SOARING - Chapters 1-4
Summary: Brian and Justin meet on a totally obnoxious flight and can't seem to get out of each other's heads after they part.
Rating: R
Genre: AU
Chapter One
Justin’s POV
On top of everything else, I find myself sitting next to the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He’s got to be a good five inches taller than me, lean build, broad shoulders, impeccably dressed, soft hair, and beautifully expressive eyes. He’s been with me the whole flight. You’d think after all this time, I’d get used to sitting next to this amazing man. But it just seems as each second passes, I get more and more nervous.
This was supposed to be a straight flight to Pittsburgh. But weather conditions or other such nonsense has turned my trip back home into a ride that could rival the best at Disneyland. After announcing that our one-way flight had turned into a changeover, they promised only a half an hour wait in Texas. That half an hour turned into four and half. Since Texas, it seems as though we’ve been on a wild goose chase to find Pittsburgh. I’ve seen more of the United States on this flight than I have in my entire life. Texas, North Dakota, Illinois, Virginia, and now we’re leaving North Carolina. It’s been guaranteed that North Carolina was our last stop before we hit home.
“It better be,” the handsome man next to me muttered when the flight attendant made her announcement as we sat in the plane in Virginia.
“There’s really no where else for us to go,” I whisper to him, hoping my voice doesn’t crack or sound nearly as anxious as it seems in my head.
The woman in the aisle next to us laughs a little. “They could decide to take us back to California and hit all the other states we’ve missed.”
I personally think it’s a good sign if the passengers are making jokes about our misfortune. Either that, or it’s a good sign that we are slowly going insane.
He’s my flight buddy for this trip, I guess. Luck would have it, we’ve been seated next to each other each flight. Which is also a little freaky, if you think about it. But I’d just as rather revel in his warmth, which is searing my left arm because our shoulders have decided to lean into each other.
Just now his right foot knocked my ankle. I think my heart stopped beating.
He’s doing important looking stuff on his lap top. I’ve made it a point not to peek at the screen, no matter how tempted I am. Instead, I’ve pulled out a sketch pad and started doodling. A small doodle of a flower has slowly emerged into an overgrown Japanese garden--a recent obsession of mine ever since I found this awesome Japanese garden book at this used bookstore on Wilshire.
“That’s incredible,” He suddenly breaths on my neck. His voice sounds husky and dark, as if he’s just woken from a deep sleep.
I think my heart just dropped out of my ass.
A hoarse “thanks” is my lame reply and his attention returns to his work.
Damn it, Justin.
I try to remedy it by saying, “I like to draw gardens.”
Oh my God, now I really sound stupid.
He laughs and I feel the sound reverberate in my head. “I can see that,” he responds and then gestures to my pad, “May I?”
All I can do is nod as our fingers brush against each other before he eases the pad out of my deathlike grip. I can’t remember what else I’ve drawn in that particular pad and my heart starts to pound. I just pray there isn’t anything too embarrassing. I listen to him as he praises each page.
And then I remember what’s on the page before my garden.
He is.
I know he’s nearing it as the pages turn. And then suddenly there he is, leaning against the Starbucks counter in Illinois. At that moment, I think all the blood in my body rushes to my face.
“You’re a good model,” I stutter, trying to snatch the pad away before he could inspect it further and see the minute details I painstakingly tried to capture on the page.
“Holy shit, I’m hot,” he snickers, pulling the pad away from my desperate fingers. “I should charge you.”
I know I’m acting like a child, but I can’t help it when my bottom lip juts out a little and I begin to pout. Folding my arms across my chest, I huff and look away, all the while burning in agonizing embarrassment.
“Well,” I can hear the smirk in his voice, “At least you didn’t turn me into a monster.”
He places the pad back on my tray where I’m forced to stare at my drawing of him. All I can see are the mistakes. One of his hands is disproportionate to the other, his jeans should have more creases, his hair needs to be flatter around the ears, the counter should be lower. But he stops my brooding by repeating, “It’s really good. Stop analyzing it. Go back to drawing your flowers.”
“I’m an artist. I’ll never be happy with the finished product.”
“Then you’ll never have a finished product, will you? What’s the point, then, of drawing, if you have no final outcome you can be proud of? Why do it?”
My lips automatically turn into a smile. “That’s the best part about being an artist: I can be as vain and unhappy as I want and it’s expected of me.”
“Interesting. You seem neither vain nor unhappy.”
“Then I guess I’ll never be a good artist,” I mockingly slump into my chair.
I like making him laugh, I decide. It’s slowly becoming my favorite sound in the world.
We’ve run out of things to say. As he begins to type again, I try to think of something to keep our conversation going, but I don’t want to seem desperate. I don’t know why, but the way he just eased out of a conversation with me makes me nervous. I unlatch my belt and stand up, stretching out the kinks and nerves. “I’m going to use the restroom,” I inform him, although I have no clue why he needs to know that I’m going to piss.
Maybe I’m making it up, but I think I can feel his eyes watching me as I walk down the aisle. My imagination gets the best of me and I begin to strut, putting on a show for a man I know isn’t watching.
Chapter Two
Brian’s POV
He’s got to be the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever seen.
And he’s sort of funny in a bizarre kind of way.
We were in the nut store at the O’Hare airport in Chicago. I watched him as he pulled out his phone, dialed a number and screeched, “Nuts! Nuts! Nuts!” into it. I think perhaps I’m going a little insane on this flight, because that’s still making me smile two states later. It was totally random and one of those “you had to be there” moments, but really, that about sums up our flight--nuts, nuts, nuts. Well, more like, fuck this sucks worse than a twink who forgot to cover his teeth.
I watch him meander down the aisle like he owns this plane, which, considering how long he’s spent in it, I think he does. Hell, we all do. His bathroom expedition is an obvious invitation, but this flight has taken any fun out of any potential trick. I just want to make it back to the loft without another tour of this grand ol’ country. If they make one more fucking change to our flight there may be a chance none of us will make it to Pittsburgh alive--because I will have killed them all.
I put away my lap top and slide my tray into place. His sketch pad is open on his seat and I take a good look at his drawing of me. He’s a truly amazing artist. I see the annoyance, anger, and weariness etched into my features. But I also see something stronger, something which sort of makes me proud to look like that. It’s like I see resilience and dominance in his portrayal of me. Hm. I wonder if he would notice if I took the drawing.
He’s standing over me. I missed my chance, if I was going to take it, to see if I could get a quick fuck out of his cute ass.
He’s stretching again and I try to ignore the tantalizing bit of flesh that’s slowly being revealed as he reaches heavenward. It’s a never-ending stretch and his pants have joined the teasing, inching slowly down his thin hips. Bone and flesh.
Did he notice me lick my lips?
He probably didn’t have time to notice anything because suddenly he’s forced into my lap as the plane hits a rough patch. I feel his warm breath on my crotch and his hands on my hips. I will myself not to get a hard-on.
Christ, I can’t believe this is turning me on.
“Sorry,” he grumbles into my crotch, but makes no attempt to move. The plane is still shaking like crazy and the seat belt light just made an appearance.
“Here,” I say, reaching to push on his shoulders. I help him turn around and he’s halfway off my lap when the plane jumps again. It’s his ass that meets my lap this time.
He’s blushing again. He’s done that a lot since we’ve met. It’s kind of sweet.
“I guess you should just stay here,” I remark, pushing my tongue into my cheek as I not only see, but feel his blush deepen. I wrap my arms around his slight waist and pull him tightly against my chest.
It must be the turbulence that’s making my heart beat as loudly as I think it is.
We sit in silence as the lights flicker in the cabin and the plane jumps around in the sky. I couldn’t be happier, though, because I have a hot blond in my lap. Well, I can think of a few positions that would make me happier, but this will do, for now.
“So,” he begins. He twists in my lap and faces me. His breath is moist and sweet on my face as he asks, “Why were you in California?”
“Business.”
“Ah.” There’s a silence.
“Do you live in Pennsylvania?”
I nod.
“I see.” I like that he acknowledges my nod as if I verbally answered him.
“What about you?”
“I was born in Pittsburgh, but I’ve been living in California since I was seventeen. This is my flight home. I mean, I’m moving back for school.”
Shit. He’s younger than I thought he was. I study his upturned nose, pouty lips, prominent jaw, his seemingly endless blue eyes, and I wonder just how old he is.
“For graduate school.” He’s read my mind. “Im twenty-four. I took a year off between high school and college to work. Then I went to UCLA for visual arts. They have an awesome arts program.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I minored in business, though. Advertising.”
This is interesting. “Why advertising?”
He shrugs a little and shifts on my lap. The plane is still hopping around and my slowly hardening dick must be making him uncomfortable.
“I don’t know. I can’t see myself as a starving artist or anything. I need to do something in my life that would stimulate me both artistically and intellectually.”
“I’m in advertising,” I decide to admit.
His eyebrows shoot off his forehead. “What do you do?”
“I own an agency.”
“Holy shit. How old are you? You seem so young, but you own your own agency?” He demands. His cheeks flush, but it’s not the embarrassed blush I’ve seen before. It’s the same kind of flush I see on Mikey when he gets a new comic in that he loves. Or when Lindsay talks about Melanie. A flush of excitement.
But I hate that I’m almost thirty. And I hate to tell him that I’m almost thirty. No matter what, he’s still younger than me.
“How old do you think I am?” It’s a mean question, I know. He’s going to have to think of an age that would be appropriate but not offensive.
But he surprises me by answering right away. “You don’t look older than thirty. That can’t be right, though, because you’re so accomplished--”
“I’m twenty-nine.”
His eyes widen. “But how--”
“I’m the best,” No point in being modest. “A rival agency based in New York tried to snatch me up. My boss would rather have made me partner than lose me and then, just this year, he retired and I bought him out. Pretty easy, actually.”
“That’s amazing.” His face is etched with awe.
It’s only then that I notice the plane is once again flying smoothly and half the passengers are staring openly at our seating arrangement. “Don’t look now, but it appears as if we’re this evening’s entertainment.”
He strains his neck to look and then jumps off my lap, slamming into his own. His face once again grows scarlet.
“You blush a lot,” I tell him.
“It’s the curse of having pale skin,” he jokes, but his hands make their way to his face, pressing at his hot cheeks. He sees me staring at him and he covers his face completely. “Stop it! You’re only making it worse.”
I chuckle and am going to tease him again when the captain’s voice fills the plane, telling us that we’re about to land in Pittsburgh.
“Finally,” I grumble, settling back into my seat. I choose to ignore the look of disappointment on my neighbor’s face. Nor do I pay attention to the tightening in my chest.
It’s only after we get our luggage and shake hands in parting do I remember that we didn’t even exchange names. I swirl around, hoping to see him before he disappears into the sea of travelers, but I don’t.
I’m sure he would have been fun.
Life sucks sometimes.
Chapter Three
Justin’s POV
It isn’t by choice that I find myself at Babylon a month after I arrive in Pittsburgh, nursing a beer, feeling sorry for myself. The constant thumpa-thump-thump of the music is slowly ripping out my insides and replacing them with something reminiscent to lead.
I haven’t been to Babylon since my first week back. Five days I spent here, desperately searching for this man that Daphne insists I made up. But there’s no way, no matter how artistic I am, could I have made up those haunting eyes and that incredibly sexy laugh--a laugh that sounds as though it comes from somewhere deep inside; as if it hardly ever surfaces. And there’s no way I imagined his cock hardening against my ass. “Come on, you don’t even know if he’s gay!” It’s true, I have the worse gaydar known to mankind, but after spending some time on the man’s lap, feeling his arousal grow, I can figure it out.
And now... he agonizes my every thought.
God. I’m such a twat for not getting his name. At least his name, Justin! You could’ve done that! Flight after flight and I never once thought to introduce myself properly.
Daphne says that tonight is my inaugural visit to Babylon: my first night here that I’m not looking for him. I agreed to be here because even I’m starting to see how pathetic I’ve become. The few tricks I have had since coming home left me unsatisfied and I found myself comparing them to him. Even though I’ve never had him. Even though I probably never will.
But can I help it that my eyes trail to the door when I think no one is looking? There’s been so many ‘almosts’ tonight. That guy almost looks like him, but he isn’t as tall. Or that guy almost looks like him, but his hair is lighter. The closest thing here is the guy to the right of the bar, but he has way too many muscles. He’s not as smooth, lean, or firm as him.
“Are you waiting for someone, Justin?” Emmett asks me, following my gaze.
I open my mouth to deny his inquiry, but Daphne beats me to it. “Justin! Jesus Christ! Get over it already!” She looks at Emmett and mutters, “Airplane.”
Daphne did well for herself. Everyone expected her to study medicine or biology--you know, sciences. But instead, she went into business. Advertisement, actually. It’s just one other thing we have in common. If I wasn’t a fag and she wasn’t a dyke, I’d totally marry her.
Daphne’s lucky. She interned for an agency while in college and they liked her so much, she became a permanent feature. It’s owned by a friend of theirs, Brian Kinney. Daphne claims to like working for Brian better than her old boss. I have yet to meet Brian, but I know all about him.
Emmett sighs, “Still? Are you sure he’s real, Justin?”
I grumble nonsensical words into my beer and take a huge drink, excusing myself from answering; from being any more pitiful than I already am. I hate the look of sympathy I receive from Ted. I haven’t known them that long, but I know that if Ted pities you...
Well, that’s just pathetic.
I like Daphne’s friends. She met Ted at her work. And because Ted and Emmett are best friends, she became friends with Emmett also. Since I’ve moved back to Pittsburgh, it’s like even though I’ve been disowned by my biological family, because of Emmett, Ted, Daphne, and all the others, I still have one--a family, that is.
“Is Brian here yet?” Michael asks as he pulls his partner, Ben, off the dance floor. Ben is likable enough, but he’s so boring. For instance, one time they left me alone with Ben and he talked to me for an hour about homosexuality in nineteenth century France.
“Oh? Do I finally get to meet the illustrious Brian Kinney?” I tease Michael. Out of all Daphne’s friends, Michael and I get along the best. He’s so down to earth and even though he whines constantly, he’s a good listener and an obviously loyal friend.
Plus, he’s the only one who takes my airplane story seriously. I guess he’s a romantic at heart or something, because he was especially interested in this guy.
I can’t help but notice the gleam in his eye when I ask about Brian. “Oh, you’ll meet him.”
It’s when I turn around to order another beer that I feel it. I can’t explain the sensation, only that the small hairs on the back of my neck begin to tingle and my groin tightens.
“Brian’s here,” Michael informs the group.
“You’re late, Kinney,” Daphne says and I hear her place a kiss on his cheek.
I’m about to turn around when he says, “Fashionably” and laughs. My knees go weak.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
Would it be rash of me to rip off all of his clothing right fucking now? Because that’s what I’m going to do if I turn around and see him. Brian. No wonder Michael has been so interested. Like a fucking idiot, I’ve been pining over his best friend for the past month. Drooling, dreaming, sighing--and Michael’s seen it all.
Well fuck me with a pogo stick. I’m going to kill Michael slowly and painfully.
“Who’s the new addition?” Brian ponders. It’s got to be me he’s talking about, right? If I don’t turn around then I don’t ever have to face this, right?
I know. I know. I’ve been fantasizing about this all month. But, I never actually expected to actually meet him again.
Can I just run away and hide forever? Please?
Michael’s trying to make the introductions, but I can’t turn around. Why did I have to wear these crappy cargo pants? Why didn’t I take Daphne’s advise and wear that sexy button up I own? And my hair--ugh.
“Justin?” Michael pokes my back.
“I don’t feel so well.” It’s a terrible excuse, but I’m totally preparing to flee.
“Hey,” his voice stops me. It has that same tone, that sexy, God-I’m-so-fucking-hot-there’s-no-way-you’re-going-to-get-away-from-me tone that he used a couple times on the airplane. That tone that makes all the blood rush out of my face and into my dick.
“I know you, right?” Brian asks. Refusing to look at him, I catch everyone else’s eyes on me. They’re curious. I look at Michael and find him more humored than anything else. “Hello?” Brian waves his hands in front of my face in order to get my attention. “I do know you, right?”
“Not really,” I sigh.
“Are you sure? ‘Cause you seem really familiar to me.”
“We might’ve met, but we don’t know each other.” I turn back to the bar. “Double beam.” Surviving this night will require lots of whiskey.
This is not the way I imagined it. I imagined sunshine and cheesy romantic music. I imagined us running toward each other, happy tears trailing down our faces as we embrace for the very first time.
I imagined him to be searching for me, as eager as I am in connecting again. I never once imagined him to be Brian fucking Kinney. Of course I have to get a crush on the one guy I can never have.
“Make that two,” he says, close enough to make my entire body break out in tiny bumps.
My left arm is resting against his chest as he turns to stare at me. He waits until I drink my Beam to ask, “Have we fucked?”
It’s like that movie When Harry Met Sally. You know, when Harry sees Sally at the airport years later and he sort of recognizes her, but can’t quite figure it out. I let out a bark of a laugh and I see Brian scoot back, a look of confusion settling in on his chiseled features.
“Should I take that as a ‘hell no’?” He’s obviously offended. I watch him as he quickly throws back his drink and turns to lean against the bar, looking very much like the drawing I did of him in Illinois.
He must see something that’s caught his attention because he pushes away from the bar quickly, and gracefully saunters toward the dance floor. I can’t decide if I imagine the quick glance back at me before he disappears into the sweaty bodies, or not.
I royally fucked that up.
The others crowd around me and I make sure not to look in Brian’s direction again.
“How do you know Brian?” Daphne asks , her eyes narrow to slits as she regards me with interest.
I shrug. “I don’t. Not really.”
“Seemed like you do,” Emmett drawls as he swirls his very pink martini.
Michael takes a place next to me, watching me out of the corners of his eyes for a few moments. “Not how you imagined it?”
“Hardly,” I grumble. “I’m an artist, though. It’s probably in my nature or something to romanticize everything.”
“Look,” Michael turns to look straight into my eyes, leaving me no way to ignore him. “He’s just being an ass. I know that he recognizes you. He just doesn’t want to seem all wishy-washy in front of everyone. This is his stomping ground, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Michael heaves a heavy sigh. “I know what everyone has told you about Brian. Normally, I’d try to dissuade someone from pursuing him. Yeah, Brian claims not to do romance or dating or relationships, but he’s never really had anyone who’s tried. Besides, I remember how he was when he came back from California. You’d think with a flight like the one you guys experienced, he’d be a total shit, but he wasn’t. As a matter of fact, for the first like two weeks, Brian seemed more at ease than I’ve seen him in a long time. I think that’s your doing. I think you’d be good for him. Even if Brian doesn’t realize it yet, it’s there, subconsciously or something. If you want him, if you’re interested, I promise to do everything I can to help you get him.”
“Wait a minute,” Daphne shrieks. “Brian Kinney is the guy you’ve been obsessing over for the past month?”
Michael grins and nods.
“Oooh,” Emmett whispers, looking between me and the direction Brian disappeared to. “That boy’s gonna be in trouble.”
Chapter Four
Brian’s POV
I was being honest. I didn’t recognize Justin at first. The lighting in Babylon is quite the opposite from the lighting in a fucking airplane. He seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then it all came rushing back. That’s why I grabbed him. He’s not someone easy to forget. That ass. Those eyes. That hair. Fuck me, that smile.
Holy shit. When did I turn into such a dyke?
I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t hoping to run into him again. It’s just that I sure as hell didn’t expect to see him at Babylon with my friends. And for obviously wanting me in that plane, Justin was being pretty fucking nonchalant at Babylon.
When I finally did recognize him, all I wanted to do him was grab him and stuff him into my pocket and never lose him again. He’s so fucking cute...
Hmm.
I’m totally going to ignore whatever thinking that might insinuate.
God, fuck him for being such an ass. Could I have been any more foolish? Standing there, trying to see if he remembered me.
Get this: now, Justin’s everywhere and I don’t understand why. He’s at the diner, at Debbie’s, at Babylon and Woody’s. He even shows up at Kinnetik three days a week to eat lunch with Daphne. Really, if he wants me to fuck him, all he’s got to do is ask. And it’s pissing me off that he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches me with those big blue eyes . To top it all off, I was so sure that he would be openly disapproving about the number of tricks I have, but unlike Michael and the others, he never says a word. He just watches. And sometimes smiles when I get someone super hot, as if rooting me on.
He’s a fucking enigma.
It’s embarrassing enough that I want him as much as I do, but what’s worse is that he’s now invading my dreams. Last night, I dreamt that we were in this huge castle with all these stained glass windows. He was naked and the multitude of colors were reflecting off his body. He was beautiful.
And I’m starting to look forward to him just popping up like he has the tendency to do. That’s just pathetic.
Today, I can finally get away from Justin because I’m meeting Michael at his shop for lunch.
“Hey, shop keep!” The bells hanging off Michael’s door ring loudly. I’ve tried to convince him time and time again to get rid of the damn bells, but he likes them. They were a gift Ben brought back from Tibet.
Instead of being greeted with Michael’s chipper face, though, I’m standing in front of him. What the hell?
“Where’s Michael?”
Justin offers me a small smile. “He had to take Vic to the doctor or something.”
“Uh huh.”
Ah. I’m starting to get a feeling that this is some sort of conspiracy.
“Why are you here? Where’s the kid that normally works Fridays?”
“He works Friday evenings. I think he’s still at school and since I don’t start for a couple weeks, I offered my services.”
His cheeks taint red and I can’t help smiling. “Is he paying you enough for said ‘services’?” I tease.
Justin lets out a snort, “Please. He wouldn’t be able to afford me.” He starts restocking a display and I watch in amusement for a while.
“Oh? He couldn’t afford you, huh?” I let my eyebrows raise. “Well, could I?”
A couple comics fall out of his hands and slip onto the floor. We both lean down quickly and at this close proximity, I can see his hands are shaking a bit. “Relax, Justin,” I drawl out his name. “I was just joking.”
He begins to sputter excuses, quickly scooping the dropped comics. As he stands up, he says, “I didn’t know you were coming here.”
“Oh? This wasn’t part of the plan? Is Michael becoming slack on his matchmaking skills?”
“What?” He almost squeaks. His body twirls around and he’s staring intently into my eyes. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know what it is about Justin that’s driving me insane. He’s making me feel a gambit of emotion; emotions that I’ve never really taken the time or energy to feel before.
I feel like there’s this weird internal tug, like I’m some kid in a candy store, begging for the biggest and best. Something deep inside me, squealing, “I want that one! I want it now!”
This isn’t me. These aren’t my feelings. I’m pretty sure it’s because I haven’t fucked him yet. In my mind, he’s been lifted onto a pedestal and if I could just spend one night with him, I’m sure all this would go away. Feeling this way makes me anxious.
“What?” Justin asks nervously, and I realize that I’ve been staring at him.
“What is it about you?” I ask him. Justin looks honestly confused, so I continue. “I mean, you’re really fucking hot--” I pause to watch the telltale blush creep into his features. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you once hit on someone. Why?”
He shrugs. Looking up at me he says, “We’re all different, Brian.” I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name. Does he have to say it all gruff and deep like that? “That’s your way. Not mine.”
I think I’m staring at his lips. They look so soft. “What’s my way?”
“Tricking.”
“So your way’s what? Relationships? Or, God, monogamy?” I let out a small shutter. How boring.
He laughs heartily. Okay, now I’m really confused.
“I don’t give a shit about monogamy, Brian.” He really needs to stop saying my name. “It’s just that tricking has never sexually satisfied me. So I just don’t trick that often.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I find someone I like and we fuck.”
“That’s what I do too.”
He bites his lip. As if that’s going to help me understand. “Never mind,” he sighs.
Oh no way. “Come on.”
“It’s not the whole ‘faithfulness’ thing that attracts me to relationships. It’s not about monogamy. I don’t know.” He’s frustrated. “I like getting to know someone’s body. Finding his hot spots. What turns him on. What turns him off. How to make him come in thirty seconds. How to make it last all night. I guess for me, half the pleasure that comes from fucking is giving him the best orgasm of his life. That’s what I like and you usually can’t get that from a one night stand.”
Holy shit. I need to get out of here.
The bells on the door indicate that we have company. “Shit, Brian. I’m so sorry. I forgot we had plans,” Michael apologizes as he comes up to us. “Is it too late to get a quick bite?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to go. Bye,” I say this as I’m walking to the door. I glance over my shoulder and see Michael turn to Justin for explanation, but Justin just shrugs and looks a little lost himself.
No way is some blond twink going to get the best of me.
onto chapters 5-7