Turpentine
Author: yoursweater
Author's note: The second challenge fiction I’ve been working on for a few weeks. This one was for the “I Dare You” challenge, issued by darksylvia back in early August. My dare was to write a story using the prompt, "I'd like somebody to write a GOOD and believable fic that involves either Brian or Justin or both in full drag. And hot sex must ensue while either or both are fully femmed out.” This story is also a longer version of one of the ficlets I wrote for the one word/one pairing meme, so if you think you’ve seen the idea before only in shorter form, it’s because you have.
Warning/Rating: Explicit
and this boy’s quite spectacular.
It happens sometime in the twenty minutes that Brian manages to lose Justin in the crowd at Pride. He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest, remembers a certain event from six years ago that was exactly like this, but felt a lot different then. The drag queens still parade, the trannies still catwalk, and everything else still fills in the gaps between them.
He manages to find Debbie first, and she looks freakishly normal compared to all of the fairy queens around her. Brian asks with only half concern, “Deb. You know where Justin and Mikey are?”
She grins (and Brian wonders if seniors get a discount at Pride), and Brian’s about to slide into the crowd around the two of them, but then she’s got someone by the hand, and Brian fucking knows that pale wrist - all white skin and leading to the palm of a hand, and he feels like he just found out that he’s been living with a wife and two point five kids for the last seven years.
“What the fuck did you do,” Brian asks, except it comes out more of a statement than a question as he studies Justin’s black eyeliner and red slick lips stretched over teeth, and Brian hasn’t seen him laugh so hard in a long time. Debbie’s standing beside him, her fingers still touching his arm, and her laughter, the kind that actually sounds like HA HA HA, is echoing over the crowd.
“I knew you’d flip out, didn’t I tell you, Deb?” He snickers, lets go of Deb, and has to stand up on his tiptoes before he can slide his arm around Brian’s shoulders. Justin’s dress swishes, and Brian feels it against his leg. “Don’t worry though, honey. Nothing’s permanent. Yet.”
Brian makes the face that he usually reserves just for Theodore, and pushes Justin off of his shoulder. Ignores the way that the two are still laughing at his expense, and loses himself in the crowd.
He figures that later he’ll peel Justin’s dress off of his body, but for right now, all he needs is a fucking drink.
…
Sticky lips and sticky hips, Justin’s skirt is pulled up too high, and his hair is knotted at the ends because Brian keeps losing his fingers in it. The narrow shoulders are pushed back against a cream colored wall, just a shade more yellow than Justin’s skin, and Brian’s palms smooth over Justin’s chest and down to his stomach. Fingers pressing down into white skin until Justin is gasping at all his edges, eyes too tight and stinging from the sweat and the makeup and the way they mix and run together - black smeared over cheeks and eyelids, and Brian wants to lick it off like he did to the red lipstick, too shiny and too glossy, too much of a competitor that’s opposed to Justin’s eyes.
Brian’s fingers wrap around Justin’s hips, press him tight back against the hotel room wall, and his thumbs press hard against the sharp bones, make pink indents on Justin’s skin. One week back in the Pitts, just for Mother Taylor’s birthday, and he gets this. Fantastic.
“Fuck. Brian,” Justin gasps, tightens his arms wrapped around Brian’s shoulders, and throws his head back against the wall. His skull clunks against the plaster, but neither of them notice, Brian too busy sliding his hands to sneak between Justin’s back and the wall. They slide over his shoulder blades, trace up his neck and then flatten against the back of Justin’s head, palms pressed against his hair as Brian moves down to slide his mouth over Justin’s collar bone.
Justin groans and angles his hips away from the wall, tries to wrap one of his legs around Brian’s waist, but he can’t because then Brian’s dragging him backwards and if he doesn’t balance on both legs, he’ll fall. And he’s already done that enough times today, after practicing all morning at Deb’s, a pair of black high heels on his feet as he defies his own gravity.
“You make a hot woman,” Brian breathes, mouth against Justin’s tongue, and he uses the front ties of the too tight too black too wicked dress to lead Justin towards the bed. The blond can barely breathe, and he can’t decide whether it’s from Brian, the corset knotted around his chest, or both. Probably both.
Whatever breath was left in him is knocked out when Brian pushes him down onto the already unmade bed, palms connecting with shoulders, and Justin connects with the blankets, left the way they were when Brian’s alarm clock didn’t go off until an hour after it was apparently set to. Or so he says.
Grinning up at Brian with a wicked curl of the lips, Justin watches as he peels his shirt off, a smirk on his face like he just won his fifth lottery - or some other comparison, as equally cheesy as that. The shirt is tossed to the foot of the bed, and then Justin’s pressed down into the mattress, Brian’s hands sliding up underneath the dress, brushing over Justin’s legs.
Exhaling a short and sharp breath, Justin reaches up, wraps his arms around Brian’s shoulders. Pulls him down until he can slide his tongue into Brian’s open mouth, suck some of the red from Brian’s lip, smudged from his own, and then run his teeth over it. Brian knots a hand in Justin’s hair, hips grinding down against Justin’s stomach, and it would border on something that Brian would never do if he wasn’t so fucking horny right now.
Justin groans and presses his hot fingertips against the back of Brian’s neck, shakes his head and with a cracking voice, says, “Fuck it. Fuck me. Just fuck me.”
A shake of the head and then Brian presses the flat bottom of his tongue against Justin’s neck, where the muscle meets the collarbone. Grins wickedly and drags his teeth over the skin there, uses one hand to slide down the front of Justin’s too tight dress, rubbing over the coarse fabric and half undone zippers.
Brian pulls away from Justin’s neck, squeezes Justin’s sides with his hands and whispers, voice low and sounding like it’s on sandpaper, “I want you to suck me first,” against Justin’s ear, all hot lips and a hot tongue.
One hand starts to move up and under the dress, long fingers tracing over one of Justin’s kneecaps, and then the other - nails scratching the skin all up along the inside of his leg. Justin groans and his body bucks up as he tries to push himself up onto his elbows, tries to get some leverage in this bordering battle. Loses before he can even begin to fight when Brian presses a flat palm against his chest, pushes until Justin’s head is back on the pillow and he’s desperate to breathe.
Straddling Justin’s hips, Brian undoes his jeans with the same wicked grin on his face, undoing each button one at a time before he slides the zipper down, and Justin almost hears the grind of the metal. Brian lets the fly hang open until Justin’s hips are sliding back and forth and he’s groaning in frustration, listening to the fabric of his dress scratch against the bed underneath him. Justin reaches forward and knots his fingers in Brian’s belt loops, yanks the pants down and reaches for his dick as soon as it’s within reach. Brian groans as soon as Justin’s fingers wrap around him, squeezing and pressing down with his fingertips, and Brian forgets whatever battle of wills he was playing with before.
Arching up off of the bed, Justin jerks Brian off slowly, stopping whenever he starts to breathe too fast, too hard. He presses one hand against Brian’s hip and uses the other to rub over him, not stopping until Brian pulls back and jumps off of the bed, breathing hard and smiling harder as he pushes his pants the rest of the way down and then steps out of them.
As he climbs back on top of the bed, Justin settles back against the pillows. Grins, spreads his arms out from side to side, and lets his legs fall open - enough for Brian to want to push them the rest of the way open, at least.
Brian crawls on top of Justin, straddles his chest with muscles that should be weak but have never been stronger, does it until Justin’s fingers are back on his hips and pulling him forward, moving his body up until he’s above Justin’s face instead of in front of it. Brian moans and it settles somewhere in his throat as he uses the headboard in front of him for balance, finally feels his knees turn to jelly when Justin uses one hand with fingers sticky from jerking him off to slide Brian into his mouth.
A head of brown hair drops forward, and Brian presses his forehead against the back of his hand, flat against the headboard. Closes his eyes, and tries not to buck forward and down Justin’s throat. Justin exhales through his nose and presses his fingers against the backs of Brian’s legs, sucks deeper and takes Brian in as far as he can go.
“Fuck,” Brian mutters, shakes his head to clear his blurry vision, and can’t help it when he jerks his hips forward. His breath starts to come faster and faster as Justin pulls back and then slides him all the way back in, uses his teeth with lips over top of them to trace over the sides of Brian’s dick. Justin pulls Brian out of his mouth, slides his wet sticky lips over the side, traces down Brian’s hip. Pulls him forward again with the other hand, and bites where Brian’s leg meets the rest of him.
Whispers, “fuck me,” again - lips moving against Brian’s skin, breath hot against it as Brian moves his hips back and forth slowly, just trying to hump whatever piece of Justin he can get.
Justin reaches for a condom, feels around on the side table for the box they opened the night before. Finds it in-between Brian’s now broken alarm clock and the room card, manages to do a slick one-handed move, and open it with his thumb, pointer and middle finger - a talent that he’s quite fucking proud of, and that Brian can’t master because his fingers are too long. He slides the condom down on Brian’s dick, watches as Brian rolls off of him and pulls the blond on top instead.
Leaning back against the headboard, Brian drops his head back the same way that Justin did earlier to the wall, and it lands with a clunk that both of them hear. Justin crawls on top of Brian’s torso, gets one knee on either side of Brian’s narrow hips and grinds down, thinks about how they might not need lube when Brian almost slides in from just that.
He groans and presses his forehead against Brian’s shoulder, hair stuck to his skin and hips jittery as Brian pushes Justin’s dress up around his middle. The blond starts to laugh, breathlessly, when Brian can’t get a hold of all the layers, starts to mutter and curse.
Justin whispers, “I can take it off,” his voice a step away from cracking on the ‘off.’ He goes to move from Brian’s lap, but then he’s stopped, two hands on his ribs.
“Leave it on,” Brian whispers back, his voice rough around the edges with a crooked grin on his face. Justin laughs, nods. Can’t help the way that his body jerks forward, his stomach pressing into Brian’s when Justin feels his dick against him.
…
Justin’s peeling the dress up over his head when Brian comes into the bathroom behind him, grins and wraps his arms around Justin’s still sticky waist. Lightly bites the pale shoulder, murmurs,
“That was hot.”
A smirk and a nod, and Justin’s sliding a hand down over his own stomach, fingers scratching at his skin as he tosses the dress onto the counter he’s standing in front of. Brian tightens his arms around the smaller body he’s surrounding, slides them down over Justin’s hips as he starts to suck instead of bite. Justin exhales through his nose, leans back and reaches one of his hands up.
Knots it into the hair at the back of Brian’s head, still wet and tangled from where his hands were earlier, and arches his hips against Brian’s hand.
…
The dress is half in the sink and half on the floor when Brian helps Justin jump up onto the bathroom counter. His legs tighten around Brian’s waist and his fingers knot even more into his hair, his stomach twirling around inside him when Brian bites his bottom lip lightly. Drags his teeth over the red swollen skin of Justin’s lip, and presses his thumbs into thin hips, breath sharp when Justin retaliates, scratches his short nails against Brian’s back.
“Jesus Christ,” Justin whispers, and it’s so low that Brian almost doesn’t hear it. His body jerks up off of the counter, hips bumping into Brian’s and trapping his hand between them. Brian can feel Justin’s hands start to tighten up against his back, clenching and unclenching into fists and then flat palms. Justin throws his head back, and it hits the mirror with a thump. “Fuck.”
The ankles that are tight around Brian’s waist start to strain, so Brian reaches back, holds them steady as Justin repositions himself. Small body moves up off of the counter, so his ankles on Brian’s back and his hands holding Brian’s shoulders keep his body weight up, high enough so Brian can reach his ass.
Justin’s almost out of it, breathing hard and chest heaving as he stares at the ceiling above them with half closed eyes, makeup still streaked across them both, and bright red lipstick smeared into the sides of his mouth, lips kiss and bite swollen. Brian digs around in the small bag on the counter beside the sink, finds a condom in-between razor refills and Justin’s fucking travel sized bottles of toothpaste.
He rips the package open with his teeth - something Justin hasn’t been able to master, because he always ends up ripping the condom as well - and the blond manages to snatch it from Brian’s fingers. Slide it on him, his hands already shaking, sticky with sweat and everything else. Brian moans when Justin’s fingers brush against his skin, purposely rubbing even though they both know that the condom is already (very securely, even) on.
“Gonna fuck you,” Brian whispers, and his voice is already starting to sound like someone’s scratched at it with their claws, maybe some queen still parading down the street fifteen minutes away on Liberty Avenue, but it doesn’t matter. “Gonna fuck you so fucking hard.”
Justin moans and drops his head back against the mirror again.
…
Justin’s in the shower washing the black lines from his face, while Brian takes some ‘important’ conference call in the other room. The blond can hear Brian’s voice rise higher and higher the longer that he’s talking for, and eventually it’s crystal clear through the hotel room wall, and Justin wonders about all the other people on their floor that are not conditioned to the Brian Kinney way of conducting a business.
He climbs out of the expensive built-in shower suite (and that’s what they call it, on the fucking glossy pamphlet Justin finds on the back of the toilet) and after rubbing the steam from the mirror with a towel, Justin studies his own face in the glass. Realizes that the pounds of mascara that Deb applied to his eyelashes that morning are still smeared under his eyes - makes it look as though he’s been on a drinking binge for forty days and forty nights. He kinds of likes it, smirks at his reflection and then tightens the wet towel wrapped around his waist. He exits the bathroom just as Brian’s starting to really yell.
“I don’t care what she wants - for fuck’s sake, Cynthia - listen to me!” He’s yelling, one finger plugging the ear that isn’t glued to the hotel room line, even though there isn’t another sound coming from anywhere else in the room. “I’m telling you right now, if I get back and everything is fucked up, it’s your ass on the line. And I fucking mean it this time, too!”
Justin rolls his eyes at the empty threat and falls into the desk chair. Throws one of his legs up onto the desk top and reaches over for the half empty beer that Brian must’ve been drinking before he took the call. He slicks a hand through his hair, which he never bothered to properly dry, and takes a sip of he lukewarm drink. Makes a face when he remembers that beer tastes like ass when its warm, and decides that he should make Brian order more room service when he gets off of the phone.
He finally hangs up, fifteen minutes later even though they felt like fifty to Justin, and even then Justin knows that the only reason Brian bothered to stop yelling was because he noticed the way that Justin was sitting - legs wide apart and head dropped against the back of the chair like the wall and the mirror and the headboard.
Smirk on his face, and fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk.
…
They fuck over the desk, and Justin gets the complimentary stationary all wet and sticky with his palms. The half empty bottle gets knocked over by Brian’s elbow, and whatever beer is left in the bottom soaks through everything else on the table that isn’t already wet. In the end they take another shower, because now Justin’s covered in beer - back, ass, neck and hair - and so is Brian. His palms, his knees, his back from Justin’s sticky palms.
Brian spots the dress hanging on the back of the door as Justin starts to fall into a state of never wanting to function again, ready to drop dead on the floor from the lack of sleep and body bordering exhaustion. The black is still slicked under Justin’s eyes, and now it’s dripping down his cheeks from the sweat and the pad of Brian’s left thumb, just because he slid it through the black liquid over and over, until it looked like Justin was crying vanity tears. Ran his tongue over that when he was done, and jerked Justin off the entire time.
He thinks that they may both be turning into sluts - and all over some tight dress that when Justin wears it, is just taut enough to stretch over Justin’s stomach and wrap around his hips, let Brian run his sticky fingers over it with the same sticky stare.
oh my kiss breath turpentine, i am smitten.
i could be your frankenstein - my crush with eyeliner.
Author's note: The second challenge fiction I’ve been working on for a few weeks. This one was for the “I Dare You” challenge, issued by darksylvia back in early August. My dare was to write a story using the prompt, "I'd like somebody to write a GOOD and believable fic that involves either Brian or Justin or both in full drag. And hot sex must ensue while either or both are fully femmed out.” This story is also a longer version of one of the ficlets I wrote for the one word/one pairing meme, so if you think you’ve seen the idea before only in shorter form, it’s because you have.
Warning/Rating: Explicit
and this boy’s quite spectacular.
It happens sometime in the twenty minutes that Brian manages to lose Justin in the crowd at Pride. He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest, remembers a certain event from six years ago that was exactly like this, but felt a lot different then. The drag queens still parade, the trannies still catwalk, and everything else still fills in the gaps between them.
He manages to find Debbie first, and she looks freakishly normal compared to all of the fairy queens around her. Brian asks with only half concern, “Deb. You know where Justin and Mikey are?”
She grins (and Brian wonders if seniors get a discount at Pride), and Brian’s about to slide into the crowd around the two of them, but then she’s got someone by the hand, and Brian fucking knows that pale wrist - all white skin and leading to the palm of a hand, and he feels like he just found out that he’s been living with a wife and two point five kids for the last seven years.
“What the fuck did you do,” Brian asks, except it comes out more of a statement than a question as he studies Justin’s black eyeliner and red slick lips stretched over teeth, and Brian hasn’t seen him laugh so hard in a long time. Debbie’s standing beside him, her fingers still touching his arm, and her laughter, the kind that actually sounds like HA HA HA, is echoing over the crowd.
“I knew you’d flip out, didn’t I tell you, Deb?” He snickers, lets go of Deb, and has to stand up on his tiptoes before he can slide his arm around Brian’s shoulders. Justin’s dress swishes, and Brian feels it against his leg. “Don’t worry though, honey. Nothing’s permanent. Yet.”
Brian makes the face that he usually reserves just for Theodore, and pushes Justin off of his shoulder. Ignores the way that the two are still laughing at his expense, and loses himself in the crowd.
He figures that later he’ll peel Justin’s dress off of his body, but for right now, all he needs is a fucking drink.
…
Sticky lips and sticky hips, Justin’s skirt is pulled up too high, and his hair is knotted at the ends because Brian keeps losing his fingers in it. The narrow shoulders are pushed back against a cream colored wall, just a shade more yellow than Justin’s skin, and Brian’s palms smooth over Justin’s chest and down to his stomach. Fingers pressing down into white skin until Justin is gasping at all his edges, eyes too tight and stinging from the sweat and the makeup and the way they mix and run together - black smeared over cheeks and eyelids, and Brian wants to lick it off like he did to the red lipstick, too shiny and too glossy, too much of a competitor that’s opposed to Justin’s eyes.
Brian’s fingers wrap around Justin’s hips, press him tight back against the hotel room wall, and his thumbs press hard against the sharp bones, make pink indents on Justin’s skin. One week back in the Pitts, just for Mother Taylor’s birthday, and he gets this. Fantastic.
“Fuck. Brian,” Justin gasps, tightens his arms wrapped around Brian’s shoulders, and throws his head back against the wall. His skull clunks against the plaster, but neither of them notice, Brian too busy sliding his hands to sneak between Justin’s back and the wall. They slide over his shoulder blades, trace up his neck and then flatten against the back of Justin’s head, palms pressed against his hair as Brian moves down to slide his mouth over Justin’s collar bone.
Justin groans and angles his hips away from the wall, tries to wrap one of his legs around Brian’s waist, but he can’t because then Brian’s dragging him backwards and if he doesn’t balance on both legs, he’ll fall. And he’s already done that enough times today, after practicing all morning at Deb’s, a pair of black high heels on his feet as he defies his own gravity.
“You make a hot woman,” Brian breathes, mouth against Justin’s tongue, and he uses the front ties of the too tight too black too wicked dress to lead Justin towards the bed. The blond can barely breathe, and he can’t decide whether it’s from Brian, the corset knotted around his chest, or both. Probably both.
Whatever breath was left in him is knocked out when Brian pushes him down onto the already unmade bed, palms connecting with shoulders, and Justin connects with the blankets, left the way they were when Brian’s alarm clock didn’t go off until an hour after it was apparently set to. Or so he says.
Grinning up at Brian with a wicked curl of the lips, Justin watches as he peels his shirt off, a smirk on his face like he just won his fifth lottery - or some other comparison, as equally cheesy as that. The shirt is tossed to the foot of the bed, and then Justin’s pressed down into the mattress, Brian’s hands sliding up underneath the dress, brushing over Justin’s legs.
Exhaling a short and sharp breath, Justin reaches up, wraps his arms around Brian’s shoulders. Pulls him down until he can slide his tongue into Brian’s open mouth, suck some of the red from Brian’s lip, smudged from his own, and then run his teeth over it. Brian knots a hand in Justin’s hair, hips grinding down against Justin’s stomach, and it would border on something that Brian would never do if he wasn’t so fucking horny right now.
Justin groans and presses his hot fingertips against the back of Brian’s neck, shakes his head and with a cracking voice, says, “Fuck it. Fuck me. Just fuck me.”
A shake of the head and then Brian presses the flat bottom of his tongue against Justin’s neck, where the muscle meets the collarbone. Grins wickedly and drags his teeth over the skin there, uses one hand to slide down the front of Justin’s too tight dress, rubbing over the coarse fabric and half undone zippers.
Brian pulls away from Justin’s neck, squeezes Justin’s sides with his hands and whispers, voice low and sounding like it’s on sandpaper, “I want you to suck me first,” against Justin’s ear, all hot lips and a hot tongue.
One hand starts to move up and under the dress, long fingers tracing over one of Justin’s kneecaps, and then the other - nails scratching the skin all up along the inside of his leg. Justin groans and his body bucks up as he tries to push himself up onto his elbows, tries to get some leverage in this bordering battle. Loses before he can even begin to fight when Brian presses a flat palm against his chest, pushes until Justin’s head is back on the pillow and he’s desperate to breathe.
Straddling Justin’s hips, Brian undoes his jeans with the same wicked grin on his face, undoing each button one at a time before he slides the zipper down, and Justin almost hears the grind of the metal. Brian lets the fly hang open until Justin’s hips are sliding back and forth and he’s groaning in frustration, listening to the fabric of his dress scratch against the bed underneath him. Justin reaches forward and knots his fingers in Brian’s belt loops, yanks the pants down and reaches for his dick as soon as it’s within reach. Brian groans as soon as Justin’s fingers wrap around him, squeezing and pressing down with his fingertips, and Brian forgets whatever battle of wills he was playing with before.
Arching up off of the bed, Justin jerks Brian off slowly, stopping whenever he starts to breathe too fast, too hard. He presses one hand against Brian’s hip and uses the other to rub over him, not stopping until Brian pulls back and jumps off of the bed, breathing hard and smiling harder as he pushes his pants the rest of the way down and then steps out of them.
As he climbs back on top of the bed, Justin settles back against the pillows. Grins, spreads his arms out from side to side, and lets his legs fall open - enough for Brian to want to push them the rest of the way open, at least.
Brian crawls on top of Justin, straddles his chest with muscles that should be weak but have never been stronger, does it until Justin’s fingers are back on his hips and pulling him forward, moving his body up until he’s above Justin’s face instead of in front of it. Brian moans and it settles somewhere in his throat as he uses the headboard in front of him for balance, finally feels his knees turn to jelly when Justin uses one hand with fingers sticky from jerking him off to slide Brian into his mouth.
A head of brown hair drops forward, and Brian presses his forehead against the back of his hand, flat against the headboard. Closes his eyes, and tries not to buck forward and down Justin’s throat. Justin exhales through his nose and presses his fingers against the backs of Brian’s legs, sucks deeper and takes Brian in as far as he can go.
“Fuck,” Brian mutters, shakes his head to clear his blurry vision, and can’t help it when he jerks his hips forward. His breath starts to come faster and faster as Justin pulls back and then slides him all the way back in, uses his teeth with lips over top of them to trace over the sides of Brian’s dick. Justin pulls Brian out of his mouth, slides his wet sticky lips over the side, traces down Brian’s hip. Pulls him forward again with the other hand, and bites where Brian’s leg meets the rest of him.
Whispers, “fuck me,” again - lips moving against Brian’s skin, breath hot against it as Brian moves his hips back and forth slowly, just trying to hump whatever piece of Justin he can get.
Justin reaches for a condom, feels around on the side table for the box they opened the night before. Finds it in-between Brian’s now broken alarm clock and the room card, manages to do a slick one-handed move, and open it with his thumb, pointer and middle finger - a talent that he’s quite fucking proud of, and that Brian can’t master because his fingers are too long. He slides the condom down on Brian’s dick, watches as Brian rolls off of him and pulls the blond on top instead.
Leaning back against the headboard, Brian drops his head back the same way that Justin did earlier to the wall, and it lands with a clunk that both of them hear. Justin crawls on top of Brian’s torso, gets one knee on either side of Brian’s narrow hips and grinds down, thinks about how they might not need lube when Brian almost slides in from just that.
He groans and presses his forehead against Brian’s shoulder, hair stuck to his skin and hips jittery as Brian pushes Justin’s dress up around his middle. The blond starts to laugh, breathlessly, when Brian can’t get a hold of all the layers, starts to mutter and curse.
Justin whispers, “I can take it off,” his voice a step away from cracking on the ‘off.’ He goes to move from Brian’s lap, but then he’s stopped, two hands on his ribs.
“Leave it on,” Brian whispers back, his voice rough around the edges with a crooked grin on his face. Justin laughs, nods. Can’t help the way that his body jerks forward, his stomach pressing into Brian’s when Justin feels his dick against him.
…
Justin’s peeling the dress up over his head when Brian comes into the bathroom behind him, grins and wraps his arms around Justin’s still sticky waist. Lightly bites the pale shoulder, murmurs,
“That was hot.”
A smirk and a nod, and Justin’s sliding a hand down over his own stomach, fingers scratching at his skin as he tosses the dress onto the counter he’s standing in front of. Brian tightens his arms around the smaller body he’s surrounding, slides them down over Justin’s hips as he starts to suck instead of bite. Justin exhales through his nose, leans back and reaches one of his hands up.
Knots it into the hair at the back of Brian’s head, still wet and tangled from where his hands were earlier, and arches his hips against Brian’s hand.
…
The dress is half in the sink and half on the floor when Brian helps Justin jump up onto the bathroom counter. His legs tighten around Brian’s waist and his fingers knot even more into his hair, his stomach twirling around inside him when Brian bites his bottom lip lightly. Drags his teeth over the red swollen skin of Justin’s lip, and presses his thumbs into thin hips, breath sharp when Justin retaliates, scratches his short nails against Brian’s back.
“Jesus Christ,” Justin whispers, and it’s so low that Brian almost doesn’t hear it. His body jerks up off of the counter, hips bumping into Brian’s and trapping his hand between them. Brian can feel Justin’s hands start to tighten up against his back, clenching and unclenching into fists and then flat palms. Justin throws his head back, and it hits the mirror with a thump. “Fuck.”
The ankles that are tight around Brian’s waist start to strain, so Brian reaches back, holds them steady as Justin repositions himself. Small body moves up off of the counter, so his ankles on Brian’s back and his hands holding Brian’s shoulders keep his body weight up, high enough so Brian can reach his ass.
Justin’s almost out of it, breathing hard and chest heaving as he stares at the ceiling above them with half closed eyes, makeup still streaked across them both, and bright red lipstick smeared into the sides of his mouth, lips kiss and bite swollen. Brian digs around in the small bag on the counter beside the sink, finds a condom in-between razor refills and Justin’s fucking travel sized bottles of toothpaste.
He rips the package open with his teeth - something Justin hasn’t been able to master, because he always ends up ripping the condom as well - and the blond manages to snatch it from Brian’s fingers. Slide it on him, his hands already shaking, sticky with sweat and everything else. Brian moans when Justin’s fingers brush against his skin, purposely rubbing even though they both know that the condom is already (very securely, even) on.
“Gonna fuck you,” Brian whispers, and his voice is already starting to sound like someone’s scratched at it with their claws, maybe some queen still parading down the street fifteen minutes away on Liberty Avenue, but it doesn’t matter. “Gonna fuck you so fucking hard.”
Justin moans and drops his head back against the mirror again.
…
Justin’s in the shower washing the black lines from his face, while Brian takes some ‘important’ conference call in the other room. The blond can hear Brian’s voice rise higher and higher the longer that he’s talking for, and eventually it’s crystal clear through the hotel room wall, and Justin wonders about all the other people on their floor that are not conditioned to the Brian Kinney way of conducting a business.
He climbs out of the expensive built-in shower suite (and that’s what they call it, on the fucking glossy pamphlet Justin finds on the back of the toilet) and after rubbing the steam from the mirror with a towel, Justin studies his own face in the glass. Realizes that the pounds of mascara that Deb applied to his eyelashes that morning are still smeared under his eyes - makes it look as though he’s been on a drinking binge for forty days and forty nights. He kinds of likes it, smirks at his reflection and then tightens the wet towel wrapped around his waist. He exits the bathroom just as Brian’s starting to really yell.
“I don’t care what she wants - for fuck’s sake, Cynthia - listen to me!” He’s yelling, one finger plugging the ear that isn’t glued to the hotel room line, even though there isn’t another sound coming from anywhere else in the room. “I’m telling you right now, if I get back and everything is fucked up, it’s your ass on the line. And I fucking mean it this time, too!”
Justin rolls his eyes at the empty threat and falls into the desk chair. Throws one of his legs up onto the desk top and reaches over for the half empty beer that Brian must’ve been drinking before he took the call. He slicks a hand through his hair, which he never bothered to properly dry, and takes a sip of he lukewarm drink. Makes a face when he remembers that beer tastes like ass when its warm, and decides that he should make Brian order more room service when he gets off of the phone.
He finally hangs up, fifteen minutes later even though they felt like fifty to Justin, and even then Justin knows that the only reason Brian bothered to stop yelling was because he noticed the way that Justin was sitting - legs wide apart and head dropped against the back of the chair like the wall and the mirror and the headboard.
Smirk on his face, and fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk.
…
They fuck over the desk, and Justin gets the complimentary stationary all wet and sticky with his palms. The half empty bottle gets knocked over by Brian’s elbow, and whatever beer is left in the bottom soaks through everything else on the table that isn’t already wet. In the end they take another shower, because now Justin’s covered in beer - back, ass, neck and hair - and so is Brian. His palms, his knees, his back from Justin’s sticky palms.
Brian spots the dress hanging on the back of the door as Justin starts to fall into a state of never wanting to function again, ready to drop dead on the floor from the lack of sleep and body bordering exhaustion. The black is still slicked under Justin’s eyes, and now it’s dripping down his cheeks from the sweat and the pad of Brian’s left thumb, just because he slid it through the black liquid over and over, until it looked like Justin was crying vanity tears. Ran his tongue over that when he was done, and jerked Justin off the entire time.
He thinks that they may both be turning into sluts - and all over some tight dress that when Justin wears it, is just taut enough to stretch over Justin’s stomach and wrap around his hips, let Brian run his sticky fingers over it with the same sticky stare.
oh my kiss breath turpentine, i am smitten.
i could be your frankenstein - my crush with eyeliner.