Understand
Title: Understand
Author: darksylvia
Rating: Adult, explicit sex.
Summary: Ethan trys to understand why Justin went back to Brian.
Author’s Notes: Happens in the latter half of season three. Thank you msjudi for looking it over for me.
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I don't own them. It depresses me if I dwell on it.
Feedback: Comments or leah@leahclaire.com. I can take honesty, I swear :)
ETA: on BJfic.net.


“Hey,” says the bartender. “I see you looking at Kinney and the blond. Word of advice - they’re the best fuck you’ll ever have, together or separate. But once they’re done with you, you’re out on your ass.”

“You mean they just toss people out after they fuck?” Ethan asks, taking a sip of his rum and coke. He doesn’t know why he came, and he doesn’t know why he keeps staring at them, because it’s even more painful than he thought it’d be. But he can’t seem to look away. And he can’t seem to stop listening to details he doesn’t really want to know.

“Sometimes within minutes,” nods the bartender. “Some of the guys report getting to stay the night on the couch after, if they were too drunk to get themselves home, but most are out the second after a call to a cab company. It’s a game they play - pick who they want and then go after him together. And they never fuck anyone twice.”

“Weird,” he responds, trying to keep his voice normal as he watches Justin lick a path up Brian’s neck to his ear. He says something to Brian that has him laughing, pulling Justin’s hips in sharply. They look disgustingly beautiful together, covered in glitter and sweat and smiles. Brian kisses Justin’s forehead, and Ethan wants to retch.

“Yeah,” agrees the bartender. “But they’re the hottest thing you’ll see on this coast. So if you’re angling for them, just be prepared.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs. Ethan knows he’s had more than one fuck, and is therefore ineligible for a Brian/Justin sandwich.

His brain tries to drag him back to thinking about why he came here tonight, but he refuses to go there. He doesn’t want to analyze it, except that even when he’s doing his best not to think it out, he’s sure it probably has to do with a fantasy he won’t admit to having. It features Ethan gently drawing Justin away from the crowd and out the door again, while Brian is in the backroom, getting his rocks off and oblivious to losing his blond fuck toy for the second time.

Each movement the two of them make is like another stab to his gut. Brian cups Justin’s neck to keep him steady for a firm, open-mouthed kiss and Justin smiles into it. Stab. Justin’s tongue slides out to draw Brian back in for another kiss. Stab, stab, stab. Justin tips his head and gives Brian butterfly kisses all down his left cheekbone.

Ethan feels a little sick and then thinks maybe he should stop drinking before he throws up on his shoes and attracts attention, and risks Justin seeing him in that state. But then, what does it matter? Loss of pride is nothing compared to what he’s already lost.

He knows how stupid he was a few months ago to date Justin, to let lust and infatuation blind him to a few pertinent facts. The first was: Justin was never over Brian. Going off with Ethan was a desperate attempt to stop hurting over Brian. He was, in fact, a rebound for a relationship that hadn’t actually ended, not really. And when that rebound relationship had ended - in one of the stupidest ways ever - Ethan wondered if Justin had just been waiting for an excuse to break it off, to stop the rebound experiment and go back to his real life. Second, he knows that Justin was never really happy with him. He suspected before, but now he knows. Third and worst, he’s pretty sure there’s nothing he can do about it, or even could have done about it.

Maybe he’s here for a reason, after all. To try and understand it. Brian is hot, yeah. Brian is a good fuck, okay. Justin is both of those things but without the sociopathic edge. Why are they together? Whatever happened to opposites attract? But watching them on the dance floor, Ethan thinks he may be starting to understand. Alone, Brian is an okay dancer, and he radiates bad-boy vibes with a self destructive glamour. Alone, Justin is a blond guy with a nice body and a pretty face. But together they both turn into something else. Brian becomes stronger, muscles showing as he holds Justin’s hips in close and lets him keep the rhythm for both of them. And every so often Brian smiles with such heart-stopping sweetness that even Ethan stops hating him for a minute.

And Justin - the change in Justin is startling. Justin becomes sex personified. He arches into Brian and his lips part and he smiles his brightest smile, eyes closed. His grace gives itself to Brian until they are dancing like one entity. To add insult to injury, they both look like they’re having a fabulous time. The song changes, they break apart for a moment to grin crazily at each other, and then Brian rests an arm over Justin’s shoulder, the other on his hip, and they lean their heads together.

Ethan decides he should probably leave before he goes insane. He wonders if it makes him a bad person that he wishes Justin were unhappy here, so he’d want to come away. Ethan turns to the bar and knocks back the rest of his rum and coke, getting ready to go out into the cold. At least all muffled up, no one can tell who he is, so he doesn’t have to worry about being seen exiting a gay club, though his manager would still have a giant fit if he knew.

However, when he turns back to the dance floor in the act of putting his coat on, he sees Justin grab Brian’s shirt front, and hips still swaying, he drags Brian toward the backroom. Ethan is pretty sure he never experienced that come-hither-and-fuck-me look that Justin is wearing. Why fucking not? Stab. He didn’t know it could hurt this bad.

This is it, he thinks. I have a choice. Go and see what it’s all about, or turn around and leave now. One way lies pain, the other way, a lack of closure, and an itch so powerful to reclaim Justin that he doesn’t know how he has been functioning normally.

There’s really no choice. The knowledge of certain pain does nothing to drive away the curiosity, the need to see it happening and to understand, no matter how much it hurts. There’s also the very vaguest hope that somehow it will still go wrong, that somehow this will be what he needs to formulate a plan to get Justin back. Most of his brain scoffs at that idea, but it’s still there, tugging him toward the door with the bluish light spilling from it.

He enters cautiously, knowing what he’ll see but still slightly unprepared for it, the men and the grunting, and the damp smell of wet bodies and cum. It’s disgusting to him, but there’s a small part of him - one he doesn’t want to admit to - that is very aroused by the half-naked men moving around him in various states of pleasure and concentration.

The Justin he knows doesn’t belong here, but he’s pretty sure now that that Justin never existed anyway.

When he rounds a corner, he’s in time to see Justin push Brian into a chair, where Brian sprawls with a look somewhere between fascination and amusement on his face. Justin sits down on his lap and though Ethan can’t see all that well in the dim light, he sees the tails of Brian’s shirt part and hang to the sides, and then he can see a movement that looks like the unzipping of pants. Justin dips his head and licks Brian’s chest, biting one nipple, and Ethan can see the tip of pink tongue sliding over darker skin. Justin’s hand starts to move up and down in an unmistakable motion. Brian moans slightly before hooking a hand around Justin’s neck and yanking him in for a rough kiss.

Someone behind Ethan jostles him out of the way, so he wanders a little further into the room, careful to stay partially hidden behind posts and curtains and men. Breaking the kiss, Brian shoves Justin off of his lap and Ethan experiences a brief moment of hope, even as his eyes zero helplessly in on the very stiff cock jutting out from the opening of Brian’s jeans. He’s at enough of a side angle now that he can see Justin’s expressions and he wishes he couldn’t but he can’t seem to move, let alone leave. Justin’s smile is wicked and when he licks his lips, Brian smiles back just as wickedly and murmurs something too low to hear. Ethan steps closer.

Justin draws a condom from his pocket, tears it open, and then puts it in his mouth. He kneels down and uses his mouth to sheath Brian’s dick, all the way to the hilt, in one smooth motion. Brian’s hips buck and his head tilts back, but Justin draws away as soon as Brian’s hand clutches at his hair.

“Lube,” Justin orders him. Brian raises an eyebrow, but pulls a small tube out of his pocket and keeps steady eye contact with Justin as he slides wet fingers over himself. Justin’s hands drop to the buttons of his own jeans, and he yanks them slightly down. Brian crooks a finger and Justin goes, trembling slightly in anticipation as Brian trails his fingers over Justin’s stomach and then lower, softly grazing just the tip of Justin’s dick.

Brian’s hand go to Justin’s hips and he jerks him around to face the opposite direction, and then guides him down into his lap, onto his cock. Justin sinks slowly but steadily, his mouth parted, eyes closed, hands braced on Brian’s thighs, and Ethan doesn’t think he’s seen this expression either, but he’s hard from it, even as he feels another stab.

One of Brian’s hands slides out to splay itself over Justin’s stomach, the other to clasp loosely, with long graceful fingers, around Justin’s achingly hard cock.

“C’mon,” he says to Justin, and Ethan realizes he must be closer to them than he thought to hear this. “Fuck yourself on me.” Brian’s voice is low and it catches on the word “me” because Justin has started moving, the pale skin of his legs contrasting with Brian’s denim. Light blue against dark blue, moving in perfect rhythm. Justin lets his head fall back over Brian’s shoulder and Brian takes that as an invitation to suck on his neck, slowly, firmly stroking Justin’s cock, and matching each of Justin’s downward thrusts with an upward thrust of his own.

Justin is wanton and beautiful, his mouth open, his eyes closed, his body arched and impaled. Brian bites him and he shivers, momentarily breaking his rhythm. Then he picks up the pace, lifting himself further and slamming back down. Brian leans his head back against the chair, fingers stroking both cock and stomach, dark red mouth parted around gasps of air, and then Brian looks straight into Ethan’s eyes.

A jolt of adrenaline cuts through Ethan’s arousal. Has the bastard known he was here the whole time? The entire scene has just taken on a new nightmarish quality, full of unpleasant knowledge. Ethan feels rum burning the back of his throat, but he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to draw more attention to himself. Is this whole show for him? But no, he realizes with a sick twist of his stomach, Brian isn’t the one leading here, Justin is. And that’s the message. Brian didn’t orchestrate this show - he didn’t have to. That’s why he’s giving Ethan a Cheshire grin as he strokes a moaning Justin with skilled fingers.

Brian is the first to break eye contact, turning his head toward Justin to murmur, “Justin, come now.” And Justin cries out and comes in the palm of Brian’s hand. Brian tightens his other arm, wraps it completely around Justin’s waist, and he puts his forehead to Justin’s shoulder as he thrusts into Justin’s aftershocks until finally coming with a soft moan of his own. They shudder together for a moment, then Brian kisses Justin’s shoulder and digs a Kleenex out of his pocket and starts cleaning Justin up before lifting him off. Justin takes a deep breath and pulls his pants up. He turns and tugs Brian out of the chair, buttoning Brian’s shirt as Brian buttons his jeans.

Brian slides an arm completely around Justin’s neck and leans in for a slow kiss. Ethan stays in the shadows and stops breathing as, arms around each other, they exit the backroom. Brian doesn’t spare him another glance, and Justin seems oblivious to the fact that he’s even there.

When he can breathe again, he knows. It’s not the sex. It’s not even the quality of the sex, although that is obviously stellar. It’s that their bodies know each other - more than that, they know each other. It had been like they were reading each other’s minds, like the whole thing had been planned out ahead of time in perfect sync, every last tenth of a second, even though they’d never done quite the same thing before. Ethan had witnessed a complete conversation without words. He knows now. Their sex is like his music. It is communication in its highest form, not bogged down by syntax and context, a straight line of emotion, better than a line of coke, and better than a concerto. Justin doesn’t speak violin, and Ethan has never learned to say things without playing.