QUEER AS FOLK Fic: Lolita!Justin (2/?) -- B/J
Title: Lolita!Justin
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor
Summary: Justin's the new boy in town, and he's got his eye on Brian. Only problem is that Brian's his new best friend's dad.
Warnings: Extreme age differences [cross-generational]
Author's Note: So I've been talking about this fic for awhile, and then a few days ago I actually started *shock* writing it. Yay, me. Here's the deal, though: you can't handle the idea of a seventeen-year-old Justin hooking up with a forty-year-old Brian, with the unintentional help of Justin's new bestest friend in the whole wide world from high school, Gus, then don't read the damn thing. Easy as that.
1
TWO
Brian walked into his living room after work on Friday to find all of his furniture covered in sheets and three giant-sized canvases splattered liberally with paint, drying on his floor. That could only mean one thing - his son had passed up on date night with the girlfriend of the month to make use of his spacious living room, for a project.
He took off his coat and, not having a couch to toss it on, he draped it over one arm and headed through the house. "Gus?" he called.
"I'm in my room!"
Brian walked down the hallway, stopping in front of his son's bedroom door, which was ajar. He pushed it wider. "Are you planning on cleaning up after yourself?" he asked, leaning into the room. "As much as I like the Jackson Pollock look, I'm not sure it fits with the style of furniture in my living room."
Gus Peterson-Marcus looked up at his father, then turned his attention back to his television. His lanky body was spread over the bed, and his clothes were flecked with paint. "I can't move the canvases until they're dry," he said.
The toilet flushed and Brian leaned out into the hallway, eyeing the bathroom door. "Got a friend here?" he asked.
"Yeah," Gus said with a shrug.
"I was thinking about the middle part, and I realized that there was definitely some red missing from it," Gus' visitor said as he stepped out into the hallway.
Brian nearly dropped his coat. He blinked a few times. The person walking toward him, talking about art was the same dancer he'd fucked in the backroom at Babylon earlier in the week. He cleared his throat.
"Justin, this is my dad, Brian Kinney. Dad, this is Justin Taylor, he's in my art class," Gus said, his eyes never leaving the television screen.
The blond's features reflected shock, then settled on amusement. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kinney," he said, smirking a little.
Brian swallowed, moved his coat to his left arm, and extended a hand, which Justin took, and shook. "Likewise," he said. He turned to his son again. "I'm going to need the living room back at some point this evening, Gus." He glanced down at his hand when Justin extricated his own from his grip. "You can order in when you're done cleaning up."
Then he walked calmly to his bedroom, to deal with the fact that a few days earlier, he'd fucked a high school senior.
-----
Brian lost his concentration the minute Gus walked into his office and flopped down in an easy chair opposite his desk. "I ordered Chinese," he said.
"That's - " Justin sat down in the chair next to Gus'. " - fine," Brian finished. He forced himself to look away from the blond. "Did you put away all of your sheets?"
Gus nodded. "Do you want to see it?" he asked. "It might be the best thing I've ever made." He paused. "Y'know, even though Justin did most of it."
"I'm sure you did fine on it yourself, Gus," Brian said. There was a smudge of blue paint along Justin's jaw line, and he wondered if it'd be too forward of him to wipe it off with his thumb. He stood and stretched. "Show me."
Gus beamed. It was rare that his father wanted to see his work. Then again, it was rare that he did his work at his father's house. "C'mon." He motioned for Brian to follow him to the entertainment room, where the three large canvases were propped up against the pool table.
The colors and patterns in the splatters looked as if they'd been put there with the room in mind. He stepped back and looked at them. "It's... something," he said finally. "What's it for?"
"It's for our art final," Justin said.
Brian looked over at him. The paint was still on his face. "You missed a spot when you were cleaning up," he said, turning his attention back to the project.
The blond wiped at his face.
"Justin transferred in three weeks ago. Ms. Andrews said he didn't have to do his own final, so he volunteered to help me out, because I was working by myself." Gus leaned against the bar and crossed his arms. His stance reminded Brian of the one he usually took in the various Liberty Ave. establishments.
"That's very... charitable of him." Brian scrutinized the painting some more, finally finding a human form hidden and trisected on the canvases. "Who was the model?" he asked, motioning toward the canvas.
"There wasn't one," Gus replied. "The assignment was to take a famous painting and stylize it as if we'd done the original. I chose Paul Delvaux's Venus Asleep for my subject, and..." he motioned at the canvases.
"I'm impressed." Brian walked behind the bar and poured himself a double of scotch.
The doorbell rang. "That's probably the food. I'll go get it," Gus said. He left the room.
Brian downed his scotch in two gulps. "So, Justin," he said. "What do your parents think about your current employment?"
Justin paled, but covered it well. "They don't care," he replied. "They're proud of me for putting money into my savings account and keeping it there." He leaned against the bar and smiled. "Why, do you have a problem with it?"
"Not particularly." The older man poured himself another drink. "That said, what happened on Tuesday night will never happen again."
Justin, the little fucker, just kept smiling.
-----
Gus was asleep, Justin had gone home, and Brian was staring at the three painted canvases that dominated his entertainment room. If he looked closely, he could make out a naked woman in a reclining position. There was blue slashed across the center, an unapologetic bright swath of cool color standing out from the reds and oranges that otherwise dominated the work.
Brian picked up his telephone and dialed.
On the other end, it took three rings for someone to pick up. Novotny-Bruckner residence.
"Mikey? You need to come over." He swirled the scotch around in his glass. "I really fucked up this time."
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor
Summary: Justin's the new boy in town, and he's got his eye on Brian. Only problem is that Brian's his new best friend's dad.
Warnings: Extreme age differences [cross-generational]
Author's Note: So I've been talking about this fic for awhile, and then a few days ago I actually started *shock* writing it. Yay, me. Here's the deal, though: you can't handle the idea of a seventeen-year-old Justin hooking up with a forty-year-old Brian, with the unintentional help of Justin's new bestest friend in the whole wide world from high school, Gus, then don't read the damn thing. Easy as that.
1
TWO
Brian walked into his living room after work on Friday to find all of his furniture covered in sheets and three giant-sized canvases splattered liberally with paint, drying on his floor. That could only mean one thing - his son had passed up on date night with the girlfriend of the month to make use of his spacious living room, for a project.
He took off his coat and, not having a couch to toss it on, he draped it over one arm and headed through the house. "Gus?" he called.
"I'm in my room!"
Brian walked down the hallway, stopping in front of his son's bedroom door, which was ajar. He pushed it wider. "Are you planning on cleaning up after yourself?" he asked, leaning into the room. "As much as I like the Jackson Pollock look, I'm not sure it fits with the style of furniture in my living room."
Gus Peterson-Marcus looked up at his father, then turned his attention back to his television. His lanky body was spread over the bed, and his clothes were flecked with paint. "I can't move the canvases until they're dry," he said.
The toilet flushed and Brian leaned out into the hallway, eyeing the bathroom door. "Got a friend here?" he asked.
"Yeah," Gus said with a shrug.
"I was thinking about the middle part, and I realized that there was definitely some red missing from it," Gus' visitor said as he stepped out into the hallway.
Brian nearly dropped his coat. He blinked a few times. The person walking toward him, talking about art was the same dancer he'd fucked in the backroom at Babylon earlier in the week. He cleared his throat.
"Justin, this is my dad, Brian Kinney. Dad, this is Justin Taylor, he's in my art class," Gus said, his eyes never leaving the television screen.
The blond's features reflected shock, then settled on amusement. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kinney," he said, smirking a little.
Brian swallowed, moved his coat to his left arm, and extended a hand, which Justin took, and shook. "Likewise," he said. He turned to his son again. "I'm going to need the living room back at some point this evening, Gus." He glanced down at his hand when Justin extricated his own from his grip. "You can order in when you're done cleaning up."
Then he walked calmly to his bedroom, to deal with the fact that a few days earlier, he'd fucked a high school senior.
-----
Brian lost his concentration the minute Gus walked into his office and flopped down in an easy chair opposite his desk. "I ordered Chinese," he said.
"That's - " Justin sat down in the chair next to Gus'. " - fine," Brian finished. He forced himself to look away from the blond. "Did you put away all of your sheets?"
Gus nodded. "Do you want to see it?" he asked. "It might be the best thing I've ever made." He paused. "Y'know, even though Justin did most of it."
"I'm sure you did fine on it yourself, Gus," Brian said. There was a smudge of blue paint along Justin's jaw line, and he wondered if it'd be too forward of him to wipe it off with his thumb. He stood and stretched. "Show me."
Gus beamed. It was rare that his father wanted to see his work. Then again, it was rare that he did his work at his father's house. "C'mon." He motioned for Brian to follow him to the entertainment room, where the three large canvases were propped up against the pool table.
The colors and patterns in the splatters looked as if they'd been put there with the room in mind. He stepped back and looked at them. "It's... something," he said finally. "What's it for?"
"It's for our art final," Justin said.
Brian looked over at him. The paint was still on his face. "You missed a spot when you were cleaning up," he said, turning his attention back to the project.
The blond wiped at his face.
"Justin transferred in three weeks ago. Ms. Andrews said he didn't have to do his own final, so he volunteered to help me out, because I was working by myself." Gus leaned against the bar and crossed his arms. His stance reminded Brian of the one he usually took in the various Liberty Ave. establishments.
"That's very... charitable of him." Brian scrutinized the painting some more, finally finding a human form hidden and trisected on the canvases. "Who was the model?" he asked, motioning toward the canvas.
"There wasn't one," Gus replied. "The assignment was to take a famous painting and stylize it as if we'd done the original. I chose Paul Delvaux's Venus Asleep for my subject, and..." he motioned at the canvases.
"I'm impressed." Brian walked behind the bar and poured himself a double of scotch.
The doorbell rang. "That's probably the food. I'll go get it," Gus said. He left the room.
Brian downed his scotch in two gulps. "So, Justin," he said. "What do your parents think about your current employment?"
Justin paled, but covered it well. "They don't care," he replied. "They're proud of me for putting money into my savings account and keeping it there." He leaned against the bar and smiled. "Why, do you have a problem with it?"
"Not particularly." The older man poured himself another drink. "That said, what happened on Tuesday night will never happen again."
Justin, the little fucker, just kept smiling.
-----
Gus was asleep, Justin had gone home, and Brian was staring at the three painted canvases that dominated his entertainment room. If he looked closely, he could make out a naked woman in a reclining position. There was blue slashed across the center, an unapologetic bright swath of cool color standing out from the reds and oranges that otherwise dominated the work.
Brian picked up his telephone and dialed.
On the other end, it took three rings for someone to pick up. Novotny-Bruckner residence.
"Mikey? You need to come over." He swirled the scotch around in his glass. "I really fucked up this time."