Part 10
Disclaimer: No infringement intended.
AU, Spoilers for all seasons possible though
Pairing: Michael/Brian, age 32 (Michael/Ben, Brian/Justin in background)
Rating: R for language
Notes: Jade, Joeblessu, and llamas all wrote stories that touched on a psychic connection between Brian and Michael. Then Hal Sparks said something at the con about M and B being two halves of a single person. Also, "The Bumblebee Flies, Anyway" (by Robert Cormier; kids' book, but adult-worthy) is one of my favorite novels.
Additional note: No offense intended to those who DO like the flower petal and candle sort of thing--for themselves, or for Brian and Michael! Different strokes for... well, you know. Celebrate diversity and all that.
*****
TWO HALVES
Chapter 10
Brian would have raced down the stairs five at a time, but he thought it was a bad idea to call attention to himself or draw anyone toward the pool area. He didn't know what would set Stockwell off, but he wasn't going to risk Hunter's life just to get there a few seconds faster.
He took the elevator, then followed the small brass signs that pointed the way to the swim patio. As he rounded the corner, he saw a flat expanse of concrete and lounge chairs surrounding the azure water, lit by internal neon. Low lamps provided additional, shadowy illumination--the effect was decidedly eerie (or maybe that was because he knew he was meeting a three-time-killer here).
What he couldn't see was any sign of people. Or, more specifically, a person. No way was he going to speak first, though. He continued to walk more slowly, letting his eyes travel from one side of the patio to the other. Jesus fucking Christ, Hitchcock could have used this for one of his movie sets. Spookier than the shower scene in *Psycho*.
"Brian?" Hunter called.
Brian froze, turning in the direction of the teenager's voice. "Hunter!" he called urgently. "Get the fuck away from him any way you can!"
"Fucking shit, where'd he go?" he heard next, and it was Jim Stockwell's mutter, which meant Hunter had escaped him, at least temporarily.
Brian still couldn't spot anyone. He squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the strange combination of glow and dimness, letting his ears track the pair for him. A rustling to his right indicated what to beware of. He figured Stockwell wouldn't come out shooting wildly; he'd either want to get Hunter and Brian away from the hotel or hit them with single bullets. This wasn't a guy who intended to go out in a blaze of gunfire. He hoped to be on the road back home to Pittsburgh before anyone knew the two of them were dead.
Brian's best chance for keeping them alive lay in delaying as long as possible.
Oh, fuck, no, he thought, as he felt rapid stuttering begin in his chest: Michael's heartbeat was erratic again. Not now, of all times, not *now*. Tightness banded in his arms and swept through his sides and back in spasms that didn't end. He resisted the urge to enfold himself protectively.
Couldn't let Stockwell know what's happening.
His breath hitched. That could be attributed to nerves, and he wasn't hiding. Stockwell knew exactly where he was. Brian was a little surprised he hadn't come out yet but assumed he'd been taken aback by Hunter getting away, was still looking for him. Any more, though, and it was going to become obvious.
Sweat ran down Brian's neck and soaked through his shirt. Shit, it hurt, and it was getting worse. Michael was getting worse, which meant Brian would. His vision blurred, and he remembered he'd passed out last time. He stepped out from the shadows, a hazy memory of the ending scene from *West Side Story* playing in his head. "Hi, Jim," he said, attempting to keep his voice steady.
What would it do to Michael if Brian got killed? Brian didn't think Michael's already weakened heart could take whatever convulsion would rocket through the connection. He couldn't let Stockwell shoot him. Couldn't be the cause of Michael's death.
"Brian Kinney," Stockwell said, stepping forward, too. His eyes darted around crazily, as if he feared he was being targeted.
Brian wished he could spare enough breath to laugh. You're the one with the gun, asswipe. I'm standing here nearly having a sympathetic heart attack, unarmed, with no help... and you're nervous? "After all this time, to find out we're related... Uncle. Came as a surprise."
Stockwell's handsome face twisted in an ugly simulation of a smile. "People are so helpful when you tell them something believable," he said. "But look who I'm telling. You're pretty much the master of bullshit, aren't you, Kinney?"
Brian ignored that, concentrated on blinking sweat out of his eyes and not sinking to his knees. "So I guess genetics is at work in our 'family', huh, Uncle? The gay gene, specifically?" He sharpened his tone and sank it in, like a knife, on the last four words.
Saw them hit home when Stockwell flinched. So he didn't mind being found out as a murderer, but he didn't like having his homosexuality revealed. Typical closet case conservative. Brian bit his tongue so hard his mouth flooded with blood. Something to focus on other than the pounding in his head.
Flashing pain hit, like lightning bolts racing from his chest to his skull. Brian pictured a cartoon drawing of Rage, again trying to distract himself, stay on his feet.
"Those are rumors, spread by my opponents... " Stockwell started to trot out the scripted public relations lie, and then let it drop off, gave another of his cruel not-smiles. "Look who I'm wasting my time on. A dead man. How pointless. I just have to know, Kinney. What made you do it. Why did you take me down? Closing the sex rooms? You had to have a place to fuck?"
Brian's--Michael's--heart hammered so hard it seemed to be trying to leap out of his body, and the patio area began to revolve around Brian as he realized this attack wasn't going to resolve quietly. "The hypocrisy," he managed. "Shutting down Ted Schmidt--a tiny business that wasn't hurting anyone--was the tip of the iceberg, but I went along with it because it was campaign strategy. Then I saw what everyone had been telling me. You wanted to scapegoat the gay community. Say every arrest of a gay person made society cleaner."
"And you didn't like that because you found out I was gay, too. Or were you hurt I didn't come on to the world-famous stud of the gay community?"
Brian thought, fuck it, it's a good use of my last breath, and laughed. "I didn't even know you were gay until a week ago. But I wouldn't fuck *you* with someone else's dick."
"You arrogant little shit," Stockwell growled.
"Now whose feelings are hurt?" Brian forced himself to sneer through a crushing agony that was still intensifying.
"You cost me the fucking election. This isn't about feelings, asshole. It's about my livelihood."
"You're still chief of police. Oh, wait, maybe not... not after they find out you murdered three people. The body count is three, isn't it, Jim?" Brian taunted, stepping closer. The concrete seemed to undulate under his feet.
"Not for long," Stockwell snarled, raising his arm.
Brian heard a click that seemed to echo across the short distance, and thought from his limited, movie-related experience of guns, that it must be cocking the trigger, or something like that. Either that or it was out of ammunition, and wouldn't that be funny.
Funnier still if Michael (and therefore he) died without any help from Stockwell's gun. Could they prosecute Stockwell for murder on a dead body with no bullet wound?
Jesus fucking Christ on a popsicle-stick cross. Maybe not so funny. A tremendous pressure in his left arm and ribs made Brian grab at it with his right one as a reverberating, deafening boom rang out, and he fell, anticipating fairly major pain on impact. Concrete would hurt, big-time.
But it didn't. There was softness and disorientation--deep and dark. Instead of the sweet feeling of air flowing into his lungs, water was pouring in.
He was drowning!
A second later, Brian realized he'd fallen into the pool and sunk to the bottom. He kicked as hard as he could and felt the warm night breeze on his skin as he broke the surface. Quietly, he swam to the edge of the pool, half-expecting to hear either screaming or more gunshots. Shouldn't Stockwell still be trying to finish the job? Or someone have come to find out why a gun had gone off around the otherwise silent patio?
But there was nothing. For the second time in several minutes, the exact opposite of what he expected greeted him. He lifted himself out on again-strong arms and pushed his hair off his forehead. Then he moved swiftly out of the light thrown off by the pool and crouched next to a table, glancing and listening in sequence, wishing he were a fucking bat or other creature of the night. Some animal that knew what it was doing in the dark.
A scraping sound far off to his left caught his attention. He put up his hand, skimmed it across the smooth tabletop, and it ran into a glass ashtray. Not exactly the handgun he needed, but it was more of a lethal weapon than his fists, that was for sure. If he could just narrow down Stockwell's location a little better, get behind him...
He tilted his head and concentrated on the direction the scratching had come from, and was rewarded with a repeat a moment afterwards. Gripping the ashtray, Brian moved in a wide arc around the front of the patio so that he came around to the right.
Stockwell was upending lounge chairs and tables in a search for Hunter. Just as he returned to the pool to look at Brian--and did a double-take when he grasped that Brian was not in the water--Brian came up fast and smashed him on the back of the head with the ashtray.
Stockwell crumpled to the concrete with gratifying alacrity. Brian had been afraid he'd have to hit him a bunch of times, that it might turn into some kind of hand-to-hand combat or fistfight (not that he wasn't good in a street brawl, but this was decidedly preferable). But, no. Stockwell lay where he fell, motionless.
He really didn't mean to. It just happened. His left fist clenched, pumped in the air, and he hissed, "Yessss!"
"Brian?" he heard, and Hunter ran up to him. "What'd you do?"
"Hit him," Brian said, holding out the ashtray, still in his right hand.
"We called the cops," Hunter said. "The guy at the front desk and me."
"He is the cops," Brian replied, raising an eyebrow. "Remember?"
"Dallas cops," Hunter said.
"Oh. Them."
"Did he hurt you?"
"No. You?"
"Just my arm." Hunter pulled the sleeve of his shirt aside to show a large, reddening patch with finger marks. "Where he held onto me."
"Jesus. That's going to be a big fucking bruise."
"He had a gun. It could have been a big fucking hole. I'll take the bruise."
"Yeah," Brian smiled.
Hunter did, too. Then his eyebrows went up. "Brian, how come you're soaking wet?"
"We have to call the hospital again. I think Michael's having more trouble."
"Oh, shit."
"Yeah."
*****
"Mr. Novotny, can you open your eyes?"
Brian didn't have a chance to warn the nurse; Michael's brown eyes flew open and searched for his, frightened, and he felt rather than saw the nurse react with surprise. He was already holding Michael's hand, but he didn't know if Michael could tell. He leaned in close and nodded, smiling. "It's OK, Mikey. We're us again. They shipped Stockwell home in handcuffs."
"Home?" Michael mouthed, his face perplexed.
Brian realized not only the five days previous but the one before he'd gone into septic shock were a black hole. "We're in Texas," he told him. "As soon as you're well enough, we're going home, too."
"OK." Michael's eyes closed again.
"He's going to be all right, Mr. Kinney. It was touch and go, but he turned a corner in the night," the nurse told him, her voice kind.
At three-eighteen, to be exact, Brian thought, but he just nodded at her. As for 'touch and go', medical cliches didn't come close to expressing Michael's medical condition. Brian had felt it for himself. Michael had wondered what one of them dying would do to the other one of them, and Brian could now tell him. Almost.
"Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome," she said. "I can see how close you two are. I have an older brother in Austin who's gay. He's been with his partner for ten years. He'd be devastated if anything happened to him."
Brian no longer hated to hear from straights who were queer-friendly. He'd begun to recognize some were OK people. He still never knew what to say when they shared their personal stories, though. Hell, he didn't know what to say when gay strangers did. He smiled at her, and squeezed Michael's hand.
Wake up for a little longer next time, Mikey. I need you.
"How long have you two been together?" she asked.
"Eighteen years," he answered without hesitation.
Her forehead wrinkled. "But you're only... I mean, I didn't think he was more than twenty when I first saw him, but I know now he's thirty-two. That would have made you--"
"Fourteen," he said. "We met in school."
"That's beautiful," she said.
"We're not actually a couple," Brian said.
"What, because of the law?" she scoffed. "Doesn't mean a thing. You're more a couple than a lot of married straight people who come through here, fighting and bickering and hating each other."
Brian smiled. "No, I mean we're best friends, but he's living with someone else."
"That's a shame," she said softly. "When you're so much in love with him. You should tell him."
"I did," he said, surprised he was telling her anything, let alone so much. But here in Michael's ICU room, the way she held responsibility for Michael's survival in her capable hands made him feel close to her. Or maybe he was just lonely and tired.
He'd been away from home for two long weeks. Without Michael for five days.
"And he doesn't feel the same way about you?" she asked.
His smile broadened. Only a stranger would make the assumption that *anyone* didn't return Brian's affection. "No, he does. We just... there's this other person still."
"Not for long, though, hm?" she said, her eyes twinkling briefly.
"I don't know. We sort of agreed not to discuss it too much while we were--"
"On the lam?" she said, and this time the sparkle was more distinct. "You were the lead story for a few nights," she added.
"Yeah, Hunter mentioned that," Brian said. He'd been at the hospital, watching and sensing as first one and then another of Michael's organs failed; he hadn't seen any of the news coverage on Stockwell's capture.
"It's good you didn't tell anyone here you aren't a couple," the nurse told him. "They wouldn't have let you in at all hours of the day and night like this. Before this year, gay lovers weren't even considered immediate family, but a group of us lobbied the hospital to make the change." Her eyebrows went up. "Which brings up the question. If he has a lover, where is *he*?"
Brian's face began to burn. First his cheeks, then his ears, and finally his eyes and temples. It happened every time he thought of Ben lately, just as it had when Ben had been doing steroids and Brian hadn't wanted him anywhere near Michael. He fought off the anger. "It's a little mixed up right now," he shrugged.
Michael's hand clutched in his, and then his eyes fluttered open again. "Hunter?" Michael tried to whisper.
"I put him on a plane home three days ago," Brian told him. "He found Steven, and Melanie helped him swear out a complaint against Rita. She's out on bail, but there's a restraining order against her, and she can't get near Hunter. Or get custody. He's fine. He calls me about five times a day to find out about you, though," he added.
"Why now?" Michael asked. His eyelids drooped, but the brown eyes, enormous in his thinner face, stayed locked on Brian.
"She had some fucked-up scheme to take the kid to Asia, start a new 'business'. They found passports and travel visas in both their names in her apartment. There's also a possibility she knew about the murders Stockwell committed, but they don't want to move on that until they're sure. Figure if it's true, she could be the perfect witness for the prosecution. She'll roll on Stockwell, and he'll go away for life."
"And... you?"
Again Brian understood the incomplete question. "He didn't hurt me. Got close, that's all." What had been happening to Michael had come much nearer to killing Brian, but that was a conversation for later.
"Sorry."
"He hated me before you took Hunter and ran, you know that."
Michael shook his head the tiniest bit. "Not there... to warn you," he mouthed.
"You were a little busy," Brian said gently, "trying to stay alive. Priorities."
Michael's mouth quirked as he lifted the forefinger of the hand Brian wasn't holding an inch off the sheets, pointing it at Brian.
"Well, yeah," Brian smiled. "Same here."
Michael nodded and went back to sleep.
"He'll begin to stay awake more," Carole Ann said to Brian. "As soon as he gets some strength back." She patted his hand, and Brian tried not to jerk away from the contact. "Why don't you get some rest and a good meal? Come back later."
"Yeah, OK." At least a shower, Brian thought. Shave and buy some decent clothes, now that being in hiding was no longer a factor. It was *good* to be able to flirt again. He'd given that gorgeous front-desk clerk the eye the first morning he was free to. Hadn't followed it with an offer, though, because, well, what was happening with him and Michael?
Still to be worked out.
Everything *could* now--that was the important thing.
*****
Brian wanted to brain the well-meaning Carole Ann when he returned to Michael's room four and a half hours later to find Debbie on one side of the bed and Ben on the other. His eyes flicked at her, and she blinked a surprised apology back. He felt mildly relieved that she was still on his side, and then disgusted with himself. What 'side'? He didn't need some ICU nurse to take up his position.
He wasn't going to fight Ben for Michael. Michael would make his choice, and it would be Brian.
Wouldn't it?
"Hey," Michael said, his smile brighter than earlier in the day. Brian's heart skidded, wondering if it was Ben's presence that had upped the wattage. But the brown eyes didn't leave his face as Michael nodded for him to sit at the foot of his bed.
"Hi, Deb," Brian said. "Ow!" he added, as she slugged him hard on the leg nearest to her fist.
"Is that all I get? A 'hi, Deb' after two weeks of sleepless nights?" she barked. She jumped up and enveloped him in one of her suffocating hugs. After a moment, Brian waved his arms on either side and heard Michael laughing. "I'm so glad you're safe, kiddo," she said, giving Brian a kiss on his cheek. She sat, then jumped up again to rub the lipstick smudge off his face with a thumb. "Sorry about that."
"I missed it," he admitted. "Ben," he added, nodding at the other man in the room.
"Hi, Brian. Glad everything's over and you're... " Ben stood up and held out a hand. "Thanks for everything you did for Hunter."
"Sure." Brian shook it, a little awkwardly; after all, the last time he and Ben had talked in person, he'd been furious with him. Besides, he planned to steal his lover. But he smiled and shrugged. "Kid did good. Other than running away on the last night, and anyone would have hit their limit, probably sooner than he did."
"We've been hearing *all* about that night," Ben said, and Brian had to hide a smile behind his hand at the irritation in Ben's normally mellow voice. The only person in the room who knew the story was Carole Ann. Looked like she was telling it in a way that got on Ben's nerves.
"But I don't understand how you happened to fall into the swimming pool," Debbie said loudly. "I mean, did Stockwell push you, or did you trip, or what?"
"Well... " Brian glanced at Michael and saw a flash of perception. He shrugged at Debbie. "It happened too fast for me to know. Probably fell over a chair. The important thing was he thought he shot me when he missed, so he went looking for Hunter, who'd taken off, and thought I was taken care of."
Carole Ann again took up the tale of her hero. "Giving Brian the chance to sneak back out of the pool, come up behind the dirty cop, smash him over the head with a... what'd you hit him with, Brian?"
"An ashtray," Ben drawled in an overtly unimpressed voice.
"Yeah, yeah. And then the cops came and bailed us out," Brian said, dismissing the star-struck look in the nurse's eyes with a wave of his hand. "Hunter made it to the lobby and got the front-desk clerk to call them."
Michael laughed softly.
"What?" Brian said, turning to him.
"It'll make a great issue of Rage," Michael said, his eyes getting the faraway look they did when he planned a story arc. "I can see the whole thing. I have to talk to Justin about it as soon as we get back."
"Well," said Ben, "He might not be so keen to commemorate his lover's heroism in art."
"Why not?" asked Michael. "This story is tailor-made for us. It's got everything. Homophobia, danger, violence, and Rage rescuing everyone." He made a face. "I think we can leave out Zephyr being in the hospital like a wuss, though."
"Justin's not Brian's biggest fan right now," Ben said. "He thought he'd hear from him at least once in two weeks."
"If Stockwell wanted to know where I was, Justin was the one he'd be following," Brian said to Ben. Not why he hadn't talked to Justin, but it sounded plausible. "Just like Michael couldn't call you." He dared to look through his lashes at Michael and saw him blush and look away from Ben.
Leave. Everyone get out. Michael and I need to talk. For about the millionth time, Brian wished there were no such thing as a need for manners in life. People thought he had none, but his not telling all three of the other occupants to fuck off was proof he did.
"He'll get over that," Michael said. "Mom, Ben, would you mind if I talked to Brian alone for a few minutes?" Brian waited as they responded to the polite request with--for Debbie, uncharacteristic--matching courteous acquiescence. "Carole Ann, do you think we could have a little privacy?"
"I'll have to check on you in five minutes," she told him. "And you need your rest."
"I'm not going to do anything," he smiled.
She smiled back. "If you say so."
As soon as she was gone, closing the door behind her, Michael said, "We have to talk."
Brian's throat closed. "What? Why?"
"I saw your face when you walked in and found Ben here. I think we have to discuss this now, because it's obvious you don't know what I'm thinking at all."
"That you're still with Ben." Brian didn't meet Michael's eyes. He could survive this conversation, no problem. Besides, everything was temporary, even Michael and Ben. No matter what. At the end of time, it would still be Brian and Michael, always.
"Brian, come here," Michael said softly.
"I'm good where I am."
"Come on, she's going to be back in a few minutes. It's like when we used to think my mom would walk in any time." There was a grin in Michael's voice, and after a few seconds, Brian had to answer it. He risked lifting his eyes and saw Michael pat the bed.
"OK." He sat beside Michael, careful not to pull on the lines attached to his arm.
Michael rubbed Brian's hand as he talked. "What you said you wanted with me, I've wanted with you since we first met. Part of me has been hoping I'd hear you say it my whole life, but I figured I never would, and what we have--had--is enough. More than enough. Something's happened between us, hasn't it? Not just romantically. With the connection."
"I'm no good at that part," Brian said. "Separating it out. It's a lot stronger. I've never felt anything as painful as what's been going on with you in the last five days."
Michael's eyebrows went up as he looked around at all the machines. "I know there's been a lot, but no one's itemized it. I assumed they'd tell me in time. You felt it, though? Something that happened to me knocked you into the swimming pool?"
Brian nodded. "I did feel everything--I doubt it was as much or as bad for me. I passed out a few times, and it hurt like hell, but you... well, you almost died more than once. But that's not what I meant. As scary as it was every time I felt pain I knew was yours and wondered if this was it, if you were going to die and I was, too... "
"Jesus," Michael whispered.
"... the worst times for me were when I realized you might and I might not. Because what I figured out is that the connection isn't just there when one of us is in danger. It's like this live current between us *all* the time."
"Really?"
Brian shrugged. "I didn't know, either, till it was gone."
"When is it gone?"
"When they sedate you. When you're unconscious."
"Oh." Michael nodded. "I haven't felt that. From your end." He shivered. "Hope I never do. I've always known I could live without anyone but you in my life."
"How the fuck do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Just say it like that."
"That I love you?" Michael laughed. "I don't know, it's easier for me."
"But I never left you. You've left me before."
"When?" Michael challenged.
"After your thirtieth birthday party."
"When I was pissed, sure. For a week."
"You said it was forever."
"I was mad," Michael said again. "I lied. I came back," he reminded Brian.
"I thought you weren't going to." Brian recalled lying on the floor of the loft, reading the Captain Astro comic book and drinking himself into a stupor. Looking at the blown-up pictures of him and Michael last thing before he passed out and first thing when he came to. Sheer misery. "I was sure you weren't."
Michael smiled. "I knew I was. I just didn't know when."
"And you left when you went to Seattle." With the heinous chiropractor.
"I came back."
"I never thought you'd go in the first place."
"I wouldn't have if you'd told me not to, dumbfuck," Michael said fondly. "You said there was nothing left for me in Pittsburgh. I assumed you were including yourself in that sweeping statement."
"Your mom... "
"Ancient history," Michael said, "And Carole Ann will be back in a minute. I need you to get out of here for the rest of the day."
"Why?"
"Because I can't break up with Ben with you here." Brian's smile felt as if it might actually injure his cheek muscles. "Yeah," Michael sighed. "That's one reason. It's going to be lousy enough for him without you grinning from ear-to-ear like you won a race."
"I'm going," Brian said. "But tomorrow, he'll be the one who's gone?"
"That's the idea."
"And we'll be... ?"
Michael finally smiled, too. "Yeah. I mean, not like we can do anything about it for a while--sorry about that--but I'll be all yours."
"Wow. OK." Brian leaned his head against Michael's. "I kind of don't know what to say."
"That you're happy, I hope," Michael said, sounding uncertain for the first time.
"I do better with actions," Brian answered, moving his face so it was in front of Michael's, about to brush their lips together.
Michael returned the kiss until Brian tried to deepen it, and then pulled away. "No, Brian. Why do you think we haven't?"
"Superhuman restraint on your part?" Brian teased.
"I meant, since I've been with Ben?"
"Bad taste?" he joked.
"No. I wouldn't do that to someone, because I don't want it done to me," Michael said. "Tomorrow."
Brian heaved a mock-long-suffering sigh. "Tomorrow."
*****
Even though he'd been expecting the buzzer, Brian felt a prickle of nerves. Nerves, him! Meeting his best friend for dinner. Craziness. "Come on up," he said into the intercom, and flung the door open, leaning into the doorway.
He was wearing a blue denim shirt and jeans, no shoes. Casual. No pressure. Well, not too much. If you didn't count what was behind him.
But as the lift appeared, the figure that was in it was blond, not dark-haired. Brian pushed the door closed and stepped forward to meet his uninvited guest. "Justin."
"I need to talk to you." Based on the heated look he was getting, 'talk' was either a ruse or the talking was to come after the coming. This suspicion was borne out when Justin emerged from the lift, stripping off his jacket and shirt at the same time. "You look good," he panted. "I tried to stay pissed, but it's too hard. I'm too hard. You get me too hard."
"Justin," Brian said again.
"You keep saying my name, but nothing else. Aren't you glad to see me?" The younger man's blue eyes narrowed perceptively. "Why are we out here? Is someone inside?"
"No, I, uh... "
"So what's the problem?"
"No problem," Brian averred. "I'm just expecting company."
"Why didn't you say so? Anyone I can help with?" Justin smirked.
"Definitely *not*," Brian said.
"Oh, well. Call me sometime later, then. Oh," Justin added, as Michael came around the stairwell, "You meant Michael. Hey, Michael." He was buttoning his shirt, pulling his jacket back on.
"Hi, Justin," Michael said. "We still getting together on Thursday?"
"Sure," Justin replied. "I'll meet you at the store after you close." He turned to Brian. "And I'll hear from you, I hope *soon*." He smiled, stepping into the lift and cocking an eyebrow in a way that would've made Brian rock-hard a month ago. Now it made him uncomfortable, seeing the flicker of understanding in Michael's brown eyes. Or, rather, misunderstanding. Fuck.
"I interrupt something?" Michael asked quietly.
"No. Mikey, he just showed up. I thought he was you."
Michael made a face. "Ugh, let's not go there. We're in some fucked-up territory to start with. Maybe this was a bad idea."
"No!" Brian said again, his hand coming up of its own volition to pin Michael to the wall. "Don't go," he added more calmly. "I thought we were going to do take-out, watch a movie."
Michael smiled, but it was still crooked. "We both know this isn't your standard Brian-and-Mikey night. At least that wasn't the plan. But if you're still fucking Justin--"
"I'm not."
"Brian, come on. I saw the way he looked at you."
"Like someone who *wants* to fuck me. Like Ben probably looks at you. Like most of Babylon looks at me... and you, even if you don't notice. So the fuck what?" He ran the hand that had been holding Michael captive down Michael's t-shirt, and his face turned feral. "I'm looking at you the same way right now. Unless this is just an excuse."
"What?" Michael said.
"You heard me. I didn't stutter," Brian said, paraphrasing a movie actor whose voice he'd been told he sounded like frequently. "And I got it, didn't I?"
"No, it's just... the loft is where you and he... and I think we should maybe--"
"Bullshit." Brian cut him off. "You and I have had just as many nights there. Not fucking, but we've spent plenty of time in my place. Fuck, when I considered selling it you went ballistic. I thought you loved it so much. What's this really about, Mikey? You got rid of Ben but you don't want me?" He heard a crack and wondered if it could possibly be his heart (wouldn't that be a total riot?), but then realized it was the knuckles of the hand not touching Michael, which he'd balled into a fist.
"I don't know," Michael said softly.
Brian moved away, not wanting to display how that had affected him. "Uh huh," he said.
"No, wait. I didn't mean that. I do know I want to be with you. I mean, I don't know what this is about. I'm freaked out, and I can't relax, and for the first time in my life I'd rather be anywhere than with you." The words came out in a rush.
"Oh," Brian said, as his heart gradually migrated down toward its proper location.
"No, second time," Michael corrected himself, trying to smile. "First was when you kissed me and grabbed my cock in the store after I found out you and Ben fucked at the White Party. I feel like then, for some reason."
"I never told you I was sorry for that," Brian frowned. "Or for punching you."
"You brought me a steak for my eye," Michael grinned, succeeding more fully. "I guessed that was an apology."
"Justin told me what he said to you after you told me he was seeing Ethan," Brian said. "No wonder you were pissed."
"Why? What did he say?" Michael asked, looking puzzled.
Brian laughed, the sound bouncing off the hallway walls. "Doesn't matter. I just realized it had nothing to do with it. You were pissed because he came to the party with the fiddler and you saw how much it bugged me. You were mad at him for me, as always."
"Well, yeah."
"And I hit you."
"I said a shitty thing." Michael shrugged. "That I didn't even mean."
"I'll never do it again, for any reason," Brian said. "I swear."
"I know. I knew when you handed me the bloody, dripping box."
"I never wanted to be like *him*. In any way."
"You're not," Michael said, moving immediately to put his arms around Brian. "Totally different situation. You were defending someone you love."
"Hit someone I love," Brian mumbled as he buried his face in Michael's hair, relaxing as it seemed less likely Michael was about to leave.
"See?" Michael teased. "You can say it."
"I do, you know."
"I know. And I don't need to hear it. Ben didn't say it. I did. He didn't. Which is fine. I'm very up-front about what I have to have. Not the L-word. Just no lying to me. And no fucking Justin," Michael added with a smile.
"No fucking any other guys," Brian said.
Michael sighed. "I don't want to change you," he said. "I don't expect to. It's not like I fell in love with a fantasy."
Brian leaned on the wall next to Michael. "I know who you fall for and why, what kills a relationship for you. I was listening even when you thought I wasn't."
"You seemed so disgusted by the topic," Michael smiled.
"I never wanted to hear *too* much about your relationships," Brian admitted. "Except for the endings. I liked getting to comfort you afterwards." He smiled back, wickedly. "Remember what I said about superhuman restraint? Think me, all those times when you were crying about some guy in my arms."
"And me, all those times you were almost-but-not-quite passed out in my bed," Michael agreed. "But if you're thinking I'm backing out of the idea of us, no way. It's just, uh, I don't know how to put this... for the first time since I was really young, I think I have performance anxiety." He giggled, but nervously.
Brian laughed, and then could have cut off his tongue when he saw the hurt shine in Michael's eyes. "I'm not making fun of you," he said. "But before Justin got here, I was thinking the same thing... that it was nuts to be so on edge about seeing you. Then everything got fucked up in a weirder way when he arrived."
"Yeah."
"Yeah," Brian echoed.
"Maybe if we keep it really low-key, and just, I don't know... " Michael looked away. "Could we pretend it's not a, um," he coughed, "Date? Just order pizza and watch a movie and--oh, fuck, I can't believe I'm even saying this, what a dumb line, right? But just see where it goes?"
"Hm."
"You don't want to?"
"It's not that." Brian shrugged. "If you want to, we have to go out."
"Out?" Michael said. "You're barefoot."
"So I'll put on shoes. You wait out here."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because it's not exactly low-key in there."
"You're kidding me." Michael's mouth fell open, a not terribly attractive look on him. Brian tipped it closed with one finger.
"Sorry," he said, giving a half-smile. "See what happens when I don't stay true to form? I fuck everything up."
"Now I want to see," Michael said.
"You don't."
Michael's eyes widened. "What did you do?"
Brian swallowed the excess saliva that had rushed into his mouth as a clear picture of the loft came to his mind. Holy fucking Christ, what *had* he done? Allowed himself to be swayed by the goddamn lesbians, and Cynthia, and a bunch of movies and TV shows that were as sappy as they were asinine (not to mention heterocentric, so why had he even listened?). Oh, shit.
"Nothing much... " he lied feebly.
"This I have to see," Michael said. "Brian, you are *blushing*, and that, I think, is a first in eighteen years."
"I'm not. It's the lighting out here." Oh, my fucking God, Brian thought, what about the lighting in there?
Michael put his hand on Brian's cheek. "Yeah, right." He stretched up and kissed him on the mouth, parting his lips with his tongue. "You going to show me, or do I have to seduce you into it?"
Brian was instantly more interested in the game. "What do you think?" he answered, pulling Michael tight against him.
"I think you went overboard in some completely characteristic but uncharacteristic way and you're embarrassed, and I have to get you so hard and horny that you stop giving a shit, so all you're thinking about is how fast we can get to the bed... " Michael murmured into Brian's mouth, as he continued to stroke and nip along Brian's jaw and chin, making his way to the soft skin at his neck.
Brian had always considered kissing enjoyable but not essential (one of the reasons he didn't care when Justin put it off-limits for his tricks), but now he felt it might be something he couldn't live without. "It's not that extreme," he tried again, when Michael's tongue entered his ear and his hand landed firmly on Brian's erect dick. "Holy shit," he gasped, his legs shaking. "Let's go."
"Yeah," Michael said, and they scrambled through the door and up the stairs into the bedroom without either of them mentioning the changes to the living room of the loft.
"Holy shit," Brian said again, rolling off, sweat-soaked, twenty-five minutes later.
"Water?" Michael asked, already getting off the bed and starting for the kitchen naked.
"Thanks," Brian said. Too late, he remembered the living room, when he heard belly laughs coming from just beyond the doorway. He stifled a groan and went to stand behind Michael, wrapping his arms around the smaller frame and snickering into his ear. "I will *never*, so help me God, listen to fucking women--straight or lezzie--on the subject of romance. Never."
"What the fuck were they thinking?" Michael composed himself, then looked around the room and started cracking up again.
Swaths of red and white gauzy material hung from the ceiling, draped loosely to make a curtained effect. Rose petals were strewn around the floor. And candles of all shapes and sizes created a variegated pathway toward the bedroom--one they hadn't needed in the slightest--and threw flickering streaks of light amidst the dark red flowers.
"I don't have a clue," Brian said, laughing so hard he had to sit on the step to the bedroom. "The real question is, what was I thinking?"
"I think you forgot how easy I am. You didn't have to romance me," Michael said. "I mean, appreciate the effort, but--" he looked around and burst into giggles again--"not really." He sat next to Brian, wiping his eyes with his hands. "If you wanted to impress me, you should have made it look like my party. Now that was hot. Like Babylon."
"I was afraid of bringing back shitty memories," said Brian, who'd considered it.
"Well, yeah." Michael grinned again. "We better blow these all out before the place catches fire. Wouldn't *that* be romantic?"
Brian laughed. "Never understood how that doesn't happen more often," he said. "Oh, you'll never guess what I was supposed to do after you were speechless with delight over the room."
Michael laughed. "Speechless, yeah. Delight... um. Now I know how your loft would look if Hallmark made house calls. You're lucky this shit didn't catch fire, actually," he added, pulling down the material, some of which had dangled close to the candles. "So, what were you instructed to do?" He laughed. "I can't believe anyone was giving *you* seduction lessons."
"Romance lessons," Brian corrected him.
"For guys, seduction is romance," Michael laughed. "Just like sex is foreplay." He stopped what he was doing. "Oh, my God," he said.
"What? What's wrong?"
"You had performance anxiety, too. Just a different kind," Michael said. "You're not scared how you'll do in bed; you're scared how you'll do in a relationship."
"No shit, Sherlock," Brian said.
Michael bent double, laughing again. "I haven't heard that since we were fourteen."
"Well, come on. I've never been in one, not really. And I don't want to fuck up."
"Brian, what I said about being easy? I'll stay easy. Best friends first. Same person I have been all our lives." Michael went back to snuffing out candles and yanking down gauze curtains. "No games, no horseshit. And no lying. If I'm mad at you, you'll know. If I'm not acting mad, you don't have to walk around wondering--it means I'm not."
Brian shook his head. "It's got to be more complicated than that."
"Why?" Michael scowled at him. "See? This is me getting annoyed, because now you're the one making excuses for this not to work." He turned away, holding a length of material in front of himself, and Brian saw he was suddenly uncomfortable, though he wasn't sure why.
"Hey." He crossed to Michael and took the fluffy stuff out of his hands. It was important to bring their bodies into contact again, reassure Michael. And words never seemed to work as well for Brian--outside of the ad agency--as physicality. "You told me before when you were freaked. I thought I got to do the same."
"You do," Michael said. "Just not right after we fuck for the first time. Sounded like... well, anyway."
"It was great," Brian said, kissing him deeply. "And it'll keep being great. Get even greater. That's not where we're going to have problems."
"Guess not," said Michael, reaching down to Brian's hardening cock. "Jesus, already?"
"Eighteen years, Mikey. I have to make up for lost time," Brian smiled.
"Yeah. Your stamina's a legend throughout the state or at least the county, but nice sentiment," Michael said, his eyes growing glassy with reciprocal lust. "We didn't even have that water... "
"I'll get it."
"I'll finish putting out the candles." As Brian moved away, he called, "You never told me what you were supposed to do, I assume to make sure I wanted to fuck on the first date?"
"Yeah, to get you in the mood," Brian said, putting a sardonic twist on the words. "Well, see for yourself." He held the refrigerator door open and waited for Michael to join him in front of it.
"What?"
"Top shelf," Brian said, rolling his eyes in anticipation of Michael's response. He wasn't expecting the one he got.
"Oh, yum! Do you have ice cream, too?"
"Yeah... "
"And hot fudge?"
"That was the whole idea," Brian sighed. "I was supposed to offer myself as the banana in the banana split."
"You have *got* to be joking," Michael said. "What a waste of good ice cream and hot fudge and whipped cream. Not to mention a way to destroy the sheets. Why not have the food first and fuck later? Or fuck first, eat, and fuck again?"
"I don't know," Brian said. "I was the student, remember? Romance, not sex lessons."
"Whatever," Michael said, handing Brian a spoon and taking one for himself. "I will never understand the point of it."
"Maybe for people who are bored with their sex lives," Brian helped himself to some ice cream, smiling. He thought of Justin. "Or people who make everything about sex."
"You do that," Michael said through a mouthful.
"Managed to make our friendship not about sex for a lot of years," Brian contradicted him.
"Yeah," Michael said. "That's why I think this will work."
"This... us?"
"Mm hm." He dug his spoon into the carton again. "You always said relationships suck and you didn't want one, but I always thought we sort of had one, you and me. You know, because of being there for each other and all. Over the years. And with or without the words, loving each other. Everything but the sex."
"Now we've added the sex," Brian leered.
Michael laughed. "Sounds like one of your ad campaigns. New and Improved Brian and Mikey. Now with Extra Sex Added."
"Extra?" Brian raised his eyebrows.
Michael threw the carton back into the freezer. "Bring the water."
"Did you get all the candles put out?" Brian asked.
"Yep. Only thing on fire in this place is going to be us. Oh, fuck, I can't believe I said that," Michael added, groaning at himself.
"Well, in that case," Brian said, "I'd better cool you down." He pointed his water bottle at Michael and squeezed, and a jet of cold water arced through the air and splattered on Michael's bare chest.
"Fuck, that's freezing!" Michael yelped, and uncapped his own bottle, aiming it at Brian's ass, which was in retreat.
"Not on the bed," Brian warned.
"Fuck the bed," Michael said. "You started it."
Deciding he didn't want the sheets wet *that* way, Brian moved back toward the living room and got hit with a stream of icy expensive water, right between his shoulder blades. "Oh, fuck!"
"I thought we were going to, but you preferred a water fight," Michael said. He lifted his bottle again, preparing to shoot, and Brian moved in close to grab it away, winding his arms around Michael's torso.
His dick, which had softened thanks to the cold shower, immediately registered Michael's taut, muscled ass and thighs. "Change of plan," he murmured, pulling Michael up the stairs into the bedroom to land in the tangled covers.
"I can go with that," Michael gasped, rocking against Brian.
Afterwards, Brian reached for Michael and pulled him in close. "Come here."
"What?" Michael said.
"You remember when I made fun of Doctor Dave for holding you, all wet and sticky, and said it must mean he really loved you?"
Michael nodded. "On the side of the turnpike. And then we kissed and I thought the fucking world stopped turning for a few minutes there." He laughed. "That was a huge clue I didn't belong with David, I thought. Until you and my mom conspired to make me believe I did." He laughed again. "You want to lie here and talk about *him*?"
"No, but we could go back to that kiss," Brian smiled. "It was that good?"
"Well, you got me high first," Michael said.
"Asshole!"
"Yeah, it was. That was the problem. I'd go along convincing myself I could be just your best friend, and then we'd kiss, and it was like for one minute I got to feel more than I ever knew I could--and then we'd pull back and... " Michael shrugged in Brian's arms.
"For me, too," Brian said.
"Really?"
"Yeah. That's *why* I pulled away. More than I ever knew I could feel was more than I wanted to feel. You scared the hell out of me, because I knew I had to be ready for you."
"What do you mean, ready?"
"This." Brian tightened his arms around Michael.
"Oh," said Michael with perfect comprehension. "Glad you got there."
"Yeah. Thanks for waiting."
"What's a best friend for?"
THE END