|for triciaqaf - fic - The Fabulous Life of Justin Taylor [Brian/Connor James]
||[Mar. 31st, 2005|09:25 pm]
The Fabulous Life of Justin Taylor|
Pairing: Brian/Connor James (with some Brian/Justin mixed in)
Summary: While visiting Justin in Hollywood, Brian has a close encounter of the celebrity kind.
The Fabulous Life of Justin Taylor
Justin comes back from his brief stint in California with a light tan that brings out his eyes, a new excuse not to go back to school right away, and stories of his various celebrity encounters. He intends to tell Brian all about them the minute his plane touches down in Pittsburgh, but a belatedly ending bike trip from Toronto, topped off with Brian's broken collarbone for an encore pushes his tales of Hollywood debauchery temporarily to the back burner.
"So did you fuck Tom Cruise?" Brian practically whispers to him, clutching gingerly at the arm he has slung across his chest. Justin forced him to go to the doctor almost as soon as he got off of his bicycle, and the Vicodin he prescribed pretty much ensured that Brian would sleep the better part of the afternoon away. Sure enough, he quietly saws logs while Justin catches up on his e-mail and surfs around a couple of Brett Keller-centric messageboards, waking up with a soft groan and muttering about evil Vics. Justin carefully positions himself lengthwise on the bed, caressing the sides of Brian's face with his fingertips.
"Everybody knows he's not gay," he retorts in mock-horror, pleased to hear Brian snort in amusement. Eventually, he whispers Connor James' name in his lover's ear, returning Brian's conspiratorial grin with one of his own, relieved to see Brian feeling well enough to make small conversation. He nearly launches into his announcement of how Brett Keller asked him to come back to work on the movie, even, now that it's kosher to do so.
And then Brian asks him to move into the loft before he can get it out, and he's so mad at himself for feeling even remotely disappointed by the coincidence that he just stares at a small groove in the bar in the loft kitchen and doesn't say anything. Finally, he thinks, finally Brian wants to stop pussy-footing around their 'relationship' ... and then the first potential 'big break' of his career has to make him consider NOT jumping at the opportunity. Because he knows Brian won't let him NOT go, and he's sort of glad for that - he doesn't want to resent anyone for keeping him from following his dream, doesn't want Brian to resent himself for making Justin feel tied down.
'Fabulous', he thinks as Brian smoothes his good hand over Justin's softly spiked (fucking Pink Posse) hair. 'Just fucking fabulous.'
"So what do you think?" Justin asks as the credits of the movie they've just finished watching roll. On the coffee table, the Blockbuster rental box for "Captain Catastrophe: Celestial Crusader" sits open next to a half-eaten bowl of popcorn (Brian having eaten way more of it than he'd ever admit). He picks up the remote and stands to collect the DVD from the player.
Brian sits up, frowning at the sudden lack of warmth from where Justin had just been laying, spooned against him. The corner of his mouth turns up as he ticks off criticisms on his (slightly oily-from-popcorn, Justin notes triumphantly) fingers. "The storyline is juvenile; the characters are two-dimensional; the plotholes are big enough for Gus to drive his Power Wheels truck through; the --"
"I meant Connor James!" Justin laughs, rolling his eyes. It had been his pick at the video store, as he'd lamely explained to Brian that he'd have a much better feel for Connor's acting abilities if/when he got cast as Rage. Brian, his collarbone having mended enough by then to take his arm out of the sling, had snickered that Justin had gotten a feel for much more than Connor James' acting abilities already, and then pulled him into the bathroom for a quick blowjob before they checked out. "He's hot, don't you think?"
"He fills out a spandex body suit pretty well," Brian begrudgingly agrees. "I suppose he'll do as a replacement for me in a pinch." He picks up the discarded bowl of popcorn and strides to the kitchen to dispose of it. Justin smiles and snaps the DVD case shut.
"I had no idea you were so sold on the idea of wearing tights," he laughs. "Is this something you only do when I'm not around?"
"Well, I'm just so secretive about my feminine urges," Brian replies smoothly, catching right on. "I was embarrassed to tell anyone that dressing up in women's clothing makes me feel pretty." He rinses the bowl out and sets it on the bottom row of the dishwasher while Justin collapses into soft laughter on the couch.
"I'll broach the idea to Michael for the next issue," he grinnes. "By night, he's your regular, fudgepacking gay crusader for peace, love, and anal sex. But by day --" Brian cuts him off.
" -- he likes to wear frilly undergarments and walk around town in high heels."
"He's Rage! Coming soon to your mother's wardrobe."
"Ugh." Brian crinkles his nose. "Have you *seen* my mother? I don't think so."
"Okay, okay," Justin says decidedly. "Only Prada and Victoria's Secret for this fabulous, cross-dressing superhero." He shuts the television off and motions towards the bedroom. It's all the encouragement Brian needs.
Justin half-expects Brian not to pick up his landline phone when he phones the loft after a particularly grueling Thursday evening two weeks into his prolonged follow-up stay in California. But Brian surprises him halfway through the third ring, his husky voice like a verbal massage over Justin's aggravated muscles. "Shouldn't you be in bed already, young man?" he practically purrs.
"You should talk," Justin retorts, closing his eyes and letting the melodious sounds of his lover's voice wash over him. "And I *am* in bed, actually," he says, yawning to punctuate the statement.
"Mmm," Justin says. "Brett's an absolute madman when he gets going on a project. The entire art department was in a frenzy today, and then I got dragged out to a club after work. I think my legs are going to fall off."
"I'm sure the recreational dancing absolutely killed you, Sunshine," Brian says sardonically, but there's affection in his chiding. "And how is Connor James, superhero extraordinaire?" His tone is decidedly more sarcastic, now, and Justin certainly notices, but decides not to say anything it.
"He's doing well," he replies lightly. "He came clubbing with a bunch of us tonight; for a supposedly straight guy, he's sure flippant about where he's spotted at. I mean, anyone could have been there, you know?" He hears Brian clucking his tongue in disapproval. "But, oh well, not my problem," he continues. "I mean, fucking him is one thing, but getting involved in his personal life is another." He snorts at how weird that statement probably would sound to most anyone besides Brian.
"Mmm." Now it's Brian's turn to sound noncommittal. It strikes Justin as vaguely amusing that Brian would even remotely worry about his friendship, such that it is, with Connor, let alone be jealous. And then he thinks about the origins of his relationship with Ethan, and how quickly it took on a romantic tinge while Brian trusted him on his word alone, and realizes that his lover may not entirely be out in left field. Even though he's changed, even though Brian's changed, and even though their relationship is a war-torn battlefield full of gradual compromises and commitments, Justin knows Brian will always be fearful that he's going to 'wake up' one day and decide to leave for good.
"I miss you," he says suddenly, awkwardly to break the silence. "Like, Michael and I based the comic book so much on our lives and you that working on it three-thousand miles away means I look at it everyday and see you, and then it makes me miss you even more because you're still clear on the other side of the country and it's not good enough just to be able to see you and not touch anymore." Brian chuckles into the receiver and he realizes he's babbling.
"Anyway," he finishes, "I love you, and I miss you, and I think you should come to Hollywood and visit me. You could wear your tights," he tempts.
"Oh?" Brian asks. "Well, when you put it that way." He makes a mental note to take the suggestion much more seriously than Justin probably expects him to, then glances at the clock and stifles his own yawn. "I think *you* should go to bed now, though. You have things to do tomorrow, hot guys to fuck."
"As do you," Justin murmurs. "Big ... pitches to make, and bigger cocks to play with. All in a day's work for Brian Kinney: Gay Crusader."
"The most fabulous fag in Pittsburgh," Brian agrees. "'Night, Sunshine."
"Sleep tight," Justin says wistfully, and waits for Brian to hang up before placing the receiver back in its charger. He nods off quickly, remnants of their conversation replaying in his mind and lulling him to sleep.
Exactly five days later, Justin is in such a hurry to just get off the movie site for his lunch break that he nearly collides with an extremely familiar frame. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, and then glances up and breaks into a huge grin. "Brian!" he exclaims, throwing himself into the other man's arms and eagerly tilting his face up for a kiss. "Oh my God, you're here! I just ... it's been so frustrating and I was going to run off for an hour and leave strange messages on your voice mail and you're already --" He stops and shakes his head, still grinning idiotically. "You look great."
"You look stressed," Brian replies, running his hand through Justin's ever-thickening hair. "You got a place to stay, or do you just sleep underneath your desk?"
"I'm staying in Brett's guesthouse," Justin laughs. "It's almost like a mansion in and of itself. We can go drop your bags off and fuck and catch-up", he says decidedly, tugging Brian towards the exit. Brian wraps his arm around his lover's shoulders and he sighs happily. "God, I just ... I'm so happy to see you, Brian," he gushes.
"I missed you too, Sunshine," Brian smiles. "And I'm not leaving, like, immediately; we've got plenty of time to 'catch-up'. You sure you don't want to grab something to eat right now?"
"I haven't had a cock up my ass for three weeks," Justin retorts, slightly breathless with anticipation. "We're fucking first. I'll let you feed me later."
"How charitable of you," Brian snorts, but allows himself to be given a whirlwind tour of Justin's temporary (but very swanky) living space before helping his lover christen the couch.
Brett calls Justin's cell just as they're in the process of cleaning up after round three. He already seems to be quite knowledgable about Brian's "surprise" visit, making Justin wonder if he's the only one Brian hasn't already told. Probably, he rationalizes idly. Everyone back home would be going nuts about a sudden and unexcused departure, but he wouldn't have been any the wiser either way.
"Anyways," Brett says, "why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off?"
"Oh, no, Brett, I couldn't --"
"Sure, you could. You think we can't get along without you for one afternoon?" he says teasingly, and Justin can practically see his too-toothy Hollywood smile as his mouth forms the words. "Have a fabulous evening, you guys," he says, and hangs up.
"Who was that?" Brian asks, stepping out of the bathroom with his shower-dampened hair brushed back. He hasn't bothered to put a towel on, and Justin drinks in his lover's sinewy form happily and wonders how he's going to make it through five more months without it.
"It was just Brett," he replies. "He said I don't have to go back to work until tomorrow."
"Ah," Brian grins, eyeing Justin's robe-clad form and leering none-too-innocently. "I guess we'll have to find some other way to pass the time, then, won't we?"
Justin unties the sash around his waist and lets the garment pool around his ankles as his answer.
Justin arrives on the set bright and early the next day and throws himself immediately into his work. He leaves Brian back at the guest house with a note telling him to swing by after he wakes up so he can fulfill the obligatory meet-and-greet quota for this visit.
Brian breezes in at around noon, dressed in a casual pair of slacks and designer sunglasses and completely convincingly passing himself off as somebody important-looking in Hollywood. Justin spots him idling near the door (Brett had already sent over a guest pass to get him past security) and jogs over. "You came!" he beams.
"Yeah, a few times," Brian smirks, and Justin punches him playfully in the arm. He proceeds to drag Brian all around the studio, showing off the sketches of Rage's lair that he's been working on, initiating handshakes between his lover and all manner of cast and crew, introducing Brian as the "inspiration for Rage" and grinning when Brian only pretends to be annoyed by that. He knows Brian's proud of him for landing this job, can feel it radiate off of him, especially when Brian loops his arm loosely around Justin's waist while he chats up a couple of the guys in the costuming department.
And that's when Connor James steps through the open double doors, a Starbucks container in one hand and the other fumbling with his cell phone. 'Typical celebrity', Brian thinks, eyeing the man with interest. "Connor!" Justin chirps in greeting, his smile wide as they embrace.
Connor leans over to kiss his cheek, then looks curiously at Brian. "This the B.F.?" he asks. "Justin never stops talking about you," he tells Brian, eyes twinkling. "You really ARE just as hot as his drawings."
"Justin's got a good eye," Brian says smoothly, and decides that Brett Keller knew what he was doing casting Connor in the role. He can also see why Justin finds him attractive: piercing eyes, leanly muscled, and from what Justin has told him, a sizeable cock, too. He feels Connor checking him out and meets his gaze head-on, an unspoken challenge passing between the two of them.
As if on cue, Justin's cell phone rings. "Hey, Brett," he says into the receiver. "Yeah, I can do that. How long do you ... okay. Yeah. Yeah, it's no problem. Gimme two minutes and I'll be there, okay? 'Kay, bye." He folds the cell up and stuffs it back in his jeans pocket, looking apologetically up at Brian. "Brett says they need me right away over in the art department," he says. "You want to meet up for a late lunch afterwards, Brian?"
"I'll be up for it, more than likely," Brian agrees, raising a well-trimmed eyebrow at Connor. Justin takes stock of the exchange of body language and grins.
"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," he insinuates, standing on his tiptoes and pressing his lips to Brian's briefly. "See ya, Con," he says, giving the other man a quick hug, and then hurries off to do what he came to Hollywood for.
Connor meets Brian's gaze again and cocks his head. "Have you seen my trailer yet?" he asks.
Seven minutes later, Brian has him flush up against the wall of what could more be described as a mini-apartment rather than a trailer (apparently, Brett spares no expense), pants around his ankles and one hand firmly gripping the back of Brian's thigh as the other fists his own cock. He doesn't protest when Brian rolls a condom onto his own dick. "What does Justin think of you doing this?" he gasps as the well-lubricated head slides into his ass in a hot, tight pinch.
"He likes it when I fuck him in the ass, too," Brian grunts, pushing in up to the hilt, then pulling out slightly before thrusting inside again, deeper this time. He skims his hand up Connor's shirt, feeling the other man's stomach muscles constrict as his fingertips brush over firm abdominals. "Fuck," Brian breathes when Connor clenches around his cock.
"You said it," Connor gasps. Brian rubs his forehead against the other man's shoulder, thrusting deeper, his balls slapping against Connor's ass; he can feel his orgasm building, and slows his hips, not wanting it to be over yet. "You still fucking women in your spare time?" he asks, by way of 'casual conversation'.
"Yeah, sometimes," Connor moans, blinking a couple of times as if surprised by the question. "I mean, as far as Hollywood knows, I'm straighter than Richard Gere." He lolls his head back as Brian hits his prostate. "Although it - ahh - might be more difficult to stick to that story after all the 'Rage' buzz gets out," he gasps.
Brian picks up the pace again, gripping Connor's hips tightly. "Pretending to suck cock on the big screen doesn't necessarily mean you know anything about it in real life," he bites out. "Although, in your case, there's only so much 'method acting' that you can do before people are going to get suspicious." He thrusts three, four, five more times and comes, and Connor frenetically jerks himself to orgasm moments later. The statement hangs in the air, mingling with the two men's heavy breathing. Brian pulls out carefully and skims off the condom, tossing it in a nearby garbage can. Connor glances at him, flush-faced and wide-eyed as the post-orgasmic calm settles over the small space.
"I know you probably think it's cowardly," Connor finally replies, reaching for his pants and tugging them up and around his waist. "Justin says you have this whole 'no excuses, no apologies, no regrets' motto about everything, that you've never let the fact that you're gay get in the way of being successful in your career." He looks at Brian admiringly, and Brian shrugs.
"Being gay has probably helped my career in some ways," he says nonchalantly. "But you shouldn't care about seeking my approval - or anyone else's, for that matter. When you do is when you start worrying about whether or not you should enjoy your life as much as you do, and that's fucking stupid," he finishes. Connor looks impressed, but says nothing.
Justin phones about twenty minutes later and tells Brian he'll meet him at Connor's trailer. "You guys have a good time?" he asks, noticing Brian's mussed hair. He and Connor talk about wardrobe options for the movie for a few minutes, until Justin announces that his stomach is rumbling and tugs Brian towards the door. "Thanks for keeping him occupied, Con," he grins.
"It was my pleasure," Connor insists. He turns to Brian and proffers a hand, which Brian shakes. "It's gratifying to finally meet the man behind the comic book. I only hope I can learn from him and make this movie that much better." He shoots Brian his best dazzling celebrity smile, and Brian looks amused.
"I bet you say that to all the guys who fuck you in the ass."
"Nah," Connor quips. "Only the ones that look fabulous in blue spandex."
Brian stays in Hollywood for the rest of the week, drumming up possible business for Kinnetik while Justin's at work, and then hitting recommended hotspots with him at night. They manage to fuck on pretty much every flat surface in Brett's guest house (some more than once), and when it's finally time for Brian to get back to Pittsburgh, it seems all too soon.
"I miss you already," Justin laughs as he hands Brian his carry-on bag at the airport. He gives Brian one of his patented sunshine smiles, but there's a definite tinge of sadness in it, and the other man notices. He bends slightly for a kiss, and Justin winds his arms around Brian's neck, turning it into a passionate embrace that lasts several seconds. The carry-on bag is nearly forgotten by the time Brian manages to detatch himself, saying that he will call when he gets back home and double-checking to make sure all of the souvenirs he acquired for his and Justin's Liberty Avenue family are making the trip with him.
Brian watches Justin wave at him through the window once he boards the plane, and decides he won't be waiting five months to see him again. Because while he's pleased to see Justin acclimating so well to his shiny new surroundings, pleased that Justin seems to be living a fabulous life in Hollywood, he knows that Liberty Avenue and the diner and the loft won't feel like 'home' again until Justin is there with him.
But in the meantime, he decides, he can wait.