xie_xie_xie (xie_xie_xie) wrote in les_bj_anic, @ 2007-11-11 21:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | recs |
And Now For Something Completely Different and Yet, Still Lesbianic
Since pendulumchanges started a whole new asylum called qaf_music, I'm going to do something new for Dyke Night from now on. And it will still be on Friday nights, but I just couldn't get it done this weekend because I had too much work.
I have a thing that bugs me big time about fic in which Gus is ripped away from his parents, Melanie and Lindsay, so that Brian and Justin can raise him.
I understand that some people find Lindsay or Melanie, as characters, unsympathetic, and I don't object to that. We all have our personal likes and dislikes of individuals. But when I see this "gay friendly" fandom express contempt for them AS LESBIANS, when I see authors wrench their child away or find them feeble and inadequate as parents, and readers squee over that, it makes me want to cry or, you know, blow something up. It shows a profound disrespect for queer families, which were the cornerstone of the entire Queer as Folk message.
That night, Justin idly washes the pots and pans while watching the snow still fall, illuminated by the strings of coloured lights the gardener had put up on the bushes behind the house. The lights out back were nothing compared to the display in the front. Brian felt that if he was going to decorate, it had to be done right. But tastefully, of course. Ever tasteful.The story is told in two parts:
Justin hears Brian’s feet on the stairs and after a minute remarks, “You’re going to have a messy drive in the morning.”
Brian makes a sound that indicates he heard, but says nothing else. After a while, he mutters, “You keep forgetting that you don’t need to do the dishes here. We have a housekeeper for a reason, you know.”
Justin shrugs, his hands immersed in the soapy water. “I hate leaving pots overnight, the food gets stuck on. I feel bad when Maria has to scrub them in the morning.”
“That’s what she gets paid for.” Brian’s voice is becoming sharp. “You can do dishes when you’re on one of your sojourns to New York.”
Justin puts the last pan on the drying rack and pulls the plug. As he dries his hands on a dish towel, he turns to regard Brian, sitting at the kitchen table, eyes on a piece of coloured paper in his hand. “Why are you picking a fight?”
Brian doesn’t look up, but sighs. “Gus wrote another letter to Santa.”
“I thought he already did that at school.”
“He did, but he said he doesn’t trust his teacher or the mailman to deliver it on time. But he knows that I won’t let him down.”
Justin smiles and pulls out another chair at the table. He reaches over and places his hand on Brian’s forearm. “Well, you are Super Dad.”
Brian doesn’t crack a smile, and can’t meet Justin’s eyes. He finally slides the letter across the table and Justin looks down at Gus’s childish scrawl. “A puppy, a bike, a race car — if nothing, you’ve taught him to aim high—” The words suddenly die in Justin’s throat as his eyes scan the list. At the end, Gus has written simply, My Mommies.”
“Oh, Brian,” he murmurs.
“I want this to be a good Christmas for him. It’s his first one here, the first one…without them. It’s barely been six months and he misses them so much, and there’s nothing I can fucking do.”
“You’re already doing it.” Justin feels the burn of tears at his eyes and blinks hard. “We’ll help Gus get through this. We’re going to do everything we can to make it a wonderful Christmas. That’s all we can do. That’s all you can do. You’ll have to explain to him that…they’re really not coming back.”
Brian takes a deep breath and blows it out as he grasps Justin’s hand. He nods and then rolls his tongue into his cheek. “You still shouldn’t waste your time with the dishes.”
“Duly noted,” Justin says as he leans over and draws Brian’s lips to his own. Brian’s hand cradles his head and their tongues wind together. When Justin finds himself on the kitchen floor, he huffs out a laugh before Brian’s body covers him and he can barely gasp in breaths between kisses.
“Fuck me,” he moans, grabbing at Brian’s belt. For a minute, he forgets that they’re not at the loft, and that Gus is upstairs and there aren’t condoms and lube scattered conveniently throughout the house.
With effort, Brian wrenches himself away and yanks Justin to his feet. They race up the stairs quietly and Justin locks the bedroom door behind them. They barely make it to the bed, Justin’s knees hitting the floor as he leans over it, Brian behind him. They’ll have rug burns on their knees later, but as Brian pushes into him, the only thing Justin thinks about is the pleasure. It’s rough and Brian’s fingers will leave bruises on the pale skin of Justin’s hips that will match the marks his mouth will leave on his neck.
Justin feels sorry for people who say children ruin their sex life.