To: not_yet_defined From: severina2001 Title: Beatrice Gift Request: B/J fic with some Daphne. Humour or Schmoop. No Angst. Rating: PG-13 for language Summary: An unusual Christmas gift.
Beatrice by Severina
* * * I.
Christmas Eve at Deb’s had always been less ‘tradition’ and more ‘the only place whose owner was willing to cook and put up with all of them for several hours’ -- Michael and Ben’s apartment was too small, Ted was too obsessive, and Brian didn’t want random people cluttering up his loft unless excessive amounts of drugs and alcohol were making an appearance or an orgy was imminent.
When Michael and Ben bought their house, they insisted that the annual Christmas Eve get-together be moved to their new place. Deb grumped a little for appearances sake before giving in. Ted breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to worry about moisture rings on his new coffee table. And Brian still considered unwanted guests -- unless they were named “Gus” or “Lindsay” -- as clutter, despite Britin’s 3000+ square footage, so he was more than willing to make the trek to suburbia.
Mother Nature had been accommodating this year, dumping a foot of snow on the greater Pittsburgh area in the preceding twenty-four hours. Justin indulged himself, sliding the radio dial in the corvette to the dreaded All Christmas Carols All The Time station, and sang sporadically along during the forty-five minute ride. That Brian let him, without complaining -- he even smiled once or twice -- Justin partially attributed to the joy and fellowship of the holiday season.
Well, not really. He knew it was mostly because he was home, and his return to New York was a whole week away, and because Brian was sated and content after spending the entire day with him in bed. And in various other places.
Justin was particularly fond of the new hot tub.
“These roads are for shit,” Brian said during the lull between “Feliz Navidad” and “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”
“It’s just a little snow,” Justin said happily. Fat wet flakes were still coming down, laying a fresh coat of white on the slushy grey streets. Lights in every colour of the rainbow reflected from homes and shop windows, making the entire scene look like a Rockwellian painting as viewed through a snow globe.
Justin ignored the way Brian‘s fingers flexed convulsively on the steering wheel. “When I was a kid, I used to ask Santa for snow on my wish list.”
“This does not surprise me,” Brian said.
“The one year we went to see my grandparents in Florida, Molly cried on Christmas morning because my dad wanted to go to the beach.”
“I’d cry if I had to see your father in a speedo, too.”
Justin grinned to himself and turned the radio back up when the next carol started. He royally fucked up the words to “Good King Wenceslas” and filled Brian in on his attempts to conquer the New York art scene and listened to Brian bitch about a new intern that he was going to fire in the New Year (Justin knew that this meant the intern was a keeper -- Brian only bitched if someone was actually talented) and generally felt pretty damned happy about the entire holiday.
Then they pulled up at the Novotny-Bruckners, and he saw that, apparently, Michael did not own a shovel.
“Well,” Justin said, “shit.”
Brian turned off the ignition before twisting in the seat to face him. “But Justin,“ he mocked, “it’s just a little snow.”
“There’s such a thing as a snow blower,” Justin pointed out. “Who doesn’t own a snow blower in this day and age? And rock salt. It’s slippery as fuck out there. They do know there’s been ice pellets, right?”
"Rock salt,” Brian said, “is not environmentally friendly. The Professor would never approve. Anyway, weren’t you just singing about a winter wonderland?”
“Fuck off.”
Brian laughed and slid out of the car, balancing their contribution to the meal -- a lobster and crab platter entrée that they’d completely cheated on by having it made to order by the city’s premiere caterer instead of cooking something themselves -- on his hip. He leaned against the car, crossed his ankles, and had a cigarette half smoked in the time it took for Justin to get out of the car and unload all the presents.
“A little help?” Justin gritted out, a gift bag dangling from each finger and several brightly wrapped boxes balanced precariously against his chest.
Brian grimaced and held up the oversized platter. Then he helped -- by forging a path through the drifting knee high snow on the sidewalk. Justin followed in his wake, muttering death threats. He was pretty sure Brian was humming.
It sounded like a Christmas carol.
II.
“A fondue set!” Michael enthused. “Cool!”
Justin couldn’t tell if Michael was one of the best undiscovered actors of his time, or if he was legitimately that fond of fondue.
“Considering all the shindigs you two party animals have been throwing, I thought you could use it,” Debbie said.
“It’s great, Deb,” Ben said.
“Oh, and you’ll be pleased to know that it melts chocolate very easily,” Debbie cackled. “And it works equally as well in the bedroom as in the kitchen.”
“Your mother and I tested it.” Carl smirked from behind his hand.
“Kinky,” Brian deadpanned.
“Um, hello?” Ted protested. “I’m trying to eat a crab cake here!”
“Actually?” Emmett put in. He leaned forward conspiratorially and waved a hand. “Very messy. I was doing some laundry the next day, so I volunteered to throw in a load of sheets, and--”
Michael put his hands over his ears. “I’m not listening!”
“Let’s just say that there was an imprint of someone’s body part that it took three washings to get out.”
Brian glanced over at Carl in admiration, while Ted put down his crab cake with a look of disgust. “That’s it,” Ted said. “I’m never eating again.”
Debbie had, fortunately, missed the majority of the razzing when she ducked into the spare bedroom. She emerged with a wide grin on her face and a box clutched against her stomach.
“And last but not least… Sunshine!” she announced before handing out the small box with a flourish. She placed it carefully on Justin’s lap. “Just a little something from me and Carl.”
The box was about 6x8 inches. It was wrapped in bright blue paper bearing Santa’s mugging face. And it was moving.
“Uh, Deb…” Justin began.
“Well don’t just sit there, Sunshine, open it up!” Debbie said enthusiastically.
Justin gulped. He prayed that it was one of those stuffed dogs that sat up and begged. Or a wind-up monkey banging cymbals, even though those things scared the shit out of him.
He cautiously lifted the lid. And peered inside.
“Um,” he said.
Brian leaned over his shoulder to get a look into the box. And he grinned. Some might even say that he grinned rather devilishly.
“It’s a rat,” Brian told the room. He side-glanced Justin. “Couldn’t you have just caught one in the alley outside your apartment?”
Deb smacked Brian good-naturedly on the back of the head. “It’s a gerbil,” she said.
“A dwarf gerbil,” Carl corrected.
“Isn’t it cute? I thought it would keep you company in New York, Sunshine.”
“It’s… but… Deb….” Justin couldn’t stop looking down into the box. At the skinny brown thing with teeny tiny claws and long nasty looking tail. The thing looked up at him and bared its sharp little teeth. Justin barely held back a shudder.
“Say thank you,” Brian murmured snarkily in his ear.
Justin blinked. Plastered on a smile that felt like it would crack his cheeks. “It’s a lovely thought, Deb. Thank you.”
Debbie beamed. “You’re welcome, baby.”
“The cage and food and all the other stuff for it is over here,” Carl put in, gesturing toward a large plastic bag tucked under one of the end tables.
“Great,” Justin said. He tentatively stuck a finger into the box, intending to stroke the fine brown hair of the animal. He pulled back quickly when the rodent tried to bite him.
Brian snickered.
Debbie patted Justin once on the cheek, then clapped her hands together briskly. “All right, folks, that’s the last of the presents. Let’s eat!”
Justin wondered if there was some way he could sneak roast gerbil on to the menu.
III.
“So,” Daphne said the next morning, “what was your haul?”
Justin shifted the phone to his left ear, all the better to nibble at the leftovers that Michael had insisted they bring home. Justin was particularly enamoured of Ben’s Indian Tofu with Honey.
“Hmm,” he said around a mouthful of rice and almonds, “the usual. Couple of shirts, couple of DVD’s--”
“Not that,” Daphne said. “What did you get from Brian?”
“Oh. A new suit so I‘d have something to wear to my openings. Like I’m ever going to get any. A new cell phone.” Justin swallowed and reached for another helping of tofu. “And a car.”
There was silence on the line. Justin expected as much. He listened to the hiss of open air and discovered that it was really hard to eat while grinning.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Daphne finally answered.
“PT Cruiser!” Justin crowed. “I was talking about how they’re really cute but also big enough to haul around my canvases, and Brian gets sick of flight delays and--”
“A car,” Daphne said flatly.
“A car,” Justin confirmed. He shoved aside the casserole dish. “What about you? What did you get?”
“Nothing as good as you,” Daphne laughed.
Justin was about to retort -- or maybe agree -- when Brian snatched the phone out of his hand.
“Ask him about his favourite present,” Brian urged. He didn’t wait for a reply, just tossed the phone back in Justin’s direction and strolled off, laughing. That laugh made it almost impossible for Justin to admire the way Brian’s faded denims clung to his ass. Almost. Justin scowled before bringing the phone back to his ear.
“--that all about? Brian?” Daphne was saying.
“It’s me,” Justin said. “And… hey. Hey! Want a gerbil?”
“Okay, don’t make me laugh,” Daphne said. “I’m doing my nails and if I laugh my whole body will start jiggling and I’ll totally mess up, and my parents are picking me up in like, an hour, so I don’t have time to start over.”
“He’s really cute,” Justin tried.
“Let me guess,” Daphne said. “Debbie.”
“Who else?”
“Well, Emmett’s always a possibility.”
Justin nodded. His hand drifted to the tofu. “So---”
“You’re going to get fat,” Brian sing-songed from the other side of the room.
Justin took a double handful of almonds just to spite him. “Daph?”
There was a long pause. Then-- “Justin,” Daphne said slowly. “Do you remember how I used to run screaming from the room whenever you wanted to watch Hammy Hamster?”
“Yeah,” Justin replied. “What was up with that?”
“Small furry rodents should not talk or drive speedboats,” Daphne said. “It’s unnatural.”
“This one hasn’t shown any inclination to speak,” Justin pointed out.
“No,” Daphne said.
“You don’t even own a toy speedboat.”
“No.”
“Daph--”
“Gotta run and get ready for the parentals. Happy Holidays, Justin.”
“Bu--”
Nothing but the dial tone. “Fuck,” Justin said.
“No luck?” Brian asked.
Justin put the phone down and squared his shoulders. Then he plastered on his most seductive smile. He slid from the bar stool and licked his lips. Swivelled his hips enticingly. “Brian,” he said.
Brian barked out a laugh. “Not on your fucking life.”
IV.
Melanie and Lindsay and their accoutrements -- children, assorted pieces of luggage, overstuffed diaper bag, folding playpen, laptop, gaily wrapped boxes and gift bags, and so on -- finally arrived from their multiple-times weather-delayed flight just after lunch. By that time, Justin had finished the Indian Tofu. They ate turkey sandwiches on fresh baguettes instead, while Brian picked at a salad tray and didn’t take his eyes off his son.
Gus loved the gerbil.
He asked for permission to move the tiny cage from the sideboard to the low-slung coffee table in the den, and then hunched over the thing for an hour, watching the animal eat or walk on its wheel or sleep.
“What’s his name?” Gus finally asked.
Justin shrugged and looked down at the brown scruff of fur curled up on a pile of shredded Kleenex and wood chips. The gerbil’s beady little eyes glared at him maliciously. “It doesn’t have one,” Justin said glumly.
“We should name him Beatrice!” Gus declared.
“Well, Gus,” Lindsay said, smiling indulgently, “it’s a boy gerbil. Beatrice is a girl’s name.”
“Soooooo?”
Mel and Lindsay exchanged glances.
“It’s a… good thing?” Lindsay tried.
Mel shrugged. “Proves he’s not into gender stereotyping.”
Brian grinned ecstatically. “He’s gay.”
“Brian--” Lindsay began.
“I looooove him.” Gus leaned down and cooed at the gerbil. Beatrice studiously ignored him.
And Justin’s eyes lit up. “Hey, Gus, maybe you could bring him home!”
Gus’s little fist shot up in the air. “Yes!”
“No!” Lindsay and Mel chorused.
“Awwww,” Gus and Justin pouted.
“You know the rule,” Lindsay said firmly. “No pets until you’re old enough to take care of them.”
“Nice try, Sunshine,” Brian smirked.
V.
Justin’s bags were packed, though he’d had to borrow one of Brian’s suitcases to fit in all of his loot -- his mom (and Debbie, and Brian, and Lindsay) tended to spoil him -- and waiting by the door to be loaded into the car in the morning.
It was his last full day at Britin.
Not that he wasn’t looking forward to returning to New York. He was working on a commission that was due mid-month, and he’d finally secured an agent who didn’t promise him the world but instead made medium-sized predictions that actually seemed like they might come true. He had a feeling that this was going to be his year.
He just wished he could figure out a way to have his year in New York and do things like eat Cheerios with Brian at the breakfast nook at Britin at three in the morning. More than once every six weeks, anyway.
Justin bit his nail as he surveyed the pile of bags. He always ended up leaving something behind, and it always ended up being something incredibly important that Brian then had to courier back to him and never let him forget it until the end of time. He was determined not to let it happen this time. “I think that‘s everything,” he said.
“Not exactly,” Brian said. He set Beatrice’s cage down on the oak entry table with a muffled clink. The gerbil gazed up at Brian adoringly.
Justin hated the damn rodent.
“Pleeeeeeeeeeease keep him,” Justin tried for about the fiftieth time.
“It’s your present,” Brian said shortly. “If you don’t want it, give it away.”
“I’ve tried!” Justin cried. “Nobody wants him. Em says he would keep him up all night and he needs his beauty sleep. Ted claims he’s allergic. Darrin says it’s unhygienic. Hope and David don’t have time to take care of it. I even tried Cynthia -- she laughed in my face!”
“Huh,” Brian said.
“Please, Brian--”
“You could return it.”
Justin wrinkled his nose. “For what earthly reason?”
“You hate it?” Brian suggested. Then he grinned. “No -- wait. It’s the wrong size.”
Justin groaned.
“You already have one? The colour doesn’t go with your décor.”
“Funny.”
Brian shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. “You could set it free.”
Justin looked up hopefully. “I… could.”
Brian waited.
“Let it rejoin it’s little gerbil friends in the wild,” Justin said. “No animal should be caged. It’s inhumane. I could let it run free!”
Brian raised a brow.
“I’m doing it,” Justin said.
Fifteen minutes later, Brian watched as Justin trudged morosely through the snow to the back door. His jeans were soaked from the knees down.
Brian let him in without a word.
Both Justin and Beatrice were shivering.
“I couldn’t do it,” Justin moped.
“I know,” Brian said. “You’re not that heartless.” He took the cage from Justin’s hand and set it on the counter. Then he smirked. “Want me to do it?”
“No!” Justin said. “He’s domesticated. He’ll die out there.”
Justin leaned against the counter and buried his face in his hands. Beatrice spat and chattered angrily at him.
“Brian--” Justin began.
And Brian sighed.
VI.
The plan, much as they had a plan (because it was only time, after all) was for Justin to return home every six weeks.
But his new agent really did know what he was talking about, and Justin nailed a spot in a small exhibit with half a dozen other rising artists scheduled for mid-March. He dropped down to two days a week at the restaurant where he toiled for minimum wage and plentiful tips, deciding to live on ramen noodles and that gas heat was overrated, really, when he could just buy an electric space heater and lots of blankets.
And he painted.
Blue and black paint took up permanent residence under his nails.
He lost track of time.
He created the best work of his young career. And he finished the last of the canvasses with four whole days before the opening.
So he decided on a impromptu visit home. He wiped out the last of his savings on gas for the cruiser, which was totally worth it for the two entire days he‘d have with Brian at Britin. And besides, Brian could fill the tank on the ride back. He’d insist on driving anyway.
He pulled in at the house just before the dinner hour on a Sunday, pleased to see the corvette in the driveway. His shoes crunched on the ice on the sidewalk. And he slid the door carefully and softly closed behind him before toeing out of his shoes and making his way to the den.
He was halfway across the room before Brian noticed him.
And then Brian was out of the chair, newspaper discarded in a blur of black and white, and Justin was crushed in his arms. He marvelled that every kiss could feel warm and familiar and yet still feel like the first.
“Hey,” Brian said softly.
“Hey.” Justin grinned. “I--”
And that’s when something moved -- squirmed -- against his chest. Justin’s mouth dropped open as he met Brian’s eyes… then let his gaze slowly drop down to the pocket on Brian’s shirt.
Beatrice gazed up at him, blinking lazily.
“He likes to sleep in there,” Brian said brusquely. “I’ll just--”
Justin stuck his tongue in his cheek. “’You’re going to owe me forever’, you said.”
“--put him away,” Brian finished lamely.
‘Motherfucking rat keeps me up all night’, you said.” Justin trailed Brian into the next room, shaking his head. “Isn’t that what you said, Brian? Didn‘t you say…”
And then he just couldn’t speak.
Beatrice’s cage had been replaced by what he could only describe later (to as many people as possible) as a Gerbil Condominium. Three elaborate cages connected by plastic tubing, including two pieces that extended upward and led to rooftop decks with tiny green plastic peaked roofs.
It took up half a wall in the game room.
Brian popped off one of the roofs and slid Beatrice inside the cage. The gerbil ran in a circle, chasing his tail, before darting down a section of tubing.
“He needs room to run,” he muttered.
Justin shook his head.
“It’s for Gus?” Brian tried.
“You,” Justin laughed, “are so busted.”
The corners of Brian‘s lips twitched, but he didn‘t try to deny it. He didn’t try to deny anything, anymore.
Then he snaked out a hand and towed Justin in, and gave him a proper welcome home.