Date: Thu, 05 Jun 2003 19:46:03 -0400
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: rebound - part 41

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 enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

***

Oddly enough, I ended up running the dishwasher and cleaning up the kitchen
anyway, even though I'd started out just doing it as a cover. I was wiping
down the stove when JC came back through. He still had on the same pants
and sandals, but now had on a hoodie, with the brim of a baseball cap of
some kind sticking out from the front.  His wavy hair was neatly tucked
under, and his eyes were mostly hidden, too. If you didn't already know who
he was, it might take you a while to recognize him, especially with the way
he was standing. He walked with his hands jammed in the pockets and his
head down, and when he leaned into the kitchen to say goodbye to me, he
didn't meet my eyes.

"Have a good day," I said quietly, trying to pretend to have bought his
story.

What I was really trying to do was to understand what was going on in his
head. Why was he even still talking to this guy, never mind occasionally
sleeping with him? From what Justin had told me, nothing good had come of
the relationship. JC had been hurt by it, and still allowed it to continue
to hurt him. This guy had cost JC a relationship that he had invested years
in, not to mention the damage to his home, career, and friendships.  Sure,
JC was at least partially responsible, because he kept going back, but I
couldn't figure out why he would. This guy had apparently been helping
wreck JC's life for years, and JC just kept letting him. Why would someone
do that?

"Thanks," he said, turning away. "Breakfast was fun."

"We'll have to do it again soon," I said, smiling. He probably heard it in
my voice, but didn't turn around to see it. He didn't even seem happy to be
going, and the thought struck me suddenly that maybe he hadn't hurt Justin
on purpose. Maybe he hadn't been able to help it, caught up in whatever
this thing was between him and his ex.

I shoved that thought away immediately. The last thing I wanted to do was
feel sorry for JC. I already had my hands full taking care of Justin.

Speaking of Justin, I was sitting at the table reading the paper (Why would
you get the paper delivered to a house that you barely lived in?) and
enjoying a third cup of coffee when he came strolling into the kitchen,
wearing only a pair of khaki shorts with the bottom edges frayed. He had
this little beaded brown necklace around his neck, very tight, that did
nothing but draw attention to his shoulders and chest. He almost seemed to
glisten in the kitchen lights, the sunlight falling through the windows
catching him and the tiny fine golden hairs on his body as he strolled
casually to the refrigerator. I couldn't do anything but stare, watching
his abs twist as he bent a little to pull the door open, his calves flexing
as he casually rubbed one against the other while he perused the shelves in
there. His arm, lanky yet firm, was draped across the top of the
refrigerator door, loosely flexed, his brownish gold smattering of armpit
hair tufting out. His pinkish red nipple stiffened as he leaned into the
cold air, and I finally managed to jerk my eyes back down to the newspaper
as he pulled out the milk and set it on the counter.

"Good morning baby," he said, pulling out a cereal bowl and rummaging
through the cabinets. He pulled out a box of some kind of marshmallow laden
sugar dusted allegedly nutritious breakfast cereal.

"Good morning," I said, sipping my coffee as he poured himself a bowl. "You
run out of shirts?"

"You don't like the view?" he asked, flexing for a second before he broke
up into giggles.

"I didn't say that," I answered, grinning as well.

"I'll get dressed after my shower," he said, shrugging. He sat down across
from me with his bowl. "Is JC up yet?"

"He went out to visit a friend," I said, not looking up as he observed his
moment of silence. I wondered for a second if he would have come strolling
down, topless, in his low riding shorts if he had known that JC was already
gone. Then again, maybe he was putting on the show for me. Or, even more
believably, maybe he'd gotten out of bed and put on the first pair of
shorts he saw. "He said that we'd have the house to ourselves today."

"Cool," Justin said, chewing. "You wanna do anything?"

"Not really," I answered. "I have that book, and you don't have anything to
do, so I thought maybe we'd have a quiet day. You know, I could walk around
and get a feel for the house, and we could just kind of bum around. Unless
there's something you want to do?"

"No, I'm ok with bumming around," he said, shrugging as well. "You have the
sports page?"

"Here," I said, passing it to him. "Have fun with it."

"You could pretend to be interested," he said, shaking his head. He wasn't
mad, and looking at him I saw that he needed a shave. If I ran my hand over
his cheek right now I would feel that little bit of stubble, that sensation
between a scrape and a tickle, depending on where his head was. I
remembered that I was denying sex until he apologized, and tried to push
that thought away. I wasn't very successful, but as long as I didn't have
to stand up, he wouldn't see it until my problem subsided. He seemed to
sense me watching, and looked up, his face open and a little curious, his
bright blue eyes questioning me silently below his arched brows. "What?"

"Nothing," I answered, looking determinedly at the paper. "You need a
shave."

"Maybe," he said, rubbing his face. He finished his breakfast and rinsed
out the bowl, leaving it in the sink since the dishwasher was already
running. He leaned back on the counter, facing me, his arms stretched out
and his chest pulling tight, his round pecs curving above his rippled
abs. "I'm gonna go take a shower. Want to join me?"

"Nope," I answered, forcing myself to look down. "I showered already."

Justin sighed, walking around behind me as if he wanted to read the paper
over my shoulder. He leaned down, his chest almost touching me, but not
quite, his head near mine. I could feel his breath on my cheek, and the
side of my neck tingled as it anticipated him coming near enough to rub
against me. He made a low, growling humming sort of noise in his throat.

"Chris, baby," he began, his voice combined with his proximity and his warm
breath over the side of my face sending a wave of goosebumps over my whole
body. "You're not still mad about last night, are you?"

"Not really mad," I answered neutrally. "But I still think you were rude,
and I know you haven't apologized. I guess I'm just a little disappointed
in you more than anything else.  Then again, he's your friend, and if
that's the way you want to treat your friends, then I guess you know better
than I do."

He sighed, leaning away from me. I hoped that my little lecture would have
more of an effect than what I'd said last night, even though I cringed
thinking about how much it sounded like something a parent would scold a
child with.

"Whatever," he said casually, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to shower."

I watched him walk away down the hall, looking at the angel between his
shoulders sway back and forth as he headed for the stairs. He didn't seem
chagrined in the least, and I shook my head, deciding that maybe this was a
lost cause. Justin would be pissy to JC if he wanted to, and I knew he was
too stubborn to change it for me. I'd expressed my displeasure with it, but
for now it seemed like all I could really do was make sure that Justin
didn't put me in the middle of it again. The problem was that I didn't
really see how that was going to be possible.

I tried not to think about it as I drifted around the downstairs, getting a
better feel for the layout of the house, which was much bigger inside than
it looked. I'd had that other afternoon to walk around, but had really just
been looking around, not really trying to figure out where things were. Now
I was opening doors, finding out how to get to the patio or into the
garage, discovering that there was a small recording booth and sound studio
that I didn't know was here. I hadn't realized that there was another
stairwell to the second floor, connecting the hallway where our bedrooms
were to the garage.  If you were coming in from outside it let you go
straight up to the bedrooms without going through the rest of the house,
which could be good if you were out washing the car, or coming home late,
or something. Justin and JC were a little less inclusive of their bodyguard
than Joey, leaving him sitting out front in a little shaded kind of booth
obscured by some greenery. The outside of the house was monitored with
cameras that the bodyguard watched at his station, but the inside was free
of them.

I settled onto a couch in the music room, which was much more comfortable
than the entertainment room. That room, obviously done by some sort of
decorator or lifted whole from the page of a catalog, had too much of an
artificial, for display only kind of feel.  The music room, on the other
hand, was fairly comfortable with its big, overstuffed furniture, puffy
couches and chairs, and its collection of personal items and memorabilia.
There were a number of music magazines scattered across the huge square
coffee table, which was maybe the size of my bed in the loft, and I was
idly reading an investigative piece in one of them about industry
corruption when Justin came strolling in, wearing a different pair of
shorts and a white beater. He sat down across from me, all showered up and
freshly scrubbed, and smiled.

"Hi," I said, looking up from my magazine. "Have a good shower?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Watcha doing?"

"Reading," I answered, holding up the magazine.

"Oh, ok," he said, leaning back in a stretch, throwing his arms wide. The
beater rode up just a little, revealing a wedge of his tanned stomach, and
I had to smile.  He looked so comfortable on the couch like that, his legs
flung out, his arms back, his head leaning over the back. I wondered if he
was going to take a nap, or just hold that pose all day, as I went back to
my magazine. He spent the next couple of minutes shifting on the couch,
moving his legs around, twisting, stretching, and fluffing pillows, and I
looked up from my magazine again as he sighed loudly.

"Is something wrong over there?" I asked over the top of my
magazine. Justin looked up at me, sighing.

"I just can't get comfortable," he sighed dramatically.

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked, confused. My couch was fine.

"I don't know," he answered, looking down at himself. He picked at the
bottom edge of his beater. "I think it might be this shirt."

"If it's bothering you that much, take it off," I said, rolling my eyes. My
God, did he really need me to tell him this?

"Take it off?" Justin asked me casually, his voice low and rolling,
repeating my words as if he had never heard the language before. He was
holding the bottom of his beater in both hands now, watching me, his eyes
bright and flashing. "Just pull it up over my head?"

"Yes, Justin," I answered, exasperated. "If your shirt is bothering you
that much, just pull it off and throw it over there on the floor
somewhere."

He leaned forward a little, his arms crossed as his hands gripped the
bottom of his shirt tightly, and then he flexed, pulling it over his head
in a languidly slow porn star move. As the thin white cotton slid up over
his skin, his smooth back and rippled abs sliding into view, followed by
his flexing pecs, his neck with that thin little necklace that somehow made
him look more muscular, and finally his firm, newly shaved chin and
glistening blue eyes, I realized what he was doing. I might as well have
had a sign over my head reading "Dense Boyfriend". I raised an eyebrow
questioningly as he leaned back, his hands on his thighs and the look on
his face pure sex. The shirt was now in a crumpled ball off to the side
somewhere, but neither of us cared.

"Fell better?" I asked, still holding the magazine. This game had definite
possibilities, and I was rather intrigued to see how far he could go with
it. Maybe I'd let him get all worked up, and then leave him hanging.

"Lots better," he answered, stretching again with his arms over his head,
pulling his torso into one long, lean line of muscle. He smirked at me now,
that lazy, sexy, I'm a superstar smirk of his, the lip curling with all
sorts of possibilities. "Is there anything else you think I should do?"

I leaned back, still holding the magazine.

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Your abs are so smooth. Maybe you should rub
them a little."

Justin looked at his hand, and rested it on his stomach. He began to
flutter his fingertips up and down his abs, circling his navel, tracing
around the lines of muscle lightly.

"Like this?" he asked, watching me.

"Yes," I answered, watching him. "Tell me how that feels."

"It feels good," he sighed. "My skin is smooth, and I can feel all the
little hairs under my fingers. I can feel them brushing back and forth
under my fingertips, and I feel my abs flexing when I breath in and
out. They give a little, but if I push on them they're hard. I got good
muscles."

"You do," I agreed, matching his grin. "On your chest, too."

"Up here?" Justin asked, sliding his hand up over the bottom curve of his
pec. I nodded as he began to rub his chest. Justin was clearly getting into
it, rubbing the valley between his pecs, running his hand up over his
collarbone, caressing the bottom of his throat for a second. I waited, and
he knew what to do. "It's firm, and when I move my arm it shifts a
little. I can feel my heartbeat underneath, and my skin is so warm."

"Hey, is that a nipple?" I asked. My cock was starting to throb in my
pants, steel hard, and I spread my legs a little, trying to get a little
more room. Justin looked down at his chest, his eyes following the motion
of his own hand as if it wasn't really part of him.

"I think it is," he answered, dancing the tip of one finger in a circle
around it. "What do you want me to do with it?"

"Maybe you should pinch it," I suggested. "Maybe you should just pinch the
tip a little, roll it around, pull it away from your chest a little."

"Like this?" he asked, and then let out a little whimpering sigh as he
followed my instructions. I saw his nipple getting hard, reddening, as he
continued to squeeze and rub it. His whimpers were sharp but breathy, and
his eyes started to close as he leaned his head back on the couch
cushion. He wasn't watching me anymore, getting lost in himself.  "Oh."

"Tell me how it feels," I prompted, rubbing at my own chest a little
through my t-shirt.  God, he was hot.

"It feels, oh, I feel a little shiver, all the way down my body, every time
I, unh, every time I do that," Justin answered, rolling the tip of his
nipple away from his chest. His forehead glistened a little, as if he was
starting to sweat. I leaned forward to watch, to get a better view, and
there was a soft crumple that neither of us noticed as my magazine slid to
the floor.

"Maybe you should do that to the other one, too," I whispered, and his hand
slid across his chest, brushing over the muscle. His fingertips found his
other nipple and began to tease it. "Don't ignore the other one, Justin. Go
back and forth. Tease them both. How does that feel?"

"Good," he answered, wincing as he fondled himself. His eyes were closed,
not squeezed tightly, just naturally smooth, but his face was tense. "It
feels so, unh.  I'm so hard right now."

"I bet you are," I agreed. "I bet your cock is hard and throbbing, trapped
in your shorts like that. I bet you can feel it pulse every time you
squeeze your nipple like that, can't you?"

"Yes!" Justin yelped, his chest heaving as he continued to pinch and pull
at his nipples, his hand going back and forth between the pointed, hard
nubs.

"Maybe you should put your finger in your mouth," I suggested, watching him
raise his hand. His pink lips closed around his index finger, softly
pursing, and I watched him suck lightly at it. "Get it good and wet. That's
right. Now rub your nipple with it, yes, just like that."

Justin gasped as he brought his wet finger to his pink tip, and I watched
another ripple of tension cross his face.

"Ahh," he whimpered, his hips shifting a little.

"Blow on it now," I commanded. "How does that feel?"

"Oh, God," he whimpered. "It feels, oh, my whole body, it's like I'm on
fire."

"Feel it, Justin," I said, watching. He was doing a great job of turning
himself on, and me, too. I had more or less forgotten that my original
intention was to leave him hanging. No way in hell was I letting this go to
waste. "Tell me what you're doing now."

"I'm, I'm running my hands, both of them, up and down my chest," he
answered, doing it as I watched. "I'm feeling everything, my skin, the
hair. I feel how hot I am, and now I'm touching my nipples again, and
they're so hard. They feel so good."

"They're not all that's hard, are they?" I asked, even though I could see
from my seat that they weren't. I could see the hard spike of his cock
pressing against the front of his shorts, and there was a small wet spot
growing at the tip. I was keeping my voice low as I spoke to him, and think
that was turning him on even more. His whole body was tense, and to add to
it he had to strain to hear me over his own whimpering little noises of
pleasure.

"I, my hands, they're on my waistband now," he said, running them along the
top of his shorts. "My fingertips are dipping in, just a little, but not
enough to feel anything, just touching my skin. They're right near the
button on my shorts. I can feel it when I run my fingertip down that line
below my bellybutton."

"Undo it," I whispered. "Unfasten the button. How does that feel?"

"Better," he answered, rubbing a little more of his lower stomach now. It
was flat and smooth, like the rest of him, with just a little bit of hair
and dark veins just below the surface.

"Now the zipper," I said. "Slide it down, slowly."

"I am," he answered, his voice strained. "I'm sliding it down, opening the
front of my shorts. I'm not wearing any underwear."

"I see that," I said, licking my lips. I kicked my shoes off. "I see the
dark gold curls of your pubes. Do you feel them?"

"Yes," Justin answered, letting his hand drift down into them a little,
just touching the top of them. He kept the top of his pubes trimmed,
probably so they didn't show over the top of the low riding pants he
sometimes wore. "They're soft, and they're a little wet."

"I see something else, too," I said, encouraging him. "Tell me about it."

Justin parted the flaps of his shorts and his cock sprang out, jutting up
into the air. The head was slick and glistening, coated in precum that was
drooling and leaking out even as I watched. It slid in slow tears down his
shaft, and his fingertips lightly brushed the side of his shaft.

"It's so hard," he whispered. "It's throbbing, I feel it, when I touch it.
It's warm, but underneath it's so thick, and hard and firm."

"Squeeze it," I instructed, biting my lip. "Stroke it."

"It's so thick," Justin whimpered, closing his fingers around it. "It's
throbbing, in my hand."

"Now the head," I whispered, standing. Justin palmed his hand up over the
wide head of his cock, and I saw the whole thing jump as he gasped. He
began to circle his palm over it, massaging it.

"It's so big, and soft," he whispered. "It's sticky, I'm leaking
everywhere, and it's making me, I feel it everywhere when my hand rubs over
it. I, oh, it's so wet, and sticky."

"Taste it," I whispered. He wrapped his other hand around his shaft,
pumping it as his hips rose and fell from the couch, and brought his palm
up to his mouth. I heard the sucking, sticky noises as he kissed it,
smearing his own slick juice all over his lips and chin, and I saw his pink
tongue sliding over his skin.

"It's salty," he whispered, still making all of his little Justin gasps and
whimpers and cries. His hand pumped harder on his cock, faster. "But sweet,
too, and so slick."

I walked around the coffee table, pulling my shirt off and throwing it off
to the side somewhere.

"Take your shorts off," I said, and he dropped both hands to his shorts,
lifting his ass as he kicked them down his legs. He was now fully naked in
front of my on the couch, his body glistening with the thinnest sheen of
sweat, his hard cock pulsing and leaking a pool of precum onto his abs, his
nipples stiff and raw looking, and his eyes still closed. "Touch your cock
again, and your balls."

Justin's hand flew back down to his cock, wrapping around the shaft as he
began to stroke himself with a vengeance. I stood over him in my jeans, one
of my hands rubbing my chest while I kneaded my crotch with the other,
feeling my hard cock pulse painfully.  I knew that I was leaking, too,
because this was just too hot. Justin's other hand cupped his balls,
squeezing them, rolling them around, tugging them away from his body a
little.  His chest glistened now, and I saw a bead of sweat roll down his
forehead.  He whimpered sharply as he jerked himself off in front of me,
and I could see that he was starting to tense up.

"Are you about to cum, Justin?" I asked, my voice low as I stepped around
his outstretched leg, standing right over him now. "Is it building up in
your big, full balls?  Are you gonna spray a hot, sticky load all over
yourself?"

"Yes," he whimpered, his hips bucking. "Yes, I'm so close, I'm almost, I'm
going to cum, Chris, I."

"Don't," I said sharply, and I saw him tense as I dropped to my knees, my
shoulders pushing his legs apart. His cock, free of his hands now, bounced
toward me as my hot breath hit it, and I brought his hands to the back of
my head as I rubbed the tops of his thighs. "Give it to me, Justin. Ram
your hard cock right down my throat."

His only answer was a grunt, mixed with a wail, as I opened my mouth and
sucked his throbbing head inside. It blazed a salty trail across my tongue
and the roof of my mouth as I swallowed him, feeling his shaft spread my
lips wide, opening me as I took him in.  His hands tightened in my hair,
almost painfully, as he ground my face against him, his hips pushing up as
he tried to get even more of himself inside of my. My nose was already in
his pubes, so there wasn't anywhere else he could go, but his whole body
strained, trying in vain.

"Chris, unh," he squealed. "Chris!"

I felt him locking up, the abs against my forehead tightening, his legs
trying to close. His cock seemed to swell in my mouth as I pulled back to
taste him, holding the head and just a little of the shaft in my mouth, and
I felt his balls draw up toward his body. The first hot blast hit my tongue
as he yelped above me, and I felt his body tighten with each spurt as I
swallowed and tried to catch it all. Right when he started to gasp again,
slowing down, a thin trickle of cum still leaking out of his cock, I
reached down and pressed a fingertip against his ass, feeling the soft
flesh clench, and I jammed my finger inside, rough and firm. He yelped, his
hips bucking, and fresh jets of cum slammed into my mouth as he screamed my
name.

I pulled off of him finally, sucking lightly at his cock as I let it slide
out of my mouth, pressing a kiss to the head as I let it fall against his
stomach. Justin, still holding my head, dragged me up his body and smashed
his mouth against mine. He pulled me against him on the couch, his bare
chest sliding over mine, his throat letting out little winces as my jeans
scraped against his bare, sensitive flesh. I tried to pull back, afraid of
hurting him, but he grabbed my ass with both hands, pulling me against him
as he ground his spent, but still hard, cock against my throbbing denim
covered erection. His tongue snaked through my mouth, almost chocking me,
and his eyes finally popped open as he pulled his mouth away and sucked at
my neck. His hands were still kneading my ass, and mine were running up and
down his sides.

"Chris, fuck me," he panted. "Make love to me, please, Chris."

His voice was tight with need even though he'd just cum.

"Let's go," I said, trying to stand and move us to the bedroom, but he
tightened against me.

"No, here, now," he demanded, and I felt his teeth nip at me. "There's, in
the coffee table, there's a drawer."

I understood what he was trying to tell me, and as I leaned back to reach
the drawer, still on my knees, his hands fought with the button and zipper
of my jeans. I fumbled out a condom and the tube of lubricant as Justin
jammed both hands in the front of my pants, squeezing my cock. My hips
jerked as I felt him gripping me, and I pulled his hands away.

"Justin, wait," I whispered, trying to get my jeans down.

"Hurry," he whimpered, leaning back. I kicked my jeans and boxers off,
standing above him, and squeezed a huge dollop of lube into my hand as he
tore open the condom and rolled it onto me. He shivered as I touched him,
slipping my fingers in, trying to open him up. "Now, please. I love you so
much, please, I want you now."

I knelt between his legs, pressing him gently back into the couch, and
began to slowly slide into him, covering his face with kisses as I entered
him. He grabbed my ass with both hands and began to guide me, wanting it
hard and fast, based on his movements. I was happy to oblige, and did my
best to make it good for him as I thrust into him again and again, turning
him on the couch so that we were laying on it, kissing him and telling him
how hot he was and how good it was. He urged me onward with his hands and
his words, gripping me, pulling at me, chewing at my ears and neck. When he
began to talk dirty to me, whispering things in my ear that I didn't think
even he knew, it was like he lit a fire inside. I turned him, picking him
up as I kept my cock slammed inside him, and dropped him onto the coffee
table, sweeping the magazines aside. He grabbed the edge of the table for
support as I lifting his legs onto my shoulders, and I rode him hard like
that, slamming into him, slowly jerking the table across the floor until it
collided with the other couch and I finally let go, shooting hard inside
him.

I thought we were done as I kissed him, pulling out and using his discarded
beater to clean us both, but he pushed me onto the couch, kissing me and
stroking me until he had me throbbing and hard again. Carefully, with the
limber grace that dancing brought him, he climbed on top of me, rolling
another condom on before lowering himself onto me. He put his hands on my
shoulders, his blue eyes boring into my green ones, and rode me like that
for what seemed like hours. It was soft and languid, the urgency gone, and
I listened to him respond as he controlled the action and I caressed him,
feeling his body and tweaking his nipples, sharing kisses and sucking at
his neck. As he rode me I stroked him, and eventually he strained himself
to another orgasm, a thin trickle of cum leaking from his cockhead. I
followed soon after, and we both collapsed in a sticky, sweaty mess on the
couch, kissing and murmuring to each other before finally going upstairs
for a shower.

I glanced at the clock when we finally got out and saw that it was well
after lunchtime, and that we had spent a good portion of the day down in
the music room.  Justin thought it was funny, but we were both feeling
pretty relaxed as we walked toward the stairs.

"I'm going to work on some paperwork now, ok?" he asked. "Out in the
kitchen. What about you?"

"Now that the interruption's over, I guess I'll get back to my reading. We
both snickered, and Justin had his arm around my waist as we walked.

Passing JC's closed door, I heard music behind it, and realized that he
must have come home while we were in the shower. Justin caught it, too,
looking at me questioningly as I tensed a little.

"Maybe we better clean up the music room," I said quietly, feeling a sharp
pang of guilt go through me. We'd run naked up the stairs, leaving
everything out down there.

Justin nodded as I wondered whether JC had gone in there, and what he had
seen. Damn.  There went our good mood. It wouldn't occur to me until much
later that Justin never apologized, either.

***

To be continued.