Homecoming, Part 2
Okay, I've decided on daily updates. Here's part 2:
CowLip owns the characters. This is not profiting me. Quite the opposite.
Written for the "Worlds Apart" challenge at neverenough_bj.
Thank you, jans_intentions, for the beta.
Warning: Brian/other, angst.
Homecoming, Part 2
New York, so difficult to work his way into, proved depressingly easy to leave. He had sent an email to Jim, basically the house dad, telling him he’d be up with a check for his last month, and giving his 30 day notice. That was it. That Sunday, Justin took his mother’s car, and headed back to Brooklyn, where he proceeded to load his possessions into the back seat and trunk, and that was all. He had already quit his restaurant job. Not that they would care.
He had a few pieces hanging in a couple cafés around New York. He had an entire series going up in Sal’s place soon. But no galleries. Simon, and the review from Art Forum, hadn’t gotten him very far. Two gallery owners had openly expressed disappointment at the size of his works, after the description of his more massive pieces from the magazine.
Brian would have appreciated that; everyone was a size queen. He wouldn’t have appreciated knowing Justin was being told to come back when he had more of the same. He would have appreciated even less how discouraging that was. Of course, Brian hadn’t asked. And Justin had been too embarrassed by his struggles to tell him.
But his place in New York had cost him $750 a month for a tiny room on the third floor of a house in Bay Ridge, and a shared living space with six other artists, so that even the large living area on the ground floor couldn’t accommodate them all, and the projects Justin itched to do clearly took up too much space. Art studios were just as expensive as apartments. In New York, space was space, it was all at a premium. At first, he had rented time in a studio, until the work he had no choice but to leave there had been damaged. None of the other artists took responsibility. And since they all had their friends in, and no one thought twice about ingesting various substances on their own time, accidents were almost de rigueur. And for that, his savings were being eaten up?
Justin took the ride back up to New York on a Saturday night. He was glad to have the excuse of his mother’s car to tell one of his (now ex) roommates that he had to have it back no later than Sunday afternoon. It was too late for Celia to organize a party for Saturday, although she did manage to get a bunch of people to stay in the house long enough to greet him when he showed up Saturday at nine o’clock.
“You sure you don’t want to come out with us?” Jason asked.
“It was a long drive. I’ve got to be up too early, but thanks,” Justin answered, not regretting the departure of Jason with Celia and the other housemates and their friends, except for Jim. Jim was 43, and had been working to make it in the New York scene for twenty years. His amazing sculptures graced several galleries, but despite solid reviews, he hadn’t caught the attention of serious money. “That’s all it is, man,” he said to Justin so many times Justin had it stuck in his head like a litany. “The attention of a Trump, the attention of a Trump! Right time, right place, that’s all it is. Overnight success is a matter of years of work.”
Justin didn’t want to be an overnight success after years of hunger. He wanted to be a comfortable working artist now. And it seemed to him that everyone he’d met in New York was either an overnight success, or a struggling loser. Of course, he’d been mostly exposed to the struggling losers.
Jim wasn’t exactly struggling as an artist. He had a name, and he had shows. But the name hadn’t translated to dollars, not enough for him to live alone. Justin loathed three of his former housemates; he couldn’t imagine having to live with roommates for another 20 years. Jim was cool, though.
“I’m not surprised, you know,” Jim said to him, handing Justin a beer as they sat on the couch looking across the room at the beginning of Jim’s latest idea, a textured piece built from small pieces of cloth, a riot of colors.
“My leaving?” Justin asked. He usually understood what Jim meant, even when Justin’s other roommates had complained to him about Jim’s cryptic non sequitors.
“Yeah, you never really fit here. I mean, you fit in as well as anyone else. It’s just…” He squinted, the lines around his eyes reminding Justin of just how old he was. “Your outlook was out of sync. You were never much of a kid. Your outlook is more jaded, and you can’t be jaded if you want to survive years of the bullshit this life demands. Not when it comes to the work, you gotta be an idealist about that. There was just… I don’t know how to explain. It's gonna be in a specific place in your life, it's never gonna be all of it. You were off. Now you are off. Seems right.”
Justin thought about that. Then he shook his head, and asked, “Do you regret it? Doing this?”
“I’ve given up everything for it,” Jim finally answered, after a pause. He gestured across the room to his latest sculpture. “That’s my life. And that’s okay. I never really wanted anything else. It’s enough for me to sit here, with this thing, in this room. You’re not that single minded. Not about this. That look in your eyes? It’s called loneliness. You stare at your art, and you see something else. It isn’t your lover.”
Justin gulped at his beer. “When’d you get all philosophical?”
“Always have been. It’s why you love me.”
“Yeah, and why you confuse the hell out of everyone else.” Actually, Jim was confusing the hell out of him now. He never pulled his punches, one of the things Justin liked about him, but he also liked to talk shit. A lot of shit, apparently.
“They keep me from becoming a hermit. Without having other people here, this house would fill up with my work. If you became a hermit, Justin, it would be because someone’s not there, not because your best company is art.” Jim chuckled. “Yep, you’re still young, though. If you were older, you’d tell me I was full of shit, even if I were right.”
“Especially if you were right.”
“Damn straight.”
Justin drove back the next afternoon, hoping Jim’s promise to email wouldn’t prove empty. Instead of driving back to his mother’s, though, he drove to Debbie’s. Jennifer had said she would be there. Justin figured he could bring her the car, so that she could get home in her own wheels. It was the least he could do.
* * * * * *
“SUNSHINE!!! You little shit!!”
In Debbie’s embrace, he felt welcomed home fully, and he relaxed into her expansive bulk even though she was suffocating him. “Hey, Deb,” he got out, hugging her back, and trying not to be too obvious about looking toward the people sitting at the table set up in Deb’s back yard. He knew Brian was there; he had felt it the second he stepped in through the front door, and walked toward the kitchen, where Deb had been taking a pie out of the oven. She finally set him away from her, and looked at him carefully. “You’re too thin,” she declared, turning to the counter, and handing him a bowl of salad. “Here, take that out, will ya? That’s for Brian, not for you, you’re going to have my potato salad, it has lots of mayonnaise.” Part-way to the refrigerator, she stopped. “Oh, shit, you know about Brian and Adam, right?”
Justin nodded, but didn’t speak.
“And you’re okay with it?” she asked, suspicion the road under the vehicle of her voice.
“I’m fine,” he lied.
She eyed him for a moment. “Yeah, okay, sure you are. Just so long as you boys behave.” Then she led him out to the backyard.
He noticed Brian first, of course, and Adam sitting next to him, not touching but at this point they hardly needed to be, not when Justin’s memory supplied him with Babylon’s dance floor last Thursday, in Technicolor, and his imagination filled in their visit to the VIP room all on its own. What really surprised him was Lindsay, sitting across the table from them and next to Ben and Michael, Gus by her side. “Justin!” she called, getting up and coming over to greet him. “What are you doing here?” She smelled like lilacs, and the smell made him violently nostalgic.
“I could ask you the same!” Justin deflected.
“Oh, well, you know… actually, I moved back.” At Justin’s look, she added, “Without Mel.”
His eyebrows shot upwards.
“They got divorced, Mel’s in Canada, Mikey’s suing for custody of JR, or at least trying to get her ordered back to the state. Are we all caught up now?”
“Brian!” Lindsay chastised. She grabbed Justin’s hand, and turned to her son. “Gus. Do you remember Justin?”
Gus stopped reading his book, and stared up at Justin with big, solemn eyes.
“Hi, Gus. You’re a lot bigger than I remember you,” Justin greeted the boy.
“You used to draw me pictures,” Gus finally said.
“Yep, that’s right.”
“Yeah. I remember,” Gus said, then turned back to his reading. Justin looked back at Lindsay, who looked sad, before stealing a covert look at Brian, who was staring at his son with a helpless, barely concealed pain.
“The divorce was hard on him,” Lindsay whispered.
“What happened?” Justin asked, walking with her toward the cooler which was set a little distance from the table, out of the sun and under a tree.
Lindsay shrugged, drawing out a wine cooler. “Moving’s stressful. We didn’t survive it. There’s a lot more to it, but that’s basically it. More importantly, how are you?” She had led Justin back to the table, and Michael moved over to make room for him.
“Hi, honey,” Jennifer called, emerging onto the back stoop and walking over to the long table. “Did my car survive the drive?”
Debbie cracked, “I know Pittsburgh’s rough, but it’s not like he drove it from New York!”
“Well, actually, he did. Up and back again.”
Justin answered the puzzled looks by turning to Michael. “Are you telling me you haven’t blabbed it to everyone yet?”
“I told Ben,” Michael answered.
“I think it’s a fine decision. School is important,” Ben added.
“And, hey, I can keep my mouth shut!” Michael exclaimed.
“I sure hope not!” Deb’s laugh boomed across the yard. “Now, about what, exactly?”
“I moved back,” Justin answered. He ignored the stunned silence. “Can someone pass the potato salad?”
* * * *
Brian was drunk. Justin knew Brian was drunk. Apparently, Adam knew Brian was drunk. Justin also knew that trying to discourage Brian from getting sloppily drunk by getting him to eat was not the solution. He tried not to feel glee as he watched Brian snap at Adam that he was fine and to get that fucking potato salad away from him.
Justin wanted his mother to take him home. She was helping Lindsay and Deb clean up in the kitchen, however, and Justin knew she wasn’t even aware of Brian’s state out here in the yard. And Justin was trying very hard not to draw attention to the fact that his attention was on Brian. Instead, he talked to Michael. And Gus.
Poor Gus. He was obviously a very unhappy kid. He didn’t frown, but hadn’t smiled but for once. His eyes had lighted up when Justin presented him with a hastily drawn cartoon sketch of Gus in an airplane, shooting down a tank.
“What’s the tank doing in the air?” Michael had asked.
“Shut up, Michael, it’s creative,” Justin replied.
“Yeah, well, if J.T.’s ass sprouts wings and he takes to the skies, I’m firing you.”
Justin snorted, his attention returning to Gus, who had placed his hand on his forearm. “Adam’s an artist too.”
“Oh?” Justin asked, looking up at the man across from him. Adam smiled, and nodded down at Gus. Justin was pleased that Adam seemed as uncomfortable as he was. Brian didn’t seem uncomfortable. Then again, tension did not easily survive seven glasses of whiskey.
“I’m a photographer,” Adam supplied. His hand was under the table, and Justin wondered darkly what it was doing there. Putz, he thought. Probably just resting on Brian’s leg. I’d be giving him a hand job. Brian’s hand was resting on the back of Adam’s neck, playing with bits of his hair. “I showed Gus how to take pictures.”
“Yeah, he gave me a camera!” Gus exclaimed, smiling for the first time that night. Justin watched the transformation in the boy’s face with awe. Then he looked up at Brian, whose face had softened with pleasure.
Oh, wow, Justin thought. He wondered if Brian knew he looked that way. Then Brian looked up, met his gaze, and smiled slightly.
“He’s very talented,” Adam put in.
“He has a good teacher,” Brian filled in, tapping his long forefinger against Adam’s cheek. Adam smiled. Justin so wanted to hate him, but listening to Gus speak with enthusiasm for the first time that night about how to take a picture of a moving object (“You gotta have the setting up on a higher number!”), he just couldn’t. The man was polite, and gorgeous, and talented. He could see exactly what Brian saw in him. But it was Brian. Brian.
On the other hand, what the fuck was Justin’s problem? He and Brian were through. For six months, Brian basically grunted long-distance, while Justin had chattered about everything under the sun except what he was really feeling. Not that Brian had ever asked him how he was feeling, just how he was doing. Are you eating enough? Do you have enough money? Nothing important. It wasn’t a conversation if it was one-way. Justin wanted to hear Brian say he still wanted to be with him; Brian only wanted to hear about Justin’s career, and his health. He had never once mentioned them as a couple; he had never attempted to make plans. He had never even mentioned coming for a visit. And Justin certainly didn’t have the means to return, even if Brian hadn’t urged him to focus on his work.
They had quietly parted, separate minds following their respective bodies, a parting without the big declaration of the breakup before. Justin had already asked the question once: If we want different things, then what are we doing? Had he needed to repeat himself? No, definitely not. He distinctly remembered sitting in front of his computer screen, having typed out a long email that came down to that exact question. If we want different things, then what are we doing? And it just felt like plowing up old ground, so much fucking work for something he already knew, and he had been so tired. He had been deeply unhappy, missing Brian, dealing with a sense of continual rejection. It was bad enough he was dealing with it professionally, over and over, but dealing with the rejection of Brian’s infrequent contacts, it had been too much. Justin couldn’t put all the work into their relationship anymore. He needed Brian to give more.
And then after the breakup-that-wasn’t, the year of Justin trying to ignore a pain that tore at his midsection. There he had been in New York, trying to become somebody. And there Brian had been in Pittsburgh, happy with the somebody he already was.
If we want different things, then what are we doing?
He remembered the resignation with which he had deleted the email, completely unable to deal with the thought of the devastating answer he knew he’d get to that question. After he’d stopped trying to contact Brian, practically begging him for something he was never going to get, he just hadn’t heard from Brian anymore. Justin remembered all too well the year that followed, the pain that should have faded, and didn’t quite.
Those final months in New York, Justin had realized he was not only unhappy with his professional status (or, more to the point, his lack thereof) in New York, he was also not allowing himself to weigh his options because he didn’t want to risk opening a wound that had just seemed beginning to heal. And at this stage, Justin couldn’t afford to make his decisions based solely in emotion.
“You decide where you want to be.” Not good enough, not good enough! He was always exactly where he wanted to be. The problem always was, Brian wasn’t there with him. But Brian hadn’t seemed to think this was a problem. Why fight the inevitable?
So, really. He wasn’t back because he missed Brian. Missing Brian would have kept him away, if he’d been thinking emotionally, and he wasn’t. But maybe he should have thought a little more emotionally about this.
Because here he was now, sitting across from Brian, watching him and his new boyfriend grope at each other. Justin thought if his mother didn’t finish up soon, he was going to have to commit hari kari with the bread knife just to get away.
“We’ve got to be going, it’s someone’s bed time,” Lindsay said. She picked up Gus, who began to cry.
“Here, I can help,” Brian offered, but Lindsay held Gus despite his squirming body, and shook her head. Gus cried, “Daddy, come with me!”
“No, it’s okay, I got him. Gus, you’ll see daddy tomorrow night, remember?”
Gus continued to sob, but nodded against her shoulder. Lindsay smiled at the table vaguely, and then made her way into the house to say goodbye.
There was an awkward pause.
“So, Justin, you’re coming back here to school? What made you decide to leave New York?”
“Yes, what made Justin decide to leave New York?”
Justin ignored Brian, and addressed Adam’s question. “It wasn’t where I needed to be for what I want to do right now. I actually only need the equivalent of three semesters at PIFA to get my degree, plus I can work on some projects I couldn’t get to in the city. I was stalling professionally up there.” There, that made sense, and he really didn’t want to go into it around Brian.
Brian, however, had a way of cutting through the bullshit, no matter how painful. “So you ran away again.”
“Brian!” Michael exclaimed.
“You know, I’m going to go see if the ladies need help,” Ben remarked, getting up quickly and making his way into the house.
“I did not run away!”
“Let me guess, it turned out to be harder than you expected, so the first easy out, off you go.”
“I think I’ll go see where Ben went,” Michael decided, before getting up himself and moving off.
“There are things I need to do here. There’s nothing keeping me in New York right now,” Justin answered hotly, feeling a flush come into his cheeks.
“Nothing in a place like New York? Yep, always off to the shiny horizon, it holds all the answers for little Sunshine! Everything is expendable.”
“You’re one to talk. Your motto is, if they don’t like it, fuck ’em.”
“That’s Emmett’s motto, mine is ‘fuck ’em ’til they like it’, and move on.”
Justin just shook his head, stung. Adam stared from one to the other. “Okay. I’m sorry. I thought you guys had broken up, and everything was fine.”
“Is that what he told you?” Justin asked, at the same time Brian groaned, “Who the fuck’s been talking to you?”
Answering Justin, Adam replied, “Brian didn’t tell me anything, except the break up was mutual.”
“See, we fucking broke up, just like I said!” Justin cried. Brian glared.
“As for who’s been talking, well, everybody. It’s not hard to hear things, and no, I didn’t exactly ask,” Adam added at Brian’s scowl. He turned back to Justin. “But you’d been gone for well over a year by the time I met Brian. And as far as I knew, it was over when you left. That’s what I heard.”
“Well, at least they were right,” Brian said, finishing his glass.
“They were not right! You wouldn’t talk to me!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You wouldn’t talk to me!”
“You left, Justin. And then you cut me off. You cut everyone off, as near as I could tell.”
“So instead of asking me, or, god forbid, talking to me, you just asked everyone else?”
“I didn’t ask. It was obvious, you got absorbed in New York, and you were gone.”
“I was not gone! You knew exactly where I was! I didn’t leave you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Um… maybe you guys need to talk,” Adam inserted, standing. Brian stood with him, and pulled him flush against his body. Justin looked away, but he still heard the reply. “Maybe I need to get my dick sucked. Justin was long gone when I met you, end of story.”
“And it’s over?”
“I just said, end of story. This is bullshit! I’m going to fuck you, so let’s go.”
Adam laughed. “Later, Justin,” he said, but Brian didn’t say anything, just pulled Adam out of the yard with him.
Justin’s head fell onto the table. “Justin! Ready to go?” he heard his mother call from the back door.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, too shell-shocked to even cry.
* * * * *
“Okay, so.” Michael scrunched his mouth up, as both he and Justin thumbed through the last issue of Rage they had produced. “Do we have Rage and Zephyr figure out who has J.T.?”
“Sure! Who has him?”
“What I was thinking, was, we can bring back The Tarantula! He was pretty popular.”
“Oh! Sure, he’s fun to draw.”
“So, okay. J.T. just stopped communicating from Urbania. So we start there, with Rage all concerned he hadn’t heard from him…”
“No. It’s more in character that Zephyr be more concerned about J.T.’s sudden silence.”
Michael studied Justin’s face, noted how his gaze had dropped to study the cover of their last issue, but obviously he was not really seeing it.
“Fine. Zephyr is all concerned J.T.’s missing, while Rage keeps insisting nothing can be wrong since J.T. can take care of himself, and insisting he was just off pouting over their broken engagement…”
Justin laughed. “Oh, please!”
Michael smiled in response, happy he’d gotten Justin to laugh. “Yeah. Okay, so, Zephyr insists they investigate the trail J.T.’d gone off on. But, we don’t want Rage to look clueless…”
Justin snorted, and Michael ignored him.
“So, J.T. should be proactive in captivity. That way, both Zephyr and Rage will both be right.”
Proactive? Justin thought. “So, J.T. was in The Tarantula’s web, but he escaped on his own?”
“Yeah, something like that. But how would that make Rage and Zephyr necessary? I really don’t want to do just a straight forward rescue; the same old formula’s getting kind of boring. So, if we have J.T. more engaged in defeating the Tarantula, we can grow the character.”
Justin’s eyebrows raised. “Really? J.T. actually gets some brains? He doesn’t just wait around for Zephyr and Rage to rescue his admittedly perfect ass?”
“How about,” Ben put in, from where he stood at the stove, stirring some healthy shit that was making Justin’s mouth water like mad, “you have J.T. escape from the main web in the Tarantula’s lair, but he can’t get out of the entire complex. So he’s hiding, and Rage and Zephyr need to find him. And when they do, the Tarantula’s right there, and there’s a big fight, and whatnot.”
Justin considered that. “I like that, actually.”
“Yeah!” Michael agreed. “Only now we have to figure out why he can’t get out of the complex.”
“Have you figured out how we’re going to explain how a tarantula can spin webs when real ones don’t?” They had received several emails, some much more indignant than others, over that little glitch, from more than a couple zealous fan boys.
“Yeah, I already got that, he’s absorbed the power of all spiders, he just took on the shape of a tarantula because it’s scarier than others.”
“Oh.” Fine.
“So, J.T. escaped but not completely,” Michael went on, “That’s a great idea! But how would J.T. be able to do that, is the question. I mean, it’s the Tarantula’s space, wouldn’t he know all its secret places?”
“Well… maybe his charming personality can persuade one of the Tarantula’s henchmen to help him.”
“You mean the power of his ass will seduce the guy into falling in love with him.”
Justin smiled. “J.T., the greatest fuck in the world. Even Rage can’t stay away.” A wave of regret washed over him. If only.
Michael cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable at the way the conversation kept coming back to the real Rage. “Well, why don’t you work up something with Rage and Zephyr discovering the entrance, see what works. Do some of J.T. fucking the henchman, and hiding in the lair. Maybe you’ll come up with some ideas about how that works. And when you get some stuff done, we can talk about the setting design.”
“You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?” Ben glanced over his shoulder before opening the oven door. The heavenly smell of warmed loaves of bread wafted out.
Justin groaned. “If you don’t feed me whatever you’re cooking, I’m going to be forced to steal it. That smells divine!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re staying in town!” Ben laughed. “With appreciation like that, you are welcome at my table any day.”
“Are you glad I’m back, Michael?” Justin asked. He waited, hoping Michael would be honest. He thought their collaboration face-to-face again was off to a great start, but he really wanted to clear the air if anything… okay, if Brian was going to be an issue. He didn’t want his own issues to become a problem between them, especially since the subject matter was literally lying there on the table in front of them. Justin did not want a repeat of the post-fiddle fuck, with Michael and him skating around the cracking ice between them.
“You’re asking me about the situation with Brian.”
Justin tilted his head.
“I’m concerned, of course I am. Brian was really thrown when you left, and he’s doing okay now. But, whatever happens between two people, nobody really knows. Relationships are complicated.”
As Justin’s eyes widened, Ben brought a bowl of pasta covered in a pesto-tofu creation and a basket of bread to the table. “Brian was devastated, Justin,” he said. “Michael thinks Adam’s a rebound. He thinks you and Brian are such control freaks that actually falling in love with each other makes you want to run for the hills, which is exactly what happened.”
“You think I went to New York because I’m in love with Brian?”
“He thinks you went to New York because he was in love with you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Justin exclaimed, turning to Michael.
Michael turned on Ben, who had brought three plates to the table along with silverware and napkins, and placed the dishes in front of the other men. Then he sat placidly in his chair. Michael stared at him. “When we talked about this, only two nights ago I might add, you told me to just say that relationships are complicated! Not that I was upset that Brian was hurt and I’m worried he’s going to get hurt all over again! Even though that’s what I really think.”
“Yes,” Ben replied, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his lap. “I said you should say that. But I didn’t say what I should say.”
“I want to know why love made me go to New York.”
“Okay, fine,” Michael snapped. “You guys are totally in love with each other, but you’re also control freaks with lives completely planned out in your heads. Love is the thing you can’t control, it makes you crazy, so you don’t put it into the mix. You figured, if you stayed in love, you wouldn’t have the life you plan on, so you ran away. Especially since Brian was in love with you, and even changing for you. It threw you off. Literally, off you went. And left him, devastated. Again. And apparently without any heart for the sex and drugs route. Not that I’m too unhappy about that.”
“You said he would never change.”
Michael shrugged. “Obviously, I was wrong.”
“I did not run away,” Justin averred. “And how the hell would I know he’d changed, I was in New York!”
“Fine.” Michael rolled his eyes. “But I think a part of you got it before you left. He totally changed, and you couldn’t predict that narrow little life path you’ve got your mind set on, and that freaked you out. But, get over it! You can’t control things, not really, and you really can’t control love!”
“Oh, my god,” Justin moaned. “I’m being quoted a Cosmopolitan advice column.”
“See! Brian’s totally in you! You’re a sarcastic little shit, it’s all him.”
“I was born a sarcastic little shit.”
“Even worse! You were born ready for him! And yeah, okay, Adam’s a total rebound, and you guys are total morons who need to get your heads out of your asses.”
“Or, get your heads back in your asses, as the case may be,” Ben added.
“He was actually happy with you, Justin,” Michael put in, helping himself to an enormous serving of pasta. “You were happy with him. You guys are both trying to manage too hard, and you’re fucking it up completely, and Brian’s hurt, and I hate that.”
“I thought you said he was fine.”
“Sure, now.” Gesturing with his fork, Michael finished, “Stop trying to figure everything out, and just go with it!”
Justin stared from one to the other, and back. Zen Michael? What the fuck? He shook his head. “We broke up. It’s over.”
“Pfft!”
“Here, Justin,” Ben said, handing him the bowl of pasta. “Welcome home.” He leaned over, and kissed Michael soundly. “See? I told you you’d know what to say.”
* * * *
They were wrong, Justin thought later that week as he replayed the conversation with Michael in his head for the thousandth time, as he got ready to go to school. It was true, nobody truly knows what happens in relationships except for the people in them. And even then, not always.
And Justin sure as shit was learning that he couldn’t plan things. He’d never had a predictable life. And maybe that was the point; he sure as shit wanted a lot more control than he had.
But he couldn’t get distracted from school, and this was way too distracting. He came back to Pittsburgh for his art, and that’s where his focus was going to be. Instead of trying to settling back into his old haunts, he needed to focus on being back in school. Running into Brian clearly had been a mistake. Hearing Brian say it was over just about killed him, which is why he had never sent that email all that time ago. Hearing Brian say the words aloud to his new boyfriend was even more painful than he thought it would be. No matter what Michael thought, Michael didn’t know. It was over. And wasn’t that for the best? They just kept hurting each other.
Okay, he admitted to himself, he hadn’t returned just for school. A part of him had really, really hoped Brian would be waiting for him. He had expected it, actually. Part of him always expected Brian. Michael was right about that; he carried Brian with him, no matter where he went. Justin always thought they had something that time wouldn’t change. It’s only time. Apparently, he had completely misunderstood Brian’s meaning.
So now, as Justin felt the water of the shower sluice across his body, he allowed himself to look back at the painful scene at Deb’s, and he told himself hearing Brian say that it was over, had been for the best. Really. He had heard the truth, finally, the truth he had known all along. He hadn’t wanted to give up Brian, but he had. And Brian knew it was over, and had gone on with his life without Justin. He should have known Brian wouldn’t fight for them; everything in their history told him so.
So really, this was good, Justin reminded himself as he stepped out of the shower and toweled off. Picking up tricks in Popperz was working out just fine. It was good to know, for sure, that he and Brian were through, before he could be distracted. Too much.
He had two classes today, one in graphic design, and one of the two independent study classes he was taking this semester. Justin felt the excitement that came from starting something new course through him as he considered the projects he was planning. He had forgotten what it was like to have a solid goal, to be given assignments for a specific purpose. He had a week of classes under his belt, and his life had taken on a solid feeling. He had even started talking to some interesting people in his classes, and had gone for coffee with a very interesting boy named Alex. Cute. Not the kind of hot Justin usually went for, but Justin was ready for a genuine friend, not an easy fuck. He could get sex at Popperz, or anywhere, and he did, as often as he liked. He didn’t want to be with anyone. It felt as if he would never want that again.
He missed Brian. He had missed him in New York, but he had been in denial there, still too angry to make much room for the real sorrow, which was hitting him hard now.
But he had found his own apartment, close to PIFA, and that was a joy to balance some of the sadness. His mother had expressed reservations about this place, but of course she would. The room was cheap, big, the rent nowhere near what he had paid up New York, and it had a kitchenette and bathroom in one big space, unlike his first apartment. He also had some promising leads for work, so he could help Jennifer out if she needed him. The crashing housing market was hitting her hard. At the very least, Justin was determined not to be a drain on her.
He was determined not to be a drain on anyone, ever again. Rage, Inc. was paying for his apartment, and Ted had told him he could write off his tuition against the corporation.
“That’s legal?” Justin asked.
“Depends on how you bill it.”
“Fine, but if the IRS comes after us, you’re paying the penalty.” Ted had laughed. Justin and Michael had figured out an equitable division of expenses and payments, and so long as Justin didn’t go crazy, and they pushed publication up to three times annually, Rage would cover his living expenses for the next couple of years while he finished school.
He was moving into his new place the following week, and for now, he had one week to go at his mother’s. He enjoyed Molly and his mother, but the condo was ideal for two, and a bit crowded with three.
That, and he had to take the bus to PIFA from his mom’s place, which was all the way across town. His apartment was a quarter mile away. And, already, in his head, he could see the huge canvas he was going to set up on the far wall there, where the indirect light gave the perfect glow for the work he could already see.
But first he needed to settle his account for the first semester’s tuition, and he had just enough time before his first class. Ted needed the receipt for the write off. He smiled. Him and Michael. Who’d have thought. Justin headed out into the warm September afternoon, lifting his face to the sun and hoping for the best.
* * * * *
He was pissed. He’d been pissed all day.
And didn’t that figure? Warm fuzzies to screaming meemies all in the space of a day, an hour actually, all thanks to one visit to the student accounts office, and the sign of Brian Kinney all over his life. As ever. Did anything really change?
Was the man everywhere? Bad enough that Justin had carried him in his head and locked him away (tried to lock him away) in the back pantry of his heart while he was in New York; here in Pittsburgh Brian had a hand everywhere, so at the slightest dusting his fingerprints sprang into view. Justin couldn’t get away from the man.
His anger had drawn powerful work from him at school, becoming more powerful as his feelings emerged onto the canvas.
“That sweep there is beautiful, Justin!” Professor Kaniker told him. “If you find a model, it might help with the proportion, though.”
The work had only fed his fire, and he needed to burn it off. He had implemented the very method Brian had taught him, trying to drink and fuck away. This had only pissed him off more, realizing what a good disciple he still was. The liquor he consumed at the clubs had only fanned an anger that was only nominally about the money now, the money and his independence. The tricks hadn’t been the distraction he needed. He’d even pushed the last one off his dick when he realized the mouth on his cock was only keeping him from where he really wanted to be. He had buttoned up his jeans, and now he was here. He didn’t wait for the elevator, but stormed up the stairs and banged on the heavy metal door. He waited only a second, before lifting his hand and banging again.
“Yeah, what?” Brian opened the door, looking irritable, eyes sleep-heavy, wearing only a pair of grey sweat pants that sagged off his lean hips. Justin barged past him.
“Are you alone?” Justin demanded. “Or is your boyfriend going to witness this?”
“What the fuck, Justin? It’s three o’clock in the morning!”
“Are. You. Alone?”
“He doesn’t live here, so, no. What do you want?” Brian walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out a bottle of water, and placing it on the counter. “Here. You’ll need this.”
“You can’t pay my tuition, Brian!”
Brian shrugged. “You never changed your address, I keep getting the bills.”
“Bills? I wasn’t going to school.”
“If you don’t officially withdrawal, you still have to pay the fees.” Brian chuckled. “It’s amazing you manage to have five dollars for a latte.”
“I don’t drink lattes.”
“Well, you could if you paid more attention to your money.”
Justin grabbed the water, shrugged off his LA leather jacket, and let it drop next to the stool on which he sat. “Why isn’t your boyfriend here?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Brian answered, standing in front of him.
Justin’s lips twisted.
“Stop that!” Brian snapped. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
Justin had jumped at Brian’s bark, but just said, “Fine, he’s not your boyfriend. Where is the guy you fuck more than once? Forgive me if I’m disturbing your domestic bliss!” Justin was suddenly very conscious of the fact that Brian’s chest was bare, and that time had not softened his body’s hard sexiness. Justin’s breath suddenly seemed to evaporate in his lungs, and he focused on pulling deep at the air, trying to even his breathing.
“Why are you here?” Brian abruptly changed the subject. He leaned forward, sniffing the air around the area in which Justin sat. “Enjoy Popperz?”
Justin snorted. “Are you keeping track of me? Boy Toy, actually.”
“But not Babylon.”
“No. No,” Justin repeated. “I can’t… Don’t change the subject, Brian! You can’t pay my tuition.”
“Why not? What’s a few more thousand on top of what you already owe me?”
“Are you kidding? Why are you doing this?”
Brian turned his head, his eyes losing that hard, wary edge they’d held ever since Justin’s return. “You know why.”
“Brian...” Justin was at a loss. Something quivered in the air between them, and Justin could feel exactly what it was. His body remembered, and he became very aware of his skin, rubbing against the fabric of his clothes. Brian . “Nothing’s changed,” Justin whispered. He stopped at Brian’s glare. “Tell me. Tell me why.”
Brian shrugged. “Don’t make such a big deal about it.” He turned away.
“It is a big deal! What do… what do you tell him?” So, the tuition had been an excuse after all. This was the reason Justin was here.
Brian leaned heavily against the counter. “I don’t tell him shit. I’m not settling down into domesticity or anything equally ridiculous.”
“You weren’t with me, either.”
“I almost was.”
Justin reached over and touched Brian’s shoulder. Under his hand, he felt Brian flinch. He was warm, and Justin inhaled sharply, as he smelled Brian’s musky arousal. “Tell me,” Justin whispered. He needed to rip open the wound and expose the desire that poured through him like blood, the desire that was always there, that led to this constant, sharp, bittersweet pain. Pain and desire whenever he was near Brian, and the confusion he felt, the lack of clarity whenever this hard, beautiful man was near him. Justin had great clarity, except for this. He wanted to rip away his attraction and surrender to it all at once.
“You’re here,” Brian answered, and he leaned forward to capture Justin’s lips in his own. His body surrounded Justin’s, his hands reached for him, under his shirt and stroking the skin on his back. His teeth captured Justin’s lower lip, holding it still for his tongue to taste, before sweeping inside and back, sucking Justin’s tongue in its wake. His lips, so soft and urgent at once, his mouth covering Justin’s, encouraging Justin to taste in return, to feed. He pulled Justin to the bedroom, laying him down and following him onto the bed.
* * * *
Warm, hands. Breath and lips. Hard, desire, warm palm on him. Hard cock inside him, gentle, rolling, pushing against the body behind. A red glow signaling harsh light beyond his closed eyes, but he wouldn’t open them to day, not yet. Hardness gently pushing into him, encased in the warmth of bed sheets and their two bodies, rocking slowly, breathing, gentle. Stroking Brian’s forearm, the skin, so smooth, the flexing of muscles, rocking back and the hardness, deeper. A pool of sensation spreading out, slowly intensifying. Coming in slow motion, his flanks clenching, Brian’s whispered, “Justin,” the feel of Brian’s orgasm. Lying together after, Brian’s chest deeply breathing against his back, the red glow of suppressed daylight, Brian softening inside him.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Justin became fully conscious of his body, the dull ache in his ass, the languor in his muscles, the warmth of the legs tangled in his, Brian’s sudden inhalation.
“Brian, what the fuck!?” Adam.
Oh, shit.
Justin forced his eyes open, preparing himself for an ugly scene, and pulled away from Brian, sitting up. Brian had rolled away, and was depositing the condom in the trash can on the other side of the bed. Not at all discreet, but why bother at this point? Then Brian rolled up and out of the bed, pulling on the sweat pants he’d tossed off the night before. Justin couldn’t help admiring Brian’s hard flank as it flashed past him, wondering how he had lived so long without seeing that beautiful body.
He wondered if he could give him up again.
“Brian?” Adam stood at the foot of the stairs to the bed, not looking at Justin, but staring at his lover.
“What?”
“That’s all you have to say? It’s one thing to fuck anonymous guys, I know you do that. But he’s your ex! And not just that, you slept with him!”
“So? You’ve walked in on me with tricks.”
“Is he a trick, then? Is this just a trick to you, Brian?”
Justin was up and in his clothes by this point of the conversation. He heard the pleading pain in Adam’s voice, and it was all too familiar. Brian was who he was, nothing would change him. Brian was all unfulfilled expectations, and ordering those expectations into oblivion. Brian, demanding desire submit. But Justin could never submit. He could never quell his desire for more. Desire colored his world. Adam was learning, same as Justin had.
He felt a terrible sorrow, hearing in Adam’s question the echo of his own past. In the silence that hung in Brian’s space, Justin looked at Adam, and said, “I’m sorry,” because he knew that Brian would never say it. Then he left.
Part 3
CowLip owns the characters. This is not profiting me. Quite the opposite.
Written for the "Worlds Apart" challenge at neverenough_bj.
Thank you, jans_intentions, for the beta.
Warning: Brian/other, angst.
Homecoming, Part 2
New York, so difficult to work his way into, proved depressingly easy to leave. He had sent an email to Jim, basically the house dad, telling him he’d be up with a check for his last month, and giving his 30 day notice. That was it. That Sunday, Justin took his mother’s car, and headed back to Brooklyn, where he proceeded to load his possessions into the back seat and trunk, and that was all. He had already quit his restaurant job. Not that they would care.
He had a few pieces hanging in a couple cafés around New York. He had an entire series going up in Sal’s place soon. But no galleries. Simon, and the review from Art Forum, hadn’t gotten him very far. Two gallery owners had openly expressed disappointment at the size of his works, after the description of his more massive pieces from the magazine.
Brian would have appreciated that; everyone was a size queen. He wouldn’t have appreciated knowing Justin was being told to come back when he had more of the same. He would have appreciated even less how discouraging that was. Of course, Brian hadn’t asked. And Justin had been too embarrassed by his struggles to tell him.
But his place in New York had cost him $750 a month for a tiny room on the third floor of a house in Bay Ridge, and a shared living space with six other artists, so that even the large living area on the ground floor couldn’t accommodate them all, and the projects Justin itched to do clearly took up too much space. Art studios were just as expensive as apartments. In New York, space was space, it was all at a premium. At first, he had rented time in a studio, until the work he had no choice but to leave there had been damaged. None of the other artists took responsibility. And since they all had their friends in, and no one thought twice about ingesting various substances on their own time, accidents were almost de rigueur. And for that, his savings were being eaten up?
Justin took the ride back up to New York on a Saturday night. He was glad to have the excuse of his mother’s car to tell one of his (now ex) roommates that he had to have it back no later than Sunday afternoon. It was too late for Celia to organize a party for Saturday, although she did manage to get a bunch of people to stay in the house long enough to greet him when he showed up Saturday at nine o’clock.
“You sure you don’t want to come out with us?” Jason asked.
“It was a long drive. I’ve got to be up too early, but thanks,” Justin answered, not regretting the departure of Jason with Celia and the other housemates and their friends, except for Jim. Jim was 43, and had been working to make it in the New York scene for twenty years. His amazing sculptures graced several galleries, but despite solid reviews, he hadn’t caught the attention of serious money. “That’s all it is, man,” he said to Justin so many times Justin had it stuck in his head like a litany. “The attention of a Trump, the attention of a Trump! Right time, right place, that’s all it is. Overnight success is a matter of years of work.”
Justin didn’t want to be an overnight success after years of hunger. He wanted to be a comfortable working artist now. And it seemed to him that everyone he’d met in New York was either an overnight success, or a struggling loser. Of course, he’d been mostly exposed to the struggling losers.
Jim wasn’t exactly struggling as an artist. He had a name, and he had shows. But the name hadn’t translated to dollars, not enough for him to live alone. Justin loathed three of his former housemates; he couldn’t imagine having to live with roommates for another 20 years. Jim was cool, though.
“I’m not surprised, you know,” Jim said to him, handing Justin a beer as they sat on the couch looking across the room at the beginning of Jim’s latest idea, a textured piece built from small pieces of cloth, a riot of colors.
“My leaving?” Justin asked. He usually understood what Jim meant, even when Justin’s other roommates had complained to him about Jim’s cryptic non sequitors.
“Yeah, you never really fit here. I mean, you fit in as well as anyone else. It’s just…” He squinted, the lines around his eyes reminding Justin of just how old he was. “Your outlook was out of sync. You were never much of a kid. Your outlook is more jaded, and you can’t be jaded if you want to survive years of the bullshit this life demands. Not when it comes to the work, you gotta be an idealist about that. There was just… I don’t know how to explain. It's gonna be in a specific place in your life, it's never gonna be all of it. You were off. Now you are off. Seems right.”
Justin thought about that. Then he shook his head, and asked, “Do you regret it? Doing this?”
“I’ve given up everything for it,” Jim finally answered, after a pause. He gestured across the room to his latest sculpture. “That’s my life. And that’s okay. I never really wanted anything else. It’s enough for me to sit here, with this thing, in this room. You’re not that single minded. Not about this. That look in your eyes? It’s called loneliness. You stare at your art, and you see something else. It isn’t your lover.”
Justin gulped at his beer. “When’d you get all philosophical?”
“Always have been. It’s why you love me.”
“Yeah, and why you confuse the hell out of everyone else.” Actually, Jim was confusing the hell out of him now. He never pulled his punches, one of the things Justin liked about him, but he also liked to talk shit. A lot of shit, apparently.
“They keep me from becoming a hermit. Without having other people here, this house would fill up with my work. If you became a hermit, Justin, it would be because someone’s not there, not because your best company is art.” Jim chuckled. “Yep, you’re still young, though. If you were older, you’d tell me I was full of shit, even if I were right.”
“Especially if you were right.”
“Damn straight.”
Justin drove back the next afternoon, hoping Jim’s promise to email wouldn’t prove empty. Instead of driving back to his mother’s, though, he drove to Debbie’s. Jennifer had said she would be there. Justin figured he could bring her the car, so that she could get home in her own wheels. It was the least he could do.
* * * * * *
“SUNSHINE!!! You little shit!!”
In Debbie’s embrace, he felt welcomed home fully, and he relaxed into her expansive bulk even though she was suffocating him. “Hey, Deb,” he got out, hugging her back, and trying not to be too obvious about looking toward the people sitting at the table set up in Deb’s back yard. He knew Brian was there; he had felt it the second he stepped in through the front door, and walked toward the kitchen, where Deb had been taking a pie out of the oven. She finally set him away from her, and looked at him carefully. “You’re too thin,” she declared, turning to the counter, and handing him a bowl of salad. “Here, take that out, will ya? That’s for Brian, not for you, you’re going to have my potato salad, it has lots of mayonnaise.” Part-way to the refrigerator, she stopped. “Oh, shit, you know about Brian and Adam, right?”
Justin nodded, but didn’t speak.
“And you’re okay with it?” she asked, suspicion the road under the vehicle of her voice.
“I’m fine,” he lied.
She eyed him for a moment. “Yeah, okay, sure you are. Just so long as you boys behave.” Then she led him out to the backyard.
He noticed Brian first, of course, and Adam sitting next to him, not touching but at this point they hardly needed to be, not when Justin’s memory supplied him with Babylon’s dance floor last Thursday, in Technicolor, and his imagination filled in their visit to the VIP room all on its own. What really surprised him was Lindsay, sitting across the table from them and next to Ben and Michael, Gus by her side. “Justin!” she called, getting up and coming over to greet him. “What are you doing here?” She smelled like lilacs, and the smell made him violently nostalgic.
“I could ask you the same!” Justin deflected.
“Oh, well, you know… actually, I moved back.” At Justin’s look, she added, “Without Mel.”
His eyebrows shot upwards.
“They got divorced, Mel’s in Canada, Mikey’s suing for custody of JR, or at least trying to get her ordered back to the state. Are we all caught up now?”
“Brian!” Lindsay chastised. She grabbed Justin’s hand, and turned to her son. “Gus. Do you remember Justin?”
Gus stopped reading his book, and stared up at Justin with big, solemn eyes.
“Hi, Gus. You’re a lot bigger than I remember you,” Justin greeted the boy.
“You used to draw me pictures,” Gus finally said.
“Yep, that’s right.”
“Yeah. I remember,” Gus said, then turned back to his reading. Justin looked back at Lindsay, who looked sad, before stealing a covert look at Brian, who was staring at his son with a helpless, barely concealed pain.
“The divorce was hard on him,” Lindsay whispered.
“What happened?” Justin asked, walking with her toward the cooler which was set a little distance from the table, out of the sun and under a tree.
Lindsay shrugged, drawing out a wine cooler. “Moving’s stressful. We didn’t survive it. There’s a lot more to it, but that’s basically it. More importantly, how are you?” She had led Justin back to the table, and Michael moved over to make room for him.
“Hi, honey,” Jennifer called, emerging onto the back stoop and walking over to the long table. “Did my car survive the drive?”
Debbie cracked, “I know Pittsburgh’s rough, but it’s not like he drove it from New York!”
“Well, actually, he did. Up and back again.”
Justin answered the puzzled looks by turning to Michael. “Are you telling me you haven’t blabbed it to everyone yet?”
“I told Ben,” Michael answered.
“I think it’s a fine decision. School is important,” Ben added.
“And, hey, I can keep my mouth shut!” Michael exclaimed.
“I sure hope not!” Deb’s laugh boomed across the yard. “Now, about what, exactly?”
“I moved back,” Justin answered. He ignored the stunned silence. “Can someone pass the potato salad?”
* * * *
Brian was drunk. Justin knew Brian was drunk. Apparently, Adam knew Brian was drunk. Justin also knew that trying to discourage Brian from getting sloppily drunk by getting him to eat was not the solution. He tried not to feel glee as he watched Brian snap at Adam that he was fine and to get that fucking potato salad away from him.
Justin wanted his mother to take him home. She was helping Lindsay and Deb clean up in the kitchen, however, and Justin knew she wasn’t even aware of Brian’s state out here in the yard. And Justin was trying very hard not to draw attention to the fact that his attention was on Brian. Instead, he talked to Michael. And Gus.
Poor Gus. He was obviously a very unhappy kid. He didn’t frown, but hadn’t smiled but for once. His eyes had lighted up when Justin presented him with a hastily drawn cartoon sketch of Gus in an airplane, shooting down a tank.
“What’s the tank doing in the air?” Michael had asked.
“Shut up, Michael, it’s creative,” Justin replied.
“Yeah, well, if J.T.’s ass sprouts wings and he takes to the skies, I’m firing you.”
Justin snorted, his attention returning to Gus, who had placed his hand on his forearm. “Adam’s an artist too.”
“Oh?” Justin asked, looking up at the man across from him. Adam smiled, and nodded down at Gus. Justin was pleased that Adam seemed as uncomfortable as he was. Brian didn’t seem uncomfortable. Then again, tension did not easily survive seven glasses of whiskey.
“I’m a photographer,” Adam supplied. His hand was under the table, and Justin wondered darkly what it was doing there. Putz, he thought. Probably just resting on Brian’s leg. I’d be giving him a hand job. Brian’s hand was resting on the back of Adam’s neck, playing with bits of his hair. “I showed Gus how to take pictures.”
“Yeah, he gave me a camera!” Gus exclaimed, smiling for the first time that night. Justin watched the transformation in the boy’s face with awe. Then he looked up at Brian, whose face had softened with pleasure.
Oh, wow, Justin thought. He wondered if Brian knew he looked that way. Then Brian looked up, met his gaze, and smiled slightly.
“He’s very talented,” Adam put in.
“He has a good teacher,” Brian filled in, tapping his long forefinger against Adam’s cheek. Adam smiled. Justin so wanted to hate him, but listening to Gus speak with enthusiasm for the first time that night about how to take a picture of a moving object (“You gotta have the setting up on a higher number!”), he just couldn’t. The man was polite, and gorgeous, and talented. He could see exactly what Brian saw in him. But it was Brian. Brian.
On the other hand, what the fuck was Justin’s problem? He and Brian were through. For six months, Brian basically grunted long-distance, while Justin had chattered about everything under the sun except what he was really feeling. Not that Brian had ever asked him how he was feeling, just how he was doing. Are you eating enough? Do you have enough money? Nothing important. It wasn’t a conversation if it was one-way. Justin wanted to hear Brian say he still wanted to be with him; Brian only wanted to hear about Justin’s career, and his health. He had never once mentioned them as a couple; he had never attempted to make plans. He had never even mentioned coming for a visit. And Justin certainly didn’t have the means to return, even if Brian hadn’t urged him to focus on his work.
They had quietly parted, separate minds following their respective bodies, a parting without the big declaration of the breakup before. Justin had already asked the question once: If we want different things, then what are we doing? Had he needed to repeat himself? No, definitely not. He distinctly remembered sitting in front of his computer screen, having typed out a long email that came down to that exact question. If we want different things, then what are we doing? And it just felt like plowing up old ground, so much fucking work for something he already knew, and he had been so tired. He had been deeply unhappy, missing Brian, dealing with a sense of continual rejection. It was bad enough he was dealing with it professionally, over and over, but dealing with the rejection of Brian’s infrequent contacts, it had been too much. Justin couldn’t put all the work into their relationship anymore. He needed Brian to give more.
And then after the breakup-that-wasn’t, the year of Justin trying to ignore a pain that tore at his midsection. There he had been in New York, trying to become somebody. And there Brian had been in Pittsburgh, happy with the somebody he already was.
If we want different things, then what are we doing?
He remembered the resignation with which he had deleted the email, completely unable to deal with the thought of the devastating answer he knew he’d get to that question. After he’d stopped trying to contact Brian, practically begging him for something he was never going to get, he just hadn’t heard from Brian anymore. Justin remembered all too well the year that followed, the pain that should have faded, and didn’t quite.
Those final months in New York, Justin had realized he was not only unhappy with his professional status (or, more to the point, his lack thereof) in New York, he was also not allowing himself to weigh his options because he didn’t want to risk opening a wound that had just seemed beginning to heal. And at this stage, Justin couldn’t afford to make his decisions based solely in emotion.
“You decide where you want to be.” Not good enough, not good enough! He was always exactly where he wanted to be. The problem always was, Brian wasn’t there with him. But Brian hadn’t seemed to think this was a problem. Why fight the inevitable?
So, really. He wasn’t back because he missed Brian. Missing Brian would have kept him away, if he’d been thinking emotionally, and he wasn’t. But maybe he should have thought a little more emotionally about this.
Because here he was now, sitting across from Brian, watching him and his new boyfriend grope at each other. Justin thought if his mother didn’t finish up soon, he was going to have to commit hari kari with the bread knife just to get away.
“We’ve got to be going, it’s someone’s bed time,” Lindsay said. She picked up Gus, who began to cry.
“Here, I can help,” Brian offered, but Lindsay held Gus despite his squirming body, and shook her head. Gus cried, “Daddy, come with me!”
“No, it’s okay, I got him. Gus, you’ll see daddy tomorrow night, remember?”
Gus continued to sob, but nodded against her shoulder. Lindsay smiled at the table vaguely, and then made her way into the house to say goodbye.
There was an awkward pause.
“So, Justin, you’re coming back here to school? What made you decide to leave New York?”
“Yes, what made Justin decide to leave New York?”
Justin ignored Brian, and addressed Adam’s question. “It wasn’t where I needed to be for what I want to do right now. I actually only need the equivalent of three semesters at PIFA to get my degree, plus I can work on some projects I couldn’t get to in the city. I was stalling professionally up there.” There, that made sense, and he really didn’t want to go into it around Brian.
Brian, however, had a way of cutting through the bullshit, no matter how painful. “So you ran away again.”
“Brian!” Michael exclaimed.
“You know, I’m going to go see if the ladies need help,” Ben remarked, getting up quickly and making his way into the house.
“I did not run away!”
“Let me guess, it turned out to be harder than you expected, so the first easy out, off you go.”
“I think I’ll go see where Ben went,” Michael decided, before getting up himself and moving off.
“There are things I need to do here. There’s nothing keeping me in New York right now,” Justin answered hotly, feeling a flush come into his cheeks.
“Nothing in a place like New York? Yep, always off to the shiny horizon, it holds all the answers for little Sunshine! Everything is expendable.”
“You’re one to talk. Your motto is, if they don’t like it, fuck ’em.”
“That’s Emmett’s motto, mine is ‘fuck ’em ’til they like it’, and move on.”
Justin just shook his head, stung. Adam stared from one to the other. “Okay. I’m sorry. I thought you guys had broken up, and everything was fine.”
“Is that what he told you?” Justin asked, at the same time Brian groaned, “Who the fuck’s been talking to you?”
Answering Justin, Adam replied, “Brian didn’t tell me anything, except the break up was mutual.”
“See, we fucking broke up, just like I said!” Justin cried. Brian glared.
“As for who’s been talking, well, everybody. It’s not hard to hear things, and no, I didn’t exactly ask,” Adam added at Brian’s scowl. He turned back to Justin. “But you’d been gone for well over a year by the time I met Brian. And as far as I knew, it was over when you left. That’s what I heard.”
“Well, at least they were right,” Brian said, finishing his glass.
“They were not right! You wouldn’t talk to me!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You wouldn’t talk to me!”
“You left, Justin. And then you cut me off. You cut everyone off, as near as I could tell.”
“So instead of asking me, or, god forbid, talking to me, you just asked everyone else?”
“I didn’t ask. It was obvious, you got absorbed in New York, and you were gone.”
“I was not gone! You knew exactly where I was! I didn’t leave you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Um… maybe you guys need to talk,” Adam inserted, standing. Brian stood with him, and pulled him flush against his body. Justin looked away, but he still heard the reply. “Maybe I need to get my dick sucked. Justin was long gone when I met you, end of story.”
“And it’s over?”
“I just said, end of story. This is bullshit! I’m going to fuck you, so let’s go.”
Adam laughed. “Later, Justin,” he said, but Brian didn’t say anything, just pulled Adam out of the yard with him.
Justin’s head fell onto the table. “Justin! Ready to go?” he heard his mother call from the back door.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, too shell-shocked to even cry.
* * * * *
“Okay, so.” Michael scrunched his mouth up, as both he and Justin thumbed through the last issue of Rage they had produced. “Do we have Rage and Zephyr figure out who has J.T.?”
“Sure! Who has him?”
“What I was thinking, was, we can bring back The Tarantula! He was pretty popular.”
“Oh! Sure, he’s fun to draw.”
“So, okay. J.T. just stopped communicating from Urbania. So we start there, with Rage all concerned he hadn’t heard from him…”
“No. It’s more in character that Zephyr be more concerned about J.T.’s sudden silence.”
Michael studied Justin’s face, noted how his gaze had dropped to study the cover of their last issue, but obviously he was not really seeing it.
“Fine. Zephyr is all concerned J.T.’s missing, while Rage keeps insisting nothing can be wrong since J.T. can take care of himself, and insisting he was just off pouting over their broken engagement…”
Justin laughed. “Oh, please!”
Michael smiled in response, happy he’d gotten Justin to laugh. “Yeah. Okay, so, Zephyr insists they investigate the trail J.T.’d gone off on. But, we don’t want Rage to look clueless…”
Justin snorted, and Michael ignored him.
“So, J.T. should be proactive in captivity. That way, both Zephyr and Rage will both be right.”
Proactive? Justin thought. “So, J.T. was in The Tarantula’s web, but he escaped on his own?”
“Yeah, something like that. But how would that make Rage and Zephyr necessary? I really don’t want to do just a straight forward rescue; the same old formula’s getting kind of boring. So, if we have J.T. more engaged in defeating the Tarantula, we can grow the character.”
Justin’s eyebrows raised. “Really? J.T. actually gets some brains? He doesn’t just wait around for Zephyr and Rage to rescue his admittedly perfect ass?”
“How about,” Ben put in, from where he stood at the stove, stirring some healthy shit that was making Justin’s mouth water like mad, “you have J.T. escape from the main web in the Tarantula’s lair, but he can’t get out of the entire complex. So he’s hiding, and Rage and Zephyr need to find him. And when they do, the Tarantula’s right there, and there’s a big fight, and whatnot.”
Justin considered that. “I like that, actually.”
“Yeah!” Michael agreed. “Only now we have to figure out why he can’t get out of the complex.”
“Have you figured out how we’re going to explain how a tarantula can spin webs when real ones don’t?” They had received several emails, some much more indignant than others, over that little glitch, from more than a couple zealous fan boys.
“Yeah, I already got that, he’s absorbed the power of all spiders, he just took on the shape of a tarantula because it’s scarier than others.”
“Oh.” Fine.
“So, J.T. escaped but not completely,” Michael went on, “That’s a great idea! But how would J.T. be able to do that, is the question. I mean, it’s the Tarantula’s space, wouldn’t he know all its secret places?”
“Well… maybe his charming personality can persuade one of the Tarantula’s henchmen to help him.”
“You mean the power of his ass will seduce the guy into falling in love with him.”
Justin smiled. “J.T., the greatest fuck in the world. Even Rage can’t stay away.” A wave of regret washed over him. If only.
Michael cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable at the way the conversation kept coming back to the real Rage. “Well, why don’t you work up something with Rage and Zephyr discovering the entrance, see what works. Do some of J.T. fucking the henchman, and hiding in the lair. Maybe you’ll come up with some ideas about how that works. And when you get some stuff done, we can talk about the setting design.”
“You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?” Ben glanced over his shoulder before opening the oven door. The heavenly smell of warmed loaves of bread wafted out.
Justin groaned. “If you don’t feed me whatever you’re cooking, I’m going to be forced to steal it. That smells divine!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re staying in town!” Ben laughed. “With appreciation like that, you are welcome at my table any day.”
“Are you glad I’m back, Michael?” Justin asked. He waited, hoping Michael would be honest. He thought their collaboration face-to-face again was off to a great start, but he really wanted to clear the air if anything… okay, if Brian was going to be an issue. He didn’t want his own issues to become a problem between them, especially since the subject matter was literally lying there on the table in front of them. Justin did not want a repeat of the post-fiddle fuck, with Michael and him skating around the cracking ice between them.
“You’re asking me about the situation with Brian.”
Justin tilted his head.
“I’m concerned, of course I am. Brian was really thrown when you left, and he’s doing okay now. But, whatever happens between two people, nobody really knows. Relationships are complicated.”
As Justin’s eyes widened, Ben brought a bowl of pasta covered in a pesto-tofu creation and a basket of bread to the table. “Brian was devastated, Justin,” he said. “Michael thinks Adam’s a rebound. He thinks you and Brian are such control freaks that actually falling in love with each other makes you want to run for the hills, which is exactly what happened.”
“You think I went to New York because I’m in love with Brian?”
“He thinks you went to New York because he was in love with you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Justin exclaimed, turning to Michael.
Michael turned on Ben, who had brought three plates to the table along with silverware and napkins, and placed the dishes in front of the other men. Then he sat placidly in his chair. Michael stared at him. “When we talked about this, only two nights ago I might add, you told me to just say that relationships are complicated! Not that I was upset that Brian was hurt and I’m worried he’s going to get hurt all over again! Even though that’s what I really think.”
“Yes,” Ben replied, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his lap. “I said you should say that. But I didn’t say what I should say.”
“I want to know why love made me go to New York.”
“Okay, fine,” Michael snapped. “You guys are totally in love with each other, but you’re also control freaks with lives completely planned out in your heads. Love is the thing you can’t control, it makes you crazy, so you don’t put it into the mix. You figured, if you stayed in love, you wouldn’t have the life you plan on, so you ran away. Especially since Brian was in love with you, and even changing for you. It threw you off. Literally, off you went. And left him, devastated. Again. And apparently without any heart for the sex and drugs route. Not that I’m too unhappy about that.”
“You said he would never change.”
Michael shrugged. “Obviously, I was wrong.”
“I did not run away,” Justin averred. “And how the hell would I know he’d changed, I was in New York!”
“Fine.” Michael rolled his eyes. “But I think a part of you got it before you left. He totally changed, and you couldn’t predict that narrow little life path you’ve got your mind set on, and that freaked you out. But, get over it! You can’t control things, not really, and you really can’t control love!”
“Oh, my god,” Justin moaned. “I’m being quoted a Cosmopolitan advice column.”
“See! Brian’s totally in you! You’re a sarcastic little shit, it’s all him.”
“I was born a sarcastic little shit.”
“Even worse! You were born ready for him! And yeah, okay, Adam’s a total rebound, and you guys are total morons who need to get your heads out of your asses.”
“Or, get your heads back in your asses, as the case may be,” Ben added.
“He was actually happy with you, Justin,” Michael put in, helping himself to an enormous serving of pasta. “You were happy with him. You guys are both trying to manage too hard, and you’re fucking it up completely, and Brian’s hurt, and I hate that.”
“I thought you said he was fine.”
“Sure, now.” Gesturing with his fork, Michael finished, “Stop trying to figure everything out, and just go with it!”
Justin stared from one to the other, and back. Zen Michael? What the fuck? He shook his head. “We broke up. It’s over.”
“Pfft!”
“Here, Justin,” Ben said, handing him the bowl of pasta. “Welcome home.” He leaned over, and kissed Michael soundly. “See? I told you you’d know what to say.”
* * * *
They were wrong, Justin thought later that week as he replayed the conversation with Michael in his head for the thousandth time, as he got ready to go to school. It was true, nobody truly knows what happens in relationships except for the people in them. And even then, not always.
And Justin sure as shit was learning that he couldn’t plan things. He’d never had a predictable life. And maybe that was the point; he sure as shit wanted a lot more control than he had.
But he couldn’t get distracted from school, and this was way too distracting. He came back to Pittsburgh for his art, and that’s where his focus was going to be. Instead of trying to settling back into his old haunts, he needed to focus on being back in school. Running into Brian clearly had been a mistake. Hearing Brian say it was over just about killed him, which is why he had never sent that email all that time ago. Hearing Brian say the words aloud to his new boyfriend was even more painful than he thought it would be. No matter what Michael thought, Michael didn’t know. It was over. And wasn’t that for the best? They just kept hurting each other.
Okay, he admitted to himself, he hadn’t returned just for school. A part of him had really, really hoped Brian would be waiting for him. He had expected it, actually. Part of him always expected Brian. Michael was right about that; he carried Brian with him, no matter where he went. Justin always thought they had something that time wouldn’t change. It’s only time. Apparently, he had completely misunderstood Brian’s meaning.
So now, as Justin felt the water of the shower sluice across his body, he allowed himself to look back at the painful scene at Deb’s, and he told himself hearing Brian say that it was over, had been for the best. Really. He had heard the truth, finally, the truth he had known all along. He hadn’t wanted to give up Brian, but he had. And Brian knew it was over, and had gone on with his life without Justin. He should have known Brian wouldn’t fight for them; everything in their history told him so.
So really, this was good, Justin reminded himself as he stepped out of the shower and toweled off. Picking up tricks in Popperz was working out just fine. It was good to know, for sure, that he and Brian were through, before he could be distracted. Too much.
He had two classes today, one in graphic design, and one of the two independent study classes he was taking this semester. Justin felt the excitement that came from starting something new course through him as he considered the projects he was planning. He had forgotten what it was like to have a solid goal, to be given assignments for a specific purpose. He had a week of classes under his belt, and his life had taken on a solid feeling. He had even started talking to some interesting people in his classes, and had gone for coffee with a very interesting boy named Alex. Cute. Not the kind of hot Justin usually went for, but Justin was ready for a genuine friend, not an easy fuck. He could get sex at Popperz, or anywhere, and he did, as often as he liked. He didn’t want to be with anyone. It felt as if he would never want that again.
He missed Brian. He had missed him in New York, but he had been in denial there, still too angry to make much room for the real sorrow, which was hitting him hard now.
But he had found his own apartment, close to PIFA, and that was a joy to balance some of the sadness. His mother had expressed reservations about this place, but of course she would. The room was cheap, big, the rent nowhere near what he had paid up New York, and it had a kitchenette and bathroom in one big space, unlike his first apartment. He also had some promising leads for work, so he could help Jennifer out if she needed him. The crashing housing market was hitting her hard. At the very least, Justin was determined not to be a drain on her.
He was determined not to be a drain on anyone, ever again. Rage, Inc. was paying for his apartment, and Ted had told him he could write off his tuition against the corporation.
“That’s legal?” Justin asked.
“Depends on how you bill it.”
“Fine, but if the IRS comes after us, you’re paying the penalty.” Ted had laughed. Justin and Michael had figured out an equitable division of expenses and payments, and so long as Justin didn’t go crazy, and they pushed publication up to three times annually, Rage would cover his living expenses for the next couple of years while he finished school.
He was moving into his new place the following week, and for now, he had one week to go at his mother’s. He enjoyed Molly and his mother, but the condo was ideal for two, and a bit crowded with three.
That, and he had to take the bus to PIFA from his mom’s place, which was all the way across town. His apartment was a quarter mile away. And, already, in his head, he could see the huge canvas he was going to set up on the far wall there, where the indirect light gave the perfect glow for the work he could already see.
But first he needed to settle his account for the first semester’s tuition, and he had just enough time before his first class. Ted needed the receipt for the write off. He smiled. Him and Michael. Who’d have thought. Justin headed out into the warm September afternoon, lifting his face to the sun and hoping for the best.
* * * * *
He was pissed. He’d been pissed all day.
And didn’t that figure? Warm fuzzies to screaming meemies all in the space of a day, an hour actually, all thanks to one visit to the student accounts office, and the sign of Brian Kinney all over his life. As ever. Did anything really change?
Was the man everywhere? Bad enough that Justin had carried him in his head and locked him away (tried to lock him away) in the back pantry of his heart while he was in New York; here in Pittsburgh Brian had a hand everywhere, so at the slightest dusting his fingerprints sprang into view. Justin couldn’t get away from the man.
His anger had drawn powerful work from him at school, becoming more powerful as his feelings emerged onto the canvas.
“That sweep there is beautiful, Justin!” Professor Kaniker told him. “If you find a model, it might help with the proportion, though.”
The work had only fed his fire, and he needed to burn it off. He had implemented the very method Brian had taught him, trying to drink and fuck away. This had only pissed him off more, realizing what a good disciple he still was. The liquor he consumed at the clubs had only fanned an anger that was only nominally about the money now, the money and his independence. The tricks hadn’t been the distraction he needed. He’d even pushed the last one off his dick when he realized the mouth on his cock was only keeping him from where he really wanted to be. He had buttoned up his jeans, and now he was here. He didn’t wait for the elevator, but stormed up the stairs and banged on the heavy metal door. He waited only a second, before lifting his hand and banging again.
“Yeah, what?” Brian opened the door, looking irritable, eyes sleep-heavy, wearing only a pair of grey sweat pants that sagged off his lean hips. Justin barged past him.
“Are you alone?” Justin demanded. “Or is your boyfriend going to witness this?”
“What the fuck, Justin? It’s three o’clock in the morning!”
“Are. You. Alone?”
“He doesn’t live here, so, no. What do you want?” Brian walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out a bottle of water, and placing it on the counter. “Here. You’ll need this.”
“You can’t pay my tuition, Brian!”
Brian shrugged. “You never changed your address, I keep getting the bills.”
“Bills? I wasn’t going to school.”
“If you don’t officially withdrawal, you still have to pay the fees.” Brian chuckled. “It’s amazing you manage to have five dollars for a latte.”
“I don’t drink lattes.”
“Well, you could if you paid more attention to your money.”
Justin grabbed the water, shrugged off his LA leather jacket, and let it drop next to the stool on which he sat. “Why isn’t your boyfriend here?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Brian answered, standing in front of him.
Justin’s lips twisted.
“Stop that!” Brian snapped. “He’s not my boyfriend!”
Justin had jumped at Brian’s bark, but just said, “Fine, he’s not your boyfriend. Where is the guy you fuck more than once? Forgive me if I’m disturbing your domestic bliss!” Justin was suddenly very conscious of the fact that Brian’s chest was bare, and that time had not softened his body’s hard sexiness. Justin’s breath suddenly seemed to evaporate in his lungs, and he focused on pulling deep at the air, trying to even his breathing.
“Why are you here?” Brian abruptly changed the subject. He leaned forward, sniffing the air around the area in which Justin sat. “Enjoy Popperz?”
Justin snorted. “Are you keeping track of me? Boy Toy, actually.”
“But not Babylon.”
“No. No,” Justin repeated. “I can’t… Don’t change the subject, Brian! You can’t pay my tuition.”
“Why not? What’s a few more thousand on top of what you already owe me?”
“Are you kidding? Why are you doing this?”
Brian turned his head, his eyes losing that hard, wary edge they’d held ever since Justin’s return. “You know why.”
“Brian...” Justin was at a loss. Something quivered in the air between them, and Justin could feel exactly what it was. His body remembered, and he became very aware of his skin, rubbing against the fabric of his clothes. Brian . “Nothing’s changed,” Justin whispered. He stopped at Brian’s glare. “Tell me. Tell me why.”
Brian shrugged. “Don’t make such a big deal about it.” He turned away.
“It is a big deal! What do… what do you tell him?” So, the tuition had been an excuse after all. This was the reason Justin was here.
Brian leaned heavily against the counter. “I don’t tell him shit. I’m not settling down into domesticity or anything equally ridiculous.”
“You weren’t with me, either.”
“I almost was.”
Justin reached over and touched Brian’s shoulder. Under his hand, he felt Brian flinch. He was warm, and Justin inhaled sharply, as he smelled Brian’s musky arousal. “Tell me,” Justin whispered. He needed to rip open the wound and expose the desire that poured through him like blood, the desire that was always there, that led to this constant, sharp, bittersweet pain. Pain and desire whenever he was near Brian, and the confusion he felt, the lack of clarity whenever this hard, beautiful man was near him. Justin had great clarity, except for this. He wanted to rip away his attraction and surrender to it all at once.
“You’re here,” Brian answered, and he leaned forward to capture Justin’s lips in his own. His body surrounded Justin’s, his hands reached for him, under his shirt and stroking the skin on his back. His teeth captured Justin’s lower lip, holding it still for his tongue to taste, before sweeping inside and back, sucking Justin’s tongue in its wake. His lips, so soft and urgent at once, his mouth covering Justin’s, encouraging Justin to taste in return, to feed. He pulled Justin to the bedroom, laying him down and following him onto the bed.
* * * *
Warm, hands. Breath and lips. Hard, desire, warm palm on him. Hard cock inside him, gentle, rolling, pushing against the body behind. A red glow signaling harsh light beyond his closed eyes, but he wouldn’t open them to day, not yet. Hardness gently pushing into him, encased in the warmth of bed sheets and their two bodies, rocking slowly, breathing, gentle. Stroking Brian’s forearm, the skin, so smooth, the flexing of muscles, rocking back and the hardness, deeper. A pool of sensation spreading out, slowly intensifying. Coming in slow motion, his flanks clenching, Brian’s whispered, “Justin,” the feel of Brian’s orgasm. Lying together after, Brian’s chest deeply breathing against his back, the red glow of suppressed daylight, Brian softening inside him.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Justin became fully conscious of his body, the dull ache in his ass, the languor in his muscles, the warmth of the legs tangled in his, Brian’s sudden inhalation.
“Brian, what the fuck!?” Adam.
Oh, shit.
Justin forced his eyes open, preparing himself for an ugly scene, and pulled away from Brian, sitting up. Brian had rolled away, and was depositing the condom in the trash can on the other side of the bed. Not at all discreet, but why bother at this point? Then Brian rolled up and out of the bed, pulling on the sweat pants he’d tossed off the night before. Justin couldn’t help admiring Brian’s hard flank as it flashed past him, wondering how he had lived so long without seeing that beautiful body.
He wondered if he could give him up again.
“Brian?” Adam stood at the foot of the stairs to the bed, not looking at Justin, but staring at his lover.
“What?”
“That’s all you have to say? It’s one thing to fuck anonymous guys, I know you do that. But he’s your ex! And not just that, you slept with him!”
“So? You’ve walked in on me with tricks.”
“Is he a trick, then? Is this just a trick to you, Brian?”
Justin was up and in his clothes by this point of the conversation. He heard the pleading pain in Adam’s voice, and it was all too familiar. Brian was who he was, nothing would change him. Brian was all unfulfilled expectations, and ordering those expectations into oblivion. Brian, demanding desire submit. But Justin could never submit. He could never quell his desire for more. Desire colored his world. Adam was learning, same as Justin had.
He felt a terrible sorrow, hearing in Adam’s question the echo of his own past. In the silence that hung in Brian’s space, Justin looked at Adam, and said, “I’m sorry,” because he knew that Brian would never say it. Then he left.
Part 3