caligula would have blushed (likeaglass) wrote,
caligula would have blushed

Fic: Like the Sunshine, QAF US, Brian/Michael

Title: Like the Sunshine
Author: likeaglass
Fandom/Pairing: QAF US; Brian/Michael
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Everybody's gotta learn sometime.

I need your lovin' like the sunshine
And everybody's gotta learn sometime.

You glance up as you hear the bell above the door jingle; it's the middle of the day, and, since most of your customers are pre-pubescent boys who are just as geeky as you, you're not used to having customers now. But when you see who it is, you smile. Brian is swaggering through the door, the cocky fuck.

"Heya, Mikey," he says, and leans over the counter for a kiss, quick and light.

"Hey. What are you doing here?" you ask.

Brian raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Can't a guy visit his friend during lunch?" he says. "What are you doing tonight, Mikey? Anything special with the prof?"

You shake your head. "Probably Woody's, Babylon, the usual. Ben's got a lecture he needs to prepare." You shrug. "He's been really busy lately."

One corner of Brian's mouth quirks upwards at that. "Yeah. Well. At least we have each other, right? I gotta go, Mikey. I'll see you tonight." He leans over the counter again, pecks you on the mouth, then turns to leave.

"Bye," you say as he opens the door. He turns to you, gives a sarcastic little wave, then is gone, the tinkling of the bell still sounding.


Babylon is hot and sweaty and so what you need tonight. You're tense and desperately horny; you snort when you think of Ben's rebuff earlier this evening. The twink you're dancing with (no more than a boy, really - Brian would be so proud) looks at you curiously, but you shake your head, smile reassuringly, and bring him closer. He's solid and warm against you - mmmmm, yes, just what you need right now.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, an arm comes from behind you, wrapping around your waist, pulling you away from your too-young partner, and you struggle briefly before smelling that familiar heady scent you'd know anywhere.

"Fuck. Off," Brian growls from behind you with unusual force, and the twink makes a sort of scared "eep!" noise that should make you laugh but you don't.

"Brian, what-" but you don't get any farther than that, because Brian tightens his grip around you so you can barely breathe, much less speak.

"Just dance," he says, impatiently, then begins to move.

You relax against him - it's just Brian, being weird, as usual - and begin to concentrate on the music, head thrown back, arms wrapping themselves unconsciously around Brian's. The beat is heavy, thumping; you can feel your heart beating in time to it, triplefast, can feel it in your shoulders and your arms and your fingers, which are currently being entwined with Brian's.

Brian seems to be playing by different rules tonight, though. He's not easing his grip, and he's not keeping the traditional space between your bodies. He's thisclose, you can feel his cock, pressing hard and insistent against you, grinding into you, right into your ass. You make a strangled noise in your throat, something like the "eep" noise the twink had made, and try to turn around, but he stops you, squeezing you close. He brings his chin to rest on your shoulder, turns his head towards you so his breath fans against your face. Your hair would be ruffling if you didn't use so much gel.

You dance.


Three in the morning, and your position's hardly changed. The only difference is that you're facing him, now, and you're holding him just as tightly as he did you. Your cocks are both screaming for attention, but you ignore it; what you're doing now is rather less like dancing and more like fucking fully clothed, anyway. You take your hand off his waist and put it on the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, bringing your mouths together, and it is hot and wet and sweet inside his mouth.

This kiss is not tender or friendly; it is violent, tongues clashing together, teeth clicking and you think you can feel the taste of blood as it wells from your lips. You bite his lips back, you grip his sides. I hope I leave bruises You want to mark him: Stay away, property of M. Novotny.

He tears himself away from you, brings a good six inches between you. "Now," he says, and cocks his head to the side, looking at you, eyes moving across your face. They settle on yours, penetrating.

You can't speak, breathless, so you just nod. Yes, of course now.

He still stares at you, so you take his hand and lead him.


You are in his apartment, and the only light comes from the living room. You do not turn on the blue lights above the bed, and you stop him when he tries to, shaking your head.

Now you're both lying on your sides, staring at each other. Your cock is still hard, though not quite as urgent and still, maddeningly, fully-clothed. You reach over to him, stroke his face, and he smiles, turns his lips to your palm and kisses it. He brings up his own hands to catch yours, kissing from your palm to each of your fingers then down your arm, licking at the inside of your elbow. He looks at you from under his lashes. You can feel the corners of your mouth turn up just slightly without your control.

He rolls on top of you and puts his palms flat on your chest and pets you through your shirt, his thighs pinning your legs, the weight of his cock making you gasp. Not enough, not nearly enough. You move to take off his shirt, pulling it off in (not) one smooth move, because his hands are still on you and he seems reluctant to move them. "Would you please budge up so I can get you naked and writhing?" you ask, making your voice have an edge to it. He just smirks at you and lifts his arms from your chest, making a show of stretching as he removes the rest of his shirt.

And it is a show. You've seen Brian naked before, yes. You've even seen him like this, about to fuck or fucking, in the backroom at Babylon. But it's different now, you know. His eyes are open in a way they never are, not even when he's looking at you, and there's a tension in his body that makes the muscles in his chest twinge slightly. You smile with unabashed glee; why, you do believe Brian Kinney is nervous about having sex. You make him nervous, and you're so giddy that you laugh suddenly and bring your hands up to wander the skin he's unveiled, startling him. He's smooth and tan and delicious, and you can't stop yourself from running your hands over his nipples, just to see what reaction you get; what you get is a sharp inhale and Brian's hands coming up to your forearms and resting gently, not leading. Letting you set your own pace. Fuck, I deserve it, you think, and you laugh again, the sound loud in the silent room.

Soon enough both Brian and you are squirming from your touch on his skin, and you fumble your hands to his fly to undo buttons, brushing his cock and yours as much as possible in the process. He inhales sharply and closes his eyes. Yes, you think, as the denim gives way beneath your fingers and his cock springs to your hand, already leaking, so eager.

Before you can get a decent grip on him, he breathes out all at once and grabs your hands, pinning them next to your head on either side of you. "Stay there," he says, and moves his hand down to your own jeans, undoing the button with a well-practiced flick and reaching inside to cup your cock as he unzips the fly. His fingers are long and scorching, burning into your skin through the cotton, branding you. You shimmy your hips and he gets the picture, tugging the jeans and boxers down and off your legs, lifting his own legs and resettling on top of you so that your cocks bump and brush with every breath. He puts his hand on your nipples through your shirt and strokes slowly, slowly, down your chest to the hem, then lifts it up and over your head. He leans down and licks from your navel to your collarbone, languid and wet, leaving a damp trail that makes you shiver from the coolness of the air until his chest lays flat aginst yours and his mouth finds yours and cold is the last thing you're thinking. You're thinking hot and wet and oh god, sogood and please, for the love of god, don't stop, but what you say is "mmmm," a breathy moan that vibrates your tongue and lips and his, by extension. You feel his weight on you shift and you vaguely wonder what he's doing until you hear the unmistakable rip of foil and your breath stutters in your chest. His tongue makes one last sweep over your teeth as he retreats, already tugging the condom on his cock and snapping open the lube - both one-handed. The guy really is a pro, you think, smiling.

You start to reach for his jeans, but he bats you away. "No. Leave them on," he says, and you look at him, puzzled, but you don't reach for them again. He leans down once more and licks at your neck, then uses his legs and leverage to pull you on top of him, your naked thighs scraping against the rough denim still encasing his legs. oh yes, something to remember him by, you think, and then you smile, again - you seem to be doing an awful lot of that, tonight. He takes the open tube of lube by your leg and squeezes some onto his cock, then flips the cap and tosses it over the side of the bed. He grabs your hips, digging in, and positions you so you're straddling his cock, just over the tip, waiting, for one breathless second, then - he slides home, and it's bliss, him filling you, the sharp metallic bite of zippered teeth on your ass, the suspense of held breath, sweat sliding down your back. Yes.

His fingers ease up on your hips, and you get it: he's handing you control, so you clench around him as you lever up, his eyes rolling up before closing. Oooh yeah, that's nice. You slide down again, slowly, moving until you feel him hit - there, that spot in you, and you see sparks. You slide up again, but you already are getting impatient with slow, fuck, you've waited so long, and slow's not cutting it. You slam down, then up, and he brings his legs up behind you so you can lean back and ride him as hard and fast as you want; and you do. The jeans are scratching against your ass and back and there'll be marks, oh yes, and the cool of the zipper is a delicious contrast to the heat of his cock inside you. Your head tips back, onto his knees, and as you're riding down, his hips are shifting up, and it's absolutely perfect, until he leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth and changes the angle just that little bit and you're coming, brilliant white lights behind your eyes, your breath hitching in your chest as he takes you and flips you over, face first into the pillow, aftershocks still coursing through you, and he slams into you - once, twice, three times, and then he's coming too, still and quiet. He breathes quietly onto your neck for a moment and, before you've had a chance to come down, he's pulling out and off of you. You see him take the condom to the bathroom out of the corner of your eye. When he comes back, you're too tired to do anything but stay where you are, so you let him manhandle you into a clutch, pulling the covers up around you both and sticking his nose in your hair.
You fall asleep smiling.


When you wake up, the bed is cold, and it takes a moment for you to register why that feels so wrong. You turn onto your back and look over at the clock. The numbers swim in and out of focus for a moment before you're able to read 9:53am. Fuck! No wonder Brian's gone, you should have been at work an hour ago. You scramble out of bed and into your clothes. They stink, and so do you, but there's nothing you can do about that now.

You make it to work in record time, and luckily there's no one waiting for you to open the door; it is a Thursday, after all. You vault over the counter and grab the phone, eager fingers making quick work of the number you know so well.

"Yeah," you hear, and you smile, because Brian sounds exhausted too.

"Heya," you say, and you can hear the smile in your voice. "How are you on this fine morning?"

A soft chuckle reaches you, and then a thoughtful hmmm. "Well, I think the correct answer to that question would be, sore. And how about you?"

And you try, you really do, to not say exactly what you're thinking, but you can't help yourself (and if you're honest you probably don't want to). "I'm unbelieably happy. And wondering when we can do that again." But then something hits you, and you pause. "And actually, thinking about how I'm going to tell Ben. Fuck, that'll be hard."

There's a silence on the other end of the line, and you can hear the popping and hissing of Brian's cell before he replies. "Tell him...tell him what, exactly, Mikey?"

"Um, gee, I don't know? Maybe that the love of my life has finally come to his senses and fucked me already, so I'm sorry, but I can't be your boyfriend any more because I want to spend my life fucking him rotten? How about that?"

"Mikey...I don't think- Look. Last night was...well, it was fucking amazing, obviously. But I'm just not..."

Your heart stops and then starts again, twice as fast, and you think, no. Please, no. "Just not what?" you say, more harshly than you intend. Please, no.

"I'm not ready for this. I thought you knew that. I thought...I thought you knew me." There's silence for a minute, and then he sighs. "Look, I'm sorry you thought last night was something it wasn't. I'm sorry you want something I can't give you. But I can't- I have to go. I'm sorry" And then the dial tone is in your ear, but you barely register it as you move the phone softly back to its cradle.
Tags: fandom: queer as folk us, my fic, my fic: qaf us, pairing: brian/michael

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