Thirteen Hours from New York to Rome

by Chris J

Justin had discovered the joys of sleep masks early on in his life, on some flight across the Atlantic, he figured. Not that he could remember which one, but one of them, when he was overtired and overstimulated and just needed to get some sleep, and someone had slipped one onto his face.

These days he took his sleep where he could, which meant the moment he got onto the plane and no one was bothering him, the sleep mask went on and the earplugs went in and he checked out for a little while. Trace was at his side and his team had his back and that was all he needed to know.

He was dozing, but he was still pretty sure it hadn't been long before someone was nudging at his shoulder, waking him up again. It couldn't have been, because the plane wasn't in the air. "Time to strap in?" he mumbled, adjusting his pillow.

"Excuse me sir, I think you're in my seat." Justin suppressed the urge to bat the intruder away.

"No," he said instead, shaking his head into the pillow. "We have all of first class booked. You have to sit somewhere else."

"What, you think just because you're Justin Timberlake you get to do whatever you want?"

Justin frowned and sat up, pulling the sleep mask off his face. "Who do you think you-- Chris?" He should have recognized the voice. Stupid earplugs. "Motherfucker."

"Don't let my mama hear you saying that," said Chris, grinning at him as he slipped into the seat next to Justin.

"You're right, your mama has better taste." Justin pulled out the earplugs, too, and carefully placed them back in their case. "What are you doing here?"

"I hear Rome's nice this time of year," said Chris casually, groping around for his seatbelt.

"What, that's it?"

"Sure, why not? It's not like I was busy. We're taking off soon, you know. Not even you are immune to having to wear a seatbelt."

"Are you positive?" said Justin dryly. "I was sure I had that put in my contract somewhere. And we all know my contract supersedes all laws of man and nature."

"Put your seatbelt on, shorty," said Chris, prodding him with a finger, worming through the loose stitch of his sweater to poke at his side. "I won't be held responsible for any damage to that million dollar face of yours."

"Don't worry," Justin assured him. "I was planning to use your body to break the fall in case of emergency. Well, actually, I was planning to use Trace's body, but since you're there and he's not..."

"I lured him away with porn," said Chris, gesturing a couple rows behind them. Justin swiveled his head, but couldn't see. "It was remarkably easy. It's a good thing you don't rely on him for security."

"For all kinds of reasons," said Justin. "Well. I suppose this is better than you stowing away in my luggage."

"That was Plan B."

Justin hummed softly and finally dug out his seatbelt, fastening it before being asked like the conscientious, experienced flyer that he was. "I don't have to hold your hand, right?" he said after a moment. "You're not gonna scream like a little girl when we take off?"

"Now when's the last time I screamed like a little girl?"

"If I had to guess, I'd probably say within the last week or so," said Justin. "You haven't been to any amusement parks lately, have you? I might have to revise that up, if you have."

"Just the joyride it took to make this flight on time," said Chris. "If you'd just keep me up to date on you itinerary it would be much easier to stalk you, Timberlake. I actually had to ask somebody."

"How scarring for you." Justin turned his head to stare out the window as they taxied toward the runway. "I emailed you about this whole thing anyway, what are you all bitching about?"

"And if you hadn't, there's always Access Hollywood," Chris assured him. "But I had to call someone to track down your flight."

"You couldn't have just called me?" Justin asked, turning back again.

Chris just grinned. "Aw, where's the fun in that? Now put away that pretty pink...thing," he said, gesturing at the sleep mask that still hung off one ear, "and bask in the pleasure of my company. We have catching up to do."

* * *

"Gum?" said Chris, holding up a pack in front of Justin's face. Justin had been listening to Chris grind and smack his own ever since they'd taken off. "Okay, so it's a little bit late, but better late than never."

Justin took some anyway. They were still ascending and he could feel the air pressure shifts in his ears, in his sinuses. The last thing he needed was to be the least bit off when they landed in Rome.

"I've always hated this part," said Justin, closing his eyes and chomping hard on the gum for the first few moments.

"The flying? You like flying."

"The waiting," Justin clarified. He could feel the pressure begin to even out, though there was still a queer throbbing behind his eyes. He hated that a little bit, too. "I hate the waiting."

"Ah," said Chris. "That? Not so much of a surprise." When Justin looked, Chris's eyes were trained on the seatbelt sign. The moment it went off, he was unbuckling and slouching comfortably and signalling for the attendant. "Heineken, please."

"Me, too."

Chris held up two fingers, and the attendant nodded and went to get them for them. "Since when do you drink on flights?"

"Since always," said Justin, relaxing back and looking out the window, down at the thin, white clouds over the water. "Since they started letting me."

"Huh," said Chris, and tried to remember how many flights he'd actually been on with Justin since they started letting him. Justin always drank as much as the rest of them on the bus, though. "I thought you didn't. I think someone told me that."

"I probably told you that," said Justin. "You probably called me up at three in the morning one time because you never remember what time zone anyone else is in and I spun off a bunch of bullshit just for the hell of it. Because I could."

Chris blinked at him twice. "Does that mean we're not going to Italy so you can join a commedia del'arte troupe?"

Justin snickered and stared out the window again. "Feels like it sometimes," he said. "My life, the circus..."

"Drink's here, kid," said Chris mildly, nudging his arm. "Wakey, wakey!"

Justin turned back to accept it from her with a smile aimed to charm. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Timberlake?" she asked him, handing Chris his bottle and a glass as well. Chris handed the glass back.

"No, not right now, thank you," he said, and waited until she had nodded and was on her way before turning back to the window. It was so bright outside, and he could see his face reflected back at himself.

"What, you don't spend enough time in front of mirrors already?"

Justin grinned at his reflection, and at Chris's reflection. "Never," he said, and for half a second he stuck his tongue out.

"Of course, of course," said Chris knowingly. "You're a model now. That changes everything. But not a real model, because real models work in Milan, not Rome..."

"It's for charity, jerkoff," said Justin. "And there's plenty of high fashion in Rome anyway. It's Italy."

"It's no Paris..."

"You don't need to be Paris," said Justin, "when you're Rome. It's only when you're, like, Buffalo, that it's an insult. Besides, this is only a one-time thing anyway. Probably."

"You don't see a future for yourself as a runway model?"

"Shut up," laughed Justin, and sipped his drink. "Maybe."

* * *

"So when'd you do this, anyway?" Justin asked, tugging at Chris's hair. At the longer strands on top, anyway. "Last time I saw you, you were talking about shaving it again."

"A wise man told me my head looked like a melon when I did," said Chris. "I told him he was a jealous, sorry excuse for a man. Then I saw the pictures and realized he was right."

"I was traumatized by that, you know," said Justin. "I went home and cried."

"So I only shaved half of it this time. I'm starting a trend. By the end of this flight, I'll have convinced you to do it, too."

"Because the haircut I got three hours before boarding this flight just wasn't good enough."

"I knew you'd see the light," said Chris, puffing up with pride. "Next stop? Dreads for all!"

"I think," said Justin, "that's where I'm going to have to draw the line. Dreads wouldn't exactly--"

"Fit with the image?"

"But you, on the other hand--"

"Are already the consummate laid back, pot smoking slacker type?"


Chris grinned at him. "I'm going to take that as a compliment. I've been carefully cultivating that very image for months now. It's nice to see all my hard work hasn't gone unnoticed."

"Man, 'cause it's hard work partying in Jamaica," said Justin as he peeled the label off his beer bottle and pressed it flat against the window with his palm.

"You have no idea," said Chris, lounging back in his seat and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Pouring drinks, finding the best spot on the beach, fending off bikini-clad's a hard life."

* * *

Hours down and hours of it to go, and they were still passing over ocean. Miles and miles and miles of ocean. The clouds were thicker now, and it was only once in a while that a break in them allowed Justin to see clear down to the ground below. Or water, as the case was.

Chris was type-typing away on his laptop, quick, rhythmic, springy clicks that were beginning to drive Justin nuts. "If you don't put that away and talk to me I'm going to make you switch seats with Trace."

"No, anything but that," said Chris instantly, still typing. "His seat is bound to be sticky by now."

"Gross," said Justin. Trace would never do that in his seat; that's what the bathroom was for. "I'm serious. At least Trace would entertain me."

"Up till five minutes ago you were napping!" said Chris, snapping the laptop shut. "You always were cranky when you woke up. You want I should ask your mom for your pacifier?"

Justin just growled at him. "If I wanted something to suck on," he said, "that wouldn't be it. What were you doing anyway?"


"God, were you always this frustrating?"

"I was this frustrating in the womb," said Chris. "Just ask my mother. Oh wait, you already did, the day after you met me..."

"I was precocious," said Justin, yawning widely. His ears popped when he did.

"You were something all right," said Chris. "Remember that time when we were on that flight and you fell asleep in Lance's lap?"


"And halfway through you started sucking on his thigh and he had to shove you--?"


"No, I guess you wouldn't," said Chris, and the bastard was grinning. "There was still a wet spot when we landed in Munich. Did he email you about that thing he's doing next month?"

"He's emailed me about a dozen different things he's doing," said Justin. "Which one, exactly? Is it that thing with the dresses?"

"No, not the thing with the dresses," said Chris. "Though he'd look good in drag. Don't you think he'd look good in drag? As long as there was some kind of collar. He'd look good in a collar. Don't you think he'd look good in a collar?"

"I have never, not once, thought about Lance in a collar. Not even when you used to make those awful dog jokes about him back in the day."

"I teased because I loved."

"You teased because you were stuck in a hotel room with nothing better to do."

"That, too," said Chris. "Lance probably woulda come see you doing this, if he wasn't busy working on his thing-without-the-dresses. Lance likes models, you know."

"I noticed that," said Justin.

"And Lance likes success," Chris went on. "And you, Mr. Timberlake, have both. Of course, Lance isn't here, I am."

"Yes, I noticed that, too."

* * *

"He's been in there for ten minutes."

"Alone?" said Justin, looking over the seats at the bathroom door. "Are you sure?"

"I've been watching," said Chris. "No one in or out for ten minutes and thirty-four seconds."

"You've been timing it?"

"Would I have said ten minutes if it hadn't been ten minutes?"

"No, you probably would have said it'd been an hour," conceded Justin. "What do you think he's doing in there?" Chris gave him a look like he was an idiot. "Okay, I know what you think he's doing in there."

"What else would he be doing for ten minutes?" asked Chris. "And who would be in there with him anyway? Your hairstylist?"

Justin just gave him a shrug; it wasn't as though that was impossible. "Doesn't seem right to join the mile high club by yourself," he said.

"Yes, but would he have been joining, or just renewing his membership?" said Chris. "I don't think jerking off in the bathroom counts, anyway. Because how could they tell? Some people -- and by some people, I mean JC -- can do it in an airplane bathroom in under two minutes."

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that."

"Oh, like you never noticed?" said Chris. "He was so obvious about it. He would even still be breathing hard when he got back to his seat."

"Some of us had better things to do than watch people go in and out of the bathroom."

"Like fall asleep on Lance's lap and suck his leg?"

"You're just not going to let that go, are you."

"Not in this lifetime," said Chris, grinning at him before looking down at his watch again. "Damn. You need to tell your shadow that he's a sure thing, he doesn't need to fool around with all that foreplay."

"You're the one that gave him that porn," Justin reminded him, leaning over to look at his watch. He wondered if Chris really was timing it.

"That was hours ago," he said dismissively. "And that should've helped! What red-blooded male needs to work himself up to orgasm after looking at porn? That boy just ain't right."

"Yeah, but he's my just-ain't-right boy," said Justin, cuffing his shoulder. "Uh. How long's it been now?"

"Just passing thirteen minutes," said Chris, after a glance down at his watch and a glance back at the door.

Forty-two seconds later, Trace emerged from the bathroom, looking flushed, and made his way back to his seat.

* * *

"I dreamt about you the other night," said Justin.

"The naked, sexy kind?"

"No, not the naked, sexy kind."

"Why not?" Chris goaded him. "Don't you think I'm sexy when I'm naked?"

"I know you're sexy when you're naked," said Justin. "I don't need to just dream about it. Do you want to hear about my dream or not?"

"As long as it's flattering."

Justin closed his eyes and idly kicked at the seat in front of him, barely reaching. "You were on this long...boardwalk, or pier, or something. And you were walking down, strutting. You were strutting down it in this Armani suit. With a clown nose on."

"And that's supposed to be flattering?"

"You do look great in Armani."

"You're totally dumping your issues on me, here, Timberlake," Chris accused him, waggling a finger as though that would make Justin realize it was serious. "You're uptight about this modeling thing, and your subconscious is dumping your issues on me. Clown nose, indeed!"

"Or maybe my subconscious just thinks you'd look like a fool if you ever did any modeling."

"Your subconscious is going to get its ass kicked once we're on land again."

Justin grinned at him and kicked at the seat again. "It was a cool dream, though. And if anyone could pull off a clown nose on a runway, it would be you."

"That's exactly what I would be doing with it," Chris agreed with him. "Pulling it off. The nose, not anything else. It is an all-ages show, after all."

"Maybe you would have been pulling it off after the show," said Justin thoughtfully, "but I woke up before that part. Too bad."

"It could never measure up to the real thing, anyway," said Chris, puffing up a little.

"I don't know about that," said Justin. "I've had the real thing; I think my subconscious could do it justice. It may have been a while, but it hasn't been so long I can't remember."

"It's been long enough that you're not having naked, sexy dreams about me, whether you think you can do me justice or not," said Chris. "That's just not right." He snorted. "God. Clown nose. What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?"

* * *

Every time Justin thought he saw land it turned out to be a trick of the light, but he knew they had to be landing soon. Which meant there had better be land coming up, and quickly.

He wasn't spending all his time looking for it, of course, just every time he absolutely had to look away from whatever Chris was doing. Which, at the moment, seemed to be building the world's longest straw.

"How bored are you?" he asked finally.

Chris looked at the straws, then looked at Justin, and that pretty much said it all. "What's so fascinating out the window, anyway? It's just clouds. You've seen them a million times before. Pay attention to meeeee."

"We're going to land in London soon," he said, and Chris rolled his eyes. "That means that one short little hop over to Italy and we'll be there."

"Ahh," said Chris, nodding like he understood. Which Justin wasn't sure he did, but Chris seemed pretty convinced. "Yeah, no time at all. You ready?"

"What's to be ready for?" Justin asked, shrugging at him. "It's just standing around in clothes for cameras, right? I do that all the time."

"Right," said Chris, and added a fifth straw to his precariously bending masterpiece. "Modeling's so easy even my grandmother could do it. I don't know why people make such a big deal out of it, anyway. It's not like it's work."

Justin looked for the smile he knew had to be there, if only in Chris's eyes. Chris had been incredibly picky about who they had model his Fu Man stuff back in the day. Excepting the four other members of the group, who he asked to do it without hesitation.

"It's maybe a little work," said Justin finally. "Especially if it's new yet, and you don't quite know what's expected of you."

"You think?" said Chris, adding straw number six and testing the integrity of the creation. "You mean you can't get by on abs and charisma?"


Chris was busy lowering the tower of straws all the way from his seat into Justin's glass of ice water. "Here goes nothing," he said, and tried to take a sip. Water leaked from the joints and dripped onto his pants and arm. "Dammit."

"Suck harder."

"Yeah, I've heard that before." He wrapped his lips around the straw again and hollowed his cheeks as he sucked. The wet spot on his pants spread, but finally Chris had a mouthful of water. He raised his arms into the air in the classic "Score!" pose.

"You are such a freak," said Justin, shaking his head.

Chris swallowed. "Shut up," he said, and grinned at him. "You know you liked it."

* * *

The first class lounge was full, but still quiet enough that Chris and Justin could talk without shouting. As though everyone thought twice about raising their voice or even clinking their ice too hard inside an airport. Or perhaps they were all just impeccably polite.

"What were they giving you grief about?" asked Justin, submerging a piece of ice with his straw, only to watch it pop up again a moment later.

"The fact that I only have a carry on," said Chris, "when the rest of your entourage has two or more checked bags each. What are you guys planning to do, take over the country?"

"Yeah," said Justin dryly. "We're going to take over the place, one pair of shoes at a time. Only a carry on? Don't you pack?"

"The trip was kind of a last-minute decision," said Chris. "You're only going to be here for 3 days and most of that you're going to spend in someone else's clothes. What do you need so much baggage for?"

"It's my stuff," said Justin, looking Chris in the eye. Surely he understood that. "My stuff. I just want it there with me."

"You probably aren't even going to unpack it," said Chris. "You probably aren't even going to open it."

"Maybe, but that's not the point," he said. "It's my stuff and I want it with me and what if I do need it? Then it's there."

It was like being on tour, when he had to make his home mobile, and cart around everything he wanted because if it wasn't there, it wasn't there for a long time, and some things you just needed around to be at home. Maybe Justin wasn't on tour right now, exactly, but he wasn't ever at home, either.

"Well," said Chris, and he got it, Justin knew he did, "if I find myself needing something to sleep with, I know where to come."

"You know it," said Justin with a wolfish grin, then fished an ice cube out of his glass with his fingers and crunched down on it. "I'm fully prepared. Unlike you with your pipsqueak backpack."

"I have everything I need," Chris assured him.

* * *

New plane, same seats, which Justin decided was a really good title for an autobiography, though maybe not his. He made himself comfortable and watched out the window, Chris smacking his gum beside him.

"Gimme one of those magazines," Chris said finally. "I saw you buying them. Don't deny it."

"Because there's so much shame in buying Sports Illustrated," said Justin, grabbing it from between the seats and handing it over.

"No, not that one, I read that this morning before the first flight. The other one. The one you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything," said Justin, but Chris was already reaching under his ass, and copping a feel as he pulled the other magazine out.

"What do you call this, then?"

"It's called People," said Justin. "And I wasn't hiding it. Why would I hide a copy of People?"

"I don't know," said Chris, eyeing him suspiciously. "But I'm determined to find out." Justin rolled his eyes and sat back down on Chris's hand. And held it there until Chris started poking him. "Brat."

Justin picked up the Sports Illustrated and started thumbing through it, but it was too damn fluffy these days and the only time he really wanted fluff in his sports was the swimsuit edition. Because who didn't love the swimsuit edition?

Chris hummed softly to himself as he turned the pages, obviously trying to get attention. Justin didn't give him the satisfaction. "Hmm, George Clooney is going to do a romantic comedy. Interesting. Hmm, Alyssa Milano and Ben Affleck have been seen about town together. Very interesting. Hmm, Ang Lee is going to direct a sensitive action flick. Quelle surprise."

"Joey's in that," Justin interrupted him.

"Joey's what?"

"In that. The Ang Lee movie. Or at least, he will be if the talks on the Monday went well. I haven't heard back from him."

"What's this then? He didn't tell me that."

"That's because it's a secret."

Chris grunted at him. "Remind me not to tell you any more secrets."

"Aw, come on, Chris, don't you trust me?"

"You just told me Joey's secret!"

Justin grinned. "Yeah, but I tell you everything."

* * *

"I gotta go to the bathroom," said Chris, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Already?" said Justin. "Didn't you just go before we took off?"

"This is different," said Chris, giving Justin a look. Like he should've known that.

Justin nodded slowly. "Alone?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Chris gave him a slow smirk. "Not if there are other options available to me..."

Justin looked up and down the seats, but no one was paying any undue attention to them. And Chris looked serious. "I'm coming," he said, and unbuckled himself, too.

"Not yet, you're not," said Chris, one hand pressing Justin back into his seat. "Wait a minute or two, then follow me."

"Like the flight attendants aren't going to know what we're doing anyway?"

"I don't give a shit about the flight attendants," said Chris. "I'd just as soon your shadow didn't catch on. Or, you know, your mother."

"My mother likes you."

"That doesn't mean she wants to know that you and I are getting it on in a public bathroom."

Justin wasn't entirely convinced of that, but he kept silent and let Chris stalk off to the bathroom. He read another page of his magazine, then followed. Neither his mother nor Trace even looked up, and Justin didn't pay attention to anyone else.

"This reminds me of the time that you climbed into the shower with me," said Chris as he flipped the latch to occupied.

"What the hell are you talking about? I never climbed in the shower with you."

"Oh, it must've been Joey, then," said Chris. "Nevermind. Either way, there's hardly enough room to move."

"There's enough," insisted Justin, his back against the flimsy door, tugging Chris close. "Now don't tell me you dragged me in here for nothing."

"I don't think 'drag' is the--" said Chris, until Justin cut him off with a fierce kiss. There was a time for conversation and there was a time to make out in an airplane bathroom and this was definitely the latter. If they were going to risk going in there together, Justin was at least going to get something out of it.

"All right, then," murmured Chris as he gripped both of Justin's arms and rubbed up against his thigh. "But not against the door..."

If the latch gave and they tumbled into the aisle, they'd neither one of them ever live it down. Chris yanked him closer and pressed him against the tiny sink, then kissed him again, rough and wet, before spinning him around and pressing up against his back.

"Are we gonna--?" said Justin breathlessly, closing his eyes to avoid the reflection.

"Hell yeah, we're gonna," said Chris, reaching around to undo Justin's pants as he sucked gently at the back of his neck. Not enough to leave a mark, never enough to leave a mark.

"Not without--"

"I've got some."

"You planned this?"

"No, I'm just an optimist." Chris got Justin's pants down around his knees and touched him, cool fingers on Justin's hot cock. Justin felt like he'd been hard since some time over the Pacific, though he'd been trying to ignore it.

And Chris, Justin could feel him against his body, arousal hidden in his baggy clothes until he was pressed up close. It had been a while, but not too long. Just long enough. One hand still stroking him, fondling him, Chris unzipped his own pants, lowering them just as much as he needed to. Justin could feel the metal buttons imprinting themselves on the back of his thigh.

His eyes were still closed, his head bent forward, when he felt Chris's fingers probe at him, slick and sure. His breath caught and he made a noise that seemed louder than it actually was, echoing in the closed space.

"Shhh," said Chris against his neck, his other hand still working Justin's cock slowly, never enough to bring Justin to the edge, just enough to keep the edge in sight. He wasn't exactly shhh himself, though, his breaths loud and heavy in Justin's ear. Justin heard the stretch and tear of a condom wrapper, then a moment of painful silence as Chris's hands went away and Justin was left holding the sink, waiting.

"Oh," breathed Justin, and gripped the slippery edges of the sink tighter as Chris pushed inside him. He bent further forward, as far as he could, and let Chris sink all the way in. "Oh, damn."

"Uh huh," said Chris, planting his small hands on Justin's hips, sinking his fingers into the skin and muscle. "Just..." He moved, thrusting and tugging Justin back against himself all at once, and it was jarring enough that Justin let out a gasp. So good, so good, like he knew it would be.

He finally opened his eyes and looked up, caught Chris's in the mirror and held them there. Chris's warm brown eyes burned with barely hidden heat, and he parted his lips but he didn't smile. Then, finally, they were fucking, riding each other, pushing, grinding, gasping, pressing, all while making as little sound as possible.

When Justin came it was with a stifled moan, barely long enough to be heard before he clamped down on it and bit his lip and bowed his head while Chris pushed on to orgasm a minute later.

Then they just stood there, sweaty body to sweaty body, breathing into the sudden stillness and silence.

"Well, I guess that killed some time," said Chris finally.

"Sure beats Sports Illustrated."

Chris laughed and sank his teeth lightly into the tendon of Justin's neck. Justin hoped there was no one waiting for the bathroom, because he didn't think they'd be out any time soon.

* * *

They were going to land shortly. Justin could feel it like a vibration in his bones, like a buzzing in his head. They were going to land soon and he was going to start off on his new adventure. And Chris was poking him in the thigh with a chewed and mangled cocktail straw.

"Fucking quit it," he said, and grabbed the straw and shoved it in his mouth.

"Ew! Do you know where that's been?"

"Considering where my mouth's been today, does it really matter?"

"Okay, good point," said Chris, snatching the straw back and putting it in his own mouth. Justin could hear his molars grinding it, like the gum, until he finally yanked it out and dropped it in favor of his drink.

"Did you and Joey really have sex in the shower?"

Chris nearly spit out his complimentary champagne. "Shit, Timberlake. I may have developed some curves in my old age, but not the kind that Joey appreciates."

"I knew it. I knew you were shitting me about that."

"Of course I was. Can't you appreciate a well-timed joke?"

"I was busy appreciating other things at the time," said Justin, tapping out the rhythm of Like I Love You on his knee.

"What, like your reflection in the mirror?"

"You say that like I didn't just give you the fuck of your week."

"Month, tops," said Chris, and grinned at him. Justin was halfway through playing Rock Your Body with his fingertips before Chris grabbed his hand and held it tight. "You're nervous," he said. It wasn't even one of his notorious psyche-outs, it was just a statement. "No, it's okay, I know you are."

"'Course I am," said Justin, and laughed like it was nothing. Laughed like it was a reporter trying to say the same thing, and not someone who could see right through him. "But no more than for anything else."

"Good," said Chris. "Because you're Justin fucking Timberlake, and you can do anything."

Justin smiled at him and clutched his hand and waited for the plane to land.

For Don We Now Our Gay Apparel 2003, for cappuccino

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