MUSTARD YELLOW
Title: Mustard Yellow
Written By: vlredreign
Timeline: S4-ish
Rating: R
Summary: Justin is having a hard time coming up with a gift for Brian
Author's Notes: Thanks to my awesome beta, who looked this over at the last minute. I love you.
It all started when I ran out of yellow paint.
Not just any yellow, oh no. It was mustard yellow, the color that I use when I’m painting Brian’s eyes.
So, I change into something a little less paint splattered, and head down to the art supply store.
Which is closed.
Well, fuck.
I glance at my watch, and realize that it’s a little before 2. AM. Well, of course it’s closed, it closed almost six hours ago. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I need to get this finished, seeing as how Christmas is only two days away.
I’d dragged Daphne all over Pittsburgh trying to find the perfect gift for Brian. Yeah, that was fun. Like a goddamned case of herpes.
We went to the mall, to Torso (what the fuck was I thinking? Daphne dropped a hundred bucks, and I got nothing), even to Slings and Eros, where I thought I’d found the perfect gift. It was a gift box, full of nifty stuff for a rainy day. Or a sunny day. Fuck it, did Brian need a reason to stay in and fuck? I actually bought it, wrapped it, and was all set to reap the rewards for my cleverness, until I happened to be walking with Brian a few weeks later, and we passed the window display.
“The fuck??” Brian said, backing up. He looked at the open gift box in the window, full of anal beads, paddles, lube and other fun things, and snorted. “The gift for the idiot who couldn’t think of anything better to give for Christmas.”
“What? You wouldn’t want to get that?” I asked.
“What the fuck for? I’ve already got all that shit. You need a reminder?”
Three hours and a sore ass later, I surreptitiously removed the tag from the box, and wrote ‘To Emmett, From Justin.”
My next bright idea was a bottle of fifty-year-old bottle of scotch. How could I go wrong? Brian loved scotch. And for once, I had the money to spend on it. I was pretty happy with myself, until Bennett Crawford came to town.
Brian thought that it would be a good idea to take me to a business dinner with him. Any other time, I might have gone out of my way to find some way to get out of a situation like that, but really, how often would Brian ever invite me to join him for dinner with a client?
The evening was going pretty well, Brian in his element. I didn’t get a chance to watch him in action - well, not that kind of action - very often, and that night I realized why Kinnetik was so fucking successful. It wasn’t just that Brian did his homework when chasing a new account, it was …Brian. He knew exactly what to say to any one to convince them that they couldn’t live without his services.
I knew I couldn’t.
Watching him gave me the biggest hard on.
Which promptly went away when the after dinner drinks came.
Brian took one swallow of his scotch and waved the maitre’d over. He asked to see the bottle, and wouldn’t you know it, it was the same fucking bottle that I’d bought for him. Of course, I managed to pick a brand that Brian hated.
I really wanted to drop my head onto the table and bang it repeatedly.
Instead, I tagged the bottle for Ted.
Two minutes later, I re-tagged it for Carl. I forgot that Ted was dry these days.
Finally, I decided to do something totally unoriginal. Paint him a goddamned picture.
Which, if I may say so, was going fabulously well until I ran out of fucking mustard yellow.
~@~
I paced in my room at Daph’s, smoking and cursing. A knock at the door stopped me for a second.
“Come in.”
Daphne stuck her head in. “Is it safe?”
“Yeah.” I sat on my bed, staring at the half-finished painting. I watched as she took it in, looking at it from different angles.
“It’s good, Justin,” she said. “But…”
“But what?”
“It’s… his eyes are wrong,” she said. “They’re … is that what he looks like when he comes?”
I stared at her, mouth hanging open. “How … you’re scary sometimes, Daph, you know that?”
She grinned. “I’d give anything to have some guy look at me like that. Instead, I get ….”
I held up a hand. “Don’t wanna know.”
“So, why aren’t you working on it?”
“I ran out of yellow. And the art store is closed, and I need to finish it.”
“Well, can’t you mix something? Like, I don’t know…don’t you have anything close?”
“It has to be mustard yellow. It’s the only color that I can blend in to get the right shade. It brings out the green … I can’t explain it.”
“Too bad you don’t have a key to Kinnetik,” Daphne joked. “You could get it from the art department.”
I sat up.
“What?” she asked. “Do you have a key?”
“No, but…” I jumped up and grabbed my phone.
“’Lo?”
“Ted, it’s Justin.”
“Just…whutsit?”
“Ted, listen, I need a favor. A big one.”
“Justin…it’s three-thirty in the morning!” A pause, then: “Is something wrong with Brian?”
“You could say that.”
“What? What is it?”
“His eyes are all wrong.”
“His … what the hell?”
“Look Ted, can you meet me at Kinnetik? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
A grumble, a rustling noise, and a groan issued forth. “Just know that you owe me for this,” Ted mumbled.
Somehow I’d managed to beat Ted to Kinnetik. He pulled up a few minutes later.
“Ted, why are you still driving that thing?” I asked, pointing back towards the silver Sebring.
“Because, it’s comfortable, it gets great gas mileage, and it’s paid for,” Ted explained.
“It’s boring. I know you can afford something newer, something … better. Something ….”
“Hot?” Ted deadpanned. “Listen, Sunshine, when you’re all grown up, you’ll understand that when something works, you don’t fuck with it. I like my car. It’s dependable. I take care of it. I’m not one of those guys whose car is basically an extension of his dick.”
“Like the Vette?” I grinned.
“Well … yeah.” Ted looked around, as if any moment, Brian would come around the corner, a sarcastic remark waiting to be delivered.
“Don’t worry,” I said, slinging an arm over Ted’s shoulders and steering him towards the entrance to the building, “your secret’s safe with me.”
Shit, I was starting to sound like Brian. How fucking scary is that?
Fifteen minutes later, I emerged triumphant from the art department.
“Found it!”
“You dragged me out of bed for a tube of paint?” Ted asked, eyes wide.
“Well, yeah. See, I’m working on a painting for Brian, and I ran out of mustard yellow. I can’t finish it in time without it.”
“You couldn’t wait until the store opened tomorrow?”
“No, it’s closed tomorrow. Well, today, actually. I thought stores liked to stay open for Christmas Eve, so that they can jack up the prices. Is there no capitalism left in this country?”
“Well, actually, Babylon will be open tomorrow, so ….”
“I rest my case.”
I reminded myself to go out and buy Ted something awesome for Christmas. Maybe the newly released famous arias CD he’d seen. I wonder what Ted would say if I gave him one of Ethan’s old CDs.
Then I thought about what Brian would do to me after Ted told him.
Actually, Brian would probably think that it was funnier than hell. But I didn’t want to test that theory. Things were going … well… better than usual. No need to fuck it up for a joke.
I returned to Daph’s place and headed straight for my bedroom. I’d been on a roll prior to the interruption, and was anxious to finish the painting. Even though it was after four, I wasn’t the least bit tired. I could feel the adrenaline flowing through me, infusing me with a second wind, making my hand less tired, my eyes less grainy.
The portrait was rather dark in color, a faint orange glow blending into browns and blacks, depicting Brian’s bedroom with only the light above the bed providing light. The perspective was one of looking up from a prone position. There was the barest hint of a hand, my hand, resting against Brian’s bicep, a whisper of leg thrown over his shoulder. Daphne was right. The expression in his eyes was the way he looked, just before he came. The subtle shift from warm hazel to the dark green of passion. It was why I had to get it right. It was what I saw when I was with him. What I loved, what I craved. That look, reserved for me.
Most people didn’t know it, but Brian rarely fucked anyone while facing them. He took most of his tricks from behind, either standing or on their knees. Face to face was usually the way we fucked.
When I finally stopped, the sun was rising, and I was ridiculously horny. I checked my watch. Six-thirty. If I hurried, I could just beat the alarm clock.
Good, he was still in bed. I checked around the bed for what his mood might be like if I woke him. No beer bottles or glasses. Good. No hangover to deal with. And no condom wrappers, either. This was going to be easier than I thought.
I undressed quickly, easing my way under the covers, stopping just next to Brian’s leg.
And proceeded to have my morning protein.
He came just as the alarm went off. What spectacular fucking timing. I’d have patted myself on the back if my arms weren’t pinned over my head by Brian’s hands.
“And to what do I owe this most excellent wake up call?” Brain asked, voice slightly hoarse with sleep.
“Thought I’d give you an early Christmas present.”
“Really? So do I get one on Christmas?”
“Maybe. You are ridiculously hard to buy for, you know.”
“You haven’t bought me a present yet?”
I thought of everything that I’d bought that he’d scoffed at, in one way or another.
“No.”
“Kinda pushing it, aren’t you?”
I turned my thoughts to the painting drying back in my room, and smiled.
“I’ll think of something.”
Written By: vlredreign
Timeline: S4-ish
Rating: R
Summary: Justin is having a hard time coming up with a gift for Brian
Author's Notes: Thanks to my awesome beta, who looked this over at the last minute. I love you.
It all started when I ran out of yellow paint.
Not just any yellow, oh no. It was mustard yellow, the color that I use when I’m painting Brian’s eyes.
So, I change into something a little less paint splattered, and head down to the art supply store.
Which is closed.
Well, fuck.
I glance at my watch, and realize that it’s a little before 2. AM. Well, of course it’s closed, it closed almost six hours ago. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I need to get this finished, seeing as how Christmas is only two days away.
I’d dragged Daphne all over Pittsburgh trying to find the perfect gift for Brian. Yeah, that was fun. Like a goddamned case of herpes.
We went to the mall, to Torso (what the fuck was I thinking? Daphne dropped a hundred bucks, and I got nothing), even to Slings and Eros, where I thought I’d found the perfect gift. It was a gift box, full of nifty stuff for a rainy day. Or a sunny day. Fuck it, did Brian need a reason to stay in and fuck? I actually bought it, wrapped it, and was all set to reap the rewards for my cleverness, until I happened to be walking with Brian a few weeks later, and we passed the window display.
“The fuck??” Brian said, backing up. He looked at the open gift box in the window, full of anal beads, paddles, lube and other fun things, and snorted. “The gift for the idiot who couldn’t think of anything better to give for Christmas.”
“What? You wouldn’t want to get that?” I asked.
“What the fuck for? I’ve already got all that shit. You need a reminder?”
Three hours and a sore ass later, I surreptitiously removed the tag from the box, and wrote ‘To Emmett, From Justin.”
My next bright idea was a bottle of fifty-year-old bottle of scotch. How could I go wrong? Brian loved scotch. And for once, I had the money to spend on it. I was pretty happy with myself, until Bennett Crawford came to town.
Brian thought that it would be a good idea to take me to a business dinner with him. Any other time, I might have gone out of my way to find some way to get out of a situation like that, but really, how often would Brian ever invite me to join him for dinner with a client?
The evening was going pretty well, Brian in his element. I didn’t get a chance to watch him in action - well, not that kind of action - very often, and that night I realized why Kinnetik was so fucking successful. It wasn’t just that Brian did his homework when chasing a new account, it was …Brian. He knew exactly what to say to any one to convince them that they couldn’t live without his services.
I knew I couldn’t.
Watching him gave me the biggest hard on.
Which promptly went away when the after dinner drinks came.
Brian took one swallow of his scotch and waved the maitre’d over. He asked to see the bottle, and wouldn’t you know it, it was the same fucking bottle that I’d bought for him. Of course, I managed to pick a brand that Brian hated.
I really wanted to drop my head onto the table and bang it repeatedly.
Instead, I tagged the bottle for Ted.
Two minutes later, I re-tagged it for Carl. I forgot that Ted was dry these days.
Finally, I decided to do something totally unoriginal. Paint him a goddamned picture.
Which, if I may say so, was going fabulously well until I ran out of fucking mustard yellow.
~@~
I paced in my room at Daph’s, smoking and cursing. A knock at the door stopped me for a second.
“Come in.”
Daphne stuck her head in. “Is it safe?”
“Yeah.” I sat on my bed, staring at the half-finished painting. I watched as she took it in, looking at it from different angles.
“It’s good, Justin,” she said. “But…”
“But what?”
“It’s… his eyes are wrong,” she said. “They’re … is that what he looks like when he comes?”
I stared at her, mouth hanging open. “How … you’re scary sometimes, Daph, you know that?”
She grinned. “I’d give anything to have some guy look at me like that. Instead, I get ….”
I held up a hand. “Don’t wanna know.”
“So, why aren’t you working on it?”
“I ran out of yellow. And the art store is closed, and I need to finish it.”
“Well, can’t you mix something? Like, I don’t know…don’t you have anything close?”
“It has to be mustard yellow. It’s the only color that I can blend in to get the right shade. It brings out the green … I can’t explain it.”
“Too bad you don’t have a key to Kinnetik,” Daphne joked. “You could get it from the art department.”
I sat up.
“What?” she asked. “Do you have a key?”
“No, but…” I jumped up and grabbed my phone.
“’Lo?”
“Ted, it’s Justin.”
“Just…whutsit?”
“Ted, listen, I need a favor. A big one.”
“Justin…it’s three-thirty in the morning!” A pause, then: “Is something wrong with Brian?”
“You could say that.”
“What? What is it?”
“His eyes are all wrong.”
“His … what the hell?”
“Look Ted, can you meet me at Kinnetik? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
A grumble, a rustling noise, and a groan issued forth. “Just know that you owe me for this,” Ted mumbled.
Somehow I’d managed to beat Ted to Kinnetik. He pulled up a few minutes later.
“Ted, why are you still driving that thing?” I asked, pointing back towards the silver Sebring.
“Because, it’s comfortable, it gets great gas mileage, and it’s paid for,” Ted explained.
“It’s boring. I know you can afford something newer, something … better. Something ….”
“Hot?” Ted deadpanned. “Listen, Sunshine, when you’re all grown up, you’ll understand that when something works, you don’t fuck with it. I like my car. It’s dependable. I take care of it. I’m not one of those guys whose car is basically an extension of his dick.”
“Like the Vette?” I grinned.
“Well … yeah.” Ted looked around, as if any moment, Brian would come around the corner, a sarcastic remark waiting to be delivered.
“Don’t worry,” I said, slinging an arm over Ted’s shoulders and steering him towards the entrance to the building, “your secret’s safe with me.”
Shit, I was starting to sound like Brian. How fucking scary is that?
Fifteen minutes later, I emerged triumphant from the art department.
“Found it!”
“You dragged me out of bed for a tube of paint?” Ted asked, eyes wide.
“Well, yeah. See, I’m working on a painting for Brian, and I ran out of mustard yellow. I can’t finish it in time without it.”
“You couldn’t wait until the store opened tomorrow?”
“No, it’s closed tomorrow. Well, today, actually. I thought stores liked to stay open for Christmas Eve, so that they can jack up the prices. Is there no capitalism left in this country?”
“Well, actually, Babylon will be open tomorrow, so ….”
“I rest my case.”
I reminded myself to go out and buy Ted something awesome for Christmas. Maybe the newly released famous arias CD he’d seen. I wonder what Ted would say if I gave him one of Ethan’s old CDs.
Then I thought about what Brian would do to me after Ted told him.
Actually, Brian would probably think that it was funnier than hell. But I didn’t want to test that theory. Things were going … well… better than usual. No need to fuck it up for a joke.
I returned to Daph’s place and headed straight for my bedroom. I’d been on a roll prior to the interruption, and was anxious to finish the painting. Even though it was after four, I wasn’t the least bit tired. I could feel the adrenaline flowing through me, infusing me with a second wind, making my hand less tired, my eyes less grainy.
The portrait was rather dark in color, a faint orange glow blending into browns and blacks, depicting Brian’s bedroom with only the light above the bed providing light. The perspective was one of looking up from a prone position. There was the barest hint of a hand, my hand, resting against Brian’s bicep, a whisper of leg thrown over his shoulder. Daphne was right. The expression in his eyes was the way he looked, just before he came. The subtle shift from warm hazel to the dark green of passion. It was why I had to get it right. It was what I saw when I was with him. What I loved, what I craved. That look, reserved for me.
Most people didn’t know it, but Brian rarely fucked anyone while facing them. He took most of his tricks from behind, either standing or on their knees. Face to face was usually the way we fucked.
When I finally stopped, the sun was rising, and I was ridiculously horny. I checked my watch. Six-thirty. If I hurried, I could just beat the alarm clock.
Good, he was still in bed. I checked around the bed for what his mood might be like if I woke him. No beer bottles or glasses. Good. No hangover to deal with. And no condom wrappers, either. This was going to be easier than I thought.
I undressed quickly, easing my way under the covers, stopping just next to Brian’s leg.
And proceeded to have my morning protein.
He came just as the alarm went off. What spectacular fucking timing. I’d have patted myself on the back if my arms weren’t pinned over my head by Brian’s hands.
“And to what do I owe this most excellent wake up call?” Brain asked, voice slightly hoarse with sleep.
“Thought I’d give you an early Christmas present.”
“Really? So do I get one on Christmas?”
“Maybe. You are ridiculously hard to buy for, you know.”
“You haven’t bought me a present yet?”
I thought of everything that I’d bought that he’d scoffed at, in one way or another.
“No.”
“Kinda pushing it, aren’t you?”
I turned my thoughts to the painting drying back in my room, and smiled.
“I’ll think of something.”