(no subject)
So, it seems that today is the wonderful shape5's birthday! Weeell, so what is it that I have in my magical bag of goodies? (Plz do not comment on the wrongness of that last sentence, I am well aware.) It seems to be some fic. Huh, how'd that happen?
Thanks so much to bea_nonymous for the beta, and punkpoet for the read-through.
And I Will Follow
The world ends on a Tuesday. Justin has always thought in the back of his mind that if the world were to end in his lifetime, it'd end on a day of great import, because it's not the sort of thing that should occur on a partly sunny day in March. He watches a lone car make its way down the normally busy street -- no doubt everyone's at church praying and repenting -- through the loft's windows. But, he thinks, at least now he knows God has a sense of humor.
Everyone saw it coming. At least God made it obvious for all of them. The seas turned red, and the various horsemen rode down from the skies and brought famine and drought and war and all that thoroughly unpleasant stuff. All the other things predicted the Revelations chapter of the Bible came true as well, except, so far, for the bit where the Son of God and Man came back and judged all of them. Justin wasn't especially looking forward to that part.
After it all started happening, after the theologists all confirmed that it seemed the Apocalypse was at hand more than a year ago, he ended the lease on his apartment in New York and telephoned Brian to tell him that he'd be on the 10:15 flight home that night. Brian was waiting at the airport, and Justin stopped and held his breath while watching Brian make his way toward him. Brian had enveloped him in his arms, and Justin still fit into them in the exact same way, so he let himself breathe and let Brian take him home.
"It's still early," Brian says now from behind him. Justin doesn't jump, even though he didn't hear him coming up, and laces his fingers with Brian's when Brian wraps his arms around Justin's waist.
Peaceful silence, Justin thinks, is incongruous with what will happen at some point today. "Do you think you'll miss it?" he asks.
"What's there to miss?" Brian says. "If heaven is as great as all the Christian websites say it is, it'll be too perfect for us to even think of missing anything here."
"Mmm," Justin says. He's been feeling morbid, but he doesn't want to destroy the stillness of this morning, so he says nothing of hellfire and eternal damnation, because it'd be silly and because he knows that Brian has probably been thinking about that particular possibility as well.
"So," Brian says finally, "wanna have one last fuck?"
Brian is slow today, drawing it out. He pulls out and thrusts back into Justin unhurriedly, and Justin is free to focus on the look on Brian's face, the length of his eyelashes, the slow and steady pleasure of Brian brushing against his prostate. Justin doesn't want to think that this is the last time that this will ever happen, but he thinks it anyway, and pulls Brian down to kiss him. Brian eventually speeds up, his panting growing louder, and Justin wraps his hand around his own cock, jerking off and coming a few seconds after Brian.
After they shower, and Justin does not think about how this is the last time Brian will ever play with Justin's wet hair, the last time -- after they shower, Brian calls up Melanie and Lindsay in Toronto. Justin wonders idly if the Apocalypse is like the sun and if for a couple hours, Mel and Linds will be alive and anticipating the end while he and Brian stand in line for judgment. It's an unsettling thought.
He sits at his computer and stares at the idea he had started for a new painting. He feels a twinge of regret that he won't be able to finish it. Brian is speaking in that tone of voice he uses when he talks to Gus about something serious, where he's quieter and earnest, as if he were talking to an adult. "It'll be okay, sonny boy," Justin hears Brian say. Justin doubts that Gus believes him.
"Hey, do you wanna talk to him?" Brian asks from the kitchen.
"Hi, Justin," says Gus. Justin vividly remembers the last time they met face-to-face. Gus had been enthusiastic and mischievous then, tugging at his sister's pigtails and at Emmett's scarf that resembled a feather boa, and then running to hide behind Brian. His voice is grave now, and serious. "Do you think this is happening because of something I did?" Gus bursts out.
Only seven years old, Justin thinks, and already thinking that he's responsible for the world. "No," Justin replies, "someone as little as you couldn't do this."
Justin waits for Gus' protest that he's a whole inch taller than the last time Justin saw him, but Gus just says, "Yeah, I guess."
Brian takes the phone back, and Justin sits at the counter and watches him finish talking to Gus. He begins to think that this is the last time that they will ever sit here and be disgustingly and comfortably domestic, but maybe wherever it is they're headed, they'll get to do some sitting together, and the thought is reassuring.
Brian hangs up, and makes them both some coffee. The phone rings, and it's Michael, who says that everyone is over at Debbie's to wait for whatever it is that's coming, and would Brian and Justin come too so that Debbie can calm down a little.
"Yeah, we'll be over in half an hour," Brian says.
Justin finishes dressing first and looks around the loft. This is the last time, Justin realizes, the last time for everything. He feels something in his chest clench, because the loft is his and Brian's and it belongs to them the way that every single one of his paintings belongs to him even hanging in other people's houses, because it's a part of himself manifest into something tangible.
He lies down on the bed and breathes in the smell of Brian's expensive soap and their sweat and the three hundred thread count sheets, and thinks that if anything, he will miss this.
"Fuck," Brian says. "Can't find that black shirt I got in New York last time I visited."
"On the right side of the closet," Justin says absently.
They take the elevator downstairs, and Brian stops to put on his sunglasses while Justin watches. It almost seems, these days, that Justin has loved Brian since the beginning of time, he muses, or at least since the beginning of his life, and he has no intention of stopping for any Apocalypse.
"Come on," Brian says. He swings his arm around Justin's shoulder, and together, they step out into the sun, which has just started to come out from behind the clouds.
End. I adore feedback.
Thanks so much to bea_nonymous for the beta, and punkpoet for the read-through.
And I Will Follow
The world ends on a Tuesday. Justin has always thought in the back of his mind that if the world were to end in his lifetime, it'd end on a day of great import, because it's not the sort of thing that should occur on a partly sunny day in March. He watches a lone car make its way down the normally busy street -- no doubt everyone's at church praying and repenting -- through the loft's windows. But, he thinks, at least now he knows God has a sense of humor.
Everyone saw it coming. At least God made it obvious for all of them. The seas turned red, and the various horsemen rode down from the skies and brought famine and drought and war and all that thoroughly unpleasant stuff. All the other things predicted the Revelations chapter of the Bible came true as well, except, so far, for the bit where the Son of God and Man came back and judged all of them. Justin wasn't especially looking forward to that part.
After it all started happening, after the theologists all confirmed that it seemed the Apocalypse was at hand more than a year ago, he ended the lease on his apartment in New York and telephoned Brian to tell him that he'd be on the 10:15 flight home that night. Brian was waiting at the airport, and Justin stopped and held his breath while watching Brian make his way toward him. Brian had enveloped him in his arms, and Justin still fit into them in the exact same way, so he let himself breathe and let Brian take him home.
"It's still early," Brian says now from behind him. Justin doesn't jump, even though he didn't hear him coming up, and laces his fingers with Brian's when Brian wraps his arms around Justin's waist.
Peaceful silence, Justin thinks, is incongruous with what will happen at some point today. "Do you think you'll miss it?" he asks.
"What's there to miss?" Brian says. "If heaven is as great as all the Christian websites say it is, it'll be too perfect for us to even think of missing anything here."
"Mmm," Justin says. He's been feeling morbid, but he doesn't want to destroy the stillness of this morning, so he says nothing of hellfire and eternal damnation, because it'd be silly and because he knows that Brian has probably been thinking about that particular possibility as well.
"So," Brian says finally, "wanna have one last fuck?"
Brian is slow today, drawing it out. He pulls out and thrusts back into Justin unhurriedly, and Justin is free to focus on the look on Brian's face, the length of his eyelashes, the slow and steady pleasure of Brian brushing against his prostate. Justin doesn't want to think that this is the last time that this will ever happen, but he thinks it anyway, and pulls Brian down to kiss him. Brian eventually speeds up, his panting growing louder, and Justin wraps his hand around his own cock, jerking off and coming a few seconds after Brian.
After they shower, and Justin does not think about how this is the last time Brian will ever play with Justin's wet hair, the last time -- after they shower, Brian calls up Melanie and Lindsay in Toronto. Justin wonders idly if the Apocalypse is like the sun and if for a couple hours, Mel and Linds will be alive and anticipating the end while he and Brian stand in line for judgment. It's an unsettling thought.
He sits at his computer and stares at the idea he had started for a new painting. He feels a twinge of regret that he won't be able to finish it. Brian is speaking in that tone of voice he uses when he talks to Gus about something serious, where he's quieter and earnest, as if he were talking to an adult. "It'll be okay, sonny boy," Justin hears Brian say. Justin doubts that Gus believes him.
"Hey, do you wanna talk to him?" Brian asks from the kitchen.
"Hi, Justin," says Gus. Justin vividly remembers the last time they met face-to-face. Gus had been enthusiastic and mischievous then, tugging at his sister's pigtails and at Emmett's scarf that resembled a feather boa, and then running to hide behind Brian. His voice is grave now, and serious. "Do you think this is happening because of something I did?" Gus bursts out.
Only seven years old, Justin thinks, and already thinking that he's responsible for the world. "No," Justin replies, "someone as little as you couldn't do this."
Justin waits for Gus' protest that he's a whole inch taller than the last time Justin saw him, but Gus just says, "Yeah, I guess."
Brian takes the phone back, and Justin sits at the counter and watches him finish talking to Gus. He begins to think that this is the last time that they will ever sit here and be disgustingly and comfortably domestic, but maybe wherever it is they're headed, they'll get to do some sitting together, and the thought is reassuring.
Brian hangs up, and makes them both some coffee. The phone rings, and it's Michael, who says that everyone is over at Debbie's to wait for whatever it is that's coming, and would Brian and Justin come too so that Debbie can calm down a little.
"Yeah, we'll be over in half an hour," Brian says.
Justin finishes dressing first and looks around the loft. This is the last time, Justin realizes, the last time for everything. He feels something in his chest clench, because the loft is his and Brian's and it belongs to them the way that every single one of his paintings belongs to him even hanging in other people's houses, because it's a part of himself manifest into something tangible.
He lies down on the bed and breathes in the smell of Brian's expensive soap and their sweat and the three hundred thread count sheets, and thinks that if anything, he will miss this.
"Fuck," Brian says. "Can't find that black shirt I got in New York last time I visited."
"On the right side of the closet," Justin says absently.
They take the elevator downstairs, and Brian stops to put on his sunglasses while Justin watches. It almost seems, these days, that Justin has loved Brian since the beginning of time, he muses, or at least since the beginning of his life, and he has no intention of stopping for any Apocalypse.
"Come on," Brian says. He swings his arm around Justin's shoulder, and together, they step out into the sun, which has just started to come out from behind the clouds.
End. I adore feedback.