A/N: Sorry about the delay. Work's been crazy (and it's just getting crazier)…and some other stuff's been going on. I hope this part isn't too weird.
Justin was beyond psyched. So much so, in fact, that he was oblivious to Brian's discomfort. And Brian was uncomfortable. Justin floated back home to get ready, but … Brian …Brian felt as though one of those circus strongman dumbbells were pinning him to the ground. Try as he might to get some work done, any work done, for the rest of the afternoon, he was completely useless. He just sat at his desk, eyes directed toward the computer but seeing nothing. Finally, at 4pm, with just three words typed into the Word document he'd had open for hours, he gave up.
He took the company car to the loft. The driver waited downstairs for him (he went up to pack). By the time Justin arrived, ten minutes later, Brian had managed to put one pair of jeans into his suitcase.
Justin, ever the optimist, assumed Brian had just returned home and proceeded to pack for him. Brian had informed him of the basic itinerary, dinner at a fancy Italian place on Friday night, family party and then clubs on Saturday night, lunch at the diner on Sunday and then home again. So Justin packed accordingly. Brian's infamous fawn Armani suit for dinner at the Italian place, a black silk button down shirt and tight dark blue jeans for clubbing, and a light brown sleeveless T-shirt (it was supposed to be hot on Sunday) and tight light blue jeans for the diner.
Brian took some ambien.
Every time Justin's eyes met Brian's, Justin smiled. One of those breathtaking smiles that seem to light up the world. He was a little dizzy and constantly felt like laughing. And dancing. Like a mug of root beer, bubbles tickled their way to his surface. Justin decided that this must be what it's like if disco were always playing, everywhere you went. Disco is silly, but happy. The happiest music in the world. You can't help but want to dance, giggle, shake your head, and smile so broadly your face aches.
When Justin smiled like this, Brian was granted a momentary respite from the three-day long ball of discomfort rolling out in front of him.
The ball was, in Brian's imagination, formed from a multicolored yarn—Thanks so much Justin for dragging him to a "supercool" café that served fair trade coffee from Brazil, which was, Justin said, better than Starbucks, and homemade chocolate cookies Justin was addicted to—it was a "yarn café," wherein the proprietor knitted scarves and blankets all day (in between making and purveying coffee and cookies). One wall was covered in shelves of yarn. So Brian had yarn on the brain all the way to the airport. Brian decided that nothing in Justin's neighborhood was "supercool." Except Justin. And possibly Daphne.
Back to the yarn forming his three-day long ball of current and impending discomfort ... as mentioned above … it was multicolored…pink, lime green, and neon orange. It was so loud it gave Brian a headache. And reminded him of Emmett.
But … when Justin flashed Brian one of those breathtaking (and even heart stopping, though Brian would die before describing them as such) smiles, Brian smiled, too, though his were more muted. In fact, twice (once while waiting in line at the security checkpoint and once just before takeoff), Brian felt moved to kiss Justin, just a quick peck on the forehead.
Justin thought the airplane was quite roomy and the seats cushy. Brian found the material scratchy. He couldn't say how he could feel it through his silver grey suit.
Justin was thankful they'd gotten "good" coffee before coming to the airport. He'd simply carried it through security. No one had taken it away. Brian had, too, but he wasn't feeling particularly appreciative—he wasn't savoring his. In fact, to Justin's horror, he slammed the rest and ordered a scotch. And then another. He would have ordered a third if the plane hadn't been about to land.
That was Justin's first clue that something was bothering Brian. He didn't know what sort of (figurative) rock was lodged in Brian's shoe, but he approached the problem like he approached life in general. With vigor and optimism.
One might ask how this was possible post-bashing, post-death threats, post-pariahdom, post-putting-off-school-for-a-year-because-he-couldn't-afford-it. The answer was quite simple. Though it was now a two-parter.
Justin's mystery man
Brian
They made the world beautiful. And that, that, made everything possible.
So back to Justin's vigorous and optimistic approach to life's problems … once he and Brian had checked into the hotel, Justin stripped off all of Brian's clothes and then proceeded to blow him for an hour.
Seriously.
Brian actually bellowed when he finally came. Afterward, he half-muttered, half-whispered, "Fucking amazing."
That, of course, was music to Justin's ears. He smiled proudly. "Really?"
"My body's jelly."
"Perfect," Justin purred. Seriously. He suddenly felt warm all over (more so than he did the first two times he'd sucked Brian off, a reaction he'd only ever had to one other person, his mystery man). It wouldn't have surprised Justin if he'd started glowing. Literally.
"What?"
Justin sat down on the couch next Brian, who was sprawled, though he was technically sitting up, his head resting back on the edge of the couch and his legs open and fully extended. Justin folded his legs and leaned against Brian, his face in the crook of Brian's neck. When Justin spoke, the warm puffs of his breath tickled Brian (Brian even laughed a little at first—the impulse … or reaction was too strong to prevent it). "A friend at school bragged to me once that his boyfriend had given him an hour-long blow job the first time. He wouldn't shut up about it…So I thought…"
"You timed it?" Brian managed to raise an eyebrow (though he couldn't move any other part of his body).
Justin giggled. That caused another unpreventable laugh on Brian's part. Brian wondered when the fuck he'd gotten ticklish. "No. But I did count the number of times you came close to cumming. The number 5 is my lucky number, and today it was yours, too."
Justin wasn't sure if the blow job had done the trick … if the rock had disappeared completely or simply slid into a less irritating position, but Brian's eyes were twinkling. He took that as a good sign.
In fact, Justin had given Brian's ball of yarn a push, sending it rolling faster (at least for the moment). When Brian could move again, he dragged Justin into the shower and reciprocated (though he didn't tease Justin several times before the big finish). After that (well, and dressing), they were off to the Italian restaurant. During the meal, Brian didn't think about his impending doom (the collision of worlds), not even once. Not until dessert anyway, when a familiar face swam by (in the sea of patrons—it was the restaurant's busiest night) and stopped. But more on that later.
TBC…