Disclaimer: “Queer As Folk,” the characters and situations depicted are the property of Showtime, Cowlip Productions, Tony Jonas Productions, Temple Street Productions Limited, Warner Television, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This story is in no way affiliated with "Queer As Folk,” Showtime, or any representatives of Gale Harold or Randy Harrison. This story contains content between two mature, consenting adult males.
Author's Notes: Written in approximately 2 1/2 hrs [with an hour or so gap in between] while waiting for Shatterpath to do her tours at Qwest Field before we headed to Portland for a much-deserved mini-vacation. The first 1462 words were written in 1 hr 15 min. The remaining 1237 words were written in approx. another 1 hr 15 min.
Author's Notes II: Written for faile02, who asked for "Queer as Folk, Brian/Justin, Pre-Season 5, with lots of hot man-sex" over here. This is the first time I've written these particular muses…and it was certainly quite interesting. Dunno if I'll ever write them again, but this was certainly amusing…
“Vive le Roi”
by A. Magiluna Stormwriter
“Do you have any idea how infuriating you can be?”
The question startled me out of my reverie. I forced my eyes and mind to focus, not on the computer in front of me, but on his face. I felt the scowl on my face, but did nothing to remove or change it. He knew better than to interrupt me when I was working. I’d had more than enough fits and starts in getting back into the swing of things as I’d been healing. And working with the computer was even harder than I’d expected. The minutely nuanced complexities of texturing shadow and light were entirely changed when working with this electronic medium as opposed to my old preferred manual methods.
“I guess not,” I replied, showing more teeth than smile. Okay, so perhaps it was a bit harder slice of sarcasm to my tone than absolutely necessary. But fuck, Brian wanted me to get back into drawing again, spent all this money on me, and yet he kept interrupting me. Fucker! “So are you going to enlighten me on what I’ve done this time to be so infuriating?”
“Well, you’re ignoring me, for starters.”
Ah, the patented Brian Kinney drama queen petulantly scathing tone. I sighed and clicked the mouse to save my progress. I could already tell I wouldn’t be finishing this piece any time soon. I made quite a show of closing down the computer, utterly silently of course. And when I was done, I turned a patiently annoyed gaze on him.
“Well, now I’m not. And what should I do as penance for insulting the great Brian fucking Kinney?”
He narrowed his eyes at that and I barely bit back the smirk of satisfaction. If he wanted to start something, he’d damned well better be prepared to see it through. And it was clear he hadn’t expected my reaction. Another obvious sign that he still wasn’t seeing me as an adult, an equal partner in this…whatever it was we had.
That made me chuckle. It still amused me just how easily I could yank his chain and pull down his carefully constructed walls of King Brian-ness. I stood and deliberately took a long cat-like stretch, working the kinks out of my back. I still hadn’t gotten used to the different ways I had to manipulate my body to be able to continue drawing. A small part of me wondered if I ever would.
“You know there are better ways to ask me for sex, Brian. But this certainly has been a new, albeit lowbrow, approach. Oh, I know. How about I strip and crawl over to prostrate myself at your feet? Worship you for the god-king you think you are?”
The glint of amused arousal flickered in his dark eyes. How he managed to bite back that patented Kinney smirk of satisfaction still amazed me sometimes. But it also showed me exactly what he wanted.
“If I wanted that, I’d go down to the backroom of Babylon. There are more than enough pretty little pieces of ass wanting to be notches added to my belt.”
“And yet you’re still here. Pretty telling, Brian. Sounds to me like you’re losing your edge. Age finally catching up with you?”
I didn’t hide my enjoyment at his reaction to that. Why the fuck should I? It wasn’t like he hadn’t used our age difference on enough occasions in the beginning in an attempt to keep me away. And so now I’d use it, too. Reverse psychology always was a wonderful way to motivate someone else.
“You know, I don’t have to keep you around here.”
“That’s right. You have all those pretty little pieces of ass to take my place. I bet they’re just lining up outside the door right now, aren’t they? Oh wait, they’re all down at Babylon, anxiously awaiting the return of fucking King Brian. What would you say if I told you all those pretty little pieces of ass are only interested in you because they want to brag that they’ve bagged the old man?”
There was a shimmer of pain, so quickly flitting across his expression, I’d almost missed it. Nice one, Justin. Way to go, pissing him off. Brian narrowed his eyes again, calculating his next move. And for once, I was willing to withstand anything he threw my way. I deserved it, but I knew he wouldn’t accept the apology for what it was. Because of what it was.
“Nobody ‘bags’ Brian Kinney. Brian Kinney bags who he wants, when he wants, and how he wants. Got that?”
I ducked my head, grinning broadly. He wasn’t as angry as I’d feared. I made an exaggerated display of stretching again and turned as if to return to my artwork. If he wanted to fuck me, he’d have to make all the moves now. It was the only way to keep his dignity intact…and still get what he wanted in the first place. Opening up the programs again, I didn’t open my previous piece. Instead I opened a new file and began a quick, rough sketch to flesh out.
Within moments, I could feel Brian’s presence just behind me. Felt his eyes alternately boring into the back of my skull and watching the image appearing on the monitor. If he wanted to play the silent voyeur, I’d give him something to watch. Something that would make him so hard, it hurt to breathe. And then he’d have to give in to his baser needs and stake his claim on me once again. And if it ruined the piece? No problem. I could always make another one.
I kept the piece tasteful, always thinking of what might sell. But I also made no bones about what it was all about. Or more to the point who it was all about. It wasn’t quite as perfect as I’d have preferred, but I’d obviously been pushing myself too hard, too far lately. My hand was killing me, but I wasn’t about to give in and admit defeat to Brian fucking Kinney. Not yet anyway.
I found myself getting drawn into the scene unfolding on the monitor in front of me. Could I help it that it was one of my personal fantasies? Perhaps that was one of the reasons I was so willing to push my exhausted hand to well past its tolerance levels. When Brian’s hand stroked heavily down my spine, I swallowed roughly and did my best to continue. I’d finish this piece if it killed me.
And when he snaked said hand around my hips to glide up my stomach to flick at my traitorous nipples? I nearly bit through my lower lip. But I pretended to ignore him, did my best to focus on my work. Even as he moved closer, and I could feel the heat of him so close to my own body. And still my hand worked steadily on transferring my fantasy into this 2D medium of line and curve, light and dark, sensual and carnal. I’d be in some serious pain when I finally stopped, but it would be more than worth it, in so very many ways. Each line, each crosshatch, each layer of color shaded and blended, brought my fantasy to life before us. Not to mention my growing arousal. No, this wasn’t going to be a piece for sale. This would remain in the private collection. I could feel it already.
I thought I’d been doing a commendable job of “ignoring” Brian and his ever-increasingly wandering hands. The telltale low hiss of his breathing was loud in my ears, his humming vibrating against my neck as I tilted my head to the side for his benefit. It wasn’t until his hands worked their way into my jeans that I truly realized I was getting more and more distracted. I forced myself to speed up, a quick attempt to finish the preliminary piece before I gave in to his libido…and mine.
It was a short battle that I lost. Wholeheartedly and cocksure. I quickly saved my work, smirking at Brian’s snort of amusement when I saved the piece as “King and Vassal, preliminary.” Making another grand show of shutting down the program, I was startled when Brian’s hand left my cock to squeeze my wrist.
“Leave it open,” he murmured huskily and bit down on the side of my neck.
I was unable to speak for a long moment, barely able to remember how to nod in acquiescence. I let Brian pull me back against his body, groaning softly when the bulge of his cock pressed against my spine. It took a moment get my body to respond to my brain’s sex-added commands, but I got myself turned around and facing Brian finally. He quirked a brow, such an arrogantly regal look, but didn’t push me.
I grinned, licking my lips, and quickly worked his cock out of his jeans. The man oozed sex in practically anything he wore…and in the natural glory of his own skin. The king of his domain. There was a last rational thought to remind myself that I needed to actually talk Brian into letting me sketch him for one of my pieces. And then my lizard brain took over.
My fingers stroked and circled around the shaft, sensitizing, teasing, forcing more of those sensual groans and huffed exhalations that turned me on. By the time I sucked the tip between my lips, he’d practically had a stranglehold on my skull. Teeth and tongue replaced fingers and palm in teasing and exciting my lover until he was incoherent with his need. The stranglehold mutated until he could find the right grip to keep me still, snapping his hips as he fucked my mouth. I kept up the steady pressure of my tongue along the underside of his cock, encouraging him with muffled groans and moans.
My previously aching hand found renewed vigor in jerking my own meat, unconsciously matching his rhythm. I forced myself to slow down and grab onto his hips, bank the coals of my own orgasm, so that Brian could have what he wanted. I knew damned well this was only round one, and I wanted to make sure he got what he’d craved so desperately he felt the need to interrupt my rehabilitation in order to get. It was with a victorious grin that I swallowed his release, shout and all.
“You’re a crafty little bastard, you know that?”
His voice, when he was finally able to speak relatively normally, was heavily laced with the unspoken command that more was to come. I simply grinned and met his gaze, lewdly licking my lips. He pulled me up roughly and kissed me with a thoroughness that spoke of wanting to reclaim what I’d “taken” from him. Too bad for him I wasn’t that willing to give it up once it was mine. The sensation of his denim-clad thigh rubbing against my still-aching cock brought a groan bubbling up from the depth of my gut. He said nothing, simply quirked that regally arrogant brow again and pushed me toward the couch.
Was that really my voice sounding so damned calm and controlled? Because no, I was feeling far from it. I wanted nothing more than to let him have his way with me, be that wide-eyed jadedly innocent boy who first “seduced” Brian Kinney into fucking him. And yet here I was, defying him anyway. He narrowed his eyes at me in mild annoyance before being drawn back to the image I’d so hastily drawn on the computer. My own eyes followed his, really seeing what I’d drawn for the first time. The raw sensuality stole my breath away. Suddenly, I couldn’t get out of my clothes fast enough. My skin was on fire and suffocating for his healing touch.
When he finally turned to face me again, the annoyance had morphed into a carnal possessiveness that had my skin literally crawling with anticipation. I started to stumble toward the bed, but stopped at the sharp bark of negation. Blinking owlishly at him, completely in his thrall, I trembled as I waited for his next command. He took his time removing his own clothes, tossing them with the casual ease of someone used to getting his own way.
Sauntering past me, Brian paused long enough to stroke a hand down my chest to wrap tightly around my cock, squeezing almost painfully tightly around the base. It was enough of a reminder of who and where I was to let me settle back into myself for a moment. I watched with hunger as he headed into the bedroom and brought back a shiny little mound of lube in one palm, a bath sheet draped over his shoulders like a fucking cloak. Removing the Egyptian cotton from around his shoulders, he tossed it toward the couch. Without a second thought, I spread it out across the leather and quirked a brow at him as I stretched out across it.
He slowly stroked his cock until it glistened before kneeling between my spread legs. He flung one up over the back of the couch and pressed in two fingers deeply, seeking out my prostate. Fucker knew how close I was and was making it worse. Why didn’t he just fuck me and let me admit defeat?
Because he was Brian fucking Kinney. That’s why. Everything was an event with him. And I followed along willingly, didn’t I?
Squeezing my cock tightly again to get my attention back on him, Brian smirked at my groan. He gripped my hips tightly and pushed his way into my ass, cock grazing maddeningly slowly across my prostate.
Oh, that was me, wasn’t it? Must have been, since Brian was chuckling huskily and pulling my leg up over his shoulder. He gripped one hip tightly for leverage and leaned in to plunder my mouth with his tongue again. I squeezed my eyes shut against the sensations of his stomach rubbing lewdly against my aching cock as he fucked me. And as his other hand wrapped around my cock, I arched up against him and began babbling at him. I didn’t know what I was saying, or that it was coming out in anything even remotely resembling English. All I knew was that it was an intensity building beneath my skin like a tsunami. And I didn’t want it to end until I came hard enough to pass out.
I felt Brian shifting my body, a new angle that sent all the blood in my body straight into my straining cock as each deep, rough thrust had his cock practically punching my prostate. And his hand certainly wasn’t idle with my cock either.
“This isn’t an endurance race, you little fucker. Just come, for god’s sake! You know you want to.”
There was a perverse little part of my rational brain that refused to shut down, and it wanted me to hold out inhumanly long against this erotic onslaught. Thankfully, my lizard brain shut that little idea down as I came with a loud howl. My body bucked and struggled under Brian’s, wanting to reject him and suck him in deeper simultaneously. It was almost as if I was sucking him in so I could toss him back out as I came and came and came.
I lost all track of time, as clichéd as that might sound. When I was honestly aware of my surroundings again, Brian was stretched out half underneath me, and halfway through a cigarette. What the fuck? When did that happen?
“You know? Mel Brooks was right.”
I stared at him, completely unable to comprehend what he was saying. He chuckled and offered me the cigarette, and I willingly took a long drag to enjoy the rush of what my brain finally registered was actually some pretty fucking good weed. He let the moment spin out a little longer, taking another long drag, then another, and another. When he finally met my eyes, I could see a lazy satiation shining through.
“It’s good to be the king.”