WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

Original poster: _alicesprings

Title: Worth A Thousand Words
Written By:
Timeline: Future
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Snippet of life in the future. This is as close to angst as I get.
A/N: Ficlet – Word Count: 1000 words
Inspired By Icon:

Brian entered the gallery and immediately spotted Justin. His back was towards Brian and he seemed lost in thought as he stood staring at a huge canvas filled with blacks and blues. Fucking black turtlenecks, Brian thought to himself. He briefly considered turning around and walking back out, but instead made his way across the space and stood next to Justin.

Without turning or otherwise acknowledging that he was aware that it was Brian who was next to him Justin spoke, "What do you think of it?"

"It’s breathtaking, truly exquisite."

"It’s not mine."

"It’s not that great, just alright really."

Justin laughed, turning towards Brian. "So you just said it was exquisite to flatter my ego and win your way back into my good graces?"

As he answered, Brian’s eyes wandered down Justin’s form, it’d been far too fucking long. "No. It is exquisite. I said it wasn’t that great to win myself back into your good graces."

Justin resisted an urge to tackle the man and kiss the shit out of him, instead crossing his arms and frowning, "Why are you here?" his tone striving to convey irritation, but his eyes betrayed him.

Brian shrugged, eyes darting around the gallery, wishing they'd already moved past the bullshit and were at the stage where they frantically sought out the nearest restroom. "Haven’t missed a show yet."

"So you are just here out of some bizarre obligation to be my personal cheerleader?"

Brian opened his mouth to respond but Justin stopped him. "Never mind, don’t answer, anything you say will probably just piss me off and I have to go be charming. My pieces are over there," he nodded to the left, walking off in the opposite direction.

Brian plucked a glass of wine off of a passing tray, and made his way over to Justin’s work. It was good, really good. Much of it had already sold. He paused in front of a piece he thought would look fantastic in one of the guest bedrooms. It hadn’t yet sold, but Justin would fucking kill him if he bought it. Not that that would keep him from buying whatever the fuck he felt like. It had a color palette similar to the one he had found Justin in front of.

As things were wrapping up Justin made his way back over to Brian. He slipped his arms around Brian’s waist and rested his forehead against his back.

"Am I forgiven then?"

"No," Justin sighed, but as Brian turned to face him, he reached a hand up, sliding his fingers through the silky brown hair, and pulled Brian’s head down to his so he could kiss him lightly on the lips. He pulled back an inch and smiled, even though after hours of walking around with a grin plastered on his face, it almost hurt to do so. "But take me home and fuck me anyway," he whispered.

Brian nodded, and keeping one hand on Justin’s back steered them out onto the street and hailed a cab. On the ride home they sat close to each other, thighs and shoulders touching.

"What did you think of Cerulean Orbs?"

"Untitled 96 and After Grace are two of the best pieces you’ve ever done...they sell before the show opened?"

Justin nodded, "Uh huh, but that’s not what I asked."

Brian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are doing this to me on purpose aren’t you?"

"Uh huh," Justin laughed.

"It wasn’t totally hideous or completely uninspired. Maybe a little boring, cliché."

"Ouch."

"You asked."

"I know. It’s pretty bad, and never going to sell. I don’t know what I was thinking."

The cab pulled up in front of Justin’s building. Justin paused at the foot of the stairwell looking tired and somewhat pathetic, "Carry me?"

Brian snorted, "Up four flights? Dream on Sunshine."

The apartment was tiny, but was a vast improvement over the first two places Justin had lived in. As Justin opened the door it occurred to him that Brian had no bag, "You have no bag."

Brian shrugged, "I have enough here for a few days."

Justin correctly interpreted that statement to mean that Brian had decided last minute to come and didn’t have time to pack. He was irrationally annoyed that up until several hours ago Brian was actually planning on not coming, but considering the last time they had spoken Justin had told him not to bother coming and hung up on him, he decided not to pick the fight.

Brian watched the annoyance flit across Justin’s face and went for misdirection. Arguing about his purchase would get them into bed significantly faster then arguing about the last two months, "I bought a painting by the way."

"I fucking hate it when you do that. I don't need you to buy my work. If you’d bothered to come here even once in the last two months you would have seen them in advance and could have let me know which one you wanted. I would have given it to you."

Fuck, so much for that tactic.

"Christ, Brian. You canceled on me, last minute, four times in a row. And you know I can’t leave and fly home that close to a show. I can’t make this work on my own."

"I know," Brian paused, trying to think of something that would keep them from having this same fucking argument yet again.

"I get it, you know, you understand but you aren’t going to promise it won’t happen again. Fuck, don’t you have anything else to say other than, 'I know'?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"It isn't one of your paintings."

"Asshole."

"It really is exquisite."

Justin half laughed, half sighed as he ran his hands over Brian's chest. He started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling Brian with him as he walked backwards towards his bedroom. Their arrangement wasn't perfect, but, Justin thought, feeling happier than he had in 2 months, it was still far better than the alternative.