Deal under Drip


Characters: Brian/Justin, Jennifer
Timeline: post-513
Prompt: 9 (Blankets)
Word Count: 3, 529
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Justin, there’s a fucking hole in your ceiling."
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes, and promise to replenish the condom and lube supply when I’m done.
Author's Notes: Inspired by and written for tamalinn, whom I owed fic. Entered into 25fluffyfics. A bit of silliness and fluff, but hopefully not too much. Completely unbeta’ed, so all mistakes are mine alone.

Deal under Drip

Jennifer Taylor strides into the main office of Kinnetik wearing the expression of someone with Important Business, and a little dash of I’m A Mother And There’s No Trouble Yet But That’s Only Because I Haven’t Checked Under The Bed. The fact that the letters on the door she is heading towards have been arranged into words like “CEO” and “President” and “B. A. Kinney” do not seem to perturb her in the least. Even employees who don’t know who she is suddenly remember urgent tasks awaiting them elsewhere.

The secretary outside the office gets to her feet. Jennifer doesn’t recognize her, and she’d been here only last month. “Excuse me, I’m afraid Mr. Kinney can’t be disturbed right now-”

“It’s all right, Megan,” Ted intervenes, a little breathless from his short jog through the hallways. “This is Jennifer Taylor. She’s on the list of people with direct access to the boss at all times...”

Jennifer smiles her thanks to Ted, but doesn’t slow down, and the closing of the office door cuts off the rest of Ted’s words.

Something about the ominous click of her heels has Brian looking up from his computer even before he hears Ted confirming the identity of his unexpected visitor. He pulls the edges of his lips up in a business-like smile, though an intense wave of déjà vu is sweeping through him. He sees that she even has a fucking black bag in her hand, though smaller and considerably more stylish than the one she’d dumped on him, way back before.

“Justin is sick,” she announces, gently placing the bag on Brian’s desk.


“He won’t admit that he is, says it’s his allergies and he only has a blocked nose,” Jennifer shakes her head. “But I can tell that it’s pretty bad. Not surprising, considering the weather there right now.”

Brian just nods, involuntarily tensing.

“Justin said you haven’t gone up to visit him, yet, though he keeps asking you to.” Justin’s been asking him to do so ever since, well, ever since he landed in New York.

God forbid Brian Kinney ever be called indecisive. But he may have been dithering a little.

“So I thought,” Jennifer continues on relentlessly, ignoring Brian’s silence. “There’s no better time for you to go to New York than when he needs you the most.”

“He’s a big boy, Mother Taylor,” Brian says. “I’m sure he’s doing fine on his own.”

“Brian Kinney.” Shit. It must be a skill, he thinks, this thing mothers can do that make you feel like you’ve done something wrong that you don’t know about but they’re more than happy to tell you what it is. “My son and your partner is all alone in New York City, with no close friends to look after him and make sure he’s all right, or to force him to rest when he’s convinced he’s fine. For all we know, he could have contracted something life-threatening. He could be puking or passed out or-“

“All right, I get it,” Brian surrenders, though for reasons that Jennifer probably doesn’t know. Unless she’s a dirtier fighter than he thinks. He tamps down the memories of vomit in the loft bathroom, of passing out on the couch and waking up on the bed, of a warm body wrapped around his when he’s shivering and shaking, not from the cold. “You do know that it really could be just his allergies?”

Jennifer smiles sweetly at him. “Well, I have every confidence the two of you will make sure that the trip won’t go to waste.”


After three hours of staring at the keypad, Brian finally puts his cell phone away. Feels pathetic and disgusted at himself, because he can dial the numbers but his thumb freezes over the ‘call’ button, and the cab driver says they’re a matter of blocks away so he might as well just wait to talk to Justin in person. So he’s just going to use the spare key Justin mailed him to let himself in, when Justin could very well be in the middle of fucking someone, or out on a date, perfectly healthy and in one piece, and fuck what is Brian doing here?

Then an ambulance speeds past, going in the opposite direction, sirens blasting and bouncing off the crowded buildings, and Brian has to grip his thigh before he pulls out his phone again.


The apartment is quiet. Brian remembers that Justin is sharing it with somebody, Daphne’s friend or friend-of-a-friend or something along those lines. A tiny space with an admirable collection of shit. Two bedroom doors and presumably the bathroom, all closed, but Brian knows on instinct which one is Justin’s. Well, the familiar-looking poster tacked onto the peeling door might have helped. Seeing it makes Brian chuckle quietly, because those nights out in the cold alleys of Liberty Avenue feel like another lifetime. One that he sometimes wonders was even his.

He has the key to Justin’s room, too. He’s not surprised to find it locked, would have busted a blood vessel if it hadn’t been. The door creaks like something out of a horror movie. Inside is, surprise surprise, even more shit. But at least most of it is identifiable, familiar shit.

For some reason this makes Brian feel calmer.

Pushed against the wall opposite the door is a pile of blankets, on top of what an optimist might describe as a ‘horizontal surface measuring a handful of feet in length’. Brian observes movement underneath. A tiny pillow at the very top is dislodged, revealing a disheveled blond mop.

Half a step into the small room, and it dawns on Brian how Justin likely came to be sick.

Or drips on him, rather.

“Justin, there’s a fucking hole in your ceiling.”

“I dow,” groans the pile.

“It’s dripping water.” Brian continues, more to articulate the situation to himself than any real concern that Justin has failed to observe the phenomenon.

Justin may have had a few words about that, but they’re swept under by the humongous sneeze that erupts from underneath the ratty covers. Brian is sure he can feel bits of plaster falling on him.

“Excuse be,” Justin sniffs, pulling the covers down to his chest. Brian notes the red nose, chapped lips, puffy eyes. The air inside the apartment is stale and slightly musty, and he almost makes for the window before he remembers the freezing temperatures outside.

So instead, he approaches the sort-of bed and uses his knee to nudge a lump that he presumes to be Justin’s foot under the blanket. “All right, Sunshine, get your ass up and your things together.”

Justin frowns at him, sitting up. “Whad for?”

“We’re going to a special, magical place called the Four Seasons,” is Brian’s acerbic reply. “Where the stairs are not encrusted with used needles and the plaster on the walls is not older than Ted. Legend has it that the ceilings don’t leak, either.”

A pillow comes flying his way, bouncing off the arm he’d instinctively brought up. “Fuck off, Briad.” Brian has to quickly hide the bottom half of his face below his raised hand, because there’s just something... fucking cute about Justin trying to speak through a completely blocked nose. “You refuse to visit be here. Then I get sick and suddenly you turn up to rescue be and whisk me away to an expensive hotel roob?”

Bran tries really, really hard not to laugh. “Yeah.”

Justin glares at him – shit he looks hot like that, blond hair sticking everywhere and trying to look mean when he has a red nose and is tangled up in his bedsheets – and throws out an angry “Fuck you!” before falling back into the mattress and throwing an arm over his face.

For a moment, Brian misses the old days, when a teenage Justin would have fainted at the thought of Brian Kinney stealing him away to a hotel room. Actually, Justin had stolen a hotel room, or at least stolen money from Brian to pay for his hotel room, and then somehow was punished for it by being fucked into the mattress…

Shit, he’d never stood a chance with this kid.


But apparently the brief pause has rejuvenated the young man, because Justin springs back up to a sitting position. “Brian, I know.” His tone gentles, and he brings up a hand to push back his wayward hair. Takes a giant, forceful sniff, and it seems to clear his passages a little. “I’m not pissed about you not coming here. I expected that. It’s just...” He slaps his hand down, the impact with bed and fabric making a soft cushioned ‘thump’. “I really want to make it here, Brian. Otherwise there’d be no point in me leaving Pittsburgh, leaving my family, leaving you- let me fucking finish.” Brian quickly snaps his mouth shut, more than a little mesmerized by the energy practically glowing off Justin. Despite the bed hair and red skin and constant sniffling. “And, more than anything, I want us to be together while I do it. So I do want you here.”

He slumps back, rubbing his face with his hands. “But not just for some weekend rescue when I get sick or injured. And I don’t want you using your money to get a really nice hotel room while you’re here. That’s just… it’s unfair.” His voice gets rougher, drowsier. “I want you here, Brian. With me.” He coughs. “Shit, I’m tired. I don’t even know if I made any sense.”

Brian’s feet take him to the side of the for-lack-of-a-better-term bed, and somehow he finds a space to sit. His eyes meet Justin’s tired ones, and after a long moment they’re both smiling a little. He touches Justin’s clammy forehead, clearing his face of chaotic blond hair. “You did. Kind of.”

He thinks about putting his things away and canceling his reservation, but ends up watching Justin drift to sleep.


Justin’s eyes fly open, and it’s a few tense moments before he confirms that there are cracks and mysterious stains on his ceiling. He lets out a quiet breath of relief. He’s pretty sure Brian wouldn’t have kidnapped him away to the Four Seasons or The Plaza when Justin had explicitly told him not to, but still. It’s Brian.

Remembering this, he feels a flash of worry that Brian had left, to his hotel room or even back to the Pitts, but then he hears movement. He turns his head.

He blinks. And blinks again. His eyebrows furrow, and he very carefully doesn’t make any noise or outward sign that he’s awake, in case Brian notices.

His floor, at least the little bit of it that had remained visible, is covered in clothing. His clothing. In the middle of the mess sits Brian, who’s biting his lip as he slowly goes through Justin’s clothes. His dirty clothing, now that he’s taken a second look. Brian looks like a man who’s trying to remember something from long ago.

Finally Justin can’t hold it in any longer. “Brian, what are you doing with my clothes?”

Brian doesn’t look at him, but the top lip joins its bottom counterpart between his teeth. “Sorting them.”

If Justin’s mouth is open, it’s because his nose is blocked. Although he realizes that it isn’t really, not anymore. He feels a lot better, too. A lot better. “Brian,” he says slowly, biting his own lips to keep them from curving upwards, “are you doing my laundry?”

“I do have vague recollections of being a starving college student,” Brian replies, very quietly, though his gaze is resolutely fixed on the soft grey pants he’s holding, like he’s searching them for the answer to the universe and everything. Or wondering if Justin jerked off in them. Actually, Brian’s pulled those shorts off Justin several times in the past. Something about them clinging to Justin’s ass too well.

The important point is that Brian Kinney is on his floor, sorting his dirty laundry.

For the first time in days, the warmth Justin feels isn’t from fever, and he settles further into the covers that Brian must have pulled over him. He sees that the underwear and socks are already in a separate pile, and Brian’s just sorting the rest into dark and white. As Justin’s not sure when he last did his laundry, he’s not surprised to see there’s a large quantity of it. “The laundry room in this place was turned into a storage space some time last century.”

“I saw a Laundromat two blocks down, on the drive over.”


Brian glances up when Justin throws off the covers and stretches. Justin feels a more intense kind of warmth spark through him from the way Brian’s eyes rake down his body. He waits for Brian’s gaze to travel back up to his face. Waits for Brian’s eyes to lock onto his, then he slides a hand down to the front of his pants. He makes sure that Brian has a clear line of sight to his crotch, to the growing bulge there, as he slowly strokes his rapidly filling dick through the fabric of his pants, letting his eyelids slip down partway. He can practically feel Brian staring at his working hand, his eyes are so intense.

"What are you doing?" Brian asks. Though from the way his voice has dropped an octave, Justin supposes that the question is rhetorical.

"Hmmm." Justin makes a little sigh when his fingers press down on the cloth-covered tip. "Never seen you do laundry before. It's kind of hot."

Brian smirks, though Justin's distracted by the movement of the muscles in Brian's throat. "You're weird," Brian comments, adding, "and a slut."

Justin grins proudly. He strokes himself, nice and slow and leisurely, for a couple of minutes; the only sounds in the room are from their breathing, which grow noticeably uneven. But it leaves Justin feeling truly horny, so he ups the ante by sliding his hand down the front of his old, worn cargoes. Lets out a soft gasp when his fingers find his hard cock. He uses his other hand to unbutton his pants, and the cold air over his suddenly exposed skin makes him shiver. Now that he can get a good grip on his dick, he curls his fingers tightly around it and begins to slowly jerk himself off, moaning at every stroke.

And then his hands are being slapped away. The bed protests at the sudden extra weight on it, but Justin doesn’t really hear it, on account of having Brian’s tongue thrust into his mouth. He moans, his arms going over Brian’s shoulders and pulling him down, one leg hooking over Brian’s hip to bring their groins into contact. Brian kisses him like a man drowning, like he’s fishing for something in the back of Justin’s throat, like he’s fucking glad to be kissing Justin again and never wants to stop. Which is perfectly fine with Justin.

Brian’s hand makes its way its way between Justin’s legs, and Justin’s loud groan breaks the lip-lock. He kisses Brian along the jaw, over his Adam’s apple. “You do know that I’ve probably infected you with this, now?” he mutters, grazing his teeth down the side of Brian’s neck. “Had me coughing and sniffing for days, fucking bug.”

Brian shrugs, tightening his hold around Justin’s dick. “Good thing I brought work with me.” He frowns. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“What do you think?” Justin retorts with a smirk, thrusting his dick further into Brian’s hand. But he sees the genuine concern in the older man’s expression, and smiles brightly at him. “I’m feeling much better. Honest.”

Brian shakes his head, touches Justin’s nose with his. Then he pulls away, sitting back on his heels. He straddles Justin, a purposeful gleam shining in his eye as he looks at his diligently stroking hand, the look on his face making Justin breathless and the aforementioned hand slippery with pre-cum.

Without warning, the hand disappears and wet heat engulfs the head of Justin’s cock. He arches off the bed with a soundless cry, or tries to, but for the strong hands gripping his hips. Brian looks up, Justin’s cock inside his mouth; the dark look in his eyes makes Justin groan, gets him impossibly harder. Brian takes him in, sucks him down; those lips slipping down the length of his cock so fucking slowly, the muscles on Brian’s arm flex at the effort of keeping him pinned to the bed.

Finally he’s all the way in, Brian’s chin touching his balls. He brings a hand down to cup the back of Brian’s head, notices that Brian’s hair is a little longer than he remembers. And then he can’t really think anymore, because Brian’s tongue is all over his dick, Brian’s head is bobbing up and down Justin’s legs, and shit, nobody gives a blowjob like Brian Kinney. In no time at all, Justin comes, shooting down the back of Brian’s throat, shouting loud enough that a bit of dust rains down from the ceiling.

Justin reaches down to reciprocate, only to discover that Brian doesn’t need his help. “Brian, did you just come from blowing me?”

Brian crawls up the bed, draping himself over Justin. He’s still in the jeans and shirt he was wearing when he walked in. “You were hot,” he says, clearly try to not look embarrassed. His lips are red and wet and his voice is a little rough. Justin can't stop staring at them.

Movement down below suggests to Justin that they might be in need of a second round soon. But he doubts he’s gotten that much better, so he settles for kissing Brian again.



Justin’s eyes fly open. The first thing he sees, though, is Brian’s sleeping face, his sharp nose pressing into Justin’s cheek, and somehow even the impending disturbance by his obnoxious roommate doesn’t have him furiously grinding his teeth, like it used to.

Well, not as much, anyway.

His door creaks open, sending the fog that’s gotten into Justin’s skull buzzing. “Justin, what are these bags- shit, sorry!”

Justin turns his head. Sees Colin ogling Brian, not looking sorry at all. “Those would be Brian’s,” Justin says with a sniff, glaring at his roommate and pulling the covers up further over the two of them. They’re both still clothed, though Brian had thrown off his shirt before dozing off. “Can you bring them in here, please?”

Colin does so, though he’s clearly reluctant to leave the room. He sets the last black bag down right on top of the dirty laundry that Brian had been sorting earlier. “Man, I thought you were just playing hard-to-get, you know? Lots of people new to the City pretend they have sweethearts back home. But, shit, your guy’s hot-“

Suddenly Brian opens his eyes, looking more alert than somebody who’s just woken up. Colin shuts right up, and Justin lets himself grin. “Colin, this is Brian. Brian, this is Colin, my roommate.”

“Hey, man, you know if you two ever want to add a bit of variety-“

“Fuck off,” Brian cuts in, fixing a steely glare at Colin. “From now on, expect to see me a lot. And I want to make this clear: if you let anything happen to Justin, I will rip your fucking balls off. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Colin assures him, backing away. “Uh, it was nice meeting you. I’ll just...” He makes some vague gestures towards his room, and closes the door once he’s through the threshold.

Justin coughs. Looks at Brian. Brian blinks at him, and bites his lip. “That was one of those things you didn’t want me to do, wasn’t it?”

“No,” Justin shakes his head. “The hotel thing was you using your greater wealth to make staying in New York easier for me for a short time.” He kisses Brian, short and sweet. “What you just did, with Colin, was more like a protective boyfriend thing. Which I have no objection to, within limits.”

He lets out a breath. “You’re not going to make it easy for me, are you?”

Justin grins. “Never have.”

That makes him pause. “Yeah.” Unexpectedly, he smiles at Justin; just a slight upturn of the lips, but his face is relaxed. Justin finds it momentarily hard to breathe, and doesn't think it's anything to do with his cold.

It’s hard to get comfortable in the tiny bed, but nevertheless Justin feels remarkably content to be squeezed in with Brian, with no room to move and probably most of his limbs numb the next morning. After a few quiet minutes, Brian murmurs into his hair, “Your mother and Debbie made you a care package.”

“Oh? Where is it?”

“The smallest bag.”

Justin looks at the little collection of bags near the door, all of them black and expensive-looking. The smallest one does look a little different from the others. “What’s in it?” he asks, because unless explicitly told he can’t do so, Brian is nearly as nosy as he is.

“Food. Soup. Pasta. And lots of condoms.”

Justin laughs. Also notices that the roof is still leaking, but a small bucket that looks brand new has been placed under it to catch the water. “You’re right, though,” he admits. “I should probably find a better place to live. It’d be a pity if you got mugged on your way to the Laundromat.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I’ll look around. I know some people from the gallery.”



“You’re still sick. You’re shivering. Go to sleep.”

Justin smiles. Sniffs and rubs his eyes. He feels ridiculously warm, really, but he lets Brian pull the blankets further up. He closes his eyes, pressing closer to the body wrapped around his, and follows Brian’s even breathing into sleep.

~ Finis ~