personalized embroidered custom baby blue (everyone knows everyone)

by julia

*

Someone had to do it. Will someone else do it too? If you don't know about Nelly, read this for starters.

Miss Shireen is the best. Best I tell you. We had (are having) fun with this one though. Don't worry. More? You want more?

*

It's like St. Louis blues, for sure. We definitely had that influence down there, 'cause it's definitely a soulful place. If you go down there, we've got soul food restaurants, and you can just feel that when you get there. You can just feel the people, 'cause everybody knows everybody.

*

When Nelly said "Your hair smells like fucking strawberries," with that voice that sounded like he was singing even though he doesn't sing, Justin had to chuckle. Not a normal, everyday, JC lost to Chris at Mariokart for the sixteenth straight time chuckle. A hoarse I'm in Los Angeles and I'm grinding with Nelly to the um, the fucking Neptunes, chuckle. But actually not the fucking Neptunes, the wonderful great fantastic Neptunes cause they helped all this get started, whatever this is. Pharrell was the one who told Nelly about Memphis, so Justin thought he deserved a thank you card and a bouquet of flowers, or at the very least a sparing use of vocabulary in his mind while Justin's ass was pressed against the seam of Nelly's baggy jeans.

"Fucking strawberries, dirty," and a hand moved from where it was sliding up and down Justin's left side to tilt his cheek back over his shoulder. Ah and then they were almost eye to eye. "Quit laughing."

Justin exhaled, and he saw Nelly react to the breath on his face, shifting closer. The surprise in their eyes was shared but relatively unimportant: Justin had thought everyone wanted him as a rule but that Nelly was relatively predictably into girls - he was on the girl at the video shoot and after the 2000 VMAs Nelly had danced with Brit at some party, which was fine with Justin since he had known where she would be sleeping that night. Never mind that seeing them together had partially brought on the sudden workout addiction that followed.

Britney had in fact been fucking incredible later; he thought she thought she was still on stage with all her sweaty slickness (only a performance like that got Britney quite so worked up, and Justin knew the feeling), but he tried to ignore what else he thought. The part where when Nelly had danced with her they weren't that much farther apart than she was from Justin on the bed, and would Nelly's hands look just as large around his waist instead of Britney's? So anyhow the present situation didn't worry Justin too much, because okay, yeah, Nelly wanted him too-but really it was quite a bit more thrilling than that.

And it didn't worry Nelly too much because why the fuck should he care, really, who he wanted to fuck?

He had this pretty ass Southern boy with a tiny waist (it turned out to not be that much bigger than Britney's, though he hadn't closed two hands on it, yet) and a little hint of a remaining accent that panted out while he danced like a girl in this LA club. People would talk here, but amongst themselves and not to the press and mostly they thought that they were too good to talk to the rapper and his, um, friend, anyhow.

Oh yeah, the other thing Justin had that was so imminently fuckable was this mouth. He licked his lips all the damn time, fuck he was doing it now and staring at Nelly's mouth, and they were swollen and tended to hang just enough apart that it looked like he wanted something between them.

Okay.

Nelly leaned just closer, just, and yeah check out how much he wanted a tongue between those lips. Their eyes both closed but Justin was sucking and lapping and nipping with his perfect white teeth and tasting 24 karat gold.

Justin had tried that once, fake for the photos, but C'd given him shit about it when he heard, and Brit-Joey'd only laughed and Lance shrugged and Chris raised an eyebrow-but fuck it was sexy when it wasn't in your own mouth. Metal and cinnamon and some light shit, probably Cristal or Moet and Justin probably tasted like it too, they liked serving that to VIPs because it ran up the bill rather quickly.

And then Justin was at his jaw and then his ear, sucking at the lobe that was softer than, well shit than anything at this point, Jesus Christ, and the rock that was set inside of it. Glitter, he thought, and "Bling," he said, and then "You wanna get the hell outta here?" soft, so Nelly could feel it.

"Mm. Huh." Nelly shifted and moved, breaking from Justin's lilting hypnotism. Cleared his throat. "Yeah dirty, let's roll."

And when did Justin become the one in charge? Who decided that he'd be in the passenger seat of Justin's Escalade (who ordered custom baby blue leather anyway? Nelly had gotten the personalized embroidered headrests, but the leather-) watching the curve of the boy's wrists and long fingers on the steering wheel as he turned toward the house in the Hills.

Britney and Justin had both had a hand in decorating the place and while the predicted result would be a schizophrenic Mickey Mouse Club disaster, in reality (did such a thing exist in Hollywood?) it meant that Justin's marble floors and steel fridge were set off by fresh flowers delivered once a week and a dark red velvet sofa. The only thing they had chosen together was the bed. Britney had been in a good mood and just back from Asia so she had easily accepted the low bed in a gorgeous sharply carved mahogany. She certainly hadn't complained when Justin had led her backwards into the room and the backs of her knees hit the top of the mattress. It was a perfect choice and Justin's grin had widened when she opened her knees to accommodate him. But now, Britney was in Europe and the house was, for the most part, vacant.

Security was always there on the rare dates when either of the residents was in town, and he thought fast. They knew mostly everything but Justin didn't want them watching the camera outside the bedroom door all night to see what time Nelly would leave. He knew for a fact that a number of wagers had been placed on that sort of thing, and if Nelly ever heard, or for that matter Britney-just, no.

So, they would make a pretense of touring the house and slip into the one camera-free room quietly. Yes. That was the plan. Or would have been if Nelly hadn't been walking just slightly too close behind Justin, brushing at intervals against his elbow and the small of his back. Justin could have sworn that he felt Nelly's whistle disturbing the curls at the nape of his neck as they crossed the broad living room. Justin kicked off shoes and socks, he liked being barefoot on smooth hardwood and plush carpets.

Beyond the living room was the kitchen, a long black counter stretching the length of its left side opposite a row of brand-new and empty appliances. Justin walked in, taking his time, skimming his hand about half-way along the top of the counter, and only then did he turn around to meet dark eyes, hooded from the activity in the club.

In seconds Nelly had him with his back to the counter but Justin wasn't into the edge digging into his back, even with Nelly's lips brushing against his. He hoped that hopping onto the counter disguised his shiver in reaction to the gentle friction. Even with his ass on the cool slab of granite, Justin's feet were half on the floor, and Nelly moved close without hesitation to stand in the vee of Justin's legs so that his belly was against the seam of the boy's jeans. The fingers of his left hand unbuttoned Justin's crisp white shirt while his right pulled the boy's neck down to meet him.

Justin kissed back, for the moment content with the slow pace, licking deliberately at the corner of Nelly's mouth when the standing man pulled back to look at the picture he'd made. The white shirt hung open exposing Justin's chest (no undershirt, not that Nelly minded), connecting his long neck with an expanse of lightly muscled pale golden skin. His wrists were held at either side by each of Nelly's hands, and his fingers curled over the counter's edge. The boy's head cocked to one side, as if surprised that someone he was fucking hadn't already looked at, and tired of, a mass of curly hair and swollen pink lips.

Really Justin was trying to ignore the scrape of Nelly's medallion against his upper thigh as the man leaned in once more when he caught sight of something that was legitimately distracting.

"I don't really think we should-" he began, but Nelly didn't seem to be so easily dissuaded.

"Shhh, J. It's okay." He might have said something else but Justin was hissing in response to full lips working at his nipple.

"But-I have-there's security," and the desperate jerk of his chin towards the dark circle on the ceiling was enough that Nelly caught on. The camera was discreet, but still present. This did not have the effect Justin was going for.

The grin was tangible against his skin and Nelly started working his way over the barely visible line of freckles down the center of Justin's torso. His hands were already working at Justin's belt buckle and zipper and pulling his jeans over his hips.

"You're gonna stop just cause someone gonna see you?" He breathed onto the lowest parts of Justin's belly and Justin's head fell back. "You're a performer, dirty. Perform."

Justin was going to argue that is wasn't a conscious thing, it just kind of happened naturally and this was different. But Nelly's head dipped lower and his mouth closed around Justin and okay. He wasn't only into girls. And wasn't he wearing way too many clothes?

The shit he was doing with his mouth was making Justin sigh and whimper, pretty and high like a girl. Nelly chuckled, low in his throat, and Justin moaned.

Nelly's hands had moved to his hips because Justin was apt to arch his back and curl it and worse to all out thrust, which Nelly had learned in the middle of thousands of people at the club earlier. This way Justin's shudders and shimmies were all for naught, and Nelly provided an excruciating tempo seemingly designed to torture pop stars who were used to getting what they wanted when they wanted it.

Nevertheless, this was not going to last long. With one long arm Justin reached out and grasped the bottom hem of the baggy t-shirt Nelly was wearing.

"Stop," he said, but it was more like a wail than a command and Nelly grinned again and licked him, base to tip. "Fuck. Stop."

"Why, J," he said and Justin thought it was ridiculous that he looked at Nelly at that moment, pulling his shirt over his head and letting his scripted, sparkling name stay dangling, cool against the muscles, and he thought for half a second of a southern belle. Silly really. Then as Nelly brought his thumb to the edge of his lips, wiping slowly, "And we were gettin' on so well."

"No I just," he protested and his mouth stayed open as he hopped back off the counter and straightened, adjusting his boxers, and trailed two hands, fingers wide, over the thick ridges of Nelly's chest and stomach. He decided against admitting to his impatience, begging could come later. "We should go…" and he trailed off, dipping his head to kiss the image of the bleeding heart on Nelly's chest, making the man grunt low, and when Justin bit at it lightly, emit almost a growl. This time when they kissed it was insistent and Justin had his groin urgent on Nelly's jean clad thigh. This was excellent and Justin was fine rubbing there for a minute, Nelly's hands on his waist (there. See? tiny.) and his arms twined behind the man's neck.

But why when there was a bed just upstairs and Justin pulled at Nelly's belt loops, urging him to follow.

***

There was a moment of awkwardness, it wasn't just flowing to heavy bass beats and heavier hormones like in the club and it wasn't sliding around on the kitchen floor. In here, they were like two big restless cats rubbing on each other and pacing, unsure of each man's role. Who was going to pounce?

Ultimately Justin's impatience got the best of him. He pushed Nelly back on to the bed and climbed over him, settling on his knees between Nelly's thighs, which were sprawled carelessly and invitingly. He was a little rough, he admitted to himself, but he didn't think Nelly could possibly be in the state of mind he was in now and fuck it, he just didn't care.

"So we gonna fuck?"

Justin decided against answering that; 'I'm going to fuck you' was cheesy and 'um yeah, that was the plan' would land him on his back in seconds. Instead he licked and bit at Nelly's gorgeous curve of collarbone and dragged a couple fingers along the waistband of his boxers, and then got to work on his jeans.

With clothing successfully gone (Britney would throw a fit at all the shit on the floor, but hey, she wasn't here was she), lube and other necessities at hand, and Nelly absurdly hard already from all of Justin's rubbing and adjusting while he was pulling denim and clean cotton away from skin, now he could enjoy the situation. He took Nelly's ass in his hands, and forget what people said about Lance, forget what he himself thought of Chris. This was firm and, you know, thick and Nelly leaned back and grinned at the simple fact of Justin's hands on him.

His pair of fingers were wet and readily received by Nelly's ass and Nelly moaned low, "Like this." He rolled over on his belly and Justin mourned the loss of lips and tight flat belly from sight only until Nelly stretched and he watched the play of dim light from the windows on his shoulders and back. Justin twisted his fingers and Nelly arched and cursed encouragement that really Justin didn't need.

He prepared himself, settling hands into the lines of Nelly's hips, and closed his eyes for a moment in a search for control. Finally he pressed forward, watching the tension rise all through Nelly's arms, and gasping himself at the much-needed pressure.

Justin went slowly, at first, out of necessity, but he hissed his pleasure whenever Nelly rolled his hips and things started to move a little faster. Nelly's back shined with a blue sheen of sweat and Justin leaned down to lick it from the curve of his spine.

All he could think was sweet and he said it, the pounding in his head and chest matching the movement of his body. Nelly was just sort of sliding there, hands gripping the mattress as he pressed against it and finally Justin curved a hand from it's position on Nelly's waist around to grip him, hard.

Ah, shit. That was it and he had Nelly moving fast against him, whispering obscenities and shuddering and Justin circled his hips once, then again, and Nelly bucked once more. Justin came with a sigh, whispery and whiny and quiet, and he kept his body close against Nelly, a tight hand moving fast until Nelly came, loudly in contrast with Justin's name on his lips, and collapsed. Justin pulled Nelly around to face him, and kissed him a last time, slowly, eyelashes fluttering closed with exertion.

Justin had thought, he'd kind of expected, that their positions would have been reversed tonight, though the events as a whole seemed pretty inevitable in the big old grand scheme. Or whatever. The Superbowl, What's Goin' On, run-ins at shows and parties and after-parties and finally the studio: all that hadn't been quite enough. It made Justin want to question why it was enough to be leaning casually against a bar (newly twenty-one, not that it mattered) and feel a big hand on his bicep.

But there would be time for that. It was hard to care, with a Nelly wrapped all around him from behind, lips pressed into Justin's shoulder, a hand tucked over his waist just above where the sheets covered him.

Lonnie would probably be dozing off in front of the security screens when Nelly left in the morning, brushing the curls off of Justin's forehead, muttering "That was fucking sweet, shorty," when he thought Justin was sleeping, and calling a cab on his cell.