Amazing, he's a whole new form of life.
Written for on__impulse challenge #7 (word-list: retro, witness, creatures, flowing, eons). Major spoilage for the end of season five. Read at your own risk. Hello, spoiler virgins!
Summary: Brian and Justin don't even have to try in order to draw attention to themselves. Romance/fluff/humor; ficlet. Rated PG.
*
Forever & Always
*
In the center of the room, two creatures spun. Both seemed obliviousto their considerable amount of onlookers, gratuitous family and friends who had come to bear witness to what could probably be considered one of the seven gay wonders of the world.
That is, Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor were getting married, and as anyone who was anyone on Liberty Avenue knew, things like this didn't happen everyday.
The ceremony itself had been beautiful, in a completely separate way from the munchers' celebration of their then-seven-year muff-a-thon, but just as fitting. Brian had rented out a banquet hall, not able to rely on the personal generosity of George Schickel (and not really wanting to, really). It had been around for years, and its notoriety was worth the sizeable chip it made in Brian's bank account. "It's totally retro," Michael had laughed as he brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of his best friend's shoulder. They'd stood in "Groom #1's" dressing room, staring at each other and not speaking after that. Brian fingered the simple gold band Micahel wore, as if to say, "I have one now, too."
And then they'd kissed, softly and chastely, and Michael smiled in an almost paternal way, holding Brian at arms' length. "Well, c'mon," he said proudly. "Let's get you hitched."
The vows were simple, nondescript but elegant. There was no talk of eternity or eons, no sordid, long-winded affairs about forever and always, becasue Brian and Justin had survived gay bashing and break-ups and cancer and syphilis and life, in general, and so quite frankly, they didn't need fancy words. Everyone held their breath when Justin beamed and said "I do", their eyes shifting to Brian. 'This is it', everyone seemed to be thinking simultaneously. Brian's own "I do" was quiet, almost whispered, and the room was completely silent for several seconds afterwards, until a loud sniffle from Deb finally broke it.
They took to the dance floor next, and as usual, all eyes were on the guests of honor. The tune was something Justin had chosen, a sweet, romantic, flowing melody, and the pleasantly exuberant expression on Brian's face dared anyone to make a snide remark about any of it. He drew Justin close, chest pressed against his new husband's back, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Is this everything you dreamed, Sunshine?" he husked in Justin's ear.
Justin laughed. "Couldn't ask for more," he replied, winding his arms around Brian's neck and humming along with the song's chorus for a few bars. Brian kissed his forehead sweetly. "So after the honeymoon, Honey, what's say you and I make a couple of babies?"
*
"Gaaah!" Justin screeched, bolting upright, his eyes flying open. The expansive bed lay underneath him, covers thrown off partway in his haste to shake off the last remnants of sleep.
Brian murmured grumpily and reached out an arm, thumping it heavily, palm-down, where Justin's head had been only seconds before. "Wha," he croaked groggily.
Justin blinked and vacillated sharply, slowly, feeling his breathing start to return to normal. "God, weird dream," he murmured, sighing in relief that it was over.
"Let me guess," Brian snorted, more awake now and grinning sleepily. "You had a pussy."
"What? No," Justin said, crinkling his nose. "Ew. But you had syphilis," he continued. "And 'Rage' got canceled, and there was this bomb in Babylon - which you bought, by the way - and we got married." He shook his head. "What do you think it all means?"
"Hm," Brian mused. "Probably that you need to lay off the E, Sunshine."
"Yeah," Justin grinned, and then reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. He stopped and stared at his hand, gaping at the thin silver band on his ring finger. "Brian," he said slowly, suspiciously. "Why are we married. And who's loft is this, anyways?" he demanded, glancing around at the strange surroundings, made vaguely familiar with the inclusion of some of their belongings. He stood up and padded to the window, gaping at the expanse of tall buildings and tourist-hungry landscape. "And why the fuck are we in New York?"
*
(Written as light snarking at Cowlip's manhandling of season five; for those who both love and hate how it all turns out. You're welcome.)
*
* Cross-posted to my personal journal. Feedback worshipped like ... eh, I've got nothing this morning.
Summary: Brian and Justin don't even have to try in order to draw attention to themselves. Romance/fluff/humor; ficlet. Rated PG.
*
Forever & Always
*
In the center of the room, two creatures spun. Both seemed obliviousto their considerable amount of onlookers, gratuitous family and friends who had come to bear witness to what could probably be considered one of the seven gay wonders of the world.
That is, Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor were getting married, and as anyone who was anyone on Liberty Avenue knew, things like this didn't happen everyday.
The ceremony itself had been beautiful, in a completely separate way from the munchers' celebration of their then-seven-year muff-a-thon, but just as fitting. Brian had rented out a banquet hall, not able to rely on the personal generosity of George Schickel (and not really wanting to, really). It had been around for years, and its notoriety was worth the sizeable chip it made in Brian's bank account. "It's totally retro," Michael had laughed as he brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of his best friend's shoulder. They'd stood in "Groom #1's" dressing room, staring at each other and not speaking after that. Brian fingered the simple gold band Micahel wore, as if to say, "I have one now, too."
And then they'd kissed, softly and chastely, and Michael smiled in an almost paternal way, holding Brian at arms' length. "Well, c'mon," he said proudly. "Let's get you hitched."
The vows were simple, nondescript but elegant. There was no talk of eternity or eons, no sordid, long-winded affairs about forever and always, becasue Brian and Justin had survived gay bashing and break-ups and cancer and syphilis and life, in general, and so quite frankly, they didn't need fancy words. Everyone held their breath when Justin beamed and said "I do", their eyes shifting to Brian. 'This is it', everyone seemed to be thinking simultaneously. Brian's own "I do" was quiet, almost whispered, and the room was completely silent for several seconds afterwards, until a loud sniffle from Deb finally broke it.
They took to the dance floor next, and as usual, all eyes were on the guests of honor. The tune was something Justin had chosen, a sweet, romantic, flowing melody, and the pleasantly exuberant expression on Brian's face dared anyone to make a snide remark about any of it. He drew Justin close, chest pressed against his new husband's back, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Is this everything you dreamed, Sunshine?" he husked in Justin's ear.
Justin laughed. "Couldn't ask for more," he replied, winding his arms around Brian's neck and humming along with the song's chorus for a few bars. Brian kissed his forehead sweetly. "So after the honeymoon, Honey, what's say you and I make a couple of babies?"
*
"Gaaah!" Justin screeched, bolting upright, his eyes flying open. The expansive bed lay underneath him, covers thrown off partway in his haste to shake off the last remnants of sleep.
Brian murmured grumpily and reached out an arm, thumping it heavily, palm-down, where Justin's head had been only seconds before. "Wha," he croaked groggily.
Justin blinked and vacillated sharply, slowly, feeling his breathing start to return to normal. "God, weird dream," he murmured, sighing in relief that it was over.
"Let me guess," Brian snorted, more awake now and grinning sleepily. "You had a pussy."
"What? No," Justin said, crinkling his nose. "Ew. But you had syphilis," he continued. "And 'Rage' got canceled, and there was this bomb in Babylon - which you bought, by the way - and we got married." He shook his head. "What do you think it all means?"
"Hm," Brian mused. "Probably that you need to lay off the E, Sunshine."
"Yeah," Justin grinned, and then reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. He stopped and stared at his hand, gaping at the thin silver band on his ring finger. "Brian," he said slowly, suspiciously. "Why are we married. And who's loft is this, anyways?" he demanded, glancing around at the strange surroundings, made vaguely familiar with the inclusion of some of their belongings. He stood up and padded to the window, gaping at the expanse of tall buildings and tourist-hungry landscape. "And why the fuck are we in New York?"
*
(Written as light snarking at Cowlip's manhandling of season five; for those who both love and hate how it all turns out. You're welcome.)
*
* Cross-posted to my personal journal. Feedback worshipped like ... eh, I've got nothing this morning.