Justin twists his head, neck crammed against the arm of the sofa, so he can breathe. What Brian can see of his face is an oddly beautiful contrast to the stark white leather. Like hot and cold. Justin’s cheek is flushed an angry red and his darting eyeball appears to be popping out of the socket from the strain. The tendons in his neck are tight striations beneath the smooth column of skin.

Brian can’t resist running his tongue over them to feel each groove.

Justin moans and whimpers, squirming beneath him, and tries to dislodge Brian’s knee from where it’s pinning his hand.

Brian growls when the short nails bite into his skin. He retaliates by pushing in further, feeling the soft tissue give under the force, despite the muscles working against him. Justin’s now high-pitched squeals make him smile lewdly. Fuck, he loves that sound. Only Justin makes it. Only Justin can make him do this.

Besides, the little shit deserves it, and so much more.

He’s begging Brian to stop, but Brian knows Justin doesn’t really mean it. Each little wriggle accompanying his protests is actually pulling Brian closer. Always fusing them more firmly together because for some fucked up reason he just can’t enough. No, Justin isn’t really trying to get away—yet.

Brian tightens his grip and Justin mewls some more. He looks down at the pale skin his fingers are squeezing, digging into, and wonders if there will be bruises again in the morning. He knows he will be disgusted with himself then, but it doesn’t stop him now because he knows this is what Justin wants.

In the morning, Justin will touch the colored splotches when he thinks Brian is still asleep. Brian will be grateful and close his eyes again. He doesn’t want to see Justin’s finger running from one to another, connecting the dots as he memorizes the pattern. He doesn’t want to see the content smile as Justin imagines he’s able to translate a message coded in each mark.

Brian’s fingers jab again, like a mischievous child poking and prodding the soft underbelly of a defenseless animal. Detached… ruthless… completely in control… his dick gets impossibly harder.

Justin’s garbled chortle is getting hoarser, so dry it’s stuck in his throat as he arches his back, now earnestly trying to break Brian’s grasp.

Brian chuckles, releases the pressure a little, letting Justin have a slight reprieve, before lightly sweeping across his ribs and then delving deep into his belly again.

“Fuck,” Justin hisses. The ache in his sides is too much as he slaps ineffectively at Brian’s hands. “Please.”

Brian pauses, but is poised to attack again. “Say it.”

Justin’s lips twist in a grimace. He hates relenting, but he can’t take anymore tickling. Usually, if he gets to the bed before Brian attacks, he can get some leverage and fight back, but not when Brian tackles him on the sofa. The asshole cheats that way.

“Fine,” he snips. “Citizen Kane is better than Touch of Evil.”

“Good boy,” Brian smirks and heaves over to the side, letting Justin roll against him and stretch his limbs. He’s always very magnanimous when he wins.

Justin turns his head back and forth a few times and sighs when Brian nuzzles his neck. Despite the truce, Justin can’t help but add, “Before it was reedited.” He receives a sharp slap on the ass in response. “Hey,” he cries indignantly. “You haven’t even seen the new version yet,” he reminds the other man.

Brian glances over at the television where the forgotten DVD is still playing. He sits up and grabs the remote, but instead of turning it off as Justin expects, he jumps back a few scenes to where they stopped watching and settles back to finish it.

Justin stares at him for a moment before flipping around and laying his head in Brian’s lap, always trying to push closer, as he turns his attention back to the movie as well.

Brian pulls Justin up to lean against his chest, the blond head trapped under his chin, so he can ignore that fucking smile he doesn’t want to see.