fic: QaF
Okay, oh God oh God oh God, after one thousand billion years, I wrote fanfiction. IDEK. Xie had this challenge thingum and I smiled to myself and then WROTE SOMETHING. It was totally weird, okay.
Have at it!
Trade
You wonder if he remembers what your real name is half the time. You can probably count on one hand the instances he’s used it. Funny, because he’s not really the nickname type. That’s way too cutesy. He’d rather swallow his own tongue before calling anyone “baby” or “sweetheart”.
You hear “hey” most often, and you always know when he’s talking to you and not to Emmett or Michael or anyone. For one, he tends to use their given names. Mikey this and Mikey that. Mikey all the time. Oh, and Theodore, too. It’s telling that he shortens Michael’s name and lengthens Ted’s. But you know that the quiet “hey” coming from somewhere over your shoulder is almost always for you, even if you’re in the middle of everybody.
“Justin,” you want to tell him, sometimes. Just to see what he’d say.
Except you know what he’d say, really. He’d cock one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth would lift and the next remark would be something biting. Something like, “We’re being formal now? Maybe ‘Mr. Taylor’ would be better. You should probably start practicing for when your art hangs at the Met.”
And then you’d be pissed and you’d try not to talk to him for three days, but he’s way too good at that game and he always wins. You always end up talking to him first and then he smirks at you.
He feels nostalgic or affectionate sometimes. Then you get “Sonny Boy”, although it’s kind of rare. You never know if he’s talking to you or Gus, even if Gus isn’t there. You still kind of like it, though. Mostly because you like Gus. Half the time you think it’s an accident when he calls you that. You never correct him, but it seems weird to be called that, especially since his greatest fear is to lose his youth. Calling you Sonny Boy implies that he’s… well, older. Whatever, you don’t think about it too much.
But you don’t know at all why he stuck with “Sunshine”. It was a casual, offhand name that Debbie tossed out there. It could have been “honey” or “lamb” or “kitten”, but she called you Sunshine and there it was. None of the others picked it up, except for him. He used it even before that night. Even before he admitted to knowing why she called you that.
Michael teased you once. It was just the two of you working on the comic and you said you had to call to let Brian know you were still busy. Michael had mimicked you and said in a simpering little voice, “Oh Brian, Sunshine’s going to be la-ate!”
You knocked the pen out of his hand and papers went sliding across the desk. “Don’t call me that,” you said.
He didn’t, ever again.
They all know who gets to use that name. Debbie just brought it to the table; Brian made it his. You don’t ever hear any of them call you that. Sometimes you wonder if Michael summoned a meeting and passed the word along. “You guys, he gets really pissed. Like, he threw my papers on the floor! He’s dangerous.”
You wonder if you’d trade “Sunshine” for “Justin” once in a while. Then you think about the times he uses the name Sunshine.
When he’s happy.
When you’re fucking.
When you say something to make him laugh.
When you’re upset.
When you slide up against him in the morning, skin warm from sleep and one hand making a trail along his hip and down his thigh. “Sunshine,” he murmurs before he turns over and drags your hand to his cock.
You hear things in that name.
Have at it!
Trade
You wonder if he remembers what your real name is half the time. You can probably count on one hand the instances he’s used it. Funny, because he’s not really the nickname type. That’s way too cutesy. He’d rather swallow his own tongue before calling anyone “baby” or “sweetheart”.
You hear “hey” most often, and you always know when he’s talking to you and not to Emmett or Michael or anyone. For one, he tends to use their given names. Mikey this and Mikey that. Mikey all the time. Oh, and Theodore, too. It’s telling that he shortens Michael’s name and lengthens Ted’s. But you know that the quiet “hey” coming from somewhere over your shoulder is almost always for you, even if you’re in the middle of everybody.
“Justin,” you want to tell him, sometimes. Just to see what he’d say.
Except you know what he’d say, really. He’d cock one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth would lift and the next remark would be something biting. Something like, “We’re being formal now? Maybe ‘Mr. Taylor’ would be better. You should probably start practicing for when your art hangs at the Met.”
And then you’d be pissed and you’d try not to talk to him for three days, but he’s way too good at that game and he always wins. You always end up talking to him first and then he smirks at you.
He feels nostalgic or affectionate sometimes. Then you get “Sonny Boy”, although it’s kind of rare. You never know if he’s talking to you or Gus, even if Gus isn’t there. You still kind of like it, though. Mostly because you like Gus. Half the time you think it’s an accident when he calls you that. You never correct him, but it seems weird to be called that, especially since his greatest fear is to lose his youth. Calling you Sonny Boy implies that he’s… well, older. Whatever, you don’t think about it too much.
But you don’t know at all why he stuck with “Sunshine”. It was a casual, offhand name that Debbie tossed out there. It could have been “honey” or “lamb” or “kitten”, but she called you Sunshine and there it was. None of the others picked it up, except for him. He used it even before that night. Even before he admitted to knowing why she called you that.
Michael teased you once. It was just the two of you working on the comic and you said you had to call to let Brian know you were still busy. Michael had mimicked you and said in a simpering little voice, “Oh Brian, Sunshine’s going to be la-ate!”
You knocked the pen out of his hand and papers went sliding across the desk. “Don’t call me that,” you said.
He didn’t, ever again.
They all know who gets to use that name. Debbie just brought it to the table; Brian made it his. You don’t ever hear any of them call you that. Sometimes you wonder if Michael summoned a meeting and passed the word along. “You guys, he gets really pissed. Like, he threw my papers on the floor! He’s dangerous.”
You wonder if you’d trade “Sunshine” for “Justin” once in a while. Then you think about the times he uses the name Sunshine.
When he’s happy.
When you’re fucking.
When you say something to make him laugh.
When you’re upset.
When you slide up against him in the morning, skin warm from sleep and one hand making a trail along his hip and down his thigh. “Sunshine,” he murmurs before he turns over and drags your hand to his cock.
You hear things in that name.