IN THE PALM OF HIS HAND
Title: In the Palm of His Hand
Written By: vamphile
Timeline: Post Season Four, Pre Season Five
Rating: R
Summary: Classical Conditioning Works
Author Notes: I have nothing to say. This is pointless but I wrote it. happier_bunny was my beta, sort of.
Brian knew what Justin was doing. Well, he figured it out. He probably should have worried about it. He didn’t. It was subtle, so subtle if he weren’t paying attention he might not have noticed so early, but he always paid attention when he was fucking Justin. And when he tried not to… the blonde did something new and his focus was back.
So when Justin seemed to be constantly reaching for his hand while they were fucking, when his gentle artist’s touch found that soft pad of flesh at the base of his thumb and pressed down, really, it was just Justin, doing something weird, finding some new part of his body with which to become fixated.
They’d spent an odd week last month during which Justin could not get enough of Brian’s feet. He drew them, he licked them, he touched them. Brian was pretty sure it’s what the blonde was thinking about when he jerked off. And then Justin moved on. For a while, in their early stages of fucking, way before this was a relationship, it was his cock, which seemed rather obvious. And then Brian found an entire sketchbook of his back, particularly his shoulder blades and the nape of his neck. He was a weird little fucker. No way around that.
Brian assumed this new love of his hand, of the base of his thumb, was just more of the same.
Until he was fucking a trick in the backroom of Babylon. The guy was hot, well muscled, and vocal. And Brian was tweaked and ready and when he came he was pressing into his own hand, pushing at that same spot Justin had become enamored of. What the fuck?
He shook his head and moved on to drinking and dancing and eventually went home with Justin, well, his home, Justin still lived at Daphne’s technically. Brian was still waiting for an answer but Justin was holding off on saying yes. Fine, he’d tortured Justin for years, payback, he could take it. Just to prove the point Justin even slept at his own place, sometimes as often as twice a month.
Brian had read somewhere that it takes doing something 21 times for it to become a habit. He knew that was bullshit because fucking Justin had become a habit long before they’d gone beyond the times he could count on two hands. That was different though. Everything with Justin was different. Whatever.
But this hand thing, this thumb thing. Fucking weird. Not so weird it got in the way, but weird all the same. He still managed to fuck Justin pretty much anywhere and everywhere. But somehow, just as he was about to come… their hands were together and that persistent little thumb was pressing into his palm and he came. Hard.
Twenty-one times. Well, they hit that before a week was up. And three weeks later Brian was pissed off. He was meeting a client. A fat, ugly, balding man in a bad suit. He shook his hand and felt the pressure on that spot and fuck, he was hard. He decided he had to kill Justin.
Justin was all smiles when he came home and really, when he was smiling like that, it was hard to remember to kill him. Then he was doing this other thing with his mouth and killing him seemed counterproductive.
Brian was about to come and Justin reached up for his hand, Brian pulled it away, refusing to allow this to go on. But it did… it went on and on and on and he gritted his teeth and took Justin’s hand and came.
The last straw was at the diner. Michael had told him about Justin accepting Brett’s offer and he was waiting for Justin to tell him the real reason he hadn’t given him an answer. He figured today he’d get it out of him. They were alone in the back booth. Apparently everyone else had somewhere important to be. Deb put their orders in front of them and walked away. Brian was about to take a bite of his breakfast when Justin took his hand under the table. He smoothed his thumb lightly over the flesh at the base of Brian’s palm. Brian raised an eyebrow and tried not to shift in his seat. Justin bit his lip and Brian realized he was trying not to smile but he kept stroking that same spot, and then pressed down, hard. Brian came. The fucker made him come with the press of his thumb…on his fucking PALM! Brian pushed Justin out of the booth stood up and walked out, let the little twat pay for his own breakfast.
____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____
Justin realized he may have gone too far, or at least tipped his hand too early. He heard the jangle of bells as Brian left the diner and bit his lip, this time in contemplation and not a desire to hide a smile. He dropped a twenty on the table and headed back to the loft. He wasn’t sure if Brian would be there but hell, he lived there, he had to show up eventually, right?
He did. He came home hours later smelling of the Gravel Pit , and sweat and… Justin decided it was best not to think about the fact that Brian probably knew the same shit he’d found online about habits, and twenty-one times, and mentally stopped himself from doing the math in his head, dividing hours by men by twenty-one. Instead he feigned disinterest.
Brian didn’t.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Justin waved the magazine he was reading and then turned his attention back to it. “Checking out the new GQ.”
“Not that, twat.”
“Oh. What?”
Brian took Justin’s hand and squeezed almost painfully on the same spot Justin had used to train Brian, and that’s what it was, and he probably should have thought that through before he did it. he probably should have considered Brian’s reaction a little further before he let Brian know he’d done it. He’d always been a little impulsive. It usually ended badly. He was coming to this realization a little to late. He pulled his hand away and pretended he had no idea what Brian was talking about. He didn’t think the tactic would work, but he had to try something. “What are you doing?”
“Does this make you hot?”
Justin used the clueless expression he’d perfected over the years of dealing with Brian. Brian recognized it for what it was. He leaned in and whispered into Justin’s ear. “You think you can fucking train me?”
Justin shrugged, partially because Brian’s breath was tickling his ear and partially because he was still kind of going for that innocent act.
Brian kissed him. “You think I can’t train you? You think I haven’t?”
Justin shook his head and Brian whispered his name. “Justin.”
Justin’s eyes opened in surprise. How the fuck could his own name make him hard?
“Justin”, Brian said it again and Justin understood. Brian never said his name when they were fucking, well rarely. When he did…it was…fuck, it was right before Justin was about to come…motherfucker.
Justin got angry then. How long had Brian been working on that? How long had Brian been conditioning him? Then he blushed. Fuck, hadn’t he been doing the same thing? But he’d been less subtle. He’d been goofing around…Brian had been doing it since… since they’d first met. Justin glared at him.
“You asshole!”
Brian folded his arms and leaned against the support beam. “ I’m the asshole?”
Justin stood in front of him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Brian smiled. “I guess when you go to LA you’ll have plenty of time to recondition your responses.”
Justin’s eyes opened wide. “When I? What?”
“How long were you planning on waiting to tell me?”
“I was gonna get around to it.”
“After you were sure I was fully housebroken?”
“That had nothing to do with…that wasn’t about… Fuck. You.”
Brian nodded. “Thought so.”
“I just thought it would be funny.”
“And was it?”
Justin slumped and then laughed a little. “Yeah, actually.”
Brian laughed too. “You’re such a fucking twat.”
“Your twat.”
“Absolutely.”
“So you know I’ll be back.”
“And you know I’ll be reconditioned by then.”
Justin nodded. “Me too.”
Brian reached out and pulled Justin’s head forward 'til their foreheads were touching. “Justin.”
Justin moaned into Brian’s mouth.
“Justin.” Brian repeated it and Justin pressed his body against Brian’s, felt Brian bend his knees until he was grinding against Brian’s hard denim covered cock. “Justin.”
Justin knew he was about to come, like a fucking teenager, in his fucking jeans. He hated that. He loved that. He kissed Brian, rubbing his body against Brian’s thigh, and then felt him whisper it again.
Justin took Brian’s hand and stroked at his thumb again, making lazy figure eights on the skin and then, as Brian whispered his name again he pressed down and released, pressing again in rhythm to his own thrusts against Brian’s hip. He felt Brian’s body stop and shudder and he smiled.
After they showered and fucked, they were lying in bed and Justin was running his hands along Brian’s body. He moved to map out the veins that ran down Brian’s hands and Brian groaned. “I’ll stop.” Justin promised.
Brian pulled Justin on top of him, stroking his hair off his forehead and kissing him deeply. “Don’t you dare.”
Written By: vamphile
Timeline: Post Season Four, Pre Season Five
Rating: R
Summary: Classical Conditioning Works
Author Notes: I have nothing to say. This is pointless but I wrote it. happier_bunny was my beta, sort of.
Brian knew what Justin was doing. Well, he figured it out. He probably should have worried about it. He didn’t. It was subtle, so subtle if he weren’t paying attention he might not have noticed so early, but he always paid attention when he was fucking Justin. And when he tried not to… the blonde did something new and his focus was back.
So when Justin seemed to be constantly reaching for his hand while they were fucking, when his gentle artist’s touch found that soft pad of flesh at the base of his thumb and pressed down, really, it was just Justin, doing something weird, finding some new part of his body with which to become fixated.
They’d spent an odd week last month during which Justin could not get enough of Brian’s feet. He drew them, he licked them, he touched them. Brian was pretty sure it’s what the blonde was thinking about when he jerked off. And then Justin moved on. For a while, in their early stages of fucking, way before this was a relationship, it was his cock, which seemed rather obvious. And then Brian found an entire sketchbook of his back, particularly his shoulder blades and the nape of his neck. He was a weird little fucker. No way around that.
Brian assumed this new love of his hand, of the base of his thumb, was just more of the same.
Until he was fucking a trick in the backroom of Babylon. The guy was hot, well muscled, and vocal. And Brian was tweaked and ready and when he came he was pressing into his own hand, pushing at that same spot Justin had become enamored of. What the fuck?
He shook his head and moved on to drinking and dancing and eventually went home with Justin, well, his home, Justin still lived at Daphne’s technically. Brian was still waiting for an answer but Justin was holding off on saying yes. Fine, he’d tortured Justin for years, payback, he could take it. Just to prove the point Justin even slept at his own place, sometimes as often as twice a month.
Brian had read somewhere that it takes doing something 21 times for it to become a habit. He knew that was bullshit because fucking Justin had become a habit long before they’d gone beyond the times he could count on two hands. That was different though. Everything with Justin was different. Whatever.
But this hand thing, this thumb thing. Fucking weird. Not so weird it got in the way, but weird all the same. He still managed to fuck Justin pretty much anywhere and everywhere. But somehow, just as he was about to come… their hands were together and that persistent little thumb was pressing into his palm and he came. Hard.
Twenty-one times. Well, they hit that before a week was up. And three weeks later Brian was pissed off. He was meeting a client. A fat, ugly, balding man in a bad suit. He shook his hand and felt the pressure on that spot and fuck, he was hard. He decided he had to kill Justin.
Justin was all smiles when he came home and really, when he was smiling like that, it was hard to remember to kill him. Then he was doing this other thing with his mouth and killing him seemed counterproductive.
Brian was about to come and Justin reached up for his hand, Brian pulled it away, refusing to allow this to go on. But it did… it went on and on and on and he gritted his teeth and took Justin’s hand and came.
The last straw was at the diner. Michael had told him about Justin accepting Brett’s offer and he was waiting for Justin to tell him the real reason he hadn’t given him an answer. He figured today he’d get it out of him. They were alone in the back booth. Apparently everyone else had somewhere important to be. Deb put their orders in front of them and walked away. Brian was about to take a bite of his breakfast when Justin took his hand under the table. He smoothed his thumb lightly over the flesh at the base of Brian’s palm. Brian raised an eyebrow and tried not to shift in his seat. Justin bit his lip and Brian realized he was trying not to smile but he kept stroking that same spot, and then pressed down, hard. Brian came. The fucker made him come with the press of his thumb…on his fucking PALM! Brian pushed Justin out of the booth stood up and walked out, let the little twat pay for his own breakfast.
____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____ ____
Justin realized he may have gone too far, or at least tipped his hand too early. He heard the jangle of bells as Brian left the diner and bit his lip, this time in contemplation and not a desire to hide a smile. He dropped a twenty on the table and headed back to the loft. He wasn’t sure if Brian would be there but hell, he lived there, he had to show up eventually, right?
He did. He came home hours later smelling of the Gravel Pit , and sweat and… Justin decided it was best not to think about the fact that Brian probably knew the same shit he’d found online about habits, and twenty-one times, and mentally stopped himself from doing the math in his head, dividing hours by men by twenty-one. Instead he feigned disinterest.
Brian didn’t.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Justin waved the magazine he was reading and then turned his attention back to it. “Checking out the new GQ.”
“Not that, twat.”
“Oh. What?”
Brian took Justin’s hand and squeezed almost painfully on the same spot Justin had used to train Brian, and that’s what it was, and he probably should have thought that through before he did it. he probably should have considered Brian’s reaction a little further before he let Brian know he’d done it. He’d always been a little impulsive. It usually ended badly. He was coming to this realization a little to late. He pulled his hand away and pretended he had no idea what Brian was talking about. He didn’t think the tactic would work, but he had to try something. “What are you doing?”
“Does this make you hot?”
Justin used the clueless expression he’d perfected over the years of dealing with Brian. Brian recognized it for what it was. He leaned in and whispered into Justin’s ear. “You think you can fucking train me?”
Justin shrugged, partially because Brian’s breath was tickling his ear and partially because he was still kind of going for that innocent act.
Brian kissed him. “You think I can’t train you? You think I haven’t?”
Justin shook his head and Brian whispered his name. “Justin.”
Justin’s eyes opened in surprise. How the fuck could his own name make him hard?
“Justin”, Brian said it again and Justin understood. Brian never said his name when they were fucking, well rarely. When he did…it was…fuck, it was right before Justin was about to come…motherfucker.
Justin got angry then. How long had Brian been working on that? How long had Brian been conditioning him? Then he blushed. Fuck, hadn’t he been doing the same thing? But he’d been less subtle. He’d been goofing around…Brian had been doing it since… since they’d first met. Justin glared at him.
“You asshole!”
Brian folded his arms and leaned against the support beam. “ I’m the asshole?”
Justin stood in front of him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Brian smiled. “I guess when you go to LA you’ll have plenty of time to recondition your responses.”
Justin’s eyes opened wide. “When I? What?”
“How long were you planning on waiting to tell me?”
“I was gonna get around to it.”
“After you were sure I was fully housebroken?”
“That had nothing to do with…that wasn’t about… Fuck. You.”
Brian nodded. “Thought so.”
“I just thought it would be funny.”
“And was it?”
Justin slumped and then laughed a little. “Yeah, actually.”
Brian laughed too. “You’re such a fucking twat.”
“Your twat.”
“Absolutely.”
“So you know I’ll be back.”
“And you know I’ll be reconditioned by then.”
Justin nodded. “Me too.”
Brian reached out and pulled Justin’s head forward 'til their foreheads were touching. “Justin.”
Justin moaned into Brian’s mouth.
“Justin.” Brian repeated it and Justin pressed his body against Brian’s, felt Brian bend his knees until he was grinding against Brian’s hard denim covered cock. “Justin.”
Justin knew he was about to come, like a fucking teenager, in his fucking jeans. He hated that. He loved that. He kissed Brian, rubbing his body against Brian’s thigh, and then felt him whisper it again.
Justin took Brian’s hand and stroked at his thumb again, making lazy figure eights on the skin and then, as Brian whispered his name again he pressed down and released, pressing again in rhythm to his own thrusts against Brian’s hip. He felt Brian’s body stop and shudder and he smiled.
After they showered and fucked, they were lying in bed and Justin was running his hands along Brian’s body. He moved to map out the veins that ran down Brian’s hands and Brian groaned. “I’ll stop.” Justin promised.
Brian pulled Justin on top of him, stroking his hair off his forehead and kissing him deeply. “Don’t you dare.”