sorry about your guitar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cityphonelines) wrote2005-04-18 04:49 pm
cityphonelines) wrote2005-04-18 04:49 pm
Entry tags:
Fic - Rosebud
Title:Rosebud
Pairing: B/J
Rating: PG-13 (cause I refuse to learn the new ratings system) for language
Summary: Brian can give Justin the things he wants, but he'll always do it his way.
Timeline: Anytime after they get back together.
Disclaimer: Pretty? Yes. Mine? Nope.
Beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crazydiamondsue, except for the very end.
A/N: The tenses may seem a tad wonky but it's on purpose ;)
A/N2: Yes, it's a real drink.
He's taking comfort in the familiar; the bass thudding in his chest and at his feet, the colored spotlights casting mottled brightness over everything, the dig of the bar edge against his mid-back. And if anybody’s noticed that his stare is trained at the entrance, well, they know that it isn't worth mentioning.
Brian's familiar is about to go haywire and really at this point he's okay with that.
**********************************************************
"So, where's Justin this evening?"
There's less bite in Michael's voice these days and Brian is beyond grateful for it. He grabs Ted's arm and twists his wrist into an orange tinted patch of light, reads the time and throws the appendage back toward the owner.
"Out."
"Yeah, he has been for years; and if he wasn't then fucking his way through Babylon every night with you would be a big hint. What I asked was why he isn't gracing us with his presence."
Inwardly, Brian really wishes that Michael"s boyfriends didn’t encourage Michael's immaturity, his attempts at cute humor; outwardly he simply sighs with mock annoyance and genuine affection.
"He'll be here soon," Brian said, refusing to give unnecessary details as usual and sliding his eyes back to the club's front door.
***************************************
He always feels like he should feel Justin the minute he enters a room. Like his skin should prickle or his stomach should tumble, but, no, unless he sees him he doesn't know, not until Justin's arms are wrapped around him and his face is pressed into Brian's back. Sometimes he wishes it were more like those fucking bullshit romantic comedies, but it's not and he's continuously taken by surprise.
But now that he's finally here it doesn't matter anyway.
Justin treats him like a homing beacon, coming toward him through the crowd in that easy walk-dance-walk way that he has. Brian figures he's got about forty-eight seconds before Justin's pushed up against him at the bar, so he shouts his order to the bartender and by the time he's done rolling his eyes and explaining how to make it, he's down to a single digit countdown.
5… Justin at ten paces
4… shot poured
3… shot in hand
2… Justin pressed against him, face tilted up
1… shot at Justin's lips in lieu of kiss
"What the fuck, Brian? And a 'hello honey' to you, too."
"Drink it."
"It’s pink."
"I’m aware of that. Drink it."
Justin used two fingers and a thumb to pluck the shot glass from Brian's hand; holding it above his head and turning it slightly in evaluation he frowned at Brian. "It looks like Pepto Bismol, kinda gross."
Since Brian's giving him that look that makes him feel like he's missed the point of the story, and he knows that this could go on all night, he gives in and drinks it. "Mmmm, tastes like ice cream, what is it?"
Brian already has a line of identical shots waiting on the bar and Justin's a bit afraid of the look on the bartender's face. "Drink 'em down," Brain said, ignoring the question, "and be quick about it. I’ve been waiting all day to fuck you."
"All of them? There's gotta be like ten shots! I can't drink all that."
Brian pushed himself off the bar and stepped behind Justin, chest to back, caging him in with his arms. "Actually, there are eleven shots. Now get to it, this isn't up for negotiation."
And just like that, Justin realizes this is important. He slams the shots in succession, flipping each small glass upside down as he finishes with it. They're so good, sweet and creamy, and his mind is so so busy running away with the reasons why Brian's insisting on this game, that he doesn't realize that he's drunk the last one until his hand reaches for the next and finds nothing.
"Those were good," he said, and though the liquor is far from strong the the effect from having so many so fast is already creeping up on him. "Really, really good; like strawberries and coconut."
Brian's still standing behind him, breathing on him, breathing him. Justin watches as Brian's hands lift off the bar to settle on his hips.
"Time for my taste," he said, spinning Justin around and licking his lips slowly, "You’re right, that is good. And you’re such a good boy, so trusting. My boy."
"I think I deserve a reward," Justin said, moving his mouth against Brian's.
"The shots were your reward; a half shot of Tequila Rose, half a shot of Captain Morgan’s Parrot Bay and you’ve got yourself a Rosebud." It's explained in that way that Brian has, like what he said was a perfectly detailed explanation and you couldn't possibly still be confused.
He watched with amusement as Justin's brain struggled to catch on. "Twelve shots," Justin mumbles the words like a he's calculating a word problem. Brian sees it all fall together as Justin's eyes glitter with knowledge. "That's a dozen rosebuds."
"Now you can’t say I’ve never bought you flowers."
Pairing: B/J
Rating: PG-13 (cause I refuse to learn the new ratings system) for language
Summary: Brian can give Justin the things he wants, but he'll always do it his way.
Timeline: Anytime after they get back together.
Disclaimer: Pretty? Yes. Mine? Nope.
Beta'd by
crazydiamondsue, except for the very end.A/N: The tenses may seem a tad wonky but it's on purpose ;)
A/N2: Yes, it's a real drink.
He's taking comfort in the familiar; the bass thudding in his chest and at his feet, the colored spotlights casting mottled brightness over everything, the dig of the bar edge against his mid-back. And if anybody’s noticed that his stare is trained at the entrance, well, they know that it isn't worth mentioning.
Brian's familiar is about to go haywire and really at this point he's okay with that.
**********************************************************
"So, where's Justin this evening?"
There's less bite in Michael's voice these days and Brian is beyond grateful for it. He grabs Ted's arm and twists his wrist into an orange tinted patch of light, reads the time and throws the appendage back toward the owner.
"Out."
"Yeah, he has been for years; and if he wasn't then fucking his way through Babylon every night with you would be a big hint. What I asked was why he isn't gracing us with his presence."
Inwardly, Brian really wishes that Michael"s boyfriends didn’t encourage Michael's immaturity, his attempts at cute humor; outwardly he simply sighs with mock annoyance and genuine affection.
"He'll be here soon," Brian said, refusing to give unnecessary details as usual and sliding his eyes back to the club's front door.
He always feels like he should feel Justin the minute he enters a room. Like his skin should prickle or his stomach should tumble, but, no, unless he sees him he doesn't know, not until Justin's arms are wrapped around him and his face is pressed into Brian's back. Sometimes he wishes it were more like those fucking bullshit romantic comedies, but it's not and he's continuously taken by surprise.
But now that he's finally here it doesn't matter anyway.
Justin treats him like a homing beacon, coming toward him through the crowd in that easy walk-dance-walk way that he has. Brian figures he's got about forty-eight seconds before Justin's pushed up against him at the bar, so he shouts his order to the bartender and by the time he's done rolling his eyes and explaining how to make it, he's down to a single digit countdown.
5… Justin at ten paces
4… shot poured
3… shot in hand
2… Justin pressed against him, face tilted up
1… shot at Justin's lips in lieu of kiss
"What the fuck, Brian? And a 'hello honey' to you, too."
"Drink it."
"It’s pink."
"I’m aware of that. Drink it."
Justin used two fingers and a thumb to pluck the shot glass from Brian's hand; holding it above his head and turning it slightly in evaluation he frowned at Brian. "It looks like Pepto Bismol, kinda gross."
Since Brian's giving him that look that makes him feel like he's missed the point of the story, and he knows that this could go on all night, he gives in and drinks it. "Mmmm, tastes like ice cream, what is it?"
Brian already has a line of identical shots waiting on the bar and Justin's a bit afraid of the look on the bartender's face. "Drink 'em down," Brain said, ignoring the question, "and be quick about it. I’ve been waiting all day to fuck you."
"All of them? There's gotta be like ten shots! I can't drink all that."
Brian pushed himself off the bar and stepped behind Justin, chest to back, caging him in with his arms. "Actually, there are eleven shots. Now get to it, this isn't up for negotiation."
And just like that, Justin realizes this is important. He slams the shots in succession, flipping each small glass upside down as he finishes with it. They're so good, sweet and creamy, and his mind is so so busy running away with the reasons why Brian's insisting on this game, that he doesn't realize that he's drunk the last one until his hand reaches for the next and finds nothing.
"Those were good," he said, and though the liquor is far from strong the the effect from having so many so fast is already creeping up on him. "Really, really good; like strawberries and coconut."
Brian's still standing behind him, breathing on him, breathing him. Justin watches as Brian's hands lift off the bar to settle on his hips.
"Time for my taste," he said, spinning Justin around and licking his lips slowly, "You’re right, that is good. And you’re such a good boy, so trusting. My boy."
"I think I deserve a reward," Justin said, moving his mouth against Brian's.
"The shots were your reward; a half shot of Tequila Rose, half a shot of Captain Morgan’s Parrot Bay and you’ve got yourself a Rosebud." It's explained in that way that Brian has, like what he said was a perfectly detailed explanation and you couldn't possibly still be confused.
He watched with amusement as Justin's brain struggled to catch on. "Twelve shots," Justin mumbles the words like a he's calculating a word problem. Brian sees it all fall together as Justin's eyes glitter with knowledge. "That's a dozen rosebuds."
"Now you can’t say I’ve never bought you flowers."
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