He eventually parked and strolled the strips casually. A few turns in, things were quieter; the signs less tactful, less bright, but even more colourful than before. The only women he saw were taller than he was, their faces disturbingly masculine and their voices poorly disguised bass tones. Great, JC thought grimly. Gay section. Just what I need. Still, he did not turn back. Not yet. He would stroll the circuit and then turn back and go home, and at least he could say that he'd tried.

And then maybe he'd take five sleeping pills and hope to sleep into next week.

It was on a particularly quiet strip that he spotted a small gaggle of young men, too old to be hoodlums; too well-dressed to be hoodlums. They leaned lazily against the shop fronts, sharing Coronas or cigarettes, dressed in an assortment of colours, none as bright as their drag-queen counterparts. Nothing more loud than a tasteful orange, here. JC walked past them, trying to see them without making eye contact, wondering how old they were; perhaps they were there to play into some pervert's NAMBLA fantasy. One such youth, a lithe, almost skinny Latino, stepped out, partially obstructing his path. "Hi, beautiful," he practically purred, reaching out to tug gently on the lapel of JC's business coat. "You just looking and not touching tonight?"

JC shook his head slightly. "I haven't decided yet," he admitted, looking over the youth's cheekbones, nearly as severely chiseled as his own, close-cropped black hair, and mesh muscle shirt, obscured by a fine camel-hair overcoat. He clashed, but it was a tasteful clash.

"I'm Cal," the young man pressed on, and JC could feel himself drawn to Cal's charisma even with this short exchange. "You got a wife? I'll make you forget her. I'll make you forget all your problems," he assured JC, and it certainly sounded appealing when he put it that way. He had no doubt that Cal was skilled at what he did. Still, he suspected that he would quickly tire of Cal's self-confidence -- if that was what he could call it -- and wrenched his gaze away to look down the street.

Another of the group of young men leaned casually against a street lamp post not ten feet ahead of them, one hand in the pocket of his black leather pants, the other holding a cigarette. His hair stood out in a tiny halo from his head in the light from the street lamp -- an ironic effect, JC noted. The black leather tee that he wore to match his pants stretched tightly across his chest and over his shoulders, and JC's gaze lingered on his upper body -- bulkier than Cal's was -- for a moment before looking back.

JC smiled politely at Cal, speeding up just enough to pass him. "No, thanks," he refused, then flickered his gaze down to the street once more, slightly disturbed. What did he want, exactly, if he was strolling a strip full of prostitutes and yet refusing offers?

Cal took up a backwards pace, keeping in step with him, and JC slowed again, intimidated by the frank stare on the prostitute's face. "What? Come on; you wanted an escort service? We're classy here," he gestured around him to the few other young men who stood nearby and was met with answering nods. "I'm classy," he insisted, flipping his jacket open slightly to show the silk lining.

JC shook his head. "No, really; it's not you, I'm just... not sure this is what I was looking for, is all," he finished, already looking for a means of escape.

A deep voice cut through the chatter of Cal's friends, silencing them, to JC's surprise. "Dig your claws into something else, Calgon. The man said he's not interested."

Cal promptly spun, his face twisting into a sneer, and JC followed his gaze to the young man smoking by the street lamp. Under his stare, the young man glanced back over his shoulder at him briefly and JC could finally see his face. He wore an expression of disinterest, his face passively neutral. His skin seemed to shimmer slightly in the light, but all JC could see was the paleness of his eyes as they flickered over him before returning to Cal. "Leave him alone; you heard him," he told the other prostitute, his voice carrying easily without yelling, and he took another drag from his cigarette.

They had stopped dead on the sidewalk, JC suddenly realized, feeling Cal's irritation crackling from him in waves. "What," Cal challenged the other man. "You not busy enough tonight? You don't get enough, so you gotta steal mine, too?"

JC frowned. If I was gonna go with you before, I'm sure as hell not now, he thought, annoyed.

"He's not yours, Calgon," the smoker pointed out. "He said no. You did hear that, didn't you?"

"Oh, right, right," Cal acknowledged, nodding in mock understanding. "I forgot. Jay-Jay Bass, our local advocate against date rape."

It seemed as though JC were watching a perverse tennis match. He felt himself move backwards, out of the line of fire between the two men, and watched their gazes, Cal's intense and full of fury, Jay-Jay's cold and penetrating.

"Tell me," Jay-Jay began, turning his body so that he rested his back against the post rather than his shoulder. Flicking ash from the stub he still held, he stared at it disinterestedly. "How long did it take your ass to heal after that trucker laid into you? One week, or two?" He shook his head sadly, his eyes wide. "'Cause gee, I just don't remember; can you?"

Cal actually snarled at that. "You bitch," he hissed, clenching his hands into fists, and Jay-Jay simply turned his back, flipping Cal the middle finger over his shoulder. He put out his cigarette and stepped off of the sidewalk, jaywalking to the other side of the street, and JC turned to see Cal restraining himself, stalking back to his friends. It was puzzling; he could only assume that there must have been something hanging over the boys' heads that prevented Cal from simply rushing over to Jay-Jay and picking a fight. Cal, after all, didn't seem the restrained type.

With one backwards glance, JC hurried to catch up with Jay-Jay, already gaining ground across the street. "Hey," he breathed, reaching out and touching the other man on the shoulder. Jay-Jay turned sharply at the gesture, but relaxed when he seemed to recognize JC's face.

"What?"

"I just wanted to thank you. You know, for getting Cal off my back," JC explained, pointing with his thumb back to where Cal and his friends stood.

Jay-Jay shrugged, both hands in his pockets now. "No problem," he said, glancing about them both. "But look... um..." he looked up at JC, concern tainting his features, whether real or imagined on JC's part. "You might wanna be careful. I mean, do you really think you should be hanging around here? I'm just saying."

JC took in the youth before him -- he thought of him as a 'youth' because the kid didn't look a day over twenty. He'd have to force himself to take the kid seriously, if at all. Jay-Jay was shorter than him by a good few inches, and though his shoulders were broad and his arms looked as though they could be strong, he seemed far too delicate for JC to imagine him fending off any potential attackers, or even a john who became too demanding. But as his gaze swept down Jay-Jay's arms, JC noticed pale specks that stood out even against the other man's already fair skin. Scars; needle tracks. It occured to JC that perhaps Jay-Jay could defend himself just fine after all.

He nodded carefully, acknowledging Jay-Jay's comment. "I'm not exactly sure how I ended up here, to be honest," he admitted. "But..." he hesitated. Now that he no longer stood in the light of a street lamp, Jay-Jay's illusory halo was gone, but JC could see the remnants of a bleach job highlighting the tips of darker spiked hair. His smooth brows and cheekbones perfectly framed those pale eyes that JC had noticed before, large and clear, and the shade of green apples. They seemed cold, though, and emotionless, and JC found that he could not look into them for long.

But there was something enigmatic about the man who would be a prostitute defending a would-be john, who would walk away from a fight, who would advise a larger man to be careful in unfamiliar territory. "Can I maybe..." he started, then mentally kicked himself. "I mean, do you want to...." He trailed off. Do you want to come back with me to my place and stay? Make me feel like maybe my life isn't so empty? Be someone who doesn't only want me for my fame or my pull in the industry? Hell, even if all Jay-Jay wanted from JC was his money for a night spent with him, it was better than being used for his name.

Jay-Jay seemed to understand what he was asking, at least on the surface, and flashed him a winning smile, revealing even white teeth and a tiny dimple. "Hey, sure I will," he assured JC, extending his hand. "I'm Jay," he told him, shaking his hand firmly.

"Jay? What happened to Jay-Jay?" JC asked, returning the handshake, and noting that as wide as that smile was, it didn't touch the ice in the youth's eyes.

"Just a nickname," was the response, and JC let it go, introducing himself in turn. "Where's your car; is it around here?" Jay inquired, peering down the row of parked vehicles as though he were waiting for JC to point his out among the crowd.

Visions of a secretive tryst carried out in the back seat ran through JC's head, and he physically drew back at the thought. That was not the kind of encounter he had in mind. "No," he stammered. "No -- I wanted to maybe take you back to my place; can you do that kind of thing?"

"Yeah, sure," Jay nodded, gesturing ahead of him. "Lead the way."

"So..." JC began as they walked side-by-side, trying to remember in which direction he should head next to find his car. "Cal... Calgon... what's his real name?"

Jay threw his head back and laughed slightly, a low, throaty chuckle. "Oh, Cal's short for Calvin. Me and some others just call him Calgon because he acts like such a soap queen. And 'cause he hates it; it pisses him off, gets under his skin."

"And he, in turn, calls you a bitch," JC observed, risking a sidelong glance at the other man.

Jay looked back at him. "Everybody calls me that," he corrected, and shrugged. "It's my rep; I wear it with pride," he said matter-of-factly.

"You sure it's okay for you to come with me?" JC asked, curious as to how Jay operated. "I mean, I could just cut you up into little pieces and they would find you in my freezer like a month later."

Jay turned to stare at him incredulously. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

JC simply shrugged, grinning nervously. He wasn't sure if he'd scared Jay or put him on edge, but he considered the risk to be something worth thinking about.

"I could get killed in the backseat of some john's car, too," Jay pointed out after a moment, and JC agreed that yes, he could. "And," Jay added, "How do you know I'm not gonna cut you up and stuff you into your freezer? Who knows you're with me? Nobody."

JC refused to allow himself to be chilled by that thought. "Here's my car," he muttered gruffly, unlocking it, and they both climbed in without any further words.

"So tell me," he finally spoke up after he grew uncomfortable with the silence. "If you call Cal 'Calgon', what do the other guys call you to piss you off?"

Jay shrugged, looking out of the passenger window. "Nothing makes me madder than being called by my middle name," he said.

"Which is?"

They exchanged glances and Jay shot him a smile. "Fat chance."

"So," JC prompted, "what happens if they call you by your middle name?"

"I'll claw their eyes out; they only do it once and that's it," Jay answered simply. JC could not tell whether or not he was being serious. He decided he'd rather not know.

two

JC's apartment was modest, as far as penthouse apartments went, but it was clear that Jay had not been this close to a building quite this nice or this tall from the way his eyes widened when they approached. Tilting his head back to take in the very top of the building when JC pointed out that that was where he lived, Jay recovered nicely, JC had to admit, and did not flinch when the doorman opened the doors for them. "Nice digs," Jay murmured, his voice disinterested, but his eyes were attempting to take in every detail of the intricate ornamentation.

Once they'd actually entered his apartment, JC attempted to at least be a gracious host, uncertain as to what else he could do. "Do you want anything to drink?" he offered, moving towards the bar in the corner of the den.

Jay shrugged indifferently, glancing over his shoulder to see him. "Rum, whiskey, whatever; sure."

JC poured out whiskey for them both and made his way carefully back to where Jay sat. "I don't suppose you need to drink to loosen your inhibitions, huh?" he asked with a small smile, handing a glass to the other man. Judging from the slight track scars he could make out on Jay's arms, he didn't think so.

Jay snorted in amusement. "No, I guess not." He peered at JC curiously. "Is that what this drink's for? To loosen your inhibitions?"

JC took a deep breath and shrugged. "You're the veteran; I've never done this before."

Downing the contents of the glass in one gulp, Jay wiped the condensation from bottom of the glass with his hand and set it down on the coffee table. "Hey, whatever you need to do."

JC studied him as he continued to sip from his own glass. "So, um... how... how does this work? Do you have... like, prices? Or..." he trailed off, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and simply wrong. What was he doing? What had possessed him to pick up this youth with the cold, hard eyes and the wide, winning smile that didn't touch them?

Jay promptly righted himself from his slouch, leaning forward slightly with his elbows on his knees, clearly more comfortable now that he knew where the conversation was heading. "Well, okay. Um, your standard rates... it's fifty for a blow job. A hundred to fuck me. One twenty-five if you want me to fuck you, and three hundred if you want me to stay the night either way. Um..." his gaze travelled heavenward. "I do kinks; it's seventy-five for your basic... you know, you want a finger fuck or a sponge bath, or you wanna come on me... that kinda thing. If you want me to role-play, you need to add the seventy-five to whatever your rate was before. I'll do anything; I'll be your wife, your brother, your parole officer, your mom..." he shrugged. "I don't judge."

He paused in thought. "Two things I don't do -- I don't swallow, and I don't rim. That's fuckin' nasty. You want that, you go to Georgio, and tell him Jay-Jay sent you."

"There's that Jay-Jay name again," JC observed, leaning in further.

Jay nodded. "It's what my preferred clients call me," he informed him.

"Is it what your family calls you?"

"Well, if you were family, I guess you'd know, wouldn't you?" Jay asked dryly.

JC conceded the point.

"Oh," Jay added, his gaze sweeping over JC's chest, "and if you want it rough, it's an extra fifty, and my boss doesn't take well to bruises. He will come after you if you break a bone." He flashed a ghost of a grin in JC's direction, as though he'd witnessed such vengeance firsthand, and settled back on the couch once more. "I think that covers it for now."

Wow, JC thought, slightly repulsed by the contents of Jay's speech and trying not to let it show on his face. This was what he dealt with on a daily basis? People asked these things of him? Of course, you idiot, he chastised himself. He's a prostitute. That's what he does. And you're buying him, aren't you? "Your boss?" he asked finally, finishing his drink. He thought he might need to fix himself another. "You mean, like... your..." he was unable to finish. Did male prostitution work like female prostitution did? Was the terminology the same?

Jay seemed to understand the cause of his hesitation. "You mean, is he my pimp?" he asked, and JC nodded slightly. "Yeah, that's basically it," Jay admitted. "But I don't like to use the word, 'cause..." he chuckled slightly. "It makes me feel like a whore. Which, I mean, I know I am, but even whores don't like to feel like they're whores all the time, right?"

JC shrugged uneasily, unsure how to respond.

"Johnny..." Jay continued, not waiting for JC to say anything. "He treats me good. He looks out for me. He takes care of whatever I need. Food, my apartment, clothes, medical..."

"Drugs?" JC supplied, with a surreptitious glance at Jay's pale, scarred skin.

Jay gave him a long, penetrating look. "I call it pain relief," he said simply, and under that stare JC had to look away. After a silence, he spoke up again, softly. "It's not like I'm addicted, you know," he said. "And it's not always shooting up, either."

JC shook his head, sorry he'd spoken. "No, I... it's not my... I don't judge," he told him, quoting Jay's earlier words, and Jay seemed to relax slightly at that. "I know what it's like to not want to feel, too," he added.

Jay laughed out loud, a deep huff and gasp that filled the room. "Excuse me? Mister 'I-live-in-a-high-rise-with-bellboys-and-you-need-a-key-just-to-look-in-the-lobby'? Mister 'I-can-afford-to-wipe-my-ass-with-fifty-dollar-bills'? You know pain? Right."

JC thought it better to remain silent, to not tell Jay about the lonely nights where he couldn't be certain that that blonde was talking to him because she wanted to get to know him better or if she simply wanted him to write a song for her, or maybe buy her a car or a house while he was at it. He chose not to tell Jay about the fake, false, nauseating music industry where one was not nice unless it was part of an 'You scratch my back; I'll scratch yours' deal, where every song he wrote was a favour and for every album he wanted to work on he had to earn with favours of his own. He chose not to mention the crippling, crushing despair that sometimes nearly made him want to take his own life, that had him cruising around the gay strips in L.A. -- searching for what, he still did not know -- where he had seen this weathered youth and felt the inexplicable need to reach out, to seek companionship.

Instead he stood, retrieving both his and Jay's glasses from the table, and cleared his throat. "So you said it's three hundred for a whole night, huh?" he asked. Jay nodded at him, and JC pursed his lips thoughtfully, meeting that cold, hardened gaze with one of his own. "Then that's what I'll take," he told him, fearing how he would handle the night if Jay stayed.

"Okay then," Jay agreed, standing as well. "Just show me where you want to do this." And JC did; but he had to fix himself another whiskey first.

"Okay, I have one rule I always save for last 'cause people seem to forget," Jay stated once in JC's bedroom as he unbuckled his belt, shimmying the tight leather past his hips and revealing the black briefs beneath.

"What's that? That you don't kiss on the mouth?" JC asked, smiling, as he arched an eyebrow at the younger man.

Jay laughed as he stepped out of his pants. "I'm not Pretty Woman," he informed JC. "I decide that on a mouth by mouth basis." Scooping up the discarded pants from the floor, he folded them halfheartedly and dropped them on the floor by the bed.

JC followed Jay to his bed. "And how does my mouth rate?" he pressed further.

The youth sighed. "You can kiss my mouth if you want to," he declared off-handedly. "But that wasn't my rule." He regarded JC seriously, sizing him up. "My last rule is this: keep your hands off my dick. If I need to get off I'll take care of it my own damn self."

JC blinked, stunned. "Does that kind of thing happen a lot?" he wondered.

"What, getting felt up?" Jay asked, then shook his head. "Usually all a john wants is to stick it in you and come, and that's it," he explained. "Just sometimes you get one that wants to be all--" he formed quotation marks with his fingers-- "considerate, and try to get me off, too."

JC wasn't sure that he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. "So the sex never does anything for you?"

Jay shrugged, tugging up on the hem of his shirt. "Usually? I'll be honest with you -- I try not to think about it too much. But I'm only human; if they hit the right spot I'm gonna get hard, end of story. I just wanna be the one to take care of it, that's all." Pausing, he added, "If I'm the one doing the fucking, though, it takes a bit more concentration. Obviously," he added.

He finished peeling the shirt over his head and folded it as well, setting it on top of his pants before sitting down. Catching JC's gaze, he gave the older man a knowing smile. "Yes, I folded them. It's impossible to get a crease out of leather and that outfit cost a fortune, so don't step on them, okay?"

At JC's smile and nod, he scooted further up on the bed. "So, how do you want this?"

"Excuse me?"

Jay patted the bed beside him. "First of all, you have to be here if we're gonna have sex. Second, I mean how do you wanna do this? Blow job first? Positions? Anything special you want me to do?"

"Oh, um..." JC stammered, suddenly feeling even more scrutinized than before. "I guess..." he stepped closer to the bed, unbuttoning his cufflinks, then the other buttons on his shirt. "I just wanna be able to look at you," he admitted. "You're really..." he sighed, not sure how to describe it; how Jay's large, clear eyes created the illusion of youth and innocence in his face. Or how the fullness of his cheeks, the severe arch of his eyebrows, or the way his lips naturally pouted down at the sides were slightly feminine. "You look really nice," he finished lamely.

Rolling his eyes slightly and smiling as if to say that he'd heard similar comments in the past, Jay rose from the bed. "Well, come over here, then," he instructed gently, taking JC by the hand and leading him back. Now that they were standing so closely together, JC could see that the blond wasn't as short as he'd seemed earlier; JC had maybe two inches, tops, over him.

Jay reached into JC's shirt with one hand, deftly unfastening the remainder of the buttons with the other, his eyes boring into JC's the entire time. When he had exposed a suitable patch of skin, he leaned in and nipped at JC's chest, caressing his midsection. Applying some pressure, he somehow spun them and managed to lower JC on to the bed, climbing up over it to straddle him as he continued to undress the older man.

"You didn't lose your virginity like this, did you?" JC asked as Jay pressed a kiss to JC's hipbone, licking over the curve of skin there. "You know... to a john?"

Jay shook his head, not lifting it to meet JC's gaze. "No, I lost it to my asshole ex-boyfriend when he had too much to drink and decided that 'no' meant 'fuck me now'," he murmured, his voice matter-of-fact.

"Oh, my God," JC whispered, sitting up slightly as he pulled away. Jay followed his motions, drawing closer to continue his ministrations. "I'm sorry; that's awful." It certainly helped to explain Jay's earlier defense against Cal; that much was for sure.

Shrugging, Jay looked up at JC. "Oh well," he said. "At least he got hauled in for assault when he broke my arm, even if it was only overnight."

"That's..." JC trailed off, unsure what else to say. But Jay didn't seem affected in the least by revealing this tidbit about himself; he might as well have been announcing that his eyes were green.

JC allowed himself to rest back on the bed as Jay removed his own briefs and kissed trails up his body, unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny scars that pocked the insides of the youth's elbows, his forearms and biceps. Jay's hands were skillful upon him, and surprisingly, despite his unease with the situation, JC found himself becoming aroused. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the fact that he was using this man, paying him to touch him like this, gently, almost lovingly, so much so that if he tried he could easily believe that it was not a stranger doing this to him.

When Jay slid a condom over JC's erection, JC tried to contemplate ways to bring Jay some pleasure as well, refusing the oral sex that the younger man offered him. He tenderly grasped Jay by the hips when the blond slipped beneath him on the bedspread, gripping JC about the waist with his knees. And as he sank slowly into the man below him, JC closed his eyes as he kissed Jay, and asked himself for the thousandth time that night just what the hell he was doing.

A few minutes later, Jay asked him the same thing.

JC looked at him in surprise, taking in the blond's bewildered expression. "I'm trying to be considerate, like you said," he breathed, his pulse already racing as he moved within him. "I don't want this to go just one way." He meant it. He didn't want to be plundering an unresponsive body; somehow the act would seem less tainted if he could fix that.

Jay shook his head, turning it to face the wall. "Well, stop it. I'm not in the mood, okay?" He sighed. "I mean," he amended, turning back to JC, his face softening. "I mean, please. Don't." He reached up between their bodies and caressed JC's nipples to hardness once more, allowing his hands to travel down and cup JC's butt in his hands, pulling the older man more deeply within him, kneading the flesh with his fingers. "Just... come," Jay told him, and JC could not tell whether or not the younger man's breathlessness was feigned.

JC closed his eyes yet again, trying to forget the details that had him making love to -- no, 'fucking' was the word Jay had used -- this man, instead concentrating on the tightness that enveloped him, so warm, scalding him, stroking and squeezing and teasing him with every movement of his hips. He concentrated on the fingers that trailed blazing paths along his skin with such expertise and tried to forget how that expertise was gained. He felt the tightness in his lower belly and sped up, thrust harder, thought that he heard a moan that wasn't his. Finally he released himself, shuddering briefly, holding himself still, supporting himself upon trembling arms. He opened his eyes, looking into Jay's own -- impossibly green -- and quickly withdrew, tossing the used condom away and allowing himself to collapse on his pillow. He waited until he'd caught his breath to dare glancing in Jay's direction again.

Jay rolled over on to his stomach, eyes drooping half-closed as he attempted to stare up at JC. And JC watched him; watched the light from the nightstand play off of his features and off of the blond in his hair, casting a warm glow upon his upper back. He had glitter sprinkled upon his cheeks, JC could see now, as his gaze swept over the younger man's body, examining the curve of muscle in his arm and along his shoulder. Making eye contact, Jay raised his eyebrows and grinned playfully. "What're you starin' at?" he asked, playing coy for the first time that evening.

JC shrugged, not sure whether to be sheepish about being caught. "You," he admitted. "You look nice."

Jay's smile grew slightly. "You said that already."

Was this kid going to kill every attempt he made at small talk? JC wondered. "I, uh... couldn't help but notice you have an accent," he tried again. "Are you from L.A.?"

Jay shook his head. "Mississippi, born and bred," he drawled wryly, closing his eyes. "But I've been out here since I was 16."

The words were said as though that were eons ago, and JC realized with a start that he'd never bothered to find out how old the prostitute was. "And how old are you now?" he inquired.

He was met with a chuckle as Jay cracked one eye open. "I'm legal, don't worry. Though it's a little too late for you to be asking now anyway."

JC met his one-eyed stare, frustrated with Jay's evasions. He was just trying to be nice. "I didn't ask if you were legal; I asked how old you were." Sighing, he passed his fingers over his eyes and continued. "My God, how do you keep clients with this attitude?" he muttered.

His tone seemed to do the trick; Jay drew back slightly, narrowing his eyes. "I'm not called the bitch for nothing; the johns know what they're getting when they ask for me. And I'm 21," he stated flatly. "Five years in this blissful utopia. Anything else you wanna know?"

"Well, yeah." JC propped himself up on one elbow. "Like where'd a high-school dropout like you get that vocabulary?"

Jay mimicked his motions, propping himself up as well. He shrugged. "I like to read. Always liked to read. I used to be really good at school, you know? Math, science..." he shrugged again.

"And you left that to come here?"

"You mean I left it to come here and do this," Jay corrected, and JC had to admit that he was right. "'Cause you wouldn't be asking if I left home to be a movie star or a singer or some shit like that. I mean, you don't know. Maybe that's what I wanted, and I got a bum rap. You don't know," Jay repeated, casting his gaze down on the sheets, spreading his hand out over them and stretching out the fabric.

"Well, is that why you left home?" JC prodded gently.

Jay shook his head. "Nah, I left home 'cause I didn't have anywhere else to go," he admitted. "I told my parents I was gay and they threw me out. Moved in with the ex, who beat me and raped me and then threw me out..." he paused. "I was giving blow jobs to horny straight guys outside of bars for meal money when Johnny found me. He said I could do better, so I went with him."

"And this--" JC gestured to himself, to the bed-- "is better?"

"Better than getting my head slammed into a bar wall when some john sobers up enough to realize he got a blow job from a fairy and not a princess," was the blunt reply, before Jay screwed his face up disgustedly. "You know, this is none of your business," he stated, turning away from JC as though preparing to sleep. Then he turned back. "Was that all you wanted?" he asked. "Or did you want me to do anything else?"

JC was suitably chastised, immediately sorry that he'd pried. "Do people usually want you to do something else?" If he was prying again, at least this was related to Jay's job and not his personal life.

The corner of Jay's mouth turned up slightly. "Answer my question."

"No, I don't want you to do anything else," JC told him seriously. "Now, answer mine."

"Yes," Jay responded. "Yes, usually if I'm hired for the night, I'm expected to do more than lie on my back just once. But if you're done, I'm done. You're done, right?" he asked, and JC nodded dumbly in response. "Fine," he concluded, and sat up, the sheets around him pooling in his lap. "Then do you mind if I smoke?"

JC groaned, feeling the warmth of the mid-morning sun beat down upon his face, and checked his digital alarm clock. 10:22. He rolled over to bury his head in his pillow. It was too early to be awake; he hadn't set his alarm, he didn't have any meetings to attend until after noon, and he was a notoriously heavy sleeper. Why had he woken up so early? He never woke up this early without prompting unless he had someone over to....

He squeezed his eyes further shut, remembering in a rush the events of the previous night; the lonely strip of prostitutes, Jay's striking eyes, him paying the younger man to stay the night. Reaching out blindly under the covers, JC felt around for a body. His hand brushed over smooth skin and fine hairs, trailing downward until he encountered Jay's knee.

Jay jerked away from his touch, and JC finally opened his eyes to find the blond propped up on his elbow once more, watching him through narrowed eyes. "It's morning now," Jay warned him, his voice deeper and hoarser from lack of use. "You don't get a do over, so keep your hands to yourself."

"You're up," JC mumbled, wiping his eyes tiredly.

"I sleep light," Jay told him. "But now you're up, too, so...." He rolled out of bed, squatting by his discarded clothes as he gathered them.

JC sighed and sat up, rubbing his hands over his head, mussing his already untidy hair. "So... what happens now? You just leave?"

Jay nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Pretty much. Can I use your shower?"

JC nodded dumbly, gesturing to the open door across the room. "Sure; sure, go ahead." Once Jay had carried his things into the bathroom and closed the door, JC sprang into action. Grabbing his robe from the door, he made his way to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, slipping two bagels into the toaster. He pegged an orange and munched on that while he waited for the water to turn off.

Soon Jay emerged from the bedroom, back in his clothes, his hair limp and damp from his shower. His head down, he tucked a cigarette behind his ear, peering into his tiny change purse as he made his way over to the door. "Well," he announced, "I guess this is it, so I'll just get out of here..."

"Hang on," JC stopped him. He gestured behind him into the kitchen. "Can I get you anything for breakfast?"

"Oh, no, I'm good," Jay insisted. He plucked the cigarette free and held it up. "This is breakfast," he added, grinning.

"Do you need a ride back?"

Jay shook his head. "I'll take a cab." He sighed. "You already paid me, you know; your part of the deal is done."

"Look," JC went on, crossing the room. "Just take a bagel with you. Eat it, or don't eat it; I don't care." He pressed it into Jay's hand. "Thank you, for last night," he said evenly, making sure to look Jay right in the eyes. "I know I paid you, but I never thanked you."

Jay averted his gaze. "Yeah," he said, taking the bagel and shrugging somewhat uneasily as he reached for the doorknob. JC held it open for him.

"The strip where I saw you last night," he said suddenly. "Do you usually hang out there?"

Jay turned back to him, nodding. "Yeah, so if you want more sometime... I'm always around." Delivering a close-lipped smile, Jay slipped over the threshhold, darting down the hall, and JC slowly closed the door, already contemplating what he'd ask for the next time he sought Jay out.

three

"Hey, Cal," JC greeted the beauty as he approached; he had to remind himself not to address the youth as 'Calgon', after his conversation with Jay the night before. "Look -- no hard feelings about last night, right?"

Cal shrugged dismissively, stepping closer despite the obvious distance JC had deliberately put between them. "Of course not," he smiled sweetly. "After all, you came back, didn't you?" He frowned thoughtfully. "Jay-Jay didn't do it for you last night? Because I assure you, whatever he's missin', I more than make up for. You know... inches, girth..." he trailed off suggestively.

I'm sure, JC thought, inwardly rolling his eyes. "Actually, though, I kinda wanted to talk to him -- do you know where he is? I was told he'd be around."

"Oh." Cal's charm faded at the rebuff, and he nodded half-heartedly to something behind JC. "He's over there."

JC turned, gazing across the street, his eyes travelling over the handful of cars parked there, and failed to see Jay anywhere. "Over there across the street?" he prodded, glancing up both sides of the road in case he'd missed something.

Cal took him by the shoulders and directed him to face north-east. "There as in the backseat of that Corolla, blowing somebody, or getting fucked, or something."

JC stared hard at the parked Toyota for only a brief moment before looking away. He didn't want to witness... what, exactly, he was not sure. It wasn't as though the car were rocking or anything. He felt his face flush, furious with himself for not thinking, for forgetting somehow that Jay did tricks, that this was his life, his job. That he hadn't been standing against that lamp post the previous night because he was waiting for JC specifically; he'd simply been waiting out a slow period until some new john sauntered his way, or drove past, asking for his services.

"Thanks," he murmured absently, glancing back at the car just as the back door opened and Jay leaned out, stepping into the street without checking for traffic. He tugged his shirt -- a thin, brightly coloured button-down he left open over a wifebeater -- down and started across the street, slowing as he spotted JC.

"Hey," he called, raising his eyebrows expectantly and smiling slightly. He raised a hand to rub at his other arm through his shirt as though he were cold. "Anything I can do for you?"

JC shrugged uneasily. "Wanna go for a walk? Come back to my place again, maybe?"

Jay nodded, pulling out a cigarette and putting it in his mouth to light it. "Okay," he muttered around the obstruction between his lips. "Same thing? The full night?"

"Yeah," JC responded, already leading the way to his car. He walked briskly, forcing Jay to trail him. He didn't have an exclusive right to Jay's company, he reminded himself. He was a paying customer just like everyone else; hell, he wasn't even a preferred client... not yet, anyway. Just because he had benefitted from Jay's company last night did not imply that Jay had similarly profitted aside from the $300 in cash that JC had delivered.

Jay caught up with him at the car, jogging slightly, and JC avoided eye contact, feeling slight guilt over his own affected coolness. Outside of the passenger door, the younger man sucked furiously upon his cigarette. "Do I need to finish this, or can I smoke in your car?" he asked, leaning with his elbows over the top of the vehicle.

JC grimaced. "Um... I don't really...." Despite allowing Jay to smoke in his room the previous night -- which he'd immediately regretted -- he hated smoke; he thought it was disgusting for a personal choice. He didn't think less of smokers, but he most definitely did not want the smell clinging to the inside of his vehicle.

Jay correctly interpreted his response. "Fine," he muttered, tugging the stub from his lips and putting it out on the sidewalk before opening the door and climbing inside.

JC followed suit, starting the car, and watched the blond rub his arms again before folding them across his chest. "You didn't have to put it out right away, you know; I would've waited for you to fin-- hey, are you cold or something?" he asked, and Jay swiveled his head to look at him, startled.

"Huh?"

JC indicated his folded arms. "You keep rubbing your arms. I can turn on the heat if you want."

Jay glanced down at his biceps and unfolded his arms to rub them again, kneading them gently. "No, I'm fine, just... got squeezed a bit hard back there." He wrinkled his nose almost comically. "If I just didn't bruise so fuckin' easy, you know?"

JC looked away as he pulled away from the curb. "Mmmm," he said, an affirmative noise. He didn't want to think about Jay performing tricks on some guy not ten minutes ago, let alone some guy who probably got off on squeezing the younger man's arms until he grimaced in pain. Not that something similar hadn't happened the previous night, but JC did not want to know. He did not want to see it happen.

The remainder of the drive back to JC's apartment was made in silence.

"What do you want me to do?"

The question was thrown out for suggestions, finally breaking the silence between the two men in JC's bedroom. Jay had stopped rubbing at his arms after JC had brought it to his attention, and JC wondered if the bruises were still bothering the blond, even if he no longer showed it. He looked Jay over as he perched upon JC's bed, and shook his head slightly, sitting down heavily in his chair near the window. "Whatever you want. Anything," he offered, and watched Jay watch him in quiet contemplation for a long moment before the younger man slid off of the bed and crawled his way over to him, maneuvering his way between JC's spread legs.

He was silent as Jay tugged on his legs, pulling JC down in the chair slightly as he kissed at the skin of his stomach. One hand held his shirt up against his chest while the other deftly reached for his groin, unbuckling and unzipping and fondling partially aroused flesh. The only sounds were the rustling of his clothes, the ticking of his wall clock, and the soft noises that Jay made against his skin, and it was suddenly deafening to JC, who did not want to hear any of it at all.

Pressing his lips together tightly, he made the mistake of glancing down, starting when he found pale eyes trained upon him. Jay's forehead was creased with lines at the effort of looking up as he administered to JC, and the knowledge that he was being watched made JC even more uncomfortable than he already was. "Don't do that," he murmured, pained at the sight. He kept his eyes open only long enough to see the creases relax as Jay obeyed him before closing his eyes, willing that image from his mind.

It was replaced by one of pale, scarred arms, biceps marred by deep fingerprints, bloodied half-moon indentations in the skin. In his mind, JC saw the faceless john responsible for the injuries in his place -- perhaps the way Jay saw him -- and whatever blood had flowed to his groin left. Jay clicked his tongue in frustration, obviously irritated at having his work go to waste. "How are your arms?" JC asked him suddenly, and Jay raised his head to look at him quizzically before ducking it again, his tongue swirling about JC's navel. His hands travelling up to finish with the unbuttoning of JC's shirt, Jay thrust the sides apart and rose to his feet, bending over JC to kiss first one nipple, then the other.

"What do you mean? They're fine," he mumbled against JC's skin, one hand snaking its way back between JC's legs.

"Have they stopped hurting?" JC pressed for an answer.

Jay sighed slightly against his collarbone. "They're fine," he repeated. "It was nothing. It could've been worse, and I made an extra fifty letting him do it, so what do I care?"

JC watched the top of Jay's scalp through his hair as the younger man dipped his head once more, stroking his thighs, his hips, blowing airily upon his skin in what were ordinarily tender spots; now, however, his actions went without effect. Forget it, Jay, JC thought bitterly. It's not gonna work. "Yeah," he said agreeably. "But you said Johnny doesn't like bruises, right?" When Jay didn't answer, he went on. "Do you ever feel like you wanna stop? You ever get hurt so bad you had to stop them?"

Jay pulled away slightly, sitting back on his haunches as he stared dejectedly up at JC. "Okay," he began. "You need to stop thinking about my fucking arms and start thinking about..." he threw up a hand. "I don't even care what, but I'm not gonna sit here looking like I don't know what the fuck I'm doing just because you can't get it up." He stood, suddenly angry, and JC reached out for his wrist, pulling him close.

"Forget about me," he told him, letting go only to re-dress himself. "I guess I wasn't really into it in the first place."

Jay sighed, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance. "Then what am I doing here?"

JC shrugged helplessly, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "You can stay, though; I'll still pay you for the night."

He was met with a contemplative stare as the younger man considered it. "Yeah, okay," Jay conceded finally. "Maybe try again later?" he offered, sitting back down on JC's bed.

"Sure," JC said, with no intention of doing any such thing.

Jay stared at the ceiling from where he lay on JC's bed, an amused grin on his face. "So," he observed, "no mirror on the ceiling. I noticed that last night." He met JC's laugh with a chuckle of his own. "No, I mean... isn't that like one of the first things you get when you have lots of money? You know--" he counted them off on his fingers-- "car, hundred-dollar shoes... mirror on the ceiling."

JC ducked his head, shaking it as he laughed again. "Maybe some guys; I dunno. I think I stopped at the hundred-dollar shoes, man."

Jay shrugged. "I'd get one," he admitted. "If I had the money? Shit, yeah." He slid over slightly and hung his head backwards over the side of the bed, watching JC from upside down. "So, what's your story?" he asked. "What do you do? Where'd you strike it rich? Are you one of those stockbrokers or, um... investors, or whatever?"

JC shrugged and looked away, suddenly feeling strangely modest. "No; I write and produce songs," he said, and left it at that.

Jay gave a low whistle. "Must not do a bad job of it," he observed. "How'd you end up in that field?"

"I used to be on this TV show back when I was younger; the Mickey Mouse Club -- do you know anything about it? I starting singing through that," JC began, and Jay nodded. "Moved out here to L.A., hooked up with some people and started writing. Got burned, learned my lessons. Figured out how to play hardball with the best of them, and," he gestured widely. "Here I am."

"What happened," Jay murmured, closing his eyes. He sounded tired, and JC wondered if perhaps he would have been too exhausted to do anything even if he had not stopped the younger man from proceeding earlier.

"I just told you what happened," he answered, with another slight shrug.

Jay chuckled, his eyes still closed. "I meant how'd you get burned? What happened to you?"

JC sighed. "I lucked out--" he made an 'iffy' gesture-- "pretty soon after moving here, and got a job with RCA records when I was nineteen -- this is like, five years ago, okay? Entry level; you know, you sweep floors, you work your way up. The whole time I'm there, I'm writing, I'm trying to hone my craft, trying to get something good enough to show somebody once I get my foot in the door. And after a year, finally I get to know this one producer who's been hearing I'm a writer, and he asks me to show him my stuff.

"So he wines me and dines me, and everything is beautiful, he loves my work, he says he has these plans for all these artists to work on my songs -- I'm in heaven, and I'm just thinking, 'how do I get his job', you know?"

Jay chuckled slightly at that, and JC was quick to amend his words. "I don't mean I wanted to take his job away from him; I just mean, I wanted that job, too."

Jay waved him off. "No, ignore me. Go on."

"So he asks me if I'll write something for him to present to a group he's producing for. Brings in their manager and everything to shake on the deal. I am," he gestured broadly. "Ecstatic. Couldn't be happier. This is perfect, just what I've been waiting for. I sign on the dotted line, I write the song, it's a fucking hit."

He sat back suddenly, folding his arms across his chest. "Turns out the contract says it's a work-for-hire, which means I've been hired to write the song for the guy, I get paid, and then give up all the rights to the song. I get no royalties; the copyright goes to the label. I get... screwed, basically. I get fucked over." He shrugged, unfolding his arms and leaning forward once more. "But I had the same job as him a year after that, so I guess I learned. Always read the fine print, and try not to look too smug when you run into the bastards who tried to steal from you in the halls." Smirking slightly, he added, "I've got a better rep than him now, anyway." He paused, taking in Jay's expectant gaze. "That's it," he concluded.

Jay applauded loudly and slowly. "Moving. Beautiful. A movie-of-the-week waiting to happen."

"Thanks," JC commented wryly. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it. So, yeah...." He gave a small stretch, jerking his elbows back. "The latest is that just the past few weeks I've had the chance to produce for Justin Timberlake's album--"

"You work with Justin Timberlake?" Jay asked him, raising his eyebrows. He rolled over on to his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, his chin in his hands.

"Worked with Justin Timberlake," JC corrected him, smiling mischievously. "Back on the Mouse Club, when he was like twelve years old. Before his voice changed and all the ladies thought he was sex on wheels." He gave Jay a sidelong glance. "You've heard of him, I guess?"

Jay chuckled along with him at his comments. "Yeah," he admitted. "He's good. Good ballads. Really nice voice." He paused and ran his tongue over his teeth, sticking it into his cheek. "Not bad looking."

JC laughed smoothly at that. "You've got it for a celebrity!" he charged.

Jay shook his head, amused horror on his face. "What? No," he protested. "I said he looks good; that's all."

JC stood, approaching his bed, and squatted to look Jay in the face, folding his arms across the edge of the bed. "You lie badly," he told him, still smiling.

"You wouldn't know," Jay pointed out, raising an eyebrow. He backed away, and suddenly JC was reminded of their proximity; he jerked his arms away guiltily, kneeling by the side of the bed as Jay rolled on to his back against the pillows, turning to face JC once more. "Still..." he frowned in thought, then nodded. "Yeah, I'd fuck him for free."

JC snorted a laugh. "Would you really?" he asked, tilting his head and trying to read Jay's face.

Jay snorted back. "Hell, no," he retorted. "He can afford to pay the hundred just like everybody else."

"That he could," JC agreed, giving a knowing nod. "But," he continued, attempting to restart his tale. "Um.... So I had the chance to produce his album and write some songs for it. I had like, a dozen demos to run by him, a dozen mixes, a dozen-- a million of everything." He sighed, slumping his shoulders.

"Didn't go well," Jay prodded, his words more a statement of fact than a question.

"I get this... letter," JC laughed bitterly. "This... you know, record label letterhead, From the desk of Justin Timberlake, all official and impersonal. And it says how he has ties to other producers, blah blah; which means he has favours to pay back and he was jerking my chain all along. Or," he suggested. "He wanted out of working with me for whatever reason, and that was his ticket. Or some other reason; anything, really." He rolled his eyes and buried his head in his hands.

"Is that how the business always works?" Jay asked, and JC wondered if he was serious or if there was a hidden sarcasm in his words. He attempted to explain.

"Yeah, but-- look, you don't understand. This deal...," he murmured. "If I got it, nobody could question my integrity without having to answer for it. They might not like the music I make, or the music he makes, but if I produced an album it would mean I was capable of something with staying power." He raised his head. "And that would give me pull, Jay. I'd have free reign to do what I wanted, instead of having to kiss everybody else's ass to do what they want."

"Fuck him," Jay shrugged indifferently. "You'll get another deal. There's other singers out there."

"Nobody's big like Timberlake right now," JC pointed out. "And I already used my advantages with him; since we worked together back in the day, I already had an edge, and I still lost it."

"Fine then," Jay said dismissively, then yawned. "Feel sorry for yourself." He closed his eyes again, folding his arms across the bed and resting his cheek upon the backs of his hands. JC thought that he might actually fall asleep there.

"I'm not fee--" JC cut himself off. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, he thought, frustrated. Tell me you never feel bad about the cards you've been dealt, and then we'll talk. "I'll get you some sheets and stuff for the couch," he muttered, then rose and did as he promised, dressing the couch carefully before returning to his room. Jay was still where he'd left him, and he stood by the door, debating whether to wake him up or go to sleep on the couch himself. The younger man certainly looked more fragile in sleep than wakefulness, far from the agitator he seemed to delight in being. The Bitch. JC wondered if it had been a hard-won reputation.

"Jay; you up?" he called softly from the door, planning to leave him be if he didn't respond to the prompt. To his surprise, Jay's eyes opened immediately, and the blond pushed himself up into a kneeling position, stretching his arms above his head.

"Yeah," Jay answered, climbing down from the bed, and shuffled across the room to meet JC at the door. "The couch ready?" he asked, and JC handed him an extra pillow, nodding. "Thanks," he murmured, turning to go, and JC was about to close the door behind him when Jay turned back. "Um," he began, seemingly uncomfortable. "I've never done this... staying... sleeping somewhere else thing..." he gestured awkwardly between the bedroom and down the hall to the living room. "But if you--" he sighed. "If you worry... like... I don't steal," he blurted. "So don't think, like... I won't take your stuff, okay? If anything's missing in the morning, you can just take your money back; but it won't be, okay?"

JC nodded, his hand still on the door. "Yeah; sure," he reassured Jay. "You'll still be here when I get up in the morning, right?" Jay nodded, and he went on. "Then go ahead and sleep; it's okay." Jay finally turned to go, and JC closed the door behind him, feeling a bit like the Bishop of Digne in Lés Misèrables.

JC had set his clock this time; a not-quite early 9 am, but it was as early as he was willing to go without a particular engagement to attend. He figured that Jay would have woken up much earlier than that, but nine was a good enough time to see him off. Ambling wearily into the hallway, he stroked at the side of his face with one hand, his fingers rasping against short stubble. A quick glance at the empty living room couch confirmed that Jay was awake, and it was only a moment before JC had approached closely enough to see him in the kitchen. The blond stood on the tips of his toes, one foot resting against the calf of the other as he leaned over the sink with his head just out of the window, finishing a cigarette.

"Hey," JC called, and Jay turned his head to see him.

"Good morning," he replied. He gestured out of the window. "I know you don't like smoke, and I didn't wanna wake you up to ask if you'd mind, so...." he held up the cigarette apologetically.

"Oh... yeah, thanks," JC told him, smiling at his consideration. Meeting Jay at the sink, he glanced around the kitchen with feigned disinterest, watching Jay take another drag and duck his head outside to expel the smoke. "So," he said lightly, sighing with a slight lift and drop of his shoulders. "This your breakfast again?"

Jay turned to him again, smirking slightly, and set the still unfinished cigarette down on the windowsill. He folded his arms. "No, I haven't eaten. You got another bagel you wanna force on me?"

JC's smile widened as he reached into the refrigerator and retrieved the bag of bagels, tossing it at Jay. "Toast one if you want it," he said. "You can eat and run." Pausing for only a moment, he turned away, rubbing at his shoulder absently as he trudged back to the bathroom for a shower. He knew that Jay would be gone when he was finished. It's all part of the job, he reminded himself, and this time it was only a little bit easier to believe.

The floor creaked beneath JC's feet as he wandered through the halls of the Roseland Mews apartment complex. The staircase he ascended was worse, the banister shaky under his hands, uprooted from its base in spots. This was crazy, he realized, grimacing as he stepped up to the third floor. But he felt that somehow it was the least he could do.

"Jay-Jay's not out tonight, man," Call called by way of a greeting once he recognized JC's form strolling up the sidewalk before him, his hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his dressy slacks. "He's at home; sorry."

JC frowned, continuing to approach. It was still early in the evening; he'd hoped to whisk Jay away -- for what, he was not sure. He didn't exactly have sex in mind at the moment; maybe, maybe not. He wasn't sure of that, either. "What do you mean, he's at home? What happened?"

Cal shook his head, shrugging. "Some john fucked him up, so he's resting up, doing the shut-in routine for a while."

Oh, my G-- Something happened to him? JC reached out unconsciously, in concern. "Today, this happened? Is he okay?"

The other man simply shrugged again. "Hell if I know." He paused to pluck an imaginary speck of dust from his suede jacket and smoothed down his velour pants before returning his attention to JC. "He ain't your boyfriend; why you care? Just go with someone else, man."

JC tried not to draw back as though he was offended. It didn't seem a fair question to him; why did he care? He cared because this was a person he'd let into his home, spent time with, had sex with. He couldn't say that he knew Jay well, but he did know some of the younger man's history, and how could he help but wonder if he would be all right? It was only natural, only human of him to be concerned. "I care 'cause he's a nice kid," he finally responded. "Does he live around here?"

"He owes you something," Cal suddenly declared rather than asked, his eyes wide and serious as he regarded JC. "You're coming to collect?"

"No-- no, look -- I just wanted to tell him something, all right?" JC sighed and shifted uneasily beneath Cal's stare. "He doesn't owe me anything. Does he live around here?" he repeated.

After a long, searching stare, Cal nodded half-heartedly behind him. "You're in front of the door," he muttered. "312." When JC thanked him and moved past the youth in the doorway, the younger man reached out and gripped him by the elbow. "Hey, man," he murmured in a low voice. "I'm callin' up in like two minutes, and if he doesn't answer, me and my friends are comin' to get him," he warned.

JC pressed his lips together tersely. "Okay," he agreed. "So... are you going to let me by, or no?" he asked, relieved when his voice remained calm. Cal dropped his grip, scowling, then stood back and let him proceed.

"Who is it?" a muffled voice called from the other side, after a pause. JC could not tell whether or not it belonged to Jay.

"It's JC," he called, glancing down the hall self-consciously, afraid to draw too much attention to himself. "JC for... um... is Jay there?"

The door swung open abruptly, banging loudly against the chain that still pinned to the wall, as one apple-green eye peered through the narrow opening. "JC?" Jay asked, incredulous, as though verifying what he already knew to be true before slamming the door shut and re-opening it, the cumbersome chain removed from its groove. "What are you doing here?" he asked, inviting JC in as he tugged at the bottom of his short t-shirt.

"I...." He hadn't thought of what to say if asked. He wasn't certain of the answer himself. "I heard you were hurt," he attempted to explain as Jay closed the door behind them and shuffled past him into the kitchen. "I wanted to see if you were okay." He cringed inwardly at the lameness of the response; now that the words had been spoken aloud it sounded ridiculous -- what kind of john went around checking on prostitutes? He raked his gaze over Jay, noting the marked contrast between what was obviously "street wear" and what he apparently wore at home; blue track pants and the white tee seemed to suffice inside of the apartment. A large, silver cross hung from a thick chain, nestled about Jay's sternum; that warranted a longer glance. Otherwise Jay looked fine... JC didn't know what he expected to see, exactly.

Jay eyed him strangely, narrowing his eyes. "Who said I was hurt?" he asked.

"Cal. He said you weren't in any condition to--"

Jay cut him off, laughing. "Jesus!" he exclaimed. "Cal told you that?" JC nodded, prompting a sigh from the younger man. "Okay," he explained, holding his hands out, fingers splayed, in explanation. "The thing you need to remember about Calgon--" he made a point of emphasizing the nickname "-- is how melodramatic he is. I'm fine." Noting JC's disbelieving expression, he repeated himself, raising his eyebrows. "I'm fine. Really."

JC wasn't convinced. "Why are you staying in tonight, then?"

"Look," Jay said patiently. "It's only this--" he tugged up on one of his sleeves to reveal four quarter-sized bruises in brilliant blues and purples that bloomed across his skin. "It's not like I'm dead. Fuck. Johnny thought I should wait 'til it fades before I go out again. That's it." He seemed about to continue when the ring of a telephone interrupted the conversation, and, holding up a finger, he leaned across the counter and picked up. "'Lo?" he spoke into the receiver, a puzzled expression settling over his face after a moment. "Yeah..." he answered carefully, furrowing his brow, and slowly hung up.

"Mmm-hmmm," Jay replied absently, shrugging and running a hand over his hair. "Hey, look; can I, like... get you something? Or did you just wanna know I wasn't dead? Um..." he opened a cupboard and gestured at its contents helplessly.

"Popcorn?"

JC smiled slightly, amused, and shook his head. "No, thanks," he declined, as Jay retrieved a sealed container of popcorn seeds and set it on the counter. Pointing loosely at the cross that hung around Jay's neck, he nodded at him. "I didn't realize you were religious," he commented. He didn't think himself anything beyond a secular Christian; using the terminology but never really buying into the theology behind it. Like the illusory halo that had encircled Jay's head beneath the street lamp, the sight of the heavy cross seemed ironic and contradictory to JC, the concept of a religious prostitute difficult to envision.

Jay kept his eyes on JC's finger rather than looking down, and followed its path with his hand to his own chest, gripping the cross within his fingers. He shrugged, biting his lip pensively as he caressed it. "I believe in Jesus," he admitted freely. "He died for whores, too." Releasing the pendant, he averted his gaze uncomfortably and focused on the container on the counter.

JC blinked rapidly, unable to formulate a response. "Oh..." he stammered. He tried to hide his immense relief at not having to continue when a man of Jay's height, though slight in build, poked his white-blond head into the room and locked his gaze upon him.

"Jay-Jay," the man called, striding smoothly across the room to meet them. "You didn't tell me anything about a visitor. Georgio," he introduced himself, his youthful face splitting with grin as he extended a hand to JC. JC smiled back as he introduced himself and shook Georgio's hand. He attempted to act the businessman that he appeared to be, but Georgio's dark blue eyes were nearly as penetrating as Jay's own, and seemed to be taking JC in with quiet disapproval. "I suppose Jay-Jay told you we're not supposed to do tricks up here," he informed JC bluntly, cocking an eyebrow at him, and JC's eyes widened, flickering to Jay as though seeking an answer in his face.

Jay reached out to pull Georgio away by the shoulder. "For Chrissakes, G," he grunted. "I'm glad you came and asked me about that first. I didn't fuckin' invite him up here, okay?"

Georgio surrendered easily, holding up his hands in a defenseless pose. "Just checkin," he confessed. "You never can tell, right?" he explained, addressing the comment to both men, before reaching past Jay and replacing the container of popcorn seeds in the cupboard.

"Thanks for the reminder, G," Jay murmured wearily, cupping his chin in one hand, supporting his arm with the other hand by the elbow. "Are you done out here?"

"Just finishing up," Georgio assured him. "Nice meetin' you, JC," he called, looking JC over once more before and turning back towards the hall.

Georgio scowled at Jay. "You have your own," he pointed out, already moving away; but he was smiling, and JC knew that the crossness in Georgio's voice was put on.

"But it's always so much better to take yours," Jay called after the man's retreating form. "You gettin' ready for tonight?" he added.

"Yeah," Georgio responded, his voice muffled in the hallway. "I'll be out in a half hour probably."

"So," JC observed, glancing about the kitchen as he took the seat Jay offered him at the small dining table across from the stove. "You guys good friends? You and Georgio?"

"Yeah, me and Georgio get along fine." Jay shrugged, pulling out a chair himself and sitting down. "He just tries to pull rank sometimes 'cause he's older than me, so of course that means I have to be some idiot punk. But," he shook his head. "Other than that, we're good. I mean, we live together, don't we?"

"Just you two live here?" JC asked. "For a second, I was afraid you guys got along like you and Cal get along."

"Uh, no!" Jay laughed, tilting his head back and clapping as he did. "No, me and Cal couldn't live together. We keep things separate between us. Johnny knows Calgon would do some shit like stab me to death in my sleep."

JC found Jay's laughter contagious, and chuckled himself. "You wouldn't do that to him?" he asked.

"No, I'd poison him," Jay responded, in that tone that JC had come to recognize meant he wasn't merely kidding.

"Yeah, but he was lookin' out for you before," JC pointed out.

Jay made a noncommital gesture. "I mean, we look out for each other. We kinda have to, working for Johnny. But yeah, he looks out for me, I look out for him. That's as far as it goes, though."

He produced a Bic and lit his cigarette. "It's just that he's so fucking conceited. I mean, you gotta be honest with yourself to do this shit. Like," he pointed to himself. "I know what makes me look good. I know what works. I know how to do my job. But if somebody doesn't want me, I don't care. I can be too short, or too fat, or not fat enough, or too white, or whatever. I mean, what I've got isn't up everybody's alley.

"But like, if somebody passes over Cal, he thinks it's 'cause somebody stole them away from him. Like, 'who the fuck wouldn't want Cal'? And I called him on it right away, and that was pretty much the end of our friendship. So, hey... are you sure I can't get you anything?"

He seemed strangely unsure; at once comfortable in his home environment, and ill at ease at being out of his element. It was as almost though he simply couldn't bring himself to ask JC to go; frank, blunt Jay could not ask JC to get out. It was bizarre, but JC thought to rescue Jay this time, rather than the other way around.

"No, I'm fine... actually... maybe I should just..." JC stood awkwardly and began to back away. Jay stood as well, meeting him at the opposite side of the table.

"Yeah, okay, that's... 'cause I'm fine, and..."

"Yeah," JC nodded. "Yeah. I know. I'm glad. So..." he was at the door already, backed up with Jay right in front of him. "I'll see you around?" he asked, his hand on the doorknob as he slipped out into the hallway.

Jay leaned against the edge of the open door, hugging it with his arms on either side of the paneling. "Yeah, sure; I'll be back on the streets in three days, tops, so..."

So please, don't come back here, JC understood the unspoken sentiment.

"Hey, what've you been doin'? You screening your calls or somethin'?" Joey Fatone's voice greeted JC over his speakerphone as JC uncapped a bottle of Excedrin and extracted three tablets.

"No, it's just..." JC shrugged. "I've been out a lot. Just spending some time on my own. And I've been keepin' busy." He cringed; screening his calls was exactly what he had been doing. He hadn't felt like talking to pretty much anybody since the stress over the Timberlake album had started to get to him. Joey was a friend, true -- the two had known each other since JC had been working on the Mouse Club, and it was JC who had recommended that Joey move to L.A. to try his hand at moving from stage acting to film -- but they hadn't been close in years, and most calls between them these days were courtesy calls. If that.

"Shit, JC, I was startin' to get worried here," Joey breathed. "I haven't seen you in ages, and you never come out to the club anymore. Don't tell me you're just sittin' around in the dark, drowning your sorrows in the liquor from your minibar." He laughed at the notion. "Pretty soon I gotta come over there and test how badly you've watered down the vodka. But seriously, what the hell have you been up to?"

"I'm actually..." JC paused uncomfortably, then downed the tablets and his glass of water. "I've sorta been seeing this guy, Joe. You could say that's what I've been up to."

"Oh, now you gotta tell me all about this!" Joey crowed happily. "Is it serious?"

"Oh no, no," he laughed. "No, it's... we... it's pretty casual," he said diplomatically. "It's really just, you know. Sex, really."

"Casual sex?" Joey asked, incredulous. "JC? I think it's better if you're in a relationship JC, having casual sex? Now I know it's bad."

Yeah, well," JC commented dryly. "I figured you'd understand about being with someone for the sex."

JC shrugged. "Well, I was depressed over the shit with the album, and thinking of maybe doing something destructive to forget about it, and... I was looking for something to bury my mood in, and I met him. His name's Jay," he added as an afterthought.

"His name's Jay, and...?"

JC chuckled knowingly. "And... what?"

"What's he like?"

"Shit, Joe, don't go all tenth grade on me," JC laughed, enjoying the charade. "He's... well, he's twenty one--" he ignored Joey's amused whoop on the other line-- "Bottle blond, green eyes, kind of an attitude...."

"But what does attitude matter when it's all about the sex?" Joey pointed out.

"Yeah, but... I mean, that's kind of why I started seeing him -- it's 'cause he's all contradictory, and I wanted to find out if there was more to it. Like, if you saw him, Joe, he looks pretty young. And green, too, you know? He looks really new and innocent and all that. But then, man, he'll open his mouth and he's just like...." JC faltered, unsure of how to express it.

"Mean?" Joey supplied. "Is he a real asshole?"

"No, it's not like he's about being mean to people. He's just about... telling it like it is, I guess, and sometimes he says uncomfortable things, and he doesn't even blink at it, you know? Like, his friends call him The Bitch, and he's proud of it. But he's not like that all the time; he can still be nice -- I just think he tries not to be." JC stopped abruptly and scowled; he wasn't explaining this well at all.

Joey let out a low whistle. "You didn't get yourself a bitch, JC -- you got yourself a diva. I'm just sayin'. If you guys split up, I'd watch my rabbit if I were you, all right?" His voice dropped a little, becoming more serious. "He does know this is just a casual thing, right?"

"Oh, yeah," JC assured him. "Oh, yeah, he definitely knows."

"So he's gotta be doing somethin' right, huh? He's gotta be pretty good in bed."

JC laughed lightly, a telling laugh that he knew Joey would appreciate. "He is so good in bed. He is seriously skilled, I'm tellin' ya." He paused, then added. "It's... actually, it's sort of been intimidating, being with him," he confessed. "It makes me wonder if I'm any good, you know?"

"Is he complainin'?"

JC smiled wanly. "He's not like that; he wouldn't -- he doesn't say anything like that. It's just... like, he always makes it good for me, but he doesn't care what I do. And I've been trying different things, you know, trying to... just find something he likes, but he'd never tell me, anyway."

"Well," Joey began, "not to point out the obvious, but if you're hittin' the right spots, he can't exactly hide that from you."

"I know," JC agreed, allowing a genuine smile to creep across his face. "Actually, I-- I know I hit the spot once, a couple of days ago. I hit it, and I don't even know what I did right so I can do it again." He laughed, hearing Joey join in on the other end. "I mean, it was... it was great; it totally caught me off guard, but it was amazing, seeing him finally get something out of it." His face warmed even as he thought of it, the sight of Jay's head thrown back as his hand moved over his own arousal, the pale column of his neck exposed. The younger man's breathy sigh had belied his silently building arousal and brought JC to the brink himself. "It's okay; don't be quiet. I wanna hear you," he'd urged. "Go ahead."

And then Jay's sudden climax -- moaned out as he reached out blindly, groping at air with his free hand for something elusive -- had triggered JC's, the latter both shocked and elated that it had come to this. When Jay made an immediate move to rise from the bed, JC had stopped him. "Stay," he'd said gently. He'd wanted to add, "Stay, so I can feel you come down, feel your heart slow, feel your body cool." Instead, he'd simply guided Jay to drape his body over JC's, welcoming the heavy warmth, and fallen asleep.

"Well," Joey offered, "do you know if he really liked it, or was he like bored? Did he thank you in the morning or anything?"

JC grimaced; of course the answer to the question was 'no'. In fact, JC had slept in the following morning and had finally been shaken awake by a fully-dressed Jay. "Hey, JC. JC," he had said, his voice agitated, as JC blinked his eyes open and attempted to focus his gaze upon the wide eyes that took up his field of vision. "JC, it's after noon already -- I gotta go home, okay? I'm leavin'." He'd waited for JC's consent before backing away and exiting the room, the apartment. But later, when JC had finally stumbled into the kitchen, he found that Jay had taken two bagels for breakfast. The cream cheese had been left on the counter.

"Yeah," JC finally responded. "He... he seemed happy about it in the morning."

"So..." Joey trailed off meaningfully. "You think maybe this one'll turn into a keeper?"

JC hesitated to answer, picking with his thumbnail at the marble of the kitchen counter. He wished, for the first time, that he'd been cheap enough to simply get some formica paneling that he could worry at and peel up when he got this uncomfortable. "You know, I really don't think that's possible," he admitted honestly.

five

"So, uh," JC asked Jay one night, around a mouthful of egg roll, "when you have your price for blow jobs, do you charge the same whether you're giving or getting?"

Jay paused in the middle of loading his plate with mixed vegetables and looked up at him, his face blank. "What do you mean, giving or getting a blow job? I give blow jobs." He pointed downwards as if to emphasize the point. "I give blow jobs. What are you talkin--"

"Yeah, but," JC pressed him, swallowing. "Like, what if someone wanted to give you one; would that be more or less?"

Jay continued to stare. "Okay," he began slowly. "You don't seem to understand how prostitution works. See, I do things for johns," he explained, as though JC were a toddler, "and then they pay me. If I let them give me a blow job, I should be paying them."

"Would you consider it a deduction?" JC took another bite, chewed, swallowed.

Pursing his lips in thought, Jay sat back on his hands for a moment. "You wanna blow me," he declared, raising his eyebrows.

JC simply shrugged indifferently, mirroring Jay's cool character. He decided that it felt nice; he could certainly see the appeal. "I've thought about it," he said, biting off more, his grip on the egg roll efficient even with chopsticks.

"Okay, you..." Jay shook his head and freed a hand to spear a piece of broccoli with his plastic fork. "You can't do that. It's -- you--" he bit in and stroked the side of his face delicately as he chewed. "I don't do that."

JC made an affirmative sound, letting the subject drop while he and Jay finished their helpings. Then, "you didn't have a rule against it," he finally pointed out, when he was down to a few morsels of lo mein.

Jay shrugged as he rose to examine one of the take-out cartons for any remaining treats and fished out the fortune cookies with one hand. "Well, it's a rule now," he said, expertly holding aside the chains that hung from his linked belt, slung low over his hips. "You could bite my dick off or something."

JC laughed, catching the fortune cookie Jay tossed at him as he sat back on the ottoman he'd claimed. "You'd make an extra fifty, though. Rough sex, right?"

"Yeah, and then I'd never make another dollar," was the bemused reply, before Jay's smile slowly faded and he became solemn. "Hey, JC?" he asked after a while, drawing up one leg toward his chest, and picked at the torn hole of the denim on his knee.

JC glanced up at him, forehead creasing as he kept his head over his plate. "Yeah?"

"Okay, I like how you... um, take me to your place and stuff, 'cause," Jay chuckled silently. "You know, it beats a backseat and everything. And... like, the food and everything is good," he smiled slightly. "But, um. Why don't you just -- like, you could just pay me for a fuck instead of the whole night."

JC was full, he realized; he didn't want the remains left on his plate. Leaning back as he spoke, he said, "I kinda like having you here for the night."

"Yeah, but," Jay sighed. "While you're sleeping, I'm not working. I mean, usually, when I do a night, I'm working all night." He paused meaningfully for JC to take it in.

JC did take it in, and it made his point exactly; if Jay was with him while JC slept, that meant he wasn't out on the streets, getting bruised up and submitting to all kinds of abuse in the name of an extra fifty dollars. "But look at what you don't have to put up with when you're here," he argued. "You don't have to deal with worrying about what some guy's gonna do to you to get his kicks."

"Yeah," Jay answered, his tone suddenly sarcastic. "Imagine that -- you have to work harder to get more money. Look," he began again, evenly. "Before, I've been able to bring in seven hundred and fifty dollars in singles on some nights, and now suddenly I'm doing three hundred and Johnny's just supposed to be okay with that?" He pushed himself back from the coffee table and ran his fingers through his hair, his words testifying to his obvious tension.

JC watched him eye the ceiling, clearly agitated. "So... what, this is about Johnny?" he asked quietly. "He's not happy with what you're making?"

"Well, he'd rather you not be such a regular if I'm only making this much, yeah," Jay told him. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes and returned his gaze to JC. "You take up my whole nights, JC. I could be out there making more."

"If it's just the money that's a problem," JC suggested, "I can give you that. I could give you seven fifty a night, if that's what you need." He leaned forward, forcing Jay to make eye contact. "Four fifty for your company. It's worth more to me than the sex, anyway."

Jay shook his head, rolling his eyes as he stood. "Look," he scowled, striding off. "You want companionship, get a dog. It's not my job. If you want the sex to go with that, why the hell aren't you married?"

That comment prompted JC to his feet as well. Things had been going so well up to that point, he thought. "Hey," he said fiercely, "don't tell me you don't get anything out of this. Don't tell me you never have a good time here--"

Jay whirled upon him, incredulous. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Everything, JC thought. "So it has to be about just sex, huh?"

"Well, you know, that's sort of the difference between me and an escort service." Jay slumped against the living room's archway. "I mean, I could be charging you a grand a night and we could shoot the breeze all you want."

"Would it make me a preferred client if I did that?" JC challenged, making quotes in the air with his fingers as he nearly sneered the words.

"Well, it would certainly make you my favourite person, but no--" Jay threw up his hands slightly. "I just can't do that."

"So... what is it your preferred clients do, then?"

Jay raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Depends. Mostly they just want someone to get high with for a day. Or a weekend."

"A whole weekend?" JC couldn't prevent his eyes from widening. "You just go off with these guys for weekend at a time, gettin' high and..." he trailed off.

"Fucked?" Jay finished for him. "Basically, yeah; that's what I do."

"So it's the drugs that does it? Like, do you even get paid at all?"

"No, I get paid," Jay answered defensively. "I get paid. I mean, they name their price, and I get the drugs for free, so that counts for something."

Jesus, JC thought. He stifled a sigh and glanced again at the small scars lining Jay's inner arms. "So, how long has it been for you?" he asked, gesturing. "You know, since you last... shot up?" The words were hardly foreign to his mouth; he cursed himself for stumbling over them like a naive teenager.

Jay glanced down to look at his own arms as though he could date them with further examination alone. "Oh, um," he murmured, then looked back up in JC's direction, eyes glazing over in thought. "Couple months? Three, I think?" He pursed his lips and shrugged innocently. "Hey, I told you I don't do it all the time," he admonished JC. "I mean," he turned slightly and waved behind him. "You know how addicts get all skinny and shit? Take one look at my fat ass and tell me I'm an addict."

JC joined in despite himself when Jay laughed; the younger man was hardly fat, but Jay was right; he probably carried enough weight to defy accusations of an addiction, JC had to admit. "So what you're saying is you have to earn your weight in sex," he finally said, coming over to meet Jay, standing in the hallway leading to his room.

"Well, that's kind of the only way I know what I'm doing, yeah," Jay retorted.

JC stepped closer still, nearly nose to nose with the shorter man now. "Fine, then," he muttered, aggressively pulling his t-shirt over his head. "I want a blow job," he said matter-of-factly, "and then I want you to fuck me."

Jay blinked, obviously startled by JC's actions as he watched the older man tear off his wifebeater. "Wh--" he began, then caught himself. "Okay. Fine," he mumbled, and bowed his head, his hands moving to the hem of his own shirt in a gesture so automatic that JC had to avert his gaze.

"It'll be one seventy-five for that, right?" JC questioned as they made their way to his room, filling the silence with whatever came to mind.

"Mmmm-hmmm," Jay responded, his lips on JC's stomach as he worked on tugging JC's pants open even as he backed the pair down the hall.

Jay had a philosophy, he said, about making eye-contact during sex. "The johns don't like it, most of them..." he'd explained once. "They wanna close their eyes and pretend it's their girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever the hell they think about when they fuck you. I think I get away with it 'cause I'm the bitch. And you know, I get off on it. Not as in, it makes me come, it's just..." he'd paused, tucking in his chin and shrugging as he tried to summon the word he was thinking. "Gratifying?" he checked with JC, who nodded. "I like to look in their eyes and see the guilt; how they tell themselves they're not gay, they're not fucking a guy, whatever they need to think so they don't have to accept it. It's a fucking riot."

JC, in turn, tried very hard every time not to buckle underneath Jay's significant stare.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his hands roaming slowly and smoothly over the younger man's lower back as he moved above him.

"What do you mean?" Jay asked in return, his motions slow and deliberate, dragging it out and making the pleasure torturous. He wasn't even breaking a sweat.

JC's eyes closed momentarily, responding to the warmth that rushed over him, and he blew out a breath slowly before responding. "I mean, what do you think about, to do this? To get you hard?"

Jay leaned over him, a smile playing about his lips. "Suddenly you're a talker?" he observed.

"You don't like that?"

Jay furrowed his brow, shaking his head slightly. "Doesn't matter to me," he said, and JC cursed inwardly. It should matter, because I want you to feel something, dammit. He wasn't simply paying Jay to fuck him, and never was; he wanted it to be good for the prostitute. He always did.

"What do I think about," Jay continued, responding to JC's question. "Um..." he tilted his head back slightly, still leaning closely over JC's torso, still keeping up his teasing rhythm, still gripping JC's thighs and stroking his stomach, his erection, with sure hands.

"You never fantasize about the guys you're with? Have you ever been attracted to one?" JC wanted to know.

"If I think he looks good? Well..." Jay paused to think, pursing his lips. "I dunno; I used to fantasize about them, back when I first started. It hits too close to home, though, so you learn to be careful." A sighing breath escaped his lips, the only indication that he was aroused, but JC had come to learn that it meant he was getting close.

"So you think about someone else?" JC went on. "Or something else?"

"Yeah; pretty much. I think about... um, money," Jay began, his eyes scanning the ceiling as though he could see the money there. "I think about a good long drag off a cigarette, about that first line of coke."

JC reached up the short distance between them and cupped Jay's face in his hands, pulling him close enough to kiss, but refraining from doing so. "You think about... what, the money you're making off the trick?" Jay closed his eyes and nodded slowly, sighing again, and his skin felt heated beneath JC's hands. "You..." JC paused to moan; damn if this wasn't the slowest arousal he'd felt in years. "You think about drugs?" he continued, moving his hands down to the sides of Jay's neck, his thumbs brushing over his Adam's apple, provoking another sigh as Jay re-opened his eyes. "Tell me more about it." The words were spoken without voice, a mere whisper as he fought to get them out.

Jay's rhythm began to break down, his thrusts becoming more forceful and his eyes taking on a far-away look, and JC knew that he was imagining the feel of these very things as he spoke. Jay licked his lips unconsciously, sighing with each breath now. "I, uh... I think about the... sting of the needle right before the rush... hmmmm...." Humming softly, he squeezed JC in tandem with his thrusts as he sped up erratically. JC gripped him tightly, refusing to let him pull out, and before long all JC knew was the feel of Jay's hands upon him, the rising heat coursing through his body, his moans, Jay's slight whimper, the explosion of lights behind his eyes and his pulse screaming in his ears.

JC had also come to learn that Jay sobbed when he recovered from an orgasm, and that it always provoked a cough.

"I think I talk too much," Jay coughed from beside him, laughing quietly as he did. "I mean," he took a deep breath. "Shit."

JC turned and leaned over him. "And you called me a talker," he quipped, grinning. "You sure it isn't what you like to do?"

"Well," Jay smiled up at him. "We agreed that's not what I'm gettin' paid to do, didn't we?" He bit his lip pensively, closing his eyes for a moment as his breath still slowed. "Hey, lemme ask you -- why do you want me around, anyway, JC?" he asked flatly, bringing his arms up slowly to hug himself. He opened his eyes again. "Why me all the time?"

JC passed a hand over his hair and sighed lightly, gesturing vaguely. "I dunno; I guess after that first night I just had to see if you could get any nicer," he drawled, having decided that that must be part of the reason he was so intrigued by the blond next to him.

"Fuck you," Jay told him wryly. "You'll ruin my rep."

"I will," JC grinned. "I'll go out on the streets and tell everybody The Bitch is a softy."

Jay finally turned on his side to face JC. "Maybe you just get a different version from everybody else."

JC felt his face warm happily, and thanked the darkness of his room that Jay couldn't see the blush. "Why's that?" he asked, keeping his voice casual.

"You treat me pretty much nicer than everybody else." Jay shrugged, resting his weight on an elbow, and gestured with his other hand. "Well. Way nicer than everybody else. I guess sometimes I feel like I can be more myself around you."

JC could definitely live with Jay being more himself around him. "So... I mean, why the act then?"

Jay shook his head emphatically. "No, it's not-- it's not an act," he insisted. "It's like..." he sighed. "Some guys, like Georgio, get ahead by bein' anything for a john. He's all, 'oh, how do you like it?', and he'll do whatever they want for next to nothing, and he gets away with it 'cause he's.... Georgio, I guess," he finished, shrugging helplessly. "I started out really... you know, please and thank you and all that -- and I just got shit on." He started to count off items on his fingers. "I got raped, I got the shit kicked out of me, I got cheated all the time....

"So I started charging for it; you wanna kick the shit outta me, you're gonna have to pay extra. That kinda thing. And they laid off. I'd rather be a bitch than a punching bag. My friends laugh, but that's what it took, so fuck them."

JC couldn't help himself; he reached out and trailed his fingers up the inside of Jay's arm, over the scars he couldn't see in the dark but knew were there nonetheless. "You do what you have to do," he murmured.

"Yeah," Jay answered distractedly, watching JC's hand move upon him. "So -- am I spending the night?"

"Only if you want to," JC informed him, hoping that Jay would.

The delay in his response only served to raise JC's hopes. "I mean, if this is it, I should go," Jay said eventually, though, as if he were weighing his options.

JC shrugged. "Well, either way's fine."

Jay slipped out of his reach and stumbled out of bed. "Okay then," he announced, retrieving his clothes from the floor. "One seventy-five and I'll get out of your hair." He only turned on the light in order to fasten his belt, wholly immersing himself in the task of linking the chains just so.

"No, wait--" JC protested. "It's gonna be more than that; you didn't factor in the kinks."

Jay glanced up at him, amused. He raised an eyebrow. "You have kinks?"

JC nodded. "Yeah, they're what, seventy-five apiece? I mean, I think you were talking dirty there for a while. And... I really get off on that sighing thing you do. So that's more like three twenty-five, right?" he went on, reaching over the side of the bed to grab his wallet from his pants pocket. When he sat back up, Jay was still watching him as he tugged down his shirt over his stomach. "What?"

"You fucker," Jay breathed in disbelief, folding his arms across his chest.

JC handed over the money. "Hey; you set the prices, man," he said with a smirk. "I just pay 'em."

Jay rolled his eyes, pulling a twenty from the wad, and tossed it back to the bed. "Thanks for supper," he said shortly, before pocketing the rest and turning to go. JC let him give up the bill, but stopped him before he could leave.

"Jay?" he called, and Jay turned to take him in expectantly. "You know, you can always come by here, if you want. Like, for anything. To get away, to... for anything. Doesn't have to be sex. I'm usually home, so." He hunched his shoulders somewhat uneasily under the prostitute's scrutiny.

Those pale eyes were decidedly unsettling; he didn't know how long Jay studied him before he finally spoke. "I don't know why you.... you know, I think..." Jay began slowly. "I think you trust too much," he observed simply, before turning again and exiting the room.


six

At first JC thought that Jay was with a john when he spotted him that night, talking to someone in the entranceway to his apartment. The blond's back was to him, arms behind him as he leaned up against the brick wall facing a larger, older black man a few inches taller than himself, and JC watched as they conversed, seemingly discussing something serious by Jay's restrained posture and the other man's stern expression. So maybe it wasn't a john after all.

As he stared, Jay's conversation partner glanced up and the two men made eye contact briefly; JC quickly backed down and turned his attention to a rather tiny, feminine-looking youth. His name was Jeremy, JC found, and even the boy's voice was high-pitched like a woman's; smooth and sultry and breathy. JC managed to keep Jay and the other man in his sights even as he feigned interest in Jeremy's conversation, nodding in all the right places.

And when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, lifting his head to watch the other man move past Jay to enter the apartment complex, leaving Jay to rest his head back against the wall, JC left Jeremy mid-sentence and jogged to meet his target.

"Hey," he said softly as he approached hearing range, and Jay spun to greet him.

"Hey, yeah," he answered, giving JC a parody of a grin, then looked past him down the street. "So, where are you parked?" he asked brusquely. JC pointed, and Jay started off without waiting, his pace steady and careful as though he were afraid to hurry. JC stood still for a moment, stunned by Jay's abruptness, but followed shortly.

They passed Cal as they crossed the street, and the Latino looked up from the passenger window of the car he was leaned against to stare at Jay's retreating form, JC cautiously moving to catch up. "You know, Jay-Jay," Cal called out. "If you can't take the heat--"

"Eat shit and die, Calgon," Jay shot back, barely turning his head to address the other prostitute, and JC caught Cal snickering to himself before he climbed into the waiting car, which drove off immediately. The comment was spoken flippantly, but the fact that Jay had bothered to respond at all made JC wonder if there was a nerve that could be touched in that cool exterior. If there was, it would seem that Cal had found it.

"You okay?" he asked Jay when he'd caught up.

Jay nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, and JC left it at that.

He asked again, glancing at the prostitute sharply when Jay eased himself into the passenger seat like he had a bad back, pulling one knee up to his chest and rotating onto his side after he'd fastened his seatbelt. This time Jay shrugged, nodding again.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine."

JC stifled a sigh and made another attempt at conversation. "Um... you know, when I got there, I saw you were talkin' to some guy...." He kept his eyes on the road, but saw Jay shoot him a brief look out of the corner of his eye. "Was that Johnny? Kinda big, black guy? Went into the apartment after?"

"That's the guy," Jay confirmed, bringing the other knee up as far as the seatbelt would allow. He leaned further against the passenger window, stroking the pane lightly with his fingers.

"He looked so serious," JC went on. "But hey," he chuckled, "I guess he takes his business serious and all, so."

"Yup," Jay agreed, the word clipped and tense, and JC risked another show of concern.

"Listen, are you sure you're--"

"I'm fine, JC; let it go," Jay snapped.

He paused in stunned realization. Then "you're hurt," JC blurted, things suddenly coming together for him. "You're not okay; that's what Cal was talking about, wasn't it? That's why you walked here like you were afraid to shatter glass or something."

He glanced over in time to see Jay shake his head slightly, but now JC was getting angry. The damn stubborn kid wouldn't even tell him that he was hurt, and what would he have let JC do to him, then? "That's why you're sittin' on your fuckin' hip and you haven't said two words to anybody. You're fuckin' hurt!"

"Fuck," Jay sighed haughtily, unlocking the door. "Could you just slow down enough for me to throw myself out?"

JC took that as a sign to lower his voice. He took a breath to steady himself. "When did this-- how long have you been like this?"

He was met with a shrug. "Few hours."

"Well-- why didn't you come to my place?" he asked quietly. "You could've come by, you know."

"I dunno," Jay said. "Maybe I would've, but I had to work."

JC did slow down then, to pull into the lot of an empty gas station, putting the car in park and turning to take in Jay more fully. The other man stayed turned on his side, not moving to acknowledge that they had stopped. "So was that what the thing with Johnny was about?" At Jay's almost imperceptible nod, he continued. "He's makin' you work like this?"

Jay rolled his eyes and looked at JC then. "He told me to do a couple more tricks and see how I felt. I felt worse and I told him so. And he told me to stick it out for a few more hours. And then you showed up, okay?" He smiled ruefully. "My john in shining armor," he wailed in a faux-weepy tone, clutching at his heart, before relaxing back into his previous posture.

JC watched Jay for a moment, the younger man's head pressed against the window, eyes closed, as his hand drifted slowly up and down one shin. "I'm not gonna ask you to do anything when we get to my place," he announced, unprovoked.

Jay nodded, not even opening his eyes. "Yeah," he murmured, which meant thanks.

"You can stay the night, if you want," he offered, and Jay just nodded again.

After a while the oppressive silence once he'd pulled back on to the road was too much for JC to take, and he turned on the radio, easily wrapping his vocals around a familiar ballad by Joe. He hoped that Jay would eventually join in and sing along; he had a nice voice, and they'd had fun singing together before.

Jay didn't join in.

Jay's uncharacteristic silence continued even after they arrived at JC's apartment, even through Craig Kilborn's monologue and first guest, even through the hopelessly cheesy Subaru commercial. It made JC increasingly uncomfortable. "What would you have done if I hadn't shown up when I did?" he'd asked, when Jay stretched himself out gingerly on his side on the living-room sofa; Jay had tossed his head dismissively in response.

"I'd've done my job and been fine," he'd said, and that made JC all the more glad that he had shown up when he did.

Now they ate vanilla ice cream directly from the pails, neither particularly paying attention to the television, but neither saying much otherwise. "Lemme just ask you," JC said, swirling the top of the cream that had melted with his spoon. "If you could be anything you wanted, have any job in the world, what would you wanna do?"

Jay dangled one arm off the edge of the couch, allowing his knuckles to brush the carpet. "Astronaut," he said, after only a moment of thought. "Actor. Actor-singer. Producer. Director."

JC laughed. "Which one?"

Jay craned his neck to look up at JC as he started to smile. "I meant all of 'em; astronaut, actor-singer, producer, director." He paused. "Movie mogul. And movie mogul -- I'm adding it to the list."

"That's it?" JC deadpanned. "You sure you don't wanna add two or three more?" Thinking about it some more, he added, "I didn't know you liked to act."

The comment brought a little life into Jay, he was glad to note. "Well, I've never really done it," he admitted. "But I could just see myself on a soap or somethin'. All melodramatic. Somethin' cheesy, anyway. Somethin' with... like, big, overdone gestures, and yelling." He grinned.

JC couldn't help but smile back. "But you like singing, too, right? You've got a nice voice."

Jay grimaced. "Yeah; I used to be in choirs and stuff, but. I mean, I smoke. I can't hold a note; I'm no good at that anymore."

"No," JC insisted. "You're good."

"Not Justin Timberlake good."

No; no, he wasn't. His voice was a deep bass, ill-suited for contemporary pop. But he had obviously had training, and with work, maybe a good producer.... "What if I got you a deal?" JC blurted, almost laughing at himself for not having thought of it before.

Jay froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. "What?"

He took a deep breath. "What if I helped you get a recording contract? You know; helped you record a demo, ship it around to companies...." His hands fluttered idly as he spoke.

"Uh-huh, yeah," Jay laughed, definitely more himself now. "And under 'past experience' I can say I give head, and then I'll get the deal for sure."

JC set down his carton and leaned forward intently. "I'm serious, though; I can help you out. We'd be like partners in this."

Jay snorted. "No, we wouldn't."

JC paused. "Why not?" he asked flatly.

Rolling his head to gaze at him sideways, Jay placed a hand on his chest and sighed heavily. "Because people like you feel pity for people like me, and I'm fucking you for money, and as long as things work that way, no, we couldn't be partners."

Well, the good mood had been nice while it lasted, JC thought grimly. "Which one of us is worse, Jay," he challenged, suddenly defensive. "You, fucking me for money, or me, paying you to do it?"

"You tell me," Jay demanded, by him in a flash, and JC barely had time to move the spoon and container out of the way before the younger man was straddling him where he sat, his butt resting on JC's knees. A ghost of a wince flickered over his face. "Are you payin' me for the night? You said we didn't have to do anything, but why don't you tell me what you want me to do anyway, since you're paying? Did you know the paying customer's always right?" he whispered, leaning so that JC could feel his breath tickle the side of his neck.

JC leaned away from him, forcing Jay up by the shoulders, letting the prostitute stagger back as he rose to his own feet. "Okay," he growled, grinding his teeth as he met Jay's cold stare. "Okay; I get the point; I'm using you. Is that what you want me to say? Does that make you happy?" He shook his head and turned slightly, unable to make eye contact any longer. "What I want you to do is go to sleep," he muttered angrily. "I want you to rest your ass, because you're hurt. And for Christ's sake, I know you get off on guilt, Jay, but why don't you save that for bed, huh?"

"I may tell you what you wanna hear in bed, JC," Jay retorted. "But don't expect me to pull any punches the rest of the time." Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the arm of the sofa, eyeing JC defiantly, and continued, his voice somber. "You know, if you want me to go home, you don't have to pay me."

"Look--why don't you just--" JC considered reaching for his wallet, intending to pay Jay right now and be done with it, but forgot whether he actually had enough cash right on him for what he planned. Holding up a finger, he started towards his bedroom, furious, to find enough money to make up the difference.

"Wait, what--" Jay's voice called nervously. "Where are you going? What are you doing?" The questions were shot out like a rapid-fire staccato, and JC stopped short in comprehension, slumping his shoulders and dropping his head in defeat. He's nervous, he thought in disbelief. He still doesn't trust me; he thinks I'm gonna do something to him. I practically give him a fucking key and he doesn't trust me.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of realization, JC turned back to Jay and pulled out his wallet. "I'm paying you, Jay. Not for sex, but just for being here, because I can," he explained calmly, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. "I'm paying you now," he went on, counting the bills in his hand, "and I wasn't sure if I had enough in my wallet, so I was gonna go to my room to get more money if I needed it." Huffing a mirthless laugh, he discovered that he'd had enough in his wallet in the first place. "Here, three hundred," he said, and thrust the money into Jay's hands. "Say I fucked you. Hell," he growled, tearing another fifty from his wallet, "say it was rough." He nodded towards the couch Jay had just abandoned. "There's the couch; you know what to do. Sleep here, or go. I don't give a fuck."

He didn't wait to see what Jay chose to do, storming down the hall and slamming his bedroom door shut behind him, leaving the dessert to melt.

He laid awake in bed for some time after that; thinking, ironically, that this was precisely what Jay had meant when he'd said JC trusted too much. He wasn't sure how long it was that he watched shadows play across the ceiling of his bedroom, let the ticking of the wall clock lull him. After a while he thought his senses were so heightened that he imagined that he could hear the hum of current running the alarm clock by his bed.

So he definitely heard the door to his apartment open and close, regardless of how quiet Jay might have been trying to be. He checked the clock -- it was 5:51 -- and wondered if Jay had gotten any sleep at all. Then he told himself that he didn't care. But he couldn't fall asleep himself until long after the sun was streaming into his windows.

This was why he was so surprised when Jay actually took him up on his standing offer and came to his apartment the same night, after all that had happened. "My God," he exclaimed, letting Jay in. "I thought hell might've froze over before you actually stopped by."

"Hey," Jay greeted him, drawing out the sound, and JC could immediately tell from the glaze that marred the usual clarity of Jay's eyes that something was wrong.

The younger man pushed past him into the room. "Okay, here's the deal," he breathed excitedly, spinning to face him as JC closed the door and made his way back over to him. "There's this club I've been trying to get into ever since I've been legal, and they keep on denying me, 'cause I'm white trash. Sooo," he sat down heavily on the living room couch, then winced and rose to kneel upon it. "I figure if I have you on my arm they're not exactly gonna reject the bitch of JC Chasez, right? So we'll get in, and you know what? They have wicked dance-hall music. You know what dance-hall music is, JC?" he asked abruptly, climbing back to his feet.

"You're high," JC pronounced calmly, staring at him in disbelief.

"It's this amazing reggae stuff with the really heavy bass," Jay continued as though JC hadn't spoken, then stopped, looking at him quizzically. "What?"

"I said you're high," JC repeated, folding his arms across his chest. "I cannot believe this. You fucking got high to come to my apartment, and I'm supposed to spend time with you like this?"

Jay shook his head emphatically, waving his hands as if to dismiss the notion. "No, I didn't get high to come over here; I got high and then I just happened to come over here. See, there's a difference if you look really closely."

Get out, JC thought. I don't want you in my apartment if you're gonna come in here like that. "What happened?" he asked instead. "Are you unhappy? Is everything okay?" He moved closer, reaching out to cup Jay's face within his hands, to examine his face. "What are you on?"

Jay's eyes slid shut and he allowed JC to search his face for bruising. "No, I'm fine. Georgio and me were free-basing in the kitchen; no biggie."

"Is everything okay?" JC asked again. "Open your eyes," he instructed, and Jay obeyed. His eyes were bloodshot, but JC didn't think it looked as though Jay had been upset or crying; he had bags under his eyes, but those were always there regardless.

"I'll tell you maybe when I'm sober," Jay told him. "Tonight I just wanna dance. The bass beat of dance-hall music, man, I'm tellin' you..." he trailed off under JC's disapproving stare. "What?" he demanded. "You knew I did this when you picked me up; you're tryin' to tell me what to do now?"

JC shook his head. "I didn't exactly expect you to come to my place on the stuff," he muttered.

Jay pulled back from him, shaking his head free of JC's hands. "So... what, I have to go?" he asked shortly.

JC considered it. But he took in the suddenly sullen face, the eyes that shone with an unnatural light, and realized that Jay would probably only stumble out on to the street to perform tricks, and then JC wouldn't be able to make sure that he was okay. "No," he gave in. "I want you to stay in tonight; I want you to sleep this off, or walk it off, or whatever you need to do. But I don't want us to go out. Is that okay with you?" he asked, though to him it didn't make a difference whether it was okay with Jay or not.

Jay saluted him mockingly. "Roger; I gotcha. Stay in tonight. Hey, let's fuck; half rate."

JC snorted and forced Jay backwards to the couch. "We're definitely not going there, Jay," he murmured. "Do you give reduced rates every time you get high? It's a wonder you're not broke. Sit," he commanded, pressing down on the blond's shoulders until he slouched back down on the furniture. "Stay put while I get you a blanket." He left Jay there and jogged to his bedroom, stripping the bed of its comforter and pillows, before hurrying back out.

Jay was on his feet as soon as he saw the pillows. "I'm not tired," he said petulantly. "I'm not going to sleep. I wanna do something. Come on; I didn't come here to sleep, JC."

"Yeah, I know, you came here to go dancing," JC repeated, sighing, as he tossed the bedding down on the couch behind Jay. "Okay, I hear you, but listen. We--" he gestured between the two of them-- "Are not doing anything until you sober up, understand? Look; I can put on some music. Do you want that? I can play you something and you can dance your ass off, just like you're in a club."

"Well, I could dance for you," Jay declared, grinning widely, and JC glanced at him curiously. He'd grown so used to seeing Jay smile in a calculated, pretty way that didn't reach his eyes that he was caught off-guard by the genuine nature of this grin. It truly lit up Jay's entire face, relaxed the creases in his forehead, and made his eyes crinkle in a way JC had never seen before. JC simultaneously cursed and blessed the drug that had done this to the younger man.

"I would like that," he finally told Jay, already heading for the CD player, picking out up-tempo CDs from his selection, programming a dance mix of techno and acid beats.

"Actually, I can't dance for shit," Jay called off-handedly, slipping his open over-shirt off of his shoulders and resting it on the arm of the couch. "I've got..." he paused in thought. "'The whitest white-boy country-ass rhythm in the nation', Johnny says," he recited. "But I love to do it anyway. Johnny just laughs, but fuck it; whatever makes me happy, right?" He strode unsteadily across the room as he spoke, coming up behind JC and resting his chin on the older man's shoulders as he programmed the CD player. "Want me to do a strip tease, too?" he whispered into JC's ear.

JC swatted him away. "No," he laughed, then added, "how much do those cost, anyway?"

Jay laughed as well, his breath tickling JC's cheek. "I don't charge for 'em. I suck; nobody's ever asked me for one."

"Well," JC stated, cueing up the player. "Far be it from me to ask, but your music awaits." Tugging the coffee table and ottomans aside, he settled himself upon the couch amidst the blanket and pillows, and sat back to watch.

Jay hooked his thumbs into the loops in his pants, waiting for the first song to begin. When it finally did he scowled, dropping his hands. "I can't strip to this," he protested, huffing a sigh. "It's too fast."

"Well, then," JC suggested, grinning. "Just dance."

Jay looked at him pitifully. "Only if you dance with me."

JC rolled his eyes. "Jay, I'm not gonna--"

"Dancewithme," Jay growled, in a voice too low and husky to be serious, and JC acquiesced, letting the younger man pull him to his feet. Jay turned out to use an interesting mix of the two-step and the body roll in his dancing style, but he was adequate at mimicking, and JC had taught him everything he knew in short order.

"You promise to go to bed when the mix is done?" JC asked him.

"I promise to think about it," Jay answered cheekily.

They both slept in the next morning, the stirrings of Jay's body waking JC surprisingly. After giving it some thought he'd convinced the blond to sleep in his room, because he had never had anyone on drugs sleep in his apartment and he was afraid of what would happen if he couldn't keep an eye on Jay. So he'd lain behind Jay in his bed, arms wrapped around him as he came down from his high, and fought sleep until he was sure Jay was out. And yet he'd woken up so easily?

He let go of Jay and watched the younger man stir to wakefulness. "What time is it?" Jay mumbled gruffly, his eyes not yet open, raising a hand to rub at them roughly.

"Eleven thirty," JC informed him. "Feel good enough for breakfast?"

Jay yawned. "Bagel?"

"Naturally." JC climbed out of bed, remembering only then that he was still fully dressed. "And then you can tell me what prompted your adventures in free-basing from last night?"

Stumbling from the tangle of sheets, Jay nodded half-heartedly, still rubbing his eyes. "Did I say I would?" he asked, then answered himself. "Yeah; yeah, I did. Can I just...." he sighed tiredly and trudged across the room past JC. "Gotta pee," he murmured, already leaving the room.

"Don't fall in," JC called after him.

Jay was considerably more alert when he met JC in the kitchen, the scent of coffee probably serving to perk him up. JC gave him space to talk when he felt ready, simply laying out a bagel at the table and a mug of black coffee for Jay to add to as he wished. "That one's yours," he indicated, and didn't say anything else.

"Yeah...." Jay sat down heavily. "So, um... yeah, so Cal's dead," he said lightly, resting his elbows on his knees and studying his clasped hands before him.

"He's..." JC furrowed his brow and crossed the room quickly, standing over Jay, noting that Jay had eschewed the nickname. "What? He's-- when did this happen?"

Jay shrugged. "I don't know; yesterday morning? The night before, sometime? I don't know. We just found out yesterday afternoon."

"Do you know how...?" JC prompted, realizing that he was still hovering over the younger man. He abruptly sat down next to Jay and debated whether to offer a gesture of comfort.

"I guess the john got too rough with him, or..." He shrugged again, shaking his head helplessly. "Really, I don't know. But, I mean.... That kind of shit happens to Cal. He likes the violence and he always gets fucked up; he just always makes it through, is all. I just--" he hunched a shoulder and picked at the decal on the coffee mug; it had been a gift to JC from a radio station, but had been run through the dishwasher so many times it was impossible to tell what the logo said anymore.

"So you got high so you could deal," JC concluded.

"No," Jay corrected him. "So I could not deal. Free-basing's Cal's thing, not mine, anyway." He stretched his arms out in front of him, pressing his interlocked fingers back until they cracked.

"So you did that as some sort of respect thing?" JC questioned. "When you two didn't get along like that?"

Jay scoffed. "We didn't. Fuck, I hated him. But there's still...." his expression grew frustrated. "Like, we grew up under Johnny together; it wasn't like there was nothing. Fuck," he muttered again.

"You think you're gonna miss him?" JC prodded, and Jay shook his head.

"No. Nah, I mean, I'll miss getting under his skin, fucking with him, all that," he admitted. "But-- Cal? No way." He lowered his chin to the table and remained motionless for a long moment, expelling a long sigh.

"You know, it's okay to mourn, Jay," JC told him softly.

Jay raised his head, turning wide, dry eyes upon JC. "I'm not mourning; I'm not gonna miss him," he repeated. He tilted his head under JC's scrutiny. "I'm not gonna miss him," he insisted.

You might wanna convince yourself before you try convincing me. "Okay then," JC agreed with him. "Okay."

Jay kissed him before he left that morning, catching JC completely off-guard; although he had paid Jay the standard fee for the night, this was the first time Jay had initiated the kiss, and the first time there had been nothing sexual about it. He showed Jay to the door as he had many times before, and suddenly found himself pressed back, Jay's warm body leaning up against his. The prostitute smelled only faintly of perspiration from sleeping in his clothes, and delivered a moist but relatively chaste kiss before pulling back. "Bye," he murmured softly, and slipped past the narrow opening he'd created in the doorway, and JC knew that that meant thanks, too.


seven

Joey would probably like Jay a lot, JC realized after a while, when staying in at his apartment lost what little appeal it had ever held and Jay finally succeeded in convincing him to visit the club with the dancehall music, because this time Jay was sober. Dancing with Jay in the club, JC came to appreciate the prostitute's energy, the late hours he kept effortlessly, the sense of fun that had been buried beneath layers of professionalism. He thought that Joey would be able to appreciate that, too.

There was also the fact that Jay and Joey had similarly childish and bawdy senses of humor, and both loved old-time musicals, and Joey had been the only boy JC knew who'd read The Grapes of Wrath for fun at 14, until Jay spotted the DVD in his bookshelf one night and gasped.

"You're shitting me," he breathed, pulling the movie from the stack and brandishing it in the light. "You watch this stuff?"

JC smiled and rolled his eyes a little, shrugging. "A friend of mine likes to watch it sometimes when he comes over, so yeah, I picked up a copy. You've read the book?"

Jay snorted. "Summer before freshman year." He flipped the case over and stared at the back silently for a moment. "You know," he said suddenly. "Sometimes I think that book got me through coming out."

"How so?" JC extended an arm and Jay trudged over to him to hand over the package.

"Just..." Jay shrugged, threading his fingers through his hair, the mainly brown strands wilting since he was overdue for a dye job. "Reading how other people dealt with prejudice; how they had to wander around looking for a place that would accept them. I took my copy with me when I got thrown out of my parents' place; I still have it somewhere in my apartment, but I haven't read it in ages. When I met Johnny I thought it was weird that I ended up in California just like the Okies did." He sat down on the sofa next to JC and pulled his leg up underneath him, reaching for the remote, seeming to dismiss the topic already.

JC simply watched him and thought that maybe he understood what Jay was talking about. "You know, I think you'd like my friend Joey," he said. "He loved that book, so I'm sure he'd like to have someone to talk about it with." He tilted his head cautiously. "You wanna meet him?"

"I'm still surprised to find out you have friends," Jay said wryly, then tucked in his chin, taking a deep breath. "A friend, huh?" he repeated. "Do I get to meet the family next?" he asked, and JC grinned and made the call the next day.

Joey was skeptical at first when JC suggested it, after having the time to build up God only knew what mental images he'd conjured of Jay from what JC had told him. "This is the psycho kid? The bitchy one who's not bitchy?" he asked. "How stable is he, do you know? 'Cause there's casual sex, and then there's friends with benefits," he explained. "Which one are you doing?"

JC grimaced and gazed at the ceiling as though the answer were written there. "It's not... not really either. Kinda both. Neither? It's hard to explain," he said over Joey's laughter.

"You know, I don't even wanna know anymore," Joey chuckled. "Just tell me he's not your cousin and I'll never ask again."

"He's not my cousin," JC said flatly.

"So on the one hand, you have this freaky casual kinky relationship, and I'm not sure this guy won't scare me. And on the other hand," Joey went on, "you're positive I'm gonna like him."

"The Grapes of Wrath, Joe," JC pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you," Joey sighed.

"Hey," Jay asked in the car on the way to the club where they were supposed to meet up with Joey, "what'd you tell him I do? For a living?"

JC gave him a sidelong glance. "Part-time student, in sales. Told him he wouldn't know the store you worked at." He grinned. "Is that okay with you?"

Jay shrugged one shoulder and tossed his head. "Just wanted to make sure I knew what face I was showin' tonight," he said, and JC, watching him jiggle a leg and chew on the tip of his thumb in the glow from a stop light, realized that Jay was nervous about meeting Joey.

"Look, uh," he tried. "You'll know when you meet him; he's just the best, nicest guy. And," he added somewhat jokingly, "he won't ask you for a blow job, like, ever, so he's already better than most of the guys you'll meet."

"Damn -- you mean he's a cheap bastard," Jay quipped, and they both laughed, but he seemed a little less nervous now.

Jay turned the charm up to one-hundred watts once they'd caught up with the actor, all smiles and "heeyyyyy"s as he shook Joey's hand firmly.

"You're the first one of JC's boyfriends I've had the chance to meet in a long time," Joey offered politely, as Jay ordered a rum and Coke from the bar.

"That's because I give the best head on the planet," was his response, and he somehow managed to take a long drag from his cigarette without making it look pornographic. JC had to give him credit for that.

After that, JC could barely get a word in edgewise with the two. Joey pulled him aside sometime following his and Jay's impromptu duet of "Stars" from L�s Mis�rables and admitted that he'd made a new friend. "He's really all right, JC," he insisted, eyeing him over his beer. "You should definitely stick with this one."

"Joey, we're not," JC blurted, shaking his head, feeling heat rush to his face at the reference to their relationship. "Anymore. We're not. Having, you know, sex or anything. We're just -- friends now. I couldn't explain it over the phone."

Joey studied him carefully as he drank from his bottle. "I think he'd be worth that," he said finally. "You know, worth staying friends with. That's cool, 'C." He clapped JC on the back. "Don't be a stranger, okay? I wanna see you guys around again."

"Yeah, I'll call you sometime," JC told him, and fully intended to do so, eventually.

It was true that they didn't have sex anymore; not since before the night when JC had picked Jay up and he'd been hurt. Profession or no, JC realized that he would never be able to treat Jay like that again. It had become an unspoken expectation between them; Jay could stay the night or however long he liked, and JC would pay him -- up to twice or more his old rate. The first time it happened -- that JC gave Jay an extra hundred -- Jay had protested vehemently.

"I can't," he'd said, extracting the twenties from the folds of cash. "It's dishonest enough if we weren't fucking--"

"You know how I feel about that," JC had said firmly in response. "It's just an extra hundred. You're not stealing it from me or anything; I'm giving it to you."

"No, really, I can't--"

"You're not leaving unless it's with the money," he'd finally commanded, and after staring at him for a long, hard, moment, Jay left without further argument. Half an hour later a doorman knocked on the door with five twenty dollar bills he'd been asked to deliver on request, and JC had been left to wonder how much Jay had had to tip the man to carry out his bidding. The point had been made, though; neither man mentioned it the next night, JC didn't order Jay to do anything, and Jay walked out with $500 and kept it.

There was still intimacy between them at times, but it was more affectionate and less skilled, less obligatory and more willing. On stressful days Jay would drape himself over JC's shoulders as they watched tv from the couch, kissing along his upper back and tracing paths between his shoulderblades and cooing "this is supposed to relax you," and it really did. Jay felt comfortable enough to stop by when he was having a bad night -- not hurt, just "tired of it all," he'd say, sighing and rubbing his brow distractedly, but more recently he wouldn't even give a reason. JC would lie down next to him on the sofa, pressing the lengths of their bodies together; they would kiss occasionally and remain in silence, JC tracing paths down Jay's side from shoulder to thigh, until Jay squirmed and muttered, "okay, I have the attention span of a two-year old. Is there anything on TV?" But the smiles he gave JC these days touched his eyes and lit up his face, so he let go of Jay willingly every time.

Jay wore his cross when he came to visit JC, these days.

"It's kind of funny," he said, fingering it in that tentatively familiar way he had when JC asked about it. "'Cause I wear it for a kind of protection, but then I don't wear it when I'm doing tricks 'cause a, it's like, sacriligious, and two, I don't wanna get robbed. But then I wear it here where I hardly need any protecting at all."

"Because you feel like you can be yourself here," JC suggested, reaching out to touch the cross himself. Jay moved his hands aside to let him, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, I guess that's really it," he said. "I mean, whoever 'me' is. I mean, it's not--" he rolled his eyes in an exaggerated gesture-- "this isn't True Confessions or anything, but you know? I don't have to be anything here. I can just...."

"You're not a bitch, Jay," JC said quietly.

Jay clicked his tongue in annoyance and slouched down on the couch. "Stop sayin' that," he mumbled.

JC played Jay the songs he'd prepared for the Timberlake demo. He hadn't shared them before because he hadn't known Jay well enough, and after he had gotten to know Jay he was startled to realize that he was worried Jay might not like them. He wondered when the line had been crossed; when it was exactly that Jay had moved from a paid stranger to... well, Jay still got paid, but now that was merely a courtesy.

Jay liked the songs. "No, really, they're great," he insisted, resting his chin on his folded hands at the other side of the keyboard. "He's an asshole if he passed that up. It's not like his last single was the shit."

"It made number one," JC pointed out.

"Mmmm," Jay shrugged in dismissal, but didn't say anything else. After a lengthy pause he added, "so is it really lonely? Doing what you do?"

JC shook his head slowly, averting his gaze. He poked at the settings of the keyboard. "I mean, yeah, it is, but it's a choice, too. I work best alone. I kinda like the solitude, so."

Jay smiled slightly. "Date much?"

JC barked a laugh. "What do you think?"

"Yeah, but you're what -- 24 years old? You had a whole life before picking me up," protested Jay.

"Before you," JC sighed, pushing back from the keyboard, "there was my One True Love--" the capitalization was evident in his voice-- "and then there was Everybody Else."

"He broke your heart, huh?" Jay guessed, and raised an eyebrow when JC shook his head. "She broke your heart?"

"She," JC emphasized, "didn't so much break my heart as we broke each others' hearts... or maybe," he gestured vaguely with his hands, "maybe we fell out of love before we could really get hurt. I don't know. We were," JC sighed again. "She was perfect, you know? I was perfect when I was with her. We were perfect together. I was sixteen and I already knew I wanted my kids to have her for a mother, wanted to grow old with her, everything. The whole nine."

"But?" Jay prompted.

JC pursed his lips. "We fucked it up. She cheated on me, I cheated on her -- doesn't matter who was first, and honestly, I don't remember who was first anyway. We were irresponsible. We loved each other, but we couldn't settle down, or whatever we needed to do to make it work. So it just fell apart." He swiveled on his stool and rose to his feet. "She kinda ruined me for everybody else, though."

Jay sat up straighter and hugged the keyboard to himself in JC's absence. "Do you still love her?"

"In some ways, deep down, I guess, yeah," JC admitted. "I still have this fantasy where she'll breeze back into my life and we can pick up where we were before everything went wrong, but I know we'd just make the same mistakes all over again. You don't break out of old habits like that."

"And instead you do what? Pick up whores?" Jay asked bluntly, but with sincerity.

"I didn't date a lot after her, actually," JC said, attempting to answer the question without acknowledging it. "Just a couple of guys here and there. The girls are usually like..." he leaned back against the wall. "They like what I can do for them more than they like me. They wanna cut a demo, they want a record deal, stuff like that. Some of the guys, too, but not so much. So I just keep my distance."

Jay nodded sagely. "And imagine I turned you down," he mused, smirking. "So what about me?"

"We're not dating," JC said simply.

"We have a relationship," Jay said. "I don't know what the fuck kind of relationship it is right now, but it's a relationship anyway, isn't it?"

"Well, with you," JC began, "At first I just thought, 'at least I know he wants my money' instead of having to wonder what you were after, you know?"

"I still want your money, JC," Jay told him.

"Yeah, but if you didn't have Johnny to deal with, you'd come by for free," JC emphasized, and Jay didn't respond, simply pursed his lips and looked away; so JC knew that he was right. "What about you," he went on. "I guess you don't date much in your line of work, huh?"

Jay raised his eyebrows. "You'd be surprised," he said. "I mean, we don't date johns, and it's hard to meet people outside of that most of the time, but sometimes we just pair off and that works."

"Oh," JC realized. "You date each oth-- oh." It made a lot of sense, when he thought about it; who would understand them better than one another?

"Yeah," Jay nodded. "That's actually how me and Georgio ended up rooming together."

"You guys are--?" JC blinked and widened his eyes in surprise. "I didn't know you guys were even--"

Jay was shaking his head vehemently. "No, no," he rushed to assure JC. "We're not anymore. Kinky motherfucker." He caught JC's look of disbelief and went on. "I go along with whatever the john wants, as long as he's paying me extra for it. Georgio actually likes that stuff, and we were always fighting about it, so." He shrugged. "The thing is, the relationships never last anyway. It's just sex for the sake of sex, and after a while you gotta ask whether that's much better than sex for money, and it just gets old."

"Well, have you ever been in love?" JC asked softly, and Jay paused to consider it, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair cautiously.

"Thought I loved my first boyfriend," he admitted, "but that was just... a mistake." He let his weight tip the chair forward with a jarring thunk. "I loved Johnny," he added. "For a while, at the beginning, I really loved him. I thought if he could take some beat-up kid across the country and give him a job and food and a roof over his head and... just treat me nice, it had to be something, you know? I mean, he'd say he loved me, and he never hit me, and he totally saved my life, so I thought he really cared, and I loved him."

JC stepped back over to the keyboard, though not close enough to touch Jay. He reached out uncertainly anyway. "Jay--" he began.

"But that's what they do, you know," Jay continued, cutting him off. "Maybe he loves me in his own way, but it's really more...." he stood, pushing the chair back slowly as he did. "It's more that I'm taking home $800 when I stay with you, and that makes me his favourite right now, and I understand that now, and I'm okay with it."

"Jay--"

"But since Johnny, no, I've never been in love," Jay concluded.

"Okay," JC murmured, nodding, and wondered if maybe, had Jay been anyone other than a prostitute, he could have loved him. He thought that he probably could have.

When he first received the letter he stared at it for something like an hour, until the stylized jTr in the letterhead became blurred from the watering in his eyes.

....would very much appreciate your participation in his upcoming album project....

Fuckers, he thought, folding the letter back up and stuffing it sloppily into the envelope. Rejecting him without a second thought and then suddenly extending the olive branch of peace as though he was supposed to jump on any deal they offered him. As if he was supposed to be grateful at this point.

As if he had much of a choice; to say 'no' would almost certainly result in his becoming blacklisted as difficult in the industry.

Fuckers.

He didn't respond to the letter right away, though, and didn't mention it to Jay, either; a few days later he got the phone call from Justin's offices and let his voicemail take the message.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Jay asked when JC played the message for him. "You were pissed off before 'cause they turned you down, so now they want you, right?"

"Probably what happened is another producer pulled out, and they're scrambling," JC said, getting up to retrieve the letter he'd discarded and giving it to Jay to look over. "Can you see those dates they're giving me? They're probably calling up all their rejects for someone who'll drop everything and help them get the thing out before it has to be shipped." He sighed and tugged a hand through his hair in frustration, pacing before Jay on the sofa.

"Are you gonna do it?" Jay asked softly.

JC snorted and nodded miserably.

Jay leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding the letter out before him with both hands. "But you're lookin' at it like, they rejected you, and they're only doing this 'cause they have to. But that means they need you and not the other way around. You get to come out looking like the good guy for doin' it."

"No," JC shook his head. "That's if I could turn 'em down without looking like an asshole, which I can't. And I feel like I can't go along with it without losing my integrity, you know? I wanted to stand for something; I wanted to stop having to kiss ass to get what I want, and this is just more of the same."

"JC," Jay said. He stood to look JC in the eyes and gripped him by the shoulders. "You do whatever you have to do, and you can either get bitter and depressed about it, or you can accept it and move on." His green eyes narrowed, but were still large in his face. "I can't believe you're fucking complaining about getting something you wanted in the first place."

JC pulled back with a shiver that he tried to disguise, struck by Jay's comparison. However worse Jay's life experiences were than JC's, the ultimate difference between them seemed to be that Jay somehow managed to learn from them without harboring the bitterness and anger that might hinder him from doing his job, or sticking with it. JC couldn't remember the last time he'd been truly happy doing his job, and suddenly he resented himself and the business alike for allowing himself to get to such a point.

"I did, but it's just--" he shook his head. "You're right," he agreed. "You're right; I'm gonna do it, and whatever happens, happens." He just hoped that it would be that easy.

Taking a deep breath, he gestured to the bag Jay had brought with him. "I'm sorry; I was so worked up when you got here I didn't ask what that was for."

"Oh, um--" Jay glanced down at the bag and reached inside as he spoke. "I was feelin' a bit like Pretty Woman today, so..." he gave an exaggerated, excited grin, producing a video tape. "Pretty Woman. Thought we could watch it tonight."

JC giggled silently, his shoulders shaking. "You felt like Pretty Woman? How'd you figure that?"

Jay rolled his eyes. "Okay, it was more like I felt like a flaming queer today, all right? I almost wore my go-go boots."

"Come on," JC purred, reaching over and tugging at Jay's short sleeve playfully. "Let's go out and buy you a nice dress. Bright red; it'll bring out your..." he faltered for a moment. "Skin," he finished lamely, and Jay huffed a laugh.

"And I already know how to use a salad fork and dessert spoon, so there you go. My mama done brought me up good," he replied, batting his eyelashes.

"I used to want that," Jay volunteered when the movie was over, tracing JC's sideburns with the pads of his fingers. JC shifted from where he rested against Jay's chest and looked up at him.

"Want what? Richard Gere?"

"The--" Jay laughed. "Hey. Richard Gere was hot when he was younger. But no, the happy ending. The hero to save me and all that. Like Johnny? That's what I thought it was all about." He craned his neck to look down at JC. "It comes back to what I was saying before. If you like what you do, you should stick with it, no matter what. But JC, if you don't like your job anymore, you can always do something else. Like, a million other things."

"Same goes for you," JC said.

Jay shook his head slowly, bringing his gaze back up to the muted television, and after a while JC returned his attention to the quietly flickering display as well. "Sometimes I get, like... I'm fucking afraid of what'll happen to me when I can't do this anymore, okay?" he blurted.

JC drew back enough to force Jay's gaze back to him. What was the lifespan of a prostitute, anyway? Did one get too old? Too tired? Too worn out to do it any longer? He had no idea. "No," he said. "No, listen -- you can do anything you want," he told Jay, rubbing his arm encouragingly. "Go back to school, get your GED. Be whatever the hell you want. There's nothing you can't be if you really want it."

Jay made a noncommittal sound, as though he didn't believe a word, but didn't comment.


eight

JC would later find out that Jay had been knocking on his door for five minutes before he woke up. Tentatively, though, because it was the middle of the night; even if JC had not been asleep or had not been a heavy sleeper, he still might not have heard. But JC had been asleep, and did sleep deeply, so instead of the knocking it was the light thump and subsequent faint scratching noises afterwards that woke him up. If he'd lived in a house he might have thought it was a cat, but this was an apartment; so instead JC padded to the door, rubbing an eye and yawning, wondering what was going on in the hallway.

The peephole reavealed little more than a blur in the dimmed corridor, so JC cracked the door open slightly and felt it press against him with unexpected force. When he swung the door open, he had to lunge forward to support the slumping weight of Jay as he swayed into the doorway. "Holy shit, man," he grunted, hooking his hands under Jay's armpits, pulling him close and dragging him over the threshhold. The body within his arms was sweat-soaked and trembling, and as JC kicked the door closed behind them, Jay looked up at him with lime-colored eyes wide with fright and containing none of the harshness they might have held before. "What the fuck happened to you?" JC demanded, although as he lowered Jay to the floor he suspected that he already knew.

"I think--there was too--too much in the--I don't know what--" Jay struggled to speak through the convulsions that racked his body, biting down hard on his already bloodied lip in an effort to gain control over himself. "Johnny's--gone--don't know where--Jesus, so fucking cold in here--happened before--just need--a cold bath--"

JC silenced him as best he could, trying to calm him, even as he raged with panic inside. "If I run you a cold bath and put you in, will you be okay? Just nod," he insisted, stroking back sweaty hair from Jay's forehead, his fingers fluttering over the younger man's creased brow, feeling the racing of his heart in his temples. Jay nodded, but when JC rose to go turn on some water, he was stopped by a surprisingly iron grip on the hem of his shirt.

"Stay, please," Jay told him, his eyes unfocused, rolling back as he fought unconsciousness. "Please stay."

JC shook his head slowly. "How can I run you a bath if I stay? If I don't do that, I gotta call 911," he announced, wondering vaguely why that hadn't been his first inclination.

Jay protested against that, too, shaking his head vehemently. "No--no insurance--be fine--" Tears leaked heavily from the corners of his eyes, and he looked about ready to sob, to wail out in agony.

"I'll pay for it if we have to go," JC assured him, speaking soothingly. "Jay, why'd you--" he shook his head, partly in disgust and partly in disbelief. "What was so bad that you had to do this? What was hurting, huh, Jay?"

"--Don't wanna die--Jesus--oh God--" Reaching up with a violently shaking hand, Jay clawed at his neck as though loosening an imaginary noose. "Can't breathe--oh God--please--"

JC had no idea what Jay was asking him or God for, but seeing the younger man suffocate before him was enough to make his decision for him. Dropping back to his knees, he fumbled for his keys while scrambling for a blanket to cover Jay with. Draping the blanket over his friend's body, JC scooped him up with one hand under his knees and the other supporting his back. Jay instinctively curled into him, his shudders shaking the both of them now, and with no easy maneuvering, JC managed to open the door and head for the elevator. He prayed that his actions would go without comment at this hour at night, steeling himself for whatever he might face when this was all over. He could worry about that later. Saving this life now had to come first.

Jay lost consciousness before JC even reached his car; the shuddering stopped at once and suddenly it seemed the younger man had gained five pounds in his arms. Worry seized JC's heart; not certain whether he was making the right decision, he wondered if he should stop and check for a pulse, go back and prepare that ice bath after all.... He continued on, not pausing for a moment. If Jay was gone, he was gone; but JC would not waste precious seconds determining the fact. "Oh, please don't be gone, Jay," JC pleaded with his unconscious friend. "This is not the way you're gonna go, all right? You are not gonna go, not this way, not if I can help it."

After laying Jay out carefully in the backseat, JC got into his BMW himself and proceeded to disobey every traffic rule he'd ever learned. The roads were clear enough at two in the morning to allow him the leeway, and considering the distance between his apartment and the nearest hospital, JC had to admit that he'd made it there in excellent time indeed.

It was a pajama-clad and haggard-looking JC Chasez, carring a limp body haphazardly covered with a blanket, that greeted the staff in the emergency room. Jay was immediately seized from his arms, lifted on to a stretcher, and JC was bombarded with questions.

"What's happened here?"

"Um..." JC stammered, unable to remember the words to explain. "Uh, heroin? He, uh, overdosed. I don't know how much, or when. I--"

"Any other drugs in his system?"

JC shook his head. "Not that I know of. I don't think so."

"Allergies or other conditions?"

"I..." He felt so helpless. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Name?"

Blinking, he realized that if Jay did have a name, JC still did not know what it was. Had he thought to check Jay's body for ID? No. "Jay... that's all I know. He goes by Jay or Jay-Jay. I don't know anything else," he concluded weakly, before he miraculously brought to mind Cal's words, from what seemed so long ago. "No!" he cried. "Wait... it's Bass. Jay Bass, I guess," he informed the waiting EMT.

"Stay here," he was told, and JC obeyed, sitting down dumbly in one of the chairs provided. He was chilled by Jay's sweat that still clung to his clothes, making his clothes stick to his skin. He hung his head between his knees, trying to regain some semblance of reality. As much as he wanted to scold Jay for continuing to play with fire if he'd already been burned before, all JC could do was hope that Jay would somehow make it through yet again. But this would have to be it; would have to be the last time. Jay would have to stop living this life -- JC just had to figure out how to help.

"Someone here for James Bass?" The nurse approached the ER's waiting room, clipboard in hand, and scanned the room for signs of recognition. JC exchanged glances with the only other two patrons -- an elderly man nursing a heavily bandaged hand, and a middle-aged woman holding a vial of solution in which floated 3 or 4 teeth -- and realized with a start that the call was for him. What, was I sleeping? Bass is his name, isn't it?

"Excuse me," he cried, jumping up to meet the nurse as she was about to turn away. "I think that's me. Did he have ID on him? I didn't give the right name."

She consulted her notes. "Heroin overdose?" she asked him to confirm, and he nodded. Nodding back at him, she went on. "He had a license on him, and he's somewhat of a frequent visitor to hospitals, shall we say, including this one." She looked up at him and smiled grimly. "He survived this one," she told him, but didn't return his smile when he let out a soft whoop of joy. "You know he's overdosed before?"

JC nodded. "Yeah, but I--"

"We can't treat him here," she continued flatly. "We can't make him stop using. But his luck's going to run out, Mr. Chasez. The next time he overdoses, he could die, and chances are he knows that, and doesn't care."

"Can I just see him?" JC asked, ignoring her warning and unflinching at the fact that she had recognized him by face alone.

She pursed her lips, dismayed. "I don't suppose you're immediate family," she said.

"I don't suppose you'll find any of those in this state, no," he answered.

Nodding curtly, she turned and began down the hall. "Follow me."

Once the nurse had guided JC to Jay's room, she departed without a further word. JC approached cautiously, the sounds of the machinery in the room masking his footsteps as he neared Jay's bed. Jay's head was turned away, facing the window, and JC could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. "Hey," he called softly, and Jay swiveled his head to gaze in his direction. They made eye contact briefly before Jay returned his stare to the window without saying a word.

"Oh, come on, now," JC chided him jokingly. "Is that any way to thank me for saving your life?"

"Thanks," Jay responded dully, his head still turned away.

JC narrowed his eyes. "And you say you could be an actor?" he said, forcing his voice to remain light-hearted. "That was lousy; say it again, with conviction, now." He stepped closer, dropping his hands to his sides when he saw how unresponsive Jay was to his presence. "You didn't want me to help you, did you," he murmured, pulling up a chair to sit by Jay's arm. "What, you-- you wanted to die? Is that what this is?" Suddenly struck with a wave of anger, he raised his voice, and found himself fighting to keep from yelling. "You're pissed because I didn't let you fucking die on my living room floor? Why'd you fucking say you didn't wanna die if you did wanna die, Jay? Huh? Why'd you come to me if you didn't want me to do anything? Why did you--" he sighed, burying his head in his hands. "Do you even want me here?" he asked simply.

"I didn't wanna die, JC," Jay spoke up, apparently fascinated with the scenery out of the window. His voice was raspy and raw, and JC wondered if maybe he'd been on something else after all, and had had to have his stomach pumped. "I just wanted to... I don't know. Forget, I guess. I wasn't trying to kill myself, just kill... something. But..." he shrugged. "After a while I thought I might die after all, and all of a sudden it didn't seem so bad. And then..." his breath hitched in his throat. "And then I panicked, and I wanted to see you before it was too late, and I didn't wanna die in your living room -- I couldn't do that to you..." he trailed off, and there was silence between the two for another long moment. Finally, Jay turned his head to look at JC, his eyes more moist than JC was sure Jay himself was comfortable with. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said, so softly that his already hoarse voice dropped out on the words. "I do want you here," he added, in that same low voice.

JC nodded, inhaling deeply, and rolled his head back, stretching cramped muscles. He sighed. "Okay, then," he told Jay. "I'll stay." His gaze settled upon Jay's bare arm, lying along his side on the bed, and his breath caught in his throat. The injection had left a huge bloom of a bruise under the pale skin; a wide circle of angry purples, greens, and blues that spilled out over both sides of Jay's lower bicep. Swallowing hard, JC gestured to it. "You did quite a number on the arm, it looks like," he quipped.

Jay fought a smile. "Looks worse than it is," he cracked.

"I'm sure it does." JC reached out and took Jay's hand in his, cradling the fingers of his already weak hand within his own. With the other hand he idly toyed with the hospital bracelet with which Jay had been equipped, studiously averting his gaze from the ugly bruise. Turning it over and over within his fingers, he blinked back empathetic tears until its text came into focus. "'James Lance Bass'," he read softly, starting in realization as he shifted his gaze back up to Jay's face, wondering if he'd been heard.

He had. Jay closed his eyes and pursed his lips. "Just don't use it against me, okay?" he asked weakly, and JC smiled, knowing the gesture went unseen.

Stroking the back of Jay's hand lightly with his index finger, he shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with it, Jay; it's a fine name."

"The James comes from my dad's name," Jay explained, his eyes still closed. "Everybody called me Lance growing up so I wouldn't get confused with him." He opened his eyes then, turning them upon JC expectantly.

"What's wrong with that?" JC struggled to understand.

"They threw Lance out when he was sixteen, for being gay," Jay reminded him. "My mom's last words to me were, 'Repent, Lance, before it's too late'. Lance is dead to them; why would I wanna remember that every day?"

JC pressed his lips together, unsure of what to say. His own parents had been accepting of his bisexuality, even of the men he had dated however briefly over the years. "You're right," he agreed with Jay. "I wouldn't wanna remember it, either." He glanced down at the bracelet again, burning the vitals into his memory. James Lance Bass. It made Jay seem so much more vulnerable; with a name, a birthdate, an identity beyond a created personality to be lived up to. "So that's why you get so mad about it," he stated, more an observation than a question.

"Well, that and it's nobody's fucking business why I hate that name," Jay answered him. "Johnny knows, and that's it. And you."

JC was glad that Jay had told him, but knew that saying as much would only make the younger man uncomfortable. "I'm glad you told me," he said anyway.

"I'm sorry," Jay said suddenly, his voice sounding thick. He lowered his gaze until all JC could see was the dark fringe of his lashes on his cheeks.

JC shook his head. "No, it's okay. I mean, you scared the shit outta me, and don't ever do that again, but you really hurt yourself, so in the future just--"

"No, you don't know," Jay interrupted him. "I kinda, um... dragged you into my problems, and I didn't...." his eyelashes fluttered. "That wasn't what I wanted to... um, do."

JC wondered if maybe Jay wasn't just going through a depression, and what he might do to help him through it. Maybe he could talk to a nurse about it when he left Jay's room. "Jay, you didn't drag me into anything. This is just, you know, it's a funk you're in, and whatever it is, you'll be that much better tomorrow, all right?"

"Listen, JC, I have to tell you something," Jay began, making eye contact again. "Johnny's gotten into some..." he rolled his eyes, shrugging. "Trouble. I don't know. Drugs... money. Somethin'. And he needs to kind of disappear. As soon as possible."

JC stared down at him. "So... so, is he taking off on you?" he asked. "Who's gonna pay for your apartment and all that, if he--"

"No," Jay cut him off, smiling uneasily. "See... if he goes, we--" he pointed to himself-- "the whores -- go with him. We relocate. We get the hell out of the neighborhood."

Realization washed coldly over JC. "So you're leaving, too." At Jay's nod, he continued. "Do you know where to?"

Jay shook his head. "Probably some block I've never been to... maybe another city..." His eyebrows pulled up in the middle of his forehead and he gazed at JC helplessly. "He won't tell us 'til it's too late to tell anybody, anyway. So I just don't know."

"What if you just... didn't go with him?" JC asked. "What if you just stayed when Johnny left?"

Jay snorted. "Not possible."

"You could stay with me," JC insisted, not thinking of logistics; only a means, any means, for Jay to stay near to him. "And then you'd--"

"Stay with you and what?" Jay demanded. "Be your maid? Your cook? Your 'live-in companion'?"

"My roommate," JC murmured weakly. "You could go back to school, like we talked about before, or...." Or anything, he thought wildly. The money might not be as nice, but wouldn't it be something to be free?

Jay just blinked and shook his head in disbelief. "Are you crazy? JC, he'd kill me. And I don't mean that like I'll just get in shit. I mean he'd kill me, or he'd fuck me up so bad I could never work again. Take a wire to my face or tear me a new asshole or somethin'. And who'd wanna fuck a prostitute with two assholes, huh?" He laughed mirthlessly and flung his free arm across his eyes.

JC closed his eyes again, raising his hands to his temples. "Why would he want you that bad?" he asked. "He could replace you easy."

"I've been with Johnny forever," Jay reminded him. "He owns me; I owe him my life. That's just the way it is. That's how it works."

"You owe me at least as much as you owe him," JC shot out without thinking, and when Jay's face suddenly closed up, no longer the expressive window it had just been, he knew that it was a horrible mistake.

Jay pursed his lips, studying JC for a long momemt, before responding. "I didn't know you were keeping score," he said softly.

JC stood, leaning over the bed in a sudden movement, over Jay's unflinching face. "Wait. No. I'm an asshole, and that's not what I meant. I didn't-- I don't--" he sank back into his chair. "I never owned you, Jay," he said desperately. "All that time, the money, the clubs, the dinners... it was-- I wanted you to be yourself. Everything I gave you was because you were worth it as a person, and then some."

He ran a tentative finger up Jay's forearm, steering shy of the bruise. "You could've charged me a grand a night if you wanted to, and I'd still double it, because it was you, and you're something like, priceless, and I wanted you to know that. You're eight-hundred bucks a night to Johnny, but if you could be more than that, wouldn't you?"

Jay weakly turned his hand over in JC's. "He knows where you live," he murmured softly, and his voice cracked again.

JC fought a smile of triumph, but could not stifle his sob of happiness. "I will move," he declared deliberately, "if you say you'll come with me. We can figure out the rest of the details later. I just want -- just say you'll think about it."

He held his breath waiting for a reply, as Jay returned his gaze to the window, blinking slowly, his breath still relaxed. "I'll think about it," he said finally, turning back.

"That's all I wanted," JC breathed, leaning over him again. He brushed Jay's cheek with his lips and nuzzled his neck softly, and started when Jay pulled him up for a kiss on the mouth. He was careful around the lip, but Jay seemed mindless to pain as he pressed their faces together, and after a moment JC felt a dampness between them and pulled away.

Jay's eyes were glittering wetly at him, the dark circles beneath his eyes pooling with new tears. His nose was running, and he sniffled before wiping his eyes hastily. "Can I sleep on it and I'll tell you for sure in the morning?" he said simply, his voice wavering.

"Oh, Jay," JC said before he could stop himself. He reached out and stroked Jay's cheek gently. "It's okay. You can tell me in the morning. I didn't--" had he scared him? He felt a surge of protection and sadness come over him at seeing Jay like this. He'd never seen Jay cry before the overdose, and those had been reactionary tears; this was wholly different. "It's okay," he repeated.

Jay nodded, lips pressed together against a sob. "Come back in the morning," he said.

JC nodded back. "Get some rest," he whispered, leaning over and kissing Jay again, briefly, before withdrawing.

JC slept through the rest of night fitfully at best, and in the morning he merely tugged on some loose casual clothes before heading back to the hospital. "Excuse me?" he said politely at the receptionist's desk, trying not to sound too anxious. If Jay said 'yes', he had two other rooms that Jay could choose from; he'd have to clean one out that afternoon, but that was okay with him. "I'm here to see a James Bass? He was admitted here last night, um... overdosing?"

The nurse flipped through the forms on her clipboard, biting her lower lip in concentration as she searched for the requested name.

"Oh," she commented lightly, pausing upon one sheet. "You missed him. He was checked out at five this morning."

JC's mouth opened wordlessly, and he shook his head, not comprehending. "Five? What do you mean, he was checked out?" he asked, his throat going dry. "Not he checked himself out, but he was checked out?"

The nurse nodded at him, smiling agreeably. "Yes, his emergency contact checked him out, um, it says A.M.A. -- Against Medical Advice; that's all I know, sir."

JC closed his eyes in dismay before opening them upon the nurse again. "Thank you," he managed, before he stumbled back out into the sunlight.

Checked out. Jay had been checked out. By his emergency contact, and who could that be, besides Johnny? He should have known, JC thought angrily, pressing his fingers to his eyes as he fumbled to get into his car. Of course Johnny would be concerned with putting Jay back on the streets as soon as he could stand, or before. "Fuck," he swore, once he was inside, resting his forehead against the steering wheel and taking deep gulps of air in to calm himself.

He had appointments in the studio that day, he remembered vaguely, but he pulled his cell phone out as he drove and cancelled. He checked the dashboard clock. 9:03 AM. Jay's hospital bed would have barely been cold by then. He wanted to kill Johnny. All the more reason Jay needs to get away from this life, he thought. Certainly Jay would be able to see that now.

The strip Jay worked was empty when JC pulled in across the street, closer than he'd ever parked before, but he checked both ways when he got out of his car anyway, out of habit. He buzzed the button for room 2 because Jay had told him that kind Mrs. McDowell lived there and let in anybody who buzzed, no matter what. The halls of the Roseland Mews apartment complex still creaked beneath his feet, and the stairwell was still rickety, but JC smiled sadly as he ascended to the third floor, because he figured it would be the last time he'd see this place if Jay would only say 'yes'. Of course he'd wait and come back if Jay needed to rest up, first. Or maybe he'd help Jay move out himself. Yeah, JC thought as he knocked at door 312 and pushed the doorbell, that was probably what he'd do.

He waited for a moment and leaned in to the door to hear anything from the inside before knocking and ringing again. "Jay?" he called softly "It's JC; can I talk to you for a second?"

Another pause, and he thumped the door firmly with the heel of his hand, glancing around sheepishly as he did. And then because he wasn't about to force the door, he raced back down to the lobby, cursing under his breath, to find out where the manager lived.

"312?" she -- a Delores Henderson -- asked him when he breathlessly inquired, leaning against her doorpost and panting slightly from the run up the stairs. "Mr. Wright gave notice a week ago, and moved out this morning." She held up a keyring. "Dropped off the keys and everything."

JC stopped breathing. "No, you--" he stepped back. "When this morning?" he asked, his voice sounding far away, his forehead feeling tight and knotted with his expression.

"About seven." Her expression changed into one of concern. "What's your name?"

"Uh, Chasez," JC stammered. "JC Chasez." And then, out of habit, he began to spell it.

"Yeah, yeah," Delores nodded, holding up a finger. "I have something I'm supposed to give you." Searching behind her on her desk, she retrieved a sheet of paper, folded in thirds. "Wasn't sure anyone was actually gonna show up, but you're quick." She smiled at him. He couldn't bring himself to return it.

"Thanks," he said, taking it from her, and backed into the hall. "Thanks a lot," he repeated, raising a hand in a half-wave when she told him to have a nice day. Then he staggered back against the staircase's railing and prayed that it wouldn't give out under his weight as he unfolded the paper with clammy hands.

JC--
Still don't know where we're going. Probably San Fran. Maybe? No more death wish, I promise. I'm gonna miss you, shouldntve gotten so attached, I know, but you believe in me and nobody ever did that before. Thanks for that and sorry for letting you down. I hate goodbyes.
--Jay

Jay's writing was large and loopy, and the paper smelled like cigarette smoke, and he'd written in ink that ran and smudged when JC's tears landed on it.

The first week after Jay's disappearance, JC was admittedly anxious. He still couldn't bring himself to be excited over the impending album work in which he'd be buried soon enough, and he found himself lamenting that he would have loved the diversion were Jay there to visit him. He realized that the distance between them would be a burden, but Jay knew where he lived, knew he was welcome in JC's apartment at any time, and JC had confidence that he would receive a letter, an unexpected drop-in, something. He missed Jay already, even though they'd gone days without seeing each other at times even when the younger man had been in town.

After the first week, JC had little time for anxiety or any other emotion. He threw himself into his work, surrounding himself with lyrics and song and track after track of Justin's soulful, airy vocals. Sometimes, when mixing a track alone in the booth, he would sing along, hoping to purge the emotions building up inside of him, but following that came frustration and no small amount of anger. If Jay had his address, the least he could do was send a postcard. 'Weather's great; wish you were here. Jay.' It would be something, at least, to let JC know that he was okay. If he didn't want to see JC, that was fine; he just wanted to make sure that Jay was alive.

When Joey called, JC told him that he and Jay had fought, that Jay had moved without telling him where, and that no, he didn't really want to talk about it or drink his troubles away. Still, he thought about Jay often, wondered if he was being treated well, wondered if he'd had any bad encounters and who he would share them with if he had. And he caught himself talking about Jay, too; the oddest things reminded him of the blond. Or, perhaps he reminded himself, especially when he encountered a particularly bland or plastic employee of a record label at the latest press function.

How he missed Jay's inability to pull punches at times like those.

That was followed by a period in which JC thought he actually saw Jay from time to time. He thought he spotted a familiar profile, recognized the swirl of some patron's hair in a restaurant, thought he could hear a distinctly low, throaty chuckle in a strip mall. He was going crazy; he was missing Jay like crazy. It grew ridiculous, to the point where he no longer even knew what he'd say to the man if he saw him. He'd written a song about it -- Missing You -- and when he'd presented it, Justin had jumped at the chance to put it on the B-side of his next single. Yes, now that Timberlake knew what JC was capable of, the singer suddenly owed favours to him.

Mostly, though, JC worried. He was too aware of the statistics, the precedents, the future Jay seemed likely to step into. He had seen the drug use second-hand, had known even before the nurse had told him that the odds of Jay running with his luck were growing slimmer with every cat-life. If he were to consider it honestly, JC wasn't sure that he wanted to know how Jay was sometimes; as painful as it was, he would rather wonder and hope than know and possibly despair. He hadn't really hoped to make himself useful by being Jay's white knight on a steed, even if Jay had wanted to view him as such; he'd only really hoped to make Jay see the capabilities and worth within himself. What he did with them were up to Jay alone. Knowing that Jay had somehow recognized that meant that JC's life was no longer empty; no longer did he crave what might possibly be -- he was only now trying to build his life up around what was, the way Jay himself lived.

Had lived?

Lived.

He had long since forgotten the feel of Jay's body beneath his hands; now he was beginning to forget the sound of his voice, the precise lilt of his drawl. He wished that he had at least taken a picture. Soon, he would not even be certain that Jay had been real.

And then he would truly be lost, for Jay had been the most real thing in his life.

-The End-

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