Author: vamphile

Title: Personal Question

Theme: Noon/Studio/Snowballing

A sequel to: Personal Space

Timeline: Post 507 AU

Beta(s): xie_xie_xie & vl_redreign

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Personal Question

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I’d been painting for almost a half hour without putting down the brush, and I could feel my hand start to give out. I took the paintbrush over to the sink and considered putting the sofa out on the curb to make more studio space. Sure, it was my apartment, but in name only, and I have to admit that I loved Brian always calling it my place rather than what it was, my studio. I hadn’t slept here in… well, I worked late and crashed here about three weeks ago, but that was a rare enough occasion that Brian actually looked relieved the next day when I showed up at KinnetiK and made him take me to lunch. Shocked the hell out of me. I thought he knew I was way too much of a drama queen to ditch his ass without even a meaningful look before I took off.

It’s been almost six months since the robbery, and at least three since Brian's been here, so I was kind of surprised to see him and not the pizza delivery guy at the door. He was a man on a mission and I wasn’t sure what that mission was exactly, but once my pants were around my knees and my cock was in his mouth, I didn’t really care too much.

My ass hit the table and I leaned back to keep my balance. My hands squished into the wet paint, which left me a little stuck because now I couldn’t put my hands in his hair, and with the whole pants around my ankles thing, I couldn’t even wipe them off on my jeans. I worried about this for approximately less than a second, and then I really couldn’t process anything beyond what he was doing to me.

His lips were wet and slid along my shaft in a slow, sensual rhythm that was in complete contrast to what his tongue was doing. His hands gripped my hips while the point of his tongue pressed hard at the vein along the base of my cock. I groaned his name. He didn’t respond, just kept moving his head and mouth, angling it to the side and taking me into the back of his throat. He swallowed. My mouth fell open and it’s completely possible that my eyes rolled back in my head. His hands were on my ass then, pulling me forward while his mouth pulled back with that same wet slide of his lips over my shaft. His tongue pressed into my slit and my knees felt a little weak. He ran it around the spot just below the head of my cock. His hands and the pressure of his lips on me were the only things keeping me from sinking to the ground. I knew this wouldn't be one of those long, torturous, delicious episodes of teasing and then pulling away before I come, only to start again. This was something else entirely, because it wasn’t just a lunch-time quickie, either; his expression when he’d come in told me that.

He did something complicated that involved his tongue, suction, the angle of his head and, well, being Brian Kinney, and I came, my body shaking a little. He stood up then, and pressed his body against mine. Kissing me, letting me taste myself in his mouth. The only thing that tastes better is him, but that’s arguable, and I didn’t feel like arguing.

I forgot about the paint and put my hands around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper. And then I put my hands flat against his chest. I decided not to mention the Technicolor art that now adorned his black shirt. I was hoping that wasn’t a brand new five hundred dollar shirt and that he’d at least worn it once before. Maybe he’d just be relieved I didn’t get too much of it in his hair.

Brian didn’t seem to care about the shirt. His hands were on my ass, his forehead resting against mine, and now I didn’t care about the shirt, either. I kicked off my sneakers and stepped out of my jeans. He was still gripping my ass and nibbling on my lower lip. His hands left my ass just long enough to push the canvas I’d been working on backwards a little. I hopped up on the table, which left us eye to eye. It also left my ass sitting against the edge of a wet canvas, so now I figured we were even for the shirt. I sat back and looked at him. Waiting for whatever it was that was so important he had to start with a blow job and now couldn’t seem to say it. My stomach tightened and my mouth got dry as I considered all the things his twisted brain might have come up with.

He stared at me for a long time, and I kind of wanted my pants back if this was going to be some kind of serious discussion. Then again, we made a lot of important decisions without pants, so I just kept waiting.

When he finally spoke I stopped thinking about my pants completely.

“Move in with me.”

“What?”

“Move into the loft with me, or if you want, we can buy something else.”

“Something else? I like the loft.”

“Then move in with me.”

I already lived with him except for, you know, admitting it. What the fuck? “Why?”

He stopped to consider for a long time, and didn't say anything.

I shook my head. “If you can’t even think of a reason…”

He cut me off. “Because I love you.”

Now it was my turn to sit there with nothing to say and no clear response.

“I love you.”

“You said that already.”

“Move in with me.”

“Because you love me.”

“Is there a better reason?”

He had a really excellent point. “I love you, too.”

He nodded as if he’d been waiting for the other party in this negotiation to concede a point they both knew.

“I like my place.” It was true, but I loved Brian.

“Then keep it as a studio, but…”

“What?”

“Live with me. Marry me.”

“What?” I didn’t see that last one coming, you know, ever.

He nodded again, this time as if he were confirming his own mathematical calculation before continuing. “I love you. You love me. We’re a hell of a lot better together than apart. Marry me.”

And that’s the story of how this place officially became my studio. And to those, including Brian, who say Brian Kinney doesn’t do romance, well, they can think that if they like. I’m the only opinion on this that matters, and I know differently.