Still Nameless Ch 2/?
1. I'm completely in love with you guys for the amazing comments! THANKS SO MUCH!
2. I can't think of a title to save my life. Help?
3. It's official, my muse is a comment whore; oh, and:
“Doesn’t matter…blah, blah, blah…It’s only time…my fucking ass!” Justin worried his thumbnail between his teeth, seething. Brian had lain there, pretending…PRETENDING to be asleep. And he lectured him on growing some balls? It’s only time? Are you fucking kidding me?
It was right about this point that Justin’s internal monologue had run out of breath. He had been ranting steadily since he had gotten on the Greyhound…of all the times to think Brian was right and he really *should* have taken a plane. Well fuck Brian and his high and mighty stubborn pig-headedness.
Justin, being mature, had simply taken his gold card. He had like 5 anyway. And besides, stealing Brian’s credit card had gotten him a particularly sensational fuck last time. Not that he was allowing himself to hope that Brian would come after him again…no…no. He was mature. And level-headed. And not at all stupid and stubborn and pig-headed. Yeah. That.
But, knowing Brian, he would simply chuck it up to Justin needing a start up fund and pay any bill that came his way. He was aggravating like that. Never says a fucking word about it, just goes along, taking it up the ass from all of his friends and family...er…so to speak. Justin’s internal rant came to a grinding halt as he reflected on the times Brian did actually take it up the ass…yummy. But no! Brian doesn’t get to fuck himself out of this one. Um…worst goodbye lines for $1000, Alex? Time?…Fucker. And now he was on a Greyhound with a stolen credit card leaving the only man he had ever loved because Lindsay told him it was a good idea. That and he wanted to stand on his own two feet, an argument that would be a great deal more convincing was he not holding Brian’s gold card.
Fucking Lindsay. As lovable as she was, he always suspected there was a bit of latent plotting between Lindsay and Michael. They kept tabs on him much, much too well for there not to be. If Lindsay didn’t show up, Michael did, and usually it was after he had royally screwed Justin over with Brian.
And for some reason Justin had actually listened. He had finally gotten everything he had ever wanted. Brian, Mr. “I don’t do love” had actually stood in the middle of a fucking palace and told him that he was taking a chance on love for his *Prince*. Prince? What pod person had stolen Brian Kinney’s body? Justin decided his name was something like Ron…or maybe Dan. But the weird thing? Brian meant it. He had transformed in the time Justin had known him, and loved him, and fought with him, and fucked him…and in that very moment when he got everything his 17 year old self would have given a limb for, *God* he was terrified! Justin vaguely remembered reading a quote by someone famous who said something like, “The worst possible thing to experience is getting everything you’ve ever wanted.” Justin thought about how completely fucked up that was, but somehow it was also true.
In the moment that Brian had turned down that trick, Justin had become petrified that the achingly frustrating man he loved was giving up everything that made him…Brian. And Justin didn’t want their marriage to be a Rest in Peace sign.
He actually wasn’t all that sure what he wanted, except that it was Brian, and with no rhyme or reason to it. Since that stupid fucking bet everything had moved so fast that it still hadn’t really registered that Brian had actually voiced those three little words that had meant so much to him at one time. The still meant a lot…hell, they meant everything but Justin didn’t know how to reconcile the aching desire to jump off the smelly fucking bus and run back to Brian and the desire to give it a shot on his own. To take a huge risk and be fucking brave and try to make it in the art world…which he could probably do in Pittsburgh. With Brian. At Britin. It made Justin’s face light up with the kind of smile he was famous for while simultaneously rolling his eyes. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, if he and Brian locked themselves into their palace and never resurfaced, if they were away from people’s assumptions and their fucking families good intentions…well they’d probably kill each other after having fucked each other into oblivion but the house was really big so they could retire to their corners and just wait for round three…thousand.
2. I can't think of a title to save my life. Help?
3. It's official, my muse is a comment whore; oh, and:
“Doesn’t matter…blah, blah, blah…It’s only time…my fucking ass!” Justin worried his thumbnail between his teeth, seething. Brian had lain there, pretending…PRETENDING to be asleep. And he lectured him on growing some balls? It’s only time? Are you fucking kidding me?
It was right about this point that Justin’s internal monologue had run out of breath. He had been ranting steadily since he had gotten on the Greyhound…of all the times to think Brian was right and he really *should* have taken a plane. Well fuck Brian and his high and mighty stubborn pig-headedness.
Justin, being mature, had simply taken his gold card. He had like 5 anyway. And besides, stealing Brian’s credit card had gotten him a particularly sensational fuck last time. Not that he was allowing himself to hope that Brian would come after him again…no…no. He was mature. And level-headed. And not at all stupid and stubborn and pig-headed. Yeah. That.
But, knowing Brian, he would simply chuck it up to Justin needing a start up fund and pay any bill that came his way. He was aggravating like that. Never says a fucking word about it, just goes along, taking it up the ass from all of his friends and family...er…so to speak. Justin’s internal rant came to a grinding halt as he reflected on the times Brian did actually take it up the ass…yummy. But no! Brian doesn’t get to fuck himself out of this one. Um…worst goodbye lines for $1000, Alex? Time?…Fucker. And now he was on a Greyhound with a stolen credit card leaving the only man he had ever loved because Lindsay told him it was a good idea. That and he wanted to stand on his own two feet, an argument that would be a great deal more convincing was he not holding Brian’s gold card.
Fucking Lindsay. As lovable as she was, he always suspected there was a bit of latent plotting between Lindsay and Michael. They kept tabs on him much, much too well for there not to be. If Lindsay didn’t show up, Michael did, and usually it was after he had royally screwed Justin over with Brian.
And for some reason Justin had actually listened. He had finally gotten everything he had ever wanted. Brian, Mr. “I don’t do love” had actually stood in the middle of a fucking palace and told him that he was taking a chance on love for his *Prince*. Prince? What pod person had stolen Brian Kinney’s body? Justin decided his name was something like Ron…or maybe Dan. But the weird thing? Brian meant it. He had transformed in the time Justin had known him, and loved him, and fought with him, and fucked him…and in that very moment when he got everything his 17 year old self would have given a limb for, *God* he was terrified! Justin vaguely remembered reading a quote by someone famous who said something like, “The worst possible thing to experience is getting everything you’ve ever wanted.” Justin thought about how completely fucked up that was, but somehow it was also true.
In the moment that Brian had turned down that trick, Justin had become petrified that the achingly frustrating man he loved was giving up everything that made him…Brian. And Justin didn’t want their marriage to be a Rest in Peace sign.
He actually wasn’t all that sure what he wanted, except that it was Brian, and with no rhyme or reason to it. Since that stupid fucking bet everything had moved so fast that it still hadn’t really registered that Brian had actually voiced those three little words that had meant so much to him at one time. The still meant a lot…hell, they meant everything but Justin didn’t know how to reconcile the aching desire to jump off the smelly fucking bus and run back to Brian and the desire to give it a shot on his own. To take a huge risk and be fucking brave and try to make it in the art world…which he could probably do in Pittsburgh. With Brian. At Britin. It made Justin’s face light up with the kind of smile he was famous for while simultaneously rolling his eyes. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, if he and Brian locked themselves into their palace and never resurfaced, if they were away from people’s assumptions and their fucking families good intentions…well they’d probably kill each other after having fucked each other into oblivion but the house was really big so they could retire to their corners and just wait for round three…thousand.