a pop/The Fast and the Furious crossover story
by dirty diana
This is all kelly girl's fault! All of it. I do realise that the shelf life on that excuse will eventually expire, but it really is. She gave me the bunny. And then insisted that I put smut in. I'm just the victim here. Rescue me.
JC still wasn't sure what club they were at or what the party was for, and he hadn't been planning to go. Chris dragged him out, saying that whatever he was sulking over he needed to stop it. JC said that he wasn't sulking, and Chris said prove it, and that's how they'd ended up here at just after one am, surrounded by the red plush velvet of the VIP section and too-loud music, garishly mainstream hip hop, Chingy and Sean Paul. Exactly the type of shit that Justin loved, and he was on the dance floor, surrounded by people, the way that Justin usually was.
"So," Chris asked him, "who's that?"
Justin had just sat down, bright-eyed and breathless. He turned in the direction that Chris was pointing, to the newest member of his entourage, drinking at the bar and grinning at his listener as he told a story. The guy was slim and blond, good-looking in a California kind of way. "That's Brian. He's helping me trick out my racecar," he said proudly.
"Racewhat?" Chris said. "What race car?"
"My Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution."
"You don't own one of those."
"I bought one last month," Justin told them.
"Where'd you park it?" Chris demanded. "On your roof?"
Justin glared at Chris, and ignored him. "We just put on these great new rims, they're..."
"By 'we'," JC spoke up, "you mean he did it while you watched?"
"In the sun? With his shirt off? All glistening and sweaty?" Chris added. "While you sipped a Heineken?"
Justin sulked. "You guys could try being a little more supportive of my new hobby."
"Honey, we're supportive," JC said. "But how do you even have time for a new hobby?"
"Does Jive know that you've taken up a sport that's likely to get you killed?" Chris asked.
Justin glared at them both with upset blue eyes. But neither JC nor Chris had fallen for that in a long time.
"Why are you taking your mechanic with you to clubs?" Chris wanted to know.
Justin shrugged. "He wasn't doing anything tonight, just hanging around the house. So I figured..."
"The house?" JC said. "You mean your house? He lives with you?"
"He's been staying in a motel since he got to LA. I told him he could stay for a while. He's a nice guy," Justin said firmly, in response to the raised eyebrows.
"I can see that," Chris said, watching as Brian flirted with their waitress, fingertips resting lightly on her waist.
JC asked, "Does Lance know that you've got some strange guy living with you?"
Justin made a face, picking at the label on his beer. "What does that have to do with anything?"
JC and Chris glanced at each other.
"Nothing," Chris said, and let it drop.
When Justin introduced Brian, he sat down at their table, sliding into the booth beside JC. Brian smiled a warm sunny smile, sitting close enough that JC smelled Marlboros and tequila. "How are you doing?"
As a rule, JC didn't like being flirted with. He liked flirting well enough, but being the flirtee made him feel uncomfortable, somehow unsettled. The only person who could ever flirt with him and receive more than a polite vacant smile in return was Justin. Because JC knew that Justin didn't want anything.
JC stared at Brian, staring back at him. "Have you met Lance?"
"No." Brian grinned carelessly. "Who's that?"
"He's a friend of ours."
"Yeah? Should I be worried?"
"Probably." JC leaned back in the booth, sucking on a maraschino cherry. "I don't think that Lance is going to like you very much."
Lance was in London. The ringing phone woke him up.
"Chris," he said, "I've explained this to you already. You take whatever time it is in LA, and you add eight."
"Sorry," Chris answered insincerely. "Listen, you've got to get back here."
"Because Justin has some guy living with him."
"And?" Lance's words came even slower than usual, his tone deliberately harsh. "Justin and I broke up, Chris. You should remember this. You were there."
"We all know that's just a technicality," Chris said breezily. "He asked some mechanic to fix his car and now the guy has moved in, doesn't that seem weird to you?"
"What? He just invited this guy in? Has someone run a background check?" There was the sound of sheets rustling, Lance switching on a light and reaching for a hotel pen. "Made him sign something? What's his name?"
"I don't know. Brian something. Something Irish. O'Malley, O'Leary..."
"Where's he from?"
"How the fuck should I know? He sounds West Coast. You can interrogate him yourself when you get here."
Lance dropped his pen, and sighed. "Chris, listen. I'm going to explain this slowly. Justin and I are no longer a couple. Therefore, I don't really care who he's fucking or what axe-murderer he's invited to live in his house. I'm going back to sleep now."
"You should have seen the way he was coming onto JC last night."
"I don't understand. You woke me up to tell me that Justin met some guy who's into JC?"
"No, I woke you up to tell you that Justin met some obnoxiously pretty blond who likes cars and shaking his ass at clubs. And who'll flirt with anything that's standing next to him."
There was a brief silence. "You woke me up to tell me that Justin met himself?"
"Yes," Chris practically screamed in frustration. "Now will you get back here?"
"I'll think about it," Lance promised. "In the morning."
Lance thought about it, and he came back, but not right away. Brian was cruising down the driveway with his surfboard in the back of his Nissan Skyline, on the way to catch the morning tide at Venice Beach, when he saw Lance driving in the opposite direction. He flashed Lance a smile, receiving a brief nod in return.
Justin woke up much later. He ambled downstairs in jeans and bare feet and found Lance on his living room couch, computer open on his lap. He said, "Didn't I change my alarm code?"
"I meant to change it."
"In case I tried to break in and steal all your stuff?" Lance asked, but not meanly, still concentrating on the screen in front of him.
"I'm going to change it," Justin said, and that made Lance sit back and look at him.
"Yeah," Justin said, except he knew that Lance knew that he didn't mean it.
Justin sat next to Lance, hand on his thigh, because Lance told lies but his skin never did. "What are you doing here?"
"Business," Lance said vaguely. Lance let him cuddle in, stroked his hair and said, "Who's the guy in your driveway?"
"Brian," Justin answered absently. His lips brushed the corner of Lance's mouth. He liked to taste him, to see how much that Lance will let him get away with, tracing the steps before 'no'. "He's fixing my car."
"Are you fucking him?"
Justin scowled and pulled away. "No."
"Chris says that you're fucking him."
"You're listening to Chris now?"
Lance shrugged, but he didn't stop staring at Justin, eyes cool, like he was still expecting the truth to show itself. Justin let him look, and then he got up to find breakfast.
Lance watched Brian and Justin work on the car in the afternoon, talking more than working, talking about exhaust systems and engines and what the car was going to look like when it was done. Justin wanted red, bright candy red with a dragon design. Lance made an amused noise at that, and didn't say anything else. He was staring at Brian like he was looking for something, and Brian let him because he was used to being stared at. Justin was excited about the car, which Brian loved, Justin grinning and talking too fast. Brian wanted to take him out to a track when they were done, and teach him how to really drive it, how to double-clutch when he shifted gears and take corners without losing speed.
They called it a day at one thirty, when Justin's personal trainer arrived.
Justin called Chris immediately after his workout, breathless and pissed off. "Did you tell Lance to come rescue me from my evil mechanic?"
Chris had to think about it. "Uh, no?"
"Fuck you, Chris. I told you to leave it alone."
"I forgot," Chris said. "I'm getting old. My short-term memory is going."
"Leave it alone," Justin said, and hung up.
"Tell Chris to stay out of my business," Justin told Joey.
Joey was in New York. "Chris doesn't listen to me."
"Tell him anyway."
"Okay," Joey said, and waited.
Justin sighed into the receiver, towelling off with his free hand, damp and sweaty. "I am so over Lance."
"Okay," Joey said.
They went out that night, to the reopening of something, Chris and JC and Lance and Justin who brought Brian. Pretty quickly Justin was drunk, not numb drunk, but a pleasant cool buzz that started at the top of his spine and worked up.
"Your friend Lance doesn't like me."
Justin shrugged and let Brian lean into his space, Brian all denim and cotton and a flawless gold tan. "He's just being Lance. He'll get over it."
"Yeah?" Brian didn't look too worried about it, swallowing his drink. "What's the deal with him? Is he your boyfriend or something?"
"No," Justin said. "Yes. Sort of. Ex-boyfriend." Brian's eyes creased with a smile, like he sort of understood that. Justin's lips brushed the incline of Brian's neck, unable to resist the urge, too quickly for anyone to notice. Brian tasted the way that he looked, like sunshine, like southern California. "I don't even know what the fuck he's doing here."
Lance didn't feel like dancing. He sat, and he watched Justin, although he didn't mean to. Justin was gravity, the shiny centre of the solar system, and knew it, which made it worse and always had.
Now he had Brian pulled into his orbit, both of them giving off cool pale starlight, bright shimmery objects in a dark room.
"I thought you were getting rid of that guy," Chris said.
Lance sighed. "Don't make me explain to you again about me and Justin. We broke up."
"We were there," JC reminded Chris helpfully. "It was a Wednesday."
"Whatever. I know you guys. You guys are like, Tony and Maria. Like Romeo and Juliet."
"Destined to kill ourselves?"
"No. Overly melodramatic and way too pretty. Have you talked to him, at least?"
"You talk to him. You're the one that thinks he's pretty like Juliet."
"You children never take my good advice," Chris scowled into his beer.
JC was shaking his head. "Not Romeo and Juliet. Lysander and Hermia."
"Under a magic spell?" Chris asked.
JC shook his head.
Chris got it. "Lost in the woods."
The girl was red-haired, in a short leather skirt and not much else. She had been flitting around them all night, flirting hard, Justin in the mood to let her do it. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she knew who he was. Brian smiled at her and she smiled right back, letting him whisper in her ear and pull her onto the dance floor.
The girl smiled sweetly at him, like she thought he couldn't see right through her, didn't know what she wanted. Justin didn't care tonight, watching Brian watching him. Brian's blue eyes were iridescent, like the strobe lights bouncing off the disco ball, whispering something dangerous.
Brian smiled gently, his hand moving along the girl's hips, over bare skin above a low riding skirt. The redhead smiled with him, and pulled Justin in closer.
Justin could feel the breath of them both, heartbeats in time with the song. The girl's skin was soft and damp with sweat, his hand gliding across it, underneath the hem of her skirt. He squeezed her firm round ass, his thumb hooked into the elastic waist of her thong. Brian's heat was seeping through the fabric her skirt, onto Justin's skin. Brian grinned at him, triple dare.
Justin's fingers stroked soft willing skin, the girl curling eagerly against him. He was ready to raise the stakes. Over the top of her head he mouthed, "Let's go."
Brian had done it in cars before. When they were kids Rome would park his rusted old Pontiac behind the grocery store after it closed, just out of range of the streetlight's harsh glare, their long bodies pressing restlessly together. So he had done it in cars, and on top of cars too, on the hood of his Skyline with the engine still warm, and the adrenaline still making him high. But he had never done it in a limousine.
Justin had done it in limousines before, Brian was pretty sure about that. He pulled Brian close, jeans making a scratching sound on the leather interior. They kissed long and hard, limbs tangled together.
Brian winced when Justin's slim fingers squeezed his torso. "I broke a couple of my ribs a month ago," he explained. "They're still sore."
"Accident?" Justin asked.
Brian shook his head. "I got in a fight."
Brian shrugged with an easy grin, remembering. "He's my best friend. He didn't mean anything. I hit him back."
"Your best friend?" Justin repeated. "Your best friend broke your ribs? What happens when somebody doesn't like you?"
"Everybody likes me." Brian's smile left his mouth, but not his eyes, lips brushing Justin's rough cheek.
"Yeah, me too," Justin said, and then they were kissing again. Justin felt cool, or maybe it was just that Brian was warm, tingly drunk all over his skin, loving the feel of Justin's mouth and the soft inside of the limo. Justin's tongue against his tasted like champagne, cool and slightly sweet.
Justin's fingers moved over the front of his jeans, and Brian's hand closed over his fingers, to slow him down. "Easy," he whispered, pulling Justin to him, fingers squeezing hard in the flesh of Justin's ass.
Justin moved to straddle his lap, pushing impatient hands underneath Brian's shirt. Brian pulled away the shirt and let Justin press his lips against Brian's skin, suntanned and salty from the sea. Justin's soft mouth moved against the light streak of hair down the centre of his chest, sucking hard on small hard nipples.
Then he gyrated slightly, arms around Brian's shoulders and riding him inside his jeans. Brian groaned out loud, holding onto his waist with strong tense fingers, until Justin drew up and gently pulled his hands away.
"No bruises," he said breathlessly. "Photo shoot. Thursday."
Brian's hands moved lightly up Justin's torso, unbuttoning and tugging off his shirt. Justin kissed him harder, his young wet mouth greedy and restless, their cocks hard and rubbing together against denim as Justin thrust against him. They fit together, vibrating like the parts of an engine, moving against each other hungrily.
When Justin touched his zipper once more, this time Brian didn't stop him. His cock was hard and full, as he through parted lips in quick gasps. Brian licked his lips, a small half-moan swallowed inside his throat. Justin's palm moved wetly down his throbbing shaft, sliding relentlessly up and down. Then his tongue sucked again at Brian's own, mouths pressed desperately together. For a moment Brian closed his eyes to everything except the warm increasing pressure in his lap, the insistent call of Justin's fingers. He let the orgasm sweep over him, pushing against him from the inside out.
When he opened his eyes again, Justin was grinning. Brian watched as he licked the hot sticky mess from his fingers. Brian's own fingers pulled open the buttons on Justin jeans, one by one. Justin was already hard and slick, cock pulsing inside Brian's hand. Brian rubbed his fingers against him in short quick motions. Justin moaned and bucked forward, thrusting slippery into Brian's hand. "Fuck," Justin whispered, and came with a stifled whimper, mouth pressed into Brian's hair.
Justin woke up in his bed, feeling not hung over, but just heavy, the world moving in slow motion. Brian was still beside him, naked, tangled inside the sheets and dead to the world. They'd fucked again after the limo, Justin coming inside Brian fast and hard, like a racecar hitting the wall.
Justin didn't disturb him. He took a shower and went downstairs half-dressed, craving Froot Loops.
Lance was in his kitchen, looking bright and rested, like he'd been up for hours. "Didn't you say that you weren't fucking him?" was the first thing that he said.
Justin stared at him. "I wasn't. Didn't you break up with me?"
"Actually," Lance said, "I think that you broke up with me."
Justin was silent, still looking at him. Lance looked the same like always, hard and shiny on the outside, but like he'd break if you pressed too hard, soft inside like a Cadbury Easter egg. It hurt Justin's head to look at him too long.
Justin sighed, because he didn't know what to do. He pulled Lance close, hands on his hips, and letting their mouths touch, not really a kiss. Because Lance lied. "I'm over you," he whispered.