A/N: I've been feeling off lately ...I REALLY hope this doesn't suck. Lately, I feel like everything I write does.

"Lindsay didn't appreciate it, but I do. It's part of what makes you you." He heard these words as though they echoed through a broad and wide canyon. Everything was slow and dense.

The air was so heavy, Justin couldn't breathe. And his heart … his heart didn't simply skip a beat. His heart didn't stop. The organ performed a double back flip in slow motion. The expression in Brian's eyes caused Justin to feel bliss and terror. Brian could see him. Justin could see himself as reflected in Brian's eyes, but that person wasn't Justin, couldn't be him. Could it?

Justin leaned close to Brian then. Brian's eyes on him were too much. Justin couldn't handle the intensity. He rested his forehead on Brian's and closed his eyes. For a long moment, he just breathed the same air as Brian. Then, eyes still closed, he slid his hands up Brian's neck to his cheeks and traced Brian's features with his fingers, his forehead, his cheekbones, his chin … ultimately, his fingers lighted on Brian's lips. Justin traced them slowly, one at a time with one finger and moved his face down, slowly, until his lips found Brian's. He kissed them gently at first. Once. Twice. Brian opened his mouth slightly, but didn't move. Then Justin's hands were on Brian's neck and he was pushing his tongue into Brian's mouth, pulling him closer, kissing him deeply but slowly. He felt a prrring sensation like the sound they put on children's records of adults reading books, the sound indicating that the child should turn the page. Like the sound of a cheerful harp. Justin tilted Brian's head and kissed him deeper.

Never losing contact, never pausing, Justin turned so that he was straddling Brian. Brian slid his hands over Justin's ass and pulled him nearer. The moment their groins made contact, Justin moaned softly "Brian" and then dove back in.

Brian squeezed Justin's ass all the while holding Justin still, against him. He pressed Justin down and pushed up. Justin was so dizzy. Then he was on his back, on the couch. Brian had flipped Justin over and was now on top of him, rubbing their erections together, taking control of the kiss. The prrring sensation was back, telling him to turn page after page after page. Justin wrapped his legs around Brian and pushed up, up, up. He slid his arms under Brian's shirt and wrapped them around Brian. He ran his fingers up and down Brian's back, pressing soft, pressing hard, digging in. He was burning, his entire body experiencing a keen hunger. Then his hands were in Brian's pants, beneath his boxer briefs, squeezing and pushing Brian's ass down. He needed more contact. More friction. Just more. So much more.

Then suddenly the burning tripled in intensity and flooded his body, ripping through every inch, every cell, simultaneously. Justin arched his back and cried out. Brian grinded against Justin just twice more, before he, too, froze, and half-moaned, half-shouted, "OHHH."

Justin's lips were red and swollen, and his pants were damp. He fell back onto the couch, Brian in much the same condition on Justin's chest, their breathing still ragged.

Justin ran his fingers through Brian's hair, now damp with sweat. Then he let the feelings he'd given voice to in the kissing, clawing, and grinding take the shape of words, but only in his head. Justin loved Brian so much it actually hurt. The phenomenon was a strange one. Or maybe not. He'd read somewhere that when Muslims see something beautiful – innocent – perfect, they say mashallah meaning God wills it. They do that as a warding off of evil … of envy. The Ancient Greeks had a similar tradition. They even feared the jealousy of the Gods. Justin, too, experienced an almost crippling fear every time Brian made the depth of his love or want for Justin clear (which was actually pretty often). Justin had never felt so connected to anyone, certainly not on every conceivable level, and that terrified him. He wanted desperately NOT to lose that … but he feared that would ultimately be the case. Good things didn't happen to Justin. And nobody ever stayed.

Brian stood then, pulled Justin out of his head. He started removing his clothes. He looked at Justin expectantly. He smirked. "How's that jizz in your pants feel?"

Justin turned bright red. "Oh, right." He, too, began to strip. By the time he was done Brian was equipped with a warm damp cloth. He gave them both a wipe down and then gestured toward the couch. Justin had to blink. He couldn't believe his eyes. On the couch were two crocheted afghans. Where did they come from? Brian sat lengthwise and pulled Justin down and into his arms, but so that they were facing each other. They lay on one and beneath the other.

Justin laughed. "Brian?"

Brian's eyes were wide but they also held a strange calm. "Yes?"

"You … want to explain?"

"What?"

"Afghans?"

"Oh … they're Gus's for when he sleeps over. He says my duvet isn't 'snuggly' enough."

Justin bit back a smile.

Brian looked at Justin then, holding Justin's eyes with his own. Justin shifted uncomfortably. Then Brian asked, again his voice strangely calm, especially given the question, "If you could be anyone at all, who would you be?"

Justin's eyes widened in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Brian shrugged. "I'm in advertising … I wear Armani and Prada. Style my hair. Work hard to keep my body perfect. I project confidence, arrogance, and sex. With the exception of Gus, I use sex on everyone I interact with. It's in the way I look at people, the way I speak to them. It's even in the way I move. I seduce everyone, all the time. Metaphorically, anyway."

Justin just blinked. He wasn't sure how to answer Brian's question. In fact, now that he knew what Brian was referring to he was even more uncomfortable.

Brian bit the inside of his cheek. Then he said, "What were you like in high school?"

Back to this again. Justin didn't understand why Brian wanted to talk about this so much. But clearly, he had something in mind. Justin clenched and unclenched a fist … spreading his fingers way out and even wiggling them when he unclenched. This relaxed him. Justin's eyes lost focus. He imagined himself back then, actually visualizing. He was looking over Brian's shoulder towards the wall but not really seeing. "Umm … I wore whatever my mom bought me. Plaid. Jeans that she ironed. Hoodies. I guess I had sort of a preppy look. I didn't do anything to my hair. I washed it. Brushed it. Kept it pretty short. I always had my sketchbook with me. I think the most interesting thing about me, if there was one, was that I had callouses from holding pencils too tightly, too many hours a day. And I always had lead or chalk or paint on my hands … and paint on my clothes … sometimes under my fingernails. I played X-box a lot. That was really the only 'guy' thing I liked. It helped that I was ambidextrous. So when I talked, I talked a lot about video games. Sometimes I'd talk about the art. That was the only kind of art any of my friends knew anything about. I listened a lot to other people when they talked. When I talked I talked about video games or made stupid jokes. I guess that's how I interacted. My mom always told me that people love talking about themselves so that was the best way to make and keep friends. I'd ask a lot of questions. When I ran out, I'd try to make them laugh. People like to be around other people when those people make them happy. Come to think about it, I guess I kind of always defined myself by the people around me. My mom dressed me and told me when to cut my hair. I did what other guys my age liked to do. And everything I said was pretty much calculated to make or keep friends. I even fake smiled. Learned that from my mom. People like people who smile a lot. Not feeling like it is no excuse, or so my mom would say."

"So who would you be now if you could?"

Justin smiled in spite of himself. An image had popped into his head, but it was kind of silly.

Brian seemed to be able to tell that Justin had thought of something. He prodded, "Well ….?"

Justin shook his head. "I can't. Too stupid."

Brian narrowed his eyes. "Spill."

Justin turned five shades of red. His face was uncomfortably hot. He shook his head.

"I won't laugh." Brian's face, voice, eyes were so serious. "I won't."

Justin shrugged. "Well I am a writer now. It might be cool to wear all black … write and perform spoken word at a coffee shop. I already have shaggy hair … and drink way too much coffee …"

"You want to be a beatnik?"

"I told you it was stupid."

Brian made a thinking face. "I've never fucked a beatnik … You DO look hot in black …" Brian smirked. "Should I snap to demonstrate my approval?"

Justin's blushed deepened. He buried his face in Brian's chest.