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Wild Fantasies

QAF US Post-S3.

There is, in every evening, an excruciatingly painful period of time that occurs in between 'arriving at the bar' and 'getting laid'. Usually this stage averages only two or three minutes, so Brian, ever the brave soul, musters his strength and perseveres through the interim.

But last night had been the worse rainstorm of the year, with torrents that drenched you the minute you stepped outside, winds that flipped umbrellas inside out, and thunder that sounded like an eighteen-wheel truck was running over your head. Though he suspected that last sensation was caused less by the weather and more by the presence of Ted.

Because of the weather, there were slim pickings at Woody's, and if he was forced to choose between the kid playing pool who looked like he hadn't washed his hair in a month and the guy at the bar with a beer belly and premature receding hairline, he honestly thought he might cry like a little bitch.

And then there were the two whiny rehab queens across the table from him. Hearing Ted and Blake go on and on about being clean was making Brian want to go get high.

"The important thing is not to rush it," Blake said, after taking another sip of his water. "You can't just tell Emmett you've changed; you have to show him. And you can't prove it to anyone else until you prove it to yourself first."

"I suppose," Ted said, looking down into his Diet Pepsi miserably.

Water. Diet Pepsi. In a bar. There should be a law against these sorts of things. Where are the fucking cops when you need them?

"What do you think, Brian?"

It was the little blond tramp talking to him, though Brian hadn't been listening to whatever pathetic self-help pamphlet bullshit the kid needed his opinion on. Blake had a strange tightness around his mouth, as if he was struggling to smile, making him look perpetually young and nervous. It was the natural layout of his face, probably what had gotten him drugs and dick in the first place. But his addiction was obvious around his eyes, where the skin was loose and dark around his sparking, hopeful gaze. They were the eyes of dignified religious leaders, the noble working poor, and other people who got on Brian's nerves.

The painful in-between period had reached nearly thirty minutes now, and Brian was almost too disheartened to give them a nasty, shit-eating grin as he downed another shot of scotch. But not really. "I think there are twelve year old heterosexual girls somewhere who think you're both pussies."

"Don't mind Brian," Ted said flatly. "You haven't been around long enough to learn not to bother asking his opinion."

"Yeah, because I'm just going to tell you the truth." He gestured to the bartender with his empty shot glass, but he was too busy flirting with receding-hairline to notice Brian's tragic lack of alcohol.

Just as he was about to walk up to the bar and tell the guy that if he didn't put the bottle of Scotch in front of Brian, Brian would put it up his ass, and by the way, you gave lousy head last weekend at the baths, he felt something brush up against his back, followed by the sharp feeling of teeth against his neck.

"Thank God!" Brian reached around and pulled Justin into his lap. "I almost had to have sex with someone I already did."

"The horrors," Justin said with a mocking gasp, leaning down to finish his bite on Brian's lower lip.

"Hi," Blake held out his hand, as if he was leading a group therapy session instead of about to be ditched. "We've met before, right?"

"Right. It's good to see you again." Justin returned the handshake with one hand, while palming crotch with the other, ever the polite and efficient young man. Brian couldn't help but feel proud of what a damn good job he'd done raising him. "How are you doing, Ted?"

"He's fabulous," Brian interrupted. He stood up, wrapping one arm around Justin's chest. "Not rushing it, proving it to himself, one day at a time, let's go fuck in the bathroom."

Blake's strained smile widened. "So you two are together now?"

"Not at all," Justin told him as he was pulled roughly against Brian's body. "I'm just a one-night stand who wouldn't get the hell out of his house."

"He's a young hustler blackmailing me for cock," Brian added.

Justin nodded. "Better get on your knees, princess, or I'll tell everyone in town that you're a filthy homosexual."

"Oh no." Brian said against Justin's neck. "My stellar reputation."

"Why don't you bring your wild fantasies into the back already?" Ted said.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Brian gave them a small, mocking wave as they walked away. "Bye, girls."

He didn't realize just how he'd been drunk until the next morning, when he woke up with a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and something sticky on his right forearm. He had just enough energy to reach over to his bedside table, knock over what felt like a beer bottle, retrieve a pack of cigarettes, and lay on his back with his eyes closed, flicking ashes on the floor.

After the third consecutive cigarette, he heard the excruciatingly loud sound of the door opening, followed by the familiar rustling noise of clothing being removed.

"We should get a new couch," Justin said. "They have them cheap at the Goodwill."

"I don't want a couch with someone else's spunk on it," Brian said. "Unless I was part of the event which elicited the spunk. Where ya' been?"

"Work. It's three o'clock."

He responded only by grunting and pulling a pillow over his head.

He heard Justin sigh, and though he couldn't see him, Brian could image the look on his face. That mock-exasperation, that I-am-so-mature-and-together smirk, that self-righteous toss of his head as he walked out of the room, confident that he knew everything there was to know, because once in school he'd read some fucking book about it.

"I just think we need some sort of soft furniture in here," Justin called out much too loudly. "The only tall surface left is the kitchen counter." He returned to the room and sat at the edge of the bed, next to Brian. "And it's leaving bruises on my thighs."

Brian lifted the pillow off his face and opened one eye to see an irritatingly awake and clean Justin holding out a glass of water. "Want me to lick it and make it better?"

"Maybe later," he said with an impossibly wide smile. "You seem a little too hung over to fuck."

"I'm never too hung over to fuck." Brian accepted the water and set it down on his chest. "Let me just throw up a few times and then I'm ready to go."

"How sexy," Justin said as he slid into place beside him. He gestured to the water.

"Right." Brian lifted the glass and dumped the liquid over his head.

Justin rolled his eyes, as if leaning against a damp pillow was such a hardship, and he was the noble hero who bravely lived amongst Brian's many damp objects. Speaking of which -

"Why is my arm sticky?" Brian held up his right arm as best he could, considering that his limbs felt like they'd all been broken off and reattached with scotch tape.

Justin frowned. "You don't remember?"

"If it's something embarrassing, don't tell me, and forget I ever did it."

"Okay," Justin responded quickly. "But you're going to have to find the two other guys and make them promise too."

"Two other guys?"

"And the midget," Justin said as he moved closer, his face against Brian's cheek, and one arm stretched over his chest. "And the goats."

"Fine," Brian said with an over exaggerated groan of defeat. "Tell me what happened, so that you won't be torturing me about it forever."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

A wall. Dingy reflective metal. Skin underneath his hands. An urgent groan stuck in his throat. "We fucked in a public bathroom."

Justin nodded. "And you smelled really bad of scotch. Then we went back out to the bar, and you had a few more shots of scotch. Then you leaned over the bar and yelled, 'Swallow, motherfucker!' at the bartender, who politely told us to get the hell out.

"Then we took a cab home, because you were too drunk, and I can't drive stick, and don't even make the really obvious joke about that. When we got home, I practically had to drag you inside. But you stopped in the kitchen, and started stroking the side of my face, which would've been very sweet except that you poked me in the eye. And you said, 'Justin, I will always protect you.' Then you tripped over the edge of the rug and fell right on your face, taking a glass of orange juice down with you. Is any of this ringing a bell?"

Brian responded by rubbing his eyes. He really needed to figure out a way to get rid of this daylight problem. Maybe new vertical blinds.

"If you blacked out, you could have alcohol poisoning. The human body is only meant to process one ounce of alcohol an hour, and if you have way more than that it can poison you. You could have seizures and choke to death on your own vomit."

Bad enough he was hung over, but now he also had to deal with the queer DARE brigade, whose mouth was much too close to his ear.

He was reminded of the second time they'd had sex, right before he'd gotten the call that Ted was in the hospital, which had tragically limited their marathon to just under three hours.

But what a couple of hours. It had been hungry and brutal; Brian determined not to hold back, because he wanted to see just how much this kid could take, and because honestly, the virgin angle was only cute once. When they finally paused to catch their breath, Justin had gone into the bathroom. After Brian had a cigarette, he realized that this was taking much too long for a simple piss, and followed him into the room to make sure that he wasn't stealing any moisturizer.

And he was flossing.

Naked, standing at the bathroom sink, carefully checking his work in the mirror after every tooth. He had stopped in the middle of the hottest anal sex of his life in order to floss. It was enough to make Brian fall on the floor laughing hysterically, except that he wasn't a fall-on-the-floor-laughing-hysterically kind of person. He was a make-an-insulting-remark kind of person. But this was just too bizarre to process. So instead of talking he just grabbed him, messing up that neat and pretty mouth with his beer and cigarettes tongue.

"Could you not speak right now?" Brian asked. "Or possibly ever again? I'm thinking we could move towards a completely mute relationship. Just panting and fucking, no conversation."

"But without my conversation," Justin said, his lips brushing against the side of Brian's face, "There would be no way for you to know what you did when you were drunk and depressed."

"I wasn't depressed," Brian said with a sneer.

"You are so. I can tell." Justin kissed his neck. "You need to get a job."

"You need to get a haircut," Brian said, half-heartedly nudging him away. "It's getting ridiculous. If I wanted to fuck a woman I'd..." He frowned. "Well, I'd be very disappointed in myself."

"You don't have to worry," Justin whispered.

"I'm not worried," Brian argued. "I'm wonderful. I'm fabulous." He put his hand to his head to stop the ceiling from spinning. "I'm fucking delirious with joy."

Justin kissed his cheek softly, and for a moment Brian was convinced that Justin had purposefully let him get this drunk just so that Brian wouldn't be able to defend against these random acts of nauseating tenderness.

"Everything's going to be fine," Justin whispered between kisses. "You're going to start your own ad agency and run everyone else out of business. I'm gonna go back to school next semester, graduate, and become disgustingly successful. Michael's going to come back. And when the next issue of Rage is released, it's going to sell a billion copies. We're going to have so much money, we won't know what to do with it. We'll have to buy a million-dollar house, and keep the loft just to store all your expensive clothes. Shoes alone will take up the entire kitchen. And we'll give tons of money to Debbie and Vic, so that they'll never have to work again. Then Michael will come to visit, and you guys'll hang out for a while, and then we'll all go out dancing. Then, at the end of the night, you'll fuck me in the back of your car, even though we have fifty empty rooms in our mansions. And we'll live happily ever after."

Brian turned his head towards Justin, smiling despite his incredulous glare. "Save your crazy fantasies for the next leather ball."

Justin responded with an equally snobby look, and a weak shove to his chest. "Are you going to get up?"

"I'm already up," Brian said, pressing his body closer so that Justin couldn't overlook exactly which parts had risen from bed already.

Justin hummed with approval and ran his hand down Brian's torso as he pressed his lips against his neck. "Let me just go brush my teeth," he whispered.

As he got out of bed and walked out of the room, Brian lay on his back, watching. And when he was sure he couldn't be heard through the closed bathroom door, he laughed.