A/N: Set at the end of 3.07.
Seeing him at the diner wearing the same stunning ensemble he did yesterday was already great. But later, at Babylon, that wasn't just a discordant note in love's tender refrain... The harmony was gone, and what was left was a cacophony of sounds. And – I might have been delusional or something, but I could have sworn that pathetic excuse for a ring was gone as well. Which is – to quote Emmett – fucking fabulous. Because of Justin's allergies, of course. So the fiddler's history... Can't say I'm surprised. Or thrilled, elated... Fuck!
I left Babylon right after coming – and that had nothing to do with the trick blowing me... Shit. I'd only just been able to keep from walking up to him... My cock was yearning to be buried inside that tight ass, fucking Justin as he was fucking Baldy. But I didn't want our first time post-Ian to be like that, didn't want to share him with anyone. That thought, the hope I felt suddenly... I don't think I've ever been this scared in my whole life. Except for that night, when all the love he said he had for me was seeping out of his still body... Compared to that, the Rage party was a walk in the park.
I swear I thought I was doing him a favour. Fucking that actor wasn't about getting off. I was setting him free in what Deb would call an act of selfless generosity. And I had to do it my way. Justin would have left sooner or later, and I didn't want to wait any longer. So I tore my heart out myself, throwing away the best fucking thing that had ever happened to me. I guess my subconscious hadn't been impressed at all... Since then I haven't fucked anyone but Justin – in my head, that is. 'So just admit it – you miss him and you want him back. Cause you love him...' Shut up, you!
It's almost one in the morning when the knocking starts. If it's Mikey with more worrying about being a dad, I'm going to kill him. I'm sliding the door open and stop in my tracks. It isn't Mikey – it's Justin. And I know from the look on his face that this is going to be bad... He's pushing past me, walking into the loft as if he owned it before finally stopping next to the beam I fucked him against after the Vermont fiasco.
"Since you'll figure it out anyway, I thought I might as well tell you myself to keep the gloating to a minimum." What the fuck?! "You were right, okay? Happy now?!" Ecstatic. "All of Ethan's romance bullshit was just that – bullshit. He said he wanted only me, but at the first opportunity, he cheated..." I'm guessing that was on the night I met him at Woody's... "But stupid little me bought his excuses. Pathetic, right? His fan had to show up on our doorstep to make that piece of blond boy ass acknowledge the facts of life..." Fuck! I shouldn't have said that, cause now he thinks that's how I see him. And that really is pathetic.
His eyes are sparkling angrily, and I'm wondering who he's angrier with – Ian, himself or me. "So now that you know just how pathetic I really am, maybe you can spare me your glee." He's referring to that little scene at the diner, and part of me wants to shake him and tell him that I was just ... what exactly? Glad that things seemed to be going downhill for him and the fiddle fuck? Because it meant that maybe... "Well, I said what I came here for, so ... I don't want to interfere with your plans for tonight anymore than I already did."
He's already sliding the door open by the time I realise what he's doing. He's leaving – again... "Justin!" He slowly turns to me, his eyes searching mine for ... I don't really know what. But he's waiting for something, and I wish I could just swallow my fucking pride and tell him... But I can't. The whispered "Stay" is as good as it gets, and I'm hoping he also hears all the things I can't put into words. For a moment I think I see understanding in his eyes. But then he shakes his head.
"I can't." And he looks more like the frightened seventeen-year-old he once was than... then the door slams shut, and I'm locked up in the loft as if it's a prison cell. It obviously wasn't enough, will never be enough. And how could it be? I just ... I don't know what I'd do if he kicked me out of his life altogether, which appears to be a possibility right now. After all, he seems to think the worst of me as it is... It's this thought that makes me do something I never thought I would – running after someone. Daphne will probably want to throttle me when I show up at her place at this godforsaken hour, but maybe I can win her over. And then she can help me...
I'm searching for my fucking car keys when the knocking starts again. "Mikey, this really isn't..." It's Justin. He came back. He came back!
"I don't want to do this anymore, Brian..." And I really don't know how the fuck it happened, but one moment we were staring at each other in my doorway, the next we're kissing as if the end of the world was near. I hear a whispered "I missed you", and when I see Justin's smile I realise that it was me who said that. Oh great! How very dykish! Linz would be so proud of me. And I don't give a fuck how corny it sounds, but the moment I push into him ... it's like coming home.
We're still basking in the afterglow – and I can't quite remember the last time I came so hard and so fast, nearly blacking out for a moment or two – when he murmurs, "I missed this..." I raise my eyebrow and he chuckles. "Ethan never... I just couldn't." And my stomach isn't just doing funny things, it fucking isn't. He kisses my chest, and then asks a little timidly, "So what's going to happen now? This wasn't just a one for the road thing, was it?"
I just want to slap him. "Well, you're going to get your shit, and clutter up every available surface again..." There really isn't a question about that. The loft was fucking empty without him. No wonder I spent as little time here as possible.
Justin raises his head, brows drawn together. "I don't know..." What. The. Fuck?! I all but asked him to move in, and he doesn't know?! And then I understand his earlier words. He doesn't want to do this anymore. Doesn't want any more of the shit I put him through, put us through. He wanted some sort of acknowledgement. Wanted me to admit that he was more than just a convenient fuck I kept around. And whenever he felt secure...
His ass will be fucking sore, boys and girls... "Well, if you put your stuff all over the place, I can't very well bring anyone back here, can I? So I think I could just... No more tricks in the loft unless we both agree on it – and you cleaned up your mess." His whole face lights up, but there's one more thing I have to add. "And no more fucking rules..." It's not that I won't be following them anymore. But I don't want him to feel trapped, and then guilty and angry when he breaks one of them.
He leans in to kiss me, and I can't get enough of his lips, his tongue, his taste... Well, it's not like I kissed anyone since he left. When he finally draws back, I give him my trademark smirk and ask, "So, tomorrow we pick up your shit, yes?" His Sunshine smile is the only answer I need...
FIN.