Some Like It White
by Rana Eros

Written because I felt a severe lack of smut in the QaF LJ land contingent at the time, and Jenn asked. Considering she got me into the fandom, I thought it would be a nice way to say thank you. Thanks to Jenn, Eliza, and Tink for superspeedy betas. Any remaining mistakes are the result of my stubborn ego. Set after ep 2x12, so assume spoilers of various kinds up through there, particularly about the White Party. Written to a soundtrack of Melissa Ferrick's "Drive," Afghan Whigs' "66," Dave Matthews Band's "When the World Ends (Paul Oakenfeld Remix)," and Sophie B. Hawkins' "Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover." Also the Deftones' remix of Sade's "No Ordinary Love." I highly recommend all of the above, particularly for sweet, hot sexy inspiration. Let the B/J love flow.

Justin waits in the hotel room and thinks this may not be the best idea he's ever had. He's tried to let it go, to shrug it off and move on. He believes Brian when he says it was just another trick.

Yet he can't stop thinking about it.

He's not Michael. This isn't about jealousy. He thinks it isn't. It's about curiosity. He wants to know what Brian and Ben did. He wants to know how much Brian liked it. He wants to know if Brian would have liked it as much if they'd both made it to this year's White Party, or if Brian would still think the one two years ago was better.

Okay, so maybe it's a little bit about jealousy. And he's sure Brian knew that when he asked, because Brian usually knows his motives better than he does, and it's small comfort sometimes that he can read Brian as well. Still, Brian didn't say no. Brian didn't say, anything, in fact, just left for work and Justin was certain that was a refusal until he checked his messages and there was one from Brian with this hotel name, this room number, and the instructions, "Wear white."

Justin's not sure if it's a good thing that Brian deliberately called while he was in class in order to leave a message. But he's here, and theoretically Brian will soon be here, and then he'll find out how much his curiosity will cost him.

As if on cue, he hears someone at the door. Brian didn't tell him what to do beyond arriving, so he stands and waits, watching as Brian steps inside, briefcase in one hand, shopping bag and room key in the other, overcoat still on over a grey suit. He spares Justin a glance as he closes the door, then crosses the room and disappears into the bathroom with a drawled, "Be with you in a minute, Sunshine. Make yourself comfortable."

Well, that's...not exactly promising. Then again, at least Brian showed up, and hasn't yet told him to fuck off.

Justin fidgets for a moment, then finally sits down on the end of the bed. And waits.

And waits.

He's pretty much decided he was too optimistic about the lack of fuck off when Brian opens the bathroom door and steps out. Prowls out, actually, and Justin has just enough time to register the change of outfit--white slacks and a white shirt he remembers from Brian's pre-White Party fashion show, bare feet--before he's pulled up by one hand and snugged up against Brian's body, being given a kiss that is the exact opposite of fuck off.

He wants to blame his dizziness on the sudden resurgence of hope, except Brian's kisses always make him feel this way. And it's instinct to hook a leg up around Brian's waist when Brian puts a hand under his ass and lifts. It doesn't even occur to him this is a move Brian couldn't do with someone as big as Ben until Brian has them both on the bed and has broken the kiss to lay claim to his throat.

"Brian, wha--" he starts, trying to voice this thought. Brian bites down on the juncture between neck and right shoulder and then lifts his head enough to speak in Justin's ear.

"I'm giving you the choice," he purrs, low and dirty like that first night. "I tied him up, and then I fucked him, and that was it. You can have what I did with him, or you can have what I would have done with you. What I would have done to you."

That stops all protests, all questions, and he sucks in a breath as Brian moves against him, grinding down.

"We would have walked through the lobby of that hotel, and all those fags would have come in their pants at the sight of us," Brian whispers. "The sight of you. Pretty little blond boy dressed all in white."

Brian slides both hands under Justin's shirt and goes up on his elbows, and Justin moves up with him, raising his own hands long enough to get the shirt up and off before returning them to Brian's shoulders, then Brian's hair as the man drops his head and brushes his mouth across Justin's chest, tongue coming out to flick at the nipple ring.

"But not for long." Brian's voice sounds more like a growl now, and Brian's eyes are feral as he glances up at Justin's face, his hands busy at Justin's waist. "I'd strip you down and spread you out on the bed."

Without breaking eye contact, Brian hooks his fingers in pants and underwear both, draws them down Justin's body, and it's a small thought that Justin's glad he took off his shoes and socks just after he got here. Just in case Brian did...well, something like this. Indulged him like this.

Brian climbs up his body to kiss him again, to grasp his hands and raise them above his head and--oh God--tie them to the headboard. With what feels like silk rope. He has to open his eyes at that, glance up and laugh breathlessly into Brian's mouth, because yes, even the rope is fucking white.

"They put together baskets at the White Party," Brian says against his lips, brushing light fingertips down his arms and sides, drawing noises out of him that he only makes for Brian, that he only feels safe to make when he's with Brian. "Rope, condoms, lube, dildos.... Everything white or packaged in white. I brought the contents of one home as...souvenirs."

"Brian," Justin pleads, pushing himself into Brian's hands in a plea for more contact, but Brian only smiles, edged and dangerous, and lets his weight fall onto Justin, forcing him to be still.

"Don't move." Brian slides off of him and saunters into the bathroom. Justin closes his eyes and takes a breath, tries to regain a little control, but there's silk caressing the insides of his wrists and the hotel room is cool enough to raise goosebumps without Brian's body heat warming him; and when he opens his eyes again, it's to the sight of Brian standing beside the bed, placing the shopping bag within reaching distance and giving grave attention to a long, white feather in his right hand.

Oh. God.

"Brian, no...," Justin tries to protest, but Brian just gives him that smile again and straddles him.

"You say that, but you're hard." Brian draws the very tip of the feather down his chest, and Justin shudders. Hard. Brian shifts to circle the unpierced nipple, and Justin shudders again. It's conceivable Brian means to kill him this way.

Probably, he should be upset about that.

Then Brian twists around to brush the feather lightly over the top of his cock, and he knows Brian means to kill him this way. His whole body clenches, like it did the first time Brian rimmed him, and he feels the same confusion in his nerve endings as to how to interpret this. As to whether to pull away or press up.

Before he can decide, Brian's up on his knees, moving to the end of the bed and toward Justin's feet. It's easier to know how to respond to that. He raises his knees and puts his feet flat against the bed, and Brian gives him a look. He expects Brian to use his weight to flatten his legs again, but Brian only moves to force his own legs between Justin's, to kneel on the comforter in the vee of Justin's limbs and Justin thinks maybe he misinterpreted Brian's intentions when Brian looks at the feather again.

"You're getting a little bit ahead of the game here, Sunshine, but since you've been such a good boy," and Brian reaches out to trail the feather over Justin's balls and then down.

"Brian!" He's convinced he screamed loud enough the people in the next room over are calling hotel security, but he can't hear it. Can't hear any of the sounds he's certain he's got to be making, can't see, can't do anything but feel Brian teasing him with the feather.

Then Brian's tongue, licking up the underside of his dick.

He nearly folds in half, feeling the strain of rope against his wrists as he tries to reach down and make Brian do it already. Suck him. Fuck him. Anything. He struggles to breathe and finds he's instinctively raised his legs to rest atop Brian's shoulders. It occurs to him what a dangerous move that is just before Brian meets his eyes over the top of his dick and he feels something tickle against his anus.

"Brian," he says again, though there's no sound behind it, no breath.

"You like this," Brian breathes against his skin, just...mouthing him, hot lips and the faint flick of even hotter tongue. "I could do this for hours, keep you on edge like this until you forget everything but me."

Justin's already there, and Brian knows it, the smug asshole. Deciding it's time to get a little of his own back, Justin steels himself against the sensory overload and manages to gasp out a reply.

"No way you could do this for hours. You want me too much."

For a long moment, he thinks he's scored a hit; the feather stops moving and Brian's eyes on him are heavy and hot. Then Brian leans forward, pushing his legs closer to his chest, opening him up more, and the feather is right. There.

"You sound so sure of that, little boy," Brian purrs just before he bends down to tease Justin's lips with an almost-kiss that mirrors what he was doing with Justin's dick, lightest touch of lips and brush of tongue. Almost more maddening than the feather, just for the promise of heat and wet. Justin raises his head and tries for more, deeper, but Brian pulls back, smiling at him from just out of reach.

Justin moans a little in protest, and though Brian's face hovers above him, Brian's body is still pressed closely enough to his that he can feel the effect of the moan. And now he knows how to play this.

"Brian," he makes it a plea, arching up against Brian's body. "Brian, please. God, please. Fuck me."

He hears Brian's breath catch in his throat, holds Brian's eyes until the touch of the feather overwhelms him again and he has to close his eyes, has to gasp and writhe, emphasizing his words with his body. Then Brian kisses him, deep as he was trying for earlier. He hardly has time to register that the feather is gone before Brian's finger takes its place, circling around and around and just barely pressing in. Brian pulls away from his mouth, but it's still hard to breathe as Brian works his way down Justin's throat, chest, stomach, circles Justin's navel with his tongue in an echo of his finger at Justin's ass. Justin moans again, and Brian lifts both hands to grip his legs, holding him open and placing sucking kisses on the insides of his thighs. It's better, but it's still not enough, and Justin decides to try again.

"Bri--" Brian's mouth covers the crown of his dick, and his capacity for words just vanishes. The tiny part of him not panting and shaking in the bed is surprised. He's lost track of the number of blowjobs Brian has given him, and Brian is phenomenal, but he hasn't lost so much control so fast since the first time. He feels so close to coming from no more than this, Brian's mouth barely touching him.

Looks like he has a thing for being teased. He swallows and forces his eyes open, and Brian is watching him, taking note of every minute reaction. From the light in Brian's eyes, it seems that once again Brian guessed before he did.

Smug, smug asshole. But Justin can live with that, as long as Brian doesn't stop now.

As if in answer to the thought, Brian takes him in more deeply, and Justin has to focus all his will on not exploding then and there. Except it seems exploding is exactly what Brian wants him to do, tongue and lips relentless, eyes intent on his. He wants this to last, so he lets his own eyes slide shut again in the hopes that shutting out the sight of Brian will take the urgency down a notch. Not that it's ever worked before. The sight of Brian has always gotten him hotter, but it's like building a bonfire on the surface of the sun. He burns either way.

He feels Brian laughing around his dick, probably reading his mind again. He wants to tell Brian to shut up, but that would require words, which he still doesn't have. So he just groans and lets Brian interpret that how he will. It's apparently an effective method of communication; there's a careful but vindictive edge of teeth that makes him hiss in a breath just before Brian deep throats him and swallows.

There's really no defense against that. When he comes, all he sees is white.

His sight is still hazy, his whole body tingling when Brian kisses him. He opens his mouth on reflex and feels something drizzle down on his tongue, Brian warning him so he doesn't choke when he gets a mouthful of his own jizz. He swallows, the taste strangely unlike Brian's, and then feels Brian grinning against his lips.

"Better than ice cream," Brian says. "And it's even white."

Justin laughs at that, then loses his breath again as Brian slides one well-lubed finger unerringly up his ass. There's an edge of pain with the pleasure when Brian crooks that finger, the familiar hurt of his body protesting more stimulation so soon after coming. It always fades quickly, one of the reasons Brian is so reputed for this; he knows exactly how far he can push. Especially Justin.

A second finger joins the first, not really necessary anymore, but Brian gets off on watching him like this and fingers provide more detachment than dick. Brian also gets off on hearing him like this; he's sometimes wondered if he'd be so vocal during sex if Brian hadn't so obviously liked it right from the start. He gasps at another flash of pain/pleasure, Brian's way of making sure he's paying attention, and then Brian leans in and says, "Look at me, Justin. I want to see it."

He hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes again, but he can't not obey that voice. He can't not arch up and pant out every breath, begging under Brian's eyes and caught on Brian's fingers like he hasn't just come, hasn't just shot his load down Brian's throat and tasted himself in Brian's mouth. And maybe that makes him too easy, but he can live with that if it means Brian pressing in and kissing him like he's thinking of taking up permanent residence in Justin's mouth. Then Brian's pulling back, and out, and Justin hears himself whimpering a protest, but it dies in his throat when Brian raises a white-wrapped condom to his teeth and tears it open.

Usually, that would be Justin's cue to take the condom and roll it down the length of Brian's perfect cock. However, with Justin's hands immobilized, Brian has to do his own honors. He does so slowly, his eyes never leaving Justin's, and again Justin thinks this is Brian's way of trying to kill him. And really, if Brian ever got tired of the ad business, Justin thinks he could probably have a lucrative career in assisted suicide.

Then Brian bends down and pushes in and Justin really doesn't care what Brian does for a living, as long as he keeps doing this. Justin's head falls back, but Brian's eyes are too intense for him to close his own, so he shudders and shakes with every stroke across his prostate, but he doesn't look away. It would be easier to stop breathing right now.

Brian kisses him again, which just proves that breathing is overrated anyway, when this is the alternative; Brian in his mouth, Brian in his ass, and Brian's hand wraps around his dick and strokes, steady and relentless as the rhythm of their fucking, steady and relentless as Brian's attention always is when he gets it. And he always has it when they're fucking, something he knows from rumor not every trick can claim. They move together, and he returns every kiss hungrily, flexes and squeezes on Brian's cock, working muscles Brian first taught him to use.

There's a surge of triumph with the pleasure when Brian gasps into his mouth and comes hard and long. It lasts even when his second orgasm hits him with all the force of the first, white spraying Brian's hand and both their stomachs. They pant against each other for long, long seconds, coming down slowly.

Then Brian fixes him with a sharp, dangerous grin. "You like that, Sunshine?"

"Fuck, yes." At the moment, he can only speak the truth, and that fervently.

"Think you're up for a whole weekend of it?"

Justin groans as his body responds to the thought without his consent. Even he needs a little recovery time. "I have a shift--"

"Not anymore you don't." Brian reaches up to start untying him, fingers gently rubbing into the palm of his right hand in one of those displays of tenderness they never talk about. "I talked to Debbie. You're mine until your first class on Monday."

He's Brian's for a lot longer than that, but that's another thing they don't talk about.

"Brian...." He wants to ask why, but he's afraid that might unbalance Brian's oddly generous mood. Brian hears it anyway, and gives him another of those enigmatic smiles.

"You chose, little boy. What I would have done with you at the White Party. Well, it's a weekend event, and it's only Friday night."

The rope comes free, but his wrists are still held in Brian's hands, and the weight of Brian on him, the promise of two days and nights of this, is like the world's best aphrodisiac. Still, no matter what his dick thinks, he's pretty sure the rest of him needs a few more minutes, so he returns Brian's smile and murmurs, "Any chance we can move round two to the shower?"

This kiss is slow and sweet, and Brian releases his hands to cradle his head, long, warm fingers cupping his face. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and then Brian moves to cup his shoulders and coax him up, meeting his eyes with that intensity that's its own kind of promise.

"We're just going to get dirty again, and you don't look like you can walk that far at the moment."

Justin just grins at the dare and leans heavily into Brian. "Is that an offer to carry me?"

Brian gives a little chuff of a laugh. "Not as long as you keep eating cheeseburgers the way you do."

Justin shakes his head, pulling away and standing up. "And here I thought all the time you spent at the gym might actually be doing some good. But, I guess when you get to be your age--"

Brian reaches out, pulls him back down onto the bed and swats him on the ass. They're both laughing as Justin tries to roll away, but then Brian's pressing down on his back, pushing him down into the mattress, and laughter fades into needier sounds.

"Maybe we'll save the shower," Brian growls into his ear, "for round three."

It sounds like an excellent plan to Justin.


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