If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be a Mystery, Would It?

Chapter 2

POV: JUSTIN

I open my eyes, blinking. It's morning, but still gray out. I look at Brian; he's still sleeping. Slowly and gently I turn my head to see what time it is- good lord, it's only 6:50. Why in hell did I wake up? Brian and I fell asleep last night in each other's arms, and now our limbs are completely entangled. There is absolutely no way I can untangle myself without waking him; he's a pretty light sleeper, when not drunk or high out of his mind. So, I simply lie here, content to watch Brian sleep. I notice that Brian has kicked off part of the duvet; even though it's winter, Brian has always said that sleeping with me is like sleeping with a human toaster oven. And it would seem he's right, because often when I've woken up before him, I see that he's partially uncovered.

God, he has such long beautiful brown lashes- they furl so gracefully from his large almond eyes, his high cheekbones and hugely expressive eyebrows frame his face, perfectly. His strong nose and prominent chin are in ideal proportion to the rest of his face, including his wide jaw. Everyone seems to notice his eyes, his lashes, his cheekbones, eyebrows, but few people seem to note how gorgeous his jawline is, and his beautiful chin. I just love to sketch Brian. I can draw his face from memory- but I much prefer to trace his features onto paper with him right there as a model- although he's maybe the most restless and impatient model I've ever encountered. Best yet is this: to watch his face like I am now. No pretenses, no masks… just Brian sleeping.

As if on cue, Brian's eyes flutter open. Blearily, he dimly focuses on me. I find myself grinning. He groans, closes his eyes and untangles his left arm and leg from me to roll onto his back. He clears his throat, "Justin," his voice is husky, "I'm beginning to think you've been drugging me at night so that you can watch me while I'm sleeping… it's getting downright creepy… this is like the fourth morning in a row…"

"Well, I couldn't have moved much, or I'd have wakened you…" I protest. "And you need your beauty sleep..."

"Aherm…" is all he says, ignoring the gentle dig. He yawns, and stretches. My dick twitches as his long, muscular arms flex and quiver, and legs lengthen and tense, his uncovered leg showing each muscle, his toes curling. Even though he had bought the longest bed he could buy, he once had told me, he still has to push his hands against the headboard in order to stretch out to his full length. He relaxes into a contented slump. "What time is it, anyway?" He asks, his eyes opening and peering past my shoulder to see the clock. "Shit! It's 7:15? What the fuck!"

"I've been up since 10 'til."

"Yeah, well…remember, I was sleeping off whatever drug it is you gave me…"

I smirk, pull away and get out of bed. "I'm going to take a shower." I announce. I see one of Brian's eyebrows cock under his hand, which is rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Excellent idea," he mutters, forcing himself out of bed. We head to the bathroom, each of us taking a piss, then Brian goes to the shower and adjusts the temperature.

After our shower and another quick suck and fuck, I dry off, pull on some briefs, and plod to the kitchen to make coffee and toast some bagels. Eventually, Brian joins me at the counter. I put a cup of coffee and a buttered bagel in front of him.

"We have that 'Victory Brunch' at Deb's today," I remind Brian. He winces visibly. "Christ…" he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee and pushing away the bagel.

"Brian, it's only 8:15. We aren't going there 'til 2:30 in the afternoon. You should eat something." I know it's futile. Brian's so illogically obsessed with his weight, it's ridiculous.

"Never mind." He sips his coffee absently, then pushes away from the counter and pads over to the door to get the paper. I watch him move, lithe, clothed only in silk pajama bottoms. Jesus, is all I can think. Jesus. How Jack and Joanie Kinney could have created this surreal and beautiful creature is a total mystery. I watch as he yanks the loft door open, leans down, and picks up the paper. Slamming the door closed, he turns on his heel, glancing at the headlines and then at me. He must notice my fixed gaze because he stops cold.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" He asks.

I blush, and turn back to buttering another half bagel. I don't say anything and keep my eyes down, pretending to concentrate on my task, but I can just feel him smirking that arrogant, "oh, yeah" smirk of his-sometimes he forgets how beautiful he is, and when he's reminded, it seems to amuse him. It can be annoying. Wherever Brian goes, heads turn- men, women, gay, straight-hell, children even seem to notice him. He's just pleasant to look at. And he's generally pretty oblivious- unless, of course, he's stalking a trick at Babylon.

He sits across from me at the counter. I keep my eyes down, ostensibly intent on my bagel, when I see his hand come up under my chin, lifting my head to meet his eyes. I look at him- and yes, there's that smirk. "You know that you're hot when you pretend to ignore me? And you're hot when you blush, when you walk, when you look at me, when you dance, when you sketch, when you sleep- " He pauses, and winks at me.

Not expecting that, I feel my face grow even warmer as I look into his twinkling eyes, and I smile. He grins, then settles in to read the paper. Normally he'd go kick back on the sofa to read. But there no longer is a sofa. I finish my bagel and clean up. Then I grab my sketchbook and sit at the far end of the counter, tracing with long lines the image of Brian in the morning, two days after the defeat of Stockwell. He is either oblivious that he's being drawn, or he could care less. At least he's being still, I think to myself.

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