QAF-UK: Unromantic
Jul. 2nd, 2004 12:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doyleTitle: Unromantic
Author: Doyle
Fandom: Queer as Folk (UK)
Pairing: Stuart/Vince
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For the stuartandvince anniversary challenge. The theme was firsts.
This was the bit that didn't get into the legends: on Alfie's first birthday they came back to Manchester. Stuart wore his sunglasses inside the house and called Lisa a cunt when she asked how married life was treating him. He could just about use the word 'boyfriend' and mean it non-ironically now. Anything else was pushing it.
"I didn't say anything, honest," Vince said, probably lying.
Stuart thought about it, and decided that if he was shagging someone as rampantly gorgeous as he was he'd drop a couple of postcards to people too. "Yeah, all right," he said, and snogged Vince in front of the lesbians. Lisa lifted her eyebrows and sighed. Romey just gave them a daft, soppy smile.
"Vince, you could do better," Siobhan said, adjusting her party hat. "Your aura looks lovely, though."
"What's mine look like?" Stuart wanted to know.
"You don't have an aura," Lisa said. "Just a big neon sign saying 'fuckwit'."
"I wasn't asking you, was I? Siobhan knows this stuff. You have to be qualified to talk that sort of bollocks."
"Will everybody stop swearing in front of Alfie?" Romey said, covering his ears. Then the smile was back. "And I think it's lovely about you two."
Momentarily united in unromantic derision, Stuart and Lisa swapped eye-rolls.
He nicked a bottle of wine from the kitchen and drank it as he watched Romey dole out jelly and ice cream. Through the open door, he could see Vince sitting on the carpet with Alfred, the pair of them intently building some sort of robot out of sticklebricks.
"Aww, is daddy feeling broody?" Lisa smirked, ruffling his hair, and Stuart wiped the tiny smile off his face and said, "Fuck off."
Hazel loved the porn and presents they'd brought for her, all the more pleased because half of them had had to be smuggled past airport security.
"Maybe we should go and visit Marie," Vince said, two days before their return flight to New York. "Drop by your mum and dad's, or… nah, let's not," he u-turned hastily at Stuart's glare, "we've got loads of packing and stuff anyway."
They didn't go to Canal Street.
Vince always had to have the window seat on a plane, even if he spent the whole flight asleep, and he always had his earphones blaring, and he always slept through the noise with no problem. Stuart had spent most of his nights for fourteen years (Christ, that was a long time) in clubs where there was no such thing as too loud, but the tinny drone from the next seat drove him up the walls.
Two hours from New York, he was torn between reading the in-flight magazine or trying some skydiving without a parachute. Or there was the porn in his bag and a nice, empty toilet up there.
He was leaning towards the toilet option when a bloke on the other side of the plane stood up to check the overhead compartment and cruised him. Stuart had been eyed up and felt up by too many million men not to know the look. Sizing men up was an art form; a bored two second look and Stuart was rating him as an eight, maybe eight and a half depending on lighting and amount of booze he'd had. Good body, decent hair. Nice arse, which got an obvious showing off when he turned to pull out one of the bags.
Beside him, Vince shifted in his sleep, turning towards the window. When Stuart looked back across the plane, Baggage Boy was out of his seat and heading up the aisle to the toilets. He paused at the door, looked straight at Stuart and smiled.
After about twenty seconds of looking at the tantalizing closed door, Stuart picked up the in-flight magazine after all.
After two minutes he'd read an article on different kinds of peppers.
After five minutes the magazine was stuffed back into the pouch and the eight-and-a-halfer wasn't out of the toilet yet and whatever Doctor Who thing Vince was listening to was so fucking loud and Stuart had the metaphorical platinum members' pass to the Mile High Club anyway and it wouldn't change anything, would it?
After ten minutes, the bloke was back in his seat. He hadn't looked at Stuart.
Vince's CD finished. He rubbed his eyes, blinking around him. "Must've dropped off," he said, like it was a surprise and not the same thing he always did on a plane. One of his things, like not saying a word about Stuart carrying a gun, even in the states where it was illegal, but not letting him smoke in restaurants because people didn't like it.
"That bloke over there was looking at you," Vince said, not sounding particularly jealous. "Anything good in the magazine?"
"He can look," Stuart said.
Vince smiled at him - one of those relaxed, mature smiles he'd been wearing these last six months. Looked all right on him, even if a confident Vince still took some getting used to. "I know."
Stuart said, "Vince…" and then couldn't think what else he wanted to say, because 'do you love me?' was stupid and he'd always known the answer to that one.
"Course I do," Vince said, as if he'd asked anyway. "You twat." He was already digging through his bag for a new CD. "It was good. Seeing everybody. Seeing Alfred. We could do it same time next year."
"Yeah," Stuart said.
And he thought: yeah. You'll do.
Author: Doyle
Fandom: Queer as Folk (UK)
Pairing: Stuart/Vince
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For the stuartandvince anniversary challenge. The theme was firsts.
This was the bit that didn't get into the legends: on Alfie's first birthday they came back to Manchester. Stuart wore his sunglasses inside the house and called Lisa a cunt when she asked how married life was treating him. He could just about use the word 'boyfriend' and mean it non-ironically now. Anything else was pushing it.
"I didn't say anything, honest," Vince said, probably lying.
Stuart thought about it, and decided that if he was shagging someone as rampantly gorgeous as he was he'd drop a couple of postcards to people too. "Yeah, all right," he said, and snogged Vince in front of the lesbians. Lisa lifted her eyebrows and sighed. Romey just gave them a daft, soppy smile.
"Vince, you could do better," Siobhan said, adjusting her party hat. "Your aura looks lovely, though."
"What's mine look like?" Stuart wanted to know.
"You don't have an aura," Lisa said. "Just a big neon sign saying 'fuckwit'."
"I wasn't asking you, was I? Siobhan knows this stuff. You have to be qualified to talk that sort of bollocks."
"Will everybody stop swearing in front of Alfie?" Romey said, covering his ears. Then the smile was back. "And I think it's lovely about you two."
Momentarily united in unromantic derision, Stuart and Lisa swapped eye-rolls.
He nicked a bottle of wine from the kitchen and drank it as he watched Romey dole out jelly and ice cream. Through the open door, he could see Vince sitting on the carpet with Alfred, the pair of them intently building some sort of robot out of sticklebricks.
"Aww, is daddy feeling broody?" Lisa smirked, ruffling his hair, and Stuart wiped the tiny smile off his face and said, "Fuck off."
Hazel loved the porn and presents they'd brought for her, all the more pleased because half of them had had to be smuggled past airport security.
"Maybe we should go and visit Marie," Vince said, two days before their return flight to New York. "Drop by your mum and dad's, or… nah, let's not," he u-turned hastily at Stuart's glare, "we've got loads of packing and stuff anyway."
They didn't go to Canal Street.
Vince always had to have the window seat on a plane, even if he spent the whole flight asleep, and he always had his earphones blaring, and he always slept through the noise with no problem. Stuart had spent most of his nights for fourteen years (Christ, that was a long time) in clubs where there was no such thing as too loud, but the tinny drone from the next seat drove him up the walls.
Two hours from New York, he was torn between reading the in-flight magazine or trying some skydiving without a parachute. Or there was the porn in his bag and a nice, empty toilet up there.
He was leaning towards the toilet option when a bloke on the other side of the plane stood up to check the overhead compartment and cruised him. Stuart had been eyed up and felt up by too many million men not to know the look. Sizing men up was an art form; a bored two second look and Stuart was rating him as an eight, maybe eight and a half depending on lighting and amount of booze he'd had. Good body, decent hair. Nice arse, which got an obvious showing off when he turned to pull out one of the bags.
Beside him, Vince shifted in his sleep, turning towards the window. When Stuart looked back across the plane, Baggage Boy was out of his seat and heading up the aisle to the toilets. He paused at the door, looked straight at Stuart and smiled.
After about twenty seconds of looking at the tantalizing closed door, Stuart picked up the in-flight magazine after all.
After two minutes he'd read an article on different kinds of peppers.
After five minutes the magazine was stuffed back into the pouch and the eight-and-a-halfer wasn't out of the toilet yet and whatever Doctor Who thing Vince was listening to was so fucking loud and Stuart had the metaphorical platinum members' pass to the Mile High Club anyway and it wouldn't change anything, would it?
After ten minutes, the bloke was back in his seat. He hadn't looked at Stuart.
Vince's CD finished. He rubbed his eyes, blinking around him. "Must've dropped off," he said, like it was a surprise and not the same thing he always did on a plane. One of his things, like not saying a word about Stuart carrying a gun, even in the states where it was illegal, but not letting him smoke in restaurants because people didn't like it.
"That bloke over there was looking at you," Vince said, not sounding particularly jealous. "Anything good in the magazine?"
"He can look," Stuart said.
Vince smiled at him - one of those relaxed, mature smiles he'd been wearing these last six months. Looked all right on him, even if a confident Vince still took some getting used to. "I know."
Stuart said, "Vince…" and then couldn't think what else he wanted to say, because 'do you love me?' was stupid and he'd always known the answer to that one.
"Course I do," Vince said, as if he'd asked anyway. "You twat." He was already digging through his bag for a new CD. "It was good. Seeing everybody. Seeing Alfred. We could do it same time next year."
"Yeah," Stuart said.
And he thought: yeah. You'll do.
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no subject
on 2004-07-01 05:42 pm (UTC)