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BRUISED Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't know them, no money being made. Rating: PG-13 Acknowledgements: Thanks to the beta ladies: Joie, who is a lovely Comma Nazi, and Silvia, without whose help this piece would be a complete and total mess. Thanks to Kyla, as ever, for the tech support. Justin knows the photos were risqué, but he never figured them for repulsive. “Jesus,
sick,” Lance grimaces and shoves the magazine away.
“What on Earth possessed you to do that?”
Justin blushes a little and looks at his feet. Chris walks over and picks up the magazine. “Ooh, Joey, look, the kid’s gone all bad-ass on us,” he smirks, tossing it at Joey, sprawled on a couch. Joey flips through the magazine lazily, yawns, and shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat, man.” Justin isn’t sure, but he doesn’t think that’s the reaction he was expecting. The guys leave, and Justin picks up the magazine, eyeing it warily. He
remembers the photographer telling him they’re going to rough him
up a bit, do things differently.
“A Joshua Timberlake no one has ever seen before,” the man
says -it takes two different assistants whispering in his ear before
he gets the name right – and he promises Justin everyone will look
at him in a new light. Justin doesn’t really care if everyone takes notice. Just the one. He’s uncertain because it’s so different from anything he, or any of them, for that matter, has done before. The photographer is good, though, Justin’s seen his portfolio, and he figures if nothing else the pictures will be interesting. Besides, the guy said something about Eminem posing beat up for the cover of some other rag, and he isn’t about to be outdone by that bottle-blonde prick. He feels a hand on his shoulder, feather-light, and jumps, dropping the magazine. “Damn, you scared me. Make some noise when you move, okay?” JC smiles, eyes crinkling, and bends down to pick the magazine up off the floor. “Sorry, J, you know me, I…” his voice trails off as he sees the cover. “What’s this?” he asks, looking searchingly at Justin’s face. “It’s nothing. It’s, um. You remember that cover I was doing? For that British mag?” Justin sighs, watching JC’s face carefully for his reaction. JC’s eyes are distant, cloudy. He strokes the cover of the magazine, fingers dancing lightly over the bruises, the bloodied image. And then his hand comes up to Justin’s face, cupping it gently, feather-soft touches where the marks would have been. Justin closes his eyes. He seems to have lost his ability to breathe. He moves to turn into the touch, but it’s gone. He opens his eyes, and sees emptiness in front of him. He hears a door shut, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. JC’s gone. Disappeared. Justin is alone again. Alone and hard. “Fuck.” JC’s
like a ghost the next few days. Wandering in and out of the line of Justin’s
vision, teasing him, taunting him.
They’re still talking, just mostly around each other, and
that makes everything more surreal.
Whatever Justin had hoped to accomplish with those pictures, it clearly isn’t working. At night, when he closes his eyes, JC’s solid before him. As his hand fists around his cock, Justin thinks about those fingers, lightly tracing the lines of his face. He imagines those touches elsewhere, and it’s not long before he comes. He goes into the bathroom to clean up and catches his reflection in the mirror. He works his fingers over his cheekbone, across his nose, remembering the look on JC’s face when he saw the cover. He’d looked hurt. Sad. Justin desperately wishes he knew what JC was thinking. He doesn’t mean to get into the fight. Really. Especially not with Joey, who is warm and friendly and makes it so easy to get along. They’re playing a game of pickup, JC and Joey versus Chris and Justin, and eventually Chris and JC beg off, the former claiming “imminent cardiac arrest due to advanced age” and the latter because “I’m really no good at this.” The two of them slump against each other on the sidelines, legs tangling together, loose and relaxed and comfortable in a way that Justin finds incredibly unsettling. He keeps watching them, distracted, and Joey uses that to his advantage, sinking a few shots in rapid succession and closing the point spread, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Chris. “Justin, get your ass in gear. You’re not going to let Joey beat you, are you?” he hoots, and Justin’s not. One look at JC, leaning into Chris and laughing, and the amusement glittering in Joey’s eyes, and his blood is boiling. He checks Joey, hard, and does a lay-up, tipping the ball easily in the basket. “Jesus, kid, take it easy,” Joey says, rubbing his arm, and Justin just glares at him. Joey shrugs. “Fine. You want to play hard, let’s go.” Justin’s playing like he has something to prove, fast and aggressive. He moves to brush past Joey and ends up with an elbow to the gut. Inadvertent, probably, but Justin doesn’t care. He spins around and draws back his arm. Before he really thinks about what he’s doing, he’s connecting with Joey’s jaw. His hand protests immediately but he can’t really process that pain because now there’s a fresh spark along his cheek. He’s tumbling, headed toward the ground, and he thinks as he’s falling that he really must have caught Joey by surprise because under normal circumstances he never would have hit back. Justin’s hands break his fall, and he winces as the skin on his palms scrapes and tears against the asphalt. “Jesus, Justin, what the fuck?” He can hear Chris’ voice, moving closer, and he scrambles to his feet, wincing slightly. Chris shoves at him, and JC comes over and gets between the two of them. JC mumbles something to Chris, who tosses Justin a glare like nothing he’s ever seen. Chris shakes his head in disgust and goes to check on Joey. “Hey, hey, Justin, hey,” JC says, hand light on his chest. “C’mon. Calm down. Easy, J.” Justin can’t meet his eyes. JC slides an arm around his waist, pulling him tight. “Let’s go inside and get some ice for that,” he says, and Justin nods, ducking his head against JC’s sleeve as they move toward the house. Inside, JC starts dabbing at Justin’s cheek with alcohol, and he winces at the sting. “Sorry,” JC says, looking genuinely apologetic. “You, um. You want to tell me what that was about?” Justin looks at his nails, the cracked and bleeding skin on his palms, and tries to figure out a way to tell his best friend that he’s in love with him. He
looks up as he feels JC’s fingers soothing the bruised skin and
sees that same distant look in his eyes, but this time he can sense
JC’s disappointment. Justin
sighs. “I don’t know, C,” he struggles for the words. “I guess. I guess maybe I was just trying to be seen.” JC laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “Seen? Justin, you’re one of the most well-known men in the world. You can’t go anywhere without being noticed. What more could you want?!” Justin bats his hands away angrily. “It’s not the same thing, C. I don’t want that. That’s all temporary. It’s not. It’s not real.” He stops and looks at JC. Really looks at him, hoping JC’s doing the same. “Do you see me, JC? Do you?” He moves forward then, snaking his arm around JC, pulling him close and… JC’s hand is firm against him, pushing him away. “Oh, Justin,” he says softly, and his eyes are sadder than Justin can ever remember seeing them. “I’ve seen you from the beginning, back before you had any idea who you were, even. You never had to prove anything to me. I saw you. You just didn’t see me.” Realization hits Justin like a sledgehammer to the gut, and he sees a lifetime of could-have-beens stretching out in front of him. Of all the scenarios he’s planned out in his head, this isn’t one of them. There was a time when JC had loved him, it seems. Loved. Past tense. Shit. Justin moves closer to JC. “I see you now, C. I do. Please…” his voice trails off as Chris comes into the room. “Everything okay in here?” Chris asks gruffly, exchanging a look with JC. “Yeah,” JC smiles, “things are going to be fine.” And Justin knows. He sees his missed opportunity in front of him, in a private moment shared between his two best friends. His shoulders slump, and he thinks he’d take the dull pain in his hand and his face over this sharp pain clawing at his gut any day. JC says something softly to Chris, who nods and leaves. “J?” Justin looks up. “You going to be alright?” Justin manages a weak smile. “Sure, yeah. Just a bruise, is all. It’ll fade.” JC nods and brings his hand up to Justin’s face, lightly brushing over the tender skin, then leans in and kisses his cheek gently. “Give it time.” And he’s gone. ~fin~ Feedback
cherished || Shadowlands
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