Aha!
Success? I think so. I shall soon findout, and I must confess I'm waiting breathlessly.
One Day Out of Many
There are times - not many, and not as often as in years past - when Michael just really, absolutely, cannot stand Justin.
He thinks about this as he balances an enormous pitcher of punch in one arm and a plate of crackers and cheese in the other. His mom’s bi-weekly family get-together usually features Michael acting the part of waiter, table-setter, and dishwasher combined. He hears the doorbell ring and looks helplessly at Ben who, damn him, is lounging on the sofa with the Arts & Leisure section. He’s smirking at Michael over his glasses, and unfortunately no one but Michael really gets Ben’s sense of humor. Michael huffs and puts down the punch haphazardly on the side table, opening the door and catching Brian and Justin in a clinch on the porch. Fabulous. At the sight of Justin’s snowy grin Michael can tell that this is going to be a night in which he really, truly cannot stand Justin.
It’s not even because of Brian. It used to be, back before Ben and okay, even after Ben for a little while, but it’s not anymore. It’s not about Justin’s country-club background, or the way Michael’s mom practically adopted him. Michael doesn’t like Justin sometimes but he respects him a lot; he knows that the country-club thing maybe wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and hell, his mom pinches the cheek of every twink that comes into the diner. Justin’s cute and smart but he’s not perfect and goddamnit, Michael knows that.
It’s hard to remember sometimes, though, as Justin shrugs out of his coat and Brian grabs the ends of his scarf and pulls him in for another kiss. They are both flushed, and they have the kind of post-coital glow that Michael attributes to shared blow-jobs before the drive over. He wouldn’t put it past them. It’s actually sort of nice, because it means that Brian is happy to spend a pre-dinner half-hour sprawled in an armchair sans Justin, talking to Michael about anime movies and the new DJ at Babylon. On the days when Brian and Justin arrive separately, they spend twenty minutes glued to each other’s sides, making small talk with the family, before making a hasty beeline for the upstairs bedroom and a quick pre-dinner fuck to take the edge off. Today Brian is talking with Michael as Justin helps Michael’s mom in the kitchen, his blond hair gleaming and his white teeth flashing when he smiles.
It’s not about the country club, or his looks, or his smarts. Michael is over all that, it’s done, those are all just parts of who Justin is. But what Michael doesn’t get, what maybe he’ll never get and this is what pisses him off, is how Justin can stand it. Because maybe the worst thing that’s ever happened to Michael was finding out that his dad wasn’t really his dad, and it’s not like that was even such a big deal because in the end it doesn’t matter, he’s got his mom and his Uncle Vic and that’s a family right there. But Justin - Justin got bashed at his high school prom. Bashed in the head by a kid he knew, a kid he jerked off with in the equipment room. Justin’s dad disowned him, and maybe Michael doesn’t have a father but at least that means he can’t pull shit like that. And worst of all, Justin lives with Brian, and though it hurts to admit it Michael knows, knows more than anyone else except Justin what a shit Brian can be; what a vicious, manipulative ass he is sometimes. Michael knows this and as much as he loves Brian, will always love Brian, he knows that he would wilt under the force of Brian’s moods.
There is no sign of wilting in Justin. He pounces on Emmett when he arrives and drags him off to the kitchen for some ultra-urgent drama princess convention. Michael notices that Brian’s eyes follow Justin as he crosses the room and figures he’s got maybe ten minutes left before round two is scheduled to begin. So he enjoys those ten minutes and when Brian excuses himself to go to the bathroom Michael joins Ted and Ben on the couch. Emmett emerges from the kitchen with Deb in tow and the five of them settle into a comfortable rhythm of conversation.
When Deb orders them all to the table, Michael volunteers to go and remove the bread from the oven. He enters the kitchen and finds Brian and Justin, leaning languidly back against the counter, making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s not too heavy - Michael can’t see Brian’s hands, but Justin’s are locked safely around Brian’s neck. As he watches Brian tilts his head to suck on Justin’s throat, and Justin lets out a little groan and arches up against Brian’s body. Michael clears his throat loudly and they both look up, lips swollen and eyes heavy.
“Dinner.” Michael says it with a certain relish, because Justin’s tenting like a virgin and if Michael knows Brian - and he thinks he does - Brian is going to be teasing Justin under the table all throughout dinner. And sure enough, when Justin goes red and chokes on a piece of pasta during dinner, Michael catches Brian’s eye and they both smirk. After dinner Justin seizes Brian by the wrist and drags him not-so-discreetly upstairs, and when they come down fifteen minutes later - Justin is barely twenty, after all - they both look more relaxed.
So the bottom line is, Justin doesn’t wilt. It amazes and disgusts Michael that Justin Taylor still exists, that he hasn’t disappeared into the vortex that is Brian Kinney’s psyche. Justin is his own person; he paints agit-prop posters and goes swing-dancing every other Thursday with Daphne. He cooks with Uncle Vic and they talk about music and Oprah and even though Michael has eavesdropped on more than one occasion, they have never once spoken about the bashing, or Justin’s dad, or the fact that Brian is an asshole with major control issues. Justin is his own person, and he’s only twenty years old, and at thirty-three Michael is still struggling to break free from the thrall of Brian Kinney.
One Day Out of Many
There are times - not many, and not as often as in years past - when Michael just really, absolutely, cannot stand Justin.
He thinks about this as he balances an enormous pitcher of punch in one arm and a plate of crackers and cheese in the other. His mom’s bi-weekly family get-together usually features Michael acting the part of waiter, table-setter, and dishwasher combined. He hears the doorbell ring and looks helplessly at Ben who, damn him, is lounging on the sofa with the Arts & Leisure section. He’s smirking at Michael over his glasses, and unfortunately no one but Michael really gets Ben’s sense of humor. Michael huffs and puts down the punch haphazardly on the side table, opening the door and catching Brian and Justin in a clinch on the porch. Fabulous. At the sight of Justin’s snowy grin Michael can tell that this is going to be a night in which he really, truly cannot stand Justin.
It’s not even because of Brian. It used to be, back before Ben and okay, even after Ben for a little while, but it’s not anymore. It’s not about Justin’s country-club background, or the way Michael’s mom practically adopted him. Michael doesn’t like Justin sometimes but he respects him a lot; he knows that the country-club thing maybe wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and hell, his mom pinches the cheek of every twink that comes into the diner. Justin’s cute and smart but he’s not perfect and goddamnit, Michael knows that.
It’s hard to remember sometimes, though, as Justin shrugs out of his coat and Brian grabs the ends of his scarf and pulls him in for another kiss. They are both flushed, and they have the kind of post-coital glow that Michael attributes to shared blow-jobs before the drive over. He wouldn’t put it past them. It’s actually sort of nice, because it means that Brian is happy to spend a pre-dinner half-hour sprawled in an armchair sans Justin, talking to Michael about anime movies and the new DJ at Babylon. On the days when Brian and Justin arrive separately, they spend twenty minutes glued to each other’s sides, making small talk with the family, before making a hasty beeline for the upstairs bedroom and a quick pre-dinner fuck to take the edge off. Today Brian is talking with Michael as Justin helps Michael’s mom in the kitchen, his blond hair gleaming and his white teeth flashing when he smiles.
It’s not about the country club, or his looks, or his smarts. Michael is over all that, it’s done, those are all just parts of who Justin is. But what Michael doesn’t get, what maybe he’ll never get and this is what pisses him off, is how Justin can stand it. Because maybe the worst thing that’s ever happened to Michael was finding out that his dad wasn’t really his dad, and it’s not like that was even such a big deal because in the end it doesn’t matter, he’s got his mom and his Uncle Vic and that’s a family right there. But Justin - Justin got bashed at his high school prom. Bashed in the head by a kid he knew, a kid he jerked off with in the equipment room. Justin’s dad disowned him, and maybe Michael doesn’t have a father but at least that means he can’t pull shit like that. And worst of all, Justin lives with Brian, and though it hurts to admit it Michael knows, knows more than anyone else except Justin what a shit Brian can be; what a vicious, manipulative ass he is sometimes. Michael knows this and as much as he loves Brian, will always love Brian, he knows that he would wilt under the force of Brian’s moods.
There is no sign of wilting in Justin. He pounces on Emmett when he arrives and drags him off to the kitchen for some ultra-urgent drama princess convention. Michael notices that Brian’s eyes follow Justin as he crosses the room and figures he’s got maybe ten minutes left before round two is scheduled to begin. So he enjoys those ten minutes and when Brian excuses himself to go to the bathroom Michael joins Ted and Ben on the couch. Emmett emerges from the kitchen with Deb in tow and the five of them settle into a comfortable rhythm of conversation.
When Deb orders them all to the table, Michael volunteers to go and remove the bread from the oven. He enters the kitchen and finds Brian and Justin, leaning languidly back against the counter, making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s not too heavy - Michael can’t see Brian’s hands, but Justin’s are locked safely around Brian’s neck. As he watches Brian tilts his head to suck on Justin’s throat, and Justin lets out a little groan and arches up against Brian’s body. Michael clears his throat loudly and they both look up, lips swollen and eyes heavy.
“Dinner.” Michael says it with a certain relish, because Justin’s tenting like a virgin and if Michael knows Brian - and he thinks he does - Brian is going to be teasing Justin under the table all throughout dinner. And sure enough, when Justin goes red and chokes on a piece of pasta during dinner, Michael catches Brian’s eye and they both smirk. After dinner Justin seizes Brian by the wrist and drags him not-so-discreetly upstairs, and when they come down fifteen minutes later - Justin is barely twenty, after all - they both look more relaxed.
So the bottom line is, Justin doesn’t wilt. It amazes and disgusts Michael that Justin Taylor still exists, that he hasn’t disappeared into the vortex that is Brian Kinney’s psyche. Justin is his own person; he paints agit-prop posters and goes swing-dancing every other Thursday with Daphne. He cooks with Uncle Vic and they talk about music and Oprah and even though Michael has eavesdropped on more than one occasion, they have never once spoken about the bashing, or Justin’s dad, or the fact that Brian is an asshole with major control issues. Justin is his own person, and he’s only twenty years old, and at thirty-three Michael is still struggling to break free from the thrall of Brian Kinney.