Etharei
Timeline: sometime between 309-310
Rating: soft R
Beta: the lovely shadownyc,
who manages to makes sense out of my convoluted sentences. Unfortunately I get
stubborn sometimes, so all remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Warning: spoilers up to 309
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: Brian won't stop touching him.
Author’s Notes: Written for ennorwen,
as part of a barter. Half of a pair o' fics.
Have A Nice Day
JUSTIN
It’s like this: the CEO and President of Vanguard is Gardner Vance. No questions
about that, everybody on the staff knows their place on the big corporate hierarchy.
And yet – quite like how medieval peasants once knew without question that their
King was the hand of God, the ultimate authority in the land, etc., and appropriately
had a somewhat distant fear of him, but who they really lived in daily terror
of were the figures of authority further down the hierarchy, who did more mundane
things like collect taxes or the crown’s share of the crop – the mortal employees
of Vanguard may kiss-ass and caper for Mr. Vance, but Mr. Kinney is the one
for whom the ads are done in record time and presentations perfected to superhuman
standards.
This probably also has a lot to do with the fact that Mr. Vance, when displeased
with the art department’s work, would simply send a sharp and pointed memo down
asking the responsible individuals to make an appearance in his office, while
a dissatisfied Mr. Kinney had no compunctions about showing up in the art department
to ‘express his concerns’. Often quite loudly.
Even if Justin didn’t already have an instinct for picking up Brian’s presence,
the sudden shift in the air in the art department would have been signal enough.
Holden, who has been showing him how conceptual drawings are prepped for presentation,
mutters, “Shit, not again. Second time today, and it’s not even lunchtime
yet.” The guy gives him a suffering expression and a grin that is probably intended
to be charming. Moves closer, apparently to spread the filled sheets further
apart for better viewing. Justin hears his teeth grinding inside his fake smile.
Holden takes any excuse to invade Justin’s space, to talk to him, to accidentally
brush against him. Justin, in his efforts to keep as much space between them,
is presently standing in the workspace of the girl who’s usually stationed next
to him but has gone off to copy a pile of stuff.
A change in the flow of busy artists moving around the room indicate that Brian
is starting his rounds across the room. “Barb, where are those new ads for Stockwell?”
Brian demands in his mildly-irritated-but-ready-to-be-angry voice, momentarily
distracting Justin. The voice is disgruntled and rough and fuck he looks hot
in that new suit. Justin’s cheeks warm, and he feels glad that he’s taken to
wearing his loosest pants to work these days. “Those boards better be on my
desk by noon, Williams!”
Eventually Brian reaches them. Eyes dark, he raises an eyebrow at the guy standing
uncomfortably close to Justin. “Holden, aren’t you supposed to be helping Murph
with the revisions for the Mighty Mints ads?”
“Yes, Mr. Kinney,” Holden flushes, backing away. Somehow Brian ends up standing
directly between Holden and Justin. “I was just showing Taylor here how to prep
drawings-”
“Think you’ve gotten the hang of it, Taylor?” Brian turns to Justin.
Justin nods, feeling sorry for the guy despite his annoying advances. “Yeah,
thanks Holden.”
Holden wastes no time to scamper off. Brian’s full attention, not to mention
a heavy gaze and an unreadable expression, falls on Justin, and Justin knows
that Brian’s probably as hard as Justin is, because that’s what just being near
each other does to them. Except he really doesn’t need to think about Brian
having a boner in those designer pants, doesn’t need to imagine that if he moves
towards him just alittle bit he’d be able to feel it…
“Taylor.”
“Mr. Kinney.”
It really, really doesn’t help that Brian’s staring at his lips. Heat fills
the air between them, and Justin has to force himself to step backwards, because
Brian’s cologne is stimulating his body’s sensory memory and he feels a familiar
twinge in his posterior regions from that morning’s wake-up call. He makes it
look as if he’s standing aside to let Brian look at the stuff he’s been working
on. A couple of blinks suffice for the head-shaking and bucket of cold water
the two of them obviously need. Brian carefully peruses the sheets of conceptual
drawings and color corrections on Justin’s work space.
“Not bad,” is the final judgment, and to his surprise Justin finds himself breathing
out in relief. Brian has always been honest in his responses to Justin’s work,
but when it comes to work for Vanguard he’s especially brutal. Several times
Justin has overheard whispers of “Kinney’s too hard on the kid” in that sympathetic-but-glad-I’m-not-him
kind of tone.
Well, Justin likes Brian hard, thank you very much.
“Do two more variations of this,” Brian continues, tapping on the collection
of concepts for a brand of nutrition bars. “Play with the font and colors a
bit, mix it up. Overwhelm me with choices.”
One, two, three…
Brian briefly presses his fingers on Justin’s back before nodding and walking
towards his next victim. Justin immediately returns to work, the bustle of a
busy and productive and boss-containing art department returning to his awareness.
His eyes do wander a couple of times to the open, near-empty pressed powder
case lying on Lisa’s workspace, and the long dark figure of Brian in its little
mirror.
#
Brian won’t stop touching him.
Any time the two of them happen to be in the same room- which is surprisingly
often, Justin notes, and that is clearly not the norm, from the way everybody
at the art department is muttering about somebody fucking up royally, because
the boss never used to spend so much time with them- Justin would feel a gentle
pressure on his arm. Or his shoulder. Or his neck.
It’s getting kind of embarrassing.
When they’re not at work, though, Justin’s hair gets the most attention. Brian
seems continuously fascinated by how long it’s gotten. He likes to ruffle it,
push it back from Justin’s face, slide his fingers through it. Justin’s caught
Brian staring at it when Brian thinks he’s not looking. And Brian’s moans get
a little rougher when he can clutch at Justin’s hair while fucking him, or while
Justin is sucking him off.
Justin wonders if he’s seeing the symptoms of a burgeoning fetish.
#
Brian calls him after the working day is over – that is, after a normal human
being’s working day is over – and asks if he feels like going to Woody’s. It
feels silly to be talking to Brian on the phone when his office is just a matter
of floors away, and that’s probably why his expression on the glass of the wall
displays is grinning goofily back at him
“Sure,” he answers. “Do you want me to go to your place, or should we just meet
up there?”
A thoughtful pause. “Loft. I’ll finish up here in an hour.”
When Justin gets in the elevator, Cynthia is there, though she’s heading for
another floor instead of leaving for home, like him. Justin had stayed back
a little after most of the art department had headed out, so the main evening
rush hour has passed. The only other occupant of the cart is a middle-aged exec
who gets off on the art department floor, so it’s just the two of them for a
couple of floors. They smile at each other, in greeting.
“You know, Justin, I never actually thanked you,” she says, out of the blue.
He frowns. “What for?”
“For making Brian a little more manageable.” A fond expression alights on her
face, and Justin realizes that though she may draw her paycheck from Vance,
Cynthia is definitely totally Brian’s woman. “And for getting him out of the
office at a reasonable hour again. When you were gone, sometimes I think he
slept in there.”
Her tone is light and joking and framed by a teasing smile, but her words are
sobering nonetheless. Justin nods. “I’m sure you would have looked after him.”
“Not in the way you can.” They arrive at her floor. “See you around, Justin,”
she says, looking over her shoulder as she steps out.
Justin nods. “See you.”
#
The first few days after the reinstatement of the Relationship-That-Never-Was
floated by in a sort of sense-heightening, Technicolor ether. Easy and awkward
at the same time, neither of them quite knowing where to pick things up again.
Especially since Brian busily pretended at the same time that there had
been nothing to pick up on the first place.
As for the sex… well, if Justin had thought it was mind-blowing before, months
of separation had apparently catapulted things to a level usually only associated
with large explosives.
Yeah, sex had never been a problem for them.
A normal couple, having survived ‘till the Grand Reunification after aforementioned
long months of separation, would probably spend every waking moment together,
catching up on things missed, relishing each other’s company, rediscovering
themselves, all that shit.
Since this is Brian, Justin is really only sure of one thing. Namely, that Brian
will make a point of reminding him that, despite everything, they’re still not
a couple. He braces himself for it. Imagines walking into a huge orgy in
the loft, being abandoned at Woody’s for hot new tricks, getting canceled on
only to encounter Brian fucking somebody in the backroom of Babylon.
He’d meant it when he said that he knew what to expect.
#
When Brian finally gets home, Justin is naked and sprawled over the bed. He
chuckles at how fast Brian walks to the bed, clothes falling away somehow without
slowing him down. Then Brian is on top of him, his hot mouth on Justin’s skin,
a low growl escaping his throat when an adventurous finger discovers that Justin
had lubed and loosened himself already.
The guys nod with utterly unsurprised expressions when they turn up late.
Ben does ask, concern in his voice, if Justin has hurt his leg or something,
because of his somewhat irregular gait. Brian sighs like a troubled soldier
and laments that Justin isn’t as flexible as he used to be.
#
So Justin was expecting the We’re-Not-A-Couple-There-Are-No-Locks-On-O
In the end, Justin is kicked out- not even kicked, actually, more like gently
pushed out- of the loft after an intense, prolonged blowjob, in favor of a prescheduled
trick.
And that’s it.
#
Justin plays pool with the guys for an hour or so, then relinquishes his place
to Ted. He offers to get everyone drinks, and waits patiently for them to tell
him what they want even though he already knows what each will ask for. Gets
carded at the bar, naturally, but there’s significantly less suspicious frowning
going on and the bartender only glances at his brand new fake ID.
While he’s waiting for Emmett’s cosmo, a sandy-haired guy shaped like a body-builder
slides into the stool next to him.
“You’re new,” he says, flashing perfect white teeth that stand out against his
tanned skin.
“Haven’t been around for a while,” Justin replies, smiling back. Leans over
the bar to reach the bottle opener, well aware of the guy’s eyes on his ass.
“Ex-boyfriend wasn’t into the scene.”
“Ah.” The guy nods, obviously pleased. “I know the type. But what do they know,
right?” He holds out his hand. “Adam.”
Justin shakes it. “Justin.” He opens his beer bottle and takes a sip.
Adam leans towards him. “So, what are you into, Justin?”
Justin is considering his reply when familiar fingers tread through his hair,
and a body presses against his back.
Adam looks up, surprised. “Brian Kinney,” he says, straightening. “I don’t know
if you saw my card, but if you’re ever bored a weekend or something-”
“Already had you,” Brian drawls, slinging his arm over Justin’s shoulders. “And
he’s booked for the night. So fuck off.”
The guy splutters, but Justin stops paying attention to him around the time
he feels the Brian’s dick hardening through his jeans, on Justin’s lower back,
and Brian’s tongue licking a hot wet line down the back of one ear. Gasping
softly, Justin turns around and kisses Brian, eagerly opening his mouth to Brian’s
stroking tongue.
“I’m sorry,” Brian pulls back half an inch, just enough to free their lips and
whisper in mock consternation, “Did you want to fuck him?”
Justin answers with a “Who?” before bringing their lips together again. Brian’s
hand makes its way back into Justin’s hair, cradling the back of his head and
pressing their mouths tighter together. Eventually Brian breaks it off, only
to grab Justin’s wrist and drag him towards the restroom. Not that Justin puts
up much of a resistance.
When they reemerge, Justin finds himself sitting near the pool table with Brian
next to him, feeling like Brian’s hand is close to taking root in his scalp.
To his surprise, Brian declines Michael’s invitation to return to the game,
instead continuing whatever conversation they had been having while industriously
fondling Justin’s hair.
For some reason, nobody else comes near Justin for the rest of the evening.
#
Though he’s not entirely indifferent to it, might never be, he understands now
about not take the tricking personally. It could be that it feels so fucking
good to be with Brian again, to touch him and kiss him and be fucked
by him at any and often all hours of the day, that he’s willing to put up with
Brian’s shit. It could be, but he knows that it’s not just that.
He knows how much Brian loves him. Letting him go, letting him come back. Acting
unaffected; but Justin can see, as clear as anything, how much his leaving had
hurt Brian. A normal person would have fought, would have tried to win back
the person he loved. But that fucking idiot of a man let him go, simply
because he thought that it was what Justin needed.
He was probably right.
Such thoughts swirl in Justin’s mind while he’s staring at Brian’s ceiling later
that night, sated and skirting sleepiness, Brian already asleep, lying half
on top of him. He feels more in control now than he ever has, of anything. His
life, his art, Brian. His Brian. Because, he had left. He had left Brian
Kinney. And though he has no intention of doing that again, knowing that
he had, that he could, has chased away the feeling of being trapped he’d
had before Ethan entered the picture.
It’s kind of terrifying, really.
He has to inhale sharply at the fear that fills him, not the urgent fear of
immediate danger but the slow and noxious kind, the shade that builds slowly
but spreads to every cell like a poison. The fear of doing wrong, failing, proving
unworthy of the fucked-up but nonetheless powerful love that Brian has for him.
Fear from knowing that, when it comes to love, Justin has his work cut out for
him, because Brian is very clearly clueless about the entire thing.
So, Justin had been expecting things to go back to the way they were. But Brian,
predictably unpredictable, seems to have changed things a little. Only a little,
mind, but sometimes it doesn’t matter how small the bouncing pebble is that
starts the rockslide, just that it makes that crucial, inexorable push.
This is something Justin hasn’t felt in a long time: the sense that they’re
moving forward.
Brian’s eyes open. “What is it?” he asks, voice sleepy and rough.
“Do I look older to you?”
This apparently requires some thought. “You don’t look seventeen anymore,” Brian
answers finally. “Why?”
Justin slips one arm around Brian, slides his palm down Brian’s spine. “Ed,
the bartender? He didn’t make a big deal about selling me drinks, not like he
used to.”
Brian’s eyelids have slipped down again. He slowly rolls off Justin, lying on
his back. Somehow Justin is not surprised to feel fingers in his hair. He half-rolls
to his side, resting his head on Brian’s shoulder.
Brian will probably bitch about having a numb arm in the morning.
Justin hopes he does, so that he can point out that Brian could have, for example,
let go of his hair. He burrows closer, kissing Brian’s skin. Well, being
young is overrated, anyway.