Wheel in the Sky
Title: Wheel in the Sky
Written by: cabbers
Request: Brian/Justin
Anything with adult Brian and Justin that stays within canon, from
season 1 thru post 513. Sex is fine, kink is fine, no Brian/Michael,
or high school AU please!
Requested by: msjudi
Author's Note: Not all homophobes turn out to secretly be gay ... but some do! :D Thank you Shape5 for the beta.
Brian was startled by a knock on the door. His unruly mind immediately jumped to the image of Justin, surprising him by coming home a week early, standing outside. That had been happening a lot lately.
He hadn't seen Justin in a month and a half. (Make that seven weeks and two days.) And suddenly Justin was every phone call, knock, fucking text message (which were always spam, since Brian didn't know anyone who text messaged him, but still). Everything.
And the times when the phone call or email or postcard was Justin only made it worse.
This was the point where he'd predicted Justin would start pulling away. When Justin had left, he told himself not to push him, to let Justin go, and not expect anything. But then he'd kept getting calls, and postcards, and emails, and visits from him. So he'd told himself that it was just because Justin was lonely. Give it six months and he'd settle in and stop calling.
There'd been less phone sex than he'd imagined, and more of everything else.
Then, as months went by and Justin called him every time he spotted some celebrity on the street, every time he sold a painting, and sometime just for no reason at all, Brian realized he was calling Justin for the same reasons. Suddenly, it had been a year (make that eleven months, two weeks, and--ah, fuck it), and Justin was coming home for a long visit--a couple weeks at least--and it was as if he'd never really been gone at all.
Brian pulled open the door . . . not Justin. Unless Justin had turned into a brown-haired, vaguely snotty looking teenage boy.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Uncle Brian?"
Shit.
***
It wasn't every day that he got a visit from his fifteen-year-old nephew--who'd accused him of molesting him--at his place. He looked him over. John was taller, older than the last time he'd seen him. Also, he wasn't looking at Brian with disgust, which was new.
"What do you want?"
"I actually came to, um, say I'm sorry."
Brian stood there, staring, remembering the last time he'd seen his nephew.
"Can I come in?" He asked, hands in his coat pockets. He was still dressed like every other teenager on the planet. Ugly coat over ugly jeans over ugly sneakers. He looked harmless enough.
"Why not?" Brian shrugged and stepped back. John hesitated. "Afraid I'll attack you," he asked sarcastically.
John gulped and stepped inside. He looked nervous, but not as arrogant as Brian remembered him. It seemed actually possible that he was there to apologize. Brian decided to keep a close eye on his valuables in any case.
"I really just came to apologize for . . . what happened."
"You mean for accusing me of child molestation?" Brian snapped.
"Y-yeah. For that. It was really stupid and I'm sorry. I was mad, and I just wanted to get back at you, I didn't really think it through," John had obviously practiced this speech.
"No shit."
"Some kid at my school had gotten taken away by foster care because his stepdad was molesting him, and my mom had gone on and on about 'disgusting fags' and I thought it would be an easy way to get you in trouble."
"Trouble? You almost got me in fucking prison."
"Yeah, well. I was a stupid kid," His tone implied that a vast gap of age and wisdom lay between the ages of twelve and fifteen. "I'm . . .sorry, is all."
"Is that all you came here to say?" Brian wasn't going to make it easy on the little bastard.
"That's it, yeah. And, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I'll do it."
"If you feel so bad about it, why did it take you three years to come here and apologize?"
John shrugged, but didn't say anything.
"Well," Brian said, walking back to the door. "If you're done, I think you should go."
"Right," John said uneasily. He paused at the doorway. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For not slamming the door in my face."
Brian actually smiled a little at that. "I never turn away a supplicant," He said, not unkindly.
"Uh, right," John told him, smiling a little back before turning away.
Brian watched his nephew down the stairs. He wondered if there was something else behind this little visit.
***
"You're back."
"Yeah." John didn't look so good this time. He wouldn't meet Brian's eyes.
Brian sighed. "Come in."
John followed him in. "Uncle Brian, I need a favor."
"Really?" Brian snorted. "Let me guess, you need mo--" He stopped abruptly, seeing John's face clearly for the first time. "What happened to you?" He asked in a softer tone.
John shrugged. "It looks worse than it is. Can I . . . can I stay here?"
Brian blinked back the memories. "Sure," He managed.
John let out a deep breath. "Thanks."
"Hungry?"
"Uh, yeah. I haven't eaten."
"Pizza okay?"
"Yeah, pepperoni would be great."
"Alright," Brian told him. "I'll order some. You'll want to wash out that cut. The bathroom's that way."
John touched the cut self-consciously. It was a nasty one, running across most of his left cheek, and covered in caked blood. It was matched by two blackening eyes and a split lip. He looked like he'd seen the wrong end of a steel-toed boot.
"Th-thanks. I'll do that."
He put his jacket down on the back of the sofa on his way to the bathroom.
"There are bandaids in the cabinet," Brian called after him.
***
"So, do you want to tell me what happened?"
"Not really," John told him, before taking a huge bite out of his slice of greasy pizza.
"Well, tough." Brian washed down his single slice of pizza with a beer. "You want to hide out here, I need to at least know why."
John put down his pizza, took a deep breath, and began. "It was that dick Pete. He found these old texts in my phone from this past summer. From this . . . hook up I had. Pete was making fun of me, reading them out loud to everyone. He's an asshole that way. I couldn't get it back without causing a scene, so I thought I could play it cool. Until . . . he figured out they were from a guy." He said the last part quietly, as though he were running out of breath and couldn't get it out any louder. He looked terrified. Brian tried not to show any reaction.
John swallowed and went on. "I punched him, he punched back, then his buddy got into it, and I got stomped. Anyway, I showed up at home and my mom demanded to know what happened. So, like an idiot, I told her the truth. She totally lost it, and told me to get out of her house, that she didn't need to hear that shit from me."
Brian studied his nephew. He could tell the kid wasn't lying. He just wasn't sure what to do about it. He had the strong urge to tell the kid to suck it up and go home. So little Johnny was queer. Big deal. It's not like the kid stopped being an asshole when he started liking cock.
Then he remembered how much like their mother Claire was, and thought of being fifteen and living with Joanie. "You need to call your mom and let her know where you are," Was all he ended up saying.
"What? Why?" John asked angrily.
"So that she doesn't go psycho and sic the police on me . . . again." Brian raised an eyebrow at him.
"What? No. If I tell her I'm with you, after what happened, you think she's not going to call the cops? She'll think you're like, kidnapping me to induct me into your sick gay world."
Brian sucked his lips into his mouth. "Fine," He said after a moment. "But call her and tell her something." He handed John the phone with a grim look.
***
"How old were you when you first knew?"
"That I was gay?"
"Yeah. I mean, did you used to like girls, or did you always know?"
"Did I come out of the cradle with a hankering for cock, you mean?" John only shrugged. "I don't know," Brian continued a little more seriously. "I remember, as a little kid, hearing older guys talk about dating girls and thinking, 'Why would you want to do that?' But I guess straight guys do that, too, when they're kids. Pretty much, by the time I was old enough to jerk off, I'd figured out what I wanted."
"Oh. So you, like, had crushes on guys and stuff?" Brian looked at John. He felt a wave of sympathy for the kid. He looked like hell. Brian supposed it wouldn't hurt to reassure him a little.
"Crushes are for hyperactive teenage girls," Brian told him. "But I had fantasies about guys. I remember, there was this one guy at school. I was in seventh grade, I think, and he was a year older than me. But he looked like he was eighteen. All the girls used to follow him around, but I could tell he was queer. I was in some class with him, and I used to sit behind him so I could get a good look at his ass. And the rest of him was pretty hot, too.
"Every day he would come in and sit in the same seat. So when I got there before him, he would look right at me, like he knew exactly what I was doing. He'd say 'Hey, Brian," and I would give him my best sexy smile. Which, considering I was an ignorant twelve year old kid, was probably the stupidest fucking thing on the planet." Brian snorted at the memory.
"Did you do anything?" John asked, enthralled.
"No, sadly," Brian sighed in mock-regret over the missed opportunity. "I was too scared to do anything. That was before I figured out how ridiculously easy gay men are."
"What, all of them?"
"You mean all of us?" Brian raised an eyebrow at him. "Yup, all of us. Everyone just wants to get laid, especially horny teenagers. A few years later, I figured that out, and realized how incredibly easy it is to pick up just about anyone. Any gay man who's reasonably hot should have no problem getting laid anytime he wants. It's only the chickenshit ones who complain about not being able to 'find someone.' It fucking changed my young life when I realized that. After that, I could have anyone. And did." He smirked.
John chewed this over in silence for a minute.
"So you probably had a lot of boyfriends growing up, huh?"
Brian laughed, a little mockingly. "No. Not a one."
"Why not?"
"I didn't believe in having boyfriends, just in having sex with as many guys as I could."
"Wow. So you never had a boyfriend?"
"Only one. And not until much later."
"Who?"
"Justin."
"Who's he?"
"My . . . partner. You met him, actually. He caught you wearing my bracelet."
John blushed and laughed a little. "Oh, yeah. 'I would have paid him,'" He quoted.
"What?"
"That guy, Justin, he came after me at the arcade to try and convince me to stop lying about you. I told him I wasn't lying, and I said something like you offered me money to do stuff, but I wouldn't take it." He blushed even more. "I asked him if you'd offered him money, too. And he told me 'He didn't have to. I would have paid him.'"
"That sounds like him," Brian allowed, smiling a little himself.
***
Brian awoke the next morning to a homeless queer teenager raiding his fridge. At least this one wasn't in love with him.
Over breakfast (juice for him, leftover pizza for John), Brian laid it out for him. "You have to go back. You can't sleep on my couch forever." Especially since Justin was going to be home in two days.
"But, she'll just kick me out again. She'll tell my dad. I won't go, no fucking way!" John threw down his half-eaten slice of pizza and stomped away.
"Look, you little asshole, I'm trying to help you out here. Your mom is pissed, but we both know that Claire has a constant need for drama. Once she gets over her snit--which she probably has already--she'll welcome you back with open arms, and just try and spend the next three years talking you out of being a fag and telling you you're going to hell. If you're smart you'll stay and make the best of it, work hard, and go to college far, far away, in the time-honored tradition of fags everywhere." It really was the best Brian could think of. What was Brian going to do, dump him on Deb's doorstep?
"This sucks!"
"Yeah, well, it could be worse. Get your stuff, I'll drive you."
***
Brian handed him his card as they were walking up to the door. "Let me know if you're still alive."
"Yeah."
"I'm serious. Use it."
"Whatever."
The door flew open before they could even knock, revealing a splotchy-faced and raging Claire. "John! Where were you? You scared me to death! Get inside right now!" She hardly paused in her tirade as she dragged John inside and shoved him toward the stairs. "Get up to your room right now! I don't want to hear another word about all this! I'll decide on you punishment later! Where were you all night?" Eventually she had to pause for breath. And anyway, John
hadn't paused, but just gone straight upstairs, ignoring his mother, with only one final glance at Brian.
"He was safe, Claire. As if you'd care."
"Of course I care, Brian, I'm his mother!" She looked about ready to start crying. Brian resisted the urge to shake her.
"You sure didn't act like it yesterday. Where did you expect him to go? Throwing your beaten, bleeding son out of the house, even I didn't know you were that much of a bitch, Claire."
She had dropped the crying act and now looked like she was about to have an embolism. "You! I want you to stay away from him," She shouted at Brian even louder than she'd been shouting a moment ago.
"I'm just returning you little boy lost. Really, Claire, you should be thanking me. If I hadn't taken him in, who knows what would have happened."
"Oh, and you just helped him out of the goodness of your heart? Like I'm supposed to believe that!"
"Believe it or not, it's true. And now I'm bringing him back, unharmed and unmolested," Brian couldn't help but add.
Claire glared at him. "Get out of my house!"
"Gladly."
***
"I'm glad you're here," Brian told Justin, both of them naked in bed. They'd managed to get home from the airport fully clothed, but hadn't wasted any time after that.
"I'm glad I'm here, too."
"How is life in the Big Apple?" Brian asked after a short pause.
"It's good, it's going really well."
"I hear that congratulations are in order."
"How did you hear that?"
"I have my sources."
"You mean Debbie."
"You could have told me, then I wouldn't have needed sources."
"I was going to! I was just trying to figure out how to tell you without you spazzing out on me. I mean, the new job is probably going to keep me busy."
"At least it's the kind of job that will actually help you."
"I know. But, it means I won't be able to get away for a while," Justin frowned, obviously worried.
"It's alright. I'll come up for a weekend or two when I can. As long as you won't be too busy for me."
"I'll always have time for you. You believe me now?" Justin asked him, referring to the times he'd failed to convince Brian he wasn't going to change his mind about him.
"Well, I've decided not to have the locks changed."
"So, no more freaking out that we're never going to see each other again?"
Brian decided it was time to change the subject. "What are you doing this all?"
"Uh, working, painting. Why?" Justin asked suspiciously.
"Well, if you can take some time off, I'd like you to join me. Maybe make up for a little of the lost time." He handed him the sheaf of papers from the bedside table.
Justin looked through them. There were brochures for a small but ridiculously expensive looking cruise ship, and a computer print out about a Mediterranean Cruise.
"Our Italia Classic Cruise is a luxurious and relaxing way to tour the most beautiful cities of Italy," Justin read aloud. "Brian, this looks amazing."
"We haven't had much luck taking vacations together, so I figure, maybe it's time to try again," Brian explained persuasively. "Think about it, ten days on the gorgeous Mediterranean. All that classical art, and . . . me. What do you say?"
"Of course I will! I'd love to, it looks awesome. I can't believe you'd do this for me."
Brian looked at him seriously for a moment, then said as lightly as he could, "As much of a selfish prick as I usually am, there are occasional moments where it occurs to me how boring and pathetic the last six years would have been without you around."
"Brian." It had been a while since he'd heard Justin say his name in that tone. The same way he'd said 'yes' to marrying him twelve months, three weeks, and four days ago. Justin took Brian's face in his palms and kissed him soundly. "I really, really love you, you know that?" Brian nodded mutely, then kissed him back.
***
"Three whole weeks?" Brian asked him over coffee and breakfast, respectively, the next morning.
"Yup."
"You're not going to have to run off to a gallery opening or something?"
"Nope. You get me all to yourself for twenty-one days," Justin smiled sweetly at him.
"You don't think your mother is going to want to see you at some point?"
"Oh, yeah. Probably. She'll want to take me out to dinner with Tucker," Justin made a face. "Well, you can always come with me."
"I think I've had enough family fun to last me a while."
"Oh, yeah?" Justin asked, trying for a nonchalant tone.
"Yup. I had a visitor last week."
"Not your mother again?" Justin asked in alarm.
"Close but no cigar. No, it was little John."
Justin looked blank for a second. "Your nephew?" He exclaimed. "Jeeze, he has some nerve, coming here. What did he want?"
"Well," Brian drawled, enjoying Justin's suspense a little. "You know what they say about queer genes passing through the female side of the family?"
Justin gave a little laugh. "No way!"
"Yup. My dear nephew is a young fag-in-training. Such a shame. And after he'd had such a wholesome upbringing, too." Brian smirked into his coffee.
"So did he come to you seeking advice on how to become the best gay man he could be?"
"Hardly. No, it seems Claire isn't thrilled with the idea, and is giving him shit about it."
"That's got to be tough. I'm sure she was enough of a pain in the ass to live with before."
Brian didn't say anything for a moment. "Yeah," he conceded at last.
"Well, I'm glad he has you to turn to. We all need a mentor, someone older and wiser to help us find our way. I mean, even you had Vic, right? And I had you." Justin kissed Brian lightly. "Thank God." Brian wasn't sure if he wanted to be a mentor. It had been a weight off his mind to hear from John yesterday, and he had invited him to come over next Saturday, but that didn't mean Brian was about to become Vic.
"Just so long as he doesn't want to move in with me."
"I don't know, you might need someone to keep you company while I'm gone."
"I think I'll just stick to missing you."
"Yeah."
Brian sighed and ran his hand through Justin's hair. He wouldn't think about Justin going back to New York just yet. He didn't know if he'd even see him again until the fall. And he didn't know what the hell he was doing with John. But for now, he was just going to enjoy having Justin here. He'd deal with the rest later.
END
Written by: cabbers
Request: Brian/Justin
Anything with adult Brian and Justin that stays within canon, from
season 1 thru post 513. Sex is fine, kink is fine, no Brian/Michael,
or high school AU please!
Requested by: msjudi
Author's Note: Not all homophobes turn out to secretly be gay ... but some do! :D Thank you Shape5 for the beta.
Brian was startled by a knock on the door. His unruly mind immediately jumped to the image of Justin, surprising him by coming home a week early, standing outside. That had been happening a lot lately.
He hadn't seen Justin in a month and a half. (Make that seven weeks and two days.) And suddenly Justin was every phone call, knock, fucking text message (which were always spam, since Brian didn't know anyone who text messaged him, but still). Everything.
And the times when the phone call or email or postcard was Justin only made it worse.
This was the point where he'd predicted Justin would start pulling away. When Justin had left, he told himself not to push him, to let Justin go, and not expect anything. But then he'd kept getting calls, and postcards, and emails, and visits from him. So he'd told himself that it was just because Justin was lonely. Give it six months and he'd settle in and stop calling.
There'd been less phone sex than he'd imagined, and more of everything else.
Then, as months went by and Justin called him every time he spotted some celebrity on the street, every time he sold a painting, and sometime just for no reason at all, Brian realized he was calling Justin for the same reasons. Suddenly, it had been a year (make that eleven months, two weeks, and--ah, fuck it), and Justin was coming home for a long visit--a couple weeks at least--and it was as if he'd never really been gone at all.
Brian pulled open the door . . . not Justin. Unless Justin had turned into a brown-haired, vaguely snotty looking teenage boy.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Uncle Brian?"
Shit.
***
It wasn't every day that he got a visit from his fifteen-year-old nephew--who'd accused him of molesting him--at his place. He looked him over. John was taller, older than the last time he'd seen him. Also, he wasn't looking at Brian with disgust, which was new.
"What do you want?"
"I actually came to, um, say I'm sorry."
Brian stood there, staring, remembering the last time he'd seen his nephew.
"Can I come in?" He asked, hands in his coat pockets. He was still dressed like every other teenager on the planet. Ugly coat over ugly jeans over ugly sneakers. He looked harmless enough.
"Why not?" Brian shrugged and stepped back. John hesitated. "Afraid I'll attack you," he asked sarcastically.
John gulped and stepped inside. He looked nervous, but not as arrogant as Brian remembered him. It seemed actually possible that he was there to apologize. Brian decided to keep a close eye on his valuables in any case.
"I really just came to apologize for . . . what happened."
"You mean for accusing me of child molestation?" Brian snapped.
"Y-yeah. For that. It was really stupid and I'm sorry. I was mad, and I just wanted to get back at you, I didn't really think it through," John had obviously practiced this speech.
"No shit."
"Some kid at my school had gotten taken away by foster care because his stepdad was molesting him, and my mom had gone on and on about 'disgusting fags' and I thought it would be an easy way to get you in trouble."
"Trouble? You almost got me in fucking prison."
"Yeah, well. I was a stupid kid," His tone implied that a vast gap of age and wisdom lay between the ages of twelve and fifteen. "I'm . . .sorry, is all."
"Is that all you came here to say?" Brian wasn't going to make it easy on the little bastard.
"That's it, yeah. And, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I'll do it."
"If you feel so bad about it, why did it take you three years to come here and apologize?"
John shrugged, but didn't say anything.
"Well," Brian said, walking back to the door. "If you're done, I think you should go."
"Right," John said uneasily. He paused at the doorway. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For not slamming the door in my face."
Brian actually smiled a little at that. "I never turn away a supplicant," He said, not unkindly.
"Uh, right," John told him, smiling a little back before turning away.
Brian watched his nephew down the stairs. He wondered if there was something else behind this little visit.
***
"You're back."
"Yeah." John didn't look so good this time. He wouldn't meet Brian's eyes.
Brian sighed. "Come in."
John followed him in. "Uncle Brian, I need a favor."
"Really?" Brian snorted. "Let me guess, you need mo--" He stopped abruptly, seeing John's face clearly for the first time. "What happened to you?" He asked in a softer tone.
John shrugged. "It looks worse than it is. Can I . . . can I stay here?"
Brian blinked back the memories. "Sure," He managed.
John let out a deep breath. "Thanks."
"Hungry?"
"Uh, yeah. I haven't eaten."
"Pizza okay?"
"Yeah, pepperoni would be great."
"Alright," Brian told him. "I'll order some. You'll want to wash out that cut. The bathroom's that way."
John touched the cut self-consciously. It was a nasty one, running across most of his left cheek, and covered in caked blood. It was matched by two blackening eyes and a split lip. He looked like he'd seen the wrong end of a steel-toed boot.
"Th-thanks. I'll do that."
He put his jacket down on the back of the sofa on his way to the bathroom.
"There are bandaids in the cabinet," Brian called after him.
***
"So, do you want to tell me what happened?"
"Not really," John told him, before taking a huge bite out of his slice of greasy pizza.
"Well, tough." Brian washed down his single slice of pizza with a beer. "You want to hide out here, I need to at least know why."
John put down his pizza, took a deep breath, and began. "It was that dick Pete. He found these old texts in my phone from this past summer. From this . . . hook up I had. Pete was making fun of me, reading them out loud to everyone. He's an asshole that way. I couldn't get it back without causing a scene, so I thought I could play it cool. Until . . . he figured out they were from a guy." He said the last part quietly, as though he were running out of breath and couldn't get it out any louder. He looked terrified. Brian tried not to show any reaction.
John swallowed and went on. "I punched him, he punched back, then his buddy got into it, and I got stomped. Anyway, I showed up at home and my mom demanded to know what happened. So, like an idiot, I told her the truth. She totally lost it, and told me to get out of her house, that she didn't need to hear that shit from me."
Brian studied his nephew. He could tell the kid wasn't lying. He just wasn't sure what to do about it. He had the strong urge to tell the kid to suck it up and go home. So little Johnny was queer. Big deal. It's not like the kid stopped being an asshole when he started liking cock.
Then he remembered how much like their mother Claire was, and thought of being fifteen and living with Joanie. "You need to call your mom and let her know where you are," Was all he ended up saying.
"What? Why?" John asked angrily.
"So that she doesn't go psycho and sic the police on me . . . again." Brian raised an eyebrow at him.
"What? No. If I tell her I'm with you, after what happened, you think she's not going to call the cops? She'll think you're like, kidnapping me to induct me into your sick gay world."
Brian sucked his lips into his mouth. "Fine," He said after a moment. "But call her and tell her something." He handed John the phone with a grim look.
***
"How old were you when you first knew?"
"That I was gay?"
"Yeah. I mean, did you used to like girls, or did you always know?"
"Did I come out of the cradle with a hankering for cock, you mean?" John only shrugged. "I don't know," Brian continued a little more seriously. "I remember, as a little kid, hearing older guys talk about dating girls and thinking, 'Why would you want to do that?' But I guess straight guys do that, too, when they're kids. Pretty much, by the time I was old enough to jerk off, I'd figured out what I wanted."
"Oh. So you, like, had crushes on guys and stuff?" Brian looked at John. He felt a wave of sympathy for the kid. He looked like hell. Brian supposed it wouldn't hurt to reassure him a little.
"Crushes are for hyperactive teenage girls," Brian told him. "But I had fantasies about guys. I remember, there was this one guy at school. I was in seventh grade, I think, and he was a year older than me. But he looked like he was eighteen. All the girls used to follow him around, but I could tell he was queer. I was in some class with him, and I used to sit behind him so I could get a good look at his ass. And the rest of him was pretty hot, too.
"Every day he would come in and sit in the same seat. So when I got there before him, he would look right at me, like he knew exactly what I was doing. He'd say 'Hey, Brian," and I would give him my best sexy smile. Which, considering I was an ignorant twelve year old kid, was probably the stupidest fucking thing on the planet." Brian snorted at the memory.
"Did you do anything?" John asked, enthralled.
"No, sadly," Brian sighed in mock-regret over the missed opportunity. "I was too scared to do anything. That was before I figured out how ridiculously easy gay men are."
"What, all of them?"
"You mean all of us?" Brian raised an eyebrow at him. "Yup, all of us. Everyone just wants to get laid, especially horny teenagers. A few years later, I figured that out, and realized how incredibly easy it is to pick up just about anyone. Any gay man who's reasonably hot should have no problem getting laid anytime he wants. It's only the chickenshit ones who complain about not being able to 'find someone.' It fucking changed my young life when I realized that. After that, I could have anyone. And did." He smirked.
John chewed this over in silence for a minute.
"So you probably had a lot of boyfriends growing up, huh?"
Brian laughed, a little mockingly. "No. Not a one."
"Why not?"
"I didn't believe in having boyfriends, just in having sex with as many guys as I could."
"Wow. So you never had a boyfriend?"
"Only one. And not until much later."
"Who?"
"Justin."
"Who's he?"
"My . . . partner. You met him, actually. He caught you wearing my bracelet."
John blushed and laughed a little. "Oh, yeah. 'I would have paid him,'" He quoted.
"What?"
"That guy, Justin, he came after me at the arcade to try and convince me to stop lying about you. I told him I wasn't lying, and I said something like you offered me money to do stuff, but I wouldn't take it." He blushed even more. "I asked him if you'd offered him money, too. And he told me 'He didn't have to. I would have paid him.'"
"That sounds like him," Brian allowed, smiling a little himself.
***
Brian awoke the next morning to a homeless queer teenager raiding his fridge. At least this one wasn't in love with him.
Over breakfast (juice for him, leftover pizza for John), Brian laid it out for him. "You have to go back. You can't sleep on my couch forever." Especially since Justin was going to be home in two days.
"But, she'll just kick me out again. She'll tell my dad. I won't go, no fucking way!" John threw down his half-eaten slice of pizza and stomped away.
"Look, you little asshole, I'm trying to help you out here. Your mom is pissed, but we both know that Claire has a constant need for drama. Once she gets over her snit--which she probably has already--she'll welcome you back with open arms, and just try and spend the next three years talking you out of being a fag and telling you you're going to hell. If you're smart you'll stay and make the best of it, work hard, and go to college far, far away, in the time-honored tradition of fags everywhere." It really was the best Brian could think of. What was Brian going to do, dump him on Deb's doorstep?
"This sucks!"
"Yeah, well, it could be worse. Get your stuff, I'll drive you."
***
Brian handed him his card as they were walking up to the door. "Let me know if you're still alive."
"Yeah."
"I'm serious. Use it."
"Whatever."
The door flew open before they could even knock, revealing a splotchy-faced and raging Claire. "John! Where were you? You scared me to death! Get inside right now!" She hardly paused in her tirade as she dragged John inside and shoved him toward the stairs. "Get up to your room right now! I don't want to hear another word about all this! I'll decide on you punishment later! Where were you all night?" Eventually she had to pause for breath. And anyway, John
hadn't paused, but just gone straight upstairs, ignoring his mother, with only one final glance at Brian.
"He was safe, Claire. As if you'd care."
"Of course I care, Brian, I'm his mother!" She looked about ready to start crying. Brian resisted the urge to shake her.
"You sure didn't act like it yesterday. Where did you expect him to go? Throwing your beaten, bleeding son out of the house, even I didn't know you were that much of a bitch, Claire."
She had dropped the crying act and now looked like she was about to have an embolism. "You! I want you to stay away from him," She shouted at Brian even louder than she'd been shouting a moment ago.
"I'm just returning you little boy lost. Really, Claire, you should be thanking me. If I hadn't taken him in, who knows what would have happened."
"Oh, and you just helped him out of the goodness of your heart? Like I'm supposed to believe that!"
"Believe it or not, it's true. And now I'm bringing him back, unharmed and unmolested," Brian couldn't help but add.
Claire glared at him. "Get out of my house!"
"Gladly."
***
"I'm glad you're here," Brian told Justin, both of them naked in bed. They'd managed to get home from the airport fully clothed, but hadn't wasted any time after that.
"I'm glad I'm here, too."
"How is life in the Big Apple?" Brian asked after a short pause.
"It's good, it's going really well."
"I hear that congratulations are in order."
"How did you hear that?"
"I have my sources."
"You mean Debbie."
"You could have told me, then I wouldn't have needed sources."
"I was going to! I was just trying to figure out how to tell you without you spazzing out on me. I mean, the new job is probably going to keep me busy."
"At least it's the kind of job that will actually help you."
"I know. But, it means I won't be able to get away for a while," Justin frowned, obviously worried.
"It's alright. I'll come up for a weekend or two when I can. As long as you won't be too busy for me."
"I'll always have time for you. You believe me now?" Justin asked him, referring to the times he'd failed to convince Brian he wasn't going to change his mind about him.
"Well, I've decided not to have the locks changed."
"So, no more freaking out that we're never going to see each other again?"
Brian decided it was time to change the subject. "What are you doing this all?"
"Uh, working, painting. Why?" Justin asked suspiciously.
"Well, if you can take some time off, I'd like you to join me. Maybe make up for a little of the lost time." He handed him the sheaf of papers from the bedside table.
Justin looked through them. There were brochures for a small but ridiculously expensive looking cruise ship, and a computer print out about a Mediterranean Cruise.
"Our Italia Classic Cruise is a luxurious and relaxing way to tour the most beautiful cities of Italy," Justin read aloud. "Brian, this looks amazing."
"We haven't had much luck taking vacations together, so I figure, maybe it's time to try again," Brian explained persuasively. "Think about it, ten days on the gorgeous Mediterranean. All that classical art, and . . . me. What do you say?"
"Of course I will! I'd love to, it looks awesome. I can't believe you'd do this for me."
Brian looked at him seriously for a moment, then said as lightly as he could, "As much of a selfish prick as I usually am, there are occasional moments where it occurs to me how boring and pathetic the last six years would have been without you around."
"Brian." It had been a while since he'd heard Justin say his name in that tone. The same way he'd said 'yes' to marrying him twelve months, three weeks, and four days ago. Justin took Brian's face in his palms and kissed him soundly. "I really, really love you, you know that?" Brian nodded mutely, then kissed him back.
***
"Three whole weeks?" Brian asked him over coffee and breakfast, respectively, the next morning.
"Yup."
"You're not going to have to run off to a gallery opening or something?"
"Nope. You get me all to yourself for twenty-one days," Justin smiled sweetly at him.
"You don't think your mother is going to want to see you at some point?"
"Oh, yeah. Probably. She'll want to take me out to dinner with Tucker," Justin made a face. "Well, you can always come with me."
"I think I've had enough family fun to last me a while."
"Oh, yeah?" Justin asked, trying for a nonchalant tone.
"Yup. I had a visitor last week."
"Not your mother again?" Justin asked in alarm.
"Close but no cigar. No, it was little John."
Justin looked blank for a second. "Your nephew?" He exclaimed. "Jeeze, he has some nerve, coming here. What did he want?"
"Well," Brian drawled, enjoying Justin's suspense a little. "You know what they say about queer genes passing through the female side of the family?"
Justin gave a little laugh. "No way!"
"Yup. My dear nephew is a young fag-in-training. Such a shame. And after he'd had such a wholesome upbringing, too." Brian smirked into his coffee.
"So did he come to you seeking advice on how to become the best gay man he could be?"
"Hardly. No, it seems Claire isn't thrilled with the idea, and is giving him shit about it."
"That's got to be tough. I'm sure she was enough of a pain in the ass to live with before."
Brian didn't say anything for a moment. "Yeah," he conceded at last.
"Well, I'm glad he has you to turn to. We all need a mentor, someone older and wiser to help us find our way. I mean, even you had Vic, right? And I had you." Justin kissed Brian lightly. "Thank God." Brian wasn't sure if he wanted to be a mentor. It had been a weight off his mind to hear from John yesterday, and he had invited him to come over next Saturday, but that didn't mean Brian was about to become Vic.
"Just so long as he doesn't want to move in with me."
"I don't know, you might need someone to keep you company while I'm gone."
"I think I'll just stick to missing you."
"Yeah."
Brian sighed and ran his hand through Justin's hair. He wouldn't think about Justin going back to New York just yet. He didn't know if he'd even see him again until the fall. And he didn't know what the hell he was doing with John. But for now, he was just going to enjoy having Justin here. He'd deal with the rest later.
END