging from a pull-up bar. Chris slides lower in the chair and Justin smiles to himself.
"Take your pants off," Chris says, and Justin toys with the button. Chris sighs and looks away and Justin pushes his underwear and jeans down all together, sits on the bed and yanks off his socks and shoes, too. He scoots back, heels on the edge of the comforter, legs spread.
He really wants this right fucking now. Anytime Chris wants to get up off his ass, Justin thinks, he's good to go. He's been ready for this for a long time, even if he didn't know how to start it. Things seem easier to start right now, like he's getting a second chance at a little boy's tap dance dreams and this time taking only what he wants to keep.
Chris stands, deliberately, and Justin tilts his neck back against the mattress. Chris is going to fuck him. Chris is going to fuck him now.
Chris stands but doesn't move closer. Justin feels his knees fall apart, and he pushes up on his elbows. "We ain't taking a Sunday afternoon stroll," he says.
"You're not ready," Chris says.
two steps
"You think I don't want this?" Justin asks. He props one shoulder against the doorjamb, like he's waiting for the bus. If Justin were the kind of guy who'd ever had to take public transportation.
He brings Chris' hand down to cup his crotch and, yeah, Chris believes Justin wants something. Justin wants everything, maybe. Chris lets go, drops his arms by his sides. He's hard, too, he can feel his dick pulse all the way up to the throb of his wet, sore lips. Justin kisses like he dances, precisely, repetitively. Almost mechanically.
"You wanna fuck?" Chris asks sharply, into the slice of collarbone that peeks out under Justin's shirt. He feels Justin swallow deep and press the word yes into the inside of his wrist. Chris says, to be clear, "You want me to fuck you."
"Okay," Justin says then, shrugging, swaggering, and Chris lets a gently trailing finger catch skin, dig in deep. "Fuck," Justin says, low, almost shocked. Chris' hands are locked around the base of his back but Justin tilts out, away. "You don't gotta --"
Chris drags his tongue over the red welt and Justin moans, then bites his lip. "Is that --" Chris circles Justin's wrist and Justin barely struggles in his grip. Chris taps his short nails over knuckles and Justin stills perfectly, holds himself with shuddering frozen grace. Chris sneers, "Is that, you know. Okay with you?"
back
Chris lets Justin kiss him, lets him walk them together down the hall. Justin is wet and eager like a dog in a creek, and he's not bad, just unfocused. Lazy, like no one ever told him to try to do better. He can't figure out where to put his hands, or what to do with his feet or elbows.
Even Justin seems to understand that kissing's not the point anymore. It's not the end, it's the means, and Chris is sure now that Justin's never done the rest.
He's trying, though. He puts his hand on Chris' fly with purpose and a steely grip. "I need you, like, naked," Justin says.
Chris doesn't roll his eyes. He doesn't unbutton his pants. "You don't even know what you're asking for," he says.
III.
one step forward
"Did you have fun tonight? Did you enjoy yourself?" Chris' lips whisper against Justin's cheek.
"I never did that before," Justin says, but the way Chris shakes his head, Justin knows he wasn't talking about them. Justin doesn't want to talk about the show. He wants to do this again. He kind of wants to thank Chris profusely for letting them do it in the first place, but that's such a weird thought that he just smiles so Chris knows being quiet doesn't mean he regrets it.
"You're a natural," Chris says, and Justin buries the wild grin he can't stamp down in the crook of his own arm. Chris touches Justin's jaw. "You've gotta remember people love you because you're just that good to start off with."
Justin shakes his head. "I don't know what I'm doing," he says.
"You don't have to."
Justin turns and Chris kisses him softly. Justin believes Chris more than anyone, more than his mom because moms see your kid face no matter how old you get. More than all the people telling him how come he's the biggest star, how come he's right, no matter what stupid thing he's done, how he's so funny and so fly and can take whatever, whoever he wants.
Justin feels like he's had people screaming in his face for months and it took Chris to make the noise stop. All it took was Chris.
"You love what you do," Chris says. "That's what you do best. We can tell."
Justin walks his fingers down Chris' ribs. "I love this," he says.
"You can tell," Chris says, teeth white through his smile.
two steps
The knot loosens and Chris feels it in his knees, the base of his back, the quivering places his hair meets his scalp. Justin stops trying to fuck his body onto Chris', stops setting the pace mid-stroke, and when he lets go he almost yells in surprise. Chris knows that moment, when you realize just how easy it is, how good it can be to give in. How little control is actually worth.
Chris slows down, leans in to cover Justin's mouth with his own. "You try too hard," he says.
Justin twists his head from side to side, sliding out from under Chris' lips and then back beneath. He is beyond, or before, words.
Chris pushes Justin back, up the bed, so Chris can lie on top instead of stand. Justin lifts his hips, digs his heels into Chris' back, blinks back tears. He comes with a shout and Chris swallows his own screams.
back
"I am," Justin says. "I am ready. I'm so ready, I'm --"
Chris palms Justin's stomach, presses hard, down. He grabs Justin's left ankle and hoists it over his shoulder. He touches one finger damp only with sweat between Justin's legs and says it again. "You're not ready."
"Well if you'd --"
Chris takes his hand away but doesn't step back. "I will," he says. "J, I will. We will. But you -- you gotta relax." He tilts his cheek, presses a kiss into the back of Justin's knee.
Justin says, "I am relaxed."
Chris pushes the tip of his finger in, just enough that Justin bites his lip. He pushes more, feels the flesh wrap around, fight back. He breathes over Justin's calf. "You're not," he says.
Justin clenches his jaw. "I --"
"The ass doesn't lie," Chris says, and Justin's determined storm breaks into a laugh. Chris pulls his hand back, traces Justin's anklebone with his thumb.
Justin's other leg comes up around Chris' waist. "I'm ready," Justin says. "Make me ready."
END
Credits: For Jae, because neither success nor love is linear or necessarily progressive, and if I like Chris being in charge just a little too much, I know exactly whose fault that is. Title and lyrics from Bruce Springsteen's "Candy's Room." Read-throughs by kel., Lesa, Lise, Jamie and Younger.