A CERTAIN KIND OF ROMANCE
Title: A Certain Kind of Romance
Written By: _kiden
Timeline: 2.13-ish
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Summary: A small snipet of something that could've happened around 2.13.
Author's Notes: Thank you to asm614 for the lovely read-through/beta. You rock my universe! :D
Justin has had a really fucking bad week, is what it comes down to, and letting some guy blow you in the backroom is completely different than getting it right there in the diner's restroom on a Wednesday night.
It's the art project due on Friday and Michael's headache-inducing nagging about the next issue of Rage and his fucking gimp hand, his fingers suddenly limp like damn cooked spaghetti, when it's been feeling fine for so long. It's Emmett's stupid never-wavering smile and Ted's trying-to-be-witty comments and absolutely every-fucking-thing about the diner itself. The colours and Debbie's voice ringing over the masses of guys, all talking about sucking and fucking and what colour shirt would bring out whoever-the-hell's eyes.
Justin slams his good hand down on the table, palm open, and Emmett's glass of sparkling water sloshes around the glass and onto the chipping surface between them. His jaw tight, his eyes staring right into Brian's, he says, "Fuck you."
Emmett uses his sleeve to wipe up the mess and Justin says, "You never -- you know what? Fuck it. It's not worth it."
He pushes through the crowd; ignoring Debbie has she calls after him ("Sunshine, where are you running off to?"). The air outside hits him hard and fresh, heavy with out-of-season heat, and he breathes deep, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes. He's over-reacting and he knows it. Him and Brian, they could be together 30 more fucking years and he will always - always - be who he is, nothing can change that. And the funny part is, or maybe the ridiculous part, is all the things he does that make Justin furious are also all the reasons he loves him.
His mind is a completely warped and fucked place, clearly.
He's not halfway down the block when Michael's voice (not Brian, no, he'd never chase him out onto the street), says, "Justin! Hey, wait up!"
Justin stops, turns on his heels, and says, "I don't want to talk about it. If you are looking for a heart-to-heart, Michael, you're better off -."
"I just wanted to make sure you're alright, that's all," Michael says defensively. "Look, I can walk with you if you wanted to -."
"Am I suddenly a 10-year-old?" Justin snaps. "Don't worry, if any van-driving clowns show up, I'll be sure to confirm the bike exists before I jump in."
"That's not what I meant," he sighs, "I just -."
"Get in."
And then there is Brian in the jeep, wearing his sunglasses as if it's not the middle of the damn night, and Justin really - really - wants to fucking punch him in his stupid face. Instead, he leans into the open passenger window and says, extremely slowly so he doesn't miss any of it, "Get. Fucked."
"I'm trying to," Brian says flippantly, "but you won't get in the car."
"You really are unbelievable. There isn't a damn word for how completely fucking retarded you are."
"Actually, the word you are looking for is not 'retarded', although 'unbelievable' is fine. Others are: 'hot', 'stud', and 'King of Orgasms'. You can use them in any order you want," Brian says, not looking at Justin, but at the light changing in front of him from Yellow to Red to Green again. "Now get the fuck in the car, princess."
Justin glances back at Michael, only to see he's finally done something intelligent and left, because seriously, Justin is sure he is about to commit a hate crime. A big giant hate crime, really. He wants to.
Brian says, "Fuck it, then. If you want act like a baby then go sleep at your fucking mother's house." He slams the jeep into drive and, with a loud screeching, runs the red light and speeds off down the street. Justin smiles triumphantly -- he just so completely won. He is the winner of the universe and he almost feels like giving an acceptance speech, because he's pretty sure he is now the coolest fucking guy in the world. He closes his eyes and grins to himself, knowing that right now Brian is cursing and gripping the steering wheel too tight and red-faced with anger.
He could dance, seriously, right now in the street. He's that fucking happy.
And it lasts about three seconds.
Because there is Brian reversing back down the street, swerving around a couple of cars, and jolting to a stop right back in front of Justin. He says, "Get in."
Justin doesn't hesitate this time to jump in, because, Christ, it's going to be so much fun. Now Brian is pissed and Justin can be the snarky one, and goddamnit, he loves when things are switched up like this. Loves when it's Brian that has to swallow his pride, get angry, grovel at Justin's victorious feet.
Okay, that last bit probably won't happen, but Justin is nothing if not imaginative.
"So what," he says, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his feet on the dashboard, despite the About To Explode Twitch of Brian's right eyebrow. Brian doesn't say anything though, just keeps staring ahead at the mostly empty streets, running more red lights. At his silence, Justin flips on the radio and to the soft rock station and yes, oh God it's perfect, there is Celine Dion and she's so totally excited that she will love them forever, and on and on, and far across many distances and spaces.
Brian turns a corner fast, the jeep rocking alarmingly, and Justin says, "If you are looking to kill me, you could at least be a little more inventive than a monotonous car accident. It'd be a shame to live through all that crap just to die from suffocation by airbag. Slow the hell down."
Then the car comes to a total stop and Justin looks around and what the hell are they stopped in an empty Foodland parking lot for? Except - oh. Justin smiles and pulls his sweatshirt over his head and says, "Let's make with the sex." Because that's clearly what they are there for. Impromptu sex in a parking lot because Justin's sass has gotten Brian all flustered with wanton lust.
Except.
"Have you thought about what I offered?"
Wait - wusah?
"What?"
Brian says, "The money, dickhead. Have you thought about -."
"But, sex?" Justin says, narrowing his eyes. "You brought me into an empty parking lot to talk about school? We had a fight - did - did you miss the fight?"
"What?" Brian says. "Oh - oh. That was a fight?"
And Justin's previous anger that had been replaced by triumph, and later lust, unravels into nothingness. Brian is clearly an idiot. Or drunk, maybe. Probably.
"Never mind," Justin says, because what is the point anyway? "And no, I didn't. No, well, I did. The answer is still no, thank you. I'll deal."
He sighs and grabs his sweatshirt from the backseat and says, "Are we having sex or not? Because it's a little fucking chilly."
Brian says, "I just got the jeep detailed."
Right.
Brian pulls out of the parking lot, says something like well the offer still stands, but Justin is hardly listening. There's a feeling, deep in his gut, that something has changed again. (As if that hasn't been happening enough) Because Brian is calmer somehow and doesn't flinch away when Justin covers his hand with his own, resting on the stick-shift between them.
Justin figures he'll really think about Brian's offer - he could use the money, after all, and maybe it's not charity as much as he's been telling himself it is. Maybe it's something a lot simpler than that. And well, who cares about what Brian may or may not do in bathrooms.
Justin smiles and laces his fingers with Brian's and thinks, well, he's the one who gets to go home with him.
And that's counts for a lot more.
Written By: _kiden
Timeline: 2.13-ish
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Summary: A small snipet of something that could've happened around 2.13.
Author's Notes: Thank you to asm614 for the lovely read-through/beta. You rock my universe! :D
Justin has had a really fucking bad week, is what it comes down to, and letting some guy blow you in the backroom is completely different than getting it right there in the diner's restroom on a Wednesday night.
It's the art project due on Friday and Michael's headache-inducing nagging about the next issue of Rage and his fucking gimp hand, his fingers suddenly limp like damn cooked spaghetti, when it's been feeling fine for so long. It's Emmett's stupid never-wavering smile and Ted's trying-to-be-witty comments and absolutely every-fucking-thing about the diner itself. The colours and Debbie's voice ringing over the masses of guys, all talking about sucking and fucking and what colour shirt would bring out whoever-the-hell's eyes.
Justin slams his good hand down on the table, palm open, and Emmett's glass of sparkling water sloshes around the glass and onto the chipping surface between them. His jaw tight, his eyes staring right into Brian's, he says, "Fuck you."
Emmett uses his sleeve to wipe up the mess and Justin says, "You never -- you know what? Fuck it. It's not worth it."
He pushes through the crowd; ignoring Debbie has she calls after him ("Sunshine, where are you running off to?"). The air outside hits him hard and fresh, heavy with out-of-season heat, and he breathes deep, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes. He's over-reacting and he knows it. Him and Brian, they could be together 30 more fucking years and he will always - always - be who he is, nothing can change that. And the funny part is, or maybe the ridiculous part, is all the things he does that make Justin furious are also all the reasons he loves him.
His mind is a completely warped and fucked place, clearly.
He's not halfway down the block when Michael's voice (not Brian, no, he'd never chase him out onto the street), says, "Justin! Hey, wait up!"
Justin stops, turns on his heels, and says, "I don't want to talk about it. If you are looking for a heart-to-heart, Michael, you're better off -."
"I just wanted to make sure you're alright, that's all," Michael says defensively. "Look, I can walk with you if you wanted to -."
"Am I suddenly a 10-year-old?" Justin snaps. "Don't worry, if any van-driving clowns show up, I'll be sure to confirm the bike exists before I jump in."
"That's not what I meant," he sighs, "I just -."
"Get in."
And then there is Brian in the jeep, wearing his sunglasses as if it's not the middle of the damn night, and Justin really - really - wants to fucking punch him in his stupid face. Instead, he leans into the open passenger window and says, extremely slowly so he doesn't miss any of it, "Get. Fucked."
"I'm trying to," Brian says flippantly, "but you won't get in the car."
"You really are unbelievable. There isn't a damn word for how completely fucking retarded you are."
"Actually, the word you are looking for is not 'retarded', although 'unbelievable' is fine. Others are: 'hot', 'stud', and 'King of Orgasms'. You can use them in any order you want," Brian says, not looking at Justin, but at the light changing in front of him from Yellow to Red to Green again. "Now get the fuck in the car, princess."
Justin glances back at Michael, only to see he's finally done something intelligent and left, because seriously, Justin is sure he is about to commit a hate crime. A big giant hate crime, really. He wants to.
Brian says, "Fuck it, then. If you want act like a baby then go sleep at your fucking mother's house." He slams the jeep into drive and, with a loud screeching, runs the red light and speeds off down the street. Justin smiles triumphantly -- he just so completely won. He is the winner of the universe and he almost feels like giving an acceptance speech, because he's pretty sure he is now the coolest fucking guy in the world. He closes his eyes and grins to himself, knowing that right now Brian is cursing and gripping the steering wheel too tight and red-faced with anger.
He could dance, seriously, right now in the street. He's that fucking happy.
And it lasts about three seconds.
Because there is Brian reversing back down the street, swerving around a couple of cars, and jolting to a stop right back in front of Justin. He says, "Get in."
Justin doesn't hesitate this time to jump in, because, Christ, it's going to be so much fun. Now Brian is pissed and Justin can be the snarky one, and goddamnit, he loves when things are switched up like this. Loves when it's Brian that has to swallow his pride, get angry, grovel at Justin's victorious feet.
Okay, that last bit probably won't happen, but Justin is nothing if not imaginative.
"So what," he says, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his feet on the dashboard, despite the About To Explode Twitch of Brian's right eyebrow. Brian doesn't say anything though, just keeps staring ahead at the mostly empty streets, running more red lights. At his silence, Justin flips on the radio and to the soft rock station and yes, oh God it's perfect, there is Celine Dion and she's so totally excited that she will love them forever, and on and on, and far across many distances and spaces.
Brian turns a corner fast, the jeep rocking alarmingly, and Justin says, "If you are looking to kill me, you could at least be a little more inventive than a monotonous car accident. It'd be a shame to live through all that crap just to die from suffocation by airbag. Slow the hell down."
Then the car comes to a total stop and Justin looks around and what the hell are they stopped in an empty Foodland parking lot for? Except - oh. Justin smiles and pulls his sweatshirt over his head and says, "Let's make with the sex." Because that's clearly what they are there for. Impromptu sex in a parking lot because Justin's sass has gotten Brian all flustered with wanton lust.
Except.
"Have you thought about what I offered?"
Wait - wusah?
"What?"
Brian says, "The money, dickhead. Have you thought about -."
"But, sex?" Justin says, narrowing his eyes. "You brought me into an empty parking lot to talk about school? We had a fight - did - did you miss the fight?"
"What?" Brian says. "Oh - oh. That was a fight?"
And Justin's previous anger that had been replaced by triumph, and later lust, unravels into nothingness. Brian is clearly an idiot. Or drunk, maybe. Probably.
"Never mind," Justin says, because what is the point anyway? "And no, I didn't. No, well, I did. The answer is still no, thank you. I'll deal."
He sighs and grabs his sweatshirt from the backseat and says, "Are we having sex or not? Because it's a little fucking chilly."
Brian says, "I just got the jeep detailed."
Right.
Brian pulls out of the parking lot, says something like well the offer still stands, but Justin is hardly listening. There's a feeling, deep in his gut, that something has changed again. (As if that hasn't been happening enough) Because Brian is calmer somehow and doesn't flinch away when Justin covers his hand with his own, resting on the stick-shift between them.
Justin figures he'll really think about Brian's offer - he could use the money, after all, and maybe it's not charity as much as he's been telling himself it is. Maybe it's something a lot simpler than that. And well, who cares about what Brian may or may not do in bathrooms.
Justin smiles and laces his fingers with Brian's and thinks, well, he's the one who gets to go home with him.
And that's counts for a lot more.