Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My mother is a frigid bitch. My father was an abusive drunk. They had a hateful marriage, which is probably why I am…unwilling or unable to form a long-term, committed relationship of my own. The fact that I drink like a fish, abuse drugs, and have, more or less, redefined promiscuity doesn’t help…much. As a result I have lost the two people in my life that mean the most to me.

- Brian Kinney, 508

Brian winds his way through the crowd.

Only years of schmoozing and bullshitting keep it from looking like the desperate escape it really is.

“Just because we’ve been friends all our lives, doesn’t mean we have to continue being friends. Especially now that we have so little in common.”

So little in common. Different directions.

Fucking hell.

It’s getting hard to breathe and Brian doesn’t even think, simply strides past the stuffed coatroom and bursts through the front door. 

He shudders in relief, his lungs finally expanding fully. Icy winter air claws its way into his lungs.

His eyes are stinging and he blinks compulsively. Fucking Pittsburgh, cold enough to freeze his remaining fucking ball off.

Unwilling to look like some pathetic fag having a meltdown in the doorway, Brian keeps going for a few paces until his legs refuse to take another step. 

He lets himself collapse against the unforgiving brick wall. One would think that after all these years of getting sucked off against cold buildings, he’d have developed some kind of immunity. No such luck.

He shudders again, raises a shaky hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Hard.

“Brian!”

And just like that, every one of his fucking nerve endings leaps to attention. 

“Brian, wait!”

As if he’s going anywhere. Isn’t that exactly what Lindsay and Michael accused him of? Being stuck in the past, unable to move forward?

Lungs deflating and heart battering against his ribcage, Brian turns. Let it never be said that Brian Kinney doesn’t meet his battles face-on.

Justin is breathless, breathtaking. 

He looks harried. The composed front he’d presented to Brian the past few times they’d talked to each other since he walked out of the loft nowhere to be seen.

He’s clutching Brian’s coat and it’s that, for some reason, that makes Brian’s throat constrict and his eyes sting anew. 

Fuck.

“Brian,” Justin says again in that way he does, as though there’s a million things woven in each and every syllable of Brian’s name.

It’s something he learned to do over the years, had to in order to keep Brian’s vicious tongue from slicing him to ribbons at every unsuspecting turn.

Their breath fogs between them and Justin is licking his lips, fighting to keep the words in. Brian raises his eyebrows, prompting him wordlessly. But in the end, Justin simply holds out his coat.

“Here,” he says softly.

Brian takes the coat, mouth dry and throat still sewn shut with string upon string of unsaid words.

He knows he’s shivering, even though he can barely feel it. There’s this weird sensation in his chest, as though it’s filled with broken glass.

He’s holding the fucking coat like an idiot, white-knuckled and unable to make himself put it on.

Justin looks at him, face open and agonised, as though Brian is breaking his heart with every breath. Well, guess that makes two of them.

More than ever, Brian wishes he could do something, anything, to wipe that expression off Justin’s face. To soothe the hurt, to touch him. To put him back together. 

Here, Brian thinks, more than a little unhinged. I broke some of your parts, but you can have mine instead. I don’t need them.

Fuck, he’s turning into a fucking fag-poet.

“I just-” Justin breaks off, licks his lips again. It makes them shine and all Brian can think is that he wants to taste him, hold onto him. “I wanted to thank you. For coming.”

Brian almost snorts, but the glass shards inside him won’t let him. He sucks his lips into his mouth instead, clamps down hard, and nods once, jerkily.

For a moment he thinks that that might be it, that Justin will give him a nod of his own and walk off. But then something breaks and it makes Justin’s expressive face even more raw. It’s fucking painful to watch, but Brian never wants to look away again.

“I’m sorry,” Justin blurts out, and Brian can tell the words have been stewing inside him for days. “About Michael. I shouldn’t have gone to him, gotten between you like that-”

Which is about as far as Brian can take it.

“It wasn’t you.” It comes out low, gravelly, but iron-clad.

Justin drops his gaze and Brian knows he doesn’t believe him.

“Justin,” he says and Justin’s gaze comes back up. Intent, familiar, and so fucking beautiful. “It wasn’t you.”

For a moment, they simply look at each other, a million unsaid things passing between them. 

It’s something they never lost, this deep fucking connection. It makes Brian alternately want to rip his own heart out in the hope that this way he’ll be rid of it, while also wanting to hold on to it with everything he has.

“I just want you to know that…I’m here,” Justin says softly, the for you even louder for being left unspoken.

And fuck, here Brian thought his innards were already scattered in a lovely trail from the gallery to this dirty alley. Guess they were still missing a few bits to complete the assemble.

Justin’s gaze is unwavering and he takes a step closer, shrinking the space between them to almost nothing. He reaches out and Brian already knows where his touch will land, can feel Justin’s hands on his shoulders before they even make contact.

“I don’t care how hard it is,” Justin goes on quietly. “Or how much it hurts. I want you to know you’re not alone. If you need me, I’m here. Always.”

Jesus fuck, Brian can really feel the tears now. He blinks, rubs at his lips to hide a brief tremor.

They’re close, so close their breath is a single hot, white cloud between them.

Brian can feel it, the irresistible pull, drawn even tauter with proximity. He knows that if he gives in now and kisses him, Justin will let him.

But Brian can’t do that to him, it wouldn’t be fair. He’s already hurt him so much the thought of doing it again makes him feel ill.

So he turns his head, touches his forehead to Justin’s temple. For a moment, he wishes he could simply disappear into Justin. Be carried around inside him, warm and protected and always close.

But they’re both shivering now, and Brian knows that if he doesn’t step back right now, he won’t be able to.

“You should go back.” Brian almost doesn’t recognise his voice. Inhaling a sharp breath, he finally draws back and clears his throat. “Wouldn’t want to miss out. After all, you’re the star of the evening.”

Justin’s hands fall away, leaving Brian even colder than before. He smiles a small, sad smile.

“Yeah.”

Brian rubs at his lips once more, hoping that his eyes aren’t spilling emotions everywhere. He needs to flee, to get away from Justin’s eyes and Justin’s lips and Justin’s irresistible pull. 

“Take care of yourself,” is what Brian settles on.

“You, too.”

Justin is reluctant, but they’ve played this game before - far too many times. So he takes his cue from Brian, just as he always does, and turns to go.

And Brian should do the same, but suddenly the sight of Justin walking away is too much.

“Justin.” He says the name just so he can hear it out loud, wrap his tongue around it, taste it. And when Justin turns around to look back at him, Brian allows one more word, one he hasn’t said nearly enough. “Thanks.”

*

By the time Brian remembers that he’s still holding onto his fucking coat, he’s so frozen to the bone that it barely makes a difference when he shrugs it on. 

The ‘Vette’s heating is for shit and when Brian finally reaches the loft, he’s surprised that all his fingers are still attached. It’s a small miracle he didn’t cause a crash, what with him hardly feeling the steering wheel in his numb hands.

Unable to face the stairs, Brian huddles into a corner of the elevator and almost dozes off on the way up. The jolt when it stops makes his eyes snap open and he stumbles out.

It takes him four tries to fit the fucking key in the lock, but when he slides open the door, blessed heat washes over him. Thank fuck for central heating.

Leaving a trail of clothes, Brian makes it into the shower, turning it to just below boiling. Steam billows upwards, fogging the glass and the mirror.

Brian is grateful, he doesn’t think he could bear the sight of himself right now.

The water stings viciously, his entire body protesting at being thawed. Brian welcomes the pain, braces his palms against the wall as he lets the sensation of a million needles trying to escape his skin wash over him.

Fuck, he’s such a fucking queen.

After emerging from the shower, he’s at least warm again. He’s also tired as fuck, but knows for a fact that there’s no chance of going to sleep this century. Especially not after the day he’s had.

Dazed and aching, he makes his way over to the bar cart, pouring himself a healthy dose of JB on auto-pilot.

He brings the glass to his lips, absently letting his gaze wander the dim, familiar lines of the loft.

The loft.

Not home, not ‘his house’. The loft.

The vast, empty space dominated by his vast, empty bed.

Feeling suddenly sick, Brian lowers the glass without having taken a single sip.

Is this really it? This yawning fucking emptiness, is that all there is? Is this supposed to be his triumphant reward for defending his precious life-style? For defending a person he has come to resent, despite doing his best to tell everyone, including himself, how fucking amazing he is?

The glass clinks dully as he sets it down, the sound echoing back at him from the emptiness around him.

Brian takes a step, then another. It’s tentative, as though he’s in a foreign place, surrounded by the possessions of a stranger.

He trudges around aimlessly for a few moments, unclear what it is he’s trying to accomplish.

There’s nothing personal here, he realises. Not now, and not before Justin left.

Despite the redecoration, this place is the same. A time machine, a fucking wormhole.

For the first time in his life, Brian can see it. It’s as if someone has lifted a veil from his face, blown the glitter from his eyes. 

For the first time ever, he sees the bars of a cage of his own making.

Numb all over again, Brian makes his way to the bedroom. He opens his dresser, looks at his suits, at the million fucking identical black fuck-me shirts. He thinks of Justin, sat at his computer - dejected, defeated.

As he closes the doors, he catches a glimpse of his own reflection, shrouded in darkness and his own bullshit. He turns his back on it.

Brian realises that even when Justin had still been living here, he hadn’t really lived here. His computer, a handful of clothes, a sketch or two. Some high-fat, carb rich crap in the fridge.

That’s it. That had been the extent of Justin’s presence in his life.

Justin trying so very hard for years to fit himself into Brian’s space. Fit himself on and around Brian’s furniture, shove his clothes into the tiny spaces in Brian’s drawers. Fit himself into the cracks left by an endless string of meaningless, faceless fucks.

Suddenly unable to breathe, Brian stumbles back. He bumps into the edge of the bed, his knees giving out as he collapses onto it.

Fresh sheets - sterile, impersonal. They’re crisp, new. He’d gotten them when the old ones reminded him too much of Justin, even though he’d never have admitted it when he picked them out.

Brian Kinney does what he wants. Brian Kinney doesn’t answer to anyone.

Brian fucking Kinney, the most pathetic fag of them all.

*

So, what? Is he just supposed to crawl in a hole and die?

Fuck that!

He’s Brian fucking Kinney and isn’t the whole point of that being able to do whatever the fuck he wants?

Not what he’s been telling himself he’s supposed to want. Not what he used to want when he’d first broken free of his toxic family and sworn to himself that he would conquer the world or die trying.

That isn’t who he is anymore, it’s not what he wants.

Now he just has to find a way to be okay with that and finally, finally break free of this time loop of stale expectations.

It’s time for Brian fucking Kinney to use his one remaining ball and own up. He finally needs to stop proving shit to other people, and instead prove some things to himself.

*

Unfortunately, there’s no time to do anything about his big, life-changing revelation, because he has to be at Kinnetik bright and early. Rise and fucking shine.

He’s barely slept, his head is pounding and he feels like utter shit.

On the way to the office, he gets coffee strong enough to make his eyes water and his stomach curl in on itself in protest. Not that it hasn’t been doing that all fucking morning anyway.

Feeling shaky, Brian wrecks his brain, trying to pin-point the last time he had a drink.

He’d only had a single glass of wine at the gallery - despite a very acute desire to get absolutely shit-faced. Work had been busy, so there hadn’t been time before he’d taken off. He remembers a brief but intense internal battle on whether he should simply turn around, snort something ambiguous, and get his dick sucked.

But this was Justin, so he hadn’t.

Which means that he’s been (almost) ‘clean’ since last night.

All right, Brian thinks as he brings the paper cup to his lips and takes a deep drag, uncaring that he scalds his tongue in the process. Looks like he won’t be needing it anytime soon, anyway. We’re on, Kinney.

By the time he strides into his office, the caffein has kicked in and the buzz has beaten the trembling edge of emerging withdrawal into submission. For now.

“Theodore, in my office,” Brian says as he passes his desk. “Now.”

He can hear Ted scramble to his feet and follow.

Brian sincerely wishes he wasn’t about to do what he’s doing, but there’s no way around it. As much as he hates the idea, there has to be at least one person in on the fun. Not to mention that he’ll need someone to cover his ass when things start to get rough. He still remembers the time he tried to hide his cancer from everyone, only to have to come clean with Ted or end up collapsing at the office.

And, funnily enough, if Brian were forced to pick one person to tell, it’d be Ted. Someone who has experience with this crap, someone non-judgmental who knows how to keep their fucking mouth shut. Someone who won’t get their hopes up and be all fucking supportive.

Dropping his shit on the desk, Brian is shrugging out of his coat just as Ted bustles in behind him.

“Close the door.”

Brian watches him do it as he unpacks his laptop, then sinks into his chair. He grabs his coffee, but discovers it’s empty and sets it aside just as Ted comes in. He stands in front of his desk, the usual, expectant look that means he’s ready to receive orders.

“I want you to get rid of all the alcohol in this room. And later, I want you to come home with me and help me do the same there.”

He can tell he’s absolutely floored Ted, who’s now wearing a queer-in-headlights expression. Still, there’s always been something supremely unthreatening about Ted and, for some insane reason, Brian trusts him implicitly.

“No questions,” Brian pre-emptives sharply. “And no advice. If I need any, I’ll ask for it. Also, I don’t need to tell you that they’ll never find your body if you breathe a word to anyone. We clear?”

“Crystal,” Ted answers obediently. “Anything else?”

 But there’s this look in his eyes. Like he’s just about bursting at the seams to tell Brian how proud of him he is or some shit. It makes Brian’s stomach curdle. This is exactly why he doesn’t want anyone to know.

“Yes,” Brian says, holding Ted’s gaze for another beat, before dropping it to his laptop to get to work. “Coffee. Strong, hot, and lots of it.”

“You got it.”

It’s watching Ted leave from under his lashes that suddenly brings back their little talk from the other day. The one where Ted had been trying so fucking hard to be his friend and Brian, left with nothing and feeling it more than ever, had let him.

There, Ted had said. Don’t you feel better?

No, Brian hadn’t. Not right then, anyway. But it had given him some things to think about. And while he has no intention of turning into a lesbian on top of everything, Brian figures that sometimes, just sometimes, letting something honest escape might not be the worst thing.

Still, talking about it had never been his style. What Brian needs is action, which is why making major life decisions during sleepless nights and guzzling coffee like there’s no tomorrow isn’t going to cut it.

Though maybe, he thinks as he stares unseeingly at his laptop screen, the decisions aren’t as sudden as he likes to make himself believe. Because as much as he’s been fighting against it, there’s something inside him that has been clamouring for years. Something that no amount of drinking and fucking could shut the fuck up.

So yeah, talk is fucking cheap, always has been. He’s going to do this, really do this, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll finally be able to face himself in the mirror and see something he can be proud of.

*

Surprisingly, Ted manages to keep his big mouth shut far longer than Brian thought possible.

He lets him handle the liquor, while Brian goes hunting for all the stashes of drugs - some of which he’d almost forgotten about.

Once they’ve all made their way down the toilet, Brian goes to the kitchen to grab a black trash bag. The smell of alcohol is heavy in the air from where Ted has just finished pouring all the bottles down the sink. It makes Brian fucking desperate for a drink.

He swallows and goes to crack a couple windows open instead. Then he shoves the trash bag at Ted’s chest.

“Hold this,” he orders, then indicates Ted should follow.

Wide-eyed, Ted watches him ransack his closet, pulling out stack after stack of sleeveless black shirts. 

Christ, how many of these fucking things does he actually own?

Without a word, Brian moves on to the sheets, not even looking as he shoves an entire massive fucking pile of them into the bag. He’s got a new set on his bed right now, and the ones he’d ordered today should arrive by tomorrow.

The box of sex toys is next, then the other box of less frequently used ones, as well as a small bag of costumes and more heavy duty kink paraphernalia.

When Brian moves to his bedside table and yanks open the drawer, he finds that his hands are shaking more than ever and his breathing has reached an alarming rate.

He has to stop for a moment.

Refusing to sit down, Brian concentrates on the rhythm of his lungs and forces himself back under control. 

He’s never been a panic-breather. Then again, he’s never been forced to gather and let go of every single thing he’s relied upon to keep him from crawling out of his fucking skin before.

Ted seems to know what’s going on, because he still hasn’t said anything.

After a few moments of careful breathing, Brian gets a fucking grip and yanks open the bedside drawer. A wholesale supply worth of condoms - and he’d only just re-stocked, more’s the pity.

Grabbing the box, Brian simply holds onto it for a moment. He can feel his breathing picking back up, but forces it to slow. 

His heart is trying its best to smash its way out of his chest. It might be the ridiculous amount of caffein, or it might be this. His last fucking life-line.

Fuck.

“Brian,” Ted’s voice is laden with sympathy, the emotion landing like lead and dragging him down further.

Brian’s head snaps up, glaring in warning as he shoves the box at Ted’s chest. He barely manages to catch it one-handed.

“Here, Theodore,” Brian says, sickly sweet. “Wouldn’t want these to go to waste, now would we? You can use them on all the boy toys you’ve been reeling in lately.”

“Brian,” Ted says again and Brian can feel his eyes on him as he stalks around the bed to the other bedside table.

He repeats the process on there, shoving an identical box of condoms on top of the one Ted is still balancing precariously.

“Brian,” he says for the third time and fuck, he’s taking back any and all good thoughts he’s recently had about Ted. “Have you thought about maybe…talking to someone?”

Oh, hell no. Fuck, no.

Brian whirls around. “I recognise it might be hard at your age, but I do think I remember us having this little chat earlier in my office about how I want you to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

But Brian must either be losing his touch, or Ted has become immune, because he looks supremely unruffled by Brian’s tone. What a horrific thought.

“I just think…maybe you shouldn’t do this on your own.”

Brian gives him his best saccharine smile.

“I’m not alone, you’re here. Giving me all the unsolicited advice I never fucking asked for.”

“Brian, I’m serious. This is serious. It’s a huge step and having some professional help-”

Brian yanks the condom boxes from Ted’s grasp and throws them into the crumpling bin bag between them.

“Get out,” Brian snaps. “And take this with you. I don’t care what you do with it. Keep it, sell it, fucking donate it to charity, I don’t give a fuck. Just take it, and your words of wisdom, and fuck off.”

Wisely, Ted complies. At least until he reaches the door.

“Just, call me if you need me. I mean it, Brian. Doesn’t matter when or-” He cuts himself off, thank fuck for small mercies. “Just remember I’m here for you.”

Brian says nothing, doesn’t let himself turn around until long after the sound of the elevator has faded into silence.

Letting out a long breath, Brian straightens. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and chugs it down, then flicks the switch on the coffee machine.

He’s got some more condoms to hunt down.

*

So, all in all, the first day wasn’t all that bad.

Sure, he had the jitters for most of it, could hardly get more than a couple of bites of stale toast down, and barely managed to sleep more than two hours in small, ten to twenty minute segments, but hey. He also had to jerk off about seven times - good thing he hadn’t thrown the lube out.

*

Day two finds him shaking all over and his dick so hard he could probably pound nails with it.

He feels like fucking death and the last thing he wants right now is having to make friendly with his right hand once again. But, if nothing else, it might release some tension. Or something.

It’s a good thing that he had the foresight to throw all the liquor out yesterday, because he’s fucking gagging for a drink. And a fuck. Preferably both in alternating intervals.

He makes more coffee instead.

*

Ted keeps bringing him water and giving him these looks and Brian is ready to kill him by the end of the day.

“I was thinking,” Ted starts and Brian snorts. Ted ignores him. “Maybe it’d be better if you stayed away from the club for a couple days. Let me handle it, give yourself a break.”

“I can fucking handle it myself.”

“I’m just saying there’s no need to put yourself into that position, not yet. You’re already taking on a lot all at once and at break-neck speed and-”

“I’m fine,” Brian cuts him off, sharp and full of shit. “I’ll take care of it. You can come, or not. I don’t give a fuck.”

Another good thing about Ted? He knows when to fucking let it go.

*

Know who doesn’t know when to fucking let it go? Brian fucking Kinney.

It’s always been a problem for him. Always a point to make, always something to prove.

Like with that fuckwad Brandon. That whole thing should be worth a wake-up call all on its own - and, to a great extent, it had been. A fuck-off, Lindsay had called it. A juvenile pissing (jizzing?) contest with some loser the cat dragged in one night.

Disgust gnaws at him like never before.

When had all this started? When had he lost such complete sight of himself?

It’s not about the fucking, hell no. Not when it was still hot, still exciting. When it was something other than a fucking compulsion.

Brian isn’t fucking stupid. He knows that he’s used sex as pain management, used it to feel something, used it not to feel anything. But somehow, somewhere, it had all gotten out of hand. And the fact that it’s taken him this fucking long, that it’s cost him the two people that mean the most to him-

It’s fucking killing him.

*

He knows it’s a mistake before he even steps inside the club.

The familiar beat thumps through his skull, wrapping around a brain that hasn’t managed to shut the fuck up since he stopped guzzling JB and sticking his dick in any and all available holes.

He’s wearing a white t-shirt that he found at the back of his closet, along with a pair of faded jeans usually reserved for lounging around at home. It was either this or arriving in his suit and he really doesn’t want the attention tonight.

Guess there’s a fucking first for everything.

Nodding at the bouncer on shift, Brian exchanges a few words with him, checking that there’s been no incidents. There hasn’t.

Brian makes his way inside, retracing familiar steps. He gets himself a bottled water at the bar. One because Babylon doesn’t sell coffee, and two because if he has one more drop of caffein today he might well peel off his skin.

He sucks on the water, knuckles white and teeth digging painfully into the plastic rim.

Ted materialises beside him and Brian has no idea where the fuck he’s suddenly come from. Brian realises that he’s been crumpling the empty water bottle and staring fixedly in the direction of the backroom.

The entrance is barely visible from here, a haze of smoke, glitter and laser lights dividing them. As if Brian needs the reminder, he could find it drunk, high and fucking blindfolded.

Ted eyes him in silent concern, then hands him another fucking water.

Brian snatches it off him, shoves the empty one at Ted and turns sharply on his heel.

“I’m going up to the office.”

Ted nods, holding the crumpled remains of Brian’s bottle, and stays blessedly silent. Brian can feel the burn of his gaze following him all the way up the stairs.

*

Brian wavers about sixteen times, makes his way over to the door only to turn back at the last minute ten out of those. On the last trip, he flicks the lock on the door and tears open his jeans.

His dick is painfully hard and leaking. He yanks at it harshly, like a punishment. It fucking hurts, too dry, too fast, too desperate.

He presses his face against the door hard enough to bruise his cheekbone, muffling his agonised bellow against unforgiving metal when he finally spills over his fist.

Fuck, he hates this. He needs a fucking drink, or better yet, a hit of something strong enough to make him forget his fucking name.

He cleans himself roughly, then stalks back to his desk. He snatches up the bottle of water, only to find it empty.

Lashing it across the room with a shout, he kicks his chair over, throws his desk lamp, the stack of papers he’d been working on-

Then slowly sinks to his knees and starts picking them back up, one by one.

*

Turns out, day three is for shit.

Ted sends him home the second he catches sight of him and the fact that Brian actually goes should be a comprehensive assessment of how utterly fucked he really is. Or rather, how utterly unfucked.

At least when he’d had the fucking surgery for his cancer and the radiation therapy, he’d been too fucking ill to get it up. A historic event, hunks and queens, Brian Kinney unable to get a boner. A once in a lifetime occurrence.

Now, his dick seems to be on some kind of mission to prove to Brian that it might never go soft again. Even when it is soft, it still feels as though all of his blood is rushing south, trying its best to rouse it again.

It’s sore, over-sensitised in a way no marathon fuck has ever managed before.

And it’s not just his dick, either. It’s all of him, every fucking nerve ending screaming at him. 

Too loud, too bright, too much - not enough.

He’s so wired, so exhausted he can feel fucking tears stinging his eyes.

There’s come drying on his stomach, come all over the fucking sheets, even though there’s hardly any left to squeeze out anymore. The almost empty bottle of lube is digging into his shoulder, but Brian can’t scrape together enough of a fuck to move.

His hand is sore, his dick feels ready to fall off and there’s tremors travelling along his muscles like electrical currents.

Brian snorts, sobs. Fuck, this is what he’s come to. Alone and covered in his own come, ready to fucking kill someone for a drink, a fix, a fuck.

It’s fucking tragic. Fucking hilarious.

Maybe this is it.

It’s not the first time he’s thought it, far from it, but somehow this time it feels more real than ever before. Like death is right there, breathing down his sweaty neck.

He could call Ted, knows that he’d be there in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t want Ted. What he wants, who he wants-

The same person, the only person he’s ever truly wanted.

Fuck it. Fuck this, fuck it all to hell and back.

*

He’d managed a shower at least, then done the responsible thing and called a cab.

There’s no way Brian trusts himself to drive. Not just because he’d probably crash the car within two blocks of the loft, but also because he doesn’t want to find out if he’s actually desperate enough to pull over at the next best corner and pay a hustler to suck him off. Anything to force the rough, uncaring touch of his own hand out of his head.

Let me know, Brian had said and Justin had.

A few days after he’d walked out the door, Justin had texted him. Just an address, nothing else. But he’d done it, had let Brian know, hadn’t forced Brian to ask around for it.

It’s that very same address he reads out to the cab driver now.

He’s not thinking, there’s no room inside his head among all the chaos that’s been clamouring in him since his talk with Debbie, Lindsay,…Mikey. Since fucking Brandon and the loss of his oh so precious dignity. Since he couldn’t get two fucking words out the night Justin had left.

Don’t go.

*

The ride is a blur and Brian doesn’t hear a thing the driver says to him. He throws a wad of cash at him, knowing it’s far too much and not giving a fuck as he crawls out.

The neighbourhood is for shit and he’s suddenly glad he wasn’t able to bring the ‘Vette. It wouldn’t have lasted half an hour being parked here.

Finding the right run down building, Brian notices the front door all but hanging from its hinges. He pushes inside, not even trying the light switch - he doesn’t think his eyes could take it right now.

He stumbles up, up, up. There’s no elevator, not even a broken one. He had to sit down after five floors, before managing the final four.

Only one door out of three has a flaking number on it. Brian counts them in his head, then braces his arm on the doorjamb of the right one. His arm is shaking, the hand he raises to knock is shaking. His whole fucking body is shaking and he’s so fucking sick of it.

Resting his forehead against his arm, he knocks again, blindly. He’s too fucking tired to even let his hand fall, so he leaves it pressed against the door until it finally gives under him and opens.

There’s a heartbeat of silence, two, then-

“Jesus, Brian.”

He drags up the energy to peer past his arm. Justin is rumpled, bleary-eyed and so fucking beautiful Brian wants to fucking cry.

“Hey,” he croaks, grimaces around a failed smile.

Justin reaches for him, grabbing him gently and tugging him inside. Brian follows willingly, reaching out shaking arms just to feel him.

Justin’s hands are soft and warm, cradling Brian’s face like something precious. Something breakable.

“What happened to you?”

Brian ducks out of the gentle hold, can’t bear looking at Justin’s face, his eyes, the soft curve of his lips.

“Can I-” Brian breaks off, rolls his lips in and digs around the bleak recesses of his mind to find something, anything to say. “I can’t sleep.”

Brian does chance a look then, a covert glance from beneath his lashes. Justin’s expression spells ‘bullshit’, but all his lines are in soft focus and his hands are gentle as they guide him through the dark, high-ceilinged space.

“C’mon,” he murmurs.

Justin leads him through a wide room stacked with paintings. The smell of paint and turpentine is strong enough to make Brian’s eyes water and it’s fucking freezing, but Brian doesn’t give a fuck. They could be lying in the fucking snow all the way in Antarctica and Brian still wouldn’t give a shit as long as it meant having Justin there with him.

There isn’t a bedroom, not really, just a sleeping alcove with a bed wedged into the corner. It looks bashed in a few places and there’s a bunch of comic stickers along the headboard. Brian raises his eyebrows at them.

“It was Hunter’s bed,” Justin says, bending down to fold back the covers. “Michael let me have it.”

Brian doesn’t answer, wouldn’t know how to put the myriad of conflicting emotions into words. Everyone knows he’s never been good with those.

Instead, he takes the wordless invitation and sinks onto the too-narrow bed. The mattress is too soft, the sheets too scratchy, but Brian kicks off his shoes and curls up along the edge of it.

Justin doesn’t make him get rid of his coat and Brian huddles into it as Justin crawls in behind him and folds the duvet over them. At least it’s warm.

Brian doesn’t dare turn around. 

He feels cold and lightheaded, almost feverish. His t-shirt is clinging to his sweat-slick spine, the draughty air of the apartment chilly on his damp forehead. It’s like he’s nothing but a hazy smudge, a faded brushstroke in one of Justin’s paintings.

The mattress shifts. He’s shaking like a leaf, knows that Justin can feel it.

Warmth unfolds along his back as Justin slides in close, tentative at first. But then Brian finds Justin’s hand, holds it like a lifeline, and Justin moulds himself into the familiar grooves of Brian’s body as he wraps him in his arms.

Brian’s dick is painfully hard again, more than ever with Justin’s scent on the sheets and Justin pressed against him. But for once, the thought of actually doing something about it has Brian fucking terrified.

Another deep shudder wrecks through him and Justin’s grip tightens. He props himself up to look down at Brian’s face, his breath warm as it hits Brian’s sweaty skin. Brian turns his head, hiding against the pillow.

Justin sighs, but settles back down.

“Tell me just one thing,” he murmurs, a tremor of his own threaded through his voice. “It’s not…It’s not the cancer, is it? It’s not back?”

Brian shakes his head and feels Justin melting in relief against him, then almost instantly stiffen once more.

“And it’s not some other thing, some other illness. You’re not-” Dying.

Brian manages a snort, then frees his face enough to give an answer that won’t be muffled in the bedding.

“I’m not dying, Sunshine,” he murmurs sardonically. “Just feeling like it.”

Justin doesn’t say anything else, just holds him tighter, almost painfully so. 

Then the hand that isn’t currently being strangled in Brian’s own finds its way into Brian’s hair. Slow, hypnotic strokes that manage to find all the spots of tension along his skull.

Until finally, miraculously, he slips off to sleep.

*

Brian wakes to the bright light of day and a murmured conversation in the other room - such as it is.

The bed behind him is empty and he’s managed to helplessly tangle himself in both his coat and the sheets. His raging boner is also alive and well. Other than that, he finds that he actually feels…better.

His head is still pounding, his stomach churning, but he’s barely shaking and his thoughts feel a lot clearer.

“Can you at least tell me what’s going on?” Justin’s soft voice drifts over.

He’s on his cell, pacing agitatedly in front of one of the massive windows. He’s wearing paint-stained jeans and a fluffy sweatshirt that almost looks like it’s drowning him.

“Fine, whatever. I’ll send him over as soon as he’s awake.”

Ted, then.

Brian shifts, biting back a groan as he slowly sits up. Justin must’ve heard the rustling of the sheets, because he comes over a moment later.

He knows better than to offer help, simply stands by and watches Brian struggle out of the tangled sheets. And thank fuck for the coat, because that boner isn’t going down anytime soon, especially not with Justin right there.

“Coffee?” Justin asks.

Brian can tell he’s in full Kinney-crisis-handling mode. His voice is calm, his face a blank canvas. But Brian knows him, knows all his tells.

He can see the tension around Justin’s eyes, the gleam of bottomless worry, the tight set of his shoulders.

“Yes, thanks.” Brian’s voice sounds as though it’s been dragged across a bed of nails. He clears his throat. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Justin eyes him silently for another moment, then tilts his head.

“Down the hall.”

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Fuck.” Brian looks away, looks around.

He thinks of the sleek, impersonal lines of his loft. Of the yawning emptiness. He finds none of that here.

Expelling a rough breath, Brian gets to his feet, coat wrapped around him like a shield, then goes off to find the fucking bathroom.

*

He jerks off over the toilet.

He makes himself go easy for once, gentling his grip and inhaling the scent of Justin that’s still clinging to him. He gasps through his orgasm, biting back Justin’s name that’s struggling to slip out.

After that he takes a piss, cleans up, and splashes water onto his face. The tiny mirror is milky, a chunk at the top corner missing.

Stepping back into the studio space, Brian takes advantage of the fact that it isn’t some ungodly hour of the night and has a more thorough look around. He accepts the coffee Justin hands him, strong and scaldingly hot just as he likes it. With his free hand, he flicks through paintings and drawings alike.

“It’s going well, then?”

Which is a fucking redundant question. Of course it’s going well. They’d been at one of Justin’s shows mere days ago.

“It is.” 

Justin’s got that look on his face, the one he always gets when he’s trying frantically to read between the lines without clueing Brian in on the fact that that’s what he’s doing. Brian’s trained him so well.

Fuck.

“Good,” Brian says.

It comes out soft, painfully sincere. Justin stares at him and Brian hastily turns away, burning off some tastebuds as he chugs down a huge mouthful of coffee.

“Brian,” Justin says quietly, stepping closer.

Brian gulps down another sip, then puts down the mug and steps back, away.

“I should go. I have a meeting at Kinnetik in an hour.”

Justin has stopped, is simply standing there now. He looks deflated, conflicted, and Brian hates it.

“Yeah, Ted called. Earlier, while you were still asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Yeah, thanks and-” Brian waves a helpless hand. “Thanks for, you know.”

“Anytime. I-” 

For a moment, Brian thinks he won’t go on. That Brian cracked down on him for expressing himself one too many times. He doesn’t think he could take it if Justin stops there now.

But then Justin pushes on. His brave, beautiful man.

“I won’t ask.” The words are barely above a whisper, but Justin might as well have shouted them for the impact they’re having. “I’m just…really glad you came to me.”

And that’s about as much as Brian can possibly take without touching him.

The embrace that follows isn’t gentle, Brian’s hands pushing roughly into Justin’s shoulders as he pulls him close. Justin holds him just as tightly, fingers clawing into Brian’s coat, his hair.

Brian feels raw, but so very safe it makes his eyes sting.

Justin might have walked out of the loft, but he hasn’t left. He’s still here, right here in Brian’s arms, cradling him close and protecting him from the world…and from himself. And for the first time in his life, Brian actually wants it.

He wants to be held, protected…loved.

He wants to hold on to this feeling, even as it rips him open. Wants to hold on to Justin, who’s the only one that could ever make him feel like this.

All the blood rushes from his head, heat pooling in his abdomen as his dick springs back to life with a vengeance. Justin must be able to feel it, coat or no coat, with the way they’re pressed together.

But he doesn’t pull away, just pushes closer.

To Brian’s shock, there’s absolutely nothing sexual about it. Despite his hard dick all but drilling a hole into Justin’s stomach, neither of them are grinding against each other. There’s no desperate seeking of friction, just closeness.

It’s intimacy in its purest, most primal form.

The whole thing leaves Brian shaken, fucking terrified out of his mind. His head is spinning and his legs feel weak enough to fold beneath him. But Justin doesn’t let go, just keeps on holding him until his breathing finally climbs down from the near-hyperventilation it’s been doing for the past few minutes.

Is this what Justin used to feel when he’d ridden the waves of his panic attacks? Is that what this is?

Finally, Brian manages to pull away.

His face feels hot - a miracle, considering there can’t be much blood left in the upper half of his body. 

He wipes roughly at his lips with the back of his hand, doing his best to fight down terrified tears. He’s riding the edge of an honest to god breakdown, has done nothing but ride that edge for days now.

Justin looks like he wants to touch him some more, but Brian can’t. He just fucking can’t. So he steps back, resolute. Final.

“I should go,” he says again.

Justin’s face falls, closes off and Brian hates it so fucking much.

“Listen.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, has no fucking clue what he’s doing. “Do you want to meet for lunch?”

And now Justin is back to staring at him incredulously. He must’ve been giving him the worst whiplash ever since he stumbled into his shithole of a flat in the middle of the night, acting as though he’s about to fall apart any second.

“Lunch.”

“Yes, Justin, that meal that usually occurs between breakfast and dinner. Surely you’ve heard of it?”

And fucking finally, Brian’s defences have managed to dig themselves free of the emotional avalanche and are doing their fucking job.

As predicted, Justin ignores his glib crap. He’s heard it all before.

“I can’t today,” he says simply. “Tomorrow? Say, around one?”

Brian gives a sharp nod. “Fine.”

“Do you want me to pick something up? Bring it over to Kinnetik?”

Brian nods again, wordless this time.

Justin still looks vaguely dazed, but now he’s smiling and that makes everything automatically more bearable.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he says softly.

And Brian almost walks out without another word, almost takes the usual, coward’s way out.

But something shifts, pulls him back just as he’s about to walk out the door.

He doesn’t turn back, not really, but he does pause. A deep breath, pulled in tight, then tremulously released.

“Me too.”

*

Day four turns out to be…manageable.

Brian gets through his meeting without having to run out to either barf, jerk off, or engage in his newfound breathing gymnastics - so he’ll count that as a win. Ted looks quietly pleased, a relieved smile on his face every time he hands Brian another fucking glass of water.

He’s been trying to at least cut back on the coffee, but only marginally succeeds. As losses go, it’s hardly worth lamenting compared to the general air of success he’s been feeling all day.

*

Day five dawns sleepless, but with an orgasm that doesn’t feel like pure agony.

The good news is that his acute craving for alcohol and drugs has subsided considerably. The bad news is that that seems to have sent a message to his dick that he might just as well go out and play, then.

Brian comes into the office at the asscrack of dawn, sucking on a gigantic caramel latte in the hopes that indulging in one vice will dull the urge of another. He tries to distract himself with work, but every time he remembers that Justin is coming over for lunch today, he feels his fucking dick throb.

He jerks off twice more that morning, feeling utterly pathetic and furious with himself. But it takes the edge off and he might actually be able to greet Justin with only a semi instead of a raging erection. Jury’s still out on that one, though.

Justin comes in at ten past one, carrying an assortment of take-out boxes and a tray with two fresh coffees. Brian always knew there’s a reason he loves him.

The thought startles him with it’s casual intensity. He pushes it aside.

“Hey,” Justin greets him.

“Hey, yourself.”

Justin smiles and Brian hopes he only looks half as besotted as he feels. Closing his laptop, he pushes himself away from the desk.

“Let’s sit on the couch.”

Justin follows obediently, dumping the food and coffee on the coffee table. Brian watches him go through the familiar choreography of picking apart containers, accepting the chopsticks Justin hands him.

Justin waits until he’s stabbed his own chopsticks into his food to say what has no doubt been lingering on his tongue since he arrived.

“You look better.”

Brian glances at him through his lashes.

“I am.”

“Good.”

They eat in silence for a while and the conversation, when it does slowly start up, is a little stilted. But by the time they’ve polished off the food, they’ve got a decent flow going, managing to steer clear of any volatile subjects. Which, let’s face it, is a feat in and of itself. But it’s a joint effort and together they manage it.

It feels…good. More than that, it feels like something has shifted and they’re connecting on a whole new level.

They’re not…friends. Brian knows that if there’s one thing, it’s that Justin could never be just a friend to him. But it’s as close as they’re likely ever going to get to it.

And it’s not like they’ve never done this before, but it just feels different. Brian feels different. And for the first time since this whole torture has started, Brian actually feels like it might all be worth it. The excruciating introspection, the withdrawal…everything.

To have Justin here, relaxed and happy. 

Just for that, it’s worth it.

*

Ted comes in just as they’re cleaning up. He looks startled, then genuinely pleased upon catching sight of Justin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s alright, Theodore,” Brian says. “What can I do for you?”

Ted hands him a sheet of paper pinned to a clipboard, then a pen. “Just need a signature.”

While Brian scans the document, Ted turns to Justin.

“I didn’t get to say this the other day, but I’m really sorry about what happened with your father.”

Brian, who’d just finished scrawling his name on the appropriate line, snaps his head up.

Justin glances at him, then spares a tight smile for Ted. “Thanks.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Ted looks surprised, Justin like he wants to squirm his way out of it as fast as possible.

“Nothing.” Brian glares at him and Justin relents. “Just, when we were protesting Prop14, he…had me arrested.”

“What?”

Brian is on his feet now. He smacks the clipboard into Ted’s chest and he thankfully takes that as his cue to make himself scarce.

Alone again, Brian rounds on Justin, who’s also got to his feet now.

“It really wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“You call your asshole of a father throwing you in jail ‘not a big deal’?” Brian paces a step away, two back. He rubs his hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When did this happen?”

“Like, two weeks ago or so.”

Two fucking weeks?

“Who bailed you out?”

Justin is visibly squirming now.

“Brian.”

“Who was it?”

He has his back to Justin, unwilling to let him see the raw emotion he knows is currently splattered across his face.

“My mom…and Ben.”

Ben? Fucking Ben got to be there, while Brian was…

While Brian was busy fucking around with fucking Brandon. Fuck.

Brian drops his arm, the other propped against his hips, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to hurt. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

He can feel Justin behind him, tentatively shifting closer.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

Brian scoffs, incredulous, and whirls around. “Bother me?”

But Justin’s face is determined, his jaw set.

“I can’t always expect you to be there, Brian.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Because that’s all I’ve ever done. Because I can’t walk out on you one minute, and then expect you to drop everything to bail me out of jail the next.”

“So what’s all this bullshit about no matter how hard it is, how much it hurts, we’ll be there for each other?”

The words hurt. Brian has hurt Justin enough to know exactly what it looks like. He knows it hurts because it hurts him twice as much every time he does it.

“It’s not bullshit,” Justin protests.

“Then what?”

“I said all that before…” Justin bites his lip, then pushes on. “Before the other night. Before you came to me.” He’s close now, close enough to touch. Brian wants to touch him more than anything, but he stays still. Waits for Justin to go on. “That was the first time, Brian. The first time you let me take care of you, really take care of you. Without me having to chase you down and force you into it kicking and screaming.”

Brian looks away, not knowing what to say.

The silence stretches between them, tension growing taut until Brian lets out a harsh breath.

“Next time, you call.”

Justin huffs a small laugh. “Let’s hope there won’t be a next time.”

Brian pins him with a hard stare. “Justin.”

Justin licks his lips, and nods. “I promise.”

“Good,” Brian says, officially having reached his limit. “Now get out. I have work to do.”

Justin gathers up the empty cartons, packing everything back into the plastic bags.

“Can we…do this again?”

Brian doesn’t look up, forces his best detached tone and expression even as his heart hammers against his chest.

“Tomorrow?”

And even without looking up, Brian can practically feel the sun rising across the room. Unable to resist, he raises his eyes.

“It’s a date,” Justin says.

When he slips out the door a moment later, it’s with a blinding smile still firmly in place.

It really doesn’t take much, does it? So why the fuck had Brian fought this so fiercely? What the fuck was so hard about giving Justin a few crumbs of affection, of consideration?

And why deny himself something that has the power to warm him completely, from the inside out?

He’s a fucking idiot.

*

By day six, Brian is so horny he’d fuck just about anything.

And what in the world possessed him to get rid of all his sex toys anyway? How the fuck is he supposed to survive with even a shred of sanity intact?

He picks up the phone to cancel on Justin about five times, but in the end his desire to see him wins out every single time. Even if it’ll be the thing that finally drives him round the bend.

“You seem tense,” Justin says as they’re digging their way through another take-out.

Brian’s appetite is improving, and today he’s all but shovelling food into his mouth in an effort to sate at least one type of hunger.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” Brian snarks, dropping his empty carton onto the table.

He’s wearing his tightest pair of briefs, but even so he can feel his dick’s attempt to break straight through the seam of his slacks.

Justin gives him a long look, his own food partly abandoned. Brian knows how worried he must be if he’s temporarily distracted from the endless pit he calls his stomach.

“Brian? Won’t you talk to me?” Brian snorts and Justin sighs, looking away. “Of course not. Stupid question.”

They’re plunged into silence and Brian desperately wishes he could get some of yesterday’s companionable mood back. But he’s wound tighter than a fag hater’s ass faced with a dildo and Justin has always been sensitive to his moods.

Brian rolls his lips into his mouth and wrecks his brain for something to say. Justin glances at him from the side.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Yeah, suck my dick, then let me fuck you. Hell, bend me over this couch right now and fuck me.

Brian sucks in a sharp breath and crosses his legs, desperately trying to get his brain to shut the fuck up. God he wants it, he wants it so fucking bad. And the fact that it’s Justin just-

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What are you doing tonight?”

It slips out before Brian can think twice about it. All he knows is that if he has to go back to his empty loft again tonight he’s seriously going to lose it. He knows, deep in his bones, that he won’t make it on his own tonight.

If Justin says no, he’ll have to ask Ted, but-

He really wants Justin, and not just on his dick. Fuck, stop. Stop thinking about it.

Justin is giving him a shrewd look. “No plans, yet. Why?”

“There’s a dumb horror flick out. Seen it yet?”

Justin stares at him as though he’s never seen him before. And, maybe, that’s not entirely inaccurate.

“You-” Justin gives an incredulous laugh. “You’re asking me to go see a movie? At the theatre?”

“Is there another establishment that shows movies?”

“Brian, you-”

But he doesn’t finish and Brian is grateful. He’s trying his hardest not to squirm - and not just because he’s got a raging boner.

“Do you wanna go or not?” Brian snaps.

Justin’s mouth clicks shut. He gives Brian another, almost apprehensive look. As though he’s waiting for Brian to laugh in his face and ask him if he’s honestly stupid enough to have believed an offer like that.

But Brian doesn’t laugh, doesn’t say anything more. He simply waits for Justin to process that yes, this is actually happening.

“Okay,” Justin says finally.

“Okay?” Brian doesn’t know why he’s stupidly echoing him - probably because he’s so fucking relieved.

“Yeah, let’s do it. When’re you done here? Want me to come pick you up?”

“Whatever.” Brian gets up and returns to his desk, signalling the end of their lunch break. “You can come by at six.”

Justin smiles at him, caressing his shoulder on his way out. 

Brian feels the touch for hours.

*

They catch the eight o’clock show, enough time to grab a bite to eat before making their way into town.

Justin convinces Brian to leave the ‘Vette and they make their way on foot. After jerking off twice in quick succession before Justin came to pick him up, Brian’s dick is subdued enough to let him walk properly.

At the movie theatre, Justin gets a huge pot of popcorn along with a massive coke, and spends the time until the film starts trying to foist some of it off on him. Brian eventually relents, taking a small handful and figures that some sugar and caffein would actually be a good thing just about now.

One would think that sitting in a darkened room, pressed up against Justin and with their fingers tangling between buttery popcorn would be enough to drive Brian insane.

Instead, the popcorn keeps his hands occupied while he does his best to appear unfazed at what’s happening on-screen. When he ends up jumping in his seat for the fifth time, Justin laughs and links their arms.

“Don’t worry, Brian, I’ll protect you.”

I know you will, Brian doesn’t say.

He makes no move to detangle them.

*

“So, that was fun,” Justin says, smiling brightly as they make their way back towards Kinnetik to pick up the ‘Vette.

And Brian finds that…yes, it has been fun. He’d spent an entire evening getting neither hammered, nor having his dick sucked and he’d enjoyed it.

Not to say that he wouldn’t have loved to taste the salty flavour of popcorn on Justin’s lips. Or that he isn’t climbing out of his skin with the desperate desire to fuck him right here, right now.

Still, simply spending time with him, doing something silly- 

He feels…happy.

Right now, Brian Kinney is feeling truly happy and, miraculously, the sky hasn’t crashed down on him as soon as he admitted it - if only in the confines of his own mind.

He realises that he hasn’t answered Justin, then, shockingly, finds that he wants to. That for once he wants to acknowledge something good. So he does it by giving Justin a tongue-in-cheek smile and gently bumping their shoulders together.

Justin’s smile widens and he nudges back, his arm finding its way back around Brian’s.

Brian lets him have it, fighting the sudden need to lean over and press a kiss to Justin’s lips, his cheek - anywhere he can reach.

“So…wanna get some ice cream?”

Brian glares at him. “We are not getting anymore food. You’ve already tripled my time on the treadmill tomorrow.”

Justin shrugs, still smiling. “Was worth a try.”

They’re almost back at Kinnetik when Brian realises he desperately doesn’t want the evening to end.

He stops, inadvertently pulling Justin to a halt alongside him, seeing as they’re still linked. 

Justin turns questioning eyes on him, Brian looks away.

“Can we-” He rolls his lips into his mouth, takes a deep breath, then wills himself to force the words out. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

It’s soft, barely more than a breath. Justin’s free hand comes up to touch his arm, rubbing along it slowly - up, then back down.

“Okay.” Back up, his palm fitting around Brian’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Do you want to go to the loft?”

Brian shakes his head, their gazes grazing briefly, before he looks away once more.

“We’ll need to take a cab. I can’t park in that ghetto you call home.”

Justin huffs a laugh, pushes gently against his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But when they flag down a cab and crawl in, Justin holds onto his wrist, just shy of his hand, for the whole ride there.

*

As expected, Justin’s apartment is a fucking freezer.

They leave their jackets on while the heater rattles to life. Thankfully, Justin doesn’t ask the million dollar question, which is why the fuck Brian wanted to come back here when they could’ve been toasty and comfortable at the loft. But Brian’s not ready to dive into any of that shit.

So he asks Justin about what he’s working on right now and they talk about that for a while. Then Brian fills him in about some of the shit that’s been going on at Kinnetik. Justin gives his opinion on some campaign ideas and they end up huddled against one of the rusty radiators, peering down at tiny pictures of ad boards on Brian’s phone.

Justin digs up an old sketchpad to illustrate some of his points. Brian watches him carefully.

“How’s the hand?”

Justin flexes it, the pencil still cradled between his fingers. 

“Fine. The same, mostly.” He brings pencil back to paper. “A little sore after the show. I was rushing to finish, and I’ve been working on some Rage stuff the past few days.” He shrugs. “You know how it goes.”

Brian nods. He does know.

When they finally look at the time, it’s past one in the morning and they’re both stiff, if finally a little warmer from sitting against this piece of shit radiator.

Justin straightens, putting aside the pad.

“I’ll lend you some clothes,” he says as he makes his way to a rickety set of drawers that looks like it might fall apart at a single touch. “I don’t suppose you want to sleep in your precious Armani suit.”

“You suppose correctly.”

Justin grins, then hands him some sweats and a thick fleece shirt.

“Thanks.”

“Hang on, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere.”

Brian leaves Justin to rummage around some more and quickly changes, grateful for the fleece. He folds his suit as best he can over the least paint-splattered chair he finds - there’s only three, one of them a three legged stool.

Having unearthed the spare toothbrush, they take turns trudging down the hall to use the bathroom.

Brian makes quick work of his rebellious dick and, after he comes back and settles into bed, manages to do so in a way that won’t make the inevitable return of the beast too obvious. Justin slips in behind him and Brian can feel him hesitate, before reaching out a tentative hand.

Brian grasps it without turning, and Justin takes it as the invitation it is and curls around him. It makes him horny as all hell, but Brian would rather chop off a limb than lose their closeness.

“Tell me something,” he rasps, hoping against hope to get his brain to shut up, if only a little.

Justin strokes his fingers and it makes him shiver. “Like what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Brian murmurs. “Anything.”

So Justin does. He chatters aimlessly in a low voice, his free hand finding its way into Brian’s hair, gently stroking the tension away and easing him into sleep.

*

Brian wakes up warm and with the knowledge that he’d managed a full night’s, uninterrupted sleep.

Sometime in the night Brian must’ve turned over, because Justin is nestled against him, his breath washing over Brian’s throat. 

Brian’s hands latch onto the warm, soft skin he finds beneath Justin’s raked-up sweatshirt. He pushes them in deeper, riding the pure sensation of naked skin, of Justin. He smells so good, so familiar, and the well-known feeling of wanting to crawl inside him crashes over him and drags him under.

He pushes closer, barely awake and running high on instinct. Justin makes a soft sound against Brian’s skin, then presses against him. The first touch of his lips against Brian’s throat wrenches a low, helpless moan from somewhere deep inside. It’s almost enough to make him shoot right then and there. 

Justin makes a soft, answering sound, the press of his lips growing more co-ordinated. The next one is both softer and wetter, the hint of tongue like a lick of flame, and Brian’s dick weeps, throbbing against the seam of his briefs.

He feels starved, deprived. Fucking desperate.

He pulls Justin in, clutching at him like a drowning man, his hips driving forward to seek friction.

He just needs, he needs-

The orgasm is right there, so close he can fucking taste it and it’s that painfully familiar feeling that suddenly has Brian jerking away. He scrabbles backwards, hitting the edge of the bed and flailing.

Justin reaches for him, wide-eyed and confused, no doubt intending to save Brian from tumbling to the floor. But Brian catches himself and all but shoots clear across the room. If Justin touches him now, if he so much as breathes against him-

“Brian,” Justin’s voice is soft.

There’s hurt there, overshadowed by a thick blanket of concern.

“I need to go,” Brian gasps.

He spots his shoes, shoves his feet into them. His gaze catches on his suit, still hanging over the chair, but he thinks better of it. Fuck the suit.

“Brian.”

He finds his coat, yanks it on, almost getting tangled in the process.

“Brian, stop.” 

And suddenly Justin is right there and Brian shies away, can’t be this close, not right now.

Justin backs off instantly, looking almost as terrified as Brian feels.

“Brian, please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

But Brian can only shake his head, his head swimming and his heart ready to leap straight from his chest. He feels stretched impossibly thin, as though the flimsy seams holding him together are finally about to burst.

“I…can’t, I-” Brian rubs a hand across his lips. “I need to go, just-”

“Alright, okay.” Justin is careful now, careful not to crowd him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Brian swallows, shakes his head again. “It’s not you.”

The exchange hits a nerve, a memory too close and painful - standing in the office at Kinnetik, Brian falling apart and trying not to show it. Justin apologising even though it should’ve been Brian.

They trade a desperate look, neither of them knowing what to do, what to say.

“Can I- Can I see you? For lunch?” Justin asks, pleads.

Brian takes a deep breath. “Not- Not today.”

Justin presses his lips together, eyes bright. “Tomorrow?”

Brian looks at him another moment, then thinks to hell with it. He reaches out, cups a shaking palm against Justin’s cheek. His thumb brushes from his cheekbone all the way down, catching over full lips and coming to rest against Justin’s chin.

“Tomorrow.”

Brian lets his hand fall, and walks out.

Day fucking seven.

*

He wants a drink. He needs a drink.

But, more than anything, what he needs is a good, hard, anonymous fuck. Or, scratch that, it doesn’t even have to be good, just hard and anonymous will do.

Because here’s the thing, here’s the big, dark secret that Brian fucking Kinney has never shared with anyone, ever.

Sex with strangers is shit a good eight times out of ten. It used to be only around six times out of ten, but, as the years passed and the fucks piled up, the quality suffered a steep decline.

Most of the time, Brian had been trying to chase down those four out of ten, oftentimes he hadn’t even cared about the outcome either way. What he’d been chasing more than anything, was a way to prove himself. To show anyone and everyone that he’s the best, the hottest, the most fucking amazing.

The hunt is what he lived for, to prove that he can have anything. That he can fucking have it all.

And it doesn’t matter that he knows, knows, that once he’s pounding his next, faceless, nameless trick, he’ll leave unsatisfied. They’re a quick fix, a toxic itch that he just kept going on scratching.

Just before Justin had come along, Brian had pretty much resigned himself to never having a sober fuck ever again, because most of the time it just wasn’t worth his focus. But then there he was, a seventeen year old kid that blew his fucking mind and managed to awaken just about everything inside him that he’d tried to hard to keep dormant.

But instead of embracing it, Brian had pushed, and pushed, and fucking pushed some more. Instead of cutting back on faceless fucks, the number had gone through the fucking roof. Because for each time Brian went back for more, for each time he let Justin in that tiny bit further, he needed one more stranger to put between them.

Justin flayed him open, showed him that love and fucking aren’t the opposites he’d always told himself they were.

And as much as Justin broke him apart, the nameless fucks put him back together - or so he’d told himself.

They helped keep the balance, helped the barriers from crumbling.

Because, see, that’s the problem about barriers. Once you destroy them, who the fuck knows what lies behind. Well, Brian is about to find out. 

There’s no turning back now.

Chapter Text

He stays at Kinnetik until midnight, then hits the gym until three.

Then he finally caves and calls Ted.

To Brian’s relief, Ted doesn’t make a big deal out of it. On the contrary, he acts as if it’s every night that Brian calls him wired and bouncing off the walls.

They find a 24 hour diner just off Liberty and Brian downs espresso shots like alcohol, while Ted demolishes a gigantic stack of pancakes. After that, they head back to Ted’s and Brian must be truly delirious, because he ends up on the floor, chain-smoking over a fucking Scrabble board.

The plan was to cut out smoking as well, or cut back at the very least. But right now he’s more worried about running off, drinking himself into oblivion and fucking himself into a coma. So quitting smoking can fucking wait.

“What the fuck is a qat?”

Ted grins. “It’s an alternate spelling of khat. It’s a plant you chew to get high.”

“Trust you to know all about ways to get high.”

Ted huffs a laugh. “Fuck off, Bri.”

Brian studies the board, then his tiles. He squashes out his cigarette on the saucer he’s been using as an ashtray, then places down his own word, using the t from qat.

Ted peers down at it.

“Twink.”

Brian pushes his tongue into his cheek and smirks.

Ted rolls his eyes, then makes a show of studying his own tiles. Which is why Brian knows that he’s about to say something that’ll annoy him.

“So, speaking of twinks-”

“Please don’t try to be clever, Theodore, it causes me second-hand strain.”

Ted thankfully drops the act. Unfortunately, the topic is still alive and well.

“So, you’ve been hanging out with Justin.”

“You know how much I love it when you state the obvious.”

Ted is, once again, remarkably unfazed. Fuck, Brian really needs to do something about that.

“I just brought it up in case, you know, you want to talk.”

“And why would you possibly imagine such a thing?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re a bit short on conversation partners right now?” Ted gives him a fleeting smile, no doubt to take the sting out of his words. “And I know that when we talked the other day you said it didn’t help, but I just…wanted to make sure. I know that things with Justin have always been-”

He trails off suddenly, looking sheepish.

Brian feels his spine stiffen, his eyes harden.

“Always what?” he prompts sharply. “Things with Justin have always been what?”

“A lot,” Ted says quietly. “They’ve always been a lot.”

Brian stares at him, completely fucking floored that Ted of all people could possibly hit the crux of the matter with one, careful try.

Because that’s exactly it. It was never about Justin not being enough, it was about him being far too much. The way he filled Brian up until he was drowning, overflowing and scrabbling to save himself.

“We’re not fucking,” Brian blurts out suddenly and where the fuck did that come from?

Ted gives him a long look.

“And how are we feeling about that?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Theodore. Are you still trying to be my shrink?”

“No, Brian,” Ted says, still soft; eyes wide and earnest. “I’m trying to be your friend.”

It’s a fucking bulls-eye and Brian lets the phantom hit carry him all the way flat onto his back.

“Fuck,” he says to the ceiling.

*

“I spent the night, then freaked the fuck out this morning.”

Brian is wearing sweats and a faded t-shirt that Justin must’ve borrowed at some point, because there’s paint stains all over it. It’s the reason Brian picked it. Some misguided, lesbianic attempt to feel closer to him.

“I don’t know what the fuck’s going on.” The with me is left unspoken, but glaringly obvious. Somehow, having spilled his guts to Ted once before makes it easier the second time round. “He was right there when I woke up, pressed against me. He kissed my neck and I almost came all over him, and then-”

Brian inserts a vague hand gesture that even he himself isn’t quite sure what its supposed to convey.

And Ted is quiet for so long that Brian almost thinks he’s given up on the whole shrink/friend thing.

“The guy who first got me into the drugs, do you want to know what he said to me? That first time?”

Brian raises his eyebrows, partly because he has no idea where this conversation is going, partly to prompt Ted to continue. Might as well find out if there’s a point to this. Fuck knows, Brian’s desperate for any insight he can get.

“He said, Do you wanna be beautiful? And I did, I really did. I was so fucking miserable and I thought, what have I left to lose? It was textbook. I wanted to escape, to forget - to feel good about myself for once, you know?”

And Brian does know, he knows so very, very well.

“And there were these guys,” Ted goes on. He’s not looking at Brian, but his words are steady, if quiet. “Three of them, just going at it on the bed. And from there it was just one more step to the next high. I didn’t have to do anything, I could just stop thinking and let it happen, and for that brief moment, I felt fucking incredible - invincible, really. But, Brian, that’s the problem. The moment never lasts and every time you come down, it’s worse than before. So you go chasing after it, again and again, and it makes you think you’re in control, but you’re not. Because every time you give in, every time you let the craving win, you lose a part of yourself.”

Brian clutches the lighter in his hand. He wants to light another cigarette, but he finds it hard to move, to breathe. So he stays still, with only the faint ache of metal digging into his palm.

“By the time I checked myself into rehab, I couldn’t recognise myself anymore. There were holes in my memory and I couldn’t connect to myself, didn’t know what I was feeling. It really freaked me out, put stuff into perspective. Everything felt strange and unfamiliar, like I was experiencing it for the first time. Going forward, I had to learn myself all over again - which, terrifying, I know. And, sure, there’s times when all you want is for all that weird shit to go away and reach for something old and familiar, but…trust me. Knowing yourself? That’s a good thing. Because it makes you realise what you really want. It makes you realise how to be happy.”

Brian can do nothing but stare at him for a long time, thinking that it’s not just himself that he’s getting to know all over again here.

Snapping out of it, Brian forces himself into more familiar territory. Raising himself onto an elbow, he shakes a cigarette from his pack and finally lights it with shaking hands.

“Wow,” he says, feeling his lungs burn and desperate not to show how close all of that had hit to home. “You really missed your calling there, Theodore.”

And Ted knows what he’s doing, knows his words have reached Brian, because he smiles and tosses him the bag of Scrabble tiles.

“Your turn.”

*

Day eight finds him waking up on Ted’s floor, a colour-clashing blanket that can only have been a gift from Emmet draped over him. He finds Ted passed out two paces away on the couch.

There’s Scrabble tiles everywhere, since he must’ve rolled onto the board in his sleep. So when Brian finally manages to peel himself off the rug, little plastic tiles rain off his body.

Pushing a hand through his hair, Brian then cracks his spine with a groan. It’s enough to make Ted stir, blinking blearily at Brian.

“Time’s it?” Ted mumbles.

For some reason, it’s amusing to see him like this. Such a far cry from the usually composed accountant that has all Brian’s affairs in an unforgiving chokehold.

Brian casts around for his phone, realises that it died, then catches sight of the numbers on Ted’s DVD player.

“Fuck, we’re late.”

“You can’t be late, you’re the boss.”

Palms pressed to his spine, Brian cracks it again, grimacing as he rotates his torso from side to side.

“Tell that to Cynthia when we both stumble in around noon.”

“Tell you what.” Ted rises from the couch, the problem solver already emerging. “I’ll make you coffee and get ready to go in. Me and Cynthia can handle the morning meeting, it’s just the art department checking in.”

“Fuck, I wanted to be there. Justin had some suggestions I wanted to discuss.”

“Brief me over breakfast, I’ll pass them on. Then you can go home, shower, change, and be in by noon.”

Brian smiles at him and Ted must really not have expected that, because he looks slightly freaked about it. It only makes Brian laugh and clap a hand on his back.

“Thanks, Ted. I’ll think about an appropriate raise.”

Ted smiles back, but looks awfully sober when he says, “That’s not why I do it.”

Brian squeezes his shoulder, then lets go.

“I know.”

*

“Hey.”

Justin looks uncharacteristically tentative standing in front of Brian’s desk with two bags of take-out. Brian smiles at him, hoping to reassure him.

“Hey.” He gets up, rounds the desk. “What we having?”

Justin holds the bags up a little. “Thai.”

“Good choice.”

They move across the room and Justin sets down the food. Before Brian can sit, however, Justin places a gentle hand on his arm.

“Brian are we-” He hesitates, his grip on Brian tightening the tiniest bit. “Okay?”

And for some reason, when Brian tugs Justin into his arms, he’s feeling infinitely calmer than the times before. Today, it’s his turn to give reassurance.

He presses his lips to Justin’s ear. “Yeah. We’re good.”

Justin sighs and melts into him, but when he draws back it’s obvious that something’s still bothering him.

“Just one more thing, I promise I’ll drop it after, but I- I really need to know-”

Brian clamps down on the urge to evade, raises his eyebrows instead.

Justin presses his palms together as if he’s gathering his thoughts, carefully choosing words. It’s not every day that one gets to see Justin Taylor hesitant about anything.

Brian really wishes it didn’t have to be this way, that he could simply come out and say it, explain it. Just spill his guts and get it all over with.

But the mere thought of it makes him want to fucking vomit. As ridiculous as it sounds, saying it out loud would make it real, really fucking real in a way that Brian knows he can’t handle, not yet.

Brian had found out early on that sorry is bullshit and talk is fucking cheap. So of course he set out to become the biggest fucking success in a career where you got paid more the better you lied, while swearing to himself that he would never make a promise he wouldn’t keep.

Most of the time that meant not making any promises at all.

He’s all about the actions, not the words. He’d wanted to do this, so he’s doing it. But actually admitting it out loud? That sounds awfully like commitment to him.

If he doesn’t tell anyone, no one will know. If no one knows, they won’t have any expectations. So if Brian fails miserably, there’ll be no dashed hopes. Especially Justin’s.

“What is it,” Brian finally prompts.

“All this, it’s not-” Justin bites his lip, then looks at Brian as though the words physically pain him. “Did someone…hurt you?”

Brian almost laughs. Not because he thinks Justin is being ridiculous, but because he has no fucking clue how to handle the sudden rush of emotion that swamps him. So it’s either that, or cry. Or hug him again.

Brian chooses the latter.

“No,” he murmurs, hoping the tightness of his arms somehow exponentially raises the comfort Justin might get from it. “No one hurt me.”

No one but myself.

Justin sags against him, almost strangling Brian with the sudden fierceness of his embrace.

“Fuck, thank god. I was so fucking worried. You’ve been freaking me out. I just want you to be alright.”

Brian draws back, cradling Justin’s face, before tilting it gently to press his lips to his cheek.

“I’m fine, Sunshine. I promise.” He pulls away, relieved to see that he’s managed to blunt the sharp edge of Justin’s worry. “Now, are we gonna eat all this food before it gets cold, or what?”

*

They’re just about done eating when who’s to stroll in but Brian’s estranged BFF.

Michael looks between them, clearly bewildered, and Brian watches as Justin squirms a little.

“Hey, Michael,” Justin says.

Michael’s still looking at him funny, but eventually returns the greeting. “Hey.”

“Are you lost, Mikey?” Brian asks, the detached coldness of his voice chilling the room by several degrees.

Michael fidgets. “Actually, I was hoping I could have a word with you.”

Brian glances at Justin again, who’s clearly trying to look casual and not entirely succeeding.

“Go ahead,” Justin says, all but jumping to his feet and grabbing his jacket. “I was just leaving.”

“You don’t have to go on my account,” Michael says.

“It’s fine, I need to get back to work anyway. I’ll see you later at the fundraiser meeting.” 

He then turns to Brian, their gazes meeting and holding. Brian wants to reach out to him and knows Justin wants to do the same. Their familiar, invisible strings drawing taut once again.

In the end, they both let it go.

“Later,” is what Justin finally settles on.

Brian nods. “Later.”

He watches Justin leave, eyes lingering on his form until he’s out of sight, before turning his attention to Michael.

He’s met with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t know you two were hanging out.”

He puts a strange inflection on the last two words and Brian feels his jaw tighten.

“Get to the point, Michael.”

Thankfully, Michael does.

“It’s about the benefit.”

So Brian listens to Michael’s plea to give him Babylon for the fundraiser, after their last venue bailed. The conversation is short, painful, and full of hidden pitfalls.

Brian promises Michael the use of the club, because of course he fucking does. Did Michael actually think he wouldn’t? Then again, considering the current state of Michael’s mind, he guesses he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“I don’t know what to say,” Michael says, very much looking the part.

Brian almost scoffs at him, but he’s too busy pretending not to care. “Well, ‘thanks’ will do. Now if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work so that I can continue my decadent lifestyle.”

Because if there’s one person at the very bottom of the list of people who Brian wants to tell about the recent changes in his life right now, it’s fucking Michael.

*

Day nine and ten pass pretty much the same, though there’s some more late night - or rather early morning - Scrabble at one point.

Justin texts him the day after Michael’s visit to let him know that he’s swamped with organisational duties around the benefit. Brian doesn’t answer at first, mostly because all he wants to type is I’ll miss you, but his fingers would probably fall off before he’d manage to ever get that out.

Eventually he texts back a lone Okay and that is that.

But he does miss Justin, he always misses Justin.

Then again, the space is probably a good thing and Brian uses it to find his feet some more in this strange new life of his.

He’s finding joy in things he hasn’t in ages, gets back into watching films and listening to music he used to love. And when he steps into Babylon for the first time in eight days, he feels like he might actually be able to keep breathing while he’s in there.

He even stops long enough to grab a (non-alcoholic) drink with Ted at the bar. Ted chatters at him a bit, but mostly just lets Brian absorb the new, old experience in silence.

Brian even considers asking Ted to come with him for a dance, when Emmett unexpectedly swoops in on them.

“Hello, boys. Haven’t seen you here in a while. What happened, Brian, did all the sleeveless, black shirts sell out?”

Ted looks like he wants to clap a hand over Emmett’s mouth, but Brian barely spares him a glance.

“Well, I’m off. Have fun, boys and girls. Get some drinks, they’re on me.”

“You sure you don’t need me for anything, Bri?” Ted asks.

Emmett gives them both a weird look. Brian ignores him and thumps Ted on the shoulder. 

“I’m sure. You two have fun now, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

For a moment, as he walks out into the crowd and towards the exit, Brian feels the pull. But once he’s pushed past it, he can hardly believe how easy it is to walk away and leave the thumpa thumpa behind.

*

Justin breezes into his office at half past six on day eleven. He’s armed with a bag of posters and a smile bright enough to make Brian’s black, shrivelled heart melt.

“If you have any plans tonight, cancel them.”

Brian raises his eyebrows. “And why would I do that?”

Justin halts in front of his desk, and Brian knows that if things were less precarious between them, he’d lean across to kiss him. Brian can almost feel the phantom touch of his lips, longs for it with an intensity that still manages to take his breath away sometimes.

“Because you missed me and want to recapture our rebellious youth?”

Brian presses his tongue into his cheek, catching the reference to Stockwell. Abandoning the pen that had been in his hand, Brian leans towards him on folded arms.

“And that makes you think that I’ll close shop, let you drag me halfway round town in the cold, and get my hands sticky hanging up posters for an event I have no intention of attending?”

Justin gives him the look, the look that never fails to get Brian hot as fuck.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you get your hands sticky,” he drawls. “Nor the last, I’d imagine.”

Brian laughs, while at the same time fighting his hardest to get his dick to chill the fuck out.

“Just let me finish this, then change. If we’re about to get sticky I’d rather not do it wearing this.”

He gestures at his Hugo Boss suit.

A slow, incredulous smile curves Justin’s lips. “You’re really gonna come?”

Unfortunately, not in the way I’d like to. “That’s what I just said, didn’t I?”

Clearly trying his very best to control his exuberance, Justin bites his lip around another grin and obediently plonks himself down to wait. It’s been a very long time since he’s seen Justin this excited - far too long.

The knowledge twists something raw and painful deep inside him, but Brian pushes it aside. 

It’s done now. All he can do is try not to repeat past mistakes.

*

“Fuck, it’s cold as balls,” Brian curses the second they step outside. He draws his coat tighter around himself. “Couldn’t you have picked another night for your little excursion?”

“I hate to break it to you, Brian, but this is the Pitts. If we’d waited for a warmer night we’d have waited for a long fucking time.”

They start around Kinnetik first, because they might as well while they’re here, then work their way towards the diner.

“So, where’s our favourite Stepford fag?” Brian can’t help but ask. He’s tearing off strips of tape and handing them to Justin, so he can pin down the poster’s corners. “Why isn’t he out working the streets with you?”

“He and Ben are still co-ordinating the last of the reschedules. They had to rethink the whole layout because of the venue change.” Justin takes another strip of tape, their fingers brushing. “Thank you for letting us use the club. I knew you would.”

“Well, that makes one of you.” They move on to a lamppost further along. “Michael thought I was gonna charge him double when he first asked about it.”

Justin gives him an incredulous look, for a moment forgetting all about the poster he’s got pinned to the lamppost with his hand.

“What? Why the fuck would he think that?”

Something Brian hadn’t even realised had been drawn tight inside him, loosens. For some reason, hearing the utter disbelief in Justin’s voice, seeing it reflected on his face - it means more than Brian could possibly express.

In the end, Brian just shrugs and hands him another strip of tape. “Who the fuck knows with Mikey these days.”

*

“I could try talking to him,” Justin says some time later.

They’d found a tiny coffee shop and were warming their frozen fingers on paper cups. By silent, mutual agreement they’d decided to give the diner a miss.

“What, you want me to believe that you haven’t dissected it all with him already? You think I don’t know about your Brian Kinney support group?”

Only Justin can manage to look both abashed and irritated at the same time.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh?” Brian raises his eyebrows, slightly more annoyed than he initially wanted to admit. “So you don’t commiserate and give each other pointers on how to handle me?”

Justin gives him a look. “Because you and Michael never talk about me.”

“Actually, we don’t,” Brian shoots back. “Mikey has the tendency to put his foot in his mouth where you’re concerned.”

Justin snorts. “Yeah, no fucking kidding. He never approved of our relationship. He always thought I was wrong for you.”

“And now he thinks I’m wrong for you.”

An awkward silence stretches between them. 

Him and Justin don’t do awkward well, mainly because they so rarely have to.

Justin sighs and folds his hands on the tabletop.

“You know, that night, when you came to Michael’s house-” 

Not one of Brian’s finer moments, that’s for sure. But he’d been so pissed off and in so much fucking pain, it had to go somewhere. Despite his best efforts to drink, drug and fuck it all away, this was Justin. And all that shit had never really worked when it came to him, as determined as Brian had been to lie to himself about it.

And though he wants nothing more than to forget the whole fucking thing, he forces himself not to disconnect. He’s doubtlessly already driving Justin crazy with his weird behaviour, the least he can do is to try and talk to him as best he can.

So he relents and prompts, “What about it?”

Justin looks relieved that he won’t have to fight Brian on this, that Brian will just let him get out what he needs to.

“I was right there, at the top of the stairs,” Justin says quietly. “I thought you’d come for me, but then you were shouting for Michael.”

This is clearly painful for him and Brian wants to touch him, so he reaches across the table for Justin’s hand. It’s his right one, and it trembles faintly in his grip. Brian smooths his thumb across Justin’s palm, hoping to ease some of the tension away.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” Brian says, eyes fixed on Justin’s pale hand instead of his face. “Besides, I wasn’t pissed at you.”

“I hated letting you leave like that. What Michael said-”

“Michael said a lot of things. And he wasn’t exactly wrong.”

Justin squeezes his fingers, hard, finally drawing Brian’s gaze back up.

“It was bullshit.” The words are quiet, but unshakable. “And I need you to know that. I was happy with you, I- am happy with you. And I didn’t leave because of you, I left because of me. Because I needed to do what I thought was right for me at the time. You understand that, don’t you?”

Brian looks at him, looks at the raw sincerity on his face.

“Yeah,” Brian says softly. “I understand that.”

“I was hurting, and confused. And I thought giving myself space would help. I thought it would help me move past some of the shit I was struggling with.”

“And did it?”

Justin’s eyes flicker away, before settling back on his.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little. Owning my own place helps, even though I hate living alone.” The without you is clear, if unspoken. Brian runs his thumb along Justin’s fingers, silently agreeing. “It did make one thing abundantly clear to me, though - not that I needed the reminder.”

“And what’s that?”

“That no matter how many times I try to walk away, I always leave the most important part of me behind. Because that’s what you are to me, Brian. Always have been.”

Then don’t leave me behind, Brian begs silently. Please don’t leave me behind.

But the words are stuck in his throat. He can only clutch Justin’s hand and hope that he sees it all on Brian’s face. That somehow the sentiment is passing straight from his skin into Justin’s.

And when Justin gives him a watery smile, Brian thinks that maybe, just maybe, he succeeded.

*

They step out of the coffee shop onto the frost-glazed street at an ungodly hour. Their breath bursts forth in a thick, white cloud as they shrink back from the cold.

Brian shoves his hands into his coat pockets, watching Justin hastily slip on his wooly gloves. He then turns to him with a tentative smile.

“Fancy crashing at my place again? I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself this time.”

Brian smiles, the fucking irony.

He thinks about Justin’s dump of an apartment, the lack of a private bathroom, the too-small bed. Then he imagines Justin curled up against him, their bodies pressed together as they huddle beneath the duvet. There’s really only one answer he can give, so he nods wordlessly.

*

The apartment is freezing as always, barely any different from the street outside.

Justin cranks the heating up as far as it will go and they both keep their coats on, warming their frozen asses on the slowly heating radiator.

Brian spots his suit just where he left it, folded neatly over the back of one of the rickety chairs.

“You could’ve brought that with you one of these days,” he says, tongue in cheek as he nudges Justin’s shoulder with his own.

Justin looks away, rubbing his still gloved hands together.

“I thought that if I didn’t, you’d be forced to come get it yourself.”

Brian studies him in silence for a moment, then throws an arm around him and draws him close, brushing a sweet kiss against his cheek. Brian can feel Justin’s smile before he sees it and can’t resist pressing one more kiss there, before pulling back.

Finally managing to peel themselves away, they reluctantly shrug out of their coats and Justin waves Brian on ahead.

So Brian braves the dirty, run-down communal bathroom. He contemplates jerking off, but somehow finds that he doesn’t want to. Not tonight.

He returns shivering and slips into bed while Justin goes off to see to his own bedtime routine.

Only that this time, when Justin crawls in behind him, he keeps his distance. Brian hadn’t realised he’d meant the hands-off promise quite that literally.

Blindly reaching back, Brian manages to catch the jut of a hip and uses it to drag Justin against him.

Justin yields instantly, wrapping himself around Brian with a relieved sigh. 

Covering the hand pressed to his chest, Brian feels tension slowly bleeding out of him. He’s still a little raw from their earlier conversation, even though it had been Justin who’d done most of the talking.

Elaborate, emotional oratory outpourings will never be his forte, but Brian likes to think he’s getting better. Both at listening and at admitting when verbalisation of certain things is necessary.

Still, he’s definitely reached his limit tonight. And Justin must know it, too, because when he speaks again, it’s in that quiet tone of his, the one he uses when he doesn’t expect a response.

“You know, I won’t ask what this is.” Justin’s breath is warm against the nape of his neck, lips so close Brian can almost feel each word against his skin. “What it is that we’ve been doing. I won’t ask because I’m not ready to give it up. I’ve been so happy this past week, so happy to have you like this. I can’t let it go just yet.”

And Brian, emotionally wrung out and knowing that he could just as well pretend to already be asleep, decides that he doesn’t want to leave Justin hanging. He knows Justin is confused, but he doesn’t want him to doubt Brian. To doubt them.

It’s the one thing he doesn’t want to be ambiguous about ever again.

He lets his fingers slide between Justin’s own, feels Justin’s hand tremble as Brian whispers, “Then don’t.”

“What?” It’s tremulous, almost inaudible.

Brian knows Justin didn’t expect him to actually respond, especially not like this. Rolling his lips in for a moment, Brian takes a deep breath, then lets the words scrape him even rawer on the way out.

“Don’t let go.”

There’s a moment of absolute stillness, then Justin’s arms tighten around him in a crushing embrace.

“Brian,” he says, but what he means is Never and Brian hears him loud and clear.

And, anchoring Justin’s arms more securely around his body, he lets himself be held.

*

On day twelve, Brian wakes up with Justin in his arms, but this time he feels…calm.

Justin is lying half on top of him, blond head nestled under his chin with one of his legs wedged between Brian’s own. His thigh is pressing against Brian’s hard dick and while Brian is horny as all fuck, he doesn’t feel frantic about it.

He wants it, wants it a whole fucking lot, but he also knows that it’s okay if he just…doesn’t.

Closing his eyes, he turns his face into Justin’s hair. It smells like cheap shampoo and traces of paint. Brian misses the fragrance of his own, ridiculously expensive shampoo mixed with Justin’s natural scent.

More than anything, he wants to put his hands on Justin’s face and kiss him. Really kiss him, and just keep kissing him for as long as they can possibly stand it.

And he knows that he could, that Justin would let him, but he won’t. Not like this.

He’s just not ready. There’s still things he needs to do - like make his mind up about the loft. Or letting himself believe that this isn’t just some phase, nothing more than a crazy challenge he cooked up for the hell of it.

Because if - when - he does it, when he kisses Justin, it needs to be because he’s all in. And that would mean that he’s ready to tell Justin everything, not just about the changes in his life, but to finally, fucking finally, tell him the things he’s been waiting to hear for years.

Actually tell him in words. Not just imply shit, or show him his heart only to turn around and stomp on Justin’s because he’s feeling too exposed and vulnerable.

So if he kissed Justin now - it just wouldn’t be fair to him. And Brian has years of being unfair to make up already, he really doesn’t want to add to it.

So he lets the desire wash over him, allows himself to nuzzle deeper into Justin’s hair and gently cup the nape of his neck. 

Justin stirs a bit, instinctively tilts his head and presses closer.

Brian takes a deep breath, riding out the intense feeling that’s making his dick throb. But he keeps his hips still, and instead leans down to press his lips to Justin’s forehead.

Justin makes a soft, sleepy sound. One of his hands reaches up to briefly cover Brian’s on the back of his neck, then trails his fingers over Brian’s arm in a slow caress. It pushes the air from Brian’s lungs and makes him shiver. He has to press his eyes shut.

He kisses Justin again, this time closer to the bridge of his nose, then makes himself let go.

“I have to go,” Brian murmurs.

Justin makes a soft sound of protest, pushing closer and pressing his face into Brian’s neck. Brian hugs him, but he can feel the tension now, the mounting unease as he’s nearing his limit.

Justin must feel it as well, because he backs off instantly. His eyes are open now and he looks worried. Brian doesn’t want that, so he smiles at him and smoothes his hair back from his forehead.

Justin smiles back, a little tentatively. He must be confused as all hell with the way Brian’s been acting. But once again, he’s let Brian lead, hasn’t pushed and simply…been there. He’s still waiting for Brian, the same as he’s done for five years now.

It’s a sobering thought.

“Lunch today?” Brian asks.

The smile immediately gains in wattage. “Yeah. Any preference?”

“No,” Brian says, just letting himself look at him for a moment. “You choose.”

He won’t let Justin wait much longer. It’s a promise he makes to himself. 

For both of them.

*

“Doesn’t it bother you? Still living here?”

And fuck, he can’t believe he just asked that. Spending so much time with Ted really must’ve fucked something up in his brain.

Ted doesn’t even twitch, the fucker.

They’re back on his floor, Scrabble board between them alongside a more restrained number of cigarette butts - this time in an actual ashtray. Brian had changed out of his suit at Kinnetik, the top button of his worn jeans undone.

“Sometimes,” Ted says. He’s perusing the board between them, already filled with as much sexual innuendo as they can manage. “But mostly I don’t much notice. I made some changes and…I don’t know. I guess I wanted to make it my mission to turn it back into a home.”

Brian stays silent for a while, absently drawing more tiles and trying to focus on arranging them into words. He eventually adds plug to the butt already on the board, giving Ted a tongue-in-cheek grin.

Ted chuckles and draws his own set of tiles.

“I’m thinking of selling the loft.”

To Ted’s credit, he doesn’t react beyond a few, slow nods.

“Everyone has different triggers. Is it making it…more difficult for you?”

And it’s a testimony to what Brian’s been going through that he doesn’t instantly bristle at Ted’s stupid rehab terminology. Instead, he just shrugs, absently twirling an S tile between his fingers.

“I just feel…suffocated there,” Brian says eventually, eyes carefully fixed on the board.

“Okay,” is all Ted says. “Do you want me to look into listing it?”

Brian drops the tile and sits up.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe you’d want it.”

This does finally get a reaction and Brian grins weakly at the look of utter shock on Ted’s face.

“Bri,” Ted says and it’s all he says for a long moment. Then he takes a deep breath. “I can’t afford that place, you know that.”

Brian waves him off. He knew this was coming, is prepared for it.

“I’ll give you a discount and you can pay me off in instalments. No interest. Consider it a favour for helping me keep it in the family.” He sticks his tongue into his cheek and gives Ted another, more sincere grin. “And once it’s paid off, and with the more than generous raise I intend to give you, it’ll be well within your budget to keep it.”

“Brian I don’t- I don’t know what to say, I-”

Brian lets Ted have his quiet meltdown and instead finally uses his S tile to put down a new word.

“I just want to make it really clear that I don’t want you to think you owe me anything for-”

This nonsense again. Brian cuts him off before he can get any further.

“Theodore, you work as many hours as I do - sometimes more. You’re on call every hour of every day - and night. You’re in control of the entirety of my money and I trust you with it.” He pins Ted with a hard look. “You deserve a raise. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Good. Now do you want the loft or not.”

Ted huffs an incredulous laugh. “Fuck, yeah I want it.”

“Great. We’ll draw up some papers tomorrow, work out the details. Now, it’s your turn.”

Ted takes the hint, knowing that any further emotionalism would just make Brian bite his head off. Wise man.

Brian’s changed, but not that much. And thank fuck for small mercies.

“Sex,” Ted reads out the last word Brian lay down. He snorts. “Classy.”

“I get triple letter score for the X.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

*

It’s Friday night, so after two more increasingly ridiculous rounds of Scrabble, Brian and Ted head out to check on Babylon. It’s the weekend so there’s bound to be some kind of fuck-up. Drunk people swinging off shit they shouldn’t, or someone getting fucked against the bar when there’s a perfectly serviceable backroom for that. And a VIP room for that matter.

From the bouncer at the door they learn that other than a couple queen-outs for being refused entry, there hasn’t been any trouble. 

Inside, they meet with Tony, the head of security, who tells them there hasn’t been any major problems, just the removal of a few rowdy drunks spoiling for a fight. Plus they had to call an ambulance when someone was found passed out in the toilets. There’s some damage to the door from when they had to break into the stall, so Brian gets Ted on the case to sort that out tomorrow.

Brian does some personal checks of the premises, while Ted goes upstairs to the office to prepare a damage report and line up some people to call in the morning. There’s always massive queues at the toilets as it is, so Brian would prefer not to have one of the stalls out of commission.

They meet back up at the bar, and it’s only when Brian asks for a bottle of water that he realises he hasn’t thought about alcohol, or even sex, once since he stepped into the club. He’d been entirely focused on the job, barely even hearing the music thumping on around him.

Of course, he’d steered clear of the backroom. He’d leave those checks to Tony and Ted for now. There’s no way in hell he could stop himself shoving his dick in someone’s mouth the second he steps foot in there.

Ted gives him a knowing look. “You doing okay?”

Brian takes a deep pull from his water. 

“Fine.” He takes another sip, then puts down the half-empty bottle. “C’mon, Theodore. Let’s dance.”

For a moment, Brian’s convinced Ted will ask him if he’s sure, but thankfully he thinks better of it.

They stick to the outskirts of the dance floor, somewhere the lights are dimmer and the music louder. There’s a speaker right above them, the music finally penetrating Brian’s system and blasting every other thought from his mind. 

It’s fucking bliss.

*

Ted lasts four songs before he tells Brian he needs a break and something to drink. Brian scoffs at him, but turns to follow, not quite trusting himself alone out here and - frankly - not wanting to give anyone more space to paw at him. It’s annoying enough having to fight them off with a stick.

Brian orders another water and Ted some sickly sweet, non-alcoholic cocktail. Neither of them mention the conspicuous absence of the rest of their friends.

It’s strange, being here without the rest of the gang. He catches himself missing even Emmett of all people, so he knows the situation is fucking dire.

Mostly, however, it’s the deep, familiar ache of missing Justin and the more melancholy tinged sadness of missing Michael - even though he’s been a complete shit lately. 

Brian knows he’s not innocent in this whole thing with Michael, but after Justin’s show and the performance at Kinnetik, Brian thinks the scales are tipped slightly in his favour for once.

Brian manages to drag Ted onto the dance floor for a couple more dances, then decides they should probably do another round and call it a night.

It’s just as they’re about to go when his pleasant night takes a nose dive.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Brandon smirks, leaning in uncomfortably close to be heard above the beat. “Word on the street is you’ve gone soft, Kinney. Was our little bet too much for you? You know, if you need medical help…”

Brian’s jaw clenches, even as his lips pull into a nasty smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ted glancing between them nervously.

“If anything it’s the sight of your dick that’s made mine soft. And who could blame me. It really isn’t what it’s made out to be.”

He knows he’s hit home. It’s easy to score with Brandon, Brian simply says the stuff that he knows he himself least wants to hear.

Unfortunately, Brandon is quick to collect himself. His smirk is even wider than before, if slightly forced.

“That’s not what everyone else is saying.”

Brian gives him a contemptuous look. If Brandon weren’t such a fucking asshole, he might even feel sorry for him. Then again, maybe not.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Brian gives a saccharine smile. “Now kindly get the fuck out of my face, or I’ll have my bouncer show you the door and you’ll have to go seek your cheap thrills somewhere else.”

And then Brian pushes past him, Ted in tow, feeling like he’s just passed some kind of test.

He hadn’t let himself be goaded, hadn’t jumped dick first into some other kind of juvenile challenge. More than ever he realises that he doesn’t need to prove anything to this green, arrogant asshole. Or to anyone else, for that matter.

If Brian dropped dead right here, right now, none of these people would give a fuck. At most, they’d spare a moment to pity him, then another to pity the loss of his dick’s presence. So, fuck that.

But Justin would care. So would Ted. And Lindsay, Emmett, and Debbie. And Michael, no matter how shit it might be between them right now. Even fucking Ben and Mel. And Gus. They’re the ones he needs to think of.

And himself. 

If he dropped dead right here, right now, Brian would care. For the first time, he feels that there’s still things he wants to do, things he wants to experience. Things that have nothing to do with staying forever young or adding to the tally of his fucks.

He wants to see Gus grow up, he wants to see the look on Justin’s face when he tells him he loves him. And yes, he wants to become even richer and more successful.

What he doesn’t want is to stay trapped within some warped sense of self, acting like a fucking asshole who puts his dick above anyone and anything.

And, for the first time, Brian thinks he might actually be in the process of becoming that person.

*

On day thirteen Ted comes over and they draw up some preliminary papers, including a sales contract with the amount of instalments all laid out. Ted tries to argue with him about the no interest policy, but Brian tells him to stuff it and take a good thing when it’s offered.

Thankfully, Ted has long since learned to shut up and take orders.

*

He starts day fourteen with a slow, intense jerk-off session - the first one he actively lets himself enjoy since this whole fucked up business started.

He thinks about Justin the entire time, both excited and fucking terrified to experience the real thing again after everything. He knows it’s going to be different, which is part of what scares the shit out of him.

Maybe he’s changed too much, maybe Justin won’t like the change in him.

Or maybe Justin won’t want him back in the first place.

It’s a thought that Brian has tried very hard not to dwell on.

He knows Justin still loves him, and there was all that shit about not letting go. But a few whispered words in the dark don’t mean that Justin wants Brian and his whole truck full of baggage back in his life full-time.

Maybe he’s enjoying the weird, romantic friends shit they’ve had going on. Hell, he said as much himself, how happy he’s been about it. Maybe he just wants to keep going with that and, eventually, squeeze the occasional fuck in.

And wouldn’t that be the irony of the century. That now that Brian has finally admitted - at least to himself - that he wants all the things Justin has been craving, it might be Brian having to settle for something less. 

Because he would. 

If eating take-out, watching dumb films and cuddling in his dump of an apartment is all that Justin wants from Brian, then that’s what Brian will give him.

If it’s his turn now to fit himself into the spaces in Justin’s life, he’ll do it.

All he knows it that he can’t lose Justin, not completely. Losing him as his partner has been excruciating enough, losing him from his life-

No, Brian can’t do that. Not ever.

*

On Monday, Justin texts him that he can’t make lunch, but to drop by his apartment with food after work.

It’s day fifteen and Brian is feeling pretty fucking great.

He’s been sleeping better, eating better, and he’s found that his skin has improved significantly, especially after he’s finally cut back on the smoking. He’s also noticed that although he’s eating more, he’s feeling a lot fitter.

Must help that he’s not hungover most of the time anymore. Or that he hasn’t just inhaled a pack of cigarettes before stepping on the treadmill. Then, of course, there’s the fact that he’s had to make up for the lack of his other physical activity.

God, he misses sex. He just has to make sure he’s missing it for the right reasons, then he can finally throw off monkhood - hopefully for good.

*

Justin opens the door for him with a bright smile, but Brian instantly knows something’s not quite right. He knows what a stressed Justin looks like and this is pretty much textbook.

Faint shadows under eyes, check. Tense lines across his lips and forehead, check. Trying to hide his shaking hand and overcompensating with smiles, check and check.

“You look like shit,” Brian informs him.

Not exactly true, but a safe way of letting Justin know that he can’t bullshit him.

Justin snorts and closes the door. “Nice to see you, too.”

Brian deposits the boxes of food in front of their favourite radiator. Justin has since got some cushions and ratty blankets to spread out in front of it.

As they settle down, Brian is suddenly reminded of the floor picnic Justin was so fucking obsessed with before he ran off with the fiddler. All Brian had cared about back then was making a point.

It had been a compulsion, just another one to add to the pile.

Nevermind that eating on the floor had never been a problem. But framed and labelled like that, it became a threat to the world Brian so carefully built for himself.

What had Justin said once? That he always needed to be the one in control.

And it’s true. With Brian calling the shots, things are safe, are exactly how they’re supposed to be. And if they’re not, Brian will freak out and do all he can to re-establish the parameters.

“Where did you go?” Justin asks, gently bumping their shoulders together as he holds out a carton of steaming food.

Brian takes it with a smile. “No place special.”

Justin awards him with a brilliant smile and that look in his eyes that always makes Brian want to rip his clothes off and fuck him stupid.

“I can change that.”

Brian has to look away, or he might actually throw the food aside and do just that. Instead, he watches Justin forgo chopsticks in favour of a fork, watches the faint tremor as he twists noodles onto it.

“So, what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” Justin asks, which only confirms that he’s trying to be nonchalant.

“I mean that your hand looks like shit and you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Justin drops his fork, noodles and all, and shoves his food aside. Brian follows suit, catching Justin’s shaking hand before he can make another attempt at hiding it, or jump up and propel himself into a full-on drama princess snit.

He massages it gently, letting his thumbs run across familiar grooves and kneading tense muscles into compliance. Justin deflates and relaxes beneath Brian’s touch.

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind. And you know how much worse this shit gets when I’m stressed.”

Brian does know. And he also has no doubt that he’s at least partly responsible for it.

“My mom has a new boyfriend,” Justin suddenly blurts. “And he’s, like, half her fucking age.”

Brian’s eyebrows shoot up. “Please don’t tell me that your mother’s sex life is what’s keeping you up at night.”

Justin looks torn between disgust and laughter. “Fuck you.”

Brian lets his fingers move higher, gently manipulating Justin’s wrist between thumbs and forefingers.

“Seriously, what’s the big deal?”

Justin sags against the radiator, taking care not to dislodge Brian’s hands.

“I don’t fucking know.” At this point, Brian is mostly just cradling Justin’s hand. Neither of them makes a move to withdraw. “She basically told me I’m a hypocrite.”

Brian sticks his tongue into his cheek and shrugs a little. “Well…”

Justin gives him a look. “Come on. It’s hardly the same.”

“No, it’s not the same. You were a teenager, she’s a grown woman.”

Justin looks away. Brian threads their fingers together and gives a little tug.

“Justin,” Brian says, but what he means is Out with it.

Justin sighs. “I just don’t want her to get hurt again, that’s all.”

“Who says that’s gonna happen?”

“You know what young people are like. He probably thinks it’s a thrill, then he’ll get bored and dump her for a younger model.”

Brian can’t help but be silently amused by Justin’s familiar wise old man routine.

“You didn’t do any of that.”

Justin waves him off. “I’m different. I’ve always been mature for my age.”

Brian can’t help the tongue-in-cheek smirk this time. Justin laughs and smacks him lightly.

“Shut up.”

Brian sobers. He knows this is important to Justin, so by extension it’s important to him.

“You need to let her make her own mistakes, same as she learned to do with you. If that boy toy of hers makes her happy then there’s nothing you can do about it. Just stick it out and if it does go wrong, be there for her.”

Justin lets out a long breath and Brian can practically see the tension slowly bleeding out of him. 

“Thanks,” Justin says softly. “This helped.”

“Good. Now let’s eat, it’s almost seven.”

Justin smiles, and grabs for his container. 

Their hands squeeze gently, before letting go.

*

Justin’s cell rings just as they’re contemplating catching another movie.

They’re still sprawled out on the pillows, and Justin has to lean over him to reach his phone. Brian takes the chance to subtly breathe him in. There’s not a single scent more intoxicating than Justin.

“Yeah?” Justin says as he answers. His eyes flicker to Brian. “Yeah, he’s here, hang on.”

He takes the phone from his ear and holds it out to Brian.

“It’s Ted.”

Brian makes a face and takes the call. “What is it?”

“It’s the Brown Athletics account.”

Fuck, not another queen out from Brown.

“What about it?”

“Leo Brown just heard about Drew Boyd - he wants another spokesman for his underwear line.”

What. The Fuck.

“Did you tell him that we’ve already booked a photoshoot? That the ad’s base has already been paid for?”

“He said that’s your problem. And if you don’t find someone else, you’re gonna have an even bigger one.”

Fucking son of a bitch.

“Fuck, alright, I’m coming in.”

“I’ve already lined up a few potentials for you to look at. Plus, we’ll need to call Boyd and let him know.”

“Well, I’ll leave that in your capable hands,” Brian says sweetly.

Ted doesn’t sound happy. “I thought you might. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

Brian ends the call and hands the phone back to Justin, who’s giving him a concerned look.

“What happened?”

“Leo Brown’s decided there hasn’t been enough drama lately, so he’s created a fucking problem out of nothing,” Brian says angrily as he gets to his feet. “He found out about Drew Boyd coming out and wants another model.”

Justin’s face tightens and Brian knows it’s both in sympathy to Boyd as well as Brian.

“That’s terrible. What’re you gonna do?”

Brian pinches the bridge of his nose, then picks up his coat.

“Fire Boyd and find someone new, what else.”

Justin comes up behind him, rubs a hand across his shoulder.

“Em’s going to kill you.” He tries to catch Brian’s gaze and Brian finally relents. “Is there really no way around it?”

“Brown Athletics is a 20 million dollar account. That’s roughly 2 million a year. Kinnetik is a single branch ad agency in fucking Pittsburgh. Leo Brown’s a fucking asshole, but I can’t afford to lose a long-standing client like him. Especially since he was one of the few people who actually supported me and made getting Kinnetik off the ground possible.”

Justin doesn’t say anything, just rubs Brian’s shoulders some more.

Brian knows that Justin doesn’t like it, but he also knows that he gets it.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to go sort out this mess as soon as possible.”

“Of course.” Justin gives him a small smile. “Call me if you need anything.”

Brian returns the smile, then leans in to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Justin pats his chest, pushing him towards the door.

“Count on it.”

*

As Justin predicted, Emmett’s pissed as hell.

Brian has Ted explain the figures to him, but, as expected, it does little to appease him. 

This is why fags shouldn’t go play with straight boys.

Brian really wishes day sixteen could go fuck itself.

*

It’s like Leo Brown cast some kind of curse on them, because day seventeen and eighteen are spent in a frantic blur of fielding phone calls and rejecting graphics. He wonders if his art department has suffered a collective blow to the head, because some of the stuff that lands on his desk is worse than some of the shit the dynamic duo at Vanguard dished out.

There’s a Thursday deadline they’re trying to meet and one of their other clients has had a sudden change of heart and wants to re-haul an entire campaign.

Brian barely has time to have a shit, let alone eat or sleep. He lives off coffee until Justin comes and drops off some sandwiches. 

He ends up getting sucked in and filling in for one of the interns who has the audacity to catch food poisoning just as they’re in need of all hands on deck.

Brian tries to pay him, but Justin all but smushes a sandwich in his face just for suggesting it.

They make the deadline, but it’s a close fucking call.

“I almost thought we were fucked,” Ted says. “And not in a positive, life-affirming way.”

It’s almost midnight and he’s sprawled limply over Brian’s office chair. His tie is hanging loose around his neck, an empty paper coffee cup clasped with both hands against his chest.

Brian snorts and closes his eyes, feeling Justin’s fingers card deeper into his hair.

They’re both draped over the couch, Brian’s head in Justin’s lap. He thinks he might never get up again.

“Just remind me to re-instate all the people I’ve fired today,” Brian says.

Justin huffs a laugh. “What, like the entire art department?”

“Justin, you saved our asses today,” Ted says.

“No shit.” Brian reopens his eyes to look up at Justin, who gives him a soft smile.

“I did learn a thing or two at Vanguard. Isn’t that right, Mr Kinney?”

Brian laughs and reaches up to swat him gently. Justin catches his hand and keeps it.

Brian can feel Ted’s knowing gaze from all the way across the room. Even half-dead Ted doesn’t miss a thing. It’s something that Brian never noticed about him until he started working for him, something he’s come to greatly appreciate.

“I’d say let’s go home, but I don’t think I can move,” Ted says, sagging deeper into the chair.

*

Brian must actually have fallen asleep, because when he next opens his eyes Ted is gone and someone has draped his coat over him in lieu of a blanket. Justin is still holding his hand, his other one buried in Brian’s hair. His head is tipped against the back of the couch, but Brian can tell from his breathing that he’s not properly asleep.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Justin lifts his head and looks down at him. “I thought you could do with a nap.”

Brian falls silent. He’s still feeling groggy, barely half-awake. He’s trying his best to convince himself to get up so that they can go home, but he’s not ready to lose their closeness.

“Brian?” Justin asks it softly while tracing his hairline with his index finger.

“Hm?”

Justin is quiet for so long that Brian almost drops back off to sleep. But then he can feel Justin take a deep breath, as though he’s bracing himself for something.

“Will you please come to the benefit tomorrow night?”

He certainly hadn’t expected that.

“Why?”

“Everyone’s gonna be there.”

“So what do you need me for?”

Justin licks his lips. He’s got that expression on his face that means there’s something he’s desperate to say but thinks might blow up in his face.

“I want us to go together.”

Brian scoffs. “What, as your date?”

Having pushed past the initial barrier, Justin’s expression has transformed into one of determination.

“Yes.”

Fuck.

Suddenly wide awake, Brian pushes himself up and reaches for the bridge of his nose. He’d hoped he’d have a little more time, just another week, maybe two-

But then again, maybe he’s just being a pussy, dragging everything out because he’s fucking terrified. Figures that, as fucking always, Justin turns out the be the brave one, the one to push them forward, even if he has to drag Brian along kicking and screaming.

And isn’t the fact that he asked Brian to be his date a good sign? If they go on like they have been isn’t Justin far more likely to get used to it and want it to stay this way?

“Fine,” Brian hears himself say.

“Fine?” Justin echoes, clearly floored. He grasps Brian’s shoulder, urging him to turn and face him. “You mean you’ll do it?”

Brian sighs and lets him have his way. “Yes, I’ll be your fucking date.”

And suddenly Justin is in his arms, hugging the shit out of him. He presses his face into Brian’s neck and all but strangles him.

“Thank you,” Justin murmurs against his skin.

Brian shivers a little and cups the back of his head, cradling him close.

They sit like that for a while and Brian is trying to find the best way to say what it is he wants to say. Because why the fuck not. Clearly they’ve started in on this can of worms, might as well bite the bullet and move things along.

“After the benefit-” When Brian fails to go on, Justin draws back a little to look at him. Brian clears his throat and pulls in his lips, then finally pushes on. “After the benefit, there’s some stuff I want to talk to you about.”

“You know, these past few weeks, I’ve been seriously wondering if you’ve been replaced by aliens.”

Brian snorts. “Very funny, Sunshine.”

“No, but seriously. You promised it’s not because you’re dying or some shit, but- Are you moving away, or something? Leaving never to be seen again?”

Brian has half a mind to make some kind of sardonic joke, but he can tell Justin’s only talking bullshit about aliens because he’s scared. And if they’re really gonna talk after that stupid fucking benefit, then Brian thinks he might as well get some practice in.

So instead of dismissing Justin, or purposefully ignoring the fact that he’s clearly apprehensive, Brian cups his jaw and runs his thumbs along his chin, gently tilting his head the way he’s done a million times before.

“I promise I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly. “Not without you.”

And Justin looks like he’s about to cry, which is one of the reasons Brian never says shit like this. He wants to kiss him, to taste the inside of his mouth and take his breath for his own. 

But he can’t, not yet.

So Brian presses his lips to Justin’s cheek instead, then his forehead to his temple, and breathes him in.

*

Babylon is packed, which is a regular enough occurrence. What isn’t regular, is that it’s filled with schmoozers, tables with white table cloths for Christ’s sake, and there isn’t a go-go dancer in sight. It’s almost frighteningly appalling.

Justin sticks close to his side as they weave their way through the crowd. A few people try to engage them in conversation, but thankfully it seems that Justin is as much in the mood for vacuous bootlicking as Brian.

Ted finds them first, pressing a glass into Brian’s hand as he pats his shoulder.

“I got you a drink,” he says and Brian swears to god he almost winked at him.

Brian raises his eyebrows and takes a subtle sniff. Fucking apple juice. He almost bursts into laughter, trying to cover it by taking a sip instead.

He knows it’s Ted’s way of covering his ass, knowing that were Brian to stand there with a bottle of water everyone and their mother would feel the need to comment.

“Thanks, Theodore.”

“Do you want a drink, Justin? I can go get you one, but I didn’t know what you’d like.”

“I’m fine, Ted, thanks. Have you seen the others?”

“Emmett’s getting ready backstage, Michael and Ben are over there, and Lindsay and Mel are running late - trouble with the babysitter.”

Which is around the time that Brian really wishes he wasn’t holding apple juice.

“Shit, I think Tony’s waving me over, I’ll catch you guys later.”

Justin gives a little wave and Brian still can’t believe what a dork he is sometimes. A little leftover from his teenage years, no doubt.

“Fuck, I think I saw Eli and Monty,” Justin says. “Give me a sip of that.”

So much for covering his ass. 

Justin’s eyes almost bug out of his head in surprise.

“Is that-”

“Yes, it’s apple juice,” Brian snaps.

They look at each other in silence for a long, drawn out moment. Then Justin slowly brings the glass back to his lips and takes another sip, before handing it back.

“It’s good.”

Brian fucking loves him.

*

Unfortunately, they don’t manage to escape a face-off with Eli and Monty. What’s worse, they descend on them almost the same time as Ben and Michael. 

Fuck, he hates those sanctimonious assholes. He’ll never forget that excruciating dinner Mikey forced him to attend. No amount of change could ever make him want to become the Stepford fags next door to the likes of Monty and fucking Eli.

Just because he’s stopped having compulsive sex with strangers and decided not to drink and drug himself into an early grave, doesn’t mean he’s gonna start ‘turning in early’ and talk about fucking greenery and speed bumps.

“You’re here together?” Michael blurts as soon as he sees them, his eyes flickering incredulously from Brian to Justin and back.

Apparently the Kinney support group hasn’t been keeping each other up to date.

“Sure looks like it,” Brian shoots back coolly.

Justin is looking a little nervous, so Brian makes a point of wrapping an arm around him.

Michael looks like he’s going to demonstrate another incident of his failing brain to mouth filter in just under a minute, but thankfully Ben chooses that moment to jump in.

“I wanted to thank you personally for letting us use the club.” He reaches out a hand, which Brian shakes reluctantly. “It really means a lot to us.”

Brian smiles sweetly, his mocking tone matching as he replies, “How could I say no to my oldest and dearest friend.”

Michael at least has the decency to look uncomfortable at that.

“Well, we’re really grateful,” he all but mumbles without meeting Brian’s eyes.

Which is when Eli and Monty decide to materialise.

“Hey, guys,” Monty says. “This is some event.”

Brian and Justin exchange looks.

There’s no fucking way he can pass up this opportunity.

“Hello, Eli; hello, Monty.” Brian takes exaggerated care to address them correctly. “So, how’re you liking the venue?”

“Oh, we love what the organisers have done with the place. I might have to re-visit the days of my debauched youth and dance till dawn.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we managed to clear out all the drugged-up Peter Pans before you got here, then,” Brian says with a saccharine smile. He can see Justin fighting to keep a straight face at his side. “But maybe we’ll manage some promotion for promiscuous behaviour - the night’s still young!” He downs the last of his apple juice in one go. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I need a refill.”

He wraps his arm around a sniggering Justin, leading him towards the bar.

“The look on their faces! How scandalised do you think they’d be if we gave them an actual demonstration?”

“They better be careful or I’ll drive all the way out to Stepford fagville and we’ll demonstrate right there on their front lawn,” Brian sneers. “Plant our seed in their rose bushes.”

Which only makes Justin laugh harder. Brian grins at him.

They reach the bar and Brian leans against it, nodding at the bartender in greeting.

“What do you want to drink, Sunshine?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Brian raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t question him. He orders them two bottles of water. Fuck appearances, he wants water so he’ll fucking drink some water.

Justin gives him another searching look, but accepts the water without question.

They find a good spot and are re-joined by Ted. Then Jennifer and her boy toy show up.

Kissing Jennifer’s cheek, Brian now remembers seeing him at Justin’t show. 

He can tell Justin is trying to rein himself in and watches him smile sourly as he manages a short handshake with the boy toy.

In response to his efforts, Jennifer beams at him and Brian can see some of the tension seeping out of Justin’s shoulders.

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” Jennifer asks quietly.

Boy toy is off getting Jennifer a drink and Justin is greeting a group of people who know him from the GLC.

Brian takes a sip from his water and looks out over the crowd.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jennifer snorts, but lets it go. She puts a hand on his arm.

“I’m glad you and Justin found a way to work things out, after all.”

Brian doesn’t correct her. It is, after all, what he’s fervently hoping for. Besides, he has no intention of spilling his guts to Jennifer. There’s only one person he intends to do that with, and he’s just come back to mould himself to his side - a perfect fit, as always.

“Thanks for coming, Mom,” Justin says.

Jennifer leans in to kiss his cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Then she does the same to Brian, for good measure.

“Thanks, Mom,” Brian drawls sardonically, but his smile is sincere.

*

Cindy Lauper goes down as well as expected, and Brian has to admit that her entrance is pretty fucking good.

“Pretty great, huh?” Justin says, wrapping his arms around him.

Brian shrugs. “She’s alright.”

Justin laughs and Brian gives him a tongue-in-cheek grin. Squeezing him a little, Justin briefly presses his face into Brian’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

Brian pulls him in closer and kisses his cheek, just shy of his lips. He can feel Justin’s breath, feels the warmth of his body alongside his own and wants him so fucking badly he can barely breathe.

Thankfully, Jennifer breaks their moment by coughing. Justin turns to her in concern.

“Mom, you okay?”

“Yeah, just these smoke machines,” she says around another cough. “They make my throat go all scratchy.”

“I’ll get you some water.” He catches Brian’s hand. “Brian, do you want anything?”

Brian threads their fingers together. What he wants more than anything is to stay close to Justin.

“I’ll come with you.”

Justin gives him a brilliant smile and tugs him along. They ask Ted as they pass him, and he tells them to get him a cranberry spritzer.

They make their way back to the bar and Brian leans over it to place their order.

He turns to Justin, who’s chatting with Lindsay’s friend, Dusty, when something in the air around them shifts.

It’s a split second, a sudden ripple in the air that makes the small hairs on the back of Brian’s neck come to attention as if electrified. Something that flicks a switch in his brain to pure, primal instinct. 

Without knowing why or how, he throws himself forward and catches Justin in his arms, crushing his head to his shoulder, left hand protectively cradling his skull, shielding him-

The world around them explodes, heat and force crashing into Brian’s back and ripping them both off their feet. He holds onto Justin for dear life, not letting go even as they crash to the ground.

And the last thing he remembers is the agony tearing up his arm even as his head impacts brutally with the back of the bar, plunging everything into darkness.

Chapter Text

The edges of consciousness are hazy as Brian slides in and out of awareness.

There’s snatches of soundbites, sensations, too-bright light spearing his closed eyelids. Nothing makes sense, the pieces jagged and incomplete. The only constant is the pain.

Once, he surfaces enough he thinks he feels someone holding his hand to the backdrop of a heart monitor. He tries to move his fingers, squeeze back, but the pull of unconsciousness is too great and he’s out again before he can force his eyes open.

*

When the world slowly fades in around him once more, his first thought is fucking ow. He honestly didn’t know that this kind of multi-faceted pain is even possible. And, despite his stubbornly sealed eyes, he knows they must be giving him the good shit, because he feels floaty and weightless on top of everything.

“Justin, honey.” That’s Jennifer. “How about you go get some air, something to eat?”

There’s no answer, but as Brian’s head clears a little more he feels the hand around his own convulse slightly.

“Justin…” Jennifer tries again.

“Mom, please.”

It’s so soft, so drained of all emotion it hardly sounds like Justin.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Jennifer relents with a sigh. She sounds closer now, is probably touching Justin somehow. “I’ll get you some soup and you’ll see how you feel.”

Justin doesn’t reply and Brian feels the grip on his hand shift and the soft press of lips join it.

“Must be bad, if you’re turning down food,” he manages to rasp.

It’s barely audible, but Brian knows he’s been heard from the stunned stillness in the room. His eyeballs feel coated in sandpaper as he finally peels his lids open. The world is little more than a blur and the light is knifing straight into his brain.

A golden blur enters his line of vision.

“Brian.”

It’s a fully-fledged sob, as wet and scratchy as Justin’s cheek when he presses it against his own. Their stubble scraping together as he rains kisses on Brian’s face.

“Whoa, easy there, Sunshine,” Brian wheezes.

There’s something obstructing his airways - a tube stuck up his nose. Great.

“Sorry, I’m sorry-” Justin murmurs fervently and Brian isn’t quite sure what it is that he’s sorry for.

He smells of smoke and blood, his hands shaking as they cradle Brian’s jaw. 

Brian still has trouble focusing and his eyes keep drooping. His whole body feels like it’s been smashed to pieces and put back together incorrectly.

“I’ll go get the nurse,” Jennifer says from somewhere to his left.

Brian had forgotten she’s there.

She steps closer briefly to smooth a gentle palm over his brow, then departs.

Brian’s eyes are closed again and he can’t even remember when that happened. He feels Justin leaning over him once more, taking care to keep his weight off Brian’s battered body as he brings their foreheads together.

“I was so fucking scared,” Justin whispers.

Brian tries to reach for him, wants to hold him, but doesn’t even have the energy to get his eyelids back up. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs aimlessly instead, turning his head and clumsily nuzzling Justin’s dirt-streaked cheek. “I’m okay.”

Justin just kisses him again, then slides down to carefully press his wet face into Brian’s neck, bathing Brian’s skin with tears as he cries silently into his shoulder.

*

Brian is barely coherent for the exchange with his doctor and forgets the details the moment it’s over.

Thankfully, he’s declared stable enough to be moved out of the ICU to a private room. They unhook the heart monitor and remove the tube from up his nose, the feeling almost making him vomit.

He’s wheeled down the corridor and into an elevator. Justin holds his hand as they ride upwards, but he passes out again before they reach their destination.

*

He drifts back to consciousness feeling loopy and weightless. Despite clearly being drugged to the gills, every breath sends a stabbing pain through his chest and his head is fucking killing him. From the persistent nausea and the way that his brain feels like it’s taking a merry swim inside the confines of his skull, Brian surmises he must have one hell of a concussion.

He tries to remember what his doctor said earlier, but can’t remember shit.

Vision still blurry, he frowns up at the ceiling, then tries to turn his head to inspect the room. He finds the blinds drawn, slivers of daylight sneaking through small gaps and making his temples throb.

Justin is asleep in a chair, head pillowed on his folded arms and cradling Brian’s left hand in his own. There’s an IV sticking out from the back of his palm, while his right feels heavy, as though chained to the bed. When Brian glances at it, he finds it covered in a cast that reaches all the way to his elbow.

Frustrated, he looks to his other side and finds Debbie, who’s taken Jennifer’s place.

The movement must’ve alerted her, because she looks up from the magazine in her hands. She smiles at him, relieved, and leans over to touch his cheek.

“Hey there, sweetheart. How’re you holding up?”

He struggles to focus. 

“What-”

His throat promptly protests and he coughs, dry and rough. It feels like his chest might just split open it hurts so much.

Debbie frowns at him in concern and Brian quickly glances back at Justin, but finds him still deeply asleep. He must be completely wiped out.

“Here,” Debbie says, holding a plastic cup of water and gently poking at his lips with a short straw. “Drink this, then I’ll go get the doctor.”

Brian opens his mouth, clumsily catching the straw and taking two deep pulls. He can’t believe that even pursing is fucking lips hurts. 

When he’s done, Debbie puts the cup aside and touches his hair.

“Now, you just sit tight and let me get a nurse or something.”

“Wait,” Brian rasps. It’s easier this time, but still takes far too much energy. “Is everyone-?”

Debbie smiles at him.

“Everyone else is fine.” 

Her voice is uncharacteristically subdued, probably to keep from disturbing Justin. 

“What the fuck happened?” Brian asks, trying to keep focused even as his head throbs and the nausea intensifies. 

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get some answers first.

“Now, honey. You really shouldn’t worry about that right n-”

“Deb.”

Debbie sighs and sits back down, her hand resting lightly just above the edge of the cast.

“It was a bomb. Some sick fuck blew up the club.”

That revelation only makes Brian’s head spin more.

“Fuck.” He tries to swallow around the taste of bile in the back of his throat. “Any deaths?”

“4 dead, 67 wounded - 11 of them critical. That includes you, by the way.”

Fucking Christ.

Brian instinctively seeks out Justin, his chest aching fiercely as his heart hammers against his ribcage. The mere thought that it could’ve been Justin in this hospital bed, that Brian might’ve almost lost him again-

Pressing his eyes closed, Brian concentrates on the feeling of Justin’s warm hand in his own, doing his best to breathe through the horrible what-if scenarios flashing through his fuzzy brain. His head hammers painfully in protest.

He feels Debbie lean over him once more, feels another soft touch to his cheek. Brian manages to force his eyelids back up, his entire body protesting being kept alert.

“Any idea who did it?”

Debbie shakes her head.

“Fuck,” Brian says again, because what the fuck else is there to say.

He looks back over at Justin’s sleeping face, dares to run his thumb across one of his fingers. It makes the IV pull painfully at his skin.

“You really scared him,” Debbie says quietly.

Brian repeats his caress, even though it hurts to move.

“He and Michael nearly punched some doctor’s lights out. You needed blood and they wouldn’t take Justin’s because he’s gay.”

That finally manages to tear Brian’s gaze away. He stares at Debbie.

“Justin tried to give me blood?”

She nods.

“You should’ve seen him.” She looks troubled, her concern now transferred to Justin. “I honestly thought he was gonna go round the bend there for a bit. And who can blame him with everything he’s been through - and now this.” Debbie shakes her head. “The whole fucking world has gone insane. The whole fucking world…”

Brian silently agrees. He wants to say something else, ask more questions, but his eyes droop further as he blinks and he finally loses his fight with unconsciousness.

*

Dr Ryan checks on him on his evening rounds and Brian is marginally more coherent this time, though not by much.

Thankfully, Justin is there to do most of the talking and though Brian is confident he’ll actually remember the exchange this time, it’s still nice to know he doesn’t have to.

Dr Ryan patiently repeats Brian’s diagnosis; concussion, broken arm, cracked ribs. He tells him there’d been some internal bleeding and they almost had to remove his spleen, but that ultimately a removal hadn’t been necessary. It’s still enlarged, however, and needs to be closely monitored in case it gets infected or doesn’t heal properly.

That’s about as far as Brian lasts, before he nods off again.

It’s the leading theme for the next couple of days; dropping off in the middle of conversations, slipping away between one breath and the next. 

It’s disorientating, the drugs in his system making everything even more disjointed. Every time Brian opens his eyes the light has changed and, often, so have the people.

The mothering squad; Debbie, Jennifer, Lindsay. A frazzled Ted, an uncharacteristically subdued Emmett. Daphne, dropping off a change of clothes for Justin.

Once, he hears Michael’s familiar voice having a whispered conversation with Justin, though his brain is too hazy to discern anything and when he next opens his eyes he’s not even sure it actually happened.

The whole thing is like a dream, a hazy series of events with abrupt transitions that don’t make sense.

There is, however, one constant throughout it all. No matter how many times he falls asleep, Justin is always there when he wakes up.

Like an anchor, he grounds Brian in reality, his soft voice and even softer touches the best comfort Brian could wish for.

*

“Justin,” Brian says hoarsely. 

Talking still hurts, mostly because even fucking breathing hurts, but pain has never stopped him before. 

It’s dark out and Brian remembers it was still light the last time he was awake long enough for it to register. Even so, he has no fucking clue if a whole day has passed, or merely a few hours.

Justin is sitting in the same uncomfortable chair, and even through the haze of morphine and exhaustion Brian thinks he’s never seen him look this tired.

“Justin,” Brian tries again. “You should go home. Get some proper sleep.”

Justin carefully threads their fingers together and raises Brian’s good hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss next to the protruding IV line.

“You’re not getting rid of me.”

Brian weakly extends a finger, clumsily touching it to Justin’s mouth, then his chin. Justin kisses that, too.

“Stubborn little shit.” Brian’s limbs feel like lead and sleep is already creeping up on him once more. He fights to keep his eyes open. “I’m asleep most of the time anyway.”

Brian’s index finger is still right there, resting against Justin’s bottom lip. He feels it start to tremble, watches Justin draw back slightly to sink his teeth into it, his eyes turning glassy.

It hurts more than any physical injury ever could.

“I can’t,” Justin says. It’s soft, tremulous, and Brian sees him swallow. “Not yet. I need to just…keep you in my sight. Hear you breathing.”

Brian remembers endless nights spent at the hospital, staring fixedly through a narrow window just so he could watch Justin sleep. He remembers the crawling anxiety after Justin was released and he could no longer come and see him. He remembers nights spent awake next to him, making sure he’s still there, still alive. Making sure to catch a nightmare early, waking him up fast and holding him faster.

He wants to hold him now, but has to settle for the next best thing. 

The IV pulling uncomfortably at his skin, Brian turns his hand and touches Justin’s cheek. Justin shifts his own grip and kisses his palm.

“Alright,” Brian says quietly.

Justin smiles at him - a little wobbly, a little tearful, but warm and real. He leans in and presses still trembling lips to the corner of Brian’s mouth.

“Now go back to sleep,” Justin whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

So Brian does.

*

It must be early, because Daphne’s the one on babysitting duty and most of her classes start at a ridiculous hour in the morning. Justin popped out a short while ago to grab some breakfast and has yet to return, so it’s just Brian and Daphne when Ted comes in.

He’s still frazzled, clutching a huge coffee and probably hasn’t slept in days.

“Looks like you’re released from warden duty, Daphne,” Brian says, his small, sarcastic smile making muscles ache he didn’t even realise he has.

Daphne rolls her eyes, but smiles. She picks up her lime-green book bag, buttons and keychains rustling as she shoulders it.

“Tell Justin I’ll call him later,” she says, giving a brief pat to his good arm. “You take it easy, Brian. Good to see you, Ted.”

“You, too,” Ted says, holding the door for her.

With a last smile at them both, she slips out.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you more,” Ted says earnestly as he steps closer. “Also, Cynthia sends her love.”

Brian nods, simply grateful for a chance to get an update.

“What’s the situation?”

Ted straightens a little.

“I’ve submitted a claim to the insurance company, spoken to three contractors, and the building inspector is checking to make sure the structure’s sound.” He shrugs a little. “We’ll have to wait and see what everyone says.”

Brian lets out a long breath, annoyed at his own helplessness. They reduced his dose of morphine, but focusing still takes a lot of concentration.

“What about Kinnetik? Is everyone present and accounted for?”

Ted nods. “Everyone apart from Phil in the art department. He got trampled on when everyone was rushing out of the club. I gave him a call, sent some food.”

Brian rolls his lips in, trying very hard not to think about the blood and panic that must’ve gone down at the club. All things he’d completely missed because he’d already been unconscious. Things that Justin had to deal with.

“Thanks,” he tells Ted quietly.

Justin chooses that moment to come back, holding a coffee and a greasy bag of god-knows-what.

He looks rumpled and tired, dark circles of bone-deep exhaustion and stress standing out starkly against his pale skin. He’s changed clothes again, but Brian knows it only goes so far without access to a proper shower. Cat baths in cramped hospital bathrooms really aren’t the best at making you feel clean and refreshed.

“Hey, Justin,” Ted greets him.

Justin gives him a small smile.

“Did Daphne leave?” he asks.

“She had to go to class,” Brian says, hating how weak and raspy it comes out.

He’s just about ready to conk out again, but he’ll be damned if he gives in this easily.

Justin reclaims his seat at Brian’s bedside.

“I met Dr Ryan in the hallway, he said he’ll be by in a bit.”

“Good,” Brian says, eyelids drooping. “Then I can talk to him about cutting me off from this shit. I can barely string a coherent sentence together.”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’ve done nothing but rest since I woke up.”

Justin sighs, but it’s a testament to how rattled he still is, how tired, that he backs down without another word. Brian fervently wishes he could hold him, drag him into this narrow hospital bed and make him get some rest.

Ted shifts a little awkwardly and Brian almost forgot he’s still there.

“So, are you coming to the vigil tonight, Justin?” Ted asks.

Brian furrows his brow, looking in askance between them.

“What vigil?”

“They’re holding one tonight,” Ted says. “For the victims.”

Justin is playing with the paper bag in his hands, poking whatever’s inside.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’d rather stay here with Brian.”

“You should go,” Brian says softly. “Get out of here, get some fresh air.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine. Not like I can just get up and wander off.”

Justin finally leaves off the bag. He looks from Brian to Ted and back again.

“I don’t know…”

Ted gives him a reassuring smile. “Tell you what, why don’t I come pick you up and we go together? We can drop by your place and you can shower and change.”

Brian could’ve fucking kissed him.

Justin relents. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Right, I’m off.” Ted gives Brian’s good arm a gentle squeeze, then waves to them both. “I’ll catch you later. Justin, I’ll be here around six.”

Justin waits until the door has fallen shut, before discarding the paper bag and moving to carefully perch on Brian’s bedside, taking his hand.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

“Sunshine, I have a whole hospital of qualified staff looking after me,” Brian says gently, his usual sarcasm blunted with affection. “I’m sure they can manage a few hours until you’re back.”

Justin drops his gaze and Brian squeezes his hand, giving a weak tug.

“C’mere.”

Justin folds into him, avoiding the sore spots on Brian’s chest as he carefully puts his head on his shoulder. 

Brian cups the nape of his neck and closes his eyes. He means to say something comforting, but he drops off before he gets the chance.

*

Brian sleeps through the rest of the day, only waking up for a few minutes when Dr Ryan stops by. Mercifully, he agrees to cut Brian off, but warns him to immediately tell one of the nurses if the pain gets to be too much.

Brian outwardly agrees, while thinking no fucking way.

He’s out like a light again after that, but wakes up briefly when Ted comes to pick up Justin.

Justin kisses his forehead and whispers that he’ll be back soon.

Brian is asleep again before the door closes behind them.

*

He opens his eyes to a darkened room, the only points of light the glare of the emergency signs and the faint, narrow strip of glass in the door. Judging from the near silence outside it’s either very late, or very early.

Brian realises it’s the feeling of fingers tightening around his own that’s dragged him from sleep. He struggles to process what’s happening as Justin’s lips press tightly to the back of his hand, his breath uneven where it brushes Brian’s skin.

He knows even before his eyes have focused that something’s wrong.

“What the fuck happened?” Brian squints, watching Justin sit up. A stray string of light climbs across his chest. “Jesus, is that blood on your shirt?”

Justin reaches up to touch his cheek. 

“It’s not mine.” He sounds strangely detached, thumbing a caress along Brian’s cheekbone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Nevermind that.” 

This, right here, is something Brian had hoped never to see again. It’s not so much what he can make out on Justin’s face in the dimness of the room, but instead it’s in the air around him. Something unhinged and desperate that in Brian’s experience only ever ends in anger.

It’s the thing that followed Justin around right after the bashing, then surfaced again with a vengeance during the whole stunt with the Pink Posse.

Needing his one, semi-functional hand, Brian gently extracts himself from Justin’s grip to press the button to raise the back of his bed.

The movement sends a jolt of pain through his body, but Brian welcomes the sharpness of it, recognising it as a sign that the morphine has finally released him from its grasp.

He reaches out with his good arm.

“Come up here,” he murmurs.

Justin comes to him without hesitation, still so very careful as he folds himself against Brian. Brian traces the length of his spine, rubbing gently.

“Tell me what happened.”

Justin lets out a long, tremulous breath, his whole body deflating and moulding closer to Brian’s own.

“Everything was going fine. Then some homophobic assholes turned up - ‘god hates fags’ and all that bullshit. Then one of them-” Justin breaks off with a choked sound, his grip on Brian tightening convulsively. It hurts, but Brian only pulls him in tighter. “One of them said you should have died. That you should burn in hell. That we all deserve to die.” Brian can tell how hard Justin is fighting not to cry, but it’s a losing battle. “I fucking lost it, Brian. After everything, I just- I fucking lost it.”

Justin is definitely sobbing now, and Brian desperately wishes he could simply pull Justin inside his body and protect him from the world.

“It’s okay,” Brian murmurs, even though they both know it isn’t.

Justin’s fingers are clenched tight in Brian’s flimsy hospital gown. “I would’ve fucking killed that motherfucker. I wanted to kill him. But Ben and Michael- they pulled me off.”

And judging from the amount of blood on Justin’s shirt, not a moment too soon. Fuck, Brian wishes more than anything he’d been there. He’d have punched the fuckers himself, if only to spare Justin having to do it.

Then again, if Brian had been there and not metaphorically chained to a hospital bed, Justin’s mood would be considerably less volatile.

Unwilling to spout anymore pointless platitudes, and wanting to steer them away from the whole thing, Brian tries for some levity.

“Couldn’t even wait until I’m out of here to almost get arrested again…”

But Justin isn’t having it.

“Don’t-” he chokes out, cutting Brian off. “Please, don’t, not now.”

So Brian doesn’t, instead presses his lips to Justin’s temple.

“Hey,” Brian murmurs senselessly. “Hey.”

He rocks him gently while Justin sniffles into his shoulder. The whole thing is breaking Brian’s fucking heart.

They eventually draw apart enough for Justin to wipe his face and Brian lets his gaze run over Justin’s face, then reaches up to cup a still wet cheek.

I love you, Brian wants to say. I’m so fucking in love with you.

But, as always, the words get stuck in his throat, his chest constricting sharply as his heart beats and berates him.

So he does the next best thing, the only thing he knows how.

Leaning in, Brian gently touches their foreheads together, then nudges Justin’s nose, following the bridge with the tip of his own.

Justin’s lips part on a broken sigh as he leans into him, hands firm against Brian’s chest, fingers tight in his hospital gown.

There’s more tears and Brian tilts his head to catch them with his tongue, tracing his mouth up to their source. Justin makes another sad, little sound and Brian can’t take it anymore, so he moulds his lips to Justin’s own and seals it inside.

Justin releases his gown, cupping Brian’s face between soft, desperate hands as though he fears Brian might simply dissolve any moment.

They hardly move, their lips simply clinging to each other. It doesn’t feel like a kiss. What it feels like, is essential. As though the barest space between their mouths would cut them off from something elemental, like oxygen.

And when they do finally move, it’s only to move closer. It’s for Brian to thumb at fresh tear tracks and Justin to slip his hands into Brian’s hair, gently cradling his skull as they breathe each other in.

Their tongues never touch, but the taste of salt pervades Brian’s mouth. 

Nothing has ever been sweeter.

*

Determined to continue on his path to independence, Brian convinces Dr Ryan the following day to please, for the love of god, get that fucking tube out of his dick.

It hurts like a goddamn motherfucker and Brian can only guess how excruciating getting himself to the bathroom will be, but he’ll fucking crawl there on all fours if need be. Anything better than having his dick speared and connected to a plastic bag.

Plus, it’s one step closer to getting released from this beige and yellow hellhole. When asked, Dr Ryan tells them that he wants to keep Brian at least one more day and night for observation. But if everything looks okay tomorrow afternoon, Brian can go home, provided he stays put for three weeks at the very least.

In the early evening, the nurse relieves him of the IV line and brings him his first, solid meal. It’s disgusting, of course, but Brian eats it all to prove how ready he is to go home.

*

He wakes to a familiar ceiling. Fuck, he’s so tired of this room. And bed. And hospitals in fucking general.

Instinctively he seeks Justin with his eyes, but for once finds the chair at his bedside empty. Confused, he turns his head the other way, only to find Michael sitting there.

The bewilderment must show on his face, because Michael quickly leans forward to reassure him.

“Justin’s just popped out to get a bite to eat. He’ll be back soon.”

Brian nods and brings up a weak hand to rub at his face.

Michael eyes him with open concern. “How’re you feeling?”

Brian snorts. “Pretty sure it’s as good as I look.”

Michael reaches out to place a gentle hand on his arm. “You look alive, so you’re looking pretty fucking great to me.”

That surprises a tired smile out of him.

“Thanks, Mikey.”

But Michael is still looking far too grave, the lack of a smile making him look older and…harder, somehow. With a pang, Brian realises that it’s been a long time since he’s seen Michael smile at him and really mean it. 

“You scared the shit out of us,” Michael says quietly.

“So I heard. Your mother told me something about you and Justin almost decking someone.”

Michael scowls. “Yeah, well, they were being fucking assholes.”

“No doubt.”

A somewhat awkward silence falls over them and Brian really fucking hates it. It’s never been like this between them.

Michael is floundering and Brian leaves it to him to fill the weirdness between them. They both know Brian isn’t going to be the one to attempt any sort of talk, small or otherwise.

“Lindsay said she might bring Gus over later, if you’re feeling up for it.”

That does cheer Brian considerably and he manages a small smile, but it fades into another painful silence.

Brian is just contemplating the merits of feigning falling asleep when the door opens to admit Justin.

Despite everything, Brian’s a little taken aback by the instant joy and relief he feels just seeing his face - and it doesn’t even have anything to do with the awkwardness in the room. He’s simply…really fucking happy to see Justin.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Justin echoes and smiles at him, tired but clearly just as happy to see Brian. 

It makes Brian’s chest feel full and warm and like he might just die a little if he doesn’t get to kiss Justin right the fuck now.

It’s pathetic, but if Brian had any fucks left, they’ve been blown to pieces along with the club.

So when Justin comes over to kiss him and take his hand, Brian holds on to it and doesn’t let go.

When he looks back at Michael, there’s an unreadable look on his face as he glances between them. For the first time, he actually looks as though there’s something he wants to say. And Brian can take a wild fucking guess what it is.

“Hey, Michael,” Justin says belatedly.

“Hi, Justin.” Michael gives him a searching look. “You holding up okay?”

Justin looks a little wary, but nods.

“I didn’t get to say thank you last night. So…thanks.”

To Brian’s surprise, Michael gives Justin a genuine smile, even reaches over to squeeze his arm.

“If you wouldn’t have punched that asshole, I probably would’ve.”

Justin returns the smile and Michael pulls back, then stands.

“Well, I’m off. Got to get back to the shop. I left Hunter in charge, so…”

They all share a small laugh at the thought, then Michael leans down to kiss Brian’s cheek.

“Let me know when they let you out of here,” is all he says.

Then, with a last small pat to Brian’s shoulder, he’s gone.

Justin raises an eyebrow. “So, how did that go?”

Brian sighs and closes his eyes.

“Fuck if I know.”

*

Of course he fucking falls asleep again, what else is new.

Justin is there when he wakes up, eyes drooping over a scrunched up paperback novel. Justin’s never been much of a reader outside textbooks and fancy texts about art history, so he really must be desperate.

“You could turn the TV on, you know.”

Justin looks up and smiles, casting the book aside without even marking his page. He leans forward to stroke a gentle palm along Brian’s uninjured arm.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“It won’t, I’ve been sleeping like the fucking dead.”

The words are poorly chosen and he instantly wishes he could take them back when he sees the dark cloud closing in over Justin’s face. He quickly flounders for something to remedy that.

“So, do I get a fucking kiss, or what?”

Which is apparently the right thing to say, because Justin’s smile is back with extra brilliance and he’s out of his chair and leaning over him faster than Brian’s gritty eyes can follow.

He kisses him gently, a mere brush of slightly chapped lips against Brian’s own. He’d call it chaste, but if anything the slightly rough texture only makes it feel more intense.

Their mouths remain closed, but when Justin makes to pull away, Brian hooks a hand in his collar to keep him close.

Justin makes a soft, aborted sound against his mouth. Like he’s about to lose himself, but for some reason thinks he shouldn’t. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Justin murmurs.

“You’re not.” Brian gently nips at his lower lip. “Or, rather, everything already hurts so it doesn’t matter.”

Justin draws back a little, carding gentle fingers through Brian’s hair.

“The nurse left some painkillers for you. Let me get them.”

Brian gratefully accepts the pills and a half-full cup of water, wincing as he washes it all down.

Justin takes the cup off him as Brian leans back against the pillows with a grimace.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Soon.” Justin gingerly sits down at the edge of Brian’s bed and goes back to stroking his hair. “You’ll need someone there with you. I know we haven’t discussed it, but-”

Brian gives him an intent look.

“What’s there to discuss? You’re coming home with me, aren’t you?”

And it’s worth it for the slow smile that blooms across Justin’s face.

“Yeah,” Justin says quietly. “Yeah, I’m coming home.”

The words are enough to make breathing a little easier.

“Good.”

*

The release from hospital is relatively painless.

Jennifer comes to pick them up in her car and drives them both to the loft. She has a bag of Justin’s things, which she helps carry upstairs while Justin takes most of Brian’s weight as they stumble into the elevator.

“Remember to call if you need anything,” Jennifer says as she sets down the bag just inside the door.

“We will,” Justin reassures her. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Yeah, thanks, Mother Taylor,” Brian echoes with only half the dose of usual sarcasm.

He feels about two seconds away from collapsing on the spot.

Jennifer pats his cheek, then kisses them both. “You take care of yourselves, now.”

After she’s gone, Justin immediately helps him settle into bed. Brian is so exhausted and in so much fucking pain he wants to cry. Or pass out. Or both.

But he’ll be damned if he passes on the opportunity of finally occupying a surface big enough for the both of them.

Justin, having finished propping a pillow behind Brian’s back and another beneath his broken arm, is just about to get back up when Brian catches him. He tugs weakly at his arm, but it’s all the encouragement Justin needs.

He stretches out next to Brian, careful not to jostle him.

Brian doesn’t care about that, pulling insistently until Justin relents and fits himself along Brian’s left side. Brian folds his good arm around him, turns his throbbing head to stick his nose into Justin’s soft hair.

“What’s with all the boxes?” Justin asks, pulling Brian from the edge of sleep.

It takes a moment for Brian to realise what he’s talking about. After finalising the paperwork with Ted, he’d started on half-heartedly packing some of his shit.

Brian runs his hand along Justin’s spine.

“I’m selling the loft.”

Brian knows it isn’t the answer Justin expected. Leaning up on his elbow, Justin raises himself up to seek Brian’s gaze.

“What?”

Brian turns his head away. He really doesn’t want to talk about this right now.

“Don’t worry, it’ll stay in the family. I’m giving it to Theodore.”

He knows Justin must be dying to dig deeper, but thankfully his saint-like patience once more perseveres. After one last searching look at Brian’s face, he lets it go. He settles back down, pressing a small kiss to Brian’s clothed chest.

Brian weaves his fingers into Justin’s hair and kisses his forehead.

*

Recovery is slow and gruelling, as all recoveries tend to be.

It takes three days before Brian’s dick stops aching every time he takes a piss and his arm has started itching like fuck beneath the cast. He’s been using one of Justin’s old paint brushes to stick inside and scratch some of it away, even though he knows he’s not supposed to. Either way, it barely helps.

Justin slowly loses the frantic edge he’s been carrying around ever since Brian first woke up. He stops hovering as much - covert as he may have thought himself to be.

He’s started leaving Brian for short stretches, mostly to go pick up groceries, or to use the laundry room in the basement.

There’s a steady stream of visitors, and when they’re alone they keep their conversation inconsequential. It’s all What do you want to eat and Wich movie shall we watch.

Justin helps him shower, helps him piss when he’s so fucking exhausted he can barely stand. He’s always ready with a pillow to elevate Brian’s arm when it starts bothering him. He feeds him food and painkillers, wipes his brow and massages his temples.

Brian should be feeling like a fucking invalid - and he does, a little. But what he feels most is cared for. Loved.

It’s that feeling of intimacy again, the one that he’d never really allowed himself to feel before. Sure, there’ve been times in the past when he and Justin had been fucking when Brian could feel them crossing a line. When their connection had flared strong and bright between them in a way that had nothing to do with their bodies.

And Brian would know, he’s a fucking expert in separating his mind from his body.

In retrospect, he knows that that’s why Justin had been different, right from the start. Yeah, Brian had been high as a kite and freaking out about Gus just having been born, but he remembers enough to know that much. At first, everything had been the same as ever. He’d seen Justin, thought he was hot, was, admittedly, drawn to the innocence he could sense in him.

But once they’d come back from the hospital and picked up where they left off, things had been…different. Justin had been so beautiful, so sweet, and Brian wanted so desperately to make it good for him. He won’t deny that part of it purely revolved around his own ego, that he got off on being in complete control and having someone looking at him the way Justin had looked at him.

But that’s not all it was.

Brian still remembers when, years later, Justin had said that the loft was where they’d made love for the first time. Of course, in usual Brian Kinney fashion, Brian had told him that it hadn’t been love. But Justin had just stood there and looked at him with this deep intensity and said It was love to me. 

And he’s right, it was.

*

In the five days since they left the hospital, today is the first Brian has managed to take a piss without it feeling like he’s squeezing out needles. He’d also managed to navigate the shower all on his little lonesome and, most notably, hadn’t fallen straight back to sleep after breakfast.

Now his head is resting on a small pillow in Justin’s lap - and really, what the fuck has he been doing all these years not realising how ridiculously comfortable that is. 

Too comfortable, apparently.

Brian feels the shiver start along his scalp, then rushing down his spine. He tilts his head, just a little, just enough to feel Justin’s fingers slide deeper into his hair.

He shifts, staring resolutely forwards at the TV with no idea what they’re actually watching. They’d abandoned the bed for the couch after Brian had complained that he might actually lose his mind if he had to stare at the same patch of ceiling for one more fucking minute.

Justin’s hand curls, gently cradling the top of Brian’s skull. His thumb runs along Brian’s hairline, grazing skin and making Brian bite down what would undoubtedly have been a pathetic little sound. 

His dick twitches mournfully. Clearly, all this is enough to make the traitor sit up and take notice for the first time since almost having been blown up.

Frankly, Brian is surprised it’s taken this long, what with being deprived as fuck and having Justin so close. Not that Justin hasn’t been a perfect fucking gentleman. Between Brian’s previous freak-outs and then almost dying, Justin has been alternating between desperately clinging to him and handling him like something fragile.

Brian would be far more annoyed if he didn’t understand the urge on such a fundamental level. After the bashing, he’d constantly been torn between wanting to fuse himself to Justin permanently, if only to protect him from ever getting hurt again, and being terrified that the slightest touch would simply make him shatter, the already misaligned shards too fractured to ever be able to be put together again.

More than anything, he’d wished to bury himself inside Justin, to feel him, taste him - to just fuck it all better. To fuck all the pain away, just as he’d always done.

If only it were that simple.

Instead, their time has been filled with gentle, chaste kisses. With Justin holding him for hours while Brian slept the day away. Very much aware that, as much as Justin liked sleeping, he couldn’t possibly be asleep for more than an hour or so at a stretch, without the aid of a concussion, bruised ribs and spleen, and heavy duty painkillers.

Brian knows that Justin has been jerking off in the bathroom, mostly sneaking from the bed at the asscrack of dawn or in the middle of the night when he thinks Brian is asleep. And if Brian hadn’t been so fucking exhausted and in so much pain, he’d have no doubt joined in. The thought alone of Justin touching himself a mere few feet away with just a single door between them is more than enough to get him hot all over.

It’s definitely getting him hot right now, what with Justin’s hands on him, his body warm and close, his familiar scent all around him-

Brian takes a shaky breath and shifts again, this time turning completely onto his back. Justin looks down at him, his other hand - the one not entangled in Brian’s hair - rubbing gently across his chest. Brian suppresses a shiver.

“You okay?” Justin asks.

It’s soft, barely audible over the quiet sounds of the TV, its blueish light the only illumination in the darkened room. Brian has no idea what time it is, doesn’t care. He traces Justin’s features with his eyes, then reaches up with his good hand to do the same with his fingers.

It’s a little awkward, his left hand far less dexterous and at a strange angle, but Justin leans into it all the same. Brian watches his mouth part, then his tongue flicking out across his lips. Brian chases the wetness with his thumb, rubbing slowly across the plush bottom lip. 

He wants to taste it so badly it fucking hurts.

Justin’s eyes look dark, his gaze unfaltering even as his breath hitches against Brian’s skin. He reaches up, catching Brian’s hand and bringing it close to his mouth. His lips graze Brian’s palm, softly at first, then harder. 

He can feel Justin’s mouth open against his skin, feel his hot breath followed by his tongue. 

Brian’s dick is so fucking hard he feels dizzy with it. There’s a sound stuck in his throat, something needy and helpless he’s terrified might actually escape.

Justin gentles his grip, drawing back a little.

“Brian,” he whispers, a million shades of desire and uncertainty threaded into two, simple syllables.

But Brian doesn’t want to talk, just wants to feel him - might actually go insane if he doesn’t get to taste him right the fuck now. So he doesn’t answer, simply grabs onto Justin’s collar and drags him down.

He can feel Justin’s breath, can already taste him on his tongue before their lips have even had a chance to touch.

Brian breathes him in, revels in the electric heat between them. He thinks about the very first night, the very first time he’d kissed Justin.

Justin makes a soft, needy noise and it spills between them, ending in a hitched, breathy sound when Brian finally closes the gap between them.

It’s nothing like their first kiss, nothing like any kiss they’ve shared before.

The fingers in Brian’s hair twist deeper, Justin’s other hand cradling his jaw as he falls into the kiss with everything he has. And, for once, Brian returns it in kind.

He tilts his head, invades Justin’s hot mouth with his tongue and doesn’t think. It’s not artful or calculated, no barriers or hidden agendas. There’s only Brian, open and laid bare, offering every broken part and every dark corner for Justin to inspect, to take and, hopefully, to keep.

Justin meets him halfway, their tongues brushing together, hungry sounds muffled between them. Brian’s whole body - his whole being - is screaming at him. Too much, not enough, not-

Gasping they draw apart.

Brian can feel Justin shaking, knows that it’s the same for him. Justin is clutching at him like a drowning man and Brian tries to soothe him with a touch to his cheek, a gentle onslaught of small kisses to his trembling lips.

“Brian,” Justin whispers again. The flickering light from the TV chases across his features. “It’s never been like this before.”

He looks painfully young, as if all their years together have suddenly been stripped away and returned to him the terrified, yet determined seventeen year old he’d picked up under that streetlight.

Justin’s grip on him tightens and the illusion shatters. His Justin is back, the one that’s been by his side for the past five years. The one that has been through so much, who has grown alongside Brian - who had almost outgrown him for a time. But Brian has caught up, he’s here now and he’ll give his damnest to keep up this time.

Justin traces his lips and Brian brushes a kiss to a lingering fingertip.

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” Justin says dazedly.

Brian catches his hand, threads their fingers together and kisses him again, brief and hungry, his mouth clinging to Justin’s bottom lip for a heart-stopping moment.

“Me neither.”

It’s the softest of confessions, barely audible, but Justin hears him. And then they’re kissing again, deep and unrepentant. Justin is caressing Brian’s chest through the thin cotton of his t-shirt and Brian is arching into it, despite the painful protest of his ribs.

Brian winds his fingers into the hair at the nape of Justin’s neck, tugging sharply and swallowing his moan, wanting Justin’s tongue deeper in his mouth.

“Brian,” Justin murmurs fervently. “Can I touch you? Please, let me touch you-”

Fuck yes, Brian thinks helplessly. 

Suddenly, all he can think about is Justin making him come, of trusting Justin to hold him even as he falls apart.

“Bed,” Brian gasps.

They make it to the bed in the dark, blindly re-tracing paths they’ve taken a million times before.

Justin brushes Brian’s hair from his forehead.

“Okay?”

Brian has no fucking clue, but he nods anyway.

Justin is being so very careful with him and Brian can tell it’s not just because if his injuries. He rucks up Brian’s shirt, finally touching skin and Brian arches helplessly against him when Justin grazes a nipple. It hardens instantly, peaking beneath Justin’s fingers as he brushes it again, more deliberate. 

Brian gasps, ribs aching as his chest heaves. 

His nipples are actually ridiculously sensitive. In fact, his whole chest is practically an erogenous zone. Hardly anyone knows that, of course, because usually Brian doesn’t let anyone near it. 

It’s the same reason why he won’t let anyone fuck him, or touch his plastic ball. It exposes a part of him he doesn’t want anyone to see, not even himself. Because it’s proof that he can’t always be in control, that, in fact, control is something slippery and treacherous, far too easily lost if not gagged and bound and held onto with both hands. 

Of course, none of this applies to Justin.

Justin returns to his mouth for more deep, drugging kisses, stopping only long enough to get rid of Brian’s t-shirt. Then Justin’s hands move down to Brian’s waistband. He’s wearing sweats, so they’re easily pushed down and away.

Brian’s dick springs free, already wet, weeping with want. He can’t remember when it last was this wet without a single touch and then everything is wiped blank because suddenly Justin is touching him and Brian can do nothing but throw back his head as desire jackknifes through him.

Justin rains kisses on him as he moves his hand. He catches Brian’s lips in another spine-melting kiss, his arms the only thing holding Brian together.

They’re hardly even doing anything, it’s just Justin’s soft hand on his dick, but Brian swears his soul is about to burst from his body. He’s never felt like this before, so completely raw and cracked open. He feels Justin against him, inside him, as though they’ve somehow managed to merge into one entity.

Brian’s hips jerk up and he feels himself shaking all over. There’s no choreography to this, no skilful aiming or strategic thrusting. Just Justin’s mouth, and Justin’s arms, and Justin’s breath.

Brian knows that he’s acting like a wild thing, probably sounds it, too. But Justin just keeps kissing him, holding him.

“Yeah, that’s it, let go. I’ve got you, I promise. I’ve got you.”

You do, Brian thinks deliriously, hovering on the edge, so close he can fucking taste it. You fucking have me.

Justin is kissing him again, his tongue hot and irrevocable in Brian’s mouth. His hand tightens, twists at the base, runs slickly to the crown. And then Justin’s thumb is on Brian’s slit, pressing gently as if to coax the orgasm from his body and Brian comes fucking everywhere.

*

Brian must’ve lost some time, because when he finally returns to the earthly plain, Justin’s clothes have disappeared and he’s holding him, caressing his hair and gently kissing his face.

“Fuck,” Brian says.

Justin touches their noses together. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Painkillers?”

And as much as Brian wants to keep Justin right here with him, his ribs are screaming bloody murder at him.

“Yeah.”

Justin kisses him, murmurs “Be right back”, before gently extricating himself. 

He returns with the pills and a bottle of water, helping Brian wash them down, then encouraging him to take a few additional sips, before putting the lid back on and depositing it on the nightstand.

Brian reaches for Justin and he comes easily, settling back into his arms. Their lips melt together in a deep kiss and it’s only when Brian feels Justin carefully hitching his thigh across Brian’s waist that he realises he doesn’t even know if Justin found release for himself.

“You-” Brian starts, reaching for Justin.

He’s still weak-limbed from his mind-blowing orgasm, and his left hand is even clumsier than usual. Justin’s dick is mostly soft, a little wet, but Justin arches slightly against him, welcoming his touch all the same.

Brian caresses him gently, revelling in the intimacy of it, just wanting to feel close to him.

“Did you-?”

Justin huffs. 

“Fuck, yes.” He strokes along Brian’s good arm, pressing intermittent kisses to his lips and jaw. “Watching you come your brains out more than did it for me. It was fucking incredible. You’re incredible.”

“It’s true,” Brian says, tongue pressing into his cheek. “I am.”

Justin laughs and smacks him gently, then sobers abruptly. He touches Brian’s chin, peering down at him through the darkness. Brian swallows, grateful for it. With all his barriers stripped away, it’s his only protection.

“You’re just…you’re so different.”

Brian rolls his lips in. “Bad different?”

“No. Fuck, no, I’ve never-” Justin ducks his head to hide it in Brian’s neck. It’s fucking adorable, while also making Brian feel protective as hell. “I feel so close to you. I never thought I could, that you’d let me. And I’m- I’m fucking terrified I’ll do something, say something, and you’ll pull away from me again.”

Brian’s throat feels tight, unyielding, but he forces himself to answer.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Brian takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly.

“I promise.”

Justin touches Brian’s chin as a soft silence stretches between them. Brian knows what’s coming, knows what has to happen next.

“So if I ask,” Justin asks quietly. “Will you tell me? Will you please talk to me?”

It’s hard. So fucking hard to talk about this, but Brian tries. He inspects the words he wants to use, turns them over, tries them out from all angles, then carefully lines them up.

“After you left, I made some decisions. About my life. What I want.”

Of course Justin recognises the words. Brian thinks back to that fucking abominable conversation, thinks about how awfully resigned Justin had been. How he’d accused Brian of mocking him, of not taking it seriously - of not taking him seriously.

It’s a gamble, using this particular tactic, but it’s his way of trying to take away some of the soul-crushing pain that still lingers around that memory.

They’re in a completely different place now and Brian has to trust in that. He just hopes Justin does, too. And this time Brian will make fucking sure he doesn’t let Justin down again.

Justin looks a little wary, but he follows the script. “I thought you’d already worked that out.”

Brian smiles briefly, grateful that Justin is going with it. This is hard enough as it is.

Thankfully this is also the part where the old script is ripped to shreds and burned to ashes.

“Well, turns out that it was all bullshit.” His hand is shaking as he seeks comfort by pushing it into Justin’s soft hair. It’s hard to breathe, his chest on a mission to constrict further with every heartbeat. “Turns out that I was…really fucking unhappy.”

Justin inhales sharply.

“Brian…”

But Brian needs to get this out, or he’ll lose his nerve. So he soldiers on, resolute.

“I was fucking miserable, Justin. And I had all these conversations - with Deb, with Lindsay. With fucking Theodore. Trying to work all this shit out.”

“And, have you?”

Brian rolls his lips into his mouth, feels them trembling, before releasing them along with another deep breath, and nods.

“I think so.”

“That’s why you stopped drinking.”

Brian nods again, relieved for the respite of monosyllabic responses.

“What about drugs?”

“Done.”

Justin’s tone is getting increasingly incredulous. “Smoking?”

“Still working on that.”

The silence that follows is so heavy and stuffed to the brim that Brian can almost feel the small hairs all over his body spring to attention.

“…Fucking?”

Brian looks away and rolls his lips into his mouth.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Brian.”

Even through the darkness Brian sees the look of utter, bone-rattled shock on Justin’s face. 

“You’re- you’re serious. For how long?”

Brian can’t help the instinctive need for defence, his tone automatically taking on a mocking edge.

“Well, let’s see, including my stint at the hospital, and the past few days here that brings it up to…a month.”

“A month?”

“Or 34 days if you want to be exact.”

Justin is floundering and Brian has never seen him this flustered. Ever.

“Fuck, I just- Fuck.” Justin sucks in a few breaths in rapid succession. “I think I need a minute.”

He stands abruptly and starts pacing next to the bed.

Brian reaches over to switch on the lights above the bed and lets him walk it off. 

He’s taken aback at how calm he’s feeling. It’s done, he’s admitted it, said it out loud and the world is still here. The sky hasn’t fallen down, lightning hasn’t struck.

It’s all still…here. 

If anything, he feels relieved. Unburdened. Ready to move forward.

Justin turns to face him, pale and beautiful in the blue light.

“So that’s why you wouldn’t fuck me while we had this whole pseudo-friendship shit going on.” Brian doesn’t reply and Justin goes on, running an agitated hand through his hair. “Jesus, I was scared half to death. I thought you might be dying, or that someone had jumped you or…” Justin’s arm drops limply to his side, making him look oddly helpless and vulnerable. “Or that you didn’t want me anymore.”

Brian gives him an incredulous look.

“Is that what it felt like when my dick was digging a hole into your stomach and I was struggling not to shoot my load all over you?”

Justin glares at him. “I don’t know, okay? I was worried sick.”

“Justin,” Brian says softly. “Come here.”

Justin practically sags into his arms. Brian pulls him close, presses a few, lingering kisses to the side of his face.

Justin hugs him tightly. “Fuck, it must’ve been so hard for you.”

Brian jumps at the chance for some levity and grins against Justin’s shoulder.

“Believe me. It was.”

Justin huffs a laugh, punches him gently on his good arm. “Fuck you.”

Brian bites back another smart retort, instead kissing Justin again. Justin shifts carefully against him, mindful of his battered body. His touch is soft, his mouth hungry.

Brian lets himself get lost in it for a while, even though he knows their conversation isn’t quite over yet. But he can wait, much preferring the wordless communication of Justin’s lips and tongue clinging to his own.

Pulling back eventually, Justin touches their foreheads together and cups Brian’s jaw.

“So, what does all of this mean?” he asks softly and Brian sighs.

His insides flutter anew in agitation and Brian takes his time to answer, nuzzling against Justin one more time before withdrawing far enough to meet his gaze.

“I’m never gonna be a Stepford fag. And I haven’t changed my mind about marriage. The whole thing’s fucked up - the institution of it, what it stands for. It was invented by breeders, for breeders.” He touches Justin’s bottom lip, hoping to soften his words. “I want us to be together because we want to be, not because we’ve trapped each other with some bullshit vows.” 

Justin licks his lips and nods. Brian isn’t sure what he’s thinking, but he also knows that this isn’t anything he hasn’t heard before. However-

“However,” Brian pushes on, determined to get it all out. “All the other shit - rings, a house, whatever the fuck - we can do all that.” 

Justin recoils slightly in surprise, utterly floored once again.

“Seriously?”

Brian simply raises his eyebrows.

“I also think we should revise the rules,” he says, because he sure as hell isn’t having this conversation again anytime soon.

“The rules?” Justin echoes, aghast.

“You came up with them, remember?”

“I also trampled all over them.”

It’s not something they ever talked about, mostly because it’s mutually understood that that whole period had been fucked up on far too many levels.

“Well, I think you’ll like my revised version.” He pulls Justin closer. “I want to add something to the kissing rule.”

Justin is studying him carefully. “And what’s that?”

Fuck, this is hard. 

Brian bites his lip, wishing he could send fucking smoke signals instead. Anything but having to actually say the words.

“I’d like to try it.”

Justin’s brow furrows, genuinely confused. And who can fucking blame him.

“It?”

Christ, Brian’s gonna have to fucking spell it out.

“Just us. No one else.”

And here Brian thought he’d already seen Justin at his most shocked.

“Just us? You mean that word that’s very close to monotony? Brian-” Justin breaks off. Brian knows he’s only protesting because he’s scared that Brian’s going to freak out and take it all away again. “It was never about-”

Brian cuts him off.

“I know that. But it is something you want, isn’t it?” He fixes Justin with an intent look, until he receives a reluctant nod. “Good. So let’s do it. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try. I want to try. Think you can live with that?”

Justin huffs a wet, incredulous laugh. “Yeah, I can live with that.”

If Brian had to, he knows he would’ve done anything, been anything to make Justin happy. Only like this, he won’t have to. He can just be himself.

He presses his forehead to Justin’s temple and smudges a kiss against the soft spot under his ear.

“And I haven’t, you know,” he murmurs.

Justin draws back, seeks his gaze, wide-eyed and ready to break apart. But that’s okay, Brian will be here to hold him together.

“Haven’t what?” Justin whispers.

“Kissed anyone else.”

For a moment, there is utter stillness between them. Then Justin grabs him and kisses him as if it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

Chapter Text

Brian wakes up sore all over; more happy and at peace than he ever thought possible.

He’s lying on his back, Justin’s head on his shoulder; his nose in Justin’s hair. It’s soft, familiar the way it tickles his nose with every breath.

Ignoring his wildly protesting ribs, Brian shifts just a little. Not because he wants to dislodge Justin, but because he wants to feel him against him, feel his weight on him. Justin moves, the hand cradling Brian’s hip sliding upwards, palm dragging across Brian’s chest as Justin turns his head to press a kiss to Brian’s collarbone.

Brian pulls him closer, feeling Justin’s dick, hot and hard against his thigh. Justin kisses the same spot, this time slow and open-mouthed, his tongue hot as it laps against his skin.

It makes Brian bury a soft sound in Justin’s hair, suddenly desperate to feel that tongue against his own. Fingers curling around the nape of Justin’s neck, Brian dips his head just as Justin tilts his own upwards.

Their lips find each other, open and needy.

Neither of them are big talkers in the morning and while Brian requires little sleep overall, at heart he and Justin are both night owls. So he doesn’t try to speak, just lets out a soft, drawn out breath when Justin’s mouth releases him to dip down lower.

It turns into a quiet moan when Justin unerringly finds the spot just under his jaw that never fails to make him shiver. Justin has always had a weakness for his throat. At first, Brian thought it’s because of their height difference; an easy to reach target.

But then he’d noticed that it doesn’t matter if they’re standing or not, Justin always latches onto his neck, peppering it with kisses and sometimes a hint of teeth that always makes Brian a little feral.

There’s no teeth now, just a slow descent of lips and tongue, every touch igniting another set of Brian’s nerve-endings.

He sinks his fingers into Justin’s hair, loving how long it has grown again. When Justin had shaved his head, Brian had told him it was hot - and it was. But if given a choice, Brian would always choose the longer, shaggier look. It makes it so much easier to hold on, so much more satisfying.

“What are you thinking about?” Justin murmurs; he always knows when Brian’s focus wavers.

More often than not it’s like this, with Brian’s mind flying in a million different directions. It’s part of what always made getting high and shit-faced so appealing - a chance to shut up his brain long enough to reach the ultimate blank slate: orgasm. Because nothing can wipe Brian’s over-active brain as thoroughly as shooting his load.

Justin’s lips brush against Brian’s nipple, tearing him from his thoughts. It’s followed by the tip of a tongue, making Brian arch his back, his dick throbbing as a spark of pleasure shoots down his spine.

“Your hair,” Brian finally answers.

Justin comes back up to press his smiling mouth against Brian’s own.

“What about it?”

Brian looks at him then, taking the time to fully take him in, all sleep-rumpled and flushed with want, his eyes bright with happiness and love. 

He brushes a thumb along Justin’s lips, earning himself a small kiss on it. He then lets his fingers dive back into Justin’s soft hair, brushing it back from his forehead and watching it spring right back.

“I like it like this.”

Justin smiles and leans in to kiss his mouth, this one softer, but no less intent.

“I know.” He strokes along Brian’s arm, fingertips grazing his skin and making him shudder. “I like it, too. When you hold on to it.” 

He traces Brian’s lips with his tongue and Brian uses his grip on his hair to yank him closer for a deeper kiss. Their mouths part with a wet sound.

“There’s that way you grip it.” Justin bites gently at his chin, smile now transformed into a smug little grin. Brian wants to wipe it away with his tongue. “I always know when you’re about to lose it.

“Very astute,” Brian says, making a point of tightening his grip and watching Justin’s pupils dilate, his lips parting around a soft gasp. “Care for a demonstration to support your study?”

Justin laughs softly. “I’m glad to see that your demand for blowjobs is unchanged.”

“Now, there’s a failsafe way of knowing whether I’ve been replaced by aliens.” Brian sticks his tongue into his cheek, grinning. “I think we should add a rule. For every time we have to discuss our feelings, you blow me - to make absolutely certain my dick is still attached. You wouldn’t want it to fall off now would you, Sunshine?”

Justin gives him a level look.

“It might come as a shock to you, but I’m actually not just with you because of your dick.” Trust Justin to steer them straight back into the schmoopy danger zone. “If that’s all I wanted I wouldn’t have tried to leave in the first place.”

Brian feels the beginnings of a mocking smile tugging at his lips.

“Is that why you fed me disgusting magical herb tea when I couldn’t get it up after the radiation therapy? Because you don’t care about the sex?”

Justin, of course, is undeterred.

“I fed you disgusting herb tea because getting it back up was important to you.” Justin grabs for his good hand and Brian lets him have it, threading their fingers together. “And I never said I didn’t care about the sex. The sex is amazing, always has been. But it’s not why I’m with you. Even if we never had sex again, I’d still be with you.”

The words hit far deeper than he would like, almost making him recoil. 

Feeling far too vulnerable and desperate to get them back onto safer ground, Brian groans, “Fuck, don’t even joke about that.” 

But Justin is having none of it, the persistent little shit.

“There’s more to you than just fucking, Brian.”

Brian looks away, swallows hard around his tight throat. 

“So I’ve been trying to tell myself for the past month.”

Justin cups his face, urging his gaze back to his own.

“I know,” he says softly. “And I’m so fucking proud of you and so- so fucking relieved. You have no idea how much I worry, how-”

He breaks off and Brian can see he’s trying his best to keep it together. Brian reaches up to touch his cheek.

“How what?” he prompts.

It’s a fucking miracle, but Brian feels he might actually be getting better at this whole communication crap.

“How fucking scared I am to lose you. You had cancer, Brian. And after everything, you just went back to chugging JB and smoking like a chimney. You just- didn’t take care of yourself. And you wouldn’t let me take care of you, either.”

Brian thinks about how terrified he’d been after the prom, the whole thing with that creep Sapperstein, then the bullshit with the Pink Posse. Finding the gun in Justin’s things. Then the explosion at Babylon.

He thinks about keeping his cancer a secret, about freaking the fuck out and throwing Justin out when Brian realised that he knew.

He doesn’t say he’s sorry, because even though he might tentatively be coming around to the idea that sorry may not always be bullshit, saying it still makes him feel like a liar - even when he means it.

Instead, he cups the back of Justin’s head and brings him down for a slow kiss. It might have taken until after the whole nightmare with the fiddler was finally over, but Brian knows that Justin can read between the lines now. He knows what Brian is telling him right now, without a single word.

I’m sorry. I’ll do better.

*

Brian wakes up at noon to an empty loft.

He vaguely remembers a sleepy exchange where Justin told him that he’s heading to his studio to get some work done. Brian also thinks he recalls something about having dinner with Jennifer and Molly and not to wait up.

He detests feeling like an invalid, but the truth is that he still feels like shit most days. Though he can tell his injuries are healing, they’re taking their sweet fucking time. Between the constant lingering ache and the painkillers, Brian feels like he’s still spending most of his time on the cusp of unconsciousness, dropping off to sleep from one minute to the next.

Managing to get himself out of bed by two, Brian finds that Justin made him lunch and left it covered in the fridge. He tries to be annoyed, but finds himself stupidly touched instead.

By the time he’s finished eating, he’s ready to lie down again. He chooses the couch over the bed, hardly able to believe that a time has come where he’s sick of spending time in bed. Though considering that he’s the only one in it, it shouldn’t come as such a surprise.

He slides a random DVD into the player and promptly conks out again after barely twenty minutes.

When he blinks himself awake, it’s dark outside. The TV has automatically gone into sleep mode and someone is knocking at the door.

Brian groans and slowly peels himself off the couch. His arm is aching like a motherfucker, probably because of the awkward position he’d been sleeping in, and his head is pounding. He knows by the amount of pain he’s in that he’s missed a dose of painkillers.

All but dragging himself to the door, it takes Brian two tries to even get it open.

“Jesus, you look like hell.”

Brian snorts. “Thanks, Theodore, just what I wanted to hear.”

He leaves the door to Ted, instead hunting down his pain medication and swallowing it down with a stale glass of water he’d abandoned on the counter earlier.

“I thought I’d bring you some work and an update in person,” Ted says, putting some files on the breakfast bar. “I also brought the board, but maybe we should take a rain check on that.”

Brian eyes Ted over the rim of his glass, silently willing the painkillers to kick in already.

“Justin called you, didn’t he.”

Ted looks instantly sheepish and Brian knows there’d have been a time in the not so distant past were he would’ve flipped his shit about something like this. But he’s both too exhausted and in far too much pain to put up much of a fight. 

Also, though he wouldn’t admit it even under pain of death, Brian has gotten kind of used to his little game nights with Ted.

“C’mon, let’s sit,” Brian says, feeling positively geriatric as he makes his way back over to the couch. “And bring the board.”

They settle down on the couch, Brian leaning his head back to wait for the pain to subside a little. He can hear Ted setting up the game on the coffee table.

“Still hurts, does it?” Ted asks sympathetically.

“Like an unlubed dick up the ass.” Ted laughs and Brian managed a tired grin, eyes still closed. “So, where’s my update?”

“Right. Well, the constructional work at Babylon is progressing on schedule. I ordered the new sound system and they should have it ready to put in by the time most of the grunt work is done. And me and Cynthia have been throwing some ideas around for the ads for the reopening.”

“Not bad, Theodore, not bad. You might deserve your raise, yet.” Brian grimaces as he shifts, but can finally feel some blissful relief from the pain. “Kinnetik?”

“Leo Brown’s a happy camper with the new campaign, Liberty Air was pleased with the new concept we suggested, and Eyeconics got in touch, but said they’d rather wait until you’re back on your feet and can work on it personally.”

No disasters, then. Good.

“I’ll have a look tomorrow, see if I can brainstorm something,” Brian says.

Ted shrugs out of his suit jacket and loosens his tie.

“Yeah, just don’t go too wild or Justin will have my balls for bringing you work.”

“Justin can help. You know how much of a hard-on Conny Prescott has for Justin and his ‘unique vision’.”

There’s a short silence and Ted clear his throat.

“So…you and Justin,” he says tentatively, clearly ready to have his head bitten off any second.

“Out with it, Theodore,” Brian snaps.

“I just- Everything’s…good between you two?”

Brian lets out a slow breath, letting go of the urge to evade via vitriol. He clears his throat.

“Never better.”

And though the tone might’ve been flippant, Brian means it. Ted seems to get it and thankfully drops the subject, wordlessly holding out the small cotton bag filled with Scrabble tiles.

Brian fishes out his share, and they begin.

*

And that’s how Justin finds them some three hours later when he comes home.

If he’s surprised by the no doubt weird picture of Brian and Ted filling a Scrabble board with filth, he doesn’t let on.

He drops his bag and jacket by the door, then comes over to drape his arms around Brian’s shoulders from behind.

“Who’s winning?”

“Me, of course,” Brian says, reaching up with his good hand to rub one of Justin’s forearms.

“Only because he managed to spell jizz across a triple word score field.”

Justin chuckles, pressing a kiss to Brian’s jaw before letting him go.

“Well, don’t let me disturb you, I’m gonna go grab a shower.”

“Oh, no I should be off,” Ted says, gathering up his suit jacket. “I have an early start tomorrow and I don’t think my pride could take another obliteration.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Theodore,” Brian says.

Ted gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder, then wishes them goodnight. Justin goes to lock up behind him, then comes back to settle against Brian on the couch, his arms winding around his neck.

Brian kisses him. “So how was dinner with mother dearest?”

“Fine.” Justin tucks a strand of hair behind Brian’s ear. “She sends her love.”

They’re silent for a while, Brian resting his aching head against Justin’s shoulder. He might’ve overdone it a little, but he feels good about not having slept the entire day away.

“Have you spoken to Michael?” Justin asks quietly, finally breaking the silence.

Brian grimaces. Mikey really doesn’t feature high on his list of conversation topics these days.

“Not since he and the husband dropped by the other day.”

Mr and Mrs Novotny-Bruckner had come to pay Brian a short visit after he’d been released from hospital. They brought snacks, stayed for coffee, then were back on their way before an hour was up. Brian can’t remember a less personal visit, least of all from Michael.

“I thought you two cleared the air?”

Brian draws back, but takes Justin’s hand to show that he’s not shutting him out.

“A lot of shit happened between Michael and me.” An understatement, where Brian’s concerned. “It’s like we’re strangers.”

Justin gives him a sympathetic look, reaching up to stroke Brian’s cheek.

“Maybe you can try talking to him, work things out.”

Brian looks away. “What’s the point. I’m clearly no longer a priority in his life.”

Justin doesn’t press it, simply leans in for a soft kiss. Brian pulls him close, suddenly steeped in the comfort that, if nothing else, at least he has this. The assurance that the person he loves most in the world is right here at his side, supporting him no matter what.

*

Brian decides to join Justin in the shower, so Justin helps him wrestle the waterproof sleeve onto his cast. 

They’re laughing, making stupid jokes about stuffing hard things into latex covers. Brian is tired and in pain, but inexplicably happy nevertheless.

He thinks about the first time he saw Justin in this shower, about the irresistible pull he felt from the second he lay eyes on him under that damned streetlight.

“What are you thinking?”

Brian realises he must’ve zoned out a little. He wraps his good arm around Justin and uses his body to manoeuvre them both into the shower stall, leaning down to kiss from his jaw to his ear.

“I’m thinking about the first time I had you in this shower,” Brian murmurs, then traces his tongue along the outer shell.

Justin’s breath hitches, his arms around Brian’s shoulders firming and pulling him closer. He tilts his head, giving Brian more room. Brian takes the invitation and plants a row of slow, wet kisses along Justin’s throat and shoulder.

Everything is warm and wet, Justin’s sinfully soft skin rubbing against every inch of his own. Justin sighs and pushes against him, his fingers slow and soothing against Brian’s skull, the nape of his neck; gently kneading.

They’re both hard, but this isn’t about getting off and they both know it.

Brian drapes his useless arm over Justin’s shoulder, the elevation relieving some of the pain, while his good hand roams the familiar plains of Justin’s body. He can barely decide what to touch first, his fingers trembling like the addict he is, finally getting his fix.

Fuck, I’ve missed this.

Pulling Justin close for a kiss with the crook of his elbow, Brian licks deep into his mouth. Their tongues touch, wrenching soft moans from them both. Brian shivers, hungry and vulnerable, torn between devouring Justin and worshipping him.

They pull apart, just a little, just enough to breathe each other in. Water cascades over and all around them. Brian tilts his head to lick a stray droplet from the irresistible bow of Justin’s upper lip, feels Justin shudder and press closer.

“I haven’t, you know, ” Justin murmurs, barely audible over the rush of water.

Brian’s thoughts freeze, then kickstart into overdrive. They flash back to last night’s confession, but he knows that’s not what Justin’s talking about.

“Haven’t what?”

Their faces are still close enough that Brian can barely make out Justin’s expression, but he doesn’t have to. He can feel the sincerity dripping off him, reverberating in his voice, low and even deeper than usual.

“Been with anyone else.”

Brian rolls his lips into his mouth, tasting water and knowing there’s raw openness on his face. “Since you moved out?”

Justin traces a finger along his jaw to his chin, painting with water. “Since I came back from LA.”

With all his shields obliterated, it’s no surprise Justin finds the truth of it on his face. Drawing back slightly, Justin simply looks at him for a long, suspended moment.

Brian sees the way his eyelashes are sticking together, feels a strange need to touch them, to lick every single drop of water from his body.

“Holy shit,” Justin breathes. “You really meant it. You actually give a fuck.”

Brian’s lips hurt from how hard he’s been pressing them into his mouth. He finally releases them.

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

And then Justin is kissing him with trembling lips and Brian yields easily, holding him close.

The shower beats down on them relentlessly, hot water following in the wake of Justin’s palm running down his spine. Their lips part, gasping, then reconnect.

Wordlessly, Brian breaks away to reach for the shampoo. 

He washes Justin’s hair first, then obediently tilts his head for Justin to do the same to him, the slow, intent circles against his skull all but melting him into a puddle, ready to go town the drain.

He’s so hard it’s fucking ridiculous, but if there’s one thing that’s come from his enforced abstinence, it’s that Brian has learned to ignore his dick once in a while.

Moving on to the shower gel, Brian takes his time washing Justin. The soap makes everything even smoother, transforming Justin’s already silky skin into pure sin.

Rubbing slow, sudsy circles into Justin’s nipple, Brian leans down to catch the breathy whimper it produces with his mouth. Brian holds him close as he reaches around to wash his back, then lets his hand trail down all the way to Justin’s ass.

He dips his fingers between Justin’s cheeks, gently follows along his crack as Justin shudders and pushes into it. He has his head buried in Brian’s neck, sucking open-mouthed kisses into his skin, the vibration of his soft moans feeling as though they’re going straight under Brian’s skin, raising goosebumps all over his body.

Brian brushes the rim of Justin’s hole, spreading soap, but doesn’t push inside. Justin makes a small sound of protest when Brian’s finger leaves him, then moans again as Brian’s hand grips the closest asscheek and squeezes, grinding Justin’s cheeks together as best he can with one hand. He knows the slippery feel of soap along his crack must be driving Justin insane.

But Brian doesn’t stay there, either. 

Catching another moan with his mouth, Brian abandons Justin’s perfect ass and slips his hand between them. 

By now, Justin has abandoned all attempts to reciprocate, simply clutching at Brian in perfect submission, giving him free reign of his body.

It makes Brian so hot he’s actually worried he might shoot just from this.

Taking a deep breath, Brian nuzzles their noses together and blindly reaches for the pump for more soap. Then he slides his hand back between them and dips down to gently slip his tongue back into Justin’s mouth, just as he cradles Justin’s hot, tight balls in the palm of his slick hand.

Justin gasps like a man drowning and grinds into Brian’s touch, pushing his balls harder into Brian’s palm.

Brian takes his time, keeps their kisses soft and deep while his fingers explore every fucking inch of Justin’s scrotum.

It’s never been like this, Justin’s words echo in his mind and Brian still can’t believe how true that is.

That after all his countless fucks - hell, even all the countless fucks with Justin - that he’s never even come close to what he’s feeling right now, to how they feel together. He feels so fucking close to Justin and it feels so fucking good he might actually cry.

Justin tremulously breathes something that Brian thinks might be his name and Brian finally takes pity on them both. Not only is he about to explode, he’s also not sure how much longer he can actually stay upright.

Determined to finish his thorough wash, Brian cradles Justin’s hot, hard dick, spreading suds as he rubs his fingers along it a little clumsily. Brian’s left hand is tired and shaky, unused to having been the dominant one all day.

But Justin just feels so fucking good Brian never wants to stop touching him.

Justin moans and pre-come mixes with soap. Brian unsteadily runs his thumb across the tip to gather more of it. 

Justin always get so deliciously wet whenever he’s truly turned on. Brian fucking loves it, loves getting him like this, leaking everywhere before he’s even come.

Feeling the faint tremors along Justin’s limbs, Brian knows that he could make Justin come right here, right now. But it’s not what he wants, so he reluctantly lets go of Justin’s dick and kisses him again.

“Your turn,” he murmurs into Justin’s mouth.

Breathing hard, Justin simply rests his forehead on Brian’s shoulder for a moment. Brian lets him have as much time as he needs, simply holds him and presses small kisses to his hair and the curve of his ear.

After a few more heartbeats, Justin straightens and reaches for the pump, filling his palm with shower gel.

He starts slowly, mirroring Brian’s earlier movements. When he reaches the top of Brian’s crack, Justin hesitates and Brian hates that even after all this, Justin thinks there might be places of him - both inside and out - where he’s not allowed.

Pulling him into a kiss, it only takes a slow roll of Brian’s hips to let Justin know that it’s okay. Within moments, Justin has Brian up against the tiles, their painfully hard dicks grinding together as Justin kneads his ass.

They’re kissing hungrily, as if the apocalypse is waiting right outside the steamed-up glass and this is their last chance to feel each other’s lips and tongues.

Unlike Brian, Justin has both his hands and uses them expertly. He’s pushing and pulling at Brian’s asscheeks, making Brian feel exposed and wanton, the soap in his crack turning the friction into something smooth and addictive.

Brian swears he’s about one breath away from coming his brains out.

Justin must know it as well, or maybe he’s back on his own brink, because he backs off a little. Releasing Brian’s ass, he reaches between them instead. 

He’s oh-so-gentle with Brian’s ball, knows how sensitive it is and how self-conscious Brian still gets of the faint scar and fake one.

Justin sucks on his tongue, his bottom lip, his thumb running slowly across the tight skin of his balls. Brian can feel the shiver of sensation swelling then patering off to something gentler as Justin reaches the plastic one.

Gasping, Brain lets his head falls back. Water rains down on him, hotter than any rainfall. He squeezes his eyes shut, feels it run into his mouth and is suddenly sick of it.

He’s aching all over, feeling like one giant exposed nerve. He wants to lie down, wants Justin’s weight on him, grounding him, even though it’ll only hurt his ribs more.

Grabbing the nape of Justin’s neck, Brian drags him in for a last deep kiss, then softens the separation with another small one, before gently pushing at Justin’s shoulder.

Ever pliant in his arms, Justin follows Brian’s wordless instructions. They quickly rinse off the remaining shower gel, the subtle scent of it permeating the damp air around them.

Finally clear of suds, Brian shuts off the water and steps out of the stall on shaky legs. Justin steadies him, their wet bodies pressing together once more as Brian reaches for a towel.

He means to wrap it around Justin, as he always does, but the enterprise is a little difficult with only one hand. There’s no way the swollen fingertips just peeking over the edge of the cast are going to be any help here.

Justin takes the towel from him, wrapping it around Brian instead.

Brian relents, letting Justin dry him slowly, thoroughly. 

It’s sensual and intimate, Brian’s body having trouble deciding whether it wants to just come the fuck now or be kept in this fuzzy, over-sensitised state forever.

Justin kisses him, then makes short work of drying himself. They wrestle the waterproof cover off the cast, then make their way into the bedroom.

Hair still damp, Brian sinks onto the dark, expensive sheets.

He’s fucking exhausted and hurting all over, but the pain is dulled by the lingering arousal still burning bright and hot. He wants Justin, yearns for him, feels like he might actually die if he can’t be close to him right now.

Justin climbs on after him, careful not to jostle him, but fuck that.

Brian grabs him, wrapping his good arm around him and drags him on top of him. 

Justin can’t put up too much of a fight without hurting him, so he lets Brian have his way even as he protests, “Your ribs-”

“I’m fine,” Brian cuts him off, not snappy but desperate.

Justin braces himself, elbows on either side of Brian’s head, their panting breaths hot between them. 

Brian cups Justin’s cheek, gently tilting his face so that he can fix him with an intent look.

“God, Brian,” Justin breathes. “I love you so fucking much.” 

He sounds like he’s in pain, being ripped apart and Brian knows, because he feels exactly the same. He already knew that love could hurt, hell, that’s one of the reasons why he never wanted to have anything to do with it. But this, this is different.

This isn’t the pain of despair, of heartbreak. This isn’t the type of pain he wants to drown out with drugs and booze and meaningless fucks.

It’s the sweetest fucking agony he’s ever known, something he didn’t think even existed. And he wants to revel in it, wants to rip open his chest and expose his heart simply to be able to hold on to it just a little bit longer.

So he does.

“I love you,” Brian says, looking deeply into Justin’s eyes. “You’re the only one I want.”

Justin makes a small, wounded sound, face finally crumpling. Brian catches his tears with his thumb, then his lips.

“Brian,” Justin whispers.

Just that. But it’s everything, right there, wrapped in one shaky exhale of his name.

Their lips meet again, Brian’s answering murmur of Justin’s name lost between their mouths.

Nothing seems to be close enough and Brian is overwhelmed with the sudden feeling of wanting to feel Justin inside him. 

Parting his thighs, he lifts one of his legs, draping it across Justin’s hip, opening himself to Justin as completely as he knows how.

Justin draws back in surprise. 

He doesn’t ask and Brian doesn’t give him the chance to. He simply holds Justin’s gaze as he catches one of Justin’s hands and guides it between their bodies until their fingers brush across his entrance.

Justin makes a low, hungry sound and kisses him, parting Brian’s willing lips with his tongue and sliding inside, hot and slow. 

Brian can feel Justin stretch as he reaches blindly for a pillow. Brian arches obediently, lifting up as Justin stuffs it under his hips for support.

It’s big and soft and the changed angle already eases some of the pain in his ribs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Justin murmurs. “Promise you’ll tell me if it’s too much.”

Brian swallows around the dryness in his throat, and nods.

Justin kisses him again, then leans over to briefly rummage in the nightstand. Brian has a brief flash of panic when he remembers his thorough purging of the loft, but Justin emerges from the drawer with both lube and a condom. He must catch Brian’s look of relief, because he grins a little and shakes the packet.

“I had some left over,” he says and Brian huffs a small laugh.

Justin sets the supplies down next to them on the bed, then carefully settles down on top of Brian once more. He’s still mindful of Brian’s sore torso and arm, helping arranging the cast at a more comfortable angle. Brian hates being partly incapacitated, but there’s nothing to be done about it right now.

Justin licks his own bottom lip, then Brian’s, sucking gentle and brief before murmuring, “I’ll go slow.”

Brian hooks his good arm around Justin’s neck and drags him into a deep kiss, happily swallowing Justin’s soft moan before returning one of his own.

The snap of the lube uncapping is loud in the silence, rivalled only by their heavy panting and the wet sound of their lips clinging and releasing each other.

Brian tightens his leg around Justin’s waist, pulling him in close, just wanting to feel him. He lets Justin slide his arm beneath his other thigh, his palm running along the back as he gently manoeuvres it a little higher.

He can’t bend too far, not with the state his ribs and spleen are in, but with the fluffy pillow beneath his hips he doesn’t have to.

The first touch of Justin’s finger is wet and a little cool, despite the fact that Brian knows Justin must’ve warmed it as best he could.

Brian’s breath hitches and Justin kisses him in reassurance, quietly asking, “Okay?”

Brian doesn’t try to speak, simply nods and forces himself to relax. He wants it, needs it, but that doesn’t change the fact hat his heart his hammering wildly in his fucked-up chest.

But true to his word, Justin takes it achingly slowly. He spends a ridiculous amount of time simply drawing ever firming circles around Brian’s hole, massaging the sensitive rim and getting him so wet he’s sure he must be dripping by now.

Brian is rocking back against Justin’s finger, making god fucking knows what embarrassing sounds, but it feels so good and not enough and he just wants it so fucking bad.

Then Justin pauses for more lube and when his finger returns it’s even wetter. He’s so fucking slick and ready for it he almost fucking sobs in relief when Justin finally dips inside.

“Good?”

“Yes, keep going,” Brian grunts.

He clenches down on Justin’s finger, wanting it deeper and Justin groans like he’s the one with a finger up his ass.

“Fuck, Brian,” Justin breathes, kissing him hungrily and pushing in deeper.

It’s just one finger, the stretch still minimal, but Brian knows the next one will burn. He tenses slightly in anticipation, but Justin kisses him through it, making no move to add anything yet. 

He wriggles his finger gently, pulling out almost all the way to loosen the rim a little more, then pushes back in smoothly and presses against Brian’s prostate with an aim and accuracy that Brian would laud if he weren’t so busy going out of his mind.

Justin swallows his moan, then dips his head to latch onto a nipple as he gently massages against Brian’s prostate once more. Brian sees fucking stars.

“Fuck, Justin.”

More lube and finally a second finger. It burns, but only barely. 

Everything is wet and hot. Justin is tongue-fucking his nipple and finger-fucking his clenching hole and Brian is writhing like an animal in heat. If his ribs are hurting, he can’t fucking feel it.

“Ah,” he groans eloquently. “Ah, ah, fuck-”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Justin murmurs hotly, licking his neck. “Fuck, I want you.”

Another finger and there’s a definite burn now, but Brian wants that, too; pushes into it. He rides Justin’s fingers, hears the squelching as he drips lube everywhere - Justin must’ve used the whole fucking tube.

He licks blindly at Justin’s lips, their tongues meeting before their lips meld together. Brian runs his fingers through Justin’s silky hair, feels how damp it is, wants to taste his sweat and his come, wants to lick him all over- 

“Now,” Brian orders, pleads. He sucks on Justin’s tongue, bites at his lips and impales himself on his fingers. “Do it.”

Thankfully, Justin doesn’t ask him again, simply kisses Brian and very carefully withdraws his fingers. He shifts a little, grabbing the condom with unlubed fingers and tears the corner with his teeth.

Brian watches him with half-lidded eyes. He wishes he could do it for him, always had a weird kink about Justin unrolling a condom onto Brian’s dick. In the end, he can’t quite stay away and Justin groans as Brian adds his left hand to the mix.

They unroll the condom together, then Justin’s slick fingers are intertwining with his own, turning their grip slippery against the latex. It’s so hot Brian thinks he might actually explode if Justin doesn’t get his dick into him in the next few seconds.

“Ready?” Justin asks as he braces himself with one hand.

Brian’s only answer is a tightening of his thighs as he arches against him, feeling the tip of Justin’s sheathed dick pressing wetly against his rim.

In perfect synchrony, Brian bears down just as Justin gently starts pushing in. It burns and Brian’s head falls back against the sheets, already feeling so fucking full, despite them barely even having started.

Justin shifts again, his lips finding his favourite spot on Brian’s throat, no doubt feeling the strain of his clenched jaw and gasping breaths. 

Justin stills about halfway in and Brian is pathetically grateful for the break. He feels Justin’s thumb against his stretched rim, adding even more fucking lube and massaging gently to ease the sting.

It makes Brian want to say fuck it and impale himself in one go, pain or no pain, but he’s feeling strangely fragile and so vulnerable he fears one wrong move might make him burst into tears.

He’s exhausted and emotionally raw and for a moment he regrets not having assumed his usual position on his stomach. But then Justin is kissing him like he’s the one about to break apart and Brian wants to flay himself open just to offer Justin shelter inside his body.

Brian rolls his hips, feeling a twinge in his ribs as he shifts his thighs higher, but then Justin is whimper-moaning into his mouth as the final resistance gives way and he slides the rest of the way inside. So full, so fucking good.

Justin’s head drops to his shoulder and Brian pulls him closer, smooths a shaky palm down Justin’s shuddering spine. They’re both covered in sweat, in lube; Brian can feel the sheets sticking to his back, the pillow damp beneath his ass.

“I can’t-” Justin gasps. “I need to-”

Brian kisses his sweaty temple, tastes the salt on his skin and holds him tighter, his fingers now kneading the nape of his neck. 

It takes him a moment to realise what the choked breaths and added wetness on his skin mean, and his heart instantly constricts.

“Justin,” Brian murmurs, using every bit of remaining strength to hug him closer.

Justin shudders and stifles another sob in Brian’s neck.

“Sorry, I’m sorry-” It’s soft and raw and it breaks Brian’s fucking heart.

He kisses Justin’s shoulder, shushes him gently.

“It’s alright,” he says quietly, hoping that it is. “It’s okay.”

Justin presses closer and Brian’s ribs twinge in protest, even as the press of Justin’s dick inside him makes him bite back a moan.

“You almost died,” Justin blurts suddenly, breath hitching wildly. “You almost- I don’t know what I’d- Brian, I can’t lose you, I can’t-”

Brian presses his lips to Justin’s skin, to his hair, holding him so tight it hurts.

“Please don’t leave me,” Justin goes on in a choked whisper. “Promise you won’t-”

“I’ll try,” Brian murmurs, because he can’t lie, not even like this. “I’ll try so fucking hard, Sunshine.”

Justin kisses him, sloppy and salty, tongues tangling desperately.

“I can’t stand being apart from you,” Justin pants in-between hungry kisses. “It hurts so fucking much.”

“I’m here,” Brian says, his left hand running along Justin’s skin and grabbing his ass, fingers digging in sharply, hips undulating as he urges Justin to drive deeper into him, making them both shudder and moan. “Right here, I’m right here…”

They’re grinding together now, slow and deep and utterly artless. This isn’t about getting off, it’s about feeling connected, feeling alive and so fucking loved it sets Brian’s soul on fire.

His eyes are burning and he can’t breathe, can’t fucking think-

But he doesn’t have to, because Justin is there to breathe for him, to guide him and take some of Brian’s weight, leaving finger-shaped marks on his thigh as he gently presses it a little higher, opens him a little wider.

Brian’s vision goes blurry and Justin’s panting mouth leaves his own, his lips grazing Brian’s cheek, his tongue licking at the corner of Brian’s eye, catching sweat and maybe something more. Brian doesn’t know, doesn’t care, just feels full, so fucking full, filled, overflowing-

“You feel so good,” Justin moans breathlessly. “Want to stay inside you forever.”

Brian moans and grabs the sheets, Justin’s hair, Justin’s ass. He forgets about the cast for a moment, tries to get his other arm around Justin, wants to envelop him, disappear him inside his own body and keep him there.

The movement sends pain knifing through his broken bones, but Brian doesn’t give a fuck. But Justin doesn’t miss a thing, one of his hands closing around Brian’s plastered forearm and pressing down gently, keeping it still.

Brian looks up at him, touches Justin’s face just to feel the flush on his cheeks, the softness of his lips. Justin kisses his fingers, then sucks two into his mouth. Brian’s hips jerk, nerve-endings alight as fire races down his spine.

They kiss, their tongues meeting around Brian’s fingers until he removes them to get his tongue deeper into Justin’s mouth. 

Their pace is still so achingly slow, the intensity of it making Brian feel simultaneously on the brink of orgasm and as though they could keep going for hours without ever cresting the edge.

He’s over-sensitised, his hole clamping down every time Justin nudges his prostate, walls clinging to Justin’s dick as he slowly, slowly, so fucking slowly pushes in and out of him.

They’re both shaking all over and Brian can see how fervently Justin is fighting, how hard it is for him to keep this torturous pace, to hold back and keep himself from the edge. 

His lips are bitten raw, despite Brian’s best efforts to keep them sheltered with his own, to keep Justin’s teeth away from his bottom lip as he moans deep in his throat.

Sweat drips down on him and Brian arches, head thrown back as Justin licks it off his chest. He touches Brian’s nipple, his abs, his weeping, painfully hard dick.

Brian fucking whimpers and Justin’s hand closes around it. He doesn’t stroke, doesn’t jerk him off, just touches him as though he’s never had Brian’s dick in his palm before.

For some reason, that only makes it feel more intense and before he knows what’s happening, with just the barest brush of Justin’s fingertips over the dripping slit Brian is fucking gone.

It’s unlike any orgasm he’s ever had before, starting with a kind of gentle wave that somehow grows stronger every time it ebbs. It’s like being hollowed out, as though every time his dick jerks and splashes more come onto his chest he’s spilling his insides.

And Justin is falling apart over him, around him, his rhythm finally lost to the tide of their unravelling. His dick is still hitting Brian’s prostate and it hurts in the best kind of agony.

He yanks Justin close, wants his mouth, but somehow ends with Justin’s teeth in his shoulder as he keens and shudders, hips jerking wildly and, for the first time, making Brian wish he could feel it, really feel it. Have Justin fill him, mark him, own him.

“Brian,” Justin moans like he’s dying, still shaking, still coming, still fucking him. “Brian, Brian, oh, fuck, fuck-”

Senseless and all but blinded by sensation, Brian simply holds on, weathering the storm and fucking revelling in it.

*

Everything gets really fucking hazy after that.

Brian remembers his ribs screaming at him in protest, remembers Justin’s murmured apologies and gentle hands. 

At some point the pillow beneath his hips disappears and there’s the warm wetness of a washcloth running across his skin and between his asscheeks.

His hips twitch and he makes some kind of hybrid sound, unsure whether he wants to push into it or jerk away. Justin shushes him, then feeds him water, then kisses him some more.

Brian is barely coherent, pliant and just as needy as Justin feels as he carefully moulds himself to Brian’s chest and repeatedly kisses what Brian realises must be the teeth marks he left on his shoulder. 

He wants to stroke Justin’s hair, tell him it’s okay, but doubts that the weird, croaky murmur he manages translates to actual words.

He’s asleep before he can try again.

*

Over the next week Brian’s energy levels slowly go up. He now manages to stay awake for most of the day, even though he still sleeps in late, has a fucking afternoon nap, and goes to bed between nine and ten like a fucking grandpa.

But Justin must’ve given some kind of green light, because the frequency of visitors increases dramatically. Brian quickly realises they must be working according to some kind of schedule; never crowding him all at once and leaving ample recovery time between visits.

It quietly amuses Brian that for once it’s not him being the control freak in this relationship.

And things between them…are frighteningly good.

Honestly, Brian didn’t know that things could be this good - and that’s including the fact that he’s not even fully recovered yet.

Part of him thinks that maybe that’s it. Maybe the sluggishness and lingering pain have finally made him docile enough not to give Justin shit over nothing. Then again, he remembers feeling more dead than alive during his radiation treatment and he’d managed to kick off just fine.

Brian would be lying if he said that he isn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. Normally, he’d already be battling the urge to drown himself in alcohol and anonymously fuck himself into oblivion. But for some reason the urge is suspiciously absent.

Yes, he feels a little overwhelmed sometimes, but every time he thinks he might be starting to drown, Justin is there to hold him above the water. Now that Brian has stopped being so fucking prickly about letting Justin care for him, and to sometimes just open his mouth and fucking communicate like a normal person, he finds that his stress levels have reached an all-time low.

They still argue, of course, mainly about Brian pushing himself physically. Not to mention the growing amount of work that’s been piling up on the breakfast bar. 

Ted is constantly caught in the middle, having proclaimed more than once that he’s Switzerland and high tailing it out of the loft when Justin got pissy. 

And who can blame him, really. Everyone always thinks it’s Brian who’s intimidating, but that’s only because they don’t know Justin like he does. If he puts his mind to it, Justin can bring anyone to their knees - and not always in a good way.

Then there’s the fucking. Christ.

Brian almost feels like he’s back in high school - though, frankly, even back then he’d had his dick up someone’s ass more often than not.

Now, well.

The truth is that Brian just doesn’t feel up to it just yet. For one, most positions are out because of his cast. For another, the fact that he hasn’t fucked anything in over a month somehow makes the whole thing…daunting.

Some part of him is terrified that as soon as he sticks his dick into something that isn’t Justin’s mouth, he’ll instantly awaken some kind of beast that will bring him back to square one. And if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to go through again, it’s those first two weeks of withdrawal.

As to Justin doing the fucking…well. 

After the last, mind-blowing, bone-melting experience, Brian has found himself wanting it again. Not just an errant thought, but an acute desire for it. 

In all the years they’ve been together, Justin has topped him exactly three times - once after the whole Sap bullshit, once before going to LA, when Brian thought he’d never see him again, and then the other week.

And, as experiences go, the first two versus the third might as well inhabit different planets, possibly in different solar systems. 

It’s not like the first two times were bad. Justin is an exceptional lover - he learned from the best, after all - but something had been missing. Despite the ceding of control, instead of feeling more intimate, it had been almost impersonal.

And Brian knows now, more than ever, that it had been because of him. He hadn’t let himself feel it, not really. 

That small part of himself that he had always clung to so desperately, even with Justin - he had let that part take over the same way he would with a trick. He’d slammed up a wall that Justin had long since managed to tear down (even if not to the last brick), only to suddenly have it right there again, keeping him at arm’s length.

He’d made Justin take him from behind both times, eyes closed as though the smallest glimpse of him would be enough to make the wall come down again. 

And Justin must’ve felt it, the strange distance between them, because he’d clung to Brian during and after, covering every inch of skin he could reach with kisses.

He’d tried to kiss Brian while he was inside him, but Brian had stubbornly refused to turn his head, terrified that in doing so he’d make himself vulnerable. 

Justin’s kisses always had that effect on him, far more so than anything else. It’s why he was so quick to accept Justin’s ‘no kissing’ rule, because even back then he knew that it was a part of Justin he wasn’t willing to share.

Of course that third time last week had been something else entirely. There had been no walls, no desperate attempts to hold back.

Unfortunately, Brian’s pride is still alive and well, and so is his inherent, warped sense of control and image. 

And no matter how far he’s come, asking Justin to fuck him more than once in a blue moon, or without some kind of life-altering epiphany and/or disaster, still feels like some kind of forbidden territory.

Brian’s a fucking idiot.

*

Michael finally drops by, alone this time, awkwardly shuffling a plastic bag with snacks and a few comic books, which he finally places on the table next to Justin’s computer and a stack of finished Rage drawings. He has a strange look on his face that Brian doesn’t feel like decoding at the moment.

“Help yourself,” Brian says with a wave towards the fridge.

He’s sitting on the floor, having made a little more headway with boxing up his things. He managed to do all the books and DVDs and is now in the process of looking through some old files and papers, deciding what to keep and what can go.

“Spring cleaning?” Michael asks dubiously, coming over after retrieving a coke from the fridge.

It’s something Brian wouldn’t normally be caught dead having in his house, but between the steady stream of visitors and Justin’s late-night caffein cravings while working, Brian has resigned himself to the fact that carbonated, sugary drinks once again reside alongside his guava juice.

“Packing,” Brian says, dropping the papers on the floor to finish up later. “Didn’t Theodore tell you? I’m selling the loft.”

Michael chokes on is drink.

“What?”

Brian shrugs, shifting on the mound of pillows he’s been lounging on. He doesn’t feel inclined discussing it further.

“But why?” Michael presses, finally folding himself to sit down next to Brian. “You love the loft. It’s your dream apartment.”

“Was,” Brian corrects wearily, wishing he could get Michael to drop it. “I just felt like a change of scenery.”

“Really.” Michael is giving him his best ‘bullshit Brian’ look and isn’t that fucking rich, coming from him. “So it has nothing to do with Justin moving back in.”

“Justin has nothing to do with it,” Brian says sharply.

He can feel defensive annoyance rising inside him. Why is it that over the past few months the only two emotions Michael has managed to evoke in him are either hurt or anger.

“But you’re back together?” 

“Is that why you’re here? To discuss my relationship with Justin?”

“Oh my god, you said relationship.”

Brian wants to seriously wring his neck.

“What do you want, Michael?”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Michael says and the sad fact is that Brian actually knows he means it. “I know you. I know how this is going to go and I don’t want to see you hurt again. Either of you.”

Brian stays quiet. It’s an old habit, first learned at the opposite end of Jack Kinney’s fists. At least if he keeps his mouth shut, his thoughts locked away, he won’t be vulnerable.

Letting someone know what he’s thinking - or worse, feeling - will only open a tiny crack that metaphorical fingers will be able to wriggle into. And, once they get a good grip, they will rip that crack open wide and spill everything onto the floor, ready to be trampled on.

So Brian says nothing, instead retreating a little further behind the safety of familiar barriers.

Michael, of course, is more than familiar with the technique. But unlike Justin, who knows to either back off or drown him with gentle affection until Brian can’t stand it anymore and has to either walk out or give in, Michael’s only way of dealing with it is to get out an axe and start chopping away.

“Look, Brian,” he says gently, reaching out to put a hand on Brian’s good arm. “I know you care for him and, god knows, he loves you. But you can’t keep doing this to each other. You make him miserable, he clings on, you push him away, he leaves, then you take him back - rinse and repeat. And now that you almost died-” Michael swallows, looking pained. “He’s just gonna cling on tighter, tell himself that nothing matters as long as he has you and - whether intentionally or not - you’re going to end up walking all over him again.”

Again. Brian swallows down a wave of bitterness, Michael’s words - old and new - coming back to haunt him. He was never perfectly happy. He left because of you. Who wouldn’t?!

Thankfully, his mask holds as he mockingly raises his eyebrows at Michael.

“So what, in your infinite wisdom, do you think I should do?”

Brian doesn’t really know why he’s going along with this bullshit conversation. Partly it’s because it’s an easy way to avoid exposing himself. And partly it’s because Michael is doing a fabulous job sowing fresh seeds of insecurity.

“Let him go,” Michael says and even though his voice is kind, the words are like a steel fist to Brian’s heart. “He’s young, he’ll get over it. You have to be the adult here, make the right decision for both of you.”

“And what about me, Mikey?” Brian asks, amazed when his voice comes out steady. “Will I get over it?”

Michael gives him a strange look that morphs into a small, incredulous laugh.

“Of course you will! You said it yourself, it’s just not who you are. We all know that.”

Do you? Brian thinks, feeling ill.

“It’ll hurt at first,” Michael goes on, relentless. “But you’ll do what you always do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Keep dancing, keep fucking.” Michael gives him a small smile. “And you’ll see it’ll work out for the best.”

Brian gives a humourless laugh, all the glass shards he thought he’d ground to dust now back to slice him to ribbons from the inside out. 

For a moment, he feels like he’s back in that time machine. Not at the point before he’d decided to change, but back to being 29, drifting in a sea of strangers, caring about nothing but his next high and doing his very best to keep each and every connection to another human being carefully frayed. And, should that poor fucker on the other end get any ideas about knitting those strings into something stronger, Brian would be right there with a pair of scissors, snapping it in half.

Back then, Michael had been the only string that had been fully intact, if a little strained and re-knotted in places. Now it feels like out of all the strings, out of all the connections in Brian’s life, it’s this one that has finally snapped, the ends so far apart that Brian has no idea how he’ll be able to bring them back together.

“Well, thanks for the session, Dr Michael. Next time I’ll be sure to lie down on the couch.” Brian rises on slightly unsteady legs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m due some painkillers and a nap. Need to get my strength back up if I want to be back in fucking-shape by the time Babylon re-opens.”

Michael eyes him warily, but gets to his feet without protest.

“Sure. I have to get back to the shop, anyway.” He touches Brian’s shoulder. “Just…think about what I said, okay?”

“Yeah,” Brian says, but his mind has already disconnected.

He’s so fucking over this conversation.

Michael leaves and Brian takes his meds, then drags himself to bed feeling more drained than when he first got out of hospital. Grabbing a pillow, Brian drags it over his head and desperately wills his brain to shut the fuck up.

Thankfully, he’s tired enough to pass out.

*

Justin comes home just as twilight is falling. Brian had woken up a little while ago, sweaty and halfway suffocated beneath the pillow.

He’d managed to get up, wrestle the waterproof sleeve onto his cast and taken a clumsy shower. Already drained again, he had bothered with neither lights nor clothes, simply slipped back into bed naked, wet hair soaking the bedding.

The silence in the dark loft is eventually cut with the sliding of the metal door.

Brian can hear Justin trying to be quiet as he locks up and deposits his things. He doesn’t even turn a light on, but he knows his way around the loft well enough not to stumble over anything.

After a few minutes, the bed dips and Brian turns his head towards him.

“Hey,” Justin says softly, one hand finding Brian’s bare chest, the other sinking into his wet hair. “I thought you were asleep.”

Brian covers the hand on his chest and tilts his head in a wordless demand for a kiss. Justin smiles and leans in to give him one, lingering for a few minutes before drawing back again.

“Still tired?” Justin asks, but Brian doesn’t want to talk.

Suddenly, with Justin right here, he wants nothing more than to lose himself in him. It’s the old, familiar urge of fucking his sorrows away, combined with a newer, more visceral desire to be as close to Justin as he possibly can.

It makes his head spin and his skin burn with need.

He pulls Justin back to his lips, plunging his tongue into Justin’s hot mouth in a hard kiss. 

Justin makes a familiar, needy sound, his hands coming up to Brian’s face, cradling it between his palms as he lets Brian claim his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then,” Justin whispers when they pull apart for air, both of them panting.

Brian just pulls him back in, his good hand abandoning its tight hold on the nape of Justin’s neck to shove under his t-shirt in search for bare skin, only to plunge back down and yank at Justin’s fly.

Justin makes a small noise, his own hands joining in to help.

“Hang on,” he murmurs into Brian’s hungry mouth. “Let me-”

They get Justin naked in record time, Brian more hinderance than help because he just can’t stop touching him, kissing him-

He grabs Justin’s dick and gives it a clumsy, left-handed stroke, the angle still unfamiliar. 

But Brian doesn’t give a fuck, swallowing Justin’s moan as he goes straight for the slit, rubbing his thumb around the head where he can already feel the wetness building up.

Justin thrusts his dick harder against Brian’s palm and Brian feels the next moan beneath his lips where he’s all but mauling Justin’s throat. Brian’s mouth moves lower and Justin grabs his head, holding it against his skin. 

Brian can feel him arching against him, both in pleasure and to get to the bedside drawer where he’d mercifully stocked up their lube and condom supply.

Brian can’t move as fluidly as he’d like, not with his cast and his protesting ribs, but he latches onto a nipple and sucks, hard.

“Fuck,” Justin gasps.

Before Brian can move to the other nipple, Justin catches his head, leaning down to capture his mouth in a savage kiss. 

He pulls back a moment later, pressing the lube and a condom against his chest, but Brian stops him and pushes them back at him.

Justin stares at him with an unreadable look, but Brian doesn’t give him a chance to question him, instead rolling over onto his stomach. There’s another beat of utter stillness, then he feels Justin shift against him. A soft kiss on the nape of his neck, his shoulder, his spine.

Brian hears the click of the lube being opened and spreads his legs, wanting it so fucking badly. He bites his lip to keep in an embarrassing sound, but when Justin touches him with slick fingers, his hips jerk - first to push his ass back, then forward to give his throbbing dick some relief.

Justin goes slow, almost torturously so, is lips never quite leaving Brian’s back. 

Brian presses his face into the pillow and his ass back into the feeling of being stretched, pried open. Justin’s fingers curl deeper, finally brushing Brian’s prostate, making Brian slam his eyes shut and shudder, biting down on soft bedding.

Brian can feel himself sinking deeper into his head, the pleasure a numbing agent spreading through his body. It’s safe, familiar, disconnecting him from everything - the world, the pain, himself.

There’s the distant, unmistakable sound of a condom wrapper and Brian sighs, waiting for the final step into well-known oblivion.

But then Justin’s hands are gently rubbing his sides, his breath warm and his lips soft as they brush Brian’s ear.

“Turn over,” he whispers, the words like hooks dragging Brian back to clarity. “I want to see you.”

Brian almost doesn’t, almost refuses to let go of the numbness he craves like…like a drug. 

And suddenly he doesn’t want it anymore, not like this. He feels Justin against him, the feel of his soft skin against his own and, as fucking absurd as it may sound, he suddenly finds that he misses him. Desperately.

He turns over.

Justin moves with him, giving him space, before settling back down, their bodies seamlessly moulding together. Brian looks up at him through the darkness and Justin smiles, small and a little sad. He cups Brian’s face and leans down to kiss him, tongue soft and slow in his mouth.

Brian holds on to him, suddenly terrified of losing him, of losing himself.

“Okay?” Justin asks softly.

Brian nods and lifts his legs, curling one around Justin’s waist just as Justin slides his arm under the other, helping him hike it a little higher. 

Justin grabs the same, fluffy pillow from the other night and helps Brian settle onto it. They shift into position and Brian can feel the slick, latex-covered head of Justin’s dick pressed against him, resting against his hole.

But then Justin pauses, their breathing heavy in the silence. He cups Brian’s cheek, his eyes cutting through the dimness and straight into Brian’s soul.

“Just- stay with me, okay?” He brushes Brian’s cheekbone. “Please.”

Brian’s throat is too tight to answer, but he swallows and nods again, then turns his head to press his lips against Justin’s palm.

Justin leans down to brush a kiss along his jaw, then, finally, pushes inside. 

The stretch is easier this time and Brian instinctively bears down to make it even smoother. Justin moans and they’re both shaking by the time he’s fully in.

Their lips meet in a messy kiss and Brian’s hand finds Justin’s ass, grabbing onto a cheek. He arches against him just as he yanks him closer, pushing him just that tiny bit deeper.

Justin lets out a harsh ah! and Brian tuns his head to bite down on his neck, then slides his lips up to his ear.

“Fuck me,” he orders, then bites down again.

Justin’s fingers thread into his hair, then yank his head back just as he rams into him. Brian makes a sound he didn’t even know he could, clawing against Justin’s skin as he arches and pushes back.

“Yeah?” Justin pants, driving home again. “This what you want?”

Brian moans, feeling like he might just fly apart any minute.

“Say it,” Justin demands. “Say it, or I’ll stop.”

And when Brian doesn’t immediately comply, Justin does. He stops, buried in deep, one arm braced next to Brian’s head, while the other is still wrapped tightly around Brian’s leg. They’re both panting harshly, shaking with restraint and need.

Brian makes a wounded sound, writhing and jerking his hips to force Justin back into motion. 

Justin, of course, doesn’t move an inch.

“Fuck,” Brian finally bursts out, frustrated and desperate. “I fucking want it. Now give it to me.”

“Mh,” Justin moan-hums, his hips now starting a slow, torturous circling motion without actually pulling out. It presses his dick right against Brian’s prostate and actually makes him feel like he might cry it’s so intense. “I don’t think that quite cuts it.”

“Fuck you,” Brian all but sobs, harshly biting back the mortifying sounds fighting to rise in his throat.

“No,” Justin whispers, grazing Brian’s arched throat with his teeth. “Fuck you. But only if you ask nicely.”

By now, they’ve found a rhythm even in this, their hips grinding in slow, toe-curling circles and Brian thinks he might actually come from the stimulation alone, but it’s not what he wants right now. What he wants is for Justin to ram his dick inside him and ride him into the mattress.

“Fuck, Justin,” he gasps, feeling light headed and completely pulled apart. “Please.”

Justin groans, lips latching onto Brian’s earlobe, before releasing it with a wet sound. “Please what?”

Brian almost growls in frustration, but he’s so fucking gone he just doesn’t care anymore. If Justin doesn’t fuck him right now, he might actually combust, burned to a crisp by his unfulfilled need.

“Please, fuck me,” he moans, feeling something vital come loose inside of him. There’s nothing left now, all the moorings of his iron control shattered, the only thing holding him to this moment the feeling of Justin’s arms, his lips, his dick buried deep inside. “Justin-”

And Justin makes a sound like a caged animal breaking free, slams their lips together and fucks him.

It’s hard and fast, both of them wild and unhinged. It’s too much, so intense that Brian feels like his very essence is being driven out of him and spilled all over the sheets. It’s so fucking-

“-good, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop-”

“Fuck, fuck, Brian I can’t- I-”

Justin reaches for his dick, but it’s not what Brian wants. He pushes his hand away and Justin brings it back to Brian’s thigh, gripping tight enough to bruise.

“I can’t- I’m gonna-”

“Yes,” Brian hisses, mouth open against Justin’s throat, licking the salt from his skin. “C’mon, do it. Come inside me, I want to feel it.”

“Bri-ah! Brian, Brian, fuck-”

Brian crushes him close, holding him tightly even as he himself feels like he’s still flying apart, feeling like he’s coming even though his dick is still hard as steel between them.

Justin is still coming, still shaking, caught somewhere between the tail-end of orgasm and the on-set of aftershocks. His mouth is wet, uncoordinated and the best thing Brian has ever tasted, their tongues meeting messily somewhere in-between.

They’re devouring each other, holding on like one of them might evaporate any moment.

Brian’s almost forgotten about his own hard dick, until Justin tears himself away from his mouth and abruptly moves down his body to swallow it whole, just as he rams two fingers into Brian’s still slick and open hole.

Brian throws his head back, his whole body jerking, back arching as he lets out a raw, primal bellow, his orgasm ripped from him with the sweetest agony as he explodes down Justin’s throat, his ass clamping down on the fingers still expertly massaging his over-sensitised prostate.

*

He loses some time, because when the remains of his melted brain come together enough for actual awareness, Justin is nuzzling dazedly at his stomach, as though he meant to come back up and collapsed halfway.

They’re both still slightly out of breath, drenched in sweat with an occasional tremor running along strained muscles. 

Brian’s fingers feel like rubber when they fumble their way into Justin’s hair, not even able to stroke, simply resting limply against his skull.

“Fuck,” is what eventually tumbles from his mouth. It comes out like a winded rasp and Brian swallows, then clears his throat. Tries again. “Fuck.”

Justin makes an unidentifiable sound, then finally starts crawling his way up along Brian’s body. Even now, he’s being careful not to put too much weight on Brian’s ribs, ending up draped over his left side, pressing uncoordinated kisses against his neck and shoulder.

Brian wraps his good arm around him and turns his head to smudge his lips against Justin’s hairline.

“I think I lost the condom somewhere,” Justin mumbles.

Brian would laugh if he had the energy. “Nevermind.”

They lapse back into satiated silence for a while, until Justin suddenly jerks up a bit.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?” he asks, his hand fluttering against Brian’s ribs, then his right shoulder.

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

Brian sighs, running a soothing palm along Justin’s sweaty spine.

“It’s not you. It’s this fucking arm and-” He breaks off. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Brian’s sure Justin’s frowning, but it’s grown even darker and Brian can barely see him.

“Let me get you some painkillers,” Justin says.

He brushes a gentle kiss to Brian’s mouth, then carefully detangles himself. Brian can see and hear him stumble a little, no doubt his knees are just as weak as Brian’s feel.

Flailing a little, Brian finds the switch for the blue lights above the bed. When he shifts in the hope of relieving some of the growing pain in his arm, his thigh brushes the lost condom.

He snorts, chuckling darkly, but too sore to do anything about it.

Justin returns with a glass and a handful of pills. 

He helps Brian swallow both, then fishes the condom from between the sheets, binning it on the way to the bathroom. He then comes back with a warm washcloth, gently wiping away some of the sweat and lube, before arranging a pillow to elevate Brian’s aching arm.

That done, Justin discards the cloth and Brian raises his good arm in invitation. Justin slips back under it, nestling against him.

“Better?” Justin asks.

“Yeah,” Brian says quietly, nuzzling Justin’s forehead.

Justin tilts his head to catch his lips.

“Michael came to see me.”

Brian has no idea why he says it. Usually, he should already have shoved all the hurt kicking and screaming into a box and buried it into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind - that’s what the fuck was for. 

But, then again, Justin fucking his brains out, while therapeutic, certainly hadn’t had the usual effect. Most importantly because instead of hiding inside himself, Brian had been intensely, gloriously present for every second of it.

“Oh?” Justin says, raising himself up on an elbow. It’s easier to see his face now, ethereally pale in the soft, blue glow. “How did that go?”

Brian looks away and says nothing. Fuck, he wants a cigarette.

“Brian.” Justin touches his jaw.

“He told me to be the bigger man and let you go.”

Justin jerks back in surprise.

“What?”

Brian pulls his lips into his mouth, then forces himself to go on.

“He said we only ever go in circles. That now that I almost died you’ll just…roll over and take whatever because you don’t want to lose me so I should-”

Brian makes a vague gesture and Justin catches his arm, grips it tightly, eyes wide and impossibly blue.

“Brian, you’re not- Tell me you’re not-”

Wordlessly, Brian sits up, the idea sparking bright and sudden. Ribs aching, he leans over to open his bedside drawer. He needs to dig around a little to find it, but his fingers eventually brush what he’s looking for.

He drags it out and holds it up; his old cowry shell bracelet. 

Justin stares at it in confusion and Brian doesn’t give him a chance to respond, simply grabs his hand. 

He runs a thumb across the fine veins on the inside of Justin’s wrist. His pulse is strong, slightly erratic, and Brian brushes it again, wanting to reassure him.

It’s a challenge with the fingers peeking out from his cast still swollen and unwieldy, but Brian manages to tie it thanks to the practice of having to do it one-handed on himself for years. 

He looks back up at Justin, lips firmly rolled into his mouth. He swallows.

“I know I promised you a ring, but- this will have to do for now.”

Justin grabs him and kisses him.

Chapter Text

The bedroom panels are closed and Brian blinks at the hazy, refracted light painting the floor around the bed. Somewhere in the vicinity of the living room, some form of row is going on between JR and Gus, their outrage sliced through with Justin’s calm, even tone as he diffuses the situation.

Mel and Lindsay had dropped them off this morning to go to Dusty’s funeral; delayed because of the on-going investigation and her mother having been stuck in hospital due to a hip replacement.

Neither Brian nor Justin had known Dusty particularly well, but Michael, Ben and Debbie had also gone, which is why none of them had been able take JR. 

Brian doesn’t mind having her along for the ride. Mostly, he’d left her to Justin, if only because juggling a toddler with a cast doesn’t rank high on his list of comforts.

They’d managed to entertain the kids well enough, but when JR had gone down for her nap, Brian had sneaked in one of his own, leaving Gus drawing with Justin.

On his way to the bathroom, Brian almost stumbles into Gus’ old, portable crib; unearthed, now, for JR’s use.

He takes a piss, then washes his hands and face before braving the world beyond the protective bubble of the bedroom.

Things seem to have calmed down considerably, because he finds Justin in the kitchen making dinner. Gus is with him, happily making a mess washing and shredding some lettuce. Making the salad is clearly the only task Justin could think of that doesn’t involve either the need for a knife or the stove.

A little way off, JR is bashing stuffed toys together on a blanket with all the unnecessary noise toddlers seem to be so fond of.

Justin is sautéing onions and looks up with a smile when he hears him. Brian slides his good arm around him and leans in for a brief kiss.

“What did I miss?” Brian asks, still scratchy from sleep.

“A fit of jealousy over Mr Muffin,” Justin says drily.

Brian snorts, but doesn’t get a chance to reply, because Gus accosts him with dripping hands.

“Daddy, help me with the salad!” he orders.

Brian chuckles, but follows obediently to the mangled heap of greens Gus has managed to accumulate in a bowl. He hopes at least half of it is salvageable.

After dinner, they all settle down to watch The Lion King.

JR falls asleep within the first ten minutes and Justin goes to settle her in the crib. Gus, surprisingly, lasts until the very end and so does Brian, for a change.

Justin moves the coffee table and makes a bed for Gus on the couch. Brian leaves him piling floor pillows next to the couch in case Gus should fall off during the night and goes to help Gus brush his teeth. Finally ready for sleep, Brian tucks him in and kisses his head.

Worn out by the kids - and also not wanting to risk waking either of them back up - Brian and Justin decide on an early night. As Justin slips into bed next to him, fresh and warm from a shower, Brian feels like it’s the first time today that they have some time together.

Justin presses against him, kissing his bare chest as Brian wraps his good arm around him and nuzzles into his hair. They’re both wearing sweats in case they need to leap out of bed or Gus decides to crawl in with them during the night.

“Fuck, I’m wiped,” Justin mutters, one of his thighs hitching up to wrap around Brian’s hip.

Justin has a thing for resting his legs on Brian, especially when they’re lying in bed. Usually Brian would stroke his thigh and pull him in closer, but his good arm is already occupied. 

He opts for placing his cast on it instead, using Justin’s leg as a pillow.

“I love the kids, but I’m kinda grateful we can give them back tomorrow,” Justin goes on sleepily.

Brian snorts. “You and me both, Sunshine.”

“I don’t think full-time parenthood’s for us.”

“You think?” Brian mocks. “I’ve only been telling you for years.”

Justin hits him playfully. “Shut up.”

Brian strokes his back. 

“So, I was thinking that we should start looking at places.” His tone turns teasing. “Get something more appropriate for part-time parents.”

Justin turns his head, propping his chin on the back of his hand where it’s still resting on Brian’s chest.

“Is that your way of asking me to move in with you?”

Brian presses his tongue into his cheek.

“Do I need to ask?”

Justin’s smile is bright even in the darkness and he puts his head back down, nuzzling into Brian’s bare chest.

“No,” Justin says softly, kissing just above Brian’s collarbone.

Brian smiles at the dark ceiling and sinks his fingers into Justin’s hair, feeling stupid with happiness.

*

On Monday, Brian has a check-up at the hospital. Justin drives them there and Brian tells himself that the only reason he lets him come along is that he knows it makes Justin feel better.

The doctor is pleased with his progress and, after another round of x-rays, tells him that the cast can come off in another week - thank fuck. He’ll still have to wear a brace and take it easy, but at least the damned cast will be gone.

Afterwards, Justin drops him off at Babylon to meet Ted.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Brian eyes the tense line of Justin’s jaw, the tight lines around his eyes and his unusually waxy complexion. Out of the two of them, it’s clear who’s more affected at the prospect of returning to the explosion site. Though Brian knows from Ted’s reports that the worst of the mess has long since been cleared.

The role reversal isn’t lost on him. And while, sure, Brian remembers the lead-up to the explosion, he wasn’t conscious throughout the aftermath. This time it had been Justin who had held onto him while he bled in his arms. Justin who had clung to Brian’s hand in the ambulance while trying not to get in the way as the paramedics stabilised him.

And it’s Justin who now looks just as Brian had felt when they had returned to that godawful parking garage.

“I’m sure.”

Justin sucks in a deep breath. “Just- call me if you need me, alright?”

Brian almost tells him I’ll be fine, but then thinks better of it and instead leans in to catch his lips in a deep, reassuring kiss.

“Later.”

“Later.”

*

Babylon is a construction site, no doubt about it, but it looks far less messy than Brian had expected.

He finds Ted deep in discussion with one of the contractors. They break off to greet him, the contractor bowing out and leaving Ted to impart the update, probably fearing Brian’s legendary, mercurial mood.

“So, what’s the prognosis?”

“There’s been some complications with the plumbing, but it shouldn’t delay us more than a few days. And the new sound system has arrived and is ready to be installed.” He gives Brian a small smile. “All in all, we should be back in business by the end of next week. Ideally, we’re looking at a Saturday reopening.”

Brian nods, turning in a half-circle to take it all in. It’s definitely different seeing it in person instead of poring over photos and blueprints.

“We’ll have to run some ads, get the word on the street.”

“Way ahead of you,” Ted says, grinning. “Me and Cynthia ran a brainstorming session and put some ideas together for you to look over.”

Brian raises his brows. “Careful, Theodore, or I’ll think you’re trying to steal my job.”

Ted snorts. 

“Hardly.” He gives Brian a careful once-over. “So, what did the doc say? Good as new?”

“Something like that. Cast is finally coming off next week. He said I’ll need to do exercises and some shit. I told him not to worry, that I have it all well in hand.” 

Brian grins, tongue-in-cheek and Ted huffs a laugh.

“Oh, I’m sure Justin can attest to that.” He gives Brian a careful look. “You two still doing okay?

Jesus.

“It’s barely been a fucking week since you asked.”

“Yes, well…”

“Spare me.” Brian turns away, running his hand over the dusty surface of the newly installed bar. “Mikey already gave me the whole spiel.”

Ted frowns. “What spiel?”

“The ‘poor little Justin is nothing but my doormat’ spiel.” 

It comes out pitched and mocking, but Ted only frowns harder.

“I don’t think that.” He sounds honestly bewildered. “I don’t think there’s anyone who’s less of a doormat than Justin. That kid can be fucking scary when he wants to. And, as far as I can tell, he’s known what he wants since he was seventeen. And now that you’ve finally stopped making yourself miserable, there’s no reason it shouldn’t work out.”

Brian gives him a look, torn between incredulity and a familiar, disconcerting feeling of affection.

“Stop being so fucking insightful, Theodore. It’s starting to freak me out.”

Ted laughs and claps a gentle hand on his good shoulder.

“I’ll try harder to channel my regular ‘boring accountant’ self with a side-dish of hopeless loser.”

“See that you do,” Brian says, crossing towards the door. “Oh, and Ted? Just so you know - if you were an actual loser I’d let you nowhere near my money.”

*

Brian decides to go to the office for a few hours. He reviews some boards, catches up with the pile of crap that’s waiting to be signed off, and pores over the ideas for the reopening of Babylon. Not that he’d ever say so, but he’s frankly impressed what Ted, Cynthia and Co have come up with. He makes a note to ask Justin’s opinion on colour schemes.

Just as he’s thinking of taking a break for lunch, who graces him with his presence but his wayward best friend - if that title even still applies.

Brian can tell from the stubborn set of his mouth that something’s up his ass and isn’t surprised when he doesn’t get as much as a ‘hello’.

“Justin came to see me,” Michael says.

Great, just the conversation Brian’s been hoping for. He opts for the old classic - staying silent. He shuffles some boards around.

Michael has the familiar air of a beaten puppy about him.

“He basically ripped me a new one. Had a full-blown fit - so, thanks for that.”

Brian raises his eyebrows. “Justin’s his own man.”

“Yeah, that’s what he told me. Loud and clear. Accused me of butting into his business and how he thought we’re past me thinking of him as a dumb kid.”

Brian abandons the boards.

“Listen, if Justin had a bone to pick with you, that’s really none of my business.”

“The hell it isn’t! You didn’t have to tell him about our conversation.”

“But, Mikey, I thought you’d be proud of me for communicating with my partner,” Brian mocks, saccharine.

“I told you these things because I’m worried about you!”

Brian’s shallow pool of patience is rapidly running dry.

“You need a fucking hobby. You’re acting like some gossiping housewife.”

“Oh, will you give it a rest already? I’m so fucking sick of this shit!” Of you, is what Michael doesn’t say but all Brian can hear. Michael must’ve realised how that sounded, because he deflates abruptly. “Why can’t we have a single conversation without fighting anymore?”

“Because, Michael-” Brian’s voice is rising. “You’ve turned into a sanctimonious hypocrite! Hanging out with the likes of fucking Eli and Monty!”

“What do they have to do with anything?”

The petulance of it only pisses Brian off more.

“They’re twats, Michael! And you just sat there while they disparaged me in your own home-”

“They didn’t disparage-”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mikey, I didn’t know that being lectured about what constitutes a mature relationship and having someone turn their nose up at my lifestyle was supposed to be a compliment!” Brian gives Michael a hard, blank stare. It’s the hurt more than anything that draws tight around his throat. The memory of Michael’s dismissal. “We had a deal. I upheld my end, sitting through that farce of a dinner, smiling as those two self-satisfied assholes insulted me to my face and you couldn’t even give enough of a fuck to pick up the phone.”

Michael throws up his arms. “I’m sorry, okay! If I’d known it was that important to you-”

Brian cuts him off, so fucking over this whole bullshit.

“Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You have no fucking idea what’s important to me anymore.” 

“I have no idea- What about you? If we’re talking about disparaging remarks, what about going on, and on, and fucking on about my life choices, my marriage to Ben-”

“What, because you’ve never offered running commentary on my life? But, oh wait! I already apologised for that! Then you threw it all back in my face and as soon as you needed something, you came crawling back. Apparently, I was still good enough for that! Well, it’s like you said, Mikey - just because we’ve been friends all our lives, doesn’t mean we have to go on being friends.”

Michael looks a little ill, pale and wide-eyed. “I didn’t mean that-”

But Brian isn’t feeling charitable.

“Well, I do.”

“Brian-” 

Just then the door opens and Justin steps in. He freezes when he sees them both.

“Do you mind?” Michael hurls at him.

“Don’t fucking talk to him like that,” Brian snaps, the words lashing out before he even knows they’re there.

For a moment it’s unclear who out of the three of them is more surprised.

Justin rocks uncertainly on his feet, making a vague gesture towards the hallways outside.

“I can come back later-”

“No,” Brian cuts in firmly. “No, we’re done here.”

Michael shoots Brian a beseeching look. “Brian, we need to talk about this.”

Brian turns his head away. “Talk’s over, Michael. I said I’m done.”

There’s a moment of utter, deafening silence. Michael breaks it with a short, indignant sound.

“Fine.” Michael stalks over to the door, then abruptly turns to Justin, who’s moved out of the way to let him pass. “Just don’t come crying to me again when Brian’s back to sticking his dick in everything that moves.”

And then he’s gone, the door unsatisfyingly quiet as it swings shut on soundless hinges.

Justin takes a careful step further in. “So…guess that could’ve gone better…”

Brian fucking doubts it.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he says sardonically. “Because I’ve lost my appetite.”

He hears Justin come closer, can feel him before his hands cup Brian’s shoulders, kneading gently.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known he’d come straight here, I was just so fucking pissed-”

Brian turns and slings his good arm around Justin’s neck, pulling him close. Justin kisses his throat and Brian sighs, resting their temples together.

“This isn’t on you.”

Michael has always been fond of scapegoats. Brian should know, he’s been the chosen one plenty of times.

Justin gently rubs his sides, his lips smudging a small trail of kisses from his throat to his jaw, to his chin. He doesn’t ask Brian if he’s okay and Brian loves him for it.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Brian looks at him for a moment, simply letting the wave of gratitude and love wash over him. Then he leans in and kisses him.

“Just this,” he murmurs, then kisses him again.

*

On Wednesday, Lindsay calls to invite him along for a stroll in the park with Gus. And if Brian didn’t know better, he’d think that Lindsay is feeling guilty about something, what with the frequent visits. 

The park is cold and noisy and just about the last place Brian wants to be on a freezing winter afternoon. As much as he loves Gus - and he loves him more than he ever thought possible - kids in general are just as annoying as ever. 

Still, seeing Gus happily throwing himself into the throng of brats and running amok with them lights a particular kind of warmth in him. A kind he’d never known before Gus had been placed in his arms for the first time.

Gus chooses that moment to pause and turn, seeking him and Lindsay to reassure himself of their continued presence. When he catches sight of them, he flails his arms in an exuberant wave, barely waiting for Brian to smile and wave back before he’s back hollering with the mob.

Intending to share a smile and an eye-roll, Brian turns to Lindsay and finds her face pinched. She makes an effort to return his now fading smile with a tight one of her own, but Brian’s dread is slowly mounting.

Hiding it behind a healthy dose of nonchalance, Brian finally asks, “So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Lindsay seems to be bravely holding onto her wan smile. “Let’s just…sit down first.”

Brian’s stomach drops further.

“Wow, that bad?”

Lindsay doesn’t respond and he humours her until they’ve found a reasonably dry bench, thankful that his thick wool coat is long enough to provide some insulation for his ass. He just hopes the bench is clean enough, he’s only just had it dry-cleaned.

They watch Gus, now ostensibly pretending to be a plane, with the other kids.

“Will you spit it out?” Brian finally snaps. “You’re making me nervous.”

Lindsay sucks in an audible breath, her hands smoothing across her trench coat.

“It’s- Me and Mel we’ve…been talking.”

Brian raises his eyebrows. “An improvement to the whole passive-aggressive silence thing, I’m sure.”

“Brian, just- shut up for a second and let me get this out.” Lindsay licker her lips and the smoothing intensifies. “We’ve been talking and we’ve decided that we’d like to…move.”

Genuinely bewildered, Brian prompts her. “And?”

“Not just across town but…” She can’t seem to look at him. “To Canada. Toronto, to be exact.”

Brian stares at her in silence for a moment, his brain simultaneously kicking into overdrive and finding it hard to keep up.

“Where the fuck is this coming from?”

Brian hears himself ask the question, but can barely bring himself to pay attention to the answer. All he can think about is that just as he’s turned over a new leaf, made some resolutions- that’s when Lindsay suddenly decides to whisk Gus away to a foreign country.

“-not far,” Lindsay is winding down her pitch about a safer, better future somewhere not the Pitts. “Just 45 minutes away on the plane.”

There’s an annoying lump in Brian’s throat, making it hard to swallow. He stays silent.

Lindsay is eyeing him carefully, apprehension mixed in with rueful understanding.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Brian finally asks, proud when his voice comes out steady. “It’s not like I can stop you.”

“We want your blessing. And Michael’s.” Brian snorts but Lindsay ignores him. “It’s important to us to involve both of you. We don’t want you to feel like we’re stealing them away.”

“I’m sure Michael will see it that way, especially after all the bullshit with his rights to JR.”

“And you?”

“Me what?” Brian snaps, calm finally fracturing. “Am I happy you’re taking my son away? So he can finally forget me for good?”

Lindsay reaches for him, then, and Brian can see that while she seems to have made up her mind, this is clearly hurting her. Too fucking bad, because it’s hurting him a hell of a lot more.

“We’d never let that happen,” she says gently, squeezing his arm through the thick wool of his coat. Brian almost shakes her off, but doesn’t. He feels numb, anaesthetised by shock. “You can come visit anyime. And we’ll work out a schedule, ensure that you can have him over the summer-” She breaks off and Brian wonders if she realises she’s already speaking in absolutes rather than hypotheticals. “Look, you don’t have to answer right now. All I ask is that you think it over. And know that no matter what, you’ll always be Gus’ father.”

“Yeah,” Brian says dully. Much good as that does me.

He looks back at Gus, watching him laugh uproariously, but all he can think about is that he’s already lost him. Lost him before he could make good on all the things he’d promised himself he’d do.

*

It swoops down on him like a big, fat, screeching bird of prey. The urge to get drunk and stick his dick somewhere where it doesn’t mean anything, some anonymous fuck who has no idea who he really is or what he’s going through. Just a way to ruthlessly bring him to a blissful, blank high were he can forget about it all.

He knows that in this state, a million Teds with Scrabble boards wouldn’t be enough to keep him grounded.

Brian doesn’t want Justin to see this, to see him. To see how much this is still taking out of him. Then again, Justin’s already seen it all. Seen him wasted and high as fuck, seen him desperate to sink his dick anywhere but into the place he wanted it the most.

And he’s seen him when he stumbled into his studio in the middle of the fucking night, hard as a fucking rock and shaking apart - with desire, with withdrawal. Or the other night, about to climb out of his skin until Justin had fucked his soul straight from his body, only to reel it back in and shove it back inside.

What’s one more added to the list?

He fucking needs Justin, and he needs him right the fuck now.

Justin takes one look at him - dishevelled and wild-eyed - and drags him into his studio.

Brian is on him before the door is fully shut, the kiss barely deserving of its name, consisting mostly of teeth and aggressive, unrelenting tongue. He should really give Justin more credit, because he doesn’t try to say a single word.

He all but slams Brian against the now closed door, one hand already tearing open his fly. The seam gives under Justin’s harsh yank and Brian wants to fucking crawl into him and live there.

Justin gives one more hard bite to Brian’s lip, then another to his collarbone and then he’s on his knees and inhaling Brian’s dick like oxygen. Brian’s head snaps back, his hips forward. He barely feels the impact of the door against the back of his head.

Justin takes it, rides the movement and pulls off only long enough to pant, “Yeah, fuck my mouth.” 

Then his mouth is back, slamming all the way back down. Brian lets out a guttural sound, his good hand grabbing Justin’s hair and yanking him closer, just as his hips drive forward, shoving his dick impossibly deeper.

Justin never falters, the amazing suction never wavering. Brian’s delirious with it, his brain flying apart, the pleasure tearing his thoughts asunder and drowning them out at the same time until everything whites out in an explosion of euphoria. He clings to it for as long as he can, but despite the aftershocks still shuddering through his system, it’s already fading away.

He’s coming down and he’s not ready, not yet. It’s not enough.

Justin comes up to kiss him and Brian makes a pathetic sound, tongue plunging in to taste himself and hold on, just hold on a little longer-

Justin tries to soothe him, gentle touches, gentle kisses - but it’s not what Brian wants, not what he needs-

He yanks at Justin’s fly, then changes direction to grab the iron hard dick he feels there. Justin moans, pushes against him, flattening him against the door. Brian yanks again, then plunges his hand inside, grabbing Justin’s dick in a grip that must be firm enough to smart. But Justin’s hips jerk towards him and he’s driving the weeping head against Brian’s palm.

Brian draws his hand away, not wanting to make him come yet.

He pushes Justin back, concentrating on kicking off his jeans and shoes all in one, big tangle.

“Condom,” Brian snaps, his voice almost unrecognisable.

Justin scrambles to comply, but Brian doesn’t watch him go. He stalks over to one of Justin’s work tables, barely paying attention as he sweeps his arm over it, though careful not to damage any actual work. Paintbrushes and their containers rain down from the surface, including a pallet with wet paint. It lands face-down, adding to the kaleidoscope of colours already smeared into the floor.

Brian bends over the table and spreads his legs, feels Justin return and press against him. Justin kisses his back, but Brian can’t, not like this, not right now.

“Do it,” he barks and Justin’s kiss turns into a bite.

Then the condom wrapper is torn open and Brian shifts lower, lining them up better. He’s using his good arm to brace himself, feels Justin’s teeth against his shoulder just as a squirt of cold lube hits the crack of his ass and drips down to his hole. Justin follows it with a finger, then two.

“Enough.”

“Bri-” Justin wisely cuts himself off.

Brian can feel him exhale, hot air washing across the lingering sting of his teethmarks. He grabs Brian’s hip with one hand, then wraps the other around the nape of Brian’s neck. He pushes him lower and Brian groans and complies, letting his head sink down, forehead pressing against rough wood.

Then Justin pushes in in one, smooth thrust.

It stings and Brian welcomes it, bucking back into it to impale himself more firmly. Justin’s grip on him tightens and Brian hears him moan, but it’s drowned out as he sinks into himself. There’s only the lingering burn, the pleasure-pain of his over-sensitised prostate being pounded hard and deep. The wood chafing against his cheek, his cast scraping across with every thrust, the arm inside unable to brace itself.

Justin doesn’t demand he stay with him this time and Brian is so grateful he could fucking weep. He just fucks Brian harder, lets Brian sink deeper, until oblivion surges up to meet him. Brian falls into it, eyes pressed shut and arms spread wide.

*

In the end, Brian can’t find the words until darkness has crept up on them. He’s curled around Justin, and even in the dark he’s glad that he’s facing away. He presses his forehead to Justin’s smooth, creamy shoulder.

“Lindsay and Mel want to move to Canada.”

“Brian…”

Justin makes as if to turn, but Brian holds him still, kissing the nape of his neck.

“They want mine and Michael’s blessing.” He snorts. “Fucking bullshit. They clearly have it all figured out already.”

Justin finds his hand, covers it with his own.

“So what are you gonna tell them?”

Brian is silent for a moment, then lets out a slow breath.

“What’s there to say.” Even to his own ears, he sounds defeated. “What I’d like to tell them is that they can fuck off for all I care, but that Gus stays here.”

Justin squeezes his fingers.

“So, why don’t you?”

“Because they’re just gonna turn it around and I’ll end up the big bad wolf again. They’ll tell me I’ve not been around anyway, that I never cared before-”

Justin huffs and cuts him off.

“That’s bullshit, Brian. You’re not your father, you hear me? You love your son.”

Brian’s chest clenches, sharp and painful.

“Making his mothers miserable by keeping them here isn’t what I want for him. I want him happy.” He swallows, throat raw and eyes stinging viciously. He forces a mocking tone. “And, as Lindsay so graciously reminded me, it’s only 45 minutes by plane. Just think of all the frequent flier miles.”

When Justin tries to turn towards him this time, Brian lets him. Their kiss is wet and a little salty, a fact Brian is trying very hard not to analyse. He simply ducks his head under Justin’s chin and lets himself be held.

*

“I can’t believe we slept in this shithole. Again.”

Justin laughs and throws him a t-shirt. Brian grimaces.

“You going to Kinnetik?” Justin asks, rooting around his rickety dresser for some remaining clothes.

At this point, most of his things - few as they are - have found their way back to the loft.

“Yeah, after I go home, shower, and change.” No way is he going to brave that medieval facility Justin’s building calls a bathroom. He can’t believe he was ever desperate enough to step foot in there. “You staying here?”

Justin nods, coming over to wrap his arms around Brian’s shoulders. He stands up on his tip-toes, something Brian has always found secretly adorable. Which is why he only bends his head at the last moment to make it easier, meeting him in a soft kiss.

“I want to finish the work you interrupted yesterday.” His grin lets Brian know that he hadn’t minded the interruption one bit. “Then I’m meeting Mom for lunch to let her know about looking for a new place. So, I’ll see you at home tonight.”

Brian nods, kisses him again, then lets Justin go to arrange for his driver to pick him up at the studio, then drive him on to Kinnetik.

By the time Brian hangs up, Justin has nipped off to the horror facilities, so Brian amuses himself by poking around Justin’s studio. He attempts to pick up some of the brushes he’d knocked to the floor yesterday, but he knows Justin has a system so he decides to best leave it to him before he fucks it up even more.

He spots some new drawings for Rage and eagerly makes his way over. He’d never admit it, but he actually enjoys reading Rage. Not only does it stroke his ever-thirsty ego, it also gives him a strange insight into Justin’s head. It’s relatively easy for Brian to see who came up with what and he likes the game of dissecting ideas and plot lines, figuring it out.

It’s when he picks up the last drawing that he sees it; a glossy art magazine with a post-it sticking out between the pages.

Curious, he flips it open. He looks at the post-it first, a note in Lindsay’s handwriting proclaiming read this!!. His eyes then flicker to the article itself - a whole full-spread review on Justin’s art show from the other month.

A series of big words jump out at him, some of the more pompous references lost on him. It’s the final sentence that makes him freeze.

New York is waiting to be conquered.

He’s still standing there, numb all over, by the time Justin breezes back into the room. Brian shakes himself out of it, carefully drawing the tattered remains of his composure around himself.

He holds up the magazine for Justin to see.

“This is some review, Mr Taylor.”

Justin rolls his eyes. He takes the magazine from Brian’s hands and casts it aside, instead wrapping himself back around him.

“It’s a bunch of fawning bullshit by some art-scene fairy who probably admired my ass more than my work.”

Brian looks at him, trying to find and unpack the hidden layers. Anyone who thinks that Justin’s an open book has no fucking clue.

“He could’ve admired your ass without writing fawning bullshit.”

Justin sighs. “Remember Hollywood? They gushed too, made a bunch of bullshit promises - what makes you think New York would be any different?”

Brian looks at him, steady and serious.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

Justin’s dismissal is quick, easy. But even as Brian meets Justin’s lips in a reassuring kiss, a part of him still feels numb.

*

Brian falls back to the one thing - other than fucking - that has never let him down when he wanted to escape - work.

He throws himself into playing catch-up, indulges in some nice, cathartic shouting at his art department and generally does his best to be his most petty, moody self. He pointedly ignores Ted and Cynthia’s looks of concern and does some more cathartic shouting when they dare voice their worry about him taking on too much, too soon.

He’s still in the office after everyone else has finally cleared out and by seven in the evening his head is pounding so hard he knows that he’ll have to call defeat soon. He’d texted Justin that he’d be late and refused his offer to come pick him up.

Instead of getting ready to leave, Brian drags himself over to the sofa and collapses on it. 

His arm is twinging like a motherfucker and Brian blindly loosens the sling, letting it fall to the floor and elevating his cast against the back of the couch. Then he throws his good arm across his eyes and wishes he could simply melt into the upholstery.

For that to happen, however, his muscles would have to actually not feel like steel rods.

Brian has no idea how long he lies like this, but it’s probably no more than a few minutes when there’s a tentative knock on the frame of his open door. If that’s Theodore, come back to haunt him-

It’s not Theodore.

Brian lets his arm drop away from his face and raises his eyebrows at Michael’s sheepish expression.

“Can I come in?” he asks. “It’s just- Mel told me that Linds spoke to you about their plans for moving and I just-” He visibly swallows. “I could really use my best friend right now.”

Brian lets his head fall back down and sighs, but waves him in all the same. Michael comes hesitantly, as though Brian might change his mind and throw him out again any minute. Not an entirely unfounded worry, Brian has to admit, given his track record.

For a moment, Brian considers making Michael have to drag a chair over, but he suddenly feels too tired to play games. He simply shifts his long legs and makes room for him. Michael gives him a grateful look and sinks down at the other end.

“You okay?” Michael asks, giving Brian a searching look. “You don’t look so hot.”

“Thanks, Mikey,” Brian says sardonically. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

Michael looks away, then gets this expression he always does when he’s decided there’s something important he needs to impart to the world. He turns slightly, facing Brian.

“Listen, before we get into anything else, I wanted to apologise. Properly.”

Well, that’s new.

“Oh?”

“I thought a lot about what you said and-” He looks a little pained. “And I talked to Ben and he basically reamed me out.”

Brian snorts. “Good on him.”

Michael grimaces, then swallows audibly.

“The point is, you were right. I was a shitty friend and I never should’ve said what I did about Justin. He was right to come and call me out on my shit. I should be supporting you, telling you that you can come to me if you need someone to talk to. And I am, I mean. Saying all that.” Michael looks at him, sheepish and apologetic. “I did mean it, when I said I wanted both of you to be happy. I just realise now that I went about it all wrong. So…forgive me?”

“What’s to forgive? I behaved like an asshole, you behaved like a bigger one.”

Brian can see the tears in Michael’s eyes before he leans in to hug Brian, hard enough to make his healing ribs twinge. Ignoring the sting in his own eyes, Brian gratefully puts his head on Michael’s shoulder and hugs him back.

“God, I’m so- so fucking sorry,” Mikey mumbles. “When you were in the hospital and we didn’t know whether you’re gonna make it-”

He breaks off to sniffle and roughly wipe his eyes with the end of his sleeve. It’s such a familiar Mikey-thing to do that it makes Brian’s heart swell.

“I’m alright, now,” Brian says softly.

“Yeah, but what if you hadn’t been? All I could think about was that- that the last thing we would’ve said to each other was some snarky bullshit, I-” Michael’s eyes are red and he hastily wipes them again. “I never would’ve forgiven myself. Not after all the stupid shit I said to you. And then you woke up and I was so happy, so fucking relieved. But instead of telling you that I go on being a fucking idiot-”

Brian rubs his back, holding on a little tighter. “It’s alright now. It’s done.”

“Let’s just…not do this again, okay?” Michael says thickly.

“You better not be smearing snot on my Armani.”

Michael laughs wetly, squeezing Brian one more time before drawing back. Brian gives him an exasperated look, then snatches the box of tissues from the coffee table and shoves it at Michael’s chest.

“You know, Ben said this thing to me.” Michael says, in-between blowing his nose and wiping his face. Brian grimaces. Great, advice from fucking Zen Ben, just what he needs. “He said that not everything has to be a sacrifice. That instead we should face new situations as opportunities to explore something different.”

And Brian wants to snort and dismiss it, he really does, but something in those words snag at him, penetrating the cold, numb place that had been growing inside him ever since reading that fucking Art Forum article.

“I’ve been trying to apply that to the whole mess with Mel and Linds.” Michael is still talking, oblivious to Brian’s silent, growing epiphany. “But I still struggle to see how any of this can be a good thing. I mean, they’re basically stealing our kids.”

“They’ll have their mothers, together and happy,” Brian says, forcefully tuning back in. “What more can we want for them?”

“It’s still fucked,” Michael insists, familiar petulance pursing his lips. “God, I wish I was high. You don’t happen to…?”

Well, Brian supposes it’s now or never.

“Sorry, Mikey. I cut all that shit out.”

“You. Cut out drugs,” Michael says incredulously, then double-takes as he back-tracks on what Brian said. “Hang on, what do you mean all that shit?”

Brian shrugs. “How did it go again? Ah yes, I can’t be an over-the-hill club boy forever.”

He seems to have actually managed to render Michael speechless. A true feat, indeed.

“Listen, Brian, if this is about Justin-”

“It’s not,” Brian cuts him off. He considers evading the issue, but thinks better of it. He’d rather get it all out now, make Mikey understand so that he hopefully only has to do it this once. “It’s about me, Mikey. It’s about not wanting to have any more bits cut out of me, or getting zapped with death rays - at least not for another two decades or so. It’s about actually wanting to see my kid grow up, not overdose on some shit Anita cooked up, or get wrapped around a tree because I was dumb enough to get in a car when I shouldn’t have.”

“Christ, Brian.” Michael is looking at him like a creature from another planet. “That must be the most mature thing I’ve ever heard you say. And I’m happy for you, really, but it’s not like you were an addict or anything-”

“Yes, I was,” Brian cuts in quietly.

Michael stares hit him some more.

“Brian…”

Fuck, how does Ted do this shit? Brian swallows.

“Do you know what the thing about addicts is? It’s that they’re dependant on something. That was me, Mikey. Getting fucked up just so I could get through life. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”

And it’s when Michael takes his hand and looks at him with big, compassionate eyes that Brian realises he might as well be looking at Debbie.

“I’m glad,” Michael says softly.

Me too, Brian thinks and lets Michael squeeze his hand, then lets out a relieved breath. And thank fuck we finally got that out of the way.

*

Brian returns to a mostly darkened loft, though he can see the blue lights above the bed are on and there’s soft music coming from the stereo.

It’s not that late yet, only twenty to eleven - him and Michael having managed to talk shit just fine even without the usual weed.

He finds Justin on the bed, holding a pencil in his mouth as he sorts through several pages of Rage. Brian knows that he sometimes likes to work in bed, when he wants to be comfortable but still have a lot of room to spread out.

Justin looks up and smiles at him as Brian crests the stairs. He frees the pencil from his lips and Brian can’t help how his eyes catch on them for a moment.

“Hey. Long day at the office?”

“You could say that.” Brian shrugs out of his suit jacket, grabbing a coat hanger to put it away. “Michael stopped by, apologised.”

Justin lowers the papers in his hand to the bed, watching as Brian slips off his belt.

“So…it’s all good now?” Justin asks.

Brian doesn’t miss the tentative note. He stops to give Justin a small smile.

“Yeah. It’s all good.”

Justin beams back at him and Brian loves that about him, how he can show such genuine happiness simply because something is important to Brian.

Unable to wait a second longer, Brian abandons his task and walks over to claim Justin’s lips in a kiss. Justin makes a sweet, content little sound and takes advantage of Brian’s open shirt, running is soft hands from Brian’s collarbones to the nape of his neck, all the way into his hair.

Brian rests their foreheads together. “Fuck, I need a shower.”

“Let me help with the cast.”

Brian draws back, frowning. “I don’t need-”

“I know you don’t,” Justin cuts in softly. “But I want to. Here.”

Justin makes short work of helping Brian stip off his remaining clothes, then wrestling the waterproof sleeve onto the cast. 

His lips never stray far from Brian’s skin, scattering kisses across Brian’s face, his shoulders, his thighs when he kneels to help him out of his slacks.

Brian almost drags him into the shower with him, but he’s too exhausted and in too much pain. He wants Justin in bed, wants to take his time, wants to just…feel him.

So Brian doesn’t waste any time, washes briskly and is still towelling himself dry when he comes back out. Justin has taken the time to clear the bed and turn off the music. He’s waiting for Brian in bed, already naked.

He lifts the covers in invitation.

Brian drops the towel and crawls in a little awkwardly to join him.

Justin wraps him in his arms, kissing him deeply, only stopping long enough to slip the cover off Brian’s cast. Brian lets him, then pushes him gently into the pillows, diving back down to his lips.

And for a while, that’s all they do, make out like teenagers. Only that they never quite did it like this, even when Justin still was a teenager, and Brian hasn’t done this with anyone else, ever.

But it’s what he wants to do right now, what he’s been thinking of all evening. To make love to Justin with his mouth.

He eventually dips lower, sliding his tongue along Justin’s throat, then his nipple, then all the way to his dick, already waiting for him, hard and damp at the tip.

It’s agonisingly slow, Brian reading Justin’s body like his own, dragging him away from the edge whenever he gets close. 

By the end, Justin is writhing, drenched in sweat, pawing at Brian, the sheets. He’s trembling, making these throaty, visceral sounds that Brian struggles to remember if he’s ever heard before. They make his dick pulse and leak, smearing pre-come all over the sheets where he’s trying to restrain himself from humping the bed.

He plunges down slowly once more, feeling Justin’s legs tremble. Reaching up with his good hand, Brian intends to go for a nipple, but Justin catches it instead, holding on to it like a drowning man. Brian lets him have it, instead concentrating on working his tongue along the underside of Justin’s dick.

“Fuck, please, Brian, please, I need-” Justin breaks off on a moan, hips jerking and pushing his dick deeper into Brian’s mouth. “Need to come, fuck, please let me- let me- ah-!”

Brian swallows again, feeling Justin arch and squeeze his hand so tightly the bones grind together. Brian doesn’t give a fuck if Justin breaks his other hand as well. He’s suddenly desperate to make him come, to taste him and hold him as he flies over the edge.

Nothing else matters, his own dick entirely ignored and forgotten. He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t want to alter the almost hypnotising rhythm, simply goes deeper, sucks harder.

“Yes, fuck, Brian, Brian, yes, ye-ah-ah-!”

Brian moans, feeling like a fucking starving man. His cast encased arm, draped along Justin’s abdomen, presses Justin’s heaving hips into the bed as the first wave of orgasm takes hold. The first shot goes straight down Brian’s throat, Justin’s dick buried so deep he can’t even taste it. 

Groaning, he draws back, his mouth instantly flooded, Justin’s familiar, salty-sweet taste exploding across his tongue and it almost feels like he’s coming too.

Justin’s hands are restless, his fingers no doubt having left bruises across Brian’s shoulders. But Brian follows the desperate, needy urging, letting Justin’s softening dick slip from his mouth with a gentle, parting lick.

He crawls up Justin’s still trembling body, blanketing him with his weight and shoving his good arm beneath his shoulders so he can hold him tight. 

Justin’s always been like this, easily overwhelmed, needing Brian in a way no one else has ever needed him before. He knows it’s because Justin trusts him unreservedly, but he also knows now that a big part of it is that Justin never bothered to hold back in the first place.

He’d given Brian everything, all of him, right from the start.

Brian kisses his panting mouth, letting the familiar surge of protectiveness wash over him as he pulls Justin in closer, letting him lick the taste of himself from Brian’s tongue.

Justin wraps his legs around him, pulling him in. Brian’s dick, hard and wet, finds the crease of Justin’s thigh.

“Brian,” Justin whispers, moving against him. Brian moans at the friction, his own hips instinctively following Justin’s lead, the familiar rhythm of their bodies. Justin kisses him again, deep and wet, hands sliding down to grab onto Brian’s ass and haul him in closer, swallowing his hungry sound. “Want you to come. Want you to come all over me.”

Fuck, fuck.

Suddenly it’s all Brian can think about, of marking Justin with his come, of feeling his skin, slick with it, as he rubs it in, of tasting himself on Justin, then letting Justin taste himself on Brian’s tongue-

Brian moans and Justin is shuddering, making little, hungry gasping noises. Brian can feel his dick, half-hard again and no doubt over-sensitised as hell. But it’s like they’ve traded positions, Brian now desperate to come and Justin wanting nothing more than to feel Brian fly off the edge.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Justin gasps. “Give it to me, wanna feel it-”

So Brian does, gives it to him in a series of deep, shuddering groans as he paints Justin’s stomach, his dick, turns everything wet and hot between them.

Brian collapses into the mess, barely coherent. His ribs are protesting and his arm’s on fire, but Justin is wrapped around him, covering him in kisses.

“If the sex gets anymore amazing I don’t think we’ll survive it,” Justin says, still breathless.

Brian nuzzles into him.

“I’ll take the risk.”

*

Lindsay calls him the next day at Kinnetik, trying to wheedle him into some kind of family-meeting with Mel and Michael. 

Fuck that. 

The last thing he needs when he has to force his so-called permission out is Mel looming over him. He doesn’t want her thanks, doesn’t want her comments - doesn’t want any of it.

So he tells Lindsay he’ll stop by Saturday morning, making it clear that she best make sure her hellhound wife is elsewhere when he does. It’s true that he’s been getting along a little better with Mel in general, but that doesn’t mean that he’s keen on having her around for this.

Thankfully, Lindsay respects his wishes and when Brian arrives at their house the next morning it’s just her and Gus, who immediately runs into his arms with his usual war cry of Daddy!

“Hey, Sonny Boy,” Brian says, briefly twirling him around the narrow hallway.

Gus giggles happily and Brian does his best to swallow the lump in his throat, pressing a kiss to Gus’ soft cheek, before carefully setting him back down.

“Mel took JR for a visit to Debbie’s,” Lindsay says as she leads the way to the living room. “Coffee?”

“Sure,” Brian says, slightly distracted as Gus simultaneously bombards him with news about kindergarten and all the stuff he’s learned.

Lindsay leaves them to it, both of them knowing from experience that it’s best to just let Gus get it all out. He usually gets bored soon enough, not to mention the fact that he’s recently learned to read the clock and now knows exactly when his morning cartoons are on.

“Daddy, look!” Gus says, shoving an already slightly crinkled drawing at him with both hands.

Brian accepts it, turning it the right way round as he asks, “And what have we here?”

There’s two stick figures, slightly more sophisticated than the last attempt - no doubt Lindsay and Justin’s tutelage taking root. One of the stick figures has a few strings of brown hair framing it’s head - a fairly decent depiction of Brian’s current hairstyle. Stick-Brian is holding the hand of a figure that is clearly meant to be Stick-Justin, their height difference way exaggerated - something Brian has every intention to rib Justin with.

Next to Brian is a wonky rendition of what he assumes is the ‘Vette, while Justin has an oversized paintbrush in his free hand and a disproportioned easel placed at his side.

“I drew it!” Gus says proudly. “For you ‘nd Jus!”

“Oh?”

“Ms Johnson said to draw our parents, so I made two drawings!” Gus explains solemnly. “She was a bit ‘fused but I ‘xplained it to her - most people only have two parents, a mommy and a daddy. But I have two mommies and two daddies. Just like Jenny Becca! Mom and Mommy put theirs on the fridge.” Gus helpfully points in the direction of the kitchen, but Brian is too busy blinking the burning sensation from his eyes. “Will you put it on your fridge, too?”

“Of course, Sonny Boy,” Brian croaks, then hastily clears his throat. He forces a watery smile. “As soon as I get home.”

Thankfully, Gus is too excited about showing Brian the other drawings he’s done, then gets distracted telling him about the various cartoons he’s been watching. That is, until he catches sight of the digital clock on the DVD player and promptly launches himself across the room to dive for the remote.

Kissing the top of Gus’ head, Brian gets up and retreats with Lindsay to the kitchen. She refills his coffee and they end up leaning against the counter side by side.

Neither of them says anything for a while, the silence between them filled with the distant sound of the TV and Gus’ occasional exclamation or gleeful laughter.

Brian is looking at Gus’ drawing again, lying on the counter between him and Lindsay. He then seeks the corresponding one Gus had mentioned and, as promised, finds it pinned to the fridge with a cutesy animal magnet. He’s briefly amused that Mel somehow ended up with less hair than Brian himself - though it’s not necessarily untrue right now.

Brian puts his cup down, not looking up from the murky depths as he finally breaks the silence.

“He’s not the only one I’m gonna be losing.”

“Oh, Brian,” Lindsay says, casting her own cup aside and stepping close to hug him. Brian returns it, letting himself soak up the comfort for a few, long moments. “You’re not losing us. We’re only a phone call, a flight away.”

Brian folds his lips into his mouth, staring sightlessly at the munchers’ ugly tiles and even uglier cabinets.

“I want another chance,” Brian hears himself say softly, sounding lost even to his own ears. Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, the fucking irony. “I want him to know who I am.”

Lindsay holds him a little tighter, strokes his head in a painfully maternal way. She’s always been like that, probably one of the reasons Brian had been drawn to her in the first place. There’d always been a distinct lack of comfort in his life, especially in those early days.

“He will,” Lindsay says gently. “But, you know, us staying here won’t make up for lost opportunities.”

Fuck, but that hurt.

Brian blinks, sucks in a shaky breath. Then another, until his chest feels a little less like it might cave in on him.

He draws back, needing some distance, and rubs at his lips.

“I want a weekend visit every other month,” Brian says firmly. “And no matter what great, lesbianic plans you and Melanie have for the summer, me and Justin get him for half of it. No exceptions.”

Lindsay smiles at him.

“Deal. And we’re still gonna do Christmas at Debbie’s every year. There’s no way we can get out of that.” She raises a playful finger at him. “So you better be there.”

Brian rolls his eyes, but he can feel himself smiling back.

“We’ll be there.”

*

After that lesbianic outpouring of emotion, they move from the kitchen to the dining room table, bringing even more coffee. Lindsay puts her feet up on the chair next to her and Brian leans back, his cast resting on the table in front of him. The chairs in this house leave much to be desired and his back is aching like hell, but if they moved any closer to the TV they wouldn’t be able to hear each other properly.

Brian thinks it’s as good a time as any to finally bring it up. He wants to feel Lindsay out, get a better grip on the situation before he decides his next move.

“So, I saw that Art Forum article about Justin’s show.”

Some of the dread is still there, the initial numbness lingering just beneath the surface, but Brian pushes it all aside. Fuck that. That’s not how it’s going to be, not this time.

“You did?” Lindsay says, tearing him from his thoughts. “I didn’t think he’d show it to you.”

Brian takes a strategic sip of coffee.

“He didn’t. I saw the magazine in his studio.”

Lindsay shifts, her feet sliding off the chair as she chooses to pull them underneath her instead. It makes her look a little taller and Brian can tell that she’s uneasy. He knows that expression, has seen it a million times before.

Lindsay is about to tell him something she thinks he needs to hear, while knowing that it’s the last thing he wants to hear.

“I’m glad you brought it up, actually.” She’s fidgeting with her coffee cup. “I’m really worried he’s going to let this opportunity pass him by. I tried talking to him about it, but he either doesn’t understand what a big deal this is, or he’s choosing to ignore it. Do you know what he said to me? He said that New York isn’t the chance of a lifetime, you are.”

Despite himself, a rush of warmth slams into him, suffusing every inch of his body. He really hopes none of it is showing on his face. He must’ve failed because Lindsay suddenly looks even more uncomfortable, giving him that poor Brian look that makes Brian want to fucking scream.

She leans forward, almost reaching across the table for his hand, but wisely thinks better of it when Brian glares her down.

“Look, I know things must be going really well between the two of you and I’m happier than I can say, but I honestly think you should talk to him.”

Brian decides to stick to a tactic that he’s applied to Mikey plenty of times. Maximum gain of information, minimum revelation of his own state of mind.

“Oh?” he says, raising his brows. “And tell him what exactly?”

“The same things you told him when you encouraged him to go to LA. That he’d be making a huge mistake passing up this chance.” Brian feels vaguely ill at the mention of LA and Lindsay must pick up on it, because she quickly goes on. “You’ve both been through so much. I have no doubt that you can get through this as well. You’ll find a way to make it work, I know you will.”

Brian takes a deep breath and forces himself away from the edge of the abyss of doom and fucking gloom he’s been toeing since he first saw that damned Art Forum article. He thinks instead of Mikey’s words, of the intimate closeness he’s had with Justin ever since he finally let him in completely.

He doesn’t reply, but when he raises his lukewarm coffee to his lips, there’s a small smile pressing against the rim of the cup.

Not everything has to be a sacrifice.

*

Brian chooses and discards a dozen different ways how best to bring it up. Mostly, the problem is purely in his own, cemented inability to communicate like a normal fucking person.

In the end, he decides that the best way to ease into it is by using the good, old fail-safe - sex. And considering that he’s managed to work himself up more than he’d like to admit over the whole fucking thing, he’s definitely ready to relieve some tension.

Which is why he ambushes Justin right after his evening shower and unceremoniously drags him straight to bed. Justin laughs at him, but doesn’t protest - very much the opposite, in fact.

“I’ve had an emotional conversation today,” Brian declares as he drags Justin on top of him. With one of his arms still out of commission, it’s either that or he’d have to use his good arm to brace himself and then lose the option to run his hand all over Justin’s addictive, soft skin. “With a lesbian. I need you to make sure everything’s still in working order.”

Justin doesn’t immediately take the bait, but Brian expected as much.

Instead, he tenderly brushes Brian’s hair from his forehead and gives him a slightly somber look.

“Did you talk to her about Canada?” he asks quietly.

Brian follows Justin’s spine with his fingers and nuzzles at his jaw. It’s a great way to avoid Justin’s soulful eyes, without making it seem as though he’s dodging the subject entirely.

“We worked out some ground rules.”

Justin caresses his cheek, first with his fingers, then his lips.

“Good.” He kisses Brian’s jaw. “You okay?”

It’s almost too quiet and Brian knows this tactic. It’s something Justin developed in the year after the bashing, when everything had been brittle and fucked up. It’s Justin’s way of letting himself ask, while still giving Brian the option to ignore it. If it’s almost inaudible, Brian can pretend he hadn’t heard it, instead of outright rebuffing Justin’s concern.

Brian cups Justin’s shoulder blade while he lets the familiar wave of self-loathing wash over him. There’s a lot of things he still has to make up for. And, while daunting as fuck, it’s something Brian finally feels ready to tackle.

“I will be.”

Justin gives him a tentative smile, then leans down to kiss him.

Brian pulls him impossibly closer, seeking the warm comfort of his mouth with his tongue. It almost makes him forget his plans for a moment.

Justin makes a small sound and grinds against him, rubbing their hard dicks together between their bodies.

Brian muffles a gasp by pushing his tongue deeper into Justin’s mouth, his good hand grabbing hold of Justin’s asscheek. He arches against him, pulling Justin into their next, slow grind, then wraps one of his legs around him to improve the angle.

“You do know,” Justin whispers heatedly between kisses. “That the blowjob rule only applies to our emotional conversations.”

Brian nips at Justin’s bottom lip, his fingers sliding teasingly along Justin’s crack. Justin moans and pushes back against him. Brian obliges him despite the awkwardness of having to use his left hand. He knows Justin must be feeling deprived, especially considering the amount of attention Brian usually pays his ass.

But Brian is still feeling a little off-kilter and Justin must be able to sense it, because he hasn’t said anything about Brian’s over-cautiousness. As always, he’s displaying the patience of a saint where it comes to Brian and his fuckload of issues.

“Which is why I won’t be the only one getting blown,” Brian murmurs. “Turn over. Put your mouth on my dick. And if you’re good, I’ll return the favour.”

Justin moans and scrambles to comply, turning around so he can throw one of his legs over Brian, kneeling above him as he dives down for his dick.

Brian can’t help the throaty groan and instinctive jerk of his hips as Justin’s mouth sinks down on him. Grabbing Justin’s hip, Brian pulls him and his bobbing hard dick closer, catching the tip with his tongue.

The vibration of Justin’s moan shoots across his nerve-endings and Brian closes his eyes, letting Justin feel his answering moan as he pulls him deeper into his mouth.

He sucks softly, grazes the tips of his fingers along Justin’s inner thigh and feels the muscles jumping, feels him tremble as his hips stutter.

Brian’s always liked doing this, liked the challenge of fighting for focus even as his body demands he switch off his brain and simply feel. He likes how sloppy it can get, how artless, neither participant really caring as they’re caught in a strange cycle of hazy pleasure and determination.

Justin runs his tongue along Brian’s dick, hot and slow, all the way to the head, then expertly teases the tip of it against his slit. Brian falters, shudders, then abruptly re-focuses and pulls Justin closer.

Brian pulls his mouth free, lets his hand take over for the moment it takes to catch his breath, then leans in to run his tongue across his own fingers.

Whimpers muffled around Brian’s dick, Justin pushes into his palm and Brian lets him for the time it takes to get his fingers good and wet.

Satisfied, he moves them away just as he swallows Justin down once more, slick fingers now tracing a familiar path along Justin’s crack.

It’s not the best of lube, but it does the job well enough. Brian doesn’t go in deep, doesn’t attempt to fumble around inside Justin without proper lube and only his clumsy left hand. Instead, he chooses to concentrate on the sensitive nerve endings along the rim and giving just a hint of penetration by plunging two fingers in to the first knuckle every now and then while continuing the steady, rhythmic suction around Justin’s dick.

Brian’s own slips free of Justin’s mouth and Brian knows he’s starting to lose it.

“Fuck,” Justin gasps, burying his face in Brian’s groin and muffling a burst of humming moans.

He mouths at Brian’s balls, the vibration and uncoordinated licking enough to set Brian’s skin on fire. One of Justin’s hands is still cradling Brian’s dick, his movements absentminded even as he rubs his face all over Brian’s cock and balls, no doubt smearing pre-come all over his skin.

The thought alone is enough to drive Brian crazy and he feels himself leaking even more. He swallows his groan along with Justin’s dick. He can feel Justin’s thighs trembling, can feel that he’s fighting not to choke him as his hips hitch back and forth between Brian’s mouth and fingers. 

“Fuck yes, ah-” Justin digs his fingers into Brian’s thigh, turns his head and moans, “Brian, Brian, fuck, please don't-”

Stop, Brian fills in, and doesn’t. Dipping his fingers just that little bit deeper, Brian pulls Justin’s hips towards his mouth and swallows again, once, twice-

Justin shudders, all but convulsing on top of him as he claws at Brian’s legs and cries out his orgasm against his skin. Brian clutches him close, so turned on that he thinks he might spontaneously combust at any moment.

He feels Justin’s panting mouth against the tip of his wet dick, his tongue attacking the slit and making Brian tremble and surge up. Clearly too out of breath to properly blow him, Justin instead uses his hand, while his tongue keeps lapping at the now steady stream of pre-come. 

Brian is so fucking close. Mouth finally free, he lets his head drop back against the pillows, his hips jerking wildly as he drives his dick harder into Justin’s expert grip.

“That’s it, c’mon,” Justin murmurs, tonguing his slit again, then his non-plastic ball.

“Fuck, Justin,” Brian’s gasp ends in a throaty, drawn out moan and the knowledge that he’s about a second away from shooting all over Justin’s face is what ends up getting him there.

*

“Your ribs- Are you- Did I-” Justin mumbles from somewhere between the bedding and Brian’s skin, making as if to move off him.

Brian stops him, stroking soothingly along his lower back to make him settle back down.

“’s fine.”

Justin sighs. “Fuck, I think I need another shower.”

Brian hums noncommittally, petting Justin’s asscheek and nuzzling the leg closest to him. He plants a line of small kisses along the back of Justin’s thigh and feels Justin sigh, his own lips smudging answering kisses just a little off centre of Brian’s right knee. He can feel Justin absently playing with the hair there, caressing without tugging.

Sated, comfortable, and still slightly high from his orgasm, Brian decides this is the perfect time. He considers the fact that his brain hasn’t entirely come back online yet a bonus.

“Lindsay said she talked to you about New York.”

Unfortunately, it seems that even the orgasm-high isn’t enough to keep Justin’s guard down, because the moment the words are out of Brian’s mouth, he can feel Justin’s whole body tense up. Trying to put him at ease, Brian presses another lingering kiss to his thigh, but Justin shifts away.

He’s careful not to hurt Brian’s ribs or kick him in the face as he moves off him. Brian sighs and sits up. There goes that idea.

Justin’s face is set, his jaw tight.

“Clearly it was too much to ask to keep her out of my business. Of course she had to run straight to you with this shit.”

Brian reaches for his hand, feels it tremble slightly against in his grip. He rubs at it soothingly.

“She’s worried you’re wasting a great opportunity.”

Justin gives him a heated look. “I’m not wasting anything! I can paint anywhere. And I already told her all that.”

Brian looks at him, calm and steady. “And that’s really all there is to it?”

Justin doesn’t answer.

“Justin,” Brian says, but what he means is Talk to me.

Justin sighs, his eyes anywhere but on Brian himself. Brian gently grabs his chin, ducking his own head slightly to catch his gaze.

“Fine,” Justin says, freeing himself from Brian’s grip, eyes dropping to the bed once more. “I love Pittsburgh, I do. And I love our family, but-”

He breaks off again and Brian waits for a moment, but when he doesn’t resume, he prompts, “But?”

“But I enjoyed living somewhere else. I like the idea of spending some time away, living in different places. I don’t think I’d want to move away for good, but…a couple years, maybe five - fuck, I don’t know.” Justin finally looks up, then, his face determined. “But it’s not something I need - you are. If I have to choose- well, it’s no choice at all.”

“What if you don’t have to choose?”

Brian can tell he’s worded it poorly by the instant panic on Justin’s face. Leaning in quickly, Brian presses a reassuring kiss to his lips, then another one, before resting their foreheads together.

“Not like that,” he says quietly, then pulls back to look at Justin properly. “I meant, what if I come with you?”

And Justin couldn’t look more floored if the bed had literally evaporated beneath him.

“You want to move to New York with me?”

It’s barely more than a rush of breath, the words all running together in a jumble. Brian smiles a little, as amused as he is endeared.

“You know,” he says conversationally. “It’s always been my dream to move to New York.”

“But what about Kinnetik, the club-”

“Theodore has been handling both without me just fine these past weeks. He also told me we haven’t made too much of a loss, despite the repairs. And with the new clients we’ve signed on-” Brian trails off with a small shrug. “I’d like to open another branch, and what better place to do that than New York? And with the munchers fucking off to Canada, it’s not like I have much keeping me here, have I?”

Justin is still looking dazed. “You’re serious?”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Brian asks, slightly belying his words with a tongue-in-cheek grin. “Theodore will bitch at me about the risks, but I know I can do it.” He sobers, cupping Justin’s cheek. “I want to do it. Though I’ll have to warn you, you might have to pitch in a little at the beginning.”

Justin throws his arms around him, hugging him tight enough to squeeze the air from his lungs. His next words come out muffled from how tightly he’s pressing his face into Brian’s neck.

“Of course, anything.”

Brian holds him, smoothing a palm along his spine.

“How fortunate we haven’t decided on a new place yet.” He kisses Justin’s shoulder. “You’ll have to tell Mother Taylor to widen her search a bit.”

Justin laughs a little, though Brian can tell he’s fighting not to cry all over him. His little princess, always pretending how tough he is, when really he’s ready to bawl as soon as the wind changes direction. 

Brian loves him so much it fucking hurts.

Chapter Text

The cast finally comes off on Monday.

Unfortunately, a stupid brace comes straight on in its stead, but considering that his bare arm feels a lot like a cooked noodle - and a painful one at that - Brian is actually glad for the support. And at least he won’t have to wear that thing in bed, thank fuck.

He lets Justin take the few sheets worth of instructions on exercises the doctors force their way. Brian already knows Justin’s going to ride his ass about them - and not in any kind of positive, life-affirming way. 

Arm still aching and wobbly, Brian lets Justin drive.

“I’m gonna tell my mom,” Justin says when he stops in front of Kinnetik.

He looks a little on edge, but also excited at the same time.

Brian slings an arm around his neck and pulls him close for a kiss. Justin makes that small, needy noise he always does when Brian kisses him. The one that always makes Brian want to just keep kissing him and kissing him until they both forget what air is.

Finally drawing back, Brian catches Justin’s hand, pulling it to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on his inner wrist, at the very edge of the cowry shell bracelet. Brian doesn’t tell him Good luck. He doesn’t tell him I love you, either, but he knows Justin hears both anyway.

*

Brian decides there really is no point in waiting to break the news, and the sooner he gets it out there, the sooner they can start getting everything on track.

So he calls Ted and Cynthia to his office first thing, making them sit and plying them with coffee before explaining his decision.

As expected, they both stare at him, completely floored.

“You can’t be serious, Bri,” Ted is the first to speak.

Brian just sighs, exasperated. He really wishes people would stop fucking saying that.

“You want us to take over here? What about the club?” Cynthia asks.

“Things are going to settle down after the reopening. And you know Alonzo does a decent job of running things day-to-day, the rest is nothing that my extremely competent CFO can’t manage.”

Brian gives a saccharine smile and Ted snorts. 

“Don’t think you can butter me up enough for me not tell you that I think you’re out of your mind.”

“I don’t know,” Cynthia jumps in. “We have a few existing clients in New York. If we start small…”

Brian’s smile widens. “Exactly. Thank you, Cynthia. I’ll set up so I can work remotely, scout out some new clients, have a look around for a small office space…”

“Our Pittsburgh based clients won’t be pleased,” Ted warns.

“They’ll get used to it,” Brian dismisses, then rolls his eyes when he sees Ted still looking apprehensive. “Relax, Theodore, I’m not moving to Mars. It’ll be a bit of back and forth at first, but you don’t honestly doubt that we can pull this off?”

Ted lets out a breath and relaxes slightly. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

Cynthia nods, grinning like a shark.

Brian smirks. “Ding, ding! Right answer!”

“We’ll have to put together a realistic schedule, a budget - you realise you won’t just be able to drop it all right now and ride into the sunset?” Ted rattles off.

Brian can practically see the gears kicking into overdrive in his brain.

“Were you listening to me? I just said that I know there’ll be a lot of ping-pong.”

Ted sighs, wearing his most heartfelt woe-is-me expression. “I guess we have our work cut out for us.”

“Lighten up, Theodore,” Brian says, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”

They get to their feet and Cynthia reaches out to pat Brian’s good arm.

“You’ll be brilliant as always, boss,” she says, eyes twinkling.

At least Brian knows she’ll enjoy this new venture as much as him. Cynthia has always appreciated a bit of a thrill, or she wouldn’t have made the leap into uncertainty with Brian in the first place after Vance fired him.

They walk to the door and Ted opens it, waving Cynthia through, then pauses in the doorway.

He looks at Brian for a moment and Brian raises his eyebrows at him.

“Despite fear of dismemberment,” Ted says. “I just wanted to tell you - I’ll miss you.”

And what the fuck is Brian supposed to say to that?

But, thankfully, he doesn’t have to say anything, because Ted is already slipping out the door. Though as he leaves, Brian can see that he’s smiling.

*

Tentative plans laid out and the Babylon reopening on the horizon, Brian barely surfaces enough to breathe for the next few hours. At noon, head pounding and arm aching something fierce, Brian stops long enough to pop some painkillers and check his phone.

He loosens the brace, absently massaging his arm, and hits #1 on his speed dial.

“Hey,” Justin answers on the second ring, for once apparently having remembered the purpose of a cell.

“You up for Woody’s tonight? Michael texted that he and the fagtag bunch of misfits are meeting up.”

Justin laughs. “Sure. Pick you up at six?”

“Make it six thirty.”

“Brian…”

“I promise I’ll take it easy and I’ll come in late tomorrow. Satisfied?”

Justin sighs.

“It’s not like I can stop you.” There’s a short pause. “Are we gonna tell them?”

Brian doesn’t need to ask what he’s talking about. He shrugs, which, bad idea as it sends a sharp pain all the way to his fingertips.

“Might as well get it over with.”

“Alright, let’s do it.”

Brian smiles, involuntary.

“Later.”

“Later.”

*

Things don’t go exactly according to plan, mostly because Michael re-routes them last minute to catch dinner at the diner first. And while Brian isn’t thrilled at the prospect of an equally excited and dismayed Debbie, he supposes they might as well include her. Otherwise they’d never hear the end about not having told her personally.

“New York?!” she shrieks predictably.

Brian rolls his eyes, wiping his fingers on a napkin after finishing his avocado sandwich - the diner’s latest attempt at spicing up the menu. Justin smiles sunnily at her, his plate long since cleared of the burger and fries that had come with it.

“Lindsay says it’s a great opportunity. She thinks that the review of my show could get me a foot in the door. She’s gonna put together a list of contacts, help me find an agent, that kind of thing.”

Just looking at the light in Justin’s eyes, at the extra wattage to his famous smile - it calms something deep within Brian. It’s that feeling that always settles over him when he knows he’s made the right decision.

Content, he drapes his arm around Justin, taking him with him as he leans back against the wall. Justin fits easily against him, one of his hands finding Brian’s thigh beneath the table and giving it a small squeeze.

“What does you mother have to say about all this?” Debbie asks.

Justin huffs a laugh. “Seeing as Brian’s coming along, she’s not too worried. She knows there’s no way I’ll end up living in some kind of rat-infested drug den.”

“Well, at least she’s right about the rats,” Emmett mutters not-so-quietly.

And while in the past that might’ve elicited a round of chuckles, it falls a little flat now that, ironically, Emmett is the only one who hasn’t heard of Brian’s magical makeover yet.

“But what about Kinnetik?” Michael asks, thankfully steering the conversation away from a possible minefield.

“I’ve been meaning to expand,” Brian says airily. “And what better place than New York?”

“Looks like all your dreams are coming true,” Michael says. 

And while his tone is slightly rueful, his smile seems genuine enough. Brian smiles back, relieved that there’s apparently no new drama brewing on the horizon. He’s really not sure if he’d have been able to take another blow-up with Mikey, especially not after finally having resuscitated their friendship.

Debbie sighs, leaning over the back of the booth to pinch Justin’s cheek.

“Well, I can’t say I won’t miss you - and that goes for you too, asshole,” the last bit is directed at Brian, who’s not fast enough to avoid a gentle smack against the back of his head. “But I’m happy for you both. Just remember that coming home for Christmas isn’t optional!”

Brian rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest. Justin grins at him.

“You better invite us over as soon as you’ve got your new Den of Iniquity all ready,” Emmett jumps in. “And you’ll have to let me organise a going-away party!”

“Fuck, no,” Brian interjects immediately. 

He’s not going to be their excuse to indulge in melodrama.

“But, Brian! We don’t even know when we’ll see either of you again!”

“First, we’re not gone yet,” Brian intones. “Second, even when we are, I promise your tears won’t have time to dry before I’m back. This’ll still be Kinnetik’s headquarters.”

“God, I don’t envy you all that back and forth,” Michael says. “Sounds exhausting!”

Brian glances at Justin, catching his eye. They exchange a smile.

“It’ll be worth it.”

Beneath the table, Justin’s fingers curl against his thigh. Brian drops his free hand, and covers them with his own.

*

Brian wishes he could say that the elation carries him all the way through the rest of the week, but unfortunately life has a way to piss in your cereal when you least need it.

In the three days since the cast came off, Brian’s brain has been determined to demand he get back to work properly. There’s about a million fucking things that need doing, first and foremost having everything ready for the reopening of Babylon this weekend.

Truthfully, Brian is stressed to all hell and the mounting pressure has been wrecking havoc on his still recovering body. Nevertheless, the fucking club won’t reopen itself and as much as he trusts Ted, he’s spent more than enough time uselessly convalescing on the sidelines.

And considering that he’s planning a move and an expansion, Brian can’t afford to take things easy any longer.

“Brian? You alright?”

It takes a moment for Brian to realise Ted has stopped talking and is waiting for a response. He pinches the bridge of his nose, then winces when it sends a knife of pain up his right arm. He’s been severely slacking with his exercises and his fingers still feel stiff and clumsy.

“I’m fine,” Brian snaps.

He’s full of shit and they both know it. He’s been popping painkillers like candy all day and all that’s done is make him feel like barfing.

Brian knows very well that he’s been seriously overdoing it. He and Ted left the office just shy of midnight last night. And this morning, Brian sneaked out like a fucking thief at the asscrack of dawn, trying not to wake Justin and get another earful about pushing himself.

“Listen,” Ted says, lowering his voice with the awareness he’s treading on shaky ground. “I know it’s not ideal, but we could push the Babylon reopening to next week. After the trouble with the plumbing, and the new light fixtures, and considering we’re still waiting for the delivery of the new furniture-”

“We’re not postponing shit,” Brian says sharply. “We put the ads out over a week ago. I’m not gonna make myself look like a fucking amateur and postpone last minute because of a bunch of incompetent fuckwads.”

Ted looks pinched, but thankfully doesn’t argue.

“Do you want me to call the furniture people again?”

“No, I’ll do it. And if they want full payment they’d better deliver by tomorrow afternoon or I’ll make sure they’ll never sell another fucking piece of cheapass leather imitation furniture for the rest of their pathetic lives.”

“Alright,” Ted says, clearly eager to flee the danger zone. “You want me to check in with the art department about the new Remson campaign?”

“I’ll handle it. I need you to drive over to the club and light a fire under the contractors’ asses.”

“You got it.”

But Brian’s barely listening, his mind already on the next item on his to-do list.

“Cynthia,” he says into the phone. “Can you put me through to those furniture assholes, please? Thanks.”

*

He works through his lunch break. But by three, his headache has morphed into a migraine and he’s been handling his mouse with his left hand because the fingers of his right have cramped up and refused to work. For the first time, Brian gets a true taste of what it must be like for Justin. 

The thought only ends up making him even more angry and frustrated.

But he knows there’s no way he can get away with taking anymore painkiller today, so he reluctantly packs up. Justin has the ‘Vette today, so Brian calls his driver, grateful that he can simply lean back and rest his eyes on the way home.

As expected, the loft is deserted. There’s a sticky note on the breakfast bar in Justin’s loopy handwriting, but Brian doesn’t even try reading it. By this point, his eyes are refusing to focus and anything brighter than pitch darkness spears straight into his brain like a dart.

Not even managing to fully undress, Brian toes off his shoes and collapses onto the bed in his shirt and slacks, loosened tie still around his neck. He pulls a pillow over his face and sighs when blissful darkness eases the pounding behind his eyes.

*

He wakes up two hours later, the migraine gone, but his arm screaming at him at having been forgotten in the brace. He takes it off and grits his teeth while attempting to finally do some of the prescribed exercises.

Brian feels restless - equal parts horny and cranky as fuck. Justin still hasn’t returned and for some reason that pisses him off even more.

Shucking off the rest of his clothes, he takes a boiling hot shower, hoping to ease some of his tension and lingering aches. He thinks about jerking off, but he’s too frustrated to do even that.

Dried and dressed, Brian checks his emails, finding an update from Ted about the construction work. Looks like they tried to sell him the same bullshit as always - doing their best, can’t guarantee, bla fucking bla. Ted does end the email on a positive note, but Brian isn’t sure whether that’s due to genuine confidence or simply a lame attempt at reassurance.

Fuck, he needs a drink.

Roughly rubbing a hand across his face, Brian contemplates getting out his emergency stash of cigarettes when the front door slides open.

“Hey,” Justin says, giving him a bright smile.

Of course that ends up pissing Brian off, too. 

“The fuck have you been?”

Justin’s smile dims into a frown and Brian cringes inwardly. He really fucking hates himself sometimes.

Anyone else would’ve probably told Brian to fuck off, but Justin has years of testy Kinney mood swings under his belt. He grabs the sticky note off the breakfast bar and holds it up, raising his eyebrows at Brian in silent challenge.

“I guess you’d know if you’d actually bothered to read my note.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t know we’d suddenly slipped into muncherland,” Brian shoots back caustically. He has absolutely no fucking clue where any of this is coming from. “I’ll be sure to get us some heart-shaped fridge magnets to go with it.”

Justin slowly puts down the note, then shrugs out of his jacket. He places it over one of the bar stools, then leans back against the bar and folds his arms.

“I had lunch with one of Lindsay’s contacts about getting an agent. Then dinner with my mom. She’s found some potential apartments for us to check out. Want to tell me what’s going on, now?”

And fuck, how can he just stand there and take Brian’s shit? How can he be so fucking reasonable while Brian is being a huge, irrational asshole?

“Is this the part where I tell you all about my long, tiring day and you offer me bullshit platitudes and a cuddle?”

Justin gives him a level look.

“If that’s what you need,” he says calmly.

What I need, Brian wants to scream. Is a hit and a hard fuck!

For some weird, inconceivable reason, it’s Justin’s sereneness that does it. Maybe if he’d put Brian in his place, gone along with Brian’s efforts to pick a fight-

Not that Brian has any fucking clue why he’s spoiling for one. All he knows is that he’s like a pressure valve that just hit critical. He feels caged and suffocated, the walls closing in around him with alarming speed.

And he wants Justin, needs Justin, but the thought of simply grabbing him and using him makes him feel sick.

He doesn’t want to hurt Justin, but he knows he will, knows he’s doing so right now.

Wordlessly, he snatches the keys Justin just dropped on the counter and heads for the door. He needs to get out, and get out now, before he says or does something he’ll bitterly regret.

“Brian.” Justin sounds alarmed now, but Brian ignores him as he yanks the door open with his left hand. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Brian says and slams the door shut on Justin’s wide-eyed face, hoping that if he does it fast enough he won’t see the hurt surfacing.

He fails.

*

Brian parks across the street from Woody’s and cuts the engine. He makes no move to exit, simply sits there with the warmth slowly fading away, staring at the way his shaking hands grip the steering wheel.

His breathing is still weird and he tries to force it under control; heartbeat frantic in his chest, like a pinned butterfly.

Okay, so he’s freaking out. Big fucking surprise.

After all, everything has been going so well. He’s been so fucking happy, almost blissfully content.

Apart from the sucker punch of Gus being taken away to Toronto with the munchers, everything is exactly how he wants it. And even that has been solved to the best of his abilities.

So, what?

He’s stressed, emotional and…fucking terrified.

Because all the other times he’s been happy? And by that he means genuinely fucking happy, it hadn’t been allowed to last. Either someone else had fucked it up, or he’d fucked it up for himself.

Bringing back home a drawing his teacher had praised him for? Good ol’ dad, drunk out of his fucking mind, ripping it to shreds as he shouts about fairies, bourbon-tinged spit raining across Brian’s tear-streaked face.

Found his first true friend? Live with the knowledge that he’s hurting him simply by existing, that he can never be what Mikey wanted him to be.

First sexual experience? Being used and tossed aside - and isn’t that the fucking irony of the century.

Falling in love for the first time? Have it smashed to pieces with a baseball bat.

First relationship? Have a fucking fiddler barge in and serenade it straight to hell.

The list goes on, but Brian is already maudling enough. Fuck, he needs a drink.

He finally turns his head to look at the entrance across the street. It’s a regular Thursday night, busy but not terribly crowded. 

Woody’s has always been the place to be, the fact that it opens early and lacks a dance floor somehow giving it an air of innocuousness. After all, it’s not a real night out if you’re getting drunk around a pool table instead of painted in laser lights.

Lost in thought, it takes Brian far too fucking long to realise that someone is staring back at him. 

Eyes sharpening, Brian automatically takes in the guy who’s so blatantly cruising him from across the street. Dark and tall with some pronounced muscle definition, most likely a top gagging for a dick up the ass - just the way he likes them.

It’d be so fucking easy, just a single nod and Brian could have him in the come-stained alley that functions as Woody’s backroom, when the toilets are either too crowded or too far away. He could take him against the dirty brick wall and for a few, glorious seconds purge himself of all thought and emotion.

And then what?

Then he’d scurry out of the dark like a sewer rat, like an addict who’s just had a fix, and feel like utter fucking shit, that’s what.

What the fuck am I doing?

He’s managed two months now, sober and with his dick restrained - granted some of that was due to a bomb and a hospital stay, but still. He’s come this far and here he is, after just a few weeks of finally having Justin back. 

After all that fucking torture of losing him, and trying to be better - here he is trying to fucking self-sabotage himself.

Tasting bitter bile and utterly disgusted with himself, Brian wrenches the key in the ignition and slams the car into drive, before peeling away from the curb with screeching tires.

*

To his credit, Ted only looks surprised for a moment.

Brian’s so fucking tired.

“Can I crash here tonight?” he asks.

Ted simply stands aside to let him in and when Brian brushes past him, he feels a brief, gentle squeeze on his shoulder.

*

It’s barely dawn when Brian silently creeps back into the loft. Early morning light shades the stairs to the bedroom beneath his socked feet.

He pauses by the bed, looking down at Justin’s furrowed brow. He looks tired and upset even in his sleep, curled up on Brian’s side of the bed and hugging Brian’s pillow.

Brian thinks of stripping, of slipping beneath the sheets and soaking up Justin’s warmth. But even though he’s used his nakedness as armour before, right now the thought of being bare and exposed is too much.

Sighing softly, Brian carefully places a knee on the mattress and gently tugs the pillow free. Justin’s frown deepens and he shifts restlessly. Brian slides in beside him, wrapping an arm around him and bending down to press a lingering kiss to the clothed shoulder closest to him. By the time Brian has moved upwards and repeated the gesture, this time kissing Justin’s jaw, then his cheek, Justin is blinking at him blearily.

“Brian,” he murmurs, reaching for him.

He looks young and impossibly vulnerable, like the boy that had once struggled to walk down the street and melted into the safety of his arms.

Brian presses his face into Justin’s neck, hiding like the coward he is and leeching comfort from him even as he tries his best to give some of his own. He feels Justin’s lips in his hair, his fingers curling tightly into Brian’s t-shirt.

“Are you alright?”

Brian sucks in a deep breath, then nods.

“I didn’t-” He clears his throat, burning with he need to let Justin know, but feeling like a fucking fool as the words stick in his throat. “I was with Ted.”

Justin sinks his fingers into Brian’s hair, nails grazing gently at sensitive follicles.

“I know. He texted me.”

I’m sorry, Brian wants to say, but those words stick even harder, so he stays quiet and simply lets himself be petted for a while. 

It’s soothing, almost hypnotic, Justin’s familiar scent calming him on some deep, fundamental level.

Justin doesn’t press him and Brian just keeps breathing, his hands seeking Justin’s warm skin, pressing his palms to the silky warmth, pushing up Justin’s t-shirt in the process. It’s one of Brian’s own and the implication makes Brian’s chest ache.

Somehow, it shakes the words loose and they come tumbling out.

“I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Like I wanted to crawl out of my skin.”

Justin’s breath his warm as he releases it from his lungs and Brian likes the way he can feel his chest move against his own, the feel of Justin’s soft skin beneath his still lazily stroking hands.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Justin asks quietly.

Brian’s hands halt abruptly and he suddenly needs to see Justin’s face, to have Justin see his. He pulls back, enough to have their eyes meet, and if Brian thought he’s feeling raw it’s nothing on the way Justin is looking at him right now.

“Fuck no, that’s not it.”

And it’s not. It’s the furthest fucking thing from Brian’s mind.

Justin releases another slow breath, but this time Brian can feel the tension bleeding out of him. He resumes the slow caressing of Justin’s back, feeling him press into it with another sigh.

He cups Brian’s jaw, cradling it between gentle palms.

“Then what?” Justin asks. “What is it?”

Brian covers one of Justin’s hands with his own, turns his head to press his lips against it. He lets out a sigh of his own.

“I’ve just been so fucking stressed. All that crap with the club, the move, and-”

He drops Justin’s hand, reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, then rub at his lips.

“And?” Justin prompts gently.

Brian can’t look at him.

“I’m so fucking scared. I don’t want to disappoint you. To hurt you. It’s all I ever do.”

Justin inhales sharply, clearly not having expected that. He sits abruptly, one hand braced on the mattress, while the other presses gently against Brian’s heart.

It makes Brian look back at him, makes him see Justin look as cracked open as he does determined.

“Brian, no,” Justin says firmly. “Fuck, no, how can you even say that? You’ve given me so much, saved me so many times. You literally saved my life - more than once.”

Brian’s gaze flits away again, lungs constricting.

“I shouldn’t have had to.”

But Justin is having none of it, grabbing Brian’s chin with gentle persistence.

“Brian, look at me.” Brian does so reluctantly. “It wasn’t your fault. Okay?” 

Brian rolls his lips in, but he knows Justin won’t let it go. So after being stared down by intent blue eyes for another moment, Brian finally gives a small, reluctant nod.

Justin smiles a little, shifts and leans down. Brian wraps an arm around him in welcome, just as their lips touch in a soft kiss. It’s chaste, nothing but a gentle caress, but it makes Brian’s breath hitch and his spine tingle.

They kiss again, a little deeper, a little harder. Justin runs the back of his hand along Brian’s jaw, then draws back. Just enough for their eyes to meet, their breaths to mingle. 

Enough to murmur, “Brian, listen to me. Are you listening?”

Brian wants to roll his eyes, but finds himself swallowing instead.

“I’m listening.”

Justin takes a deep breath. “I get scared, too, you know? Remember what you said to me when I came crawling back after the whole Ethan thing? You said that it’s so like me, that when I don’t hear what I want, I leave.”

And even though the memory is a painful one, that particular bit of it makes Brian smile and Justin echoes it with a small one of his own, before quickly sobering again.

“You were right, you know. So fucking right. And you’d think that after that first time I’d fucking learn. But no, I did it again dressed up as something else. The exact same fucking thing. I didn’t even give you a chance to come around, to talk it out properly, just sneakily packed my shit and put you on the spot. Because I got scared; fucking terrified, actually.”

This is definitely news to Brian.

Out of the two of them, Justin has always been the brave one. The one who kept his faith, who believed in Brian and in waiting him out, fighting to make their relationship work.

“Of what?” Brian asks, quietly bewildered.

Justin looks a little ill, but pushes on all the same.

“That it was my last chance.” The words hit Brian like a sledgehammer. He watches Justin swallow, his tongue coming out to nervously lick his lips before he goes on. “My last chance to shock you into action and, if that doesn’t work, my last chance at existing as something outside of you. I thought that as much as it was fucking killing me, I needed to prove this to myself.” He gives a bitter laugh. “I told Michael that there’s things I could never have with you if I stayed and it was such fucking bullshit. The whole thing was bullshit, trying to leave you was bullshit-”

Justin breaks off abruptly and Brian reaches out to cup his cheek, catching a stray tear with his thumb.

“Hey,” Brian says softly.

Justin covers Brian’s hand with his own, eyes bright. 

“The only one who never broke a promise is you. So I just- ” Justin curls his fingers around Brian’s, then presses their joined hands to his chest. Brian feels Justin’s heart, beating steadily. “I want to promise you something, too. I’m not leaving you again, Brian. Not for anything. I don’t care what happens - if you slip up, or, hell, if I do. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Okay?”

Brian lets out a long breath, then gently brings their foreheads together.

“Okay.”

And, for once, it actually is. It’s okay.

They’re okay.

Justin tilts his head, lips seeking. Brian catches them with his own, pressing closer.

They kiss softly, a give and take of reassurance.

Justin smoothes Brian’s hair back, nuzzles him sweetly.

“Sleep?”

It sounds hopeful and Brian smiles a little and nods.

“Good.” Justin kisses him again, then draws back to give Brian a smile of his own. “Because I’m tried. Some asshole kept me awake worrying half the night.” Brian huffs a small laugh and Justin runs his hands along Brian’s sides and to the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. “Off. I want to feel your skin.”

He sounds almost petulant and it makes Brian laugh some more even as he complies. They shuck their clothes, letting them disappear over the edge of the bed as their mouths find each other.

They kiss soft and a little sloppy until it turns into sleepy nuzzling and they slip away together, still breathing each other in.

*

Brian wakes up panting and with the overwhelming feeling of Justin’s mouth on his nipple. Reaching blindly, Brian sinks his fingers into Justin’s soft hair, pulling him closer as he arches against him with an embarrassing sound.

Following the wordless request, Justin sucks harder in a drugging, pulsating rhythm that leaves Brian’s dick leaking and his skin on fire.

Justin releases him with a soft, wet sound and Brian gasps, “Fuck, Justin.”

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

Justin gently rubs his right arm, scatters a few soft kisses across his ribs.

“Is your arm okay? Your ribs?” He moves up to kiss Brian’s jaw, looking at him in concern. “Want me to get you some painkillers?”

“I’m fine,” Brian says, voice like gravel from sleep and the strain of heavy breathing.

Justin doesn’t look entirely convinced, but kisses him softly, before ducking his head and suddenly his mouth is bestowing the same, incredible treatment to his other nipple.

It instantly peaks beneath Justin’s expert tongue, wiping Brian’s mind clean and making him writhe as he utters a string of breathless noises he’d never admit to if he were in his right mind. It ends in an undignified “Ah!” when Justin brings a thumb to the recently abandoned nipple, still wet from Justin’s mouth.

He’s mirroring the circles his tongue is making, ending in a slow, firm rub across the twin peaks. Brian thinks he might actually come and never be able to live it down.

He yanks Justin up, fingers still firmly planted in his hair, and claims his mouth in desperation as much as in some kind of primal show of dominance.

Justin instantly melts into him, mouth soft and yielding, their sounds of pleasure muffled between their tongues.

Brian flips them around, presses Justin into the bed. His ribs twinge in protest, so does his arm, but Brian ignores it all in favour of mauling Justin’s mouth like some untamed animal.

Fuck, he wants him. Needs him.

“Please,” Justin all but whimpers, sounding just as desperate.

And for some reason it tears at Brian’s heart. It makes him want to give Justin anything and everything. Makes him gentle his touch, as the need to love him suddenly overwhelms the need to wildly fuck him into the mattress.

“Tell me what you want,” Brian murmurs, nuzzling into Justin’s neck.

“You.” Justin clutches at him as though Brian might disappear any second if he isn’t careful. “Want you so much. Need to feel you inside me.”

And fuck, Brian needs that too, knows that he needs to reclaim this last piece of himself. Of them.

“Roll over,” Brian murmurs. “I want to taste you.” He licks at Justin’s lips. “Gonna open you with my tongue.”

“Oh fuck, yeah,” Justin moans, all but throwing himself onto his stomach.

Brian leans over him and Justin turns his head to meet his mouth in another deep kiss. Moulding himself to Justin’s back, he gives into the sudden desire to simply hold him for a moment.

He scatters kisses along Justin’s shoulder, nuzzles into the nape of his neck and breathes him in. Brian’s always loved the way he smells there, undiluted with just a hint of shampoo. And it’s not the cheap shit, not anymore.

Finally, Justin is back to smelling like Brian, to smelling like he’s Brian’s. He’s sleeping here, fucking here, and showering here. And even once he’ll go on to sleep and fuck and shower somewhere else, it’ll still be with Brian right there. It’ll still be with Brian’s shampoo that they’ll be using, together.

“Brian?” Justin asks, breaking into his thoughts. “You okay?”

Brian lets out a long breath and squeezes Justin, careful not to crush him as he presses him deeper into the mattress, just wanting to feel him.

He runs his hand along Justin’s arm, feeling the softness of his skin, until his fingers bump into the familiar shape of his cowry shell bracelet. Brian traces a shell, then another, before slipping his finger in underneath to caress the hidden patch of skin there. Soon, it will pale enough that should Brian tug it askew, there’ll be a white ring around Justin’s wrist.

The same kind an actual ring would leave on a finger.

“Brian?” Justin asks again, softer and tinged with concerned.

Brian releases Justin’s wrist and moves to slide their fingers together instead. Justin grips him tightly and Brian kisses his shoulder in reassurance.

“I love you.”

It slips out easy and quiet, and beneath him Justin shivers, as though the words somehow found their way directly under his skin.

His fingers tighten and he brings Brian’s hand to his mouth, lips lingering on his knuckles, then on his palm.

“I love you, too,” Justin whispers.

And Brian feels it as well, now. The way those words from these lips somehow light him up from the inside.

Justin has a ridiculously sensitive back and there’s this spot right between his shoulder blades that always makes his breath catch in the best way. Brian is nuzzling it right now, feels Justin shudder as he brushes it first with lips, then tongue.

He mouths along Justin’s spine, feeling each individual vertebrae, getting lost in the sleepy, warm feel of him.

Justin moans softly, his whole body shivering and undulating beneath Brian’s mouth. Brian fucking loves how responsive he is, will never get enough of Justin’s sounds or the way his skin feels.

Brian moves lower, pausing to suck gently on Justin’s tailbone, before finally sliding his tongue into Justin’s crack. It’s just a tease at first and Justin makes a needy sound, gently pushing his ass towards Brian’s face.

Grasping Justin’s ass cheeks, Brian spreads them gently, holding him still as he presses a series of kisses all the way to Justin’s hole. Nuzzling in deeper, Brian inhales Justin’s scent, clean and a little musky.

Unable to wait even a second longer, Brian traces the tip of his tongue along Justin’s rim. He feels and tastes so achingly familiar, so comforting, Brian wants to just fucking drown in him.

Needy whimpers spill from Justin’s throat as Brian slowly fucks him with his tongue. He’s so warm, so wet and open, it just makes Brian push in deeper, ever hungry for more.

“Brian, please,” Justin gasps. “Please, need you now, please, please.”

Brian’s dick jerks in sympathy, in anticipation. He kisses Justin’s dripping hole, his asscheek, murmurs, “Turn around.” Then kisses his hip as Justin complies, before burying his face in Justin’s groin, unable to stay away.

Justin moans, his hands sinking into Brian’s hair as he arches against him, pressing his weeping dick against Brian’s cheek as Brian steals a quick taste of his balls.

Reluctantly tearing himself away, Brian plants a trail of wet kisses from Justin’s balls all the way to his mouth, taking only a small detour to tongue the slim, silver bar in Justin’s right nipple.

Justin kisses him hungrily, slow and deep and desperate, his arms and legs wrapping around him in the way Brian fucking loves.

Brian braces himself with his good arm, letting it take the brunt of his weight, while his right reaches over to yank the bedside drawer open. He blindly grabs the lube and a condom, kissing Justin again.

He uncaps the lube, the snap slicing through their panted breaths, and coats his fingers.

He can’t get enough of Justin’s lips and Justin must feel the same, barely letting Brian part from him enough to let them breathe.

Everything is hot, the sweat-damp sheets tangled around them, the duvet long since on the floor. Brian grabs a pillow to make this easier on his ribs, stuffing it beneath Justin’s hips so he won’t have to take all of his weight.

Justin’s hole is wet and open from Brian’s tongue and Brian gets it even wetter and more open with his fingers. 

Justin is fucking gagging for it, hungry and needy, just the way Brian loves it. It’s like he wants to crawl into Brian’s mouth, into his skin - Brian can certainly fucking relate.

Wiping his fingers on the sheets, Brian grasps the condom with shaky fingers.

He’s equally desperate, dick throbbing and balls aching. His stupid hand still feels clumsy, but he rips the packet open with his teeth and then Justin’s hands are there, expertly sheathing his dick and making Brian moan low in his throat as he mindlessly pushes into his grip.

And then he’s right there, slicked and lined up, his covered tip resting against Justin’s hungry rim and suddenly Brian can’t breathe.

He presses his forehead to Justin’s shoulder, takes deep, gulping breaths with his throbbing dick in his shaking hand.

Justin doesn’t ask, simply wraps himself tighter around him, turns his body into a fortress determined to protect Brian, even if it ends up being from the darkness they both know lies twisted and greedy inside Brian himself.

“It’s okay,” Justin whispers, fingers carding through Brian’s hair as he pulls him closer, kisses the side of his face. “I won’t let go.” Brian lets out a long breath and Justin kisses him again and again. “I’m not letting go.”

Raising his head to look at him, Brian finds Justin’s face soft and open. He moves his hands to stroke along Brian’s trembling flanks and Brian needs to kiss him again, so he does.

It’s soft and lingering, gentle lips with even gentler tongues.

Brian lets his forehead come to rest against Justin’s, then, taking another deep breath, he gives a small roll of his hips. Justin sighs and moves with him, their lips meeting again just as the tip of Brian’s dick finally breaches him.

Justin makes a low, hungry sound into Brian’s mouth and Brian is gasping, drowning in the feel of Justin’s warmth, in the tight grip of his ass as Brian slips in a little deeper.

Everything is spinning, keeps on spinning even when Brian squeezes his eyes shut.

Finally lodged securely enough, Brian lets go of his own dick, moves his hand to Justin’s thigh to anchor himself. His face is back in Justin’s sweaty neck and he isn’t getting enough air, feeling like he might pass out any second even as instinct has taken over and his hips keep push-pulling in small, gentle waves.

Waves that Justin is riding expertly, opening around Brian so fucking beautifully with his breathless, throaty moans.

“Brian,” Justin sobs. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Christ, fuck, you’re tight.”

And even as Brian pants out the words, he suddenly remembers Justin telling him that he was the last one to be inside him all those weeks ago. That Justin had waited for him, waited for Brian to claim him back.

The rush of possessiveness is so sudden, so utterly alien it only makes Brian’s head spin more. But fuck if it isn’t the hottest fucking thing Brian has ever felt. 

More than ever, it makes him want to feel Justin’s bare skin, the unhindered, slick grip of his ass. It makes him want to spill his come inside him, feel it dripping from his hole. See it, taste it.

Fuck, Brian thinks, delirious.

“Fuck,” Brian groans out loud, unable to keep it all inside.

He’s in to the hilt now, but his hips are restless, pushing against Justin’s ass as though his will alone can get him in deeper. Justin is writhing like a wild thing underneath him and Brian knows he’s grinding into Justin’s prostate with every move, his walls tightening convulsively around Brian’s dick.

Justin’s hands have slipped down, desperately clutching Brian’s ass as he pulls him in harder, deeper; head back and back arching. He’s slick with sweat, pale skin glowing with it and Brian runs his tongue along Justin’s chest, his neck, then shares the salty taste even as he drips onto him himself.

“Move, please, Brian please, need to feel you, need to feel all of you-”

Brian licks at Justin’s lips, then shifts slightly, letting his knees take more of his weight. He grasps Justin’s arms, letting his hands move along silky skin as he raises them over Justin’s head and pins them with his own.

Justin moans, pushes against him and tightens his legs. Their fingers tangle and Brian withdraws, slowly, oh so fucking slowly. He can feel the rim of Justin’s hole, feels it gripping at the head of his dick, desperate not to lose him.

Brian pauses there, feels them both trembling with need. He re-connects their lips, then, just as slowly, slides back home, letting his tongue do the same to Justin’s mouth.

Brian does it again, and again.

He kisses helpless tears from the corner of Justin’s eyes, adding to the salty taste between them. His own eyes are burning, as are his muscles, his ribs, his fucking arm. But Brian never stops, never falters.

“Justin,” Brian breathes, just to feel his lips and tongue curl around the familiar syllables.

Justin’s fingers are so tight around his own it hurts. He’s moaned and cried himself hoarse and the added edge only makes Brian hotter, wants to make him hear it more.

His fingers slip to Justin’s/Brian’s/Justin’s bracelet. The cowry shells bite into Brian’s skin as he grips tightly, then slips underneath to feel bare skin, gripping even tighter.

He feels Justin’s pulse beating wildly beneath his fingertips, leans down to feel it with his lips as he bites down on Justin’s throat. He pushes in slow, grinds in deep.

Justin shakes, and moans, and welcomes him in.

“Let me touch you,” Justin pants. “Please, Brian.”

Justin’s fingers are still tight around his own, but he makes no movement to free himself. Brian knows what he’s doing, knows that Justin has given him full control. Knows that Brian needs to be in control right now.

And it’s so very like him, to ask for this of all things. Instead of pleading for Brian to touch his dripping dick, to let him come, what Justin wants most is to touch Brian.

Fuck, Brian loves him so much he feels like he might just break apart with it.

He releases one of Justin’s hands, the right one, the fingers of Brian’s other hand still tight in the bracelet’s leather strap.

Justin brushes Brian’s damp hair from his face, then grabs it to pull him in for a deep kiss.

Brian lets him have his mouth, feels Justin’s finger, slick with Brian’s sweat, latch onto one of Brian’s nipples. The sensation shoots straight to his dick and Brian sucks on Justin’s tongue with a hungry, gravelly sound.

“Yes,” Justin breathes. “Fuck, yeah, want you to come.” Then quieter, almost inaudible. “Wish I could feel it.”

Jesus fuck, Brian bites back a deep groan, hips jerking hard.

He knows this is something Justin has wanted for a long time and it’s one of the very few things Brian has never indulged him in. Definitely not in practice, but not even as a fantasy, far too terrified of encouraging him.

But things are different now, they are different.

As much as Brian struggled to deny Justin anything before, now he knows it’s all but impossible. And that’s not all this is and he knows it. He wants it too, wants it so fucking badly.

And it’s not like he’s gonna whip off the fucking condom and simply go for it. It’s not even that he wants to have a deep discussion about it. Because he knows they’re not ready for that, that he’s not ready for it - not yet. 

But wanting it, fantasising about it - that, he can do.

So instead of pretending he didn’t hear, Brian tightens his grip on Justin’s wrist, his thigh, changes the angle and thrusts in slow and deep.

“Yeah?” he pants, pushing in again, a little faster this time. “You want my bare cock in your tight little ass?”

“Yes, yes, fuck Brian, I want it, want it so much, oh god, oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop-” Justin arches, frantic, voice threadbare and pleading. “Tell me you want it, too, Brian tell me, please tell me-”

“I fucking want it.” Brian punctuates each word with a deep thrust. 

He’s struggling to keep it together, struggling to keep the frantic edge from his movements, but he’s so fucking close. Justin is moaning uncontrollably beneath him and Brian knows there’ll be bruises on both their bodies from the way they’re holding on to each other like life-rafts in a storm.

Justin is meeting every thrust with one of his own, hips trembling and rapidly losing their rhythm. His only goal is to impale himself harder on Brian’s dick, his own still untouched and Brian has no plans to change that. He wants Justin to come, wants to see him spill all over himself from nothing but Brian’s dick in his ass.

“Brian,” Justin moans again, breathless and desperate.

Brian knows he’s close, can taste the orgasm alongside his own. He grips Justin tighter, kisses him wildly, before pressing his lips to his ear, intent to take them both over the edge. Together.

“I want to come inside you until you’re fucking dripping with my come-” he whispers hotly, feeling his balls draw tight, his thighs shake as muscles start to quiver all over his body. “I want to watch it leak out of you, and get hard again while I use my fingers to push it back inside. And then I want to fuck you again and you’d be so fucking wet, so fucking good - ah, fuck - and then I’d shoot inside you again, fill you- fill you up with my come-”

Ass clamping down on Brian’s dick like a vice, Justin lets out a heart-rendering keen, arms and legs squeezing tight as he convulses in Brian’s arms.

Hot wetness spreads between them and Brian can feel Justin’s dick jerk and spill even as his own follows suit, shoved deep into Justin’s still pulsating ass, searing slick enveloping him as he erupts into the condom.

He’s shouting something that might’ve been fuck or Justin or both, but he can’t really hear, can’t fucking see, can only feel as is body is ripped apart by pleasure.

*

He’s still trembling by the time the world has slowly started to re-focus, cradled by an equally trembling Justin.

Brian smudges a disorientated kiss to the closest patch of soft, pale skin.

“Shit, my ribs are fucked,” Brian groans, trying to shift them both onto their sides and take some of the pressure off.

Lying on his back would be best, but there’s nothing that could possibly make him let go of Justin right now, and having him on top of him would only make it worse.

Brian fumbles for the base of his dick, biting back a grunt at how over-sensitised he feels. He holds the condom and Justin makes a protesting sound as Brian slips free.

Only years of all but constant practice enable Brian to tie the condom without spilling anything. He doesn’t even attempt to aim for anything, simply lets the knotted condom drop blindly over the edge of the bed.

“I think you broke me,” Justin mumbles faintly into Brian’s neck. “Give me a moment and I’ll get you some painkillers.”

Brian tilts his head to kiss Justin’s slack, still panting mouth. It’s languid, full of heavy breaths and uncoordinated tongues. Brian never wants to stop.

Eventually, Justin does manage to wobble from the bed to the kitchen.

They’d switched the blue lights on, so Brian follows his progress with half-lidded eyes, listens to Justin curse as he bangs into the corner of the breakfast bar.

Brian’s still smiling by the time Justin makes it back to bed, handing over a water bottle and some pills. Brian obediently washes them down, then lies back, lifting his good arm to invite Justin to curl back against him.

Justin scatters gentle kisses across his agitated ribs and massages Brian’s right hand in some form of strange role-reversal.

Sliding his fingers into Justin’s hair, Brian lets the soothing sensation of silk against skin wash over him.

“We should really can the soul-obliterating sex until you’re fully healed,” Justin says, still nuzzling Brian’s chest.

Brian huffs a laugh. “Soul-obliterating?”

“Life-altering, blinding, brain-frying - I could go on, but I don’t think your ego needs the boost.”

Grinning, Brian presses his tongue into his cheek.

“You know, Sunshine, I don’t think it would be fair to take all the credit.”

Justin snorts. “That’s a first.”

Brian laughs and play-wrestles a snickering Justin onto his back, smiling mouths meeting in a series of nuzzling kisses.

They settle into a comfortable silence and sweet kisses, cocooned in soft sheets and each other’s arms. 

Outside, it’s started snowing. Brian can just about glimpse the odd flurry blowing past, the open bedroom panels giving an unobstructed view of the big windows.

His eyes are feeling a little heavy, in a quietly content sort of way.

Justin shifts a little, his palm idly running over Brian’s chest.

“Brian?” Justin’s hand stops near his shoulder, traces a collarbone. “You know, about what you said…”

And Brian could nip this in the bud right there, could dismiss it - it’s what he would’ve done before. But they both know very well that it was more than simple dirty talk and Brian isn’t going to play these games with Justin anymore. Isn’t going to give into things, only to chicken out and yank them away again.

So Brian turns his head, uses a gentle thumb and forefinger to tilt Justin’s head, meets his eyes. And Brian can see it, that despite everything, Justin is wary, ready to be derided.

Christ, Brian really fucking hates himself.

“You know we can’t,” Brian says, as gently as he knows how.

He doesn’t say not yet, but he’s thinking it and Justin catches it. He’s always been the most perceptive little shit.

“But someday?” he asks, hopefully.

Brian recognises it for the compromise it is; vague enough not to have Brian running for the hills, while still holding a certain promise that Justin can hang his hopes on.

And for once, Brian has absolutely no desire to dash them. So he kisses Justin gently and allows himself a small smile.

“Yeah, someday.”

*

“Wow, this must be the longest line in the history of Babylon,” Justin says.

Even with the air-con system already kicking in in preparation of hundreds of sweaty bodies crammed into a single space, the air in the club is considerably balmier than the frigid winter night outside.

“And not just that,” Ted says from where he’s standing by the bar with a clipboard. “They’ve been out there for the past three hours.”

“Jesus,” Justin says, head thrown back as he takes everything in.

They’ve been here before, of course, but there’s been a few adjustments to the lights and he supposes Justin isn’t quite used to the few but not insignificant changes the club has undergone. This is neither the Babylon that he first visited, nor is it the one Brian re-vamped after he first bought it.

Brian wanted it to be different, needed it to be different. He knows Justin appreciates it, and so will all the others who were involved in the explosion.

Ted turns to Brian. “I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”

“The extra security is in place?” Brian takes the clipboard, scanning Ted’s meticulous checklist. “And they did a thorough sweep?”

“We’ve been over the place three times with a fine-tooth comb. All clear,” Ted reports dutifully. “And the new guys are in place at the entrance for thorough checks. No one’s allowed to bring as much as a tooth pick in here.”

“Good.” 

Brian thrusts the clipboard back at Ted’s chest. 

Justin chooses that moment to return from his impromptu investigation, sliding his arms around Brian and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he says, leaning up to press a kiss to the back of Brian’s neck.

Brian sighs and turns, pulling Justin into his arms and catching his mouth in a proper kiss. The familiar warmth of Justin’s lips and tongue go a long way to take the edge off his nerves. He rests his forehead against Justin’s, simply breathing for a moment.

Justin runs his fingers through Brian’s hair.

“Stop…worrying,” he murmurs, punctuating his words with a series of small, sweet kisses along Brian’s jaw, chin and cheeks.

The whole thing forces a small laugh from Brian, who can’t help but lean in for another kiss. Which is the moment Emmett chooses to breeze in, resplendent in a gigantic purple feather boa and wearing his weight in glitter.

“Am I late?”

Brian throws an arm out, indicating the still mostly deserted club.

“The only thing you missed is the dancers changing into their speedos.”

Justin snickers into his chest and Emmett looks almost disappointed.

Ted reappears sans clipboard, snapping shut his cell.

“Michael and Ben are on their way,” he says. “They’re picking up Mel and Linds - they’re just waiting for the sitter to arrive.”

Brian checks his watch. “Alright. Let them in.”

He signals the DJ as Ted takes off in the direction of the doors. Music booms to life at full volume, sweeping the dancers into motion as Brian leads Justin and Emmett to his office so they can all leave their coats there. Emmett disappears to get himself a drink and find Ted, while Brian and Justin seek a better vantage point.

They end up on the upper walkway, watching the club slowly start to fill. There’s a noticeable delay due to the intensive security checks at the door, but Brian isn’t taking any chances.

Short of installing metal detectors of his own, Brian made sure that each and every person has to undergo thorough scrutiny. No one is allowed any sort of sharp objects, liquids, pressurised containers, or big bags. Basically airport security light. He can only hope that it’ll keep the nut jobs at bay, or at least catch anyone with funny ideas in their little heads.

“Brian,” Justin says, leaning into him and pressing his lips to his bare biceps while running a soothing hand along his spine.

He doesn’t say stop worrying again, but Brian gets the message loud and clear. He draws Justin into the circle of his arms, trapping him between his body and the railing. He slides his hands into Justin’s soft hair and his tongue into Justin’s mouth, feeling the tightness in his shoulders gradually bleeding out.

*

They re-join Emmett about an hour later and Brian and Ted take off to get an update from Tony and check the situation outside. Despite the club being well on its way to becoming filled to capacity, the queue outside has barely abated. On the contrary, it actually looks to have grown.

“Christ, I’m glad we don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No mourning your long lost youth, Theodore?”

Ted snorts. “Not particularly. Believe it or not, I’m actually quite content with how things have turned out.”

Me too, Brian thinks.

He looks at the row of excited people, some bouncing on the balls of their feet, others taking deep swigs from home-mixed bottles of alcohol - all in a rather futile attempt to keep warm.

Clad in nothing more than a black wifebeater and dark jeans, Brian isn’t feeling particularly toasty either.

Brian’s just about to tell Ted they should go back inside when something small and bright detaches itself from the line and bounces right up to them.

“Brian!”

“Hello, Daphne.” Brian bends to kiss her smiling cheek, giving her a one-armed hug. “You look hot, as always.”

She laughs. “You too, Brian. Hi, Ted.”

In reality she looks more like she’d raided Emmett’s closet, but just like with Emmett, the look is kinda part of the package. 

Brian has a brief, vivid vision of Daphne maturing into a sophisticated version of Debbie and can’t decide whether to be horrified or charmed.

Ted gives her a certified, lame Ted-wave and Brian seriously wonders if he’s somehow managed to get high, because for some reason he catches himself finding it kind of endearing.

“Hey, glad you could make it,” Ted says.

Daphne grimaces, her wild curls billowing in the icy breeze.

“Almost didn’t. I had this stupid paper to finish. There’s no mercy in pre-med, I tell you.” She rubs at her arms, shivering in her bright red coat with purple faux-fur trimming. “I’m just glad I caught you, it’s fucking arctic out here. I tried calling Justin, but…”

Brian shares a silent, commiserating glance with her over Justin’s troubled relationship with cell phones.

Turning to Bob, who’s manning the door, Brian gently nudges Daphne in his direction.

“Bob, give this lovely lady a special VIP bracelet, she’s one of my personal guests.”

Daphne beams at him and Bob smiles indulgently as he fishes a sparkly, golden VIP bracelet from his pocket and expertly snaps it around her wrist.

“There you go,” Brian says, pressing his tongue into his cheek. “Drinks are on me. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Daphne laughs and uses her current height advantage to wrap her arms around Brian’s neck and smack a sound kiss on his cheek. Thankfully for him, Daphne isn’t big on lipstick or he’d be left with the indignity of having to scrub it off.

“Thanks, Brian! You’re the best.”

Brian fondly shakes his head as she bounces off, intending to follow her inside, when Ted catches his arm and pulls him slightly off to the side.

“Brian,” he says, sounding a little too grave for Brian’s liking. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”

Brian raises his eyebrows.

“It better not be something that makes my dick soft. I haven’t even shown Justin the new backroom yet.”

But Ted isn’t to be deterred and steamrolls right over Brian’s attempt at levity.

“I just wanted to say that I take it back. That bullshit I spouted after I woke up from the coma.”

Brian stares at him incredulously, then huffs a laugh that he hopes doesn’t sound quite as uncomfortable as he feels.

“Christ, Theodore, talk about long lost youth, that was fucking ages ago.”

“I know. But, just, humour me for a second here, because I need to tell you this.” Ted breaks off, looking both determined and incredibly ill at ease. But, if there’s one thing that has changed about Ted since his trip into crystal queen land, it’s his conviction to ‘share’. “You’re not a heartless shit, Brian.”

Brian, who’d honestly had no fucking clue where this was going until this moment, can do nothing but stare at Ted for few seconds. He feels hot and a little numb, a knot of something indiscernible roiling in his stomach. 

He knows his face is displaying that particular blankness it always does when he’s experiencing emotional overload.

Shaking himself out of it, Brian sucks in a sharp breath, feeling the tightness in his chest. Ted is looking at him like a ticking time bomb and Brian puts on his sweetest, fakest smile as he drops a heavy hand to Ted’s shoulder.

“Just don’t let anybody hear you say that. I have a reputation to uphold. It’s in your job description, Theodore, don’t fuck it up.”

He gives Ted a gentle squeeze, trusting Ted to find the sincerity beneath it all. And Ted’s small smile tells him he has.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.”

Relieved to finally feel the tightness in his lungs easing, Brian laughs and slings an arm around Ted’s narrow shoulders. He steers them towards the door and they duck back inside, away from the cold.

*

They find Justin, Daphne and Emmett having drinks by the bar. Emmett and Daphne are giggling over bright pink Cosmos, Daphne’s coat thankfully gone from sight, though they now seem to be sharing Emmett’s feather boa.

 Justin is smiling fondly at them around the rim of a water bottle. Brian wraps his arms around him from behind, stealing the water and downing the remaining half.

“No sign of Michael and the others yet?” Emmett asks.

“Stepford fags and lesbians have a hard life,” Brian says, getting rid of the bottle. “My heart bleeds for them.”

Justin elbows him gently, but he’s smiling. Daphne is beaming at them and Emmett rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, Teddy, Daphne,” he says, stealing back his feather boa and winding it around Ted’s neck to reel him in. “Let’s dance.”

Ted throws them a vaguely pained look, but doesn’t bother protesting, doggedly following Emmett to the dance floor with a giggling Daphne in tow.

 Brian curls himself tighter around Justin, his lips brushing his ear as he speaks again.

“I haven’t told you yet, but I got rid of the VIP room. Or, kind of, anyway. I turned it into a second bar.”

Justin raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“I thought I’d go back to the roots. Or something.” He gives Justin’s earlobe a playful lick. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Justin doesn’t ask him if he’s sure, doesn’t hesitate or eye him with concern. He just lets Brian take his hand and pull him in the familiar direction of the backroom.

The entrance is the same, a dim, narrow path. Justin touches a finger to the new tiles, black but for the places the light hits, making them sparkle.

“These are so cool,” Justin says.

Brian smirks. He knew Justin would like them. It may or may not have been part of the reason why he’d picked them in the first place. That and the surety that most fags can’t resist something that glitters.

The narrow path bends and cuts off abruptly, much as it had done after Brian had first re-opened Babylon. The space is wider now, more spacious, though it doesn’t seem that way at first.

Gone is the centre stage, instead the room is littered with dozens of short stretches of tiled wall, creating a somewhat maze-like appearance. In-between the roomier alcoves, various faux-leather furniture has been casually distributed.

Brian leads Justin over to a wine-red chaise lounge.

“Extra-enduring and easy to clean. Let’s hope at least half survive before the month is out.”

Justin snorts, gently pushing Brian down on the chaise, before moving to straddle him. Brian accommodates him easily, wrapping his arms around him and tilting his head up for a kiss.

“What’s with all the walls?”

Brian shrugs.

“There was a lack before. People complained.”

Justin raises his eyebrows. “People.”

Brian lodges his tongue into his cheek and grins.

“Fine, I got tired of telling people to fuck off and clear a space.”

Justin laughs and nudges at Brian, getting him to lie back. The chaise is soft, comfortable, and designed to accommodate more than one person. Having moved with him, Justin is still straddling him, his hands slowly running up along Brian’s chest before gently cupping his face.

It’s dark, but there’s enough of a glow for Brian to see Justin’s intent gaze.

“You doing okay?”

Brian pulls him closer, getting a hand beneath Justin’s t-shirt and sliding it along the soft skin of his spine.

“Fabulous,” Brian says, injecting just enough mockery not to sound overly sincere, but not so much as to come across too glibly. “Now do your duty as consort and help me christen this place.”

Justin laughs, lightly hitting his arm.

“If anything, you’re the consort! I’m the King of Babylon, remember?”

“In your dreams, Sunshine.”

“I don’t know,” Justin says quietly, gently tracing the line of Brian’s lips and making him shiver. “This feels pretty real to me.”

Brian looks at him intently for a moment, then pulls him down for a deep kiss. Justin moans softly and pushes against him, their straining dicks rubbing together deliciously.

“Now, your Majesty,” Brian murmurs as he grasps Justin’s ass to grind against his hard dick. “Is that a ceptre in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”

Justin licks his lips and gives him a sultry look, the corners of his mouth betraying his mock-seductiveness. He rubs them together again and presses his mouth to Brian’s ear.

“It’s waiting for your to wield it.”

There’s nothing artful about their next kiss, both of them laughing too hard and ending up with lips against teeth and too much tongue in the wrong places. 

Brian wouldn’t change a fucking thing.

*

By the time Brian has declared their deed done, the backroom hasn’t only been sufficiently christened, but they’ve also put to the test the claims of wipeability of the new furniture after he fucked Justin across first the chaise, then an armchair, and made him shoot all over both of them. He might need to give the poor cleaners a raise.

The munchers as well as Mr and Mrs Bruckner have finally managed to grace them with their presence, all of them congregated by the bar and doing shots. Everyone except for Ted, who’s standing off to the side, deep in conversation with none other than the junkie-turned-councellor, Blake.

Sidling up to Michael, Brian puts his arms around him and presses a wet kiss to his cheek.

“Almost thought you’re gonna stand me up again, Mikey.”

Michael grins and pats his arm.

“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Brian turns to Ben. “Mind if I borrow your wife for a bit?”

Ben gives him smile that is simultaneously exasperated as well as indulgent, gesturing him ahead.

“Go ahead.”

Brian grabs Michael’s hand. “C’mon, Mikey. You owe me a dance.”

“I do?”

Brian catches the DJ’s eye, signalling him.

“You do. For bailing on me last time.”

They reach one of the centre stages, the dancer occupying it instantly vacating his spot as he recognises Brian.

“Brian, what are you up to?”

Just as Brian makes his way up, the song switches. Brian extends his hand.

“C’mon, Mikey. It’s our song.”

Michael throws his head back in a laugh, then grabs Brian’s hand and lets him drag him onto the platform. The same way Brian had dragged him onto the edge of the hospital roof so many years ago.

But this time there’s no cheap thrills, no desperate quest to make himself feel alive. Brian now recognises it all for the sorry imitation it had been, never even coming close to the real thing.

Wrapping his arms around Brian’s shoulders, Mikey leans in closer to be heard over the music.

“I can’t believe you remember that this is one of our songs.”

Brian gives him an indulgent smile.

“I can hardly believe it myself, considering the rate at which you change them.”

Michael looks accordingly scandalised.

“That’s because we don’t just have one song, Brian. We have a whole soundtrack!”

“Fuck, Mikey, don’t make me regret this.”

Michael just laughs again and they fall into a rhythm. 

They goof around, the way they always have, even though they’re not quite the same people they used to be. It may not feel exactly the same, but for the first time, Brian realises that it might actually feel better. Because it means that even though they’ve changed and grown - grown up - they’re still here, still together.

They still love each other, always have and always will. And though it’s not the Brian and Mikey show of old, it’s an upgraded and, admittedly, a lot healthier version.

Tugging Michael close, Brian gives him a lingering kiss. And from the way Michael smiles against him, he knows that they might finally be on the exact, same fucking page for once.

Pulling away, Brian leans in to whisper in Mikey’s ear just as the lights follow the drop of the beat, before it picks back up and segues into the next song.

Michael draws back and grins at him, patting Brian affectionately, before climbing down to re-join their friends.

Brian never falters, keeping with the rhythm as he watches Mikey being swallowed by the crowd, then re-emerge briefly where Justin, Daphne and Emmett are dancing. He leans in to talk to Justin, pointing in Brian’s direction.

Justin meets his gaze across the sea of undulating bodies. Brian smiles, gently jerking his chin in invitation, and he swears Justin’s smile could light an entire fucking city.

He sets out across the dance floor, unerringly gravitating towards Brian.

Justin might think that Brian is the centre of his universe, but Brian knows that in truth, it’s the other way around. Always has been. 

Justin is his sun, his Sunshine, the star he has orbited from the start.

It might be the sappiest fucking shit he’s ever thought, but as Justin skilfully climbs up and launches himself into Brian’s outstretched arms, he finally realises some things.

Brian Kinney gives a shit. He gives a whole lot of shits. And he’s finally learned to give them about the things that actually matter.

He’s Brian fucking Kinney. He may not stay forever young, may not even stay forever beautiful - who gives a fuck.

Because Brian fucking Kinney finally knows what it means to be happy. And, as he pulls Justin close, as they fall against and into each other, as their lips meet and the ceiling above them bursts into glittery rain-

That’s when he thinks, I choose this. And I want to keep choosing it.

Every day.