Well, that was special.
Dec. 7th, 2005 05:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveI have no idea how many pages this is, but I know it's been going on for a while now, prolly a month or two, and it would never have lasted this long without all of you, so you only have yourselves to blame. This is so hot off the Word doc that I burned my tongue, and forgive the mess, but my girl's going out of town so I had to get it up before she left.
All previous parts available here
RPF/RPS
Ensemble
The Incredibly True Adventures of Four Stars, Two Actors In Love, and One Gay Landmark 4/4
It doesn't suck to be Jake Gyllenhaal these days. Yes, it's great that Brad Pitt and George Clooney want Jake to be their gay mascot, and okay, Jake's finally met someone who he actually likes on a daily basis, but what makes Jake really happy is spending time with Maggie and Pete -- which is obviously why they're his dates to the Brokeback Mountain premiere in Hollywood.
It doesn’t matter if they're passed out on the sofa in Jake's apartment, or having lunch together with their mom, Jake's life is good when he's with his family, and Pete's pretty much family these days anyway. This is why Jake has no problem with Pete's feet resting on his thigh in the back of the limousine enroute to the Kodak.
"Take this," Maggie says, thrusting a flute of champagne into Jake's hand. Jake holds the flute tightly, not wanting to drop it all over the place. The limo is winding its way through the evening Los Angeles traffic, and they keep going from zero to sixty back to zero with no warning whatsoever.
"What are you trying to do? Give me alcohol poisoning before the premiere?" he says good-naturedly. It sucks that Heath won't be there with Jake to enjoy the craziness, but Heath's a family man now, and Jake respects that.
"As if," his sister retorts, sliding back on the leather seating. "I don't make any money off of your death until after the movie's a big success, duh."
"Stupid me," Jake laughs. "And here I thought you loved me."
Pete sniggers, his heel digging into Jake's thigh. "No, man, she loves me. You're just tolerated because you show her gay sex."
Maggie's champagne sloshes over her dress when she lets out a massive peal of laughter. "Okay, while the gay sex thing has merit, I'd prefer it if I didn't have to see my brother's ass involved. That's just too much information."
"Hey, I have to 'think gay,'" Jake reminds her, clinking his glass against hers. "Don't ruin my method acting."
When Jake first told Maggie and Pete about Ari's whole "Think Gay!" plan, Maggie almost passed out laughing, whether it was from Ari's deviousness or their hot-boxing in Jake's bathroom is still up for debate. Suffice to say that though neither Pete or Maggie put any stock in Ari's advice, the catchphrase has cropped up a lot recently in their conversations, if only to be an antidote to every joke.
"Oh, please," Pete scoffs. "If you were doing method acting, you'd still be bitching about your ass hurting, and your dick being chafed."
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Maggie interrupts, "what did I say about too much information here?"
Jake takes a sip of champagne. "Rest assured, I would never tell you if my dick was chafed," he says solicitously. After all, Jake doesn't consider himself a method actor. He knows he's been called intense and dedicated -- all code terms for obsessive -– but he just likes to think of himself as someone who enjoys what he does.
Maggie exhales loudly. "Thank god, for that," Pete says.
"I'd just show it to you," Jake carries on blithely.
Maggie makes a gagging noise. "I'd tell mom -– and she'd so ground you."
"Tattletale."
"Love you, too." Maggie snorts, slipping off her shoes and swinging her legs up Jake's thigh as well.
"When did I become the self-appointed footrest?" he asks no one in particular.
"Speaking of gayness, however," Maggie takes another sip of champagne. "How are things with Austin?"
"Don't let Austin hear you calling him your "Think Gay!" plan," Pete chimes in, fishing something wrapped in aluminum foil out one of his tuxedo pockets.
"Austin's not my "Think Gay!" plan," Jake protests. "He's my "Think Sex!" plan –- there's a total difference."
"It's been, what, a whole week now?" Maggie presses.
Jake finishes the last of his champagne and liberates the magnum from the wet bar. He busies himself topping up everyone's glasses and trying to figure out what Pete's unwrapping. Maggie prods him in the ribs with her toes when he puts the champagne back in its holder. "Did you wash your feet today?" Jake asks.
"You're prevaricating," Maggie says in her sing-song voice. "I thought you were taking him to lunch?"
"I did," Jake said dismissively. "Pete, what's in the foil?"
"And?" Maggie presses.
"And mall security didn't appreciate us making out in the car."
The limousine skids to a halt and champagne goes everywhere. Miraculously, none of it ends up on Jake, but he gets kicked, twice. "Enough with the feet," he says, pushing Pete and Maggie's feet off his lap.
Pete grunts, but Maggie doesn't miss a beat. "You got caught having sex by mall security?!"
"No, it was late, and it was just The Grove security," Jake says dismissively. He's able to be blasé about it now, but at the time he was a bit freaked out -- until the guard asked for his autograph.
"We did that one time," Pete says helpfully, offering Jake a chocolate cake-like square from his package.
"Stop being helpful," Maggie demands taking a piece of her own. "What are these, brownies?"
When Jake catches Pete's eye, Pete winks. "Where'd you get these?" Jake asks, retrieving the bottle of champagne and offering it to his sister.
"A man who knows a man," Pete says mysteriously, in between shoveling bites of fudge-like brownie into his mouth. It's very, very rich. Jake licks his lips thoughtfully.
"We're not done talking about your public sex," Maggie interjects, taking a swig of champagne between bites of her brownie.
"Life is like a brownie," Peter eating a huge chunk, and then receiving the champagne from his girlfriend. "It's always better with something in it."
Jake and Maggie turn to Pete at the same time. "What's in these?" Maggie asks a question she obviously already knows the answer to.
"Magic, baby," Pete says lasciviously.
Jake snorts. "A stoned premiere. Mia is going to flip out."
Maggie just grins and leans back in her seat. "Gay sex and weed brownies. God, I love my life."
Jake smirks as the limousine merges with the premiere traffic. "Yeah," he says looking out the darkened windows at the gathering crowds. "It doesn't suck, does it?"
*
Jake hates The Heterosexual Agenda.
It's not that Jake doesn't like girls -- Jake loves girls. He loves the way they smell and their soft bits and their crazy ways. He truly considers himself a bisexual man, because he loved –- loves (?) -– Kirsten, and he thinks Angelina Jolie is stupidly hot, which he'll never say around Brad.
The point in all this being that Jake likes girls, but he likes boys too, which is obviously why he's agreed to be George and Brad's fresh meat for the Boom Boom Room. However, there are limits to what Jake's willing to do for anyone, and Mia needs to realize that.
Jake has brought Austin to the AFI Jarhead screening at the Arclight, because he wants to take Austin out on dates -- the Grove, Ammo, hiking in the Canyons –- like any normal guy. The press aren't supposed to be circling him for blood when he's on a date; he's not here to play Straight Jake for the public. He hadn't even been expecting the press, as his attire can attest, but Austin looks good, because he always looks good.
Jake's proud to be seen with Austin, even if he can't -– or won't -- touch him in public. Instead, he keeps his hands balled in his pocket, digging his fingernails into his palms and projecting his dissatisfaction with the situation.
He could hide it, but why bother?
Jake's so tempted to deck one of the photographers, he can feel the adrenaline surge, and then Austin bumps his shoulder and Jake almost trips over his own two feet. Austin grabs his elbow to steady him, or maybe just to touch him, and Jake can't help his grin.
"JAKE! JAKE! JAKE!" The photographers are hounding him, but Austin's fingers are warm through his jacket, and he only lets go as a door swings open to the Arclight lobby.
As soon as they're inside the foyer, Jake's on the phone to Mia, because this was supposed to be a date, not a photo op.
"Mia, I'm not anybody's Marlboro Man," he hisses by way of greeting into his mobile phone. He's trying to have a private conversation in a dark corner of the lobby, but as this is an industry event the foyer is lit up like Rockefeller Center, and his idea of a dark corner is Austin blocking him from popular view.
"Well, hello to you too, my little ray of money and sunshine." Mia doesn't seem surprised in the slightest to hear from him, probably because she's always on stand-by when he goes out these days. "Having fun are we?"
"I didn't bring Austin along to be in tomorrow's Variety," Jake protests.
"As though Variety would run that article," Mia scoffs down the line, "that's Us Weekly all the way. And don't worry about this week's cover, they've already gone to press. I've got the Jolie-Pitt story sitting on my desk right now."
"Mia." Jake can't help the wheedling tone, because he'd just wanted to take Austin out for an evening.
"Don't give me the Mia routine, Jacob Gyllenhaal. You're the one who'd cancelled the interview with Out not once, not twice, but four times."
Jake bristles, because he can. "I just want-–"
"If you want to show off your new boy, that's fine, Jake, but don't bitch at me because people are interested in you having your cake and your dick, too."
Austin is shifting from one foot to another, and Jake gives him an apologetic smile because this was not the plan. The plan involved no press, alcohol, and then going back to Jake's place and making out for an indefinite period of time. They'd both vetoed anymore making-out-in-the-car sessions.
"That's not fair," Jake protests.
"A fair is someplace with rides and tickets, where you get to shoot at people for free," Mia reminds him. "This is Hollywood, not Ye Olde Circus, and you, my dear, are signed on to be the new face of gay living for George Clooney and Brad Pitt, so if I were you, I'd decide really fucking fast if I was ready to be Mr Gay Pride or not."
"I'm trying!" Jake snaps, and Austin gives him a curious look, because he's only hearing Jake's side of the conversation.
"I'm sorry," he mouths at Austin, patting Austin's forearm absently, only to jump a mile when a camera flash goes off somewhere nearby.
Jake really thinks he wants to be out, but every time he has a chance, he hesitates. Jared would say he sabotages it, but it's not as though Jared ever waved the pride flag himself.
Austin's looking around, but his attention keeps coming back to Jake, and that makes it hard to focus.
"Look, Jake, baby, you've gotta make up your mind about this thing." Mia's talking and she's got that flat, business tone thing happening. Jake listens in because this is the hard-line, and Mia's been known to quiz him later.
"Who I like isn’t something I can turn on and off," he reminds her.
"I'm not talking about who you fuck," Mia retorts. "I'm talking about how you let it affect your job. I am your agent; it's my job to get you the best jobs, and that's what I'm trying to do, but you keep shooting yourself in the foot with this shit. You've gotta make a decision and stick with it. I let you fuck around before because you were depressed over the Kirsten thing, and then there was the Jared mess, but The Little Hobos That Could are gone now. You like this boy?"
Jake glances up at Austin, and there's a slight shadow which he assumes is his own eyelashes. Austin's been standing sentry for Jake for a solid five minutes now, but he's never complained. Never told Jake that this isn't working for him. Austin doesn't seem to be into making a fuss, and Jake needs that desperately.
"Yeah," he says with a nod of his head. "I like him."
Austin raises an eyebrow, and Jake winks, but Mia's talking again and Jake should really be listening. "Well, then go out and buy some fucking matching man purses or whatever, and let's get you two on the cover of Out, shall we?"
Austin's licking his lower lip, and Jake's brain is now focusing on other things, like the way Austin's jeans sit on his hips. "Funny, Mia, real funny."
"I know I am, cupcake. Now don't forget you've got a photoshoot with Viggo Mortensen tomorrow at eleven, okay?"
Jake's already hanging up when Mia lobs her parting shot. "Don't forget to get him tested first. And he better sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement, Jacob."
Jake just snorts. "Only in this town."
*
Jake is lying on his back in Viggo Mortensen's driveway, wearing a blue long-sleeve shirt and getting intimate with Viggo's untamed lawn. The pavement is cold underneath his skull, and the weeds are tickling his nose.
It's a little bit before three p.m on a Wednesday afternoon, and it's something like cold in San Fernando Valley. Southern California has really tricky weather at the end of the year where it's 70 degrees at noon and 40 degrees at 8 p.m.
Jake thinks it must be some sort of winter envy, or perhaps that's what Viggo's calling it. It doesn't seem quite right to Jake, the weather, and when Viggo first said he wanted Jake au natural, Jake got a little nervous. He's seen the Seinfeld episode about shrinkage.
"You all right down there, little brother?" Viggo's voice is gravelly and even, like everything about Viggo. Out of the corner of Jake's right eye, he can make out Viggo's naked feet and the frayed cuffs of his oversized jeans. Viggo is not a vain man.
Jake shrugs, but it's lost in the weeds. "The ground's cold."
"Mother Nature's a long way from feeling warm towards us these days," Viggo says matter-of-factly. He has paint in his hair and on his fingers. The only paint-free object on him is his camera, which Jake thinks might be as old as he is. He loves that Viggo's such a hippie that he's cool without even trying.
"I'd be pretty pissed if somebody was eating away at my protective layer, too," Jake points out.
"You're preaching to the choir," Viggo says, standing directly over Jake. He's shooting Jake from every angle known to man, a cigarette dangling from between his lips as he talks and moves around, standing and kneeling and then standing some more.
There's ash falling into Jake's hair, and he thinks about batting it away and decides he can't be bothered. Viggo's all about things being natural anyway, and it doesn't get more natural than being ashed on by your photographer.
"I thought we did some good work there last time," Viggo says thoughtfully. He's not the type to make idle conversation, "but I can see how some color would be good. I've got some red light bulbs I want to try you out with."
Jake shrugs again. He's down for whatever Viggo wants. "It's not like this is hard work," Jake says, rolling his head on the gravel and peering up at Viggo's craggy visage. Jake doesn't know how old Viggo is, but he guesses, if he's friends with Brad and George, they're probably all in the same age range.
"Hard work isn't about sweat; it's about heart," Viggo says, crouching down by Jake's head and pulling a few weeds out of the ground. "These'll go real nice with this painting I'm working on right now. It's the green, see," he says, pulling the cigarette from between his lips and setting it down by his foot. His bare foot. "It's got this verdant thing happening that I'm trying to replicate on the canvas; the color right now is too much like moss."
Jake nods as though he has any idea what Viggo's talking about, and the camera shutter clicks again. Viggo has a knack for always taking a picture before Jake's ready or after he thinks it's already been taken.
Viggo stands up and his cigarette rolls away, sent into motion by his movements. "We could all do with getting closer to the ground," he says sticking the weeds in his back pocket and pulling out a messy joint.
Jake nods again as Viggo drops onto the gravel next to him. "I heard these photos weren't gay enough," he says as Viggo sets down his camera and lights up the joint.
The sky is a plain, dull grey above Jake, and Viggo makes a 'hmm'ing noise as he inhales. "Hollywood has no sex," Viggo says in a tight voice before passing Jake the joint. "It fucks you regardless."
Jake takes a long hit and thinks about Ari and Kirsten and Jared and Mia. Then he thinks about The Day After Tomorrow and The Bubble Boy. Yeah, Jake's been fucked by Hollywood a lot.
"Hollywood doesn't even use protection," Jake says, exhaling and passing back to Viggo. "That's the real problem. Who knows what you're picking up from someone else?"
"Always use protection, little brother." Viggo taps Jake's forehead, holding the joint with his other hand. "I should write a poem about that."
Jake snickers and rolls over on his stomach. Looking at Viggo upside down is making his perspective all weird. "Do you write poems about everything?"
Viggo looks down at Jake thoughtfully and takes a drag. "Not everything, just most things."
"Just most things," Jake parrots.
"There's no such thing as everything," Viggo explains, exhaling in Jake's face. "It's just not possible. You can never get every last little thing. Don't let people confuse you like that."
Viggo's saying something very deep, and Jake's brain is doing its best to process, but it just keeps saying he needs another hit. Viggo would be a great cult leader.
"Now this is what I call a photo shoot." A familiar voice interrupts Jake's synapses, and he forgets Viggo's words of wisdom. The shoes come into Jake's line of vision first, and he has to push himself onto his knees to look George Clooney in the face.
"George!" Jake's voice is projecting a lot more activity than the rest of his body seems capable of at the moment. He's actually surprised that he's managed to move so fast in the first place.
"Jake, it's good to see you so relaxed. I'm glad you didn't let Ari get to you. He can be an ass pretty much all the time." George's smile does weird things to Jake's stomach, and Jake feels this overwhelming need to hug George's knees. "Viggo, I don't think we've ever met, but Brad speaks highly of you."
Viggo nods. "Bradley's special."
"He is that." George does that smirking think with his mouth where he's kind of amused and kind of pained, but because it's George you're distracted by his hotness.
Jake wants to tell George he's sorry about the Brad and Angelina thing, but he's pretty sure that's not his place. George doesn't seem like the sort of guy who's into sympathy anyway, and Jake doesn't even realise Viggo's elbowing him. "What?" he asks a bit stupidly.
"You should share with the guests," Viggo says, gesturing motioning towards George, and Jake holds out the joint reflexively.
George grins at this. "I don't smoke," he says, holding up his hands in the universal signal for no, "but thanks for the offer."
"You sure?" Jake asks. He can't imagine George Clooney high, but the idea alone is seriously intriguing. "One hit?"
"Aren't you two supposed to be working?" George is a master of changing the subject.
"It's not that sort of work," Viggo says. "I prefer to have my subjects relaxed, and you never answered Jake's question."
Jake knows he's doing the pleading face, because he's actively working on it. Everything is twice as much work when he's high, but for this, he'll make the effort.
George narrows his eyes. "Just one hit."
*
Jake didn't mean to get George Clooney high on Viggo Mortensen's drugs; it just sort of happened. One minute he was lying on his back, wondering if he was going to get hemorrhoids on his ass from lying on the cold earth, and the next, he's in Viggo Mortensen's studio, having his tie arranged by George Clooney because his own hand-eye-coordination is crap.
George is a few inches taller than Jake, so Jake's pretty much studying George's neck, but it's a really nice neck. "Thank you very much," George says, and Jake looks up curiously.
"What?"
"You said you liked my neck," George fills in. "My mother always said when someone compliments you, you should say 'Thank you.'"
"I said that out loud?" Jake should be mortified, but he's stoned, so that will have to do.
When George laughs, Jake can feel the vibrations in his arms. "The tie thing isn't happening," George says throwing it away in a fit of disgust.
"You can't get it either?" Jake says sympathetically.
George is admitting nothing. "Whose idea was this get up in the first place?" he says eyeing Jake's suit critically.
"Brad's."
George sighs. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Nothing Bradley does should be a surprise to you." Viggo's voice is falling from the sky like so much rain, and it's only when Jake looks around that he realizes it's because Viggo's standing on a leather chair, screwing a red light bulb into the fixture. And then the whole room goes red, and it's really weird.
"My god," George says thoughtfully, "we're bringing the Red Light District to Newport."
Viggo's laughter is deep and hearty. "That's one interpretation," he says jumping off the chair. "All right, Jake, have a seat."
Jake blinks, because he's stoned and the lighting is weird, and he's only been in this room once before. He turns away from George to sit down, and instead finds himself spinning 360 degrees back to George.
Jake doesn't even realise George Clooney is kissing him for at least seven seconds. His centre of gravity is still moving, but his body is still, and George's mouth is being pressed against Jake's lips.
Jake registers all sorts of sensations: grapefruit juice, wet, OHMYGOD, tongue, marijuana's herbal tang, and then Jake's back to the whole being kissed by George Clooney thing.
Jake doesn't even realise he's squeezed his eyes closed until George pulls away and snickers. "You all right there?"
Jake opens one eye and then the other, and the whole world is still red, and George Clooney is smirking at him like they're in on the biggest secret ever. "Ari said you needed to "Think Gay!", I thought kissing another man might help."
Jake says something like, "Urk."
"Don’t tell Matt I did that," George says as Viggo materializes next to them. "He'll kill me for getting there first."
"Am I interrupting?" Viggo asks as Jake shakes his head and makes his way over to the chair on wobbly legs. He collapses in a sprawl, his brain still kissing George Clooney and his body boneless on the leather chair
George and Viggo are talking amongst themselves nearby, and Jake can hear George saying, "I hope I didn't break him." Viggo's laughing, but then Jake touches his mouth and wonders if the fact that George Clooney kissed him is going to be imprinted on him for the rest of his life.
He kind of hopes so.
Epilogue
The phone call comes two days later, and Jake is anything but surprised. He is a little sore though, since sharing a bed with someone for the first time always tends to be a little uncomfortable, and Austin has really long limbs.
"We've decided that we're not going to buy the B&B," George says by way of greeting. "But we really wanted to thank you for all your time and hard work. It's been a pleasure working with you, Jake."
"The pleasure was all mine," Jake says somewhat saucily. It's early in the morning, and his roadblocks aren't up yet. He can only imagine who else is listening.
"What G-Money means is that the fuckwit has decided to go don an apron and play Mr Jolie, and the adoption companies are a bit homophobic about things like famous homewreckers and their big gay partners."
"Ari, shut up!" Brad's voice is tiny on the line, and Jake snickers, covering the phone with his hand when Austin stirs next to him.
"I've told you two to knock it off," George snaps. "Ari, you'll get your commission, now leave Brad alone."
"George, I know you're not going to put up with his bullshit again, are you? He's cuckolding you in the press with Mother Gandhi! This motherfucker has done nothing for the last five months but make you miserable with his wannabe Catholic penance for fucking around on Jen, and let me tell you --"
"I'm so going to sue you," Brad huffs.
George speaks over Ari and Brad's bickering. "Jake, we're sorry about all the runaround, we'll compensate you if you want. I'll have Ari talk to your agent, or -–"
"—and don't think the whole world doesn't know that you take Viagra either, Bradley "Couldn't Get It Up With a Forklift" Pitt. And let's not even talk about the microdermabrasion. You're call Pitt for a reason, you used to have craters on your face the size of -- "
Ari's still going and Jake just tunes him out. "You were saying, George?"
"I'm thinking about making a movie about the other side of the McCarthy hearings, about the relationship between Roy Cohn and David Schine. I touched on it in Good Night, and Good Luck -- I was thinking you might be perfect for it. What do you think?"
Jake's got a vague concept of where George is going with this; he read the article in The Advocate. "And who'd be playing Cohn?"
"Who else?" George says with laugh. "Me."
"So I get to kiss you on screen now?"
The white noise of Brad and Ari bickering stops immediately. "Who's kissing who? What fresh Gay Hell is this?" Ari snaps irritably.
"I'll tell you about it later," George says. "Anyway, we just wanted to say thanks for everything."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," Ari chimes in. "What about the pictures? Did you ask him if we could use the rights? I can see the returns already. We can run an ad in Hustler for Queers – do they have a Hustler for Queers? Who cares?! Lloyd's got the domain name already: www.seenakedjake.com."
"No, Ari," Jake and George say in unison.
"Jake, baby, c'mon, at $29.95 a pop, you could be wiping your ass with gold-leaf paper in no time. Please?"
"Bye, George, Brad."
"Jake! Don't hang up on me," Ari shouts. "I know who you've been fucking!"
"Think gay, Ari," Jake says disconnecting from the call.
"Who's that?" Austin's voice is thick with sleep, and his body is warm against Jake's back.
Jake rolls over easily and smiles as Austin yawns and lets his arm rest on Jake's waist. "It's nobody," Jake says, "Just some guys I know."
--end—
Okay, so, this is normally the part where I normally put Author's Notes and the Music Track and beta thanks and shit, but there aren't anything because Ari doesn't like censorship. Hug it out, bitches!
Thanks for reading.
Oh, and the role of Mia has been played by Janeane Garafolo, because she rocks.
Happy Chrismahanukahkwanzaa, baby girl.
All previous parts available here
RPF/RPS
Ensemble
It doesn't suck to be Jake Gyllenhaal these days. Yes, it's great that Brad Pitt and George Clooney want Jake to be their gay mascot, and okay, Jake's finally met someone who he actually likes on a daily basis, but what makes Jake really happy is spending time with Maggie and Pete -- which is obviously why they're his dates to the Brokeback Mountain premiere in Hollywood.
It doesn’t matter if they're passed out on the sofa in Jake's apartment, or having lunch together with their mom, Jake's life is good when he's with his family, and Pete's pretty much family these days anyway. This is why Jake has no problem with Pete's feet resting on his thigh in the back of the limousine enroute to the Kodak.
"Take this," Maggie says, thrusting a flute of champagne into Jake's hand. Jake holds the flute tightly, not wanting to drop it all over the place. The limo is winding its way through the evening Los Angeles traffic, and they keep going from zero to sixty back to zero with no warning whatsoever.
"What are you trying to do? Give me alcohol poisoning before the premiere?" he says good-naturedly. It sucks that Heath won't be there with Jake to enjoy the craziness, but Heath's a family man now, and Jake respects that.
"As if," his sister retorts, sliding back on the leather seating. "I don't make any money off of your death until after the movie's a big success, duh."
"Stupid me," Jake laughs. "And here I thought you loved me."
Pete sniggers, his heel digging into Jake's thigh. "No, man, she loves me. You're just tolerated because you show her gay sex."
Maggie's champagne sloshes over her dress when she lets out a massive peal of laughter. "Okay, while the gay sex thing has merit, I'd prefer it if I didn't have to see my brother's ass involved. That's just too much information."
"Hey, I have to 'think gay,'" Jake reminds her, clinking his glass against hers. "Don't ruin my method acting."
When Jake first told Maggie and Pete about Ari's whole "Think Gay!" plan, Maggie almost passed out laughing, whether it was from Ari's deviousness or their hot-boxing in Jake's bathroom is still up for debate. Suffice to say that though neither Pete or Maggie put any stock in Ari's advice, the catchphrase has cropped up a lot recently in their conversations, if only to be an antidote to every joke.
"Oh, please," Pete scoffs. "If you were doing method acting, you'd still be bitching about your ass hurting, and your dick being chafed."
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Maggie interrupts, "what did I say about too much information here?"
Jake takes a sip of champagne. "Rest assured, I would never tell you if my dick was chafed," he says solicitously. After all, Jake doesn't consider himself a method actor. He knows he's been called intense and dedicated -- all code terms for obsessive -– but he just likes to think of himself as someone who enjoys what he does.
Maggie exhales loudly. "Thank god, for that," Pete says.
"I'd just show it to you," Jake carries on blithely.
Maggie makes a gagging noise. "I'd tell mom -– and she'd so ground you."
"Tattletale."
"Love you, too." Maggie snorts, slipping off her shoes and swinging her legs up Jake's thigh as well.
"When did I become the self-appointed footrest?" he asks no one in particular.
"Speaking of gayness, however," Maggie takes another sip of champagne. "How are things with Austin?"
"Don't let Austin hear you calling him your "Think Gay!" plan," Pete chimes in, fishing something wrapped in aluminum foil out one of his tuxedo pockets.
"Austin's not my "Think Gay!" plan," Jake protests. "He's my "Think Sex!" plan –- there's a total difference."
"It's been, what, a whole week now?" Maggie presses.
Jake finishes the last of his champagne and liberates the magnum from the wet bar. He busies himself topping up everyone's glasses and trying to figure out what Pete's unwrapping. Maggie prods him in the ribs with her toes when he puts the champagne back in its holder. "Did you wash your feet today?" Jake asks.
"You're prevaricating," Maggie says in her sing-song voice. "I thought you were taking him to lunch?"
"I did," Jake said dismissively. "Pete, what's in the foil?"
"And?" Maggie presses.
"And mall security didn't appreciate us making out in the car."
The limousine skids to a halt and champagne goes everywhere. Miraculously, none of it ends up on Jake, but he gets kicked, twice. "Enough with the feet," he says, pushing Pete and Maggie's feet off his lap.
Pete grunts, but Maggie doesn't miss a beat. "You got caught having sex by mall security?!"
"No, it was late, and it was just The Grove security," Jake says dismissively. He's able to be blasé about it now, but at the time he was a bit freaked out -- until the guard asked for his autograph.
"We did that one time," Pete says helpfully, offering Jake a chocolate cake-like square from his package.
"Stop being helpful," Maggie demands taking a piece of her own. "What are these, brownies?"
When Jake catches Pete's eye, Pete winks. "Where'd you get these?" Jake asks, retrieving the bottle of champagne and offering it to his sister.
"A man who knows a man," Pete says mysteriously, in between shoveling bites of fudge-like brownie into his mouth. It's very, very rich. Jake licks his lips thoughtfully.
"We're not done talking about your public sex," Maggie interjects, taking a swig of champagne between bites of her brownie.
"Life is like a brownie," Peter eating a huge chunk, and then receiving the champagne from his girlfriend. "It's always better with something in it."
Jake and Maggie turn to Pete at the same time. "What's in these?" Maggie asks a question she obviously already knows the answer to.
"Magic, baby," Pete says lasciviously.
Jake snorts. "A stoned premiere. Mia is going to flip out."
Maggie just grins and leans back in her seat. "Gay sex and weed brownies. God, I love my life."
Jake smirks as the limousine merges with the premiere traffic. "Yeah," he says looking out the darkened windows at the gathering crowds. "It doesn't suck, does it?"
Jake hates The Heterosexual Agenda.
It's not that Jake doesn't like girls -- Jake loves girls. He loves the way they smell and their soft bits and their crazy ways. He truly considers himself a bisexual man, because he loved –- loves (?) -– Kirsten, and he thinks Angelina Jolie is stupidly hot, which he'll never say around Brad.
The point in all this being that Jake likes girls, but he likes boys too, which is obviously why he's agreed to be George and Brad's fresh meat for the Boom Boom Room. However, there are limits to what Jake's willing to do for anyone, and Mia needs to realize that.
Jake has brought Austin to the AFI Jarhead screening at the Arclight, because he wants to take Austin out on dates -- the Grove, Ammo, hiking in the Canyons –- like any normal guy. The press aren't supposed to be circling him for blood when he's on a date; he's not here to play Straight Jake for the public. He hadn't even been expecting the press, as his attire can attest, but Austin looks good, because he always looks good.
Jake's proud to be seen with Austin, even if he can't -– or won't -- touch him in public. Instead, he keeps his hands balled in his pocket, digging his fingernails into his palms and projecting his dissatisfaction with the situation.
He could hide it, but why bother?
 |
Jake's so tempted to deck one of the photographers, he can feel the adrenaline surge, and then Austin bumps his shoulder and Jake almost trips over his own two feet. Austin grabs his elbow to steady him, or maybe just to touch him, and Jake can't help his grin.
"JAKE! JAKE! JAKE!" The photographers are hounding him, but Austin's fingers are warm through his jacket, and he only lets go as a door swings open to the Arclight lobby.
As soon as they're inside the foyer, Jake's on the phone to Mia, because this was supposed to be a date, not a photo op.
"Mia, I'm not anybody's Marlboro Man," he hisses by way of greeting into his mobile phone. He's trying to have a private conversation in a dark corner of the lobby, but as this is an industry event the foyer is lit up like Rockefeller Center, and his idea of a dark corner is Austin blocking him from popular view.
"Well, hello to you too, my little ray of money and sunshine." Mia doesn't seem surprised in the slightest to hear from him, probably because she's always on stand-by when he goes out these days. "Having fun are we?"
"I didn't bring Austin along to be in tomorrow's Variety," Jake protests.
"As though Variety would run that article," Mia scoffs down the line, "that's Us Weekly all the way. And don't worry about this week's cover, they've already gone to press. I've got the Jolie-Pitt story sitting on my desk right now."
"Mia." Jake can't help the wheedling tone, because he'd just wanted to take Austin out for an evening.
"Don't give me the Mia routine, Jacob Gyllenhaal. You're the one who'd cancelled the interview with Out not once, not twice, but four times."
Jake bristles, because he can. "I just want-–"
"If you want to show off your new boy, that's fine, Jake, but don't bitch at me because people are interested in you having your cake and your dick, too."
Austin is shifting from one foot to another, and Jake gives him an apologetic smile because this was not the plan. The plan involved no press, alcohol, and then going back to Jake's place and making out for an indefinite period of time. They'd both vetoed anymore making-out-in-the-car sessions.
"That's not fair," Jake protests.
"A fair is someplace with rides and tickets, where you get to shoot at people for free," Mia reminds him. "This is Hollywood, not Ye Olde Circus, and you, my dear, are signed on to be the new face of gay living for George Clooney and Brad Pitt, so if I were you, I'd decide really fucking fast if I was ready to be Mr Gay Pride or not."
"I'm trying!" Jake snaps, and Austin gives him a curious look, because he's only hearing Jake's side of the conversation.
"I'm sorry," he mouths at Austin, patting Austin's forearm absently, only to jump a mile when a camera flash goes off somewhere nearby.
Jake really thinks he wants to be out, but every time he has a chance, he hesitates. Jared would say he sabotages it, but it's not as though Jared ever waved the pride flag himself.
Austin's looking around, but his attention keeps coming back to Jake, and that makes it hard to focus.
"Look, Jake, baby, you've gotta make up your mind about this thing." Mia's talking and she's got that flat, business tone thing happening. Jake listens in because this is the hard-line, and Mia's been known to quiz him later.
"Who I like isn’t something I can turn on and off," he reminds her.
"I'm not talking about who you fuck," Mia retorts. "I'm talking about how you let it affect your job. I am your agent; it's my job to get you the best jobs, and that's what I'm trying to do, but you keep shooting yourself in the foot with this shit. You've gotta make a decision and stick with it. I let you fuck around before because you were depressed over the Kirsten thing, and then there was the Jared mess, but The Little Hobos That Could are gone now. You like this boy?"
Jake glances up at Austin, and there's a slight shadow which he assumes is his own eyelashes. Austin's been standing sentry for Jake for a solid five minutes now, but he's never complained. Never told Jake that this isn't working for him. Austin doesn't seem to be into making a fuss, and Jake needs that desperately.
"Yeah," he says with a nod of his head. "I like him."
Austin raises an eyebrow, and Jake winks, but Mia's talking again and Jake should really be listening. "Well, then go out and buy some fucking matching man purses or whatever, and let's get you two on the cover of Out, shall we?"
Austin's licking his lower lip, and Jake's brain is now focusing on other things, like the way Austin's jeans sit on his hips. "Funny, Mia, real funny."
"I know I am, cupcake. Now don't forget you've got a photoshoot with Viggo Mortensen tomorrow at eleven, okay?"
Jake's already hanging up when Mia lobs her parting shot. "Don't forget to get him tested first. And he better sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement, Jacob."
Jake just snorts. "Only in this town."
Jake is lying on his back in Viggo Mortensen's driveway, wearing a blue long-sleeve shirt and getting intimate with Viggo's untamed lawn. The pavement is cold underneath his skull, and the weeds are tickling his nose.
 |
It's a little bit before three p.m on a Wednesday afternoon, and it's something like cold in San Fernando Valley. Southern California has really tricky weather at the end of the year where it's 70 degrees at noon and 40 degrees at 8 p.m.
Jake thinks it must be some sort of winter envy, or perhaps that's what Viggo's calling it. It doesn't seem quite right to Jake, the weather, and when Viggo first said he wanted Jake au natural, Jake got a little nervous. He's seen the Seinfeld episode about shrinkage.
"You all right down there, little brother?" Viggo's voice is gravelly and even, like everything about Viggo. Out of the corner of Jake's right eye, he can make out Viggo's naked feet and the frayed cuffs of his oversized jeans. Viggo is not a vain man.
Jake shrugs, but it's lost in the weeds. "The ground's cold."
"Mother Nature's a long way from feeling warm towards us these days," Viggo says matter-of-factly. He has paint in his hair and on his fingers. The only paint-free object on him is his camera, which Jake thinks might be as old as he is. He loves that Viggo's such a hippie that he's cool without even trying.
"I'd be pretty pissed if somebody was eating away at my protective layer, too," Jake points out.
"You're preaching to the choir," Viggo says, standing directly over Jake. He's shooting Jake from every angle known to man, a cigarette dangling from between his lips as he talks and moves around, standing and kneeling and then standing some more.
There's ash falling into Jake's hair, and he thinks about batting it away and decides he can't be bothered. Viggo's all about things being natural anyway, and it doesn't get more natural than being ashed on by your photographer.
"I thought we did some good work there last time," Viggo says thoughtfully. He's not the type to make idle conversation, "but I can see how some color would be good. I've got some red light bulbs I want to try you out with."
Jake shrugs again. He's down for whatever Viggo wants. "It's not like this is hard work," Jake says, rolling his head on the gravel and peering up at Viggo's craggy visage. Jake doesn't know how old Viggo is, but he guesses, if he's friends with Brad and George, they're probably all in the same age range.
"Hard work isn't about sweat; it's about heart," Viggo says, crouching down by Jake's head and pulling a few weeds out of the ground. "These'll go real nice with this painting I'm working on right now. It's the green, see," he says, pulling the cigarette from between his lips and setting it down by his foot. His bare foot. "It's got this verdant thing happening that I'm trying to replicate on the canvas; the color right now is too much like moss."
Jake nods as though he has any idea what Viggo's talking about, and the camera shutter clicks again. Viggo has a knack for always taking a picture before Jake's ready or after he thinks it's already been taken.
Viggo stands up and his cigarette rolls away, sent into motion by his movements. "We could all do with getting closer to the ground," he says sticking the weeds in his back pocket and pulling out a messy joint.
Jake nods again as Viggo drops onto the gravel next to him. "I heard these photos weren't gay enough," he says as Viggo sets down his camera and lights up the joint.
The sky is a plain, dull grey above Jake, and Viggo makes a 'hmm'ing noise as he inhales. "Hollywood has no sex," Viggo says in a tight voice before passing Jake the joint. "It fucks you regardless."
Jake takes a long hit and thinks about Ari and Kirsten and Jared and Mia. Then he thinks about The Day After Tomorrow and The Bubble Boy. Yeah, Jake's been fucked by Hollywood a lot.
"Hollywood doesn't even use protection," Jake says, exhaling and passing back to Viggo. "That's the real problem. Who knows what you're picking up from someone else?"
"Always use protection, little brother." Viggo taps Jake's forehead, holding the joint with his other hand. "I should write a poem about that."
Jake snickers and rolls over on his stomach. Looking at Viggo upside down is making his perspective all weird. "Do you write poems about everything?"
Viggo looks down at Jake thoughtfully and takes a drag. "Not everything, just most things."
"Just most things," Jake parrots.
"There's no such thing as everything," Viggo explains, exhaling in Jake's face. "It's just not possible. You can never get every last little thing. Don't let people confuse you like that."
Viggo's saying something very deep, and Jake's brain is doing its best to process, but it just keeps saying he needs another hit. Viggo would be a great cult leader.
"Now this is what I call a photo shoot." A familiar voice interrupts Jake's synapses, and he forgets Viggo's words of wisdom. The shoes come into Jake's line of vision first, and he has to push himself onto his knees to look George Clooney in the face.
"George!" Jake's voice is projecting a lot more activity than the rest of his body seems capable of at the moment. He's actually surprised that he's managed to move so fast in the first place.
"Jake, it's good to see you so relaxed. I'm glad you didn't let Ari get to you. He can be an ass pretty much all the time." George's smile does weird things to Jake's stomach, and Jake feels this overwhelming need to hug George's knees. "Viggo, I don't think we've ever met, but Brad speaks highly of you."
Viggo nods. "Bradley's special."
"He is that." George does that smirking think with his mouth where he's kind of amused and kind of pained, but because it's George you're distracted by his hotness.
Jake wants to tell George he's sorry about the Brad and Angelina thing, but he's pretty sure that's not his place. George doesn't seem like the sort of guy who's into sympathy anyway, and Jake doesn't even realise Viggo's elbowing him. "What?" he asks a bit stupidly.
"You should share with the guests," Viggo says, gesturing motioning towards George, and Jake holds out the joint reflexively.
George grins at this. "I don't smoke," he says, holding up his hands in the universal signal for no, "but thanks for the offer."
"You sure?" Jake asks. He can't imagine George Clooney high, but the idea alone is seriously intriguing. "One hit?"
"Aren't you two supposed to be working?" George is a master of changing the subject.
"It's not that sort of work," Viggo says. "I prefer to have my subjects relaxed, and you never answered Jake's question."
Jake knows he's doing the pleading face, because he's actively working on it. Everything is twice as much work when he's high, but for this, he'll make the effort.
George narrows his eyes. "Just one hit."
Jake didn't mean to get George Clooney high on Viggo Mortensen's drugs; it just sort of happened. One minute he was lying on his back, wondering if he was going to get hemorrhoids on his ass from lying on the cold earth, and the next, he's in Viggo Mortensen's studio, having his tie arranged by George Clooney because his own hand-eye-coordination is crap.
George is a few inches taller than Jake, so Jake's pretty much studying George's neck, but it's a really nice neck. "Thank you very much," George says, and Jake looks up curiously.
"What?"
"You said you liked my neck," George fills in. "My mother always said when someone compliments you, you should say 'Thank you.'"
"I said that out loud?" Jake should be mortified, but he's stoned, so that will have to do.
When George laughs, Jake can feel the vibrations in his arms. "The tie thing isn't happening," George says throwing it away in a fit of disgust.
"You can't get it either?" Jake says sympathetically.
George is admitting nothing. "Whose idea was this get up in the first place?" he says eyeing Jake's suit critically.
"Brad's."
George sighs. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Nothing Bradley does should be a surprise to you." Viggo's voice is falling from the sky like so much rain, and it's only when Jake looks around that he realizes it's because Viggo's standing on a leather chair, screwing a red light bulb into the fixture. And then the whole room goes red, and it's really weird.
"My god," George says thoughtfully, "we're bringing the Red Light District to Newport."
Viggo's laughter is deep and hearty. "That's one interpretation," he says jumping off the chair. "All right, Jake, have a seat."
Jake blinks, because he's stoned and the lighting is weird, and he's only been in this room once before. He turns away from George to sit down, and instead finds himself spinning 360 degrees back to George.
Jake doesn't even realise George Clooney is kissing him for at least seven seconds. His centre of gravity is still moving, but his body is still, and George's mouth is being pressed against Jake's lips.
Jake registers all sorts of sensations: grapefruit juice, wet, OHMYGOD, tongue, marijuana's herbal tang, and then Jake's back to the whole being kissed by George Clooney thing.
Jake doesn't even realise he's squeezed his eyes closed until George pulls away and snickers. "You all right there?"
Jake opens one eye and then the other, and the whole world is still red, and George Clooney is smirking at him like they're in on the biggest secret ever. "Ari said you needed to "Think Gay!", I thought kissing another man might help."
Jake says something like, "Urk."
"Don’t tell Matt I did that," George says as Viggo materializes next to them. "He'll kill me for getting there first."
"Am I interrupting?" Viggo asks as Jake shakes his head and makes his way over to the chair on wobbly legs. He collapses in a sprawl, his brain still kissing George Clooney and his body boneless on the leather chair
George and Viggo are talking amongst themselves nearby, and Jake can hear George saying, "I hope I didn't break him." Viggo's laughing, but then Jake touches his mouth and wonders if the fact that George Clooney kissed him is going to be imprinted on him for the rest of his life.
He kind of hopes so.
 |
Epilogue
The phone call comes two days later, and Jake is anything but surprised. He is a little sore though, since sharing a bed with someone for the first time always tends to be a little uncomfortable, and Austin has really long limbs.
"We've decided that we're not going to buy the B&B," George says by way of greeting. "But we really wanted to thank you for all your time and hard work. It's been a pleasure working with you, Jake."
"The pleasure was all mine," Jake says somewhat saucily. It's early in the morning, and his roadblocks aren't up yet. He can only imagine who else is listening.
"What G-Money means is that the fuckwit has decided to go don an apron and play Mr Jolie, and the adoption companies are a bit homophobic about things like famous homewreckers and their big gay partners."
"Ari, shut up!" Brad's voice is tiny on the line, and Jake snickers, covering the phone with his hand when Austin stirs next to him.
"I've told you two to knock it off," George snaps. "Ari, you'll get your commission, now leave Brad alone."
"George, I know you're not going to put up with his bullshit again, are you? He's cuckolding you in the press with Mother Gandhi! This motherfucker has done nothing for the last five months but make you miserable with his wannabe Catholic penance for fucking around on Jen, and let me tell you --"
"I'm so going to sue you," Brad huffs.
George speaks over Ari and Brad's bickering. "Jake, we're sorry about all the runaround, we'll compensate you if you want. I'll have Ari talk to your agent, or -–"
"—and don't think the whole world doesn't know that you take Viagra either, Bradley "Couldn't Get It Up With a Forklift" Pitt. And let's not even talk about the microdermabrasion. You're call Pitt for a reason, you used to have craters on your face the size of -- "
Ari's still going and Jake just tunes him out. "You were saying, George?"
"I'm thinking about making a movie about the other side of the McCarthy hearings, about the relationship between Roy Cohn and David Schine. I touched on it in Good Night, and Good Luck -- I was thinking you might be perfect for it. What do you think?"
Jake's got a vague concept of where George is going with this; he read the article in The Advocate. "And who'd be playing Cohn?"
"Who else?" George says with laugh. "Me."
"So I get to kiss you on screen now?"
The white noise of Brad and Ari bickering stops immediately. "Who's kissing who? What fresh Gay Hell is this?" Ari snaps irritably.
"I'll tell you about it later," George says. "Anyway, we just wanted to say thanks for everything."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," Ari chimes in. "What about the pictures? Did you ask him if we could use the rights? I can see the returns already. We can run an ad in Hustler for Queers – do they have a Hustler for Queers? Who cares?! Lloyd's got the domain name already: www.seenakedjake.com."
"No, Ari," Jake and George say in unison.
"Jake, baby, c'mon, at $29.95 a pop, you could be wiping your ass with gold-leaf paper in no time. Please?"
"Bye, George, Brad."
"Jake! Don't hang up on me," Ari shouts. "I know who you've been fucking!"
"Think gay, Ari," Jake says disconnecting from the call.
"Who's that?" Austin's voice is thick with sleep, and his body is warm against Jake's back.
Jake rolls over easily and smiles as Austin yawns and lets his arm rest on Jake's waist. "It's nobody," Jake says, "Just some guys I know."
--end—
Okay, so, this is normally the part where I normally put Author's Notes and the Music Track and beta thanks and shit, but there aren't anything because Ari doesn't like censorship. Hug it out, bitches!
Thanks for reading.
Oh, and the role of Mia has been played by Janeane Garafolo, because she rocks.
Happy Chrismahanukahkwanzaa, baby girl.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-12-08 06:14 pm (UTC)Yes. YES GODDAMNIT YES! With Sark. And Jake. Also, Bradley is fired for what he's done to the pairing, I'm with George. Don't call me Brad anymore, you can call me Ari.
"I'm thinking about making a movie about the other side of the McCarthy hearings, about the relationship between Roy Cohn and David Schine. I touched on it in Good Night, and Good Luck -- I was thinking you might be perfect for it. What do you think?"
Is this Heaven? How the hell did I get here? *runs upstairs to look for Tom Welling in my bed wearing leather pants and sporting a tattoo*
I was originally going to say Ocean's Thirteen, but #12 sucks so much that I decided drastic measures were needed. George would totally create a whole movie just so he could make out with Jake, plus politics? Total wet dream. And then my head exploded.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-12 03:05 am (UTC)