testdog65 (testdog65) wrote in qaf_challenges, @ 2007-04-14 17:12:00 |
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Original poster: _alicesprings
Title: What You Really Want
Written By: cindybaby
Timeline: Sometime after mid-season 3.
Rating: R for language.
Warnings: Brian and Justin and a little bit of Ethan.
What if: Ethan never cheated on Justin.
Author's Notes: Hope you enjoy!
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You know he’s here. You can see that piece of shit they call a car parked a few houses down.
You take a deep breath and walk in.
“Brian!” Michael calls, running up to you like the good little puppy he is.
You smile, kissing him briefly on the lips.
“Brian,” Ben says, wrapping an arm around Michael, and although you see him lean back slightly into the embrace, his eyes stay firmly planted on you. You wonder if that’ll ever change. Can’t decide whether you really want it to.
“So, got anything to drink?” you venture, casting your eyes around the room, hopefully inconspicuously.
“Sure, come on.”
You follow Michael to the kitchen, keeping your focus straight ahead.
“Brian.”
You blink, your eyes closed a moment or two longer than necessary, then turn. “Justin.”
You don’t say anything else, enjoying the way you make him squirm.
“I didn’t think you’d be here.”
Brows furrowed, you ask, “Why not?” as if his doubts are completely unfounded. It’s not as if you’re opposed to the whole happy hetero lifestyle after all…oh, wait, you are. But still, it is Mikey’s party, so…
Justin bites his bottom lip and every impulse in your body jumps with the longing to do the same.
“I just thought this wasn’t your thing.”
You nod. He’s right. It isn’t.
“I thought I’d see how the other half lives,” you say, wishing you’d gotten that drink before seeing him.
“You remember Ethan,” Justin says, looking every bit as uncomfortable as you feel. But fuck it if you’ll let them know.
“Ethan,” you graciously nod, commending yourself for not stammering.
“How are you, Brian?”
Ah, the pleasantries.
“Great. Dazzling. Never better,” you deadpan, then without another word turn, heading into the kitchen in search of that drink.
“Shit, Brian, I didn’t think. I mean, I thought you’d be okay. You keep saying you want him to be happy, and he is, well, I think he is.”
You’re glad they’ve worked things out, Michael and Justin. They’ve even put out a few more issues of Rage.
“Mikey, please, shut the fuck up,” you demand, downing your drink in one shot, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze to take the sting out of your words.
“Brian,” he whispers, worriedly.
“Stop channeling your mother.”
“What’s going on in here?” Debbie demands, bursting into the kitchen.
“Great, bookends,” you sigh.
“We’re fine, Ma. Everything’s fine.”
“Mm-hm,” she says suspiciously before grabbing another tray of something red and saucy then heading back out.
You refill your glass, downing that one too then grab hold of the counter with both hands to steady yourself.
Fuck!
You didn’t think it’d be this hard.
You do want him to be happy. But what you didn’t figure on was the overwhelming need for it to still be with you.
It’s been six months already.
Six fucking long months.
You thought he was better off without you, but the thing is, you never really gave much credence to your own feelings.
You miss him, you admit it, but seeing him here today feels like a scorching pain deep inside your chest.
“Excuse me.”
You turn to find Ethan weaving his way into the kitchen. He smiles, sort of, pouring himself a drink. Wait, two drinks. What a fucking gentleman.
“Justin doesn’t like ice,” you tell him. He pauses, grins indulgingly, then fishes the ice out with his fingers, dropping it into the sink.
Nice.
You wonder where the hell his fingers have been and cringe.
“Fuck,” you sigh, pouring yourself another shot.
“Ethan, oh, hey,” Justin says when he sees you.
“I was just advising you boyfriend on your preferences.”
Justin smiles, his eyes meeting yours with a sparkle. “You always knew what I liked.”
You swallow, hard, ignoring Ethan’s obvious gasp.
“Here,” Ethan blurts, pushing the drink into Justin’s hand.
“Thanks,” he says, taking a sip, his eyes still locked on you.
“Maybe we should get going.”
“No,” Justin shakes his head, “I wanna stay.” He turns toward Ethan and adds, “You can go if you want to. I’m sure I can get a lift later.”
Ethan looks at you, and you smile, innocently. “I’d be happy to.”
“I’m sure you would,” Ethan tells you, sourly, then turns back to Justin, “but…”
“Really, go, it’s okay.”
Ethan’s eyes dart from Justin to you then back again.
“Go,” Justin tells him again firmly, and you wonder if everything’s all happy-happy after all.
“Okay. See you later?” Ethan asks, leaning into Justin for a kiss.
“Yeah, later.” And just like that Ethan’s dismissed as Justin takes another sip of his drink, turning back to you.
“So, how’s school?” you ask, loathing polite conversation but not really sure of what else to do.
Justin nods. “Good.”
You nod.
Then silence.
You twist your lips and decide fuck it, “You wanna get outta here?”
“Sure,” Justin answers without hesitation, so you grab his arm, ignoring the buzz that shoots through your body where your fingers connect you to him, and guide him out of the kitchen.
You say a quick goodbye, feigning innocence as Michael glares at you, and head to your car.
“Where to?”
“The loft?” Justin suggests quietly.
You nod, desperate for your heart to quit its incessant pounding and head in that direction.
“That’s new,” Justin points to a small table set off to the side as you make your way into the loft.
“Yeah,” you agree, still unsure of what to say as you pour yourself a shot of JB and down it. You offer him one, but he declines, still making his way around.
You watch him as he heads up the stairs to the bedroom, taking one step at a time so fucking slowly and you wonder if the movement is as torturous for him as it is for you.
“New sheets?”
“Yep,” you confirm, still at a lack for words.
You close your eyes, take a deep breath and slowly let it out, fucking unnerved by his presence.
You look up toward the bedroom. You don’t see him, so you follow his footsteps just as tentatively and find him flat on his back, on his side of your bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“What’re you doing?”
He shrugs.
“C’mere,” he says quietly, patting the spot next to him.
You hesitate.
His eyes meet yours, soft and blue and compelling, so you obey, climbing onto the bed, lying down beside him.
You can feel the heat radiating off him in waves, smell his scent, clean and fresh, and your heart starts pounding again.
You feel nervous and shaky and you fucking hate it.
He senses your predicament and wants to either aid or feed it, you’re not entirely sure, as he rolls onto his side, one hand tucked under his head on the pillow, the other resting gently on your stomach.
“Relax.”
You nod. You want to. You just can’t seem to make it happen.
“I miss you,” he whispers.
You swallow, eyes closed tight.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes even softer.
You’re sure he can feel your body vibrating.
“I wanna come home.”
You let out the breath you know you’ve been holding in for six fucking months, place your hand over his, still perched atop your butterfly filled stomach and sigh, “Yes.”