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woodys_placeTitle: The Best of the Virtues
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
galehot
Character/Pairing: Brian/Justin
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1115
Warnings: none
Summary: AU. Florence, Italy. Justin helps Brian out of a situation.
Author's Note: The prompt used was Superhero Nights-Place: Florence, Italy. Thank you very much tomander3_swish for the beta work.
****
Brian Kinney never imagined that in the whole world there existed someone as promiscuous as him.
That is, until he met Justin Taylor. He was cheeky, mischievous, hot, and apparently had fucked half of Florence’s fuckable population. He seemed to know someone everywhere he went and greeted people by name constantly. Brian's mind went into overdrive trying to figure out Justin's age and when exactly he started fucking all those guys. It distracted the hell out of Brian.
“This headache is killing me,” Justin whined.
“And if that doesn't, I might,” Brian complained.
“After saving your ass? You need me alive, Kinney.”
“Oh, I can get into plenty of trouble by myself.”
“I told you. I didn't know that was going to happen.”
Then, the same policeman who had led them into the jail cell hours ago proceeded to open the door.
“Voi due può andare,” he said, winking at Justin.
“Grazie Franko,” Justin said, and the big man seemed to blush.
“Come on, let's get out of here,” he said to Brian.
While waiting for the cop at the desk to retrieve their belongings, the Sergeant, Massolo himself, thanked them for their cooperation and warned about the reporters calling the station wanting more details about the incident. There were even some camped outside the station.
“But I'm a mess and all my clothes are in my suitcase at the hotel,” Brian complained.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to appear on CNN?"
As they put their watches back on and stuffed their wallets in their pockets, Justin asked, "Where's your passport?”
Brian shook his head. "The police didn't return it to me. I'm sure they think I’m dying to get the hell out of here, which I am, and get back to civilization."
Justin snorted. “Fucking Americans.”
From the very beginning Brian had noticed something was wrong with this whole trip. The business meeting in the hotel conference room at strange hours of the night, the urgency to sign the contract, and that the 'potential clients' (aka the mob) had not complained about the exorbitant amount of money it was costing them. "Fucking Europeans," he’d thought.
If he had been paying more attention, he would have noticed. The microphone in the lamp had looked so obvious once it was pointed out that it was almost ridiculous. But he had been concentrating on the presentation and then shortly amazed by the number of cops with guns pointed at him.
“The mafia,” Brian had complained in the cell while they waited until their identities were being checked. “I thought that was only in Sicily, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know in Pittsburgh, but here the bad guys have cars and take airplanes - they travel, you know.”
“I didn’t come here to put my company at the center of some mobster scandal.”
“They are always looking for small companies to wash their dirty money.”
“Mine. Isn’t. Small.”
After being released, they walked down the Via Mulino. It was early in the morning, and the young Mr. Taylor turned his head to check out a passer-by's ass, biting his lower lip.
“Mmmm, too bad my basement is so tiny, otherwise...”
“And because kidnapping is a crime,” Brian added.
Justin also had something kind of sweet and lovely about him; maybe it was his sincere smile or his clear laugh.
He had offered his apartment in Arcertri as a safe place from the press. Hotels weren’t safe for now.
The guy at the car rental office had offered Justin an Alfa Romeo, special, only for vip customers, and it was ready in less than twenty minutes. “Grazie Ettore,” Justin thanked.
Brian didn’t notice much of the view during the drive, his mind racing about how he was going to keep his company out of the scandal. He had offered to give the police all the information at his disposal, in exchange that Kinnetik wouldn't be named.
Entering Justin's place, Brian couldn't help but comment about the state it was in. "You sure aren’t a good translator, but as a housewife, you're even worse." There was a stack of newspapers piled up next to the cabinet in the entry and there were clothes and other stuff lying around the living room.
Justin snorted. "I wasn't expecting company, so don't expect it to be in order," he said, opening the living room window. “And hey, I am a good translator.”
“You translated that they said something to the effect that 'this simple yuppie will help us', and then you told me it was because that was the way Italian businessman refer to Americans. You missed out completely on the part that I was supposed to help them launder their dirty mob money. ”
“Well, the hotel room was registered to Johnny Fontane and that obvious alias wasn’t a clue to you, so you aren’t that smart either.”
Justin went into the bedroom and came back carrying two large towels and some rumpled clothes in his arms for Brian to change into. He looked at the clothes and raised an eyebrow at Justin. "Whose are these?”
"Not sure. Or maybe they're from the guy who left half naked, I guess." Justin shrugged.
Brian looked around for a drink cart, but obviously Justin didn't have one. And in the bathroom, the conveniences didn't improve. It was so small that Brian thought he would have to shower his body parts one at a time.
"The police know that you had no idea what was going on,” Justin said over dinner. Brian didn’t respond; obviously he was worried. “A friend told me while I was being questioned. They spent time following them.”
“I would have imagined so.”
“Why are you so upset, then?”
Brian shrugged.
“Because you didn’t see it coming, right?” Justin smiled. “I knew it; you couldn’t possibly have all the virtues: loveliness and a brain.”
“You haven’t seen my best virtue, yet.”
And ‘right there’ and ‘yeah I like it’ and ‘oh God’ were the last recognizable words Brian pronounced until the next morning. Not that Justin said much more than that either.
“Well, um,” Brian started, cleared his throat, and then stopped. They were still in bed.
“Yeah?” Justin encouraged him.
“Thanks for, you know, for saving my life.”
Brian recalled bitterly that when the shooting had begun, he just stood there petrified. Justin had pulled and dragged him behind one of the sofas just as the room erupted in a hail of bullets, precisely aimed just where he'd been standing moments earlier.
“It was nothing.” Justin smiled and Brian returned it. "But you take back that I’m a bad translator.”
“Well, you’re definitely good with your tongue,” Brian said before kissing him.
Author:
galehotCharacter/Pairing: Brian/Justin
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1115
Warnings: none
Summary: AU. Florence, Italy. Justin helps Brian out of a situation.
Author's Note: The prompt used was Superhero Nights-Place: Florence, Italy. Thank you very much to
mander3_swish for the beta work. ****
Brian Kinney never imagined that in the whole world there existed someone as promiscuous as him.
That is, until he met Justin Taylor. He was cheeky, mischievous, hot, and apparently had fucked half of Florence’s fuckable population. He seemed to know someone everywhere he went and greeted people by name constantly. Brian's mind went into overdrive trying to figure out Justin's age and when exactly he started fucking all those guys. It distracted the hell out of Brian.
“This headache is killing me,” Justin whined.
“And if that doesn't, I might,” Brian complained.
“After saving your ass? You need me alive, Kinney.”
“Oh, I can get into plenty of trouble by myself.”
“I told you. I didn't know that was going to happen.”
Then, the same policeman who had led them into the jail cell hours ago proceeded to open the door.
“Voi due può andare,” he said, winking at Justin.
“Grazie Franko,” Justin said, and the big man seemed to blush.
“Come on, let's get out of here,” he said to Brian.
While waiting for the cop at the desk to retrieve their belongings, the Sergeant, Massolo himself, thanked them for their cooperation and warned about the reporters calling the station wanting more details about the incident. There were even some camped outside the station.
“But I'm a mess and all my clothes are in my suitcase at the hotel,” Brian complained.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to appear on CNN?"
As they put their watches back on and stuffed their wallets in their pockets, Justin asked, "Where's your passport?”
Brian shook his head. "The police didn't return it to me. I'm sure they think I’m dying to get the hell out of here, which I am, and get back to civilization."
Justin snorted. “Fucking Americans.”
From the very beginning Brian had noticed something was wrong with this whole trip. The business meeting in the hotel conference room at strange hours of the night, the urgency to sign the contract, and that the 'potential clients' (aka the mob) had not complained about the exorbitant amount of money it was costing them. "Fucking Europeans," he’d thought.
If he had been paying more attention, he would have noticed. The microphone in the lamp had looked so obvious once it was pointed out that it was almost ridiculous. But he had been concentrating on the presentation and then shortly amazed by the number of cops with guns pointed at him.
“The mafia,” Brian had complained in the cell while they waited until their identities were being checked. “I thought that was only in Sicily, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know in Pittsburgh, but here the bad guys have cars and take airplanes - they travel, you know.”
“I didn’t come here to put my company at the center of some mobster scandal.”
“They are always looking for small companies to wash their dirty money.”
“Mine. Isn’t. Small.”
After being released, they walked down the Via Mulino. It was early in the morning, and the young Mr. Taylor turned his head to check out a passer-by's ass, biting his lower lip.
“Mmmm, too bad my basement is so tiny, otherwise...”
“And because kidnapping is a crime,” Brian added.
Justin also had something kind of sweet and lovely about him; maybe it was his sincere smile or his clear laugh.
He had offered his apartment in Arcertri as a safe place from the press. Hotels weren’t safe for now.
The guy at the car rental office had offered Justin an Alfa Romeo, special, only for vip customers, and it was ready in less than twenty minutes. “Grazie Ettore,” Justin thanked.
Brian didn’t notice much of the view during the drive, his mind racing about how he was going to keep his company out of the scandal. He had offered to give the police all the information at his disposal, in exchange that Kinnetik wouldn't be named.
Entering Justin's place, Brian couldn't help but comment about the state it was in. "You sure aren’t a good translator, but as a housewife, you're even worse." There was a stack of newspapers piled up next to the cabinet in the entry and there were clothes and other stuff lying around the living room.
Justin snorted. "I wasn't expecting company, so don't expect it to be in order," he said, opening the living room window. “And hey, I am a good translator.”
“You translated that they said something to the effect that 'this simple yuppie will help us', and then you told me it was because that was the way Italian businessman refer to Americans. You missed out completely on the part that I was supposed to help them launder their dirty mob money. ”
“Well, the hotel room was registered to Johnny Fontane and that obvious alias wasn’t a clue to you, so you aren’t that smart either.”
Justin went into the bedroom and came back carrying two large towels and some rumpled clothes in his arms for Brian to change into. He looked at the clothes and raised an eyebrow at Justin. "Whose are these?”
"Not sure. Or maybe they're from the guy who left half naked, I guess." Justin shrugged.
Brian looked around for a drink cart, but obviously Justin didn't have one. And in the bathroom, the conveniences didn't improve. It was so small that Brian thought he would have to shower his body parts one at a time.
"The police know that you had no idea what was going on,” Justin said over dinner. Brian didn’t respond; obviously he was worried. “A friend told me while I was being questioned. They spent time following them.”
“I would have imagined so.”
“Why are you so upset, then?”
Brian shrugged.
“Because you didn’t see it coming, right?” Justin smiled. “I knew it; you couldn’t possibly have all the virtues: loveliness and a brain.”
“You haven’t seen my best virtue, yet.”
And ‘right there’ and ‘yeah I like it’ and ‘oh God’ were the last recognizable words Brian pronounced until the next morning. Not that Justin said much more than that either.
“Well, um,” Brian started, cleared his throat, and then stopped. They were still in bed.
“Yeah?” Justin encouraged him.
“Thanks for, you know, for saving my life.”
Brian recalled bitterly that when the shooting had begun, he just stood there petrified. Justin had pulled and dragged him behind one of the sofas just as the room erupted in a hail of bullets, precisely aimed just where he'd been standing moments earlier.
“It was nothing.” Justin smiled and Brian returned it. "But you take back that I’m a bad translator.”
“Well, you’re definitely good with your tongue,” Brian said before kissing him.
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no subject
Date: 2013-08-12 10:06 pm (UTC)Me ha encantado, y quisiera más, muuucho más de este Justin ♥
Besos!
no subject
Date: 2013-08-12 10:18 pm (UTC)Lo colgaré en español en unos días, pero te agradezco el traductor!!
Este Justin es de los que te gustan; bastante espabilado!
Gracias y un beso.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-13 05:28 pm (UTC)but this was a good taste of the possibilities!
no subject
Date: 2013-08-13 10:09 pm (UTC)Thank you for the beta work and your comment!
Besos