QUEER AS FOLK Fic: Lolita!Justin (4/?) -- 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]
1 · 2 · 3
FOUR
The second Friday night that Brian walked into Babylon and saw Justin up on his platform, he ignored him.
The third Friday night, when Justin had moved down to the bar and his g-string was getting stuffed full of bills by horny, groping men, Brian looked the other way.
The fourth Friday night, when Brian saw a guy who was five years younger than him, but looked fifteen years older, leading Justin into the back room, Brian decided it was time for action. He squared his shoulders, downed his shot of Grey Goose, and marched into the backroom, then dragged Justin out by his ear.
"Blondie doesn't work here anymore," he informed the manager on the way out.
Justin had the sense to twist away from Brian's grasp before they reached the door. "You just cost me my job, you fucker!" he shouted.
Brian looked at Justin blandly. "So sad, that Johnny High School doesn't get to sell his ass anymore. Guess you're gonna have to run to Mommy and Daddy for money now. Get your shit, I'm taking you home."
"I needed this job," Justin seethed. "You'd better have a plan all set for how I'm going to get $300 a week from now on." Then he stomped off down a side corridor. He returned wearing not much more than he had been five minutes before.
"Is that everything?" Brian asked, and at Justin's angry glare, he shook his head. "Come on."
Five minutes later, with Justin glaring out his car window, Brian drove in the direction of the teen's parents' house.
"You're going the wrong way," Justin said. "I live in the other direction."
"I know where I'm going," Brian replied.
"No you don't," Justin countered. "'Craig Taylor's son isn't a fucking fag,'" he recited. "I live on... by the river."
Brian glanced over at him. "You're too young to live in that part of town," he muttered. "You can sleep in my guest house, provided nobody has decided to do that already tonight."
"Just take me home," Justin said through slightly gritted teeth.
Anger management, anger management, 1... 2... 3... Brian thought to himself. "So that someone could rob you, or mug you, or worse?" he said in what he thought was a calm, albeit tense, tone of voice. "You're Gus' best friend. He'd be pissed off if something happened to you."
"What about you?" Justin asked. A warm hand slid over Brian's thigh.
Brian seized Justin's wrist and gently, but firmly, removed the wandering fingers from his leg. "I am being a good father, and making sure the things my son cares about don't end up broken, or beaten and left for dead in an alley. You can stay in my guest house as long as you'd like, as long as we're clear that you're going to..." Brian slapped Justin's hand away again, "... act like a fucking teenager, and not a little boywhore. I find out that you're getting a side income, you're out on your ass."
"I do need money," Justin said. He seemed to be getting over the fact that he'd just lost his job because of the man sitting next to him in the car, and warming rapidly to the fact that he'd no longer be living in a hovel. "For my art supplies. They're not cheap."
"How do you feel about yard work?"
Brian was lounging on a float in his swimming pool, not checking out his new tenant as he showed off that lithe little dancer's body in just a pair of cut off shorts and a strong application of SPF 45, while watering the plants along the pool border with a garden hose. He was also not eyeing said tenant while he washed the plate-glass windows and door leading from the pool into the house, and while he weeded around a the same border plants he'd just watered. Brian thought the area surrounding the pool had never looked better, even if the rest of the yard was looking slightly neglected.
Gus came over, and Brian played his new favorite game: Look Anywhere But At Justin. The two teenagers disappeared into the guest house and emerged a few hours later, clothing splattered in paint. Brian decided not to mention that while they'd been imitating Van Gogh, he'd been mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges and sweeping off the walk and raking the grass clippings and doing pretty much everything else that Justin hadn't done.
Brian knew when he was being seduced.
That didn't mean he had to give in to it.
"Here," Justin said, and he thrust a folded-up piece of notebook paper into Brian's hand before walking out of the kitchen and across the yard to the guest house.
Brian watched the door close before looking down at the paper in his hand and unfolding it.
I know it's not much, but I was thinking maybe I exchange art for rent money. Minimalism is out, Mr. Kinney. - Justin
Staring up at him from the notebook paper were Gus and himself.
"By all means, help yourself," Brian said as Justin took off with his sesame noodles.
"Thanks," Justin said, mouth half-full.
The back door closed quietly behind him and Brian shook his head.
"The shower in the guest house isn't working," Justin said, leaving wet footprints as he walked across the tile floor to the door. His towel slipped a little bit when he reached for the door handle, and Brian closed his eyes for a minute. The towel dropped completely, just outside the door, and Brian returned to his office to look over financial reports.
Contrary to popular belief, reviewing really tedious numerical data doesn't help to diminish a hard-on one bit.
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]
1 · 2 · 3
FOUR
The second Friday night that Brian walked into Babylon and saw Justin up on his platform, he ignored him.
The third Friday night, when Justin had moved down to the bar and his g-string was getting stuffed full of bills by horny, groping men, Brian looked the other way.
The fourth Friday night, when Brian saw a guy who was five years younger than him, but looked fifteen years older, leading Justin into the back room, Brian decided it was time for action. He squared his shoulders, downed his shot of Grey Goose, and marched into the backroom, then dragged Justin out by his ear.
"Blondie doesn't work here anymore," he informed the manager on the way out.
Justin had the sense to twist away from Brian's grasp before they reached the door. "You just cost me my job, you fucker!" he shouted.
Brian looked at Justin blandly. "So sad, that Johnny High School doesn't get to sell his ass anymore. Guess you're gonna have to run to Mommy and Daddy for money now. Get your shit, I'm taking you home."
"I needed this job," Justin seethed. "You'd better have a plan all set for how I'm going to get $300 a week from now on." Then he stomped off down a side corridor. He returned wearing not much more than he had been five minutes before.
"Is that everything?" Brian asked, and at Justin's angry glare, he shook his head. "Come on."
Five minutes later, with Justin glaring out his car window, Brian drove in the direction of the teen's parents' house.
"You're going the wrong way," Justin said. "I live in the other direction."
"I know where I'm going," Brian replied.
"No you don't," Justin countered. "'Craig Taylor's son isn't a fucking fag,'" he recited. "I live on... by the river."
Brian glanced over at him. "You're too young to live in that part of town," he muttered. "You can sleep in my guest house, provided nobody has decided to do that already tonight."
"Just take me home," Justin said through slightly gritted teeth.
Anger management, anger management, 1... 2... 3... Brian thought to himself. "So that someone could rob you, or mug you, or worse?" he said in what he thought was a calm, albeit tense, tone of voice. "You're Gus' best friend. He'd be pissed off if something happened to you."
"What about you?" Justin asked. A warm hand slid over Brian's thigh.
Brian seized Justin's wrist and gently, but firmly, removed the wandering fingers from his leg. "I am being a good father, and making sure the things my son cares about don't end up broken, or beaten and left for dead in an alley. You can stay in my guest house as long as you'd like, as long as we're clear that you're going to..." Brian slapped Justin's hand away again, "... act like a fucking teenager, and not a little boywhore. I find out that you're getting a side income, you're out on your ass."
"I do need money," Justin said. He seemed to be getting over the fact that he'd just lost his job because of the man sitting next to him in the car, and warming rapidly to the fact that he'd no longer be living in a hovel. "For my art supplies. They're not cheap."
"How do you feel about yard work?"
Brian was lounging on a float in his swimming pool, not checking out his new tenant as he showed off that lithe little dancer's body in just a pair of cut off shorts and a strong application of SPF 45, while watering the plants along the pool border with a garden hose. He was also not eyeing said tenant while he washed the plate-glass windows and door leading from the pool into the house, and while he weeded around a the same border plants he'd just watered. Brian thought the area surrounding the pool had never looked better, even if the rest of the yard was looking slightly neglected.
Gus came over, and Brian played his new favorite game: Look Anywhere But At Justin. The two teenagers disappeared into the guest house and emerged a few hours later, clothing splattered in paint. Brian decided not to mention that while they'd been imitating Van Gogh, he'd been mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges and sweeping off the walk and raking the grass clippings and doing pretty much everything else that Justin hadn't done.
Brian knew when he was being seduced.
That didn't mean he had to give in to it.
"Here," Justin said, and he thrust a folded-up piece of notebook paper into Brian's hand before walking out of the kitchen and across the yard to the guest house.
Brian watched the door close before looking down at the paper in his hand and unfolding it.
I know it's not much, but I was thinking maybe I exchange art for rent money. Minimalism is out, Mr. Kinney. - Justin
Staring up at him from the notebook paper were Gus and himself.
"By all means, help yourself," Brian said as Justin took off with his sesame noodles.
"Thanks," Justin said, mouth half-full.
The back door closed quietly behind him and Brian shook his head.
"The shower in the guest house isn't working," Justin said, leaving wet footprints as he walked across the tile floor to the door. His towel slipped a little bit when he reached for the door handle, and Brian closed his eyes for a minute. The towel dropped completely, just outside the door, and Brian returned to his office to look over financial reports.
Contrary to popular belief, reviewing really tedious numerical data doesn't help to diminish a hard-on one bit.