The One Where They Almost Get Married Pairing: Brian/Justin Author:  yoursweater Rating: G Timeline: Pre-S5 Spoilers: No Archive: Ridiculously Summary: The thing about Brian is that he’s a pretentious asshole. Written for on__impulse challenge number 6 Author's Note: The second fic that's been rotting on my hard drive since I wrote it. This was written before the final B/J arc in season five, and before I read any spoilers for it, so any coincidences are ...coincidental. I don't think I can spell either of those words. The thing about Brian is that he’s a pretentious asshole. Give him lined paper and he’ll write from left to right instead of from top to bottom. Michael recalls this one time - probably about a year ago now – where everyone was at Woody’s on a typical Wednesday night. Brian was well on his way to being drunk, Justin was already buzzed but not quite there, and Michael was on his cellphone, arguing with Hunter about whatever the fuck. “Some fuck said to me today…” Brian starts, but then he trails off as he leans a little too hard on his pool cue, and Justin thinks it’s bowing too much and is about to break, but then Brian’s up and getting his next shot ready. “Some fuck said that there’s this fucking… bet going around Babylon. They’re all trying to figure out how much longer it’ll be before you finally get sick of my wicked ways and leave.” Justin shrugs and smirks a little when Brian whispers ‘leave’ like it’s loaded with poison – like people who aren’t Brian Kinney whisper ‘cunt’ and ‘fag’, and then watches as he sinks a five ball and sets up for the three. Justin doesn’t even complain that technically it’s his turn and Brian is definitely cheating. “So?” He finally asks, tipping his head to one side and knocking his hip against Brian’s when the three bounces off the wall and he goes to attempt his third shot in a row. “So, fuck them.” Brian says, and that’s the last Justin hears about it for a month.  … When it’s been about five weeks and they haven’t had their usual mid-season breakup or larger then usual spat, Justin is almost kind of bordering on surprise when Brian arrives at the loft one night with nothing. No trick, no sated expression on his face. Nothing. Just a leather jacket and a wallet that has probably shelled out about a hundred bucks worth of beer money in the last few weeks. Brian’s too fucking complex, Justin decides, and tries not to look too interested as he crosses the floor and then disappears into the bathroom. Justin shakes his head and drops his attention back to the rapidly forming sketch of Rage on the notepad in his lap.  … Michael’s probably more surprised than Justin is when Brian enters the diner one day and announces that he’s getting married. “What?” Michael had asked, his voice a couple pitches higher than usual as Brian slid into the booth and stole a piece of toast right off of Justin’s plate. Justin scowled and replaced the words ‘getting married’ with ‘fucking someone’ and then he was okay with the situation. “I said, I’m getting married.” Brian had repeated, enunciating careful words for Mikey as he pointed over at Justin with his thumb. “And you are too.” Justin had looked up from the notes he was flipping through, still half distracted with whatever they were about, and shrugged. “I’m busy right now. Maybe later.” Brian nodded and agreed that later would work as he stole Justin’s half empty cup of coffee then disappeared back through the front doors, an emancipated expression on Michael’s face. “What? What the fuck?” Michael had asked, turning around a little bit in the booth, just to watch the door close and track Brian’s figure in the window as he disappeared down the street. Justin shrugged, flipped the page in his notebook, and scowled when he reached for his coffee cup and realized that it wasn’t there. “Someone probably told him that he couldn’t.” Justin had rationalized, shrugging. “So now he has to.”  … So almost six months after the entire thing started, the last guy Brian fucks looks vaguely reminiscent of some breed of monkey when he comes. With a grimace, Brian is kind of (read: really) glad that’s it because it seems like as the years go on Babylon just fills up with more and more pity fucks. No fucking wonder Ted has gotten so popular, Brian thinks, grabbing one last drink before he leaves.  … “We’re doing it tomorrow.” Brian says that night, sliding the loft door closed behind him. Justin glances up from where he’s sitting at his computer, pencil in one hand and half finished drink in the other. “Yeah, okay.”  … Justin always figured that Brian would have to be utterly numb and inebriated with alcohol and poppers before he’d even consider the traumatic eight letter word, but it turns out that all he needs is a couple of fags talking about how he never will anyways, and then he’s all over it.  … They’re on a flight to Las Vegas the next morning, and after a quick fuck in the bathroom, Brian gives Justin this elaborate speech on how they’re not getting married to be imitation breeders and raise a pretty little family, they’re getting married because Brian wants to and nobody can tell him he can’t. Justin hides his smirk behind one hand and manages a half sober nod.  … Las Vegas ends outside their hotel room, Justin discovers that night. Brian lays in bed with him and they smoke an entire pack of cigarettes between them. “You know that when we go back none of them will be surprised. I bet they expected it.” Justin says after too long a silence, turning his head to the side so he can look at Brian. Brian’s eyebrows knot and he shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Las Vegas is pretty hideous for a wedding, though.” Brian manages, and Justin laughs despite himself and tries to figure out why he isn’t as crushed as he should be, considering the words that tumble out of Brian’s mouth are Classic Kinney Code for ‘I’m really fucking scared so I’ll lie my way out of this one.’ “I didn’t really want to get married to you anyways.” Justin smiles, reaching over to steal the cigarette from Brian’s fingers. They can both lie through their teeth, it seems. Brian frowns and lightly punches the pale shoulder beside him. “I mean, I figure I’m already on your will and in your bank account. What more do I need?”  … They get back to Pittsburgh two days later, after existing in a posh hotel suite for the length of time they were gone, and Michael is in Brian’s face as soon as he’s two steps into the diner. “So, did you do it?” He asks, trying to figure out if this really is a sign that the beginning of the end is coming. The apocalypse, the second coming of Christ. Whatever. “Mikey. You underestimate me.” Brian smirks, dodging the question as he throws an arm around his best friend’s shoulder and steers him towards the front counter. “Deb, a coffee?” Debbie appears out of nowhere and fills up Brian’s wickedly expensive Starbucks mug with ninety nine cent coffee, then disappears somewhere between booths five and six. “Fuck you, Brian! Did you?” Michael asks again, hitting Brian’s shoulder with the palm of his hand, Debbie style. Brian laughs and picks his coffee up off of the counter, dropping a twenty dollar bill as a tip and sliding off his stool to go back to Kinnetik. “Mikey. Do I really look like the kind of person that would get married in Las Vegas?” Brian asks, and in a queenier moment then usual, follows up with a wave of the hand and, “Please.” And as he’s disappearing through the front door to go back to the world where he has an assistant and Ted handles his finances, Michael turns around to look at Debbie with a lost look on his face. “What the fuck?” He asks, throwing his hands up in the air. Debbie shrugs and pops her gum, moving down the counter to take another order from another customer.  … Later that day, Brian’s laughing when Cynthia comes into his office to let him know that Justin is on line one. “So I decided.” Justin says, and Brian can hear paper shuffling around in the background as Justin moves his so-called research around. “New York.” “New York?” Brian questions, and Justin nods even though the movement goes completely unnoticed. “So what the fuck is in New York?” Justin smirks and Brian is damned near convinced when he explains. “A hotel and five hours between us, my mother, Debbie and Michael.”  … They’re in New York two weeks later, but now there’s a ring on Brian’s thumb. Justin has the same one but in a different size on his middle finger, and the difference between the two is that Justin has started to use his left hand more. “Wasn’t the point of getting married in the first place to prove to everyone else that you could do it even though they said you wouldn’t?” Justin asks, confused as he moves his hand up to cover the yawn that comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. Brian rolls his eyes and hangs up the phone, disconnecting the line to room service. “So technically, it kind of ruins your entire plan if you don’t tell them.” “The only thing better than telling those queens that their only chance to get fucked by Brian Kinney has passed is having the satisfaction that they’ll pine away for years,” Brian says, and then goes all dramatic and repeats himself, “For years, and never get what they want.” Brian kneels down onto the expensive mattress and Justin rolls his eyes because the reasoning behind the idea is so full of shit that it’s hilarious. “Yeah right.” Justin smirks, eyes drifting half closed when Brian starts to crawl up the bed and on top of him. “You just don’t want to admit that you totally almost did it in Las Vegas before you realized that an Elvis impersonator just wasn’t your thing.” Brian laughs and maybe next week they’ll pretend to break up again for old times sake, but right now he’s just too fucking satisfied.