|Fandom: Queer As Folk
Pairing: Vincent / Stuart
Rating: It may deal with adult situations and have two men living
together, but I think PG-13 is the most suitable rating (oh except if
there's sex. Sex is PG, innit?)
Feedback: PLEASE on or off-list ( firstname.lastname@example.org
Spoilers: None at all
Disclaimers: They're not mine. None of them. They're RTD's. They're
fun to play with. He left them stranded in the middle of the
desert...Feel free to sue, I'm not making a dime out of this, and I'm
Timeline Warning: Denial-Fic. No QAF#2. They moved in together at the
end of QAF#1. Because I say so!...
Summary: All one of them wanted was "a simple kind of life", so did
the other but he had difficulties communicating in anything other
than swear words...
I like the simple pleasures... It's the line you never bought when
you were in your twenties. Made you think of cups of tea. Made you
think of slippers and fluffy dogs. Frankly, made you think of playing
families, hating it and wanting to puke.
But now you're past your 30th. You have actually settled down. Okay,
so he's a bit mad, and he hasn't lost the capacity to completely
shock you. Or scare you shitless. But he's there, he's not running
away from you in horror. And the two of you share so much. Too much,
for it ever to go into reversal. Me and Stuart go way back. So far,
in fact, that divorce is no longer an option. We're like Siamese
twins, sharing something vital. Let's say it's our heart to keep this
clean. Or our brain to explain why it took us sixteen years of mutual
lust to actually do it...
I've come a long way in my managerial capacities. It's neither here
nor there that my firm deals mostly in frozen vegetables. It's better
than chickens, and someone's got to do it. Besides, now I earn pots
of money. One twentieth of Stuart's monthly intake is far better than
nought point something, trust me.
I bet you're all dying to know how's an average Vince & Stuart day
(Stuart keeps pestering me to call myself Vincent because the
neighbourhood is posh. Me: "What's that got to do with my name?" "It
bloody has." "Has not. I like Vince. I've always been Vince." "But
Vincent is your fucking name." "So save it for when we're fucking you
prick!"). Hehehe... Now I get to win 1 out every 3 arguments with
Stuart. Boosts my self-esteem no end. Like the fact he likes my
cooking. Like the fact he's totally dependant on me for Sex because
he says he's addicted to Vincesex (notice the absence of 'nt'?).
Where was I? Oh yes, our average day. We just had one yesterday, it
was lovely. I got home at 7, he was defrosting something on the
microwave 'cause Wednesday's his turn to cook dinner. He looks so
cute using those completely unnecessary oven gloves. He's very
paranoid about microwaves, poor thing. So I offered to help him. He
looked so grateful. Asked me if I wanted a blow job while I put the
final touches on the salad. I said no, but promised him we could
watch our collection of The Naked Chef after dinner. OK, so the guy
always keeps his clothes on, but have you noticed those lips?
Yummy!... Even Stuart drools over them. Well, over me, mostly - the
TV being quite a few feet away.
Anyway, we ate our messy vegetarian lasagne (and salad) and had
plenty of red wine and pistachio ice-cream. We did the dishes
together. He hands them over, I stuck them directly in the sink and
wait for our daily man, Gavin - who comes 4 hours every morning to
deal with an upper middle-class couple's cleaning needs (no, he
doesn't give us 'our' bath, we've got that down to perfection
since... well, ages ago).
Truth be told, our sex life has fallen into a bit of a routine. Last
night I heard, more than felt, Stuart come and had to groan and moan
and wank like a maniac to give any semblance of a simultaneous
orgasm. I was actually thinking of frozen peas. Let me give you an
advice: don't bring your work to bed, particularly if you're in
frozen foodstuffs. Very off-putting, it is.
Of course Stuart's not sensory-deprived, so we had a bit of a clash
at breakfast that ended with me back upstairs bent over our bed being
paddled with something not purpose-designed to be used in delicate
human skin. Revenge is best served cold? Methinks not. Before he left
for work I actually made love to him on the stairs, me on top, his
back completely ruined for the rest of the day, his nice suit all
wrinkled and reeking of... a certain 'male' scent. Nope, not
masculine by design, as is so often the case with Stuart's scent.
Really male by nature. Must have had a fascinating day at work, bless
him. Luckily he is very good-natured, and won't take it out on me at
Does it sound all very light-hearted? Mostly it is. But then there
are those days when we can barely stand each other. It's not because
we spend too much time together, it just so happens one of us is
bored or depressed or frankly pissed. And then takes it out on the
other. Lashes out. I once read something like "Private life holds the
mirror to eternity". It's human relationships that really matter. I'm
sure they must have made a movie, I'm not all that well-read. Which
sometimes can be a pain in the ass, because Stuart can genuinely
surprise me with being far more 'cultivated' than I ever gave him
credit for. Guess those 'educated shags' with college undergrads (or
maybe professors, what do I know?) did him some good. Not that he
uses all that acquired knowledge for anything other than small talk
at parties. Still, it pisses me off.
His boozing also pisses me off. He says he'll stop it if I quit
smoking. We've given it a couple of tries, but it seems our wills
weren't in it. I wonder where they were exactly? We never go
exploring the outer limits anymore, you know what I mean? We always
settle for things tested and tried and with a regulatory stamp of
approval if possible. Our lives' pleasures have to come sealed in
trustworthy bottles or approved capsules. It's fucking boring.
At least we don't do drugs other than those afore mentioned. But
maybe that only turns boredom into something of a higher magnitude.
What I know is that neither of us knows how to cope with it.
What about Love? Yes, well, what about it? What's the point?
Presumably it's still there, deep beneath the superficial teasing,
playing and fighting. I don't know. We don't go looking for it
Maybe that's what love turns into. Background noise. Background
scenery. Background everything, without which we'd fall into the
abyss of Life On Our Own. Can't have that at our age, now can we?
That would be a challenge way beyond our strength, wouldn't it?
I think we're doing well as we are. We even have a kid. We've adopted
a stray kitten. We're nice to hetero couples who share the park with
us. Oh yes, we still go for walks in the park. More than ever before.
We still sit on the grass, where it's allowed. We have picnics and
kisses and play with Alf. Oh yes, we're fairly happy, fairly settled.
It's what we fought for, hoped, prayed, waited for. Isn't it?
Isn't it? I was so sure it was.
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