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Allie
Disclaimer: All things QAF belong to CowLip. I take
liberties but they own them, I don’t.
Characters: All Queer As Folk characters
Pairing: Brian and Justin
Warning: Entire Thing will be NC-17. Spoilers for
like all Five Seasons.
VI - What We Want
~ Angela Monet ~
Justin’s POV
A hot wet mouth pressing where my neck curves into my shoulder wakes me up.
Any part of Brian touching me is really the best way to wake up. Sometimes it’s
his mouth pressing over mine his tongue lapping at my lips until I’m coherent
enough to participate. Sometimes it’s his warm hand wrapping around my cock
moving in smooth gentle stokes. When Brian is in a less patient mood I wake
up when he slips a lubed finger in my ass. I’m not sure if he can tell I’m awake
by the automatic response of my body or by the way my breathing changes when
his mouth finds my nipple and his hand finds my cock. I arch my back against
his mouth and move my hips with the rhythm of his hand. His tongue leaves a
trail of warm spit as he licks and kisses his way down my body. When his mouth
takes the place of his hand I grip handfuls of his hair. He runs his tongue
down the underside of my cock and back up before taking the head into his mouth.
If there is one thing that Brian is a master of, and he’s a master of a lot
of things, it’s this.
“Brian.” I moan.
He alternates between swirling his tongue around the head of my cock and tonguing
the slit. Oh god, there is nothing like being buried to the balls in Brian’s
mouth. As he swallows around my cock I twist his hair harder. It probably hurts
but he probably kind of likes it. I could come like that my cock moving in and
out of his mouth but I don’t want to. If there is one thing we’ve learned over
the years it’s holding our climaxes back. When we have the patience for it,
the time to do it, we come so hard that it feels as if our hearts stop and our
breathing will never regulate.
I pull him up catching the smile on his face that reaches his eyes before pulling
his mouth to mine. Sometimes when we kiss I feel as if Brian is trying to swallow
me whole as if he’s trying to suck every single thing out of me and into himself.
Those are the kisses where I’m glad to be laying in bed because they make me
feel dizzy and completely boneless. His hands tangle in my hair as my fingers
make half-moon indentions on his shoulders. Sometimes I wonder if I will wake
up one day and he won’t want me anymore. Sometimes I wonder the same thing about
myself. That sooner or later the heat, hunger, fire, and electricity that crackles
between us will flicker and fade. It hasn’t and at this point I’m starting to
think it never will.
One of his hands leaves my hair, I don’t hear him open the lube, but I know
that’s what he’s doing. I arch my back rubbing the head of my cock against his
muscular stomach. He knows what I’m doing, he knows what I’m asking for, and
I know he’s going to give it to me. I feel the lube slicked head of his cock
pressing against my hole and I push against him.
“Fuck me.” I demand.
Its one fluid movement, he pushes into me as our hands and lips meet, and he
does exactly what I want. I arch my back so that each thrust of his body rubs
the tip of my cock against his stomach. His balls slap my ass and I vaguely
hear the headboard of the bed tapping against the wall. I’d find it funny if
Brian wasn’t buried in my ass and stroking my prostate with every quick hard
thrust. We pause somewhere in the middle bodies pressing together, my cock wet
and dripping between us, his throbbing cock deep in my ass, our hands clasped
together, his other hand in my hair, my other hand gripping his bicep, and our
kisses slowing so that our tongues dance rather than wrestle. Then the moment
passes and it’s hard, hot, and fast. The room is filled with the sounds of our
quickening breath, Brian’s balls slapping my ass, the tapping of the headboard
against the wall, and our grunts, groans, and moans.
We don’t talk during sex usually unless we’re in the mood for dirty talk or
light bondage. He doesn’t whisper in my ear how fucking tight my ass still is
after all these years. I know it by the sound he makes when he enters me time
and again. I don’t tell him how fucking beautiful he is or that no one has ever
fucked me like this and no one ever will. He already knows that when I'm writhing
beneath him meeting him thrust for thrust. We don’t say I love you when we come
because our eyes lock and we both just fucking know.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gus’ POV
I’m sitting in the living room mindlessly flipping from one channel to the
next. Five hundred plus channels and not a fucking thing to watch. It’s not
like I’m a big TV watcher to begin with. There are hundreds of other things
I choose to do instead of wasting my life watching the latest teen drama or
the ‘reality’ of some coked-out-insert-celebrity-name-here documentary. I stop
flipping when the latest Mercedes commercial flashes on the screen. Dad’s company
did that. Its slick, it’s hot, and it makes me want to run out and sacrifice
virgins if that’s what it takes to get a Mercedes S800. No one ever says my
Dad isn’t good at his job. Fuck good. The man is an advertising genius. Even
if you didn’t know him, if you just happen to pass him on the street, you’d
know whatever he did he did it well because of the way he walks like there are
hundred dollar bills peeling off the back of his Armani suit and he doesn’t
even care because there’s more where they came from. He exudes money. He reeks
of it.
I yawn and stretch out on the couch thinking about my Dad and money and going
to New York and how much I don’t want to give a fucking speech tonight and how
I haven’t even written a single thing down because I don’t know what the fuck
to say because out of the hundred other kids graduating with me none of them
had been hit by a drunk driver on New Year’s when they were sixteen. None of
them had almost died. I’m being an egotistical asshole. Yeah okay they didn’t
almost die, they didn’t survive the accident that killed their best friend/boyfriend,
but I doubt that any of the rest of them escaped four years with absolutely
no drama. Well, if I’m honest with myself, I don’t give a fuck about anyone
else’s drama, especially not anyone I go to school with.
Ash and I had other friends, a few other gay kids, a couple of straight guys
who knew that we weren’t out to convert them, and a very quiet fag hag. Since
the accident I just never felt like being around them so I wasn’t. They tried,
they were persistent, but you tell someone no long enough and sooner or later
they stop asking if you want to go to a movie or hang out at so and so’s house
because they got the latest kill-everything-in sight video game for the PS10.
Melody is the only one that I still talk to. My quiet little fag hag. She doesn’t
even talk much. She’s just there in that quiet way of hers holding my hand,
or wiping the tears from my cheeks when we’re sitting in my backyard and I remember
when Ash had said something or another or that time we kissed under the tree
when it was raining or whenever I thought of anything at all.
Melody never asks me what it was like. She doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t
need to know. She never asks if I miss Ash because she misses him too. We stuck
together talking softly at lunch about the AP Chemistry homework we hadn’t quite
finished or walking to the park when the weather was nice. I wonder how it will
be when I’m in
“You’re up early.” I turn to see Ma leaning against the door frame a cup of
coffee in her hands. Her short brown hair is kinda sticking up all over the
place. It’s kinda nice to see her a little rumpled because usually she’s all
business suits, stiletto pumps, and lawyer resolve. She walks over to the couch
and I move my legs to make room for her as she sits down. “Couldn’t sleep?”
She looks over at me with that fucking knowing look so I just shrug. What’s
the point of answering when she already knows? “Well I’m glad you’re up.”
I sit up and eye her suspiciously. “Why?”
She sits her mug on the coffee table, takes the remote from me, and turns off
the TV. When she turns to face me I see something in her eyes that look that
says she getting ready to make an opening argument to convince me that whatever
she’s about to say is for my own good. “Grace is going to be there tonight.”
I jump up from the couch. “No fucking way.” I move around the coffee table
and start pacing. Grace. Ash’s fucking twin sister. Fuck that. No fucking way.
Not going to fucking happen. I haven’t seen her since I was in the hospital.
I yelled at her, told her to get the fuck out, told her that I never wanted
to see her again. They had to sedate me. She just stood there and watched with
tears running down her face. I remember when the drugs made everything fuzzy
thinking that if I squinted and titled my head it could be Ash standing there.
When she moved to
“Gus calm the fuck down before you give yourself a fucking panic attack.” Ma
doesn’t do things like Mom. Mom holds me close and soothes me with soft words
and even softer hands in my hair. Ma just demands for it to stop and if that
doesn’t work she grabs me by the shoulders and holds me still which is what
she’s doing now.
“I don’t want to see her. If she’s coming I don’t want to fucking see her.”
“She’s coming to the house afterward.”
I pull myself from her grasp and yell so loud that each word scrapes my throat
raw. “I don’t want to fucking see her!”
“Well she wants to see you and you’re going to see her. You’re going to get
your act together and act your fucking age. She never did shit to you. She wants
to be here.” Ladies and gentlemen of the jury in closing my son will do exactly
what I say. I know it’s pointless but I fight back anyway.
“And what about what I want or doesn’t that matter?” I ask exasperated.
“Gus of course it matters. I’m not saying it doesn’t.”
“Of course you are Ma. ‘You will be nice. You will see her.’ Whatthefuckever.”
I try to walk around her but she grabs my arm.
“She has just as much right to be there as you do.”
I yank my arm away and run upstairs without answering her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Justin’s POV
We’re sitting at the table next to the window in our suite drinking coffee
and reading The New York Times we had brought up with breakfast. It’s pretty
much par for the course of how we usually spend our mornings before he rushes
off to work and I rush off to my studio, the only difference is the location.
Setting aside the Arts and Leisure section I lift my mug and take a sip of my
Irish Cream flavored coffee.
“Yesterday wasn’t so bad.” I say. He scoffs at me from behind the Business
section of the paper. “It could have been a lot worse.” Folding down a corner
of the paper he looks over at me. “Well,” I shrug. “It could have been.”
“We haven’t heard the last of it.” He replies before disappearing back behind
the paper.
That’s probably true. Lindsey and Mel were suspiciously quiet throughout the
whole ordeal. I wrote Mel’s silence off as indifference and Lindsey’s quiet
composer as country club manners.
“I suppose not.”
He folds the paper and sets it aside. “Lindsey’s pissed.”
“She didn’t say anything.”
“That’s how I know.”
“Why would she be pissed? My Mom didn’t even seem to be that upset about it.”
He scoffs and takes a sip of his coffee. “They were just minding their manners
in front of everyone Sunshine. They’ll corner us alone and let us have it.”
“Mmm.” He’s probably right about that too. Draining the last of his coffee
Brian gets up and walks to the nightstand to pick up his wallet and cell phone.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yeah, I’m going to head over there. See Gus.” He turns to me and shrugs. “Get
the bullshit out of the way before tonight.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No. You should probably call your Mommy.”
Sitting my mug back on the table I sigh. “You’re probably right.”
“Of course I am.” He relies smugly.
I slump in my chair at the prospect of facing my Mom. I know she’s more upset
then she lead on and I just don’t know if I feel like dealing with it.
“Hey.” I look over at Brian standing next to the bed. “Come here.”
I push myself out of the chair and stroll over to him. He wraps his arms around
me and pulls me to his chest. “It’ll be fine. Lindsey will queen out for whatever
reason. Your Mom will make you feel guilty for getting married without her being
there. Eventually it will all blow over.”
“I know.” I press my cheek to his chest and breathe in his expensive cologne.
Pulling back from me he lifts my left hand and presses it to his chest. I look
up at him. He smiles tapping my ring with his index finger and I smile back.
I wrap my other hand around the back of his neck pulling him down into a kiss.
When we break apart we are both smiling and it’s kind of funny that I feel
like a fucking newlywed around a man that I’ve known for eighteen years.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Brian’s POV
“Just tell me why you’re so pissed.” I can feel the headache forming behind
my eyes.
“I’m not pissed Brian.” Lindsey opens the dryer to remove a shirt.
“You’re fucking pissed.” I lean against the washer wondering why the fuck we’re
having this conversation in the fucking basement.
She tosses the shirt into the basket on top of the dryer and turns to me hands
on her hips. “I’m…upset.” She brushes a stray hair back from her face and picks
the shirt back up folding it before she returns it to the basket.
“Well why are you upset.” I really want her to get to the point and I really
want her to fucking stop pulling shit out of the dryer.
She turns to me folding a pair of socks. “Don’t you think that we wanted to
be there? Don’t you think that we wanted to share that experience with the two
of you.”
“Well we didn’t want to share it.”
She tosses the socks into the basket. “You didn’t. What about Justin?”
“What about him?”
She shakes her head. “Did he just go along with it to please you or was he afraid
if he said one word about it that you wouldn’t go though with it? That he didn’t
at least want his Mother there or Debbie or any of us?”
I try to hold back my anger but it seeps out of my pores. “Justin isn’t a fucking
kid anymore. He’s fucking thirty-five years old and believe me he’s not afraid
to tell me shit.” She opens her mouth to say something but I hold up my hand
to cut her off. “If Justin wanted everyone there they would have been. If he
wanted to invite every person we’ve ever met then I wouldn’t have said a fucking
word. If he wanted some big fancy wedding that would grace the front page of
the Business section of the
“Brian.” Her voice is soft and full of retraction.
“I don’t have to explain shit to you Lindsey. We did what we wanted to just
like we always do. We don’t live by your rules or anyone else’s.”
She reaches out her hand to touch me but I step back. “I’m sorry. I-” She tucks
a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just would have liked to be there to share
it with you both.”
“It was just for us.”
“I know.” She places her hands on the sides of my face and I let her. She smiles
and then kisses my cheek. “Congratulations Mr. Taylor-Kinney.”
“Oh Jesus Christ.” I pull away from her. “I’m going up to see my son.”
Her laughter follows me up the stairs.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Justin’s POV
I’m sitting across from my Mom in this tiny little café picking at the salad
I ordered. She’s looking at me waiting for me to start I guess but I’m pretty
much waiting to see what she’s going to say.
She sits her fork down and wipes the edges of her mouth with the
corner of her napkin. “Honey,” I groan and she laughs. “You don’t even know
what I’m going to say.”
I stab a crouton and it breaks in half under the pressure of my fork. “No but
I can guess.”
“I just wish I could have been there that’s all.”
I set my fork down and look up at her. “I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I shrug. “Is it because of Brian?”
I try not to roll my eyes. “Don’t you think if I wanted everyone there they
would have been?”
“Maybe you just didn’t want to rock the boat.” She reaches for her wine glass
and takes a sip.
“Rock the boat?”
She sets down her glass looking a little flustered. “I mean, it’s just…” She
looks away and then back at me.
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Are you saying that I didn’t challenge Brian on
people being there because if I did he wouldn’t go through with it?” When she
doesn’t say anything I know that’s exactly what she thinks. I’m kind of irritated
and kind of upset so I push. “Is that what you thought?”
She takes a deep breath. “Yes.”
I shake my head. “That is such bullshit Mom. We made a mutual decision. We
didn’t want anyone there. We wanted it just for us. We didn’t need anyone’s
approval or blessing or opinion.” I take a deep breath and look her right in
the eyes. “And if I wanted to have every-fucking-body there I could have. If
I wanted a big fancy wedding on top of the tallest roof in
“Because he loves you?”
I want to scream because really at this point how can it even be a question?
“Because we love each other.” I simply reply back. It’s not catty or cunty because
it’s just the truth.
I release her hand, pick up my fork, and ask her about Tucker and Molly.