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artificialqueens · 6 years

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The Kind of Dice You Throw [3/3] (Trixie/Alaska/Katya) - perfectlystill

A/N: There’s one scene where Brian/Trixie refers to Alaska and Katya as Justin and Brian, respectively. It retains the use of feminine pronouns for them, though, which will hopefully make it a little bit easier to parse and a little bit less confusing (especially with two Brian’s).

Thank you all so much for reading and leaving whatever kind of feedback you have. I hope it all comes together for you, doesn’t disappoint, and the ending is satisfying. Again, all I can say, even though it doesn’t properly express my gratitude, is thank you <3

Same warning for mentions of drug use/addiction apply, and now there’s a joke about incest. Amazing! Originally posted at ao3 here.

Summary: Brian feels like there’s some joke he isn’t privy to, but he smiles anyway, letting Katya force them into a final group hug. It makes him feel like the inside joke between Alaska and Katya did: a little bit left out, but with nowhere else he’d rather be. A weird amalgamation of observer and participant. He’d rather feel slightly off-kilter with Katya and Alaska than steady with anyone else.

Katya looks at home in Alaska’s apartment, sprawled on the sofa, one leg crooked over the arm, her neck bent against the back. It seems uncomfortable, but she grins and waves at Brian as he walks into the room.

“Hey! You made it.”

“Barely. The 101 was like trying to shove a dick into an ass without lube.”

Katya grimaces, and Alaska chuckles from the detour she took to the kitchen. “That’s disgusting, and it sounds painful.”

“Which one?” Brian asks, sitting on an armchair. The floral print makes it look as though Alaska inherited it from her grandmother, but the cushion is soft yet firm, almost new.

“Both! I never need a dick up my ass again.”

“That’s fine by me,” Alaska says, offering Brian a glass of water before cracking open a Red Bull. “Fucking someone is too much work.”

“What’s the term Detox told me?” Katya says, twisting her wrist in the air, grabbing as though she’s trying to catch the word. “Oh! Pillow Princess. That’s what you are, except like. You’re a man and you give really good head.”

“So, not a pillow princess at all,” Alaska says, smacking the back of Katya’s thigh.

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Princess?” Katya laughs at her own joke, and Alaska huffs before taking a sip of Red Bull.

Brian doesn’t understand the specifics involved in the term pillow princess, but he doesn’t want to ask and get another lecture from Katya about women in the LGBT community and not letting his ignorance turn him into an accidental misogynist. His mom is his favorite person in the world, he would do all those stupid things Bruno Mars sings about in that song about explosives for his sister, and he’ll google it later if he remembers. All the knowledge and none of Katya’s disappointment. Nevermind that Detox had to tell her about Alaska being, or not being, a pillow princess.

“I’m sorry he’s being insufferable today,” Alaska says.

“I’m sorry she’s insufferable every day, and that you’re the one who has to deal with her now,” Brian answers, a smirk shaping up around his mouth. “Actually, I’m not sorry at all. It’s a pretty good deal for me.”

“Why do I like him again?” Alaska scrunches her nose up, and Brian thinks about how cute it is before he can stop himself.

“Beats me.”

“Hey!” Katya says, finally sitting up. “I’m right here.”

Brian blinks. “We know.”

“I’m great! I’m pretty and kind of funny and very charming.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Brian swipes at some condensation on his glass with his thumb, watching the easy way Katya grabs the Red Bull from Alaska, taking a sip before handing it back. “Thirteen-year-old girls seem to like you.”

“More than they like you,” Katya confirms.

“Oh no! What will I do?” Brian rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice behind it.

“Make less money than me. And the next time we negotiate with anyone, it’s none of this ‘we’re a team’ nonsense. We go in as individuals and see whose Twitter followers get them a higher paycheck. You win or you die.”

“Stop saying that,” Brian says. “Someone is going to see my text messages and think I’m being threatened.”

Katya and Alaska both laugh, shifting together so their shoulders brush, and Brian bites back a smile.

“All he ever texts me are dick pics,” Alaska says with a shrug.

“I’d rather have that than a string of emojis I’m supposed to understand. She’s not Carrie Fisher.”

“I wish!” Katya splays her hand over her heart. “Alaska won’t even roleplay Jabba the Hutt.”

Brian screams his laugh, and Alaska drops her head into her hands, but he can see she’s smiling even as her face flushes, her knee now poking against Kayta’s.

“I tried to compromise and let her be Luke, but apparently she’s not into incest.”

“You’re out of options,” Brian says, deadpan. “Guess you’ll have to return the little bikini you bought.”

Katya gasps. “Never. I’d sooner dump this broad and hire a hooker who will let me live out my fantasy.”

Alaska pouts, bottom lip pushing out further than should be possible. She hooks a hand around Katya’s elbow and looks at her. “You don’t mean that.”

Katya holds for a few seconds before leaning in, a quick peck to Alaska’s mouth. Brian feels like he’s missing a conversation, and he wonders if this is what the people at WOW feel like when they’re trying to film an episode of UNhhh. Except this makes his chest feel warm and his toes tingle in his shoes, and he imagines the producers feel annoyance and frustration whenever he and Katya get off topic or their transitions are only logical to the two of them – granted Brian managed to follow Katya’s train of thought in the first place. He presses his mouth in to a thin line and can’t bring himself to look away.

“No,” Katya says, soft and genuine. A beat: “I mean it.”

Alaska laughs, that asthmatic chuckle that Brian already loves too much, and the sound is contagious, catching until all three of them are laughing.

Brian didn’t expect this to feel so natural. When he got stuck in traffic, he considered calling and cancelling.

He’s glad he didn’t.

He likes making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Katya, cutting the crusts off his and Alaska’s and letting Katya eat them. He likes the little frustrated groans Alaska lets out as she sets up the TV. He likes the Golden Girls coasters she has, and the way her face lights up when she explains they’re a gift from a fan, even if she can’t remember who gave them to her, their gender, the city or the year. And he likes the way Katya wedges herself between him and Alaska on the sofa, all of them barely touching as they watch, cozy and warm and nice.

Katya’s looking at her phone as she enters the basement to film, an eye glued to the center of her forehead.

Brian’s throat dries, and he clutches at the flimsy material of his skirt.

When Katya looks up, she smiles, but it falters when she processes Brian’s expression. “What? Is there lipstick on my chin again?”

“No,” he manages, scratchy and low. “No, you look good.”

“Thank you.” Her grin widens, brighter than it was before, and she pulls out her skirt to curtsy. “I am the most beautiful woman in the world, and I’m glad you’ve finally noticed. Everyone else has.”

He swallows, wipes his palms, and tries to stop his brain from short-circuiting. Or maybe his brain is simply working when it wasn’t before. “I never said any of that.”

“Potato, potah-toe,” she hums, sliding onto her stool. “I didn’t like, stop your heart, did I? You look kind of … pale.”

“Under all this?” Brian points at his face and the layers of makeup caked onto his skin.

She laughs, a tiny and tight thing. Her brows are furrowed, and she leans in, placing her hand on his head. “You don’t feel warm.”

“I’m okay.” He blinks, bats her hand away, and shakes out his shoulders. “I’m just going to get some water and then I’ll be ready.”

“That’s how I got lipstick on my chin!”

He shoots her a thumbs up, and she reciprocates, but her body looks tense, her expression all concern.

Brian doesn’t understand how he didn’t figure it out before. Not when Katya sat in his hotel room, gluing googly eyes onto a cheap piece of fabric she would tie around her wrist as a bracelet later that night, not when she was reading 1984 at the airport, sketching unblinking eyes into the margins, and not when she spent almost an hour trying to explain the third eye to him.

Katya is his soulmate.

Fuck.

He knocks and waits, but he doesn’t hear any shuffling. He knocks again, and then he gets a message from Katya: I’m running late! Be there soon.

Brian sighs, typing out a quick response before shoving his phone back into his pocket. He thinks about sitting in his car. It’s winter in LA, so it’s not an unbearable heat chamber, but just as he steps off the small porch, the door swings open. “Oh, I thought you meant–” He cuts himself off, seeing Alaska. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She forces a smile, but it’s impossible for her to hide the wetness in her red eyes. She looks like she splashed water on her face to make it seem like she hasn’t been crying. It clearly didn’t work. “Sorry, Brian went to pick up a dress or something.”

Brian nods. “The usual traffic.”

“He’ll be back soon. Come in.” She holds the door open further, retreating backward.

Brian clears his throat. He knows if almost anyone showed up at his place and he’d been crying, he’d want them to pretend they couldn’t tell. But when he settles into his armchair, he sees the DVR paused on the end of the All Stars episode, and he sees Alaska’s phone, Instagram open, teetering near the edge of the coffee table.

“Do you want something to drink?” Alaska asks, leaning against the archway, left toes dancing against her right ankle. Her lips are too thin for someone with filler, and her eyes are too wide. Her tone aims for flippant and kind, but she misses the mark.

“I’m okay.” He gestures toward the television. “The episode was good, huh?”

Alaska grimaces, and she seems to collapse into the wall. “Sure was entertaining.”

“That’s the kind of drama we need,” Brian says. “None of this kumbaya bullshit. That’s boring.”

“Yeah.” Alaska chews on her bottom lip.

“You can like, leave. If you want. I have a phone to pretend to scroll through while I wait for Katya. If you don’t want to talk about it. Or at all.”

Alaska nods, shuffling toward the sofa. “Sorry. I just. I knew it was coming, and the reception hasn’t been as nice as season five for a few weeks, anyway. But. It’s hard when everyone is telling you that you’re an awful person, pasting snake emojis all over the place and telling you to die.”

“Shit,” Brian exhales. “That’s bad.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alaska says, running a hand through her hair.

Brian bounces his knees, eyeing the space between them and the sofa. “Yeah, but I’m still sorry. I’m not a monster.” A beat. “Not like you.”

A sudden snort of laughter rips from Alaska’s throat. She covers her mouth, her eyes welling with fresh tears. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Brian says, using the arms of the chair to push himself up. He settles next to Alaska, arm wrapping around her shoulder, squeezing and rubbing small circles. “Not even that tantrum. You’re a drag queen, for god’s sake, if you’re not having a meltdown at least once a week, you need to quit. We’re meant to be divas.”

“I know.” She sniffles and wipes under her eyes. “I know that. It just feels like everyone hates me, and I know it doesn’t matter. All the people online who hate me don’t even know me. But it’s hard when everyone is actively rooting for you to fail.”

“Not everyone. I’m sure there are like,” he pauses to hum and taps his fingers deliberately against Alaska’s shoulder as though he’s counting, “five loyal Alaska fans fighting everyone on Twitter. And only two of them are Katya’s old incognito accounts.”

Alaska laughs, a softer, kinder one than her first. Her hand finds Brian’s knee. “What about you?”

“Oh, I only use to Twitter to trick the youth in to thinking I’m relatable.”

“No.” She slaps Brian’s knee the way he’s seen her tap Katya, and his heart burns with it. “Do you hate me?”

“Hate you?” Brian’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

He feels a lot of stupid feelings for Alaska, but hate isn’t one of them, and it never has been.

She looks him in the eye. Hers are red and puffy, but they’re clear. They narrow a little, searching, and Brian drops his hand from her shoulder, feels her gaze prick goosebumps all over his body. “Good. I don’t hate you, either.”

“Glad we cleared that up.”

Alaska smiles. “I’m going to go wash my face again and get some water. Brian should be back soon. He’s probably having his own diva moment. Fashionably late.”

“There’s nothing fashionable about her.”

This time Alaska laughs that loud, uninhabited, embarrassing thing that Brian fell in love with the first time he caused it.

Brian crowns Alaska the night the finale airs, and it’s magical.

Everybody in the crowd is excited to witness her reaction and to be with the winner tonight. She’s a real, flesh and blood person in front of them instead of a villain on their televisions. Brian knows there are a lot of people who are pissed off, and they certainly outnumber the people who are happy for Alaska tonight, but it doesn’t matter right now. Not with a crown on her head as she performs, captivating and radiant.

She earned this: the title, the sparkle on her head, and the joy.

By the end of the night they’re both drunk, and Brian’s de-dragged except for the faint stain of red on his upper lip that mirrors the way his usual pink always takes at least 24 hours to completely fade. Alaska’s in her underwear and a T-shirt that hangs loose on her bony frame.

“Do you want to pool?” she asks, peeling off one of her eyelashes and placing it carefully in the little box she pulled it out of.

“Yeah, just hurry your ass up.”

She shakes her butt and winks, her laugh bubbling over. Brian laughs, too, always easy for it when there’s too much champagne in his system.

It takes Alaska twice as long as it should to finish cleaning up and pack her belongings, clumsier than usual and chatting with the promoter as they finish clearing the club. Brian taps his foot without fuss, leaning back in his chair, texting Katya and waiting for the dick pic Willam will send of the trade he left with. Brian’s eyes droop with the pulsing soreness of exhaustion he’s gotten used to.

“I’m ready,” Alaska says, one bag slung over her shoulder, reaching out with her free hand, the other around the handle of her large, wheeled suitcase.

She helps Brian up, offers to carry his makeup case, and he lets her. He follows her to the side of the building where they wait for the Uber, watching her hips sway as though she’s still padded and wearing heels instead of Converse.

The night is dark and chilly. Brian shifts his weight to help keep warm, arm brushing against Alaska’s flannel. “Congratulations,” he says.

“Condragulations,” she corrects, smile splitting her face.

He rolls his eyes. “Sucks that Katya’s not around tonight.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs. “We already celebrated.”

“Do tell.” He waggles his eyebrows. Vodka soda still swims in his veins, and a nice fuzziness frizzes in his head. He’d never ask for details from Alaska otherwise. Propriety, or at least the illusion of it, too important to him.

Alaska smirks. “Girl really loves to eat ass.”

“I’ve heard.”

“She’s really good at it,” Alaska drawls, the words elongated, even for her. “I was sore for days after, too. The combination of his happiness for me and … I don’t know if it was jealousy or disappointment or anger or what, but it was great.”

He whistles as their Uber pulls up to the curb. “Sounds like it.”

“But I’m glad you’re here tonight.” She looks at Brian, eyes blown but sincere as she reaches for his hand, holding it between both of hers. “I’m glad I got to share this with you, too.”

Her words catch in the back of Brian’s throat, and he suddenly feels too sober for this. “Me too.”

They clamber into the back of the car, the ride quiet except for the lull of soft rock the driver plays. Alaska leans her head against Brian’s shoulder. She smells like perfume and alcohol and sweat. Brian closes his eyes and inhales, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

Brian watches the videos Katya and Alaska post from Aspen: Katya on the red phone, singing “Purse First” and voguing down an empty hallway, filming each other as they get into the car. They’re both laughing and smiling, their joy infectious through the screen, making Brian laugh and smile too. His chest feels warm, and he tucks up on the sofa, rewatching their stories an embarrassing number of times.

It’s nice.

He misses them.

It causes an aching feeling in his chest that makes his breath shallow, prompting him to close his eyes and focus on an inhale and the answering exhale. It doesn’t make him sad, though. Brian finds missing them is nice, too.

The smell of buttery popcorn mixes with the low lights and the ugly, patterned carpet. Brian blinks as his eyes adjust, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He squints up at the board behind the register. The lights are digital and red, but one of them is broken, the top of the T gone

“Three for the 4:15 please,” Katya says.

“What?” Brian asks.

“I got it.” Katya smiles. “I’m dating a rich superstar.”

Alaska snorts, but her lips twitch with a smile. “You really got a dime.”

“I don’t do drugs anymore.”

“A perfect ten,” Alaska clarifies, an edge of annoyance, but mostly exasperated fondness.

“A real robbery.” Katya reaches out, squeezing Alaska’s wrist, her grin stretching with the contact. Her smile is large and white and blinding. It’s the kind of smile that would read fake on anyone else, but Katya’s eyes are just as bright. Brian thinks she has the happiest smile in the world.

As Katya hands the poor cashier her card, Brian leans into Alaska, stage-whispering, “If you need help suing, my brother’s a lawyer.”

“I don’t think I can afford him anymore,” Alaska laughs.

“I’ll set you up with the family discount,” Brian says.

“Thanks,” Katya says to the employee before turning to them. “Your brother loves me and would never sue me. He’d defend me. Pro-bono.”

“That’s probably true,” Brian admits, shrugging. “Katya bought everyone presents when she went back home with me last year, claiming they were Christmas gifts four months late.”

“Or early or late birthday gifts, depending on which was closer,” Katya clarifies.

Alaska’s face softens, head tilting as she looks at Katya. “You’re the best.”

Brian nods. “Unfortunately, she really is.”

Katya twirls her hands, a little gay flourish that causes Alaska to laugh and Brian to roll his eyes. “Finally! The respect I deserve.”

Alaska insists on paying for refreshments, and when Brian tries to protest, Katya smacks his arm. “Let him, he’s loaded. And if you don’t, I’ll have to hear him whining all the way home about why you hate him and wouldn’t let him treat you to bland popcorn and that thing you keep calling pop but is actually soda.”

When Alaska goes to the bathroom an hour into the film, followed two minutes later by Katya, a hand on Brian’s knee she uses to leverage herself up, Brian half-expects them to come back with sex hair. But only a minute goes by before Alaska’s back, leaning over to whisper in Brian’s ear and ask what she missed. “The less attractive sad man cried in the shower. He doesn’t have any muscles, so you’re good.”

They go out for beer when the movie’s over, and Katya orders a water with a huge bowl of lemons on the side. “What’d you think?” she asks.

“It was okay,” Alaska says, mouth a flat, slanted line.

“About 30 minutes too long,” Brian groans. “By the second misunderstanding, I was ready to walk out of the theater.”

“God, I know. If you’d just talk to each other, you’d know that attractive lady at the opera is just the sister of more attractive sad man.” Katya shakes her head before taking a sip of water.

“I know we don’t communicate as well as lesbians,” Alaska starts. “But they were acting like straight people.”

Katya wheezes, and Trixie screams. “It was not the kind of tragedy I wanted to watch.”

“One day, they’ll be more quality gay movies we can waste $50 on,” Katya says.

“Hopefully soon. Especially since you refuse to see those Marvel things with me.” Alaska takes a pull of her beer before reaching across the small table and fiddling with one of Katya’s lemon slices.

Brian arches a brow. “You like those?”

“There’s too much testosterone most of the time, but the nerdy comic book kid in me needs to see how badly they’re gonna mess up my heroes.”

“He’s lying.” Katya rests an elbow on the table, leaning forward. “He ranted for ten minutes about how much he loved the green Guardian of the Galaxy a few weeks ago. He loves that boring shit.”

“Gamora,” Alaska corrects. “And a broken clock is still right twice a day.”

“I think I would suffer through someone as handsome as Chris Evans in a tight suit for you,” Brian says.

Alaska flutters her eyelashes. “The sign of a true gentleman.”

“Perfect!” Katya claps her hands together once. “Works out for everybody.”

“I reserve the right to change my mind depending on how hot the men are and how tightly their uniforms fit, though.”

“Oh, of course,” Alaska says, taking a sip of Katya’s water before setting it down between them. “That’s why Paul Rudd was Ant Man, so you’d agree to come over and watch a movie with a shit name like Ant Man.”

“If you think I haven’t seen Ant Man already, you’re deluded.”

Alaska shakes her head, her smile apologetic. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

Katya takes a few large gulps of water before grabbing the lemon slice Alaska has been turning between her fingers, squeezing it into the half-empty glass. “Yeah, I had to hear about it for a week straight.”

“Shut up. You sent me a stupid Contact meme two weeks ago.”

“Contact is art, Mawma!”

Brian watches as Alaska and Katya squeeze so much lemon into the glass it’s almost three-quarters full of liquid again. Katya tries it, grimaces, and drops the last lemon husk she’s holding in, some water splashing out and onto the table.

Alaska wipes it away with her napkin. “Do you think they sell dessert here?”

“No,” Brian and Katya answer.

“Didn’t you eat half the tub of popcorn?” Brian asks.

“I have a fast metabolism.”

“I hate you both, I really do.”

Katya kicks him underneath the table, but then strokes his shin. “You love us both.”

Brian holds up a hand. “I plead the fifth.”

“Let’s stop for something on the way home,” Alaska says. She takes a small sip of the water, seemingly swirling it around her mouth before swallowing. “I want something sweet.”

“Nothing chocolate or fruity,” Katya says.

Alaska hums. “Deal, but I get to pick out what we get if I follow those guidelines.”

Katya holds out her hand. “Deal. And Trixie’s our witness, so if we come home with a strawberry ice cream cake, I get to Snap her and she’ll know how much of a liar you really are.”

Alaska rolls her eyes, but she shakes on it. “Fine.”

They only agree to let Brian pay if he lets them tip, and he even though they only bought two beers, Alaska sets a five on the table.

The light in the parking lot flickers, broken, as they stand by Brian’s car. Alaska tugs him into a hug, hands squeezing around his shoulders and pulling him closer. She’s warm, the scent of her aftershave lingering through the popcorn and lemon.

Katya hugs him after, chin poking sharply into his shoulder and fingers dancing along his spine. “We’ll have to do this again the next time we’re all in the same place.”

“I’ll pencil you in for next year,” Brian jokes.

Katya pretends to look at a watch on her wrist. “May 16th?”

“I already have plans then,” Alaska answers. “I’m seeing my other lover.”

Katya’s hand still lingers by Brian’s waist, and she pulls Alaska into her other side by the elbow. “Trixie and I would love to fuck him, too.”

“Sister wives!” Alaska screeches, and Kayta laughs. Brian feels like there’s some joke he isn’t privy to, but he smiles anyway, letting Katya force them into a final group hug. It makes him feel like the inside joke between Alaska and Katya did: a little bit left out, but with nowhere else he’d rather be. A weird amalgamation of observer and participant. He’d rather feel slightly off-kilter with Katya and Alaska than steady with anyone else.

Katya Snaps him a picture an hour later, arms crossed over her chest, face twisted and sour, mouth turned down into a pout. She stands in front of what looks to be two pineapple upside-down cupcakes. The text across it reads: the 2nd one is for you! xo Justin.

His mom tells him all about the cases his brother’s been winning, along with the accompanying promotion and salary increase. Her voice is proud, the equivalent of a puffed out chest, and Brian can remember a time when it would have felt like an unspoken comment on his own inability to excel in ways she understands. She would never walk into work and shove her phone in a coworker’s face, demanding they watch a joke Brian told on UNHhhh, and not just because she doesn’t know how to get internet on her cell. But Brian doesn’t mind anymore. He knows his mom loves him. She does her best, and she shows it by laughing heartily at all the puns he tells her over the phone and always asking if he’s drinking enough water on the road.

“He met this lovely girl, Brian. She has long blonde hair and an MBA,” his mom says, her voice dropping into an excited whisper. “I think she might be the one.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t get your undies in a twist,” she scolds. “It’s exciting! Your brother is really happy. And speaking of romance…”

“Mom,” Brian groans.

“What! I want all of my children to be happy.”

Brian scrubs his hand over his face. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

She hums, and he can picture the disappointed shake of her head. “This isn’t Facebook, I’m your mother.”

“Exactly.” He loves her so much. It’s kind of annoying.

“What about Katya?” she asks.

They’ve had this conversation before, sitting at the small kitchen table, a book shoved under one leg to make it stable. Brian had stared at the stain his sister made from spilling water and forgetting to wipe it up in a timely matter. His mom nudged his shoulder, smile tight and eyes prying. Any time Brian comes home without a boyfriend, his mom asks, always circling back around to Katya. “His one fault is that he has the same name as you,” she had said. “It’s a good name, though. For a good man. A good husband. Brian squared.”

“I don’t know,” he sighs now, unable to lie to her.

“Oh, that’s different.”

“Yeah. He’s dating Alaska.”

“Who?” his mom asks.

“Alaska. She won the season of All Stars Katya did. They’re like,” he pauses, trying to button the bottom of his flannel over his T-shirt. “They’re really good together? Katya’s sent me a video of Alaska snoring three days in a row. It’s this wheezy thing she does when she has a cold, I guess? And god, they make fun of each other more than any boyfriend has ever let me rib them, but it’s always so… affectionate. If you can’t make fun of your boyfriend, who can you make fun of, you know? I mean, besides everyone.”

His mother chuckles. “Sense of humor is very important.”

“It is.” He swallows. “And Alaska bought Katya’s favorite shampoo without telling her. Katya just showed up at her place one day and it was there, with her name scrawled across it in permanent marker, as though Alaska has some awful, imaginary roommate who eats other people’s food if it isn’t labelled. Katya’s moving in with her soon, already has a key and everything. I’m going to be out of town that weekend, though.” Brian shrugs. “They’re good. Really happy.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” his mom whispers.

“What?”

“I can’t tell which one you love more.”

He blinks. His hand shakes, third button up, and he can’t get it through the hole. “Come again?”

“It’s okay. You have a lot of love in your heart, and from what I can tell, Katya does, too.”

Brian exhales. He feels the tears welling behind his eyes. “She does.”

“Bring Alaska by next time, too. I’d love to meet her.”

He closes his eyes, presses his palm against one until his vision kaleidoscopes. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s gonna work out. Moms know these things.”

Katya throws a small bundle of bananas into the shopping cart, and Brian winces. There will be brown splotches all over them now.

“I’m not kidding, he had a meltdown because he couldn’t find that stupid roll of black tape he puts under his eyes like he’s some sort of football player instead of a scrawny, gay, drag queen,” Katya huffs. Her voice goes high: “Brian, did you steal it? I know you think it’s ugly, but have you seen literally everything you wear? Black is timeless! Wait!” She halts, throwing her hands out to the side, the cart rolling a few inches before stopping, too. “Did you steal it to use? Am I going to go into your closet and find a stupid dress covered in stripes of my tape?”

“Oh my god,” Brian mutters.

“I know. Unbelievable. And you know where he found it?”

“In your sock drawer where you were hiding it?”

Katya’s mouth twitches, but she fights the smile back. “No, but he riffled through all my shit. It had rolled under his vanity.”

Brian laughs.

“He was almost late to the airport, and he left me to clean up. But guess what, Mimi? I didn’t!”

“Wow, maybe she’ll divorce you.”

“I could only be so lucky. Unfortunately, we’re bound for life. Two lesbians in love.” Katya sighs, grabbing the cart again and turning it down the first aisle.

Brian presses his mouth into a thin line and shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Lesbian love, huh?”

Katya shakes her head, glancing at him as she scans the shelf of canned soup. “Yeah, I mean. We’re soulmates, so obviously.”

“Soulmates?” he chokes out. The word breaks in his mouth, so obvious. There’s a metallic taste like the time he was little, fell and bit his tongue on the way down. He blinks. His lungs constrict and air feels too heavy.

It’s an overreaction.

He knows they’re good together. He knows they love each other. He doesn’t have any delusion about either of them leaving the other for him. Besides the fact that it would be completely fucked up, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to lose either of them, and he doesn’t want them to lose each other. The idea is almost as awful as Katya casually throwing out that they’re soulmates.

“Trixie,” Katya begins, grabbing a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and putting it next to the container of caramel dipping sauce she’s getting without any apples to dip. She has no taste, and if Brian wasn’t finding it hard to breathe, he’d let her know. “When I got back from Europe, she had organized my drag by era and whether she would ever wear it, and she’s always the one who cleans the bathroom even though I have to unclog the drain. She actually likes letting me shave her ass. Plus, my red lipstick mark is on said ass.”

“What?”

“It’s one of her marks.” Katya shrugs.

“How do you know it’s you?”

“I don’t!” Katya laughs a high, bright, and hoarse thing. “Does it matter?”

Brian shrugs. “I guess not. Soulmates are just. Stupid, I guess.”

Katya looks at him sideways, her eyebrows drawing in. Her hand tightens around the shopping cart. “Wait, I thought you really believed in all this bullshit? Wanted to find your one true love or whatever?”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking at the boxes of ramen noodles instead of Katya. “I did. I do.” She touches his arm, and he makes eye contact. “I’m tired, and the universe doesn’t give a shit, or else my mom’s soulmate wouldn’t have been an abusive asshole. She feels guilty that it took her so long to leave, because if he was her soulmate, shouldn’t it have been perfect? So like. My soulmate’s probably an asshole, too. It’s genetic.”

Katya snorts. “Your soulmate is definitely an asshole.”

He rolls his eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Katya smiles, sympathetic and small. “You’re right. The universe doesn’t care. That sucks for your mom. Assholes should get saddled with assholes, not nice Wisconsin women with good hair. But your soulmates are going to be so…” Katya trails off, her smile somehow softening and her hand circling around his wrist, warm and wonderful. His chest feels it, too. “You’re going to get the kind of soulmates you deserve.”

“Thanks.” A beat. He pulls his arm out of her grip. “Let’s stop having a moment in the grocery store. It’s tacky.”

Katya hip bumps him, the crows feet around her eyes smiling. “The lighting is all wrong for it. Besides, if I don’t buy those disgusting vegan burgers for Justin, I’m in for another tantrum.”

“Those are actually really good,” Brian says.

“You are both disgusting, and it should be illegal to call them burgers.” She shoves the cart forward and has to jog to catch it before it crashes into the shelving.

Brian laughs under his breath.

He really loves her.

Alaska’s a terrible dancer, but then again, so is Katya.

The awkward, disjointed way they move together fits. There’s something beautiful about it. Maybe it’s how comfortable they look. They both know they can’t dance, but they don’t care, and neither of them have had any alcohol to loosen them up. Maybe it’s because they’re in love, and Brian knows that. They’ve shared it with him, constantly and consistently. It hurts sometimes, but he thinks it would hurt more if they didn’t.

Brian’s heart burns as he leans against the bar and sips on his drink, watching them move in tandem. Alaska leans down and whispers something that makes Katya laugh, her head flinging back, Adam’s apple bobbing. Her hands flutter around Alaska’s waist, fingers slipping underneath her T-shirt. Her forehead drops to Alaska’s collarbone, and Alaska runs a hand through Katya’s hair, eyes closed, swaying back and forth.

When the song ends, they break apart. Katya heads toward Brian, and he averts his gaze, pretending to look to the left of them.

“Hey, I’m going to the bathroom. Make sure no one makes fun of his dancing,” Katya whisper-screams.

“What if I do?”

“He’ll laugh.” She squeezes Brian’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

He shakes his head and looks back at Alaska, some of her hair is stuck to her forehead, and her shirt is still rucked up from Katya’s hand. She spins, stumbles, and spots Brian staring. She waves, smile goofy and wide, before crooking her finger and beckoning him forward. He shakes his head no, and she nods yes.

Brian takes a last sip of his drink before setting it down behind him, exaggerating a long-suffering sigh and pushing himself up.

He can’t actually hear Alaska laugh, but his brain provides the sound.

“Howdy, stranger,” Alaska smiles, pretending to tip an imaginary hat.

“Ma'am,” Brian answers, bowing before holding out his hand. “Fancy a square dance?”

Alaska takes his hand. Her palm is soft, and she raises their arms up, forces him to twirl her around. “Lead the way, partner.”

She grabs his other hand and slots her thin fingers between his. Her hands are cold, just like the club, the bodies around them failing to make up for the air-conditioner going full blast. Alaska swings their arms in and out, wiggling her hips and closing her eyes. Unlike Katya, Brian feels awkward, shifting his weight more than swaying, eyes jumping to the people around them. None of them seem to be paying attention, but he itches to turn around, stretching his neck and trying to spot the people behind him just in case they are.

The song changes, Alaska opens her eyes, and one side of her mouth tilts up. She pulls him closer and drops his hands. Her fingers find his belt loops. “I thought you were going to lead.”

“There’s no way I can lead a lost cause,” he answers, hands floating by his sides.

She laughs, and he feels the warm air of it on his mouth. “Sorry. I’m trying to be found.”

Brian laughs, half-hearted, his hands finding purchase on Alaska’s forearms. He blinks and pulls them away almost instantly, feeling like he’s been burned. She pushes even closer, lining up their hips. He freezes, glancing in the direction of the bathroom. His heart hammers, and Alaska looks at him with wide, serious eyes. She places her hands delicately on his shoulders, tapping out the beat of the music. Her mouth is thin, slanted down. Brian settles his hands on her waist, as lightly as possible. He swallows. She holds his gaze, and he can’t breathe.

The ache in his heart builds, builds, builds.

Then it cracks.

Alaska kisses him.

It’s a soft, steady press of her lips to his. His eyes flutter shut. He melts, knees dropping an inch and hands tightening around her hips, feeling her protruding bones through her jeans. The kiss is warm, and despite the cold, his entire body is on fire, electric and pulsing. Brian didn’t know he missed this. He didn’t know he could miss someone he speaks to so often, someone he only hooked up with once. But he did.

It takes too long for him to pull away, because any time at all is too long.

“Katya,” he breathes.

A soft hue of blush paints Alaska’s cheeks. Her eyes bright. “She’ll be so jealous I got there first.” Her voice is shot, breathy and light and lilting.

“What?” Brian glances toward the bathroom, but he doesn’t see Katya making her way over to punch him yet.

“We’ve talked about it,” Alaska says, her voice full of laughter. “You don’t think you’re so irresistible that I’d cheat on him?”

Brian shakes his head, a self-deprecating chuckle pouring out of his mouth. “This is unbelievable.”

Alaska’s eyebrows furrow, her eyes dilated like she’s drunk. “Wait, was that … okay?” she asks, taking a step back. Her face pales. “Sorry, I thought–”

“Ladies!” Katya shrieks, throwing her arms around both of their shoulders. “I hope they didn’t play any good music while I was gone.”

Brian looks at Katya, and then back at Alaska. She’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes downcast. “No Erykah Badu,” he says.

“Thank god!” Katya grins, pulling Alaska and Brian closer.

They both stumble, their hands going around her waist, and when Brian’s bumps Alaska’s, she shifts her hand up and away. She looks down at Katya, eyes wide. “I think I made a mistake.”

“Huh?”

“I kissed him,” she says.

Brian watches Katya’s mouth part, eyebrows shooting up. “Bitch! Finally!”

Alaska clenches her jaw, shaking her head.

Katya turns to Brian. “Wait, what happened?”

He inhales, pulls himself out of Katya’s grip. His heart is going wild again. “I’m confused.”

Katya leans in, causing Alaska to shift with him, the two of them still touching. “Can I kiss you?” she asks.

She’s asked before: while they’re filming and when they do joint shows, small pecks that simultaneously mean nothing except for the screaming of the crowd, the comments they’ll get on Youtube, and everything. Tiny little assurances. She used to ask seriously, too, before season seven finished airing, when she was open about wanting to fuck him. She was always nonchalant about it, though, skirting around anything uncomfortable. But this is different, her eyes focused on him, lips dry and twisted in seriousness.

He exhales and catches Alaska’s eye. “Sure.”

Katya kisses like Brian imagined she would. Her lips are firm and solid against his own, and she’s unflinching. It takes him a moment to realize he can participate, move his mouth against hers and not feel like it’s weird or wrong. Instead, he wants to move closer. It’s somehow sweeter than he would have expected, though. She tastes like cinnamon, and her hand finds its way to his face, thumb brushing against his cheek.

He follows her when she pulls away, and it takes a couple of blinks to clear his vision, find focus. “Okay,” he says.

“Is it?” Alaska asks.

He eyes the lack of space between them. Katya’s hand has fallen to the small of Alaska’s back, and Alaska twists a ring around her finger. Katya’s looking at him the same way she did before she kissed him, her lips parted, and he feels it swelling in his chest. He loves them. He really does. He’s in love with them. He reaches out, uses Katya’s shoulder as leverage, and kisses Alaska.

She sighs into his mouth, relieved, and it turns into a smile pressed against his lips.

They stumble back to Alaska and Katya’s place.

The drink Brian had has long faded from his bloodstream, the beating of his heart and fuzziness in his brain solely the product of kissing and light touches that promise to be more. They fall into bed, haphazardly pulling off clothes. Justin’s hands roam, a different pressure than Brian’s mouth nipping down his chest. It’s almost too much. He’s never had a threesome before, but he doesn’t think that’s it. There’s something about these two people. He loves them, and they love him. They haven’t said it, but he knows.

Brian bites at the eye painted onto his chest, and Justin’s fingers trace over her symbol, spelling out the individual letters: A L A S K A.

He kisses both of Brian’s wrists, the crown and the star.

“That’s Justin,” he says, voice quiet and awed, thumb brushing across the crown. He taps his finger over the blue vein that runs through the star. He’s seen her marks before, but it feels like the first time. “And that’s me.”

He’s never seen Justin’s marks, though, and he remembers the intern from Drag Race telling him they were on her ass. It feels like a lifetime ago, when she didn’t mean anything to him, when he just wanted a gossipy distraction from a beating in his heart so different from the way it vibrates in his chest now.

The intern was right.

There are two lipstick prints: Trixie pink and Katya red.

His heart catches in his throat, and he splays his palm over them, the corner of each mouth peeking out.

“You’ve definitely put on lipstick for the sole person for kissing over this, haven’t you?” he asks.

“Duh.” Brian rolls her eyes, but a smile flirts around her lips.

Justin looks back over her shoulder, lifting herself up on her forearms. “More than once.”

Brian sautés spinach and onion for his omelette, hip resting against the counter and squinting out the window. The smell of coffee permeates the kitchen, and anxiety flutters around his stomach. He knows it’s ridiculous. His mom has been supportive, had even said “I told you so” over the phone when he broke the news. But she didn’t tell him so, and they had bantered back and forth about that before he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and relenting.

He finishes his omelette, sliding it onto a chipped plate before starting one for his mom.

By the time the front door opens, Brian’s finished breakfast, prepared coffee for his mom and Katya, and avoided putting anything in Alaska’s tea, because she hates it. There were only so many ways he could organize four plates around the kitchen table, and he figured she wouldn’t notice if he dissolved a pinch of sugar in the bitter earl grey. She might actually thank him when it tastes better, so the fact that he didn’t is a huge feat.

“Hi, Mom,” he greets, rushing to the small entryway, kissing her cheek and prying her purse out of her fingers. Alaska lugs her suitcase inside, and Katya reaches behind her to close the door. “How was the flight?”

“Too early.” Her smile is well-worn, the wrinkles around her eyes deeper than the last time Brian saw her. “But half-empty. You didn’t have to spring for business class.”

“It’s the only way I can impress you.”

“Not true! You have two very sweet boyfriends.”

“We are very sweet.” Katya smiles a shit-eating grin, knowing Brian won’t smack her in front of his mother.

“We’re taking her to the dentist after breakfast,” Alaska pipes up.

Brian snorts and rolls his eyes, but he’s pleased by how his mom shifts to smile at her: “Did you get that joke from Brian?”

Katya wheeze-laughs. “Brian wishes he were that funny, Mom.”

“Mom?” Brian’s eyes bug, and he chokes on nothing.

“They’re your soulmates, Brian, they can call me Mom. Even if this one here doesn’t believe in marriage,” she says, pointing at Katya with her thumb. “I’ll let it slide, but only because our court system has yet to figure out how to deal with this universe-approved arrangement. I’ve checked.”

Alaska bites around a smile. Brian knows because she does it a lot, especially with Katya.

His mom peeks over his shoulder, edging around him and heading for the table. “Now, did you make sausage, or am I going to be disappointed?”

“Ah-ha!” Katya says, skipping after her. “He made sausage, because I am your fellow carnivore.”

“See, I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“Not the only carnivore,” Alaska whispers to Brian. “But she doesn’t need to know about last night.”

They all settle around the small table, and Alaska lets his mom try her tea, laughing when she puckers her lips and grimaces. Katya’s knee presses against Brian’s, and she dominates the conversation. Her shoulders are pulled back, she sits up straight, and it’s almost like she’s onstage. She tells an embarrassing story about almost peeing her pants in elementary school, because she didn’t want to draw attention to herself by asking the teacher to use the restroom. His mom counters with the time Brian got carsick and they didn’t have Dramamine, so he vomited all over himself.

It’s appropriately awful.

“I’m trying to eat,” he says.

“Oh, honey,” his mom laughs. “We don’t want you getting sick again.”

Alaska and Katya laugh, but Katya rubs Brian’s thigh, comforting circles that help keep his breathing even.

He’s embarrassed himself more in front of Katya and Alaska than his mom ever could, but the stress comes from somewhere abstract. Katya’s met his mom before, but it’s different this time. This time she’s his future. She and Alaska both are. It feels more important and permanent than anything else in his life. Telling his mom he wanted to wear makeup, put on a dress and perform in clubs was less pressure.

“Is there anything you want to do while you’re here?” Alaska asks his mom.

He shoots her a smile, grateful for the change in topic.

“Hollywood Boulevard! I need to see Bob Hope’s star. And the sign, of course.” His mom hums, finger circling the rim of her mug. “I’ve never seen the ocean before, so that might be fun.”

“You’ve never seen the ocean?” Alaska asks, tone curious but polite, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, no. Lake Michigan is the closest I’ve gotten.”

“It’s basically the same thing,” Katya says.

His mom nods. “That’s what I always thought.”

Alaska laughs. “It’s different, too. You’ll feel it when we go. Would you want to see a drag show, too? There’s always a drag brunch on Sundays.”

His mom tilts her head and scrunches her nose, sighing. “No. I don’t think so. Like how coffee isn’t your thing? Drag shows aren’t my thing. I listened to your song, the one about tea, I hated it. Rap is awful, and it was crude.”

Brian can feel Katya’s body vibrating with the urge to laugh, and he knows she and Alaska are going to bring this up constantly for the next six months.

Alaska blinks. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I once made the mistake of watching the Brians’ show.” She shutters. “Disgusting and nonsensical.”

Katya wheezes, Alaska laughs, and Brian makes a show of banging his head against the table. “Learn some tact, Mom.”

“Why?” she asks. “You don’t have any.”

“Oh my god,” he mutters.

“I see where he gets his sense of humor.” Alaska smiles, bright and winning. “Are mani-pedis your thing, though?”

“Yes! I’d love that. But I don’t want to waste my trip to see you all alone in a salon.”

Alaska’s palm flutters to her chest. She blinks slow and gasps. “I’m getting one.”

“Count me in,” Katya adds.

“Brian?” His mom asks, eyebrows arched knowingly.

“I think … I’ll skip that.”

“You’re always a party pooper, huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t let me play with dolls as a kid, and now I don’t want to paint my nails pink and it’s a problem?”

Katya leans across the table. “This is better, anyway. You can tell us all of his embarrassing childhood stories without him metaphorically retching over all our fun.”

His mom cackles, and Katya squeezes his knee, sending a wink his way.

He drops his mom off at the airport five days later. She thanks him for a good trip, even though she swears she never wants to come back. “You’ll visit me,” she says, decided.

“You bet.” He smiles.

She grabs his hand, her skin papery and thin, and leans in. “You did good. Brian and Justin. I don’t understand it, but you’re all very happy. It’s right.”

He shrugs. “The marks make sense.”

“Of course. But that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” He frowns, slouching so he’s shorter, tilting his head. They’re not at eye level, but his mom’s spirit is so tall it feels like they are.

“So many people exhaust themselves trying to find the one, and when they do,” she pauses, holding up her hand. They’ve argued about this before (“There are billions of people in this world. My soulmate’s probably in China.” She had rolled her eyes: “Then you better start learning Chinese.”), but he wasn’t planning on doing it an hour before she gets back on a plane to Wisconsin. “And when they do find them, and they always do, they’re too tired. They’ve made too many other bad choices along the way. It says more about all three of you that you made the right choices to get here than those marks ever did.”

He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime, honey.” She stands on her tiptoes, hugging him tight, rubbing circles into his back. She rests her hand over his heart. “Right here,” she says, accompanied by a single tap. “I’m proud of you.”

He gets home two hours later.

Katya sits on the sofa, chewing on her bottom lip, an astrology book spread over her lap.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Justin’s packing for his flight, and I’m trying to figure out what part of his star chart means that,” she pauses, raising her voice so Alaska can hear, “he has to throw his clothes all over the floor every single time!”

Alaska emerges from their designated drag room, stringy, orange, shake-and-go wig on her head, a bra hanging off her finger. “If you could just keep to your corner of the room, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Katya looks down at her book, finger running along the page. “What time were you born again?”

“I don’t know,” she huffs, slinging the bra at Katya.

Brian watches them argue for a moment – about who’s neater (he is, but he doesn’t say that), who does the most cleaning (whoever happens to be home), the value of astrology (he has his doubts) – the fight ending with Alaska texting her mom for information on her birth time and coordinates. Katya thanks her, agreeing to wash her pads before she goes.

“What are you going to do?” Katya asks.

“Huh?”

“Well, Justin’s packing and I’m washing his disgusting ass pads. You need to pull you weight in this relationship.”

He shakes his head in faux disbelief. “I’m agreeing to date two selfish narcissists. What more do you want from me?”

Alaska chuckles, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him into her side. “As if you’re not a selfish narcissist, too.”

“You’re the worst,” Katya says, arm snaking next to Alaska’s, hand finding her belt loop and pulling her closer. “Love you losers.”

“I’m a winner,” Alaska says reflexively. “But, I love you both, too.”

Brian breathes out a laugh. “How did I get so lucky?”

Alaska hums, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Katya answers: “Just lucky, I guess.”

Life gives him not one, but two marks over his heart.

Along with them, he gets the two most annoying, frustrating people he has ever known. Alaska always waits until the last minute to pack, whether it’s for work or for a vacation to Hawaii. She stresses Katya and him out, and it’s almost enough that they refuse to go anywhere with her. She screams bloody murder any time she finds a centipede or silverfish in the bathroom, and cuddles close to Brian at night, latching on and making him too hot. Katya cracks a window open and smokes inside, the scent embedding itself into the furniture and lingering. She refuses to get a pet, arguing there’s never a guarantee any of them will be home to take care of it, and shaking her head when they suggest different pet sitting options. She FaceTimes Alaska and him in the middle of the night, after gigs when she can’t sleep, with no respect for timezones, waking them up and chatting their ears off about nothing and everything.

Brian knows he’s not all that he’s cracked up to be, either: he has the bad habit of leaving just enough in a container – leftover takeout, juice, cereal – that he doesn’t have to throw it out, but not enough for Alaska and Katya to actually enjoy whatever it is. He forgets to put the toilet seat down, and he always interrupts when they’re trying to talk through a problem with him. He asks, and then refuses to listen to their ideas and advice, causing them to roll their eyes and groan. So, he can’t complain too much. Only a little.

Besides, Alaska and Katya are also the best people he has ever known. Alaska never fails to send a text making sure their flights landed safely, even though he and Katya don’t know how she keeps track when she can hardly keep her own schedule straight, and sometimes they don’t even know when they’re going from one city to the next themselves. She updates the grocery list on the fridge without fail, and mumbles cute things in her sleep when she’s overly tired. Katya always senses when either of them need a hug, even if she’s just walked in the door. She doesn’t complain about being the only one who ever takes out the garbage, and she marks passages in books she thinks they might like with post-its, a paragraph about why slanting upward on them.

Every kiss is nice. Little pecks on the corners of mouths when they part, hot, open-mouthed things in the middle of the day because they have time and attraction sparks in their blood, sweet and steady assurances when they laugh at each other, the taste of it soothing any potential hurt.

Brian loves them.

He stands in the archway, bowl of popcorn in his right hand, one can of pop in his left, and the other under his armpit. The menu on the DVD loops, and the lights are off, so Brian strains to see. He watches Alaska and Katya, leaning into each other on the sofa and splitting Oreos in half, Katya eating the side with more frosting. He loves them so much he feels like he might combust, except it’s good. Better than good.

Alaska spots him first, a smile stretching over her mouth. “Hurry up, we miss you.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “I’ve been gone for less than two minutes.”

“Don’t care,” Katya says, patting the spot next to her. “This song is giving me a headache.”

“Yeah, me too,” he agrees with a quiet laugh.

The flame in his chest burns, always reigniting but never fading away, something he can count on to keep him warm and comfortable and safe. A blazing fire he knows, somehow, stupidly, will never burn out.

FIN.

#katlaska #trixya #alaska x katya x trixie #au #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #alaska thunderfuck #perfectlystill #rpdr fanfiction #the kind of dice you throw #canon compliant #poly #rare pair #tw incest joke #tw past drug addiction

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