Queer as Folk: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor
Title: Gold and Silver Shines
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Characters: Brian/Justin, Lindsay, Melanie, Michael
CD and Song: Journey's Greatest Hits, "Girl Can't Help It"
Rating: R
Authors Notes: Chapter Thirteen in the series
Gold and Silver Shines
By Severina
Chapter Thirteen:
Girl Can’t Help It
The children are tucked away in bed. Finally.
Lindsay pauses in the doorway of Jenny Rebecca’s room. The little girl has her thumb stuck resolutely in her mouth, and frankly Lindsay is too tired to bother popping it out and listening to the resulting screams from the child. It’s Mel who is so flipped out about future orthodontics bills, and it will have to be Mel who will deal with a very frustrated baby. And since Mel is still downstairs, lingering over coffee in the kitchen…
Lindsay sighs and shifts the laundry basket to her other hip.
She pads softly down the hallway to Gus’s room. Her son is curled on his side, his right arm wrapped tightly around his new favourite stuffed animal. Brian had spoiled him silly on his visit, but she had to admit that the fuzzy little lion cub had been an excellent choice of gift. It had barely left Gus’s side -- she even had a difficult time getting him to leave it at home when he went to school.
Lindsay shakes her head. Not that she often saw Gus off to school. Not that she had time for much of anything at all.
She steals quietly out of the room and down the stairs. Makes her way to the kitchen. And finds that she just doesn’t have the energy to tackle the second flight down to the basement. She clunks the laundry basket down on the floor instead and reaches for the coffee pot.
“There was another letter sent home from Gus’s teacher today,” Mel says, regarding Lindsay over the rim of her glasses.
“Not again,” Lindsay sighs. She feels like she’s slowly deflating, like a popped balloon. One more thing and whoosh, she’ll disappear altogether. “What is it this time?”
“The usual. Acting up in class, won’t share.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“I already did,” Mel says. And Lindsay can imagine the talk she gave. She knows her own parenting skills aren’t perfect, by any means. She’s learning as she goes. And maybe Mel is right -- maybe Gus is too young for logical reasoning. But she also knows that raising their voices gets them nowhere, fast.
“I’ll talk to him again.”
Mel nods and shrugs. Sips her coffee and starts sorting through the mail. Lindsay thinks the coffee must be ice cold by now. Lindsay thinks Mel should have had ample time to sort through the mail earlier in the day, instead of now, when there were dishes to be done and laundry to be put in the washer and they actually have more than ten seconds to be together.
Lindsay thinks a lot of things she doesn’t say out loud.
“Oh.” Mel looks up from the letter in her hand. “The TGLC is having a masquerade ball to benefit the new children’s centre.”
“We can’t afford it.”
Mel grimaces. “It’s forty dollars! We’ll dress up, get a sitter for the kids, have some fun.”
“We can’t afford it,” Lindsay repeats evenly.
“Listen, Linds--”
“No, Mel. We have a grand total of seventeen dollars in the chequing account. Spring is coming soon and Gus is going to need a new coat.”
“Well,” Mel shrugs. “Brian can--”
“I’m not asking Brian to clothe Gus. I can clothe Gus. I can feed him, and take care of him, and give him whatever he needs, but I can’t…”
“Can’t?”
Lindsay places her mug carefully down on the table. And finds that the things she thinks actually can be said aloud. “I can’t go on like this for much longer.”
And when Mel rises from the table, a look of concern on her face, and runs her hand soothingly up and down Lindsay’s back, Lindsay thinks she might cry.
“I can’t run a household of four people on thirty thousand dollars a year, Mel.” Lindsay blinks back the tears, hates what she‘s saying but knows she has to say it. “I can’t. I know that people do it. I know that people do it for much less. But I can’t.”
Mel sets her jaw. “You know I’m trying to find something--”
“I know.” Lindsay takes a breath, smoothes back her hair. “I know you are. But -- and I hate to admit this, Mel -- I think we made a mistake in coming here.”
“I’m doing my best,” Mel bites out as she re-takes her seat.
“And we’re still struggling. I’m working six days a week at the gallery and we’re barely making ends meet, not to mention that I’m making half the salary I was pulling in back home. Gus isn’t doing well in school. Both children miss their fathers.” She reaches across the table to take Mel’s hand in hers, and squeezes. “I wanted this to work out as much as you did.”
“Did you?”
“You know I did,” Lindsay says calmly. “And I wish Toronto had been everything we’d hoped it would be. But the sad reality is that our son still gets harassed at school for having two mommies. We still get catcalls if we walk down the wrong street hand in hand. We wanted Toronto to be our Utopia, but we’ve discovered that it’s no different than Pittsburgh.”
“It’s a hell of a lot better than Pittsburgh,” Melanie insists.
Lindsay shrugs. “Maybe so. But we’ve got friends there. And family. To support us, emotionally, when we need it the most.”
Mel pulls her hand away and leans back in her chair. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying…” Lindsay wraps her hands around her coffee mug. She takes in the tiny kitchen, with its scarred Formica countertops. The door to the basement that has to be held shut with a well-placed shoe. The curtains that brighten the windows, and that frame the large fenced backyard where Gus loves to run and jump and play. They hadn’t been in the house long, but they’d done their best to make it a place of love. She draws in a deep breath. “I guess I’m saying that I want to go home.”
“No,” Mel says shortly. “Linds, that’s not an option.”
“Everything is an option, Mel.”
“You know what I think? I think you just can’t stand being away from Brian.”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Lindsay huffs out. “Not everything is about Brian.”
“It is with you.”
“Will you give it a rest? This is about being able to write a cheque without worrying that it’s going to bounce all the way to the bank. This is about putting food on the table that doesn’t consist of spaghetti-o’s and Kraft Dinner. This is about not running myself ragged just trying to work and run this household. This is about surrounding my children with the love and encouragement of their family.”
“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” Mel says.
“Of course not,” Lindsay answers. “It’s something we need to discuss. But we do need to discuss it, and sooner rather than later.”
Mel shakes her head as she rises from the chair. “You know what? You’ve got a week of vacation coming.”
“I told Mr. Melrose I wouldn’t take that. It’s not his fault that he got sick and I had to pull double duty.”
“Take it. Take it, and you and Gus go back to the Pitts.”
Lindsay blinks. “I’m not breaking up our family.”
“Consider it a sabbatical,” Mel says coolly. “You can see what you’ve been missing. See if the Pitts is everything you remember it to be. Visit Babylon while you’re at it -- maybe you can find a place on the dance floor between the rutting men to say a prayer for Dusty.”
“Mel.” Lindsay’s voice is low and shocked.
“See you in a week,” Mel says over her shoulder as she leaves the room.
And Lindsay remembers why she doesn’t say certain things aloud. But sometimes, she just can’t help it. Sometimes, things need to be said.
*~*~*
There are certain things about himself that Brian knows to be true.
He knows advertising better than anyone in five states. He is always ready to fuck -- his mind flits briefly to post-surgery, but he blinks quickly and slides that memory back into the “never to be thought of again” file, and impotence again becomes a hazy and indistinct impossibility. And he is always, always unflappable.
So he doesn’t understand the weird fluttering in his chest, or the low grade panic nipping at his heels.
Brian Kinney doesn’t get flustered. Brian Kinney doesn’t get nervous.
Brian hopes that if he keeps repeating the mantra frequently enough, it’ll turn out to be the truth.
He flails out with a hand as Justin walks by, grabbing him around the waist and stopping him short. Justin skids on the floor, the plastic bag that he’s carrying flapping at his legs, and gives Brian a dirty look that Brian hardly notices. “Is everything ready in the bedroom?”
“For the last time, yes!” Justin attempts to wriggle free of Brian’s grip, so he merely tightens his hold.
“What about out back?”
“Yes! Jesus, Brian, why did you order a jungle gym anyway? It’s fucking March.”
Brian has to admit -- to himself, anyway -- that he really wasn’t thinking straight when he got the call from Lindsay asking if she and his son could come for a visit. He’d only known that the house was still unfinished and they’d be pressed for time to get everything ready. He wanted everything to be perfect for his son.
With limited time, he’d had no recourse. He’d snatched up a Toys R Us catalogue from Deb’s never-ending catalogue collection of Places To Shop That Are Part Of The Eighth Ring Of Hell, -- the Big Q catalogue was on the top of the pile -- and spent ten minutes of a frantic lunch hour circling anything and everything that could be remotely interesting to a four year old.
Then he’d put Cynthia to work placing the order. She’d taken one look in his eyes and had clearly bitten back the bilious comment she was going to make about the use of her time. She had managed to finagle a day off with pay for her hardship, though.
Brian loved working with Cynthia more and more each day.
And now Justin is looking at him like he has two heads. Brian shakes clear of the daydreams -- he’s been doing that a lot lately -- and loosens his hold on Justin’s waist. “Kids like jungle gyms,” he answers.
“Yeah,” Justin laughs. “In June.”
Brian feels the panic pinch at his chest again, so he shifts against Justin, rubs up against him, nips at his ear. Proves Great Truth #2: he is always ready to fuck. And when Justin’s eyes get hazy and dark and Justin’s hand slides to his ass and tugs him forward, Brian is reminded of exactly why they are so compatible.
“Mmm,” Justin murmurs against his neck, and the sound goes straight to his dick. “We can’t.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“No time?” Justin says. “Lindsay and Gus are due here in-- hey, aren’t you picking them up at the airport?”
Brian slides his fingers along the edge of Justin’s shirt, lifts it slowly, just enough to reveal a slice of Justin’s pale stomach. He runs his fingers along that soft creamy skin, making Justin squirm. “Lindsay wanted to rent a car,” he says against the shell of Justin’s ear. “She doesn’t want to be tied down to the house.”
“Oh.” Justin shifts again, a little more, pressing his hard cock into Brian’s thigh, letting his head fall back. Brian grins against his neck He loves him like this. Shameless. Abandoning himself to his lust.
“Wait,” Justin says.
Brian reluctantly raises his head from where he’s been tasting Justin’s neck. He knows his own eyes are dark now, heavy with need. Need that never seems to go away. “What the fuck?”
“I should put away the ice cream,” Justin says lamely.
“Fuck it.”
“Right.” Justin drops the bag.
*~*~*
“The house is beautiful,” Lindsay says for the second time in as many minutes. She pulls Justin into a hug and kisses his cheek, and pretends not to notice when he squinches up his nose and presses his lips into a thin line. “You’ve really made a difference here, Justin,” she tells him. “You’ve made it a home.”
“Thanks,” he says, and when he slips artfully out of her embrace the supple movement reminds her so much of Gus that she has to stop for a moment to remember that Justin is almost twenty two years old. A man. And yet… she can close her eyes and still see him on her living room sofa, hair rumpled from sleep, lost and scared and still defending Brian to his last breath. She remembers waiting for Justin to go up to the shower and then waking Brian and giving him an earful.
Justin was just a child then. Now --
“I’d love to stay and hang out with you guys, but I really need to get back to work,” Justin explains with a vague gesture toward the upper floor and the studio. His sun drenched rooms were not included on her little tour, but he’s promised her a sneak peek at some of his work before she goes back home. Back to Mel. Lindsay finds she can’t wait to see what he’s come up with.
“I understand,” she says.
“I’ll check on Gus,” he tells them. Gus, sleeping after a long delay at the airport and a fitful time at the car rental desk and a stop-and-start hassle in traffic that left her short tempered, never mind a four year in desperate need of a nap. Gus, sleeping in his own room at Daddy’s house, with his fuzzy little lion cub tucked in his arms.
In her wildest dreams, Lindsay never imagined anything like this for her son.
And when Justin walks up the stairs she opens her mouth, turns to Brian, and wants to say something -- something about what a fine young man Justin has become -- and the idea is just too strange. Too parent-like. So she closes her mouth and smiles and follows Brian into the sitting room, takes a seat on the plush sofa and curls her feet underneath her while he lights a fire in the hearth.
“So,” Brian turns to her when the flames have caught, and arches a brow. “Why are you really here?”
“I told you,” she says lightly, trying for innocence. “My boss gave me a weeks vacation, and I thought--”
“No,” Brian interrupts. “Really. What did Mel do now?”
“Mel didn’t do anything,” Lindsay insists.
“Uh huh.”
Lindsay fiddles with the chain around her neck, and sighs. She never could resist that look. “It’s more what Mel doesn’t do,” she admits.
“Like?”
“Get a steady job. Take care of Gus. Do the laundry.”
“Hmm.” Brian crosses the room to sit beside her. Sticks his tongue in his cheek. “My partner is self-employed. We have a maid.”
Lindsay laughs and slaps at his arm. “It’s not a contest!”
He grins and captures her hand in his, warm and soft. It’s one of the things she misses, Lindsay realizes. Contact. Contact with the people that she loves. The ability to reach out and touch them, feel the warmth of their skin.
“Did you talk to her?” Brian asks.
“We talked,” Lindsay says. She takes a deep breath, the scent of him surrounding her. Cigarettes and sex, that is what Brian always reminds her of. She misses that. And the sharp tang of Debbie’s mint gum. Ben’s aftershave. She misses all of it. “I told her I want to move back to Pittsburgh.”
For a long moment Brian doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. And she wonders if she should have just kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t right for her to speak out when they hadn’t made a decision yet. It wasn’t right to get his hopes up… about Gus.
“And… what did she say?” Brian finally says, his voice carefully modulated. Carefully empty of all emotion.
“She doesn’t agree.” Lindsay hates to admit it, hates not to be able to light up his eyes with good news. “But she’s willing to discuss it. She thinks I’m being hasty.”
Brian nods, leans across the table to his cigarettes. He waits until one is poised at his lips to ask, “Are you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s not like we expected it to be. And I can’t keep going the way I am. Paying all the bills on one salary is no joke.”
“I can help with the bills--”
“I know you can,” Lindsay says softly, resting her hand on his arm. “But I don’t want you to.” And she waits for Brian to nod slowly. He knows a little something about pride. “Anyway, this is our little break. And I really did want to bring Gus. He loves seeing you.”
She watches as Brian’s eyes go soft. “I love seeing him.”
She wants him to see Gus all the time. Watch him grow up. Watch him go on his first date and get married and father babies of his own. She wants Brian to see it all -- but she wisely keeps her mouth closed.
“And we’re just in time for Justin’s big birthday bash,” Lindsay enthuses into the silence. She plants a mock frown on her face. “Just tell me you didn’t get him a hustler.”
“Please,” Brian says. “The H word has been banished from all discussion around here.”
Lindsay giggles. “Well, what did you buy him? Spill!” And when Brian says nothing -- “Oh Brian.”
“It’s not like I don’t want to get him a fucking present,” Brian grouses. “I don’t know what to get him. Fucking bullshit birthdays.”
“You must have some idea what he wants.”
Brian looks doubtful. “I might know of one thing,” he hedges.
“Then get it for him.”
Brian presses his lips together. “No. No fucking way.”
“Brian--”
“No.”
“If it’s what he wants, whatever it is--”
“No.”
Lindsay sighs. Obstinate Brian was one of her least favourite of all the Brian incarnations. “Fine. Then let’s brainstorm while the mini-monster is sleeping and Justin is tucked away with his own toys.”
Her did used to call her The Fixer. She can’t help it.
*~*~*
The party is held at Debbie’s.
Brian had suggested Babylon, and been quickly overruled by Michael and Ben. Apparently the Babylon track record for private parties left something to be desired.
“Justin left you at the first one,” Michael had pointed out.
“And the second was attacked by a mad bomber,” Ben had added.
“A third one? I’m thinking full scale nuclear attack.” Michael had shuddered. “No fucking way.”
His last minute attempt to hire a banquet hall was stymied at every turn by the upcoming Shriners Convention. Brian cursed all men in funny hats.
Britin was out, at least if he wanted to keep the party a surprise. Between a paint-covered Justin in the studio, and a ravenously sketching Justin in the den, there was no way he’d be able to set up and get everyone inside without Justin hearing them.
He was stuck with Debbie.
And when Justin plasters on a very fake smile as everyone yells “Surprise!”, Brian knows that Daphne has ratted him out. He could have stuck a balloon on his balls -- ball, his mind insists on clarifying -- and they could have had their own private party at Britin.
Brian plans to stay in a rotten mood over this all night, except Justin starts having a good time. Which means that Brian did something right. Which means he can then take bragging rights for the whole thing. He figures as long as no one fucks a superhero or blows anything up, he’s set for at least a week of Justin on his knees.
He watches from across the room as Justin tears into his gifts like a kid on Christmas morning. He sips his Beam as Justin smiles at Lindsay, kisses Debbie’s cheek, laughs at something that Ted says. And when Justin catches his eye and smiles just for him, he feels his chest clench and his throat grow dry in a way that whiskey can never quench.
Michael sidles up to him. “Another successful party, chez Novotny,” Michael says, holding up his beer for a toast.
Brian raises his bottle, slides his gaze to Michael. “Did you get it?”
Michael looks sceptical. “Yeah, but… are you sure about this, Brian?”
Brian turns back to watch Justin. Smiling and laughing. One year older. One more year where he is fortunate enough to have Justin in his life.
“I’m sure,” Brian says.
*~*~*
Brian pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park. For a moment, they sit in silence, the slow tick of the dying engine the only sounds in the night.
“It was a great party,” Justin finally says.
Brian turns to look at the presents piled to overflowing in the back seat, and raises an eyebrow. “Looks like it.”
“It was nice of Debbie to let Lindsay and Gus spend the night.”
“Mmm.”
“I’m sorry Daphne told me.”
“I’ll beat her for it later,” Brian promises. He opens his door, gets out, stretches, and then inclines his head toward the back seat. “Let’s leave all this shit till morning.”
Justin gets out of the car, looking around dubiously. “Think it’ll be safe?”
“It’ll be fine.”
Brian tugs on Justin’s arm, and Justin lets Brian lead him as far as the porch before balking. “I don’t know. Someone can just slice right through that roof. You don’t even lock the doors!”
“That’s why I don’t lock the doors. If the doors are locked, someone can just slice right through the roof.” Brian feels like he’s explaining this to a four year old. To Gus.
“Yes, but--”
“Justin?”
“Huh?”
Brian slides his key in the lock. “The party’s not over yet.”
He pushes Justin inside…
… where Justin collides with something small, soft, and decidedly furry.
Justin stumbles for the light switch, but Brian’s hand reaches it just before he does.
“No fucking way,” Justin breathes out, dropping to his knees. Justin strips off his gloves and reaches out a hand, and the puppy -- clad in a bright pink bow, Brian sees, when he had clearly instructed Michael to get dark blue or green, something manly -- sticks out a long slobbery tongue. And licks him. Brian suppresses a shudder.
“He’s a German Shepherd,” Brian says gruffly. “A good guard dog. We need one around here.”
Justin grins up at him. “A guard dog. Right.”
“I was going to get you a Pomeranian--” Brian starts with a grin.
“Oh my god, don’t even go there. I was seriously considering poisoning Carmichael’s goddamn kibble. And my arm still hurts.”
“Well, I decided on something bigger. Size does matter.” Brian raises an eyebrow and waits for Justin’s snort. He’s not disappointed.
“He’ll need to be trained and all that shit.”
“Sure,” Justin says happily. Brian thinks that right now, Justin would likely agree to dance naked at the Republican National Convention if Brian asked him to.
Justin practically lays on the floor to scratch at the puppy’s ears, and the dog flops happily over onto his belly, almost sighing in contentment. Justin looks. Looks again. “Uh, Brian? He‘s a she.”
“What the fuck?” Brian stops in the act of taking off his gloves to bend over the animal. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Not so loud, you’ll scare her.”
“Fuck, now she’s a female with the vapours?”
Justin gets carefully to his feet. “I love her,” he says softly. “I love you.”
Brian looks at the ceiling, at the walls. “Yeah.”
“Why did you do it?”
And Brian meets his eyes then. “I told you once that I’d do anything,” he says. “I meant it.”
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Characters: Brian/Justin, Lindsay, Melanie, Michael
CD and Song: Journey's Greatest Hits, "Girl Can't Help It"
Rating: R
Authors Notes: Chapter Thirteen in the series
Gold and Silver Shines
By Severina
Chapter Thirteen:
Girl Can’t Help It
The children are tucked away in bed. Finally.
Lindsay pauses in the doorway of Jenny Rebecca’s room. The little girl has her thumb stuck resolutely in her mouth, and frankly Lindsay is too tired to bother popping it out and listening to the resulting screams from the child. It’s Mel who is so flipped out about future orthodontics bills, and it will have to be Mel who will deal with a very frustrated baby. And since Mel is still downstairs, lingering over coffee in the kitchen…
Lindsay sighs and shifts the laundry basket to her other hip.
She pads softly down the hallway to Gus’s room. Her son is curled on his side, his right arm wrapped tightly around his new favourite stuffed animal. Brian had spoiled him silly on his visit, but she had to admit that the fuzzy little lion cub had been an excellent choice of gift. It had barely left Gus’s side -- she even had a difficult time getting him to leave it at home when he went to school.
Lindsay shakes her head. Not that she often saw Gus off to school. Not that she had time for much of anything at all.
She steals quietly out of the room and down the stairs. Makes her way to the kitchen. And finds that she just doesn’t have the energy to tackle the second flight down to the basement. She clunks the laundry basket down on the floor instead and reaches for the coffee pot.
“There was another letter sent home from Gus’s teacher today,” Mel says, regarding Lindsay over the rim of her glasses.
“Not again,” Lindsay sighs. She feels like she’s slowly deflating, like a popped balloon. One more thing and whoosh, she’ll disappear altogether. “What is it this time?”
“The usual. Acting up in class, won’t share.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“I already did,” Mel says. And Lindsay can imagine the talk she gave. She knows her own parenting skills aren’t perfect, by any means. She’s learning as she goes. And maybe Mel is right -- maybe Gus is too young for logical reasoning. But she also knows that raising their voices gets them nowhere, fast.
“I’ll talk to him again.”
Mel nods and shrugs. Sips her coffee and starts sorting through the mail. Lindsay thinks the coffee must be ice cold by now. Lindsay thinks Mel should have had ample time to sort through the mail earlier in the day, instead of now, when there were dishes to be done and laundry to be put in the washer and they actually have more than ten seconds to be together.
Lindsay thinks a lot of things she doesn’t say out loud.
“Oh.” Mel looks up from the letter in her hand. “The TGLC is having a masquerade ball to benefit the new children’s centre.”
“We can’t afford it.”
Mel grimaces. “It’s forty dollars! We’ll dress up, get a sitter for the kids, have some fun.”
“We can’t afford it,” Lindsay repeats evenly.
“Listen, Linds--”
“No, Mel. We have a grand total of seventeen dollars in the chequing account. Spring is coming soon and Gus is going to need a new coat.”
“Well,” Mel shrugs. “Brian can--”
“I’m not asking Brian to clothe Gus. I can clothe Gus. I can feed him, and take care of him, and give him whatever he needs, but I can’t…”
“Can’t?”
Lindsay places her mug carefully down on the table. And finds that the things she thinks actually can be said aloud. “I can’t go on like this for much longer.”
And when Mel rises from the table, a look of concern on her face, and runs her hand soothingly up and down Lindsay’s back, Lindsay thinks she might cry.
“I can’t run a household of four people on thirty thousand dollars a year, Mel.” Lindsay blinks back the tears, hates what she‘s saying but knows she has to say it. “I can’t. I know that people do it. I know that people do it for much less. But I can’t.”
Mel sets her jaw. “You know I’m trying to find something--”
“I know.” Lindsay takes a breath, smoothes back her hair. “I know you are. But -- and I hate to admit this, Mel -- I think we made a mistake in coming here.”
“I’m doing my best,” Mel bites out as she re-takes her seat.
“And we’re still struggling. I’m working six days a week at the gallery and we’re barely making ends meet, not to mention that I’m making half the salary I was pulling in back home. Gus isn’t doing well in school. Both children miss their fathers.” She reaches across the table to take Mel’s hand in hers, and squeezes. “I wanted this to work out as much as you did.”
“Did you?”
“You know I did,” Lindsay says calmly. “And I wish Toronto had been everything we’d hoped it would be. But the sad reality is that our son still gets harassed at school for having two mommies. We still get catcalls if we walk down the wrong street hand in hand. We wanted Toronto to be our Utopia, but we’ve discovered that it’s no different than Pittsburgh.”
“It’s a hell of a lot better than Pittsburgh,” Melanie insists.
Lindsay shrugs. “Maybe so. But we’ve got friends there. And family. To support us, emotionally, when we need it the most.”
Mel pulls her hand away and leans back in her chair. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying…” Lindsay wraps her hands around her coffee mug. She takes in the tiny kitchen, with its scarred Formica countertops. The door to the basement that has to be held shut with a well-placed shoe. The curtains that brighten the windows, and that frame the large fenced backyard where Gus loves to run and jump and play. They hadn’t been in the house long, but they’d done their best to make it a place of love. She draws in a deep breath. “I guess I’m saying that I want to go home.”
“No,” Mel says shortly. “Linds, that’s not an option.”
“Everything is an option, Mel.”
“You know what I think? I think you just can’t stand being away from Brian.”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Lindsay huffs out. “Not everything is about Brian.”
“It is with you.”
“Will you give it a rest? This is about being able to write a cheque without worrying that it’s going to bounce all the way to the bank. This is about putting food on the table that doesn’t consist of spaghetti-o’s and Kraft Dinner. This is about not running myself ragged just trying to work and run this household. This is about surrounding my children with the love and encouragement of their family.”
“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” Mel says.
“Of course not,” Lindsay answers. “It’s something we need to discuss. But we do need to discuss it, and sooner rather than later.”
Mel shakes her head as she rises from the chair. “You know what? You’ve got a week of vacation coming.”
“I told Mr. Melrose I wouldn’t take that. It’s not his fault that he got sick and I had to pull double duty.”
“Take it. Take it, and you and Gus go back to the Pitts.”
Lindsay blinks. “I’m not breaking up our family.”
“Consider it a sabbatical,” Mel says coolly. “You can see what you’ve been missing. See if the Pitts is everything you remember it to be. Visit Babylon while you’re at it -- maybe you can find a place on the dance floor between the rutting men to say a prayer for Dusty.”
“Mel.” Lindsay’s voice is low and shocked.
“See you in a week,” Mel says over her shoulder as she leaves the room.
And Lindsay remembers why she doesn’t say certain things aloud. But sometimes, she just can’t help it. Sometimes, things need to be said.
*~*~*
There are certain things about himself that Brian knows to be true.
He knows advertising better than anyone in five states. He is always ready to fuck -- his mind flits briefly to post-surgery, but he blinks quickly and slides that memory back into the “never to be thought of again” file, and impotence again becomes a hazy and indistinct impossibility. And he is always, always unflappable.
So he doesn’t understand the weird fluttering in his chest, or the low grade panic nipping at his heels.
Brian Kinney doesn’t get flustered. Brian Kinney doesn’t get nervous.
Brian hopes that if he keeps repeating the mantra frequently enough, it’ll turn out to be the truth.
He flails out with a hand as Justin walks by, grabbing him around the waist and stopping him short. Justin skids on the floor, the plastic bag that he’s carrying flapping at his legs, and gives Brian a dirty look that Brian hardly notices. “Is everything ready in the bedroom?”
“For the last time, yes!” Justin attempts to wriggle free of Brian’s grip, so he merely tightens his hold.
“What about out back?”
“Yes! Jesus, Brian, why did you order a jungle gym anyway? It’s fucking March.”
Brian has to admit -- to himself, anyway -- that he really wasn’t thinking straight when he got the call from Lindsay asking if she and his son could come for a visit. He’d only known that the house was still unfinished and they’d be pressed for time to get everything ready. He wanted everything to be perfect for his son.
With limited time, he’d had no recourse. He’d snatched up a Toys R Us catalogue from Deb’s never-ending catalogue collection of Places To Shop That Are Part Of The Eighth Ring Of Hell, -- the Big Q catalogue was on the top of the pile -- and spent ten minutes of a frantic lunch hour circling anything and everything that could be remotely interesting to a four year old.
Then he’d put Cynthia to work placing the order. She’d taken one look in his eyes and had clearly bitten back the bilious comment she was going to make about the use of her time. She had managed to finagle a day off with pay for her hardship, though.
Brian loved working with Cynthia more and more each day.
And now Justin is looking at him like he has two heads. Brian shakes clear of the daydreams -- he’s been doing that a lot lately -- and loosens his hold on Justin’s waist. “Kids like jungle gyms,” he answers.
“Yeah,” Justin laughs. “In June.”
Brian feels the panic pinch at his chest again, so he shifts against Justin, rubs up against him, nips at his ear. Proves Great Truth #2: he is always ready to fuck. And when Justin’s eyes get hazy and dark and Justin’s hand slides to his ass and tugs him forward, Brian is reminded of exactly why they are so compatible.
“Mmm,” Justin murmurs against his neck, and the sound goes straight to his dick. “We can’t.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“No time?” Justin says. “Lindsay and Gus are due here in-- hey, aren’t you picking them up at the airport?”
Brian slides his fingers along the edge of Justin’s shirt, lifts it slowly, just enough to reveal a slice of Justin’s pale stomach. He runs his fingers along that soft creamy skin, making Justin squirm. “Lindsay wanted to rent a car,” he says against the shell of Justin’s ear. “She doesn’t want to be tied down to the house.”
“Oh.” Justin shifts again, a little more, pressing his hard cock into Brian’s thigh, letting his head fall back. Brian grins against his neck He loves him like this. Shameless. Abandoning himself to his lust.
“Wait,” Justin says.
Brian reluctantly raises his head from where he’s been tasting Justin’s neck. He knows his own eyes are dark now, heavy with need. Need that never seems to go away. “What the fuck?”
“I should put away the ice cream,” Justin says lamely.
“Fuck it.”
“Right.” Justin drops the bag.
*~*~*
“The house is beautiful,” Lindsay says for the second time in as many minutes. She pulls Justin into a hug and kisses his cheek, and pretends not to notice when he squinches up his nose and presses his lips into a thin line. “You’ve really made a difference here, Justin,” she tells him. “You’ve made it a home.”
“Thanks,” he says, and when he slips artfully out of her embrace the supple movement reminds her so much of Gus that she has to stop for a moment to remember that Justin is almost twenty two years old. A man. And yet… she can close her eyes and still see him on her living room sofa, hair rumpled from sleep, lost and scared and still defending Brian to his last breath. She remembers waiting for Justin to go up to the shower and then waking Brian and giving him an earful.
Justin was just a child then. Now --
“I’d love to stay and hang out with you guys, but I really need to get back to work,” Justin explains with a vague gesture toward the upper floor and the studio. His sun drenched rooms were not included on her little tour, but he’s promised her a sneak peek at some of his work before she goes back home. Back to Mel. Lindsay finds she can’t wait to see what he’s come up with.
“I understand,” she says.
“I’ll check on Gus,” he tells them. Gus, sleeping after a long delay at the airport and a fitful time at the car rental desk and a stop-and-start hassle in traffic that left her short tempered, never mind a four year in desperate need of a nap. Gus, sleeping in his own room at Daddy’s house, with his fuzzy little lion cub tucked in his arms.
In her wildest dreams, Lindsay never imagined anything like this for her son.
And when Justin walks up the stairs she opens her mouth, turns to Brian, and wants to say something -- something about what a fine young man Justin has become -- and the idea is just too strange. Too parent-like. So she closes her mouth and smiles and follows Brian into the sitting room, takes a seat on the plush sofa and curls her feet underneath her while he lights a fire in the hearth.
“So,” Brian turns to her when the flames have caught, and arches a brow. “Why are you really here?”
“I told you,” she says lightly, trying for innocence. “My boss gave me a weeks vacation, and I thought--”
“No,” Brian interrupts. “Really. What did Mel do now?”
“Mel didn’t do anything,” Lindsay insists.
“Uh huh.”
Lindsay fiddles with the chain around her neck, and sighs. She never could resist that look. “It’s more what Mel doesn’t do,” she admits.
“Like?”
“Get a steady job. Take care of Gus. Do the laundry.”
“Hmm.” Brian crosses the room to sit beside her. Sticks his tongue in his cheek. “My partner is self-employed. We have a maid.”
Lindsay laughs and slaps at his arm. “It’s not a contest!”
He grins and captures her hand in his, warm and soft. It’s one of the things she misses, Lindsay realizes. Contact. Contact with the people that she loves. The ability to reach out and touch them, feel the warmth of their skin.
“Did you talk to her?” Brian asks.
“We talked,” Lindsay says. She takes a deep breath, the scent of him surrounding her. Cigarettes and sex, that is what Brian always reminds her of. She misses that. And the sharp tang of Debbie’s mint gum. Ben’s aftershave. She misses all of it. “I told her I want to move back to Pittsburgh.”
For a long moment Brian doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. And she wonders if she should have just kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t right for her to speak out when they hadn’t made a decision yet. It wasn’t right to get his hopes up… about Gus.
“And… what did she say?” Brian finally says, his voice carefully modulated. Carefully empty of all emotion.
“She doesn’t agree.” Lindsay hates to admit it, hates not to be able to light up his eyes with good news. “But she’s willing to discuss it. She thinks I’m being hasty.”
Brian nods, leans across the table to his cigarettes. He waits until one is poised at his lips to ask, “Are you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s not like we expected it to be. And I can’t keep going the way I am. Paying all the bills on one salary is no joke.”
“I can help with the bills--”
“I know you can,” Lindsay says softly, resting her hand on his arm. “But I don’t want you to.” And she waits for Brian to nod slowly. He knows a little something about pride. “Anyway, this is our little break. And I really did want to bring Gus. He loves seeing you.”
She watches as Brian’s eyes go soft. “I love seeing him.”
She wants him to see Gus all the time. Watch him grow up. Watch him go on his first date and get married and father babies of his own. She wants Brian to see it all -- but she wisely keeps her mouth closed.
“And we’re just in time for Justin’s big birthday bash,” Lindsay enthuses into the silence. She plants a mock frown on her face. “Just tell me you didn’t get him a hustler.”
“Please,” Brian says. “The H word has been banished from all discussion around here.”
Lindsay giggles. “Well, what did you buy him? Spill!” And when Brian says nothing -- “Oh Brian.”
“It’s not like I don’t want to get him a fucking present,” Brian grouses. “I don’t know what to get him. Fucking bullshit birthdays.”
“You must have some idea what he wants.”
Brian looks doubtful. “I might know of one thing,” he hedges.
“Then get it for him.”
Brian presses his lips together. “No. No fucking way.”
“Brian--”
“No.”
“If it’s what he wants, whatever it is--”
“No.”
Lindsay sighs. Obstinate Brian was one of her least favourite of all the Brian incarnations. “Fine. Then let’s brainstorm while the mini-monster is sleeping and Justin is tucked away with his own toys.”
Her did used to call her The Fixer. She can’t help it.
*~*~*
The party is held at Debbie’s.
Brian had suggested Babylon, and been quickly overruled by Michael and Ben. Apparently the Babylon track record for private parties left something to be desired.
“Justin left you at the first one,” Michael had pointed out.
“And the second was attacked by a mad bomber,” Ben had added.
“A third one? I’m thinking full scale nuclear attack.” Michael had shuddered. “No fucking way.”
His last minute attempt to hire a banquet hall was stymied at every turn by the upcoming Shriners Convention. Brian cursed all men in funny hats.
Britin was out, at least if he wanted to keep the party a surprise. Between a paint-covered Justin in the studio, and a ravenously sketching Justin in the den, there was no way he’d be able to set up and get everyone inside without Justin hearing them.
He was stuck with Debbie.
And when Justin plasters on a very fake smile as everyone yells “Surprise!”, Brian knows that Daphne has ratted him out. He could have stuck a balloon on his balls -- ball, his mind insists on clarifying -- and they could have had their own private party at Britin.
Brian plans to stay in a rotten mood over this all night, except Justin starts having a good time. Which means that Brian did something right. Which means he can then take bragging rights for the whole thing. He figures as long as no one fucks a superhero or blows anything up, he’s set for at least a week of Justin on his knees.
He watches from across the room as Justin tears into his gifts like a kid on Christmas morning. He sips his Beam as Justin smiles at Lindsay, kisses Debbie’s cheek, laughs at something that Ted says. And when Justin catches his eye and smiles just for him, he feels his chest clench and his throat grow dry in a way that whiskey can never quench.
Michael sidles up to him. “Another successful party, chez Novotny,” Michael says, holding up his beer for a toast.
Brian raises his bottle, slides his gaze to Michael. “Did you get it?”
Michael looks sceptical. “Yeah, but… are you sure about this, Brian?”
Brian turns back to watch Justin. Smiling and laughing. One year older. One more year where he is fortunate enough to have Justin in his life.
“I’m sure,” Brian says.
*~*~*
Brian pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park. For a moment, they sit in silence, the slow tick of the dying engine the only sounds in the night.
“It was a great party,” Justin finally says.
Brian turns to look at the presents piled to overflowing in the back seat, and raises an eyebrow. “Looks like it.”
“It was nice of Debbie to let Lindsay and Gus spend the night.”
“Mmm.”
“I’m sorry Daphne told me.”
“I’ll beat her for it later,” Brian promises. He opens his door, gets out, stretches, and then inclines his head toward the back seat. “Let’s leave all this shit till morning.”
Justin gets out of the car, looking around dubiously. “Think it’ll be safe?”
“It’ll be fine.”
Brian tugs on Justin’s arm, and Justin lets Brian lead him as far as the porch before balking. “I don’t know. Someone can just slice right through that roof. You don’t even lock the doors!”
“That’s why I don’t lock the doors. If the doors are locked, someone can just slice right through the roof.” Brian feels like he’s explaining this to a four year old. To Gus.
“Yes, but--”
“Justin?”
“Huh?”
Brian slides his key in the lock. “The party’s not over yet.”
He pushes Justin inside…
… where Justin collides with something small, soft, and decidedly furry.
Justin stumbles for the light switch, but Brian’s hand reaches it just before he does.
“No fucking way,” Justin breathes out, dropping to his knees. Justin strips off his gloves and reaches out a hand, and the puppy -- clad in a bright pink bow, Brian sees, when he had clearly instructed Michael to get dark blue or green, something manly -- sticks out a long slobbery tongue. And licks him. Brian suppresses a shudder.
“He’s a German Shepherd,” Brian says gruffly. “A good guard dog. We need one around here.”
Justin grins up at him. “A guard dog. Right.”
“I was going to get you a Pomeranian--” Brian starts with a grin.
“Oh my god, don’t even go there. I was seriously considering poisoning Carmichael’s goddamn kibble. And my arm still hurts.”
“Well, I decided on something bigger. Size does matter.” Brian raises an eyebrow and waits for Justin’s snort. He’s not disappointed.
“He’ll need to be trained and all that shit.”
“Sure,” Justin says happily. Brian thinks that right now, Justin would likely agree to dance naked at the Republican National Convention if Brian asked him to.
Justin practically lays on the floor to scratch at the puppy’s ears, and the dog flops happily over onto his belly, almost sighing in contentment. Justin looks. Looks again. “Uh, Brian? He‘s a she.”
“What the fuck?” Brian stops in the act of taking off his gloves to bend over the animal. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Not so loud, you’ll scare her.”
“Fuck, now she’s a female with the vapours?”
Justin gets carefully to his feet. “I love her,” he says softly. “I love you.”
Brian looks at the ceiling, at the walls. “Yeah.”
“Why did you do it?”
And Brian meets his eyes then. “I told you once that I’d do anything,” he says. “I meant it.”