Justin's Scrapbox
Title: Justin's Scrapbox
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Pairing/Characters: Brian/Justin
Author: knittedshadow
Rating: adult
Words: 2,286
Description: Justin keeps it because it’s the only physical evidence Brian lets him have that shows them as a couple.
Challenge: None
Disclaimer: Cowlip just won't hand over the QAF cast to me however many times I offer them money. Or Happy Hippos. And hugs to my fantabulous beta besame_bj for her help.
Justin's Scrapbox
Their Photo:
Justin keeps it because it’s the only physical evidence Brian lets him have that shows them as a couple.
They fuck in the bathroom at Woody’s. It’s probably Justin’s fifth time but to tell the truth he’s lost count, forgotten by the wayside along with all his inhibitions. He stands, arms bent bracing himself against the door as Brian pounds into him from behind and he thinks that life should go on like this forever. But another few seconds and he’s begging for it to end, reaching round to urge Brian forward, faster, harder, and secretly Brian loves the way he can make the boy scream.
When it’s over, Justin turns around to lean his back against the door, smiling dazed and happy and Brian can’t help leaning forward to capture his lips as he helps do up buttons and buckles he’d ripped apart minutes earlier.
They tumble out of the bathroom and into the bar, arms slung around each other and their mouths tilted in their own private joke, until Emmett spots them and drags Justin off for a photo. Michael, who hadn’t seen them yet, is laughing with Ted, camera in hand, and he happily breaks off to snap as Emmett and Justin strike a pose.
Brian watches them from the corner, eyes never leaving Justin’s face and after the fifth shot he strides in and pushes Emmett out of the way, arm banded tight across Justin’s chest as he pulls them closer together.
“Take the photo Mikey,” he says against Justin’s ear and Justin is too busy giggling, the words tickling his neck, to notice the irritated glance Michael flicks his way before taking the requested picture.
“And another,” Brian murmurs, eyes not leaving Justin’s as his hand drifts to the top of the boy’s pants.
Michael’s pissed off expression is lost on them and he hurriedly shoves the camera into his pocket,
“Film’s all used up,” he says shortly.
But Brian and Justin hardly notice. They’re kissing again, Justin’s neck arched so that their lips can meet, Brian’s hands tight on Justin’s hips.
--
Justin finds the photo in the trashcan when he’s snooping around Michael’s room, half-surprised it wasn’t torn into little jealous pieces. And he tugs it out from beneath the tissues and candy wrappers and stuffs it in his back pocket. He’d like to show it to Brian, to let him see what a hot picture they take, but he doubts even Brian’s narcissism could overlook how couple-y the photo is.
So when he goes home, it’s placed on his desk where he can see it when he’s drawing. And later when he argues with his dad for the last time and tells him “Never again,” it’s the first thing he packs away, before clothes or sketchpad, out of Brian’s view but still with him, buried in his scrapbox.
And he takes it out every now and then and thinks what a cute couple they make and grins at just how much Brian would hate that picture.
-----
Ethan’s Program:
Justin keeps it because it’s always useful to have a reminder of the stupidest fucking thing he ever did in his life.
Before Justin met Brian, he and Daphne used to wander round the malls playing “If I had a million dollars.” It was simple. “If I had a million dollars I would … buy these shoes in every color.” “If I had a million dollars I would pay someone to carry me round the mall.” “If I had a million dollars I would buy that shop, empty it and make people bring me stuff to eat.” After Justin met Brian he didn’t need to play “If I had a million dollars” anymore, although Brian would never admit it, he spoiled the boy rotten.
And then there was Ethan, sweet-talking, love-whispering, promise-making Ethan, who shattered Justin’s dreams more than Brian ever would. Because when Ethan played “If I had a million dollars,” he used words instead of money. And Ethan could never keep his word.
--
Justin gets the concert program a month after he and Ethan break up. He’s surprised that Ethan sent it to him really, their split had hardly been clean. But Justin’s not angry with him anymore, if he ever had been. He looks back at their relationship with nothing more than regret.
At first the program goes in with his scraps more to hide it from Brian than because he really wants it there. But after a while he grows to realize that it fits in there, jumbled and jostling against his other memories. Ethan, heartbreaking shit or not, was part of his life.
The concerts run all over the country and despite his lack of musical knowledge, Justin can tell that these are important gigs. He makes no effort to go and see one, has no wish to, but he stays staring at the program long after he’s read it cover to cover.
Justin wonders if Ethan realizes all his whispered promises had merely reversed their intended effect. Because, although Brian won’t bring him breakfast in bed and roses for no reason. And he won’t whisper sweet nothings in Justin’s ear or call fucking “making love.” And he will never appreciate classical music or stay faithful and he and Justin will never go on a date. Despite these things, Justin knows that Brian won’t offer him the world and then snatch it back. At least Brian has no promises to break.
-----
Kinnetik Business Card:
Justin keeps it because he likes to pretend he doesn’t know Brian’s number by heart.
The first time Justin sees the cards is out of the corner of his eye as he lies, flat on his back, on Brian’s desk, christening the new office. But beneath the panting and the groans he doesn’t really have time to appreciate the artwork, so it’s not until he’s sitting up again and Brian’s plucking out a few of them that got tangled in his hair that he gets a proper look.
“It’s nice,” he says “Very edgy.”
Brian just grunts in return.
Justin doesn’t tell Brian but he snaffles quite a few of those cards that day, stuffing them in every pocket of every article of clothing he owns, so that at any moment he can whip one out and say “Oh, let me give you my boyfriend’s card.” All carefully out of Brian’s earshot, of course.
But subtlety is not really Justin’s forte and fairly soon Brian’s got wind of his activities.
“I had three fucking clients coming in today, telling me my boyfriend had given them my card. Let me guess, Sunshine’s been busy?”
They’re sitting together on the couch, Justin tucked beneath Brian’s arm but he twists to look up at him, “It’s all good publicity, isn’t it?”
Brian moans, “But did you have to use that word?”
“What? Boyfriend?” He smiles as Brian shudders, “Oh, drop the act Brian, you’re such a drama queen. Anyway what would you prefer? … Significant other? Partner? Light of my li-”
Brian interrupts him with raised eyebrows, “I’m warning you…”
But Justin continues “-life? Cupcake? Honeybunch?”
“Justin, I mean it-”
Justin gives him a shit-eating grin and croons “Loverrr”
And Brian pounces, tickling and poking at Justin’s sides relentlessly until his face is beet red from laughing and he chokes out, “All right, all right. I’m sorry” and Brian settles back into the sofa with a satisfied smile.
They sit together in comfortable silence until Justin breaks it with,
“Would you make me a business card?”
“Mm?”
“Just, you know ‘Justin Taylor, professional artiste,’ that kind of thing?”
Brian thinks, “Yeah, I guess. If you gave me some sketches I’d mock one up for you.”
Justin slides his head into Brian’s lap and peers up at him between his bangs, eyes thoughtful,
“You know what? Maybe we should have a card together.” He gives Brian a deceptively innocent look. “Our names entwined, you know, hearts in the border. We could give them out at parties…”
Brian raises his hands, threatening to lunge again.
“…maybe a poem on the back, pink paper, gold … No Brian! Brian, stop, I was kidding. I swear!”
-----
Chicken Soup Recipe:
Justin keeps it because who knows when he’ll need it again.
Justin kneels by his side, not so much tenderly feeding the invalid as angrily ramming the spoon down his throat but Brian’s too tired to resist. The argument took it out of him and he’s never felt so exhausted. And the soup’s warm and comforting and he has to admit the boy can cook, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let Justin think he’s won.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“Mm?” He’s picking absentmindedly at the soup.
“About how my funeral will be.”
Justin’s back stiffens but he doesn’t look up from the bowl. “Little premature for planning, don’t you think?” he says lightly.
But Brian ignores him, letting his head fall back against the pillow, voice slipping in and out of sleep as he closes his eyes.
“I've got it all planned out,” he whispers. “There’ll be thousands of people, and my coffin will be lined with satin. It’ll be in Babylon, wake in the backroom. And I’ll have a dress code.” He smiles dreamily. “Leather for men … and my bearers, I’m gonna get the hottest four men to carry my coffin, dressed in black tighty-whities, if they do those. Do you think they sell them in black?”
He opens one eye and sleepily peers at Justin. Justin’s lip is trembling and for a minute Brian is terrified that he’s going to cry. But instead Justin just puts the soup down and rolls onto the bed so that he’s next to Brian. Then he tilts his head up to the ceiling and closes his eyes.
“And you’ll be all in black too,” Justin says quietly “Armani or Gucci, open casket of course. Black hotpants for the waiters and there’ll be some godawful heartbreaking song playing ... or a club classic, your pick. And the dancing,” he laughs softly “Oh, will there be dancing…”
His voice drifts off, leaving them in silence until he turns to Brian, kissing him softly on the cheek.
“Unfortunately, it won’t be for another few decades yet.”
“Pity,” Brian murmurs. “Sounded like one hell of a party.”
-----
Post-it Note:
Justin keeps it because he knows it’s the closest thing to a love letter he’ll ever get from Brian Kinney.
The post-it comes along with the first orders of the day, stuck on a pile of folders that Cynthia hands to him along with his morning coffee.
“Justin, get these sheets sent out by ten and I’ll let you blow me in the stockroom on your lunch break, BK”
Justin grins, grabs another yellow sheet, scrawls “Deal” and a quick sketch of their lunchtime scenario, then he sticks it to some email copies that Brian needs and hands them to Cynthia. She glances at it, grimaces, but walks away without comment.
Minutes later she’s back again, with letters that need photo-copying and another note,
“Mr. Taylor, please stop sending me your pornographic doodlings, BK”
Justin’s response is to send an even more graphic rendition of their exploits. Cynthia barely blinks. He’s hardly turned back to his computer when he hears the click of heels again and another bundle of work is slammed onto his desk.
Brian seems to have gotten into the spirit of things because topping the stack is Brian’s version of events. Stick figure Brian is very well endowed.
Justin’s run out of work to send to Brian so he grabs a scrap piece of paper, sticks on another post-it reading,
“Mr. Kinney, please stop sending me your pornographic, not to say hugely exaggerated, doodlings, JT”
Then, grinning apologetically, he hands it to Cynthia, who just sighs heavily and clip-clops out of the room. When she returns she’s just holding the yellow note; it looks like Brian’s run out of work too.
“Fuck you,” it reads.
Justin scrawls back, “In the stockroom?”
However he never gets a reply because it’s at this point that Cynthia gives up. She declares that she’s “sick of playing messenger for the fucked-up lovebirds” and that she’s not “goddamn cupid.” Then she sits down, puts her feet up and happily ignores the outraged yells coming from both offices
Eventually the pair of them shut up and Justin actually does some work and it’s not until lunchtime that they speak again when Brian walks past the stockroom whistling obnoxiously loud and a hand snakes out and grabs him. Slamming the door shut behind them, Justin finds Brian’s lips in the pitch-blackness.
“I did the work,” he whispers.
“Well done.”
“Betcha you would’ve let me blow you anyway.”
He can hear the smile in Brian’s voice as he leans against Justin’s ear and whispers, “Caught me.”
And he tangles his fingers into Justin’s hair as the younger man drops to his knees.
--
When they’re finished and Justin strolls out of the cupboard ostentatiously wiping his mouth, Brian turns to him and says,
“Now, back to work Mr. Taylor, and this time please refrain from using up the precious stationery supplies.”
Leaving Justin with the lame retort of, “You started it,” as he moves back in the direction of his office. But all the same, Justin’s grinning as he watches Brian walk away. In the midst of their make-out session Justin had left him one final post-it note, and it amused him greatly to see Brian striding down the hallway on the way to a meeting with important company clients with the words “Property of Justin Taylor,” stuck to the back of his Armani jacket.
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Pairing/Characters: Brian/Justin
Author: knittedshadow
Rating: adult
Words: 2,286
Description: Justin keeps it because it’s the only physical evidence Brian lets him have that shows them as a couple.
Challenge: None
Disclaimer: Cowlip just won't hand over the QAF cast to me however many times I offer them money. Or Happy Hippos. And hugs to my fantabulous beta besame_bj for her help.
Justin's Scrapbox
Their Photo:
Justin keeps it because it’s the only physical evidence Brian lets him have that shows them as a couple.
They fuck in the bathroom at Woody’s. It’s probably Justin’s fifth time but to tell the truth he’s lost count, forgotten by the wayside along with all his inhibitions. He stands, arms bent bracing himself against the door as Brian pounds into him from behind and he thinks that life should go on like this forever. But another few seconds and he’s begging for it to end, reaching round to urge Brian forward, faster, harder, and secretly Brian loves the way he can make the boy scream.
When it’s over, Justin turns around to lean his back against the door, smiling dazed and happy and Brian can’t help leaning forward to capture his lips as he helps do up buttons and buckles he’d ripped apart minutes earlier.
They tumble out of the bathroom and into the bar, arms slung around each other and their mouths tilted in their own private joke, until Emmett spots them and drags Justin off for a photo. Michael, who hadn’t seen them yet, is laughing with Ted, camera in hand, and he happily breaks off to snap as Emmett and Justin strike a pose.
Brian watches them from the corner, eyes never leaving Justin’s face and after the fifth shot he strides in and pushes Emmett out of the way, arm banded tight across Justin’s chest as he pulls them closer together.
“Take the photo Mikey,” he says against Justin’s ear and Justin is too busy giggling, the words tickling his neck, to notice the irritated glance Michael flicks his way before taking the requested picture.
“And another,” Brian murmurs, eyes not leaving Justin’s as his hand drifts to the top of the boy’s pants.
Michael’s pissed off expression is lost on them and he hurriedly shoves the camera into his pocket,
“Film’s all used up,” he says shortly.
But Brian and Justin hardly notice. They’re kissing again, Justin’s neck arched so that their lips can meet, Brian’s hands tight on Justin’s hips.
--
Justin finds the photo in the trashcan when he’s snooping around Michael’s room, half-surprised it wasn’t torn into little jealous pieces. And he tugs it out from beneath the tissues and candy wrappers and stuffs it in his back pocket. He’d like to show it to Brian, to let him see what a hot picture they take, but he doubts even Brian’s narcissism could overlook how couple-y the photo is.
So when he goes home, it’s placed on his desk where he can see it when he’s drawing. And later when he argues with his dad for the last time and tells him “Never again,” it’s the first thing he packs away, before clothes or sketchpad, out of Brian’s view but still with him, buried in his scrapbox.
And he takes it out every now and then and thinks what a cute couple they make and grins at just how much Brian would hate that picture.
-----
Ethan’s Program:
Justin keeps it because it’s always useful to have a reminder of the stupidest fucking thing he ever did in his life.
Before Justin met Brian, he and Daphne used to wander round the malls playing “If I had a million dollars.” It was simple. “If I had a million dollars I would … buy these shoes in every color.” “If I had a million dollars I would pay someone to carry me round the mall.” “If I had a million dollars I would buy that shop, empty it and make people bring me stuff to eat.” After Justin met Brian he didn’t need to play “If I had a million dollars” anymore, although Brian would never admit it, he spoiled the boy rotten.
And then there was Ethan, sweet-talking, love-whispering, promise-making Ethan, who shattered Justin’s dreams more than Brian ever would. Because when Ethan played “If I had a million dollars,” he used words instead of money. And Ethan could never keep his word.
--
Justin gets the concert program a month after he and Ethan break up. He’s surprised that Ethan sent it to him really, their split had hardly been clean. But Justin’s not angry with him anymore, if he ever had been. He looks back at their relationship with nothing more than regret.
At first the program goes in with his scraps more to hide it from Brian than because he really wants it there. But after a while he grows to realize that it fits in there, jumbled and jostling against his other memories. Ethan, heartbreaking shit or not, was part of his life.
The concerts run all over the country and despite his lack of musical knowledge, Justin can tell that these are important gigs. He makes no effort to go and see one, has no wish to, but he stays staring at the program long after he’s read it cover to cover.
Justin wonders if Ethan realizes all his whispered promises had merely reversed their intended effect. Because, although Brian won’t bring him breakfast in bed and roses for no reason. And he won’t whisper sweet nothings in Justin’s ear or call fucking “making love.” And he will never appreciate classical music or stay faithful and he and Justin will never go on a date. Despite these things, Justin knows that Brian won’t offer him the world and then snatch it back. At least Brian has no promises to break.
-----
Kinnetik Business Card:
Justin keeps it because he likes to pretend he doesn’t know Brian’s number by heart.
The first time Justin sees the cards is out of the corner of his eye as he lies, flat on his back, on Brian’s desk, christening the new office. But beneath the panting and the groans he doesn’t really have time to appreciate the artwork, so it’s not until he’s sitting up again and Brian’s plucking out a few of them that got tangled in his hair that he gets a proper look.
“It’s nice,” he says “Very edgy.”
Brian just grunts in return.
Justin doesn’t tell Brian but he snaffles quite a few of those cards that day, stuffing them in every pocket of every article of clothing he owns, so that at any moment he can whip one out and say “Oh, let me give you my boyfriend’s card.” All carefully out of Brian’s earshot, of course.
But subtlety is not really Justin’s forte and fairly soon Brian’s got wind of his activities.
“I had three fucking clients coming in today, telling me my boyfriend had given them my card. Let me guess, Sunshine’s been busy?”
They’re sitting together on the couch, Justin tucked beneath Brian’s arm but he twists to look up at him, “It’s all good publicity, isn’t it?”
Brian moans, “But did you have to use that word?”
“What? Boyfriend?” He smiles as Brian shudders, “Oh, drop the act Brian, you’re such a drama queen. Anyway what would you prefer? … Significant other? Partner? Light of my li-”
Brian interrupts him with raised eyebrows, “I’m warning you…”
But Justin continues “-life? Cupcake? Honeybunch?”
“Justin, I mean it-”
Justin gives him a shit-eating grin and croons “Loverrr”
And Brian pounces, tickling and poking at Justin’s sides relentlessly until his face is beet red from laughing and he chokes out, “All right, all right. I’m sorry” and Brian settles back into the sofa with a satisfied smile.
They sit together in comfortable silence until Justin breaks it with,
“Would you make me a business card?”
“Mm?”
“Just, you know ‘Justin Taylor, professional artiste,’ that kind of thing?”
Brian thinks, “Yeah, I guess. If you gave me some sketches I’d mock one up for you.”
Justin slides his head into Brian’s lap and peers up at him between his bangs, eyes thoughtful,
“You know what? Maybe we should have a card together.” He gives Brian a deceptively innocent look. “Our names entwined, you know, hearts in the border. We could give them out at parties…”
Brian raises his hands, threatening to lunge again.
“…maybe a poem on the back, pink paper, gold … No Brian! Brian, stop, I was kidding. I swear!”
-----
Chicken Soup Recipe:
Justin keeps it because who knows when he’ll need it again.
Justin kneels by his side, not so much tenderly feeding the invalid as angrily ramming the spoon down his throat but Brian’s too tired to resist. The argument took it out of him and he’s never felt so exhausted. And the soup’s warm and comforting and he has to admit the boy can cook, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let Justin think he’s won.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“Mm?” He’s picking absentmindedly at the soup.
“About how my funeral will be.”
Justin’s back stiffens but he doesn’t look up from the bowl. “Little premature for planning, don’t you think?” he says lightly.
But Brian ignores him, letting his head fall back against the pillow, voice slipping in and out of sleep as he closes his eyes.
“I've got it all planned out,” he whispers. “There’ll be thousands of people, and my coffin will be lined with satin. It’ll be in Babylon, wake in the backroom. And I’ll have a dress code.” He smiles dreamily. “Leather for men … and my bearers, I’m gonna get the hottest four men to carry my coffin, dressed in black tighty-whities, if they do those. Do you think they sell them in black?”
He opens one eye and sleepily peers at Justin. Justin’s lip is trembling and for a minute Brian is terrified that he’s going to cry. But instead Justin just puts the soup down and rolls onto the bed so that he’s next to Brian. Then he tilts his head up to the ceiling and closes his eyes.
“And you’ll be all in black too,” Justin says quietly “Armani or Gucci, open casket of course. Black hotpants for the waiters and there’ll be some godawful heartbreaking song playing ... or a club classic, your pick. And the dancing,” he laughs softly “Oh, will there be dancing…”
His voice drifts off, leaving them in silence until he turns to Brian, kissing him softly on the cheek.
“Unfortunately, it won’t be for another few decades yet.”
“Pity,” Brian murmurs. “Sounded like one hell of a party.”
-----
Post-it Note:
Justin keeps it because he knows it’s the closest thing to a love letter he’ll ever get from Brian Kinney.
The post-it comes along with the first orders of the day, stuck on a pile of folders that Cynthia hands to him along with his morning coffee.
“Justin, get these sheets sent out by ten and I’ll let you blow me in the stockroom on your lunch break, BK”
Justin grins, grabs another yellow sheet, scrawls “Deal” and a quick sketch of their lunchtime scenario, then he sticks it to some email copies that Brian needs and hands them to Cynthia. She glances at it, grimaces, but walks away without comment.
Minutes later she’s back again, with letters that need photo-copying and another note,
“Mr. Taylor, please stop sending me your pornographic doodlings, BK”
Justin’s response is to send an even more graphic rendition of their exploits. Cynthia barely blinks. He’s hardly turned back to his computer when he hears the click of heels again and another bundle of work is slammed onto his desk.
Brian seems to have gotten into the spirit of things because topping the stack is Brian’s version of events. Stick figure Brian is very well endowed.
Justin’s run out of work to send to Brian so he grabs a scrap piece of paper, sticks on another post-it reading,
“Mr. Kinney, please stop sending me your pornographic, not to say hugely exaggerated, doodlings, JT”
Then, grinning apologetically, he hands it to Cynthia, who just sighs heavily and clip-clops out of the room. When she returns she’s just holding the yellow note; it looks like Brian’s run out of work too.
“Fuck you,” it reads.
Justin scrawls back, “In the stockroom?”
However he never gets a reply because it’s at this point that Cynthia gives up. She declares that she’s “sick of playing messenger for the fucked-up lovebirds” and that she’s not “goddamn cupid.” Then she sits down, puts her feet up and happily ignores the outraged yells coming from both offices
Eventually the pair of them shut up and Justin actually does some work and it’s not until lunchtime that they speak again when Brian walks past the stockroom whistling obnoxiously loud and a hand snakes out and grabs him. Slamming the door shut behind them, Justin finds Brian’s lips in the pitch-blackness.
“I did the work,” he whispers.
“Well done.”
“Betcha you would’ve let me blow you anyway.”
He can hear the smile in Brian’s voice as he leans against Justin’s ear and whispers, “Caught me.”
And he tangles his fingers into Justin’s hair as the younger man drops to his knees.
--
When they’re finished and Justin strolls out of the cupboard ostentatiously wiping his mouth, Brian turns to him and says,
“Now, back to work Mr. Taylor, and this time please refrain from using up the precious stationery supplies.”
Leaving Justin with the lame retort of, “You started it,” as he moves back in the direction of his office. But all the same, Justin’s grinning as he watches Brian walk away. In the midst of their make-out session Justin had left him one final post-it note, and it amused him greatly to see Brian striding down the hallway on the way to a meeting with important company clients with the words “Property of Justin Taylor,” stuck to the back of his Armani jacket.