jane2005 (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} jane2005) wrote,@ 2007-03-29 23:49:00 |
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Winning - Jane!fic
Winning - Jane!fic
“The chances of us in Paris are equal to the chances of my ordering pancakes in the next five minutes.”
The waitress approached the table at which Brian and Justin glared at each other. Brian ordered a cup of coffee, half a grapefruit, and dry wheat toast.
Kiki glanced over at Justin, who practically spat out his order. “Pancakes. And a large orange juice.” Kiki nodded and walked away. “You told me we’d go wherever I wanted,” Justin reasoned. His voice remained firm, determined.
“I didn’t expect you to want to go to Paris. In January? Nobody in their right minds goes to Paris in January. Or August.”
“What’s wrong with August?”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s on vacation. And I mean everyone. And it’s hotter than hell. And some of the more interesting spots are not air conditioned.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to go in August. I want to go for the vacation we’re planning in January.”
“Just the opposite. Slogging around Paris in winter?”
“We already talked about this. It’s the only time our schedules allow us to take a week together anywhere, and I’ve got to cut into my first three days of classes as it is. It’s FINE, don’t start on that again. And then you said, anywhere I want to go. And I said Paris.”
“That’s because I expected you to be reasonable and name a beach. Like, a Florida beach.”
“You’ve just have a hard on for Key West since that last campaign. I never imagined you’d buy your own bullshit.”
Brian leaned forward. “The beaches there are almost perfect year-round. January here sucks. I didn’t have to play at all with the colors of that sunset in Photoshop, that was the actual photograph. It’ll be a wet dream for you to paint, in the warm breeze of a beachside cabana, with me posing naked for you in the foreground…”
Justin barked a laugh as Kiki placed their drinks in front of them. “You are totally shameless! I want to see Paris, I’ve been dying to see the Louvre and the Musee D’Orsay since I can remember. You asked, and my answer is Paris first, then Key West, then Italy. In that order.” He picked up his orange juice and gulped at it.
Brian glared sourly into his coffee. Paris in January. “Do you really want to spend the only morning we have to spend time together arguing over where we’re going to go on vacation together?” Together. Twice in one sentence. Jesus Christ. “Key West, Justin. I thought you’d want me to be happy.”
“You’ll be happy in Paris, just think of the shopping.”
Hm… Shopping in cold damp grey January on the dark streets when he could be basking in reds and pinks on a white beach and ordering the Armani spring collection over the internet. “No.”
“Paris.”
“Key West.”
They locked eyes and each man locked his respective jaw, grinding teeth.
“Hey, Brian, Justin!”
Brian glanced over Justin’s shoulder, and saw Michael waving at them from where he and the family had just entered the diner. Brian nodded as Michael followed Ben and Hunter to the last free table, well across the room from where they sat. “Michael and Ben would agree with me.”
“To go to Key West?” Justin asked, craning his head around and smiling at Ben when he caught his eye. He turned back.
“Yup, Florida, beach, Michael’d definitely be all over it.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“What, are you kidding? Warm beaches? We used to talk all the time about retiring there in muumuus on the beach, prime fantasy. He’d definitely be all over it.”
“Sure, Brian, he’d relive a fantasy about you in front of the husband you fucked in Miami, probably picked up on that very beach.”
“Key West is not Miami,” Brian pointed out.
“Potato, Potahto,” Justin replied.
Kiki came over with their order. “Here you go, honey,” she said as she slid the pancakes in front of Brian. Brian practically growled, and shoved the plate across the table as Justin burst out laughing. “Oops, sorry!” Kiki excused herself. “Well, you know who’s who, anyway, even if the rest of us are starting to mix it up. Sorry,” she said as both men glared at that. She realized she had actually spoken the last comment aloud, blanched, then dropped the toast and grapefruit in front of Brian and fled.
“Michael would never encourage us to go to Paris, evoking fond memories of his own trip there with his last thank-god-that’s-history boyfriend.”
“Ben’s totally secure with Michael’s past with David, and Michael knows that. It wouldn’t matter.” Justin picked up the syrup container, and poured liberally over his order.
“He’d say Key West just because I’d ask him to say Key West. As a favor to the loving pleas of his best friend.”
Justin paused in chewing, stared at the man across the table who hadn’t even picked up the toast, or the spoon for the grapefruit, but calmly sipped on his coffee. “I think you’re overestimating Michael's PAST infatuation with you.”
“I’m still his best friend,” Brian returned, tongue firmly in cheek. “Even Michael knows Paris sucks in the winter.”
“The museums never suck. What do you want to bet Michael will go with Paris?”
“He won’t. Guaranteed.”
“All right, let’s ask him. Wherever Michael says we go, we go.”
“No problem. After you finish packing that insulation on your hips, we’ll go ask him.”
“My hips are perfectly svelte. And now you’re nervous.”
“At what? I know he’s going to say Florida.” Brian picked up a piece of toast, and nibbled on the crust.
“He’s going to say Paris.”
“What do you say we make it interesting?”
“A bet? Isn’t having the vacation destination settled enough?”
“Enough, sunshine? Never enough. No, I want… the Brian Show.”
Justin wrinkled his brow, and practically groaned. Oh, good god, not this again. Two months before, Brian had gone with him to a fellow student’s art exhibit, and had been corralled by one of Justin’s professors, Kyle, who had recognized Brian’s face and figure from a number of Justin’s paintings for which Brian had been the subject. Justin had come upon their little tete-a-tete just in time to hear the professor remark that Justin’s studies of Brian were some of the most beautiful interpretations of the human body he’d seen in a very long time from a student artist. If Justin had any more, the professor would be delighted to help him organize an exhibit based on the human form, as each of the pieces revealed a new and unique approach to the single subject… And the entire time, Kyle’s eyes had been sliding up and down Brian’s body, while Brian practically preened at the praise. Pleased at the praise for Justin’s work, of course, Brian later insisted. That was probably, indeed, part of Brian’s pleasure. But only part. Justin knew his subject.
For two weeks after that fucking meeting, all Justin had heard about was “The Brian Show…” Okay, maybe not all he’d heard about, but more than a couple times, and it was bad enough that Brian’s ego had latched onto the idea as a perfect tribute to itself, but then Kyle had asked Justin more than once whether he had considered the idea, what a great concept, and he, Kyle, could send out invites to all the local papers, he knew people… And Justin knew damn well Kyle only wanted a shot at Brian. Not that Brian would necessarily allow Kyle said shot, especially since Brian seemed honestly puzzled that Justin believed that Kyle was only interested in Brian, and not in Justin’s work at all. “Of course he’s interested in your work,” Brian had insisted. “And of course he’s interested in me, but that doesn’t mean anything. You’ll get publicity, your own show. Your work deserves it.” Brian had declared that if Justin truly believed it was all about Brian, then he, Brian Kinney, would not so much as look at the man, to which Justin had replied that there was no way he was going to be distracted by Brian’s seeming sacrifice of a trick when he, Justin Taylor, knew damn well that Brian’s ego was practically weeping with joy at the idea of an entire art exhibit displaying all his glory, devoted to the glory and beauty that was Brian Kinney. “I might as well get down on my knees and worship,” Justin had said.
“You do that anyway,” Brian had returned. And then the subject had been dropped. So it seemed.
Justin should have known better. “No way. I’m not going to erect Justin’s Church to the god that is Brian Kinney,” he said. Not for the first time.
Brian smirked. “You just know you’re going to lose, that’s why you won’t take the bet.”
“I’m not gonna lose. Michael would choose Paris.”
“So? What’s the risk, if you’re so sure?”
“Fine!” Justin snapped back. “If I win, I want…” He thought for a moment, and started to laugh.
“What?”
“I want to top you in the back room at Babylon.”
Silence. Brian’s face froze.
“Ah…” Justin taunted. “Now we have a real bet, don’t we?”
Brian’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. No problem. Because Michael’s going to agree with me.”
“No problem? Really?”
“Yeah, cause I'm not going to lose.”
Justin shook his head. “Careful, Brian. You're not always right. You can’t always come out on top.”
“Wanna bet?” Brian taunted, in the same tone Justin had just effected.
“Fine,” Justin returned. “You prepared to fall on your sword on this one? or should I say, fall on my sword?"
“I'm prepared, because I'm not going to lose.”
“Fine.”
"Fine."
Michael almost choked on his coffee as Brian slid into the booth next to him, pushing him over. “Hey!” Brian greeted, a genuine smile on his face.
“Hey, Rage,” Hunter called eagerly from across the table.
“Oh, hey, squirt, how’s it going?” The smile did not fade. Ben raised an eyebrow, and caught Michael’s glance across the table. What was up with this? Michael shrugged back at Ben’s look, then turned to Justin. “What’s up?”
“We have a question to ask you,” Justin began, but Brian interrupted.
“It’s of utmost importance that you choose the most reasonable, and compassionate response, based on your feelings of love and affection, and of course years of the unwavering friendship and devotion I have for you.”
“Hey!”
“What?” Brian turned his face up to Justin’s outraged expression. “No one said I couldn’t influence the court.”
“Court?” Ben chuckled. “All right, I’m definitely ready to hear this one.”
“It’s a matter of life and death,” Brian continued solemnly, turning his serious countenance onto Michael. “And I think…”
“Why do you get to go first?”
Michael shook his head, trying to figure what the fuck was going on, and Ben held up his hand. “Excuse me, guys?” Everyone turned to look at him. “Okay, I understand you’ve got some sort of argument, and Michael decides who gets his way. Am I correct so far?” Two head, one dark, one light, nodded in sync. “Why don’t you each make your case, the other can’t interrupt. Are there any ground rules before we start?”
“No ground rules, all’s fair,” Brian said. “I go second.”
“Oh, bullshit, you just want to counter my argument. One ground rule. No discussion of the stakes,” Justin replied. Brian considered that briefly, and nodded.
“Flip for it,” Hunter reasoned, taking out a quarter, and tossing it in the air.
“Heads,” both called, then glared at each other as the coin fell, impotent, onto the table.
“Stop!” Michael cried. “Okay, look. Justin, you go first. Brian, you go second. Then, Justin, you get to make a single statement in reply.”
“Fine,” Justin said, and took a deep breath. “Okay, we’ve got to figure out where to go on vacation…”
Michael looked over at Ben, who bit his lip to keep from laughing. Drama queens? Oh, yes, these two were perfect for each other.
“…and I want to go to Paris, but Brian wants to go to Key West.” Brian took a deep breath, but Hunter helpfully called out, “No interrupting!” and received a glare for his efforts. “Paris is gorgeous,” Justin continued, “as you well know. Plus, the spring collections will be coming out and there are several haute couture shows that premier in Paris that week that Brian would die for, plus the thrill of being there. To say nothing of the museums. And I do speak a little French, I can read it fairly well, so we’d manage without having the French spit on us. And there are DYNAMITE clubs. Plus, I think it would be a good idea to get out of the States, to see other parts of the world for a change, expand our horizons. I’d love to go to Italy, but my heart’s been set on Paris every since you went there, and showed us all those amazing pictures of the sights.”
“I thought you were too busy making out,” Michael reminded him, enjoying the flattery but not buying it for a second.
“It was so impressive I could kiss Brian and still be knocked out by the slide show.”
Michael did snort then, but Justin just smiled at him, what he considered the big gun of all the smiles in his arsenal. Michael blinked. That one was rarely turned on him.
“That’s it?” Brian asked, raising an eyebrow. “Fine.” This was in the bag. “What Justin didn’t mention is that our trip is taking place in the last week of *January*. And I don’t want to go just to Key West, I want to start in Miami Beach, and then go to Key West.”
“That ad really was pretty great,” Michael replied, remembering the travel agency ad Brian had worked up earlier that month.
“Hm, thanks, I’m flattered you noticed. Certainly both Justin and I could use the vacation, just relaxing, he works really hard, and you know how he gets around the holidays. I feel he deserves a week of pure relaxation in the sun and warm water, with nothing to do but paint and be shamelessly pampered…”
“Who do you think deserves the shameless pampering?” Justin asked, sourly.
“No interruptions!” Hunter called out, scoring two for two on angry looks from the combatants.
“And,” Brian continued, “if you agree with my vacation idea, I will rent a cabana right down the beach from where we’re staying on Key West for you, for an entire week, so that your little family will have a nice vacation, and even three days alone on the beach before we even show up. I leave it to you Michael, my fate is in your hands, for the love of your best friend, I would beg if I ever did any such thing, so I will instead offer my time, part of my vacation, and my endless love and devotion.”
Four sets of jaws dropped at that, Justin’s the lowest. “No fair!” he growled.
“Is that your one sentence come back?” Brian asked, looking up with an extremely pleased smile on his face.
Ben really wanted to know what the stakes to this bet were. He knew Michael hadn’t caught Justin’s only condition, that the stakes were not to be mentioned. Michael assumed the stakes were the vacation location itself; because both men had agreed to and ignored the restriction so quickly, Michael put it out of his mind as quickly as they agreed and dismissed the issue. But Ben noticed such subtle details. More was at stake than a simple destination.
All eyes turned now to Justin, waiting for how he’d top that.
“If we go to Paris, you and Brian will have a whole new subject to discuss and compare notes on, something current that will deepen your relationship beyond the past ties you already have.” Justin crossed his arms over his chest. That was it.
Michael’s face lit up, and Brian’s darkened. Shit! Still, he thought, the beach house, one week. It was a slam dunk.
“I think you should go to Paris.”
What? “WHAT?”
“Sorry, Brian,” Michael shrugged, as Brian’s face paled. “But actually, we’re already planning an extended vacation in July up to Bar Harbor to see Ben’s godfather. Hunter’ll be in school in January, and Ben starts teaching right around then too. And I know you and Justin really need time alone, away from all of us. If you’re in Europe, there’s less chance of anyone from Kinnetik being able to reach you, or even trying to, and you really need a real vacation. When’s the last time you had one, anyway? Besides, you’ll love Paris! Even in winter, and I know you’ll stay at a five star hotel so it can’t be that bad. And all the fashion shows? It’s practically a wet dream for you. Fly back through Florida, take a couple of days if you want, but if there’s gotta be a choice, go to Paris.”
Brian’s head had dropped to the table, and he was moaning. Justin was doing his best not to gloat. He placed a hand on the back of Brian’s neck. “Don’t worry, Brian, you’re dreading it now, but you’ll love it, I promise.”
“Arghhhh…” Finally, he lifted his head, and turned to Michael. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are!” Michael cried. “You’ll love it, you’ll see. I know you will.” But something in Brian’s eyes made his assurance falter.
“See, Brian? Michael agrees with me. Ready to fall on my sword?”
Brian’s lips twisted. “A bet’s a bet. Tomorrow night.”
“No way! Monday? Is Babylon even open? Try Saturday.”
“I don’t think so,” Brian stood up, and stalked back toward the booth he and Justin had recently vacated.
“Hey, a bet’s a bet, I won, I call the terms.” Justin strode off, right after.
“Wonder what that was all about?” Ben asked, sipping on his coffee.
“Are you mad I gave up a vacation in Florida?” Michael asked.
“Fuck yeah!”
“Hunter!” both Ben and Michael reprimanded. Ben continued, talking to Michael. “No, I think it’s a good idea that you have more to talk to Brian about than your shared past,” he teased, nudging Michael’s leg. “I think it’s wonderful that you’d give up a very nice offer because you know Brian and Justin would be better off in a far-off pocket of the world, alone, in the most romantic city anywhere. Away from all the shit they deal with here.” Michael smiled, and leaned across the table to kiss his husband.
“Jesus, I’m gonna barf,” Hunter muttered, looking around for the waitress.
Friday night. Back room of Babylon. Todd watched Brian and Justin enter through the murky half-light, a deep rose color tonight. Todd shifted slightly, allowing the guy behind him better access. Oh, he loved it when those two showed up, royalty if there was such a thing around here, and at least the gold standard for performance, a guarantee to raise all surrounding dicks to new heights of appreciation. The two reached the far wall, and Kinney leaned back against the bricks, the supertwink leaning into him as they locked lips. Let the dance begin.
“Kinney here?” the guy behind Todd asked. “Your panting increased. So did mine, as a matter of fact.”
“Against the wall,” Todd replied, nodding in the direction.
“Oh,” the guy behind him noted. “The supertwink again.” He sounded disappointed. “Not much variety these days.”
“Best visual in town, I don’t care how many times it’s replayed,” Todd replied, slightly shocked at this guy’s attitude. Who the fuck was he fucking? Ah, well..
But this was different. No ordinary rewind of the same old moves. Todd watched as Brian released Justin’s lips, and said something to him. Justin replied, placing a hand on Brian’s side, under his shirt. Hm, thought Todd, usually Brian just drops trou, then the twink drops to his knees. God knows I would. What’s this? And then Brian was turning to face the wall. And a spark raced through the backroom, as if an electrical current had been thrown, and heads popped up to get a better view than the cursory glances that had heretofore been roaming the grand couple’s way.
Justin placed his hand on Brian’s waist, underneath the shirt, his other hand moving to the zipper. “You sure?” he asked.
Fuck no, Brian thought, not looking around the room. It was about to be all over, whoever the fuck he had been. But he didn’t need to take in a last glance before the eyes gazing back were forever altered. He had decided, when he had accepted that fucking bet. When he had given Justin the keys to the loft. When he stood watching him sleep, through the glass of a hospital window. When he had waltzed him past the gaping students of St. James, sweeping his partner away from them, Justin’s hand in his, never looking back. “Look, Justin,” he commanded, “if you’re going to be the full-fledged partner of the Stud of Liberty Avenue, you’re going to have to stop asking for clearance. Stop being a chicken. Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Fine, stud, turn around and prepare to take it from the King of Babylon.”
“Ex-king.”
“Bullshit. I'll always be the king, you'll always be the stud. Turn around.”
Brian hid his smile by turning to face the wall, and felt Justin’s arms come around his waist, hands fumbling with the zipper at Brian’s jeans, then shielding Brian’s naked backside with his body as he exposed their flesh to the cool air.
“I just don’t know if I could have gotten rid of Bradford,” Emmett placed his two cents in the idle discussion of this week’s stupidest television show. “Yeah, he gave up his exemption, and that was stupid, but he did it from the goodness of his heart.”
“Please,” Michael replied, “there’s no place for heart in business.”
“Just ask Brian,” Ted groused. “He axed three people from the Art Department last week, and now we have to fill the slots before we can move on to the second phase of the Key West Travel promotion.”
Michael smiled. “You love your job, don’t you Ted?”
“I do.” Ted replied. “I expected it to be same old accounting crap. But Brian’s really made it interesting for me, not just sticking me in an accounting box. He’s letting me try on all kinds of hats. I think I look pretty good in some of them.”
“Yeah, you’ll do in the advertising industry, listen to you, just pick up a cliché and an image, just put that hat on your head,” Emmett put in, sipping on his old fashioned. He grimaced. Why was he trying new drinks? Why was he trying this one?
“No fucking way! There is no fucking way.”
Emmett swiveled his head, looked toward the sound of the guy shouting. A little guy stood next to him, gesturing wildly.
“You’re lucky I came to get you, everybody’s glued to the floor. I mean, more than usual,” the little guy replied. The two raced toward the back room, pushing those blocking their way aside.
“Huh, wonder what that’s all about?” Emmett asked idly, to no one in particular. Michael and Ted were continuing to wax on about the glories of Brian Kinney, and how a heart of gold beat beneath the shit on top. Emmett sighed. He knew, he knew. But the ego… did they need to feed the voracious thing, even in its absence?
“Holy shit, is it true?” Another guy at the bar asked the cute man with the swimmer’s build that Emmett had been exchanging glances with.
“Is what true?” Swimmer guy returned.
“Brian Kinney’s getting topped. In the backroom.”
“No shit? Holy shit! What, did they drug him up and tie him down?”
“Yeah, right. I’m gonna go look.” And swimmer guy pushed off the bar, heading back.
Emmett told himself that he was only following swimmer guy because he wanted to get laid. Not because of what he’d overheard. He’d been fooled by this sort of rumor before. A guy with a 14 inch dick was getting sucked off by a kid who could get the whole thing down his throat. Three guys, one hole. And Brian Kinney getting topped. Rumors, always. But what the hell, maybe swimmer guy was trying to get him somewhere more comfortable.
He actually believed this, until he pushed into the back room, and saw it for himself.
Everyone had their heads turned in one direction. And no one was sucking dick; it was far too difficult to do that and focus on the view at a distance. But everyone had his dick in something of someone else. Just so long as the eyes were free to take in what was taking place across the room.
On the far wall, Justin’s body was shielding the voracious eyes from Brian’s ass, and his head was turned to the side to rest on Brian’s back, one arm around Brian’s waist, and the other around his body, in motion, lower down. He was pacing himself, obviously, his breath in rhythm with his hips, pressing upward, yielding back, slow and steady. Brian’s head was thrown back, his eyes shut, a look of intense pleasure on his face, mouth open, tongue snaking out to lick the lower lip.
Behind him, Emmett heard an excited whisper approach where he stood, “Who? Who?”
And the reply, “Oh, please, who else?” Murmurs underneath the moans of other responses to the scene.
“The supertwink, then? So, what, the death of a legend?”
“More like the passing of an era. Talk about making a statement.”
Emmett decided he had seen enough to confirm the rumor for himself, and decided his pursuit of the swimmer guy just took a major back seat. Maybe he’d find him again, if he reappeared at the bar, or on the dance floor. Leave it to the fates.
And so Emmett returned to the bar, propping himself up beside Ted and Michael. He signaled the bartender. “Can I have a martini? Bombay Sapphire.”
The bartender made the drink, and set it down on the bar in front of Emmett “Is it true?” the bartender asked.
“Yes,” Emmett replied. He gave the guy a ten, waved at him to keep the change.
“Damn it, no video equipment in sight,” the bartender laughed, and moved to take the next patron’s order.
“Is what true?” Ted asked, turning slightly to include Emmett back in his conversation with Michael.
“Our boys are declaring themselves each other’s man,” Emmett answered, not caring to resolve the puzzled looks Michael and Ted turned his way. He liked the fact that only he, of everyone in Babylon, in Pittsburgh, only he knew what was really happening back there. He smiled and lifted his drink in a slight toast to Justin. Congratulations, Brian, he thought. ‘Bout fucking time.
Special thanks to funny1 for providing the nugget of the idea around which this story sprang up!
Winning - Jane!fic
“The chances of us in Paris are equal to the chances of my ordering pancakes in the next five minutes.”
The waitress approached the table at which Brian and Justin glared at each other. Brian ordered a cup of coffee, half a grapefruit, and dry wheat toast.
Kiki glanced over at Justin, who practically spat out his order. “Pancakes. And a large orange juice.” Kiki nodded and walked away. “You told me we’d go wherever I wanted,” Justin reasoned. His voice remained firm, determined.
“I didn’t expect you to want to go to Paris. In January? Nobody in their right minds goes to Paris in January. Or August.”
“What’s wrong with August?”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s on vacation. And I mean everyone. And it’s hotter than hell. And some of the more interesting spots are not air conditioned.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to go in August. I want to go for the vacation we’re planning in January.”
“Just the opposite. Slogging around Paris in winter?”
“We already talked about this. It’s the only time our schedules allow us to take a week together anywhere, and I’ve got to cut into my first three days of classes as it is. It’s FINE, don’t start on that again. And then you said, anywhere I want to go. And I said Paris.”
“That’s because I expected you to be reasonable and name a beach. Like, a Florida beach.”
“You’ve just have a hard on for Key West since that last campaign. I never imagined you’d buy your own bullshit.”
Brian leaned forward. “The beaches there are almost perfect year-round. January here sucks. I didn’t have to play at all with the colors of that sunset in Photoshop, that was the actual photograph. It’ll be a wet dream for you to paint, in the warm breeze of a beachside cabana, with me posing naked for you in the foreground…”
Justin barked a laugh as Kiki placed their drinks in front of them. “You are totally shameless! I want to see Paris, I’ve been dying to see the Louvre and the Musee D’Orsay since I can remember. You asked, and my answer is Paris first, then Key West, then Italy. In that order.” He picked up his orange juice and gulped at it.
Brian glared sourly into his coffee. Paris in January. “Do you really want to spend the only morning we have to spend time together arguing over where we’re going to go on vacation together?” Together. Twice in one sentence. Jesus Christ. “Key West, Justin. I thought you’d want me to be happy.”
“You’ll be happy in Paris, just think of the shopping.”
Hm… Shopping in cold damp grey January on the dark streets when he could be basking in reds and pinks on a white beach and ordering the Armani spring collection over the internet. “No.”
“Paris.”
“Key West.”
They locked eyes and each man locked his respective jaw, grinding teeth.
“Hey, Brian, Justin!”
Brian glanced over Justin’s shoulder, and saw Michael waving at them from where he and the family had just entered the diner. Brian nodded as Michael followed Ben and Hunter to the last free table, well across the room from where they sat. “Michael and Ben would agree with me.”
“To go to Key West?” Justin asked, craning his head around and smiling at Ben when he caught his eye. He turned back.
“Yup, Florida, beach, Michael’d definitely be all over it.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“What, are you kidding? Warm beaches? We used to talk all the time about retiring there in muumuus on the beach, prime fantasy. He’d definitely be all over it.”
“Sure, Brian, he’d relive a fantasy about you in front of the husband you fucked in Miami, probably picked up on that very beach.”
“Key West is not Miami,” Brian pointed out.
“Potato, Potahto,” Justin replied.
Kiki came over with their order. “Here you go, honey,” she said as she slid the pancakes in front of Brian. Brian practically growled, and shoved the plate across the table as Justin burst out laughing. “Oops, sorry!” Kiki excused herself. “Well, you know who’s who, anyway, even if the rest of us are starting to mix it up. Sorry,” she said as both men glared at that. She realized she had actually spoken the last comment aloud, blanched, then dropped the toast and grapefruit in front of Brian and fled.
“Michael would never encourage us to go to Paris, evoking fond memories of his own trip there with his last thank-god-that’s-history boyfriend.”
“Ben’s totally secure with Michael’s past with David, and Michael knows that. It wouldn’t matter.” Justin picked up the syrup container, and poured liberally over his order.
“He’d say Key West just because I’d ask him to say Key West. As a favor to the loving pleas of his best friend.”
Justin paused in chewing, stared at the man across the table who hadn’t even picked up the toast, or the spoon for the grapefruit, but calmly sipped on his coffee. “I think you’re overestimating Michael's PAST infatuation with you.”
“I’m still his best friend,” Brian returned, tongue firmly in cheek. “Even Michael knows Paris sucks in the winter.”
“The museums never suck. What do you want to bet Michael will go with Paris?”
“He won’t. Guaranteed.”
“All right, let’s ask him. Wherever Michael says we go, we go.”
“No problem. After you finish packing that insulation on your hips, we’ll go ask him.”
“My hips are perfectly svelte. And now you’re nervous.”
“At what? I know he’s going to say Florida.” Brian picked up a piece of toast, and nibbled on the crust.
“He’s going to say Paris.”
“What do you say we make it interesting?”
“A bet? Isn’t having the vacation destination settled enough?”
“Enough, sunshine? Never enough. No, I want… the Brian Show.”
Justin wrinkled his brow, and practically groaned. Oh, good god, not this again. Two months before, Brian had gone with him to a fellow student’s art exhibit, and had been corralled by one of Justin’s professors, Kyle, who had recognized Brian’s face and figure from a number of Justin’s paintings for which Brian had been the subject. Justin had come upon their little tete-a-tete just in time to hear the professor remark that Justin’s studies of Brian were some of the most beautiful interpretations of the human body he’d seen in a very long time from a student artist. If Justin had any more, the professor would be delighted to help him organize an exhibit based on the human form, as each of the pieces revealed a new and unique approach to the single subject… And the entire time, Kyle’s eyes had been sliding up and down Brian’s body, while Brian practically preened at the praise. Pleased at the praise for Justin’s work, of course, Brian later insisted. That was probably, indeed, part of Brian’s pleasure. But only part. Justin knew his subject.
For two weeks after that fucking meeting, all Justin had heard about was “The Brian Show…” Okay, maybe not all he’d heard about, but more than a couple times, and it was bad enough that Brian’s ego had latched onto the idea as a perfect tribute to itself, but then Kyle had asked Justin more than once whether he had considered the idea, what a great concept, and he, Kyle, could send out invites to all the local papers, he knew people… And Justin knew damn well Kyle only wanted a shot at Brian. Not that Brian would necessarily allow Kyle said shot, especially since Brian seemed honestly puzzled that Justin believed that Kyle was only interested in Brian, and not in Justin’s work at all. “Of course he’s interested in your work,” Brian had insisted. “And of course he’s interested in me, but that doesn’t mean anything. You’ll get publicity, your own show. Your work deserves it.” Brian had declared that if Justin truly believed it was all about Brian, then he, Brian Kinney, would not so much as look at the man, to which Justin had replied that there was no way he was going to be distracted by Brian’s seeming sacrifice of a trick when he, Justin Taylor, knew damn well that Brian’s ego was practically weeping with joy at the idea of an entire art exhibit displaying all his glory, devoted to the glory and beauty that was Brian Kinney. “I might as well get down on my knees and worship,” Justin had said.
“You do that anyway,” Brian had returned. And then the subject had been dropped. So it seemed.
Justin should have known better. “No way. I’m not going to erect Justin’s Church to the god that is Brian Kinney,” he said. Not for the first time.
Brian smirked. “You just know you’re going to lose, that’s why you won’t take the bet.”
“I’m not gonna lose. Michael would choose Paris.”
“So? What’s the risk, if you’re so sure?”
“Fine!” Justin snapped back. “If I win, I want…” He thought for a moment, and started to laugh.
“What?”
“I want to top you in the back room at Babylon.”
Silence. Brian’s face froze.
“Ah…” Justin taunted. “Now we have a real bet, don’t we?”
Brian’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. No problem. Because Michael’s going to agree with me.”
“No problem? Really?”
“Yeah, cause I'm not going to lose.”
Justin shook his head. “Careful, Brian. You're not always right. You can’t always come out on top.”
“Wanna bet?” Brian taunted, in the same tone Justin had just effected.
“Fine,” Justin returned. “You prepared to fall on your sword on this one? or should I say, fall on my sword?"
“I'm prepared, because I'm not going to lose.”
“Fine.”
"Fine."
Michael almost choked on his coffee as Brian slid into the booth next to him, pushing him over. “Hey!” Brian greeted, a genuine smile on his face.
“Hey, Rage,” Hunter called eagerly from across the table.
“Oh, hey, squirt, how’s it going?” The smile did not fade. Ben raised an eyebrow, and caught Michael’s glance across the table. What was up with this? Michael shrugged back at Ben’s look, then turned to Justin. “What’s up?”
“We have a question to ask you,” Justin began, but Brian interrupted.
“It’s of utmost importance that you choose the most reasonable, and compassionate response, based on your feelings of love and affection, and of course years of the unwavering friendship and devotion I have for you.”
“Hey!”
“What?” Brian turned his face up to Justin’s outraged expression. “No one said I couldn’t influence the court.”
“Court?” Ben chuckled. “All right, I’m definitely ready to hear this one.”
“It’s a matter of life and death,” Brian continued solemnly, turning his serious countenance onto Michael. “And I think…”
“Why do you get to go first?”
Michael shook his head, trying to figure what the fuck was going on, and Ben held up his hand. “Excuse me, guys?” Everyone turned to look at him. “Okay, I understand you’ve got some sort of argument, and Michael decides who gets his way. Am I correct so far?” Two head, one dark, one light, nodded in sync. “Why don’t you each make your case, the other can’t interrupt. Are there any ground rules before we start?”
“No ground rules, all’s fair,” Brian said. “I go second.”
“Oh, bullshit, you just want to counter my argument. One ground rule. No discussion of the stakes,” Justin replied. Brian considered that briefly, and nodded.
“Flip for it,” Hunter reasoned, taking out a quarter, and tossing it in the air.
“Heads,” both called, then glared at each other as the coin fell, impotent, onto the table.
“Stop!” Michael cried. “Okay, look. Justin, you go first. Brian, you go second. Then, Justin, you get to make a single statement in reply.”
“Fine,” Justin said, and took a deep breath. “Okay, we’ve got to figure out where to go on vacation…”
Michael looked over at Ben, who bit his lip to keep from laughing. Drama queens? Oh, yes, these two were perfect for each other.
“…and I want to go to Paris, but Brian wants to go to Key West.” Brian took a deep breath, but Hunter helpfully called out, “No interrupting!” and received a glare for his efforts. “Paris is gorgeous,” Justin continued, “as you well know. Plus, the spring collections will be coming out and there are several haute couture shows that premier in Paris that week that Brian would die for, plus the thrill of being there. To say nothing of the museums. And I do speak a little French, I can read it fairly well, so we’d manage without having the French spit on us. And there are DYNAMITE clubs. Plus, I think it would be a good idea to get out of the States, to see other parts of the world for a change, expand our horizons. I’d love to go to Italy, but my heart’s been set on Paris every since you went there, and showed us all those amazing pictures of the sights.”
“I thought you were too busy making out,” Michael reminded him, enjoying the flattery but not buying it for a second.
“It was so impressive I could kiss Brian and still be knocked out by the slide show.”
Michael did snort then, but Justin just smiled at him, what he considered the big gun of all the smiles in his arsenal. Michael blinked. That one was rarely turned on him.
“That’s it?” Brian asked, raising an eyebrow. “Fine.” This was in the bag. “What Justin didn’t mention is that our trip is taking place in the last week of *January*. And I don’t want to go just to Key West, I want to start in Miami Beach, and then go to Key West.”
“That ad really was pretty great,” Michael replied, remembering the travel agency ad Brian had worked up earlier that month.
“Hm, thanks, I’m flattered you noticed. Certainly both Justin and I could use the vacation, just relaxing, he works really hard, and you know how he gets around the holidays. I feel he deserves a week of pure relaxation in the sun and warm water, with nothing to do but paint and be shamelessly pampered…”
“Who do you think deserves the shameless pampering?” Justin asked, sourly.
“No interruptions!” Hunter called out, scoring two for two on angry looks from the combatants.
“And,” Brian continued, “if you agree with my vacation idea, I will rent a cabana right down the beach from where we’re staying on Key West for you, for an entire week, so that your little family will have a nice vacation, and even three days alone on the beach before we even show up. I leave it to you Michael, my fate is in your hands, for the love of your best friend, I would beg if I ever did any such thing, so I will instead offer my time, part of my vacation, and my endless love and devotion.”
Four sets of jaws dropped at that, Justin’s the lowest. “No fair!” he growled.
“Is that your one sentence come back?” Brian asked, looking up with an extremely pleased smile on his face.
Ben really wanted to know what the stakes to this bet were. He knew Michael hadn’t caught Justin’s only condition, that the stakes were not to be mentioned. Michael assumed the stakes were the vacation location itself; because both men had agreed to and ignored the restriction so quickly, Michael put it out of his mind as quickly as they agreed and dismissed the issue. But Ben noticed such subtle details. More was at stake than a simple destination.
All eyes turned now to Justin, waiting for how he’d top that.
“If we go to Paris, you and Brian will have a whole new subject to discuss and compare notes on, something current that will deepen your relationship beyond the past ties you already have.” Justin crossed his arms over his chest. That was it.
Michael’s face lit up, and Brian’s darkened. Shit! Still, he thought, the beach house, one week. It was a slam dunk.
“I think you should go to Paris.”
What? “WHAT?”
“Sorry, Brian,” Michael shrugged, as Brian’s face paled. “But actually, we’re already planning an extended vacation in July up to Bar Harbor to see Ben’s godfather. Hunter’ll be in school in January, and Ben starts teaching right around then too. And I know you and Justin really need time alone, away from all of us. If you’re in Europe, there’s less chance of anyone from Kinnetik being able to reach you, or even trying to, and you really need a real vacation. When’s the last time you had one, anyway? Besides, you’ll love Paris! Even in winter, and I know you’ll stay at a five star hotel so it can’t be that bad. And all the fashion shows? It’s practically a wet dream for you. Fly back through Florida, take a couple of days if you want, but if there’s gotta be a choice, go to Paris.”
Brian’s head had dropped to the table, and he was moaning. Justin was doing his best not to gloat. He placed a hand on the back of Brian’s neck. “Don’t worry, Brian, you’re dreading it now, but you’ll love it, I promise.”
“Arghhhh…” Finally, he lifted his head, and turned to Michael. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are!” Michael cried. “You’ll love it, you’ll see. I know you will.” But something in Brian’s eyes made his assurance falter.
“See, Brian? Michael agrees with me. Ready to fall on my sword?”
Brian’s lips twisted. “A bet’s a bet. Tomorrow night.”
“No way! Monday? Is Babylon even open? Try Saturday.”
“I don’t think so,” Brian stood up, and stalked back toward the booth he and Justin had recently vacated.
“Hey, a bet’s a bet, I won, I call the terms.” Justin strode off, right after.
“Wonder what that was all about?” Ben asked, sipping on his coffee.
“Are you mad I gave up a vacation in Florida?” Michael asked.
“Fuck yeah!”
“Hunter!” both Ben and Michael reprimanded. Ben continued, talking to Michael. “No, I think it’s a good idea that you have more to talk to Brian about than your shared past,” he teased, nudging Michael’s leg. “I think it’s wonderful that you’d give up a very nice offer because you know Brian and Justin would be better off in a far-off pocket of the world, alone, in the most romantic city anywhere. Away from all the shit they deal with here.” Michael smiled, and leaned across the table to kiss his husband.
“Jesus, I’m gonna barf,” Hunter muttered, looking around for the waitress.
Friday night. Back room of Babylon. Todd watched Brian and Justin enter through the murky half-light, a deep rose color tonight. Todd shifted slightly, allowing the guy behind him better access. Oh, he loved it when those two showed up, royalty if there was such a thing around here, and at least the gold standard for performance, a guarantee to raise all surrounding dicks to new heights of appreciation. The two reached the far wall, and Kinney leaned back against the bricks, the supertwink leaning into him as they locked lips. Let the dance begin.
“Kinney here?” the guy behind Todd asked. “Your panting increased. So did mine, as a matter of fact.”
“Against the wall,” Todd replied, nodding in the direction.
“Oh,” the guy behind him noted. “The supertwink again.” He sounded disappointed. “Not much variety these days.”
“Best visual in town, I don’t care how many times it’s replayed,” Todd replied, slightly shocked at this guy’s attitude. Who the fuck was he fucking? Ah, well..
But this was different. No ordinary rewind of the same old moves. Todd watched as Brian released Justin’s lips, and said something to him. Justin replied, placing a hand on Brian’s side, under his shirt. Hm, thought Todd, usually Brian just drops trou, then the twink drops to his knees. God knows I would. What’s this? And then Brian was turning to face the wall. And a spark raced through the backroom, as if an electrical current had been thrown, and heads popped up to get a better view than the cursory glances that had heretofore been roaming the grand couple’s way.
Justin placed his hand on Brian’s waist, underneath the shirt, his other hand moving to the zipper. “You sure?” he asked.
Fuck no, Brian thought, not looking around the room. It was about to be all over, whoever the fuck he had been. But he didn’t need to take in a last glance before the eyes gazing back were forever altered. He had decided, when he had accepted that fucking bet. When he had given Justin the keys to the loft. When he stood watching him sleep, through the glass of a hospital window. When he had waltzed him past the gaping students of St. James, sweeping his partner away from them, Justin’s hand in his, never looking back. “Look, Justin,” he commanded, “if you’re going to be the full-fledged partner of the Stud of Liberty Avenue, you’re going to have to stop asking for clearance. Stop being a chicken. Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Fine, stud, turn around and prepare to take it from the King of Babylon.”
“Ex-king.”
“Bullshit. I'll always be the king, you'll always be the stud. Turn around.”
Brian hid his smile by turning to face the wall, and felt Justin’s arms come around his waist, hands fumbling with the zipper at Brian’s jeans, then shielding Brian’s naked backside with his body as he exposed their flesh to the cool air.
“I just don’t know if I could have gotten rid of Bradford,” Emmett placed his two cents in the idle discussion of this week’s stupidest television show. “Yeah, he gave up his exemption, and that was stupid, but he did it from the goodness of his heart.”
“Please,” Michael replied, “there’s no place for heart in business.”
“Just ask Brian,” Ted groused. “He axed three people from the Art Department last week, and now we have to fill the slots before we can move on to the second phase of the Key West Travel promotion.”
Michael smiled. “You love your job, don’t you Ted?”
“I do.” Ted replied. “I expected it to be same old accounting crap. But Brian’s really made it interesting for me, not just sticking me in an accounting box. He’s letting me try on all kinds of hats. I think I look pretty good in some of them.”
“Yeah, you’ll do in the advertising industry, listen to you, just pick up a cliché and an image, just put that hat on your head,” Emmett put in, sipping on his old fashioned. He grimaced. Why was he trying new drinks? Why was he trying this one?
“No fucking way! There is no fucking way.”
Emmett swiveled his head, looked toward the sound of the guy shouting. A little guy stood next to him, gesturing wildly.
“You’re lucky I came to get you, everybody’s glued to the floor. I mean, more than usual,” the little guy replied. The two raced toward the back room, pushing those blocking their way aside.
“Huh, wonder what that’s all about?” Emmett asked idly, to no one in particular. Michael and Ted were continuing to wax on about the glories of Brian Kinney, and how a heart of gold beat beneath the shit on top. Emmett sighed. He knew, he knew. But the ego… did they need to feed the voracious thing, even in its absence?
“Holy shit, is it true?” Another guy at the bar asked the cute man with the swimmer’s build that Emmett had been exchanging glances with.
“Is what true?” Swimmer guy returned.
“Brian Kinney’s getting topped. In the backroom.”
“No shit? Holy shit! What, did they drug him up and tie him down?”
“Yeah, right. I’m gonna go look.” And swimmer guy pushed off the bar, heading back.
Emmett told himself that he was only following swimmer guy because he wanted to get laid. Not because of what he’d overheard. He’d been fooled by this sort of rumor before. A guy with a 14 inch dick was getting sucked off by a kid who could get the whole thing down his throat. Three guys, one hole. And Brian Kinney getting topped. Rumors, always. But what the hell, maybe swimmer guy was trying to get him somewhere more comfortable.
He actually believed this, until he pushed into the back room, and saw it for himself.
Everyone had their heads turned in one direction. And no one was sucking dick; it was far too difficult to do that and focus on the view at a distance. But everyone had his dick in something of someone else. Just so long as the eyes were free to take in what was taking place across the room.
On the far wall, Justin’s body was shielding the voracious eyes from Brian’s ass, and his head was turned to the side to rest on Brian’s back, one arm around Brian’s waist, and the other around his body, in motion, lower down. He was pacing himself, obviously, his breath in rhythm with his hips, pressing upward, yielding back, slow and steady. Brian’s head was thrown back, his eyes shut, a look of intense pleasure on his face, mouth open, tongue snaking out to lick the lower lip.
Behind him, Emmett heard an excited whisper approach where he stood, “Who? Who?”
And the reply, “Oh, please, who else?” Murmurs underneath the moans of other responses to the scene.
“The supertwink, then? So, what, the death of a legend?”
“More like the passing of an era. Talk about making a statement.”
Emmett decided he had seen enough to confirm the rumor for himself, and decided his pursuit of the swimmer guy just took a major back seat. Maybe he’d find him again, if he reappeared at the bar, or on the dance floor. Leave it to the fates.
And so Emmett returned to the bar, propping himself up beside Ted and Michael. He signaled the bartender. “Can I have a martini? Bombay Sapphire.”
The bartender made the drink, and set it down on the bar in front of Emmett “Is it true?” the bartender asked.
“Yes,” Emmett replied. He gave the guy a ten, waved at him to keep the change.
“Damn it, no video equipment in sight,” the bartender laughed, and moved to take the next patron’s order.
“Is what true?” Ted asked, turning slightly to include Emmett back in his conversation with Michael.
“Our boys are declaring themselves each other’s man,” Emmett answered, not caring to resolve the puzzled looks Michael and Ted turned his way. He liked the fact that only he, of everyone in Babylon, in Pittsburgh, only he knew what was really happening back there. He smiled and lifted his drink in a slight toast to Justin. Congratulations, Brian, he thought. ‘Bout fucking time.
Special thanks to funny1 for providing the nugget of the idea around which this story sprang up!
