London Callin'

Justin locked Mark's bedroom door behind him, giggling.

"What?"

Justin flicked his cap onto Mark's bed and shook his head, his bowl of hair falling into place like an Army drill team. "Your mom's a trip-"

Mark laughed. "Why do you say that?"

"She was singing 'Somebody to Love' all the way up here-"

"Backwards?"

Justin cocked his head. And one eyebrow. His grin cemented between his cheeks. "No. Why do you say that? What do you mean?"

Mark looked back at Justin, unblinking. He shrugged. "No reason. She does that a lot. Sings songs backwards. You're right, she is a trip." Mark winked.

Justin looked away. Then fell back onto Mark's bed, kicked his shoes off, and slinked his socks over his feet. He stood up. First, the baggy T-shirt was on the floor, and then, with a pop of one button, his skinny jeans. His cock was semi-hard and hung thick between his legs, almost dwarfing both; the copious veins shone like scales as they criss-crossed his shaft. He sat back on the bed, his low-slung balls flush against Mark's New York Giants comforter and providing an adequate prop for his coiling cock, the head of which rested several inches in front of them on the bed. Justin sighed. "Speaking of trips, I leave for Europe next week, you know," he said.

Mark pulled off his shorts and boxer-briefs in one motion, his tiny cock springing forward, the hole slick with pre-cum. He sat next to Justin on the bed and grabbed the teenager's hand, weaving their fingers through each other. He squeezed. "Ah, Europe. I've never been overseas. I've always wanted to go to London. I'm an Anglophile and a half-"

"That's my first concert date of the 13-"

"You lucky bastard-" Mark returned Justin's grin. Then jumped. "Do not fucking tell me that you've got a date in Germany. That's my favorite country EVER-"

Justin nodded.

"No!"

"Yes. It's the last date. Berlin."

"Oh, my God, you lucky-"

"What's the big deal? It's just a quick little tour, just to put feelers out-"

"But Germany! Have you ever studied Germany's history? It's the richest of any country in the history of the world. The richest-" Mark lowered his head and looked up at Justin from under his raised eyebrows, a wide grin chalking his face. "I'm of German descent, you know-"

Justin pulled Mark's hand into his lap, Mark's knuckles scraping his full-fledged hard-on. He dipped his head too and looked back up at Mark from under the steady sheen of his bangs, his eyes fixed on Mark's for what may have been five minutes - or hours or seconds. Finally, one eyebrow cocked, and he sighed inaudibly. But before he could say anything, Mark's free hand reached for the curtain of hair covering his forehead, and he reared back.

"What?" said Mark, laughing.

"Nothing-"

"You have the most beautiful hair. I've never really touched it-"

"It's not you. It's the hair. And me. I've got this weird thing about my hair-"

Mark cocked his head. And an eyebrow. He laughed. "Okay, no problem-"

"You know, a lot of people hate my hair-"

"I hate them-"

Justin's voice was whisper: "So do I-"

Mark pulled Justin close to him, their bony chests snaking together, and whispered into the boy's ear: "I hate everyone who's not you. Or me."

Justin bit Mark's neck lightly, then pulled back. He freed his hand and cradled Mark's face in his fingers. "So do I-"

Mark giggled and looked down at Justin's cock, which had temporarily stained the boy's thigh with a blur of pre-cum. He giggled some more.

Justin let go of Mark's face and leaned back on his hands. "Come with me-"

"Huh?"

"To Europe-"

"Really?"

Justin nodded furiously, the brown of his eyes blacker than ever.

"Hmm-" Mark looked away. "Nah, I couldn't-"

"Why not?"

"That'd be taking advant-"

"You're my fucking boyfriend. Take advantage of me-"

"But the store-"

"Fuck the store. You're renovating-"

"I don't have the money right now-"

"I'm the fucking Biebz! I have the money. My plane. My hotel. Just bring yourself."

Mark's chin fell to his hand, and he stared at Justin's immobile, stony gaze. He definitely wasn't in love with him. And definitely wanted to taste the venom running through the boy's veins. He sighed. "You sure-"

"Dude, the Biebz is always sure-"

At which Mark reached behind himself, leaning over the bottom of the bed, and tugged up a grocery bag from the floor. He pulled out a bag of pre-packaged salad and a bottle of ranch salad dressing, both of which he promptly deposited in Justin's lap. "Now toss my salad, Biebz-"

Justin sank his teeth into the corner of the bag. "You know, you and me could make a good team, Mark-"