When The Body Speaks
by AHS

A/N: Just a very short Brian/Justin one-shot that I didn't mean to write, but what can ya do when you start hearing voices in the shower? lol. My first attempt at them ever; please note and take pity. Written in first person, Justin's pov. Sadly smut-free, despite a sexy-ish title. Maybe set sometime mid-second season, but honestly I'm deciding that after the fact, so...

So he said he loved me the first time he fucked me. So what? I knew, even at 17, even having only just been devirginized by him, that words choked out in the middle of a man's orgasm are not to be taken seriously. Fuck, I'm pretty sure I've said it to myself a few times, jacking off alone in my old room at my parents' house. Before I had him to think about. Before I had Brian Kinney's ragged breaths and oh so sexy voice playing through my entire body, shouting that false hope, every fucking time I was with him, or anyone.

Which is why I knew better than to bring it up as a point of contention when he did his cold as ice bit on the street in front of his apartment building, when I tried to go back for seconds (technically, thirds). When he let me know he'd "had me" and was done. No, I claimed only my love for him, and it wasn't enough. I think he said something about how I should go marry a pretty girl, which I was in too much pain to even comprehend, and I cried like a little bitch all the way home.

Brian doesn't do love. Doesn't do relationships. Blah blah blah. He made that abundantly clear from the start. As much as I knew from that first night that I was in love with him, I also knew (at least very soon after) not to expect those feelings to come back to me. He was older... what some would call cynical, and wholly unsentimental... and he was a bonafide sex god. That's why I didn't take that shuddering, cum-laced declaration for anything real. That's why I laughed it off at school with my best friend, Daphne. But later on I wondered... wondered if he'd said it to anyone else... wondered why he never said it again to me.

I mean, we've had sex... God, hundreds of times now. I haven't been keeping a tally, but that's a low end estimate. Many, many chances for that accidental slip to accidentally occur again, but it hasn't happened. Brian doesn't generally say much during... He's more about sounds - delicious gasps, growls, moans, even screams - than any actual words. Which just makes the fact that those particular three spilled from his lips the first time all the more confusing. I know he didn't love me. And here we are now, in a loosely committed, meaningful non-relationship, and he's never said them to me again, either in or out of bed. Even though some days I feel they might actually be true.

For a while, every time we'd go to Babylon, part of me wanted to take a poll. Shout over the music, "Who here has been fucked by Brian Kinney?" And, when every hand and/or dick went up (except Michael's), I would shout, "Who here has Brian Kinney said 'I love you' to?" Even in my most paranoid of imaginings, every hand (except Michael's) went down.

I don't think Brian's ever given anyone both... fucking and feeling... until me. Words are just words. With or without that certain four-letter one that begins with L, I know we have something. Something undeniable. Something reciprocated. Something that doesn't need to be dissected or examined too closely.

So, of course, I asked him about it.

One night in bed, before the afterglow of our latest amazing sexploits could shift into slumber, I finally asked him. Sort of.

"What's the craziest thing you've ever said during orgasm?"

He looked at me like I had three heads... or a twat where my mouth should be... and mumbled, "What the fuck is this? A Cosmo quiz?"

But I continued. "Like, have you ever blurted out, you know... 'I love you'?"

If he knew what I was making reference to, he gave no indication. I could tell from his eyes he was about to start that "How long have you known me?" shit again. I added on...

"Not meaning it, obviously. But have you ever just... said it? Oops?"

Brian gave me a smile that was meant to be placating. "It's best not to encourage the tricks... or else they might never go away."

I saw a glint of hazel mischief through the dark and was sure he knew, but when I asked him again, "So have you ever said it?", he responded simply...

"No."

"Oh, come on, Brian. You can't possibly be sure of that. If you're really into it, nobody's aware of what they're saying... in the heat of passion." I giggled at the vaguely Antonio Banderas-esque voice I put on to say the last part.

Brian looked somewhat interested in Antonio, but only sighed, then flashed me a tired but naughty smile. "I'm not really much of a Chatty Cathy, but if you want some dirty talk, roll over and we'll see what happens."

I remained on my back, turning from him to stare at the ceiling. "Nevermind, just forget it."

"Look, give me some credit," he said, sounding mildly annoyed as he propped up on one elbow. "I've proven on more than one occasion that I can remember anything I said or you said while I was drunk, stoned, high as the proverbial kite, or all of the above... if I thought it was worth remembering. I don't see why this should be any different."

Worth remembering. Huh. Was that the problem? "Then what did you say to me the first time we were together?"

"Uh... 'Now you know what rimming is'?"

I flushed, my recently fucked hole clenching with pleasure at the memory. His sly smile turned smug as he watched my face.

"Yes, but that's not what I..."

"'I want you to always remember this.'"

This time it was my heart that clenched. I took a shaky breath, and suddenly he was over me, like he had been then. But just hovering this time. Just looking down at me, as he said the rest, his voice killing me... raspy and hot and tender.

"'So that no matter who you're ever with... I'll always be there.'"

That had turned out to be truer than even Brian could have thought. No matter who I was with, who I fucked, he was the only one who fucked me. Only Brian inside me. I had a feeling his mind was taking the same path, and I put my hands in his hair and kissed him, just once. Maybe twice.

"I'm impressed," I said, and I totally was. "But that's still not what I meant."

He scrunched up his face, then pretended to have a sudden, brilliant Eureka! moment. "'What's your name again?'"

"No, asshole. When you came, what did you say to me?"

He was tired of this game. He wasn't playing anymore. Brian moved off of me, fell back against the bed, and closed his eyes, muttering, "I'm tired."

"Nope, you're way off," I muttered back. Giving up, I closed my eyes as well. "Goodnight."

No more than a couple of minutes could have gone by before I heard him. First, a deep sigh, very dramatic. Then he sounded like he was talking into his pillow, but I could still understand him.

"I should've known."

"Known what?" I whispered tentatively, afraid he'd shut up at the sound of my voice.

"That you'd still be here, after all this time. Because I didn't mean to say what I... Didn't know why I did... I never have... Christ, but that was some kind of fucking writing on the wall."

I smiled so slowly, so deeply, knowing that he got it. Maybe he wished he didn't, but he remembered, and he got it. And now I get it, too.

"To the soul's desires the body listens... What the flesh requires keeps the heart imprisoned... What the spirit seeks the mind will follow... When the body speaks all else is hollow." I quoted one of my favorite songs under my breath.

He just laughed, still muffled, amused and relaxed by my response. "Go to sleep, Duran Duran."

"It's Depeche Mode," I corrected him, though I knew he knew, laughing hot breath against his shoulder as I curled my body around the smooth, hard expanse of his back.

He won't say it again, at least not until he can say it without the assistance of orgasm. And I know damn well that's something that might never happen. But it doesn't matter, at least for now. I have what I need from him. I fall asleep every night feeling loved, my hope no longer false.

(Song: When The Body Speaks, Depeche Mode)