MELANGE Title: Mélange Written By: florida_minxie Timeline: Seven years post 108. Author's Notes: AU, original secondary characters. Huge, HUGE thanks to my beta.
"Brian Kinney, I'd like you to meet Justin Taylor."
Shock and, to my disgust, arousal rush through me as I look away from the ad mock-ups and find myself staring into familiar hazel eyes, eyes that I've sketched, brought to life with simple scratches of graphite against paper a hundred times or more. And will again, most likely as soon as this fucking meeting is over.
Seven years has obviously changed nothing where this man is concerned.
"Mr. Kinney, it's a pleasure. Thanks for coming to the studio for this meeting." I plaster a fake smile on my face and reach out, shaking his hand. Mother would be so proud of my manners.
"Brian. Call me Brian." He cants his head to the side, holds on to my hand longer than necessary. I wonder if he has any idea who I am, if he even vaguely remembers the blue-eyed virgin from Liberty Avenue. Considering I was one of many, I'm betting the answer is no.
"Xander's been singing your praises for a while." I motion towards the ads. They're good. Seductive. Sensual. Sex. Pure Brian. "Now I see why."
"While Xander's praises aren't misplaced," he rolls his lips together and that fucking smirk of his emerges, "this time the product really does sell itself."
The compliment shouldn't feel this good. Not after only a couple of nights together followed by seven years of no contact.
"Yeah, thanks." And I turn away from him, break the eye contact before I can give myself away.
"Justin!"
Xander is scandalized. He's watching me with wide eyes and a look of utter disbelief. Not that I give a flying fuck.
"About these mock-ups…"
* * *
The recognition in his eyes is easy to see. Just as plain as the doubt. He thinks I don't remember him.
And, in a way, he's right. This is definitely not the boy I fucked a few times and then dropped off at home, telling him to go make nice with Daddy.
But I already knew he'd changed. The research behind the ad campaign told me that much.
The fact that I remembered him the instant I saw his picture told me something else.
* * *
"You planning on explaining that little display?"
Turning my back on Xander, I roll my eyes. I figured he'd at least wait until Brian was out of the parking lot. "Nothing to explain."
At least nothing that I'm willing to talk about.
"Justin."
There is so much exasperation in that one word, I turn around and reach out, brushing my fingers over Xander's arm. Fucking my manager hadn't been the brightest of my ideas, but keeping him in charge of my career was. The down side to that is there are times that he knows me too well, reads between all the lines and arrives at the right destination.
"Look, it's nothing to worry about, okay?" I press a finger under his chin, tilt his head until I can look directly into his eyes. "I'll deal with him for the promotion. He's known for being the best at what he does." And I'm not just talking about the boardroom and ad campaigns. "But you need to leave the rest of it alone. Deal?"
Xander narrows his eyes. The feeling of being dissected, taken apart and peered at from the inside out makes me want to fidget. Or walk the fuck away.
"I could have found a different agency, Justin."
"It's not a big deal. It was a surprise. I wasn't expecting to see him." Especially not here in San Francisco. New York? The Pitts? Yeah, I would have questioned Xander more. But California? Never even gave it a thought. "There was no such thing as Kinnetik when I knew Brian Kinney so, really, it just caught me off guard."
His eyes dart between me and the wall of windows, lips rolling together as he obviously bites down on a question.
"Ask, Xander. Ask and then let it fucking drop."
"This who you've been measuring everyone against?"
Huh? That's completely out of left field.
"What?"
"Is Brian Kinney the reason you can't settle down? Refuse to do more than fuck, refuse to let yourself feel?"
Great. We're playing analyze the artist now. I really should have expected it. "Consider the subject of Brian Kinney closed, banned from here on out."
I pull away from Xander physically and emotionally, shutting the door on more than the conversation. That part of my life — Liberty Avenue and the rest — is off limits. No matter how good of a manager Xander is. "I've got painting to do."
* * *
Standing in front of the closet, I try and settle between Tripp's — and its Woody-esque atmosphere — and Labyrinth — Babylon of the west coast. The deciding factor is that I want to dance and get laid. Not necessarily in that order.
"Labyrinth it is."
Meaning club clothes. Nothing as twink like as seven years ago though. A well-fitting pair of jean and a snug tee. That's all that’s needed for tonight. Condoms go into one pocket, cigarettes in the other. I grab my leather jacket — worn soft over the years — and my keys.
Time for some good old-fashioned pain management.
* * *
Labyrinth is thumping by the time I arrive, music spilling out into the streets and warming up the night. I walk past the line of waiting hopefuls and nudge the bouncer with my shoulder. "Got room for an old favorite?"
In one fluid motion, he turns, lips breaking into a smile when his eyes finally settle on me. Damn near seven feet tall and wide as a door, but still one of the most graceful men I've ever had the pleasure of dancing with.
"What's up, Blondie?"
I smack Jake on his arm — he knows how much I hate that nickname — and move to go around him. "Just have an itch to scratch."
He smirks, the knowing bastard.
"Well don't let me stop the great artiste from having his needs met."
I stick my tongue out and then wink. "You're just pissed that it won't be you."
I walk in the club to his friendly laughter. One of these days I'm going to cave and take the man home. See if all that skill he has on the dance floor translates to bedroom. Two years of foreplay is wearing thin, even on me.
I head straight to the bar and order my usual— double Jack and a beer chaser.
I slam the shot back and then turn, resting my elbows on the bar while I sip the beer, eyes scanning through the smoky haze of cigarettes. The floor is wall-to-wall hard bodies and the pulse of the strobe light makes at least half of them look decent. Decent enough to fuck, anyway.
My gaze lands on a trick I know, someone I've had before. Mark or Matt or some fucking M-name. He cants his head and, lips curling into a smile, extends the invitation.
Smirking, I drain my beer and slink through the crowd. I'm in for one hell of a blow job, maybe more if the boy has learned to control the need for constant chatter.
* * *
Running into Xander Shaffer at Echo isn't that surprising. We are both queer, after all. His offer of a drink, though, is. He really isn't my type. Has never been my type. Too queenish, thanks so very much. I start to turn him down, motion to the drink in my hand, and then he stops my protests cold.
"It's about Justin."
I sigh, act put upon by the disruption. "What about the temperamental little artist?"
"What were you to Justin? Friend or… more?"
What the… "Did I miss the part about you being his mother?"
He glares at me. Somewhat impressive but lacking in any and all intimidation value.
I shake my head. "You want to know, ask Justin."
"I did."
Well now. "And?"
"He shut me down."
He looks distraught, like a bigger version of Gus when I refuse to buy the latest must-have. I bite back my laugh at the last second. "So what do you want me to do?"
"Tell me."
I do chuckle now. There is no holding it back. "Hell no."
"Look, Kinney—"
"No, you look. There's history there. That's all you get." I roll my lips together and look away, let my gaze drift over the dance floor before looking back at Shaffer. "Anything else?"
"You knew it was him."
"Do you think I pitched the account for any other reason?" The words fly out before I can stop them. Damn my Irish temper. "Kinnetik never represents artists. They're moody, and demanding, and very fucking rarely keep their fingers out of the damn campaign. So, yes, Einstein, I knew it was him."
The color drains from his face and then two bright spots of red appear on his cheeks. Shaffer is, in a word, pissed. "You used me."
I snort then. "Hardly. You made the call for a new agency."
And the minute I found out Jay Tee was my little streetlight twink, I set out to win the account.
"Then what? You just took a chance I'd pick you?"
I arch a brow, flick the tip of my tongue over my teeth, and drawl, "Looks like the chance paid off, now doesn't it?"
* * *
"He knew it was you."
I drop the brush and, turning to look at Xander, sigh. If he doesn't forget this shit, I'm so going to fire him. "What?"
"Kinney. He knew it was you when he came to the initial meeting. Before I even decided on his campaign." Xander looks pleased with himself. Like he expects some big declaration with his announcement.
"Of course he did, Xan." I roll my eyes. Advertising a person, unlike an object, is a dicey venture. How else would Brian make an ad promotion strong enough to sway Xander into spending so damn much of my fucking money?
"It's doesn't bother you?"
I shake my head and offer no type of explanation. "Nope."
He frowns, his hands balled into tight fists. "It's like he's stalking you."
At that I burst out laughing. I remember Michael saying the same thing about me. I'm finding a perverse amount of pleasure in the idea of turning of the tables. Even if it is seven years overdue.
"I'd hardly call it stalking." I turn back to my canvas and pick up my brush again. "I'm sure the other three agencies did the same thing."
"No, it's because he fucked you, because he wants to fuck you."
Xander's voice drops and I have to strain to hear his next comment.
"It must have been one hell of a night for him to go through all of this now."
"You have no right…" I cut the words off and, shaking my head, barely stop myself from throwing the brush across the studio. "Get out."
"Jus…"
"Get. Out. Now."
I close my eyes and wait, stand stock still, until the door slams behind Xander.
"Brian Kinney. A fucking stalker."
The comment makes me snort. It makes about as much sense as me expecting Brian to remember a trick from seven years ago. Then something Xander said sinks in and I realize that, holy shit, Brian Kinney really did remember me, came into the meeting knowing exactly who he would see.
I crack up, slide down to the floor and, laughing, bury my head in my hands. The man that has haunted me for years, years, is here because he remembers me.
Could my life get anymore fucked up?
* * *
"Mr. Kinney, there's a Justin Taylor here to see you."
Here, I'm sure, because his precious manager went running to him this morning, telling him all sorts of sordid things about our conversation last night. "Send him in, Carol."
"Mr. Taylor." I motion to one of the chairs. "Always a pleasure to see a client so early in the day."
Justin blushes and I know the dig hits home.
"Brian."
I arch a brow. "Owning up now? What brought this on?"
The stain on his cheeks goes from pink to red. This is much too easy. Really.
"You could have said something."
"Just following your lead, Justin." I twirl the pen through my fingers. A nervous tic that I hope he doesn't pick up on. "Because, you know, the client's always right."
Justin's eyes darken with each passing word. He's getting angry. Good. Let the countdown begin.
"What the fuck are you playing at?"
Arms flailing wide, Justin stands up and starts pacing the length of my desk. I bite back a chuckle because, yeah, we have liftoff.
"Why, Brian? Why the hell did you show up now, for fuck's sake?"
I roll my shoulders, and lean back in my chair. The air of nonchalance is a practiced one, learned specifically for business meetings. I'm guessing that officially this qualifies. "Your manager wanted a new campaign, a new ad exec. I just answered the call."
Liar, liar. I am such a fucking liar. I wanted to see him again. And now that I have, I want to fuck him again.
"So, it's just business?"
Tongue in cheek, I cut my eyes away, looking to a point just over his shoulder. "Yup. Just business."
He arches a brow, silently calling me out on the comment, and, with a huff of wry laughter, he turns and heads to the door. Just when I think he's going to leave without saying anything, he stops and glances back over his shoulder.
"Tripp's and Labyrinth."
"What about 'em?"
"Best place to find me. If you decide to make this more than—" and the little twat smirks "—business."
* * *
A quick shower and I go from the studio straight to Tripp's, ready to shoot some pool and grab a couple of beers with the guys. Inspiration struck — in the form of Brian Kinney — and the painting is finally done. Thank God.
"Hey, Taylor! 'Bout time you brought your scrawny ass in here."
The shout makes me grin. "Jesus, Ricky, almost sounds like you missed me."
He laughs out loud. "Nah, just missed kicking your butt on the table."
"You rack 'em and I'll break."
* * *
It's well into our third game when Ricky gives a low whistle. "I don't know who he's looking for but, damn, I wish it was me."
Without looking up, I know he's talking about Brian. I suck in a deep breath and take the shot, hoping I'm the only one noticing how my hands are shaking.
As I expected, I miss.
"You used to be better than that."
Brian's slow drawl has my cock jerking in my pants. The fucker. I turn around and, propping a hip against the pool table, I drain my beer before replying. "I used to be a lot of things."
He steps up, pushes right into my space, and I'm caught in a warring loop of telling him to both fuck off and to fuck me. With the way he's looking at me right now, fuck me is the smart bet tonight.
Ricky pokes me in the back with a pool cue. "You gonna introduce us, Justin?"
"In a minute." Eyes on Brian, I arch my brow. "You still refuse to fuck your friends?"
"Generally," he rolls his lips together, darts his eyes around the room, "yes."
"Still only do a trick once?"
He nods, a wary look crossing his eyes.
"Damn shame about that." Moving away from Brian, I motion the guys closer. "Brian, Ricky and Dillon. Guys, this is Brian. A friend," and yeah, that sounds totally forced, "from Pittsburgh."
* * *
What the fuck. The shift in Justin is instantaneous. One minute I'm on the road to fucking him and now… now it's obvious I'm not. Shaking it off, at least until I can corner Justin alone, I look over at Ricky. "Want to make this a two-on-two competition?"
Ricky grins. "Only if you take Justin. Boy has been off his game all night."
I meant what I'd said originally. Justin had been better than that. The one time I saw him playing. Looking over, I pin Justin with a steady gaze. "I expect to win."
"Then you need to offer the proper motivation." And he smirks. The little shit.
I step over to him, close the gap he put between us. "I'm sure I can think of something."
Justin chuckles, soft and low, and it goes straight to my cock.
"Your policies on fucking limit your choice of incentives, Brian."
Goddammit.
Now he wants to follow my rules? When we haven't seen each other for seven fucking years? When he was the one that blew the shit out of them the first time?
What-the-fuck-ever.
Arching a brow, I look back at Ricky. "I'll take Justin."
* * *
I lean against the bar and watch Justin dance. With someone else. Who he will, no doubt, take to the backroom before too long.
"You could have him if you really want him."
Ricky. One of my newest friends. He — and Dillon — came as a package deal with Justin. And I want Justin.
"Had him." More than once. Seven years ago.
He tips his beer and grins. "Like that would stop Justin from fucking you again."
I snort and shake my head. It's damn sure been enough to keep him out of my bed for the past two weeks, since the night I found him at Tripp's.
"You seem like an okay guy, Kinney."
Turning, I arch a brow and wait.
"And for some reason, you mean something to him." Ricky nods toward Justin. "He's yours, if you can figure out how to get him."
"You're assuming I want him."
I can feel Ricky's eyes on me as I finish my beer, then motion for another one.
"Pushing off this bar and going to him would be a good start."
Asshole. Bossy fucking asshole. He's beginning to remind me of Debbie.
* * *
The sound of arguing voices — Xander loud and rising with each word, Brian nothing but steady, ground out commands — has me dropping my pencil and rushing through the studio and into the outer office.
"Just get the fuck out, Kinney."
Xander moves around the desk, tries to herd Brian towards the door. I'd laugh if I wasn't getting madder by the fucking second.
"The ads were approved, there's no reason for you to be here."
The look in Brian's eye tells me I need to step in now, before the tight hold he has on himself snaps and all hell really breaks loose.
"Brian."
"Justin." His eyes dart from Xander to me and then back again. "Mind telling your manager that not all of our meetings revolve around the fucking ad campaign?"
Technically true.
"Why don't you come on back?" I give Xander a pointed look. "And why don't you go ahead and leave for the day?"
All of us know that neither statement is a suggestion.
Brian presses his lips together and, making a wide arc around Xander, eases into the workroom.
I follow Xander to the front door and, after he leaves, turn the lock and shut down the studio for the night. One man down, one left to go. Difference is, where Xander was only annoying me, Brian has piqued my curiosity. A common enough occurrence since he reappeared in my life.
When I get back to the workroom, I find Brian looking at my painting. Something that, unless you've been there, is unrecognizable.
"Gonna tell me why you're really here?"
He looks away from the painting and blinks.
"You remember the blue lights?"
I can feel the rush of heat in my face, the stain of embarrassment at being caught out. "Obviously."
He shakes his head. "Haven't thought of them in years."
"Me neither," I say, keeping my tone dry.
Then I arch my brow in question. "You're here why?"
I have to ask, will keep asking until I get an answer, because, yeah, while we see each other for more than business, not once over the past month has Brian come to the studio unless it has to do with my advertising.
"Thought we might grab some dinner."
Oh. Well. That's unexpected.
"Wait while I clean up some?"
He rolls his lips together, looking uncomfortable, and nods.
* * *
As if it wasn't enough before, I had to actually listen to Ricky and his Novotny-esque advice. And here I am, after another three weeks of fucking hanging out just me and Justin, watching him find a trick in Labyrinth. So help me, if Ricky says one goddamn word…
"I really didn't think you were this slow."
I turn and glare. "What?"
Ricky chuckles, real fucking amusement dancing in his eyes. "Maybe it's not slow. Maybe you're just too stubborn for your own good."
My brow goes up. "What?"
The little shit smirks and starts to walk away, stopping long enough to throw one last dig my way. "You don't always have to play by the rules, Kinney."
I order another beer, his words playing over in my head. Christ.
Setting the beer to the side, I find Justin in the crowd and make my way to him, forcing the leech wrapped around him off and away.
"Brian?"
I match his rhythm, rock our bodies together, and then lean in and, trailing my lips and tongue over his neck, I nip his skin along the edge of his jaw. "I want you."
He groans, and drops his head back. "But…"
I smirk for just a second, and then, just loud enough for him to hear, whisper, "Sometimes the best part about rules is breaking them."
* * *
I'm not sure how we got here. I'm not really sure I care. Because we're naked and sweaty, the sheets are twisted around our feet and Brian's cock is buried balls deep in my ass.
And, good fucking Christ, it is better than I remembered.
"Brian."
He responds by gripping my shoulder tighter, nipping at the back of my neck, and thrusting into me harder, going deeper…
…and I come, untouched, all over the sheets.
"Jesus. Fuck." And he ruts, humps against my ass, and then, stilling, groans. "Justin."
No matter what else may have changed, the sex between us is still explosive.
The fact that he curls around me, makes no move to leave, to retreat once the sex is had, is a pleasant surprise. One that seems to fit with this new version of a relationship we have. One that keeps growing and morphing, looking for the perfect blend before settling.
A relationship that seems to be, that is finding a balance somewhere between being friends and being lovers.