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Apr. 20th, 2006 12:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsIt started with Cramp, then LaLa, and now JoLa lamp style has arrived too. Of course I had to add my pennies worth. Pure un beta read crack which I blame on lack of sleep, and knowing a quite insane group of people ;)
Justin wasn’t a paranoid kind of person – much -- but lately he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It wasn’t even the good kind of watched, the kind where he knew every eye in the room was looking his way. That was inevitable; he was a watchable kind of guy after all. No, this was a shiver under his skin, clammy palms and the hairs on his neck standing on end as he walked into a room.
At first he’d fling back curtains and kick open doors, expecting to reveal scantily-clad fans ready and waiting to scream at being in the presence of the great Justin Timberlake. They were never there. Just empty spaces and echoing silence as, back itching, Justin prowled the room.
Next he spent almost a week Googling bugs. It wasn’t inconceivable that some fan had arranged surveillance on his room. Fans were tricky creatures and together they could achieve great things, especially if it resulted in candid pictures of Justin, and okay, the others too. Problem was, the creepy feeling of being watched extended to many rooms, many countries even, and surely there was a limit to what even the most ingenious fan could achieve?
Paranoia spiking, Justin knew he had to share his fears. Not that he wanted to, he knew his band mates and could well imagine the resulting teasing. It wasn’t Justin’s fault that usually he liked being watched, that was normal. But this watching was different, malevolent even and getting worse all the time.
Steeling himself against the mockery to come, Justin made for Chris’ room and knocked firmly. There was no answer, even when Justin knocked again, and again, and then rattled the door. He didn’t expect it to open, but when it did Justin had to step inside. Personal paranoia and potential nervous breakdown aside, the opportunity to snoop while Chris was away was too tempting to ignore.
Slipping inside, Justin looked around, gaze landing on the messy bags open on the floor. They called his name and he stepped forward, then froze as terror slid down his spine. There was something evil in this room, something watching and centred on Chris’ bed. The bed where his lava lamp lay, half covered by the covers. Heart racing, Justin backed toward the door and fled.
Later, back against his bathroom door, Justin tried to justify what he’d seen. The lamp must have fallen from the bedside table. It was the only explanation, the only reason the red wax was bubbling frantically as Justin entered the room. Except for one problem, the flex that curled over the pillow and the plug far removed from any socket. Justin remembered that flex and moaned.
Justin never told Chris his suspicions, how could he when Chris was so distracted, obviously caught in the binds of love. Instead he learned to ignore the itching in his back, the same way he ignored Chris’ constant shopping trips for lube and the flex shaped bruises that snaked across his wrists.
Some things were better off being ignored, and that was fine, Justin could deal with not knowing. Until the day he found Joey and Lance huddled over Lance’s new lamp, caressing the glass as the wax bubbled inside.
Skin crawling and caught in a silent scream, Justin turned to run and collided heavily with JC, sending him, and the two lava lamps he was holding crashing to the floor.
Justin wasn’t a paranoid kind of person – much -- but lately he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It wasn’t even the good kind of watched, the kind where he knew every eye in the room was looking his way. That was inevitable; he was a watchable kind of guy after all. No, this was a shiver under his skin, clammy palms and the hairs on his neck standing on end as he walked into a room.
At first he’d fling back curtains and kick open doors, expecting to reveal scantily-clad fans ready and waiting to scream at being in the presence of the great Justin Timberlake. They were never there. Just empty spaces and echoing silence as, back itching, Justin prowled the room.
Next he spent almost a week Googling bugs. It wasn’t inconceivable that some fan had arranged surveillance on his room. Fans were tricky creatures and together they could achieve great things, especially if it resulted in candid pictures of Justin, and okay, the others too. Problem was, the creepy feeling of being watched extended to many rooms, many countries even, and surely there was a limit to what even the most ingenious fan could achieve?
Paranoia spiking, Justin knew he had to share his fears. Not that he wanted to, he knew his band mates and could well imagine the resulting teasing. It wasn’t Justin’s fault that usually he liked being watched, that was normal. But this watching was different, malevolent even and getting worse all the time.
Steeling himself against the mockery to come, Justin made for Chris’ room and knocked firmly. There was no answer, even when Justin knocked again, and again, and then rattled the door. He didn’t expect it to open, but when it did Justin had to step inside. Personal paranoia and potential nervous breakdown aside, the opportunity to snoop while Chris was away was too tempting to ignore.
Slipping inside, Justin looked around, gaze landing on the messy bags open on the floor. They called his name and he stepped forward, then froze as terror slid down his spine. There was something evil in this room, something watching and centred on Chris’ bed. The bed where his lava lamp lay, half covered by the covers. Heart racing, Justin backed toward the door and fled.
Later, back against his bathroom door, Justin tried to justify what he’d seen. The lamp must have fallen from the bedside table. It was the only explanation, the only reason the red wax was bubbling frantically as Justin entered the room. Except for one problem, the flex that curled over the pillow and the plug far removed from any socket. Justin remembered that flex and moaned.
Justin never told Chris his suspicions, how could he when Chris was so distracted, obviously caught in the binds of love. Instead he learned to ignore the itching in his back, the same way he ignored Chris’ constant shopping trips for lube and the flex shaped bruises that snaked across his wrists.
Some things were better off being ignored, and that was fine, Justin could deal with not knowing. Until the day he found Joey and Lance huddled over Lance’s new lamp, caressing the glass as the wax bubbled inside.
Skin crawling and caught in a silent scream, Justin turned to run and collided heavily with JC, sending him, and the two lava lamps he was holding crashing to the floor.
