Justin's eyes flew open as he awoke to a loud crash against the window.
What the hell...?
Shrugging out from underneath Ethan's arm, he eased himself out of bed, leaving his abandoned bed partner moaning his loss. Careful to avoid all of the places on the floor he knew would creak, Justin padded his way over to the window. Even though the moon was invisible in the starless sky, the streetlights were bright enough to cast a warm light over the lone figure standing in the street. Even though it'd been almost a month and he was still foggy from sleep, Justin knew almost immediately who his late night visitor was. It oozed from his arrogant posture, the way he held his lithe body, the artless flop of bronze hair across his forehead.
Thankful that he and Ethan always slept with their bedroom door open, Justin slipped into the hall and raced to the door of their apartment, sliding barefoot into his shoes and pulling on a sweater as he left. The three flights of stairs to the ground level had never seemed longer and as Justin raced out into the cold Pittsburgh night, he saw Brian winding up, getting ready to throw another rock.
"Brian, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Justin hissed.
Brian turned toward him, his movements a little too smooth, a little too fluid as he closed the distance between them. "'Sunshine," he brightened, "S'good to see you."
The stench of bourbon met Justin's nostrils long before it should have. Brian's eyes were glassy and bloodshot even in the poor light and Justin knew from experience that Brian Kinney was quite possibly more intoxicated than he'd ever seen him before.
"You're drunk," Justin stated distastefully, shoving his fists into his pockets.
"I am not." Brian enunciated his words painstakingly, just to prove his point.
"...if you say so." Justin watched him suspiciously.
Why was Brian here?
He asked him.
"It's your Say Anything moment. I know it's your favourite."
"You don't have a boombox."
"I came here tonight because I realised that when you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want it to start as soon as possible?" he hedged carefully, what Justin assumed was supposed to pass for an earnest expression on his face.
When Harry Met Sally? Justin had seen it over a dozen times with Daphne. It was her favourite movie.
"Cut it out, Brian."
"I thought you liked all of that ridiculously romantic crap." It wasn't a question and the smile he'd been wearing was gone as Brian was glaring at him in an accusatory fashion. The street lights cast shadows across the angles of his face and in the dark, with his uncharacteristically rough face, he looked positively villainous.
"Don't," Justin said flatly. "Why don't you just go home?" He turned his back to Brian and began walking back towards the building.
"What? Your fucking fiddler is allowed to and I'm not?"
Justin could hear the sneer in Brian's voice.
He glanced back and saw Brian stalking towards him. Even shitfaced, there was something feline and dangerous about the way he moved.
"Answer me!" Brian was shouting now. "I deserve a fucking answer!"
Having caught up with him, Brian grabbed Justin by the wrist and whirled him around. "For fuck's sake, you owe me –"
"Don't you dare tell me about what you do and don't deserve," Justin snapped, wrenching his arm away, feeling Brian's hand long after it was gone, "Because I sure as hell don't deserve this. I'm with Ethan. You don't get to do this anymore."
"Justin!" Brian's face was murderous.
"I don't have to explain myself to you. You're a selfish bastard, Brian, and I don't owe you anything."
Brian barked a harsh laugh. "You're right," he agreed flatly, "you don't owe me a fucking thing." He wrestled his keys out of his jacket and stormed off.
Seething, Justin began making his way back to the apartment, back to Ethan...until something in his mind clicked and he froze in his tracks.
Brian was driving?
Justin took off towards him at a flat-out run. In spite of his shorter stride, Justin caught up to Brian remarkably quickly. "Are you completely insane?" He panted. "Give me. Your keys. Now."
Luckily for Justin, Brian's inebriated state made it difficult for him to defend himself and he was soon keyless and being dragged in the direction of his car.
"I'm driving you home."
In spite of Brian's protest, Justin had driven him home. He'd raced through the empty streets at a furious pace, running lights and slamming on the brakes, taking his rage out on Brian's precious car. He'd mashed the gears as he drove, practically stalling, and Brian had voiced his displeasure each time in a petulant, disapproving sulk.
Now as they entered the garage, Brian pulled his wallet out of his pants. Justin watched as he removed a hundred dollar bill and tossed it indifferently into his lap as he parked the Corvette in its stall.
"Don't bother," Justin snapped and threw the money back at him, exiting the vehicle and slamming the door violently behind him. He waited until Brian had closed his door, locked the vehicle, and then strode towards the building where he let himself in and waited for the elevator, pressing the button impatiently.
"That's not going to make it come any faster. You know that."
Justin ignored him.
"I'm perfectly capable of seeing myself upstairs, Mother Taylor. You can go now." Sarcasm dripped off of Brian's tongue.
"I need to use your phone."
"Financial trouble in paradise?"
Justin shot him a look of patent disdain. "When some asshole woke me up at 2:30 in the morning, I didn't think that I would need my cell phone."
Brian patted his pockets through his leather jacket and a slow, lazy smile broke out on his face as he realised that his phone was nowhere to be found. "What a shame that I can't help you out."
The elevator door opened. Justin ignored him and stepped inside. Brian didn't follow. He rested his hand against the door and, supporting himself, blocking the motion detector, he waited.
Justin remained silent and stood his ground.
Brian raised an eyebrow suggestively. "I want you to beg for it."
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Justin grabbed him roughly and yanked him into the elevator. Brian's foot caught on the lip of the floor and he fell against Justin, slamming him up against the wall. Brian had caught his balance with his arms, one on each side of Justin's head. Leather, alcohol, and the expensive-smelling spice of Brian's cologne overwhelmed Justin who'd gasped in surprise when Brian had crashed into him.
Justin could feel his body start to betray him.
He pushed Brian to a safer distance and could barely contain a sigh of relief when the door opened and he was able to stride past him towards the door.
As he slid the key into the lock, he realised that Brian hadn't bothered locking the door to the loft before he'd gone – well, wherever he had gone.
Seeing the look on Justin's face, Brian shrugged. "I didn't see the point."
As Justin pulled the door open and stepped inside, he could not believe his eyes. Brian's usually immaculate—thanks to the maid service he staffed—loft was trashed. There were empty bottles of bourbon scattered haphazardly around the apartment and several piles of dirty dishes. Most disturbing of all, Brian's clothes were on the floor. Justin felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Shrugging out of his jacket and kicking out of his shoes, Brian staggered towards his bedroom, stripping his white V-neck off as he went and tossing it onto the floor.
Justin stood in the entrance and gaped as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
It's not your problem anymore.
Drawing a steadying breath, Justin moved forward towards the coffee table on which Brian's house phone usually resided. The cradle was empty. Justin swallowed loudly. The other phone was on Brian's nightstand.
Brian was in the bathroom taking a piss when Justin entered the room. He glanced over at Justin, paused, and then resumed.
"It's not there," he called out, disinterestedly. "I'm not sure where it is."
He was right.
Justin hit the page button, hoping that he'd be able to find it among all of the filth that covered the floor.
"Looks like the battery's dead." Brian was washing his hands now.
Justin began rummaging through the mess that covered Brian's dressed, hoping that the phone was amongst it.
Wiping his hands on his jeans, Brian walked into the bedroom and deposited himself onto the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. He regarded Justin lazily through half-lidded eyes. "I'll drive you home in the morning."
"I'm not staying here."
"It's not like you haven't before."
Justin sent him a withering look.
"You can sleep on the couch." When he saw Justin open his mouth to protest, he clarified. "Even your monogamous, lesbionic little husband can't fault you for that."
"Ethan trusts me. But that's not the point, Brian," Justin continued sifting. "He has no idea where I am."
"And that's a problem why?"
Justin dragged his hands through his hair, frustrated. "Because he's going to flip out in the morning when he wakes up and has no idea where I am!"
Brian stared at him, not understanding.
"Listen, Brian, I don't expect you to understand this since it's clearly something that you have no experience with," Justin said, feeling through the clothes on the floor for the phone, "But when you're in a relationship with someone, you tell them when you get up and disappear in the middle of the night."
"You're right. I don't." His voice sounded odd.
"Seriously, Brian. Where the fuck is your phone?"
Justin moved to the bed and began shaking out the blankets. No phone. He slid his hands under the pillow that Brian wasn't monopolizing and felt his hand close around something soft, almost silken...
When he pulled the stained white scarf out from under Brian's pillow, Justin couldn't breathe. He stared at it detachedly, as if the hands that gripped it belonged to someone else. When he finally lifted his gaze, he looked cautiously at Brian, not understanding. Refusing to meet Justin's eyes, Brian rose to his feet.
"Time to find that fucking phone."
Justin stopped him. "Brian…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say.
Brian ignored him and descended into the loft.
He was suddenly very interested in finding the phone.
Justin followed him, the scarf still clutched in his hand. "Don't you think we should talk about this?"
Brian ignored him and got down on his hands and knees to look under the couch.
Having been unsuccessful under the couch, Brian started sifting through the blankets, cushions and clothes that covered it.
"So you're ignoring me?" Justin took a seat on one of the barstools. "Fine. I can wait."
He might as well have been invisible for all of the attention that Brian was giving him. Unable to stand the filth any longer and having decided that if Brian were going to ignore him he might as well clean, Justin slid from his stool and began loading the dishwasher.
Justin paused slightly, glanced at Brian and continued.
Justin didn't respond.
A loud crash broke the silence that hung heavily in the loft as something slammed into the island and shattered into what sounded like a million pieces. Justin peeked out from around it and saw that a pile of porcelain lay on the floor next to the stool on which he'd been sitting.
Justin could see that he was furious.
"I said stop."
Justin gave Brian a patient stare, lifted the glass he held in his hand and threw it at the floor as hard as he could before resuming his cleaning.
He was almost done when Brian grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him up against the fridge so hard and so fast that he hadn't even been able to struggle. Or breathe, for that matter, because Brian's tongue was in his mouth and the smell of bourbon was unbearable at close range. He wondered fleetingly if Brian had actually tried to bathe in it. He tried to wriggle away but Brian had evidently sobered up a bit since he had apprehended him at his car. Maybe he'd wanted to be apprehended.
Even though it had been a while, what Brian was doing was comfortable and familiar—if not a little psychotic—and Justin was struck by a sense of balance, as though what was happening was normal and it was Ethan who was the interloper. Ethan, with his too wet mouth and his calloused fingers that were so different from the strong, delicate—beautiful, if he were being honest with himself—hands that were tight around his wrists. Justin knew that Brian was bruising them but he didn't care. He arched into Brian's mouth and kissed him back.
When Brian felt that Justin was responding, he loosened his grip and instead knotted his hands in Justin's silky blonde hair, jerking his head back for better access. Justin moaned against his mouth and, pushing Ethan the interloper from his mind, he pulled Brian closer, wrapping his arms around his lean back.
It wasn't that Ethan was bad in bed. He wasn't and if Justin were being honest with himself, he knew that Ethan probably fell above average in terms of lovemaking skills. He was certainly better than most of the tricks that he'd fucked at Babylon over the course of his rela—well, whatever he'd had with Brian. God only knew how many times Justin had came, breathless, moaning his name.
Brian Kinney was in a league of his own and Justin knew that, even on his best days, Ethan just couldn't measure up.
And he also knew that, on more than one occasion, he'd buried his blurring eyes in Ethan's pillow and blocked out everything until all he felt was sensation. Eyes closed, he could ignore the wrongness that was inherent in the colour of Ethan's sheets and the feel of Ethan's hands on his hips. Those were the times, when Ethan was fucking him from behind and Justin could pretend that he hadn't thrown it all away, that Justin came, screaming incoherently. It wasn't Brian's name that was wrenched from his lips, but it wasn't Ethan's, either.
Justin could feel himself straining against his sweatpants as Brian ground his hips against him but, more than anything, what he felt was an overwhelming sense of relief when he realised that Brian wanted him just as badly.
Justin tore his mouth away and dropped to Brian's endlessly long neck—he had such a beautiful neck—where he found his pulse fluttering rapidly beneath his lips. Brian groaned and tossed his head back to give him better access. It seemed strange to Justin that, although everything else could change—and, believe him, it did and it had—some things would always stay the same.
Case in point? Hands skimming down the muscled ridges of Brian's stomach, Justin was not surprised to find that Brian had neglected to button his jeans which sat deliciously low on his narrow hips. He motioned for Brian to take his place against the refrigerator and. when he did, Justin dropped to his knees in front of him. Brian wasn't wearing underwear and instead of finding it mildly amusing as he usually did, Justin was glad that there was one less obstacle between them.
He jerked Brian's jeans down frantically and let them fall to the floor. Brian was already hard and Justin moaned a sigh of relief as he took him all the way into his mouth. Brian fisted his hands in Justin's hair. Even with his eyes closed, Justin could feel the difference between Brian's cock and Ethan's in his mouth. Brian's cock was…well, perfect, and Ethan's was more like a misshapen hotdog.
One thing that had changed, however, were the noises that Brian was emitting. They'd had a lot of really hot, really great sex over the last few years and Justin could never understand how Brian always remained so stoic. He was always in control, always keeping himself in check. In comparison to the noises that Justin would make...he was the next best thing to silent. Sure, he'd moan when he came, but even then, those noises were nothing like the ones that were being torn from his mouth right now.
Justin was pleased.
When he pulled back to focus on the tip of Brian's cock, he was pushed away. He heard him rasp, "Not here," before Brian stumbled blindly to the bedroom, Justin in tow.
They'd barely made it to the bed.
Brian had yanked the zipper on Justin's hooded sweatshirt, casting it into the mess that covered the floor. His sweatpants had followed soon after. He'd palmed the width of Justin's exposed chest, his tanned hands standing out in sharp contrast to the boyish paleness which had always been a source of secret pleasure for Brian. Easing him gently to the mattress, he'd straddled his lower body, had pressed his mouth into Justin's collarbone, had tasted the intoxicatingly salty sweat on his skin.
Staring intensely, he'd pulled back when he'd noticed that Justin had lost weight, his ribs straining painfully against his skin in a way they had not done before and, had he not been so absorbed in the task at hand, it would've made him furious.
...it did make him furious.
But he was busy.
Justin's hands were on his shoulder blades, clawing him like an animal, pulling him closer and, when Brian had seen the delicate shiver that wracked his frame, he'd dropped further and had covered him with his mouth once more.
Justin was gasping his name within seconds.
Just like he had done the first time and a thousand times since, Brian was on his stomach between Justin's spread legs, arms wound around them, exposing him to the air and to his mouth. When he heard the groan that ripped from Justin's chest when he touched him with his tongue, he actually thought that Justin was going to come before he laid a hand on his cock.
Just like the first time.
He stroked the tops of Justin's thighs reassuringly, ignoring the way that he writhed under his mouth as if he were trying to get away.
Brian knew better than that.
When he did reach up and drag his thumb across the source of the wetness that was leaking onto Justin's stomach, the half moan-half scream that tore from between Justin's lips almost had him coming before he touched his cock.
Brian had had about enough of that. He might be drunk, but he was still Brian Kinney and from this he came to the conclusion that that meant not coming in his pants like some pathetic little virgin who never got laid.
He managed to tear himself away from Justin long enough to equip himself from the ever present stash of condoms and lube in his nightstand.
Ready now, he leaned in and kissed Justin's lips gently. When he pulled away and saw the way that Justin was looking at him, his eyes softer than he'd seen them in a very long time...
He flipped him over roughly.
Breathing deeply, he sheathed himself in a condom and covered it in lube...
And entered Justin so violently that he cried out at the force of it.
Brian couldn't contain the air that hissed from his mouth as he was overwhelmed by the heat and the tightness of Justin's body.
Tighter than he remembered.
Laughter shook his chest as he realised what this implied about their sex life.
Justin and Ethan's.
When Justin glanced back over his shoulder at him, Brian started to move and saw Justin's head drop until it hung between his arms.
He kept moving because he had to and he was surprised at the way his arms pulled Justin upwards, clutched him tightly against his chest. The way that his hands roamed the front of Justin's body. The way that he gripped his hips, the way that Justin's hands became entwined in his own. The way that he buried his face into Justin's neck and left a red mark where he knew it would be impossible to hide.
It didn't surprise him that he felt beforehand the instant when he knew that Justin was going to come or that this knowledge sent him spiralling higher than he could remember ever going before. And when he collapsed on top of Justin, pressing him into the mattress, it didn't surprise him that even though he pulled out forcefully, rolled off of him, and turned his face away, Justin curled into his back and jerked the duvet up to cover them.
A/N: Much as I would wish otherwise, Queer as Folk belongs to Showcase/Showtime and CowLip. I own nothing.
Just a oneshot. I fell into QAF and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to get out of it.
Let me know what you think! Comments and criticisms are, as always, appreciated :)