Title: Sex *N the City, Episode: 1, The Pilot
Authors: Parlance (par_lance1@yahoo.com) and Sammie (lalabebe76@aol.com)
This is an experimental format for both of us, so any honest, constructive feedback is appreciated. Flames will be used to chase Lance out of the closet.
Websites: Parlance: http://www.geocities.com/par_lance1 Sammie: http://ice.prohosting.com/~lalabebe/index.htm
Pairing: Not saying. It's all over the map anyway.
Classification: AU, real person slash. Drama, humor... call it a dramedy.
Ratings: Will vary between PG-13 and NC-17
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: Fiction. Don't know 'em, don't wanna. Loosely (and we do mean loosely) based on "Sex and the City," which belongs to Darren Star and HBO. Any similarities are completely intentional. Don't sue, unless you want a bunch of *Nsync beanies. Yeah, those are worth a lot. Don't read if you're under18 or offended by the subject matter.
We're sure there's no a cafe anywhere near the Golden Gate Bridge, but the setting for the first act was inspired by the TIPY video.
Summary: Four friends live, love and get laid in San Francisco. JC experiments with tantric sex.
Shout outs: to Dara, Cat and Fluttergirl for beta'ing. Jess for her input. Joeyful for inspiration and research. And Darcy for her encouragement.
******************************************* Summer 2001
"Tantric Sex and the Gay Man." JC had typed the title of his latest column for Camp magazine into his laptop. He smiled to himself.
******************************************* JC Chasez 25 Freelance music and sex columnist, occasional model *******************************************
He had promised his editor he'd deliver an article based on personal experience and he couldn't wait to conduct some extensive research with his boyfriend that weekend. He had a few minutes to himself before his friends were going to meet him for their weekly Saturday brunch at Le Musquerat, so he began mapping out an outline for his story. It was an atypically sunny day, and from the patio of the French cafe, JC had a glorious view of the Golden Gate Bridge, one of the many reasons he adored San Francisco.
JC had become so involved in his work that he didn't even realize someone was standing behind him until his view of the computer screen was blocked by the image of himself - his lean muscled frame wearing black suede fringed tap pants, an easygoing smile and nothing else.
"And I thought the Abercrombie pictures were a scandal." A very pretty bottle-blonde man with green eyes sat down in the chair next to JC, snickering.
******************************************* Lance Bass 25 Cake decorator, entrepreneur *******************************************
JC smirked. He would never live down his latest modeling gig. "What are you doing with an International Male catalog anyway, Lance? Not exactly your style."
Lance snatched the catalog out of JC's hands. "A little birdie told me you were in here dressed in next to nothing," he answered in a carefully cultivated deep Mississippi drawl that many found quite charming. "You know I couldn't resist seeing that."
JC rolled his eyes at his best friend. "Please, you've been there and seen all of that. You just wanted to make fun of me."
"You're right, I can't lie. But if you don't want me to make fun of you, stop throwing material into my lap."
JC just huffed and went back to his typing.
"So where's the hat and the boots to go with that fringe, cowboy? You totally look like one of Madonna's dancers."
"Shush," JC hissed, glaring at his friend.
"Someone took a double dose of bitchy pills this morning," Lance complained, putting the catalog into one of his shopping bags.
"I'm just trying to get these ideas for my next article down before I forget them."
"Fine. I'll sit here and wait for you to finish. Maybe our cute waiter will bring a bowl of water for Jacques."
JC glanced over at his friend. Sure enough, sitting in Lance's lap was his white toy poodle, every bit as coifed and manicured as its owner. Jacques was Lance's baby and he took the little dog everywhere. JC listened to Lance ask the waiter to bring his dog a bowl of water - bottled not tap, because Jacques would surely know the difference.
JC turned back to his computer and saved his file. He knew he wouldn't get anything else done until he got back home. As he closed laptop and put it back in its bag, he noticed three big shopping bags with Versace written on the side and one Kenneth Cole bag.
"Lance, do you do anything other than shop?" JC teased.
"I cook for your sorry ass." JC shut up immediately. "I just went to Versace to look around, but you know Trevor was working. I just couldn't resist his cute face when he said they had just gotten some of the new fall line." Lance rifled through one of the bags. "I got this for you," he said, holding a sweater to JC's chest.
"Lance, I have a white sweater."
"It's not white, it's oatmeal," Lance pouted. "And you can never have too much Versace. Look at you, JC. What are those, pajamas?"
The handsome brunette glanced at his thin brown trousers, vertically striped with white, and shrugged. "They're comfortable."
"They're an eyesore. You can be comfortable and fashionable."
"I'm a writer, Lance. No one cares."
"And you're a model. There's just no excuse."
JC did not argue. He leaned over to kiss his friend on the cheek. "Thanks, hon." He couldn't help but smile to himself. Lance had been having an ongoing flirtation with Trevor, the manager of the Versace store. Trevor had the bluest eyes and a body to die for. He could get Lance to buy anything. JC figured Lance had more Versace clothes than the store.
"Lance, honey, I think it would be cheaper to just date the guy," JC suggested putting the sweater into his laptop bag.
Lance looked at JC as if he'd just declared himself straight. "C, he's a 30 year-old man who works in retail. I. Don't. Think. So."
Both men chuckled. Lance wouldn't settle for any man who didn't make at least six figures a year. "You are such a bitch," JC said, smacking him playfully on the thigh.
"The best damn bitch you'll ever meet, baby. Trevor should be so lucky."
Both men were still giggling when the waiter approached them. JC admired the view as the waiter bent over in front of him to place the bowl in front of Jacques. Lance gave the waiter a dazzling smile before he turned to his dog.
"Drink up, sweetie," he said in the sickeningly sweet baby voice he used only for Jacques. JC rolled his eyes at his friend.
"Roll your eyes at me one more time and they will get stuck like that and then you'll never find a man." Lance told him.
"Bitch," JC muttered.
"Cow."
Before JC could come back with a tart response, he was interrupted by the jingle of chains coming from behind him. Everyone in the restaurant but Lance and JC turned to stare.
"Hey, Justin." Lance and JC greeted their friend in unison without having to look up. All they received in response was a grunt as Justin sat down heavily in the seat across from Lance.
******************************************* Justin Timberlake 20 Personal trainer, male strip club DJ *******************************************
Clearly, Justin had just crawled out of bed thirty minutes prior. He was dressed in his signature ripped jeans that revealed a bit too much skin for proper circles, a Misfits t-shirt and his cheap, creaky black leather jacket decorated with safety pins that could have been holding it all together. Justin's normally unruly curly hair was covered in a black bandanna, his eyes covered with black sunglasses. In his hands, he held a McDonald's coffee cup.
"What time did you get home last night, Justin?" JC asked.
"Seven." A cigarette now dangled from his mouth.
Lance slowly looked up from his menu. "Seven? As in a.m.?" Justin nodded. "I'm afraid to ask what you were up to."
"Gettin' fisted."
Lance made a sound that was a cross between a screech, a shriek and a squeal. He turned beet red and try to ignore the looks from the other patrons in the cafe.
But JC was intrigued. "Let me guess, he untied you from his bed this morning 'cause he had a breakfast date," he teased, his blue eyes dancing mischievously.
"Pretty much," Justin said, a little smile gracing his lips. "I'm really starting to get sick of this bottom shit though. I wanna be a top. I wanna be the one in control."
"Okay, can we not talk about this now," Lance pleaded, delicately covering his ears.
Justin looked at Lance over his sunglasses. "Why, Lance, does it turn you on to hear about my dates?"
"In your dreams, Froboy. I just don't want to hear about your adventures in bondage before I'm going to eat."
"Sure. Whatever, prude." Justin said.
"Freak," Lance replied.
"Ladies, ladies..." JC began.
"Fighting already?" A fourth man with thick multi-colored braids piled on his head in a ponytail and a goatee joined them and pulled out his chair between Justin and Lance.
******************************************* Chris Kirkpatrick 29 Hot Dog on a Stick cashier, general layabout *******************************************
Lance glanced at his watch. "Wow, Chris, only 20 minutes late today. Is that a new record?"
"Don't start, Queen Bee. I have been stuck on the disaster in urban planning they call the Bay Bridge for forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes to go eight fucking miles." The others merely listened patiently. This was par for the course, listening to Chris rant about traffic between the East Bay and the city for a few minutes before they could resume their conversation. It was a minor annoyance; Chris didn't let much piss him off these days.
Chris continued. "Can someone please tell me why we come here where it costs $10 a half hour to park?"
"'Cause the waiters are hot," the other three told him.
"Yeah, that matters to me. Like I can get any action from these pompous asses," Chris sighed, picking up his menu. "Why are all the good ones either taken or straight?"
"Speaking of getting action, I'm thinking of putting a personal ad in the Guardian." Justin announced.
"What do you need an ad for? You're not lacking," Lance asked him, incredulous.
"I told you. I'm sick of being a sub. I can't get anyone to take me seriously as a top, so I thought I'd put out an ad." Justin pulled out a greasy piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and placed it on the table. Lance gingerly took the paper, trying not to think of where it came from. He read it aloud:
"'Light-skinned brothah seeks boy who needs to be taught a lesson...' Oh, I can't read any more of this - Justin, this is ridiculous!" Lance tossed the paper in disgust. "You can't describe yourself as a Black man. You're misleading people!"
Justin frowned. "But I am a brothah..."
"Yeah, yeah, we know, a Black man stuck in a white boy's body," JC finished. "Justin, if someone answers that and sees who you really are, you're gonna get your ass kicked all the way back to Tennessee."
"I was just thinking about it," Justin mumbled.
"Why don't you cut your hair? You can't be an intimidating leather daddy looking like a choirboy," JC commented. "You said yourself that all anyone wants to do is hug you and then beat the crap out of you."
Justin pursed his lips. "Maybe. I'm just not ready to do it yet."
"Anyway, Justin, only people with no lives need personal ads." Lance added picking Jacques back up and putting him in his lap. "You know, a personal ad would be perfect for you Chris." he suggested.
Chris made an injured sound. "Justin shouldn't do it 'cause he's not a loser, but I should? Thanks."
"No, no, no. I mean, you don't get out much. You hate the club scene, you don't trust us to fix you up with anyone. You can tailor your ad to find exactly the kind of guy you're looking for. It's perfect for you."
"You guys, come on..." Chris whined.
"Seriously, Chris, I get what Lance is saying," JC added. "You're looking for a nice guy, unlike our little S&M bunny over here..."
"Hey, leatherboys can be nice guys..."
"...and you really need to get laid," JC finished.
Chris glared at his friends. "I'll think about it."
"Cool, let's order." JC said.
Chris watched his friend skim the menu. "What're you ordering, C? Water?"
"Parsley? " Justin asked. "Air?"
"Are you even eating?" Lance added. "You know JC, I read that saliva has only two calories. And it's a good source of protein."
"I'm sure they'll have something for my diet." JC shot back, irritated.
"Still the cabbage soup one?" Chris asked gleefully.
"No. That was two diets ago. Thanks for being supportive." JC glared at him and didn't elaborate. His friends were always teasing him about his endless parade of fad diets. He put down the menu. "So who's paying for Justin?"
"Funny you should ask. It's your turn this time," Chris informed him.
"Thank you, C," Justin sing-songed as he browsed the menu. "Dude, what's poison again?"
"It's poisson and it's fish, you peasant," Lance replied flippantly.
"Excuse the fuck outta me, bitch."
Lance opened his mouth to respond but found JC's hand covering it. "Nice lunch remember?" JC said.
Their waiter arrived to take their order. "What will you have to drink today?"
"A saucer of milk for these two will be just fine, thanks," JC muttered. Lance kicked him under the table.
******************************************* Break for commercial. *******************************************
After the lunch bill was paid, Lance asked Chris, "What are your plans right now?"
Chris shrugged. "Nothing, really. I don't have a shift until Monday."
"Why don't you stay a little longer. I could help you write your ad."
Justin pouted at Chris. "I was gonna bum a ride off you. I only had ten bucks and I just spent one taking MUNI."
JC stood up. "I'll drop you off. You can tell me all about last night," he offered, smiling.
Justin leered at JC. "I can give you a personal demo if you want."
"No thanks. I'm not stepping anywhere near that roach-infested cesspool you call a home. I'm allergic to filth and poverty, remember?"
Justin grimaced. "It's only temporary. I'm saving up for a new bike."
Lance asked, "And what would that be, a Schwinn?"
"Ah, that would be a no, Nancy. Harley. But I need to find a new crib with parking."
JC admonished Justin. "You know, on your salary, you'd already have that if you didn't spend all your money on leather and toys."
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."
"Well, let's get going. I want to take a nap before my date with Gordon tonight," JC told Justin, grabbing his laptop satchel. Lance smiled; he approved of Gordon.
"Can we drive past the liquor store on the way?" Justin asked. "I need you to get me a six pack of Natural Ice."
"Justin, what would you do without someone of age to buy your liquor?" JC sighed.
"Does this mean I have to pay for it?"
Justin was affronted. "I always front my booze, man."
//GWM, 29, seeks intelligent, fun-loving guy...//
Lance rolled his eyes and flapped his hand in a parody of a moving mouth. "Booooring. You need to spice it up. But that's okay. Dr. Bass is here to help."
//Free-spirited upwardly mobile GWM...//
"But I'm hardly upwardly mobile. Not anymore," Chris protested.
"Just lie, dear. It's all in the presentation. No one's going to believe you have an MBA and you're working as a corn dog technician. Okay. How about..."
//Phat, Phun, and Phorever Young!//
"Hell, no!"
"Christopher, you need something eye catching."
"Eye catching is one thing. That's just plain dorky."
"Chris, I own a business. A very successful business. If there's one thing I know, it's how to sell myself."
Chris glared at him. "But you're not in a relationship."
"I'm not looking for a relationship. I'm too focused on my career. Now, are you going to listen to me, or not?"
Lance sighed to himself and rested his chin on his hand as Chris continued to argue over the ad. Why did Chris have to make life hard for himself? He was once an up-and-coming investment banker. With credentials from Harvard and Wharton, at 25 he'd easily started with a 6-digit salary. He was clean-cut. Wore Armani suits everyday. The cute brown-eyed brunette had been at the top of Lance's eligible bachelors list. Lance thought he had been making headway with him. Then a year ago, Chris had to go and have a nervous breakdown.
Burnt out and borderline alcoholic, Chris decided to "minimalize." He moved out of the city and into a one-bedroom flat in Berkeley. He gave away all his beautiful clothes and traded them in for knee-length shorts and t-shirts. Then, he attached those atrocious extensions that Justin called "dookie braids" to his hair. He went on some bizarre quest for self-discovery. He found himself serving cholesterol on a stick in Emeryville. He had savings - Chris had invested well and Lance wouldn't have been surprised if turned out that he were a millionaire. But he preferred to live on his meager wages. Chris claimed he was happier than he had ever been. But how could he be? He was 29, dateless and not even a manager.
"Such a waste," Lance said softly.
"What was that, Lance?"
"Nothing." The out loud voice. He had to watch that.
"Okay, check it out, I think I've got something."
//29, single and uncut!//
Lance brightened. "I like it, I like it." Maybe there was hope for the boy after all.
JC drove Justin home in his '98 black Saab, dropping him at the door of his rathole just off the edge of the Tenderloin, north of Market. He'd waited just long enough to watch Justin step over the crackhead in the doorway. Rarely was JC happier to see his own two-bedroom Noe Valley apartment than after taking Justin home.
After napping for a couple of hours, JC heard a knock at his apartment door. Lance lived in the apartment above JC's, and had come down to make his weekly food delivery. JC couldn't cook worth shit. As Lance once said, he could burn toast just buttering it. So every week, JC gave Lance some grocery money, and Lance returned with a shopping bag full of a week's worth of gourmet microwaveable meals neatly packed in Tupperware containers marked by day. Best of all, Lance kept up with every one of JC's diets and cooked accordingly.
JC opened the door. "Meals on Wheels!" Lance sing-songed. He breezed past JC and into the kitchen to store the containers in the freezer. "Have a good nap?"
"Yep. All refreshed."
"Well, good. You're going to need to be if you're just going to sit around with his dick up your butt for five hours. You need me to lend you some magazines?"
"Lance, Tantric sex involves a little more than that."
"Well, better you to find out than I." Lance closed the refrigerator and turned around. "So, what are you going to wear tonight? Something tearaway, I hope."
JC shrugged. "I don't know. What I'm wearing now, I suppose."
"Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. That just won't do." Lance walked briskly towards JC's bedroom and called out, "Let's see what you have in your clos-AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
JC ran after Lance. "What is it? What are you screaming for?"
Lance did not answer. He put one hand on his hip and angrily pointed to the floor, where, lying in a heap, was the brand new oatmeal Versace sweater. Curled on top of the sweater was JC's enormous long-haired gray Persian.
******************************************* Mr. Peepers 6 Feline from Hades *******************************************
"JC, how could you? Have you no respect? You don't leave Versace lying on the floor as if it's... it's... off the rack!"
JC sheepishly scooped up his cat, who protested loudly, and shook out the sweater. "I'm sorry. I'll take a lint brush to it. I can wear it tonight."
Lance shook his head. "You're a disgrace to your orientation."
"Gordon doesn't care what I wear. It's all coming off anyway."
"But you should care." Lance eyed JC suspiciously. "Do you care?"
JC furrowed his eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean, lately you just don't seem particularly excited about seeing Gordon. You don't talk about him like you used to. You don't talk about making any plans with him."
"Lance, it's a sweater. I said I'm sorry."
"You know that's not the point. Thing is, you've been searching out other prospects and I want to know why."
JC sighed. God Almighty, there was definitely a down side to having a best friend who knew all your secrets. JC went to his living room, and Lance followed him. The two sat down on JC's velour couch.
"Lance, I really like Gordon. I don't know, maybe I love him. But I think he's looking for something more serious."
Lance shrugged. "And this a bad thing, how? I thought that's what you were looking for."
JC shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His right foot started to wag back and forth - an irritating habit JC had when he became nervous.
"It is... eventually. But last week, he sort of hinted that he didn't want me to date other guys anymore."
It was taking every bit of willpower Lance had to keep from slamming his fist down on JC's foot. "Okay, help me to understand. You've found a man who's sweet, smart, gorgeous, has the same interests, and loves you to pieces. Worships the ground you walk on, follows The Rules, calls you, remembers your birthday. And he's willing to commit? Yeah, you're right. Totally not the right man."
"Lance, it's not that simple. He's always struggling. He still has to have a second job to pay the bills-"
"As a producer!"
"For an indie company..."
"JC, he's doing what he loves to do. I thought that was admirable to you." Lance shook his head. "What am I saying? You're usually the one telling me these things."
"You'd never date someone making as little as he does."
"Yeah, but that works for me. I'm shallow. And as long as I've known you, C, you've always believed in everything that Gordon stands for."
"Lance, it's not just that. He's twice our age. Like, literally, he's 48 years old."
"Yeah, that means he's mature, and he's not insane. Do you know how many boys would kill to have a daddy like that?"
JC's foot finally stopped shaking. "Lance, that's just it. Gordon is... safe. He's so safe he's almost boring. The sex isn't always that great, and I'm not even sure I'm on board with this whole tantric kick he's on anyway."
Lance leaned all the way back against the couch crossing his arms. "He doesn't excite you."
"Right. And if it's like that right now, I can't imagine what it'll be like 10, 20, 30 years from now. I mean, it's both his age and the money thing. A part of me feels like I'm dating a little boy who hasn't learned to drop his playthings yet.""
"You're describing a musician, dear."
"Yeah, I know that. I write about musicians. It's charming in someone who's still in his twenties. Maybe his thirties. But Gordon's made, like, a life commitment to living on fringe. And I'm not comfortable dating someone who'll always be making half of what I do. I don't want to have to take care of someone for the rest of my life. I want him to be able to take care of me too." JC shrugged. "Maybe I'm looking for a daddy. Just not Gordon's brand of daddy."
Lance slowly searched JC's eyes for another explanation. Then he narrowed his eyes at his friend's. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Huge would it?" JC froze. "I knew it! What the hell happened?!"
JC hugged his knees tightly to his chest. "He called a couple of nights ago. He left a message."
"Of course you didn't return the call."
"Of course not. But it made me start thinking about Gordon..."
"Fuck!" Lance leapt from his seat and started pacing around. "You're going to throw away the best thing you've ever had for some asshole who just plays you! That fucking pig! What, he can't get any from his wife, so he calls you?!"
JC winced. It took a lot to get Lance going. The very mention of Huge was certainly one way. "Lance, please, calm down. I'm not doing anything. He's still married, I'm still over him. Nothing's changed."
"If you're so over him, C, then why would a phone call make you have second thoughts about Gordon?"
"I've been having second thoughts about Gordon for a while, Lance. I never thought we'd go this far. I'm just not ready to commit to someone for the rest of my life. And Gordon's at an age where that's all he's looking for. It's not about Huge. It's just that Huge is my age, and, you know... it just made me think. That's all."
Lance stopped pacing, but the anger in his voice would not disappear. "So, he's your age and he's rich and he's exciting and he's everything Gordon isn't..."
"Lance-"
"He's also a fag who cheats on his wife. But he'll never admit that he's gay because he knows it's easier to keep stringing you along."
"Lance," JC said in a warning tone. "We're done with this conversation."
Lance took a deep breath and sat down again. He knew when to stop pushing JC's buttons. He gently placed his hand on his friend's knee. "JC, I just don't want to watch you get hurt. You have a good thing with Gordon. And I don't want to see him get hurt. You might not be ready to commit right now, and that's okay. But what if Gordon is the best thing you'll ever find in your life? Doesn't that worry you? Are you willing to take that chance?"
"No," JC answered in a small voice. "I don't know. I didn't even want to get into this with you, Lance. Look, I'm not leaving him. I'm not making any decisions. Well... except that I know that if he were to ask for a monogamous relationship right now, I'd say no. I wouldn't be able to do that. I don't want it. Maybe I'll change my mind next week or six months down the line. And hopefully, he'll understand if he loves me. But I still care for him."
Lance regarded JC. "Just promise me you won't call him back, C."
"I won't. I'm not letting Huge back in my life. I promise. He's not an alternative."
Lance wasn't sure he believed JC, but he knew that was the best he would get for now. "Okay. I'm sorry." Lance patted JC on the knee and stood up. "Look, you get ready and fix that damn sweater."
JC stood up and walked Lance to his door. "You're going out tonight?"
"Probably. See who's at the Marmalade."
"Okay, have a good time." JC hugged his friend.
"You too, sweetie. Have fun getting in touch with your... chakras or... whatever."
When Lance left, JC stood at the door and took a deep breath. He suddenly remembered something... He walked into his office where, right next to his laptop, was a sticky note where he'd jotted down a phone number but no name. He stared at it for a few seconds, then balled it up and threw it in the trash can.
******************************************* Break for commercial. *******************************************
"... 'cause I love your smile..."
JC was driving the101 north towards Fairfax while listening to an old-school mix CD he'd made. JC and Gordon took turns driving to each other's homes, and it was JC's turn to drive to Marin County. Despite what he had told Lance earlier, he was kind of fascinated with the prospect of Tantra, if only for the freak factor. How could he not be? They had been preparing for the occasion for several weeks now, adding to their yoga regimen and practicing deep breathing to build their stamina.
JC smirked as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. Gordon's eccentricity was part of his charm. That and the fact that he was English. JC had always had a weakness for the British boys - even the expatriates.
JC turned onto the Sir Francis Drake and shifted into third gear. Lance thought he was insane to drive a stick in San Francisco, but JC was of the opinion that negotiating a standard on the hills of the city was much more fun.
It was a quick drive tonight. Traffic near the Golden Gate hadn't been too bad. JC even had time to stop at a florist and pick up a dozen roses along the way.
JC pulled into the driveway of Gordon's home. Perhaps struggling had been the wrong word to describe Gordon; the house was a sprawling one-level deep in the heart of aging rocker country. But it had been paid for years ago and had cost Gordon a fraction of what it was worth now.
The door was answered by a barefoot man matching JCs six-foot frame inch for inch with full, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and ocean blue eyes that crinkled as he smiled. He wore a black hemp shirt and jeans. Gordon smiled at JC with a wide, generous mouth, and JC returned the smile, thinking of the song he'd been listening to on the way over.
******************************************* Gordon Sumner 48 Alternative musician, college radio darling *******************************************
JC melted into Gordon's kiss, forgetting the doubts he'd voiced earlier to Lance. He presented the roses to him.
"What's this? Ah, you're a sweetie. I'll put these in a vase straight away. Get yourself a drink, if you want."
JC's body tingled at the sound of Gordon's accent. While Gordon's friends from his home town complained that it had long ago been Americanized, JC wouldn't have known the difference and couldn't have cared less.
JC went to Gordon's bar and poured himself a glass of Merlot. Something smelled good. Gordon always cooked for them, unlike JC, who ordered out, made reservations or called Lance for back up. He nosed around the living room, noticing Gordon had added a cactus or two to the Southwestern decor. The centerpiece was a grand piano.
Just beyond the living room was the music room, where Gordon kept his musical instruments. JC couldn't resist taking a peek inside.
"Spying, are you?" Gordon appeared behind JC and wrapped his arms around him and nibbled at hi earlobe.
"I can't help it. I have to see what new toys you have." Gordon had a passion for odd musical instruments from around the world that bordered on a fetish. Luckily, he made just enough money to satisfy his cravings, having long ago converted his guesthouse into a studio where he produced his own albums as well of those of many local artists. Musical genius that he was, Gordon mastered each and every instrument and incorporated them into his unique brand of music he called "alternative aggressive world jazz." JC adored his music, and they had met backstage at one of his concerts in the city. Unfortunately, Gordon's music never really caught on beyond San Francisco, in spite of a fanatical local following.
"So, what did you get this time?" JC asked.
Gordon unwrapped his arms and waded among the assortment of keyboards, guitars, wooden flutes, African drums, Balinese gamelans and picked up a didjeridu. He played it briefly, and it took all of JC's strength to keep from grimacing at the low rumble that resembled that of a sick, growling moose.
"Mack at the shop convinced me that aboriginal music's all the rage right now. Not that that's a reason to do anything, but I thought I'd give it a go." JC smiled. There wasn't much at the local music shop that Gordon ever managed to pass up. Gordon played a few more notes on the didjeridu before he noticed the pained look on JC's face. He grinned. "Perhaps not. Hungry?"
"Mmm, yes. Smells great in here," JC replied, in spite of himself. "Only for you would I break a diet."
"What is it... cabbage soup, this time?"
"No, no, no! I'm done with that one," JC insisted, a little exasperated.
"Well, hopefully you won't have to stray too far," Gordon told him, leading him to the dining room. He even pulled out JC's chair and pushed him in towards the table. The roses were now seated on the table in a wooden vase decorated with African fertility figures. Gordon adjusted the dimmer switch and turned on the stereo. Classic Santana.
Gordon then treated JC to a meal of consomme with organic vegetables, a salad to clear the palate, and hormone-free chicken parmiagna made with soy cheese. All disgustingly healthy - Gordon was perpetually on some vaguely macrobiotic diet - but delicious nonetheless.
"How is it?" Gordon asked.
JC nodded. "Fantastic, as always," JC said. "Wish I could cook like you and Lance."
Gordon rested his hand on JC's. "Perhaps one day you won't have to worry about that," he said, stroking JC's hand with his fingertips.
JC almost choked on the parmiagna. For the past few weeks, Gordon has been throwing out hints that they should move in together. JC mustered the most genuine smile.
"Perhaps."
Gordon held JC's gaze through the awkward pause that ensued, but JC's eyes revealed nothing. Finally, Gordon's hand slipped away from JC's as the older man went to the kitchen to bring dessert - a peach cobbler (pesticide-free, of course). JC considered the calories and inwardly screamed. He would have to schedule an extra workout with Justin to make up for this one. JC sighed as he savored his first bite. It was almost - almost - enough to make him miss eating three squares a day.
JC smoothly steered the conversation away from all things domestic. They talked about Gordon's new album and JC's latest music assignment. And of course, Gordon had the latest issue of International Male.
"Did they let you keep those?" Gordon asked indicating the tap pants.
JC turned bright red. "No."
"Oh, too bad. I might like to see you in those."
JC took a sip from his glass of Glacial Spring water. "We'll see what we can arrange," he muttered.
Gordon's eyes were fixed on JC. "You look radiant tonight."
"What, because I'm embarrassed now?"
Gordon smiled. "You're so self-deprecating. What is going to take for you to see yourself for the beautiful man you are?"
JC suddenly felt self-conscious. If Gordon didn't stop staring at him he was going to resort to biting his nails, and Gordon hated that. "I'll clear the dishes," he announced, standing up.
After they'd loaded the dishes into the washer, Gordon bade JC to relax on the couch in the living room with another glass of wine. Gordon put on some Miles Davis and disappeared. JC thought he heard water running. After a few minutes, Gordon reappeared and held out his hand to JC. As if heeding the call of the Sirens, JC followed.
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Gordon had a bathtub big enough for two people, and he had now filled it with steaming water and bath salts. The petals from the bouquet of roses were now floating on top of the water. The room was warm with steam and lit with scented candles.
The setting was so Harlequin romance JC wanted to laugh, but then Gordon turned to JC and caressed the back of his neck and suddenly anything Gordon did was new and refreshing. Having been raised in an affection-stingy family, JC appreciated how freely Gordon offered his touch.
"I meant to tell you that's a lovely sweater," Gordon told him. His voice was velvet-soft.
"Lance bought it for me."
"Mmm. I didn't want to say it, but I figured as much. I see Mr. Peepers added a bit of his touch to it," Gordon said, plucking out a few cat hairs.
JC chuckled softly as he pulled the sweater above his head, revealing a fine, hard body. Tight pecs, a washboard stomach. He chucked the sweater on the floor as carelessly as he had that afternoon before undoing the buttons on Gordon's shirt. He pressed his bare chest against Gordon's and kissed him, rubbing his nipples against his lovers. JC had a thing for that; the sensation alone made him want to throw the blonde man on the floor and have him right then and there. But no, tonight was Tantra night, and he'd have to take it slow. Jesus.
The two men broke their kiss long enough to toss off the rest of their clothing. One would never know that Gordon was nearing 50 by looking at his body. Years of yoga and early morning runs in the woods had kept him in beautiful shape. Gordon led JC to the bathtub, and the two eased in, JC with his back to Gordon. He leaned back and rested his head against Gordon's shoulder.
Gordon bathed the younger man with lazy caresses. JC turned occasionally to Gordon for more kisses, searching him out with the tip of his tongue. He could feel Gordon's need against the small of his back all seven inches of need. Clearly he wasn't the only one who would have to make an effort at being patient. JC sighed happily into Gordon's mouth. Surely he was insane to have had second thoughts about being with this man.
After the bath, Gordon wrapped JC in a towel that had been draped over the heated towel rack - very European. JC grinned. Never did he feel more elegant in a man's arms than when he was with Gordon. Gordon then drained the bathtub before leading him into the room. //Wonder how he's going to clean the mess of rose petals that settle to the bottom// JC thought idly. Gordon led him to the bedroom, where the walls were decorated with tapestries. //More candles, of course. Doesn't he ever worry that he's going to burn the house down?// JC shook his head. //Focus, you moron...//
Gordon sat cross-legged on his king-sized bed and patted the space in front of him. JC took his position and Gordon produced a bottle of scented oil. The men took turns giving each other a light coating of oil and chuckled as they became a tangle of arms and legs. They leaned in to give each other warm sloppy kisses that ended with soft wet smacks. When they tore away from each other, JC's mouth had gone slack, his lips swollen. Gordon caressed JC's face and for a moment, JC thought he'd found the answer to everything he ever wanted in those intense blue eyes.
//Do you know how many boys would kill to have a daddy like that?// he heard Lance say.
//Why are all the good ones either taken or straight?// Chris whined.
//But what if Gordon is the best thing you'll ever find in your life?// Lance demanded.
//Gettin' fisted// Justin deadpanned.
JC was jolted back to the present. He turned his attention to his lover.
Gordon's hand trailed down JC's chest, down to his thigh, until he found JC's hand. He clasped his other hand around JC's, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Having practiced this many times before with Gordon, JC followed suit, filling his lungs and diaphragm until he thought they would burst. He exhaled slowly through his mouth. "Relax, love," Gordon repeated like a mantra. JC's eyelids became heavy as he allowed his lover's seductive voice to lead him away from the mundane world: away from worrying about the column he had to write, the next modeling shoot, his bills, the paunch he could have sworn he was growing... Gordon and JC continued to breathe deeply together for five minutes until JC felt light-headed, and Gordon had him lie down on his back.
JC rested his head on a wheat-filled pillow as Gordon sat yoga-style at his right side. He knew what would come next having researched the topic with Gordon. It was called the Polarity Process, performed to prepare him for Tantra. Gordon rubbed his hands together for warmth and shook out his hands and flicked his fingers in front of him as if he were shooting off sparks. Normally JC would have already fallen apart giggling, but the mood was solemn, and JC was already becoming too relaxed to do anything but languidly observe Gordon's actions.
Gordon then gently placed his left hand at the center of JC's chest, on his Heart Chakra. He rested the fingertips on his right hand down below, over JC's perineum. He kept his hands in place for a few minutes, breathing deeply in order to encourage his lover to continue doing the same. Without moving his left hand, he cupped his right hand over JC's balls and engorged penis, again leaving it there to rest for awhile. Every once in awhile, Gordon would rock his right hand over JC's privates ever so gently. JC let a soft moan escape from his lips.
Gordon again moved the right hand but this time laid it to rest over JC's belly. JC was beginning to experience the queer out-of-body sensation he usually felt when he meditated with Gordon. But now added to the sensation was a vague sexual longing. He felt it not only in his cock, but his entire body, even though Gordon was using a feather-light touch. He wanted to prolong the delicious feeling, he was afraid of releasing too soon.
JC found he had nothing to worry about. Gordon was not quite finished. Gordon placed his right hand on JC's heart and laid his left to rest on JC's throat. After awhile, Gordon moved his hand from the throat to JC's forehead, and later to the crown of his head.
After a few minutes that seemed like hours, Gordon slowly removed his hands from JC's body. JC was vaguely aware of a dip in the bed as Gordon got up to shake his hands and flick the energy from his fingers. Gordon returned and knelt in front of JC, between his legs. He slid his hands up JC's thighs until they reached his cock, which he took in the palm of one hand and massaged it, encircling the shaft with gentle strokes and then palming the head. JC arched his back towards his lover, his body demanding more, but Gordon withdrew and waited until JC's body relaxed. JC cursed the folly of wanting to prolong this sexual tease.
Gordon then dipped his head and pressed his lips around the head of the cock, creating suction as he drew more of JC's cock into his mouth. JC almost forgot to exhale as Gordon sucked, sucked, sucked all the way down until his nose touched his pubic hair, then came back just as slowly to take a breath. Gordon continued to fellate JC until the younger man would near his peak and then withdraw, but he would not allow him to come.
Gordon repeated this procedure several times until JC contemplated grabbing Gordon by the ears and ripping them off if necessary just to get him to complete the job. But by this time, Gordon had turned JC onto his side. He had procured a condom and a bottle of Glide and was lubing up, all the while kissing the nape of JC's neck and telling him to be patient, relax, no, stop touching yourself, just relax and take this trip with me.
When at last Gordon entered him, he did with tiny, controlled thrusts, inching his way in until he was completely ensconced within JC's heat. He sighed and slid a protective arm around the younger man in front of him and trailed his fingertips across JC's chest, circling his nipples. They lay like for a long time, perhaps for hours, with the moon bathing their bodies in a pale glow.
JC was completely surprised by how comforting it was to have Gordon nestled inside him like this. He clasped the hand above his head with Gordon's, and let himself float. JC floated even higher than he ever had on the greenest bud. He could feel Gordon's warm breath and air-soft kisses at his neck. Every once in a while, Gordon would shift to make himself more comfortable, and JC's anus would pulse around his lover's cock, almost as if to give it a hug. Cocooned against his body, JC felt more intimate with Gordon than he had before. There was nothing beyond their bed, nothing else existed in the world. Just the two of them, almost touching souls.
//I like this. I really like this. This feels so good...//
Somewhere in the middle of the night, he thought he heard Gordon murmur something about love. He could have sworn he heard himself echo the sentiment. JC closed his eyes and sighed.
JC opened and immediately closed his eyes immediately to protect them from harsh sunlight. He opened them slowly and looked around, confused. A down comforter covered his body. There was no Gordon behind him. There was no warm glow of sacred sex, only the lingering feeling of being unfulfilled. Where had the time gone? JC sniffed. He smelled food. His ears perked up to the sound of crackling grease. Gordon was cooking breakfast. But what about last night? Did he miss everything? Did Gordon leave him alone, completely disgusted with him?
JC pulled on his boxers from the night before and his sweater. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, ready to make amends.
Gordon was squeezing oranges as JC entered. He wore only a pair of jeans. His face broke into a wide grin. "Hey, you."
"Hey." JC kissed him on the lips. "What's cooking?"
Breakfast was turkey bacon, wheat toast and a free-range omelet. JC ate while keeping a cautious eye on Gordon, searching for signs of disappointment or anger.
"Listen, C, about last night-"
//Here it comes...//
"I know you were hesitant when I first suggested the idea of practicing Tantra, and I'm very proud of you." Without noticing the stunned look on JC's face, he continued. "I know how difficult it is for you to fully relax and give up some of your control, but you relaxed beautifully. You went into a highly meditative state."
//Well, yeah, I was asleep...//
"We took an important step in our relationship. Tantra is sacred. "
//But... but... I didn't come.//
"And you're the only person I ever would have shared that experience with."
//You never let me come, you know. I wanted to come....//
"Last night was the most special night of my life."
//But I never had a goddamn orgasm!//
"We shared something that two people share only when they fully trust each other."
//But I don't remember any of this.//
Gordon took JC's hand in his. "My love, our souls connected."
//What? When? Shit, I think I missed all this! Did I...? Oh, fuck, I didn't tell him I love him, did I?//
After JC took his shower and got dressed, Gordon saw him to the door. Kissing JC, he whispered, "I love you, darling."
//Question answered.//
"You too. See you next weekend."
Thank God it was a Sunday morning. Traffic wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, and JC tore down the road, ready to take a life if he had to. He screeched into the garage beneath his apartment building and raced up the stairs, plowing into Lance who was carrying Jacques and taking up a fresh bouquet of flowers to spruce up his home decor.
"Whoa, there. Where's the fire?"
"In my pants!" JC yelled and pushed past to get to his apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Lance shrugged. "This is why we're confirmed bachelors, dearie," he told Jacques before entering his apartment.
JC didn't stop running until he reached the bathroom. Once there, he ripped off his pants and closed his eyes and jerked off furiously. It didn't take long. Exhausted and breathing heavily, JC sat down heavily on the tiled floor as Mr. Peepers poked his way into the bathroom and watched him curiously.
"Well, Mr. Peepers, that was truly anti-climatic. Guess I'll have to fake it in the article.
There's got to be someone besides Gordon who gets off on this."
Mr. Peepers sniffed disinterestedly at his human's foolishness and skulked away.
******************************************* Roll credits A Parlance and Sammie co-production. *******************************************