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Brian Kinney doesn’t believe in bottoming.
Mostly he just discourages those pathetic bottoms he picks up at Babylon - those ones who probably couldn’t fuck their way out of a paper bag, but seem to think they could fuck him - by saying “I top” (or maybe “I don’t bottom”, which really only means “I don’t bottom with you, you dumbfuck, do you think I’d pick you up if I wanted to get fucked?”)
Whatever. It’s an indisputable fact. He does top.
Except when he feels in the mood for the pinching-burning-being-filled-ache of a nice, hard cock up his ass (and it’s far more often than people might expect, but of course, he doesn’t believe in making that public knowledge).
He doesn’t believe in eating carbs after seven, or junk food.
Justin has told him in the past how pathetic that is, considering all the drink and drugs and promiscuous sex he has indulged in and continues to indulge in, but fuck it all, none of that shit will make him fat. It’s like his going to the gym thing, he doesn’t give a fuck about the health benefits, it’s all about looking hot.
Unfortunately, he’s surrounded by aggravating people, like Michael who comes over at 8pm and forces him to eat pizza, and Debbie who gives him sides of fries when he specifically asks for salad, and fucking Justin who ignores just about everything he says these days, or at least everything he deems to be one of Brian’s annoying ‘quirks’ and therefore not worth listening to.
He definitely doesn’t believe in God and religion and all that bullshit.
He’s always considered God to be a bullshit fairytale, something to guilt the masses into line. Fuck that. Growing up with a mother like Joan is enough to turn anyone off the idea of religion (What Would Fucking Jesus Do? Brian doubts the answer really is ‘drink until he passes out’, or he’d have been going to church all these years himself.)
And if he’s prayed a time or two (forehead pressed against cool glass, fingers clutching at rough stained silk, eyes closed against the pain) it was never to a God like Joanie’s, it was only in desperation and he’s never going to tell.
He doesn’t believe there’s anything noble about being poor.
When he said that to Justin’s skanky new boyfriend, he fucking meant it. He was poor for the first twenty-odd years of his life and there was nothing noble about it at all. He likes having money, likes being able to buy expensive shit that he doesn’t really need, but wants anyway, like the sense of power that comes with, the respect it carries. Just likes it.
And yet, he remembers how he felt when he gave it all up, remembers the way Justin looked at him. He might not have quite felt noble, but it was… nice… to feel like he’d done something right for once.
He’d do it again in a heartbeat.
He doesn’t believe in monogamy.
It is, of course, for breeders and dykes, and dickless fags. It’s for boring people, who don’t see the joy in variety or the thrill in the chase. In other words, it’s not for him.
Except.
Sometimes he thinks about fucking Justin raw, about how incredible it would feel to slide into that tight wet heat, nothing between them, just skin on skin. Even worse, he thinks about Justin fucking him raw. Justin’s come inside him, leaking out of him afterwards, smeared over the backs of his thighs.
He decides that he probably does believe in monogamy, but only when it leads to really hot sex (which it never will for dykes or breeders or dickless fags, so what the fuck are they doing anyway?)
He doesn’t believe in romance, romantic gestures, dates, Valentine’s Day, birthdays, celebrating non-achievements or anything else that might, in some universe, turn him into a dyke.
Even now, when he and Justin manage to be in the same city long enough to go out together (it has to be more than a weekend, since a weekend is only long enough to accommodate all the sex, and not even long enough for that really) and they actually have dinner, Brian still never calls it a date. It just sounds so hetero and would probably make him want to fuck the much-less-hot-than-Justin waiter out of sheer rebellion. Justin probably calls it one, but only in his head.
He knows better than to not celebrate Justin’s birthday these days though, or to piss him off by not wanting to celebrate his own birthday with Justin (who still doesn’t get that being one year older is really nothing to be happy about). Maybe they’ll even start celebrating Valentine’s Day, in some kind of unconventional, non-dykish way.
The semi-romantic stuff really isn’t that bad, and he sort of likes it all and knows the chances of it turning him into an actual dyke are in fact, quite low.
Even after buying that fucking manor house, in the most overblown romantic gesture he could possibly have come up with, the worst doesn’t happen, and he still has a cock (as Justin so helpfully points out) so he supposes it might be sort of alright then.
He doesn’t believe in marriage or weddings.
Or more accurately he doesn’t believe in a marriage where they start calling each other husband (the thought of that word being applied to him makes him cringe and it’s not even one of his weird commitment phobia things like ‘boyfriend’ was; he just thinks it sounds for shit), with Justin deciding to take his name in a revolting display of love. He’d told Justin this some months later, somewhere in a New York apartment and Justin had reassured him with a laugh that would “never fucking happen!” He had sounded so incredulous that Brian had just managed to stop himself from issuing a pouting “why the fuck not?”
Brian doesn’t believe in the need for an over-the-top wedding, or a lavish reception. And they’ll never fucking have one now because he isn’t going through all that fucking planning and shit again.
He’ll wear Justin’s ring though, and Justin will wear his, and the whole family will be fucking pissed off because when they exchange them it will be just the two of them, their vows only for each other to hear.
Brian Kinney doesn’t believe in love
Except when he does.