A Thousand Feet and Climbing


Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: A Post-308 Fic
Pairing: B/J, duh.
Author's Notes:

Thanks to thistle90, lierdumoa, and luckycharm_13 for the beta reading and suggestions. I believe that the story is much better for your candidness. Thank you so much. (And, yes, this is the one you beta read under the working title Blended Sugar, but I decided I didn't like that.)

This fic was inspired by a song of Jennifer Niceley's called Full, Deep, and Wide, but I didn't want to use that as the title as I have another fic in mind for that title. The lyrics that inspired this, as unlikely as it may seem, were:

Full, deep, and wide
like canyons, seas, and skies.
You filled up my eyes
with so much precious sight
that I'm left here still on fire.
~ J. Niceley


Staring at the bedroom ceiling, smoking his fifth cigarette, Justin reviewed it all again. He remembered everything, every moment that he could muster from the last six months leading up to Brian's challenge at Vanguard earlier in the evening.

Leaving Ethan had been easier than moving in with him. There were no late night panic attacks when he woke up to find himself at Daphne's and not in Ethan's bed, unlike when he'd woken to find himself not at Brian's and he'd struggled not to cry because in the small hours of the morning his mind wasn't quite clear on the fact that he wasn't supposed to miss Brian, wasn't supposed to still love him.

He forced himself to focus on all the negative things about Brian: his grumpiness in the morning, his asshole comments, his tricking, his emotional unavailability. Brian had said that Justin should stand up for himself. Brian had all but told him not to be such a pussy and to just grab hold and not let go.

Now he had to decide, really and truly decide, if that was what he wanted, because disillusionment reigned and he was left with only this--an unbearable need to be with Brian, a feeling of attachment so strong it hurt, and the tension of a rock climber, five hundred feet up and still climbing.


When he'd made his decision, he crushed out his cigarette, and went to shower. The hot water burned, and he remembered Ethan commenting on the way Justin's skin turned red in the hot bath, remembered the soapy slosh of a day when rings were exchanged and promises made. So much bullshit. Justin rarely took baths now, preferring the efficiency of showers. Minimum of bullshit, maximum of cleanliness.

Feeling oddly calm, he stood and looked into his closet for a long time, ruling out the turtlenecks that Ethan had liked, the silk button ups that he had bought for work, choosing a pullover and t-shirt. Comfortable clothes that he'd picked out for a day lounging at home, or hanging with Daphne. The clothes were real, and that was what he wanted, to feel solid again, to feel real.

Then he called Cynthia to make sure that Brian would still be there when he went over. He knew that Cynthia would tell Brian he'd had called, that Brian would know what that meant, and would wait for him to arrive. He didn't need any element of surprise. The outcome had already been written, and all Justin had to do was walk out into the dark, starless night and make it happen.

He wondered how Brian would play it. He bit his lip as a small jolt of anticipation rocked through his other-worldly calm. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked to the bus station, kept his eyes lowered, and thought through his opening gambit. He measured his speech for weight, word density, and meaning. He rolled it around in his head again and again, smoothing it out, making it perfect. It would not trip over his tongue.

"I've decided you should take me back," he said under his breath as he stepped from the bus to the curb. "Because I know now what it is that you want of me," he whispered on the elevator, his eyes still turned down to the ground, but his heart rate picking up as he drew closer to his destination. "And I know what I can expect from you," he spoke confidently, looking directly into Brian's eyes; the offer was made and Justin waited for the acceptance with slightly held breath.

Brian was playing it well, not overly enthusiastic, but his body gave him away. Justin could read the buzz emanating from his posture, his eyes lighting up with lust and affection. It was all so well done that Justin could have scripted it himself, but then Brian took a deep breath with a slight shudder, and threw the script out the window by saying, "And you're never to play violin music in my presence again."

Justin's heart skipped. The revelation was unexpected, a gift--it was Brian's way of saying, "Yes, it hurt me. Yes, it still hurts me. I don't want to be reminded of it." And to that Justin could only whisper, "I promise."


When Brian pressed into him, Justin knew that every fucking trick that Brian had ever screwed, or would ever screw, was meaningless, because none of them would knew the man who ran his open mouth over the back of Justin's neck, moaning, whispering, "Not gonna last," his cock already twitching on the edge of orgasm.

Justin clutched the edge of the desk, the corner digging into his abdomen, and lifted his head, eyes scrunched closed, mouth open, as he hung suspended for a moment on Brian's cock. Brian panted, burying his face in the crook of Justin's neck, his arms wrapped solidly around Justin's chest, and Justin felt Brian's legs shaking as he fought for control.

"Fuck," Brian moaned.

Justin sighed as Brian pulled out slightly, thrust back in hard, and came, groaning and jerking all over.

Letting go of the desk, Justin reached back with one hand to caress Brian's thigh, still feeling Brian's dick pulsing in his ass. He was achingly hard, but he didn't care; the sensation of Brian breathing open-mouthed against his shoulder blade, and the sound of Brian's little noises of astonishment told him so much. Brian's orgasm wasn't about passion, it wasn't about amazing sex--it was the fulfillment of longing, of need, desire, love--and Justin felt more complete than if they'd fucked for hours, and come a dozen times.

Brian eased out, whispering, "Stay. Stay there." He placed his hand in the small of Justin's back for emphasis, and continued, "Let me take care of this. Hold on."

Justin lowered his head, resting his cheek against a folder that hadn't made it to the floor in Brian's sweep of the desk. He closed his eyes and breathed, feeling the blood pulsing in his cock, the emptiness of his ass making him madly horny.

The snap of the condom being removed caught Justin's attention; he lifted up to look over his shoulder. Brian rolled on another, and Justin shuddered when he met Brian's gaze. Brian's eyes were glazed and intense, and Justin lowered his head back to the desk, took a deep breath and relaxed for the hard thrust he knew was coming.

Brian's cock flexed as it pressed inside, a sign that he was still hyper-sensitive from the orgasm he'd just had. Justin shifted against the stretch, biting his lip at the burn. He closed his eyes, concentrated on breathing, on opening up for Brian's cock. He had the fleeting thought that he'd forgotten the importance of girth--length was good, but thickness was everything, and Brian had both.

Time apart had made the old things new again; Brian's moans were more exciting because Justin knew what they meant--pleasure, frustration, pain, exertion, and emotional need all had their own timbre, and Justin could read them all.

But everything faded away as the fucking started in earnest. Brian held Justin's hips firmly, thrusting fast and hard, until Justin's sight faded, and he was unable to speak at all, managing only drooling grunts and moans in response to Brian's comments of, "You always like this, don't you, Sunshine? Christ, you fucking love it."

Justin's eyes rolled up and he grasped Brian's desk trying to push back for more. Brian obliged by slamming into him again and again. Justin's arms started to shake with exertion and he tried to let go long enough to jerk himself off, but Brian's thrusts were too rough, leaving Justin unable to hold himself with one arm. And when Brian shifted his angle to force the head of his cock against Justin's prostate, Justin threw back his head, yelling, almost laughing from the intensity of it, and he collapsed to the desk, unable to hold himself up any longer.

With his eyes closed, his face pressed against the cool desk, his ass full and stretched tight, he went limp, unable to process the stimulation. He found that he was holding his breath, and when he let it out, he came with a yell of surprise. The black behind his closed eyelids blew white.

Brian continued to fuck him, and Justin squirmed--it was too much, he couldn't handle it, but Brian held his shoulders and fucked him through the hypersensitivity, bringing him towards orgasm again at an alarming rate. Justin moaned, tried to make his mouth work to ask Brian to slow down, it was too much, too soon, gonna hurt, but he couldn't, and he shuddered when Brian's hand found his cock, pumping it ruthlessly, and then Justin tensed all over--

Heart pounding in his ears,

blood rushing in his veins,

balls tightening and drawing up,

Justin howled, shaking and writhing as he came again, his whole body jerked and his ass clenched tight around Brian's cock. So fucking amazing that he couldn't breath; he shook and vibrated as he shot a second load against the side of Brian's desk.

"Hot, fuck yeah," Brian breathed, still thrusting, but not as frantically. Justin realized that Brian had come, too. The moan against his ear in the middle of his orgasm had been Brian shooting his wad.

They rocked together for a few minutes. Justin had a hard time catching his breath, and when Brian pulled out Justin moaned uncomfortably.

Brian smoothed his hand down Justin's back, then spread his ass to look at him. "Mm, it was a little rough, but you're okay," he murmured.

Justin nodded, then tried to rise up, finding himself dizzy and Brian grabbed his elbow to steady him.

"Here," Brian said, guiding him to the sofa. And Justin moaned his thanks, curling into Brian's arms when he lay down next to him.

"I love you," Justin whispered.

Brian kissed the top of his head.


Baby wipes could be handy things, Justin realized as they cleaned up their mess. Not that he hadn't noticed before, but sometimes in his after-sex, glazed-over brain state, he re-discovered such universal truths as the wonderfulness of baby wipes with just as much appreciation as the first time. Brian tossed everything, the used condoms, and the wrappers in his trash, and Justin pitied the custodians for just a moment.

Justin's ass hurt as he pulled on his pants and he realized it'd been awhile since he'd bottomed. He'd broken it off with Ethan a month prior and he wasn't the type to let just anyone fuck him, so the few tricks he'd picked up had all been privileged to experience his topping skills. As he pulled on his shirt, he noticed Brian was already dressed, and stood with one hand in his hair, surveying the room for any additional evidence of their fuck. Brian turned to him, smirking. "None will be the wiser."

Brian's arm went around Justin's shoulder lazily, pulling him close for shoulder to hip contact, Justin felt warm, and when he listened to his thoughts, he found that he was silent inside, peaceful. A satisfied smile was plastered on his face, but he didn't care, looking up, he saw its mirror image gracing Brian's mouth.

In the elevator, Justin relaxed in the curve of Brian's arm, enjoying the feel of Brian's fingers toying with his hair, trailing down his cheek, and when Brian grasped his chin, turning his face up for a kiss, Justin leaned against Brian's body, clinging happily, laughing when Brian slapped his ass as the elevator dinged their arrival on the ground floor.

"You don't mind giving me a ride home, do you? I think I kinda missed the last bus," Justin said, releasing Brian and smiling up at him.

It was two in the morning, and they'd fucked and slept in each other's arms for hours. Justin was tired, and the thought of his bed at Daphne's, warm and soft, beckoned to him.

"Sure," Brian said, and then seemed to hesitate. "If you want to go home, I can take you there. Or you could," Brian paused and ran his hand up Justin's neck, gripping the base of his head tenderly. "You could come home with me, instead."

Justin grinned and kissed Brian, his expression answering for him.


Driving toward the loft, Brian made a turn onto Liberty Avenue. Justin didn't question the move, gazing out the window of the 'vette at the crowded streets.

"Hungry?" Brian asked as he pulled over in front of the diner.

Justin's stomach growled and they both grinned. It was a silly question, anyway, they both knew that Justin could always eat. Although, he didn't go through periods of being famished to the point that he thought he might die now that he'd almost left his teens behind.

The diner wasn't even close to empty despite the late hour. On Liberty Avenue, the search to get laid never ended, and only four booths were empty. When Justin made a beeline toward one of them, Brian grabbed his shirt sleeve, and pulled him back under his arm saying, "Let's get something to go."

Justin agreed, wrapping his arms around Brian's waist, and waiting for Myrna to take their order. He noticed that a lot of eyes were on them, and he heard a few whispers, but couldn't make out what was being said. No doubt it was skeptical questioning of whether or not he and Brian were back together and, if so, nasty bets about how long until they busted up again.

"And Sunshine here will have--" Brian looked down at him, pulling his attention away from the gossiping diners.

"Pink Plate, please. Oh, can I get extra gravy, too, Myrna? Thank you."

Brian snorted, disgusted as usual with Justin's food choices, but it was affectionate and emphasized with a squeeze of his shoulders, and Brian's lips against the side of his forehead.

Justin was glad that Deb had left at midnight. Someone else could tell her that they were back together, and by the time he got to work tomorrow night, the worst of all her bluster and worry would have passed. Maybe. Regardless, he didn't have the energy left to deal with her reaction tonight. He was enjoying just being quiet with Brian, reveling in the feel of their body heat and content half-smiles.


It surprised him that the loft was the thing that made him tear up. It was the same--exactly the same--as when he'd come to discuss the Carnival poster, and somehow that filled him with a tide of regret from the tips of his toes up to the top of his throat, threatening to spill. The months that he didn't come here seemed suddenly full of lost opportunities, and he turned his back on Brian in the kitchen to try to smother his reaction.

He heard Brian unpacking the bags from the diner, and blinked hard until the tears went away. He remembered stalking around the apartment, throwing his things into a bag, furious with Brian, and furious with himself for hurting inside, and leaving for another man who had never--

Brian's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, and he turned around, smiling sadly, meeting Brian's gaze. He cleared his throat and whispered, "I, um, like your kitchen."

They both smiled and chuckled, the moment broken. Brian grabbed the silverware from a drawer, handed it to Justin, and when Justin started to climb on a stool at the bar, Brian indicated the coffee table.

They sat on the ground eating their dinner straight from the Styrofoam take-out containers. Justin remembered when he would have thought it all very romantic, and he wondered if that was Brian's aim, but somehow he doubted it.

"How's school?" Brian asked. "My money buying anything worthwhile? Or are you just learning how to be pretentious without anything to show for it?"

"Well, the art school is actually less pretentious than the music school, if you can believe that." Justin frowned, realizing what he'd said, but continued on, "But, yeah, I'm learning a lot. Professor O'Donnell said that the last piece I turned in might actually have a good chance in the Ernst & Young Print Competition. It's got a prize of something like $2,000."

Brian nodded and took another bite of his dinner. Justin remembered dinners with Ethan, full of conversation about the questionable reputation of Vivaldi, the varieties of violin string, and the great Professor Mortgenson who demanded Ethan practice the dreaded drivel of jazz. Ethan hated jazz.

"How's Gus?" Justin asked, turning away from thoughts of the past.

"Lindsay said that Gus might start a special art class this fall," Brian said softly.

"Two seems a little young for a structured class," Justin said, grabbing one of Brian's french fries and dipping it in the excess gravy pooled in the bottom of his Styrofoam box. "It might stifle his obvious genius."

Brian grinned wryly. "You talk to her about it."

"You don't think she'd listen to you?"

Brian shrugged. "I don't need to get any more involved."

Justin frowned, reached out and touched Brian's hand. "What are you talking about? You're a great dad. You love him and--"

"Don't worry, Sunshine, I'll be sure that he understands that Valentino tuxes are for red carpets, and Armani is for business black tie dinners. And if he's gay, I'll teach him about condoms and backrooms."

"What if he's straight?"

"I'll let the munchers handle the safe sex lecture in that case. They know all about pussies and how they work."

Justin quirked his brows and took a few more of Brian's fries. Talking about pussies made him think of Daphne and the time they'd had sex. He'd dreamed a few nights ago that they were on her couch watching television having sex, just all casual, like they were cuddling, or sharing a bowl of popcorn. It was weird.

"I don't think I've ever asked," Justin said, brushing his hair from his eyes. "Have you ever fucked a woman?"

Brian chuckled. "What do you think, Sunshine?"

"I think that you have," Justin replied, talking around a mouthful of gravy-covered french fry. "But I can't decide when or where. I mean, it could've been high school, or college, I guess. I doubt you've had sex with a woman in years, but I don't know if it was because you were in denial about--"

"I was never in denial," Brian interrupted. "It was college. And you know the girl."

Justin blinked at him, mouth falling open. "No way. No way. You fucked, Lindsay?"

Brian shrugged and went back to his dinner, nearly through.

"Wow. I don't know why that never occurred to me; I mean I guess it really should have." Justin tried to imagine Lindsay and Brian having sex, and it wasn't as hard as he'd thought.

Brian looked at him for a long minute, his expression nonplussed, and then he took Justin's hand. "Come here. I have something to show you."

Justin followed him to the dining room table, but didn't see anything special. "What?"

Brian turned him around, pushed him back against the table, and whispered against Justin's lips, "This."


Justin's pants were pooled on the ground, and Brian hadn't even bothered to take his all the way off. Justin's shirt was rucked up so that Brian could lean down to suck his nipples, and he arched, hissing as Brian's cock slid into his tender and already over-fucked ass.

Justin's legs were thrown over Brian's shoulders and his knees hit his ears when Brian bent him in half for a kiss. He tensed then released a sigh as Brian nuzzled his face, kissing him sweetly, gently. He felt his ass relax, and he ran his hand through Brian's hair, opening his mouth for a deeper, more passionate exploration.

It took him by surprise, when Brian started to fuck him hard and fast, pistoning his hips frantically. Justin's eyes flew open, gasping loudly as pleasure-laced pain arced through his body. Brian's eyes were focused on his face, intense, serious, and almost frightening in their passion.

Justin felt the knobs of his spine pressing into the hard wood, his tailbone banging against the edge of the table, and he closed his eyes, riding Brian's frenetic thrusting. He knew this was more than just another fuck; it meant something to Brian, Justin could see that in his face, and he wasn't going to put a stop to it unless he really couldn't take what Brian had to give him.

He found it hard to breathe around the sensation of Brian's cock slamming into his body and then withdrawing nearly completely, only to be rammed in again. Justin's legs jerked with every flex of Brian's hips, and he didn't hold onto the table edge, hoping for the small reprieve offered by his body sliding back on the table with every thrust. It was overwhelming and he opened his mouth more than once to ask Brian to take it slower, but the words were fucked out of him with massive, heaving thrusts.

"Relax," Brian grated out, not slowing at all, bending over and kissing Justin's lips. "Relax, Justin."

Justin forced air into his lungs and let his limbs go limp as he let the air out. The fuck was still hard, but more tolerable, and when Brian changed angles, it was fucking good. He gasped, lifting up from the table as the always shocking pleasure of Brian's cock against his prostate jolted through him. He collapsed back down again, growing hard, and his ass spasming around Brian's dick.

As the fuck went on, he rolled his head back and forth on the table, and stopped resisting. The world melted into nothing but his ass being reamed and Brian's burning gaze, boring into Justin's own, something desperate and irrational showing there, as though his eyes were screaming the pain he'd felt when Justin left him, the need he felt now that Justin was back.

"Ah, God," Justin groaned when Brian slid his hands over Justin's shoulders, deepening the fuck by pulling Justin's body down onto Brian's dick with every thrust. Justin's hands flew up to cover his eyes and he gasped for air, his ass burning with the friction, and every nerve ending in his body on fire. Wave after wave of intense pleasure raced over him, and he opened his mouth to ask for more, but could only moan and grunt.

He felt himself nearing orgasm and he tried to reach a hand down to his cock, but Brian let go of one shoulder, captured his hands and held them over his head, fucking him harder--although Justin found it difficult to believe that was even possible.

Not that he was able to really separate fantasy from reality at the moment. What with his ass being reamed out by Brian's huge, thick cock, and his hands being restrained from touching himself. He felt like he might be leaving orbit, moving out of his body, away from the overwhelming sensations, but then found himself jolted right back into too much pleasure with the next thrust.

In the brief flashes when he was somewhat aware of anything other than being fucked deaf, dumb and blind, he thought he might be drooling. He begged, too, he thought he was able to get the words out, but he couldn't be sure of that either, because all he could really hear was his heart pounding in his ears.

Brian's hand was on him, jerking him off hard and fast. Justin shot his load, yelling as he flew apart until he slammed back down, hard against the table, trembling and exhausted.

Brian was still watching him as though afraid he'd disappear; he didn't even close his eyes when after a few more thrusts he stiffened and came, too, cock pulsing hard in Justin's ass.

Justin held his gaze, and when Brian had caught his breath, they kissed with their eyes open.


The sheets were cool against his skin and Brian's skin felt hot. Justin was exhausted, unable to even imagine getting out of bed in the morning. When he started to set the alarm, Brian shook his head. "We're calling in sick."

"But I have to impress my boss so he doesn't fire my ass, Mr. Kinney, sir," Justin said, batting his eyes.

Brian slapped his butt and reached for the phone leaving a message for Cynthia saying, "I'm out for the day, reschedule my appointments. Please report to the art department that Mr. Justin Taylor is out sick as well. He called in this morning around seven and left the message on your voicemail. He thinks he has food poisoning. If anyone asks about me, I have schizophrenia, or syphilis, whichever you think would go over best."

Justin snorted in laughter as Brian disconnected the call.

"No alarm, Sunshine. We need our beauty sleep."

"Speak for yourself," Justin murmured, already drifting off.

"I am," Brian replied, and Justin didn't know if he'd dreamed it or not, but he thought that Brian said, "I've missed you."


Several hours later Justin woke up to Brian prying his ass cheeks apart and smearing cold, creamy ointment on his hole.

"That'll do it," he said slapping one of Justin's cheeks, then the other. "Give it a day and your ass will be good as new."

"Good," Justin mumbled, sleepily, closing his eyes again. "I doubt you'd have any use for a worn out, fucked-out ass."

"None what-so-ever," Brian agreed, grinning. "I made breakfast if you want some. Oatmeal, and I cut up some cantaloupe."

Justin opened one eye and looked at him suspiciously. "Are you offering me breakfast in bed?"

Brian scowled. "Of course not. The bed is for fucking and sleeping--not for eating. So get your ass up and eat the fucking breakfast, princess."

"Will you put brown sugar in my oatmeal?" Justin asked.



"I don't own any fucking brown sugar. Get up," Brian grumbled, then leaned over and kissed Justin on the lips. "You need to brush your teeth, too. You smell like my come."

Justin sighed, shoved to sit up gingerly. "Wow? Really? I wonder how the fuck that happened?"

"Not a clue. Obviously you took advantage of me in my sleep and stole some of my seed of immortality," Brian intoned seriously. "Which is obtained only from drinking the juice of my cock."

Justin chuckled happily, heading toward the bathroom. He was in the middle of washing his hair when Brian stuck his head in the bathroom, shaking a box of brown sugar in Justin's direction. "Look what I found in that fucking cabinet where you always keep shit."

Justin smiled, half-thrilled and half-amazed that Brian had never cleaned the cabinet out, wondering if there was molding bread in there, too, or if Brian had just kept the non-perishables in hopes that one day Justin would come back to use them.

His heart flipped at the thought. He rinsed his hair, grinning, thinking about the day ahead. He was a thousand feet up and still climbing.