sort of new fanfic: After the Storm
Doing some work on my entries for this year's qaf-giftxchnge I realised something - somehow I never did post last year's to my own LJ.
I can only put that down to how horrible it was here over this period last year with bushfires burning over so much of the country and the whole city shrouded in smoke. I guess I had other things on my mind.
So ... here is the first of them.
It was written for addict_writer who asked for:
Fic canon-compliant, humor, sexy fun times Brian/Justin finding their footing when Brian took him in after the bashing
I figure it’s set during the period where Justin is living with Brian after the bashing. After zucchini man and even after Michael’s “he just feels guilty” speech, but before Vance takes over at Ryder and definitely before Ethan. The good news is that maybe if it had gone this way, Ethan might never have happened.
As always, the fic is suitable for Adults Only and by clicking on the link you are asserting that you fall into that category.
After the Storm
Justin sighed as he made his way up the stairs. He couldn’t take the lift. It was alright when he was with Brian, but when he was alone the enclosed space made him … uncomfortable. That’s all. He wasn’t scared, just uncomfortable.
The squelching sound that his sneakers made as he stumbled upwards didn’t improve his mood. He’d missed most of summer, locked up in the rehab unit, trying to relearn how to use his fucking hands. And right now it felt like Winter had arrived early, skipping Fall completely. He was cold and soaked through from the rain storm which had hit as soon as he had left the diner.
Debbie, of course, had shouted after him, telling him to wait, that she’d call Brian to come collect him like he was some kind of lost luggage; but he’d needed to get out of there. Too many people, all shouting how glad they were to see him; all with grabbing hands and arms trying to hug him. He’d felt like he’d been right on the verge of losing it. Besides, he’d wanted to prove to himself that he could do it. That he could walk to the diner like a normal person; and walk home again. Well, back to the loft, anyway.
That was “home” at the moment. Till Brian got tired of him again, the way he had before. The way everyone did. His father had started it, telling him not to come home unless he was prepared to be someone else, something else; some perfect son who got great grades and was interested in sport, not art, and Dartmouth, not PIFA, and of course, most importantly, interested in fucking girls, not guys; and certainly not interested in taking it up the ass from the hottest stud in Pittsburgh.
So, yeah, his father had started it. But his Mom had handed over his stuff to Brian rather than kicking his Dad out on his ass. She’d chosen her nice life over her son. And then Brian had thrown him out because his fucking Phillip Starke juicer was more important than Justin. And even though he’d gone to New York to “rescue poor little Justin”, he’d handed him off to Debbie when they got back without a second thought.
So, sure, Brian was letting him stay at the loft again for now because his mother had handed him over to Brian again when things got too tough for her. But who knew how long that was going to last?
As he slid his key into the lock, he sighed. He supposed he should take his shoes off, and probably his socks too. He didn’t need Brian bitching at him about leaving puddles on his fucking hardwood Although how he was supposed to not drip all over the place when he was fucking soaked to the skin, he had no idea.
As the door slid back, he was bending to slide off his sneakers when he saw the towels. There was a trail of them across the hardwood, leading to the steps up to the bedroom. They formed a path, and, socks and shoes in hand, Justin followed it, trying to work out if this was some kind of snide gesture from Brian showing how incapable he thought Justin was of even thinking about not leaving marks on the floor. Or … something more interesting.
Towels lined the steps and led from there into the bathroom. That door slid open just as Justin reached it and then Brian was there, leaning against the door frame. He was naked, except for a dark red towel wrapped low around his hips. Justin felt his mouth go dry.
“You look like you could use a hand to get warm,” Brian purred.
Suddenly Justin’s world looked a lot better, but he tried to play it cool, just shrugging in response.
Brian gave him one of those tongue-in-cheek smirks that always went straight to Justin’s cock and then removed his towel to snake it round Justin’s shoulders, using it to pull his young lover close.
“Let’s get rid of these wet things,” he breathed, his mouth ghosting across Justin’s jaw and down his throat; his fingers busy with the buttons on Justin’s jacket and then his pants.
It wasn’t, as it turned out, all that easy. His jacket and t-shirt came off easily enough, but his jeans were wet enough to cling stubbornly to his legs and it took several minutes of tugging and wriggling before Justin was free of them. By then they were both on the bathroom floor, Justin on his back, frustrated and a little embarrassed and Brian, kneeling over him and bitching about how hard the floor was on his knees.
But finally Brian was able to pull them over his feet and toss them into the corner and Justin, flushed from arousal and certainly no longer feeling the cold, lay naked before his lover. Brian sat back on his heels for a moment, apparently admiring the view; and Justin felt his cock thicken, just from the touch of Brian’s eyes. Brian grinned at him.
“I thought you’d be needing a nice hot shower,” he said, still grinning.
“But now I think that what you really need is a nice …,” running his fingers up Justin’s thighs.
“…hot …,” trailing his fingers feather-light across Justin’s stomach, carefully avoiding his rapidly hardening cock.
“…fuck.” On the word, deft fingers pinched Justin’s nipples and Justin’s cock leapt to full attention.
Brian flicked it lightly with his fingers and, stifling a wince, got to his feet, holding his hands out to help Justin up and pulling him into a deep kiss.
*****
Justin got his fuck - several of them in fact (just to make sure he really had been warmed up thoroughly, Brian explained).
Later, he sat at the kitchen island sipping coffee and waiting for their Thai food dinner to be delivered while Brian muttered fiercely, bent over his computer.
“Fucking morons!” Justin heard; followed by, “Why the fuck can’t they just for once follow a simple fucking instruction?”
‘Work stuff’, Justin decided and found his muscles relaxing a little from the defensive clench they’d knotted into at the sound of that note of intolerant impatience in Brian’s voice.
He thought about that. The sex had been great. Now that he was able to let Brian touch him again, at least that part of his life felt like it was almost back to normal. But … he found himself constantly exhausted from dealing with, not just his own ridiculous and pathetic panic attacks, but also with the feeling that he was on borrowed time here with Brian and where the fuck would he go if Brian got tired of all his dramas and decided to throw him out again? He couldn’t really go back to Deb’s; not when he was such a mess. Between the ridiculous hours she worked and Vic’s illness, she had enough to deal with. She didn’t need to be woken up by his nightmares, or come home to find him huddled in a corner because that’s where he’d been when the latest damned panic attack hit and he hadn’t been able to move from that spot.
Brian had been dealing with scenarios like those ever since Justin had come to live with him again; ever since his mother had tossed him to Brian like some defective possession she was tired of trying to get to function properly. “Here! See if you can fix him. If you can, you can keep him.”
But what if he couldn’t be “fixed”?
Sure, now that Brian had bought him the computer he could at least do some kind of artwork. But he doubted that it was going to be enough to satisfy PIFA’s requirements. What was the point of even trying if he was just going to eventually be asked to leave - leave the loft, leave PIFA, maybe he should just leave everything. Run off somewhere.
He was brought out of this reverie by the buzzer announcing the arrival of their dinner. Before he could move, however, Brian snapped shut his computer and headed that way, returning with two bags t steamed gently in always cool air of the loft.
He took out some plates and cutlery and set them on the dining table. They settled themselves to eat. For a while neither of them spoke, but finally Brian broke the silence.
“So, how was your day, dear?”
At the snarky tone in his voice, Justin gave him a fed up look. “Just fine,” he snapped. “I walked to the diner, and actually managed to get there without falling into a total freaking mess. But that got blown out the window when I couldn’t handle actually being in the diner ad had to practically run all the way back here before I fell apart completely. Oh, and I got drenched on the way back because of course the fucking heavens decided to dump every bit of moisture along the East Coast down on Pittsburgh right at that moment.”
Brian gave him a considering look.
“Sucks to be you at the moment, huh?”
It was kind of a not-Brian thing to say and it caught Justin’s attention before he could work himself up into a fully fledged hissy fit.
He took a rather unsteady breath and nodded, finding that he needed to fight back tears yet a-fucking-gain.
Brian nodded. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
“Brian, there isn’t anything anyone can do. I’ll get over it. Eventually. I just have to hold on.”
“Bullshit! I’m not saying there’s any fucking magic wand that can make everything alright, but there sure as fuck are things that can make you feel better. I mean, the walk down the street thing worked, didn’t it? At least you could get to the diner and back.”
Justin shrugged. “I guess,” he mumbled reluctantly.
“Right, so we just need to try some other stuff like that.”
“It shouldn’t be your fucking problem!” Justin all but shouted.
Brian stared at him for a long moment, apparently completely taken aback. Then he said sharply, “Why the fuck not?”
It was Justin’s to stare. Then he snapped back, his voice breaking a little, “Because Michael’s right. I’m only here because you feel sorry for me and because you feel guilty.”
“I don’t feel guilty. Fucking Hobbs is the only one who’s guilty. Him and those assholes at your fucking school.”
“Bullshit!” Justin shouted. “I know you Brian. And Michael knows you even better. And he says that … he says …”
“Why the fuck are you picking this moment of all damned moments to start taking notice of what Michael thinks? You’ve never listened to Michael.”
Justin could only shrug. He didn’t trust his voice enough to speak.
Brian reached across the table and squeezed the back of his neck. “Listen to me. Are you listening?”
Justin gave an irritated nod.
“You’re here because I fucking want you here. Not because I fucking pity you - pity makes my dick soft, you know this. And not because I feel fucking guilty. But because …”
He paused for a long moment, and Justin raised his eyes to look at him. Brian gave him a wry half-smile.
“Because it’s where you fucking belong. It’s your home. And sure, I want to help you however I can. Wouldn’t you want to help me, if I was the one who’d got hurt?”
Justin stared at him for a moment and then smiled tremulously and nodded.
“Damned right!” Brian confirmed. “That’s what partners do, right?”
Justin gulped. Brian grinned, then lowered his eyes, apparently becoming absorbed in his food. Then he looked up again, an almost shy look in his eyes. “Sunshine, I might be the worst fucking bet as a partner on the whole of the East Coast, but …”
Justin thought about learning to walk through crowds again with his hand held tightly in Brian’s, thought about walking on his own through the sunshine knowing Brian was waiting for him, arms open ready to receive him, thought about those arms holding him through nightmares, and the tenderness of their “like the first time” moment; he thought about the computer which had appeared just when he’d been ready to give up entirely on his art, his life, really. And he smiled back at Brian with much more confidence. “No, you’re not. You’re really … not.”
Brian was already getting up, clearly having reached his limit on touchy-feely stuff. “Yeah, well, whatever. But I’m fucking trying. I might not get it right most of the time, but I’ll go on trying if you will.”
Not waiting for a response, he walked away then, carrying the left over food to the fridge.
Justin knew that he had to remember this moment. He knew he’d still have moments of doubt, moments when he wanted to give up, when it all seemed too hard.
But Brian was right. He was trying. So Justin had to keep trying as well, no matter how tough it seemed at the time.
He took the dirty plates to the dishwasher and then turned to Brian who was once again opening his computer.
“Have Brad and Ben stuffed up again?” he asked, figuring that if they were going to do this partner thing then he should try to get a grip on being supportive when Brian was stressed out by his work. It might be a cliché but that’s what partners did.
Brian huffed a laugh. “Yeah. But what else is new? I can fix it tomorrow. Tonight I thought I’d go online and see if I can find a blond boytoy who can give a decent blow job. Unless you know someone who might qualify?”
Justin tossed his hair back from his eyes and gave Brian his best smoldering-sexy look.
“Oh, I might be able to think of someone.”
Laughing, Brian collapsed onto the couch, legs spread wide. He gestured vaguely at his crotch. “Go for it, Sunshine,” he grinned.
.
I can only put that down to how horrible it was here over this period last year with bushfires burning over so much of the country and the whole city shrouded in smoke. I guess I had other things on my mind.
So ... here is the first of them.
It was written for addict_writer who asked for:
Fic canon-compliant, humor, sexy fun times Brian/Justin finding their footing when Brian took him in after the bashing
I figure it’s set during the period where Justin is living with Brian after the bashing. After zucchini man and even after Michael’s “he just feels guilty” speech, but before Vance takes over at Ryder and definitely before Ethan. The good news is that maybe if it had gone this way, Ethan might never have happened.
As always, the fic is suitable for Adults Only and by clicking on the link you are asserting that you fall into that category.
After the Storm
Justin sighed as he made his way up the stairs. He couldn’t take the lift. It was alright when he was with Brian, but when he was alone the enclosed space made him … uncomfortable. That’s all. He wasn’t scared, just uncomfortable.
The squelching sound that his sneakers made as he stumbled upwards didn’t improve his mood. He’d missed most of summer, locked up in the rehab unit, trying to relearn how to use his fucking hands. And right now it felt like Winter had arrived early, skipping Fall completely. He was cold and soaked through from the rain storm which had hit as soon as he had left the diner.
Debbie, of course, had shouted after him, telling him to wait, that she’d call Brian to come collect him like he was some kind of lost luggage; but he’d needed to get out of there. Too many people, all shouting how glad they were to see him; all with grabbing hands and arms trying to hug him. He’d felt like he’d been right on the verge of losing it. Besides, he’d wanted to prove to himself that he could do it. That he could walk to the diner like a normal person; and walk home again. Well, back to the loft, anyway.
That was “home” at the moment. Till Brian got tired of him again, the way he had before. The way everyone did. His father had started it, telling him not to come home unless he was prepared to be someone else, something else; some perfect son who got great grades and was interested in sport, not art, and Dartmouth, not PIFA, and of course, most importantly, interested in fucking girls, not guys; and certainly not interested in taking it up the ass from the hottest stud in Pittsburgh.
So, yeah, his father had started it. But his Mom had handed over his stuff to Brian rather than kicking his Dad out on his ass. She’d chosen her nice life over her son. And then Brian had thrown him out because his fucking Phillip Starke juicer was more important than Justin. And even though he’d gone to New York to “rescue poor little Justin”, he’d handed him off to Debbie when they got back without a second thought.
So, sure, Brian was letting him stay at the loft again for now because his mother had handed him over to Brian again when things got too tough for her. But who knew how long that was going to last?
As he slid his key into the lock, he sighed. He supposed he should take his shoes off, and probably his socks too. He didn’t need Brian bitching at him about leaving puddles on his fucking hardwood Although how he was supposed to not drip all over the place when he was fucking soaked to the skin, he had no idea.
As the door slid back, he was bending to slide off his sneakers when he saw the towels. There was a trail of them across the hardwood, leading to the steps up to the bedroom. They formed a path, and, socks and shoes in hand, Justin followed it, trying to work out if this was some kind of snide gesture from Brian showing how incapable he thought Justin was of even thinking about not leaving marks on the floor. Or … something more interesting.
Towels lined the steps and led from there into the bathroom. That door slid open just as Justin reached it and then Brian was there, leaning against the door frame. He was naked, except for a dark red towel wrapped low around his hips. Justin felt his mouth go dry.
“You look like you could use a hand to get warm,” Brian purred.
Suddenly Justin’s world looked a lot better, but he tried to play it cool, just shrugging in response.
Brian gave him one of those tongue-in-cheek smirks that always went straight to Justin’s cock and then removed his towel to snake it round Justin’s shoulders, using it to pull his young lover close.
“Let’s get rid of these wet things,” he breathed, his mouth ghosting across Justin’s jaw and down his throat; his fingers busy with the buttons on Justin’s jacket and then his pants.
It wasn’t, as it turned out, all that easy. His jacket and t-shirt came off easily enough, but his jeans were wet enough to cling stubbornly to his legs and it took several minutes of tugging and wriggling before Justin was free of them. By then they were both on the bathroom floor, Justin on his back, frustrated and a little embarrassed and Brian, kneeling over him and bitching about how hard the floor was on his knees.
But finally Brian was able to pull them over his feet and toss them into the corner and Justin, flushed from arousal and certainly no longer feeling the cold, lay naked before his lover. Brian sat back on his heels for a moment, apparently admiring the view; and Justin felt his cock thicken, just from the touch of Brian’s eyes. Brian grinned at him.
“I thought you’d be needing a nice hot shower,” he said, still grinning.
“But now I think that what you really need is a nice …,” running his fingers up Justin’s thighs.
“…hot …,” trailing his fingers feather-light across Justin’s stomach, carefully avoiding his rapidly hardening cock.
“…fuck.” On the word, deft fingers pinched Justin’s nipples and Justin’s cock leapt to full attention.
Brian flicked it lightly with his fingers and, stifling a wince, got to his feet, holding his hands out to help Justin up and pulling him into a deep kiss.
*****
Justin got his fuck - several of them in fact (just to make sure he really had been warmed up thoroughly, Brian explained).
Later, he sat at the kitchen island sipping coffee and waiting for their Thai food dinner to be delivered while Brian muttered fiercely, bent over his computer.
“Fucking morons!” Justin heard; followed by, “Why the fuck can’t they just for once follow a simple fucking instruction?”
‘Work stuff’, Justin decided and found his muscles relaxing a little from the defensive clench they’d knotted into at the sound of that note of intolerant impatience in Brian’s voice.
He thought about that. The sex had been great. Now that he was able to let Brian touch him again, at least that part of his life felt like it was almost back to normal. But … he found himself constantly exhausted from dealing with, not just his own ridiculous and pathetic panic attacks, but also with the feeling that he was on borrowed time here with Brian and where the fuck would he go if Brian got tired of all his dramas and decided to throw him out again? He couldn’t really go back to Deb’s; not when he was such a mess. Between the ridiculous hours she worked and Vic’s illness, she had enough to deal with. She didn’t need to be woken up by his nightmares, or come home to find him huddled in a corner because that’s where he’d been when the latest damned panic attack hit and he hadn’t been able to move from that spot.
Brian had been dealing with scenarios like those ever since Justin had come to live with him again; ever since his mother had tossed him to Brian like some defective possession she was tired of trying to get to function properly. “Here! See if you can fix him. If you can, you can keep him.”
But what if he couldn’t be “fixed”?
Sure, now that Brian had bought him the computer he could at least do some kind of artwork. But he doubted that it was going to be enough to satisfy PIFA’s requirements. What was the point of even trying if he was just going to eventually be asked to leave - leave the loft, leave PIFA, maybe he should just leave everything. Run off somewhere.
He was brought out of this reverie by the buzzer announcing the arrival of their dinner. Before he could move, however, Brian snapped shut his computer and headed that way, returning with two bags t steamed gently in always cool air of the loft.
He took out some plates and cutlery and set them on the dining table. They settled themselves to eat. For a while neither of them spoke, but finally Brian broke the silence.
“So, how was your day, dear?”
At the snarky tone in his voice, Justin gave him a fed up look. “Just fine,” he snapped. “I walked to the diner, and actually managed to get there without falling into a total freaking mess. But that got blown out the window when I couldn’t handle actually being in the diner ad had to practically run all the way back here before I fell apart completely. Oh, and I got drenched on the way back because of course the fucking heavens decided to dump every bit of moisture along the East Coast down on Pittsburgh right at that moment.”
Brian gave him a considering look.
“Sucks to be you at the moment, huh?”
It was kind of a not-Brian thing to say and it caught Justin’s attention before he could work himself up into a fully fledged hissy fit.
He took a rather unsteady breath and nodded, finding that he needed to fight back tears yet a-fucking-gain.
Brian nodded. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
“Brian, there isn’t anything anyone can do. I’ll get over it. Eventually. I just have to hold on.”
“Bullshit! I’m not saying there’s any fucking magic wand that can make everything alright, but there sure as fuck are things that can make you feel better. I mean, the walk down the street thing worked, didn’t it? At least you could get to the diner and back.”
Justin shrugged. “I guess,” he mumbled reluctantly.
“Right, so we just need to try some other stuff like that.”
“It shouldn’t be your fucking problem!” Justin all but shouted.
Brian stared at him for a long moment, apparently completely taken aback. Then he said sharply, “Why the fuck not?”
It was Justin’s to stare. Then he snapped back, his voice breaking a little, “Because Michael’s right. I’m only here because you feel sorry for me and because you feel guilty.”
“I don’t feel guilty. Fucking Hobbs is the only one who’s guilty. Him and those assholes at your fucking school.”
“Bullshit!” Justin shouted. “I know you Brian. And Michael knows you even better. And he says that … he says …”
“Why the fuck are you picking this moment of all damned moments to start taking notice of what Michael thinks? You’ve never listened to Michael.”
Justin could only shrug. He didn’t trust his voice enough to speak.
Brian reached across the table and squeezed the back of his neck. “Listen to me. Are you listening?”
Justin gave an irritated nod.
“You’re here because I fucking want you here. Not because I fucking pity you - pity makes my dick soft, you know this. And not because I feel fucking guilty. But because …”
He paused for a long moment, and Justin raised his eyes to look at him. Brian gave him a wry half-smile.
“Because it’s where you fucking belong. It’s your home. And sure, I want to help you however I can. Wouldn’t you want to help me, if I was the one who’d got hurt?”
Justin stared at him for a moment and then smiled tremulously and nodded.
“Damned right!” Brian confirmed. “That’s what partners do, right?”
Justin gulped. Brian grinned, then lowered his eyes, apparently becoming absorbed in his food. Then he looked up again, an almost shy look in his eyes. “Sunshine, I might be the worst fucking bet as a partner on the whole of the East Coast, but …”
Justin thought about learning to walk through crowds again with his hand held tightly in Brian’s, thought about walking on his own through the sunshine knowing Brian was waiting for him, arms open ready to receive him, thought about those arms holding him through nightmares, and the tenderness of their “like the first time” moment; he thought about the computer which had appeared just when he’d been ready to give up entirely on his art, his life, really. And he smiled back at Brian with much more confidence. “No, you’re not. You’re really … not.”
Brian was already getting up, clearly having reached his limit on touchy-feely stuff. “Yeah, well, whatever. But I’m fucking trying. I might not get it right most of the time, but I’ll go on trying if you will.”
Not waiting for a response, he walked away then, carrying the left over food to the fridge.
Justin knew that he had to remember this moment. He knew he’d still have moments of doubt, moments when he wanted to give up, when it all seemed too hard.
But Brian was right. He was trying. So Justin had to keep trying as well, no matter how tough it seemed at the time.
He took the dirty plates to the dishwasher and then turned to Brian who was once again opening his computer.
“Have Brad and Ben stuffed up again?” he asked, figuring that if they were going to do this partner thing then he should try to get a grip on being supportive when Brian was stressed out by his work. It might be a cliché but that’s what partners did.
Brian huffed a laugh. “Yeah. But what else is new? I can fix it tomorrow. Tonight I thought I’d go online and see if I can find a blond boytoy who can give a decent blow job. Unless you know someone who might qualify?”
Justin tossed his hair back from his eyes and gave Brian his best smoldering-sexy look.
“Oh, I might be able to think of someone.”
Laughing, Brian collapsed onto the couch, legs spread wide. He gestured vaguely at his crotch. “Go for it, Sunshine,” he grinned.
.