Entry #27 - "Tally Marks"
Title: Tally Marks
Written By: ragingpixie
Timeline: Undetermined / NA
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Genre: Romance, humor, angst
Tally Marks
“I bet I can make more people fall in love with me than you can.”
“What?” Brian stubs out the last of his cigarette and gives Justin what he hopes is a thoroughly disgusted look.
“You said the other day that there’s no one left at Babylon who doesn’t love you. I don’t think screaming out ‘God, I love you!’ while they’re coming really counts. So I bet you I can make more people fall in love with me than you can.” Justin doesn’t look smug or confident, just matter-of-fact.
“Pray tell. Why in fuck would I want to play a stupid game like that?” Never mind that he’s already thinking of ways to get the newest King of Babylon to proclaim his undying devotion. Justin doesn’t need to know.
“Well. You know. To keep things fresh.” He shrugs and offers a half-smile, which is ridiculously cute and makes Brian want to repeat the exhausting sex they just had. He settles for lighting another cigarette instead.
“We don’t need to play games to keep things fresh. You bored?” The answer to that is of course no. Who could be bored with fucking?
Justin rolls his eyes and flings the sheet aside, leaning down to grab his shorts. “Okay, jeez. Forget it. I’m calling for pizza, you want no cheese again on your half?”
Brian nods and Justin grimaces, but makes no further comment. He takes the cordless phone and goes into the living room and Brian hears him order extra cheese.
*
Two nights later, Brian answers the phone to a timid voice asking if Justin is home.
“No,” he snaps, annoyed that he had to get up from his laptop to even find the damn cordless. It had been behind the couch cushion. “He’ll be home as soon as his mother decides he’s been nourished enough to last the rest of the week.”
“Oh,” comes the voice, dejection resounding through the phone. “Could I … leave a message for him?”
Brian makes a ‘get on with it’ motion before remembering the guy can’t see him. “If it’s longer than ‘call me back’, then no. A secretary I’m not.”
“Just tell him David called, and … uh. Can I leave my number?”
“Be my guest,” Brian says, bored already. He pretends to write the number down and then hangs up before the guy can say goodbye.
Brian remembers to tell Justin about it during a blowjob. He’s sucking Justin’s cock, and doing a pretty spectacular job of it, if Justin’s small gasps are anything to go by. “Oh,” he says casually, pulling off his dick with a wet sound, “some guy called. Dan. No, Dave. David.”
Justin lifts his head from the pillow and stares down at Brian in confusion. “Are you crazy,” he asks, motioning toward his cock. “Finish, then tell me about the fucking phone call.”
Brian chuckles and lowers his head again. “Just thought you might want to know. He sounded very anxious to talk to you.”
Later, after Justin has come with a groan and a pretty shudder, he says thoughtfully, “David, you said?”
“Mmhmm. I think. I wasn’t really listening.”
“I think it was that guy I talked to at the bus station the other day.”
Brian eyes him. “Since when do you give your phone number to people at the bus station?”
“Since I want them to fall in love with me,” Justin grins.
Brian snorts.
*
He makes sure Justin answers the phone on Thursday. “Can you get that,” he yawns, pretending he’s really comfortable on the couch. Which he is, but he still wants Justin to answer the phone.
Justin raises a brow but gets up anyway. Brian listens intently as he answers and then says, “Uh, one second.” Justin comes back and drops the phone into Brian’s lap. “It’s for you. I have no idea who it is.”
Brian doesn’t look at him while he talks, trying to inject as much interest as possible into his voice when in truth he doesn’t give two shits about the guy he gave his number to last night. He gets off the phone as fast as he can without seeming suspicious.
Justin doesn’t ask who it was, so Brian sighs and shakes his head, giving a little forced laugh until Justin finally looks up from what he’s sketching. “What?” he says.
“Oh, nothing,” Brian dismisses. “Just some poor sap who thinks I’m going to take him out to dinner or something. Giving him my phone number doesn’t mean I’m going to date him. God.”
Justin arches a brow and turns completely away from his drawing, which Brian sort of counts as a victory. “You have a private, unlisted phone number for a reason. You’re telling me you just randomly gave it out to some trick?”
“He was telling me about his company’s need for advertising. So I gave him my number.”
“Not your cell number,” Justin clarifies, doubt creeping in. “Your home phone number.”
“Sure, why not,” Brian shrugs nonchalantly. “Who knew he’d abuse it like that?”
Justin stares at him for a while longer before turning back to his artwork without another word.
*
When two more unfamiliar guys call looking for Justin, Brian goes to Michael’s and tells him to call three times that night, once an hour.
“Why?” Michael laughs, and Brian really misses the days when he could tell Mikey to do something and it’d be done, no questions asked.
“Just call. And follow my lead.”
Michael follows through, because he’s nothing if not loyal and predictable, and Brian answers the phone and strolls over to loll on the couch. Justin makes a noise of annoyance and shoves over, giving Brian room to sprawl while he pretends that Michael is yet another one of his many admirers. Which he actually has, of course, but they don’t seem to be calling as much as Justin’s are.
The third time the phone rings, Justin snatches it out of Brian’s hand and says, “Michael, good effort.” And then hangs up on him. To Brian, he says, “Do you want a blowjob or do you want to fuck me? Tell me now before Survivor comes on tv.”
Brian chooses neither. He goes to Babylon instead, but nothing there is really as appealing as Justin’s invitation, so he ends up coming back home to accept the second choice.
Justin is warm and sleepy in bed when Brian slides in one lubed finger and crooks it a little. He’s gratified by the soft groan it gets him, and twenty minutes later when he finally lets Justin come, he regrets he wasted a good club outfit by going out that night at all.
*
The scores of phone calls continue, and Brian is annoyed to see the score card that’s being kept on their small bulletin board in the kitchen. Justin has about nine tally marks on his side, while Brian’s side shows only four. Brian figures if he was the one keeping score (and caring at all about this idiocy) then it would be easy for him to cheat too.
“I’m not cheating,” Justin snorts when Brian mentions it. He points to the small bouquet of fiery yellow roses that arrived that morning. “What, you think I sent those to myself?”
Brian pulls a doubtful face. “It’s possible.” Possible, but not probable, since Brian knows Justin doesn’t do shit like that.
“Whatever, Brian,” he sighs. “There’s new lube. Want to shower with me?”
Well, of course he does.
*
They leave Babylon together one night, drunk and silly and both of them laughing like loons when they press the wrong elevator button and then have to stop at every floor. Brian doesn’t mind the stops when Justin sinks to his knees and starts mouthing his crotch through his jeans, making a dark spot with his tongue.
They finally get to the right floor and Brian weighs the merits of letting Justin finish what he started in the lift or dragging both of their drunk asses into the loft where they have the benefit of a bed.
The bed wins. Brian tugs on Justin’s hair and then his arms are full of warm, glittery boy, as Justin melts into his arms and leaves trails of sparkle on Brian’s skin as they kiss. Brian somehow manages to get his belt undone and fly unbuttoned as they stumble inside, kissing all the way and hands grabbing at each other in need.
But then the bed’s too far, and the floor is more promising and closer, to boot, so Brian just leans against the beam in the middle of the loft and lets Justin do his thing. And it’s good and the alcohol is giving everything a pleasant buzz and Brian could stand there forever, letting Justin suck and nuzzle and lick, but someone won’t stop fucking knocking on the goddamned door.
“What!” he finally shouts, and curses inwardly when Justin stops sucking.
“Can I talk to Justin? It’s important.”
Brian glances down at Justin and arches a brow. “The fuck?”
Justin shrugs and Brian thinks he detects a slight amount of guilt. “I dunno.”
The insistent knocking starts again and Brian grinds his teeth. “Answer the fucking door.”
Justin gets up obediently and just before he slides the door open, turns to look at Brian. “You’re just going to stand there with your cock hanging out?”
He checks. Still hard, still impressive. “Yes.”
Justin snorts and opens the door. Brian can’t see who it is, but he can hear snatches of the whispered conversation.
“ - you said it would be okay - ”
“Not tonight, I thought I told you in a couple of days. Around six or seven, not one a.m.”
“ … but I let you fuck me, so I thought - ”
“A lot of guys let me fuck them and they don’t follow me home.” But Justin sounds pleased and Brian goes from pleasantly drunk and mellow to sober and pissed off in a matter of seconds.
“Say good night,” he barks, and then Justin moves enough for the guy in the doorway to see Brian, still lounging indolently against the beam with an erection that could inspire a lot of wet dreams.
“Not tonight,” Justin murmurs, but Brian doesn’t miss how he puts a reassuring hand on the guy’s arm. “Sorry.”
He comes back and Brian debates punishing him by not letting him finish his blowjob. Then he figures it would punish both of them, so why the fuck not.
But he doesn’t kiss Justin good night.
*
When the tally marks on Justin’s side increase to eleven and he sports a nice new watch, Brian wants it to stop.
“No,” he snaps at the poor, hapless flower delivery guy. “No, I will not sign. Mr. Justin Taylor no longer lives at this address. Deliver them to the Liberty Diner, care of one Debbie Novotny. I promise you’ll get tipped.”
He doesn’t add “in lemon bars”, but the guy looks like he could use a sandwich or two anyway.
He slams the door and turns to find Justin leaning in the doorway of the bedroom, an amused look on his face. “They looked expensive,” he ponders, meaning the flowers.
“So Deb can appreciate them instead,” Brian says, advancing on him. “We don’t need any more damn flowers around here.”
Justin glances at the no less than four other arrangements that decorate the dining room table, the countertop, and the coffee table. “But they’re from people who love me,” he grins, not cowed in the least by Brian towering over him on the steps. Little shit.
“Bullshit. They’re from people who think they love you.” Brian doesn’t know why it’s so irritating. It just is.
Justin grins up at him and Brian wants to smack the smug look off his face. He settles for kissing him instead, thrusting an angry tongue into Justin’s mouth and giving his bottom lip a sharp nip. Brian brings up his hands to hold Justin’s head in place and then he’s hard and grinding against him and Justin is walking backwards, pulling them both towards the bed.
They tumble down and Brian breathes in the freshly washed sheets, noting that Justin used the lavender fabric softener that Brian prefers. “How do you want me,” Justin murmurs, and Brian wants to say he’ll take Justin any way he’s offering, but settles for urging him over onto his stomach and then to his knees.
“Up,” Brian encourages, leaning down a little to press his tongue into the warm ass being presented so nicely. Justin reacts well, arching his back and making soft noises and reaching for his leaking cock, so Brian keeps it up for a while until both of them are panting.
Then his fingers are slick with lube and sliding inside, one hand hot on the small of Justin’s back to hold him in place and the other making long, gliding strokes while Justin slowly comes apart beneath him. “Brian,” he begs, tossing his head, and so Brian kneels up and over and settles Justin back against him.
He presses in with an indrawn breath and feels the warmth surrounding his cock, and Brian whispers something nonsensical into the curve of Justin’s back before pushing in to the hilt and then resting there. Warm and tight and not the same as any other place that Brian’s ever been.
There’s one second of frozen time and then Justin eases forward and back. Brian hisses in a breath and both of them are moving, gliding and stretching against slick skin. He tries to hold on to the detached place that he goes when it’s anyone but Justin, but there’s the problem in itself. Anyone else isn’t Justin, and his cock knows it even if he refuses to let his brain think it.
When Justin starts to let out little whimpers, that’s pretty much the last thing Brian can take. He pulls Justin in hard by his hip and then fucks him, and it’s not making love or even having sex, but real true fucking, and it’s okay because sometimes both of them need that to ground them, to remind them.
A rush of warmth over his fingers and Brian realizes that he’s reached forward to stroke Justin, the movement so automatic he doesn’t remember doing it, but Justin is coming with a rough shudder and Brian’s name on his lips. The twist and tremble of it is too much, so Brian gives it up then and comes with him, not expecting the cramping, shattering release that flashes out.
Justin turns in his arms and brings both of them back down with gentle kisses and whispers and Brian nuzzles into it, seeking the warmth.
When the phone rings and Justin cranes his head to look for the cordless on the nightstand, Brian says sharply, “No.”
“Why not?” But he settles back down into the pillows and Brian’s embrace.
“Because I don’t want any more of those fucking twits to call here looking for you. Because - ” and here Brian pauses, waiting for the phone to stop ringing, “ - because you don’t need those idiots to fall in love with you.”
Justin smiles, sleepy and sated and satisfied. “You’re right,” he nods. “I don’t.”
******
Written By: ragingpixie
Timeline: Undetermined / NA
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Genre: Romance, humor, angst
Tally Marks
“I bet I can make more people fall in love with me than you can.”
“What?” Brian stubs out the last of his cigarette and gives Justin what he hopes is a thoroughly disgusted look.
“You said the other day that there’s no one left at Babylon who doesn’t love you. I don’t think screaming out ‘God, I love you!’ while they’re coming really counts. So I bet you I can make more people fall in love with me than you can.” Justin doesn’t look smug or confident, just matter-of-fact.
“Pray tell. Why in fuck would I want to play a stupid game like that?” Never mind that he’s already thinking of ways to get the newest King of Babylon to proclaim his undying devotion. Justin doesn’t need to know.
“Well. You know. To keep things fresh.” He shrugs and offers a half-smile, which is ridiculously cute and makes Brian want to repeat the exhausting sex they just had. He settles for lighting another cigarette instead.
“We don’t need to play games to keep things fresh. You bored?” The answer to that is of course no. Who could be bored with fucking?
Justin rolls his eyes and flings the sheet aside, leaning down to grab his shorts. “Okay, jeez. Forget it. I’m calling for pizza, you want no cheese again on your half?”
Brian nods and Justin grimaces, but makes no further comment. He takes the cordless phone and goes into the living room and Brian hears him order extra cheese.
*
Two nights later, Brian answers the phone to a timid voice asking if Justin is home.
“No,” he snaps, annoyed that he had to get up from his laptop to even find the damn cordless. It had been behind the couch cushion. “He’ll be home as soon as his mother decides he’s been nourished enough to last the rest of the week.”
“Oh,” comes the voice, dejection resounding through the phone. “Could I … leave a message for him?”
Brian makes a ‘get on with it’ motion before remembering the guy can’t see him. “If it’s longer than ‘call me back’, then no. A secretary I’m not.”
“Just tell him David called, and … uh. Can I leave my number?”
“Be my guest,” Brian says, bored already. He pretends to write the number down and then hangs up before the guy can say goodbye.
Brian remembers to tell Justin about it during a blowjob. He’s sucking Justin’s cock, and doing a pretty spectacular job of it, if Justin’s small gasps are anything to go by. “Oh,” he says casually, pulling off his dick with a wet sound, “some guy called. Dan. No, Dave. David.”
Justin lifts his head from the pillow and stares down at Brian in confusion. “Are you crazy,” he asks, motioning toward his cock. “Finish, then tell me about the fucking phone call.”
Brian chuckles and lowers his head again. “Just thought you might want to know. He sounded very anxious to talk to you.”
Later, after Justin has come with a groan and a pretty shudder, he says thoughtfully, “David, you said?”
“Mmhmm. I think. I wasn’t really listening.”
“I think it was that guy I talked to at the bus station the other day.”
Brian eyes him. “Since when do you give your phone number to people at the bus station?”
“Since I want them to fall in love with me,” Justin grins.
Brian snorts.
*
He makes sure Justin answers the phone on Thursday. “Can you get that,” he yawns, pretending he’s really comfortable on the couch. Which he is, but he still wants Justin to answer the phone.
Justin raises a brow but gets up anyway. Brian listens intently as he answers and then says, “Uh, one second.” Justin comes back and drops the phone into Brian’s lap. “It’s for you. I have no idea who it is.”
Brian doesn’t look at him while he talks, trying to inject as much interest as possible into his voice when in truth he doesn’t give two shits about the guy he gave his number to last night. He gets off the phone as fast as he can without seeming suspicious.
Justin doesn’t ask who it was, so Brian sighs and shakes his head, giving a little forced laugh until Justin finally looks up from what he’s sketching. “What?” he says.
“Oh, nothing,” Brian dismisses. “Just some poor sap who thinks I’m going to take him out to dinner or something. Giving him my phone number doesn’t mean I’m going to date him. God.”
Justin arches a brow and turns completely away from his drawing, which Brian sort of counts as a victory. “You have a private, unlisted phone number for a reason. You’re telling me you just randomly gave it out to some trick?”
“He was telling me about his company’s need for advertising. So I gave him my number.”
“Not your cell number,” Justin clarifies, doubt creeping in. “Your home phone number.”
“Sure, why not,” Brian shrugs nonchalantly. “Who knew he’d abuse it like that?”
Justin stares at him for a while longer before turning back to his artwork without another word.
*
When two more unfamiliar guys call looking for Justin, Brian goes to Michael’s and tells him to call three times that night, once an hour.
“Why?” Michael laughs, and Brian really misses the days when he could tell Mikey to do something and it’d be done, no questions asked.
“Just call. And follow my lead.”
Michael follows through, because he’s nothing if not loyal and predictable, and Brian answers the phone and strolls over to loll on the couch. Justin makes a noise of annoyance and shoves over, giving Brian room to sprawl while he pretends that Michael is yet another one of his many admirers. Which he actually has, of course, but they don’t seem to be calling as much as Justin’s are.
The third time the phone rings, Justin snatches it out of Brian’s hand and says, “Michael, good effort.” And then hangs up on him. To Brian, he says, “Do you want a blowjob or do you want to fuck me? Tell me now before Survivor comes on tv.”
Brian chooses neither. He goes to Babylon instead, but nothing there is really as appealing as Justin’s invitation, so he ends up coming back home to accept the second choice.
Justin is warm and sleepy in bed when Brian slides in one lubed finger and crooks it a little. He’s gratified by the soft groan it gets him, and twenty minutes later when he finally lets Justin come, he regrets he wasted a good club outfit by going out that night at all.
*
The scores of phone calls continue, and Brian is annoyed to see the score card that’s being kept on their small bulletin board in the kitchen. Justin has about nine tally marks on his side, while Brian’s side shows only four. Brian figures if he was the one keeping score (and caring at all about this idiocy) then it would be easy for him to cheat too.
“I’m not cheating,” Justin snorts when Brian mentions it. He points to the small bouquet of fiery yellow roses that arrived that morning. “What, you think I sent those to myself?”
Brian pulls a doubtful face. “It’s possible.” Possible, but not probable, since Brian knows Justin doesn’t do shit like that.
“Whatever, Brian,” he sighs. “There’s new lube. Want to shower with me?”
Well, of course he does.
*
They leave Babylon together one night, drunk and silly and both of them laughing like loons when they press the wrong elevator button and then have to stop at every floor. Brian doesn’t mind the stops when Justin sinks to his knees and starts mouthing his crotch through his jeans, making a dark spot with his tongue.
They finally get to the right floor and Brian weighs the merits of letting Justin finish what he started in the lift or dragging both of their drunk asses into the loft where they have the benefit of a bed.
The bed wins. Brian tugs on Justin’s hair and then his arms are full of warm, glittery boy, as Justin melts into his arms and leaves trails of sparkle on Brian’s skin as they kiss. Brian somehow manages to get his belt undone and fly unbuttoned as they stumble inside, kissing all the way and hands grabbing at each other in need.
But then the bed’s too far, and the floor is more promising and closer, to boot, so Brian just leans against the beam in the middle of the loft and lets Justin do his thing. And it’s good and the alcohol is giving everything a pleasant buzz and Brian could stand there forever, letting Justin suck and nuzzle and lick, but someone won’t stop fucking knocking on the goddamned door.
“What!” he finally shouts, and curses inwardly when Justin stops sucking.
“Can I talk to Justin? It’s important.”
Brian glances down at Justin and arches a brow. “The fuck?”
Justin shrugs and Brian thinks he detects a slight amount of guilt. “I dunno.”
The insistent knocking starts again and Brian grinds his teeth. “Answer the fucking door.”
Justin gets up obediently and just before he slides the door open, turns to look at Brian. “You’re just going to stand there with your cock hanging out?”
He checks. Still hard, still impressive. “Yes.”
Justin snorts and opens the door. Brian can’t see who it is, but he can hear snatches of the whispered conversation.
“ - you said it would be okay - ”
“Not tonight, I thought I told you in a couple of days. Around six or seven, not one a.m.”
“ … but I let you fuck me, so I thought - ”
“A lot of guys let me fuck them and they don’t follow me home.” But Justin sounds pleased and Brian goes from pleasantly drunk and mellow to sober and pissed off in a matter of seconds.
“Say good night,” he barks, and then Justin moves enough for the guy in the doorway to see Brian, still lounging indolently against the beam with an erection that could inspire a lot of wet dreams.
“Not tonight,” Justin murmurs, but Brian doesn’t miss how he puts a reassuring hand on the guy’s arm. “Sorry.”
He comes back and Brian debates punishing him by not letting him finish his blowjob. Then he figures it would punish both of them, so why the fuck not.
But he doesn’t kiss Justin good night.
*
When the tally marks on Justin’s side increase to eleven and he sports a nice new watch, Brian wants it to stop.
“No,” he snaps at the poor, hapless flower delivery guy. “No, I will not sign. Mr. Justin Taylor no longer lives at this address. Deliver them to the Liberty Diner, care of one Debbie Novotny. I promise you’ll get tipped.”
He doesn’t add “in lemon bars”, but the guy looks like he could use a sandwich or two anyway.
He slams the door and turns to find Justin leaning in the doorway of the bedroom, an amused look on his face. “They looked expensive,” he ponders, meaning the flowers.
“So Deb can appreciate them instead,” Brian says, advancing on him. “We don’t need any more damn flowers around here.”
Justin glances at the no less than four other arrangements that decorate the dining room table, the countertop, and the coffee table. “But they’re from people who love me,” he grins, not cowed in the least by Brian towering over him on the steps. Little shit.
“Bullshit. They’re from people who think they love you.” Brian doesn’t know why it’s so irritating. It just is.
Justin grins up at him and Brian wants to smack the smug look off his face. He settles for kissing him instead, thrusting an angry tongue into Justin’s mouth and giving his bottom lip a sharp nip. Brian brings up his hands to hold Justin’s head in place and then he’s hard and grinding against him and Justin is walking backwards, pulling them both towards the bed.
They tumble down and Brian breathes in the freshly washed sheets, noting that Justin used the lavender fabric softener that Brian prefers. “How do you want me,” Justin murmurs, and Brian wants to say he’ll take Justin any way he’s offering, but settles for urging him over onto his stomach and then to his knees.
“Up,” Brian encourages, leaning down a little to press his tongue into the warm ass being presented so nicely. Justin reacts well, arching his back and making soft noises and reaching for his leaking cock, so Brian keeps it up for a while until both of them are panting.
Then his fingers are slick with lube and sliding inside, one hand hot on the small of Justin’s back to hold him in place and the other making long, gliding strokes while Justin slowly comes apart beneath him. “Brian,” he begs, tossing his head, and so Brian kneels up and over and settles Justin back against him.
He presses in with an indrawn breath and feels the warmth surrounding his cock, and Brian whispers something nonsensical into the curve of Justin’s back before pushing in to the hilt and then resting there. Warm and tight and not the same as any other place that Brian’s ever been.
There’s one second of frozen time and then Justin eases forward and back. Brian hisses in a breath and both of them are moving, gliding and stretching against slick skin. He tries to hold on to the detached place that he goes when it’s anyone but Justin, but there’s the problem in itself. Anyone else isn’t Justin, and his cock knows it even if he refuses to let his brain think it.
When Justin starts to let out little whimpers, that’s pretty much the last thing Brian can take. He pulls Justin in hard by his hip and then fucks him, and it’s not making love or even having sex, but real true fucking, and it’s okay because sometimes both of them need that to ground them, to remind them.
A rush of warmth over his fingers and Brian realizes that he’s reached forward to stroke Justin, the movement so automatic he doesn’t remember doing it, but Justin is coming with a rough shudder and Brian’s name on his lips. The twist and tremble of it is too much, so Brian gives it up then and comes with him, not expecting the cramping, shattering release that flashes out.
Justin turns in his arms and brings both of them back down with gentle kisses and whispers and Brian nuzzles into it, seeking the warmth.
When the phone rings and Justin cranes his head to look for the cordless on the nightstand, Brian says sharply, “No.”
“Why not?” But he settles back down into the pillows and Brian’s embrace.
“Because I don’t want any more of those fucking twits to call here looking for you. Because - ” and here Brian pauses, waiting for the phone to stop ringing, “ - because you don’t need those idiots to fall in love with you.”
Justin smiles, sleepy and sated and satisfied. “You’re right,” he nods. “I don’t.”
******