HUMAN BEHAVIOUR
Title: Human Behaviour
Written By: 0corona0
Timeline: 115
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: violence
Summary: What happens after Melanie walked out with Gus in 115 and left Brian alone with Justin? Find out…
Author's Notes: Thank you, malli_.
"Get out."
They are the first words that Brian says after the metal door slid close behind Melanie who walked out with Gus in her arms. He didn’t move or make a sound for several seconds, neither did Justin dare to, which stretched them into a very long, very uncomfortable amount of time.
But now he walks to the counter, past Justin, the whip still dangling from his hand with which reaches for the bottle of Beam, taking a long sip. This day needs a make-over, with the good French shit. He is no better than his father. All that he has always been afraid of, being like Jack Kinney, now turns out to be true. A worthless sack of shit, an asshole, someone who can’t even take care of their own child. Shit. He doesn’t even want to imagine what could have happened to Gus. And he trusted this fucking blond kid! He better gets lost as long as he still can.
But Justin doesn’t move, not an inch, just stays glued to the floor, looking guilty and pale and so determined that Brian wants to scream at him. But he doesn’t, not yet. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault. None of this, not even you.
“Justin.”
He’s looking at Brian. Justin is so ignorantly sweet, so dangerously untaught. If he knew anything at all, he would flee, because if Brian asks for something calmly, “leave, Justin, now”, and politely, then you better run as fast as you can.
But he doesn’t know, so he puts on that cocky grin of his and straightens his shoulders and says, stubborn as always, “but there are so many better things we could do.”
Everything is pulling at Brian’s nerves. He has hardly ever felt as drunk, as meritless, as ashamed and angry as right now, and these are the times that he hides. Takes it out on a trick. Drinks himself into stupor. Definitely stays away from Justin, because the only thing he fears more than someone hurting Justin is hurting Justin himself.
“What part of ‘get the fuck out’ don’t you understand, you little shit?!”, he shouts, and Justin takes a shocked step backwards, good, better leave disgusted now than scarred later, but then bites his lips and fucking stays. He stays, and now it’s all over. It takes Brian four steps to reach the kid, two hand movements to turn him around and push him to the floor. If he wants it that bad, he should get it that bad.
Justin protests, “Brian!”, but he’s beyond mind and senses as he presses the kid’s head to the floor and rips the pants off his hips, just far enough so that his delicious ass is exposed, Beam still in his hand. “You want it that bad, don’t you?” His voice, heavy and lascivious and bitter, mimicks his thoughts. “You know what I call greedy wanton fucks like you?”
His hand grips Justin’s hair strongly, pressing him to the floor, while his leather covered dick rubs over the pale, oh so pale ass, and he takes another sip of Beam, the burn beautiful and the friction fervent.
“I call them sluts, Justin.”
He pulls down his trousers after spitting out the words, the whip still hanging at his hand, useless, and he drags it over Justin’s ass, between his cheeks, over his crack. He told the kid to get out. I told him to get out. He didn’t want to. He fucked up. And Justin’s hard, so hard that he can’t say no, although Brian knows how he feels as he pounds into him without preparation, using the last condom that is left for tonight. He feels worthless, used, there, you little shit, you want more from me?, then let’s share, as worthless and as used as Brian does, take it. Why didn’t Justin know that he was supposed to test the milk? Why does he stick around? Why didn’t I manage to be better than him? Why is he going to die?
He’s going fast and hard, drinking Beam with one hand and jerking Justin roughly off with the other, barely registering the boy anymore, only himself, only his own failure, and then Justin moans, despite of himself the kid moans and whispers Brian’s name, and suddenly he’s rid of all illusions, Brian sees himself, using this man who has always been braver and better than him, and he pulls out. He could not loathe himself any more than now, when he brings Justin off with a few strokes, and himself too, miring both hardwood floors and pale skin, a pure soul, a devout heart.
“Me and you, we’re a lot alike.”
We are, dad. See what I’m doing? You’d be proud. Are you proud? Will I make you proud once before you die?
God knows, Justin is brave, and strong. He stands up after only a few seconds of catching his breath, after only a brief moment to pull up his trousers and regain his balance. But he does look caught off guard, unsettled, the way the blue eyes flicker over Brian’s face and can’t quite manage to keep the cold, hazel gaze. Brian swallows some Jimmy again, puts the bottle onto the counter with a loud bang and walks towards the bedroom.
And Justin follows him.
Why? Why does he even want to be close to me after this? Someone’s got to protect him, and it looks like Brian is the only one currently available. The fucking irony. So he turns around again, and pushes Justin firmly towards the couch. “Sleep there.” Rough and scratchy, ashamed and abused. What he’s done to Justin should be enough for one night, and why does he look hurt when all Brian really is doing is protecting him?
When Brian falls into his bed, he hates himself. When he wakes up, he thinks that maybe it’s not so bad - until he sees Justin sleeping on his couch and remembers: that his dad is dying, that his son has no one else than smelly Melly for a father, that Justin had to endure complete ignobility. That someway, somehow, weakens “not so bad” into “fucking fabulous can’t you see it you fuckin’ cunt?!”. He wakes the blond up, with a coffee on the glass table, trying to apologise, but how the fuck do you apologise for something like this, when Sorry’s Bullshit?
Coffee doesn’t work, because the chatty student is quiet and, careful. They don’t talk a word, which Brian usually loves and now whole-heartedly despises. So much even that he begins to ask him questions, about school, his mommy, his goddamn sister. Her name’s Molly. But Justin’s answers are monosyllabic, and they shower separately, and fuck if Brian knew what to do now. He has enough on his mind, doesn’t he? His father is dying. He doesn’t need a pouting teenager now.
But the truth is that he, on top of being helpless about the cancer spreading further and further into his father’s body, being helpless about making good what happened to Gus, is helpless now about Justin; he just doesn’t know how he could say “I’m sorry” without being pretentious, because there is no possiblity. Fuck. Fuck!
“But how honest is it to let a man go to his grave without ever knowing who his son was?”
Yeah, ma, maybe you’re right.
But Brian can’t quite bring himself to do the right thing. Too much of a coward, probably, we’re all human. Do you know what it feels like to sit in a bus and see how two innocent foreigners are harrassed by fashists? Do you stand up and wrestle the knives from their hands? And now he’s even comparing the unbelievably silent car ride to St. James’s to a violent hate assault, which may not be that inappropriate, judging from his own irrational behaviour. Human behaviour.
“Justin!”
Maybe it’s the red hair of this teacher, or Justin’s slumped shoulders as he walks towards the building without his usual bounce; regardless, it motivates Brian to step out of the Jeep and follow him. Once he’s standing in front of the student, Brian remembers that he never finds the right words, because there aren’t any, for Christ’s sake.
What would you have wanted him to do?
So Brian wraps his arms around Justin’s back and pulls him close, his hands tangling in the blonde hair, his fingers stroking the skin gently. Justin immediately melts into him, burrows his nose at Brian’s neck. How he can still trust him, feel save in his touch, is beyond Brian as he whispers: “I’ll see you tonight?”
Justin nodds and separates. “Yeah.” He kisses him then, briefly but deeply, and fuck, the lil shit is smirking! “Later.”
“Later.”
Brian watches him go, watches Daphne welcome him with an excited and astonished “what was that all about?!”, like every morning, then gets back into his Jeep. He is going to make sure that Justin has the night of his life today, but beforehand, dad will, too.
Written By: 0corona0
Timeline: 115
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: violence
Summary: What happens after Melanie walked out with Gus in 115 and left Brian alone with Justin? Find out…
Author's Notes: Thank you, malli_.
"Get out."
They are the first words that Brian says after the metal door slid close behind Melanie who walked out with Gus in her arms. He didn’t move or make a sound for several seconds, neither did Justin dare to, which stretched them into a very long, very uncomfortable amount of time.
But now he walks to the counter, past Justin, the whip still dangling from his hand with which reaches for the bottle of Beam, taking a long sip. This day needs a make-over, with the good French shit. He is no better than his father. All that he has always been afraid of, being like Jack Kinney, now turns out to be true. A worthless sack of shit, an asshole, someone who can’t even take care of their own child. Shit. He doesn’t even want to imagine what could have happened to Gus. And he trusted this fucking blond kid! He better gets lost as long as he still can.
But Justin doesn’t move, not an inch, just stays glued to the floor, looking guilty and pale and so determined that Brian wants to scream at him. But he doesn’t, not yet. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault. None of this, not even you.
“Justin.”
He’s looking at Brian. Justin is so ignorantly sweet, so dangerously untaught. If he knew anything at all, he would flee, because if Brian asks for something calmly, “leave, Justin, now”, and politely, then you better run as fast as you can.
But he doesn’t know, so he puts on that cocky grin of his and straightens his shoulders and says, stubborn as always, “but there are so many better things we could do.”
Everything is pulling at Brian’s nerves. He has hardly ever felt as drunk, as meritless, as ashamed and angry as right now, and these are the times that he hides. Takes it out on a trick. Drinks himself into stupor. Definitely stays away from Justin, because the only thing he fears more than someone hurting Justin is hurting Justin himself.
“What part of ‘get the fuck out’ don’t you understand, you little shit?!”, he shouts, and Justin takes a shocked step backwards, good, better leave disgusted now than scarred later, but then bites his lips and fucking stays. He stays, and now it’s all over. It takes Brian four steps to reach the kid, two hand movements to turn him around and push him to the floor. If he wants it that bad, he should get it that bad.
Justin protests, “Brian!”, but he’s beyond mind and senses as he presses the kid’s head to the floor and rips the pants off his hips, just far enough so that his delicious ass is exposed, Beam still in his hand. “You want it that bad, don’t you?” His voice, heavy and lascivious and bitter, mimicks his thoughts. “You know what I call greedy wanton fucks like you?”
His hand grips Justin’s hair strongly, pressing him to the floor, while his leather covered dick rubs over the pale, oh so pale ass, and he takes another sip of Beam, the burn beautiful and the friction fervent.
“I call them sluts, Justin.”
He pulls down his trousers after spitting out the words, the whip still hanging at his hand, useless, and he drags it over Justin’s ass, between his cheeks, over his crack. He told the kid to get out. I told him to get out. He didn’t want to. He fucked up. And Justin’s hard, so hard that he can’t say no, although Brian knows how he feels as he pounds into him without preparation, using the last condom that is left for tonight. He feels worthless, used, there, you little shit, you want more from me?, then let’s share, as worthless and as used as Brian does, take it. Why didn’t Justin know that he was supposed to test the milk? Why does he stick around? Why didn’t I manage to be better than him? Why is he going to die?
He’s going fast and hard, drinking Beam with one hand and jerking Justin roughly off with the other, barely registering the boy anymore, only himself, only his own failure, and then Justin moans, despite of himself the kid moans and whispers Brian’s name, and suddenly he’s rid of all illusions, Brian sees himself, using this man who has always been braver and better than him, and he pulls out. He could not loathe himself any more than now, when he brings Justin off with a few strokes, and himself too, miring both hardwood floors and pale skin, a pure soul, a devout heart.
“Me and you, we’re a lot alike.”
We are, dad. See what I’m doing? You’d be proud. Are you proud? Will I make you proud once before you die?
God knows, Justin is brave, and strong. He stands up after only a few seconds of catching his breath, after only a brief moment to pull up his trousers and regain his balance. But he does look caught off guard, unsettled, the way the blue eyes flicker over Brian’s face and can’t quite manage to keep the cold, hazel gaze. Brian swallows some Jimmy again, puts the bottle onto the counter with a loud bang and walks towards the bedroom.
And Justin follows him.
Why? Why does he even want to be close to me after this? Someone’s got to protect him, and it looks like Brian is the only one currently available. The fucking irony. So he turns around again, and pushes Justin firmly towards the couch. “Sleep there.” Rough and scratchy, ashamed and abused. What he’s done to Justin should be enough for one night, and why does he look hurt when all Brian really is doing is protecting him?
When Brian falls into his bed, he hates himself. When he wakes up, he thinks that maybe it’s not so bad - until he sees Justin sleeping on his couch and remembers: that his dad is dying, that his son has no one else than smelly Melly for a father, that Justin had to endure complete ignobility. That someway, somehow, weakens “not so bad” into “fucking fabulous can’t you see it you fuckin’ cunt?!”. He wakes the blond up, with a coffee on the glass table, trying to apologise, but how the fuck do you apologise for something like this, when Sorry’s Bullshit?
Coffee doesn’t work, because the chatty student is quiet and, careful. They don’t talk a word, which Brian usually loves and now whole-heartedly despises. So much even that he begins to ask him questions, about school, his mommy, his goddamn sister. Her name’s Molly. But Justin’s answers are monosyllabic, and they shower separately, and fuck if Brian knew what to do now. He has enough on his mind, doesn’t he? His father is dying. He doesn’t need a pouting teenager now.
But the truth is that he, on top of being helpless about the cancer spreading further and further into his father’s body, being helpless about making good what happened to Gus, is helpless now about Justin; he just doesn’t know how he could say “I’m sorry” without being pretentious, because there is no possiblity. Fuck. Fuck!
“But how honest is it to let a man go to his grave without ever knowing who his son was?”
Yeah, ma, maybe you’re right.
But Brian can’t quite bring himself to do the right thing. Too much of a coward, probably, we’re all human. Do you know what it feels like to sit in a bus and see how two innocent foreigners are harrassed by fashists? Do you stand up and wrestle the knives from their hands? And now he’s even comparing the unbelievably silent car ride to St. James’s to a violent hate assault, which may not be that inappropriate, judging from his own irrational behaviour. Human behaviour.
“Justin!”
Maybe it’s the red hair of this teacher, or Justin’s slumped shoulders as he walks towards the building without his usual bounce; regardless, it motivates Brian to step out of the Jeep and follow him. Once he’s standing in front of the student, Brian remembers that he never finds the right words, because there aren’t any, for Christ’s sake.
What would you have wanted him to do?
So Brian wraps his arms around Justin’s back and pulls him close, his hands tangling in the blonde hair, his fingers stroking the skin gently. Justin immediately melts into him, burrows his nose at Brian’s neck. How he can still trust him, feel save in his touch, is beyond Brian as he whispers: “I’ll see you tonight?”
Justin nodds and separates. “Yeah.” He kisses him then, briefly but deeply, and fuck, the lil shit is smirking! “Later.”
“Later.”
Brian watches him go, watches Daphne welcome him with an excited and astonished “what was that all about?!”, like every morning, then gets back into his Jeep. He is going to make sure that Justin has the night of his life today, but beforehand, dad will, too.