Fic!
I'm posting my fic which I wrote for qaf_challenges. Read and feedback! I love feedback! I love you if you give me feedback! FEEDBACK!
Title: Seagreen Lacquer and the Staircase
Written By: 0corona0
Timeline: somewhere around early S5, no specific time though
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Summary: Justin doesn’t notice until he sees the Corvette.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, malli_.
It is the Corvette, really. He doesn’t notice until he sees the Corvette. Later, while running up the stairs, Justin will ask himself, how could I not notice?, but it’s too late for regrets and he is too old, too tired for fighting, arguing, thinking. Then he remembers that he is only twenty-two, and when did he become quite so young?
The Corvette isn’t washed, Brian’s cell phone rests peacefully on the floor of the passenger-seat’s legroom, files are littered all across the leather. How could I not notice? How could he not have noticed?
He is just on the way to the gallery “those fuckers, it’s so goddamn early!”, he complained to Brian in the Loft, “I think fate’s not on my side”, he whined, and then stumbled downstairs, unmotivated, to say the least.
When he sees the small spots of dirt on the dark seagreen lacquer, the ringing, abandoned cell phone, Mikey, Mikey’s calling, Mikey, did you know?, then he knows. Probably, only, though. His head is filled with senseless words, useless explanations, as he storms up the stairs, no patience for the elevator, no time for the elevator. The stairs are ad infinitum, endless, whichever word is acoustically more pleasing, he says it aloud, “ad infinitum”, “endless.”
How could I not notice?
Another step, and another one. He’s been here, exactly here, feeling thinking doing exactly the same, step, it’s not so long ago, either. What are two years?, step, two years are nothing if they could be the last he has got. Step.
How could I not notice?
How could he not find it weird that Brian wasn’t leaving before him, but was already up?, step, his mind is running, step, too many thoughts and steps, step, how come it took a car for him to notice?
How could I not notice?
He pounds in the code, it’s wrong, did he change it?, did Brian change it to shut him out, where’s his key?, try again, again. It’s correct this time, the door clicks, Justin pulls it open with force and fear and he’s just twenty-two and feels like fifty. Not again, please, not again, not him.
Justin listens, his face and knuckles, wrapped around the handle, white, white… . “Brian?” He doesn’t hear any sounds of vomiting, but maybe Brian’s not under treatment yet, how ridiculous, why would he not? He has cancer, no one would be stupid enough not to go see a doctor, would they?, would he?
He has cancer. He knows now that he’s seen the Corvette.
“Forgot something?”
Brian stands next to the fridge, eyebrow raised, suit-sleek and the perfect burgundy tie. He doesn’t look tired, exhausted or sick, didn’t refuse sex last night, quite the contrary, and in fact Justin did forget something. He forgot Brian ranting about how “this lame-ass intern dropped the files all across the seats in my car, fired him on the fucking spot, fuck!”, and about “fucking meeting with Brown, they think they’re some kind of special treatment-case, scheduled it last minute and now I couldn’t go wash the ‘vette” and about “great, now I even left my fucking cell phone in the car”, and that was about the time that Justin simply dropped to his knees and sucked him off. They only made it as far as the bed afterwards.
But even though Justin knows all that, he can’t forget the car, can’t forget how Brian had never planned to tell him that he had cancer back then, can’t ignore his heart hammering. He has to ask:
“Are you sick?”
He sounds rough even to his own ears, but how could he leave now without certainty?
And Brian knows what he’s talking about in an instant. He looks annoyed, “no, I’m not sick, Jesus Christ, Justin, I don’t need a fucking baby-sitter”, but he still takes Justin into his arms and kisses him softly. Probably because he’s thinking, would I really tell him if I were? and maybe because he wants him to know that he appreciates his concern, or maybe to say that he’s sorry for putting Justin through this anxiety, or to assure that he’s fine, with Brian you never know. Justin strokes his hair, his cheek, squeezes Brian’s hand ever so briefly. It’s enough to get his message across. They’ve been here, they’ve done this. The fear will never entirely subside.
When Justin tries to go, feeling a little embarrassed even, Brian surprises him. He holds onto his hand, pulls him back strongly and touches Justin’s forehead with his, eyes closed. Brian’s arms slowly go around his back, he embraces him there, then, and whispers:
“I’d let you know.”
It’s worth more than a thousand I love yous, at least for them, Justin thinks. But with Brian, you never know.
Title: Seagreen Lacquer and the Staircase
Written By: 0corona0
Timeline: somewhere around early S5, no specific time though
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Summary: Justin doesn’t notice until he sees the Corvette.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, malli_.
It is the Corvette, really. He doesn’t notice until he sees the Corvette. Later, while running up the stairs, Justin will ask himself, how could I not notice?, but it’s too late for regrets and he is too old, too tired for fighting, arguing, thinking. Then he remembers that he is only twenty-two, and when did he become quite so young?
The Corvette isn’t washed, Brian’s cell phone rests peacefully on the floor of the passenger-seat’s legroom, files are littered all across the leather. How could I not notice? How could he not have noticed?
He is just on the way to the gallery “those fuckers, it’s so goddamn early!”, he complained to Brian in the Loft, “I think fate’s not on my side”, he whined, and then stumbled downstairs, unmotivated, to say the least.
When he sees the small spots of dirt on the dark seagreen lacquer, the ringing, abandoned cell phone, Mikey, Mikey’s calling, Mikey, did you know?, then he knows. Probably, only, though. His head is filled with senseless words, useless explanations, as he storms up the stairs, no patience for the elevator, no time for the elevator. The stairs are ad infinitum, endless, whichever word is acoustically more pleasing, he says it aloud, “ad infinitum”, “endless.”
How could I not notice?
Another step, and another one. He’s been here, exactly here, feeling thinking doing exactly the same, step, it’s not so long ago, either. What are two years?, step, two years are nothing if they could be the last he has got. Step.
How could I not notice?
How could he not find it weird that Brian wasn’t leaving before him, but was already up?, step, his mind is running, step, too many thoughts and steps, step, how come it took a car for him to notice?
How could I not notice?
He pounds in the code, it’s wrong, did he change it?, did Brian change it to shut him out, where’s his key?, try again, again. It’s correct this time, the door clicks, Justin pulls it open with force and fear and he’s just twenty-two and feels like fifty. Not again, please, not again, not him.
Justin listens, his face and knuckles, wrapped around the handle, white, white… . “Brian?” He doesn’t hear any sounds of vomiting, but maybe Brian’s not under treatment yet, how ridiculous, why would he not? He has cancer, no one would be stupid enough not to go see a doctor, would they?, would he?
He has cancer. He knows now that he’s seen the Corvette.
“Forgot something?”
Brian stands next to the fridge, eyebrow raised, suit-sleek and the perfect burgundy tie. He doesn’t look tired, exhausted or sick, didn’t refuse sex last night, quite the contrary, and in fact Justin did forget something. He forgot Brian ranting about how “this lame-ass intern dropped the files all across the seats in my car, fired him on the fucking spot, fuck!”, and about “fucking meeting with Brown, they think they’re some kind of special treatment-case, scheduled it last minute and now I couldn’t go wash the ‘vette” and about “great, now I even left my fucking cell phone in the car”, and that was about the time that Justin simply dropped to his knees and sucked him off. They only made it as far as the bed afterwards.
But even though Justin knows all that, he can’t forget the car, can’t forget how Brian had never planned to tell him that he had cancer back then, can’t ignore his heart hammering. He has to ask:
“Are you sick?”
He sounds rough even to his own ears, but how could he leave now without certainty?
And Brian knows what he’s talking about in an instant. He looks annoyed, “no, I’m not sick, Jesus Christ, Justin, I don’t need a fucking baby-sitter”, but he still takes Justin into his arms and kisses him softly. Probably because he’s thinking, would I really tell him if I were? and maybe because he wants him to know that he appreciates his concern, or maybe to say that he’s sorry for putting Justin through this anxiety, or to assure that he’s fine, with Brian you never know. Justin strokes his hair, his cheek, squeezes Brian’s hand ever so briefly. It’s enough to get his message across. They’ve been here, they’ve done this. The fear will never entirely subside.
When Justin tries to go, feeling a little embarrassed even, Brian surprises him. He holds onto his hand, pulls him back strongly and touches Justin’s forehead with his, eyes closed. Brian’s arms slowly go around his back, he embraces him there, then, and whispers:
“I’d let you know.”
It’s worth more than a thousand I love yous, at least for them, Justin thinks. But with Brian, you never know.