Title-less Christmas fic.
Merry, er, holiday to everyone! In honor of Christmas, and because I wasn't able to send shape5 a present, I am adding some holiday fic to all the other fic that's been posted in the past few days. Mad love to shape5. (omg kick_it_harder I have resolved to post your fic by the new year, do not fret.)
Thanks to punkpoet for the readthrough, all remaining mistakes are mine.
At a certain point, it occurs to Brian that if he ever wants to get out of this damn not-a-relationship, he better do it soon, because he's relatively sure that in the very near future, he won't be able to.
Not that he's ever woken up to find 'Haha, too late!' spray painted on the ceiling or anything, because that's just freaky and if Justin ever did that, he'd shoot him dead, partner or no, but there're little hints. Like the fact that sometimes he wakes up and Justin's already gone, off to class or on an errand or something, but his coffee, exactly the way he likes it, is waiting on the kitchen counter. Or how he knows exactly what kind of chocolate milk Justin drinks every fucking day and buys it at the grocery store and it sits in the refrigerator next to his own guava juice and beer and Gus' Tropicana brand orange juice.
Or how sometimes, when they're fucking and Justin's gasping and moaning and Brian just stops even though his cock is aching for release and Justin protests, and then he just stares at Justin, who's not the most beautiful person Brian's ever seen, but is the most consistently gorgeous, because whether or not he's just getting out of bed or on a high after dancing for hours at Babylon and a few drinks or inking panels for the next issue of Rage, smudges on his face from the pencil marks, he's always ridiculously beautiful. And then he starts thrusting again, but slowly, and he grips Justin's cock in his hand and brings him off while moving inside him. Justin's beautiful when he comes as well, all closed eyes and curled toes and little sighs.
Brian is shaken out of his reverie when Justin plugs in the lights and their damn Christmas tree, which he had to borrow a pick up truck to bring home and for which he crushed three of his fingers while carrying it up the stairs, is lit up. Ultimate sign of domesticity, Brian thinks to himself, and stalks off to the bathroom to find some bandages for the scratches the tree gave him while trying to set it in its stand, leaving Justin to gaze adoringly up at their tree. Their tree, Brian thinks, and nearly trips over a box of ornaments.
The next day, he brings Gus back to the loft to find Justin wrapping presents on the bathroom floor. He makes a sardonic remark about Justin's choice of presents-wrapping space and Justin tells him to shut the door before Gus sees that Justin's wrapping presents that're supposed to be from Santa. Brian laughs and leans down to kiss Justin briefly and closes the door to go back and distract Gus with episodes of SpongeBob Squarepants. He deliberately doesn't think about how much Justin seemed like his little wife right then.
On Christmas Day, Brian claws his way into consciousness at around noon because he was working on an account the night before until the wee hours of the morning. The loft is incredibly bright, the sun reflecting off the snow outside. Justin's sitting up sketching, staring at his sketchpad intently, making marks and smudging them with his finger. He then glances over at Brian, and a smile spreads slowly across his face. "Hey," he says softly, a little hoarsely. He sets down his sketchbook and stretches. Brian thinks he looks like a cat, the way his back arches and the way he crawls back under the covers. Justin is still smiling, and Brian is reminded jarringly of the morning he woke up to find a blond twink in his bed with only a vague memory of having fucked him. They curl up together, but don't fall asleep.
That evening, they make their way to Debbie's house in Brian's little Corvette that Justin likes to complain has no traction in the snow, after which Brian will say that he sounds like Michael, and Justin will grimace and then laugh. Every year, Debbie makes them come over for Christmas dinner to and she always invites everyone in their "family," so the house seems like it'll burst at any second. Ben is playing with Jenny Rebecca, tossing her up to hear her wild screams. Michael looks on, gasping every time he thinks it looks like Ben won't catch her. Emmett and Ted are putting up last minute decorations, the red and gold looking very garish next to her wallpaper. Brian and Justin always shudder a little every time they see those garlands, and Emmett looks over Ted's head to smile at them sympathetically. After dinner, everyone moves a little lethargically. Gus falls asleep at around ten between Brian and Justin on the couch, little snores emitting from his open mouth.
Justin dozes in the car on the way home. When they get home, he promptly falls asleep again on the bed, and Brian climbs in after him, pulling off Justin's clothes while listening to him mumble grumpily at being moved. Brian finally settles on the bed, and Justin curls up against him. He glares suspiciously up at the ceiling, but there is no trace of paint up there. He thinks about the damn fire-hazard of a tree, about the presents he bought waiting in the closet that have absolutely nothing to do with Christmas, no really, about the fact that every Christmas before he met Justin, he would go to Babylon (always open for the crowd that needed to dance, needed to fuck, even on Christmas) and get blown by as many men as possible. And he knows that it's too late, he's been too far gone for ages.
Thanks to punkpoet for the readthrough, all remaining mistakes are mine.
At a certain point, it occurs to Brian that if he ever wants to get out of this damn not-a-relationship, he better do it soon, because he's relatively sure that in the very near future, he won't be able to.
Not that he's ever woken up to find 'Haha, too late!' spray painted on the ceiling or anything, because that's just freaky and if Justin ever did that, he'd shoot him dead, partner or no, but there're little hints. Like the fact that sometimes he wakes up and Justin's already gone, off to class or on an errand or something, but his coffee, exactly the way he likes it, is waiting on the kitchen counter. Or how he knows exactly what kind of chocolate milk Justin drinks every fucking day and buys it at the grocery store and it sits in the refrigerator next to his own guava juice and beer and Gus' Tropicana brand orange juice.
Or how sometimes, when they're fucking and Justin's gasping and moaning and Brian just stops even though his cock is aching for release and Justin protests, and then he just stares at Justin, who's not the most beautiful person Brian's ever seen, but is the most consistently gorgeous, because whether or not he's just getting out of bed or on a high after dancing for hours at Babylon and a few drinks or inking panels for the next issue of Rage, smudges on his face from the pencil marks, he's always ridiculously beautiful. And then he starts thrusting again, but slowly, and he grips Justin's cock in his hand and brings him off while moving inside him. Justin's beautiful when he comes as well, all closed eyes and curled toes and little sighs.
Brian is shaken out of his reverie when Justin plugs in the lights and their damn Christmas tree, which he had to borrow a pick up truck to bring home and for which he crushed three of his fingers while carrying it up the stairs, is lit up. Ultimate sign of domesticity, Brian thinks to himself, and stalks off to the bathroom to find some bandages for the scratches the tree gave him while trying to set it in its stand, leaving Justin to gaze adoringly up at their tree. Their tree, Brian thinks, and nearly trips over a box of ornaments.
The next day, he brings Gus back to the loft to find Justin wrapping presents on the bathroom floor. He makes a sardonic remark about Justin's choice of presents-wrapping space and Justin tells him to shut the door before Gus sees that Justin's wrapping presents that're supposed to be from Santa. Brian laughs and leans down to kiss Justin briefly and closes the door to go back and distract Gus with episodes of SpongeBob Squarepants. He deliberately doesn't think about how much Justin seemed like his little wife right then.
On Christmas Day, Brian claws his way into consciousness at around noon because he was working on an account the night before until the wee hours of the morning. The loft is incredibly bright, the sun reflecting off the snow outside. Justin's sitting up sketching, staring at his sketchpad intently, making marks and smudging them with his finger. He then glances over at Brian, and a smile spreads slowly across his face. "Hey," he says softly, a little hoarsely. He sets down his sketchbook and stretches. Brian thinks he looks like a cat, the way his back arches and the way he crawls back under the covers. Justin is still smiling, and Brian is reminded jarringly of the morning he woke up to find a blond twink in his bed with only a vague memory of having fucked him. They curl up together, but don't fall asleep.
That evening, they make their way to Debbie's house in Brian's little Corvette that Justin likes to complain has no traction in the snow, after which Brian will say that he sounds like Michael, and Justin will grimace and then laugh. Every year, Debbie makes them come over for Christmas dinner to and she always invites everyone in their "family," so the house seems like it'll burst at any second. Ben is playing with Jenny Rebecca, tossing her up to hear her wild screams. Michael looks on, gasping every time he thinks it looks like Ben won't catch her. Emmett and Ted are putting up last minute decorations, the red and gold looking very garish next to her wallpaper. Brian and Justin always shudder a little every time they see those garlands, and Emmett looks over Ted's head to smile at them sympathetically. After dinner, everyone moves a little lethargically. Gus falls asleep at around ten between Brian and Justin on the couch, little snores emitting from his open mouth.
Justin dozes in the car on the way home. When they get home, he promptly falls asleep again on the bed, and Brian climbs in after him, pulling off Justin's clothes while listening to him mumble grumpily at being moved. Brian finally settles on the bed, and Justin curls up against him. He glares suspiciously up at the ceiling, but there is no trace of paint up there. He thinks about the damn fire-hazard of a tree, about the presents he bought waiting in the closet that have absolutely nothing to do with Christmas, no really, about the fact that every Christmas before he met Justin, he would go to Babylon (always open for the crowd that needed to dance, needed to fuck, even on Christmas) and get blown by as many men as possible. And he knows that it's too late, he's been too far gone for ages.