RPS: Now Everybody Dance | Popslash | Justin/K-Fed | Adult
Now Everybody Dance
Fandom: Popslash
Pairing: *cough* J-Fed
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Wow, is this a lie.
Comments: Written because azewewish thought of it, and then I couldn't NOT, and now she owes me. Big. Also, because once I decided that Justin/K-Fed would be called J-Fed?? Yeah. And thanks to anasuede for the beta. Visual aides are included.
Warnings: drug use!! OMG, drug use. And K-Fed.
The first time they meet is at rehearsals for the Grammys. They're doing 'Girlfriend' and Justin should be totally excited about it because 'Girlfriend' is the single even though JC argued hard for 'Up Against the Wall' and almost threw a fit, but the label likes Justin better, Justin will take his shirt off for photo shoots so everyone likes him better than JC, really, and the rest of the guys didn't want to get involved, so it's 'Girlfriend,' and Justin should be happy. Except that he's still upset about Britney, Britney and fucking Wade, for fuck's sake, who was, like, his third-okay fourth-best friend in the world, until he went and fucked Justin's girlfriend.
Justin's really starting to hate the word 'girlfriend.' It's in the song a lot. At least he didn't write that one with Wade.
So Britney is a whore and Wade is a backstabbing bitch, and Justin really does cry himself to sleep at night. JC gets really annoyed with him when they're on the bus and tells him to shut the hell up. Actually, what JC does is throw shoes through the curtains of Justin's bunk and scream, "Stop your whining, bitch, you cheated on her, too!" JC has a lot of shoes. Some of them have heels. Justin suspects this is because JC likes to wear women's clothing.
JC likes Britney, possibly also because of the women's clothing thing. He cries about the breakup more than Justin does, even. But JC likes sleep more. It's a whole cyclical thing with the crying and the shoes and the yelling. It makes it a lot easier to fuck JC over when it comes to choosing singles, except that now Justin's just pissed and they have to find a new choreographer. The style is totally different than Wade and Justin pretends like that's a good thing and it's what they wanted and it has nothing to do with Britney the slutmonster, but it's, whatever. It's a new thing they have to learn, and then they get asked to do the Grammys.
He meets Calvin-or maybe his name is Dylan, something like that anyway, something dancer boy-y and gay-sounding-at the Grammys rehearsals. Marty hired the dancers, Marty the new choreographer, and Justin wouldn't even really notice except that Calvin-Dylan-whatever is slightly taller than Justin. But he's a good dancer, not as good as Justin, but really good, and Justin is angry as fuck. Britney is there and Justin's angry, and that's his excuse. People start saying that he's fucking one of the dancers.
He fucks a dancer, alright. It's just not Jenna.
Lance is waiting for him in the living room of the suite when he wakes up the next morning, looking all sharky and satisfied, like he just closed five deals and made a million dollars and told MTV that Nick Carter is looking fat these days, all at the same time. Justin just grunts at him and goes for the cereal. He has a hangover, his dick aches in a way that he can't tell is good or bad yet, and he doesn't feel like dealing with Lance. Lance is going to fucking space, screw Lance.
"So," Lance says once Justin's poured his milk just so, so that's it's only just covering his Cap'n Crunch, not to the point that anything is floating, but just enough. Justin is very particular about his milk-to-cereal ratio. Because soggy cereal is just gross, man.
"So," Justin mumbles back.
"You did Kevin last night, huh?"
"I thought his name was Calvin? Or like, maybe Dylan. I'm pretty sure it was Dylan, dude."
"Tall? Cornrows? Sort of scruffy?"
"Mmm. Yeah. It was kinda like fucking myself, man."
Lance snorts. "Yeah, that's Kevin."
"You know him?" Justin raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't fuck him, if that's what you mean. Stop trying to imply, Justin, you suck at it. But I know him, sort of. You realize he's, like, semi-retarded, right? I mean, the guy can't form complete sentences, and I seriously doubt his reading and or writing abilities."
Justin shrugs. "We didn't really, um, talk. Much." For a semi-retard, Justin thinks, Calvin was really fucking good in bed. Really nice dick. Like, so nice Justin was actually tempted to suck it, and Justin does not suck dick for anybody. Well. So he'd probably suck Nelly's dick, or Pharell's, but neither of them is interested in him that way. They like, like him for his musical talent or something. Justin is a genius though, so that's kind of understandable. Not everyone has to love him because he's beautiful.
Lance just shakes his head and does that annoying clucking thing with his tongue. Justin wishes he could kick Lance out of the band, but the rest of the guys seem to like him for some reason, and the fans seem to like him for even less reason that Justin can see, because Lance isn't even hot, he can't dance, and he doesn't have solos. Justin is way better. Justin's a musical genius, yo. Rappers even like him, and not for cocksucking or anything.
"What?" Justin says finally, glaring. He can't fucking wait until he goes solo and never has to deal with these bitches again. "Just fucking WHAT?"
"I just can't believe you fucked a semi-retard, man. That's like. Illegal in some states. Also, it's sick and wrong."
"Whatever, he's not really retarded. You're just fucking with me, asshole." Justin eats his cereal, crunch crunch crunch, and he doesn't think about Britney or semi-retarded guys or Lance going to space. Space is really far away. And it's, like, fucking space. It's the gayest thing Lance has ever done, and Lance isn't even gay. Plus, Dylan is totally not retarded.
"He's not really retarded, right?"
Lance just smiles. Justin really hates him. He hopes Lance gets lost in space. Forever.
*
Calvin-Kevin, whatever, he doesn't even look like a Kevin-turns out to be one of Marty's favorites, which is how he gets booked for 'Like I Love You.' It has nothing to do with the whole fantastically awesome sex Justin had with him that one time, because really, Justin is so high the day they do the casting, he just sits there blankly and stares while the dancers go through the combination, trying not to drool or say anything too embarrassing.
Britney fucked him up though, yo. It's all that cheating whore's fault that Justin is a pot head now. Justin really, really hates her, and he still cries himself to sleep at night, and he's pretty sure he wrote a song about how horrible she is but he can't really remember it because he was, like, totally high at the time. Britney turned him into this horrible person who does drugs and writes mean songs and says even meaner things on the radio and fucks random guys. Well, okay, so Justin maybe fucked some random guys before Britney cheated on him, but only, like, five of them, and one of them doesn't even count because it was JC and really really bad. Justin's pretty sure he didn't even get off that time with JC (although JC did, all over Justin's new Dolce & Gabbana sneakers, that fucker), so that doesn't even count. Four random guys, that's not a habit, so really, this whole Dylan situation is Britney's fault.
Justin never liked dick before. Much.
Shooting the video pretty much sucks. They have to do all the filming really late at night and pay the 7-11 franchise owner about a fuckton of money to close the store for their use, even though they're totally getting free publicity by being in the video and Justin even agrees to wearing a (totally lame) 7-11 t-shirt. He tries to tell himself it's purposefully ironic, or whatever, but he thinks he maybe doesn't really understand irony in the first place, so.
It just sort of happens, that he goes home with Dylan when the shoot ends. Dylan lives in this crappy studio apartment in a really scary part of town. He has a mattress and uses a cardboard box as a nightstand/dining table, and that's pretty much it. The place is clean, at least, but mostly because there's nothing in it. He doesn't even have a shower curtain, or a bathmat. Justin tells himself it's an experience. It's good to know how the masses live and stuff, so he can connect better with the fans. Plus, Dylan is really hot.
They fuck for a week straight. Dylan scores some fantastic pot, and it turns out that he knows some guys he used to run with back in Fresno who started this fake non-profit as a front for a drug ring. Lance turns out to be wrong-Dylan isn't retarded at all, or even semi-retarded, not if he can help start his own drug front operation. He's not like, a fucking Einstein or whatever, he's not Justin or even JC or Chris, but he's okay. He's smarter than Britney, maybe.
Or at least, Justin assumes so. They still don't really talk. They smoke, and listen to rap music, because Dylan, it turns out, really likes rap, and Justin quizzes him on the other people Dylan's danced for.
"Michael Jackson was chill, yo. I mean, I seriously don't think he molested those kids or whatever, you know? He's, like, a nice guy."
"Yeah," Justin nods, taking a hit off his joint. He doesn't really feel the need to say anything else. He likes Michael. He really hopes Michael didn't molest anyone, but he's really glad he got to use some of the tracks that were supposed to be on Michael's album, even if some of them do really suck, so that whole trial thing is kind of working out for Justin.
They fuck a lot. Dylan gives really great head, way better than Britney ever did, and his ass is tighter than any part of hers ever was. Justin likes fucking Dylan because for once, it's totally not about him. It's like Dylan doesn't even want to be there, isn't really even into guys or something, but he'll do Justin because Justin can maybe get him on his tour, get him some steady work for a couple months. And maybe Justin will, but probably not. Justin doesn't like being shorter than people, even by just a little. But it's nice to feel like he's not really wanted. Justin doesn't think about what that might mean. He's not selfish, he just takes what he can.
It's sort of his last hurrah, or whatever they call it. His last binge, his last bit of stupidity before promo and tour and all that crap, so when Dylan comes back one night with coke, Justin thinks, what the hell, and does it. Then he makes Dylan fuck him.
Well, what really happens is, he makes Dylan finger him for forever, or it seems like forever maybe, but a really long time, because Justin doesn't bottom. Ever. But it's his last hurrah and so he might as well, right, because ass fucking is like, the final frontier or whatever, and so, yeah. Might as well.
He wants to do it laying on his stomach, because Dylan really does look like him, like him when he had the really bad cornrows that Lance tried to tell him were horrible but he didn't listen, and usually that's cool because Justin is hot, he's a hot guy and he'd totally fuck himself if he could, but he sort of doesn't want to see the expressions on Dylan's face. It's more like masturbating this way. If masturbation included getting fucked in the ass.
He makes Dylan go really slow, and only gets annoyed when Dylan says, "Dude, what the fuck is this tattoo on your back?" but forgets about it once he's all the way in. It hurts in a burning, aching sort of way, but there was a really lot of fingering so Justin's feeling pretty good, and he wants more. He wants Dylan to fuck him. Maybe, like, hard, or something.
"I want to feel this tomorrow," he says, and squirms a little when Dylan wraps a hand around the back of his neck and presses down, presses Justin's cheek into the mattress just a little, slides in and out just so, these teasing little strokes that make Justin bite his lip and grind into the mattress.
"You will," Dylan promises. Justin does.
*
Justin doesn't really think about him again for a really long time, not until JC calls him up one day even though they're totally not talking right now because JC's on Britney's tour and that's just not okay, no matter what JC says about the record company making him do it.
"So, Brit has this new guy," JC says. He sounds sort of smug about it, too. JC can be such an asshole. They haven't talked in weeks-okay, almost a week, but that's like, eons for them-and JC calls to rub Justin's face in it? Not cool. Justin almost hangs up, but it's long distance from London and Justin knows how cheap JC is. If he's calling voluntarily, he has something really fantastic to say.
Justin just grunts at him. "I thought she was fucking that dancer. That chick. And dude, what the fuck happened to Wade? She cheats on me with him-"
"You cheated too, fuckhead-"
"-and then just tells him to fuck off or something? That's not cool. It's. It's mean, or something. Bitch cost me my best friend."
"Oh, thanks," JC says.
"Dude, like you ever really thought we were best friends."
"Fuck you. Fine, we're not best friends and you don't want to hear about Brit's new guy, so, whatever J, just go do some more naked photo shoots or something. Make some more pop music, okay?"
"C. That's harsh, man. Look, okay, you're like, my fourth best friend after mom and Trace and Chris-"
"Who you don't even talk to anymore."
"-who's like, MIA trying to sober Lance up or something, so. You're my third best friend until Chris gets back, and you know, maybe even still after that because Chris never tried to help me sober up."
"Neither did I. Wait. Did you have an alcohol problem? Or drugs? Was it heroin? Am I supposed to know this already? Oh god, I'm a horrible third best friend, J!"
JC is totally serious, and very much freaking out. "It's a joke, man. I maybe smoked too much weed for a while, but I'm fine. And you did help. You brought me that tea that one time, with the cinnamon, and we talked about the dance trance movement for, like, five hours, remember?"
"Kind of."
"Right. So, Brit. Who's the guy?"
"Oh, it's good, J. Okay so, remember the Grammys two years ago? That dancer with the cornrows you hooked up with?"
"Uh. Sort of." Dylan. Dylan who gave fantastic head and likes rap music and who he let fuck him in the ass. Yeah, Justin sort of remembers him. "Dylan?"
"I think his name is Kevin. Anyway, it's totally him. Brit's fucking insane for him, man. She like, won't leave me alone with her video camera either. She keeps wanting me to answer all these really, you know, personal things and I'm just. I'm a private person and I've known her since she was twelve. TWELVE, J. She says she's making a documentary."
"His name is Kevin?" Justin asks blankly. Huh. So that maybe explains the pissed off expression on his face whenever Justin called him by his name. Which is Kevin, and not Dylan. So Lance was kind of right about him. Except not the other part-Justin doesn't fuck retards.
"Yeah, Kevin, I'm pretty sure," JC says. "At least, that's what Brit calls him in bed. And they are seriously fucking loud, dude."
"I let him fuck me," Justin blurts out. He's feeling slightly panicked. It's not jealousy because he's way over that, he's totally with Cam now, who is hot and only slightly reminds him of his mom and who he has only cheated on twice, and only with guys. But this Kevin guy has fucked Justin. And now Brit's doing him. It's pretty weird. It's pretty uncomfortable. Definitely an uncomfortable situation. "C, I let him fuck me," Justin says again.
"Wow, really?" JC says. "That's pretty ironic."
JC, it turns out, knows the definition of the word. Yeah, Justin thinks, it is ironic. Almost as ironic as that 7-11 t-shirt, or if Lance turned out to be actually gay. Whatever it is, it's pretty ironic.
*
Lance turns out to be actually gay. So, yeah, pretty fucking ironic. Chris tells Justin, who knows because Joey confirmed it after Chris walked in on Lance at Joey's New Year's Eve party giving his personal assistant a blowjob. Lance just keeps saying he doesn't know what Chris is talking about, that Chris is a liar and Justin knows it, and then starts talking about sneakers, which is a fucking dirty trick because Lance knows how Justin feels about sneakers. He loves them, almost as much as his mom. It's an obsession, really, but Justin tries not to think about it too much. He has a room, a display room, and sometimes, when he's feeling really bad, he goes in there and tries on his favorite pair of vintage Air Jordans. He's really careful, though. It wouldn't be the same if he scuffed them.
"So I guess Brit is like, getting married to that dancer guy now or something," Lance says, and that's even more distracting than the sneaker talk. Lance is a rat. He's sneaky, and tricky, and probably gay. Just like a rat.
"Yeah," Justin says. They're having lunch at the Ivy, which Justin hates and Lance loves, because Lance is a media whore. Justin pokes at his salad and wishes for a cheeseburger, but Cam is off meat right now and she won't kiss him if she smells it on his breath. And she always seems to fucking know, which normally wouldn't stop Justin because he doesn't even really like kissing her anyway (she's got a really big mouth and it's just, it's weird, okay?), except she gets so insulted, like him wanting meat is some reflection on her kissing abilities or something. She's neurotic. Whatever.
"Yeah? That's it? She's marrying that semi-retarded dancer, and all you can say is 'Yeah'?"
Justin shrugs. "We broke up, like, a long time ago. She cheated on me. I'm over it."
"She invited me to the wedding, you know."
"You can go, if you want."
"I know I can, asshole. She's my friend, if I want to go to her wedding I wouldn't let your diva ass stop me."
"I'm not a diva." Justin is. He is, and he knows it, but Lance is an even bigger diva, so in comparison, Justin is a totally normal popstar. Lance once got the entire wait staff at a restaurant fired because they didn't refill his water glass enough times. Justin has gotten people fired, but never that many at once. And also, Justin doesn't count how many times his glass gets filled. Justin maybe likes shoes a little too much, but Lance is fucking crazy. "But you could. Go. If you wanted."
Justin doesn't actually want Lance to go. Lance is annoying and won't admit he's gay and he's not hot and he can't dance, but he's Justin's. Brit doesn't get to have him, too.
"I'm not going, you fucktard. I don't even like her, anyway."
"She's your friend," Justin says, frowning. "You just said."
Lance shrugs. "She's so country, though, man. She actually likes McDonald's. And she tried to get JC off her tour after he tricked her into eating dried seaweed."
"She's a bitch. She cheated on me. Wait, JC got her to eat seaweed?"
"He told her it was candy."
"Ah. Yeah. That'll do it."
*
Except for on television, Justin doesn't see Kevin again until after Britney files for divorce. And really, Justin feels pretty bad for the guy. His album totally bombed. Justin knows why, too-he's one of the 6500 people who actually bought the thing on purpose. Well, really, he made Trace go into the Virgin and buy it for him, and he's pretty sure he never paid Trace back, either. But seriously, first the guy's album bombed, then Brit decides to divorce him and file for full custody of his kids, and yeah, it sucks.
Plus, Justin heard that she told him by text. And then JC sent him the youtube video, and then Lance called to make sure Justin knew how to work youtube so he could watch it. Lance and JC seem to think it's all pretty funny, and they keep emailing him links about Britney and her underwear and Kevin and his Superbowl commercials. Justin's not talking to Chris or Joey right now, because they're both doing reality television. Justin doesn't care if it's for charity, it's still disgusting. Justin has standards.
So except for on television, Justin doesn't see Kevin again until the Superbowl at some after party, and only then because he's trying to avoid having to hang out with Joey and maybe get some of Joey's gross reality TV vibes rubbed off on him, and by 'avoiding' Justin really means 'hiding in the bathroom until Joey is too drunk to remember that Justin exists.'
And okay, so maybe hiding in the bathroom, slightly intoxicated and definitely high, isn't the way Justin wants to meet Kevin again, but at least this time he knows Kevin's name, so, um, there's that. And now they've both been fucked over by Britney. Of course, that's where the similarities end, because aside from the scary sort-of-looking-alike thing, but only in a vague way, they really don't have anything in common. Justin is a super popstar. Justin is maybe the biggest thing going on right now, and almost everyone agrees he's way hotter than Kevin, and a better dancer. He's probably a better rapper, too, but Justin isn't semi-retarded. He knows how to stick to his strengths (singing, sort of, but mostly looking pretty) and get other people to rap for him.
"Hey," Kevin says. It's pretty weird. Definitely uncomfortable. Justin tries really hard not to think about Kevin's dick, but seriously, that's the only thing about Kevin that Justin remembers really clearly, so it's kind of hard. Erm. Also like Kevin's dick, which he is not thinking about. He's definitely not thinking about Kevin's dick in his ass, which is still the only dick that's ever been in Justin's ass, aside from that time with Cam and the strap on, but Justin was really drunk and fell asleep before should could even get it in all the way, so Justin doesn't count it.
Kevin gives him a look then, like Justin's the one that's semi-retarded, and walks over to the urinals, takes out his dick. For a second Justin thinks, Wooo! before he realizes that Kevin's just trying to take a piss or whatever.
"Um, hi. Hi," Justin says finally. It's easy not to look at Kevin's dick when he's peeing, because peeing is gross and unsanitary and Justin sort of hates having to do it at all, but like, Lance told him about the bags they make really old or sick people have, and that sounds way worse, so going the natural way is pretty much the only option. Justin just wishes it didn't involve so much bacteria.
It doesn't seem like Kevin's going to say anything else, or even ask why Justin's hanging out in the bathroom at a party instead of partying or whatever. He washes his hands and gives Justin another look like maybe Justin really is retarded. Justin doesn't want him thinking that, because seriously, when a guy who goes on professional wrestling thinks you might be retarded, that's a public image issue, so he needs to correct that. And also maybe fire his publicist. She's a bitch anyway. She doesn't let Justin talk about his cars in interviews anymore, or his shoes. She says it makes Justin seem like a spoiled asshole. Which is maybe true, but she's still a bitch and she's totally getting fired.
"So uh. It's been nice." Kevin smirks a little. "Bye."
"Wait. Um. No, sorry, I'm just, you know. Too much pot. Fucking Pharell, man, he's always getting me loaded, you know how it is. And Joey's out there. Um, Joey Fatone? And he's like, going to infect me with his reality TV virus so I have to hide until he's drunk. Or something."
"You know you sound like a crazy person, right?"
"I'm just high, I swear. I'm not, you know. Whatever Britney said, I'm not neurotic or whatever. I mean I do have the room with the shoes, but that's just like, a celebrity thing, you know how it is."
"You have a shoe room?"
"…no. I mean, it's just a closet, it's nothing." Justin can't stop thinking about how Kevin shaved his head, how they both have shaved heads and Justin wonders if Kevin still shaves his pubic hair, too, or if that really was for costuming or whatever it was he claimed back then. Back then, the time that Justin let Kevin fuck him. Which Justin isn't thinking about, not even a little. Kevin is still slightly taller than Justin. It's sort of hot.
"Okay then. I don't have anyone to hide from, so, you know, I think I'm gonna go back."
"Oh," Justin says. He's still not really sure that Lance is wrong about the whole retarded thing even though this is the longest conversation he and Kevin have ever had, but on the other hand, "I thought maybe. Blow me?"
Justin blames the pot, and also that he hasn't gotten laid in months. He almost got to bang Jessica Beil, but then fucking Cam threw a fit and threatened to tell everyone about the strap on incident and the cheating and the time she caught him masturbating to an old photo of his mom (but JC is in that picture too, and really Justin was looking at him, because JC is totally hot even if he's really bad at sex) so no Jessica Beil for Justin. He really hates Cam. Like, maybe more than Brit. He doesn't cry at night over her though.
Kevin shrugs. "Um. I'm not. I mean, I'm not really into guys, so."
"I'll let you fuck me," Justin says quickly. He's very, very high, he assures himself. He's so high he thinks he can catch reality TV. He's very high.
"Can we go back to your hotel?"
"Yes."
"And order room service?"
"After the fucking."
"Will you make them cook me breakfast even if it's not on the menu?"
"Uh. Sure."
"Okay. Deal."
*
The ass fucking is just as awesome as Justin remembers it being. It's maybe more awesome because he's not all coked out this time and it doesn't take him an hour to come. It, actually, it takes him about ten minutes, because Kevin is very thorough about the whole fingering thing, which Justin really hopes he didn't learn from Britney, and he has really nice fingers, too. Long. Thick. He's really good at fingering, and Justin could probably lay there forever and let Kevin fuck him like this, but there's the whole dick thing, and Justin really does like Kevin's dick. Brit was a lucky girl. Except for the whole getting pregnant a lot thing, and her almost-ruined career. That part must suck.
Justin wouldn't know, because he's an international sex symbol, popstar extraordinaire, bigger than Prince and Michael Jackson combined, and he's getting finger-fucked by the god of finger fucking. If there is such a god, although knowing the Greeks, Justin thinks probably there must be. He's pretty sure he learned that in Bus School. He'll ask Lance, Lance will know.
And then there's the sex part, and Kevin refuses to do Justin from behind this time because, "Dude, that tattoo fucking freaks me out, okay?" so Justin has to close his eyes, but it's pretty good this way. Better, maybe, because Kevin has a really nice body, and if Justin is very careful and very motivated, he can lift his head and stare and not see Kevin's face at all. Kevin's body looks a lot like Justin's. It's pretty weird. But hot. It's like fucking himself, but less work.
Kevin likes to kiss, which is okay, because he doesn't have a weird giant mouth like Cam and he apparently doesn't give a shit about meat breath (or dick breath, for that matter). It's kind of hot because he does that thing guys do, or that Justin does anyway-that tongue-fucking thing that mimics the ass-fucking going on, and he makes these little moany sounds in the back of his throat that Justin thinks should've been on Kevin's record, and then maybe it would've sold. It's all pretty hot. Kevin's dick is fantastic and hard and in him, all hard thrusts and liquid dancer hip rolls. It's really hot. It's very hot.
Justin is very high. This is what he tells himself while he jerks himself off in time to Kevin's thrusts and absolutely does not think of him as K-Fed or retarded, because seriously, no retard could fuck like this. It's just not possible. Fucking Corky would have a coronary just knowing this sort of thing existed. Kevin's hips should be illegal.
Britney, Justin thinks as he comes all over himself, again, is a big dumb whore.
*
After feeding Kevin and making him leave, Justin calls JC. He's maybe freaking out a little, because dude, he totally just fucked his ex-girlfriend's ex-husband, or, well, he got fucked by him, so yeah. It's kind of a freak out moment. JC just laughs.
"I knew it! I knew this would happen."
"Fuck you, you did not!"
"I sort of did, J. I mean," JC is still giggling to himself, "it's like, you know. It's like fucking yourself. Which you've always wanted to do. That's why sex with us never worked out."
"Sex with us never worked because you came on my Dolce & Gabbana sneakers, fucker."
"Justin. You came on your sneakers. Actually, I think you came because of your sneakers, and I was just sort of incidental."
"That's not true." Justin frowns. He was pretty drunk that night, with JC, and he really did love those shoes. "Is it?"
"It is. Plus, I'm way prettier than you, you'd always be thinking too much about how much better-looking I am and get jealous and not be able to enjoy it. You need, like, a clone or something. Dude. Wouldn't that be fucking awesome, if your clone escaped from the Island and came to find you?"
"I never saw that movie."
"Mine could help me write songs! And do all my promo. I hate meeting the fans. They always want to touch me, man."
"I know, it's totally gross. But back to the issue. Which is that I just let Kevin fuck me. Again."
"Well. Um. At least you got his name right, this time."
"Yeah, um. Not so much. I might have sort of called him Lance. By accident."
"Lance?"
"Uh. Maybe."
"See, now that's irony."
Fandom: Popslash
Pairing: *cough* J-Fed
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Wow, is this a lie.
Comments: Written because azewewish thought of it, and then I couldn't NOT, and now she owes me. Big. Also, because once I decided that Justin/K-Fed would be called J-Fed?? Yeah. And thanks to anasuede for the beta. Visual aides are included.
Warnings: drug use!! OMG, drug use. And K-Fed.
The first time they meet is at rehearsals for the Grammys. They're doing 'Girlfriend' and Justin should be totally excited about it because 'Girlfriend' is the single even though JC argued hard for 'Up Against the Wall' and almost threw a fit, but the label likes Justin better, Justin will take his shirt off for photo shoots so everyone likes him better than JC, really, and the rest of the guys didn't want to get involved, so it's 'Girlfriend,' and Justin should be happy. Except that he's still upset about Britney, Britney and fucking Wade, for fuck's sake, who was, like, his third-okay fourth-best friend in the world, until he went and fucked Justin's girlfriend.
Justin's really starting to hate the word 'girlfriend.' It's in the song a lot. At least he didn't write that one with Wade.
So Britney is a whore and Wade is a backstabbing bitch, and Justin really does cry himself to sleep at night. JC gets really annoyed with him when they're on the bus and tells him to shut the hell up. Actually, what JC does is throw shoes through the curtains of Justin's bunk and scream, "Stop your whining, bitch, you cheated on her, too!" JC has a lot of shoes. Some of them have heels. Justin suspects this is because JC likes to wear women's clothing.
JC likes Britney, possibly also because of the women's clothing thing. He cries about the breakup more than Justin does, even. But JC likes sleep more. It's a whole cyclical thing with the crying and the shoes and the yelling. It makes it a lot easier to fuck JC over when it comes to choosing singles, except that now Justin's just pissed and they have to find a new choreographer. The style is totally different than Wade and Justin pretends like that's a good thing and it's what they wanted and it has nothing to do with Britney the slutmonster, but it's, whatever. It's a new thing they have to learn, and then they get asked to do the Grammys.
He meets Calvin-or maybe his name is Dylan, something like that anyway, something dancer boy-y and gay-sounding-at the Grammys rehearsals. Marty hired the dancers, Marty the new choreographer, and Justin wouldn't even really notice except that Calvin-Dylan-whatever is slightly taller than Justin. But he's a good dancer, not as good as Justin, but really good, and Justin is angry as fuck. Britney is there and Justin's angry, and that's his excuse. People start saying that he's fucking one of the dancers.
Click to viewHe fucks a dancer, alright. It's just not Jenna.
Lance is waiting for him in the living room of the suite when he wakes up the next morning, looking all sharky and satisfied, like he just closed five deals and made a million dollars and told MTV that Nick Carter is looking fat these days, all at the same time. Justin just grunts at him and goes for the cereal. He has a hangover, his dick aches in a way that he can't tell is good or bad yet, and he doesn't feel like dealing with Lance. Lance is going to fucking space, screw Lance.
"So," Lance says once Justin's poured his milk just so, so that's it's only just covering his Cap'n Crunch, not to the point that anything is floating, but just enough. Justin is very particular about his milk-to-cereal ratio. Because soggy cereal is just gross, man.
"So," Justin mumbles back.
"You did Kevin last night, huh?"
"I thought his name was Calvin? Or like, maybe Dylan. I'm pretty sure it was Dylan, dude."
"Tall? Cornrows? Sort of scruffy?"
"Mmm. Yeah. It was kinda like fucking myself, man."
Lance snorts. "Yeah, that's Kevin."
"You know him?" Justin raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't fuck him, if that's what you mean. Stop trying to imply, Justin, you suck at it. But I know him, sort of. You realize he's, like, semi-retarded, right? I mean, the guy can't form complete sentences, and I seriously doubt his reading and or writing abilities."
Justin shrugs. "We didn't really, um, talk. Much." For a semi-retard, Justin thinks, Calvin was really fucking good in bed. Really nice dick. Like, so nice Justin was actually tempted to suck it, and Justin does not suck dick for anybody. Well. So he'd probably suck Nelly's dick, or Pharell's, but neither of them is interested in him that way. They like, like him for his musical talent or something. Justin is a genius though, so that's kind of understandable. Not everyone has to love him because he's beautiful.
Lance just shakes his head and does that annoying clucking thing with his tongue. Justin wishes he could kick Lance out of the band, but the rest of the guys seem to like him for some reason, and the fans seem to like him for even less reason that Justin can see, because Lance isn't even hot, he can't dance, and he doesn't have solos. Justin is way better. Justin's a musical genius, yo. Rappers even like him, and not for cocksucking or anything.
"What?" Justin says finally, glaring. He can't fucking wait until he goes solo and never has to deal with these bitches again. "Just fucking WHAT?"
"I just can't believe you fucked a semi-retard, man. That's like. Illegal in some states. Also, it's sick and wrong."
"Whatever, he's not really retarded. You're just fucking with me, asshole." Justin eats his cereal, crunch crunch crunch, and he doesn't think about Britney or semi-retarded guys or Lance going to space. Space is really far away. And it's, like, fucking space. It's the gayest thing Lance has ever done, and Lance isn't even gay. Plus, Dylan is totally not retarded.
"He's not really retarded, right?"
Lance just smiles. Justin really hates him. He hopes Lance gets lost in space. Forever.
*
Calvin-Kevin, whatever, he doesn't even look like a Kevin-turns out to be one of Marty's favorites, which is how he gets booked for 'Like I Love You.' It has nothing to do with the whole fantastically awesome sex Justin had with him that one time, because really, Justin is so high the day they do the casting, he just sits there blankly and stares while the dancers go through the combination, trying not to drool or say anything too embarrassing.
Britney fucked him up though, yo. It's all that cheating whore's fault that Justin is a pot head now. Justin really, really hates her, and he still cries himself to sleep at night, and he's pretty sure he wrote a song about how horrible she is but he can't really remember it because he was, like, totally high at the time. Britney turned him into this horrible person who does drugs and writes mean songs and says even meaner things on the radio and fucks random guys. Well, okay, so Justin maybe fucked some random guys before Britney cheated on him, but only, like, five of them, and one of them doesn't even count because it was JC and really really bad. Justin's pretty sure he didn't even get off that time with JC (although JC did, all over Justin's new Dolce & Gabbana sneakers, that fucker), so that doesn't even count. Four random guys, that's not a habit, so really, this whole Dylan situation is Britney's fault.
Justin never liked dick before. Much.
Shooting the video pretty much sucks. They have to do all the filming really late at night and pay the 7-11 franchise owner about a fuckton of money to close the store for their use, even though they're totally getting free publicity by being in the video and Justin even agrees to wearing a (totally lame) 7-11 t-shirt. He tries to tell himself it's purposefully ironic, or whatever, but he thinks he maybe doesn't really understand irony in the first place, so.
It just sort of happens, that he goes home with Dylan when the shoot ends. Dylan lives in this crappy studio apartment in a really scary part of town. He has a mattress and uses a cardboard box as a nightstand/dining table, and that's pretty much it. The place is clean, at least, but mostly because there's nothing in it. He doesn't even have a shower curtain, or a bathmat. Justin tells himself it's an experience. It's good to know how the masses live and stuff, so he can connect better with the fans. Plus, Dylan is really hot.
They fuck for a week straight. Dylan scores some fantastic pot, and it turns out that he knows some guys he used to run with back in Fresno who started this fake non-profit as a front for a drug ring. Lance turns out to be wrong-Dylan isn't retarded at all, or even semi-retarded, not if he can help start his own drug front operation. He's not like, a fucking Einstein or whatever, he's not Justin or even JC or Chris, but he's okay. He's smarter than Britney, maybe.
Or at least, Justin assumes so. They still don't really talk. They smoke, and listen to rap music, because Dylan, it turns out, really likes rap, and Justin quizzes him on the other people Dylan's danced for.
"Michael Jackson was chill, yo. I mean, I seriously don't think he molested those kids or whatever, you know? He's, like, a nice guy."
"Yeah," Justin nods, taking a hit off his joint. He doesn't really feel the need to say anything else. He likes Michael. He really hopes Michael didn't molest anyone, but he's really glad he got to use some of the tracks that were supposed to be on Michael's album, even if some of them do really suck, so that whole trial thing is kind of working out for Justin.
They fuck a lot. Dylan gives really great head, way better than Britney ever did, and his ass is tighter than any part of hers ever was. Justin likes fucking Dylan because for once, it's totally not about him. It's like Dylan doesn't even want to be there, isn't really even into guys or something, but he'll do Justin because Justin can maybe get him on his tour, get him some steady work for a couple months. And maybe Justin will, but probably not. Justin doesn't like being shorter than people, even by just a little. But it's nice to feel like he's not really wanted. Justin doesn't think about what that might mean. He's not selfish, he just takes what he can.
It's sort of his last hurrah, or whatever they call it. His last binge, his last bit of stupidity before promo and tour and all that crap, so when Dylan comes back one night with coke, Justin thinks, what the hell, and does it. Then he makes Dylan fuck him.
Well, what really happens is, he makes Dylan finger him for forever, or it seems like forever maybe, but a really long time, because Justin doesn't bottom. Ever. But it's his last hurrah and so he might as well, right, because ass fucking is like, the final frontier or whatever, and so, yeah. Might as well.
He wants to do it laying on his stomach, because Dylan really does look like him, like him when he had the really bad cornrows that Lance tried to tell him were horrible but he didn't listen, and usually that's cool because Justin is hot, he's a hot guy and he'd totally fuck himself if he could, but he sort of doesn't want to see the expressions on Dylan's face. It's more like masturbating this way. If masturbation included getting fucked in the ass.
He makes Dylan go really slow, and only gets annoyed when Dylan says, "Dude, what the fuck is this tattoo on your back?" but forgets about it once he's all the way in. It hurts in a burning, aching sort of way, but there was a really lot of fingering so Justin's feeling pretty good, and he wants more. He wants Dylan to fuck him. Maybe, like, hard, or something.
"I want to feel this tomorrow," he says, and squirms a little when Dylan wraps a hand around the back of his neck and presses down, presses Justin's cheek into the mattress just a little, slides in and out just so, these teasing little strokes that make Justin bite his lip and grind into the mattress.
"You will," Dylan promises. Justin does.
*
Justin doesn't really think about him again for a really long time, not until JC calls him up one day even though they're totally not talking right now because JC's on Britney's tour and that's just not okay, no matter what JC says about the record company making him do it.
"So, Brit has this new guy," JC says. He sounds sort of smug about it, too. JC can be such an asshole. They haven't talked in weeks-okay, almost a week, but that's like, eons for them-and JC calls to rub Justin's face in it? Not cool. Justin almost hangs up, but it's long distance from London and Justin knows how cheap JC is. If he's calling voluntarily, he has something really fantastic to say.
Justin just grunts at him. "I thought she was fucking that dancer. That chick. And dude, what the fuck happened to Wade? She cheats on me with him-"
"You cheated too, fuckhead-"
"-and then just tells him to fuck off or something? That's not cool. It's. It's mean, or something. Bitch cost me my best friend."
"Oh, thanks," JC says.
"Dude, like you ever really thought we were best friends."
"Fuck you. Fine, we're not best friends and you don't want to hear about Brit's new guy, so, whatever J, just go do some more naked photo shoots or something. Make some more pop music, okay?"
"C. That's harsh, man. Look, okay, you're like, my fourth best friend after mom and Trace and Chris-"
"Who you don't even talk to anymore."
"-who's like, MIA trying to sober Lance up or something, so. You're my third best friend until Chris gets back, and you know, maybe even still after that because Chris never tried to help me sober up."
"Neither did I. Wait. Did you have an alcohol problem? Or drugs? Was it heroin? Am I supposed to know this already? Oh god, I'm a horrible third best friend, J!"
JC is totally serious, and very much freaking out. "It's a joke, man. I maybe smoked too much weed for a while, but I'm fine. And you did help. You brought me that tea that one time, with the cinnamon, and we talked about the dance trance movement for, like, five hours, remember?"
"Kind of."
"Right. So, Brit. Who's the guy?"
"Oh, it's good, J. Okay so, remember the Grammys two years ago? That dancer with the cornrows you hooked up with?"
"Uh. Sort of." Dylan. Dylan who gave fantastic head and likes rap music and who he let fuck him in the ass. Yeah, Justin sort of remembers him. "Dylan?"
"I think his name is Kevin. Anyway, it's totally him. Brit's fucking insane for him, man. She like, won't leave me alone with her video camera either. She keeps wanting me to answer all these really, you know, personal things and I'm just. I'm a private person and I've known her since she was twelve. TWELVE, J. She says she's making a documentary."
"His name is Kevin?" Justin asks blankly. Huh. So that maybe explains the pissed off expression on his face whenever Justin called him by his name. Which is Kevin, and not Dylan. So Lance was kind of right about him. Except not the other part-Justin doesn't fuck retards.
"Yeah, Kevin, I'm pretty sure," JC says. "At least, that's what Brit calls him in bed. And they are seriously fucking loud, dude."
"I let him fuck me," Justin blurts out. He's feeling slightly panicked. It's not jealousy because he's way over that, he's totally with Cam now, who is hot and only slightly reminds him of his mom and who he has only cheated on twice, and only with guys. But this Kevin guy has fucked Justin. And now Brit's doing him. It's pretty weird. It's pretty uncomfortable. Definitely an uncomfortable situation. "C, I let him fuck me," Justin says again.
"Wow, really?" JC says. "That's pretty ironic."
JC, it turns out, knows the definition of the word. Yeah, Justin thinks, it is ironic. Almost as ironic as that 7-11 t-shirt, or if Lance turned out to be actually gay. Whatever it is, it's pretty ironic.
*
Lance turns out to be actually gay. So, yeah, pretty fucking ironic. Chris tells Justin, who knows because Joey confirmed it after Chris walked in on Lance at Joey's New Year's Eve party giving his personal assistant a blowjob. Lance just keeps saying he doesn't know what Chris is talking about, that Chris is a liar and Justin knows it, and then starts talking about sneakers, which is a fucking dirty trick because Lance knows how Justin feels about sneakers. He loves them, almost as much as his mom. It's an obsession, really, but Justin tries not to think about it too much. He has a room, a display room, and sometimes, when he's feeling really bad, he goes in there and tries on his favorite pair of vintage Air Jordans. He's really careful, though. It wouldn't be the same if he scuffed them.
"So I guess Brit is like, getting married to that dancer guy now or something," Lance says, and that's even more distracting than the sneaker talk. Lance is a rat. He's sneaky, and tricky, and probably gay. Just like a rat.
"Yeah," Justin says. They're having lunch at the Ivy, which Justin hates and Lance loves, because Lance is a media whore. Justin pokes at his salad and wishes for a cheeseburger, but Cam is off meat right now and she won't kiss him if she smells it on his breath. And she always seems to fucking know, which normally wouldn't stop Justin because he doesn't even really like kissing her anyway (she's got a really big mouth and it's just, it's weird, okay?), except she gets so insulted, like him wanting meat is some reflection on her kissing abilities or something. She's neurotic. Whatever.
"Yeah? That's it? She's marrying that semi-retarded dancer, and all you can say is 'Yeah'?"
Justin shrugs. "We broke up, like, a long time ago. She cheated on me. I'm over it."
"She invited me to the wedding, you know."
"You can go, if you want."
"I know I can, asshole. She's my friend, if I want to go to her wedding I wouldn't let your diva ass stop me."
"I'm not a diva." Justin is. He is, and he knows it, but Lance is an even bigger diva, so in comparison, Justin is a totally normal popstar. Lance once got the entire wait staff at a restaurant fired because they didn't refill his water glass enough times. Justin has gotten people fired, but never that many at once. And also, Justin doesn't count how many times his glass gets filled. Justin maybe likes shoes a little too much, but Lance is fucking crazy. "But you could. Go. If you wanted."
Justin doesn't actually want Lance to go. Lance is annoying and won't admit he's gay and he's not hot and he can't dance, but he's Justin's. Brit doesn't get to have him, too.
"I'm not going, you fucktard. I don't even like her, anyway."
"She's your friend," Justin says, frowning. "You just said."
Lance shrugs. "She's so country, though, man. She actually likes McDonald's. And she tried to get JC off her tour after he tricked her into eating dried seaweed."
"She's a bitch. She cheated on me. Wait, JC got her to eat seaweed?"
"He told her it was candy."
"Ah. Yeah. That'll do it."
*
Except for on television, Justin doesn't see Kevin again until after Britney files for divorce. And really, Justin feels pretty bad for the guy. His album totally bombed. Justin knows why, too-he's one of the 6500 people who actually bought the thing on purpose. Well, really, he made Trace go into the Virgin and buy it for him, and he's pretty sure he never paid Trace back, either. But seriously, first the guy's album bombed, then Brit decides to divorce him and file for full custody of his kids, and yeah, it sucks.
Plus, Justin heard that she told him by text. And then JC sent him the youtube video, and then Lance called to make sure Justin knew how to work youtube so he could watch it. Lance and JC seem to think it's all pretty funny, and they keep emailing him links about Britney and her underwear and Kevin and his Superbowl commercials. Justin's not talking to Chris or Joey right now, because they're both doing reality television. Justin doesn't care if it's for charity, it's still disgusting. Justin has standards.
So except for on television, Justin doesn't see Kevin again until the Superbowl at some after party, and only then because he's trying to avoid having to hang out with Joey and maybe get some of Joey's gross reality TV vibes rubbed off on him, and by 'avoiding' Justin really means 'hiding in the bathroom until Joey is too drunk to remember that Justin exists.'
And okay, so maybe hiding in the bathroom, slightly intoxicated and definitely high, isn't the way Justin wants to meet Kevin again, but at least this time he knows Kevin's name, so, um, there's that. And now they've both been fucked over by Britney. Of course, that's where the similarities end, because aside from the scary sort-of-looking-alike thing, but only in a vague way, they really don't have anything in common. Justin is a super popstar. Justin is maybe the biggest thing going on right now, and almost everyone agrees he's way hotter than Kevin, and a better dancer. He's probably a better rapper, too, but Justin isn't semi-retarded. He knows how to stick to his strengths (singing, sort of, but mostly looking pretty) and get other people to rap for him.
"Hey," Kevin says. It's pretty weird. Definitely uncomfortable. Justin tries really hard not to think about Kevin's dick, but seriously, that's the only thing about Kevin that Justin remembers really clearly, so it's kind of hard. Erm. Also like Kevin's dick, which he is not thinking about. He's definitely not thinking about Kevin's dick in his ass, which is still the only dick that's ever been in Justin's ass, aside from that time with Cam and the strap on, but Justin was really drunk and fell asleep before should could even get it in all the way, so Justin doesn't count it.
Kevin gives him a look then, like Justin's the one that's semi-retarded, and walks over to the urinals, takes out his dick. For a second Justin thinks, Wooo! before he realizes that Kevin's just trying to take a piss or whatever.
"Um, hi. Hi," Justin says finally. It's easy not to look at Kevin's dick when he's peeing, because peeing is gross and unsanitary and Justin sort of hates having to do it at all, but like, Lance told him about the bags they make really old or sick people have, and that sounds way worse, so going the natural way is pretty much the only option. Justin just wishes it didn't involve so much bacteria.
It doesn't seem like Kevin's going to say anything else, or even ask why Justin's hanging out in the bathroom at a party instead of partying or whatever. He washes his hands and gives Justin another look like maybe Justin really is retarded. Justin doesn't want him thinking that, because seriously, when a guy who goes on professional wrestling thinks you might be retarded, that's a public image issue, so he needs to correct that. And also maybe fire his publicist. She's a bitch anyway. She doesn't let Justin talk about his cars in interviews anymore, or his shoes. She says it makes Justin seem like a spoiled asshole. Which is maybe true, but she's still a bitch and she's totally getting fired.
"So uh. It's been nice." Kevin smirks a little. "Bye."
"Wait. Um. No, sorry, I'm just, you know. Too much pot. Fucking Pharell, man, he's always getting me loaded, you know how it is. And Joey's out there. Um, Joey Fatone? And he's like, going to infect me with his reality TV virus so I have to hide until he's drunk. Or something."
"You know you sound like a crazy person, right?"
"I'm just high, I swear. I'm not, you know. Whatever Britney said, I'm not neurotic or whatever. I mean I do have the room with the shoes, but that's just like, a celebrity thing, you know how it is."
"You have a shoe room?"
"…no. I mean, it's just a closet, it's nothing." Justin can't stop thinking about how Kevin shaved his head, how they both have shaved heads and Justin wonders if Kevin still shaves his pubic hair, too, or if that really was for costuming or whatever it was he claimed back then. Back then, the time that Justin let Kevin fuck him. Which Justin isn't thinking about, not even a little. Kevin is still slightly taller than Justin. It's sort of hot.
"Okay then. I don't have anyone to hide from, so, you know, I think I'm gonna go back."
"Oh," Justin says. He's still not really sure that Lance is wrong about the whole retarded thing even though this is the longest conversation he and Kevin have ever had, but on the other hand, "I thought maybe. Blow me?"
Justin blames the pot, and also that he hasn't gotten laid in months. He almost got to bang Jessica Beil, but then fucking Cam threw a fit and threatened to tell everyone about the strap on incident and the cheating and the time she caught him masturbating to an old photo of his mom (but JC is in that picture too, and really Justin was looking at him, because JC is totally hot even if he's really bad at sex) so no Jessica Beil for Justin. He really hates Cam. Like, maybe more than Brit. He doesn't cry at night over her though.
Kevin shrugs. "Um. I'm not. I mean, I'm not really into guys, so."
"I'll let you fuck me," Justin says quickly. He's very, very high, he assures himself. He's so high he thinks he can catch reality TV. He's very high.
"Can we go back to your hotel?"
"Yes."
"And order room service?"
"After the fucking."
"Will you make them cook me breakfast even if it's not on the menu?"
"Uh. Sure."
"Okay. Deal."
*
The ass fucking is just as awesome as Justin remembers it being. It's maybe more awesome because he's not all coked out this time and it doesn't take him an hour to come. It, actually, it takes him about ten minutes, because Kevin is very thorough about the whole fingering thing, which Justin really hopes he didn't learn from Britney, and he has really nice fingers, too. Long. Thick. He's really good at fingering, and Justin could probably lay there forever and let Kevin fuck him like this, but there's the whole dick thing, and Justin really does like Kevin's dick. Brit was a lucky girl. Except for the whole getting pregnant a lot thing, and her almost-ruined career. That part must suck.
Justin wouldn't know, because he's an international sex symbol, popstar extraordinaire, bigger than Prince and Michael Jackson combined, and he's getting finger-fucked by the god of finger fucking. If there is such a god, although knowing the Greeks, Justin thinks probably there must be. He's pretty sure he learned that in Bus School. He'll ask Lance, Lance will know.
And then there's the sex part, and Kevin refuses to do Justin from behind this time because, "Dude, that tattoo fucking freaks me out, okay?" so Justin has to close his eyes, but it's pretty good this way. Better, maybe, because Kevin has a really nice body, and if Justin is very careful and very motivated, he can lift his head and stare and not see Kevin's face at all. Kevin's body looks a lot like Justin's. It's pretty weird. But hot. It's like fucking himself, but less work.
Kevin likes to kiss, which is okay, because he doesn't have a weird giant mouth like Cam and he apparently doesn't give a shit about meat breath (or dick breath, for that matter). It's kind of hot because he does that thing guys do, or that Justin does anyway-that tongue-fucking thing that mimics the ass-fucking going on, and he makes these little moany sounds in the back of his throat that Justin thinks should've been on Kevin's record, and then maybe it would've sold. It's all pretty hot. Kevin's dick is fantastic and hard and in him, all hard thrusts and liquid dancer hip rolls. It's really hot. It's very hot.
Justin is very high. This is what he tells himself while he jerks himself off in time to Kevin's thrusts and absolutely does not think of him as K-Fed or retarded, because seriously, no retard could fuck like this. It's just not possible. Fucking Corky would have a coronary just knowing this sort of thing existed. Kevin's hips should be illegal.
Britney, Justin thinks as he comes all over himself, again, is a big dumb whore.
*
After feeding Kevin and making him leave, Justin calls JC. He's maybe freaking out a little, because dude, he totally just fucked his ex-girlfriend's ex-husband, or, well, he got fucked by him, so yeah. It's kind of a freak out moment. JC just laughs.
"I knew it! I knew this would happen."
"Fuck you, you did not!"
"I sort of did, J. I mean," JC is still giggling to himself, "it's like, you know. It's like fucking yourself. Which you've always wanted to do. That's why sex with us never worked out."
"Sex with us never worked because you came on my Dolce & Gabbana sneakers, fucker."
"Justin. You came on your sneakers. Actually, I think you came because of your sneakers, and I was just sort of incidental."
"That's not true." Justin frowns. He was pretty drunk that night, with JC, and he really did love those shoes. "Is it?"
"It is. Plus, I'm way prettier than you, you'd always be thinking too much about how much better-looking I am and get jealous and not be able to enjoy it. You need, like, a clone or something. Dude. Wouldn't that be fucking awesome, if your clone escaped from the Island and came to find you?"
"I never saw that movie."
"Mine could help me write songs! And do all my promo. I hate meeting the fans. They always want to touch me, man."
"I know, it's totally gross. But back to the issue. Which is that I just let Kevin fuck me. Again."
"Well. Um. At least you got his name right, this time."
"Yeah, um. Not so much. I might have sort of called him Lance. By accident."
"Lance?"
"Uh. Maybe."
"See, now that's irony."