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Erin > Fiction > Five
"All right, guys. Do we have an agreement?"
"Why yes, I do believe we do."
"Yes! Operation HOOHA is officially in progress."
"Chris..."
"Yeah?"
"Didn't we decided that that was a really dumb name?"
"You might have..."
"Right, right."
"Hooha."
There were three soft groans in opposition to one bright grin.
"We can do it."
"If he agrees."
"He'll agree."
"If he remembers."
"He'll remember."
~~
Justin Timberlake was doing a very rare thing, as things went, and spending a quiet day at home. No appointments, no obligations, nothing. If one were to guess that he almost didn't know what to do with himself, they wouldn't be far wrong. He had just pulled a carton of orange juice out of his fridge when his doorbell rang.
He blinked in evident confusion, replacing the orange juice and carefully heading for the door, looking out the peephole carefully.
He saw an eye. A brown eye. A recognizable brown eye.
"The hell, Kirkpatrick?" he asked as he flung open the door.
Chris was standing just outside, along with Joey, Lance, and JC.
"Uh. Did I forget something?"
A slow grin arose from Lance. "We're hoping not."
They entered his house, Joey bringing up the rear and conscientiously closing the door behind them.
"Uh..."
JC's voice was suddenly audible right next to his ear. "See, J, we were hoping you'd remember some of the better benefits of having bandmates."
Lance's voice turned to a low and molasses-slow drawl. "And going solo doesn't mean you escape it. But we don't think you want to."
~~
Forget it, they said... and they were right that I didn't want to. I never had. It had been a very long time. Almost too long, maybe. But the first hand resting on the back of my neck was just so damn familiar it was almost as if no time had passed at all. My eyes closed. I didn't need to see to know. The strong yet gentle grip was absolutely Joey. Just like always, man, just like always. More hands. More hands that I knew as if they'd never been away from my skin. Why had they ever been away? And they knew. They knew I was melting, and they probably knew why better than I did. Maybe it was the attention. I'd always liked the attention. Maybe it was just because I knew that they knew me. And I knew them. Distance had never changed that.
The quick darting grip, moving here, then there, grasping seemingly randomly, but still purposefully, grabbing my shirt and getting rid of it? It was Chris. It couldn't be anyone else. Like the other set of hands, flat palmed, sliding around my skin, exploring it even though it already knew.... that was JC. I had always gotten the sense that he was discovering something else, even over skin that he'd already been over every inch of. Which left Lance, businesslike as ever, yanking off my pants. Damn, had I missed this.
~~
Head out of his ass. HOOHA. Not my fault if they didn't like it. It summed it up. And it worked. Like it was ever not going to. We'd all missed it. Anyone can get laid. We can definitely get laid. The tiniest fucking bit of celebrity can get you laid easily. But just getting laid was never enough. A partner who could read you like a book made getting laid so much... so much fucking more. And four partners? Five people who'd learned a fuckload of time ago how each other worked, who could do the dance just right... fuck, after group sex, choreography is fucking nothing. Clothes were gone, that was easy, bed was coming, also easy. We know the routine. Whoa. Hand on my ass. Fuck, Bass, can't get enough, can you. Better at this than dancing, though. Unless you're counting beats in your head while fucking. Doubt it, though.
But I know how to work in routine and still make it unroutine. My hand darts back and wraps around his cock. Mis'sippi boy is hung. Always surprises me, somehow. Low gasp, deep voice, he sure as hell wasn't expecting that one. He should know better. C noticed, though. I don't squeak when he does the same to be. Low breathy whisper in my ear. "Easy, Chris. We got time." We do. We still know how to work it.
~~
I'm straight. I know. Hard to believe when I'm sprawled naked on a bed with four other guys, just as naked, and we're all groping, nibbling, grabbing, and moaning in ways that never once got mentioned in Catholic school. And I'm damn well enjoying it, too. But I'm still straight. This isn't about sexuality. Never has been, not from the beginning. It's not about sex, it's about love. I love these guys so hard. Not like I love Kel, and not like I love Doozer. It's different, but it's just as real.
Not that the sex is anything to sneer at. Holy shit, does Justin know how to use his tongue. And I swear C does yoga or something. So damn... just... There's something about this that's just perfect, or at least just that damn good. Yeah, I'm straight. But if you can't bend, you break.
~~
It's a formality, really, that I even bother staying in the official closet. Everyone knows, and they think I don't know it. But if they figure that that's the secret I'm keeping, they won't dig farther, and they won't find this one. So their secrets are safe, too. This is our secret together. Our secrets intertwined. The fact that- God, J's a fantastic fuck. The fact that all the glitz and glamour that we turned into never meant a damn, and that underneath it, we're just kids in Europe, and we're sneaking the occasional grope, that turns into something bigger than any of us right in step with what the group itself turned into. And it'll never really leave. I could dance the Bye Bye Bye choreography in my sleep. The imprint of this in my brain is way deeper.
Well, this is way more primal, too. A thrust, a grab, no audience but us. No critiques, just what feels right. No harsh glare of the camera, of the public. Just a soft glow, and us. I'm never more comfortable than in these moments. And never more me.
~~
We move together
As from the start
Down around and through.
I hold on to you, and you to me.
We'll never have to part.
Together, babe, we're music.
Together, tonight, we're free.
Grab my hand.
I'll be your man.
If you just move with me.
... I love inspiration.
~~
Justin Timberlake had a very large bed. It didn't need to be, afterward, though. Through the tangle of limbs, and the slow tandem breathing, an observer wouldn't necessarily be able to tell that there were five there. But they knew.
"Damn."
"Yeah. Damn."
"Missed that."
"Me too."
"We all did."
"Again sometime?"
"Count on it."
"Yeah. Count on it."
"Mm. Mission accomplished."