torch, torch@doubleagent.org
April-June 2003

Lame disc: So not real. Written for the Big Fat Annoying Songfic Challenge; my song was U Can't Touch This by MC Hammer. Beta-ish support from Merry, Ellen, Julad and Terri. Original inspiration from Georgina. Don't archive without permission.

Backstory

U can't touch this

Howie's flight touched down at a quarter past five.

A light rain fell over LAX, fine-grained, barely thickening the air. The taste of tomato juice and vodka lingered in his mouth. People jostled him to get ahead, and Howie walked along with his hands in his pockets. Everything was grey, soft-edged and indistinct. He took out his cell and hit six on speed dial.

He didn't think much about travel any more. It had excited him at one point, exasperated and exhausted him at many others. Now he was just getting from one place to another.

Yeah, that's how we livin' and you know

The rain seeped in under his collar.

Two hours later, he was fucking Justin Timberlake.

Justin was always warm, as though he had just stopped dancing. The inside of his mouth was hot, and his tongue was agile and practised. He smelled faintly of cardamom, and sometimes of sharp, expensive soap.

Look in my eyes, man

He liked to be bitten on the back of the neck, he liked to have his wrists held down, and he liked to be fucked hard. Howie had said once that he'd thought he was the last person anyone would look to for rough treatment.

Justin had laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

He left his cell phone on.

Howie stepped out of one life and into another with a great deal of deliberation, careful not to let them touch. Justin seemed to have nine lives and lead them all at once, compartmentalized, watertight.

The phone rang just as Justin's moans reached the high pitch that meant he was about to come. Howie ignored it.

He knew who it was. He could feel the orgasm pressing down on him like the weight of heaven.

Break it down

"You should have answered it," Justin said, lazy-voiced with satisfaction.

"I was kind of busy."

"Dude, if you leave your phone on, it's because you want to answer it."

Justin looked amused.

Howie knew Justin didn't really want him to answer the phone in the middle of sex. He knew who it was, too.

They showered together. Howie left the cell in the bedroom.

This is it for a winter

The mirror steamed over. Howie gave Justin a blowjob, digging his fingers into the backs of Justin's thighs. Justin had a giant bathtub with scented candles set up in rows on little shelves all around. They'd never used it.

Howie liked showers. It was like a ritual, washing himself clean.

Justin liked baths, but only when he was feeling romantic.

Justin leaned against the wet tile the way he posed for photo shoots. Howie could see the images in his mind's eye, all of them superimposed over this wet naked Justin inviting his touch. He couldn't see the difference.

Howie got dressed.

His hair was still wet, dripping down the back of his shirt. He looked at the rumpled bed, and at Justin, whose just-got-fucked look was photo-shoot perfect.

Now why would I ever
stop doing this?

"You want a beer or something?" Justin said. He pulled on a long-sleeved t-shirt and adjusted the cuffs.

Howie shook his head. "Gotta go."

Justin shrugged. "Okay."

"I might call, um. Later."

"Okay."

When he left the house, he got his cell out again.

"Hey, Howie." Nick's voice sounded like sunshine. "You gotta learn to let your calls go to voicemail when you can't answer the phone."

"Sorry. I was busy."

Nick only had the one life, solid and hectic and warm and real.

"Whatever, dawg. So why aren't you here yet?"

"I'm on my way," Howie said. "I'll be right with you."

Howie couldn't touch it.

Yo, we outta here, can't touch this

* * *

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