"I Promise You" (1/1)
Author/pseudonym:  FatJoey
Email address: fatjsteel@ureach.com
Rating:   PG for language and sexual tension
Fandom:   NSync
Pairing:  Justin Timberlake/J.C. Chasez
Date:     January 5, 2001
Archive:  Yes, but give me a holler. Hosted at http://www.boybandfic.org
Series:   You can never tell
Category: Slash, RPS
Disclaimer: Okay, this is just my own little fantasy and not meant to offend; it may not even be true . . .
Summary:  Read on and see for yourself
Warnings:  Nobody dies (!), no blood or gore.

Justin Timberlake entered his hotel room, turned on the light and threw his key card on the dresser. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He was beat, and he was a little frustrated. After a few days break, they were in high gear again, with several big appearances upcoming. Britney had been in rehearsal all day and had only been able to break away for a few minutes. And then she had been distracted and hard to reach. He didn't blame her, of course. She was hosting the American Music Awards, and it was a big deal for her. But still . . .

He pulled off his shirt and walked into the bathroom. He urinated, washed his hands and face and brushed his teeth in quick succession. He might as well get to bed, because the guys would want to rehearse tomorrow. And maybe Britney would have some time for him.

Man, he was starting to think like a normal boyfriend. And there was nothing normal about being Justin Timberlake and dating Britney Spears. He was well aware of it, and so was she; this was why the relationship worked. No pressure. You go be famous and I'll go be famous. We'll meet up at awards shows where everyone honors us for being so frigging famous. Okay. Cool.

And then this other thing with Britney right now, this constant working out. Her personal trainer had her down to something like 11% body fat and she hardly let a carbohydrate pass her lips. Her arms were more ripped than his were now! It looked fabulous, but there was no way she could keep it up (or he could stand it if she did).

He sat down on the bed and pulled off his shoes and pants. Then, clad only in his boxers, he turned off the light and fumbled for the bed, tripping over his shoes. He fought the urge to curse. He switched on the lamp by the bed and sat down, rubbing his toe. He heard a sound and felt something rough under his butt. He stood back up and saw a sheet of paper, now rumpled from the weight of his body. He picked it up.

The words to their latest release, 'This I Promise You,' were written on the paper.

"When the visions around you
Bring tears to your eyes
And all that surround you
Are secrets and lies

I'll be your strength
I'll give you hope
Keeping your faith when it's gone
The one you should call
Was standing here all along

And I will take you in my arms
And hold you right where you belong
'Til the day my life is through
This I promise you
This I promise you

I've loved you forever
And lifetimes before
And I promise you never
Will you hurt anymore

I give you my word
I give you my heart
This is a battle we've won
And with this vow
Forever has just begun

Just close your eyes
Each lovin' day
And know this feeling won't go away
'Til the day my life is through
This I promise you
This I promise you"

At the bottom of the paper something else was written. Justin smoothed out a large wrinkle and held the paper closer.

"The next time we sing this, I'll be singing it for you. I hope you haven't forgotten. I haven't. J.C."

Justin swallowed and sank down on the bed. He read the paper again, including the very familiar words to the song. A wash of memories flooded over him.

He was 14 again, and he thought his life was over. His heart was broken, and his trust. He believed he would never love a woman again, never get over the hurt. Even starting the band hadn't changed the horrible emptiness inside - the actual physical pain he felt in his chest every morning when he woke up and remembered the betrayal.

Then one night he had suddenly felt warm arms surrounding him, even as he struggled to fall asleep. A body had pressed close to his and a familiar voice had spoken softly to him.

"Justin, I know you're hurting. Let me help. I'll make you feel wonderful, I promise."

It was J.C. The arms belonged to J.C., the voice, the warmth, the comfort. And J.C. had pulled him close and held him while he cried. And then J.C. had kissed him and touched him -- and magically the pain had faded away. And later, after he had clung to J.C. and dug his fingers into the lean back while this new sensation of pleasure and abandon overcame him, he recognized the sensation in his body as more than satisfaction - it was happiness.

And J.C. had whispered "I love you" before kissing him again.

That was the start of a beautiful time in Justin's life. Not only was he working harder than he ever had -- learning dance moves and picking out songs and practicing harmonies, every night he was lying in J.C.'s arms, sometimes with passion, sometimes with only tenderness. And there was no jealousy between them, no competition for who would sing lead first, or who would stand in the center of the five. It didn't matter, because they were like one person.

For more than six months.

Justin sighed, remembering. It had started without warning, and it had ended the same way. He didn't remember if it was just after J.C.'s 20th birthday exactly, but it was around that time; he didn't remember if it had been precipitated by some event. It wasn't about a fight or a girl, he knew that. But J.C. had stopped coming to him at night, and J.C. had stopped looking into his eyes during the day.

"We have to stop for the good of the group," J.C. had explained when he asked him why. "You're a minor, and we could end up in trouble."

Justin certainly hadn't wanted J.C. to get into any trouble, and so he had accepted the explanation and gone on. After a few weeks, he stopped waiting for J.C. to change his mind. And after several more weeks he stopped crying at night.

And now, five years later, he sat in his room and read the words to a song he felt like he was really hearing for the first time. The tune played in his head as he read, and J.C.'s full voice rang out clearly in his mind. "I've loved you forever, and lifetimes before. And I promise you never will you hurt anymore." No, Justin hadn't forgotten. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"J.C.," he whispered. "J.C."

He crumpled the paper into a ball and held it in his fist for a moment. Then he reached for his pants and pulled them on. He left his bedroom and crossed the living area of the dark suite, hoping he didn't trip and break his neck. J.C.'s door was just across the room.

He tried the handle, but the door was locked. "J.C.!" he called out, knocking loudly. Justin's heart was pounding so hard, he felt like he could hear it. "J.C.!"

There was no answer. This time he did curse, then he struggled toward a light switch. He picked up the phone and called Chris' room. He mentally willed Chris to be there.

"Hullo," said a sleepy voice. "What's up?"

"It's Justin. Sorry to wake you. Where's J.C.?"

"Justin? Hey, I don't know. I guess he was going out tonight." There was silence for a moment. "You know J.C.," Chris finally said.

He did indeed. J.C. was starting to 'go out' more and more often, and Justin was sure he knew what he was doing. For the past six or eight months J.C. had become more and more obvious about his preferences, and - when there was time - he had started frequenting clubs in many of the cities they visited. Nobody really talked much about it, but J.C. rarely showed even a passing interest in girls and the clubs he usually chose were frequented by men. Many times the guys went along, and Justin had watched J.C. surveying the clientele. And vice versa. J.C. was a gorgeous guy, and he had become even prettier of late, wearing more flamboyant clothes and more makeup. Justin didn't doubt for one second that J.C.'s activities went beyond dancing and flirting.

Justin hung up the phone without saying a word. He threw the balled-up paper with the words to "This I Promise You" across the room as hard as he could manage. Anger boiled over. J.C. had left the note in his room, then gone out to pick up some guy and fuck him or blow him or whatever it was he did! It was beyond belief that J.C. could do something so unthinking and unfeeling. Wasn't he Mr. Sensitive? Wasn't he Mr. Serious? How sensitive was it to leave Justin sitting alone in the hotel while he danced in some gay club? How serious could he have been about this note if he didn't care enough to wait for Justin to read it?

Justin's face burned and his heart raced furiously. If he knew where J.C. had gone, he would go there and take him by the hair and pull him back here. And then . . . and then.

The door opened and J.C. walked in. He was wearing black leather pants and a silver shirt and his dark hair was swept up and wild looking. He looked surprised to see Justin standing there; Justin could only imagine what his face must look like to J.C. at this moment.

"Justin?"

Justin walked over and picked up the projectile he had made out of J.C.'s note. "Thanks for this," he said icily, tossing the ball of paper up in the air and catching it. "Nice note." He threw it at J.C.'s feet.

J.C. looked confused. He stared at the balled-up paper in Justin at his feet, then back at Justin's face.

"You have a good time tonight?" Justin asked.

J.C. nodded, the puzzled look on his face angering Justin even more.

"Don't look at me like that!" Justin snapped.

"What?"

"Don't act so fucking clueless! You know what I'm mad about."

"What?" J.C. said again.

It was too much. Justin moved toward J.C., driven by some violent urge to strike him. Then as he came up close, he smelled the familiar scent of J.C. (that musky smell of his skin and his sweet cologne), and he saw a look in J.C.'s face he had never seen before -- not even during the time they had been one unit. He stopped just in front of him, his eyes nearly level with J.C.'s, give or take an inch or so. Something inside Justin recognized that look and acknowledged it.

It was surrender.

Times had changed. Justin was no longer a boy, and J.C. was waiting for the man Justin had become to take and possess him. In fact, Justin knew he already possessed J.C. in some way; it was now time to claim his prize. J.C. was the one who now needed him.

Justin reached out his hand and cupped J.C.'s smooth cheek. "I've been waiting for you, baby," he said. "Don't ever keep me waiting."

J.C.'s eyes filled with tears. He shook his head and tried to speak. Justin pressed his finger over J.C.'s soft, full lips.

"Shhh. Just come to bed."

J.C. fell forward and Justin took him in his arms, feeling the trembling in J.C's limbs. He knew if he didn't stop himself, he would pull J.C. down and take him on the floor. And he didn't want it to be that way. He wanted it to be sweet the first time.

"Justin! Jesus, Justin."

"Shhh, baby. Let's go in the bedroom. I'm not mad anymore. I just want to make love to you."

J.C. pulled back and looked into Justin's face. "I want that, too."

"You are so beautiful," Justin said. "Even more than when you were 19."

"Oh, god. Justin."

Justin took J.C.'s hand and started dragging him into his own bedroom. "You better not have fucked anybody tonight," he warned, slamming the door behind them.

"I can't believe how you're talking," J.C. said, standing uncertainly, waiting for some instruction from Justin.

Justin could barely believe it himself. "Answer the question," he demanded.

"What question?"

Justin made an exasperated sound. "Did you fuck somebody?"

J.C. shook his head. "No. I just couldn't sit around here waiting. I was afraid of what you'd think when you read the note. I just went dancing."

Justin breathed in and out. Feelings of aggressive possession kept warring with his tenderness for J.C., and he willed himself to calm down. J.C. had been afraid - it had taken all his strength to leave the note and wait for Justin. He probably thought Justin would stay at Britney's hotel all night, and he couldn't lay awake wondering how far their intimacy had gone. Tenderness won.

"Come on, J.C.," he said softly. "Take off your clothes and get in bed. I'm going to make you feel wonderful. I promise."

"You promise?" J.C. asked, his eyes shining with tears again.

"I promise."

J.C. sat down and pulled off his boots and leather pants. Then he removed his shirt and shorts. Justin studied the familiar body, realizing it had never looked so beautiful to him before. J.C. stretched out on the bed, looking up at Justin.

Justin took off his own pants and shorts and tossed them aside. As he walked toward the bed, he saw J.C. staring at the ever-growing sign of his masculinity. "Not 14 anymore," he said, reaching down and stroking himself, knowing it was an outrageous thing to do, but doing it anyway. He stood over the bed and J.C. watched him, expectantly.

Possession. The feeling grew in Justin again. "J.C.," he said, still standing.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to keep fucking other guys?"

J.C. swallowed and licked his lips. His eyes were swimming. "No, Justin. I promise."

Justin nodded slowly, feeling heat in his chest and arms. "If you do, I'm going to beat the shit out of you. That I promise."

Then he snapped off the lamp and climbed in next to J.C. and took him in his arms. He was older, bigger and stronger than he had been five years earlier, and while the embrace was familiar, everything had changed. Now J.C. waited for Justin to take him, instead of the other way around. And he didn't have to wait long.

The End