By Trixie

"Did a Foot Locker blow up in here?" Chris asks, looking around at the large piles of shoeboxes in Justin's entry hall. The stacks all appear to be in some order, Pumas here, Converse there, a very small stack of Nikes by the coat-closet.

Trace just grins at Chris and shrugs. "Spring cleaning or some fucking thing."

Chris navigates his way through the hall and notices several larger boxes full of clothing sitting in the living-room. He's not entirely surprised by Justin's sudden urge to clean and sort and reorganize things. It's a classic Timberlake coping mechanism.

Trace reaches past Chris, pushing an intercom button. "J, I'm gone, man. Chris is here." He releases the button before Chris can hear any response then picks up a set of keys and points at the ceiling. "He's upstairs. I'm off to look at flower arrangements," he says with a roll of his eyes and Chris laughs because he still can't believe Trace is getting married.

Chris finds Justin in the room he calls his shoe closet, but that Chris likes to refer to as the Sneaker Shrine. He's sitting in the middle of the floor, several stacks of shoe boxes around him with a pair of silver Nike Shox in his lap and a black Sharpie. Chris watches him autograph both shoes, put them carefully in their box, sign the box and then move it over to another stack.

"You're early," he says when he looks up with a little frown.

Chris shrugs. "I got done early. What's all this?"

"Just cleaning some stuff out." He pulls out another pair of Nikes and points at the pile he's already signed. "These are gonna be auctioned for my charity. The rest are going to some inner-city sports programs."

"That's cool, man." Chris walks farther into the room and moves a few boxes, carefully keeping them in whatever order they were in, so he can sit in a chair. "You're not gettin' rid of all your sneakers, right?"

Justin looks up with comically big eyes and Chris has a hard time not laughing outright. It's as if he suggested Justin get rid of a limb. Chris grins at him and Justin makes a face but smiles as he turns back to what he's doing.

"Just clearing out the ones I don't wear anymore."

Which probably means he's still got a few hundred pair in here that he has no intention of parting with, but Chris doesn't raise that point. Instead he sinks back into the chair and watches Justin work intently, methodically signing each shoe, then boxing and stacking them carefully.

Justin stops after five boxes and looks at his watch. "You weren't supposed to be here until 4:00."

"Sorry. Geez... do you want me to leave you alone with your shoes and come back later?"

"No, just..." Justin caps his pen and sets it carefully on top of the stack of boxes then stands up. "Things aren't ready."

"Things?"

Justin wipes his hands against his track pants and walks out of the room, so Chris jumps up and follows. "What things? I thought we were gonna have dinner and hang out?"

"We are," Justin answers as he lopes down the stairs and stops in the middle of the stacks of boxes. "Just help me get these out to the Escalade and then I'll shower and we can hang."

They load up the car and Justin disappears upstairs. Chris helps himself to a beer from Justin's fridge and grins when he finds it stocked with his favorite German import. He flops down in a chair in the entertainment room and flips through the twenty or so sports channels Justin has on his satellite system. He settles on a skate-boarding competition because it's more exciting than fishing or bowling, but he can still mostly ignore it.

He worries about Justin. He worries about him for the same reason he worries about JC and Lance, and even sometimes Joey. Because two days ago they all met and signed the last of the papers for what they are calling an indefinite hiatus, mainly because none of them were willing to utter the words "breaking up". He spends a lot of time worrying so he doesn't have to feel guilty.

Half-way through the tour for the last album, he was sitting in the quiet room, wrapping his knees in hopes they'd hold up for another night, and for some reason he looked around at the other guys. Really looked at them. Justin was curled up on the opposite couch, napping, dark circles under his eyes because he was touring and working on the material for his next solo album at the same time. Joey had matching dark circles; he was busy trying to memorize pages of script for a re-shoot he was flying out to do the next morning while they had a couple days off between dates. Lance was sprawled out in a chair, flipping through a magazine and looking completely and utterly bored. Chris had no idea where JC was. And he decided that maybe it was time.

None of them were happy when Chris brought it up a week later, but it also didn't take half as much convincing as he expected. A compilation CD and a ten city farewell tour later, *NSYNC went their separate ways professionally. Justin's getting ready to go back into the studio and Chris has a plane ticket to South Africa for a low-frills photo-safari. Things are changing whether they want them to or not.

When Justin's not back in twenty minutes, Chris goes looking for him, planning to give him shit about taking as long as a girl. He finds Justin leaning over his bathroom counter, focused intently on shaving. He's only wearing a towel, a few drops of water still beading on his back.

Chris wipes a hand across his mouth and thinks about leaving quietly, but doesn't actually move. He just doesn't get to see Justin like this very often. Not any more, not since Justin was nineteen and went through an exhibitionist stage where he liked to walk around the bus in as little clothing as possible.

He's beautiful. But twenty-four year old Justin is beautiful in a completely different way than nineteen year old Justin was. He's lost that quality that used to remind Chris alternately of a big puppy and a Renaissance angel. Now he's all lean and hard and some kind of weird combination of rock god and Castro Street cover-boy. He's grown up into a man and the changes aren't all external. Chris thinks it's probably the worst kind of arrogance, but he's pretty damn proud of the man Justin's become.

Chris jumps a little when Justin looks straight at him in the mirror. He blinks a couple of times and then grins at Chris, and that, at least, is exactly the same as it used to be.

"I thought maybe you got lost."

"Nah," Justin says and rinses his face, then dries it with a towel. He turns and walks past Chris into his bedroom, dropping his towel on the way. "Just gettin' rid of dust. I seriously have to clean the closet out more often. It's fuckin' gross."

"You could get a vacuum-sealed vault for your shoes." Chris looks around the room, at anything but Justin pulling his jeans up over his naked ass. It's not his fault if the mirror he's facing has a perfect view.

"Fuck off," Justin says with a grin. He pulls on a dark blue t-shirt that would have been too small for him five years ago, much less now, and sits down on the edge of his bed to pull on socks and sneakers.

"So? You feeding me or what?"

"Steaks and fries, dude. Corn on the cob. And dessert."

"Dessert?" Chris bounces on his toes a few times before following Justin out of the bedroom. "What kind?"

"That's a surprise."

"What? I fuckin' hate surprises." Chris nearly runs into Justin when he stops at the bottom of the stairs.

"I know," Justin says with a grin and in a tone of voice that leaves Chris with no choice but to launch himself off the last few steps and onto Justin's back. "Ow! Fucker. You're too heavy for this." But he doesn't stumble, just grabs Chris under the thighs and carries him through the house, dumping him on a couch in the sunroom off the kitchen.

Chris whuffs a breath and stays where he is, watching Justin from upside down. Justin grabs a remote and hits play on one of the seven state-of-the-art stereo systems he has in the house. It's old Stevie Wonder and Justin's hips move to the beat unconsciously as he moves into the kitchen. Chris thinks it's criminal that anyone should be this sexy, even upside down.

He watches Justin move around the kitchen, singing along to Stevie while pulling things out of the fridge. He can't help humming along and it's not long before he feels the need to get up and get closer.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asks, coming right up behind Justin and poking him in the side while peeking around him. He's surprised to find him pouring frozen fries out of an Ore Ida bag onto a cookie sheet. "Crinkle fries!"

Justin just laughs and elbows Chris out of the way before putting them in the oven. He moves over and pulls another beer out of the fridge, handing it to Chris before pulling out a platter with huge slabs of beef, soaked in what smells suspiciously like Lance's Jack Daniels marinade. Chris's mouth waters as he follows Justin out to his grill. He's beginning to think something is going on here. Lance's Jack-steaks are one of Chris's favorite foods on earth, and Justin has never shared Chris's appreciation for frozen french fries.

"Uh, J, am I dying or something? Is this, like, my last meal?"

"You really got to work on that paranoia, Chris. They've got medication for that, you know."

"Okay, see, you're supposed to be mad at me. Or, maybe grateful. I dunno. But, my favorite food, my favorite beer... It's all a little freaky."

"I could invite you over and make all of my favorite foods, but what the fuck would be the point of that? And nobody's mad at you."

"JC is."

"No he isn't, Chris."

"Yeah, he's just walked around for the past month looking at me like I killed his dog. Course, Joey's so grateful he can't stop grinning at me, so I guess it all balances out."

Chris was expecting the break-up to be hard, but he hadn't quite anticipated all the emotional fall out. He knows that Joey loves them all, and loved every minute of the last nine years, but Chris would really like it if Joey didn't walk around looking like a man who's suddenly been freed from prison. He's doing two movies in the next five months and he's already talking to people about another stint on Broadway. On the other hand, it had been exactly the kick in the ass Lance needed to propel him out of his bored stupor. He'd spent the weeks after the decision, feverishly making plans, resurrecting A Happy Place, networking. He'd been almost manic, and then halfway through the farewell tour, he'd taken a deep breath and sat down in the middle of Chris's hotel room after a show and cried. The next day, he'd been fine. JC was a different story altogether. Chris is pretty sure JC hates him.

"C's just mourning. You know him. He just has to have time to transition, accept this new path or something. He'll be fine. He loves you and he's already writing like a maniac." Justin slaps the steaks down onto a roaring flame, maneuvering them until they are in exactly the spot he wants them on the grill, then closes the lid. "Chris. You were right. It was time. Everyone's going to be fine."

"Are you?" Chris asks, narrowing his eyes at Justin. Because Justin is the one he worries the most about, even when it's clear that he needs it least.

Justin pulls himself up to sit on the counter next to the grill and takes a long drink from his beer. "I hope so," he says, the glimmer of a question in his eyes. He stares at Chris for a minute and then smiles, nodding. "Yeah. I'll be great."

"Well, that's a relief," Chris says and stretches out in one of the comfortable teak lawn chairs. "Somebody's gotta take care of me in my old age."

"Yeah. You're ready for the retirement home already. Shouldn't you be taking one of those old people cruises to Alaska or something for your big vacation?"

"Nope. All the senior citizens are going to Africa this year. Besides, I promised Taylor a trip if she made the honor roll. She's fuckin' nuts about giraffes."

"I can't believe you're gonna be gone for a month. I bet you'll get sick of all that nature and come home."

"Uh-uh. Besides, I'm not spending the whole month on the safari. Only the first week, with Taylor. After that, who knows. I got no itinerary at all." Chris watches Justin twitch at the idea and grins. "That idea makes you break out in hives doesn't it?"

"It does not."

Chris laughs. "Yeah, dude. Whatever. You need a damn vacation."

"I'm on one right now."

"J, a week off, during which you do phone interviews, deal with financial stuff, and help Trace plan his wedding, is not a vacation."

"It is to me," Justin answers seriously. "It's what I want right now, Chris."

"Yeah, well, it's an established fact that you're a freak."

Justin just snorts and drinks some more beer. He taps his heels against the cabinet and hums along to Stevie, reaching over to check the steaks. Chris closes his eyes and enjoys the late sun filtering down on him through the arbor slats.

It's not that he doesn't believe Justin when he says he's fine. He does. Sudden urges to organize his shoes aside, Justin seems happy. He just works too damn hard sometimes and nobody ever stops him. Not that Chris has ever really been able to stop him either, and most of the time he's been working just as hard along side Justin. But Chris is tired. He's gotten just about everything he ever dreamed of and he just wants to take some time and enjoy it now. He's not actually retiring-- he's got plenty of projects in the works-- but he figures that right now he deserves a vacation. He wonders when, if ever, Justin will get to that place where he stops wanting more.

"You know the good thing about all this?" Justin asks as Chris is about to nod off. He opens one eye and squints at Justin, standing by the grill, one hand on his hip, the other flipping steaks. "No more Culture Club Rule." With that, he closes the grill and walks back into the house.

Chris sits up because, okay, that was not random. The so-called Culture Club Rule dated back to 1997 when they all agreed that sexual and romantic relationships within the group were a Very Bad Thing. They learned the lesson the hard way after Chris had a four month relationship with Lance that self-destructed quite spectacularly. It had nearly tore the group apart and convinced all of them that a written-in-stone rule was needed.

Like any good rule, it was broken a few times. Chris only broke it once. Justin was experimenting and like with so many other things, he talked Chris into it. It was sweet and awkward, and Chris can still remember every single second of it. Justin kissed him the next morning and thanked him, and before the end of the month, he was dating Britney. After Britney, there was a year and a half of on and off with Nelly and a lot of other boys and girls in between.

If this is what Justin is up to, it makes sense of all the food and casual nudity. Makes things a whole lot more interesting, too. Chris chews on his fingernail and wonders whether that was an invitation to follow Justin inside, or if he should stay put. Instead of making a decision, he drains his beer and goes to check on the steaks.

Justin comes out when Chris is pulling the steaks off the grill. He's carrying two dishes and has a beer tucked under his arm. "Hey! Don't take those off yet."

"They're done, man. I like them with a little blood." They've had this argument every single time they've barbecued and it makes Chris feel comfortable again.

Justin shudders and wrinkles his nose up. "Well, I don't. Leave mine on."

"Pussy." Chris grabs a fry out of one of the dishes and grins.

"Heathen," Justin answers, right on cue.

Chris laughs and slaps Justin's steak back on the grill.

Dinner is good. He drenches his fries in A-1, while Justin pours hot sauce over his. They talk about basketball and Trace's wedding and the cartoon that Chris and a friend are developing for A Happy Place. It's good, like a million other dinners he's had with Justin. He just has to try not to stare when Justin eats his corn on the cob, sucking at the dripping butter, tearing off the corn with his teeth and then licking at his fingers. Suddenly, it's one of the hottest things Chris has ever seen.

When Justin was eighteen it was, "hey dude, let's do this." Now it's something else entirely. He's being seduced here, and it's weird as hell. It's not that he doesn't want Justin, because he sure as hell does. But Justin is his best friend in a way that goes way beyond what those words could possibly convey. In the hierarchy of people Chris would die for, Justin comes just below his mom and sisters and just above Lance, JC, and Joey. He knows Chris better than anyone on earth. Mucking around with that dynamic is a scary prospect.

After the food's all gone and they're just drinking beer and talking, Justin's watch beeps and he jumps up, grabbing both their empty plates and heading inside.

"You on a schedule here?" Chris asks and gets up to follow him, carrying the other empty dishes.

"Nope. That's dessert."

Chris sits down across the island while Justin moves around the kitchen. Something smells incredibly good in here now, like Justin's grandma's house.

"When I was back home last week, I came out to my grandparents."

"I know. I heard all about it at 4:00 in the morning, remember?"

Justin waves his hand impatiently. "The next day, grandma calls me down to her house, right? And she's got all these peaches and sugar and flour and pans, all laid out." Justin pulls a dish out of the oven and sets it on the counter, then closes the oven door. "She says... she tells me she's been waiting to teach the woman I marry how to make her peach cobbler. Only now, you know..."

"She never taught Britney?"

"Dude, Brit couldn't scramble eggs without burning the house down." Justin wrinkles his nose and pokes at the dish, yanking his finger back and sucking on it. "Anyway, she goes, 'It's the 21st Century, I can be as hip as the next old lady.'"

Chris laughs because Justin does a perfect imitation of his grandmother. Justin grins at him and pulls a carton of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer.

"She says, 'So I'm gonna teach you how to make the cobbler, so that you can make it for the person you love.'" He scoops ice-cream out into two bowls, then moves back over to what Chris has decided must be peach cobbler. "It's taken me, like, six of these to get them to come out right. That's a lot of fucking peaches. But trying to get a pinch of this and a handful of that to come out right, and then adjusting the cooking time to the lower altitude here. I think I finally got it right, though."

He sets a bowl down in front of Chris and it smells incredible and the ice cream is already starting to melt under the warm cobbler. Chris stares at it for a few seconds and then looks back up at Justin.

"Just, be careful. It's hot," Justin says, dead serious, his fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm against the counter.

Chris wants to think that Justin's just trying this new thing that he's mastered out on his best friend. He wants to, but he knows Justin too well. Justin very rarely does something he doesn't mean. He's all about symbolic acts and grand gestures. This fucking cobbler has meaning, and it doesn't mean casual seduction.

"Are you um... trying to tell me something?"

"Yes, Chris," Justin says very slowly, like he's talking to a child.

"Okay. Okay, um... wow." Because he has no idea what to say, he takes a bite of the cobbler, and it is perfect. It's exactly like Justin's grandma makes, maybe even better. And isn't that just quintessential Timberlake, to perfect something and then make it even better.

He looks up and Justin's standing across the island, looking down at his bowl of cobbler, one thumb rubbing back and forth over the counter nervously, and suddenly it all becomes very simple. Because Justin does know him better than anyone on earth, and he worries about Chris just as much as Chris worries about him. And, yeah, *NSYNC is over, but that doesn't change the fact that Chris can't imagine Justin not being a huge part of his life. And maybe Chris is still capable of wanting more.

"Hey," he says and Justin looks up. Chris pushes the cobbler aside and leans across the counter, kissing Justin softly. "It's really good."

Justin just grins at him. That big, sunshine grin that takes Chris's breath away and makes millions of teenage girls scream. He sits back and takes another heaping bite of cobbler, because it's damn good, and there's a lot more to be said here. Because he has to be sure. He has to know that Justin is on the same page here.

"So this isn't just a group breaking-up, Trace getting married, thing is it?"

"What? No! I mean, yeah... things are changing, but that's not a bad thing really. And you know, there was Britney and there was Nelly, but... but there's also always been you. Since I was, like, fifteen."

"No shit?"

"No shit, Chris. But it wasn't right before, you know. There was Lance and Dani, and there was the group. And the rule was a good idea. Even if I hated the fucking thing. But it's different now, and..." Justin leans forward on his elbows, looking at Chris intently. "I think we'd be good. You know. This could really work."

"Yeah." Chris nods, because Justin has always been able to make him believe, especially when he really wants to. "Yeah, maybe so."

Justin grins again and grabs Chris's bowl, taking both bowls over and dropping them in the sink. "Hey! I was eating that." Chris stands and walks up behind him at the sink.

"Fuck the cobbler, man," Justin says turning around and grabbing Chris by the shoulders. "I'll make more. I got a better idea." He pushes Chris up against the fridge and kisses him, deep and sweet and wet, just like Chris remembers.

Except he doesn't remember being pressed up against a fridge, hands sunk into his hair, a hard thigh between his legs. This is not the tentative eighteen year old he remembers. He has just enough time to think, oh this is gonna rock, before there's a hand snaking down into his shorts and he can't really think about anything.

"J," he gasps, when Justin moves to his neck. "Justin. We should go upstairs."

"Later," Justin says against his ear. "First, I want to do this." And then he's sliding down to his knees, holding Chris up against the fridge with his hands, and holy shit, Chris thinks. Holy shit.

"Oh," Chris says, and, "Oh fuck. Fuck," because Justin has gotten really good at this.

At eighteen, he'd been tentative and sloppy and Chris had to remind him to watch his teeth. But this. This is nothing like that. His mouth is hot and wet and his tongue is fucking wicked and Chris has a moment where he thinks, I need to buy Nelly a car, and then Justin looks up at him through his eyelashes and it's the look he gets when he's asking for approval. Chris's chest is suddenly tight and he's overwhelmed with affection and, yeah, he's head over heels stupid in love. He has been for a long time.

"Justin," he says, putting a hand on Justin's face and smiling down at him. "God. Justin."

Justin just smiles around him, closes his eyes and goes back to what he was doing. Chris doesn't last very long and after he comes, the back of his head is sore from smacking it against the fridge. He slides down the fridge with a happy groan and lets Justin kiss him until he can feel his legs again.

Justin laughs when Chris makes a happy sound against Justin's neck. "Dude, did you just squeak?"

"No." Chris pulls away and tries glaring, but he doesn't think it's very effective.

"You did. You emitted a squeak-like sound."

"I did not," Chris pokes Justin's chest hard. "Ass."

"If you think you can pull yourself up off the floor, this ass is all yours."

Chris finds that yes, yes, he can pull himself up off the floor with that kind of incentive. He pulls Justin up with him, kisses him, then grabs Justin's hand, holds up his own pants with the other, and runs for the stairs. Justin laughs, but keeps up with him. Chris drops Justin's hand at the door to his bedroom and takes a flying leap into the middle of the bed, bouncing around and hooting.

"Come on, hot boy, sex me up!" He feels really fucking great all of a sudden and Justin is laughing and grinning at him and he thinks, yeah, this could totally work out. He tosses his boots and socks and shorts and wiggles his fingers at Justin, who's peeling his shirt off. "Come on, come on, come on."

"You're pretty eager there, old man," Justin says, stepping out of his jeans, and, wow, Chris thinks, he is really fucking hot. "Are you sure you can get it up again?"

"For you, baby. Anything." As soon as Justin gets close enough, Chris grabs him and pulls him down on top, going back in for some of those wet, sweet kisses.

By the time Chris has had his fill, Justin is breathing hard, rocking his body against Chris's, pushing ineffectually at Chris's t-shirt. Chris pushes and flips them over, holding Justin down with one hand on his chest while he wiggles out of his boxers. He straddles Justin and pulls his t-shirt over his head, tossing it away. Justin is suddenly still, staring up at him, warm palms on Chris's thighs.

Chris has the urge to suck in his stomach, but Justin moves one hand up to his belly and says, "Don't. You're fucking gorgeous, Chris."

Chris laughs because he wouldn't believe that from anyone else, but it's Justin and he wants to believe it, so he kisses him again, plastering their bodies together from head to toe.

There are condoms and lube handy because Justin had a plan. It doesn't take long before Chris is inside Justin, long, long legs wrapped around him, sticking and sliding against the sweat on Chris's back. And it's good. It's really fucking great and Justin moves under him, unrestrained and sinful. It's the sexiest thing Chris thinks he's ever seen, Justin's hands grasping the sheets, his neck stretched out, and muttering things. Things that shouldn't be as lewd and hot as they seem to Chris's ears. Words like, "Fuck. There. Yes. Chris. God. Harder."

When it's over and Chris is flat on his back, trying to remember how to breathe, Justin wraps himself around Chris and lays soft kisses on his shoulder and chest. "That was much better than last time," he says against Chris's neck with a soft laugh.

"Well, yeah," Chris laughs, "it helps that you're not a nervous virgin and I'm not scared to death I'm going to somehow fuck you up."

"What?" Justin says, lifting his head to look at Chris with a grin. "You're not worried now?"

"J, if I haven't completely fucked you up by now, it's not going to happen. I give up worrying."

"Good," Justin says with satisfaction and lays back down. "Cause I'm fine, Chris. I will be fine. And here's a newsflash... so will you."

"Yeah," Chris says, and realizes that it's the first time he's believed it since he called that meeting, "I think I will."

"Hey Chris, you um... you never said..." Justin stops and shifts against Chris. He can just see the wrinkles on Justin's brow that mean he's not sure how to say what he wants. But Chris knows exactly what he wants and it's the easiest thing in the world to give it to him.

"I love you, Justin. I have in some way or other as long as I can remember."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But you already knew that."

Justin grins smugly and kisses Chris before reaching down to pull a blanket up over them. "I can't believe you're leaving for a month. That sucks, man."

"Hey, it's not my timing. This was all you, baby boy."

"Yeah well, you better send me postcards."

"I will. And you can write lots of sappy love songs for me that will sell millions of records. You know why?"

"So I can take care of you in your old age?"

"You know it."

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