When he called, he only said that he wanted to see you. Just for a few minutes, he'd pleaded, with that soft whine in his voice that he knew would make you do whatever he wanted. Which explained the nondescript dvd he kept locked in the safe in his closet, that no one but the two of you had scene.

You remind yourself of that fact as you drive to the studio, where he spends all of his days and half his nights. Working on an album was never easy, you understand that, and when he drags himself into the house past midnight, you always wait up for him. You always greet him with a shot of Jack and a kiss. You never ignore his need for companionship. And you always pay attention to whatever he has to tell you about the track he was working on. Not only because you truly care and are interested, not only because he always does the same for you, but because you've learned how he feels when you ignore him. You learned that lesson the hard way just last week.

Of course you'd never forget that. If asked, you'd swear that your ass still stung from his spanking and probably still had his handprint. And, squirming in the seat of the car as you park, you realize the very memory of it makes you want him.

"This better be important," you mutter under your breath. Showing your credentials to the receptionist who always looked tired and overworked, you wait as she got permission to let you back. There had been something in his voice, aside from that whine you really hated, that had made you drop everything to do his bidding. True, you always did, but this time quicker than ever before. He'd sounded almost panicked…

Finally, you're deemed worthy of entry, and you walk down the plain corridors, having to stop and remember a turn more than once. You never were able to keep track of a left or a right, and on more than one occasion had interrupted recordings in your search for Justin. This time though, perhaps because you're excited, perhaps because you're in a hurry, you find the right door without mistakes. You mentally pat yourself on the back, because it's a well known fact that you have trouble navigating the parking lot at Wal-Mart without getting confused.

Your knock is answered with a soft "Yeah", and when you enter you brace yourself for the usual excitement. Assistants rushing around, techs talking over each other and playbacks going as someone in the booth sings or waits or plays the guitar.

You're surprised to find the room's empty. The lights are dim, only a lamp on the table in the corner is at full brightness, and the booth is completely dark. It's as silent as a tomb, and when you see him sprawled on the couch, you smile.

He looks so tired, his feet propped on the coffee table, and he's slouched down, holding a pillow under his head and simply staring at his knee. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence vocally, but you see him motion to the couch with his elbow. Shutting the door you cross over and sit down, instinctively curling next to him.

"You okay?" you ask, because it's the usual thing to ask when he looks as though he's lost his best friend. You worry, gasping softly, "Has something happened?"

"Tired," he mumbles.

"No kidding," you say, lightly running your hand over his arm. You feel his muscles tense, and before you can take a breath he's moving on the couch, resting his head in your lap, pulling your hand between his and holding it over his chest. Smiling, you run your other hand through his hair, carefully lifting your feet so they can rest on the coffee table. "How much more do you have to do?"

"Backing vocals and I can't get that last high note to hold as long as I want it," he murmurs. His thumb is lightly tracing your palm, something he does without thinking about it. You smile again because that's one small way he shows his love. He says the words every day, leaves them on little notes throughout the house and at the end of his emails to you, but you love when he does the little things. Tracing your palm. Rubbing your shoulders when you're at the computer and working hard and he knows you don't want to be bothered. The little smile he gives you first thing in the morning, as soon as your eyes open, because somehow he always wakes up before you do.

"You'll get it," you tell him, lightly massaging his scalp with the tips of your fingers. He sighs, and you feel him relaxing, letting go of your hand so you can rub his chest as well. "You always get that high note in the end."

"Guess you're right," he agrees, and you see his quick, cocky grin. "I got you, didn't I?"

You have to roll your eyes. To hear him tell it, you were a major challenge for him. Yes, you had played hard to get, but that was only so you would know he was truly into you and not that stupid bet he had with his friend. But that was old news, you remind yourself, lightly tracing the design on his shirt with your finger. "Yeah, baby, you got me."

"I can't go to sleep," he sighs, taking your hand. Again you smile, because he's the only man you know who gets sleepy when someone plays with his shirt. "Everybody'll be back in about half an hour."

"So you called me over to play with your hair?" you ask, amused, curling your fingers against his hair. "You made me stop my work, which I love doing even though I get frustrated and want to fling my computer into the pool, just to come sit here with you because you're lonely?"

His cocky grin comes back. "You came, didn't you?"

"Not yet." You can't help it. You tug on his hair until he tilts his head back, staring up at you. You pull your hand free of his, hand skimming down his abdomen, tugging almost impatiently at his shirt until you feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. Walking your fingers along the fine line of hair, you then trace the waistband of his boxers, you let them dip beneath, watching his eyes darken, feeling a tingle when the tip of his tongue flickers over his lips.

"We can fix that." In a second, he's sitting up, suddenly wide awake. It takes him no time to crash his lips against yours. There's an urgency in his kiss, his silent way of telling you that there's not much time. His hands cupping your face, then your neck, and you moan softly as his lips move down, following the trail of his hands. You manage to pull away long enough to peel his shirt off, and he takes the opportunity to remove yours as well. Then his lips find yours again, tongue delving in imitation of what you both want as he leans you back onto the couch.

You glory in the warmth of his skin; he's always several degrees warmer than you, so it seems to you. It all harkens back to what was supposed to have been your third date, when suddenly the flu had attacked you, and instead of spending the night at dinner and dancing in his arms, you ended up on the couch in his living room, wrapped in his embrace and a blanket. He'd taken care of you then, just as he has since. You think of that for a split second, but the insistent pressure of his hips against you bring you back to the present and you suck at his tongue with a soft purr. You want him to take care of you now.

His hands are on your waist, his tongue flicking over your throat, when the distant sound of vibrations interrupt your moment. He curses, one hand leaving you. You're not surprised when he flips his phone open, still pressed against you, bracing his other hand on the back of the couch.

"Yeah," he says into the phone, and you can hear the caller talking. Running your hands down his back, you grasp his backside none-too-gently, squirming against him. He shivers, bracing the phone between his ear and shoulder before reaching down. His fingers make quick work of your jeans, and you don't fight the squeals when his hand slides into your panties. "Got it, man… Yeah," he chuckles, and it occurs to you that he never has had trouble giving you his attention even while on the phone. With anyone else you'd be pissed, but with him it's a turn on. "Nah, it's cool."

"Justin," you whisper, bringing your hands forward. He leans back a little, giving you a nod when you toy with the button of his jeans. He starts talking of beats and chords, and when you push his jeans and boxers down his voice falters. Leaning up, you trace a nipple with your tongue, nibbling when his fingers part your folds. Arching up, she keep your eyes locked with his as you grind against his palm, moaning a bit louder than necessary when his thumb shifts to press against your clit.

"I know, me too," he whispers. He starts rubbing your clit, his hips working in the small, slow movements that always leave you panting. You circle the tip of his dick with your finger before pressing your hand against its length. He leans back to give you more room, and you push him onto his back, eagerly nipping and sucking at his throat. "Fuck," he growls when you push his hand from your crotch. "Sorry man, go on…"

Rolling your eyes, you watch from his chest as he brings his fingers to his lips, slowly licking them clean. There's something about the way his tongue flickers over his own skin that always causes you to go hot. Maybe it's the way he does it so sensually, as though savoring your taste. Whatever, you just know you love it, and it fuels you to continue your trek down his body. Within seconds of tracing his abs with your tongue, you feel his fingers tightening in your hair, and you smirk, knowing what he wants.

He mumbles into the phone, technical terms regarding music that you understand but pay no attention to, too interested in your current task. You breathe in the scent of him, intoxicated by his taste and smell as you nibble at his hipbone. Hands sliding down his thighs, you push his jeans and boxers down to his knees before lying against his legs, pinning him beneath you. His dick is hard and ready, twitching as you reach for it. Any other time you would be gentle unhurried, but there's an urgency in his voice, and you want him too badly to take your time.

His breath catches when your tongue flicks over the straining tip, fingernails lightly scratching your scalp. Glancing up, you keep your eyes on his face as you barely brush your lips down the length, quickly lifting your head to take him into your mouth. You suck hard, holding the base of his cock firmly in your fingers, loving the gentle pressure he applies to the back of your head.

"…Fuck," he gasps, dropping his head back. Somehow, he's still holding onto the phone. His reaction fuels you, and you continuously dip your head in a fast-paced rhythm, using your hand to stroke, applying constant pressure. Then, weakly, he whispers, "…I think so. Look, I don't want to… Fuck…"

Abruptly, you lift your head, licking away the precum leaking from the slit of his cock, ignoring his whine. Crawling up his body, you revisit your earlier trail, your kisses more insistent now, until your face his close to his. You nip at his jaw before murmuring sweetly, "Who's on the phone, baby?"

"Tim," he whispers.

"Hi, Tim," you coo softly. Justin groans, wriggling beneath you, as though you weren't already aware of what he wants. Grinning, you lean close to the phone. "Tell Tim goodbye so you can fuck me, Justin," you say softly before covering his parted lips with yours. Making sure it's a noisy kiss, you draw his tongue between your teeth, fighting a laugh when he flings the phone across the room.

"You're such a fuckin' tease," he hisses into your mouth, and the hiss turns into a growl as he yanks impatiently on your panties. When you're free of them he cups you, gently fingering your slit. Feeling your dampness, he grins, pulling away slightly. You brace one arm on the back of the couch, shivering with anticipation as he lowers his eyes, sitting up slightly to offer him a better view. He's always loved looking at your body, but his enjoyment increases when you and he are intimate. "Me being on the phone talking business gets you off, doesn't it?"

"Almost as much as watching you perform," you answer, shuddering when he shifts, the tip of his dick replacing his fingers. You still, waiting for his entry, whining when he merely slides against you, pressing against your clit. "Justin…"

"You love it," he finishes for you, hand closing around your breast. He tweaks and pulls at your already hard nipple, rocking slightly so his cock rubs against you in the same pattern. Without warning, you feel the tension mounting, closing your eyes as his torture continues. "See?" he asks in a whisper, hand moving to your other breast. "You fuckin' love it, baby."

"Justin," you whine, hating the desperation in your voice. You try to lower yourself onto him, bug his hand quickly clamps onto your hip, holding you still. You thought you had the control, but it was so obvious that he always had it. No matter the positions of your bodies, he was the one in charge. "Please, baby…"

"What?" he asks innocently, fingers digging gently into your skin. "What do you want?"

"You."

"I'm right here."

"You know what I want," you moan, tensing somewhat when he rests at your entrance. His hand pushes you down, but you growl in frustration when he allows only the tip to enter you.

"Water?" he offers sweetly, keeping his hold on you as he reaches for the water on the table.

"No," you say firmly.

"I can order a pizza--"

"Justin." You hate when he plays this game, even if it does make you more excited.

"Chinese?"

"Fuck me," you finally whimper, clenching your muscles. You feel him shiver, hear his sharp intake of breath. Opening your eyes, you wet your lips slowly because you know what's coming.

He's silent, fingers still digging into your skin, body straining. Then his hands are on your waist, yanking you down harshly, filling you completely. Instantly euphoria sweeps over you, and you cling to it, drawing it out as he guides you in the fast, quick rocking motion he knows you love. "That?" he breathes, hips matching your movements. "That what you want?"

"Yes," you squeal, flattening your palms on his abdomen. He remains inside of you, hard and constant, barely sliding out during his thrusts. Then he tilts his hips just so, and you know you can't hold onto it anymore.

He knows, too. He's always been able to read the signs, and now he's grinning, muscles bunching beneath your fingers. "That's it, baby. Come for me."

That’s all it takes. Pushing down until your bodies are completely flush, you give way to the delight, raking your nails over his skin as you tremble and cry out his name. It seems to go on for an eternity but at the same time only seconds, and then he's leaning you back, moving with you. The cool leather of the couch causes you to gasp, leaning closer to him.

He thrusts slowly, gently, cradling you in his arms, lips parted against your cheek, grunting softly with each arch of his hips. His breath, hot on your skin, sends aftershocks down your spine, and when your eyelids finally slide open you see he's staring at you. "Baby," you whisper, lifting your hand to cup his cheek.

"You're so beautiful when you come," he murmurs, arching deeper within you. "So hot… Fuck, babe…"

Then, suddenly, he's moving faster, working his hips in short, lightning-fast thrusts, his teeth nibbling at your lips. One hand moves to rest on your thigh, pulling it closer to his hip, and you feel the flush rising on his skin, can tell the slight changes in his breathing, can feel each muscle in his body start to tighten. He slams into you one final time, his pleased cry muffled against your tongue.

It's several moments before either of you can speak, and you spend the time enjoying the closeness of his body, lightly tracing his shoulders with your fingers, knowing that if neither of you moves soon you would happily fall asleep there, in his arms. The moments pass, and he stirs, lips finding yours for a tender kiss before pulling away.

"You wanna drive me home since Trace picked me up this morning?" he asks as you're dressing.

You turn, confused, to see his grin. "I thought everyone was on a break?"

"They are. We don't do anything else till tomorrow," he answers with a shrug, shaking out his t-shirt before dropping it onto the couch.

"Why didn't you say when you called me that you wanted a ride?" Had you know, surely you would have waited until getting home to…

"Because. I wanted to ride you here," he admits, catching your face in his hands. "You always said you wanted me to do you in the studio," he murmurs, and you step closer, noting the gleam in his eyes.

"Well," you sigh, hand creeping down his back. "In that case…"

"Forgive me?" He's pouting. He honestly thinks you're mad at him?

"I will once you've fucked me in the booth."

~fin~