Graphic Number 5: "California Dreaming" (Amnesty) Title: California Dreaming Author:cindybaby Timeline: A year or so after 513. Justin stayed in California and never went to New York. And the bombing never happened. Rating: NC-17 for slight sexual content. Graphic: # 5 Author’s Notes: Thank you for the wonderful banner, lego_4ever. This story switches back and forth between Justin and Brian’s POV. Hope you can follow.
You wake, the edges of your dream fuzzy, and you long to hold onto it for just a few minutes more.
The images of his face fade quickly, making you sad.
You haven’t seen him in a while, but that’s about to change.
You stretch, the thin blanket covering you slipping down, exposing your naked body, but sadly there’s no one there to enjoy the view.
You’re hard. Your hand slides down your firm belly lazily, wrapping around your erection. You give a few strokes, but nothing. No excitement. You’re tired of your own hand.
You want more.
You want him.
You close your eyes and try to fish out a few images from your dream, your hand continuing its motion, but it’s useless. You groan in frustration and climb out of bed.
Maybe you’ll have more luck in the shower.
**********
“Ma, do you want them up over here?”
Debbie peeks her head into the living room, her hands full of flour. “Sure, honey, that’s perfect.”
You sit and watch. You could help, but...
You’re in a foul mood.
You shouldn’t be.
You know this means he’s coming home…to Pittsburgh, not his home.
“Brian, come on, help me!”
Michael’s whine grates at you and you figure you’d rather break a sweat than break his fucking neck if he doesn’t let up, so you grab the large, fake, gaudy palm tree before he shoves it through the pane glass window.
“Urgh, thanks.”
“Just answer me one thing, Deb. What the fuck is this all for?”
She laughs, joining you and Michael in the crap-infested room, smiling as she takes it all in. “It’s a luau.”
You’re speechless.
You see a few hula-hoops off to the side, fake grass now covering a portion of the floor, which you have to admit, is a slightly better sight than the piece of shit carpet underneath. Palm trees, grass skirts, coconuts and pineapples strewn here and there.
“Where’s the pig on a spit?” You ask, and she smacks you, leaving a distinctive, floury handprint on your t-shirt.
“Fuck!” you mutter, brushing at the mark.
“No pig, we’re having pizza and pasta and…”
“For a luau?”
She shrugs. “It’s Italian style.”
**********
“Honey!”
Your mom engulfs you in a hug that you didn’t know you’d missed so much until you can no longer breathe…and still you hold on tight.
“You look great!”
Her enthusiasm is contagious, and you find yourself gushing and babbling and smiling like a complete fool, but you don’t care, you’re home.
“How was the flight?” she asks as you try and catch your luggage as the carousel speeds up right when your suitcase is in sight, as if trying to win at a game of cat and mouse. But you’re quick, and you can almost hear the defeated sigh of the contraption from hell as you walk away with a victorious grin, all of your luggage in tow.
“Fine. I’m just a little tired.”
She makes the appropriate mothering sounds of comfort and leads you to her car. “Wanna drive?” she asks, but you decline, feeling a little out of sorts. You’ve been away too long, and it all feels a bit unfamiliar. You don’t like it.
You agree to stay at her place, as if any other option is available.
You shower and feel rejuvenated, the warm water having washed away some of your apprehension about being back in the Pitts.
“Mom, I’m gonna go out for a bit.”
She smiles. She knew it wouldn’t take long. “You want my car? Molly’s got a lift home, so…”
You mentally shake yourself for being such a twat and nod, taking the keys with an appreciative peck on the cheek before you head out.
**********
Woody’s, it’s always the same.
The knowledge is both comforting and confounding, and you can’t decide which one is worse, until he walks in.
He doesn’t see you at first, but you watch as his eyes scan the room and recognize the exact moment they land on you.
He smiles.
You try not to return it, but you can’t help yourself, and hope you don’t look like a fucking fool. You certainly feel like one.
“Brian.”
“Justin.”
Right, so you’ve still got the names down.
You tell yourself to move on, think of something to say, but you draw a blank.
He slips onto the stool next to you and you can’t help but lean just the slightest bit his way, absorbing the feel of his warmth, taking in the fresh, clean scent of him. Your heart stutters and it’s almost painful.
He draws in a long breath and you revel in the knowledge that he’s just as fucked up as you.
You clear your throat. Loudly.
“Beer?”
“Sure.”
You motion to the bartender and he places a beer down in front of both of you. You raise yours, waiting for him to do the same, then clink the neck against his.
You take a long swig, he does the same.
“So, how’ve you been?”
You stare at him. He tries not to let his smile slip, but is unsuccessful.
You can’t.
You won’t.
You get up and walk right out the door without another fucking word.
**********
You didn’t think it would be easy, well, maybe you did, but you were fucking kidding yourself.
It’s not like you didn’t speak. You did. And emails. At least for a while. But then they tapered off, and you knew you’d be coming home soon, so you just figured it was okay.
You were wrong.
California was great. The sun, the work, the guys, but you knew it was only temporary. The pull of home too strong and the knowledge of what you’d left there overwhelming.
When Brett asked you to stay on, work on another film he was directing, you declined. You’d had enough.
You thought Brian would be proud of you.
When Rage had opened he’d beamed, escorting you down the red carpeted event, grinning for the cameras, it’d been like a dream.
But then there was the next film, and the next, and soon it felt like everything you’d wanted was just an illusion, what you really needed was too far away and you thought that if you stayed one more minute longer in L.A. you might never make it back.
And now it seems as if you’d truly fucked it all away.
**********
“I can’t believe you.”
“Try.”
Michael huffs. His disappointment doesn’t faze you. You’ve got enough of your own.
He moves closer, hovering over your desk, his finger jabbed in your face and you want to point out that all he’s missing is the long, red talon at the end and he’d be his mother, but you figure that somewhere deep inside he already knows it.
“Listen. Are you listening?”
Hey, that’s your line. You open your mouth to protest, but he babbles on.
“You are gonna come to the luau and you’re gonna fucking have a great time!”
You grin. “Yes, Ma.”
He startles then acknowledges his position and smiles.
He’s so fucking easy.
You wish everyone was.
**********
“Sunshine!”
Her arms encircle your entire body and she smells like pasta sauce and something sweet. It makes you smile…makes your stomach grumble…and you can’t help but wonder what’s for dessert.
“You like?” she asks when she finally lets you go, gesturing to the living room.
You’re stunned.
It’s fucking awful, but you smile, her enthusiasm contagious, and tell her, “It’s perfect, Deb. Perfect.”
This makes her happy. It’s what she deserves.
“Come on, you can help me with the pizza.”
Confused, you ask, “Isn’t this supposed to be a luau?”
She scoffs. “Of course it is,” as if that answers all, so you shrug and follow her into the kitchen, the enticing smell of food permeating the air.
It’s good to be home.
Everyone arrives in patches, first Emmett, Ted and Blake, then Lindsay, Gus, Jenny Rebecca and Mel. Soon after Michael and Ben show up and they apologize for being late, but Hunter insisted on driving and took the scenic route. Hunter just shrugs and flops down on the sofa, switching on the TV.
You receive an abundance of hugs and kisses and feel slightly overwhelmed by it all.
Just one person’s missing as you all sit down for dinner.
Carl passes around coconut filled drinks and no one mentions that while they are delicious, they don’t really go with pasta. Everyone just smiles and sips politely.
You’re laughing out loud as Emmett regales you with stories of his latest conquest when the door flies open then shut and everyone turns toward the intruding sound.
“It’s about fucking time,” Deb shouts with her usual flair.
Brian grins indulgingly then pulls a chair up to the table…right beside you. You startle. You hadn’t expected it.
He eyes your garish coconut concoction and takes a sip, making the appropriate grimace.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks, holding it up.
“It’s a luau. In Hawaii you get tropical drinks at a luau,” Debbie states, and everyone nods in unison.
**********
You want to point out that while it may look like Hawaii did indeed spew rather generously all over her living room, this is not a fucking luau just because she deems it one.
But you’re rather fond of your lone ball and decide to keep it to yourself.
You feel Justin shift beside you, squirming every so slightly in his seat, and take comfort in it.
Placing his offensive drink back down you turn, eyeing him, and he blinks slow and long, his pale lashes fluttering gently against his skin.
You can’t help yourself.
Your hand slides along his leg, resting warmly on his thigh, and he jumps and gasps, then smiles.
Hand firmly in place you turn your attention back to Debbie. “So, what’s for dinner?”
**********
You need some air.
Leaning back against the house, eyes closed, taking in one deep breath after another, you try and ground yourself.
You hear the squeak of the screen door.
Hear the click of his lighter then smell the acrid smoke.
You feel his presence as much as you feel your own, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes.
He inhales and exhales, again, and again.
You feel awkward, like your skin doesn’t fit quite right and finally force your eyes open.
He’s staring at you. You figured he was.
His gaze doesn’t waver. It makes you edgy.
“What?” you finally demand.
He shakes his head and shrugs. Another drag followed by a cloud of smoke before he grinds the butt out beneath his shoe.
“I’m going inside…” you say, but before you can move he’s in your face.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he grinds out and you begin to protest, but he’s on you, his mouth pressed fiercely against yours, and it startles you at first, so you don’t respond, but then his tongue slides against your lips and you groan, opening up to him.
“Brian, Ma wants…shit, sorry,” Michael gasps, heading back inside.
Brian pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. Your eyes feel wild, searching his face.
“Brian…”
He moves in again, this time his lips brushing so sweetly against yours, barely touching. It makes you ache.
“Later,” he says and you nod, hopeful that there is one.
**********
You leave shortly after the whole backyard incident, oblivious to Michael’s glare.
You want to take him home.
You need to fuck him.
You don’t.
Instead you show up Jennifer’s place early the next morning, catching her as she’s heading out to work.
She smiles, knowingly. You’re not sure what you expected, but you don’t think it’s this.
“Brian, it’s nice to see you.”
You grin. Ever the wasp.
“Jennifer.”
She doesn’t wait for you to ask.
“He’s still sleeping.”
You nod.
She unlocks the front door then steps aside.
“Molly’s already gone,” she adds, her smile warm and sincere and you can’t help but mutter a, “Thanks,” as you pass through.
You hear the lock catch on the other side of the door as she closes it and feel a wave of uncertainty wash over you.
You pause, take a deep breath, then head upstairs.
You know which room is his.
Quietly, you open his door, a smile playing across your lips as you watch him sleep. He looks so vulnerable, and you realize you feel the same.
His chest is bare, and you can’t help but wonder about the rest of him.
You ease down on his bed and he shifts slightly in his sleep.
His hair taunts you so you give in, sifting the soft, golden threads through your gentle fingers. It’s long and so, so blond. It suits him.
He stirs, his eyes fluttering.
“Brian?” he rasps, his voice still heavy with sleep.
“You were expecting someone else?”
He huffs, stretching, and you can’t help but lick your lips as his cover slips down, revealing his smooth, firm belly and his morning wood.
**********
You moan, your back arched sharply as his hand slides inside your briefs, wrapping warmly around your erection.
“Yeah,” you hiss, missing it, wanting it so badly.
“Good?” he asks and you nod, your eyes shut tight.
Suddenly you panic, grabbing his wrist. “My mom…Molly?”
“Relax, they’re gone. Your mom let me in.”
Brows furrowed, you stare up at him. “Why’re you here?”
Lips twisted, he watches you, his hand motionless but still firm in its grip, then leans down, his face only inches from yours. “I missed you.”
You smile.
“You did?” you can’t help but ask.
He hesitates, his beautiful eyes searching yours, then admits, “So fucking much.”
You beam.
Then moan.
His hand resuming its motion.
“Brian,” you groan, so, so close.
“Come on,” he urges, his mouth latched onto your neck.
Images of his face that you’d dreamed about for so long flash behind your eyes and you let them all slip away, gasping out loud as your orgasm shakes you.