"Crazy Thought" - A ficlet (B/J)
Summary: 513 gapfiller of sorts. "The thought of him being kissed, stroked, touched, caressed, looked at by someone else - someone other than me - made the bile rise to my throat."
Word Count: ~650
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated.
Betas: amythesw & galefan4ever.
Brian’s POV
What a crazy thought!
I had watched him fuck countless men, with or without him knowing I was there. I had watched him being fucked by other men - a parade of tricks that knelt before him to worship his cock. And, maybe not as many but still an impressive number of men, that were brought to their proverbial knees by his talented tongue and full pouty lips.
And it never bothered me. Have I been fooling myself this whole time? Because suddenly the thought of him being kissed, stroked, touched, caressed, looked at by someone else - someone other than me - made the bile rise to my throat.
I was okay with him leaving for New York; it wouldn’t be the end. This I had made sure of. And I had made a promise to myself: I’d do everything I could not to push him away. No matter what people were going to say, no matter how many smirks I had to endure, or how many people whispered gossip behind my back. He would never leave me again; at least not because I failed to give him something he needed or craved.
Justin leaving for New York had as much to do with him figuring out which path to follow as it had with us knowing that something as small as a few hundred miles in between us would never hold any power over us. Me not wanting (or maybe not able) to let go of his smaller frame that I clutched to as we stood in the entrance area of the loft with his bags beside him, had nothing to do with insecurity or doubts, and everything to do with one tiny little word that I had successfully steered away from for the last couple of decades:
Jealousy.
He was mine! As retrograde and primitive as it sounded, he belonged to me! Pittsburgh, for all its questionable glory, held one trump card over New York: No fag in the good old ‘burgh would ever cross certain lines unless they were weary of life. They knew (or were made to understand) that Justin was taken and learned to enjoy the pleasure and very short time of attention he was bestowing upon them - or upon certain anatomical parts of them, to be more precise. New York however was another, and infinitely larger, pond with correspondingly bigger fish. None of which I wanted to lay their dirty hands on the way too trusting and candid blond.
And since Brian Kinney never asks for anything, except for said blond to marry him - twice - I developed an intricate plan of sheer genius to make sure that he’d forever remain mine. The first stage was already set in motion. All I had to do was wait.
Justin’s POV
I pulled the knapsack onto my knees as soon as the seatbelt lights were switched off. It was a late flight, and most people in the first class - Brian’s (for the time being) last gift - dozed off or tried to relax after a stressful day. I fished around for my sketch pad and carbon pencil, itching to draw the clear and defined lines of Brian’s back as long as they were still fresh on my mind; as long as I still had his scent on me, reminding me of his beautiful lean form stretched out across the loft’s bed.
Flipping open the book to a fresh page, I found something lodged between the sheets of paper: An envelope. I ripped it open and pulled out what appeared to be a plane ticket.
New York - Pittsburgh.
August, 19th.
Exactly three months from today. On it a yellow sticky note with Brian’s neat handwriting:
You.
Me.
And nothing in between us.
I was instantly hard, the voice in my head screaming ‘OH MY GOD’ in Dolby surround sound. I started counting frantically... 92 more days to go.
Word Count: ~650
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated.
Betas: amythesw & galefan4ever.
Brian’s POV
What a crazy thought!
I had watched him fuck countless men, with or without him knowing I was there. I had watched him being fucked by other men - a parade of tricks that knelt before him to worship his cock. And, maybe not as many but still an impressive number of men, that were brought to their proverbial knees by his talented tongue and full pouty lips.
And it never bothered me. Have I been fooling myself this whole time? Because suddenly the thought of him being kissed, stroked, touched, caressed, looked at by someone else - someone other than me - made the bile rise to my throat.
I was okay with him leaving for New York; it wouldn’t be the end. This I had made sure of. And I had made a promise to myself: I’d do everything I could not to push him away. No matter what people were going to say, no matter how many smirks I had to endure, or how many people whispered gossip behind my back. He would never leave me again; at least not because I failed to give him something he needed or craved.
Justin leaving for New York had as much to do with him figuring out which path to follow as it had with us knowing that something as small as a few hundred miles in between us would never hold any power over us. Me not wanting (or maybe not able) to let go of his smaller frame that I clutched to as we stood in the entrance area of the loft with his bags beside him, had nothing to do with insecurity or doubts, and everything to do with one tiny little word that I had successfully steered away from for the last couple of decades:
Jealousy.
He was mine! As retrograde and primitive as it sounded, he belonged to me! Pittsburgh, for all its questionable glory, held one trump card over New York: No fag in the good old ‘burgh would ever cross certain lines unless they were weary of life. They knew (or were made to understand) that Justin was taken and learned to enjoy the pleasure and very short time of attention he was bestowing upon them - or upon certain anatomical parts of them, to be more precise. New York however was another, and infinitely larger, pond with correspondingly bigger fish. None of which I wanted to lay their dirty hands on the way too trusting and candid blond.
And since Brian Kinney never asks for anything, except for said blond to marry him - twice - I developed an intricate plan of sheer genius to make sure that he’d forever remain mine. The first stage was already set in motion. All I had to do was wait.
Justin’s POV
I pulled the knapsack onto my knees as soon as the seatbelt lights were switched off. It was a late flight, and most people in the first class - Brian’s (for the time being) last gift - dozed off or tried to relax after a stressful day. I fished around for my sketch pad and carbon pencil, itching to draw the clear and defined lines of Brian’s back as long as they were still fresh on my mind; as long as I still had his scent on me, reminding me of his beautiful lean form stretched out across the loft’s bed.
Flipping open the book to a fresh page, I found something lodged between the sheets of paper: An envelope. I ripped it open and pulled out what appeared to be a plane ticket.
New York - Pittsburgh.
August, 19th.
Exactly three months from today. On it a yellow sticky note with Brian’s neat handwriting:
You.
Me.
And nothing in between us.
I was instantly hard, the voice in my head screaming ‘OH MY GOD’ in Dolby surround sound. I started counting frantically... 92 more days to go.