allison is a caterpillar, apparently (_alantie) wrote in _meansfallen,
allison is a caterpillar, apparently


Queer as Folk :: Brian/Justin fiction
PART THREE (of three)

Rated: Adults Only/NC-17

Summary: AU. Not much to be said. It's about Justin embracing his artistic side and being a lovely girl named Lola, whom Brian Kinney begrudgingly meets one night at Babylon...

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Cowlip. Unbetaed. And please JUST GIVE IT A CHANCE! [I mean, you trusted me with straight!Brian, why not trust me with drag!Justin?]

Inspired by: The incredible rhiannonhero's fic 'Fairy Dust' in which Justin wears a dress; my darling JT LeRoy and his brilliantly beautiful gender confusion; the song 'Cherry Lips' and 'Androgyny' by Garbage and 'When My Boy Walks Down the Street' by the Magnetic Fields; a conversation in the_baptists chat with the squidgable riddlev about Justin-in-Drag; and the fact that Randy Harrison is pretty.

Thank-you to: _pocket_rocket_ for providing thirteen+ hours of inspiration, and being in love with Lola before she even stepped into the spotlight.

Part One

Part Two

- - -

He feels stretched and empty now that Justin's cock is out of his ass. It's been a long time since he's felt like that. That memory is saturated in the smell of cheap ass industrial cleaner, and the feel of a locker against his face as a man with a whistle around his neck slides out of him.

Justin's memory will be soaked in glitter and sharp witty tones, and that's enough to make Brian's cock feel a little flushed again. Even as Justin lays sprawled next to him. Even as he hopes that the memory is replaced by another one with Justin, and another one, and another one.

He isn't going to admit it though. Hoping is for pussies. Brian just does.

Justin's moppy blond hair is tickling the skin of his arm, and when he goes to smack it off, his hand stays there, tangles, winds into it. Justin's scalp is damp, and Brian likes the feel of it against his fingertips.

"No apologies, King Kinney," Justin says in a compliment masked as a sigh. Brian watches his black eyelashes flutter, and he taps his index finger against Justin's temple.

"And no regrets, Princess Lola."

"That's Queen Justin to you."

Brian chuffs into his pillow and reaches blindly into the dim dark to find the pack of cigarettes he knows he left on his night stand.

"Light me one."

Well, now. "Someone's turned into a bossy twat here, and I know it isn't me."

Justin's head tucks and rolls until those blue eyes settle on Brian's face, blond strands whipped all over in front of them like straw in the wind. A left hand wiggles out from under his pillow and ends up on Brian's chin, gripping it in a way that reminds Brian of his first grade teacher.

This night is just full of fucking memories now, isn't it?

But maybe that's what makes this Justin so alluring. So... enigmatic. A tight little body of unruly delicacy - and unprecedented depth. The way Lola challenged him from the get-go, and how she grinned with respect. How he ignited things within Brian that had been buried in the shadowed, sharp recesses of his mind. Nobody touched those places, and now Justin was doing it with a shimmering seduction and an arched eyebrow of intelligence.

"Thanks, by the way." is what he says, still gripping Brian's chin.

"For what?"

Brian's voice is softer than he would like, but then Justin nudges himself up further, so he's hovering just inches above him. Eyes perfectly even, and body perfectly covered. And it's good.

"For letting inviting me to stay. For giving me a chance. For proving what kind of man you are."

There's a flush rising in Brian's face, and fucking hell, he will not blush, damnit.

So, he rolls his eyes instead, and Justin gives his chin a fond little shake.

"Don't take over my twat status, ass," he says in a pouty-sort of voice, and Brian practically feels his eyes get bright. His hands smooth up Justin's back and grip his shoulders, holding him there.

Justin continues, "And thanks for letting me top you. I know you don't do that often."

"Try never."

Justin's lips roll into a quiet, knowing little smirk and he nods just once before asking permission with his eyes to kiss Brian.

Permission fucking granted. It's about time. Jesus.

Sucking on Justin's tongue has been severely under-practiced during the course of this night, Brian decides with a mouth full of tongue and saliva that isn't his. Justin whimpers a little into the kiss, and is moving to straddle Brian's waist, when suddenly they roll, and Brian tucks Justin's little body underneath his. Like a child cradling a toy. Or a lioness cradling her cub. Or a stud cradling his twink.

Or his Lola.

They stay like that for a while, just kissing wetly. Limbs tangled in a flurry of dried sweat and rough hair, and hands squeezing and groping for sensitive spots and places that tense when touched. Brian can't get enough of the way Justin's hair smells, or how his neck tastes, or the heavy weight of his legs around Brian's ass, and he thinks that some part of his sanity has just slipped away, never to be seen again.

Fuck. It's extreme contentment all of a sudden, and when the hell did that happen? Where did it come from? Why is it that suddenly all the nights of those slippery boys and Abercrombie and Fitch models suddenly boil down to the feel of Justin's little body and red-stained lips nestled underneath him, on his bed?

Brian needs a cigarette. Or twenty.

Justin watches him light two cigarettes with an intuitive expression. And they both take drags at the same time, like synchronized swimmers for lung cancer.

"You like New York?"

Brian is curious. He always wanted to go to New York eventually. Kudos to the boy who could.

"It's better than L.A."


"I'm actually moving back to Pittsburgh, though." Justin admits in a breath of smoke that goes wafting up to the rafters overhead. Brian is watching the smoke, Justin is watching him.

"What the fuck for?"

"I just bought a gallery off of North Front Street. I plan on showcasing local artists, and maybe some of my own stuff.


Justin laughs, puts out his cigarette and buries his nose in Brian's stomach.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to start stalking you." He grins against the skin, "Unless you want me to."

And when Brian just shrugs, suddenly there's a face burrowing into his crotch like it's the only home the owner of the face ever wants to know.

Here in Pittsburgh. And right in this bed.

So Brian puts out his cigarette, and he let's it make it's offer. Because suddenly, Brian doesn't seem to mind something permanent.

- - -

They move together, hard and fast, Justin on all fours and swinging back to accept Brian's cock with eager grunts. The sun is rising somewhere behind the sheer drapes and thick clouds, and the glow that is cast over the room is eery and erotic. Brian loves how Justin arches his back, the way he swings back his hand and grips Brian's ass or thigh like a lifeline, and when Brian tangles his hand in Justin's hair and wrenches his head back, they both come almost simultaneously. They collapse, all intertwined and sated, on the damp sheets, and Brian can't help but lick at Justin's wet, gasping little lips that still taste like strawberry lip gloss and whisper words of admiration for one of the hottest fucks he's ever had.

Forty-five minutes later, they do it again.

And it isn't until ten-thirty, with a belly full of homemade omelets, that Justin leaves - but not without slipping his red barrette into Brian's front pocket, and kissing him the way only a lover knows how to.

Brian still doesn't mind.

- - -

Babylon is fucking hot tonight.

Okay, Babylon is fucking hot every night. It's because it never changes. It has the same constant beat, and the same half-naked boys. It's reliable.

Just like his presence there is.

It isn't long after he's in the door that he's propositioned. He hasn't even made his way to the bar or gotten a drink yet, but some random kid who knows of him, but hasn't had the honor of getting to really know him decides to be brave enough to offer.

"So... wanna fuck?"

"That's your witty repartee? That's supposed to make me want to fuck your brains out? "Wanna fuck"?"

The kid shrugs, looks clueless.

"It usually works, dude. I mean, come on, right? I'm hot."

Brian snerks, eyes starting to wander. "Well, hey, all the power to you, buddy. Get lost."


Brian's eyes land on Justin. Really Justin. Completely Justin. He's standing at the bar with Michael and Emmett, in cargoes and a tight little tank-top with a pointless graphic spanning the front. He's laughing about something, all white teeth and shaggy blond hair and a perfect nose. Fuck, his mouth is...

Brian looks back down at the kid. "I said, get lost. I have a better offer."

The kid looks around in confusion, "From who?"

Justin's eyes land on his. Blue, intelligent, sparkling, and amused.

"From him."

Brian pulls a little bit of red plastic out of his pocket and holds it up for Justin to see in the flashing lights. Arches an eyebrow at him pointedly, and Justin laughs and puts his drink down. Joins him.


His voice still stands out over the vibrating dance music. His fingers close around Brian's elbow.

Elegant, interesting, enigmatic, beautiful, boy, girl, Lola, Justin. Him.


And they grin at each other like pussies. Like pussies who have a secret they're not going to share.

Because the bottom fucking line is: Brian Kinney still only fucks men.

Red barrettes are just a bonus.


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