testdog65 (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} testdog65) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} qaf_challenges,@ 2007-08-11 17:21:00 |
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CHINESE FOOD
Pittsburgh, The Loft
“Yang’s makes better Szechuan shrimp,” Justin states emphatically as he digs through the container with his chopsticks. “Theirs is probably the best, in fact.”
“Yang’s?” asks Brian, incredulously. That disgusting, roach-infested hole-in-the-wall across the street from your apartment? I’m never eating at that place again.”
“No, no. That’s not Yang’s. That’s Panda West. Yang’s is two blocks over, across Bleecker on Fourth.”
“Is that the place we ordered from when we were supposed to be seeing that new exhibit at the Guggenheim?”
“No, that was Dragon City. Yang’s was the time when we were supposed to go to the Emerging European Sculptors exhibit.”
“Oh, right. Hey, did you ever get to that?”
“Yeah. I managed to fit in a visit about two days after you left. Once I had time to sufficiently recover.”
“You weren’t complaining at the time.”
“And I’m not complaining now. Though I suppose that we should stop pretending that we’re going to do anything other than fuck and order Chinese food when you come to New York.”
“We do other stuff. Remember that time we went to the jazz club? Or how about when we braved near-blizzard conditions to go see the Van Gogh retrospective?”
Justin laughs. “Yes, but both of those times you were in New York for more than just the weekend.”
Brian is quiet for a minute as he contemplates having visited Justin enough times in New York to actually have an opinion as to who makes the best Szechuan shrimp. He doesn’t dwell on it for too long, though. If he did, he’d end up thinking about all the times he eats alone.
“Want more?” asks Justin as he holds a shrimp out to Brian on the end of his chopsticks.
Brian accepts, but doesn’t meet Justin’s eyes.
“What about Long Dong’s?” Brian says after another minute. “Their Kung Pao chicken was pretty good.”
Justin’s laughter prevents him from answering right away. “It’s not Long Dong’s. It’s Long Ding’s. And their Kung Pao chicken’s only OK. But they do have better fortunes.”
“Fortunes? Who picks their Chinese food for the fucking fortunes? Besides, they never make any sense anyway.” And to prove his point, Brian reaches for the fortune cookies that lie scattered across the coffee table. Cracking open the first one he grabs, Brian reads, “‘Harder than action is waiting.’ See? Complete, moronic nonsense.”
“Well, granted it’s not as prophetic as a Long Ding fortune, but still, there’s some meaning there.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” says Brian as he furrows his brow in mock concentration. “Wait… I feel enlightenment approaching… Yes! Now I get it. It means that your dick gets harder when I don’t let you come. Wow, and now I feel all philosophical.”
Justin rolls his eyes before responding. “Well, as much as you can make anything about sex, including the names of Chinese restaurants and their fortune cookies, I think just maybe the author of that fortune was thinking about something more than sex when he wrote it.”
“Not likely, but please, share with me your interpretation of my fortune,” says Brian, his voice dripping with amused skepticism.
“Well, obviously it means that sometimes it’s harder to wait for what you want than it is to take action to get it. And that taking action isn’t always the best option. Sometimes you just have to bide your time and let life play out. And once you do that, your rewards will be better than if you tried to intervene to force something to happen.”
Justin finishes with a satisfied smile on his face, but only seconds later the smile fades. He sets down his container and rises to make his way over to the window, staring out at the nighttime street, but seeing only the loft, reflected back at him like a reminder of the past. Brian leaves him to his thoughts, alone with his own as the quiet settles over them like the silence of goodbye.
Eventually, Brian rises and moves to stand behind Justin, wrapping him in his arms and resting his chin on top of Justin’s head. It doesn’t take long before he feels Justin relax against his touch, and Brian turns him then, their faces close and open to each other. Brian strokes his thumb over Justin’s cheekbone as he winds his other hand through his hair. His look becomes intense, and Justin’s breath catches as he feels the air around them change.
The kiss is sudden and hungry. And before it’s even over, Brian is moving them up the steps to the bed. He pushes Justin down, falling on top of him, and rolls him onto his stomach. Brian pulls Justin’s underwear down to his thighs, freeing himself from his own. He’s grateful that condoms litter the bed from earlier. It feels like it’s been days, but it’s barely been an hour.
Brian pushes hard inside, and Justin squirms. To get away or to take more, it doesn’t matter, because they’re fucking before either has processed the penetration. Brian sinks his teeth into the skin of Justin’s shoulder as Justin struggles to get his knees under him, trying to gain any leverage to push back, make it harder, take more.
It doesn’t last long. There’s no way it could. Brian’s sharp cry of release is muffled into Justin’s shoulder. Justin’s final moan is mostly silent. He’s been unable to draw a breath deep enough to do more.
Brian remains lying across Justin’s back, both of them drifting slowly back to reality. He licks soothingly at Justin’s reddened skin where his teeth have left their mark.
“What was that about?” asks Justin. Brian hears the question and almost doesn’t answer. Justin knows what it was about, anyway. He’s only asking to break the silence and continue the conversation that started with the fuck.
Brian rises up enough to pull out and rolls over onto his back, tossing the tied off condom in the general direction of the trash. He’s surprised to hear his own voice, but not the words he speaks.
“Just proving that I can take action when the timing’s right.”
Justin is silent for a moment, and Brian thinks perhaps he’s falling asleep. He has one more thing to say, but he pulls Justin closer before he shares the companion thought. “It won’t always be like this, Justin.” His voice is quiet, but steady and sure.
Justin doesn’t answer, but he relaxes further as Brian’s fingers stroke through his hair. All the fucking fortune cookies in the world can’t predict what’s going to happen or when. But Brian knows. He presses a kiss to Justin’s forehead and lets the quiet of the loft pull him into sleep.
Original poster: _alicesprings
Title: Chinese Food
Written By:
Timeline: Post-513
Rating: R
Author's Notes: Many thanks to xie_xie_xie for her wonderful beta skills. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Inspired By Icon:
Pittsburgh, The Loft
“Yang’s makes better Szechuan shrimp,” Justin states emphatically as he digs through the container with his chopsticks. “Theirs is probably the best, in fact.”
“Yang’s?” asks Brian, incredulously. That disgusting, roach-infested hole-in-the-wall across the street from your apartment? I’m never eating at that place again.”
“No, no. That’s not Yang’s. That’s Panda West. Yang’s is two blocks over, across Bleecker on Fourth.”
“Is that the place we ordered from when we were supposed to be seeing that new exhibit at the Guggenheim?”
“No, that was Dragon City. Yang’s was the time when we were supposed to go to the Emerging European Sculptors exhibit.”
“Oh, right. Hey, did you ever get to that?”
“Yeah. I managed to fit in a visit about two days after you left. Once I had time to sufficiently recover.”
“You weren’t complaining at the time.”
“And I’m not complaining now. Though I suppose that we should stop pretending that we’re going to do anything other than fuck and order Chinese food when you come to New York.”
“We do other stuff. Remember that time we went to the jazz club? Or how about when we braved near-blizzard conditions to go see the Van Gogh retrospective?”
Justin laughs. “Yes, but both of those times you were in New York for more than just the weekend.”
Brian is quiet for a minute as he contemplates having visited Justin enough times in New York to actually have an opinion as to who makes the best Szechuan shrimp. He doesn’t dwell on it for too long, though. If he did, he’d end up thinking about all the times he eats alone.
“Want more?” asks Justin as he holds a shrimp out to Brian on the end of his chopsticks.
Brian accepts, but doesn’t meet Justin’s eyes.
“What about Long Dong’s?” Brian says after another minute. “Their Kung Pao chicken was pretty good.”
Justin’s laughter prevents him from answering right away. “It’s not Long Dong’s. It’s Long Ding’s. And their Kung Pao chicken’s only OK. But they do have better fortunes.”
“Fortunes? Who picks their Chinese food for the fucking fortunes? Besides, they never make any sense anyway.” And to prove his point, Brian reaches for the fortune cookies that lie scattered across the coffee table. Cracking open the first one he grabs, Brian reads, “‘Harder than action is waiting.’ See? Complete, moronic nonsense.”
“Well, granted it’s not as prophetic as a Long Ding fortune, but still, there’s some meaning there.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” says Brian as he furrows his brow in mock concentration. “Wait… I feel enlightenment approaching… Yes! Now I get it. It means that your dick gets harder when I don’t let you come. Wow, and now I feel all philosophical.”
Justin rolls his eyes before responding. “Well, as much as you can make anything about sex, including the names of Chinese restaurants and their fortune cookies, I think just maybe the author of that fortune was thinking about something more than sex when he wrote it.”
“Not likely, but please, share with me your interpretation of my fortune,” says Brian, his voice dripping with amused skepticism.
“Well, obviously it means that sometimes it’s harder to wait for what you want than it is to take action to get it. And that taking action isn’t always the best option. Sometimes you just have to bide your time and let life play out. And once you do that, your rewards will be better than if you tried to intervene to force something to happen.”
Justin finishes with a satisfied smile on his face, but only seconds later the smile fades. He sets down his container and rises to make his way over to the window, staring out at the nighttime street, but seeing only the loft, reflected back at him like a reminder of the past. Brian leaves him to his thoughts, alone with his own as the quiet settles over them like the silence of goodbye.
Eventually, Brian rises and moves to stand behind Justin, wrapping him in his arms and resting his chin on top of Justin’s head. It doesn’t take long before he feels Justin relax against his touch, and Brian turns him then, their faces close and open to each other. Brian strokes his thumb over Justin’s cheekbone as he winds his other hand through his hair. His look becomes intense, and Justin’s breath catches as he feels the air around them change.
The kiss is sudden and hungry. And before it’s even over, Brian is moving them up the steps to the bed. He pushes Justin down, falling on top of him, and rolls him onto his stomach. Brian pulls Justin’s underwear down to his thighs, freeing himself from his own. He’s grateful that condoms litter the bed from earlier. It feels like it’s been days, but it’s barely been an hour.
Brian pushes hard inside, and Justin squirms. To get away or to take more, it doesn’t matter, because they’re fucking before either has processed the penetration. Brian sinks his teeth into the skin of Justin’s shoulder as Justin struggles to get his knees under him, trying to gain any leverage to push back, make it harder, take more.
It doesn’t last long. There’s no way it could. Brian’s sharp cry of release is muffled into Justin’s shoulder. Justin’s final moan is mostly silent. He’s been unable to draw a breath deep enough to do more.
Brian remains lying across Justin’s back, both of them drifting slowly back to reality. He licks soothingly at Justin’s reddened skin where his teeth have left their mark.
“What was that about?” asks Justin. Brian hears the question and almost doesn’t answer. Justin knows what it was about, anyway. He’s only asking to break the silence and continue the conversation that started with the fuck.
Brian rises up enough to pull out and rolls over onto his back, tossing the tied off condom in the general direction of the trash. He’s surprised to hear his own voice, but not the words he speaks.
“Just proving that I can take action when the timing’s right.”
Justin is silent for a moment, and Brian thinks perhaps he’s falling asleep. He has one more thing to say, but he pulls Justin closer before he shares the companion thought. “It won’t always be like this, Justin.” His voice is quiet, but steady and sure.
Justin doesn’t answer, but he relaxes further as Brian’s fingers stroke through his hair. All the fucking fortune cookies in the world can’t predict what’s going to happen or when. But Brian knows. He presses a kiss to Justin’s forehead and lets the quiet of the loft pull him into sleep.
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