Fic: Sorry's Bullshit
As I'm trying to archive all my fics, I'll posting a couple shortly in here to have them all in one place. Here's #1:
Title: Sorry's Bullshit
Written by: 0corona0
Word Count: 4.085
Summary: Justin decides that he won't be spending Christmas without decoration this year, but Brian doesn't want any decorating of the loft. So Justin and Daphne come up with the perfect plan to bring a little bit of Christmas spirit into the loft. It's foolproof... they think...
Original Request:
Writer's choice of one of these three (in order of preference):
--Brian & Daphne, friendship fic
--Brian & Vic, friendship fic (Pre-show to before he died only. I don't want ghost!Vic :P )
--Brian/Justin, Craig, forgiveness fic (Before Cowlip turned Craig into a totally one dimensional tool)
--Brian/Justin, Craig, forgiveness fic (Before Cowlip turned Craig into a totally one dimensional tool)
For: sydneyalexis
“And, Daphne, remember: Brian must not know!”
“Justin - I got it! I got it already when you told me for the first time, the other 112 wouldn’t have been necessary”, Daphne snapped annoyed into the phone, picking up the last box of ornaments and throwing it carelessly into the carton in front of her which was crammed with every imaginable and unimaginable type of christmas decoration. The ornaments were wrapped safely into cotton, so what was the point of being gentle? She took the black Edding from the floor and wrote in big block letters DECORATION LOFT on top.
“I mean, you’re acting as if he was going to kill us right there and then if he found us decorating the loft.”
Daphne jumped to her feet as she talked and walked over to the fridge, past the cookie cutters and rolling pins which cluttered up the kitchen counters.
“That’s because he will…”, Justin said through the phone, slightly annoyed himself, while Daphne rummaged her full fridge, settling for an apple-cinnamon yoghurt, “…he almost didn’t allow the Advent wreath into the loft, how the hell is he going to react if he sees that we’re decorating the whole thing?”
“You live there too, you know?”, Daphne mentioned as if it was something she had to make Justin understand.
“I know”, her best friend sighed, “but whenever I even mentioned it, he got so defensive. I’ve got the feeling he really doesn’t want it, and not just because of the whole ‘Christmas is bullshit’ thing. There’s something more.”
Daphne clamped the telephone between her shoulder and her ear to open the yoghurt’s lid. “Then why do this in the first place?”, she asked while she began fiddling with the lid.
“Because I promised my mom that the loft would be decorated when she came. Was always her biggest complaint about Brian - except for him being promiscious, using drugs, drinking and being twelve years my senior”, Justin joked, but Daphne looked right through him, of course: “Because you know that you’ll spend every remaining Christmas of your life with him and you know that you’re not going to spend them without decoration.”
Justin stayed silent for some seconds during which she tried to get her nails under the plastic, but it wouldn’t work. “…never again will I buy these fucking Christmas yoghurts, no matter how badly Matt wants them!”, Daphne muttered under her breath, right now really pissed at her partner.
Justin laughed gleefully at the other end of the line, thankful for the opportunity to escape Daphne’s oh-so-true remark, and asked in a mocking voice (creepily much like Brian’s), “happy hetero dream already starting to get boring?”
Daphne laughed as the lid finally popped open and grabbed a spoon from the still-open-from-last-night-when-she-and-Matt-needed-a-condom-really-quickly-drawer. “Fuck you! You and Brian are pretty near to the happy hetero dream yourselves!”, she teased grinning, went to the couch and fell into it.
“Don’t say that too loud”, Justin chuckled, “Brian might have to kill you a second time.”
“And that brings us back to the point of this call…”, her feet landed on the coffeetable in front of her, “which would be: What would Brian really do if he found us?”
There was a short pause, then Justin answered: “He would make us put it all down.” Daphne only rolled her eyes and let her arms relax against her thighs. “So? Then we’ll put it down again.”
Another short pause. Then-
“He’s going to make us put it all down while he’s jerking himself off, naked.”
Daphne moaned immediately, letting her head fall against the back of the couch and moving her hands a little bit upwards. God, she would never stop lusting after Brian Kinney!
“You’re right”, she groaned, “he must not know!”
***
Justin’s and Daphne’s plan for the following Thursday was perfect:
Brian would go to work as every day. Justin would tell him that he was going to make it a lazy day for himself, just relaxing at the loft. Then he would go have a duty-visit at this mom’s, then to the mall and choose the few special ornaments they needed while Daphne would enter the loft with Justin’s key, leave the door unlocked for her friend and start with the basic decorating. They had talked it over with Ted and Cynthia who were going to keep Brian at Kinnetik until Michael arrived who was instruced to take his best friend first to Woody’s, then to Babylon. Emmet would come along and assure that Brian was entertained and stayed until midnight even though Justin wasn’t there. Then he would come home and find the decorated loft, Justin kneeling in front of the door with his arms bound and ass high up in the air, cock and balls restricted.
It was totally foolproof.
***
Unfortunately, neither Justin nor Daphne could have known that Blake was in an accident on his way to work on Thursday. Ted rushed to the hospital immediately. Luckily nothing bad had happened, but they wanted to keep him for a couple of hours - so Ted stayed too, certain that Cynthia was going to handle Brian.
Unfortunately, Cynthia suddenly collapsed at work. She had ignored the ache in her abdomen for two hours, but then they became too strong and Brian had to call an ambulance. Her appendix was taken out only one hour later because it was shortly before recessing.
And to make matters the worst, Brian won the rights of debating the new ad-campaign for Microsoft over more than 250 other interested firms. Considering that neither his personal assistant nor his personal accountant were there, he decided to go home and celebrate with Justin.
Justin was still at his mother’s when Daphne, balancing the carton she had packed yesterday with two arms and dressed in a cute rainbow-reindeer bonnet, stepped out of the elevator on Brian’s and Justin’s landing. She lifted her knee, rested the carton on top and fumbled for the key.
When she went in, she couldn’t haven known that Brian would stand right in front of the door, stark-naked, a lazy smile on his face and a hand rubbing his cock slowly, assuming she was Justin.
The carton fell to the ground, the items clashing, and Daphne stood still, unable to tear her gaze away from Brian’s hard dick. Oh.My.Fucking.God. That was too much! Blood shot to her face and into the exact opposite direction as well, and it was all she could do not to moan.
Brian’s lazy grin turned into a wide smirk as he stopped stroking himself and started laughing: “Daphne! Such a… mesmerising surprise.”
Daphne blushed even deeper. “Uhm. Brian. I-I didn’t. You, I mean, I didn’t know that you were…”
“…so big? Yeah, I know that I’m being underestimated all the time.”
Daphne flinched and looked away from Brian’s cock and up into his face hastily. His hazel eyes were twinkling with mischief, his smirk taunting her, his soft, breathy laughter teasing her. Depsite her embarrassment, she grinned back cheerily. She knew how to play this game with Brian, almost as good as Justin. But when Daphne tried to say something and she found herself incapable of forming a coherent sentence (which didn’t involve “fuck me, please, fuck me!”), she knew that he had won. Shit.
His smirk got even wider as he turned around and went to the bedroom, not bothering to shut the panels so that Daphne could see all too clearly how he simply pulled on a pair of black, loose trousers, leaving out the underwear (because, really, who needed underwear?) and returned to her.
“So, what did Santa Daphne and her darling Elf Justin bring Brian this year?”
Daphne followed his finger which pointed onto her carton. Double-shit! The letters were smiling brightly up at her in a nice, extra-clear slam-it-into-Brian’s-face kind of way.
“Fuck you too”, she mumbled under her breath towards the letters. They better stopped smiling like that.
When she looked up at Brian, beginning to form an excuse, he was holding out a joint to her.
“Care for some?”
***
Strangely, it was always like this with them:
Whenever Daphne and Brian were alone (and it happened quite a few times, actually), they either got totally piss-drunk or absolutely fucking high. Not that Daphne was complaining - the only trouble was that they often didn’t remember a lot from their rendezvous.
On really special occasions, they would mix alcohol and weed, pass out on the couch and awake tangled up around each other, often only wearing a slip and a bra or shorts, for that matter. They would tease the embarrassment away, have breakfast (or lunch or dinner, depending on which time it was) and then go their separate ways. It wasn’t as if anything ever happened between them, but they still started getting rather close to each other.
Which, according to Justin, was a good thing. According to Daphne, it was a fucking wet dream she had to masturbate after and a thing that happened because she had learnt to love Brian as a friend. Brian didn’t seem to mind all that much too.
Today was such a special occasion. Exactly thirty-four minutes, one and bottle of Jim Bean and one joint later, they lay on the soft white carpet, Daphne’s head resting on Brian’s bare chest, her hair tickling his nipples and her hand absentmindedly splayed out on his strong stomach muscles. They were both positively far gone as Daphne asked Brian to open her blouse while she tried to get rid of her socks because it was so fucking hot in there. They ended up with Brian’s cheek pressed against hers, their breathing almost synchron as they concentrated hard on their difficult tasks.
“Sooo, Briiiian”, she slurred when they were finally done undressing her and fell back down onto his upper body, “whatts with you an’ christmas decoration?”
Brian, who wasn’t slurring as bad as her, contemplated the question for a while. He wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry or maybe tell her the truth, or rather ask her how she thought that snails flew without having wings or tell the truth or cry or…
***
1986
Brian walked along the lonely, snow covered side streets of Liberty Avenue. Aside the crowded, buzzing, queer main street, there were many quiet - you would go as far and say peaceful - ways to get to Mikey’s house, where he was headed.
And peace was just what Brian needed right now. He knew that he had to look pathetic, but he couldn’t get himself to raise his head or square his shoulders or even stop clutching his jeans like a baby - he had to concentrate too hard on not starting to cry. Only his limping Brian tried to suppress as much as he could. Well, at least no one was going to see his bruised face, even if some fag happened to walk by. He was fucking hot, after all - nobody could take that away from him.
Nobody but his father.
Brian stopped walking and closed his hazel eyes, his hands clenching around the denim and pulling hard, almost ripping the material away. He shook from the strength it took not to burst into both angry and desperate tears and breathed deeply through his mouth.
‘Don’t cry, don’t cry. He’s a fucking asshole. Just don’t cry!’
He swallowed and could feel the lump in his throat. Tears were burning threateningly behind his lips, but he kept them there, determined not to let his family get to him. Not his fucking father, not his fucking mother, and not his fucking sister!
‘Fuck them. Just fuck them and their fucking apologies and their fuckinge excuses and… fucking stop thinking about them!”
He breathed in one time and thought about the essay he had to deliver to his English teacher Mrs. Gordon the next morning somehow.
‘The essay about Shakespeare’s “A Summernight’s Dream”. Fucking amazing play! Puck is an interesting character. He’s the absolute key figure, very similar to Arlecchino in the Commedia dell’arte which had first been documented on 25th February 1545 when the lawyer Vincenzo Fortuna had placed a contract in Padua which eight actors had signed, which said that they were going to travel around and play the Commedia everywhere…’
He slowly started walking again and his fists let go of his denim.
‘…which made them popular which is why the Commedia had such a big influence on writers like Molière and Shakespeare…’
He absently smoothed the places where the jeans had suffered from his fists.
‘…which is why Puck is very similar to Arlecchino.”
Like that, he found his way to Debbie Novotny’s house.
***
Practically standing on the door mat, Brian hesitated. Maybe he should climb up to Mikey’s room, just sneak in and slip under the covers with him. He shifted slightly and immediately stinging pain shot from his right foot through his body. He groaned inwardly. Nope, climbing wasn’t an option right now.
Brian sighed and used the key in his pocket to let himself in. Debbie had given it to him over a year ago, not taking ‘no’ for an answer. “Some day you might not be able to climb up the wall of a house, or be early enough to ring the doorbell. So take the goddamn thing and use it. I don’t want you to break your neck”, she had said in the way that didn’t tolerate any form of objection.
Brian entered the house, the aroma of one of Debbie’s delicious dinners filling his swollen nose immediately. It smelled amazing. His stomach growled and jumped, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything worth mentioning in 36 hours. Maybe he would weasel into the kitchen and have a late midnight snack before he went up to Mikey… .
“Hey, kiddo!”
Brian’s head jerked up as Vic’s voice called from the kitchen. Their eyes locked for a moment, Vic looking hot dressed only in a pair of silk boxers. The low light in the kitchen illuminated his strong chest and muscular stomach in all the right places, and Brian felt a sudden lust. Then he hastily lowered his deformed face again, but it was too late anyway.
“Hey”, he greeted back quietly, avoiding to look at Vic any further. He didn’t want to see the pity in the man’s eyes, and then again it was all he wanted. Someone who wouldn’t give him any more bullshit. Someone who would say: “Yes, I pity you because you’re pitiable. Suck it up and live with it.” Brian stepped further into the hallway and had already set the first of his feet onto the stairway when Vic suddenly asked:
“Care for some?”
Brian stopped and looked to the older man who still acted nonchalant, but there was something in the way he was holding out the joint to the teenager that seemed to scream: “Take it!”
Brian swallowed, licked his dry lips and the smallest of all grins started to form on his lips.
“Sure.”
***
Exactly thirty-four minutes, one bottle of whiskey and one joint later, they lay on the rough rug, Brian’s head resting on Vic’s bare chest, Brian’s chestnut hair tickling his nipples and his hand absentmindedly splayed out on Vic’s strong stomach muscles. They had just calmed down from a fit of laughter because of the way Debbie’s hair seemed to magically grow in the morning and trim in the evening and the 1001 different explanations for that (the last one involved flying snails and their excrements). Brian was undoubtely far far away in dreamland where pink bunnies were hopping around searching for neon green talking mushrooms, but Vic had kept it to a minimum, trying to stay coherent for the beloved boy - he saw in Brian what was in himself and Vic had decided to take care of his nephew’s friend as good as he could. Brian didn’t have a father in his opinion, so it was only fair that he filled that position.
“So, you wanna tell me what’s brought you here in the middle of the fucking night?”, Vic asked, keeping a nonchalant tone but stroking Brian’s arm reassuringly.
Brian quivered. He contemplated the question for a while (not to mention that it took his blurred brain some time to figure out the meaning of Vic’s words). He wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry or maybe tell him the truth, or rather ask him how he thought that snails flew without having wings or tell the truth or cry or…
He noticed Vic gently touching a bruise through the fabric of his shirt and just let it go. One racked sob and one tear escaped his trembling body before Brian sat up quickly, wanting to get away from Vic, to hide his shame and weakness, but when the older man said softly: “Come here, sonny-boy”, he was done. He just turned around and limp once he was in Vic’s arms, crying silently and motionlessly. The only thing that told Vic that the boy was alive was his tight hold of Vic’s upper body.
“I can’t be fucking perfect, Vic”, he whispered, muffled from the older man’s skin, “I just can’t be perfect.”
Vic stroked his back. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do!”, Brian suddenly screamed, so loud that Vic was sure his sister was going to come running down with a baseball bat to kill the burglar. He prayed that she didn’t. Brian looked up at Vic, his eyes red and swollen, his face skewed with hatred, his eyes flashing fury. “I’ve got to be fucking perfect. I’ve got to only bring As home, I’ve got to like girls, I’ve got to decorate the fucking halls of our fucking house for our fucking family perfectly aside from everything else that I accomplish. But no matter what I do, it’s still not perfect enough for them.”
Vic stared at Brian, knowing what he meant, then again, not knowing. The teenager challenged him to disagree with his eyes, but Vic held his gaze, not backing away.
As Brian looked into the blue iris, he remembered his mother’s cold stare shortly before she fleed into the kitchen, getting her favourite scotch, leaving him and Claire to his father’s wrath. He remembered the way Jack’s breath stunk of alcohol and Claire’s high-pitched voice as she answered his question: “He did, dad, he hung the ornament there!” He remembered how Jack drunkenly punched him and how he tried to protect himself, successfully at first but Jack wouldn’t let go.
It had been such a contrast to what they had been doing for the rest of the day: Decking the halls together, putting up decoration, teasing each other and laughing - at least he and Claire had had fun with each of their parents on their own.
But that hadn’t been the worst part.
“They said they were sorry”, Brian whispered again, this time sounding really pitiful, even to his own ears. “Joanie said she was sorry, but if she really was, she wouldn’t have left me there.”
Vic listened with creasing horror, still stroking Brian’s back and holding him tight. He didn’t know what had happened, but if Brian was so upset, it had to be bad.
“Claire said she was sorry, but if she really was, she wouldn’t have squealed on me… .” Brian gripped Vic tighter, taking as much as comfort as he could get.
“And the son of a bitch Jack said he was sorry, if he really was, he wouldn’t have drunk anything in the first place…”
Brian’s voice broke on the last words and he quickly hid his face in Vic’s neck.
“Sorry’s bullshit”, Vic murmured gently into his ear, “their sorry’s fucking bullshit.”
He continued holding the shaking kid in his arms, both of them kneeling on the floor, Brian hiding himself in Vic.
Debbie did not come running down with a baseball bat. Instead, she watched the gentle scene unfold in front of her and then tiptoed back to her bed. But still she heard every word they said and every small sobbing sound Brian made, and Vic repeating over and over again “sorry’s bullshit” until Brian calmed down.
***
“Allllright”, Daphne slurred, “ya don’t havta tell me. But then I wan’ ya to gimme a christmas present.”
Brian chuckled and stroked one strand of her hair carefully. “And what would that be?”
Daphne turned her head sideways to look at him, their eyes locking: “Let Jus’ decorate the loft. Isn’t gonna hurt ya.”
Brian looked at her intensely, then back to the ceiling, his index finger tracing the outline of her hand on his stomach and suddenly, he ached for Justin so badly that he felt physical pain.
Daphne, high and drunk, was lulled to sleep by Brian’s even breathing, soft touch and his constant heartbeat quickly. Brian watched her for a while - a girl who had turned from The Twink’s Fag Hag into a woman he cared for. Brian smiled gently, then whispered:
“Merry Christmas, Daph.”
***
Fuck! His mom had kept him a lot longer than Justin had inteded to stay, arguing that Molly hadn’t baked cookies with him since he had first… “moved out”. Molly made it a point to look as if she was too old for baking cookies, but she was Justin’s sister. He knew when she wanted him to stay.
And then the queues at the mall had been so fucking long and the cashiers so damn slow, god he was so fucked, Daph would kill him…!
When Justin slid the door open, he noticed immediately that his best friend had done a lot of good work: It looked amazing! Justin closed the door and then turned around to have a proper look: There were some subtly placed Christmas lights, shining white and accentuating the loft’s ambiance perfectly. The decoration’s colours were solely silver, midnight blue, azure and claret. On some of the surfaces, they were few white, tall candles in candlesticks which looked like larger-than-life, beautiful snowflakes - every candlestick seemed to be unique and reflected the candles’ light… and they looked just a tad bit too expensive to be one of Daphne’s…
Justin’s look sweeped the loft, taking in the simple extravagance (wasn’t that a total antilogy?), the elegant style, the perfection of the decoration and then landed on Daphne, soundly sleeping on the couch, covered with the black velvet blanket Brian and him had bought a few months ago in Italy.
Justin’s brow furrowed - did he actually show Daphne where they kept it…?
“Hello, sunshine. How do you like it?”
Brian’s voice was smooth and deep as he came down the bedroom stairs, gracefully walking over to Justin and opening his arms wide. “I’m sorry that I had to knock Daphne out before I started, but I didn’t like the orange theme she had planned for the loft.”
Justin realised that he should be laughing, but instead he was simply dumbstruck. Brian had decorated the loft? He had discovered his secret plan and was not getting the crop right now (no joking involved there)?
Brian continued standing still in front of him, a small, gentle smile on his lips, enjoying Justin’s shock before he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around his younger lover.
“Well? Aren’t you going to kiss me?”, Brian asked, looking with ostenation up to the ceiling. Justin followed his gaze and saw a fucking mistletoe dangling down from the timber.
“You’re fucking kidding me!”, Justin blurted out, returning his eyes to Brian’s hazel stare. But Brian only smiled wider and leaned down to kiss Justin. He pushed his tongue into his partner’s mouth and was with Justin’s eager one. They immediately started battling for dominance, but then Brian suddenly shoved Justin against the door and took control, grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the metal. He grind his crotch into Justin’s their cocks rubbing against each other and then broke the kiss, staying so close that their noses were touching.
“No, I’m not kidding you. I’m also not kidding you when I tell you that I will tie you to the bed as soon as Daphne’s gone, paddle your ass until you cry, rim you until you scream and fuck you until you pass out!”
Justin moaned and then Brian dived down to kiss him again.
They threw Daphne out, fucked all night into the early morning and lived happily ever after in a decorated loft.
The End.
Title: Sorry's Bullshit
Written by: 0corona0
Word Count: 4.085
Summary: Justin decides that he won't be spending Christmas without decoration this year, but Brian doesn't want any decorating of the loft. So Justin and Daphne come up with the perfect plan to bring a little bit of Christmas spirit into the loft. It's foolproof... they think...
Original Request:
Writer's choice of one of these three (in order of preference):
--Brian & Daphne, friendship fic
--Brian & Vic, friendship fic (Pre-show to before he died only. I don't want ghost!Vic :P )
--Brian/Justin, Craig, forgiveness fic (Before Cowlip turned Craig into a totally one dimensional tool)
--Brian/Justin, Craig, forgiveness fic (Before Cowlip turned Craig into a totally one dimensional tool)
For: sydneyalexis
“And, Daphne, remember: Brian must not know!”
“Justin - I got it! I got it already when you told me for the first time, the other 112 wouldn’t have been necessary”, Daphne snapped annoyed into the phone, picking up the last box of ornaments and throwing it carelessly into the carton in front of her which was crammed with every imaginable and unimaginable type of christmas decoration. The ornaments were wrapped safely into cotton, so what was the point of being gentle? She took the black Edding from the floor and wrote in big block letters DECORATION LOFT on top.
“I mean, you’re acting as if he was going to kill us right there and then if he found us decorating the loft.”
Daphne jumped to her feet as she talked and walked over to the fridge, past the cookie cutters and rolling pins which cluttered up the kitchen counters.
“That’s because he will…”, Justin said through the phone, slightly annoyed himself, while Daphne rummaged her full fridge, settling for an apple-cinnamon yoghurt, “…he almost didn’t allow the Advent wreath into the loft, how the hell is he going to react if he sees that we’re decorating the whole thing?”
“You live there too, you know?”, Daphne mentioned as if it was something she had to make Justin understand.
“I know”, her best friend sighed, “but whenever I even mentioned it, he got so defensive. I’ve got the feeling he really doesn’t want it, and not just because of the whole ‘Christmas is bullshit’ thing. There’s something more.”
Daphne clamped the telephone between her shoulder and her ear to open the yoghurt’s lid. “Then why do this in the first place?”, she asked while she began fiddling with the lid.
“Because I promised my mom that the loft would be decorated when she came. Was always her biggest complaint about Brian - except for him being promiscious, using drugs, drinking and being twelve years my senior”, Justin joked, but Daphne looked right through him, of course: “Because you know that you’ll spend every remaining Christmas of your life with him and you know that you’re not going to spend them without decoration.”
Justin stayed silent for some seconds during which she tried to get her nails under the plastic, but it wouldn’t work. “…never again will I buy these fucking Christmas yoghurts, no matter how badly Matt wants them!”, Daphne muttered under her breath, right now really pissed at her partner.
Justin laughed gleefully at the other end of the line, thankful for the opportunity to escape Daphne’s oh-so-true remark, and asked in a mocking voice (creepily much like Brian’s), “happy hetero dream already starting to get boring?”
Daphne laughed as the lid finally popped open and grabbed a spoon from the still-open-from-last-night-when-she-and-Matt-needed-a-condom-really-quickly-drawer. “Fuck you! You and Brian are pretty near to the happy hetero dream yourselves!”, she teased grinning, went to the couch and fell into it.
“Don’t say that too loud”, Justin chuckled, “Brian might have to kill you a second time.”
“And that brings us back to the point of this call…”, her feet landed on the coffeetable in front of her, “which would be: What would Brian really do if he found us?”
There was a short pause, then Justin answered: “He would make us put it all down.” Daphne only rolled her eyes and let her arms relax against her thighs. “So? Then we’ll put it down again.”
Another short pause. Then-
“He’s going to make us put it all down while he’s jerking himself off, naked.”
Daphne moaned immediately, letting her head fall against the back of the couch and moving her hands a little bit upwards. God, she would never stop lusting after Brian Kinney!
“You’re right”, she groaned, “he must not know!”
***
Justin’s and Daphne’s plan for the following Thursday was perfect:
Brian would go to work as every day. Justin would tell him that he was going to make it a lazy day for himself, just relaxing at the loft. Then he would go have a duty-visit at this mom’s, then to the mall and choose the few special ornaments they needed while Daphne would enter the loft with Justin’s key, leave the door unlocked for her friend and start with the basic decorating. They had talked it over with Ted and Cynthia who were going to keep Brian at Kinnetik until Michael arrived who was instruced to take his best friend first to Woody’s, then to Babylon. Emmet would come along and assure that Brian was entertained and stayed until midnight even though Justin wasn’t there. Then he would come home and find the decorated loft, Justin kneeling in front of the door with his arms bound and ass high up in the air, cock and balls restricted.
It was totally foolproof.
***
Unfortunately, neither Justin nor Daphne could have known that Blake was in an accident on his way to work on Thursday. Ted rushed to the hospital immediately. Luckily nothing bad had happened, but they wanted to keep him for a couple of hours - so Ted stayed too, certain that Cynthia was going to handle Brian.
Unfortunately, Cynthia suddenly collapsed at work. She had ignored the ache in her abdomen for two hours, but then they became too strong and Brian had to call an ambulance. Her appendix was taken out only one hour later because it was shortly before recessing.
And to make matters the worst, Brian won the rights of debating the new ad-campaign for Microsoft over more than 250 other interested firms. Considering that neither his personal assistant nor his personal accountant were there, he decided to go home and celebrate with Justin.
Justin was still at his mother’s when Daphne, balancing the carton she had packed yesterday with two arms and dressed in a cute rainbow-reindeer bonnet, stepped out of the elevator on Brian’s and Justin’s landing. She lifted her knee, rested the carton on top and fumbled for the key.
When she went in, she couldn’t haven known that Brian would stand right in front of the door, stark-naked, a lazy smile on his face and a hand rubbing his cock slowly, assuming she was Justin.
The carton fell to the ground, the items clashing, and Daphne stood still, unable to tear her gaze away from Brian’s hard dick. Oh.My.Fucking.God. That was too much! Blood shot to her face and into the exact opposite direction as well, and it was all she could do not to moan.
Brian’s lazy grin turned into a wide smirk as he stopped stroking himself and started laughing: “Daphne! Such a… mesmerising surprise.”
Daphne blushed even deeper. “Uhm. Brian. I-I didn’t. You, I mean, I didn’t know that you were…”
“…so big? Yeah, I know that I’m being underestimated all the time.”
Daphne flinched and looked away from Brian’s cock and up into his face hastily. His hazel eyes were twinkling with mischief, his smirk taunting her, his soft, breathy laughter teasing her. Depsite her embarrassment, she grinned back cheerily. She knew how to play this game with Brian, almost as good as Justin. But when Daphne tried to say something and she found herself incapable of forming a coherent sentence (which didn’t involve “fuck me, please, fuck me!”), she knew that he had won. Shit.
His smirk got even wider as he turned around and went to the bedroom, not bothering to shut the panels so that Daphne could see all too clearly how he simply pulled on a pair of black, loose trousers, leaving out the underwear (because, really, who needed underwear?) and returned to her.
“So, what did Santa Daphne and her darling Elf Justin bring Brian this year?”
Daphne followed his finger which pointed onto her carton. Double-shit! The letters were smiling brightly up at her in a nice, extra-clear slam-it-into-Brian’s-face kind of way.
“Fuck you too”, she mumbled under her breath towards the letters. They better stopped smiling like that.
When she looked up at Brian, beginning to form an excuse, he was holding out a joint to her.
“Care for some?”
***
Strangely, it was always like this with them:
Whenever Daphne and Brian were alone (and it happened quite a few times, actually), they either got totally piss-drunk or absolutely fucking high. Not that Daphne was complaining - the only trouble was that they often didn’t remember a lot from their rendezvous.
On really special occasions, they would mix alcohol and weed, pass out on the couch and awake tangled up around each other, often only wearing a slip and a bra or shorts, for that matter. They would tease the embarrassment away, have breakfast (or lunch or dinner, depending on which time it was) and then go their separate ways. It wasn’t as if anything ever happened between them, but they still started getting rather close to each other.
Which, according to Justin, was a good thing. According to Daphne, it was a fucking wet dream she had to masturbate after and a thing that happened because she had learnt to love Brian as a friend. Brian didn’t seem to mind all that much too.
Today was such a special occasion. Exactly thirty-four minutes, one and bottle of Jim Bean and one joint later, they lay on the soft white carpet, Daphne’s head resting on Brian’s bare chest, her hair tickling his nipples and her hand absentmindedly splayed out on his strong stomach muscles. They were both positively far gone as Daphne asked Brian to open her blouse while she tried to get rid of her socks because it was so fucking hot in there. They ended up with Brian’s cheek pressed against hers, their breathing almost synchron as they concentrated hard on their difficult tasks.
“Sooo, Briiiian”, she slurred when they were finally done undressing her and fell back down onto his upper body, “whatts with you an’ christmas decoration?”
Brian, who wasn’t slurring as bad as her, contemplated the question for a while. He wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry or maybe tell her the truth, or rather ask her how she thought that snails flew without having wings or tell the truth or cry or…
***
1986
Brian walked along the lonely, snow covered side streets of Liberty Avenue. Aside the crowded, buzzing, queer main street, there were many quiet - you would go as far and say peaceful - ways to get to Mikey’s house, where he was headed.
And peace was just what Brian needed right now. He knew that he had to look pathetic, but he couldn’t get himself to raise his head or square his shoulders or even stop clutching his jeans like a baby - he had to concentrate too hard on not starting to cry. Only his limping Brian tried to suppress as much as he could. Well, at least no one was going to see his bruised face, even if some fag happened to walk by. He was fucking hot, after all - nobody could take that away from him.
Nobody but his father.
Brian stopped walking and closed his hazel eyes, his hands clenching around the denim and pulling hard, almost ripping the material away. He shook from the strength it took not to burst into both angry and desperate tears and breathed deeply through his mouth.
‘Don’t cry, don’t cry. He’s a fucking asshole. Just don’t cry!’
He swallowed and could feel the lump in his throat. Tears were burning threateningly behind his lips, but he kept them there, determined not to let his family get to him. Not his fucking father, not his fucking mother, and not his fucking sister!
‘Fuck them. Just fuck them and their fucking apologies and their fuckinge excuses and… fucking stop thinking about them!”
He breathed in one time and thought about the essay he had to deliver to his English teacher Mrs. Gordon the next morning somehow.
‘The essay about Shakespeare’s “A Summernight’s Dream”. Fucking amazing play! Puck is an interesting character. He’s the absolute key figure, very similar to Arlecchino in the Commedia dell’arte which had first been documented on 25th February 1545 when the lawyer Vincenzo Fortuna had placed a contract in Padua which eight actors had signed, which said that they were going to travel around and play the Commedia everywhere…’
He slowly started walking again and his fists let go of his denim.
‘…which made them popular which is why the Commedia had such a big influence on writers like Molière and Shakespeare…’
He absently smoothed the places where the jeans had suffered from his fists.
‘…which is why Puck is very similar to Arlecchino.”
Like that, he found his way to Debbie Novotny’s house.
***
Practically standing on the door mat, Brian hesitated. Maybe he should climb up to Mikey’s room, just sneak in and slip under the covers with him. He shifted slightly and immediately stinging pain shot from his right foot through his body. He groaned inwardly. Nope, climbing wasn’t an option right now.
Brian sighed and used the key in his pocket to let himself in. Debbie had given it to him over a year ago, not taking ‘no’ for an answer. “Some day you might not be able to climb up the wall of a house, or be early enough to ring the doorbell. So take the goddamn thing and use it. I don’t want you to break your neck”, she had said in the way that didn’t tolerate any form of objection.
Brian entered the house, the aroma of one of Debbie’s delicious dinners filling his swollen nose immediately. It smelled amazing. His stomach growled and jumped, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything worth mentioning in 36 hours. Maybe he would weasel into the kitchen and have a late midnight snack before he went up to Mikey… .
“Hey, kiddo!”
Brian’s head jerked up as Vic’s voice called from the kitchen. Their eyes locked for a moment, Vic looking hot dressed only in a pair of silk boxers. The low light in the kitchen illuminated his strong chest and muscular stomach in all the right places, and Brian felt a sudden lust. Then he hastily lowered his deformed face again, but it was too late anyway.
“Hey”, he greeted back quietly, avoiding to look at Vic any further. He didn’t want to see the pity in the man’s eyes, and then again it was all he wanted. Someone who wouldn’t give him any more bullshit. Someone who would say: “Yes, I pity you because you’re pitiable. Suck it up and live with it.” Brian stepped further into the hallway and had already set the first of his feet onto the stairway when Vic suddenly asked:
“Care for some?”
Brian stopped and looked to the older man who still acted nonchalant, but there was something in the way he was holding out the joint to the teenager that seemed to scream: “Take it!”
Brian swallowed, licked his dry lips and the smallest of all grins started to form on his lips.
“Sure.”
***
Exactly thirty-four minutes, one bottle of whiskey and one joint later, they lay on the rough rug, Brian’s head resting on Vic’s bare chest, Brian’s chestnut hair tickling his nipples and his hand absentmindedly splayed out on Vic’s strong stomach muscles. They had just calmed down from a fit of laughter because of the way Debbie’s hair seemed to magically grow in the morning and trim in the evening and the 1001 different explanations for that (the last one involved flying snails and their excrements). Brian was undoubtely far far away in dreamland where pink bunnies were hopping around searching for neon green talking mushrooms, but Vic had kept it to a minimum, trying to stay coherent for the beloved boy - he saw in Brian what was in himself and Vic had decided to take care of his nephew’s friend as good as he could. Brian didn’t have a father in his opinion, so it was only fair that he filled that position.
“So, you wanna tell me what’s brought you here in the middle of the fucking night?”, Vic asked, keeping a nonchalant tone but stroking Brian’s arm reassuringly.
Brian quivered. He contemplated the question for a while (not to mention that it took his blurred brain some time to figure out the meaning of Vic’s words). He wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry or maybe tell him the truth, or rather ask him how he thought that snails flew without having wings or tell the truth or cry or…
He noticed Vic gently touching a bruise through the fabric of his shirt and just let it go. One racked sob and one tear escaped his trembling body before Brian sat up quickly, wanting to get away from Vic, to hide his shame and weakness, but when the older man said softly: “Come here, sonny-boy”, he was done. He just turned around and limp once he was in Vic’s arms, crying silently and motionlessly. The only thing that told Vic that the boy was alive was his tight hold of Vic’s upper body.
“I can’t be fucking perfect, Vic”, he whispered, muffled from the older man’s skin, “I just can’t be perfect.”
Vic stroked his back. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do!”, Brian suddenly screamed, so loud that Vic was sure his sister was going to come running down with a baseball bat to kill the burglar. He prayed that she didn’t. Brian looked up at Vic, his eyes red and swollen, his face skewed with hatred, his eyes flashing fury. “I’ve got to be fucking perfect. I’ve got to only bring As home, I’ve got to like girls, I’ve got to decorate the fucking halls of our fucking house for our fucking family perfectly aside from everything else that I accomplish. But no matter what I do, it’s still not perfect enough for them.”
Vic stared at Brian, knowing what he meant, then again, not knowing. The teenager challenged him to disagree with his eyes, but Vic held his gaze, not backing away.
As Brian looked into the blue iris, he remembered his mother’s cold stare shortly before she fleed into the kitchen, getting her favourite scotch, leaving him and Claire to his father’s wrath. He remembered the way Jack’s breath stunk of alcohol and Claire’s high-pitched voice as she answered his question: “He did, dad, he hung the ornament there!” He remembered how Jack drunkenly punched him and how he tried to protect himself, successfully at first but Jack wouldn’t let go.
It had been such a contrast to what they had been doing for the rest of the day: Decking the halls together, putting up decoration, teasing each other and laughing - at least he and Claire had had fun with each of their parents on their own.
But that hadn’t been the worst part.
“They said they were sorry”, Brian whispered again, this time sounding really pitiful, even to his own ears. “Joanie said she was sorry, but if she really was, she wouldn’t have left me there.”
Vic listened with creasing horror, still stroking Brian’s back and holding him tight. He didn’t know what had happened, but if Brian was so upset, it had to be bad.
“Claire said she was sorry, but if she really was, she wouldn’t have squealed on me… .” Brian gripped Vic tighter, taking as much as comfort as he could get.
“And the son of a bitch Jack said he was sorry, if he really was, he wouldn’t have drunk anything in the first place…”
Brian’s voice broke on the last words and he quickly hid his face in Vic’s neck.
“Sorry’s bullshit”, Vic murmured gently into his ear, “their sorry’s fucking bullshit.”
He continued holding the shaking kid in his arms, both of them kneeling on the floor, Brian hiding himself in Vic.
Debbie did not come running down with a baseball bat. Instead, she watched the gentle scene unfold in front of her and then tiptoed back to her bed. But still she heard every word they said and every small sobbing sound Brian made, and Vic repeating over and over again “sorry’s bullshit” until Brian calmed down.
***
“Allllright”, Daphne slurred, “ya don’t havta tell me. But then I wan’ ya to gimme a christmas present.”
Brian chuckled and stroked one strand of her hair carefully. “And what would that be?”
Daphne turned her head sideways to look at him, their eyes locking: “Let Jus’ decorate the loft. Isn’t gonna hurt ya.”
Brian looked at her intensely, then back to the ceiling, his index finger tracing the outline of her hand on his stomach and suddenly, he ached for Justin so badly that he felt physical pain.
Daphne, high and drunk, was lulled to sleep by Brian’s even breathing, soft touch and his constant heartbeat quickly. Brian watched her for a while - a girl who had turned from The Twink’s Fag Hag into a woman he cared for. Brian smiled gently, then whispered:
“Merry Christmas, Daph.”
***
Fuck! His mom had kept him a lot longer than Justin had inteded to stay, arguing that Molly hadn’t baked cookies with him since he had first… “moved out”. Molly made it a point to look as if she was too old for baking cookies, but she was Justin’s sister. He knew when she wanted him to stay.
And then the queues at the mall had been so fucking long and the cashiers so damn slow, god he was so fucked, Daph would kill him…!
When Justin slid the door open, he noticed immediately that his best friend had done a lot of good work: It looked amazing! Justin closed the door and then turned around to have a proper look: There were some subtly placed Christmas lights, shining white and accentuating the loft’s ambiance perfectly. The decoration’s colours were solely silver, midnight blue, azure and claret. On some of the surfaces, they were few white, tall candles in candlesticks which looked like larger-than-life, beautiful snowflakes - every candlestick seemed to be unique and reflected the candles’ light… and they looked just a tad bit too expensive to be one of Daphne’s…
Justin’s look sweeped the loft, taking in the simple extravagance (wasn’t that a total antilogy?), the elegant style, the perfection of the decoration and then landed on Daphne, soundly sleeping on the couch, covered with the black velvet blanket Brian and him had bought a few months ago in Italy.
Justin’s brow furrowed - did he actually show Daphne where they kept it…?
“Hello, sunshine. How do you like it?”
Brian’s voice was smooth and deep as he came down the bedroom stairs, gracefully walking over to Justin and opening his arms wide. “I’m sorry that I had to knock Daphne out before I started, but I didn’t like the orange theme she had planned for the loft.”
Justin realised that he should be laughing, but instead he was simply dumbstruck. Brian had decorated the loft? He had discovered his secret plan and was not getting the crop right now (no joking involved there)?
Brian continued standing still in front of him, a small, gentle smile on his lips, enjoying Justin’s shock before he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around his younger lover.
“Well? Aren’t you going to kiss me?”, Brian asked, looking with ostenation up to the ceiling. Justin followed his gaze and saw a fucking mistletoe dangling down from the timber.
“You’re fucking kidding me!”, Justin blurted out, returning his eyes to Brian’s hazel stare. But Brian only smiled wider and leaned down to kiss Justin. He pushed his tongue into his partner’s mouth and was with Justin’s eager one. They immediately started battling for dominance, but then Brian suddenly shoved Justin against the door and took control, grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the metal. He grind his crotch into Justin’s their cocks rubbing against each other and then broke the kiss, staying so close that their noses were touching.
“No, I’m not kidding you. I’m also not kidding you when I tell you that I will tie you to the bed as soon as Daphne’s gone, paddle your ass until you cry, rim you until you scream and fuck you until you pass out!”
Justin moaned and then Brian dived down to kiss him again.
They threw Daphne out, fucked all night into the early morning and lived happily ever after in a decorated loft.
The End.