The View From Here
 

Prologue

Pharrell presses the speaker button and leans down into the mike. "That was great, J, really good. But the second chorus, we should try it - wait, hang on a sec..." He turns away to confer with Chad.

It's a late night after a long day but Justin's got a good feeling. He's into the groove and he knows for a fact that the stuff he's been laying down with the Neptunes is good - and not just in a 'for a pop star' way. He hums as he waits, buzzing with energy and anticipation.

Alone in the recording booth, Justin watches through the plate glass as Pharrell talks to Chad, lips moving but no sound. Pharrell speaks for what seems like a long time, gestures and movements almost telling half the story, while Chad just listens and nods and strums at his guitar. Then he leans forward and replies with what looks like one sentence, two at most. And that's it.

"Okay, Justin." Pharrell's voice comes across the speaker a little crackly, huskier than usual. "Second chorus. We'll try it the way we were talking about before, like this," and he hums a few bars. "You got it?"

Justin nods, eager to get on with it. "Yeah. Okay." He clicks his fingers and points at Pharrell. "Let's roll." Pharrell shakes his head and chuckles silently as he starts adjusting the controls. Chad is strumming at his guitar again, eyes half-closed.

Through the glass he can see Chad close his eyes completely, fingers now still on the strings. But Pharrell is watching, nodding expectantly, so it's him that Justin looks to and smiles at as he opens his mouth to sing.

*

One

It's a quarter to nine on Saturday morning and most people are still sleeping off the night before. Justin slips in the back door of the hotel, makes his way through the lobby and all the way up to the third floor without seeing more than a handful of guests, none of whom give him a second glance.

Pharrell is staying in room 308 - Justin's just ready to knock when the door swings open and his knuckles brush on air. Hastily Justin puts his hand in his pocket and tries to look as though he'd expected that to happen.

"Hey, Justin!" Pharrell seems a little surprised to see him, but the brunette hanging on Pharrell's shoulder doesn't look in Justin's direction at all at all. "Justin, this is Mina; Mina, meet Justin..."

Mina smiles coolly at Justin's wave and turns back to Pharrell. She tucks a scrap of paper into the pocket of Pharrell's hotel dressing gown and whispers something in his ear - she's not wearing any shoes but still has to lean down to do it, every inch of six feet tall. Pharrell just laughs and squeezes her around the waist. She smiles as she walks away, stilettos swinging loosely in her hand.

Justin looks at Pharrell and raises one eyebrow sky-high. "Sorry, was I interrupting somethin' there?"

Pharrell shrugs enigmatically and waves Justin into the suite. "Not really. I didn't think you'd be around so early though," he says. "You want some coffee?" The table in the centre of the room is littered with half-finished breakfast trays, sections of the morning newspaper, and dozens of burnt CDs.

"Sure." Pharrell busies himself pouring coffee and Justin idly flicks through some of the CDs. Pharrell always makes the best mixes - soundtracks, as he calls them, he makes soundtracks for everything. 'Virginia driving,' Justin reads, and 'Walking the dog.' The cover slip in the next case has 'Threesomes' scribbled on it in Pharrell's handwriting, but it's empty.

Justin wonders what the other girl looked like and bites his lip. He puts the case back down where he found it.

"Here you go," Pharrell says, sliding the cup over the table. "Now, I'ma go get cleaned up and then," he claps his hands and rubs them together, smiling broadly, "you and me, we gonna play some golf."

Justin grins back. "Right on, man."

Unhurriedly, Justin reads the newspaper and sips at his coffee, keeping half an ear open all the while to the sounds coming through the thin hotel wall. The shower stops running, and Pharrell stops singing, as Justin finishes the sports pages. He checks his watch - yeah, they're good for time.

It's then that Chad walks in through the open connecting door.

Justin jumps and hits his knee on the underside of the table, but Chad doesn't seem fazed about seeing Justin at all, despite being rumple-haired, bleary-eyed and incredibly not dressed. Well, okay, he is wearing boxer shorts. But clearly the only way Chad could be more undressed would be if he were naked. Or if he took off his wedding ring.

"Morning, Justin," Chad says and yawns widely, exhibiting a fine set of teeth and a complete lack of surprise. Absently he rubs a hand through his hair, making it stick out more wildly than before.

Justin closes his mouth with a click and nods. "Yo, Chad."

Still yawning, Chad walks over to the rumpled double bed, piled high with sheets and pillows. "Pants, pants, pants," he mutters as he sorts through the tangled linen, sending pillows tumbling to the floor. "Hey, Pharrell," he yells.

After a brief pause there's a faint reply from the bathroom. "Yeah?"

"You seen my pants? I left my cell in the pocket, man, I got all my numbers in there."

Another pause before the bathroom door cracks open. Shampoo-scented steam wafts out into the room. "You tried calling it?" Pharrell says, squinting. His hair is shining wet and there's still a trace of shaving cream under his ear. "You can use my one if you want."

"No, wait," Chad replies. He drops to his knees and looks under the bed. "I got it," he says muffledly, standing up a moment later with pants in hand.

Pharrell shrugs and ducks back into the bathroom. After a moment he starts singing again.

"So, Justin," Chad says. He's got his phone out and is flipping the mouthpiece open and shut, open and shut. He doesn't seem self-conscious in the least. "You and Pharrell golfing today, huh?"

"Yep." Justin bobs his head a little. "That's right. We're goin' golfin'." He grins broadly. He hopes it looks genuine.

Alright, so he's never had a problem with shirtless Chad before, like on the basketball court? But they're not on a basketball court, they're in Pharrell's hotel room, and there was a girl, singular, and a CD labelled Threesomes, and pants that were missing, and he knows Chad's wife is back in Virginia with the kids.

So Justin can't help thinking that near-naked Chad is suddenly a lot more... something.

"Cool." Chad smiles. "Well. I just gotta," he says apologetically, and holds up his cell phone. "Calls to make, you know."

"Sure, sure, sure." Justin bobs his head a little more. "Go ahead, dude."

"Later, Justin. Have fun." Chad walks back into his adjoining suite and closes the door behind him.

A minute later Pharrell emerges from the bathroom, all fresh dressed and clean. "You ready, J?" Without skipping a beat he thumps on the adjoining wall and shouts, "Catch you later, bro."

There's a muffled reply. "See ya."

Justin scrambles up from his seat at the table. "Uh, sure. My car's parked out back."

Pharrell snags his baseball cap from a chair and his wallet from the dresser. "Then let's go."

*

Two

Pharrell lines up the shot with elaborate care, waggling his ass. "Yo, JT. Like this?"

"Almost, man, you just gotta-" Justin mimes. "With your wrist, you know?" He leans over Pharrell's shoulder, their hips bumping, and corrects Pharrell's grip before stepping back. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, go. Oh, and remember to follow through."

"Follow through, follow through..." Pharrell mutters. He adjusts his baseball cap, squares his shoulders, takes a breath, and swings.

Silently they watch the ball sail upwards in a graceful arc, a faint white dot against the blue of sky. Pharrell looks hopeful. Justin looks hopeful. It lands in the sand.

"Damn." Pharrell sighs.

"Too bad, dawg," Justin says. He puts his arm over Pharrell's slight shoulders and they lean against one another, sighing over bad luck and bunkers. Then they put away their clubs and start ambling across the green, taking their own sweet time.

It's a great day for golfing.

"It kinda sucks Chad couldn't make it," Justin says out loud as they walk. He shouldn't care but he keeps thinking about that scene in the hotel room, if it meant what he thought it did. Like having an itch but not knowing where it is to scratch. He sneaks a sideways glance but Pharrell looks totally calm, like zen calm. "Or does he have business to take care of or something?"

"Nah. I think he's just chillin'." He shrugs. "Golf's not his thing. He's into, like, skating and bikes and stuff like that. Man, haven't you heard? Chad is street," Pharrell says, making the eastside sign and investing his voice with as much contempt as he can muster. "Chad doesn't play golf. Golf is for pussies, yo. Pussies and pop stars."

"Fuck you," Justin laughs. "And hey, if I'm the pop star, what does that make you? The pussy?"

Pharrell casually flips him the bird and keeps walking.

"I'm just saying," Justin continues. "He coulda chilled here with us. Watched us play or something. 's a nice day to be out."

Pharrell snorts. It could be a laugh. Or maybe not. Justin raises a quizzical brow. "Yeah," Pharrell says after a moment. "He coulda done that. Watched us."

Justin still doesn't see what's so funny.

*

Three

"Hey, man," Justin says. He twirls the handle of a sand wedge between his palms.

"Hmmm?" Pharrell replies after a moment, busy practising his swing.

"Like, you and Chad do pretty much everything together, yeah?" Justin says absently, resolutely not watching Pharrell's tattoos shift and move over flexing muscle, trying to remember where he was going with this. Nothing too pointed, 'cause he's aiming for nonchalant here, alright? Which he is. Seventy per cent nonchalant, and thirty percent curious as hell.

Well, Justin admits to himself. Maybe more like fifty percent curious.

"Me and Chad what?" Pharrell says absently, squinting as he lines up his shot. He breathes in deeply, takes a swing and follows through just beautifully, his shirt riding up just a fraction to reveal an inch of smooth torso. First day golfing and, damn, he's already got his action down right

They watch the ball go up, come down... Justin whistles. "Very niiice. Keep this up, man, and you're gonna be kicking Tiger Woods' ass," he says, and looks Pharrell up and down with exaggerated admiration.

Pharrell tilts his cap to a cocky little angle and poses for a moment before swaggering back to their bags. "Thankyou, Mr Timberlake, thankyou." He puts away his club with a flourish. "You were saying, J?"

"Ummm." A moment ago Justin had at least four clever ways to segue into the threesome angle, but none of them seem very good any more. "That woman you were with, from this morning? I was just thinking." He stops.

Pharrell nods and smiles knowingly. "Mina, yeah, she's a sweetheart. We're not serious though. What, you think I should bring her to that thing tomorrow night?"

"Uh, sure? If you want to?" He's kinda thrown and hastily tries to muster enthusiasm in his voice. Justin's not at all sure he succeeds.

Pharrell looks like he's seriously considering. Then he shakes his head. "Nah." He looks over at Justin sideways and smiles slyly. "I'd rather go with you, baby boy."

"Dude, I told you." Justin rolls his eyes and stops himself short of a full-out grin. "You 'baby boy' me one more time and I'm gonna..." He holds up the golf club like a baseball bat and shakes it menacingly.

Pharrell whistles and looks innocent.

On their way to the next hole Pharrell starts telling Justin about Jade Jagger and her miniature poodle, and Justin laughs so hard he has to sit down, right there on the green.

"Man, how do you even know this shit?" Justin wheezes, wiping at his eyes with the bottom of his t-shirt. "How come I never hear about the juicy stuff?"

"Well, J." Pharrell taps the side of his nose and smiles. "I get around."

*

Four

It's just some bash put up by the record company, an excuse to get stuck into free booze for most, so the dress code is not exactly black tie. Nonetheless, Justin has a reputation to maintain. Tonight he's aiming for, like, effortless cool with a touch of laidback. It takes him about an hour just to pick his shoes.

Chad and Pharrell, as he sees when he slides into their shared limo, haven't quite gone to the same lengths. "You two look so fiiiiine," Justin drawls, only half-sarcastically. 'Cause, okay, they clearly haven't even tried. They're dressed like it's any day of the week, t-shirts under jackets and jeans with sneakers. It's just their luck that they're hot enough to get away with it.

Pharrell brushes imaginary lint from his jeans and sweetly replies, "And you're lookin' just beautiful yourself, JT."

"Can't all be fashionistas, Justin." Chad is calm and amused.

The limo ride is short and blessedly peaceful in comparison to what comes next. It's not an actual awards ceremony or movie premiere or anything, but the press have to keep their jobs too, don't they? The yells and cries and camera flashes start almost as soon as the door opens, and it only gets louder once it's clear who's actually getting out of the limo.

Most of them are calling out for Justin, but a few shout at Pharrell and Chad as well - almost all Pharrell, to be honest. Chad's name has a certain cache in the right circles, but most of the press don't yet know to match the name to a face, maybe never will. It doesn't make sense to Justin, who's always capitalised on everything he's got, but that's the way the Neptunes say they like it.

"Hey, Justin!"

"Pharrell! Over here, Pharrell!"

"Justin! Justin!"

"Give us a wave, Justin!"

It's been so long for Justin that he can hardly imagine what it's like to be Chad, just 'the other guy' in the photo. Would Justin miss it, love it? He's not sure. Chad doesn't seem to mind. He seems okay with standing to one side while Pharrell and Justin smile and wave and turn and do it all over again.

"Justin, where's your date?"

That one catches his ear out of the din. He laughs, not entirely happy. Fuckin' gossip rags.

"Date?" Justin says, cupping his ear at the reporter. "Sorry, I ain't got no date." He'd leave it at that, usually, but tonight he whimsically swings his arm around Pharrell's shoulders and hugs him close. "No, wait. I changed my mind. I got a date, sure, I brought this guy." And he smacks a big wet one on Pharrell's ear. From behind them Chad laughs out loud.

Justin throws Chad a grin over his shoulder and hugs Pharrell again. He hopes that makes every daily in the country. He really does.

*

Five

The party is okay. Justin does the polite thing for a few hours, says his hellos and shakes the right hands, but after the clock hits midnight he gives up on the gladhanding and makes a beeline for the bar. After a few drinks - whoever put spirits on the tab is definitely down in his good books - the party even starts verging on good.

He drags Pharrell with him onto the dance floor, plus half a dozen girls because, hell, why not? And if it turns out to be mostly just him and Pharrell, and not many girls in between them at all, well. Justin doesn't mind that either. Pharrell seems to like it too, Justin thinks.

But maybe he read that wrong, 'cause after a while Pharrell slips away through the crush to go hang with Chad by the bar. Justin glances over at the bar a few times, but they're always just watching. No fun at all. He beckons to Pharrell a few times, but only gets a shake of the head in return, a 'later' kind of gesture - and what's with that, Justin thinks with faint frustration, what's he waiting for?

So after a while Justin stops looking over there and starts concentrating on right here. He singles out a tall black girl and a short redhaired one - Elisha and Kristyn, they say their names are, and they're really hot, and not at all scared to dance up close and dirty. He doesn't stop to think about who could be watching him, who he wants to be looking. Although maybe he catches Pharrell's eye a couple of times.

By a quarter to two Justin's pretty trashed, so it takes him a moment to realise that it's Pharrell's arm sliding around his waist and tugging him away from the dance floor. The girls look a little put out as Justin waves airily goodbye, looking not at all concerned to be leaving them behind. "Where we going, dude?" Justin says loudly but cheerfully, and allows himself to be steered smoothly away from the gaggle of WB starlets and a few lonely-looking members of O-Town, out of the buzz and hubbub into a quieter room.

Oh, and there's Chad. Justin smiles wanly. "Hey. You again." He looks at Pharrell. "Can I go back now?"

"Sit down, J," Pharrell says, pulling Justin down onto the couch beside him.

Chad slides a tall chilled glass of a fruity-looking-something across the table. "And have a drink, too."

"What's this?" Justin says after his first sip. He throws out the girlie little straw and swallows down a mouthful. It tastes like pineapple. "This isn't - what'd you do with my booze?" He looks at them suspiciously, Pharrell then Chad then back to Pharrell. He can't recall the last time he saw either of them drinking in public, but they've never had a problem with his drinking before. Justin hopes there will be more dancing after this, he's so not ready to chill out yet.

Patiently Pharrell puts a warm arm around his shoulders. "Just drink it, Justin."

"But it's pineapple," he says, quite seriously.

"You want mine instead?" Chad offers. "Mango."

"Okay." They swap drinks. Justin takes a sip. Huh. Not bad.

"You like?" Chad says.

"Mmm." Justin starts nodding when he realises they still haven't explained - he's not going to be so easily distracted. "Okay, forget the drink. Something's up with you two," he says slowly, pushing away his glass and looking at them carefully. "I can tell. Come on, give it up. Chad?" he says appealingly, 'cause compared to Pharrell he's a soft touch, an easy mark.

Chad leans back, shadows almost obscuring his smile. "Just tell him, Pharrell," he says. "Don't be such a tease."

Score, Justin thinks smugly, and slouches in his seat till he's low enough to lean his head against Pharrell's shoulder.

"Tease?" Pharrell points to himself incredulously. "Me? No, man, I think you mean my boy over here," he says, tilting his head at Justin.

"Hey." Justin sits up and tries to look outraged. He bumps his knee against Pharrell's, hard.

"Forget it, J, he doesn't mean it." Chad levels a look at Pharrell. "Well?" he says after a moment. "Tell him."

"Yeah," Justin says encouragingly, patting Pharrell on the leg. "Tell me. Go on."

"Well." Pharrell rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and makes a hmmm-ing sound. "The thing is, we want you to sober up a little," he says finally. "Just a little. Just so you're not completely wasted for this."

Justin furrows his brow. "For what? I got another day off tomorrow. Are we going somewhere or something?"

Pharrell and Chad exchange glances. He has the feeling that they're amused.

"Nah," Pharrell says after a moment, breath softly whooshing over Justin's ear. "It's just."

From across the table Chad is looking at Justin and why has he never noticed that Chad's eyes can gleam like that? And now Pharrell's fingers start rubbing little circles against the back of Justin's neck, cool and shivery against his heated skin. Pharrell leans in a little closer, warm and smiling and very patient.

"We want you to decide," Chad says, his voice low and clear. "We want you to be sure."

"Yeah. Just a bit more sober." Pharrell slides his hand under Justin's shirt, then lower. "For this."

So Justin's a little slow. But he does, finally, get it.

*

Six

"So you're okay with this, right Justin?" Pharrell asks seriously, kneeling on the bed and pulling off his t-shirt.

Justin's already flat on his back, shirt unbuttoned and pants unzipped. "Yeah, sure," he says breathlessly, sitting up again. "I want this, man, I'm ready to go. You, Chad, whatever." And he is. He really only wants to fuck one Neptune, but if it's got to be both or none at all, well, he's not going to argue.

Justin looks over at Chad, expecting him to join them on the bed, maybe take his shoes off at least. He barely touched Justin in the limo on the way back to the hotel, but Justin thought he was just waiting his turn. Yet Chad still doesn't rise from his seat. He barely moves a muscle except to keep twisting the ring on his finger around and around and around, and then to smile at Justin reassuringly. "It's okay, man," he says. "Justin gets it."

"Okay," Pharrell says, sounding more relaxed. "Just checking."

Justin casts another fleeting glance at Chad and opens his mouth to say, wait, run that by me again -

But Pharrell leans in and kisses him hungrily, and Justin loses his question, himself, in the taste of Pharrell's mouth. They pull apart, breathing heavier now, and Pharrell strips off Justin's shirt with efficient hands before pushing him onto his back again. "Just relax, JT," Pharrell says softly, and licks a line down Justin's abdomen. He tugs Justin's trousers off the rest of the way, followed by his boxers, and sends them both flying across the room. Then Pharrell shucks off his own, quickly but without haste, and climbs back onto the bed.

He leans over Justin. "Just think about you and me," Pharrell says calmly, one hand already moving on Justin's dick, slow but firm. Pharrell's hand is slick with lube - where he got it from so quickly, Justin doesn't know and doesn't particularly care, so long as he doesn't stop. "Pretend like he's not watching."

Justin arches against Pharrell's practised touch and almost but not quite moans. "Yeah," he manages to say. "Yeah, sure."

It takes another moment for that to register properly.

"Pretend he's not-" Justin repeats confusedly, and breaks off when Pharrell's fingers slide inside him, smooth and wet and, oh, that's so good.

He realises he said that last part out loud when Pharrell smirks down at him and says, "Oh yeah? You just wait, baby, I haven't even started." It's so cheesy, the kind of line that Pharrell usually says to make Justin laugh, except that this time Pharrell makes it work for real, his voice and those fingers, and yeah, Justin is so ready to be fucked tonight that it's not even funny.

Except - and Justin looks over, just for a moment and in the dim half-light, but he can still see clearly enough that Chad's shifting in his seat, that his fly is already open. Justin in that moment is suddenly weirded out, he thinks what the fuck -

"Hey, hey, hey. Quit that, Justin." Pharrell pinches his hip lightly. "Look at me." And Justin does, he forces his eyes away from Chad and back to Pharrell, beautiful and smiling and so hot for him, just for him. "Justin, look at me, you can forget about everything else, just forget about it. It's just you and me, Justin, you and me here in this room. You got that, baby?"

"Okay," Justin says after a heartbeat, because he wants this, he does, Pharrell right now and Chad can do whatever the fuck he wants.

Pharrell looks down at Justin, deep dark soulful eyes, and drops his mouth to Justin's ear, and he whispers, "Good. 'Cause I want you so bad." Somehow he makes that even sexier than the fingers, especially when he kisses Justin again, sweetly at first and then with lots of tongue, and pretty soon Justin is saying, oh, yes, please, now, Chad who?

Justin doesn't exactly forget about Chad after that, but with the way things keep going, well, it just becomes really really hard to care. Like, when he's got his knees hooked over Pharrell's shoulders and Pharrell is moving inside him with smoothly liquid thrusts, or when Pharrell comes with eyes wide open saying Justin, Justin, Justin, or the way he sucks Justin's cock so that it feels like Justin's heart is going to give out, yeah. It's surprisingly easy just to concentrate on that, and not on who else might be watching.

And on the scale of things, it's just sex, you know, one of the most natural things in the world, so how odd can it really be? When you think about it like that, as Justin does in the brief spaces when he's not pondering about how many more wonderful things Pharrell's dick can do in one night, it's not really that strange at all.

Justin still feels a little weird when Chad passes them the condoms though.

*

Seven

Sometime around the crack of dawn Chad shakes them awake and leads them, stumbling, into his room next door. Justin and Pharrell tumble into Chad's bed, with its nice clean dry sheets, and Justin's last memory before falling asleep again is of Chad climbing in beside them and pulling the blankets up to their collective chins.

It's just after nine o'clock the next morning when Justin wakes up, needing to pee. Pharrell and Chad are still asleep, so he slides out of bed carefully and shuts the bathroom door behind him as quietly as he can. He's not very hung over but he feels dehydrated, and also a little sore and sticky. Justin can't help feeling highly satisfied about that last as he splashes cold water over his face and brushes his teeth with his finger.

Pharrell is, like, totally.

He wants to finish that sentence, but even more than that Justin wants to crawl back into bed and lick Pharrell all over. He doesn't mind if Chad there, really. Chad's a nice guy and welcome to keep watching, just as long as it's Justin that gets to do the actual fucking. Justin grins to himself at that and drags his hand down and across his chest and washboard stomach, not looking, just feeling it, something hot coiled in the pit of his belly.

He opens the bathroom door just in time to see Chad turn over, carelessly throwing an arm across Pharrell's ribs. And Pharrell, who Justin thought was asleep, turns out to be not so asleep after all. He leans over to brush back the hair from Chad's forehead, to press his lips against Chad's cheekbone.

A kiss, a touch, that's all. It's nothing. After what he and Pharrell did last night, it should be less than that.

Yeah. Sure.

With a sigh he closes the bathroom door again, as quietly as before, and turns the shower on hot, hot, hot. Justin squeezes the little bottle of body wash until it's empty, scrubs until he's gleaming. He thinks about Mina, the phone number she tucked into Pharrell's pocket as she left, and wonders why she bothered.

*

Eight

"You sure you gotta go?" Pharrell is still yawning as he ties the bathrobe around his waist. "You can stay and do breakfast, I mean I already got coffee on the way up."

"Nah, man, I gotta run, stuff to do, you know the deal." Justin shrugs with mild regret. "Last night was fun, though, yeah?"

Pharrell grins wickedly. "Oh yeah."

He doesn't say it'd be nice to do it again, but Justin's not particularly surprised by that. Disappointed, maybe. But not surprised. "Well." Justin says after a moment, swinging his arms a little. "See ya."

"Okay, J." Pharrell pulls him into a hug and they slap hands like they usually do, except that this time Pharrell leans in again to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "I'll call you again next time we're in LA, okay? We can hang out, go golfing, whatever."

"Yeah, man, definitely." Justin grins to show he means it. He shoves his hands into his pockets. "And say goodbye to Chad for me." Justin pauses, drops his gaze to the carpet for a moment before looking up again. "You and Chad. You got something pretty... different going on, y'know?" Pharrell doesn't say anything, so Justin finishes in a rush. "But I guess you know what you're doing."

"Yeah." Pharrell shrugs calmly. "We do." He claps Justin on the shoulder. "See you later, bro."

"Yeah. Later." Justin raises his hand, drops it again, walks away. He hears the door click shut before he reaches the end of the corridor.

By Ro, July 2003
Thanks to Ames, who beta-read and hand-held. You da man.

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