Date: Wed, 06 Feb 2002 17:31:54 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 60

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've
enjoyed hearing from all of you.

This season would not have happened if not for a discussion I had with
Clive, who is generous enough to cohost this story on his site. Stop and
tell him hello at www.authorclive.co.uk.

That said, back to the show.

***Justin***

It was dark out, and there were no lights on in Josh's room, but he had
left the curtains open, and the bright light from the full moon splashed
over his glistening, sweating torso as he writhed and twisted on the
bed. His clothes were piled at the foot of the bed, his boxer briefs still
hooked around one of his ankles as his feet dangled off the end of the
mattress, shaking a little as his whole body moved in time to his stroking,
the bed rocking as he pulled furiously at his hard, dripping cock.

I stood in the doorway, transfixed, frozen the way I always was when I saw
Josh's body, saw how beautiful he was. Like I said before, I'd always known
how attractive Josh was, had always noticed him, and had always pushed the
thoughts away. Still, whenever I saw him, saw the way all his muscles
glided together, saw the way his skin glistened and looked so soft, so
silken, or the way his hair, the hair on his head and the tinier, shorter
hairs all over his body, always managed to catch the light, I was always
transfixed, even if it was just for a moment. That very first night Jack
had come, the night I had seen them in the recording room at the studio,
Jack thought I was watching them both, but really, I was only watching
Josh. I was watching the way his eyes closed in silent blissful surrender,
watching the way he gave himself up fully to what he was doing, and the way
he clearly enjoyed it as his firm jaw dropped open and his face flushed
with pleasure.

It was the same expression on his face now. His lips, soft and brownish
pink, perfectly formed, hung parted open just a little, his pearly white
teeth and pink tongue visible. His forehead bore the tiniest of wrinkles,
furrows between his gracefully arched eyebrows as his face strained with
need. A little sweat was glistening on his forehead, tiny beads of it
shimmering in the moonlight, and it sparkled on his high cheekbones as
well.  I saw it moving in tiny beads down his neck, a trickle running off
of his adam's apple and into the hollow of his throat, and I wanted to be
there with him on the bed, wanted to follow that trickle of sweat with my
tongue, wanted to lick it off of his salty skin.

I dropped my hand into my pants and felt my own cock there. It throbbed
under my fingers, steel wrapped in warm velvet. I felt it jumping in my
pants, straining against the confining fabric, and as I ran my hand over
the firm, pinkish head I felt slick wetness there, and realized that I was
leaking like crazy. I began to slowly work my hand up and down my shaft as
I stood in the doorway, watching Josh, feeling my crinkly pubic hair
brushing against my wrist. Dropping my hand lower, I felt my balls, drawn
tight and full against the base of my cock, and I gave them a light squeeze
before sliding my hand back up, and putting it slowly back to
work. Unconsciously I matched the pace of Josh's slowly moving hand as he
slid up and down his own swollen prick.

On the bed, I saw Josh pressing his head back, his hair falling back from
his forehead, his eyes closed. My eyes slid down his neck, seeing the cords
flex a little as he groaned softly, and then let out another of those yelps
I'd heard in the hallway. I moved them from the hollow of his throat to the
crease in his chest, wishing that I were dragging my hands over him, rather
than just my gaze. I saw his pecs bulging and flexing, shining in the
moonlight as they stretched across his chest, capped by his small, brownish
nipples with their hard, pointing tips, begging to be chewed and nibbled
and sucked.  I remembered touching that chest, feeling the bulging ladder
of those abs as my hands had roamed over it, my fingers running over those
ripples and dipping into his navel, and as Josh had pressed it against my
own, sliding against my body during that one hot night I couldn't forget.

The movement of his hand caught my eye again, and I watched his arms now,
my own moving faster as his did. I watched the round muscle of his
shoulders flexing beneath the honeyed tan of his skin, and followed it down
to the bulging, shifting muscles of his upper arms. He wore sleeveless
shirts onstage most of the time, and this was why, those shoulders and
upper arms. They were human perfection, firm and toned but not overly
muscled, strong enough to mean business but soft enough to invite you to
run your hands over them, to squeeze them, to feel them bunch and strain
warmly beneath your skin. The tops of his arms were almost hairless, but
his forearms, like mine, were dusted with a fine coating of soft hairs, and
ridged with prominent veins which stood out all the more when he exercised,
like he was now.

The slow back and forth shaking of that dangling pair of boxer briefs
caught my eye as well, hanging from Josh's foot. He always wore boxer
briefs, and almost always black ones. I'd noticed so many times the way
that they clung so tightly to the round curves of his ass, hugging it
tightly, clutching it the way I wanted to clutch it right now. I could
almost feel his ass as I saw myself climbing onto the bed, grabbing his
granite, straining curves in my hands and grinding his cock against mine,
the way I was grinding mine against my hand right now, my hips swinging
back and forth as my arm moved furiously back forth, jammed into my
pants. His firm thighs, dusted with golden brown hair, muscular and sleek
at the same time, were widely parted, and his calves stretched down from
his knees. I wanted more than anything to run my hands over them, to feel
them, and follow my hands with my mouth.

I didn't need to close my eyes to see this. Instead, as I watched Josh
strained and pressing back into his mattress, watching his gorgeous chest
rise and fall, his hand continuing its frantic rhythm now that matched my
own, I saw myself in the bed with him. I saw my tongue snaking its way up
his legs, my lips sucking in a mouthful of his flexing calf, my head
crawling higher as I painted a hot trail up his legs. I saw my lips kissing
the soft, hidden skin of his inner thigh, and then going higher, my pink
lips folding over his round, full balls, hanging in their crinkly sack with
its lacy webbed covering of dark brown hair.  I felt myself prodding at
them with my tongue, licking them, sucking on them lightly, and then I saw
my mouth sliding higher, over the same territory that Josh's hand now
covered. I saw my pink tongue darting out to caress its way over the
smooth, firm flesh of Josh's shaft, to feel the huge hard vein on the
underside press against my tongue. I tasted the salty tang of his leaking
precum as I felt my lips slide over the wide, spongy crown of his cock,
feeling the ridge slide past my lips as he pushed his way into my throat.

I felt it, I saw it, and I wanted it.

On the bed, Josh's muscles all strained at once, all stood out in beautiful
relief like an illustration in an anatomy textbook. His knees bent, his abs
pulled, and his chin jerked up as he flung his head back, groaning. A
shimmering jet of cum, hot and wet, shot across his abdomen, followed by
another, and another, and I felt hot wetness spraying over my own hand in
my pants. I let out a little yelp as my own body convulsed, but it was lost
in the sound of Josh's high-pitched cry as he lay on the bed before me.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. As Josh lay on the bed, panting,
his eyes still closed, I stepped backward and closed the door behind me,
pulling my hand out of my pants. Absently, I licked my fingers off as I
walked quickly into my bedroom. What the hell was I doing? My girlfriend,
practically my fiancee, was downstairs in the pool, and I was upstairs
jerking off while I watched Josh do the same. Not only that, I had
completely invaded Josh's privacy, had peeked in at a private, intimate
moment that he clearly didn't want to share. I'd used him for my own
personal pleasure, taken advantage of him for my own gratification as
surely as I'd done it to Lance. It didn't matter that I hadn't touched him,
didn't matter that he didn't know, because I knew. What I'd just done was
as much a betrayal of my friendship with Josh as it would have been if I
actually had climbed into the bed with him.

I cleaned myself off quickly in the bathroom, feeling vaguely disgusted by
my behavior, and changed into a clean pair of briefs, jamming the sticky
ones all the way down into the bottom of my laundry hamper. The housekeeper
had found plenty of worse things in there, and probably never handled my
laundry without gloves. I didn't fall asleep for a long time, because I
couldn't seem to shut off the merry-go-round circle of my thoughts chasing
themselves. I loved Josh, loved him as a friend, but did I also love him as
more than a friend? Had I been waiting for this all along, secretly hoping
that he and Jack would break up, so that I could finally have him? I had
thought I was inviting Josh to stay here just to cheer him up, to give him
a change of pace, but had I really just been thinking all along that it
would be my chance to make a play for him, and not have to worry about
breaking the two of them up or hurting him? Would he even want to love me
back after all the things I'd done? Would he be able to love anyone after
giving his heart to Jack and having it thrown away?

And what about Brit? She didn't say anything when she finally came to
bed. I heard her brushing her teeth, and pretended to be asleep as she
settled in next to me, carrying the sharp smell of chlorine. I realized
that she hadn't rinsed off, and suddenly felt a surge of resentment, a
sudden impulse to wake up and kick her out of the bed, because I hated when
she did that. But was that the only thing that bothered me? Did I love her?
I knew that I loved her as a friend, but did I really love her? In a
permanent way?  For the longest time it had felt like we were just going
through the motions, just phoning in our entire relationship, and neither
of us was particularly faithful to the other. Was there even a point to us
staying together? I had originally chosen Brit because I was afraid of the
way I felt about Josh sometimes, afraid of the feeling that I could just
lose myself in him completely, but was my heart trying to tell me now that
I had make a mistake? Had Britney been the wrong choice, instead of the
right one?

Britney didn't touch me at first, keeping to her own side of the bed. After
she fell asleep, though, she somehow drifted over, and ended up hugging me,
wrapping herself around me. I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling,
and waited to finally be able to fall asleep, trying to find the right path
in the twisted maze I'd led myself into, wondering how to do it without
hurting anyone, but realizing that it was getting less and less possible by
the day. I wondered if I should find a therapist here in Florida, because I
was definitely fucked in the head.

I woke up in the bed alone, much later than I usually would have slept in,
because of how long it had taken me to finally get some sleep. Brit wasn't
anywhere in the bedroom or the bathroom, so I decided to jump in the
shower, and then go look around for her and Josh, since the house was
strangely quiet. I wasn't sure how Josh would deal with her without me, but
maybe she'd leave him alone after what I'd said following her stupidity at
breakfast. Then again, after what had happened last night, she was probably
still pretty pissed off, and I was afraid she might take it out on Josh
somehow. He really wasn't in any shape right now to deal with her, and
wouldn't really be able to fight back. I didn't think she'd hurt him
physically, but she could pick and pick and pick, and he seemed so close to
tears all the time.

As I was getting dressed after my shower, I noticed a note on top of my
dresser, and, unfolding it, saw that it was from Brit.

"Justin - I'm going out with friends. I'll be back later. - Britney
Spears."

I shook my head, sighing. Even though all of the I's were dotted with
stars, I was still in trouble. She had used my name, not a nickname, and
she signed her full name.  She only did that when she was really annoyed,
as if to remind me of who I was dating, not just Brit, but Britney Spears,
international sex symbol and superstar. "Out with friends" meant she was
either out fucking some guy, or out looking for some guy to fuck, to get
back at me, and I shook my head, wondering again why we did this to each
other. Maybe we really shouldn't be together. Or maybe I only thought that
so that I'd be free to go after Josh.

Speaking of Josh, where was he? The house was deathly silent, and I
wondered what he was doing, hoping that I wouldn't find him curled up
staring at a wall somewhere. I looked into his bedroom across the hall, my
eyes drifting over the neatly made bed as an image of last night flashed
through my mind, and I pushed it away quickly.  No more thinking about
that, damn it, no more thinking about Josh's body, or his hard cock, or his
face, so needy, so hungry, covered with sweat. Oh, yeah, I was doing a
great job of not thinking about it. Mentally smacking myself, I began to
slowly check the house, and finally found Josh in the music room again. He
was sitting on the piano bench, with that notebook he'd been carrying
around yesterday next to him, and the cover was folded back off of the
keys, but he wasn't playing anything.

"Josh?" I asked softly. "Are you going to play something?"

Josh turned toward me, and tears were streaming down his face. I set the
notebook on top of the piano as I quickly sat beside him on the bench, and
he grabbed me, burying his face against my chest. I held onto him, feeling
him sob against me, and tried to figure out what could possibly be
upsetting about a piano.

"Justin, I can't," Josh sobbed, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. "I can't
play anything. I can't, I can't find the music."

"Josh," I began, but didn't know what to follow it with. Music was part of
him.  Everything Josh did, every graceful movement of his body, always
seemed choreographed to silent music that only he could hear. Music was
inside him, practically flowing through his veins. "Josh, there's always
music inside you. It's part of you."

"There isn't anything inside of me," Josh said quietly against my chest,
and I felt myself break out in goosebumps.

"Josh?" I asked, gently lifting his face. His eyes were flat.

"There isn't anything left inside of me, Justin," he sobbed, shaking his
head. "I don't, I can't feel anything. Jack took it all. I gave him
everything, I gave him everything inside me, and he took it all away with
him. I think about him, and all I feel is alone. I feel it clawing inside
me, like it's scraping away at me, and that's all there is."

"Josh, no," I said, shaking my head. "Josh, don't give him this. Don't let
him take this away from you, too. Don't let him crush you like this,
please, Josh."

"But it's so hard, Justin!" Josh wailed, pressing himself against me again.
We almost fell off the bench. "It hurts, it hurts so much, Justin. I didn't
know I could ever feel like this.  It's like everything inside me is gone,
like I'm just filled up with broken pieces. I feel like he grabbed my heart
and just pulled it out, and now there's nothing there.  Justin, why did he
leave me?"

"I don't know, Josh," I answered, holding him.

"I don't even know how he could do it, Justin," Josh said, his mouth
muffled against my chest. He sounded oddly rational for someone who was
wetting down the front of my shirt with tears. "I just feel like part of me
is gone. I reach out in the bed at night, and it's empty, and I feel so
empty. It's so hard just to get up, to take a shower, to eat something, and
it's because I don't know how to do it anymore without him. How can he do
anything without me? Why doesn't he feel like this?"

"I don't know, Josh," I began. I was surprised by what I said next, but
realized that it was true. "Josh, wherever Jack is, this must hurt him,
too. It had to have hurt him to leave you."

Josh stiffened against me, and pulled back.

"If it hurt him, he wouldn't have left me," Josh said coldly. "If it hurt
him, he'd still be here, with me, where he belongs."

"Josh, maybe, you know, maybe we should try to find him," I said carefully.
I realized as I said it that I didn't want to find Jack, didn't want to
know where he was, wanted him to stay far away and leave me alone with
Josh. But that was something I wanted for me, not what might be best for
Josh. I pushed my own sudden and selfish wish aside.  "He has to be
somewhere, Josh. You could talk to him, and ask him all of this, ask him to
explain."

"No," Josh said weakly, shaking his head. "Not after this, Justin. What if
he did the same thing to me again? What if he saw me and wouldn't talk to
me? What if he pushed me away? I'm so alone, and it hurts so bad, Justin. I
don't want to hurt anymore."

Josh stared at me, and slowly raised a hand to my face. I felt his finger
slide gently under my eye.

"You're crying," he said softly, pulling his finger away to look at the
wetness glistening on the end. "Crying for me?"

"Yeah, I guess I am," I sighed. "Josh, when you're hurt, I'm hurt. I, I
care about you.  You're my best friend."

I swallowed over a huge lump in my throat as I realized that I'd almost
said, "I love you."  Josh hugged me again, his tears tapering off as he
held on tightly.

"Thank you, Justin," he whispered. "Thank you."

"I'm here for you, Josh," I said, my hands on his back. "I'll always be
right here."

He pulled back, staring at me again. The expression on his face was
unreadable, but his eyes stared into mine, and I felt myself drowning into
them, falling into their blue depths.  I stared at him, and he stared at
me, our eyes locked together, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, his face
moved toward mine, his mouth open a little.

And then the phone rang, startling us both.

"I better get that," I said, as we both turned uncomfortably away from each
other, not making eye contact.

I answered the phone as Josh folded the cover down over the piano keys,
holding his notebook to his chest. He seemed lost for a second, like he
didn't know what to do next, sitting on the piano bench in plain white
pants and a tight white t-shirt that you could see his brown nipples
through. He was barefoot, and somehow that was sexy. I thought about
dropping to my knees and sucking his toes into my mouth, and turned away
quickly, trying to figure out again what the hell was wrong with me. I knew
I was attracted to Josh, but I just felt like I was on fire every time I
was around him now, and it had never been that way before. I listened to
Johnny, our manager, on the phone, and felt myself go cold all over as he
explained what was going on. This was just going to upset Josh more, to
pull open the scabs that were just starting to heal over his wounded soul.

"Can I put you on hold and talk it over with him?" I asked, and Josh looked
sharply over at me. He must have read something in my face, because he
suddenly looked worried, staring at me from the bench with his face twisted
and anxious.

"Sure, of course," Johnny said, so I put him on hold and set the phone down
on the table where I displayed our awards.

I walked over to Josh and took his hands, kneeling on the floor and trying
to figure out a good way to say this, but I didn't think there was
one. Josh looked at me, his breathing already starting to speed up, and I
realized that I was scaring him instead of helping him, so I just blurted
it all out.

"Josh, Johnny is on the phone because some reporters got wind of our trip
to the police station, and they know we almost filed a missing person
report for Jack," I began. "They also know that he didn't fly back with us,
and that we were checking hospitals for him.  The people at the club
haven't said anything, because they didn't want bad press either, but
people are trying to reach you and Jack for comment, and Johnny needs to
know what to tell our people to tell them."

Josh swallowed, squeezing my hands with both of his. His skin was so soft,
but his grip was firm, almost panicked, and I watching his eyes water as he
realized what this really meant. Josh and Jack had, more or less, carried
on their relationship in front of people, in front of the world, from the
moment Josh had pulled him out of that limo.  Everyone had been watching,
and everyone had been talking. Everyone had seen them, cameras had snapped
everywhere they went, and people pointed out JC and JC's boyfriend whenever
they saw them. The two of them had done their interview on television, and
been in newspapers and magazines, and every time they had been a couple. If
Josh answered Johnny now, explained to him what had happened, all of this
was suddenly going to be real. The past few days weren't going to be Josh's
private pain anymore. The whole world would now be able to shake their
heads, and offer their own opinions, and whatever Josh felt wasn't going to
be his own anymore.

Jack had taken Josh's heart, and now the press was going to finish the job.

"Please give me the phone," Josh said carefully, his eyes watering.

"Josh, I can talk to Johnny if you want," I began, not letting go of his
hands, but he pulled them gently out of my grip.

"Justin, I already told my family, and I'm going to spend a long time
telling everyone else, too," he sighed, looking down. Josh had always been
a private person, and sharing his love for Jack with others had been enough
of a struggle for him. I would have given anything to spare him this kind
of pain, but I also felt a surge of pride to see him face this head
on. "Please, give me the phone."

I handed it to him.

"Johnny? It's Josh," he said quietly, turning away from me. I wanted to
reach out to him, but he hadn't asked, and I didn't want to force
it. "Johnny, just tell them that, um, tell them that Jack and I, we aren't
together anymore. Tell them that I don't know where Jack is, and I don't
have anything to say. Tell them that Jack left me, and that I'm alone."

As he finished the last part, hanging up the phone and tossing it to the
floor, Josh's voice broke, cracking into tears. He turned and threw himself
against me again, and I held onto him, clutching him to my chest. Neither
of us spoke, but neither of us needed to. Josh cried himself out, sobbing,
shaking, and I just held him, giving him support, letting him feel that I
was there for him, that he could lean on me. I smoothed my hands over his
back, pressing them in circles, feeling his muscles, his breathing, his
heartbeat, and wondered how Jack could walk away. I had the nagging feeling
again that this was all wrong somehow, but again I pushed it away, wanting
to focus on Josh, and not the weirdly fucked up way Jack had chosen break
it off with him.

"Justin, I want to go lay down for a while," Josh said quietly, pulling
away from me as he reached for a box of tissues.

"No," I said, pushing his hair off of his forehead. "I have a better idea,
Josh. Lance invited us to come out for a barbecue. Why don't we get out of
the house for a while?  You know, go out and see our friends, play some
bocce, eat some chicken."

"Justin, I don't know," Josh began, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead
against my hand, which was still resting in his hair.

"Josh, please?" I asked, moving my thumb slowly across his hairline,
caressing his head gently, soothingly. "It's just Lance, and Chris, and
Howie. Josh, they're worried about you, and I'm worried about you, too. If
you don't want to stay, we can leave whenever you want to, but I think we
should just go see them. Please?"

"OK," Josh said quietly.

I left a note for Brit, and then prayed the whole way there that nobody
would try to talk to Josh about the breakup. Luckily the guys were all
smart enough to not bring it up, just hugging Josh hello, but not pushing
it. We hung out in Lance's kitchen, Chris talking to Josh and I while Lance
made salads and set the table, and Howie ran back and forth between the
chair at Lance's side and the grill out on the patio. It was fun to watch
the two of them together, because they were so cute. Neither of them was
very physically demonstrative, at least in public, but every once in a
while their legs would brush, or they would clasp hands for a second at the
table. When they thought no one was looking, one would kiss the other on
the cheek, and then they'd both blush and Howie would run away again, to
check the grill.

I wondered what it was like for the two of them, when no one was around. I
knew that they loved each other, and that they fooled around (actually,
like Josh, Lance never "fooled around"; he and Howie "made love"), because
I had accidentally overheard Lance telling Josh and Jack once out by the
pool. Surprisingly, Howie was the bottom. I also knew, though, that they
had problems, and that it was my fault. I knew that sometimes Lance still
felt dirty, and that sometimes he couldn't let Howie touch him, because
Lance had told me. We tried to talk it out, and I'd even gone to his
therapist with him, but the damage was already done. I knew Lance had
forgiven me, but the way I had made him feel about himself was still burned
into him, still came rushing up out of him sometimes. Howie was always
there for him, but sometimes when I saw the two of them I wanted to
cry. What they had was special, and was amazingly fulfilling for both of
them, but their relationship could have been so much more, and it was my
fault that it wasn't.

Josh wasn't his old self during dinner, but he wasn't completely withdrawn,
either. He was just kind of quiet. I caught him smiling a few times, and he
seemed to enjoy being around everyone, but he was also still holding
back. If you knew where the walls were you could spot them, and I knew that
Josh was keeping himself from opening up too much, from letting himself go
too far. I'm not sure why, since he had to know that Chris and Lance were
his brothers, too, but no one wanted to push him. After we ate I saw Lance
whisper something to Howie, and Howie jumped up from the table.

"JC, could you help me with something in that backyard?" Howie asked,
smiling.  "Please?"

"What do you need?" Josh asked tentatively, blinking up at him. His hand
started to slide, slowly, toward mine.

"Well, you're like really artistic and stuff," Howie began, holding out his
hand to help Josh from the chair. Josh took it, still looking a little
uneasy, and stood.  "And Lance and I bought this bench, but we're not sure
where to put it, and I thought maybe you could help, you know, if we walked
around the backyard."

"OK," Josh said, shrugging.

We watched the two of them walk out, Howie chatting away animatedly as he
held Josh's hand, pointing at things as Josh walked along slowly beside
him. One of the things about Howie that everyone loved was that he was a
babbler, and would make small talk for hours about nothing while still
somehow making you feel like you'd had this amazingly deep conversation. I
could see Josh soaking it in through the glass, and turned to Lance.

"That was really smooth," I said, grinning. "I think Howie'll do Josh some
good."

"We set it up earlier," Lance said, shrugging. "Chris and I wanted to talk
to you, without Josh."

I looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Not in a bad way," Chris said quickly. "We just wanted to know how Josh is
doing. I mean, I'm sure you noticed he's not really talking to us. How is
he doing, Justin?"

"Honestly, I don't know," I sighed. "I mean, he seems ok sometimes, but he
cries a lot, too. I know he's in a lot of pain, and he doesn't really want
to leave the house much, either."

"He's always been like that, though," Lance said.

"No, it's worse," I argued. "He just seems so withdrawn, and he looks flat
all the time.  And this morning he couldn't play the piano. I found him
sitting in front of it, and he was crying, and he told me that he couldn't
feel it anymore. He told me that he couldn't, couldn't find it inside
him. I don't know what to do, you guys. I mean, I'm there for him, and I
hold him, and hug him, and let him cry it out, but I don't know what else I
can do."

I noticed Lance's eyes narrow, but didn't think anything of it. I should
have.

"Justin, how are you holding up?" Chris asked. "I mean, you're taking the
brunt of it. Do you need Josh to come stay with one of us for a couple
days, or something?"

"I don't think he'd want to leave," I answered, shaking my head. "I think
he's happy at my house."

"He doesn't want to leave, or you don't want him to?" Lance asked quietly.
Chris's head snapped toward him.

"What?" I asked, staring into his narrowed green eyes.

"Justin, we know how Josh felt about you," Lance began. "What we don't know
is how you feel about him."

"We?" Chris asked. Obviously Lance was taking him by surprise, too.

"I don't really care for your tone, Lance," I began carefully.

"I'm sorry if this bothers you, but it needs to be asked," Lance said,
setting his jaw.  "What are your intentions toward Josh right now? How is
it that you plan on helping him get over Jack?"

I sighed. I understood why he felt this way and what he was afraid of, but
I didn't have to like it.

"Lance, Josh and I are friends," I said, forcing myself not to sound angry.
"Friends."

"You and I were friends, too," Lance said. "I won't let you hurt him,
Justin, especially not in the guise of helping him. Josh is confused right
now, and I'm afraid he might reach out for what's nearby, what's
comfortable, and I don't want you to take advantage of that."

"How can you even think I'd do that to Josh?" I snapped, standing.

"You did it to me." Lance said coldly, standing as well.

Chris stood, but didn't say anything, his eyes darting back and forth
between us. I collected myself.

"Lance, I've apologized, and you know how sorry I am, and how much I wish I
could take it back," I began. Lance looked a little chastised. "I wouldn't
ever do that to Josh, and you know I wish more than anything that I'd never
done that to you, Lance. You know that."

Lance sighed, and looked away.

"I know you're sorry Justin, and I know you'd take it back if you could,"
he began. "But at the time you weren't. At the time you were doing what you
thought was best, and I don't want you to make the same mistake. I don't
want to see you hurt someone, to see you fuck someone else up, the way you
did to me."

We'd been so focused on each other that none of us had heard the patio door
sliding open, but all three of our heads snapped around when we heard
Howie's sharp intake of breath. Eyes wide, he stepped toward me, his hands
balling into fists.

"You?" he hissed through gritted teeth as I tried to think of something,
anything, to say.  "It was you? You?"

***

Told you it would be a bumpy season. Stay tuned.