testdog65 (testdog65) wrote in qaf_challenges, @ 2007-08-11 17:17:00 |
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Original poster: _alicesprings
Title: Mockity Mock Mock
Written By:
Timeline: Post 513
Rating: PG 13 for language
Warnings: Not complete crack? But close. *G*
Summary: The question was not whether or not he was going to be mocked. He was. The question was how severely, and by whom.
Author's Notes: Enormous thanks to the lovely people on my flist who encouraged me as I wrote this piece of silliness. And HUGE thanks to jameserin to whom all of the credit goes for the last section of dialogue. Hee.
Inspired By Icon:
The question was not whether or not he was going to be mocked.
He was.
The question was how severely, and by whom.
Michael probably wouldn’t because there was a strong likelihood he was a closeted fan also. Emmett, well…Emmett had been a porn star and a naked maid, he didn’t have a lot of room to mock much of anything. Ted was more of a fifty-fifty chance, his life read like a bad novel and as a recovering addict he might not want to mock anyone, or he might think Justin was crying out for help.
Deb. Deb would mock. Sweetly, with love, but still: mock mock mock.
Brian.
Yeah. Total mockage from that corner.
And then there was the issue with his work schedule. He was scheduled for that night. And while he could simply hang-up on anyone from the Pitts, he had to work with these people and he hadn’t quite worked out a good excuse--that wasn’t the truth--to get out of his shift. About the only thing that ever worked was “Brian is in town,” and since his neighbor also happened to be a coworker it would be kind of obvious he was lying.
Basically? The whole situation fucking sucked.
If he could go back in time he would totally stop his fourteen year-old self from walking into that bookstore with Daph. Would throw himself bodily in front of them if that’s what it took, if only so that ten years later he would never have to utter the words “Yes, I’m going to a midnight-party for the release of the seventh Harry Potter book. What of it?”
Motherfucking homo-subtextual wizards and their motherfucking innuendo-laden wands.
And he hadn’t even begun to figure out how to keep Brian in Pittsburgh that weekend.
So the next couple of weeks went like this:
“Blah blah blah, Rage, blah blah blahity blah, record sales, blah blah, Harry Potter crazies?”
“What? Oh, yeah. I don’t get all the excitement either.”
“I know! I had a couple kids ask if I they could pre-order it. It’s a comic book store, although the money I could make! I may have to look into that…blah blah blah…”
And then of course there was:
“I have had SEVEN different requests for Harry Potter themed parties on the twenty-first! Seven! Of course I can’t do all of them but I did agree to two of them, I’ve hired someone to handle the one for Matilda’s granddaughter because I don’t like the old bitch anyway, and I’m charging an arm and a leg, of course, but I’m trying to read all of the books so I can get a feel for the ambiance and Oh! Justin, I’ve gotten so many ideas! It’s a shame I can’t actually make a ceiling show the sky because wouldn’t that be just the best?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“And I need to find someone to make wands! And everyone will get one as a party favor and robes! Everyone will be in robes and blah blah blah…”
And Deb is having a party at the diner “because it’s important to encourage reading, Sunshine! So everyone who gets the book is invited to bring it over and read it here! Doesn’t that sound like fun? We’re going to have a wizard-themed pink-plate special, too! Of course that little asshole whateverthefuck he is of yours has been his usual charming self about it all, but whatever. Fuck ‘im.”
Justin just laughed along, because really, what else do you do when Deb’s on a tear?
Ted called to tell Justin that he’d officially made enough money with his art this year that “you can probably quit working at that diner if you wanted to. With the investments you’ve made in the last six months you’re sitting comfortably, if not totally pretty.”
Which really had nothing to do with Harry Potter except that maybe Justin could just quit instead of trying to get out of work on the twentieth.
It was as he sat contemplating this option (but he really kind of liked his job, and it got him out of the apartment and the studio, and around people, even though he kind of really hates people and customers especially and Angel lives next door so it’s not like he’d never see any of his co-workers again…) when his phone threatened to vibrate its way off the desk.
It was a text message from Brian.
What’s your schedule look like for next weekend?
Justin took a deep breath. Fuck.
Busy.
That was good. Short. Simple. Not a total lie.
What kind of busy?
Standing in line to buy a book about a boy wizard, in the middle of the night, and then spending most of the rest of the night reading it before crashing and sleeping for the next twelve hours – busy.
Not-enough-time-to-even-suck-you-off busy.
Fuck.
Translates to “I miss you” and doesn’t Justin just feel great now?
Sorry.
Sorry’s bullshit.
I know.
I know.
Alright, we’ll work something out. Later.
Later.
Shit. Fucking Harry Potter.
In the end he didn’t quit his job, Michelle’s boyfriend had some play opening and she offered to take his Friday night if he’d work her Saturday. Brian had to fly out to Chicago on Thursday for Brown and decided to spend the whole weekend there, Michael couldn’t get any of the books in but he’d offered to stay open all night for all of the young homos who wanted to read with friends and were too afraid of the diner, and Emmett found a wand maker who could manage a bulk order in time for the release.
So it was with no trepidation that he got in line at the bookstore across town, (not taking any risks of being seen, at all,) to get his number, to get his book. The atmosphere was jovial and most of the people in line around him were adults so the conversation, while being Boy Who Lived centric, was remarkably intellectual.
It was shortly before midnight when the bookstore employees would start calling the first batch of numbers that Justin nearly had a heart attack. A strong, tanned arm slipped its way around his waist and pulled him close to the hard body it belonged to.
“Want some candy little boy?” a husky voice whispered into his ear.
It was only seven years of familiarity with that arm, and that body, and that voice that kept Justin from screaming like a girl or putting to use the little bit of training his time with the Pink Posse had given him.”
“Jesus FUCK, Brian! You scared the shit out of me.”
Brian just grinned like the predator he was and leaned in for a kiss. Somewhere between the “Hello, I missed you,” part of the kiss and the point where it became publicly indecent, Justin’s brain pushed through the fog of desire to proclaim loudly “Wait! Brian, what? I mean…Chicago? Why…? And how did you?”
Brian cocked an eyebrow, rather more smugly than Justin felt was warranted. “I’m here because I haven’t had a decent blow-job since the last time you were in town. I went to Chicago, it was humid, it sucked. I might possibly have missed you. And if you didn’t want to be found you should have paid better attention to which credit card you used to pre-order your book.”
Justin just really didn’t know what to say to that. At all.
Brian continued to look smug for the next twenty-or-so minutes it took Justin brain to process this newest information. Said expression turned remarkably condescending when Justin finally strung together enough coherent thoughts to sputter, “Well, okay then. But if you’re going to mock me you might as well just go away now before you run the risk of being denied head for at least the rest of the year.”
“Now, Sunshine. You don’t really believe I’d come all this way just to make fun of you for liking a bunch of children’s books about wizards, do you?” The utterly insincere expression told Justin that that was about all of the mockery he was going to be subjected to for now, and really, it was kind of nice to know Brian missed him enough to track him down in the middle of the night. Speaking of which…
“What did you mean by ‘which credit card you use?’”
Brian chuckled. “A twenty-something-dollar charge showed up on the emergency card that has never been used. Ted brought it to my attention.”
If one were available Justin would have been thumping his head firmly against a desk. Brian returned to looking smug and started surreptitiously groping Justin as the line progressed slowly forward.
It was about 10 hours later that Brian and Justin were snugly ensconced in the enormous bed Brian had insisted on buying for Justin’s last birthday, seven-hundred-plus page books cracked open in front of them.
“I can’t believe you ordered your own copy,” Justin muttered. “Brian Kinney, a closet Harry Potter fan, who’d a thunk it.”
Brian didn’t respond so Justin simply stared at him until he looked up and said, “What? They're homos.”
They stared at one another in silence for a few moments before Justin buried his face in Brian’s shoulder trying to muffle the giggles he couldn’t fully suppress. He could feel Brian sigh, which just made him giggle harder.
“And besides, that kid who plays Harry in the movies has a hot ass.”
Justin promptly stopped laughing and glared. “Brian! He’s like…like, seventeen!”
Brian merely lifted his eyebrows and stared back.
Justin had enough grace to blush before returning to his book.