All Fine Now 
By: Rhys 

You feel beautiful when you're near him, knowing your skin shines and your eyes
sparkle, and it's gorgeous when you're like this, dancing closely in public because the
golden boys are allowed and your actions are rarely questioned. You used to dance
like this when you were younger, clubs in Germany between shows because you didn't
want Justin dancing with strangers, but it's different now, slightly altered from those
fond memories. 

You think maybe it's him that's changed, that you're still the same, old, boring Josh
who worries too much about what other people think and doesn't ever do anything
fun, but see, you've already started to change, did a bit of tweaking. Your hair is
longer, and it curls when it's not styled, but it's soft and smooth beneath your
fingertips, and it's pretty sexy, kind of daring in a very not-Josh way. 

You're skinnier, too, though that isn't planned. You've lost a lot of muscle tone, and
the guys touch you like they think you're going to snap in two, break in front of them.
All the guys, that is, except Justin, who holds you tight while you dance, fingers dug
into your back. 

Tomorrow, you'll be bruised. Tonight, you're beautiful. 

~~~ 

You wake up with a start, still fully dressed and lying in bed, and Justin's beside you,
snoring in the way he does when he's drunk. Lazily, you watch his eyes open, and he
stares at you, smiles a bit, and says, "sleep, Jayce. It's fine now." 

You nod and sink back down, trying to get comfortable, but the mattress is lumpy and
you can feel your bones grinding against the springs. It's painful, and you swallow a
groan, making a mental note to eat more than you already do, which is a lot, because
this skin and bones thing just isn't working for you. 

Justin touches your stomach, and you flinch, hard. His hands are big and dry and
warm, and he's rubbing in gentle circles, and it's really nice, better than almost anything
else. You don't usually like to be touched, not even by your girlfriends, but you like
this. 

"It's fine now," Justin whispers again, already mostly asleep, head against your
shoulder. 

You don't entirely know what he means. You probably don't understand at all. 

~~~ 

"Queer," you say, "that's very. queer." 

In the mirror, your face smiles and says, "yes, yes, it is." 

You brush a hand over your hip, pivoting your angular pelvis, and it looks all right,
you think, looks pretty good. Your cock is long, slender, lying limp and small against
the nest of dark curls. Natural brunet, you think joyfully, and hug yourself. 

"Are you high?" Justin asks from the doorway. 

"Drunk," you reply, grinning, "drugs are bad." 

He narrows his eyes and you blow a gust of hot air in his face, which smells like beer
and gin and nine tequila shots. You left Joey passed out in the hallway, on top of the
shoes, and you giggle to yourself, thinking about shoelaces. 

"It's very queer," you say, desperate. 

"What is, Jayce?" 

"This love," you whisper and drop to the floor, laughing. "This love is very queer. It
makes me laugh!" You shriek, burying your face in the heels of your hands, your
fingers curved upwards, reaching for heaven. "And Joey has shoelaces in his mouth." 

"Does he?" Justin asks, and you nod, matter-of-fact. Justin kneels down and tries to
heave you to your feet, but you feel like a tile, a pretty ceramic one in the shade of
morning azure number oh-nine-three, and wish to stay on the floor. "You're fucking
heavy for a skinny guy." 

"It's the weight," you say solemnly, "of the guilty." 

"You speak in riddles when you're drunk, man." 

You giggle. "I am a puzzle, a thousand pretty pieces." 

"The dog howls at midnight," Justin replies, dragging you to your bed, and you dig
your heels in the carpet, rolling your head back and forth, limp as an empty rag doll.
You moan, hurting, because his hands are digging into your chest, and he loosens his
grip. "Get in bed." 

You go sprawling on the covers, long and lanky, and stick-thin. Justin tucks you in,
untangles your legs from the covers and gets your head on the pillow, and you smile
thankfully, touching his hand. "Little boy, you're all grown up." 

Justin smiles and says, "girl, you'll be a woman soon." 

~~~ 

Sometimes, you heart clenches when he touches your back. You think it never used to
happen, but you worry maybe it was always like this, that maybe your reaction's never
changed and it's always been the fluttering of a full heart when his fingers brush your
skin. 

When you think that, you feel sick. 

~~~ 

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned," you whisper, and Joey shushes you, drunker
than you and more Catholic than you can imagine. "It's been. a fuck of a long time
since my last confession. Forgive me, father, for I am a sinner." 

Justin's house is big and ugly outside, but he leaves it unlocked between two-thirty and
three to welcome in drunken friends who forget where they live. He leaves it open for
you. 

"I have to pray," you whisper, realising you've fallen and Joey's dragging you to the
door, half-asleep and super-strong. "You're Superman, Joey! Fly me away from here,
take me to where I can see the stars. I want to breathe beauty." 

"Weirdo," Joey breathes and stumbles into the front hallway, drops down to one knee
then flops over onto his back, asleep. You drag him the rest of the way in and shut the
door, tripping over Joey and laughing, even when you smack into the wall. 

"Blood," you exclaim like you've never seen it before, clutching your big, crooked
nose. You fly into the kitchen, flapping your arms and hug the fridge with love,
collapsing into a heap on the ground and breathing hard. 

"Shit," Justin says from the doorway. 

"I bleed for my sins," you whisper, eyes blurred with hot, sad tears. 

"I told you," Justin says, "it's fine now." 

"I don't understand what that means," you whisper, fingers curled into the tile. It's cold
and smooth and you press against it, lick it to taste dirt and filth, and Justin's grabbing
you, dragging you up the stairs. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. It's such a queer thing.
And," you murmur, looking back, "Joey is sleeping with shoes." 

"And you're sleeping with me. You got the better deal, Jayce," Justin says, dumping
you on his bed, and your eyes roll back, your tongue sticks out. This is how you play
dead, and Justin slaps you for it. You bite your tongue; the blood tastes like warm
rust. "That's not fucking funny, Jayce. I put up with your drunken shit, but you don't
fucking pretend like that!" 

You start to cry, and Justin sighs, stripping you down to your boxers. His body is
warm and hard against yours, fitted perfectly, and you begin to fall asleep, drift away,
because you're oh so tired, and Justin's supremely warm, the golden boy kissed by sun. 

But you start shrieking moments later, throwing yourself to the floor, and Justin's
sitting up, watching you calmly. "I have to go, I have to go," you whisper, looking
around desperately for the door, but it's gone. Justin must be some sort of magician. 

"Tomorrow," Justin says, dragging you back to the bed, "is your first day of sobriety." 

Somewhere in your drunken stupour, you agree. 

~~~ 

"I'm sorry," you finally say mid-afternoon, nursing a cup of cold coffee, and Justin
shrugs, still not speaking to you. "I just. I guess I have some problems," you mutter,
pulling your knees to your chest and staring across the lawn. It seems so much bigger
than it actually is. 

"You drink too much," Justin says, those first words, "and that pisses me off." 

"I'll stop," you promise. 

Justin sighs deeply, and he seems old when he looks at you, with those pale, blue eyes
and clear, hair-etched face. With the buzz cut, he looks fierce and intense even when
he's smiling, and you also think he's never looked better. You cringe. 

"It's fine now," Justin says again, "I told you it's fine now. I'm not a kid." 

"I know that." 

Justin touches your arm, drags his fingers up it, and you shiver, flinch. Justin sighs and
brings his hand into his lap, leaning forward with his legs tucked tightly to his body,
lean and elegant, perfect. "Come inside, Jayce, I wanna show you something." 

You get up and follow, your legs shaky from no sleep, walking like a newborn deer,
wide-eyed and innocent, and Justin slide-locks the glass door. His eyes are electric and
dangerous, and his fingers, long things like snakes, wrap around your wrist and pull.
You're already bruised. 

In the hallway, it's shadowy and dimly lit, though light shines in from one half-open
windows and splatters a narrow rectangle of blinding light on the wall, and you touch
your fingers to it as Justin strings you along. The paint is warm, like Justin's skin. 

"Here, in here," Justin says and pushes you into his bedroom, and you stumble but find
your feet, nearly knocked over again when Justin pushes you against the wall. "See,
you fuck, this is how you could've done it," and his hips touch yours, full-on, and his
mouth is near yours, open slightly. His breath is on your skin. "This is how I want it.
It's all fine now." 

"I remember you at twelve," you mumble, stuck in this moment of intense fear, as his
mouth hovers near yours, not quite touching, but you swallow him instead, with your
panted breaths. Close, he is, dangerously close, and when he pulls back, you follow
him before seeing the wrongness of it all. "You know I can't do this." 

Justin looks at you then presses his hand fast and hard against your crotch, and of
course, you're hard already, this solid length of heat pressing against the denim of your
jeans, and of course, you moan because you're wanton and desperate and Justin just
isn't a child, no matter how you look at it. "I know we can because," and he thrusts
into your thigh, and surprise, he's hard, too, "I ain't no kid, Jayce, not anymore." 

And now, you believe him. 

Fin.