Chapter Text
Chapter One
Justin hurried out of his last class at PIFA only to run into Ethan, the violinist who’d been pursuing him relentlessly. Justin tried not groan in dismay, switching his sketch pad to his other arm, creating a small barrier between him and his admirer.
“Justin, I caught your show the other night. Really impressive work,” Ethan crooned, falling into step beside him. “Hey, want to grab dinner? Some wine, some cheese, some violin music…” Ethan gave him his best Casanova smile, and Justin tried not to hurl at the saccharine pick-up line.
Ethan had a reputation as a devoted lover…for a few months until he moved onto his next “soul mate.” It was a small school, and gossip traveled fast in the gay circles. Especially at an art school where the gay population was the majority.
“Uh, I’m late for work,” Justin replied, but he couldn’t be a total asshole, so he threw out. “Maybe some other time.” A time that would never happen. He didn’t go for soul patches or true love fairytales. He was a little more cynical than that after all he’d been through.
As Justin headed across campus, passing some friends and promising to meet them for drinks later, his phone rang. He smiled: Daphne.
“Hey,” he answered.
“Hey, are you headed to your new patient?” she asked.
“Yeah, but I’m worried. He’s younger than most, way younger, and cancer’s fucking intense. I’m used to dealing with the elderly, giving some diabetes shots.”
“You’ll be great,” she assured him, calming him as only his best friend could. Daphne was hardcore pre-med, and she’d helped Justin get a job as an at-home caregiver, which paid a hell of a lot more than other job he could find. And he needed serious money for PIFA’s tuition, since his father had cut him off.
Justin had spent the summer attending classes to become a medical tech. He wasn’t a full-blown nurse or anything, so Justin was more than a little surprised when the agency gave me this ill of a patient. But the client hadn’t wanted a nurse, just someone to take him to and from radiation, get him through the nausea and fatigue. And apparently, he was rather difficult to deal with.
“He’s already fired two other guys,” Justin pointed out to Daphne.
“Actually, they were woman. And total wimps from what I hear. That’s why they assigned you. So go kick some ass…er, clean some vomit. Don’t actually kick a guy with cancer.”
“You’re a big help, Daph,” Justin said, rolling his eyes even though she couldn’t see him. He hung up and hurried to catch the bus, praying he’d be the one to keep the job. He really needed the work, and he’d made sure his schedule this semester meant only classes on Monday and Tuesday mornings except for one studio class Friday nights, so that he could get better clients, clients that needed larger blocks of time.
As the bus stopped near Liberty Avenue, Justin headed past the diner he liked and the club Babylon, which played the best music. He was only now getting to know the gay scene in Pittsburgh. Once, years ago, he’d tried to sneak out of Daphne’s house to explore Liberty Avenue; god, he’d been determined to get laid that night. But one tiny decision, to stop and tie his shoe in her backyard, had caused the security lights to come on and her parents to notice. They’d called his dad, and he’d flipped out, grounding Justin for a month.
Justin always wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped to tie his damn shoe. He sighed. Nothing good. Coming out in high school would have made his senior year hell. At least, he’d made it all the way to prom before his world had been shattered.
Justin turned onto Tremont and headed inside an unimpressive brick building, deciding to take the stairs to the top rather than waiting for the elevator. He reached a large metal door and then braced himself before knocking. He knew this guy had a temper. Which he kinda respected him for. No need to be a wuss about cancer.
He gave three sharp knocks and waited. No answer. Justin started to knock again when he realized the sliding door was partially ajar. He pushed it open and tentatively stepped inside, “Hello?”
He looked around – the place was fucking amazing. Modern furniture, expensive fixtures, and a wall of windows. Not the usual type of apartment found in Pittsburgh. This guy had taste, expensive taste. But it didn’t look like his patient was home…and then Justin heard retching coming from what must be the bathroom.
“Ted Schmidt?” Justin called out, not wanting to scare his new patient.
“Fuck, FUCK,” Justin heard and then the flush of the toilet. “I have cancer but my life’s not that bad.”
Justin paused at the base of the steps, confused. “You’re not Ted Schmidt?”
“Not unless I’m dead and this is hell. Now fuck off.”
“Um, but I was hired to—“
“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” came the furious voice. “So fuck off!”
Justin hesitated. He really, really needed this job. And he didn’t give up that easy. He hadn’t survived the hell of high school, a near bashing, and his father’s fury to crawl away that easy. So what if his patient was an asshole? He’d dealt with a lot of assholes. Justin crossed the loft again, closed the door firmly, him still inside, and then calmly went to work in the kitchen.
A few minutes later, the vomiting began again. Justin cringed. The guy was puking up his guts at this point; there couldn’t be anything else left. So Justin picked up the ginger tea he’d brewed, a warm washcloth, and headed into the trenches.
* * *
Brian was pretty sure he was going to die on the bathroom floor. And maybe it was better than fighting cancer. Go out in a blaze of glory. Although this wasn’t exactly glorious. And the thought of his son, Gus, made him know he’d keep suffering through the damn radiation. He wanted to see his boy grow up. Brian rested his head on the toilet seat, not caring if it was unsanitary, feeling shittier than he ever had in his life.
And then suddenly, a warm washcloth was being pressed against his forehead, a hand soothing his back. He was so shocked, and it felt so damn good, that he allowed it for three whole seconds. And then, “I told you to fuck off.” It came out a lot weaker than Brian had intended.
“Yeah, I’m a persistent little shit,” the guy behind him replied. At least, Ted had sent a male this time. Like Brian would ever want a woman coddling over him, especially a motherly presence; Deb was enough to deal with, not that she knew. And anyone else seemed to sound as hollow as his frigid mother, Joan.
But this guy definitely did not sound like his mother, any mother. He better be fucking hot, Brian thought, and then realized that would actually suck more, because he wasn’t actually up to any sucking or fucking right now.
“Here, have some tea,” he heard.
Brian shook his head, “I can’t keep anything down.” He knew he should keep trying to throw the guy out, but he didn’t have the fucking energy. The adrenaline was wearing off, like it always did around this time of day.
“It’s ginger tea, it will calm your stomach. And if it doesn’t, at least you’ll have something to puke up.” Brian couldn’t argue with that logic, so he took the fucking cup and scooted back, leaning against the cold tile walls, eyes closed.
He heard the guy gasp. Shit, he must look like crap. Brian took a sip of the tea, then opened his eyes, and was shocked to see a gorgeous kid in front of him.
Well, maybe not a kid, but young, very young. He was almost beautiful with his shaggy blonde hair and big, blue eyes. Brian raked him with his most leering once-over, taking note of the twink’s hot body, decent bulge in his pants, but what about his—“Show me your ass,” Brian commanded.
The kid seemed to snap out of it, shocked by the sudden request, and then he smiled, a fucking brilliant smile that lit up his whole face. Fuck, this radiation was warping his mind.
“You’re Brian Kinney,” the kid said. “I mean, of course, you are. To say something like that and actually think I’ll obey.”
“I see my reputation proceeds me. And who the fuck are you?”
“Justin Taylor,” the kid said, holding out his hand.
Brian managed a smirk; ignoring the proffered handshake, “Don’t expect me to remember that. Now fuck off.”
Justin laughed, “Nope, I’m already paid for the day.”
Brian narrowed his eyes at him, “I’ll pay you a hundred dollars extra to go away.”
“Look, Mr. Kinney, you just got home from radiation, clearly you need help, and—”
“I don’t need any fucking help—“ but Brian’s exclamation was totally ruined when he suddenly lunged forward to puke up the sip of ginger tea. Then he dry heaved for a bit as the kid gently stroked his fingers through Brian’s hair, soothing him. And it actually kinda felt nice.
* * *
Justin couldn’t believe he was in the infamous Brian Kinney’s loft, or that the stud of Liberty Avenue had fucking cancer. Talk about shitty luck. Even though he knew Brian’s reputation, he’d never actually gone home with him. He’d made sure to steer clear of Brian, because he knew if the man ever propositioned him, he’d say yes and then regret it. He didn’t want to be a one-night stand, at least not with Brian Kinney. He liked being able to keep the fantasy alive. Sure, he’d had a few one-night stands with tricks, some flings in college, and a pathetic freshman romance, but never had he been a conquest of Brian Kinney. The man who sounded like he was currently going through hell.
Justin soothed Brian’s back with small circles until he finished heaving up nothing but air, then he rewet the washcloth, and wiped Brian’s brow. This time Brian was too exhausted to argue.
“Do you think you can make it to the bed?” Justin asked, and was surprised when Brian just nodded. So Justin hooked his arms under Brian’s and helped the much taller man stand. He’d lost weight and was clearly haggard from the cancer, but Justin couldn’t help but notice the man was still fucking gorgeous. Just touching him made electricity thrum through his nerves – which was sick, he told himself, really sick. The poor guy had cancer and Justin was turned on.
Trying to put on a professional persona, Justin helped Brian onto his bed, then gently pushed him back into the pillows. But when he began to remove his socks, Brian practically kicked him away.
“I’m not an invalid,” he snapped.
Justin crossed his arms and glared at Brian, even though he was partially amused. “Look, I’m assuming this Ted Schmidt is your friend and hired me against your wishes, but I’m here now, so stop being a baby.”
“He’s not my friend, he’s my accountant, and he’s fucking fired,” Brian groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You’re fired too.”
“No.”
Brian opened one eye to peer at Justin, clearly not used to refusal, not used to anyone standing up to him really, so all he replied was, “What?”
“No,” Justin said firmly. “I need this job. I have bills to pay. And you need me. So how about you be a good patient and let me take off your clothes?”
Brian gave out a bark of laughter, “You wanna play doctor? Kinky.”
Justin blushed to the roots of his hair, realizing he’d made it sound like a proposition more than a medical order. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he huffed.
“You’re gay,” Brian asserted, giving him a disgusted look. “Just own up to it.”
Justin blinked, surprised, “I never said I wasn’t.”
Brian relaxed further into the pillows, obviously glad that he wasn’t dealing with a closeted fag. Justin had heard enough rumors about Brian Kinney’s life philosophy to know he couldn’t stand people without a spine, who didn’t own up to who they really were. And to him, being a fag was a fucking privilege. Justin considered that a pretty ballsy approached to life; one he’d tried to adopt.
Justin reached for Brian’s sock again, undeterred, and Brian quirked open a brow, “The only way your fucking undressing me is if you’re getting naked too.”
Brian almost fell out of his bed when Justin shrugged, “Okay.” And with that Justin kicked off his shoes and flung off his socks. Brian was too shocked to stop Justin when he reached down to remove Brian’s socks. Then he boldly leaned over and unsnapped Brian’s jeans, sliding them down his long, lean legs.
“Done that before, have you?” Brian gritted out, fighting another wave of nausea.
“Sure. Lots of times,” Justin replied, then suddenly grabbed both of Brian’s wrists and dug his thumbs into the tender flesh just above his palms. “Acupuncture,” Justin explained without Brian having to ask, “It’ll help with the nausea. Take deep breaths.”
Brian did, desperate for any relief, and in a few moments, the nausea began to recede. Enough so that Brian could point out, “You still have your pants on.”
Justin laughed, “You’re such a lech. I’m keeping them on, but you can watch me walk away while I get your meds and some soup.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Brian snapped.
“Because you want to see if I have a great ass,” Justin sassed back. He could not believe he was flirting with this man, but it seemed to be working. Diverting Brian’s attention from the hell he must be feeling.
“I’m sure it’s flat and flabby,” Brian countered.
Justin leaned in, “It’s so fucking perfect you’re going to beg me to stay.”
Brian let out a surprised laugh, “Jesus, you’re a twat. Go make fucking soup.”
Knowing he’d won a major battle, Justin stood up and slowly turned around to head down the steps; he even wiggled his ass as he walked away, knowing Brian was indeed checking him out.
* * *
Brian watched him go, his breath caught in his chest. Fuck, the kid had the best goddamn ass he’d ever seen. It was a thing of glory. “How old are you?” he called after Justin, wondering if this kid was even past his teens.
“Twenty!” Justin called back. “Old enough.”
“Old enough for what?” Brian taunted.
“Old enough to deal with you.”
Brian let that one slide. He really doubted the kid would last more than a day, but he was sure as hell curious to find out. With what little strength he had left, he pulled off his t-shirt and collapsed back into bed. If it weren’t for the ugly surgery stitches, he’d peel off his boxers too and see if he could give the kid a heart attack. That amusing thought was the last one he had as he sank into a deep sleep.