Current mood:	bouncy
Entry tags:	gala

QAF ANNIVERSARY GALA
Title: Home, Let Me Show You It

Author (Beta): vl_redreign (florida_minxie)

A/N: Written for the Queer As Folk 5th Anniversary Gala. All hail everyone that put this together.

*This takes place in the Captain Underpants-verse




Brian really did hate family gatherings. People thought he was merely bitching about having to do anything that interfered with him getting laid, but he really, really hated doing this.

For one thing, he had to make nice, for hours. He hated being nice. Except for Gus and Justin. And thank God Justin was back from Chicago. If Brian had had to do this thing alone, bodies would be hitting the floor…or floating in the pool the next day.

Still…he sighed, and took another pull from his beer. Gus and JR were splashing happily in the pool, Mel and Ted playing chaperone. Debbie was shooing Lindsay away from the buffet table, and thank you ptomaine gods for that, because Lindsay could fuck up a hotdog. Carl and Emmett were in charge of the grill, which meant edible meat was a given.

Justin was sitting at one of the umbrella tables, slathered in sunscreen, and chatting animatedly with Blake, Daphne and Robert. Robert…Brian shook his head. Trust Daphne to have Justin’s taste in men. Tall, rich and hot as fuck. Brian headed over, stood behind Justin and dropped a hand on his shoulder. He was rewarded with the smile that made him buy this fucking house and allow these people to visit.

“Hey,” Justin greeted him.

“Hey.”

“Getting antsy? Too many people?”

“Yeah, I’m having a moment. I think you should help me with that.”

Daphne snickered, Blake and Robert shook their heads. Justin rose from the table and bid everyone “Later.”

***

Brian fell back against the pillows, sated. Ten years, and that mouth, those perfect cocksucking lips could still make him feel as if he were dying. Fuck.

“Fuck, Justin.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah…” Brian stared into Justin’s eyes.

“What?”

“How are we still together? How the fuck is that possible?”

“You finally gave into the inevitable? Stopped fighting? Admitted you loved me and didn’t spontaneously combust?”

“Yeah, that.”

Justin propped himself on elbow, head in hand. “And, we’re mostly monogamous. How did that happen?”

“You’re always here. I don’t have to go out for a blowjob anymore.”

“Brian.”

“No, really. Proximity has its privileges.”

Justin blinked, slowly. “Uh huh.” He blinked again, rapidly. “Oh my God, I sounded like Debbie just now.”

“Fuck, do not bring Debbie in here! I’m scarred for life.”

Justin laughed. “Not like she’s never caught us fucking. Remember that time you conveniently stayed a little later than usual? And we thought Deb went to bed? And you were fucking me on the sofa?”

It was Brian’s turn to laugh. “We would have gotten away with it, if Michael hadn’t shown up. I think he woke the neighborhood.”

“And Debbie was all, ‘You’re paying for having my sofa cleaned, you asshole!’”

They both laughed at this, pressing their bodies closer. As if it had been ordained, Debbie’s voice rose up the stairs. “Brian, get your dick out of Justin and come eat!”

Brian groaned. “She has the world’s most incredible timing.”

“Come on,” Justin said, slapping at Brian’s flank. “I’m starving!”

“When are you ever not?” Brian grumbled. “You know, you’re almost thirty…”

“Twenty-nine,” Justin sing-songed.

Brian snickered. “Okay, twenty-seven, but still, all that food you consume? Your ass is gonna run out of room, and it’s gonna rotate to your gut. I’m not fucking you if you start sporting a gut.”

“You so will,” Justin teased, pulling on his pants and t-shirt. “All I have to do is turn and wiggle my ass. You can’t resist. You never could.”

Brian rolled over onto his back. “No. I never could.”

Justin leaned over and kissed Brian. “See you downstairs.”

Brian watched him leave, and, as his eyes left the doorway, they stopped in the corner.

That fucking black duffel. God, he hated that. It represented Justin leaving. Always would. Whether for a day, a week, a month, it meant Justin was going somewhere.

It was strange that regular luggage never affected him the way that bag did. On the other side of the room, Justin’s travel bags were sitting there, still needing unpacked. The Prada luggage that Brian had given Justin two years ago for Christmas, when Justin’s art had taken off. Brian had cringed at the idea of Justin traveling to LA, London or Paris dragging that fucking duffel. But for some reason, Justin always managed to do exactly that. As if he felt that he’d need it, in case he needed to…leave.

Brian was serious when he wondered how they were still together after ten years. On the anniversary of Justin leaving for New York, which Brian thought of as their official ‘commitment day’, Justin always managed to come back. For a day, a few hours, didn’t matter. Three years ago, he flew back from Italy and an important art installation just to be with Brian. He breezed in at about five in the morning, woke Brian with a blowjob, called Ted to tell him that Brian wouldn’t be in, and spent the next seven hours on his back and knees. He left at one, and was back in Spain in time to get a few hours sleep, then head back to the gallery. It was that moment that Brian realized that they were really in it for the duration.

But that bag…fuck.

Shaking his head, he dressed and headed down to the pool.

***

Gus was asleep, after fighting with Lindsay about underwear, yet again: “But Mom, it’s really hot here! They stick to me and make me all itchy!”

Lindsay was at her wits end. Luckily, Brian has just walked by, and her ire found a target. “Brian!!”

Brian groaned loudly. “What?” He didn’t whine, he would swear that to the Almighty if it ever came up. But it sounded like one.

“He’s doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Refusing to wear underwear!”

“Right here, Mom,” Gus piped up. His eyes turned to Brian, imploring. “Dad, please tell Mom that it’s too hot for underwear!”

“Lindsay,” Brian said in his best schoolteacher’s voice, “It’s too hot for underwear.”

“Brian, don’t make me…”

“Jesus, Lindsay, as long as he wears them to school, what the fuck do you care? He’s comfortable, leave him alone.”

Lindsay gave him a look; in fact, it was the same look she’d given him years ago, right before she grabbed his nuts and squeezed. He shifted, and backed up a step.

“I’m telling you, the minute, the second I get a call from his school, you are dropping whatever you’re doing and flying up to handle it. Got it?”

“Got it.” And fuck if it didn’t feel as if she’d just released his nuts. Well, nut. But that plastic one squashed against the real one could hurt like fuck sometimes. And glancing at Gus, he watched in amusement as his son also squirmed. Poor kid. He was fucked.

“Thanks, Dad.” Gus at least managed to sound contrite.

“I hope you appreciate how much trouble you just got me in,” Brian said, adding “you little shit” under his breath. He left them to sort it out and headed for the bedroom. Walking in, his eyes went straight to the duffel bag again. He grabbed it and headed down the stairs.

Justin was sitting on the back deck, pecking away on his laptop. The pool lights and Tiki torches were still lit, bathing Justin in a glow that seemed to come from within. Brian gripped the duffel tighter and swore that he was doing this for the common good. He stalked over to the grill, still warm from earlier, and tossed the bag on top. He added more lighter fluid, and closed the top. Justin scrambled up from his seat and ran over.

“Brian, what the fuck?!”

“I hate this fucking bag.”

“So,” Justin said, flailing his arms for emphasis, “you just throw it in the fire?? Seriously, what the fuck??”

Brian grabbed Justin’s arm, pulled him away from the grill and pushed him against the side of the sunroom outer wall. Lowering both his voice and his face, he explained.

“When I see that bag, the first thing that comes to mind is your mother, dropping it on my desk. Like she was throwing out a bag of trash, only you were in it. Then I think of you running off to New York – “

“You threw me out.” Justin reminded him.

“I know that, why do you think I went to get you? Because Debbie and Daphne told me to?”

Justin looked at Brian, really looked. “Go on.”

“Then you took it to Debbie’s. Then your mother’s. Back to the loft, back to Debbie, back to the loft, to Ethan’s” – and here, Brian paused for a moment. Justin was surprised; Brian almost never said Ethan’s name, opting for ‘Fiddler’ and ‘Ian’.

“- then to Daphne’s, to LA, back to the loft, then to that horror of a studio, then” –

“I get it, Brian.”

“Do you? Do you really?”

“Yeah. It symbolizes me leaving.”

“It symbolizes you having no place to go. And you do. Here. With me.”

Whoa. Justin was used to Brian queening about odd things now and then, sometimes even serious things. But not this. Never this. They never talked about Justin’s vagabond years. Justin tried not to think about them. They hurt too much.

“Brian…”

“No, Justin. Not this time. You have a home. Not a place to sleep, or a place to stay for awhile. A home. No matter where you go, for how long, this is home. Your home.”

“Okay. Okay, Brian.” Justin slid his hands up Brian’s arms, linking them behind Brian’s neck, pulling his head down for a kiss. He opened his mouth and let Brian show him home, what home was. They broke apart naturally, and, with a smirk, Justin said, “I do.”

Brian pulled in his bottom lip in that adorkable way of his, making him look even more like Gus, and Justin smiled.

“Okay, me too. Just…don’t tell anyone.”

“So, can we have our wedding night now?”

“Sure.” Brian picked Justin up and unceremoniously tossed him into the pool. He, however, stripped before joining him.

“You asshole!” Justin sputtered.

“Your asshole.”

“Yeah, until I kill you and we part,” Justin said, tossing his jeans and t-shirt onto the deck.


-fin