A/N: I'm taking Brian and Justin to the places I really loved in and around Paris. Oh, and should you ever go to Paris, do get this nifty Museum Pass ... saves you a lot of time, nerves, and money (esp. if you intend to visit the Louvre more than once). Brian I stop Justin as he wants to enter the Musée d'Orsay. "Do we really have to?" We've just been to the Louvre again, and the little shit actually made me apologise to the fucking Winged Victory for my behaviour yesterday. Little fucker! And I did it. I stood as close as possible to the statue and mumbled "sorry". Justin was beaming. Then he dragged me into the Egyptian Collection and went "Ah" and "Oh" at the statues and sarcophagi. If I never see an Egyptian collection again... We had a light lunch again at the restaurant, and now he dragged me across the Seine to the former train station. He turns to me, and looks at me with his big blue eyes, and I melt. "Please Brian? It's not that big, and I only want to see some of the Monets..." He even bats his lashes at me, and how pathetic is that? "Please? Just for half an hour?" Which is at least one hour in Taylor-speech. Why did I think this was a good idea? Oh yes. Because he's an artist and I want to make him happy. Great. I sigh and motion for him to get going. His smile lights the surrounding area, and he leans in to kiss me. "Tomorrow we can go to the Ile de la Cité, have a look at the Conciergerie and Sainte-Chapelle. No Louvre. Okay?" I guess he thinks I should be thrilled at the prospect. Okay, maybe I am, but I'm not going to tell him that. I just nod, and sigh. Well, I have to admit that I like this museum much more than the Louvre. Lots of open spaces, not so many visitors... And Justin is holding true to his word and marches up the stairs to his Monets. "I will have to try this as well when we get back. See, when you get closer, you can't tell what he painted. But when you step back..." He's right. It's amazing. We are in front of one of Monet's many Water Lilies when Justin suddenly smirks. "You know, he was painting those in his garden at Giverny..." Oh shit, here he goes again. "It was something he had in front of him every day..." Yes, that's very interesting. "So, you really shouldn't feel uneasy when I draw you all the time. I don't think the water lilies were..." Fuck! He got me there. Tongue in cheek, I reply, "Yeah, well... I don't think he ever asked them, did he? Maybe they were very shy water lilies... Maybe they didn't want to be drawn, but had no say in it." I reach for his right hand, my fingers once again straying to the bracelet. "Then again, they were his inspiration, yes?" He holds his breath and nods. "So, maybe I am yours..." His eyes are blazing with the answer to my sort-of-question. "Well, but since I am human and all that..." He smiles now, nodding vigorously. "I think it's only fair that I ask for ten percent of the money you make with your art." I grin, and he punches my arm. Then he growls at me, "You are so full of shit, Mr Brian Kinney. I don't know why I put up with you." But we both know. It's the great sex, of course. Especially now that we do it sans condoms... Well, alright. He's also staying because we love each other, no matter how lesbian that might be. And we are partners, not only in the bedroom. He brushes my lips with his, and whispers against my neck, "Love you, you arrogant asshole." Why, thank you. I think I'm grinning like an idiot right now, and he does the same, and my world has changed so much that it's not even funny anymore. Not that I'm complaining. Last night, we went to that bistro or restaurant – whatever – again. And later, instead of heading for the clubs, we sat down and talked, just like the good Dr O'Reilly told me to do. Fuck, I still can't believe what I revealed to him. I practically told him about everything that ever happened to me, especially at the hands of my loving family. He had of course known already, he's clever like that. But still... And he was so adamant in his reassurances that my old man had been talking bullshit, that there were loads of people out there who loved me, and that, yes, I deserved that love. And I think I actually believed him. Cause once I'd spilt my heart to him, I felt better – lighter. Like this huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Goes to show how fucked up I was before. We also talked about the Prom – again. And I didn't believe my ears when he said that he had felt like a fucking coward. "I ... all I did was try to forget. I never fought back, did I? Sometimes I wish I had taken a bat as well and..." I wanted to shake him. Instead I just wrapped my arms around him and told him that he wasn't a coward, and that he had been fighting back. The way he won his life back – that was a sign of his inner strength; I had little to do with it. But if he would stoop to Hobbs' level, he wouldn't win – he would only lose himself. He nodded at that point, and then... "You know that you actually saved me, don't you? By calling out my name... Had he hit me at a different angle or somewhere else, I could have been dead. And... I remember how he kept bullying me before the Prom. So it's very likely that he would have done something even had you not shown up." And that was it. He might as well have added "So stop this fucking guilt-trip of yours," but he didn't. I think he was right. If the Prom hadn't happened, who knows where we would be now. Probably not in Paris, on our fucking honeymoon. I told him about the flowers as well, which of course started a discussion of the fucking fiddler, and how bad Justin felt about it all. "Justin! It wasn't your fault. He just ... he could accept your decision. But that's his problem, not yours." It took about ten minutes, but then I got through to him. The moment he smiled his Sunshine smile, I knew we were alright. Finally. I think I will have to send dearest Kathleen – Dr O'Reilly that is – a bunch of flowers or something like that when we get back to the Pitts. So yes, when we set out today, we were almost completely carefree. And that's a first, boys and girls. At least for me. He was smiling through breakfast, smiling on the Métro, smiling while we walked through the fucking Louvre. And he's smiling still. Little shit. When we finally leave the museum, or rather, the fucking museum's store, his stomach begins to grumble again. "This is nice, Justin. First you plunder my credit card with all those fucking art books and prints, and whatever you bought. And now it's that monster again. Just out of curiosity – will there be any money left in my account at the end of this trip?" My blond twink only glares. And I know that before long we'll have to go to a fucking post office and send some of the things he's buying home. Or rather to Mikey or the Munchers. Since there's no one at the loft currently. We find a bistro, and he drops his purchases. Well, his problem if he got all those things. I'm not going to help him carry them. He orders crêpes, with lots of chocolate sauce, and I'm asking myself how he does it. I mean, he eats as if the end of the world is near, but does he gain even one little pound? No. And he doesn't even work out. I have to smirk at that. Oh, he does work out – just not on a step master or such things... My cock twitches at the thought, and I have to get rid of that little problem before Justin realises. So I'm thinking about Mel and Linz doing the dirty, and that does the trick. Actually, I feel like vomiting for a moment. I hope my poor son never walks in on them. Or he'd be in therapy for the rest of his life. Justin wolves down the crêpes while I enjoy my house salad. It's not as good as the one at the diner, but that's alright. Though I'm going to mention it to Debbie, cause she'll be thrilled to hear it. "So Sunshine... Feel up to a little clubbing tonight?" He looks at me, still happily munching on the fucking pancake-wannabe, and raises an eyebrow. Like he wants to say "I am if you are". Little fucker. "Alright then. Let's see if they have something like Babylon." I grin, tongue in cheek, and he smiles back. So we're going to hit the clubs tonight and show those losers what they are missing. --- Justin It's official. I'm dead. Or at least my feet are. Fuck you, Brian! It was a decidedly stupid idea to go dancing after all the walking around at the Louvre and the Musée d'Orsay. Yesterday, everything was still okay. Even this morning, when we stumbled up here around four a.m. But now, five hours later, my feet are killing me. Maybe I should just chop them off. At least it would help a little. Or maybe not. And I can't believe that Brian is moving around the fucking loft as if everything was just fine. Asshole! I plop down on the mattress again, hiding under the covers. I'll just stay in bed today. Yeah, and die of hunger. Fuck! I hear Brian's steps, and suddenly he yanks the covers away, smiling sweetly down at me, "Rise and shine, Sunshine. The early bird catches the worm..." I give him the finger and tell him to fuck off. "Aww, what's wrong, princess? Did a feather poke you while you dreamt?" Shit, he's in one of his silly moods again. "Come on, Justin. Get up. I made breakfast..." I think my stomach has ears. It had been quiet so far, but at the mentioning of food... Brian, my so-called partner – laughs, and leaves me to untangle. I do, and roll out of the bed. Fuck! Did I mention that my feet hurt? But the need for food is greater than the need to take it slow. And Brian wasn't lying when he said he'd made breakfast... About an hour – and an enjoyable breakfast, shower and foot massage – later, we are off to the Ile de la Cité. And I have to admit that, even though the Conciergerie doesn't hold many paintings or other works of art, it is still an interesting place. I learn more about French history than I would have in a whole semester at school – if I'd taken European History, that is. I guess the saying is right: The Revolution consumed it's own children, just like Saturn. The Revolutionary Tribunal... at first a means to condemn the enemies of the Republic, it turned into an important pillar of Le Terreur, the reign of terror. I'm shuddering when I see the death lists in one of the rooms. How many men and women were sent to the Place de la Revolution back then – to Madame Guillotine. I'm breathing a relieved sigh when we exit the building, and make our way to Sainte-Chapelle. It's a beautiful little chapel, and this time, Brian doesn't seem to mind when I explain things to him. He actually asks if I also want to see Notre-Dame, but I shake my head. "I'd much rather sit down somewhere..." He grins and nods. So we walk over to the Ile Saint-Louis, and have a drink and something to eat at a small café. I catch Brian's gaze. "How would you feel about leaving the city tomorrow? I've read up on the Château de Fountainebleau, and from the sounds of it, it's so much more interesting than Versailles. Besides, we should go to Versailles on Sunday, since the fountains will be on then..." He smiles. "I see you intend to make the most of our five days." I frown, and he chuckles. "I mean the Museum Pass..." He gets out the little leaflet that came with the pass. "Well, if I'm not very much mistaken, most museums are closed on Monday anyway. So we could use our last day for some more shopping..." I groan. No more shopping, please. "I mean, some stupid souvenirs for our loved ones at home." Oh, well in that case... I saw some cute things already, like a plush Eiffel Tower with a wide grin and... Wait a sec. "Um, Brian? We haven't been to the Eiffel Tower yet..." He looks as if he swallowed something really disgusting. "Oh come on. It's not every day that we're in Paris. Besides," I add with a sweet smile, "it would be so romantic." I bat my eyelashes at him again, and sigh, leaning against him. He just huffs. "Please, Bri? I promise I'll make it up to you..." My hand ventures down his chest and stomach, to rest over his crotch. He shudders. "You know I can make it good for you. After all, you were my teacher." I begin to stroke him through his pants, his dick hardening under my fingers. "Fuck, Justin! Not here." He pushes my hand away, glaring daggers at me. "Okay, we'll go to your stupid Eiffel Tower. Happy now?" Ecstatic, really. He takes a few deep breaths, willing his erection away – and sadly it works. He calls the waiter, pays, and then grabs my hand. "Assuming your feet are still a little sore, I'd say we go to Vincennes. They seem to have a lovely park there..." Whoever said that Brian Kinney didn't do romantic was a fool. "And there's also this museum... Hang on." He studies the leaflet again. "Ah yes. The Musée national des Arts d'Afrique et d'Océanie. Sounds interesting, don't you think? They also have a tropical aquarium... I bet Gus would love it." I smirk. It's only been four days since he last spoke with his son, and he already misses him. For someone who never wanted to be a father... Shit, I just recalled this cryptic statement of Mel, and I wish I knew what the Munchers are up to this time. But I'm not going to waste a second racking my brain over this. There's nothing I can do from here, anyway. So I just smile, at kiss him softly. "I've also been thinking that we might drop by the Musée Rodin tomorrow..." He gives me this look again. "So I can get something out of the souvenir store there." He nods, apparently glad that I don't want to visit yet another museum. Well, um... I'm not going to tell him that most exhibits are outside the actual museum, in Rodin's garden... I so want to see the Gates of Hell and the Thinker. But I don't have to tell Brian, now do I? We walk over to the Hôtel de Ville, and what a lovely city hall it is, and board a train of line one, going directly to Vincennes. The park is really lovely, and so is the Museum of African and Oceanic Art. As for the aquarium – I think Brian was right, Gus would have loved it. But we get him a picture book and some fluffy fishies to appease him when we tell him about it. Brian is just putting his credit card back into his wallet when I remember something Linz said on Monday. "You know, I think Gus begins to think of me as his second dad..." Fuck, why did I have to say that just now? I look away, but he hooks a finger below my chin, forcing my head around. Surprisingly, he doesn't seem upset, or angry, or whatever I had expected. In fact, he smiles. "Well, you are, aren't you?" I don't know what to say, and he seems to sense my predicament, and saves me. His lips decent on mine, and he proceeds to eat me alive. When he finally breaks away, because despite it all, we still need to breathe, we both are flustered and aroused. "I want you..." he whispers into my ear, and I can only nod. He quickly gets out the map of the Métro to figure out the quickest way to get to the loft and our bed. "Okay, we change at Nation and go directly to Anvers then." And that's exactly what we do. --- Brian This is our last day, and we just got off at Bir Hakeim to walk to the fucking Eiffel Tower. Justin actually had the stupid idea of climbing up, but I talked him out of it right away. The faster we get up there, the faster we can go shopping and all the romance crap is over and done with. Cause I don't do romance. Yeah, right. Just like I don't do relationships. Well, fuck it. So I changed my mind about a few things, doesn't mean that I've to go out and advertise it, does it? He, on the other hand, he would love to scream it from the top of the fucking Eiffel Tower, I'm sure of it. Little shit. There's a fucking queue in front of the elevator, and I swear if I have to wait for too long, I'm out of here. But then we're up, on the first ... second ... third platform, and it's really nice up here. The view is great, and Justin even swears he can see our home. "See, just left of Sacré-Cœur..." He might actually be right there, but it doesn't really matter. I wrap my arms around him while he gazes around like a little boy. "Oh look, and there's the Louvre." Yes, and if I never have to see it again, it will be far too soon. "And the Musée d'Orsay..." Once again, if I never see it again... No, that's not true. I might have acted annoyed, but the truth is I loved this gleam in his eyes. He was so excited about it all. And the way he thanked me for this trip every morning and night ... well, it was worth it. The weekend was really great – his Lonely Planet was right about Fountainebleau. It's a lovely castle, and the park surrounding it... The only problem was that Justin had forgotten his fucking spray, so we had to search for a pharmacy to get a new one for him. When we got back, the little fucker dragged me to that stupid museum, and fuck, didn't he say he only wanted to go to the shop? Yeah, fat chance. I swear he stood in front of those fucking Gates of Hell for the best part of an hour. An hour! He seemed so sad when we returned to the loft. And then it hit me – he thinks he'll never be able to create something like this because of his hand. I sat him down on the sofa, and told him that there was a time when he thought he'd never draw again. So he should give it a try. I think he really listened to me and will heed my words. Always knew he was a smart one, at least as long as I'm not concerned. And Versailles... What can I say? I hate tourists. The whole fucking palace was practically swarming with them. It even got too much for Justin, who didn't have the least problem at the Louvre or any other museum. So we didn't visit the actual palace, and went straight to the gardens and the park. I think Sunshine was completely smitten with the Rockwork Grove, all that cascading water and stuff. Must be the artist in him. And then he had to stumble on that fucking statue of Diana again – first we saw it at the Louvre, and then at Fountainebleau. I swear, the stupid goddess is haunting me. Naturally, he had to give me another lecture, and I finally was forced to drag him away. He turns in my arms and leans in to kiss me, effectively bringing me back to the here and now. "So, where should we do our souvenir shopping? I'm sure you already figured out which store or whatever would be best." I have actually. La Samaritaine sounds good. Pretty much like a Parisian Harrods. And something happens I'd never ever have thought I'd see. Justin's having a shopping spree. In the end we decide to have the whole stuff he picked delivered – by express mail so it should get to the Pitts before we do. I call Mikey and he says it's okay and we should sent the stuff to the store. We have dinner at our bistro, and then we're at the loft again and pack. Justin sits on the floor once more, like he did a week ago when I dropped the test results into his lap. Once again he looks somewhat uneasy. "Bri? I'm sorry I bought so much junk. As soon as I get some money from Rage, I'll pay you back..." What the fuck is he talking about? Most of the things he got are art books – which should be in Pittsburgh already if the nice lady at the post office was correct. And the souvenirs – well, aren't they supposed to be silly? I lean down and breathe against his neck. "Don't you dare to pay me back with money." I smirk as he turns to me, startled expression on his face. "There are other ways to repay me, Justin." He still looks confused, and I sigh. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?" There's a wicked glint in his eyes now, and he nods. "Alright then. How do you feel about a ‘farewell-Paris-fuck'?" No, I'm not going to ask him to make fucking love, I'm not! "Show me how much you appreciate everything I've done for you." He playfully punches me. "Careful, Mr Taylor. Or I might change my mind..." He shakes his head, and grabs my hand. Once we are in the bedroom, he pushes me down on the mattress and proceeds to divest us of our clothes, always stopping when a new area of my body is exposed to kiss and caress it. Fuck, he's really good. By the time we're finally naked, I'm close to begging. My cock is hard as steel and leaking. He grins, and then moves down my body to swallow me whole. Oh shit! He doesn't even have a chance to establish anything like a rhythm because the moment his throat muscles contract around my dick, I'm exploding. He drinks me down greedily, liking away any traces before allowing my now soft cock to slip from his lips. I'm still coming down from the heights of my orgasm when he slowly begins to prepare me. Brian Kinney is willingly bottoming. Regularly. Let me check the calendar and see if the end of the world is near. Well, we are talking about Justin here, my husband, so I guess I can allow him to be in charge once in a while. Yeah, like at least once a week. Funny enough, I'm not scared to let go. He'll catch me, I know it. Just like I'll always catch him. Shit. It's the Parisian air, it must be. I'm beginning to sound like a lovesick puppy. Justin reaches for the lube again to apply some of it to his cock, but I slap his hand away. "Let me..." He does, and his moans are the most beautiful sound in the world. I'm about to roll over, but he stops me, shaking his head, "Since this is a business transaction," we both smirk, "I'd rather look you in the eyes if it's all the same to you. After all, you told me about all those business rules, right. And wasn't rule number one to always look your business partner in the eyes?" I nod and wrap my legs around his slim waist, my feet coming to rest on his bubble butt. He's sinking into me with a groan that I can only echo. I feel so much closer to him now that we are foregoing the use of condoms. We decided to use them still at Babylon since otherwise... I can already hear the rumor mill. And we can do without that just fine. Soon, we are moving to a lazy rhythm, and I'm wondering how he can stand it, since he didn't come with me earlier. Or maybe he did. He's leaning down, and our lips meet, and our tongues begin their dance for supremacy. Finally he relents, and I chase his tongue into his mouth. When we draw apart, we are both panting, and his movements have sped up. "Justin," I whisper, and he smiles. It's not very long until we both feel the telltale spasms, and we are falling off the cliff together. We roll on our sides, and he slips out of me. I know we should clean up, but we are too tired... In the morning, we say goodbye to the tiny café, and then take a cab to the airport. We board the plane, and it's only a few moments after liftoff that Justin turns to me. "Thank you, Brian. For the trip, for those boring papers ... for everything." There are tears in his eyes, his fucking allergies are back again it seems. "I love you." He snuggles up to me. "Thank you." It's funny cause I should be the one thanking him. For waiting until I was ready for this – ready for a fucking relationship. I should thank him for getting me to talk, not only about the Prom, and Ian, but also about my family. Mikey and Deb both know bits and pieces, Linz as well, but Justin is the only one who knows it all. Also that my old man said that I should die in his stead after I told him... He was furious. Gods, I would have loved to see Justin taking on Jack. Would have been amusing, I'm sure of it. We sleep on the plane because we don't want to be complete vegetables when we get off and it's still early in the day. When we finally reach Pittsburgh, Mikey is there to pick us up, and he's fucking fidgeting. He tells us that our parcel got to the shop earlier in the morning and that it's now in the trunk of the Sharan. But still, he is acting strangely. And the moment I push open the loft door I know what's up. Fuck you, Mikey!