the Trouble with New York City by Uncertain Smile
Summary: When have Justin's instincts ever led him astray?
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Fanfic
Characters: None
Genres: Drama
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 04 March 2006
Updated: 05 March 2006
The Trouble with New York City by Uncertain Smile
Chapter 1: 1
Author's Notes:
_______________________________________________________________
Five days after he left for New York City, in his honorable quest to become the best artist
he could possibly be, Justin breezed into the diner, rightly expecting to be seen as the best
homosexual to ever have graced the likes of Pittsburgh. Bar Brian, of course.
"What the fuck?" Michael stammered in disbelief as he watched the newcomer strolling
towards them in that all too familiar and all so annoying, coquettish gait.
With characteristic blue-eyed sparkle and his trademark sweet, sunny smile, Justin
flopped down beside Emmett with a casual "Hey" towards the counter, and Hunter, who
was scrubbing the latest episode of customer dissatisfaction from his less than pristine
white apron.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Michael spit out the words at his business partner
and personal nemesis. Holy shit, would the guy ever quit looking like a twelve year old?
he thought as he continued to glower at Justin.
Emmett, managing to look as queenly and stylish as ever even in the face of utter shock,
recovered enough to smother Justin in a huge bear hug and plant a noisy, moist kiss on
his forehead.
"Baby!!! I knew you couldn't live without us." He scootched down to rest his head on
Justin's shoulder and looked up with guileless baby blues.
Justin swatted him away and offered Michael his most angelic smile. "Still hoping I'll
disappear for good one of these days?"
Michael scowled endearingly at him and gave Emmett a death stare just for the hell of it.
"So what happened? Why are you here?"
"Food sucked. No good diners in NYC." Justin offered with a shrug. "Hey, hetero boy, a
cheeseburger and a coke, if you please. I'm starving."
Michael's scowl deepened, Emmett giggled in delight and Hunter gave him the finger. It
was good to be home!
He smiled genially at them all and waited impatiently for his food to arrive.
_________________________________________________________
The fridge was, as usual, characteristically devoid of anything even remotely related to
nutrition. Then again, there had never been a time when he would have expected to find a
barbecued chicken just sitting temptingly and conveniently in the middle shelf waiting to
be nuked.
The familiar sight of poppers, Canadian killer beer and a whole lot of bottled water,
brought peace to his soul and a rumble to his tummy. It had been a whole three hours
since his impromptu afternoon snack at the diner and it was time to feed the beast again.
Nothing edible to be found, however.
Giving up, he sprawled on the white leather couch in the darkened loft and smiled at the
naked guy staring enticingly down at him from the wall. He relived with relish Michael's
and Emmett's earlier astonishment at his grand entrance and pondered how to handle it
when Brian inevitably would tell him to get his ass back to New York.
He sighed, his glee a little dimmed at the prospect and remembered that he was still
hungry. He made a bee-line for the fridge again. Perhaps he had overlooked a shelf or
something. No such luck. Oh well.
He grabbed a bottle of water. The light from the open fridge bathed the stylish kitchen in
a soft vanilla glow. It was the welcoming, always safe night-light of his youth.
Once the loft had seemed as huge and sacred as a cathedral. Now, this was the place
where he always felt safe. The only place he would ever really associate with the word
home.
He sat on the bed, drank half the bottle and settled down to wait for Brian.
___________________________________________________________
There was a lump on his bed. A big lump. Brian weaved slowly towards the bathroom,
still eyeing the blue shaped mountain of comforter and sheets on the right side of the bed.
Shit! Phyllis didn't show up again today. The place was turning into a pig sty. He vowed
to come home early enough next Thursday so he could fire her sorry ass.
Relieving himself for the thousandth time that night, he swayed slightly to the left almost
missing his target. Shit, he was going to have a bitch of a hangover in the morning. As he
flushed, he considered the necessity of a trip to the kitchen to grab some water.
He made it to the edge of the steps and considered the seemingly endless trek to the
kitchen. Fuck that! He flopped down on the bed, without bothering with the tedious task
of taking off his jeans, and grabbed for the bunched up comforter.
"Hey." A sleepy voice and a gleaming blue eye emerged from underneath the bundle.
"FUCK ME!!" Brian's heart neatly jumped up to the back of his throat and dropped
instantaneously again down to his feet.
"I thought you'd never ask." Justin agreed in a sweet, little boy voice, snuggling up to
Brian. "As long as I you fuck me first."
_______________________________________________________________
The morning found Brian nursing a most expected hangover.
After a marathon shower, Brian felt human enough to confront a freshly fucked Justin,
who was now happily puttering around in the kitchen.
Foremost on the agenda was to enquire why he wasn't where he was supposed to be,
struggling with paints and brushes in New York City.
"It's not for me.” Justin maintained again, staring at the coffee maker and steadily
refusing to look up at him.
"You've only been there less than a week. How the hell do you know that it isn't for
you?" Brian reasoned.
"The same way I knew at 17 that you were." Justin threw back at him with maddening
logic while handing him a cup of coffee.
"Well, don't think that I've been sitting around, pining for you." Brian muttered. "This is
ridiculous. You're getting your ass back there." he added resolutely.
"No, I'm not!" Justin shouted. This was unbelievable. Doubting his sanity at ever
imagining that Brian would see reason, he carefully took a deep breath and waited for
Brian to stop snorting into his coffee cup.
"I was bored there. It’s a boring place full or boring people." Justin sulked.
“Yeah, it sure ain’t Hollywood.” Brian chuckled and went for a second cup of coffee.
"And why, pray tell, can't I become famous in Pittsburgh?" Again with the logic. Brian
shrugged and reached for a bottle of Advil.
Appearing totally exasperated with such childish behavior wasn't easy when his insides
were fluttering with what felt suspiciously like happiness.
His cell rang and he abandoned the argument to answer a frantic call. Michael wanted to
make sure that the demon-spawned Wonder Boy had not fucked him to death during the
night.
Justin grinned and gulped the rest of his coffee. Victory was sweet.
______________________________________________________________
Two days after his return, Justin received a call while at the diner, waiting for his lunch
order to arrive.
"Hey stranger, remember me?" The connection wasn't the greatest and it took him a
minute to place the voice.
"Brett?! Is that you?"
"The one and only. How's it going? Listen, can you get Michael and then call me back.
We need to have a meeting."
"What? What's going on?" Justin felt the first rush of excitement begin in his gut and
willed himself to keep cool.
"I just got a call from the boss. Looks like the Rage project is back on the board. We need
to talk." Justin flipped his cell phone closed and resisted a decidedly uncool-like urge to
grab Hunter and twirl him around the diner.
________________________________________________________________
"Holy shit!" Michael practically screamed into the phone. Justin winced and grabbed a
cold and over-ripe peach from the newly stocked Most Expensive Fridge ever built.
"Rage is cumming!" Justin screamed back, stifling giggles and spraying fuzzy pieces of
peach skin. "You up for that?"
He giggled again in response to Mikey's breathy "oh, yeah!” Maybe raiding Brian's
excellent stash had not been the best idea. Justin had never been known for holding his
liquor. Or drugs. Pot, especially excellent pot, had always been his particular nemesis. It
could always be counted on making him act like an idiot, or in extreme cases, like an
utter twat.
"Justin... really, is this for real this time?" Michael's wary tone sobered Justin's euphoria.
"I don't know." he replied, honestly. "It was real last time, even if it got shit canned in the
end. So, you the fuck knows? It's real right now, so let's enjoy it." He took another toke.
"Carpe diem, Michael." he advised with authority.
"I guess we just ride it, right?" Michael's voice regained some of its earlier excitement,
yet still wavering between careful elation and wise skepticism. It made Justin smile.
Right there and then he felt tons older and wiser. Then again, it probably was just the
joint.
________________________________________________________________
A couple of hours later, Brian came into the loft, bringing in with him the scent of fresh
snow.
He jumped up from the couch where he had been contemplating the meaning of life, the
universe and the fact that fate had proven him right yet again.
He threw himself at Brian, arms tight around the long, graceful neck, legs wrapping
firmly around his lover's waist.
"Congratulate me!" he crushed Brian's lips with a fierce kiss. "I'm going to be a star.
Again..."
Much later, still a little breathless after a most excellent fuck, Justin lay in the arms of a
relaxed and uncharacteristically snuggly Brian.
"Didn't I tell you that I wasn't meant for New York City? When are you going to accept
that you can't get rid of me?"
"When are you leaving for LA?" Brian answered back with a smirk and a kiss to his nose.
"Fucker!"
-- The end --