residual blues
Residual Blues
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Pairing: Brian/Justin duh
Warnings: none. Oh, wait, I will issue a warning to disregard any timelines or attempts to figure out timelines. I do not care for those, and I bend space and time for my own nefarious purposes. Word.
Rating: T for t-awesome. :D
Summary: Post 513. "All I want for you to be is happy, or something."
*I won't justify this with a disclaimer, 'cause that's just ludicrous. AKA I'm really poor.
*Semi based on this prompt and kind of on my own. :)
*Also just realized, this fic is counterpoint to Semantics. :P
*Title shamelessly stolen from Her Words Destroyed My Planet by Motion City Soundtrack. Go forth and listen!
---
All his bags were packed. They were stacked by the door; a silent, ominous reminder of his impending departure. Only a few of his belongings still hung around the loft, things that he wouldn’t pack until the very last minute, like his sketchbooks and a few articles of clothing.
It was too clean.
That was what stuck in Brian’s head the most. The loft was too clean. For years, he had been meticulous about the state of the loft. Nothing could be out of place, and nothing ever was. Until the loft acquired a new occupant, one who didn’t seem to know how to pick up after himself. Then, clothes and towels and everything else ended up all over; flung over the couch, thrown on chairs, on the floor. It drove Brian crazy, and he continuously went after Justin to pick up his shit and learn how to fucking clean up after himself.
Now, he missed it. The, god forbid, clutter of one Justin Taylor.
Soon, he would be missing Justin too.
For now though, Brian had some pressing business to attend to in the shower and no time to think about anything other than getting as many fucks in as they could between now and tomorrow at 5 o’clock.
No regrets.
----
It was too quiet.
The click-click of his typing seemed amplified times 100. His thoughts seemed to echo off every empty corner of the silent loft. He tried to ignore it, but when his traitorous brain started contemplating turning on some fucking Moby to fill the silence, Brian decided fuck it and went to Babylon.
There, he got some work done in his office, with the thumpa-thumpa of the club reverberating off the walls, slightly muted. He made a few trips to his VIP lounge, and made it home at 4 feeling refreshed.
The light was blinking on his answering machine, and after listening to Justin’s voice fill him in on the inane happenings of his so far not-so-grand New York adventure, Brian pretended to forget to erase the message, and went to bed.
No excuses.
----
“You fucker. I know you’re there, freak. Call me.”
Justin’s messages were so sentimental these days, Jesus. What happened to the sappy twink of yore, the one who hung onto Brian’s every word and let him get away with everything? Occasionally, Brian missed that twink.
Justin had left a handful of similar messages over the last few days, but Brian wouldn’t give in. Justin was supposed to be following his dream and becoming a great artiste in New York. Hanging onto his former life in the Pitts wasn’t going to help further that dream.
So Brian didn’t call.
Justin’s messages were now simply “Call me!” leaving out any details of his day to day existence. It pained Brian in way that caught him off guard, so he did his best to ignore it. And if he was still forgetting to erase Justin’s messages, short as they were, it didn't mean anything.
No apologies.
---
“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”
It was a lovely way to be woken up in the morning, though in reality Brian hadn’t been asleep since he had heard the elevator making it’s way slowly up to his floor, waiting for whoeverthefuck was at his door this early to start pounding, so that he could yell at them to shut the fuck up and go away.
But instead, a key had turned the lock and the door had opened up. Only three people now had a key to the loft…
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
After three months, Justin was in his bed again. His dick was happy with this development, at least, but the rest of him tried not to be.
“I live here, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s okay, old man. There are pills for that, you know.” Justin chuckled at the look on Brian’s face, and got up, going into the bathroom. Brian heard the shower start, and tried to wrap his head around what was happening.
Months of careful planning, of making certain not to have any contact with Justin in order to help him reach his goals-
“Quit thinking.” Justin was leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, naked. “I’m here because I want to be. And no, not for good.” He crossed the floor to the bed, flopping down, one arm laying across Brian’s chest. “It’s the Fourth of July. Debbie would have my balls if I missed her barbeque.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Brian. “Besides, where else would I be when I’m in Pittsburgh?”
Brian tried to sit up, but Justin had him pinned. This was not going according to his plan- “I’m not stupid, you know,” Justin said, giving him one of his looks. “I know that I have a great opportunity in New York. But I also know that we have a great opportunity. To be together, to be happy. Just because we’re apart geographically right now doesn’t mean we should just give up on everything. We almost got married for christsakes, Brian, isn’t that supposed to mean something?”
Of course it meant something. It meant everything. But sometimes, certain things needed to take a back seat to other, more important things-
“I can do both, you know. I’m talented like that.” Brian forced himself to focus on Justin again, on what he was saying. “What?”
“Both. We could do both. I could be in New York and we could still be together. There are these nifty things called telephones, and computers, and airplanes and buses and cars…” Justin just grinned at the glare Brian gave him in response.
“Brian. You’ve always said we were together because we wanted to be, not because we had to be. That’s still true. We can be together if we want to be, and no external circumstances can change that. Because we won’t let them. We’ll figure it out. Now come on, my ass has missed your dick, you jerk.”
Brian let himself be pulled into the bathroom. There were pressing matters to attend to in the shower, after all. He’d have to make new plans later; figure everything out. Justin had always had a habit of messing up all his plans, all his rules.
Against his will, he was glad that some things never changed.
No regrets.
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Pairing: Brian/Justin duh
Warnings: none. Oh, wait, I will issue a warning to disregard any timelines or attempts to figure out timelines. I do not care for those, and I bend space and time for my own nefarious purposes. Word.
Rating: T for t-awesome. :D
Summary: Post 513. "All I want for you to be is happy, or something."
*I won't justify this with a disclaimer, 'cause that's just ludicrous. AKA I'm really poor.
*Semi based on this prompt and kind of on my own. :)
*Also just realized, this fic is counterpoint to Semantics. :P
*Title shamelessly stolen from Her Words Destroyed My Planet by Motion City Soundtrack. Go forth and listen!
---
All his bags were packed. They were stacked by the door; a silent, ominous reminder of his impending departure. Only a few of his belongings still hung around the loft, things that he wouldn’t pack until the very last minute, like his sketchbooks and a few articles of clothing.
It was too clean.
That was what stuck in Brian’s head the most. The loft was too clean. For years, he had been meticulous about the state of the loft. Nothing could be out of place, and nothing ever was. Until the loft acquired a new occupant, one who didn’t seem to know how to pick up after himself. Then, clothes and towels and everything else ended up all over; flung over the couch, thrown on chairs, on the floor. It drove Brian crazy, and he continuously went after Justin to pick up his shit and learn how to fucking clean up after himself.
Now, he missed it. The, god forbid, clutter of one Justin Taylor.
Soon, he would be missing Justin too.
For now though, Brian had some pressing business to attend to in the shower and no time to think about anything other than getting as many fucks in as they could between now and tomorrow at 5 o’clock.
No regrets.
----
It was too quiet.
The click-click of his typing seemed amplified times 100. His thoughts seemed to echo off every empty corner of the silent loft. He tried to ignore it, but when his traitorous brain started contemplating turning on some fucking Moby to fill the silence, Brian decided fuck it and went to Babylon.
There, he got some work done in his office, with the thumpa-thumpa of the club reverberating off the walls, slightly muted. He made a few trips to his VIP lounge, and made it home at 4 feeling refreshed.
The light was blinking on his answering machine, and after listening to Justin’s voice fill him in on the inane happenings of his so far not-so-grand New York adventure, Brian pretended to forget to erase the message, and went to bed.
No excuses.
----
“You fucker. I know you’re there, freak. Call me.”
Justin’s messages were so sentimental these days, Jesus. What happened to the sappy twink of yore, the one who hung onto Brian’s every word and let him get away with everything? Occasionally, Brian missed that twink.
Justin had left a handful of similar messages over the last few days, but Brian wouldn’t give in. Justin was supposed to be following his dream and becoming a great artiste in New York. Hanging onto his former life in the Pitts wasn’t going to help further that dream.
So Brian didn’t call.
Justin’s messages were now simply “Call me!” leaving out any details of his day to day existence. It pained Brian in way that caught him off guard, so he did his best to ignore it. And if he was still forgetting to erase Justin’s messages, short as they were, it didn't mean anything.
No apologies.
---
“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”
It was a lovely way to be woken up in the morning, though in reality Brian hadn’t been asleep since he had heard the elevator making it’s way slowly up to his floor, waiting for whoeverthefuck was at his door this early to start pounding, so that he could yell at them to shut the fuck up and go away.
But instead, a key had turned the lock and the door had opened up. Only three people now had a key to the loft…
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
After three months, Justin was in his bed again. His dick was happy with this development, at least, but the rest of him tried not to be.
“I live here, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s okay, old man. There are pills for that, you know.” Justin chuckled at the look on Brian’s face, and got up, going into the bathroom. Brian heard the shower start, and tried to wrap his head around what was happening.
Months of careful planning, of making certain not to have any contact with Justin in order to help him reach his goals-
“Quit thinking.” Justin was leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, naked. “I’m here because I want to be. And no, not for good.” He crossed the floor to the bed, flopping down, one arm laying across Brian’s chest. “It’s the Fourth of July. Debbie would have my balls if I missed her barbeque.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Brian. “Besides, where else would I be when I’m in Pittsburgh?”
Brian tried to sit up, but Justin had him pinned. This was not going according to his plan- “I’m not stupid, you know,” Justin said, giving him one of his looks. “I know that I have a great opportunity in New York. But I also know that we have a great opportunity. To be together, to be happy. Just because we’re apart geographically right now doesn’t mean we should just give up on everything. We almost got married for christsakes, Brian, isn’t that supposed to mean something?”
Of course it meant something. It meant everything. But sometimes, certain things needed to take a back seat to other, more important things-
“I can do both, you know. I’m talented like that.” Brian forced himself to focus on Justin again, on what he was saying. “What?”
“Both. We could do both. I could be in New York and we could still be together. There are these nifty things called telephones, and computers, and airplanes and buses and cars…” Justin just grinned at the glare Brian gave him in response.
“Brian. You’ve always said we were together because we wanted to be, not because we had to be. That’s still true. We can be together if we want to be, and no external circumstances can change that. Because we won’t let them. We’ll figure it out. Now come on, my ass has missed your dick, you jerk.”
Brian let himself be pulled into the bathroom. There were pressing matters to attend to in the shower, after all. He’d have to make new plans later; figure everything out. Justin had always had a habit of messing up all his plans, all his rules.
Against his will, he was glad that some things never changed.
No regrets.