Let me tell you that this song's useful,
Yes, this song's useful when you're really drunk
And you gotta learn the difference when I love ya,
The difference when I love ya and whatever.


When they finally get inside JC’s hotel room, he grabs Rufus by the arms and presses him against the door, grasping his skinny wrists and kissing him, licking the inside of Rufus’s mouth. It feels like a shot of fine heroin, slow and drowsy, and JC’s tongue tastes like vodka and cranberry, but he could be picking it up from Rufus.


They’re sharing breath and tastes and saliva, which should be disgusting but totally isn’t. In fact, its kind of hot, but it feels like weakness to admit that he’s fucking desperate for this, desperate to strip this pretty boy of his clothes and fuck him until he can’t breathe anymore, until he can’t dance and the only way that he can sing is under Rufus’s fingers. Its weakness, but the good kind. He only hopes that he can get it up after all the alcohol he’s consumed.


But apparently he can, because when Rufus takes over, switches places with him until JC’s back is at the door, JC’s wrists in Rufus’s long fingers, Rufus’s tongue licking JC’s teeth, JC moans and Rufus starts getting hard, immediately. Thank god. He may feel about sixty sometimes but his dick is still trapped in his teenage years.


Rufus’s thigh slips between JC’s, and JC has bypassed ‘getting’ and is hard as a rock through sparkling leather. Rufus slips back with a laugh. “So, you have a kinky side?”


“What’ve you heard?” JC says immediately, then blushes.


“I didn’t know there was anything to hear. I was just talking about this.” Rufus lifts his knee until it rubs against JC’s hard-on, and JC moans. “But now I’m intrigued.”


“Fuck off,” JC says, but it’s with a grin. “I just. You know. Like being held down, sometimes.”


“Anything else you like?” JC lifts his head and bites Rufus on the neck, lightly, in answer. Rufus smiles. “From whose side?” JC slips his hand out of Rufus’s grasp to bring his mouth to JC’s neck. He grins, teeth against JC’s skin, and notes the shiver. “And then there are those other things, which for several reasons we won’t mention…” he sings lightly, and then starts walking backwards to the bed, JC’s hands still firmly within his grasp.


“I’ve always wanted to hear you sing live. I never really thought it would be under these circumstances, though.”


“Are you disappointed?”


JC laughs, a short happy bark. “God, no.”


“Good.” He bites a little at JC’s neck, grinning at the moan gets in return. “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you sing, either.”


JC pulls his hands out of Rufus’s, pushes Rufus back on the bed and straddles him. He looks so fucking happy, glowing with lips bruised, and Rufus wants to kiss him until they bleed. “My true love did breathe by the Sally Ann just barely, that while walking through the town only my heart did hear him. In views of the city, there ain’t many folks by the Sally Ann so pretty…”


Rufus cuts him off with a kiss. “I want to lick your vocal cords.” JC laughs, and Rufus kisses him again. He could get addicted to this boy, his voice and the slide of his hair through Rufus’s fingers, and his laugh. “You know, I don’t usually fuck groupies.”


“Well, I don’t usually fuck guys, so we’re about even.”


Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “I thought you said you were gay.” If this boy is straight, Rufus will fall in love with him, undoubtedly. It’s a never-ending cycle. Just hearing the prospect of his potential straightness, Rufus can feel JC becoming more attractive to him by the second.


“I’m not,” JC says quickly, and Rufus sucks in a breath, relieved. “I’m just not…out. It’s not exactly cool for pop stars to be gay. If I fuck girls, the media pretty much ignores it. If I fucked guys, I’d have Carson Daly asking me about my deviant habits on TRL.”


“You’d have Carson Daly begging to suck your cock,” Rufus says distractedly. “Wait. When was the last time you got fucked?”


“Um. Do you mean, the last time I had sex, or…”


“The last time you had a cock up your ass, baby. Or anything else, for that matter.”


JC blushes, but Rufus can feel him get harder. “Couple years.”


“Shit.” Rufus sighs, collapsing against the bed. “That means you’ll want to bottom, huh?”


“Um. Why? Did you want to?”


Rufus leans up on an elbow, eyeing JC’s crotch. “It’d be a shame to let all that go to waste.”


JC smacks him on the chest. “Shut up. And there’s always tomorrow morning, you know. I mean. If you wanted to stay.” He’s blushing again. Its cute, but how he can have that much blood in his face and cock at the same time is beyond Rufus.


“If you’re not out, do you really want a famously gay semi-pop star walking out of your hotel the morning following your exit of a party with him the previous night?”


“Oh. Good point.” JC’s face falls a little. “Well.”


“Well,” Rufus says, taking pity on the boy, “I guess I can make the sacrifice and fuck you.” He says it right in JC’s ear and JC moans a little, turns his head to kiss Rufus softly and then slips off the bed, kneeling at Rufus’s feet. “And what are you doing, beautiful?”


JC’s long fingers quickly unbutton Rufus’s pants. “I haven’t given a blowjob in awhile, either. You’ll just have to make the sacrifice.” And then those long fingers are on Rufus’s cock, stroking reverently against the swollen flesh, and Rufus wants to fucking marry this boy. “Are you clean?”


“I may be a slut, but I’m as clean as a virgin. I swear.”


“Good. I hate the way latex tasted.” And then Rufus’s dick is encased in JC’s mouth, and its hot and wet and JC’s tongue shouldn’t be a fucking registered weapon. This is why he loves to fuck singers—strong muscles in their throats and the ability to hold their breath for a long, long time.


He says as much to JC, or moans it, anyway, and JC nearly chokes on his cock, teeth scraping lightly enough that Rufus doesn’t know whether to come or clutch his dick protectively. JC’s mouth slips off of Rufus’s dick and he falls back onto the floor, laughing. When he recovers, his eyes are red and watery, and Rufus leans over to wipe away tears. “I have to say, that’s the worst ending of a blowjob ever.”


JC laughs again, and it turns into a hiccup. “Sorry.” He leans over and licks demurely at the head of Rufus’s cock.


Rufus fists his hand in JC’s long hair, pulling him back. “You do that again, I’m gonna come.” JC smiles wickedly and leans in, and Rufus pulls hard. “Seriously, baby. You want me to fuck you, you’re gonna have to lay off. I’m old and hungover and my cock can only take so much submissive gorgeous boy.”


“I’m not submissive.”


“You’re on your knees in front of me like a closet fag at church, baby. And…” He pulls JC’s hair, just lightly, and laughs at the whimper.


“Shut up.”


Rufus lets go of him, abruptly. “Now, take your clothes off. Go.” He claps his hands.


“What? That was kind of sudden.”


“You just sucked me off, baby. Nudity is kind of the next step in us fucking.” Rufus pulls his shirt off, and looks down at JC, still fully clothed on the floor at Rufus’s feet. “I guess it has been awhile, huh?”


JC smacks him and stands, stripping his shirt off with a long-suffering sigh. “I swear, you’d better be worth the trouble. I almost ruined my voice choking on your dick, and now I’m being abused.”


“Poor baby. When you’re coming your brains out, I’ll be sure to sing a sad little tune for you.”


“You’d better.” JC works his pants slowly off his slim hips and holy shit; it hadn’t just been an optical illusion.


Rufus tries to tear his eyes away, and fails. “Are you sure you want to bottom?” he asks plaintively.


“Years, Rufus, years. Think about how tight I’ll be.”


JC comes over to the bed and starts stripping Rufus’s bottom half, shoes then socks then pants, and Rufus babbles to keep his mind off of how skinny and muscular and gorgeous JC is in comparison to his own pasty un-muscled body. “You know, when I first picked you up I thought you’d be this sweet little vanilla almost virgin. Who knew that you’d be one bitchy kinky bottom?”


“You wanna see kinky, tie me up.” JC runs his fingers over Rufus’s tiny potbelly.


“Hey, I wanted to go back to my place, where I have handcuffs. And lots of gay porn. You’re the one who insisted we come back here.” JC gets quiet, his hand stilling right under Rufus’s navel. “What?”


“I just hate having to be the one to leave.”


Oh, shit. This is becoming an emotional thing, rather than just fucking. Rufus had known he shouldn’t pick up someone who was actually concerned over his well being, but he’d been blinded by JC’s goddamned pretty face. He sighed. “Its not exactly fun from my side, either.”


“Yeah, but you don’t have to leave. I’m inviting you to stay.”


Oh, fuck fuck fuck. “Fuck. JC.” He wishes he had more to say than that, but he really doesn’t.


JC’s eyes widen, and he leans forward, kissing Rufus frantically. “Oh, god, don’t leave. Never mind, never mind, you can go when you want to, just…not now.”


They kiss to forget about that whole weird episode, and it works, and it’s deep and wonderful and JC’s body feels like steel overlaid with velvet in his hands. It’s a cliché, but its true, and Rufus knows that his cock will feel the same way, something hard but somehow vulnerable within his hands. Rufus slides his hand down and wraps his hand around JC, and he was right. Hard and soft and vulnerable, and JC moans into his mouth, bucks his hips.


“Do you have anything?” Rufus whispers into his ear, and JC nods, his eyes still closed. He points to the dresser, and sure enough, there are condoms and lube in there, like JC was expecting this. Rufus has to open the drawer with one hand, his other one still firmly wrapped around JC’s cock, unable to let go.


JC is the one who puts it on him, slides the condom down with a sure hand and a soft look at Rufus’s flesh, disappearing into latex. When he looks back up, his eyes meet Rufus’s and they are wide and happy and kind of sad, as well. “Fuck me,” he says in a low voice.


“Like I could say no,” Rufus says back, just as low, and flips them over, until JC is on his back beneath him.


JC really is tight, and it takes one two three fingers to loosen him up, and by the time Rufus gets his cock into him, he is moaning and writhing and his hair is curling in little tendrils around his face, wet with sweat. Rufus slides in to the hilt, his pelvis directly against JC’s ass, and has to suck in a breath. JC is beautiful beneath him, beautiful and Beautiful and fuck, now that he’s here he doesn’t ever want to leave. Fuck bottoming, he’ll do this the rest of his life if he gets to see this look on JC’s face, the delicate ecstasy.


It gets worse when JC’s eyes open. They’re drowsy and delirious, and it feels like something shatters in Rufus’s spine when he tightens his muscles around Rufus, opens his mouth, and says, “Move.”


Rufus does, slamming his hips again and again into JC, gently and then harder, and JC moans, and writhes, and just…takes it. Takes it, and loves it, and puts his feet flat on the bed on either side of Rufus’s hips so he can slam himself onto Rufus’s cock.


It feels like fucking, good and pure and hot and familiar, and Rufus feels like himself again, feels free and just plain happy, but when JC comes, he throws his head back and says, “Rufus,” and Rufus comes with a gasp, just the simple sound of his name in JC’s sex-drenched voice enough to send him over the edge.


The next morning, Rufus orders toast with grape jelly, and JC feed it to him in strips, purple liquid streaking his fingertips and Rufus’s body, his skinny arms, his potbelly. When he tries to put his clothes on, JC takes them off of him again, and lays him back on the bed, and tells him he’s beautiful, and fucks him until his throat is so sore he can only sing under JC’s fingers.




Lyrics from Heartburn, Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk, and Sally Ann, all by Rufus Wainwright.