Author: Zarah

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: JC Chasez/Justin Timberlake

Warning: Angst. Adult content. Graphic male/male sex. I think that just about covers it.

Note: As you can see, I came back a bit early from my vacation. (It has to do with not having enough money thanks to a certain police officer. Our crime? Unauthorisized camping. Gah. L )
Oh, and I hope the medical details at the beginning are correct...

Summary: Wherein JC is, uh,... not JC.

Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I know these guys. I just wish my psychiatrist wouldn't contradict all of the time. She says that they own themselves, and that I am in no position to imply anything about them because I don't know them at all. Well, I guess she's right.



Justin thought it was like the healing of an abscess: You needed to do a drainage, had to get the secretion out of the inflammation or there would be an ugly scar left. In this case, the secretion was the symbol for what happened to JC, for the details of it: As long as JC was holding things back and refused to talk, the abscess wasn't void of secretion and couldn't heal. So to speak.

There was quite a big difference between the metaphor and what it was standing for, though: While the draining of an abscess was a simple medical treatment, it was out of question to force JC to talk. It just wasn't possible. If the brunette wanted to keep things to himself, then he did. End of story.

Everything was so complicated, confusing, tumbling down on Justin too unexpectedly, not giving him enough time to accommodate to the situation. Why couldn't he be Chris? Then at least he would have read a few psychology books, maybe he'd know how to deal with sexually abused persons. Or Lance. Why didn't he have Lance's ability to simply listen? Or Joey's way of making everyone feel comfortable and at ease?

Because he wasn't Chris. Or Lance. Or Joey.

He was just Justin.

And he would have to do it all by himself.

JC was stretched out on the couch, head in Justin's lap, gaze wandering restlessly, his brow furrowed. Justin wanted to smooth out the wrinkles with his thumb. Or kiss them away.

He didn't.

Suppressing a sigh, Justin concentrated on following the movements of his hands with his eyes, watched as they sifted through JC's hair. Yeah, not everyone liked JC's not-so-new hairstyle. Justin sure did, though. Touching it felt like silk, soft and smelling faintly of JC's strawberry shampoo. Justin wished JC wouldn't ever use styling products again, just so he could run his fingers through the long, silky strands forever.

Justin also wished he would be able to forget about himself for a while and just be there for JC instead.

He sighed, aloud this time, fingers tracing JC's jaw line. "You think you're ready to tell me about it?"

Staring up at Justin, JC shifted, the frown still present on his face. "I... Can't we just... forget it?"

"No!" Justin sent his startled friend an apologetic look, tried again in a calmer voice. "No. We can't do that, Josh. It's the worst thing we could possibly do."

JC's frown deepened. "Why?" he asked, reminding his younger friend of a stubborn three-year-old.

Justin sat up straight, gazing down at JC with determination. "Because you wouldn't be able to move on. If you don't get it out, you'll be dwelling on it forever."

A look of anger crossed JC's futures. The brunette ground his teeth, then glanced up at Justin and, after a moment, the anger was replaced by defeat. JC closed his eyes. "I can't talk about it, Justin. Please don't make me."

An afraid three-year-old.

Justin sighed, randomly thinking that he had done that a lot today.

He couldn't, wouldn't JC force to talk. But... His eyebrows shot up. "Write it down."


"Write it down for me to read it, Josh. We can burn it afterwards, if you want. Or flush it down the toilet. Whatever. But you have to write it down. Please?"

JC had always liked to write complicated things, emotions, down in letters rather than discuss them face to face. The brunette had once explained that it was easier that way, because he could think about what exactly he wanted to say, wouldn't hurt someone accidentally by blurting out something he didn't really mean, didn't have to be worried about interruption. Justin remembered a letter JC had written to him about a year ago, after they had had one of the worst fights of their friendship. Everything had been explained in JC's point of view, the brunette hadn't held back anything from him. The fight had been pretty much over after Justin had read it.

And maybe, just maybe JC wouldn't hold back anything either if he was able to write it down instead of having to talk about it. Now if only he would...

JC nodded. "Okay."


Vaguely, Justin wondered if his constant touching bothered JC. If so, then the brunette hadn't yet given him any sign to indicate it.

JC was currently bent over some sheets, pen scratching over the white paper. Justin was sitting behind him, arms wrapped around the older man's waist, his chest pressed against the other one's back.

It was strange, really. This sudden, constant need to touch JC. Or, well, maybe it wasn't that sudden, but it had never been this strong before. But now, ever since JC's first sob into his shirt, Justin felt uncomfortable if they didn't have physical contact. It was like he had to make sure that JC was safe and protected by hugging, touching, holding him. And JC had accepted it just like that, hadn't even commented on it.

JC's hand holding the pen faltered for a moment, then the scratching continued, furious, hurried now. Justin rested his chin on JC's shoulder, peering at the black letters the pen left on its way, concentrating on not reading them.

Not yet, anyway. Not before JC had finished and was ready to give the sheets to him.

The scratching stopped abruptly.

The brunette looked up. Turned his head, nose brushing against Justin's, his eyes wet. Gathered the sheets, reached behind himself for Justin to take them.


With that, JC stood up, swaying slightly before regaining his balance. He tossed Justin the ghost of a smile. "I'm gonna try to sleep, okay?"

"In your bunk?"

"Where else?"

"Alone?" Justin looked doubtful.

JC just looked at him until Justin broke their gaze, eyes settling on the sheets in his hands, voice timid. "Can I hold you? Just to make sure you're safe?"

Wordlessly, the older man stared at him for a moment, then nodded. Justin followed him out of the room.


The bunk wasn't made for two persons to sleep in. Actually, Justin sometimes doubted it was even made for one person to sleep in. Although he had to admit that, if given the chance, he'd always choose to sleep with JC in the brunette's bunk, even if that meant being in danger of tumbling out every second. His own bunk would provide a little more space, that much was true, but no JC to share it with. Besides, he liked JC's bunk better than his own. It was somehow more... Cozy? Relaxing? Peaceful? Or maybe that was only the opinion of his hormones.

Justin shook his head.

Propping himself up on the arm that wasn't curled around JC's body, Justin looked around while his hand continued to trace unconscious patterns on JC's chest.

Sunlight, falling through the ceiling that was partly of glass, was bathing the room in a warm, yellow light, a few rays glistening on JC's hair. Justin contemplated shutting the curtain, but decided against it.

There wasn't much space between the ceiling and the mattress, and Justin was sure that he would be banging his head against the metal when waking up.

Unless he got used to this bunk, of course.

Which was wishful thinking.

While his hand was still tracing circles on JC's chest, his eyes were scanning over the photos and postcards the brunette had tacked to the ceiling and the wall: pictures of JC's family, the other guys, JC, and, as Justin discovered, quite a few of himself, most with JC or one of the other guys, but also two single shots of him, one about a year old, the other recent, the picture that was printed next to Justin's notes in the Celebrity booklet.

Looking around, he noticed that JC had obviously taken a liking to that particular photo shoot: Two of the group pictures and the single pictures of Joey, Lance and Chris - one of each - had been taken from there. As far as Justin could see, those were the only single shots of them JC had pinned to the wall. He allowed himself a tiny grin: He would have been mad if there hadn't been more pictures of him than of the others.

Best friend's rights.

With satisfaction, Justin noticed that there wasn't any photo of Bobbie, nothing to indicate that there was supposed to be a girlfriend in JC's life. As if. But it looked good for the press, so management kept the story about them going out, even if it had never been true in the first place. But a girlfriend was better than having the star say "Umm, no. But I do have one-night stands, if that counts.".

Pulling a face, Justin turned his attention to the postcards, discovering three that had been sent by him. And wished a moment later he hadn't even thought about the postcards.

Sending a postcard meant writing to someone.

Almost like a letter, just not as private and as long.

Definitely not as private and long as the letter which was still burning in the back pocket of his jeans because up until now, he had been too cowardly to take it out.

With a last glance at the sleeping brunette, Justin bit his lower lip and finally did what he should have done at least an hour ago: He took the sheets, filled with JC's writing, out and started reading.

Was it boring? Maybe.
Am I a bitch? Possibly.
Did I make more mistakes then usually? Probably. I think I forgot all my English while I was in France.
Do I like cliffhangers? Actually: No.
Then why did I still use a cliffhanger? *shrugs shoulders*

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