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JC sat cross-legged on the couch, guitar perched on his lap. He wanted to be Def Leppard or KISS or something today. He wanted to write something loud and stupid and fun, something you could jump around and shout while you were drunk.

He had a rhythm, dum dum dum da da da da dum. He had some notes. But he didn't have a focus. JC wrote songs for and about specific people, whether they knew it or not. He still needed a real title for "Justin Timberlake, put down that sneaker!" He kept meaning to check what the exact title of "Everything I Own" was, so he wouldn't make them too close.

He figured that a party anthem was going to be about Chris or his brother Taylor. Or maybe Trace. The three of them were loud and liked to act stupid, so he tried to imagine what they would shout about. A girl of course. Tall and blonde, probably, with a great ass and light eyes, hazel or green and a really big, extremely lickable adam's apple.

JC sighed and put the guitar down, got off the couch. Chris would not shout out songs about Lance Bass, even though Lance had a really terrific ass. Chris was opposed to penises on his sex partners. Adam's apples, too. Chris probably wouldn't appreciate Lance's bass voice, the nice rumbly sound he would make when you licked the adam's apple. Chris had probably never thought about how Russia made Lance's body new and hard and sharp.

JC liked to run his tongue along the edges of a boy's defined muscles. He liked a boy to go all cave man and pick him up, sling him over a shoulder, and drag him off to his bedroom. Then he liked to tie the boy to a wall and use his mouth all over until the boy cried for mercy. Lance would have been an excellent candidate for such treatment, if not for the niggling detail of Jessie.

But that didn't matter. He was writing a party song. Big party song. Maybe Chris would sing about beer. Chris liked beer a lot. JC had once heard Chris sing an ode to beer. JC went to get a beer, to drink it and see if music would happen. He didn't think getting actually drunk would help his writing, but even half a glass would give him a little buzz.

There were three or four bottles of wine in his refrigerator, but JC was apparently out of beer. He considered calling his PA for some, but he was pretty sure he'd given the kid a couple of weeks off. He could have wine. He picked out a nice white. The label was a green color the same as Lance's eyes. JC poured himself a glass; it tasted dry and crisp, like apples and cigars. He wondered if Lance's mouth would taste the same way. Lance smoked sometimes, and he sounded raspy and tired and a little mean afterward. It was very exciting to hear Lance like that, like he was losing control and might just grab someone and do…things to them.

JC stood straight up when he realized he was mooning over Lance. Again. Also, he had a hard on. Also, he had not had one single thought about Chris or beer or partying. He'd just been dreaming about sex. With Lance.

Was it JC's fault Lance was so hot JC couldn't stop thinking about putting Lance in very little clothes and a lot of body shimmer? No. It was too bad JC had already written Mercy, or he could write about his sexual fantasies about Lance. But—

Oh. JC could write a song for Lance, about how he couldn't get Lance out of his mind. How he couldn't stop thinking about sex with him. Dreaming about sex with him. All day, all night, all the time.

It could work in second person. It could work.