Fic: All That You Can Fake
Title: All That You Can Fake
Author: museme87
Pairing: Brian/Justin, background Justin/Ethan
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,128
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations, infidelity (sort of)
Summary: After witnessing Ethan leave with his admirer and talking with Brian at Woody's, Justin finds himself sketching the one person he shouldn't.
Author's Note: Written for qaf_land's bingo card challenge, my 30 day writing challenge on tumblr for the prompt of tremble, and my Brian/Justin sex-a-thon challenge for the prompt of because you miss him, even if you won't say it. You can consider this a missing moment from just after the end of 3.06, following the scene of Brian and Justin at Woody's. Title liberated from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins", which is the definition of perfection.
You can't sleep, the thoughts of Ethan and his little admirer playing in slow motion in your head. And it seems like whenever you're restless, you draw. You'd never noticed it before, but Brian pointed it out to you not long after the two of you started…whatever it was. Fucking, you guess. It meant so much more to you, but not that much to him, apparently. You don't think it counts as dating or love or anything like that unless both parties are on the same page.
So you draw. Half the time you aren't paying attention to the lines you sketch. Your hand, cramping slightly, glides over the page as your eyes shift from paper to window to door to clock. Ethan's not coming home tonight, which you've known since he landed the job. Part of you wishes he would, though, just so you'd know for sure what's happened.
Despite damning evidence, you want to believe he isn't in his hotel room fucking that groupie. He loves you. You've never doubted that before, but now that you have, it feels like you've never known him.
It never felt that way with Brian. Sometimes you'd wanted to believe in the best of him too, but your fear and disappointed had never made you feel gutted like this.
You rest your head against the shitty sofa, pause your drawing, and stare out into the night. You don't know how long you stay like that, but when you look at your sketch again, you realize that the form you're drawing isn't your boyfriend's, yet isn't unfamiliar.
He's your muse. It's cheesy and stupid and he'd laugh in your face if you ever told him. Maybe. A few months into this thing with Ethan has you rethinking your thoughts on Brian. He's been shitty about a lot of things, but never about your art. He wouldn't laugh at you for drawing your inspiration from him. He'd just say something stupid that, on the surface, was unkind, unless you knew how to read between the lines.
As you bite at your lower lip, you finish the lines of his back, smudging the graphite a little to shade. It's not the first time you've drawn him since you broke up, but it's definitely the first time that you've consciously allowed yourself to do it. To remember it-him. The feel of his skin. His lean muscles. His scent. The way he says your name as he comes.
Your cock twitches, and you hate this so much that you probably could cry about it. It's not a big deal; Ethan probably isn't doing a damn thing to compromise your relationship. You're just queening out for no good reason. Just getting hard for your ex for no good reason.
This would all be so much easier if he didn't look so good tonight. You should have said yes to the drink. Maybe you should have said yes to a lot more. As much as you tell yourself that Ethan's not out there making a fool of you, you don't know if you really believe it. And Brian, he's simultaneously everything and nothing you've ever wanted. You made a fool of him not too long ago, but the way he looked at you tonight, just for a few moments, had you wondering if maybe he'd forgive you for that. Take you home. Fuck you all better.
You've been denying it for awhile, but you do miss the feel of him inside you. You miss it even more tonight. The first time he promised you'd never forget it, and you haven't. It's been months, but you can remember exactly how it feels when he stretches you, pushes inside you, fills you to the brim.
Guiltily, you slip your hand into your sweatpants, your hand trembling as you fight with yourself over this. In the end, you do it. You fist your cock, your thumb swirling over your leaking head. Your eyes flutter shut as you tip your head back, small grunts coming from your throat. You try to fill your head with images of Ethan, but it doesn't work. You can't shake the thought he's wronging you right now, and if you're being honest, you can't get Brian out of your mind.
Your ass clenches of the memory of him rimming you, shoving his tongue inside you and making you beg for it. You feel empty, ache for the burn of his cock. Bringing two fingers to your mouth, you slick them with your spit and push them inside you so fast that it hurts.
You can hardly catch your breath as you twist your fingers and jerk off. You want more than this. You want Brian. Miss him. Yearn for him. Maybe some parts of your relationship were terrible, but God knows this wasn't. His name is on your lips, whispered as you pant and feel your balls ache for release. You draw up every fantasy he's ever played out for you. You think of everything you wanted and never got the chance to do. You think of what it'd feel like having him come inside you, bare, his come filling you, hot and wet. The feel of it dripping out of you.
You whimper, shooting into your hand as you cry his name. For a minute, everything is quiet. For a minute, you can almost feel him there with you.
Then the harsh edges of your life come screeching back into form. They bring some guilt with them. You didn't exactly cheat on your boyfriend-not like he's probably cheating on you now-but you're not proud of it either.
You slowly sit up, carefully closing your sketchbook with the drawing of Brian and laying it on the makeshift coffee table. Picking up a nearby t-shirt, you clean yourself up and then sit in the silence. Your hand is stiff from overexertion tonight. Stretching it, you take in Pittsburgh's skyline. This crappy apartment doesn't have much, but it does have a nice view.
When you pick up your phone to check the time-and maybe to see if Ethan has sent you a text-you find one message in your inbox. Not Ethan, even though it should be, but Brian.
Are you okay?
He doesn't have the balls to ask it when you're face to face, but you've always been amazed at what wonders have shown up in your text messaging and email over the past couple years. He cares more than he ever lets on. You wish, despite how much it kills you, that he could have showed you a little of this compassion tonight.
Not really, but thanks.
When you finally get up to go to bed, you take your sketchbook with you.
Author: museme87
Pairing: Brian/Justin, background Justin/Ethan
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,128
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations, infidelity (sort of)
Summary: After witnessing Ethan leave with his admirer and talking with Brian at Woody's, Justin finds himself sketching the one person he shouldn't.
Author's Note: Written for qaf_land's bingo card challenge, my 30 day writing challenge on tumblr for the prompt of tremble, and my Brian/Justin sex-a-thon challenge for the prompt of because you miss him, even if you won't say it. You can consider this a missing moment from just after the end of 3.06, following the scene of Brian and Justin at Woody's. Title liberated from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins", which is the definition of perfection.
You can't sleep, the thoughts of Ethan and his little admirer playing in slow motion in your head. And it seems like whenever you're restless, you draw. You'd never noticed it before, but Brian pointed it out to you not long after the two of you started…whatever it was. Fucking, you guess. It meant so much more to you, but not that much to him, apparently. You don't think it counts as dating or love or anything like that unless both parties are on the same page.
So you draw. Half the time you aren't paying attention to the lines you sketch. Your hand, cramping slightly, glides over the page as your eyes shift from paper to window to door to clock. Ethan's not coming home tonight, which you've known since he landed the job. Part of you wishes he would, though, just so you'd know for sure what's happened.
Despite damning evidence, you want to believe he isn't in his hotel room fucking that groupie. He loves you. You've never doubted that before, but now that you have, it feels like you've never known him.
It never felt that way with Brian. Sometimes you'd wanted to believe in the best of him too, but your fear and disappointed had never made you feel gutted like this.
You rest your head against the shitty sofa, pause your drawing, and stare out into the night. You don't know how long you stay like that, but when you look at your sketch again, you realize that the form you're drawing isn't your boyfriend's, yet isn't unfamiliar.
He's your muse. It's cheesy and stupid and he'd laugh in your face if you ever told him. Maybe. A few months into this thing with Ethan has you rethinking your thoughts on Brian. He's been shitty about a lot of things, but never about your art. He wouldn't laugh at you for drawing your inspiration from him. He'd just say something stupid that, on the surface, was unkind, unless you knew how to read between the lines.
As you bite at your lower lip, you finish the lines of his back, smudging the graphite a little to shade. It's not the first time you've drawn him since you broke up, but it's definitely the first time that you've consciously allowed yourself to do it. To remember it-him. The feel of his skin. His lean muscles. His scent. The way he says your name as he comes.
Your cock twitches, and you hate this so much that you probably could cry about it. It's not a big deal; Ethan probably isn't doing a damn thing to compromise your relationship. You're just queening out for no good reason. Just getting hard for your ex for no good reason.
This would all be so much easier if he didn't look so good tonight. You should have said yes to the drink. Maybe you should have said yes to a lot more. As much as you tell yourself that Ethan's not out there making a fool of you, you don't know if you really believe it. And Brian, he's simultaneously everything and nothing you've ever wanted. You made a fool of him not too long ago, but the way he looked at you tonight, just for a few moments, had you wondering if maybe he'd forgive you for that. Take you home. Fuck you all better.
You've been denying it for awhile, but you do miss the feel of him inside you. You miss it even more tonight. The first time he promised you'd never forget it, and you haven't. It's been months, but you can remember exactly how it feels when he stretches you, pushes inside you, fills you to the brim.
Guiltily, you slip your hand into your sweatpants, your hand trembling as you fight with yourself over this. In the end, you do it. You fist your cock, your thumb swirling over your leaking head. Your eyes flutter shut as you tip your head back, small grunts coming from your throat. You try to fill your head with images of Ethan, but it doesn't work. You can't shake the thought he's wronging you right now, and if you're being honest, you can't get Brian out of your mind.
Your ass clenches of the memory of him rimming you, shoving his tongue inside you and making you beg for it. You feel empty, ache for the burn of his cock. Bringing two fingers to your mouth, you slick them with your spit and push them inside you so fast that it hurts.
You can hardly catch your breath as you twist your fingers and jerk off. You want more than this. You want Brian. Miss him. Yearn for him. Maybe some parts of your relationship were terrible, but God knows this wasn't. His name is on your lips, whispered as you pant and feel your balls ache for release. You draw up every fantasy he's ever played out for you. You think of everything you wanted and never got the chance to do. You think of what it'd feel like having him come inside you, bare, his come filling you, hot and wet. The feel of it dripping out of you.
You whimper, shooting into your hand as you cry his name. For a minute, everything is quiet. For a minute, you can almost feel him there with you.
Then the harsh edges of your life come screeching back into form. They bring some guilt with them. You didn't exactly cheat on your boyfriend-not like he's probably cheating on you now-but you're not proud of it either.
You slowly sit up, carefully closing your sketchbook with the drawing of Brian and laying it on the makeshift coffee table. Picking up a nearby t-shirt, you clean yourself up and then sit in the silence. Your hand is stiff from overexertion tonight. Stretching it, you take in Pittsburgh's skyline. This crappy apartment doesn't have much, but it does have a nice view.
When you pick up your phone to check the time-and maybe to see if Ethan has sent you a text-you find one message in your inbox. Not Ethan, even though it should be, but Brian.
Are you okay?
He doesn't have the balls to ask it when you're face to face, but you've always been amazed at what wonders have shown up in your text messaging and email over the past couple years. He cares more than he ever lets on. You wish, despite how much it kills you, that he could have showed you a little of this compassion tonight.
Not really, but thanks.
When you finally get up to go to bed, you take your sketchbook with you.