Consequence

Tinkerbell

Rating: NC-17
Summary: QaFUS, Brian/Justin.
Disclaimer: Cowlip, not I.

Love for juteux, who read and betaed and kept saying, "Top. Make Justin top." And a big sloppy kiss for burnitbackwards, who cuddled and soothed and then made me change a weird part.



********

He walks right into the bathroom without thinking about it while Brian’s in the shower. Neither of them have cared for years who sees who pee, and Brian got over his weird obsession with privacy a few months back, so unless the door is shut and locked, Justin usually just goes about his business without thinking too much.

The steam is rising from the top of the shower stall and almost completely covers the mirror, but Justin still glances into it when he catches movement.

Brian faces away from him, and Justin can tell he’s jerking off. It’s not an uncommon thing, they both do it on the average of four or five times a week depending on how much sex they’ve had, but for some reason the sheer beauty of Brian makes Justin stop and stare. He turns, slowly, and leans against the sink to watch.

Brian has his right shoulder against the tile and is turned toward the glass door at an angle, enough for Justin to see him sliding his cock through a practiced fist. The small bottle of baby oil that they keep in the shower has its cap flipped open and Brian’s dick glistens with it, the water beading over the oil. Brian’s eyes are slitted and Justin thinks he probably knows Justin’s standing there, but nothing ever keeps Brian from sexual pleasure. Justin often wonders if there were some catastrophe or natural disaster if Brian would stop fucking long enough to seek cover.

Brian arches his neck and the very tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth, and then Justin knows for sure that Brian has seen him. Brian Kinney is nothing if not an exhibitionist, especially for Justin, for the simple reason that Brian knows he can turn on any gay male within rimming distance.

Justin makes no move toward the shower, choosing instead to let Brian finish alone. He knows Brian couldn’t give a damn either way because the end result is still going to be an orgasm, and that’s pretty much all that matters. So Justin is content to watch him stroke himself, and ignore the fact that his own cock is rock-hard in his jeans.

The water makes fascinating patterns everywhere, and Justin is sort of mesmerized by it as it runs in rivulets over Brian’s arm and down through the fingers that are fisting his dick. It makes Brian’s skin gleam through the glass, and Justin focuses in on Brian’s hand as the head of his cock appears and disappears out the top of his fist. The rhythm Brian has set lulls Justin, and he stares for a while before he realizes that Brian has opened his eyes and is watching him.

Justin blinks at him, unaware until now that he’s been rubbing the bulge in his jeans with the flat of his palm. Brian’s eyes travel downward briefly, scanning Justin’s erection, then slide back up to Justin’s face. He raises his chin slightly and then motions once with his head.

Shirt off, jeans to the floor, and Justin nearly trips while trying to kick them away. He yanks the shower door open and Brian smirks. “You’re smooth.”

“And you’re killing me,” Justin pants, and feels behind him for the ever-present condom in the soap dish.

Brian eyes the condom while wrapping Justin’s hand around his slick cock. “What do you think you’re going to do with that?”

“I love it when you pretend you don’t know,” Justin says, stroking Brian just the way he likes and grinning when Brian squeezes his eyes shut and draws a deep breath.

Justin knows that Brian lets him top more than any of their friends would guess. Justin also knows that it’s sort of an unspoken agreement between them; Justin doesn’t brag about it and Brian keeps letting him do it. Justin figures the topping outweighs the not-bragging.

So he uses the baby oil liberally, ignoring the discreet packet of lube that’s always next to the condom in the soap dish. He slicks himself and Brian at the same time, while Brian braces both hands on the tile and lowers his head. Justin slides in easily, relishing the burn in his calves from standing on tiptoe, and watches Brian’s back muscles tense and then relax.

So tight and so warm, and the water around them beats a steady rhythm that Justin tries to match. Brian thrusts back slightly against him, tilting his hips so that Justin bumps his prostate, and Justin watches Brian’s fingers flex and slide against the tile. Their panting echoes off the walls and Justin knows that if they weren’t in the shower, they would both be covered in sweat.

And then Justin’s balls tighten almost without warning and the orgasm sweeps over him, just like it does every fucking time Brian lets him do this, and he thinks that one of these days he’ll learn how to control himself. But not today. Today, he comes suddenly and hard, one hand clutching Brian’s hip and the other arm wrapped around Brian’s waist, barely feeling the quick jerking motions as Brian finishes himself off with his right hand.

They both let the water rain down around them, their breathing in sync, until Justin softens and slips out. It’s not until then that he notices.

“Uh oh,” he says without thinking, and then pulls his lips between his teeth and bites them.

Brian looks over his shoulder. “Not what a guy likes to hear.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Justin says with a laugh, and examines the rip in the condom still on his dick.

Brian turns and looks at the condom for a long time. His silence is deafening.

“Broke,” Justin says unnecessarily, and Brian puts his tongue in his cheek.

“How the fuck.”

“Not sure,” Justin says uneasily, sliding it off and inspecting the hole with his fingers, and that’s when his foot comes into contact with the forgotten baby oil bottle. They both look down, and then back up at each other together.

“You used the baby oil,” Brian says calmly. “The fucking baby oil.”

“I forgot,” Justin replies a little desperately, the calmness in Brian’s voice frightening him more than any kind of yelling Brian could do.

“You forgot.”

“I did, I totally forgot, Brian, it was just there and you were so hot, and I just forgot is all.” And it’s the truth, Justin knows better than to cover up a mistake like this with a lie.

“You’ve only been out of high school for three years. You forgot all your goddamn sex ed in three years? They didn’t fucking teach you anything in that goddamn fancyass school about oil and latex? Jesus Christ.” Brian runs a hand through his wet hair in frustration before yanking open the shower door and stalking out.

Justin stays in the shower until the water runs cold, thinking up various things to say in his head, and then settles on honesty because Brian would laugh at anything else.

He’ll probably laugh at the honesty too, but Justin has experience with that.

He shuts off the water and grabs his towel, leaving drops of water behind him as he trails out of the bathroom. Brian is pulling on clothes with irritated movements, his dripping hair leaving small dark spots on his shirt. Justin approaches cautiously.

“Brian, it was an accident. Come on. You can’t be mad.” Which is ridiculous to say, really, because Brian can be any damn thing he wants to be, and usually is.

“Oh!” Brian says with false cheer. “I can’t? Okay.” He snorts in disgust. “Better clear your schedule tomorrow.”

“What? Why? I’m supposed to work.” Justin sits on the edge of the bed and watches Brian run a comb through his hair.

“No. You’re going to the free clinic on Tenth Street. You will bring me the copy of the HIV and hep tests that they will run, and then in two weeks you will bring me the results. Are you clear on that?”

What!” Justin leaps to his feet and shouts it. “I’m fucking clean, Brian! Jesus!”

“Good,” Brian says mildly. “Then prove it.”

“What about you!” Justin knows the volume of his shouting is reaching intolerable levels but he can’t seem to help it. “How do I know you’re fine?” Even as he says it he hears how stupid it is. You can’t be Brian Kinney and not know if you’re negative or positive.

Brian reaches into the top drawer of his dresser and pulls out a piece of yellow carbon paper. He tosses it in Justin’s direction before stalking down the stairs into the living room.

Justin studies the receipt from the doctor’s office dated one month prior. His eyes skim the negative test results before he crumples the paper into a ball and lobs it through the doorway. It lands in the middle of the living room floor and sits there like an unwelcome bug. “Fine,” he says loudly, and watches Brian ignore him.

* * *

He goes to the same clinic Emmett went to, because Justin will get the fucking tests but he’ll be damned if he’ll let Brian dictate which place he gets them done.

Justin gives a lot of credit to Emmett for not batting a mascaraed eyelash when he asked him for the name of the place. “Here you go, honey,” is all he said, and wrote the name down on a napkin. “Go early. They make you wait forever.”

Justin sits in the waiting room and watches most of the fags in Pittsburgh come in and out through the doors. Some are clutching paperwork like lifelines, others are clutching each other, and some are empty-handed and empty-expressioned. Justin wonders how many of them were ordered there by their lovers.

He figures he would have gone eventually. There’s just no way to avoid it, really, especially with Vic as well as Michael’s boyfriend being a constant reminder for all of them. Justin imagines that when they discovered Vic was positive, it didn't have as much of an impact as when Michael told them about Ben. None of them were fucking Vic, after all. And Ben … well, Michael and Brian were familiar with that territory.

So yeah, Justin knows he would have ultimately wound up here. You can’t be out of the closet in Pittsburgh and have no answer when the inevitable question comes: “You negative?”

“I don’t know” just really isn’t an acceptable answer to that.

In the small office, Justin stares for a long time at Taylor, Justin on the small vial. He only winces a little when they stick him, and watches with interest as his blood fills the tube.

“Ten days,” the physician’s assistant says brusquely, and hands him his papers.

* * *

Justin thinks there’s no damn way he’s going to let Brian be the one to decide that they aren’t having sex until he gets his results, so he sleeps at Daphne’s for three nights and his mother’s for one. By the second night at his mom’s, Jennifer starts getting the worried look on her face that Justin hates, so he leaves and goes to Deb’s.

Debbie makes it for four whole days without asking what’s going on, and when she does, Justin figures he might as well just go home. Brian’s silence can’t be worse than all the worried women in his life.

“You’re back,” Brian says casually when Justin walks in.

“Yep,” Justin replies, and takes a shower. He waits the whole time for Brian to come in with him just so he can kick him out, but his fingers wrinkle before that happens, so he shuts the water off instead.

Towel around his waist, Justin parades out to the living room with wet hair. It’s a fetish of Brian’s, the wet hair thing, and Justin figures he’ll flaunt it. He sits down on a barstool and watches Brian uncap a beer. He runs his fingers through his damp hair, secretly glad it’s starting to grow, and waits.

Brian barely glances at him. “You eating here tonight, or what?”

“Depends,” Justin says casually. “What’s for dinner?”

“What are you making?”

“Fuck that.”

“Then we’re not eating,” Brian shrugs, and opens his laptop. He leans his elbows on the counter and studies the screen.

“I’m going out,” Justin says loudly. Brian ignores him, so he tries again. “To Babylon. It’s Red, White, and Blow Night.”

“Bring extra condoms,” Brian advises, finally looking up from his computer. “You know, in case one breaks?”

Justin gets dressed and slams the loft door when he leaves.

* * *

He gets a message on his cell that his results are in, but he purposely doesn’t pick them up for another two days. He secretly hopes that Brian will ask about it, but of course that doesn’t happen and Justin just gets more annoyed. Then he figures that he’s not doing himself any good by not knowing his own health status, so he goes.

He takes the pink copy of his tests to the diner. Sitting in the farthest corner booth, Justin plays with a drinking straw and studies the paper.

He had thought that he’d feel some sort of pleasure or relief or something in the way of happiness. But the neat columns of “negative” across the page only make him sort of neutral, in an inexplicable way, and irrationally angry at the man who’d insisted on the tests in the first place. Justin doesn’t want to think about why he’s angry at Brian, only that he is angry, and somehow it’s Brian’s fault.

Justin wonders if he makes things Brian’s fault on purpose.

A Belgian waffle with blueberry sauce and whipped cream appears in front of him. Justin looks up at Debbie. She cracks her gum and beams. “Eat that,” she motions. “It’ll cure whatever shit ails ya.”

Justin half-smiles and sticks a finger into the whipped cream. “Thanks.”

“Well, Jesus, don’t play with it, Sunshine. Save the fingers for someone’s ass or something!” Debbie peers at him. “Whassamatter?”

“Nah, nothing, Deb. Uh, can I have a Coke?” Justin tries to divert her with the smile that earned him his nickname.

Debbie narrows her eyes and sits down across from him. “You don’t try that bullshit with me, Justin. I know you as well as your own mother, bless her heart.”

Justin huffs a sound of agreement. “Yeah. Better, really.”

“So? Let’s hear it. I don’t have all fuckin’ day.” Debbie leans one elbow on the table and taps her pencil on the formica.

Justin pushes the paper toward her and waits while she studies it. He wonders if she knows that Michael gets the same wrinkle between his brows when he’s thinking.

“Sunshine,” she says slowly, not looking up from the paper, “this is fuckin’ great.”

“Yeah,” he says, and thinks maybe there’s something in his voice that doesn’t agree, because Debbie looks up sharply.

“You kiddin’ me? This is fuckin’ great!” She slides out of her seat and comes around the table, kissing him on the cheek and ruffling his newly grown hair.

“Brian made me,” he says abruptly, and wonders why he’s telling her.

“Well, good for him,” Deb mutters. “Nice to know he’s thinking about someone else.”

“No, I mean … he made me. In his own best interest. Not mine.”

The fry cook dings the service bell impatiently and Debbie waves a hand at him over her shoulder. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Justin relates the story quickly, in one breath, and when he finishes he keeps his eyes on the tabletop. He figures it’s easier to await judgement when you don’t look at the source.

Debbie leans over and picks up his test results. Folding them in half, she places them carefully in front of Justin. “You know what I think?” she says quietly, and Justin reminds himself to ask Michael how he lived with his mother’s guilt for so long. “I think you’re both so busy playing it cool that you’re too fuckin’ stupid to see when you’re hurting each other.” She turns toward the kitchen and yells, “Jesus Christ, Carlos, I’m coming!”

Justin leaves his half-eaten waffle.

* * *

The loft is empty and silent. Justin showers and dresses without turning on the radio or television like he normally does, listening to the quiet instead.

Brian is noisy when he’s home. It’s difficult for Justin to draw when there’s a steady stream of constant muttering in the background. And Brian never places anything in the sink; he drops it there with a clatter to show his impatience with life. Justin wonders sometimes if Brian’s going deaf because the volume is always up on his computer and the incoming ‘ping’ of his email constantly makes Justin flinch.

Justin doesn’t dislike it, though. He prefers it to the emptiness that surrounds him now. Justin figures noise is what makes a place home, and remembers how quiet his own house was. He thinks that maybe he should make a little more noise himself.

He takes the test results from the pocket of his crumpled-up khakis and smoothes the paper out on the bar. He looks at it for a long time before he leaves it where it is and goes to Babylon.

* * *

He’s getting his dick sucked and half-heartedly enjoying it when he knows Brian has entered the back room. He doesn’t see him, but he doesn’t need to. Aside from the fact that Justin always knows when Brian’s near him, a low murmur spreads through the darkened corners and Justin can hear “Kinney” being whispered and passed from mouth to mouth.

Brian cuts a path through the fucking and sucking and positions himself directly in front of Justin. Justin thinks briefly that no one else would have the nerve to interrupt his blowjob except for Brian. Brian Kinney is who he is and everyone knows it.

Especially Justin.

But Justin tries to deter him anyway, saying, “Do you mind? It’s hard to come while I’m being glared at.”

The trick stops sucking and turns around. “Oh, hey, Brian,” he simpers. “Want me to suck you off?”

“Hey,” Justin protests, but the trick ignores him.

Brian makes a wry face at the guy. “Take a walk. You just lost the chance to finish young Taylor, here.”

The trick makes a small moue of annoyance but doesn’t argue. He heads to a threesome in the opposite corner and is soon busy with another dick in his mouth.

“I suppose you’re not going to take care of this,” Justin motions in the direction of his stiff cock. “So excuse me while I find someone who will.” He jerks up his pants and makes a move to push past Brian.

Brian stands immovable with the tolerant look Justin loathes. It usually means Brian is trying to be patient about something, and Justin really doesn’t feel like being the target of Brian’s “patience”. Justin stops where he is and folds his arms, studying the stained cement floor. Then he thinks he looks like a pouting child, so he puts his hands on his hips and stares at Brian instead.

Brian leans forward so he’s not overheard and places his lips near Justin’s ear. “I saw the results.”

Justin wishes the hairs on his arm didn’t stand up every time Brian’s mouth got close to his skin. “You were supposed to.”

“Yeah.” Brian says nothing else, just stands close to Justin with his head down.

He remembers Debbie’s words then, and doesn’t have to wonder if they’re true. Brian’s silence tells him they are. “Hey,” he says softly, and nuzzles lightly at Brian’s neck.

It’s the forgiveness Brian was waiting for, and he turns into Justin, bringing his hands up to hold Justin’s head while he kisses him. Justin stands still while Brian tastes his mouth, liking the feel of Brian’s fingers in his hair. And then Brian stops to whisper words Justin isn’t sure he’s heard correctly.

“I’m sorry,” Brian murmurs into his hair. “I knew you were clean.”

Justin shakes his head. “You didn’t. Neither of us did. Well, I kind of knew, but I hadn’t been tested, Brian. You couldn’t have known for sure.”

“I did.”

“How?”

“Because,” Brian says, and looks into Justin’s eyes. “Because you wouldn’t endanger me.”

And there it is, Justin thinks, the trust and the confidence he’s always longed for Brian to show him, and suddenly Justin is afraid of it. Afraid of the suddenness and the responsibility, frightened of the seriousness with which Brian says it. But it’s out there, the words have been said and Justin can’t make Brian take them back, doesn’t want him to take them back, Justin wants to keep them close and think about them another time.

“No,” Justin says slowly, and kisses him, “I wouldn’t.”

Brian nods solemnly and they rest their foreheads together. Justin shifts uncomfortably after a minute, still hard inside his jeans, and Brian smirks. “Your balls will be blue for a week unless you do something about that.”

“Really,” Justin says sarcastically, “I had no idea. What should I do?”

Brian unzips him, lets his cock spring free, and Justin breathes a sigh of relief when Brian begins to stroke him. “You should start with this,” Brian purrs, and then Justin gets a wicked idea.

“So, umm … how sorry are you?” He nips Brian’s neck for leverage while he says it, and feels Brian arch in response.

“I said I was.”

“Sometimes words aren’t enough.” Justin holds his breath while he waits for a response, knowing he is treading on dangerous ground.

Brian leans back to look at him and Justin gets braver. He slips from Brian’s embrace and circles behind him, gently pushing him toward the wall. Brian resists slightly, raising one eyebrow at Justin over his shoulder, but Justin pushes harder and Brian takes the three steps to the wall. Fishing in Brian’s back pocket, Justin produces the condom and holds it in his teeth.

“Justin,” Brian says warningly, and turns partially around.

“Brian,” Justin replies in the same tone, and catches a glimpse of a reluctant half-smile. “C’mon.”

And then, just as Justin is prepared to give in and assume his normal position, Brian relents. “Just make it quick,” he mutters. “Shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

Justin reaches around and pops Brian’s buttonfly while ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth, chancing a look around while he does. At least five heads are turned in their direction. Guys are stopped in mid-blow while they watch Brian Kinney face the wall, and more guys who are in the process of being fucked have forgotten about the dicks up their asses and are only interested in watching Brian get topped.

Justin thought he would like it, but he only resents their awe and flips a couple of them off. They just blink back at him. “Fuckers,” he mutters, and Brian lifts his head.

“Forget them,” he says quietly, catching Justin’s attention. “Fuck them all.”

“Haven’t you done that already?” Justin asks, slicking the condom on himself and licking a finger.

Brian snorts a laugh that turns into a grunt when Justin probes him, stretching and lubing the tight muscles, and then Justin stands on tiptoe and guides himself toward Brian’s opening. They take deep breaths in unison when Justin slides in. Even on tiptoe, he’s not tall enough to rest his chin on Brian’s shoulder, so Justin leans his forehead against Brian’s back and concentrates on finding a rhythm that won’t make him come in two seconds.

He’s conscious of eyes on them from all corners and resents the intrusion, wants to scream at all of them to fuck off and mind their own fucking business, but Justin guesses that if Brian can act like he doesn’t care, then he can too. So he closes his eyes and melts into Brian, listens to Brian’s harsh breathing under the dim lights, feels his muscles bunch and relax under his shirt, and Justin thinks that the words “I love you” wouldn’t ever come close to this.

To Justin’s credit, he lasts for close to five minutes before feeling his balls tighten and he knows it’s done. Reaching quickly around, he puts his own hand on top of Brian’s, and as Justin’s orgasm makes him gasp and shudder, he can feel Brian stroking himself to completion too.

If they were at home, Justin knows Brian would let him lie against him for as long as he needed to recover. Justin would lounge, sleepy and sated, against Brian’s chest while Brian lit a cigarette and make dry comments about Justin’s technique, and then they would sleep.

But they’re not at home.

So Justin pulls out quickly and discards the condom, cleaning himself up as best he can with the tissues from the box on the bench while Brian does the same. Brian finishes first and leans against the wall until Justin is ready. “Let’s go,” Justin mutters, uncomfortable with the stares and whispers.

“Not yet,” Brian says casually, and pushes off from the wall. He takes the front of Justin’s hoodie in two hands and pulls Justin toward him, kissing him well and thoroughly and not stopping until Justin is breathing hard and his cock is stirring again.

“What’s that for,” Justin gasps.

“Them.” Brian tilts his head toward the staring crowd. “And you. Tomorrow you’ll have every guy in this place begging for you to fuck him.”

Justin grins and threads his fingers through Brian’s as they walk toward the door. “I only want one guy to beg.”

“You’ll be old and gray before that happens, Sunshine.”

“I’ll still be younger than you,” Justin says happily, and Brian drops Justin’s hand to sling an arm around his neck.

* * *

Brian catches him throwing the bottle of baby oil away the next day.

“What the hell am I going to use to jerk off with?” Brian demands, watching him pour the oil down the sink.

“Soap,” Justin answers, not bothered by Brian’s blustering. “Lube. Shaving foam. I don’t care.”

“Shaving foam.”

“Just a suggestion,” Justin shrugs, and shrieks when Brian grabs him around the waist and wrestles him to the floor.

“I do not use shaving foam for anything other than shaving.” Brian sits atop him, straddling his legs.

“We’re not using baby oil,” Justin informs him. “It causes latex to break down. Did you know that?”

“Yes, Justin,” Brian sighs. “I knew that.”

End