Title: Holding On Written By: allie_quixotic Timeline: Post 513 Rating: NC-17 Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta.
* * *
His mouth is on yours before you can even say hello, which is fine by you. Less talking always works for you. Besides, the talking will come later, because it always does when he’s pissed at you. Your hands slide down to grab his ass. He doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second, he lifts and you pull. Your lips still pressed together, tongues sliding against each other, wet sloppy sucking noises that sound the same as when he throws paint onto a blank canvas. When his legs wrap around you, you grip his ass harder and finally walk into his apartment. You want to keep walking toward the bedroom, but his fingers curl in your hair and he jerks your head back separating your hungry mouths. “Door.” Grunting, you take a few steps back and kick the door closed. “Lock.” He says before thrusting his tongue back into your mouth. You want to tell him, fuck the door, fuck the lock, fuck the bullshit. Stepping back again, you lean against the door, gripping his ass harder as he blindly reaches for the locks. When you hear the deadbolt slide into place you start walking again. Destination: Bedroom.
He kisses your jaw, nips at the skin of your neck, his hands cling to your hair, all the while telling you with warm wet breath, “I hate you. Asshole. Fuck me. Fuck you.”
You walk into the bedroom and fall to the bed jerking at his clothes. He grabs your shirt and rips it open. Buttons fly across the room. You grab his hands and pin them above his head. Staring into those fucking too honest, too open blue eyes you punish his action by sucking his bottom lip into your mouth until it feels swollen. You release his hands and lip as he wiggles beneath you. His greedy hands seek out more skin, more heat, more everything, now, now, now. You think it takes entirely too long to get undressed. Once naked, once his pale creamy flesh is exposed, months of frustration, words not said, things not done, angry thoughts, harsh words, and distant dial tones, get the better of you. You ravage his mouth. You take what he gives, and then you take some more. You lift your body off of his and roll him over onto his stomach, lifting him to his knees. He reaches back, shoving a bottle of lube and a condom into your hands. He hisses as the lube enters him and moans your name when your cock quickly follows. Your hips jerk as you pound in to him relentlessly. Fucking him on this twin bed reminds you of when he was living at Debbie’s and you’d push him down on Mikey’s childhood bed and fuck him until he was incoherent.
“You’re a shit.” He grunts, pushing back against you. You lean forward, grab a handful of his blond hair, and yank his head back. “Fuck you.”
You press your mouth against his shoulder blade, graze your teeth over his soft skin, and bite down. Yeah, fuck you too.
You pull back and grip his hips. Your fingers dig into his skin as he clutches the sheets between his fists. You fuck him harder, faster, angrier. You give it to him and he gives it right back. Underneath it all you are punishing each other. You push all the way into him until your balls are nestled against his ass. Then you stop moving altogether. You take a few deep breaths as you try to regulate your breathing. Slowly you slide your hands over his sweaty back. Leaning forward, you run your tongue over the bite mark you left on his shoulder. You press your cheek against the damp skin of his neck. You cover him as your hands caress his skin and your mouth savors his taste. When his body relaxes beneath yours, you start to move inside him. Slow long strokes replace frantic deep thrusts. Your hands slide down his arms until they cover his. Your fingers intertwine as you show him with slow smooth moves of your hips everything you were supposed to say for the last eight months, but didn’t.
* * *
You lay on your back with him draped over you, because really in a bed this fucking small that’s the only way two people can fit. Not that you mind, because honestly, you don’t. The tips of your fingers trace lazy circles on his shoulder. Every once and a while he shivers. His cheek is pressed to your chest and his warm breath flows over your cooling skin. You missed this, missed having him this close, missed his body, his smell. You’ve missed every fucking thing about him since he left eight months ago, although you haven’t told him that.
“Is this my Christmas present?”
“I don’t do-”
“Maybe I just-”
“Missed me.” Your fingers still, hovering just above his skin.
“Would you stop-”
“Finishing your sentences.”
You hate when he fucking does that. You try to move around in the bed because suddenly you aren’t very comfortable. “You need a-”
“Bigger bed.” He sighs as he crawls over you. He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, taps one out, lights it, and hands it to you. Great, eight months in New York has turned Justin Taylor into a fucking mind reader. You take a drag of the cigarette, watching him as he walks over to the window. The gold and blue lights of the city shine across his skin, reminding you of the countless times he’s been naked in your bed at the loft. He leans against the windowsill and exhales, his hot warm breath fogging the window.
You sit up on the edge of the bed and put out the cigarette. “Justin.”
He doesn’t even look over at you. “Why did you say that?”
You don’t even pretend to not know what he’s talking about. “I…” You study your hands, folded in your lap.
“You can’t keep doing this to me Brian. You can’t keep pulling me and pushing me.” You look up at him. “I’m tired of it. It’s not working.” He looks over at me. “And it makes me fucking miserable.” You swallow hard and nod. You thought you were over this shit, but with him gone it’s been a lot easier to regress into past behaviors. His shoulders slump forward. “Say something.”
“I…” What? You miss him. You love him. You can’t stand to be without him? The loft feels empty. You feel numb. You walk around acting like you’re okay, but inside you’re just full of something you can’t explain. You want him to come back. You want to beg him. You want to come here. You want him to ask you. You want to be with him, at least in the same fucking city. You want too much…and maybe not enough.
He walks over to you and holds out his hands. You look up at him before taking them. He pulls you to your feet and leads you over to the window. You stand side by side as you look out at the city glittering under the dark sky. “I stand here all the time, almost every night, and I think about you. I wonder what you’re doing. How you’re doing. I wonder if you are missing me half as much as I’m missing you.” He wraps his arm around your waist and you automatically wrap your arm around his shoulders. “I miss you so fucking much that every breath I take sends an ache throughout my entire body. Do you know what it’s like to miss someone like that? And then…” His fingers dig into your side. “You call with that bullshit about it’s over and you don’t miss me, and you never loved me.” You close your eyes and regret those words all over again. Right, you don’t do regrets, you don’t do apologies, you don’t believe in love, you don’t believe in marriage, or happy fucking ever afters…except when it comes to him. He moves around to stand between you and the window. He grabs your face between his hands and forces you to look him in the eyes. “So now you’re here.” He blinks his eyes rapidly and you know he’s holding back. “So tell me Brian. Tell me to my fucking face that you don’t miss me…that you don’t fucking love…” He chokes back a sob, but can’t stop the tears that snake down his face. “That you don’t fucking love me…and never have.” His fingers press into your cheeks. “You tell me.” He demands in a voice that cracks and shakes.
You grab his hands and remove them from your face. “Wait.” You tell him. Just wait. You wipe the tears from his face with the pads of your thumbs before placing your hands around his neck, and weaving your fingers into the back of his hair.
“Tell me Brian.” His voice is soft and watery.
You press your forehead to his and close your eyes. “I didn’t mean those things.” Your voice is rough and low.
“I…” You lean your head back and look him right in the eyes. “I fucking miss you.” The words scrape and burn and taste like the ashes of Babylon.
“Why do you do this to me? Why? Can’t you just fucking give it up already? Can’t you just tell me, Justin I miss you. I wish you were here, but I understand. I wish I was there and I hope you understand. Justin I love you, and just because you’re there doesn’t mean I don’t. Why can’t you just say that?”
I push him and step back. “I’m not like you!”
“Don’t I know!”
“I don’t know how to be like that.”
“Again, I know.”
“Well if you know-”
“It doesn’t stop me from wanting it. From fucking needing it. From fucking needing you.” He steps forward. “I almost died twice. I’ve been through more bullshit in my life than almost anyone else my age. I have the most un-fucking-stable relationship, and sometimes I crack and I forget and I want and I need and I fucking hope.” He pushes you back and you stumble. “You know all the words Brian. You know you feel them. You said it once. You won’t say it now. Why? Why not?” He tries to push you again, but you grab his wrists to stop him. “Don’t I deserve it Brian?”
He trembles as he tries to hold back from completely losing his shit in front of you. You wrap your arms around him and pull him close. His nails dig into your back, but you don’t feel them because you feel too much of everything else. “I…” You want to say whatever he wants to hear. You want to do whatever will bring a smile back to his face and stop this emotional breakdown that you’ve caused. “I…”
He presses his wet face to your chest. “Tell me anything. Tell me something. Give me something to hold on to Brian, before I fucking let go.”
You wrap your arms tighter around him. Fuck that. Fuck letting go. Fuck letting him go. You tried that once…no twice…fucking three times. You’re done with that. You can’t do that. “Hold on.” You tell him. “Just fucking hold on.”
“I’m trying.” He tells you. “I’m fucking trying Brian.”
“I do…” You swallow hard and close your eyes and wonder why this is so difficult for you. “Love you Justin.” That only makes him cry harder.
“I don’t…” He pulls back and looks up at you with red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t need to hear it all the time, but I can’t stand you saying you don’t love me. I can’t stand you pushing me like you did over the phone. I can’t take that Brian, and I won’t.” He takes a deep breath, looks away and then right back at you. His voice is low and serious when he speaks his next words. “If you ever tell me that again, if you ever do this to me again, I’m fucking gone Brian.”
You know he means it and it scares the fuck out of you. You pull him back against you. “Okay.” You tell him. “Okay.”
* * *
You wake up in the morning alone. For a moment your heart beats painfully against your chest, but then you roll your eyes for being so pathetic. Getting out of bed, you reach for your jeans and slide them on. You leave the bedroom and find him in the kitchen. He’s sitting at the bar smoking a cigarette and reading the paper. Without so much as a word you sit down next to him. He puts out his cigarette and folds the paper before turning to face you. Your eyes meet and you sit there looking at each other for what feels like hours. Finally, he lets out a sigh, reaches over the bar, and pulls out a shiny red box. You quirk your eyebrow at him, wondering what the hell this will be about.
“You may not do Christmas, but I do.” He shoves the box towards you and you take it. It’s small. There is no wrapping, no ribbon. It’s just this small little box that weighs nothing. “Just open it.”
You look up at him then back down at the box. What the fuck. You lift the lid and set it aside. Well…you certainly weren’t expecting this. Honestly, you weren’t expecting anything. You pull out a small strip of paper and feel like you’ve just cracked open a fortune cookie. It’s not dramatic or over the top. It’s just two words typed out on a little slip of paper, I promise.
You look up at him. “I meant what I said last night. I can’t take that shit anymore, but…” He takes the box from you and sets it on the counter. He gazes at you with those fucking bright blue eyes. “For as long as you want me…” He caresses your cheek. “I promise to be here.”
You grab him by the neck and pull him forward into a kiss. Justin may not be the best person when it comes to following rules, but…he’s never broken a promise, and that’s something you can hold on to.