"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 64 "What's Love Got To Do With It?"
Another chapter so soon? Yes.
This doesn't come with a specific warning; however,
some of you might want to steel yourselves. Yes,
you know what I mean.
And Justin knows what to do to manage...
This is Chapter 64 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Emmett Honeycutt, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin protects himself. Pittsburgh, October 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 61 "I Will Not Be Broken"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/412847.html
Ch. 62 "Lush Life"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/413004.html
Ch. 63 "Instant"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/414429.html
By Gaedhal
"Oh, what's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a second-hand emotion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
***
"Hi hi! What's up, hon?"
Swell.
Can't a guy have a quiet goddamn drink anymore? Alone? By himself? Without interruption? I guess not. Not when your fucking life is an open book and everybody and his brother thinks he can comment on it.
"Nothing, Em. Just having a drink."
"Mind if I join you, baby?"
Yes, I mind. Can't you see I'm fucking thinking? Thinking while drinking. Almost drunk, but not there yet. And I'll never get there if I keep getting interrupted!
And I'm not your fucking baby! I'm not anyone's fucking baby! Christ!
"I guess not."
It's no use saying no. Emmett is like a fucking rash -- you can't get rid of him.
"What are you having, honey?"
"Jim Beam." I hold up my hand and wave at the bartender. "Hey! Matt! Another shot over here!"
"I thought margaritas were your drink, honey," Emmett says. "How many of those have you had? Do you really want another one?"
"It's none of your fucking business how many I've had," I tell him before turning to the bartender. "Make that two shots, Matt."
And I bolt them down. One. Two. I feel them hit like a baseball bat to the head. Damn. I'm flying now.
"Why don't you come over to a table and sit with me?" Emmett suggests. "We can chat a while. Then I'm meeting Morgan over at Babylon. You want to come?"
Just what I need -- hanging out at Babylon with Emmett and his limey boyfriend. Like I have nothing better to do with my fucking life!
I haven't been to Babylon in ages. Ethan doesn't like Babylon -- he can't dance to save his life. Funny that he's a musician and has no rhythm at all. Watching him try to dance is like watching a straight guy try to dance. Fucking tragic, but entertaining.
I promised E. that I'd go over there tonight, but I just can't do it. I can't stand sleeping in his grungy bed covered with cum and cat hair. Plus, I'd have to take my allergy pills and I don't think they mix well with Jim Beam. Ha!
"What's so funny, baby?"
"Nothing, Em. Nothing at all." And don't call me baby!
"Are you going to the Halloween Party on Friday night? Morgan and I are dressing as David Beckham and Posh Spice! You should see my dress -- it's divine! Wait until you see Morgan in his little soccer shorts. He has the best legs! So hairy! Yum!"
Halloween party. Great. No fucking way. I can picture me and Ethan at Babylon dressed up as... I don't know what. A Musical Genius and his so-called Muse? A Wannabe Artist and his Fuck Buddy? That might be amusing. But Ethan would never do it. Not unless he pulled that stick out of his ass. And I'm not about to dress up as something stupid and go by myself. Forget it!
"Sounds fun, Em. But I'm not going."
"Why not, baby?"
Emmett is a pain in the ass. "Listen, Em, no offense, but would you just fuck off?" And stop calling me baby!
Em winces. "Is everything okay?"
I roll my eyes. "Can't a guy have a drink around here without being psychoanalyzed? Christ!"
"I know that you and Brian..." He stops, like he's not sure what to say next.
This steams me. Why the fuck is this everyone's business? "You don't know anything about Brian and you don't know anything about me, Em. Brian and I have an understanding. You know that. What we do is what we do. And everyone else can go screw themselves!"
"Sorry I bothered you, honey." Emmett gets off the stool. "You know you can call me if you ever want to talk, don't you?"
"Sure!" I scoff. "Like I'm going to confide in the biggest fucking blabbermouth on Liberty Avenue!"
Emmett stares at me like he's been smacked in the face and I realize I said that aloud. I didn't mean to say it aloud! I really didn't! Fuck, I guess I'm really drunk.
"I think I'll go now," he says.
"Em -- I'm so sorry... I..."
But he's gone.
What a jerk I am. What a stupid jerk!
Emmett is only like everyone else in the known world. He's heard the reports. Seen the pictures. Read 'The National Enquirer.' Looked at the gossip sites online.
"Brian Kinney Steps Out with New Co-Star."
"Brian Kinney and Vaughn Powell seen sharing caviar at Petrossian. The cozy duo is starring in a new flick helmed by close Kinney pal, Dorian Folco."
"Kinney Takes a Poke at Paparazzi! Openly gay star Brian Kinney took a swing at photographers attempting to snap him and new squeeze Vaughn Powell coming out of Splash, a gay club in Manhattan, on Monday night. Kinney appeared angry when confronted by the paparazzi and reached for a photog's camera, leading to a brief struggle. Powell, Kinney's co-star in the new Dorian Folco project, 'Red Shirt,' has been seen around town with the star at a number of venues, leading to speculation that the award-winning actor's relationship with artist Justin Taylor is on the rocks. Kinney's love-life has been as high-profile as his film career, landing him and lover Taylor on the cover of numerous national magazines when they were snapped having sex on a boat last year. Kinney also had a well-publicized relationship with the late director, Ron Rosenblum, who discovered and starred him in the multiple Oscar-winning production 'The Olympian.' Kinney's representatives had no comment on the incident."
"Auntie has seen it all, kiddies, and I do mean ALL! A certain dreamy star and his new boytoy -- and he does like the boytoys, doesn't he, children? -- were cavorting in the lower depths the other night -- one of those clubs where you don't need a tie, or pants, if you know what I mean! -- and they certainly put on a show. Dear me! What a sight! Either of them could have a new career in porn if the legit movie thing doesn't work out. Hubba hubba, but Mr. Star certainly has the goods and he was delivering them to his new co-star like a pro, kiddies. The denizens of the dive were tres impressed. I hope their new film is this delicious! So says Auntie Roo!"
See, Em? I've read all that shit, too. I'm not stupid, after all.
Well, maybe I am stupid, but...
Forget it! Just fucking forget it!
I leave Woody's. It's getting chilly at night. Winter is in the air, even though it's only October. The cold air hits me like a hammer. I'm too drunk to drive. The last thing I need is to get arrested for DUI. I could go over to the diner and drink some coffee, but Deb is working -- I saw her in there earlier when I was on my way to Woody's. I should have said yes to Emmett. Dancing off alcohol at Babylon always worked for me in the past, but it's been a long time...
I head for Babylon.
The place is packed. Guys are revving up for Halloween, a.k.a. Gay Christmas. It's been a couple of years since I've been here on Halloween. The last time was right before Brian bugged out to Los Angeles with Ron. I was dressed as an angel and Brian was dressed as... Brian. He never dresses up for Halloween. He always says that being "Brian Kinney" is enough of a disguise.
Amen to that.
But I still need a mask. I'm not brave enough to be myself all the time. Not yet.
Not yet.
Goddamn it.
It's so goddamn frustrating sometimes. Or all the time.
Emmett sees me. He's at the bar with Morgan, his new boyfriend. That won't last. Em's relationships never last. No relationships really last. My parents' marriage didn't last. Michael and Dr. Dave. Michael and Ben the first time. Now they're together again, but it won't last. Things fuck up the same way all the time. You think things are fixed, but they never are. People think they've changed or you think they've changed, but it's never true. People are what they are. You have to accept that. Accept it and deal with it -- or else move on.
Or else take what you can get, when you can get it, and be happy with that.
Live for the moment. That's the only way.
"Honey! Justin!" Emmett waves at me. He wants me to join them. But I didn't come here to chitchat or listen to Em's words of fucking wisdom. He knows a lot about men, but when it comes to relationships -- well, he's the last person I'd listen to.
I didn't mean to say that about him being a blabbermouth, but it's true. Telegraph, telephone, tell a queen -- that old joke. It's mean and probably homophobic, but in Emmett's case it's reality.
I bump into a guy. I'm still drunk.
"Oops. Sorry."
"No problem. Wanna dance?"
"Sure."
And so we dance.
It's Eighties Night. Or Nineties Night. Or something like that. A bunch of songs I either vaguely remember or mainly know from coming to Babylon. Phil Collins. Duran Duran. Wham. Tina Turner. Yeah, she's pretty good.
"You must understand
That the touch of your hand
Makes my pulse react.
That it's only the thrill
Of boy meeting girl:
Opposites attract.
It's physical,
Only logical,
You must try to ignore
That it means more than that:
Oh, what's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a second hand emotion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
"I like this song," says the guy I'm dancing with. He's kind of cute, about my age, blond, a tribal tattoo ringed around his upper arm. I like it. I should get another tattoo -- one I don't have to take my pants off for people to see.
"It's okay," I reply.
"What's your name?" he asks.
"I don't do names," I tell him.
"Oh." He grins. "One of those guys."
Yeah. I'm one of those guys.
"It may seem to you
That I'm acting confused
When you're close to me.
If I tend to look dazed
I've read it someplace
I've got cause to be.
There's a name for it,
There's a phrase that fits,
But whatever the reason
You do it for me:
Oh, what's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a second hand emotion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
I'm still a little drunk, which means I'm also horny. Drunk and horny -- those always seem to go together.
"Want to go in the backroom?" I ask.
He gives me a funny look. "You don't want to tell me your name, but you wanna fuck?"
"Sure. You up for it?"
He's thinking about it. But, to my surprise, he shakes his head. "Maybe I'll catch you later. When you decide to tell me your name. Mine's Kirk, by the way. Not that you give a shit."
"You're right," I say. "I don't give a shit."
And he walks away.
But I don't care. There are plenty of guys here. Plenty.
"I've been taking on a new direction,
But I have to say
I've been thinking about my own protection,
It scares me to feel this way.
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a sweet old fashioned notion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
The song ends and I head for the bar. I need another drink. I haven't had one here yet. Maybe a beer. Or a margarita.
I order another shot of Jim Beam. An older guy standing next to me pays for it. I smile at him. That's all it takes. A smile. I get what I want. Easy.
You know what? It felt good to be a dick to that guy on the dance floor. It felt empowering. Now I know how Brian feels. You can be a total jerk, but you can still get laid. Look at the way I chased Brian all over the fucking city when he was rotten to me. And this guy at the bar would buy me drinks all night and I could still blow him off. But he won't mind because I'm blond and have a great ass. And I don't need to tell him my name. I don't need to tell anyone my name.
Oh, crap. They probably already know my name. The Famous Justin Taylor. The Infamous Justin Taylor. Brian Kinney's twink, whose bubble butt is immortalized on a hundred websites.
No, make that a thousand. Why sell myself short?
But I don't give a shit!
"What?" says the older guy. "What was that?"
Shit. I must have said that out loud. I didn't mean to say that out loud.
"Nothing."
"What's your name?" he asks.
"I don't do names," I say -- and walk away.
"Honey." It's Emmett again. "Morgan and I are leaving. Would you like us to drive you home?"
"Fuck off, Em. I'm not ready to leave yet."
"Justin, listen to me," says Emmett, taking hold of my arm. "Let us take you home."
"I said for you to fuck off. And I meant it!" I jerk my arm away. "I'm not a child and I don't need you to treat me like one!"
I bolt off onto the dance floor. I'm not really dancing with anyone. I'm just dancing. I shut my eyes and let myself feel dizzy. I need something more right now. A bump. Or some E -- Ha! Not the E. that's waiting for me at his crummy apartment, but the good kind of E.
"A, B, C, D, E! E! E!" I sing.
"Here." Someone puts a tablet into my hand.
I immediately stick it in my mouth. "Thanks."
I open my eyes.
"Dylan." I blink. "What are you doing here?"
"Same as you," he says. "Blowing off steam." He moves a little closer. "Where's Ethan?"
"How the fuck should I know?" I shrug. "Probably in his rat hole, playing his violin while the cat yowls."
Dylan laughs. "You're still funny as hell, Justin."
"I'm a scream," I reply. I feel the E moving through my system. It makes me feel warm and happy. The lights look beautiful. The music sounds beautiful. And Dylan is beautiful. "Hey, aren't you mad at me for getting you into trouble last spring?"
"I guess not," he says. "I fucked up a lot. It was my own fault. Although I could have done without Brian Kinney coming after me. He scared the crap out of me."
"He's not so scary," I say. "Not if you know how to handle him."
Dylan smirks. "And you know how to handle him?"
"Of course." Dylan is really near me right now. The music is filling my head, my body. "Hey -- are you horny?"
Dylan acts surprised. "Duh! I'm always horny. Why do you want to know?"
"Because I want to get fucked," I tell him. "I need a really big cock up my ass tonight and poor old Ethan doesn't make the grade. But you've got a big one, Dylan. Not as big as Brian's, but you can't have everything." Or anything, sometimes.
"You're stoned," he says.
"You're right. Does that matter?"
He hesitates. "I don't want to start that up again, Justin."
"Neither do I. I don't do fucking relationships anymore. But that doesn't mean I don't like to fuck. So, are you up for it or should I find someone else? Because there are plenty of guys here who would fuck me in a heartbeat."
"I know that." He leans in and kisses me. "Where do you want to go?"
"The backroom," I say. "I feel like putting on a show. Can you handle that?"
"Yeah," says Dylan. "I can handle it."
"You got condoms? Because I don't need the clap right now."
"Yeah, I've got condoms," says Dylan. "But I'm clean. I won't make that stupid mistake again."
"Good. Let's go."
I slip my hand down the front of Dylan's jeans. He's hard. And I'm hard. Two guys, two hard dicks. And an asshole that needs to be filled up. What more do you need?
Nothing more.
Nothing more at all.
The world is beautiful.
***
"What's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a sweet old fashioned notion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
(Britten/Lyle)
This doesn't come with a specific warning; however,
some of you might want to steel yourselves. Yes,
you know what I mean.
And Justin knows what to do to manage...
This is Chapter 64 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Emmett Honeycutt, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin protects himself. Pittsburgh, October 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 61 "I Will Not Be Broken"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/412847.html
Ch. 62 "Lush Life"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/413004.html
Ch. 63 "Instant"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/414429.html
By Gaedhal
"Oh, what's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a second-hand emotion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
***
"Hi hi! What's up, hon?"
Swell.
Can't a guy have a quiet goddamn drink anymore? Alone? By himself? Without interruption? I guess not. Not when your fucking life is an open book and everybody and his brother thinks he can comment on it.
"Nothing, Em. Just having a drink."
"Mind if I join you, baby?"
Yes, I mind. Can't you see I'm fucking thinking? Thinking while drinking. Almost drunk, but not there yet. And I'll never get there if I keep getting interrupted!
And I'm not your fucking baby! I'm not anyone's fucking baby! Christ!
"I guess not."
It's no use saying no. Emmett is like a fucking rash -- you can't get rid of him.
"What are you having, honey?"
"Jim Beam." I hold up my hand and wave at the bartender. "Hey! Matt! Another shot over here!"
"I thought margaritas were your drink, honey," Emmett says. "How many of those have you had? Do you really want another one?"
"It's none of your fucking business how many I've had," I tell him before turning to the bartender. "Make that two shots, Matt."
And I bolt them down. One. Two. I feel them hit like a baseball bat to the head. Damn. I'm flying now.
"Why don't you come over to a table and sit with me?" Emmett suggests. "We can chat a while. Then I'm meeting Morgan over at Babylon. You want to come?"
Just what I need -- hanging out at Babylon with Emmett and his limey boyfriend. Like I have nothing better to do with my fucking life!
I haven't been to Babylon in ages. Ethan doesn't like Babylon -- he can't dance to save his life. Funny that he's a musician and has no rhythm at all. Watching him try to dance is like watching a straight guy try to dance. Fucking tragic, but entertaining.
I promised E. that I'd go over there tonight, but I just can't do it. I can't stand sleeping in his grungy bed covered with cum and cat hair. Plus, I'd have to take my allergy pills and I don't think they mix well with Jim Beam. Ha!
"What's so funny, baby?"
"Nothing, Em. Nothing at all." And don't call me baby!
"Are you going to the Halloween Party on Friday night? Morgan and I are dressing as David Beckham and Posh Spice! You should see my dress -- it's divine! Wait until you see Morgan in his little soccer shorts. He has the best legs! So hairy! Yum!"
Halloween party. Great. No fucking way. I can picture me and Ethan at Babylon dressed up as... I don't know what. A Musical Genius and his so-called Muse? A Wannabe Artist and his Fuck Buddy? That might be amusing. But Ethan would never do it. Not unless he pulled that stick out of his ass. And I'm not about to dress up as something stupid and go by myself. Forget it!
"Sounds fun, Em. But I'm not going."
"Why not, baby?"
Emmett is a pain in the ass. "Listen, Em, no offense, but would you just fuck off?" And stop calling me baby!
Em winces. "Is everything okay?"
I roll my eyes. "Can't a guy have a drink around here without being psychoanalyzed? Christ!"
"I know that you and Brian..." He stops, like he's not sure what to say next.
This steams me. Why the fuck is this everyone's business? "You don't know anything about Brian and you don't know anything about me, Em. Brian and I have an understanding. You know that. What we do is what we do. And everyone else can go screw themselves!"
"Sorry I bothered you, honey." Emmett gets off the stool. "You know you can call me if you ever want to talk, don't you?"
"Sure!" I scoff. "Like I'm going to confide in the biggest fucking blabbermouth on Liberty Avenue!"
Emmett stares at me like he's been smacked in the face and I realize I said that aloud. I didn't mean to say it aloud! I really didn't! Fuck, I guess I'm really drunk.
"I think I'll go now," he says.
"Em -- I'm so sorry... I..."
But he's gone.
What a jerk I am. What a stupid jerk!
Emmett is only like everyone else in the known world. He's heard the reports. Seen the pictures. Read 'The National Enquirer.' Looked at the gossip sites online.
"Brian Kinney Steps Out with New Co-Star."
"Brian Kinney and Vaughn Powell seen sharing caviar at Petrossian. The cozy duo is starring in a new flick helmed by close Kinney pal, Dorian Folco."
"Kinney Takes a Poke at Paparazzi! Openly gay star Brian Kinney took a swing at photographers attempting to snap him and new squeeze Vaughn Powell coming out of Splash, a gay club in Manhattan, on Monday night. Kinney appeared angry when confronted by the paparazzi and reached for a photog's camera, leading to a brief struggle. Powell, Kinney's co-star in the new Dorian Folco project, 'Red Shirt,' has been seen around town with the star at a number of venues, leading to speculation that the award-winning actor's relationship with artist Justin Taylor is on the rocks. Kinney's love-life has been as high-profile as his film career, landing him and lover Taylor on the cover of numerous national magazines when they were snapped having sex on a boat last year. Kinney also had a well-publicized relationship with the late director, Ron Rosenblum, who discovered and starred him in the multiple Oscar-winning production 'The Olympian.' Kinney's representatives had no comment on the incident."
"Auntie has seen it all, kiddies, and I do mean ALL! A certain dreamy star and his new boytoy -- and he does like the boytoys, doesn't he, children? -- were cavorting in the lower depths the other night -- one of those clubs where you don't need a tie, or pants, if you know what I mean! -- and they certainly put on a show. Dear me! What a sight! Either of them could have a new career in porn if the legit movie thing doesn't work out. Hubba hubba, but Mr. Star certainly has the goods and he was delivering them to his new co-star like a pro, kiddies. The denizens of the dive were tres impressed. I hope their new film is this delicious! So says Auntie Roo!"
See, Em? I've read all that shit, too. I'm not stupid, after all.
Well, maybe I am stupid, but...
Forget it! Just fucking forget it!
I leave Woody's. It's getting chilly at night. Winter is in the air, even though it's only October. The cold air hits me like a hammer. I'm too drunk to drive. The last thing I need is to get arrested for DUI. I could go over to the diner and drink some coffee, but Deb is working -- I saw her in there earlier when I was on my way to Woody's. I should have said yes to Emmett. Dancing off alcohol at Babylon always worked for me in the past, but it's been a long time...
I head for Babylon.
The place is packed. Guys are revving up for Halloween, a.k.a. Gay Christmas. It's been a couple of years since I've been here on Halloween. The last time was right before Brian bugged out to Los Angeles with Ron. I was dressed as an angel and Brian was dressed as... Brian. He never dresses up for Halloween. He always says that being "Brian Kinney" is enough of a disguise.
Amen to that.
But I still need a mask. I'm not brave enough to be myself all the time. Not yet.
Not yet.
Goddamn it.
It's so goddamn frustrating sometimes. Or all the time.
Emmett sees me. He's at the bar with Morgan, his new boyfriend. That won't last. Em's relationships never last. No relationships really last. My parents' marriage didn't last. Michael and Dr. Dave. Michael and Ben the first time. Now they're together again, but it won't last. Things fuck up the same way all the time. You think things are fixed, but they never are. People think they've changed or you think they've changed, but it's never true. People are what they are. You have to accept that. Accept it and deal with it -- or else move on.
Or else take what you can get, when you can get it, and be happy with that.
Live for the moment. That's the only way.
"Honey! Justin!" Emmett waves at me. He wants me to join them. But I didn't come here to chitchat or listen to Em's words of fucking wisdom. He knows a lot about men, but when it comes to relationships -- well, he's the last person I'd listen to.
I didn't mean to say that about him being a blabbermouth, but it's true. Telegraph, telephone, tell a queen -- that old joke. It's mean and probably homophobic, but in Emmett's case it's reality.
I bump into a guy. I'm still drunk.
"Oops. Sorry."
"No problem. Wanna dance?"
"Sure."
And so we dance.
It's Eighties Night. Or Nineties Night. Or something like that. A bunch of songs I either vaguely remember or mainly know from coming to Babylon. Phil Collins. Duran Duran. Wham. Tina Turner. Yeah, she's pretty good.
"You must understand
That the touch of your hand
Makes my pulse react.
That it's only the thrill
Of boy meeting girl:
Opposites attract.
It's physical,
Only logical,
You must try to ignore
That it means more than that:
Oh, what's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a second hand emotion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
"I like this song," says the guy I'm dancing with. He's kind of cute, about my age, blond, a tribal tattoo ringed around his upper arm. I like it. I should get another tattoo -- one I don't have to take my pants off for people to see.
"It's okay," I reply.
"What's your name?" he asks.
"I don't do names," I tell him.
"Oh." He grins. "One of those guys."
Yeah. I'm one of those guys.
"It may seem to you
That I'm acting confused
When you're close to me.
If I tend to look dazed
I've read it someplace
I've got cause to be.
There's a name for it,
There's a phrase that fits,
But whatever the reason
You do it for me:
Oh, what's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a second hand emotion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
I'm still a little drunk, which means I'm also horny. Drunk and horny -- those always seem to go together.
"Want to go in the backroom?" I ask.
He gives me a funny look. "You don't want to tell me your name, but you wanna fuck?"
"Sure. You up for it?"
He's thinking about it. But, to my surprise, he shakes his head. "Maybe I'll catch you later. When you decide to tell me your name. Mine's Kirk, by the way. Not that you give a shit."
"You're right," I say. "I don't give a shit."
And he walks away.
But I don't care. There are plenty of guys here. Plenty.
"I've been taking on a new direction,
But I have to say
I've been thinking about my own protection,
It scares me to feel this way.
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a sweet old fashioned notion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
The song ends and I head for the bar. I need another drink. I haven't had one here yet. Maybe a beer. Or a margarita.
I order another shot of Jim Beam. An older guy standing next to me pays for it. I smile at him. That's all it takes. A smile. I get what I want. Easy.
You know what? It felt good to be a dick to that guy on the dance floor. It felt empowering. Now I know how Brian feels. You can be a total jerk, but you can still get laid. Look at the way I chased Brian all over the fucking city when he was rotten to me. And this guy at the bar would buy me drinks all night and I could still blow him off. But he won't mind because I'm blond and have a great ass. And I don't need to tell him my name. I don't need to tell anyone my name.
Oh, crap. They probably already know my name. The Famous Justin Taylor. The Infamous Justin Taylor. Brian Kinney's twink, whose bubble butt is immortalized on a hundred websites.
No, make that a thousand. Why sell myself short?
But I don't give a shit!
"What?" says the older guy. "What was that?"
Shit. I must have said that out loud. I didn't mean to say that out loud.
"Nothing."
"What's your name?" he asks.
"I don't do names," I say -- and walk away.
"Honey." It's Emmett again. "Morgan and I are leaving. Would you like us to drive you home?"
"Fuck off, Em. I'm not ready to leave yet."
"Justin, listen to me," says Emmett, taking hold of my arm. "Let us take you home."
"I said for you to fuck off. And I meant it!" I jerk my arm away. "I'm not a child and I don't need you to treat me like one!"
I bolt off onto the dance floor. I'm not really dancing with anyone. I'm just dancing. I shut my eyes and let myself feel dizzy. I need something more right now. A bump. Or some E -- Ha! Not the E. that's waiting for me at his crummy apartment, but the good kind of E.
"A, B, C, D, E! E! E!" I sing.
"Here." Someone puts a tablet into my hand.
I immediately stick it in my mouth. "Thanks."
I open my eyes.
"Dylan." I blink. "What are you doing here?"
"Same as you," he says. "Blowing off steam." He moves a little closer. "Where's Ethan?"
"How the fuck should I know?" I shrug. "Probably in his rat hole, playing his violin while the cat yowls."
Dylan laughs. "You're still funny as hell, Justin."
"I'm a scream," I reply. I feel the E moving through my system. It makes me feel warm and happy. The lights look beautiful. The music sounds beautiful. And Dylan is beautiful. "Hey, aren't you mad at me for getting you into trouble last spring?"
"I guess not," he says. "I fucked up a lot. It was my own fault. Although I could have done without Brian Kinney coming after me. He scared the crap out of me."
"He's not so scary," I say. "Not if you know how to handle him."
Dylan smirks. "And you know how to handle him?"
"Of course." Dylan is really near me right now. The music is filling my head, my body. "Hey -- are you horny?"
Dylan acts surprised. "Duh! I'm always horny. Why do you want to know?"
"Because I want to get fucked," I tell him. "I need a really big cock up my ass tonight and poor old Ethan doesn't make the grade. But you've got a big one, Dylan. Not as big as Brian's, but you can't have everything." Or anything, sometimes.
"You're stoned," he says.
"You're right. Does that matter?"
He hesitates. "I don't want to start that up again, Justin."
"Neither do I. I don't do fucking relationships anymore. But that doesn't mean I don't like to fuck. So, are you up for it or should I find someone else? Because there are plenty of guys here who would fuck me in a heartbeat."
"I know that." He leans in and kisses me. "Where do you want to go?"
"The backroom," I say. "I feel like putting on a show. Can you handle that?"
"Yeah," says Dylan. "I can handle it."
"You got condoms? Because I don't need the clap right now."
"Yeah, I've got condoms," says Dylan. "But I'm clean. I won't make that stupid mistake again."
"Good. Let's go."
I slip my hand down the front of Dylan's jeans. He's hard. And I'm hard. Two guys, two hard dicks. And an asshole that needs to be filled up. What more do you need?
Nothing more.
Nothing more at all.
The world is beautiful.
***
"What's love got to do, got to do with it?
What's love but a sweet old fashioned notion?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?"
(Britten/Lyle)