(You've Got) That Pornstar Flava (4/7)

[amfiguree]

Master Post | Trailer | Reel One | Reel Two | Reel Three | Bonus Features: Movie Commentary | Gag Reel | Behind The Scenes


It's four hours later, and Chris is still sitting outside TRANS-PORN, staring wordlessly at the yellow tape pasted over the doors. That's how AJ finds him when he gets in for his shift.

"For fuck's sake, Chris," he sighs. "Did you lock yourself out again?" And then he sees the debris lining the road, the overturned trash cans, the torn strips of paper; all the makings of a human stampede. "Jesus. What the hell happened here?" he demands.

It'd taken an hour to calm the mob down. Customers had gathered outside the main doors, expecting answers, insisting on refunds, adamant that they be let inside. The regulars had been even harder to disperse; they're all on Chris' side, every one of them offering to attest to the safety of the building, to the work that they've seen him put in. And then Kevin had pulled him aside and said, "We'll hold a fucking rally if we have to."

It had felt like a sucker punch to the gut, knowing he'd let so many people down.

Chris presses his face into his knees. "It's the roof," he says. He sounds much calmer than he feels. "We're in violation of the safety codes for the roof."

AJ gapes down at Chris, and then he turns back to the store. Finally, the yellow tape seems to register. "Oh my god."

Chris forces his head up at that. "AJ," he says. "It's over. We're done."

For a long moment, AJ doesn't speak. Then, "He knew, didn't he?" he snarls. "Pearlman knew this was going to happen, that motherfucking son of a bitch!"

"I've tried calling," Chris says, wearily. "His cell goes straight to voicemail. His home line's been disconnected. The address he left in the employee emergency contact sheet? Doesn't exist." He shakes his head on a laugh. "For all we know, he never even gave us his real name."

"Shit." AJ's pacing now, hands flexing at his sides. "Shit, shit, goddamn fucking prick."

"I tried that," Chris says, solemnly. "Clicked my heels three times. Rubbed a lamp. Offered to pawn my soul. Doesn't look like it's gonna work."

AJ swivels around to stare at him. "What are you - you're fucking joking. What the fuck is funny about this?"

Chris huffs out a laugh. "Everything," he says. "It's all one big punch line."

"Goddammit, Chris!" AJ growls, clearly angry and frustrated and fucking terrified. "I can't deal with your shit right now, so snap the fuck out of it and focus! Tell me who else you've called, and give me our fucking list of suppliers."

At AJ's insistence, they spend the rest of the afternoon calling in favors and checking in on their other business associates, wheedling, threatening, and, once or twice, coming dangerously close to begging.

Lou is nowhere to be found.

*

They call a meeting with the rest of the TRANS-PORN staff - including their unofficial members - that evening, right outside the store. (Chris is all for keeping the entire affair under wraps until he can figure out a workable solution, but AJ refuses to let that happen. "I'm going to fucking call every one of them myself if you're too chickenshit to do it yourself," he threatens, and eventually Chris has to give in.) He does away with the niceties and the 'brace yourself' speech that AJ practically tries to write for him, just shows them all the eviction notice and explains their situation exactly the way it was explained to him that morning.

"Fuck," AJ swears, despite the fact that this is the third time he's heard the story. "Motherfucking--"

"I told you," Lance adds, but he never takes his eyes off the eviction form, glaring his way through it like he might suddenly develop x-ray vision that will help him either figure out how to get them out of this mess or burn the damn papers altogether. "I fucking told you, Chris."

A long, suffocating silence follows, which Chris doesn't try to interpret.

"Is that even legal?" Justin asks, finally. There's a hitch in his voice, and his lips are red raw where he's been chewing on them. "I mean, they can't just--"

Chris shakes his head, and Justin's mouth snaps shut. "I don't know, kid," he says, wearily. "But I don't have the cash to hire a lawyer to find out."

"Maybe Cook," Justin suggests, in a small voice, but Chris shoots him a look and he doesn't finish his sentence.

Nick exhales, heavily, and runs a quick hand through his hair. "This is messed up, man."

Howie worries at his lower lip. "What if we all chip in?" he volunteers. "What if we pool our cash and get someone to come in and fix the roof--"

"They're giving us till the end of the month to move the inventory," JC says, quietly, looking up from where he and Lance have been reading the notice. His hands are clasped, knuckles white from the pressure. "It's non-negotiable."

Joey nods slowly, before turning to Chris. "Okay," he says, and spreads his hands, palms up. "What do you want to do?"

This is how they operate. It's Joey's way of saying you can fix this, and I'm with you, no strings attached. Chris appreciates the gesture. "It's late," he replies, finally. "There isn't a lot we can do right now. Just go home, get some rest, and we'll talk in the morning."

It's the closest he'll come to saying I don't know, and Joey knows it, if the expression on his face is any indication. To his credit, though, he just nods, and puts a hand on Chris' shoulder. "In the morning," he repeats, gently.

Justin opens his mouth to protest, obviously stricken, but Nick puts a quelling hand on his shoulder, and he subsides.

They shuffle towards the exit, exchanging subdued goodbyes. Lance is stiff the entire time, but he relents at the door. "Look," he mutters, softly enough that no one else can overhear, "You're a fucking moron, but you're not the only one who wants this place to work. We'll figure something out."

Justin's the last one out, and he pulls Chris aside long enough to tug him into a hard hug. "We're going to fix this, I swear," he says, quiet but convicted. Chris pats his back, awkwardly, before pulling away with a nod.

Justin looks him over, still full of concern. "You probably shouldn't be driving in the meantime, though. I'm catching a ride with Nick. Do you want us to drop you off?"

Chris just shakes his head. "Gonna close up here," he says. "There's some stuff I have to go through."

"Yeah," Justin says, and it's a little closer to the confident young man Chris recognizes. "You do that. We're gonna be okay."

Then he leaves, and Chris is alone again. The store is utterly still in front of him.

He returns to the spot he was standing in that morning, drawing a deep, shuddery breath as he scrubs a hand over his face. The light from the street lamps flicker across the yellow tape plastered over the storefront.

This was it. This was his.

"Oh my god," he whispers. His gut clenches, and he nearly folds to his knees. He shoves his shaking hands into his pockets and stares, unblinking, till his eyes start to burn and his chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself. "Oh my god."

He presses his fist to his mouth, hard, and clenches his jaw. Jesus Christ, he's not going to fucking cry. What the fuck will that accomplish? He has a team to think about, an empty bank account, a family expecting a monthly income--

Someone steps up behind him, then. "Chris."

Just like that, Chris' resolve cracks. "Fuck, C," he chokes out.

This was supposed to be everything, he wants to say. This was fucking everything. But the words are like a noose around his neck, and his throat closes up.

"I'm going to be sick," he mumbles, instead, and turns away as he doubles over.

JC doesn't say a word, but his hand is warm on Chris' back, and it stays there a long time that night, till Chris' stomach is empty, and his throat is raw, and he stops feeling like the ground has fallen away from under him.

*

There is no meeting the next morning, though it's not for a lack of trying on everyone else's part. Chris comes awake when the pounding in his head is physically manifested as an irate Joey pounding at his door, yelling about "acting like a fucking adult for once in your fucking life, asshole!" Joey never yells. If he concentrates, he can hear AJ and Justin, too, voices a low hum through the thin walls.

Chris rolls over and goes back to sleep.

When he wakes up again, it's dark out - or it could be sometime in the afternoon, he can't tell with his curtains drawn - and JC's still outside his apartment. He can hear JC's voice echoing in the corridor, low and soothing as he hums. It sounds like a lullaby.

He reaches for his stereo, switches it on. Cranks up the volume till all there is is someone I never had the chance to be I'm wasting away beating like a slow pulse in his ears. He shoves his head under a pillow.

The heat in his bedroom is stifling, and he's sweating even though all he has on are a pair of slacks. He kicks those off, pulls the covers over his head, and closes his eyes as he breathes in deep.

They're back the next morning, all of them. Joey cajoles, thunders, pulls rank, before letting AJ take the second shift. Chris stays in bed, stares blankly out the window like he doesn't even hear. They keep it up for four days, maybe five, but Chris never answers, and eventually Joey says, "I'm fucking done here," disgusted and miserable and fucking pissed off.

He doesn't come back.

JC sighs, presses his forehead against the door and says, "Chris."

Chris doesn't open the door then, either.

He's fucking stubborn when he wants to be, and he knows with unshakable certainty that this isn't something they can fix.

This is how it ends.

Some fucking movie.

*

It takes eight days for Chris to finally talk himself into getting out of bed. It's not so much a choice as it is an ultimatum; he has two days to get all that porn out of the store, and fuck if he's leaving anything behind for the goddamn vultures. He may have shit to his name, but he can still be a mingy bastard.

It's going to take him more than one trip to clear all their stock, and he barely notices the drive up as he thinks it. There's nothing here he hasn't seen before; the shops are the same, the traffic, the people. Four damn years, and nothing's changed.

The parking lot is completely deserted. The strip joint isn't open yet, and Chris thinks numbly that they're going to be back to full capacity in no time, with TRANS-PORN out of the way.

No one stops to give him a hand, or even to watch. No one wonders who he is or why the fuck he's practically robbing the store blind. Justin finds him on his fifth trip, emptying out the last of the porn into his car.

"Hi," Justin says, after they've looked at each other in silence for a minute. He sounds surprised.

"Hi," Chris says, shortly. There are dark rings around Justin's eyes, new lines around his mouth, and Chris notices all of that before he realizes that Justin's in the TRANS-PORN uniform. "You look like shit."

Justin laughs, a startled, brittle sound. "You look like you need a shave," he counters.

Chris rubs his hand over his mouth, smile fading. "Yeah," he says, and then he turns back to the porn.

"I, uh," Justin goes on, and Chris sees him shove his hands in his pockets out of the corner of his eye. "Nick left something here, so I just swung by to..."

"Yeah," Chris repeats.

Justin nods, and stands there watching Chris move the tapes for a minute. "That's a lie," he admits, eventually, gaze heavy on Chris' back. "I just wanted to see the store."

"Okay," Chris says, noncommittally, and hefts another armful of tapes into his trunk. "Happy looking."

"That's it?" Justin asks flatly, eyes narrowed as he folds his arms, watching Chris go back for another set of cassettes. "That's all you have to say?"

"Yep," Chris says, mildly.

Justin shakes his head in disgust. "Un-fucking-believable."

"I try."

Justin's expression draws tighter, at that. His face grows pinched, and his fists are clenched. He follows Chris as Chris loads the next batch of videos into his car. "So what?" he demands. "The shop is done, big fucking deal. Come on, Chris. Porno? Is that what you wanted? To be a porn director?"

Chris barely even pauses. "It's a step above snuff."

"Oh, come on!" Justin explodes. "Don't fucking do this!"

Chris slams the hood shut like he hasn't even heard.

"Chris."

He pushes past Justin and gets into his car. Revs the engine.

Justin pounds a fist against his window. "Goddammit, Chris!"

He steps on the gas, and then he's pulling away.

Justin yells after him in his rearview mirror. "When are you gonna stop fucking running?"

Chris doesn't watch the scenery on the route back.

*

He buys himself a couple of six-packs later that night. He puts 'Dude, Where's My Dildo?' on TV and sinks into his couch, one arm wrapped around his booze. It's the first meal he remembers having in days. He cusses at his screen when the cheesy music starts playing in the background, but watches it all the way through once anyway, then rewinds it and starts it all over again.

He's on his third viewing, wondering how long he can survive on beer and peanuts and porn before he starves or goes insane, when there's a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" he singsongs, nearly stumbling over a stack of VHS tapes as he pushes to his feet. Okay. He might be a little drunker than he thought.

"It's Lance. Let me in."

Chris groans, and slumps back into his chair. "Are you here for a pity fuck?" he calls.

There's a pause. "Chris."

"Didn't think so," Chris sighs, and shakes his head. "If you're here to yell at me, Bass, you have to get in line. Think it goes as far back as 'round the block."

"Open the door."

"Shush," Chris says, gesturing vaguely with a hand, and only narrowly missing his fresh can of beer. "I'm wallowing. You don't barge in on people when they're wallowing."

"Christopher." Lance sounds entirely unimpressed. "Let me in."

"Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin," Chris snorts. "Find someone else to lecture, Lance!"

He can hear Lance draw a long, sharp breath, even from the other side of the door. "I'm not here to yell. Let me in."

Chris considers this for a moment, before grudgingly getting to his feet. "If you're lying," he grumbles, as he shuffles across the room to open the door. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Here," Lance says, thrusting a paper bag at Chris when he finally gets the door open. "I figured we'd need alcohol."

Chris all but grabs Lance in a hug. "I'm so glad I didn't fucking kill you," he mumbles, and then they proceed to get completely, shit-faced drunk.

"I fucking hate my life," Chris says, to the ceiling, as he flops back against the foot of his couch. "I was just gonna, like, start stuff. And then I bought the stupid store, and I was gonna, y'know?" He brings his thumb and index finger close together, then waves them in Lance's face. "So close, and then I get kicked out. What the fuck?"

"It's messed up," Lance agrees. His accent's starting to show, and it makes him sound warm and honey-sweet. "Shit's always happening to good people."

"I'm an asshole," Chris points out, without heat. He feels like he's floating. "Shit happens to me."

Lance laughs, a low rumble of sound, before crawling over from his end of the couch to kiss Chris' cheek. "You're not an asshole," he says.

Chris shakes his head, and turns away. And then Lance says, "Hey," and cups his jaw, touches his mouth. "Hey, m'serious. I mean it."

They sit like that for a second, so close that they're sharing breath. Up close, Lance is really, really pretty, with those stupidly pretty eyes, and then Chris kind of leans in, and Lance lets him. They kiss for a while, clumsy and wet, until Chris' nose bumps against Lance's teeth.

Chris jerks back, then, and Lance blinks. They stare.

Then Chris' mouth twitches, and they're both laughing. They just - it's them, it's them, and they've known each other forever, almost since they were born, and this is ten thousand kinds of weird, and everything is kind of fucking hysterical. At least until Chris remembers--

"I let him grope me," he moans, and Lance stops laughing, moves to curl up beside Chris instead, a warm, solid weight. "Four fucking years, I let him grope me. And this is the thanks I get." He drops his forehead on the table. "My ass feels inadequate."

Lance's hand slips a little as he pats Chris' back. "You have a nice ass," he says, comfortingly. "'Sides, s'not like you were fucking him."

"S'that it?" Chris asks, in a moment of sudden clarity. "You were fucking your boss in Boston?"

"And then his wife found out," Lance nods. "It was fucked up. And then I got fired, and I couldn't go home because my mom was all, 'God will fix it, honey! Come home and we'll pray and God will make Michelle forget that you slept with her husband and then maybe they'll even hire you again!', so." He shakes his head. "No. You were safer."

"Suck," Chris says, and shifts over so Lance can pillow his head on his shoulder. "I would never make you pray."

"S'why I'm here," Lance slurs.

Chris hums as he rests his cheek on Lance's hair. "Bet I've got a nicer ass, too."

*

Chris doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep till he wakes up with a crick in his neck, Lance's drool on his cheek, and the worst hangover of his life. His cell phone is ringing, shrill and sharp in his ear, and he lets out a quiet, unhappy moan as he reaches for it. "What?" he barks. Beside him, Lance stirs.

"So I hear you're in a bit of a jam," Cook says. "Do I get to bail you out this time?"

*

It's not really a question, because Cook refuses to take 'no' for an answer, barrels through all of Chris' protests and concerns with an easy, "I got it covered, okay?" and sets up a meeting for later. By noon, they're discussing details at Chris' apartment, contracts drawn up and waiting to be signed ("just so you know I'm fucking serious about this," Cook explains).

Chris isn't even surprised when Justin shows up, too, looking sheepish but determined.

"You piece of shit," Chris mutters, as he lets them both in.

"You're welcome," Justin whispers back.

Lance ignores them all in favor of taking the legal papers from Cook the second he comes through the door, all business, and Chris doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's still got wrinkles on his cheek from sleeping on Chris' shoulder.

"Everything looks legit," Lance says, after about an hour. "No catches, no unexpected clauses. Just money, and porn." The notion seems to almost confuse him.

"So that's it?" Justin asks, for about the eighth hundred bazillionth time that afternoon.

Cook just shrugs and nods, also for the eighth hundred bazillionth time, smug grin firmly in place. "That's it," he affirms.

Justin's eyes are wider than Chris has ever seen when he turns around, mouth hanging open. "That's it," he repeats, clearly in awe. "That's fucking it, Chris."

Chris rolls his eyes, but his hands are twitching in his pockets. "Dial it down, Timberlake," he warns. He's only half kidding. "If Cook pulls out because he thinks my colleagues are retards, you're fired." Cook's still wearing that shit-eating grin when Chris turns back to him. "Seriously, you little fuck. You're going to blow ten thousand dollars on me and all you want is crappy ass gay porno to show your competitors?"

"No," Cook corrects. "I'm going to corrupt my ex-competitors. And I want the kinkiest goddamn gay porno you have."

Chris just looks at him for a hard moment, till Cook rolls his eyes and punches his shoulder. "Look, Chris, I've seen your work, okay? Shut up. I have. And no one else is gonna be crazy enough to give you the kind of money you're asking for with the kind of notice you're giving. It sucks, but you know that's how it is. And after all the shit we've been though together..." Cook shrugs and shakes his head, and even before he finishes the thought, Chris knows he's right. "Man, do you really have to look this one in the mouth?"

Chris has a sudden flashback to the old Axium days, when they'd travelled from pub to pub, desperate to make a name for their little three-man band. He remembers the crazy motherfucker who could match him shot for shot after each set, eyes bloodshot and gleaming, and then go one better. Chris laughs, roughly, and punches Cook back. "Whatever, man. Anything to keep you from fucking bawling all over me again."

"Asshole," Cook says, fondly. His grin shows off all his teeth. "So are we gonna do this or what?"

Chris pauses, sharing a quick look with Lance. Then he looks down at his hands for a second, because Jesus fucking Christ, nothing is ever this easy, nothing, and who the fuck is he to say no? Justin is practically salivating when Chris finally rolls his eyes and laughs. "Yeah," Chris says. "Yeah, we're fucking doing this."

"Sweet!" Justin crows, triumphantly. He subsides a little when Chris glares, but Cook just raises an eyebrow and extends his hands, palms up.

"Well?" he says, with a smirk. "Lay it on me, Kirkpatrick. Whatever gets you off."

*

There's actually a surprising amount of porn on Chris' Best Of list. Surprising in that it hasn't been reviewed in a while, and after all that time at TRANS-PORN, he'd kind of forgotten how much he enjoyed his job when penises had been more than just a (necessary) part of the bigger picture.

Chris heads straight for the section labeled "Epic Stuff". There's only one title in it, but if Chris had his way, there would be an entire floor in some educational porno library dedicated to it. Hell, there'd be a goddamn shrine. Because it's not just regular porn. No, it's been elevated to a whole 'nother level. It's like a fucking porn marathon; four hours of sitting in front of his TV set and coming so hard he sees stars. Over, and over, and over again. Chris has to adjust himself a little before he can move on to the next film.

It's the one about the kid who's running a porn site and falls in love with one of his (very talented) actors, which is at the top of JC's list - AJ's, too, if memory serves - and Chris remembers enjoying it so much he'd gone out and bought the soundtrack, too. There's nothing like jerking off to good, stimulating background music. Also, there's a little irony in this one, if he thinks about it. Which he doesn't.

Then there's the one where the lead with the dirtiest motherfucking mouth on the planet gets to screw just about everyone, and the BDSM scene at the end still gets Chris off faster than anything else he's ever seen in this store. He tosses that one in the pile with a smirk.

Justin's favorite is next in line. It's the one with the fivesome. Chris' favorite thing about it is probably that it was actually shot in Amsterdam. Well, that and the fact that the actors seem to have studied the manual on 'ways to make Christopher Kirkpatrick cream his pants with just a moan' cover to cover.

By extension, then, the one with even more fivesome sex makes the cut. There's, like, a whole slew of plot in it, too, which after four years gets Chris off almost as much as the actual porn does - which happens to be something he refuses to be embarrassed about, by the way - and seduction and wet dreams and accidental, sexy phone flirting, so. Yeah. Chris is kind of particular to this one.

He moves on to the Mile High Club section next, and there's a little post-it note stuck on the first title that says, watch me or your dick will shrivel in AJ's handwriting. Chris recognizes the cover. It's the one with the amazing plane sex, and yeah, that doesn't narrow it down much, but it's the only one from this section that customers come in for twice - sometimes even three times - in the span of a week. Chris chucks that in with the other films.

Then he goes for the one with The Lap Dance, which is what any initiated employee of TRANS-PORN knows is the best teaser porn video they've got in the house. It's really more about the power play than the scantily-clad boys, when it comes down to it, which is something Chris can appreciate. That probably explains Lance's fascination, too.

The next one is another one of Lance's classics, involving yet another threesome, except it also technically involves voyeurism, which is more than fine by him, because in porn, additional people mean additional parts, and additional parts pretty much mean a whole slew of other good stuff.

Chris adds a title from the cross-dressing section, too. It's on Joey's must-watch twenty more times before I die list, one of the true films that's stood the test of time. It's the gender-bender one with what he's sure is the hottest -- he's going to go with semi-masturbation -- scene he'll ever see in his life. (And he'll never admit it, but watching the way the best friends play off each other is one of his guilty porno pleasures.)

Just to be kinky, Chris throws in the one with the shoe kink too. It's Justin's absolute favorite porno to watch, and he used to put it in the display window all the time until AJ made him give their newer arrivals some airtime. Cook will shit a brick when he sees it, and whoever he intends it for will be... surprised, if nothing else. Hopefully even a little turned on.

Then Chris gets to the humor section (which he basically created for himself, mostly, because he's seen hilarious shit out there, and it needs to be promoted), and he picks out the one with the shower sex. It's like the 'Before Sunrise' of porn, only better, because it's laugh out loud funny and the twist at the end always fucking kills him.

He hesitates a little when he gets to the next section. He ends up picking another one of JC's favorite films, which is the one that kind of reads like an art house film, except for the fact that it's porn. It's actually kind of angsty, and it took JC hours and hours of effusive gushing to get Chris to watch it with him in the first place - he'd finally had to use the 'you need to broaden your horizons to get anywhere' argument, and Chris had folded like a house of cards in a hurricane - and once he'd seen it, it became pretty much the only fifteen-minute flick he ever bothered putting out on the display rack.

For the hell of it, Chris goes through the Pornopera stack, too, rifling through it till he finds the one about the high school boys that doesn't seem like it's ever going to end. Justin had insisted on placing the order in his second week and, after some bribing, had gotten Chris to sit through an episode with him. Now, it's an indulgence that Chris gladly affords himself, because he might have a thing for schoolboys - something he hopes AJ never finds out - and because he might be a little bit in love with one of the characters on the show - which is another thing AJ never needs to know.

Plus, Chris thinks with a smirk, he's the only guy who still orders this shit, and it's a good idea to have something he can use to string Cook along. At least until the movie's done.

*

So the only thing left to do after dropping the videos off with Cook is to call a meeting.

Chris really doesn't want to do that.

He rings Kevin up, instead, because he's already got a script in mind, and it's going to be awesome. He tells Kevin as much, then adds, "And I think you'd be fucking perfect as the Yellow-Eyed Demon."

Predictably, Kevin hesitates. "Doesn't everyone want to be in a movie at some point in their lives?" Chris argues. "It's the least we can do."

"Or you could return me my money," Kevin suggests. Chris makes a loud, injured noise in protest, and Kevin relents. Sighs. "Will my wife get to guest-star?"

Chris cackles, and rubs his hands together. "Throw Mason in and you have a deal."

*

Still, the inevitable can only be put off so long.

It's the first meeting he's called since everything at TRANS-PORN went south. Chris doesn't know what to expect, or who, and he sure as hell isn't expecting to see everyone there when he stumbles into Lance's apartment five minutes late the next morning. "Holy shit," he breathes, before he can help himself.

That's when he realizes Joey isn't there. "Fuck," he says, and runs a hand through his hair. They haven't spoken at all in weeks. "Dammit--"

The door swings open again, then. "Sorry, sorry. I got caught up at a work thing."

It's Joey, and the knot in Chris' stomach comes undone almost immediately. He catches Joey's eye over Howie's head. It takes a second, but Joey's expression relaxes into a smile, and Chris feels the last of the tension in his shoulders disappear.

He turns to the rest of the room. They're all there. Every fucking one of them. JC, Justin, Nick, Lance, Howie, AJ. Even Brian, who offers him a small, half-nod when their eyes meet. "Thank you," he says, very quietly. Even then, he's pretty sure they all hear it when his voice catches. "Thank you all for coming." His throat tightens. "I know--"

"Shut up before you make us fucking bawl, asshole," AJ interrupts, but his tone is warm. "We get it, okay? Now move the fuck along. We've got a film to make."

Chris can't help it. He laughs.

*

Things pretty much fall into place after that, and they get their roles sorted without any problems.

JC, obviously, is anal enough to be the perfect AD without being too much of an overbearing ass. AJ volunteers to fill in for a couple of the minor roles, and Chris puts him in charge of casting and props. Howie's the script supervisor, since he's always had a keen eye for detail, and Chris is pretty sure they can trust him to remember with hand the actors are supposed to be carrying their EMF devices in from scene to scene.

Lance gets to be the producer, since his primary interest is filling out paperwork and managing the money. Joey makes up pretty much the entire technical crew, doubling up as the key grip, and the sound and cameraman. Brian and Justin sign up as extras, and offer to help Joey out wherever they can.

Unfortunately, it turns out that Nick isn't quite up for anything that involves memorizing that many lines, so he volunteers to do make-up. AJ cracks up, at that, to which Nick responds solemnly, "You grow up with three younger sisters and their glittery eye-shadow, and then we'll talk."

Chris backs him up, because he has four, and he sure as hell knows how that goes.

*

It's past lunch before they disperse, Chris handing out hugs to anyone who'll have them, like a physical reminder that everything's okay, and that all this really is happening. He gets to Justin last, and for a second, Chris doesn't really know what to say. "I'm sorry," he settles for, eventually.

Justin gives him a wan smile, then tugs him into another quick hug."It's okay," he murmurs, into Chris' shoulder. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Chris lets out a long, heavy breath. He thinks about the day in the parking lot; about Justin calling Cook; about that night in the bar, Justin's tongue in his mouth, Justin's hands curled in his hair. He feels a sudden, involuntary rush of affection, and for a second, Chris very nearly kisses him.

Then Nick appears in the door. "J," he calls. "You gonna be long? 'Cause it's fucking pouring out here and I'm not waiting for you in the car."

Oh, Chris thinks. He doesn't know if he should be disappointed or embarrassed, and the thought catches him by surprise. He'd never really expected to feel either. So it's like that.

Justin rolls his eyes. "Give me a second," he calls back, but there's nothing save warm affection in his voice. "A little rain isn't going to kill you."

"So Nick, huh?" Chris asks, when Justin looks back at him, and shoves his hands in his pockets. "When did that happen?"

"Busted," Justin laughs, as he ducks his head almost sheepishly. It makes him look like a completely different person. "We, uh - it's been going on for a while now. We didn't want to say anything at first, in case we didn't - whatever, and it got weird." He shrugs a little, smiling warmly. "But I think we're gonna be okay, you know?"

"Yeah," Chris replies, even though he really doesn't.

"I should probably--" Justin says, and gestures towards the door.

"Yeah," Chris repeats. He lets Justin pull him into one last, brief hug, and then Justin follows Nick out the door, both of them grinning as they huddle together, Nick's jacket pulled up over both their heads as they head out to the car in the rain.

Chris waits for all of five minutes before he pulls out his cell, and sweet-talks Lance out to a bar.

*

"Men," he says later, once they're settled at a table, and he's told the bartender to keep the shots coming. He can already feeling his vision start to swim when he shakes his head. "Men, you know? We're a fucking joke."

"I'll drink to that," Lance sighs, as they clink glasses.

"Love," Chris snorts, before he downs his shot. "Who fucking needs it anyway?"

The next morning, he wakes up with a guy he doesn't recognize and the hangover from hell.

He doesn't think about Justin again.

*

It's not that difficult to do, really. They have a lot to accomplish for the movie. Location scouting, scheduling, script revisions, a thousand different things that Chris has scribbled on the notepad he keeps by his bedside table. Casting's one of their top priorities, and Chris has only just settled down with AJ and JC to discuss their options when there's a hesitant knock on the door.

"Hi, is this the casting department?"

Chris looks up, and his jaw promptly drops.

"Uh," he says. It totally doesn't come out sounding like "nnnnngh."

"I'm Jared," the taller one - he has at least a couple of feet on Nick - offers, as they come properly into the room. Jesus, his hands are huge. "And, uh, this is Jensen."

Jensen looks at AJ steadily. "We were just wondering if that offer's still on the table."

Chris' eyes grow wide. Jensen is, quite possibly, the original prototype of the perfect gay man. "Uh," he says. "Offer?"

Beside him, AJ smirks. "Told you I was good," he mutters.

Chris pauses, then plasters a smile on his face as he holds up a finger. "Sorry, just - give us a moment," he says, to Jensen, before he marches AJ off to the side. JC's already engaged in an animated conversation with Jared about Vanilla Lattes. "What the hell does this have to do with you?" he asks.

"I talked to them a while ago," AJ explains, with a cocky grin. "When the club wasn't doing so well. Put an offer on the table and told them to look us up if they ever wanted it."

"What?" Chris demands. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

AJ shrugs. "I figured I owed you," he admits. "And I didn't actually think they'd take me up on it." He glances back over at them. Jensen rubs the back of his neck as he watches Jared and JC interact. "They must be pretty desperate."

Chris' expression turns speculative. "Huh," he says.

*

So the Js get to audition (of course) and they blow Chris away (naturally), but now that Chris knows that they're probably here out of desperation, he can't help yanking their chains a little bit.

So he's an asshole. What else is new?

He knows they have it in the bag, but before JC can welcome them and introduce them to their crew, he steeples his fingers, eyebrows knit thoughtfully.

JC subsides almost immediately, but the frown he aims in Chris' direction says he thinks that Chris is crazy, and Chris would be thinking the same thing, if he'd been seriously considering blowing them off. But this is too good a chance to pass up. "We're going to need a screen test," he says, eventually. "And I know the perfect set-up."

*

They get Jensen and Jared mic-ed up, and then send them back to the strip club. Joey's the only one who goes with them; minimal collateral damage and all that. Joey's hands are as steady as always, and Chris can see everything in the viewfinder, knows exactly when Jensen slips his key into the back door lock. "Dude," Jared whispers. "We're breaking in. Are we actually fucking breaking in?"

Jensen only pauses for a second. "Well," he says. "Technically, we still work here, right?"

Jared lets out a quiet, half laugh, and then they're on the inside.

"Have I mentioned you're fucking hot when you're playing the Double-Crossing Agent?" Jared murmurs, as he backs Jensen up, step by slow step, till Jensen's pressed against the wall.

"Not nearly enough," Jensen says, as he tips his head up. Then they're kissing, and it's slow and wet and lewd. Jared grins against Jensen's mouth, one hand fisted in Jensen's shirt as he starts tugging him forward again, towards the row of poles situated along the bar top table. Jensen follows him willingly, the shyness Chris remembers seeing in the audition room completely absent here.

"Gonna put on a show for me?" Jared asks, voice a low hum by Jensen's ear.

Jensen's eyes are dark when he smiles, a slow, teasing thing, and he hoists himself up and around a pole with all the ease and grace of a dancer. He's fucking amazing, long lines and flashes of skin as he curls his body around the cool metal post. AJ makes a choked noise when Jensen's shirt comes off, and JC breathes out a quiet, "oh." Chris struggles not to swallow his tongue. "I didn't script that," he says, weakly.

"No shit," AJ mutters, watching as Jared rises from his seat, yanks Jensen down and pushes him flat against the table. "No fucking way you could write something that good."

*

"Okay," Jared says later. After. "So. Did we pass the test?"

Like there's ever been any doubt.

*

Chris catches the look Justin shoots Nick, though, as they're cleaning up the crime scene. It's an open secret that Justin's aiming for Hollywood, that he'd been hoping to use this to get a foot in the door, and this probably feels like a slap to the face. Chris feels badly enough about it that he bumps Justin up into third billing without any audition, putting him in the role of Daddy Winchester. It only works because Nick is actually genius with a pencil liner, but Justin takes the older role pretty gracefully too, and Chris ends up feeling like scum for about a day.

It's like being cast as the converted bad boy who didn't even realize he needed to reform when he'd been aiming for the lead role.

Still. At least they have that settled.

*

The thing is, casting aside, there's still a ridiculous amount of ground to cover in pre-production, and Chris is determined to have a hand in it all. The lighting, the music, the storyboarding. Everything. This needs to be perfect.

"Perfect," he hisses, at one of the interns that he doesn't even recognize. AJ's been delegating again. "Everything needs to be perfect." He jabs a finger at the mix CD that he's just been handed. "Does this sound like perfection to you?"

"Um--"

"Does this sound like something you would hear on the soundtrack of your life as you screwed your werewolf girlfriend for the last time before you had to kill her?"

"I--"

"Bring me actual fucking music when you get back, or find someone else to take over your job."

The intern - Chris thinks her name is Alicia - swallows, hard. "Yes, sir," she squeaks, before darting away.

"Jesus," Chris grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "New Kids on the fucking Block, un-fucking-believable."

JC glances up from the storyboards at that, touching the inside of Chris' wrist with a brief smile before turning back to his work. "But all I ever wanted was inside of you," he hums, under his breath.

Chris lifts his head at that, staring at JC with something like awe.

"Oh," JC says sheepishly, when he catches Chris staring. "Sorry."

"No," Chris shakes his head. "No, what is that? Is that an actual song?"

"What?" JC asks, confused. "Oh. Yeah. Have you heard of Kane? They have pretty good stuff."

"We need that song," Chris says. It's almost gleeful. "I don't care how we fucking do it, we need that song."

"Uh," JC says. "Chris, with our budget--"

"I can hook you up," Jensen says, unexpectedly, as he turns up behind Chris.

"What?"

"Yeah," Jensen says, ducking his head with an almost shy shrug. "I, uh. Steve's an old friend, so. I mean, if you're asking for the rights to that song for the movie, I could - you know, I could talk to him. Work something out."

Chris stares at Jensen for a moment, then all but flies at him. Jensen goes down with an oof. "I fucking love you," Chris gushes, fingers curled around Jensen's shoulders and grinning from ear-to-ear. "You can be in all my movies, man."

"Thanks," Jensen manages, clearly torn between laughing and surprise. "I think."

*

Unfortunately, things are rarely that simple, and it feels like new problems are constantly popping up just as he manages to solve an older one. The problem is, his body doesn't acclimatize very well to the long hours and the lack of real food, so after a couple of weeks, it gives out.

They're testing out the lighting when something comes loose, and Chris doesn't move fast enough. Suddenly he's on the floor, JC's hands are pressed against his side and there's so much blood Chris is dizzy with it. He thinks vaguely about keeping the equipment clean, and then the world stops.

When he wakes up, JC is still there; he looks terrible, like he hasn't eaten in days (which isn't surprising, by any stretch of imagination) and like it's been a week since he last slept (which is). The fatigue is chased away by a soft, relieved smile, though, and JC's fingers are warm around his own.

"What time is it?" Chris asks. His voice sounds gritty and rough, and it makes him wince.

"Four twenty," JC says. He doesn't even have to check the clock, and it's only when Chris tries to sit up that he moves his hands away. "In the morning, Chris. Just - stay down, okay?"

"In the morning?" Chris echoes. He pushes himself up on his elbows anyway, head pounding with the effort, and JC sighs and lets him. "C."

"Breathe, cat. I sent everyone home," JC says, as he pours him a glass of water. "They weren't happy about it. The next time you decide you need a day off, let me know in advance so I can get all the paperwork out of the way, okay?"

"Great," Chris grumbles, collapsing back onto the bed after accepting the liquid. "You're regular bleeding hearts, the lot of you. It's not like I was fucking injured or anything."

Chris can see the corners of JC's mouth quirk, despite his valiant attempts to hide it. They both know Chris' heatless bitching when they hear it. JC squeezes his hand, again, before smoothing down the sheets. Then he looks at Chris, like he's going to say something, but seems to think better of it."I'm gonna go get you an espresso shot, and then we can start fixing the schedule," is what comes out instead.

"Perfect," Chris nods, stifling a yawn as JC gets to his feet. He's glad JC doesn't try to talk him into resting. As if he can, after fucking with the schedule so much. Chris bites back another yawn, eyes falling shut once the door is closed, just for a second, hoping to get rid of the dull throb at the back of his head. It's the morphine or something; it's making his eyelids feel heavy. He'll be up in a minute.

He doesn't remember drifting off, but weak sunlight's filtering in through the blinds when he finally wakes. There's a cold cup of coffee on his bedside table, and three empty ones next to it. A fresh copy of the filming schedule sits on top of the bed sheet, with JC's neat print all over it, fixing all the things Chris' carelessness has incurred. Chris grins despite himself.

Nothing new there.

*

Chris is back at work within the week. He expects teasing and joking and horsing around, expects to have to rule with an iron fist - he isn't sure that he should be making those kind of jokes just yet, considering that the doctor told him he'd only very nearly missed having to amputate - more so than when he was in control.

But everything's set up for his return, and in the time he's been recuperating, JC's gone ahead and confirmed all their other venues, with Lance providing legit paperwork, and Justin and Howie trying to raise more money (and awareness) for their film on the street. Brian's been overseeing all the rehearsals, making sure Jensen, Jared and Nick get along, and that Justin's learning all his lines while he's walking around town handing out pamphlets. Joey and AJ have been working on testing the lighting in just about all the angles he could possibly need, just to familiarize themselves with it.

It's clean and efficient and fucking awesome, and Chris announces, "if this is how y'all work without me around, I'm going to take off more often."

Justin grabs him, carefully avoiding his broken arm, and gives him a noogie. "Don't you dare," he warns, in between his own manic giggling and Chris' muffled protests. "Don't you dare, you little shit."

Chris glares, though the effect is lost with Justin still clinging to him like a baby monkey. "Hasn't anyone told you that that's no way to talk to the man writing your paycheck?" he asks.

For a moment, all is quiet on set.

"Hate to break it to you, man," Jensen says finally. "But catered food and a twenty-year-old trailer that smells like ass isn't exactly Hollywood treatment."

Justin guffaws so hard that he topples right off Chris' back.

"Hey," JC says then, and grins as Chris turns around. "You know how you've always wanted to have a fan club?"

Chris raises an eyebrow. "This sounds like something I could live with."

JC pulls the door to his makeshift trailer open, and Chris literally feels his jaw drop. It's fucking packed, bouquets, condoms and get well cards spilling onto the ground in front of him. For a second, he just stares. Then JC elbows him in the side. "I think you've got that fanclub," he grins, and when Chris turns to look at him, he has a pencil tucked behind one ear and his eyes are bright. "Go on. Say it. You know you want to."

Chris does want to, has been fucking dreaming about this since he was four and first discovered the joys of television. He turns to his crew, eyes wide and an almost-manic grin on his face as he bellows, "WHO'S THE MOTHERFUCKING ROCKSTAR?"

*

"You sure you're up for this?" AJ asks, later, when everyone else is gone. They're sitting under the stars, sharing a cigarette. It feels just like it used to, back when TRANS-PORN was nothing but a pit-stop on the way to their future. "We can hold things off a couple days more, if you need it."

Chris blows out a ring of smoke, then nods. "I'm okay."

"Chris?"

Chris drops his head, takes in another shaky breath, feeling the bravado he's been putting up all week fade away. This is AJ. This is safe. "Fuck, man, just - I could've died, you know? I'm - what if something fucking happens, and I don't get to--"

AJ shifts closer, putting a hand on Chris' back. "Hey," he murmurs. "Easy."

"No, listen," Chris says urgently as he turns to AJ, the cigarette falling from his fingers. "This is it. I was lying in the damn hospital cot thinking about my life, and this is it, okay? This is the part of the movie where you see me in this completely different light, and bad boyband shit is playing in the background, and there's a fucking montage of all the shit we've been through together and how fucking right we are for each other, and how goddamn happy you make me." He pauses to draw a breath. "Now kiss me before I make myself sick."

AJ raises an eyebrow, but he responds without protest, resting his hands on Chris' hips as he slants their mouths together. "Look man," he murmurs, in between. "I know it's rough with Justin and Nick being all fucking touchy on set all the time, so I get why you need to do this, and I'm cool with being the rebound guy, but it's just the once, okay?"

"What?" Chris demands. Goddammit, AJ really knows what he's doing.

"What?" AJ repeats. "Did you think I'd--" He stops then, abruptly, pulling back to stare at Chris. The moment stretches, and Chris is about to lean in for another kiss anyway when AJ lets out a huff of incredulous laughter and leans away entirely. "Come on! Even I can't be that cruel. JC's right there."

Chris stops short, retort dying on his lips.

"Shut your mouth," AJ says, after a second, but he's smirking now, smug goddamn bastard written all over his face like he's got the whole universe figured out. "You're practically flailing."

Chris attempts a glare, but if the look AJ shoots him is any indication, it's pretty unimpressive. Chris can't even bring himself to care. "I guess this is when you cue the cheesy music," he says eventually, weakly.

AJ raises an eyebrow. "I guess so," he snorts. "But Chris? You make one more chick flick reference and I swear to god I'm fucking leaving you here."

Chris groans and presses his face into his hands. After a second, he feels AJ settle beside him, close enough that their knees are touching. Chris shakes his head, and AJ lays a warm hand between his shoulder blades. Chris very nearly sobs.

Then AJ opens his mouth.

"I sympathize and all that," he says. "You know I do. But Timberlake? Seriously? He was practically your fucking groupie, man."

"Oh my god," Chris chokes out, face screwed up in a grimace. "Shut the fuck up."

*

Chris gets into work the next day feeling like he's been hit by a bus. He sinks into his chair with a groan, wishing like hell it wasn't the first day of filming.

"Hey boss," Jared says, with one of his bright, sunny smiles, as he folds into a chair beside Chris. "Shouldn't we be getting set up for a scene?"

"Yeah," Chris says absently. He hates set-up; it always gives him too much time to fucking think. When he looks up, Jared's still sitting there, friendly and open and easy. "Hey, so," Chris hears himself saying. "Hypothetically speaking, right?"

Jared's grin spreads even wider. "Is this you asking me to play shrink?"

"Shut up and let me finish my question," Chris says. "So hypothetically speaking, if it took you, say, twenty-eight fucking years to figure out that your best friend wanted more--"

Jared laughs, then.

"Oh, fuck you," Chris sighs.

"No," Jared says, quickly, hiding his smile behind his hand. "No, I'm sorry. I wasn't - trust me, I know how you feel." He runs a hand through his hair, and shifts a little closer. "If you're asking me if I think you should talk to him about it, then yeah, I do."

Chris raises an eyebrow.

"Look," Jared says, with another grin. "Twenty-eight years is fucking forever, man. If he's waited that long, he's gotta be pretty serious, right? So, you know, he's gotta be hoping to hear something. I mean, like, don't just bowl him over with it, because that might not go over so well. He could totally freak out and make things hard on you just because he has no fucking clue how to react." Jared pulls a face. "And then siblings and co-workers might have to become involved, and that's just not how you want it to go down, you know?"

He shakes his head. "Just be, y'know, gentle. He's probably convinced that you're a moron and you're never going to figure it out, so."

Despite himself, Chris smirks. "You speaking from experience there, Sasquatch?"

Jared just grins and pushes to his feet. "Hypothetically speaking, right?" he says, patting Chris' shoulder as he brushes past him. "Good luck."

*

As it turns out, the next few weeks are nothing but filming, and more filming. The routine is simple: Chris wakes up at seven, spends the day running scenes with Jensen and Jared, filming those scenes, and then going over the next day's schedule with JC and Lance. He goes to bed close to three in the morning, every morning, gets up four hours later, and restarts his day. There's no time to think about anything but the movie, and his cast, and how they're going to keep to the budget.

It doesn't feel like it's ever going to end, and he loves it.

*

Six weeks later, they call it a wrap.

*

This is how it ends.

Joey and JC spend all their time camped out in the small editing suites that they've set up for themselves, arguing over music and how the CGI should work, but they're both professionals used to working on a tight budget and an even tighter schedule, so they're done with editing within a month.

Chris sets up a small, private screening that evening, mostly for Cook's benefit than anything else. A couple of distributors show up - Cook's doing - and Chris takes the opportunity to present his crew, get the word out there. It's only then that he realizes JC's disappeared.

*

Chris finds him a little later in the basement, fiddling with a couple of sequences at one of the editing terminals.

"That looks familiar," Chris says, leaning against the door frame with a half grin.

JC startles at that, and looks up. "Oh," he says. His smile is wan. "Hey." His too-long sleeves swallow his fingers where they're resting on the editing console.

"You know, there are people upstairs you should probably meet," Chris adds.

JC nods. "Yeah, I was just--" he pauses, then, shrugging as he gestures vaguely around the room.

Chris hesitates for a second. He thinks about Justin, and AJ, and Jared, and then carefully settles into the chair beside JC. They watch the dailies running across the screen for a while. It's like rereading a script he already has memorized. "So that was pretty insane, man," he says, eventually.

"Yeah," JC nods, a little wistfully. He messes with the color configuration a little, fingers deft and familiar on the knobs, and doesn't quite look up.

"You know," Chris says, conversationally, watching as Jensen turns from a sickly shade of green to a dark maroon. "I think we should do a biographical documentary for our next feature length film. Cook still owes me a favor."

When he lifts his head, JC's staring at him, eyes wide and awed and bluer than Chris has ever seen them. Chris smiles.

If this were a movie--

"Roll credits," he murmurs, and JC ducks his head on a grin.

Comments

[puszysty.livejournal.com]

This story is so hilarious. Just every bit of it, Chris and his snark, AJ banging the pizza boy, Justin as overeager fanboy, and the cameos, and all of it!

Then I get to the inventory and it's all other popslash omg, you are a genius.

[epicflailer.livejournal.com]

HEE! oh my gosh, thank you SO much for this comment! i was so sure bittybang would be completely ignored with sesa around the corner, so getting fb even after the stories went live was kind of the most awesome surprise ever! i am THRILLED you enjoyed it, and i hope those links come in handy! ;)

[kygrlslovekevin.livejournal.com]

wow... wonderful story, even though we didn't get to *see* the sex :) just kidding.. excellent job. and here's where i prove how clueless i truly... who are jared and jensen? sorry, i don't get out much. anyway excellent. and now i'm off to read through your "inventory" for stuff i haven't read and to reread the one's i have. by the way, that's my favorite part, you pimping these excellent stories. good work

[kygrlslovekevin.livejournal.com]

there's an "am" missing in there. "here's where i prove how clueless i truly AM".... i am also stupid... :)

[epicflailer.livejournal.com]

who are jared and jensen

aahahahahah, they are two of the hottest guys on television (imo, at least). supernatural? awesome, awesome show. :D

and thank you so much for reading and fb-ing, by the way! :D it's so good to know this story is still being read. have fun with all the stuff i recced, too; it's all fantastic stuff, the porn in fandom would be nowhere without them! ;)

[kygrlslovekevin.livejournal.com]

proof of how clueless i am... i didn't know supernatural was real... i totally bought the whole "movie chris directed" plot line. :) you're good!

[epicflailer.livejournal.com]

heee! that's lovely to hear, thank you! ;D

(hopefully you give one or two episodes a shot... *ahem*. just sayin'.)