Fanfic: Distraction
Title: Distraction
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Timeline: Post 513
Summary: “And just as healthy. Three days, Justin?”
Notes: Sort of "day in the life" thing...Brian calls with plans, they talk a bit.
---
Justin barely hears his phone ringing over the television, and gives a soft 'fuck' as he reaches around for it. After the third ring he's sitting up, digging through his stuff to find it. He finds the remote under one of the cushions, and finally manages to grab his phone from where he was sitting on it.
“Hello?” he says, turning down the sound on the TV.
“Morning, Sunshine.”
“Try afternoon,” Justin says, smiling. “It's-Christ, Brian, it's two o'clock, shouldn't you be working?”
“I am,” Brian says. “I assumed that you got up late. Being an aspiring artist and all.”
“You know, you shouldn't whack off at your desk,” Justin says, laying back down. “You might get fired.”
Brian gives a huff of laughter. “I wish I was whacking off. I'm looking through internship applications.”
“Ah, slave labor. Better than me. I've spent the last three days watching Jerry Springer. It's like crack.” He reaches over and picks up the bag of chips off his shitty coffee-table. He'd been doing fairly well before financially, but is running out of money. “Definitely as addictive.”
“And just as healthy. Three days, Justin?” Brian sounds exasperated. “So do you jerk with Jerry, or have you actually gone three days without any sexual activity?”
“Not literally three days. It's not as if it's on twenty...four...” Justin's speech slows as he hears the people on the show. “Oh, that's foul.”
“What?” There's a hint of interest in his partner's voice, which Justin would bet is reluctant.
“This chick's been living with her cousin...like, y'know, living with him. As in...having sex, and she just admitted to having cheated on him with her brother, who she's talking about marrying.” He's decided that the next time someone accuses him of being a sexual deviant he'll direct them to the freaks on this show.
“I'm sorry I even asked-hold on.” Brian is talking to someone in his office, probably Cynthia. After a minute, he says to Justin, “Okay, I'm back.”
“Hey, Brian...”
“Hm?”
“What would you do if I told you that I didn't know if the child I was carrying was yours or Michael's?”
There's a pause, and Justin's sure that Brian's trying to process what he just said. “Would you turn that shit off before it permanently damages your IQ?” he finally snaps.
“Right,” Justin says, lifting the remote. The screen clicks off. “I'm not watching anymore.”
“So what possessed you to sit around watching trailer trash who haven't bathed in two weeks beating each other up over their dysfunctional, incestuous relationships?”
“My art's gone down the crapper.” Not quite true. He would have to have art for it to do that. He spent a week staring at his computer screen and blank canvases before ending up on the couch. There's some insomnia included; he's barely slept the whole time, just been half awake the whole time.
Of course, his explanation isn't quite good enough for Brian.
“Your art's never 'gone down the crapper.'” A pause, then, “Well, except for your angry phase a few years ago.”
“Well then, I've been overdue, haven't I?” Justin sighs. “What did you call about, anyway?”
“I've cleared my schedule for next Thursday and Friday.”
Justin perks up. “You're coming to visit?”
“If you promise to pull yourself away from the trash-tv.” Then Brian adds, “And if you clean up your fucking apartment.”
Justin looks around. Painting isn't the only thing he hasn't done in a week and a half, and his living space is a wreck. He wonders if he's that predictable, or if Brian just knows him that well. After seven years, he still hasn't figured out Brian's secret to making his stuff simply disappear until he needs it. Justin's inability to magic away his shit drives Brian nuts, but Justin always manages to get things in order before visits.
“I can manage that,” he says. “Now get back to choosing which poor, deluded college student you want to force all your dirty work on.”
~ ~ ~
Justin is always fidgety when Brian comes to visit. It makes him want all the more to try to be calm, and he wonders if Brian gets the same way when Justin goes to Pittsburgh. He cleans his apartment more than he ever does when he's alone, just to keep busy, and perhaps burn off some of that nervous energy. His ears are always attuned to the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor, which is silly since Prada shoes sound different from the cheap loafers that anyone around here wears.
They never meet one another in the airports; for one, it's impractical to either spend all that time searching for a parking spot or-mostly in Justin's case-paying for two cab rides. More than that, though, they go weeks, sometimes months, without actually seeing one another. This means there is a good chance that they could end up fucking in a bathroom, except that airport bathrooms are always too crowded to get away with it. Despite popular belief to the contrary, neither particularly want to be arrested for lewd and immoral behavior.
There's something else, too, that neither one of them ever vocalizes. A feeling that if they start making a big deal about visiting one another, they should make a big deal out of their separations, and once that happens it's the beginning of the end.
He looks at the clock; it's after midnight. The plan was that Brian would leave Wednesday after work and leave very early Monday, so that they could have five nights together. They had talked around ten, as Brian was leaving the office, having gotten as much work done as he could, so it wouldn't be hanging over them all weekend.
Justin perks up at the sound of Brian's distinctive footsteps coming down the hallway. With a grin, he waits until they're right in front of the door, and then throws said door open. Excited, he grabs Brian by the lapel of his coat and drags him in.
---
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Timeline: Post 513
Summary: “And just as healthy. Three days, Justin?”
Notes: Sort of "day in the life" thing...Brian calls with plans, they talk a bit.
---
Justin barely hears his phone ringing over the television, and gives a soft 'fuck' as he reaches around for it. After the third ring he's sitting up, digging through his stuff to find it. He finds the remote under one of the cushions, and finally manages to grab his phone from where he was sitting on it.
“Hello?” he says, turning down the sound on the TV.
“Morning, Sunshine.”
“Try afternoon,” Justin says, smiling. “It's-Christ, Brian, it's two o'clock, shouldn't you be working?”
“I am,” Brian says. “I assumed that you got up late. Being an aspiring artist and all.”
“You know, you shouldn't whack off at your desk,” Justin says, laying back down. “You might get fired.”
Brian gives a huff of laughter. “I wish I was whacking off. I'm looking through internship applications.”
“Ah, slave labor. Better than me. I've spent the last three days watching Jerry Springer. It's like crack.” He reaches over and picks up the bag of chips off his shitty coffee-table. He'd been doing fairly well before financially, but is running out of money. “Definitely as addictive.”
“And just as healthy. Three days, Justin?” Brian sounds exasperated. “So do you jerk with Jerry, or have you actually gone three days without any sexual activity?”
“Not literally three days. It's not as if it's on twenty...four...” Justin's speech slows as he hears the people on the show. “Oh, that's foul.”
“What?” There's a hint of interest in his partner's voice, which Justin would bet is reluctant.
“This chick's been living with her cousin...like, y'know, living with him. As in...having sex, and she just admitted to having cheated on him with her brother, who she's talking about marrying.” He's decided that the next time someone accuses him of being a sexual deviant he'll direct them to the freaks on this show.
“I'm sorry I even asked-hold on.” Brian is talking to someone in his office, probably Cynthia. After a minute, he says to Justin, “Okay, I'm back.”
“Hey, Brian...”
“Hm?”
“What would you do if I told you that I didn't know if the child I was carrying was yours or Michael's?”
There's a pause, and Justin's sure that Brian's trying to process what he just said. “Would you turn that shit off before it permanently damages your IQ?” he finally snaps.
“Right,” Justin says, lifting the remote. The screen clicks off. “I'm not watching anymore.”
“So what possessed you to sit around watching trailer trash who haven't bathed in two weeks beating each other up over their dysfunctional, incestuous relationships?”
“My art's gone down the crapper.” Not quite true. He would have to have art for it to do that. He spent a week staring at his computer screen and blank canvases before ending up on the couch. There's some insomnia included; he's barely slept the whole time, just been half awake the whole time.
Of course, his explanation isn't quite good enough for Brian.
“Your art's never 'gone down the crapper.'” A pause, then, “Well, except for your angry phase a few years ago.”
“Well then, I've been overdue, haven't I?” Justin sighs. “What did you call about, anyway?”
“I've cleared my schedule for next Thursday and Friday.”
Justin perks up. “You're coming to visit?”
“If you promise to pull yourself away from the trash-tv.” Then Brian adds, “And if you clean up your fucking apartment.”
Justin looks around. Painting isn't the only thing he hasn't done in a week and a half, and his living space is a wreck. He wonders if he's that predictable, or if Brian just knows him that well. After seven years, he still hasn't figured out Brian's secret to making his stuff simply disappear until he needs it. Justin's inability to magic away his shit drives Brian nuts, but Justin always manages to get things in order before visits.
“I can manage that,” he says. “Now get back to choosing which poor, deluded college student you want to force all your dirty work on.”
~ ~ ~
Justin is always fidgety when Brian comes to visit. It makes him want all the more to try to be calm, and he wonders if Brian gets the same way when Justin goes to Pittsburgh. He cleans his apartment more than he ever does when he's alone, just to keep busy, and perhaps burn off some of that nervous energy. His ears are always attuned to the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor, which is silly since Prada shoes sound different from the cheap loafers that anyone around here wears.
They never meet one another in the airports; for one, it's impractical to either spend all that time searching for a parking spot or-mostly in Justin's case-paying for two cab rides. More than that, though, they go weeks, sometimes months, without actually seeing one another. This means there is a good chance that they could end up fucking in a bathroom, except that airport bathrooms are always too crowded to get away with it. Despite popular belief to the contrary, neither particularly want to be arrested for lewd and immoral behavior.
There's something else, too, that neither one of them ever vocalizes. A feeling that if they start making a big deal about visiting one another, they should make a big deal out of their separations, and once that happens it's the beginning of the end.
He looks at the clock; it's after midnight. The plan was that Brian would leave Wednesday after work and leave very early Monday, so that they could have five nights together. They had talked around ten, as Brian was leaving the office, having gotten as much work done as he could, so it wouldn't be hanging over them all weekend.
Justin perks up at the sound of Brian's distinctive footsteps coming down the hallway. With a grin, he waits until they're right in front of the door, and then throws said door open. Excited, he grabs Brian by the lapel of his coat and drags him in.
---