ficlet/drabble: chart topper
Wrote this pretty quickly, it's very short. Only slightly longer than a drabble. Don't own characters, they belong to Cowlip. Hopeless schmoop warning. Cross-posted to soundczech.
In retrospect, it was probably Justin's fault that Brian happened to be this drunk. He'd been meeting Brian at Woody's after work, but after work turned into after coffee with Daphne, after driving his sister to soccer, after dropping off some sketches for Michael. After three hours in which Brian entertained himself with a bottle of Beam, some nice imported beer, and two or three blowjobs fumbled and sweaty in the bathroom.
By the time Justin arrived, Brian was loose and smiling, elbows spread out across the bar. Loose and smiling and offering Justin a welcoming one armed hug. A laughing, wet, open kiss against his temple. Fingers in his hair. Mumbling, incoherent greetings. The press of glass into his hand, because Justin was, apparently, worthy of the final dregs of Brian's bourbon.
They didn't stay long.
At the loft, Justin shoulders him towards the bed, half-listening as Brian regales him with tales of his many recent conquests. The first guy was hot but didn't cover his teeth. The third guy had blonde hair like Justin's but wasn't near as pretty. Justin patiently guides Brian up the steps.
"Justin," Brian says as the collapse against the sheets, his eyes turned soft-focus like a vaseline lens. "Justin?"
Justin slides his hands up Brian's chest, beneath Brian's t-shirt. Slides the cotton over his head and kisses Brian's bare chest. "What?" he says gently.
Brian's crooked smile, something childlike and sweet behind his eyes. Something drunken and mostly mumbled in his voice. "You're my favourite."
Justin laughs, nuzzles his nose beneath the bone of Brian's jaw. "I know."
"No, really. You're my -" Brian loses focus for a minute, swipes his hand across his mouth. "My top ten."
"Really."
"Like Britney," Brian mumbles. "Triple platinum."
"Screaming teenage girls?"
"Porny centrefold," Brian says. "Go get the camera."
"Go to sleep, Brian," Justin orders. Presses kisses against Brian's cheeks. Loves him so much, sometimes. Even when he's stupid and drunk and caving in on himself like this. Loves the way Brian loves him, cluelessly. Loves being Brian's favourite person in the world.
He watches Brian sleeping, so close to a coma. He curls himself against Brian's back, and says, "You fucking idiot."
Brian does not stir.
In retrospect, it was probably Justin's fault that Brian happened to be this drunk. He'd been meeting Brian at Woody's after work, but after work turned into after coffee with Daphne, after driving his sister to soccer, after dropping off some sketches for Michael. After three hours in which Brian entertained himself with a bottle of Beam, some nice imported beer, and two or three blowjobs fumbled and sweaty in the bathroom.
By the time Justin arrived, Brian was loose and smiling, elbows spread out across the bar. Loose and smiling and offering Justin a welcoming one armed hug. A laughing, wet, open kiss against his temple. Fingers in his hair. Mumbling, incoherent greetings. The press of glass into his hand, because Justin was, apparently, worthy of the final dregs of Brian's bourbon.
They didn't stay long.
At the loft, Justin shoulders him towards the bed, half-listening as Brian regales him with tales of his many recent conquests. The first guy was hot but didn't cover his teeth. The third guy had blonde hair like Justin's but wasn't near as pretty. Justin patiently guides Brian up the steps.
"Justin," Brian says as the collapse against the sheets, his eyes turned soft-focus like a vaseline lens. "Justin?"
Justin slides his hands up Brian's chest, beneath Brian's t-shirt. Slides the cotton over his head and kisses Brian's bare chest. "What?" he says gently.
Brian's crooked smile, something childlike and sweet behind his eyes. Something drunken and mostly mumbled in his voice. "You're my favourite."
Justin laughs, nuzzles his nose beneath the bone of Brian's jaw. "I know."
"No, really. You're my -" Brian loses focus for a minute, swipes his hand across his mouth. "My top ten."
"Really."
"Like Britney," Brian mumbles. "Triple platinum."
"Screaming teenage girls?"
"Porny centrefold," Brian says. "Go get the camera."
"Go to sleep, Brian," Justin orders. Presses kisses against Brian's cheeks. Loves him so much, sometimes. Even when he's stupid and drunk and caving in on himself like this. Loves the way Brian loves him, cluelessly. Loves being Brian's favourite person in the world.
He watches Brian sleeping, so close to a coma. He curls himself against Brian's back, and says, "You fucking idiot."
Brian does not stir.