"253 Creekside Canyon" 16
A smoke on the sofa.
By Gaedhal
Los Angeles, December 2005
"That was incredible," said Ron. After fucking on the
desk, the chair, and the floor, they'd ended up on the
sofa. "But my office is a mess."
"Isn't that what cleaning ladies are for?" said Brian,
taking out a cigarette and lighting up.
"Brian, you can't smoke in here," Ron informed him.
"The whole studio has gone smoke-free."
Brian held up what he'd retrieved from his leather
jacket. "This isn't a regular cigarette."
"Oh," said Ron, noting the joint. "In that case, go ahead."
"It's some of that Hawaiian stuff I found in your dresser
drawer." Brian took a strong toke. "Not bad." He handed
the joint to Ron.
"It should be pretty damn good. Jimmy brought it back
from his last trip to Maui." Ron took a puff. "Mellow."
Brian shrugged. "I like something a little dirtier.
Something with more of a kick. But this'll do for now."
"Since when do you go through my drawers, Brian?"
Ron asked. "What were you looking for?"
"I'm a nosy fucker," Brian stated, taking back the joint.
"I figured it was easier to lift some of your stash than
to go searching for an ounce of chronic in a part of town
I wasn't too familiar with. That can get dicey, as we
both know."
"Good call," said Ron. He smiled and closed his eyes. A
day that had started out pretty lousy had ended up
wonderful. Exactly the best way to kick off his
Christmas vacation.
As Ron lazily ran his fingers through Brian's hair,
he realized something. "You got your hair cut!"
"Yeah," said Brian. "This morning. After you left I
got up and took a shower. I was looking at myself in the
mirror and decided that my hair was fucking gruesome.
I'd had that same floppy style -- if you could call it that
-- for over a year and I was sick to death of it. It made
me look old and tired."
"I didn't mind it," Ron declared. "Really."
Brian barked out a laugh. "I bet if I walked in here with
my head shaved, you'd say it was fucking hot!" Then Brian
stopped smiling. "You tell people a lot of things that aren't
true to make them happy. When you... love them."
"I know," Ron said softly. "But I do like this cut. Where
did you get it done?"
"I drove into West Hollywood and walked around, checking
out all the salons," said Brian. "I found one that looked
halfway decent, went in, and asked if they could take me.
The place looked busy, but, amazingly, they found a guy
to cut my hair right away."
Now it was Ron's turn to laugh. "In West Hollywood when
a really hot guy walks in, they always find time for him!"
Brian touched the top of his head and smoothed down
the unruly hair. "I used to have my hair like this a
few years ago. The 'just fucked' look. That's what I
wanted again."
"A self-fulfilling prophecy?" Ron asked, looking
around at the wreckage of his office.
"Well, I was planning this little surprise for you,"
Brian admitted. "So I wanted to look as hot as possible."
He bit at his lower lip. "The way I used to look."
"Brian, there's never been a day in your life when
you haven't been totally hot!" Ron exclaimed.
"Maybe," Brian replied, thinking about how he'd
looked and felt when he'd been under radiation.
"Maybe not."
"You were hot when you were a teenager, you're hot
now, and you'll be the hottest guy at the Retirement
Home!" Ron insisted. "Give me that dope!" He took
the joint from Brian and sucked in the sweet smoke.
"Like one of those old queens in Palm Springs,
wearing a muumuu and tooling around in a golf cart?"
Brian curled his lip in distaste. "Not if I can help it!"
"Listen," said Ron. "I'll make a deal with you. When
we both think we're too old to attract the hot young
studs, we'll meet in Palm Springs or Hawaii or wherever
you want to settle down and set up housekeeping together.
I'll wear the muumuu and you can ride the golf cart."
"Christ!" Brian almost choked. "What a hideous prospect!
Besides, I already promised Mikey I'd settle down with
him when we were old and grey."
"But he's got Ben," Ron reminded Brian.
"That's right," Brian nodded. "He's got the Professor
now. I'd tell you it was a deal, but I'm still not
planning to be around for that bleak day."
Ron's felt a flutter of fear go through him. He hated
this fatalistic streak in Brian. Hated the thought that
it might one day overtake him in a moment of deep
depression. And Ron would do anything to avert that
possibility.
"But we could still have some great sex then, Brian,"
Ron predicted. "If no one else wants us, then we could
bareback. No condoms! That's something to look forward
to."
Brian blew out another puff of smoke from Jimmy
Hardy's Maui Wowie. "Too late," he said. "We've
already done it."
Ron frowned. "Done what?"
"Barebacked," said Brian. "Had sex without a condom."
Ron sat up on the sofa and looked down at Brian, lying
in his arms. "When? What the fuck are you talking
about?"
"In New York. In your apartment," Brian related. "It
was a Sunday. You went to your mother's for dinner.
It was snowing pretty good. You said you'd be back in
a couple hours and bring something to eat. But you
didn't come back until late. And you didn't bring any
food. You were pissed about something -- I don't know
about what. And that's when you held me down and
fucked me without the condom."
Ron pushed Brian off of him and stood up. "I never
did that! You must be thinking of something else!"
"No," said Brian, watching Ron carefully. "I remember
it clearly."
"I... I don't remember that!" Ron asserted. He began
pacing back and forth. "Are you certain? Why don't I
remember that?"
"Jesus! It's nothing to get so fucking upset about,"
Brian said. "It was almost 18 years ago, Ron! It's not
like I'm mad about it. I wasn't even mad about it then.
It just happened. Shit! I should have kept my big
fucking mouth shut!"
"No, I'm glad you said it." Ron stopped pacing and
looked around for his clothes. He found his pants and
shirt tangled around Brian jeans under the desk. "I
was an asshole back then. A confused, angry, stupid,
fucking asshole! That's probably why you ran away."
Brian got off the sofa and crossed the room. He grabbed
Ron by the arm and pulled him around. "That's not why
I ran away from the apartment in New York and you
fucking well know it! I left because of the drugs. That's
the only reason. I went back to the Pitts. I went into
rehab. I got on with my fucking life. That's the simple
story."
"Not so simple, Brian," Ron countered. "Not simple
at all."
Brian shrugged and let go of Ron's arm. "It's easier to
simplify everything. It's less complicated. Less painful."
"Life doesn't have to be painful, Brian," said Ron.
"Feeling things, loving someone -- it doesn't have to
hurt. You don't have to be afraid of it."
Brian picked his jeans off the floor and put them on.
"You wouldn't say that if you'd lived my fucking life."
"I've been hurt, too," Ron replied. "But I haven't given
up. And I'm a lot older than you!"
"Thanks for reminding me, old man," Brian grinned.
"It's nice to be able to say that, instead of hear it."
"I may be older, but I bet I can take you down, Baby!"
Ron boasted.
"I thought you just did?" Brian raised an eyebrow.
"On that sofa!"
"I mean I'd like to take you to my kickboxing gym."
Ron looked around for his tie and found it hanging from
his desk lamp. "Have you ever done anything like that?"
"Not really." Brian pulled on his tee shirt. "But I'd
give it a try."
Ron hesitated. He'd been wanting to ask Brian how long
he was planning to stay, but he always stopped himself.
He didn't want to push Brian. Didn't want him to feel any
pressure. "Maybe next week? After Christmas? I'll call
my trainer."
"Yeah," said Brian. "I'd like to give it a try. Kickboxing.
Sounds butch."
Ron laughed in delight. That meant Brian was definitely
staying another week. "It is. You'll feel just like 'Billy
Jack'!"
Brian snorted. "'Billy Jack'? Christ! You and your old
movies!" Brian put on his boots. "Hey, I think you owe
me dinner. Or should I put today's session on your tab?"
"I'm afraid I've run up quite a large bill recently," Ron
sighed. "But dinner sounds good."
There was a timid knock on the door. "Mr. Rosenblum?"
It was Ivy, Ron's assistant. "Is everything all right?
I... I heard some noise. And you've been in there for
almost two hours!"
Ron opened the door. Ivy was on the other side, her eyes
wide. She glanced beyond Ron at Brian, standing in the
middle of the office, smirking.
"Everything's fine, Ivy," Ron said with satisfaction.
"Better than fine." Then he smiled. "Perfect."
By Gaedhal
Los Angeles, December 2005
"That was incredible," said Ron. After fucking on the
desk, the chair, and the floor, they'd ended up on the
sofa. "But my office is a mess."
"Isn't that what cleaning ladies are for?" said Brian,
taking out a cigarette and lighting up.
"Brian, you can't smoke in here," Ron informed him.
"The whole studio has gone smoke-free."
Brian held up what he'd retrieved from his leather
jacket. "This isn't a regular cigarette."
"Oh," said Ron, noting the joint. "In that case, go ahead."
"It's some of that Hawaiian stuff I found in your dresser
drawer." Brian took a strong toke. "Not bad." He handed
the joint to Ron.
"It should be pretty damn good. Jimmy brought it back
from his last trip to Maui." Ron took a puff. "Mellow."
Brian shrugged. "I like something a little dirtier.
Something with more of a kick. But this'll do for now."
"Since when do you go through my drawers, Brian?"
Ron asked. "What were you looking for?"
"I'm a nosy fucker," Brian stated, taking back the joint.
"I figured it was easier to lift some of your stash than
to go searching for an ounce of chronic in a part of town
I wasn't too familiar with. That can get dicey, as we
both know."
"Good call," said Ron. He smiled and closed his eyes. A
day that had started out pretty lousy had ended up
wonderful. Exactly the best way to kick off his
Christmas vacation.
As Ron lazily ran his fingers through Brian's hair,
he realized something. "You got your hair cut!"
"Yeah," said Brian. "This morning. After you left I
got up and took a shower. I was looking at myself in the
mirror and decided that my hair was fucking gruesome.
I'd had that same floppy style -- if you could call it that
-- for over a year and I was sick to death of it. It made
me look old and tired."
"I didn't mind it," Ron declared. "Really."
Brian barked out a laugh. "I bet if I walked in here with
my head shaved, you'd say it was fucking hot!" Then Brian
stopped smiling. "You tell people a lot of things that aren't
true to make them happy. When you... love them."
"I know," Ron said softly. "But I do like this cut. Where
did you get it done?"
"I drove into West Hollywood and walked around, checking
out all the salons," said Brian. "I found one that looked
halfway decent, went in, and asked if they could take me.
The place looked busy, but, amazingly, they found a guy
to cut my hair right away."
Now it was Ron's turn to laugh. "In West Hollywood when
a really hot guy walks in, they always find time for him!"
Brian touched the top of his head and smoothed down
the unruly hair. "I used to have my hair like this a
few years ago. The 'just fucked' look. That's what I
wanted again."
"A self-fulfilling prophecy?" Ron asked, looking
around at the wreckage of his office.
"Well, I was planning this little surprise for you,"
Brian admitted. "So I wanted to look as hot as possible."
He bit at his lower lip. "The way I used to look."
"Brian, there's never been a day in your life when
you haven't been totally hot!" Ron exclaimed.
"Maybe," Brian replied, thinking about how he'd
looked and felt when he'd been under radiation.
"Maybe not."
"You were hot when you were a teenager, you're hot
now, and you'll be the hottest guy at the Retirement
Home!" Ron insisted. "Give me that dope!" He took
the joint from Brian and sucked in the sweet smoke.
"Like one of those old queens in Palm Springs,
wearing a muumuu and tooling around in a golf cart?"
Brian curled his lip in distaste. "Not if I can help it!"
"Listen," said Ron. "I'll make a deal with you. When
we both think we're too old to attract the hot young
studs, we'll meet in Palm Springs or Hawaii or wherever
you want to settle down and set up housekeeping together.
I'll wear the muumuu and you can ride the golf cart."
"Christ!" Brian almost choked. "What a hideous prospect!
Besides, I already promised Mikey I'd settle down with
him when we were old and grey."
"But he's got Ben," Ron reminded Brian.
"That's right," Brian nodded. "He's got the Professor
now. I'd tell you it was a deal, but I'm still not
planning to be around for that bleak day."
Ron's felt a flutter of fear go through him. He hated
this fatalistic streak in Brian. Hated the thought that
it might one day overtake him in a moment of deep
depression. And Ron would do anything to avert that
possibility.
"But we could still have some great sex then, Brian,"
Ron predicted. "If no one else wants us, then we could
bareback. No condoms! That's something to look forward
to."
Brian blew out another puff of smoke from Jimmy
Hardy's Maui Wowie. "Too late," he said. "We've
already done it."
Ron frowned. "Done what?"
"Barebacked," said Brian. "Had sex without a condom."
Ron sat up on the sofa and looked down at Brian, lying
in his arms. "When? What the fuck are you talking
about?"
"In New York. In your apartment," Brian related. "It
was a Sunday. You went to your mother's for dinner.
It was snowing pretty good. You said you'd be back in
a couple hours and bring something to eat. But you
didn't come back until late. And you didn't bring any
food. You were pissed about something -- I don't know
about what. And that's when you held me down and
fucked me without the condom."
Ron pushed Brian off of him and stood up. "I never
did that! You must be thinking of something else!"
"No," said Brian, watching Ron carefully. "I remember
it clearly."
"I... I don't remember that!" Ron asserted. He began
pacing back and forth. "Are you certain? Why don't I
remember that?"
"Jesus! It's nothing to get so fucking upset about,"
Brian said. "It was almost 18 years ago, Ron! It's not
like I'm mad about it. I wasn't even mad about it then.
It just happened. Shit! I should have kept my big
fucking mouth shut!"
"No, I'm glad you said it." Ron stopped pacing and
looked around for his clothes. He found his pants and
shirt tangled around Brian jeans under the desk. "I
was an asshole back then. A confused, angry, stupid,
fucking asshole! That's probably why you ran away."
Brian got off the sofa and crossed the room. He grabbed
Ron by the arm and pulled him around. "That's not why
I ran away from the apartment in New York and you
fucking well know it! I left because of the drugs. That's
the only reason. I went back to the Pitts. I went into
rehab. I got on with my fucking life. That's the simple
story."
"Not so simple, Brian," Ron countered. "Not simple
at all."
Brian shrugged and let go of Ron's arm. "It's easier to
simplify everything. It's less complicated. Less painful."
"Life doesn't have to be painful, Brian," said Ron.
"Feeling things, loving someone -- it doesn't have to
hurt. You don't have to be afraid of it."
Brian picked his jeans off the floor and put them on.
"You wouldn't say that if you'd lived my fucking life."
"I've been hurt, too," Ron replied. "But I haven't given
up. And I'm a lot older than you!"
"Thanks for reminding me, old man," Brian grinned.
"It's nice to be able to say that, instead of hear it."
"I may be older, but I bet I can take you down, Baby!"
Ron boasted.
"I thought you just did?" Brian raised an eyebrow.
"On that sofa!"
"I mean I'd like to take you to my kickboxing gym."
Ron looked around for his tie and found it hanging from
his desk lamp. "Have you ever done anything like that?"
"Not really." Brian pulled on his tee shirt. "But I'd
give it a try."
Ron hesitated. He'd been wanting to ask Brian how long
he was planning to stay, but he always stopped himself.
He didn't want to push Brian. Didn't want him to feel any
pressure. "Maybe next week? After Christmas? I'll call
my trainer."
"Yeah," said Brian. "I'd like to give it a try. Kickboxing.
Sounds butch."
Ron laughed in delight. That meant Brian was definitely
staying another week. "It is. You'll feel just like 'Billy
Jack'!"
Brian snorted. "'Billy Jack'? Christ! You and your old
movies!" Brian put on his boots. "Hey, I think you owe
me dinner. Or should I put today's session on your tab?"
"I'm afraid I've run up quite a large bill recently," Ron
sighed. "But dinner sounds good."
There was a timid knock on the door. "Mr. Rosenblum?"
It was Ivy, Ron's assistant. "Is everything all right?
I... I heard some noise. And you've been in there for
almost two hours!"
Ron opened the door. Ivy was on the other side, her eyes
wide. She glanced beyond Ron at Brian, standing in the
middle of the office, smirking.
"Everything's fine, Ivy," Ron said with satisfaction.
"Better than fine." Then he smiled. "Perfect."