Gapfiller (of sorts) for the end of 304. A short, angsty break-up sex fic for Veda, as a very belated thank you. :) Ok, actually, it’s very angsty – so be warned. :|
Assumes mostly canon, but goes AU since we know 308 was supposed to be the first time they got together again. Or do we…? Who knows what happened between episodes? ;) This also fit for me in terms of why Brian was such a dick to Justin at the end of 305 – the “blond boy ass” comment. How did he go from flirty and friendly at the end of 304 to angry and hostile at the end of 305? Here’s one take on it…
“I believe this belongs to you.”
So the little fucker stole my bracelet too. Figures.
Justin stands there, arm outstretched. I take the cowry shell bracelet from his hand, ignoring the feel of his fingers brushing mine.
“Any time.” He’s looking at me, and he almost looks nervous. I bite back a smile as he reaches for my wrist.
I watch his face, see the slight flush creeping up his neck. I clear my throat to get rid of the things I want to say, but don’t.
I grin a little as I watch him lick his lips, his fingers looping the black leather straps together. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your boyfriend?”
He looks down, and then there’s an interesting flash in his eyes when he looks up at me again, but it’s gone when he looks to the left. “Yeah.”
I wait, staring at him to try and figure out if he’s actually going to go. He looks unsure as to whether he wants to or not. Then he smiles in that way that he knows hits me in the gut, and turns to go. I watch him walk away, pushing down the feeling of disappointment. Again.
I’m almost at my bedroom when I hear his voice.
I stop, turning around. He’s standing at the door. He looks even more nervous, worried maybe. I wait.
“Brian… are we… friends?” He’s shifting from one foot to the other.
What? I almost laugh, but his face tells me I shouldn’t. I walk closer to him. He doesn’t come past the doorway.
“I mean, I think we are. I want us to be…” he trails off, looking at the ground. “But do you think we are? Friends?”
Christ, he really does love his romantic delusions. First he leaves me for roses and candlelight picnics, now he wants to be sure we can “still be friends”. I’m too old for this shit.
I can’t help the sigh, and I run my fingers through my hair. “Justin…” I start, but he cuts me off, stepping closer and putting his hand on my arm.
“Brian, I need us to be friends. And I feel like we are – I mean, we did the Carnivale poster thing together, and that was ok. And I know it didn’t go well at Mel and Linds’, but that’s behind us now. Even Michael and I have made up…” He looks at me with such seriousness.
“Ethan wouldn’t like it. Ethan doesn’t like it, but I’m a big boy. I can do what’s right for me.” He’s barely stopping to breathe, and I wonder if he’s even talking to me.
“And you’ve been decent to me. You always have. The computer, my tuition…”
“So I hope that this won’t hurt us, you know, long term?”
He’s about to start again, so I grab his shoulder. “Justin.”
He closes his mouth, finally looks up at me. I curse the feeling coursing through me. I’m done with that. Christ, please let me be done with that.
“Justin. Look…” His eyes are huge, watching me. “I don’t know. Fuck, I don’t know.” Now he looks like he’s going to leave, crestfallen.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “We’re friends. Sure.”
He steps closer to me, and I fight with the urge to step away. Or step closer.
He lets out a long breath, his hand landing on my chest. “Brian…” he starts again, and I find my hand closing over top of his, holding it there. When he looks up, his eyes are flashing the way they did a few minutes ago.
“Brian…” he says it softer. My warning bells start to go off. He moves one step closer, and now his thigh is touching mine.
“Justin…” I warn him, shaking my head. What the fuck is this about?
His hand is sliding up my chest, his fingers brushing the bare skin at the base of my neck. “I miss you.”
I cock my head at him, an incredulous look on my face. “You miss me?” I snort.
I bite my tongue, literally, to hold back the things I want to say.
Like that he should have thought of that a while ago. That he has no fucking idea what it feels like to miss someone.
To miss someone so much that you can’t stand to be alone, or sober, not even for a minute, unless you’re fucking some nameless twink with just the right shade of blond hair, and the right clothes, and a name that you won’t remember as long as he stays on his stomach, his wrong face buried in the pillow.
To miss someone so much that you even see his face, his body, in strangers when you fuck them.
He misses me? How fucking dare he.
“Justin, do you have any idea what kind of week this has been?” I hear the hostility in my voice.
“I’ve been robbed by my own fucking nephew, who then kindly decides to accuse me of child molestation. I’ve been questioned at the police station, had a lovely tete-a-tete with my dear mother, and now you want to rehash our relationship?” I ignore the fact that I used that word, chalking it up to my anger.
“You came here to tell me you miss me?” I grip the hand that’s still on my chest. “Are you fucking serious?”
His face falls, and he steps back as he tries to pull his hand out of mine but I’m holding it too tightly. “I am, Brian. I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear it.” He looks at the floor again. “I want us to be able to be friends, but maybe that’s too much for you.”
I feel the surge of anger as his words register. “Too much for me…?” My voice is very quiet. He looks up.
I close the distance that he’s put between us, my hand flattening on his lower back, pressing him into me. My mouth is at his ear, my thigh pushing roughly between his legs. His hands come to my shoulders to keep his balance and I feel him starting to push away. I hold him tighter.
“Oh no, Justin,” I murmur harshly in his ear.
“Brian…” he struggles in my arms, but he knows I can hold him here if I want to.
“You miss me?” I feel him shiver involuntarily as my breath tickles his ear. “What do you miss, Justin?” I grind my hips into his, and it’s not lost on me that he’s hard.
“Brian, don’t, please…” his voice is breathy, unsure. “I… I…”
“You what, Justin?” I lick his neck, just below his ear. He sags against me when my teeth close around the fleshy part of his earlobe, his fingers digging into my shoulder.
“I just thought…” He falters when our cocks bump.
“You thought what? That you could come here, offering me your friendship?” He flinches at the bitterness in my voice. “That you could tell me you fucking miss me?”
I grab the waistband of his jeans, shoving my hand inside roughly. “You know what I think you miss?” I grasp his cock, feeling him jerk, hearing his small gasp. “I think you miss this,” I punctuate my words with my hips, my hand stroking him hard. He’s leaking on my fingers.
I shove his pants down with my other hand, then reach for my own. His face is red, his chest heaving, but he’s not stopping me. He’s just staring at me as I rip my jeans off. I push him backwards and he bumps into one of the support beams. I close in on him, my mouth attacking his neck, my hands kneading his ass, pulling him against me.
“You don’t miss me,” I mutter into his skin as I lick under his ear, my hand stroking his cock again.
He sighs into my mouth when I hover over his, his eyes half-closed. I lick his mouth before I push my tongue inside it. He takes me, his own tongue responding in kind, and for a moment I forget. Forget that this is wrong, that this is going to end badly. Forget that I’ll be the one bleeding when this is over. That he’ll walk away. Again.
“Brian,” he whispers my name, his hands holding my shoulders tightly as his hips press back into mine. It brings me back to the present.
I push against his shoulder, spinning him around, and his hands grab onto the pillar as his head falls against it. I put the condom on fast, his rapid breathing the only sound in the loft. I push into him hard, hearing his grunt of pain as he takes me. I don’t wait, I can’t. I fuck him hard, fast, giving him no time to adjust, but he takes it, takes it all.
“This is what you miss, isn’t it Justin?” I hiss in his ear. “Does he fuck you like this?” I thrust hard, my hips snapping into him. “Does he fill you up like this?”
He moans when I change my angle, my hands holding his hips still as I pound. “He doesn’t, does he?” I whisper, reaching one hand between his body and the pillar, finding his cock again. I stroke in time to my thrusts, knowing exactly how to take him to the edge. His hands stay on the pillar, but his hips are pushing back into mine, and his ragged moans are starting to undo me.
I hold my breath in the effort not to inhale his scent, but it just makes my orgasm rush closer, so I gasp for air, trying to hold it off. I bite down on his shoulder, his cry followed by a warm rush in my hand, his orgasm hard and sharp. I follow, my own seemingly wrenched out of me against my will.
I slump against him, my arms wrapping around both him and the pillar, holding us there. I can feel his heart slamming in his chest beneath me, keeping time with mine. His hair tickles my face and suddenly my chest constricts so badly I can’t breathe.
I pull out of him, staggering backwards. I rip the condom off, trying not to fall to the floor, but my knees aren’t working. I wonder if I’m having a heart attack as I sink to the ground, my knees hitting the wood floor with a loud thud.
Justin turns around, alarm on his face as he rushes to me. He slides his arms under mine, holding me, his small body somehow infinitely stronger than mine.
“Brian,” he whispers, his face buried in my shoulder. I just try to concentrate on breathing, try to will the pain in my chest to go away. He kisses my chin, his hands petting my back, and it starts to fade a bit. Then he looks up at me, and it rushes back, stronger than ever.
“I’m sorry…” his face is broken, his eyes welling.
“Sorry’s bullshit,” I whisper, tucking his head back under mine. I stroke his back, not trusting my hand on his bare skin, staying over top of his sweater instead.
He lets me hold him for a minute, and I close my eyes, hoping for one painful second that it will last. But I know it won’t, and this hasn’t changed anything. He still has someone waiting at home for him. Someone who gives him all the things he thinks he needs. Except for one, I think with bitter amusement. Brian Kinney still fucks better than the fiddler. What great comfort that is.
He starts to pull away, and I let him. I don’t look at him, I focus on finding my jeans instead. He pulls his own on as I step into mine, my back to him.
“Brian…” I can’t bear the anguish in his voice.
I stand still, unable to turn around. I hold my breath, waiting for the sound of his footsteps. I don’t let myself wonder which direction they’ll be going.