Etharei
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: post-513 (and spoilers from multiple seasons!)
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all the characters and situations featured
therein are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions and their affiliates.
I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes, and promise
to replenish the condom and lube supply when I’m done.
Summary: Whenever it’s about Justin, it’s about Brian. Usually because
it’s Brian’s fault.
Author’s Notes: Written for mclachlan,
whom I owed fic and whom I heart with all the purple, sparkly hearts in the
world.
***************
He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. He had successfully managed to restrain
himself for two weeks, two long weeks, and all the voices of Reason,
Emotion, and Manly Pride were jointly telling him not to do it. He shouldn’t,
shouldn’t, shouldn’t- oh, fuck it. And fuck him, too.
“Kinney.”
Justin nearly dropped the phone in his surprise that Brian had actually, like,
answered. When it was still daylight in both New York and Pittsburgh.
And too early for either of them to be drunk, or in the middle of fucking people.
Well, probably too early. Nevertheless, he was almost speechless.
“I hate you,” Justin began- quite promisingly, he thought. Right down to the
point. “I thought you should know. My total, unequivocal hatred for you knows
neither bounds nor competition.”
He could almost see Brian beginning to smile, and biting his lip to avoid doing
so. The mental image was enough to make Justin grin, which (now that he was
a full-grown homosexual, he could see these things clearly) really was rather
pathetic. “Is our little ray of Pennsylvanian sunshine enjoying the hustle and
bustle of urban humanity’s crawling masses? With particular attention to the
hustle part, of course.”
Justin had been absently picking at a stack of magazines on the ancient coffee
table in front of him when his fingers encountered a different texture. He frowned
and pulled out a loose sheet of 70gsm medium textweight sketch paper. “Fuck,
I’ve been looking for this!” He looked around for his art case. “Thanks for
reminding me- there’s another thing I hate you for.”
“I fail to see how your inability to keep track of your shit is any way my doing.”
He thought that Brian sounded distracted. That would explain why the phone hadn’t
rolled to voicemail- he must not have bothered to check the caller ID. Ted had
said that the number of new accounts at Kinnetik seemed to be doubling exponentially
each quarter.
That was fine; Justin didn’t really need Brian’s full attention, anyway. “Shut
up, I’m on a roll here.” He finally spotted the black carrying case behind the
hideous pseudo-art deco lamp. “At least, I’m trying to start one. Now I’ve forgotten
what I was going to say next.” Annoyed, he vindictively slapped away the hanging
leaves of an unidentifiable potted plant. “Do you know what I was doing last
night?”
“Jerking off while thinking about me?”
“Hah! I wish. Last night I forced myself to get pissed drunk before I could
poke the eyes out of Daphne’s friend with my triangular-handled round size 3s.
If I was raped or robbed while I laid senseless on my lumpy bed, it would be
completely your fault.”
“I thought Daphne’s friend is a girl.”
“She looks at me funny. And she won’t leave me the fuck alone!” Regaining his
stride, Justin pushed on, full steam ahead. “She keeps talking, and talking,
and you’d think after Deb my eardrums would have grown a protective layer, but
she’s got this really annoying high voice that creeps under your skin. She has
no concept of personal space. Sometimes I think she’s flirting with me, other
times she’s trying too hard to be friendly. She makes all these awful jokes
about guys and gays, and I think that she thinks just because I’m gay I like
to be all touchy-feely. Two days ago she asked me to do her hair.”
There was a moment of silence over the line. “That does sound like the seventh
pit of Hell,” Brian commented dryly. “Or living in a college dorm. Either way,
it’s the price you pay for having a New York address.”
“Hnuh,” Justin snorted, in a way that conveyed, without him actually saying
so outright, that as far as he was concerned his glamorous New York address
could go hang with its dick cut off right at that moment.
“And now you know how I felt when you moved into the loft.”
“I wasn’t this bad! And you were good at shutting me up.”
“Sometimes I suspect you were that annoying just so I could shut you
up.”
“Might have, might have,” Justin said dismissively. “Anyway, I’m just telling
you all this now in case my next call is from a police station because I’ve
been charged with homicide by hog hair stencil brush.”
“For some inexplicable reason, people always target me for their anger displacement.”
“Overflow rather than displacement, in this case.” Justin thought he could hear
the honk of cars in the background. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“Just doing my duty as a boss by leaving the office in the middle of the working
day and letting all the minions do the work.”
“Hah!” Justin huffed. But the steam on his rant was running out, and irritation
was being pushed aside by gentler, more complicated things. “Brian..."
“Justin.”
It was amazing how he could practically see Brian’s uneasy, uncertain
expression. “I’m just glad you answered, that’s all.”
Silence. Sometimes Brian’s silences were louder than his shouts. Right then
it was more deafening than the traffic in the background. “Yeah. Me too.”
Not wanting to lapse into the weird quasi-conversation mode they’d adopted while
he was in LA, Justin decided to take this as a win and live to fight for another
day. Besides, he could hear footsteps outside the door. “Gotta go, she’s here.
I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yeah.” A memory- will I see you again? “Later.”
The arrival of The Roommate Who Won’t Go Away prompted Justin to quickly leave
the apartment and take a chilly stroll around the East Village. He kept to areas
he’d already explored, since in his distracted state it would be too easy to
get lost or not notice anyone sneaking up on him.
New York City. Every artist’s dream. It reminded him of the exhilaration of
California, times a hundred. The artist in him knew that he could stay here
for a lifetime and still not exhaust the font of inspiration that could be found
on a single street. He knew that he was an artist destined for great things,
knew it with the same immovable conviction with which he’d known that he was
gay.
The thing was- as free, fulfilled, and fucking fabulous as he felt about being
in such a good position to attain his lofty goals, there was a constant weight
in his gut. Sometimes it felt like a comforting anchor, a rock at the base of
his centre; other times it was like rusted metal tearing through his insides,
festering dark whispering fears of lost time.
It amused him now that Brian was the first one who ever told him that he was
a selfish brat. Looking back, he felt a bit ashamed at the way he’d been, especially
towards his mother, but he figured that without the ‘I want everything’ attitude
of his, he wouldn’t be where he was today. So he wanted it all: New York and
Brian. Now that he’d decided on that, it really was just a matter of figuring
out the how.
The problem with balancing on a knife’s edge, is that the intrepid balancer
not only has to go left and right in equal measure, but also up, because
of course the identifying feature of a knife is that it’s got a fucking sharp
edge, and who would respect a balancer who got his feet sliced bloody before
he was halfway through? And floating in the air above said edge was for real
fairies.
Justin though that the second-hand smoke he was inhaling from the man sitting
on the public bench a couple of paces away might not be from a cigarette as
he’d originally assumed, and turned back towards the apartment building.
It was quite a fitting end to his day that, upon reaching his dark and dank
floor, Justin was promptly grabbed from behind and pushed against the wall.
He felt something being jabbing him between his shoulder blades, something blunt
insofar as he could feel through the layers of thick wool and expensive cotton,
and suddenly he could see the little maze of hairline cracks around where the
cheap paint had been chipped off the wall.
“My wallet’s in my back pocket,” he whispered. His mind wandered back to late
nights spent roaming around Liberty Avenue and nearby areas, and found no comfort
whatsoever in said mind’s helpful suggestion that this was likely a form of
negative karma.
A hand slid into his back pocket, at the same time as a voice said into his
ear, “I thought I was the one who owed you for all those blowjobs?”
Justin coughed, throat caught between a cry of relief and a splutter of anger.
“Brian!” He turned around, the strong arms relaxing their grip on him, and smacked
the grinning man. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He swung in a punch
to the stomach, which a now-laughing Brian stopped by grabbing his fist. “And
you scared me half to death, you fucking asshole!” Another attempted punch,
and it was kind of infuriating how easily Brian dodged it and took control of
that fist, too.
Still chuckling, Brian stepped forward, his grip on Justin’s fists forcing the
shorter man to step backwards. His back hit the wall.
Brian’s eyes looked almost black in the gloom. “Fuck, you’re hot when you’re
pissed off,” Brian growled before swooping in, and Justin was pinned flat while
a hot, wet tongue was thrust between his lips, prying his mouth open.
He moaned, finding it hard to hold onto his annoyance under such a debilitating
assault, especially when Brian’s groin came into sharp contact with his and
he felt a far more interesting kind of hard.
He pulled back. “Inside,” he whispered harshly, freeing one hand and grabbing
a fistful of the black shirt Brian was wearing.
“Yes,” Brian murmured, gazing intently downwards and grabbing Justin’s ass.
“As far up inside as you can take it, young man.”
Mouth watering just from the deep tone of Brian’s voice, Justin’s hand shook
as he fumbled for his key. It really didn’t help matters that Brian had gotten
hold of his hip and was rubbing the prominent bulge in his designer pants over
Justin’s ass.
Finally, the lock clicked open. Brian spun Justin around and smashed their mouths
together, his hand snaking around to open the door. Justin only registered their
entrance into the apartment by a minute increase in the temperature; the rest
of his attention was all on Brian, especially when Brian found the hem of his
sweater and shirt. Cold fingers pinching a nipple made him arch up, made him
try to suck Brian’s tongue right out of his mouth. He blindly led them towards
his room, clutching, teasing hands everywhere and Justin sounding like some
crazed thing.
Surprisingly, Brian disengaged once they were in the tiny bedroom. His eyes
swept around, taking in the sparse furnishings and cobwebs in the corners. “Very...
cozy.”
“Shut up.” Justin pulled him back down again. This time it was Justin with his
tongue in Brian’s mouth, biting on Brian’s upper lip with a vengeance; he backed
towards the bed, Brian’s heavy coat hitting the floor. Brian’s hand got into
the back of his jeans, grabbing a handful of his ass, and Justin groaned at
the mental image of a red handprint on his butt-cheek. He undid Brian’s belt
buckle, pulling down the zipper. “Two weeks of avoiding my calls,” he growled
into Brian’s ear, nipping at the soft earlobe. Brian’s hot mouth was wreaking
havoc along the side of his neck. “And you show up without warning, scaring
the shit out of me.”
The back of Justin’s knees hit the side of the bed. Looking down, he saw that
Brian had pushed his jeans down to his thighs, and Brian’s cock was jutting
out of his pants, dark and engorged and perfect, glinting moisture at the tip.
Justin swallowed and smacked Brian on the arm. “Fuck me already, you fucking
asshole.”
They were a confusion of limbs and mouths as they fell onto the bed, Justin
not exactly resisting but not making it easy for Brian either, alternatively
hitting him and pulling him closer. Justin felt his jeans being yanked off him
completely, but Brian appeared intent on keeping his clothes on. (Which was
fine by Justin, as he’d always found it hot when Brian fucked him fully-dressed.)
He moaned at the feel of the black silk shirt sliding over his cock, pre-cum
staining the fabric where the tip of said cock brushed against it; he was horny
as hell and high waters, because last week’s fuck in the art gallery and the
blowjob at the coffee shop two nights ago was practically nothing to a young
gay boy in his sexual peak who’d gotten used to regular mind-blowing sex with
Brian A. Kinney.
He moaned loudly when their cocks met, his body thrusting to rub the steel-stiff
lengths together while his hands were lightly punching Brian on the shoulders.
His mock struggles appeared to be driving Brian crazier; he used his hands to
block Justin’s blows, while his mouth blazed everywhere, nipping at the skin
on Justin’s neck, licking up and down his collarbone, a very dexterous tongue
tweaking his nipples. At some point one of them pulled Justin’s sweater and
the T-shirt underneath off, and Justin felt himself harden to the point of pain
at the feel of cool silk sliding over the feverish skin of his chest.
Then a finger was pushing into his hole, and Justin decided that he’d ‘punished’
Brian enough and further resistance would be detrimental to his goal of getting
Brian’s dick inside him. He wrapped his legs and arms tightly around Brian,
pushing back to get more of the finger inside him, not caring about the slight
burn. Two weeks, after all, was a long time for a guy who was still tight after
near daily plowings of his ass. Two fingers, slicker, more lube. Justin was
panting, hands fiercely holding onto Brian’s head hovering over his, pushing
damp hair back. Three. He was chanting “Fuck me, Brian, fuck me.” A condom packet
went between Brian’s teeth; over muscled shoulders, Justin could see his grubby
white sneakers.
Finally, fucking finally, Brian was pushing inside him, penetrating and stretching,
the burn only an affirmation of the hard shaft filling him up, throbbing inside
him. Justin moaned loud and long, pushing up to get more of Brian inside. Brian
paused for Justin to take a breath, then launched into a punishing pace, his
fast and furious thrusting leaving Justin swearing, gasping, and fucking loving
it. Beneath them the bed rocked with the force of it, the worn springs making
a very rousing cloing-cloing sound. His skin tingled. Brian slid his
legs up, gripped his hips, holding him at an angle where he could get in further,
deeper, repeatedly hitting Justin’s prostrate.
Justin knew he wasn’t going to last long, he never could on the first round
after any period of no-Brian-sex lasting more than two days. He let out a strangled
shout as his orgasm sped through him in a rushing, incendiary flare of heat
and tensing muscles, his back arching off the bed as he was catapulted high,
high, warm whiteness cresting below, spreading over bare stomach and black silk.
He distantly felt the inner muscles of his semi- numb ass clenching around Brian’s
cock. Three thrusts into the tight vice and Brian was following him, letting
out a guttural groan, the condom inside Justin filling up with heat.
“Justin, let’s go out to that new- OH!”
It probably said something about how used he was to such interruptions that
Brian didn’t even blink, just continued panting where he lay on top of Justin.
Justin, face hot, twisted his head and neck so he could see the door. Daphne’s
friend stood there, the headphones over her ears blaring out something unidentifiable,
hand over her gaping mouth.
“Could you go away?” he asked, voice a little raspy.
The iPod was turned off. “You’re having SEX?” she screeched.
“It looks like it, yes.” Justin rolled his eyes, and grinned at seeing Brian
do the same. “Hot, gay sex that you would have HEARD if you paid any attention
to anything going on around you.”
“Sunshine, I need the bathroom.” Brian spoke up.
Justin groaned. “Hang on, let me pull the covers.” Brian angled his body so
that he was obstructing them from view while he pulled out and tied the condom.
He waited for Justin to get under his blanket before tucking himself in and
standing up. “It’s that way.”
Once Brian had disappeared into the bathroom, Justin’s roommate frowned at him.
“Is he paying you?”
“No!” Justin spluttered, shocked. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, he looks like the rich type. He’s wearing Dior Homme pants, and I think
his shoes are Gucci. Besides, I thought you were seeing Lawrence.”
What the fuck? He frowned. “Who?”
“He went to the art gallery where you worked? He’s a friend of a friend. He
told me that I had an amazing roommate.”
“Oh.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t know how to explain
this to you, but that was... a fuck.” She winced at his choice of words, probably
because he’d always done his best to be polite to her. “He was giving me the
eye, so I fucked him in the men’s restroom. Think of it as a one-night stand.”
“But he really likes you! He’s waiting for you to call him, said that he gave
you his number.”
Oh, yeah. Justin had tossed it in the trashcan on the way home. “Then please
explain to him that I’m not interested. Tell him I’ve already got somebody.”
“I’m not lying for you!” She looked at Justin in a way that he didn’t like,
especially since he was naked. “So, you’re, like, a slut, then?”
“He’s not lying,” Brian said from the door. He retrieved his coat from the floor,
then stepped forward with his hand held out. “Brian Kinney. Justin’s husband.”
Justin covered his hand to hide his laugh at the expression on her face. “Now,”
Brian continued. “Kindly fuck off. And learn to knock before going into people’s
rooms.”
After her hasty exit, Brian slid the rickety desk to block the shut door, and
rejoined Justin on the bed.
“Husband?” Justin smiled teasingly, running a hand through Brian’s hair.
Brian turned to look out of the window, but Justin could tell he was smiling.
“We don’t need rings and a ceremony, remember?”
“Yeah.” Justin touched his shoulder, prompting him to turn back, and kissed
Brian softly on the lips. “I’ve missed you.”
Brian grinned. “Prove it.”
Chuckling, he playfully pushed at Brian. He hesitated before speaking further,
but if there was anything he hadn’t lost since he was a virgin, it would be
speaking his mind when he wanted to. “You know, once upon a time, pigs would
fly first before Brian Kinney chased after anyone, or admitted that he cared
about them.”
Brian nodded, looking away again. “A lot of things used to be.”
Justin felt like he was filled to bursting, and the sharpness of the knife’s
edge made itself known beneath his proverbial feet. He kissed Brian, the familiar
feel and taste of Brian’s mouth lifting him up, up and away to home, the first
star to the left.
“I’m going to rebuild and reopen Babylon,” Brian said against his skin, later.
“Mikey managed to convince me.”
“That’s good.” Justin trailed a finger over Brian’s pecs, teasing the little
strands of hair dotting his chest. “It’ll show those bastards that not even
a bomb can keep us down. When will the grand reopening be?”
“I don’t want you to come.”
Justin froze. “What?”
Brian sighed, curling a hand around Justin’s. “It’s going to take a while. Six
months, maybe. We’re going to be reinforcing the foundation, and completely
reworking some areas to make it bigger, more structurally sound. New lights,
new sound system, new layout. We’re dedicating it to everyone who died- there’ll
probably be a plaque, or maybe we’ll name the new stages after them.”
Justin nodded, still not seeing where Brian was going with this, but felt a
bit too old to be going into a drama queen fit. Just yet, anyway. “Everyone
will be dancing. Drinks on the house. I’ll make a speech, some sentimental shit
that will make everyone feel better and remind them of how fabulous they are
even though they’ve lost their loved ones and are probably scarred for life.
At the end,” Brian paused. “I’ll say a big fucking farewell.”
Justin didn’t dare to move, remembering false reminiscences of Ibiza.
“Because the next day I’ll be on a plane, heading here.”
Justin opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Brian smiled, leaned in and took
the opportunity to snake his tongue in for another slow, searching kiss. “It
seems that the bombing shed some publicity on the plight of gay rights in Pittsburgh.
Several gay-friendly New York-based companies contacted me, as the owner of
Babylon, looking for a way to share their sympathies. Let’s just say that the
Vic Grassi house is having a very good year.” Brian played with the tips of
Justin’s somewhat disheveled hair. “A couple of these companies just happened
to be needing help in their advertising and marketing department, and were very
impressed with Kinnetik’s record.”
“So Kinnetik is expanding to New York?” Justin whispered, a little numb around
the edges.
Brian bit his lip. “Not officially, not yet. But while Babylon is being built,
we’re going to be working on the new accounts. If all goes well, by the time
Babylon reopens, we’ll have secured enough money to open a small office here.
Of course, Ted and Cynthia are insisting that I come here personally
to work the clients.”
Justin had to grin at that. “I can’t believe that Cynthia didn’t warn me you
were coming.”
“Oh, I know you have my secretary wrapped around your clever little finger,”
Brian smirked, rolling over on top of Justin. “So only Ted knows that I’m even
here.”
Justin shook his head, not for the first time feeling quite awed by this unpredictable,
devious man. “Are you sure? What if the accounts fall through?”
“I’ll get others.”
You’re just taking an awfully big risk, that’s all.
Brian pressed their foreheads together, probably sharing in the déjà vu. “Besides,
if I don’t do this now, I never will.”
Warm lips touched his, and Justin opened his mouth, letting Brian in, wrapping
himself around the man in his arms in every way he could. He felt like he was
standing on solid ground again, the weight no longer in his gut but draped on
top of him, stroking in the wet tongue in his mouth, pulsing in the blood-heavy
cock up his ass. He knew then that Brian would be a success, that Brian would
finally get his dream of living in New York, with an office in Manhattan and
a loft overlooking Madison Square Avenue, and if Justin felt a little proud
to be part of what had driven Brian to finally get his ass out of Pittsburgh,
he figured he was entitled to it after all that asshole had put him through.
He knew all this, because if there was anything that Justin believed in more
than the power of love, dreams, and the indomitable gay spirit, it was Brian
Kinney.