For the Record

Author's Notes: This takes place just after Justin leaves Brian for Ethan. I wish it'd gone like this instead.

Another Side Note: Hey, me again. I know I've kind of been absent lately, but here I am. I hope you guys like this.

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Let me state, for the record, that I never wanted any of this. I never dreamed, wished, planned or hoped. I didn't sit home at night yearning. I didn't walk around in a daze or lie in bed plotting. The thought never crossed my mind.

I never believed in happily ever after. The idea that you wait for that one special person to come along and suddenly your life makes sense.

I believe in fucking. It's efficient with simple rules. Get hard, stick it in one of several rewarding options and go. There's only one goal in mind, to get off. And the outcome's always the same, sometimes good, sometimes great and on the rare occasion, excellent, but still, always the same.

So I'm serious when I say that I didn't plan it, didn't need it in my life. Wasn't looking for Mr. Right. Wasn't looking for anything but a tight, hot ass. But the moment I saw him, took him home and finally fucked him I was certain…life as I knew it was fucking over.

It was good, maybe even great for a while. We were together, more or less, and had finally gotten to a place where I didn't feel the need to lash out every time the dreaded 'b' word was mentioned in the same sentence as Justin. Even the 'r' word made several appearances, inflicting only the barest amount of pain, allowing me to rein in my flinch without too much fanfare. And we were happy, at least I thought we were. Fucking fooling myself, that's what I was doing. Thinking that happiness was something I was entitled to. How fucking wrong.

And then he happened.

I've always hated birthdays, and his appearance only strengthened my distaste for them. Another year older, another year closer to the grave. What the fuck's the deal with celebrating that?

But obviously Justin had other ideas. The little concert for many turned into a private performance for one, blossoming into an encore appearance that infringed on everything our relationship stood for. And shit, I know it didn't stand for much, but no repeats, that was his fucking rule, which he broke, not me, him.

So really, I had no choice but to sit back and watch him leave. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do. Did he expect me to grab him by the arm and beg him not to leave? Is that what he wanted? Well if he did, he was barking up the wrong fucking tree. I'm Brian Kinney…I beg no one.

And okay, so I'll admit it, well, at least to myself, that when I walked back into the loft that first time, I felt it, immediately, felt the gaping change the instant I cracked open the door. He was gone, everything was gone. And the stabbing pain that hit me somewhere in the vicinity of my blackened heart hurt, it fucking hurt so bad that I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it all the way inside. But I sucked it up and walked into my loft. My vast, hollow, barren, silent loft, sliding the door closed behind me with an echoing scrape, closing myself inside, leaving the rest of the world locked out, just the way I wanted it.

It only took me a few short days to realize that life now sucked and I was so fucking gone it was pathetic.

But by that time he was already making a new life with a new boyfriend in a new, bright and shiny world that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with everything that I wasn't.

Slumped down on the sofa, bottle of Beam in one hand, way past the point of even toying with the idea of a glass, my blurry eyes working over every bare surface in my home, I made a decision. And okay, maybe it was influenced a little by the drunken haze and maybe a little by the constant ache that ran through my body, but it was all mine, and for once I knew, I knew that maybe Brian Kinney wasn't above begging, at least a little.

My plan was simple, and as I gathered steam, booting up my computer, trying damn hard to focus on the small, way too fucking small print, I typed up a storm, ideas flying left and right, plotting the demise of the chin-ratted little fiddler, imbedding myself once again back into the center of Justin-Land, sitting my glorious ass back on its throne as the rightful ruler.

Others be damned, I was back, and Justin was gonna be mine…again.

Okay, so maybe I was drunk and stoned, and maybe I realized that my usual mantra of, 'I say how high and you start jumping' just wasn't gonna cut it this time, but I'm an ad man if nothing else and really, selling is my gig, and now I was gonna sell the most important commodity ever…myself.

Having followed Justin home from the diner one night the previous week, I knew the address of the hovel he and the fiddler were residing in, so setting the first part of my plan in motion wasn't that hard. And before you start to shake your head, the word 'pussy' balancing on the tip of your tongue, I'll just plead the fifth and we'll move on from there.

"Brian?"

A puzzled Justin answered the door, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the cold, so I knew he hadn't been home long. Not able to help myself I peered over his shoulder, looking for a sign that he wasn't alone. Luckily, he was.

Smiling, well, at least I hoped that was what it looked like, I said, "Yep, surprise." Okay, let's see what you come up with when your heart's fucking pummeling your chest, right on the verge of busting loose.

"Uh, wh-what're you doing here?"

His confusion was clear, and really, who the fuck could blame him. Pulling myself together, I leapt. "I…" I stopped, cleared my throat and tried again. "I was, um, I wanted to know if you've eaten." So it wasn't fucking Shakespeare, and the look on his face wasn't a beaming declaration of undying love and servitude, but it was something.

Startled, he shook his head, a small but genuine smile working the corners of his mouth and he replied, "No, no I haven't. I was just gonna make something. Um, sorry…" and then his country club manners kicked in and he stepped aside, asking, "Do you, uh, do you wanna come in?" his pitch rising at the end, not too sure if what he was doing was quite right.

The offer was tempting in a perverse sort of way as a vision of us fucking on the fiddler's bed, my long cock sliding out of him, his ass quivering, begging for more, at the exact moment that Ian walks in, his face pale and stricken as he catches sight of us writhing together on his bed…in his apartment…but then I smiled, knowing that that's not what this was all about and offer instead, "How about we go out?"

"Out?" he asked, his shock evident.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, out, you know, as in not here, someplace else. Maybe a restaurant, with food, but I'm just guessing."

His hand rapped lightly against my stomach and for an instant I forgot where we were and what'd transpired, but not for long, torn out of my daze as a series of loud, pounding noises penetrated my brain and I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

Shit.

It was Him.

I didn't wanna turn, not gonna turn, don't turn, fucking don't turn…shit, I couldn't help it and turned just as it started.

"Justin, what the fuck's going on?"

The voice grits at my last nerve and I wanted to punch him in the fucking face just to make it stop, but instead I turned back toward Justin and said, like his boyfriend wasn't standing right there fuming, "So, where to?"

"What?" Ethan almost roared.

"What?" Justin returned, all wide-eyed and innocent right back at him, and I couldn't help but laugh, fucking innocent his lily-white ass.

"What, what?" the dim-witted musician asked, now thoroughly confused and I wonder, really, how much brain power is required to master an instrument that sounds like two cats in heat? Apparently, not that fucking much.

"We're, uh, we're just on our way out," Justin informs as he grabs his coat from someplace just inside the door and moves toward me.

"You're going out? With him?"

Now I have to admit that if I weren't on the receiving end of Justin's good intentions I would've been pissed. I mean, what the fuck, right? But see, it was me and him that moved toward the stairs, me and him that took them two at a time, hoping to outrun the loud, incessant whining pouring down from above and it was me and him that ran across the street to my car, laughing and shaking our heads at the strangeness of it all.

"What's this?" Justin asked as I leaned against the 'vet.

Right, replacement therapy hit me hard and fast and he wasn't privy to the new possession I'd acquired since his departure.

"It's my new ride. You like?"

I don't know why it meant so much to me, but for some fucking reason it did, and I practically held my breath, waiting for his response.

His artist's eye roamed over the sleek metal appreciatively and he smiled when his eyes met mine. "Yeah, it's cool."

I smiled. What the fuck else could I do?

Sitting in the restaurant, I racked my brain, trying to remember the last time that we'd been out like that, without the guys, and sadly, I just couldn't place it.

"What?" he asked, his mouth full, working on his fifth, no sixth piece of garlic-bread. Okay, I counted, sue me. Seriously, one day his freakish metabolism's gonna catch up and he'll need a forklift to get his ass out of bed.

"Nothing," I answered, shaking my head, unable to stop myself as my hand drifted forward, my finger wiping off the dribble of garlic butter at the corner of his mouth then running across his bottom lip as his tongue poked out to lick at the tip.

Instantly the temperature in the place shot up around a thousand degrees and I knew that Justin felt it too.

Smiling, I pulled back, sticking the same digit in my mouth and licking it clean. I heard him. The sound of his lust audible and I was sure mine was the same.

Dinner went well. Really. I wasn't so sure that it would. I mean, after all, he wasn't mine anymore. He'd left me, was living with someone else and sleeping with someone else and I'm sure that I was confusing the hell out of him…

Good!

When I dropped him off I made a point of walking him inside, even with his protests, but hey, even though I wouldn't admit it out loud, it was a date, sort of, pretty much, kind of. And while I'm usually an asshole, I knew that if Justin was gonna be mine again I had to let him know that he was worthy. Worthy of my time and my effort.

"I had a great time, Brian."

He was trying to hold it all in, I could tell, but he was beaming.

"Me too," I nodded, leaning against the door-frame just outside his apartment, secretly hoping that Ian was inside, his ear pressed up against the door.

"Well, um, I guess I'd better go."

"Right."

"So, uh, I'll see ya?"

My eyes met his, held his gaze and I said, "You'll see me." And then I leaned forward, barely brushing my lips against his, aching for more but not taking it.

His breath was shaky and he smiled before turning and going inside. And I swear, I heard a loud tumble as the door swung open and I couldn't help but smirk, hoping that the fucker'd landed right on his ass.

The next few days were busy. I was courting a new client and Vance'd been on my ass about landing him. But Justin was never far from mind and when I could, I made an appearance.

I showed up at the diner when I knew he had a shift. I made a point of stopping in at that organic market he likes so much, knowing he'd be there, the boy's like clockwork, and I even stopped by the institute once, surprising him with a cozy lunch for two. Like I said, he was never far from mind.

But things took a turn at about day thirteen.

While I was making an incredible effort to insure that Justin knew he was important, unmistakably so, I was going fucking insane reigning in the physical side of things.

Just being in the same room as the boy always had an almost animalistic effect on me, so being with him but not being with him was close to doing serious and permanent damage to my balls.

Somehow that night I'd convinced him that Babylon was a good idea. I know the fiddler thought that bumping and grinding against a room full of hot, sweaty, half-naked strangers was beneath him, and yeah, that probably only made me love it even more.

So the music was thumping and the bodies swaying as the heat swallowed us whole. And he was there, next to me, against me, all around me. And it might've been the bump or the booze or his body, but I was on fire, inside and out, and I knew, knew I needed him, no one but him.

"God, Justin, fuck."

I heard the words leave my mouth and echo in my brain and could've sworn that they sounding almost like begging.

And maybe he heard it too.

'Cause the next thing I knew he was pulling me toward the exit, then we were outside and the cool air hit me like a gale-force wind, sobering me slightly but doing nothing to squelch the fire consuming me.

And then we were at the loft. I think he drove, I'm not too sure, but we were there, and inside, and I felt like weeping, the vast space suddenly full again from his mere presence.

"Brian, come on."

Then we were on my bed, and he was hovering above me. Watching. Waiting. I'm not too sure what for, because I felt helpless, like I couldn't control my body or my mind.

I needed to calm down. Take back the control that was slipping away. I wanted to show him, make him know how much I needed him there, how he belonged there, not in some hovel with some prick who wasn't me.

I reached up, pulling his shirt over his head, watching his flushed chest rise and fall rapidly. Trailing my fingers over his nipples so lightly, scratching at the hardening nubs, pleased with his soft moan and the way his tongue passed over his lips.

"Do you want me, Justin?"

I had to ask. I had to know.

His eyes locked onto mine. Blue searching. And he nodded. "I want you."

That's all I needed.

Growling, I flipped him over onto his back, now hovering over him. Ripping my shirt over my head I collapsed on top of him, skin against skin. The feeling of his hard, little nipples pressing against my chest sent shivers down my spine and my dick pulsed against his hip, his gasp letting me know he felt it.

"Brian," he pleaded.

My tongue slipped against his lips, brushing lightly back and forth, so gently, over and over, his mouth parting slightly, his breath coming in short pants. But his impatience was too much, overwhelming both of us as his tongue pushed against mine, wrapping around it, pulling it inside his mouth. Fuck, his sweet, sweet mouth. I groaned at the taste and feel as the tip of my tongue slid against his and he sucked it, my cock weeping inside my jeans with envy.

Breaking the kiss, the need to be naked taking over, I toed off my shoes, thankful that he was doing the same, then tugged off my jeans and practically ripped his off, his black briefs trailing along, flying through the air, his socks following next, as I carelessly tossed them into the growing clothes pile on the floor.

My eyes met his and I saw a moment of uncertainty cloud them before he was right back with me again. I couldn't blame him, but fuck if I was gonna let him into the mix. Hell no.

Leaping forward I pushed him flat again, ready to take what was mine. My tongue worked along his smooth skin, trailing down his neck, over his collarbone, across his chest. His moans and whimpers spurred me on, a smile of satisfaction spread across my face as his hips bucked frantically, his wet dick bumping my abs.

I had to close my eyes at the familiar smell and taste of him. And as I edged downward, nearing his cropped nest of pubes I inhaled deeply, rubbing my nose back and forth through the soft curls, my tongue lapping out slowly with purpose to flick the swollen tip of his cock.

"Brian!" he moaned loudly, his back arching sharply.

So I opened my mouth slightly, just enough to let the head inside, then closed around it, sucking gently. He bucked and my hands stilled his hips as he whimpered.

Breathing through my nose, it drove him insane as my hot breath washed over him while my mouth slid down…down…taking him all in, my throat contracting around his sensitive head.

"Fuck!" he shouted, his head twisting and turning on the pillow, his fingers pulling at my hair.

Shit, my own dick was leaking like mad, leaving a rather uncomfortable wet spot on the bed beneath me and I knew it was time to move on. Reaching across to the nightstand, thankful, not for the first time, for long arms and fingers, I grabbed a condom and the lube, all the while maintaining my sweet torture on Justin's cock.

In seconds I was suited up with a heavy dollop of lube warming between my fingers. Without warning, but greatly appreciated, if the loud, almost deafening moan was any indication, I had one…then two lubed fingers working Justin's ass open.

"Br-Brian, now, fuck me…fuck me now!"

Face to face, that's something that tricks didn't get and Justin knew it.

I spread myself out on top of him, hiking his legs onto my shoulders, straining forward so our mouths and noses and eyes were only millimeters apart, and I reached down, my fingers stroking evenly along my shaft for good measure before I positioned it just right.

Pressing against his hole, taunting the small pucker, I couldn't help but hold off just one more second, savoring where I was again.

"Brian, please, fuck, please!"

And then I slid inside, home, back to the warmth and familiarity that I craved. My eyes squeezed shut and I thanked whatever fucking God there is that he was back, beneath me, surrounding me.

His hips shifted and I opened my eyes to find two wide pools of blue locked with mine. It was intense. It was overwhelming. It was petrifying. But it was everything.

"Brian," he whispered softly, his warm hand covering my cheek and I gasped slightly as he smiled, then I smiled and pulled back then thrust forward, his eyes rolling back in his head as my cock nudged against his prostate. "More," was all he said, but it was all I needed.

It started out slow, both of us wanting to savor the moment, make it last, but we knew it was futile. Even though our physical separation had been just a few weeks, it felt like years and the heat pouring out of us was all consuming, and we rode that heat, praying that didn't burn us up alive.

My hips snapped back and forth frantically, his matching with an unwavering demand of their own. Angling just right I made sure to nudge his swollen prostate with fierce accuracy, the howls of delight pouring uncontrollably from his parted lips.

His legs slipped down, wrapping around my back, one foot trailing along my ass, digging in for purchase.

I felt his channel spasm, contracting gently around my dick, building with frequency and pressure until I knew he was almost there. He tried to squeeze his hand between us, but I quickly shook my head, pushing downward against him, my abs putting further pressure against his dick and he arched up, hard and fast, his body going rigid as his orgasm took hold.

Fuck, so tight, so hot, so…so…fuck!

I couldn't hold off. I shouted my release, his ass convulsing around me, his warm cum sliding between us as I slammed into him once…twice...my dick shooting over and over, hard and fast and with a force that I hadn't felt in ages.

It took me a minute or two to calm the pounding in my ears and chest and when I had, I realized that he was speaking, whispering over and over, "Brian…Brian…"

Wrapping my arms underneath him, I rolled us both, me landing on my back and sadly slipping out of him, him landing on top of me, slightly off to the side. Reaching down I pulled off the condom, offering it a quick glance, smiling at the fullness with satisfaction before tossing it aside.

I felt him wiggle against me, his soft hair tickling my chin as his head slid beneath it, his left arm wrapping possessively around my waist.

And I didn't want to think that I was now in the same position as Ethan'd been. The cheat-ee. The dirty little secret. A chill ran down my spine, cooling my heated body from the inside and I shivered.

"Brian?"

Sifting my fingers through his damp hair I shook my head. "Nothing. It's nothing," and I pushed the thought aside. I wasn't him. I would never be him. Because Justin had always been mine. Where he resided at the moment, that was just geography. His heart, shit, it'd never left.

Just then a loud buzzing shot out in the quite silence of the loft. His cell phone.

"You should get that. It might be important."

He lifted his eyes toward me, uncertain.

"Go on."

Scrambling across the bed he found his jeans and pulled out the offending device. "Yeah?" he answered, his eyes shifting back toward me and I knew who it was. "No."

Silence.

I was sure he could hear my heart pounding. I was sure that even the fucking fiddler could.

"I, Ethan, I'm not sure."

More silence, save the loud yelling that was booming out of Justin's cell.

"Ethan…Ethan…fuck, calm down. No…no."

He turned away.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, his voice low.

And I know it's not right, shit, the poor wittle violin player's heart was being torn into a million fucking pieces across the airwaves, but I was thrilled, okay, fuck-ing thrilled!

"Yeah," he whispered, so sadly, and I felt bad for like a second until he snapped the phone shut and tossed it onto the pile of clothes on the floor.

I wasn't sure what to say.

If I suddenly stood and did a little happy dance, would that be wrong?

Not sure.

I decided against it.

Cool-ly I asked, "So, who was that?"

And he smiled. So I smiled back. And he started to laugh, and fuck it, so did I.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" he finally said.

And I couldn't help it. I pushed him back on the bed, climbing on top of him, all spread out, every inch of my body touching every inch of his and I simply said, "Yeah, I am. But I'm your asshole."

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My eyes follow him as he makes his way into the kitchen, opens the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water. They don't waver as he twists open the cap and downs the cool liquid, his Adam's apple bobbing teasingly in his throat.

Suddenly he turns, as if my gaze silently called his name, his eyes locking with mine, and he smiles. Bright. Warm. Perfect.

And I can't help but smile in return.

As he makes his way over to me, settling on my lap, his legs astride my own, his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, I can't help but think…

I never wanted any of this. I never dreamed, wished, planned or hoped. I didn't sit home at night yearning. I didn't walk around in a daze or lie in bed plotting. The thought never crossed my mind.

But his arms tighten, my own making their way around his back, pulling him even closer, and I breath deeply, his scent filling my senses, his presence making me feel at ease, and I realize that I was completely full of shit.

I knew that if I wanted him back I'd have to go and get him. And I did. It wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be. Actually, he was a fucking pushover. But then maybe, he was just waiting for something from me, some kind of proof that he was worth it.

Maybe happily ever after really doesn't exist.

Maybe this will all end tomorrow.

Maybe love is fucking bullshit.

But maybe, just maybe, it's not.

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