Brian felt like he was absolutely going to vomit. He peeked out into the aisle to see if the stewardess was making her way back with his drink (scotch- his third to be exact) yet. Normally he wouldn't be so jittery and outwardly impatient. Brian Kinney? Showing signs of nervousness? Pshaw. People far beyond his New York City boundaries could tell you that he's the most self-assured, strong-willed, egocentric prick you'll ever get the pleasure of even hearing about. It's actually true, too. Most of the time. He doesn't have the energy to pull himself together now, and the only person he knows on this god awful airplane is passed out from the vodka and sleeping pill cocktail she downed an hour ago.

The weight of her head on his shoulder only proved to make Brian feel more suffocated, and the tickle of her blonde hair against his neck more agitated. In her sleep she nuzzles in and snakes her arms around one of his in a possessive grasp. She might as well just slip a collar around his neck and be done with it.

Quite honestly he was seconds away from throwing open the emergency exit and flinging himself out of the plane when the flight attendant finally made an appearance. He snatches the small bottle from her hands and throws it back faster than he originally intended. "Another?" He requests gruffly, receiving a dubious look in return.

"Sir, I'm not so sure-"

"Please?" He cuts her off, flashing a sweet smile. His eyes lock with hers in an openly flirtatious way, and her knees are near quivering when she diverts her gaze shyly. Her attention is brought to the blonde draped across the right side of his body. The pale hands clutching the expensive fabric of Brian's button down shirt. The short fingers with claw-like pink nails at the tips, and the whopper of a diamond flaunted elegantly on her left ring finger for all to see.

The stewardess frowns- either from discontent at being played, or the shame that such a catch is already so permanently spoken for- and places her hands on her hips in an assertive gesture. "I'm sorry, Sir, but you'll have to hold out until you make it to the airport bar. This isn't an appropriate setting to overindulge yourself."

Brian sneered as he watched her saunter away. There was nothing that got his blood boiling more than someone who didn't immediately bend to his will. It's not like he always worked so hard to look this perfect to actually impress people. It was a manipulation tactic, and when someone didn't fall at his feet like a puddle of goo it was safe to assume that they didn't get along very well.

Women. He fucking hated them sometimes.

Justin yawned and swung his legs up onto Daphne's lap. "I'm so fucking bored. Their plane was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. Let's just leave. Britney can afford a fucking cab. Or a limo. Or buy out an entire Greyhound Bus."

"While I'm sure she probably could," Daphne laughed jabbing him in the thigh. "Your mom gave you that stern 'do this or I'll be disappointed in you' look that you can never resist. You're stuck with her and the happy hubby."

"Whether he's happy or not is yet to be determined," he replied dryly. "And he's not her husband yet. If he has any fucking brains at all he'll get out while he still can. If he's not having doubts yet, our family will surely plant the seed."

Scoffing, Daphne pushed him off of her as the plane's arrival was announced. "Your family isn't that bad, Justin." He shot her a challenging look. "Well okay, your dad's not all that great, but your mom is wonderful. And Molly's cool!"

"I can imagine dinner tonight perfectly." Justin frowns and makes his way over to the growing crowd, acting as if Daphne hadn't even spoken. "Dad will sit Brad or Brent or whatever down and give him a strong, manly handshake. 'See Justin? This is how a man acts!' They'll talk about their matching high salaries and make jokes about how much pussy they used to get before they got tied down. Then Mom will just gush over how handsome he is- because Britney doesn't settle for any less! 'Oh, just look at you! Can I get you more wine? How about a slice of cake?' She'll be an overbearing freak just like she always is, because if she's not she'll probably explode at Dad for being an asshole. And the whole time Molly will sit there on her phone or making goo-goo eyes at the guy. 'Like, you have really nice hair. You could be a model, you know?' Meanwhile I'll sit quietly at the end of the table, being either completely ignored or publicly ridiculed."

Daphne rolled her eyes and gave Justin a shove forward. "Are you done yet? Because you're being a brat. Maybe this guy will turn out to actually be nice. Maybe he'll mellow Britney out and you two will get along like you used to. Love changes people, you know."

"The only person Britney's capable of loving is herself. She's proven that plenty over the years."

The both of them fell silent as they watched a ripple go through the cluster of people around the gate. Several grumbled complaints reached their ears, and it didn't take long to figure out who was causing the disruption. The first thing Justin saw was a pair of small alabaster hands poking out from the crowd, and then the crowd parted as the petite blonde attached to them shoved aside everyone in her way.

Family. He fucking hated it sometimes.

That classic reunion scene was the last thing to unfold as Britney stalked forward apathetically. "Justin," she acknowledged shortly. Her eyes fixed on Daphne with a look of distaste. "I see she's still around. I never understood you Justin."

"I wouldn't say never. There was a short time there where you did. Of course, that was before you started prancing around like you had an icicle shoved up your ass… Or was it before I admitted that I liked shoving things up my ass? I can't seem to remember…"

Before she could respond with a condescending and revile comment a tall brunet stepped up beside her looking none too pleased. "Jesus fucking Christ, Brit," he growled thrusting the purse in his hands towards her awkwardly. "I'm not your bag boy. If you can't carry your own shit don't bother bringing it. I'll just leave it next time."

Justin couldn't help the small grin that escaped. Maybe this guy really wouldn't be so bad after all. He did have to give his sister a round of applause for this one. He was gorgeous! And not in that pretty boy sort of way either. Well, he was well groomed and probably used a ton of expensive products to look that good, but he appeared to be all man. He had an animalistic quality that made him sexy enough to have even Justin swooning. And Justin was not a swooner.

His sister's fiancé fixed a pair of hazel eyes on him that glued him to the spot. The charming half smile had Justin about ready to faint. "You must be Justin, right? I'm Brian Kinney. Thanks for taking the time to pick us up. It's nice to finally meet you." He paused for a beat. "Is this your girlfriend?"

"Daphne?" He almost died keeping that bout of laughter inside. Oh, to be straight and presumptuous. "Nah. She's too black for me." He reveled in his mortified expression. "And I'm also faggot. Funny how Britney didn't mention that."

Britney's eyes narrowed into a glare while her face simultaneously flushed with anger. She looked about half a second away from strangling Justin, so Daphne decided it was a good time to intervene. "Hey Brit, how about you and me head out to the lot and bring the car around? We'll leave the boys to handle the heavy bags. Hm?"

She preened triumphantly and pranced past Justin with a smile. What the fuck ever. Justin groused to himself. If she wants to think she 'won' just because me and this tool are taking care of her shit, that's fine. At least I don't have to look at her obnoxious face while I do it.

Justin took several irate steps forward before stopping to look back at Brian. He hadn't moved an inch, a contemplative and indiscernible expression ghosted across his features. "What are you waiting for, Brody? Move your ass. The queen awaits."

"Brian," he mumbles snapping out of his thoughts to shuffle grudgingly behind him. "My name is Brian."

"Mhm." Justin tromps ahead disinterestedly, scowling at the fact that Brian's long legs allow him to catch up. "You know you're crazy, right? For wanting to marry her?" He laughs humorlessly to himself. "Or maybe you don't really want to. But for whatever reason, you're making a mistake."

The brunet's brow creases with his heated reply. "You don't know me."

"You're right, I absolutely don't. But I know that if you really wanted to marry her you'd have to be as bad as she is, so maybe I don't want to either. But I'd like to think that you aren't like that. That there aren't that many utterly contemptible people in the world. So what then? Do you need her money? Is she pregnant?"

"We're getting married because I l-" he almost chokes on the word. "Because I want to, and that's all there is to it. There's no ulterior motive." There's a surge of electricity thrumming through Brian's body. He wants to reach out and strangle this stupid kid for spouting out stupid bullshit. "You know, you're not exactly a saint yourself- bad mouthing your sister the first chance you get. Practically trying to ruin her life! How does that make you any better than she is?"

Justin just arched a brow, unaffected. "If you have to ask, then you don't really know her." They both stop in front of the luggage claim, where he continues almost cheerfully. "Pick what's yours, Barry, I'm not a psychic."

Brian, fuming, swoops into his personal space, towering over him menacingly. The air between them crackles with tension; hostility almost knocks the air out of them, like small, merciless fists clenching around their lungs. "Brian." He leans into him slightly as he reaches past him. "Make yourself useful," he snaps with finality, pushing an undoubtedly designer duffel bag into his chest.

"I thought that meeting my family would scare you off, but it looks like you might actually fit right in." Justin plastered on a sugar-sweet smile, but his tone was every indication Brian needed to know that wasn't a compliment. "I guess my parents will end up getting the son they always wanted!"

"Why the fuck are you even here if you're just going to be a shit the whole time? Is it just to play the little misfit martyr? Because I don't feel sorry for you. Look at all the other billion shitty families in the world and reconsider your reoccurring roll as a bitter-" He stops himself abruptly, letting the end of his sentence banish itself into some irretrievable space.

Justin stands up a little straighter in the face of his antagonist's discomfort. "No, go ahead and finish your sentence. A bitter what?"

"I wasn't going to… to…" He fumbles for words like and imbecile, inexplicably thrown off his game.

"To call me a faggot? Or a homo? Or any derivative thereof?"

Brian shakes his head vehemently. "No! I wouldn't do that. I don't care… It makes no difference… I mean, I used to have a friend that was, you know, gay."

The blond threw his head back in a laugh. "I never get tired of hearing that from people." His lips were still tweaked upward in a slight smile, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement. The sight smoothed some of Brian's ruffled feathers, and the man visibly relaxed. "Like it actually offers confirmation that you 'accept' me or something. Or like all queers know each other, and I'm just dying to know which of my brethren is your pal so I can get a full background check on you."

"You're kind of a smartass." Brian glared, but in good humor.

"Just kind of? I'm slacking off then. It's part of my charm. You'll get used to it. Maybe if you stick around long enough I'll let you see some of my redeeming qualities, too. Now let's get going Bobby."

Brian sighed as he watched Justin stroll off ahead of him, a strange twist in a gut that he'd blame on the unpleasant flight. "Whatever you say, Jason."