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HATE Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't know them, no money being made. Acknowledgements: Thanks to Pet and Silvia for the betas and language help. You hate him. It's been growing in your gut, this hate, pooling there for years, building until finally you can't stand to be in the same room with him. Your fingers itch and your hands clench at your sides, and the thing you want more than anything else in the whole wide world is one chance to knock that grin off his face. You can see his look of surprise when you play the scene out in your mind, the snap of his head and the satisfying crunch as your fist connects with his chin. Sometimes that vision is the only thing that brings you enough peace at night to sleep. He's insufferable now, riding the wave of publicity surrounding that stupid fucking film. It doesn't matter that it tanked at the box office. Suddenly he's not the "other blonde one." His star is rising, and you can't stand it. You're not entirely sure what the source of your antipathy is, just that is a living, breathing presence in your life. As he's shed his boyish skin, become a strong, confident man, secure in himself and in the group, your hate has increased exponentially. It's so bad now that the others have started to pick up on it. Kind of hard not to, you suppose, when a mere brush of his hand against your shoulder on the red carpet causes you to grimace. Chris corners you after one such incident, tells you to get your head out of your ass and start acting like an adult. You flip him off and go about your business until Joey comes along, pulling you into a hug and telling you that he loves you and he just wants things to be good again and you laugh at that, laugh right in his face before you head back to the bunks because all you want is to be alone. JC brings you coffee and runs his hand over your head and tells you that things can't go on as they are - can't because it won't be long before the media picks up on it, sharpening their claws and writing about the discord in America's hottest singing group - the chasm that exists between its two youngest stars. You don't yell at him, or push him away, because he's your best friend and that's one bridge you're not going to burn, but you tell him as calmly as possible that you just don't care anymore. You hate that he has them wrapped around his finger, that they eat up all his ideas and his smiles and all those lies that sound like the gospel truth when uttered with a voice smooth and sweet as honey. Lies like how close you all are, how important the music is, how much he loves his girlfriend. That last one makes you laugh out loud in an interview, which earns you a bruising kick in the leg and the silent treatment from Chris for a week. But they haven't seen what you'd seen - the way he saunters off into bathrooms with random men at clubs, the early morning goodbyes he says to this crewmember or the other. Girlfriend. Whatever. You're at some after party, the five of you spread out in the crowd, and you see him head off down a dark hallway, and after a few minutes you follow him, because it's what you do. You don't think too deeply about the reasons why. You tell yourself it's for the good of the group and let it go at that. You turn a corner and his hands are on your shoulders, shoving you against the wall. It takes your brain a few seconds to catch up, as you realize he was waiting here, for you. You're not sure what that means, except he's right there in your face. His eyes are wide and dark, unnaturally so. "What do you want, Justin?" he asks. "Fuck you," you hiss, and you smirk as you feel his hands tighten on your shoulders, because here it comes, what you've been waiting for. You steel yourself for the punch you know is coming, the confrontation you've been craving. But instead of his fist bruising your mouth it's his lips and your eyes grow big with surprise. You try to push him away, you do, but the fucker's gotten strong, and you can't, and your body isn't reacting the way it's supposed to and to hell with this, you think. He's not having this affect on you. Your body isn't responding. It's not. His tongue is at the corner of your mouth, licking at the edges insistently and despite yourself you let him in, moaning as he sweeps inside, rocking against him, and fuck, you think, fuck. You really didn't see this coming. You bring your hands up and fist them in his hair and grind into him desperately. His hand comes off your shoulder, and the heel presses into your groin, and that's all it takes. You don't even have time to wonder how you got so goddamn easy before you're shuddering. You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood. He stays pressed tight against you while you catch your breath, nuzzling your ear as he whispers, "Next time you come hunting evidence, think about this. Who's the faker here, Justin?" He pulls back, and the look in his eyes is so knowing and familiar that you gasp. He reaches for you and you wince, but he just straightens your shirt, winks at you, and walks back toward the party, whistling quietly under his breath. ~fin~ Feedback
cherished || Shadowlands
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