Rebound

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1. If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.

2. I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

I slept like a baby, but woke up in confusion. I wanted to convince myself that last night hadn't really happened, that I hadn't had a horrible crying fit and flashback to the night I lost Matthew only to come home and have sex with a guy I'd just met a few days ago who was an entire half of a decade younger than me and from a completely different world. As much as I fervently hoped that hadn't happened, though, there was a warm body next to me in bed, firm yet soft, and while it wasn't an unpleasant feeling, I was uncertain of whether or not it was a welcome one. What the hell had I been thinking? How could I have allowed this to happen? This was completely not my style, and I had no business having sex with anyone, anyway. I was still hung up on my dead lifemate. Not only that, but what about Justin?

I shifted a little, and Justin clung to me, murmuring in his sleep, hot breath drifting softly against my skin. Justin was a definite grabber, the kind of guy who clung to you in bed like a barnacle. One arm was wrapped around mine, gripping it tightly, and the other was stretched across my chest, clinging to my side as his head rested against me. His legs were entwined with mine, my thigh caught between both of his, and his torso was pressed against my side. As I'd said, it was not an unpleasant feeling. The problem was that it was quite the opposite sort of feeling, actually. His cock, half hard as most will be in the morning, was pressed against my hip, and my own was starting to stir. As I shifted again Justin whimpered in his sleep and clutched me tighter, rubbing his crotch against my hip. There being no further denials, no more insistences that this had all been a dream or some weird fantasy concocted by my subconscious mind, I opened my eyes and looked down at him.

I was up before my alarm, as usual, but morning light was filtering in through the side of the loft, and strips of it were falling across the bed. One of them, streaking diagonally across the bed, illuminated its way up Justin's back, over his shoulder, and down the top of his head to fall on me and continue its path toward the wall. Some of it caught in his hair from behind, highlighting random strays. Justin had shaved his head a while ago, amid much publicity and fanfare and chatter, and it was just starting to grow back in, long enough to give him a little bit of bed head, which made him look even younger. Any ideas I had that such youth also meant innocence had been completely banished last night. In sleep, relaxed, his face was smooth, his lips pink, those blue eyes hidden beneath lids edged with dark amber lashes. He had a little bit of a five o'clock shadow going, and I felt it scrape my chest as he moved his head a little. Although taller than me, he had somehow managed to fold himself against me so that his head was lower, and I followed the round curve of his shoulder, dusted with freckles, down his arm, snaking across my chest. I knew he had a tattoo on his other shoulder, but hadn't really gotten a good look at it last night, what with my eyes being all wet at first and then spending the rest of the awake portion of the evening squeezed closed in pleasure.

Justin was muttering to himself, his voice soft, but I couldn't pick out any words. It was kind of cute, and so was he, and I realized that I needed to get out of bed right now before I did anything else stupid. As gently as I could I removed Justin's arms, half doubting that he was still asleep, since he kept putting them back as soon as I lifted them. Finally I lifted both arms at once, sliding toward the other side of the bed, and he murmured again, his face scrunching up a little.

"No," he mumbled, hands reaching out for nothing. I was now out of bed, and pressed a pillow over into his hands. He grabbed it, squeezing convulsively. "No. Cold. Chris?"

Even though he was talking, he still wasn't awake. I made a shushing sound, and pulled the sheet up over him. Walking quietly through the loft, I ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I had about an hour to get ready and get downstairs if I wanted to meet Michelle on time. Glancing in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, waiting for the shower to warm up, I saw that there were small red marks along both sides of my neck, and flushed guiltily as I remembered Justin nipping at me amidst his kisses. Now that was classy. Those were definitely going to be a problem, although I was fortunate in that the fall weather was well suited to the kind of clothing that could cover such things. I hadn't had to pull the turtleneck trick since college, when I'd gone home for a break and didn't want my parents to see the enormous hickey on one side of my neck, but I needed to do something, unless I wanted to give the staff even more fodder for sarcastic taunting.

Stepping into the shower, I took a last glance at myself in the mirror, and tried to figure out what I was feeling. I thought I'd look guiltier, more unfaithful, because that was kind of how I felt. Actually, that wasn't quite accurate. I felt like I should feel unfaithful, like I should feel as if I had completely betrayed Matt and everything we had, but I didn't, not completely. I felt a little bit of it, thinking about this as I washed myself clean, my hands sliding over all of the same places that remembered the touch of Justin's hands and mouth only hours before, but I didn't have that horrible, "Oh my God, I cheated on Matt!" feeling that I'd always had when I looked at guys before. Then again, I hadn't really looked at a guy, not in this way, in years. I hadn't allowed myself to, but now I questioned that as well. Was I worried that I wouldn't feel bad for looking, as I seemed not to now, or was I worried that maybe I had finally started to slide past my grief a little? I'd worn it for so long, almost out of habit, that it seemed like it was part of me. I still felt it, still felt loss and pain, but thinking now I had to admit to myself that over time, the last few months or so, some of the sting had gone out of it. It was still there, but it no longer felt quite like I was being run through with a sword.

Even if it didn't feel like cheating, it was still a mistake. Justin was young and confused, and he'd just broken up with a guy that he lived with, and worked with, and had shared his life with for six or seven years. Maybe he thought he could walk away from that, but after all the talking we'd both done I was sure that he was just reaching out for anything right now. He needed someone to listen to him, someone who would be his friend, not someone to have sex with. He might think that was what he wanted, but last night he'd told me he loved me. After he'd know me for less than a week. Maybe he'd done more, seen more, been more places than most guys his age, if not all of them, but he barely knew what love was. He couldn't just throw it around like that, and, more importantly, he shouldn't. It was a good way for him to get his heart bruised, and from what I'd heard so far, it was bruised already. I just had to convince him that wanting me was a really bad idea.

I had no business getting involved, either. I had enough fucked up mental issues of my own, and I realized as I shut off the water and reached for the towel that I was mad at myself. Justin was young and impulsive, but I wasn't. I should have stopped myself, and I would have, if I wasn't so upset, and he wasn't right there, and oh, hell. I was lonely, and horny, and I had made a stupid mistake. Now I just had to make sure that I didn't compound it. Drying off, I realized that I hadn't brought any clothes into the bathroom with me. They were all in the bedroom, with Justin. Naked Justin. In my bed. I flushed again, thinking about what we'd done, and looked down to see the blush spreading across my chest, too. Some friend I was. April left me in charge of him for the week, and I had done such a great job of taking care of him that he'd ended up naked in my bed with my dick in his mouth. I was a bad, bad person, and sometime today, after he was awake and we were dressed and we had some time alone, I needed to fix the problem.

It was a great idea, but when I walked into the bedroom, thinking only of getting dressed, there was Justin, smiling at me, the covers kicked back, and a hand slowly stroking his hard cock.

"I've been waiting for you," he said, smiling. He patted the bed next to him with his free hand. The other hand was definitely full, and the pinkish top of his cock glistened. My mouth was dry.

"Justin," I said, barely getting the words out, shaking my head as I stood in the doorway. My heart was pounding, and Jesus, was he beautiful. No, bad thought.

"Come here," he said, not slowing that hand down. He licked his lips. "Come on, Chris."

"Justin, we shouldn't do this," I said, shaking my head, unable to move.

"Why not?" he asked, looking pointedly at my crotch. Under the towel I was hard, and there was no hiding it, but I remembered what I'd thought in the shower.

"Justin," I began, trying not to see the way he looked, all those tight muscles shifting, those reddish pink nipples all hard and pointed. Had he been pinching them as he lay here waiting for me, while he was touching himself? A shudder went through me as I held the doorframe. "Justin, last night."

"Was just the warmup," he said, his voice husky, filled with possibility. He shifted a little, his leg bending, knee lifting off of the bed, and he leaned forward, finally letting go as he spread his hands out on either side of him. His cock smacked his abdomen, throbbing visibly even from the doorway, and he was smiling as his blue eyes bore into me. "Come here."

"Justin," I said again, weakly, as my feet moved against my will toward the bed. As I walked over he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine. He reached up lazily with one hand and caught the edge of my towel. It dropped to the floor with a light tug, and his eyes dropped deliberately to my cock before they rolled back up to meet mine.

"Look at that," he whispered. I gasped as he reached up and took my balls in his hand, lightly hefting them, not really squeezing. "Chris, make love to me."

"Justin," I said, biting my bottom lip to smother a groan. "We shouldn't, shouldn't do that."

He had his other hand on my cock now, and all the resolve I'd had in the shower, all the assurance I gave myself that I'd be able to have a mature, rational discussion with him and that we'd just be friends, was rapidly burning away in the fire behind his eyes.

"We shouldn't make love?" Justin whispered, looking up at me, his hands moving a little faster now. I shook my head, unable to speak. "Then fuck me. Get down here on the bed and fuck me, Chris."

That was it. My hands were on Justin's shoulders, pushing him back down onto the bed, and his hands left my cock to slide up my back, pressing me against him. My mouth crushed against his, more of those hard, almost bruising kisses from last night, and he jammed his tongue past my lips, snaking it over my teeth and across mine, the two of them wrestling against each other. My hands skated up and down him, not really registering which parts of him I was touching, just greedily soaking in the feeling of that hot velvet over all those tight, hard muscles. He had a little body hair, fine and soft, other than the bush around his cock, which I ran my fingers through on their way to wrapping around him. His hips moved, his back arching, and he pulled my hair almost painfully as he jerked my head down again, pressing my face against the side of his neck, silently letting me know that he wanted my mouth there and then affirming it with his groans.

Justin grabbed one of my hands and brought it down to his ass, pulling it under him, and I almost jerked back in surprise as I felt that he was wet. I glanced at the nightstand, not having noticed before, but somewhere in my dresser he had found one ancient tube of KY. If I wasn't right in the middle of fingering him, listening to him gasp as I pushed inside his tight ring and he clenched welcomingly around me, I might have been a little irked that he'd been in the dresser. It was hard to be too mad, though, as I shifted, rubbing my cock up and down the crack of his ass as I worked a second finger in. He might have snooped, but he had the best of intentions. He was rolling his hips up toward me now, letting out little groans that probably should have been deep but only came out as high pitched whimpers, and then I felt his hands on my cock again as he started rolling a condom down my shaft.

"Where did that come from?" I gasped, watching, still opening him up. It didn't take much work. Justin was well trained, ready to go, and he knew how to work everything he had.

"My suitcase," he answered, one of his legs curving around behind me. He grabbed my shoulders and stared up at me, his face hungry. "Fuck me, Chris, now. Fuck me hard."

Hearing him say that was all it took. I pushed my head against his hole, and when it slid inside I slammed forward, spearing him. His hips rolled up, inviting me, his legs hooking around the backs of mine, and he groaned loudly. I thought I might be hurting him in my eagerness, that I'd been a little too rough or that he hadn't been as ready as I thought he was, but when I tried to pull back his hands dug painfully into my shoulders, and he caught my mouth with his again. Guided by him, I began to thrust, to push into him, and he flexed under me, his hard cock running against my abs, his legs tightening and urging me on as his hands clawed up and down my back. He was used to this, but God, was he tight, and he clenched around me, almost pushing me over the edge. It had been a long time since I did this, too long, and I felt myself going faster than I should have, knowing that I wouldn't last.

"Justin," I panted urgently, feeling it building already. I was too worked up, too excited. Justin seemed to sense it, tightening up a little, and I felt him shifting under me. "Justin?"

"Shhhh," he whispered, biting at the side of my neck. I trusted him, and when he started to shift I froze, letting him move me. We rolled, and suddenly there he was, on top of me, and I was flat on my back. "Better this way."

"Sorry," I whispered, wanting this to be good for him, too. He flexed a little, his thighs tightening as he rose up a few inches, and then slowly sank back down, burying me fully inside him again, and we both sighed.

"Don't," he said, staring down at me. It was the same way he'd looked at me last night, with pure lust, that fire behind his eyes burning again. I wondered if he looked like this onstage. They'd sell millions more albums if they put this face on the cover. "Don't be sorry."

"Justin," I whispered, wanting so much not to do this, not to hurt him, my mind seizing on the break in our rhythm. He pressed a hand over my mouth.

"Don't," he said, rolling his head back as he began to move again, letting out a low sigh. "This is what I want, Chris. Right now, this is what I want."

We didn't talk after that, not really. Both of us sighed and groaned, and made little noises when something felt good. Justin stared down at me as he rode me, his hips flexing, and I let my eyes run up and down his body, watching, fascinated. He seemed the very definition of lithe, firm and strong but not bulging or overdone. He didn't have a gym body, but he was limber as hell, and as he undulated on top of me, rising and falling, flexing and pulling at me, he began to work up a sweat. I watched it bead up on his forehead, glistening along his hairline. Droplets ran in tiny trickles down his neck, through the hollow of his throat, and over his pecs. They were rounded, defined and definitely present, but not overinflated bunches of muscle. Instead, like the rest of him, they just seemed to fit, curving across his chest above a gentle ripple of abs. Below those, of course, there was the narrow taper of his waist, and that cock, which was jutting out, droplets of precum spilling from the head and dripping onto my own torso. Justin grabbed my hands, holding them tightly.

"Touch me," he whispered, hips rolling.

My own hips were moving beneath him, rising and falling on the mattress, pushing me into him. Each time I stabbed up he clenched, holding me, and a little squeal came out of him, matched by a sigh of my own. He pressed my hands to his chest, and I felt his heart beating, his lungs hitching as he gasped, and his chest vibrating as he moaned. Matthew had been a little quieter, more intense, but Justin was vocal. Every movement, every touch, brought a different sound from him, from gasps to whimpers to whines to something that even sounded a little bit like purring. I let my hands play over him, catching the bud of his nipple, running over his shoulder and up the side of his neck, caressing his flexing thighs, just to hear those noises. Finally, as he began to speed up and I began tightening again, feeling myself pushing toward my end, I wrapped my hands around his cock again, jerking him off with both at once. In answer to my strokes, he began to slam himself down on me faster, and I began to stroke faster, the two of us feeding off of each other.

When Justin froze above me it was just like last night, his whole body tensing, going rigid like he was having a seizure, except this time I was buried to the hilt inside him, feeling him clamp down tightly on my cock. We were cumming together, but for me it was almost a defense mechanism, as he locked up so tightly I thought he might rip my dick off. Cum shot out of the front of his cock, not in neat ropes but in a wide whitish splatter, dusting my stomach and chest, some of it even reaching my chin, and my own hips bucked so hard I almost threw him off. As I continued to spurt into him, he gasped above me, head thrown back, and then he finally looked down, grinning. Still astride me, he lazily brought a finger across my chest, sliding it through his cum, and then brought it up to his lips, his tongue darting out to caress it.

"Look at you, Chris," he sighed, flashing me those perfectly straight teeth. "You need another shower. Come on."

He'd prepared well earlier, making sure there were now tissues by the bed, so that he could take care of the condom, and I wondered when he'd decided that this would be the perfect way to start the day. I didn't want to ask, because I didn't really want to talk to him at all. First I'd decided that I shouldn't do anything else with him, that it was wrong and inappropriate and everything else, and then I'd gotten out of the shower, gone to the bedroom, and fucked him without even really putting up an argument. In the bathroom, I avoided the mirror, not wanting to see myself, as he dropped the condom into the toilet and flicked the shower on. He pulled me inside, and began to lather himself up as I stood dumbly in the spray before looking at me in that quizzical way of his, with his head cocked to the side.

"It's good that your shower's so big," Justin said conversationally. I stared at him, taking the soap as he held it out, knowing that I needed to take care of the front of me where he'd shot, if nothing else. "Turn around, and I'll do your back."

I did, trying to figure out what else I could say to him, but nothing really came to mind. I didn't want to hurt him, and didn't want him to think that he wasn't important to me, but I couldn't let us keep doing this. Fortunately Justin took the lead as his hands massaged my shoulders with the soap and washcloth.

"You're not happy," he said bluntly. "I wasn't any good? Because you seemed to enjoy it."

His voice was light, but I caught the feeling behind it. Justin was the kind of person who needed assurance. I'd noticed it yesterday, when he had beamed and visibly brightened each time Michelle told him he was doing a good job. He was confident, but his confidence had to be fueled, or he would falter. Realizing that, I understood how having his boyfriend cheat on him, especially with an old boyfriend, could be so devastating for him, and why he was so depressed.

"You were great, Justin," I said, and I was being completely honest. As I'd thought while I was under him, he knew how to work it. I worried that wasn't enough of a compliment, especially since I was about to deflate him. "I mean, look at you. You have a fantastic body, a nice big dick, you know how to use both of them, and you're a nice guy. You're smart, and funny, and I'm really glad I've gotten to know you. I'm really happy to be your friend, Justin, but we shouldn't have done that."

"I know," he said quietly, still rubbing my back. I wasn't sure if he was washing so much as caressing, but I was enjoying it, and he seemed to be. "I mean, you have like five more minutes before you have to be at work. Or you could just be late, and let Michelle bitch at you."

"Justin, you know what I mean," I said, turning around. He looked down at the floor of the shower, not meeting my eyes.

"I know," he said, still not looking up. The shower was pounding on his back, and I glanced down at the angry red cut on his hand. The stitchwork was black, glaring against his fair skin, and I hoped it was ok for him to get it wet, since he'd shed the bandage somewhere. "Chris, I've never met someone like you. I feel like, well, I think I love you."

And there it was, the heart of the problem, or, rather, the problem of the heart.

"Justin, look at me," I said, tilting his head up carefully with a finger under his chin. The shower spray was hitting his back, so I didn't have to worry about drowning him. His eyes looked enormous under his wet hair, which darkly clung to his skull. He was so vulnerable that I almost didn't want to say anything else, but I couldn't leave this alone. "Justin, I care about you. I know we just met, and we don't know each other all that well, but I care about you a lot, and not just because April told me to. I want to help you, and I don't want anything to happen to you. Most of all, though, I don't want to hurt you, and that's why we shouldn't have done that, and can't do it anymore."

"You're not hurting me," Justin said as I stood with my hands on his shoulders. "I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't," I said, shaking my head. "Justin, you just broke up with a boyfriend who's also your best friend and who you also work with. You already told me that all your friends think you should stay with him, and that your family has all kind of issues with it, and damn it, Justin, you just met me. You don't even know me."

"I know enough!" he said, his voice rising. I reached behind him to flick off the shower, annoyed, and jerked the curtain open. "I know that you're nice, and cute, and that you do care about me. Maybe that's all I need to know! Maybe that's all I want right now."

"You don't know what you want, Justin," I said, handing him a towel. He jerked it out of my hand.

"Oh, like you do," Justin said, drying himself vigorously.

"Justin," I said sharply, drying myself.

"No!" he said, shaking his head. "You're so good at playing the grownup, at telling me that I don't understand, or that I just don't get it. You're so good at telling me I don't know what I want, and look at you. 'We shouldn't do this.' The time for 'we shouldn't do this' was right before you fucked me, Chris, not right after."

"And what?" I demanded. "What the hell kind of logic is that? We did it once."

"Twice," Justin interjected.

"Twice," I continued, raising my voice, "so we should just keep going? Justin, this is stupid. What happened last night, and this morning, was nice, but it was a mistake, Justin."

I turned away, jerking open the dresser drawers, stepping into boxers and pulling out socks.

"Why was it a mistake?" he asked quietly, walking into the living room where his bags were. "Explain it to me, please."

"It meant something to you, Justin," I said, turning, and I saw that he looked stricken, as if I'd slapped him.

"And it didn't mean anything to you?" he asked, eyes watering. Shit. "You just thought you'd fuck me, and it didn't mean anything?"

"No, Justin, I didn't mean it like that," I said, walking quickly over to him. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched away, not looking at me. "Justin, please. It did mean something to me. It meant a lot, actually, and I don't even know if I can say it, but I don't want you to think it was just something casual."

"Then why is this a mistake?" Justin asked, turning. His bottom lip was quivering, but he wasn't crying, and I smoothed his hair back, my other hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Because it means something to you that it doesn't mean to me," I said, and he pulled away again. He certainly was high strung, although I should have known that by now.

"How do you know what it means to me?" he asked, and I could tell he was getting upset again. How could anyone deal with mood swings of this magnitude?

"Justin, I heard you last night," I said, and his face fell a little. "I know that right now, you're scared, and confused, and you feel kind of alone, but I think you're just reaching out for anything. You might think you love me, but."

"But what?" he asked, shoulders down. "I know how I feel."

"Justin, we just had this discussion the other night, when you kissed me," I said simply, shaking my head. "You don't even know what love is. You're twenty years old."

"Why does it always come back to that for you?" he asked, sounding a little testy, but not shrieking again. "Why is it always this sore point for you?"

"Because you're young, Justin," I said. "You haven't barely had any time to know yourself, to know what you want or how you feel."

"You don't know that," he said, following me into the bedroom as I pulled on a shirt. "You don't know anything about how I feel. You don't even barely know me."

"That's the same point I was trying to make to you," I said, looking for pants. "Justin, I can be your friend. I can be your confidante. If you need a shoulder to cry on, or someone to hug you when you're down, I can do that, too. I can't be your new boyfriend, though."

"I didn't ask you to," he said, standing in the doorway. I turned back to him as I reached for my shoes, and his face was serious. He also looked damned attractive in his tight white briefs and nothing else, his tattoos kind of sexy in a subdued sort of way. "I never said I wanted a boyfriend."

I stared at him.

"Justin, what are you trying to say?" I asked finally.

"I guess, you know, I want to be your friend," he answered. "I want more than that, but not if you're not ready. I feel good when I'm around you, and when I'm with you. I feel like I'm kind of special, and I want to keep that. I want us to be friends. I don't want to fight with you."

"I don't want to fight with you, either, Justin," I said, patting the bed next to me. He came and sat down, and I thought about how odd we must look, me completely dressed and him almost naked. Then again, who was going to see it?

"Can we be friends?" he asked, looking thoughtfully into my eyes.

"Yes," I answered, nodding. His eyes were so blue, like the sky, light and bright as an old comfortable pair of jeans. "Yes, I'd like to be your friend, very much."

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, leaning in closer. "Do you want me to find somewhere else to go?"

"Where are you going to go, Justin?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable again. I knew what I was supposed to think, and what I kept trying to think, but somehow he kept managing to throw me.

"Don't ask me to stay for that reason," he whispered, our faces close now. "Ask me because you want me here. Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes," I answered finally, wanting to look away. "Yes, I'd like you to stay. But as friends, Justin. Just as friends."

"That's fine," he said. I felt frozen, unable to move, and he leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. His lips were soft, the kiss a little dry, but I felt myself shiver. What was happening between us? "I have to go finish getting dressed and stuff."

Justin got up and walked into the bathroom as I shook my head, trying to clear it. We'd just agreed that we were friends, just friends, so why was he kissing me? And why did I like it? I stood and began walking out heading for the stairs, knowing that Michelle would probably be on her way to Bitchville by the time I got there, no matter what excuse I came up with.

"I'll be down today, if that's ok," Justin said, leaning out the bathroom door with a mouth full of toothpaste foam.

"That's fine, Justin," I said, nodding. I corrected it a little. "Actually, that would be really nice, if that's what you want, but you don't have to."

"I'll be down," he said, smiling. My hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again. "You know, Chris, sometimes friends have sex. Especially close friends. Just something to think about."

That was the last thing I needed to think about, sex with Justin. How good it was, how tight he was, how much I liked hearing the noises he made. Nope, didn't want to think about that at all.

To be continued.