Disclaimer: Cowlip owns them, I don't, wouldn't want to, not making any money from this, want no fight with the big boys!
Authors notes: Happy Thanksgiving!
"Will there be turkey?"
"Yeah," Brian scoffs across the phone lines, "Wild Turkey." He can almost hear Justin wrinkle his nose in disgust, and it makes him grin to himself in victory. Bourbon was never Justin's drink of choice.
"Yeah. No thanks."
"Deb will fucking kill me."
"What else is new? Besides, it's time you stood up to her, Brian, let her know that not everything is your fault."
"Thank you." Brian opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder.
"Most things are. But not everything."
"Fuck you, too."
He loves the sound of Justin's laugh as it bubbles across the miles. He'd love it more if it were coming from two feet away. Or less.
There is a comfortable silence, during which Brian drains most of his water and gets his machine booted up. He's got two hours of work ahead of him before he can hit the sack, but he doesn't rush Justin off the phone. Having the kid breathe in his ear like this is almost as soothing as having him puttering around the loft. Brian always did his best work sitting at this desk, as long as Justin was somewhere nearby.
Brian figures they've turned into mutant alien lesbian pod people, but if he can get Justin to suck his dick regularly, watch occasionally as Justin's eyes get all twinkley from E, and still find brilliant new ways to sell the same old floor mops, it's all good.
"Tell me the real reason," Justin breathes, finally, after minutes pass.
But by now, Brian has lost the thread. He's already opened six different files on his computer and is calculating 15- and 30- second radio spots for 3 major metro areas into the budget in front of him when the question floats by him.
"What reason?" His voice is distracted, despite knowing better, and he winces when he catches himself. There's gonna be hell to pay in 3, 2, 1…
"You're not even fucking listening, are you, asshole?" Justin is hot when he bristles, but Brian isn't going to be the total idiot who tells him that. He'll be the idiot who tries to diffuse the temperamental bomb about to go off 370 miles away, and like the pendulum his life has become, he swings wide to being glad, at this moment, that Justin isn't two feet away. Or less.
"I am now." Like a typical husband, his brain spins, trying to remember what reason Justin is looking for, while his mouth buys him time. "You said to tell you the real reason."
"Did you forget I was even on the line?" Brian shakes his head, but before the answer can be verbalized, Justin is asking a third question that Brian isn't at all sure is safe to answer, either. "You got lost in work, didn't you?"
Brian nods, knowing perfectly well that even from 370 miles away, Justin can see him do it, so what's the point in trying to hide it? Justin's wife instincts are too fucking deadly. Brian pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering if he can navigate his way out of the neatly prepared trap he's sprung on himself, when he suddenly remembers the right answer.
"Because I miss you," he blurts, ridiculously pleased with himself.
Justin jumps tracks with him, taking Brian's breath away.
"Don't even try that on me. You fucking forgot, Brian."
"No. Yes. I did, but then I remembered and the real reason is because I miss you."
"That's not what I mean! You forgot the other thing, also!" Justin is at his most mysterious when he bristles, too, and for fucking sure Brian won't be telling him that, because Justin already knows it and uses it every chance he can.
"Justin!" Brian's familiar old ire returns, barking and nipping at the heels of the mutant alien lesbian pod person he's become. "I'm totally fucking confused, now, so throw me a bone, here!"
Justin sighs deeply, with a patient frustration that Brian recognizes because both his mother and Deb have the same sigh in their repertoires.
"I told you to give me the real reason you were pushing me so hard to come home for Thanksgiving, but you forgot I was even on the line." Justin enunciates carefully, as if he's speaking to someone for whom English is a second language.
"I didn't forget."
"I didn't! It's just-"
"It was… you know… comfortable, like when you were… like, home and shit."
He cringes, knowing that a smile is breaking out on Justin's face that wasn't put there by catching the first glimpse of Brian's cock after a long absence. Brian knows it's one of those hateful, 'He so loves me, I'm so the one in control,' smiles that he'd really rather not have to see again for the rest of his life, thanks much.
"You're forgiven. Asshole."
Alone in his dim nighttime loft, Brian closes his eyes in relief, but just so Justin remembers that he's not totally pussy whipped, he snorts into the phone with all the disdain he has left.
"So the real reason is you miss me."
"Yeah," Brian concedes, "I do."
He listens to Justin's happy smile across the miles.
"The shower stall hasn't really been cleaned properly since the last time you were here. The maid just doesn't seem to do as good a job as you-"
"Fuck you!" Justin shouts through his laughter, and Brian jerks the phone away from his ear, grinning.
They sit in silence again, but Brian is wiser this time and doesn't even glance at his monitor. The pull of Excel spreadsheets could land in him life-partner separation mediation court, or wherever the fuck fags go to get divorced.
"Come home," he finally murmurs into the phone. "New York can do without the great artiste for three days."
"I bought my train ticket last week."
"You're a twisted little fuck and you must be punished." The thought makes Brian's dick hard.
"Gobble, gobble," Justin whispers suggestively.