Reconstruction
Author: luceononuro
Author's note: bea_nonymous has written the definitive, Brian can’t dance fic, Intervention everything else is redundant. I had no choice but to take a different path. Thanks to darksylvia and lesser_gods for the beta, and the encouragement, and for being such wonderful sports about this whole thing.
Dare: Justin teaches Brian how to dance.
Warning/Rating: Explicit
‘What’s Past is Prologue.’
The Tempest, Act II, scene i
When I arrive home, Brian is sprawled on the couch in a black wife-beater and soft jeans. He’s smoking a joint, listening to Koko Taylor and letting her gravelly blues seep into his pores, which means he’s in a mellow mood. I love Brian’s mellow moods.
I curl around him. “Miss me?”
“I’ve been devastated. How was Daphne’s?”
“It was great.” I hesitate for a fraction of a second and then continue, “We talked about the prom.”
I can feel Brian stiffen. I pat his leg and try to explain. “There was a part of the prom that was beautiful, but I can’t remember. And I know after I got out of the hospital you tried to show me, but I shut you down, I called it corny or something like that.” I’m rushing my words. “But now I want to know what happened, more details than that you showed up, we danced, and Hobbs used my head for batting practice.” Brian winces and I stroke his cheek.
“So, Daphne told me about our dance and how beautiful it was, and how everyone was watching us, and we gushed about how shocked everyone was.” Brian smiles a little at the memory. “She told me that we looked like we had danced together like that a hundred times before, and that’s when we started wondering. Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
He turns towards me and quirks an eyebrow -- we both need to lighten the mood. Brian can only take so much remembering at a time. And I just need him to know that I have more details now. More information stored in my rebuilt memory bank. I’m trying to squeeze out the bad by inserting some good. I can tell he’s going to let it go.
“And what did you and young Miss Daphne speculate?”
“We’re baffled, really.”
“If you repeat what I am about to tell you, I will deny you access to my body for the rest of your natural lifetime.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t even tell Daphne.” I know I will have to think of something horrifying to threaten her with when I tell her not to tell.
“I took etiquette lessons - power etiquette lessons, actually.”
I know I’m bug-eyed but I can’t stop myself. “You’re kidding.”
“I kid you not. I took them the last year of college, it taught me American and international etiquette, business dining, interview skills and dance, among other things. I also learned to say ‘I want to fuck you’ in seven languages.”
I may never be able to speak again.
“And don’t smirk, Justin. You take for granted what you learned at the country club and from your parents, but it’s a code. It’s the way the gentry can tell us from them, and I wanted to erase that line. If they wanted to reject me, it wouldn’t be because I didn’t know which fork to use.”
I shake my head. “I just never thought about knowing what I know. But you’re right, I guess -- if you haven’t been brought up that way, you have to be taught how.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to learn it at home. Dinner was a silent race to the finish, and the Novotnys’ wasn’t a hotbed of social graces -- you’ve seen Mikey eat?”
I nod sagely. He holds his fork like a shovel.
“I didn’t want my ideas to be over-shadowed by my ignorance.” He’s matter-of-fact, and I find myself having to hide a growing admiration for just how hard Brian worked to leave his upbringing behind.
“Dancing was part of the international program,” he continues. “And that night at the prom, you followed me perfectly.”
“My mom taught me.” And somehow this seems more embarrassing than paying for lessons. God, everything about him makes my heart swell.
“Anyway, Daphne and I sort of started talking about the fact that if you can dance so perfectly like that, well, we were kind of wondering about what you do at Babylon.”
“I dance at Babylon.”
“Um, we wouldn’t really call what you do dancing.”
I ignore his outraged look and walk over to the stereo, switching Koko over to a club mix I got from Emmett. When the beat fills the loft, I turn back towards Brian, imploring him to dance with me. It would have been so easy to tip over the edge to maudlin when we talked about the prom and I want to keep the good mood going.
I pull him off the couch to the open space in front of the bedroom stairs. He fights me a little and announces, “I can dance, Justin.”
“Really? I’ve never seen it.” I smile at him and bat my eyes. He sneers and pulls away from me.
“Is that so? Well, if you think the come fuck me - you know you want to show that you and Emmett put on, is the way I should be dancing, give your head a shake.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Let me demonstrate.” And with that, Brian starts wiggling and spinning with his arms extended over his head.
“We do not look like that.”
“Whatever comforts you.”
“My dancing makes you hot.” I can hear the wheedling tone in my voice. “Don’t make me beg, Brian. You let someone else show you how to waltz -- let me show you how to club dance.” And I think that Brian may be high enough and horny enough to go along with me, because he smiles and starts to roll his hips a little more.
“I don’t need lessons, Justin, because I’m hot just the way I am, and I told you I already know how.”
Brian moves away from me and begins an obscenely sexy dance that involves him pumping and rolling his hips and slowly turning in a circle. His body undulating in a way I’ve never seen before. I’m mesmerized, and before I have another conscious thought I’ve insinuated myself around his body.
“I know how to do it. I just choose not to.” He has his cheek pressed against mine and he’s speaking into my ear in that breathy way that I love. “I prefer the show you put on. Come on, Justin, dance for me.”
And he turns the tables just like that. I smile lazily and begin to move to the music, but I’m more tuned in to what Brian is doing than I’ve ever been before. His arms come up to either side of me, creating a space that I dance inside of. And I see that when he does that, he separates us from the other dancers at Babylon. He makes my dance just for him.
He cups my neck and grips my hips and slides his fingers in all the right places, and I realize that I am being guided by Brian’s hands. Whether I’m riding his thigh or shaking my ass, the rhythm is all mine, but where I end up is all Brian.
I usually lose myself in the music, the beat spreading through me until my pulse pounds in time, only brought back occasionally by something exquisite that Brian is doing to my body. His movements are never frantic, just the unmistakable pumping of his hips, the smoky eyes, and the sheen of sweat covering his chest and arms, so that his perfect body glistens. He surrounds me and grounds me at the same time.
I twist and roll in front of him, and the way he is looking at me promises a hard, unrelenting fuck. The thought causes my dick to harden and my breath to hitch, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Brian Kinney is the master of dancing-as-foreplay. The scent, the look, the touch, the taste -- he spends his time invading your senses so that by the end of the dance you just want to drop to your knees and suck him off where he stands.
And now I know all I need to know.
I lean into him and grab his wrist, stepping up onto one of the bedroom stairs that we’ve migrated towards. I’m going to need some height to do this right. “Ok, now we switch roles, I’m you and you’re me.” I hold his gaze. “Come on, Brian … dance.”
He hesitates, pulling in my grasp until I let go, and he watches as I bring my arms up on either side of him.
I know I’m breathing heavy, I’m so turned on, and at first it looks like he is going to call an end to the game. But instead he leans in for a kiss and seconds pass before I realize he’s beginning to dance. The realization inflames me and my hands fly to his neck and shoulders. I’m just a little taller than he is standing on the step and I experience Brian’s advantage when he kisses me. Pushing my tongue down into his upturned mouth, controlling the kiss and how he moves his head.
He begins to rub against me, as I trail my fingers down his arms, catching my thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and riding his undulating hips. I didn’t know he could move like this. I mean, I know he has perfect rhythm, I just didn’t know it was a transferable skill.
He licks up my neck as he rides my leg, grinding to the beat and rolling his torso. I need to regain control here.
I kiss him deeply and then spin him around, so that his back and ass face me. He doesn’t lose a beat and I can tell by the smirk on his face that he knows I’m losing it. I remind myself that I’m playing Brian. I don’t need to move a lot, but I do have to have control of the dance - and the dancer.
I grab the back of his wife-beater with one hand, pulling him back against me and drawing the material taut across his chest. As we rock together, my other hand slides across his pecs. He’s swiveling his hips, which causes his torso to move quite a bit, so I tighten my grip on his shirt and begin to tease his cloth-covered nipples. His groan and reflexive snap against my groin tells me how good that just felt. And now I’ve got him.
I slide my hand down his belly, hitching his shirt along the way so when I get to the bottom, it’s easy to pull up and off of him. He spins around for a kiss, arms still in the air, hips weaving. I lick at his mouth and trace my fingers down his arms and sides, feathering my touch the way he loves. His skin responds with an outbreak of goose-bumps and he shivers a little. He looks at me coyly and peeks his tongue out. Fuck, he’s flirting with me.
He slides his eyes closed again and begins that sexy spin he was doing earlier. I wish for a moment I was sitting back watching him - he’s so gone into the music. When he pushes his ass back into me he has my attention again. I skim my hands around his hips, stroking the soft skin across the lower part of his belly. His lips part and he inhales sharply, almost wiggling in my grasp. That’s one of the things I love about Brian: when he’s turned on, his whole body’s an erogenous zone. And I also know, that it’s only for me.
I slip my hands lower, popping the top button on his jeans, and with a little pull on either side, the rest of the buttons follow. Even Brian’s pants are easy.
With my hand down the front of his jeans, he is forced to dance in a more controlled way, which almost turns into arching and writhing when my hand wraps around his swollen dick. I trail my fingers lightly down his length, then give him a loose fist to fuck as he regains his rhythm.
I’m wrapped around him, barely dancing myself, just toying with his nipples and softly jerking him off. His eyes are glassy and his breathing stutters a little. When he drops his head back on my shoulder and whispers “Get me off, Justin,” I almost cream my pants.
Regaining some composure, I nip his ear and whisper back. “Close your eyes, Brian. We’re at Babylon. The lights are pulsing and the confetti is raining down and everyone is watching you dance with me. Watching your beautiful body move to the music. Watching me touch you.” He starts to moan. The exhibitionist in him is such a slut.
I spit slick two fingers and slide my hand down the back of his pants. When I part his cheeks and stroke the soft skin there, his responding thrust into my fist tells me this isn’t going to take much.
He moves his hips to the beat and grinds back into me, making it easier to insinuate my hand closer to his hole. He starts panting when I tighten my grip on his shaft and tell him, “I’m going to finger you, Brian, gonna make you come.”
He arches a little, giving me better access and I begin to lightly stroke his pucker. He lets out a little “uh, uh, uh,” and with his next hip roll he impales himself on one of my fingers. He buries the second one when he thrusts back again, then pumps back and forth, fucking himself from both ends. When he moans deep in his chest, I breathe into his ear, “That’s right, Brian -- let me hear how it feels.”
It takes a little effort to rotate my hand , but it allows me access to his sweet spot. When he realizes that, he pumps a little harder, and his moan sounds a little needier. I tighten my hold on him and take control of our rhythm, lightly kneading that sensitive bundle of nerves. He almost rises up on his toes, arching, reaching for release. He’s in that place where everything is suspended. Where it feels like your whole body is balanced on the tip of a finger.
I press my cheek against his and growl, “Give it to me, Brian” while simultaneously tapping his prostate a little harder and flicking the head of his straining cock. He freezes, shouting my name, and then stream after stream of come arcs away from us and onto the hardwood.
When his breathing returns to normal and his movements have resumed some semblance of the beat, he turns to me, licks my mouth, then drops to his knees and I am sucked off by Brian Kinney on the floor of my imaginary Babylon.
When the panting and shaking have subsided, we sink to the steps, Brian sprawled between my legs. He sighs as I run my fingers through his hair and pet his chest.
“That’s not happening when we go out clubbing.” Brian the über-stud is making a stand.
“You’re right,” I say, “I’d have to carry a stool with me.”
He snorts and turns to crawl up over me. Round two is in the air.
I catch his chin and make him face me. “Did I say thank-you for the dance at the prom?”
“Yeah, you did. You already know all the etiquette, remember?”
“I wish I could remember -- but thank you again.”
“It was my great pleasure, Mr. Taylor. Now, what’s the proper etiquette for getting your ass up on the bed right now?
“The country club never covered that.”
“Barbarians!”
Author's note: bea_nonymous has written the definitive, Brian can’t dance fic, Intervention everything else is redundant. I had no choice but to take a different path. Thanks to darksylvia and lesser_gods for the beta, and the encouragement, and for being such wonderful sports about this whole thing.
Dare: Justin teaches Brian how to dance.
Warning/Rating: Explicit
‘What’s Past is Prologue.’
The Tempest, Act II, scene i
When I arrive home, Brian is sprawled on the couch in a black wife-beater and soft jeans. He’s smoking a joint, listening to Koko Taylor and letting her gravelly blues seep into his pores, which means he’s in a mellow mood. I love Brian’s mellow moods.
I curl around him. “Miss me?”
“I’ve been devastated. How was Daphne’s?”
“It was great.” I hesitate for a fraction of a second and then continue, “We talked about the prom.”
I can feel Brian stiffen. I pat his leg and try to explain. “There was a part of the prom that was beautiful, but I can’t remember. And I know after I got out of the hospital you tried to show me, but I shut you down, I called it corny or something like that.” I’m rushing my words. “But now I want to know what happened, more details than that you showed up, we danced, and Hobbs used my head for batting practice.” Brian winces and I stroke his cheek.
“So, Daphne told me about our dance and how beautiful it was, and how everyone was watching us, and we gushed about how shocked everyone was.” Brian smiles a little at the memory. “She told me that we looked like we had danced together like that a hundred times before, and that’s when we started wondering. Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
He turns towards me and quirks an eyebrow -- we both need to lighten the mood. Brian can only take so much remembering at a time. And I just need him to know that I have more details now. More information stored in my rebuilt memory bank. I’m trying to squeeze out the bad by inserting some good. I can tell he’s going to let it go.
“And what did you and young Miss Daphne speculate?”
“We’re baffled, really.”
“If you repeat what I am about to tell you, I will deny you access to my body for the rest of your natural lifetime.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t even tell Daphne.” I know I will have to think of something horrifying to threaten her with when I tell her not to tell.
“I took etiquette lessons - power etiquette lessons, actually.”
I know I’m bug-eyed but I can’t stop myself. “You’re kidding.”
“I kid you not. I took them the last year of college, it taught me American and international etiquette, business dining, interview skills and dance, among other things. I also learned to say ‘I want to fuck you’ in seven languages.”
I may never be able to speak again.
“And don’t smirk, Justin. You take for granted what you learned at the country club and from your parents, but it’s a code. It’s the way the gentry can tell us from them, and I wanted to erase that line. If they wanted to reject me, it wouldn’t be because I didn’t know which fork to use.”
I shake my head. “I just never thought about knowing what I know. But you’re right, I guess -- if you haven’t been brought up that way, you have to be taught how.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to learn it at home. Dinner was a silent race to the finish, and the Novotnys’ wasn’t a hotbed of social graces -- you’ve seen Mikey eat?”
I nod sagely. He holds his fork like a shovel.
“I didn’t want my ideas to be over-shadowed by my ignorance.” He’s matter-of-fact, and I find myself having to hide a growing admiration for just how hard Brian worked to leave his upbringing behind.
“Dancing was part of the international program,” he continues. “And that night at the prom, you followed me perfectly.”
“My mom taught me.” And somehow this seems more embarrassing than paying for lessons. God, everything about him makes my heart swell.
“Anyway, Daphne and I sort of started talking about the fact that if you can dance so perfectly like that, well, we were kind of wondering about what you do at Babylon.”
“I dance at Babylon.”
“Um, we wouldn’t really call what you do dancing.”
I ignore his outraged look and walk over to the stereo, switching Koko over to a club mix I got from Emmett. When the beat fills the loft, I turn back towards Brian, imploring him to dance with me. It would have been so easy to tip over the edge to maudlin when we talked about the prom and I want to keep the good mood going.
I pull him off the couch to the open space in front of the bedroom stairs. He fights me a little and announces, “I can dance, Justin.”
“Really? I’ve never seen it.” I smile at him and bat my eyes. He sneers and pulls away from me.
“Is that so? Well, if you think the come fuck me - you know you want to show that you and Emmett put on, is the way I should be dancing, give your head a shake.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Let me demonstrate.” And with that, Brian starts wiggling and spinning with his arms extended over his head.
“We do not look like that.”
“Whatever comforts you.”
“My dancing makes you hot.” I can hear the wheedling tone in my voice. “Don’t make me beg, Brian. You let someone else show you how to waltz -- let me show you how to club dance.” And I think that Brian may be high enough and horny enough to go along with me, because he smiles and starts to roll his hips a little more.
“I don’t need lessons, Justin, because I’m hot just the way I am, and I told you I already know how.”
Brian moves away from me and begins an obscenely sexy dance that involves him pumping and rolling his hips and slowly turning in a circle. His body undulating in a way I’ve never seen before. I’m mesmerized, and before I have another conscious thought I’ve insinuated myself around his body.
“I know how to do it. I just choose not to.” He has his cheek pressed against mine and he’s speaking into my ear in that breathy way that I love. “I prefer the show you put on. Come on, Justin, dance for me.”
And he turns the tables just like that. I smile lazily and begin to move to the music, but I’m more tuned in to what Brian is doing than I’ve ever been before. His arms come up to either side of me, creating a space that I dance inside of. And I see that when he does that, he separates us from the other dancers at Babylon. He makes my dance just for him.
He cups my neck and grips my hips and slides his fingers in all the right places, and I realize that I am being guided by Brian’s hands. Whether I’m riding his thigh or shaking my ass, the rhythm is all mine, but where I end up is all Brian.
I usually lose myself in the music, the beat spreading through me until my pulse pounds in time, only brought back occasionally by something exquisite that Brian is doing to my body. His movements are never frantic, just the unmistakable pumping of his hips, the smoky eyes, and the sheen of sweat covering his chest and arms, so that his perfect body glistens. He surrounds me and grounds me at the same time.
I twist and roll in front of him, and the way he is looking at me promises a hard, unrelenting fuck. The thought causes my dick to harden and my breath to hitch, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Brian Kinney is the master of dancing-as-foreplay. The scent, the look, the touch, the taste -- he spends his time invading your senses so that by the end of the dance you just want to drop to your knees and suck him off where he stands.
And now I know all I need to know.
I lean into him and grab his wrist, stepping up onto one of the bedroom stairs that we’ve migrated towards. I’m going to need some height to do this right. “Ok, now we switch roles, I’m you and you’re me.” I hold his gaze. “Come on, Brian … dance.”
He hesitates, pulling in my grasp until I let go, and he watches as I bring my arms up on either side of him.
I know I’m breathing heavy, I’m so turned on, and at first it looks like he is going to call an end to the game. But instead he leans in for a kiss and seconds pass before I realize he’s beginning to dance. The realization inflames me and my hands fly to his neck and shoulders. I’m just a little taller than he is standing on the step and I experience Brian’s advantage when he kisses me. Pushing my tongue down into his upturned mouth, controlling the kiss and how he moves his head.
He begins to rub against me, as I trail my fingers down his arms, catching my thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and riding his undulating hips. I didn’t know he could move like this. I mean, I know he has perfect rhythm, I just didn’t know it was a transferable skill.
He licks up my neck as he rides my leg, grinding to the beat and rolling his torso. I need to regain control here.
I kiss him deeply and then spin him around, so that his back and ass face me. He doesn’t lose a beat and I can tell by the smirk on his face that he knows I’m losing it. I remind myself that I’m playing Brian. I don’t need to move a lot, but I do have to have control of the dance - and the dancer.
I grab the back of his wife-beater with one hand, pulling him back against me and drawing the material taut across his chest. As we rock together, my other hand slides across his pecs. He’s swiveling his hips, which causes his torso to move quite a bit, so I tighten my grip on his shirt and begin to tease his cloth-covered nipples. His groan and reflexive snap against my groin tells me how good that just felt. And now I’ve got him.
I slide my hand down his belly, hitching his shirt along the way so when I get to the bottom, it’s easy to pull up and off of him. He spins around for a kiss, arms still in the air, hips weaving. I lick at his mouth and trace my fingers down his arms and sides, feathering my touch the way he loves. His skin responds with an outbreak of goose-bumps and he shivers a little. He looks at me coyly and peeks his tongue out. Fuck, he’s flirting with me.
He slides his eyes closed again and begins that sexy spin he was doing earlier. I wish for a moment I was sitting back watching him - he’s so gone into the music. When he pushes his ass back into me he has my attention again. I skim my hands around his hips, stroking the soft skin across the lower part of his belly. His lips part and he inhales sharply, almost wiggling in my grasp. That’s one of the things I love about Brian: when he’s turned on, his whole body’s an erogenous zone. And I also know, that it’s only for me.
I slip my hands lower, popping the top button on his jeans, and with a little pull on either side, the rest of the buttons follow. Even Brian’s pants are easy.
With my hand down the front of his jeans, he is forced to dance in a more controlled way, which almost turns into arching and writhing when my hand wraps around his swollen dick. I trail my fingers lightly down his length, then give him a loose fist to fuck as he regains his rhythm.
I’m wrapped around him, barely dancing myself, just toying with his nipples and softly jerking him off. His eyes are glassy and his breathing stutters a little. When he drops his head back on my shoulder and whispers “Get me off, Justin,” I almost cream my pants.
Regaining some composure, I nip his ear and whisper back. “Close your eyes, Brian. We’re at Babylon. The lights are pulsing and the confetti is raining down and everyone is watching you dance with me. Watching your beautiful body move to the music. Watching me touch you.” He starts to moan. The exhibitionist in him is such a slut.
I spit slick two fingers and slide my hand down the back of his pants. When I part his cheeks and stroke the soft skin there, his responding thrust into my fist tells me this isn’t going to take much.
He moves his hips to the beat and grinds back into me, making it easier to insinuate my hand closer to his hole. He starts panting when I tighten my grip on his shaft and tell him, “I’m going to finger you, Brian, gonna make you come.”
He arches a little, giving me better access and I begin to lightly stroke his pucker. He lets out a little “uh, uh, uh,” and with his next hip roll he impales himself on one of my fingers. He buries the second one when he thrusts back again, then pumps back and forth, fucking himself from both ends. When he moans deep in his chest, I breathe into his ear, “That’s right, Brian -- let me hear how it feels.”
It takes a little effort to rotate my hand , but it allows me access to his sweet spot. When he realizes that, he pumps a little harder, and his moan sounds a little needier. I tighten my hold on him and take control of our rhythm, lightly kneading that sensitive bundle of nerves. He almost rises up on his toes, arching, reaching for release. He’s in that place where everything is suspended. Where it feels like your whole body is balanced on the tip of a finger.
I press my cheek against his and growl, “Give it to me, Brian” while simultaneously tapping his prostate a little harder and flicking the head of his straining cock. He freezes, shouting my name, and then stream after stream of come arcs away from us and onto the hardwood.
When his breathing returns to normal and his movements have resumed some semblance of the beat, he turns to me, licks my mouth, then drops to his knees and I am sucked off by Brian Kinney on the floor of my imaginary Babylon.
When the panting and shaking have subsided, we sink to the steps, Brian sprawled between my legs. He sighs as I run my fingers through his hair and pet his chest.
“That’s not happening when we go out clubbing.” Brian the über-stud is making a stand.
“You’re right,” I say, “I’d have to carry a stool with me.”
He snorts and turns to crawl up over me. Round two is in the air.
I catch his chin and make him face me. “Did I say thank-you for the dance at the prom?”
“Yeah, you did. You already know all the etiquette, remember?”
“I wish I could remember -- but thank you again.”
“It was my great pleasure, Mr. Taylor. Now, what’s the proper etiquette for getting your ass up on the bed right now?
“The country club never covered that.”
“Barbarians!”