LUST:Fate Of Justin ( part 1 )

The garage door rattles half-open, letting slants of late afternoon sun spill across the concrete floor, flecked with oil stains and dust. Justin, a lanky 19-year-old with messy chestnut hair, slouches on a rickety stool, his acoustic guitar resting on his knee. The air smells of motor oil and pine from the nearby woods, a faint breeze stirring the humid stillness. His faded band tee clings to his frame, jeans ripped at the knees, a single leather bracelet dangling on his wrist.

A battered notebook lies open on an overturned crate, pages scrawled with half-formed lyrics, ink smudged from his restless fingers.

Justin strums a tentative chord, the notes vibrating through the cluttered space-old bike parts, a busted lawnmower, and a stack of cardboard boxes looming in the corner. His hazel eyes narrow, chasing a melody that's been haunting him for days. He hums, voice raw and unpolished, testing words about heartbreak he's never felt but imagines in vivid color. "She's a shadow in the rearview, fading fast..." he murmurs, scribbling the line, crossing it out, then writing it again. The guitar hums under his calloused fingers, each pluck a step closer to something real.

Across the garage, Mia, his neighbor and occasional muse, leans against the workbench, watching him. Her sundress, a soft yellow cotton, skims her thighs, the hem fluttering as she shifts. Her dark curls are loose, framing a freckled face, her bare feet tapping to his rhythm. A thin silver anklet glints as she moves, her presence a quiet spark in the dim space. "That's not bad, J," she says, voice teasing but warm, her lips curving. Her fingers trace the edge of a rusty wrench, casual but deliberate, her green eyes catching his for a beat too long.

Justin grins, sheepish, strumming louder to hide the flush creeping up his neck. "Yeah? You're just saying that 'cause you're stuck here," he shoots back, but her laugh-bright, unfiltered-fuels him. He dives back into the song, piecing together a chorus about late nights and lost chances. The lyrics spill out, clumsy but honest, each one carving a piece of himself into the air. Mia sways slightly, her dress catching the light, and for a moment, the garage feels like a stage, the world shrinking to just them and the music.

He pauses, pencil hovering, as a new line hits him. "Your voice is the echo I can't outrun..." he sings softly, glancing at Mia, who's now perched on the workbench, legs crossed, her dress riding up just enough to show the soft curve of her thigh. She doesn't notice-or maybe she does-her gaze fixed on him, like she's seeing something new. Justin's heart thumps, not just from the song but from the weight of her attention, the way it makes the lyrics feel alive, urgent.

The sun dips lower, painting the garage in gold, and Justin keeps playing, his fingers finding confidence. The song's rough, unfinished, but it's his-born from this messy, ordinary space. Mia claps when he stops, her smile wide. "That's gonna kill at open mic," she says, hopping down, her dress swirling. She steps closer, her bare arm brushing his as she peeks at the notebook. "Write one about me next," she teases, her voice a challenge, leaving Justin wondering if the heat in his chest is from the music or her.

The garage feels smaller tonight, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and the faint tang of spray paint from Justin's half-finished art project in the corner. Golden dusk filters through the cracked window, casting long shadows across the cluttered space. Justin, still buzzing from his first song's rough draft, sits cross-legged on an old rug, his acoustic guitar propped against his shoulder. His loose flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reveals lean forearms smudged with pencil lead. His chestnut hair falls into his eyes as he jots lyrics in his notebook, the pages now a chaotic map of crossed-out words and fleeting ideas.

Mia lingers nearby, sprawled on a beanbag she dragged in from her porch. Her yellow sundress has been swapped for a cropped band tee, the hem frayed, exposing a sliver of her midriff. Her denim shorts are unbuttoned at the top, casual, hugging her hips as she stretches her legs, painted toes flexing. Her dark curls are piled into a messy bun, a few strands sticking to her neck in the humid air. She's sipping a soda, the can sweating, her lips leaving a faint gloss mark. "You're obsessed now, huh?" she teases, nodding at the notebook, her voice light but laced with curiosity.

Justin glances up, a lopsided grin breaking through his focus. "Gotta keep up with you, don't I?" he fires back, his fingers strumming a lazy chord. The notes hum, filling the garage with a warmth that cuts through the evening chill. Mia's laugh is soft, her green eyes glinting as she shifts, her shorts riding up to reveal the smooth curve of her thigh. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, her tee slipping slightly to show the edge of a teal bra strap. "Play me something new," she says, her tone daring, like she's testing how far he'll go.

He hesitates, then flips to a fresh page, scribbling a line inspired by the way her shadow dances on the wall. "You're the spark in the quiet, burning slow..." he sings, voice low, testing the words. His fingers move with purpose now, the melody sharper than before. Mia's gaze softens, her lips parting as she listens, one hand absently twirling a curl. Her bare foot taps the rhythm, the anklet catching the fading light, and Justin feels the song shift, like it's not just his anymore but theirs.

She slides off the beanbag, kneeling closer on the rug, her knee brushing his. The air crackles, not just from the music but from her nearness, the faint scent of her coconut shampoo mixing with the garage's grit. "That's about me, isn't it?" she murmurs, half-teasing, half-serious, her breath warm against his cheek. Justin's strumming falters, his pulse loud in his ears. He doesn't answer, just plays on, letting the song say what he can't, the garage alive with their unspoken pull.

The air between them crackles with tension, the unfinished song hanging in the garage like a promise. Mia leans in closer, her green eyes locked on Justin's, pupils dilated in the fading light. Her hand reaches out, fingers brushing his cheek, thumb tracing his jawline. Justin's breath hitches, his guitar slipping from his lap as he turns into her touch.Their lips meet, a soft, tentative press that ignites a spark. Mia's lips are warm, slightly parted, inviting him deeper.He kisses her back, hungry and clumsy, the notebook forgotten as his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her onto his lap.Her sundress rides up, exposing the smooth skin of her thighs as she straddles him, her legs wrapping around his hips. Justin's hands roam her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her

Jean.

Their kisses grow more urgent, tongues dancing and exploring as their bodies press closer. Mia's fingers tangle in Justin's hair, tugging gently as she grinds against him, feeling his hardness through his jeans.He groans into her mouth, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, thumbs brushing the hem of her shorts.

With a sudden movement, Mia pulls back, her chest heaving. She grabs the hem of her shirt and yanks it off, revealing a lacy teal bra that barely contains her full breasts. Justin's eyes widen, his gaze drinking her in.She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, letting it fall away. Her nipples are hard, pink and inviting, and Justin leans forward, capturing one in his mouth.

Mia arches her back, a soft moan escaping her lips as he sucks and teases her nipple with his tongue.

Justin's mouth trails kisses down Mia's neck, his hands roaming her bare back as she writhes against him. His fingers hook into the waistband of her shorts, tugging them down along with her panties. Mia lifts her hips, helping him remove the last barrier between them.Now fully naked, she reaches for his jeans, unbuttoning them with shaking fingers. She pulls out his hard cock, stroking it slowly as she looks into his eyes. "I want you," she whispers, positioning herself above him.Justin grips her hips, his breath catching as he feels her wet heat against the tip of his erection. With a slow, deliberate movement, he guides her down, penetrating her inch by inch. Mia's head falls back, a soft cry escaping her lips as she stretches to accommodate him.They pause for a moment, caught in the intense sensation of being fully connected.