|testdog65 (testdog65) wrote in qaf_challenges,|
@ 2006-12-31 18:47:00
Original poster: _alicesprings
Title: Fucking Fuck Presents… Fuck.
Written by: 0corona0
Timeline: Post Season 3, Pre Season 4
Summary: Be careful what you wish for. It might just come true.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, Lena. :)
When Brian woke up one peaceful Saturday morning in late November, he was wondering whether the Special K he had taken had been mixed in a bathtub once again, because suddenly, Justin was not in his bed anymore. His furniture was vanished too, but after a few seconds he remembered painfully that this was the doing of the Concerned Citizens for the Truth, not any drug. But still, Justin was not in his bed. And he definitely had been there the previous night. And Brian definitely wanted a blowjob.
He was truly astonished when he looked out of the Loft’s window onto the cold city and saw his blond boy.
Justin was washing a car.
Brian opened the window: “What the fuck are you doing and why are you not up here sucking me off?!”
No, he was not worried about the neighbours.
Justin looked up, puzzled, then shouted back: “I’m earning money!”
“To make money for Christmas presents!”
“By washing a car?”
Brian did not spend Justin’s reason much attention at that time. He was only interested in getting the boy back up into the warm Loft.
“Look, whatever they’re paying you, I’ll give it to you.”
“But I want a fucking blowjob!”
“Fine, just give me a second, I’ll clean this up.”
Brian was satisfied and did not hear any bullshit about Christmas presents again before the first Advent rolled around. More precisely, the Monday after the first Advent.
He was returning from a long hard day of job-interviews, the very conscious wish on his mind to bury himself in bed and die, or to fuck into the early morning. The holiday season was the most exhausting for any advertising agency – they made more money than in the entire rest of the year, which meant that they were working not only until ten, but sometimes to one or two in the morning. Which meant that they could only fit him in to the most ridiculous times. This certain Monday he had made the lucky catch of getting off, so to speak, at twelve. So it surprised him even more to find a note on the counter that said: