Summary: Since then I've been so good at vanishing
The knock came at 3:53 am. Emmett was expecting it.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve been at Babylon all this time,” he said as he opened the door. “Even you can only fuck so much.”
Brian brushed past him, into the apartment, and didn’t say a word. Emmett studied him. He didn’t seem to be stumbling all over himself, which meant he was probably at least marginally less fucked up than he had been a few hours ago.
Emmett sighed and closed the door. He didn’t know why Brian insisted on coming here now that Michael was in Portland.
Then again, maybe he did.
Brian tasted like Jim Beam and cigarettes. Emmett wasn’t sure how messed up he was, but he always kissed like he meant it; wet and skilled and desperate. Emmett let himself surrender to it because he always did. He couldn’t see himself resisting.
He wasn’t sure what Brian was getting out of this. Hell, he wasn’t sure what he was getting out of this. A good fuck was one thing, but Brian was doing this for some other reason, and Emmett wasn’t in on the plan. He tried to tell himself that he was just being a good friend – helping Brian in a way that Brian would let him, but he was pretty sure that was a lie. He wasn’t helping Brian at all.
Which made all these late night encounters kind of … pointless. Completely pointless.
Emmett always found himself searching for something from Brian. Something in the way he kissed or the way he ran his hands over Emmett’s skin or the way he pushed him back onto the bed and used his fingers to open Emmett up slowly and torturously until Emmett was panting and grasping at the sheets and begging for it with his hips.
But there was never anything there. Brian was barely there.
No matter how good a fuck it was, the high of orgasm never lasted long. When they were finished Emmett was left feeling awkward and guilty with his face in Brian’s neck.
Brian smelled like clubs, like cigarettes and alcohol, sweat, and sex. He smelled faintly of expensive cologne, fancy soap, and aftershave. But underneath all of it, he smelled sick, like hospitals and blood.
Emmett had a fleeting thought that maybe the blood had soaked into Brian’s skin that night, and now it was a part of him. Maybe now, Brian would always smell like blood, just a little bit.
Emmett shook the thought away and sat up.
“Are you staying?” he asked. His voice sounded strange, even to himself.
“No,” Brian said shortly, and got up from the bed. Emmett didn’t bother to push it further. He had tried, those first couple of nights, and had the door slammed in his face for his trouble.
Emmett watched Brian button up his pants and wondered how long this was going to go on. Would Brian spend the rest of his life getting wasted and fucking Emmett at four in the morning?
“Sweetie, maybe you should –“
“Shut. Up.” Brian’s voice was low and dangerous, and Emmett shut up. Brian grabbed the rest of his clothing and stalked to the door.
He should let it go. Emmett knew he should let it go, and not make Brian mad, and if he wanted things to change then he should stop answering his door when Brian knocked.
But he couldn’t stop himself. He got between Brian and the door. He looked Brian in the eye and refused to flinch at what he saw there.
“Why are you doing this?”
Brian was the first to look away. He shoved Emmett aside, and when he spoke, his voice was harsh.
“When your boytoy breaks,” he said, “you get a new toy.”
He opened the door and was gone before Emmett could think of anything to say.