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So, this.
Morally Ambiguous
by selfgraspingbilly
v. cain
Justin coughs a little at the question, smiling to disarm but clearly unable to reply immediately. It hurts JC to watch, embarrassed for Justin in a way Justin never is for himself. The reporter leans closer, perhaps scenting blood.
“Come on, Timberlake, no dead air please! Need me to repeat? Tina Dunkle of Amherst wants to know where you hide the bodies.”
In the sound booth over the studio, JC peers more intently throught the one-way window. The reporter is hanging onto a smile. Her lips are very red.
Justin's forehead wrinkles.
“So, you’re saying, you’re saying that I… what, about who I’m with? Or do you actually think I’m a, I’m like a serial killer or… I don’t understand what she means, ‘bodies’.”
Something a bit feral in JC is burning, when he sees the persuasive hand on Justin’s blue-jeaned knee. He listens intently, fearful of a mis-step that might shatter that limber composure.
The studio rings with high-pitched laughter, and Justin ducks his head, faux bashful. Clearly the reporter is about to rephrase, helpfully squeezing his leg. Justin waves his hands at her, though, and rallies.
“I leave them alive and wanting more, is what,” he says and shows a lot of teeth. He singsongs his next words, eyes wide and focussed on the woman questioning him. “I… ain’t got no body, nobody! Nobody caaares about meee!”
Everyone in the studio breathes deeply, laughs, charmed and relieved. Justin jumps in again, before any more interview questions can be asked.
“Actually, though, I do- I did have to kill my, my buddy JC. Just because with his single, and with his long hair, he got so sexay. So, I had to do him dirty, yo.”
The audience gasps a little, delighted. The reporter is grinning wildly now, also. JC can feel himself blush, and hopes Stan the sound guy doesn't notice. Stan is laughing too, so he probably doesn't.
“So you’re saying you did JC dirty? Is that what you are saying, Justin?”
“I’m just sayin’… I’m just sayin’! I’m saying that I was worried he was going to be sexier than me!” At this, the studio fills with a chorus of denial of any such possibility, and JC cringes at some of the things that are shouted.
Justin’s face makes a familiar, sweet pout. Incredulous, and adorable. He looks into the eyes of the reporter, who says firmly “JC has nothing on you, Justin Timberlake!” The audience hoots some more, while Justin smiles in gentle satisfaction.
His voice on the radio will sound properly humble and doubtful when he says “Well, I just don’t know…”, but his expression hovers around smug.
JC leaves the booth above the studio, and doesn’t tell Justin’s security where he’s going, since Justin never knew he planned to be here. He’s not angry. But he thinks he might be a little bit dead.
Morally Ambiguous
by selfgraspingbilly
v. cain
Justin coughs a little at the question, smiling to disarm but clearly unable to reply immediately. It hurts JC to watch, embarrassed for Justin in a way Justin never is for himself. The reporter leans closer, perhaps scenting blood.
“Come on, Timberlake, no dead air please! Need me to repeat? Tina Dunkle of Amherst wants to know where you hide the bodies.”
In the sound booth over the studio, JC peers more intently throught the one-way window. The reporter is hanging onto a smile. Her lips are very red.
Justin's forehead wrinkles.
“So, you’re saying, you’re saying that I… what, about who I’m with? Or do you actually think I’m a, I’m like a serial killer or… I don’t understand what she means, ‘bodies’.”
Something a bit feral in JC is burning, when he sees the persuasive hand on Justin’s blue-jeaned knee. He listens intently, fearful of a mis-step that might shatter that limber composure.
The studio rings with high-pitched laughter, and Justin ducks his head, faux bashful. Clearly the reporter is about to rephrase, helpfully squeezing his leg. Justin waves his hands at her, though, and rallies.
“I leave them alive and wanting more, is what,” he says and shows a lot of teeth. He singsongs his next words, eyes wide and focussed on the woman questioning him. “I… ain’t got no body, nobody! Nobody caaares about meee!”
Everyone in the studio breathes deeply, laughs, charmed and relieved. Justin jumps in again, before any more interview questions can be asked.
“Actually, though, I do- I did have to kill my, my buddy JC. Just because with his single, and with his long hair, he got so sexay. So, I had to do him dirty, yo.”
The audience gasps a little, delighted. The reporter is grinning wildly now, also. JC can feel himself blush, and hopes Stan the sound guy doesn't notice. Stan is laughing too, so he probably doesn't.
“So you’re saying you did JC dirty? Is that what you are saying, Justin?”
“I’m just sayin’… I’m just sayin’! I’m saying that I was worried he was going to be sexier than me!” At this, the studio fills with a chorus of denial of any such possibility, and JC cringes at some of the things that are shouted.
Justin’s face makes a familiar, sweet pout. Incredulous, and adorable. He looks into the eyes of the reporter, who says firmly “JC has nothing on you, Justin Timberlake!” The audience hoots some more, while Justin smiles in gentle satisfaction.
His voice on the radio will sound properly humble and doubtful when he says “Well, I just don’t know…”, but his expression hovers around smug.
JC leaves the booth above the studio, and doesn’t tell Justin’s security where he’s going, since Justin never knew he planned to be here. He’s not angry. But he thinks he might be a little bit dead.
