Snapshots
For our present at qaf_giftxchnge, not_yet_defined wanted an AU with some variation on something that happened during the first 3 seasons. Snapshots was our response.
P.S. Have you seen all the graphics and vids at qaf_giftxchnge and read the great fics? They are here.
“Go,” I said. “Go to New York. Go to your new life.” I was practically yelling. I didn’t want to cry, and I hoped that yelling would counteract the tears I could feel gathering in the back of my throat. “In a year - probably not even that long - you won’t even remember my name…if you fucking think of me at all.”
Brian walked back out of the bathroom. “I won’t,” he said. “When I walk out that door, I don’t plan on ever looking back…and I expect you to do the same.” Then he cupped my cheek in his hand, gently. He looked at me steadily while I fought to keep my lips from quivering. He moved his hand around to the back of my neck and pulled me towards him. My last bit of self-control crumbled when he wrapped his arms around me. I turned my face into his neck and let myself cry. No more Brian, no more loft, no more safety, no more shelter.
Brian let me cry quietly for a moment or two, then he stepped away from me. He pushed my cardigan off, then gently tugged my shirt up and over my head. He handed it to me, and I wiped my face. My nose was running. He pulled off his black ‘beater and stepped out of his pants while I stood there, my face buried in my shirt. When he was naked, Brian took the shirt away from me and unsnapped my jeans. I let him. I stood there, passively, and let him do what he wanted. He was going to anyway, wasn’t he?
When I was naked too, I followed him into the bathroom and watched while he adjusted the water temperature. When he had it where he wanted it, he put his hand on the back of my neck and guided me in. I lifted my face to the water and let it beat down. Brian wouldn’t be able to tell whether or not I was still crying, not with all the water running off my cheeks. I wasn’t, not anymore. At least, I didn’t think I was.
Brian soaped up the loofah and started washing me: my shoulders and back, then my ass. I felt as though he was adding insult to injury when, rather than linger there, he turned me and washed my chest and under my arms. Was I out of his system already? The thought fled when Brian worked his way down my body to give some attention to my groin, with predictable results. The corners of my mouth turned up a bit as I took the loofah out of his hand and reciprocated…only I wasn’t as gentle as he had been with me. I rubbed his shoulders, putting a little pressure on the loofah, letting him feel its natural roughness. I put both hands on it and scrubbed down his long, flexible backbone, down to his ass crack, pushing his cheeks apart, scrubbing. Brian grunted and braced his hands on the glass.
I knelt, hardly noticing how hard the tile was under my knees, and licked where I had scrubbed. I pulled his cheeks further apart, thought my tongue into a point, and thrust it into his hole. Brian grunted again, differently, and his hole spasmed around my tongue. I pressed in harder, extending my tongue as far as I could, and circled it in his opening. He widened his stance helpfully, but I was in as far as I could go. I circled again and once again, then he reached around and pulled me to my feet.
We changed places, and I leaned on the glass. Brian braced one hand on the glass next to my head and with the other he stretched me, first one finger, then two. When he added a third, I turned my head and kissed his wrist and then nipped it. I felt his laugh travel from his chest through my back, and then he pulled away from me. I waited, more water hitting me now and running down from my shoulders.
Brian moved, one hand now spreading my cheeks while I felt his penis pressing against my asshole. I changed my stance a little and pushed back. Now his press hurt, and I whined and pushed back harder, bearing down. Finally he was in and moving slowly in me. He wrapped one arm around my chest, and I sagged into his body. He engulfed my cock with his other hand and started to jerk me off. I rocked into his hand, needing to come but wanting to stay right at this point of almost-there. Right at this point of Brian in his loft…Brian in Pittsburgh…Brian in me.
I couldn’t hold out. I came into his hand and all over the wall, thinking, How many more times? Once? Twice? Never? I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, not wanting him to see me crying.
I let the water clean me off once Brian had pulled out, then I left the shower, shutting the door behind me as he washed his hair. I dried myself off hap-hazardly and almost ran into the bedroom to dress. I had to leave now. I couldn’t face him again.
“I don’t plan on ever looking back…and I expect you to do the same.” I didn’t doubt that Brian could, and would, do just that. Not me.
~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~
Debbie handed me another plate to dry. I said, “Do you really think I can get more hours now that school is out?”
“Yeah. Do you want me to put in a word with the Bossman for you?”
“That would be great. You could mention that I’d like to start picking up some shifts waiting tables, too. And, listen, Debbie, I’m going to start paying you more every week, once I start getting more hours.”
Debbie cracked her gum. “Forget about that. You need to be saving for your fucking future. Or do you plan to follow in my footsteps and work at the fucking diner for the rest of your life?”
“You know I don’t, but - like you said - I need to save up. My father won’t pay for anything but Dartmouth, and I want art school.” I waited a beat. “I’m applying to New York University’s Steinhardt School of Art.”
Debbie gave me a shrewd look. “You’re already accepted to PIFA.”
“I know, but I can’t start there in September anyway. I need more money so I have to apply for student aid and maybe loans and all that. So I thought….”
“So you thought, Might as well go to fucking New York City where Brian is anyway.”
Me, Brian, and New York City. Oh, yeah. “This isn’t about Brian. That’s over, and I know it. This is about Steinhardt. It’s a great school, with a great reputation. I’ll come out with a B.F.A. and lots of studio experience. Plus it’s fucking New York City, Deb, right in the Village.” The thought made my stomach clench with excitement. “I just hope to hell I can get in.”
She looked at me shrewdly. “O.K. I’ll pretend I fucking believe you. What do you have to do to get in?”
“Besides save every penny I can? I need to get a portfolio together by the 15th of November if I want to start in the spring semester…and I do, I really do. I wish I knew how the hell to start putting it together, that’s all.”
“Go see Lindsay. She’ll help you, and what she doesn’t know, her friends do. You can trade them baby-sitting for help…every other fucking lesbian seems to be popping out a baby these days.”
I hung up my towel and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Deb.” I was already digging for my cell phone. “I’m calling Lindz now.”
~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~
I slumped down lower in the armchair in the library at NYU’s GLBT Center. I didn’t particularly want to be interrupted by anyone; I had an important phone call to make. It was a phone call I’d made many times before…this time last year when I was still living at Deb’s, last spring when I was as close to homeless as I ever hope to be again, and this summer after I started waiting tables at Cohen and O’Hara’s Deli on Broome Street. I preferred to make this call…this very high-school call…as privately as possible, which was why I was making it from the GLBT Center and not from the one-bedroom apartment I shared with two other guys.
I dialed 212-555-9800 and waited for the cool female voice that said, “Arkin, Salusto, and Briggs.” The voice changed from call to call, but it always carried a professional chill.
I said, “Brian Kinney, please.”
“Mr. Kinney is no longer with our agency.”
My stomach flipped, but I kept my voice steady. “I’m a friend, just in town from Pittsburgh. Do you have his new number?”
“Just a moment, please.” I was put on hold for what seemed like a very long time, but she finally picked up again. “Mr. Kinney’s number is 212-555-7654.”
I input it into my cell, thanked her and dialed the new number. A much friendlier voice said, “V V Squared, may I help you?”
“Hi. May I speak to Brian Kinney, please?”
“One minute, please.”
“Thanks.” Of course, I’d never spoken to Brian when I called. I would get his new secretary, I would ask for him, she’d ask for my name, and I’d tell her, “Michael Novotny,” or “Emmett Honeycutt,” or some other name from Brian’s past. I’d be put on hold then, while his secretary presumably asked Brian if he wanted to talk to Mikey or Emmett or whoever, then she’d come back on and ask for my number and tell me Brian would call me back. I’d thank her and tell her I’d call back later: apparently none of the aliases I used ever had enough clout with Brian for him just to pick up the phone and talk.
I listened to the sound of the phone ringing, and then he said, “Brian Kinney.”
I froze.
Brian said, “Hello?”
I was silent. I wasn’t even breathing.
He said again, on a rising note, “Hel-lo?”
I hung up and just stared at my cell phone. My heart was pounding. He was there. He sounded the same. Oh my fucking God. Brian Kinney.
I got a notebook out of my backpack and redialed his number. This time when the receptionist answered the phone, I said, “Could you please give me your address?”
I scribbled the mid-town address she gave me down in my notebook and stared at it. I had class in half an hour, but I knew that later today I’d be on the subway, headed for 31st Street, first to look at the outside of the building, then check out the directory in the lobby to see what floor V V Squared was on.
High school, I know. Sometimes high-school is all you have.
~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~
It was mid-January and cold outside, but inside Gigi’s it was warm, welcoming and a big step up from Cohen & O’Hara’s. The clientele who frequented Gigi’s tipped much more generously than deli patrons, but…with its location in the East Village…a waiter with a great ass could still cop more than the standard 18% from time to time. (That waiter would be me.)
I usually worked dinner Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays and brunch on Sundays, but when Gaston called me on a Wednesday and asked me to fill in for Terri, out with the flu, I thought about my $9.63 bank balance and agreed immediately. I had just served the entrée to Table 5 when I noticed a party of four at the maitre d’s stand: three men and a woman. My stomach lurched and I forgot to move, forgot even to breathe. Brian had his hand on one man’s shoulder as he talked to our maitre d’; he was obviously the host of the party of four. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a grey suit that fit perfectly. As I watched, standing next to the table I’d just served, his eyes swept the room, passing over me without a flicker of recognition on his face.
I moved toward the kitchen but stopped in a small alcove where I could watch where Jim seated Brian’s party. Jim showed them to Table 18 - Mike’s table - and I wasn’t sure whether I was glad or sorry that I hadn’t had a table open. What are the chances, I thought, in a city with God knows how many restaurants, that Brian should choose to entertain clients at Gigi’s? And to do so when I’m working on my night off?
Jim seated the woman, and the two men started to seat themselves, but Brian stood for a moment and spoke to Jim. Jim smiled and nodded, and Brian sat down. I turned and went into the kitchen to pick up the order for Table 11. Table 11 was right outside and to the left of the kitchen; I could serve their appetizers without acknowledging Brian’s presence. Thank God. I needed time to get my reactions under control. Right now they were all over the known universe.
Table 11’s appetizers were plated up, but before I could put them on my tray, Jim followed me into the kitchen. “Number 18 wants you for their server,” he said. “Let Mike take over 11.”
I stared at him for a moment. “Okay,” I said finally. “I’ll serve the appetizers for 11, though. They’re ready to go.”
Jim said, “Good.” Requesting a specific server wasn’t that unusual an occurrence. “I’ll tell Mike.”
I managed to serve the salmon mousse to the woman at Table 11 and the steak tartare to her companion and not vice-versa, but then I had no reason to avoid Table 18. I shut my eyes for a second, gritted my teeth, and walked over. They were looking at the wine menu, so I asked them if they were ready to order something to drink. They were, so I brought the wine, uncorked it, and offered Brian a sample. He tasted it and nodded his approval, and I started serving it. Brian said, “You do that quite well.”
It’s a new skill. I didn’t need to know how to serve wine at the Liberty Diner. I said, “Thank you.”
The woman said, “You look so young…not what I expect in a waiter here.”
Brian said, “I'm guessing he’s about 19, right?”
Too much to expect him to remember my birthday. “I’m almost 21,” I said. That’s an exaggeration, but I am 20.
The woman said, “I’ll bet you’re an actor, waiting tables between parts.” She was about my mother’s age and charming.
I smiled back at her and said, “Not actually. I’m an art student at Steinhardt.”
The younger of the two men stopped eying my ass and looked at me directly. “That’s interesting. Brian here,” he waved at Brian, “works for an ad agency. They’re always looking for talented artists. Maybe their art department has a place for you.”
I figured he was the one Brian was fucking. I said, “I’m only starting my sophomore year. I don’t think any ad agency would want me yet.”
Brian rolled his lips in a gesture I remembered clearly. “If you’re 21, shouldn’t you be in your third year by now?”
I looked directly at Brian for the first time. “I started this time last year. I needed to work for a semester and save some money first.”
The woman looked at Brian and said, “We’ll have to remember that when we calculate the tip, Brian.”
This had gone on long enough. I’m being paid to serve customers, not chat with them. I said, “Are you ready to order now or should I give you some time?”
They weren’t ready to order, so I went on about the business of serving my tables, all the time feeling Brian’s eyes on me. I was sure he was watching me, but…maybe not…I never caught him looking my way.
They drank their wine, ordered appetizers, had another bottle of wine with dinner, then lingered over coffee and liquors. When Brian finally gestured for the check, there were only two other occupied tables. When I brought the tab, the woman said, “Do you have class tomorrow?”
I said, “Yes. 8:30 a.m.”
She said, “Oh, dear. We’ve kept you up past your bedtime.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Brian said, “Do you live near here?”
“Not far. It’s a short walk.” I live in Tribeca. It takes me about a half an hour when it’s this cold.
“In dorms?” he asked.
“I share an apartment with a couple of guys.”
“How big?”
Well, aren’t we getting personal? “They’re a little taller than I am.” I knew that wasn’t what he was asking.
The woman giggled. “I think he meant the apartment.”
I smiled. “It’s a one bedroom.”
She was still laughing. “One bedroom for three guys?”
“I sleep on the couch in the living room.”
Brian raised an eyebrow and said, “How…inconvenient.” He gave me his credit card,
I brought the card and the receipt back, he signed for the meal, and the woman made sure he added a very generous tip. They left, and I was done for the evening.
I settled up with Jim, collected my tips, and bundled myself into my coat. I let myself out the back door and the wind hit me, stinging my face. I hurried down the alley to the street and looked around. Brian was at the corner, leaning against the wall, huddled into his overcoat. The relief made me dizzy. I had expected him to wait, but there was always the chance that he wouldn’t.
I started walking toward him, and he turned and watched me. When I got within arms’ length, he reached out and pulled me into his arms. We kissed, our lips cold, our tongues hot and searching. Memories of those lips and tongue flooded my brain. The past two years compressed themselves into what felt like nothing more than a long weekend apart. As we broke our kiss, Brian asked, “What time do you have to be back to your apartment tomorrow morning?”
I corrected him. “This morning. It’s after midnight. If I’m there by 7:30, I’ll have time to shower and get what I need and still be to school in time.”
He looked around. “I’m not far from here, but I’d like to take a taxi.”
I said, “You won’t get any argument from me. I’m freezing.”
“Not for long.”
~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~
Brian’s New York condo was nothing like his loft. It was on the 21st floor of a building that looked like it was 100 years old, but inside everything…the doorman’s desk, the elevators, the hallway…was sleek and modern. Brian’s apartment, like mine, was one bedroom, but I only had time for a quick impression of space and leather and windows over-looking a highway a-glitter with moving jewels. Then we were stripping.
I kept my eyes on Brian as we both shed clothes, watching as he yanked his shirt out and unbuttoned it. He was walking backward along a hall that led from the entry way. When he stopped to unbuckle his belt, I ran my hands up his bare chest and pushed his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. God, he felt good…sleek skin over hard muscle. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his neck, breathing in his Brian-smell. He stood perfectly still, and I thought he might be holding his breath. Then he untangled us, cleared his throat, and said, “Bed.” He was pointing at the end of the hall. I turned and walked into a room dominated by a massive, king-sized bed, high enough off the floor to make the matching set of steps helpful. I finished undressing and used them to climb onto the bed. I sat cross-legged and watched while Brian finished undressing.
When he joined me on the bed, he pushed me down on my back and ran his hands all over me, down my stomach, along my flanks, up my inner thighs. Then he put his mouth where his hands had been, teasing my nipples, licking along my straining dick, sucking my balls. I pushed down on his head, wanting much more, but he pulled away. “Roll over,” he said.
I did, and he repeated his actions: ran his hands all over me, then retraced their path with his mouth, nippling, licking, and sucking. He’s making love to me, I thought, amazed, and I got even harder, impossible though that seemed.
I heard him rip open a condom, then he raised himself above me, one hand braced next to my head. I pulled my knee up to my chest to allow him easier entry, and then I felt him pushing against my hole. “Please,” I said. “Please, please, please. Now.” He pressed harder, I pushed back, and he was in.
In my fantasies, when I thought about Brian fucking me again, it was always rough and wild, but this wasn’t, at least not at first. He rocked in me slowly, barely moving back and forth, just pushing in a little more each time. I had time both to savor the familiarity and to notice how strange it felt to be fucked by someone whose body I knew so well. I was rocking with him, exerting all my willpower to keep from touching myself. Then he changed his angle and found my sweet spot. I lost control. I grabbed my dick, lubricating it with my pre-come, and jerked myself off, come splattering on my chest, on the sheets, all over.
When I stopped shuddering, Brian was still hard, still moving in me. He wrapped his arms around my chest tightly and started a stronger rhythm. I felt myself hardening again, and by the time he wrapped his hand around my penis, I was ready to come again.
Afterwards, when we had cleaned up, I lay curled into him and thought. I said, “You know what amazes me? I can’t get over what a coincidence it was that you happened to take your clients to Gigi’s. I’m glad you did, but it’s just so strange….” My voice trailed off.
Brian chuckled. “You still talk to Mikey, don’t you?”
“Oh.” So…no coincidence. “Even so, I never work Wednesdays…never…so you were lucky there.”
“Maybe that wasn’t the first time I’d been to Gigi’s. I guess you don’t work Tuesdays, either.”
“Oh.”
“Go to sleep. You’ll need your strength for the morning.”
I listened to his breathing even out. Eventually I fell asleep too.
P.S. Have you seen all the graphics and vids at qaf_giftxchnge and read the great fics? They are here.
“Go,” I said. “Go to New York. Go to your new life.” I was practically yelling. I didn’t want to cry, and I hoped that yelling would counteract the tears I could feel gathering in the back of my throat. “In a year - probably not even that long - you won’t even remember my name…if you fucking think of me at all.”
Brian walked back out of the bathroom. “I won’t,” he said. “When I walk out that door, I don’t plan on ever looking back…and I expect you to do the same.” Then he cupped my cheek in his hand, gently. He looked at me steadily while I fought to keep my lips from quivering. He moved his hand around to the back of my neck and pulled me towards him. My last bit of self-control crumbled when he wrapped his arms around me. I turned my face into his neck and let myself cry. No more Brian, no more loft, no more safety, no more shelter.
Brian let me cry quietly for a moment or two, then he stepped away from me. He pushed my cardigan off, then gently tugged my shirt up and over my head. He handed it to me, and I wiped my face. My nose was running. He pulled off his black ‘beater and stepped out of his pants while I stood there, my face buried in my shirt. When he was naked, Brian took the shirt away from me and unsnapped my jeans. I let him. I stood there, passively, and let him do what he wanted. He was going to anyway, wasn’t he?
When I was naked too, I followed him into the bathroom and watched while he adjusted the water temperature. When he had it where he wanted it, he put his hand on the back of my neck and guided me in. I lifted my face to the water and let it beat down. Brian wouldn’t be able to tell whether or not I was still crying, not with all the water running off my cheeks. I wasn’t, not anymore. At least, I didn’t think I was.
Brian soaped up the loofah and started washing me: my shoulders and back, then my ass. I felt as though he was adding insult to injury when, rather than linger there, he turned me and washed my chest and under my arms. Was I out of his system already? The thought fled when Brian worked his way down my body to give some attention to my groin, with predictable results. The corners of my mouth turned up a bit as I took the loofah out of his hand and reciprocated…only I wasn’t as gentle as he had been with me. I rubbed his shoulders, putting a little pressure on the loofah, letting him feel its natural roughness. I put both hands on it and scrubbed down his long, flexible backbone, down to his ass crack, pushing his cheeks apart, scrubbing. Brian grunted and braced his hands on the glass.
I knelt, hardly noticing how hard the tile was under my knees, and licked where I had scrubbed. I pulled his cheeks further apart, thought my tongue into a point, and thrust it into his hole. Brian grunted again, differently, and his hole spasmed around my tongue. I pressed in harder, extending my tongue as far as I could, and circled it in his opening. He widened his stance helpfully, but I was in as far as I could go. I circled again and once again, then he reached around and pulled me to my feet.
We changed places, and I leaned on the glass. Brian braced one hand on the glass next to my head and with the other he stretched me, first one finger, then two. When he added a third, I turned my head and kissed his wrist and then nipped it. I felt his laugh travel from his chest through my back, and then he pulled away from me. I waited, more water hitting me now and running down from my shoulders.
Brian moved, one hand now spreading my cheeks while I felt his penis pressing against my asshole. I changed my stance a little and pushed back. Now his press hurt, and I whined and pushed back harder, bearing down. Finally he was in and moving slowly in me. He wrapped one arm around my chest, and I sagged into his body. He engulfed my cock with his other hand and started to jerk me off. I rocked into his hand, needing to come but wanting to stay right at this point of almost-there. Right at this point of Brian in his loft…Brian in Pittsburgh…Brian in me.
I couldn’t hold out. I came into his hand and all over the wall, thinking, How many more times? Once? Twice? Never? I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, not wanting him to see me crying.
I let the water clean me off once Brian had pulled out, then I left the shower, shutting the door behind me as he washed his hair. I dried myself off hap-hazardly and almost ran into the bedroom to dress. I had to leave now. I couldn’t face him again.
“I don’t plan on ever looking back…and I expect you to do the same.” I didn’t doubt that Brian could, and would, do just that. Not me.
~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~
Debbie handed me another plate to dry. I said, “Do you really think I can get more hours now that school is out?”
“Yeah. Do you want me to put in a word with the Bossman for you?”
“That would be great. You could mention that I’d like to start picking up some shifts waiting tables, too. And, listen, Debbie, I’m going to start paying you more every week, once I start getting more hours.”
Debbie cracked her gum. “Forget about that. You need to be saving for your fucking future. Or do you plan to follow in my footsteps and work at the fucking diner for the rest of your life?”
“You know I don’t, but - like you said - I need to save up. My father won’t pay for anything but Dartmouth, and I want art school.” I waited a beat. “I’m applying to New York University’s Steinhardt School of Art.”
Debbie gave me a shrewd look. “You’re already accepted to PIFA.”
“I know, but I can’t start there in September anyway. I need more money so I have to apply for student aid and maybe loans and all that. So I thought….”
“So you thought, Might as well go to fucking New York City where Brian is anyway.”
Me, Brian, and New York City. Oh, yeah. “This isn’t about Brian. That’s over, and I know it. This is about Steinhardt. It’s a great school, with a great reputation. I’ll come out with a B.F.A. and lots of studio experience. Plus it’s fucking New York City, Deb, right in the Village.” The thought made my stomach clench with excitement. “I just hope to hell I can get in.”
She looked at me shrewdly. “O.K. I’ll pretend I fucking believe you. What do you have to do to get in?”
“Besides save every penny I can? I need to get a portfolio together by the 15th of November if I want to start in the spring semester…and I do, I really do. I wish I knew how the hell to start putting it together, that’s all.”
“Go see Lindsay. She’ll help you, and what she doesn’t know, her friends do. You can trade them baby-sitting for help…every other fucking lesbian seems to be popping out a baby these days.”
I hung up my towel and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Deb.” I was already digging for my cell phone. “I’m calling Lindz now.”
~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~
I slumped down lower in the armchair in the library at NYU’s GLBT Center. I didn’t particularly want to be interrupted by anyone; I had an important phone call to make. It was a phone call I’d made many times before…this time last year when I was still living at Deb’s, last spring when I was as close to homeless as I ever hope to be again, and this summer after I started waiting tables at Cohen and O’Hara’s Deli on Broome Street. I preferred to make this call…this very high-school call…as privately as possible, which was why I was making it from the GLBT Center and not from the one-bedroom apartment I shared with two other guys.
I dialed 212-555-9800 and waited for the cool female voice that said, “Arkin, Salusto, and Briggs.” The voice changed from call to call, but it always carried a professional chill.
I said, “Brian Kinney, please.”
“Mr. Kinney is no longer with our agency.”
My stomach flipped, but I kept my voice steady. “I’m a friend, just in town from Pittsburgh. Do you have his new number?”
“Just a moment, please.” I was put on hold for what seemed like a very long time, but she finally picked up again. “Mr. Kinney’s number is 212-555-7654.”
I input it into my cell, thanked her and dialed the new number. A much friendlier voice said, “V V Squared, may I help you?”
“Hi. May I speak to Brian Kinney, please?”
“One minute, please.”
“Thanks.” Of course, I’d never spoken to Brian when I called. I would get his new secretary, I would ask for him, she’d ask for my name, and I’d tell her, “Michael Novotny,” or “Emmett Honeycutt,” or some other name from Brian’s past. I’d be put on hold then, while his secretary presumably asked Brian if he wanted to talk to Mikey or Emmett or whoever, then she’d come back on and ask for my number and tell me Brian would call me back. I’d thank her and tell her I’d call back later: apparently none of the aliases I used ever had enough clout with Brian for him just to pick up the phone and talk.
I listened to the sound of the phone ringing, and then he said, “Brian Kinney.”
I froze.
Brian said, “Hello?”
I was silent. I wasn’t even breathing.
He said again, on a rising note, “Hel-lo?”
I hung up and just stared at my cell phone. My heart was pounding. He was there. He sounded the same. Oh my fucking God. Brian Kinney.
I got a notebook out of my backpack and redialed his number. This time when the receptionist answered the phone, I said, “Could you please give me your address?”
I scribbled the mid-town address she gave me down in my notebook and stared at it. I had class in half an hour, but I knew that later today I’d be on the subway, headed for 31st Street, first to look at the outside of the building, then check out the directory in the lobby to see what floor V V Squared was on.
High school, I know. Sometimes high-school is all you have.
~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~ ~***~
It was mid-January and cold outside, but inside Gigi’s it was warm, welcoming and a big step up from Cohen & O’Hara’s. The clientele who frequented Gigi’s tipped much more generously than deli patrons, but…with its location in the East Village…a waiter with a great ass could still cop more than the standard 18% from time to time. (That waiter would be me.)
I usually worked dinner Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays and brunch on Sundays, but when Gaston called me on a Wednesday and asked me to fill in for Terri, out with the flu, I thought about my $9.63 bank balance and agreed immediately. I had just served the entrée to Table 5 when I noticed a party of four at the maitre d’s stand: three men and a woman. My stomach lurched and I forgot to move, forgot even to breathe. Brian had his hand on one man’s shoulder as he talked to our maitre d’; he was obviously the host of the party of four. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a grey suit that fit perfectly. As I watched, standing next to the table I’d just served, his eyes swept the room, passing over me without a flicker of recognition on his face.
I moved toward the kitchen but stopped in a small alcove where I could watch where Jim seated Brian’s party. Jim showed them to Table 18 - Mike’s table - and I wasn’t sure whether I was glad or sorry that I hadn’t had a table open. What are the chances, I thought, in a city with God knows how many restaurants, that Brian should choose to entertain clients at Gigi’s? And to do so when I’m working on my night off?
Jim seated the woman, and the two men started to seat themselves, but Brian stood for a moment and spoke to Jim. Jim smiled and nodded, and Brian sat down. I turned and went into the kitchen to pick up the order for Table 11. Table 11 was right outside and to the left of the kitchen; I could serve their appetizers without acknowledging Brian’s presence. Thank God. I needed time to get my reactions under control. Right now they were all over the known universe.
Table 11’s appetizers were plated up, but before I could put them on my tray, Jim followed me into the kitchen. “Number 18 wants you for their server,” he said. “Let Mike take over 11.”
I stared at him for a moment. “Okay,” I said finally. “I’ll serve the appetizers for 11, though. They’re ready to go.”
Jim said, “Good.” Requesting a specific server wasn’t that unusual an occurrence. “I’ll tell Mike.”
I managed to serve the salmon mousse to the woman at Table 11 and the steak tartare to her companion and not vice-versa, but then I had no reason to avoid Table 18. I shut my eyes for a second, gritted my teeth, and walked over. They were looking at the wine menu, so I asked them if they were ready to order something to drink. They were, so I brought the wine, uncorked it, and offered Brian a sample. He tasted it and nodded his approval, and I started serving it. Brian said, “You do that quite well.”
It’s a new skill. I didn’t need to know how to serve wine at the Liberty Diner. I said, “Thank you.”
The woman said, “You look so young…not what I expect in a waiter here.”
Brian said, “I'm guessing he’s about 19, right?”
Too much to expect him to remember my birthday. “I’m almost 21,” I said. That’s an exaggeration, but I am 20.
The woman said, “I’ll bet you’re an actor, waiting tables between parts.” She was about my mother’s age and charming.
I smiled back at her and said, “Not actually. I’m an art student at Steinhardt.”
The younger of the two men stopped eying my ass and looked at me directly. “That’s interesting. Brian here,” he waved at Brian, “works for an ad agency. They’re always looking for talented artists. Maybe their art department has a place for you.”
I figured he was the one Brian was fucking. I said, “I’m only starting my sophomore year. I don’t think any ad agency would want me yet.”
Brian rolled his lips in a gesture I remembered clearly. “If you’re 21, shouldn’t you be in your third year by now?”
I looked directly at Brian for the first time. “I started this time last year. I needed to work for a semester and save some money first.”
The woman looked at Brian and said, “We’ll have to remember that when we calculate the tip, Brian.”
This had gone on long enough. I’m being paid to serve customers, not chat with them. I said, “Are you ready to order now or should I give you some time?”
They weren’t ready to order, so I went on about the business of serving my tables, all the time feeling Brian’s eyes on me. I was sure he was watching me, but…maybe not…I never caught him looking my way.
They drank their wine, ordered appetizers, had another bottle of wine with dinner, then lingered over coffee and liquors. When Brian finally gestured for the check, there were only two other occupied tables. When I brought the tab, the woman said, “Do you have class tomorrow?”
I said, “Yes. 8:30 a.m.”
She said, “Oh, dear. We’ve kept you up past your bedtime.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Brian said, “Do you live near here?”
“Not far. It’s a short walk.” I live in Tribeca. It takes me about a half an hour when it’s this cold.
“In dorms?” he asked.
“I share an apartment with a couple of guys.”
“How big?”
Well, aren’t we getting personal? “They’re a little taller than I am.” I knew that wasn’t what he was asking.
The woman giggled. “I think he meant the apartment.”
I smiled. “It’s a one bedroom.”
She was still laughing. “One bedroom for three guys?”
“I sleep on the couch in the living room.”
Brian raised an eyebrow and said, “How…inconvenient.” He gave me his credit card,
I brought the card and the receipt back, he signed for the meal, and the woman made sure he added a very generous tip. They left, and I was done for the evening.
I settled up with Jim, collected my tips, and bundled myself into my coat. I let myself out the back door and the wind hit me, stinging my face. I hurried down the alley to the street and looked around. Brian was at the corner, leaning against the wall, huddled into his overcoat. The relief made me dizzy. I had expected him to wait, but there was always the chance that he wouldn’t.
I started walking toward him, and he turned and watched me. When I got within arms’ length, he reached out and pulled me into his arms. We kissed, our lips cold, our tongues hot and searching. Memories of those lips and tongue flooded my brain. The past two years compressed themselves into what felt like nothing more than a long weekend apart. As we broke our kiss, Brian asked, “What time do you have to be back to your apartment tomorrow morning?”
I corrected him. “This morning. It’s after midnight. If I’m there by 7:30, I’ll have time to shower and get what I need and still be to school in time.”
He looked around. “I’m not far from here, but I’d like to take a taxi.”
I said, “You won’t get any argument from me. I’m freezing.”
“Not for long.”
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Brian’s New York condo was nothing like his loft. It was on the 21st floor of a building that looked like it was 100 years old, but inside everything…the doorman’s desk, the elevators, the hallway…was sleek and modern. Brian’s apartment, like mine, was one bedroom, but I only had time for a quick impression of space and leather and windows over-looking a highway a-glitter with moving jewels. Then we were stripping.
I kept my eyes on Brian as we both shed clothes, watching as he yanked his shirt out and unbuttoned it. He was walking backward along a hall that led from the entry way. When he stopped to unbuckle his belt, I ran my hands up his bare chest and pushed his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. God, he felt good…sleek skin over hard muscle. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his neck, breathing in his Brian-smell. He stood perfectly still, and I thought he might be holding his breath. Then he untangled us, cleared his throat, and said, “Bed.” He was pointing at the end of the hall. I turned and walked into a room dominated by a massive, king-sized bed, high enough off the floor to make the matching set of steps helpful. I finished undressing and used them to climb onto the bed. I sat cross-legged and watched while Brian finished undressing.
When he joined me on the bed, he pushed me down on my back and ran his hands all over me, down my stomach, along my flanks, up my inner thighs. Then he put his mouth where his hands had been, teasing my nipples, licking along my straining dick, sucking my balls. I pushed down on his head, wanting much more, but he pulled away. “Roll over,” he said.
I did, and he repeated his actions: ran his hands all over me, then retraced their path with his mouth, nippling, licking, and sucking. He’s making love to me, I thought, amazed, and I got even harder, impossible though that seemed.
I heard him rip open a condom, then he raised himself above me, one hand braced next to my head. I pulled my knee up to my chest to allow him easier entry, and then I felt him pushing against my hole. “Please,” I said. “Please, please, please. Now.” He pressed harder, I pushed back, and he was in.
In my fantasies, when I thought about Brian fucking me again, it was always rough and wild, but this wasn’t, at least not at first. He rocked in me slowly, barely moving back and forth, just pushing in a little more each time. I had time both to savor the familiarity and to notice how strange it felt to be fucked by someone whose body I knew so well. I was rocking with him, exerting all my willpower to keep from touching myself. Then he changed his angle and found my sweet spot. I lost control. I grabbed my dick, lubricating it with my pre-come, and jerked myself off, come splattering on my chest, on the sheets, all over.
When I stopped shuddering, Brian was still hard, still moving in me. He wrapped his arms around my chest tightly and started a stronger rhythm. I felt myself hardening again, and by the time he wrapped his hand around my penis, I was ready to come again.
Afterwards, when we had cleaned up, I lay curled into him and thought. I said, “You know what amazes me? I can’t get over what a coincidence it was that you happened to take your clients to Gigi’s. I’m glad you did, but it’s just so strange….” My voice trailed off.
Brian chuckled. “You still talk to Mikey, don’t you?”
“Oh.” So…no coincidence. “Even so, I never work Wednesdays…never…so you were lucky there.”
“Maybe that wasn’t the first time I’d been to Gigi’s. I guess you don’t work Tuesdays, either.”
“Oh.”
“Go to sleep. You’ll need your strength for the morning.”
I listened to his breathing even out. Eventually I fell asleep too.