Still, Justin knew that even his seemingly unending well of endurance was bound to dry up sooner or later. And if he had to spend another night lying in the dark listening to Brian pace the floors, he might do something drastic.

So he stood at the end of the sofa, ignoring the fact that trickles of water were seeping down his collar and creeping along his neck, making him shiver. He disregarded the puddle of water pooling around his ankles and onto the gleaming hardwood. He could even pretend that he hadn’t just walked six blocks in the pouring rain simply because Brian -- in a typical Brian-snit -- had refused to hand over the car keys. He could ignore a lot if it just meant that Brian would take the fucking pill.

“Brian, just try it,” he said.

Brian snorted.

Justin reminded himself that he would be calm. He would be rational. He would be, above all things, patient. He most certainly would not take the little green pill and ram it down his lover’s throat.

“Brian,” Justin said reasonably, clutching the bottle of Sleep-Eze to his chest, “you’ve had this insomnia for four nights. Your body can’t continue to function on triple no-fat lattes and willpower alone. This is perfectly safe. It’s certified by the American Medical Association. It will--”

“No.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed. He could play hardball if he had to.

“Lack of sleep causes physical imperfections that don’t diminish once the insomnia has passed. That network of fine lines around your eyes?” Justin tsk-ed, shaking his head. “Puffiness, dark circles… Hardly the Brian Kinney everybody knows and fucks.”

“I haven’t had any complaints.”

“Just take the motherfucking pill!”

“That only works with chicken soup,” Brian said blandly. “Besides, it’s addictive.”

Justin blinked once, slowly. “You have GOT to be kidding me.”

“I like the way we’ve been filling those extra hours,” Brian said. His hand darted out quickly and Justin found himself sprawling atop Brian on the sofa, the Sleep-Eze tumbling from his grasp and skittering under the couch.

“My ass won’t hold up another night,” Justin said, propping himself up on his elbows on Brian‘s chest. “Now your ass, on the other hand…”

Brian smirked and arched a brow.

Justin hesitated. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth, after all? Good fortune didn’t shine on him as frequently as he’d like -- though he supposed it happened more frequently than he would have ever have imagined just a few short years ago. Would one more night of sleeplessness be so bad?

One more night of hearing Brian restlessly walking the floors. One more night of infomercials murmuring in the background as he stared at the ceiling. One more night of hearing the flick of Brian’s lighter and fearing that that would be the moment that Brian finally fell asleep.

No fucking way.

Justin smacked Brian‘s chest. “How about some tea?”

He’d thought it sounded very casual, very non-secret-agent-ish. But Brian’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “More of that yak shit?”

Justin laughed. “No! Just a little home remedy. Non addictive,” he emphasized. “My grandma used to make it when I couldn’t sleep.”

“The same grandma with the hangover recipe?” Brian grimaced. “I‘d rather drink raw sewage.”

“Different grandma,” Justin promised. When Brian looked to be wavering, he threw in his best you-can-trust-me smile. “It’s lemon,” he sang.

Brian pressed his lips together and lifted a shoulder. Justin grinned. In Brian-speak, that was pretty much a “holy fuck yes this insomnia is killing me help me now.”

“Good. Just let me dry off and I’ll make you some.”

“I could dry you off,” Brian said, sweeping his tongue across Justin’s collarbone.

Justin faltered. Maybe the tea could wait an hour…

No! What was he thinking? He wasn’t seventeen anymore. He was no longer a slave to his hormones. Even though Brian lips were sliding across his chest, sucking through the thin material of his shirt… Even though Brian’s hand had slipped between their bodies, stroking him through damp denim…

Justin took in a quavering breath and levered himself up from Brian’s body. “Tea first,” he said sweetly.

“Asshole.”

Justin laughed and gave his ass an extra wiggle as he walked to the bathroom.

Sliding the door shut, he quickly shucked his clothes and dried off before wrapping himself up in a towel. Then he began the search of the cabinet. He elbowed his way past bottles of expensive cleansing cream, hair gel, shampoo and anti-aging ointment. Loose condoms scattered onto the floor as he dug further into the back of the cabinet, his questing fingers finally lighting on the box he sought.

He held up the box of Neo-Citran with a triumphant smile.

Justin slid several of the packets out of the container before tossing the box into the back of the cabinet. Thinking for a moment, he carefully tucked the packets into the band of the towel at the small of his back, tugging tight to make sure they were held securely. Then he did his best to walk casually to the kitchen. He even whistled a little, before he realized that he’d never whistled before in his life. Ever.

Brian shifted on the sofa to peek over the back. “There’s lemons in the--”

“Got ‘em.” Justin put the kettle on, nonchalantly placed the packets of Neo-Citran on the island, then took out a knife and went to work slicing up a lemon he didn’t need.

He knew he should feel guilty for being devious. He searched inside for the guilt.

Nothing.

Nothing but the powerful desire for a good night’s sleep. For both of them.

When the water boiled, Justin regarded the packets of Neo-Citran thoughtfully. With his allergies, it was the one and only cold medication he was allowed to take as a child. He had fond memories of Neo-Citran. One packet mixed into a cup of boiling water was supposed to relieve cold symptoms. He’d always found that he only had to drink half a cup and he was out like a light. Ten hours of sleep, no problem.

It was exactly what Brian needed.

Justin emptied the contents of one of the packets into a mug.

Of course, Brian was older. He weighed more. And there was the little fact that his body was far more accustomed to a wide variety of much stronger pharmaceuticals.

Justin squinted, then surreptitiously added a second packet.

“Christ,” Brian called from the sofa. “Did you have to dig Granny out of the grave for the fucking recipe?”

“My grandmother lives in Florida,” Justin said mildly as he carried the mug into the living room. “She goes to bingo every Thursday, and knits afghans for the Ladies Auxiliary.”

“A wild woman. She must be a blast at parties.”

“She can do the chicken dance like nobody’s business,” Justin agreed, handing over the mug. “Now drink up.”

Brian sniffed at the drink warily. He took a sip. Then another. “It’s not shit,” he reluctantly admitted.

“It’s good,” Justin laughed. “And believe me, it’ll relax you.”

Brian rolled his eyes.

Ten minutes later, those same eyes were drooping considerably. Ten minutes after that, and Brian was drifting off to sleep.

Justin patted his leg affectionately, then rose to find a blanket to drape over his sleeping form. He smiled as he watched Brian’s chest rise and fall evenly, Brian’s lips open and slightly pursed. After a moment, Justin let his towel slide to the floor and padded to the bedroom, flopping down happily on the bed.

He was a patient man, that much was true. But if there was anything that Brian should have learned after four years of loving him, it was this: it was always best never to underestimate Justin Taylor.