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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Different Names For the Same Thing (Trixya) - Chapter 3 - Pilandok

Trixie is in the middle of an emotional crisis and Katya doubles down on the idea that making-out solves everything.

AN: Category is: inconsistent chapter lengths and jumping from a G rating to an M.

Read chapter in AO3. Read from chapter one.

Trixie needs T-Rex to stop looking at her like that. He doesn’t really understand why T-Rex insists on acting the part of a concerned mother when he knows they both have the same crass humor and prefer the midwestern brand of pick-me-ups— which is honestly more about the booze than the consolation.

“Save it for the kicked puppy down the street, T,” Trixie deadpans. Diversions like that only work when it’s entertained and T-Rex pointedly does not stop looking at Trixie like he’s the most pitiable thing in the universe. Trixie gives up and slumps down his chair, lifting his cap to fix the non-existent hair on his scalp out of habit. T-Rex doesn’t even look like he’s going to make a joke about it. Trixie sighs.

“Kim told you, didn’t she?”

“You know it, girl,” T-Rex answers, finally breaking eye contact to grab his drink and take a sip. Then a little quieter, “Shea probably knows, too.”

“Shit,” Trixie puts her forehead on the table. The opening riff of a Dusty Springfield song echoes in the near-empty bar. Son Of a Preacher Man. Jesus Christ. He could just imagine how pathetic he looks like right now.

“Frankly, I’m a little offended.”

“Maybe if you visited me more often…” Trixie says onto the table.

“Bitch, don’t even start,” T-Rex tells him, “am I not sitting in this straight bar with you right now?”

Trixie looks up and shoots an apologetic look to T-Rex. It’s easier now that he’s not being treated so precariously.

“Thank you,” he says, too genuinely that T-Rex looks a little disgusted as if he, himself, hasn’t been a sap all night. Trixie scream-laughs at this reaction and the people around them look.

“Looks like our cover is blown, they know that there’s a couple of queers in this place,” T-Rex mock whispers at him, “Which is a waste cause I butched up. I wore a denim jacket.”

“Shut up,” Trixie laughs, “I like it here! The bartender knows me.”

“Yeah, you and your hillbilly music.”

“She’s a queer icon!”

The song swells into its chorus, the only one who could ever reach me, was the son of a preacher man. Trixie scrunches his face like he’s in physical pain.

“Kim didn’t need to tell me, anyway, everyone saw that picture of you and Katya messing up each other’s faces.”

Oh. That fucking picture. It’s the blurriest picture someone could take from across the street but it’s undeniably him. He’s always dreamed of being recognized along Hollywood Boulevard and there it is: the make-up is unmistakably Trixie Mattel and she got caught in a reddit-level scandal. And what other drag queen of that build and hair color would make out with him in public if not Katya? Trixie doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that everyone just assumed it was Katya.

Anyway, why does the universe always have to go out of its way to Aesop’s Fables his life? How many roundabout ways can they tell him that the moral of the story is be careful what you wish for?

“T, I don’t know what to fucking do.”

T-Rex looks at him, gaze softened. He reaches out to squeeze Trixie’s hand once.

“It’s okay—“ he begins but cuts himself off, “actually, I don’t know if it’s okay. I have no idea how Katya thinks. He’s great, really, I just— I just know how you are when you fall in love. I don’t want to see you get hurt again. And he’s done it before.”

“Don’t,” Trixie says as a warning.

“I know. I know what happened. You forgave him so I don’t really have a right to say anything. But Trix, if you’re not going to let yourself be worried about that, let me be worried. I’ll hold that little grudge for you.”

Trixie takes a moment, feelings of affection bubble in his chest. It’s probably the alcohol in his system but he begins to wonder if there’s an alternate universe in which he moved to Chicago after Drag Race instead of L. A. He could go to Roscoe’s and Berlin regularly to watch T-Rex host and hype him up and get drunk with him back stage. Maybe he wouldn’t be as busy as he is now and he would have more nights with Shea and Kim and all the girls that accepted him ten years ago.

“T…” Trixie begins, her voice cracking.

“Don’t cry, bitch,” T-Rex puts his hands up and Trixie can see the flush on his cheeks and hear the light slurring of his words, “cause I’m tipsy enough to cry and they’re gonna see that we’re sissies and they will beat us up, I swear.”

“Ahh! Stop acting like this bar is Westboro Baptist!”

Trixie is laughing loudly, too emotional to care when a couple of tears slide down his face. He appreciates T-Rex, really, although it begins to dawn on him that something doesn’t add up.

“What exactly did Kim tell you?” Trixie asks after running the back of his hand across his eyes.

“That you were fulfilling your fan-manifested destiny and slowly realizing that you were in love with Katya,” T-Rex shrugs. At Trixie’s lack of response, he squints his eyes, “Why? Is there anything else?”

It’s a half-truth, Trixie thinks. Maybe Kim deserves more credit than they usually give him. The bitch knew what really needed to be kept a secret. Besides, Kim telling their friends is probably as much of a push on Trixie’s back that Kim will ever give him, since he’s always been too stubborn to ask for help. Trixie supposes that “being in love” is a way to summarize it, albeit misleading.

“There’s a ghost haunting me,” Trixie admits.

“What?”

“And I think that he’s haunting Katya, too,” Trixie stares at a space just above T-Rex’ head, “He’s been freaking out and kissing me so much suddenly.”

“Wait- wait- what?”

“I don’t know, I think he knows. I think he does, I think it’s starting to manifest onto him and I guess being someone’s reincarnation can drive someone a little crazy.” Hearing himself say it out loud, Trixie recognizes the absurdity of the situation. He begins to suspect that maybe Kim just didn’t believe him after all. “I don’t know if Kim is being a good friend or a bad one.”

T-Rex, still confused, looks like he’s about to give up on the night. He taps his bottle against Trixie’s, the clink is loud against the song fading to the end. The only one who can ever prove me was the son of a preacher man.

“What else is new?” T-Rex scoffs, “That’s why I should have been your first call.”

Katya knows he’s being greedy. He knows that’s it’s just selfishness when his hands wrap around the back of Trixie’s neck so he can pull him down harshly for a kiss. He knows that he’s acting spoiled when he scratches on Trixie’s nape so he can feel him gasp against his mouth, so Katya can slide his tongue between Trixie’s lips. Katya’s always been susceptible to indulgences— no need to hold back when the world is unstoppably racing to it’s tragic finish—and indulge he does because Trixie’s so hot when he has that hazy look in his half-lidded eyes and when and Katya can feel Trixie’s low moan vibrate throughout his body when he kisses him on his throat. He’s only fucking human.

Really, Trixie should be the one with the self-control about this. As much as Katya feels sorry for burdening the boy with the mental labor, Trixie is the one who picked that role for himself when he decided to be the straight man to Katya’s performative sexual advances.

An hour ago he invited Trixie over to “hang-out” and the pregnant pause that followed told Katya that Trixie knew exactly what he wanted. Katya waited on the rejection but the only thing he heard was “yeah, okay.” The phone call equivalent of a shrug. Katya feels like a kid being given free reign of the Chocolate Factory.

What business does Trixie have indulging him in his whims? Katya should really be filing a complaint; this is not the relationship dynamic he signed up for. But then he hears Trixie whimper when he bites his lips and Katya can’t help but think, praise Willy fucking Wonka.

Katya drags Trixie across the room by the lapels of his shirt. Walking backwards, he’s relying on his muscle memory of the general location of his wares so he won’t trip on a coffee table on the way to the couch. Trixie grunts, complaining wordlessly, but he moves along obediently. When Katya’s calves feel cushions, he spins them both around and pushes Trixie onto the couch and he lands with a huff. Trixie frowns at him, but Katya immediately climbs on top of him, knees on either side of Trixie’s thighs, and smashes their lips together again. He feels Trixie freeze, and whenever he does, Katya thinks Trixie is finally going to push him away and ask questions. He never does. Soon enough, Trixie’s back on the same page, and Katya feels Trixie’s fingers curl around his belt loops.

Katya is stupidly hard against his briefs, the kind of achingly hard erection that he thinks is impressive for his age. Trixie is, too, probably, but they never go further than this. Katya is sure that that would be too far for Trixie— he doesn’t want to think of what it means if it wasn’t.

Still, like a true hedonist, he double downs on his kisses. He knows he can make-out for hours, he loves it. Katya wants Trixie sweating under him, he wants his tongue sliding in between Trixie’s lips to press on the roof of his mouth and feel the canines of his teeth. He needs Trixie to swallow all of those questions he won’t ask. Katya knows he’s being greedy.

In the pause of catching their breath, Katya is resting his head on Trixie’s shoulder, pressing lazy kisses on Trixie’s collar bone.

“Brian,” Trixie whispers. Katya’s body goes rigid, he can feel his heart beat in his ears. “My jaw hurts. Can we take a break?”

“Oh,” Katya makes a move to get off Trixie and when he plops down on to the space beside him, he begins to feel the strain on his thighs. He watches Trixie walk to the kitchen, picking up the electric kettle on his way to the sink. Katya can feel the sweat run down from his forehead. He ponders on turning up the AC but he decides against getting up. Trixie already has an unopened box of tea from the cupboard and Katya notes how effectively Trixie navigates his space— he’s pretty sure the tea is something Trixie gifted him from before. When the water boils, Trixie pours it in the mug with the bag he place inside. He waits a few seconds before turning around to face Katya.

Katya is immediately reminded why he doesn’t like this much distance between them. It’s because Trixie looks at him like that. Like he’s looking for something in Katya, something that’s impossible for him to give. Katya hates it when Trixie has that gaze that doesn’t seem to see him but something beyond him. Something in him that deserves all the tenderness from Trixie that he never worked to earn. It’s because Trixie looks at him like that that Katya kisses him roughly, can’t help but dig his nails into Trixie’s biceps and bite hard at his earlobe. The harsher he treats Trixie, the more that Katya feels like Trixie is really looking at him. The more Trixie bites back, the further away they get from the gentle, school-boy kisses in his dreams. Katya needs this to be realer than the dreams.

But somehow, after everything, Trixie can still afford to look at him like that.

“Why are you letting me do this to you?” Katya asks suddenly. The distaste sits on his mouth. Still, it throws Trixie off like he wanted to and the affectionate gaze turns into a scowl.

“Don’t be a cunt,” Trixie replies curtly.

Katya deserves it, he’s not the one who should be asking questions. Not when he hasn’t answered any of Trixie’s unspoken ones. He sits up properly and his right leg starts to bounce as soon as his feet hit the floor. He should let it go, just enjoy what he’s getting, enjoy that Trixie hasn’t been demanding anything from him. But Katya sees the angry bruise forming on Trixie’s neck from when he sucked on it so much, he sees the slight swell on Trixie’s lips.

“I’ve been dreaming about you, you know,” Katya breathes, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Trixie tries to hide his reaction by sipping on his tea but Katya sees the whirlwind forming in his eyes.

“Tell me about them, Brian.”

And Katya should tell him. Tell him about the dreams where he wasn’t himself but Trixie was Trixie and he was looking at not-Katya and kissed him so tenderly. In those dreams he was a different boy and made promises he swore he could keep and counted the bruises on Trixie’s skin. In that other life, Trixie would fiddle with the rosary around his neck while he’s telling Trixie he would never hurt him.

Katya doesn’t understand it, but he knows that that’s what Trixie has been looking from him, in those longing looks. He feels like if he gives it to Trixie, Trixie will never look at him again. Trixie would only see the stupid illusion of a boy that his brain pretends to be when he’s asleep.

“Brian, tell me about the dreams,” Trixie asks of him again, his voice cracking, “please.”

“I was a painter in Vienna at the turn of the 20th century. I first saw you from my balcony window and called for you to come up. I kiss you and every night you would climb my window so I can kiss you some more. I never ask you about your job or your family or the sheet music you dropped that had the name Екатерина crossed out on top,” Katya says this in a rush and he can see Trixie slowly deflate, his lips pressing into a thin, hard line. It’s a lie, he thinks, and Trixie recognizes the lie. “Every time I see you, I paint a little bit of you. My canvas is starting to look like a grotesque monster.”

After a beat, Trixie sets his cup down loudly on the counter. He marches over to the couch and Katya wonders if he’s finally crossed the line, if he’s pushed Trixie over the edge and he’s going to lose Trixie forever. He thinks that Trixie is going to slap him. Instead, Trixie grabs two fistfuls of his shirt and pulls him up to a rough kiss. Their teeth clack painfully but Trixie doesn’t stop, keeping Katya suspended, half-sitting. The hands are holding onto him so tightly that he starts to feel lightheaded. Trixie’s never been this rough with him. And he hates pain, but if Trixie manhandles him, he doesn’t mind, especially not when he can practically feel his dick pulsating in his pants.

Trixie shove him back to the couch, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Before he can catch his breath, he’s already being straddled, Trixie grinding roughly against his concealed boner. Katya groans and grabs Trixie’s ass, pressing them down against him as he bucks his hips upward. Katya feels fingers dig at his shoulders.

When he looks up he sees Trixie glowering over him, hot angry tears sliding down his face. Katya stops. His hands reach up to touch Trixie jawline, he feels the moisture on his thumb. He makes a move to wipe them, he wants to.

“Trix, let me fuck you,” he tells Trixie instead.

Trixie throws his head back to laugh a humorless laugh.

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” Trixie says before reaching down and sliding his hand inside Katya’s pants, cupping his erection over his underwear. Katya’s breath hitches. Trixie leans forward until his lips touch Katya’s earlobe. “If we’re going to have sex, I’ll be the one fucking you.”

With that, Trixie promptly gets up, collect his things on the coffee table, and walks out the door without looking back. The door frame shakes at the impact of it being slammed shut.

It takes a minute for Katya’s brain to catch up with him. He finds himself alone in his living room, slumped on a couch, panting. His hard dick is struggling against his clothes, calling for his attention. But Katya doesn’t dare touch it.

#rpdr fanfiction #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #t rex #trixya #reincarnation au #soulmate au #angst #heavy petting #different names for the same thing #pilandok #submission #canon compliant

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