Short fic and I blame vlredreign
So this is vlredreign's fault, cuz she caught me on a Friday night on my return home from working all day and no good tv to melt me brain with. So this would have to do.
This isn't an original idea. I think I’ve read something very much like this elsewhere. So, I hope I’m not ripping anyone off, and if I am, let me know and I’ll credit your idea as the basic inspiration for this. Plus, the plot’s completely contrived. I’m blaming CowLip for opening the door. I’d say I’m better than that, but really, I’d be lying. And if that’s what it takes to get your own show on the air, call me a whore and sign me up for duty.
So I'm posting this here because I read it where I originally posted in response to vlredreign over on qaf_retread and realized there were some basic mistakes that drove me up a wall. And I'd have to cut and repost, so, meh. And, what the hell, it's written so I figured someone might want to read it.
Stupid nostalgia.
Post-301 or 302 or something like that.
3:51 a.m.
Brian blinked blearily at the clock. “What the fuck?” he muttered. Or, would have muttered. He wiped at his mouth. Great, underwear. He was chewing on underwear, his mouth mashed into them, between him and the pillow. His words actually came out, “Wf ah ugh?”.
He spat soft cotton. And, now, great, he had been drooling on cotton.
“No more underwear parties,” he muttered, clutching his head.
The phone rang again. Brian stared at it. Then he stared at the underwear. The underwear party had been five nights ago. And that wasn’t his size. In fact, he knew exactly whose size that underwear was, and there was only one person he could say that about.
Oh, he was SO not going there.
He made a mental note to never, ever mix whateverthefuck that shit Emmett was doling out tonight with teuqilla and bourbon. And beer, and whateverthefuck was in that martini. Or three martinis. And the shot of Jaegermeister.
He snatched up the telephone. “Who the fuck is this?!” he yelled into the phone. Then he winced, his eyes tearing at the pain. He grabbed the underwear to swipe at his eyes, then glared at the underwear. Glared at the phone.
“Um… uh, Brian?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” he answered. “Look, I’m not going to fuck you, whoever you are. In fact, you can fuck off.”
“No wait, it’s Ethan!”
Ian? What the fuck was Ian calling for? At 3:51 in the morning. Despite himself, Brian felt his chest clench, hard and without warning. “What’s wrong?”
“Look, I don’t know what to do, Justin’s having some kind of attack and he refuses to go to the hospital so he’s stuck his head out the window and every time he brings it back in his wheezing practically chokes him and I want him to go to the hospital but he refuses to let me tug him out of the window and it’s 4am and all he’s managed to wheeze is your name.”
Brian was already out of bed, and tugging on his jeans with one hand. “Well, shit, Ian, I was wondering why Justin might like you! All that, without a breath! I don't suppose you'd be interested in using that talent on a prick even bigger than Sunshine?”
Silence. Then, “I knew this was a mistake.”
“Don’t you dare hang up you little shit!” Brian barked. “Give me your address, I know what he needs.” Brian was already walking into the bathroom, and winced as he flipped the light on, but gave his eyes no time to adjust before he forced them to seek out the inhaler Justin had left under the sink.
Stupid kid. Just great. Brian made a note of Ethan’s reply, and tossed on the first shirt he snagged from out of the closet. The fact that it just happened to be his black tank, the one that would invariably cause Justin’s mouth to drop open, just a little, and hang there until Brian took pity and fed him his cock, yeah, that was pure coincidence.
When Brian pulled up in front of the dilapidated pile of bricks Ian called home, the fiddler was waiting for him out front. Brian got out of the Jeep, and moved to the sidewalk. Then he eyed the Jeep, eyed the neighborhood, and finally, eyed Ian. “Is it safe?” he asked the boy-man who stood tugging on that pathetic patch of hair on his chin.
“You know, it figures that you’d only care about your car at a time like this!” Ethan yelled. Overhead, a window banged open and someone yelled down, “Shut the fuck up!”
“Ah, is our boy feeling his sunny self again?” Brian asked, smirking.
“No, my apartment’s at the back of the building.” Ethan tugged at Brian’s arm. Brian stared distastefully down at his hand. Calluses, rubbing up against Brian’s smooth skin. Yeah, he liked it rough, but really. “I had to come down here to call you.”
Turning back to the Jeep, Brian opened the door to retrieve the package he’d dropped on the passenger-side seat. He locked the door. “He’s fine since then, though, right?”
“I hope so. I’ve been waiting for you, but I don’t think…”
Brian froze for just a moment. “You’ve been down here ALL THIS TIME?”
“Well, yeah, I couldn’t really do anything…” But Brian was already moving toward the door, knowing there would be no lock on the front, and taking the stairs two at a time. “What floor?” he asked over his shoulder, shouting down the stairwell. He could hear Ethan call back, “403!”
Great. Fourth floor walk-up. And no elevator.
Brian opened the door - which was unlocked, of course, and stepped into a pit. Ratty couch, bed in the corner, papers strewn about, books stacked against the wall, kitchenette to the side… reminded him of the apartment he had in college, actually. He shuddered. “Justin!” he yelled. No reply. Oh, great, the kid had gone into some PTSD-inspired panic attack and jumped out the window. Brian eyed the tiny window, the ONLY window in the living/bed/dining room, and decided Justin’s ass would never make it out something that small. As Brian paused to look about, a cat rubbed up against his ankles. Brian stared. “Oh, yeah, THAT’S a good idea,” he muttered.
So that left… the bathroom!
Brian kicked the cat aside and stepped into the bathroom, where he was greeted by the very ass he had just been thinking of. “Ah,” he said, “I was hoping you’d have your best side up when I saw you next.”
Justin’s hand beat against the wall. Well, good, he was alive.
“Hey, what’s wrong with Wolfram?” Ethan’s voice came to Brian from the other side of the bathroom door, which Brian had closed and would have locked, but locks seemed in short supply in this place. Ignoring that, Brian stepped over to the window, and without a word, he reached into the bag, and handed the inhaler over Justin’s shoulder - his bare shoulder, his bare shoulder with that smooth skin, the blond hair sweeping just south of his nape, surely hanging down his face what with the way his head was hanging out the window. Brian put the inhaler into Justin’s palm, and moved his hand up to sweep the hair out of his eyes. Justin practically broke his teeth crashing the inhaler into his mouth (well, fuck! Brian thought. Does that bring back memories!), and took a hard, painful breath in. And again. Like magic, his breathing was restored. Still, Justin hung out the window, only taking a moment to knock Brian’s hand away from his temple. “You bring my pills?” he asked, coming back into the bathroom, but not meeting Brian’s eyes. Brian tossed the prescription bottle into the sink. There was no counter for anything to be placed on, and shaving supplies, shampoo and whateverthefuck littered the floor.
“Justin, baby, you okay?” Ethan asked from the doorway.
Justin didn’t look at him, either. Instead, he moved to the sink, picked up his meds and shook out the pills, tossing them back and bending over for a swallow of water from the tap to wash them down. He remained bent over for a moment. Then he straightened, and glared at Ethan with red eyes. If he wouldn’t stay bent over, demon-eyed Justin glaring at the fiddler was definitely Brian’s second choice for a view.
“Where the fuck did you go?!” he spat at Ian. “And don’t call me baby!”
“But, bab… honey, you told me to call Brian!”
“What the fuck, Ethan, I couldn’t even talk!” Justin raged.
“You said… I heard you say ‘Brian’!”
“I said, Drugs!!”
“Same thing,” Brian commented, and then recoiled slightly at demon glare Justin threw his way.
“Okay, thanks, I’ve said it. You can leave now.”
What the fuck? “What the fuck?” Brian asked. “Yeah, great princess, just dismiss me. I respond to that.”
“You seem to have no problem up to now,” Justin answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “But do whateverthefuck you want, you always do. Sure, hang around here, I'm sure you'd love that.”
“Sorry, Sunshine, I’m not much into diddling fiddlers, if that's your odd way of asking me to stay.”
“I don’t think…” Ethan began.
“Shut up!” Brian and Justin barked in stereo, too intent on glaring at each other to consider courtesy.
“You would think that!” Justin immediately continued, swinging back to face Brian. “And that’s all you have to offer, isn’t it? A quick fuck. So can you wonder why I’m not interested in you staying in my home.”
“Our…” Ethan started, but Brian’s response drowned his out.
“Oh, your home,” Brian sneered. “Your home with two weeks of cat dander and no medications. And I have nothing to offer you but a 4am… wait! it isn’t a booty call! Oh my god, it’s a medicine run! Which for some unknown reason was left at my place. But damn, all I have to offer is my prick, which, I hate to tell you, I wouldn’t waste on that guy there.”
He moved to push past Ethan, who refused to move. “No, wait… I should thank you.”
Brian barked a laugh. “I just insulted you, Ian.”
“For helping Justin.”
“Since you wouldn’t,” Brian responded testily.
“I couldn’t! I didn’t have the meds!”
“No, you just abandoned his ass to hang out the window! Couldn’t you have called from the bathroom and at least…” He was going to say, keep him company while he was fucking dying, but stopped himself in time.
“Hey, yeah.” Justin took a deep breath, then let it out. Brian eyed him. Good, he was breathing. Maybe the oxygen was getting to his brain again. “Why couldn’t you have called from here?”
“I just… just…” Ethan stuttered. “I didn’t know how you’d take me calling him.”
“But you said you thought I’d asked for him, AS IF I WOULD BECAUSE I WOULDN’T.” Justin paused to inhale and exhale deeply again. “You were freaked out, weren’t you? Just tell me, Ethan. You didn't know what else to do."
Oh, no, Brian thought. The fiddle-fuck couldn’t be so stupid as to believe that snake-in-Eden tone.
Ethan slumped against the doorway. “Yeah, okay, I had no idea what else to do.”
Okay, so maybe he was that stupid.
“So you call my ex-boyfriend…”
“I wasn’t your boyfr…”
“…despite the fact I never wanted to see him again…”
Yeah, sure, whatever you say Sunshine.
“And then LEAVE MY ASS HANGING OUT THE WINDOW FOR 15 MINUTES?! What the fuck is wrong with you!” Justin pushed past Brian, then pushed Ethan aside. He walked into the living room, and began cramming sketches into his bag. He picked up a shirt, then dropped it. “Fucking cat hair,” he muttered.
“Justin, bab… honey, what are you doing?”
“I can’t stay here, obviously,” Justin answered.
Ooh, Brian knew that tone too. It’s you who will pack up, soul-patch man, your minutes are running out, tick tick tick! tone. Brian crossed his arms over his chest. “You can stay with me,” he offered.
“Pfft!!”
Well, it wasn't as if he expected to be welcomed back with open legs, but he was in too much pain not to try for a sure-fire hangover cure. Brian shruggged. “Fine, I’ll drive you to your mom’s.”
“Really?” Justin said, straightening and turning around.
“You can’t go with him,” Ethan said firmly.
“I obviously can’t stay here. I have a key to my mom’s…”
Oh, well, shit. Fucking great. Now he really WOULD have to drive the princess back to the tower.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, we can talk.”
Ethan hesitated, but then nodded. “Okay.”
Talk. Justin talking. Brian smirked. Talking, right. He and Ian would talk, and then Justin would go ahead and follow whatever the fuck was driving him, anyway. That’s the way he was. That’s the way everyone was. And, from the looks of what Justin was cramming into his bags (with the exception of clothing, no doubt full of cat hair, so he'd have to come and get his underw... leftovers from Brian's), the Return to Great Love did not seem promising the Happy Ending. Yeah. Filthy apartments and counter-less sinks and ring around the tub would do that. So would having to swallow your pride and accept a ride from the ex-boyf… fuck, ex-fuck, because there was no money for a cab. Which would never come to this side of town at this time of night, anyway.
Brian emerged from the bathroom. “Don’t forget your meds!” he said cheerily. Ethan glared. Justin rolled his eyes, but accepted the bottle tossed his way.
This isn't an original idea. I think I’ve read something very much like this elsewhere. So, I hope I’m not ripping anyone off, and if I am, let me know and I’ll credit your idea as the basic inspiration for this. Plus, the plot’s completely contrived. I’m blaming CowLip for opening the door. I’d say I’m better than that, but really, I’d be lying. And if that’s what it takes to get your own show on the air, call me a whore and sign me up for duty.
So I'm posting this here because I read it where I originally posted in response to vlredreign over on qaf_retread and realized there were some basic mistakes that drove me up a wall. And I'd have to cut and repost, so, meh. And, what the hell, it's written so I figured someone might want to read it.
Stupid nostalgia.
Post-301 or 302 or something like that.
3:51 a.m.
Brian blinked blearily at the clock. “What the fuck?” he muttered. Or, would have muttered. He wiped at his mouth. Great, underwear. He was chewing on underwear, his mouth mashed into them, between him and the pillow. His words actually came out, “Wf ah ugh?”.
He spat soft cotton. And, now, great, he had been drooling on cotton.
“No more underwear parties,” he muttered, clutching his head.
The phone rang again. Brian stared at it. Then he stared at the underwear. The underwear party had been five nights ago. And that wasn’t his size. In fact, he knew exactly whose size that underwear was, and there was only one person he could say that about.
Oh, he was SO not going there.
He made a mental note to never, ever mix whateverthefuck that shit Emmett was doling out tonight with teuqilla and bourbon. And beer, and whateverthefuck was in that martini. Or three martinis. And the shot of Jaegermeister.
He snatched up the telephone. “Who the fuck is this?!” he yelled into the phone. Then he winced, his eyes tearing at the pain. He grabbed the underwear to swipe at his eyes, then glared at the underwear. Glared at the phone.
“Um… uh, Brian?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” he answered. “Look, I’m not going to fuck you, whoever you are. In fact, you can fuck off.”
“No wait, it’s Ethan!”
Ian? What the fuck was Ian calling for? At 3:51 in the morning. Despite himself, Brian felt his chest clench, hard and without warning. “What’s wrong?”
“Look, I don’t know what to do, Justin’s having some kind of attack and he refuses to go to the hospital so he’s stuck his head out the window and every time he brings it back in his wheezing practically chokes him and I want him to go to the hospital but he refuses to let me tug him out of the window and it’s 4am and all he’s managed to wheeze is your name.”
Brian was already out of bed, and tugging on his jeans with one hand. “Well, shit, Ian, I was wondering why Justin might like you! All that, without a breath! I don't suppose you'd be interested in using that talent on a prick even bigger than Sunshine?”
Silence. Then, “I knew this was a mistake.”
“Don’t you dare hang up you little shit!” Brian barked. “Give me your address, I know what he needs.” Brian was already walking into the bathroom, and winced as he flipped the light on, but gave his eyes no time to adjust before he forced them to seek out the inhaler Justin had left under the sink.
Stupid kid. Just great. Brian made a note of Ethan’s reply, and tossed on the first shirt he snagged from out of the closet. The fact that it just happened to be his black tank, the one that would invariably cause Justin’s mouth to drop open, just a little, and hang there until Brian took pity and fed him his cock, yeah, that was pure coincidence.
When Brian pulled up in front of the dilapidated pile of bricks Ian called home, the fiddler was waiting for him out front. Brian got out of the Jeep, and moved to the sidewalk. Then he eyed the Jeep, eyed the neighborhood, and finally, eyed Ian. “Is it safe?” he asked the boy-man who stood tugging on that pathetic patch of hair on his chin.
“You know, it figures that you’d only care about your car at a time like this!” Ethan yelled. Overhead, a window banged open and someone yelled down, “Shut the fuck up!”
“Ah, is our boy feeling his sunny self again?” Brian asked, smirking.
“No, my apartment’s at the back of the building.” Ethan tugged at Brian’s arm. Brian stared distastefully down at his hand. Calluses, rubbing up against Brian’s smooth skin. Yeah, he liked it rough, but really. “I had to come down here to call you.”
Turning back to the Jeep, Brian opened the door to retrieve the package he’d dropped on the passenger-side seat. He locked the door. “He’s fine since then, though, right?”
“I hope so. I’ve been waiting for you, but I don’t think…”
Brian froze for just a moment. “You’ve been down here ALL THIS TIME?”
“Well, yeah, I couldn’t really do anything…” But Brian was already moving toward the door, knowing there would be no lock on the front, and taking the stairs two at a time. “What floor?” he asked over his shoulder, shouting down the stairwell. He could hear Ethan call back, “403!”
Great. Fourth floor walk-up. And no elevator.
Brian opened the door - which was unlocked, of course, and stepped into a pit. Ratty couch, bed in the corner, papers strewn about, books stacked against the wall, kitchenette to the side… reminded him of the apartment he had in college, actually. He shuddered. “Justin!” he yelled. No reply. Oh, great, the kid had gone into some PTSD-inspired panic attack and jumped out the window. Brian eyed the tiny window, the ONLY window in the living/bed/dining room, and decided Justin’s ass would never make it out something that small. As Brian paused to look about, a cat rubbed up against his ankles. Brian stared. “Oh, yeah, THAT’S a good idea,” he muttered.
So that left… the bathroom!
Brian kicked the cat aside and stepped into the bathroom, where he was greeted by the very ass he had just been thinking of. “Ah,” he said, “I was hoping you’d have your best side up when I saw you next.”
Justin’s hand beat against the wall. Well, good, he was alive.
“Hey, what’s wrong with Wolfram?” Ethan’s voice came to Brian from the other side of the bathroom door, which Brian had closed and would have locked, but locks seemed in short supply in this place. Ignoring that, Brian stepped over to the window, and without a word, he reached into the bag, and handed the inhaler over Justin’s shoulder - his bare shoulder, his bare shoulder with that smooth skin, the blond hair sweeping just south of his nape, surely hanging down his face what with the way his head was hanging out the window. Brian put the inhaler into Justin’s palm, and moved his hand up to sweep the hair out of his eyes. Justin practically broke his teeth crashing the inhaler into his mouth (well, fuck! Brian thought. Does that bring back memories!), and took a hard, painful breath in. And again. Like magic, his breathing was restored. Still, Justin hung out the window, only taking a moment to knock Brian’s hand away from his temple. “You bring my pills?” he asked, coming back into the bathroom, but not meeting Brian’s eyes. Brian tossed the prescription bottle into the sink. There was no counter for anything to be placed on, and shaving supplies, shampoo and whateverthefuck littered the floor.
“Justin, baby, you okay?” Ethan asked from the doorway.
Justin didn’t look at him, either. Instead, he moved to the sink, picked up his meds and shook out the pills, tossing them back and bending over for a swallow of water from the tap to wash them down. He remained bent over for a moment. Then he straightened, and glared at Ethan with red eyes. If he wouldn’t stay bent over, demon-eyed Justin glaring at the fiddler was definitely Brian’s second choice for a view.
“Where the fuck did you go?!” he spat at Ian. “And don’t call me baby!”
“But, bab… honey, you told me to call Brian!”
“What the fuck, Ethan, I couldn’t even talk!” Justin raged.
“You said… I heard you say ‘Brian’!”
“I said, Drugs!!”
“Same thing,” Brian commented, and then recoiled slightly at demon glare Justin threw his way.
“Okay, thanks, I’ve said it. You can leave now.”
What the fuck? “What the fuck?” Brian asked. “Yeah, great princess, just dismiss me. I respond to that.”
“You seem to have no problem up to now,” Justin answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “But do whateverthefuck you want, you always do. Sure, hang around here, I'm sure you'd love that.”
“Sorry, Sunshine, I’m not much into diddling fiddlers, if that's your odd way of asking me to stay.”
“I don’t think…” Ethan began.
“Shut up!” Brian and Justin barked in stereo, too intent on glaring at each other to consider courtesy.
“You would think that!” Justin immediately continued, swinging back to face Brian. “And that’s all you have to offer, isn’t it? A quick fuck. So can you wonder why I’m not interested in you staying in my home.”
“Our…” Ethan started, but Brian’s response drowned his out.
“Oh, your home,” Brian sneered. “Your home with two weeks of cat dander and no medications. And I have nothing to offer you but a 4am… wait! it isn’t a booty call! Oh my god, it’s a medicine run! Which for some unknown reason was left at my place. But damn, all I have to offer is my prick, which, I hate to tell you, I wouldn’t waste on that guy there.”
He moved to push past Ethan, who refused to move. “No, wait… I should thank you.”
Brian barked a laugh. “I just insulted you, Ian.”
“For helping Justin.”
“Since you wouldn’t,” Brian responded testily.
“I couldn’t! I didn’t have the meds!”
“No, you just abandoned his ass to hang out the window! Couldn’t you have called from the bathroom and at least…” He was going to say, keep him company while he was fucking dying, but stopped himself in time.
“Hey, yeah.” Justin took a deep breath, then let it out. Brian eyed him. Good, he was breathing. Maybe the oxygen was getting to his brain again. “Why couldn’t you have called from here?”
“I just… just…” Ethan stuttered. “I didn’t know how you’d take me calling him.”
“But you said you thought I’d asked for him, AS IF I WOULD BECAUSE I WOULDN’T.” Justin paused to inhale and exhale deeply again. “You were freaked out, weren’t you? Just tell me, Ethan. You didn't know what else to do."
Oh, no, Brian thought. The fiddle-fuck couldn’t be so stupid as to believe that snake-in-Eden tone.
Ethan slumped against the doorway. “Yeah, okay, I had no idea what else to do.”
Okay, so maybe he was that stupid.
“So you call my ex-boyfriend…”
“I wasn’t your boyfr…”
“…despite the fact I never wanted to see him again…”
Yeah, sure, whatever you say Sunshine.
“And then LEAVE MY ASS HANGING OUT THE WINDOW FOR 15 MINUTES?! What the fuck is wrong with you!” Justin pushed past Brian, then pushed Ethan aside. He walked into the living room, and began cramming sketches into his bag. He picked up a shirt, then dropped it. “Fucking cat hair,” he muttered.
“Justin, bab… honey, what are you doing?”
“I can’t stay here, obviously,” Justin answered.
Ooh, Brian knew that tone too. It’s you who will pack up, soul-patch man, your minutes are running out, tick tick tick! tone. Brian crossed his arms over his chest. “You can stay with me,” he offered.
“Pfft!!”
Well, it wasn't as if he expected to be welcomed back with open legs, but he was in too much pain not to try for a sure-fire hangover cure. Brian shruggged. “Fine, I’ll drive you to your mom’s.”
“Really?” Justin said, straightening and turning around.
“You can’t go with him,” Ethan said firmly.
“I obviously can’t stay here. I have a key to my mom’s…”
Oh, well, shit. Fucking great. Now he really WOULD have to drive the princess back to the tower.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, we can talk.”
Ethan hesitated, but then nodded. “Okay.”
Talk. Justin talking. Brian smirked. Talking, right. He and Ian would talk, and then Justin would go ahead and follow whatever the fuck was driving him, anyway. That’s the way he was. That’s the way everyone was. And, from the looks of what Justin was cramming into his bags (with the exception of clothing, no doubt full of cat hair, so he'd have to come and get his underw... leftovers from Brian's), the Return to Great Love did not seem promising the Happy Ending. Yeah. Filthy apartments and counter-less sinks and ring around the tub would do that. So would having to swallow your pride and accept a ride from the ex-boyf… fuck, ex-fuck, because there was no money for a cab. Which would never come to this side of town at this time of night, anyway.
Brian emerged from the bathroom. “Don’t forget your meds!” he said cheerily. Ethan glared. Justin rolled his eyes, but accepted the bottle tossed his way.