Flash! Bam! Alakazam!
Title: Flash! Bam! Alakazam!
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brian/Matt
Summary: This one might be heaven-sent, Matt, so don't screw it up!
Disclaimer: The only thing here that is mine is the plot. I do not intend to besmirch any actual people, whom I also don't own. The title belongs to Nat King Cole from "Orange Colored Sky."
He hit the snooze button as hard as he could - his eyes still closed - knowing that it wouldn't make the frustration of reality go away. Thinking through a haze, he gently slid the power button to "off" with long, slender fingers. With a moan, he pushed himself up, and suddenly a jolt of pain rushed to his head. He kept getting up, and stood next to his bed, completely naked. He swayed for a moment as his vision blurred out and came back, then he stumbled to the shower. For a moment he considered taking a cold shower so he wouldn't nod off, but that thought was instantly gone as the warm water hit his body. He shut his eyes again and leaned against the tiles, head pounding.
Within fifteen minutes, he almost felt human again. The coffee maker hadn't started, and he remembered that he had meant to set it yesterday... that was before he got drunk that Sunday night. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was going to just be one of those weeks. The one that was all work, no play, and most importantly, no sleep. He shifted in his chair at the small kitchen table, looking at the unopened box of pop tarts, and then the clock on the microwave. He would have to leave in ten minutes.
He decided that he might as well make an attempt to keep his forward momentum, and started changing into clothes for his work. Unfortunately, the cosmos must've been working against him, because that's when he came to a horrible realization as he looked into the depths of his closet: he would have to wear that shirt. He shuddered as he pulled out the gold-colored button-up shirt. It was silky smooth against his skin, but he would've rather worn a burlap sack; anything but this thing. He stared at himself in the mirror on the closet door, coming to a stand-still in his morning routine. It reminded him of her... and it was almost too much. The pounding in his head worsened. He grabbed the rest of his clothes, cut himself off from his emotions, and went back to the coffee.
He thought it rather ironic that leaving at 5:30 was what he now considered "running late." Shoving a pop tart into his mouth, he put the other one in his briefcase, and thanked the Heavens that someone had thought to bring coffee beans from the rainforests to the urban jungle. Or suburban, as it were. He jumped into the car and pulled out of his garage to begin the hour-long commute. When the sun hit his eyes, he cursed and looked for his sunglasses. They relieved some of his hangover, but not enough. For some reason, though, he was sad that suddenly the orange sky was blocked out. It was such a beautiful color.
Just as he pulled up to the first toll booth on his commute, he panicked. He had completely forgotten to put extra change in his car, and now he felt the bubbles of hysterical laughter rising in his throat. The only thing he had going for him was that there was almost no one else out. The moment the toll collector leaned out of the booth, Matt felt his stomach twist. Hot damn.
"Good morning," the man said with a cheery smile, hand outstretched. The hand was beautiful, and melded flawlessly into a colorfully-tattooed forearm. This arm disappeared under a rolled-up black sleeve.
"Um..." Matt had to clear his throat. "I don't have any change."
"Do not pass go, then," the collector teased. Matt would've been frustrated if he hadn't been absolutely shocked. He had never in his 27 years come across a young - let alone handsome - toll collector. "It's fine, just write a check," the man offered helpfully, brown eyes dancing with light.
"Oh, right," Matt agreed hurriedly. He was too flustered for his own good, and it showed when he fumbled for a pen and checkbook. The situation worsened when he screwed up the first check. "How much is it?" Matt asked gruffly as he ripped out the first check.
"Fiddy-cent," the man said, obviously trying to make Matt lighten up.
"Gotta be joking," Matt said under his breath. A horn honked behind him and he was startled into drawing a line straight across the check, and breaking through the paper; screwed up again. "GOD... DAMMIT!" he screamed, looking back. He tore it out again, and tried a third time. "Who do I make it out to?"
"State of California." Matt caught the smirk growing on the other man's face.
"Not like I don't give them enough of my money anyway," Matt growled. As he handed the check to the collector, the horn honked again. This time, Matt leaned out the window. "Shut the fuck up!" He ducked back into the car when he realized that there were small children in the backseat. The collector burst out laughing.
"Have a nice day," he said sarcastically, winking at Matt.
"Sure." He would definitely be getting a Fast Pass within the week.
======
Work seemed like an out-of-body experience that day. His hangover was down to a dull roar, and he got a lot of work done. It wasn't until early afternoon that the hilarity of his morning excitement hit him. He burst out into laughter at his own desk, in the middle of reviewing a proposition with four of his employees.
"I didn't think it was funny, sir," one of the others, Zack, said.
"No... no, it's something else," Matt said. The man's face lit up a little.
"What happened?" Another, Leana, asked. The other four leaned in a little bit, and the feeling in the room lightened up. In a flash, Matt saw that his attitude until now had probably been a downer to the people working for him. He probably owed it to them to laugh at himself a little.
"Oh, well... It's nothing big, but this morning I had to right a check at a toll booth." He paused for the chuckling, and forced himself to smile. He didn't really like laughing at himself with others, but he might as well suck it up. "But that wasn't it. I had to write three different checks because I messed up on the first two."
"How much was it for?" Leana asked, stifling a little laughter behind her cute hand.
"Fifty cents," Matt said, genuinely laughing softly. The rest of the meeting passed without incident, and Matt was glad to send the others away with a somewhat better morale.
By about 6:00, he was packing up to go. He always asked himself why he worked 12 hours a day, but he always remembered the salary, and he chided himself for doubting this career move. But there was something gnawing at him that said money wasn't what made him happy. He also wondered why that was, but his pondering was broken as the operations manager, Jimmy, knocked on the threshold of his door.
"Hi," Matt said, just slightly surprised.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner," The O.M. said with an apologetic smile - Uh-oh Matt thought to himself - "But the owners are thinking of downsizing some of the departments. We're giving out assignments tomorrow. Just a heads-up," Jimmy said as he left. Matt sighed, but at last an answer came to his thoughts: he had no plans for his accumulating wealth. No plans except to drink some of it away to assuage the stress of work.
He was heading home, and he wondered if the toll collector from earlier was there. Suddenly, the other man took over Matt's thoughts - something Matt had kept in check until right then. He didn't see the man when going through the toll booth. This time, he had change, and the toll collector was an old woman with a sour expression. He convinced himself that what happened that morning wasn't going to happen again.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brian/Matt
Summary: This one might be heaven-sent, Matt, so don't screw it up!
Disclaimer: The only thing here that is mine is the plot. I do not intend to besmirch any actual people, whom I also don't own. The title belongs to Nat King Cole from "Orange Colored Sky."
He hit the snooze button as hard as he could - his eyes still closed - knowing that it wouldn't make the frustration of reality go away. Thinking through a haze, he gently slid the power button to "off" with long, slender fingers. With a moan, he pushed himself up, and suddenly a jolt of pain rushed to his head. He kept getting up, and stood next to his bed, completely naked. He swayed for a moment as his vision blurred out and came back, then he stumbled to the shower. For a moment he considered taking a cold shower so he wouldn't nod off, but that thought was instantly gone as the warm water hit his body. He shut his eyes again and leaned against the tiles, head pounding.
Within fifteen minutes, he almost felt human again. The coffee maker hadn't started, and he remembered that he had meant to set it yesterday... that was before he got drunk that Sunday night. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was going to just be one of those weeks. The one that was all work, no play, and most importantly, no sleep. He shifted in his chair at the small kitchen table, looking at the unopened box of pop tarts, and then the clock on the microwave. He would have to leave in ten minutes.
He decided that he might as well make an attempt to keep his forward momentum, and started changing into clothes for his work. Unfortunately, the cosmos must've been working against him, because that's when he came to a horrible realization as he looked into the depths of his closet: he would have to wear that shirt. He shuddered as he pulled out the gold-colored button-up shirt. It was silky smooth against his skin, but he would've rather worn a burlap sack; anything but this thing. He stared at himself in the mirror on the closet door, coming to a stand-still in his morning routine. It reminded him of her... and it was almost too much. The pounding in his head worsened. He grabbed the rest of his clothes, cut himself off from his emotions, and went back to the coffee.
He thought it rather ironic that leaving at 5:30 was what he now considered "running late." Shoving a pop tart into his mouth, he put the other one in his briefcase, and thanked the Heavens that someone had thought to bring coffee beans from the rainforests to the urban jungle. Or suburban, as it were. He jumped into the car and pulled out of his garage to begin the hour-long commute. When the sun hit his eyes, he cursed and looked for his sunglasses. They relieved some of his hangover, but not enough. For some reason, though, he was sad that suddenly the orange sky was blocked out. It was such a beautiful color.
Just as he pulled up to the first toll booth on his commute, he panicked. He had completely forgotten to put extra change in his car, and now he felt the bubbles of hysterical laughter rising in his throat. The only thing he had going for him was that there was almost no one else out. The moment the toll collector leaned out of the booth, Matt felt his stomach twist. Hot damn.
"Good morning," the man said with a cheery smile, hand outstretched. The hand was beautiful, and melded flawlessly into a colorfully-tattooed forearm. This arm disappeared under a rolled-up black sleeve.
"Um..." Matt had to clear his throat. "I don't have any change."
"Do not pass go, then," the collector teased. Matt would've been frustrated if he hadn't been absolutely shocked. He had never in his 27 years come across a young - let alone handsome - toll collector. "It's fine, just write a check," the man offered helpfully, brown eyes dancing with light.
"Oh, right," Matt agreed hurriedly. He was too flustered for his own good, and it showed when he fumbled for a pen and checkbook. The situation worsened when he screwed up the first check. "How much is it?" Matt asked gruffly as he ripped out the first check.
"Fiddy-cent," the man said, obviously trying to make Matt lighten up.
"Gotta be joking," Matt said under his breath. A horn honked behind him and he was startled into drawing a line straight across the check, and breaking through the paper; screwed up again. "GOD... DAMMIT!" he screamed, looking back. He tore it out again, and tried a third time. "Who do I make it out to?"
"State of California." Matt caught the smirk growing on the other man's face.
"Not like I don't give them enough of my money anyway," Matt growled. As he handed the check to the collector, the horn honked again. This time, Matt leaned out the window. "Shut the fuck up!" He ducked back into the car when he realized that there were small children in the backseat. The collector burst out laughing.
"Have a nice day," he said sarcastically, winking at Matt.
"Sure." He would definitely be getting a Fast Pass within the week.
======
Work seemed like an out-of-body experience that day. His hangover was down to a dull roar, and he got a lot of work done. It wasn't until early afternoon that the hilarity of his morning excitement hit him. He burst out into laughter at his own desk, in the middle of reviewing a proposition with four of his employees.
"I didn't think it was funny, sir," one of the others, Zack, said.
"No... no, it's something else," Matt said. The man's face lit up a little.
"What happened?" Another, Leana, asked. The other four leaned in a little bit, and the feeling in the room lightened up. In a flash, Matt saw that his attitude until now had probably been a downer to the people working for him. He probably owed it to them to laugh at himself a little.
"Oh, well... It's nothing big, but this morning I had to right a check at a toll booth." He paused for the chuckling, and forced himself to smile. He didn't really like laughing at himself with others, but he might as well suck it up. "But that wasn't it. I had to write three different checks because I messed up on the first two."
"How much was it for?" Leana asked, stifling a little laughter behind her cute hand.
"Fifty cents," Matt said, genuinely laughing softly. The rest of the meeting passed without incident, and Matt was glad to send the others away with a somewhat better morale.
By about 6:00, he was packing up to go. He always asked himself why he worked 12 hours a day, but he always remembered the salary, and he chided himself for doubting this career move. But there was something gnawing at him that said money wasn't what made him happy. He also wondered why that was, but his pondering was broken as the operations manager, Jimmy, knocked on the threshold of his door.
"Hi," Matt said, just slightly surprised.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner," The O.M. said with an apologetic smile - Uh-oh Matt thought to himself - "But the owners are thinking of downsizing some of the departments. We're giving out assignments tomorrow. Just a heads-up," Jimmy said as he left. Matt sighed, but at last an answer came to his thoughts: he had no plans for his accumulating wealth. No plans except to drink some of it away to assuage the stress of work.
He was heading home, and he wondered if the toll collector from earlier was there. Suddenly, the other man took over Matt's thoughts - something Matt had kept in check until right then. He didn't see the man when going through the toll booth. This time, he had change, and the toll collector was an old woman with a sour expression. He convinced himself that what happened that morning wasn't going to happen again.