Author's Notes: Inspired by a drabble by lastglances for the Second Chance Challenge 2 at qaf_challenges. There are lots of goodies there, go check them out! A big thank you to my beta, xie_xie_xie!
It isn't so much an inadequacy as a... Brian doesn't know what it is. He drives with no sense of direction, taking stock in what's at home and what he can get elsewhere. He needs a drink and a shower and perhaps a piece of ass. Or he could do it solo, he's got a whole bedside drawer full of…"Kinky," he mutters, trying to lift his sour mood. He doesn't want kinky, he wants this fixed. Whatever it is, it needs to be as it was. He pulls up to his building and kills the engine. What he wants is Justin.
He just doesn’t fucking want to want Justin.
Speak of the devil; Justin’s in the kitchen, stirring a bubbling pot of something on the stove.
“Hey,” he says with a smile.
Brian grunts and bypasses him on the way to the bathroom, showering quickly and replacing shirt and tie with wifebeater and jeans.
He comes back down and pours half a glass of Beam, downing most of it at once.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Justin calls out.
Brian observes him setting the table, bustling around like some happy 50s homemaker, and he thinks he might vomit. He knocks back the rest of the glass, feeling the burn in his throat.
“I’m going out,” he says.
“What?” Justin’s brow furrows. “Where are you going? I made dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.” He grabs his leather jacket and pulls the door closed behind him.
He’d let it go on too long already, this thing between them. But Justin was all eagerness and horniness wrapped in a tight little package. It had seemed harmless.
And then it was suddenly family melodrama and a duffel bag of Justin’s underwear on his desk.
Brian wishes things would just go back to the way they were.
Pick up more milk. And cereal. And bread. Brian makes mental notes as he drives Justin to school, the kid chattering away obliviously beside him.
Brian doesn’t know what the fuck to do next. Lindsay had already ripped him a new asshole and he didn’t want to repeat the experience. He’d tried to make things right, picking Justin up from school, where he’d been about 10 seconds away from a fist fight – and didn’t that bring back memories – and taking him home.
Brian sat in the Taylor house, on the surface so much nicer than the one he’d grown up in, but in reality just as oppressive. Justin had sat stiffly on the sofa, looking pained and uncomfortable. It had all felt so wrong.
He’d realized then, that he and Justin had more than just sex in common.
Later, though, Justin had refused to give up. “A boy needs a father,” he’d insisted.
Brian had just snorted. ‘You’ll learn,’ he’d thought.
He pulls up at the school and feels the lightning fast touch of Justin’s lips on his own, but before he can comment on it Justin’s spilling out of the jeep in a mess of paper and books.
“Don’t forget to hand in that assignment!” Brian calls after him.
He meets Michael for lunch at the diner. He’s distracted by a dinner party David’s planning but still manages to bring up the subject of Justin’s temporary accommodation.
“What are you going to do with the little shit?”
Brian wishes he knew.
Back at the loft, the kitchen is spotless, dinner remnants cleaned and put away. Justin’s sitting on the sofa, headphones on and sketchpad propped up against his legs, ostentatiously ignoring Brian’s return.
Brian trails a finger across the back of Justin’s neck, right on his hairline where the skin is soft and perfect. Brian knows even that light touch is enough to get Justin hard, pissy mood or not.
Justin lets himself be led to the bedroom and Brian uncovers his soft clean skin, losing himself in it.
Later, Justin is sound sleep. Brian slips on his robe and pads down the stairs. He pours a drink and takes it over to the windows, staring out at the dark Pittsburgh sky.