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Title: Rule of the Jungle, Prologue (Nanowrimo story 2008)
Author: Layla V
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Fandom: Queer as Folk US
Time-line: Post-513 future
Summary: Justin thinks he knows Brian. But there are some things which can still surprise him to no end.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't own them; just love them very very much


"Rule of the Jungle, Prologue"


Six months ago, in a Greenwich village loft, two friends shared a bottle of vodka over a conversation about their respective better halves, when an harmless though interesting disagreement arose over a seemingly trivial matter, and a small pillow fight ensued.



"For God's sake, stop it." Feathers fly as pillows and cushions strike. "Stop it. And stop fucking laughing, you jerk."

The sound of sniggering is interceded by uncontrollable hiccups. "How can I stop laughing when... when you say the funniest fucking things in the world?"

A huff of indignation. "It isn't supposed to be funny."

"It's fucking hilarious." A snort. "Tell me you're pulling my leg."

"Actually, I'm pretty damn serious."

"Seriously deluded, you mean."

"No, you idiot. This has nothing to do with delusion. It's just an idea." A brow wrinkles. "Besides, how can you come up with these blanket declarations when you haven't even given my idea a real try out?"

"Because I gave it a try out five years ago, back when it was my idea, and the outcome was so predictably pathetic that alas, I couldn't help but give up on the fantasy."

A deliberate rolling of eyes. "Oh, jeez, how terrible for you."

"You don't have to be so freaking sarcastic. As you can see, I'm obviously not losing any sleep over it."

"Obviously not."

"And its' all for the best, really," – a deep sigh – "since it was a futile and pretty much juvenile dream in the first place. So there's really no point in wasting my energies anymore. I'm not interested."

"Since when do you give up so easily?" Brow rises in surprise. "You're the most persistent person, I know."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm serious. Besides five years is a long time for people to change, you know. He's a different man now."

"Different how? He's still the same irritatingly opinionated and impossibly dominating man who can get on my last freaking nerves." A fond smile. "But whom I can't help but love because of his gorgeous and perfect body, his beautiful face and mind...."

"Don't forget the tender, loving heart beating underneath." A matching grin spreads on fuschia-painted lips.

A snicker. "He's so going to kill you for saying that but yeah, there's that too."

"And the unbeatably chic fashion sense and style." Eyes decidedly starry this time. "You can't leave that out, you know."

"Of course." Head shakes in disbelief.

"Irritating. Opinionated. Dominating and handsome." Virtues counted on nimble fingers as the grin morphs into a teasing simile. "Hmm. Sounds like someone else I know very well – except, of course, for the fashion and style part."

Another pillow flies through the air. "Shut the fuck up. I'm very, very cool and you know it. I'm the one who's lived in New York for the past five years, remember?"

"And now you're going back home to live in your country manor with the lord of the manor. How romantic." The offending missiles are grabbed mid-air and promptly disposed off as more vodka is ingested. "Unfortunately, living in New York hasn't done much for your fashion sense. Your boyfriend still picks out your wardrobe for all your major events."

"Partner."

"Huh?"

"He's my partner." A happy smile. "Has been for the past five years. Boyfriend sounds so..." – nose wrinkles in distaste – "...high-school."

"Oooookay. Partner."

"Look, as far as picking the wardrobe is concerned, he just likes taking care of me, that's all." One shoulder is lifted and then dropped. "It doesn't mean anything."

A huff of disbelief. "See? That's the point I'm trying to make. He may be irritatingly opinionated – a trait I consider to be a blessing considering your hideous fashion sense – but you, Mister, are irritatingly obtuse."

"Fuck off."

The voice rises. "The man would do anything for you and still you doubt him?"

Laughter. "I don't doubt him. I simply know him. I know how he is. Some things are just not meant to be."

"But you haven't even asked him yet."

"And I'm never going to. I told you I know him."

One brow rises in mock-query. "You do?"

"Absolutely." Laser blue eyes look into their brown counterparts. "Trust me when I say this: Brian Kinney hates... and I mean he fucking hates animals."

"And you're so sure because he told you this?"

"Not in so many words, no, but I don't have to ask him." Chin rises in surety. "I know how he is. Remember all those years ago when I wanted to get that puppy and he refused because he didn't want to get fur on his Italian Moda furniture."

"Hmm. I kind of remember that was back when you guys lived in the loft. Many, many, maaaaany eons ago." Eyes crinkling. "You know long before the big proclamation." Lips twitching. "Way, waaaaaay before he turned his life around and, guess what, asked for your hand in marriage." A grin forms on the lips.

Which is matched by a knowing smile. "You don't have to spell everything out to me, Daph. I know my history. I'm not an idiot."

"Yes, you are, Justin."

"No, I'm not. And despite the proclamations, he's still the most anal retentive neat freak that exists on the planet." A deep sigh. "He detests disorder of any kind. And pets don't exactly follow the Kinney rules, you know."

"You're still pathetic."

"No, I'm just realistic. I know for a fact that Brian would never, and I repeat, never ever get a pet. That's not who he is. So your idea is for shit."

"Don't be so sure. He's surprised you before."

"Not on this one, Daph." A resolute shake of the head. " I'm pretty sure that unless there's some... weirdly chaotic celestial phenomena involved," –a chuckle– "like... planets colliding in the next galaxy, or divine intervention or something like that, I've got him pretty much figured out on this issue."

"Yeah, that's what you always say."

"And I'm usually right."

"And if you're wrong this time?"

"I won't be." A smug smile. "But if I'm, I'll gladly eat my words."

***


In the heavens beyond, millions of light years above the surface of the planet called Earth, a celestial phenomena occurred in the next galaxy, the only sign of which appeared in the form of a sudden accumulation of rainclouds and a flash of lightening in the northern hemisphere, as thunder rolled in the far distance -- thunder which dubiously sounded like jovial laughter from a tickled deity having the time of its life. If you had the ear for such things, that is.

Of course, the suave, very, very cool New Yorker about to move back to his country manor in good ol' Pennsylvania only heard the thunder, as he handed his extra umbrella to his best friend and told her to watch for the large puddle under the canopy outside the lobby downstairs.

He missed all the signs but then that really wasn't his fault, was it? When the heavens conspired to play their tricks on you, you could do nothing but stand under the beating rain and do exactly what you promised your friend you'd do.

Eat your words.

And try to enjoy the downpour.


***



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