can it be? a... fanfic? D:
A Story of Hate in Three Parts
post-513 | R-ish | fluff/schmoop | ~800 words | unbeta'd
Fic #27/50 for my fanfic50 table | Prompt: 011. Forgive
A/N: It's been forever and I'm rusty. Please bear with me.
A Story of Hate in Three Parts
(and your average schmoopy post-canon thingy)
by sakesushimaki
I.
Brian hates that Justin cast him in this role.
He hates waiting for the next email containing flight dates, hates waiting at the airport, hates waiting for the moment that will reveal whether or not things are still good between them. But most of all, he hates how pathetically relieved and grateful he feels each time that the moment arrives and passes with a clear yes, they are.
Brian hates the fact that Cynthia rearranges his schedule automatically because Justin forwarded her his flight info. He hates that Justin is all nonchalant about it and gives no more than a two or three-day heads up. But most of all, he hates how he lets Justin get away with it every time.
He hates the way he’s so clingy the first day of each visit. Hates how everyone gets all sappy over the way he’s constantly touching-kissing-something Justin these first hours. But most of all, he hates how he always notices a moment too late that he’s doing it.
Brian fucking hates it all.
II.
As usual on one of these weekends, Brian’s work Friday ends early. Not that this is his own doing. It’s not his fault that Cynthia moved his 3pm to 11am and his 4:30pm to noon or that he managed to finish most of the week’s paperwork last night around 10.
It’s still two hours before he has to leave for the airport - enough time to go home for a shower and to haul in some fridge fillings for lazy weekend breakfasts.
Brian really hates that he doesn’t hate doing groceries then.
+
Fridge stocked with seventy bucks’ worth of continental breakfast, Brian switches on the TV and loosens his tie. Turning on the news right before jumping in the shower makes no sense, he knows that, but old habits die hard.
Later, Brian half-listens as the anchor rattles off the latest while he selects his outfit. Stockmarket this, Cheney idiocy that, Liberty Air’s engine problems, blackout in Northern -
Hold on.
+++
“What the fuck do you mean, you have no information on that flight yet? How can you-” Brian doesn’t finish and simply disconnects the call as a new one comes in.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Nice to hear you, too.”
Brian leans heavily against the fridge. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour.”
“I was on a plane?”
Right. Fuck. Jesus. “Are you… You’re alright then?”
“Yeah, sure. They’ve just been having some problems with the type of airbus I was on, so they’re redirecting each one of those to their main… shop or whatever in Philadelphia. It’s all just a precaution.”
Brian listens closely to the sigh crackling over the line. He can’t believe that the little shit has the nerve to sound bored.
“Anyway, they’re booking us all into different flights to Pittsburgh at the moment, so I probably won’t be home till late tonight. Just to let you know.”
“Just to let me know?” Brian repeats, anger rising. “What the- what are you… You are not getting on another airplane today, you hear me?”
“What? How am I supposed to get home exactly? No way in hell I’m going by train and I don’t-”
“I’m coming to get you.”
Justin sighs. “Brian, that’s totally unnecessary. I’m just gonna get on the next pla-”
“You’re not getting on another plane, damn it!” Brian hates how shrill his voice sounds. “I’m driving down there and picking you up, okay?”
“Brian, -”
“Justin, please.” Not now. Not when Brian can finally feel his legs again.
There’s a long pause. “Okay?”
In Philadelphia, Brian fucks Justin twice, needy and urgent, before he even lets him talk properly. He figures he has enough time to feel ridiculous for overreacting tomorrow.
He kind of hates that he doesn’t care at all at the moment.
III.
These openings are complete bullshit. Brian hates them.
It’s been an hour since he sucked Justin off out in the little courtyard - he just looked too delicious in that suit - and Brian wonders if it’s too early to steal him for another fifteen minutes.
He gets hard thinking about what he wants to do. Like pressing Justin against the wall and driving into him with only his spit slicking the way. Like plastering himself to Justin’s back, moving in deep and never really out. Like trapping Justin’s hands and making him come from the little jabs, the roll of his hips alone. Like hearing the sounds Justin makes when they do it like that.
But of course he has to stand here, sip shitty champagne and watch Mr. Artist from afar.
He watches Justin accept compliments and shake numerous hands. He smiles, he makes small talk, he explains parts of his work and answers questions. And amazingly, while doing so, he remains charming, interested, intelligent and beautiful. And when he turns and shines a smile Brian’s way every now and then, Brian finds it disturbingly easy to smile back.
Sometimes, Brian thinks, hate seems like a too strong word.
post-513 | R-ish | fluff/schmoop | ~800 words | unbeta'd
Fic #27/50 for my fanfic50 table | Prompt: 011. Forgive
A/N: It's been forever and I'm rusty. Please bear with me.
A Story of Hate in Three Parts
(and your average schmoopy post-canon thingy)
by sakesushimaki
I.
Brian hates that Justin cast him in this role.
He hates waiting for the next email containing flight dates, hates waiting at the airport, hates waiting for the moment that will reveal whether or not things are still good between them. But most of all, he hates how pathetically relieved and grateful he feels each time that the moment arrives and passes with a clear yes, they are.
Brian hates the fact that Cynthia rearranges his schedule automatically because Justin forwarded her his flight info. He hates that Justin is all nonchalant about it and gives no more than a two or three-day heads up. But most of all, he hates how he lets Justin get away with it every time.
He hates the way he’s so clingy the first day of each visit. Hates how everyone gets all sappy over the way he’s constantly touching-kissing-something Justin these first hours. But most of all, he hates how he always notices a moment too late that he’s doing it.
Brian fucking hates it all.
II.
As usual on one of these weekends, Brian’s work Friday ends early. Not that this is his own doing. It’s not his fault that Cynthia moved his 3pm to 11am and his 4:30pm to noon or that he managed to finish most of the week’s paperwork last night around 10.
It’s still two hours before he has to leave for the airport - enough time to go home for a shower and to haul in some fridge fillings for lazy weekend breakfasts.
Brian really hates that he doesn’t hate doing groceries then.
+
Fridge stocked with seventy bucks’ worth of continental breakfast, Brian switches on the TV and loosens his tie. Turning on the news right before jumping in the shower makes no sense, he knows that, but old habits die hard.
Later, Brian half-listens as the anchor rattles off the latest while he selects his outfit. Stockmarket this, Cheney idiocy that, Liberty Air’s engine problems, blackout in Northern -
Hold on.
+++
“What the fuck do you mean, you have no information on that flight yet? How can you-” Brian doesn’t finish and simply disconnects the call as a new one comes in.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Nice to hear you, too.”
Brian leans heavily against the fridge. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour.”
“I was on a plane?”
Right. Fuck. Jesus. “Are you… You’re alright then?”
“Yeah, sure. They’ve just been having some problems with the type of airbus I was on, so they’re redirecting each one of those to their main… shop or whatever in Philadelphia. It’s all just a precaution.”
Brian listens closely to the sigh crackling over the line. He can’t believe that the little shit has the nerve to sound bored.
“Anyway, they’re booking us all into different flights to Pittsburgh at the moment, so I probably won’t be home till late tonight. Just to let you know.”
“Just to let me know?” Brian repeats, anger rising. “What the- what are you… You are not getting on another airplane today, you hear me?”
“What? How am I supposed to get home exactly? No way in hell I’m going by train and I don’t-”
“I’m coming to get you.”
Justin sighs. “Brian, that’s totally unnecessary. I’m just gonna get on the next pla-”
“You’re not getting on another plane, damn it!” Brian hates how shrill his voice sounds. “I’m driving down there and picking you up, okay?”
“Brian, -”
“Justin, please.” Not now. Not when Brian can finally feel his legs again.
There’s a long pause. “Okay?”
In Philadelphia, Brian fucks Justin twice, needy and urgent, before he even lets him talk properly. He figures he has enough time to feel ridiculous for overreacting tomorrow.
He kind of hates that he doesn’t care at all at the moment.
III.
These openings are complete bullshit. Brian hates them.
It’s been an hour since he sucked Justin off out in the little courtyard - he just looked too delicious in that suit - and Brian wonders if it’s too early to steal him for another fifteen minutes.
He gets hard thinking about what he wants to do. Like pressing Justin against the wall and driving into him with only his spit slicking the way. Like plastering himself to Justin’s back, moving in deep and never really out. Like trapping Justin’s hands and making him come from the little jabs, the roll of his hips alone. Like hearing the sounds Justin makes when they do it like that.
But of course he has to stand here, sip shitty champagne and watch Mr. Artist from afar.
He watches Justin accept compliments and shake numerous hands. He smiles, he makes small talk, he explains parts of his work and answers questions. And amazingly, while doing so, he remains charming, interested, intelligent and beautiful. And when he turns and shines a smile Brian’s way every now and then, Brian finds it disturbingly easy to smile back.
Sometimes, Brian thinks, hate seems like a too strong word.