Fic: Indebted (QaF, B/J) Chapter 3: Waking in Dreams

[freakykat]

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Title: Indebted
Chapter: Three - Waking in Dreams
Sequel/Series: series
Author: freakykat
Time Frame: Takes place during 3rd season starting after 3.04 - AU timelime
Summary: Justin and Brian find their lives intwine no matter what they do.
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Justin/Ethan implied
Notes: Thanks to wouldbedorothy for beta-reading like always. She gives this story it's flow. A different way Brian/Justin could have gotten back together. Just a reminder that some of the storylines from Season 3 will be here however, they may be gotten to and resolved differently.
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.

Indebted


Chapter Three: Waking in Dreams


“I’m ready.”

You’re surprised at the calmness in your voice, because - inside - it’s chaos. Buildings falling, worlds colliding and spinning out of control, and you in the center of it. With nothing to hold onto, to keep from throwing you into an infinite oblivion. You can feel trembles in your fingers, will them to stop. Take a breath….just breathe…in and out…

“Look at me.”

You obey because it’s him, and you always do. You hold in some form of a gasp when his bleak eyes take you in, focusing on some point on your skin. This had been a bad idea. He’s too close now. In every way. Loss of physical proximity had helped, made it easier to forget or pretend to forget how he made you feel. Shivers and colors and warmth and fucking longing…

“Turn your head down some, Justin.”

You stiffen, shove away the thrill you get when he does that, and do as he says. He rarely called you by your name. He had a number of nicknames…some, like “little shit,” used in annoyance or amusement…others, like “Sunshine,” when he meant to be sweet. Well, if anyone could call him sweet. But “Justin,” he only used in the throes of emotions…when he was inside, filling you, owning…and your name fell from his lips like a prayer.

Your mind so wrapped up in these thoughts that you don’t hear his approach, only the sound of his breathing, the feel of it across the nape of your neck where he was -- fuck. He dropped one kiss, another, and yet another, leaving a trail of moisture behind.

“Justin.”

There it was again. Your name in that tone…with that emotion, and you turn your head to peek at him from behind your shoulder. His eyes lock on yours, and he kisses what he can reach of your mouth. “You need to relax. It’s just me.”

You shrug helplessly. “I can’t.” It was the truth. Every nerve ending tingled in his presence, tightened and threatened to snap at his voice. It was never easy -- it would never be. His hands, always surprisingly soft and warm, reach for you, and you can breathe…you feel life surging through you. He trails one finger over your forearm and you lean back. You can feel the rising and falling of his chest, the sound of his heartbeat, and it’s home.

“Brian.”

He seems to stop breathing for a moment, and you wonder if he’ll stop now. If you had broken the spell you seem to be under. There’s something almost surreal about it. It can’t be this easy, this right…

You forget everything when his lips fall on your bare shoulder, biting gently, lapping the mark with his tongue. Desperate, needy hands fall to your waist, holding you firmly, and you could give a shit if the pressure leaves bruises. You fall into the swirl of emotions and urgency that permeates from him. It makes you smile, giggling from happiness wanting to spurt out.

He still wants you.

You reach behind, your hand finding the back of his head, caressing his hair. He lets his chin fall on your shoulder, and there’s a sigh of contentment loose in the air. You’re not sure which one of you released it and realize it doesn’t matter. He nudges his face into the curve of your neck, dropping kisses, murmuring words against your skin. His roaming hand finds you hard and leaking, grasps tightly, and your pleasure vibrates in your throat. Thumb stroking over the sensitive tip, breath in your ear, and his plea shimmers down your back.

“I want inside.”

Suddenly, you seem to hover in the air, feet no longer touching solid ground, and you moan some semblance of his name. You gyrate to his movement and you know this isn’t real. It can’t be. It feels too… His hand shifts under, brushing against your throbbing balls. He plays with the soft covering of hair, and you hear his laugh as he shifts. He pulls away, kissing the side of your face as he secures you around the waist with one arm. You feel his hand trail slowly down your back, rubbing softly on the flesh he touches…one finger now circling rings around your aching, puckered hole.

“Oh god.”

You cry out when one digit enters gently, stretching….heat and friction fight and blend. Through the rush of colors across your senses, your name falls from his lips. You push back hard, begging now, and another finger joins the first. You bend over, the arm holding you saving you from collapse. Trying for more…needing him to fill you. You find your voice. “Please. Fuck me.”

“You want me, baby?”

You freeze at the words… Brian would never… Your eyes refuse to open, to lose this place, but the feel of him is different. The finger no longer coaxes…no seduction breathes on your skin…touching your fractured soul…

It feels wrong. You recoil against, uncomfortable, and your feet hit the floor hard. Something pinches, pushes too hard, and you grimace….

“My Jus wants it bad this morning.”

Justin’s eyes flew open, taking in the scene around him. Dingy beige walls met his gaze, and his heart grew heavy with grief. He had been there. Home. Tears formed around the edges of his vision and he forced them back. He could feel Ethan against his back, his clammy touch on his skin. Inside places that in his dreams had been someone else’s.

He was a liar, but fuck if he would become a hypocrite.

“Ethan.” Some knot in his throat made it sound more a croak than syllables, but it seemed to register. Ethan paused, still inside but no longer moving. “Am I hurting you, baby?”

Justin forced his face to remain impassive, pushed away the grimace right beneath the mask, and nodded. “Yeah. A little.” Justin shifted away, glad when he felt Ethan leave, and sighed at the emptiness.

“I’m sorry. From the happy sounds, I thought you were enjoying it.”

Justin resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the petulant note in Ethan’s voice and turned halfway to look at him. He reached a hand to his face and smiled. “I’m sorry. I guess the shock of waking up…” The excuse petered away and he knew that Ethan wasn’t buying it. He realized he didn’t care. “I have to work.”

Ethan sighed, reaching for his arm and pulling down. “Come on, Jus. You’ve been working all week.” He grinned up at him. “Let’s go to the conservatory. I wrote something new for you.”

Justin managed to stifle the retort that sprang into his mind. Instead, he pulled away gently, smiled thinly. “We need the money, Ethan.” He glanced back as he walked to the bathroom. “Besides, after Teddy’s arrest, Debbie’s been too distracted to be any good. She needs me there.”

He closed the bathroom door hard, cutting off whatever Ethan’s reply might have been. The reflection in the mirror looked haggard, even sad, and Justin ran a hand through his hair, watching as the image mimicked him.

It was still unbelievable that Ted had been arrested for running a gay porn site. That was the real reason, and the whole world knew, even if no one would say it. He felt anger take over that warm, fuzzy place he’d found in his dreams. Fucking Stockwell. Homophobic son-of-a-bitch was determined to hurt them. The anger doubled when he thought of Brian helping that asshole.

He would never have guessed that Brian Kinney would turn on his own. On the only ideals he ever upheld. There was the smallest part of him that still didn’t quite believe it. Brian would never… Something else was going on.

And fuck if he wasn’t going to find out what.

He turned on the water, finding his brush and adding toothpaste, absentmindedly going through his morning routine. Avoiding the hazy remnants of dreams that threatened to spill forth. In the light of day, it would hurt a thousand times more…


“Please, Brian. I’m begging you. Help. Him.”

Brian’s head lay on the cold surface of his desk, one hand fisted, pounding a rhythm on his thigh, the other buried in his hair. The pain inside and out would fade away with time, he repeated in his mind.

That had been unfair.

He knew no one could have possibly known the power Emmett had over him. Each in their own way did. Yet he made sure to never show any vulnerability. And he had been ready for him. He was no fool. He knew Emmett loved Ted, and that eventually he would show up, like Debbie had, screaming his anger and demanding he do something.

He had prepared for that.

Not the quiet, desperate submission he had witnessed. Not the swallowing of his pride and begging for help.

“Shit.”

It was Emmett that, with flourish, unrelenting optimism, and quiet understanding, had won over Brian from almost the first instant. He had seen this vulnerable, sweet, but damn brave boy become a man. He had felt that first burst of lust he’d had (because Emmett was beautiful) turn into protective brotherly instincts. No one had been more surprised than he was about that.

Emmett had been -- before Justin, and his own son -- the baby of his chosen family. The youngest and most dearly loved member. And Brian still saw him that way. Out of all the boys, Emmett had never once asked him for anything. Never demanded.

And when he disapproved, it was quietly. Never openly berating him. Only letting him know through looks and silences what he was thinking. It was Brian’s favorite trait in Emmett.

“Deep down, you care about us.”

Fuck if he wasn’t right. Not that Brian was admitting that to anyone, least of all himself.

When Ted had come to him, pleading for assistance, there had been that sharp pang he always felt when the ones he cared about would ask him for anything. Of course, as always, it was ignored, and relief flooded when Ted had cursed at him. God knows, even if he could help…

But Emmett…that had been love. Sacrifice. Brian understood that. Admired it. Looking at Emmett, blue eyes red and filling with tears, he knew it was a done deal. He would get Ted out of this mess. Somehow.

Head raising, he leaned back, staring intently at the ceiling, seeking answers he knew wouldn’t come. He tapped his fingers, mind whirling…thinking…

His hand stopped, one thought slowly forming, and he sat upright. He pushed the intercom, calling out to his assistant. “Cynthia.”

“Yes, Brian?”

“Set up a meeting with Stockwell.” The name stuck in his throat, and disgust, which was becoming familiar, coiled in him. He glanced at the newspaper. Ted’s scared face stared at him. “Make it at the racquetball court.”

“You got it.”

He folded the paper in half, hiding the accusing eyes from his sight, and ran one hand through his hair.

This had better fucking work…


“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Justin took a hit of the joint that Daphne held out to him. He let it burn a path through him, smoke trailing from his mouth as he spoke. “You’re a fucking confidence booster.”

She grinned maniacally. “What are best friends for?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Her hand smacked the back of his head and he forced a laugh. He glanced over at her, speaking quickly. “I had a dream.” He placed the emphasis on “dream” and watched Daphne’s face twist in disgust.

“I don’t want to know.’

“Daphne…”

“No. Please. I’m already traumatized enough with your choice. Do not make me listen to the details of your dream sex life with Ethan.”

“Who was talking about Ethan?” Justin muttered, peeking from the corner of his eye and catching her confused expression. He couldn’t blame her. He was lost on what to do with all he felt. Maybe if he talked about it…”I was talking about Brian.”

Daphne practically screeched to a halt. Her mouth gaped open, but Justin could see the happy light shining from her eyes. “Brian?!” She made a disbelieving noise, and with hands held out asked, “But I thought you said you were over him?” She couldn’t hide the thrill in her voice.

Justin shrugged. “I thought so, too.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I dreamt about him last night. Somehow he learned how to levitate and we were fucking mid-air…almost.”

“Almost mid-air or almost fucking?” Daphne laughed when he hit her arm with his hand.

“It’s not funny, Daph. What the hell is wrong with me?”

She raised one eyebrow, staring intently at him. “You really want me to answer that? ‘Cause, really, you won’t like what you hear.” They continued their walk in silence.
“You think I made the wrong choice, don’t you?”

Daphne shrugged. “I think you made the choice you needed to make.”

“But you don’t agree with it.”

“I’m not here to agree. My role is supporting player in your little melodrama. Supporting being the operative word.”

Justin glared at her. “Admit it. You think it was a stupid decision.”

Daphne snorted. “Stupid isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

They reached the bus stop and the conversation ended abruptly. He was heading to Debbie’s before his shift, and Daphne had a date with the library. They agreed to meet later at Woody’s, and she kissed his cheek before crossing the street and grabbing a cab.

Justin watched her go.

She was right. Stupid didn’t even begin to cover it.


|Chapter 4|

Comments

[freakykat.livejournal.com]

What lovely compliments! Thank you Valk! I will be using most of the cast for this story even though it's B/J-centric. Every singe one of them brought so much to their relationships and to their characters. It's a must for this story!

More soon!