413 Gapfiller
Such Sweet Sorrow
Brian POV
“Don’t be mad at Justin. He’s going for Rage, so in a way, he’s going for you.” I half hear Michael apologizing as if he’s to blame for the director wanting my blond genius over him. Sloppy seconds again for Mikey. I guess he’s used to it by now.
“Assuming he goes; he still wants to honor his commitment to sponsors and do the ride.”
“He’ll go.” I finally voice something while flipping through more mindless comics.
“He will?”
“Yeah, he will. Or I won’t. There. That was easy. Good deed #378, but who’s counting?” I stop flipping comics and lean in to give him a peck on the cheek and he smiles in that way he always does when I come through for him.
“I’m late; gotta go,” and I head back to Kinnetik, stopping on the way for a Power Bar. I have my snacks regimented to coordinate with my workouts. I’m doing better than I was but still need to train up until the last minute, especially now that I know I’ll be going at it alone. Shit. I thought I’d have Justin's ass in front of me for continual inspiration. Little fucker. He’ll be in the lap of luxury in Beverly fucking Hills and I’ll be --- God it pains me to even utter that particular “C” word. Well, hopefully there’ll be somebody acceptable to tend to my lap - - assuming I’m not just fucking comatose, needing intravenous fluids each night.
I’m sore now, I can just imagine how I’ll be then. Yet, if I can cross that finish line I’ll know it’s behind me, that I did it, without anybody, and I’m going to make it. Of course I hope I don’t have to make it without anybody, fuck that - without Justin. But I’m no good to him if I can’t do this, get all this shit behind me.
Now I just have to make him decide to go to LA for himself. What a charade.
Justin POV
The tent looks really sexy over our bed - Brian’s bed. He’ll have to like it, what’s not to like. I bought top-of-the-line everything. Figured if Brian is really going to do this, at least he should be as comfortable as possible when he’s not cycling. The pace of the ride will really be tough for him, but I know he can do it, and I’ll help him unwind at night, massage his tired muscles, all of them. The tent will afford us some modicum of privacy if Brian’s in bad shape and also keep undesirable creatures out, well, at least some of them. Besides, it’s a hot looking tent, how could he not like it.
I should remind Michael I’m not going to LA, in case he wants to bow out of the race. He doesn’t have the worries I do. Of course he has sponsors too, but he won’t be leaving a sick partner alone to race - for once Hunter serves a purpose. I know Brett wants me, but I’m sure he’d say Michael is better than nothing, at least I think he would say that. I’m cuter of course, but I don’t think that was part of the equation - at least not a major consideration.
I hear Brian enter the loft and I so hope he’ll like my taste in camping equipment and attire. For Brian, he’s always been highly complimentary of my other tastes, so I’m pretty sure he’ll approve.
I’m listing off all my many purchases and he seems impressed, but then he’s saying I’ll be sleeping in a mansion, so I don’t need this shit. What the fuck?
I should have known. It’s my own fault for not being clear. Michael probably thought I’d come to my senses and ditch the ride and Brian and head to the tinsel hills. Fucking Michael.
Why didn’t I emphatically tell him “no.” Did I sort of want to go? Shit. Now Brian’s saying he’s not going himself; that he’ll never make it. Right. Uh huh. What a piece of shit he can be.
When I’m in functioning Kinney partner mode, I’m so good at reading between his lines. I see I can’t win here. If I go to LA, Brian will ride. If I don’t go to LA, he won’t. Asshole. He’s so fucking aggravating.
But Rage: The Motion Picture. It’s so exciting, and if I can help with the pitch, I’ll better control its destiny. But why now? I hate it when two good things happen at the same time. And I want Brian to fuck me in this tent. Priorities Justin, priorities.
Brian POV
I know he knows what I did. I’m not sure he knows I know he knows, but fuck it that kind of thinking gives me a headache. Speaking of head, that tent is VERY hot. I emerge from my very quick shower, my eyes roaming between the tent and my computer.
What I covet is at my keyboard. I meander over to him, and rest my chin on his right shoulder, none too lightly, so his right cheek is against my left. He neither complains nor stops typing. He does feed me some crumbs - takes his left hand and reaches around to gently caresses my right cheek, the way you might a child you don’t want bothering you.
“This ain’t gonna cut it Sunshine.”
He shushes me. He actually shushes me.
I stay frozen on his right shoulder, hoping the point of my chin will grow further uncomfortable. I see he’s emailing Brett, with a copy to Michael, confirming receipt of his E-ticket. My gut tugs for a quick second and I realize I’m sad, no slightly disappointed is more like it, that he’s not going. Fucking Rage. It would have been fun with Justin. Now, it’s just a challenge.
Finally, he starts to sign off and I remove myself from him and drop my towel to the floor. He gives me that classic elevator look and smiles.
“You went to all that work to erect the tent,” I offer.
“I’m good at erecting things.” He grins at me and stands, stripping off his shirt in record time.
“Prove it.” I grab his arm and pull him behind me to the tent while he giggles, if I correctly recognize the sound. He lifts his hands to his crotch, but I slap them away.
“I’m in an unzipping mood.” I seductively unzip his fly and pull his pants down, together with his briefs. I slap his ass with one hand just to startle him and take his cock in my other, enjoying how effortlessly hard he is. To be young and horny.
I stroke his dick with my right hand while checking out the zippers on the tent with my left.
“You’re so versatile,” he mocks me.
I stop stroking and actually lean over and pick him up, not sure why. Maybe because I can.
I’m holding him like a groom might a bride, or a mother an infant, both images I want to erase.
He starts to really laugh and I kiss him hard on the mouth to stop. It works.
I maneuver us through the opening of the tent and semi-dump him on his back, at which point his laughing increases in volume.
I shush him this time. He ignores me.
I turn my back to him and zip us in.
I turn around and just stare at him, naked, erect and laughing on his back in our bedroom campsite - my bedroom, wherever the fuck we are.
I pounce on him and he intakes air so loudly I almost start laughing, but I’m relieved to have shut him up. Now it’s time for him to make some different sounds.
Justin Pov
After round one, me sated, Brian not, he rolls over to his back next to me, pulls me next to him, my head on his chest, and exhales like he’s the one ever so satisfied. He looks at the ceiling as if he can see the stars and we are on a real pit stop during the Liberty Ride.
“I wish I could go. I really do.” I know I’m stating the obvious, but sometimes words are necessary.
“I know you do. It won’t be the same without you.”
I don’t take his words as condescending. I know they’re heart felt.
“Well, at least you’ll have the nicest accommodations, that and your illustrious cock should give you all the company you want.”
He takes my hand and massages it, pre-foreplay.
He doesn’t seem to be interested in talking about tricking.
“You do what you have to do for Rage and your career. Deal?”
I start to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let me.
“Deal?”
I side-ways smile at him.
“I want something too.”
He rolls his eyes, but makes an inquisitive look with his eyebrows. Waiting.
“If your incision starts to hurt, if you have any pain related to the surgery, that you promise you’ll stop.”
He silently nods in agreement.
“O.K. then, we have a deal.”
With that he releases my hand and I immediately use it to grab onto him. He closes his eyes and relaxes under my grasp. He lets me worship him for a while when suddenly he bolts up and pins me on my stomach beneath him. He leans in and licks my neck roughly and breaths raggedly in my ear. He holds my arms above my head, making it clear he has no use for them right now. I close my eyes now and just enjoy being the subject of his lust. I know I’m also the subject of his love, but Brian Kinney’s lust is direct, succinct, all encompassing, and really much more fun. I feel his tongue move its way slowly down my spine. Yeah, much more fun.
Brian POV
Justin questions why I didn’t want to ride to Toronto with the rest of the losers on a yellow school bus.
“I see your point,” he says as he switches lanes a bit too fast. It made sense for us to drive together to the airport, and with his flight a bit later than mine he’d have time to drop me off, then park. Hopefully, he’d be the only one flying back, so he could retrieve the Vette from long term parking and return it safely to my little corner of Tremont. Even more hopefully, I’ll pedal my ass back without having a stoke.
Pittsburgh being the hub it is, we both have to change planes, Chicago for me, Dallas for him. Technically, we could have flown the first leg together and changed planes in Chicago, but Brett sent Justin his ticket so I didn’t want to mess with his plans, take the risk of him thinking I’m so needy I want company on the plane. Far from it. Well, kind of far. Besides, I don’t like to mention Justin and Chicago in the same sentence.
He drops me at American Airlines departures and I lean in and give him a quick kiss. Our flights leave an hour apart, so while it’s technically possible I’ll see him inside after he parks the car, it’s likely I won’t. If I hadn’t loaded all my gear on the Liberty Ride van while pretending to wish my buddies off, I’d need him or a sky cap to help me, but as is, all I have is one suitcase on wheels, a carry-on in fact.
“Be safe,” he orders and I answer, “that’s MY motto,” and he smiles. I smile back, close the door and pat the Vette like it’s my trusted stead. He pulls away and I feel monetarily unsure. Then, carry-on in tow, I plow ahead.
JUSTIN POV
I know I’ll miss the guy, but I’m glad to have dumped him off. His backseat driving was ruining any excitement I might have had to drive his chariot. Jesus.
I park effortlessly and make my way to security. I check the monitor and see his flight has already boarded. Just as well. What would we do with 5 extra minutes in a public place. Never mind. Stupid question.
I pass through security having to remove my belt and shoes and wonder if Brian was subjected to similar treatment. Not the kind of disrobing he’d be in the mood for I’m sure.
Then, without fear of flying objects catapulted in my direction, I begin humming California Here I Come. I also start searching for my gate, knowing it will be the furthest one from security. Brian says it always is, and he’s almost always right. I sigh, kind of for no reason. I’m both extremely excited to be going to LA and regretful I can’t ride with Brian. Wonder who’ll take my place in his tent. I know nobody else can take my place in his heart, but I feel a tiny ping of regret, both regret I can’t be with him, and regret he doesn't do well alone, even if he doesn't know it.
Brian pov
Well, Kinney, you’ve really done it this time. First night alone in my top-of-the-line tent. Justin’s in LA, Michael’s with his fucking intended. Why did I go to the effort to fly here and not spend the first night in a five star hotel? What was I thinking?
And now, on top of worrying about my fucking stamina, well cycling stamina really, I have to watch my best friend throw his queer life away for the Professor. Jesus, in a few weeks he’ll almost have his allotted 2.3 children, though it’s hard to lump Melanie’s spawn and Hunter in the children category. He’s getting married and he doesn’t even own a car. This is so stupid, so ridiculous, so pathetic. Why am I surprised?
I sound so bitter. Like I’m jealous or angry or put upon. Like he’s doing this just to bother me. Maybe he is.
He admits he never ever thought about it before, and then out of the blue Ben asks him and poof he’s getting hitched. It was bad enough dealing with Linds when she and Mel insisted on making public spectacles of themselves, but Michael? It’s also legal this time, which seems to mean more, and it certainly is bothering me more. Like he’s betrayed me and our pact, queers forever, not straight wannabes.
I usually know what’s really at the root of things, and I know I’m totally overreacting. I should be happy for him. I know I want Gus to have the same privileges as children of straight couples, so why not let Michael have them too.
Suddenly I picture Justin, walking quickly down the grand staircase at the pickle king’s mansion anxiously letting me know he’s ditching me and the Miami White Party in favor of the dyke nuptials, implying maybe we’d be next. He’d probably be shocked to know I remember the conversation at all, how I’d wished I could give him that fucking on the beach, and then help him dig the sand out of his ass. I chuckle aloud, the sound of which momentarily frightens me.
But no, I’m not disappointed Justin and I aren’t next, that’s not the problem. I’m definitely NOT jealous. If I ever really lost my mind entirely and married somebody, everybody who knows me knows it would be Justin. Michael knows it. Justin knows it. And, sad as it is for me to admit, they both know I know it. So, then why do I feel so utterly miserable. Am I actually so shallow that I’m hurt that Michael isn’t still pining away for me, that I still need him always available should Justin leave me again or more likely choose Daphne over me for an evening’s entertainment?
And, without answering the above, how would marriage make Michael any less available to me? Wouldn’t he still do all that he does without a ring burned onto his finger. I know the answer is affirmative, yet I’m still thrown by how uneasy I feel.
I know part of it is that Michael didn’t plan this, that Ben surprised him, and that Michael hasn’t really thought about all the possible ramifications, good and bad. But, that shouldn’t keep me from sleep. I don’t even want to jerk off, I’m so troubled by this marriage shit.
Then it hits me. It’s not that I want to get married. It’s not that I want Michael to want to marry me. It’s that Michael’s actions are rejecting me and all that I stand for. I’ve never felt judged by Michael, only revered, and now by rejecting the queer lifestyle I know, love and embrace he’s saying he doesn’t want me anymore, that I’ll still be his queer friend, but he’s joining the dark side, where china patterns and anniversary parties outweigh backroom fucking and alley blow jobs. I’m so utterly disappointed in Michael. He has let me down and it’s insurmountable. And there is no turning back.
I’ll stand up for him, be his best man, hold my peace, but deep down we’ll no longer have a future to share, just the past to remember.
Then, I hear myself say “lots of things used to be.” Goose-pimples rage up and down my arms, though I’m actually baking in some sort of mummy shaped down sleeping bag-sarcophagus. Maybe I still want my vision of queer life now, but will I ten years from now? Will I adjust in ways I don’t anticipate. I want to deny I might change more than I have, but my recent state of self came about unintentionally, sort of evolved. The goose bumps increase and I’m full out shivering now.
For all my hubris (what a Justin word), I’m a coward. Alone in a sleeping bag in a designer tent, and all I want is one specific hot blond to keep me warm and assure me he’ll let me fuck him in backrooms until I’m too embarrassing old to take out in public. I suddenly picture myself using a God-damned walker. Lovely image - - though, it’d be the right height to bend Justin over, and the frame might keep me from breaking a hip.
These thoughts are making me certifiable.
I better score some good shit before that ceremony tomorrow. Justin saw Midnight Express one too many times, so I don’t even have a joint on me. I’ll stay clean for the race, but I haven’t sat through a wedding, gay or straight since practically forever. I guess I’m not the wedding guest type. Well, since I can’t sleep, maybe I’ll pretend I’m Emmett and organize my riding ensemble. Tomorrow’s outfit is to die for - “worthy of Rage,” Justin assured.
As sleep starts in, I feel the emptiness surrounding me where Justin should fill. The selfish part of me curses the fact he’s not here, but that other part of me, the one that scares the shit out of me, the one that knows things do change, is proud of him in so many ways and hopes I’ll finish the race and make him proud of me. I don’t ever want to be his husband, but I do, I do, I do to everything else.