Whipped Topping
Author ScrewTheDaisies
Rating: R
Archive: TAoS
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters mentioned in this story (except for the ones I made up myself). This story was written solely for fun. I am not profiting from this story.
Fandom: Queer As Folk (QAF) US
Pairing: Justin/Brian
Summary: Justin discovers the magic of carnivals
Warnings: none
Notes: The result of a first-line fic challenge
"Let's see what we can do," the magician said, pulling me closer.
With a grin, I glanced back at Brian who stood eyeing a gun barrel for straightness at the shooting gallery, his back almost completely toward me. The guy working the shooting gallery booth crossed his large, tattooed arms and scowled at Brian's scrutiny of his equipment. This put the man squarely in the straight category--anyone with even the vaguest homosexual bent would be thrilled to have Brian examining his equipment.
Massimo the Magician's bangles jangled brightly as he tugged at my sleeve.
I doubted Brian would notice if I wandered away for a minute. And if he did...? Good. Let him wonder. I turned back to Massimo, who lifted dark eyebrows that resembled parentheses turned on their sides. Between those, his large-pupilled eyes, and the hook of his nose, he reminded me of an owl.
Then, with a sweep of flowing purple muumuu, he turned. I followed him into his tent.
That the tent looked smaller from the inside than it had from the outside was no magic trick; the illusion could be directly attributed to the plethora of overstuffed, fringed, and feathered pillows in every shade of purple imaginable covering every inch of horizontal surface save for a narrow path from the tent's door to a small circle smack in the middle of the tent. Gauze curtains threaded with gold hung from the peak of the ceiling and swept down each of the tent's four walls. A round paper lantern also hung from the ceiling's peak, casting muted light around the room--light that didn't begin to scare the shadows from the corners.
"So...this unfortunate crush of yours..." Massimo started, standing in the center of the room and folding his arms so that each hand slid under the oversized muumuu sleeve of the opposite arm.
"It's not a crush," I said. Crushes were things you did from across the room. Brian and I lived together, slept together, even had moments when it seemed like we were actually "together."
"Of course. Poor choice of words. Regardless, this man you're in love with...he's put up a wall, keeps you neatly on one side and himself on the other."
I laughed. "So you've met him, then?"
"A million like him, I'm afraid."
I sobered. Here came the speech I'd heard a million times before. "You're going to tell me to give up, I can do better, I shouldn't--"
Massimo spread his arms wide and cocked his head. "Do I look like Dear Abby?"
Smiling, I shook my head. "So what are you going to tell me?"
"Tell? Tell! I'm a magician. I don't tell! I conjure! Talk," he said in a reverent voice, "is for old ladies and men with small penises."
"Well?"
"Well this." Massimo--a lot quicker than you'd expect for an old owl in a fat dress--crossed the room, grabbed the back of my head and kissed me, forcing his tongue into my mouth. Then, as quickly as it started, it ended, and Massimo once again stood in the center of the room.
When I opened my mouth to sputter indignation, Massimo put a finger to his lips and shook his head.
"Run along now and make him yours. Find him and kiss him quick before it wears off. And until you kiss him, hold your tongue or you'll waggle it all off. Go!"
I pressed my lips together, nodded, and turned to leave the tent.
"And after it works, you can come back and thank me," Massimo called out.
I nodded over my shoulder before pushing through the tent flap into the blinding daylight of the carnival midway.
Brian was no longer at the shooting gallery across the way. I panicked. He could have wandered off anywhere. I rose up onto my toes and scanned the crowds.
A tap on my shoulder made me jump out of my skin.
"Where were you?" Brian asked when I turned.
Instead of answering, I slid my arm around his neck and pulled him down toward me.
"Miss me?" he asked.
Ignoring him, I pressed my mouth against his. His lips parted and I pushed my tongue inside. I kissed him as long as he'd allow. When he pulled back, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stared into his eyes. I have no idea what I expected. Maybe cartoon hearts floating out of his pupils? I got nothing.
"Seriously, where were you?" Brian asked.
"The magician's tent."
"He show you his magic wand?"
"Funny."
And then his eyes slid away. I turned to see what had caught his attention. Of course: Some Young Hot Guy. So much for magic. I watched him watch the hunk until the hunk moved out of sight, and then I said, "Come on. I'm hungry."
Brian slipped an arm around my back, but his eyes still scanned the crowd. He likely hoped SYHG would pop back into view. "Me, too," he said.
I couldn't believe I'd let an old fat guy in a dress kiss me and get away with it...for nothing.
The rest of the day went about as expected. Brian tired of the carnival long before I did, proclaiming it cheap, sad, and more than a little ridiculous. The games were rigged, the rides overpriced and tame, and the food wasn't suited for starving dogs. I'd hoped to see the fireworks display, but Brian dragged us away just as it was getting dark. Or, rather, he said that I could stay if I liked, but that he'd rather spend his evening surrounded by sweaty, shirtless men than screaming children and their breeders.
I could have stayed. I could have at least tracked down Massimo and gave him a piece of mind, but the carnival mood had been killed for me.
At the loft, I sat on the bed and watched Brian pick out his clothes.
He glanced at me. "You're not going out like that, are you?"
I shrugged and fell back onto the bed, arms spread. I felt the end of the bed dip suddenly, and then Brian was kneeling over me.
"What?" I avoided his eyes.
"Hmm."
"Hmm what?"
"Hmm, I have a sudden urge to stay in."
I looked at him, cocked an eyebrow, slid my hands up his thighs. "And do what?"
He regarded me for a long minute. Growing uncomfortable, I laughed and looked away. His hand cupped my chin and turned me back to face him.
"Whatever you want to do," he said finally.
"Whatever I want?"
He nodded. "For tonight, I'm yours."
"Seriously?" I asked. There were things we'd never done...or, rather, things he wouldn't let me do. "Anything I want?" Then, to be sure he understood me: "_Any_thing?"
He climbed off me. I pushed onto my elbows and watched him pull his t-shirt over his head. Then he slid a thumb under the waistband of his jeans, shoved his tongue into his cheek, and raised his eyebrows before popping open the fly, button by button. The jeans slipped to the floor. He stepped out of them, held his arms out, and said, "Anything. You tell me what to do."
I smiled, looking at him, thinking.... Then I stood and said, "Take off my clothes."
He stepped up against me and grasped the bottom of my t-shirt. I raised me arms over my head. We stared into each other's eyes in the second before he lifted my shirt up, and I said, "I'm going to fuck you tonight. Is that okay?"
He pulled the shirt over my head, making me miss his facial expression. He tortured me with the anticipation. When the shirt cleared my eyes, he had a small smile on his face and I had no idea what it meant. With Brian, it could mean anything--it could especially mean he was about to turn the tables.
The shirt slipped over my hands and Brian dropped it to the floor on top of his jeans. I let my arms drop to my sides. He slipped a hand around to the base of my spine and pulled me against him. Then he leaned into my ear and said, his breath hot, "If you're going to do it, do it right. Fuck me hard. Fuck me like you'll never have the chance again."
Knowing Brian, I probably wouldn't.
I knew a chance when I had it. I fucked Brian that night like there was no tomorrow, teasing him first until he begged for it. He begged. Even now I grin thinking about that.
The next day, I returned to the carnival to thank Massimo. I found the shooting gallery and stood there, looking around, but there was no magician's tent, just a rotisserie chicken booth put up by the VFW.
"Hey," I said to the guy taking orders.
"What can I get you?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Where'd the magician go?"
"Huh?"
"Yesterday there was a magician's tent right here."
"You must be lost. We've been in this spot since the carnival opened Thursday. You buying anything?"
I looked around once more, certain I was in the right spot. The guy working the shooting gallery--the same guy from yesterday, the one with the tattoos and the scowl--leered openly at a chick whose boyfriend was trying to win her a stuffed animal. Yep, I was in the right place.
I shook my head in wonder and smiled, then asked the guy at the VFW booth for a lemonade.
Thanks, Massimo, wherever you are, I thought.