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Fic #15/50 for my fanfic50 table
Prompt: 017. Change
Title: A Disturbance in the Force
Fandom: Queer as Folk (US)
Characters: Brian/Justin
Timeframe: post-513
Genre: fluff
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~700
Summary: The day Brian realizes that the relations of power and success have slowly but steadily shifted is the day he almost lets the herb sauce go to hell.
Disclaimer: Cowlip owns, I don't, yadda yadda.
A Disturbance in the Force
by sakesushimaki
The day Brian realizes that the relations of power and success have slowly but steadily shifted is the day he almost lets the herb sauce go to hell.
+
“Of course,” Cynthia replies and leaves to call Mr. Sanders a cab.
Brian stands and shakes Mr. Sanders’ hand, inhaling the somewhat stale office air. He loves the smell of closing a million-dollar deal. Well, technically, it’s not a done deal yet, but just one more time of taking Sanders out for drinks tomorrow and it will be.
The man suddenly leans forward and nods towards the door. “You ever tap that?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean.”
Brian draws his hand back. “No, I never tapped that.”
“No?” Mr. Sanders sounds genuinely surprised as he buttons up his suit jacket. “Phew, she’s something else.”
Brian feels his face go stiff. He knows where this is heading.
“You have a wife?”
That’s where. “I don’t,” Brian answers and wonders how he’s going to play it this time; wonders how much he really wants this account. He watches Sanders zip up his expensive briefcase. “I do have a partner, though.”
“Oh? What’s her name?”
Brian straightens his back. “Justin. His name is Justin Taylor.”
The look of sheer shock on Sanders face burns into his skull.
+
Brian was ordered to watch the sauce. So now he stands there, whisk in hand, staring into the pot.
The radio is on that lame station again and he rolls his eyes as yet another rock ballad thing comes on. Why the fuck do they always listen to a station that caters to Justin’s high-school-girl taste in music? Okay, so, technically, the radio is only ever on when Justin is cooking. Which really isn’t that often anymore. And okay, the point he made - I do the cooking, I choose the music. (Now stop complaining and go do something. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.) - sounded kind of valid.
“Jesus, Brian, I said to watch it!” Justin tears the whisk out of Brian’s grip and tends to the angrily bubbling pot. “That means you have to stir it!”
“Don’t fucking boss me around!” Brian hisses.
“What?” Justin asks, distracted, as he tries to rescue the sauce.
Brian doesn’t answer, but goes to get a glass of water. He isn’t thirsty at all.
“So,” he starts, a couple of minutes later. “You wanna go have drinks with me and a client tomorrow night?”
“Not really. I should finish those drawings.”
Brian bites the inside of his cheek, hard. “I… I’d really like it if you came with me.” It sounds pressed and bitter, but he can’t help it.
Justin turns and frowns at him. “Um, sorry? I’m not in the mood for forcedly relaxed business atmosphere and I really do have to finish those drawings within the next days.”
Brian thinks his nostrils are flaring, but he can’t be sure.
“Brian, what’s going on?”
“Would you please just come to that fucking thing with me tomorrow!?”
“Why?”
“Does there have to be some elaborate reason? Can’t you just do me this one favor? Must everything always go your fucking way?” Brian feels that his line of argument might be jumping the rails.
Justin whips around and blinks at him. “My… WHAT?! What the fuck is up with you?”
Brian chews on his thumbnail. “Come with me tomorrow.”
“W-h-y-?”
Brian chews some more and glares while mapping out his next move. He’s not finished when Justin throws an arm in the air and dismisses him with a wave.
Now that’s just fucking it. “Don’t fucking wave me off like some-”
“Tell me why you want me to go with you!”
“Can’t you just freaking-”
“BRIAN!” Justin balls up the dishtowel and flings it against the cabinet.
Brian grabs it and does the same. “BECAUSE SANDERS IS YOUR FUCKING GROUPIE, OKAY?!”
“Huh?”
Brian finds the speckles on the floor quite interesting. “Because I need to seal that deal with Sanders and he happens to be a fan of yours.”
“Uh.”
“Apparently,” Brian sighs, long and suffering. “He’s been to two of your New York shows and owns a couple of your pieces.”
Justin blinks, then turns off the stove, and Brian hates how his mouth widens in a giant, enormous, ridiculously big smile. Hates it.
“So, basically…”
“I’m gonna kill you if you spell it out.”
And then Justin is moving closer, mouth even wider than before.
Seriously, he needs to stop that. It’s creepy.
Prompt: 017. Change
Title: A Disturbance in the Force
Fandom: Queer as Folk (US)
Characters: Brian/Justin
Timeframe: post-513
Genre: fluff
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~700
Summary: The day Brian realizes that the relations of power and success have slowly but steadily shifted is the day he almost lets the herb sauce go to hell.
Disclaimer: Cowlip owns, I don't, yadda yadda.
A Disturbance in the Force
by sakesushimaki
The day Brian realizes that the relations of power and success have slowly but steadily shifted is the day he almost lets the herb sauce go to hell.
+
“Of course,” Cynthia replies and leaves to call Mr. Sanders a cab.
Brian stands and shakes Mr. Sanders’ hand, inhaling the somewhat stale office air. He loves the smell of closing a million-dollar deal. Well, technically, it’s not a done deal yet, but just one more time of taking Sanders out for drinks tomorrow and it will be.
The man suddenly leans forward and nods towards the door. “You ever tap that?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean.”
Brian draws his hand back. “No, I never tapped that.”
“No?” Mr. Sanders sounds genuinely surprised as he buttons up his suit jacket. “Phew, she’s something else.”
Brian feels his face go stiff. He knows where this is heading.
“You have a wife?”
That’s where. “I don’t,” Brian answers and wonders how he’s going to play it this time; wonders how much he really wants this account. He watches Sanders zip up his expensive briefcase. “I do have a partner, though.”
“Oh? What’s her name?”
Brian straightens his back. “Justin. His name is Justin Taylor.”
The look of sheer shock on Sanders face burns into his skull.
+
Brian was ordered to watch the sauce. So now he stands there, whisk in hand, staring into the pot.
The radio is on that lame station again and he rolls his eyes as yet another rock ballad thing comes on. Why the fuck do they always listen to a station that caters to Justin’s high-school-girl taste in music? Okay, so, technically, the radio is only ever on when Justin is cooking. Which really isn’t that often anymore. And okay, the point he made - I do the cooking, I choose the music. (Now stop complaining and go do something. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.) - sounded kind of valid.
“Jesus, Brian, I said to watch it!” Justin tears the whisk out of Brian’s grip and tends to the angrily bubbling pot. “That means you have to stir it!”
“Don’t fucking boss me around!” Brian hisses.
“What?” Justin asks, distracted, as he tries to rescue the sauce.
Brian doesn’t answer, but goes to get a glass of water. He isn’t thirsty at all.
“So,” he starts, a couple of minutes later. “You wanna go have drinks with me and a client tomorrow night?”
“Not really. I should finish those drawings.”
Brian bites the inside of his cheek, hard. “I… I’d really like it if you came with me.” It sounds pressed and bitter, but he can’t help it.
Justin turns and frowns at him. “Um, sorry? I’m not in the mood for forcedly relaxed business atmosphere and I really do have to finish those drawings within the next days.”
Brian thinks his nostrils are flaring, but he can’t be sure.
“Brian, what’s going on?”
“Would you please just come to that fucking thing with me tomorrow!?”
“Why?”
“Does there have to be some elaborate reason? Can’t you just do me this one favor? Must everything always go your fucking way?” Brian feels that his line of argument might be jumping the rails.
Justin whips around and blinks at him. “My… WHAT?! What the fuck is up with you?”
Brian chews on his thumbnail. “Come with me tomorrow.”
“W-h-y-?”
Brian chews some more and glares while mapping out his next move. He’s not finished when Justin throws an arm in the air and dismisses him with a wave.
Now that’s just fucking it. “Don’t fucking wave me off like some-”
“Tell me why you want me to go with you!”
“Can’t you just freaking-”
“BRIAN!” Justin balls up the dishtowel and flings it against the cabinet.
Brian grabs it and does the same. “BECAUSE SANDERS IS YOUR FUCKING GROUPIE, OKAY?!”
“Huh?”
Brian finds the speckles on the floor quite interesting. “Because I need to seal that deal with Sanders and he happens to be a fan of yours.”
“Uh.”
“Apparently,” Brian sighs, long and suffering. “He’s been to two of your New York shows and owns a couple of your pieces.”
Justin blinks, then turns off the stove, and Brian hates how his mouth widens in a giant, enormous, ridiculously big smile. Hates it.
“So, basically…”
“I’m gonna kill you if you spell it out.”
And then Justin is moving closer, mouth even wider than before.
Seriously, he needs to stop that. It’s creepy.