wouldbedorothy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wouldbedorothy) wrote2010-06-24 05:26 am
wouldbedorothy) wrote2010-06-24 05:26 am
Entry tags:
Favorite Fruit, post-202 cuddly ficlet
Title: Favorite Fruit
Author: wouldbedorothy (AHS)
Characters/Pairing: Brian/Justin, Brian pov
Prompt:
From![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sakesushimaki on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
promptmesomeqaf: Yes, hello, I'd like to order 1 cuddly breakfast fic, please. With extra cuddle, but not too corny, if possible. It can/would preferably be schmoopy, the good kind of schmoopy, but not corny.
Genre: Hopefully, somewhat cuddly and/or schmoopy breakfast fic, lol. Maybe even very mild h/c?
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: 1535
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Summary: Um, everything stated above, set the morning after the end of my beloved 202!
Favorite Fruit
by AHS
You woke up five minutes ago but you haven’t gotten up yet. You’ve just been lying there, eyes closed, listening to him putter around, doing who the fuck knows what in the kitchen. He’s never up before you. Unless he’s had a nightmare, usually you have to drag his lazy butt out of bed. But last night you both slept the best you have in months, and now he is up and humming. You heard the refrigerator door and a couple of cabinets and drawers open and close, so you think he might be trying to make breakfast. You picture it, and it really fucking shouldn’t, but it makes you smile.
Maybe you’re also thinking about last night. Maybe you can’t stop replaying it. How he let you back in. How you got to touch him and breathe him again and how fucking beautiful he was. How you were… scared, almost, and you’re not even sure why. How you were just as vulnerable as he was, and how the only time you were more so, he still doesn’t remember.
Maybe you’re taking your time getting up because you know he saw all of that, even in the dark. And now everything’s in the light.
“Shit!”
You hear a splash and small thud and Justin’s cry, hear frustration and a little pain, and you’re beside him before the sheet has resettled on the bed. His left hand is gripping his right and his face is twisted into a grimace. The counter is wet with guava juice, which is also leaking from the carton, which has fallen to the floor.
You take his right hand -shaking and slightly curled in on itself- and begin to gently massage his palm in that way that seems to help. When his mouth opens and you see needless apologies in his eyes, you kiss him quickly to prevent them. Then keep kissing him as you attend to his hand, both to distract him and because this is what you’re hungry for in the morning. When his fingers have relaxed, you pull back, then press your lips to his wrist.
And lick. His skin tastes like guava.
“Better now?”
He looks at you, embarrassed and grateful, and when he sighs your name, you know he’s remembering you asking him that last night.
“Yeah. Thank you. I just- sometimes I forget for a second that it…” He looks at his hand with a sort of resigned disgust, then drops to the floor to start cleaning up the mess.
Fuck the mess.
You yank off about four feet of paper towel and throw it down, at the same time pulling Justin back up.
“On the list of approved reasons for you to be on your knees, cleaning is not one of them.”
“Brian, it’ll be all sticky if I don’t-”
“The cleaning service will be here tomorrow. They’ll mop. Besides, maybe I like things wet and sticky. C’mon.”
At that last bit, he finally relents, with a grin. “Grab the tray, then.”
He gestures to the island and the partially-filled breakfast tray on it. There’s a small plate of dry toast, a bowl of guava and apple slices, and what looks like honey (inventively placed in a sake cup).
“There wasn’t a lot to work with… pretty much just fruit and whole wheat bread… but I thought that was something you might actually eat.”
You bring it with you as you guide him to the sofa. You sit, placing it carefully on the floor by one end, leaning back against the armrest as you stretch out lengthwise, and then you pull Justin down on top of you. He fits his body to yours, always so easily, and burrows in, his chin on your chest. You reach down and grab a thin slice of fruit from the nearly overflowing bowl.
“You cut all this?”
“Yeah. I think that’s what did my hand in. Guess I should be grateful I didn’t spaz out earlier and take off a finger, huh?”
You tap the fruit against his lips until he opens wide and takes it in. Fuck. Lucky fruit.
“Question… The whole ambidextrous thing?”
He scrunches his nose as he chews. “Mm… yeah. Mostly bullshit.”
You knew it. “Sunshine, I’m shocked.”
“Well, it’s not like I lied! I was just so nervous that first night, I was saying whatever popped into my head. I think I got it into my head a while back that I was.”
“Uh huh. How did that happen?”
“When Daphne and I were, like, 15, one day she thought it would be funny to try writing left-handed to see if we could.”
“Were you high?”
“No, just bored. Anyway, mine was legible… eventually. It was better than hers, anyway, so I decided that meant I was ambidextrous. The last couple of months have taught me that’s not the case.” He flexes the fingers of his right hand a couple of times, then leans over and carefully picks up a slice of guava. “But at least I’m not a total cripple.” He smiles as he feeds it to you and you nip at his fingertips. “Even if pouring juice is beyond my…”
As his words fade, his look of distress in the direction of the kitchen is very quick, but you catch it.
“Would you stop worrying about the fucking kitchen? It’s not like you spilled on my clothes or something serious like that. Of course, it helps that I’m naked.”
He’s definitely doing better, because his face lights up and his eyebrows fucking wiggle at that.
“I know it helps me when you’re naked,” he says, his lower body burrowing in this time. He’s got his boxer briefs on, but the effect is still… damn.
Now he’s got a piece of guava between his teeth. His mouth lowers, and he’s pushing it against your tongue with his. It’s honey-dipped. Christ, you just want to…
“You chose a good favorite fruit, Brian. The guava has four times the amount of vitamin C in an orange.”
You blink in disbelief and then just laugh. He’s so weird, how he can be all hot one second and then suddenly be this little nerd, spouting facts. And, yeah, still be hot.
You slide your hand inside the waistband of his briefs and palm a firm, round ass cheek. “I never said it was my favorite fruit.”
“No?”
You squeeze the flesh and feel him harden against the join of your hip and thigh. “I know of one that is juicier and more delicious.”
He shivers while giggling. It’s been too long since you heard him do that.
“You going to thump it to see if it’s ripe?”
“I might. Don’t want to bruise it, though.”
He’s quiet for a moment. You can see him thinking. “When you have to wait a while for it to be ready, when you finally get it, is it worth the wait?”
He has to ask? “Fuck yes.”
“And, after, do you still want it?”
One hand on his ass, the other on his lower back, his skin warm and hypnotizing, it slips out. “I always want it.”
“Brian… about the scarf…”
Fuck. You get caught up in how fucking good he feels and happy he seems and you get carried away with a fucking stupid fruit metaphor and say too fucking much and now he wants to talk about that. He’s going to ask you why you were wearing it. How long. What it means. He’s going to ask things you can’t even answer to yourself yet. You angle your gaze slightly away, hold your breath…
“Can I have it?”
You have to look at him. He looks like he’s afraid he shouldn’t have said anything, but he did, so it must be important to him. You shake your head a little, just processing. “Justin, why?”
“As a souvenir.” You think your eyes flash pain, because he kisses your chin and combs fingers through your hair as he continues. “Of the night I can’t remember, and of the one I always will.”
You sure as hell don’t want the scarf anymore. You needed it before, but Justin’s back now. He’s your souvenir. But you’re not going to tell him that, no matter how good he feels in your arms, so you just clear inexplicable tightness from your throat and nod.
It’s intense, in a way you’re really not comfortable with unless you’re fucking, and just when it’s about to be too much…
He grabs your cock in a tight fist, starts giving it long, smooth strokes, while simultaneously rambling something about the poor unloved guava.
“Did you know there are about 100 different species? The one most commonly referred to is actually the ‘apple guava’…”
You laugh as you flip him under you. You shut him up for a second with a hard kiss, but he starts up again as you’re putting on the condom. You wonder if he’ll be screaming guava info as he comes.
Yeah, Justin is weird. But he’s your favorite fruit.
You ask yourself how attached you are to the sofa because you’re thinking you’d really like to dip him in honey.
Author: wouldbedorothy (AHS)
Characters/Pairing: Brian/Justin, Brian pov
Prompt:
From
sakesushimaki on promptmesomeqaf: Yes, hello, I'd like to order 1 cuddly breakfast fic, please. With extra cuddle, but not too corny, if possible. It can/would preferably be schmoopy, the good kind of schmoopy, but not corny.Genre: Hopefully, somewhat cuddly and/or schmoopy breakfast fic, lol. Maybe even very mild h/c?
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: 1535
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Summary: Um, everything stated above, set the morning after the end of my beloved 202!
Favorite Fruit
by AHS
You woke up five minutes ago but you haven’t gotten up yet. You’ve just been lying there, eyes closed, listening to him putter around, doing who the fuck knows what in the kitchen. He’s never up before you. Unless he’s had a nightmare, usually you have to drag his lazy butt out of bed. But last night you both slept the best you have in months, and now he is up and humming. You heard the refrigerator door and a couple of cabinets and drawers open and close, so you think he might be trying to make breakfast. You picture it, and it really fucking shouldn’t, but it makes you smile.
Maybe you’re also thinking about last night. Maybe you can’t stop replaying it. How he let you back in. How you got to touch him and breathe him again and how fucking beautiful he was. How you were… scared, almost, and you’re not even sure why. How you were just as vulnerable as he was, and how the only time you were more so, he still doesn’t remember.
Maybe you’re taking your time getting up because you know he saw all of that, even in the dark. And now everything’s in the light.
“Shit!”
You hear a splash and small thud and Justin’s cry, hear frustration and a little pain, and you’re beside him before the sheet has resettled on the bed. His left hand is gripping his right and his face is twisted into a grimace. The counter is wet with guava juice, which is also leaking from the carton, which has fallen to the floor.
You take his right hand -shaking and slightly curled in on itself- and begin to gently massage his palm in that way that seems to help. When his mouth opens and you see needless apologies in his eyes, you kiss him quickly to prevent them. Then keep kissing him as you attend to his hand, both to distract him and because this is what you’re hungry for in the morning. When his fingers have relaxed, you pull back, then press your lips to his wrist.
And lick. His skin tastes like guava.
“Better now?”
He looks at you, embarrassed and grateful, and when he sighs your name, you know he’s remembering you asking him that last night.
“Yeah. Thank you. I just- sometimes I forget for a second that it…” He looks at his hand with a sort of resigned disgust, then drops to the floor to start cleaning up the mess.
Fuck the mess.
You yank off about four feet of paper towel and throw it down, at the same time pulling Justin back up.
“On the list of approved reasons for you to be on your knees, cleaning is not one of them.”
“Brian, it’ll be all sticky if I don’t-”
“The cleaning service will be here tomorrow. They’ll mop. Besides, maybe I like things wet and sticky. C’mon.”
At that last bit, he finally relents, with a grin. “Grab the tray, then.”
He gestures to the island and the partially-filled breakfast tray on it. There’s a small plate of dry toast, a bowl of guava and apple slices, and what looks like honey (inventively placed in a sake cup).
“There wasn’t a lot to work with… pretty much just fruit and whole wheat bread… but I thought that was something you might actually eat.”
You bring it with you as you guide him to the sofa. You sit, placing it carefully on the floor by one end, leaning back against the armrest as you stretch out lengthwise, and then you pull Justin down on top of you. He fits his body to yours, always so easily, and burrows in, his chin on your chest. You reach down and grab a thin slice of fruit from the nearly overflowing bowl.
“You cut all this?”
“Yeah. I think that’s what did my hand in. Guess I should be grateful I didn’t spaz out earlier and take off a finger, huh?”
You tap the fruit against his lips until he opens wide and takes it in. Fuck. Lucky fruit.
“Question… The whole ambidextrous thing?”
He scrunches his nose as he chews. “Mm… yeah. Mostly bullshit.”
You knew it. “Sunshine, I’m shocked.”
“Well, it’s not like I lied! I was just so nervous that first night, I was saying whatever popped into my head. I think I got it into my head a while back that I was.”
“Uh huh. How did that happen?”
“When Daphne and I were, like, 15, one day she thought it would be funny to try writing left-handed to see if we could.”
“Were you high?”
“No, just bored. Anyway, mine was legible… eventually. It was better than hers, anyway, so I decided that meant I was ambidextrous. The last couple of months have taught me that’s not the case.” He flexes the fingers of his right hand a couple of times, then leans over and carefully picks up a slice of guava. “But at least I’m not a total cripple.” He smiles as he feeds it to you and you nip at his fingertips. “Even if pouring juice is beyond my…”
As his words fade, his look of distress in the direction of the kitchen is very quick, but you catch it.
“Would you stop worrying about the fucking kitchen? It’s not like you spilled on my clothes or something serious like that. Of course, it helps that I’m naked.”
He’s definitely doing better, because his face lights up and his eyebrows fucking wiggle at that.
“I know it helps me when you’re naked,” he says, his lower body burrowing in this time. He’s got his boxer briefs on, but the effect is still… damn.
Now he’s got a piece of guava between his teeth. His mouth lowers, and he’s pushing it against your tongue with his. It’s honey-dipped. Christ, you just want to…
“You chose a good favorite fruit, Brian. The guava has four times the amount of vitamin C in an orange.”
You blink in disbelief and then just laugh. He’s so weird, how he can be all hot one second and then suddenly be this little nerd, spouting facts. And, yeah, still be hot.
You slide your hand inside the waistband of his briefs and palm a firm, round ass cheek. “I never said it was my favorite fruit.”
“No?”
You squeeze the flesh and feel him harden against the join of your hip and thigh. “I know of one that is juicier and more delicious.”
He shivers while giggling. It’s been too long since you heard him do that.
“You going to thump it to see if it’s ripe?”
“I might. Don’t want to bruise it, though.”
He’s quiet for a moment. You can see him thinking. “When you have to wait a while for it to be ready, when you finally get it, is it worth the wait?”
He has to ask? “Fuck yes.”
“And, after, do you still want it?”
One hand on his ass, the other on his lower back, his skin warm and hypnotizing, it slips out. “I always want it.”
“Brian… about the scarf…”
Fuck. You get caught up in how fucking good he feels and happy he seems and you get carried away with a fucking stupid fruit metaphor and say too fucking much and now he wants to talk about that. He’s going to ask you why you were wearing it. How long. What it means. He’s going to ask things you can’t even answer to yourself yet. You angle your gaze slightly away, hold your breath…
“Can I have it?”
You have to look at him. He looks like he’s afraid he shouldn’t have said anything, but he did, so it must be important to him. You shake your head a little, just processing. “Justin, why?”
“As a souvenir.” You think your eyes flash pain, because he kisses your chin and combs fingers through your hair as he continues. “Of the night I can’t remember, and of the one I always will.”
You sure as hell don’t want the scarf anymore. You needed it before, but Justin’s back now. He’s your souvenir. But you’re not going to tell him that, no matter how good he feels in your arms, so you just clear inexplicable tightness from your throat and nod.
It’s intense, in a way you’re really not comfortable with unless you’re fucking, and just when it’s about to be too much…
He grabs your cock in a tight fist, starts giving it long, smooth strokes, while simultaneously rambling something about the poor unloved guava.
“Did you know there are about 100 different species? The one most commonly referred to is actually the ‘apple guava’…”
You laugh as you flip him under you. You shut him up for a second with a hard kiss, but he starts up again as you’re putting on the condom. You wonder if he’ll be screaming guava info as he comes.
Yeah, Justin is weird. But he’s your favorite fruit.
You ask yourself how attached you are to the sofa because you’re thinking you’d really like to dip him in honey.