nsync in black and white

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


written for fic_requests

Florida sunshine warm on my arms. Green freshness, no sharp city odors of gasoline and garbage. Peaceful out here. A rare car passes, but muted by trees and the heavy air. I could just lie here by the pool and think of nothing.

Except that I want a drink. And Chris is in one of his moods.

I think I can sneak into the kitchen without being spotted. Don't want to have to deal with Chris right now. Too much like work, and it's so good being lazy out here.

Best check there's no-one—damn. Chris is in there. Don't think he noticed me, he's wearing those hideous sunglasses (in the house!) so I can't be certain, but he's mostly in profile, not looking this way. I can see that sulky pout, and from the way his arms are folded and he's sitting slumped on that stool it's obvious he isn't in the mood for company. And I really don't want to deal with him. I mean, sure, I love him, but just, no. Why did we even come over to his house, when he's like this?

There's a bottle of water in the refrigerator, I know there is, but is it worth it? Can I get in and out without having to have a conversation?

Oh—he said something. Did he see me? Can I pretend I didn't notice him?

No, it's okay, he wasn't talking to me. Looks like there's someone... yes, it's Joey. Doesn't look like he's getting very far, if he's trying to get Chris to cheer up and be fit for company.

It's weird, watching them, knowing they haven't seen me. Joe's such a teddybear, he's trying so hard, and Chris just sits there stonewalling.

Joe's reaching forward now—watch it, Joey, you'll get bit—taking off those awful sunglasses. Putting them down on the kitchen counter. Chris is looking up at him... that's kinda odd. Not quite the expression I was expecting. And Joey's touching his face, smoothing Chris's cheek with his thumb. That's so sweet. Joey's a good man.

Chris's head jerks back. Not one for the tenderness, Chris. I wish I could hear what he's saying so vehemently.

Whatever it is, it's hurting Joey. Joey's on his knees now, looking up, his hands on Chris's thighs, why does Chris have to be such a prick sometimes? Joey's—Joey's, wait, that can't be—he's unfastened Chris's pants, he's moved towards, he's got his mouth on—Chris is clutching at Joey's hair, and leaning back and smiling, and Joey is...

That can't be.

He's supposed to be mine.



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