prompts
STADIUMTheir pace is slow and Brian imagines fucking Justin under the bleachers with the drumbeats throbbing in the air. Next time he'll have to come along.
MOHAWK
When Lindsay had refused to let Brian provide Gus with designer clothing at his tender age he was expecting it and settled for buying him appropriate clothing for christmas and stuffing his bags with Prada and Armani when he'd go back to Canada after a visit. After all, this was to be expected from Lindsay.
When Michael offered to to teach Gus all about comics Brian just made sure Gus would never need Michael to babysit him. Because as much as he loved Michael he did not want his son to turn into a comic book geek. But what else could he expect from Michael?
What he did not expect was to one day come back to the loft to find a grinning Justin and teenaged Gus sporting a full blown mohawk. He expected even less to hear that Justin had taken Gus to the hair dresser and encouraged Gus to turn his hair into the abomination now on his head. But his disappointment that day was nothing compared to that a few weeks later when Gus called, voice high pitched and excited, wanting to talk to Justin to tell him that "it had worked!" and he now had a punk girlfriend by the name of Celia.
IMPOSSIBLE
Justin never thought he wouldn't fit into Brian's life. It had seemed to lay just beyond his grasp, and the idea that if he could just move himself in the right direction - just a few inches - he'd be able to fit himself into his world was there all along. And even though Brian's reality seemed to shift from time to time, Justin never moved beyond the periphery of his world. Even when he found himself on the edge, it never seemed a matter of impossibility, but merely one of force of will. If he only wanted it bad enough, he would always find his way back to him.
BEESWAX
Justin's roommate starts her experiments with arts & crafts the first week Brian comes to visit. The apartment is filled with ribbons and thread, small grains of colored sand digging into the bare soles of whoever dares to walk by the counter with sand filled bottles.
On Friday night she ventures into the world of organic homemade candles and and the plastic smell of molten wax seems to penetrate the walls. Brian's hair seems to take on the thick scent and the numerous showers he and Justin share doesn't rid them of the sticky sensation of half stale wax on skin.
Justin never mentions candlelit dinners again.
SULTRY
The torrid air presses into Justin's lungs when he stepped out of LAX. His collar chafing his neck, the thin fabric too thick for the heat. For a second he imagines the cements beneath his feet melting the soles of his sneakers. He knows it doesn't and that it won't, but he can hear Brian's voice: You know you got the Prada shoes for a reason. They're from Italy, they can sustain heat.
Justin decides to call him as soon as he finds a phone and tell him about the molten rubber soles - he knows he'll play along.
PAPER
As soon as they'd gotten back to Pittsburgh from Toronto the documents had landed in Ben's desk drawer. The one with all the important papers that were never looked at, but whose presence was still vital, and absence felt.
They hadn't talked much about it. They knew that they were married, and that even though the papers didn't mean anything right now they would someday. Their marriage wasn't in the drawer collecting dust, they still had breakfast together, payed their bills together, lived together and loved together. Michael still knew where how to find Ben's glasses when he'd been looking for 20 minutes. Ben still made sure there was something Michael would actually touch when he cooked dinner. And they both believed that one day they'd be able to take the sheets out of their drawer with smiles on their faces.
pillow
As much as Justin loves Brian, he knows that there are things he simply will not accept going on in his house. Hetero-mating, Playboy, anything and everything from Walmart are only a few of those things. And that which is acceptable to watch on the liquid screen - in his presence - consists of very few things.
So when Queer Eye for the Straight Guy starts rerunning, Justin knows better than to settle into Brian's loft with a bowl of popcorn. Instead he finds himself on Emmett's couch - occasionally joined by Ted, or Debbie or whoever happens to be there at the moment - feet propped on a crowded coffee table, hands and mouth filled with snacks, listening to Emmett's stories during the commercial break. He knows he won't be accused of leaving crumbles between the cushions, and that when the drinks come out he won't have to ask whether he can crash before Emmett'll hand him his pink furry leopard print pillow and matching quilt.
masturbation
When Michael slides into Brian's booth, resting his arms on the table and face somber, Brian assumes he's to hear about one of Michael's sleepless nights. Not the fun kind filled with booze and drugs but one of Michael’s worry wart habits of pondering his career choice or where the money has disappeared this month or even how to tell Ben his new book was less than stellar.
”I think that I caught Hunter...whacking off.” This was however, not what Brian was expecting.
”And?” Brian leans back, eyebrows rising, this is going to be good.
”I just don't know what to do. I mean should I talk to him about it?” Brian can't help but chuckle lightly at the thought of Michael trying to tell Hunter that masturbation is nothing to be ashamed of, and he has to fight the temptation to nod.
”Michael. He's a former hustler. And I doubt he'd appreciate your magazines with his newfound straighteness, but I think you should get the boy a lock. And maybe some Kleenex.”