New B/J Standalone: Traditions (NC-17, I guess?)

Standalone. Post-513. 6000+ words. NC-17?
Turns out, Brian is a romantic, in a closeted, Brian-ish kind of way. Not really Valentine’s Day related, but sort of sweet and sappy nonetheless.

A/N: I started writing this story in August 2012. Remembered it last week. Finished it about an hour ago. Unbeta-ed. Hope you enjoy. If you do, please leave a feedback. Thanks.

It took Justin four years to catch on and when he did his reaction alternated between disbelief and despair. He couldn’t help grinning like a sappy fool and alternately turning red from shame and guilt at not having figured it out sooner. Though, in his defense, he had to point out that Brian was a meticulous and secretive bastard who notoriously played his cards close to his chest which might excuse Justin being a bit slow on the uptake.

I.
It was during his first spring in New York that Justin had begun to grow increasingly depressed. Almost a year had passed since he left Pittsburgh and thus Brian and his family to make it big here, in the city that never slept. But things were going slow at best. In New York, inspiration was never far; unfortunately, Brian was (who, as Justin was slowly getting ready to admit was maybe a big-ish part of his inspiration). The combination of those two facts led to a drastic change in Justin’s art, making it gloomier and more depressing by the day. It was very simple math really - New York was exciting, and an adventure, and everything Justin hoped it would be. Only, in his dreams, he never imagined how lonely he would feel and how much he would miss the person he wanted to share all his experiences with. After almost one year in New York, Justin had nothing to show for it. No great shows, no paintings he was particularly proud of, not even a decent job that merited a further stay in the city. He hadn’t talked to Brian or any member of his family yet, but secretly he was contemplating coming back and admitting defeat.

It was then that Brian had suddenly appeared on his doorstep, looking better than ever in a dark brown tailored suit and waving a piece of paper in his face.

Justin’s brain barely had time to process that it was an envelope before… “Wha--?” It was all Justin managed to get out before Brian’s lips sealed themselves to his and stole his breath. Justin allowed Brian to ravage his mouth and in the process to wipe away all memory of depression or giving up.

When Brian was done, Justin looked up at him dreamily, no longer a care on his mind, but with a little stupid smile on his face.

“How fast can you pack?” Brian asked.

“Depends on where we’re going.”

Instead of an answer, Brian thrust the envelope against Justin’s chest. Justin opened the flap and scanned the piece of paper. Two pieces of paper. “Martinique? That’s the Caribbean, right?”

Brian’s reply consisted of a pair of raised eyebrows and the following information, “Forecast highs for today are in the upper 80s. Not a cloud in the sky.”

“Today,” Justin mumbled and then grinned. “Five minutes,” he answered Brian’s initial question. He wouldn’t need too many clothes, he figured. And five minutes should be enough time to throw his toothbrush and shaving kit into a bag as well as a change of underwear. He was certain Brian had already taken care of the condoms and lube part of the packing.

“Good,” Brian said and pulled Justin towards him again. Justin’s arms wound around Brian’s body. “That leaves a good half hour to fuck.”

He reached behind him and extracted the tickets from Justin’s grip, placing them on the shelf next to the entrance door so they wouldn’t forget them later.

***

The one week getaway helped and Justin was almost tempted to admit that, at least sometimes, Brian knew better than him what he wanted or needed. When they parted ways again at the airport in New York, Justin promised to try to find his mojo again. And Brian in turn promised to visit more often to provide the sometimes lacking inspiration or, as he stated it, “Fuck the spirit back into you.”

The plan, however vague and unformed, worked. It took Justin a while to get back into painting the way he used to - where he would lose himself and paint for hours at a time, forgetting about technique and just getting all the emotions out on the canvas. Whenever his hand forced him to take a break, he managed to slip into something presentable and grab his portfolio to try to impress the shit out of any and all agencies and galleries in subway riding distance.


II.
With all his focus directed towards putting his art out there, it took Justin another year before he found a place that was willing to display his art. And even that was only a small gallery and a few pieces in a group show. But one was followed by another and another and slightly bigger and better known galleries and soon his combined earnings from the sale of his paintings and the side job bartending in a posh VIP club were enough to move into a place that Brian didn’t completely hate. He still claimed he would need to hide his face on the street when visiting lest his reputation would be damaged by being seen in this part of the city, should someone recognize him, but at least he didn’t insist anymore that Justin met him at a hotel.

“Are you gonna be there?” Justin asked excitedly.

“On moving day?” Brian asked back.

“Yeah.”

“Unless you hired some hot movers and need help ogling their asses, that’s a no. Surely you don’t expect me to carry boxes, Sunshine.”

Justin grinned. “No. But I might need help christening the new apartment.”

He waited as Brian breathed into the phone. Eventually, he replied non-commitally, “We’ll see.”

So, no, Justin hadn’t really been expecting Brian to help with the move. It was okay though; what little things he did own were quickly moved into the new place with the help of his friends and a few colleagues. So it did come as a small surprise when, in a gesture of previously undocumented consideration, Brian arrived at Justin’s door in the early evening. Justin suspected he had waited until even the last box and canvas was inside before ringing the doorbell. But his happiness at seeing Brian won and he didn’t actually care if Brian timed his entrance until after all the hard work was done. He especially didn’t mind that it was Brian at the door and not the delivery guy with his double order of Szechuan chicken.

Justin devoured Brian right in the doorway, as if he was his dinner and only let go of him when a discreet cough behind Brian’s back announced that they had an audience. Looking up he saw the delivery guy giving Brian an appreciative once-over and Justin quickly paid him before almost slamming the door in his face, grinning devilishly.

Picking up two forks from a still not unpacked box on the kitchen counter, he navigated between the mess of boxes and half-assembled furniture and went in search of Brian. Eating out of the carton, Justin followed Brian’s path which, unsurprisingly, had let him to the bedroom. Justin still couldn’t believe he had an apartment where he had rooms instead of areas.

“At least the bed is done,” Brian commented, referring to the jumble of shelves and screws and bolts in the living room.

“It was the first thing I put together,” Justin replied, munching on a piece of chicken.

“Good to know you have your priorities straight.”

Justin didn’t comment on it, instead pushed another fork loaded with rice and chicken into his mouth. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and asked, “How long can you stay?”

“Just tonight. Got an important pitch tomorrow afternoon,” Brian answered while rummaging through his travel bag. Justin only then noticed that Brian had brought a bag at all, he had been so focused on Brian actually being here, in his new apartment. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but Justin hadn’t been looking forward to spending his first night in this place alone. Having Brian here felt right, even if he was only staying for one night.

His eyes grew wide when Brian retrieved a bag with the Bed Bath & Beyond logo on it. “You went shopping at Bed Bath & Beyond?” Justin couldn’t help his voice rising an octave in disbelief at the end of the question.

“Please,” Brian sneered and then shrugged. “Paid Cynthia to do it.”

“But why?”

Brian pulled out several smaller boxes from the bag, all containing the same patterned bed linens. They were glossy white with an off-white stripe pattern. He started ripping open the packages while replying, “Because I’m not sleeping in this, whatever this is.” He motioned towards the bed’s sheets, an expression of disgust on his face.

“Those are perfectly fine linen and they’re freshly laundered,” Justin protested.

“You say potato...” Brian trailed off and started to change the freshly made bed.

Justin’s eyes lit up with reminiscent nostalgia when he saw the pillow covered in the blindingly white material. No longer hungry, or rather hungry for something else all of a sudden, he put down the container of food on one of the unopened boxes and advanced Brian. The man halted his motion however, throwing a sheet at him.

“Grab a corner and help me.”

Justin pouted but got to work, pulling off the old sheet and tugging the new one under the mattress’ corner. “You do realize that you’re taking the spontaneity out of fucking, don’t you?”

“This is 300 thread count, 100 percent pure cotton. Your knees will thank me once I’m done with you.”

Justin was instantly mollified. And horny as hell.

***

III.
It seemed that with Justin leaving Pittsburgh, Brian had become even more of a workaholic than before. In his more maudlin moments Justin liked to picture his absence having something to do with it, though it was probably more to the fact that with Michael, Ted, and Emmett all playing happy family with their respective partners, Brian’s enthusiasm to go out and get drunk every night just wasn’t the same anymore. And even though Justin had made quite a few good friends in New York, he wasn’t keen on spending all that much time partying, especially since he bartended in a night club 4 days out of the week. Also, he was now more than ever focused on his goal. He’d come to New York for a reason and he was not going back home a failure.

With both of them working constantly, it wasn’t easy finding time to spend together. Especially since it involved getting on a plane first. There were stretches of time where two or three whole months would go by before they would be able to see each other again. Personally, Justin thought his pain threshold was 10 weeks. It had now been closer to 15 and Justin was slowly but surely going crazy. They had managed to spend Christmas together with the family in Pittsburgh before coming to New York for New Year’s Celebrations. But ever since then every planned meeting had to be rescheduled due to some freaky snow storm and then cancelled because of some last minute business emergencies. Justin’s newly developed hate of snow storms as well as business emergencies was fierce and absolute.

His job in the club was demanding a lot of his time and energy, but he was slowly building a name for himself as an artist. Which was rewarding, of course, but all he could think about was Brian. Brian’s lips, Brian’s laugh, Brian’s smell, Brian’s cock. He felt a lot like the stalker that he was back when he was 17 and Brian was the center of his universe.

More often than not his nights now ended with him jerking off to images of Brian in his head while he replayed random voice messages Brian had left for him on his phone. It was pathetic and he knew it. But it seemed to take the edge off, even if only for a little while.

It was a random Wednesday in the middle of April, shortly after midnight, Justin had just returned from a shift in the club where he’d been sent home early because apparently he looked like shit and was mixing up orders on top of it. Justin would have been worried if he didn’t know that the manager completely loved him and Wednesday was a slow night anyway, so he wouldn’t be too sorely missed.

Still, the prospect of a full night’s sleep had invigorated him somewhat and he was just settling in for a drawn-out jackoff session when he heard a key in the apartment door.

He didn’t bother panicking with thoughts of possible burglars since they weren’t usually known to use a key. But he did jerk upright, because there was only one other person who had the key to his apartment.

He pulled up his boxer briefs and almost stumbled over his own feet in his haste. In the corridor outside his bedroom he came to a halt when his eyes landed on… “Brian?” he barely breathed, afraid to dispel the fata morgana.

“Surprise.” Brian’s voice was like a jolt to his nervous system, after hearing it only through phone speakers for too long. He sounded a little tired and absolutely perfect.

“Are you actually here?” Justin inquired, still dazed and unable to take his eyes off of Brian’s form. “Or is this some kind of fever dream? It if is, don’t wake me.” Then his feet propelled him forwards and he smashed into Brian full force. “Please,” he pleaded while at the same time pressing his lips against Brian’s. “Need this,” he mumbled, barely intelligible. He continued mauling Brian as his hands pushed the coat off of Brian’s shoulders, followed by the suit jacket and tie.

“Jesus Fuck,” Brian managed to get in, “someone’s desperate.” He immediately went back to leave bruising kisses on Justin’s neck that would definitely leave a mark.

“It’s really you,” Justin noted unnecessarily, coming up for air.

“It’s me.”

“How? I thought you were in…” Justin asked and let off of Brian to give him a chance to answer. His fingers meanwhile were unbuttoning Brian’s dress shirt.

“Chicago,” Brian replied. “Yeah, I was. The pitch went great, by the way, thanks for asking. I was sitting in the airport on my way back to the Pitts. Then heard the announcement for a boarding call to NYC. Went up to the counter, bought a ticket. And here I am.”

“Here you are,” Justin whispered and leaned forward to kiss a stripe down Brian’s now naked chest.

“Have to be back at work at 9. Ten at the latest.”

“Uh-huh.” Justin sank to his knees, tongue dancing around Brian’s navel while his hands were busy opening Brian’s belt and fly. “So, this gives us what? Six, seven hours?”

“Something like that,” Brian agreed and pushed his hands in Justin’s hair, pressing his face closer to where he needed it. Justin went along with it willingly, making happy noises.

“Better make the most of it then,” Justin said and rose back to his feet but not before leaving a lingering kiss on the tip of Brian’s now fully erect cock.

As he made his way back to the bedroom, he kicked aside some of Brian’s clothes that he’d had carelessly dropped when he was undressing Brian.

“Careful,” Brian admonished, “I didn’t bring a change.”

Justin turned around and smirked at him. “Don’t care. Want everybody to know that you’ve been thoroughly fucked last night when you get back on that plane.”

“Is that so?” Brian sneered a little, but underneath Justin could see the feral grin.

“Oh, yeah,” Justin groaned.

“Look at you, you’re already half-hard.”

“I had kind of started without you,” Justin admitted. “Actually, you interrupted a really good wank.”

“Wank?” Brian parroted. “How very British of you.”

Justin just shrugged, too horny to come up with a witty reply, eyes roving across Brian’s chest and long legs. God, he’d missed just looking at him.

Brian bent down to kiss him, one hand cupping the back of Justin’s head while the other produced a small velvet bag, not bigger than his palm, from out of nowhere. Both their lips still attached, he pushed Justin so he fell backwards on the bed and then crawled on top of him, straddling his thighs. Then he upended the little bag and out fell something Justin didn’t immediately recognize in the dim lighting. From his position on the bed it looked like a bow, made out of black leather. Understanding dawned seconds before Brian reached for his cock.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Justin cried out. “This is torture. Brian, I want to come. I wanted to come even before you showed up here.”

“Shh…” Brian didn’t seem to care as he quietly slipped the broader loop over Justin’s cock and balls and then fixed the thinner one around the base of Justin’s shaft. Justin whimpered. “How’s this?” he asked when he was done.

Justin glared at him. “Sadist.”

“Too tight?”

Justin glared some more but when he was only met by Brian’s amused stare, he settled down. “No, it’s okay. I think.” He looked down himself. His cock was nicely trussed up in the leather harness and was still filling, slowly turning a dark shade of purply red. Justin still wanted to come, badly, but at least he didn’t feel anymore like he would spontaneously combust the moment Brian touched him. It felt actually… quite nice. Though he would never admit it to Brian.

The bastard seemed to know anyway because his smirk only grew.

“Now,” Brian mused, “about that plan of yours. I believe you said something about making me look thoroughly fucked? You may begin now.”

With those words, he flipped them both over and Justin, having suddenly found himself on top of Brian, let out a surprised yell. It only took him a second to assess the situation. Eyes lighting up with possibilities and a wolfish grin on his face, he declared, “Gonna make you beg.” With that he bit not too gently into the fleshy part of Brian’s pecs.

Brian laughed darkly but the laugh was half smothered by a groan. “We’ll see about that.”

“Yeah, we will,” Justin promised.

***

IV.
Justin had promised himself and Brian that he would start planning his return home the day he signed the contract for his first show. The promise was made years before the event was even looming on the horizon. It was a normal Wednesday morning as Justin’s future slowly morphed into present time. After Justin stepped out onto the sidewalk again, the first thing he did was to pull out his cell phone and call Brian.

“Hey, what’s up?” Brian’s voice greeted him though the line.

“It’s Thursday, April 16.”

Brian was silent for a few seconds then slowly said, “What is?”

“My show,” Justin explained.

Again silence, though Justin thought he’d heard Brian release a breath. Then, “Your show? As in yours alone?”

“Yes!” The grin could be heard all the way over in Pittsburgh.

“I’m proud of you, Sunshine.” The words were spoken softly, quietly. Justin’s heart squeezed painfully. He wanted so much to feel Brian’s arms around him this very second.

“I’m kind of proud of me too,” Justin admitted. “I wish you were here.”

“I will be,” Brian promised.

“No, I mean right now.”

They both knew it was impossible. It was the middle of the week and Brian had been to New York for a visit only ten days before. There was simply no way he would be able to get away from work again so soon. They both knew it and remained quiet for a while, just breathing into the phone.

“So, you’ll be there?” Justin eventually asked, trying to break the silence and hoping for a positive answer.

“Told you so, didn’t I?”

“You haven’t even checked your calendar yet.”

“Don’t have to,” Brian replied. “Never too busy on such an important date.”

Justin rolled his eyes. He was way past the time where he wondered where on Brian’s list of priorities he stood, but he didn’t want Brian to blow off an important meeting for him either. And lately it seemed like Brian was constantly in some kind of important meeting. It was no secret that Kinnetik was doing well and he thought he’d heard Ted talking about an expansion the last time he’d been home for a visit. “We’ll see how important it’ll turn out to be once the critics had their go at me,” Justin said, for the first time voicing his doubts as the enormity of a single show made its way into his consciousness.

“Stop fishing for compliments, Sunshine. It’s unbecoming.”

“Just wanted to hear that I’m brilliant again,” Justin sheepishly gave back.

“You are... brilliantly lacking modesty.”

“Aren’t you the one running around, saying modesty is overrated?”

“Touché.”

Again silence descended upon them until Justin broke it one more time. “I miss you, Brian.”

This statement, however redundant or unnecessary, had slowly clawed its way into their phone talks until it became a fixed installment of every conversation. The more time passed, the more independent and successful Justin became, the more he wanted Brian and wasn’t as willing to live without him anymore. All that the years apart had managed to accomplish was to make it perfectly clear to him where his priorities lay.

***

As it turned out, Brian’s calendar had in fact been free on April, 16^th and as promised, not that there had been any doubt in Justin’s mind, he showed up on Justin’s doorstep the night before the event to keep him busy (with sex) to keep him from freaking out. After being thoroughly fucked through the mattress, twice, thank you very much, Justin finally drifted off to sleep and woke up to the delicious smell of coffee.

The sight of Brian shirtless in the kitchen, making breakfast – in Brian’s case ‘making breakfast’ consisted of opening the paper bags from the deli downstairs – made Justin long for home.

He came up behind Brian and slid his arms around Brian’s naked torso. Nuzzling into the skin of Brian’s back, he said, voice small, “You haven’t sold the house, right?”

The, ‘I wanna come home’ went unsaid but was clearly heard. Brian pulled on Justin’s arm to bring him face to face. He took hold of Justin’s chin and said, “You’re so close to what you’ve always wanted. Don’t give up now when you’re almost over the finish line.” He shook Justin gently to make his point.

It was on the tip of Justin’s tongue to say, ‘What I always wanted was you.’ But he refrained. There were still, and Justin suspected there would always be, things that would send Brian running for the hills. Better to keep them to himself. So he said instead, “No. I’m not close. I did it. I wanted a solo show. I wanted the art world to take notice. It’s done. I accomplished what I came here to do. The rest I can do from home.”

“So sure of your success,” Brian muttered fondly.

“I’m brilliant. You said so yourself.”

Brian laughed. “Alright, genius. Let’s make sure you’re dressed nicely for all the important people that’ll want to talk to you tonight.”

With that, he let go of Justin and disappeared in the bedroom where his travel bag was. A minute later he came back out carrying a flat, rectangular package. He thrust it at Justin, “Here, try it on.”

Justin unwrapped the store paper and pulled a beautiful sky blue shirt from the box.

“Silk,” Brian commented. He took the shirt from Justin and held it up to Justin’s frame. “I’d say it’s a perfect fit.”

Justin slipped it on and stood in front of the mirror in the hall. Brian was right – it fit perfectly, tight in all the right places and the color accentuated his eyes. Justin turned to Brian and slung his arms around him, going in for a thank you kiss.

“Careful,” Brian admonished and pulled away. “Don’t wanna crease it before tonight.”

***

The show was just as successful as Justin had hoped it would be. He’d been interviewed several times, saw the number of orange dots on his works, indicating the painting had sold, rise and had been introduced to so many people that he couldn’t remember a single one of them by name. Though the last one might have been due to the constant supply of alcohol courtesy of Brian. Whenever he found himself with an empty glass, Brian wasn’t far, pushing a new one into his hand. The wine was fantastic, but Justin was starting to feel tipsy.

The next time he was able to break free from schmoozing the critics, he sought out Brian who was studying one of his works. Brian looked up from the canvas and raised his glass in greeting as Justin approached. “This is good,” Brian said, motioning towards the painting. He sipped from his glass and then offered it to Justin.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Justin asked, leaning against Brian a little.

Brian chuckled. “Just celebrating, Sunshine. Not my fault you’re such a lightweight.”

Justin was quiet for a little while before speaking, quietly, “This is going good, isn’t it? I’m not just imagining it, right?”

Brian’s hand came up to Justin’s neck and he pulled him in for a quick, firm kiss. “It’s going great, but that’s not all we’re celebrating.”

Before Justin could question the cryptic remark he was once again whisked away by the gallery curator to meet some prospective buyer. He’d forgotten all about it until after he and Brian had come back to his apartment, celebrated some more horizontally, and then fell asleep.

***

When he woke up in the morning, Brian was gone. Justin groaned and remembered that Brian had an early flight back to the Pitts to make it to some undoubtedly yet another important meeting.

As he stood in front of the mirror, leaning heavily on the sink while brushing the taste of dead animal off his teeth, the highlights of last night swam to the forefront. He remembered cheering with Brian in the car on the way home; remembered toasting Brian when the gallery manager whispered in his ear that more than half of the paintings had sold; remembered Brian’s proud gaze. Everything about last night had been perfect and he was glad that he got to share it with Brian. Then the cogs in his brain slowly began to turn. The interrupted conversation. Brian had said something about celebrating more than the show, but Justin had no idea what he might have meant. He racked his brain for an explanation.

He stopped suddenly, staring at himself. With the toothbrush still in his mouth, he flatly told his reflection, “You’re an idiot.”

He had no way of checking for the year before but he was pretty certain he could find the day of his moving into the apartment on the lease agreement and then, needing to know that it wasn’t just a massive coincidence, pulled out the shoebox full of memorabilia from under the bed. Being the sap that he was, he had kept the flight tickets of his and Brian’s trip to Martinique – after all, it had been their first vacation together. And yes, there it was: April 16.

As far as he could tell, he had spent the last four April 16ths with Brian. He rummaged further through the shoebox and pulled out the brown silk paper envelope he was looking for. He lifted the flap and sat there for a while, staring at the invitation card.

“You really are an idiot!” he said again to the empty apartment. Brian had spent the last four years celebrating the anniversary of what would have been their wedding with him and Justin hadn’t even noticed. He banged his head lightly on the closet door. “Ouch,” he whined as his head reminded him of his hangover.

“Okay,” he mumbled, slightly panicked, “okay. No, I got it. I can fix this,” he vouched. He had one year to come up with the greatest gift ever.

As he sat there contemplating his options, his gaze fell to last night’s clothes, still strewn haphazardly around the bedroom. He reached for the shirt that Brian had given him and let it run over his fingers as he thought furiously. Suddenly, his gaze whipped back to the tickets still lying on the floor next to his shoebox of memories. He brushed a thumb over the paper as a suspicion overcame him. A quick google search on his phone confirmed it: First Year – Paper Anniversary. He read up on the other ones and laughed as he remembered the leather cockstrap.

Justin groaned, “Briiiiaaaan”. Meaningful and romantic; how was he going to compete with that? He sighed. “I fucking love you, Brian Kinney.”

“Alright,” he said decidedly. He couldn’t remember when exactly he’d picked up the habit of talking to himself, but he’d read somewhere once that it was a sign of creativity, so he didn’t really bother to stop. “First things first,” he said, grabbed his suitcase from the closet in the hall and began packing.


V.
April 16, 2010

Justin was nervous. He was pacing the floor of the entrance hall in Britin, waiting for the sound of Brian’s car. Cynthia had told him Brian had left Kinnetik over half an hour ago; he would be home any minute now. Justin didn’t know what plans Brian had for tonight and now and again his nerves convinced him that everything was just a huge fucking coincidence. That there was no grander scheme going on. That Brian wasn’t secretly celebrating the anniversary of a wedding that never happened. In those moments when the doubts got the best of Justin, he was almost wishing for it to be true. Because even after a year of excessive thinking, he hadn’t managed to come up with something that would even begin to make up for the fact that he’d been a complete and utterly ignorant asshole.

The sound of tires on gravel announced Brian’s arrival. Justin stopped pacing and sat heavily on the stairs facing the doorway.

The door opened and a slightly tired looking Brian stepped inside.

“Justin?” he asked in surprise at seeing him sitting on the bottom step. “Everything okay? What are you doing here?”

Justin looked up at Brian and his fluttery nerves disappeared as he understood something. This was their day. And it wasn’t about having the perfect present. It wasn’t about doing something special. And he had nothing to make up for. It was their day and the only thing that mattered was spending it together. Which was what Brian had managed to do for the last 5 years. Justin smiled a real, relaxed smile. “Nothing. Just waiting for you.”

“Okay,” Brian replied, still sounding a little suspicious.

“I finished the painting.” He’d had lots of nervous energy all day that needed channeling.

“The one for the bedroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see?” Brian asked in that reserved I-am-actually-excited-but-don't-want-to-show-it kind of way.

Justin laughed, happy and free. “Of course. I would have put it up already, as a surprise. But it’s not dry yet. Also, kind of heavy.”

Brian put down his briefcase next to the stairs and took Justin’s outstretched hand, tugging him to his feet. The propelling force brought Justin’s face to his and Justin kissed him briefly. “Hi,” he said close to his mouth.

“Hi,” Brian breathed back.

Together they went out the backdoor and to the building outside that once used to be the stables and was now Justin’s studio.

***

Hours later, after they had a light dinner which they ate on the sofa in front of the TV, Justin was waiting for Brian in their bed.

Brian killed the light in the ensuite bathroom and stretched out beside Justin on the bed. They looked at each other for a moment, both on their sides, head propped up on one elbow. Brian pushed aside the blanket and rested his palm on Justin’s shoulder for a moment before letting it slowly stroke over Justin’s chest. The gesture was always a sure sign that Brian wanted a slow and languorous fuck tonight. Justin was more than ready to comply. He let himself fall backwards and Brian followed the movement, slipping on top of his smaller frame.

Sighing, Justin relaxed into the mattress and closed his eyes, enjoying Brian’s unhurried, explorative touch. When Brian’s mouth descended to follow the path of his hand, the hair on top of his head tickled Justin’s chin. He pushed his fingers into Brian’s thick strands and with both hands lifted his head to look him in the eyes. They stared quietly at each other before Brian moved to kiss him once on the lips and slid lower again to lick at his nipples.

Justin groaned in the back of his throat and tugged on Brian’s hair in pleasure.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, Brian was kissing the inside of his thigh by then, when he suddenly stopped and grinned lopsidedly and somewhat excitedly. He reached over the bed to the drawer of the night table and produced a tiny rectangular box. For a tiny moment Justin thought it was a ring box, but then realized the box was too flat.

Brian pushed it at him with an almost sheepish grin. “For you,” he said.

With a quizzical expression, Justin reached for it and ripped away the black bow, producing… “A condom?”

For a tiny second Justin was of half a mind to get angry. After all, they had stopped using condoms shortly after he’d moved back home. And Brian producing one now could only mean that something happened that necessitated them going back to condoms. Right? Only, Brian didn’t look guilty or even bothered at all at Justin’s reaction. He actually looked amused.

“I don’t get it,” Justin said.

Brian chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a bit of an inside joke.”

“The anniversary kind of joke?” he asked a stunned looking Brian.

Brian paused before answering, “When did you figure it out?”

“Too late,” Justin replied, some of his own guilt stealing back into his voice. “Last year. After you were gone.”

As if reading his mind, Brian said, “It was just a bit of fun I had by myself. Don’t make it into anything more.”

“Like a romantic gesture?” Justin joked.

“Only you would see romance in a condom. An expired one, too, by the way.” Brian pointed at the foil package still in Justin’s hand.

Justin looked closer at the packaging. It was true; the expiration date was some months ago. “Why are you giving me an expired condom? Why a condom at all? I don’t get it.”

“Well,” Brian answered, looking uncomfortable. “As I said, it was kind of a joke. Needed something to keep up with the theme and that was all I could come up with for rubber. And I wasn’t going to buy a whole new box since we don’t really need them anymore, right? So I went through the drawers, looking for a stray old one. And voilà.”

“Rubber?” Justin repeated.

“Yeah.”

“But…” Justin scratched his head. “The fifth is wood.” He stared at Brian, completely lost. Then he reached over too, opened a different drawer in the same night stand and produced a box of his own. A bigger, longer package, that he held out for Brian. “That’s why I got you this,” he explained.

It was Brian’s turn now to open a present. When the packaging was stripped away, Brian laughed out loud. “A literal woody.” He held up the shiny, beautiful dildo, carved from dark rich mahogany. “Where did you find this?” Brian wondered, turning the sex toy over and over in his hands.

“Custom order,” Justin replied. “I still don’t get the condom.”

Brian sighed but then settled back to explain. “On this website where I looked up all the anniversary meanings, it says that for the fifth anniversary they differentiate between couples with children – where the traditional gift is something made out of wood.” He waved the wooden dildo around as sign of proof. “But it also says for couples without children, the symbol of the five year anniversary is rubber.”

“Hence the condom.”

“Hence the condom,” Brian repeated.

“You’re such a dork,” Justin exclaimed and slapped Brian on the chest.

“Shut the fuck up,” Brian replied. Next he grabbed Justin’s hands and pulled them both over Justin’s head, holding the wrists as he went back to licking and biting at his nipples.

Justin laughed and gasped at the same time, sing-songing, “You love me. You love me soooo much.”

“Shut up or I’m gonna use this on you,” Brian warned, adjusted his grip on Justin’s wrist to hold them with one hand only and brandished the wooden dildo threateningly in front of Justin’s face.

Justin, never to back down from a challenge, taunted, “You love m… Hmfph.”