JC sings.
Well, yeah, of course he does, because he’s a singer. But he does it all the
time, at the weirdest times, and only when you’re alone with him. Because you
asked Joey about it once and he looked at you like you’re crazy. Which you’re
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 ‘fuck’ was enough of a
shock, but his smooth, coffee-and-cream voice casually growling, "I wanna
fuck you like an animal," (because you can’t 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 God…" Crooning the last part in a sex voice as he opened
the fridge.
When you went into the bus’ bathroom to jerk off, you told yourself that it
was because of that dream you’d 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, "It’s 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
didn’t 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
didn’t want to stop. He was just…fucking 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 weren’t sure if you wanted to thank
Justin or kill him. You were pretty sure what you wanted to do to JC, so you
didn’t agonize over that too much.
It takes a hell of a lot of songs to break you, but finally you do. Break,
that is. You’re 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
animal…"
As if it wasn’t obvious.
Both of you can’t 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 don’t really care. At all.
THE
END