Well, yeah, of course he does, because heís a singer. But he does it all the time, at the weirdest times, and only when youíre alone with him. Because you asked Joey about it once and he looked at you like youíre crazy. Which youíre not.
Which means that JC only sings to you. Or with you, or around you, or whatever, but its the same thing, really, and its driving you insane. Because JC only sings songs about sex.
When he walked into the kitchen area singing "Closer," you thought you were going to choke on your coffee. Just JC singing the word Ďfuckí was enough of a shock, but his smooth, coffee-and-cream voice casually growling, "I wanna fuck you like an animal," (because you canít not growl that song) made you sit up straight and clench your fists beneath the table to keep from grabbing him.
And then he smiled at you, guileless, almost innocent. "Hey, Chris. You get me closer to GodÖ" Crooning the last part in a sex voice as he opened the fridge.
When you went into the busí bathroom to jerk off, you told yourself that it was because of that dream youíd had the night before, about one of your new female dancers. You ignored that you could still hear him through the bathroom door, almost grunting, "Itís your sex I can smell." You ignored that he could probably hear you.
JC sang while he made breakfast. Backstage, while you were doing your quick changes, always making sure that his microphone and yours were temporarily off. On the bus. Off the bus. All the fucking time. And he knew songs that you didnít even know that he knew. Weird stuff. Dark stuff. His voice flowed through Orgy songs like malt liquor, through Poe songs like mint chocolate chip ice cream flavored with brandy. You started to notice the way he sang his own songs, growling them out like he was on the edge of the best orgasm of his life, being held back by something or someone that was fucking harsh, but so good that he didnít want to stop. He was justÖfucking you with his voice.
When you found out that Justin was supplying JC with CDs he burnt with Garbage songs, Janet Jackson songs, songs that could only be growled or moaned or whispered in a sex-drenched voice, you werenít sure if you wanted to thank Justin or kill him. You were pretty sure what you wanted to do to JC, so you didnít agonize over that too much.
It takes a hell of a lot of songs to break you, but finally you do. Break, that is. Youíre fucking around with your laptop while JC lies on the couch, quietly singing "#1 Crush." Complete with little panting sounds. "Uh uh. Ah ah."
Finally you stand up, determined, careful not to throw your laptop, and lean over him on the couch, your hands on either side of his head, pinning him to the couch. His eyes are wide and surprised, almost innocent. His lips are wet and open.
"What the fuck do you want, JC?" you ask, horny and frustrated and confused.
He smiles, eyes crinkling, looking away shyly, teeth biting his bottom lip. Finally he blushes and looks at you. Sings. "I wanna fuck you like an animalÖ"
As if it wasnít obvious.
Both of you canít help but laugh at that, and you immediately decide that JC is a big fucking dork. But a sexy dork. And later, when he is inside of you and crooning in your ear, you donít really care. At all.