Entry #33 - "What Did You Just Say?"
Title: What Did You Just Say?
Written By: vamphile
Timeline: Ep-511 to 513
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Genre: pov gapfiller
What Did You Just Say?
Brian's POV
This is fucking insane. I’m signing papers. Every time I push a stack back at them they’re pushing more papers in front of me. Is there anything more boring than paperwork? I sign my name for what feels like the billionth time and then they’re on the phone. FUCK. Someone forgot to send some fucking form and they’re bitching and I finally get frustrated. I grab the phone out of the girl’s hand. She’s just some fucking assistant to the mortgage broker and I’m fucking aggravated.
I talk to the termite inspector asshole. I’m quiet. I’m succinct. The fax rings before I’ve hung up.
I write a check. They call to make sure it clears. Fucking assholes. They know I have the money. I sign my name and initials three hundred more times and they hand me the fucking keys.
Okay. That only took four fucking hours. I’m driving fast. Justin.
Christ his place is a shithole. But I’m not gonna get him to go with me if I keep reminding him of that. He’s already blown me off. He thinks I’m insane. He thinks I’m freaking out. I think I may be seeing clearly for the first time in a long time and I also know that I’m putting it all on the line.
Well this is it… now or never. Time to see how far a good sales pitch and a little luck will take me… take us.
Justin’s POV
He has no fucking clue.
I’m painting and fuming at him. “I love you.” My response “duh”. I’ve known he loves me for so goddamned long I really convinced myself I didn’t need to hear it.
Black, this painting definitely needs more black.
Where was I? Right, he loves me. Again “duh” I know that. He knew that. He’s told me that, ten thousand times. And then a bomb goes off and his best friend is dying and suddenly it’s those three words that are supposed to make the difference?
What pisses me off is that they do. They shouldn’t. I try to keep my cool. Not when he said them. When he said them I clung to him and just wanted to be there, feeling safer in his arms than anywhere else. But the next day. He comes waltzing into MY fucking apartment and tells me what a dump it is.
Um, again “duh”. We can’t all have multi-million dollar advertising agencies and seemingly unlimited funds. And it’s not like I made that much in the couple months I was in LA. And it’s not like I even have a fucking job at the moment. Internship… call it slavery. So no money put aside there.
He loves me. Dammit I’m such a sucker. I’m smiling ‘cause he said it. So what. He said it cause I almost died…again. And he didn’t say it the last time I almost died. So what, I’m supposed to go running back to him? Nothing’s changed.
He loved me last week. He loved me last month. He loved me when I left, both times. And now he says a few words and I’m supposed to just…what? More black… definitely more black.
There’s a knock and I’m hoping it’s the pizza I ordered. I grab my wallet and answer.
Brian.
Brian's POV
He looks amazing. He always looks amazing but he’s got paint on his shirt and he’s pissed at something, probably me, and his eyes are sharp and I want to fuck him right now but I’ve got something else to do first.
“Hi”
“Hi”
“Can I come in?”
He moves aside and I remind myself not to mock his new place. Christ I’ve got to get out of here the fumes are fucking horrible. How can he do this and not get a headache? I look at what he’s working on…Wow, that’s a lot of black. He’s pissed. Fuck. Luck may not be enough this time.
“Um, I want to show you something.”
He looks at me like I’m retarded.
“It’s not here. Come with me.”
“I ordered a pizza. It’ll be here any minute.”
Fuck the pizza you little shit. This is big. “I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Where are we going?”
Good, he’s willing to go.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Brian.” That tone. How can a tone that says “I don’t trust you and you’re an asshole” turn me on? It does. Little shit. Dammit this is gonna be harder than I thought. It’s a sales pitch Kinney. Yeah, the most important one of your life, but just a sales pitch. That’s all, nothing else.
“I promise you’ll like it.” That’s a lie. I can’t promise that. He may beat me to death with a fire poker. He may have a right to. I don’t care. If he doesn’t like it death sounds like a good option. Oh Jesus fucking Christ, he’s finally turned me into a goddamned lesbian. He wins. Who the fuck am I kidding…he’s been winning for a long time now. He’s won.
I look over at him and he’s relenting. He takes off his shirt and I bite my lower lip. I want to kiss him. Can’t yet.
He puts on clothes that aren’t meant for painting and I want to scream. I stay quiet. I remain calm…on the outside. I put my hands in my pockets so he doesn’t see them shaking.
Coat, scarf, stupid hat. Okay, lets go princess.
Justin’s POV
He’s scared. What the fuck is he scared of? Me? Like I’m some threat to him. Yeah he loves me. And yeah, that’s gonna scare the shit out of Brian fucking Kinney but it’s not news. It’s not news to him and it’s not news to me.
He want’s to take me to lunch? Fine. Free meal, little conversation. But nothing else. I’m not fucking him. He’s not fucking me. That part has to be over. That part’s too easy. And it leads nowhere.
He takes my hand and I’m thinking, “don’t press your luck asshole”. My body is saying something else entirely. I hate my body. It’s stupid. It’s addicted to him and I’m gonna have to go cold turkey starting tomorrow because this weaning myself off him shit…It doesn’t work.
We’re driving and where the hell are we going?
“Where the hell are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
‘So you’ve said.”
“I meant what I said.”
“That it’s a surprise?”
He gives me a look. Yeah, I knew what he meant; I’m fucking with him. He fucked with me for five years. Payback’s a bitch asshole.
“I love you.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I love me too. I have a very healthy sense of self esteem.”
That look again. You know…he really is fucking amazingly beautiful. Okay, stop. Stop thinking about how hot he is. Anger, sarcasm, snark. Those are all good. Keep those up. Stop with the melting when his gloved fucking hand touches your knee. Stop fucking melting Taylor!
“Me. do you love me?”
Okay this is lame. “Yes.” I know I’m sighing, I know I sound like an aggravated housewife but Jesus. Is he emotionally retarded or just completely retarded. I’m beginning to wonder. “I love you Brian. And you love me. It’s not something either of us didn’t know before.”
“But I told you.”
“You told me before.”
“Bullshit.”
“Words are bullshit. Sorry’s bullshit. You told me that. You also stared it so hard into my brain on the steps of Woody’s after Stockwell lost that I was surprised it wasn’t tattooed on my forehead in the morning.”
He looks at me. Surprised.
“I’m on to you.” Yeah, I raise my eyebrows and give him the “duh” look again but seriously his skull got thicker after he said it. Maybe he’s right and love makes you stupid.
We pull up, finally, to someone’s house. It’s huge. It’s nice. Why are we visiting his friends for lunch?
“Didn’t realize we were going to West Virginia.”
He gives me a look. “It’s a half hour out of the city.” I want to smack him. And kiss him and… Christ. I know he fucking loves me, why did the words make a difference? They don’t. So glad we’re not in West Virginia because I think I’m going to have to be a very rude guest and fuck him in the bathroom and I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in that state.
Brian’s POV
West fucking Virginia. He thinks he’s being cute. He’s being a twat. I want to throttle him. And fuck him. And dammit. He loves me. That’s good. I can use that. I’ve got that on my side. And I love him. And I can think that, and say that. And I’m still not gonna become some fuzzie lezzie who says it a hundred times a day, but I can’t throw him a bone and say it now and then if he needs to hear it and the whole world will apparently, not come crashing to a halt. Then again… maybe it will… if he says no.
Breathe.
Get out of the car.
Answer his questions. “You should see the tennis courts and the stables.”
He looks impressed. Ask, ask, ask…. If I can tell him I love him with a stare, can I make him ask what he needs to know… finally he asks.
“Ours.”
The face is priceless. And I lead him inside.
I’ve got him. He’s captivated. Fucking enthralled and his brain is working overtime redecorating and setting up his studio and my brain is working overtime thinking of all the places we have to christen in this fucking cavernous country manor. But for him. It’s all worth it.
Justin’s POV
He bought me a house. He bought us a house. My head is spinning and that wainscoting needs to go. And this room is amazing and the fire’s already lit and we need a big comfy couch to go in front of the fireplace, but we’ll have to have the floors refinished first and… STOP!
What the fuck? He bought us a house. He bought me a house. He bought THIS fucking house and I’m already moving myself in. And I left him. And I had a good reason to. I want things. Not this house.
Okay I WANT this house. But I want commitments and a family and a partner who’s willing to admit that what we have may be less than conventional but IS something. I want all of that and I’m not moving in here 'til I get it… and fuck, is that pressing my luck. I mean if we live here, together. Does it matter what he’s willing to admit, out loud? If we live here, together, aren’t what we are to each other is clear right? It’s louder than words. He loves me. That is louder than words too. But the words meant something. They shouldn’t have. They did.
He loves me.
I need to stop smiling like an idiot. I really do. I pull myself together.
“You bought this house and sold your loft, without even knowing what my answer would be?”
The sales pitch begins. He’s so sure of himself. He’s got that little smirk he gets when pitching a client and I want to smack it off his face… or kiss it off his face. I want him to stop selling me on the idea. But he’s good. He’s too good. He makes sense. And he loves me.
This is a risk. He took a big fucking risk. And if I said no…who’s the asshole then?
I’ll let him be the asshole in this relationship. I say yes.
“Yes.”
He looks at me, asks for more. I cannot believe these words are coming out of my mouth. If I wasn’t a faggot for fucking men I am one now because I can’t stop smiling and I say, “yes. Yes I will marry you”.
Brian’s POV
Oh my fucking god I’m not dead.
I thought I was. He plays a good game. He had me going, or maybe he really had reservations, but it doesn’t matter. He said yes. And luck isn’t what I’m pressing against now.
We fall to the floor onto a tarp. The place is mostly empty. And the stuff that’s there is the previous owners’ and it has to be hauled off and what the fuck am I thinking about? It’s time for him to be naked.
I move us closer to the fire. It’s still cold outside, and his skin looks so hot with the flames almost reflected off his pale skin. And I can see his body flush with passion as I remove his shirt.
His hands are insistent and shaking a little as he pulls at my clothes and we used to be better at this didn’t we? But maybe not, maybe I’m just paying too much attention. No such thing. Never can pay too much attention to his body. His hands. His mouth. Oh god his mouth.
He’s working his mouth down my chest and I need his fucking jeans off. Now. I growl as I move my hands to the waistband and he understands. He pulls them off and finally we’re both naked. I pull him back up towards me. We’re on our knees our bodies pressed against each other and his tongue is running along my lower lip. And now his teeth are nibbling it and Christ. I can’t stop kissing him.
I push him backwards just a little, letting my arms cradle him and I’m on top of him. I’m on top of the fucking world. He said yes!
Condom on, he’s arching towards me. Ready. Wanting. Whispering that he loves me. Christ. He never says that. It’s like he refused. If I wasn’t gonna, then he wasn’t gonna. And the floodgates have broken because he can’t seem to stop saying it and I’m pushing inside him and his face is too perfect. The small moment of pain. The hazy flush of pleasure. Then he’s moving with me. And we’re back. This was never a problem. Well…except… doesn’t matter. Cancer free. Back. Inside him. This was never a problem.
This is what we always did best and I want him to remember it. I move again, angling just right and he gasps and he breathes out my name. And I want this to last. But I’m not gonna. Not if he keeps doing that thing where he looks at me.
He looks at me. His eyes don’t leave mine and won’t let me leave his and we both come.
Round two is slower, and round three is carnal and round four…well I lost count and there are no words but let me tell you something. If you ever get a chance to press your luck… do it. The rewards are fucking spectacular. He. Said. Yes.
*********
The End
Written By: vamphile
Timeline: Ep-511 to 513
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Genre: pov gapfiller
What Did You Just Say?
Brian's POV
This is fucking insane. I’m signing papers. Every time I push a stack back at them they’re pushing more papers in front of me. Is there anything more boring than paperwork? I sign my name for what feels like the billionth time and then they’re on the phone. FUCK. Someone forgot to send some fucking form and they’re bitching and I finally get frustrated. I grab the phone out of the girl’s hand. She’s just some fucking assistant to the mortgage broker and I’m fucking aggravated.
I talk to the termite inspector asshole. I’m quiet. I’m succinct. The fax rings before I’ve hung up.
I write a check. They call to make sure it clears. Fucking assholes. They know I have the money. I sign my name and initials three hundred more times and they hand me the fucking keys.
Okay. That only took four fucking hours. I’m driving fast. Justin.
Christ his place is a shithole. But I’m not gonna get him to go with me if I keep reminding him of that. He’s already blown me off. He thinks I’m insane. He thinks I’m freaking out. I think I may be seeing clearly for the first time in a long time and I also know that I’m putting it all on the line.
Well this is it… now or never. Time to see how far a good sales pitch and a little luck will take me… take us.
Justin’s POV
He has no fucking clue.
I’m painting and fuming at him. “I love you.” My response “duh”. I’ve known he loves me for so goddamned long I really convinced myself I didn’t need to hear it.
Black, this painting definitely needs more black.
Where was I? Right, he loves me. Again “duh” I know that. He knew that. He’s told me that, ten thousand times. And then a bomb goes off and his best friend is dying and suddenly it’s those three words that are supposed to make the difference?
What pisses me off is that they do. They shouldn’t. I try to keep my cool. Not when he said them. When he said them I clung to him and just wanted to be there, feeling safer in his arms than anywhere else. But the next day. He comes waltzing into MY fucking apartment and tells me what a dump it is.
Um, again “duh”. We can’t all have multi-million dollar advertising agencies and seemingly unlimited funds. And it’s not like I made that much in the couple months I was in LA. And it’s not like I even have a fucking job at the moment. Internship… call it slavery. So no money put aside there.
He loves me. Dammit I’m such a sucker. I’m smiling ‘cause he said it. So what. He said it cause I almost died…again. And he didn’t say it the last time I almost died. So what, I’m supposed to go running back to him? Nothing’s changed.
He loved me last week. He loved me last month. He loved me when I left, both times. And now he says a few words and I’m supposed to just…what? More black… definitely more black.
There’s a knock and I’m hoping it’s the pizza I ordered. I grab my wallet and answer.
Brian.
Brian's POV
He looks amazing. He always looks amazing but he’s got paint on his shirt and he’s pissed at something, probably me, and his eyes are sharp and I want to fuck him right now but I’ve got something else to do first.
“Hi”
“Hi”
“Can I come in?”
He moves aside and I remind myself not to mock his new place. Christ I’ve got to get out of here the fumes are fucking horrible. How can he do this and not get a headache? I look at what he’s working on…Wow, that’s a lot of black. He’s pissed. Fuck. Luck may not be enough this time.
“Um, I want to show you something.”
He looks at me like I’m retarded.
“It’s not here. Come with me.”
“I ordered a pizza. It’ll be here any minute.”
Fuck the pizza you little shit. This is big. “I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Where are we going?”
Good, he’s willing to go.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Brian.” That tone. How can a tone that says “I don’t trust you and you’re an asshole” turn me on? It does. Little shit. Dammit this is gonna be harder than I thought. It’s a sales pitch Kinney. Yeah, the most important one of your life, but just a sales pitch. That’s all, nothing else.
“I promise you’ll like it.” That’s a lie. I can’t promise that. He may beat me to death with a fire poker. He may have a right to. I don’t care. If he doesn’t like it death sounds like a good option. Oh Jesus fucking Christ, he’s finally turned me into a goddamned lesbian. He wins. Who the fuck am I kidding…he’s been winning for a long time now. He’s won.
I look over at him and he’s relenting. He takes off his shirt and I bite my lower lip. I want to kiss him. Can’t yet.
He puts on clothes that aren’t meant for painting and I want to scream. I stay quiet. I remain calm…on the outside. I put my hands in my pockets so he doesn’t see them shaking.
Coat, scarf, stupid hat. Okay, lets go princess.
Justin’s POV
He’s scared. What the fuck is he scared of? Me? Like I’m some threat to him. Yeah he loves me. And yeah, that’s gonna scare the shit out of Brian fucking Kinney but it’s not news. It’s not news to him and it’s not news to me.
He want’s to take me to lunch? Fine. Free meal, little conversation. But nothing else. I’m not fucking him. He’s not fucking me. That part has to be over. That part’s too easy. And it leads nowhere.
He takes my hand and I’m thinking, “don’t press your luck asshole”. My body is saying something else entirely. I hate my body. It’s stupid. It’s addicted to him and I’m gonna have to go cold turkey starting tomorrow because this weaning myself off him shit…It doesn’t work.
We’re driving and where the hell are we going?
“Where the hell are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
‘So you’ve said.”
“I meant what I said.”
“That it’s a surprise?”
He gives me a look. Yeah, I knew what he meant; I’m fucking with him. He fucked with me for five years. Payback’s a bitch asshole.
“I love you.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I love me too. I have a very healthy sense of self esteem.”
That look again. You know…he really is fucking amazingly beautiful. Okay, stop. Stop thinking about how hot he is. Anger, sarcasm, snark. Those are all good. Keep those up. Stop with the melting when his gloved fucking hand touches your knee. Stop fucking melting Taylor!
“Me. do you love me?”
Okay this is lame. “Yes.” I know I’m sighing, I know I sound like an aggravated housewife but Jesus. Is he emotionally retarded or just completely retarded. I’m beginning to wonder. “I love you Brian. And you love me. It’s not something either of us didn’t know before.”
“But I told you.”
“You told me before.”
“Bullshit.”
“Words are bullshit. Sorry’s bullshit. You told me that. You also stared it so hard into my brain on the steps of Woody’s after Stockwell lost that I was surprised it wasn’t tattooed on my forehead in the morning.”
He looks at me. Surprised.
“I’m on to you.” Yeah, I raise my eyebrows and give him the “duh” look again but seriously his skull got thicker after he said it. Maybe he’s right and love makes you stupid.
We pull up, finally, to someone’s house. It’s huge. It’s nice. Why are we visiting his friends for lunch?
“Didn’t realize we were going to West Virginia.”
He gives me a look. “It’s a half hour out of the city.” I want to smack him. And kiss him and… Christ. I know he fucking loves me, why did the words make a difference? They don’t. So glad we’re not in West Virginia because I think I’m going to have to be a very rude guest and fuck him in the bathroom and I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in that state.
Brian’s POV
West fucking Virginia. He thinks he’s being cute. He’s being a twat. I want to throttle him. And fuck him. And dammit. He loves me. That’s good. I can use that. I’ve got that on my side. And I love him. And I can think that, and say that. And I’m still not gonna become some fuzzie lezzie who says it a hundred times a day, but I can’t throw him a bone and say it now and then if he needs to hear it and the whole world will apparently, not come crashing to a halt. Then again… maybe it will… if he says no.
Breathe.
Get out of the car.
Answer his questions. “You should see the tennis courts and the stables.”
He looks impressed. Ask, ask, ask…. If I can tell him I love him with a stare, can I make him ask what he needs to know… finally he asks.
“Ours.”
The face is priceless. And I lead him inside.
I’ve got him. He’s captivated. Fucking enthralled and his brain is working overtime redecorating and setting up his studio and my brain is working overtime thinking of all the places we have to christen in this fucking cavernous country manor. But for him. It’s all worth it.
Justin’s POV
He bought me a house. He bought us a house. My head is spinning and that wainscoting needs to go. And this room is amazing and the fire’s already lit and we need a big comfy couch to go in front of the fireplace, but we’ll have to have the floors refinished first and… STOP!
What the fuck? He bought us a house. He bought me a house. He bought THIS fucking house and I’m already moving myself in. And I left him. And I had a good reason to. I want things. Not this house.
Okay I WANT this house. But I want commitments and a family and a partner who’s willing to admit that what we have may be less than conventional but IS something. I want all of that and I’m not moving in here 'til I get it… and fuck, is that pressing my luck. I mean if we live here, together. Does it matter what he’s willing to admit, out loud? If we live here, together, aren’t what we are to each other is clear right? It’s louder than words. He loves me. That is louder than words too. But the words meant something. They shouldn’t have. They did.
He loves me.
I need to stop smiling like an idiot. I really do. I pull myself together.
“You bought this house and sold your loft, without even knowing what my answer would be?”
The sales pitch begins. He’s so sure of himself. He’s got that little smirk he gets when pitching a client and I want to smack it off his face… or kiss it off his face. I want him to stop selling me on the idea. But he’s good. He’s too good. He makes sense. And he loves me.
This is a risk. He took a big fucking risk. And if I said no…who’s the asshole then?
I’ll let him be the asshole in this relationship. I say yes.
“Yes.”
He looks at me, asks for more. I cannot believe these words are coming out of my mouth. If I wasn’t a faggot for fucking men I am one now because I can’t stop smiling and I say, “yes. Yes I will marry you”.
Brian’s POV
Oh my fucking god I’m not dead.
I thought I was. He plays a good game. He had me going, or maybe he really had reservations, but it doesn’t matter. He said yes. And luck isn’t what I’m pressing against now.
We fall to the floor onto a tarp. The place is mostly empty. And the stuff that’s there is the previous owners’ and it has to be hauled off and what the fuck am I thinking about? It’s time for him to be naked.
I move us closer to the fire. It’s still cold outside, and his skin looks so hot with the flames almost reflected off his pale skin. And I can see his body flush with passion as I remove his shirt.
His hands are insistent and shaking a little as he pulls at my clothes and we used to be better at this didn’t we? But maybe not, maybe I’m just paying too much attention. No such thing. Never can pay too much attention to his body. His hands. His mouth. Oh god his mouth.
He’s working his mouth down my chest and I need his fucking jeans off. Now. I growl as I move my hands to the waistband and he understands. He pulls them off and finally we’re both naked. I pull him back up towards me. We’re on our knees our bodies pressed against each other and his tongue is running along my lower lip. And now his teeth are nibbling it and Christ. I can’t stop kissing him.
I push him backwards just a little, letting my arms cradle him and I’m on top of him. I’m on top of the fucking world. He said yes!
Condom on, he’s arching towards me. Ready. Wanting. Whispering that he loves me. Christ. He never says that. It’s like he refused. If I wasn’t gonna, then he wasn’t gonna. And the floodgates have broken because he can’t seem to stop saying it and I’m pushing inside him and his face is too perfect. The small moment of pain. The hazy flush of pleasure. Then he’s moving with me. And we’re back. This was never a problem. Well…except… doesn’t matter. Cancer free. Back. Inside him. This was never a problem.
This is what we always did best and I want him to remember it. I move again, angling just right and he gasps and he breathes out my name. And I want this to last. But I’m not gonna. Not if he keeps doing that thing where he looks at me.
He looks at me. His eyes don’t leave mine and won’t let me leave his and we both come.
Round two is slower, and round three is carnal and round four…well I lost count and there are no words but let me tell you something. If you ever get a chance to press your luck… do it. The rewards are fucking spectacular. He. Said. Yes.
*********
The End