Fic: Three's A Crowd [ 2/? ]
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: 2
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 6,423
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations
Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who read and commented on chapter 1. Guys, I was overwhelmed by your support and encouragement! Thank you so much for making me feel welcome in this fandom and for bearing with me while I find these characters' voices. And another huge thank you to liebedance for her amazing beta skills; I don't know what I would do without her.
He's in the middle of face fucking Justin when he feels it-a strange tickling sensation on his head. Ignoring it, Brian moves faster, thrusting into Justin's mouth around Justin's strangled moans. His toes curl, his balls tighten, and Brian's nearly there. Just a little more. And that's it, Sunshine. Just like-
Fuck.
He feels it again, and this time it causes him to lose his build-up altogether. Brian swats around his head, but his back begins to ache. Things don't fit together, first vaguely then gradually growing more apparent until he can see Justin sucking him off but not feel it. Goddamn. And with one more tickling sensation, Brian's heavy eyelids flutter open.
Bright blue eyes are staring at him-upside down-and Brian jumps.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he shouts, and it comes out a hell of a lot less manly than he'd like.
While his heart beats frantically in his chest, the urchin giggles from where she squats next to him in her pajamas. Just fucking giggles. Doesn't even have the god damn decency to be the least bit ashamed of herself. And there she is, touching him again-her little grubby fingers in his hair and patting him like he's some fucking dog. Brian bats her hand away, sinks his head deeper into his pillow on the floor, and gives her a wary look.
"Go away," Brian says, tone quiet but firm. "Bye."
The urchin brings her tiny hand to her lips and smacks, blowing him a kiss and then waving. "Bye-bye."
"That's right. Scamper on."
Much to Brian's dismay, she doesn't. She just falls on her ass and blinks at him. The kid's more like her dad than Brian could have ever fathomed. Pretty-he'll begrudgingly give her that-and completely oblivious to being unwanted. Or maybe-in Sunshine's case-that was persistence in achieving one's goals; to this day, Brian still isn't sure which it was that kept Justin coming back.
And because he admired it in Justin, he might have been able to admire the urchin's fuck-all attitude as well-if a twelve month old could have one, that is. However, she chooses that moment to pick up a nearby ABC block-the old kind from when he and Mikey were kids-and chucks it at him. Brian scowls at her, tries his best to look intimidating, and tosses the block aside.
No, he decides, it has nothing to do with fuck-all and everything to do with being a little vegetable. All the intelligence Justin's genes were capable of producing, and he ends up with this.
"Your dad got a 1500 on his SATs, and you're struggling with get lost," Brian hisses. "Move. It."
He considers giving her shoulder a light nudge to get her to go, but Debbie's approaching steps sound from the kitchen. Brian doesn't particularly care to start his morning off with a lecture on not being an asshole to small children, so he refrains in favor of staring her down. The smart thing to do would be to get up and get the fuck out of this house-away from her-but Brian thinks that getting up after a night on the hard floor may be a bit of a process.
"Well isn't this a touching moment," Deb says with a laugh, stopping just short of where the urchin sits next to him.
Brian rolls his eyes. "Incredibly. My heart's just bursting with emotion."
Deb picks the kid up before looking down at Brian. "Yeah, I imagine so, considering it isn't much bigger than a thimble. Now get your ass out of bed. Breakfast is getting cold."
He watches Deb go back into the kitchen-the kid still staring at him from over Deb's shoulder-and then sits up. His back-as anticipated-is a fucking mess. Brian twists, rubs his neck, rolls his shoulders, all to no avail. Thirty-nine is too-dare he say it-old to be camping out on the floor, especially with only a sleeping bag for cushioning. He should have taken the risk to drive home; his back couldn't be any more fucked up if he'd gotten in a car accident. Barring he hadn't died in the process, of course. But then again-at this point-death by car crash might have been the ideal solution to all his troubles in life. He was, after all, dangerously close to forty.
Brian had imagined forty a long time ago. When he was fresh out of college, he'd thought he would never see it because who the fuck wants to get old? Better to die young than waste away. But then the cusp of thirty had come along and brought with it Gus and Justin-interestingly enough on the same night. Thirty seemed a little more manageable-most of the time-from then on. And once not too many years ago-when he'd been resigned to the fact that he couldn't be a twenty year old club boy forever-he'd imagined facing forty with a blond ball-and-chain.
Justin would have conspired with Emmett to throw some cheesy party had they still been together. His friends would have been there-at Britin, of course, because that's where they would have lived-and he'd have been force fed far-too-sweet cake. Naturally-so he didn't disappoint anyone-Brian would have been in a pissy mood all day. However, his big secret would have been that he didn't mind it so much-not the getting old, but being with everyone. And most especially Justin.
That's not a realistic vision to hold onto any longer. There is no he and Justin, no unconventional, undefined ball-and-chain-hood. And there won't ever be because Justin had to fucking go and have a kid, satisfy all his breeder urges. If it hadn't been for her, Brian imagines himself spending the greater part of Justin's time in the Pitts seducing him-back into their bed, their house, and their non-relationship.
She is here, though, and Brian can't quite make sense of what to do with the mess. Running seems like the best option since he's a master of avoidance and denial. But, one sleep-blurred glance at Justin's pajama-clad ass last night when Justin had woken up with the urchin makes Brian second guess himself. His dick having reigned free over every aspect of his life for so long, it's hard to say no to any prospect of fucking Justin now. Maybe, Brian thinks, he'll allow himself to settle for a homecoming fuck, or one last goodbye.
When Debbie screeches at him from the kitchen for a second time, Brian takes to his feet and pads his way across the room. It's occupied only by Deb, Carl, and the urchin who has just been contained in her high chair. He pulls out his own chair and eases down into it, an uncomfortable ache pinching along his spine.
From overtop the morning newspaper, Carl laughs. "It's hell to get old, isn't it?"
Brian would probably have something to say about that if it had come from anyone but Carl. The detective's grown on him over the years, in part because of how well he treats Deb. At times he almost feels like the closest thing to a real father Brian has ever had, but in a definite hands-off sort of way. Carl's the sort of person he could go to if he needed some very confidential advice, and he has on one or two occasions. Simple things, like fathering tips because Brian sure as hell has no idea how to be one; his own had been a piss poor example. So Carl helps with that, and Brian keeps his snide remarks to himself. It's a silent agreement that's worked well for them so far.
Deb sets a plate in front of him heaping with fats and carbs-fried hash browns, bacon, eggs over-easy, butter-soaked toast. Brian stares at it for a moment, trying to calculate how many extra hours he's going to need at the gym to work this and last night's dinner off. However long it is, he can't fucking afford to stick around for lunch.
Begrudgingly, Brian takes a bite of toast and, swallowing, asks, "Where is everyone?"
Deb's brow furrows as she pauses in front of the stove, as if trying to make a mental list. "Michael and Ben ran to the store. Emmett and Hunter are out back shoveling the walk and dicking around in the snow. And, Ted and Blake haven't been down yet. I figure they're probably fucking."
"What about her owner?" Brian asks, nodding in the urchin's direction.
"Oh, Sunshine's outside cleaning the Cheerios out of your Jeep." Then Deb shoots him a withering look. "And you're not going to score any points-or ass, for that matter-being mean to that baby."
Brian wrinkles his nose. That baby is currently covered from nose to fingers in oatmeal, her small spoon clutched in her hand. It only serves to remind him-especially after that fucking hot dream-what getting involved again with Justin, even for as long as a week, would entail. A messy, vegetable-headed urchin hanging around? He'd rather abstain from fucking until the New Year than deal with that.
"Speaking of scoring ass," Deb prompts, giving him one of those frighteningly familiar looks.
Carl quickly and awkwardly clears his throat-as he often does when the topic of taking it up the ass comes up-and stands. "Alright, this sounds like a mother-son conversation. I think I'll go help the boys in the back."
He's half-tempted to beg Carl not to leave him alone with Debbie while she's in one of her Tuna Casserole Moods, but he can't work up enough humility to do so before Carl is out the door. Suddenly, they're alone together, just the three of them-him, Deb, and the kid. Somehow, Brian thinks the odds aren't in his favor.
"Have you and Sunshine talked?" Deb asks, taking the seat across from him, next to the urchin's high chair.
"Deb, I don't have any weed on me-much to my annoyance-and you didn't make the fucking casserole, so this conversation that I think we're going to have can't happen."
"I asked if you talked with Sunshine."
Christ. Judging from the way her eyes are boring holes through him, she's not going to fucking quit until they have this little heart-to-heart. If he'd known that picking Justin up would entail sleeping on the goddamn floor followed by a morning ass-reaming-and not the positive, life-affirming kind-he wouldn't have allowed himself to be talked into it.
"What would I have talked to Justin about?"
"Oh I don't know. Fucking checkers." She sighs. "Look, honey, I know you, and I know, sure as I'm sitting here, that you love Justin. But he doesn't need you showing up and tugging at his heart strings, understand?"
Why do they pull this goddamn shit? It's always him hurting Justin and rarely the other way around. This isn't on him, not this time. If anything, it would be Justin having his cake and wanting to eat it too-wanting both the urchin and him. And if Justin wants to eat his cake, fine. He can eat anything he'd like as far as Brian is concerned; it's not as if Brian's unwilling to fuck him. But Justin can't have the whole cake; that much, Brian won't allow. And that's no one else's goddamn business but theirs. So everyone else can just butt the fuck out.
"This has nothing to do with you, Deb."
"The hell it doesn't. You may have disappeared from Sunshine's life ever since he got the news about Elise, but that doesn't mean that everyone else did. He's had a rough year, Brian. If you love him as much as I believe you do, you'll let him know what your intentions are."
Brian, briefly, does wonder what sort of problems Justin is having. Not that having a goddamn kid isn't a big enough one. Having been out of touch with him for so long, he supposes it could be any number of things.
Instinctively, he worries about Justin's health, but Justin looks good, and if something had really been wrong, Jennifer would have said something. And it sure as hell couldn't be about money. Out of touch or otherwise, Justin has to know that he would give him anything he needs. If the little shit is struggling, though, Brian's going to have his balls for not coming to him. Pride becomes significantly less attractive as the situation turns dire.
Having heard enough about intention and having dealt with this happy homo family long enough to have himself fucking canonized, Brian pushes back his chair. He expects Deb to challenge him in some way, but she just sits there, seemingly uncertain.
"I think I'm going to go," Brian says.
"You've barely touched your breakfast." Deb looks suddenly concerned. "Brian…"
"I'm fine, Ma."
"You know I didn't mean-"
"I know."
And he does, which is why he gives her a quick kiss to the cheek. This isn't Deb getting on his case; not really. It's her trying to protect her boys, just as she always has. And Brian appreciates her looking out for Justin. He just wishes she knew by now that she doesn't have to protect Justin from him.
~*~*~*~
When he finally reaches the Jeep, Brian is rewarded with the sight of gorgeous, blond boy ass as Justin leans into the backseat. And what a fucking sight it is. He admires it for a few spare moments, remembering how it felt in the palms of his hands, how it tasted the first time he'd ever rimmed Justin. One body part, so very many vivid-delectable-memories. However, his nostalgia is promptly cut short when Justin turns around, catching him in the act.
Justin chuckles. "See something you like?"
"Don't flatter yourself."
They share a smile, despite all Brian's efforts to stop it. At this point, he really ought to know better than to try to resist; Sunshine's smiles are notoriously contagious, and not even the great Brian Kinney is immune. With a shake of his head, Justin turns back to the Jeep with-Brian detects-a slight wiggle of his ass. Fucking tease.
"What do you think you're doing, Sunshine?"
"Cleaning your Jeep."
"No shit." Brian leans against the car, arms folded over his chest. "You don't have to do that. I'll have it taken care of."
"I believe the concession was that Elise could eat in the Jeep if it remained clean. Which, as I'm sure you remember, it didn't," Justin says. "Anyway, it's not a problem. I'm almost finished, so just give me a sec."
Since when had Justin grown up? Not that he hasn't always been mature, but Brian remembers the days when they had lived together, recalls all the times he'd told Justin to pick his shit up or get out. Justin had never listened then, probably knowing the threat for what it was-empty. Brian's not sure why he's being taken so seriously now. Had Justin forgotten? Or had he done or said something to make Justin forget?
"Are you alright?" Brian asks, both because of this display of responsibility and because of what Deb had said.
Justin looks at him curiously, as if he expects him to be stoned out of his mind. "What?"
"I asked if you were alright."
"Why would you think something's wrong?"
"Sunshine, spare me the bullshit."
He doesn't know what sort of answer he's going to get, especially when Justin turns away from him only to turn back a few moments later. Justin's expression is one of mixed emotions, as if he's wary of opening up and simultaneously yearning to. Brian's not unfamiliar with the sentiments coming from him, but it's been a long time since he's sensed them.
"Truthfully, I'm a little overwhelmed," Justin says simply.
"With your artwork?"
"No, with my life." Justin laughs, then sobers a little. "I'm essentially a single father to a very mobile and demanding one year old daughter, living five hours away from my family. She leaves me very little time to paint, which has in turn adversely affected our finances. And when I do get the spare time to work on my art, I'm constantly worrying about how she's doing."
Well fuck. He asked for the truth and Justin sure as hell gave it to him. Maybe it's a sign of how much Brian's matured over the years that he's not shooting off some cruel comment about making beds and lying in them. He hates hearing that Justin is still making sacrifices, five years after he made the biggest sacrifice of his life thus far-leaving his life and family behind for the art world. As Brian suspected, Sunshine had taken New York by storm-became a big fucking success-in a relatively short amount of time. And Brian had been happy for him; he'd never wanted Justin to suffer or struggle again. When they'd parted a couple years back, things were good, and like the idiot he is, he'd assumed that they'd just remained that way.
"And before you tell me that you told me so and I brought all of this onto myself," Justin continues, "I want you to know that I've created a lot of things in twenty-seven years, but Elise is by far the one I'm most proud of."
"I know," Brian says, and that's the honest truth; he has Gus and not even his most brilliant copy could compare to him. "And I wasn't going to tell you that I told you so."
Justin seems almost pleased to hear it, awarding him with a small smile before leaning into the backseat once more. Brian wishes there was some way he could help, look for a nanny in New York to watch the urchin or something. Not for the kid's sake, but for Sunshine's. He knows Justin, though. It's not finances keeping him from finding her a sitter; it's the fact that he doesn't want her raised by strangers. Who could blame him? He probably never understood how much he'd be sacrificing to give the kid a life like that.
"Alright, that's the last of them," Justin announces, taking a step back from the Jeep.
When their eyes meet, Brian can't be bothered to take in anything else going on around him-not the cars inching up the street nor Emmett and Hunter's shouts and laughter from the backyard. Ninety-five percent of the time, Brian's world revolves around his dick. But in rare instances, it does shift.
Like now, to only Justin.
"I should be going," Brian says with little conviction.
He sees the tell-tale signs, leans in to meet Justin's mouth halfway. He shouldn't be doing this-planting ideas of reviving their non-relationship in Justin's little blonde head-but fuck it. It feels too fucking good to pull back. Brian expects the kiss to turn heated-anticipates tongue and teeth, hands and moans. But Justin does little more than press his lips firmly against Brian's, moves ever so slightly, and withdraws.
It feels like goodbye-tender, slow, and loaded with things left unsaid.
"What was that for, Sunshine?"
"The last time we stood next to your car like this, I didn't see you for two and a half years." Justin grins, caressing Brian's cheek. "I thought I ought to get it while you're good for it."
"I'm going to be around."
"No, you won't. You hate the holidays. You'll make your cameo appearance for Gus, probably when I'm not around-don't bother to deny it, and relax because I'm not angry-and that'll be it. I bet you have some exotic vacation lined up already."
Brian resents that a little, even if it's altogether not off the mark. He does hate the holidays-though admittedly they've grown on him since Gus-and he has no intention of playing musical houses to appease everyone's holiday plans. It's not as if he doesn't want to see Justin; he does. But spending time together would only complicate things further. Further than they already are, considering Brian has thought of pounding into Justin's ass no fewer than five hundred and seventy-two times since waking up this morning.
"I'll leave your Christmas gift here since Deb will raise hell if you don't stop by," Justin says, stepping away from him.
"Hey, I'll be here, alright? It's a promise."
It leaves his mouth before he really understands what he's said, maybe spurred on by the sight of Justin moving backwards towards the house. Brian's always been terrible with goodbyes, would perhaps do anything in his power to avoid them. And the way Justin's face momentarily lights up at the thought of seeing each other again-just before it fades into concern-lessens his regret of the commitment.
"Brian…"
"You're going to have to put up with my holiday cheer, Sunshine."
"I question your cheeriness, but alright."
Justin's grin is all Brian needs to see to know that he's won this little argument. Won it, but not entirely sure if he's come up on top or set himself up for a miserable few days. He'd better visit his disco-pharmacologist just in case.
As Justin heads back into Deb's, Brian gets into his now-clean Jeep, remnants of his time with Justin-and the urchin-completely gone. It's almost as if it had never happened, as if it'd been some sort of fucking dream. It wouldn't be the first time, and having spent so long without Justin, it's hard to believe he's back. Brian checks his side mirror just to be sure, watching as Justin climbs the front steps.
Fuck.
Five hundred and seventy-three.
~*~*~*~
The wonders of four hundred dollar shower heads really would never cease. Brian dips his head under the stream of water, shifts so that the firm, pulsating spray beats against his stiff back. It feels fucking fantastic to be home, especially after a night spent in the close quarters of Deb's living room. So much so, in fact, that the sense of emptiness pervading these four walls-as it has for five years-only hits him midway through his shower. And even then, it only slightly taints his homecoming.
His thoughts drift and stray far into last night when, in his restlessness, he watched Justin sleep, curled up with the urchin on the couch. Sleep has always had a way of de-aging Justin-Brian would know, given all the nights he spent tracing all the curves and angles of Justin's face-and even pushing the dreaded thirty, he still looks less than legal. It's no more incentive for Brian than it ever has been-his interest never having been defined by Justin's young age-but it does remind him of simpler times.
He'll blame those fond memories for his hand straying downwards towards his hardening cock. Not that Brian ever needed a fucking excuse for jerking it before, but somehow it's different when he envisions blond hair and a blissfully tight ass nowadays. It makes him look like a pussy-pining away after a man he has no realistic future with anymore-which is why having a reason suddenly matters.
Hazel eyes flutter shut as his fingers close around his cock. Brian strokes, thrill racing through him to pool in his lower belly. He has this down to a fucking art form-has ever since fourteen-could pull himself off in no time at all. But, the image of Justin-burned into his mind-has Brian slowing his pace and tipping his head back.
With the thought of Justin's wet, warm mouth swallowing him, his breath hitches, his cock leaks. Brian swirls his thumb around his head, toes curling and nose twitching from the rush of it. His thoughts wander to pounding into Justin's ass, to Justin riding him-bareback, though only ever in his wildest dreams. It has him moaning, gasping for air, but the humidity makes it hard to breathe. Goddamn. He imagines what it would feel like-Justin's tight little ass enveloping him-and the mere thought has his balls suddenly tight, his orgasm slamming into him.
For moments, Brian can only feel, the world slipping away from him. But then it comes back, hard and cold, and he shudders a breath. As if suddenly ashamed, he quickly rinses away all traces of his cum and rubs his face beneath the cooling stream of water.
He can't believe he just fucking did that. Not the jerking off, not even the jerking off to Justin. But the fact that he'd come so quickly at the thought of having Justin bareback. Again, with the impossibilities-first being with Justin at all and now being with Justin raw. He has to stop this; it's fucking pathetic.
Despite the shitty weather, Brian decides that it's a Babylon sort of night for sure. Nothing chases away his troubled mind like a trick. At least, most of the time. Sometimes, much to his disappointment, a blonde will look enough like Justin or someone will give head enough like Justin that things start to blur for him.
But that's just a risk he's going to have to take.
Later that evening as Brian's just about to pick up his keys to leave, he catches the light on his answering machine blinking. He wonders if he wants to bother with it now; it's probably Deb or Mikey calling to check up on him. As if he needs their goddamn mothering; he can take care of himself. Ultimately he decides to get it over with since it could-though improbably-be something of actual importance.
Pressing the button, Lindsay and Gus' voices fill the room with a, "Hi, Dad!"
Despite himself, Brian grins. He'd never thought he'd ever want to hear that dreaded, three letter word used in reference to him, but now he never really tires of it. Brian's made a lot of questionable decisions in his various inebriated states, but letting Linds talk him into giving up his swimmers by far ranks as the best.
"We just wanted to let you know that we switched to an earlier flight next Thursday. Michael and Ben are going to pick us up at the airport around noon. I forwarded the flight information to you just a little while ago," Lindsay explains.
"Yeah, and, Dad, Mom says it's okay if I stay the night with you, but I hafta ask first. Call me back 'cause it's super important! Bye. Oh, love you. Bye."
The message cuts out there. Brian deletes it from the machine and works over his schedule for that Thursday in his head. He has a brief, afternoon meeting with Brown Athletics and then with his Babylon staff in the early evening. Brown is pressing-these finishing touches on the Super Bowl ads are going to be the death of him-but Babylon can fucking wait. Nothing comes before Gus if he can at all help it.
Picking up his cell, Brian speed dials Linds and Melanie's house. It rings and rings before Gus picks it up, Linds' admonishment of Honey, what did we tell you about answering the phone drifting through from the background.
"It's Dad's number, Mom," Gus explains, and then, "Hi, Dad! Did you hear our message?"
"I sure did, Sonny Boy."
~*~*~*~
Monday nights at Babylon don't exactly draw the biggest or sexiest crowd of the week, but Brian makes it work. He doesn't constantly prowl around the dance floor looking for his next trick like he once had, though he definitely makes a list as he goes about business as usual. He'd done the same last night-after he'd finally gotten Linds and Gus off the phone-and picked up a hot blond for his trouble.
He's eyeing up a fuckable enough brunet from the catwalk-nothing to write home about; a six, maybe-when he spots Emmy Lou walking up the steps. It takes Brian a second or two longer to notice Justin trailing behind him. He looks so out of place here after all this time, and the thought does occur to Brian that maybe he's just seeing things, mistaking someone for Justin. But judging from the leers of half the patrons in Babylon, this isn't some drug induced dream; only very few people could turn heads like that.
It's moments later when Emmett and Justin realize he's here-Emmett's face bordering between pleased and wary and Justin's pleasantly surprised. As Brian shifts to face them, Emmett says something to Justin, pats his shoulder, and comes back the way they came. Justin watches him go before approaching Brian.
"What are you doing here?" Brian shouts over the music.
"I'm told this is the hottest club in Pittsburgh." Justin smirks. "Inside sources say the owner can be a real cunt though."
"Inside sources can shut their ungrateful mouths."
Justin leans against the railing, cocking his hip in a way that makes Brian think Justin's coming onto him. He'd be a liar-especially after yesterday afternoon-if he didn't admit to moving in a little closer to Justin. It doesn't feel nearly as inappropriate here-at Babylon-as it had at Deb's. After all, no one comes to Babylon to visit family for the holidays. Here, it's all about the fuck.
"Emmett invited me along. He said you probably wouldn't be here tonight."
"So you're avoiding me now?" Brian asks, more in jest than anything. "Sorry to disappoint you, Sunshine."
Justin seems like he doesn't know quite what to say to that, which amuses Brian. Then, it looks as if he's about to launch into some sort of apology at having given Brian that impression. To stop that before it even begins, Brian slips his arm around Justin's slim shoulders and pulls Sunshine towards him.
"You look hot. What's the occasion? Shouldn't you be at home with your bouncing bundle of joy?"
"I know, to you, full-time parenthood is a death sentence, but that's not the case. Every once in awhile, even we dads get to let our hair down and have some fun." Justin pokes Brian's chest. "And I'm baby free for the next twelve hours or so thanks to Grammy and am going to fucking enjoy it. Preferably on the dance floor. So you can either join me or I'll find myself another dance partner."
Justin plants a quick kiss on his jaw before cruising his options as he moves towards the stairs, and Brian will be damned before he's going to follow that twink. Who the hell does Justin think he is, coming into Brian's domain and making threats? Why the fuck should he care if Justin finds someone else to dance with? He shouldn't; he's not some muncher. But-much to his complete disappointment in himself-he does. And how is it that Justin is the only person in the fucking universe that can get him this incensed with one little comment? It's a gift, Brian thinks, to be able to be so goddamn infuriating. Infuriating and sexy.
Brian supposes that it has a lot to do with the latter that he goes after Justin, stopping him on the steps with his hand. He reads the victory in blue eyes, the gotcha, the echoes of one boy's Brian Kinney gives a shit. And yeah, maybe he does.
"I'm the best dancer in this place. Don't waste your time."
"You? That's a frightening thought."
Brian scowls, following Justin down the stairs. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Brian, your dancing is for shit."
"Is this a recently developed opinion? Because I don't seem to recall you-or anyone else-ever complaining before."
Justin turns to him and whispers into his ear, "That's because it doesn't matter. You're Brian Fucking Kinney. No one gives a shit if you can dance."
When they find a place on the dance floor, Brian winds his arms around Justin's shoulders as Justin slips his around Brian's waist. They move together in a well worn rhythm, familiar despite all the time they've spent far apart, away from Babylon. It's slow, despite the quick thumpa-thumpa of the music, as if moving too quickly will make it all unravel. Brian wants to cherish this-the feel of silky blond locks slipping between his fingers, the touch of baby soft skin against his own. Who knows how long he has to keep hold to it, to Justin, to this.
The feel of Justin's hips slipping against his, the pressure of his hard cock against Brian's thigh, has Brian pulling them closer together. Their lips meet easily, first together and then travelling along necks and chins, ears and cheeks. Brian's careful to keep his eyes half-lidded, wonders what might happen if he catches Justin's gaze. Nothing-and everything-good, for certain. He knows Justin, understands what Justin's hands moving up and down his body means, what Justin pressing so tightly against him signals.
"Sunshine."
As Justin looks up at him, Brian wonders how to continue. He wouldn't particularly mind fucking Justin's brains out tonight, but there's no way in hell he's going to without establishing the rules. Because fucking Justin isn't about renewing whatever sort of relationship they had before. Telling Justin that, though-that whatever might happen between them tonight is just a fuck-seems like they're taking a hundred steps backward. Brian guesses it will all come down to phrasing, and as an ad man, he should have no problem with that. But this isn't some pitch; it's Justin.
"Brian, what's wrong?"
Sunshine's brow furrows, his lips part, and Brian feels completely exposed under that gaze. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it abruptly when he realizes he doesn't have a goddamn clue how to approach this, which leaves him with only two options-just get it out there by whatever means possible or run. Neither seems particularly preferable.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Justin says, fingers playing with the ends of Brian's hair affectionately. "If something's up…"
"That is the slight complication."
Brian's eyes flick down towards their hard cocks and Justin's follows. When they meet again, Justin looks momentarily confused, and Brian halts their movement. Realization must dawn on him then because he tightens his hold on Brian.
"I didn't think you'd be opposed."
"I'm not opposed." Brian raises an eyebrow. "Do I feel opposed?"
"No, but if you're not comfortable…" Justin pulls back, his expression worried. "Look, I shouldn't have assumed. It's just whenever you and I get together it feels like it always has, like I'm seventeen and madly in love. Especially here. It's easy for me to forget about everything else for awhile, you know? I'm really sorry."
It makes perfect sense to him because in a lot of ways Justin makes him feel the same way. Maybe not seventeen, and madly might be too strong an adjective, but there is something about Justin that makes all the other shitty details about their lives disappear. What's between them-no matter what-seems untouchable. Their feelings have stayed the same, as he had promised Justin they would after they called off the wedding. Everything else but he and Justin and the love that they share can all be chalked up to time-boyfriends, tricks, kids, all of it. And here they stand.
"Sorry's bullshit. And this isn't about being uncomfortable. I just want you to know what to expect if we fuck."
Justin laughs softly, exasperated. "That's what's bothering you? You were really freaking me out. Brian, I've read the Kinney Operating Manual. In fact, I wrote the revised edition. I get it. I really do."
Brian can fucking believe it. After everything he and Justin have been through-a lot of it unpleasant-he would expect Justin to be able to understand exactly what he's trying to say without him having to voice it. It's just that the Blond Twink Clause that applied to most of his rules doesn't apply here, not with the life Justin's chosen for himself. And he wants Justin to understand and accept that before he chooses to go through with this.
"And knowing that you still want to come up to the VIP lounge?"
"I was going up to the VIP suite tonight anyway, Mr. Kinney," Justin announces, pulling Brian towards him. "You're just an upgrade."
"The very best accommodations Babylon has to offer."
Brian feels Justin smile against his lips as they kiss, his worry subsiding. Then Sunshine takes him by the wrist as he has a million times before, and they slip away into the private room.
Pushing inside Justin is everything he remembers it to be-hot, tight, and mind blowing as hell. Despite the number of times they've done this, it's still a struggle to form coherent thoughts at first, awash in sensation. Justin moans and grinds into him, though, and it's enough to pull him out of his state of blissful limbo and into cruise control.
He has Sunshine bent over one of the couches, his hips snapping against his perfect ass. And this isn't anything like anyone he's had in the past two years. Brian's concern with Justin is that Justin gets as good as he gives. And fuck does Justin know how to give. Give, and then some. He never worries about that with tricks; they're throw-aways.
Brian sinks his fingers into blonde hair and tugs as he thrusts. The whimper he manages to coax from Justin's throat is a prize well earned. Justin leans back against Brian-the shift taking Brian by surprise and sends a pulse of fucking brilliance up his cock-and kisses frantically along his jaw line.
It only occurs to Brian after Justin coats his hand with cum that he shouldn't be so fucking quick about this. He doesn't have more than a few spare hours with Sunshine tonight before it's back to the real world, and who the fuck knows when they'll be able to do this again.
That's why Brian slows his frantic thrusts despite the ache of his balls, why his lips seek out Justin's limp body and sweat-slicked skin. He struggles to will his orgasm into submission. He wants this to fucking last. Thankfully, he has age on his side. Age and the familiarity of Justin's body-the meaning of every twitch, every sigh-which at this point, Brian thinks he knows better than Justin himself.
Author's Endnote: Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm happy to report that I'm already 2,000 words into Ch 3, and I'm really looking forward to sharing this next chapter with you. I think it's an exciting one!
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: 2
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 6,423
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations
Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who read and commented on chapter 1. Guys, I was overwhelmed by your support and encouragement! Thank you so much for making me feel welcome in this fandom and for bearing with me while I find these characters' voices. And another huge thank you to liebedance for her amazing beta skills; I don't know what I would do without her.
He's in the middle of face fucking Justin when he feels it-a strange tickling sensation on his head. Ignoring it, Brian moves faster, thrusting into Justin's mouth around Justin's strangled moans. His toes curl, his balls tighten, and Brian's nearly there. Just a little more. And that's it, Sunshine. Just like-
Fuck.
He feels it again, and this time it causes him to lose his build-up altogether. Brian swats around his head, but his back begins to ache. Things don't fit together, first vaguely then gradually growing more apparent until he can see Justin sucking him off but not feel it. Goddamn. And with one more tickling sensation, Brian's heavy eyelids flutter open.
Bright blue eyes are staring at him-upside down-and Brian jumps.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he shouts, and it comes out a hell of a lot less manly than he'd like.
While his heart beats frantically in his chest, the urchin giggles from where she squats next to him in her pajamas. Just fucking giggles. Doesn't even have the god damn decency to be the least bit ashamed of herself. And there she is, touching him again-her little grubby fingers in his hair and patting him like he's some fucking dog. Brian bats her hand away, sinks his head deeper into his pillow on the floor, and gives her a wary look.
"Go away," Brian says, tone quiet but firm. "Bye."
The urchin brings her tiny hand to her lips and smacks, blowing him a kiss and then waving. "Bye-bye."
"That's right. Scamper on."
Much to Brian's dismay, she doesn't. She just falls on her ass and blinks at him. The kid's more like her dad than Brian could have ever fathomed. Pretty-he'll begrudgingly give her that-and completely oblivious to being unwanted. Or maybe-in Sunshine's case-that was persistence in achieving one's goals; to this day, Brian still isn't sure which it was that kept Justin coming back.
And because he admired it in Justin, he might have been able to admire the urchin's fuck-all attitude as well-if a twelve month old could have one, that is. However, she chooses that moment to pick up a nearby ABC block-the old kind from when he and Mikey were kids-and chucks it at him. Brian scowls at her, tries his best to look intimidating, and tosses the block aside.
No, he decides, it has nothing to do with fuck-all and everything to do with being a little vegetable. All the intelligence Justin's genes were capable of producing, and he ends up with this.
"Your dad got a 1500 on his SATs, and you're struggling with get lost," Brian hisses. "Move. It."
He considers giving her shoulder a light nudge to get her to go, but Debbie's approaching steps sound from the kitchen. Brian doesn't particularly care to start his morning off with a lecture on not being an asshole to small children, so he refrains in favor of staring her down. The smart thing to do would be to get up and get the fuck out of this house-away from her-but Brian thinks that getting up after a night on the hard floor may be a bit of a process.
"Well isn't this a touching moment," Deb says with a laugh, stopping just short of where the urchin sits next to him.
Brian rolls his eyes. "Incredibly. My heart's just bursting with emotion."
Deb picks the kid up before looking down at Brian. "Yeah, I imagine so, considering it isn't much bigger than a thimble. Now get your ass out of bed. Breakfast is getting cold."
He watches Deb go back into the kitchen-the kid still staring at him from over Deb's shoulder-and then sits up. His back-as anticipated-is a fucking mess. Brian twists, rubs his neck, rolls his shoulders, all to no avail. Thirty-nine is too-dare he say it-old to be camping out on the floor, especially with only a sleeping bag for cushioning. He should have taken the risk to drive home; his back couldn't be any more fucked up if he'd gotten in a car accident. Barring he hadn't died in the process, of course. But then again-at this point-death by car crash might have been the ideal solution to all his troubles in life. He was, after all, dangerously close to forty.
Brian had imagined forty a long time ago. When he was fresh out of college, he'd thought he would never see it because who the fuck wants to get old? Better to die young than waste away. But then the cusp of thirty had come along and brought with it Gus and Justin-interestingly enough on the same night. Thirty seemed a little more manageable-most of the time-from then on. And once not too many years ago-when he'd been resigned to the fact that he couldn't be a twenty year old club boy forever-he'd imagined facing forty with a blond ball-and-chain.
Justin would have conspired with Emmett to throw some cheesy party had they still been together. His friends would have been there-at Britin, of course, because that's where they would have lived-and he'd have been force fed far-too-sweet cake. Naturally-so he didn't disappoint anyone-Brian would have been in a pissy mood all day. However, his big secret would have been that he didn't mind it so much-not the getting old, but being with everyone. And most especially Justin.
That's not a realistic vision to hold onto any longer. There is no he and Justin, no unconventional, undefined ball-and-chain-hood. And there won't ever be because Justin had to fucking go and have a kid, satisfy all his breeder urges. If it hadn't been for her, Brian imagines himself spending the greater part of Justin's time in the Pitts seducing him-back into their bed, their house, and their non-relationship.
She is here, though, and Brian can't quite make sense of what to do with the mess. Running seems like the best option since he's a master of avoidance and denial. But, one sleep-blurred glance at Justin's pajama-clad ass last night when Justin had woken up with the urchin makes Brian second guess himself. His dick having reigned free over every aspect of his life for so long, it's hard to say no to any prospect of fucking Justin now. Maybe, Brian thinks, he'll allow himself to settle for a homecoming fuck, or one last goodbye.
When Debbie screeches at him from the kitchen for a second time, Brian takes to his feet and pads his way across the room. It's occupied only by Deb, Carl, and the urchin who has just been contained in her high chair. He pulls out his own chair and eases down into it, an uncomfortable ache pinching along his spine.
From overtop the morning newspaper, Carl laughs. "It's hell to get old, isn't it?"
Brian would probably have something to say about that if it had come from anyone but Carl. The detective's grown on him over the years, in part because of how well he treats Deb. At times he almost feels like the closest thing to a real father Brian has ever had, but in a definite hands-off sort of way. Carl's the sort of person he could go to if he needed some very confidential advice, and he has on one or two occasions. Simple things, like fathering tips because Brian sure as hell has no idea how to be one; his own had been a piss poor example. So Carl helps with that, and Brian keeps his snide remarks to himself. It's a silent agreement that's worked well for them so far.
Deb sets a plate in front of him heaping with fats and carbs-fried hash browns, bacon, eggs over-easy, butter-soaked toast. Brian stares at it for a moment, trying to calculate how many extra hours he's going to need at the gym to work this and last night's dinner off. However long it is, he can't fucking afford to stick around for lunch.
Begrudgingly, Brian takes a bite of toast and, swallowing, asks, "Where is everyone?"
Deb's brow furrows as she pauses in front of the stove, as if trying to make a mental list. "Michael and Ben ran to the store. Emmett and Hunter are out back shoveling the walk and dicking around in the snow. And, Ted and Blake haven't been down yet. I figure they're probably fucking."
"What about her owner?" Brian asks, nodding in the urchin's direction.
"Oh, Sunshine's outside cleaning the Cheerios out of your Jeep." Then Deb shoots him a withering look. "And you're not going to score any points-or ass, for that matter-being mean to that baby."
Brian wrinkles his nose. That baby is currently covered from nose to fingers in oatmeal, her small spoon clutched in her hand. It only serves to remind him-especially after that fucking hot dream-what getting involved again with Justin, even for as long as a week, would entail. A messy, vegetable-headed urchin hanging around? He'd rather abstain from fucking until the New Year than deal with that.
"Speaking of scoring ass," Deb prompts, giving him one of those frighteningly familiar looks.
Carl quickly and awkwardly clears his throat-as he often does when the topic of taking it up the ass comes up-and stands. "Alright, this sounds like a mother-son conversation. I think I'll go help the boys in the back."
He's half-tempted to beg Carl not to leave him alone with Debbie while she's in one of her Tuna Casserole Moods, but he can't work up enough humility to do so before Carl is out the door. Suddenly, they're alone together, just the three of them-him, Deb, and the kid. Somehow, Brian thinks the odds aren't in his favor.
"Have you and Sunshine talked?" Deb asks, taking the seat across from him, next to the urchin's high chair.
"Deb, I don't have any weed on me-much to my annoyance-and you didn't make the fucking casserole, so this conversation that I think we're going to have can't happen."
"I asked if you talked with Sunshine."
Christ. Judging from the way her eyes are boring holes through him, she's not going to fucking quit until they have this little heart-to-heart. If he'd known that picking Justin up would entail sleeping on the goddamn floor followed by a morning ass-reaming-and not the positive, life-affirming kind-he wouldn't have allowed himself to be talked into it.
"What would I have talked to Justin about?"
"Oh I don't know. Fucking checkers." She sighs. "Look, honey, I know you, and I know, sure as I'm sitting here, that you love Justin. But he doesn't need you showing up and tugging at his heart strings, understand?"
Why do they pull this goddamn shit? It's always him hurting Justin and rarely the other way around. This isn't on him, not this time. If anything, it would be Justin having his cake and wanting to eat it too-wanting both the urchin and him. And if Justin wants to eat his cake, fine. He can eat anything he'd like as far as Brian is concerned; it's not as if Brian's unwilling to fuck him. But Justin can't have the whole cake; that much, Brian won't allow. And that's no one else's goddamn business but theirs. So everyone else can just butt the fuck out.
"This has nothing to do with you, Deb."
"The hell it doesn't. You may have disappeared from Sunshine's life ever since he got the news about Elise, but that doesn't mean that everyone else did. He's had a rough year, Brian. If you love him as much as I believe you do, you'll let him know what your intentions are."
Brian, briefly, does wonder what sort of problems Justin is having. Not that having a goddamn kid isn't a big enough one. Having been out of touch with him for so long, he supposes it could be any number of things.
Instinctively, he worries about Justin's health, but Justin looks good, and if something had really been wrong, Jennifer would have said something. And it sure as hell couldn't be about money. Out of touch or otherwise, Justin has to know that he would give him anything he needs. If the little shit is struggling, though, Brian's going to have his balls for not coming to him. Pride becomes significantly less attractive as the situation turns dire.
Having heard enough about intention and having dealt with this happy homo family long enough to have himself fucking canonized, Brian pushes back his chair. He expects Deb to challenge him in some way, but she just sits there, seemingly uncertain.
"I think I'm going to go," Brian says.
"You've barely touched your breakfast." Deb looks suddenly concerned. "Brian…"
"I'm fine, Ma."
"You know I didn't mean-"
"I know."
And he does, which is why he gives her a quick kiss to the cheek. This isn't Deb getting on his case; not really. It's her trying to protect her boys, just as she always has. And Brian appreciates her looking out for Justin. He just wishes she knew by now that she doesn't have to protect Justin from him.
~*~*~*~
When he finally reaches the Jeep, Brian is rewarded with the sight of gorgeous, blond boy ass as Justin leans into the backseat. And what a fucking sight it is. He admires it for a few spare moments, remembering how it felt in the palms of his hands, how it tasted the first time he'd ever rimmed Justin. One body part, so very many vivid-delectable-memories. However, his nostalgia is promptly cut short when Justin turns around, catching him in the act.
Justin chuckles. "See something you like?"
"Don't flatter yourself."
They share a smile, despite all Brian's efforts to stop it. At this point, he really ought to know better than to try to resist; Sunshine's smiles are notoriously contagious, and not even the great Brian Kinney is immune. With a shake of his head, Justin turns back to the Jeep with-Brian detects-a slight wiggle of his ass. Fucking tease.
"What do you think you're doing, Sunshine?"
"Cleaning your Jeep."
"No shit." Brian leans against the car, arms folded over his chest. "You don't have to do that. I'll have it taken care of."
"I believe the concession was that Elise could eat in the Jeep if it remained clean. Which, as I'm sure you remember, it didn't," Justin says. "Anyway, it's not a problem. I'm almost finished, so just give me a sec."
Since when had Justin grown up? Not that he hasn't always been mature, but Brian remembers the days when they had lived together, recalls all the times he'd told Justin to pick his shit up or get out. Justin had never listened then, probably knowing the threat for what it was-empty. Brian's not sure why he's being taken so seriously now. Had Justin forgotten? Or had he done or said something to make Justin forget?
"Are you alright?" Brian asks, both because of this display of responsibility and because of what Deb had said.
Justin looks at him curiously, as if he expects him to be stoned out of his mind. "What?"
"I asked if you were alright."
"Why would you think something's wrong?"
"Sunshine, spare me the bullshit."
He doesn't know what sort of answer he's going to get, especially when Justin turns away from him only to turn back a few moments later. Justin's expression is one of mixed emotions, as if he's wary of opening up and simultaneously yearning to. Brian's not unfamiliar with the sentiments coming from him, but it's been a long time since he's sensed them.
"Truthfully, I'm a little overwhelmed," Justin says simply.
"With your artwork?"
"No, with my life." Justin laughs, then sobers a little. "I'm essentially a single father to a very mobile and demanding one year old daughter, living five hours away from my family. She leaves me very little time to paint, which has in turn adversely affected our finances. And when I do get the spare time to work on my art, I'm constantly worrying about how she's doing."
Well fuck. He asked for the truth and Justin sure as hell gave it to him. Maybe it's a sign of how much Brian's matured over the years that he's not shooting off some cruel comment about making beds and lying in them. He hates hearing that Justin is still making sacrifices, five years after he made the biggest sacrifice of his life thus far-leaving his life and family behind for the art world. As Brian suspected, Sunshine had taken New York by storm-became a big fucking success-in a relatively short amount of time. And Brian had been happy for him; he'd never wanted Justin to suffer or struggle again. When they'd parted a couple years back, things were good, and like the idiot he is, he'd assumed that they'd just remained that way.
"And before you tell me that you told me so and I brought all of this onto myself," Justin continues, "I want you to know that I've created a lot of things in twenty-seven years, but Elise is by far the one I'm most proud of."
"I know," Brian says, and that's the honest truth; he has Gus and not even his most brilliant copy could compare to him. "And I wasn't going to tell you that I told you so."
Justin seems almost pleased to hear it, awarding him with a small smile before leaning into the backseat once more. Brian wishes there was some way he could help, look for a nanny in New York to watch the urchin or something. Not for the kid's sake, but for Sunshine's. He knows Justin, though. It's not finances keeping him from finding her a sitter; it's the fact that he doesn't want her raised by strangers. Who could blame him? He probably never understood how much he'd be sacrificing to give the kid a life like that.
"Alright, that's the last of them," Justin announces, taking a step back from the Jeep.
When their eyes meet, Brian can't be bothered to take in anything else going on around him-not the cars inching up the street nor Emmett and Hunter's shouts and laughter from the backyard. Ninety-five percent of the time, Brian's world revolves around his dick. But in rare instances, it does shift.
Like now, to only Justin.
"I should be going," Brian says with little conviction.
He sees the tell-tale signs, leans in to meet Justin's mouth halfway. He shouldn't be doing this-planting ideas of reviving their non-relationship in Justin's little blonde head-but fuck it. It feels too fucking good to pull back. Brian expects the kiss to turn heated-anticipates tongue and teeth, hands and moans. But Justin does little more than press his lips firmly against Brian's, moves ever so slightly, and withdraws.
It feels like goodbye-tender, slow, and loaded with things left unsaid.
"What was that for, Sunshine?"
"The last time we stood next to your car like this, I didn't see you for two and a half years." Justin grins, caressing Brian's cheek. "I thought I ought to get it while you're good for it."
"I'm going to be around."
"No, you won't. You hate the holidays. You'll make your cameo appearance for Gus, probably when I'm not around-don't bother to deny it, and relax because I'm not angry-and that'll be it. I bet you have some exotic vacation lined up already."
Brian resents that a little, even if it's altogether not off the mark. He does hate the holidays-though admittedly they've grown on him since Gus-and he has no intention of playing musical houses to appease everyone's holiday plans. It's not as if he doesn't want to see Justin; he does. But spending time together would only complicate things further. Further than they already are, considering Brian has thought of pounding into Justin's ass no fewer than five hundred and seventy-two times since waking up this morning.
"I'll leave your Christmas gift here since Deb will raise hell if you don't stop by," Justin says, stepping away from him.
"Hey, I'll be here, alright? It's a promise."
It leaves his mouth before he really understands what he's said, maybe spurred on by the sight of Justin moving backwards towards the house. Brian's always been terrible with goodbyes, would perhaps do anything in his power to avoid them. And the way Justin's face momentarily lights up at the thought of seeing each other again-just before it fades into concern-lessens his regret of the commitment.
"Brian…"
"You're going to have to put up with my holiday cheer, Sunshine."
"I question your cheeriness, but alright."
Justin's grin is all Brian needs to see to know that he's won this little argument. Won it, but not entirely sure if he's come up on top or set himself up for a miserable few days. He'd better visit his disco-pharmacologist just in case.
As Justin heads back into Deb's, Brian gets into his now-clean Jeep, remnants of his time with Justin-and the urchin-completely gone. It's almost as if it had never happened, as if it'd been some sort of fucking dream. It wouldn't be the first time, and having spent so long without Justin, it's hard to believe he's back. Brian checks his side mirror just to be sure, watching as Justin climbs the front steps.
Fuck.
Five hundred and seventy-three.
~*~*~*~
The wonders of four hundred dollar shower heads really would never cease. Brian dips his head under the stream of water, shifts so that the firm, pulsating spray beats against his stiff back. It feels fucking fantastic to be home, especially after a night spent in the close quarters of Deb's living room. So much so, in fact, that the sense of emptiness pervading these four walls-as it has for five years-only hits him midway through his shower. And even then, it only slightly taints his homecoming.
His thoughts drift and stray far into last night when, in his restlessness, he watched Justin sleep, curled up with the urchin on the couch. Sleep has always had a way of de-aging Justin-Brian would know, given all the nights he spent tracing all the curves and angles of Justin's face-and even pushing the dreaded thirty, he still looks less than legal. It's no more incentive for Brian than it ever has been-his interest never having been defined by Justin's young age-but it does remind him of simpler times.
He'll blame those fond memories for his hand straying downwards towards his hardening cock. Not that Brian ever needed a fucking excuse for jerking it before, but somehow it's different when he envisions blond hair and a blissfully tight ass nowadays. It makes him look like a pussy-pining away after a man he has no realistic future with anymore-which is why having a reason suddenly matters.
Hazel eyes flutter shut as his fingers close around his cock. Brian strokes, thrill racing through him to pool in his lower belly. He has this down to a fucking art form-has ever since fourteen-could pull himself off in no time at all. But, the image of Justin-burned into his mind-has Brian slowing his pace and tipping his head back.
With the thought of Justin's wet, warm mouth swallowing him, his breath hitches, his cock leaks. Brian swirls his thumb around his head, toes curling and nose twitching from the rush of it. His thoughts wander to pounding into Justin's ass, to Justin riding him-bareback, though only ever in his wildest dreams. It has him moaning, gasping for air, but the humidity makes it hard to breathe. Goddamn. He imagines what it would feel like-Justin's tight little ass enveloping him-and the mere thought has his balls suddenly tight, his orgasm slamming into him.
For moments, Brian can only feel, the world slipping away from him. But then it comes back, hard and cold, and he shudders a breath. As if suddenly ashamed, he quickly rinses away all traces of his cum and rubs his face beneath the cooling stream of water.
He can't believe he just fucking did that. Not the jerking off, not even the jerking off to Justin. But the fact that he'd come so quickly at the thought of having Justin bareback. Again, with the impossibilities-first being with Justin at all and now being with Justin raw. He has to stop this; it's fucking pathetic.
Despite the shitty weather, Brian decides that it's a Babylon sort of night for sure. Nothing chases away his troubled mind like a trick. At least, most of the time. Sometimes, much to his disappointment, a blonde will look enough like Justin or someone will give head enough like Justin that things start to blur for him.
But that's just a risk he's going to have to take.
Later that evening as Brian's just about to pick up his keys to leave, he catches the light on his answering machine blinking. He wonders if he wants to bother with it now; it's probably Deb or Mikey calling to check up on him. As if he needs their goddamn mothering; he can take care of himself. Ultimately he decides to get it over with since it could-though improbably-be something of actual importance.
Pressing the button, Lindsay and Gus' voices fill the room with a, "Hi, Dad!"
Despite himself, Brian grins. He'd never thought he'd ever want to hear that dreaded, three letter word used in reference to him, but now he never really tires of it. Brian's made a lot of questionable decisions in his various inebriated states, but letting Linds talk him into giving up his swimmers by far ranks as the best.
"We just wanted to let you know that we switched to an earlier flight next Thursday. Michael and Ben are going to pick us up at the airport around noon. I forwarded the flight information to you just a little while ago," Lindsay explains.
"Yeah, and, Dad, Mom says it's okay if I stay the night with you, but I hafta ask first. Call me back 'cause it's super important! Bye. Oh, love you. Bye."
The message cuts out there. Brian deletes it from the machine and works over his schedule for that Thursday in his head. He has a brief, afternoon meeting with Brown Athletics and then with his Babylon staff in the early evening. Brown is pressing-these finishing touches on the Super Bowl ads are going to be the death of him-but Babylon can fucking wait. Nothing comes before Gus if he can at all help it.
Picking up his cell, Brian speed dials Linds and Melanie's house. It rings and rings before Gus picks it up, Linds' admonishment of Honey, what did we tell you about answering the phone drifting through from the background.
"It's Dad's number, Mom," Gus explains, and then, "Hi, Dad! Did you hear our message?"
"I sure did, Sonny Boy."
~*~*~*~
Monday nights at Babylon don't exactly draw the biggest or sexiest crowd of the week, but Brian makes it work. He doesn't constantly prowl around the dance floor looking for his next trick like he once had, though he definitely makes a list as he goes about business as usual. He'd done the same last night-after he'd finally gotten Linds and Gus off the phone-and picked up a hot blond for his trouble.
He's eyeing up a fuckable enough brunet from the catwalk-nothing to write home about; a six, maybe-when he spots Emmy Lou walking up the steps. It takes Brian a second or two longer to notice Justin trailing behind him. He looks so out of place here after all this time, and the thought does occur to Brian that maybe he's just seeing things, mistaking someone for Justin. But judging from the leers of half the patrons in Babylon, this isn't some drug induced dream; only very few people could turn heads like that.
It's moments later when Emmett and Justin realize he's here-Emmett's face bordering between pleased and wary and Justin's pleasantly surprised. As Brian shifts to face them, Emmett says something to Justin, pats his shoulder, and comes back the way they came. Justin watches him go before approaching Brian.
"What are you doing here?" Brian shouts over the music.
"I'm told this is the hottest club in Pittsburgh." Justin smirks. "Inside sources say the owner can be a real cunt though."
"Inside sources can shut their ungrateful mouths."
Justin leans against the railing, cocking his hip in a way that makes Brian think Justin's coming onto him. He'd be a liar-especially after yesterday afternoon-if he didn't admit to moving in a little closer to Justin. It doesn't feel nearly as inappropriate here-at Babylon-as it had at Deb's. After all, no one comes to Babylon to visit family for the holidays. Here, it's all about the fuck.
"Emmett invited me along. He said you probably wouldn't be here tonight."
"So you're avoiding me now?" Brian asks, more in jest than anything. "Sorry to disappoint you, Sunshine."
Justin seems like he doesn't know quite what to say to that, which amuses Brian. Then, it looks as if he's about to launch into some sort of apology at having given Brian that impression. To stop that before it even begins, Brian slips his arm around Justin's slim shoulders and pulls Sunshine towards him.
"You look hot. What's the occasion? Shouldn't you be at home with your bouncing bundle of joy?"
"I know, to you, full-time parenthood is a death sentence, but that's not the case. Every once in awhile, even we dads get to let our hair down and have some fun." Justin pokes Brian's chest. "And I'm baby free for the next twelve hours or so thanks to Grammy and am going to fucking enjoy it. Preferably on the dance floor. So you can either join me or I'll find myself another dance partner."
Justin plants a quick kiss on his jaw before cruising his options as he moves towards the stairs, and Brian will be damned before he's going to follow that twink. Who the hell does Justin think he is, coming into Brian's domain and making threats? Why the fuck should he care if Justin finds someone else to dance with? He shouldn't; he's not some muncher. But-much to his complete disappointment in himself-he does. And how is it that Justin is the only person in the fucking universe that can get him this incensed with one little comment? It's a gift, Brian thinks, to be able to be so goddamn infuriating. Infuriating and sexy.
Brian supposes that it has a lot to do with the latter that he goes after Justin, stopping him on the steps with his hand. He reads the victory in blue eyes, the gotcha, the echoes of one boy's Brian Kinney gives a shit. And yeah, maybe he does.
"I'm the best dancer in this place. Don't waste your time."
"You? That's a frightening thought."
Brian scowls, following Justin down the stairs. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Brian, your dancing is for shit."
"Is this a recently developed opinion? Because I don't seem to recall you-or anyone else-ever complaining before."
Justin turns to him and whispers into his ear, "That's because it doesn't matter. You're Brian Fucking Kinney. No one gives a shit if you can dance."
When they find a place on the dance floor, Brian winds his arms around Justin's shoulders as Justin slips his around Brian's waist. They move together in a well worn rhythm, familiar despite all the time they've spent far apart, away from Babylon. It's slow, despite the quick thumpa-thumpa of the music, as if moving too quickly will make it all unravel. Brian wants to cherish this-the feel of silky blond locks slipping between his fingers, the touch of baby soft skin against his own. Who knows how long he has to keep hold to it, to Justin, to this.
The feel of Justin's hips slipping against his, the pressure of his hard cock against Brian's thigh, has Brian pulling them closer together. Their lips meet easily, first together and then travelling along necks and chins, ears and cheeks. Brian's careful to keep his eyes half-lidded, wonders what might happen if he catches Justin's gaze. Nothing-and everything-good, for certain. He knows Justin, understands what Justin's hands moving up and down his body means, what Justin pressing so tightly against him signals.
"Sunshine."
As Justin looks up at him, Brian wonders how to continue. He wouldn't particularly mind fucking Justin's brains out tonight, but there's no way in hell he's going to without establishing the rules. Because fucking Justin isn't about renewing whatever sort of relationship they had before. Telling Justin that, though-that whatever might happen between them tonight is just a fuck-seems like they're taking a hundred steps backward. Brian guesses it will all come down to phrasing, and as an ad man, he should have no problem with that. But this isn't some pitch; it's Justin.
"Brian, what's wrong?"
Sunshine's brow furrows, his lips part, and Brian feels completely exposed under that gaze. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it abruptly when he realizes he doesn't have a goddamn clue how to approach this, which leaves him with only two options-just get it out there by whatever means possible or run. Neither seems particularly preferable.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Justin says, fingers playing with the ends of Brian's hair affectionately. "If something's up…"
"That is the slight complication."
Brian's eyes flick down towards their hard cocks and Justin's follows. When they meet again, Justin looks momentarily confused, and Brian halts their movement. Realization must dawn on him then because he tightens his hold on Brian.
"I didn't think you'd be opposed."
"I'm not opposed." Brian raises an eyebrow. "Do I feel opposed?"
"No, but if you're not comfortable…" Justin pulls back, his expression worried. "Look, I shouldn't have assumed. It's just whenever you and I get together it feels like it always has, like I'm seventeen and madly in love. Especially here. It's easy for me to forget about everything else for awhile, you know? I'm really sorry."
It makes perfect sense to him because in a lot of ways Justin makes him feel the same way. Maybe not seventeen, and madly might be too strong an adjective, but there is something about Justin that makes all the other shitty details about their lives disappear. What's between them-no matter what-seems untouchable. Their feelings have stayed the same, as he had promised Justin they would after they called off the wedding. Everything else but he and Justin and the love that they share can all be chalked up to time-boyfriends, tricks, kids, all of it. And here they stand.
"Sorry's bullshit. And this isn't about being uncomfortable. I just want you to know what to expect if we fuck."
Justin laughs softly, exasperated. "That's what's bothering you? You were really freaking me out. Brian, I've read the Kinney Operating Manual. In fact, I wrote the revised edition. I get it. I really do."
Brian can fucking believe it. After everything he and Justin have been through-a lot of it unpleasant-he would expect Justin to be able to understand exactly what he's trying to say without him having to voice it. It's just that the Blond Twink Clause that applied to most of his rules doesn't apply here, not with the life Justin's chosen for himself. And he wants Justin to understand and accept that before he chooses to go through with this.
"And knowing that you still want to come up to the VIP lounge?"
"I was going up to the VIP suite tonight anyway, Mr. Kinney," Justin announces, pulling Brian towards him. "You're just an upgrade."
"The very best accommodations Babylon has to offer."
Brian feels Justin smile against his lips as they kiss, his worry subsiding. Then Sunshine takes him by the wrist as he has a million times before, and they slip away into the private room.
Pushing inside Justin is everything he remembers it to be-hot, tight, and mind blowing as hell. Despite the number of times they've done this, it's still a struggle to form coherent thoughts at first, awash in sensation. Justin moans and grinds into him, though, and it's enough to pull him out of his state of blissful limbo and into cruise control.
He has Sunshine bent over one of the couches, his hips snapping against his perfect ass. And this isn't anything like anyone he's had in the past two years. Brian's concern with Justin is that Justin gets as good as he gives. And fuck does Justin know how to give. Give, and then some. He never worries about that with tricks; they're throw-aways.
Brian sinks his fingers into blonde hair and tugs as he thrusts. The whimper he manages to coax from Justin's throat is a prize well earned. Justin leans back against Brian-the shift taking Brian by surprise and sends a pulse of fucking brilliance up his cock-and kisses frantically along his jaw line.
It only occurs to Brian after Justin coats his hand with cum that he shouldn't be so fucking quick about this. He doesn't have more than a few spare hours with Sunshine tonight before it's back to the real world, and who the fuck knows when they'll be able to do this again.
That's why Brian slows his frantic thrusts despite the ache of his balls, why his lips seek out Justin's limp body and sweat-slicked skin. He struggles to will his orgasm into submission. He wants this to fucking last. Thankfully, he has age on his side. Age and the familiarity of Justin's body-the meaning of every twitch, every sigh-which at this point, Brian thinks he knows better than Justin himself.
Author's Endnote: Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm happy to report that I'm already 2,000 words into Ch 3, and I'm really looking forward to sharing this next chapter with you. I think it's an exciting one!
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