nsync in black and white

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

The joy and the color

written for Ephemera, at fic_requests

They met at a party. Or was it a club? He couldn't remember for sure, but he did remember that skinny body, that crazy dancing, the soft curls flip-flopping as he bounced enthusiastically, and that wide, sweet grin. Was it really the first time they'd met? He seemed so familiar.

"You dance like there's nobody watching."

That earned him a second glance. "I dance for me, man."

In retrospect, that seemed so... strange. How could anyone not be aware of the eyes, all around, judging? It must be nice, though, to be like that. So uninhibited . So young.

It was definitely in London, though, because JC saw him two nights later when he went out to eat. Laughing with friends. Gesticulating. Eating something—ribs?—with his fingers, licking the stickiness off. JC made himself stop watching the way his fingers slid into his wide, smiling mouth. The way his tongue slipped out, pink and agile, to clean his lips.

"Hey, man, do you want to join us?"

"Oh, thanks, uh, no, you have your friends there. I already ordered, so..."

Such a beautiful smile. "You're coming to my show, yes?"

"Tomorrow night. It, uh, I'm looking forward to it."

"Come backstage after?"

"Uh, sure."

Another smile, this one laced with mischief, and a barbecue-saucy finger pressed quickly against JC's lips before Mika danced back to his own table.

Kid had looked beautiful up there, so much passion, so much joy. JC smiled at the big guy who inspected his pass, and followed the waved hand towards Mika's dressing room. There was a 'min sound so he pushed the door open and went inside. Mika, in a high-backed swivel chair, facing the long mirror, smiling at him in the glass. Hair still sweaty from the stage, and a sheen over his naked body. JC froze.

"Close the door?"

He did, and leaned against it, uncertain. But tempted, oh, yes. Hesitating for only a moment, he approached and stood behind the chair, met Mika's eyes in the mirror. There was a throw or a blanket on the chair, that long, slender body was surrounded by a rich crush of crimson, orange and purple, like a painting. JC stared at Mika's slow hand moving idly at his groin, and then his wide, carefree smile, blissful in the mirror.

His own reflection was a patch of dullness. White shirt. Grey vest—grey vest! When had he turned grey? When had he stopped being the passion and the joy and the color? JC looked at his neat, tidy self and felt... bereft.

The chair spun, and Mika stood. "Play with me?"

"I—I—" There was a hand on his jaw, and Mika, soft and so, so sweet, lipping at his mouth. Fingers easing apart the buttons guarding his chest. Warmth, where skin met skin. Mika's hand ruffling through his hair, Mika's nails tracking lines over his thighs. JC clutched tight, tasting the gloss of sweat on Mika's long neck, trembling with want.

An adjustment of weight, a gentle push on his shoulders and he was sitting in the chair, and JC forgot to care how he got there because Mika was on his knees now, kissing him still but drawing his aching cock free of his pants. Two hands, perfect pressure, a little twist that caught his breath. Then, Mika's mouth on his cock, and JC groaned and gave himself up completely.

Mika's lips glistened as he slid onto JC's lap and urged JC's hands to work him hard, and Mika cried out joyfully as he came, and JC wriggled out of the horrid grey vest and wiped the pale smears from his chest with the white shirt and balled it up and threw it at the far wall. And when Mika slid to the floor, giggling, JC realized the chair had spun again, for he was there in the mirror, surrounded by crimson and orange and purple, and he laughed.


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