Fandom: Queer As Folk
Title: Domesticity
By: Koenig
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 ( kieren_56@yahoo.co.uk  )
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 
broke anyway
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...


DOMESTICITY

by Koenig



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 
all.

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 
anymore.
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? 
Well... perhaps.

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.

THE END


[BritSlash Fiction Archive]  [BritSlash Contents Page]