(no subject)
*winces* 'Cause, um, ouch. And *sigh* I love Lance.
poster; fucker; debris; bleak; cruise
JC’s face was pale when he stepped into his apartment, shakily reaching a hand out to balance himself against the wall. Howie walked out of the toilet, with nothing on but a towel wrapped around his neck, and stopped short when he saw his roommate, quickly walking over to help JC sit down.
“What? What is it, C?”
JC’s eyes were dark, and his forehead was creased with worry, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip. He clutched Howie’s hand unseeingly, his eyes focused on the faded Smokey Robinson poster on the far wall, hanging by what Howie had dubbed their make-up table.
“AJ. The fucker.” JC’s voice was shaking, incredulity lacing his words. He shook his head, and JC’s next words sent Howie reeling.
“Listen, bastard, I don’t know who the *fuck* you think you are, cruising by in your shiny new Porsche, and I don’t really give two hoots. But you are not going to walk your ass into that room and make it seem like the whole world is coming to an end for AJ, because it’s not. You fucking hear me? It. Is. *Not*. So get the fuck lost and don’t let me see you here again.”
Lance’s hands were clenched, white-knuckled, unyielding by his side. His eyes were steely and hard with anger, burning hot fury racing through his veins as he watched the smug stranger saunter away down the road, narrowly missing a block of falling debris - a chip off the old, crumbling building - at which Lance’s scowl deepened as he slammed the door.
His frown seemed permanently etched into his young face as another knock rang through the house, not ten minutes later. “What do you want?” he snapped, opening the door a crack; his patience was waning, and so was his temper.
“I heard. About AJ.” The guy seemed genuinely worried, and Lance nodded, warily. “I’m. I work the streets with him.”
Lance nodded again, not having expected anything else. Exhausted, he motioned for Howie to come inside. “He’s in there,” Lance explained, closing the door and bolting it once more. “And he’s not in the best mood. So.”
Howie just nodded, and entered the only room in the house that actually had a door. “Bone?” his voice was barely more than a whisper, chancing a smile.
AJ glanced up, and didn’t return the gesture, nodding curtly before returning to gazing at his hands.
“I heard.”
There was a noncommittal grunt.
“I’m. I.”
AJ sighed bleakly. “I know. Okay? You don’t have to feel obligated to visit. I’m fine. I’ll. I’m.” He swallowed thickly. “Tell Kev he can keep the couple hundred he got off me.”
Howie sat down next to AJ, not too close. “Hey, man. They’re all gonna visit, you know? Aje, we’re fucking family, okay? So don’t you tell me about obligation. We’ve been together for years, man. We’ve worked the streets together, we’ve roughed it out together, we’ve all fucking slept together, for Christ’s sake, and now you act like I’m some kind of fucking stranger.”
AJ stared at his hands.
Howie moved so he could properly look at the man he’d virtually grown up with. Stroking a thumb over AJ’s knuckles, gently, Howie lowered his voice. “Don’t you give up on me now. You understand? You only tested positive. Doesn’t mean a fucking thing yet. You have years on you left, Bone. Don’t you let them take it away from you.”
AJ pressed his eyes shut, and lifted the heel of his hand to his forehead as memories came back to him. Memories of a small, tired, half-Latin doubled over in an dark, foreboding alley, sobbing in pain, hair matted with blood, body littered with bruises, and himself standing not too far away, arms reaching out to comfort, whispering softly, “Don’t you give up on me now, Howie. You understand?”
AJ sucked in his bottom lip, with not enough left in him to cry. “I’m tired.”
“We all are.” Howie gripped AJ’s shoulder fiercely as he stood.
Lance remembered a soft “take care of him for us” before Howie was gone. He stood at the empty doorway, staring out, blankly, till he heard a crash from the bedroom. He was by AJ’s side in an instant, taking the broken man into his arms, rocking him gently to and fro, the photo frame shattered in a corner.
AJ clung to him, tightly, and when their lips met, Lance groaned into the kiss, his hands running up and down AJ’s spine, offering hope and comfort.
And when AJ pulled away, roughly, Lance lifted the older man’s chin with his fingers, stared him defiantly in the eyes, and kissed him again, whispering, “I don’t care,” against dry, chapped lips.
poster; fucker; debris; bleak; cruise
JC’s face was pale when he stepped into his apartment, shakily reaching a hand out to balance himself against the wall. Howie walked out of the toilet, with nothing on but a towel wrapped around his neck, and stopped short when he saw his roommate, quickly walking over to help JC sit down.
“What? What is it, C?”
JC’s eyes were dark, and his forehead was creased with worry, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip. He clutched Howie’s hand unseeingly, his eyes focused on the faded Smokey Robinson poster on the far wall, hanging by what Howie had dubbed their make-up table.
“AJ. The fucker.” JC’s voice was shaking, incredulity lacing his words. He shook his head, and JC’s next words sent Howie reeling.
“Listen, bastard, I don’t know who the *fuck* you think you are, cruising by in your shiny new Porsche, and I don’t really give two hoots. But you are not going to walk your ass into that room and make it seem like the whole world is coming to an end for AJ, because it’s not. You fucking hear me? It. Is. *Not*. So get the fuck lost and don’t let me see you here again.”
Lance’s hands were clenched, white-knuckled, unyielding by his side. His eyes were steely and hard with anger, burning hot fury racing through his veins as he watched the smug stranger saunter away down the road, narrowly missing a block of falling debris - a chip off the old, crumbling building - at which Lance’s scowl deepened as he slammed the door.
His frown seemed permanently etched into his young face as another knock rang through the house, not ten minutes later. “What do you want?” he snapped, opening the door a crack; his patience was waning, and so was his temper.
“I heard. About AJ.” The guy seemed genuinely worried, and Lance nodded, warily. “I’m. I work the streets with him.”
Lance nodded again, not having expected anything else. Exhausted, he motioned for Howie to come inside. “He’s in there,” Lance explained, closing the door and bolting it once more. “And he’s not in the best mood. So.”
Howie just nodded, and entered the only room in the house that actually had a door. “Bone?” his voice was barely more than a whisper, chancing a smile.
AJ glanced up, and didn’t return the gesture, nodding curtly before returning to gazing at his hands.
“I heard.”
There was a noncommittal grunt.
“I’m. I.”
AJ sighed bleakly. “I know. Okay? You don’t have to feel obligated to visit. I’m fine. I’ll. I’m.” He swallowed thickly. “Tell Kev he can keep the couple hundred he got off me.”
Howie sat down next to AJ, not too close. “Hey, man. They’re all gonna visit, you know? Aje, we’re fucking family, okay? So don’t you tell me about obligation. We’ve been together for years, man. We’ve worked the streets together, we’ve roughed it out together, we’ve all fucking slept together, for Christ’s sake, and now you act like I’m some kind of fucking stranger.”
AJ stared at his hands.
Howie moved so he could properly look at the man he’d virtually grown up with. Stroking a thumb over AJ’s knuckles, gently, Howie lowered his voice. “Don’t you give up on me now. You understand? You only tested positive. Doesn’t mean a fucking thing yet. You have years on you left, Bone. Don’t you let them take it away from you.”
AJ pressed his eyes shut, and lifted the heel of his hand to his forehead as memories came back to him. Memories of a small, tired, half-Latin doubled over in an dark, foreboding alley, sobbing in pain, hair matted with blood, body littered with bruises, and himself standing not too far away, arms reaching out to comfort, whispering softly, “Don’t you give up on me now, Howie. You understand?”
AJ sucked in his bottom lip, with not enough left in him to cry. “I’m tired.”
“We all are.” Howie gripped AJ’s shoulder fiercely as he stood.
Lance remembered a soft “take care of him for us” before Howie was gone. He stood at the empty doorway, staring out, blankly, till he heard a crash from the bedroom. He was by AJ’s side in an instant, taking the broken man into his arms, rocking him gently to and fro, the photo frame shattered in a corner.
AJ clung to him, tightly, and when their lips met, Lance groaned into the kiss, his hands running up and down AJ’s spine, offering hope and comfort.
And when AJ pulled away, roughly, Lance lifted the older man’s chin with his fingers, stared him defiantly in the eyes, and kissed him again, whispering, “I don’t care,” against dry, chapped lips.