Tums Spelled Backwards- B/J series Part 1/4

[guavejuice]

Banner made for me by Kim predec2

Author:guavejuice
Pairing:Brian/Justin
Timeline:Post 513
Beta:Kim predec2 Can't thank you enough!!!
Brian's POV
A/N:I'm posting this chapter today as my little bday gift for my amazing friend urugwaj Happy bday, my dear!
A/N2:This is NOT a WIP. I'll be updating regularly.
Disclaimer:I own nothing.
Comments are love.


Part 1

"You look like shit, Sunshine," I observe as I welcome Justin into the bathroom. I'm standing by the sink, applying shaving cream to my cheeks and jaw line.

"Thanks," Justin mutters, peering from behind my naked shoulder to take a quick look at himself in the mirror. His eyes are quite puffy, and he looks a bit groggy as he scowls at his reflection.

"I never thought I'd say this, but do you have any Tums left?" Justin inquires, squinting as if the light is bothering him while he rummages through the bathroom cabinet.

"You okay?" I ask, a little concerned, handing Justin the Tums bottle. I wonder why he's keeping silent, instead of admiring the way the thick, foamy, shaving cream slides from my cheeks as the razor grabs it.

Justin shakes his disheveled head, a troubled look on his face and not a smile anywhere. I instantly realize something is off kilter. No morning kiss? No 'It's time to take care of your morning hard on' jokes?

"You know what Tums spelled backwards is, don't you?" I ask, trying to lighten his mood as I pull my lips inward.

I’m finally rewarded with a half-smile as he replies, "Smut!" He leans into me from behind, but his smile is nowhere near the radiant one it normally is.

I can't help noticing Justin's less than enthusiastic response to my otherwise dick-tingling remark.

'What's going on?" I inquire quietly as I stare at him intently through the mirror’s reflection.

"Nothing," Justin mumbles.

"The fuck, Justin! Don't give me that," I retort, knowing he’s not being truthful with me.

"I thought I'd given you plenty last night,” he quips, but his attempt at a joke rings hollow to me. I can't seem to detect even the slightest trace of the characteristic, cynical, yet loving 'morning after' tone that would typically fill his voice whenever we discuss our previous night’s fucks while we’re still wrapped up in a blurry haze of post-coital bliss.

I stand with the razor in my hand as I watch Justin barely opening the plastic cap of the Tums bottle, only to discover it's empty. I look on in surprise as he violently throws the container down onto the floor with an angry growl, and then shuffles his feet back to our bed without so much as a backward glance in my direction.

I can't avoid the twitch in my cock as I ogle his perfect, bubble butt retreating back to the bedroom, but at the same time I sense a 'Come on, Kinney, you've come a long way since your tricking days, you're perfectly capable of doing a bit of meaningful soul searching here' moment looming at the back of his head.

I have an important client waiting for my 11 o'clock appointment at Kinnetik, and I know if I don't make it in time through the harsh, Monday morning, downtown traffic, Cynthia will quickly be all over my case in no time. But I can't afford to leave Justin in bed, not like this. And not for the reasons my cock thinks.

So I make the only decision I can, splashing water on my face and drying it with a towel before I turn and head back into the bedroom in my sweats, crawling into bed next to my lover. I hear him let out what sounds like a mournful sigh before he turns his back to me on the other side of the bed.

I sigh softly in resignation, knowing I can’t escape the moment I have dreaded ever since I asked Justin to officially move in with me, or when I consciously brushed off any second thoughts a few months later when Justin told me that I was his opportunity of a lifetime, not the prospect of heading to New York City.

Through force of habit I have acquired over the past four years, I start to replay the images from the last twenty-four hours in my mind like a fucking, low resolution film, trying to retrace any possible misstep I might have taken, or any wrong word I might have said to make Justin look as miserable as he does right now.

And people say I’m a jerk. Well, the truth is only Justin knows what I am really like – and what I am capable of.

I take another look at him as I seriously contemplate my next move.

Throughout our years together, Justin has managed to keep his petite, boyish figure. Ever since he started taking yoga classes about a year or so ago (okay, he talked me into attending one class with him at one point, but I DID NOT fuck the instructor, despite the rather impressive boner in his yoga pants), he has gained a bit more definition in his muscle mass, which has added just the right edge to his forearms and neck.

He's also been spending a bit more time outside by our pool on Sundays when the weather permits and doing a little bit more gardening, providing me with some much pleasure and tinting his skin a lovely, intriguing shade of latte.

Now, however, he's lying with his back to me on the bed, and won't even stare at me. I peer intently over at him. I shake my head, realizing that as much as I might want to avoid it, I think it's time for one of those talks he's always encouraging me to have with him every blue moon when we lie in bed together after a long day (or hard night), and he thinks (erroneously) that I just want to fuck.

Maybe he's upset we haven't done that in a while? But then he's always been the more vocal one (outside of the bedroom, I mean…), so if there’s something's bothering him he knows damn well how to voice his opinion.

I gently lean over him once more. His skin seems so pale, but not in its typical, deliciously invigorating way.

"Briaaan," he whimpers eventually in a low, needy voice, but I sense it’s definitely not a request for me to fuck him, as much as I would like it to be.

"What’s up?" I whisper softly, thinking my calm, soothing voice will ease the pain of whatever it is that's bothering him this morning.

"Can you stay here with me?" he answers then in a vulnerable-sounding voice.

I nod, even though he can’t see my face. "You bet, Twa…Sunshine," I reassure him as I slide closer to him and reach out to wrap my arm around his lower abdomen.

"Don’t!" he suddenly snaps in an alarming voice as he flinches and pulls away from me. I haven’t heard or seen him react this way since that night a million light years ago when his mother begged me to help him heal, and I tried in vain to touch him again, only to have him recoil against my attempt to be close to him.

Maybe I'm just overreacting, I wonder. Maybe he’s just in his usual, drama-princess mode.

But then he turns to flop onto his back and lifts his head just slightly to peer up at me with moist eyes, and I realize that is not the case.

I wish I knew what is wrong. I wish I knew if there is something I can do other than just lie here. Maybe I should call his mom, or Deb?

"Maybe we should call your mom, or Debbie?" I suggest then, vocalizing my internal thoughts.

"Nooo,” he immediately replies as he grasps my wrist. “Just stay here," he pleads under his breath. And I find that I can’t move from my spot. I’m too caught up in the almost desperate look in his eyes.

TBC…