Unconventional Undefined Family
A/N: This is something that I wrote today before work.
Post 513 oneshot, somewhat silly, of the B/J + 'grown up Gus' variety. Unbeta'd.
Feedback: Is very welcome and appreciated.
Unconventional Undefined Family
Brian's POV
Babylon was packed tonight. Naked, writhing men grinding against us, temperatures climbing with increased friction. Hot bodies touch and fondle, hoping one of us would take one of them to the backroom. Those who knew better batted their eyelashes, silently begging to be allowed to accompany us home for an unforgettable night.
When Justin clamped down on my thigh that’s been rubbing between his legs for the past half hour, I knew it was time to leave. Letting myself be pulled towards the exit by my horny blond, we headed to the Corvette which was parked around the corner, making slow progress as we continued to grope and stroke, to undress and nip - the cool summer night air providing just enough of a fresh breeze to prevent a spontaneous combustion.
Pulling out the car keys, I dodge Sunshine’s attempt to press me against the side windows, and pull him back up as he’s about to lower himself to his knees. I open my mouth to say something and his hot, wet tongue invades it and I can’t help but suck on the sweetness of it for several minutes.
Finally breaking apart, he manages to mutter, „The loft, Brian.“ Voice thick with wanton desire, and I know we won’t make it all the way to West Virginia tonight. I push him into the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel, starting the motor. He immediately attaches himself to my collarbone, alternately sucking and nibbling, and generally driving me insane and making it hard… well, harder… to concentrate on the road.
I almost sigh with relief when we’re finally in the elevator and I press the button for the upper floor. I don’t wait for the lift doors to close, and push him face forward into the opposite wall. Grinding my crotch hard against his hip, I press my lips to his neck, just under his hair line and suck hard enough to draw the blood up to the surface. One of my arms snakes to his front and starts unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.
One hand down in his pants, stroking him, my chest pressed against his back, we somehow make it to the loft’s door, sliding it open and stumbling through like some drunk and horny teenagers.
And that’s exactly what greets us inside. Okay, maybe not exactly - but what he lacks in the horny department right at this moment, Gus sure makes up for in drunkenness.
Leaning against one of the loft’s pillars, in a weird combination of horizontal and vertical posture, he perks up when he hears the metal grating of the door sliding open. A wide, stupid grin spreads on his face - the kind that only really drunk but still conscious people manage.
„Daaaaaddy.“
It’s been around eight years that I last heard him call me this; ever since his tenth birthday, where he announced that he was now officially too old to call his father that. It’s been ‘Dad’ since then, occasionally ‘Pops’. Didn’t know alcohol would have such an effect on a kid of mine. I've never seen Gus drunk before. I don't think he ever drank before. There's a first time for everything, I guess.
He extends his arms towards me, but quickly reconsiders and grabs the support beam tighter when he starts to cant over precariously. He looks kinda funny - the way he’s clutching the pillar, almost as if they have something deep and meaningful going on. I tilt my head and look at him.
Justin recovers first and, straightening his clothes, walks to him, asking, „Gus, what are you doing here? How did you get here?“
„Juuuuuus!“ My son enthuses, as if just now recognizing him. „M’ frien’s an’ me, we’party’n.“ Gus pats the support beam lovingly and I’m not ready to dismiss the possibility that they have known each other intimately.
„Yes, I can see that.“ Justin answers him as if they’re having a normal, every day conversation. I can see him fight a smile, though. Looking around the loft, Sunshine asks, “Where are your friends, Gus?”
He, too, takes a sweep around the loft, looking somewhat bewildered. After a moment, he starts to pout. I think he’s just now realized that they’re not here. It makes him cling to the support beam harder. I’m not even trying to suppress my grin, but I would never admit out loud that my son looks adorable doing so.
“Dun’o.” Oh, the question finally registered. “Dey wan’ed t’go clubbin’. Bu’ we couln’t get in’o any clubs. So I say… I said imma get m’dad. ‘e can get’us in anyway… I mean, where… anywhere! An’ I came ‘ere.”
„Does your Mom know where you are?“ I ask and his body jerks in what I can only interpret as a shrug. Justin doesn’t expexct him to elaborate and struggles to tow Gus over to the couch. At eighteen Gus is roughly the same height and build as me, so it’s not as simple an undertaking as it sounds. I grab one of Gus’ arms and pull it around my own shoulders to navigate him in the right direction. Once on the couch, Gus sags down into it like a sack of potatoes.
I don’t want Lindsay to know that Gus got shitface drunk, celebrating his graduation. But I don’t want her to worry, either. I try again to pry some information from Gus.
He can only shrug and murmurs, “Don’ need ‘em. Got m’daddy. Only need m’daddy.” He clutches one of the couch cushions to his chest and buries his face in it.
„Should we call Lindsay?“ Justin asks me.
I get up and walk back to the kitchen where I dropped my things on the counter.
Justin, still kneeling beside a barely awake Gus who keeps proclaiming his need for his daddy while calling the couch cushion the very same, hisses at me, eyes wide in disbelief. “Where the fuck are you going?”
I come back to him pushing some buttons on my cell phone. “Sunshine, how the fuck do I turn on the camera on this thing?”
He stares at me for a few seconds, deadpan expression on his face, before grabbing the cell from my hand and gesturing towards the drawer under the TV shelf. “Get the video camera. The one we used to make our own adult entertainment tapes with. We’ll want good audio on this.”
Some half an hour and an embarassingly compromising tape later, Gus proclaims his need to take a piss. I grab his arms to lift him from the couch and drag him to the bathroom.
“When da fuck did’ya have anotha ‘oilet instal’d?” Gus asks once we’re there.
“There’s only one toilet. One’s the sink, Sonny boy.” I explain.
While I wait for Gus to finish his routine, Justin walks in with a bottle of water. He pushes it into Gus’ hand who tilts against the tiled wall and slides to the floor. Justin also brought a couple of cushions from the couch. Taking one from him, we set up house around the toilet where Gus has made himself comfortable. So much for the night’s enterainment program. The major headache in the morning and Justin's lecture afterwards will be punishment enough, I think, as I brush the hair out of his face.
End.