January 25

Justin sat up with a yawn, dragging his hand lazily through his hair as he curled up further in the corner of his favorite overstuffed chair, a sketchpad sitting in his lap, open, but unused. He had been trying to focus on an idea for his last pastel for the last hour, but his mind kept wandering to the night before.

Squirming in his seat, Justin rubbed his ass, which was still a bit tender from the spanking Brian had administered after their very spectacular reunion in his studio; trying to inflict upon him the importance of not giving him a hard-on during meetings. Which was just laughable at best, because Justin was well aware that Brian often got turned on just by doing the pitch itself, and Justin didn't have to add any fuel to the flames so to speak.

Personally, Justin just thought Brian was traumatized by knowing that he'd be prominently featuring in Dilbert's or Albert's or whatever the hell his name was, spank bank for a long time to come. Justin couldn't even blame the man for looking at and fantasizing about Brian, as his husband was gorgeous and had a glorious cock that he knew how to use well. Justin knew that he'd certainly never been able to resist Brian's pull, and he was notoriously stubborn, so why would he expect anyone else to?

Stretching, Justin forced his attention back to the paper in front of him, determined to get at least a basic outline done today, so that he could begin this last piece tomorrow. Biting his lower lip, he'd just set his pencil to paper when an outraged cry echoing out of their walk-in closet had him jumping in his seat.

Justin cast a perplexed look towards the closet, where Brian had been going through his clothing from the trip and getting it ready to either be taken to the dry cleaners or the laundry service. Chewing on bottom lip, he wondered what on Earth had made Brian react that way, and then cringed when he envisioned one of his prized Armani shirts or suits being damaged on the way home; that was all they needed.

But he didn't have to wonder for long, as the dulcet tones of his husband's voice filled the room again.

"Justin!" Brian bellowed, the irritation evident in this tone. Sighing, Justin got up out of his comfortable nook and walked over to the closet door bracing himself for…well, anything.

"You bellowed?" Justin asked lightly, leaning against the doorjamb.

"What is this?" Brian asked, a sneer on his face as he held up several familiar items of clothing. And they should be familiar since he'd just bought them yesterday.

"Maternity clothes…" Justin said slowly, wondering where Brian was going with this as he thought it was pretty obvious what they were. Between the stretch bands on the jeans and chinos, and the larger than normal shirts, they really couldn't be anything else. Justin arched a brow. "I told you I was going shopping with Daphne yesterday."

"These are…" Brian sneered at the items in his hands, holding them away from his body by the tips of his fingers as if he feared they'd contaminate him if he held them any closer. "I don't know what they are, but I wouldn't call them clothes. Where did you get them?"

"The Big Q," Justin said, not about to lie to his husband. He supposed he could, and life would be much simpler for him; but he'd never backed down on a fight with Brian before and he certainly wasn't going to start over something as stupid as clothing. "They were having this big seasonal sale because they were starting to get the new spring lines in."

"You went where?" Brian looked at him as if he'd grown another head; and then dropped the clothing into a heap on the floor and stepped away from them. Justin rolled his eyes at his melodramatics.

"The Big…" Justin trailed off and huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head as Brian stared at the pants and shirt as if they were going to bite him. "Oh get over it, Brian. They are perfectly acceptable for what I need. I spend most of my time in my studio or at home. It's not like anyone is going to know the difference and I refuse to spend a hundred dollars on a pair of pants I'll only wear for the next four or so months."

Brian turned to him slowly and opened and closed his moth several times as he tried to find the words for, well, whatever it was he wanted to say and just seemed to be a complete loss. He closed his mouth for a final time and stared at Justin in disbelief for a long time; but Justin wasn't budging on this.

He spent most of his time in a studio getting paint and pastels and charcoal and all matter of artsy shit on his clothing; there was no way in hell he was going to spend hundreds of dollars on clothing that he'd only wear for four months and would just end up getting destroyed due to his work.

Unfortunately, his fashion queen husband didn't understand that clothing was just another tool for him. It was something he was required to wear so that he didn't get cold or offend anyone's delicate sensibilities with his nudity. In fact, the only time he dressed up was when they went out, he had to be at Kinnetik for some reason, or he had a show. The rest of the time, he was quite happy in his chinos and a knit shirt.

"No," Brian said, garnering Justin's attention, and exasperation, once more. "Just no; I cannot believe that you brought this fashion faux pas into my house. You and I need to go shopping. Now. I will not have my husband walking around in these rags."

"Fuck you, Brian," Justin hissed, glaring at his husband with a mutinous moue on his face. "Shopping with Daphne was bad enough; there is no way in hell I am going clothes shopping with you."

Brian just stared at him with incomprehension; like he couldn't believe that Justin was refusing to go shopping with him. But fuck that; Justin had had enough of that shit yesterday when Daphne dragged him to five fucking stores, looking for this shirt he just had to buy. And then another additional ten so he could help her find the perfect outfit for her date this coming Friday. He was so done with shopping for a while.

"You won't, will you?" Brian asked, arching a brow; Justin defiantly jutted his chin out. "Easily solved." Brian picked up his cell phone and pressed a few buttons, placed it to his ear and waited. Justin stared at him with a suspicious frown. "Hey, Sonny Boy, how would you and your sister like to go shopping with me today? I need to get a few things for myself and Justin." Brian paused and then smiled triumphantly at Justin. "Sure, we can stop by the art store, and the music store as well. Not a problem. We'll even pick up Auntie Em on the way, get some lunch and make a day of it. See you in about thirty minutes."

Brian hung up the phone and stared pointedly at Justin.

"I cannot believe you did that," Justin hissed, his hands on his hips.

"Still don't want to go?" Brian asked, arching his brow again. Justin just crossed his arms over his chest; he was not going to be wrangled by his husband's machinations. "That's fine; as you heard, I'll have Sonny Boy, Jenny and Emmett with me. We'll get more done without you anyways."

"You better not take Emmett," Justin hissed, jabbing Brian in the chest with his finger. "I love him to death, but his idea of fashion does not match mine. Do you hear me Brian!?"

"What was that, Sunshine?" Brian sing-songed; he pushed Justin's hand away and stepping around him, heading toward the door. "I can't hear you over the mental bonfire I'm building using those travesties as kindling."

"Brian!" Justin yelled at his retreating back; but Brian ignored him and kept walking. He followed him out of the closet, and the bedroom, and marched over to the top the stairs; only to watch as Brian quickly made his way down them, humming a tune under his breath. "You get back here!"

"Gotta go, Sunshine," Brian waved, heading toward the garage. "The rug rats and Emmy Lou are waiting; and you know what they are like when they are kept waiting."

"Brian!" he yelled again; fruitlessly it seemed as Brian didn't reappear.

Instead, Justin stood there, alone, his mouth agape, as he heard the garage door slam closed and the mechanical garage door rise, and then shut again moments later as a car went down the drive.

"Fuck!" he growled; he marched back into his room and picked up his phone, hastily dialing a number that he knew by heart. "Drew! Hey, how are you? I'm good. Look, I was wondering if Em was there…he is great! Can I speak with him for a moment? I wanted to invite him over so we could go over some of the shower details." Justin paused as he listened to Drew talking to Em in the background. "He will? Excellent! Tell him I'll order out for lunch from that little bistro he loves. See you in about thirty minutes."

Justin hung up, growled again and threw his phone onto the bed. Well, he may not have stopped the entire show, but at least he forestalled one of the acts. Because as much as he loved Em, he really didn't trust Brian to rein him in right now if only to teach Justin a lesson. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he spun on his heel and stormed off to his studio.

At the very least, this gave him plenty of frustration to work out; he might as well channel it into something productive.