Justin was sitting on the hardwood floor of his New York loft, waiting for his mediocre dial-up to connect. He ran a finger along the floor and examined it with a chuckle of disgust. His mind flew immediately to Brian’s Pittsburgh loft, and how it was always immaculate. What would he think of this shit hole, Justin wondered, with a momentary inner grin that quickly turned to the stomach-churning, short-of-breath sensation he’d been experiencing lately whenever he thought of Brian. Why the hell didn’t he return Justin’s calls? Or respond to emails? At first, Justin had just assumed that Brian was busy as hell, busy as always, with Kinnetik, with Mikey, with the many tricks he was surely enjoying now that he had some space, and himself back to himself. But it didn't make sense that Brian would completely ignore Justin's attempt at communication. Especially because, in the first few weeks after Justin left, he and Brian had spoken on the phone regularly, and emailed every chance they got. But it had tapered off, as Justin signed with an agent and been offered space in a show in the Big City. In the excitement of non-stop preparations, parties, and meetings, he'd admittedly fallen behind on his half of the correspondence...but he had NOT completely abandoned it, he thought defensively. There were still phone calls, though not every day. There were still emails, though they were hardly the lengthy declarations of love and fantasies of kinky sex that had characterized the electronic communications of those first few weeks. Then he had sent Brian an invitation to his show, and waited in blooming anticipation for a response. A congratulatory phone call, a hey-I-got-your-invite-how-cool-is-that email, or even (and Justin barely let this fantasy in to his mind; he knew better than to expect so much) a tall, beautiful Brian showing up at the Manhattan gallery on opening night with roses and champagne. Fuck the roses and champagne...just Brian himself would be the best gift imaginable, as far as Justin was concerned. He was so proud of his accomplishment, of how seriously his art was taken in this hub of genius called New York. Brian should be a part of his joy. Or at the very least, acknowledge it. So, he'd made the decision while having a double espresso at the coffeeshop below his studio this afternoon, that if he had no call, no email from Brian by tonight, he would call Michael. He knew Brian would hate that; he knew he risked his beloved's wrath for involving the neurotic, worrisome Michael. For certainly, if Michael didn't know that Brian was avoiding Justin, as soon as he found out, he would nag and nag until Brian snapped. And undoubtedly, the recipient of Brian's anger with Michael would not be Michael, but Justin. Right now, even speaking to an irate Brian was better than no communication at all. Justin wiped his dusty finger on his paint-encrusted khakis, and opened his email box. Something from his mom, just wanting to say she couldn't wait to see him at the Opening…”only a week away honey!!” Something from Daphne, saying she was sooo sorry that she couldn't make it to the Opening, but was planning on coming the following week to check it out. Something from Emmett, asking if Justin still had the Assassins CD he'd borrowed six months ago. But nothing, nothing from Brian. Justin bit his top lip and took a breath. "Fuck." Then he reached in his pocket and took out his cell phone. Flipped it open, pressed 8 on his speed-dial. Michael answered on the fourth ring. He was laughing. "Heh-Hello?" He stuttered. "Michael! Hi." "Justin?" Michael sobered up immediately. "Jesus, I can't believe you called." Then a muffled, "Huh?" Pause. "Yes, of course." Pause. "No, Ben. He deserves to know. And so do I!" Then back into the receiver, "What's going on, Justin?" A muffled, "What?" Then back into the receiver, a very unenthusiastic, "Ben says hi." "Mikey, it's good to hear your voice." Justin hadn't planned to say this...he didn't even realize he was going to say it until the words were out of his mouth. But it was so true, and the sudden empty place somewhere behind his breastbone made him realize how much he really missed his friends. "I want to catch up with you, but first I wanted to ask about Brian." There was no mistaking the coldness in Michael's voice. "Why should I talk to you about Brian? And more to the point, why the hell don't you ask him--whatever it is--yourself?" There was a momentary silence as Justin struggled to assimilate this reaction into his experience of reality. Finally he stuttered out, "What's up your ass, Michael? Why the hell wouldn't you talk to me about Brian?" "Well after totally fucking breaking his heart again...Jesus Justin, you've got some nerve to call up as if nothing's wrong. Are you really so selfish and immature as to not realize what a rare gift you were given? I wouldn't be surprised if he never trusted anyone again." "Woah, hold up Michael!" Justin shook himself, trying to rid himself of the fear that was creeping up his spine. What the hell was going on? "What the fuck are you talking about?" "I'm talking about you, Justin! Brian's fallen off the face of the earth over there in his loft. He hasn't left for days. He looks like shit, he's not eating, and when I try to talk to him about you he screams at me to get the fuck away from him. He told me that you didn’t want to keep in touch with him, Justin. I don't care how 'important' your art is, or how rich and famous you're getting. How can you just abandon him after all you two shared?" Justin’s loft suddenly looked a little dark around the edges and starry, and he choked back a sudden need to vomit. Breathe, breathe, he told himself. He fought an urge to get up and run…to where, he didn’t know. Pittsburgh. The past. The future. Somewhere other than this flat in New York, which was suddenly seeming like an eternity away from Brian. “Michael. Shut the fuck up a minute and listen. When did he tell you that? When did you see him? Is he okay? Shit!” Justin put his hand over his eyes. He should’ve trusted his instinct two weeks ago, when Brian quit answering his fucking phone. There was an infinitesimal pause, before Michael’s voice, much more subdued now, said, “Justin? Did you tell him you didn’t want to keep in touch with him?” “No!” How the hell could Michael be so stupid? How could he not know, after all these years, what bullshit that was? “Jesus Christ, Micheal.” Keep breathing, Justin, he told himself. “He hasn’t returned my calls or my emails for two weeks now. I’ve left him a message at least every other day. I thought he was just working and partying a lot, but…” Justin trailed off, mind racing. What the fuck was Brian playing at? “When did you last talk to him?” “Uh…three days ago. Something like that. Oh shit, Justin. You should see him. I should never have believed him. I should have known…” “Michael, was he okay?” “Well, yeah, he was okay…if by that you mean alive. Barely. He looks like shit. I don’t think he’d even gotten out of bed for days. His bedroom was…trashed. Bourbon bottles and cigarette butts everywhere.” Pause. Then suddenly, in an almost speculative tone, “There was a painting of yours though, propped against the wall across the room from his bed. He said it watched him. He was fucked up, Justin. Really. I haven’t seen him so weird since…” Justin waited as patiently as he could, until it became evident Michael was not going to finish the sentence without some pressure. “Since what, Michael?” “Since you got bashed. When you were still in rehab, and I came back to Pittsburgh, and he just stayed fucked up all the time. He kinda seems like that now.” Pause. Panic. Justin’s thoughts raced. Breathe, breathe. Brian wouldn’t want me to operate from a panic mode. But what if he’s done too much? He was always on the verge of self-destruction, even when he had everything he wanted. Shit, I am selfish. How could I go off and leave him like that? How could I think he’d be all right? A memory surfaced suddenly: “Sunshine, how did I ever get along without you?” And the immediate response, joking but not joking, “You didn’t.” I have to go there, that’s all. Now. I have to leave now. Make sure he’s not decomposing in his bed as we speak. Shit, don’t think that, don’t think that. I’ll leave now. Fuck. The Opening is next weekend. My first show in New York…I can’t leave town. Spinning into hysteria…Of course I can leave town. Fuck New York. Fuck big dreams. I don’t want any of it right now, I just want him. “Michael, don’t do anything.” “But…” “Michael, if you go over there I’ll fucking kick your ass. I’m leaving right now. I’ll catch a plane tonight, somehow. But if you go over there and get him all worked up…” “I won’t Justin. But do you promise you’ll come?” “I promise. I’m packing right now.” And he was. “But you PROMISE to stay away. Don’t call him because you’ll fuck up. You can’t keep a secret from him, you know that.” It was somewhat harsh, but true. After all, Justin hadn’t forgotten Michael’s two-faced response to the whole “Ibiza” thing. “And if he knows I’m coming, he won’t let me in.” There was a sigh through the phone. “Okay, okay. I won’t even call him. I promise. Ben’s here as my witness. Tell him, Ben, I’m not going to tell Brian that Justin’s coming.” In the background, Justin heard Ben yell “I witness the declaration of Michael Novotny-Bruckner to keep his nose out of Brian and Justin’s business,” and then the unmistakable sound of Hunter’s laugh. Even in his fear and panic, Justin couldn’t help but smile. Christ, how had he lived apart from his goofy, neurotic, presumptuous friends for ten weeks? Twenty minutes later, he was out the door, hailing a cab. Straight to La Guardia, praying for a last-minute spot on a flight. What relief rushed through him when he had his ticket in his hand, and knew he would be in Pittsburgh by sunrise. He tried to sleep in the hard airport chairs, but that was a bad joke. He knew he couldn’t have slept even in a fucking cloud. Even in a palace. “It’s for my prince.” Shit. Everything, even passing thoughts, always brought him back to Brian. Why, why, why did he leave? I am immature, the thought echoed through his head. Michael was right. I thought I’d grown up so much, I thought I knew everything I needed to know about love and life and Brian Kinney. But I’m just a fucking child. Thank god I still have my key, Justin thought as he slid the loft door shut behind him. A quick glance around comforted him somewhat…the loft looked pretty much like it had when he’d left ten weeks earlier. Not that he knew what else he’d expected…all the furniture gone again, like after the Concerned Citizens for Truth Campaign? Maybe the walls covered in blood. Or maybe a room full of fucking, sucking men. That would have meant Brian was okay, so in a way it would have been a good thing. Yet Justin was relieved that he didn’t find anyone else there, although it caused him a twinge of…guilt?…that he pushed aside. Early-morning sunlight was streaming through the gauzy curtains and making glowing streaks on the hardwood floor. Justin noticed with a touch of irony that the usually immaculate floors were as dusty as those in his New York loft. He stepped up to the opening that led into Brian’s room quietly, trying not to think. Too many feelings were flooding him, and he had the sudden irrational fear that he would drown in his own emotion; shatter suddenly and disappear into nothing more than the sparkling dust particles dancing in the sunbeams behind him. Relief. That was the most tangible-seeming emotion. Brian was there, in his bed, alive, alone. Asleep. His chest rose and fell in the same familiar breathing pattern Brian always had when he slept. His lips were slightly parted, one arm straight out and one above his head in the total trust and abandon of sleep. He wore jeans that didn’t look particularly clean, and nothing more. Close on the heels of relief was a melting sensation , which Justin recognized well as love-the most powerful of his life. Brian’s angular face was bristly, almost to the point of an authentic beard, which Justin was surprised to discover made him look more gentle. His long brown locks looked greasy and unwashed. Justin smiled. He was beautiful. Simply being in his physical presence ignited the magnetism that had characterized their entire relationship, an attraction and connection so strong it was almost…but not quite…painful. Justin fought a sudden desperate urge to collapse on top of Brian and bury his face in the rise-and-fall of his chest. Dancing among every thought and wave of emotion was nostalgia; the lovely, sweet heartbreak of too many memories to count; the remnants of shared selves thick in the air, breathed in with each inhalation like oxygen. As if in response to Justin’s internal acknowledgement of the intensity he and Brian shared, the dark man on the bed suddenly opened his eyes and looked straight at-and into-Justin. His gaze was so penetrating, so powerful, that Justin found himself frozen in place, unable to move or even to look away. After an eternity that in reality probably lasted seven seconds, Brian tore his gaze away, and in a single movement so filled with despair it was shocking, rolled over onto his side with his back to Justin. Now the hunger and desperation coursing through Justin was turned up a thousand times stronger, and without even thinking he clambered onto Brian’s bed and stretched out, pressing himself against Brian’s long body. The effect was immediate; Brian yelped in shock and fear and sat straight up, pushing Justin off violently. “Brian! What…” Justin trailed off, unable to fathom what could be going through Brian’s mind, and unsure how to ask. “You’re not a dream.” Brian’s voice was hoarse from disuse. He was sitting there, hair hanging in his eyes, staring at Justin in bewilderment. Their eyes locked again, and this time it was Justin who broke the gaze, simply too overwhelmed. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t have come,” Brian barked suddenly, and turned away to get a cigarette from his nightstand, and take a swig of bourbon straight from the bottle. With a shaking hand, he lit his cigarette, then stared at the ember as if it were the only thing in the world. Justin was still at a loss for words. For a fleeting moment, he wondered wildly if Brian had gone around the bend of insanity. “Brian, I…why didn’t you return my calls?” Justin shook his head at how idiotic and juvenile the words sounded coming out of his mouth. Brian said nothing, but continued staring at his smoldering cigarette. “Did something happen? I kept expecting you to…” “Don’t you have a show opening in a week?” Brian interrupted, finally turning his gaze to Justin again. “So you did get the invitation. I wasn’t sure. Yes, it’s next weekend.” There was a heavy pause. “Were you going to show up?” Brian stared at Justin, daring him with his eyes to guess the answer. Justin suppressed a shudder and stared back. “Why the fuck aren’t you in New York, with all the other artistes, jacking off to the sight of your paintings hanging on the wall?” Brian’s voice was cold, and Justin inhaled deeply to stop his angry retort. Patiently, he replied, “Because I have something more important to deal with. Anyway, Courtney’s going to handle the show until I get back.” “Courtney. Who’s that? Your new bull cheerleader, to take Lindsay’s place? A trannie you’re fucking? Or maybe you’ve gone straight, what with all the hot cunts in the big city.” Brian sneered. He snubbed out his cigarette and was suddenly glaring at Justin expectantly. “You don’t have to be such an asshole. She’s an art dealer I’ve signed with. She set up the show for me.” Silence. “I thought you’d be proud, Brian. You always made this big deal about me succeeding with my art. Shit, you all but pushed me out of your life so that I would. Well, now I am, and all you can do is say nasty things and look at me like you despise me.” Justin’s voice cracked on these last words, much to his dismay. The last thing he wanted right then was for Brian to know how scared he was, how desperate he was for a glimpse of the approval and adoration he’d seen in Brian’s eyes the last time they were together. “I don’t despise you.” Brian’s voice was so completely different, so quiet and haunted and filled with unspoken emotions, that Justin broke out in chills. He had been on the receiving end of everything Brian had inside him: wild, insatiable lust; vicious sarcasm; raging fury; loyal friendship; fiercely passionate love. But inevitably, the most difficult part of Brian for him to cope with was, ironically, probably the only one that Justin alone had borne witness to: complete, naked fragility. He had not seen it much, but when he did…when Brian’s eyes were completely stripped of their usual amused, patronizing veil, he seemed so delicate that Justin thought one breath could blow him away. He thought Michael, and maybe even Deb, may have seen glimpses of that part of Brian, but they were too caught up in who they thought he was to really get it. And Justin was fairly sure that he was the only person in the world that Brian had ever willingly, openly shown it to. Unsure of what to say next, Justin found himself reaching for Brian, and rejoiced internally when he was not pushed away again. His hand rested lightly between Brian’s shoulder blades, and at the moment of contact, he felt the tense energy drain from Brian. He ducked his head a bit, to try to see into Brian’s face, which was now lowered, eyes staring at his hands which rested lightly on his denim-clad legs. Justin’s gaze followed Brian’s, and as usual, he marveled at the beauty of those long fingers, smooth skin, perfect nails. “I love you, Brian.” Silence. “Did you change your mind?” Brian raised his head to look into Justin’s face, and there it was again, in the deep hazel eyes…no mask, no veil. Just Brian. “About what?” He nearly whispered, no energy behind the words. “About loving me?” Justin’s stomach dropped a little when he saw the moment of surprise and bewilderment on Brian’s face, the sudden sad smile that played lightly at the corners of his soft, wide mouth. Justin began to think Brian was not going to answer. Actually, he thought, I’d be more surprised if he DID answer. It’s not like he’s ever been comfortable talking about love. As always, I am wanting too much from him…asking him for what he simply won’t-or can’t-give… “No.” Brian’s voice startled Justin out of his downward spiraling thoughts. “It’s not something I can change my mind about.” He looked up then, straight into Justin’s eyes and his soul, and with a sense of resignation, said, “It won’t ever go away.” Justin felt his eyes flutter almost closed as the warmth of relief flooded through him. That’s what he’d needed to know. He smiled and looked up at Brian, unable to contain his hope that this declaration would have brought the older man back to himself. The smile fell from Justin’s face though, as he saw the almost hostile look in Brian’s eyes. Abruptly, Brian stood up, grabbed Justin’s arm-hard-and pulled him down the small staircase and through the loft toward the door. “I don’t know what you’re doing here. What we had is over. It wasn’t even real when it wasn’t over. You’ve got a life and it doesn’t include me. And my life doesn’t include you. So get the fuck out of here and let me be old and alone in peace.” Justin wrenched his arm free of Brian’s grasp, mere footsteps away from the loft’s sliding door. Brian lunged for him again, but Justin dove beneath his outstretched hands and ran for the bedroom. He could hear Brian behind him, shoving something out of the way in his pursuit. Justin dove onto the bed and yanked the drawer of the nightstand open so hard, the catch-mechanism in it snapped and the drawer flew out of its slot. No matter…Brian was there, growling in his throat and trying to get his hands around Justin again. Adrenaline coursing through him, Justin kicked out blindly, and felt his foot strike one of Brian’s legs. Brian stumbled backwards, nearly losing his footing, and Justin seized the moment to snap the handcuffs he had extricated from the broken drawer onto his left wrist, and then onto the hook attached to the wall for that very purpose. His eyes shot to Brian, who was massaging his thigh and staring at Justin with an unfathomable expression on his face. Justin’s grin was both triumphant and nervous. Then, much to Justin’s confusion, Brian began to laugh; not a phony laugh, not a cruel laugh, but with open, full, true amusement. “Very clever, as usual.” Brian rolled his lips in and raised his eyebrows. “One hitch though…I can simply unlock them.” Justin met his gaze unflinchingly, silently daring Brian to come near enough to try. He had no idea where this was going; he was taking it moment by moment, trying to get past Brian’s violent rejection and on to some sort of reconnection. “Or, I could…”Brian drawled, then grinned wickedly. “If I hadn’t lost the keys to those.” Justin stared at Brian, then laughed. “Yeah, right.” “No, really. I haven’t seen them for ages.” Brian cocked his head to the side in relaxed contemplation. There was a war within Justin, between a feeling of triumph that Brian was finally engaged and smiling, and a feeling of hostility that Brian was engaged and smiling because of THIS. As Justin watched Brian watching him, another feeling began to grow…the warmth of lust, coupled with a sense of alarm, as Brian’s own expression changed from condescending amusement to an expression he wore only when he had one thing on his mind…and usually, whenever he’d seen that look, Justin had ended up pinned spread-eagled to the bed, screaming and writhing in ecstasy. “Brian…” he began, but didn’t go on…just murmuring the name seemed to say it all. Justin bit his bottom lip hard as Brian began to unbutton and peal off his jeans, those hazel eyes never looking away. Justin was at war within himself…he wanted desperately to be fucked into oblivion right then, to allow himself to be completely dominated and overwhelmed by Brian’s lust, because he knew it would bring a sense of security, normalcy…not to mention the corporeal bliss that he had not enjoyed for weeks. Yet he knew…and goddamnit, Brian knew too…that the fucking would take the place of the talking that absolutely needed to happen. Often, they could communicate all that needed to be said with their bodies. This wasn’t one of those times. “Brian,” he began again, “I really think that first we need…” Justin felt his voice trailing off. Brian had kicked his jeans to the side, and stood there, smirking, his cock standing straight up. Justin felt his own erection jerk and knew it was a lost cause. Suddenly, Brian demanded, “How many guys have you fucked in New York?” Justin struggled to pull his eyes away from Brian’s naked form. God, how he’d missed that sight. He felt increasingly short of breath and shaky, as Brian stood there with his eyebrows raised, waiting. Finally Justin realized he was supposed to answer, and shook himself a little. “Uh…” He breathed carefully, deeply, weighing whether it would be beneficial to lie, just to keep Brian from freaking out further. Brian’s gaze kept boring into him, and he knew that attempting to lie would be futile. “None.” He was surprised at how small his voice sounded, so he cleared his throat and dipped into his reservoir of inner strength. “None. I really wasn’t interested in…that. Not at this point. I’ve been focusing on working-I got a good deal on studio space--and making connections…” His voice trailed off as he realized he was reverting to babble-mode. He forced himself to take a deep breath and look into Brian’s questioning face. “How about you?” Brian had a strange expression on his face, as if trying to make a decision. Brian just kept staring at him, then slowly, carefully, moved towards the bed. “Roll over,” he commanded, and Justin cringed at the force behind it. “That’s not what this is about.” Justin tried to tap into his deepest resolve, tried to keep his breathing steady, as Brian knelt gently onto the bed, his lust-filled eyes never leaving Justin’s. Unfortunately, his body had completely betrayed him; his erection showed plainly through his pants. Brian seemed not to realize he was grinning from ear to ear as he reached out with one long arm, and putting his hand on Justin’s hip, flipped him onto his stomach. Justin fought the action for only a moment, but gasped in pain as the cuff bit into his wrist. As Brian roughly pulled his pants off, Justin struggled to adjust his arm enough that the cold metal did not dig into his flesh. “Brian! Jesus, will you quit? We need to talk!” He gasped, but Brian just laughed, and stuck two of his fingers into Justin’s mouth. Without meaning to, Justin found himself sucking at the long fingers greedily, suddenly desperate to be engulfed by Brian again. “I haven’t fucked anyone else either, Sunshine.” When Brian extricated his fingers, Justin glanced involuntarily over his shoulder at the man kneeling on the bed behind him, hoping to gain some clarity by seeing Brian’s expression. “Surprise!” This last word was spoken in a quiet, sing-song, almost feminine voice, and was followed by a gruff and entirely masculine laugh. Justin twisted himself a bit so that he could see Brian’s face better, and sat resolutely down on his knees, trying to keep his arm near the wall so that the cuff wouldn’t hurt while at the same time making access to his ass much more difficult. While he was aching, trembling, for Brian’s touch, he knew that he was the only person in the room currently choosing to act with any rationality, and it was up to him to hold it together. He felt a touch of a smile on his lips, as he reflected in the space of an instant that it had always been the way with them…when one fell apart, the other was steady and strong. Justin didn’t feel steady at all…in fact, he was awfully glad that he was on the bed…at least he could sit comfortably, because if he had been required to stand he knew his legs would have collapsed under him, such was his terror and enthrallment. He knew, however, that he could always be as strong as was necessary to achieve his goals, and he called upon that strength now to buoy him against the tides of desire and confusion that were slamming through him. “C’mon, Brian. I know that’s bullshit. I have told you a million times, and I’ll say it again, I don’t care if you fuck other guys. Especially now that we’re not even living in the same city!” There was a pause, while Brian just looked at him, his expression inscrutable. “Where are you going with this, anyway?” “Where I’m going, Justin,” Brian began, with his ultimate talking-to-a-mentally-challenged-three-year-old condescension flowing freely, “Is simple. You still don’t believe that I want to be monogamous with you. Fuck, that I AM monogamous with you.” He paused, seemingly waiting for a response from Justin. “Rrrright,” Justin hissed in frustration, wishing that wherever this was going would involve Brian figuring out how to-and being willing to--unlock the fucking cuff. He had been crazy to get himself into such a vulnerable position with a madman, no matter how temporary that madness may be, or how much he trusted said madman when he WASN’T mad. Glancing down, he noticed, with a mixture of relief and disappointment, that while Brian’s dick was not entirely flaccid, it was not quite the throbbing pillar it had been moments before. Good old Brian. Too much talking always made his dick soft. “Well, prior to your exit from the Pitts, you and I were engaged. To be married,” he added, as if Justin wouldn’t know what he meant otherwise. Justin shut his eyes and sighed, and waited. “And if you recall, I thought that meant we would quit fucking other guys…remember that? You kind of freaked out about it. You didn’t like Monogamous Brian after all.” There was a teasing tone in his voice that didn’t quite hide the hurt underneath. Justin’s eyes snapped open and he looked at Brian challengingly, unbelievingly. He was starting to get the feeling that Brian’s version of reality was disturbingly different from his own. Brian’s dark eyes met his straight on, and glared the challenge back to him. The moment was fleeting, however, and then Brian smiled the most pleasant and artificial smile Justin had seen in a long time. Justin’s apprehension, which had been fading in the face of Brian’s acceptably reasonable, if brief, monologue, flooded back in as Brian suddenly pushed him back against the wall. A small yelp escaped from Justin’s throat as he felt the hard surface behind him, and smelled Brian’s cigarettes and bourbon as the man descended upon him. Their faces were nearly touching when Brian hissed, “Maybe it was YOU who didn’t want to be monogamous. If you could just get me to fuck it all up, it would have been MY fault that we were unhappy, as usual. Is that why you wanted me to fuck the hustler at the stag party?” Justin’s breath was rapid and shallow, but he managed to steady his voice and reply, “No. I wanted to be monogamous with you. It’s not what you wanted, it’s not who you are. I won’t let you make that sacrifice for me.” A violent storm raged in Brian’s dark eyes, and his jaw was set in an intensity of anger Justin hadn’t seen for a long time. He suddenly grasped Justin’s free wrist, hard enough to bruise, and roughly pinned Justin’s arm above his head, alongside his handcuffed one. He jammed two of his fingers into Justin’s mouth again, and Justin tried to play along, to suck and lick, but he was freaked out enough by this time for his mouth to be dry. He trusted Brian with his life, but he also didn’t know what the hell was going through Brian’s mind, and, well, Brian was unpredictable and a little sadistic even when he wasn’t falling apart. Apparently Justin wasn’t doing a satisfactory job of wetting his fingers, because Brian pulled them out of Justin’s mouth and shoved them into his own. He twisted them all around, letting his spit coat them until it ran down the fingers, onto his hand, and all the while his eyes never left Justin’s. When Brian pulled his dripping fingers out of his mouth and placed them against Justin’s hole, Justin felt his body tense, and willed himself to relax. His alarm was rapidly being replaced with desire, as those dark eyes stared into him, and those long wet fingers inserted themselves, first one and then the other, deep into his body. He was unfolding his legs and spreading them without a conscious decision to do so. Brian grinned, and bit his bottom lip, his eyes studying Justin’s face as he withdrew his fingers and plunged them back in. Justin was lost in the sensations for a few moments, finding himself again when Brian’s mouth was on his, Brian’s tongue sliding forcefully against his, not so much kissing as devouring him. He felt himself open even more fully then, and he was gone, he was nothing but an extension of Brian’s passion, nothing but electricity and desire and joy. Brian pulled back a tiny bit and licked across Justin’s open lips, as he withdrew his fingers, at the same time releasing his free arm. A tiny whimper escaped Justin from deep within as he registered the multitude of losses, and then Brian was pulling roughly on his hips and thighs, getting him into a more fuckable position. Justin vaguely attempted to help, pretty much incapable of anything other than compliance...not to mention that one arm was still locked above his head. A breath later Brian had lifted Justin’s legs over his shoulders, and was ripping open a condom with his teeth. Justin heard the squirt of the lube, but the anticipated coldness did not come…Brian was lubing his own cock. Just as well…Justin’s asshole was plenty wet with the spit from Brian’s fingers. Brian leaned into Justin and bit the younger man’s bottom lip, hard, his slicked cock pressing rhythmically against Justin’s hole. Justin moaned into Brian’s mouth. Brian pushed past the pressure, into Justin, and then stilled, savoring the moment, his teeth still gripping Justin’s lip (on some other level Justin noted that he tasted blood), and he waited, one breath, two, then plunged himself in further--deep, so deep. Another involuntary sound…this one more high-pitched and shuddery…escaped from Justin, just as a guttural groan came from Brian, and the still-vaguely-connected-to-reality part of Justin thought that the sounds together were beautifully harmonic. Then they were rocking roughly together, Brian shoving desperately into Justin as Justin raised his hips to meet every thrust. He was sure that it had never felt like this…Brian’s cock was so much hotter, so much smoother, so much BIGGER inside of him than ever before. And deeper…somehow, although Justin would have sworn that he and Brian couldn’t possibly have rougher, more all-encompassing sex than they’d already had thousands of times, somehow this was more. Brian’s cock was hitting him deep inside again and again, and it hurt, it ached, but he craved more, and bucked his hips up as hard as he could to get it. Brian was sucking on Justin’s tongue now, sucking it deep into his own mouth, and it felt so complete and perfect for a part of Justin to be inside Brian while Brian was inside him. Brian had his hands in Justin’s hair, his fingers all twisted up in the long blond locks, and Justin’s free hand was roaming over Brian’s body as much as it could, caressing and then pinching Brian’s nipples, grasping at Brian’s ass, pulling him in even tighter. His cuffed arm throbbed, and his cock was throbbing in a different way, leaking onto his stomach. He reached for it and began to jack himself off to their rhythm. Brian laughed a little into Justin’s mouth as he pulled Justin’s hand away, entwined their fingers and then reached back down with their joined hands to Justin’s erection. One stroke, two…one thrust, two…and they were coming, crying out together into one another’s mouths. Justin could feel Brian’s come, could actually feel it, filling the condom inside his ass and making him impossibly warmer. Brian collapsed against him, and lifted his head enough to look into Justin’s eyes. He pressed their foreheads together and smiled. Suddenly he shook himself and looked at Justin’s captured hand, forgotten against the wall above his head. “Is it okay?” he asked, all concern and gentleness, as he jiggled the cuff to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Justin wanted to answer but he had no access to words yet, so he just smiled and nodded. His wrist was throbbing a little, truth be told, but then again, so were other parts of his body, and it all seemed right. He’d never felt more comfortable than right then, chained to Brian’s bed, Brian’s softening cock in his ass, every taste and smell and heartbeat just…Brian. Brian pulled out gently and sat up. He removed the condom and tossed it into the wastebasket by his bed, then looked around a moment as if disoriented. Spotting his cigarettes and his cellphone, which had somehow ended up on the floor, he said “I’m going to have to call someone to figure out what kind of tool I need to get that thing off of you.” He looked contemplatively at the phone while he lit his cigarette. “Melanie, I guess. Supposedly she’s good with tools.” Justin laughed at this, suddenly giddy. “Does that mean you’re not going to throw me out? Because if you are, I’d rather just stay chained here. We still need to talk.” His breathing was returning to normal. “Though I am glad you did that.” Brian cocked an eyebrow his direction. Smoke was drifting up around his face, making him look both ethereal and dangerous. “Did what?” Justin laughed a little, but didn’t speak. He just watched Brian watching him. “Was it hot enough for you?” Brian was teasing now, but Justin was nothing but serious. He looked hard at Brian, then grinned his brightest grin and nodded. Brian grinned too, and kissed him softly, and got off the bed. “I’m going to get some water, and get you some water, and call Mel. And then I’m going shopping.” Justin’s eyes widened in shock and rebellion, and Brian laughed. “For some kind of heavy-duty wire cutter, I imagine. As much as I’d like to, I can’t realistically leave you handcuffed to my bed forever.” His grin held a hint of maliciousness. “Sooner or later, you’ll need to take a piss.” And with that he sauntered out of the room, leaving Justin groaning and suddenly fighting to keep the thought of pissing, or rain, or waterfalls, or any flowing liquid at all, out of his mind. *********************************************************************** Mel had plenty of advice about metal-cutting tools…and much admonishment to be more careful, because if Brian ever hurt Justin she’d personally come back to Pittsburgh just to kick his ass. To his amazement, when Brian walked back into the room after finishing the call, Justin was asleep. He had hoisted himself up a little so that his arm was not so much pinned above him as beside him, and his head had fallen to the side and his lovely plump pink lips were parted. The lower one was plumper than usual, Brian noticed, and he saw the purplish marks his teeth had left. For the first time since the fucking had begun, the sickening sensation that had been tormenting Brian’s days and nights came creeping back. Here he was, staring at this gorgeous boy, the most talented, most mature, most beautiful soul he had ever met, and he felt like he was back at the beginning of their fucking train wreck of a relationship. Except it was different now, because he was too far gone to trick himself and everyone else into thinking he DIDN’T want this young man here, in his bed. In his life. Fuck. He’d done everything he could to free the kid. He feared his presence in Justin’s life would eventually be toxic…he had felt for a long time that if Justin was the sunshine-and he was---then he, Brian, must be darkness. Like a very fucked up yin yang. Justin had everything anyone could want…beauty, health, talent beyond words. A mother who loved him. A whole arsenal of friends who loved him. An ex-fiance who loved him and would move mountains for him, and happened to have the monetary resources to literally have mountains moved, if the need should ever arise. Yet, it could never be so simple. Brian knew now how much he wanted and needed from Justin-and he knew that Justin would give him anything, everything. That should be a joyous thought…and yet, he couldn’t shake the fear that if Justin prioritized their relationship-or worse, if he prioritized Brian’s needs-then he would never receive the acclaim that he deserved. Hell, Justin was such a devoted, courageous, generous person, he would no doubt give Brian the best of his mind, his heart, his passion. And then drift through life in pieces, never fully able to realize how incredible he was because Brian was hoarding all that devastating beauty for himself. Shit, you really are losing it, Brian thought to himself. He’d certainly had that suspicion for a while now. After Justin left, he had gone through more confusion and conflicting feelings than he’d ever, ever experienced before. He was sure that the boy must think he was a mess of insanity, considering the way he’d been jerking him around since the non-wedding. He had insisted that Justin go to New York, because that was how a person had a good life…by chasing dreams that were actually conceivably attainable. The fact that Justin’s conceivably attainable dreams were above and beyond what the average person could ever hope for was all the more reason. And Justin really had disliked Monogamous Brian. Brian knew he’d probably done it all wrong, because despite what he’d screamed to Mikey that one night, despite what Justin had said to him a mere hour ago, it WAS “who he was.” He was Brian Kinney, and Brian Kinney was in love with Justin Taylor. For too long, Brian had managed to keep himself convinced that he had to fuck other men to remain autonomous. As though promiscuity was as necessary to his personal existence as air or water. That had been the last desperate thread that he’d clung to, to fight the intense emotional connection to Justin. If only he kept fucking other guys, then Justin couldn’t possibly break his heart. It had made sense at the time… But that final thread snapped the moment he’d hugged Justin in the ruins of Babylon and felt the relief flood through him that was like a thousand orgasms and a whopping dose of E and a sudden discovery that he could flap his arms and fly, all wrapped up into one. He knew then with perfect clarity that he couldn’t do the bullshit anymore. And he knew that it WAS bullshit, that every time he fucked someone else, it was Justin’s face he saw. And he knew that his shield of promiscuity had failed him…he was inextricably linked with this young man, and that link made him more vulnerable than he’d ever, ever thought he would be. So he was still him. Just, him, whipped. Still, he had no idea how to go about monogamy. The sex part was easy…he and Justin kept each other…well, “satisfied” was such a gross understatement it seemed almost like a dirty word. Ecstatic was more like it. But he knew there were parts of monogamy that weren’t about sex, that one's desire for monogamy had to do as much with what you did as with what you didn’t do. Brian had no idea what THOSE parts were about, and he had been scared shitless that he would fuck it all up by being shitty at monogamy. His mind had flashed back to Ted’s online search for a husband--god, that had been pathetic--and how every one of the candidates had said they liked to cuddle. Cuddle. The word was nauseating…but when he thought about it, Brian discovered that the concept was not so bad. He did cuddle with Justin, and fairly regularly. They just never called it that. If they’d called it anything, it would’ve been “Move your arm so I can lay on you while we watch TV,” or “Let me under the duvet, I’m cold as shit so I’m going to burrow into you to warm up.” “Cuddle” was just a simpler way to put it, really. Hell, maybe that’s all the trick was. Use words like “cuddle,” and “love” (that one still scared the shit out of him, no matter how much he admitted to the sensation), maybe occasionally buy some flowers, and he’d be successful. Celebrate birthdays. Stay away from clubs. That one was dispiriting...but how could a married man justify clubbing? He felt like he was flying a plane blindfolded, and without knowing what half the buttons and knobs on the control panel did. But he’d been feeling that way around Justin practically since they’d met. He just had to go with it, take chances and hope he didn’t fuck up too bad. And that if he did, Justin would still be there, like he always had been. But apparently he HAD fucked up. Maybe it had been a mistake to think that Justin might have anything in common with the losers on find-a-husband.com or whatever the fuck that site had been. Because Justin DIDN’T like the word “cuddle.” And the anger that the word had invoked, and the subsequent accusation that Brian was someone other than himself, was enough to make Brian want to jump off a fucking building. But instead he took the huge hint the Universe was shoving at him, and turned the conversation to Justin, and what Justin really wanted. He was good at that…at deflection. And it had worked, maybe too well. Because Justin not only wanted to go to New York, which made sense, but he also seemed to believe that just because Brian was apparently unaware of the secrets of monogamy, that he didn’t want it. And that didn’t make sense. Justin had always read him so well before. They had unspoken communications that trumped all verbosity. So when Justin so grossly misinterpreted Brian’s actions, Brian began to doubt everything he had come to trust. The only acceptable answer to his confusion was to distance himself emotionally from the man who inspired emotions he’d had no idea he was capable of. And he could have done it. Probably. Maybe. Except that the minute Justin got to New York, he sent Brian the most detailed, personalized, pornographic email conceivable. If Brian was capable of embarrassment, surely that email would have triggered it. What it DID trigger was Brian’s libido, as well as his creativity, and before he realized that he shouldn’t have done it, he’d sent an equally graphic email back to Justin. That’s what Justin did, every time. From the first fucking night they met, Brian heard words coming out of his own mouth and witnessed himself doing things that he never, ever would consciously allow himself to do. But somehow Justin instinctively knew how to bypass Brian’s censor, and he had only gotten better at it with time. And so began a series of emails…some kinky, some just sweet, and Brian surprised himself more than once at the sentiment that flowed from his fingers when he let his guard down. (Christ, what had this kid done to him?) Phone calls that would start out nonchalant somehow ended with Brian, yet again, hearing himself say things he knew he shouldn’t be saying. Because it was supposed to be a clean break…no pain, no strings attached. It was supposed to be simple. But he should have known better, because nothing between he and Justin was ever simple. And then Justin apparently really DID start to develop his own life, there in the big city, and the phone calls became fewer, and more spaced out. The passion in the emails began to die off. And Brian knew he had fucked up yet again…he had let himself get dragged into a long-distance thing, and long-distance things never fucking worked. He hated himself for allowing it. He hated Justin for refusing to leave him alone, until it was way, way too late. He hated Mikey for having Ben, he hated Lindz for leaving him and taking Gus away, he hated his parents for twisting his idea of a “relationship” so thoroughly that he was doomed to failure. He just hated. So he tried his best to disappear. And then Justin just…showed up. Standing there like a fucking angel at the foot of his bed, looking so pure and beautiful and sexy, and Brian thought he was a dream. A mirage. But he was real, and within moments, that heartless blond had again taken over Brian’s reality, his emotions, his body. And now there he was, asleep in that bed, looking more perfect than ever, simply radiating light and joy and everything wonderful…God! How did you become the fucking poster boy for lesbianism, Brian asked himself. He shut off his brain, lit a cigarette, and put the water he’d gotten for Justin on the bedside table, within reach. When he picked up his pants, he was immediately revolted at how grungy they looked, and suddenly remembered that he hadn’t showered in several days. That jolt of reality made the sickening feeling inside him triple in strength, and he went to his closet to get some clean clothes. He needed to shower, but he needed to free Justin first. He kissed his selfish, stubborn, perfect lover gently on the brow before heading out to the Home Depot. *********************************************************************** Justin awakened to the feeling of Brian’s tongue in his ear. He opened one eye and looked sideways at Brian, then jumped a little at the site of the disturbingly large, dangerously sharp tool in his hand. The jump was a mistake…he had, of course, forgotten that his left arm was pinned by his head, and he jerked it so hard that a jolt of pain radiated through his wrist and down his arm, followed by unpleasant currents of pins-and-needles. “Shit!” “Christ, Justin, be careful. This thing is sharp.” Justin looked over at him, exasperated. “Yeah. I noticed. Will you get this fucking thing off me now? I think the blood stopped flowing to my arm some time ago.” Brian raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. All of his focus was on sliding the tool into the narrow space between Justin’s arm and the cuff. He bit his lip and grimaced when he squeezed the blades of the tool together…Justin felt a pinch and the cuff was broken. Brian tossed the tool onto the bed and immediately began massaging Justin’s wrist. Justin just sat there staring at him, unsure of what to say next. He had always known that Brian was a bit…unpredictable. But the Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde shit he’d witnessed this morning was way, way over the top. Finally Brian looked up at him with a smile that quickly faded when he saw the look on Justin’s face. “Fuck. OK, let me have it.” “Have what?” Justin honestly didn’t know. “The lecture.” “I’m not going to lecture.” “Yes, you are. You always do that little eyebrow thing when you have a lecture you’re just dying to give me. So just do it, and get it over with, so you can go back to New York.” “Brian.” Brian got off the bed and threw Justin’s pants at him, before heading down to the living room and turning on the TV. Justin just sat there for several minutes, watching Brian sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette and watching the fucking Price is Right, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. Christ, Justin thought. How am I ever going to break through his fortress this time? Finally, he decided on the most straightforward approach. He stood up and tossed his pants right back on the floor, and stripped off his shirt while he was at it. He went to the bathroom and took a piss, and examined his aching left arm to make sure it really was okay. He had meant to go down into the living room naked, but it was so fucking cold in the loft, he grabbed the duvet off the bed and wrapped it around him before heading down to kneel on the floor in front of Brian. “Why don’t you turn the goddamn heat on?” he asked, as he unfastened Brian’s fly and reached into his pants. Brian didn’t even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. At least he’s not kicking me away, Justin thought, as he licked around the head of Brian’s cock. He put his hands on Brian’s hips and tugged a little; Brian allowed his pants to be pulled down to his ankles, but still didn’t even look at Justin. He just kept smoking and watching that stupid fucking game show. “Would you at least turn it to a music channel? What the fuck are you watching?” Brian said not a word, but he did pick up the remote and change the channel. Justin took this as a very good sign, and began to lick Brian’s cock from base to head. Brian flipped through several stations, the “blips” of sound too quick to discern. He stopped on a newscast, and Justin grunted his disapproval as he sucked on one of Brian’s balls. Brian switched the channel to a talk show and Justin again grunted discouragingly as he moved his mouth to the other ball. Brian flipped around a bit more and ended up with a soap opera and Justin chuckled, Brian’s dick deep in his throat. He felt Brian shift a little in response to the sensation, so he did it again. Then he pulled off and said “If you want me to keep doing this, you’ve got to change the fucking channel again. There’s no way I’m blowing you with hetero pseudo-sex going on behind me.” Brian cracked a smile then, which he quickly stifled. Justin went back to his work while Brian switched the channel again, this time to something with ominous music interspersed with the occasional screech of a raptor. A horror-drama, people trapped on a deserted island perhaps. Justin was slurping up and down the bottom of Brian’s shaft, spit running down his chin and over Brian’s balls; he stopped a moment, considering, then nodded and continued. Brian did laugh a little then. “Glad you approve.” He wasn’t supposed to be talking, in Justin’s opinion, so Justin nipped just a bit at the tender flesh he was sucking on. Brian gasped and shut up. Sometime later, Justin was licking the corners of his mouth and reveling in the taste of Brian’s come as he crawled onto the couch beside and curled up against him. Brian was still trying to catch his breath. Justin thought that perhaps it was a good time to get down to the business at hand. “So,” he began conversationally, “a couple of weeks ago, you quit answering your phone. Or calling me. Or returning my emails.” Brian groaned then, and stood up, pulling his pants up and walking to the kitchen. “You hungry?” “Yes, actually, I’m fucking famished. Thought you’d never ask.” “Didn’t think I had to. It’s not like you’ve never been here, you know where I keep the food.” “Brian, what the fuck is going on?” Justin was up now too, re-wrapping the duvet around him. “The duvet is going to need to be cleaned. You’re dragging the edges all over the fucking floor.” “BRIAN!” Brian stopped then, and looked straight at Justin. Justin could see he was pissed, but not really pissed. Most people couldn’t tell the difference…if someone who didn’t know Brian well saw that look, they’d no doubt turn tail and run. But it wasn’t real anger, it was just a device Brian had come up with to scare people off. When Brian was really pissed, his eyes flashed in a very particular way, that was different from the way they flashed when he was turned on...that was more like glitter…or when he was amused…that was a sparkle. So Justin didn’t stop for a second. He had Brian’s attention, and he was GOING to do this. And Brian knew it. Brian stared at him for a long time, and Justin felt that they were on the verge of a breakthrough. Then suddenly Brian broke the gaze and turned his back on Justin. “I need a shower. Want to come?” ************************************************************************ As the scalding water washed over him, Brian mentally prepared himself. Ok, how the fuck was he going to do this? The little fucker just wouldn’t quit. It was clear that Justin was not going to go back to New York until he heard what he wanted to hear. But what DOES he want to hear? Brian thought, almost desperately. It ran through his mind that he could tell Justin the truth…or at least a portion of it: that he was fucking crazy about him, that life utterly sucked without him (and NOT in a positive, life-affirming way), that he wanted his complicated, frustrating, mind-reading blond back more than he’d ever wanted anything…but then Justin wouldn’t go back to New York at all. And Brian would be damned if he had to live out the rest of his life knowing that he'd kept Justin from ever realizing his potential, or fulfilling his dreams. A separate, but every bit as real, truth, was that Brian wanted Justin to do what was BEST for HIMSELF, to go back to New York and succeed in ways that Brian was sure Justin hadn’t even fully comprehended yet. But he knew, absolutely knew, that Justin would just find some way to turn the conversation back around to emotions. That’s what he did, every fucking time. He absolutely refused to put the intangible shit on the back burner so that he could have the real shit. Which either made him the most ridiculously romantic and foolish little child Brian had ever met….or else the most enlightened soul in the whole universe. And Brian was really thinking it must be the latter. Which then made him doubt himself, which he detested. There’s nothing that throws a monkey wrench into one’s self-possession quite like realizing that your whole mode of existence is based on shit that doesn’t even matter. Money, fame, glory. Immortality. If none of it mattered when LOVE was at stake, then what the hell had he been doing for the last 34 years? Not that he didn’t prioritize the people he loved. He did. Hell, that was the whole problem. If all Brian wanted in life was his own happiness, he’d say the words that would have Justin moving his shit back into the loft--or better yet, Britin--right that second. Justin had just joined Brian in the shower, breaking his train of thought with a long hot lick across his shoulder blades--and shit, now Justin was swiping his sandpaper-silk tongue over Brian’s shoulder and up his neck. Brian suspected that Justin was hoping these tactics would get him to talk. He could lie. Just turn on the cruelty, tell Justin how much he was over him, that whatever he’d thought they’d shared was all in his mind. Brian could claim to have been fucking multitudes of men for the last eight weeks. That he had everything he needed and wanted and Justin just got in his way. Right, like that would work. For one thing, Justin had never believed it BEFORE Brian had pledged his love to him, and bought him a fucking house, and told him he hadn’t fucked anyone since he’d left. Christ, WHY did he tell him that? Here he’d had the perfect opportunity to make up some bullshit about how totally fine life had been since Justin left, but he’d fucked it all up by being honest, right off the bat. But how could he not, with those blue eyes looking at him so hopefully? That’s what this kid does to me, Brian thought, he brings me to my knees. Brian felt the amusement bubble up in him at that most literal thought, because now he was on his knees with the water cascading over him and he was eating Justin’s ass like he was starving for it…which he was. The truth was, Brian had begun to feel so shattered every minute of every day that he’d just dropped out of Justin’s life. He’d dropped out of life altogether, actually. He knew now how fucking deep he really was in this whole emotions thing. He’d thought he knew before…after Babylon, he thought he must finally know the full extent of the love and fear within him. But that had just been the proverbial “tip of the iceberg.” So he was stuck. Because Justin got it…he knew how fucked Brian was. He’d known before Brian did. And he was going to find out how thoroughly Brian had been falling apart. And then he would make a decision that would affect the rest of his life based on that, based on Brian, rather than on logic or planning or even self-preservation. Brian didn’t understand how Justin could be so fucking selfless. But then, sometimes Brian felt that he didn’t really understand anything…especially how a mere human being could taste like the most decadent delicacy, how the simple scent of Justin’s hair and clothing and even his fucking body odor could take Brian’s breath away. Brian turned Justin around then, and took his cock deep into his mouth with one movement, and as Justin let out the most melodious whimper ever heard, Brian let himself quit thinking. He traced around Justin’s shaft with his tongue, and sucked, hard, and then traced around some more. He was almost in tears, because he was nothing but an extension of Justin, nothing but electricity and desire and joy. That’s what Justin did to him. Justin was pissed. He knew Brian had a whole carousel going around in his mind, and he was staunchly refusing to give Justin a glimpse. Then again, it was awfully difficult to be pissed when Brian was doing THAT with his tongue… How could Brian not get it? How could he not understand that Justin would never, ever be even remotely interested in living a Brian-less life? No matter how much success and praise he had for his art. No matter how much money he made. No matter anything…if Brian wasn’t in the picture, he didn’t want the fucking picture. He marveled at how many people, including Brian (which was weird, because Brian usually got Justin even when no one else did) refused to grasp the fact that Brian was the absolute highest priority in Justin's life. And it wasn’t romanticism. Justin knew what it meant to be romantic…he’d experienced Ethan, for God’s sake. That was enough “romantic” to last him for the rest of eternity, and it nearly made him physically ill to even think about it. What he’d felt for Brian had always, always been something a thousand times bigger. A million times bigger. Brian was a window through which Justin’s future could be seen. The only window. No Brian, no future. Period. Brian must have known that Justin's mind was elsewhere, because he reached up and tweaked his nipple, hard. Justin gasped and then breathed, carefully, slowing down his mind, letting the sensations take him over again. Brian’s tongue, expertly caressing his cock as his wide beautiful lips ran up and down it rhythmically. Brian’s teeth, every so often scraping just the tiniest bit against his shaft to remind him of the power beneath the tenderness. Brian’s hands, one fondling his balls, the other kneading his ass. God, there was nothing like this. Nothing like Brian, like being with Brian. He felt the warmth begin to build in him with increasing power, and he pictured Brian’s green-hazel eyes, the depths he could see into Brian’s soul when Brian was on the cusp of orgasm, and that was all it took. Justin shot deep into Brian’s mouth, and Brian sucked it greedily and swallowed every drop, squeezing his ass hard enough to leave little finger-shaped bruises that would still be there tomorrow. When they got out of the shower, Brian rubbed a towel all over Justin’s hair like he always did, and the familiarity of it inspired a gleeful comfort and a wistful melancholy, all at once. If Justin couldn’t convince Brian…but fuck that. Justin WOULD convince Brian. Justin didn’t fail, not at something that important. It was his creed and he was not about to back down now. Justin stood in the bathroom, absently toweling off his body, thinking how best to proceed. He was seriously hoping to get this bullshit worked out in time to fly back for his show. But if the show had to go on without him, so be it. If he never got another show because of that, so be it. This was more important. He was so lost in his own thoughts that it took him a few moments to realize that Brian was not in the bathroom anymore. Brian was on the bed, lying on his stomach, naked. Justin didn’t feel a sex-vibe coming off of him though…there was something pensive there, something…delicate. Justin dropped the towel in the hamper, stepped into the room, and waited. “I don’t think I can live without you.” Wow, Justin thought. And there it is. “What I mean is…” Brian rolled over, looking at Justin with such fear and darkness in his eyes that Justin had to make a conscious effort not to look away. Then suddenly Brian smiled, the tiniest, most self-effacing, charming little smile in the world. “Well, I mean that. I just didn’t really mean to say it like that.” Justin wanted to jump on the bed with Brian and cover him with kisses, but that would probably make Brian stop talking, so he didn’t. He just stood there, ready to listen. Brian met his gaze steadily. “I just…okay, shit. I’m just going to say this.” Then he was quiet for so long that Justin thought maybe Brian had meant to say “I’m NOT going to say this.” He kept waiting though, and eventually Brian started talking again. “I know you don’t believe this, but I am so over…what I used to be.” He grimaced, like he was witnessing something revolting in his mind. “All those other guys…all that…meaninglessness. I….” Brian swallowed, and started again. “I really fucking hate living without you. But if I had to live with the knowledge that I kept you from becoming everything you can be, I would be miserable. Do you understand? Miserable.” He shook his head despairingly. “I don’t know how I can have what I want, what I-“ he cleared his throat, “What I need, and let you be who you’re meant to be.” Justin raised his eyebrows and contemplated his own emotional reaction to that. A breathy little chuckle escaped him. If one more person implied to him that he wasn’t mature enough to know what he wanted and to make his own choices, he was going to fucking kill somebody. He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. He had to be careful, or Brian would shut down and quit talking. He looked at Brian looking at him, and suddenly felt exhausted, despite his recent nap. He felt like he'd been inside a hurricane since he'd spoken to Michael, and he suddenly wasn't sure his legs would continue to hold him up. When he flopped onto the bed, it was so unbelievably soft and welcoming, he felt his eyes flutter closed. It shouldn't be this hard to love someone, he thought sleepily. "Are you okay Justin?" He heard Brian's voice from several miles away, and he smiled a little in what he hoped was a comforting way and nodded as well as he could with his face pressed into a pillow. "Justin?" "I'm hungry," Justin heard himself say, then opened his eyes and looked at Brian sheepishly. That was surely not the response Brian had been expecting, and Justin was momentarily worried that it would seem unforgivably insensitive. But then his smile widened when he saw the amusement on Brian’s face. “Okay, okay. I’ll get you some food.” Brian slid off the bed with his typical feline grace, and walked naked to the kitchen. “Although I swear I remember something about you knowing how to cook. You really ought to be feeding me." He began to rummage in the cabinets. "I haven’t had a decent meal that didn’t come from a restaurant since you left.” That could have been an emotionally charged statement, but it wasn’t. “What about Deb? Don’t you go over there and eat?” Justin struggled to sit up and engage. Only a twat would pass out twice in one day from emotional exhaustion...and besides, there was no way in hell he was going to sleep again until he and Brian talked this thing through. He groaned inwardly at the realization that, considering their track record of verbal communication, he probably wouldn't be sleeping for several weeks. “Uh…no.” Brian grinned. “You wouldn’t believe how sympathetic she’s gotten since the non-wedding. She clucks over me like a fucking mother hen." Justin smiled. The non-wedding. An event--a non-event--that they shared. Just another part of their past, of their relationship. He knew then that it was going to be okay. More than okay, it was going to be good. They still had shit to work through, a lot of it, but the gnawing apprehension was gone. They would be together. They were together. *********************************************************************** They sat at the table, not across from each other, but side by side, their bare knees touching. Not surprisingly, Brian hadn't found a single thing to eat in his cupboards, so he'd called a Chinese delivery place and ordered a variety of lunch specials. They were sipping bottled water in companionable silence, waiting for the telltale hum of the elevator to signal the arrival of their food. “I was wondering,” Justin began, carefully not looking at Brian. “Isn’t Kinnetik wildly successful?” Brian considered a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Sure. I have the highest profit margin of any agency in P.A.” He took a sip. “Actually, I’ve had to turn down a few clients.” “Because…Kinnetik is too big for its britches?” Brian looked at Justin then. His eyes were full of thoughts and questions, but he simply said, “Something like that.” “Couldn’t you expand?” Justin held Brian’s gaze. They both knew the game. “I could…but not here. Not enough of a talent pool. Not enough hungry clients to justify the expenditure.” They continued to look at each other, and at some point each man realized he was returning the other’s smile. The sound of the elevator pulled them back to earth. Brian pulled on some jeans and got the food. Justin hid his smirk when Brian took his jeans back off before he sat down. They ate straight out of the boxes, and they were sitting so close together that when Justin realized he was leaning against Brian's shoulder, he was honestly surprised. It hadn't been a conscious choice to lean into Brian...but then again, they possessed such a magnetism for one another that it wasn't too surprising. Their bodies usually ended up in contact if they were near one another. It had always been that way. Brian couldn't believe how good the food tasted. It was the same shit he'd ordered from the same place millions of times, but somehow, with Justin's still damp head on his shoulder, Justin's bare knee against his own, he would have sworn he was eating the finest gourmet meal. It probably didn't hurt that Brian had been pretty much famished. He'd been telling the truth when he said he hadn't eaten a meal that hadn't come from a restaurant since Justin left. But what he hadn't elaborated on was how infrequently he'd been eating...especially in the past two weeks. He just hadn't felt any desire for food, and when he did occasionally acknowledge a hunger pain, he'd stifle it with a hearty gulp of whisky. But suddenly his appetite was back, and with a vengeance. He smiled to himself as he savored the crunch of steamed broccoli and water chestnuts. "What?" Justin asked, noticing the smile. "I was just thinking that I'm eating like a horny teenager." Brian grinned sideways at him. "What's horny got to do with it?" Brian shrugged. "I don't know." He chuckled. "When you were a horny teenager you ate like a fucking horse." It was Justin's turn to laugh. “Well, now I’m a horny 22 year old. And I still eat like a horse.” Justin cracked open a fortune cookie, and waved the little white slip in front of Brian. “Shall we see what lies ahead?” Brian took the strip of paper from Justin, crumpled it into a tiny ball, and flicked it across the room. “Don’t we already know?” J ustin smiled and stood up, holding out his hand to Brian, who took it. “Come with me,” he said, and he pulled Brian towards the bedroom, but Brian knew that wasn’t what he meant.