Seanmegansean
Genre: Future fic (it's Justin’s thirtieth birthday)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: vaguely for late s2
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Cowlip, Showtime, Showcase,
etc. I don’t own anything, don’t have any money, never made any from QaF (quite
the opposite actually), don’t plan on making any with it either, etc.
A/N: this is a little different for me, which is probably why it took forever
so long to get finished, hope it's still ok :)
Thanks to stephmck
and shadownyc
for their help, and for being so *very* patient.
***********
Justin’s POV
He’s lying next to me, on his back, one leg hooked over mine, one arm at his
side, the other on his naked torso. I can hear a suppressed moan rising from
the back of his throat, and his breathing, quicker than usual, matching my heartbeat.
His eyes are closed again and I can look at his expression without having to
listen to his complaints about staring at him -- or being called lesbianic.
Not that it mattered if I actually look at him or not. I know he’s never as
beautiful as in the mornings after we’ve fucked – sweaty, exhausted and then
deliciously invigorated. I wait for the moment when he will move and kiss me,
all slow and lingering and deep. And more often than not ready for more.
***
Brian Kinney doesn’t do birthdays. The only thing worth celebrating is achievement.
Yada yada yada.
Asshole.
I even remember agreeing to that crock of shit once, years and years ago. And
I can’t count the times I had to listen to that idiotic principle of his in
one form or another over the years.
Brian likes his rules. Usually they are so stupid to begin with that repeating
them is the only way to lend them some sort of credence and impact. Which naturally
leads to Brian doing just that. Repeating them, especially after he’s had a
few.
I stopped listening when Brian went on about heteros hating us, lesbian mating
rituals making his dick soft, what people need or don’t need, how ceremonies
are for breeders and feelings for pussies. Michael has yet to learn that not
listening to Brian now and then is actually a good thing for everybody.
However, some rules not only aren’t repeated, but have actually come to be slowly
deconstructed. Or rather, they’ve come to be neglected, at some point, by both
of us -- their details becoming utterly insignificant.
Like Brian’s infamous birthday rule.
My first birthday with Brian after Ethan was funny. I didn’t expect anything.
I really didn’t. Because being the Brian disciple I had just gone back to being
right then, I knew that expecting nothing from him for that special day was
the best and only approach. The only way of not getting my heart broken while
unwrapping some hustler dick, or feigning joy over unpacking my one year subscription
to OUT Magazine.
No expectations, no shattered hopes. A rule with potential. Luckily, I didn’t
need it that first year because I hadn’t made any plans whatsoever. I was still
in that phase where I was so happy to be with Brian again that he could do no
wrong. I didn’t actually expect him to get me a hustler again, but I would have
been okay with it too, as long as I was the guy Brian fucked more than once.
Basically, all I wanted was for that day to be just another one where I would
be allowed to wake up next to Brian, share a fabulous morning fuck, a leisurely
shower, and maybe a cup of coffee before heading to the diner.
I really did know what to expect from him. So I knew the fuck would be fabulous
if I got it. I suspected I’d get one, considering he seemed kind of glad to
have me around again, but everything else would be a surprise. No expectations,
no shattered hopes. It went perfectly. Got my fuck, and the shared shower. No
coffee, but two out of three wasn’t bad.
I really had learned my lesson.
***
Brian’s hand moves from his abs to my head, blindly reaching for my eyes, “Stop
looking at my wrinkles.” Ok, I guess he still complains now and then. Silly
and predictable, just like I love him.
“It’s not as if I was *trying* to look at them, but there are so many, they’re
kind of hard to miss.”
Of course he kicks me then. Silly, predictable, never not touching me. Brian.
“Fuck. You.”
“Only if you open your eyes.”
I chase his retreating hand but he turns his back towards me, so I can’t reach
it.
“In that case I’m just going to stay in bed all day. And sleep.”
I slap his thigh, hard enough to be kinky if I had my dick up his ass, but not
hard enough to make him turn over again. Yet.
“You can’t.”
“Since when do I need your fucking permission to spend the day whichever fucking
way I want?”
He’s funny when he tries to be rude before eleven in the morning. Of course
I don’t tell him that. Although that can be fun, too.
“You don’t.”
“Ha,” he snorts.
Ha, my ass. “Good point, old man.” I grin into him, pressing my thighs against
his, and my stomach against his lower back, hugging him from behind. “How about
you promising to make me coffee this morning? Unless you invented some fancy
new toy over night, you’d have to get up for that.”
His exasperated sigh is somewhat belied by the fact that he doesn’t move one
bit to get away from me.
“Fuck.” He’s directing my hand to his cock, probably to distract me. “How come
you remember that? You couldn’t even stand by yourself last night.”
“Not my fault my brain works as well as it used to. Alcohol has no power over
me, age no hold.” I try not to look too smug, and quite possibly fail.
He turns around then, just like I knew he would, an expression on his face that
used to register as ‘dangerous’ when I had just met him. Ages ago, yesterday.
“Wipe that fucking grin off your face.”
I don’t grace that with a reply, just bite his chin softly.
“Age will catch up with you, too.” I stare into his eyes that are locked on
mine and gasp when his hand grasps my dick, giving it a few quick tugs. “You’ll
just wait and see.” There it is.
There he is.
He pushes my hand off his cock and starts to stroke us both. Like I said, delicious
and invigorated. He seems to have plans of his own today, passes the slow and
lingering part a bit faster than usual. But hard and wet and deep is fine by
me, too. I try to keep my eyes open to be able to look at him, wrinkles and
bed hair and silly ego, but it’s getting harder and harder when his tongue is
licking at the roof of my mouth like that, and his hand is picking up speed.
I remember wanting to remind him again of our coffee deal from the night before,
if only to win this argument once, just fucking *once* in all these years.
And then I don’t care anymore about coffee.
***
Michael was the first one to ask me what I wanted for my twenty-first birthday
– which was a surprise, usually, after Daphne and my mom, Debbie had always
been the one to do that. I found it a little ridiculous to think about brief-cases
and art books and all that stuff while Brian was still checking the mirror each
morning for loose bushels of hair. I ended up telling Michael not to get me
anything and save it till it was clear if we made the deal with Brett or not.
Even though we did get the movie deal and were excited and proud about it, neither
Ben nor I felt like celebrating so shortly after Vic’s death, so there were
no parties. Michael, Ben and Hunter ended up getting me the first edition of
some well-known, even though not famous, comic hero or other, I got a sweater
from Deb and Carl, and the art book I hadn’t admitted to wanting because it
was totally over-priced from Mel and Linds. Oh, and a painting of a dog from
Gus – one eye, no tail, three thin green legs and one shorter, but thicker,
brown one.
Brian thought it was something completely different than a leg and was really
proud of his son and his three-legged dog. I was having a hard time keeping
his glee in check over Melanie’s nagging how he should stop corrupting *her*
son. Naturally, Mel’s reaction just spurred him on.
My mom came up with the totally unreasonable idea to ask what Brian had given
me - in front of *everybody*. No matter that she had sold him the Kinnetik office
space or had had dinner with us numerous times, apparently *that* part of Brian
was still a mystery to her.
Back then, Brian’s birthday rule was still on, so he didn’t give me anything
real on that day. He likes things done a certain way, always has I think, so
trying to convince him to get you a present on your birthday was basically a
no go. I remember wondering for a bit if that was part of his whole “We need
to be different from breeders” ad campaign he still seemed to be working on,
or some remnant nightmare of Michael’s thirtieth, or *my* nineteenth birthday
for that matter, but realized it didn’t matter as long as he stuck to celebrating
achievements. That’s something he’s really good at. Giving you something on
the actual reiteration of the day you were born, however -- not so much.
Lying to my mom when she asked about Brian’s present had reminded me of the
time when we had arrived at the loft after shopping and I had had to hide a
condom foil, the rumpled bed, and, not to be forgotten, my own horniness, until
we finally had gotten rid of her. Back in the day when not even the presence
of a parent was enough to keep my hormones in check.
Luckily for me, that year Brian had taken me to dinner the night we signed the
contract with Brett a few weeks before, and given me a new palm to keep track
of all my appointments in L.A. a couple of days later, so I stretched the truth
a bit and told her about those presents. Just seemed easier than telling her
about the stellar blow-job before breakfast, the fuck at the kitchen counter
after finishing off the coffee and eggs *I* had made, and a nice, slow hand
job in the shower before we both went to work.
Deb was looking so disappointed about my unspectacular answer I had wanted to
hug her. I decided against it in favor of trying to wipe the smirk off Brian’s
face by tickling him under the table. That, of course, turned out just as successful
as the idea of him making coffee for me on my birthday.
But at least Brian’s tirade against guys in their early twenties and their lacking
manners had distracted both Deb and my mom, so I guess there was some upside
to it after all.
***
Sometimes it is quite useful to be those twelve years younger than him. He’d
never admit to it, but he tends to be the first to fall asleep again after we
fucked. Something I appreciate quite a lot, since it allows me to just stare
at him for a moment. Without the running commentary.
Sometimes I get a sketch pad and start to draw him, sometimes I just look, taking
in his eyelids, lips and sweaty strands falling to one side over his forehead.
Often I cannot help but wonder how things turned out like this. The world’s
grumpiest bachelor and a more than naïve kid; rambling about allergies and diarrhea,
what a turn on.
Today I don’t do any of those things, but lift up Brian’s hand, which has come
to rest on my stomach, not so involuntarily keeping me in place, and carefully
move it back to Brian’s side of the bed.
I get up and grab my cell phone on the way to the bathroom. There are seven
messages already. Daphne, mom, a couple of friends from PIFA and New York. And
Molly, which I only find out after reading the message. She is as hopeless at
recharging her cell phone as Brian is with cooking. Usually, these days, it’s
her when I don’t recognize a number on my cell, having appropriated yet another
boyfriend’s phone for her purposes. If only Brian was that accommodating about
his electric toys. Well, mostly, he is.
I enjoy my shower and think about the hours to come. Standing in front of the
large mirror over the sink afterwards, I remember the first time I had been
standing there, at more or less the exact same spot. Finally moving in together
into the house, after all that time.
I don’t think I’ve changed since then. It might take a little longer for my
forehead to smooth out the lines when I’ve pulled a face (not that I would do
that of course), and maybe the skin around my eyes isn’t quite as firm as it
used to be when I stumbled into the loft’s bathroom the first time, on more
than wobbly knees, but I’m still the same person. And I still have no idea why
Brian was such a drama queen at his thirtieth. Or fortieth, for that matter.
Even though the latter had been amusing as fuck.
I see myself smiling when I pick up the vibrating phone, turning away from the
mirror and heading back to the bedroom when I hear Emmett’s voice on the other
end. I try to focus on Em’s listing of guests tonight but I find my attention
wandering when I see Brian’s gone from the bed, the sheets still rumpled and
a very distinct smell in the room.
I open the window, and choose a pair of pants and a turtleneck while trying
to sound attentive and grateful. Soon enough I really need a second free hand
to pull everything on, which is the exact same time when Em seems to have noticed
my mind’s not totally there.
“I’m sorry, am I boring you with *your* party arrangements? Or should I just
to talk to Brian again?”
If I’m not mistaken, I can hear more amusement than real scorn in his voice.
Nonetheless, I feel a little bad about it. It’s just that I don’t care about
the details. I know it’ll be great no matter how many people turn up, or how
many stars the food will have. It always is. Mostly because it is so much fun
to watch Brian pretend he’s having a horrible time, when he’s the one who not
so secretly arranged most of it.
“Sorry, Em,” I feebly offer.
“Oh poor baby, is it your head? You’re no longer seventeen, you know. Was last
night too much for you?”
“Still younger than you, thank you very much,” I cannot help but grin. “And
I’d hate to disappoint you, but my head is just fine.”
“Glad to hear it. We wouldn’t want anything wrong with your head, today of all
days.”
I have to snort. No one would ever be able to tell the age of these guys. Blaming
Brian for his bad influence on them later will certainly be another highlight
of the day.
“So you’re distracted because Brian is holding your dick hostage, is that it?”
Em doesn’t even let me get a word in after that, just shouts “How exciting!”
into my ear and keeps chattering away about how he knew it, and how it’s going
to be the best birthday ever, until he finally tells me we’ll see each other
later and hangs up on me.
I decide that I’ve had enough of the phone already and throw it onto the bed.
I finish getting dressed, shut the window again and go downstairs.
There are only Daphne’s and Molly’s presents on the couch table in the living
room, just like last year. And the one before that. Come to think of it, a rather
strange tradition, but it seems to have worked out that way without anybody
really noticing. I seriously doubt I’ll ever find one of Brian’s presents there.
Or lying around in open sight anywhere else for that matter. In fact, I’m pretty
sure it would scare the crap out of me if I did.
I ignore the wrapped parcels and pad over to the kitchen. Brian is sitting at
the counter, reading the paper. There are two mugs of coffee in front of him,
filling the air with their heavenly smell.
“Oh my God, you made coffee. I win!”
He so loves me.
And it only took a decade or so.
I watch Brian give me his early-in-the-day version of a glare and sit down on
the stool next to him. “Who says nagging never works?” I gloat.
Brian rolls his eyes at me, and pushes one of the mugs in my direction. “That
was me.” Taking a sip from his own cup, he returns his attention to the page
in front of him.
I wait.
“I made coffee because I wanted some myself,” he says after a while.
Of course he did. “Sure,” I say lightly, knowing that will prompt him to defend
himself even more. Like I said, predictable and silly. And mine.
“It’s not as if I had never made coffee, for fuck’s sake. I am quite capable
of working the coffeemaker all by my widdle self,” he says, still not looking
at me.
“You most certainly are,” I say, with all the seriousness I can muster. “And
I’m very grateful you were able to spare one of your customary two cups for
me.”
Brian turns in his seat, and I feel him watching my lips as I take sip after
sip.
“You know, I thought we had agreed on you bringing it to me in bed,“ I try one
more time, having a rather hard time hiding my smile by turning around for no
reason at all.
“We certainly didn’t agree on anything like that, Sunshine.”
I grin at him openly then and shrug, “Still worth a shot.” Especially for the
look on his face.
“Fucker.”
“And proud of it.” I let Brian pull me forward so that my head rests against
his chest. I inhale deeply while bringing my hands to Brian’s thighs for balance,
his hands in my hair and on my neck.
“Promise to bring me breakfast in bed next year,” I mumble into Brian’s shirt.
I feel one of his hands leave my body and can hear the paper rustling again.
“Not a chance.”
Pulling back from Brian’s grip and sitting up again, I ask “How about in five
years then?”
Brian shakes his head.
“In ten?”
“Don’t count on it.”
“You’re right, when I’ll turn forty, you’ll probably have an artificial hip
and it will be too much to ask anyway.”
“Oh, really?”
Which is the part when Brian’s predictability comes up yet again, showing in
the way he rolls his tongue into his cheek when he pushes the newspaper from
the counter and grabs our coffee mugs to put them into the sink, effectively
clearing the counter in about seven seconds.
“Better make use of my healthy two hips while I have them then.”
As if I were ever saying no to that. And he knows it, too.
“And try to keep up with me.” Brian stares into my eyes while he opens the button
on my pants and unzips my fly. “Kids today. No manners. No stamina.”
“You know I just put these on?” I try to protest, not putting up any real resistance
though when my pants hit the floor and my shirt comes off. It occurs to me that
I’m probably just as predictable as he is.
“Explain to me how *exactly* that is my fault.”
I want to remind him that he didn’t leave me much choice, seeing as he would
never have brought me coffee in bed. But then Brian’s lips are closing around
my cock and I start wondering why we ever started talking so much about coffee
in the first place.
Brian lifts my thighs and guides me backwards until I’m lying flat on the counter.
Yes, I think, as soon as Brian’s mouth is on me again, absolutely no reasons
left to dread birthdays anymore. Or old rules for that matter. Quite an achievement
in itself I guess.
“Everything ready for tonight?” Brian asks all of a sudden.
As far as I can tell it is. I nod while my hands try to convince Brian that
there’s more important things his mouth should be doing right now than talking.
“You’re looking forward to it?”
“To be honest, I was kinda busy looking forward to the next half hour or so.”
“You prefer a blowjob to a birthday party?”
I’m thinking I will have both, and quite possibly we could raise the blowjob
to a fuck without too much work on my part, but whatever. I nod again.
“I’m appalled.” He’s grinning up at me. “And after all the trouble I went to.”
“Yeah.” His hand has gone back to stroking me, but I’d really prefer his tongue
right now.
“Weren’t you the one talking about stamina just a minute ago?” I ask him at
last. “Cause I don’t see why I would need any when you’re planning on taking
breaks like this.” Sticking out my tongue is probably too childish, but I don’t
care.
“Is that you checking if my memory still works, or are you trying to forego
a conversation in favor of sex?” he smirks. He really can be such an asshole
at times.
“I swear if we’re not getting to the good part of me freezing my butt off while
you’re still fully clothed, I’m going to grab my clothes and go open my presents.”
He chuckles against my thigh, and then licks his way up to my nipple. I think
I moan his name when he starts sucking it into his mouth. “Finally,” I mumble.
“Now, now, Sunshine, I already made you coffee, remember? Why so greedy?” And
I can feel him huff out a laugh against my neck. I bet he remembers saying he
made coffee because *he* wanted it, just a few minutes ago, just as well as
I do. Idiot.
“And you’re going to have yet another orgasm before lunch,” he continues while
his hand starts running up and down my thigh lightly. It almost tickles. “I
think you should consider yourself very lucky.”
Right.
“Because more than one orgasm before lunch is such an extraordinary occurrence
in this household.”
Brian grins, “Now that you mention it, it really isn’t.”
I roll my eyes at him, just a little bit.
“I guess this means you won’t be getting anything special this year then, Sunshine.”
And he’s right, I won’t. Nothing anybody else might consider special anyway.
But for some reason it doesn’t feel like that at all. If I didn’t want us to
stop talking *now*, or better yet, five minutes ago, I might start thinking
about the early days, when I wanted so many things and didn’t see what I already
had. But I’m happy and there’s nothing I miss right now. Nothing left to wish
for today – except maybe him finally shutting up.
“How disappointing for you,” he says, one hand resting on my knee, the other
opening the top button of his jeans, “A man in his prime, living with the hottest-“
“Shut up and fuck me already, would you? Nobody’s getting any younger here.”
I start tugging his shirt out of his pants. The last resort when all else fails.
I *hope*.
The smile on his lips fades. He looks at me for such a long time without saying
anything that I almost forget that this is what I wanted.
And then he holds on to my hands, keeping me completely still. The amusement
in his eyes has changed to something else, and I have to swallow while I stare
back at him. He won’t take his eyes off me, and I recognize the look in them
as something I wished for when I was younger.
Another wish from the past come true. And he doesn’t even know it.
Or maybe he does.
He releases my hands and leans forward once more to kiss me. Then he takes off
his shirt and I pull him towards me to cover my body completely.
Pinning my body under his, he feels as good as he always does. Strong and ready
and determined. And not going anywhere. Not without me.
He nuzzles my neck, his arms resting on both sides of my head, his body slowly
starting to rock against mine. Strong and ready and determined.
And mine.
I couldn’t think of a better gift.
End