QAFfic: Delirious (Brian/Justin)
Oct. 20th, 2007 09:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lady_bug_kayAuthor: ladybugkay
Fandom: Queer As Folk (US)
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2593
Summary: Sequel to This Momentary Blue and won't make any sense without it. What happened after the first-round of welcome-home sex?
Disclaimer: Showtime and Cowlip and Russell T. Davies own the rights. I write for fun and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: A few people wanted to know Brian's reaction to the blue feet, so I wrote this. It kept changing directions on me, though, and I know it's not as good as the original, but here it is. *runs and hides*
You’ve made it to the bed, but only after several misses and a renewed acquaintance with the patches of floor between where you first landed and the steps that lead up to the bedroom. Your body is letting you know, a little insistently, that you will be paying for all this tomorrow, but you’re still riding the high like you’re back in
There really isn’t anything that could bring you down, you think, and the very small part of you that gives a shit and is still capable of semi-rational thought wonders what it would be like to be permanently high, because right now you think it would be pretty fucking wonderful.
Of course, that’s when Brian suddenly seems to notice something other than your eyes, your mouth, your cock, or your ass.
“What the fuck is wrong with your feet?”
Oh, you’re going to pay for it, now. He’s never going to let you live this down, and as you smother your grin against his chest, you know exactly how happy you’re about to make him. Not only will you be willingly handing over fodder for endless hours of relentless mocking, but you’ll also be giving him tangible proof of how much you love him and how desperate you were to be with him.
“Huh?”
Brian rolls you both until he’s back on top, where he prefers to be, except for all those times he won’t ever talk about when he likes you thrusting hard and deep inside him. He gives you that look, the one that bears a rather surprising resemblance to Debbie’s ‘don’t give me any shit, Sunshine’ expression—though you’ll never tell him that—and grabs one of your legs. He bends it back to your chest so you both have a clear view of one of the feet in question.
“What. The fuck. Did you do to your feet? It’s not some kind of fungus, is it? Because you aren’t going anywhere near my shower until it’s cleared up, if it is.”
You try, you really do, but you’ve been far too giddy for far too long, today, and all of that emotion has nowhere to go, so you find yourself giggling like the first time you broke into Brian’s stash and stole a joint. It’s awkward, with your leg folded up against you and your arms still refusing to let go of Brian, but you manage a truly spectacular giggle fit.
God, you’re really going to pay for this in the morning, because now you think you might be adding a pulled muscle to the ache in your ass and the bruises on your back and knees and elbows—not to mention the goddamn hickeys Brian seems to have developed an affinity for—but you’re just so fucking happy right now.
You truly are pathetic, but you’ve never let that stop you, before, so why now?
You stop laughing, eventually, because it’s not like it’s even really that funny, although you’re sure Brian will think you are, once he understands. But for right now, he’s staring at you with a distinctly bemused look on his face. You don’t blame him. He hasn’t seen you like this in a while; he’s probably forgotten how easily amused you used to be.
“It’s not a fucking fungus, Brian.”
“Then what is it? ‘Cause your toes look pretty fucked up from where I am.”
“It’s paint.”
“Paint.”
“Yes, paint.”
“You were painting with your feet? Is this some kinky artist shit, because I don’t know if I’m into that.” Brian’s eyes flicker suddenly, and he turns serious. “What’s the matter? Is it your hand?”
And you melt. Because it’s all so ridiculous, but even now, he’s worrying about you and looking after you. You find yourself remembering telling him you’d be fine as long as you had him to protect you, which was maybe when you realized how much you loved it when he wanted to take care of you.
“No.” You lift your head so you can kiss him the way he deserves for that concern. “There’s nothing wrong with my hand, other than the usual. I spilled some paint, that’s all.”
Brian looks relieved, and then he slaps your thigh for making him worry, before he leans in to kiss you back, but with a little more tongue.
It’s a really good kiss, and you’re still flying, ten thousand feet high and climbing, when Brian pulls back and looks at you with a glint in his eye. “Why didn’t you wash it off?”
“What?” You’ve fallen a little behind, what with the kissing, and the tongue, and the feel of Brian’s skin against yours. (You’re really not at your best, intellectually speaking, when you and Brian are both naked and in touching distance.)
“The paint. You just decided it might be fun to stick with the blue feet for a while, maybe see if it turned guys on?”
“No.” You smile sheepishly, handing your dignity over to him the way you’ve given him everything else you’ve ever been. “I spilled some paint, and that’s what made me remember, and then I had to see you, so I just sort of…left.”
Brian’s eyes goes soft for a long moment, and you feel that itch between your shoulder blades that almost has you reaching for a pencil or a brush, before you realize you don’t have any here. And anyway, you know you’ll see this look again, now that you’re back for good. You’re about to lose yourself again in how wonderful it feels to know you’re back where you belong when his whole face lights up, suddenly.
“You so care about me.” It’s actually kind of amazing the way he manages to mimic your tone of voice from half a decade ago. “You love me sooo much.”
It’s not something you’ve ever denied, so you just look at him, happier than you’ve been since you let other people tell you what you wanted, and moved away from this man for no reason at all.
“Yeah. I do. And I’ve got the forfeited damage deposit to prove it,” you add, thinking of those blue footprints that now mark your final moments as a resident of
“Oh, we do?”
“Yes, we do. But first we need to get away from the loft, where the horde will soon be descending en masse.” You give him a pointed look, and from the expression on his face, you know he’s also imagining the endless rounds of interrogation you’re both going to face the next time you see any of the others. “So I think we should go to Britin. They don’t know about it, right? That should give us enough time alone, at least until I’m satisfied that you’re glad I’m back.”
“As I recall, you’ve been satisfied a few times, already, Sunshine. Remember?”
“Oh, please. Those were appetizers; something to hold us over until we really hit our stride. We’ve got at least 637 missed fucks to catch up on, by my calculations, and that’s not going to happen unless we put some serious effort into it.”
Brian presses his lips together, and the look he gives you gets you hotter than you’ve been since the last time he fucked you, which you’re beginning to think was far too long ago, even if it’s technically only been a few minutes since he was inside you. It’s a look that makes you feel like you’re spinning again, around and around, while he holds your hand and moves with you, and you don’t know how you ever got this fucking lucky.
“637, huh?”
You nod your head enthusiastically and run your hand down Brian’s back until it’s resting just above his ass. “Oh, yeah. At least.”
“That’s interesting, because I think you’re underestimating that number by a rather significant amount. I think it’s more like double that, at the very least.” You’re getting hard again just from the sound of Brian’s voice, and you hope like hell that never changes. You shift a little underneath him and try to get a better angle to thrust against him, but he doesn’t seem to be cooperating.
You stop smiling, then, because this is serious business, and he needs to understand that. “Then you need to fuck me again right now, or we’ll never be caught up.”
Brian leans in to kiss you, but at the last moment, he pulls always and gets up off the bed, leaving you groaning in disappointment.
“Get your ass up, Sunshine. If we don’t leave for the house in the next five minutes, we’ll never leave this bed at all, and then it’ll be your fault when we’re interrupted by ringing phones and relentless tapping on our chamber door.”
He has a point. Actually, it was your point, but you’re willing to cede Brian the credit for it, as long as his dick is in your ass sometime in the very near future. You extend a hand and make him pull you up, just because you know he will, and besides, it gives you the chance to grope him a little as he steadies you when your legs threaten to give out. He pushes you away again before you can really get into it, and the next thing you know, Brian’s helping you into your pants the way he did that first morning you were together. You can tell by his eyes that he’s remembering the same thing, and you think there really isn’t anything more satisfying than being able to share the same good memories.
So you let him dress you like a little doll or a horny teenager, and you bask in the feel of being worshipped by Brian Kinney. And when he’s got you both dressed, you steal one more kiss from him, and then another, and then one more, before you manage to make it down to his car.
You climb inside, and as he puts the key in the ignition, you reach for his cock, but he knocks your hand away, mumbling something about there being no fucking room in this fucking car, and you try to hide your smile at knowing this car he bought without you is soon to be history. But you don’t say a word, because even you’re not stupid enough to insult Brian’s favourite phallic symbol. Sometimes, Brian’s affection for his vehicles can be a little scary.
The drive to the house is almost entirely silent except for the sound of all that desire cooking just beneath your skin and behind Brian’s eyes whenever he glances your way. You find yourself staring helplessly at him, marveling at how beautiful he is and how he’s really yours, now, and you don’t pay any attention to him when he tells you, fifteen minutes into the drive, to stop fucking staring at him because it’s making him too goddamn hard to drive. You need to look, to see him right in front of your eyes. It’s possible that Brian’s even more beautiful now than he was last night, although you thought that could never happen.
By the time you reach Britin, your body is burning with the need to touch him, kiss him, feel him inside you, and you’re so clumsy with the craving you find yourself tripping over the threshold into the house, the symbolism making you laugh.
And that makes Brian get a look on his face that means you’re in for the fucking of your life, and you barely have the chance to recognize it before he attacks you. His tongue is in your mouth and your back is against the wall, and his hands are everywhere, tearing at your clothes and fisting in your hair. You’re not even sure if the front door is closed, but you can’t really find it in yourself to care, not when Brian is like this, when he needs you just as badly as you need him.
The room echoes with the sound of harsh breathing, and as his mouth moves to your neck, you find yourself gasping out his name, over and over. When he bites you, you jerk hard against his body, and you hear him choke off a moan. Your breath catches in your throat at knowing Brian made that sound because of you, and the sense of power it gives you is achingly familiar and endlessly intoxicating. You feel like you’re going to burn alive, like maybe someone’s sacrificed you to an active volcano, and you tug frantically at his waistband.
He moves faster than you can see in your lust-addled state, and suddenly you’re facing the wall with your shirt hanging off one arm and your pants around your ankles. For a second, there’s nothing but cold air where Brian’s heated body touched yours, and you feel a sharp pang of loss, but then he’s back and he’s naked against you. Dimly, you make out the sound of a condom wrapper.
You push your ass back against him, needing, needing, and Brian puts a hand on your hip, and then he’s pushing inside, and oh, god! There is nothing in the world that feels as good as this, and you wonder how you ever survive a second of your life without it. When he moves, it all gets impossibly better, and you’re thrusting back against him as he’s thrusting into you. All you can feel is Brian. It’s all you ever want to feel, and you think there might be something wet sliding down your face, but you can’t pay any attention to that, because it’s Brian, and he’s inside you.
And you’re so fucking happy.
You’re so fucking happy you passed ecstatic hours ago.
It’s too intense to last for long, but the sheer force of your orgasm is blinding and more than makes up for the brief duration. And when you come back down far enough to remember that yes, the front door is wide open and it’s a good thing it’s a warm day, you feel Brian slumped against you the same way you’re collapsed against the wall. You don’t even remember him pulling out, and there’s a chance you blacked out for a minute or two, there.
You focus on the sticky-sweet feeling of Brian’s skin pressed to yours and wonder if it’s possible to fall asleep standing up and not wind up falling to the floor.
Brian’s body starts to shake suddenly, and you turn your head to see him laughing into the side of your neck.
“What?”
He’s still laughing when his lips touch yours, and you feel the words more than you hear them.
“I’ve never fucked a smurf before. That was hot.”
If you weren’t so fucking content and exhausted from all the sex you’ve had in the last few hours, you’d be tempted to hit him. But when he kisses you again, as sweetly as if he were a boy saying goodnight to his prom date, you smile, instead, and turn around so you have a better view of his face.
You can see brown and green in his eyes, and sunshine yellow bleeding into the gold. Smiling helplessly at the man you love more than you’ve ever loved anyone or anything in your life, you whisper as sincerely as you know how, “Fuck you.”
And he laughs.
