nsync in black and white

Fiction by Pen . . . . . not real, made up, purely intended for entertainment


another one for fic_requests

It was, somehow, an incredibly intimate deal, being in the studio together like this. It wasn't always so, whichever side of the glass you were standing, but when the guy singing his heart out, the guy you were pushing all the time for more, more passion, more emotion, more heat, was a guy who loved this stuff so much you had a feeling he wouldn't be able to breathe if he couldn't do this, and was also a guy you'd known for more than half your life, well, it was...

Justin pulled his full attention back to what he was hearing, and compared it to the structure in his head, the way he intended this to sound, and thought, yeah.

"I think we got it, 'C," he announced. Beside him, JC frowned at the array of sliders on the desk, and traced a careful finger along its edge.

"We're done for the night, then?" JC sounded reluctant, and Justin knew what that was all about. JC always thought there must be something more to do, something that would elevate this recording to perfection. They'd probably have to send someone over to break his fingers with a mallet to get him out of the studio when this new album was done.

For tonight, however, Justin had a better plan.

"We're done," he murmured, "but we're not done." He moved, closing the few inches between them—even the fanciest studio didn't have much room for maneuver, and this one was actually a little cramped—and put his hands either side of JC's waist. "For good luck?"

JC shifted, and his hands rested, almost noncommittally, on Justin's forearms. Justin hoped JC wouldn't object to a little honest sweat—it wasn't like a workout, but it was hot in the booth, and—

"Is that right? It's good luck?" JC's mouth curved into a smile full of promise. "So when Timbaland said you and he were, like, married—"

"Ow! Man, way to ruin the mood!" Justin retorted, but he was laughing. "No way. Tim told me to find a hot honey."

"Mmm, and did you?" JC's fingers were sliding up his biceps.

"Ain't nobody hotter than you," Justin muttered. "'Cept me, of course."

"Of course. So," JC purred, "what exactly do we have to do to get this 'good luck', hmm? Do we... kiss? I think we do." And he did, leaning in and settling his lips over Justin's and really, when did JC suddenly get to be in charge? Not that Justin could find any reason to object, with a silk-wet tongue sliding carefully across the inside of his lower lip, and suction, and sharp, gentle teeth tugging at him, and JC's mouth, god, his mouth.

"Or is there more to it?" JC's mouth was at his ear now, hot breath tingling over the hypersensitive skin and sending an imperative message straight to his groin. Justin wriggled against him, and grasped lower, pulling JC's unreasonably tiny hips hard against his own, oh, yes, hard, yes. "Do you think there has to be more, for it to work right? Do I have to suck your cock, J, is that what we do? Or do we fuck?"

"God, 'C, please, just..." He didn't care, right now, about anything except getting the zipper of his jeans to open, that is, until JC slid his fingers in behind the denim and eased the zipper open with his other hand, and pushed Justin's jeans very slowly down over his thighs, and then his fingers slipped between Justin's boxer briefs and his skin, and down went the Calvins and JC hand closed around Justin's erection. "Oh, yeah, 'C, please, yeah!" Wicked fingers, magic fingers, strong and certain and just rough enough, up and down his shaft, and a thumb that went into JC's mouth and came out wet and shiny and then swirled over the head of Justin's cock and made him pant and swear and plead.

"Here, this, now," JC muttered into Justin's mouth, and guided Justin's hand down to JC's own cock, so hot and so hard. Justin curled his fingers around it and bucked up his hips to JC. He nipped at JC's lips as they pressed bruisingly at his mouth, sucked JC's tongue inside and opened wide for more. JC's cock was leaking against his palm. He spread the slipperiness down with two fingers, and JC moaned into him and pressed him harder against the desk.

Their knuckles bumped as they fisted one another's cocks, until Justin opened his hand wide. His explanation wasn't as fluent as he'd hoped, but JC grasped what "Here, both, together," meant anyway, and grunted, "God, yes, like that," as they both spread their hands wide. It felt amazing, his cock nudging against JC's, sandwiched between their palms. JC's flat belly and the rough crinkle of his pubic hair against the back of Justin's hand. The two of them, grinding at one another and panting in between rough, dirty kisses. Even the edge of the desk against Justin's ass was turning him on.

It was too hot to last long. Justin felt the climax swelling up inside him, humped frantically against JC, and came in a rush and a groan.

"Fuck, fuck, Justin, fuck," and JC threw back his head and bucked and there was another spurt against Justin's belly and over his hand, and JC was shuddering against him and kissing his neck.

They clung until the euphoria faded enough for Justin to notice that he was sweaty and sticky, and start groping for a kleenex. He hated being all sticky.

"Looks like it's shower time," JC observed, grinning affectionately.

"Yeah. So... your place or mine? 'Cause I don't think we're done yet."

Sometimes it didn't take a mallet to get JC out of the studio.



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