Entry #32 - "A Wave Unfurled"
Title: A Wave Unfurled
Written By: keewick
Timeline: Post Season Five
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Genre:
A Wave Unfurled
At birth, Jennifer holds her baby boy in her arms and says "he's perfect," beaming at her husband's matching glow of joy.
At 3, Mrs. Blake, their elderly neighbor who paints her lips red and her cheeks even redder, says Justin is the biggest towhead she's ever seen. His mom ruffled his hair fondly and he all but preens in response.
At 5, Justin is the shortest kid in his Kindergarten class, girls included, and Justin frowns until Mrs. Miller tells him he gets to be in the front row for picture day and show off that killer smile of his. 'Twinkle Toes' she calls him, and the other boys snicker, but Justin likes the way she says it in that gentle, soft way his mother has that means he's special.
At 8, no one will partner with either Justin or Daphne in PE because they're both crap at sports, not to mention different with a capital D, so the last two rejects are united by default. Not so surprisingly, they come in last in the 3 legged race, after having fallen not once, not twice but three times on their faces, still, they're both laughing when they cross the finish line. 2 weeks later Daphne calls Justin the best friend she's ever had and they are BFF from that moment on.
At 10, Justin is a total momma's boy. And while Molly may be Daddy's little girl, Justin is still the one Craig Taylor brings to the country club, the one who gets congratulated on the 95% marked across his test, yet reminded that there's room for improvement, the one who can always do better. Because Justin is his son, and Taylor men don't settle for anything less than perfection.
At 12, Justin is cast as Peter Pan in the elementary school play and receives a standing ovation. As flowers are handed to him on stage and he turns to the audience, microphone in hand, he incites a mini-outcry when he accuses the school of racism, citing that it was Daphne's skin color that kept her from being cast as Wendy. The mic is snatched out of his grasp and he is shuffled off the stage before any further damage can be done, but he can hear the accusatory gasps and see the colorful congratulatory poster Molly made for him waving in the crowd and he is all smirks.
At 14, Justin is the best art student Mrs. Sparks has ever taught. So talented, so brilliant. He's "going places."
At 17, Justin is here and queer, and wants to rub homophobia's face in it. He has never felt so brave or strong as when he turns his back on his dad.
At 18, Justin is the King of Babylon and the only trick that's kept Brian Kinney's attention longer than 15 minutes. He strives to become the best homosexual he can be and gets bashed for his efforts. He survives - for that is what they call him, a 'survivor' - and becomes a symbol of the indomitable spirit and utter resilience of queers everywhere.
At 20, Cody deigns him worthy of being his partner in their anti-crime wave and bigots fear him for a change. He wears pink and is a man for the first time ever.
At 22, Justin ventures out on his own to NY and before his 23rd birthday, gets his work shown in a few of the more prestigious galleries. He winds up in a loft reminiscent of Brian's and feels like he's waiting for something. Like he's been on a path all this time that was headed somewhere and now that he's getting close, he just wants it to end so he can rest or breathe or something.
At 24, Justin runs into Ethan Gold at a bar and they are both lonely and the city is too big and familiarity is something to hold onto for the night. There are no pretty words this time, for neither pretends it is anything other than what it is. Comfort, release, and knowing the trick of the night's full name for once. There's novelty in that. The next day Ethan is gone before Justin wakes, but a phone number is scribbled onto a piece of paper secured to the fridge with a magnet. Justin doesn't throw the number away or use it at any point in the future. But he looks at it sometimes and likes that he has someone in the city he could call if he was that alone, lost, desperate, empty again. He won't, but he could.
At 25, Justin forgets his own birthday, but remembers Gus' and shares a drunken phone call with Brian, the contents of which he can't even remember the next day. But the only time Brian initiates contact with him at all anymore is when he's drunk as a skunk himself so Justin figures they break even.
At 27, Justin loses everything. There is no job, no money, no friends. No respect or dignity. He can't even hold onto the past because all he sees is a sell out who hasn't been the best anything in the longest time.
At 28, Justin has had enough with crap jobs and his hole in the wall apartment and returns to the Pitts, tail between his legs.
He doesn't call Daphne or Brian or his mother in advance. Instead he calls Debbie. He knows she will spread the word and everyone will be properly pitying and condescending and possibly the least big smug when he gets swallowed whole by their hugs and sympathetic words. It's no less than he deserves.
He isn't disappointed. The diner is the same as it's always been, and with the exception of Linds, Mel, and the kids who, believe it or not, now speak with the most adorable Canadian accents Justin is told, everyone is there as if frozen in time, as if Neverland was just waiting for Peter Pan's return.
Ben and Michael are as stiffly in love as Justin recalled, acting out their plastic fantasy as if going through the motions makes what they have more real and true. Ted and Em are single yet again, but still the best of buds, or two peepees in a pod as Emmett declares with a flourish. Debbie is as bright and loud as ever and while Horvath is not quite the smitten kitten he once was, there's something there that says it'll last, that there's something worth keeping between them, something nobody else diner bound has yet found, including the Novotny-Bruckners.
Brian is the only local no-show. He had to work late, or so Mikey claims. It's just as well. Justin doesn't know what he'd say or do if confronted with the man he lost contact with over 2 years ago. He doesn't know how he'd meet his gaze, how he'd take what he'd see in those eyes. He's mortified enough without having Brian recognize him as the failure he is in person.
The words "How can you even stand there and look me in the eye?" ring in his ears and Justin wonders whether Dartmouth would've led him to a place of pride in the reflections his parents and Brian cast had he grown up instead of sealing forever young with a kiss.
*
'The boys' retire to Woody's after the welcome back hugs and kisses. And they play some pool and ogle some twinks before Michael starts in on his stupid-as-fuck what if games.
What if you found a time machine that could transport you into the past or future...What would you do? Where would you go?
This is a side of drunk Michael Justin didn't miss. Justin much prefers high-has-the-munchies Mikey.
Predictably, Emmett chooses the future, Ted chooses the past, and Michael looks uncomfortable when Ben averts his eyes.
Justin wonders if Ben's considering what the future holds for him, him and Hunter, and maybe what the past held for Vic.
At Ben's tensed jaw, Michael quickly changes the scenario. So not that drunk then, maybe just feeling awkward seeing Justin again and trying to cover it with over the top look-at-me inanity. Shocker, that.
"There's an asteroid headed for earth and you have a bunker that can hold you and two other people indefinitely. But the couple who join you can't be blood relations. Who do you choose to save?"
Justin takes that as his cue to go and stands up and makes his way to the exit, fumbling for the lighter in his pocket.
Ben joins him a moment later and smoke mingles with visible breath against cold blackness. Justin quirks a sidelong glance at Ben and checks off the trios in monotone. "Michael would choose you and Brian. Em would choose Ted and Mikey. Ted would choose Mikey and Emmett. And Brian, well, he'd choose Michael and Lindsay."
Justin feels Ben turn to look at him fully in the shadows and doesn't likewise turn to meet that speculative gaze. "I'd have chosen you as my second before."
That brings Justin up with a start.
Ben's half smile is almost rueful. "We never got to know each other as well as I wanted us to, but you were always my favorite out of the gang. I think that we could've been good friends. That we still could be if given the chance." A beat. "And you're wrong about Brian. Even with all this missing time, you'd still edge Lindsay out."
Justin doesn't remember the last time he's felt this wistful. "Missing time. Interesting way to phrase it."
Fortunately, Ben is not searching Justin's expression anymore. He's too caught up in his own thoughts. "If they only got to choose one to save, you'd be Brian's. But my husband...well, the whole world knows it's not me for him; it never has been." He doesn't sound sad exactly, just resigned.
Melanie would've understood that. All too well.
Neither of them mention that if blood relations weren't disallowed from the aforementioned trios (a convenient loop hole on Mikey's part), Ben would be left out in the cold. They don't have to.
Justin stubs out his cigarette and decides to take a walk. The moon is huge and the stars are bright and everything's a cliché.
Justin is ready for something new.
He can't help but wonder about his dad, Chris Hobbes, Cody at times like these. He wonders if they're off living happy, successful lives and if God really is the narrow-minded prick religion tries to tell you he is.
Justin winds up outside Brian's building and for laughs imagines Brian fast asleep in his bed alone. Suddenly the thought isn't that funny because wouldn't that be just like Brian to have learned to be alone while he was away, to move on and be new without Justin? Justin turns on his heel and heads back to the motel that's temporarily boarding him with an even heavier step.
*
The next afternoon Justin stops by his mom's new home, noting Tuck's all too earnest grin from the wedding picture on the mantle before her purse is accounted for and they set off to dine at the local suburban eatery.
They make small talk as the salads are served. Molly's off at college doing the whole sorority thing, Tuck's still teaching middle school science, and the market has been good for realtors statewide, including her. They even speak of Craig briefly. Apparently God is indeed prick-like if dear old Dad's escalating success is anything to go by. The majority of it is new information to Justin. He tries to remember the last Christmas he was home in the Pitts and can't.
All conversation comes to a standstill when Jennifer asks after Debbie.
Justin pauses a beat too long before clearing his throat. "Haven't you talked to her yourself recently?"
At this, Jennifer looks uncomfortable. "I've been busy. We all have. Time...slips away."
Justin feels a little dizzy. All this time he'd been out of touch, he'd pictured his little extended family gathering for weekly dinners and as lonely a notion as that was, it was also comforting. Because it meant that what he'd been a part of mattered, that it was real even if he couldn't hold onto it the way he would've liked.
Because it meant that he could return home to it at any given time and it'd be there waiting for him exactly as he'd left it.
Then he wonders why he's surprised. After all, Debbie would've informed his mom of his impending arrival if they were still in contact and his showing up on her doorstep wouldn't have been quite the shock it proved to be. He supposes he didn't want to consider the possibility.
She's still speaking and Justin has to force himself to focus on something other than her tone which signals the use of pretty language. Her glossing over what she really means to say. Ever the WASP. "Surely you can understand that..." she is trailing off when Justin fully tunes back in.
The implication burns. "I understand. I just...Fuck it."
Justin struggles to find the words because this is his mom and if she'd only understand, she'd tell him how everything broken could be fixed. "Before, I knew everything that you and Molly were doing on a daily basis and you and Debbie were nosy PFLAG co-conspirators and now we both have to be told about the stuff that's going on without us, stuff that we should know, should be a part of. So I guess I just don't get how we can share our lives with each other for years and then just stop. Lose touch to the degree that we don't even know the most basic facts of each other's lives."
Jennifer's expression softens as does her tone. Ever the mom. "Things don't always turn out the way you plan. People always say that, but it's true. Kids grow up, grow away. It's normal. And friends are sometimes people that come into your life at the right time because of similar circumstance and there's understanding and support when you need it most. But then things change and suddenly the link you had isn't anything more than what you needed, what you both needed, in that particular time and place and you don't even have to let it go because it's broken on its own."
Justin thinks about Daphne and Brian and can't find it in himself to believe that they are of the past, that they already served their purpose and vice versa. Sure, Daphne was there when no one else was. She loved him for who he was when he needed that more than anything. She was his best friend, his first friend and Brian...Brian was his first lust, love, and everything in between. He taught him how to be queer and how to fucking love it.
But just because they'd fulfilled roles in each other's lives, roles that felt necessary at the time didn't necessarily mean that that all went away when time and distance split you down the middle. Circumstance and convenience may have brought them together in the first place, but Justin wants to believe there's something still there among them. Something necessary that, in all likelihood, former best friend and ex-fiancé (and fuck if that label isn't the cruelest joke of Justin's life) won't wish to be a part of anymore, but something that he can hold inside and believe in.
Jennifer must read the dark thoughts flitting across his expression because her cool palm is suddenly holding his own fidgeting hand in place. "Is this about Brian? Have you spoken with him since you got back?"
"No." And how does his mom always manage to bring out the sullen in him?
Said sullenness predictably beckons maternal reassurance in its wake: "All these endings and beginnings teach you that life isn't about being right or wrong." Her touch moves to brush a stray piece of his hair back behind his ear, "I want you to like your life, Justin. That's all I've ever wanted."
Justin sees her eyes and her smile and thinks of Molly. A sister he's only emailed a couple of times a year since she went off to college. And he misses them both so fucking hard.
Justin is tired of being self-centered. He wants to know the people he loves, the people he calls family and care enough about his life to like it or challenge it if he doesn't. A reason to give, not just take.
He wants this spark buzzing within for the first time in years to lead him somewhere new.
And so, when he returns to his crappy motel, he sits down with his laptop and starts to email Molly a message longer than two sentences. A paragraph in, Justin rethinks it and picks up the phone.
*
Justin tracks Daphne down a few days later. She is married, pregnant, the quintessential stay at home suburban mom, and Justin doesn't understand how that happened to the girl who was so career driven and anti-marriage until he sees the scrawled artwork proudly displayed across the fridge and the way Daphne smiles when her 18 month old falls asleep in her arms, curly head propped on breast.
After putting her son to bed, Daphne pulls Justin back to the living room sofa and doesn't let go of his hand.
"I've missed you." Justin doesn't know how to speak around the lump in his throat, but it doesn't matter because Daphne continues. "How was New York?"
Justin feels a bark of laughter free his voice. "How do you think? I'm back in the Pitts, penniless, jobless, friendless after 6 short years."
Justin can tell Daphne is trying to fight the urge to contradict his state of friendlessness, an automatic response that wouldn't hold up against the truth of their estrangement. "I mean before it all went to hell. The first couple of years I'd get an email here or there from you, but they were never long or detailed enough. You were being successful, but I could never tell how you were doing."
"I had my share of ups and downs. It was a lot like being here, just louder and brighter. I made friends, at the beginning, but they were just passing through. They weren't..." Justin trails off, the fingers from his free hand tapping nervously against his denim knee.
"Why'd you stop emailing me? Why didn't you ever pick up the phone to call me?"
And there's no edge to her tone other than curiosity, yet Justin still feels on the defensive suddenly. "Things got busy. And I don't remember ever getting a call from you telling me about your getting married and having a kid."
"You mean having a kid and then getting married," Daphne chides him as if he's the most traditional fuddy duddy she's ever met. "I wasn't the one who left. And I did try to make contact at the beginning there, but you always seemed so distant and distracted. After awhile I decided that you'd moved on, that I just didn't fit into your life anymore."
"You're the one that moved on. I was just marking time, dizzying myself going in circles. But you're right, you didn't fit in my life because my life sucked so hardcore and you were so much better than that, I didn't want to drag you down with me."
Daphne moves to sit with her back resting against Justin's chest and pulls the hand still in her grasp to stretch the arm across her shoulders. "You missed me."
"Yes, I missed you." Both her hands are now holding onto his and their lock tightens as if suddenly desperate.
"There's something you should know. Something I wanted to tell you for a long time, but the time wasn't right or I just chickened out. And then you left and I thought maybe this was something you were never meant to know, that my wanting to tell you served my own guilt more than fulfilling your right to know."
Justin can't imagine a single secret between them that he has the right to know after their years apart. "Breathe, Daph. It's okay, whatever it is."
It all comes out in a rush and Daphne definitely isn't breathing. "Remember when you were in the hospital recovering from the bashing...Fuck, of course, you remember. Well, I had to go to a...clinic," her voice catches on the word, "then. It seems that when we were together that one time, my first time, the condom didn't do its job and so when my period just didn't come, I got one of those home pregnancy tests and you were better but you were still in the hospital and you didn't need something else you'd have to deal with. And we always said we thought women had the right to choose, right?"
She'd situated the both of them so that he wouldn't have to see her stricken face, but he can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath his suddenly goosebumped arm she'd slung across herself and he fleetingly hopes his own shell-shocked reaction isn't similarly reaching out to her in frozen body language.
"I went to the clinic by myself and had to have a cab drive me home because they don't let you drive yourself home after the procedure and my parents wouldn't have understood. You were released from the hospital a week later, and I didn't know how to tell you then."
For an instant a flash of a son or a daughter skitters through his mind and then he thinks of 18 year old Daphne on a table alone somewhere scared out of her wits and his 18 year old self reduced to tears and stomping feet when he couldn't use his hand the way he wanted to and he's able to stop the inner slideshow in its tracks. He's gotten good at that. Besides, this moment is about Daphne, he'll wait for it to be about himself later.
"Shhhh. It is a lot, but I understand. I'm just sorry you had to go through that alone."
"You're still my best friend, you know?" a tremble ripples through her and Justin's free arm joins the other to pull her even closer to his chest.
"You're my first and only best friend so yeah, I know." The words are muffled in her hair, but he can feel her almost melt back into his embrace in understanding and relief.
"You forgive me?"
"There's nothing to..." and it dawns on Justin that that's not what Daphne needs to hear right now so he clears his throat and replies simply, "Yes."
"I never really forgave myself at first. I accepted it and thought that was how I'd find peace and be able to move on, but eventually accepting wasn't enough and all the rationalizations I'd told myself just started eating away at me. I didn't think abortion is wrong - I don't - but I guess it turns out there's a difference between believing it and feeling it after it's become a less than abstract milestone in your life.
"It just wasn't as simple as I thought it would be. All of the reasons why I had to go to that clinic were painfully true, but they didn't stop me from thinking about the potential I would be losing, giving away. Still, I didn't cry until the week that was projected for its due date and I guess my grieving was about forgiveness in some small way because the next morning I felt like a weight had been lifted or maybe it was just that I knew how to better carry it."
Daphne twists suddenly in his arms and Justin has never been so glad to see her tear-stained face because it means she's not afraid of him anymore.
"What's weird is that finding Nathan and getting married and giving birth to my beautiful girl and boy didn't remind me of what might have been, as I had feared, it just felt like validation. Like this was how my life was supposed to go and this was the time for it."
Justin's hand joins hers in moving over her expanding belly. When they'd been making small talk earlier, Daphne had insisted that three was her limit, but Justin wonders if that's what time has in store for her family. He hopes for her sake that Daphne and time are on the same page because he imagines three kids all under the age of 5 sharing one roof will get to be more than enough of a handful as it is.
"My timing's always sucked. Maybe that's why I was never happy for longer than a day, week, month; I'm all touch and go," Justin muses, and it comes out more thoughtful than amused which is a shame since he was aiming for levity.
A beatific smile: "Maybe you need to forgive yourself for your sucky timing. And realize that sucky timing is a product of the actions of someone who thinks too much. Time will show you when it's ready and right."
"Preach it, sister," and Justin finds himself laughing for the first time in - years, maybe? - and it feels weird and unfamiliar and almost kind of hurts, but he can't stop and it's okay because Daphne's laughing in the same absurd way and Justin is over the moon that there are now tears on her face that came from something other than pain.
Quieting down, Justin mulls over her pronouncement, preachy as it may be, and is surprised at the niggling irony therein. Justin would have said he had timing in spades when he was a kid because everything he wanted fell into his lap and he'd felt sorry for BFF Daphne who grew up with there always being some qualification, perpetually rating 'almost,' her never being fully recognized. She was good at math, for a girl. She would've made a perfect Wendy, if her complexion was a bit lighter.
But now, in motherhood, she's found her niche, not because she's finally reached perfection, but because she's so content perfection or near perfection don't matter anymore. She genuinely likes her life and it's enough.
A knock signals her four year old's return from preschool and Justin finds himself desperate for the little girl's approval. He tries everything, even has Daphne break out the paint sets at one point, but Nicole remains unimpressed. Justin has about given up when they take a break from all the strenuous finger painting for a snack, and suddenly the awe dawns in her dark brown eyes, so like her mom's, as he pokes the tiny straw into the bottom of his Capri Sun pouch. At Daphne's amused nod, he helps fellow rebel Nicole do the same for her grape juice and as their tongues grow purple, Justin can't imagine a time when he's felt cooler.
*
"You look like shit," are the first words Brian says to him after they collide outside the diner.
It's true. Sometimes it feels like New York sucked the life out of him, and other times, Justin wonders if he's just one of the unfortunate many who isn't aging well. He's lost weight, and yeah, that bit can be attributed to his limited budget in recent years, but that doesn't change the fact that he's all skin and bones, all sharp angles and pinched face. Even his ass seems to have lost its curve somehow. His hair needs a good cut and if he could get a solid 8, hell he'd settle for 6, hours of sleep sometime in the next century maybe those dark circles under his eyes would go away.
Still, Justin is glad Brian is Brian and just said it outright. If he'd done anything other than that, like keep quiet or god forbid try to be nice, it would have been so much worse to bear.
"I feel like shit, so that sounds about right." Justin feels that gaze travel up and down his frame again and thinks of before.
Once upon a time they were a good match, they both knew what being the best meant. Just as Justin was the hottest twink, the next Andy Warhol, Liberty Avenue's very own little survivor that could, Brian was the hottest fuck, the best adman, and the quintessential anti-hero he'd always longed to be.
It is quite obvious to Justin as he views the beautiful man who does age well before him that they don't match anymore and he is sure it is to Brian as well as those eyes linger on the many imperfections that mark him inside and out now.
"So New York chewed you up and spit you out then. And what do you have to show for it? Shit appearance and even shittier attitude," Brian tsks.
"You could say I don't really have much of anything anymore," Justin agrees mildly.
"I could." A beat. "You have yourself."
A bitter laugh under his breath, "You think so?" and for half a second Justin is worried Brian is going to say something tired like "I know so," but he doesn't.
"You've never failed at anything you wanted enough to put in the effort. My guess? You got tired of the life and gave up on NY long before it failed you the way your inner-defeatist may want to believe."
But that isn't true. Justin had wanted something, someone, once and had given up, but that hadn't meant he'd stopped wanting it, needing it.
As if reading his mind, Brian quirks a brow. "We never failed. We were just taking a sabbatical."
And how Justin hates those words along with that assessing gaze that accompanies them because he can't afford to hope right now. He really can't.
As if to mock his thoughts further, Brian is suddenly tugging on his elbow, nudging him past the diner and into the alley.
The traffic from the street makes up all the noise of their conversation for the next minute and a half before Justin snaps as goddamned Brian knew he would, words falling from his lips unchecked.
"You were right. It was just time. Nothing more meaningful than that. I was alone and tired and time passed and I got what I thought I wanted, and became what I went there to become, and it wasn't enough. I knew something was missing, but I couldn't place it. I thought it was many somethings. Being away in a new place by myself, the pressure of expectation weighing on me, but now I feel it. It was just you. Brian Fucking Kinney. And being back here and seeing you like this and feeling and looking like hell, it's too much.
"I can't do this thing anymore. Where I pretend that I don't need you to be me and be happy and I can't even get myself to care that that probably makes me the weakest faggot that ever lived in your book.
"I can't pretend that I did the right thing and that it went wrong somewhere along the way because it was wrong from the beginning. I can't pretend that I shouldn't have stayed or you shouldn't have followed me to NY. We should've shared the last 6 years. We were more important than my aspirations or your career. And this missing time is gone forever and rationally the window for us should've passed or we should have to start all over again and get to know who we've become while we were apart, but that's all bullshit! I'm still me and you're still you and I...I need to know..."
And suddenly Brian is right there in his face breathing the same air. He looks furious at one or the both of them. "If you would stop acting so fucking self-deprecating and ashamed of yourself for one minute and actually look me in the face, you'd know."
At that, Justin stops and looks and oh.
They're back at the loft in five minutes flat and Justin practically throws himself at Brian, arms circling that neck to pull his body up into Brian. His ankles lock around Brian's back and he settles his weight low on his waist, straddling the crotch of those designer fuck me jeans. His tongue strokes in and out of Brian's mouth until he latches onto the tongue inside and sucks hard. Large hands grab a hold of his ass and squeeze in response and suddenly he's riding that hardness he's straddling for all he's worth as Brian maneuvers his handfuls of ass to control the rock back and forth, and Justin thinks he may die from the friction any minute.
Just when he fears he's going to come in his pants like the 17 year old virgin he once was, all friction comes to a halt as he's dropped none too gently back onto the hardwood floor. But before he has a chance to complain, his jacket and t-shirt are being stripped off and Justin likewise turns his attention to doing his own share of stripping them naked. They are quick and efficient until Justin is down to his boxers and Brian kneels to mouth him through the precome damp fabric before divesting him of them.
Still, a record is set and then he's back in those arms and Brian is half carrying him so they'll reach the bed in time. He may not get to straddle that lap anymore, but he makes do with the thigh between his own. His head hits the pillow as Brian's mouth descends on his nipple and there's sucking and nipping and biting and a clever swirl of the tongue that brings Justin's hand up to twist in that head of hair hovering over the sparks of pain/pleasure.
The flat of a hand slides up his inner thigh to press against the underside of his cock, providing resistance for friction as Justin circles his hips and humps that palm almost desperately.
Justin closes his eyes and listens to the sounds, the hitched breaths and slurping as Brian makes his way across to swoop at the other nipple then down Justin's chest. He thinks he hears Brian say something about him needing to fatten up as lips slide over his all too pronounced ribcage and that's got to be the first time Brian's made that suggestion to anyone ever.
Justin almost feels self-conscious, but the next thrust of his hips lands his dick in a wet warm mouth which provides sufficient distraction.
Justin opens his eyes to watch that dark head bobbing up and down, those hollow cheeks, those lips stretching around him, working him. Brian, of course, sensing an appreciative audience, peers up through his lashes to meet Justin's increasingly glassy gaze. How Brian can manage a smirk while he's throat deep in cock is anybody's guess, but then he swallows and Justin hears himself emit the most embarrassingly needy noises. His hands are clawing at the sheets, something, anything to hold onto and then Brian pulls off and up as if understanding Justin's need for anchorage.
That mouth is back on his and Justin tastes himself on that tongue and Brian's cock is now sliding against his saliva coated one and fuck, if he couldn't get off on this alone.
Brian must know it because his hips suddenly still before languidly raising off altogether, and he's pulling Justin's legs up and apart and Justin is completely exposed and Brian's just looking at him with this intensity he can't even describe. It's enough to make Justin blush, but it doesn't matter because Brian isn't looking at his face anyway.
Brian's fingers are on his balls, touching, rolling, cupping and there's a tease of a press against his perineum and a soft tug at his pubic hair, but it's when Brian's hand circles Justin's dick, that he finally looks Justin in the face, looking meaner than Justin's ever seen him. The other hand slips down to nudge his crack open and Brian's hold becomes tighter, almost painful.
Justin had said he'd wanted to know, but this, this is so much more than he ever intended to see. Brian has been hurting maybe more than Justin ever did and Brian is telling him that there will always be a part of him that will hate Justin for that.
No sooner does the thought dawn than Justin is flipped to his belly, a pillow is shoved under his pelvis, and Brian is on top of him, rubbing his cock into the cleft of Justin's ass. Brian's hands push down hard on Justin's shoulders for traction, pinning Justin's upper body to the mattress as he rides him. Justin is now riding the pillow, echoing the movements etched into him and he half wishes there was a mirror so he could see Brian grinding him into the bed with such fury.
Brian's hands leave his shoulders as a drawer is opened, but Justin knows better than to try to move from the position Brian left him in. A wet hand suddenly slides between his cheeks and Justin feels his needy ass arching back into it. But Brian isn't preparing him, at least not for a full on fuck. Justin actually isn't sure what Brian's doing until his hips are arranged high in the air, he's parted once more, and a lubed cock slips into place and starts rocking back and forth between his cheeks.
And this is new. Because, for all the stuff they'd got up to in the past, they'd never done this. This slow, teasing slide as an act in and of itself. The dry hump of back and forth. Brian had said he didn't believe in foreplay, that it was for randy teenagers too scared to do the deed.
But from the sounds Brian is making, he loves it (which isn't such a surprise considering what a slut Brian is for grinding on the dance floor) and Justin doesn't think he himself can take much more of that slick hardness so close to where he needs it to be. He's whimpering and dangerously close to crying. And maybe that's the point of this little exercise.
Brian lets out a ragged grunt and he must realize it isn't going to last much longer if they keep this up, too, because he moves off center and thrusts his hand back into that cleft, rubbing to gather the excess liquid heat and make his fingers slick. Before Justin can make sense of it, one long digit is inside him and it's been so long and Justin finds himself fucking back onto that hand as more fingers are added.
Of course, it's not enough. Fingers are never enough. Justin looks back over his shoulder and Brian must decide to take pity on him because a condom wrapper goes flying by and suddenly warm hands are gripping his hips, angling him just right and he's lining himself up and a cock, Brian's cock, is pushing into him. There's resistance and a small amount of discomfort, but Justin focuses on the ecstasy of that first drag of a big hard cock moving inside him, filling him, opening him up and spreading him wide.
Brian grabs Justin's arm and pulls him up against his chest as he pushes his cock even deeper inside and for a moment, Justin feels pinned on the cock and it's the most delicious sensation ever. Brian's whispering filthy words into his ear and he can't even make sense of anything other than that throaty sexy as fuck whisper and the way one of Brian's hands has slipped under him to pump his cock in time with the thrust of hip slapping against ass. Brian's touch moves from his cock up to twist a nipple and Justin finds his mouth opening on a gasp as Brian finds his prostate and strokes it repeatedly, clutching at Justin's body to mold their sweaty forms closer together.
Justin feels his orgasm building and makes a last ditch effort to drag Brian along with him off over the cliff, using his muscles to bear down on him, but it's coming too fast and he knows he's going to be the selfish one who finishes himself off first. Then again, you don't have to worry as much about that when you're in bed with Brian Kinney because he always takes care of his own needs soon enough.
And true to form, Brian gives him a minute before rolling him over onto his back, spreading his legs, and fucking his way back in. Brian hefts his ankles back toward his ears, and Justin is thankful he's too warm and sated to feel the muscles pull because he's most definitely not the bendy teenager he once was and that's going to hurt tomorrow.
Brian is slamming into him again and again and his pace becomes erratic until he suddenly pulls out, using his hold on Justin's thighs to drag him closer so he's face to come-soaked pelvis. Not a moment later, Brian's face rubs down between his legs, into the coarse hairs, over the limp cock, smelling him, licking the trails of come as he pleases, following one such trail down to suckle at the not-so-tight ring below and sticking his tongue in just a little bit and fuck, flicking. Justin closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of stubble intermixed with soft lips and wicked tongue moving against, over, in him. Jesus fuck he loves this man.
A shift in the bed beneath him along with the sound of a condom being tied off and thrown into the waste basket opens his eyes to the sight of something even more tantalizing. So tantalizing, in fact, that his spent cock even gives a twitch of appreciation in response.
There Brian kneels, straddling his face. Magnificent cock hanging heavy and low and so fucking hard and Justin has only to raise up a little to place a soft chaste kiss to its head before sucking that cock into his mouth. The weight, the thickness feels perfect on his tongue, filling his mouth just as he remembered. Oh, how Justin has missed the drag of cock against tongue and when it hits the back of his throat and he swallows, hums, he feels drowsy with the power he wields in this position.
Brian generously allows him to get reacquainted with his favorite cock for a few minutes but as his breathing becomes more labored, his hands reach out and grab Justin's hair in question. Justin gives a slight nod in answer and cock starts fucking mouth in earnest. In and out and fuck Brian is hot when he's just this side of brutal controlling bastard. He's ramming his cock as hard as he can down Justin's throat and Justin still wants more. He's full, nose pressing into pubic hair one minute and empty, licking the slit the next. He'd told his mom that he loved dick once, and he'd meant it. He craves cock up him, in him, against him.
Of course, he hadn't known universal cock then, he'd known Brian's. And now that he's become a well-versed world of cock citizen, Justin finds that that unspoken thought still holds true. It is Brian's cock fucking his ass, his mouth, grinding against his hip that drives him out of his mind, that he craves. No one else's.
Justin's hands move to cup Brian's ass in reverence, alternately caressing and squeezing, and he helps Brian with his rhythm as he makes those final thrusts past his lips. He comes in Justin's mouth and Justin savors and swallows and doesn't want to let go. But something in Brian's eyes says that this won't be the last time he'll have that cock settle on his tongue so he should just chill the fuck out and let him free already.
He does, but he knows he's pouting all the same and Brian chuckles a bit at this, swinging his leg off Justin to spread out beside him. His fingertips trace Justin's swollen lips as his own curve into a smirk.
"You really are the perfect cocksucker. I knew it the first time we met. Your lips were made for it."
"Is this your idea of sweet talk?"
"What do I need sweet talk for? I already fucked you and got you to suck me. And how."
Justin turns on to his side to face Brian and Brian's hand continues its journey down his shoulder to tickle at his ribs. "Good point."
"You've lost weight."
Justin stiffens a bit at that. "I think it's already been firmly established that I look like shit."
"You look like you need to get some good sleep and make a habit of eating again," Brian corrects him, looking all too amused. His fingers splay out over his hip like a web and then come together to smack Justin's right ass cheek lightly, "You remind me of a little lost waif, in fact."
Justin takes Brian's offending hand in his and then brings it down on his ass again, this time with more force. "Do you think a waif would let you fuck them into the mattress and then get hard for the second time inside a half hour at the thought of you spanking them?"
Brian makes a big show of leering at Justin's suddenly half-hard cock and then abruptly pushes off the bed, leading him out to the unforgettable stretch of hardwood where Justin took off his jacket that first night at the loft and decided he'd come then stay. A kitchen stool is soon situated in the center of the empty space with three good sized mirrors Justin's never seen before being placed at advantageous marks around it. Once that's accomplished, Brian pulls on a pair of jeans (so he won't stick uncomfortably to the seat Justin can only imagine) and makes himself at home on the stool.
The orchestration of the scene is so exact, so planned, like Brian was just waiting for Justin to return so they could play out whatever little fantasy of Brian's that is to follow.
Justin's interest is piqued and he nears Brian only to be unceremoniously tugged off his feet and planted over Brian's lap, ass in air.
There's no warning before the first slap rains down. And Justin finds his hips thrusting forward into that lap beneath him of their own volition. Brian alternately slaps, squeezes, rubs, pets and after one particularly hard smack, Justin finally catches sight of himself in one of the mirrors and his cock hardens even more at the red splotches forming across his ass.
The contrast of the red against his lily white ass is so remarkable that Justin briefly forgets that he is no longer an artist, that he long gave up on memorizing moments like this to later capture. The mental snapshot is taken and tucked away for safe keeping before all thought is wiped from his brain at his whole body being jostled higher into the air. Brian bites each cheek, licking afterward to soothe, then drops him just as quickly back into his lap so he can admire his handiwork in the mirror.
Justin is so hard it hurts so he settles for rubbing his dick back and forth against the rough denim with small circular strokes in the hopes of taking the edge off. It doesn't work, not with that reflection of him ass up on display swimming in his head.
Brian must notice that Justin's watching through the mirror because the movement of his hands against the curve of his ass slows, becoming more deliberate, more electrically charged. Just seeing those large tan hands move over his skin, fingertips slipping in the crack, massaging him, is enough to make Justin writhe uncontrollably against Brian, pressing his cock into a denim lap that is just not going to be enough.
The next thing Justin knows he is being pulled upright and hoisted up onto the kitchen counter, left waiting on all fours. He catches sight of Brian in one of the mirrors and Brian is suddenly back sitting on that stool, but this time at the end of the counter. Brian helps scoot Justin so he's almost hanging off the edge, ass practically in Brian's face and Brian tells him to look in the mirror.
"I want you to grab your ass in both hands and spread yourself open for me. Can you do that?"
And fuck he's so obscenely smarmy right now and yet it's still such a fucking turn on. Justin complies watching the reflection of Brian lick his lips. One solitary finger traces down his crease, stopping at the hole to circle it once.
Brian meets Justin's gaze in the mirror again as his touch draws lazy figure eights across his parted raw skin. "Good boy. I know it stings, but I had to punish you before. You'd been a naughty boy, but now you've returned and you deserve a reward."
Justin lets his forehead rest against the cool countertop as he sees Brian's head lower with intent.
Brian moves in to blow on the now faintly pink expanse of skin before him. He licks down the crease then up then back down before focusing on the ring of muscle. His tongue laves it twice before furiously stabbing its way in, causing Justin to lose his hold and Brian's suddenly there spreading those cheeks for him and diving in and out hungrily.
Every queer loves being rimmed, but Justin holds a special place for it in his heart because of his first time and how fucking shocked and somewhat appalled he was when Brian touched him there with his mouth and then how intimate it felt every time after he realized Brian didn't go around performing rimjobs on random tricks. It was one of the acts that meant Justin was more than just the trick of the night, that he was special in some small way.
And now that tongue and mouth is driving him wild and yet it's not right because Justin heard what Brian was saying underneath his smarminess before about him having been a naughty boy for presumably leaving and if he's going to get a reward it better damn well be to his face so they both know what's being forgiven, accepted, or forgotten.
Justin reaches back to still Brian's movements and then turns to slip off the counter, settling himself back in Brian's lap on the stool, this time straddling him face to face.
"Jerk me off?"
Brian smiles slightly at his request, this time without smarm. His hand reaches between them and grabs hold of Justin, palming him with long, sure twists of the wrist. Justin presses his forehead against Brian's and breathes him in.
"Missed you." And arching up into that slick fist feels like coming home. The familiar tug on his dick, Brian all too smug at the way his touch pulls Justin taut, making each thrust further exaggerated. Brian has never admitted it, but Justin knows Brian loves to watch the play of Justin's muscles when he's jerking him off. Loves to pull Justin's pelvis forward to have it snap back with each drag of his hand. Justin loves it, too, and accentuates the roll of his hips so Brian can see what he is doing to him.
"I figured."
"I really don't want to read this wrong, so could you tell me what's going to happen tomorrow..?"
"I'm thinking more of the same." Brian leans forward to suckle at Justin's neck, his own hips raising off the stool to meet Justin's hip roll and then he's unbuttoning his jeans, encircling them both, and there's nothing like that cock to cock massage.
Justin's breath stutters against his better judgment, "And after we fuck each other into oblivion, what then?"
"Why do you feel the need to spell everything out, can't you just know? I thought you understood earlier."
"I got that you still care about me, that you missed me, too, and am okay with me being back."
"Okay. You think I'm okay that you're back." Brian's rhythm quickens and his hand flies up and down, causing Justin to spastically bounce atop Brian and breathe like an asthmatic who's just attempted a marathon. Brian's mouth swoops up to capture Justin's and he sucks his tongue furiously, owning it, biting his bottom lip before releasing him entirely. Brian's thumb plays across his slit expertly while he shoves the other hand under Justin to finger his ass.
"Tomorrow I'm thinking your fingers might be up my ass. What do you think?" Brian flexes them and at Justin's cry, they pull out and his palm smacks him hard on the ass one final time, prompting Justin to come all over the both of them.
When Justin returns to himself it is to Brian drawing him closer, holding Justin's face in both his hands. "So I take it you want me to be serious," he says in that going to humor you indulgent way of his. But when he presses his tongue into his cheek, Justin is aware that Brian is dead serious, just incredulous as fuck at the words, the promises that are about to come out of his mouth. "I think you left something behind that belongs to you. It's gold and sparkly and should fit like a ring. Tomorrow you'll wear it, we both will. That's what I think and what you already know."
*
Tomorrow starts a lot like Brian told him it would. They stay in bed until noon. By 1:00, a certain box is saved from being buried alive in the drawer of things Brian's willfully trying to ignore. Justin wagers a good half of the items within have to do with him. And at 2:00, they arrive at the diner for a late brunch and Debbie invites them to yet another 'welcome back, Sunshine' dinner.
She points out that not everyone - she snaps her gum in Brian's direction - attended the first and that they ought to have a proper celebration at her house this time. When she mentions that Jennifer already confirmed she'd be there along with Tuck, Justin feels a smile overtake his face.
He finds himself asking if there's room for four more, two adults, two kids, considering 1/4 of their extended family are now card carrying Canadians, and ends up giving Debbie the Patterson's number so she can officially invite Daphne and her family to dinner next week.
Later, Debbie, hostess with the mostess that she is, offers to host a surprise baby shower for Daphne after hearing she's been "churning out babies like there's no tomorrow." Justin tosses it off at first, but then gets to thinking about how he wants his life to be, what he's willing to give to make it happen, and he finds himself actually considering asking Emmett for party planning help in pulling their little extended family soirée off. Daphne will already have a normal shower with her normal friends, he reasons, but a totally crazy off the wall Liberty shindig couldn't hurt.
Justin actually thinks she'd get a kick out of it.
Brian drapes his arm across Justin's shoulders, pulling him close, as they exit. Justin flashes on all of the faces that will be sitting round the table next week at Deb's and looks down at the matching bands of gold glittering in the sunlight and he knows that he's been in this very same place before, but somehow everything feels new.
At 29, the same age Brian was when Justin lamposted into his life, Justin has a job, some money, but more importantly, he has friends and a home for himself and he figures the rest will fall into place eventually. Time, which should never be prefaced with 'just,' will show him when it's ready and right and in the meantime he'll make a life he can respect and like, one that doesn't hinge on being the best or worst, wrong or right, one that simply falls within the realm of less judgment and more acceptance.
And it's an easier life code to practice than Justin imagined because he's finally found his version of enough. The elusive more isn't as tempting as it once was and how he's come to define less is now something that's an impossibility for him. He supposes that maybe he had to lose everything, push his luck just that touch too far, to see how much love the world held, how much love could never be lost.
The thought is so absurdly pat and clichéd, yet there are no other words for what he feels now, how he got to be this person who smiles and laughs and whose life is brimming with well, life.
He can hear Daphne now: Preach it, brother!
Written By: keewick
Timeline: Post Season Five
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Genre:
A Wave Unfurled
At birth, Jennifer holds her baby boy in her arms and says "he's perfect," beaming at her husband's matching glow of joy.
At 3, Mrs. Blake, their elderly neighbor who paints her lips red and her cheeks even redder, says Justin is the biggest towhead she's ever seen. His mom ruffled his hair fondly and he all but preens in response.
At 5, Justin is the shortest kid in his Kindergarten class, girls included, and Justin frowns until Mrs. Miller tells him he gets to be in the front row for picture day and show off that killer smile of his. 'Twinkle Toes' she calls him, and the other boys snicker, but Justin likes the way she says it in that gentle, soft way his mother has that means he's special.
At 8, no one will partner with either Justin or Daphne in PE because they're both crap at sports, not to mention different with a capital D, so the last two rejects are united by default. Not so surprisingly, they come in last in the 3 legged race, after having fallen not once, not twice but three times on their faces, still, they're both laughing when they cross the finish line. 2 weeks later Daphne calls Justin the best friend she's ever had and they are BFF from that moment on.
At 10, Justin is a total momma's boy. And while Molly may be Daddy's little girl, Justin is still the one Craig Taylor brings to the country club, the one who gets congratulated on the 95% marked across his test, yet reminded that there's room for improvement, the one who can always do better. Because Justin is his son, and Taylor men don't settle for anything less than perfection.
At 12, Justin is cast as Peter Pan in the elementary school play and receives a standing ovation. As flowers are handed to him on stage and he turns to the audience, microphone in hand, he incites a mini-outcry when he accuses the school of racism, citing that it was Daphne's skin color that kept her from being cast as Wendy. The mic is snatched out of his grasp and he is shuffled off the stage before any further damage can be done, but he can hear the accusatory gasps and see the colorful congratulatory poster Molly made for him waving in the crowd and he is all smirks.
At 14, Justin is the best art student Mrs. Sparks has ever taught. So talented, so brilliant. He's "going places."
At 17, Justin is here and queer, and wants to rub homophobia's face in it. He has never felt so brave or strong as when he turns his back on his dad.
At 18, Justin is the King of Babylon and the only trick that's kept Brian Kinney's attention longer than 15 minutes. He strives to become the best homosexual he can be and gets bashed for his efforts. He survives - for that is what they call him, a 'survivor' - and becomes a symbol of the indomitable spirit and utter resilience of queers everywhere.
At 20, Cody deigns him worthy of being his partner in their anti-crime wave and bigots fear him for a change. He wears pink and is a man for the first time ever.
At 22, Justin ventures out on his own to NY and before his 23rd birthday, gets his work shown in a few of the more prestigious galleries. He winds up in a loft reminiscent of Brian's and feels like he's waiting for something. Like he's been on a path all this time that was headed somewhere and now that he's getting close, he just wants it to end so he can rest or breathe or something.
At 24, Justin runs into Ethan Gold at a bar and they are both lonely and the city is too big and familiarity is something to hold onto for the night. There are no pretty words this time, for neither pretends it is anything other than what it is. Comfort, release, and knowing the trick of the night's full name for once. There's novelty in that. The next day Ethan is gone before Justin wakes, but a phone number is scribbled onto a piece of paper secured to the fridge with a magnet. Justin doesn't throw the number away or use it at any point in the future. But he looks at it sometimes and likes that he has someone in the city he could call if he was that alone, lost, desperate, empty again. He won't, but he could.
At 25, Justin forgets his own birthday, but remembers Gus' and shares a drunken phone call with Brian, the contents of which he can't even remember the next day. But the only time Brian initiates contact with him at all anymore is when he's drunk as a skunk himself so Justin figures they break even.
At 27, Justin loses everything. There is no job, no money, no friends. No respect or dignity. He can't even hold onto the past because all he sees is a sell out who hasn't been the best anything in the longest time.
At 28, Justin has had enough with crap jobs and his hole in the wall apartment and returns to the Pitts, tail between his legs.
He doesn't call Daphne or Brian or his mother in advance. Instead he calls Debbie. He knows she will spread the word and everyone will be properly pitying and condescending and possibly the least big smug when he gets swallowed whole by their hugs and sympathetic words. It's no less than he deserves.
He isn't disappointed. The diner is the same as it's always been, and with the exception of Linds, Mel, and the kids who, believe it or not, now speak with the most adorable Canadian accents Justin is told, everyone is there as if frozen in time, as if Neverland was just waiting for Peter Pan's return.
Ben and Michael are as stiffly in love as Justin recalled, acting out their plastic fantasy as if going through the motions makes what they have more real and true. Ted and Em are single yet again, but still the best of buds, or two peepees in a pod as Emmett declares with a flourish. Debbie is as bright and loud as ever and while Horvath is not quite the smitten kitten he once was, there's something there that says it'll last, that there's something worth keeping between them, something nobody else diner bound has yet found, including the Novotny-Bruckners.
Brian is the only local no-show. He had to work late, or so Mikey claims. It's just as well. Justin doesn't know what he'd say or do if confronted with the man he lost contact with over 2 years ago. He doesn't know how he'd meet his gaze, how he'd take what he'd see in those eyes. He's mortified enough without having Brian recognize him as the failure he is in person.
The words "How can you even stand there and look me in the eye?" ring in his ears and Justin wonders whether Dartmouth would've led him to a place of pride in the reflections his parents and Brian cast had he grown up instead of sealing forever young with a kiss.
*
'The boys' retire to Woody's after the welcome back hugs and kisses. And they play some pool and ogle some twinks before Michael starts in on his stupid-as-fuck what if games.
What if you found a time machine that could transport you into the past or future...What would you do? Where would you go?
This is a side of drunk Michael Justin didn't miss. Justin much prefers high-has-the-munchies Mikey.
Predictably, Emmett chooses the future, Ted chooses the past, and Michael looks uncomfortable when Ben averts his eyes.
Justin wonders if Ben's considering what the future holds for him, him and Hunter, and maybe what the past held for Vic.
At Ben's tensed jaw, Michael quickly changes the scenario. So not that drunk then, maybe just feeling awkward seeing Justin again and trying to cover it with over the top look-at-me inanity. Shocker, that.
"There's an asteroid headed for earth and you have a bunker that can hold you and two other people indefinitely. But the couple who join you can't be blood relations. Who do you choose to save?"
Justin takes that as his cue to go and stands up and makes his way to the exit, fumbling for the lighter in his pocket.
Ben joins him a moment later and smoke mingles with visible breath against cold blackness. Justin quirks a sidelong glance at Ben and checks off the trios in monotone. "Michael would choose you and Brian. Em would choose Ted and Mikey. Ted would choose Mikey and Emmett. And Brian, well, he'd choose Michael and Lindsay."
Justin feels Ben turn to look at him fully in the shadows and doesn't likewise turn to meet that speculative gaze. "I'd have chosen you as my second before."
That brings Justin up with a start.
Ben's half smile is almost rueful. "We never got to know each other as well as I wanted us to, but you were always my favorite out of the gang. I think that we could've been good friends. That we still could be if given the chance." A beat. "And you're wrong about Brian. Even with all this missing time, you'd still edge Lindsay out."
Justin doesn't remember the last time he's felt this wistful. "Missing time. Interesting way to phrase it."
Fortunately, Ben is not searching Justin's expression anymore. He's too caught up in his own thoughts. "If they only got to choose one to save, you'd be Brian's. But my husband...well, the whole world knows it's not me for him; it never has been." He doesn't sound sad exactly, just resigned.
Melanie would've understood that. All too well.
Neither of them mention that if blood relations weren't disallowed from the aforementioned trios (a convenient loop hole on Mikey's part), Ben would be left out in the cold. They don't have to.
Justin stubs out his cigarette and decides to take a walk. The moon is huge and the stars are bright and everything's a cliché.
Justin is ready for something new.
He can't help but wonder about his dad, Chris Hobbes, Cody at times like these. He wonders if they're off living happy, successful lives and if God really is the narrow-minded prick religion tries to tell you he is.
Justin winds up outside Brian's building and for laughs imagines Brian fast asleep in his bed alone. Suddenly the thought isn't that funny because wouldn't that be just like Brian to have learned to be alone while he was away, to move on and be new without Justin? Justin turns on his heel and heads back to the motel that's temporarily boarding him with an even heavier step.
*
The next afternoon Justin stops by his mom's new home, noting Tuck's all too earnest grin from the wedding picture on the mantle before her purse is accounted for and they set off to dine at the local suburban eatery.
They make small talk as the salads are served. Molly's off at college doing the whole sorority thing, Tuck's still teaching middle school science, and the market has been good for realtors statewide, including her. They even speak of Craig briefly. Apparently God is indeed prick-like if dear old Dad's escalating success is anything to go by. The majority of it is new information to Justin. He tries to remember the last Christmas he was home in the Pitts and can't.
All conversation comes to a standstill when Jennifer asks after Debbie.
Justin pauses a beat too long before clearing his throat. "Haven't you talked to her yourself recently?"
At this, Jennifer looks uncomfortable. "I've been busy. We all have. Time...slips away."
Justin feels a little dizzy. All this time he'd been out of touch, he'd pictured his little extended family gathering for weekly dinners and as lonely a notion as that was, it was also comforting. Because it meant that what he'd been a part of mattered, that it was real even if he couldn't hold onto it the way he would've liked.
Because it meant that he could return home to it at any given time and it'd be there waiting for him exactly as he'd left it.
Then he wonders why he's surprised. After all, Debbie would've informed his mom of his impending arrival if they were still in contact and his showing up on her doorstep wouldn't have been quite the shock it proved to be. He supposes he didn't want to consider the possibility.
She's still speaking and Justin has to force himself to focus on something other than her tone which signals the use of pretty language. Her glossing over what she really means to say. Ever the WASP. "Surely you can understand that..." she is trailing off when Justin fully tunes back in.
The implication burns. "I understand. I just...Fuck it."
Justin struggles to find the words because this is his mom and if she'd only understand, she'd tell him how everything broken could be fixed. "Before, I knew everything that you and Molly were doing on a daily basis and you and Debbie were nosy PFLAG co-conspirators and now we both have to be told about the stuff that's going on without us, stuff that we should know, should be a part of. So I guess I just don't get how we can share our lives with each other for years and then just stop. Lose touch to the degree that we don't even know the most basic facts of each other's lives."
Jennifer's expression softens as does her tone. Ever the mom. "Things don't always turn out the way you plan. People always say that, but it's true. Kids grow up, grow away. It's normal. And friends are sometimes people that come into your life at the right time because of similar circumstance and there's understanding and support when you need it most. But then things change and suddenly the link you had isn't anything more than what you needed, what you both needed, in that particular time and place and you don't even have to let it go because it's broken on its own."
Justin thinks about Daphne and Brian and can't find it in himself to believe that they are of the past, that they already served their purpose and vice versa. Sure, Daphne was there when no one else was. She loved him for who he was when he needed that more than anything. She was his best friend, his first friend and Brian...Brian was his first lust, love, and everything in between. He taught him how to be queer and how to fucking love it.
But just because they'd fulfilled roles in each other's lives, roles that felt necessary at the time didn't necessarily mean that that all went away when time and distance split you down the middle. Circumstance and convenience may have brought them together in the first place, but Justin wants to believe there's something still there among them. Something necessary that, in all likelihood, former best friend and ex-fiancé (and fuck if that label isn't the cruelest joke of Justin's life) won't wish to be a part of anymore, but something that he can hold inside and believe in.
Jennifer must read the dark thoughts flitting across his expression because her cool palm is suddenly holding his own fidgeting hand in place. "Is this about Brian? Have you spoken with him since you got back?"
"No." And how does his mom always manage to bring out the sullen in him?
Said sullenness predictably beckons maternal reassurance in its wake: "All these endings and beginnings teach you that life isn't about being right or wrong." Her touch moves to brush a stray piece of his hair back behind his ear, "I want you to like your life, Justin. That's all I've ever wanted."
Justin sees her eyes and her smile and thinks of Molly. A sister he's only emailed a couple of times a year since she went off to college. And he misses them both so fucking hard.
Justin is tired of being self-centered. He wants to know the people he loves, the people he calls family and care enough about his life to like it or challenge it if he doesn't. A reason to give, not just take.
He wants this spark buzzing within for the first time in years to lead him somewhere new.
And so, when he returns to his crappy motel, he sits down with his laptop and starts to email Molly a message longer than two sentences. A paragraph in, Justin rethinks it and picks up the phone.
*
Justin tracks Daphne down a few days later. She is married, pregnant, the quintessential stay at home suburban mom, and Justin doesn't understand how that happened to the girl who was so career driven and anti-marriage until he sees the scrawled artwork proudly displayed across the fridge and the way Daphne smiles when her 18 month old falls asleep in her arms, curly head propped on breast.
After putting her son to bed, Daphne pulls Justin back to the living room sofa and doesn't let go of his hand.
"I've missed you." Justin doesn't know how to speak around the lump in his throat, but it doesn't matter because Daphne continues. "How was New York?"
Justin feels a bark of laughter free his voice. "How do you think? I'm back in the Pitts, penniless, jobless, friendless after 6 short years."
Justin can tell Daphne is trying to fight the urge to contradict his state of friendlessness, an automatic response that wouldn't hold up against the truth of their estrangement. "I mean before it all went to hell. The first couple of years I'd get an email here or there from you, but they were never long or detailed enough. You were being successful, but I could never tell how you were doing."
"I had my share of ups and downs. It was a lot like being here, just louder and brighter. I made friends, at the beginning, but they were just passing through. They weren't..." Justin trails off, the fingers from his free hand tapping nervously against his denim knee.
"Why'd you stop emailing me? Why didn't you ever pick up the phone to call me?"
And there's no edge to her tone other than curiosity, yet Justin still feels on the defensive suddenly. "Things got busy. And I don't remember ever getting a call from you telling me about your getting married and having a kid."
"You mean having a kid and then getting married," Daphne chides him as if he's the most traditional fuddy duddy she's ever met. "I wasn't the one who left. And I did try to make contact at the beginning there, but you always seemed so distant and distracted. After awhile I decided that you'd moved on, that I just didn't fit into your life anymore."
"You're the one that moved on. I was just marking time, dizzying myself going in circles. But you're right, you didn't fit in my life because my life sucked so hardcore and you were so much better than that, I didn't want to drag you down with me."
Daphne moves to sit with her back resting against Justin's chest and pulls the hand still in her grasp to stretch the arm across her shoulders. "You missed me."
"Yes, I missed you." Both her hands are now holding onto his and their lock tightens as if suddenly desperate.
"There's something you should know. Something I wanted to tell you for a long time, but the time wasn't right or I just chickened out. And then you left and I thought maybe this was something you were never meant to know, that my wanting to tell you served my own guilt more than fulfilling your right to know."
Justin can't imagine a single secret between them that he has the right to know after their years apart. "Breathe, Daph. It's okay, whatever it is."
It all comes out in a rush and Daphne definitely isn't breathing. "Remember when you were in the hospital recovering from the bashing...Fuck, of course, you remember. Well, I had to go to a...clinic," her voice catches on the word, "then. It seems that when we were together that one time, my first time, the condom didn't do its job and so when my period just didn't come, I got one of those home pregnancy tests and you were better but you were still in the hospital and you didn't need something else you'd have to deal with. And we always said we thought women had the right to choose, right?"
She'd situated the both of them so that he wouldn't have to see her stricken face, but he can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath his suddenly goosebumped arm she'd slung across herself and he fleetingly hopes his own shell-shocked reaction isn't similarly reaching out to her in frozen body language.
"I went to the clinic by myself and had to have a cab drive me home because they don't let you drive yourself home after the procedure and my parents wouldn't have understood. You were released from the hospital a week later, and I didn't know how to tell you then."
For an instant a flash of a son or a daughter skitters through his mind and then he thinks of 18 year old Daphne on a table alone somewhere scared out of her wits and his 18 year old self reduced to tears and stomping feet when he couldn't use his hand the way he wanted to and he's able to stop the inner slideshow in its tracks. He's gotten good at that. Besides, this moment is about Daphne, he'll wait for it to be about himself later.
"Shhhh. It is a lot, but I understand. I'm just sorry you had to go through that alone."
"You're still my best friend, you know?" a tremble ripples through her and Justin's free arm joins the other to pull her even closer to his chest.
"You're my first and only best friend so yeah, I know." The words are muffled in her hair, but he can feel her almost melt back into his embrace in understanding and relief.
"You forgive me?"
"There's nothing to..." and it dawns on Justin that that's not what Daphne needs to hear right now so he clears his throat and replies simply, "Yes."
"I never really forgave myself at first. I accepted it and thought that was how I'd find peace and be able to move on, but eventually accepting wasn't enough and all the rationalizations I'd told myself just started eating away at me. I didn't think abortion is wrong - I don't - but I guess it turns out there's a difference between believing it and feeling it after it's become a less than abstract milestone in your life.
"It just wasn't as simple as I thought it would be. All of the reasons why I had to go to that clinic were painfully true, but they didn't stop me from thinking about the potential I would be losing, giving away. Still, I didn't cry until the week that was projected for its due date and I guess my grieving was about forgiveness in some small way because the next morning I felt like a weight had been lifted or maybe it was just that I knew how to better carry it."
Daphne twists suddenly in his arms and Justin has never been so glad to see her tear-stained face because it means she's not afraid of him anymore.
"What's weird is that finding Nathan and getting married and giving birth to my beautiful girl and boy didn't remind me of what might have been, as I had feared, it just felt like validation. Like this was how my life was supposed to go and this was the time for it."
Justin's hand joins hers in moving over her expanding belly. When they'd been making small talk earlier, Daphne had insisted that three was her limit, but Justin wonders if that's what time has in store for her family. He hopes for her sake that Daphne and time are on the same page because he imagines three kids all under the age of 5 sharing one roof will get to be more than enough of a handful as it is.
"My timing's always sucked. Maybe that's why I was never happy for longer than a day, week, month; I'm all touch and go," Justin muses, and it comes out more thoughtful than amused which is a shame since he was aiming for levity.
A beatific smile: "Maybe you need to forgive yourself for your sucky timing. And realize that sucky timing is a product of the actions of someone who thinks too much. Time will show you when it's ready and right."
"Preach it, sister," and Justin finds himself laughing for the first time in - years, maybe? - and it feels weird and unfamiliar and almost kind of hurts, but he can't stop and it's okay because Daphne's laughing in the same absurd way and Justin is over the moon that there are now tears on her face that came from something other than pain.
Quieting down, Justin mulls over her pronouncement, preachy as it may be, and is surprised at the niggling irony therein. Justin would have said he had timing in spades when he was a kid because everything he wanted fell into his lap and he'd felt sorry for BFF Daphne who grew up with there always being some qualification, perpetually rating 'almost,' her never being fully recognized. She was good at math, for a girl. She would've made a perfect Wendy, if her complexion was a bit lighter.
But now, in motherhood, she's found her niche, not because she's finally reached perfection, but because she's so content perfection or near perfection don't matter anymore. She genuinely likes her life and it's enough.
A knock signals her four year old's return from preschool and Justin finds himself desperate for the little girl's approval. He tries everything, even has Daphne break out the paint sets at one point, but Nicole remains unimpressed. Justin has about given up when they take a break from all the strenuous finger painting for a snack, and suddenly the awe dawns in her dark brown eyes, so like her mom's, as he pokes the tiny straw into the bottom of his Capri Sun pouch. At Daphne's amused nod, he helps fellow rebel Nicole do the same for her grape juice and as their tongues grow purple, Justin can't imagine a time when he's felt cooler.
*
"You look like shit," are the first words Brian says to him after they collide outside the diner.
It's true. Sometimes it feels like New York sucked the life out of him, and other times, Justin wonders if he's just one of the unfortunate many who isn't aging well. He's lost weight, and yeah, that bit can be attributed to his limited budget in recent years, but that doesn't change the fact that he's all skin and bones, all sharp angles and pinched face. Even his ass seems to have lost its curve somehow. His hair needs a good cut and if he could get a solid 8, hell he'd settle for 6, hours of sleep sometime in the next century maybe those dark circles under his eyes would go away.
Still, Justin is glad Brian is Brian and just said it outright. If he'd done anything other than that, like keep quiet or god forbid try to be nice, it would have been so much worse to bear.
"I feel like shit, so that sounds about right." Justin feels that gaze travel up and down his frame again and thinks of before.
Once upon a time they were a good match, they both knew what being the best meant. Just as Justin was the hottest twink, the next Andy Warhol, Liberty Avenue's very own little survivor that could, Brian was the hottest fuck, the best adman, and the quintessential anti-hero he'd always longed to be.
It is quite obvious to Justin as he views the beautiful man who does age well before him that they don't match anymore and he is sure it is to Brian as well as those eyes linger on the many imperfections that mark him inside and out now.
"So New York chewed you up and spit you out then. And what do you have to show for it? Shit appearance and even shittier attitude," Brian tsks.
"You could say I don't really have much of anything anymore," Justin agrees mildly.
"I could." A beat. "You have yourself."
A bitter laugh under his breath, "You think so?" and for half a second Justin is worried Brian is going to say something tired like "I know so," but he doesn't.
"You've never failed at anything you wanted enough to put in the effort. My guess? You got tired of the life and gave up on NY long before it failed you the way your inner-defeatist may want to believe."
But that isn't true. Justin had wanted something, someone, once and had given up, but that hadn't meant he'd stopped wanting it, needing it.
As if reading his mind, Brian quirks a brow. "We never failed. We were just taking a sabbatical."
And how Justin hates those words along with that assessing gaze that accompanies them because he can't afford to hope right now. He really can't.
As if to mock his thoughts further, Brian is suddenly tugging on his elbow, nudging him past the diner and into the alley.
The traffic from the street makes up all the noise of their conversation for the next minute and a half before Justin snaps as goddamned Brian knew he would, words falling from his lips unchecked.
"You were right. It was just time. Nothing more meaningful than that. I was alone and tired and time passed and I got what I thought I wanted, and became what I went there to become, and it wasn't enough. I knew something was missing, but I couldn't place it. I thought it was many somethings. Being away in a new place by myself, the pressure of expectation weighing on me, but now I feel it. It was just you. Brian Fucking Kinney. And being back here and seeing you like this and feeling and looking like hell, it's too much.
"I can't do this thing anymore. Where I pretend that I don't need you to be me and be happy and I can't even get myself to care that that probably makes me the weakest faggot that ever lived in your book.
"I can't pretend that I did the right thing and that it went wrong somewhere along the way because it was wrong from the beginning. I can't pretend that I shouldn't have stayed or you shouldn't have followed me to NY. We should've shared the last 6 years. We were more important than my aspirations or your career. And this missing time is gone forever and rationally the window for us should've passed or we should have to start all over again and get to know who we've become while we were apart, but that's all bullshit! I'm still me and you're still you and I...I need to know..."
And suddenly Brian is right there in his face breathing the same air. He looks furious at one or the both of them. "If you would stop acting so fucking self-deprecating and ashamed of yourself for one minute and actually look me in the face, you'd know."
At that, Justin stops and looks and oh.
They're back at the loft in five minutes flat and Justin practically throws himself at Brian, arms circling that neck to pull his body up into Brian. His ankles lock around Brian's back and he settles his weight low on his waist, straddling the crotch of those designer fuck me jeans. His tongue strokes in and out of Brian's mouth until he latches onto the tongue inside and sucks hard. Large hands grab a hold of his ass and squeeze in response and suddenly he's riding that hardness he's straddling for all he's worth as Brian maneuvers his handfuls of ass to control the rock back and forth, and Justin thinks he may die from the friction any minute.
Just when he fears he's going to come in his pants like the 17 year old virgin he once was, all friction comes to a halt as he's dropped none too gently back onto the hardwood floor. But before he has a chance to complain, his jacket and t-shirt are being stripped off and Justin likewise turns his attention to doing his own share of stripping them naked. They are quick and efficient until Justin is down to his boxers and Brian kneels to mouth him through the precome damp fabric before divesting him of them.
Still, a record is set and then he's back in those arms and Brian is half carrying him so they'll reach the bed in time. He may not get to straddle that lap anymore, but he makes do with the thigh between his own. His head hits the pillow as Brian's mouth descends on his nipple and there's sucking and nipping and biting and a clever swirl of the tongue that brings Justin's hand up to twist in that head of hair hovering over the sparks of pain/pleasure.
The flat of a hand slides up his inner thigh to press against the underside of his cock, providing resistance for friction as Justin circles his hips and humps that palm almost desperately.
Justin closes his eyes and listens to the sounds, the hitched breaths and slurping as Brian makes his way across to swoop at the other nipple then down Justin's chest. He thinks he hears Brian say something about him needing to fatten up as lips slide over his all too pronounced ribcage and that's got to be the first time Brian's made that suggestion to anyone ever.
Justin almost feels self-conscious, but the next thrust of his hips lands his dick in a wet warm mouth which provides sufficient distraction.
Justin opens his eyes to watch that dark head bobbing up and down, those hollow cheeks, those lips stretching around him, working him. Brian, of course, sensing an appreciative audience, peers up through his lashes to meet Justin's increasingly glassy gaze. How Brian can manage a smirk while he's throat deep in cock is anybody's guess, but then he swallows and Justin hears himself emit the most embarrassingly needy noises. His hands are clawing at the sheets, something, anything to hold onto and then Brian pulls off and up as if understanding Justin's need for anchorage.
That mouth is back on his and Justin tastes himself on that tongue and Brian's cock is now sliding against his saliva coated one and fuck, if he couldn't get off on this alone.
Brian must know it because his hips suddenly still before languidly raising off altogether, and he's pulling Justin's legs up and apart and Justin is completely exposed and Brian's just looking at him with this intensity he can't even describe. It's enough to make Justin blush, but it doesn't matter because Brian isn't looking at his face anyway.
Brian's fingers are on his balls, touching, rolling, cupping and there's a tease of a press against his perineum and a soft tug at his pubic hair, but it's when Brian's hand circles Justin's dick, that he finally looks Justin in the face, looking meaner than Justin's ever seen him. The other hand slips down to nudge his crack open and Brian's hold becomes tighter, almost painful.
Justin had said he'd wanted to know, but this, this is so much more than he ever intended to see. Brian has been hurting maybe more than Justin ever did and Brian is telling him that there will always be a part of him that will hate Justin for that.
No sooner does the thought dawn than Justin is flipped to his belly, a pillow is shoved under his pelvis, and Brian is on top of him, rubbing his cock into the cleft of Justin's ass. Brian's hands push down hard on Justin's shoulders for traction, pinning Justin's upper body to the mattress as he rides him. Justin is now riding the pillow, echoing the movements etched into him and he half wishes there was a mirror so he could see Brian grinding him into the bed with such fury.
Brian's hands leave his shoulders as a drawer is opened, but Justin knows better than to try to move from the position Brian left him in. A wet hand suddenly slides between his cheeks and Justin feels his needy ass arching back into it. But Brian isn't preparing him, at least not for a full on fuck. Justin actually isn't sure what Brian's doing until his hips are arranged high in the air, he's parted once more, and a lubed cock slips into place and starts rocking back and forth between his cheeks.
And this is new. Because, for all the stuff they'd got up to in the past, they'd never done this. This slow, teasing slide as an act in and of itself. The dry hump of back and forth. Brian had said he didn't believe in foreplay, that it was for randy teenagers too scared to do the deed.
But from the sounds Brian is making, he loves it (which isn't such a surprise considering what a slut Brian is for grinding on the dance floor) and Justin doesn't think he himself can take much more of that slick hardness so close to where he needs it to be. He's whimpering and dangerously close to crying. And maybe that's the point of this little exercise.
Brian lets out a ragged grunt and he must realize it isn't going to last much longer if they keep this up, too, because he moves off center and thrusts his hand back into that cleft, rubbing to gather the excess liquid heat and make his fingers slick. Before Justin can make sense of it, one long digit is inside him and it's been so long and Justin finds himself fucking back onto that hand as more fingers are added.
Of course, it's not enough. Fingers are never enough. Justin looks back over his shoulder and Brian must decide to take pity on him because a condom wrapper goes flying by and suddenly warm hands are gripping his hips, angling him just right and he's lining himself up and a cock, Brian's cock, is pushing into him. There's resistance and a small amount of discomfort, but Justin focuses on the ecstasy of that first drag of a big hard cock moving inside him, filling him, opening him up and spreading him wide.
Brian grabs Justin's arm and pulls him up against his chest as he pushes his cock even deeper inside and for a moment, Justin feels pinned on the cock and it's the most delicious sensation ever. Brian's whispering filthy words into his ear and he can't even make sense of anything other than that throaty sexy as fuck whisper and the way one of Brian's hands has slipped under him to pump his cock in time with the thrust of hip slapping against ass. Brian's touch moves from his cock up to twist a nipple and Justin finds his mouth opening on a gasp as Brian finds his prostate and strokes it repeatedly, clutching at Justin's body to mold their sweaty forms closer together.
Justin feels his orgasm building and makes a last ditch effort to drag Brian along with him off over the cliff, using his muscles to bear down on him, but it's coming too fast and he knows he's going to be the selfish one who finishes himself off first. Then again, you don't have to worry as much about that when you're in bed with Brian Kinney because he always takes care of his own needs soon enough.
And true to form, Brian gives him a minute before rolling him over onto his back, spreading his legs, and fucking his way back in. Brian hefts his ankles back toward his ears, and Justin is thankful he's too warm and sated to feel the muscles pull because he's most definitely not the bendy teenager he once was and that's going to hurt tomorrow.
Brian is slamming into him again and again and his pace becomes erratic until he suddenly pulls out, using his hold on Justin's thighs to drag him closer so he's face to come-soaked pelvis. Not a moment later, Brian's face rubs down between his legs, into the coarse hairs, over the limp cock, smelling him, licking the trails of come as he pleases, following one such trail down to suckle at the not-so-tight ring below and sticking his tongue in just a little bit and fuck, flicking. Justin closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of stubble intermixed with soft lips and wicked tongue moving against, over, in him. Jesus fuck he loves this man.
A shift in the bed beneath him along with the sound of a condom being tied off and thrown into the waste basket opens his eyes to the sight of something even more tantalizing. So tantalizing, in fact, that his spent cock even gives a twitch of appreciation in response.
There Brian kneels, straddling his face. Magnificent cock hanging heavy and low and so fucking hard and Justin has only to raise up a little to place a soft chaste kiss to its head before sucking that cock into his mouth. The weight, the thickness feels perfect on his tongue, filling his mouth just as he remembered. Oh, how Justin has missed the drag of cock against tongue and when it hits the back of his throat and he swallows, hums, he feels drowsy with the power he wields in this position.
Brian generously allows him to get reacquainted with his favorite cock for a few minutes but as his breathing becomes more labored, his hands reach out and grab Justin's hair in question. Justin gives a slight nod in answer and cock starts fucking mouth in earnest. In and out and fuck Brian is hot when he's just this side of brutal controlling bastard. He's ramming his cock as hard as he can down Justin's throat and Justin still wants more. He's full, nose pressing into pubic hair one minute and empty, licking the slit the next. He'd told his mom that he loved dick once, and he'd meant it. He craves cock up him, in him, against him.
Of course, he hadn't known universal cock then, he'd known Brian's. And now that he's become a well-versed world of cock citizen, Justin finds that that unspoken thought still holds true. It is Brian's cock fucking his ass, his mouth, grinding against his hip that drives him out of his mind, that he craves. No one else's.
Justin's hands move to cup Brian's ass in reverence, alternately caressing and squeezing, and he helps Brian with his rhythm as he makes those final thrusts past his lips. He comes in Justin's mouth and Justin savors and swallows and doesn't want to let go. But something in Brian's eyes says that this won't be the last time he'll have that cock settle on his tongue so he should just chill the fuck out and let him free already.
He does, but he knows he's pouting all the same and Brian chuckles a bit at this, swinging his leg off Justin to spread out beside him. His fingertips trace Justin's swollen lips as his own curve into a smirk.
"You really are the perfect cocksucker. I knew it the first time we met. Your lips were made for it."
"Is this your idea of sweet talk?"
"What do I need sweet talk for? I already fucked you and got you to suck me. And how."
Justin turns on to his side to face Brian and Brian's hand continues its journey down his shoulder to tickle at his ribs. "Good point."
"You've lost weight."
Justin stiffens a bit at that. "I think it's already been firmly established that I look like shit."
"You look like you need to get some good sleep and make a habit of eating again," Brian corrects him, looking all too amused. His fingers splay out over his hip like a web and then come together to smack Justin's right ass cheek lightly, "You remind me of a little lost waif, in fact."
Justin takes Brian's offending hand in his and then brings it down on his ass again, this time with more force. "Do you think a waif would let you fuck them into the mattress and then get hard for the second time inside a half hour at the thought of you spanking them?"
Brian makes a big show of leering at Justin's suddenly half-hard cock and then abruptly pushes off the bed, leading him out to the unforgettable stretch of hardwood where Justin took off his jacket that first night at the loft and decided he'd come then stay. A kitchen stool is soon situated in the center of the empty space with three good sized mirrors Justin's never seen before being placed at advantageous marks around it. Once that's accomplished, Brian pulls on a pair of jeans (so he won't stick uncomfortably to the seat Justin can only imagine) and makes himself at home on the stool.
The orchestration of the scene is so exact, so planned, like Brian was just waiting for Justin to return so they could play out whatever little fantasy of Brian's that is to follow.
Justin's interest is piqued and he nears Brian only to be unceremoniously tugged off his feet and planted over Brian's lap, ass in air.
There's no warning before the first slap rains down. And Justin finds his hips thrusting forward into that lap beneath him of their own volition. Brian alternately slaps, squeezes, rubs, pets and after one particularly hard smack, Justin finally catches sight of himself in one of the mirrors and his cock hardens even more at the red splotches forming across his ass.
The contrast of the red against his lily white ass is so remarkable that Justin briefly forgets that he is no longer an artist, that he long gave up on memorizing moments like this to later capture. The mental snapshot is taken and tucked away for safe keeping before all thought is wiped from his brain at his whole body being jostled higher into the air. Brian bites each cheek, licking afterward to soothe, then drops him just as quickly back into his lap so he can admire his handiwork in the mirror.
Justin is so hard it hurts so he settles for rubbing his dick back and forth against the rough denim with small circular strokes in the hopes of taking the edge off. It doesn't work, not with that reflection of him ass up on display swimming in his head.
Brian must notice that Justin's watching through the mirror because the movement of his hands against the curve of his ass slows, becoming more deliberate, more electrically charged. Just seeing those large tan hands move over his skin, fingertips slipping in the crack, massaging him, is enough to make Justin writhe uncontrollably against Brian, pressing his cock into a denim lap that is just not going to be enough.
The next thing Justin knows he is being pulled upright and hoisted up onto the kitchen counter, left waiting on all fours. He catches sight of Brian in one of the mirrors and Brian is suddenly back sitting on that stool, but this time at the end of the counter. Brian helps scoot Justin so he's almost hanging off the edge, ass practically in Brian's face and Brian tells him to look in the mirror.
"I want you to grab your ass in both hands and spread yourself open for me. Can you do that?"
And fuck he's so obscenely smarmy right now and yet it's still such a fucking turn on. Justin complies watching the reflection of Brian lick his lips. One solitary finger traces down his crease, stopping at the hole to circle it once.
Brian meets Justin's gaze in the mirror again as his touch draws lazy figure eights across his parted raw skin. "Good boy. I know it stings, but I had to punish you before. You'd been a naughty boy, but now you've returned and you deserve a reward."
Justin lets his forehead rest against the cool countertop as he sees Brian's head lower with intent.
Brian moves in to blow on the now faintly pink expanse of skin before him. He licks down the crease then up then back down before focusing on the ring of muscle. His tongue laves it twice before furiously stabbing its way in, causing Justin to lose his hold and Brian's suddenly there spreading those cheeks for him and diving in and out hungrily.
Every queer loves being rimmed, but Justin holds a special place for it in his heart because of his first time and how fucking shocked and somewhat appalled he was when Brian touched him there with his mouth and then how intimate it felt every time after he realized Brian didn't go around performing rimjobs on random tricks. It was one of the acts that meant Justin was more than just the trick of the night, that he was special in some small way.
And now that tongue and mouth is driving him wild and yet it's not right because Justin heard what Brian was saying underneath his smarminess before about him having been a naughty boy for presumably leaving and if he's going to get a reward it better damn well be to his face so they both know what's being forgiven, accepted, or forgotten.
Justin reaches back to still Brian's movements and then turns to slip off the counter, settling himself back in Brian's lap on the stool, this time straddling him face to face.
"Jerk me off?"
Brian smiles slightly at his request, this time without smarm. His hand reaches between them and grabs hold of Justin, palming him with long, sure twists of the wrist. Justin presses his forehead against Brian's and breathes him in.
"Missed you." And arching up into that slick fist feels like coming home. The familiar tug on his dick, Brian all too smug at the way his touch pulls Justin taut, making each thrust further exaggerated. Brian has never admitted it, but Justin knows Brian loves to watch the play of Justin's muscles when he's jerking him off. Loves to pull Justin's pelvis forward to have it snap back with each drag of his hand. Justin loves it, too, and accentuates the roll of his hips so Brian can see what he is doing to him.
"I figured."
"I really don't want to read this wrong, so could you tell me what's going to happen tomorrow..?"
"I'm thinking more of the same." Brian leans forward to suckle at Justin's neck, his own hips raising off the stool to meet Justin's hip roll and then he's unbuttoning his jeans, encircling them both, and there's nothing like that cock to cock massage.
Justin's breath stutters against his better judgment, "And after we fuck each other into oblivion, what then?"
"Why do you feel the need to spell everything out, can't you just know? I thought you understood earlier."
"I got that you still care about me, that you missed me, too, and am okay with me being back."
"Okay. You think I'm okay that you're back." Brian's rhythm quickens and his hand flies up and down, causing Justin to spastically bounce atop Brian and breathe like an asthmatic who's just attempted a marathon. Brian's mouth swoops up to capture Justin's and he sucks his tongue furiously, owning it, biting his bottom lip before releasing him entirely. Brian's thumb plays across his slit expertly while he shoves the other hand under Justin to finger his ass.
"Tomorrow I'm thinking your fingers might be up my ass. What do you think?" Brian flexes them and at Justin's cry, they pull out and his palm smacks him hard on the ass one final time, prompting Justin to come all over the both of them.
When Justin returns to himself it is to Brian drawing him closer, holding Justin's face in both his hands. "So I take it you want me to be serious," he says in that going to humor you indulgent way of his. But when he presses his tongue into his cheek, Justin is aware that Brian is dead serious, just incredulous as fuck at the words, the promises that are about to come out of his mouth. "I think you left something behind that belongs to you. It's gold and sparkly and should fit like a ring. Tomorrow you'll wear it, we both will. That's what I think and what you already know."
*
Tomorrow starts a lot like Brian told him it would. They stay in bed until noon. By 1:00, a certain box is saved from being buried alive in the drawer of things Brian's willfully trying to ignore. Justin wagers a good half of the items within have to do with him. And at 2:00, they arrive at the diner for a late brunch and Debbie invites them to yet another 'welcome back, Sunshine' dinner.
She points out that not everyone - she snaps her gum in Brian's direction - attended the first and that they ought to have a proper celebration at her house this time. When she mentions that Jennifer already confirmed she'd be there along with Tuck, Justin feels a smile overtake his face.
He finds himself asking if there's room for four more, two adults, two kids, considering 1/4 of their extended family are now card carrying Canadians, and ends up giving Debbie the Patterson's number so she can officially invite Daphne and her family to dinner next week.
Later, Debbie, hostess with the mostess that she is, offers to host a surprise baby shower for Daphne after hearing she's been "churning out babies like there's no tomorrow." Justin tosses it off at first, but then gets to thinking about how he wants his life to be, what he's willing to give to make it happen, and he finds himself actually considering asking Emmett for party planning help in pulling their little extended family soirée off. Daphne will already have a normal shower with her normal friends, he reasons, but a totally crazy off the wall Liberty shindig couldn't hurt.
Justin actually thinks she'd get a kick out of it.
Brian drapes his arm across Justin's shoulders, pulling him close, as they exit. Justin flashes on all of the faces that will be sitting round the table next week at Deb's and looks down at the matching bands of gold glittering in the sunlight and he knows that he's been in this very same place before, but somehow everything feels new.
At 29, the same age Brian was when Justin lamposted into his life, Justin has a job, some money, but more importantly, he has friends and a home for himself and he figures the rest will fall into place eventually. Time, which should never be prefaced with 'just,' will show him when it's ready and right and in the meantime he'll make a life he can respect and like, one that doesn't hinge on being the best or worst, wrong or right, one that simply falls within the realm of less judgment and more acceptance.
And it's an easier life code to practice than Justin imagined because he's finally found his version of enough. The elusive more isn't as tempting as it once was and how he's come to define less is now something that's an impossibility for him. He supposes that maybe he had to lose everything, push his luck just that touch too far, to see how much love the world held, how much love could never be lost.
The thought is so absurdly pat and clichéd, yet there are no other words for what he feels now, how he got to be this person who smiles and laughs and whose life is brimming with well, life.
He can hear Daphne now: Preach it, brother!