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Chris reached up to hook a hand behind Justin’s neck and pull him down for a long, slow, careful kiss.

He insinuated his hands underneath Justin’s Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt, sliding it up and over Justin’s head. The warm light pulsed, painting Justin’s perfect abs with scarlet and amethyst. Chris leaned in to lick the sheen of sweat from that flat, quivering stomach, and smiled with satisfaction as a soft moan met his ears. He eased J’s jeans down past his bare feet, and was careful not to smirk as he removed both Justin’s pairs of boxer shorts. It wasn’t like J really needed extra support, but if J liked his little delusions, Chris wasn’t going to be the one to make him face the harsh reality that he was, in fact, no more spectacularly endowed than the next man. [Author's Note #1 In fact, since right at this moment, the next man was Lance... well, never mind.]

Not that Chris had any complaints. In fact, he was about as lucky as a man could get, with all this bounty spread out on the bed in front of him and beginning to writhe. Justin could writhe better than anybody Chris knew. Which had been true for a disturbingly long time.

This was not the moment to start reminiscing about videos made when J was a teenager. This was the moment to slick up his palm and make J stop writhing and start thrusting helplessly into the air, and then to get the lube (carefully pre-warmed on Lamp’s helpful upper surface) and slick up his fingers, and then the condom (tucked under Lamp’s lead, so’s it wouldn’t get mislaid), and settle himself carefully between Justin’s long, long legs and start doing some thrusting of his own.

Woo hoo!

Afterwards, Lamp obligingly dimmed a little, and they lay back against the goosedown pillows and held one another.

“Man,” Chris couldn’t help whispering, “I’m so lucky.” He dropped a kiss against Justin’s sweaty neck. [Author's Note #2:He was noble enough to ignore the facial hair which tickled his nose, but something was going to have to be done about it soon.]

“Yeah,” Justin sighed. “Me, too.”

“Sometimes I feel like, kinda,” it was difficult to know how to put it, but Chris felt compelled to try, “kinda like I’m taking advantage.”

“What?”

“I mean, me being so much older than you.”

“Hey, babe, don’t let it bother you,” said Justin, with sublime confidence. “Besides, you’re not the oldest guy I ever had.”

Chris sat up. “Really?”

“Oh, man, no. I like older guys. You know?”

Chris was not at all sure that he did. But Justin had not finished.

“I learned a lot from Kevin, you know.”

“Kevin?” said Chris, outraged.

“Kevin Richardson. You know! Man, he was hot! And he knew exactly how to—“

“When was this?” Chris demanded. “Because if it was when you were—“

“Ancient history, man. Nothing for you to worry about. But you know, man gave the most amazing blowjobs, he had this way of sucking, like, with the tongue just in the right place, it was, like, incredible, you know what, I’m gonna show you exactly—“

Chris removed the large, eager hand from his own crotch, flung it back to Justin, [Author's Note #3:It would be narratively inconvenient to confirm at this point that the hand in question was indeed Justin Timberlake’s, and not a random severed limb left over from another, more sordid, story, but the reader may rest assured that this was indeed the case.] and swung himself out of the gigantic bed. “I’ll pass,” he hissed, and stomped towards the door.

Thinking better of it, he stomped back to the bed, upon which Justin was now sitting up and looking bewildered, stepped hurriedly into his own jeans, dragged on a T-shirt, and stomped back to the door, which he flung open. He stomped through, and slammed it behind him.

A moment later, Chris flung the door back open, stomped into the room, jerked Lamp’s plug unceremoniously from the socket, grabbed Lamp and made his exit once more.

“Chris?” said a small voice in the sudden darkness.

* * *

Justin did not know what to do. He was confused. All he’d been trying to do was turn Chris on.

It was difficult, sometimes, being the younger one. He had years of sophistication to catch up on. Okay, so Chris wasn’t that sophisticated, but he had had way more time to practice than Justin. Chris’s mom hadn’t followed him all around Europe, for one thing.

Consulting JC about strategy had seemed like a good idea, and Justin had been charmed by the suggestion that a little dirty pillow-talk could keep the relationship lively. Justin didn’t have that many stories to tell—the Britney years had been rather barren, and Wade, though lithe, was kinda disappointing in terms of innovation. You’d have thought a choreographer would have more ideas than “Bend over and I’ll do you now,” really.

But Kevin, Kevin had been hot! Kevin had taught him, well, everything he hadn’t been able to figure out by practising on his own. The ear job. That thing with the yogurt. And who would have thought eyebrows could be that erotic?

“Oh, Lamp,” Justin sighed. “I miss Chris already.”

He was lying on Chris’s bed, and gazing sadly into Lamp’s consoling purple and red gleam. Justin put a fingertip [Author's Note #4: Again, his own.] against the glass, and Lamp sent up a slender, scarlet tendril to meet it. But somehow, it was not enough.

“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” Justin said, mournfully. “And—hey, is that my Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt?”

* * *

Chris was moping. Chris moping was a bad thing and not to be tolerated. Lamp was cold and sad.

Lamp had tried. When Chris muttered and raged and strode up and down gesturing wildly, Lamp tried to calm him with a soothing lilac light. When Chris lay supine and unmoving on the bed with a sorry pout on his lips, Lamp tried to cheer him with a scarlet glow. Most of all, Lamp sent bright blobs of joyfulness shooting up every time Chris mentioned Justin’s name, even if it was only in such a phrase as, “Fuck you, Justin Timberlake!”

But there was a limit to what Lamp could do here. It was time for drastic action. It was time to move on.

* * *

“Timberlake! Don’t tell me I have to kill you!” Chris burst into the room with a shout that startled Justin most considerably—the more so since Justin was rather preoccupied with a small pot of yogurt and a rubber glove.

“Chris!” Justin responded indignantly. “You could knock, man! Anyway, what’d I do?”

Chris was looking around the room, although it did seem to Justin as though Chris’s eyes kept shifting over to where he, Justin, lay naked and spreadeagled on the bed.

“Okay, where’d you put Lamp?” Chris demanded.

“I don’t have Lamp. You took him with you when you... before,” Justin said, sulkily. It had been awkward, sneaking into Chris’s bedroom to mourn. He’d had to wait until Chris had gone out clubbing with JC, and he didn’t entirely trust JC, not after JC’s sex advice had gone so tragically wrong.

“He’s not in my, uh. Room.” Chris was staring carefully at the dressing table where, not so very long ago, Lamp had reigned supreme, spreading his glorious luminescence over them both.

“Dude,” said Justin, concerned. He wondered whether he should sit up. But the bedspread would probably stain.

“I thought, I mean, obviously I thought, you must have, when Lamp wasn’t there...” Chris’s voice trailed off as his gaze fixed, wide-eyed, on Justin’s yogurt-smeared groin.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Chris, you know that. I would never. I—I love you,” Justin said, dry-mouthed. “Chris, do you—are you hungry? It's cherry flavour.”

“Man, I thought you’d never ask,” said Chris, and licked his lips.

* * *

Rich red bubbles drifted upwards through their pale purple liquid surround, and the room was filled with colored lights. Lamp gleamed as seductively as only Lamp could.

“Now, where can you have come from?” said Kevin Richardson, interested.