Title: All Bets Are Off
Author: phobosgirl (phobosgirl@hotmail.com)
Date: 2/5/05
Rating: PG-13
Authors notes: Another first for me- a real B/J fic. Props to my husband for beta’ing this fic for me, he was awesome and patient with me! This fic may contain spoilers and the timeline is somewhere in the middle to the end of season 5! Feedback is more than welcome and can be sent to phobosgirl@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, CowLip does and I want no fight with them!
Warnings: May contain spoiler-ish stuff through season 5!
Complete: you betcha


All Bets Are Off

He carried the list with him to the diner. It was rumpled and folded, and nine of the names appearing on it had been crossed out with an aggressively confident slash of blue ink. He’d made a bet he could never win and it had cost him everything.

His purpose now was clear, though his heart quaked.

He was on foot today, needing the time it would take him to get from the loft to the diner to steel himself. He was doing what he had to do, what he wanted to do, but in true Kinney form, his uncertainties threatened to swamp him.

The ten hottest men in Pittsburgh. Five years ago he could have nailed them all in one night with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back. Ok, maybe with their hands tied behind their backs. They’d have been lining up for a shot at the Stud Of Liberty Avenue. But today, Brian had finally gone to Brandon and admitted that he’d never be able to trick with the only guy remaining on his list because that guy wouldn’t give Kinney the time of day.

It had been galling to watch the smirk rise on Brandon’s face, to not reach out and wipe that smug look off his lips with his fist. There was no helping it now; tonight a new Stud would take his rightful place in the backroom of Babylon. The king is dead- long live the king.

Brian tried to convince himself that he no longer gave a shit.

He sighed and stuffed his hand in his pocket, yanking out the incomplete list. He stared at it a moment and then pushed through the front door of the diner into a world of noise, fervent activity and riotous color. Brian shook his head in amazement. It seemed that Debbie had been decorating again.

He stilled and glanced around the crowded space, looking for the familiar head of blond hair. His heart hammered in his throat when he caught sight of it rushing past the order window in the kitchen. Ducking his head, Brian moved to the counter and took the only available seat.

Justin saw him immediately when he exited the kitchen, a loaded tray balanced on his left shoulder.

Brian winced inside to see Justin breaking his back here in the diner again for shitty tips, but he knew there was no way his ex-partner would take any money from him, now. Not after the artist had moved out in the middle of an acrimonious argument.

This asinine contest. Christ, would he ever stop being so fucking stupid with his life? He closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath and reminded himself that this could possibly be his last chance to wise up. No pressure or anything, Kinney, he thought sardonically.

“Counter boy!” He purred, trying to sound sexy and inviting.

Justin brushed past him with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m busy. Kiki will help you.”

Brian took another deep breath and watched Justin hustle his beautiful bubble butt to table 5 and start placing loaded plates down in front of hungry patrons.

He waited for Justin to return with his empty tray before trying again.

“Can I get some coffee?” He modulated his voice to carry over the noise, judiciously dropping the sex kitten act.

“To go?” came the acerbic answer, and Brian wasn’t sure if it was a question or a wish.

“Justin-“

Justin slammed a white mug down in front of him, stepped back to retrieve two pots of coffee and asked, “Leaded or un?”

“Leaded.” Brian answered quietly.

He watched as Justin poured, glad to see that there was almost no tremor in his right hand today.

He unfolded the list he held and pushed it across the counter for Justin to see. Justin glanced at it, shrugged his shoulders and looked at Brian with a bored expression.

“It’s my list-“

Justin turned away immediately, busying himself with making a fresh pot of coffee.

“I lost, Justin.”

“And I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“You should,” Brian joked, “it’s all your fault.”

“How the fuck is it my fault? I left so you and your little friend could have your stupid fucking contest without my interference.”

“He’s not my friend,” Brian muttered.

“Whatever. Brian, why should I give a shit about this?”

“Because the bet was to see who could fuck the ten hottest guys in Pittsburgh, but guess what? The guy who’s #1 on my list turned me down.”

“So The Stud Of Liberty Avenue can’t get any trick he wants, anymore. Poor you. I still don’t see why you think any of this concerns me.” Brian could tell that Justin was about to walk away and he’d be fucked if he let that happen again.

“You’re the one at the top of my list.”

Justin laughed, a hard, biting sound that barely carried over the noise of the diner.

Ok, Brian thought, so he’s not the pushover he used to be. Try harder.

“Justin, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Justin was now swabbing down the counter and Brian was grateful that at least he still seemed to be listening.

Brian lowered his voice, not wanting every faggot on Liberty Avenue to know their business.

“Come home.” His self-monitoring system went to work immediately to try and detect how desperate that request had sounded. Ok, fine, it was pretty desperate, but that’s how he felt right now so fuck it.

“I have tables to wait, Brian.”

He could feel Justin slipping away from him even though all he did was cross the room to table 8.

For the first time in his life, Brian might have been able to admit to feeling panic.

“You’re the only one I want,” he shouted to Justin’s retreating back.

The din of the diner stilled almost immediately and Brian watched tensely as Justin deliberately squared his back, pulled a pad and pencil out of his apron and smiled at the two queens who were gaping past him at Brian.

Brian glanced around, embarrassment coloring his face. He was destroying everything he’d worked to gain, right here in front of everyone. His reputation would never withstand the battering his sudden public declaration invited. He wiped his hand over his mouth, knowing every eye was on him and Justin.

Fuck his reputation. What the hell did it matter now, anyway?

“You’re…” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat loudly before starting again, “… the only one I love.”

Justin had gone rigid and without seeing his face, Brian had no idea if it was fury in Justin’s posture, or something else.

He jerked to his feet and made his way over to where Justin stood, pad in hand. Ignoring the diner’s staring customers and wondering if he was going to vomit before he got all of this out, he reached Justin’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

He felt Justin tense under his touch and he scrambled to remember why he’d thought this was a good idea in the first place.

Because your life is shit without him and you’re sick of being an idiot.

Right. Of course. Don’t think about the cunts staring at you. Don’t think about how you would have killed yourself painfully just a few years ago to avoid doing this. Think about what you could gain. A life, Kinney. A real fucking life.

“Justin-“ he tried to soften his voice appropriately, and then did something he never thought he’d ever fucking do as long as he lived. He dropped to one knee and took Justin’s hand in both of his, trying desperately to ignore the collective gasp of the onlookers.

Justin was staring at him like he’d grown a third eye, but the lines of his body and face still had not relaxed and Brian knew he wasn’t out of the woods, yet. This could all come crashing down around him; Justin could reject him in front of all these gawking queers, and then what? He’d have to fucking move, that’s what. Pack up and leave town. He’d never be able to live down the humiliation.

“So I was thinking,” he stalled, “maybe I’d luck out and you’d marry me.”

Another gasp from the diner patrons and Brian almost recoiled, hearing it.

“This is your idea of a proposal?”

Little cunt, Brian thought with affection, you’re really gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?

“Ok, how about this?” He took a deep breath, held it and asked, “Will you marry me, Justin?”

“You said you didn’t want to ‘add to the glut.’” he reminded Brian.

“I did,” he foundered, “I don’t.”

Justin rolled his eyes and turned back to his customers, who were held spellbound by the drama unfolding right at their table. This would be worth weeks of serious mileage to them in Pittsburgh’s backrooms.

“I mean,” Brian was starting to feel like he was being choked from the inside, “I didn’t. But I do now. I mean, it’s not a glut. Not-“

Justin waited.

“Not if-“ Brian swallowed hard. “Not if it’s with you.”

His voice dropped to a pleading whisper and he tried to hate himself for it, but this had to work or nothing would ever work in his life, again.

“Justin, please.”

Justin stood with his head bowed, looking at nothing. He hadn’t withdrawn his hand from Brian’s and Brian tried to take that as a good sign.

Seconds passed, and then minutes. The diner was deathly silent. Justin didn’t budge.

Finally, when Brian’s knee was starting to bark at him and his hands were trembling so badly that he was afraid he’d shake them both apart, Justin met his eyes.

“I still think you’re an asshole,” the little drama princess said, and Brian’s gut twisted.

“That’s fair,” he croaked out, “I am an asshole.”

Justin stared hard at him another minute, two minutes, going on three.

“Yeah, fine,” he finally said, “I guess we can do that.”

“Get married?”

“Yeah, that,” Justin answered. “I’d be ok with it.”

Brian let out his breath in one long whoosh but he never heard it because the diner had broken out into pandemonium. Queens and waitstaff alike were clapping and stomping in a truly humiliating way and Brian might have noticed if the sound of his own heart beating hadn’t been so loud.

“Two conditions,” Justin said through the bedlam.

Brian arched his eyebrow in question. They’d never been very successful with conditions.

“One, I want a real ring, fucker.” Brian nodded in relief. A ring was easy.

“And two,” Justin paused, causing Brian to clench in trepidation, “no more idiotic bets with backroom sluts.”

Brian grinned suddenly. “I promise, Sunshine. All bets are off.”

Justin finally smiled and Brian thought maybe he saw in it the next 30 years of their lives.

The End