AC!JC part...whhateverwe'reon?
Yeah. This is basically part one of the idea that mixedsignal pulled out during the AC!JC poll. Plot arc!
There is such a thing as wrong place, wrong time. It comes attached with a long sting that disables the victim and sends them into a tailspin of emotion and pain.
Wrong time, wrong place, means a whole lot of shit for Justin to be blind sighted by.
It’s a late night, JC’s been gone for months, first locking himself in his house, then doing promo, then more house arrest, and then another tour for his fifth album under this new reincarnated format, named ‘technosexual’.
Every time Justin sees him, he’s reserved, gaunt, and acts as if there’s nothing more for him than the music, than the art. Justin used to understand. He used to be in the same predicament, he guesses, especially when he went solo for the first time. There was studio time, promo, studio time, more promo, a week to lock himself indoors and sleep, and then a tour. A big tour.
And then it starts. Justin feels the urge to go out, and reconnect with the world outside of the dark sphere JC’s set up for him. He club hops, alone and with friends, he gets high, he gets smashed, he brings someone home every night for some light conversation and some breakneck fucking.
He does it for two months, straight.
And tonight is no better, because he’s walking down to Fury, where he can hear the pounding bass through the thin walls surrounding the place. It calls him in, beckons him home. He accepts it and barges in, without very much thought.
Six minutes later, management is aware that he’s there, and he’s been ushered off to the VIP, where he sits idly. A girl sits next to him, smiling, bubbly, pretty. Short brown hair but long brown legs, scantily clad in some high kind of fashion that looks delicious and expensive.
She smiles at him, alluringly between sips of her drink, and eventually starts conversation.
“Are you who I think you are?” She asks. Her voice is deep, but smooth, and her dimples shine with sweat.
“Yeah.” Justin nods.
“Wow. I’ve always wanted to meet you, since you first came out on the scene, man!” She grins. She introduces herself, but he doesn’t hear her name. He doesn’t want to. Either way, Justin talks to her and realizes that he’s not in control of his environment anymore.
He wonders how that could have happened, as he sips on his bottle of beer. He used to be so in control, so much so that if something spiraled out of control, he went off in a tizzy. And although he did not like the tizzies, he certainly did love the control he had over not only the people in his life, but over whole masses of people all over the world.
Where the fuck did that go?
A JC song comes on, one of the lighter ones you would expect to hear in a club, and everybody gets up, dancing, pulsing, feeling the remix of oh-so-familiar words and an oh-so-familiar voice.
“You wanna dance?” She asks Justin, as he looks down at his empty bottle and he smiles and nods, getting up and easing her over to the balcony, slipping both of them into small gaps in the crowd. She stops, and faces him, coming close casually so that they can grind together. Her hips are narrow and she indulges herself in his control, moving both in and out of time with the song. It doesn’t matter that thee invisible hand of JC is hanging over the top of them, which should have been a firm yet soft reminder of what he had at home.
However, the power-hungry rarely ever actually take notice of those reminders.
Justin takes the girl home. He undresses her and folds up her clothes in the bedroom, kisses her softly, even though she tastes like minmosa, wraps himself up, and spreads her legs, abruptly diving in.
She lays back and takes it.
It’s just like the other days, like when Justin was younger, more successful, horny. Someone under him with a warm body and open legs, someone whom he did not know, but that gave him control over the situation, it would be okay, this way. Like a lame rehash of what he used to have.
She’s moaning now, throwing her hips into his, wiggling and writhing. Justin doesn’t think he’s taken her virginity, but he goes slow to be sure, babying her in kisses and sweet words.
He’s in control, because she’s given him that control over the situation. And she’s getting off on it as much as he is.
He turns her over, fucks her on her side. Kissing her until she’s moaning. While he doesn’t think she’s a groupie, Justin’s not sure what this girl is to him, other than a glory hole with organic matter attached.
And then she pushes him over, so he’s flat on his back and she’s in the air, and she’s rolling her hips and begging for him to come, and she giggles sensually when Justin does, straightening out and fucking him through his hitched-breath orgasm, the little ploy he used to use all the time.
“You’re so good,” He tells her. It’s a bunch of empty words. He pulls her down, kisses her and sucks ceremoniously on her nipples. He brings wet fingers down to stroke her, and when she comes, she ascends on him again, gasping because she can’t control herself.
It’s only until she unsaddles him that he sees JC standing there, against the doorsill. She squeals when she sees him, and makes a comment about how she’s so undone. He smiles boyishly at her, and moves gracefully to the left so that she may leave to find her clothes, but Justin’s conveniently folded her clothes, so now she’s not only star struck, she’s also confused and naked. JC smiles amusingly, and acts surprisingly like a gentleman to her, He holds out her clothes and tells her something in her ear after she kisses him thank you on his lips. He hands her the purse, and she eventually comes back, kissing Justin deeply before leaving.
That’s when JC heats up.
“What was that, baby?” he asks Justin. Justin, quite frankly, doesn’t know what to say, because he can’t say anything, he keeps his mouth shut. “I want to know. Answer me.”
“I…” Justin begins. He lies in bed, watching slowly as JC devolves into JC’s stage persona, dark and tough, coy and cocksure.
Justin knows that in a minute, he’ll be overpowered.
“You gonna ask how long I was here, Justin? You gonna be that obvious, right?” JC asks. His voice carries this quiet heat, one that is scarce and smooth, vulnerable and soft. “I was here the whole time, Justin. The whole fucking time. What, can’t feel me in a room anymore, or you just disable your senses when pussy is around?”
“JC, Don’t, please,” Justin whispers.
“Stop it, Justin? I can’t. You wanna know why I can’t. Because I didn’t start it. You know that,” JC barks. “And don’t give me that puppy dogged shit, either.”
“Look, it’s not like you’ve been talking to me or…or… acting like you care about anything, and you’ve been a recluse for what? Five months, maybe six? What the hell are you doing in your house, JC? What the hell are you doing, period. What’s wrong with you.”
“Perhaps I’ve been learning something, perhaps I’ve been going through something, perhaps I’ve just wanted to be alone, for a while,” JC says.
“Oh, well, thanks for telling me, it’s not like I can just guess this shit,” Justin hisses, sitting up in the bed. JC looks him over. Justin’s muscles have been redefined, if not more defined this time. His skin looks pale, almost ethereal. He’s clean shaven, but the curls that sit atop his head, and pool in his crotch, are still there, well maintained, but there. He licks his lips.
“You know, it’s not even that. I’d be fine with it, really I would,” JC snaps back, in the dark. His eyes have adjusted, but he stares at the wall above Justin’s head because he can’t find it within himself to look at Justin.
“So what’s wrong, then?” Justin asks.
“The problem is that I’ve called you every night for the past three weeks, and you’ve never picked up. You’ve never picked up your home, your cell, your car phone, why the fuck do you have all these gadgets if you’re nowhere near? And, and then, I decide to come here, and find you and,” JC’s voice trails off, then comes back twice as hard. “And I see you here, in bed, your back, and can you imagine that heartbreak when you turn whoever that girl was over?”
“Do you think this is all about you?” Justin asks.
“Not all of it’s about me, Justin,” JC whispers. “It’s just…I was going to…I wanted you, tonight, Justin. I wanted to come here, and make love to you. Nice and slow and…until every part of us was together. I was going to apologize for my…I was going to come here and let myself indulge in you. And what do I see? My punishment.”
Justin slithers out of bed. “It feels good to finally punish you,” he snaps.
JC’s eyes leer. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve been reckless around you. It doesn’t matter. I just…I deserved it. I needed you. I was selfish. And you know what, that may be wrong, but you’re wrong too. You’re mine.”
“I’m my own,” Justin snaps.
“You won’t be saying that by the time I’m done with you,” JC hisses. “I’ve had my punishment. I’m sure I’ll be able to repent quick enough to cook up something good enough for you. By the time I’m done, you’ll never want what I won’t give you again.”
“Fuck you,” Justin’s emotions are running high, his body is being split into two. One part, the part that loves and cherishes JC, wants to submit and put Band-Aids over wounds, the other wants to find the vinegar. There’s fire stroking down his throat, in his heart, up his cock.
“I’m not a fan of sloppy seconds, Justin,” JC smiles, walking away easily, flawlessly. And there’s something so beautiful about the way JC turns and walks away, something about the way his body moves in his jeans and ratty tennis shoes. Everything’s so organic about him, and Justin wonders what he’s doing wrong. He wonders if his control is worth hurting JC over. He wonders if JC is worth hurting himself over. And there’s this rising feeling in the pit of his stomach, that tells him to go to JC and beg for forgiveness and pray that the hurt he feels in retaliation is not as bad.
He knows JC, though. And when retaliation is needed, retaliation is given. There is no such thing as JC being ‘soft’ anymore. Justin groans; he knows he’s fucked.
He lies in bed, and worries himself to sleep.
However, when he wakes up, he doesn’t expect what he gets.
He doesn’t expect the feeling of barely being in his own body, a feeling only JC has been known to give. There’s something nice about it.
His body feels used, abused, strained as if it has been stretched and lacerated all night. A good night, all in all.
Of course, that’s if he could remember it.
The phone rings, and it’s JC on the line.
“Hello, Justin,” JC says, plainly. His tone is cold as ice. “How are you this morning?”
“Wonderful,” Justin moans.
“Good,” JC smiles. “I guess that means that you didn’t get that present I left you.”
“Present?” Justin asks.
“Oh, yes,” JC says. “I find that it’ll be quite enjoyable for you, if you know what I mean. It’s comfortable, as I’m sure you already know, since you’ve slept through it.”
“Slept through what?” Justin asks.
JC sounds amused. “Justin, Look down.”
When Justin does, he’s very surprised. It’s mostly because there’s a chain metal bag strapped down around Justin’s cock. He looks down at it, the bag tucked between Justin’s legs.
“It’s the only possible way to make sure we don’t have a replay of last night, baby. And every night, it’s going to get tighter and tighter. By the time I’m done with you,” JC sighs, “You’ll never think of infidelity again. Or, at least…not under my watch.”
Justin shivers with that idea. He slithers out of the bed and goes to the mirror, watching himself.
There’s a word carved into shaven skin, right above the bag, right inside his crotch, in a mirror image, so that he can see it for himself.
‘Mine’.
He can hear JC’s smile over the phone before he hangs up.
There is such a thing as wrong place, wrong time. It comes attached with a long sting that disables the victim and sends them into a tailspin of emotion and pain.
Wrong time, wrong place, means a whole lot of shit for Justin to be blind sighted by.
It’s a late night, JC’s been gone for months, first locking himself in his house, then doing promo, then more house arrest, and then another tour for his fifth album under this new reincarnated format, named ‘technosexual’.
Every time Justin sees him, he’s reserved, gaunt, and acts as if there’s nothing more for him than the music, than the art. Justin used to understand. He used to be in the same predicament, he guesses, especially when he went solo for the first time. There was studio time, promo, studio time, more promo, a week to lock himself indoors and sleep, and then a tour. A big tour.
And then it starts. Justin feels the urge to go out, and reconnect with the world outside of the dark sphere JC’s set up for him. He club hops, alone and with friends, he gets high, he gets smashed, he brings someone home every night for some light conversation and some breakneck fucking.
He does it for two months, straight.
And tonight is no better, because he’s walking down to Fury, where he can hear the pounding bass through the thin walls surrounding the place. It calls him in, beckons him home. He accepts it and barges in, without very much thought.
Six minutes later, management is aware that he’s there, and he’s been ushered off to the VIP, where he sits idly. A girl sits next to him, smiling, bubbly, pretty. Short brown hair but long brown legs, scantily clad in some high kind of fashion that looks delicious and expensive.
She smiles at him, alluringly between sips of her drink, and eventually starts conversation.
“Are you who I think you are?” She asks. Her voice is deep, but smooth, and her dimples shine with sweat.
“Yeah.” Justin nods.
“Wow. I’ve always wanted to meet you, since you first came out on the scene, man!” She grins. She introduces herself, but he doesn’t hear her name. He doesn’t want to. Either way, Justin talks to her and realizes that he’s not in control of his environment anymore.
He wonders how that could have happened, as he sips on his bottle of beer. He used to be so in control, so much so that if something spiraled out of control, he went off in a tizzy. And although he did not like the tizzies, he certainly did love the control he had over not only the people in his life, but over whole masses of people all over the world.
Where the fuck did that go?
A JC song comes on, one of the lighter ones you would expect to hear in a club, and everybody gets up, dancing, pulsing, feeling the remix of oh-so-familiar words and an oh-so-familiar voice.
“You wanna dance?” She asks Justin, as he looks down at his empty bottle and he smiles and nods, getting up and easing her over to the balcony, slipping both of them into small gaps in the crowd. She stops, and faces him, coming close casually so that they can grind together. Her hips are narrow and she indulges herself in his control, moving both in and out of time with the song. It doesn’t matter that thee invisible hand of JC is hanging over the top of them, which should have been a firm yet soft reminder of what he had at home.
However, the power-hungry rarely ever actually take notice of those reminders.
Justin takes the girl home. He undresses her and folds up her clothes in the bedroom, kisses her softly, even though she tastes like minmosa, wraps himself up, and spreads her legs, abruptly diving in.
She lays back and takes it.
It’s just like the other days, like when Justin was younger, more successful, horny. Someone under him with a warm body and open legs, someone whom he did not know, but that gave him control over the situation, it would be okay, this way. Like a lame rehash of what he used to have.
She’s moaning now, throwing her hips into his, wiggling and writhing. Justin doesn’t think he’s taken her virginity, but he goes slow to be sure, babying her in kisses and sweet words.
He’s in control, because she’s given him that control over the situation. And she’s getting off on it as much as he is.
He turns her over, fucks her on her side. Kissing her until she’s moaning. While he doesn’t think she’s a groupie, Justin’s not sure what this girl is to him, other than a glory hole with organic matter attached.
And then she pushes him over, so he’s flat on his back and she’s in the air, and she’s rolling her hips and begging for him to come, and she giggles sensually when Justin does, straightening out and fucking him through his hitched-breath orgasm, the little ploy he used to use all the time.
“You’re so good,” He tells her. It’s a bunch of empty words. He pulls her down, kisses her and sucks ceremoniously on her nipples. He brings wet fingers down to stroke her, and when she comes, she ascends on him again, gasping because she can’t control herself.
It’s only until she unsaddles him that he sees JC standing there, against the doorsill. She squeals when she sees him, and makes a comment about how she’s so undone. He smiles boyishly at her, and moves gracefully to the left so that she may leave to find her clothes, but Justin’s conveniently folded her clothes, so now she’s not only star struck, she’s also confused and naked. JC smiles amusingly, and acts surprisingly like a gentleman to her, He holds out her clothes and tells her something in her ear after she kisses him thank you on his lips. He hands her the purse, and she eventually comes back, kissing Justin deeply before leaving.
That’s when JC heats up.
“What was that, baby?” he asks Justin. Justin, quite frankly, doesn’t know what to say, because he can’t say anything, he keeps his mouth shut. “I want to know. Answer me.”
“I…” Justin begins. He lies in bed, watching slowly as JC devolves into JC’s stage persona, dark and tough, coy and cocksure.
Justin knows that in a minute, he’ll be overpowered.
“You gonna ask how long I was here, Justin? You gonna be that obvious, right?” JC asks. His voice carries this quiet heat, one that is scarce and smooth, vulnerable and soft. “I was here the whole time, Justin. The whole fucking time. What, can’t feel me in a room anymore, or you just disable your senses when pussy is around?”
“JC, Don’t, please,” Justin whispers.
“Stop it, Justin? I can’t. You wanna know why I can’t. Because I didn’t start it. You know that,” JC barks. “And don’t give me that puppy dogged shit, either.”
“Look, it’s not like you’ve been talking to me or…or… acting like you care about anything, and you’ve been a recluse for what? Five months, maybe six? What the hell are you doing in your house, JC? What the hell are you doing, period. What’s wrong with you.”
“Perhaps I’ve been learning something, perhaps I’ve been going through something, perhaps I’ve just wanted to be alone, for a while,” JC says.
“Oh, well, thanks for telling me, it’s not like I can just guess this shit,” Justin hisses, sitting up in the bed. JC looks him over. Justin’s muscles have been redefined, if not more defined this time. His skin looks pale, almost ethereal. He’s clean shaven, but the curls that sit atop his head, and pool in his crotch, are still there, well maintained, but there. He licks his lips.
“You know, it’s not even that. I’d be fine with it, really I would,” JC snaps back, in the dark. His eyes have adjusted, but he stares at the wall above Justin’s head because he can’t find it within himself to look at Justin.
“So what’s wrong, then?” Justin asks.
“The problem is that I’ve called you every night for the past three weeks, and you’ve never picked up. You’ve never picked up your home, your cell, your car phone, why the fuck do you have all these gadgets if you’re nowhere near? And, and then, I decide to come here, and find you and,” JC’s voice trails off, then comes back twice as hard. “And I see you here, in bed, your back, and can you imagine that heartbreak when you turn whoever that girl was over?”
“Do you think this is all about you?” Justin asks.
“Not all of it’s about me, Justin,” JC whispers. “It’s just…I was going to…I wanted you, tonight, Justin. I wanted to come here, and make love to you. Nice and slow and…until every part of us was together. I was going to apologize for my…I was going to come here and let myself indulge in you. And what do I see? My punishment.”
Justin slithers out of bed. “It feels good to finally punish you,” he snaps.
JC’s eyes leer. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve been reckless around you. It doesn’t matter. I just…I deserved it. I needed you. I was selfish. And you know what, that may be wrong, but you’re wrong too. You’re mine.”
“I’m my own,” Justin snaps.
“You won’t be saying that by the time I’m done with you,” JC hisses. “I’ve had my punishment. I’m sure I’ll be able to repent quick enough to cook up something good enough for you. By the time I’m done, you’ll never want what I won’t give you again.”
“Fuck you,” Justin’s emotions are running high, his body is being split into two. One part, the part that loves and cherishes JC, wants to submit and put Band-Aids over wounds, the other wants to find the vinegar. There’s fire stroking down his throat, in his heart, up his cock.
“I’m not a fan of sloppy seconds, Justin,” JC smiles, walking away easily, flawlessly. And there’s something so beautiful about the way JC turns and walks away, something about the way his body moves in his jeans and ratty tennis shoes. Everything’s so organic about him, and Justin wonders what he’s doing wrong. He wonders if his control is worth hurting JC over. He wonders if JC is worth hurting himself over. And there’s this rising feeling in the pit of his stomach, that tells him to go to JC and beg for forgiveness and pray that the hurt he feels in retaliation is not as bad.
He knows JC, though. And when retaliation is needed, retaliation is given. There is no such thing as JC being ‘soft’ anymore. Justin groans; he knows he’s fucked.
He lies in bed, and worries himself to sleep.
However, when he wakes up, he doesn’t expect what he gets.
He doesn’t expect the feeling of barely being in his own body, a feeling only JC has been known to give. There’s something nice about it.
His body feels used, abused, strained as if it has been stretched and lacerated all night. A good night, all in all.
Of course, that’s if he could remember it.
The phone rings, and it’s JC on the line.
“Hello, Justin,” JC says, plainly. His tone is cold as ice. “How are you this morning?”
“Wonderful,” Justin moans.
“Good,” JC smiles. “I guess that means that you didn’t get that present I left you.”
“Present?” Justin asks.
“Oh, yes,” JC says. “I find that it’ll be quite enjoyable for you, if you know what I mean. It’s comfortable, as I’m sure you already know, since you’ve slept through it.”
“Slept through what?” Justin asks.
JC sounds amused. “Justin, Look down.”
When Justin does, he’s very surprised. It’s mostly because there’s a chain metal bag strapped down around Justin’s cock. He looks down at it, the bag tucked between Justin’s legs.
“It’s the only possible way to make sure we don’t have a replay of last night, baby. And every night, it’s going to get tighter and tighter. By the time I’m done with you,” JC sighs, “You’ll never think of infidelity again. Or, at least…not under my watch.”
Justin shivers with that idea. He slithers out of the bed and goes to the mirror, watching himself.
There’s a word carved into shaven skin, right above the bag, right inside his crotch, in a mirror image, so that he can see it for himself.
‘Mine’.
He can hear JC’s smile over the phone before he hangs up.