FIVE BIRTHDAYS
Title: Five Birthdays
Written By: fansee
Timeline: S2 through post-513
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my new beta for your patience and mad skillz.
"I can't believe you got Justin a hustler for his birthday." Lindsay had that look on her face. I can't describe it, but it's one I'm all too familiar with.
"I believe it," Mel said. "Typical. Just what an insensitive asshole like you would get."
I ignored Mel and said to Lindsay, "What more would a red-blooded young homosexual want for his 19th birthday than a hot piece of ass? Justin will tell you Mikke's performance was more than sat-ass-factory." I smirked.
"That's exactly what he would tell you."
"What? Did he tell you something else?"
"No. He is far too loyal…"
"Infatuated," Melanie interjected.
"…to complain, but his face told a different story."
I wasn't about to get into some lesbian discussion about what his face conveyed, but I knew what I'd seen. "His dick was very enthusiastic."
"Sure it was. He's nineteen, for God's sake. He'll fuck anything that moves at that age. Just wait until he gets a couple of years on him and a helluva lot more sophistication. Hustlers aren't going to do it then."
Fuck, a young, talented kid isn't going to be hanging around with an old man in a few years. Nothing for me to worry about. However, I was getting bored with this discussion, so I said, "So what should I have gotten him?" Sometimes the easiest way to deal with Mel and Lindsay is to let them say their say.
"How about something sentimental? Flowers? A picture of the two of you together?"
This time it was Melanie reading my face. She knew sentimental wasn't going to happen. "My mother always said 'A gift of self is best.' Take him on a date. Do something together. Hell, you might fucking enjoy it yourself."
Especially if it was fucking. "Thank you, ladies," I said in my most sarcastic voice. "Your advice is highly appreciated. Now how about a beer?" I headed for their kitchen.
*** *** *** *** ***
Fuck! I forgot! Now, of all times, is no time to forget Justin's fucking 20th birthday. Not when the greatest reunification since Germany (as someone once said) has just happened. Gotta get on the phone as soon as I get into the office and make some arrangements.
I got home before Justin only because his mother invited us over for his birthday dinner. I said, "Fuck, Justin, you know I'd go but I have to get these proofs out the door tonight - I have the art department working late (true!) - and I promised EyeConics I'd have the proofs in their in-box tomorrow morning, latest (an exaggeration). I've got to hang around to approve them."
He was sweet and understanding and went out the door to Mother Taylor's without an argument. I did stay and work for another hour, then went home to make sure the 'arrangements' were all in order.
When he got home, I intercepted him at the door with a "Happy birthday" and a kiss. "Now take off your clothes."
He drew back with a suspicious look on his face. "What the fuck…?"
"Don't worry. You'll like this. Now strip."
He still looked wary. "You're sure?"
"Positive." He started to walk toward the bedroom. I stopped him. "No. Take 'em all off right here."
"All right, I'm trusting you, but…." Still doubtful, he shucked his clothes.
"Now go to the bedroom."
As soon as he saw the guy standing next to the bed, he stopped. "Brian, I don't want to…" His voice trailed off.
"Don't want to fuck a hustler?" He nodded. "There are a few differences from last year. For instance, you are naked and he's dressed…."
"That could just mean…."
"…And you are pretty and he is not."
"True."
"So just lie down and see what happens."
He crawled onto the bed and lay down. The masseur knelt astride his legs and started rubbing warm oil into his shoulders.
Forty-five minutes later, Justin was so relaxed, he was limp. By the time I shut the door on the masseur, I was almost naked, too. I skinned out of my briefs and lay down next to Justin. He had ended up on his back. I ran my hand lightly up his body, up his thigh, across his dick, up his flat belly, over his chest, and caught his chin in my hand. I turned his head toward me, and said, "Happy birthday." I kissed him, long and slow and thorough.
When he could talk, he said, "Thank you. That was a wonderful present."
"Yeah. I could tell by your moans." I bent my head and kissed the inside of his thigh. "There's more."
Justin rolled his leg a little, so that I had better access, and I nibbled my way up to his balls. I sucked first one, then the other, into my mouth and rolled them around gently. Justin gasped, then moaned, and I blew on his wet balls. He jerked, and I pressed two fingers against his perineum.
I watched his cock react, encouraging it with a quick lick or a suck or a probe of his slit, until it was fully erect and straining. Then, before he could start to thrash in earnest, I enveloped it with my mouth and began playing seriously, bringing him almost to the point of orgasm, then backing off and repeating. Finally, when he had his hands fisted in my hair, pressing my head down, begging for completion, I slipped a finger, then two up his ass, and sucked strongly. He came noisily and collapsed.
I kissed him again, the taste of his come on my tongue, and said, "The present working for you?"
He grinned weakly. "Best ever."
"A gift of self is best."
*** *** *** *** ***
I never expected to feel this shitty. Most of the times when I've seen guys who were sick, dragging their asses around, I might have been outwardly sympathetic, but in my mind, I felt they should just get over it. Radiation fucked that attitude. I don't want to get out of bed in the morning, and when I do manage to leave my bed, I'm counting the minutes until I can collapse again. Minutes? I'm counting seconds.
Now, of course, I have my own pair of little, gay Florence Nightingales: Mikey and Justin. They both have keys to the loft, so they can come and go without disturbing me. Or that's what they say. I say, I am disturbed and not in a positive, life-affirming way.
I had another treatment this morning. (There is no 'treat' in treatment.) Today the radiation left a fucking burn mark. Looked at objectively, the burned area is small, even tiny, but the hell with objectivity: it feels huge. It's just one more constant reminder that I'm no longer whole and never will be again.
I shed my jeans and shoes as soon as I got home this morning and crawled back into bed, making sure I had something close by to catch my puke in. It took me several tries to get semi-comfortable, but as soon as I did, I heard a key in the door. Fuck. I shut my eyes and concentrated on being asleep. It never works but I keep trying.
"Hi, Brian."
That was Mikey's obnoxiously cheerful voice. They are both pains in the ass, but at least Justin is a quieter pain. I played dead.
"I know you just got back from the hospital." I felt the bed sag as Mikey sat down. "How did it go?"
"It was even more fun than usual," I said. "How the fuck did you think it'd go?"
"Sit up now and drink some water. You know the doctor warned you about dehydration." He meant, Try to fool your body into absorbing some water before you start throwing up. I sat up reluctantly. Michael stuffed a pillow behind me as I gingerly re-positioned myself. I sipped at the glass, then, as a pleading look crossed Michael's face, took a heartier gulp. Michael looked relieved and pulled something out of his backpack. "I brought you a card to give Justin," he said. "I'm sure he'll be by later."
Oh my fucking God. Today is Justin's 21st birthday. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I looked at the card: Michael's idea of sophisticated. On the front, blue waves lapped at a white beach. "Happy Birthday!" had been drawn in the sand. Not great, but not awful, either. Inside it said, "Birthdays are filled with yesterday's memories, today's joys, and tomorrow's dreams."
I closed my eyes. "Mikey, you know I get nauseated easily. Are you trying to fucking kill me?"
"Ben said you wouldn't like it." He sounded resigned. "I'll just leave it in case you change your mind." He perked up annoyingly. "You're doing pretty good with the water. Another couple of swallows and you'll have finished it."
I took another swallow and felt my stomach rebel. I pushed the glass toward Mikey, keeping my mouth shut.
"Feeling sick already?"
I nodded yes.
"Is there anything I can get you before I go?"
I shook my head, and he left.
Once the door was shut, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and waited for the nausea to pass. Then I picked up my cell and dialed.
I must have really been asleep when Justin turned up that afternoon, because I woke up to the smell of chicken soup warming on the stove. I pushed up on one elbow and croaked, "Happy birthday!"
I heard the click as Justin turned down the burner, then he walked toward me, his face alight with his grin. "I was sure you'd forget."
He bent down and we kissed. "Forget?" I said. "Never."
"Yeah, Michael was here this morning, wasn't he?"
I wasn't answering that. Instead, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pushed myself to my feet. I felt a little unsteady, but Justin knows better than to try to help me. I tottered over to the couch and collapsed. Five seconds later, Justin settled down beside me and handed me a glass of water. "Want to watch Oprah?" he asked.
"No." What I should have done before I sat down was brush my teeth. My mouth tasted like shit. "There's a box for you in my closet, on the floor."
He got up and went back to the bedroom. I heard the closet door open and then he said, "Shit." I smiled to myself. It was a big box.
He came back, laughing and juggling the box. It was large - three feet in every dimension (width, height, and depth) - but not very heavy, and it was wrapped in shiny silver paper and topped by a big, lacy silver bow. "What the fuck, Brian?"
I smiled back. "Open it and see."
He took the top off the box and of course the first thing he saw was the dozen red roses resting at an angle and taking up half the box. "Oh my God, Brian!" He picked them up and breathed in their scent. It wafted in my direction, rich and earthy.
"Keep going," I said.
Next he pulled out a long, heavy bag, then tipped out a magnum of Perrier-Jouét Champagne. "Now that you're legal," I said.
He smiled. "Yeah. Finally. We're saving this until you can share it with me," and he dove back into the bag to pull out the last item: a box wrapped in the same silver paper. He ripped off the paper, pulled off the top, and stared. "I've never seen this before!"
We had a photographer taking pictures at the opening of Kinnetik, and unbeknownst to either of us, he had snapped a picture just as I pulled Justin close and kissed him. It had been included in the proofs for review, and I'd ordered a copy of it, but I'd never shown it to Justin…or anyone else, for that matter. Don't know why - I just didn't feel like it until now.
"You know when it was taken?"
"Yeah - at the opening of Kinnetik. Look at my hair!"
"Or lack thereof."
He read aloud what I had scribbled on the photo before I put it in the frame, "Happy Birthday! Hugs, Brian." He looked up, and I swear his eyes were moist. "That is so…so…fucking sentimental."
I shrugged. "Something to remember me by."
"You know I hate it when you talk like that," he said but without any heat in his voice. He was smiling at the picture and touching it with his fingertips, for Christ's sake. The sight was enough to make me nauseous even when I don't have radiation poisoning.
"I could eat something," I said. Right now those words are usually enough to distract either Justin or Mikey from any topic. It didn't quite work this time.
"I can't believe you got this organized, the way you're feeling," he said.
I smiled enigmatically and tried not to think of the one-time bonus Cynthia would be getting. "Do we have anything in the house besides chicken soup?"
*** *** *** *** ***
Now I remember why I hate celebrating birthdays. Once you start, it's hard to stop.
I remember Justin's 18th birthday. At that point, just getting fucked was all the present he needed. I remember that Jennifer gave him a party, and afterwards he arrived at the loft around midnight, still bouncing from a sugar high. I had all sorts of cynical comments to make about the new shirt he was wearing and his Blockbuster and Foot Locker gift certificates, and a lot fewer cynical remarks about his truly impressive haul in cash and checks. Then I fucked him until his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out. At 18, that was all that he needed for a very happy birthday.
Not any more. Now he doesn't want to see me, much less fuck me. Oh, he's polite when we meet, in his cool, country-club way, but it's obvious that when he picked up that duffel bag, he was done with Brian A. Kinney. Done, through, over me. I've always known this day would come; I just didn't know how much it would hurt.
I thought about giving him a gift anyway. I've done that before. When he moved in with Ian, I packed up his graphics computer for him and I paid his tuition at PIFA. This time I'd like to rent him a decent apartment - Lindsay says the one he's in is a hovel - her word - but that's not going to happen, I know. I'm out of his life in any meaningful way; I'm not allowed to help. That's what fucking hurts.
I need a drink.
*** *** *** *** ***
"Happy birthday, twat."
"Brian! I didn't think you were coming!" He threw his arms around me.
"It's your birthday, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but when I got the flowers this afternoon, I figured…"
"Well…I wasn't sure I could get away, but Cynthia got me out of my 4:00 o'clock meeting and on a plane instead." I pulled away and looked him over. Miraculous miraculorum, paint-free jeans! And a very nice knit shirt, in shades of blue that set off his eyes. "Don't you look hot! Are you on your way out?"
"I was planning on meeting Jill and Di and a couple of guys for a birthday drink, but I'll give them a call and tell them I can't make it." He was digging his cell out of his pocket.
"Hey, don't do that. It's your birthday. I can join you, or…," I smiled weakly, "I have paperwork I didn't get finished on the plane…."
"Are you fucking kidding? My friends will be thrilled to meet my imaginary boyfriend…that's what they call you…'cause I talk about you all the time but they've never met you."
I pulled him close, he tipped his head up, and I remembered why we hardly left his apartment on my flying visits. When we broke the kiss, I said, "You never offered much resistance when I wanted to stay in and fuck."
"I'm not resisting now," he said, and his voice was already a little husky.
I am a coward. I was tempted. (When have I not been tempted, especially when it is Justin offering?) I could give him his present when he was worn out from fucking and less likely to resist. On the other hand, the fucking and the present-giving could follow a night out with friends, if that was what Justin wanted. "Are you sure you don't mind being seen with an old man?"
"Not when the old man is one hot dude." He smiled, but his voice was serious.
"Okay." I took a deep breath and gathered my courage. "I have a present for you first…but you have to be honest and tell me if it's not something you want."
"Okay."
"I mean it. Promise me that if this isn't what you want, you'll say so."
"Promise."
I pulled the ring box out of my pocket and handed it to him. He said, "I told you, months ago, that we don't need rings or vows to know that we love each other."
I pinched my lips together. "I know," I said. I waited.
After a long pause, he snapped it open and looked. "There's only one ring!"
"Take it out," I said. I held out my left hand. "Put it on."
"Brian!"
I held my hand steady. After another long pause, he slipped it on. "Why?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I dunno. I just feel that…you know…I'd like to try…."
"Try what?"
I looked away.
"Monogamy? Fidelity?"
"I can always go back to promiscuity if it doesn't work out." I looked back at him. "I've already told Cynthia not to schedule meetings or conference calls for after noon on Fridays."
"What about me? Where's my ring?"
"Justin, you don't have to do it. You're a young guy, alone in the big city…sow some wild oats."
"I want my ring."
"You're sure?"
"Brian!" He held out his left hand.
"Okay." I fished it out of my pocket, looked at him, and said, "Love you" as I put it on his finger.
As soon as it was on, he stepped back and took it off again. I raised an eyebrow at him and he said, "I thought I saw writing in here." He moved over closer to the lamp on the table and peered at the inside of the ring. "'Always, Brian'." He threw his arms around me and kissed me enthusiastically. "Now we have to go out so I can show Di and Jill and Adrian and…."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You want to show everybody…"
"That my boyfriend is ridiculously romantic."
Written By: fansee
Timeline: S2 through post-513
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my new beta for your patience and mad skillz.
"I can't believe you got Justin a hustler for his birthday." Lindsay had that look on her face. I can't describe it, but it's one I'm all too familiar with.
"I believe it," Mel said. "Typical. Just what an insensitive asshole like you would get."
I ignored Mel and said to Lindsay, "What more would a red-blooded young homosexual want for his 19th birthday than a hot piece of ass? Justin will tell you Mikke's performance was more than sat-ass-factory." I smirked.
"That's exactly what he would tell you."
"What? Did he tell you something else?"
"No. He is far too loyal…"
"Infatuated," Melanie interjected.
"…to complain, but his face told a different story."
I wasn't about to get into some lesbian discussion about what his face conveyed, but I knew what I'd seen. "His dick was very enthusiastic."
"Sure it was. He's nineteen, for God's sake. He'll fuck anything that moves at that age. Just wait until he gets a couple of years on him and a helluva lot more sophistication. Hustlers aren't going to do it then."
Fuck, a young, talented kid isn't going to be hanging around with an old man in a few years. Nothing for me to worry about. However, I was getting bored with this discussion, so I said, "So what should I have gotten him?" Sometimes the easiest way to deal with Mel and Lindsay is to let them say their say.
"How about something sentimental? Flowers? A picture of the two of you together?"
This time it was Melanie reading my face. She knew sentimental wasn't going to happen. "My mother always said 'A gift of self is best.' Take him on a date. Do something together. Hell, you might fucking enjoy it yourself."
Especially if it was fucking. "Thank you, ladies," I said in my most sarcastic voice. "Your advice is highly appreciated. Now how about a beer?" I headed for their kitchen.
*** *** *** *** ***
Fuck! I forgot! Now, of all times, is no time to forget Justin's fucking 20th birthday. Not when the greatest reunification since Germany (as someone once said) has just happened. Gotta get on the phone as soon as I get into the office and make some arrangements.
I got home before Justin only because his mother invited us over for his birthday dinner. I said, "Fuck, Justin, you know I'd go but I have to get these proofs out the door tonight - I have the art department working late (true!) - and I promised EyeConics I'd have the proofs in their in-box tomorrow morning, latest (an exaggeration). I've got to hang around to approve them."
He was sweet and understanding and went out the door to Mother Taylor's without an argument. I did stay and work for another hour, then went home to make sure the 'arrangements' were all in order.
When he got home, I intercepted him at the door with a "Happy birthday" and a kiss. "Now take off your clothes."
He drew back with a suspicious look on his face. "What the fuck…?"
"Don't worry. You'll like this. Now strip."
He still looked wary. "You're sure?"
"Positive." He started to walk toward the bedroom. I stopped him. "No. Take 'em all off right here."
"All right, I'm trusting you, but…." Still doubtful, he shucked his clothes.
"Now go to the bedroom."
As soon as he saw the guy standing next to the bed, he stopped. "Brian, I don't want to…" His voice trailed off.
"Don't want to fuck a hustler?" He nodded. "There are a few differences from last year. For instance, you are naked and he's dressed…."
"That could just mean…."
"…And you are pretty and he is not."
"True."
"So just lie down and see what happens."
He crawled onto the bed and lay down. The masseur knelt astride his legs and started rubbing warm oil into his shoulders.
Forty-five minutes later, Justin was so relaxed, he was limp. By the time I shut the door on the masseur, I was almost naked, too. I skinned out of my briefs and lay down next to Justin. He had ended up on his back. I ran my hand lightly up his body, up his thigh, across his dick, up his flat belly, over his chest, and caught his chin in my hand. I turned his head toward me, and said, "Happy birthday." I kissed him, long and slow and thorough.
When he could talk, he said, "Thank you. That was a wonderful present."
"Yeah. I could tell by your moans." I bent my head and kissed the inside of his thigh. "There's more."
Justin rolled his leg a little, so that I had better access, and I nibbled my way up to his balls. I sucked first one, then the other, into my mouth and rolled them around gently. Justin gasped, then moaned, and I blew on his wet balls. He jerked, and I pressed two fingers against his perineum.
I watched his cock react, encouraging it with a quick lick or a suck or a probe of his slit, until it was fully erect and straining. Then, before he could start to thrash in earnest, I enveloped it with my mouth and began playing seriously, bringing him almost to the point of orgasm, then backing off and repeating. Finally, when he had his hands fisted in my hair, pressing my head down, begging for completion, I slipped a finger, then two up his ass, and sucked strongly. He came noisily and collapsed.
I kissed him again, the taste of his come on my tongue, and said, "The present working for you?"
He grinned weakly. "Best ever."
"A gift of self is best."
*** *** *** *** ***
I never expected to feel this shitty. Most of the times when I've seen guys who were sick, dragging their asses around, I might have been outwardly sympathetic, but in my mind, I felt they should just get over it. Radiation fucked that attitude. I don't want to get out of bed in the morning, and when I do manage to leave my bed, I'm counting the minutes until I can collapse again. Minutes? I'm counting seconds.
Now, of course, I have my own pair of little, gay Florence Nightingales: Mikey and Justin. They both have keys to the loft, so they can come and go without disturbing me. Or that's what they say. I say, I am disturbed and not in a positive, life-affirming way.
I had another treatment this morning. (There is no 'treat' in treatment.) Today the radiation left a fucking burn mark. Looked at objectively, the burned area is small, even tiny, but the hell with objectivity: it feels huge. It's just one more constant reminder that I'm no longer whole and never will be again.
I shed my jeans and shoes as soon as I got home this morning and crawled back into bed, making sure I had something close by to catch my puke in. It took me several tries to get semi-comfortable, but as soon as I did, I heard a key in the door. Fuck. I shut my eyes and concentrated on being asleep. It never works but I keep trying.
"Hi, Brian."
That was Mikey's obnoxiously cheerful voice. They are both pains in the ass, but at least Justin is a quieter pain. I played dead.
"I know you just got back from the hospital." I felt the bed sag as Mikey sat down. "How did it go?"
"It was even more fun than usual," I said. "How the fuck did you think it'd go?"
"Sit up now and drink some water. You know the doctor warned you about dehydration." He meant, Try to fool your body into absorbing some water before you start throwing up. I sat up reluctantly. Michael stuffed a pillow behind me as I gingerly re-positioned myself. I sipped at the glass, then, as a pleading look crossed Michael's face, took a heartier gulp. Michael looked relieved and pulled something out of his backpack. "I brought you a card to give Justin," he said. "I'm sure he'll be by later."
Oh my fucking God. Today is Justin's 21st birthday. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I looked at the card: Michael's idea of sophisticated. On the front, blue waves lapped at a white beach. "Happy Birthday!" had been drawn in the sand. Not great, but not awful, either. Inside it said, "Birthdays are filled with yesterday's memories, today's joys, and tomorrow's dreams."
I closed my eyes. "Mikey, you know I get nauseated easily. Are you trying to fucking kill me?"
"Ben said you wouldn't like it." He sounded resigned. "I'll just leave it in case you change your mind." He perked up annoyingly. "You're doing pretty good with the water. Another couple of swallows and you'll have finished it."
I took another swallow and felt my stomach rebel. I pushed the glass toward Mikey, keeping my mouth shut.
"Feeling sick already?"
I nodded yes.
"Is there anything I can get you before I go?"
I shook my head, and he left.
Once the door was shut, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and waited for the nausea to pass. Then I picked up my cell and dialed.
I must have really been asleep when Justin turned up that afternoon, because I woke up to the smell of chicken soup warming on the stove. I pushed up on one elbow and croaked, "Happy birthday!"
I heard the click as Justin turned down the burner, then he walked toward me, his face alight with his grin. "I was sure you'd forget."
He bent down and we kissed. "Forget?" I said. "Never."
"Yeah, Michael was here this morning, wasn't he?"
I wasn't answering that. Instead, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pushed myself to my feet. I felt a little unsteady, but Justin knows better than to try to help me. I tottered over to the couch and collapsed. Five seconds later, Justin settled down beside me and handed me a glass of water. "Want to watch Oprah?" he asked.
"No." What I should have done before I sat down was brush my teeth. My mouth tasted like shit. "There's a box for you in my closet, on the floor."
He got up and went back to the bedroom. I heard the closet door open and then he said, "Shit." I smiled to myself. It was a big box.
He came back, laughing and juggling the box. It was large - three feet in every dimension (width, height, and depth) - but not very heavy, and it was wrapped in shiny silver paper and topped by a big, lacy silver bow. "What the fuck, Brian?"
I smiled back. "Open it and see."
He took the top off the box and of course the first thing he saw was the dozen red roses resting at an angle and taking up half the box. "Oh my God, Brian!" He picked them up and breathed in their scent. It wafted in my direction, rich and earthy.
"Keep going," I said.
Next he pulled out a long, heavy bag, then tipped out a magnum of Perrier-Jouét Champagne. "Now that you're legal," I said.
He smiled. "Yeah. Finally. We're saving this until you can share it with me," and he dove back into the bag to pull out the last item: a box wrapped in the same silver paper. He ripped off the paper, pulled off the top, and stared. "I've never seen this before!"
We had a photographer taking pictures at the opening of Kinnetik, and unbeknownst to either of us, he had snapped a picture just as I pulled Justin close and kissed him. It had been included in the proofs for review, and I'd ordered a copy of it, but I'd never shown it to Justin…or anyone else, for that matter. Don't know why - I just didn't feel like it until now.
"You know when it was taken?"
"Yeah - at the opening of Kinnetik. Look at my hair!"
"Or lack thereof."
He read aloud what I had scribbled on the photo before I put it in the frame, "Happy Birthday! Hugs, Brian." He looked up, and I swear his eyes were moist. "That is so…so…fucking sentimental."
I shrugged. "Something to remember me by."
"You know I hate it when you talk like that," he said but without any heat in his voice. He was smiling at the picture and touching it with his fingertips, for Christ's sake. The sight was enough to make me nauseous even when I don't have radiation poisoning.
"I could eat something," I said. Right now those words are usually enough to distract either Justin or Mikey from any topic. It didn't quite work this time.
"I can't believe you got this organized, the way you're feeling," he said.
I smiled enigmatically and tried not to think of the one-time bonus Cynthia would be getting. "Do we have anything in the house besides chicken soup?"
*** *** *** *** ***
Now I remember why I hate celebrating birthdays. Once you start, it's hard to stop.
I remember Justin's 18th birthday. At that point, just getting fucked was all the present he needed. I remember that Jennifer gave him a party, and afterwards he arrived at the loft around midnight, still bouncing from a sugar high. I had all sorts of cynical comments to make about the new shirt he was wearing and his Blockbuster and Foot Locker gift certificates, and a lot fewer cynical remarks about his truly impressive haul in cash and checks. Then I fucked him until his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out. At 18, that was all that he needed for a very happy birthday.
Not any more. Now he doesn't want to see me, much less fuck me. Oh, he's polite when we meet, in his cool, country-club way, but it's obvious that when he picked up that duffel bag, he was done with Brian A. Kinney. Done, through, over me. I've always known this day would come; I just didn't know how much it would hurt.
I thought about giving him a gift anyway. I've done that before. When he moved in with Ian, I packed up his graphics computer for him and I paid his tuition at PIFA. This time I'd like to rent him a decent apartment - Lindsay says the one he's in is a hovel - her word - but that's not going to happen, I know. I'm out of his life in any meaningful way; I'm not allowed to help. That's what fucking hurts.
I need a drink.
*** *** *** *** ***
"Happy birthday, twat."
"Brian! I didn't think you were coming!" He threw his arms around me.
"It's your birthday, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but when I got the flowers this afternoon, I figured…"
"Well…I wasn't sure I could get away, but Cynthia got me out of my 4:00 o'clock meeting and on a plane instead." I pulled away and looked him over. Miraculous miraculorum, paint-free jeans! And a very nice knit shirt, in shades of blue that set off his eyes. "Don't you look hot! Are you on your way out?"
"I was planning on meeting Jill and Di and a couple of guys for a birthday drink, but I'll give them a call and tell them I can't make it." He was digging his cell out of his pocket.
"Hey, don't do that. It's your birthday. I can join you, or…," I smiled weakly, "I have paperwork I didn't get finished on the plane…."
"Are you fucking kidding? My friends will be thrilled to meet my imaginary boyfriend…that's what they call you…'cause I talk about you all the time but they've never met you."
I pulled him close, he tipped his head up, and I remembered why we hardly left his apartment on my flying visits. When we broke the kiss, I said, "You never offered much resistance when I wanted to stay in and fuck."
"I'm not resisting now," he said, and his voice was already a little husky.
I am a coward. I was tempted. (When have I not been tempted, especially when it is Justin offering?) I could give him his present when he was worn out from fucking and less likely to resist. On the other hand, the fucking and the present-giving could follow a night out with friends, if that was what Justin wanted. "Are you sure you don't mind being seen with an old man?"
"Not when the old man is one hot dude." He smiled, but his voice was serious.
"Okay." I took a deep breath and gathered my courage. "I have a present for you first…but you have to be honest and tell me if it's not something you want."
"Okay."
"I mean it. Promise me that if this isn't what you want, you'll say so."
"Promise."
I pulled the ring box out of my pocket and handed it to him. He said, "I told you, months ago, that we don't need rings or vows to know that we love each other."
I pinched my lips together. "I know," I said. I waited.
After a long pause, he snapped it open and looked. "There's only one ring!"
"Take it out," I said. I held out my left hand. "Put it on."
"Brian!"
I held my hand steady. After another long pause, he slipped it on. "Why?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I dunno. I just feel that…you know…I'd like to try…."
"Try what?"
I looked away.
"Monogamy? Fidelity?"
"I can always go back to promiscuity if it doesn't work out." I looked back at him. "I've already told Cynthia not to schedule meetings or conference calls for after noon on Fridays."
"What about me? Where's my ring?"
"Justin, you don't have to do it. You're a young guy, alone in the big city…sow some wild oats."
"I want my ring."
"You're sure?"
"Brian!" He held out his left hand.
"Okay." I fished it out of my pocket, looked at him, and said, "Love you" as I put it on his finger.
As soon as it was on, he stepped back and took it off again. I raised an eyebrow at him and he said, "I thought I saw writing in here." He moved over closer to the lamp on the table and peered at the inside of the ring. "'Always, Brian'." He threw his arms around me and kissed me enthusiastically. "Now we have to go out so I can show Di and Jill and Adrian and…."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You want to show everybody…"
"That my boyfriend is ridiculously romantic."