Seven Deadly Drabbles -- Brian/Justin fic, of course. :)
Wrote these for the 60_minute_fics community, where the idea is to write a fic in 60 minutes (duh) using one of three triggers that you are given. One of the triggers was the Seven Deadly Sins, so I decided to write a drabble for each one.
Set during Season One. 100 words each = 700 words total. Brian/Justin. :)
Seven Deadly Drabbles
by Severina
Lust
Brian mumbles in his sleep and Justin turns his head to watch his lips move. He lets his gaze travel the length of Brian’s beautiful body before returning to his face. Brian frowns and Justin wants to smooth away the crease with his fingers, his lips. His body aches -- throbbing muscles that have never been used in quite that way before -- and his eyelids are heavy, but Justin watches the flutter of Brian’s lashes as he dreams and wants nothing more than more, to taste, to touch, to feel Brian deep inside him again. Dreams can’t be better than this.
Greed
He wants more.
He’s taken the boy, fucked him to within an inch of his life, patted him on his cheek and sent him merrily on his way. Done. Finito.
The virgin angle was hot, but it’s not like the kid is the first virgin he’s fucked. Won’t be the last, either. Granted, Justin is able to keep up with him. He gives as good as he gets. But the last thing he needs is a damn puppy trailing after him wherever he goes. He has Mikey for that.
He watches Justin dance.
He doesn’t understand why he wants more.
Pride
Justin bounces in the passenger seat during the whole ride to school. Brian practically pushes him out of the jeep, surly and snarling, and Justin’s grin doesn’t falter. He’s already figuring out what makes Brian Kinney tick.
He tries to answer Daphne’s questions while dashing to the boys room to change into his uniform. And she thought he was crazy when he wanted to stash it in the car.
Justin gloats over his victory all day, even during the surprise math quiz.
He did it. He won. And he knows that his life is never going to be the same.
Sloth
“Justin--”
Justin turns away from his mother and her eye-rolls and her exasperated put-upon tone. She doesn’t understand. How can he possibly care about the mound of smelly gym clothes in the corner of his room when he hasn’t even decided what shirt he’s going to wear to Babylon? She has no concept of priorities.
“Justin, are you listening?”
“How can I not?” he mumbles under his breath as he tosses more shirts to land in a heap on the floor. Searching for the blue one. Justin likes the blue one.
Brian loves the blue one. Justin just knows it.
Wrath
When he sees Brian go down, sucker punched, Justin sees black. He feels rooted to the spot, hand outreached to the door handle. He was wondering what Brian had planned for the evening, dick half-hard in his cargo pants already, and somewhere in the back of his mind a voice starts screaming my father shit fuck my father and then he’s moving around the car, stupid little rental piece of shit, and he can’t get there fast enough, his father is kicking Brian, fucking kicking Brian, and in his head Justin is screaming, crying. But all he sees is black.
Envy
Justin loves the dinners at Deb’s. He loves Deb’s marinara sauce, Emmett’s laughter, Ted’s self-deprecating humour. He loves being part of this family.
Justin hates the dinners too, but he sticks that hating part way down deep inside and pretends it isn’t there. He hears tales of Brian and Michael’s youth and resents those shared memories. He sees Michael give Brian a glance and can’t interpret what it means. He concentrates on Emmett’s stories and spoons more sauce onto his spaghetti and tries to remember that Michael lusted for years, but he is the one who lives with Brian Kinney.
Gluttony
He can do whatever he wants with the kid. To the kid.
To Justin.
The kid‘s his, whether he likes it or not.
Most of the time, he likes it.
He won’t admit he likes it.
He’ll just turn him over, lick along his spine, fist his dick slowly, make him pant and squirm and beg. Slide inside and watch the colour bloom on his chest. Suck bruises onto his skin. Pretend he’s doing it for himself. Know he’s lying.
He can do whatever he wants with the kid. And he wants to do everything.
He never wants to stop.
.
Set during Season One. 100 words each = 700 words total. Brian/Justin. :)
Seven Deadly Drabbles
by Severina
Lust
Brian mumbles in his sleep and Justin turns his head to watch his lips move. He lets his gaze travel the length of Brian’s beautiful body before returning to his face. Brian frowns and Justin wants to smooth away the crease with his fingers, his lips. His body aches -- throbbing muscles that have never been used in quite that way before -- and his eyelids are heavy, but Justin watches the flutter of Brian’s lashes as he dreams and wants nothing more than more, to taste, to touch, to feel Brian deep inside him again. Dreams can’t be better than this.
Greed
He wants more.
He’s taken the boy, fucked him to within an inch of his life, patted him on his cheek and sent him merrily on his way. Done. Finito.
The virgin angle was hot, but it’s not like the kid is the first virgin he’s fucked. Won’t be the last, either. Granted, Justin is able to keep up with him. He gives as good as he gets. But the last thing he needs is a damn puppy trailing after him wherever he goes. He has Mikey for that.
He watches Justin dance.
He doesn’t understand why he wants more.
Pride
Justin bounces in the passenger seat during the whole ride to school. Brian practically pushes him out of the jeep, surly and snarling, and Justin’s grin doesn’t falter. He’s already figuring out what makes Brian Kinney tick.
He tries to answer Daphne’s questions while dashing to the boys room to change into his uniform. And she thought he was crazy when he wanted to stash it in the car.
Justin gloats over his victory all day, even during the surprise math quiz.
He did it. He won. And he knows that his life is never going to be the same.
Sloth
“Justin--”
Justin turns away from his mother and her eye-rolls and her exasperated put-upon tone. She doesn’t understand. How can he possibly care about the mound of smelly gym clothes in the corner of his room when he hasn’t even decided what shirt he’s going to wear to Babylon? She has no concept of priorities.
“Justin, are you listening?”
“How can I not?” he mumbles under his breath as he tosses more shirts to land in a heap on the floor. Searching for the blue one. Justin likes the blue one.
Brian loves the blue one. Justin just knows it.
Wrath
When he sees Brian go down, sucker punched, Justin sees black. He feels rooted to the spot, hand outreached to the door handle. He was wondering what Brian had planned for the evening, dick half-hard in his cargo pants already, and somewhere in the back of his mind a voice starts screaming my father shit fuck my father and then he’s moving around the car, stupid little rental piece of shit, and he can’t get there fast enough, his father is kicking Brian, fucking kicking Brian, and in his head Justin is screaming, crying. But all he sees is black.
Envy
Justin loves the dinners at Deb’s. He loves Deb’s marinara sauce, Emmett’s laughter, Ted’s self-deprecating humour. He loves being part of this family.
Justin hates the dinners too, but he sticks that hating part way down deep inside and pretends it isn’t there. He hears tales of Brian and Michael’s youth and resents those shared memories. He sees Michael give Brian a glance and can’t interpret what it means. He concentrates on Emmett’s stories and spoons more sauce onto his spaghetti and tries to remember that Michael lusted for years, but he is the one who lives with Brian Kinney.
Gluttony
He can do whatever he wants with the kid. To the kid.
To Justin.
The kid‘s his, whether he likes it or not.
Most of the time, he likes it.
He won’t admit he likes it.
He’ll just turn him over, lick along his spine, fist his dick slowly, make him pant and squirm and beg. Slide inside and watch the colour bloom on his chest. Suck bruises onto his skin. Pretend he’s doing it for himself. Know he’s lying.
He can do whatever he wants with the kid. And he wants to do everything.
He never wants to stop.
.