update: By Faith and By Fire (part 1 of 4)
By Faith and By Fire.
Justin Timberlake in Deadwood. No law can make it respectable. [Chris/Justin]
A Deadwood/popslash crossover. If you don't know Deadwood, that hurts my heart a littlethink of it as an Old West AU, with added cursing!
Read it all in one shot on the website:
[By Faith and By Fire]
or in parts on lj:
i. easy
The soft wet breathing of an animal in pain draws Jane into the stable even though she has important drinking business on the other side of the street. She's never been able to walk away from a dumb creature that's hurting, one of the multitude of things that sets her out from near everyone she's come across on this earth. She steps as quiet as she can onto the straw, careful not to scare the poor thing. A muffled fuck stills her for a moment but then she walks further in. She's been known to walk away from bleeding men -- hell, she's been known to cause the bleeding -- but she's got to be a lot more drunk or a lot more sober than she is right now to do it easy.
"You all right there?" she says. It's a piss poor question but she's not looking to be enlightened by the answer but just to make her presence known. A scared man is worse than a rat when he's cornered.
All men are born deceivers, she's heard that from more than one woman in her life, and she's tempted to believe it, because only a man will lie with hope of neither gain nor belief. This man is no different, because he mumbles, "Fine, go away," but the face he turns up to hers is bruised raw.
It's not a man's face, nor a boy's, but something in between, neither one nor the other. There's nothing sits easier with Jane than what lives in the in between places of this world, and so she hunkers down next to him and holds out the bottle she's carrying.
"I believe a generous application of this'll cure just about any fucking ailment's been heard of on this sickly Earth."
He smiles so fast Jane almost mistakes it for a flinch, and tilts the bottle to his mouth. When he coughs his swallow up Jane laughs and then flinches herself at the blood leaking from his lip.
He's quick to see it, quicker than Jane is to hide it, and he hands the bottle back to her and leans against the wall, holding himself up tight.
"Ain't what you expected, huh, kid?" Jane says, rough to make him relax. "Reckon you're used to a little better fucking quality."
When he turns back to her Jane hands him the bottle and it goes down smoother this time. "I been used to worse," he says, and then he coughs again, not on the liquor but like there's something deeper inside him he's trying to get rid of.
"Easy," Jane says, and lets her hand fall gentle along his sleeve. Even torn it tells against him, soft and fine and costlier than everything Jane's wearing put together. Maybe he's been used to worse, but not recently.
When the kid stops coughing he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, red streaking against his skin, and Jane says, "I know you," before she thinks about where she knows him from. He looks up at her, something more than curious, and Jane knows he can't place her.
He'd been leaning against the door of the hotel when she'd seen him, his hat tipped over half his face, and Jane would've thought him just another rich boy come west looking for more, would've thought that and then forgotten him except for the low steady murmur that seemed to rise from the men walking past. It reminded her of something, though she couldn't remember what, and she sat down opposite to drink until she did.
An overstuffed suit spilled out of the hotel, gold watch chain straining across the vest to keep the man inside it, a man Jane would've called piggish but for the insult to pigs. Two tall men stood behind him, arms crossed and eyes searching the street for a fight. "Justin," the pig man said.
When he wrapped his fist around the kid's wrist Jane knew what the angry buzz from the men meant, and why it wouldn't ever rise to anything more. Jane would've gone back to her drink except just then the pig man said, "Justin," again, sharper, and the kid lifted his head up so Jane could see his eyes.
Once back in Kansas some damn fool Charlie Utter'd hired had found a wolf cub, half starving and on its own, and vowed he'd raise it to follow him like a dog, keeping it on a lead and tying it up whenever they were camped. Walking past one night Jane had heard a sound like none before or since, a wet gnawing and a growl pained and proud at the same time. When she stopped she found the wolf tearing at its own flesh with its teeth, trying to work free of the leash. By the time Jane pulled her knife to cut the rope, her hands clumsy with horror, the beast fell heavily to the ground, red bubbling through the wound with every breath. That night Jane slit its throat and the next day she ran the man off, taunting him into a fight and then whipping him in front of everyone. Utter had tried to stop her but Bill held him back. The night before he'd found Jane sitting with her bloody knife in her lap. "Was it fucking worth it, do you think?" she'd asked him, and Bill had said gravely,
"You're the last person I'd figure to have to ask that question."
Now the kid says, "You know me," and it's not quite a question. The eyes he raises to her face aren't pained and proud, but wary above his bruises.
"I must've seen you around," Jane says. "Every once in a while I open my fucking eyes," and she takes the bottle back from him and rips a strip off the edge of her shirt. She pours the whiskey over it, asking silent forgiveness for the waste of good or at least middling drink, and swipes at the blood on the kid's lip.
He hisses and puts a hand up to stop her, and Jane knows it must sting like hell but he keeps his hand gentle against hers. His shirt is expensive but his hands are calloused and rough like Jane's. Jane pushes his head back against the wall and wipes it clean. "Hold still one cocksucking minute, kid," she says as he fights her, and he opens his mouth and then shuts it hard enough that Jane can hear his teeth click.
"Now, there's no need to take what I said personal," Jane says. He looks at her for a minute and then he throws his head back and laughs until his mouth starts bleeding again.
"I was going to tell you not to call me kid," he says, and Jane laughs too and then says,
"Well, what should I call you, then?"
"Justin," he says, and holds out a hand for Jane to shake.
"They call me Jane -- well, most folk call me any manner of things but that's the one I'll repeat in mixed company," and Justin smiles at her. "So how long will you be sojourning in our fair fucking town?" Jane asks, and Justin's smile slides away.
"I guess a while," he says. "We -- I was just stopping on my way east, but now I guess ... well, I guess my plans have changed."
"You got a place to stay?" Jane says, and again he's quicker than she is, because he hears her concern in her voice before she can rough it away. He looks down and Jane gets to her feet and brushes off her trousers until he's ready to answer her.
"I'm fine," he says, which isn't what she asked but Jane doesn't push him. She nods and looks away again as he shoves himself up, moving like there's more to him hurt than just his face. "I'm gonna look for work," he says, and Jane nods again.
"Maybe I'll hear of something," she says. "What can you do?"
He hasn't forgotten the pity she couldn't hide, maybe, because he doesn't answer but lets his gaze move up and down her body and then wipes his mouth deliberately. She's been thinking that he's somewhere between man and boy but it isn't till now that she realizes that means he's both of those things. His look now is a man's look, hard and calculating, and Jane takes a step back and puts a hand behind her to the solid wall before she steadies her voice to say sternly,
"You'll find no need for that with me."
Justin meets her eyes and it's his turn to nod. "All right," he says, and Jane lets go of the wall.
"What else can you do?" she says.
He thinks for a minute, and then he says, "I can sing." His face is lit up and it's the boy in him she sees now. Even so, Jane knows to be careful not to let anything seep through in her voice when she says,
"I don't think you'll find much need of that in this Godforsaken town."
Justin wipes a hand across his mouth again and says, "I'll find something. I always do." He starts to walk past her and then stops. "Thank you, for the drink, and -- well, I guess I'll see you around."
He's at the stable door, peering out at the street like he's never seen it before when Jane says, "Wait. I've got an idea." Justin doesn't ask, just looks at her as she walks past him onto the street.
"Well, are you coming?" Jane says over her shoulder, and smiles as he runs the last few steps to meet her.
(ii. burn)
(iii. flinch)
(iv. dirt)
Justin Timberlake in Deadwood. No law can make it respectable. [Chris/Justin]
A Deadwood/popslash crossover. If you don't know Deadwood, that hurts my heart a littlethink of it as an Old West AU, with added cursing!
Read it all in one shot on the website:
[By Faith and By Fire]
or in parts on lj:
i. easy
The soft wet breathing of an animal in pain draws Jane into the stable even though she has important drinking business on the other side of the street. She's never been able to walk away from a dumb creature that's hurting, one of the multitude of things that sets her out from near everyone she's come across on this earth. She steps as quiet as she can onto the straw, careful not to scare the poor thing. A muffled fuck stills her for a moment but then she walks further in. She's been known to walk away from bleeding men -- hell, she's been known to cause the bleeding -- but she's got to be a lot more drunk or a lot more sober than she is right now to do it easy.
"You all right there?" she says. It's a piss poor question but she's not looking to be enlightened by the answer but just to make her presence known. A scared man is worse than a rat when he's cornered.
All men are born deceivers, she's heard that from more than one woman in her life, and she's tempted to believe it, because only a man will lie with hope of neither gain nor belief. This man is no different, because he mumbles, "Fine, go away," but the face he turns up to hers is bruised raw.
It's not a man's face, nor a boy's, but something in between, neither one nor the other. There's nothing sits easier with Jane than what lives in the in between places of this world, and so she hunkers down next to him and holds out the bottle she's carrying.
"I believe a generous application of this'll cure just about any fucking ailment's been heard of on this sickly Earth."
He smiles so fast Jane almost mistakes it for a flinch, and tilts the bottle to his mouth. When he coughs his swallow up Jane laughs and then flinches herself at the blood leaking from his lip.
He's quick to see it, quicker than Jane is to hide it, and he hands the bottle back to her and leans against the wall, holding himself up tight.
"Ain't what you expected, huh, kid?" Jane says, rough to make him relax. "Reckon you're used to a little better fucking quality."
When he turns back to her Jane hands him the bottle and it goes down smoother this time. "I been used to worse," he says, and then he coughs again, not on the liquor but like there's something deeper inside him he's trying to get rid of.
"Easy," Jane says, and lets her hand fall gentle along his sleeve. Even torn it tells against him, soft and fine and costlier than everything Jane's wearing put together. Maybe he's been used to worse, but not recently.
When the kid stops coughing he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, red streaking against his skin, and Jane says, "I know you," before she thinks about where she knows him from. He looks up at her, something more than curious, and Jane knows he can't place her.
He'd been leaning against the door of the hotel when she'd seen him, his hat tipped over half his face, and Jane would've thought him just another rich boy come west looking for more, would've thought that and then forgotten him except for the low steady murmur that seemed to rise from the men walking past. It reminded her of something, though she couldn't remember what, and she sat down opposite to drink until she did.
An overstuffed suit spilled out of the hotel, gold watch chain straining across the vest to keep the man inside it, a man Jane would've called piggish but for the insult to pigs. Two tall men stood behind him, arms crossed and eyes searching the street for a fight. "Justin," the pig man said.
When he wrapped his fist around the kid's wrist Jane knew what the angry buzz from the men meant, and why it wouldn't ever rise to anything more. Jane would've gone back to her drink except just then the pig man said, "Justin," again, sharper, and the kid lifted his head up so Jane could see his eyes.
Once back in Kansas some damn fool Charlie Utter'd hired had found a wolf cub, half starving and on its own, and vowed he'd raise it to follow him like a dog, keeping it on a lead and tying it up whenever they were camped. Walking past one night Jane had heard a sound like none before or since, a wet gnawing and a growl pained and proud at the same time. When she stopped she found the wolf tearing at its own flesh with its teeth, trying to work free of the leash. By the time Jane pulled her knife to cut the rope, her hands clumsy with horror, the beast fell heavily to the ground, red bubbling through the wound with every breath. That night Jane slit its throat and the next day she ran the man off, taunting him into a fight and then whipping him in front of everyone. Utter had tried to stop her but Bill held him back. The night before he'd found Jane sitting with her bloody knife in her lap. "Was it fucking worth it, do you think?" she'd asked him, and Bill had said gravely,
"You're the last person I'd figure to have to ask that question."
Now the kid says, "You know me," and it's not quite a question. The eyes he raises to her face aren't pained and proud, but wary above his bruises.
"I must've seen you around," Jane says. "Every once in a while I open my fucking eyes," and she takes the bottle back from him and rips a strip off the edge of her shirt. She pours the whiskey over it, asking silent forgiveness for the waste of good or at least middling drink, and swipes at the blood on the kid's lip.
He hisses and puts a hand up to stop her, and Jane knows it must sting like hell but he keeps his hand gentle against hers. His shirt is expensive but his hands are calloused and rough like Jane's. Jane pushes his head back against the wall and wipes it clean. "Hold still one cocksucking minute, kid," she says as he fights her, and he opens his mouth and then shuts it hard enough that Jane can hear his teeth click.
"Now, there's no need to take what I said personal," Jane says. He looks at her for a minute and then he throws his head back and laughs until his mouth starts bleeding again.
"I was going to tell you not to call me kid," he says, and Jane laughs too and then says,
"Well, what should I call you, then?"
"Justin," he says, and holds out a hand for Jane to shake.
"They call me Jane -- well, most folk call me any manner of things but that's the one I'll repeat in mixed company," and Justin smiles at her. "So how long will you be sojourning in our fair fucking town?" Jane asks, and Justin's smile slides away.
"I guess a while," he says. "We -- I was just stopping on my way east, but now I guess ... well, I guess my plans have changed."
"You got a place to stay?" Jane says, and again he's quicker than she is, because he hears her concern in her voice before she can rough it away. He looks down and Jane gets to her feet and brushes off her trousers until he's ready to answer her.
"I'm fine," he says, which isn't what she asked but Jane doesn't push him. She nods and looks away again as he shoves himself up, moving like there's more to him hurt than just his face. "I'm gonna look for work," he says, and Jane nods again.
"Maybe I'll hear of something," she says. "What can you do?"
He hasn't forgotten the pity she couldn't hide, maybe, because he doesn't answer but lets his gaze move up and down her body and then wipes his mouth deliberately. She's been thinking that he's somewhere between man and boy but it isn't till now that she realizes that means he's both of those things. His look now is a man's look, hard and calculating, and Jane takes a step back and puts a hand behind her to the solid wall before she steadies her voice to say sternly,
"You'll find no need for that with me."
Justin meets her eyes and it's his turn to nod. "All right," he says, and Jane lets go of the wall.
"What else can you do?" she says.
He thinks for a minute, and then he says, "I can sing." His face is lit up and it's the boy in him she sees now. Even so, Jane knows to be careful not to let anything seep through in her voice when she says,
"I don't think you'll find much need of that in this Godforsaken town."
Justin wipes a hand across his mouth again and says, "I'll find something. I always do." He starts to walk past her and then stops. "Thank you, for the drink, and -- well, I guess I'll see you around."
He's at the stable door, peering out at the street like he's never seen it before when Jane says, "Wait. I've got an idea." Justin doesn't ask, just looks at her as she walks past him onto the street.
"Well, are you coming?" Jane says over her shoulder, and smiles as he runs the last few steps to meet her.
(ii. burn)
(iii. flinch)
(iv. dirt)