If you want to see warnings for Alien, go here. I don't recommend it because it spoils the ending of the fic, but I also don't want all of you to blame me later. Basically, if you don't think you're going to like the fic, you probably won't.
by Josselin Kohl
Brian is not a man who introspects often. But sometimes, he finds himself taking stock of his life, and sometimes he is pleased with his latest bank statement and sometimes he likes the guys in the backroom.
One afternoon, sitting in his office, after hanging up on a discussion with an annoying client, Brian finds himself considering his current situation. He has a job that makes him very very rich, which is good. He has a loft furnished full of beautiful things, which would be good, were he ever to see that loft any longer. Unfortunately, he also has a kid who's frightened to the point of incoherency of his dishwasher, and he's spent the last month of his life living out of a crap motel with the aforementioned kid.
It is apparently four miles from the motel to the alien field, as Brian now thinks of it, and Justin walks those miles every day. Brian picks him up there in the evening, and sometimes he even has to coax Justin away, and then he picks up some take out and they go back to the motel room, which Justin has filled with pictures tacked on all of the walls, most of them drawn in red ink. Sometimes, Justin makes his pictures into little boats and floats them around in the sink in the bathroom, but this frequently makes him frustrated, for reasons Brian does not fully understand.
Justin only seems normal when they are fucking, now, when he's close to orgasm and the only thing filling his eyes is pure lust--Brian likes that look, because he remembers the look of lust from before. Most of Justin's other expressions are new, it feels.
Yesterday, Justin asked Brian if they had any tin foil, and Brian really, really doesn't want to know what that was about.
They don't really talk about going back to the loft anymore. Brian doesn't know how to bring it up and somehow it's easier to pretend that *if* they were to go back to the loft, then everything would be normal again, and it's only living in this motel room that is making Justin so peculiar. He doesn't really want to test that theory.
Tuesday afternoon, Brian goes to the field to pick Justin up. It's late November, so even though it's still early evening, it's dark outside, and fucking cold. He makes a note to buy Justin a warmer jacket.
When he finds Justin, his heart skips a beat, because Justin is huddled up on the ground, twitching and mumbling about something.
"Christ," Brian mutters, crouching down next to him. "Justin," he says. "Justin, what's wrong?"
It turns out that Justin is merely asleep. He wakes up, shivering, and blinking at Brian and the darkness of the field, and he shies away from Brian's hand on his shoulder.
TO BE CONTINUED