A deafening roar of thunder reverberates throughout Justin's spacious kitchen and a few of you and your friends all almost jump out of your seats before laughing at each other. There's nothing particularly funny about a thunder storm, but the fact that you all were dressed up and ready to go out, only to end up staying here and ordering entirely too much food while breaking into Justin's liquor cabinet has got you all a little goofy and bored.

Licking your pointer finger, you lightly touch the salt on the edge of your margarita glass with it before letting it touch the tip of your tongue. You're almost disappointed that you're sitting here in your little skirt and heels, make up all done, hair teased, all ready for a night on the town; disappointed, only because you guys aren't going out anymore.

If you had known that you were going to have a rainy night in, you would have dressed in something much more comfy. Something more practical for around the house, like a tank top and comfy pants, perhaps. Then again, you aren't the only one dressed up so it's not all that bad. And besides all that, there's always the fact that you can't help but let a tiny part of yourself hope that maybe, maybe what you're wearing will impress him. I mean, even if you don't get to wear it to the club you guys were planning on attending before; at least he got to see you in it.

And God, does he look amazing tonight. Really. He's not even that dressed up, he's just wearing a plaid button down shirt and jeans, but hell does he looks good. That's nothing new about though, Justin has always been easy on the eyes.

With this thought in mind, you look around at your friends, noticing how only you, Bri, Megan, Roz, Heather, and Meredith are left at the table. The guys all chose to segregate into the entertainment room a little while ago and it's left you ladies alone in the kitchen to fend for yourselves. Not that you guys really care much anyhow. Surely they're off doing stupid guy stuff anyways, while they take straight shots of whiskey or something else gross like that, something not as girly as cranberry and vodka, or the strawberry margaritas you and the girls are all sipping on.

"Let's do something…a game," Heather suddenly suggests, causing your head to snap up in interest.

"Like what?" You chip in, ready to take another sip of your drink and occupy your time in other ways than entertaining the useless thoughts of how fucking sexy your close friend Justin Timberlake happens to be.

"Let's get the guys and…" Heather pauses, gulping down the rest of her drink in one swig. She wiggles her eyebrows and then finishes her thought, mirthfully suggesting, "…and initiate some strip poker!"

Your heart immediately begins to pound, eyes widening at the thought of getting to see Justin strip, you in the audience. Fuck, this game could be good…

"Okay…"

And you're not the only one who seems to think so, as you and the girls all giggle and nod in mutual agreement to Heather's idea.

Shit.

So much for occupying a different set of thoughts for the night.

----------

It's been thirty minutes since you went off to bed and you still can't fucking fall asleep. The loud thunder doesn't help, and the fact that you can't get him out of your mind definitely, most certainly doesn't help your case any. So you're just laying here in his guest bedroom, tossing and turning, your thoughts running rapid.

After going through a few liquor bottles, a sloppy and silly game of strip poker, and a shamefully drunk group of friends, you and Justin somehow managed to be the last two awake of the night. You two had even played mom and dad, escorting everyone to their respected rooms, some of the couples passing out on each other, some friends just staying to crash on the living room floor, not caring where the fuck they were, as long as they could sleep off their hangovers.

God, and it had been torture sitting across from Justin all night! Especially when the stupid game didn't get anyone very fucking far. Sure you guys had got down to the bare minimums, bras and boxers and panties, but when it came down to it, everyone either let the game die out or went off to do something else. Except for Meredith, who was so drunk, she flashed the entire table, even when she won her hand, laughter bubbling out of her at all the male cheering, hooting and hollering that followed.

You had just looked up at Justin and shook your head, blushing, laughing a little at the craziness of it all. God, your friends were insane. Some horny, psycho, insane bitches-but you loved them. And you couldn't complain. You had gotten to watch him all night. He had had started off kind roughly in the first five hands, and so he had sat there, in just his jeans for almost the whole night. It was a pleasant, pleasant view to say the least.

But now, now you're kinda miserable. He had dropped you off at your room last, kissing you on the cheek, wishing you a good night. It was kinda awkward actually. I mean, you guys had flirted the whole night and you had kinda thought you were getting somewhere with him. Maybe he would stay up and talk with you, just the two of you alone, all intimate and quiet while everyone else slept.

But no, he had just said goodnight instead. You wanted him to make a move, but maybe he just doesn't like you like that. So instead of being with him like you wish, you're stuck here in his his guest bed, the stupid loud thunder and bright lightening ruining any chance of you ever joining your friends off in dream land anytime in the near future.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a spontaneous and stupid, stupid thought.

I mean you can't just…what if you… but would it be too bold of you? To just go up to his room, say fuck it, and sneak up there, knock on his door, telling him you can't sleep?

But then what if you woke him up? It has been thirty minutes, he could have passed out by now…

You could always say you're afraid of thunderstorms and you didn't mean to wake him, but you were terrified. Oh God, that would sound stupid. Real, real stupid and childish. He'd think you were a dumb little girl.

There's only one choice. You tell him you wanted to talk. And I mean, so what if you want his company?

He's the only one up and it's just Justin.

Justin. Your friend Justin. Justin, who you have a massive crush on, and Justin, who you'd like to do in a thousand million different positions.

Oh god, no, no.

You can't sleep and it's making you think crazy, think crazy things.

You couldn't possibly bother him right now.

It would just make you look pathetic…

------

You're paralyzed in this beautiful scenario, this insanely intense experience of yours. It's too damn good to turn away from and you don't think you could look away even if your life, even if your very fucking existence all depended on you leaving right now.

No, you couldn't walk away. Never. Not from this. Not from him.

You're gripping onto the frame of his bathroom door, trying to force the very act of living to come out of your mouth …yes, your breaths are coming short…short and very, very fucking shallow. You're finding it hard to breathe at all right now, let alone at a smooth rate, and it's all because of him.

Him and…and what he's doing right now.

Jesus fucking Christ…

When you snuck up the staircase to his room tonight, you couldn't sleep and you thought he might be awake. You thought, maybe--maybe you could talk with him some more. So why then, why, when his door was closed and he didn't answer your knock, why didn't you just turn away? It's a good question, simple in form, and yet, you really can't explain why you cracked his door open and slipped inside, even when you thought he was probably asleep.

You guess…you guess, maybe, maybe you weren't really thinking…maybe you were just doing. Yes, you were just doing, and not thinking at all. Not fucking thinking at all.

'Cause logically, if he wasn't answering, that would of meant he was asleep, and so he wouldn't be having any sort of further conversation with you that night. Basing this all on you're original motive to go see him, you should of just left right then. And logically, you should have turned away and headed back for his guest room in a rejected, disappointed state instead.

But shit--you just couldn't help yourself. You wanted to see him again…you had to see him again tonight. Even if it was just to catch a tiny glimpse of him, dead asleep, snuggled all cozy and comfy in his bed--you wanted to see him again.

But fuck, never, ever, in a million-gazillion-trillion years, never once did you think you could of found him like this as you entered his room.

Here, with his adjacent bathroom door cracked open, wide enough so you can peek in and see him, in his shower, in his fucking glass shower, doing things to himself, things you could only dream of him letting you do to him. God, what this man is doing to his body right now, …

…To his body; his sexy, toned, muscular, wet, ripped fucking body. ..

Your eyes are unmistakably, painstakingly glued to every inch of him. Yes, you're taking in every single inch of this scene, savoring every inch of it all. You want to remember this very moment forever.

You'll never forget this; you'll never forget the way his left arm with that cross tattoo of his is bent just slightly, pushed outward, his palm resting flat against the cool tile of the shower; the way his head is tilted back, the water from the shower sprout running down his hair, his neck and his Adam's apple, disappearing in thousands of droplets, all slowly sliding down his chiseled chest; and then there's his breathing, the way his chest is rising and falling, and his mouth is opening and closing, where you can tell…you can just tell, his breathing is slow, deep and shallow… probably just like yours right now….

And then, fuck--fuck, you shouldn't use the Lord's name in vein--, but goddammnit, there's his other hand. His right hand, which is meticulously working on his rock-hard- fucking cock, pumping it, stroking it, and sliding on it all torturously and sexy and hot. His strokes are slow, real slow, seemingly painfully slow, but rhythmic, and you wonder --you wonder if he has that same restraint in bed as he does on his dick right now.

Shit, your knees feel weak, literally motherfucking weak, to the point where you could collapse, as all of a sudden this low, sexy growling sound escapes his throat. His strokes quicken. And, God--that was--the sexiness. Fucking. Moan. Ever.

And you shouldn't even be hearing it. Hearing him moan like that. In fact, now that you think about it, this is borderline stalking. I mean, what would he think… if he knew his friend was in here, leaning against his door, watching him jerk his cock off like this?

He probably wouldn't be too pleased.

And you know you're wrong.

As much as you hate to admit it, you are.

You're not his girlfriend.

You're his friend.

His fucking friend, and as his friend, you shouldn't even fucking be spying on him like this.

You're his friend, but, but….It's so hot--the way the fingers of his left hand are curling inward and outward as he continues to pleasure himself, almost as if he's trying to hold back for all he's worth, like he can't stand it for much longer. And the water that keeps flooding all down him, with his hair darker than usual because of it. It's grown out a little longer, and he's got his face clean shaven, and … and he looks simply to die for.

Gulping, you feel the wetness in your panties, seriously, literally soaking through the layer. You have never been this horny and bothered before, and you don't think you've ever wanted something so bad in your entire life as you want him right now.

Watching him like this, it's like a fucking Catch 22. If you do the right thing and you turn away, you miss out on seeing the rest of this beautiful man, doing this most erotic thing. But if you stay…and if God forbid, you get caught--you'd be--God, that'd be bad.

And then there's always your conscience, which kind of, it's too late to turn back now anyway, so…

No, you can't leave. It doesn't fucking matter. You can't...you can't turn away at this point. You don't have it in you.

Most of all, you can't stop watching his hand.

His big hand, his long fingers, gripping his big, hard dick…stoking himself, long and hard, thrusting in and out…Jesus…

…Jesus, it's like you're…it's like you're mesmerized by his actions; every fucking stroke, every swipe, every breath, every move he makes, you're mesmerized.

I mean, sure you know guys jack off all the time, and sure you've had an ex do it in front of you, but you've never…you've never actually seen them do it in the flesh, watched them like a fly on the wall, not knowing you're there, just soaking it all in.

And then, then… to watch someone like Justin, someone as gorgeous as him do it, god, it's all the more breathtaking, all the more knee-weakening, all the more your little pussy aches with need and desire…

You gulp when he bites his bottom lip right then; his strokes are coming quicker now. Still with a rhythm, but quicker along his length. He seems like he could be getting to that point now, that brink where there's no turning back. His hand moves smoothly and swiftly over his hard dick, squeezing it, his thumb swiping over the head every so often.

And every now and then he'll let out a little cry, a cry that makes you want to cum in your pajama bottoms. The open door is starting to do little or nothing to help the steam fogging and clouding up every mirror, every glass surface in that bathroom of his.

Shit. You want to just touch yourself, right here, right now…'cause you're going to go insane watching him like this for much longer, not being able to do a damn thing about anything. But hell, you're afraid if you stop, if you even stop long enough to think about doing anything like that, you'll miss it.

You'll miss that moment where he lets go, that beautiful moment, where everything in his world stops, where for one fucking, intense, earth shattering second he…

Oh - fuck. Oh-god no, this--this can't be happening to you right now.

No, no, no!

But yes, yes, it can.

And it is. Yes it fucking is.

You just…you just fucking let the door crash against the counter, as you got caught up in your haze, and barely noticed the way your body was leaning all heavy against the door, your weight becoming more dead and fucking heavy as the seconds went by. ..

Your heart reaches an all time level of erratic as you quickly pull the door shut, closed, barely noticing his head snap up and to the side.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…you have no idea if he saw your or not, but if you don't get your fucking ass out of his room and back to yours in the next 10 seconds…you know, God you don't even know what he'll do.