This is for paddies, because it was her idea.
Explicit, a few vague spoilers for seasons after 3.
Justin opened one bleary eye and quickly shut it again. Even that small movement hurt. As his brain moved at the speed of cold molasses towards consciousness, it slowly occurred to him that he had never been this hung over before. Ever. He decided not to move again for the rest of his life. He was still surrounded by the miasma of the awful dream he’d been having.
What had happened last night? What had fucked him up this bad? There had been a lot of vodka. And scotch. And Jim Beam. And then when the party had moved to a 24-hour Mexican restaurant, there had been strawberry margaritas and tequila body-shots. Remembering Brian’s tongue swirling artfully around on his neck gave him a slight will to live. And then there was the drunken sex, which was always more hilarious than the sober sex, with Brian cracking jokes and trying stupidly acrobatic positions. And before the sex, there had possibly been drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. And Emmett dancing on a table.
God, and that HAD to explain his absolutely fucked-up dream. Fucked-up, scary, evil, no-good, very-bad dream. Well, okay there had been some good dream sex in there somewhere, but it had kind of been overshadowed by all the nightmarish things.
There had been guns, and a really, really stupid pink shirt, and cancer, and venereal diseases. And Brian had asked him to marry him, and Babylon had...well, it had obviously been a dream born of crack. That was all. Maybe acid. An acid trip. Yeah. Though he had no idea where he would have gotten the acid. Brian didn’t go in for that shit and Justin didn’t (thankfully) have any real drug contacts of his own, unless you counted the Todds and who really did?
The bed moved and an elbow jabbed his back. Justin growled at it. Words were too much effort.
“Fuck,” Brian rasped. Justin felt the elbow nudge him again, with purpose this time. “You awake?”
“What the fuck happened last night?” Brian asked. Justin stuck his head under a pillow, but answered him anyway.
“You kept Pittsburgh free from the tyranny of an evil mayor, consumed many mind-altering substances--a good portion of which were illegal--and then fucked me into the mattress. Good job. Excuse me while I will myself to die.”
A hand snaked around his chest and tipped him onto his back. The world spun, even behind his closed eyelids and buried under the pillow.
“I think Sunshine is hung-oooh-ver,” Brian sing-songed.
“Fuck off, or my head might explode and then you’d be sorry.” But Justin started to relax as Brian’s hand wandered all over his chest, across his nipples, traveling inexorably lower. There was a pause before Justin realized Brian was laughing softly.
“That was just too easy.” His fingers tickled the head of Justin’s cock and Justin twitched. “I know you’re fucked up when you hand me puns.”
“How did you manage to not be as fucked up as I am?” Justin asked, not really caring about the answer.
“Clean living,” said Brian, his hand wrapped around Justin now, stroking slowly. “And you had three more tequila shots than I did.” Oh, those. Was it Justin’s fault that licking salt off of Brian was one of the best things in the world? Brian’s tongue flicked out across his nipple and Justin felt the headache recede to almost bearable proportions. Brian’s lips pressed to his sternum, his ribs, Brian’s other hand gripped one his hips, thumb stroking softly, just short of tickling. Justin let out a shuddery breath.
“There’s nothing clean--” he grunted when Brian wrapped his tongue around his cock. “--about the way you live.” Brian didn’t answer--his mouth was too busy--but he did pinch Justin’s ass, just short of painful, which caused Justin to jerk upwards, right into Brian’s mouth. The headache receded a little more and Justin knocked off the pillow and grabbed a satisfying fistful of Brian’s hair. Warmth coursed up through is body, chasing away all the aches. He felt Brian grip him firmly by the hips to hold him steady. Justin squirmed and kept his eyes squeezed shut and just let Brian take him where he wanted, up and up and up and there.
His voice made a strange raspy noise that under normal circumstances might have been Brian’s name. Brian kissed his hip and thrust his tongue into Justin’s bellybutton on his way back up. When they were face to face, he kissed Justin, smoothed his hair back and said, “Drink two bottles of water and meet me in the shower.” A slap on the side and Brian was disappearing through the bathroom door.
Okay, so the marriage part of the dream wasn’t entirely unpleasant, even if it would probably never happen. But the rest? God, his subconscious was so psychotic sometimes. Still, maybe it had been onto something with Brian’s imaginary ad agency. Kinnetic. And it was a brilliant name. Justin smiled and gathered his strength for the trip to the refrigerator.
They were broke and owed the kind of money that made people file for bankruptcy. But there were the two of them, they were smart, and they were stronger than anything the universe could possibly have left to throw at them. That was really all that mattered.