My Christmas Fic - "Of Comfort and Joy"
This is the story I wrote for silent_seas for the qaf_giftxchnge community. The fabulous icon was made by silent_seas herself after reading the story. :)
It was inspired by a video interview with one of the Suddenly Last Summer cast, who talked about the cast-members playing Scrabble backstage. ayesakara and I were discussing how Gale would clearly kick ass at Scrabble, and one thing led to another, and she encouraged me to write this fic. But then, she encourages me with everything. She rocks like that.
It's Brian/Justin, and the gang.
Post Season Five.
Gio-friendly, of course.
Of Comfort and Joy
by Severina
He can feel the heat from the flames on the back of his neck, his shoulders, the curve of his spine. And when Brian covers him, blankets him with his body and slides effortlessly inside, the heat spreads to the rest of his body. He wraps his legs firmly around Brian’s waist, slides his palms along the slick surface of Brian’s back. They are heat, and fire, and he gasps when Brian shifts on his knees, angles his hips just right, just there, and he blinks away the sweat from his eyes because he needs to see. See Brian, mouth open, panting, and Justin wants to lick the sheen of sweat from Brian’s skin. Wants to and does, arching forward, pink tongue lapping at the curve of Brian’s neck.
Justin lifts his hips, wanting to rise to meet Brian’s thrusts but also wanting Brian to envelop him, surround him, pin him down, skin to skin wherever they can possibly touch. He wraps his hand around Brian’s neck and tugs, and their lips meet in a rush, kiss wet and hot and sloppy. And when Brian quickens his pace, when Brian’s long fingers encircle his dick, Justin lets his head fall to the side, bites his lip, gives himself over to the heat.
After, Justin squirms against the plush carpet. “Fucking hot.”
Brian’s eyes slide to his. “You know what they say,” he says, smirk firmly in place. “Absence makes the dick grow harder.”
Justin slaps out lightly at Brian’s chest. “I’m talking about the fireplace,” he laughs as he rolls easily onto his side to escape the baking heat at his back.
He props his head on his hand to survey the room. Brian, stretched long and lean at his side, and beyond Brian the suitcases toppled in the entranceway and spilling into the sitting room. His coat, inside-out, tossed on the back of the chair -- the chair that they had to move away from the fireplace.
Justin smiles. He remembers grand plans of a “conversation area” in front of the hearth, something he’d picked up from House Beautiful or some shit -- and he’s not sure why he was spending his time leafing through House Beautiful, except that when your boyfriend buys you a country motherfucking manor, Justin figures you should know how to accessorize it. They’d purchased two large overstuffed chairs. An oh-so-tasteful organic sticks-leaves-berries thing for over the fireplace. Candles of differing heights to line the mantle. And a handmade rug in soft hues of blue and gold.
Then they’d discovered that fucking in front of a fireplace really isn’t just for romance novels, and besides, when Justin walks in the door on his frequent visits they don’t have the time or the inclination to make it allll the way upstairs. And the handmade hearth rug, while impressive, just didn’t cushion the body the way they’d like it to. Out it went, replaced by a plush red-wine pseudo-shag that Brian calls “fit for a French Quarter bordello”. Justin thinks Brian secretly loves it. He knows that a little touch of decadent in a room goes a long way.
And the chairs -- the chairs just got in the way. So one of them now shares space on the far side of the room with the sofa. And the other… well...
His flight was delayed, traffic was bumper to bumper, and when he finally pulled up in front of Britin all he wanted to do was take a piss, shower, and die, not necessarily in that order.
He’d dropped his bags on the floor and was lost in thought, halfway through the living room before realizing that Brian was stretched out naked in the chair, hand slowly fisting his cock, flames from the fireplace dancing on his skin.
“Come here,” Brian had said, his voice low and brooking no argument, “and sit on my dick.”
…sometimes the chair came in handy.
Justin senses Brian shift behind him, suppresses a sound that is half moan half laugh when he feels Brian’s lips at the small of his back, open mouthed kisses on his skin.
“You’re insatiable,” Justin says.
“And you’re not?” Brian says, amused, and Justin squirms against the onslaught of warm breath, lower, almost there.
“We’re going to be late,” he tries, but he knows it’s a half-hearted effort, knows it as he gives in to the press of Brian’s hand on his shoulder and easily, eagerly, rolls onto his stomach. Knows it as his fingers grab for that thick plush carpet and hang on.
“Deb’s used to it,” Brian says, and then Brian’s tongue is there, just there, and Justin doesn’t think any more.
* * *
“I don’t see why Ben had to go into work tonight,” Debbie squawks. “It’s Christmas fucking Eve!”
“It’s December 22nd, Ma,” Michael says flatly.
“Well, it’s our Christmas Eve,” Debbie says. “That ought to count for something!”
“I’m sure he’ll get here as soon as he can,” Michael replies with a long-suffering air. Justin thinks that Michael has had a long time to perfect that particular trait, and he‘s not sure whether he admires him or pities him for it. Probably a little of both.
“It’s my fault,” Justin puts in.
Brian snorts. “How the fuck is The Nutty Professor getting called in to deal with a punctuation crisis your fault?”
“It’s my fault that we had to have our celebration today,” Justin points out. “That fucking gallery owner is ridiculous. Who has an opening on Christmas Eve?”
“No one’s going to show up,” Ted says glumly.
“Almost no one,” Brian corrects, and Justin grins. He knows Brian’s had his plane ticket purchased for weeks.
“It’s not your fault, Sunshine,” Debbie says. “Your career has to be your number one priority right now, and I understand that.”
Justin thinks that Deb has got a pretty good long-suffering air going on herself.
“Meanwhile,” Debbie continues, stabbing a red-taloned finger in Brian’s direction, “the least you could do is get him here on time!”
“Why am I always the asshole and you always the saint?” Brian mutters under his breath.
“And the girls didn’t even show up!” Deb rants on, clearly on a roll. “The least they could do is…”
“Pick up the fucking phone,” the room choruses in unison.
“Well,” Debbie says, unabashed. “They could.”
“It’s been a fine Christmas Eve, regardless,” Ted says into the silence. He caresses his Royal Opera recording of Tristan und Isolde in a way that Justin finds just a tiny bit creepy -- and besides, Placido Domingo’s voice sort of makes Justin‘s ear bleed -- and pats the Scrabble box next to it affectionately. “I may not have received presents fit for a king,” he says with a glance in Brian’s direction, “but I certainly received presents fit for a king’s accountant.”
“You deserved them all, Teddy,” Emmett says, indicating the pile of gifts with a flourish that has Justin diving for the wine bottle. He just knows that if something spills on the carpet, he’s the one who’s going to be cleaning it up. “Just promise me that you’ll never again make me search under the sofa for a lost Y.”
“I think Lupe ate it,” Ted says.
“You think your fucking cleaning lady ate a Scrabble tile?” Brian gapes. “Theodore, it’s time to change agencies.”
“It’s his cat,” Emmett snaps out.
“Theodore has a cat?” Brian asks.
“I promise next time we play, there will be no searching for lost tiles,” Ted grins.
Brian nudges Justin. “When did Theodore get a cat?”
Justin shrugs. He didn’t know Ted had a cleaning lady, never mind a cat.
“We should play right now,” Michael suggests.
“Really?” Ted asks eagerly. “You want to?”
“Sure!” Michael says.
That’s another thing Justin notices that Michael does -- puts on that enthusiastic little puppy dog face and grins that enthusiastic little puppy dog grin, even when Justin is one thousand percent sure that Michael no more wants to play Scrabble than he wants to have his colon removed with a wooden spoon. Justin definitely admires that trait.
“I’ll grab some more wine and then we’ll pick tiles,” Emmett says, also getting into the Make Ted Happy On Fake Christmas Eve spirit. “Justin, you in?”
And Justin plasters on a smile that he hopes doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “Sure.”
“Ma?”
Debbie waves in their direction. “I’ll just get these dishes started.”
“Maaaa--”
“You boys enjoy yourselves.”
Michael shrugs, watching as Ted hurriedly removes the shrink wrap from the game and tosses the tiles into the velvet drawstring bag. “Brian, you playing?”
“Why didn’t I know that Theodore has a cat?” Brian asks.
“Jesus Christ,” Emmett bites out. He sets the fresh bottle of wine down on the coffee table with a thump. “Yes, Brian, Ted has a cat. She‘s black with a small tuft on white on her chin. She loves peanut butter and hates tuna, and he got her when he was just starting rehab, which means he’s had her for a year.”
“At least,” Ted puts in.
“And we didn’t tell you because we often keep secrets from you,” Emmett continues. “And then we get together behind your back and laugh and laugh, because there’s nothing we like better than keeping the important details of our lives secret from Brian Kinney, king of the fucking universe. Any more questions?”
Brian blinks. “Guess not.”
“Good.” Emmett smiles sweetly. “Now, are you in?”
Brian shrugs. “I’m in.”
* * *
Justin vaguely remembers a high school chemistry class dealing with photosynthesis. Something about plants and leaves and blah blah blah. He’s pretty sure he feel asleep midway through, certain at the time that nothing in the world could be more boring.
He knows now that he was wrong.
“Friday night,” Brian says, not for the first time. “We could be playing pool at Woody’s, fucking at the baths, dancing and drinking -- free drinks, I might add -- at Babylon. But no. We’re playing… Scrabble.”
Justin snorts. Friday night Scrabble. And his mother thought that Brian Kinney would be a corrupting influence.
“And having a fabulous time,” Emmett adds with a pointed glance in their direction.
Justin looks sheepish, but Brian steadfastly ignores him, too busy scowling at the board. “Mat?” he grouses. “You give me ‘Mat’?”
“I’m sorry,” Ted sputters. “My letters are for shit, okay?”
“Lucky for me I don’t suffer from the same unfortunate predicament, Theodore,” Brian says smugly, arranging his own tiles quickly on the board.
Justin’s eyes narrow. “Thrassus?”
“Supervising the rebuilding at Babylon came in handy,” Brian says. At the blank looks around the table, he sighs. “The narrow beam that connects two support beams? Thrassus?”
“Uh huh,” Justin says.
Brian arches a brow. “Care to challenge?”
Justin blinks once, slowly. “Why would I do that?” he asks, working with Brian’s S to arranging his own tiles vertically on the board. S-C-A-R-A-B-A-T.
“Scare-a-bat?” Emmett sounds out dubiously.
“The fuck,” Brian says.
“Skar-uhb-bit,” Justin corrects slowly. “A necklace… or any piece of jewellery, really… worn by the ancient Egyptians in honour of the insect they considered divine--”
“The scarab!” Michael says excitedly. “I remember that from The Mummy!”
“Oooh, The Mummy!” Emmett enthuses. “Brendan Fraser is so hot.”
“Right,” Justin tells Michael, never taking his eyes from Brian.
“Right,” Brian says slowly.
“Your turn, Em,” Ted points out.
“Oh, and Ted,” Justin says primly, “that T made it a triple word score.”
Justin thinks he might come to enjoy this night after all.
* * *
By the time Ben arrives an hour later, Justin is just edging out Brian for the lead, the rest of the boys trail several hundred points behind, they are collectively on their fifth bottle of wine, and the weed has made an appearance.
Justin thinks that if Brian would just get naked, it would be about the best night ever.
Next time, he thinks he’ll suggest Strip Scrabble. Then Ted says something about -- well, Justin has no idea what about, it’s just that Ted says something, which reminds him that Ted is, you know, there -- and he thinks that maybe Strip Scrabble isn’t such a great idea. Unless he and Brian were alone. And really, if they were alone they could just skip the Scrabble and go straight to the strip portion of the evening.
“I need some more wine,” Justin says.
“Having fun, boys?” Ben asks as he rises from kissing Michael.
“Tons!” Emmett gushes. “Want some wine?”
“I do,” Justin says.
“No thanks, Em,“ Ben replies. He crouches to look at the board. “Scrabble, huh?”
“We’re learning tons of new words,” Emmett says. “Want some wine?”
Ben laughs. He leans over the table. Squints. “I… see that. Uh… ‘clemp’?”
“Oh, oh, I remember that one,” Michael says. “It’s the glue that holds book bindings together!” He rolls his eyes. “You should know that one, Ben!”
“Ohhkay.”
Michael frowns. “Wait. It’s not?”
“Uhhh… no.”
Justin presses his lips together so tight he almost sees stars as three sets of eyes boggle at them across the table.
“You--” Michael sputters.
“I--” Emmett begins.
“Cheaters!” Ted cries.
Brian leans back on his haunches, grinning widely. “Suckers,” he says.
* * *
One day, Justin imagines they’ll actually make it to the bedroom.
Now, he rests his head on his hand and watches the play of light on the shiny metallic gift bags scattered across the living room floor, and listens to the sound of Brian’s breathing slowly returning to normal at his side. All is quiet but for the sounds of his home -- the crackle of the logs in the fire, Brian’s even breathing, the wind whipping around the corner of the house. Justin thinks if he could package it all up, he would market it as contentment.
“I thought Ted was going to have a heart attack,” Brian says into the silence.
“And when Michael hit the edge of the board--”
“Shit,” Brian laughs. “I didn’t know tiles could fly that high.”
“Do you think they ever found the missing Q?”
He feels Brian’s shoulder lift in a shrug. Feels himself getting sleepy. Sleepier. Thinks they should probably wander up to the bed at some point, before the fire dies and they waken stiff and sore and cold, and spend half the morning bitching at each other. Not that there’s been a precedent set or anything.
“They don’t know how to take a joke,” Brian mumbles.
“I do,” Justin says.
He feels Brian shift beside him, and opens his eyes to find Brian hovering over him, his eyes hooded and soft. “I do,” Brian says.
And Justin blinks into the dark, not quite sure what is happening, but he lifts a hand to Brian’s face, smoothes a palm along Brian’s cheek. “Brian,” he begins softly. Presses a kiss to Brian’s lips. “Brian,” he says again, “I frackle you with all my heart.”
And Brian laughs, warm and wild and free. “I frackle you too, you fucker.”
Justin grins. “Let’s go to bed.”
They do.
.
It was inspired by a video interview with one of the Suddenly Last Summer cast, who talked about the cast-members playing Scrabble backstage. ayesakara and I were discussing how Gale would clearly kick ass at Scrabble, and one thing led to another, and she encouraged me to write this fic. But then, she encourages me with everything. She rocks like that.
It's Brian/Justin, and the gang.
Post Season Five.
Gio-friendly, of course.
Of Comfort and Joy
by Severina
He can feel the heat from the flames on the back of his neck, his shoulders, the curve of his spine. And when Brian covers him, blankets him with his body and slides effortlessly inside, the heat spreads to the rest of his body. He wraps his legs firmly around Brian’s waist, slides his palms along the slick surface of Brian’s back. They are heat, and fire, and he gasps when Brian shifts on his knees, angles his hips just right, just there, and he blinks away the sweat from his eyes because he needs to see. See Brian, mouth open, panting, and Justin wants to lick the sheen of sweat from Brian’s skin. Wants to and does, arching forward, pink tongue lapping at the curve of Brian’s neck.
Justin lifts his hips, wanting to rise to meet Brian’s thrusts but also wanting Brian to envelop him, surround him, pin him down, skin to skin wherever they can possibly touch. He wraps his hand around Brian’s neck and tugs, and their lips meet in a rush, kiss wet and hot and sloppy. And when Brian quickens his pace, when Brian’s long fingers encircle his dick, Justin lets his head fall to the side, bites his lip, gives himself over to the heat.
After, Justin squirms against the plush carpet. “Fucking hot.”
Brian’s eyes slide to his. “You know what they say,” he says, smirk firmly in place. “Absence makes the dick grow harder.”
Justin slaps out lightly at Brian’s chest. “I’m talking about the fireplace,” he laughs as he rolls easily onto his side to escape the baking heat at his back.
He props his head on his hand to survey the room. Brian, stretched long and lean at his side, and beyond Brian the suitcases toppled in the entranceway and spilling into the sitting room. His coat, inside-out, tossed on the back of the chair -- the chair that they had to move away from the fireplace.
Justin smiles. He remembers grand plans of a “conversation area” in front of the hearth, something he’d picked up from House Beautiful or some shit -- and he’s not sure why he was spending his time leafing through House Beautiful, except that when your boyfriend buys you a country motherfucking manor, Justin figures you should know how to accessorize it. They’d purchased two large overstuffed chairs. An oh-so-tasteful organic sticks-leaves-berries thing for over the fireplace. Candles of differing heights to line the mantle. And a handmade rug in soft hues of blue and gold.
Then they’d discovered that fucking in front of a fireplace really isn’t just for romance novels, and besides, when Justin walks in the door on his frequent visits they don’t have the time or the inclination to make it allll the way upstairs. And the handmade hearth rug, while impressive, just didn’t cushion the body the way they’d like it to. Out it went, replaced by a plush red-wine pseudo-shag that Brian calls “fit for a French Quarter bordello”. Justin thinks Brian secretly loves it. He knows that a little touch of decadent in a room goes a long way.
And the chairs -- the chairs just got in the way. So one of them now shares space on the far side of the room with the sofa. And the other… well...
His flight was delayed, traffic was bumper to bumper, and when he finally pulled up in front of Britin all he wanted to do was take a piss, shower, and die, not necessarily in that order.
He’d dropped his bags on the floor and was lost in thought, halfway through the living room before realizing that Brian was stretched out naked in the chair, hand slowly fisting his cock, flames from the fireplace dancing on his skin.
“Come here,” Brian had said, his voice low and brooking no argument, “and sit on my dick.”
…sometimes the chair came in handy.
Justin senses Brian shift behind him, suppresses a sound that is half moan half laugh when he feels Brian’s lips at the small of his back, open mouthed kisses on his skin.
“You’re insatiable,” Justin says.
“And you’re not?” Brian says, amused, and Justin squirms against the onslaught of warm breath, lower, almost there.
“We’re going to be late,” he tries, but he knows it’s a half-hearted effort, knows it as he gives in to the press of Brian’s hand on his shoulder and easily, eagerly, rolls onto his stomach. Knows it as his fingers grab for that thick plush carpet and hang on.
“Deb’s used to it,” Brian says, and then Brian’s tongue is there, just there, and Justin doesn’t think any more.
* * *
“I don’t see why Ben had to go into work tonight,” Debbie squawks. “It’s Christmas fucking Eve!”
“It’s December 22nd, Ma,” Michael says flatly.
“Well, it’s our Christmas Eve,” Debbie says. “That ought to count for something!”
“I’m sure he’ll get here as soon as he can,” Michael replies with a long-suffering air. Justin thinks that Michael has had a long time to perfect that particular trait, and he‘s not sure whether he admires him or pities him for it. Probably a little of both.
“It’s my fault,” Justin puts in.
Brian snorts. “How the fuck is The Nutty Professor getting called in to deal with a punctuation crisis your fault?”
“It’s my fault that we had to have our celebration today,” Justin points out. “That fucking gallery owner is ridiculous. Who has an opening on Christmas Eve?”
“No one’s going to show up,” Ted says glumly.
“Almost no one,” Brian corrects, and Justin grins. He knows Brian’s had his plane ticket purchased for weeks.
“It’s not your fault, Sunshine,” Debbie says. “Your career has to be your number one priority right now, and I understand that.”
Justin thinks that Deb has got a pretty good long-suffering air going on herself.
“Meanwhile,” Debbie continues, stabbing a red-taloned finger in Brian’s direction, “the least you could do is get him here on time!”
“Why am I always the asshole and you always the saint?” Brian mutters under his breath.
“And the girls didn’t even show up!” Deb rants on, clearly on a roll. “The least they could do is…”
“Pick up the fucking phone,” the room choruses in unison.
“Well,” Debbie says, unabashed. “They could.”
“It’s been a fine Christmas Eve, regardless,” Ted says into the silence. He caresses his Royal Opera recording of Tristan und Isolde in a way that Justin finds just a tiny bit creepy -- and besides, Placido Domingo’s voice sort of makes Justin‘s ear bleed -- and pats the Scrabble box next to it affectionately. “I may not have received presents fit for a king,” he says with a glance in Brian’s direction, “but I certainly received presents fit for a king’s accountant.”
“You deserved them all, Teddy,” Emmett says, indicating the pile of gifts with a flourish that has Justin diving for the wine bottle. He just knows that if something spills on the carpet, he’s the one who’s going to be cleaning it up. “Just promise me that you’ll never again make me search under the sofa for a lost Y.”
“I think Lupe ate it,” Ted says.
“You think your fucking cleaning lady ate a Scrabble tile?” Brian gapes. “Theodore, it’s time to change agencies.”
“It’s his cat,” Emmett snaps out.
“Theodore has a cat?” Brian asks.
“I promise next time we play, there will be no searching for lost tiles,” Ted grins.
Brian nudges Justin. “When did Theodore get a cat?”
Justin shrugs. He didn’t know Ted had a cleaning lady, never mind a cat.
“We should play right now,” Michael suggests.
“Really?” Ted asks eagerly. “You want to?”
“Sure!” Michael says.
That’s another thing Justin notices that Michael does -- puts on that enthusiastic little puppy dog face and grins that enthusiastic little puppy dog grin, even when Justin is one thousand percent sure that Michael no more wants to play Scrabble than he wants to have his colon removed with a wooden spoon. Justin definitely admires that trait.
“I’ll grab some more wine and then we’ll pick tiles,” Emmett says, also getting into the Make Ted Happy On Fake Christmas Eve spirit. “Justin, you in?”
And Justin plasters on a smile that he hopes doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “Sure.”
“Ma?”
Debbie waves in their direction. “I’ll just get these dishes started.”
“Maaaa--”
“You boys enjoy yourselves.”
Michael shrugs, watching as Ted hurriedly removes the shrink wrap from the game and tosses the tiles into the velvet drawstring bag. “Brian, you playing?”
“Why didn’t I know that Theodore has a cat?” Brian asks.
“Jesus Christ,” Emmett bites out. He sets the fresh bottle of wine down on the coffee table with a thump. “Yes, Brian, Ted has a cat. She‘s black with a small tuft on white on her chin. She loves peanut butter and hates tuna, and he got her when he was just starting rehab, which means he’s had her for a year.”
“At least,” Ted puts in.
“And we didn’t tell you because we often keep secrets from you,” Emmett continues. “And then we get together behind your back and laugh and laugh, because there’s nothing we like better than keeping the important details of our lives secret from Brian Kinney, king of the fucking universe. Any more questions?”
Brian blinks. “Guess not.”
“Good.” Emmett smiles sweetly. “Now, are you in?”
Brian shrugs. “I’m in.”
* * *
Justin vaguely remembers a high school chemistry class dealing with photosynthesis. Something about plants and leaves and blah blah blah. He’s pretty sure he feel asleep midway through, certain at the time that nothing in the world could be more boring.
He knows now that he was wrong.
“Friday night,” Brian says, not for the first time. “We could be playing pool at Woody’s, fucking at the baths, dancing and drinking -- free drinks, I might add -- at Babylon. But no. We’re playing… Scrabble.”
Justin snorts. Friday night Scrabble. And his mother thought that Brian Kinney would be a corrupting influence.
“And having a fabulous time,” Emmett adds with a pointed glance in their direction.
Justin looks sheepish, but Brian steadfastly ignores him, too busy scowling at the board. “Mat?” he grouses. “You give me ‘Mat’?”
“I’m sorry,” Ted sputters. “My letters are for shit, okay?”
“Lucky for me I don’t suffer from the same unfortunate predicament, Theodore,” Brian says smugly, arranging his own tiles quickly on the board.
Justin’s eyes narrow. “Thrassus?”
“Supervising the rebuilding at Babylon came in handy,” Brian says. At the blank looks around the table, he sighs. “The narrow beam that connects two support beams? Thrassus?”
“Uh huh,” Justin says.
Brian arches a brow. “Care to challenge?”
Justin blinks once, slowly. “Why would I do that?” he asks, working with Brian’s S to arranging his own tiles vertically on the board. S-C-A-R-A-B-A-T.
“Scare-a-bat?” Emmett sounds out dubiously.
“The fuck,” Brian says.
“Skar-uhb-bit,” Justin corrects slowly. “A necklace… or any piece of jewellery, really… worn by the ancient Egyptians in honour of the insect they considered divine--”
“The scarab!” Michael says excitedly. “I remember that from The Mummy!”
“Oooh, The Mummy!” Emmett enthuses. “Brendan Fraser is so hot.”
“Right,” Justin tells Michael, never taking his eyes from Brian.
“Right,” Brian says slowly.
“Your turn, Em,” Ted points out.
“Oh, and Ted,” Justin says primly, “that T made it a triple word score.”
Justin thinks he might come to enjoy this night after all.
* * *
By the time Ben arrives an hour later, Justin is just edging out Brian for the lead, the rest of the boys trail several hundred points behind, they are collectively on their fifth bottle of wine, and the weed has made an appearance.
Justin thinks that if Brian would just get naked, it would be about the best night ever.
Next time, he thinks he’ll suggest Strip Scrabble. Then Ted says something about -- well, Justin has no idea what about, it’s just that Ted says something, which reminds him that Ted is, you know, there -- and he thinks that maybe Strip Scrabble isn’t such a great idea. Unless he and Brian were alone. And really, if they were alone they could just skip the Scrabble and go straight to the strip portion of the evening.
“I need some more wine,” Justin says.
“Having fun, boys?” Ben asks as he rises from kissing Michael.
“Tons!” Emmett gushes. “Want some wine?”
“I do,” Justin says.
“No thanks, Em,“ Ben replies. He crouches to look at the board. “Scrabble, huh?”
“We’re learning tons of new words,” Emmett says. “Want some wine?”
Ben laughs. He leans over the table. Squints. “I… see that. Uh… ‘clemp’?”
“Oh, oh, I remember that one,” Michael says. “It’s the glue that holds book bindings together!” He rolls his eyes. “You should know that one, Ben!”
“Ohhkay.”
Michael frowns. “Wait. It’s not?”
“Uhhh… no.”
Justin presses his lips together so tight he almost sees stars as three sets of eyes boggle at them across the table.
“You--” Michael sputters.
“I--” Emmett begins.
“Cheaters!” Ted cries.
Brian leans back on his haunches, grinning widely. “Suckers,” he says.
* * *
One day, Justin imagines they’ll actually make it to the bedroom.
Now, he rests his head on his hand and watches the play of light on the shiny metallic gift bags scattered across the living room floor, and listens to the sound of Brian’s breathing slowly returning to normal at his side. All is quiet but for the sounds of his home -- the crackle of the logs in the fire, Brian’s even breathing, the wind whipping around the corner of the house. Justin thinks if he could package it all up, he would market it as contentment.
“I thought Ted was going to have a heart attack,” Brian says into the silence.
“And when Michael hit the edge of the board--”
“Shit,” Brian laughs. “I didn’t know tiles could fly that high.”
“Do you think they ever found the missing Q?”
He feels Brian’s shoulder lift in a shrug. Feels himself getting sleepy. Sleepier. Thinks they should probably wander up to the bed at some point, before the fire dies and they waken stiff and sore and cold, and spend half the morning bitching at each other. Not that there’s been a precedent set or anything.
“They don’t know how to take a joke,” Brian mumbles.
“I do,” Justin says.
He feels Brian shift beside him, and opens his eyes to find Brian hovering over him, his eyes hooded and soft. “I do,” Brian says.
And Justin blinks into the dark, not quite sure what is happening, but he lifts a hand to Brian’s face, smoothes a palm along Brian’s cheek. “Brian,” he begins softly. Presses a kiss to Brian’s lips. “Brian,” he says again, “I frackle you with all my heart.”
And Brian laughs, warm and wild and free. “I frackle you too, you fucker.”
Justin grins. “Let’s go to bed.”
They do.
.