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THE
SUBSTITUTE
by
Miss CeCe
Disclaimer:
Don't know 'em, and they've made it pretty clear that nowadays
they own themselves. Completely false, and I wouldn't want it any other
way.
Rated:
R/NC-17
Notes: So, um, this is my first attempt at slashing the boys. It's
short, but hopefully not too hit-and-run. I hope it works.
Thanks
to Silvia for the lovely graphic.
Standing
in front of the patio doors leading to the hotel balcony, you lean
your forehead against the cool glass, watching it fog up with each
breath you release, willing the throbbing at your temples
away. The bleak city skyline - Chicago, you think - reflects
your mood perfectly. Sighing, you push yourself away from the
glass and turn back to the room. Your eyes fall to the bed,
which is empty.
You know empty pretty well.
You close your eyes and the afternoon comes rushing back to you.
You
were sitting on the bed, looking over some sketches, finishing up
a conference call when he walked in.
He stood in the corner, fidgeting from one foot to the other, a
ball of nervous energy, rubbing his hands over his closely shorn
head. It was distracting, and you glared at him until he settled
down.
"What's bugging you?" you ask when you get off the phone.
"It's nothing, yo. I'm just... I don't know. I
miss B. Touring is hell.
I can't seem to settle down. Help a brother out?"
You sigh, and roll your eyes, and move your paperwork off the bed, motioning for him to join you.
He crosses the room with a liquid grace, shucking off his shoes
before jumping onto the bed. You watch him with an arched
eyebrow, thinking it should be illegal for someone to move that
way, blushing at some of the things that are going through your
mind. You shake your head a bit, trying to clear away the
thoughts you've been struggling to get past for years. *So*
not going to go down that road. Lots of heartache there.
You lie next to each other on the bed and talk quietly for a bit.
You're not paying very close attention to what he's saying, just
enjoying the feeling of him next to you, when all of a sudden he's
looming large above you, and then his lips are on yours and oh -
"Jesus, Justin," you protest, because what the hell is
going on here? He cuts off your words with his mouth, and
you're gone.
You try to pull back, pull away, because you know this is wrong,
this not how this is supposed to be, and you don't know why he's
doing this, but he's pulling you to him hard and,
God, but you have wanted this.
"Justin..."
"Shut up, Chris. Just. be. quiet," he hisses, and
his tongue is along your jaw and you can feel his stubble on your
chin and it's amazing. Even though you know this doesn't mean anything
to him, it can't possibly, even though you realize that you're nothing
more than a substitute, you suddenly don't care, because this is
heaven, or as close as you're allowed to get, and you're not going
to pass up the opportunity to hold it in your hands, if only for
just a few brief moments. You've lost yourself in him.
There is the slick slide of wet heat as tongues tangle, hands grapple
for purchase on sweaty backs. There are muffled cries. Moving
down along his body, you try to burn the sensations into your brain.
His smell, his taste, the way his cock feels as it tickles
the back of your throat, the weight of his balls in your hand.
"So beautiful," you whisper, as reverently as you dare,
"so good," and he looks down at you, smirking, pulls you
up, pushes you back on the bed, and pauses, for a moment, to look
at you. Your reflection in those blue eyes cuts you to your
center, far more painful than his sudden breach of your body. You
gasp, and then close your eyes, shuddering at the rush of pleasure
as he begins to slide in and out of you roughly. It's a damn
good thing you've done this before.
"You like this," he laughs, and it isn't a question. He
knows you do. You've never been good at hiding your emotions,
ever. Certainly not from him, and certainly not now.
"Don't stop," you moan, as his hard rhythm slows, biting
down hard on your lip to try and keep anything else from escaping
you might later regret. Like, maybe, that you love him. That
you've always loved him. Because that would certainly have
ended this - whatever this was - immediately, and forever.
You figure this is it anyway, your one shot, but you know you'll
never refuse him should he comes back again. You're his, even
if what you offer him is neither what he wants nor what he needs.
You know you're little more than a warm body at the moment,
but you'll take whatever he sees fit to give. You think maybe
he's known that all along, and that's why this is so easy for him.
And then he stiffens and twists his hips just *so* and you have
no time to think about where he learned *that* as all coherent thought
is wiped from your mind and there are stars, and his mouth over
yours, kissing you lewdly, silencing your cries as you come.
He pulls out, and you whimper at the loss. He nuzzles your
neck for a moment, catching his breath, then rolls over and sits
up.
"Thanks, Chris. You have no idea. I was going to
go crazy if I didn't do something to, well, blow off some steam,
and I know you're into guys, and - "
You cover his mouth with your hand, gently, because you can't stand
to hear any more. You've already cracked in places. You
don't want to break apart completely.
"Hey, man, it's alright," you say. "I understand,
Justin. I'm here for you. Anytime." The truly
pathetic thing is that you mean it. Anytime, man. Say
the word. 'What are friends for?' you think bitterly.
His smile is softer then, although it never quite reaches his eyes.
He slides into his jeans, leans over and ruffles your hair,
kisses your cheek, and is gone.
You
shower and get dressed, and sit in the growing twilight, watching
the city come alive before you, listening to the muffled sounds of
the guys through the walls around you. You don't remember the
last time you felt quite so alone.
~fin~
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