Summary: QaFUS, Brian/Justin, post s3. Minor s3 spoilers.
Disclaimer: Cowlip, not I.
Thanks: Much thanks to: wrenlet, who does a mean beta. And is pretty. And sandradelete, who titled. And is also pretty.
Justin doesn’t think Brian knows that he’s started sleep-fucking. Justin's woken up at least three times in the past month to Brian mounting him from behind, and when he turns his head to tell Brian for fuck's sake, use more lube, he's always found Brian in a state of half-hypnosis.
Justin thinks maybe it's some sort of symptom of stress, since Brian had never done it before he lost his job. And his car. And the entire contents of his loft.
Justin figures he better not say anything.
Instead, he chooses to reap the benefits, because Justin has discovered a new intensity Brian has about him when he sleep-fucks that isn't there while he's awake. Justin knows that if he tries to get behind Brian's defenses during sex, Brian picks up on it immediately and gets pissed.
"Fuck, Justin!” he says. “Why does everything have to mean something? Can't I kiss your forehead without you psychoanalyzing it into a proposal of marriage?"
Justin knows the problem isn't with him, but with the disruption of pleasure. Disrupt Brian's focus on the animal rawness of sex, and pay for it later. Justin has come home many times after such arguments to find Brian fucking a trick over the kitchen counter. Brian always shoots him a triumphant glare that says see, you idiotic little twat, I can find someone who knows sex is just sex and a fuck is just a fuck and quit making things so goddamn complicated.
But when he's asleep ... he's quite suggestible, Justin realizes, and also very complacent.
Like now, when Justin wakes up in the heavy darkness to Brian sliding a hand in between his legs. He shakes off the drowsiness, turns to his back and murmurs, "Jerk me off."
Brian does, slowly. Brian won't jerk him while he's awake because it takes Justin a damn long time to come that way, and Brian's all about the instant gratification. Justin gets bitter about that from time to time.
But when Brian's asleep, things are a little different.
Justin stretches out with his hands over his head and one leg bent at the knee, letting Brian stroke him leisurely. He looks to the bedside table and eyes the bottle of lotion, then reaches out and hooks it with two fingers. "Here," he whispers to Brian, "use this." And he pumps a palmful into Brian's hand.
Brian coats him liberally, the lotion warming from the friction, and Justin cracks open one eye to make sure Brian’s still out of it. His eyes are half-closed and he breathes deeply. A good sign, Justin thinks, so he leans back and relaxes.
It’s the best handjob Justin has ever had, and he has to whip the pillow out from under his head at the last minute to cover his mouth when he comes.
* * *
Three nights later, Justin is wide awake when he gets home and still glowing from E. He trails around the loft and watches the ceiling shimmer for a while before wondering if Brian wants to fool around.
A covert glance toward the bedroom tells him that Brian’s asleep and has been that way for some time, judging from his breathing. The opportunity is ripe for the taking. Justin wanders in that general direction, shedding clothes as he goes and trying to blink the drug’s sparkle from his brain.
He slides into bed, trying for stealth but getting a clumsy foot tangled in the sheets. Justin freezes when Brian turns over with a sigh, thinking it’s finished, forget it, looks like he’s bottoming yet again … but Brian’s eyes don’t open.
Justin studies him carefully, noting the absence of stress lines and the natural curve of Brian’s top lip. His lashes are silky and dark against his cheek and maybe it’s the E and maybe it isn’t, but Justin wants to touch them. He wants to feel the tiny fringe against his fingertip because Brian would never let him while he was awake; Brian would never let him do a lot of things while he was awake.
Especially this, Justin thinks, and slides a leg over Brian’s bare ass, growing even harder against Brian’s hip. Brian shifts beneath him and sighs lightly, separating his legs a fraction of an inch. And this too, Justin knows, centering himself and closing his eyes against the coolness of Brian’s skin against his cock. Brian’s let him top before – not often, though it’s happened a few times – but it’s always done with a certain amount of benevolence and sarcasm, and Justin is left with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction.
Tonight, Justin is the one lubing himself up over the condom, holding his dick in his hand while he probes for Brian’s entrance. Justin would probably have some guilt at taking advantage if Brian didn’t look so ready for it, if he wasn’t lying there with his legs spread and his ass in the air. And when Justin slides in so easily, with little resistance, he doesn’t feel any contrition at all. Especially when he sees Brian’s tongue come out and moisten his bottom lip, and unconsciously pulls one leg up further to allow Justin access.
He wants to talk while he fucks him, because that’s the best way Justin knows to stay connected and not feel like it’s just another nameless trick, but he doesn’t dare say a word and risk breaking the stillness. He concentrates instead on the smooth skin beneath him, putting the memories of it away because it’s not likely to happen again anytime soon, and strokes deeply.
They come almost at the same time, and it’s not poetic or fateful or magical like dual orgasms are in the books. It’s hard and brutal and Justin wants to cry out, but clamps his lips between his teeth at the last second.
He wonders if he can clean the mess without Brian waking up.
* * *
The quality of the sex varies, sometimes Brian can go for an hour and sometimes it’s ten minutes. And once or twice, much to Justin’s disappointment, he seems to fall back into real sleep and forgets that Justin’s dick is in his mouth.
But the episodes get more and more frequent, until Justin is being woken up at least once a night for some form of sexual activity. He wonders why Brian hasn’t noticed they never do it in the daytime any more.
Justin tries to wake him up once, just to see what will happen, even though he has the old wives’ tale in his head about not waking a sleepwalker. Or a sleepfucker.
“Brian,” Justin murmurs, when he’s woken up for the second time in one night by Brian climbing on top of him. “Brian. Hey.” He wriggles out from under him and puts a hand on his shoulder.
Brian blinks slowly and looks at the empty space Justin has vacated. Justin can see his eyes are still glazed. When he keeps staring at the rumpled sheet in confusion, Justin gives in and lies down in front of him. Brian picks up where he left off, and Justin doesn’t try to wake him up again.
* * *
The lack of sleep is affecting them both. Rarely a day passes without either of them sniping at the other.
“Don’t use so much oregano in the sauce. Christ, there’s other spices.”
“Fuck off, Brian, I don’t see you making dinner. And would it kill you to put out the goddamned plates on the counter? Spaghetti’s almost ready.”
“We already had that this week.”
Justin resists the urge to slam the wooden spoon he’s holding into the sauce, although he knows it would make a satisfying splatter across the stove. He places it into the pot gently, and turns around.
“I am going to Woody’s,” he says carefully. “Make your own fucking dinner.”
He uses the last of yesterday’s tips to buy a basket of french fries, and smothers them in ranch dressing and barbeque sauce. Justin takes a passive-aggressive satisfaction in knowing that Brian would have a fit if he saw the carb intake.
A lean, muscular brunet eyes him from the other side of the pool table, so Justin follows him to the back. There’s a curious sort of satisfaction in fucking someone who’s awake.
Afterward, even though what he really wants to do is go home because he’s exhausted, Justin plays a round of pool by himself and eavesdrops.
“… no. Haven’t seen him,” the hot bartender shrugs, polishing a glass, and the blond he’s talking to doesn’t bother to hide his glum expression.
Justin knows who they mean. Justin always knows who they mean.
“He didn’t look so good the last time he was here, anyway,” the bartender continues, oblivious to Justin edging closer to the bar. “Matching set of luggage under his eyes. Kinney’s looking old.”
They both laugh, and even though it’s only a case of sour grapes, Justin has a fierce surge of protectiveness and fury that he knows Brian would snort at.
He throws his pool cue onto the table and stalks out the door.
* * *
He expects to have to wait up for Brian, but finds him stretched out on the floor under the window, reading one of Justin’s art books on Diego Rivera.
“I like his work,” Brian says, and Justin knows it’s supposed to be an apology.
“You would,” Justin replies, and drops to the floor.
“What’s that mean?”
“He was a social realist. He focused specifically on the social problems and hardships of everyday life. Political art like Rivera’s was out of favor in his time.”
A corner of Brian’s mouth lifts. “Sounds more like you than me.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll be appreciated when I’m dead then, I guess.” Justin sits cross-legged next to Brian’s shoulder and takes the book from him. He looks at the artwork with a practiced eye.
Brian turns to his stomach and pillows his head on his arms. He cocks an eyebrow up at Justin. “I appreciate some parts of you more than others.”
“You’ve been waking me up at night,” Justin says abruptly, snapping the book shut.
“I don’t snore.”
“Not with snoring. And yes, you do. But it isn’t that.”
Brian waits quietly.
Justin shifts uncomfortably on the hard floor. “It’s, uh. Different. I mean.”
“Spit it out.”
“Did you know we have sex while you’re asleep?”
Brian lifts his head. “What do you mean, asleep?”
“Like, asleep! Like, you’re not awake! And you’ve been waking me up so we can fuck and you’re all weird and nice and gentle and it’s weird, okay, Brian, it’s just weird.” Justin thinks he might sound a little childish, but fuck, it had stopped being sort of fun a while ago, and now it was just freaking him out.
“Weird? What’s weird about it?”
“You jerked me off and let me top.”
Brian’s eyebrows raise in surprise and Justin thinks Brian might get it now.
“So … what’s the problem? I’m not good when I’m asleep?”
“You’re always good.”
Justin doesn’t know why Brian isn’t more weirded out by the weirdness. He isn’t that concerned at all, Justin realizes. Either that, or Brian’s more tired than he thought, because when Justin blurts out, “I think it’s a sign of stress,” Brian puts his head back down on his arms.
“Probably,” Brian agrees. “I’m entitled to some.”
This is more self-introspection in one night than Brian’s made in the three-plus years Justin’s known him. It creeps him out.
“Okay, so, can you stop doing it?”
“I didn’t know I was.”
“Now you do. The first step is to recognize there’s a problem.”
“Since when is sex a problem?”
“Since it wakes me up at three in the morning every night!”
“Why, Sunshine. Could it be that you’re actually getting old? Don’t tell me you really think a bed is for sleeping.” Brian grins devilishly at him and Justin starts to feel better.
“Have you not noticed the lack of fucking in our relationship? During the day, I mean?” Justin yawns and wonders what time it is.
Brian shrugs. “Didn’t think about it. I get enough cock. What relationship?”
“Asshole,” Justin says, and hits him in the arm.
Brian slides over and lays his head in Justin’s lap, nuzzling at the buttonfly of his jeans. “I’m awake now,” he says unnecessarily, and Justin’s dick twitches in response.
“Can I top?” Justin tests, and is rewarded with a sharp bark of laughter from Brian.
They end up on their sides, a position Justin favors because it’s the one Brian used most frequently after he was hit with a bat by ChrisfuckingHobbs, and Justin equates it with tenderness.
As much tenderness as Brian is capable of, anyway.
The wood floor bites into Justin’s hipbone but he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter because Brian’s rocking him with his thrusts, snaking an arm over Justin’s side and gripping his cock in a sure hand.
It’s just different, Justin thinks, when your partner is actually awake. Not so lonely.
And then Brian is whispering his name into the back of his hair, making it sound low and sleek and dirty, nuzzling Justin’s ear and taking harsh breaths, and Justin revels in the realness of it.
* * *
Three weeks later, Justin wakes up to strong fingers wrapping around his cock. He turns to his back and sighs, ready to nudge Brian awake and forgo a good handjob.
Brian’s eyes are wide open and glinting at him with amusement in the darkness.