Susurrus (Brian/Justin; NC-17)
Title: Susurrus
Author: Etharei
Timeline: between 409-410
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Warning: spoilers up to 409
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes, and promise to replenish the condom and lube supply when I’m done.
Summary: Most of the time, though, the days are just... days.
Author’s Notes: Written for tigbit in qaf-giftxchnge here, who requested
First Gift Request: fanfic
Genre: angst here, angst there, angst everywhere! :D
Pairing/character/theme/focus: a bit of B/J daily life during cancer!arc
Other specifications: No cheese, please. You can beat me over the head with sadness if you'd like, though. :D
SUSURRUS
Some days, usually during the weekend when there’s a break in the radiation sessions, Brian is almost his usual self, or as much as he can be of himself sans the fucking and drugging and drinking and borderline obsessive fitness habits.
Some days, usually in the middle of the week, Brian barely leaves the bed, barely moves as he lets his body convulse around him, barely breathes. Silence dominates the loft, then, even the fragment of it that at another time would have been identified as Justin Taylor, but who in the lifeless silence feels like nothing more than considerably denser air.
Most of the time, though, the days are just... days.
#
Justin walks into the loft, and deduces from the somewhat haphazard pile of clothes near the stairs that Brian is already in bed. “How was the radiation?”
He hears Brian laugh, without much humor. “Never thought you’d ever be saying that when you walk in here, huh?”
“Sorry I couldn’t go with you.” Justin sets his things down by the computer and moves into the kitchen.
“I don’t fucking want you there to begin with, so you sure as hell aren’t cutting classes just to come with me.”
Justin checks the fridge. “We’ve still got some of that vegetable broth from yesterday.”
“Sure, why not?” There’s a brief sound of movement from the bed. “We’ll be seeing it again in an hour.”
“What are these?” Noticing a new pill bottle on the island counter, Justin picks it up and reads the label.
“Told the doctor about the vomiting, he says these may help.”
“That’s good.”
Brian’s gotten pretty good at predicting when the shit will hit the fan, so before the hour has passed Justin is already sitting on the bed, the puke bucket, towel and water ready by the side. Which is a good thing, because the first wave leaves Brian doubled over, coughing and groaning and puking while clutching his abdomen in pain. Justin just holds him -by now Brian knows that resisting is truly futile- hands rubbing Brian’s back and arms helplessly. Tries not to wince at the sounds, tries not to think about what’s going on in Brian’s body.
For Justin, though, the worst part is when Brian is still in pain, still flooded by the nausea, but able to speak.
“I hate you.”
Brian’s nails print red half-moons all over the pale skin of Justin’s arms. Digging into lightly trembling tendons. “I fucking hate you.”
“Shut up.” The words escape on a breath, before Justin can stop them. He doesn’t know why he tries to. Nothing he can say right now will reach through to the place Brian is in.
“It’s your fault.” Brian’s entire body is shaking. “All this. All your fucking fault.” Brian manages to uncurl enough to puke into the bucket Justin is holding up for him. Except, after an hour of this, the only thing left to come out now is spit and air. “What the fuck are you doing here, Justin? You’re enjoying it, aren’t you? Seeing me in pain.” Brian gasps, then coughs. “Payback for all the times I hurt your little feelings?”
“Shut up, Brian.” Breathe, breathe, breathe; the voice in Justin’s head sounds like a fucking Lamaze class. Brian dry-heaves again. The violent contractions under Justin’s hands make him wonder when blood will start showing up. A body can only take so much. Nevertheless, Brian still manages to push words through.
“Feeling good about yourself... for standing by your partner?” The words slip through well-worn holes in Justin’s mind; he’s used to ignoring what Brian says, anyway. But the tone of contempt is like a hook, tearing at his composure even as he shoves it away. “Is that what... gets you through... cleaning up the floors? The sheets. Feel like a... big grown man now? You act like… you hate this... but you’re secretly... happy. Vindicated.” His breathing is ragged, painful. “Little Sunshine... is finally feeling needed.”
“SHUT UP!” the explosion rips out of Justin’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up!” He tightens his hold on Brian’s body, to the point where a voice in his head worries about cracking a few bones, but fuck it’s either that or do the opposite.
And he’s not fucking letting go. Never. Not to fucking cancer.
Brian stills for a moment, and then the dry-heaving starts again. The taller man struggles against Justin’s grasp, and Justin tells himself that the punches and flailing are so feeble because Brian doesn’t really want him to leave.
Because if it’s from the other reason, Brian having grown that weak…
Breathe. Don’t need two raving lunatics in one room.
“I hate you,” Brian starts again, turning his face and coughing into Justin’s shoulder. “You’re the one putting me through this. I fucking, fucking hate you.” Something makes Brian gasp, face scrunching up in pain. “Hate you.” The half-hiccup, half-moan sounds like a sob. “Fucking hate you.”
Justin knows.
#
Sound of a loud, hard impact with the floor, followed closely by a string of expletives. Justin’s feet take him from the computer to the bathroom door within seconds.
“Brian!” he cries out, hurrying to the swearing man’s side. Brian quickly checks himself for any injuries while Justin helps him to his feet. Justin scowls at him. “You know, I am here to help you.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed,” Brian retorts, turning away and inspecting his face in the mirror. “I’ve been trying to make you go away.”
“You must have been mumbling again.”
A breathy chuckle escapes Brian, who then makes a pained face and touches his side. Bats away Justin’s hands. “I can wash my own fucking face.”
Justin throws his hands up in defeat. Waits for Brian to splash water on his face, rinse his mouth. He follows Brian back to the bed. Brian collapses onto the sheets with a tired sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Justin walks around to the other side and lies down next him.
After a long moment, Brian mutters, “Fucking drug didn’t take.” Eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling. “I think it made it worse.”
Justin bites his lips. “Drugs can’t fix everything.”
Brian’s expression arranges itself into a strange, unreadable look, and he huffs out something that, if not for the exhaustion stressed into his features, would have been called a laugh. Justin settles down next to Brian, gently nudging the arm nearest to him. “What?’
A series of blinks at the ceiling. Brian shakes his head. “Just something somebody said to me, once.”
Justin is still curious, but now that he’s lying down, his body seems to be seizing the chance to rest, and a wave of tiredness sweeps him under. “Suit yourself.” He yawns.
He’s mostly gone when he hears Brian murmuring, “Justin.”
And it’s kind of sad how Justin’s mind can easily fill in the words that are meant to follow after. He should really force Brian to say them, because if he can’t utter the words now he probably won’t ever be able to say them anywhere else. But Justin feels like a car running on empty, and in any case it’s not like he doesn’t understand. “I know, Brian, but you’d be lying if you say that it’s all just the cancer talking.”
He rolls to his side, away from Brian. “It’s bullshit, anyway.”
“Huh?”
Justin yawns again. “What you were saying. It’s sweet, but I know I’m not the only one you’re putting yourself through this hell on earth for.” He shrugs. “But it’s okay. I don’t mind taking the blame.”
He falls asleep to the feel of Brian’s eyes staring at the back of his head.
#
Justin wakes up to Brian nuzzling the side of his neck. He looks down, sees his clothes in a heap by the side of the bed. He hadn’t even felt Brian remove them.
Brian’s body is pressed along the line of his back, warm and familiar. Chapped lips plant light kisses down the back of his neck, making Justin shiver, gasp softly. A hand grasps his hip, glides to his stomach, trails up to his pecs. Fingernails scraping his nipples, hardening them, cause him to arch back into Brian’s body.
“Brian,” he gasps.
Brian’s mouth moves to his Justin’s ear, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin beneath the lobe, tongue tracing the shell before sliding into the ear. “I want to fuck you,” Brian whispers, voice low and thick and strained. “I want to fuck you so bad, Justin.”
Raw lust shoots through Justin’s body like electricity, amplified by Brian’s hand palming his balls.
And the fact that he hasn’t had sex in almost a week.
But he senses Brian beginning to slide down his body, stops him by grabbing his arm. “Brian, no.” Brian smirks at the tell-tale breathlessness in Justin’s voice, but Justin doesn’t let him go. “Brian, you don’t have to do this.”
Frustration fires in Brian’s eyes, but on top of it burns something else. “Justin,” he challenges, his tone urgent. Justin sees the naked need there. But not its usual flavor of lust. Something closer to… desperation.
Justin does the only thing he can think of to distract him. He turns until he’s lying on his back, pulling Brian up so their faces are level. Kisses him, pushing his tongue between Brian’s lips, kissing him deep and wet and probingly. Brian’s body moves over his, draping over Justin’s, covering him. Justin kisses Brian with everything he’s got, like he’s trying to get inside of Brian’s tortured body, like he can never get enough of kissing him, like the faint taste of bile doesn’t matter (and it doesn’t, really, because it just makes Justin delve in deeper to get at the taste of Brian beneath the tang of sickness).
Saying, with his tongue and hands and quickened breath, all the annoying little words that Brian can’t hear.
Brian breaks the kiss to pull his own shirt off, followed quickly by his pants. The grey shorts from the hospital stay on, warm and soft over Justin’s thighs.
Justin’s pretty sure that even this, just kissing Brian, is not a good idea. But he can’t stop his hands from exploring the new, bonier terrain of Brian’s body, can’t stop his body from needing Brian’s body so fucking badly it’s almost like an ache. He spreads his legs, bringing his knees up on either side of Brian’s hips, his cock at full hardness over his belly.
Then Brian starts to move, rocking with long and hard movements, like he’s fucking Justin slowly. Justin moans from the feel of Brian’s skin rubbing over his cock.
He knows that he should stop this, should be the voice of reason and point out that Brian is going to pay for this level of exertion later. But he doesn’t, because desperation thrums like a tense string in Brian’s body. Because Justin knows, better than anybody, how Brian communicates everything he can’t say, and how he needs, burns, to do so now.
I’m sorry.
Justin kisses him harder, probably bruising both their lips from the force of it, reaching into Brian as far as he can, like he’s trying to touch the words the words halted at Brian’s voice box. Or deliver his own, straight in: I know.
Brian grabs the lube from its usual place next to the condom bowl. Slicks up his fingers, slides his hand down between Justin’s legs. Strokes Justin’s cock few times, then ignores Justin’s groaned protests and moves further, past his balls, over smooth skin, coming to rest on top of Justin’s hole. Justin gasps, spreading his legs even more and raising his hips. Brian pauses, tracing lube down the crack of Justin’s ass. He presses his forehead against Justin’s.
Justin can feel Brian’s cock through the shorts. Soft. Something he never thought he’d feel, especially when Brian’s on top of Justin with his hand on Justin’s ass.
And then there’s that look in his eyes. Dark and needy with a dash of wonder, so intense that Justin can feel it beneath his skin.
Justin doesn’t dare name it.
Brian pushes his finger in, at the same time driving his tongue into Justin’s mouth. Justin cries out, loudly, hips jerking upwards. He’s missed this, missed the feeling of Brian inside him, taking him, and even if it’s not as good as Brian’s dick, it’s good enough for now. After a moment, Brian pulls his finger almost all the way out. He starts to rock, rocking his body in time with the finger slowly fucking Justin’s hole, his tongue pushing in and out of Justin’s mouth. A second finger joins in, then a third. Justin moans and gasps at every thrust, and though it doesn’t exactly feel like Brian’s cock, Brian is fucking him, fucking him, and after weeks of Brian not touching him like this he feels like he’s seventeen again, his pre-come spreading over both their stomachs.
Then Brian pulls his head back a little, gasping for breath, a slight tremor in his body warning that he won’t be able to keep this up for long.
“You’re fucking me, Brian,” Justin groans out, clenching his ass around Brian’s fingers. “You’re fucking me now. So hot.” He moans loudly when Brian hits his prostate. “I want you, Brian. You fucking me. So hot.”
Justin sees that look again, thinks about the many times he’s seen it. Thinks about the fact that whatever power is driving Brian now, whatever it is that’s putting that weight in Brian’s gaze and that heat in Brian’s mouth and that shortness in Brian’s breath, it’s definitely not the flaccid, yielding muscle between his legs.
The realization should be less shocking to Justin than it is. After all, it’s not something he doesn’t already know.
Nevertheless, it takes his breath away. He lets out a groan that sounds suspiciously like a sob. Brian’s gaze bores into him, over his face, into his eyes. Just that, Brian looking at Justin like he’s never seen him before, like he can’t believe Justin’s here, like he’s surprised that Justin still wants him so much. Something builds inside, in Justin’s chest, between his legs, behind his eyes, something more than just blood rushing and muscles tightening and nerves sparking.
It breaks, explodes outwards, and though he feels the spurt of warm come down below, it seems almost incidental to the explosion of heat that blooms out from inside his chest, out from a point between their bodies. Justin thinks about all that energy, all that heat, and imagines pushing it into Brian’s body. Imagines making Brian well again, even a little bit, for a little while. Brian collapses on top of him, breathing hard like he’s just run a marathon.
They don’t talk for a long time. Justin wipes his face with his hand, and his fingers come away from his eyes wet. He clamps down on another sob, takes a deep breath and whispers, “Brian, don’t move yet.” The sound of their heavy breathing, the smell of sex and sweat, feels like a brief return to reality. “I don’t know if you know this, but I like falling asleep with you inside me.”
Brian chuckles, then groans a little after he tries to shift. “Not going anywhere.”
#
Justin wakes up later, probably because of the growling in his stomach. Brian is still on top of him, out like a light. His head on Justin’s chest, his fingers still inside. It makes Justin smile, feeling the digits there. Feeling the happy satiation of his body, once so familiar and mundane.
Feels quite cheerful, actually, because Brian would have had to pull out if it had been his cock inside of Justin.
Justin does feel kind of hungry, but right now he can’t think of any force on earth that could make him move. He looks down at the top of Brian’s head, rising and falling with Justin’s chest. Soft breathing and moisture on his skin tells him that Brian’s mouth is open. He brings a hand up, runs it through Brian’s brown hair. Remembers being surprised at its softness, the first time he stroked it like this. For some reason, maybe the light, he tries to imagine what grey hair would look like among the brown.
The Taylors had never been a religious family. But he knows that Brian’s mom is almost fanatical about it, and he supposes that she must have tried to make her children be so, too. And Brian has lost his faith, and Justin never had it to begin with, but in the off-chance that Brian’s God still remembers a neglected little boy willing to live by his own beliefs, Justin lets the thought arise, away from Brian’s eyes:
Please don’t let him go through this for nothing. Whatever the price, he’ll pay it, he’s paying it. We both will. But fucking make him well.
He sniffs, loudly, hands grasping at Brian’s hair. Looks down, but Brian is still fast asleep. And Justin lets himself break down a little, his other hand tightening on Brian’s shoulder. He rides it out, staring at the ceiling, grounding himself in Brian’s slow, even breathing. Slowly, he slips back to sleep.
Right before he goes under, fingers close around his, holding on fast.
Author: Etharei
Timeline: between 409-410
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Warning: spoilers up to 409
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes, and promise to replenish the condom and lube supply when I’m done.
Summary: Most of the time, though, the days are just... days.
Author’s Notes: Written for tigbit in qaf-giftxchnge here, who requested
First Gift Request: fanfic
Genre: angst here, angst there, angst everywhere! :D
Pairing/character/theme/focus: a bit of B/J daily life during cancer!arc
Other specifications: No cheese, please. You can beat me over the head with sadness if you'd like, though. :D
SUSURRUS
Some days, usually during the weekend when there’s a break in the radiation sessions, Brian is almost his usual self, or as much as he can be of himself sans the fucking and drugging and drinking and borderline obsessive fitness habits.
Some days, usually in the middle of the week, Brian barely leaves the bed, barely moves as he lets his body convulse around him, barely breathes. Silence dominates the loft, then, even the fragment of it that at another time would have been identified as Justin Taylor, but who in the lifeless silence feels like nothing more than considerably denser air.
Most of the time, though, the days are just... days.
#
Justin walks into the loft, and deduces from the somewhat haphazard pile of clothes near the stairs that Brian is already in bed. “How was the radiation?”
He hears Brian laugh, without much humor. “Never thought you’d ever be saying that when you walk in here, huh?”
“Sorry I couldn’t go with you.” Justin sets his things down by the computer and moves into the kitchen.
“I don’t fucking want you there to begin with, so you sure as hell aren’t cutting classes just to come with me.”
Justin checks the fridge. “We’ve still got some of that vegetable broth from yesterday.”
“Sure, why not?” There’s a brief sound of movement from the bed. “We’ll be seeing it again in an hour.”
“What are these?” Noticing a new pill bottle on the island counter, Justin picks it up and reads the label.
“Told the doctor about the vomiting, he says these may help.”
“That’s good.”
Brian’s gotten pretty good at predicting when the shit will hit the fan, so before the hour has passed Justin is already sitting on the bed, the puke bucket, towel and water ready by the side. Which is a good thing, because the first wave leaves Brian doubled over, coughing and groaning and puking while clutching his abdomen in pain. Justin just holds him -by now Brian knows that resisting is truly futile- hands rubbing Brian’s back and arms helplessly. Tries not to wince at the sounds, tries not to think about what’s going on in Brian’s body.
For Justin, though, the worst part is when Brian is still in pain, still flooded by the nausea, but able to speak.
“I hate you.”
Brian’s nails print red half-moons all over the pale skin of Justin’s arms. Digging into lightly trembling tendons. “I fucking hate you.”
“Shut up.” The words escape on a breath, before Justin can stop them. He doesn’t know why he tries to. Nothing he can say right now will reach through to the place Brian is in.
“It’s your fault.” Brian’s entire body is shaking. “All this. All your fucking fault.” Brian manages to uncurl enough to puke into the bucket Justin is holding up for him. Except, after an hour of this, the only thing left to come out now is spit and air. “What the fuck are you doing here, Justin? You’re enjoying it, aren’t you? Seeing me in pain.” Brian gasps, then coughs. “Payback for all the times I hurt your little feelings?”
“Shut up, Brian.” Breathe, breathe, breathe; the voice in Justin’s head sounds like a fucking Lamaze class. Brian dry-heaves again. The violent contractions under Justin’s hands make him wonder when blood will start showing up. A body can only take so much. Nevertheless, Brian still manages to push words through.
“Feeling good about yourself... for standing by your partner?” The words slip through well-worn holes in Justin’s mind; he’s used to ignoring what Brian says, anyway. But the tone of contempt is like a hook, tearing at his composure even as he shoves it away. “Is that what... gets you through... cleaning up the floors? The sheets. Feel like a... big grown man now? You act like… you hate this... but you’re secretly... happy. Vindicated.” His breathing is ragged, painful. “Little Sunshine... is finally feeling needed.”
“SHUT UP!” the explosion rips out of Justin’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up!” He tightens his hold on Brian’s body, to the point where a voice in his head worries about cracking a few bones, but fuck it’s either that or do the opposite.
And he’s not fucking letting go. Never. Not to fucking cancer.
Brian stills for a moment, and then the dry-heaving starts again. The taller man struggles against Justin’s grasp, and Justin tells himself that the punches and flailing are so feeble because Brian doesn’t really want him to leave.
Because if it’s from the other reason, Brian having grown that weak…
Breathe. Don’t need two raving lunatics in one room.
“I hate you,” Brian starts again, turning his face and coughing into Justin’s shoulder. “You’re the one putting me through this. I fucking, fucking hate you.” Something makes Brian gasp, face scrunching up in pain. “Hate you.” The half-hiccup, half-moan sounds like a sob. “Fucking hate you.”
Justin knows.
#
Sound of a loud, hard impact with the floor, followed closely by a string of expletives. Justin’s feet take him from the computer to the bathroom door within seconds.
“Brian!” he cries out, hurrying to the swearing man’s side. Brian quickly checks himself for any injuries while Justin helps him to his feet. Justin scowls at him. “You know, I am here to help you.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed,” Brian retorts, turning away and inspecting his face in the mirror. “I’ve been trying to make you go away.”
“You must have been mumbling again.”
A breathy chuckle escapes Brian, who then makes a pained face and touches his side. Bats away Justin’s hands. “I can wash my own fucking face.”
Justin throws his hands up in defeat. Waits for Brian to splash water on his face, rinse his mouth. He follows Brian back to the bed. Brian collapses onto the sheets with a tired sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Justin walks around to the other side and lies down next him.
After a long moment, Brian mutters, “Fucking drug didn’t take.” Eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling. “I think it made it worse.”
Justin bites his lips. “Drugs can’t fix everything.”
Brian’s expression arranges itself into a strange, unreadable look, and he huffs out something that, if not for the exhaustion stressed into his features, would have been called a laugh. Justin settles down next to Brian, gently nudging the arm nearest to him. “What?’
A series of blinks at the ceiling. Brian shakes his head. “Just something somebody said to me, once.”
Justin is still curious, but now that he’s lying down, his body seems to be seizing the chance to rest, and a wave of tiredness sweeps him under. “Suit yourself.” He yawns.
He’s mostly gone when he hears Brian murmuring, “Justin.”
And it’s kind of sad how Justin’s mind can easily fill in the words that are meant to follow after. He should really force Brian to say them, because if he can’t utter the words now he probably won’t ever be able to say them anywhere else. But Justin feels like a car running on empty, and in any case it’s not like he doesn’t understand. “I know, Brian, but you’d be lying if you say that it’s all just the cancer talking.”
He rolls to his side, away from Brian. “It’s bullshit, anyway.”
“Huh?”
Justin yawns again. “What you were saying. It’s sweet, but I know I’m not the only one you’re putting yourself through this hell on earth for.” He shrugs. “But it’s okay. I don’t mind taking the blame.”
He falls asleep to the feel of Brian’s eyes staring at the back of his head.
#
Justin wakes up to Brian nuzzling the side of his neck. He looks down, sees his clothes in a heap by the side of the bed. He hadn’t even felt Brian remove them.
Brian’s body is pressed along the line of his back, warm and familiar. Chapped lips plant light kisses down the back of his neck, making Justin shiver, gasp softly. A hand grasps his hip, glides to his stomach, trails up to his pecs. Fingernails scraping his nipples, hardening them, cause him to arch back into Brian’s body.
“Brian,” he gasps.
Brian’s mouth moves to his Justin’s ear, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin beneath the lobe, tongue tracing the shell before sliding into the ear. “I want to fuck you,” Brian whispers, voice low and thick and strained. “I want to fuck you so bad, Justin.”
Raw lust shoots through Justin’s body like electricity, amplified by Brian’s hand palming his balls.
And the fact that he hasn’t had sex in almost a week.
But he senses Brian beginning to slide down his body, stops him by grabbing his arm. “Brian, no.” Brian smirks at the tell-tale breathlessness in Justin’s voice, but Justin doesn’t let him go. “Brian, you don’t have to do this.”
Frustration fires in Brian’s eyes, but on top of it burns something else. “Justin,” he challenges, his tone urgent. Justin sees the naked need there. But not its usual flavor of lust. Something closer to… desperation.
Justin does the only thing he can think of to distract him. He turns until he’s lying on his back, pulling Brian up so their faces are level. Kisses him, pushing his tongue between Brian’s lips, kissing him deep and wet and probingly. Brian’s body moves over his, draping over Justin’s, covering him. Justin kisses Brian with everything he’s got, like he’s trying to get inside of Brian’s tortured body, like he can never get enough of kissing him, like the faint taste of bile doesn’t matter (and it doesn’t, really, because it just makes Justin delve in deeper to get at the taste of Brian beneath the tang of sickness).
Saying, with his tongue and hands and quickened breath, all the annoying little words that Brian can’t hear.
Brian breaks the kiss to pull his own shirt off, followed quickly by his pants. The grey shorts from the hospital stay on, warm and soft over Justin’s thighs.
Justin’s pretty sure that even this, just kissing Brian, is not a good idea. But he can’t stop his hands from exploring the new, bonier terrain of Brian’s body, can’t stop his body from needing Brian’s body so fucking badly it’s almost like an ache. He spreads his legs, bringing his knees up on either side of Brian’s hips, his cock at full hardness over his belly.
Then Brian starts to move, rocking with long and hard movements, like he’s fucking Justin slowly. Justin moans from the feel of Brian’s skin rubbing over his cock.
He knows that he should stop this, should be the voice of reason and point out that Brian is going to pay for this level of exertion later. But he doesn’t, because desperation thrums like a tense string in Brian’s body. Because Justin knows, better than anybody, how Brian communicates everything he can’t say, and how he needs, burns, to do so now.
I’m sorry.
Justin kisses him harder, probably bruising both their lips from the force of it, reaching into Brian as far as he can, like he’s trying to touch the words the words halted at Brian’s voice box. Or deliver his own, straight in: I know.
Brian grabs the lube from its usual place next to the condom bowl. Slicks up his fingers, slides his hand down between Justin’s legs. Strokes Justin’s cock few times, then ignores Justin’s groaned protests and moves further, past his balls, over smooth skin, coming to rest on top of Justin’s hole. Justin gasps, spreading his legs even more and raising his hips. Brian pauses, tracing lube down the crack of Justin’s ass. He presses his forehead against Justin’s.
Justin can feel Brian’s cock through the shorts. Soft. Something he never thought he’d feel, especially when Brian’s on top of Justin with his hand on Justin’s ass.
And then there’s that look in his eyes. Dark and needy with a dash of wonder, so intense that Justin can feel it beneath his skin.
Justin doesn’t dare name it.
Brian pushes his finger in, at the same time driving his tongue into Justin’s mouth. Justin cries out, loudly, hips jerking upwards. He’s missed this, missed the feeling of Brian inside him, taking him, and even if it’s not as good as Brian’s dick, it’s good enough for now. After a moment, Brian pulls his finger almost all the way out. He starts to rock, rocking his body in time with the finger slowly fucking Justin’s hole, his tongue pushing in and out of Justin’s mouth. A second finger joins in, then a third. Justin moans and gasps at every thrust, and though it doesn’t exactly feel like Brian’s cock, Brian is fucking him, fucking him, and after weeks of Brian not touching him like this he feels like he’s seventeen again, his pre-come spreading over both their stomachs.
Then Brian pulls his head back a little, gasping for breath, a slight tremor in his body warning that he won’t be able to keep this up for long.
“You’re fucking me, Brian,” Justin groans out, clenching his ass around Brian’s fingers. “You’re fucking me now. So hot.” He moans loudly when Brian hits his prostate. “I want you, Brian. You fucking me. So hot.”
Justin sees that look again, thinks about the many times he’s seen it. Thinks about the fact that whatever power is driving Brian now, whatever it is that’s putting that weight in Brian’s gaze and that heat in Brian’s mouth and that shortness in Brian’s breath, it’s definitely not the flaccid, yielding muscle between his legs.
The realization should be less shocking to Justin than it is. After all, it’s not something he doesn’t already know.
Nevertheless, it takes his breath away. He lets out a groan that sounds suspiciously like a sob. Brian’s gaze bores into him, over his face, into his eyes. Just that, Brian looking at Justin like he’s never seen him before, like he can’t believe Justin’s here, like he’s surprised that Justin still wants him so much. Something builds inside, in Justin’s chest, between his legs, behind his eyes, something more than just blood rushing and muscles tightening and nerves sparking.
It breaks, explodes outwards, and though he feels the spurt of warm come down below, it seems almost incidental to the explosion of heat that blooms out from inside his chest, out from a point between their bodies. Justin thinks about all that energy, all that heat, and imagines pushing it into Brian’s body. Imagines making Brian well again, even a little bit, for a little while. Brian collapses on top of him, breathing hard like he’s just run a marathon.
They don’t talk for a long time. Justin wipes his face with his hand, and his fingers come away from his eyes wet. He clamps down on another sob, takes a deep breath and whispers, “Brian, don’t move yet.” The sound of their heavy breathing, the smell of sex and sweat, feels like a brief return to reality. “I don’t know if you know this, but I like falling asleep with you inside me.”
Brian chuckles, then groans a little after he tries to shift. “Not going anywhere.”
#
Justin wakes up later, probably because of the growling in his stomach. Brian is still on top of him, out like a light. His head on Justin’s chest, his fingers still inside. It makes Justin smile, feeling the digits there. Feeling the happy satiation of his body, once so familiar and mundane.
Feels quite cheerful, actually, because Brian would have had to pull out if it had been his cock inside of Justin.
Justin does feel kind of hungry, but right now he can’t think of any force on earth that could make him move. He looks down at the top of Brian’s head, rising and falling with Justin’s chest. Soft breathing and moisture on his skin tells him that Brian’s mouth is open. He brings a hand up, runs it through Brian’s brown hair. Remembers being surprised at its softness, the first time he stroked it like this. For some reason, maybe the light, he tries to imagine what grey hair would look like among the brown.
The Taylors had never been a religious family. But he knows that Brian’s mom is almost fanatical about it, and he supposes that she must have tried to make her children be so, too. And Brian has lost his faith, and Justin never had it to begin with, but in the off-chance that Brian’s God still remembers a neglected little boy willing to live by his own beliefs, Justin lets the thought arise, away from Brian’s eyes:
Please don’t let him go through this for nothing. Whatever the price, he’ll pay it, he’s paying it. We both will. But fucking make him well.
He sniffs, loudly, hands grasping at Brian’s hair. Looks down, but Brian is still fast asleep. And Justin lets himself break down a little, his other hand tightening on Brian’s shoulder. He rides it out, staring at the ceiling, grounding himself in Brian’s slow, even breathing. Slowly, he slips back to sleep.
Right before he goes under, fingers close around his, holding on fast.