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Liberty Diner – The Day Before Valentine's Day – Justin's POV
I can't help smiling a little as I idly swish my straw around my glass of orange juice, listening to the typical chattering of my friends surrounding me. Even though the diner is less crowded than usual for early morning, the gang always chooses the same area in which to sit, and in the same 'pecking' order: Brian and I sitting side-by-side across from Michael and Ben, Emmett and Ted directly behind us. Why they never sit across from us, so we don't have to strain our necks to see each other as we converse, I'll never know. Perhaps it seems more like eavesdropping to Em, or some clandestine plot we're hatching as we prattle back and forth. This time, the conversation, predictably enough, centers around one of the most dreaded of holidays for my partner. Anything even remotely akin to 'romance' makes his skin crawl (or so he always claims), and Valentine's Day, of course, is the epitome of that. Contrary to what he tells everyone, however, I can personally attest to the fact that mentioning romance – at least at the loft – does not make his dick soft. Well, as long as I'm paying personal attention to it, anyway.
I tune back into the conversation buzzing around me as I feel Brian bump my shoulder. I look over at him, grinning as he rolls his eyes while Michael drones on about some mountain lodge he and Ben are traveling to for the weekend. With Valentine's Day this Friday, it makes for the perfect excuse for them to make it a three-day weekend to mark the holiday. Emmett is planning to head to Babylon for "Hard Heart" night (whatever that is), and Ted enthusiastically describes the guy he met at the music store down on Church Street who has agreed to accompany him Friday night to the Pittsburgh Opera House to see something by Puccini.
I watch with a knowing smile as Brian tries to sneak a bite of my syrup-soaked pancakes while I wasn't looking, stabbing it with his fork and eating it when he thought I hadn't noticed. Even if my peripheral vision wasn't as strong as it is, however, I didn't have to look to know what he is doing. I mimic his action, taking a bite of my pancake and swishing it around in the butter and syrup before putting it in my mouth and – making sure Brian is looking – slide the fork back out in an agonizingly slow fashion as I peer over mischievously at him, reaching with my free hand to give his hardening cock a squeeze. He's so easy. Narrowing his eyes at me as I grin, he reaches over and bestows a sweet-tasting kiss on my lips, using his tongue to swipe across my mouth for good measure, before he places his fork back down. Taking one last swig of his coffee, he wipes his mouth with his napkin before announcing, "Well, boys, I'm off. Unlike some of you, the boss gets his panties in a knot if his employees are late." Brian looks pointedly over at Ted as he squeezes my hand under the table and then stands up.
"Yes, he does," Ted agreed, shaking his head as Brian smirks. "Coming." We all look at him as he flushes. "You know what I mean," he mumbles as we can't help snickering.
"Well, the rest of you can continue to discuss your disgustingly saccharine plans for Friday after I leave."
With one last peck of my lips and an "I'll see you tonight," Brian plunks down a twenty and heads toward the door with Ted scuttering along right behind him. I exhale a deep breath as I turn to finish my triple stack of pancakes and sausage links, Em scooting out of his booth to sit down beside me. As I raise my fork to place another bite in my mouth, I notice the conversation has come to a standstill as everyone looks at me. "What?" I ask, looking down at my Henley shirt. "Did I get syrup on my shirt?"
Emmett shakes his head with a tender smile. "No, Baby. It's not that. It's just…"
"What?" I wonder as he hesitates.
Michael takes over then as he asks pointedly, "Don't you get tired of it?"
I frown. "Tired of what?"
He sighs heavily at me as if I were dense. "Come on, Justin! Brian? Valentine's Day? Need I say more?"
"Michael…" Ben warns as he grasps his lover's wrist. "It's none of our business."
I roll my eyes; it's not like I don't realize what he's implying. "Michael, I've been with Brian for years now. I know what he does or doesn't do." I shrug. "It's fine. Not everyone is caught up in that shit." I take a few more bites of my pancakes before I nudge Em to silently slide out of the booth, so I can pay up and leave. "Got to go," I explain. "Late for class."
"Why didn't Brian at least offer to take you?" Michael pipes up as I turn to leave. I swing my portfolio over my shoulder as I turn to address him. "Maybe because I'm a grown man, Michael. It's way out of his way, and I know how to take the bus." Sheesh. I shake my head as I place my part of the tab down on the table. "See you guys later," I reply as I head toward the door, practically hearing the whispers behind my back that I know I can't really hear. Poor kid. He'll never get any attention out of Brian on Valentine's Day. If he's waiting for any kind of romantic gesture from HIM, he'll be old and gray before that ever happens. Etc., Etc. I nod a farewell at Kiki as I push the door open and head outside toward the bus stop, my frosty breath wafting in the air. My phone vibrates to indicate a text coming in as I pause to reach in my pocket and retrieve it.
Did you remember your project for school?
I smile before punching in my reply.
Yes, Dad. Did you remember to take the foam boards for the Jacobson account with you this morning? I know your memory isn't what it used to be.
Smartass. You're running late for school now, aren't you? Why didn't you let me take you?
I laugh softly and grin as – head down – I proceed to slowly walk toward my destination. I can take care of myself. And you can 'take me' when you get home…over and over and over again. I smirk, envisioning Brian squirming in his Jeep over the image that has no doubt appeared in his mind now.
Asshole. Last class at 3?
Yeah.
I'll pick u up around 4, then.
I frown. Brian almost never leaves work until after 6 – and that's early for him. Why?
Because I can. Do you want a ride or not? I know how luxurious those seats are on the bus.
I shrug my shoulders as I hitch my portfolio higher. Okay, I'll miss the fake Naugahyde vinyl, but I'll try to make do. Thanks.
By the fountain. Later.
Later, I automatically respond as I reach the bus stop, joining the group lined up to enter as the Metro slows to a halt.
Four O'clock, PIFA…
My heart automatically quickens as I see Brian's Jeep idling at the curb as I approach; it's always that way, no matter how many times I see him. He smiles at me behind his aviator glasses, making me think of another time when he had *almost* expressed something romantic – that he had missed me when he had gone on his supposed trip to Ibiza. Although I will always be sorry for the reason why he had to lie about that time, I'll never forget that admission – or the way he convinced me afterward. I grin as I open the door and reach for the handle to swing myself into the passenger seat.
"Hey," I greet him as he leans over with the intention of kissing me. Wanting to see the familiar, hazel eyes I have become accustomed to and adore first, however, I place my fingers across his lips before using my other hand to pull his glasses off.
He smirks, knowing exactly what I'm doing. "Better?"
"Much. Better than looking at me kissing myself."
Tongue firmly in check, he appears surprised. "You can do that? And they call me self-centered."
I laugh softly. "Remember, I'm ambidextrous."
He grabs the back of my head and moves to kiss me; just before he does, however, he stops to gaze directly into my eyes as if he's hesitating – giving me a sense of déjà vu – before he presses his lips firmly to mine, poking his tongue out to encourage me to deepen the kiss. A few minutes later, both of us panting softly, I pull back and crinkle my nose and sniff. "Oh, shit! Is that what I think it is?" I begin to frantically look around the interior of the Jeep as Brian snorts.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sunshine."
"Oh, yes, you do!" He squirms as I quickly unfasten his seatbelt and begin to frisk him for the evidence, making him laugh when I touch the areas around his waist where I know he's ticklish. "Where is it?" I demand. "Tell me, or I'll have to resort to more drastic measures like withholding sex."
Brian appears horrified before he gives me a lopsided grin. "A fate worse than death," he agrees. I ignore him as I turn to look in the back seat, providing Brian with the prefect opportunity to smack me on my ass. "Hey!" I call out, indignant. But I can't help laughing at the same time over the absurdity of it all. "Stop that! I'm concentrating here."
"So am I," I hear. "I'm just admiring the view." I continue to poke around in the back, finally admitting defeat with a heavy sign as I hear Brian say, "Look under my seat."
Turning around, I eagerly push his long legs apart as I spy what I'm looking for: a white paper bag with "Gino's Bakery" written in green, script letters, a name I know all too well. Daphne had turned me onto their famous cherry fritters piped with icing about a year ago, and ever since then I have become obsessed with them, perhaps because they only make them available twice a year – around Christmas and Valentine's Day. "I knew it!" I shout triumphantly as I grasp the bag in my hand and pull it out. I start to raise myself back up to return to my seat, when a hand on top of my head gently but firmly stops me.
"Uh, uh, uh, Sunshine," Brian admonishes me. "Don't I at least get a thank you?"
I lift my eyes to peer up at his. "Uh…thank you?" He gives me an 'oh, really?' sort of look as I grin back at him impishly.
"Ohh…" I pretend to feign realization as I carefully place the paper bag back under the seat for safekeeping just long enough to tug at the zipper of Brian's pants; reaching inside, I pull out his warm, hard cock and proceed to properly show my gratitude.
A few minutes later, I am happily munching on my first of a half-dozen fritters, moaning as the cream cheese and tartness of the cherries hit my mouth. Hmm…Brian's cum and the fritters together are a delicious combination, I decide. I lick the icing off my fingers, noticing Brian's eyes darting back and forth between me and the road. He reaches into the console between us to hand me a wet nap as I wipe my sticky fingers with it.
"How did I wind up getting so lucky?" I ask him. He starts to make what I know will be a snide comment before I clarify, "With the fritters, I mean, Brian."
He shrugs nonchalantly. "I happen to have had a client lunch near that area earlier today and stopped in to get them," he explains. "No big deal."
I frown. "But I thought you told me last night that you would be meeting some client on the other side of town, not near the bakery."
Brian clears his throat and tugs at the tie around his neck before he puts the Jeep into gear and begins to pull out into traffic. He shakes his head as he looks straight ahead at the road. "You must have misunderstood me."
I peer over at him – his glasses firmly back in place, making me unable to meet his eyes – but I didn't have to. I knew what I had heard. "Yeah…I must have."
Next Day – Valentine's Day
I lie in bed, snuggling deeper into the thick, soft mattress, sighing a little as I remember Brian had to leave earlier for yet another business appointment. I always feel a profound loss when he isn't there as I wake up, but our schedules sometimes dictate that we can't always relish in that experience. Yes, the sex after we both awaken – or as one of us initiates it to wake the other up – is always fantastic. In fact, it's my favorite wake-up call and much better than an alarm clock. But I also savor the moments when I wake up first and feel Brian's arms settled around me in slumber or his body pressed up against mine, his breath ghosting over my skin, warm and soft. I remember that first day after we met, when I had awakened first and just gazed at the amazing man lying next to me. It is still my guilty pleasure even now after all this time – watching Brian sleep, his face looking peaceful like he doesn't have all the responsibilities that he carries on his shoulders. I reach over and grab his pillow, deeply breathing in his scent for a few moments, before – with another sigh – I reluctantly push back the covers and rise from the bed.
Freshly showered a few minutes later and now wearing a pair of briefs and well-worn chinos, I turn to the walk-in closet to find a shirt, unable to keep smirking over the fashion queen who owns a good 7/8ths of what is contained in it. I shrug. After all, it IS his loft, and while they say, 'clothes make the man,' I couldn't care less about ridiculously expensive designer clothes. Brian's favorite word may be 'Armani,' but mine is just 'comfort.' I idly rake through what little shirts I have hanging in the closet, when I come upon an item I don't remember seeing before. It's a soft-blue, long-sleeved tee-shirt with a round neck, and still has the tag on its sleeve. I reach to feel the fabric it's made of and notice how soft it is. It's definitely not something I own, but it's not Brian's size, either. Besides, he wouldn't be caught dead in such a pastel color. I gasp softly as I notice the price on the tag, and then reality hits me like a hurricane. When did he do this? I turn the tag over and written in Brian's bold script are the words, "For once, close your mouth and slip it on. You can open your mouth for ME later." I sheepishly close my mouth, which had flung open as soon as I had registered how much money this one piece of clothing had cost him. I know with Brian the amount is miniscule compared to what he regularly spends looking as sexy and confident as he does (well, he doesn't look too shabby without clothes, either). But to me, it was more like a month's worth of working full-time at the diner.
Coming out of my musing, I locate a pair of scissors to gently remove the tag from the garment and slip it on, unable to keep from smoothing it down my torso and relishing how good it feels against my skin. I have to admit – it does fit perfectly. And it contrasts nicely with my skin tone. It was an outrageously expensive shirt, but at least it wasn't so flashy that others at the school would know just how much it had cost. Thoughts of paint splotches on it almost makes me take it off. But for whatever reason Brian bought it, I couldn't do his generosity justice by leaving it in the closet, and it felt so amazing that I couldn't bear to part with it.
On the bus travelling to school, I try to call Brian's personal extension, but reach Cynthia, instead, who confirms what I had heard earlier – that Brian will be busy most of the day with back-to-back ad campaigns. Even though I can't decide if the shirt I'm wearing could – heaven forbid – be considered a 'Valentine's Day' gift, I still feel obligated to do something nice for Brian in return.
So, I stop after school – happy that I managed to avoid any stains on my new shirt – at a market near Brian's loft to pick up ingredients for a home-cooked meal. It didn't cost a lot, and I wouldn't dare say I'm doing it for Valentine's Day to his face, but I wanted to do something to express my thanks for his thoughtfulness. Besides, it wasn't that unusual for me to cook for him; I enjoyed it, in fact. It was almost like making art, except with food instead of paint.
As I walk up to the loft building – portfolio slung over my shoulder and my hands grasping the heavy paper bag – I smile with delight as Brian's Jeep pulls up at the curb. He's home early again – two days in a row. I blush as I realize Brian can no doubt see my new shirt though the peacoat I'm wearing unzipped, but fortunately he doesn't acknowledge it. "What the fuck, Justin? Give me that."
I move to protest, but Brian firmly takes it from my arms before I can utter a word. How he got out of the vehicle so quickly, I can't say. It reminds me of how swiftly he can remove my clothing, too, in the throes of passion if he's determined – and horny – enough. I huff as he tells me to 'stop bitching and open the damn door.' I do as I'm told, holding it open with my foot as Brian walks in ahead of me and we head toward the elevator. Once I've pulled the outer door open and the elevator car slowly begins its ascent, Brian finally takes a moment to peer over at me. I can hear his breathing come out slightly ragged as he asks, "What is IN this bag? Cement?" My face warms over his intense scrutiny as he seems to notice for the first time what is peeking out of my coat. "Nice shirt," he observes. "Looks hot on you. Is it new?"
I blush at the compliment before replying nonchalantly, "Yeah. Feels fantastic against my skin, too. Funny thing is, I don't remember ever buying it."
I ponder whether to say anything further, but Brian's need to change the subject is obvious as he reminds me, "You didn't answer my question." He cocks his head toward the bag.
"Oh. Just groceries," I reply as I swing the door open on Brian's floor and walk over to the loft. I Punching in the code, I swing the door open so Brian can step inside. With a grunt, he sighs in relief as the heavy bag is deposited onto the kitchen island.
"I'm going to go change," he announces as he loosens his tie. "Care to join me?" He waggles his eyebrows at me, making me laugh.
"As tempting an offer as that is, I think I'll pass this time, Groucho," I respond. "I'm going to fix you dinner." I didn't dare say for Valentine's Day. I didn't get high marks in school for nothing.
Brian's mouth hangs open slightly as if he is almost offended. "Dinner?" I nod with a grin as he shrugs. "Suit yourself." He turns to head toward the bedroom, pulling his tie off and shrugging out of his suit jacket. "Don't get any shit on that shirt." I open my mouth to respond with a much-deserved "a-ha! Gotcha!" But he interrupts me. "I mean, you'll never get a stain out of that," he explains.
"Uh, huh," I answer as I start to gather the ingredients I need for our meal. Not a special meal that a lover might make for another on such a romantic occasion; just a couple of sirloin steaks, a tossed salad, steamed broccoli, and baby carrots sweetened with a little brown sugar. No carbs. Not even a hint of anything red or heart-shaped; not even a candle on the table once I'm done. Because I know that Brian Kinney doesn't do romance. But I do know that he does love.