by Calico

Note: this is number three in the loosely defined, unrelated Joey's Kitchen series (rumour being no.1, tropics being no.2), yet with far less plot than those two. Heh.

Herein: toast and bad sex. and, uh, good sex. of course.

"What's up?"

Chris looked morose. "This is like bad sex."

Uh huh. "Whyyyy?"

Chris pointed at the toaster accusingly. "I pushed it down before I knew I wanted toast," he said, and sighed.


"I want toast," Chris said, like it was obvious. Which, Justin supposed, it was.

"What's in there, then?"


"You don't want pancake?" Justin guessed, reaching for the 'cancel' button. Chris' hand shot out, grabbed his wrist.

"No!" he cried, then twisted Justin round, so he was pinned to the counter by a very earnest-looking Chris. "Don't."

"Uh huh," Justin said. He wondered how Chris had managed to pin him from ankle to chest so completely without being the same height, and put it down to him being totally mashed. "Man, how much have you smoked tonight?"

A little frown appeared in Chris' expression, then cleared. "Some," he said airily, and then pouted. "I want toast."

"Me too," Justin said, wondering if this was what he looked like to other people when he went on stoned crusades. "I want you to have toast very much. Especially if it'll get you off of me." Before, like, his brain starts sending him inappropriate messages about how warm Chris was, how he looked as he took long drags from a joint and then breathed out luxuriously, how the lazy stoned smile made his eyes luminously dark.

"Yeah, well. That toaster hates me," Chris said, relaxing against him, and Justin felt a shiver of alarm and pushed him firmly away, bustling over to the toaster and peering in.

Scarlet threads glowed up at him; one side, a red-ish mini pancake was clutched in the metal grid.

Chris joined him at his elbow. "I want toast right away," he complained, and Justin rolled his eyes and took the slice off the plate and pressed the cancel button before Chris could stop him, then popped it in and pushed the lever down again.

"Ok?" he asked, then raised his hands defensively as Chris snarled and pounced on him and started pummelling his chest like a girl. "Hey, hey," he yelled, backed up against Joey's fridge, and caught Chris' arms and forced them away.

"You fucker," Chris growled; "you ruined my pancake."

"I thought you wanted toast," Justin protested, holding him at arm's length. "And it's not ruined. and you're being a total girl."

"You know some weird-ass girls," Chris said, and twisted his wrists out of Justin's grip. "And now I'm gonna have to watch the pancake, and then get it out at the right minute, and then watch the toast, and... yeah."


"And nothing. It sucks."

"Like bad sex?" Justin said, suspiciously, and Chris glanced up at him.

"Well, it does," he said, and then swooped down on the toaster and extracted his pancake. "Raisin and lemon," he told Justin, pushing the bread down again.

"I know. I can smell it."

"Yeah, well. It's good." He smirked slightly, spreading on butter. "And it's the last one."

Justin shrugged. "I don't care. I don't want a pancake." He did, actually. It smelt like that stuff, what's it called; manna. Tangy and sugary and, now, buttery. And, as he watched-- rice-y? "What the fuck?"

Chris carried on spooning rice onto his pancake. "Mmm?"

"What's with the-- you're ruining it," Justin said, watching incredulously as Chris drizzled yoghurt on top and then guided the whole thing to his mouth. "Ew, man."

Chris' eyes flicked to him, innocent, as he chewed. One hand was cupped below the other, catching any rice that fell. "Mmm-hmm shmm-hmm," he mumbled, and Justin sniffed.

"You're a strange, strange little man," he said. "And your toast's burning."

"Fuck!" Chris yelled, cramming the rest of the pancake in his mouth and diving on the toaster again. "I told you--"

The knife make a scritch-scrape noise as he spread on the obligatory butter, and then no noise at all as he piled on a layer of rice and, "Chri-iis," Justin whined, watching wide-eyed. "Why with the rice?"

"Why not with the rice?" Chris retorted, packing it down with the flat of the knife. "I like rice."

"Yeah, but, it's on toast. It's, they're both... things. Carbohydrates."

"I like carbohydrates," Chris said, decisively. He reached for the yoghurt.

"Joey might be pissed that you finished all his rice," Justin said, suddenly determined to make a point.

Chris peered into the pan, then looked at Justin sideways. It made him look like a sultry elf. Uh. "Joey left me the rice. You know this. You also know he's gone all day. Why do I need to tell you?" He put his rice-yoghurt-perversion on a plate, and swaggered right up into Justin's face. "Because, you're a forgetful fool."

Something about him suggested, like, excitement. For one icy moment, Justin thought Chris was gonna kiss him. "What is this, you gonna kiss me or something?" he said, a shade too loudly.

"No chance. I don't kiss people who don't appreciate good food," Chris scoffed, and nodded pointedly at his plate, sitting on the side. "Ah am outa your league."

"Dude, I'm so gutted," Justin said, but Chris had already turned and grabbed his plate and was walking through to slump down in front of the TV, taking up all the couch and setting the plate on his chest.

"Move up," Justin said.

Chris didn't look up. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"There's no room."

Justin gritted his teeth. "There is if you put your feet down."



Chris tilted his head back and smiled sweetly. "There's a plate on my chest." Justin almost growled, swooping down to move it, and then Chris was all, "hey, fuck, noooo," and "get your own rice, you rice-molester!" and so he gave up.

"Fine. I'll sit on the floor."

Chris smiled agreeably at him, taking a big bite. "Mmm."

"You've just got the munchies," Justin said.

"You're pouting," Chris said, indistinctly.

"I'm not," Justin said. Well, maybe he was. Kinda. "But I'm just sayin'. If you'd given me more tokes, you'd have less munchies right now."

"You're right," Chris said, taking another bite. "I'm glad I didn't, though."

Justin watched quietly as Chris finished it off, even scooping a smear of yoghurt up off the plate and licking it off his thumb.

Sexy, he thought sarcastically, then paused. Uh. No, really.

To someone else, though. Right? Uh huh.

Chris was watching him, curiously, with that tight little glint back in his eyes, and he wondered suddenly what the hell was showing on his face. "How's it like bad sex?" he asked quickly, and Chris shot him a dark glare and almost threw a bit of rice at him, before apparently thinking better of it and sucking it into his mouth instead.


"Yeah, Timberlake, you wouldn't understand, what with you never having a bad lay or anything," Chris growled, cheerfully.

Justin choked. "Hey, I've had plenty of bad lays," he retorted, then wondered why he was defending that bit.

"Yeah? Name one that was," Chris stabbed his finger in the direction of the kitchen. "that bad."

"I don't know what that bad is," Justin pointed out, exasperated, and Chris nodded at him.

"Precisely. Amateur."

"I mean-- hey, wait a minute," he protested; "amateur? Why is not having sex like making toast amateur? Amateurish," he amended, thinking it sounded weird on his tongue.

Chris stared at him a second, then jumped to his feet. "C'mere," he said, extending his hand. Justin looked at it warily. Did he really want to take the hand of a man who associated kitchen appliances with getting laid?


...especially following him into an environment full of aforesaid appliances...

Wait, what the fuck?

He blinked, and then had Chris run out of patience and dragged his wrist and hauled him upright, and he stumbled slightly and swore when he bashed his knee on the coffee table and then found himself back in front of the toaster.

His wrist felt tight, as if it might bruise tomorrow, except Chris hadn't gripped it all that hard, actually.

"Ok," Chris said, like he was a professor or something. "Get me some bread."

Justin looked at him, and Chris held out his hand.


Scalpel!, Justin imagined, because it was that tone of voice. "Yes, doctor," he said sarcastically, going along to the bread packet and tearing it open. "One slice or two?"

Chris was looking at him strangely. Like, curiosity and amusement and fear. "Two," he said, cautiously.

"Uh huh," Justin said, and then Chris added,

"...Nurse," and grinned wickedly, and Justin aimed with the bread and found himself laughing when Chris wrenched open a cupboard door and cowered behind it. "Aaaah, pyscho bread-wielding nurse," Chris yelled, as he advanced, throwing his hands up in defence.

"Show me the goddamned toaster," Justin managed, hoping they weren't gonna try and eat this bread now that Chris'd grabbed it off him in less-than-gentle hands. Chris squinted at him, then appeared to decide he was out of mortal danger for now and stood up.

"Put it in, and press it down," he instructed, and Justin did it, rolling his eyes.

"I still don't get it--"

"Patience," Chris said, sagely. "Wait til it heats up."

"Now that sounds more like sex," Justin said, then wondered if he should've said that aloud.

"Mmm," Chris agreed, so he figured it didn't matter. "You watching?" It was glowing, bright orange. "Now." He took hold of Justin's fist, unfolding it and setting the second piece of bread carefully between his finger and thumb. "Put that in as well."

Justin glanced at him. Chris' eyes looked faintly devilish in the orange glow. He wondered if his eyes looked the same. "In the same compartment?"

"Duh," Chris said, nudging him. "Of course not."

"Ooookay," Justin said, and turned it so the corner could push aside the metal grids, pushed a few times. "Oh. Wait a sec."

"Aha," Chris said, triumphantly. "Kirkpatrick, one; Timberlake, zero."

"Fuck off," Justin mumbled, trying it from another angle, feeling his fingers start to feel too hot above the bright red glow. "Hey, this kinda hurts."

"Strike two!" Chris yelled, tucking his chin onto Justin's shoulder and biting kitten-aggressively at his neck. "This is so easy."

"What the hell kind of scoring system's that anyway?" Justin complained, switching to use the other hand, trying to force it in and getting mashed corners for his efforts. He could feel the scrape of Chris' teeth lingering in his neck, the chill of air on wet skin. "Can I have a knife?"

"You can't use a knife in sex," Chris told him, aghast, then glanced at his fingertips. "Besides. electricity. Your mother'd never forgive me."

"Well, I can't do it, then," Justin said, wondering exactly what this proved.

Chris beamed at him, "See?" he asked, pressing the cancel button and putting the un-mashed toast on a plate, and Justin nodded, even though he didn't. "You can poke it and prod it but the only way you can actually get it in is by sticking your fingers in to hold it open, and that hurts." Chris nodded, once. "Bad sex."

"My knee hurts," Justin said, trying to process that.

Chris sortof slid down the cupboard until he was sitting with his legs stretched out. "Do you want some toast? Ooo. Heated floor. I knew there was a reason I liked Joey's house."

"Not that toast," Justin said, then watched as Chris' sharp little white teeth bit a perfect circle out one corner. "That's nasty. Isn't it? You haven't got butter on it."

Chris smirked, swallowed, choked, then laughed loudly. "Yeah, it's about sex alright."

"What-- oh," Justin said, then felt dumb for standing and dropped to the floor. "Butter?"

"It's all relative," Chris said. "But I like your thinking, boy."

"I give up," Justin said, totally confused. The floor wasn't actually heated, he realised; just Chris sitting basically on top of the boiler. He shifted, uneasily. "And how the hell does sex hurt your fingers if you, like," he faltered, slightly, "hold her open."

"It-- ah," Chris said, eyes half-closing suspiciously, "right," and he rubbed his thumb against the side of his jaw. "Never mind."

Justin scowled. "So... what," he said, trying not to sound impatient. "It isn't like bad sex?"

"No, no, no, it is," Chris insisted, then waved his hand vaguely, "just like, not bad sex you've ever had."

"I thought--"

"like with a guy."

"oh." The words span round and round his head. "Oh. You've...?"

Chris smirked. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Enough times to have bad sex? with, with a guy," he added, and Chris' eyes went wide.

"Well, you know, actually any time could be bad," he said, sincere and innocent, and Justin looked around for something to throw at him, "I mean, there's not some quota, it's not like you have ten good fucks guaranteed before one freakin' nasty mofo comes and rips you apart," and Justin located a cushion on one of Joey's uncomfortable kitchen stools and hurled it at him, and Chris took it full in the face and burst out laughing.

Well, at least his aim was good. "Shut up."

"Sorry, sorry," Chris laughed, "just, you know, your little face," and Justin scrunched up his face and then stuck his tongue out and then wondered wildly if it was right, that he should find out that Chris had done.. stuff with guys, and then they'd still just be goofing around.

Hey, maybe it just made him a well-rounded twenty-first century guy.

Or a freak.


"...but yeah, in answer to your question, I've done enough guys to know the difference between good and bad."

Done enough guys. Uh. "Whoa," Justin said, and Chris grabbed the cushion and threw it right back at him.

"Don't!" he growled, and Justin felt his eyes go wide.


"Don't... do what you're doing now, going all process-y and stuff. you can process in the morning."

"Excuse me," Justin said, indignant, and Chris cut him off with,

"No, no, no, I'm not listening--"

"It's not every day your like probably best friend tells you he's gay--"

"I'm not gay--"

"--so I think I'm entitled--"

"--I just like guys better--"

"--to some processing, what?"

"because they are."


"Guys." Chris blinked at him, waved his hand around. Possibly, he was sketching a guy in the air. Possibly, just the important part of one. "They're better."


"In bed," Chris said, and reached for his toast.

"Hey, don't eat that!" Justin heard himself say, indignantly. "I mean. uh."

Chris paused, interestedly. "Why can't I eat my toast?"

"Because..." Justin said, then frowned. "You were talking to me. And it's rude to talk with your mouth full."

"You do it all the time," Chris pointed out, taking a bite. Justin watched, the white teeth biting down, tearing it off with a crunch, the movement of his lips, then the pink wet tongue that flashed out to collect an errant crumb. oh. "Oh," Chris said, thickly. "Fuck."

Justin looked away swiftly, at the cushion, where it had bounced off his head. "Anyway, what were we talking about?" he said quickly, then remembered, and panicked. That's an interesting table leg. "Actually, what were we talking about before that?" He liked the colour of Joey's floor.

"Bad sex," Chris said, smirking, and took another bite. "Toast."

"Do you got any more dope?" Justin asked, then sighed and said, "actually, never mind, I've gotta ask now. How's it better?"

"Toast?" Chris asked, and Justin grabbed up the cushion, hefting it threateningly in one hand. "Ok, ok," Chris squealed, laughing. "Men."


"Sex, with men," Chris said, then raised his hands defensively; "hey, no, I'm just making sure--"

"How's it better with men?" Justin said loudly, and Chris tilted his head.

"To show you that, I'd have to... show you," he said, mysteriously, then bit into his toast again.

Justin froze. Was that an offer? This was totally fucking ludicrous if it was -- Chris, munching away cheerily, offering to show Justin why sex with men was better... and all on Joey's floor...Fuck. This had to be a joke. "Go on, then," he said casually, trying not to look as if he was watching for a reaction.

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" he said, hopefully, and Justin nodded firmly, wanting to get to the bit where Chris explained what the hell else he was on and where Justin could get some. Because obviously the alternative was unthinkable. Yeah. "Cool," Chris said, setting aside his toast and crawling forward up between his legs, and Justin found himself backing away by simply walking his hands backwards on the not-really-warm linoleum until he was flat on his back with Chris nuzzling his neck.

Hey. That wasn't the plan. The shivers certainly weren't the plan. Hey. "Uh..."

"Fuck, Justin. You really a virgin, with men?" Chris muttered, hot in Justin's ear.

"Yeah," Justin said, and I intend to stay that way, he added, or meant to add until Chris stuck his tongue into his ear and it was like half his braincells had fizzled up in a thousand tiny explosions. "Fuck."

The tongue melted away long enough for Chris to croon, "Ooo, do you talk, too?" and then lick slowly round the rim of his ear, a prickly closure of teeth sealing the deal in Justin's mind. Anyone who could get a reaction out of him that fast--

Actually, no. Not anyone.

He wondered, vaguely, if he was always the last to know.

"Yeah, I guess, ok," he said, and his voice was the kind of hoarse that directors liked in certain videos. Chris' hands slipped between them, one reverent journey down his torso and then back up, faint spark of sensation as his palms smoothed over his pecs, then again as the cold air drew in and Justin realised the pause had been for buttons to be gotten rid of. Huh. Ok, so until now he hadn't thought of spending this evening having sex. Let alone with Chris.

How plans change.

Chris ducked his head, shifting so his thighs slotted between Justin's, his mouth skating indescribably light-wet-gliding touches across Justin's chest. Justin scrabbled under him, feeling his cock plump up and want to grind harder into Chris' hipbone while his hands were all for plastering themselves across Chris' head and fucking holding him down so he'd do more than just tease.

Chris was getting down with the teasing, though. And-- he did it good. Not surprising, Justin guessed, since Chris always had too much energy, was never the type to keep still-- but Justin had to admit he hadn't considered the practical implications of all that thrumming impatience.

Well, ok. He had.

But not much, ok? Just now and aga--

"Fuck," he said, as the soft wet mouth brushed over one nipple, making him feel like the flesh beneath was glowing a dull, achey gold, and then a calculated scrape of facial hair made the whole area seize up silver and he swallowed, needing more air.

He wriggled, arching his back up, and Chris took the opportunity to pull his shirt down off his shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides.


"I hate you," he said dizzily, and Chris chuckled, tugging his shirt down further, until Justin felt the bite of cotton into the bases of his hands and started squirming uncomfortably, wondering why not being able to move made the tip of his cock grow wet.


Chris started biting a trail down his chest, just little scrapes of teeth and lewd wet flashes of tongue. "What's up?" he asked, pausing at the base of Justin' ribs, breath tickling the skin. His hands were already working, slipping open Justin's fly, sliding his fingers in under the waistband of his shorts. "C'mon, work the hips..."

Justin shivered, discovering he really, really couldn't care less about his wrists. He lifted his ass off the floor, bracing his elbows hard and wedging his fingertips into the faint crease of a lino tile, and realised he could comfortably stay like this as long as Chris made it worth his while.

"Show off," Chris accused, softly, kissing the hollow of his hipbone with his cool wet mouth, then sucking a spot just beneath it, calling up fire beneath the skin. Fuck. An erotic variety pack, and totally in charge.

He wondered why that didn't make him want to flee. The cheek brushing tantalisingly against his cock, while efficient hands stripped off his pants and pressed his ass back down into the cool floor, was a clue.

Suck it suck it suck it suck it you "fucker," he growled, as Chris started licking his way back up his body, and Chris chucked against his belly button and then slicked his tongue across it.

"Mmm, sorry," he said, gleefully; "got distracted," and Justin realised that, apart from the shirt, he was now fully naked on Joey's kitchen floor and it was a pretty good thing Joey wasn't due back any time soon. Was he? No. Tommorow morning. And he might have recovered by then...

He felt the brush of cotton against his leg, realised Chris wasn't naked at all. He imagined that, like, being fucked by someone who didn't even bother to undress, and shivered.

And Chris would carry it off, too.

"You gonna," he started, then paused when he heard a plastic-y noise, then inhaled sharply when Chris' warm hand started sliding up from his knee. "You gonna take your clothes off?"

"Mmm-hmm," Chris said, kneeling next to him, watching his own hand move up Justin's leg. Justin let his thighs fall open easily and even shifted slightly for show, watching the approving admiration on Chris' face.

"Take your clothes off," Justin said again, and Chris looked up at him and quirked a dark little grin, then bit down on his pink lower lip and half closed his eyes like he was being scratched and pushed one soft, slick finger slowly, deliberately, up his ass. "Ah, fuck fuck fuck," Justin choked, back arching like there was a wire strung through it, shirt pulling mad tightness across his wrists, head grating back against the kitchen floor -- the 'fro was never gonna be the same again.

"Yeah, I figured I might just try that," Chris said, and there was definite gloat in his voice, a thick ole layer of gloat that Justin would normally protest at because he normally wouldn't have Chris' thick finger moving slowly, magically, in and out of his ass. "Because, you know, when you're gonna have properly bad sex, that's the place to start."

"Fuck," Justin managed, weakly, and then Chris touched the head of his cock with the other hand and pushed a second finger in smooth.

Justin's eyes snapped closed. The clothing-removal could so wait.

"I want--ah, yeah, slower," Justin said, wanting to say deeper but not quite daring, and the words sounded more like a gasp, breaking out of his throat on strictly rationed oxygen. Chris stopped, which made Justin pant with frustration, then started a slow deep slide, and Justin nodded blindly against the floor and hunched his hips up and muttered, "that, just like that..."

"Christ, Justin," Chris said, adding a tiny twist as he pushed them in deep, "you're... fuck, you have no idea what you look like," and the growl in the timbre of his voice made Justin jerk his legs wider until his thigh pressed into Chris' knee. "Uh huh," Justin said, back to wanting Chris naked, also wondering why the hell Chris wasn't jerking him off at the same time. He had a free hand, didn't he?

He'd be doing it himself if it wasn't for this shirt, thoroughly trapped now with his twisting, so much that he couldn't even reach down and push his own fingers inside him as well, let alone stretch round and beat himself off.

Not that he had the co-ordination, anyway, he thought distantly, as Chris corkscrewed his fingers and he heard his own breathing change again. What did he look like? He had no idea. Something with too-small lungs.

"That free hand..." he said, rocking, feeling his shoulderblades start to skid with sweat against the shiny floor. "Fuck, Chris. I need, like, can you put more inside me?"

Something inside him was blushing, definitely. JC, defender of his innocence, would not approve. But then, JC presumably didn't know the unholy joy that scratched under every inch of his skin as Chris groaned softly and drew out his fingers almost all the way, then pushed them back in, definitely adding one, oil-slick and painful and divine.

"That's gotta... hurt," Chris said softly, and Justin forced his eyes open long enough to see the crooked grin twitching up the corner of Chris' mouth, the way his other hand was moving in his lap as he watched his fingers between Justin's legs.

Justin arched his back, mind full of how good that would feel, Chris palming his cock, that sharp little grin coming down on his throat. "It kinda burns," Justin heard himself say, then figured out that he could get it deeper if he raised one knee; "but in a good way," and slid his foot up until it was flat of the floor.

"You know what'd burn even more," Chris breathed, and Justin knew, and he tipped his hips up as much as he could, nodding, mouth open, breathing hard. "You like that idea?"

"Yeah... well... that's the point of the bad sex thing, right?" Justin grinned, grabbing the thought from the overheated tangle of his brain and tossing it out, not caring if he made no sense any more.

Chris' laughter spilled out, kinda low and breathless, and then Justin scowled as he realised the fingers hadn't pulled out to push back in super-hard but actually had disappeared altogether.


"Just, ok, one minute," Chris said, pulling his shirt over his head, and Justin rolled up onto his side and glared at him.

"Hey, like--" and then Chris' hand was hot on his shoulder pressing him firmly back onto the floor and Chris was leaning over him, lips parted, eyes black and intent.

"Shut up," he said deliberately, "and I will be with you in one minute," and Justin stared up at him and nodded wordlessly and swallowed a couple of times. His throat hurt.

Chris' fingers trailed back across his chest, and he shivered. The floor was slick beneath him -- Joey would be furious, probably, if he knew they were doing this. Fucking on the floor. He squirmed, prying his cuffs off his wrists, sliding his hands slowly down his stomach. Fucking on--

Chris caught his wrists and pushed them onto the floor, one either side his ass, and Justin heard a little frustrated moan come from his own throat. "But--"

"I wanna fuck you," Chris said, dangerously soft, and a pulse went through his cock; "I've wanted to fuck you for, like, weeks," and he was stroking Justin's hands, light swirls of sensation, "and believe me, you'll enjoy it a lot more if you haven't just jerked off."

"Ok," Justin agreed, word slipping loosely from his mouth, "ok, yeah, ok--"

"Not that I wouldn't love to watch, some time," Chris added, releasing his wrists and stretching out next to him, and Justin grinned and then inhaled a spike of air as Chris started licking his throat, ice-hot, velvet soft.

"Mmm," he said, tilting his head up agreeably.

"You wanna turn over?" Chris murmured, fingers stroking lazily up and down his chest.

Justin paused, reaching for Chris' shoulder, pushing him back. Chris blinked, visibly trying to focus, and Justin grinned. "Hi. Can we do it this way up?"

Chris blinked again, then screwed up one eye, looking at the ceiling. "Well," he said, stretching the word out sceptically, then shrugged. "I guess, but, like, it's a pain. Your legs might go numb. Plus, we're talking murder on the spine." He grinned, slowly, circling a nipple with one warm fingertip. "Better, face-down."

"Uh," Justin said, realising he was almost at a stage where he'd agree to anything as long as Chris kept going. "I just kinda don't wanna be staring" humping "at the floor."

Chris flashed him an evil grin, and Justin had a feeling he was being pretty obvious. He grinned back, uncertainly, and Chris' grin turned into a leer, all sex and approval. "You ever sucked cock?" he asked, innocently.

Justin shook his head, and Chris raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, MMC sure doesn't live up to its reputation," he said, then crawled onto Justin's body again and whispered lewdly, "you know," and his skin was hot and damp, intoxicating, "if you wanted to skip the fucking, you could just blow me and then I'll get you off however you want..."

"Fuck," Justin said faintly, the words falling like hot rocks into the base of his spine, trickling steadily into his balls. Did he want--?

Chris nuzzled his earlobe, getting it in his teeth and tugging, and Justin squirmed and ground his dick up into Chris' thigh and felt the hot ridge of Chris' dick solid against his stomach and couldn't help but imagine, like, yeah. Inside him. "Hmm?" He almost jerked at the brush of Chris' tongue just inside his ear, a featherlight damp circle, a cascade of shivers down the back of his neck. "What'cha thinking?"

"Yeah, no, I want you to fuck me," he heard himself say, and felt Chris exhale shudderily, so added, "hard," because it sounded good, and then, as he began to think about it, about exactly what was going to happen to him, "really hard, like, so I'll be thinking about it all tomorrow," and Chris got off him sharply, which was annoying because Justin's cock really wanted something warm to press into right now.

He looked up, and Chris was grinning at him crookedly, gaze lazy and hot and predatorily assured.


"You're gonna be thinking about this next week, Infant," he purred, reaching down to wrap hot fingers around Justin's cock, making him jerk his head back and almost score friction burn on the back of his scull; "now let's take this party over to a more appropriate environment."

He backed up until he was kneeling between Justin's legs, thumb drawing firm little circles just beneath the head of his cock, and Justin would've happily followed him into a pit of man-eating lizards right then so crawling the few feet to the kitchen table hardly qualified as a chore of a lifetime.

Kitchen. Chairs, from which one ate breakfast. Joey would kill them.

But... there was also no way in hell that he'd make it upstairs.

He stood up, vague thoughts of grinding down in Chris' lap sitting at the table bobbing at the edge of his mind, and then Chris put a hand on his shoulder and turned him round, bending him over the table instead and saying fire-soft in his ear, "no, bent over here does me just fine..."

"Ok," Justin managed, spreading his fingers on the smooth tabletop, with a vague thought he should be trying to be seductive at this point but frankly too far gone to care about anything but-- ah, yeah, that. Chris' finger?

Chris' thumb.

His hands tried to curl into fists, looking like claws, so he leant on his elbows instead, forearms flat against the cool surface, staring at the Ikea-clean expanse of it, inhaling sharply every time Chris' thumb pushed inside him.

"Stop moving," Chris said, and Justin nodded and sighed and then jerked again, and this was Chris' fault, clearly, because he was the one turning Justin on, he was the one making all Justin's nerve endings shimmy down into his ass, he was the one with the goddamn slick hot sensational sextoy thumb--

"Stop it," Chris said, and pressed his other hand into the small of Justin's back, pushing him firmly down onto the table. The cold prickled at his nipples; the edge dug into his stomach; his cock was out of reach. He'd never felt more turned on.

He swallowed, staring at a scratch on the perfect surface, at his own hands screwed into tight fists with the knuckles pressed into each other.

"I dunno, you're still pretty tight," Chris said, like Justin had asked him a question, and Justin gritted his teeth and tried not to moan when Chris pushed his thumb in hard to the base and made a lightning bolt shoot up his spine.

"I thought you wanted tight," he managed, anything to speed him up, and Chris gave a low laugh that pricked under his skin.

"Yeah, good point," he drawled; "Tight's very good indeed," and then the thumb had disappeared and Justin closed his eyes and waited waited waited and then he felt the hot slick push of something else -- of cock, of Chris' cock -- pressing insistently against the curve of his ass.

Chris' fingers spread him again, and then the pressure increased, building like a hot coal at the base of his cock being slowly fanned into greater and greater flames. The table was quaking slightly with the tremble of his breathing, and then the head of it pried its way inside and Justin was shuddering, his vision swimming and hazy, because Chris Kirkpatrick was fucking fucking him and jesus christ this hadn't been on the plan.

Chris slowly pushed in all the way, and Justin realised clearly that the previous plan had sucked big time, like, sucked, like, sucked Lou Pearlman's scrotum style-- and then that wasn't an image he needed right now, so he went back to thinking about how the plan had turned out. With Chris, inside him, breathing rough, proving to him why sex was better with men.

Well, so far? Yeah. This beat wrestling with a brastrap, any da--

Chris' hand shifted from the small of his back to his shoulder, a long possessive stoke accompanied by a vicious little twist of his hips, and something deep in Justin's skeleton evaporated in a seize of sparks.

"Fuck," Justin heard himself say, like a breathless afterthought, hoarse and harsh.

"Yeah, I'm just-- I'm happy now," Chris muttered, and Justin thought yeah, you fucking better be, mister, but contented himself to a gasped,

"That's good to know," when Chris' hand worked its way down to the faint curve of his hip again, locking round it and pushing in hard.

"Yeah," Chris said, speeding up, and Justin took the moment to shift his legs further apart and boy did that do something to the abstract heat collecting in the base of his spine-- "Oh yeah," Chris agreed, and Justin thought, huh, and then Chris took the new angle and ran with it and Justin gasped out,

"ok, see, this really isn't bad sex," and Chris slowed right down again. What? "What?"

"This is pre-bad sex," Chris said, then slowed down even more. "What?"

"Fuck," Justin said, screwing himself harder backward onto Chris' dick, and Chris exhaled sharply and grabbed his hips firmer, picking up the pace again.

"Ok, whatever it was, I approve," he muttered, and Justin laughed breathlessly because fuck, it was like someone had a huge hot mallet and was swinging it about in his brain, and he couldn't feel his feet, and his ass was just his favourite thing about himself right now, what with Chris fucking it just as hard as he liked, and all.

"It was, I was thinking," he managed, then groaned as Chris changed the angle slightly; "never mind." Something about an inability to multitask, which was rich coming from him given he couldn't even think and breathe at the same time right now.

"No, tell me," Chris said, mischief creeping into his voice, and Justin shuddered and saw stars and choked,

"Ok, listen, you gotta slow down again or I'm gonna come," and Chris leaned forwards and laughed truly wickedly in his ear and then slammed inside, and Justin jerked in Chris' fingers and wait wait wait hang on just--

"Damn, that's hot," Chris muttered, right in his ear, then pushing his tongue deep inside and shoving his cock in harder, "like," again, "feeling you fight it," again, and Justin's teeth were gritted so hard they were maybe fused together, "when I know what you want" fuck "to do," fuck, "is just spread your legs even wider--"

"Fuck," Justin said, doing it, feeling the angle change, get even tighter, hotter, fiercer.

"--and push your ass back," and fuck, yeah, but Chris surely couldn't get any deeper than that, "and," fuck, ok, he could, "let me do this," and Justin squirmed back hard and panted and swore and Chris' hand slipped round to squeeze his balls just as his cock slid in hard at the new tight angle and just fucking stayed there, grinding insistently--

Justin came.

--and then went back to the old rhythm, short sharp thrusts that made each of his vertebrae burst into liquid flame in turn, Chris pulling him backwards away from the table and forcing him down so he was kneeling bent over a chair instead, and then picking up the pace hard, and Justin heard himself start whimpering with every thrust and he'd come already so it wasn't supposed to feel good anymore, right? except it didn't seem to be working like that and the noise of Chris panting harshly in his ear was just sensational and he shoved his ass back harder and clamped down to see if he could make him scream and he couldn't quite--

--but that was definitely an octave higher than he'd been a moment ago.

"Christ," Chris mumbled, collapsing on his back, and the world swung slowly to a warm sweaty halt and Justin noticed his knees for the first time. They were gonna hurt tomorrow.

Chris pulled out quickly and slapped his ass, and Justin'd hissed before he realised it. Ok, the knees were gonna be the last of his worries.

He clawed himself up off the floor, leaning both hands on the table, panting. "I need water," he said distractedly, then tried to move to the sink and wobbled unforgivably. "Scratch that. I need to lie down."

He walked determinedly through to the lounge, almost tripping over Chris' plate, and heard a low laugh in the background. "Trash," Chris said, and Justin raised his head indignantly before hearing Chris continue, "fucking Fatone kitchens, all the same, hiding the garbage... aha," and then a door shutting and the blast of a tap.

His legs were wet. He stared at them and then, with great presence of mind, reached for a cushion and wiped himself off. He could feel the sweat drying slowly, especially where he was trembling against the couch. He sent up a private apology to Joey and Joey's drycleaners.

"Ew, man," Chris said, he came back from the trashcan, holding out a glass of water.

"Oops," Justin murmured, taking the it gratefully, downing the entire blissfully cold wet glassful as Chris curled up next to him.

"Oops," Chris agreed, resting his head on Justin's shoulder. Justin licked his lips happily and shuffled slightly, so Chris's head rested in the hollow at the base of his throat. Chris wriggled comfortably, then sat up and shifted round totally so he was between Justin's legs, leaning back on his chest.

"Comfortable?" Justin asked, amused.

"Mmm," Chris agreed, then craned his head round. "See, you're taller so you've gotta be the man."

Justin laughed shortly. "I'm the man? Dude, my ass says you're the man."

"I'm da man," Chris pronounced, proudly.

Justin brought his arms up around him, playing with the chunky beads around Chris' neck. "Well, I guess," he said, slowly, fingers straying to play with Chris' collarbone instead, "we've both gotta be men, since that was the point of the whole sex with men thing being better. thing," he added, wondering when his vocabulary had gotten so lazy.

Probably about the time he failed to think of a good reason why Chris shouldn't fuck him, actually.

Weird that he still couldn't think of one.

Although, well, lucky, actually. In the scheme of things.

"Fuck," Chris said, drowsily. "I'm falling asleep. You wanna go crash in one of Joey's beds?"

Justin raised his eyebrows. "What, together?"

"No, I want you to go crash and I'll keep this nice comfortable too-short come-stained couch," Chris replied mildly, and Justin hit him over the head with a cushion.



"Slut," Justin retorted, and Chris stood up and grabbed his hand.

"Wanna come to bed, dirty little cocksucking motherfucking whore?" he asked, politely.

Justin pretended to consider, a moment, before pulling himself up by Chris' hand and seeing something relax in Chris' eyes. "I never sucked your cock," he said, and Chris grinned delightedly and cupped the back of his head and kissed him, fast, like a snakebite.

"But, but, this mouth, this hair," he said, helplessly. "You were built for it."

Justin tried to grab Chris' hair in his fist, found it went through like soft soft sand. "You... were built for it when you had dreads," he said, and looked away sharply, shaking his fist against Chris' shoulder. "Damn. You were so built for it. I'm so slow."

Chris laughed, turning Justin's head back to meet his mouth. "When I suck your cock, you won't be able to even remember what your hand is," he murmured, biting liquidly at his lips, sliding his tongue inside and making the hairs on the back of Justin's neck stand up.

"Promises, promises," he managed, kissing back, trying to take charge and failing utterly.

"Mmm, but didn't I promise you'd be thinking about your ass a week from now?"

"That's a good point."

"And how would you feel about repeating the experience first thing tomorrow morning?"

Ow. Ow. "Uh... yeah, I. Kinda, no," he said, cringing slightly, "I mean, it'd be good, yeah, but..." and then blinking when he realised Chris laughing at him silently, or rather, trying to laugh silently and failing. "What?"

Chris pressed his fist to his mouth, shoulders shaking.

Justin grinned uncertainly. "What? C'mon, man..."

"See, tomorrow," Chris managed, eventually, "If I fucked you? that'd be like the bad-sex toast," he said, and dissolved again, "you get it now? I bet you do," and then recovering long enough to nuzzle Justin's ear and whisper, loudly and clearly, "don't worry, dude; tomorrow, you can do me."

Tomorrow, Justin thought haphazardly, aware they should go get their clothes but content to let Chris' hand wander covetously down his back for now; tomorrow, Joey would be back. And they'd have a plane to catch.

"Mmm," he agreed, frowning slightly. He smoothed his hands up Chris' back, wishing he couldn't feel the fatigue in both of them because damnit, tomorrow, there just wasn't gonna be enough time.

And... he really wanted there to be time.

Chris stretched against him, his hand sliding up Justin's spine and into his hair and pulling his head back, and then he was licking his throat in long, languorous sweeps of bright wet heat and Justin was shivering, locking his arm round Chris' back.

He wondered if his nerves would ever go back to not being hardwired to shiver at the slightest brush of Chris' tongue, and realised slowly that of all the things on his To Do list, Chris was most definitely at the top.

Tomorrow, tomorrow... The limo was coming at ass o'clock, right after their stupidly early breakfast. They could not fuck in a limo, especially not with Joey there -- and after that? They did kinda have a concert to do.

"Ok," Chris mumbled, against his collarbone. "I'm gonna pass out in about ten seconds. You're gonna have to carry me."

"No chance," Justin said, unwrapping himself, and Chris sighed and glared at him and tugged him across the room towards the door.

Of course, Joey generally tended to eat quickly with two minutes to spare and then rush out the door... and while Justin was usually quite happy scarfing a bowl of cereal, maybe tomorrow he'd change his mind at the last minute and want toast instead. And with that toaster? After Chris' pushed down the lever, and with them both fully aware they couldn't slip in another piece without ruining Chris' breakfast?

They could follow in a cab.

tt calico

Author's ramble:

disclaimer: written and rewritten within 24 hours, under conditions of extreme exhaustion. hence weirdness.

people: this comes with apologies to Dale and Dacey for not having delivered their pirate birthday story yet, a sly nod to julad who made me relocate the sex because she was picky over the sub-sub-subgenre <g>, and thanks to Wax for nodding in all the right places. whew.

drrrugs: hmmm. apparently, I have a thing for getting them stoned. ah well. I'm sure they don't mind.

stoner: Well, ok, so this is how I see Chris when he's been smoking. does it make me sick that imo the red tinge to the eyes looks hot as hell? yeah? Well, gee. there's something we never knew. <g>

anyone for toast?