Fic: Three's A Crowd [9]
Title: Three's A Crowd
Author: museme87
Pairing(s): Brian/Justin, Ben/Michael, Mel/Lindsay, Ted/Blake, Deb/Carl
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Over the course of his and Justin's seven year non-relationship, Brian had never been one to say no to a third party addition. But when the addition is far more permanent and redefines playroom for the worst, Brian thinks twice about rekindling their old flame. [Post 5.13]
Chapter: 9
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 8,596
Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual situations, brief Brian/Other and discussion of past Brian/Other
Author's Note: Apologies for the delay on this chapter and a big thanks to everyone for their patience. This chapter is a very transitional one, which made it a little tedious and difficult to write. Not to mention that I tried to perfect it because of the Brian/Trevor elements in this one. I hope I've made it as palatable as possible. More on this in the endnotes though! A thanks is always in order to L for her great beta work.
Frustrated, Brian tosses a stack of files onto his desk and runs a hand through his hair. He could have fucking sworn that he'd brought a notebook full of notes and ideas for the new Heinz campaign home on Friday. But his once-clean desk now decimated, Brian wonders if maybe he thought to bring it home and walked off without it. Jesus fucking Christ. The last thing he wants to do is stop by the office before they hit the store for the kid.
Stepping away from that goddamn mess for a minute, Brian pads his way over to the couch and his small, open suitcase. He rummages around, lifting a couple shirts and a pair of jeans and wondering what the hell he may have forgotten. By the time they get to the house, they'll be too far away from civilization to do a quick run to the store, the nearest Big Q being twenty minutes from their place. Brian fucking hates the Big Q, and the prospect of braving it at this time of year for some fucking toothpaste or deodorant or whatever-the-fuck is headache inducing.
Just as he thinks he may have remembered where that missing notebook might be stashed, a knock echoes through the Loft. Brian crosses the room quickly to answer it, cursing under his breath because the kid is napping, and he will kill someone if she wakes up, especially while Justin's in the shower.
Sliding open the door, he comes face-to-face with someone he sure as hell wasn't expecting to see at almost ten AM, especially since said someone's ass should be in the fucking office. Brian pokes his tongue into his cheek, waiting expectantly. Trevor just rolls his eyes and bats him out of the doorway with his hand, letting himself in.
"I should fire your ass."
"Yeah, you probably should."
Trevor shoves a coffee into his hand before turning towards the kitchen. Brian's almost thankful that Trevor decided to skip out on their occasional greeting-one that includes plenty of tongue or hands, depending on the day. He's not in the mood for it right now. Fuck, he's not in the mood for much at all.
"I brought you one of those chocolate cake donuts with the glaze from Liberty Bakery," Trevor explains, holding up the small paper bag. "And don't give me that bullshit line about not liking them, because you sneak one every time Marcus brings in donuts for the department. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Shooting Brian a warning look that promptly stops any form of denial on Brian's part, Trevor pulls out a bagel for himself from a second bag and sets it on the counter. Brian watches as he moves towards the cabinet, starts searching for the peanut butter that he keeps here for his fucking blueberry bagels. Trevor goes about his business like he owns the place, and while Brian rarely minds-unless he's in one of those moods-today he finds it intolerable.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I thought we could talk over breakfast."
"About?" Brian asks, looking at him as if he suggested having a four-way with a pair of dykes.
Trevor shrugs. "For starters, I thought we might discuss how we're about to lose the Alouette Fragrance account."
"What?"
"Get in my messenger bag. First manila folder," he says, gesturing towards the bag he'd put on the barstool as he spreads peanut butter onto his untoasted bagel. "It was faxed half an hour ago by your favorite prospective client."
"Faxed?"
"She's, what, eighty years old or something? I'm surprised she didn't send it via the Pony Express," he says, licking the excess peanut butter off the butter knife.
Flipping open the folder, Brian scans the first page of the letter from Susanna Blackwell's office. He doesn't have to read far before he figures out that the whole thing is a four-or-five page list of demands about her campaign design. Feeling a headache already coming on, he pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes.
"Her people hate the mock-ups that you and Marcus just did, don't they?" Brian asks, fearing the inevitable response.
"They like the shade of blue we used, if it's any consolation."
It really fucking isn't. Before yesterday, if Trevor had come to him with this goddamn letter, he would have personally called Blackwell's office and told her exactly what an insufferable bitch she is and that Kinnetik would never deal with the likes of her. Now though-with New York on his mind-Brian needs her signature on the dotted line more than ever. So much more is riding on this than the bragging rights of snagging Alouette Fragrances from the big fish in advertising.
Maybe because of that, his already stressed-out mood suddenly plummets to irritable. He doesn't have time for bullshit like this. He can't be in two goddamn places at once, but Brian hates the idea of having to choose one over the other. Justin and the kid are too damn important to abandon, but so is this account. Brian knows what Blackwell wants; it's just a matter of giving it to her.
"We're going to have to discuss the artwork for the mock-ups. We need something more traditional."
"Then you better talk to Marcus."
"You're the one who spent six years in art school with two degrees to prove it."
"I'm not painting for you, Brian," Trevor says, bristling. "You know I don't do that anymore."
Brian scoffs. "Then what good are you? Why the hell are you still on my payroll?"
"You know, I may take your cock up my ass, but I'm not your bitch."
There's a challenge in Trevor's eyes that immediately makes Brian back down. Trevor isn't the type to fight like this. It's only on a rare occasion that he'll completely engage the heat of the moment, like now, instead usually settling for amused annoyance. There are only a few things that can ever set him off like this, and Brian knows-from a past experience that turned out horribly-that Trevor's art is one of those things.
He feels bad. He's still fucking pissed, sure, but there's a part of him that wishes he hadn't gone at Trevor like that. When he hired him, Brian knew that Trevor wasn't interested in art beyond photography and typography anymore. At the time he hadn't known why, but that's not an excuse anymore. And, he feels like a shit for forcing the issue.
"I shouldn't have said that," Brian concedes.
"No shit."
"Trevor…"
Trevor opens up the jar of peanut butter again and starts spreading more of it on his bagel, probably enough to choke a goddamn horse. Tentatively, Brian steps toward him but stops at arm's length.
"If that's how you really feel, I'd rather you just tell me."
Brian sighs. "I'm stressed out of my fucking mind right now."
Trevor raises an eyebrow, as if to ask your point?. Brian nods slightly, realizes that it's going to take more than that.
"Given that you're directing so many of Kinnetik's accounts, it'd be really fucking inconvenient if you weren't around."
The way the tension dissipates from Trevor's shoulders tells Brian that Trevor understood him loud and clear. Still, he doesn't bother acknowledging Brian beyond that. So at a final attempt at a peace-offering, Brian closes the distance between them. With his fingers, he guides Trevor's lips to his and kisses him lightly. It's soft, quick, and before it becomes anything else, Trevor pulls back.
"Nice try."
"Was it?"
"An A for effort." He frowns. "A C+ for technique. But, while most lovers might hold a grudge about being told what a miserable, worthless sack of shit they are, you'll be happy to know that you can bribe yourself back to my good graces with a blowjob. Or ten."
Brian offers him a resigned smile. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Because we're both sex addicts?"
He smacks Trevor's ass-the kid has an annoying tendency to answer his rhetorical questions all the time-and turns back to the folder with Blackwell's fax. Skimming it, Brian considers just what the hell he can do with to fix this in the time he has. Blackwell's patience is wearing thin, and it won't be long before she tries to find another agency to meet her needs. Just as he's about to make a note or two, he feels Trevor touch his hip lightly.
"Brian?"
Turning to look at him, Brian's a little afraid of what he sees. The unnatural steadiness of Trevor's voice ought to have tipped him off, but his expression confirms it. Something's off; Brian's never seen Trevor this worried before, not even when he had reason to be.
"What's wrong?"
He considers what might be the problem, why Trevor would have shown up this morning without even calling. It's not too weird-he does have a key and can come and go as he pleases-but it's still not something that's setting right with Brian. Maybe something had happened at the office this morning? Since he didn't show up-
He didn't show up. Fuck.
"You're not here because of the Blackwell account," Brian says.
"No, not really. Though we do need to address that."
"Cynthia told you I was going out of town today."
"Yeah, she did. First thing this morning."
It's all suddenly coming together. If Cynthia had mentioned that he wasn't going to be in the office for a few days, she might have implied that it had something to do with Justin. While he hadn't told her outright why he was skipping town, it didn't take a genius to figure it out, especially when someone knew of his history with Justin. And so Trevor figured it out and…what?
"Are you pissed about Justin?"
"What?"
"Did you come over to pull the betrayed housewife routine?"
"What the fuck, Brian? What does any of this have to do with Justin?" He pauses, exasperated. "I may have come over on slightly false pretenses, but this isn't about him. You don't honestly believe that I don't know you two have been fucking for the past week, do you?"
One thing that Brian's always appreciated about Trevor is that he isn't a liar. He's called Trevor out over some suspicions in the past, and Trevor's always been honest with him. If he says this isn't about Justin, then it's not about Justin. Brian supposes that ought to make him feel better, but it doesn't.
"I know what he means to you," Trevor adds. "I know you that you love him, and I've never been pissed about that. Why would I start now?"
Brian shrugs. "So what is this about?"
"It's December."
"Is that supposed to mean something?"
The moment that Trevor's eyes drop, Brian feels like he's missed something very big. His frustration ebbs, replaced by a hell of a lot of confusion.
"You had your annual follow-up with your oncologist last week, like you do every year. And before you ream Ted a new asshole for telling me, he didn't. I found out by accident last summer. I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to know."
He feels winded, like someone just took a cheap shot to his gut. There were things that Trevor was never supposed to find out about because they just didn't have that sort of relationship. They both have their secrets, and that's how it should have fucking stayed. This takes things to a whole different, uncomfortable level, and Brian wants nothing more than for him to get the fuck out because he cannot deal with everything all at once like this-Justin, the urchin, Gus, and now this bullshit?
"Brian-"
"We're not discussing this."
"Yes, we are. I'm not asking for much, but at least tell me that you're not running off like you did the last time, telling everyone that you went to Madrid or something while you had a ball removed."
"Fuck off."
"This is serious."
"Trevor, I'm not fucking playing around here. If you're going to press the issue, get the hell out."
He stares Brian down for a moment, resolved. And then it's gone in a flash, as quickly as Trevor throws his bagel into the trash and gathers up his messenger bag. Brian's not exactly happy to see Trevor go, knowing that when he cools down, when things settle with Justin and the kid, that he's going to have to somehow apologize for this. But for now, it's one less thing he has to stress over.
When Trevor stops just short of the door, he turns to face Brian. There's a second when everything is quiet, when Trevor refuses to meet his eyes, but Brian can almost see the words playing out in Trevor's head. Brian braces himself for an argument, but the steady expression on Trevor's face makes him wonder if maybe he should have prepared himself for something very different.
"You don't have to tell me," he concedes. "I'll leave here and never see you again if that's what you want. But for Christ's sake, please let someone know what's going on, Brian. Michael or Lindsay or Justin. If something happens, someone needs to have their head on straight so that they can be there for Gus."
Somehow it still amazes Brian how someone like Trevor can have the capacity to care about a kid he barely knows. Well, no, that's not exactly true; he does know Gus, but not in the way that Justin does. He hasn't been around since Gus was a baby, hasn't seen him grow up like that. But for all that he hasn't been around, Trevor is pretty crazy about Gus, always taking the opportunity to hang out with him when he's in town, to teach him things. Brian's pretty sure that Trevor liked Gus way before Trevor liked him. And maybe that's what gets to Brian the most; he can be a complete shit to Trevor, and Trevor still thinks about Gus' best interest.
Slipping his hands over his face, Brian groans in frustration. From between his fingers, he spots Trevor turning to leave and quickly grabs the arm of his coat. He stops, looks at Brian. Brian's not exactly sure why he's preventing Trevor from leaving, especially since having him here isn't going to make anything less complicated. But, he feels like he owes him, maybe, despite the fact that Trevor has the whole fucking scenario wrong.
"Thanks," Brian says.
"For?" Trevor asks, without missing a beat.
Maybe after all these years of suffering through Brian's mood swings, Trevor has finally just gotten used to them. He doesn't seem too upset or frustrated, just passively accepting. Brian's never once considered Trevor a push over, but he does appreciate the fact that there are just some things that Trevor doesn't question even when he has every right to.
"For giving a shit about my son."
"I care about him. Not just because he's yours but because he's…him."
Brian nods, his brow knit. "I guess I also want you to know that you don't have to worry about him. I'm fine. Well, not fucking fine, but I'm still cancer free."
"You're not just saying that, are you?"
"No."
"Christ, Brian."
Trevor slowly puts his arms around Brian, squeezes him tightly. Brian hugs him back, more for Trevor's sake than his own. He hadn't meant to scare him. How the hell was he supposed to know that Trevor would jump to that conclusion?
"How about we celebrate before you skip town?"
Before Brian can ask what he has in mind, Trevor leans up, his lips grazing Brian's, his fingers tangled in brown hair. Brian kisses him back, mouths bruising. He feels Trevor's hips push into his, feels the gentle nudge of Trevor's hardening dick. Having been habit for two years now, it doesn't occur to Brian to pull away immediately. But as soon as he sees this is heading someplace it can't, he eases off.
"We can't," Brian says, clearing his throat.
"Why?" Trevor asks, lips tracing a path on his jaw. "Is it your time of the month?"
"You little shit."
Just for that, Brian backs Trevor against the counter, pinning him there. He starts kissing him again, telling himself that he's going to keep it brief. He'd be lying if he said that his cock didn't have something to do with his questionable judgment. But, it's not as if this kissing means anything. It's not anything like he has with Justin, and it never will be. That's part of the reason why Brian lets himself do it.
"Brian, I-"
Brian breaks immediately from Trevor with a fuck-Trevor echoing his surprise with a shit-and puts a good two feet between them. He rubs the back of his neck, praying to God that Justin hadn't caught the end of their kiss, that he'd still been in the bedroom and just calling out to him. Unlikely, but he'll allow himself that small hope.
Justin stops at the top of the steps, stunned. "Sorry, I didn't realize you had company."
Glancing between Trevor-cheeks red-and Justin-clad in a towel-Brian wonders why he never considered what might happen if Justin and Trevor met. It seemed so unlikely at any point in time that it hadn't been an issue. Justin was in New York, and Trevor was in Pittsburgh. The longer Justin stayed in the big city, the less he came home. And when he had, Brian had either avoided him or made it clear to Trevor that all plans were off for a few days.
He thinks he probably ought to introduce them, except he has no fucking clue what the hell he would say. Trevor, meet the guy who I'll always consider my partner. Justin, this is Trevor who has been my steady fuck buddy for the past two years. Yeah, that'd go over about as well as a fucking bomb.
"Hi, I'm Trevor Weiss," Trevor says, taking it upon himself to do what Brian can't, as he walks over to Justin and extends his hand. "I work in the art department at Kinnetik with Brian. You must be Justin."
"Um, yeah, hi."
Justin stares at him a second longer, barely moving and still so surprised. Brian feels like he's watching a train wreck, just waiting for the big collision and multiple fatalities. Christ, he never wanted it to come to this. They should have never met. This must be what every breeder schmuck feels like when he runs into his wife while he's out with his mistress. Though Brian has no fucking clue who would be the wife and who would be the mistress in this scenario.
While it may take a few seconds, Justin does break, his country club manners finally kicking in. His expression turns suddenly apologetic as he takes Trevor's hand and shakes it.
"Shit, sorry. I'm Justin Taylor. Brian and I…um…"
"I know," Trevor says, smiling. "You hang around Brian enough and you start to learn all about his history with you. It's nice to finally meet you."
Chancing a look at Trevor, Brian thinks that he might have actually been sincere about that. His green eyes are soft, kind, just like they are when he interacts with Gus. Brian's known that Trevor's never felt threatened by Justin or their past. Trevor's never wanted with him what he and Justin once had. Maybe it should put him at ease, but Brian's not sure he can be. Not with the way Justin's flexing his bad hand.
"It's nice to meet you too."
"I caught one of your art shows in 2007 before I moved to Pittsburgh. Your work is remarkable, Mr. Taylor."
"Thank you. And call me Justin, please. It seems silly for you to call me Mr. Taylor while I'm standing here in a towel," Justin says, laughing a little nervously.
Trevor shrugs. "It's more than most guys wear around here."
"I can believe that." There's a heavy pause and then, "So, um, you're an artist as well?"
Barely able to resist rolling his eyes, Brian wonders if this goddamn conversation could get any more polite or awkward. He wants nothing more than to fucking end it, except he's not sure he has the balls to get between these two. This is exactly why he used to have that no repeat rule.
"I used to do a lot of traditional work, but not anymore. Mainly, I concentrate in digital, typographical art now."
Unable to bear sharing time anymore-so what if he ends up sorely regretting this-Brian clears his throat and throws the two a look, as if to ask are you done?. They both seem a little relieved, Justin more so than Trevor. If there's one thing painfully obvious to Brian, it's that Trevor's faired the best of the three of them during this whole happy conversation.
"I should probably get dressed," Justin says, pointing towards the bathroom. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too, Justin."
Brian watches as Justin disappears into the bedroom, the bathroom door slipping shut just a few moments later. When all is clear, Trevor rounds on him, shooting him a look that could kill.
"What the fuck was that?" Trevor whispers harshly.
"That was Justin," Brian answers, voice flat.
"No shit."
Trevor shakes his head, seething. Then, he takes a collected breath and sighs. Brian can almost see him loosen up, but he still thinks he might have to face his fuck buddy's wrath. And Trevor fucking redefines passive-aggressive.
"Why didn't you tell me Justin was here?" Trevor asks, coming closer to him and placing a hand on Brian's arm.
"When would I have had the time?"
Trevor deflates, sitting on one of the bar stools and looking absolutely miserable. Not miserable as in he's not getting his way, but miserable as in he's just done something he didn't want to do. Brian knows the feeling intimately.
"That's why we can't fuck before you leave."
"Yeah."
"That's why you're leaving."
"Yeah, his kid's sick, so I thought we'd go to the house in West Virginia. I want to spend some time with him."
"Of course you do," Trevor says, genuinely understanding.
Uneasily, Brian sits on the barstool next to Trevor's. He feels like shit for a multitude of reasons, one of them being that they have to have this conversation in the first place.
"I didn't want you to meet him like that."
He looks over at Brian, amused. "Who the hell are you kidding? You didn't want us to meet at all."
"True."
Trevor stands, Brian's eyes following him. He watches as Trevor grabs his bag, adjusting it on his shoulder. Then, he dips down to kiss Brian, this time so much more chaste than the last. It feels a little resigned to Brian, as if Trevor's backing out of whatever the fuck they have. Brian wishes he wouldn't, not completely, because there's no telling what the hell is going to happen between him and Justin.
"Enjoy him, okay?" Trevor says, breaking from him. "Not everyone gets second chances like this. Trust me."
"Where are you going?"
"The office before you fire my ass." Trevor smiles. "I'll probably be there late tonight trying to fix this fucking mess. Email me with any instructions you have."
"I will," Brian says, following Trevor towards the door.
Trevor ducks out then, Brian watching as he hits the button for the elevator and descends. He doesn't really know how he ended up bedding a guy so understanding. He could have seen this whole thing play out a hundred different, less desirable ways that somehow included bitchy remarks, shouting, and maybe even a fight. For all that he might get shit from people like Michael, Trevor is a good guy.
Sighing, Brian turns back and shuts the door, only to find Justin standing on the stairs to the bedroom, groggy urchin in his arms. There's something off about him, the way he's just sort of standing there. Brian wonders if maybe Justin caught the kiss. Well, even if Justin did bear witness to it, Brian doesn't much feel like discussing. Not now, at least. Not after barely surviving the past twenty minutes.
"Are you ready to hit the store, Sunshine?" Brian asks, effectively cutting off all questions at the pass.
"Sure, just let me change Elise."
~*~*~*~
"I forgot how beautiful West Virginia is in the winter."
Brian sneaks a glance at Justin in the passenger's seat, watching him take in the trees and ground covered with falling snow. For his part, Brian snorts and shakes his head. Sunshine would see the beauty in it all; he's just that sort of person. The fact that Justin's still that type of person, despite everything he's suffered, still impresses the fuck out of him.
"If by beautiful you mean shitty roads barely capable of human transportation littered with rednecks who probably got their license from the Big Q. Then yeah, I'd say it's pretty goddamn picturesque."
Justin turns to him, eyes bright but only half-amused. "Do you have to ruin my moment?"
"Just stating the facts. We were nearly killed two seconds after crossing the state line."
"The guy had the right-of-way, Brian. You were the one-"
"We're not talking about it."
"Right, of course not."
Justin goes back to his admiring in silence, and Brian briefly looks back at the urchin, who is slobbering and snotting all over her hedgehog. Making a mental note to never touch that fucking thing, not even if his life depends on it, Brian turns his attention back to the road.
As the Eagles' "Please Come Home for Christmas" comes on the radio-which has got to be one of the most depressing Christmas songs in existence-Brian feels Justin lacing their fingers together. He doesn't bother turning from the window to acknowledge Brian in any other way. It's a quiet gesture, but to Brian it somehow speaks volumes. Part of him misses being with Justin like this.
"I tried to draw the house last year just before Christmas," Justin says easily, his thumb stroking the side of Brian's hand, and then laughs. "It didn't work."
"You had a kid that was a couple days overdue. I don't think anyone could blame you for not being at the height of productivity."
"Not a couple days. A week. I think I was smoking a pack a day by Christmas."
As if prompted by the conversation, Justin turns back to look at the urchin. Briefly, he lets go of Brian's hand, using it to adjust her blanket. The Jeep is pretty warm, but Justin's been a drama princess about her getting chilled. Brian wonders if the kid will ever realize just how loved and wanted she is, or if she'll take Justin for granted. Despite momentary tantrums, she has a sweet disposition. Justin's done beautifully with her so far.
"I want to sketch the house. It's been so long that I think I've forgotten what it feels like to be there. I used to be able to draw it in my sleep."
"It's still the same old house."
"You haven't made any changes?"
"No, only what we discussed years ago. Half of it is unfinished. I don't go there much, just once or twice a year. Besides, it's not my place to make decisions."
"It's your house, Brian," Justin says lightly, fingers lacing together with Brian's again.
"It's more than that. It was the country manor of your dreams, not mine. If it were left to me, we would have moved into a nicer loft when we got engaged. You know I have an allergy to rolling hills and rural charm."
"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or call you a jackass," Justin says with a laugh.
"Anyway, it is what it is, and you can sketch and paint to your heart's desire as long as I don't have to change any diapers while you're doing it."
Brian watches as Justin rolls his eyes, Justin's hand still firm in his. Brian's grateful that he could never continue with construction and redecoration on the house; it would have made getting all the urchin's newly purchased shit into a room all the more difficult. There's one room in particular near the master suite that he and Justin had never come to an agreement on-Justin wanting to use it as a spare bedroom and Brian wanting to furnish it as a playroom. Now it looks like it might just end up as a playroom after all, but Brian doesn't figure it will be nearly as fun for him.
"Do you go there by yourself?"
"No, Gus likes it there, so I take him when he comes to visit in the summer and over spring break."
"So just you and Gus then? I pity the cleaning lady you hire to clean up after you two."
"Sonny boy is turning into a real neat freak, so the last couple times the cleaning lady just had to clean my mess. You'd think he'd cherish the time away from his WASP and Jewish mothers. I hear they have zero tolerance for unmade beds and messy rooms."
"I can't wait to see him again, Brian. It sounds like he's grown into an incredible boy."
"Well, it's not as if he had much chance of being anything but. He is half Kinney, after all."
Amused, Justin leans over to steal a quick kiss. Brian pulls him back for another, but that's cut short by the kid's cries. There's a brief queen out in the back, a dropped sippy cut apparently warranting tears. But Sunshine fixes it soon enough, thank the fucking Lord.
As soon as Justin turns around, he doesn't bother to return his hand to Brian's. Brian feels the absence but doesn't think anything of it. At least, not until Justin sighs this fucking sigh that Brian knows to mean something is on his mind.
"So you never brought any tricks to the house for a weekend away or anything?"
A moment passes where Brian considers slamming on the breaks and asking Justin just what the fuck he's on. He's had less than shining moments in their history together, and Brian is the first person to admit that he can do really fucked up shit, but Christ. He'd never bring someone like that to their house.
"No, Sunshine."
"Boyfriends?"
Brian does a double-take, remembers quickly that he needs to keep his eyes on the road. Fuck, this is not a conversation they should be having while he's driving. Justin must sense as much too because he looks suddenly apologetic, which puts Brian a little more at ease.
"Sorry, that was out of line," Justin says. "Your personal life is personal."
"I don't do boyfriends. You know that."
Justin shrugs. "Maybe things changed. I just…I thought that you might have had something with the guy in the kitchen this morning. You usually don't kiss your friends like that."
So he did catch the kiss? Fuck. Brian had hoped that he hadn't, had hoped that he wouldn't have to explain himself. Not that he fucking owed Justin an explanation, but they are at a really weird point in this arrangement.
A couple years ago, when he finally gave up on Justin's rules, he hadn't felt guilty. Justin had moved the fuck on, and it didn't look like they'd ever be able to make a life out of the cards they'd been dealt. Brian had a right to move on too. But now that history is rearing its ugly head again, Brian's starting to wish that maybe he'd stuck to the rules after all. If he had, he wouldn't have to see the poorly-hidden hurt written on Justin's face.
"He's a guy I fuck, Justin. Don't think it's anything more than that."
"He's your employee though. Didn't you learn anything from that whole fiasco with that Kip guy? He could sue you for everything you're worth if he wanted."
"Stop being a drama princess. I fucked you when you were interning at Vangard, didn't I? You weren't worried about sexual harassment suits then."
Justin frowns. "That's not a good example. I would never do that to you. You know me, Brian."
"And I know Trevor too. The only thing he wanted from the arrangement was to get off."
Justin acts as if he'd fucked Trevor the day he was hired, as if it were some part of the fucking interview process. Well he hadn't and it wasn't. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't always put his dick first. He'd been fucking cautious, remembering the ordeal with that son-of-a-bitch at Ryder. Hell, he'd waited months before even making a move, taking time to get to know Trevor just as friends. And when he had, he'd made damn sure that they were both on the same page before anyone dropped their pants.
"So you're close?" Justin asks, hesitant.
"Yeah, I guess. We get along alright, and he's a good time."
"Where did you meet?"
Brian takes a second to shoot Justin a warning look. He doesn't feel like rehashing his whole history with Trevor with Justin. It's not like he's asking fucking questions about that James guy. He doesn't give a shit about the sordid details of their happy little hetero home life or whatever the fuck it was, so why can't Justin extend the favor?
Because that's not Justin, and Brian knows it. Brian softens a little the moment Justin looks away resigned that he's never going to get any answers. Maybe this is the difference between the person Brian was when he met Justin and the person he is now-Brian feels compelled to compromise his wants to make someone else happy. The first person who ever taught him that was Gus, unconditionally and unequivocally. And the second, he guesses, must have been Justin, though there are still some compromises that he's unwilling to make.
"Chicago in '04 while you were off in LA making Rage. I was there on business with the Brown account and had to schmooze Leo and the missus a bit. We went to a gallery showing at SAIC after dinner since Leo's wife is into the arts, and Trevor's senior project was one of the works being featured."
"SAIC? He went to SAIC? Brian, that's one of the best art schools in the whole country."
"Hence why he's working as my co-director of art at Kinnetik-Pittsburgh."
"So…did you sleep with him in Chicago?"
Brian's grateful for a particularly winding road, his mind too preoccupied with not getting them killed on these snowy roads to figure out how to answer that question. There's no easy way to do it. Yeah, they fucked, but it was never about Trevor. It was the opposite. Back then, when he'd taken Trevor to his hotel room later that night, the sex was about Justin.
He'd spent weeks after Justin's flight to LA fucking every available ass that wouldn't remind him of his not-partner, of what he'd just lost. It hadn't numbed the pain any. So when he ran into some blond art student with glasses in Chicago, Brian figured maybe he was going about the healing process the wrong way. Instead of avoiding the Justin look-alikes, maybe he needed to fuck one. Fuck Justin out of his system. Yeah, maybe it hadn't been his best laid plan, but Brian remembered how it felt to be with that hustler after Justin left him. It'd helped, just for a little while. And honestly, a little while had been all that Brian wanted just then.
It had helped, but beyond that Brian doesn't remember many details. Only that Trevor had a nice ass, and more importantly, he'd followed all of Justin's rules.
The only reason Trevor's working for him now is that they'd run into each other again in Buffalo at another show run by Lindsay's friend. It wasn't about sex then; they hadn't even fucked. Brian was still mourning Justin. And for once, blond boy ass didn't seem like the prescription to fix his problems.
Though he had no fucking clue at the time, something had happened to Trevor by that point that had made him far different from the Justin look-alike, act-alike he'd been in Chicago. They'd just exchanged business cards, Brian looking for another art department director to help Marcus with the sudden influx of accounts and Trevor looking for a change of scenery and occupation.
But all of that isn't easy to fucking explain to Justin. He's obviously already sore about Trevor, and Brian figures he'll have a queen out if he has to hear something like that. He won't see it as two consenting adults fucking around and hanging out. Despite what Justin may want to believe, Brian's always felt like, in some cases, Sunshine has a hard time separating love and sex. No matter what he says, Brian has a feeling that Justin will take it the wrong way.
"Brian?" Justin prompts.
"Later."
"Why later?"
"Because," Brian pauses intentionally as he rounds the bend of the road, "we're here. Welcome back to the country manor of your dreams, Sunshine."
~*~*~*~
The directions say something about a Spring C and Rod A, but Brian has no idea what the fuck he's doing beyond that. Hell, he can't even find this goddamn Spring C. Maybe because there are fifty mother fucking springs of all shapes and sizes that's somehow supposed to go on this crib, and so far none of them are the notorious C. Who the hell does this company think is putting together this fucking thing? A mechanical engineer? Mother fucking piece of shit!
In a beautifully displayed tantrum, Brian tosses Spring Whatever-The-Fuck against the wall, where it bounces off to the middle of nowhere. He should have never volunteered himself for this. Of course, it's not like he had a hell of a lot of options.
Having bought the kid a whole bedroom suit a few days before Christmas really limited the availability of appointments to have someone come set the whole thing up. And Justin refuses to let her go another couple nights in bed with them. Not that Brian wants her there, but it sure as hell is more preferable to this goddamn mess. So it'd all come down to calling off the plans at the house or putting the shit together himself, and Brian had been insane enough to take the latter option.
Christ, where's a dyke when you need her?
Leaning towards the closet, Brian grabs his half-filled tumbler of Beam-the only thing keeping him sane, he thinks. He gulps, feeling the burn slide down his throat. At this point, it's very much welcome. Hazel eyes survey the room-the half put together crib, the assembled changing table, Justin's grandmother's antique rocking chair they 'd dragged in from one of the other rooms. There's at least another two or three hours of work here, but that's all dependant on whether or not he can find fucking Spring C. Snapping up the directions again and sipping his drink, Brian examines the drawing of the piece again.
"It's looking good."
He looks up, sees Justin standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Brian immediately notices that he's changed into something that looks a little more comfortable-a worn tee with a few paint splatters and those goddamn grey pajama bottoms again. As if he's been conditioned, Brian feels his cock go hard in his snug jeans.
"It's not the only thing," Brian says, leering.
"Like what you see, Mr. Kinney?"
Sunshine strips himself slowly of his shirt, Brian's eyes feasting on the whole show. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he gets the sense that he's being ambushed here, but at the moment he can't be bothered to care. Not with the way Justin's pants are slung low on his hips, golden-blond trail slipping from his belly button and disappearing into grey. The urge to follow it down, with tongue and lips, to take Justin into his mouth has him ready to meet Justin across the room. But, Sunshine's already coming towards him, thumbs jammed into the waistband and sliding them off.
Brian reaches out, his hand moving across the warm skin of Sunshine's hip to his lower back. Just as he leans in to kiss along Justin's thighs towards his dick, Justin dips down and settles onto his lap, capturing his mouth before Brian has a chance to breathe.
His hand shifts, fingers dipping between Justin's cheeks to tease him. Justin's hips buck up, Brian swallowing a long, heady groan that drives straight to his dick. He loves Sunshine like this, loud and appreciative, even if it's coming out of fucking left field.
Lips nearly bruised from rough attention, Brian breaks off their kiss. He licks them, feels the warm swell that Justin's drawn from him. Sunshine wiggles against his fingers, pressing back hard. He pushes one finger inside, feels the tell-tale jerk, though subtle, from Justin's hips that means he's a little uncomfortable. But when Brian tries to withdraw, Justin stops him with a firm hand on his forearm.
"I want to ride you," Justin whispers, voice thick at Brian's ear.
"Where's the baby?"
"Sleeping in her playpen in our room." Justin nuzzles his neck. "Don't worry."
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks.
Studying Justin's eyes as he pulls Justin back, he can't read much. He looks fine. More than fine, even. And there's nothing weird about Justin wanting to get laid except for the fact that he's not usually so driven. At least, not quite like this. They've long since moved past the impersonal, seize-the-moment stage of fucking, even lately when they both know this is only temporary. They just don't fuck like this anymore. Brian wants the playfulness, the flirting. He wants his Sunshine to be chatty to the point where he has to shove a cock in his mouth to get him to shut up. This isn't that Justin, and Brian's not sure why. He was perfectly fine when they were having lunch downstairs just an hour ago.
"I'm fine. Just lie back, okay?"
Brian does so, maybe a little hesitantly. He's not about to say no to Justin riding his cock. And, hell, the day he does someone might as well shoot him because he's likely lost his mind at that point. Justin's hands shove at his shirt, pushing it midway up his stomach before stopping to turn their attention to his jeans. It strikes him as strange since Justin has always liked the two of them to be completely naked whenever possible while they fuck. Before Brian can call him out on it, though, Justin shoves one hand down his pants and his tongue down his throat. The urge to discuss what the hell is going on suddenly becomes significantly less important.
He winds his fingers through Justin's hair, biting at Justin's lips. Justin unzips him, draws him out of his jeans, his hand pumping Brian's already dripping cock. There's something digging into Brian's back, but as he tries to remove whatever the hell it is, Justin pins his wrists to the floor. Shutting his eyes, Brian feels Justin's lips on his neck, bucks up against him for any sort of friction. And more than anything, he tries to keep his mind steady on what they're doing and not why they're doing it.
"I love you," Justin says, kissing him gently on the lips as he releases Brian's hands.
"I know, Justin."
"Do you love me too?"
"Stop asking stupid questions you already know the answers to."
"I just want to hear you say it."
Brian groans, put out. "Of course I fucking love you, alright?"
"Did you ever stop?"
Leaning up, he puts his hand on the back of Justin's neck and forces Justin to look at him. He's not seen this look in Justin's eyes for a hell of a long time. It makes his stomach clench up, an overwhelming sense of guilt and uneasiness creeping up on him. Brian doesn't know how to make this better. Or maybe he does, but going there is far more likely to hurt Justin than keeping his mouth shut would.
"No, not really."
"Brian, I-"
"Shh."
He hushes Justin with a finger to his lips, maybe more for his sake than for Justin's. No one can have the sort of conversation that they probably need to fucking have when both parties have very hard dicks. Right now, they need to get off. And maybe later…who the hell knows.
Justin leans back, Brian's cock rubbing against his ass. The smooth, warm flesh has Brian aching, his cock leaking on Justin's cheeks. They don't do this sort of thing; there's a reason for it. Justin isn't just some trick, and time has taught them both that one thing always leads to another. Just what the fuck is Justin getting at?
"I wish you could fuck me bareback."
Brian's taken back to a conversation they had years ago. His naïve little twink with delusions of what actions constitute true love. He can almost see that kid in Justin now-the kid that loved Brian so much that it tore him up inside. It scares the fuck out of Brian because they'd long since moved past this romanticized bullshit. And if Justin's bringing it up again, it can't be good.
"Stop being a stupid, little twat," Brian warns, voice low. "Put the condom on me."
"I'm serious. It'd be the one thing that was ours and no one else's."
"Keep being a hopeless romantic and see where that gets you. Or better yet, save yourself the trip and ask Ben."
"Stop it," Justin says, indignant. "I'm not propositioning you. I'm not…I'm just…Look, I understand the risks and know it's not worth it." He pauses, looking at little lost, a little pained. "All I'm saying is that if I could do that, I'd want it to be with you. I wouldn't want to give it to anyone else, Brian."
Silence reigns, Justin staring at him as if waiting for him to say anything. But Brian won't, and so Justin digs into his pants and pulls out a condom and some lube. He doesn't hesitate to put it on Brian, the sensation causing Brian to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning. When Justin presses down on him moments later, sheathing himself, Brian doesn't even try to stop this time.
Justin's a fucking masterpiece like this, riding his cock. His blond head thrown back, strong thighs straining under Brian's hands. It doesn't take long before Brian notices that Justin isn't looking at him-punishment maybe for not telling Justin what he wanted to hear.
When Brian reaches out to touch Justin's jaw, Sunshine evades him and does something out of this fucking world with his hips that has Brian unable to remember his own name, let alone how badly he wants Justin to look at him. He grips Justin's thighs hard, riding out the sudden fast pace and brutal thrusts. He thinks Justin's trying to split himself in two-death by fuck, the only way to go as far as Brian is concerned-but as he tries to tell Justin to slow it down, he feels his balls tightening up and belly pool with warmth.
He and Justin haven't fucked like this in ages, maybe not since The Fiddler. Only then, Justin had been on the receiving end of Brian's bitterness, not the other way around. And Justin, genius that he is, knows that letting him cum is a worse fate than stopping mid-fuck.
Because when he does cum-and Justin draws it out of him beautifully-he feels desolate and miserable in place of his usual blissful contentment. How the fuck can he feel good when he knows that Justin is a million miles away from him-for once in spirit rather than in body? Christ, he's become such a muncher.
Justin follows him, spilling onto his stomach as he feels the last of his orgasm flooding the condom between them. It kills Brian that Justin is quiet, that Justin refuses to look at him as he cums. Sunshine fucking loves cumming when they're staring into each other's eyes, pathetic little twat that he is. Brian has spent years making fun of Justin for it, but now he's pretty fucking certain that he'd willingly stare at Justin all night, make him cum over and over, if Justin would just glance at him now.
Instead, Justin lifts off of him quickly to the point where they're both hurting from it and settles onto the floor with his back to Brian. Brian reaches out to him, his fingers slipping against Justin's spine. His skin is hot, sweaty, and Brian wants nothing more than to feel it against him.
Maybe years ago he would have retaliated against this sort of bitchy behavior, but back then he retaliated against a lot of things-age, love, fatherhood, his parents, heteronormative ideals. Sometimes he still struggles with those same things; however, not as frequently now or as strongly. Maybe because he'd somehow learned between now and then that the things he feared weren't really as painful as he'd imagined them.
"Sunshine."
"I should shower. I'm sweaty."
"I-"
"Would you mind listening for Elise?"
Brian lets his hand fall from Justin's back and considers just what the hell crawled up Justin's ass. As Justin turns to look at him over his shoulder, it's pretty obvious to Brian that something has. The damage from whatever the hell he's done is written all over Justin's face, is set deep in blue eyes. Brian wishes he knew what to say to fix it, but he's really not sure what caused it in the first place.
"Sure."
"Thanks."
He watches as Justin stands-too quickly judging from the way he flinches, his ass no doubt sore. Brian doesn't bother trying to stop him as he walks out of the room. It's pretty obvious that Justin needs his space and that any attempt at damage control right now would only result in an argument.
Sighing, Brian wonders if it would have been easier to tell Justin what he wants to hear. But that's not fucking love. That's the sort of bullshit his parents pulled on one another day in and day out for years. He's not going to do that to himself or to Justin. But, just because he doesn't want to say that Justin's the only guy he'd ever want to fuck bareback doesn't necessarily mean that it's not true. If he's honest with himself, Justin's really the only person he could imagine doing that with. Not that he ever would.
Or maybe this has nothing to do with that at all. Maybe Justin's pissed because he didn't tell him about Trevor in Chicago like Justin had asked. At the time Brian had figured he'd be saving his balls if he didn't say a word, but judging from what just happened, he may have been sorely mistaken.
Fuck.
He reaches for the nearest object-a screwdriver-and tosses it against the far wall, frustrated. How in the hell did their getaway to the house turn so goddamn miserable? And maybe more importantly, how in the fuck is he going to fix this?
Endnote: Well, that's that. I thank you for reading and hope that the Brian/Trevor parts didn't make you openly weep with loathing for me, lol. I think those of you who do dislike this subplot of sorts will be happy to know that Trevor won't be around for awhile now, though the ramifications of Brian and Trevor's sexual history will be something that Brian and Justin have to work through over the next couple chapters. And I think that what they start working through will ultimately put them at a better place. There is a method to my madness, promise.
Speaking of the next couple chapters, can I tell you all that there's a scene in chapter ten that I've been dying to write since the beginning of this fic? I think it's a pretty promising chapter in some regards, and we'll have some of growth, so stay tuned!
In case you missed it, there's a pre-series one-shot centered on Brian and Trevor here. And in addition to that, I've started a QAF writing tumblr here, which is a great place to go if you're checking for my fic progress/have questions/want to pester me. Anon is enabled in my Ask Box, so feel free to drop me a line even if you don't have a tumblr.
Previous Chapters >>> Continue
Author: museme87
Pairing(s): Brian/Justin, Ben/Michael, Mel/Lindsay, Ted/Blake, Deb/Carl
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Over the course of his and Justin's seven year non-relationship, Brian had never been one to say no to a third party addition. But when the addition is far more permanent and redefines playroom for the worst, Brian thinks twice about rekindling their old flame. [Post 5.13]
Chapter: 9
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 8,596
Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual situations, brief Brian/Other and discussion of past Brian/Other
Author's Note: Apologies for the delay on this chapter and a big thanks to everyone for their patience. This chapter is a very transitional one, which made it a little tedious and difficult to write. Not to mention that I tried to perfect it because of the Brian/Trevor elements in this one. I hope I've made it as palatable as possible. More on this in the endnotes though! A thanks is always in order to L for her great beta work.
Frustrated, Brian tosses a stack of files onto his desk and runs a hand through his hair. He could have fucking sworn that he'd brought a notebook full of notes and ideas for the new Heinz campaign home on Friday. But his once-clean desk now decimated, Brian wonders if maybe he thought to bring it home and walked off without it. Jesus fucking Christ. The last thing he wants to do is stop by the office before they hit the store for the kid.
Stepping away from that goddamn mess for a minute, Brian pads his way over to the couch and his small, open suitcase. He rummages around, lifting a couple shirts and a pair of jeans and wondering what the hell he may have forgotten. By the time they get to the house, they'll be too far away from civilization to do a quick run to the store, the nearest Big Q being twenty minutes from their place. Brian fucking hates the Big Q, and the prospect of braving it at this time of year for some fucking toothpaste or deodorant or whatever-the-fuck is headache inducing.
Just as he thinks he may have remembered where that missing notebook might be stashed, a knock echoes through the Loft. Brian crosses the room quickly to answer it, cursing under his breath because the kid is napping, and he will kill someone if she wakes up, especially while Justin's in the shower.
Sliding open the door, he comes face-to-face with someone he sure as hell wasn't expecting to see at almost ten AM, especially since said someone's ass should be in the fucking office. Brian pokes his tongue into his cheek, waiting expectantly. Trevor just rolls his eyes and bats him out of the doorway with his hand, letting himself in.
"I should fire your ass."
"Yeah, you probably should."
Trevor shoves a coffee into his hand before turning towards the kitchen. Brian's almost thankful that Trevor decided to skip out on their occasional greeting-one that includes plenty of tongue or hands, depending on the day. He's not in the mood for it right now. Fuck, he's not in the mood for much at all.
"I brought you one of those chocolate cake donuts with the glaze from Liberty Bakery," Trevor explains, holding up the small paper bag. "And don't give me that bullshit line about not liking them, because you sneak one every time Marcus brings in donuts for the department. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Shooting Brian a warning look that promptly stops any form of denial on Brian's part, Trevor pulls out a bagel for himself from a second bag and sets it on the counter. Brian watches as he moves towards the cabinet, starts searching for the peanut butter that he keeps here for his fucking blueberry bagels. Trevor goes about his business like he owns the place, and while Brian rarely minds-unless he's in one of those moods-today he finds it intolerable.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I thought we could talk over breakfast."
"About?" Brian asks, looking at him as if he suggested having a four-way with a pair of dykes.
Trevor shrugs. "For starters, I thought we might discuss how we're about to lose the Alouette Fragrance account."
"What?"
"Get in my messenger bag. First manila folder," he says, gesturing towards the bag he'd put on the barstool as he spreads peanut butter onto his untoasted bagel. "It was faxed half an hour ago by your favorite prospective client."
"Faxed?"
"She's, what, eighty years old or something? I'm surprised she didn't send it via the Pony Express," he says, licking the excess peanut butter off the butter knife.
Flipping open the folder, Brian scans the first page of the letter from Susanna Blackwell's office. He doesn't have to read far before he figures out that the whole thing is a four-or-five page list of demands about her campaign design. Feeling a headache already coming on, he pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes.
"Her people hate the mock-ups that you and Marcus just did, don't they?" Brian asks, fearing the inevitable response.
"They like the shade of blue we used, if it's any consolation."
It really fucking isn't. Before yesterday, if Trevor had come to him with this goddamn letter, he would have personally called Blackwell's office and told her exactly what an insufferable bitch she is and that Kinnetik would never deal with the likes of her. Now though-with New York on his mind-Brian needs her signature on the dotted line more than ever. So much more is riding on this than the bragging rights of snagging Alouette Fragrances from the big fish in advertising.
Maybe because of that, his already stressed-out mood suddenly plummets to irritable. He doesn't have time for bullshit like this. He can't be in two goddamn places at once, but Brian hates the idea of having to choose one over the other. Justin and the kid are too damn important to abandon, but so is this account. Brian knows what Blackwell wants; it's just a matter of giving it to her.
"We're going to have to discuss the artwork for the mock-ups. We need something more traditional."
"Then you better talk to Marcus."
"You're the one who spent six years in art school with two degrees to prove it."
"I'm not painting for you, Brian," Trevor says, bristling. "You know I don't do that anymore."
Brian scoffs. "Then what good are you? Why the hell are you still on my payroll?"
"You know, I may take your cock up my ass, but I'm not your bitch."
There's a challenge in Trevor's eyes that immediately makes Brian back down. Trevor isn't the type to fight like this. It's only on a rare occasion that he'll completely engage the heat of the moment, like now, instead usually settling for amused annoyance. There are only a few things that can ever set him off like this, and Brian knows-from a past experience that turned out horribly-that Trevor's art is one of those things.
He feels bad. He's still fucking pissed, sure, but there's a part of him that wishes he hadn't gone at Trevor like that. When he hired him, Brian knew that Trevor wasn't interested in art beyond photography and typography anymore. At the time he hadn't known why, but that's not an excuse anymore. And, he feels like a shit for forcing the issue.
"I shouldn't have said that," Brian concedes.
"No shit."
"Trevor…"
Trevor opens up the jar of peanut butter again and starts spreading more of it on his bagel, probably enough to choke a goddamn horse. Tentatively, Brian steps toward him but stops at arm's length.
"If that's how you really feel, I'd rather you just tell me."
Brian sighs. "I'm stressed out of my fucking mind right now."
Trevor raises an eyebrow, as if to ask your point?. Brian nods slightly, realizes that it's going to take more than that.
"Given that you're directing so many of Kinnetik's accounts, it'd be really fucking inconvenient if you weren't around."
The way the tension dissipates from Trevor's shoulders tells Brian that Trevor understood him loud and clear. Still, he doesn't bother acknowledging Brian beyond that. So at a final attempt at a peace-offering, Brian closes the distance between them. With his fingers, he guides Trevor's lips to his and kisses him lightly. It's soft, quick, and before it becomes anything else, Trevor pulls back.
"Nice try."
"Was it?"
"An A for effort." He frowns. "A C+ for technique. But, while most lovers might hold a grudge about being told what a miserable, worthless sack of shit they are, you'll be happy to know that you can bribe yourself back to my good graces with a blowjob. Or ten."
Brian offers him a resigned smile. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Because we're both sex addicts?"
He smacks Trevor's ass-the kid has an annoying tendency to answer his rhetorical questions all the time-and turns back to the folder with Blackwell's fax. Skimming it, Brian considers just what the hell he can do with to fix this in the time he has. Blackwell's patience is wearing thin, and it won't be long before she tries to find another agency to meet her needs. Just as he's about to make a note or two, he feels Trevor touch his hip lightly.
"Brian?"
Turning to look at him, Brian's a little afraid of what he sees. The unnatural steadiness of Trevor's voice ought to have tipped him off, but his expression confirms it. Something's off; Brian's never seen Trevor this worried before, not even when he had reason to be.
"What's wrong?"
He considers what might be the problem, why Trevor would have shown up this morning without even calling. It's not too weird-he does have a key and can come and go as he pleases-but it's still not something that's setting right with Brian. Maybe something had happened at the office this morning? Since he didn't show up-
He didn't show up. Fuck.
"You're not here because of the Blackwell account," Brian says.
"No, not really. Though we do need to address that."
"Cynthia told you I was going out of town today."
"Yeah, she did. First thing this morning."
It's all suddenly coming together. If Cynthia had mentioned that he wasn't going to be in the office for a few days, she might have implied that it had something to do with Justin. While he hadn't told her outright why he was skipping town, it didn't take a genius to figure it out, especially when someone knew of his history with Justin. And so Trevor figured it out and…what?
"Are you pissed about Justin?"
"What?"
"Did you come over to pull the betrayed housewife routine?"
"What the fuck, Brian? What does any of this have to do with Justin?" He pauses, exasperated. "I may have come over on slightly false pretenses, but this isn't about him. You don't honestly believe that I don't know you two have been fucking for the past week, do you?"
One thing that Brian's always appreciated about Trevor is that he isn't a liar. He's called Trevor out over some suspicions in the past, and Trevor's always been honest with him. If he says this isn't about Justin, then it's not about Justin. Brian supposes that ought to make him feel better, but it doesn't.
"I know what he means to you," Trevor adds. "I know you that you love him, and I've never been pissed about that. Why would I start now?"
Brian shrugs. "So what is this about?"
"It's December."
"Is that supposed to mean something?"
The moment that Trevor's eyes drop, Brian feels like he's missed something very big. His frustration ebbs, replaced by a hell of a lot of confusion.
"You had your annual follow-up with your oncologist last week, like you do every year. And before you ream Ted a new asshole for telling me, he didn't. I found out by accident last summer. I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to know."
He feels winded, like someone just took a cheap shot to his gut. There were things that Trevor was never supposed to find out about because they just didn't have that sort of relationship. They both have their secrets, and that's how it should have fucking stayed. This takes things to a whole different, uncomfortable level, and Brian wants nothing more than for him to get the fuck out because he cannot deal with everything all at once like this-Justin, the urchin, Gus, and now this bullshit?
"Brian-"
"We're not discussing this."
"Yes, we are. I'm not asking for much, but at least tell me that you're not running off like you did the last time, telling everyone that you went to Madrid or something while you had a ball removed."
"Fuck off."
"This is serious."
"Trevor, I'm not fucking playing around here. If you're going to press the issue, get the hell out."
He stares Brian down for a moment, resolved. And then it's gone in a flash, as quickly as Trevor throws his bagel into the trash and gathers up his messenger bag. Brian's not exactly happy to see Trevor go, knowing that when he cools down, when things settle with Justin and the kid, that he's going to have to somehow apologize for this. But for now, it's one less thing he has to stress over.
When Trevor stops just short of the door, he turns to face Brian. There's a second when everything is quiet, when Trevor refuses to meet his eyes, but Brian can almost see the words playing out in Trevor's head. Brian braces himself for an argument, but the steady expression on Trevor's face makes him wonder if maybe he should have prepared himself for something very different.
"You don't have to tell me," he concedes. "I'll leave here and never see you again if that's what you want. But for Christ's sake, please let someone know what's going on, Brian. Michael or Lindsay or Justin. If something happens, someone needs to have their head on straight so that they can be there for Gus."
Somehow it still amazes Brian how someone like Trevor can have the capacity to care about a kid he barely knows. Well, no, that's not exactly true; he does know Gus, but not in the way that Justin does. He hasn't been around since Gus was a baby, hasn't seen him grow up like that. But for all that he hasn't been around, Trevor is pretty crazy about Gus, always taking the opportunity to hang out with him when he's in town, to teach him things. Brian's pretty sure that Trevor liked Gus way before Trevor liked him. And maybe that's what gets to Brian the most; he can be a complete shit to Trevor, and Trevor still thinks about Gus' best interest.
Slipping his hands over his face, Brian groans in frustration. From between his fingers, he spots Trevor turning to leave and quickly grabs the arm of his coat. He stops, looks at Brian. Brian's not exactly sure why he's preventing Trevor from leaving, especially since having him here isn't going to make anything less complicated. But, he feels like he owes him, maybe, despite the fact that Trevor has the whole fucking scenario wrong.
"Thanks," Brian says.
"For?" Trevor asks, without missing a beat.
Maybe after all these years of suffering through Brian's mood swings, Trevor has finally just gotten used to them. He doesn't seem too upset or frustrated, just passively accepting. Brian's never once considered Trevor a push over, but he does appreciate the fact that there are just some things that Trevor doesn't question even when he has every right to.
"For giving a shit about my son."
"I care about him. Not just because he's yours but because he's…him."
Brian nods, his brow knit. "I guess I also want you to know that you don't have to worry about him. I'm fine. Well, not fucking fine, but I'm still cancer free."
"You're not just saying that, are you?"
"No."
"Christ, Brian."
Trevor slowly puts his arms around Brian, squeezes him tightly. Brian hugs him back, more for Trevor's sake than his own. He hadn't meant to scare him. How the hell was he supposed to know that Trevor would jump to that conclusion?
"How about we celebrate before you skip town?"
Before Brian can ask what he has in mind, Trevor leans up, his lips grazing Brian's, his fingers tangled in brown hair. Brian kisses him back, mouths bruising. He feels Trevor's hips push into his, feels the gentle nudge of Trevor's hardening dick. Having been habit for two years now, it doesn't occur to Brian to pull away immediately. But as soon as he sees this is heading someplace it can't, he eases off.
"We can't," Brian says, clearing his throat.
"Why?" Trevor asks, lips tracing a path on his jaw. "Is it your time of the month?"
"You little shit."
Just for that, Brian backs Trevor against the counter, pinning him there. He starts kissing him again, telling himself that he's going to keep it brief. He'd be lying if he said that his cock didn't have something to do with his questionable judgment. But, it's not as if this kissing means anything. It's not anything like he has with Justin, and it never will be. That's part of the reason why Brian lets himself do it.
"Brian, I-"
Brian breaks immediately from Trevor with a fuck-Trevor echoing his surprise with a shit-and puts a good two feet between them. He rubs the back of his neck, praying to God that Justin hadn't caught the end of their kiss, that he'd still been in the bedroom and just calling out to him. Unlikely, but he'll allow himself that small hope.
Justin stops at the top of the steps, stunned. "Sorry, I didn't realize you had company."
Glancing between Trevor-cheeks red-and Justin-clad in a towel-Brian wonders why he never considered what might happen if Justin and Trevor met. It seemed so unlikely at any point in time that it hadn't been an issue. Justin was in New York, and Trevor was in Pittsburgh. The longer Justin stayed in the big city, the less he came home. And when he had, Brian had either avoided him or made it clear to Trevor that all plans were off for a few days.
He thinks he probably ought to introduce them, except he has no fucking clue what the hell he would say. Trevor, meet the guy who I'll always consider my partner. Justin, this is Trevor who has been my steady fuck buddy for the past two years. Yeah, that'd go over about as well as a fucking bomb.
"Hi, I'm Trevor Weiss," Trevor says, taking it upon himself to do what Brian can't, as he walks over to Justin and extends his hand. "I work in the art department at Kinnetik with Brian. You must be Justin."
"Um, yeah, hi."
Justin stares at him a second longer, barely moving and still so surprised. Brian feels like he's watching a train wreck, just waiting for the big collision and multiple fatalities. Christ, he never wanted it to come to this. They should have never met. This must be what every breeder schmuck feels like when he runs into his wife while he's out with his mistress. Though Brian has no fucking clue who would be the wife and who would be the mistress in this scenario.
While it may take a few seconds, Justin does break, his country club manners finally kicking in. His expression turns suddenly apologetic as he takes Trevor's hand and shakes it.
"Shit, sorry. I'm Justin Taylor. Brian and I…um…"
"I know," Trevor says, smiling. "You hang around Brian enough and you start to learn all about his history with you. It's nice to finally meet you."
Chancing a look at Trevor, Brian thinks that he might have actually been sincere about that. His green eyes are soft, kind, just like they are when he interacts with Gus. Brian's known that Trevor's never felt threatened by Justin or their past. Trevor's never wanted with him what he and Justin once had. Maybe it should put him at ease, but Brian's not sure he can be. Not with the way Justin's flexing his bad hand.
"It's nice to meet you too."
"I caught one of your art shows in 2007 before I moved to Pittsburgh. Your work is remarkable, Mr. Taylor."
"Thank you. And call me Justin, please. It seems silly for you to call me Mr. Taylor while I'm standing here in a towel," Justin says, laughing a little nervously.
Trevor shrugs. "It's more than most guys wear around here."
"I can believe that." There's a heavy pause and then, "So, um, you're an artist as well?"
Barely able to resist rolling his eyes, Brian wonders if this goddamn conversation could get any more polite or awkward. He wants nothing more than to fucking end it, except he's not sure he has the balls to get between these two. This is exactly why he used to have that no repeat rule.
"I used to do a lot of traditional work, but not anymore. Mainly, I concentrate in digital, typographical art now."
Unable to bear sharing time anymore-so what if he ends up sorely regretting this-Brian clears his throat and throws the two a look, as if to ask are you done?. They both seem a little relieved, Justin more so than Trevor. If there's one thing painfully obvious to Brian, it's that Trevor's faired the best of the three of them during this whole happy conversation.
"I should probably get dressed," Justin says, pointing towards the bathroom. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too, Justin."
Brian watches as Justin disappears into the bedroom, the bathroom door slipping shut just a few moments later. When all is clear, Trevor rounds on him, shooting him a look that could kill.
"What the fuck was that?" Trevor whispers harshly.
"That was Justin," Brian answers, voice flat.
"No shit."
Trevor shakes his head, seething. Then, he takes a collected breath and sighs. Brian can almost see him loosen up, but he still thinks he might have to face his fuck buddy's wrath. And Trevor fucking redefines passive-aggressive.
"Why didn't you tell me Justin was here?" Trevor asks, coming closer to him and placing a hand on Brian's arm.
"When would I have had the time?"
Trevor deflates, sitting on one of the bar stools and looking absolutely miserable. Not miserable as in he's not getting his way, but miserable as in he's just done something he didn't want to do. Brian knows the feeling intimately.
"That's why we can't fuck before you leave."
"Yeah."
"That's why you're leaving."
"Yeah, his kid's sick, so I thought we'd go to the house in West Virginia. I want to spend some time with him."
"Of course you do," Trevor says, genuinely understanding.
Uneasily, Brian sits on the barstool next to Trevor's. He feels like shit for a multitude of reasons, one of them being that they have to have this conversation in the first place.
"I didn't want you to meet him like that."
He looks over at Brian, amused. "Who the hell are you kidding? You didn't want us to meet at all."
"True."
Trevor stands, Brian's eyes following him. He watches as Trevor grabs his bag, adjusting it on his shoulder. Then, he dips down to kiss Brian, this time so much more chaste than the last. It feels a little resigned to Brian, as if Trevor's backing out of whatever the fuck they have. Brian wishes he wouldn't, not completely, because there's no telling what the hell is going to happen between him and Justin.
"Enjoy him, okay?" Trevor says, breaking from him. "Not everyone gets second chances like this. Trust me."
"Where are you going?"
"The office before you fire my ass." Trevor smiles. "I'll probably be there late tonight trying to fix this fucking mess. Email me with any instructions you have."
"I will," Brian says, following Trevor towards the door.
Trevor ducks out then, Brian watching as he hits the button for the elevator and descends. He doesn't really know how he ended up bedding a guy so understanding. He could have seen this whole thing play out a hundred different, less desirable ways that somehow included bitchy remarks, shouting, and maybe even a fight. For all that he might get shit from people like Michael, Trevor is a good guy.
Sighing, Brian turns back and shuts the door, only to find Justin standing on the stairs to the bedroom, groggy urchin in his arms. There's something off about him, the way he's just sort of standing there. Brian wonders if maybe Justin caught the kiss. Well, even if Justin did bear witness to it, Brian doesn't much feel like discussing. Not now, at least. Not after barely surviving the past twenty minutes.
"Are you ready to hit the store, Sunshine?" Brian asks, effectively cutting off all questions at the pass.
"Sure, just let me change Elise."
~*~*~*~
"I forgot how beautiful West Virginia is in the winter."
Brian sneaks a glance at Justin in the passenger's seat, watching him take in the trees and ground covered with falling snow. For his part, Brian snorts and shakes his head. Sunshine would see the beauty in it all; he's just that sort of person. The fact that Justin's still that type of person, despite everything he's suffered, still impresses the fuck out of him.
"If by beautiful you mean shitty roads barely capable of human transportation littered with rednecks who probably got their license from the Big Q. Then yeah, I'd say it's pretty goddamn picturesque."
Justin turns to him, eyes bright but only half-amused. "Do you have to ruin my moment?"
"Just stating the facts. We were nearly killed two seconds after crossing the state line."
"The guy had the right-of-way, Brian. You were the one-"
"We're not talking about it."
"Right, of course not."
Justin goes back to his admiring in silence, and Brian briefly looks back at the urchin, who is slobbering and snotting all over her hedgehog. Making a mental note to never touch that fucking thing, not even if his life depends on it, Brian turns his attention back to the road.
As the Eagles' "Please Come Home for Christmas" comes on the radio-which has got to be one of the most depressing Christmas songs in existence-Brian feels Justin lacing their fingers together. He doesn't bother turning from the window to acknowledge Brian in any other way. It's a quiet gesture, but to Brian it somehow speaks volumes. Part of him misses being with Justin like this.
"I tried to draw the house last year just before Christmas," Justin says easily, his thumb stroking the side of Brian's hand, and then laughs. "It didn't work."
"You had a kid that was a couple days overdue. I don't think anyone could blame you for not being at the height of productivity."
"Not a couple days. A week. I think I was smoking a pack a day by Christmas."
As if prompted by the conversation, Justin turns back to look at the urchin. Briefly, he lets go of Brian's hand, using it to adjust her blanket. The Jeep is pretty warm, but Justin's been a drama princess about her getting chilled. Brian wonders if the kid will ever realize just how loved and wanted she is, or if she'll take Justin for granted. Despite momentary tantrums, she has a sweet disposition. Justin's done beautifully with her so far.
"I want to sketch the house. It's been so long that I think I've forgotten what it feels like to be there. I used to be able to draw it in my sleep."
"It's still the same old house."
"You haven't made any changes?"
"No, only what we discussed years ago. Half of it is unfinished. I don't go there much, just once or twice a year. Besides, it's not my place to make decisions."
"It's your house, Brian," Justin says lightly, fingers lacing together with Brian's again.
"It's more than that. It was the country manor of your dreams, not mine. If it were left to me, we would have moved into a nicer loft when we got engaged. You know I have an allergy to rolling hills and rural charm."
"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or call you a jackass," Justin says with a laugh.
"Anyway, it is what it is, and you can sketch and paint to your heart's desire as long as I don't have to change any diapers while you're doing it."
Brian watches as Justin rolls his eyes, Justin's hand still firm in his. Brian's grateful that he could never continue with construction and redecoration on the house; it would have made getting all the urchin's newly purchased shit into a room all the more difficult. There's one room in particular near the master suite that he and Justin had never come to an agreement on-Justin wanting to use it as a spare bedroom and Brian wanting to furnish it as a playroom. Now it looks like it might just end up as a playroom after all, but Brian doesn't figure it will be nearly as fun for him.
"Do you go there by yourself?"
"No, Gus likes it there, so I take him when he comes to visit in the summer and over spring break."
"So just you and Gus then? I pity the cleaning lady you hire to clean up after you two."
"Sonny boy is turning into a real neat freak, so the last couple times the cleaning lady just had to clean my mess. You'd think he'd cherish the time away from his WASP and Jewish mothers. I hear they have zero tolerance for unmade beds and messy rooms."
"I can't wait to see him again, Brian. It sounds like he's grown into an incredible boy."
"Well, it's not as if he had much chance of being anything but. He is half Kinney, after all."
Amused, Justin leans over to steal a quick kiss. Brian pulls him back for another, but that's cut short by the kid's cries. There's a brief queen out in the back, a dropped sippy cut apparently warranting tears. But Sunshine fixes it soon enough, thank the fucking Lord.
As soon as Justin turns around, he doesn't bother to return his hand to Brian's. Brian feels the absence but doesn't think anything of it. At least, not until Justin sighs this fucking sigh that Brian knows to mean something is on his mind.
"So you never brought any tricks to the house for a weekend away or anything?"
A moment passes where Brian considers slamming on the breaks and asking Justin just what the fuck he's on. He's had less than shining moments in their history together, and Brian is the first person to admit that he can do really fucked up shit, but Christ. He'd never bring someone like that to their house.
"No, Sunshine."
"Boyfriends?"
Brian does a double-take, remembers quickly that he needs to keep his eyes on the road. Fuck, this is not a conversation they should be having while he's driving. Justin must sense as much too because he looks suddenly apologetic, which puts Brian a little more at ease.
"Sorry, that was out of line," Justin says. "Your personal life is personal."
"I don't do boyfriends. You know that."
Justin shrugs. "Maybe things changed. I just…I thought that you might have had something with the guy in the kitchen this morning. You usually don't kiss your friends like that."
So he did catch the kiss? Fuck. Brian had hoped that he hadn't, had hoped that he wouldn't have to explain himself. Not that he fucking owed Justin an explanation, but they are at a really weird point in this arrangement.
A couple years ago, when he finally gave up on Justin's rules, he hadn't felt guilty. Justin had moved the fuck on, and it didn't look like they'd ever be able to make a life out of the cards they'd been dealt. Brian had a right to move on too. But now that history is rearing its ugly head again, Brian's starting to wish that maybe he'd stuck to the rules after all. If he had, he wouldn't have to see the poorly-hidden hurt written on Justin's face.
"He's a guy I fuck, Justin. Don't think it's anything more than that."
"He's your employee though. Didn't you learn anything from that whole fiasco with that Kip guy? He could sue you for everything you're worth if he wanted."
"Stop being a drama princess. I fucked you when you were interning at Vangard, didn't I? You weren't worried about sexual harassment suits then."
Justin frowns. "That's not a good example. I would never do that to you. You know me, Brian."
"And I know Trevor too. The only thing he wanted from the arrangement was to get off."
Justin acts as if he'd fucked Trevor the day he was hired, as if it were some part of the fucking interview process. Well he hadn't and it wasn't. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't always put his dick first. He'd been fucking cautious, remembering the ordeal with that son-of-a-bitch at Ryder. Hell, he'd waited months before even making a move, taking time to get to know Trevor just as friends. And when he had, he'd made damn sure that they were both on the same page before anyone dropped their pants.
"So you're close?" Justin asks, hesitant.
"Yeah, I guess. We get along alright, and he's a good time."
"Where did you meet?"
Brian takes a second to shoot Justin a warning look. He doesn't feel like rehashing his whole history with Trevor with Justin. It's not like he's asking fucking questions about that James guy. He doesn't give a shit about the sordid details of their happy little hetero home life or whatever the fuck it was, so why can't Justin extend the favor?
Because that's not Justin, and Brian knows it. Brian softens a little the moment Justin looks away resigned that he's never going to get any answers. Maybe this is the difference between the person Brian was when he met Justin and the person he is now-Brian feels compelled to compromise his wants to make someone else happy. The first person who ever taught him that was Gus, unconditionally and unequivocally. And the second, he guesses, must have been Justin, though there are still some compromises that he's unwilling to make.
"Chicago in '04 while you were off in LA making Rage. I was there on business with the Brown account and had to schmooze Leo and the missus a bit. We went to a gallery showing at SAIC after dinner since Leo's wife is into the arts, and Trevor's senior project was one of the works being featured."
"SAIC? He went to SAIC? Brian, that's one of the best art schools in the whole country."
"Hence why he's working as my co-director of art at Kinnetik-Pittsburgh."
"So…did you sleep with him in Chicago?"
Brian's grateful for a particularly winding road, his mind too preoccupied with not getting them killed on these snowy roads to figure out how to answer that question. There's no easy way to do it. Yeah, they fucked, but it was never about Trevor. It was the opposite. Back then, when he'd taken Trevor to his hotel room later that night, the sex was about Justin.
He'd spent weeks after Justin's flight to LA fucking every available ass that wouldn't remind him of his not-partner, of what he'd just lost. It hadn't numbed the pain any. So when he ran into some blond art student with glasses in Chicago, Brian figured maybe he was going about the healing process the wrong way. Instead of avoiding the Justin look-alikes, maybe he needed to fuck one. Fuck Justin out of his system. Yeah, maybe it hadn't been his best laid plan, but Brian remembered how it felt to be with that hustler after Justin left him. It'd helped, just for a little while. And honestly, a little while had been all that Brian wanted just then.
It had helped, but beyond that Brian doesn't remember many details. Only that Trevor had a nice ass, and more importantly, he'd followed all of Justin's rules.
The only reason Trevor's working for him now is that they'd run into each other again in Buffalo at another show run by Lindsay's friend. It wasn't about sex then; they hadn't even fucked. Brian was still mourning Justin. And for once, blond boy ass didn't seem like the prescription to fix his problems.
Though he had no fucking clue at the time, something had happened to Trevor by that point that had made him far different from the Justin look-alike, act-alike he'd been in Chicago. They'd just exchanged business cards, Brian looking for another art department director to help Marcus with the sudden influx of accounts and Trevor looking for a change of scenery and occupation.
But all of that isn't easy to fucking explain to Justin. He's obviously already sore about Trevor, and Brian figures he'll have a queen out if he has to hear something like that. He won't see it as two consenting adults fucking around and hanging out. Despite what Justin may want to believe, Brian's always felt like, in some cases, Sunshine has a hard time separating love and sex. No matter what he says, Brian has a feeling that Justin will take it the wrong way.
"Brian?" Justin prompts.
"Later."
"Why later?"
"Because," Brian pauses intentionally as he rounds the bend of the road, "we're here. Welcome back to the country manor of your dreams, Sunshine."
~*~*~*~
The directions say something about a Spring C and Rod A, but Brian has no idea what the fuck he's doing beyond that. Hell, he can't even find this goddamn Spring C. Maybe because there are fifty mother fucking springs of all shapes and sizes that's somehow supposed to go on this crib, and so far none of them are the notorious C. Who the hell does this company think is putting together this fucking thing? A mechanical engineer? Mother fucking piece of shit!
In a beautifully displayed tantrum, Brian tosses Spring Whatever-The-Fuck against the wall, where it bounces off to the middle of nowhere. He should have never volunteered himself for this. Of course, it's not like he had a hell of a lot of options.
Having bought the kid a whole bedroom suit a few days before Christmas really limited the availability of appointments to have someone come set the whole thing up. And Justin refuses to let her go another couple nights in bed with them. Not that Brian wants her there, but it sure as hell is more preferable to this goddamn mess. So it'd all come down to calling off the plans at the house or putting the shit together himself, and Brian had been insane enough to take the latter option.
Christ, where's a dyke when you need her?
Leaning towards the closet, Brian grabs his half-filled tumbler of Beam-the only thing keeping him sane, he thinks. He gulps, feeling the burn slide down his throat. At this point, it's very much welcome. Hazel eyes survey the room-the half put together crib, the assembled changing table, Justin's grandmother's antique rocking chair they 'd dragged in from one of the other rooms. There's at least another two or three hours of work here, but that's all dependant on whether or not he can find fucking Spring C. Snapping up the directions again and sipping his drink, Brian examines the drawing of the piece again.
"It's looking good."
He looks up, sees Justin standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Brian immediately notices that he's changed into something that looks a little more comfortable-a worn tee with a few paint splatters and those goddamn grey pajama bottoms again. As if he's been conditioned, Brian feels his cock go hard in his snug jeans.
"It's not the only thing," Brian says, leering.
"Like what you see, Mr. Kinney?"
Sunshine strips himself slowly of his shirt, Brian's eyes feasting on the whole show. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he gets the sense that he's being ambushed here, but at the moment he can't be bothered to care. Not with the way Justin's pants are slung low on his hips, golden-blond trail slipping from his belly button and disappearing into grey. The urge to follow it down, with tongue and lips, to take Justin into his mouth has him ready to meet Justin across the room. But, Sunshine's already coming towards him, thumbs jammed into the waistband and sliding them off.
Brian reaches out, his hand moving across the warm skin of Sunshine's hip to his lower back. Just as he leans in to kiss along Justin's thighs towards his dick, Justin dips down and settles onto his lap, capturing his mouth before Brian has a chance to breathe.
His hand shifts, fingers dipping between Justin's cheeks to tease him. Justin's hips buck up, Brian swallowing a long, heady groan that drives straight to his dick. He loves Sunshine like this, loud and appreciative, even if it's coming out of fucking left field.
Lips nearly bruised from rough attention, Brian breaks off their kiss. He licks them, feels the warm swell that Justin's drawn from him. Sunshine wiggles against his fingers, pressing back hard. He pushes one finger inside, feels the tell-tale jerk, though subtle, from Justin's hips that means he's a little uncomfortable. But when Brian tries to withdraw, Justin stops him with a firm hand on his forearm.
"I want to ride you," Justin whispers, voice thick at Brian's ear.
"Where's the baby?"
"Sleeping in her playpen in our room." Justin nuzzles his neck. "Don't worry."
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks.
Studying Justin's eyes as he pulls Justin back, he can't read much. He looks fine. More than fine, even. And there's nothing weird about Justin wanting to get laid except for the fact that he's not usually so driven. At least, not quite like this. They've long since moved past the impersonal, seize-the-moment stage of fucking, even lately when they both know this is only temporary. They just don't fuck like this anymore. Brian wants the playfulness, the flirting. He wants his Sunshine to be chatty to the point where he has to shove a cock in his mouth to get him to shut up. This isn't that Justin, and Brian's not sure why. He was perfectly fine when they were having lunch downstairs just an hour ago.
"I'm fine. Just lie back, okay?"
Brian does so, maybe a little hesitantly. He's not about to say no to Justin riding his cock. And, hell, the day he does someone might as well shoot him because he's likely lost his mind at that point. Justin's hands shove at his shirt, pushing it midway up his stomach before stopping to turn their attention to his jeans. It strikes him as strange since Justin has always liked the two of them to be completely naked whenever possible while they fuck. Before Brian can call him out on it, though, Justin shoves one hand down his pants and his tongue down his throat. The urge to discuss what the hell is going on suddenly becomes significantly less important.
He winds his fingers through Justin's hair, biting at Justin's lips. Justin unzips him, draws him out of his jeans, his hand pumping Brian's already dripping cock. There's something digging into Brian's back, but as he tries to remove whatever the hell it is, Justin pins his wrists to the floor. Shutting his eyes, Brian feels Justin's lips on his neck, bucks up against him for any sort of friction. And more than anything, he tries to keep his mind steady on what they're doing and not why they're doing it.
"I love you," Justin says, kissing him gently on the lips as he releases Brian's hands.
"I know, Justin."
"Do you love me too?"
"Stop asking stupid questions you already know the answers to."
"I just want to hear you say it."
Brian groans, put out. "Of course I fucking love you, alright?"
"Did you ever stop?"
Leaning up, he puts his hand on the back of Justin's neck and forces Justin to look at him. He's not seen this look in Justin's eyes for a hell of a long time. It makes his stomach clench up, an overwhelming sense of guilt and uneasiness creeping up on him. Brian doesn't know how to make this better. Or maybe he does, but going there is far more likely to hurt Justin than keeping his mouth shut would.
"No, not really."
"Brian, I-"
"Shh."
He hushes Justin with a finger to his lips, maybe more for his sake than for Justin's. No one can have the sort of conversation that they probably need to fucking have when both parties have very hard dicks. Right now, they need to get off. And maybe later…who the hell knows.
Justin leans back, Brian's cock rubbing against his ass. The smooth, warm flesh has Brian aching, his cock leaking on Justin's cheeks. They don't do this sort of thing; there's a reason for it. Justin isn't just some trick, and time has taught them both that one thing always leads to another. Just what the fuck is Justin getting at?
"I wish you could fuck me bareback."
Brian's taken back to a conversation they had years ago. His naïve little twink with delusions of what actions constitute true love. He can almost see that kid in Justin now-the kid that loved Brian so much that it tore him up inside. It scares the fuck out of Brian because they'd long since moved past this romanticized bullshit. And if Justin's bringing it up again, it can't be good.
"Stop being a stupid, little twat," Brian warns, voice low. "Put the condom on me."
"I'm serious. It'd be the one thing that was ours and no one else's."
"Keep being a hopeless romantic and see where that gets you. Or better yet, save yourself the trip and ask Ben."
"Stop it," Justin says, indignant. "I'm not propositioning you. I'm not…I'm just…Look, I understand the risks and know it's not worth it." He pauses, looking at little lost, a little pained. "All I'm saying is that if I could do that, I'd want it to be with you. I wouldn't want to give it to anyone else, Brian."
Silence reigns, Justin staring at him as if waiting for him to say anything. But Brian won't, and so Justin digs into his pants and pulls out a condom and some lube. He doesn't hesitate to put it on Brian, the sensation causing Brian to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning. When Justin presses down on him moments later, sheathing himself, Brian doesn't even try to stop this time.
Justin's a fucking masterpiece like this, riding his cock. His blond head thrown back, strong thighs straining under Brian's hands. It doesn't take long before Brian notices that Justin isn't looking at him-punishment maybe for not telling Justin what he wanted to hear.
When Brian reaches out to touch Justin's jaw, Sunshine evades him and does something out of this fucking world with his hips that has Brian unable to remember his own name, let alone how badly he wants Justin to look at him. He grips Justin's thighs hard, riding out the sudden fast pace and brutal thrusts. He thinks Justin's trying to split himself in two-death by fuck, the only way to go as far as Brian is concerned-but as he tries to tell Justin to slow it down, he feels his balls tightening up and belly pool with warmth.
He and Justin haven't fucked like this in ages, maybe not since The Fiddler. Only then, Justin had been on the receiving end of Brian's bitterness, not the other way around. And Justin, genius that he is, knows that letting him cum is a worse fate than stopping mid-fuck.
Because when he does cum-and Justin draws it out of him beautifully-he feels desolate and miserable in place of his usual blissful contentment. How the fuck can he feel good when he knows that Justin is a million miles away from him-for once in spirit rather than in body? Christ, he's become such a muncher.
Justin follows him, spilling onto his stomach as he feels the last of his orgasm flooding the condom between them. It kills Brian that Justin is quiet, that Justin refuses to look at him as he cums. Sunshine fucking loves cumming when they're staring into each other's eyes, pathetic little twat that he is. Brian has spent years making fun of Justin for it, but now he's pretty fucking certain that he'd willingly stare at Justin all night, make him cum over and over, if Justin would just glance at him now.
Instead, Justin lifts off of him quickly to the point where they're both hurting from it and settles onto the floor with his back to Brian. Brian reaches out to him, his fingers slipping against Justin's spine. His skin is hot, sweaty, and Brian wants nothing more than to feel it against him.
Maybe years ago he would have retaliated against this sort of bitchy behavior, but back then he retaliated against a lot of things-age, love, fatherhood, his parents, heteronormative ideals. Sometimes he still struggles with those same things; however, not as frequently now or as strongly. Maybe because he'd somehow learned between now and then that the things he feared weren't really as painful as he'd imagined them.
"Sunshine."
"I should shower. I'm sweaty."
"I-"
"Would you mind listening for Elise?"
Brian lets his hand fall from Justin's back and considers just what the hell crawled up Justin's ass. As Justin turns to look at him over his shoulder, it's pretty obvious to Brian that something has. The damage from whatever the hell he's done is written all over Justin's face, is set deep in blue eyes. Brian wishes he knew what to say to fix it, but he's really not sure what caused it in the first place.
"Sure."
"Thanks."
He watches as Justin stands-too quickly judging from the way he flinches, his ass no doubt sore. Brian doesn't bother trying to stop him as he walks out of the room. It's pretty obvious that Justin needs his space and that any attempt at damage control right now would only result in an argument.
Sighing, Brian wonders if it would have been easier to tell Justin what he wants to hear. But that's not fucking love. That's the sort of bullshit his parents pulled on one another day in and day out for years. He's not going to do that to himself or to Justin. But, just because he doesn't want to say that Justin's the only guy he'd ever want to fuck bareback doesn't necessarily mean that it's not true. If he's honest with himself, Justin's really the only person he could imagine doing that with. Not that he ever would.
Or maybe this has nothing to do with that at all. Maybe Justin's pissed because he didn't tell him about Trevor in Chicago like Justin had asked. At the time Brian had figured he'd be saving his balls if he didn't say a word, but judging from what just happened, he may have been sorely mistaken.
Fuck.
He reaches for the nearest object-a screwdriver-and tosses it against the far wall, frustrated. How in the hell did their getaway to the house turn so goddamn miserable? And maybe more importantly, how in the fuck is he going to fix this?
Endnote: Well, that's that. I thank you for reading and hope that the Brian/Trevor parts didn't make you openly weep with loathing for me, lol. I think those of you who do dislike this subplot of sorts will be happy to know that Trevor won't be around for awhile now, though the ramifications of Brian and Trevor's sexual history will be something that Brian and Justin have to work through over the next couple chapters. And I think that what they start working through will ultimately put them at a better place. There is a method to my madness, promise.
Speaking of the next couple chapters, can I tell you all that there's a scene in chapter ten that I've been dying to write since the beginning of this fic? I think it's a pretty promising chapter in some regards, and we'll have some of growth, so stay tuned!
In case you missed it, there's a pre-series one-shot centered on Brian and Trevor here. And in addition to that, I've started a QAF writing tumblr here, which is a great place to go if you're checking for my fic progress/have questions/want to pester me. Anon is enabled in my Ask Box, so feel free to drop me a line even if you don't have a tumblr.
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