QaF B/J drabble
Apr. 10th, 2005 08:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
noelia_gMy second QaF drabble... is it any good? I don't feel very sure about writing b/j yet...
Yes, the idea came to me after the previous Lost ep. (Deus Ex Machina). Works on one of my kinks, too.
It's about control. He has to have it. He needs to be the one to call the shots, the one on top of everything and everyone, all of the times.
Used to bug the crap out of Justin, too, but that's just who he is, part of the apparel, built-in, batteries not included, but even without them he can keep going and going, or coming and coming, like a fucking energizer bunny but with a better colour scheme.
The worst is when his own body rebels against him. He hates his mouth for saying things he didn't want to say and not saying what he needed to say. He hates his heart for being stubborn asshole and insisting on skipping a beat on mere sight of Justin. He hates his ball for getting this goddamned disease.
But those things he could live with. He had for some time now.
This was worse. This would be there to see for everyone. A sign of vulnerability, of imperfection, of not being the ideal Brian Kinney he was thought to be. The diagnose sounded like a sentence. He didn't remember how he got back to the loft from doctor's office, but he had to, somehow, because now he was there, pondering if it was better to get drunk, stoned, or maybe both.
In the end he just called Justin, because he promised he would work on that strange concept called trust and honesty. He called because although he would never admit it, he needed assurance.
"You need glasses?" Justin breathed into the phone. "That's hot."
Maybe it wasn't that bad, after all.
Yes, the idea came to me after the previous Lost ep. (Deus Ex Machina). Works on one of my kinks, too.
It's about control. He has to have it. He needs to be the one to call the shots, the one on top of everything and everyone, all of the times.
Used to bug the crap out of Justin, too, but that's just who he is, part of the apparel, built-in, batteries not included, but even without them he can keep going and going, or coming and coming, like a fucking energizer bunny but with a better colour scheme.
The worst is when his own body rebels against him. He hates his mouth for saying things he didn't want to say and not saying what he needed to say. He hates his heart for being stubborn asshole and insisting on skipping a beat on mere sight of Justin. He hates his ball for getting this goddamned disease.
But those things he could live with. He had for some time now.
This was worse. This would be there to see for everyone. A sign of vulnerability, of imperfection, of not being the ideal Brian Kinney he was thought to be. The diagnose sounded like a sentence. He didn't remember how he got back to the loft from doctor's office, but he had to, somehow, because now he was there, pondering if it was better to get drunk, stoned, or maybe both.
In the end he just called Justin, because he promised he would work on that strange concept called trust and honesty. He called because although he would never admit it, he needed assurance.
"You need glasses?" Justin breathed into the phone. "That's hot."
Maybe it wasn't that bad, after all.
