"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he does not become a monster himself. For when you gaze long into the Abyss, the Abyss also gazes into you."
--Nietzsche
"Beyond Good and Evil," Part Four: Maxims and Interludes
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A/N
::hugs her reviewers:: You guys rock!
Obsessed-fan-Aren't they, tho? It's up, it's up, happy now??
Piper-Glad you like.
Katherine-Another Justin-fangirl! ::Deathglomp:: I'll try to get more descriptive talk about His Hotness in later parts...
A few people might have noticed in part one that I call Richard a redhead. This isn't true red (think Rupert Grint, AKA Ron Weasley), but more reddish- blond (Like the illustrations on old Nancy Drew hardcovers ::wink::). Justin's hair is dirty blond, meaning that, depending on the light, it can be anything from true blond to light brown to brown. I just don't want you guys to think that I'm a flagrant moron who hasn't even see the movie if I describe them these ways. (I did watch it in theaters, but there were these asshole bitch-girl who kept a cell phone on during. Plus, I was with my mom, and couldn't enjoy the homoeroticism as much.)

Warning: *explicit* J/R slash, slight alcohol use (what's wine and Sprite to absinthe?), and---to quote Pepper Ann---"Ac-ti-on, bay-beh!"

Note: I got the idea for this while buzzing off two glasses of wine and soda (yeah, I'm a friggin' lightweight.) and I *wrote* it on paper right after. No major revisions, so excuse me if it gets a little.odd.

"Philosophers of Maybe"

Richard came back from the kitchen with two wineglasses and set them on the coffee table. Then he went away again, returning with a three-quarters- full bottle of burgundy and a 16-oz bottle of Sprite.

Justin started to ask, "Richard, won't your parents notice if. . ."

"Nah," Richard interrupted, "My mom goes through this stuff like water,"

Justin watched as he began to fill one of the glasses. "Only half for me," he requested softly, "I still have to drive home."
****
Justin was lying with his head in Richard's lap. Richard was casually playing with his hair, the redhead's warm fingers sometimes moving to gently brush against his features. It was quite a bit later than Justin had meant to stay, and the wine bottle was empty.

He realized this with a smile. -Oops,- he thought, unable to carry the thought farther than that, although part of him wondered why it was so amusing to himself that he was drunk.

Somewhere outside, a car pulled into a driveway. Some of Justin's paranoia reasserted itself, and the panic center of his alcohol-fogged brain screamed, 'Richard's parents!'

He jerked himself into an upright position. The room tilted and did a half- spin, steadying itself only with the reassuring pressure of Richard's hands on his shoulders. Justin could feel the heat of Richard's palms through his dark-colored dress shirt---'97% cotton, 3% lycra' popped into his head very annoyingly. And he was probably imagining it, but he could have sworn that Richard winked at him right before closing the short distance between their faces for a kiss.

The wine was stronger on Richard's lips, and dizzying, nearly masking the warm cinnamon taste of his mouth that Justin was so familiar with. Justin's brain was obviously still at least partially disconnected, as it failed to register Richard's successful efforts to remove his shirt. In fact, Justin didn't realize it until Richard pulled him a little closer. Justin recoiled slightly from the unexpected coolness of his shirt buttons, cleverly deciding to remedy the situation by getting Richard just as undressed as he was.

Richard's hands were hot on his bare shoulders, his back and sides, as though there was a fire beneath his skin, transferred to Justin by the sublime contact of their exposed flesh. Richard's mouth dropped to delve the soft hollow of Justin's throat, to tease him.

Justin's perceptions were faded, relatively dreamlike, except for the ones concerning Richard. The young man beside him was very real, in fact nearly *more* real than Justin himself. Justin was unaware that he had unfastened Richard's belt buckle until he was pressed to the cool leather of the couch cushions, Richard straddling his hips and ravaging his soft, full lips almost brutally.

-So there is an advantage to wearing baggy jeans,- Justin reflected as he slipped his hands past Richard's loose waistband. -Mine, of course. . .- he amended, pulling Richard closer and feeling the hard proof of his arousal.

"Wait,' Richard gasped, "wait, wait."

Justin understood. He slid his hands up Richard's bare back, his fingers tracing the barely perceptible ridge of backbone through his tight muscles. Richard shivered.

"Justin." he breathed, and Justin smiled. Smiled and pulled him down for the passionate, no-holds-barred variety of kiss.

"Richard Haywood!" A hoarse female voice cried, absolutely shattering the mood.

They broke apart. Richard looked up, surprise and apprehension on his handsome features. Justin propped himself up on one elbow and twisted around to look in the same direction.

Rita Haywood stood in the entrance to the living room, as much of a shell- shocked expression that her rendered-mostly-plastic face would allow. She seemed unable to take in the sight in front of her.

-Oh, crap,- both guilty parties thought, and that about summed it up.

"Lawrence!" Rita shrieked, her chain-smoking habits and Southern roots made more apparent, "Lawrence Miles Haywood, get your ass in here!"

Richard shoved himself back onto the arm of the couch, retrieved his shirt, and tugged it on. Justin, blushing furiously, snatched up his own clothes and dressed quickly.

Not a moment too soon, it turned out, as Lawrence Haywood stormed in. Focusing on his wife, he shouted irritably, "What in the hell are you *screaming* about?"

Rita yelled back, "Your son! Look at what he's doing, look at who he's with! And on my white couch!"

Lawrence turned and stared, either unwilling or unable to process what he was seeing. Justin gave an awkward little cough, and everyone was suddenly looking at him.

"Perhaps I had better go,' he mumbled into the silence.

"Yeah, you'd better," Richard whispered.

"Stay put," Lawrence barked. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Justin," the blond replied, injecting calmness into his voice that he certainly didn't feel. "Justin Pendleton."

"My *boyfriend.*" Richard appended defensively, earning a glare from his father.

Rita piped up in a shaky voice, "He is not."

"He *is.*" Richard said with a half-snarl.

"Don't contradict your mother." Lawrence snapped automatically.

Justin said, in the blank and unemotional tone that Richard hated (and perhaps feared a little bit), "I am, though."

Lawrence ruffled at the 'challenge' he perceived in Justin's answer. The territorial fury was clear in his voice as he shouted, "You are not, because my son is not a queer! And I won't have you. . . *polluting* my house and my family with your. . . with your. . . homosexual perversion! Now, get out of here, dammit!"

Justin shrugged elegantly, picking up his black bookbag from the floor, and walked to the front door. He glanced over his shoulder and said softly, "Goodbye, Richard."

Something in Justin's eyes, those wounded blue orbs, reminded Richard of an abused puppy, and it tugged at his heart. "'Bye, Justin," he whispered huskily.

Justin shouldered his bag, opened the door, and walked out.

****
to be continued. . .

A/N: Parents are evil, aren't they? Lawrence is an exaggerated version of my own dad, and so will Mr. Pendleton be. Why torture the boys like this? They need an excuse to skip town (which, I have not yet been able to locate. . .there is no Wilmont, CA. . .), otherwise Cassie might think that they are "evading justice" once she gets back on the case. Of course she'll get back on the case, persistent bitch. And she'd chase them down on a wing and a prayer if they didn't have some kind of reason (other than being temporary murder suspects) to leave.

Review, please! Thanks!