Now that Brian was there, in the bathroom, he wasn't sure what to do or say. He was barely okay with acknowledging that feelings existed (while relatively sober). His emotional 'outpourings' such as they were generally involved near alcohol-poisoning levels of Beam and dark rooms or rail yards. They generally occurred after he'd suppressed and repressed himself into pretzels or when he had received a sudden shock. Justin, on the other hand, had feelings all over the place. In his face, his eyes, his body language, his voice, his actual spoken-aloud words, his art, his fucking and sucking, his kissing. Everywhere. Brian didn't know how to handle that. Them.

Well, he had to get the ball rolling. He cleared his throat – Justin had not looked up when Brian entered. This displeased Brian. Though he would prefer not to explore why that was. But Justin's overall 'pathetic' appearance (pants open but on, face buried in hands) softened the edges of Brian's annoyance. Those edges re-emerged when Justin stubbornly refused to acknowledge Brian's presence.

Brian sighed. Deeply. Then he said, a blank expression on his face, "Don't be a twat."

Still no movement.

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth and pondered. At first, the only thought his brain could manage was "What the FUCK?" But then he had a 'brilliant' idea. Translation, he had a trite, normal Brian Kinney idea. Distraction. But not the fun kind of distraction. He picked something with which he was comfortable. Sex was too weird because of the last couple of days. So he selected work. But he DID decide to use a kernel of wisdom from How to Win Friends and Influence People. Compliments. He said, genuine awe in his voice (this wasn't by design – just happened naturally), "The party … is … beyond all expectation. I've seen some of the pictures. They're perfect. Flash should be a slam dunk after this."

Still no movement. What Brian failed to realize was that that statement, two hours ago, an hour ago, or even ten minutes ago would have had a profound effect. Now … it was drowned out by other 'noise.' Brian rubbed his forehead. He asked, quite impatiently, "Are you pissed that work has been taking up so much time?"

Since we are presently without Cynthia, we'll have to muddle through on our own. Completely missing the point, Brian. If that were true, why would Justin put SO MUCH effort into this? Common sense + you = Regroup.

As expected, still no movement.

Brian clenched his jaw, before asking something so bizarre Cynthia would have rolled her eyes right out of her head (were she here). He also asked in a hiss. "Are you pissed that I interrupted you and that fashion designer?"

Yes, after nearly puking during your 'near miss' with the cop, that's exactly what Justin would be upset about … that he was unable to trick at your work party (in your loft) with you in the other room. Sounds more like a Brian Kinney move, no? I'm being too harsh. Brian is trying. But he's limited by his own experiences … what he would do … what might annoy him. Unfortunately, he made a fatal assumption … that Seth was the one to stop the encounter. And feeling helpless, utterly without a clue, he hissed, "I can go back out there and drag his ass back in here …"

Justin lifted his head then. And stood (zipping and buttoning as well). Then he glared at Brian and said, "Fuck you, Brian." Then he walked up to him (Brian was still standing against the door) and waited. Brian had no idea what was happening. That is, until Justin widened his eyes and snapped, "Fucking move!"

Ah.

How about …. no.

Brian held his ground. "If you're not pissed about the overnight ad campaign or not getting to fuck your fashion designer, then what?" His eyes were wide and a little intense.

Justin was still glaring. "He's not MY anything. He's a classmate. That's it."

Brian's face expressed his skepticism. He quirked an eye brow for good measure. You know, because he's all about the communication.

Justin flushed. He tried to explain (getting a bit flustered as he formed the words, knowing how stupid they sounded). "He said he thought my shirt was coming apart. It was hand sewn. And worth a lot …"

Brian laughed. "You believed that? Hey, I've got a bridge I'd like to sell you in the Gobi desert."

Justin pushed Brian and muttered "Fuck you" but it was more playful and embarrassed than hostile.

"Let me guess … then he got down on his knees to check the zipper …"

Justin did not answer. He didn't need to. His crimson face said it all.

"Christ, Justin. Did you just arrive via turnip truck?"

"You're an asshole."

Brian inclined his head. No one could dispute that. "So what the fuck is with you?" He decided this was a fairly ideal moment to bring up tricking. Because … men like blow jobs. "You should have just let him suck you off."

Justin rolled his eyes.

Brian shrugged and widened his eyes. "What? I would have given exactly zero fucks."

"Yeah, whatever."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Justin smiled a knowing smile. "I SAW your face. When you thought I'd brought him in here for sex, you cared."

Brian breathed out fast. "You're free to think what you like. This is why labels and locked doors are so fucked up. Men like fucking and sucking. It doesn't have to mean anything."

Justin laughed. "So says the man who wouldn't fuck me after the art show. Or the next morning. Or the evening you invited me over for dinner and movies. Or after taking me to the hottest new restaurant in the city. Your erection was poking me in the back and then an inch from my face the whole time we were on the roof. Then when I started undressing you in your office, you looked like you might cum right then, but still you pushed me away. After ALL THAT, you expect me to believe sex doesn't mean anything to you?"

Brian had started clenching his jaw the minute Justin had started listing their 'dates' and had not stopped. He was also putting every ounce of his willpower into emptying his eyes of all expression. And becoming a statue. Stone.

Justin laughed. "You ignored that hot new accountant AND ultimately rejected the cop even though I know you wanted him. Why would you bother if you don't care? If sex is as meaningful as fucking a hole in a log?"

Brian was so VERY grateful for the simile. It gave him an excuse to try to distract Justin. He quirked an eye brow and smirked. "A hole in a log? What crazy shit have YOU been doing?"

Justin blushed and waved his hand dismissively. "You know what I mean." Then he got all serious. And his eyes got all intense. He fixed them on Brian. Looked directly into his eyes. "You're falling for me. And however hot you might find other men, my feelings matter more than twenty minutes of pleasure."

Brian again tried to deflect and distract. His eye brow shot up. He smirked. But his eyes hadn't quite got the message. He was incredibly tense. "TWENTY minutes?"

Justin sighed. "Dodge all you want, but that won't make what I'm saying untrue. I'm special to you. Just admit it."

Brian didn't move or even breathe. He held Justin's eyes and did some internal calculus. What could he admit? What was he willing to risk?

Justin prodded, though in a whisper, "I see you, Brian. And I listen. When I started to have a panic attack on the train, you distracted me. In the most humiliating way you could imagine. But still. You were worried about me. You took care of me." Justin's eyes glistened at that. He blinked and swallowed hard. Then he continued, "And you said …" Justin's voice became a rasp. "You said, 'you don't get to walk away.' I'm not stupid, Brian. I saw the way you were looking at me the first time we had sex. And I know why you wouldn't have sex with me last night."

Brian didn't respond. He was still calculating … but now he was also trying to keep all emotion out of his eyes and his face.

"You were trying to keep me at bay." Justin smiled softly and leaned close to Brian. He nudged Brian's nose and then placed a soft kiss on his lips. He pulled back just a bit, a couple of inches, and declared, "You need to stop that. It won't work." He looked into Brian's eyes then. "We both know what you want. Just let yourself have it. Life is too short. And there are no guarantees." Justin's voice grew husky again. "I know that all too well."

Brian closed his eyes. The effort of remaining blank was proving too difficult at that point. He pulled Justin into his arms and bent down, placing his face against Justin's … and whispering in his hear. So softly, Justin barely heard him. "Okay. Three months."

Justin pulled back so he could look at Brian. So he could see Brian's eyes. He was grinning, and his eyes were bright. Brian groaned inwardly at the joy Justin's expression brought him. He was fucking certifiable. He could feel the uterus appearing fully formed in his abdomen. Justin asked, "What?"

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth. This was it. Last chance to back out. Brian slid his arm around Justin's neck and ran his fingers along the nape of his neck and then up into Justin's hair. He ran his fingers over Justin's scar. Why? Why, might you ask, was Justin's scar the trigger for just about everything? Why did it make Brian wait to fuck him? Why did it make Brian avoid tricking? Why was it factoring into Brian's decision now? He would have had difficulty answering. It represented a lot. Justin's bravery. His unflagging spirit and optimism, even now. His amazing talent, so amazing that a gimp hand and no resources couldn't hold it back, diminish it. His and Justin's shared dark history. The fact that it might not have happened if Brian hadn't rushed off when he did (that night so long ago in the alley). The fact that life is short. And hard. That connection is rare. Yes, Justin was special. And his scar reminded Brian of that. Fuck it. "Let's try not tricking and being" Brian actually paused to let the wave of nausea and the cringing pass. Then he continued. "… boyfriends for three months. After that, we can see where we are."

Justin nearly blinded Brian with his smile and jumped into his arms. He held Brian tightly. Justin burst out, "I …" but then stopped suddenly.

Brian flushed head to toe (he was SO relieved Justin wasn't looking at him). The flush came from knowing (or guessing) what Justin had almost blurted out. And … not … hating the idea. Brian held Justin tighter. Justin nuzzled his face in Brian's neck. Brian needed … no … he wouldn't have said needed. Brian WANTED to 'be alone' with Justin. Like right the fuck now.

A/N: Feedback = 3 3 3

He unlocked the door, slid his hand in Justin's, and pulled him out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the living room. He kissed Justin on the cheek (neither of which were lost on Cynthia, Daphne, or Seth) and walked purposely over to Cynthia. He said, not yelled, or barked, or snapped, or said with amusement, just plain old said, "Get them out of here. We have what we need."

Cynthia smiled at Brian's clear discomfort. Oooo … SOMETHING BIG had happened. She couldn't wait to hear. Then Brian took Justin's hand again and led him back into the bedroom. (Why did he even bring him out to the living room? Brian's Kinney's pride is a many splendored thing. The answer is four letters long).