Brian’s POV Friday morning 7:17 am I wake to the comforting sounds and scents of coffee being made, and for a moment I just lie there, mostly asleep, taking in the aroma, not questioning anything. I may have stayed like that for some time, drifting in half-consciousness, if not for a sudden crash followed by a muffled curse. I sit bolt upright, momentarily wondering who the fuck is making coffee in my kitchen and why the hell they are being so goddamned noisy. Two things happen then, in the space of about half a second. For one, when I sit up and throw the sheet back, I catch a distinct scent that makes my eyes flutter closed for the briefest instant…a wonderful, sweet, familiar scent that I’ve missed more than I even realized. Reality begins to come into focus and my eyes pop open, immediately settling on a dark purple hickey on the inside of my thigh. The joy that fills me is disarming, and I close my eyes again, glad that Justin is in the kitchen breaking god knows what in the simple process of making coffee, rather than here in bed, seeing me overcome with emotions I’d thought I would never experience. By the time he pads softly up the stairs to the bed I am completely composed, and I just smile at him in gratitude as he hands me a steaming cup. I sip it and have to blink back the unfamiliar sensation of joy again…how had I forgotten that Justin is the only person in this world who knows, not only how many spoonfuls of sugar to put in my coffee, but exactly how strong to brew it? “Is it too hot?” he asks, and I open my eyes, realizing that I had better put my front back on, and fast. I’d been sitting there with my eyes closed and the coffee at my lips, and now he’s staring at me with those blue eyes of his, full of question and concern. “No.” I smile at him again and take another sip of coffee. “It’s perfect.” And I think he understands, in that way that he does, that I don’t just mean the coffee. I think back to the whirlwind that was yesterday. When I woke up 24 hours ago, in this bed, alone, there was no way I could’ve known that my universe was preparing to shift. I didn’t have any urgent meetings awaiting me, so I’d taken my time getting to work. The moment I’d walked into the office, Cynthia held out a small yellow slip of paper; as I took it, she’d raised her eyes to me with a smirk and winked. It said, simply, “Justin Taylor requested appt 6:45pm.” There’s no way Cynthia could have known about Justin and me…but then again, Cynthia seems to instinctively “get” shit that no one else at Vangard does. I like her, even if she’s straight. And female. I’d walked into my office, noticing that my heart was beating faster and my palms were slightly sweaty… I needed to quit drinking so much coffee, apparently. I’d swiveled my chair around rather mindlessly for a while, trying to not give a shit that Justin had made an appointment to see me. Trying to squelch my curiosity about what he might want. Because of course I knew what he wanted…he’d made that clear. And despite my better judgment, I rather desperately wanted the same thing. “What are you thinking about?” he asks me, drawing me back to the present. He reaches over and traces my jaw with one delicate knuckle. Warmth floods me again, my skin tingling at his touch. I don’t know how the fuck to answer him. I feel myself shrugging, shaking my head. “You.” I finally reply, then I huff out a laugh because that’s not entirely accurate. “Us.” I slide my gaze towards him to gage his reaction, but he’s just wearing his smug grin. That’s okay. He stood up for himself; he had balls. He fucking deserves to be smug. So we sit, naked in my bed, drinking coffee together like two fucking lesbians. And the craziest part of it all is that I am actually happy. And normally, I don’t even do “happy.” ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ One month earlier 10:06 am I cannot fucking believe this. I don’t know what the fuck Justin is playing at, but he’s definitely playing at something. Because for him to show up at Vangard, all beautiful and kiss ass and “Nice to meet you, Mr. Kinney,” is just fucked. After I get over an initial moment of shock, I demand that he follow me to my office. Right. Now. Which clearly freaks most of the art department out. Shit, they’re all so scared of me, it’s no wonder they think I’m going to put the new intern through the ringer on his very first day. If only they fucking knew. So there he sits, across the desk from me, acting like he isn’t playing any games, just wants to further his education, that it has nothing to do with me. Right. I’m sorry, call me a conceited bastard, but when, since the first time I took him home and fucked his brains out, has anything Justin done NOT had something to do with me? I want to ask him a million fucking questions. Where’s the fiddler? What do you want from me? What are you trying to accomplish? How’s your hand? Instead I ask him what the fuck he’s doing here. Why Vangard. I tell him he doesn’t have the job until I okay it, and I go far enough to respond to his “here I am,” with “here you aren’t.” And yet he knows, the little fucker, he knows he’s got the fucking job. He knows I’m not actually going to kick his ass out. And I’m pissed at him for being so sure, and I’m even more pissed at myself for allowing this. It’s not that I miss him. I don’t. Really. It has been a fucking relief to be able to fuck as many guys as I want to without the shadow of his judgment hanging over me. And if most of those guys are young and blond, well, young blondes are hot, no one can argue with that. And if I shut my eyes and picture his face, his body, who could blame me? I was comfortable with him. He knew when to talk and when to shut up, when to throw his legs over my shoulders in utter abandonment, and when to wrap them around me and dig his heels into my spine, pulling me impossibly closer. He knew me. There are a million reasons why I might imagine I was fucking him instead of a trick. Not that I did imagine that. At least not often. So he had the job, and he knew it. But he was a being little shit, saying “I had no idea that our former relationship was still a problem for you.” And even though, on an emotional level, I would have happily dragged him out the office door myself, on a rational level, I was fucking impressed. Because the kid knew what to say to get to me. And he wasn’t fucking afraid to say it. Still, I couldn’t let him think this would be that easy. “Who said it was a problem? And who said we were ever in a relationship.” I know that hurt him, and while some small part of me felt a twinge of…I guess I’ll call it concern, since I don’t do regret…most of me felt vindicated by the tiny frown on his face. But he wasn’t thrown for long, he caught himself, and he gave it right back to me. “Well then I can see no reason that you would object to my completing my education. That you’re paying for.” And then that smug smile, which he tried to hide, but he didn’t try very hard, the little fucker. And what the hell was I supposed to say? I said the only thing I could think of, which was that he shouldn’t expect any special treatment. And the motherfucker had the audacity to respond “I never have.” When he finally got up and walked out of my office, I remained sitting at my desk for a long fucking time. Because maybe I was going to be his boss here at Vangard. But I’ll be goddamned if he hadn’t just been the one to put me through the ringer. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Three days later 11:04 pm I cannot believe my fucking eyes. Justin is here, right fucking beside me, requesting a Vodka Tonic as if he does this every night, as if he’s been frequenting Babylon like he used to…before. I won’t say I’m not fucking thrilled to see him, because I am. It’s unreal sometimes, how fucking pretty he is. Especially with his hair long and in his eyes…Of course, I see him every day at Vangard, but I am careful to keep my distance. For one thing, I don’t want him to think this is going to be easy. Because I know Justin, which means it took me under an hour to be sure I’d figured out what he’s up to, and it sure as hell isn’t furthering his education. For another thing, I don’t trust myself not to touch him…unconsciously, of course. Old habits die hard, I guess, because already on a couple of occasions I’ve come to my senses in the nick of time, having almost reached out and touched his hair, or his hand. And he’s only been there for three fucking days. And he’s here now and I can’t not smile, so I let myself. This kid has got to be the most persistent little shit in the history of the universe. I have truly never met anyone like him. I’m pretty fucking persistent too, though, and despite the fact that the way he’s slurping drops of Vodka Tonic off his fingers is giving me a hard-on, he’s going to have to squirm a bit before I give him what he wants. Even if it’s also what I want. Shit, I didn’t spend my whole fucking life building up my defenses just to give in now. I need to be sure that he is sure that he really wants me, and not some illusion of who he wishes I would be. He’s hoping I’ll dance with him. And god, I would fucking love to. But instead I just lean back against the bar and pretend like I wouldn’t mind if he got lost. He’s actually a little confused when I remind him that he has work in the morning. “So do you,” is his response. Because he’s still thinking this is going to be easy. I know it’s ruthless, and I actually feel a little pang somewhere when I reply, “Yeah, the only difference is, I don’t have to impress my boss so he doesn’t fire my ass.” Just to remind him how things stand, you see. Justin has always had a tendency to take liberties, to move directly into my personal space and make himself at home. But not this time…this time when I get sucked into his vortex, it’s going to be because I allow it. Because I willingly and consciously choose to go. And who the fuck knows why, but suddenly all I’m thinking about is him naked, and I’m picturing that pale gold hair brushing his shoulders, and it’s time to get the fuck out of here. “Thanks for the drink.” I say as I brush past him, and for a moment we are close enough to share the same breath and Christ! This little plan of his had better not take too fucking long. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ One week later 12:56 pm OK. I don’t know who the fuck hired the simpletons in the art department, but every last fucking one of them is AWOL and the Eyeconic boards are nowhere close to presentable. I’m looking for someone—anyone—who can get these boards in order within an hour, wondering how many people I can fire without Vance deciding he needs to get involved, when who do I see lounging, reading a fucking magazine, his feet up on the fucking desk like he owns the place. Sometimes I find Justin’s overconfidence unremittingly charming; today it grates on my last nerve. Especially when he calls me Brian. Presumptuous little fucker. I end up knocking his feet off the desk, which is probably a shitty thing to do. But really, he should know better…after all, I did tell him not to expect any special treatment, and any other intern with his feet on the desk would be out the door. Apparently, he feels the need to test his limits. He tells me that everyone’s gone to lunch, and as I stand there bitching about the state of the boards, I start to realize that it’s really fucking nice to have him here. There’s something comforting in the way I can rant a bit and he just listens, without making excuses or quaking in his boots. He asks me if he can help, so I give him a list of instructions. He’s still sitting there flipping through the magazine, and my irritation with him flares again. “Do you want to write that down?” I ask, handing him some paper. Then he just spouts it all off, word perfect. I stand there staring at him for a moment, awed in that way that I tend to get with him from time to time. Sometimes these days I cannot figure out if he’s playing a game or simply being himself. This is one of those times. It occurs to me that this is the first time we’ve been alone together for quite a while, and suddenly I want to keep the conversation going. Not that I can let him see that. So I ask him how it’s going, call him Taylor just to prove that it’s an obligatory upper-management-checking-on-the-intern question, and not because I actually give a shit. To my surprise he chooses that moment to kiss my ass, and to hand over the very power that he had denied me moments earlier. “They say the tone of the workplace is established from the top. So it’s a great compliment to you that you have such a dedicated and hardworking staff.” I stand there looking at him for a moment, wishing I could see inside his mind. This simple comment communicates everything he wants me to know at this point. He really is a fucking genius. Two hours later the boards are barely ready to be seen, my head is pounding, and the last thing I fucking feel like doing is this presentation. The cunt from Eyeconic is here though, so we’re diving in. In typical Justin fashion, he fumbles the boards and drops one of them. It might have been endearing, just because it’s so Justinesque, except my headache is growing steadily worse while the Eyeconic bitch “hmms” as though the presentation isn’t fucking ingenious. She doesn’t like the color. Well that’s just fucking great. And then Justin is saying something, and she’s asking him to repeat it, and he launches into this thing about orange being the new blue. I’m looking at him, wishing I really did have Rage’s powers of mind control so I could tell him to shut.the.fuck.up before he effectively castrates me in front of the client. Apparently I truly am not Rage, although I feel more worthy of the name than ever before, because Justin says what he has to say and then stands there smiling like he thinks he’s fucking brilliant. The rest of the day is for shit. One thing after another keeps getting fucked up, and through it all I cannot seem to gain distance from my hostility towards Justin. I know that what he did was an honest mistake, a result of ignorance rather than impudence; and though I’m loath to admit it, he was right. Once we made the lettering orange, that was clear. But it’s not only that…it’s a culmination of all the shit he’s pulled lately. I’ve been growing steadily more frustrated with him, and myself, with each passing day. I find myself getting to work early every day, even when I have no reason to. Not that anyone finds it odd…I am a partner, after all. But I can’t help but acknowledge that before Justin got his internship, I’d come in late at least half the time, and I’d only be there early if I had a meeting. That’s not the worst of it, though. When I get there in the morning, I actually feel like I’m waiting for him…as though my day doesn’t start until I see him. And when he leaves in the evening, the strangest feeling settles in my stomach, and I find myself wondering whether he’ll be at Babylon later. And yet it leads nowhere. At work, he plays power games and fucks up my presentation. At Babylon, he flirts with me as though we don’t have a past a mile long, messy and wild and full of…fuck. This is the problem with letting someone in. I never should have let him in to begin with and I shouldn’t fucking do it again now. I’m pondering this and trying not to analyze why I’m hanging around in the room where he happens to be, pretending to actually be interested in these glasses that apparently will rake in the dough now that the lettering is ORANGE. I explain to him how he’s never supposed to undercut me in front of a client, and when he apologizes I feel something in me sort of snap. Because if he’s going to be making apologies, it should not fucking be for fucking up at work. And I suddenly feel certain that we’re going to be stuck here forever, drifting in circles, never close enough to touch and never separate enough to be free. So I fire him. An extreme gesture is always the easiest way to get from point A to point B. He’s shocked, of course, and when he calls me Mr. Kinney in that docile tone I fight the urge to take it back. I cannot let myself get jerked around like this anymore. “I guess I was wrong to think that…mmm, fuck it, never mind.” God-fucking-damnit, he’s putting on his coat, which should be a good thing, but fuck him! He finally just got around to starting his fight. And fuck me. Because the last thing I want right now is for him to walk out that door. I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help myself. “What? That when your little romance with Paganini Jr. was over you could come running back?” “Yeah, Something like that.” My stomach’s in knots now that he’s finally saying this. “Sorry.” Is all I can manage. “I know, its stupid.” He’s packing up his shit. He’d better not fucking try to walk out until this is done. Not now, that he’s finally fucking gotten around to the whole point of his game. “Almost as stupid as falling for his bullshit in the first place.” I feel him look up at me. The little fucker. I cannot believe I am actually having to manipulate him into communicating. The irony is magnificent. “But you’re young, inexperienced…” “And you’re so smart???” I’ve found the switch, and a sudden power is radiating off him now. I turn to him to bask in it. “If you had any fucking brains at all, you never would have let me leave! You would have told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life, that I would live to regret it. That what you gave me was worth a thousand…a million times more than anything he had to offer. You would have told me that you loved me. That you would go on loving me, even after I was gone.” Bullshit! He knows…he always knew. He knew before I did. But just because I wouldn’t vocalize it, just because I refuse to utter that over-used, stripped-of-meaning cliché, he left. And wasn’t going to come back unless I said it. The image of us circling one another in perpetual stagnation resurfaces. What a fucking twat. “Is that what you were waiting to hear?” I don’t hide my venom. “Yes. But as usual you never said it. So it’s just as well that I go.” And he actually starts to leave. No fucking way, Sunshine. Not when we’ve come this far. I should have stopped you, huh? Shouldn’t have let you leave. Well, I won’t make the same mistake twice. “That’s so like you!” I grab him, push him back to face me. He’s got to know that he can’t sit around waiting for me to sweep him off his feet. If he wants me, he’s got to come and take me, as I am. “You don’t hear what you want so you leave. Try standing up for yourself for a change! Have some balls.” I fucking hope he understands what I mean. He does. And apparently he decides to take a page from my book and communicate with actions, not words, because suddenly reality dims, and there’s nothing but resplendent white-hot light as he grabs my head to hold me still and kisses me, hard. It’s wonderful and I’m leaning in, kissing him back, without a single conscious thought. When he abruptly pulls away, the emptiness that rushes in is almost too much to bear. He does walk out then, and I let him go, but only because I can’t speak, or move…shit, I can barely breathe. I’m dizzy from his kiss. I’m stripped bare from his honesty and the whirlwind of my own inner turmoil. And I don’t even know if I’ll see him tomorrow, since I’m sure that at some point in the last five minutes, I actually fired him. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The next day 6:52pm There is an account that is giving me trouble, mainly because the client is such a vapid excuse for a company. It’s a hair-care line, mostly sold in salons, and most ad execs would think it was the simplest job in the world. How many pictures of cunts wearing more makeup than clothing are plastered inside every hair salon in America? However, this is Vangard, and I’m Brian Kinney, and the last thing I’m going to offer is another version of the same shit. I should be grateful for this time alone to work…everyone’s gone home, the cleaning crew is finished with this wing of the office, and I have the solitude I need to come up with something brilliant. What I don’t have right now is the ability to concentrate. It’s taking every ounce of self-control I have to NOT look at the clock on the computer screen again, since I’ve been looking at it at least once a minute since 6:33. I log into my email for the third time in 15 minutes, but of course there’s nothing new. My mind is full of Justin. I know he will be here any minute…if he doesn’t chicken out and stand me up, which I’m sure he won’t. I know what he’s coming for. I’ve been thinking about it all goddamn day, ever since Cynthia handed me that yellow slip of paper with her amused little wink. My mind flashes again to the previous night, when he kissed me…if he hadn’t been sure of my feelings before, he must have been sure after that. I shouldn’t have, but I’d given myself over to it, to him, at that moment. Suddenly he’s there, in my doorway. “Mr. Kinney?” He looks wonderful. “Taylor. Come in.” I invite him to sit down. He’s nervous, that much is clear. His eyes dart around a bit, and I can feel tension radiating off of him. “You wanted to see me?” I ask, because I think if I leave it up to him we may just sit here looking at each other all night. He takes a breath and dives in. “I gave it some thought. I decided you should take me back.” Once again, I am awestruck. There is simply no one as brave and honest as this man. He deserves a response, but I’ll be damned if I have a single coherent thought in my mind. Just like that, my world is spinning. But I need to hear more, if we’re going to do this. So I reply rather lamely with “Oh?” “Even though I’ve made a few mistakes, I think you’d be making an even bigger one not to give me a second chance.” I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding, like I can. He’s done it…he’s standing up for himself, telling me what’s what. Taking the lead, and openly, bravely, offering me a choice. “I see.” I reply, trying to figure out if there’s a way to hold on to some semblance of my self-respect if I just throw him to the floor right now, and whether or not my self-respect matters so much anyway. He’s propped his feet up on my desk. Once again I don’t know if it’s a power play or if he’s still just that comfortable around me, but I don’t give a shit. It’s charming as hell. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my dick is getting harder by the second. “'Cause now I understand what it is you want of me.” I want him to be an equal partner in this relationship, I want him to never doubt me again. But I look up at him then, slowly, and let him see that that’s hardly all I want from him. “And I know what I can expect from you.” I take a moment to breathe. He gets it. It’s time to quit fucking around. “You also understand that you’ll be required to work long, hard hours, sometimes deep into the night?” The electricity between us is so strong I’m amazed we haven’t combusted. “It’ll be a pleasure to work under you…sir.” Holy fucking shit. I really fucking missed him. But I have one more thing to say. One demand. “And you’re never to play violin music in my presence again.” His words are nothing more than a whisper. “I promise.” I believe him, and he knows it. “Good. Well, then.” I stand up slowly, moving almost tentatively around my desk. “You can start…immediately.” Our eyes are locked and I swear this thing between us is completely unique…this desire, this heat that happens so easily. He stands up slowly and walks to the door. Closes it. Walks back to me. The world is in slow motion. I yearn to grab him, pull him against me, but I don’t. This game is not quite over, and he’s got to make the final move. He does. One hand, so gentle on the side of my face, and his mouth, so warm and soft…I open myself to him then and let myself relive a thousand…a million…kisses like this. I actually let myself hope for a million more. We pull off my coat and I’m not wasting time now…my hands work at my tie, my buttons. Our foreheads press together, neither of us wanting to break the contact for even a moment. He pulls my shirttails out of my pants and it tickles just a little, like it always does. It makes him laugh to see me react and god, his whole face lights up when he laughs. It makes me have to interrupt my undressing to grab him and kiss him some more. He puts his arms up for me to pull his shirt over his head. I know he’s getting a little overwhelmed…hell, even I am surprised at the ferocity of my need for him, to kiss him and touch him all over, my mouth wanting contact with his lips, his neck, his chest, all at once. I press him back against my desk with a sense of empowerment. He allows me to lead, to dominate. I’m reclaiming him with my body, just as he reclaimed me with his words. I unbutton his fly, never stopping the onslaught of kisses to every part of him I can reach. When I slip my hand inside his pants I have to laugh, because he’s not wearing underwear. Justin is many things, and confident is at the top of the list. I suspect he wasn’t planning on leaving my office tonight without this. Which works out well, since I’d spent the whole fucking day thinking along the same lines myself. My hand closes around his erection and I stop breathing for a moment. Call me single-minded, but I fucking love his cock. He gasps a little and bites his bottom lip when my thumb circles the head gently, barely making contact. His eyes are glassy, hungry, and he gives me a tiny smile before I tighten my grip and pull him in for another kiss. I tug his pants down, just past his ass, and he does the most delicious slithering movement with his body to get them to drop the rest of the way to the floor. I do step back then, just taking in his naked form, all the while my hands working at my fly, pulling off one pants leg and then the other. His eyes never leave mine, his face flushed with desire, as I pull off my underwear. Then this wicked grin starts spreading across his face, and the next thing I know he’s in my arms again, kissing my neck, biting at my nipples, pushing his hands into my hair. I’m doing the same things to him…god, I love his hair long like this. I love the taste of his skin, his sweat. He’s fucking intoxicating. I pull him around as we kiss, getting the slightest bit dizzy, back him towards the couch, and shove him down onto it. He just sits there, looking up at me breathlessly, his mouth slightly open, his hard cock leaking. Carefully, I climb onto the couch over him, straddling him. We simultaneously reach for one another’s dick, and laugh as our mouths come together again. Eventually my fingers lace with his, pressing our cocks together, working them within our joined hands. I’m holding his other hand above his head, pinned to the top of the couch, and kissing him unceasingly, my tongue deep in his mouth. It is the most stunning blend of control and unity I’ve ever felt. We’re careful not to come yet…in unspoken accord, we slow our hands every so often, which keeps us on a precipice of sorts. Eventually he pulls his mouth away from mine and whispers against my ear, “I want you to fuck me.” Which is what I’m dying to do too, only I hold off because it feels so fucking good to just be touching him, kissing him…and fucking will lead to coming, which will eventually lead to putting clothing on and leaving the office. But this is only the beginning, I remind myself. I wrap one arm around him, pulling his body against mine. With one swift movement, I push him down onto his back and stretch out along the length of his body. When I reach beneath the cushions for the necessary supplies my body presses into his, and he moans. His fingertips stroke my back and my ass, giving me chills. I lean down to kiss him some more. I can’t fucking get enough. He kisses me back for several minutes, but finally nudges me with his nose. “Fuck me!” he demands, and nips my lower lip. Yeah, I fucking missed him. I push into him, and oh.my.fucking.god his ass is unbelievably hot and welcoming. As I bury myself inside him, he groans in a way that just about makes me come. He spreads his legs wide, throwing one over the back of the couch, the other around my hips. I start to fuck him in earnest then, to remind him what he can expect from me, and what I want from him. I’m telling him with my body everything I won’t say with words. I try to fuck certainty into him, so he never doubts this again. When we both finally come, and lie tangled together, sticky and sweaty and sated, I place my lips against his ear. I’d meant to ask him to come back to the loft with me, but I’m incapable of having my mouth that close to him without licking, kissing, biting. He squirms beneath me and giggles. “Quit!” I pull away a little, looking down into his face, smoothing his hair back with one hand. He looks fucking content as hell, and I know his expression is a mirror of my own. “Where you headed?” I ask him, my voice husky. The look in his eyes switches from confusion to disbelief to amusement in a matter of seconds. “No place special.” “I can change that.” He smiles. Then he nods. “I’m going with you.”