freakykat | Trying hard to speak (B/J, QAF, Justin POV)

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furriboots

Title: Trying hard to speak (It's Only Time series)
Author:

freakykat
Time Frame: Three years post 513
Summary: Justin knows sometimes saying the words is the hardest thing of all. Seventh short in a series titled It's Only Time. The series should lead up to a work in progress that is underway.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angsty, angsty and then there’s more…
Notes: Thanks to

wouldbedorothy for beta-reading as usual. She’s the best! This one takes place 3 years after 513 and Justin is seeing Brian for the first timein almost 2 years. Feedback much appreciated and loved.
Disclaimer: I own none of this - they belong to Showtime, Cowlip and others. I only play with them a little. Once I'm done, I'll dust them off and give them back.

Part 1: Minutes to Go
Part 2: All of the Secrets
Part 3: Breathe the Fall
Part 4: Tongue the bruise you leave
Part 5: Time is never planned
Part 6: Distraction at your door

Trying hard to speak

Brush against paper. Streak of violent red, purple, black. Hard, angry strokes. Lines smudging into blurs. He observed his hand jerking across the canvas, rapid, manic. Somewhere he could hear a ring, two, three. Motions faster, slowing to curve shape…color. The click of machine, whirring sound of tape, his own disembodied voice filling space. Distorted images pouring onto blank cloth.

Skin tingled, hand pausing mid-stroke…

“Justin, it’s me. In town for the night. You up for dinner? Maybe Becco at 7? I’ll be in meetings all day, so leave me a message if you can make it. Same number…*long pause*… It’ll…um…it’ll be good to see you, Sunshine.”

It took him several minutes to absorb the voice and words drifting from his answering machine. Justin shook his head slightly, craving, longing flaring …ignoring the deep pang and his accelerated heartbeat. Dropping his brush unceremoniously on a nearby stool, he reached for the bottle of water he kept at his side in times of creative frenzy when he did nothing more than paint for hours.

Brian.

Swallowing half of the now lukewarm water, he grimaced at the blandness. He needed a fucking drink. He eyed the red flashing light warily, part afraid that it had been his imagination, the other fearing it hadn’t.

The door opened, revealing two figures into the bright space of the studio. He barely acknowledged their greetings, mind still whirring with echoes of that familiar tone. How long had it been since he’d heard Brian’s voice? Since he’d seen him? Not the quick flashes of him at holidays while they avoided all possibility of talking for more than five minutes. (It reminded him that he hadn’t been back hom-… back to the Pitts in 18 months, 20 days, 16 hours…not that anyone was counting.) Or the glimpses Justin would catch in the photos Molly emailed him on occasion.

This was Brian -- flesh and blood. Beautiful and alive and so near that Justin would be able to touch him.

Fuck.

“Justin?”

“Huh?” He glanced up, meeting his assistant’s concerned gaze. “I’m sorry?”

Hannah shook two tubes of paint mid-air. “I asked if these were what you wanted. Ron thinks I picked the wrong ones.” She made a face at the tall, dark and lanky form leaning against the table.

Justin studied the colors handed to him, blank gaze unable to focus. “Ah…this…yeah. These are the ones.” He placed them carefully on a nearby easel, hands rubbing together nervously. “Thanks, Hannah.”

“Uh-huh.” She exchanged a worried glance with Ron as she asked, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

One eyebrow rose and Ron smirked. “Right. Honey, you’re whiter than vanilla ice cream.”

“Vanilla ice cream is yellow, Ron.”

He stared at her. “What kind of fucked up vanilla ice cream do you eat?”

Hannah sighed. “The yellow kind.”

Ron rolled his eyes, hands gesturing toward Justin. “Fine. Then he looks like white on rice. Whatever. Point is, something made his already white skin look, if this is possible, whiter. So, what’s up?” Ron turned to gaze curiously at him and Justin squirmed, shaking his head.

“I already told you--”

“Nothing,” came the double mock reply. Hannah folded her arms across her chest, aiming a pissed off glare at him and Ron smirked again, hands held out in question.

Justin sighed, walking to the still blinking answering machine and pressing the play button, and stood back to listen.

“Justin, it’s me. In town for the night. You up for dinner? Maybe Becco at 7? I’ll be in meetings all day, so leave me a message if you can make it. Same number… *long pause*… It’ll…um…it’ll be good to see you, Sunshine.”

Jesus. It was real. His head fell in his hands and he choked back a scream of frustration. His eyes met Hannah’s and then Ron’s, a half smile playing on his lips. “Brian.”

“Oh shit.”

Ron shook his head. “The really hot ex? Nice voice. But I thought you got along fine with him. I mean…the way you talk about him, I figured you still-oof!” Hannah elbowed his mid-section. She quelled his retort with one look, her eyes darting to Justin, and suddenly he understood. “Oh. Well. Crap.”

Justin let out a huff of laughter. “Yeah.”

He could feel their combined stares and he glanced back. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. For any real length of time, anyway.”

“How long since you‘ve seen him? I mean really seen him?” Ron asked.

“About a year and a half,” Justin replied, eyes closing against another swift burst of… he didn’t even know what it was anymore. Guilt wrapped in love dipped in need. “I haven’t gone back to Pittsburgh in that long, at least not for more than a day or two, and when I did I usually…” His voice trailed off.

Leave it to Hannah to finish his unspoken thought.

“You avoided him like the plague.”

Justin nodded. “Last time we saw each other was my mother’s birthday. He showed up unexpectedly. I was with Paul… and it was…”

“Awkward as ass?”

Justin grinned. “Thank you, Hannah.”

She grinned back. “Anytime.”

He’d met Hannah, struggling writer and self-proclaimed fag hag, his first year in New York. She’d filled a small part of the void left from missing his family…his friends. Ron had come along with her, their closeness a reminder of what he’d had with Daphne. They’d taken him into their very small circle, assisted with his art shows, fairs, whatever the hell got his name out there. They’d shown him the town, brought his spirits up when he was rejected time after time, or made him laugh when he didn‘t think he could. They’d even encouraged him to keep more in touch with home despite what others (and he) said.

And when he’d found moderate success some time later, Paul had hired them, at Justin’s insistence, for their extended stay in Paris.

They were his family now. They could never replace the boys, or Daphne, or his mother, or Molly, or Debbie, but they helped ease the ache from the gaping hole he still felt being so far from those he loved.

So far from Brian.

Jesus.

He was in the same fucking city as Brian. He could feel him.

Ron cleared his throat. “How did he know you were in town?”

Justin shrugged. “Probably read about the show. Took a guess. Mom has the numbers.”

“So, are you going?”

Hesitation at the question and then Hannah’s loud groan echoed in the room. “You’re going.”

Justin shook his head. “Hannah, back off.”

“No, fuck that.” Hands on her hips, curly brown hair trembling on her head, she locked eyes with him. “I know you miss them, Justin. Him. You’ve missed them for a long time. It’s started to show between the cracks, sweetie.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“The girl has a point, though no tact, apparently.” Ron sent his best friend a glare before raising surprisingly green eyes to Justin. “It’s clear in everything. The stuff with Paul, the art…your inspiration.”

“Or lack thereof.”

“Hannah!”

Justin sighed. “She’s not lying.” He’d been thinking about home more often these days. Paris and New York…the art…the commissions…spitting out work for commercial use to please Paul…the agency…

He’d been drained. Of everything.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d painted for…the pleasure. His eyes fell on the recent work scattered around the studio. It was mediocre at best. Nobody except Hannah would have the guts to tell him.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he turned, meeting brown eyes. “Go see him, Justin. Talk to him. Maybe it will get better.” Hannah smiled sadly. “It couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Of course it can.” Sighing, he knew he would go. That he would see him and that instead of making the growing, painful need subside, instead of satisfying the hunger just thinking about Brian ignited in him…it would make it deepen…expand…overwhelm and suffocate him.

“Hey you. I’m so glad you called. Becco sounds good. Let’s make it 7:30 instead, okay? I have some things I need to finish. I can’t -- it’ll be nice to see you, too.”

His fingers tapped against the white clothed table top, nervous gaze searching the crowd entering the restaurant. Justin checked his watch. One minute to seven-thirty. Brow furrowed in concern, he double-checked his cell phone in case he’d missed any calls. No message icon awaiting, so he returned his gaze to the door.

Three years.

Three years since he’d left Brian behind.

He remembered the first year had been the hardest and easiest. They’d attempted a long distance semi-relationship. Calls and emails, and he’d gone home -- back when he could.

But the more he had…the harder it had become to leave again. The more he saw what he missed, the more he ached. And, nine months after he’d left, on Thanksgiving, he’d made the decision to distance himself from everyone. Especially Brian. He’d turned to someone else.

And Brian had known. Brian had let him. Given him what he’d needed.

Like he always had.

Justin blocked out thoughts of his first showing, only real showing in the states. Blocked out the heartbreak he’d seen on Brian’s face. The sorrow and sadness on everyone else’s. He’d pushed them away, allowed them to move ahead with their lives. Told himself he didn’t care when he received news about them from Molly or his mother. Ignored the jealousy when pictures reached him, letting him know he no longer belonged. Cursed that he still wanted to be there. Be a part of everything.

So he’d thrown himself into work. Making a name…going abroad to stretch his talent, to learn…to live and breathe. He’d been successful. He’d made a name of sorts. Money was steady. And yet, aside from Hannah and Ron, his life…remained empty and hollow.

Now, two years later, he would sit down with someone that would be more like a stranger to him than the love of his fucking life.

Shit. This was a bad idea.

The flitting thought of leaving crossed his mind and then he felt it. The tremor that ran through his body whenever he knew Brian was near. His eyes darted to the front, colliding with the tall frame at the door. He observed the practiced ease of his walk, smiling at his commanding presence. At the way eyes, male and female, seemed to gravitate in his direction.

Justin’s heart seemed to skip a beat when, after asking the maitre d’ a question, Brian’s eyes locked with his, and, a drawn out moment later, he smiled at him.

Brian moved around tables and chairs gracefully, reaching the back of the restaurant in less than a minute. Justin rose from his seat, eyes unable to look away. They stood two feet from one another, soaking in the changes that were obvious and wondering about the ones that weren’t. It happened in a flash and Justin realized he’d launched into Brian’s arms. He felt like crying and laughing and yelling. He fucking hated and loved the world all at once.

It was Brian. His scent…the one of smoke, expensive musk and heated skin enveloped and invaded him. Underneath clothes and skin, he trembled, muscles reacting to nearness, remembering and yearning. His cock tightened, immediately hard and ready. He felt seventeen again, like that fucking kid who found everything in one man, on one night.

“Brian.”

It was a whisper of sound only meant for his ears, the tone wanting and full. Saying everything he knew he wouldn’t. He choked back a sob when Brian pulled him in tighter.

“Hi, Sunshine.”

They must have stood that way for several long moments and Justin could feel stares. Could hear the soft muttering around them. Reluctantly, he pulled back and finally allowed his eyes to search that face he’d missed and craved. There were a few new wrinkles. A barely visible scar marred the skin above one eyebrow and Justin was curious to find out how it had gotten there. Brian’s hair was lighter, skin tanned and tight, more pronounced muscle over arms and chest.

But the eyes…the eyes were the same. Deep hazel with gold specks. He knew they grew darker or lighter depending on Brian’s mood. It felt right that he could still read them.

“You look great.”

Brian grinned. “Of course I do.”

And that was all it took…Justin felt the time and years wash away. He laughed, swatting at Brian’s shoulder as he did. They sat down, ordering drinks and taking their time with the menu. The conversation was filled with questions about art, family, work. Justin laughed at Brian’s re-telling of Emmett’s newest sexual exploit, where he and Ted had ended up having to climb a scaffold to retrieve a cuffed and naked Emmett. (Justin ignored that niggling ache that told him he should have been there.) Brian mentioned Gus’ birthday and how the family had flown up for the event. (Justin had sent his present since he’d been unable to attend.)

Justin told Brian about the small solo showings he’d had in Gloucester and Bristol. Shrugged about the shared showings in Paris and London. Talked down moderate success and how he’d been commissioned for some pieces. He paid no heed to the worried glance Brian had given him at the tone of his voice. Brian had laughed when he mentioned his trip to Bath, a mischievous glint gleamed, and Justin rolled his eyes.

“Not that kind of trip, Brian.”

“Pity.”

It had felt…as it should have. Like his world was in balance.

He mentioned Hannah and Ron. Told him stories about getting lost in a foreign country. About the time some townsfolk had wanted them to trade Ron for a goat and directions.

They’d passed two hours, telling stories, exchanging quips and anecdotes about their daily lives. All the time avoiding the elephant in the room that was Paul.

After some time Brian asked as casually as he could.

“And John? How is he?”

Justin speared a leftover green bean onto his fork, smirking at Brian as he placed it in his mouth, munching carefully before responding. It shouldn’t have pleased him that Brian had felt the need for that bit of immaturity. But it did. “Paul. He’s fine. Back in Paris.”

Brian eyed him. “He’s not coming for the show?”

“He’ll be down for it, yes.”

Brian paused, his mouth opening to comment but choosing to say nothing at the look Justin sent him. He cleared his throat and stared him directly in the eyes, something lurking in their depths.

“We need to talk, Justin.” His hand reached under the table, into the briefcase at his side, pulling out a folder of paperwork. Brian’s eyes betrayed his anxiety…and was that sadness? Resignation? He slid the papers across the table, his fingers brushing briefly against Justin‘s, sparks bursting into life blood and heat and senses.

“What is it?” Justin spoke thickly, controlling the twitch in his stomach and cock, eyes scanning the front page, halting at the words estate sale and donation. “Estate sale? I don’t understand.” His eyes bore into Brian’s, confusion warring with unwanted realization.

“I’m selling…” Brian sighed softly before continuing. “I’m selling the house. It’s being bought by a housing project foundation. They’ll be turning it into a shelter for HIV/AIDS patients, teenagers, mothers.“ Brian smiled at him sadly. “The proceeds from the sale will be divided between ACET and The Vic Grassi Foundation.”

Justin, shell-shocked, attempting to find his voice, could only stare from Brian to the papers in his hand. “The house?” He looked up. “Britin?”

Brian nodded. “Yeah.” He looked away then, eyes focused out the window. “It just sits there. I never -- it’s dark and useless, Justin.” Sad eyes met his own, unspoken words within.

Justin swallowed the lump caught midway between his chest and throat. “I understand.” The previous lightness of the evening evaporated and all that was left was what they had managed to avoid -- longing and grief. “We never lived there.” He didn’t allow the thought that he’d always wanted to believe one day they would. “It should be put to use.”

Brian stared hard. “Yes. It should.”

Justin looked away. “I have one question, though.” When Brian nodded in encouragement, he continued. “What does it have to do with me?” He held up a hand before Brian could protest. “I mean, aside from, and this is what I’m assuming, you feeling you needed to get permission…why did you need to see me?” He knew the words were cruel, slightly cutting. “You could have said so over the phone.”

Brian narrowed frustrated eyes at him. “No, I couldn’t. I needed your permission and your signature.” He flipped through a few pages, pausing and pointing at the copy of the deed.

Justin felt the shockwave hit him. He’d never known. “It was in my name?”

Brian shrugged, taking a long sip from his drink. “I bought it for you.”

After a long silence, Justin rubbed clammy hands against his forehead. “So now…what? Do I just sign it over?” His fingers shook and he hid them in his lap. It hadn’t really been a question. Eyes clashing with Brian’s face, hands, anywhere but the hazel depths across from him. He needed to run, to escape before all the words he wanted…he needed to say tumbled out. And if they did, he knew they’d never stop.

“Yes.” Reaching over again, Brian found the correct page, showing Justin where his signature was required.

Justin nodded woodenly. “Do you have a pen?”

He composed his features while Brian searched for one, and when the older man looked back at him, he knew there was no trace of emotion on his face. He signed with no flourish, easily, almost as an afterthought. The waiter approached and Justin asked for the check, skipping over dessert. His stomach was in no mood.

They sat in silence, Brian’s eyes on Justin and Justin’s on anyone but Brian. There was a quiet struggle for the check. After a few tugs, Justin yanked it out of the other man’s grip. “Let me pay for the fucking dinner, Brian.”

It looked as if he was going to argue, but after a long pause, Brian simply nodded.

Once the meal had been paid for, they walked out of the restaurant and into the chilly spring air together. Justin gestured at the cabs. “You want to ride together?” He clamped his lips tightly, tried not to smile at Brian’s obvious reply.

“I always like it when we ride together.”

They stared at one another and, leaning in closer, Justin grinned suddenly. Brian’s eyes drifted down to his lips and back to up to meet Justin’s blue gaze. He seemed dazed for several long beats but, suddenly breaking the momentary spell, Brian took a step back.

“Actually, it’s only a few blocks to the hotel from here. I can walk.”

Rejection didn’t kill, Justin reminded himself. It only maimed. He nodded once. “Okay, I’ll walk with you.” He caught the surprise on Brian’s face. “What?”

“I’m capable of making it back just fine, Sunshine.”

The nickname sent warmth through Justin’s body and he glanced over at Brian. “I know, but it’s the gentlemanly thing to do. So, don’t bitch about it.” He started walking in the direction Brian had pointed, and, after a minute, he heard the sound of leather shoes on pavement, felt Brian’s warmth at his side.

They moved together, their steps finding rhythm, their bodies flowing in time. Justin felt Brian begin to say something and change his mind several times. After the nth time, he stated quietly, “I think it’s great what you’re doing with the house, Brian.”

There was no response and he gambled a glance, seeing the set jaw. “Still hate it when people point out your generosity?”

“It’s the right thing to do. They needed it. I had it.” Brian glanced at him. “It’s not like I went looking for it. Or that I’m not getting anything out of it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Free publicity for Kinnetik and a couple of million dollars tax write off.”

“Right.”

Brian ignored the tone and moved ahead. Justin bit back a groan, he could feel the anger surging through him. Heat and ache and want rolling inside. He was hard, had been all night, and Brian was inches away but he couldn’t touch. It pissed him off and he commented with a shrug, throwing a barb, “Well, at least it was reason for you to come see me. That’s something.”

He felt a tight grip on his arm, felt as Brian pushed him into a nearby alley, shoved his back hard against the cold wall. The heat of warm skin, long lean body pressed into his own, and for one second all Justin could see was blackness. Heat and scent and need and goddamn it was too much to register. “Brian.”

“Let’s get one fucking thing straight. I didn’t come here for the house. Fuck the house.” Justin swallowed against the sensation Brian’s hand gripping his hair shot through him. Moaning softly when he felt soft lips brushing against his cheek, down his neck. Hot breath caressing his awakened nerves. “I wanted to see you. I needed to.”

Justin clutched Brian’s shirt in his hands, leaning back when the taller frame threatened to crush him. One leg came to rest between his thighs, pushing into his hardness and he let out a deep groan. “Jesus fucking…” He bit down on the string of pleas that were collecting in his mouth.

He felt Brian smile against his neck. “Not quite.” One hand wrapped around his waist, the other still gripping the back of his head, tightened and Justin knew…fucking knew the taste and feel of Brian’s mouth before it crashed down hard on his. Remembered the texture, the warmth and just…

He parted swollen lips, allowing Brian’s tongue to ravage and conquer. Justin’s hands spread over firm chest, over shoulder, clutching. He rode Brian’s knee with abandon. Brian’s voice reached through the cloud of desire. “Come for me, Justin.“

He wanted to let out a thrilled laugh when Brian gripped his ass, pulling him closer…so fucking close.

Waves of sensations swept over and through…the heat on his cock unbearable, and suddenly he felt a hand grip him, fast and furious. Justin’s knees buckled and he felt Brian hold him, raise him. The pumping drove into him, sharp painful stabs…his eyes closed…feeling the tightening in his balls…the sound of his harsh pants…of Brian’s, and then it hit him. Quick and hard and fierce.

He leaned against Brian, shuddering…the wetness leaking through…and he realized that his hand had found its way to grip Brian as well. An unconscious move born of familiarity. That his trembles were Brian’s…his cries had been Brian’s.

The blare of a car brought them back to reality. To the street and the chilly spring night. To the present where their lives were so separate it was difficult to imagine they’d ever been entwined.

Brian’s forehead leaned against his and he wanted to cry at the despondent look he could see there. Reaching one hand up, Justin caressed his cheek.

“Fuck.”

It would have been funny at some other point, if it had happened to other people. But it was their truth, and it was sad and wrong and damn…it just was. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Brian spoke tightly. “We can’t, Sunshine.”

“Why not?” It was a plea.

“Because I don’t think either one of us could survive it.”

He was right, of course. He was always right.

It wasn’t their life anymore. No matter how much he wanted it to be. He belonged somewhere else. It was the choice he’d made. Brian was right. If this happened, if they touched, fucked, came together again, he would want it to go on. To never stop. Justin knew that wasn’t possible. Life would tear at them. Half a life together would never work.

It was all or nothing.

Brian peeled back slowly, his eyes closed, and when he reopened them, there was moisture there. He lowered Justin slightly, taking back his warmth and taste and scent. Straightening clothes and hair, they let the silence fall between them. Adjusting their aching cocks, they cleaned up quickly, efficiently.

Justin reached up to brush strands back into place and caught the strained smile Brian sent him. He took a deep breath. “I think…I should go home. It’s probably not a good idea to…” He gestured in the direction of the hotel.

They knew where they would end up.

Justin told himself that it would be a disaster. He ignored the pinch that called him a liar.

Brian shook his head. His face flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark and needy. “No. It isn’t.” He hailed a cab swiftly, and as it rolled to the curb, he turned to him. When it stopped, he pulled the door open, smiling sadly. “Gentlemanly thing.”

Justin wanted to cry, to pound and scream, but it was their truth. The reality they lived in. He wanted to say all those words that ran through his mind at any one moment each day…but in the end, he couldn’t. There was Paul…and his life. The one he pretended to want and enjoy. Paris and art and every fucked up thing that kept him away from Brian.

He pulled Brian into a hug, whispering in his ear. “Later.”

Brian held onto his neck, thumb sweeping over the skin slowly before pulling away, eyes holding his. He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss on Justin’s forehead before responding. “Later.”

Justin held his gaze for a second longer and then slowly climbed into the backseat of the cab. Closing the door, he watched Brian’s figure grow smaller and smaller. He felt tears come now, roll down his cheeks, and he wiped at his face. Pushed down, grief bubbled and then dissipated.

Justin waited for that sensation…that ache that followed. Instead, in its place was something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Burning inside was the tingle of knowledge…of knowing what he wanted. He’d tasted it tonight. Touched and felt and breathed it.

It was only a seed of hope…of belief. But it would grow and bloom. It would guide him where he belonged. A sad smile spread across his face, and he glanced back to where Brian still stood, now only a dot… and he knew, even if he hadn’t realized it yet, wouldn’t for some time, that he’d made the move he needed.

He had things to finish…to complete, but that little inkling inside told him everything.

Someday...he would be home. Where he belonged.

Part Eight

###

Current Mood: nervous
Current Location: home sweet home
Current Music: "blurry" : puddle of mudd

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

furriboots.livejournal.com

Wow. I finally got caught up on this fic of yours and it is so powerful. Not much does but you managed to bring me to tears with the heartache that each of them is suffering over their separation. It is like a part of each of them is ripped away when they are not together and the wound never heals.

I can't wait to read the next installment and please promise me that some happiness is on the way for both of them.

From:

like a skyscraper

Trying hard to speak (B/J, QAF, Justin POV)

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