Chapter: 6
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 7,579
Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual situations
Author's Note: I realize now that whenever I tell you all that the next chapter will take some time to write due to other projects, I really mean that it'll be out in a week. This chapter just wrote itself, and I hope you all enjoy the small victories and accomplishments between Brian, Justin, and Elise in this chapter. Please see the chapter endnotes for a few important links. And, a huge thank you to L for the beta and to C for talking me through this story on a nightly basis. You two are indispensable to my writing process.
"Brian."
Lifting the cup of hot coffee to his lips, Brian takes a quick drink, liquid burning a path over his tongue and down his throat. Under normal circumstances, he would wait until the latte has cooled the hell down before throwing it back like this. But these aren't normal circumstances, and Brian needs to keep his mouth busy for fear of saying something that he might regret later.
He can't believe that fucking fiddler—the way he was smiling at Justin, the way he was complimenting the kid. It'd taken all his strength not to take him by his coat and throttle him. Who the fuck does he think he is? What fucking right does he have, making those eyes at Sunshine like he wanted Justin to come back to his goddamn two star hotel. Not after everything he put Sunshine through. Brian might be able to forgive Ian for the fucking around—he's only human, after all—but never for all those goddamn promises he laid on thick and failed to make good on. And neverfor convincing Justin that he was something Brian Kinney could never be.
If he wanted, Brian could be everything Justin dreamed in a man.
But that's not love, and the qualities that Justin wants in a man are not the same that he wants in Brian. One botched engagement taught Brian that much. And time taught him that bitching and providing snide and witty commentary on the whole fiddler fiasco wouldn't win him Justin's favor. Not that it came up too often, but all the same. No one likes to be reminded of shitty mistakes, especially not his Sunshine, which is why Brian tries to keep his peace now.
Of course, Sunshine won't keep his. Brian doesn't miss the sidelong glances, the occasional sigh, the way Justin's lips relax and thin, relax and thin. He shuts his eyes, silently begs Justin to not go there. Not tonight. Not when they've had an alright evening, and definitely not when it's supposed to get a hell of a lot better when they get home.
But Justin does.
"Would you tell me what's wrong? Aside from the obvious?"
Brian takes a deep breath, tries to suppress his anger. "Nothing's wrong, Sunshine."
"Uh-huh." Justin nods, not believing him for an instant, no doubt. "Which is exactly why you'repushing my baby's stroller in public. There's nothing wrong with that picture at all."
Fuck, he sort of forgot about that detail. Blind rages will do that to anyone. And grabbing the kid's stroller and insisting that we shouldn't keep the baby out in the cold, Sunshinebefore walking off in the direction of Mother Taylor's house? That had been an act of temporary insanity.
Still, Brian grips the stroller tighter and pushes on. He's not about to fucking admit why he started pushing in the first place. And he sure as hell isn't going to stop, on a matter of pride. Justin can deal with it.
"I'm doing it because I want to," he says, a lie that's particularly hard to get out.
"Oh, right." Again, with the smart ass tone. "Because you just love her to pieces. Brian, come on." Justin huffs. "Don't lie to my face and tell me that you wanted to do this completely domestic act when we both know better."
"Maybe I'm making an effort."
"And I would love it if that were the case, but it's not. You're jealous as fuck of Elise for reasons that I can only guess at. You can barely stand to be in the same room as her."
The frustration in Justin's voice gives him away—how much Brian's disinterest in the urchin is killing him. He's put on a damn good show, Brian thinks. But, it's only obvious that it would wear on him eventually. Brian can't really explain why he's like this, at least not without delving into a shit ton of memories that he's not acknowledged in decades. Memories and facts that he's never spoken with Justin about. And even then, it's not an excuse. An abusive father? An alcoholic mother? Who gives a shit. People become decent human beings with parents like that all the time. Maybe he just never tried hard enough. Maybe it's too late to start.
Brian doesn't really want it to be too late.
"Damn right I'm jealous," Brian admits in a bare whisper. "I'm fucking jealous, Sunshine. Of an infant. Guess what?" And here Brian gets a hell of a lot louder. "Brian Kinney gives a shit!"
"Brian…"
Suddenly, Brian realizes that he really shouldn't be so loud. The urchin is asleep, and he would prefer if she stayed that way, especially after all it cost him to get her there in the first place. A walk in the park and a hellish meeting with Ian. Fuck.
He looks apologetically towards Justin, sorry that he was overly loud. By the softness of Justin's expression, Brian doesn't think he's pissed. Brian doesn't know what he isexactly, just not ready to kick him in the balls. It's a definite start.
But there's something else there, too. A look that Brian remembers from the days when he had cancer—a sort of tenderness that Brian hates. Because he thinks it's about weakness. Hisweakness. Who the hell is he kidding? Justin's always been the strong one in this relationship. That look, though—it's maybe even more than that. Surprise, perhaps. A good surprise.
"Thanks. For admitting to it, I mean." A pause and then, "I never expected you to fall in love with her, Brian. I know how you feel about kids. Well, kids that aren't Gus. Of course I'd love it if you'd just keep an open mind about her. If you'd just try, even a little. But I know that this whole thing between us right now is just temporary for the holidays. I've really no right to demand from you more than you're offering. It's just sex, and I understand that."
Christ, it's not just fucking sex. It's not been about the fuck since… goddamn it! Justin hasn't been another trick since before he ran away to New York to become a go-go boy. The fact that he got a repeat performance at all should mean something. Did mean something. And by the time…by the time that…promcame along…fuck. Brian had been a dead man by prom, lovesick over some teenage kid but just unwilling to admit to it.
And as Brian—in another bout of brilliant verbal dysentery—is about to call Justin on his complete and utter bullshit, he really looks at Justin and the words die. Because the hurt on his face after saying that fucking lie—that the two of them are nothing more than fuck buddies with a history—tells Brian everything he needs to know. It's not about sex for Justin either. And they're both so totallyfuckedthat it's not even funny.
"You're a twat," Brian mutters.
Really he means you're a fucking twat for even thinking in that little blond head of yours that this is about my dick and your ass and maybe even did you honestly forget that I love you, Sunshine?. The way Justin smiles his sheepishly little school boy smile in response—that Brian has always privately imagined was only for him—takes his breath away.
.
.
When they finally get back to Jennifer's, Brian is the one who slips off his gloves, shrugs out of his coat, and gets to the urchin first. He doesn't really understand what it is that draws him to her, but he lifts her from the stroller all the same. While Justin takes off his own coat and starts to fold up the stroller, Brian holds the urchin against his chest and finds some sort of strange comfort in her weight against him.
He never meant to have the sort of reaction to her that he had tonight when he saw Ian kneeling by her stroller. Never meant to feel that sort of visceral minewhen it came to her. Brian doesn't really like her—she complicates everything—but she's become a presence in his life over the past week. Sort of like Sunshine had ten years ago—unwanted but not unacknowledged. And shit, look how that fucking mess turned out.
Brian holds her until Justin finishes off the stroller and tucks it into the closet, his sudden revelation about this kid causing him some discomfort. It's a relief then when Justin takes her from him, lays her on the couch to strip her of her coat, mittens, scarf and hat while she sleeps. All that movement—followed by a change into her pajamas and a clean diaper—without so much as a peep from her has Brian wondering if she's even alive. Then, he recalls that Justin sleeps like the dead, and it suddenly becomes significantly less surprising.
"I hope for our sake that she sleeps that deeply all night," Brian says as Justin zips up her pajamas.
"She might wake up once. Maybe around three. But she's usually a sound sleeper otherwise," Justin explains, picking her up. "Alright, let me put her down, and then I'll be right with you." A smirk. "Mr. Kinney."
He'd be a liar if he said Justin's Mr. Kinney hadn't caught the attention of his cock. And because Brian can see this is going to go somewhere very, veryfast, he slips off his shoes, fishes a strip of condoms and tube of lube from his coat pocket, and heads over to the couch.
As he lies down, Brian tries to focus his attention on his dick, tries to ignore everything else running through his mind. He even palms himself through his jeans to get the blood flowing far, far away from his brain. And he's hard, sure, but not really distracted enough. This has never been a fucking problem before.
Something's eating away at him, and Brian can't put his finger on it. Maybe it's the idea of fucking Ian and his goddamn I'd really love for you to come to see the symphony, Justin coupled with a promise of sending tickets and catching dinner. Brian flexes his fist, frustrated with the whole thing. Is this an issue he has with the idea of Justin seeing someone? Someone that isn't him? But that doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense because Brian knew about that James guy Justin had been seeing. There was someone before James too, but Brian only heard him mentioned once and by accident. Molly Taylor—before she grew-up a hell of a lot in her junior year—had such a big mouth.
They didn't bother him, though. Not really. Nothing beyond a twinge in his chest. Justin had been far removed from him then, off in New York making a name for himself. And their whole relationship had puttered out before boyfriend number one had ever come along. Brian knows he has some maturity issues, but even then he couldn't fault Justin for moving on.
But the thought of Justin moving on now? And with someone like the fucking fiddler? Not that Justin would… At least, Brian doesn't thinkhe would. The closeness between them over the past few days—the meetings, the texts, the occasional call—makes Brian feel something. Something that he very much thought he had come to terms with: this sort of longing for Justin.
Before last Saturday, Brian hadn't given a thought to waking up each day alone. He has for almost three years now. But put Justin in his bed for one night and, bam!, sudden hyperawareness to the fact that the only man he ever shared a bed with isn't there. What's more, that one-to-two-second gaze at an unused pillow and the swell of a gutted and hollowed feeling, the unwelcome ache to wake up to someone every morning.
Maybe Mikey was right; maybe he has completely fucked himself by getting involved again. Brian doesn't want to go through another post-breakup "grieving process," as Lindsay had called it. He doesn't want to have to de-Justin his loft—his life—again. And he sure as hell doesn't want to come across a stray Capri Sun in the fridge from Justin's last visit before the breakup and almost fucking lose it.
But where the hell does that leave him? It's either go through all that shit or…not. Suffer or do the unthinkable. He has the means now. He can take Kinnetik to New York. He wouldbe a fucking success. And more importantly, he could give it a go with Justin. No more lonely beds, no more empty lofts. Just Sunshine as far as the eye can see.
Well, Sunshine and company.
Christ.
Justin would never agree to it. Not if he didn't trywith the kid. God, why does he have to be such a selfish bastard? Why—for once in his life—couldn't he open himself up to someone, do something really selfless like love the child of his partner despite all the fucking misgivings he has about it?
Brian's not sure what his hang ups even are with her, besides the fact that she's taking Justin away from him. It's not like she's Gus; he doesn't have to worry about being a father to her, about fucking her up so completely that she'll end up a drug-popping alcoholic with a sex addiction. It's something else entirely; he can feel it when she stares at him with her Justin-blue eyes.
Brian doesn't know which is worse—the fear that he could never love her like his father could never love him or the fear that he could. He doesn't even want to think about that. And he can'tthink about New York and all that comes with it. Not now.
And thankfully he doesn't have to because he catches sight of a grey blur from the corner of his eye and realizes that Justin's come back in the room. More importantly, has come back wearing a pair of delicious grey pajama bottoms that shows off his perky little ass beautifully. And no shirt.
He drinks in the sight of so much skin, pale and smooth. His eyes glide over the angles and slopes of Justin's body, from jaw to neck, from collarbones to chest, from hipbones and down, down, down. Beneath tented grey, Brian can imagine Justin's cock, half-swollen and red. Can already taste him on this tongue—the salty-sweet of sweat slicked skin and heady tang of cum.
Without even meaning to, Brian breathes a small sigh of discomfort—his own cock now straining—and Justin's bending over him, slipping one leg on each side of him as best he can. So close, he can't keep from touching Justin, from grabbing his thin hips and molding his fingers around Justin's hipbones. And if he settles Sunshine down on his lap, he does it unconsciously, brain too busy processing Justin's half-lidded gaze to be aware of anything beyond that and the beating of his own heart.
"Hi," Justin says, before biting his lip to contain his smile.
"Look at you." Brian brings his hand to cup Justin's jaw, thumb grazing Justin's mouth. "Grinning like a giddy little school boy."
Whatever else Brian has to say in that low, seductive rasp fades when Sunshine's lips part and tongue darts out to wet Brian's thumb. He hums appreciatively, longs for the wet warmth of Justin's mouth and yet doesn't want it. Not yet. First, he wants to imagine.
His fingers slip across Justin's jaw, index pressed lightly against pink, supple lips as if to shush him. Then Sunshine opens for him like a good boy, and Brian slips a finger inside. He presses into strong tongue as Justin sucks him, the pressure and pulse driving straight to his dick. And with his free hand, Brian guides Justin against him, the easy rhythm of Justin's hips sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
He can't help but moan, his breaths quickening with each grind against his cock. His lungs feel empty, but that's alright just as long as Justin keeps sucking. Brian wouldn't mind dying like this, though he'd much rather go with his cock in Justin's ass or Justin's in his.
And suddenly, it just isn't enough. Suddenly everything feels shallow, and Brian remembers how clothed they still are, skin almost itching from fine fabric. He withdraws from Sunshine's mouth, lips pink and swollen and so fucking kissable it hurts. Deterred by them, Brian momentarily forgets about stripping to push Justin to him by the back of the neck.
Mouths meet, lips bruising with built up longing. Each time he aches for Sunshine like he had that first night at the loft, or maybe more. It doesn't feel old or worn out—the taste of Justin's mouth, still touched with the taste of red wine from dinner. Fuck, how could Brian have ever thought it could? He'll never tire of the feel of Justin's teeth on his lips, nipping them into a swell. Never tire of Justin's tongue seeking out his own, brushing and tangling and pushing until Brian feels lightheaded and Justin is swallowing his whimpers.
Yes, Brian Kinney whimpers.
But only ever for Justin Taylor.
When Sunshine comes up for air, Brian's fingers wind themselves through Justin's hair and tug. Justin sucks in a breath, swallows, and begins to press his lips against Brian's rough, shadowed jaw. Once, twice, three times, and Brian is exposing it for Justin to take what he will. But Sunshine has a different agenda.
Nimble fingers work at Brian's button-up shirt, the cool air a welcome comfort against his over-warm skin. The tails are slipping off his stomach when Justin begins a slow descent on him, leaving searing kisses and love bites in his wake. Brian's stomach fucking squirmsfrom all the heady sensations pooling there and in his balls. And it jumps as Justin flicks his tongue into his bellybutton.
He grips Justin's hair again—thanking God that it's long enough to really grab onto—and pushes him lower, having had enough of this slow torture to last a fucking lifetime. Sunshine makes quick work of his button and fly, Brian's aching cock suddenly free. He half expects to gain some self-control without all that damn pressure containing him, but if anything it only hurts worse, like at any moment he might die. If he gave a shit, it'd be embarrassing how wound Justin could get him with only a promise of a blow job. But he doesn't because this is Justin and Justin is in a league of his own.
Hips jolt as wet warmth descends on him, wraps and writhes against his dick. His breath catches in his throat, lungs burning for oxygen. But he's so deep in Sunshine's mouth, buried in his throat, that Brian isn't sure that switch in his brain that tells him to breathe hasn't been shut off permanently. There's pinpricks of black, probably telling him he should make a conscious effort to inhale, but all Brian can do is buck into Justin's mouth with a sort of blind desperation.
When Justin's hand cups his balls—rolls and fondles them with just the right amount of roughness in time with his sucking—Brian has no choice but to gasp. The air rushes into his lungs, his head suddenly light and floaty.
"Christ, Justin," he pants, licking his lips and struggling to breathe through the attention.
The grip he has on Justin's hair loosens as Brian finds a rhythm, as he rocks easily into Justin's mouth with gentleness that belies his need. Brian runs his fingers through it, over and over again until he has the silky feel memorized.
His gasps and shuddered breaths grow shallow as his balls grow heavier, dick gets harder than he thought possible. Brian feels his orgasm building, building, and yeah, just like that Sunshine. He's going to lose it, going to cum down Justin's pretty little throat, going to make Justin swallow every last drop of him.
Just as it starts to get unbearable and Brian is ready to give up, he realizes this isn't how he wants it to go. Save the sucking and the rimming for later; he doesn't want to have to wait for the real thing. Right now, he needs in Justin's ass like he's never needed anything in his entire life.
"S-stop. Sunshine." And Brian can't believe how hard it is to get those words out. "Justin."
When blue eyes peer up at him, Brian sees nothing but frustration. It's not exactly surprising considering that Justin likes to give head about as much as he likes to be fucked. And Brian briefly remembers a long time ago—when Justin was taking baby steps into the world of cock-sucking and butt-fucking—when Justin would look up at him with the same frustration. Only then, there'd been an edge of fear too—that he'd done something wrong, that he hadn't been good enough to please Brian and that Brian was kicking him out.
As if Brian ever had thatmuch control over his desires, over their non-relationship.
"Turn around," Brian says, sitting up and pushing off his jeans.
"Shit, I'm not going to last, Brian," Justin warns.
He shifts them both around the couch, pulls Justin's back flush against his stomach, and trails his fingers across Justin's belly. Justin's cock—leaking and red—stands at attention, to the point where it looks painful. When he runs one fingertip down Justin's length, Sunshine shudders and whines against him. He apparently wasn't joking when he told Brian that he was already close without having been barely touched.
God, Brian loves him—kissing Justin's shoulder to punctuate the thought. Loves how responsive he is, how trusting and willing. Fifteen years ago, if anyone had asked him to describe his perfect trick, Brian's imagination would have fallen short of the man in his arms right now. That's probably why he'd said that dreaded three-word-phrase the first night he took Justin home. Inexperienced as Justin had been, there'd still been something unfathomable about how well they fit together, like no one Brian had been with before and nothing he could have dreamed up in his wildest fantasies.
"Fuck me," Justin whispers, voice raspy with want. "I want you now."
"Easy, Sunshine."
"No, bend me over and give it to me hard." Justin moans against his jaw. "Make me feel you for days. Please."
Brian moves his mouth to Justin's ear, whispers, "You want my dick in your pretty little ass? You want me to coat your insides with my cum and feel it drip out of you?"
"Oh god, Brian." Brian feels Justin shiver. "I wish. You don't know how badly I want you to fuck me bareback."
Oh, he can imagine. They'd discussed monogamy on and off before the distance really got to them, but six months into their separation they'd both agreed it wasn't feasible. It never stopped Brian from wanting Justin raw, never stopped him from jerking off to the thought of it though. And as he grabs the lube and condom, as he slips it on and covers his dick—urged by Justin's adamant I don't need you to prep me, just fucking do it!—the irresponsibility of barebacking doesn't stop him from imagining it as he pushes inside of Justin.
Brian groans from the immediate tightness around his head. His thumb rubs tense muscle at the small of Justin's back, working him into relaxation. Sunshine eases a little under his touch, allows Brian to move further inside.
It feels like virgin ass, almost like the first time he'd ever been inside Justin. Sunshine's got a vice grip on him, making it both unbearable to be buried in him and unbearable to be anywhere but. He pulls back gently, paying close attention to all the little noises Justin is making, and then slams back in.
This can't be easy for Sunshine—he should have prepped him whether he wanted it or not—but he takes it like he always has, swallowing any sounds of discomfort. Brian knows them all too well though and is more careful as he forces himself inside again.
They set a rhythm—steady and unforgiving—and Brian can feel Justin already unraveling beneath his hands. He wraps his fingers around Justin's cock, strokes in time with their pace, and Justin grips Brian's ass to urge him on. And it's a testament to years and years of experience that Brian is able to keep their rhythm without difficulty despite the fact that he can feel his own orgasm building too fast.
Justin's Brian…Brian…Brian is his undoing, has him panting through the surges of too-much-feeling. He's so fucking close, but Justin breaks first, calling his name in a cry before coating his hand with cum. Brian tries frantically to cover Justin's mouth—because they really haveto keep quiet—but it's too late.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he hopes to god that they don't have to stop before he gets off, his cock driving into Justin's ass. But then it's there, so fucking close, and Justin moves just enough andfuck.
His orgasm tears through him, making him think that he's being broken in two. He fills the condom with quick pulses, hears Justin moan from it and clench around him. And while he'll never know in his blissed-out haze, Brian thinks he came with Justin's name on his lips.
.
.
After they've had enough time to recover, they fuck again, this time on the living room floor. It's quick and dirty, and it's also rather loud. Too fucking loud, considering the whole evening depends on a sleeping urchin. So after Brian pulls his tongue from Justin's ass and cleans them both up, they sneak upstairs to Justin's bedroom for round three.
It's really fucking weird doing Justin in a room full of things from his childhood, but Brian manages. Hell, he thinks it's sort of hot. And Justin must think so as well because he's moaning and panting and coming harder than both times downstairs combined. As Brian—barely done tying the condom off—starts planning what they're going to do and where they're going to go next, Justin announces that he's going to die if he doesn't get something to eat and abandons him for the kitchen. After all these years, it doesn't even surprise Brian anymore. Some things are just guaranteed—the sun will rise, politicians will pander, and his Sunshine will need to be fed after two or three fucks like he's still some teenager.
So Brian lies in Justin's bed, listening to the sound of dead air from the baby monitor on the bedside table and staring at a corkboard full of drawings Justin did when he was a kid. There's no denying Justin's talent even then, though it's interesting the ways in which his interests evolved. On the board are at least five pencil sketches of Brian in various stages of undress, the likeness uncanny right down to the unapproachable aura that he's known for.
Justin's not drawn a sketch of him for years, now preferring to capture emotional likeness in slashes of color rather than the defined lines of the human body. He's fucking genius at it too. Brian can stare at his face on these pieces of paper all evening, but he knows he won't feel half as much as he does when he looks at the large-scale painting in his office.
The one Justin titled Aidan, after the middle name passed down between father and son for generations in his family.
Brian's always hated the name for that obvious reason, but Justin likes it—thinks it's better than his own Matthew—and thought it added another layer of depth to an already fathomless painting. He learned very early on never to question Justin when it came to art. The one time he had, Brian had wound up alone at The Carlton for two nights, sexless and trying desperately to figure out a way to apologize to Justin without having to do something overtly romantic. So he said nothing about the painting's name and has come to love the piece despite it.
Rolling over and away from the small shrine to him, Brian settles more comfortably into the bed and closes his eyes. Truth be told, he could really use some fucking sleep. It's three in the morning, and he doesn't quite do all-nighters as well as he used to. Brian thinks he can talk Justin into a nap if he wants to, but Brian's not sure that he does. Thirty minutes is still thirty minutes wasted when he's not buried in Justin's ass.
Then there's the small matter of leaving. He'll be damned before he stays overnight; that's a level of kinky that Brian could never really subscribe to. Despite how nice it would feel to fall asleep next to Sunshine again. Despite how badly he doesn't want to have to tear himself away.
The creak of floorboards has him opening his eyes just in time to see Justin walking back into the room and quietly closing the door. He pads across the floor—a little stiffly from getting pounded into all night—completely naked.
Naked and holding a glass of red wine in one hand and a plate of SoftStix pretzels in the other.
Jesus Christ.
Brian can't help but smirk as Justin sinks onto the bed next to him, taking a bite out of one of the pretzels. The cheese—well, that's not fucking cheesebut more like the byproduct of cheese byproduct—drips down Justin's fingers. Sunshine licks it off, takes a long drink of red wine, and then looks at Brian, content.
Of all the men that could have possibly weaseled their way into his heart, thisone is the one who managed to actually do it. A guy who drinks fifty-dollar-a-bottle red wine with formaldehyde snacks, naked, at three in the morning. In a lot of ways, it's fucking mindboggling, but in the ways that count, it makes perfect sense.
Brian shakes his head, amazed and says, "Christ, I love you. I must be out of my fucking mind."
It's not gotten much easier to say over five years, but Brian tries. He knows it's important to Justin, knows that sometimes those three words were the only thing that kept them together over four hundred miles. Part of him still thinks it's something that Justin—despite no longer being his partner, in the conventional sense of the word—doesn't mind hearing. Brian especially thinks that's true when Justin smiles a little.
"You know, if you wanted a pretzel, all you had to do was ask."
"I don't want a pretzel."
"You love these pretzels."
"I do not."
"Yes, you do."
"They're not even real pretzels."
"They still taste good." Justin pops a whole one into his mouth. "I remember one time we got totally stoned, and you were absolutely dying for these. You seriously would not shut up about them. So we walked clear to the mini-mart on Tremont at one in the morning and bought four boxes."
He smirks. "We ate all of them, if I remember correctly."
"And you begged me for the last one. You said that you'd tell me how much you loved me if I would give it to you. So I did, and then you called me a sucker and fucked me into the couch." Justin chucks at pretzel at him. "You're such an asshole. I can't believe I fell for that."
"Poor Sunshine."
As Brian retrieves the pretzel and contemplates actually eating it, Justin snatches it from his fingers and eats it, smug look on his face. Brian rolls his eyes and shifts to lie on his back, Justin taking another swig of wine before lying on the bed next to him. Pulling Justin towards him, Brian dips down to capture his mouth. Sunshine opens for him easily and with a happy sigh, and he slips his tongue inside to taste him.
Justin tastes a lot like cum, cheese pretzels, and good wine—not exactly the most flattering of combinations. Brian doesn't really mind though, not when, underneath it all, he still tastes like Sunshine. They don't rush it, don't battle to overpower one another. They just take slow strokes and wrap around each other. It's nice; Brian thinks he could go to sleep with a goodnight like that.
"I love you too, you know." Justin runs his finger along Brian's jaw to his chin, blue eyes following the trail and then glancing up at Brian. "I never stopped. Things were just complicated."
"I bet you say that to all the boys," Brian teases.
"Are you trying to be a passive-aggressive shit?"
Brian laughs, wonders how it's possible for a person to be this much of a drama princess. "No, not really."
"Oh. Sorry. I thought maybe you were…referring to Ethan or something."
If Brian had been referring to Ian, he wouldn't have been passive-aggressive about it. Just plain fucking aggressive. He hopes that's not something Justin has ever considered saying to Ian, hopesthat Justin recognized whatever it was that Ian had offered him hadn't been love.
Still, it does give him an opening to bring up something that has been eating him all night—those fucking tickets to the symphony. Brian wants to think that Justin would tear them up, but Justin's not the sort of person who holds grudges for a long time.
"Are you going to go?"
Justin lifts his head. "Where?"
"To see Paganini Junior wow Pittsburgh with his magnificent violin prowess."
"You say without a note of bitterness in your voice," Justin says sarcastically. "He really got under your skin tonight, didn't he?"
Brian considers asking Justin what fucking planet he's been living on for the past eight years. Of course Ian got under his skin, and Sunshine has to know that. If anyone can read his body language, it's Justin. Seeing the two of them together again—and with a baby no less—brought back some very uncomfortable memories that Brian's tried very hard to forget, images that played out in his mind during those days without Sunshine. And Ian's snide little So who's her other father, Sunshine? Are you married now? as he looked Brian dead in the eyes didn't help matters. Not when Brian could hear the silent because you're obviously not involvedloaded in the question.
"He's a cunt." And Brian tries to leave it at that.
"And you have Ethan-specific blinders on that prevent you from seeing him as anything else."
Brian's brow furrows. "So you are going to the fucking symphony then?"
A lash of anger burns its way across his gut, and Brian wants to be anywhere but here. In fact, he doesn't even want the answer to his question. Brian can't shake the feeling that he won' t like what he hears. In an attempt to get the hell out of there, Brian eases away from Justin and is about to get up when Justin pulls him back down and pins him to the bed.
"Stop running away from me." A kiss and then, "No, I'm not going to the symphony. I have an infant to take care of and never really liked the symphony in the first place. But, I would like to catch up with him, maybe go out for coffee."
Brian snorts.
"Coffee as in coffee, Brian. Not some euphemism for sex. And it wouldn't be a date." Justin cards his fingers through Brian's hair. "Would you be alright with that?"
"We're not fucking married, Sunshine. Do whatever the hell you want."
"I plan on it, but I wanted to know if I'd have to resort to breaking and entering to get you to take my calls afterwards."
As much as Brian loathes the idea, he doesn't fight Justin on it. He shrugs his defeat, earns a smile and another kiss as reward for him being so understanding, no doubt. It's easier that way, and he has no right to bitch about it in the first place. He's not Justin's keeper. Never has been. That's not the way that their non-relationship works.
But if there's any question about who Justin should decide to come home to, Brian wants to make it perfectly clear. Rolling them over, he arches into Justin, pressing his hardening cock against Justin's own. Brian kisses him soundly, fiercely, brings his teeth to Justin's lips and nips and sucks them into a swell. It has Sunshine squirming beneath him.
Between a fury of tangled tongues and grinding hips, a soft sound comes over the baby monitor. At first just a sigh, but then a string of complete, yet clear, nonsense. Brian thinks he catches a dadabefore he groans, annoyed. Though maybe he really shouldn't be. She has been good all night.
"Don't stop," Justin grumbles, grabbing his ass to press their stiff dicks together again.
"Are you deaf?"
"What?"
"The baby?" Brian clarifies, moving next to Justin so that Justin can get up to take care of her.
Justin grins. "She talks in her sleep. Just like her mom."
"I thought you said you never fucked her mother."
"I haven't. But over the course of our five year friendship, we havespent the night at each other's apartments. Friends do that, you know. Not to mention that she's been my roommate ever since my ex moved out. You overhear things when you live with someone."
The look on Justin's face is enough to tell Brian that Sunshine's probably going to go on a tangent about all of his sleeping habits, and Brian doesn't want to get into that again. It'll just end up in a fight about whether or not he snores. Which, for the record, he fucking doesn't.
So he strokes Justin's cock just the way he likes it, and Justin suddenly looks perfectly content to forget about where this little conversation was headed.
They get another quick fuck in and forty minutes worth of sleep before the urchin wakes them up with her fussing over the baby monitor. As if it's the most natural thing in the world, Brian unwraps himself from Justin as Justin starts to move around to take care of her.
Brian doesn't really want to get up, being perfectly content to stay in this lumpy bed listening to the sounds of Justin whispering to the kid in a sleep-drugged blur. But it's almost five in the morning, and Brian Kinney doesn't do sleepovers.
His body protests as he gets up, and Brian stumbles around trying to find his clothes that he could have sworn he'd carried upstairs. Apparently not. Shit. So he tries to find his way around the bedroom in the dark, bumping into a dresser in the process. That's going to fucking bruise. And with a muttered string of curses, Brian walks into the hallway and down the stairs.
.
By the time that Brian is buttoning up his shirt, Justin walks into the living room with the urchin on his hip. It's hard to tell in the low lighting, but judging from her flush cheeks, it looks like the kid has been crying a little. Maybe a nightmare or something.
His gaze shifts from the kid to Justin, and Brian doesn't really know how to place the expression on Justin's face. Sunshine's probably more disappointed than anything. Brian doesn't know why Justin would think he would stay; he never has—not in Pittsburgh, not even in New York. He may be able to tell Justin he loves him now, but that doesn't mean he's changed that much. The prospect of staying over at his lover's place is still unsettling, still too couple-y for his tastes. Even if that lover is Justin.
"I'll see you tonight at Ted and Blake's stag party?"
"Maybe. Elise is feeling a little warm, and I don't want to leave her if she's sick."
"Well, try to be there." Brian slips up to him, leans down to Justin's ear and drops his voice. "Because I'd really like fuck you again tonight."
"And here I thought that old age would slow you down. Silly me."
Brian thumbs Justin's cheekbone before leaning in for a kiss. "Not old. Mature."
"You're going to be fucking four times a day when you're ninety. The poster geezer for Viagra," Justin teases.
"Christ, I hope to be dead by fifty. And you can sure as hell bet that I'll put myself out of my misery by ninety if bad genes don't do it for me."
Justin shoves his shoulder, scowling. "Shut up. Don't say things like that."
"No," Elise mumbles against Justin's chest.
Justin dips his head, places a kiss on top of blonde hair. Brian just kind of looks at them for a moment, thinks about how totally fucked he could be if he isn't careful. Maybe, he thinks, he already is as he reaches out to smooth the kid's downy-soft hair. Brian doesn't want to get used to this—this being with Justin and the urchin all evening—and fears that he might be able to.
"Do you still have delusions of Hugo Boss tuxes and golden gardenias, Sunshine?" Brian asks snidely, eyes never leaving the kid.
Justin smirks. "You'd better hope I don't or you'll be fucked."
Brian would like to think that that's so fucking untrue, but at this point, he knows better.
.
.
The high pitched ringing of his cell wakes Brian from a very deep, very relaxing sleep. Whoever the fuck that is has a death wish, calling this early on a Saturday morning. And Brian—very groggy—considers not answering it. Except, he knows better; if it's Mikey or Debbie, they'll call all morning until he picks up. So he reaches for the cell, misses it once, twice, and then finally has it.
"What the fuck do you want?" he growls, not even bothering to see who it is first. "Do you knowwhat time it is?"
"Yeah, it's noon, asshole."
Brian reaches for his pack of cigarettes and lighter and lights up. "I figured these early wake-up calls would end when I shipped you off to Dartmouth."
"Please. As if you could get rid of me that easily."
"True," Brian says, taking a drag. "You Taylors are like a nasty case of syphilis. So very hard to get rid of."
"And who would know better than you."
He can almost hear Molly's snarky smile in her voice. Brian's always been able to appreciate that about his youngest Taylor charge. She and Justin are different in a lot of ways, but they both love to give him shit. And honestly, they're probably the only two people that he'll really take it from.
"And what have I done to deserve this early morning pestering?"
"Well first, I wanted to see if I could come back to Kinnetik while I'm on break, considering I was so indispensable to you during my summer internship."
"Why the hell should I take you back?"
Truthfully, he'd take Molly back in a heartbeat. He'd had his misgivings about it when she approached him about interning at the end of her senior year. While Brian had always known she was very intelligent, intelligence alone doesn't necessarily make a good businessman. Businesswoman. Whatever. And he almost told her she couldn't, but being with Molly made him feel close to Justin again in ways he could have never imagined. So he took her on, and she turned out to be fucking fabulous.
"Because I know the ins-and-outs of the business after working this summer. And, you trusted me with a few special projects, so that obviously means that you think I'm good at what I do. You'd be stupid to pass me up. We both know it."
"I'll think about it. No promises." Another drag and then, "So what's the other reason you called?"
"My brother sounded well-fucked this morning when I spoke with him," she says mischievously.
"And well-fucked he was."
"No way! I thought maybe…but I wasn't sure, you know? Tell me something is going on with you two."
"A gentlemen doesn't kiss and tell, Mollusk."
"I'm not interested in the kissing! Come on, please say you're trying to get him back. He really loves you, Brian. A lot."
Brian snorts. "How the hell would you know?"
"Um, hello? Aside from the fact that we talk to each other once a week, I did spend the summer with him just after you two broke-up. He was still upset about it, months after the fact. Like, eating-a-gallon-of-ice-cream-with-your-best-girlfriend-over-a-chick-flick sort of upset. And do you really want to know how many times he called me while I was working with you at Kinnetik? Practically every day and—"
"Alright, I get the point."
She sighs. "Now that his stupid, hipster boyfriend is out of the picture, you can try to work things out."
"Hipster boyfriend? Somehow I can't picture that," he says easily, with a laugh.
"James was such a douche, and Justin never loved him."
"Then why did he have a baby with him?"
"He didn't."
And suddenly, everything that Brian had assumed about Justin's life in New York goes right out the fucking window.