1-2-3 Magic - Sequel to Not Now, Not Ever
Dedicated to Muddor and her never ending Justin love and desire to see him treated right.
With gratitude to mmmorpheusq for once again saving me from all sorts of embarrassment.
1-2-3 Magic
A Sequel to Not Now, Not Ever (Post-Breaking Away Series)
[This story begins the day after Justin was mugged on his way home from PIFA - an incident that resulted in Brian admitting to Justin that Brian had been at the hospital watching Justin from afar during Justin’s recovery after the bashing.]
Saturday 12:15 PM
BRIAN
I struggle between ignoring the ringing phone and trying to remove my hand from beneath Justin's ass. I was only cupping him when I fell asleep, but he’s rolled back enough to crush my lower arm and I’ve lost all feeling in my fingers.
Fuck it. I pull away roughly, Justin barely moves and I answer the phone a second after the caller hangs up. Caller ID shows it was Jennifer. Three times in the last three hours it would appear. I’d think her rude, if I was one to think that way, but it’s after noon, so normal folks have been up for hours. Normal folks who weren’t mugged yesterday; normal folks who weren’t recovering from unearthing their deeply buried weaknesses, normal folks who weren’t rewarded for loving another by seeing the subject of that love nearly killed before their eyes; normal folks who don’t fuck so long and so hard their dicks chafe - if they’re lucky enough to have dicks.
Normal folks are highly overrated.
The ringing starts anew and I whisk up the receiver so at least one of us can sleep. I growl some unintelligible salutation and of course it’s Jennifer yet again.
“Brian. Oh, good. I was starting to worry.”
“But instead you figured you’d just ring us to death.”
She makes a prickly sound, caught off guard and annoyed. “So you weren’t taking my calls on purpose?”
I exhale loudly for emphasis. Christ, I could use a break - or at least some fucking high-test brew.
I speak slowly, carefully choosing my words. “Jennifer, we were in bed. I heard the phone ringing, but Justin didn’t seem to, and I thought my movement might wake him - so I let it ring. I didn’t know it was you until a few minutes ago when I tried to answer it the last time you rang, but I wasn’t fast enough.”
“I see.” She still sounds annoyed. I’m half sorry she’s pissed and half pissed she’s making me sorry. I don’t offer anything more in words so she continues. “Brian, you said Justin would call me in the morning.”
She’s right. I did.
“Look, he’s sleeping. We had a rough night.” Truth be told I was VERY gentle, but I’m not talking about our sex life with my quasi-mother-in-law.
“I hope you didn’t leave marks.”
I make a double-take expression into the phone, attempting to voice a phony laugh, but no sound escapes my lips. Finally, I grunt out, “Huh?”
“I’m kidding, Brian.”
She must be seeing more of Deb that we realized.
“Look, I want to check on Justin. Briefly. I have an Open House this afternoon not far from your place. I’ll stop by beforehand, pick up something for you two to eat on my way.”
“Jennifer, we have food. But we’d love to see you, as always.” Fuck. Even I don’t buy that.
She says goodbye and I head to the bathroom, peeking over at Justin before making it to the john to take a leak. Just as I’m about to flush, he appears behind me. I move over so he can relieve himself and then lean over to kiss the area above his left eye, where the gauze covers his injury from the asshole who robbed him.
“It’s not big,” he warns.
I look down at his pissing dick. “It’s big enough.”
He flashes me a great smile and pushes my chest playfully. “Not my cock, Asshole.”
I know what he means and I really don’t know how big his gash is, but it’s still too fucking big for me. Me and my bright idea he should go back to school. He should just stay in the loft and be safe. He could be my. . .my sex slave. Yeah, that’d be safer than going back and forth to PIFA in that fucking slum of a so-called neighborhood. He’d make a fine sex slave too.
I stare at him seriously. He stares at me back, first questioningly, then seriously. I lean in and gently kiss him again, next to the gauze. I close my eyes and linger a moment at his cheek, soft even with his morning golden bristle. I know I have to pull myself together. He’s the victim here, the one who’s allowed to fall apart if either of us is allowed. Not fair of me to get all pussy soft. But it’s fucking on his face - a face I look at more than any other - a constant reminder.
He cocks his head to the side regarding me with concern. I pull him into me, my forehead gently pressed against his. He knows me too well.
“I’d fucking kick his ass,” I whisper - my eyes closed tightly so I can’t see his.
He snakes his arms around my neck, hugs me close and just when I think I can’t bear the protective feelings I have for him a moment longer, he breaks away and heads to the sink. “I better shave. I presume my mom’s on her way over?”
I nod, thankful he’s changed the subject and head back to the bedroom. I don’t want to fight with him. Not that I’ve ever been one to shy away from a fight, but I’ve never been one to start one either. Never had to. Fights always find me. At school, at Jack and Joan’s house, they always found me. At least at school I could fight back, learned to throw a mean punch. But somehow I’ve ended up on the receiving end more often than not.
But I would do anything to protect Justin or Gus from physical pain. There’s enough other shit in this world that I can’t protect them from, the least I can do is put my butch physique to good use. And yet I fail. Miserably fail repeatedly. The image of Gus coming home with a split lip suddenly pushes me over the edge.
“JUSTIN!”
He looks out from the bathroom toward me, lather smeared on his face. He has that questioning look again - and I really don’t know what I want to say.
“After your Mom leaves, I want to - to talk. About school. And shit, okay?”
“Sure, Brian. Whatever you want. I’m gonna finish shaving, okay?”
I nod gently to him, silently thanking him for being so understanding. I feel my cheek and realize if any of us has to shave, it’s not fucking Justin, so I walk toward him and bump his hip with mine to scoot him over. He accepts my playfulness and we shave side by side and momentarily my gloomy feelings abate. That’s okay. I know they’ll be back.
Saturday 1:30 PM
BRIAN
As Jennifer unpacks some prepared food items into our fridge, Justin leans on the island watching her, making immature faces at me to stress how ridiculous he thinks she’s behaving. For whatever reason, I feel the urge to defend Justin's feelings.
“Jenn, I told you we have food.”
She looks up at me and smiles sweetly, like she’s looking at a half-wit who has no clue what to feed her little boy. “Of course, you do. These aren’t groceries. It’s all prepared food, ready-to-eat. Justin's favorites. You can stick them in the microwave if you’re in a hurry, or they’ll taste even better in the conventional oven preheated to 375 for about-”
Justin's cuts her off. “For Christ’s sake, Mom. We know how to fucking heat up food.”
Jennifer stares at him like he’s never cursed in front of her before, maybe he hasn’t - shocked by his impatience.
And the strangest thing happens. My head shoots up at him involuntarily, like he’s some recalcitrant child needing scolding. Actually he is. But that’s beside the point. Anyway, my authoritative voice just doesn’t come out. I don’t say anything. I want to shoot him down for speaking to his mother that way. I’m moderately embarrassed by his behavior, a feeling I rarely experience in any situation. But I just zip it up and sit in uncomfortable silence as Jennifer continues unpacking food items.
As surprised as I was yesterday to find Justin kicking me out of the hospital, I’m more shocked to see him behave like a spoiled brat toward his mother. A few years ago it would have come with the territory, but I haven’t seen him like this since he was my adorable prep-school stalker. I’m reminded that I never dared act like a brat, spoiled or otherwise, toward my own bitch of a mother. Couldn’t risk losing the little comfort she provided - making the occasional foods she thought I liked or giving me some squirreled-away pocket money Jack didn’t know she’d saved. I literally wouldn’t dare rock the boat, which makes the fuck you I gave her that time at Claire’s house all the more telling. I never spoke that way to her before.
“Well,” Jennifer breaks the silence as she finishes unpacking. “There, that does it.”
“I’m taking a shower.” And with that, Justin abruptly leaves the kitchen for the bathroom, without a goodbye or anything else to his mother. Once again I feel that automatic Kinney response, the one that wants to order his ass back in here and say goodbye to his mommy properly; get it through his blond head that he should kiss the ground she walks on - if only he had the slightest clue how bad a mother could be. Actually, he’s blessed he doesn’t know. But instead I just make a little what do you expect facial expression to Jennifer.
I can tell she’s upset, so I try further to make light of Justin's behavior. “I think he’s a little moody after the incident yesterday. He’ll be fine. Just give him a little space.”
Jennifer nods in acceptance, but I can see she’s hurt and worried.
“Brian, he was fine with me yesterday. He called me. I really wouldn’t have come by if I thought my presence would anger him so.”
I exhale loudly. I really don’t know what to say to her. I think he only called her yesterday, because he didn’t want to call me.
“Jennifer, he seemed pretty good last night. He understands why he reacted the way he did and I think we just need to give him a little space. We don’t have any major plans this weekend, so we can take it easy. If he’s up to it, I’ll take him out tonight and if not, we’ll stay home.”
“Brian Kinney home on a Saturday night? Times really have changed.”
“You can say that again.”
I escort her out and she stops on the threshold. “Brian. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry we weren’t close back when....”
She doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t need to. I lean over to give her the kiss Justin should have and she turns to go.
I close the loft door and lean back against it like I’m on some fucking daytime drama, relieved after shutting out someone overwhelming. Then I realize the overwhelming one is still here. I figure I’ll take my fake advice to heart and give Justin some space. For once, I don’t think he wants to shower with me, so I putter around the kitchen, checking out what rich fat-producing carbs Jennifer saddled us with.
A few minutes pass and I feel like a coward, afraid of dealing with Justin. Not so much because he’s some china doll that’s going to break, he’s way too tough for that, but because he’s overly emotional right now and I didn’t do so well dealing with him during his teenage drama princess years - what makes me think I can deal with his regression now? But I can’t avoid the bedroom and bathroom all day, so I head up the stairs.
He’s in bed on his back, arms crossed beneath his head, contemplating the ceiling fixtures. Doesn't look like he made it to the shower.
“Hey,” he offers.
“Hey, yourself.”
Then he returns his gaze to the ceiling. Christ, here I am ready to talk and he’s looking at steel beams. But I’m too thawed emotionally to even pretend I can regress to my former coldhearted self - so we’re going to talk. At least I am.
Saturday 2:15 PM
JUSTIN
The ceiling is fascinating, how the exposed pipes connect like a maze from my childhood. I concentrate intently to avoid hearing Brian’s words. He doesn’t get it. I don’t want to talk about it. There’s nothing to talk about.
Yeah, I’m furious some asshole made me a victim yet again; furious I had to re-live my feelings of abandonment and anger at Brian when I was recovering in the hospital after the bashing; furious with my mother for not telling me she knew he’d actually been there - even if he didn’t have the balls to enter my room. But I’m ready to move on.
My face will heal. It wasn’t that big a cut. I still love Brian more than life itself. Nothing has changed. But I feel edgy and angry and I just want some space.
I’ve tuned out virtually all of what he’s said until I hear, “So you can finish up at CMU in the fall.”
I sit up, lean back against the upholstered headboard - which was one of the best things Brian ever did in the decorating department - and glare at him.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Did you listen to a word I said?”
“The CMU part.”
“That’s all? Jesus, Justin. Pay fucking attention when I talk to you. This is important.”
I continue to glare at him like his very presence is an imposition. For whatever messed up reason, I can’t control my contrary attitude and I have no choice but to be uncooperative. I realize I just want to be left alone and then realize I sound like that old time actress with the accent. Talk about being a drama princess!
“Brian, at the rate I’m going, I’ll be thirty before I get my degree. I’m not transferring. Not because I got mugged. Get a grip!”
“Okay.” He grips my crotch. I slap his hand away and he plops down next to me. I know how his mind works. I rejected his suggestion, so now he’s going to try to seduce me into agreeing to transfer schools. He is so lame and predictable.
“Brian. Carnegie Mellon isn’t in a much better neighborhood than PIFA. I could get mugged there too.”
He sits up and looks at me, a strange expression his face. I think he’s realizing I’m right. “You might be right. Fuck school. Stay in the loft where you’ll be safe.”
I smile at him and lean over to kiss him. “There. I’m glad you’ve realized how silly you sounded.”
He frowns. Don’t tell me he’s serious. “Justin, I’m serious. Maybe school was a bad idea.”
Oh, fuck me. I’m not having this ridiculous conversation. “Brian, cut the bullshit. I understand you’re upset I got hurt. I understand you don’t want me to get hurt again, but you can’t do anything about it - so let’s move on.”
Brian’s literally saved by the bell when the phone rings.
“Christ,” he exclaims as he picks up the receiver before the third ring.
I can tell by his expression right away that it’s Lindsay. I thought she was already out of town at some conference.
He did too. “I thought you were away for the weekend - that gallery conference thing?”
He listens for a while, making pained expressions for my benefit. He asks Linds to hold on and looks up at me. “Mel was going to watch Gus, but she has strep throat. Mind if we take him? It’ll be for the rest of today and tomorrow.”
“I’d never say no to Gus, you know that.”
“Fine. Bring him up.” He hangs up and looks thoughtfully at me. “Justin, I do hate it that someone hurt you. But, I’ll drop it. At least for now.”
I thank him and head for the shower for real this time. He can settle Gus in for a change. Besides, I need a little time to myself. Gus will probably ask a million questions about my boo boo and I’m really not in the mood.
I enter the shower enclosure and put the water on half as hot as Brian likes it and let the spray pour over my head. I hope it’ll wash away my crankiness. I know Brian can only look the other way so long with my pissy mood and he’ll have his hands full between me and Gus. From what Lindsay told me the other day, Gus is majorly into pushing the envelope lately, his teacher even called home and I doubt Mr. Kinney can handle two brats. Normally, he doesn’t do so well with one.
Saturday 2:35 PM
BRIAN
Justin bails for the shower and Lindsay doesn’t waste a minute bringing Gus upstairs with two duffle bags full of kids’ shit.
“Brian, I really appreciate this. We were just about to head over to Mel’s when she called. The results from her culture aren’t back yet, but they’re pretty sure it’s strep. I don’t think she could handle Gus right now - he’d be tough if she were well.”
Gus runs into my arms and I spin him around. “Hey, little man, we’ll have lots of fun, won’t we?”
He nods and I put him down.
Lindsay directs Gus to his train set in the corner of the living space and marshals me over to the island, handing me a book.
“1-2-3 Magic?” Whatthefuck? I told her I didn’t want her parenting books.
“Brian, Gus has been very difficult this week, not listening, talking back, ignoring rules. His teachers started using this method with him at school and they recommended I try it too. It’s very good. I was yelling too much, getting overly frustrated at his lack of attention - and you know I don’t believe in hitting children.”
“I can handle Gus.”
“Of course you can, but I really want all of Gus’ parents and caregivers to use a consistent method of discipline. So, please. Read the book. It’s not long.”
“I’m sure I can handle it.”
“It’s a simple method; allows the child to understand the consequences for his actions - and forces the parent to remain calm and carry through a certain course of action. You count bad behavior. He knows if you threaten to count him, what it means.
“If he doesn't behave once, you calmly tell him, ‘That’s One.’ No editorializing. If he repeats it, you say, ‘That’s Two.’ If he reaches three, you tell him, ‘That’s Three and you’ve earned a time-out.’ The time-out needs to happen immediately - one minute for each year of the child’s age, so Gus gets four minutes.
“In the side pocket of the red bag, you’ll find the little egg timer I watch while Gus sits in the corner of his room. You’ll have to pick a time-out spot - someplace where he can sit quietly and think about what he’s done wrong. And he can’t talk to you during the time-out. At first, he fussed and I had to physically carry him to his room, but lately he complies. Please try it, Brian.”
I think she’s finally done lecturing me on how to deal with my own kid, but I don’t say a word. Christ, what a crock of shit. If I fucking tell Gus to do something once, he’s going to do it. She obviously doesn’t know how to be firm. Being hard is what I’m about. I suppress a chuckle at my own wit.
“Brian?”
“Huh. Oh, yeah. Sure. No problem. Just go, Mom.”
She kisses me and heads out, taking the stairs. Over her shoulder she reminds me, “Don’t forget, Dad, he still needs a short nap in the afternoon or you’ll pay the price later!” And she’s gone. Finally.
I didn’t tell her about Justin so she didn’t know enough to ask. But, just as I finish that thought, the elevator door opens and Michael appears carrying shopping bags. Something tells me he knows all about Justin.
“Brian! I’m so glad I caught you home. I just heard about Justin and Ma sent some food over.”
He sets his bags down near the island and starts unloading the contents. Gus doesn’t let him get far before he’s after him to play trains. I watch as Michael attempts to instill some patience in my kid, but Lindsay’s right - he’s not listening at all.
“NOW!” Gus demands of him and I’m not putting up with this shit right off the bat.
“Hey! Knock it off!” I sternly admonish my son. He looks over at me, stunned for a moment. Then he returns to pestering Michael. He tugs on Michael’s arm and starts yanking him over toward the trains. I walk toward Gus to put an end to his antics, but Michael motions for me to let the kid boss him around. I guess it makes him feel at home.
Whatever.
I turn to check out the food Deb sent over and am pleasantly surprised to find a few salads mixed with the greasy spoon array of fattening delights. I take out some plates and start to serve a few things, assuming Justin will be hungry after his shower. I’m starved and I don’t have the lad’s appetite.
I sit down and nibble some Greek salad while Michael gets down and dirty with the train set and Gus. After a while, Michael escapes and joins me at the island.
“I hope Jenny likes trains half as much as Gus when she gets a little older. They’re great. Never had anything like these when I was a kid.” Of course he didn’t - Gus’ set is top of the line.
A wet haired Justin suddenly appears, clad only in a towel. He walks over to Gus to say, “Hi”, grunts an unintelligible greeting to Michael, scoots up on a stool next to me, grabs a plate and starts chowing down.
“Deb sent all this.” I inform him. He of all people should know this stuff doesn’t appear in the loft on my watch.
He looks up between bites. “I figured.” He chews some more. “It’s good.”
Michael and I regard him like some R rated side-show, naked from the waist up, shoveling food between his perfect lips. I sense Michael wants to comment on his injury and I almost imperceptibly shake my head, willing him to let the sleeping dog eat.
But subtlety has never been Michael’s forte.
“So, Ma hopes you weren’t too shaken up getting mugged and all. She told Carl to check out the report - kick some ass. Said it must have been a straight guy.”
Justin stops chewing for a moment, then just goes back to eating and ignoring us. I awkwardly do that stupid best defense is a good offense thing, ashamed at myself for even thinking football analogies, and try to engage Michael in comic book travails. In the middle of a lengthy diatribe about some new series centering upon a descendant of Super Woman, Justin gets up, pushes his stool away from the counter and returns to the bedroom. No goodbye, no thanks for the food, not even the effort to clear his plate.
I can’t make up for Justin's uncharacteristic bad manners, but I can clear his shit, which I do as casually as possible, hoping Michael will think it’s no big deal. But I feel Michael’s eyes on me, watching my every move.
“You always do that for him?”
“Do what?” Like I don’t know.
“Wait on him hand and foot.”
Christ, I’m hardly doing that. I’m just dumping his plate in the sink.
“I’m just dumping his plate in the sink. It’s not a big deal. He’s not exactly himself.”
“Did the doctor say anything?”
“I didn’t talk to his doctor. But I think he just needs to take it easy for the rest of the weekend and then he’ll be back to his sweet little bussing his own dishes self.” Michael doesn’t laugh.
“Well, I gotta go. I have some care packages for Mel too. You hear she’s sick?”
I nod at him as he returns to Gus for a final loop around the track with Big Red, his longest train. Four years old and already a size queen.
Saturday 6:45 PM
JUSTIN
I hear Brian and Gus returning from wherever they went.
“Gus, when I say something - you do it, understand? Is this what your mommy is complaining about? Not listening when a grown up talks to you?”
I can’t make out Gus’ response.
“Gus. Go use the potty before you start playing.”
Again, I can’t make out Gus’ side of the conversation.
“Gus!”
Then he appears, running through the bedroom on route to take a leak. Brian follows shortly behind, sees me lying here wallowing. Wallowing is the perfect word to describe me. I’m just lying here, have been for hours. Not interested in watching TV, not interested in eating, not even interested in jerking off. I’m awake and lying here: wallowing.
“Sorry if he woke you.”
“Nah, it’s okay. He’s giving you a hard time?”
“Even more of a brat today than you, if you can imagine.”
“Well, that’s to be expected. I’ve had years of practice.”
The relief on his face that I can joke is palpable. He must have taken Gus away for the afternoon to give me privacy - or maybe he just wanted to get away from my overly pleasant self, which makes me feel marginally guilty. I love Gus and I don’t want him to think I’m some psycho case that can’t make it out of bed.
Gus re-appears from the bathroom and jumps on the bed next to me. He points to my bandage. “It hurt?”
I smile at him reassuringly. “No. I’m just supposed to keep it covered for a few days. No big deal.”
“Come play!” He’s obviously not traumatized about my bandage. Wish his Daddy could follow suit.
I really don’t feel like playing, but Brian’s standing there watching for my reaction like I’m some feeble minded God-knows-what, so I get up. I let Gus pull me into the living room and I force myself into play mode.
Brian calls after us. “Want me to heat up some of the stuff your mother brought for dinner or do you want Deb’s?”
I shrug. Not hungry. But Gus has other ideas.
“Pizza! Pizza! Order Pizza! Now!!!!!”
Demanding little shit.
Brian calls Gus over, but he just ignores him.
“Gus, come here right away.”
He’s leaning over some tank engine pit-stop ignoring Brian. I pat his bottom and urge him softly to listen to his father.
“GUS!” Brian bellows and the kid finally ambles over. I don’t know which of them I feel sorrier for.
Brian squats down so he’s looking him right in the eye.
“Gus, this has been going on all day. At the zoo, at the park, at the store. When I speak to you, you listen. Got it, Sonny Boy?”
The little boy shrugs.
“Do you understand?”
Gus’ reply is so faint, I can barely make it out.
Brian holds the bridge his nose, warding off frustration.
“Okay. I didn’t want to do this, but your Mommy said you have been like this all week: not listening, not doing what you’re told, not answering when grown ups speak to you. It ends now - I’m doing the counting thing.”
“NOOOOOO! Don’t count me. I hate being counted.”
Brian looks surprised at the kid’s reaction. You’d think he said he was going to paddle him.
“Well, just listen to me and I won’t have to. Okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good. Now go play with Justin while I heat up our dinner. I’m not ordering pizza, but Deb sent over macaroni and cheese.”
Brian retreats to the kitchen area and Gus and I connect some bridges and demolish some others. The demolishing thing is clearly his favorite. A memory of me at Gus’ age suddenly washes over me, my Dad and I on the floor - him laughing and laughing at my antics. Hard to believe at one time the world rotated around me in his eyes. I almost wish he stopped loving me just because his sweet kid became a brat - easier to swallow than knowing he hates me because I love men - one man in particular.
Then I look in the direction of the source of that love and I feel badly for my own behavior and so proud of Brian for putting up with me. He can be a shit, but he’s also shown me a kind of love few could ever imagine. He’s all I really want, all I’ve ever really wanted. Sometimes I just wish I was enough for him.
Then I look at Gus and I’m reminded that the two of us really are his life and that whatever Brian does with his dick without me is ultimately meaningless. Of course, I immediately hear Daphne asking, “If it’s so meaningless, why do it?” I absently feel for the gauze on my forehead and know none of that shit matters. Brian loves me, puts up with me and I can put up with him.
I’m pulled out of my gloomy thoughts by Brian’s call to Gus.
“Gus, come here for a sec.”
And the kid totally tunes him out.
“Gus, that’s One. Come here.”
Again, no answer. Brian and I meet eyes, both astonished by Gus’ behavior.
I ask Brian if they’ve checked out the kid’s hearing.
“A few weeks ago. Yeah. I remember Lindsay telling me they did it at school and he hears fine. It’s the listening that’s the issue”
Brian tries again. “Gus, come here please.”
Nothing.
“Gus, that’s Two. Now come here.”
Gus scurries over to him upon hearing he’s at Two and Brian sends him off to wash his hands so he can eat dinner.
“Justin, why don’t you wash your hands too. Dinner’s almost ready.”
I smirk at him. “Yes, Daddy.”
Saturday 7:30 PM
BRIAN
“NOOOOOO! NOO! You can’t make me!” A red-faced Gus stands defiantly before me in the living room.
“Go. NOW!” I scream back at the little guy and point toward the bedroom. “I counted you and you hit three, Sonny Boy - so time-out for you. Now GO!” How the fuck this system is supposed to reduce yelling is beyond me. Oh, yeah, Lindsay told me to read the book first. Well, too fucking late now.
He looks from me to Justin and I will NOT tolerate Justin even attempting to rescue him at this late stage in the game. I promised Lindsay I’d discipline Gus this way and Gus blew it. I give Gus a determined stare and point toward the bedroom for what I hope will be a final time. Lindsay says I’m supposed to use force if necessary, but I don’t want to manhandle my kid.
And then it happens. I should have predicted. He cries. He just opens his mouth, throws his head back and wails like a newborn.
My response is instinctual and wrong: “You keep crying and I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Justin starts toward me and warns, “Brian.” But I snap, “And YOU shut up or you’re next.” Instinctual and wrong again, but I’m nothing if not on a roll.
Justin turns on his heels, grabs his jacket and exits the loft. I try to ignore the pain I immediately feel in my gut and scoop Gus up and carry his squirming little body into the bedroom.
Even with his struggling, I manage to gently place him on the bed. “You’re four years old, so you just earned four minutes to think about what you did. I’ll come get you when it’s over.”
I want to add that he should be honored to be sequestered in my bed, a privilege in fact - but something tells me the comment would be wasted on Gus at this moment - maybe forever.
I flip over the egg timer Lindsay left for me and stare as the grains of sand make their way through to the other side. I’m immediately reminded of Mary Fucking Poppins and this heart wrenching line some guy in soot says to the father, about childhood passing like sand through a sieve. The line bothered me the first time I heard it - last week when Gus brought the video with him to watch with me and Justin.
Gus loves musicals and although I know that could be an indictor, my gaydar guesses not. But I do know that this discipline crap is for the birds. I’m supposed to be an overindulgent and irresponsible father; Gus knows that’s my role. How dare I let Lindsay talk me into this counting bullshit.
So I stare at the sand and try to think mindless thoughts. But then another one of Gus’ videos takes over and I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Fucking Oz trapped in the witch’s castle. I just want the sand to get through the hour glass so I can rescue my kid.
The moment the last few kernels approach the bottom of the timer, I bolt toward the bedroom, almost afraid to look at the pout face awaiting me. I stop short when I see the poor thing’s fallen asleep on his side. Fuck me.
He was tired. Lindsay said I should force a nap or pay the price. Turns out Gus paid. Christ almighty.
I quietly storm out of the bedroom and look around. Everything is wrong with this picture. I know there is no fucking way in hell I can deal with Justin walking out on me right now. Besides, he can’t just leave me whenever I’m a shit.
I grab My Justin Phone and hit his programmed number; relieved when he picks up on the second ring. He could have turned it off. I know I was wrong to speak to him the way I did.
“Justin?”
He exhales dramatically. “Brian, who else were you expecting?”
“Come home.”
He hesitates. “You were a prick. I’m not taking that shit, Brian.”
I prefer to put myself down - it stings less than when he does it
“Look. I’m an asshole. This thing with Gus - I fucked up. I was supposed to make him nap and I didn’t. He fell asleep during his time-out.” It’s not lost on me how pathetic I sound, but I want him to come home.
Silence.
“Justin, get the fuck home.” I pause and add, “Please.”
“Give me a bit,” and he disconnects. I think that’s encouraging.
I check on Gus to confirm he’s down for the count and return to the couch. Then I get up and grab a beer, hoping Justin isn’t too pissed off at me. It seem like forever, but fifteen minutes later Justin returns, takes off his jacket and sits down next to me. I offer him a swig of my beer, but he declines.
“It’s one thing to treat me poorly and it’s another thing to do it in front of Gus. I won’t tolerate that, Brian.”
I nod understandingly, not meeting his eyes. Then it hits me. “Justin, you’ve been a brat all weekend and I didn’t walk out on you.”
JUSTIN
He’s right. I have been a brat.
“You’re right. But don’t act like you’re even on the waiting list for Sainthood - so I’m not begging for forgiveness.”
“When I want you on your knees, it’s not to beg.”
He’s so juvenile with the sexual innuendo, but I smile in spite of myself. He lifts his right arm up and I snuggle into him, resting my head on his shoulder. It’s hard to stay mad at the fucker for long.
My hand roams to his crotch and I swear he gets hard immediately. Pretty good for an old guy - a thought I’ll keep to myself for once.
“As soon as Lindsay picks up Gus, your ass is mine!”
“He needs his own room here.”
“That, young man, is a story for another day.”
“I’m holding you to it.”
“Don’t you always?”
In lieu of answering me in words, he straddles me on the sofa, holding my arms out to my sides and delivers an array of tender kisses in figure eights around my wound. In contrast to his tender mouth, his pelvis grinds against me feverishly and I find myself bucking up against him. Reading my mind, he releases my left arm and snakes his right down my sweatpants to pump my dick. I know I have to be quiet because Gus is sleeping, so I use my free arm to wrap around Brian’s neck and hold on tight while he gets me off.
My last thought before seeing stars is some vague recollection that I planned to give the son of a bitch a hard time. Guess we switched roles in that department; pretty tough to stay angry at the handsome fuck.
Sunday 5:15 PM
BRIAN
Gus waves goodbye and in moments Justin and I are alone in the loft. I grab him into my arms and hug him fiercely, running my fingers through his hair.
“Wanna fuck?” He murmurs in my ear.
“And you say I’m the romantic?”
“Got any better offers?”
“As a matter of fact, I never do.”
Justin looks at me quizzically. “What’s that supposed to mean?
“I was thinking we should reevaluate the rules.”
“What rules?”
“THE rules. You know, our extracurricular fuck policy?” When Justin nods, I go on. “Up for discussing it?”
He looks down at our cocks pressed tight together through our pants. “Actually, I’m up for something else, but it can wait.”
He’s sounding too much like me for comfort. “Well, I was thinking…” I suddenly feel embarrassed, like I can’t say it.
“Brian, what? You wanna codify our repeat policy?”
“Actually, I was thinking of going the other way.”
“You wanna fuck pussy?”
I push his shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot.” I pause. “I was thinking we could maybe, sort of, for the most part - just do each other.”
That gets his attention; he takes a step back. “You’re suggesting monogamy?”
I shudder like I’ve been shot. “I loathe that word.”
“Exclusivity?”
“I detest that word too.”
“Well, Mr. Kinney. What do you have in mind?”
I think briefly. Then it hits me: “Sex slave. You. Mine.”
He grins. “Ah. I see. And what about you?”
“I’d be you’re overly attentive and benevolent master.”
His face melts at that. Sometimes he’s way too easy.
He clears his throat. “So, I obey your every whim and command - and you just continue to fuck whomever and whenever you so desire.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek sweetly. I hadn’t really thought this through, but it feels right. Just to be sure, I whisper, “I only fuck you. Unless…”
“Unless, I’m in class or otherwise indisposed?”
“Unless you go back to LA or some other Godforsaken place outside the time zone for an unreasonable length of time.”
My heart’s racing as he grins. “And I just fuck you?”
Little shit is too clever.
“We only do whatever the fuck it is we do sexually with each other - unless we choose together to add someone to our mix or we’re separated for what would otherwise be an unnatural period of time for abstention.”
“You know, Brian? That’s pretty much monogamy with a little bit of leeway.”
“Then it ain’t fucking monog - monoga - monogafuckmy. You’re my sex slave; I’m your omnipotent master: end of story.”
“Won’t you miss getting blown in the locker room at the gym?”
I shrug. “When’s the last time I did that? Besides, as my sex slave, you’ll be required to come to the gym upon request, with reasonable notice of course.”
“Of course.”
I stare hesitantly at him, kind of embarrassed by what I’ve proposed. Then he walks up to me and puts his hands on my fly.
“May I, Sir?”
I want to play along, but somehow I feel choked up. Christ.
“Sir?” He repeats.
I nod and touch his cheek with the back of my fingers on my right hand. My chest is so tight I wonder if I’m in defibrillation.
He pulls down my zipper and pulls out my cock. It’s semi-hard and he drops to his knees to go to town. I drop my head back and savor his warm and talented tongue. Was I out of my fucking head? Why would I want anybody else when I have him? What the fuck was I thinking all these years?
I pull him up off his knees and into my embrace. “Let’s go to bed.”
I kick off my pants as I walk up the stairs to our bed; Justin rips off his shirt in record speed. He makes it to the mattress first and sits, beckoning me to approach him so he can continue his oral exploits.
“Your wish is my command,” he boasts.
I look down at him seriously as he engulfs my cock. “Transfer to CMU.”
He releases my dick, drops his hands and sits back. “Brian, that’s not fair. We’ve been through that.”
I refuse to get annoyed. “You said your wish was my command. Watch your choice of words next time, Slave Boy, or I’ll have to punish you.” Then I add, “That’s One.”
We both laugh.
“I thought you said you’d be a benevolent Master?”
My cock’s twitching wondering whatthefuck it did to deserve the delay.
“Okay, look. Just agree to let me drive you to school AND pick you up.”
He stares at me like I’m deranged. I quickly add, “For one week. Just one week.” I put my hands together in mock prayer and then try that word that worked so well yesterday: “Please.”
“Answer something first.” He pulls me down next to him on the bed. I wait, expectantly, knowing my capacity for meaningful dialogue is limited now - my blood supply having traveled too far south of my brain.
“Brian, are you sure I’m enough for you?”
He’s so smart, but sometimes he really doesn’t get it.
“Justin, you’ve always been enough for me. You’d be enough for any man.”
I can see he truly doesn’t understand, never really understood this part of me. He starts to speak, but I shut him up with a finger to his lips.
“Justin, I’m a selfish motherfucker, you know that.” I pause. “Yeah, I’m a sucker for cock and a smooth tight ass, but my alley cat ways were never about you. It’s always been about me - and control, never letting anybody all the way in, knowing I never gave it my all.” I look away. “Besides, it’s better to be rejected because of fucking than because I’m a worthless piece of shit.” I hesitate and then look him straight in the eye, speaking clearly and slowly, “And better for you to always think you want more of me.” I turn my head, his stare too much for me.
He reaches for my chin and makes me look at him again.
“Brian, that’s bullshit. I’ve had you plenty, why would I need more? It’s been over four years!”
“But that’s where you’re wrong, Sunshine. Just the fact you question being enough for me, when it’s always been the other way around. It’s classic economics: high in demand, elevated worth - at least in your eyes. Have me all to yourself and . . . well, we’ll see now, won’t we? Once you have all that I have to offer, maybe you’ll realize I wasn’t worth the wait.”
“You’re so fucked. You know, Brian, if you’re going to spout economics, think about what you’re saying. Supply and demand?”
“I know the fucking term, Sonny Boy.”
“Then you know when you flood the market you lose value, right, Mr. Kinney? But when supply is scarce, your worth skyrockets.”
Little shit.
Before I have to admit he’s got a point, he executes a surprise attack and I find myself flat on my back with him straddling my crotch.
“You truly are a motherfucking piece of shit. How could you think sharing your cock with every homo in Pittsburgh would make you somehow more attractive to me?”
I shrug, little boy mode setting in.
He looks at me dead serious. “So, this -“ he stumbles, “monogafuckmy thing - really petrifies you?”
I shrug again, little boy mode in full force.
Justin regards me for a bit and I have no clue what he’s thinking. In an overly dramatic fashion he exclaims, “Master, your wish is truly my command. Whatever you say, I’ll do.”
I squint at him like somehow I’ll be able to figure out where’s he’s going with this. “So, if I command you to transfer to CMU, you’ll do it?”
He nods in agreement. “They’ll have to accept me, but I’ll apply.”
It’s so tempting, but it hits me all at once that I love him too much to let my irrational concern influence my already selfish judgment. So instead I return to basics.
“I command you to lie on your back and be very still.”
He climbs off me, but questions, “Brian, what are you doing?”
I raise an eyebrow, silently reminding him he’s in wish-fulfillment mode - so he obeys and lies down as ordered. I slither over his body, effortlessly removing his sweat pants, momentarily stopping to look up at his confused face looking down at me. “I’m being an attentive Master.” I grasp his balls tightly with my left hand and hold his shaft with my right. As I lick from base to head he covers his face with his hands, contemplating the masterful blowjob I’m about to provide - and provide it I will. He’s such a good slave and he’s put up with so much. It’s the least I can do.
Later he can give me a leisurely massage, cook a gourmet low carb dinner, straighten up Gus’ toys littering the living room. Talk about magic - the possibilities are endless.
Christ, this monogafuckmy thing might work out just fine.
End
With gratitude to mmmorpheusq for once again saving me from all sorts of embarrassment.
1-2-3 Magic
A Sequel to Not Now, Not Ever (Post-Breaking Away Series)
[This story begins the day after Justin was mugged on his way home from PIFA - an incident that resulted in Brian admitting to Justin that Brian had been at the hospital watching Justin from afar during Justin’s recovery after the bashing.]
Saturday 12:15 PM
BRIAN
I struggle between ignoring the ringing phone and trying to remove my hand from beneath Justin's ass. I was only cupping him when I fell asleep, but he’s rolled back enough to crush my lower arm and I’ve lost all feeling in my fingers.
Fuck it. I pull away roughly, Justin barely moves and I answer the phone a second after the caller hangs up. Caller ID shows it was Jennifer. Three times in the last three hours it would appear. I’d think her rude, if I was one to think that way, but it’s after noon, so normal folks have been up for hours. Normal folks who weren’t mugged yesterday; normal folks who weren’t recovering from unearthing their deeply buried weaknesses, normal folks who weren’t rewarded for loving another by seeing the subject of that love nearly killed before their eyes; normal folks who don’t fuck so long and so hard their dicks chafe - if they’re lucky enough to have dicks.
Normal folks are highly overrated.
The ringing starts anew and I whisk up the receiver so at least one of us can sleep. I growl some unintelligible salutation and of course it’s Jennifer yet again.
“Brian. Oh, good. I was starting to worry.”
“But instead you figured you’d just ring us to death.”
She makes a prickly sound, caught off guard and annoyed. “So you weren’t taking my calls on purpose?”
I exhale loudly for emphasis. Christ, I could use a break - or at least some fucking high-test brew.
I speak slowly, carefully choosing my words. “Jennifer, we were in bed. I heard the phone ringing, but Justin didn’t seem to, and I thought my movement might wake him - so I let it ring. I didn’t know it was you until a few minutes ago when I tried to answer it the last time you rang, but I wasn’t fast enough.”
“I see.” She still sounds annoyed. I’m half sorry she’s pissed and half pissed she’s making me sorry. I don’t offer anything more in words so she continues. “Brian, you said Justin would call me in the morning.”
She’s right. I did.
“Look, he’s sleeping. We had a rough night.” Truth be told I was VERY gentle, but I’m not talking about our sex life with my quasi-mother-in-law.
“I hope you didn’t leave marks.”
I make a double-take expression into the phone, attempting to voice a phony laugh, but no sound escapes my lips. Finally, I grunt out, “Huh?”
“I’m kidding, Brian.”
She must be seeing more of Deb that we realized.
“Look, I want to check on Justin. Briefly. I have an Open House this afternoon not far from your place. I’ll stop by beforehand, pick up something for you two to eat on my way.”
“Jennifer, we have food. But we’d love to see you, as always.” Fuck. Even I don’t buy that.
She says goodbye and I head to the bathroom, peeking over at Justin before making it to the john to take a leak. Just as I’m about to flush, he appears behind me. I move over so he can relieve himself and then lean over to kiss the area above his left eye, where the gauze covers his injury from the asshole who robbed him.
“It’s not big,” he warns.
I look down at his pissing dick. “It’s big enough.”
He flashes me a great smile and pushes my chest playfully. “Not my cock, Asshole.”
I know what he means and I really don’t know how big his gash is, but it’s still too fucking big for me. Me and my bright idea he should go back to school. He should just stay in the loft and be safe. He could be my. . .my sex slave. Yeah, that’d be safer than going back and forth to PIFA in that fucking slum of a so-called neighborhood. He’d make a fine sex slave too.
I stare at him seriously. He stares at me back, first questioningly, then seriously. I lean in and gently kiss him again, next to the gauze. I close my eyes and linger a moment at his cheek, soft even with his morning golden bristle. I know I have to pull myself together. He’s the victim here, the one who’s allowed to fall apart if either of us is allowed. Not fair of me to get all pussy soft. But it’s fucking on his face - a face I look at more than any other - a constant reminder.
He cocks his head to the side regarding me with concern. I pull him into me, my forehead gently pressed against his. He knows me too well.
“I’d fucking kick his ass,” I whisper - my eyes closed tightly so I can’t see his.
He snakes his arms around my neck, hugs me close and just when I think I can’t bear the protective feelings I have for him a moment longer, he breaks away and heads to the sink. “I better shave. I presume my mom’s on her way over?”
I nod, thankful he’s changed the subject and head back to the bedroom. I don’t want to fight with him. Not that I’ve ever been one to shy away from a fight, but I’ve never been one to start one either. Never had to. Fights always find me. At school, at Jack and Joan’s house, they always found me. At least at school I could fight back, learned to throw a mean punch. But somehow I’ve ended up on the receiving end more often than not.
But I would do anything to protect Justin or Gus from physical pain. There’s enough other shit in this world that I can’t protect them from, the least I can do is put my butch physique to good use. And yet I fail. Miserably fail repeatedly. The image of Gus coming home with a split lip suddenly pushes me over the edge.
“JUSTIN!”
He looks out from the bathroom toward me, lather smeared on his face. He has that questioning look again - and I really don’t know what I want to say.
“After your Mom leaves, I want to - to talk. About school. And shit, okay?”
“Sure, Brian. Whatever you want. I’m gonna finish shaving, okay?”
I nod gently to him, silently thanking him for being so understanding. I feel my cheek and realize if any of us has to shave, it’s not fucking Justin, so I walk toward him and bump his hip with mine to scoot him over. He accepts my playfulness and we shave side by side and momentarily my gloomy feelings abate. That’s okay. I know they’ll be back.
Saturday 1:30 PM
BRIAN
As Jennifer unpacks some prepared food items into our fridge, Justin leans on the island watching her, making immature faces at me to stress how ridiculous he thinks she’s behaving. For whatever reason, I feel the urge to defend Justin's feelings.
“Jenn, I told you we have food.”
She looks up at me and smiles sweetly, like she’s looking at a half-wit who has no clue what to feed her little boy. “Of course, you do. These aren’t groceries. It’s all prepared food, ready-to-eat. Justin's favorites. You can stick them in the microwave if you’re in a hurry, or they’ll taste even better in the conventional oven preheated to 375 for about-”
Justin's cuts her off. “For Christ’s sake, Mom. We know how to fucking heat up food.”
Jennifer stares at him like he’s never cursed in front of her before, maybe he hasn’t - shocked by his impatience.
And the strangest thing happens. My head shoots up at him involuntarily, like he’s some recalcitrant child needing scolding. Actually he is. But that’s beside the point. Anyway, my authoritative voice just doesn’t come out. I don’t say anything. I want to shoot him down for speaking to his mother that way. I’m moderately embarrassed by his behavior, a feeling I rarely experience in any situation. But I just zip it up and sit in uncomfortable silence as Jennifer continues unpacking food items.
As surprised as I was yesterday to find Justin kicking me out of the hospital, I’m more shocked to see him behave like a spoiled brat toward his mother. A few years ago it would have come with the territory, but I haven’t seen him like this since he was my adorable prep-school stalker. I’m reminded that I never dared act like a brat, spoiled or otherwise, toward my own bitch of a mother. Couldn’t risk losing the little comfort she provided - making the occasional foods she thought I liked or giving me some squirreled-away pocket money Jack didn’t know she’d saved. I literally wouldn’t dare rock the boat, which makes the fuck you I gave her that time at Claire’s house all the more telling. I never spoke that way to her before.
“Well,” Jennifer breaks the silence as she finishes unpacking. “There, that does it.”
“I’m taking a shower.” And with that, Justin abruptly leaves the kitchen for the bathroom, without a goodbye or anything else to his mother. Once again I feel that automatic Kinney response, the one that wants to order his ass back in here and say goodbye to his mommy properly; get it through his blond head that he should kiss the ground she walks on - if only he had the slightest clue how bad a mother could be. Actually, he’s blessed he doesn’t know. But instead I just make a little what do you expect facial expression to Jennifer.
I can tell she’s upset, so I try further to make light of Justin's behavior. “I think he’s a little moody after the incident yesterday. He’ll be fine. Just give him a little space.”
Jennifer nods in acceptance, but I can see she’s hurt and worried.
“Brian, he was fine with me yesterday. He called me. I really wouldn’t have come by if I thought my presence would anger him so.”
I exhale loudly. I really don’t know what to say to her. I think he only called her yesterday, because he didn’t want to call me.
“Jennifer, he seemed pretty good last night. He understands why he reacted the way he did and I think we just need to give him a little space. We don’t have any major plans this weekend, so we can take it easy. If he’s up to it, I’ll take him out tonight and if not, we’ll stay home.”
“Brian Kinney home on a Saturday night? Times really have changed.”
“You can say that again.”
I escort her out and she stops on the threshold. “Brian. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry we weren’t close back when....”
She doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t need to. I lean over to give her the kiss Justin should have and she turns to go.
I close the loft door and lean back against it like I’m on some fucking daytime drama, relieved after shutting out someone overwhelming. Then I realize the overwhelming one is still here. I figure I’ll take my fake advice to heart and give Justin some space. For once, I don’t think he wants to shower with me, so I putter around the kitchen, checking out what rich fat-producing carbs Jennifer saddled us with.
A few minutes pass and I feel like a coward, afraid of dealing with Justin. Not so much because he’s some china doll that’s going to break, he’s way too tough for that, but because he’s overly emotional right now and I didn’t do so well dealing with him during his teenage drama princess years - what makes me think I can deal with his regression now? But I can’t avoid the bedroom and bathroom all day, so I head up the stairs.
He’s in bed on his back, arms crossed beneath his head, contemplating the ceiling fixtures. Doesn't look like he made it to the shower.
“Hey,” he offers.
“Hey, yourself.”
Then he returns his gaze to the ceiling. Christ, here I am ready to talk and he’s looking at steel beams. But I’m too thawed emotionally to even pretend I can regress to my former coldhearted self - so we’re going to talk. At least I am.
Saturday 2:15 PM
JUSTIN
The ceiling is fascinating, how the exposed pipes connect like a maze from my childhood. I concentrate intently to avoid hearing Brian’s words. He doesn’t get it. I don’t want to talk about it. There’s nothing to talk about.
Yeah, I’m furious some asshole made me a victim yet again; furious I had to re-live my feelings of abandonment and anger at Brian when I was recovering in the hospital after the bashing; furious with my mother for not telling me she knew he’d actually been there - even if he didn’t have the balls to enter my room. But I’m ready to move on.
My face will heal. It wasn’t that big a cut. I still love Brian more than life itself. Nothing has changed. But I feel edgy and angry and I just want some space.
I’ve tuned out virtually all of what he’s said until I hear, “So you can finish up at CMU in the fall.”
I sit up, lean back against the upholstered headboard - which was one of the best things Brian ever did in the decorating department - and glare at him.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Did you listen to a word I said?”
“The CMU part.”
“That’s all? Jesus, Justin. Pay fucking attention when I talk to you. This is important.”
I continue to glare at him like his very presence is an imposition. For whatever messed up reason, I can’t control my contrary attitude and I have no choice but to be uncooperative. I realize I just want to be left alone and then realize I sound like that old time actress with the accent. Talk about being a drama princess!
“Brian, at the rate I’m going, I’ll be thirty before I get my degree. I’m not transferring. Not because I got mugged. Get a grip!”
“Okay.” He grips my crotch. I slap his hand away and he plops down next to me. I know how his mind works. I rejected his suggestion, so now he’s going to try to seduce me into agreeing to transfer schools. He is so lame and predictable.
“Brian. Carnegie Mellon isn’t in a much better neighborhood than PIFA. I could get mugged there too.”
He sits up and looks at me, a strange expression his face. I think he’s realizing I’m right. “You might be right. Fuck school. Stay in the loft where you’ll be safe.”
I smile at him and lean over to kiss him. “There. I’m glad you’ve realized how silly you sounded.”
He frowns. Don’t tell me he’s serious. “Justin, I’m serious. Maybe school was a bad idea.”
Oh, fuck me. I’m not having this ridiculous conversation. “Brian, cut the bullshit. I understand you’re upset I got hurt. I understand you don’t want me to get hurt again, but you can’t do anything about it - so let’s move on.”
Brian’s literally saved by the bell when the phone rings.
“Christ,” he exclaims as he picks up the receiver before the third ring.
I can tell by his expression right away that it’s Lindsay. I thought she was already out of town at some conference.
He did too. “I thought you were away for the weekend - that gallery conference thing?”
He listens for a while, making pained expressions for my benefit. He asks Linds to hold on and looks up at me. “Mel was going to watch Gus, but she has strep throat. Mind if we take him? It’ll be for the rest of today and tomorrow.”
“I’d never say no to Gus, you know that.”
“Fine. Bring him up.” He hangs up and looks thoughtfully at me. “Justin, I do hate it that someone hurt you. But, I’ll drop it. At least for now.”
I thank him and head for the shower for real this time. He can settle Gus in for a change. Besides, I need a little time to myself. Gus will probably ask a million questions about my boo boo and I’m really not in the mood.
I enter the shower enclosure and put the water on half as hot as Brian likes it and let the spray pour over my head. I hope it’ll wash away my crankiness. I know Brian can only look the other way so long with my pissy mood and he’ll have his hands full between me and Gus. From what Lindsay told me the other day, Gus is majorly into pushing the envelope lately, his teacher even called home and I doubt Mr. Kinney can handle two brats. Normally, he doesn’t do so well with one.
Saturday 2:35 PM
BRIAN
Justin bails for the shower and Lindsay doesn’t waste a minute bringing Gus upstairs with two duffle bags full of kids’ shit.
“Brian, I really appreciate this. We were just about to head over to Mel’s when she called. The results from her culture aren’t back yet, but they’re pretty sure it’s strep. I don’t think she could handle Gus right now - he’d be tough if she were well.”
Gus runs into my arms and I spin him around. “Hey, little man, we’ll have lots of fun, won’t we?”
He nods and I put him down.
Lindsay directs Gus to his train set in the corner of the living space and marshals me over to the island, handing me a book.
“1-2-3 Magic?” Whatthefuck? I told her I didn’t want her parenting books.
“Brian, Gus has been very difficult this week, not listening, talking back, ignoring rules. His teachers started using this method with him at school and they recommended I try it too. It’s very good. I was yelling too much, getting overly frustrated at his lack of attention - and you know I don’t believe in hitting children.”
“I can handle Gus.”
“Of course you can, but I really want all of Gus’ parents and caregivers to use a consistent method of discipline. So, please. Read the book. It’s not long.”
“I’m sure I can handle it.”
“It’s a simple method; allows the child to understand the consequences for his actions - and forces the parent to remain calm and carry through a certain course of action. You count bad behavior. He knows if you threaten to count him, what it means.
“If he doesn't behave once, you calmly tell him, ‘That’s One.’ No editorializing. If he repeats it, you say, ‘That’s Two.’ If he reaches three, you tell him, ‘That’s Three and you’ve earned a time-out.’ The time-out needs to happen immediately - one minute for each year of the child’s age, so Gus gets four minutes.
“In the side pocket of the red bag, you’ll find the little egg timer I watch while Gus sits in the corner of his room. You’ll have to pick a time-out spot - someplace where he can sit quietly and think about what he’s done wrong. And he can’t talk to you during the time-out. At first, he fussed and I had to physically carry him to his room, but lately he complies. Please try it, Brian.”
I think she’s finally done lecturing me on how to deal with my own kid, but I don’t say a word. Christ, what a crock of shit. If I fucking tell Gus to do something once, he’s going to do it. She obviously doesn’t know how to be firm. Being hard is what I’m about. I suppress a chuckle at my own wit.
“Brian?”
“Huh. Oh, yeah. Sure. No problem. Just go, Mom.”
She kisses me and heads out, taking the stairs. Over her shoulder she reminds me, “Don’t forget, Dad, he still needs a short nap in the afternoon or you’ll pay the price later!” And she’s gone. Finally.
I didn’t tell her about Justin so she didn’t know enough to ask. But, just as I finish that thought, the elevator door opens and Michael appears carrying shopping bags. Something tells me he knows all about Justin.
“Brian! I’m so glad I caught you home. I just heard about Justin and Ma sent some food over.”
He sets his bags down near the island and starts unloading the contents. Gus doesn’t let him get far before he’s after him to play trains. I watch as Michael attempts to instill some patience in my kid, but Lindsay’s right - he’s not listening at all.
“NOW!” Gus demands of him and I’m not putting up with this shit right off the bat.
“Hey! Knock it off!” I sternly admonish my son. He looks over at me, stunned for a moment. Then he returns to pestering Michael. He tugs on Michael’s arm and starts yanking him over toward the trains. I walk toward Gus to put an end to his antics, but Michael motions for me to let the kid boss him around. I guess it makes him feel at home.
Whatever.
I turn to check out the food Deb sent over and am pleasantly surprised to find a few salads mixed with the greasy spoon array of fattening delights. I take out some plates and start to serve a few things, assuming Justin will be hungry after his shower. I’m starved and I don’t have the lad’s appetite.
I sit down and nibble some Greek salad while Michael gets down and dirty with the train set and Gus. After a while, Michael escapes and joins me at the island.
“I hope Jenny likes trains half as much as Gus when she gets a little older. They’re great. Never had anything like these when I was a kid.” Of course he didn’t - Gus’ set is top of the line.
A wet haired Justin suddenly appears, clad only in a towel. He walks over to Gus to say, “Hi”, grunts an unintelligible greeting to Michael, scoots up on a stool next to me, grabs a plate and starts chowing down.
“Deb sent all this.” I inform him. He of all people should know this stuff doesn’t appear in the loft on my watch.
He looks up between bites. “I figured.” He chews some more. “It’s good.”
Michael and I regard him like some R rated side-show, naked from the waist up, shoveling food between his perfect lips. I sense Michael wants to comment on his injury and I almost imperceptibly shake my head, willing him to let the sleeping dog eat.
But subtlety has never been Michael’s forte.
“So, Ma hopes you weren’t too shaken up getting mugged and all. She told Carl to check out the report - kick some ass. Said it must have been a straight guy.”
Justin stops chewing for a moment, then just goes back to eating and ignoring us. I awkwardly do that stupid best defense is a good offense thing, ashamed at myself for even thinking football analogies, and try to engage Michael in comic book travails. In the middle of a lengthy diatribe about some new series centering upon a descendant of Super Woman, Justin gets up, pushes his stool away from the counter and returns to the bedroom. No goodbye, no thanks for the food, not even the effort to clear his plate.
I can’t make up for Justin's uncharacteristic bad manners, but I can clear his shit, which I do as casually as possible, hoping Michael will think it’s no big deal. But I feel Michael’s eyes on me, watching my every move.
“You always do that for him?”
“Do what?” Like I don’t know.
“Wait on him hand and foot.”
Christ, I’m hardly doing that. I’m just dumping his plate in the sink.
“I’m just dumping his plate in the sink. It’s not a big deal. He’s not exactly himself.”
“Did the doctor say anything?”
“I didn’t talk to his doctor. But I think he just needs to take it easy for the rest of the weekend and then he’ll be back to his sweet little bussing his own dishes self.” Michael doesn’t laugh.
“Well, I gotta go. I have some care packages for Mel too. You hear she’s sick?”
I nod at him as he returns to Gus for a final loop around the track with Big Red, his longest train. Four years old and already a size queen.
Saturday 6:45 PM
JUSTIN
I hear Brian and Gus returning from wherever they went.
“Gus, when I say something - you do it, understand? Is this what your mommy is complaining about? Not listening when a grown up talks to you?”
I can’t make out Gus’ response.
“Gus. Go use the potty before you start playing.”
Again, I can’t make out Gus’ side of the conversation.
“Gus!”
Then he appears, running through the bedroom on route to take a leak. Brian follows shortly behind, sees me lying here wallowing. Wallowing is the perfect word to describe me. I’m just lying here, have been for hours. Not interested in watching TV, not interested in eating, not even interested in jerking off. I’m awake and lying here: wallowing.
“Sorry if he woke you.”
“Nah, it’s okay. He’s giving you a hard time?”
“Even more of a brat today than you, if you can imagine.”
“Well, that’s to be expected. I’ve had years of practice.”
The relief on his face that I can joke is palpable. He must have taken Gus away for the afternoon to give me privacy - or maybe he just wanted to get away from my overly pleasant self, which makes me feel marginally guilty. I love Gus and I don’t want him to think I’m some psycho case that can’t make it out of bed.
Gus re-appears from the bathroom and jumps on the bed next to me. He points to my bandage. “It hurt?”
I smile at him reassuringly. “No. I’m just supposed to keep it covered for a few days. No big deal.”
“Come play!” He’s obviously not traumatized about my bandage. Wish his Daddy could follow suit.
I really don’t feel like playing, but Brian’s standing there watching for my reaction like I’m some feeble minded God-knows-what, so I get up. I let Gus pull me into the living room and I force myself into play mode.
Brian calls after us. “Want me to heat up some of the stuff your mother brought for dinner or do you want Deb’s?”
I shrug. Not hungry. But Gus has other ideas.
“Pizza! Pizza! Order Pizza! Now!!!!!”
Demanding little shit.
Brian calls Gus over, but he just ignores him.
“Gus, come here right away.”
He’s leaning over some tank engine pit-stop ignoring Brian. I pat his bottom and urge him softly to listen to his father.
“GUS!” Brian bellows and the kid finally ambles over. I don’t know which of them I feel sorrier for.
Brian squats down so he’s looking him right in the eye.
“Gus, this has been going on all day. At the zoo, at the park, at the store. When I speak to you, you listen. Got it, Sonny Boy?”
The little boy shrugs.
“Do you understand?”
Gus’ reply is so faint, I can barely make it out.
Brian holds the bridge his nose, warding off frustration.
“Okay. I didn’t want to do this, but your Mommy said you have been like this all week: not listening, not doing what you’re told, not answering when grown ups speak to you. It ends now - I’m doing the counting thing.”
“NOOOOOO! Don’t count me. I hate being counted.”
Brian looks surprised at the kid’s reaction. You’d think he said he was going to paddle him.
“Well, just listen to me and I won’t have to. Okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good. Now go play with Justin while I heat up our dinner. I’m not ordering pizza, but Deb sent over macaroni and cheese.”
Brian retreats to the kitchen area and Gus and I connect some bridges and demolish some others. The demolishing thing is clearly his favorite. A memory of me at Gus’ age suddenly washes over me, my Dad and I on the floor - him laughing and laughing at my antics. Hard to believe at one time the world rotated around me in his eyes. I almost wish he stopped loving me just because his sweet kid became a brat - easier to swallow than knowing he hates me because I love men - one man in particular.
Then I look in the direction of the source of that love and I feel badly for my own behavior and so proud of Brian for putting up with me. He can be a shit, but he’s also shown me a kind of love few could ever imagine. He’s all I really want, all I’ve ever really wanted. Sometimes I just wish I was enough for him.
Then I look at Gus and I’m reminded that the two of us really are his life and that whatever Brian does with his dick without me is ultimately meaningless. Of course, I immediately hear Daphne asking, “If it’s so meaningless, why do it?” I absently feel for the gauze on my forehead and know none of that shit matters. Brian loves me, puts up with me and I can put up with him.
I’m pulled out of my gloomy thoughts by Brian’s call to Gus.
“Gus, come here for a sec.”
And the kid totally tunes him out.
“Gus, that’s One. Come here.”
Again, no answer. Brian and I meet eyes, both astonished by Gus’ behavior.
I ask Brian if they’ve checked out the kid’s hearing.
“A few weeks ago. Yeah. I remember Lindsay telling me they did it at school and he hears fine. It’s the listening that’s the issue”
Brian tries again. “Gus, come here please.”
Nothing.
“Gus, that’s Two. Now come here.”
Gus scurries over to him upon hearing he’s at Two and Brian sends him off to wash his hands so he can eat dinner.
“Justin, why don’t you wash your hands too. Dinner’s almost ready.”
I smirk at him. “Yes, Daddy.”
Saturday 7:30 PM
BRIAN
“NOOOOOO! NOO! You can’t make me!” A red-faced Gus stands defiantly before me in the living room.
“Go. NOW!” I scream back at the little guy and point toward the bedroom. “I counted you and you hit three, Sonny Boy - so time-out for you. Now GO!” How the fuck this system is supposed to reduce yelling is beyond me. Oh, yeah, Lindsay told me to read the book first. Well, too fucking late now.
He looks from me to Justin and I will NOT tolerate Justin even attempting to rescue him at this late stage in the game. I promised Lindsay I’d discipline Gus this way and Gus blew it. I give Gus a determined stare and point toward the bedroom for what I hope will be a final time. Lindsay says I’m supposed to use force if necessary, but I don’t want to manhandle my kid.
And then it happens. I should have predicted. He cries. He just opens his mouth, throws his head back and wails like a newborn.
My response is instinctual and wrong: “You keep crying and I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Justin starts toward me and warns, “Brian.” But I snap, “And YOU shut up or you’re next.” Instinctual and wrong again, but I’m nothing if not on a roll.
Justin turns on his heels, grabs his jacket and exits the loft. I try to ignore the pain I immediately feel in my gut and scoop Gus up and carry his squirming little body into the bedroom.
Even with his struggling, I manage to gently place him on the bed. “You’re four years old, so you just earned four minutes to think about what you did. I’ll come get you when it’s over.”
I want to add that he should be honored to be sequestered in my bed, a privilege in fact - but something tells me the comment would be wasted on Gus at this moment - maybe forever.
I flip over the egg timer Lindsay left for me and stare as the grains of sand make their way through to the other side. I’m immediately reminded of Mary Fucking Poppins and this heart wrenching line some guy in soot says to the father, about childhood passing like sand through a sieve. The line bothered me the first time I heard it - last week when Gus brought the video with him to watch with me and Justin.
Gus loves musicals and although I know that could be an indictor, my gaydar guesses not. But I do know that this discipline crap is for the birds. I’m supposed to be an overindulgent and irresponsible father; Gus knows that’s my role. How dare I let Lindsay talk me into this counting bullshit.
So I stare at the sand and try to think mindless thoughts. But then another one of Gus’ videos takes over and I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Fucking Oz trapped in the witch’s castle. I just want the sand to get through the hour glass so I can rescue my kid.
The moment the last few kernels approach the bottom of the timer, I bolt toward the bedroom, almost afraid to look at the pout face awaiting me. I stop short when I see the poor thing’s fallen asleep on his side. Fuck me.
He was tired. Lindsay said I should force a nap or pay the price. Turns out Gus paid. Christ almighty.
I quietly storm out of the bedroom and look around. Everything is wrong with this picture. I know there is no fucking way in hell I can deal with Justin walking out on me right now. Besides, he can’t just leave me whenever I’m a shit.
I grab My Justin Phone and hit his programmed number; relieved when he picks up on the second ring. He could have turned it off. I know I was wrong to speak to him the way I did.
“Justin?”
He exhales dramatically. “Brian, who else were you expecting?”
“Come home.”
He hesitates. “You were a prick. I’m not taking that shit, Brian.”
I prefer to put myself down - it stings less than when he does it
“Look. I’m an asshole. This thing with Gus - I fucked up. I was supposed to make him nap and I didn’t. He fell asleep during his time-out.” It’s not lost on me how pathetic I sound, but I want him to come home.
Silence.
“Justin, get the fuck home.” I pause and add, “Please.”
“Give me a bit,” and he disconnects. I think that’s encouraging.
I check on Gus to confirm he’s down for the count and return to the couch. Then I get up and grab a beer, hoping Justin isn’t too pissed off at me. It seem like forever, but fifteen minutes later Justin returns, takes off his jacket and sits down next to me. I offer him a swig of my beer, but he declines.
“It’s one thing to treat me poorly and it’s another thing to do it in front of Gus. I won’t tolerate that, Brian.”
I nod understandingly, not meeting his eyes. Then it hits me. “Justin, you’ve been a brat all weekend and I didn’t walk out on you.”
JUSTIN
He’s right. I have been a brat.
“You’re right. But don’t act like you’re even on the waiting list for Sainthood - so I’m not begging for forgiveness.”
“When I want you on your knees, it’s not to beg.”
He’s so juvenile with the sexual innuendo, but I smile in spite of myself. He lifts his right arm up and I snuggle into him, resting my head on his shoulder. It’s hard to stay mad at the fucker for long.
My hand roams to his crotch and I swear he gets hard immediately. Pretty good for an old guy - a thought I’ll keep to myself for once.
“As soon as Lindsay picks up Gus, your ass is mine!”
“He needs his own room here.”
“That, young man, is a story for another day.”
“I’m holding you to it.”
“Don’t you always?”
In lieu of answering me in words, he straddles me on the sofa, holding my arms out to my sides and delivers an array of tender kisses in figure eights around my wound. In contrast to his tender mouth, his pelvis grinds against me feverishly and I find myself bucking up against him. Reading my mind, he releases my left arm and snakes his right down my sweatpants to pump my dick. I know I have to be quiet because Gus is sleeping, so I use my free arm to wrap around Brian’s neck and hold on tight while he gets me off.
My last thought before seeing stars is some vague recollection that I planned to give the son of a bitch a hard time. Guess we switched roles in that department; pretty tough to stay angry at the handsome fuck.
Sunday 5:15 PM
BRIAN
Gus waves goodbye and in moments Justin and I are alone in the loft. I grab him into my arms and hug him fiercely, running my fingers through his hair.
“Wanna fuck?” He murmurs in my ear.
“And you say I’m the romantic?”
“Got any better offers?”
“As a matter of fact, I never do.”
Justin looks at me quizzically. “What’s that supposed to mean?
“I was thinking we should reevaluate the rules.”
“What rules?”
“THE rules. You know, our extracurricular fuck policy?” When Justin nods, I go on. “Up for discussing it?”
He looks down at our cocks pressed tight together through our pants. “Actually, I’m up for something else, but it can wait.”
He’s sounding too much like me for comfort. “Well, I was thinking…” I suddenly feel embarrassed, like I can’t say it.
“Brian, what? You wanna codify our repeat policy?”
“Actually, I was thinking of going the other way.”
“You wanna fuck pussy?”
I push his shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot.” I pause. “I was thinking we could maybe, sort of, for the most part - just do each other.”
That gets his attention; he takes a step back. “You’re suggesting monogamy?”
I shudder like I’ve been shot. “I loathe that word.”
“Exclusivity?”
“I detest that word too.”
“Well, Mr. Kinney. What do you have in mind?”
I think briefly. Then it hits me: “Sex slave. You. Mine.”
He grins. “Ah. I see. And what about you?”
“I’d be you’re overly attentive and benevolent master.”
His face melts at that. Sometimes he’s way too easy.
He clears his throat. “So, I obey your every whim and command - and you just continue to fuck whomever and whenever you so desire.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek sweetly. I hadn’t really thought this through, but it feels right. Just to be sure, I whisper, “I only fuck you. Unless…”
“Unless, I’m in class or otherwise indisposed?”
“Unless you go back to LA or some other Godforsaken place outside the time zone for an unreasonable length of time.”
My heart’s racing as he grins. “And I just fuck you?”
Little shit is too clever.
“We only do whatever the fuck it is we do sexually with each other - unless we choose together to add someone to our mix or we’re separated for what would otherwise be an unnatural period of time for abstention.”
“You know, Brian? That’s pretty much monogamy with a little bit of leeway.”
“Then it ain’t fucking monog - monoga - monogafuckmy. You’re my sex slave; I’m your omnipotent master: end of story.”
“Won’t you miss getting blown in the locker room at the gym?”
I shrug. “When’s the last time I did that? Besides, as my sex slave, you’ll be required to come to the gym upon request, with reasonable notice of course.”
“Of course.”
I stare hesitantly at him, kind of embarrassed by what I’ve proposed. Then he walks up to me and puts his hands on my fly.
“May I, Sir?”
I want to play along, but somehow I feel choked up. Christ.
“Sir?” He repeats.
I nod and touch his cheek with the back of my fingers on my right hand. My chest is so tight I wonder if I’m in defibrillation.
He pulls down my zipper and pulls out my cock. It’s semi-hard and he drops to his knees to go to town. I drop my head back and savor his warm and talented tongue. Was I out of my fucking head? Why would I want anybody else when I have him? What the fuck was I thinking all these years?
I pull him up off his knees and into my embrace. “Let’s go to bed.”
I kick off my pants as I walk up the stairs to our bed; Justin rips off his shirt in record speed. He makes it to the mattress first and sits, beckoning me to approach him so he can continue his oral exploits.
“Your wish is my command,” he boasts.
I look down at him seriously as he engulfs my cock. “Transfer to CMU.”
He releases my dick, drops his hands and sits back. “Brian, that’s not fair. We’ve been through that.”
I refuse to get annoyed. “You said your wish was my command. Watch your choice of words next time, Slave Boy, or I’ll have to punish you.” Then I add, “That’s One.”
We both laugh.
“I thought you said you’d be a benevolent Master?”
My cock’s twitching wondering whatthefuck it did to deserve the delay.
“Okay, look. Just agree to let me drive you to school AND pick you up.”
He stares at me like I’m deranged. I quickly add, “For one week. Just one week.” I put my hands together in mock prayer and then try that word that worked so well yesterday: “Please.”
“Answer something first.” He pulls me down next to him on the bed. I wait, expectantly, knowing my capacity for meaningful dialogue is limited now - my blood supply having traveled too far south of my brain.
“Brian, are you sure I’m enough for you?”
He’s so smart, but sometimes he really doesn’t get it.
“Justin, you’ve always been enough for me. You’d be enough for any man.”
I can see he truly doesn’t understand, never really understood this part of me. He starts to speak, but I shut him up with a finger to his lips.
“Justin, I’m a selfish motherfucker, you know that.” I pause. “Yeah, I’m a sucker for cock and a smooth tight ass, but my alley cat ways were never about you. It’s always been about me - and control, never letting anybody all the way in, knowing I never gave it my all.” I look away. “Besides, it’s better to be rejected because of fucking than because I’m a worthless piece of shit.” I hesitate and then look him straight in the eye, speaking clearly and slowly, “And better for you to always think you want more of me.” I turn my head, his stare too much for me.
He reaches for my chin and makes me look at him again.
“Brian, that’s bullshit. I’ve had you plenty, why would I need more? It’s been over four years!”
“But that’s where you’re wrong, Sunshine. Just the fact you question being enough for me, when it’s always been the other way around. It’s classic economics: high in demand, elevated worth - at least in your eyes. Have me all to yourself and . . . well, we’ll see now, won’t we? Once you have all that I have to offer, maybe you’ll realize I wasn’t worth the wait.”
“You’re so fucked. You know, Brian, if you’re going to spout economics, think about what you’re saying. Supply and demand?”
“I know the fucking term, Sonny Boy.”
“Then you know when you flood the market you lose value, right, Mr. Kinney? But when supply is scarce, your worth skyrockets.”
Little shit.
Before I have to admit he’s got a point, he executes a surprise attack and I find myself flat on my back with him straddling my crotch.
“You truly are a motherfucking piece of shit. How could you think sharing your cock with every homo in Pittsburgh would make you somehow more attractive to me?”
I shrug, little boy mode setting in.
He looks at me dead serious. “So, this -“ he stumbles, “monogafuckmy thing - really petrifies you?”
I shrug again, little boy mode in full force.
Justin regards me for a bit and I have no clue what he’s thinking. In an overly dramatic fashion he exclaims, “Master, your wish is truly my command. Whatever you say, I’ll do.”
I squint at him like somehow I’ll be able to figure out where’s he’s going with this. “So, if I command you to transfer to CMU, you’ll do it?”
He nods in agreement. “They’ll have to accept me, but I’ll apply.”
It’s so tempting, but it hits me all at once that I love him too much to let my irrational concern influence my already selfish judgment. So instead I return to basics.
“I command you to lie on your back and be very still.”
He climbs off me, but questions, “Brian, what are you doing?”
I raise an eyebrow, silently reminding him he’s in wish-fulfillment mode - so he obeys and lies down as ordered. I slither over his body, effortlessly removing his sweat pants, momentarily stopping to look up at his confused face looking down at me. “I’m being an attentive Master.” I grasp his balls tightly with my left hand and hold his shaft with my right. As I lick from base to head he covers his face with his hands, contemplating the masterful blowjob I’m about to provide - and provide it I will. He’s such a good slave and he’s put up with so much. It’s the least I can do.
Later he can give me a leisurely massage, cook a gourmet low carb dinner, straighten up Gus’ toys littering the living room. Talk about magic - the possibilities are endless.
Christ, this monogafuckmy thing might work out just fine.
End