Barring a drunken stupor, illness, or some unusually good drugs, Brian requires some very specific conditions. First of all, he prefers to be in his own bed. Thread count on the sheets should be at least 420. It should be dark, but not so dark that he can't see. Quiet, but not silent. The thermostat must be set at sixty-five degrees. His facial regimen must be attended to. And, most importantly, he needs a good fuck before bed if he expects to get any rest at all. Tonight he's gotten all but the last.

He did have Justin, of course, but that was almost three hours ago now, and the guy after him was a fucking joke. He looked at the cover of Justin's comic through almost the entire thing, and even that wasn't enough to maintain his interest. He doesn't know when the guys started getting so pathetic, but the whole thing has left him with a vague feeling of frustration that reminds him of the not-so-long-ago nights when there was no Justin at all. And now there's no one here, and his sheets smell like cheap cologne. He's out of cigarettes, and he has to be up at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow, and he can't even remember why he asked that fucking bad haircut ugly jacket to come over here in the first place.

Justin always has cigarettes. He doesn't smoke them all that often, but he always has them. For emergencies. Like now. Now is definitely a cigarette emergency, and that's why he calls. Because it's two in the morning and who the fuck else is gonna come over and bring him cigarettes?

Daphne answers, which is probably the most annoying thing that could've happened. They must have caller ID over there, because she says, "He's not here," before Brian has a chance to get a word out.

"Where the fuck is he?" Brian asks. It's been since hours since he left. What could he be doing for that long?

"I don't know! God!" Daphne squeals. "I'm not his babysitter." And then, after a pause, "He really missed you, you know."

"Of course he did," Brian says. As if he'd known it all along. As if hearing her say it, knowing Justin told her that, has no effect on him at all.

He tries Justin's cell next, and, miraculously, the little fucker has it turned on for once. He answers with a chipper hello. Too chipper for two in the morning.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"I'm at school," Justin says, which is just too stupid to be a lie. Brian hears music in the background, but no people.

"What are you doing at school? It's the middle of the night."

"I'm painting. At the studio." For some reason this makes Brian hard. And even more irritated that he's not there.

"Come over here."

"What for?" Justin asks. "I just left."

"Because I told you to," Brian says. "And I need cigarettes."

Justin makes a weird snorting, wheezing sound that could be either disbelief, or asthma.

"Brian, you just told me to leave like, two hours ago."

"Three. And I didn't tell you to leave. You could've stayed." And that's true. He didn't ask him to go. Didn't expect him to go so willingly. So fucking happily.

"Yeah, I guess I could've stayed and watched television until you were done.... Aren't you tired yet?"

"Not at all."

Justin sighs, sounding all put out. Like it's such a fucking sacrifice to stop painting Brian's dick and come see it in person.

"I can't be at your beck and call, you know."

"Sure you can," Brian says, and he's being a twat. He knows this. But it's so ridiculous. It's laughable. And he also knows that this is where Justin wants to be, and that's what matters really. "C'mon, what're you gonna do that you can't do here?"

"Um, I dunno, paint?" Justin says. Like the fucking smartass that he is. "Anyway, that's not the point."

"Sure it is. Just come over. You can paint tomorrow."

Justin makes some more huffing and puffing noises, but Brian can hear him starting to clean up his supplies.

"All right," he says eventually. "But I AM tired, so don't expect too much."

"I knew you wanted to all along," Brian tells him smugly, and hangs up the phone. Then, with that settled, promptly falls asleep.

He wakes to the feel of smooth naked Justin pressed against his back. Justin mouth on his neck. He wakes with a smile and looks at the clock. 2:56.

"Almost missed curfew," he says, though he can't be entirely sure how long Justin's been here.

"I don't think curfew really works when we don't live together," Justin tells him. Brian doesn't comment, doesn't mention the fact that it's been working just fine for him the past few months, because he doesn't really like to think about that and he sure as hell doesn't wanna talk about it. Didn't even realize he was doing it until he found himself racing home from Babylon at 2:30 one morning. Racing like he had somewhere important to be, when really there was nowhere at all. He tried to stay until 4 the next night, but it was just too fucking dull.

"What were you painting?"

"I'm not sure I should tell you. I think I've added to your ego enough, coming back here."

"Is that what you think this is about?"

Justin doesn't answer, and Brian can't really tell if he's kidding- so many things about him are so much less obvious than before- so he turns over and kisses him long and sweet to show him that no, that's not why he called. Not at all.

Justin curls against his chest after the kiss, and Brian holds him there, touching his hair. So much of it now. And so fucking soft. Brian wonders what conditioner he's using- feels irritated that he doesn't know already. He should know.

"Aren't you gonna ask how he was?" He always used to ask. For awhile Brian thought it turned him on, hearing about them. Then he decided Justin was just a masochist.

"I'm assuming not very good if you couldn't even fall asleep afterwards."

Brian searches for some descriptor, some explanation, but finds he can't even remember why it was bad. Not one single detail, other than the stupid comic book thing, and there's no way he's mentioning that

"Tell me what you were painting."

"Us," Justin says. "Fucking."

Brian smirks. "Never get tired of that subject matter, do you."

"It's not like the stuff for Rage. It's sort of non-representational."

"So no dicks, then?"

"Mm, not exactly. Not that you'd recognize, anyway."

Brian wants to see the painting so badly, he almost makes a rude comment about it.

"I'd like to see it sometime," he says instead, and Justin lights up like a fucking one-man homo carnival, and it's so easy. So fucking easy it's a joke, really. He's never been all that hard to please, and, contrary to what everyone else in the world seems to think, Brian's always known how. It's just been a long time since he's let himself do it.

"Maybe you can come by the studio tomorrow," Justin suggests.

"Yeah, maybe I will. We can go to the movies after."

"The movies?"

"Yeah, the movies."

"You wanna go to the movies?"

"Jesus, are you deaf?"

"No, I just...I don't think we've ever gone to the movies."

Brian can't believe that's true. Two years and they've never been to a fucking movie?

"Look, do you wanna go or not?" he asks. "I wanna see that movie with Jude Law's ass, and if you don't go, I'm sure I can find some other homo to share my popcorn with."

"I wanna go," Justin says. "Let's go. Tomorrow." Then he yawns and settles back against Brian's chest, rubbing his face against the skin. They're quiet for a few minutes, and Justin's breathing starts to deepen. He starts to fall asleep there, and even though sleep is what Brian wanted in the first place, he finds himself displeased with the prospect.

"Don't sleep," he whispers into Justin's ear, then bites hard on the lobe.

"Ugh, why not?" Justin groans.

"It's too early to go to sleep."

"Brian, it's like, four in the morning."

"I seem to remember lots of nights when we were up fucking way past four."? "But we're not fucking now."

No, they aren't. And that's kind of strange. That's something else he'd been thinking about before- reciprocating that fucking amazing blowjob- and he still wants to, still intends to, but for some reason it's not what he wants right now. He wouldn't say no to it, but it's not what he wants.

He doesn't want to sleep and he doesn't want to fuck. Doesn't want to go out or have a drink, and he never even got a fucking cigarette from Justin either, so what the fuck is it?

"I can't do this every night, you know," Justin says. Sort of randomly.

"What? Not fuck me?"

"Leave so that you can fuck someone else, and then come running back whenever you call me. If you want me to stay, I wanna just...stay."

"Is that a new rule?"

"It shouldn't have to be a rule, Brian. It's common sense."

Brian just nods. Should be easy enough to remember. After tonight, he's not particularly excited by the idea of random losers coming over to the loft anyway.

"So, what are the rules now?" he asks. They still haven't talked about that- not in any literal kind of way- and for some reason it's been bugging him a little. Justin says he knows what to expect, and he knows what Brian wants, but Brian's not entirely sure that he's right about that.

"I dunno, do we really need rules at this point?" Justin asks. Brian's stomach clenches inexplicably.

"I dunno, you're the one who had such a hard time following them, so I guess it's up to you."

Justin sits up and stares at him, and Brian has to look away. He doesn't know where that came from. Hates the fucking pathetic way it came out.

"Forget I said that. It-"

"No, you're right," Justin says. "You're right."

He sighs and lays down next to Brian, but not touching him anymore, and he doesn't say anything for so long that Brian starts to wonder if he fell asleep again.

He looks at the clock. 4:20, and he's considering getting up to roll a joint when Justin finally says, "I thought they were for you."

"Huh?"

"The rules. I wanted them for you. I guess I...I didn't think I needed to follow them myself, because I thought you already knew that I loved you."

Brian doesn't know what the hell to say to that, so he just laughs. It's so insane. Infuriating and absurd, and yet it makes complete sense to him because it's just so fucking them, and what else can he really do but laugh.

And kiss him. A lot. Which he does, and when he stops doing that Justin is smiling again.

"I don't want you kissing other guys," Brian tells him, nuzzling his face in Justin's neck. Justin hums and runs his fingers through Brian's hair.

"I like being the guy you fuck more than once," he whispers, and that's all the answer Brian really needs. He finally starts to drift off at around 5, but Justin pokes him awake with his toe.

"Do you have any food?" he asks. Brian opens one eye and gives him a disbelieving stare with it.

"You want to eat now?"

Brian doesn't know why he is surprised. Much like sleeping, Justin could probably eat his way through a nuclear holocaust.

"I haven't eaten since dinner," he says. Like dinner was twelve years ago or something.

"You shouldn't eat this late," Brian tells him. "One of these days your freak metabolism is gonna slow down and it's gonna be pork city."

"Would you still love me if I was fat?" Justin asks, and Brian doesn't answer because it's a trick question, but he does reach over to his bedside table and grab a bag of Snickers miniatures out of the drawer. He doesn't know why he still has them. He always expected Justin to leave, eventually, but he never really thought he'd come back. Not really. He should've thrown them away a long time ago.

He tosses the bag onto Justin's stomach, and Justin gasps.

"Don't get too excited. They're probably stale."

"Oh my god!" Justin practically squeals. "It's my candy! You kept my candy!"

Brian considers telling him that it isn't his candy at all, or possibly shoving the entire bag up his ass, but he hasn't seen Justin so excited about anything in, like, years, and it's really kind of cool. It's really kind of easier, letting him be happy, and maybe that's all he has to do. Maybe it's all he had to do in the first place.

"I love you," Justin says, as sincerely as a person can with a mouth full of chocolate, and Brian lets him do that, too. For the first time, really, and things are different, but they're also the same, and it's okay. It's good. He has to get ready for work in an hour, and he didn't get any sleep at all, but he doesn't much care anymore because for the first time in a long time he thinks that tomorrow might be better than yesterday. And yesterday was pretty fucking amazing.