A/N: I originally posted this ( post/95905428613) mini-fic sort of thing for the prompt 'RKOI Victorious'. It was just a little drabble-style thing, but I had a few messages on tumblr, some twitter mutuals, and some of my actual friends that said the prompt would work well for a full-blown fic. I didn't have a lot of ideas for it, at first, but now that I do, I'm happy to write a full-blown RKOI AU.
Also - I'm still planning to update Cast and Crew. The next chapter will be out soon, hopefully, but in the meantime, there's this.
Jade emerged from the shower, panting, slicking back her hair messily and immediately wrapping one of the thick fluffy monogrammed towels from the heated rack nearby around her chest. God, that new showerhead had been worth the begging that had been required during their last renovations of the south wing. She'd cited back pains and poor circulation, and honestly her father had probably just been tired of her asking by that point, because he'd agreed and signed the delivery form without so much as a flicker of hesitation or complaint. She'd finished half of her morning routine, now. Wake up (6:03 am), and complete fifteen minutes of yoga followed by six minutes of breathing exercises. Next, a bottle of sparkling Voss with cucumber and sliced kiwi, and at some point while chugging, down two Xanax. Then, off to the en-suite bathroom to brush her teeth and hop in the shower. Shampoo, condition, get herself off, exfoliate, rinse.
Now, as she stood in front of her mirror, long black hair dripping onto the sheepskin bath mat at her feet, she needed to exoliate, tone, and moisturize. Beck was meant to come by around ten o'clock, which meant she had exactly three hours and nine minutes to finish getting ready. Speeding through her dry-brush routine, left her skin tingling in a way that would probably be unpleasant, were she not floating on a xannie cloud of I-don't-give-a-fuck. A quick pat-down of her face with the first pump from a fresh bottle of R'eVive Intensit'e Volumizing Serum - a weekly treatment, of course, fuck, she was only twenty - and her routine was basically done. Well, the parts that she tended to, at least.
Padding out of the bathroom and wincing at the stick of her damp skin to the freshly installed hardwood flooring - she'd chosen clear grade, at first, but now she was beginning to reconsider. Something a little more rustic, for her room, maybe? - she made her way into her closet and tugged open the lingerie cabinet with all of the hope and wonder of a child on Christmas morning. Maybe today would be the day? Her fingertips drifted over the drawers that she'd organized in top-to-bottom order of 'I'm on my period', moving down to 'everyday', then 'suitable for intimacy', all the way down to 'I want to get fucked in a club bathroom, like, yesterday'.
No, none of this was acceptable. Not with Beck, at least. She might as well have weaved herself a thong made of rosaries - she'd fucked that opportunity up months ago.
Dropping her towel to the floor, she paused to admire herself in the mirror across the closet from her, it's full-length lit up warmly as soon as it's motion sensors had been tripped from her entering. Her tan was beginning to fade, a mix of genuine tan and some well-placed sugar-and-bronzer-water painted on for $400 by some poor minimum-wage spa worker in the Hamptons. Her plan had originally been to tan naturally for the entire trip (save for the base tan, bronzers, and oils, of course) but upon realizing that tan lines were very much a thing she'd have to deal with, she had some Chinese girl in a lab-coat paint-by-numbers the rest of her body to even everything else. Luckily, most of it had faded fairly evenly - the little lines of tan-to-pale ombre would be scrubbed away that Thursday at the chocolate-wrap appointment she'd made the night before.
Beck seemed to like her better, tan, though. That idea alone was enough to nearly make her cancel her scrub-and-wrap appointment four different times over the course of the night. Still, a part of her new better than to change for his current ideal - she'd tried that once or twice before, and it usually just ended up with his confusion and her frustration. His 'type' changed often, depending, usually, on where he'd been travelling recently. What his 'muse' was. When she'd taken off to the Hamptons with her dad and his girlfriend, he'd decided on a road trip to Los Angeles with a few of his current 'friends'. His new 'type' was tall, tan, with blonde hair, or at the very least, something a little brighter than the nearly black locks that she'd been growing out for years. She started with bronzers - MAC made eight or nine shades that complimented her, and the decision for tanning in the Hamptons followed suit. Soon enough, she was getting sun highlights - filling in the gaps on her tan with spa appointments, swapping out the long 'trendy colored' stiletto nails for french-tipped gels - Hell would freeze over the day that she chose to method act and go for, ugh, acrylics - or pale pinks and neutrals that brought out her newly manufactured glow.
The reflection in her mirror was slowly fading back to look like her, once more. She'd filed her nails back down to sharp points, long enough to keep the perfect sized bump of coke steady for use, though the tan still lingered, and the highlights - now faded - were still evident.
Selecting a set of lingerie - pale pink, to contrast against her tan of course; she still had hope for the evening, no matter how unlikely - she stepped into them and grabbed a pair of heels from the eye-level shelf nearby to match. Everything about her, visibly, was always pristine to those around her. It added an extra boost of confidence to know that the layers of her appearance that weren't visible to the public eye were equally on-point. And, again, that hope for the evening thing.
Her first time was going to be monumental. Matching heels and lingerie seemed like a good start.
$100 was a pretty nice tip for a doorman, but he'd called car service at 4 AM with no questions asked, ignoring the powder still stuck in the bit of stubble growing on Beck's jaw. He deserved it. What a splendid man. A real stand-up guy.
Speaking of standing up - Beck was apparently having none of that. He didn't need to be at Jade's until 10, however, so he had a solid 6 hours to get an IV and relax on the drive across town. He might have fudged the numbers a little on which day he'd be getting back in town - sure, he could have called his girlfriend the night before, but she was probably busy, or exhausted from her own travelling. He didn't want to be a bother, of course.
That, and, it was nice to be a ghost for an evening - no one knowing he was back in town, no one calling him to come out, or trying to start fights, no girlfriend to impress, just him, a big ol' pile of drugs, and some very discreet friends. The perfect evening, really.
Now, though, it was time to return to the real world. His artistic mind was elsewhere, though, now. He didn't want to return to normal, he wanted to be back in LA, with the dumb-as-hell girls that couldn't tell him the last three presidents but gave head like they'd been practicing since being in the womb. The drugs were unreal, the crowd was so… alive. It was feral. He'd been looking at condos before coming home, but hadn't had a good chance to put money down on anything before having to leave.
Despite his… choice of activities while in LA, it was still a place he could see himself going with Jade. She had scarily effective people skills - it was a city he knew she could enter and destroy if she wanted to. She just didn't seem to have the interest. Jade was… Jade was wife material. In fact, another few years of schmoozing with his own father's company and he'd be working his way up to CEO. Tech was no interest of his, but money was.
His 'jog' in the direction of the car that pulled up was more of a barely-controlled stumble, the driver pulling the back door open just in time for Beck to spill inside, collapsing almost facedown, stretched across the backseat entirely. Still, though, it was a comfy enough place to stay still for a while, his coming-down mind still caught between so-so-so-tired and too-restless-to-sleep-for-a-month. What the hell was that powder? Sure wasn't coke. Twelve, maybe? Hard to say.
He was only vaguely aware of the car pulling away from the curb and beginning it's slow crawl down the Fifth Avenue. It was nearly 5 AM by the time they reach his flat - a gift from his parents. A 'test' of his maturity, his ability to handle responsibility of living alone. Though, he didn't really live alone, nor did he have any real responsibility - not with a staff of twenty-five, five days per week. (Thirty, each Sunday, to clean up the evidence of the night prior.)
He barely made it upstairs, taking a long shower, and nearly falling asleep with his head pressed against the cool marble wall. However, when he emerged from the water and steam, the clock claiming '6:09 AM', he felt a lot better than he had only a few hours earlier. He collapsed, naked, and still wet, on top of the fluffy duvet on his bed. The steam rose off of his skin in thin rivers, until his body acclimated to the temperature of the room. All muscle and tanned skin, his body had a distinctly specific look to it - one that was crafted by trainers and meditation coaches and yoga instructors for his entire life - 'I want to look this powerful. I paid to make myself look this powerful. I can afford to look this way. This is not blue-collar muscle.'
Hm, only 6:20 AM - he wasn't going to meet Jade at her parents' until 10 AM, which meant he had a good amount of time to nap off the remainder of his… high? Hangover? Come-down? What even was this hazy mess? Unimportant detail. A quick nap and he'd be fine, ready to rejoin the world of the living.
The phone on the nightstand blared loudly - he must have left it in the car, and one of his staff would have returned it. He tried to ignore it, but by the third ring, his head was pounding. Swiping it from the nightstand, he picked up without consulting the screen - his first big mistake.
"Hello?"
"Beck, hey!"
"Tori. Hey." Ew, holy shit, is that what his voice sounded like? He must have smoked at least a pack and a half, the night before.
"What are you doing today?"
"Uh, going to Jade's in a couple of hours." His second big mistake.
There's a long, uncomfortable silence for a moment.
"Are… are you guys going out, tonight?" Her voice sounded hurt, but hell, he was not interested in playing that game, not when he was this trashed from the night before.
"Yeah, I don't know, maybe. Listen, Tori," he sat up a bit, kneeling there, naked in the center of the $4500 Ralph Lauren duvet. The fucking album art of a Kanye record, really.
She made a small impatient noise, and he soothed it over with an expertise in charm and slime that could only come from someone like him.
"Baby, how about you and I hang out on Thursday, hm? After the show? Just me and you. We don't even have to leave the hotel - we can just get room service and sit in the jacuzzi…"
She sighed a little, won over already.
It sounds romantic, probably, to her. It's keeping them out of the public eye, to him. It's total side-bitch logic. He has Robbie to thank for it. The thing is, Jade and Tori are friends - sort of - Jade doesn't have a lot of friends, not that she considers friends anyway. She had contacts. She networked. Everything was business, or politics, with her.
"That sounds awesome, actually."
"I know. I'll see you Thursday."
He hung up and tossed the phone messily across the bed, collapsing into the matching Ralph Lauren throw pillows again. 2000 thread-count, of course.