(Untitled)

[focusoutof]

The mirror is cool against his flushed forehead. He leans forward, pressing his skull against the glass, hard, harder, until the sharp bam, bam, bam of pain behind his eyeballs dulls ever so slightly. Breathe. In. Out

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[depper]

"Thought I'd find you here!" Johnny says. "I tried your cell a couple of times, figured you were here working and didn't want to be disturbed." He grins. Astin is always working, and he never wants to be disturbed whether he's working or not; and even if he did, in a rare unguarded moment, want to be disturbed, he'd never admit. And he'd certainly never turn on the ringer on his phone.

He's usually good about checking the messages and responding right away, though. So when he didn't, Johnny headed straight for the studio.

"You need a break." Johnny's decided this already. Decided not to mention that Astin was supposed to meet him two hours ago; he doesn't think he could take the self-beration in Astin's eyes, the apology from his mouth. Good old Astin. Johnny fucking loves him. "Come with me for a drink, and then we'll come back to tackle this a fresh eye. Savvy?" He drapes his arm casually across Astin's shoulders.

[focusoutof]

It's impossible to speak when Johnny's speaking, because Johnny never allows enough space for someone else to do just that. The weak 'er, um, wait, no' protests are lost in Astin's throat, barely making it past the first stage into becoming actual words.

His temples flare with heat, the littlest reminder that the whole damn thing could blow at any moment. Boom, and that's all she wrote, sucker. He closes his eyes briefly, attempts to move away from Johnny slightly because, hey, personal space is your friend. Johnny has no concept of personal space. Johnny reels Astin back in. His arm sticks to the sweaty skin on the back of Astin's neck. He doesn't seem to notice, though. He probably wouldn't say anything if he did, Astin thinks.

He shrugs and looks sideways and up at Johnny, attempting the half-annoyed, half-amused smile that he gives the man at least a dozen times every day. "Yeah, okay. Sure."

[depper]

"Great," Johnny enthuses, his hand lifting off Astin's shoulder just at the fingers, palm still flush, pat pat. Physical contact is good for the human soul, and as Johnny is one of the few people Astin will allow it with, he considers it his privilege and his responsibility to help Astin feel connected.

He just wishes Astin would enjoy it a little more. Allow himself ease, if not outright pleasure.

"Walk or drive?" he asks. Their regular hangout is only a few blocks away, but it's fucking hot today. Johnny remembers when he used to walk everywhere. Walked around the whole fucking world, practically. He gazes off, smiling fondly into memory; then gives Astin's shoulder a squeeze and lets go as daylight and Valley heat hits them full on. "Your choice, man."

[focusoutof]

Astin thinks of being confined in a small space with Johnny, in Johnny's death trap of a car, with Johnny driving (if you can even call it that), and answers promptly, without hesitation, "Let's walk."

He turns, reaching up to tug his baseball cap further over his eyes, and almost runs head on into a large man with a cardboard box, wires spilling out of the side, in his arms. The man scowls at Astin as he walks around them, as if to say, 'the fuck are you doing here?', while practically elbowing Astin out of the way. Looking down at his sneakers, Astin grumbles an apology, pressing himself against the side of the building and waiting for Johnny to continue.

[depper]

"Yeah," Johnny says. "No script yet." Smiles, what's new. Reaches for the ashtray, slides it back to nudge against Astin's hat, moves it clear. Dusts the hat where the ashtray touched it, not that there's anything to clean, but show a little respect for the hat, man. "I think it's going to be a lesbian picture." Johnny always says the full word: lesbian. Not lez, but lesbian. He likes the way it sounds, the way the middle rolls off your tongue, the buzz of the hard 's', the way it ends, the 'b' bringing your lips together, the 'ia' opening them up, the 'n' clicking your tongue up to the roof of your mouth. "Liv, Keira, Miranda." Lights up, deep inhale, lets it out slowly. "No boys yet. Nic, maybe. Not sure yet." He pauses to take another drag, giving Astin a chance to comment on the casting so far.

[focusoutof]

"Hmm." Astin's already picturing it. A round bed with white silk, no, wait. Red silk sheets to bring out the different skin tones; the pale and the tanned and the flushed. Long legs and arms, slim waists, full breasts and asses. A blond, a redhead, a brunette. Shot from above then slowly moving in, gaining focus, clearing up...

And there. Eyes a faint, blue crystal. Hands beckoning. Mouth as red as the blood pumping beneath the skin. Forming yes, moaning oh, begging for more...

Jolt, back in the bar, back beside Johnny. Astin's suddenly sweaty fingers squeak against the bar as he fidgets in his seat. He's grateful for the drink put in front of him. He reaches for it, clearing his throat slightly. Keira and Randy and Nic (and Liv)... "Not Orlando?"

[depper]

"Haven't had a chance to talk to the darlin' boy yet," Johnny smiles. Swaps out his cigarette for a pull from the bottle; he always drinks from the bottle, never a glass. Glasses are for - well, for people like Ian McKellen, Johnny suspects. "I'll catch up with him this weekend." Back to his cigarette. "It's good lineup, the girls. Liv and Miranda, that's gonna be a helluva thing." Grins; grins more when Astin makes a non-committal grunt, takes a sip of his beer. "The thing is, though, we're going to need some boys. McKellen didn't ask for anything specific, but I promised him girls and boys - and from what I've heard," Johnny dips into the files stored in his head, "it's the boys he's really into." Grin. "As it were." He smiles more at Astin's little eyeroll and headshake. "So if Nic doesn't do it and Orlando's not around, we're going to have to come up with someone. I don't like leaving it for open calls, but we may have to." Johnny runs a hand through his hair, quick inhale, slow exhale.

[focusoutof]

Astin gives another grunt, another slight nod, his fingers picking at the napkin underneath his beer which is already damp with condensation running off of the glass. Johnny's voice slows when he says it; Or-lan-do. Taking its time, savoring the flavor throughout the mouth. "But what about the movie?" It doesn't come out so much as impatient as trying to steer Johnny back on track. Casting is secondary. There will always be stars to fill the parts.