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Picture Perfect


Timeline: Post-220
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst, romance
Author's Note: Justin and Brian are confronted with a physical reminder of prom.

Interlude – Minute Man

Two more minutes. Brian wriggled minutely, letting his body sink a fraction more into the mattress. In two more minutes, he’d get up, do his best to not wake the sleeping blond in his arms, shower, change clothes, order them some dinner, maybe put some mood music on, and . . . think. Think about what had happened between them that day and what was going to happen between them now. What should happen between them now. That would take the better part of an hour, the exec figured, during which time the food would have arrived, Justin would have awoken, and he would have gathered enough brain cells to continue their talk, aided, Brian hoped, by all of the time he would have spent in deep thought. In just two more minutes, he’d begin his preparations, starting with some quality time – alone, most likely – in the shower.
The thing was, though, he’d been repeating the mantra of  “two more minutes” for at least a half-hour without taking very many steps to get out of bed. It wasn’t his fault, though, he was sure of it -- it seemed each time he made a move to rise, his limbs would betray him, refusing to straighten, preferring instead to remain curled around the blond’s slumbering form. His eyes refused to obey the command to stay open, fluttering open and shut intermittently, and Brian silently rejoiced at the sight that awaited him each time he opened his eyes – that of Justin folded in his arms. After two months of spending time in this bed with his arms wound around nothing except empty air, the warmth was back, his Sunshine was back. Brian felt comfortable . . . damned comfortable  . . . in his bed again, despite being fully dressed, despite being somewhat hungry, and despite feeling a borderline-desperate need for a shower. He felt secure, warm, whole, and perfectly content to remain cocooned with the blond in the duvet and two of those new sheets Justin loved so much.
Brian sighed softly . . . he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt more relaxed in bed – and sex hadn’t even been part of the equation. Hell, not only that, but they were still fully dressed. And there was more – they were fully dressed, and Brian was more than happy to stay that way . . . at least for the time being. This was just  . . . good. This was good just the way it was . . . he and Justin wrapped around each other, linked in their own way . . . drawn together by attraction, yes, and by desire . . . but by need, too . . . and now,  finally now, by understanding. So freaking comfortable . . . Brian pressed himself closer to the blond. This just worked. They clicked just as they were. There was, really, no need to move. No need to shift positions. This was perfection right here, right now, and always had been. Always would be. He grinned muzzily at the sleeping teen, brushing a light kiss on the top of his head. What have you done to me, Sonnyboy?
The exec lingered there, buried chin-deep in golden silk, savoring the scent of herbal shampoo and the blond’s own inimitable aroma, feeling the subtle rise and fall of Justin’s chest against his own. Such a familiar position this was – so many times in the early days of their living together after the bashing, Brian would fall asleep facing the boy, heartbeat to heartbeat, his face tucked into his hair. Situated that way, Brian had been better able to gauge the tension in the teen’s body as he slept. If he felt the boy stiffen any time during the night, it was an indication that Justin was in the grip of a nightmare, and a signal for Brian to rouse him gently from it . . . usually with kisses and caresses, sometimes with soothing words, which, Brian recalled, seemed to calm Justin the most. If, however, there was no rigidity present in the slumbering form, Brian knew then that Justin was untroubled in his slumber, content with the protection – as little as it seemed to Brian – afforded by being held by the older man . . . little knowing, Brian supposed, that he derived just as much comfort and peace of mind from the embrace as Justin himself did. And it was the same now. Brian could feel how relaxed Justin was -- the way the boy’s limbs twined around Brian’s, the manner in which his body molded to the corresponding contours of the older man, how beautiful and unguarded the teen’s face was in its serenity. All of it indicated Justin had found his comfort zone . . . and that he'd found it in Brian’s arms once more filled the older man with a satisfaction and a growing belief that all would truly be well again between them. It just felt too right for it not to be. Brian held back a yawn as he felt the urge to catnap descend upon him again. No . . . not too . . . right. There could be no qualifiers for these emotions . . . there was nothing “too” about them. It was just  . . . right. It was all just . . . right.
Brian felt his eyelashes twitch, Justin’s hair becoming dimmer and dimmer as his eyelids began to drift downward. Two more minutes, and then he’d put the second part of the “Saturday In the Loft With Brian” program into play. He just needed two more minutes . . . two more minutes of this all-encompassing comfort, of waking up to find Justin there with him, as if the blond had never left. As if Justin never felt that he’d needed to. As if Brian hadn’t taken leave of his senses and thought Justin’s leaving would be the best thing for both of them.
Just two more minutes. Brian’s eyes closed upon the silent promise. Just two more. And then he’d be ready.
~*~End interlude~*~

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