Fifteen Minutes of Fame- B/J one Shot AU

[guavejuice]

Author:guavejuice
Pairing:Brian/Justin
Other Characters:Lindsay
Justin's POV
A/N: The images in this one shot were taken from deviantArt.
Disclaimer:I own nothing but this story.
Comments are love.

- Pittsburgh PA, Early December 1969-



If I had been listening to my dad's advice after graduating from high school a few years ago and if I had gone ahead to study business at Dartmouth maybe things would have been different.

Maybe I should have chosen a different path, a path my dad walked in before me. Maybe then things would have been simpler. Yet Dartmouth wasn't my chance of a life time. Carnegie Institute at the Carnegie Mellon University was.

It was my friend Lindsay who kept nagging me- and eventually convinced me- to take the risk and go there. It wasn't an easy decision but then she kept mentioning to me that Andy Warhol studied art there.

Lindsay wasn't even one of my close friends. She wasn't as close to me as my childhood and high school friend Daphne. Lindsay was in fact 12 years older than me but from the first time we met- me waiting tables at the Liberty diner to make ends meet as an art student and her as a regular costumer- she always fascinated me with her stories about what it was like back when she studied art at the Carnegie Institute. She was apparently obsessed with Andy Warhol for some reason. She never met him at school because he was of course a lot older but she always said she must go to New York and experience what it would be like to be inside the Factory, where the really interesting people, as she referred to them, would hang out. At first I really couldn't figure out what she meant by that but heck, I was an 18 year old guy from the Pitts. I didn't even know shit.

Lindsay was a self proclaimed free spirit. When I met her at the diner that day she set at the counter wearing a flared sheer top with bell bottom denim pants and a tanned colored sheep skin coat. Her blond long hair fell freely on her face. She carried a large leather bag adorned with lots of fringe and she kept rubbing shoulders with a tall amazingly looking guy wearing a black open collared shirt, short black leather jacket and rather tight dark denim pants. The guy kept smiling at her, revealing a crooked tooth while he casually inhaled the smoke of his joint. The guy never said a word until Lindsay giggled and snatched the joins off his hand.

" Hey,Debbie," she turned to my boss, the diner owner. Debbie- a vibrant hearty women in her mid 50' s wearing a giant bee hive style red wig- turned and nodded from behind the counter. "This is Brian Kinney. He's filthy rich and lives in this far out mansion in West Virginia with his parents. His folks told him he can't use his trust fund until he turns thirty. One day he's gonna be the father of my kid, ya know…" Lindsay concluded with a childlike determination . She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the gorgeous guy's face. The guy was obviously taken by surprise and quickly pulled back. Debbie shrugged and went to the kitchen.

"Okay… so what'll be? " I intervened right away, pulling my pencil and writing pad ready to take their order or to save this poor guy's ass, what ever came first.

"Oh, hi, Justin," Lindsay kept giggling as if she saw me for the first time despite the fact she set there for about 30 minutes.

The tall guy- Brian- turned his face to stare at me. HE definitely didn't see me before.

"Hi," he said in a gravelly voice. "I'll have the large cheeseburger and a coke,"

"Earth to Justin… are you writing it down, Sunshine?" I heard Debbie's voice teasing me. Fuck! Was I just standing there now staring at this guy?

"Wanna hang out with us later?" Lindsay cheered at me while I placed their plates before them a while later. "We're actually going to crash at Brian's parents home 'cause they're are out of the country and it is the Holiday weekend ya know… Brian's got some great shit and lots of his dad's booze ," she continued with her chatter.

Brian- the potential host- didn't say a word but didn't seem to mind.

Half an hour later as my shift ended I threw my apron back into my locker at the back of the diner and made sure to promise Debbie I won't knock but use my own key when I get back- since I lived with her after my parents kicked me out when I told them I gave up on Dartmouth.

And then off we went in Brian's car with Lindsay in the passenger sit and me tucked away behind.

_ _ _ _


"So… what do you do?" were Brian's first spoken words towards me after a long drive through the night with nothing but Lindsay's hazy ramble between us. At last we were alone sitting in the specious living room at his parent's house complete with a large working fire place, impeccable furniture, floor to ceiling oak panels and amazing French windows. They even had a large decorated Christmas tree at the corner. Everything seemed so perfect. Too perfect maybe.
Lindsay was passed out on the large sofa, too hang over to notice anything. Brian and I set on the rag on the floor. He pulled closer to me. So close I could see how the flickering festive lights and the flames from the fire place were reflected in his amazing expressive eyes.

"I'm a student at Carnegie Institute … I study art," I said.

"Figures," he mumbled.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, his face inches away from mine.

"You're hanging out with Linds…" He answered absently, capping either side of my face with his hands.

"Oh, right… she's the one who convinced me… with her Andy Warhol stories and all.." I was actually rambling just as much as Lindsay did earlier in the car. What the hell.

"Wanna go upstairs?" he whispered in my ear.

"Sure," I answered back.

His room was almost twice the size of Debbie's living room and kitchen area put together. His bed was huge and warm and comfortable just as much as his body felt once he got rid of his clothes and pilled mine off. His cock was as huge and warm and inviting just as much as his lips and it didn't take long before he pressed me into the mattress and lifted my legs onto his shoulders.

He apparently had no problem getting a nice supply of lubricant and latex condoms and have a stash in his drawer. If I were to try to do that at my parent's house they would have kicked me out sooner than they already did.

I never even got a chance to let him know him he was my first but for some reason he seemed to have sensed it himself. My ass hole burnt like crazy when he pushed in at first but afterwards he kept gliding his fingers all the way from my shoulders down to my cock telling me to just relax and enjoy it. And man did I enjoy it. Soon enough I was practically riding the waves of joy with his cock dancing and thrusting inside me. I threw my head backwards into the pillow while my hands kept tightening around his waist. Then he suddenly accelerated his speed and I began vibrating uncontrollably, letting distorted low groans flow out of my open mouth. As if that wasn't enough his hand was now capping my dick, squeezing and pumping it until I couldn't take it any longer. Fuck! It was so beyond amazing that I couldn't even lift my head from the pillow afterwards when he kept breathing heavily beside me, staring at me with such openness and warmth I almost felt like crying.

"Everyone deserves their fifteen minutes of fame," he whispered in a husky voice eventually.

I was so overwhelmed after everything that happen moments ago that I didn't respond at first but then I felt the urge to do SOMETHING. ANYTHING. Anything that might allow me to express how I felt at that moment without making it too trivial or stupid.

"I want to draw you, " I said a few moments later. "in fact I want to paint you," I added calmly.

Brian tuned his head to look at me "You can't," he answered quietly, tracing my jaw line with his thumb, leaving me trembling inside.

"Why not?" I asked.

He let out a sigh and pulled himself off the mattress. "It's complicated," he replied before disappearing in his vast master bathroom.

"Had a good night?" Lindsay asked me later that morning when I went downstairs. Her hair was messy and her face crumpled from sleeping on the couch but she grinned at me and told me to help myself to a cup of coffee or juice or toast in Brian's parents giant kitchen.

"Thanks, " I smiled.

"And just so you know it's Brian's birthday today. He turns Thirty," she said.

"No shit," I answered, chewing on a piece of toast. "So how about that trust fund?" I winked at her.

"Who the fuck knows and frankly I don't think Brian even cares," she answered. "We're leaving for New York today anyway, did he tell you about it?" she said matter-of-factly.

My heart sank.

"We actually never got around to… talk much last night you know," I told her. "I did ask if I can draw him, or paint him…" I didn't know why I was telling her that.

"Funny you should have mentioned that to him," Lindsay pulled closer to me "Don't tell him I told you but Brian is an aspiring artist himself. He's into Pop art. He says it's a new and exciting mixture of high art and popular culture and that one day it would be the hottest thing around. It was actually HIS idea to go to New York and try to meet Andy Warhol and get into the Factory and hang out with all those people. He's always saying that everyone deserve their fifteen minutes of fame,"

Don't I know it... FUCK!

"I guess a hefty trust fund wouldn't hurt either," I heard myself hissing under my breath.

"Feel free to join the ride then, " I suddenly heard his deep husky voice behind me.

"Brian!" Lindsay cheered and jumped on the taller man leaving a sloppy kiss on his lips as if I wasn't even in the room.

"Happy birthday big boy!" she said, attempting to wrap her arms around his neck only he pulled back and freed himself from her grasp.

"Well… what'd ya say?" He seems to be ignoring her as he turns to me again.

"I can't… I can't leave school. I've risked too much to get there as it is," I answered. He stood close to me, filling the space between us with a distinctive deep spicy scent of sandalwood and citron, probably from spending time in the bathroom earlier when I was in the kitchen with Lindsay. "But happy birthday anyway…" I smiled and raised a glass at him.

_ _ _ _ _


-15 years later, Early December, an art gallery in Chelsea, NYC-

"If Andy Warhol stayed in Pittsburgh he never would have become who he is, and neither have YOU," a proud voice welcomes me as I walk in from the cold. Lindsay looks different, so very different from the last time I saw her. Her hair is in a much deeper shade of blond, cut shorter and swept away from her face. Her bell bottom denim jeans and sheer blouse are gone all gone. She's dressed in a black tailored suit and high heels.

"For some reason I knew you'd say that," I tell her after we hug. "A guess I have YOU to be thankful for that. It was you who planted the idea in my head years ago. After I graduated I kept putting it off but then I just had to finally take the plunge and come here,"

"And did you finally get to meet HIM?" she sounds curious.

"I did. He was amazing!" I tell her.

"Better than the first time?" she winks.

I look at her rather confused. It's the opening of my first solo show here and I do have to mingle with the New York art scene people right now rather than just stand here trying to figure out what Lindsay's talking about. "What the fuck, Lindsay?" I tell her anyway.

"Well I wasn't talking about Warhol, Justin. I was talking about Brian," Lindsay explains. "And by the look of it you must have been THINKING about him as well. THIS portrait of him for one is breathtaking. I can't believe you've never met him again after that night and yet you managed to create such a vivid captivating image of him," she says, pointing at one of the large canvases on the wall.





"Thanks, Linds," I tell her. After all this time I still value her opinion.

"Apparently he was way more interested in YOU than he was with me. I thought we might have had something back then but he wasn't into it. I mean we never FUCKED or anything obviously…" she says after a short pause. "BUT anyway shortly after we arrived in New York he took his money and opened his own gallery. It was more of a work shop really pretty much like The Factory when you come to think of it. Andy himself visited Brian there and was very impressed, to say the least..."

"So where is Brian anyway? What's he up to?" I inquire.

"We don't really speak on a daily basis these days but I know he's got this amazing loft in town and he's thinking of getting into advertising," she tells me, rummaging through the content of her elegant black clutch searching for her cigarettes.

"Advertising ? That's… different," I reply.

" It's 1984 Justin, things change you know…" she says, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"Do you think I'll be able to see him?" I ask.

"I don't see why not," Lindsay answers "Give him a call. He might like that,"

"I haven't seen him since…forever," I tell her in a low voice.

"But then again you can always try," she says. "And speaking of ,I would very much like for you to consider my offer to be your agent. A lot has changed in the art scene in fifteen years Justin. I have a lot of contacts here and I know how to handle those people … it's great that you got to have such a successful solo show but you might need more than that. Call me tomorrow, after you meet with HIM, "
_ _ _ _ _


As I enter his vast airy loft the next day I gasp right away and not just because he looks as beautiful and as sensual as he was the day I met him. It's something else. It's right in front of me. Above his bed, on the exposed red break wall.

A vast canvas.

An image of me.




Fuck! I didn't even think he remembered THAT night but he apparently did. I stare at the canvas intently , wondering how much our style of painting is similar even though we only ever met briefly fifteen years ago. I can't seem to get over how we both chose to have each other's images immortalized on canvas with such vivid bold pop art-y expression of our deepest emotions even though we only spent one night together.

"It's… remarkable.." I tell him with a smile. Is it all I'm able to say at the moment?

"Indeed it is," He points out, pulling his lips inward. He's standing in there, in the middle of the spacious industrial looking loft with his arms wide open as if the last time we saw each other was yesterday, not fifteen years ago.

And I know exactly what I want to do. I know exactly where I want to be.

I smile at him and walk across the room right into his waiting arms.

Into his warmth.

Into his bed.

Into his life.

Fuck, it feels so good I don't ever want to leave. Judging by the low passionate grunts he let slip into my ear it feels like he doesn't seem to want it either.

" Stay…" I can hear him whisper under his breath when we're still lying together naked and sweaty in his bed.

After fifteen years WE finally get to earn our fifteen minutes of fame.