FIC: Assassination 2/?
Hi... here's some new fic for you guys... 2 new chapters. Chapter 1 can be found here.
WARNING: Justin/Other
The Assassination of Brian Kinney by the Model James Ford
The Assassination of Brian Kinney By the Model James Ford
By Violet Jones
Part 2
Justin decided that he liked James the morning after they slept together for the first time. That is, the morning after the night they met.
At first, he’d been skeptical as to what would happen between them thereafter. He was having a hard time figuring whether James was a one-night-stand kind of guy, or a repeats-based-on-quality kind of guy. Eventually, he’d had to leave in order to make it to a photo shoot, and made no bones about wanting to see Justin again. He’d written his cell number on Justin’s hand in black Sharpie, despite Justin’s protests, and said, “So I know you won’t lose it.” As if Justin had had any intention of losing anything the man wanted to give him.
Justin had lain in bed for at least half an hour after James had left, wondering what he was getting himself into. Fuck James Ford he might, but enter into some half-assed relationship with him, he would not.
Justin wasn’t ready for a boyfriend who wasn’t Brian. He didn’t think he would ever be.
He’d ended up waiting three days before calling the number he’d only just gotten washed completely off his skin.
“I was beginning to think you’d lost my number after all,” James had cracked.
“Not likely. I almost resorted to bleach, or skin surgery to remove that fucking ink.”
“Well, I couldn’t let you forget me, now could I? What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“You?”
“You’ve got all the right answers, Picasso.”
James had proceeded to invite him to dinner, which Justin had declined, mendaciously claiming to have a previous obligation. Justin knew he had to do his utmost to keep this thing between them strictly all about sex.
In the end it was decided that James would come over to Justin’s sometime around 10:30.
He’d ended up arriving closer to 10, apologizing for being early, explaining that he’d been in the neighborhood already, and didn’t feel like dawdling for half an hour. Justin didn’t mind in the least, and accepted the bottle of good wine that James had brought over.
“How was dinner?” James asked while Justin distractedly searched for a corkscrew in the kitchen drawer.
“Huh?” he’d faltered. “Oh, it was fine.”
Justin felt his face go hot, and waited a beat before turning around to face James, corkscrew in hand.
“You didn’t go to dinner did you?”
“What?” Justin didn’t know how to respond, because yeah, obviously he’d been fucking lying.
“It’s cool,” James said with his almost ever-present sexy little smirk, pursing his lips slightly. “I’m assuming that since you invited me over here, turning me down for dinner had little to do with me, and more to do with you not being over your ex. Am I right?”
Blunt honesty. Yet another Brian trait shining through. Justin wasn’t quite sure where to go with the conversation. I mean, he barely knew this guy, and he was completely calling him out. It seemed to thrill him and scare him at the same time.
“Look, I’m sorry I lied, but I don’t think I really want to have this conversation with you.”
“Why not? I think you need to know a few things about me, so maybe you can relax, and we can just enjoy each other’s company.”
“Okay,” Justin relented after a brief pause. “What do you want me to know?”
“First of all, I don’t live exclusively in New York. I travel constantly for work, and I keep a condo in Hawaii and an apartment here. I’m here about half the year, on average. Secondly, I’m not what you’d call a relationship guy. I’d never propose to you the way your last boyfriend did, hell, I wouldn’t even ever call you my boyfriend. All I know is that the sex is good, and I have a feeling when we get to know each other better we’ll probably have a real good time together outside of bed. With me, there are no obligations, and I don’t want to be obligated to anybody. So… that’s my spiel, take it or leave it. What d’ya say?”
‘Well,’ Justin had thought, ‘it sounds good in theory.’ The only problem being that these were all things that Brian had thought at the outset of their relationship. You could call things whatever you wanted, but that had no bearing whatsoever on the way life and the feelings that came with it played out. Justin had always loved that quote: The road to hell is paved with good intentions. He found it insightful in more ways than one.
Despite knowing that this was treacherous territory, Justin had to give it a shot, because… well, there were lots of reasons. He’d think about those later.
“I guess that sounds like a well-meaning plan.”
“What does that mean?” James had laughed.
“It means lose the fucking clothes and stretch out on the bed immediately.”
And so it began…
James left for Rome a week later, promising to call Justin as soon as he returned in a couple of weeks.
Brian called that same afternoon.
“Justin,” he’d said after hearing the requisite greeting. And he’d said it in such a soft tone, one imbued with caring and honesty. Justin almost sobbed in relief.
“Brian,” he’d responded instead.
“How’ve you been?”
“Pretty good. I’ve actually managed to get a few pieces into a big show. I’m pretty excited about it.”
“Congratulations. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’ve just been busy,” Justin lied half-heartedly, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry ’s bullshit,” Brian said, but Justin could sense his disappointment, finding the ensuing lull of silence highly uncomfortable.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Brian finally continued.
“Not really. You?”
“Yeah,” Brian snorted, “I’ve actually acquired a gaggle of blond boyfriends who’ve all moved into the loft. I’m thinking of proposing and moving us all out to Utah.”
Justin laughed.
“What do you mean, ‘not really’?” Brian asked, becoming serious again.
‘Shit’, Justin chided himself mentally. Brian had asked him if he was seeing anyone the last two times they’d spoken. Justin had responded both times with a resolute, ‘No.’
“I mean ‘not really’,” he answered awkwardly.
“How many times have you seen him?”
“Brian! I’m not seeing anybody. It’s not like that.”
“Okay then, how many times have you fucked him?”
“If you’re gonna be a fucking asshole, we should just say our goodbyes now.”
“Why can’t you just answer the fucking question? It’s not that difficult… unless you don’t want to.”
“I did answer the question. You’re the one making it difficult. I said I’m not fucking seeing anyone, so just believe me.”
“How can I believe you when I know you’re lying, Sunshine?” he said, emphasizing the last word with an obvious sneer.
“Why should I explain myself to you, huh? You, who’ve made no obvious fucking effort to see me since I moved away nine fucking months ago! I barely even fucking talk to you, and you think I should explain anything about my life to you? Fuck you!”
“Jus-“
And Justin slammed down the receiver. Brian was never the type to call back after being hung up on. Whereas in most people that would seem a sign of passivity, in Brian it seemed like the biggest ‘fuck you’ of all.
Justin paced around his apartment smoking a cigarette, seething at Brian’s audacity. It was so fucking typical of him to ignore Justin when he wanted to, and then fucking assume that whenever he wanted he could just waltz right back and be a demanding prick. He was definitely the most infuriating man on the planet, Justin concurred.
He wondered briefly how many tricks Brian would undoubtedly fuck that night.
The short, but drama-filled conversation with Brian cast a palling shadow over Justin throughout the following weeks. He’d go from being angry to sad to irate to depressed in a vicious cycle.
When James popped back on the scene, he’d desperately needed the distraction.
At first, Justin had still been hesitant to go anywhere with James but either of their respective bedrooms. James was nice about it, but never gave up on inviting Justin to do a variety of extracurricular activities.
Finally Justin had agreed to go clubbing with him, which became a frequent pastime, before Justin finally started giving in to dinner dates, and upscale parties where models, socialites, and fashionistas flocked. Occasionally they’d take in a play.
Justin had started up an inside joke of sorts, because they’d been spending so much time together when James was in town. They were eating lunch one day, and Justin had said, “So, you’re not my boyfriend, right?” And they’d both laughed at the randomness of the question, before James had responded, “Of course not, Hot Lips.”
Justin had learned more than a thing or two about James during that time. Aside from his hilarious penchant for giving him and everyone else they came across a new nickname everyday, and his over-the-top Southern charm, Justin learned deeper, darker things as well. He’d been told about the man’s criminal past, working as a conman, and using the pseudonym Sawyer. He’d hinted at a tragic childhood, but had yet to open up about any details of that distant time in his life.
Justin already thought that James was one of the most interesting people he’d ever met, but that was nothing to what he thought of him when the most fascinating information was revealed to him in bed one night.
“This is gonna sound completely full of shit, but… I was stranded on an island for a year.”
Justin had studied the serious look on his face, remembered he was an actor, and burst out laughing. He was struggling to stop, but it was hard. When he finally did James was smirking, but subdued, and still slightly on the serious side.
“I knew you’d react that way, but I promise it’s the truth.”
“No fucking way. You’re a good actor, I’ll admit, but just… no fucking way.”
“Go look it up on the internet. Oceanic flight 815 from Sydney to LA, September 22nd, 2004.”
Justin froze.
“Wait a minute, I’ve heard about that flight. Everyone thought the entire plane full of people was dead, but a group pf them were stuck on an unmapped island. They were all famous for about 15 minutes, and then drifted into obscurity. There’s no fucking way you were on that plane.”
“A year of my life that I would just as soon have erased from my memory,” he said so sincerely that Justin had started to believe him.
“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you? You were stranded on a deserted island!”
“I wouldn’t call it deserted. It was definitely inhabited in more ways than one.”
And Justin had listened as James recounted the highlights of his year on a completely freaky, fucked up, mythical, experimental island, totally enraptured. Talk about a fucking story. And Justin had discreetly looked up facts on the matter over the internet when he was alone at his place, proving it all to be true. James had been surprised that Justin hadn’t known about it in the first place.
“How do you think I went from former con artist to actor, slash, model? It was because of those 15 minutes you were talking about earlier.”
“Oh, well, excuse me for thinking that it was based on your looks and talent.”
Despite the exchange of personal information (Justin had told him all about the bashing, and his tumultuous relationship with Brian), and the increasingly frequent outings on the town, Justin refused to think of James as anything other than a distraction from Brian Kinney’s absence in his life. Sure, he was a smart, sexy, clever distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. All the good qualities in the world could never put a guy on par with Brian.
At the moment, Justin was facing a dilemma. His show was fast approaching and there had been an inkling that some members of the Pittsburgh gang would show up. That was all well and good aside from the fact that James was flying back into town especially, during a break in modeling runway shows in London and Milan. He really didn’t think that Brian would show up, due to the nature of their last conversation, but that wouldn’t matter if any of their extended family got a glimpse of he and James together and reported back to Brian.
It kind of bothered Justin that he didn’t want Brian to know about James, but he just thought it would be easier if he didn’t. He didn’t want Brian making assumptions that he was in some fantastically ideal relationship, and that he didn’t need him anymore, because that wasn’t true. He did need Brian. He’d always need Brian. James was just a bit of fun... his favorite non-Brian distraction. This was his newest mantra.
The day of the show rolled around, and Justin had never felt so on pins and needles. It definitely had to do with his art being shown to a wide array of New York critics, but more to do with his personal strife.
‘Please,’ Justin thought. ‘Please don’t let Brian show up tonight.’
***** ***** ***** *****
WARNING: Justin/Other
The Assassination of Brian Kinney by the Model James Ford
The Assassination of Brian Kinney By the Model James Ford
By Violet Jones
Part 2
Justin decided that he liked James the morning after they slept together for the first time. That is, the morning after the night they met.
At first, he’d been skeptical as to what would happen between them thereafter. He was having a hard time figuring whether James was a one-night-stand kind of guy, or a repeats-based-on-quality kind of guy. Eventually, he’d had to leave in order to make it to a photo shoot, and made no bones about wanting to see Justin again. He’d written his cell number on Justin’s hand in black Sharpie, despite Justin’s protests, and said, “So I know you won’t lose it.” As if Justin had had any intention of losing anything the man wanted to give him.
Justin had lain in bed for at least half an hour after James had left, wondering what he was getting himself into. Fuck James Ford he might, but enter into some half-assed relationship with him, he would not.
Justin wasn’t ready for a boyfriend who wasn’t Brian. He didn’t think he would ever be.
He’d ended up waiting three days before calling the number he’d only just gotten washed completely off his skin.
“I was beginning to think you’d lost my number after all,” James had cracked.
“Not likely. I almost resorted to bleach, or skin surgery to remove that fucking ink.”
“Well, I couldn’t let you forget me, now could I? What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“You?”
“You’ve got all the right answers, Picasso.”
James had proceeded to invite him to dinner, which Justin had declined, mendaciously claiming to have a previous obligation. Justin knew he had to do his utmost to keep this thing between them strictly all about sex.
In the end it was decided that James would come over to Justin’s sometime around 10:30.
He’d ended up arriving closer to 10, apologizing for being early, explaining that he’d been in the neighborhood already, and didn’t feel like dawdling for half an hour. Justin didn’t mind in the least, and accepted the bottle of good wine that James had brought over.
“How was dinner?” James asked while Justin distractedly searched for a corkscrew in the kitchen drawer.
“Huh?” he’d faltered. “Oh, it was fine.”
Justin felt his face go hot, and waited a beat before turning around to face James, corkscrew in hand.
“You didn’t go to dinner did you?”
“What?” Justin didn’t know how to respond, because yeah, obviously he’d been fucking lying.
“It’s cool,” James said with his almost ever-present sexy little smirk, pursing his lips slightly. “I’m assuming that since you invited me over here, turning me down for dinner had little to do with me, and more to do with you not being over your ex. Am I right?”
Blunt honesty. Yet another Brian trait shining through. Justin wasn’t quite sure where to go with the conversation. I mean, he barely knew this guy, and he was completely calling him out. It seemed to thrill him and scare him at the same time.
“Look, I’m sorry I lied, but I don’t think I really want to have this conversation with you.”
“Why not? I think you need to know a few things about me, so maybe you can relax, and we can just enjoy each other’s company.”
“Okay,” Justin relented after a brief pause. “What do you want me to know?”
“First of all, I don’t live exclusively in New York. I travel constantly for work, and I keep a condo in Hawaii and an apartment here. I’m here about half the year, on average. Secondly, I’m not what you’d call a relationship guy. I’d never propose to you the way your last boyfriend did, hell, I wouldn’t even ever call you my boyfriend. All I know is that the sex is good, and I have a feeling when we get to know each other better we’ll probably have a real good time together outside of bed. With me, there are no obligations, and I don’t want to be obligated to anybody. So… that’s my spiel, take it or leave it. What d’ya say?”
‘Well,’ Justin had thought, ‘it sounds good in theory.’ The only problem being that these were all things that Brian had thought at the outset of their relationship. You could call things whatever you wanted, but that had no bearing whatsoever on the way life and the feelings that came with it played out. Justin had always loved that quote: The road to hell is paved with good intentions. He found it insightful in more ways than one.
Despite knowing that this was treacherous territory, Justin had to give it a shot, because… well, there were lots of reasons. He’d think about those later.
“I guess that sounds like a well-meaning plan.”
“What does that mean?” James had laughed.
“It means lose the fucking clothes and stretch out on the bed immediately.”
And so it began…
James left for Rome a week later, promising to call Justin as soon as he returned in a couple of weeks.
Brian called that same afternoon.
“Justin,” he’d said after hearing the requisite greeting. And he’d said it in such a soft tone, one imbued with caring and honesty. Justin almost sobbed in relief.
“Brian,” he’d responded instead.
“How’ve you been?”
“Pretty good. I’ve actually managed to get a few pieces into a big show. I’m pretty excited about it.”
“Congratulations. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’ve just been busy,” Justin lied half-heartedly, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry ’s bullshit,” Brian said, but Justin could sense his disappointment, finding the ensuing lull of silence highly uncomfortable.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Brian finally continued.
“Not really. You?”
“Yeah,” Brian snorted, “I’ve actually acquired a gaggle of blond boyfriends who’ve all moved into the loft. I’m thinking of proposing and moving us all out to Utah.”
Justin laughed.
“What do you mean, ‘not really’?” Brian asked, becoming serious again.
‘Shit’, Justin chided himself mentally. Brian had asked him if he was seeing anyone the last two times they’d spoken. Justin had responded both times with a resolute, ‘No.’
“I mean ‘not really’,” he answered awkwardly.
“How many times have you seen him?”
“Brian! I’m not seeing anybody. It’s not like that.”
“Okay then, how many times have you fucked him?”
“If you’re gonna be a fucking asshole, we should just say our goodbyes now.”
“Why can’t you just answer the fucking question? It’s not that difficult… unless you don’t want to.”
“I did answer the question. You’re the one making it difficult. I said I’m not fucking seeing anyone, so just believe me.”
“How can I believe you when I know you’re lying, Sunshine?” he said, emphasizing the last word with an obvious sneer.
“Why should I explain myself to you, huh? You, who’ve made no obvious fucking effort to see me since I moved away nine fucking months ago! I barely even fucking talk to you, and you think I should explain anything about my life to you? Fuck you!”
“Jus-“
And Justin slammed down the receiver. Brian was never the type to call back after being hung up on. Whereas in most people that would seem a sign of passivity, in Brian it seemed like the biggest ‘fuck you’ of all.
Justin paced around his apartment smoking a cigarette, seething at Brian’s audacity. It was so fucking typical of him to ignore Justin when he wanted to, and then fucking assume that whenever he wanted he could just waltz right back and be a demanding prick. He was definitely the most infuriating man on the planet, Justin concurred.
He wondered briefly how many tricks Brian would undoubtedly fuck that night.
The short, but drama-filled conversation with Brian cast a palling shadow over Justin throughout the following weeks. He’d go from being angry to sad to irate to depressed in a vicious cycle.
When James popped back on the scene, he’d desperately needed the distraction.
At first, Justin had still been hesitant to go anywhere with James but either of their respective bedrooms. James was nice about it, but never gave up on inviting Justin to do a variety of extracurricular activities.
Finally Justin had agreed to go clubbing with him, which became a frequent pastime, before Justin finally started giving in to dinner dates, and upscale parties where models, socialites, and fashionistas flocked. Occasionally they’d take in a play.
Justin had started up an inside joke of sorts, because they’d been spending so much time together when James was in town. They were eating lunch one day, and Justin had said, “So, you’re not my boyfriend, right?” And they’d both laughed at the randomness of the question, before James had responded, “Of course not, Hot Lips.”
Justin had learned more than a thing or two about James during that time. Aside from his hilarious penchant for giving him and everyone else they came across a new nickname everyday, and his over-the-top Southern charm, Justin learned deeper, darker things as well. He’d been told about the man’s criminal past, working as a conman, and using the pseudonym Sawyer. He’d hinted at a tragic childhood, but had yet to open up about any details of that distant time in his life.
Justin already thought that James was one of the most interesting people he’d ever met, but that was nothing to what he thought of him when the most fascinating information was revealed to him in bed one night.
“This is gonna sound completely full of shit, but… I was stranded on an island for a year.”
Justin had studied the serious look on his face, remembered he was an actor, and burst out laughing. He was struggling to stop, but it was hard. When he finally did James was smirking, but subdued, and still slightly on the serious side.
“I knew you’d react that way, but I promise it’s the truth.”
“No fucking way. You’re a good actor, I’ll admit, but just… no fucking way.”
“Go look it up on the internet. Oceanic flight 815 from Sydney to LA, September 22nd, 2004.”
Justin froze.
“Wait a minute, I’ve heard about that flight. Everyone thought the entire plane full of people was dead, but a group pf them were stuck on an unmapped island. They were all famous for about 15 minutes, and then drifted into obscurity. There’s no fucking way you were on that plane.”
“A year of my life that I would just as soon have erased from my memory,” he said so sincerely that Justin had started to believe him.
“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you? You were stranded on a deserted island!”
“I wouldn’t call it deserted. It was definitely inhabited in more ways than one.”
And Justin had listened as James recounted the highlights of his year on a completely freaky, fucked up, mythical, experimental island, totally enraptured. Talk about a fucking story. And Justin had discreetly looked up facts on the matter over the internet when he was alone at his place, proving it all to be true. James had been surprised that Justin hadn’t known about it in the first place.
“How do you think I went from former con artist to actor, slash, model? It was because of those 15 minutes you were talking about earlier.”
“Oh, well, excuse me for thinking that it was based on your looks and talent.”
Despite the exchange of personal information (Justin had told him all about the bashing, and his tumultuous relationship with Brian), and the increasingly frequent outings on the town, Justin refused to think of James as anything other than a distraction from Brian Kinney’s absence in his life. Sure, he was a smart, sexy, clever distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. All the good qualities in the world could never put a guy on par with Brian.
At the moment, Justin was facing a dilemma. His show was fast approaching and there had been an inkling that some members of the Pittsburgh gang would show up. That was all well and good aside from the fact that James was flying back into town especially, during a break in modeling runway shows in London and Milan. He really didn’t think that Brian would show up, due to the nature of their last conversation, but that wouldn’t matter if any of their extended family got a glimpse of he and James together and reported back to Brian.
It kind of bothered Justin that he didn’t want Brian to know about James, but he just thought it would be easier if he didn’t. He didn’t want Brian making assumptions that he was in some fantastically ideal relationship, and that he didn’t need him anymore, because that wasn’t true. He did need Brian. He’d always need Brian. James was just a bit of fun... his favorite non-Brian distraction. This was his newest mantra.
The day of the show rolled around, and Justin had never felt so on pins and needles. It definitely had to do with his art being shown to a wide array of New York critics, but more to do with his personal strife.
‘Please,’ Justin thought. ‘Please don’t let Brian show up tonight.’
***** ***** ***** *****