Ficlet -- "Starfucker"
Title: Starfucker
Timeframe: spoilers for season 5
Rating: PG
Word Count: 622
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It used to be Brian who disconnected first when they talked on the phone.
Justin remembers, in those early days, random calls at midnight while he tripped over his laundry basket to get to the phone before it woke up Debbie and Vic. He remembers hopping around like a fool with his stubbed toe and muffled curses as he cradled the phone to his ear and heard Brian's clipped tones, only a hint of slurring that said he'd been out to Babylon already and found the tricks that night boring and unappetizing and unable to properly cover their teeth.
"Come over," Brian would say, then hang up before Justin even got to whisper a breathless 'hello' or even think of saying anything cool like 'I'll have to check my schedule' or other things he imagined that Brian would say if Justin ever called at midnight with a demand that he come over immediately.
Now that Justin is in California, the phone calls to Brian are sporadic. Some nights he doesn't get home until four in the morning, the blow from some wild party still tingling his nose, his jaw tired from all the fake shmultzing and shmoozing and broad smiles at all the agents and producers that Brett introduces him to.
Some nights, Justin drops into bed at eight o'clock after arguing with the set director and costume all day about just why Rage could not wear some stupid looking utility belt that hid the view of his cock. Rage would never hide his package.
When Justin does call, he has things to talk about; details about the movie, the hot L.A. movie stars he's fucked (a grand total of two, so far), the story boards Justin's tearing his hair out over and how he wishes he could just get a goddamn hour or something to paint anything that isn't Rage related. He talks about the beaches and the weather and how everyone around him snorts way too much powder up their nose. He rambles on and on, interrupted every so often by a pithy comment from Brian, some sarcastic assessment, and with short updates on Debbie and his mother and Gus. Justin talks about how much he misses Brian and how he should fly out here sometime because it's fucking gorgeous and wild and decedent and he knows Brian would love it. He complains about his tan lines and laughs when Brian suggests tanning in the buff and reminds him to put sunscreen on his cock.
When he runs out of things to say, Justin says 'I love you' quietly into the phone and listens to Brian's chair shift on the other end. The silence stretches as long as Justin lets it, and if he doesn't hang up, Brian will still stay on the other end of the line, silently listening to him breathe for hours. He knows this because one night he fell into an exhasuted sleep in the middle of one of their calls and woke up sputtering with the impression of the cell phone's keypad against his cheek and Brian laughed at him and admonished him for not going to bed earlier like a good boy. Justin has no idea what his phone bill looked like. Brian had given him the sleek, high-tech cellphone as a gift before he got on the plane, and the bills go to him directly. Justin never sees it.
Most nights, Justin hangs up first, the soft sound of his 'I love you' lingering on the balmy ocean breeze.
If he hangs up right away after he says it, he can pretend that if he'd stayed on the line longer, Brian would have told him to come home.
--
Timeframe: spoilers for season 5
Rating: PG
Word Count: 622
--
It used to be Brian who disconnected first when they talked on the phone.
Justin remembers, in those early days, random calls at midnight while he tripped over his laundry basket to get to the phone before it woke up Debbie and Vic. He remembers hopping around like a fool with his stubbed toe and muffled curses as he cradled the phone to his ear and heard Brian's clipped tones, only a hint of slurring that said he'd been out to Babylon already and found the tricks that night boring and unappetizing and unable to properly cover their teeth.
"Come over," Brian would say, then hang up before Justin even got to whisper a breathless 'hello' or even think of saying anything cool like 'I'll have to check my schedule' or other things he imagined that Brian would say if Justin ever called at midnight with a demand that he come over immediately.
Now that Justin is in California, the phone calls to Brian are sporadic. Some nights he doesn't get home until four in the morning, the blow from some wild party still tingling his nose, his jaw tired from all the fake shmultzing and shmoozing and broad smiles at all the agents and producers that Brett introduces him to.
Some nights, Justin drops into bed at eight o'clock after arguing with the set director and costume all day about just why Rage could not wear some stupid looking utility belt that hid the view of his cock. Rage would never hide his package.
When Justin does call, he has things to talk about; details about the movie, the hot L.A. movie stars he's fucked (a grand total of two, so far), the story boards Justin's tearing his hair out over and how he wishes he could just get a goddamn hour or something to paint anything that isn't Rage related. He talks about the beaches and the weather and how everyone around him snorts way too much powder up their nose. He rambles on and on, interrupted every so often by a pithy comment from Brian, some sarcastic assessment, and with short updates on Debbie and his mother and Gus. Justin talks about how much he misses Brian and how he should fly out here sometime because it's fucking gorgeous and wild and decedent and he knows Brian would love it. He complains about his tan lines and laughs when Brian suggests tanning in the buff and reminds him to put sunscreen on his cock.
When he runs out of things to say, Justin says 'I love you' quietly into the phone and listens to Brian's chair shift on the other end. The silence stretches as long as Justin lets it, and if he doesn't hang up, Brian will still stay on the other end of the line, silently listening to him breathe for hours. He knows this because one night he fell into an exhasuted sleep in the middle of one of their calls and woke up sputtering with the impression of the cell phone's keypad against his cheek and Brian laughed at him and admonished him for not going to bed earlier like a good boy. Justin has no idea what his phone bill looked like. Brian had given him the sleek, high-tech cellphone as a gift before he got on the plane, and the bills go to him directly. Justin never sees it.
Most nights, Justin hangs up first, the soft sound of his 'I love you' lingering on the balmy ocean breeze.
If he hangs up right away after he says it, he can pretend that if he'd stayed on the line longer, Brian would have told him to come home.
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