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The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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qaffic: convergence
children of dune - leto 1
seperis
Okay, considerably less wired. *g*

I need a favor. A big favor.



Convergence
by jenn

The cupboards are bare.

There's an entire nursery rhyme devoted to this kind of situation, and if Justin remembers correctly, it involves a dog, but imminent starvation is slowly eating away at his Mensa-level IQ, and he's pretty sure he's going to die right here and right now, cold, hungry, and alone, surrounded by nothing but guava juice and poppers.

"Close the fucking fridge already."

Ah, the charming love of his life, from under a pile of blankets, where he'd retreated the second Justin had mentioned food. Who may be buried, but is using his special Brian-sense (similar to spider-sense, but useful only when tracking Justin and hunting down tricks) to figure out what he's doing. Justin thinks the only reason the refrigerator didn't join the long list of saleable items was that Brian couldn't figure out what he'd do with his drugs if it was taken.

Closing the door, Justin turns around and looks at the pile of bedclothes unfavorably. "I'm going to starve, you get this, right?"

Brian makes an extremely rude noise that Justin refuses to dignify with a response. Crossing the room, he trots back up the stairs and drops on the side of the bed. "Are you aware that the human body requires a certain amount of calories to function per day and dropping below that critical number can lead to--"

"If I fuck you, will you shut up?" Brian's bitching would be a lot more effective if he came out from under the covers.

"If you fuck me, I might start calling out the names of the four food groups." It's a possibility. Justin woke up this morning from a dream involving sautéed mushrooms and grilled steak. Hard. Very, very hard. "We need food." Justin thinks for a second. "And lube."

That brings Brian out, offended. Nothing quite like implying that Brian's been behindhand with the sex paraphernalia. "We do *not*."

"Mint flavored." Possibly because Justin threw them out before Brian woke up this morning in a fit of desperation. It could be enough.

Brian drops back under the covers and Justin breathes out. I love him, he thinks steadily, I love him a *lot*. He hopes that's enough when Brian starts looking less hot and more--edible.

Stretching out, Justin thinks of tactics and Napoleon, and the fact that Brian doesn't eat, he absorbs energy from others via sex, or at least, that's the conclusion Justin's come to, and doesn't that make scary amounts of sense? "I'm going to the grocery store alone, then."

Brian grunts.

"I'm using your last credit card."

Yeah, like Brian cares. Justin's often thought he should one day give his speech about how Brian's like Jesus, with the entire non-worldly-goods thing and maybe work in a Moses reference in regard to Liberty Avenue queers (he's been working on this for a while), but he's saving that for a really special occasion. Like on his birthday, if Brian tries anything even *close* to what he pulled last year.

"I'm buying junk food."

A stir. That's encouraging.

"Pigskins. Potato chips. Onion dip. Frozen deep fried shrimp. Fried chicken. Frozen pizza" Justin's stomach murmurs in protest at the tease, but these are desperate times. "Chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream and fudge syrup. Whole milk."

Brian doesn't move, but shock may be setting in. Leaning closer, Justin pitches his voice carefully. "And Brian--I know what you're like when you get stoned."

So ninety five percent of the time, Brian's a sexual vampire. That other five percent of the time--that would be, while stoned--Justin thinks it's lucky he escapes with his fingers still attached, and he remembers that one panic attack when Brian went down on him looking awfully hungry in a completely scary non-sexual way.

Brian's head appears disturbingly fast, eyes narrowed. He knows he's being manipulated, but he also knows that yes, Justin *will*. Because he's just that kind of boyfriend.

Justin takes a deep breath and plays his last card. "I hear that marshmallows are on sale."

Paydirt.

"Ten minutes."

It's sad that the victory makes him want to dance. He'll do it while Brian's showering. Quietly.

*****

Brian occasionally used to use a grocery service before Justin decided to become a non-removable part of his life, and after the second time he moved in, Justin had taken over shopping duties in a kind of desperation for real food. Ethan had shopped for them, badly, and it may say a lot that there were nights when Justin had thought longingly of Brian's refrigerator when he was faced with what Ethan thought artists should eat.

Jesus Christ, chocolate and vegetable Ramen for a meal? Humans kill and eat their mates when confronted with that sort of shit.

The cart, like Brian's current living room arrangement, is minimal, since Brian insisted on veto rights and man, Justin should have just come alone. Celery sticks. Lettuce. Mint lube. Whole fucking wheat germ bread that Justin knows from experience tastes less appetizing than cardboard. Brian's at his porn-movie-cliche-best--jeans, wife-beater, unbuttoned shirt, and sunglasses because he still has a hangover and keeps getting distracted by the ooh shiny principle, the shiny being various guys who have no business being in a grocery store early on a Sunday morning and certainly not looking that fucking hot.

Because Justin is Enlightened, he is no longer at all jealous.

Smiling, Justin nods at Hot Guy Four and kicks the back of his knee as they pass. He goes down with a satisfying whimper, which is just cool.

Justin's also Not Stupid.

Brian lets the sunglasses slide down his nose in Classic Hot Pose of Amusement, and yes, it's effective. Justin gets hard from the fact Brian breathes, though, so no surprise that his first instinct is to pull his shirt farther down and head for the frozen foods aisle. It won't help, but at least staring at the frozen deep fried shrimp will remind him why he's here, and no, it's not to see if the sink in the bathroom can hold his weight.

Besides, he already knows it can.

Shit. Cold thoughts.

"Ice cream."

Brian nods absently, attention caught by air particles, apparently. Did he drop acid last night?

"Brian." He once compared being around a high Brian to babysitting Gus, but that's only mostly true. Same attention span, same passion for new things, but it's kind of worse, because you can't put Brian in a playpen to keep him out of mischief and he can make Justin come just by talking, and yes, he's done that, and yes, he's done that in public, and no, they're not adding The Grocery Store to the list of places Justin will never, ever, ever be able to frequent again.

He still blushes when he walks by the dry cleaner's, for God's sake.

Justin has the credit card. He has control of the basket. What he needs is something to distract Brian long enough to put actual food in this cart before they end up in the papers after Brian Kinney's unfortunate demise and barbecuing by insanely hungry boyfriend.

Wow. With that kind of platform, Stockwell could run again.

Distract, distract-- "Cheese."

Cheese?

Brian looks at him. "What?"

Justin has no idea. *Cheese*? "We need cheese." Somehow, his voice infuses it with the kind of longing that before today, he'd only had regarding really spectacular blowjobs and greasy triple cheeseburgers from the diner. Mmm. Grease....

"Brian, this isn't food. It's what we feed food before we eat the food. We need cheese." His stomach's leading him, right to dairy, God, dairy, milk and cheese and so much wondrous, delicious filling-ness of it all, maybe stuck between some horrifyingly fattening white bread and slathered with mayo.

It's probably just wrong on new levels that he's *this* close to orgasm imagining a sandwich. Justin sucks in a slow breath and soldiers on. So close. So very, very close.

Brian follows, probably because he has nothing better to do, or maybe because Hot Guy Five is currently stroking mozzarella in *such a juvenile pick-up way just a few feet ahead of them. Yes, this is going great.

"Justin?"

The basket shudders to a stop when Justin's feet freeze in place, and from the corner of his eye, Justin can see Brian stopping as well, attention drawn from the sexual connotations of cheese-fondling to see what's caught Justin's attention. It's all a big blur and this is not hell, this is not hell, this is the grocery store and Justin's last ditch effort at avoiding cannibalism.

*****

See, I originally wrote this and some more for the grocery store challenge, but I hated, with the passion of a thousand jealous Michaels, the entire bit after this. I'm blaming I got on a angst streak *just* as I was trying to write it, and it turned out bizarre. So I killed the rest of it.

Now. Um. Anyone just read that and feel deeply inspired to write the ending? *hopeful* Please? With sugar on top?

You know, considering all that trauma I'm going through, with the badfic and the job and the--er. Um. I'll think of more trauma.

*hopes*


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(Deleted comment)
*grins* I figured Austria was still short some trauma, and there was cannibalism just *sitting* there, waiting for a good home.

*smiles happily* Thank you!

NOw write me an ending? *hopeful*

(Deleted comment)
(Deleted comment)
Well, I won't be writing an ending but I'm insanely curious as to what you did write for this.

And I so needed this after bawling my eyes out over fic all night. Too fucking funny.

By the way I scrolled through your memories the other day and that micheal/brian/justin one...broke me. Really. I had dreams last night trying to fix it.

I know I keep commenting on your stuff and you're probably wondering who this insane woman is...sorry about that, but now that I've read all the QAF in your memories I would feel remiss if I didn't say that you are my favorite writer in this fandom and that is a hard contest because there are some pretty amazing ones right now.

So..ummm..yeah. I'll just go back in my corner and not spam your journal anymore.

Well, I won't be writing an ending but I'm insanely curious as to what you did write for this.

Oooh no. That thing is lost to infinity, and trust me, it's better that way. I've never changed tone in a story so fast. Just *stared* at it after, thinking, it's like my personality split or something.

*shivers*

And I so needed this after bawling my eyes out over fic all night. Too fucking funny.

*giggles* What did you read?

By the way I scrolled through your memories the other day and that micheal/brian/justin one...broke me. Really. I had dreams last night trying to fix it.

*smiles sunnily*

Tell? I haven't figured out anything except, well, sex. Which is kind of sad, but at least its canonically accurate that Sex Can Fix Almost Anything.

I'm all behind this worldview. *G*

So..ummm..yeah. I'll just go back in my corner and not spam your journal anymore.

*giggles* I *like* comments! And thanks so much for leaving them. And I'm extremely pleased you're enjoying everything thus far.

*hugs*

Brian, this isn't food. It's what we feed food before we eat the food.

*holds sides and screams laughter*


*snickers* I'm just torturing him for fun these days, aren't I?

Thanks for commenting!

Well, I was all cntrl-c, cntrl-v girl, copying and pasting the funny bits like a good fan, and then I realized that it was your entire fic and you probably knew those lines because you Wrote Them, so I got embarrassed and stopped. To sum up: BWAHAHHAHAHAHA.

To further sum: I am never writing again. You with the humor, Wren with the romance, Myrna with the angst... Guh. Just Guh.

To further sum: I am never writing again. You with the humor, Wren with the romance, Myrna with the angst... Guh. Just Guh.

ARG! Don't SAY that!

*panics*

No no no. Oh *hell* no. Think of the children! Which by 'children' I mean well, me, who would go into decline and possibly collapse under the horror.

Hmm. Maybe there's a *reason* I was caffeine limited recently. *looks at sneaked cup of deliciously caffeinated coffee* Hmm.

...deeply inspired to write the ending?

Actually, I would if a) I'd watched the show and wouldn't spent half the time closing my eyes and taking wild stabs at characterisation or b) am persuaded that reading a whole lot of fanfic and fannish discussion is enough to jump in and write.

I haven't got a clue who the mystery herald!of!bad!things!to!come is or could be ^^;

But reading that did make me picture this:

There are ten different brands of bread with very slight cosmetic differences in packaging to indicate seed or no-seed, tasty or healthy. Justin personally feels that health food is only promoted as such because their ingredients are a mystery and no adverse effects have shown up in the newspapers. He's not particularly interested in the constant raging debate of regular versus lite, but he is very interested in the half-eaten hotdog bun cast off and alone in the remains of its wrapper in a conveniently dark corner of the display rack. Justin runs through a couple of mental scenarios, wondering who the bread-eater was. A desperate yet charmingly cute artist who would rather stoop to the likes of petty grocery thieves than practice cannibalism on his beloved? He snorts and moves on, but cannot help a wistful wishing that he is immoral enough to do the same or is removed enough from his dignity to scavenge. At least concentrating on not turning, running back to the liberated bun and staring with irrational, heart-felt longing takes his mind off things. For a few golden minutes.

--

Just as long as nobody kills me for this. *shifty eyes* *runs away*

Re: ...deeply inspired to write the ending?

*collapses* I can *see* this. Poor Justin, staring hungrily at a lone little half of a hot dog bun, *food*, his poor little mind imagining the texture and taste and the pure goodness of it....

*giggles* God, I wish you'd consider it. Come *on*.

If I had talent, I so would. *g* This is *hilarious*!

*rolls eyes* Excuses, excuses.

Thanks!

Well, until it came to a screeching halt, that fic had me in stitches. It took all of my self-control not to end up on the floor LMAO. Much sadness that it is not completed though. Hope someone takes you up on the challenge.

*grins* Thanks. And yes, me too, dammit. *someone*

I love your icon. I just keep watching it, looking at the almost-smile on Brian's face. So. Cute.

This was adorable.

Also:

he can make Justin come just by talking, and yes, he's done that, and yes, he's done that in public, and no, they're not adding The Grocery Store to the list of places Justin will never, ever, ever be able to frequent again.

He still blushes when he walks by the dry cleaner's, for God's sake.


You MUST write this.

*dies and dies and dies*

You should have added this to the challenge! It rules.

Aww, thanks!

If I could have nailed the ending? Probably would have. Brian in a domestic grocery store is just mindbending for some reason. *g*

This is too funny...I almost peed my pants...well, maybe just a trickle.

How about:

Through the haze of blurry and shadowy contours that constitutes Justin’s present ravenous state of mind, he blinks quickly to readjust his focus on Brian’s features. Glasses dangling from one hand, Brian’s panicked expression signals to Justin that he is no longer stoned, but suddenly widely responsive and awake, staring straight ahead with eyes fixated on a specific spot up ahead. Justin contemplates whether he has enough strength to simultaneously acknowledge whatever Brian is staring at, and/or start gnawing his right arm. Figuring he could take one last stab at preserving his sanity, Justin looks towards Brian’s object of interest and takes off running down the aisle like an Olympic sprinter.

She calls to him, this gray-haired lady in a blue-and-red checkered apron, like a siren’s song beckoning sea-weathered sailors to the shore, leading them to their demise. With painstaking care, she holds up her sullied offering of bounteous poison that was sure to clog arteries and pack on love handles. Her seductive eyes speak silent volumes of promise and fulfillment as a single mantra runs loops through Justin’s head.

Must…have…food…food…is…good…food is your friend…

Brian catches up to him seconds later and nervously licking his lips, soothingly calls out to Justin in evenly spaced syllables, “Justin…back away from the samples.”


Brian catches up to him seconds later and nervously licking his lips, soothingly calls out to Justin in evenly spaced syllables, “Justin…back away from the samples.”

Oh. God.

I LOVE that line. Poor Justin, finally insane. Poor baby. Poor, poor baby.

Think the chick with teh sample escapes with her fingers still intact. God, what if she tries to stop him from taking more than one?

*shivers*

... I hated, with the passion of a thousand jealous Michaels

*sniggers* Okay, I love that phrase. I'd comment on the fic, but, you know me, it's Brian/Justin. (Saying I skimmed it is overexaggerating the amount of attention I paid to it. *g*)

Still, that phrase has just become my second favourite "absolutely *hating* this" phrase. The favourite still belongs to Toby from West Wing "Even though I hate these people with the fiery passion of a nova" (I think you need to imagine the truly grumpy/exhausted tone of voice)

*grins sunnily* Any way I can drag you in, chica. Skimming in horror today, OTPing tomorrow.

It's all In the Plan, you know.

*puts check mark on list*

I think humour is a complete bitch to write but this... Bwahahah, it's brilliant.

It's sad that the victory makes him want to dance. He'll do it while Brian's showering. Quietly.

*giggles* I love this line.


*Grins* Thanks!

Justin's Dance of Victory. If only there was a decent pole in the loft.

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