Inferno 7-9 - Jane!fic
Inferno Chapters 7-9
VII
The room at the hotel was beautiful. Tasteful, muted, the huge bed - all his - the beige, greens and golds of the color scheme perfectly muted and balanced. Justin went to the balcony, pushed aside the gauzy curtain, slid the glass door back, and stepped outside. The building across 26th Street cast a shadow onto this side of the hotel, and Justin leaned forward, over the railing, peering over at Park Avenue.
What the fuck am I doing here? he thought.
Well, obviously, he was willing to go along with whatever Brian had in mind. New York City, wining and dining. Maybe get out of the hotel room this time, Justin thought, a smile gracing his lips as he remembered the time spent with Brian at the Chelsea hotel, years ago. He felt a swift thrill from a long nerve trace an electric shock starting at his groin and connecting at the base of his balls, and enjoyed it briefly, before willing it down.
No. That’s not why they were here.
Why are we here? Justin thought. More to the point, why did I agree to this?
He had, not even as reluctantly as he would have liked. Not 24 hours after Brian had dropped him off in front of his building, he had sent him an email. I’m thinking about it, he told Brian. But I might not do this, he told himself. Uh huh.
It was a sickness, this attachment, this need to know what Brian was up to, how he was, what he was doing. Sometimes that interest wasn’t even personal; he really LIKED Brian, even when the man was being an asshole. He didn’t take all of Brian’s bullshit personally, not the way Michael did, forgiving it without a second thought. He might not like everything Brian did, but you couldn’t just separate the good from the bad in the man; he was complicated, fascinating. Obviously, that was part of the problem, that he didn’t judge Brian on a personal level much of the time. In his imagination, he saw Brian outside of their relationship (lack of relationship, he reminded himself). It didn’t matter how Brian treated him, per se. He didn’t use those terms, with himself as center of the universe, to form his judgments. Most of the time, the ability to judge on rational, far less emotional terms, stood him in good stead, forming Justin’s view of the world, defining his character. His emotions were filtered through a world view that articulated itself rationally. He believed this was why he just might become a great artist one day; it wasn’t just that he had talent. Lots of people did. He had vision. An impersonal vision that might just communicate itself, to speak to the world in terms that involved far more than his own tiny slice of it. He thought he could make a significant statement, not just portray his own reactionary feelings. The key to a mature existence. He was grateful that he had learned all this so early in life. And his coming into that vision of the world was fully creditable to Brian, to that incredible man. He knew all that.
But then, suddenly, in one night, everything he had worked so hard, struggled at times so mightily, to maintain all those self-serving feelings at a distance, to keep intact but separate the Justin/Brian part of him, all that had crashed in, and it had all been terribly, painfully personal. Unbearably so. And his rational side was rocked on its axis. If his rational view of things, of Brian, was so good, how could it have led him to such an unbearably painful place?
So maybe… maybe he had hoped that Brian would realize that the good things he did were so much better than the selfish things. Maybe he’d hoped that Brian would realize the long-term rewards for being… human, were so much better than quick paybacks of being the idolized prick of Pittsburgh.
Was he still hoping? Shit. Was he to just forget the way his emotional pain had finally ripped the veil from his eyes and revealed a face of Brian that his rational side had refused to look at, a side only visible through an emotional focus that he did not allow himself to indulge in? Was he so stupid as to forget such severe pain because the part of him that liked Brian as Brian, not necessarily Brian as Brian/Justin (“there is no Brian/Justin,” he had whispered to himself as he had reread Brian’s email), because that part missed Brian the man, even as he refused to acknowledge his memories of Brian the lover?
He was not that stupid. No. So he’d put up a touch of resistance. I’m not necessarily going to take him up on this New York thing, he’d thought. Just considering my options. It’s the smart thing to do.
From: JTaylor@pifa.edu
To: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
Uh, hi. I’m thinking about what you asked me last night, about that NYC thing? You have meetings Friday, right? Um… did you have like, a specific plan or something? I’m thinking about what you were saying. Thought I’d get my info together, while thinking about it. Haven’t decided. Just thought I’d ask what you were thinking.
From: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
To: JTaylor@pifa.edu
Right now, I’m thinking Thursday night flight. The meeting’s Friday from 10 a.m. and should take through mid-afternoon. Figured you’d want to go to museums, or galleries, while I’m occupied. Fly back Sunday. Or longer, if you want to stay a day or three more.
From: JTaylor@pifa.edu
To: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
I don’t want to disrupt your plans, Sunday would be fine. Why don’t I fly up Friday and meet you there? And let me pay for my end.
From: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
To: JTaylor@pifa.edu
The NYC group’s picking up the bill. Museums on the weekends would be insanely crowded. Your decision, of course, how long and when. But you know how I am with the planning details. I’m not questioning your desire to modify plans, just a heads up on NYC crowds, weekend-wise.
From: JTaylor@pifa.edu
To: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
I don’t want to cause Kinnetik’s client to pay extra. Thanks for the warning on crowds - and yeah, I know how anal you are. But I think I’d be more comfortable meeting you there after your meeting’s done. If I decide to come. I wouldn’t be going to look at art, anyway. I figure playing by ear would be the way to go.
From: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
To: JTaylor@pifa.edu
The group I’m meeting’s not exactly a client - I’ll tell you more about that later, if this meeting works out as I think it might. They’re picking up the entire bill - I’ve cleared bringing my partner along for the trip. They’re not going to quibble at the expense. Have I not taught you to take advantage of your opportunities? I’m taking advantage myself with this one - we’re staying, if you agree, at one of those boutique hotels on Park Avenue in Midtown. Friday’s fine if you want to meet me. Playing by ear sounds good. And believe me, you aren’t keeping me from anything. It’s good to be the boss. Besides, you’re more important than work.
That last line had done it. Despite the fact that he’d snorted when he had read it. But the fact that Brian had written it… So here he was. A complete fool. Waiting for Brian to get out of his meetings. Waiting to see what happened next.
He almost jumped at the knock on the door, and he crossed the room to open it.
“I knew you’d just throw the door open. What if it wasn’t me?” Brian asked, cocking his head as he watched the look of careful neutrality on Justin’s features.
“In this place?” Justin answered, walking back into the room. Brian watched his ass as he walked in front of him, biting down on his lower lip and forcing himself to look away. “What, the bellboy’s gonna assault me with another bottle of wine?”
“Ah, you got your wine. Any good?”
“I didn’t try it yet. Want some?”
“Sure,” Brian answered, sitting down in the chair by the balcony.
Justin turned over the two wineglasses next to the carafe, and pretended not to notice Brian watching him. This was stupid; this was Brian, he shouldn’t be so nervous.
He was pretty fucking nervous.
“You look… really good.” Justin tried only half-successfully to catch the stumble over the words, as he caught the “gorgeous” that almost tripped out.
Brian smiled. “New suit.” Dark grey Armani, fitted him like a glove. “Mind if I take off the jacket?”
“Um… sure, I mean, no, here, wait.” Justin put the glasses of wine down on the tiny round table by Brian’s chair, then waited as Brian stood and shrugged out of his jacket, and pulled off his plum-colored tie for good measure, unbuttoning his collar and taking a deep breath. Justin tore his eyes away from the relaxation ritual, and busied himself by crossing to the closet and hanging the apparel away, trying to not think of how his eyes had dropped for a second to Brian’s hips, the form of his body beneath the clean white dress shirt. Fuck, he was acting like the woman again, hanging up his man’s clothes. Waiting for him to get off work. Lusting. Fuck.
Fuck that. He had just arrived, actually, had just gotten there after being picked up by a car at LaGuardia and dropped off only an hour before. And he wasn’t being the domestic goddess, it was his room, he was being a good host. And as for lusting… Shit. Couldn’t really spin that one. Never could.
I am so fucked up, Justin thought, and turned around, to see Brian watching him over the rim of his wine glass, his long legs stretched in front of him. Justin felt a surge of annoyance. Better. Better to be annoyed than discomfited. He crossed the room, sat down on the side of the bed facing the other man. “I hate this.”
Brian bit his lips together. He waited.
“What, no sarcastic remark like, you haven’t even tried the wine yet?”
Brian pulled his legs in, picked Justin’s wine glass up and handed it across to him. “I’d rather hear what you mean by that,” he answered quietly, then sat back, waiting, stretching his legs back out. “But that’s a good one, I’ll remember it for later.”
Wow. More of a compliment than a sarcastic deflection. Justin relaxed a bit. Just a bit. He sipped the wine. Hm, not bad. Then he smiled. “The wine’s pretty good, actually.” Shit, who’s deflecting now? He took another sip. “Just, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.”
Brian smirked. “Sure you’re not just picking up on my vibe?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You look so… relaxed,” Justin gestured at the sprawled body. More wine. Gulped.
“I had a glass of champagne or two before I left Sirius,” Brian answered, smiling slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Brian leveled a long, measuring look at him.
“What?” Justin gulped at the wine again. He could enjoy the next glass. This one needed to be in him, sooner rather than later.
“What were you saying you hated about this?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Move the conversation in another direction.”
“Hmp. You know me too well.”
“Sometimes. More wine?”
“Sure.”
Justin took the wine glass, his fingers brushing Brian’s. Fuck, he thought, turning abruptly away. Why are we here again?
“I’m not sure I should tell you yet.”
“Tell me what?” Justin noticed the wine slopped a bit into the glass as he poured it. His hand shook slightly. One more glass to ease the nerves. Then I’ll slow down.
He turned back, moving to hand Brian his now-full glass. Sat down on the bed again. Here we are, he thought, suppressing what would surely have been a slightly hysterical giggle. But where are we exactly?
Brian took a long drink, then set the glass on the table, and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, hands clasped. “Okay, do you know what Sirius is?”
Justin thought for a moment, no clue. “No. Should I?”
“Not necessarily. Sirius is becoming the biggest advertising agency on the east coast. They expanded from California and dominated the west coast in the 90’s. Then they opened offices in New York five years ago. They’re becoming the biggest agency on the east coast. If they keep going this way, and apparently they will, they’re going to be the single biggest force in American advertising inside five to seven years.”
“Okay…” An ad agency? But why would Brian be meeting with the competition? And, how could Kinnetik compete with a company that big? He shook his head. “Okay?”
Those dark eyes watched Justin closely as Brian continued. “They approached me several months ago. They want Kinnetik.”
Justin was expecting more, but that was all Brian said. He was obviously missing something. Wait… want Kinnetik? And so here they were, in New York, meeting the competition… who wanted Kinnetik? Wanted Kinnetik? Or… wanted Brian. Oh. Wait. Oh. “Why don’t you just fill in the blanks for me, and I’ll tell you what I think when you’re done.”
Brian stood abruptly, and looked out the glass doors, to the office building across the street. Then he turned, stared down at Justin. Justin knew damn well that Brian had moved himself into a physically dominant position, but didn’t really resent it. The other man was nervous, moving himself into a physical location that made him feel more in control. Fine. Whatever it took. Justin just wanted to know what was up.
Brian looked down at the man sitting on the bed, watching him. He took a deep breath. “Okay, Sirius wants to move big into the tri-state area, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland. They think Kinnetik is positioned optimally for their needs. They don’t want to break the company up, just turn it into a subsidiary. And, since I’m familiar with the region and have the contacts they want, they want me to work for them. What I’m looking at is a huge payout for Kinnetik itself, and then a 3-year contract to work for Sirius, directing their operations in the tri-state region. After three years, the contract’s negotiable. They want me to get their division up and running, though, that’s part of the deal.”
“You’d be in charge of the entire tri-state area? A whole regional division in an advertising conglomerate…” Holy shit, Justin thought, as what Brian was talking about started to sink in.
Brian nodded. “My attorneys have looked it over, it’s a solid deal. Everybody wins. Kinnetik would remain intact. And technically, after the immediate payout, I wouldn’t really have to work. Ever again. So if they’re just trying to get rid of me, it wouldn’t matter. But they know I’d be more useful working for them.”
“How much?” Probably an impolite question; Justin couldn’t help asking. How much money are we talking?
“Millions. Right off the bat. Then an enormous salary, but, more importantly, a percentage of every deal I bring in.” The way that first word was drawn out, Justin wondered just how many millions were involved. Holy shit, Brian was about to be a millionaire. And no end in sight. A huge field of green. His every wish come true. Justin stared up at him, studying the familiar face, the intense green flecks in the dark eyes that watched him, the nervous line to the lips he knew so well, so well. He shivered, feeling suddenly as if he did not know Brian at all. Millionaire. Major powerhouse business man. What the fuck did Brian see in him, again?
“But they want me here. In New York. Operations are run from the city. I’d be back in Pittsburgh often enough, but I’d probably have to move the main branch of Sirius/Kinnetik to a more central location, Philadelphia, probably. And…” He hesitated.
“What?” Justin asked, his voice hoarse.
“Lindsay’s looking at jobs in the New York area. She’s leaving Pennsylvania, wants to move up here, get away from memories of Mel or some such bullshit. It’s one of the reasons I started looking into this offer, a couple months ago. Gus is going to be here. And… well. There was nothing keeping me in Pittsburgh.”
Certainly not me, Justin thought. He still wasn’t sure why he was here. Holy fuck, he thought, again. Brian’s got it made. “Wow,” he finally said, with a small laugh. “Congratulations. That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you Brian. You always wanted New York. This is like your best wet dream, come to life.”
Brian sat down on the bed. “Not quite. It depends on you.”
“Me.”
“Um.” Brian hesitated.
“What’s to consider? Everything you ever wanted, all yours.”
“Not everything.” That look, that stare, boring into him… Justin could feel it, physically feel the movement of Brian’s eyes, taking in his features, reaching out and whispering across his skin.
“Oh…” Justin leaned back, needing more distance. Then he stood abruptly.
“I wasn’t sure whether I should tell you now, or after we’d actually spent time together…”
“Brian, when was the last time you fucked someone?” Justin asked abruptly.
“I thought… what?”
Justin stared down at Brian’s form, sprawled on the bed. A surge of anger swept through him. Anger, fear? Whatever the fuck. He was fucking pissed off. “Are you gonna tell me you haven’t fucked anyone since the explosion, still?”
The confused look that swept Brian’s features pleased Justin mightily. Good. “I haven’t exactly had time… What do you want to know…”
“Since when has lack of time ever stopped you?” Justin crossed to the wine again. Fuck it, to hell with trying to stay sober, this was ridiculous. Just how big a fool did Brian think he was? Was he even thinking of Justin? Or just himself, as usual? Justin poured his glass full, slammed the empty bottle back down, and drank down half the glass. Damn, no more wine. Well, that’s what the mini bar was for. “So you give up fucking, and what? I’m supposed to believe that you’ve changed? You’ve decided you want me because I’ve finally told you to go to hell, but no, we’ve gotta drag this out to the bitter end, with you getting everything you ever wanted except for your little stalking worshipper, so what? You want me to actually believe that everything can just change, that YOU can just change? You expect me to believe that? And what, I’m just supposed to follow you around? Because you’ve CHANGED?”
“No.” The quietly spoken word directly contrasted Justin’s raised voice. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.”
Justin snorted. “Yeah, cause I’m not an idiot, like you seem to think I am! I believed you too long as it is! You only don’t like losing, you want a chance to throw me out first, you just can’t stand that I walked away… again…”
“That is not true!”
Good, Brian was angry now, too, Justin was glad, he couldn’t stand considerate, nice Brian. Not tonight. He didn’t know how to deal with that Brian. Truthfully, Brian was freaking him out. Who was this? It had to be a lie. It was a lie! “It is true! You want me to come with you, to just jettison my entire life, to jump off a cliff for you like I always do, I’ve been jumping off cliffs for you for years, but you only want me to jump when you say, or when you bodily throw me off! Not when I’m ready to take a step forward, for US to take a step forward…” He was mixing his metaphors, but so angry he didn’t really give a shit that he could barely follow what he himself meant. It was in the tone. Fuck reasonableness. He was tired of always being so goddamned reasonable. “Always on your terms! So you’ve got this perfect deal set up and I’m just supposed to jettison everything of my own to set up a little life around the uber of you? There are three kajillion gorgeous gay men in New York, and I’m supposed to believe part of the attraction to New York isn’t the opportunity to fuck your way through every single one of them?!!” He turned his back abruptly, moving toward the mini bar. Fuck this. He was going to get drunk. Fuck that he was skipping around reasons to be angry at this bullshit. There was so much to choose from, he didn’t have to be reasonable! The time for reason was over, it had been blown out of the water three months ago, and if he forgot that, he had to be the biggest idiot on the planet.
He heard Brian moving behind him, and then felt his hand on his arm, swinging him around. Brian held him with two warm hands on his upper arms, frowning down at him, annoyed. Good. “I’m not going to say I can be monogamous because how the hell should I know? I want to be with you…”
“For now,” Justin scoffed, twisting slightly.
He was held fast, forced to look up, directly into Brian’s face. “I can’t tell you why this is different, but you’ve always known it is, and I’m enough of an emotional idiot to have just figured out what you already know.”
“I didn’t know shit,” Justin spat back, twisting.
But Brian held him, firmly. “I am NOT asking you to jettison your life for me. If you say so, I’ll turn down the offer and stay in Pittsburgh. If you want your life there. With me in it. Just tell me, do you want me in your life? Anywhere. That’s all I want to know.” Shit, Brian thought, staring down at Justin’s features, set but unable to disguise the real pain Brian could see churning beneath the surface. I knew I should have waited to spring this on him. He waited, his lungs full, waiting for Justin’s answer.
“I don’t know,” Justin replied, and repeated, “I don’t know…” Fuck! Shit, he wanted to believe this, of COURSE he wanted to believe this, but people don’t just change overnight, and Brian, damn, he didn’t change at all! Justin stared up at the face of the man above him, holding him so fast, not allowing him to move, to turn away, and suddenly he just couldn’t talk anymore, he didn’t want to talk, and he resented Brian’s ability to stop him, to hold him in place with the simple clasp of his hands on him. Damn Brian anyway! always needing to be in control, even this bullshit abstinence, whatever the fuck this was, this was all about Brian’s control, and Justin couldn’t take it anymore. He abruptly placed both hands on Brian’s chest, shoving him away so suddenly that Brian landed with a “whump!” on the bed, sprawled out in surprise. Justin followed him down, pinning Brian’s hips beneath his own, leaning his weight into Brian’s body, placing his forearms on either side of Brian’s head, staring intently at the parting lips, ignoring the eyes, wasn’t going to risk a glance that way, only studied the lips that parted as Brian seemed about to say something, but Justin wasn’t going to give him a chance, he wouldn’t even allow himself to look for long when he wanted to taste, to feel Brian’s lips beneath his. His body pressed down from above, his lower region rubbing hard against the other man’s, and his mouth moved down to taste the warm flesh of Brian’s lips, his tongue sweeping past to dip into the moist regions of Brian’s mouth, commanding Brian’s tongue to follow his where he was leading. For a second, he felt the stiffening of Brian’s muscles, and waited to be thrown aside, but the initial resistance immediately gave way to surrender as the body beneath his relaxed into his onslaught, and he heard a groan as Brian’s hands moved to settle on the back of Justin’s thighs, pulling him closer.
Justin swatted those hands away, pulling Brian’s arms over his head, firmly pressing his wrists into the mattress, making clear they were to remain there. Then he sat up, his legs straddling Brian’s hips, and tore open the beautiful shirt he had been admiring not twenty minutes before, ignoring the way the buttons flew across the bed spread. He placed one hand on Brian’s chest, his thumb sweeping around his left nipple, bared to Justin’s devouring gaze.
“Justin. Justin.” He could feel Brian’s eyes on him, but he refused to look, refused to hear any message in those chanted words, whatever Brian might or might not be trying to say. Fuck it, he’d spent too long tuning himself into Brian’s needs. This was about his own. For once. He leaned down, drew the nipple in between his teeth, bit down, enjoying the gasp of pain above him, turned to a sigh of pleasure when he changed his caress to a soothing lick, drawing the turgid flesh into his mouth, sucking on it lightly, before continuing to nip and suck and lick his way down Brian’s torso, over the taut stomach, down. His hands feverishly freed the fastenings at the top of Brian’s pants, yanked down the zipper, and pulled out the hard dick straining against the material. Justin’s eyes closed as his lips skimmed the hot, silky flesh covering the hard member beneath his hands. He parted his lips, to swallow it in one swift move, when Brian’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head up, away.
“Justin.”
That same tone. Justin looked up, reluctantly, resentfully.
Brian was watching him intently. His breath was hard and ragged. “Do you really want to fuck like this? This angry?”
Shit. Justin’s hands paused in their movements, and he allowed them to rest, one cupping Brian’s balls, the other wrapped around the base of his still-hard dick. Brian’s body was obviously ready to let Justin continue. But Brian himself was trying to stop him. And Justin knew that Brian had never penetrated him in anger. Turned him on and left him frustrated, sure. But he had never fucked him angry. He thought of that, thought of how that would feel. How it would leave him feeling. He released his hold, and brought his hands to rest on Brian’s stomach. “No,” he finally answered. “No, I don’t.”
Brian let his hands slide out of Justin’s hair, to rest on his shoulders. “As much as I would enjoy your mouth on my dick right now, I think you’d be upset at yourself. And angry at me for not playing ubermale, trying to keep things from flying out of control. Don’t want you any more pissed off at me for not meeting your expectations.”
That actually drew a laugh out of Justin, surprising him. Brian had pretty much nailed the idea; at that moment, Brian really couldn’t win as far as Justin was concerned.
Justin felt Brian’s dick swell, where it was trapped under his body’s weight. God… “No,” Justin finally croaked, his voice rough. “Not like that.” He rolled off and moved up the length of Brian’s body, pulling Brian onto his side, so they were face to face. “Like this.” He reached down, unzipped himself, took Brian’s hand and placed it on his own hard length. He let his eyes drift shut, and reached for Brian, stroking him. “Hey.” Justin opened his eyes, to see Brian studying his face. The other man moved his head forward, and kissed him gently on the lips, all the while touching him, softly but surely. Their mouths remained touching, open and gasping slightly as they shared breath, tongues reaching out to gently caress, to draw more sensation, more connection. Brian brought his free hand to Justin’s hip, stroking the flesh there, drawing down the material, baring his lower body further, and they continued to touch gently, then more urgently, to a much-needed physical release. Quiet. Intense. Lips meeting in a gentle kiss as they came down, and continued to lie there silently. Sharing breath and body heat, hands and lips on each other’s flesh. Not wanting to move. Not daring to speak.
VIII
They sat across from each other in the café in Chelsea. Late afternoon. The sun slanted down the streets. The buildings weren’t crowded here, nor very tall; the sun actually made it down into the street. Justin stirred his double chocolate mocha, while Brian watched him, and made a very good show of pretending not to watch him. He pretended not to see Justin eyeing him back; they had meticulously avoided looking directly at each other all day. At least in the face.
The very least of it was that Brian had not had sex in three months. Then there was Justin’s sex ban. Then there was the club the night before.
Shit. This sucked. Maybe he was doing the abstinence thing just to prove he could. Yup. He could. And he had. But he should have gone on an insane tricking spree right before taking Justin’s ass up to New York because being able to watch said ass, getting dragged to a club and watching it shake as Justin made a spectacle of displaying his ass on the dance floor while Brian watched from the bar, watched every gay man in New York hit on his… whatever Justin was, well. Hell. Then watching…
Fuck.
Was it any surprise, what had happened? Really?
Brian had been amazed when Justin woke him up with a knock on the door that very morning, still there, Justin had actually come back to the hotel the night before. And then they had spent the day not talking about what had happened.
But then, they never did, did they?
Justin had seemed more than willing to participate in the silence. Instead of talking, he had dragged both their asses off to the Metropolitan Museum, to MOMA, to one of the three galleries he had tagged in the copy of the New Yorker he had picked up the day before. They had spent the day, lost in art, Brian lost in trying to figure out why Justin was still there.
Justin was definitely still pissed off, that was for sure. Even if he was sneaking glances at Brian’s legs, hips, pelvis… cock, which stiffened slightly under the caress of his gaze. Justin’s startled glance bounced up to meet Brian’s look. Finally. Taking in the lust, the desire. Looking away. Sipping on his cocoa.
Brian closed his eyes briefly. Fuck. They had to talk about this. Not that he wanted to.
He had realized something as he tramped around all of New York’s East Side that afternoon, trailing after the enticing little rump that was always a step ahead, in perfect view. He realized, after the night before, that he had no idea how the fuck Justin would respond to anything he did. And up to that point, he hadn’t cared. Well, he had cared. He just hadn’t changed his actions because of that. If Justin didn’t like Brian the way he was, he could leave.
Brian had started to think, maybe that attitude was a slight miscalculation.
He also realized, since coming to the conclusion that he did indeed give a shit, that he was terrified of doing the wrong thing. Walking around all afternoon, freaked out. Until he realized it wasn’t helping anything, and forced himself to relax.
He had never been to the Museum of Modern Art before, and found some of the art work engaging. He found Justin’s response to some of the art work really engaging. He found his ability to watch Justin’s ass, his profile, his shoulders, the way he carried himself when he studied some piece that caught his attention, most fascinating of all.
He had forced himself to stop worrying about doing, or saying, the right thing.
Like right now, hating the way Justin ignored him. Fuck that. Time to get Justin’s attention. “I want to fuck you.”
“Brian…” What should have been a commanding tone, judging from the way Justin’s shoulders stiffened, came out decidedly breathless. To say nothing of the way Justin’s face slackened. He was practically drooling. Despite everything. Despite last night.
Yeah, apparently Brian wasn’t the only one who missed how it was between them. He sat back, oddly reassured. They still needed to talk. But he felt somewhat reassured. Somewhat.
But the fact that Justin’s body wanted his more than all others, that wasn’t the point, as Justin said himself. Brian studied Justin’s face, again turned away from him. Yeah, he was still mad. Obviously. Or… indifferent. That was a whole other problem. Which one? Fuck.
They had been either fighting, or not talking, the night before as well. Before not talking at the club that Justin had dragged him to, seemingly for the express purpose of demonstrating to Brian that he could get any gay man in New York should he so desire, there had been dinner.
That’s what they had done, gone to dinner. The first big fight, then jerking each other off, then off to dinner. And not talking about it. Justin kept trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. Brian kept watching him.
Over dessert, well, coffee for Brian, Justin had finally snapped. It had finally happened when Brian had reached out with the spoon he’d just used to stir his coffee, and scooped out a piece of Justin’s triple chocolate death cake. Justin watched him place the sugar overload in his mouth, rub his lips for the last bit of flavor, his eyes closing at the sensation. Yum.
“If you wanted dessert, Brian, why didn’t you just order something?” Justin said, his words clipped.
“I didn’t want anything.”
“Oh, no, of course not. Not you, Mr. Control himself. You just take part of what I have, and then tell everyone that the whole dessert was my thing.”
“I don’t tell anyone anything,” Brian answered, carefully. Watching. Always watching. Wary of saying the wrong thing.
“You know what I mean.”
“I think I’d know more if you talk to me about why you’re upset. And not yell at me about your fucking dessert.”
“Okay, so I’m angry, okay? And… I don’t know. You expect me to think you can change…”
“Do you want me to change?”
“I don’t know what I want!”
Brian watched him. Waiting. Tried to get his dick to forget the sensation of Justin’s fingers on it, the sure stroke of his hand. Trying to figure out what to say. Um. “I’m sorry I ate your cake.”
“It’s not that, I’m willing to share. I just wish you wouldn’t take for granted that you’re entitled to it.”
This is why he didn’t do relationships. They were too fucking complicated. But it was too late for him, he was trapped in this one. No, damn it, not trapped. He could leave whenever he wanted. He had practically ensured he would be left, hadn’t he? But that single moment when it could have been taken away…
Shit. He had realized, the night Babylon had burned, racing down to the hospital to find out if anyone had survived the explosion, that he wasn’t really in control of anything. But that wasn’t the terrifying part. The terrifying part had been the thought that Justin might be gone. Realizing that had made him realize; it wasn’t just the loss of control of external things or even of himself. It had been the potential loss of the most beautiful, desirable, incredible man he knew. He was about to lose something huge… irreplaceable. And finding his way back to the loft after Justin had walked away from him, back to his empty bed, all alone, knowing he had really, really, really fucked up…
He shuddered slightly.
“Are you okay?”
And still, even in the midst of a fight in this New York restaurant, in the midst of finding terrible fault, Justin could still notice Brian’s shiver and express concern.
“No,” Brian found himself saying. He looked up, straight into Justin’s face. “No, Justin, I’m not okay. I am well and truly fucked.”
“I could have told you that years ago,” Justin answered, shaking his head.
A surprised laugh barked out of Brian. “Well. Now I agree with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
So he fucked up with the cake. And he fucked up after dinner, in the cab, letting Justin know he wanted him. Not following Justin’s we-shouldn’t-fuck command. They were sitting, silent, in the back seat, on the way downtown, to some club Justin had found on some “Gay Friendly New York” travel web site. Unbelievable. The kid was SUCH a tourist.
Feeling Justin’s presence, too much. Maybe a little too much wine. Reaching out a hand to touch that hair, down the nape of his neck. Feeling Justin not pulling away, leaning in, hands moving down Justin’s back, lips sinking toward his neck, moving against the soft, warm skin beneath his ear. Moving closer. Practically humping Justin’s leg. Unable to stop the soft moan that he breathed out. Shifted so his dick’s whole length felt up the hard muscle of Justin’s thigh. Right there in the back of a taxi.
“Brian…” Justin had glanced at the taxi driver.
“It’s a New York driver, Justin. They’ve seen it.”
“And more,” the cab driver added in a thick Indian accent. “And for a big tip, I’m blind and invisible.”
“Double the fare, then,” Brian growled, before swooping in to claim Justin’s lips, feeling Justin melt into the kiss, just for a moment, their tongues touching in such a satisfying sensation…
And then being held off with one firm hand. “Brian, no, I’m still mad at you. Really, obviously. I don’t want to ma… fu… I don’t want fucking you to influence any decision I make.”
“Fine. What do you want?”
“I want to go dancing.”
Dancing. Right. Brian watched Justin sip the cocoa in the warm afternoon sun, remembering Justin dancing the night before. He supposed he should be angry about that, but he wasn’t. He understood, what had happened. Really, he understood.
He really shouldn’t feel so… blindsided. He shouldn’t be so… hurt, yeah, damn it, he was hurt.
He shouldn’t want to take away that guilty look Justin had worn all day.
So they had gone to the club. Crowded, Friday night, of course.
He’d been cruised, sure. But Justin had been like fucking catnip in a club full of toms. Men more gorgeous than himself. Many many more gorgeous, younger, buffer men.
Brian hadn’t been interested, and he had brushed off the pick-ups, choosing to watch Justin who, after sucking down a double shot of tequila, headed to the dance floor, leaving Brian behind at the bar. Shaking that ass. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Brian was watching him rub up against, being rubbed up against by a succession of increasingly beautiful men.
Brian nursed a beer, and let him do this. Do what he needed to do. Apparently, Justin needed to show Brian that every man in New York wanted the ass Brian had had to himself, a scant few months ago. Show Brian precisely what he was missing.
Showing Brian exactly what it was like, watching a man you wanted more than any other, so much it was pretty fucking pathetic how painful it was, to watch Justin’s hips grabbed by hands that weren’t his own, hands that were pulling Justin toward a body that wasn’t his, Justin’s head falling back, the man, maybe mid 20’s, perfect body, taller than Justin, the man’s mouth descending to that spot on the skin just below Justin’s ear, watching the lips Brian wanted on his, watch those lips fall open in a gasp, watched as the guy whispered in Justin’s ear, and Justin’s answering smile, watched them leave the dance floor…
Turning to the bartender after a minute or three, knowing he should just wait, just take this… “Is there a back room here?”
The bartender, waving in the direction Justin had gone with the trick.
He should have just waited, but he knew that he had to go see. He had to see this.
Deliberately seeking out this out, seeking out the pain, needing to see it, needing to be hurt. Not sure why. Moving toward the back of the club, through the beads in the doorway at the back, down a short staircase, the dim green light barely illuminating the familiar sight of bodies in various states of undress, shrugging off hands that groped at him, pushing them away almost violently, walking through…
And stopping. Leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Justin leaned into the wall opposite, his pants undone and around his ankles, pale perfect ass upturned and offered to the guy who had dragged him from the dance floor for a different kind of dance down here, the man positioning his long cock at the entrance between Justin’s cheeks, one thrust and in, Justin’s back arching and legs shifting, his head falling back on the shoulder behind him as the man moved his hand around Justin’s hips to grab his dick and hold it, letting Justin tell him when he was ready by thrusting forward into the hand that grabbed him, and back to take the dick that impaled him, eyes rolling up as he let himself go to the pure pleasure of being fucked.
Brian had shaken his head and barely glanced at the guy offering to take care of his erection, pressed against the material holding his dick in, painful in its arousal. He wanted to feel the pain, did not want the release Justin was well on his way toward, his gasps audible across the room, moaning as the man picked up the pace, rocking into him, pressing himself into that perfect body, Brian could FEEL the memory of it as he watched, Justin’s head rolling on the shoulder behind him, turning his gaze… seeing Brian watching him. Holding Brian’s gaze with eyes that remained fixed as his body pounded out the rhythm, no expression on his face but just pure, slackened lust, until his eyes closed and he shouted, Brian still watching as Justin’s back arched and his orgasm tore through him, and the man stiffened behind him with one last hard thrust. Posed there, perfect, terrible, terrible beauty.
Brian turned, strode out of the club. Deep breaths in the cold air. His heart beating, too fast, pumping blood painfully against his temples. He waved down a cab and took it back to the hotel. Assumed Justin would be pissed he’d left the club. Assumed he had been sending a message. Assumed Justin would be gone, back to Pittsburgh, the next day. Anything but the knock at nine the next morning, and Justin’s demand that they hit the Metropolitan early…
Brian took a deep breath, set down his latte cup. Saturday’s silence was now coming to an end. He had been so surprised Justin had been there that morning, had so little idea what it meant, that he had just trailed after him, glad enough to just look at art and try to figure out, well: Now what? “It hurt.” Shit, was that him? Well, damn. Apparently his brain was making decisions he was not aware of. Such as, the decision to speak. And such as, the decision to be honest.
“What?” Justin turned away from the scene of pedestrians hurrying past the café on the other side of the window.
Brian shifted. Well, hell. Things couldn’t get much worse. Or, if they could, he was about to bring them crashing in. So nothing new there.
“Last night,” he continued, staring into Justin’s eyes, which had finally turned fully toward him. About time. “You wanted to hurt me. It worked.”
“We’ve never been monogamous, Brian.”
“I know that. It was the context.”
“You think I’m that calculated?”
“Yes.”
“Unlike you.” Sip of the chocolate. Hadn’t he finished that shit yet?
“Do you want more?” Brian gestured at his drink.
“No.” The mug was set down abruptly on the table between their chairs. Justin turned completely toward Brian with his whole body, for the first time that day. “I was horny, I got fucked. So what? It’s not like it’s never happened before.”
“You knew I wanted you. You knew I was watching. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I was getting fucked, just like you do, all the time. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Bullshit. This was personal.”
The smile that came over Justin’s face sent chills down Brian’s spine. “Ah,” Justin said, his voice as cold as the air outside, “So now you know how I feel.”
Brian passed a hand wearily over his face. “This is about that Brandon thing, isn’t it?”
“I was taking care of my needs, Brian. If I hurt your little feelings, maybe you should find someone who’ll take better care with them. It seems to be your problem, not mine.”
Wow, going straight for the jugular. “Justin…”
“How am I making you feel, Brian?”
“What?”
“Right now, how am I making you feel?”
Brian’s knee jerk reaction was to say it didn’t feel like anything. What, feelings, Brian Kinney? Then he reminded himself, his knee jerk reaction was usually a bad idea. “Pretty fucking rotten,” he answered instead. Growled, actually.
Justin smirked. “Good. I’m getting another, you want anything?” At the shake of Brian’s head, he sauntered off, making sure to sidle himself out in front of Brian’s chair, ass on a level with Brian’s gaze.
Brian sat, moodily watching the store owner across the street close up his shop.
Was Justin doing this because he had already decided to dump him, and was rubbing it in as revenge for every shitty thing Brian had put him through? or had he not made up his mind, and only needed to do this, to walk away feeling that he had reclaimed some of his pride? Or had he not made up his mind, and he was confused, and acting out his pain, getting it out of his system before repeating that Brian could go to hell? Should Brian call an end to this, demand a yes or a no now, or should he ride it out, wait to see what happened?
Fucking relationship shit.
“Here.” Justin returned, setting a small latte down on the table between their chairs. “I knew you’d want a mocha latte after smelling my chocolate for the past half hour.” He sat in the chair he’d recently abandoned, placing his chocolate next to the cup he’d brought for Brian, leaning over to rummage in his bag, looking for something.
Brian picked up the latte, and took a sip. The flavor blossomed over his tongue like the uncurling of the first leaf of spring; that good. It was perfect, exactly what he wanted, without knowing he wanted it.
Okay, he said to himself, watching Justin’s backside as he sorted through the bag at his feet. Let’s ride it out. See what happens.
IX
Brian finished the latte, and looked over to where Justin sat, staring out the window. The New Yorker he had been rummaging for sat in his lap, open to the “Goings on About Town,” neglected.
“Anything you want to see?”
Justin started, and looked over at him, then down at the magazine, which he closed. He stared down at the cover. He said, “You have to take the offer. The job.”
Silence. Justin looked up at Brian, his expression defiant. “You know you will.”
“I told you. It’s an option.”
Justin snorted, looked away.
That pissed Brian off. “Don’t do that!”
“Do what.”
Blow me off, like nothing I say is important. But Brian bit his tongue on that one. He wasn’t going to set himself up for another of Justin’s payback’s-a-bitch comments. Once was enough, thank you very much. He got it. But apparently, his getting it was not at an end. Instead, he answered, “I meant what I said. Justin, look at me.”
Reluctantly, Justin turned his face toward him.
“I still don’t believe anyone can count on another person for his own satisfaction. But I have Kinnetik, whether I take the offer here or not. Kinnetik’s a good thing. In Pittsburgh, or here. I meant what I said, though. I don’t want to lose you unless that’s what you want.”
Justin shook his head. “That isn’t the point. The point is, you’d blame me. If I kept you from this. You’d never forgive me, if I told you to stay in Pittsburgh. On what you missed out on.”
Well, shit. Apparently Justin was becoming him. Martyr of the day. Fuck, he had to stop that, right now. “I know what my choices are. Besides, I’m more or less set for life as it is. I have enough money. I don’t need more.”
“It’s not the money?”
“There’s always another step on the food chain. I’d be higher here than I am in Pittsburgh, but once you get to one mountain top, you only see another mountain, where people are sitting up higher than you. It’s all relative.”
Justin’s eyes narrowed. Oh, fuck, Brian thought, I did it again, said the wrong thing. What the fuck did I say?
Yup. Justin opened his mouth, closed it. Picked up his mug with a jerk, realized it was empty, banged it down on the table.
Brian waited.
Not for long. “You know, that really pisses me off. You can make a choice not to get on with your life because you’d prefer to be with me, and you’ll be fine. Because you don’t do regrets, and you know what you’re doing.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for anything I choose to do.”
“But I can’t be so wise?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Justin leaned forward, his neck jutting out. “Every fucking time you decide I have a better opportunity, with Ethan, in Hollywood, whatever the fuck, I tell you I want to be with you and YOU decide I’m better off not with you. That I don’t know what’s best for me. Only you do. You can come to terms with your own choices. But you also seem to be perfectly happy to make emotional decisions for me based on what you decide is good for me. At your own expense. But I don’t get to have that kind of choice for myself? Fuck you, Brian! You think I’d even consider asking you to stop your life for me, after our entire history? Even if you were okay with it, you think it’s about you? You think I want to feel guilty for keeping you from anything you want?”
Oh, well, shit.
In Brian’s silence, Justin continued. “Besides, all these hot guys.” He gestured around the shop. “Keep you from them? I don’t think so.”
Brian didn’t even look around the cafe. He’d already seen, not just here, but on the street, in the club last night. And not confined to one section of town either. And not home grown. New York’s gay population was huge. Beautiful. And everywhere you looked.
“You’re assuming it’s a given I think New York is better for me. But maybe I’d rather keep you in Pittsburgh, you little idiot.”
Justin’s turn to be silent. But not for long. Nope, Brian didn’t have to worry about him being a little Kinney, that was for sure. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You look around,” Brian replied. “Yeah, we’re getting cruised, but they aren’t looking at me.” Well, yeah they were, but then the eyes would slide off him and onto Justin. And stay there. But whatever, the point was the same.
Justin stared at him. Then turned his head. His gaze connected with one particular hottie across the room. As soon as Justin’s eyes settled on him, the guy smiled, and raised his coffee in a salute. Licked his lips. Justin turned back to Brian, bemused.
“You’re beautiful, Justin, you fit right in here. I’m going to be 34. I’m in shape, I look good, but I’m not… and you’re not the kid you were when I first met you. You’re a fucking gorgeous young man. Prime. I’m past. You think I don’t know that? I don’t know if I want to give up Kinnetik. I do know if we move here, it would be your town.” Stating facts. His tone soft. He had been thinking about this since the offer was made. Did he want to leave Pittsburgh? It was up to Justin. He really did not know if it was a good idea, to say yes to Sirius, go back to taking orders from someone else. He had all the power, running Kinnetik. Was giving that up worth the money, worth the extra stress of the job he’d be accepting? Jettisoning a lifestyle that he was fine with? Fuck if he knew. He did know he wanted Justin. So let him decide.
Justin looked back down at the magazine. Then back up. Scratched behind his ear. “I thought it was a foregone conclusion, that you’d want to do it. If you think I’d be the one fucking around… you don’t still think I want to fuck all these…” He abruptly cut himself off before finishing, turned bright red. They were both thinking of last night.
“Maybe,” Brian answered. “You’re not like me, I know you’re different from me. But maybe you would want that. For whatever reasons. I do seem to piss you off.”
“Then why… why are you even asking me to come here with you? if you aren’t even sure you want to accept Sirius’s offer?”
“Precisely because I’m nobody here. I’m not Brian fucking Kinney here. Here, we could just be us, instead of Kinney plus twink. Here, we might be able to figure out something we’re both comfortable with, without the pressure of my reputation.”
Justin’s face softened; the hard look left his features. Brian realized it had been there since he had shown up at the hotel room the day before. He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable at the intensity of this discussion. “Um. You figure out what you want to do tonight?” He gestured at the magazine.
“Yeah. Can we just go back to my hotel room, order room service and watch movies? I’m really tired…”
They didn’t talk about the job, what had happened the night before, what had happened all the nights and days before up to that point. Thank god. They had ordered room service, and Justin had flicked on the television, settling back against the headboard of the bed to watch absolutely mindless sitcom reruns. Brian sat in one of the chairs, picking at his salad as he watched Justin devour a steak and laugh at the show. When they finished eating, Brian got up and wheeled the cart back out of the room with the dishes on it, then came back in, to the opening strains of one of the movies Justin had bought earlier in the day at Virgin Records in Union Square. The lights were off, only the pale flicker of the movie lighted the room. Justin was clutching a pillow to his chest, watching opening credits.
“Braveheart?” Brian questioned, glancing at the t.v., and standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed.
“I’ve never seen it,” Justin answered, putting the pillow back down next to him, patting it. “Look, I saved you a pillow.” He patted it again. Brian climbed onto the bed, and leaned back against the headboard, not touching the other man, but extremely aware of his presence.
The movie absorbed him for the next two plus hours, so much that Brian lost himself in the story. Until the scene when Mel Gibson is tortured and about to be killed, and Braveheart’s memories turn to his beloved, killed at the start of the movie by the hated British. Flashback to the little woman, in happier days. All gone to shit, and Braveheart’s balls in a vice. Literally. Or castrated. Pretty fucking nasty, whatever was going on down there. But Brian’s intense involvement with the scene unfolding on screen ended when he heard a strangled little noise, and glanced over to see Justin, his hands in fists against his mouth, his eyes filled with tears. Again, the sentimental music, and the choked noise. Brian smiled, about to make a truly dead-on remark, when he thought better of it. Instead, he unfolded his arms, and put the left one around Justin’s shoulders.
Justin collapsed, turning into Brian abruptly, his arms moving around his waist, and let go, weeping, and not so quietly. Face hidden against Brian’s chest, his shoulders shaking.
“What…?” Brian bit his tongue, deciding this wasn’t just the movie. I mean, come on, it was just a girl. Course, Mel Gibson was hot, but not THAT hot.
Obviously, this little break down was not about a tortured Scot. Brian wondered what the fuck it was about, exactly.
The fit didn’t last long, since the movie ended soon after. Justin hadn’t moved his head, although the crying jag had trailed off into sporadic sniffs. Great, a shirt full of snot and tears. “You okay?” Brian whispered. Justin didn’t answer. He had fallen asleep. Brian was reluctant to move, even though the room was now full dark. Instead, he just sat there, Justin’s form heavy against his. Brian watched him breath.
He woke up to lips on his jaw, tracing the line to his chin. His neck felt cramped; he had fallen asleep still sitting up. Justin’s body was still pressed against his, only now he was awake. Brian sat, perfectly still, feeling the full lips move to his shoulder. His shirt was unbuttoned, Justin’s fingers brushing against his right nipple. Back and forth.
“Brian?” Whispered. “You awake?”
“Yeah,” Brian answered.
“Good.” Justin unbuttoned the rest of the shirt, slid his hand against Brian’s side, tracing the skin over his ribs.
Brian turned his head, and Justin moved to capture his lips. They kissed, slow and tender.
Brian reluctantly pulled away. “Justin, wait,” Brian said.
Justin waited, his lips moving to the spot under Brian’s ear, then behind his neck. Licked there. One hand molded itself to Brian’s right pec, thumb brushing against the hard nipple. Brian shuddered. “I don’t want…”
“You don’t want this?” Justin asked, continuing to stroke the skin at Brian’s belly, moving toward the fastenings of his jeans.
“Are you sure?” Brian asked, turning slightly so he faced the other man. He moved the back of his fingers to Justin’s face, stroked his cheek.
“Yes,” Justin answered. “I’m not mad at you. I miss you. I miss this.”
“Just this?”
“Do we have to talk about it?”
“No… I just don’t want this if you’re… if we’re not ready.”
“What are you saying?” Justin turned his face against Brian’s hand, caught the tip of his index finger between his lips, sucked on it, stroked the pad with his tongue, before sucking the full length into his mouth, repeating the tongue’s caress along the entire undersurface.
Brian took a deep breath, allowing himself to just enjoy that. Amazing, what one simple touch did to him. “I’m saying… this is going to mean something to me. And I want to make sure it means something to you.”
Justin let Brian’s finger slide out of his mouth, the hand moving back to his jawline, tipping Justin’s face. He saw that Brian watched him intently in the ghostly glow of the street lights. “I want you inside me,” Justin answered that. “I want you to… I want you to make love to me.”
“Yeah. That’s what I want too.” Brian studied Justin watching him. And then Justin smiled, a smile that Brian could not read. But he didn’t have to, didn’t care to, because Justin’s lips were moving toward his own, and they were kissing and sliding down to lie full length on the bed, pressing their bodies up against each other, seeking more than a simple touch.
VII
The room at the hotel was beautiful. Tasteful, muted, the huge bed - all his - the beige, greens and golds of the color scheme perfectly muted and balanced. Justin went to the balcony, pushed aside the gauzy curtain, slid the glass door back, and stepped outside. The building across 26th Street cast a shadow onto this side of the hotel, and Justin leaned forward, over the railing, peering over at Park Avenue.
What the fuck am I doing here? he thought.
Well, obviously, he was willing to go along with whatever Brian had in mind. New York City, wining and dining. Maybe get out of the hotel room this time, Justin thought, a smile gracing his lips as he remembered the time spent with Brian at the Chelsea hotel, years ago. He felt a swift thrill from a long nerve trace an electric shock starting at his groin and connecting at the base of his balls, and enjoyed it briefly, before willing it down.
No. That’s not why they were here.
Why are we here? Justin thought. More to the point, why did I agree to this?
He had, not even as reluctantly as he would have liked. Not 24 hours after Brian had dropped him off in front of his building, he had sent him an email. I’m thinking about it, he told Brian. But I might not do this, he told himself. Uh huh.
It was a sickness, this attachment, this need to know what Brian was up to, how he was, what he was doing. Sometimes that interest wasn’t even personal; he really LIKED Brian, even when the man was being an asshole. He didn’t take all of Brian’s bullshit personally, not the way Michael did, forgiving it without a second thought. He might not like everything Brian did, but you couldn’t just separate the good from the bad in the man; he was complicated, fascinating. Obviously, that was part of the problem, that he didn’t judge Brian on a personal level much of the time. In his imagination, he saw Brian outside of their relationship (lack of relationship, he reminded himself). It didn’t matter how Brian treated him, per se. He didn’t use those terms, with himself as center of the universe, to form his judgments. Most of the time, the ability to judge on rational, far less emotional terms, stood him in good stead, forming Justin’s view of the world, defining his character. His emotions were filtered through a world view that articulated itself rationally. He believed this was why he just might become a great artist one day; it wasn’t just that he had talent. Lots of people did. He had vision. An impersonal vision that might just communicate itself, to speak to the world in terms that involved far more than his own tiny slice of it. He thought he could make a significant statement, not just portray his own reactionary feelings. The key to a mature existence. He was grateful that he had learned all this so early in life. And his coming into that vision of the world was fully creditable to Brian, to that incredible man. He knew all that.
But then, suddenly, in one night, everything he had worked so hard, struggled at times so mightily, to maintain all those self-serving feelings at a distance, to keep intact but separate the Justin/Brian part of him, all that had crashed in, and it had all been terribly, painfully personal. Unbearably so. And his rational side was rocked on its axis. If his rational view of things, of Brian, was so good, how could it have led him to such an unbearably painful place?
So maybe… maybe he had hoped that Brian would realize that the good things he did were so much better than the selfish things. Maybe he’d hoped that Brian would realize the long-term rewards for being… human, were so much better than quick paybacks of being the idolized prick of Pittsburgh.
Was he still hoping? Shit. Was he to just forget the way his emotional pain had finally ripped the veil from his eyes and revealed a face of Brian that his rational side had refused to look at, a side only visible through an emotional focus that he did not allow himself to indulge in? Was he so stupid as to forget such severe pain because the part of him that liked Brian as Brian, not necessarily Brian as Brian/Justin (“there is no Brian/Justin,” he had whispered to himself as he had reread Brian’s email), because that part missed Brian the man, even as he refused to acknowledge his memories of Brian the lover?
He was not that stupid. No. So he’d put up a touch of resistance. I’m not necessarily going to take him up on this New York thing, he’d thought. Just considering my options. It’s the smart thing to do.
From: JTaylor@pifa.edu
To: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
Uh, hi. I’m thinking about what you asked me last night, about that NYC thing? You have meetings Friday, right? Um… did you have like, a specific plan or something? I’m thinking about what you were saying. Thought I’d get my info together, while thinking about it. Haven’t decided. Just thought I’d ask what you were thinking.
From: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
To: JTaylor@pifa.edu
Right now, I’m thinking Thursday night flight. The meeting’s Friday from 10 a.m. and should take through mid-afternoon. Figured you’d want to go to museums, or galleries, while I’m occupied. Fly back Sunday. Or longer, if you want to stay a day or three more.
From: JTaylor@pifa.edu
To: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
I don’t want to disrupt your plans, Sunday would be fine. Why don’t I fly up Friday and meet you there? And let me pay for my end.
From: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
To: JTaylor@pifa.edu
The NYC group’s picking up the bill. Museums on the weekends would be insanely crowded. Your decision, of course, how long and when. But you know how I am with the planning details. I’m not questioning your desire to modify plans, just a heads up on NYC crowds, weekend-wise.
From: JTaylor@pifa.edu
To: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
I don’t want to cause Kinnetik’s client to pay extra. Thanks for the warning on crowds - and yeah, I know how anal you are. But I think I’d be more comfortable meeting you there after your meeting’s done. If I decide to come. I wouldn’t be going to look at art, anyway. I figure playing by ear would be the way to go.
From: BKinney@Kinnetik.com
To: JTaylor@pifa.edu
The group I’m meeting’s not exactly a client - I’ll tell you more about that later, if this meeting works out as I think it might. They’re picking up the entire bill - I’ve cleared bringing my partner along for the trip. They’re not going to quibble at the expense. Have I not taught you to take advantage of your opportunities? I’m taking advantage myself with this one - we’re staying, if you agree, at one of those boutique hotels on Park Avenue in Midtown. Friday’s fine if you want to meet me. Playing by ear sounds good. And believe me, you aren’t keeping me from anything. It’s good to be the boss. Besides, you’re more important than work.
That last line had done it. Despite the fact that he’d snorted when he had read it. But the fact that Brian had written it… So here he was. A complete fool. Waiting for Brian to get out of his meetings. Waiting to see what happened next.
He almost jumped at the knock on the door, and he crossed the room to open it.
“I knew you’d just throw the door open. What if it wasn’t me?” Brian asked, cocking his head as he watched the look of careful neutrality on Justin’s features.
“In this place?” Justin answered, walking back into the room. Brian watched his ass as he walked in front of him, biting down on his lower lip and forcing himself to look away. “What, the bellboy’s gonna assault me with another bottle of wine?”
“Ah, you got your wine. Any good?”
“I didn’t try it yet. Want some?”
“Sure,” Brian answered, sitting down in the chair by the balcony.
Justin turned over the two wineglasses next to the carafe, and pretended not to notice Brian watching him. This was stupid; this was Brian, he shouldn’t be so nervous.
He was pretty fucking nervous.
“You look… really good.” Justin tried only half-successfully to catch the stumble over the words, as he caught the “gorgeous” that almost tripped out.
Brian smiled. “New suit.” Dark grey Armani, fitted him like a glove. “Mind if I take off the jacket?”
“Um… sure, I mean, no, here, wait.” Justin put the glasses of wine down on the tiny round table by Brian’s chair, then waited as Brian stood and shrugged out of his jacket, and pulled off his plum-colored tie for good measure, unbuttoning his collar and taking a deep breath. Justin tore his eyes away from the relaxation ritual, and busied himself by crossing to the closet and hanging the apparel away, trying to not think of how his eyes had dropped for a second to Brian’s hips, the form of his body beneath the clean white dress shirt. Fuck, he was acting like the woman again, hanging up his man’s clothes. Waiting for him to get off work. Lusting. Fuck.
Fuck that. He had just arrived, actually, had just gotten there after being picked up by a car at LaGuardia and dropped off only an hour before. And he wasn’t being the domestic goddess, it was his room, he was being a good host. And as for lusting… Shit. Couldn’t really spin that one. Never could.
I am so fucked up, Justin thought, and turned around, to see Brian watching him over the rim of his wine glass, his long legs stretched in front of him. Justin felt a surge of annoyance. Better. Better to be annoyed than discomfited. He crossed the room, sat down on the side of the bed facing the other man. “I hate this.”
Brian bit his lips together. He waited.
“What, no sarcastic remark like, you haven’t even tried the wine yet?”
Brian pulled his legs in, picked Justin’s wine glass up and handed it across to him. “I’d rather hear what you mean by that,” he answered quietly, then sat back, waiting, stretching his legs back out. “But that’s a good one, I’ll remember it for later.”
Wow. More of a compliment than a sarcastic deflection. Justin relaxed a bit. Just a bit. He sipped the wine. Hm, not bad. Then he smiled. “The wine’s pretty good, actually.” Shit, who’s deflecting now? He took another sip. “Just, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.”
Brian smirked. “Sure you’re not just picking up on my vibe?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You look so… relaxed,” Justin gestured at the sprawled body. More wine. Gulped.
“I had a glass of champagne or two before I left Sirius,” Brian answered, smiling slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Brian leveled a long, measuring look at him.
“What?” Justin gulped at the wine again. He could enjoy the next glass. This one needed to be in him, sooner rather than later.
“What were you saying you hated about this?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Move the conversation in another direction.”
“Hmp. You know me too well.”
“Sometimes. More wine?”
“Sure.”
Justin took the wine glass, his fingers brushing Brian’s. Fuck, he thought, turning abruptly away. Why are we here again?
“I’m not sure I should tell you yet.”
“Tell me what?” Justin noticed the wine slopped a bit into the glass as he poured it. His hand shook slightly. One more glass to ease the nerves. Then I’ll slow down.
He turned back, moving to hand Brian his now-full glass. Sat down on the bed again. Here we are, he thought, suppressing what would surely have been a slightly hysterical giggle. But where are we exactly?
Brian took a long drink, then set the glass on the table, and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, hands clasped. “Okay, do you know what Sirius is?”
Justin thought for a moment, no clue. “No. Should I?”
“Not necessarily. Sirius is becoming the biggest advertising agency on the east coast. They expanded from California and dominated the west coast in the 90’s. Then they opened offices in New York five years ago. They’re becoming the biggest agency on the east coast. If they keep going this way, and apparently they will, they’re going to be the single biggest force in American advertising inside five to seven years.”
“Okay…” An ad agency? But why would Brian be meeting with the competition? And, how could Kinnetik compete with a company that big? He shook his head. “Okay?”
Those dark eyes watched Justin closely as Brian continued. “They approached me several months ago. They want Kinnetik.”
Justin was expecting more, but that was all Brian said. He was obviously missing something. Wait… want Kinnetik? And so here they were, in New York, meeting the competition… who wanted Kinnetik? Wanted Kinnetik? Or… wanted Brian. Oh. Wait. Oh. “Why don’t you just fill in the blanks for me, and I’ll tell you what I think when you’re done.”
Brian stood abruptly, and looked out the glass doors, to the office building across the street. Then he turned, stared down at Justin. Justin knew damn well that Brian had moved himself into a physically dominant position, but didn’t really resent it. The other man was nervous, moving himself into a physical location that made him feel more in control. Fine. Whatever it took. Justin just wanted to know what was up.
Brian looked down at the man sitting on the bed, watching him. He took a deep breath. “Okay, Sirius wants to move big into the tri-state area, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland. They think Kinnetik is positioned optimally for their needs. They don’t want to break the company up, just turn it into a subsidiary. And, since I’m familiar with the region and have the contacts they want, they want me to work for them. What I’m looking at is a huge payout for Kinnetik itself, and then a 3-year contract to work for Sirius, directing their operations in the tri-state region. After three years, the contract’s negotiable. They want me to get their division up and running, though, that’s part of the deal.”
“You’d be in charge of the entire tri-state area? A whole regional division in an advertising conglomerate…” Holy shit, Justin thought, as what Brian was talking about started to sink in.
Brian nodded. “My attorneys have looked it over, it’s a solid deal. Everybody wins. Kinnetik would remain intact. And technically, after the immediate payout, I wouldn’t really have to work. Ever again. So if they’re just trying to get rid of me, it wouldn’t matter. But they know I’d be more useful working for them.”
“How much?” Probably an impolite question; Justin couldn’t help asking. How much money are we talking?
“Millions. Right off the bat. Then an enormous salary, but, more importantly, a percentage of every deal I bring in.” The way that first word was drawn out, Justin wondered just how many millions were involved. Holy shit, Brian was about to be a millionaire. And no end in sight. A huge field of green. His every wish come true. Justin stared up at him, studying the familiar face, the intense green flecks in the dark eyes that watched him, the nervous line to the lips he knew so well, so well. He shivered, feeling suddenly as if he did not know Brian at all. Millionaire. Major powerhouse business man. What the fuck did Brian see in him, again?
“But they want me here. In New York. Operations are run from the city. I’d be back in Pittsburgh often enough, but I’d probably have to move the main branch of Sirius/Kinnetik to a more central location, Philadelphia, probably. And…” He hesitated.
“What?” Justin asked, his voice hoarse.
“Lindsay’s looking at jobs in the New York area. She’s leaving Pennsylvania, wants to move up here, get away from memories of Mel or some such bullshit. It’s one of the reasons I started looking into this offer, a couple months ago. Gus is going to be here. And… well. There was nothing keeping me in Pittsburgh.”
Certainly not me, Justin thought. He still wasn’t sure why he was here. Holy fuck, he thought, again. Brian’s got it made. “Wow,” he finally said, with a small laugh. “Congratulations. That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you Brian. You always wanted New York. This is like your best wet dream, come to life.”
Brian sat down on the bed. “Not quite. It depends on you.”
“Me.”
“Um.” Brian hesitated.
“What’s to consider? Everything you ever wanted, all yours.”
“Not everything.” That look, that stare, boring into him… Justin could feel it, physically feel the movement of Brian’s eyes, taking in his features, reaching out and whispering across his skin.
“Oh…” Justin leaned back, needing more distance. Then he stood abruptly.
“I wasn’t sure whether I should tell you now, or after we’d actually spent time together…”
“Brian, when was the last time you fucked someone?” Justin asked abruptly.
“I thought… what?”
Justin stared down at Brian’s form, sprawled on the bed. A surge of anger swept through him. Anger, fear? Whatever the fuck. He was fucking pissed off. “Are you gonna tell me you haven’t fucked anyone since the explosion, still?”
The confused look that swept Brian’s features pleased Justin mightily. Good. “I haven’t exactly had time… What do you want to know…”
“Since when has lack of time ever stopped you?” Justin crossed to the wine again. Fuck it, to hell with trying to stay sober, this was ridiculous. Just how big a fool did Brian think he was? Was he even thinking of Justin? Or just himself, as usual? Justin poured his glass full, slammed the empty bottle back down, and drank down half the glass. Damn, no more wine. Well, that’s what the mini bar was for. “So you give up fucking, and what? I’m supposed to believe that you’ve changed? You’ve decided you want me because I’ve finally told you to go to hell, but no, we’ve gotta drag this out to the bitter end, with you getting everything you ever wanted except for your little stalking worshipper, so what? You want me to actually believe that everything can just change, that YOU can just change? You expect me to believe that? And what, I’m just supposed to follow you around? Because you’ve CHANGED?”
“No.” The quietly spoken word directly contrasted Justin’s raised voice. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.”
Justin snorted. “Yeah, cause I’m not an idiot, like you seem to think I am! I believed you too long as it is! You only don’t like losing, you want a chance to throw me out first, you just can’t stand that I walked away… again…”
“That is not true!”
Good, Brian was angry now, too, Justin was glad, he couldn’t stand considerate, nice Brian. Not tonight. He didn’t know how to deal with that Brian. Truthfully, Brian was freaking him out. Who was this? It had to be a lie. It was a lie! “It is true! You want me to come with you, to just jettison my entire life, to jump off a cliff for you like I always do, I’ve been jumping off cliffs for you for years, but you only want me to jump when you say, or when you bodily throw me off! Not when I’m ready to take a step forward, for US to take a step forward…” He was mixing his metaphors, but so angry he didn’t really give a shit that he could barely follow what he himself meant. It was in the tone. Fuck reasonableness. He was tired of always being so goddamned reasonable. “Always on your terms! So you’ve got this perfect deal set up and I’m just supposed to jettison everything of my own to set up a little life around the uber of you? There are three kajillion gorgeous gay men in New York, and I’m supposed to believe part of the attraction to New York isn’t the opportunity to fuck your way through every single one of them?!!” He turned his back abruptly, moving toward the mini bar. Fuck this. He was going to get drunk. Fuck that he was skipping around reasons to be angry at this bullshit. There was so much to choose from, he didn’t have to be reasonable! The time for reason was over, it had been blown out of the water three months ago, and if he forgot that, he had to be the biggest idiot on the planet.
He heard Brian moving behind him, and then felt his hand on his arm, swinging him around. Brian held him with two warm hands on his upper arms, frowning down at him, annoyed. Good. “I’m not going to say I can be monogamous because how the hell should I know? I want to be with you…”
“For now,” Justin scoffed, twisting slightly.
He was held fast, forced to look up, directly into Brian’s face. “I can’t tell you why this is different, but you’ve always known it is, and I’m enough of an emotional idiot to have just figured out what you already know.”
“I didn’t know shit,” Justin spat back, twisting.
But Brian held him, firmly. “I am NOT asking you to jettison your life for me. If you say so, I’ll turn down the offer and stay in Pittsburgh. If you want your life there. With me in it. Just tell me, do you want me in your life? Anywhere. That’s all I want to know.” Shit, Brian thought, staring down at Justin’s features, set but unable to disguise the real pain Brian could see churning beneath the surface. I knew I should have waited to spring this on him. He waited, his lungs full, waiting for Justin’s answer.
“I don’t know,” Justin replied, and repeated, “I don’t know…” Fuck! Shit, he wanted to believe this, of COURSE he wanted to believe this, but people don’t just change overnight, and Brian, damn, he didn’t change at all! Justin stared up at the face of the man above him, holding him so fast, not allowing him to move, to turn away, and suddenly he just couldn’t talk anymore, he didn’t want to talk, and he resented Brian’s ability to stop him, to hold him in place with the simple clasp of his hands on him. Damn Brian anyway! always needing to be in control, even this bullshit abstinence, whatever the fuck this was, this was all about Brian’s control, and Justin couldn’t take it anymore. He abruptly placed both hands on Brian’s chest, shoving him away so suddenly that Brian landed with a “whump!” on the bed, sprawled out in surprise. Justin followed him down, pinning Brian’s hips beneath his own, leaning his weight into Brian’s body, placing his forearms on either side of Brian’s head, staring intently at the parting lips, ignoring the eyes, wasn’t going to risk a glance that way, only studied the lips that parted as Brian seemed about to say something, but Justin wasn’t going to give him a chance, he wouldn’t even allow himself to look for long when he wanted to taste, to feel Brian’s lips beneath his. His body pressed down from above, his lower region rubbing hard against the other man’s, and his mouth moved down to taste the warm flesh of Brian’s lips, his tongue sweeping past to dip into the moist regions of Brian’s mouth, commanding Brian’s tongue to follow his where he was leading. For a second, he felt the stiffening of Brian’s muscles, and waited to be thrown aside, but the initial resistance immediately gave way to surrender as the body beneath his relaxed into his onslaught, and he heard a groan as Brian’s hands moved to settle on the back of Justin’s thighs, pulling him closer.
Justin swatted those hands away, pulling Brian’s arms over his head, firmly pressing his wrists into the mattress, making clear they were to remain there. Then he sat up, his legs straddling Brian’s hips, and tore open the beautiful shirt he had been admiring not twenty minutes before, ignoring the way the buttons flew across the bed spread. He placed one hand on Brian’s chest, his thumb sweeping around his left nipple, bared to Justin’s devouring gaze.
“Justin. Justin.” He could feel Brian’s eyes on him, but he refused to look, refused to hear any message in those chanted words, whatever Brian might or might not be trying to say. Fuck it, he’d spent too long tuning himself into Brian’s needs. This was about his own. For once. He leaned down, drew the nipple in between his teeth, bit down, enjoying the gasp of pain above him, turned to a sigh of pleasure when he changed his caress to a soothing lick, drawing the turgid flesh into his mouth, sucking on it lightly, before continuing to nip and suck and lick his way down Brian’s torso, over the taut stomach, down. His hands feverishly freed the fastenings at the top of Brian’s pants, yanked down the zipper, and pulled out the hard dick straining against the material. Justin’s eyes closed as his lips skimmed the hot, silky flesh covering the hard member beneath his hands. He parted his lips, to swallow it in one swift move, when Brian’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head up, away.
“Justin.”
That same tone. Justin looked up, reluctantly, resentfully.
Brian was watching him intently. His breath was hard and ragged. “Do you really want to fuck like this? This angry?”
Shit. Justin’s hands paused in their movements, and he allowed them to rest, one cupping Brian’s balls, the other wrapped around the base of his still-hard dick. Brian’s body was obviously ready to let Justin continue. But Brian himself was trying to stop him. And Justin knew that Brian had never penetrated him in anger. Turned him on and left him frustrated, sure. But he had never fucked him angry. He thought of that, thought of how that would feel. How it would leave him feeling. He released his hold, and brought his hands to rest on Brian’s stomach. “No,” he finally answered. “No, I don’t.”
Brian let his hands slide out of Justin’s hair, to rest on his shoulders. “As much as I would enjoy your mouth on my dick right now, I think you’d be upset at yourself. And angry at me for not playing ubermale, trying to keep things from flying out of control. Don’t want you any more pissed off at me for not meeting your expectations.”
That actually drew a laugh out of Justin, surprising him. Brian had pretty much nailed the idea; at that moment, Brian really couldn’t win as far as Justin was concerned.
Justin felt Brian’s dick swell, where it was trapped under his body’s weight. God… “No,” Justin finally croaked, his voice rough. “Not like that.” He rolled off and moved up the length of Brian’s body, pulling Brian onto his side, so they were face to face. “Like this.” He reached down, unzipped himself, took Brian’s hand and placed it on his own hard length. He let his eyes drift shut, and reached for Brian, stroking him. “Hey.” Justin opened his eyes, to see Brian studying his face. The other man moved his head forward, and kissed him gently on the lips, all the while touching him, softly but surely. Their mouths remained touching, open and gasping slightly as they shared breath, tongues reaching out to gently caress, to draw more sensation, more connection. Brian brought his free hand to Justin’s hip, stroking the flesh there, drawing down the material, baring his lower body further, and they continued to touch gently, then more urgently, to a much-needed physical release. Quiet. Intense. Lips meeting in a gentle kiss as they came down, and continued to lie there silently. Sharing breath and body heat, hands and lips on each other’s flesh. Not wanting to move. Not daring to speak.
VIII
They sat across from each other in the café in Chelsea. Late afternoon. The sun slanted down the streets. The buildings weren’t crowded here, nor very tall; the sun actually made it down into the street. Justin stirred his double chocolate mocha, while Brian watched him, and made a very good show of pretending not to watch him. He pretended not to see Justin eyeing him back; they had meticulously avoided looking directly at each other all day. At least in the face.
The very least of it was that Brian had not had sex in three months. Then there was Justin’s sex ban. Then there was the club the night before.
Shit. This sucked. Maybe he was doing the abstinence thing just to prove he could. Yup. He could. And he had. But he should have gone on an insane tricking spree right before taking Justin’s ass up to New York because being able to watch said ass, getting dragged to a club and watching it shake as Justin made a spectacle of displaying his ass on the dance floor while Brian watched from the bar, watched every gay man in New York hit on his… whatever Justin was, well. Hell. Then watching…
Fuck.
Was it any surprise, what had happened? Really?
Brian had been amazed when Justin woke him up with a knock on the door that very morning, still there, Justin had actually come back to the hotel the night before. And then they had spent the day not talking about what had happened.
But then, they never did, did they?
Justin had seemed more than willing to participate in the silence. Instead of talking, he had dragged both their asses off to the Metropolitan Museum, to MOMA, to one of the three galleries he had tagged in the copy of the New Yorker he had picked up the day before. They had spent the day, lost in art, Brian lost in trying to figure out why Justin was still there.
Justin was definitely still pissed off, that was for sure. Even if he was sneaking glances at Brian’s legs, hips, pelvis… cock, which stiffened slightly under the caress of his gaze. Justin’s startled glance bounced up to meet Brian’s look. Finally. Taking in the lust, the desire. Looking away. Sipping on his cocoa.
Brian closed his eyes briefly. Fuck. They had to talk about this. Not that he wanted to.
He had realized something as he tramped around all of New York’s East Side that afternoon, trailing after the enticing little rump that was always a step ahead, in perfect view. He realized, after the night before, that he had no idea how the fuck Justin would respond to anything he did. And up to that point, he hadn’t cared. Well, he had cared. He just hadn’t changed his actions because of that. If Justin didn’t like Brian the way he was, he could leave.
Brian had started to think, maybe that attitude was a slight miscalculation.
He also realized, since coming to the conclusion that he did indeed give a shit, that he was terrified of doing the wrong thing. Walking around all afternoon, freaked out. Until he realized it wasn’t helping anything, and forced himself to relax.
He had never been to the Museum of Modern Art before, and found some of the art work engaging. He found Justin’s response to some of the art work really engaging. He found his ability to watch Justin’s ass, his profile, his shoulders, the way he carried himself when he studied some piece that caught his attention, most fascinating of all.
He had forced himself to stop worrying about doing, or saying, the right thing.
Like right now, hating the way Justin ignored him. Fuck that. Time to get Justin’s attention. “I want to fuck you.”
“Brian…” What should have been a commanding tone, judging from the way Justin’s shoulders stiffened, came out decidedly breathless. To say nothing of the way Justin’s face slackened. He was practically drooling. Despite everything. Despite last night.
Yeah, apparently Brian wasn’t the only one who missed how it was between them. He sat back, oddly reassured. They still needed to talk. But he felt somewhat reassured. Somewhat.
But the fact that Justin’s body wanted his more than all others, that wasn’t the point, as Justin said himself. Brian studied Justin’s face, again turned away from him. Yeah, he was still mad. Obviously. Or… indifferent. That was a whole other problem. Which one? Fuck.
They had been either fighting, or not talking, the night before as well. Before not talking at the club that Justin had dragged him to, seemingly for the express purpose of demonstrating to Brian that he could get any gay man in New York should he so desire, there had been dinner.
That’s what they had done, gone to dinner. The first big fight, then jerking each other off, then off to dinner. And not talking about it. Justin kept trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. Brian kept watching him.
Over dessert, well, coffee for Brian, Justin had finally snapped. It had finally happened when Brian had reached out with the spoon he’d just used to stir his coffee, and scooped out a piece of Justin’s triple chocolate death cake. Justin watched him place the sugar overload in his mouth, rub his lips for the last bit of flavor, his eyes closing at the sensation. Yum.
“If you wanted dessert, Brian, why didn’t you just order something?” Justin said, his words clipped.
“I didn’t want anything.”
“Oh, no, of course not. Not you, Mr. Control himself. You just take part of what I have, and then tell everyone that the whole dessert was my thing.”
“I don’t tell anyone anything,” Brian answered, carefully. Watching. Always watching. Wary of saying the wrong thing.
“You know what I mean.”
“I think I’d know more if you talk to me about why you’re upset. And not yell at me about your fucking dessert.”
“Okay, so I’m angry, okay? And… I don’t know. You expect me to think you can change…”
“Do you want me to change?”
“I don’t know what I want!”
Brian watched him. Waiting. Tried to get his dick to forget the sensation of Justin’s fingers on it, the sure stroke of his hand. Trying to figure out what to say. Um. “I’m sorry I ate your cake.”
“It’s not that, I’m willing to share. I just wish you wouldn’t take for granted that you’re entitled to it.”
This is why he didn’t do relationships. They were too fucking complicated. But it was too late for him, he was trapped in this one. No, damn it, not trapped. He could leave whenever he wanted. He had practically ensured he would be left, hadn’t he? But that single moment when it could have been taken away…
Shit. He had realized, the night Babylon had burned, racing down to the hospital to find out if anyone had survived the explosion, that he wasn’t really in control of anything. But that wasn’t the terrifying part. The terrifying part had been the thought that Justin might be gone. Realizing that had made him realize; it wasn’t just the loss of control of external things or even of himself. It had been the potential loss of the most beautiful, desirable, incredible man he knew. He was about to lose something huge… irreplaceable. And finding his way back to the loft after Justin had walked away from him, back to his empty bed, all alone, knowing he had really, really, really fucked up…
He shuddered slightly.
“Are you okay?”
And still, even in the midst of a fight in this New York restaurant, in the midst of finding terrible fault, Justin could still notice Brian’s shiver and express concern.
“No,” Brian found himself saying. He looked up, straight into Justin’s face. “No, Justin, I’m not okay. I am well and truly fucked.”
“I could have told you that years ago,” Justin answered, shaking his head.
A surprised laugh barked out of Brian. “Well. Now I agree with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
So he fucked up with the cake. And he fucked up after dinner, in the cab, letting Justin know he wanted him. Not following Justin’s we-shouldn’t-fuck command. They were sitting, silent, in the back seat, on the way downtown, to some club Justin had found on some “Gay Friendly New York” travel web site. Unbelievable. The kid was SUCH a tourist.
Feeling Justin’s presence, too much. Maybe a little too much wine. Reaching out a hand to touch that hair, down the nape of his neck. Feeling Justin not pulling away, leaning in, hands moving down Justin’s back, lips sinking toward his neck, moving against the soft, warm skin beneath his ear. Moving closer. Practically humping Justin’s leg. Unable to stop the soft moan that he breathed out. Shifted so his dick’s whole length felt up the hard muscle of Justin’s thigh. Right there in the back of a taxi.
“Brian…” Justin had glanced at the taxi driver.
“It’s a New York driver, Justin. They’ve seen it.”
“And more,” the cab driver added in a thick Indian accent. “And for a big tip, I’m blind and invisible.”
“Double the fare, then,” Brian growled, before swooping in to claim Justin’s lips, feeling Justin melt into the kiss, just for a moment, their tongues touching in such a satisfying sensation…
And then being held off with one firm hand. “Brian, no, I’m still mad at you. Really, obviously. I don’t want to ma… fu… I don’t want fucking you to influence any decision I make.”
“Fine. What do you want?”
“I want to go dancing.”
Dancing. Right. Brian watched Justin sip the cocoa in the warm afternoon sun, remembering Justin dancing the night before. He supposed he should be angry about that, but he wasn’t. He understood, what had happened. Really, he understood.
He really shouldn’t feel so… blindsided. He shouldn’t be so… hurt, yeah, damn it, he was hurt.
He shouldn’t want to take away that guilty look Justin had worn all day.
So they had gone to the club. Crowded, Friday night, of course.
He’d been cruised, sure. But Justin had been like fucking catnip in a club full of toms. Men more gorgeous than himself. Many many more gorgeous, younger, buffer men.
Brian hadn’t been interested, and he had brushed off the pick-ups, choosing to watch Justin who, after sucking down a double shot of tequila, headed to the dance floor, leaving Brian behind at the bar. Shaking that ass. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Brian was watching him rub up against, being rubbed up against by a succession of increasingly beautiful men.
Brian nursed a beer, and let him do this. Do what he needed to do. Apparently, Justin needed to show Brian that every man in New York wanted the ass Brian had had to himself, a scant few months ago. Show Brian precisely what he was missing.
Showing Brian exactly what it was like, watching a man you wanted more than any other, so much it was pretty fucking pathetic how painful it was, to watch Justin’s hips grabbed by hands that weren’t his own, hands that were pulling Justin toward a body that wasn’t his, Justin’s head falling back, the man, maybe mid 20’s, perfect body, taller than Justin, the man’s mouth descending to that spot on the skin just below Justin’s ear, watching the lips Brian wanted on his, watch those lips fall open in a gasp, watched as the guy whispered in Justin’s ear, and Justin’s answering smile, watched them leave the dance floor…
Turning to the bartender after a minute or three, knowing he should just wait, just take this… “Is there a back room here?”
The bartender, waving in the direction Justin had gone with the trick.
He should have just waited, but he knew that he had to go see. He had to see this.
Deliberately seeking out this out, seeking out the pain, needing to see it, needing to be hurt. Not sure why. Moving toward the back of the club, through the beads in the doorway at the back, down a short staircase, the dim green light barely illuminating the familiar sight of bodies in various states of undress, shrugging off hands that groped at him, pushing them away almost violently, walking through…
And stopping. Leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Justin leaned into the wall opposite, his pants undone and around his ankles, pale perfect ass upturned and offered to the guy who had dragged him from the dance floor for a different kind of dance down here, the man positioning his long cock at the entrance between Justin’s cheeks, one thrust and in, Justin’s back arching and legs shifting, his head falling back on the shoulder behind him as the man moved his hand around Justin’s hips to grab his dick and hold it, letting Justin tell him when he was ready by thrusting forward into the hand that grabbed him, and back to take the dick that impaled him, eyes rolling up as he let himself go to the pure pleasure of being fucked.
Brian had shaken his head and barely glanced at the guy offering to take care of his erection, pressed against the material holding his dick in, painful in its arousal. He wanted to feel the pain, did not want the release Justin was well on his way toward, his gasps audible across the room, moaning as the man picked up the pace, rocking into him, pressing himself into that perfect body, Brian could FEEL the memory of it as he watched, Justin’s head rolling on the shoulder behind him, turning his gaze… seeing Brian watching him. Holding Brian’s gaze with eyes that remained fixed as his body pounded out the rhythm, no expression on his face but just pure, slackened lust, until his eyes closed and he shouted, Brian still watching as Justin’s back arched and his orgasm tore through him, and the man stiffened behind him with one last hard thrust. Posed there, perfect, terrible, terrible beauty.
Brian turned, strode out of the club. Deep breaths in the cold air. His heart beating, too fast, pumping blood painfully against his temples. He waved down a cab and took it back to the hotel. Assumed Justin would be pissed he’d left the club. Assumed he had been sending a message. Assumed Justin would be gone, back to Pittsburgh, the next day. Anything but the knock at nine the next morning, and Justin’s demand that they hit the Metropolitan early…
Brian took a deep breath, set down his latte cup. Saturday’s silence was now coming to an end. He had been so surprised Justin had been there that morning, had so little idea what it meant, that he had just trailed after him, glad enough to just look at art and try to figure out, well: Now what? “It hurt.” Shit, was that him? Well, damn. Apparently his brain was making decisions he was not aware of. Such as, the decision to speak. And such as, the decision to be honest.
“What?” Justin turned away from the scene of pedestrians hurrying past the café on the other side of the window.
Brian shifted. Well, hell. Things couldn’t get much worse. Or, if they could, he was about to bring them crashing in. So nothing new there.
“Last night,” he continued, staring into Justin’s eyes, which had finally turned fully toward him. About time. “You wanted to hurt me. It worked.”
“We’ve never been monogamous, Brian.”
“I know that. It was the context.”
“You think I’m that calculated?”
“Yes.”
“Unlike you.” Sip of the chocolate. Hadn’t he finished that shit yet?
“Do you want more?” Brian gestured at his drink.
“No.” The mug was set down abruptly on the table between their chairs. Justin turned completely toward Brian with his whole body, for the first time that day. “I was horny, I got fucked. So what? It’s not like it’s never happened before.”
“You knew I wanted you. You knew I was watching. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I was getting fucked, just like you do, all the time. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Bullshit. This was personal.”
The smile that came over Justin’s face sent chills down Brian’s spine. “Ah,” Justin said, his voice as cold as the air outside, “So now you know how I feel.”
Brian passed a hand wearily over his face. “This is about that Brandon thing, isn’t it?”
“I was taking care of my needs, Brian. If I hurt your little feelings, maybe you should find someone who’ll take better care with them. It seems to be your problem, not mine.”
Wow, going straight for the jugular. “Justin…”
“How am I making you feel, Brian?”
“What?”
“Right now, how am I making you feel?”
Brian’s knee jerk reaction was to say it didn’t feel like anything. What, feelings, Brian Kinney? Then he reminded himself, his knee jerk reaction was usually a bad idea. “Pretty fucking rotten,” he answered instead. Growled, actually.
Justin smirked. “Good. I’m getting another, you want anything?” At the shake of Brian’s head, he sauntered off, making sure to sidle himself out in front of Brian’s chair, ass on a level with Brian’s gaze.
Brian sat, moodily watching the store owner across the street close up his shop.
Was Justin doing this because he had already decided to dump him, and was rubbing it in as revenge for every shitty thing Brian had put him through? or had he not made up his mind, and only needed to do this, to walk away feeling that he had reclaimed some of his pride? Or had he not made up his mind, and he was confused, and acting out his pain, getting it out of his system before repeating that Brian could go to hell? Should Brian call an end to this, demand a yes or a no now, or should he ride it out, wait to see what happened?
Fucking relationship shit.
“Here.” Justin returned, setting a small latte down on the table between their chairs. “I knew you’d want a mocha latte after smelling my chocolate for the past half hour.” He sat in the chair he’d recently abandoned, placing his chocolate next to the cup he’d brought for Brian, leaning over to rummage in his bag, looking for something.
Brian picked up the latte, and took a sip. The flavor blossomed over his tongue like the uncurling of the first leaf of spring; that good. It was perfect, exactly what he wanted, without knowing he wanted it.
Okay, he said to himself, watching Justin’s backside as he sorted through the bag at his feet. Let’s ride it out. See what happens.
IX
Brian finished the latte, and looked over to where Justin sat, staring out the window. The New Yorker he had been rummaging for sat in his lap, open to the “Goings on About Town,” neglected.
“Anything you want to see?”
Justin started, and looked over at him, then down at the magazine, which he closed. He stared down at the cover. He said, “You have to take the offer. The job.”
Silence. Justin looked up at Brian, his expression defiant. “You know you will.”
“I told you. It’s an option.”
Justin snorted, looked away.
That pissed Brian off. “Don’t do that!”
“Do what.”
Blow me off, like nothing I say is important. But Brian bit his tongue on that one. He wasn’t going to set himself up for another of Justin’s payback’s-a-bitch comments. Once was enough, thank you very much. He got it. But apparently, his getting it was not at an end. Instead, he answered, “I meant what I said. Justin, look at me.”
Reluctantly, Justin turned his face toward him.
“I still don’t believe anyone can count on another person for his own satisfaction. But I have Kinnetik, whether I take the offer here or not. Kinnetik’s a good thing. In Pittsburgh, or here. I meant what I said, though. I don’t want to lose you unless that’s what you want.”
Justin shook his head. “That isn’t the point. The point is, you’d blame me. If I kept you from this. You’d never forgive me, if I told you to stay in Pittsburgh. On what you missed out on.”
Well, shit. Apparently Justin was becoming him. Martyr of the day. Fuck, he had to stop that, right now. “I know what my choices are. Besides, I’m more or less set for life as it is. I have enough money. I don’t need more.”
“It’s not the money?”
“There’s always another step on the food chain. I’d be higher here than I am in Pittsburgh, but once you get to one mountain top, you only see another mountain, where people are sitting up higher than you. It’s all relative.”
Justin’s eyes narrowed. Oh, fuck, Brian thought, I did it again, said the wrong thing. What the fuck did I say?
Yup. Justin opened his mouth, closed it. Picked up his mug with a jerk, realized it was empty, banged it down on the table.
Brian waited.
Not for long. “You know, that really pisses me off. You can make a choice not to get on with your life because you’d prefer to be with me, and you’ll be fine. Because you don’t do regrets, and you know what you’re doing.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for anything I choose to do.”
“But I can’t be so wise?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Justin leaned forward, his neck jutting out. “Every fucking time you decide I have a better opportunity, with Ethan, in Hollywood, whatever the fuck, I tell you I want to be with you and YOU decide I’m better off not with you. That I don’t know what’s best for me. Only you do. You can come to terms with your own choices. But you also seem to be perfectly happy to make emotional decisions for me based on what you decide is good for me. At your own expense. But I don’t get to have that kind of choice for myself? Fuck you, Brian! You think I’d even consider asking you to stop your life for me, after our entire history? Even if you were okay with it, you think it’s about you? You think I want to feel guilty for keeping you from anything you want?”
Oh, well, shit.
In Brian’s silence, Justin continued. “Besides, all these hot guys.” He gestured around the shop. “Keep you from them? I don’t think so.”
Brian didn’t even look around the cafe. He’d already seen, not just here, but on the street, in the club last night. And not confined to one section of town either. And not home grown. New York’s gay population was huge. Beautiful. And everywhere you looked.
“You’re assuming it’s a given I think New York is better for me. But maybe I’d rather keep you in Pittsburgh, you little idiot.”
Justin’s turn to be silent. But not for long. Nope, Brian didn’t have to worry about him being a little Kinney, that was for sure. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You look around,” Brian replied. “Yeah, we’re getting cruised, but they aren’t looking at me.” Well, yeah they were, but then the eyes would slide off him and onto Justin. And stay there. But whatever, the point was the same.
Justin stared at him. Then turned his head. His gaze connected with one particular hottie across the room. As soon as Justin’s eyes settled on him, the guy smiled, and raised his coffee in a salute. Licked his lips. Justin turned back to Brian, bemused.
“You’re beautiful, Justin, you fit right in here. I’m going to be 34. I’m in shape, I look good, but I’m not… and you’re not the kid you were when I first met you. You’re a fucking gorgeous young man. Prime. I’m past. You think I don’t know that? I don’t know if I want to give up Kinnetik. I do know if we move here, it would be your town.” Stating facts. His tone soft. He had been thinking about this since the offer was made. Did he want to leave Pittsburgh? It was up to Justin. He really did not know if it was a good idea, to say yes to Sirius, go back to taking orders from someone else. He had all the power, running Kinnetik. Was giving that up worth the money, worth the extra stress of the job he’d be accepting? Jettisoning a lifestyle that he was fine with? Fuck if he knew. He did know he wanted Justin. So let him decide.
Justin looked back down at the magazine. Then back up. Scratched behind his ear. “I thought it was a foregone conclusion, that you’d want to do it. If you think I’d be the one fucking around… you don’t still think I want to fuck all these…” He abruptly cut himself off before finishing, turned bright red. They were both thinking of last night.
“Maybe,” Brian answered. “You’re not like me, I know you’re different from me. But maybe you would want that. For whatever reasons. I do seem to piss you off.”
“Then why… why are you even asking me to come here with you? if you aren’t even sure you want to accept Sirius’s offer?”
“Precisely because I’m nobody here. I’m not Brian fucking Kinney here. Here, we could just be us, instead of Kinney plus twink. Here, we might be able to figure out something we’re both comfortable with, without the pressure of my reputation.”
Justin’s face softened; the hard look left his features. Brian realized it had been there since he had shown up at the hotel room the day before. He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable at the intensity of this discussion. “Um. You figure out what you want to do tonight?” He gestured at the magazine.
“Yeah. Can we just go back to my hotel room, order room service and watch movies? I’m really tired…”
They didn’t talk about the job, what had happened the night before, what had happened all the nights and days before up to that point. Thank god. They had ordered room service, and Justin had flicked on the television, settling back against the headboard of the bed to watch absolutely mindless sitcom reruns. Brian sat in one of the chairs, picking at his salad as he watched Justin devour a steak and laugh at the show. When they finished eating, Brian got up and wheeled the cart back out of the room with the dishes on it, then came back in, to the opening strains of one of the movies Justin had bought earlier in the day at Virgin Records in Union Square. The lights were off, only the pale flicker of the movie lighted the room. Justin was clutching a pillow to his chest, watching opening credits.
“Braveheart?” Brian questioned, glancing at the t.v., and standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed.
“I’ve never seen it,” Justin answered, putting the pillow back down next to him, patting it. “Look, I saved you a pillow.” He patted it again. Brian climbed onto the bed, and leaned back against the headboard, not touching the other man, but extremely aware of his presence.
The movie absorbed him for the next two plus hours, so much that Brian lost himself in the story. Until the scene when Mel Gibson is tortured and about to be killed, and Braveheart’s memories turn to his beloved, killed at the start of the movie by the hated British. Flashback to the little woman, in happier days. All gone to shit, and Braveheart’s balls in a vice. Literally. Or castrated. Pretty fucking nasty, whatever was going on down there. But Brian’s intense involvement with the scene unfolding on screen ended when he heard a strangled little noise, and glanced over to see Justin, his hands in fists against his mouth, his eyes filled with tears. Again, the sentimental music, and the choked noise. Brian smiled, about to make a truly dead-on remark, when he thought better of it. Instead, he unfolded his arms, and put the left one around Justin’s shoulders.
Justin collapsed, turning into Brian abruptly, his arms moving around his waist, and let go, weeping, and not so quietly. Face hidden against Brian’s chest, his shoulders shaking.
“What…?” Brian bit his tongue, deciding this wasn’t just the movie. I mean, come on, it was just a girl. Course, Mel Gibson was hot, but not THAT hot.
Obviously, this little break down was not about a tortured Scot. Brian wondered what the fuck it was about, exactly.
The fit didn’t last long, since the movie ended soon after. Justin hadn’t moved his head, although the crying jag had trailed off into sporadic sniffs. Great, a shirt full of snot and tears. “You okay?” Brian whispered. Justin didn’t answer. He had fallen asleep. Brian was reluctant to move, even though the room was now full dark. Instead, he just sat there, Justin’s form heavy against his. Brian watched him breath.
He woke up to lips on his jaw, tracing the line to his chin. His neck felt cramped; he had fallen asleep still sitting up. Justin’s body was still pressed against his, only now he was awake. Brian sat, perfectly still, feeling the full lips move to his shoulder. His shirt was unbuttoned, Justin’s fingers brushing against his right nipple. Back and forth.
“Brian?” Whispered. “You awake?”
“Yeah,” Brian answered.
“Good.” Justin unbuttoned the rest of the shirt, slid his hand against Brian’s side, tracing the skin over his ribs.
Brian turned his head, and Justin moved to capture his lips. They kissed, slow and tender.
Brian reluctantly pulled away. “Justin, wait,” Brian said.
Justin waited, his lips moving to the spot under Brian’s ear, then behind his neck. Licked there. One hand molded itself to Brian’s right pec, thumb brushing against the hard nipple. Brian shuddered. “I don’t want…”
“You don’t want this?” Justin asked, continuing to stroke the skin at Brian’s belly, moving toward the fastenings of his jeans.
“Are you sure?” Brian asked, turning slightly so he faced the other man. He moved the back of his fingers to Justin’s face, stroked his cheek.
“Yes,” Justin answered. “I’m not mad at you. I miss you. I miss this.”
“Just this?”
“Do we have to talk about it?”
“No… I just don’t want this if you’re… if we’re not ready.”
“What are you saying?” Justin turned his face against Brian’s hand, caught the tip of his index finger between his lips, sucked on it, stroked the pad with his tongue, before sucking the full length into his mouth, repeating the tongue’s caress along the entire undersurface.
Brian took a deep breath, allowing himself to just enjoy that. Amazing, what one simple touch did to him. “I’m saying… this is going to mean something to me. And I want to make sure it means something to you.”
Justin let Brian’s finger slide out of his mouth, the hand moving back to his jawline, tipping Justin’s face. He saw that Brian watched him intently in the ghostly glow of the street lights. “I want you inside me,” Justin answered that. “I want you to… I want you to make love to me.”
“Yeah. That’s what I want too.” Brian studied Justin watching him. And then Justin smiled, a smile that Brian could not read. But he didn’t have to, didn’t care to, because Justin’s lips were moving toward his own, and they were kissing and sliding down to lie full length on the bed, pressing their bodies up against each other, seeking more than a simple touch.