Inferno - Jane!fic

[jane2005]

Inferno Chapters 1-6 Jane!fic

CowLip's. Not mine.


Author's Note: This fic's narrative picks up with the events of episode 510. I wrote it last January when the filming reports came out. I decided not to wait for 510 to air to post it. So be warned, THIS FIC IS BASED ON S5 STORYLINE. But it does depart from canon, probably somewhere around 506.

Chapter One - "Fallout"

He should have been there.

Like marble slowly freezing his tissues, his stomach violently churning under the vice of memory of another night when Justin and hospital had been all there was. His lungs, suddenly unable to draw air. Stone, his flesh, tissue immobilized, painfully squeezing his heart. He could not breath.

“Brian. Come on, let’s go.”

He followed Horvath out of the loft. He had almost not answered the door, mid-stroke, goddamn interruption in the quiet except for the trick’s moans.

That fucking trick. “I can wait for you to get back… you really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Ever felt.”

“Get out. Now!” Brian scooped the guy’s clothes up off the floor, threw them at him. The words, so fucking useless, pointless. Beautiful. He’d heard it before. He’d carefully exploited himself, and he owned it, that beauty.

Worthless. Utterly worthless.

And the cold numbness sinking into his tissues, petrifying him, god, he never knew what that word, petrified, what it meant. It could only be felt. Felt. That fucking trick did not know what feeling meant. Fucking? the touch of flesh on flesh? Nerves sunk under the surface, to the beating rush of fluid pushing against the cold, stone surface within.

“Brian, there was an explosion at Babylon. You have to come with me to the hospital. Now.”

Explosion. Justin… Michael. Hospital.

He felt Carl’s hand on his arm. And Carl pulled him out of the loft. The alarm remained unset.

On the way to the hospital. Off to find Justin at the hospital. And where would he find him, his partner, the man he should have been with, the man who asked him to come with him tonight. Not Brian. None of that community bullshit for him. Not even for Justin. Everyone knew what Brian Kinney was. No cracks in the surface, no flaws to decimate the intrinsic value of the objet d’art.

Beautiful. Brian fucking Kinney.

“I’m pushing it, Brian, you’ll be there real soon.” Carl glanced over at Brian, sitting in the passenger seat, his hands clenched to stop their trembling, the shaking that seemed to be originating somewhere in his marrow. Thank god Carl hadn’t said everything was going to be all right. They didn’t know that.

None of the calls coming in on his cell had been from Justin. Or Michael. Debbie in hysterics, the manager, one of the bouncers, Messages that told him only that the explosion had taken out half the building. But nothing else.

Then the emergency room, starkly white, a furiously lit entrance against the darkness of the night, crowded with ambulances, and hadn’t he been here before? One too many times in the past lifetime. Carl pushed through the reporters already gathered outside, and Brian heard only a babble and no specific questions as he numbly followed the other man who flashed his badge, leading him into the antiseptic brightness, past the waiting room filled with people, to the inner halls.

So many people, lying on gurneys, sitting on the chairs that lined the hall. Carl spotted Debbie, weeping, leaning against the wall. She saw him, and rushed over. “Michael’s going to be fine,” she told them. “Broken leg, but okay. That’s all I know. Where the fuck were you?” she spat at Brian, then fell against Carl, who pulled her to him, and glanced over Debbie’s wig at Brian’s white, drawn face.

Brian couldn’t answer her. Instead, he turned to look down the hall, his eyes sweeping the men and women seated against the wall in various states of pain, some moaning, others sitting motionless. So many people, too many to take in, as his eyes swept past them, but then… his knees almost gave way when he spotted a familiar blonde head buried in a pair of hands. Justin sat in a far chair, black filth across his white t-shirt, ash in his hair, but no red, no blood anywhere, just soot, thank god. Oh, thank god. Brian managed to move down the hall on legs that felt a thousand pounds, practically collapsing under the weight. He knelt on the floor in front of the young man, and pulled Justin’s hands away from his face. Justin opened his eyes. The dull, empty look in them made Brian know that nothing he could say would help, would ever help. But he was okay, Justin was okay. Brian waited, his hand moving to Justin’s cheek, the thumb rubbing his skin, rubbing out the dark smudge. Feeling him, feeling the soft, warm flesh, intact, alive.

When Justin felt the touch of Brian’s palm, his breath hitched, and that bottomless horror receded toward something more like anguish, along with a pain that could be released now that Brian was there. He leaned forward, practically falling into Brian’s chest. Brian braced, his arms moving around the trembling body against him.

But then Justin stiffened, pulling back abruptly, so abruptly that Brian lost balance and had to spread his legs to avoid falling backward. Justin put his hands on Brian’s shoulders, pushed him off, and held him there, his nostrils flaring. “I guess I don’t need to ask where you’ve been. You reek of sex.”

He spat his contempt. Brian felt about an inch tall, for the first time since he had left his parents’ house at 18.

In his relief, the look Justin turned on him meant nothing. Justin was okay, he was alive. Brian's heart had slowed, the petrification receding and allowing warmth to return to his skin, the only thing that mattered the feel of that man under his hand.

Later, when the panic abated, when he knew that the man he loved, to be honest, more than he loved himself, when that terror had abated, Brian knew that Justin's anger wasn’t just an outlet.

Justin pushed him further back, and stood in the space he had cleared for himself. “Don’t touch me,” he spat. “You don’t get to touch me. Never again.” And he walked away, leaving Brian sitting on the floor in the middle of the hallway of an emergency room filled with the sounds of hell, which Brian could not hear through the screaming white noise filling his head.

II

As they lowered Melanie’s casket into the ground, Brian shifted Gus on his hip. He held the back of Gus’s head as the boy pressed his cold nose into Brian’s neck. Lindsay was not crying, but her face may have been the model for a death mask. When the woman in charge of the final words finished speaking, Lindsay moved to the side of the casket, bent down, picked up a handful of dirt, threw it onto the lid of the box. She stood, staring down into the pit in the earth. Then she turned, wordlessly scooped Gus from Brian’s arms, and walked away. Her father caught up with her, and she leaned into the arm he offered. Her mother had refused to attend the funeral.

Brian turned and looked to where Justin stood, speaking quietly to Deb, whose eye makeup had begun to blur around her eyes. As he handed her a tissue, he glanced in Brian’s direction. Despite the pitch black sunglasses Brian had on, of course, Justin knew he’d been staring at his former lover. Justin had barely acknowledged him. He had not looked at Brian once through the funeral. Brian knew, because he could not seem to turn his eyes away from the other man.

“Are you coming to the house?” Michael asked, quietly, from behind him.

Brian turned to face his friend, who was holding Jenny Rebecca. “I have some work waiting for me at the loft.” He could never seem to call it home any more. It had stopped feeling like home ever since Justin had stopped being in it. Now it was a big, empty space that held his bed, his things. Michael glanced at Justin, then frowned. Brian, knowing Michael was gearing up to ask one of his pointed questions, quickly asked, “How’s Ben doing?”

The look on Michael’s face made him wish he hadn’t asked. “It was just a scratch, barely a nick. Well, obviously more than a nick. But you know Ben, he didn’t want to act like something so small was a big deal when people were… well,’ Michael stopped, seeing the grimace crossing Brian’s face, a grimace he just couldn’t help. “Well, you know. And in most people, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But in Ben’s situation…” Michael trailed off. “The infection’s really bad. In fact…” He choked up, closed his eyes, then opened them again, the anguish telling Brian everything he needed to know.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

“He might have had a chance, if he’d paid attention to it right away. Shit, I should have insisted, I should have…”

“You couldn’t have known,” Brian said, gently, reaching out with his hand and placing it on Michael’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

Michael shook his head. “Well, he’s comfortable. And we’ll have a chance to say goodbye, without regrets. Better than Lindsay. Brian, you and Justin…”

“There is no me and Justin,” Brian stopped him, glancing over his shoulder and catching Justin’s eyes on him. The look was odd. Empty. Brian looked back at Michael. “He’s done with me.”

“He loves you.”

“I’ll come see Ben…”

“No, don’t do that, don’t push me aside like that. Time is short, too short, you can’t waste it. You love him. He loves you.”

“No, Michael. He doesn’t.”

“But…”

“Michael, I was fucking a trick when Babylon blew up. I went to find Justin and you in the hospital with the smell of the guy still on me.”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he glanced over at Justin, who had taken the tissue away from Deb and was wiping her eyes. Jen stood nearby, not looking Brian’s way.

“But… then you know, you know how important to you he is. So? Learn from it, find a way back. Don’t do this to each other.”

Brian shook his head. “It was a long time coming, Michael, Justin’s better off without my shit anyway. He’s so amazingly… he doesn’t need my shit. He never did. He figured it out. That’s all.”

“You’re in love with him.”

“All the more reason to let him go.”

Michael saw Brian turn even before he heard Justin call his name. Amazing, how in tune those two were with each other. He thought of Ben, dying in the hospital from an infection to a ridiculous, small scratch on the leg, barely noticeable, and he wanted to scream at the sheer stupidity of what they were doing to each other. But he couldn’t scream, he had too many people depending on him to keep it together. His mother. Hunter, who had dragged himself home after the blast. Ben, for the next couple of days, if they were lucky. He pressed Jenny to his chest, nodded at Justin as the younger man moved closer.

“I’m so sorry to hear about Ben, Michael,” Justin said.

“You should come see him. You too, Brian, tonight.”

“I have an appointment,” Brian answered, “but I can cancel it, if tomorrow won’t be good.”

Michael smiled. Brian seemed, well, different somehow. Quiet. No, contained. Like something had stopped trying to push its way out from inside of him. Or maybe, like he had been covered by a hard material, and he had sunk beneath it.

“I’ll be there,” Justin said, putting his hand out to touch Jenny’s head. She looked up at him, black eyes shining. “If you need help with Jenny, I can stay with her.”

“You need somewhere to stay?” Brian asked, then bit his lip. Justin just looked at him, his face set, blank.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

“I appreciate the offer, Justin, maybe I’ll take you up on it in a few days. Or less.”

“That soon?” Justin winced.

“You should come to see Ben. Sooner, not later. I gotta go, but I’ll see you guys at the hospital.” He eyed them, noting the way their bodies were turning toward each other, the movements, the postures imitating the other as if they were a single entity. He shook his head, and walked away, to comfort his mother, if possible. To gain comfort, just as likely, comfort that would be a long time coming.

Brian felt an awkwardness he had never felt before, standing there, waiting for Justin to speak. “Justin, I…”

“I just wanted to ask you, when would be a good time to pick up my stuff?”

His lips pressed together, to keep from offering any time at all, and Brian could only stare down at the face turned up to him, so perfectly blank, so perfectly… perfect. How had he fucked this up? How had he not for so long?

“Never.” It was as if the word had been torn from him; he had not meant to say THAT. But really, it was the only answer there, when his mouth had opened to release one. There was simply no other answer to that question.

“Brian…” Justin groaned. “Please. Don’t do this to me. I’m asking you. Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m not doing anything to you.”

“You give me something with one hand and take it away with the other. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I love you.”

Silence, as Justin’s eyes dropped to the ground. Brian took off his sunglasses, and put his hand under Justin’s chin, raising his head, his eyes, to meet his own. “Justin, I love you.” He stopped, not sure where to go after that. There was no where TO go. He could only wait. The seconds stretched out, excruciating.

Then Justin licked his lips, and shook his head. “I know that already. I know you love me. But I don’t think… no. No more thinking. I don’t know if I love you anymore.” He shrugged. “They’re just words anyway. Cheap imitation of an after school special. They don’t mean anything to me. I can’t… Is tomorrow fine for me to come by and pick up my things?”

Brian nodded, mute. How could he argue that? His own words, thrown back in his face? Just words. Nothing more.

III

Three Months Later

Justin hunched over the counter of the comic book shop, and stared down at the script Michael had written out. Michael watched him, his arms folded over his chest.

“No.” Justin didn’t even look up.

Well, he had expected that. “Why? It’s a good story.”

“Let’s focus on Zephyr’s loss in this issue, the man he loves lost to complications of his illness from the wound he suffered in the last issue…”

“Looking at JT’s anger at Rage, and then Rage actually showing some vulnerability… the readers will love it. Besides, you always tell me, people buy the comic book for JT and Rage. Not Zephyr.”

Justin smiled a bit. More of a smile than Michael had seen on his face in a while. “I was only saying that to annoy you. Go figure, me, acting immature. Plenty of fans buy this for Zephyr. He’s kind of cute.”

“But more people want hot, not cute. Justin, you gotta admit, in terms of dramatic purpose, the JT/Rage story line…”

“We’re not getting back together, Michael. Brian’s never gonna give me what I want.”

“What do you want from him? Romance? Flowers? Because…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Justin interrupted, pushing away from the counter. “I know, that’s not Brian. And that’s not what I want from him anyway. I just want… I want to be enough for somebody. I always want Brian to give me that kind of respect, to make me feel like a whole person. He says he wants that for me, but he never understood that he’s part of that equation. He’s the one who always holds himself apart. The night of the explosion… I realized. He should have been with me. That night. But even in bigger terms. He just isn’t with me. He’s always looking for something to fill that emptiness…”

“It’s always been right in front of him. He always comes back, when you need him. When any of us do.”

That ghost of a smile, again. “I don’t expect you to say anything except exactly that,” Justin answered. “You play into his dysfunction. But so did I. And I’m not going to anymore. I thought, for a long time, I could save him. But it doesn’t work that way. He was just dragging me under. You know? I feel like I’ve shaken him off, and have finally hit the surface. And I like the air, I like to breath, more than I like the feel of his body wrapped around mine. So write about JT and Rage. But really, don’t use me to fuel your stories anymore.”

Michael eyed him. “Okay.”

“How are you doing?” Justin changed the subject, grateful that Michael seemed ready to let it go. He knew he wouldn’t for long. But Justin was done, all done with Brian. He had his own apartment now. He had picked up his stuff the day after Ben’s funeral, feeling Brian’s eyes on him, feeling the pain and sorrow emanating from his former lover, refusing to give in to it. It was a ploy, like the pretty scent on a Venus flytrap. So tempting… But Justin wasn’t falling for it anymore. He knew the trick. That’s all it was, a trick. Brian and his tricks.

“Fine…” Michael kept watching him.

“Michael, really. Seriously, let it go!”

“He’s fucking miserable.”

“He’ll get over it. He always does. I made him up, I saw what I wanted in him, but it was all just me. He’ll go back to right where he was before I came along. He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t believe any of that.”

“Not my problem. Don’t make me walk out, Michael, because I will, and then we’ll never finish this issue. So. How are you doing? I really do want to know.”

Michael shook his head, glanced down at his story notes. “Fine. Being without Ben… it’s really hard. I got used to sleeping with someone else… you know what I mean. But now, raising Jenny, and Hunter so ill… I don’t really have time to feel too sorry for myself.”

“I know it sounds cliched, but it will get better, with time.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Then one day you wake up, and you realize that you wasted all the time in the world being stupid and alone when someone who loves you that much is right there.” Michael’s tone was harsh, Justin frowned, started gathering his things.

“You can walk out if you want, but I’m gonna say this: Brian isn’t the same person he was before you came along, and that’s all to the good. You changed him. He needs you. He really needs you.”

Justin gave up trying to shove things into his bag, and just picked up the last papers in his arms and headed to the door. Pushing through, he paused a second, and turned back. Michael looked at him, standing in the open doorway, noted the dark circles under Justin’s eyes, knowing they reflected Brian’s. But Justin had a determination, a solidity in his demeanor, whereas Brian seemed completely gutted. “Brian’s an asshole. He’s a selfish bastard whose service to his own dick is more important to him than me, than anyone but himself. You can delude yourself all you want, but I’m done with it. And Michael, what lesson does it teach him if every time he fucks up, he never suffers any real consequence? What kind of message does it send him if I go back? Now, ever? That he’ll never really lose because of his actions? Fuck that. I do care about him, I don’t want to, I really don’t want to, but I do and it sucks. You don’t get that, no one does, not how much, how fucking much it sucks to feel this. I don’t want this, I don’t want him.”

“So you’re doing this for his own good.” Michael snorted.

“I don’t care if you don’t understand. If I go back, ever, none of this is going to mean anything. Why should he change? He can do anything he wants to me, and never suffer any consequence, never lose. Hell, draw me in one day, push me away the next, what difference does he make how he acts when he can always count on me taking it? Why are we rewarding this behavior?”

“Because we love him,” Michael answered, the words slipping easily.

Justin laughed humorlessly. “That’s not love, Michael. Maybe one day you’ll figure it out.” And then he was gone.

IV

Jennifer glanced over at Justin’s profile as he sat in the passenger seat, watched him for a moment as he went through the bags, looking for something, probably the CD’s. Shopping… retail healing. Not that Justin would admit that had been part of it. Nope, her son was doing just great, thank you very much.

Right.

“How are you doing?” she asked carefully, looking back at the road. She would speak to him about this. He had learned so much from Brian, a great deal about evasion. She would not take this from him, her son, her child.

“Um, fine… do you remember where I put that…”

“You threw the smaller bags in the larger bags.”

“Thanks, that helps,” Justin replied dryly, twisting around in the seat to grab another of said large bags.

“No, I mean, how are you… personally?”

“I’m fine Mom.”

Silence.

Justin looked out of the bag, up at his mother. “Really, Mom. I’m fine.”

“How’s Brian?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” God, what was it about being around his mother that made him feel like he was 13, all over again? Even the petulant tone, not the mature sound he could now draw out at will. Around everyone except his mother.

“You don’t care. Really?”

Justin sighed, shoved his hands on top of the bag, crushing it onto his lap. “Okay, fine. What?”

“It’s just…”

“Say it or don’t. Don’t play the waiting game, I really don’t have much patience with this subject.”

“He loves you. Even I can see that.”

“It’s not enough.”

Jennifer pressed her lips together, nodded.

“Goddamn it, fucking say it, Mom!” Justin exploded, making Jennifer jump. “You’re going to say it anyway, just fucking say it.”

“Fine,” Jennifer snapped back. “Do you really believe in marriage?”

“Of course I do! You think I’d be spending my time doing what I’ve done if I didn’t?”

“Would you have married Brian if you’d had the option?”

“He’s not the marrying type.”

“That’s not what I asked you. Say he asked you, for whatever reason. I’m not asking about him, I’m asking about you. Would you have married him?” Jennifer pulled the car up in front of Justin’s new apartment building. It was a shit hole. She hated it. But she kept her mouth shut. About that. Part of growing older was learning to pick your battles with great care.

Justin choked up. Would he have married Brian? “You know I would have.”

“And would you have meant all the words, sicker, poorer, good, bad, better, worse?”

“Geez, mom, what is it with the third degree?” Neither moved to get out of the car.

“Would you have meant the words if you’d said them?”

“Of course I would!”

“Well, welcome to worse.” Jennifer stopped there, and let the words sink in through the quiet in the car. She could see they had; the dismay spread across Justin’s face. He looked like a child again, and she wanted to reach across the seat and hold him, but knew not to give into the impulse. “You’re disillusioned. Usually happens after about three years. He’s a man, Justin. And I’m not defending him. But you fell in love with the good things in him. The problem is, you can’t separate those from the rest. You’re so big on the idea of marriage, but it doesn’t seem to me you’re willing to bear the responsibility it implies, dealing with an entire other person whose life is now yours. I’m not saying I would choose Brian for you to marry, but I know you would have chosen him for yourself.”

“But…” Justin finally said.

“Come on, let’s get all this upstairs,” Jennifer said, opening her car door. She knew he needed time to process that.

Justin was quiet as he put the clothes, the kitchen things away. The studio apartment was tiny; the living area and bedroom were the same room. Jennifer sat on the bed and watched him, waited.

Finally, Justin sat on the single chair that graced the tiny table in his eating area. Five feet from the bed. “You got a divorce, though.”

Jennifer shrugged. “You grow with someone, or away. Your father forced a choice: him or you. For one thing, you’re my child. That gives you an edge. But more than that. You are the type of person that would never force me to make such a choice. Craig would. So the choice was easy, in the end. Because I wanted to feel empowered, to make my own choices. Not have them forced on me. We all deserve that right.”

“You’re saying I’m not giving Brian a choice.”

That surprised her, that he would latch onto that as the point here. “No, I wasn't saying that. But if that’s what you’re hearing… all I’m saying is that my situation is completely different from yours. And believe me, I have been where you are, with your father. Even before you were born. At some point, the people we fall in love with become real human beings. And that either makes a relationship, or it breaks it.”

“You think I should go back to him.”

“No. I think that you should take this much more seriously than you seem to.”

“I can’t believe you said that! Not take this seriously! The man fucks everything that moves! He’s a bottomless pit of raging ego that needs to constantly feed, and I’m not enough for that!” Justin had jumped up, crossed to the window, rested his forehead on the grimy surface. “I’m not enough for him,” he said. “I’m tired, Mom. I’m tired of my needs always being subjected to his. He’s never there when I need him.”

“That’s because you’re stronger than he is.”

“I can’t be strong all the time.” Justin turned around, sat back on the window sill, crossed his arms over his chest.

“What are you going to do when he finds the strength you need from him?”

“He won’t.”

“If he loves you, he will. And he loves you. So he will.”

“Since when are you on his side?”

“Oh, Justin, I’m on your side. Where’s that wine?” Jennifer asked, standing up and moving to the fridge.

“Aren’t you driving?”

“I can have a glass. So can you.” She pulled the bottle out of the refrigerator, poked around in a drawer or two, and gave the bottle over to Justin when he crossed the room, reached on top of the fridge for the corkscrew. She took down two glasses, and grimaced at the small amount he poured for her. “I’m not letting you get drunk,” he teased.

“Oh, please.” She sipped; delicious. Well, he had certainly acquired good taste from Brian. Too bad his taste in men left something to be desired. What was it about Justin, always looking for a challenge. It was no wonder he loved to draw that comic; he could vicariously save the world. But no one, as he pointed out, no one was there to save him. Bout time he realized; we can only save ourselves. She hoped Brian would find that out as well, but if he didn’t, Justin was better off without him.

“Justin,” she started. He sighed, looked up from the glass he had been gazing into. “I’m on your side. I am.”

“I don’t know if I love him anymore, Mom.”

She could feel the pain in her heart at his tone, so forlorn. “Oh, honey. I wish there was something I could tell you. But sometimes you just have to trust yourself.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Justin’s voice was practically a whisper.

“You can. He does love you.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Then it won’t be enough.” She shrugged. “Give yourself space to figure it out.”

“So what should I do?”

Jennifer laughed. “Nothing. You still think strength is in action. Sometimes it takes all the strength in the world to do nothing, and just wait. You’re doing the right thing, what you need to do, for yourself. But if you’re the kind of man I think… that I know you are, you’re doing the right thing not just for yourself. It may not feel like that, but you never know. Trust your instinct.”

“Yes, Obi-wan.”

Jennifer laughed merrily. Oh, damn, maybe being cut off from the wine was a good idea. “I’m proud of you, Justin.”

“Even in this little shit hole?” He looked around, grimacing.

“Especially here. All right, I’m off, save some of that wine for when I can stay.”

“How ‘bout I bring it with me for a visit to your place?” Justin held the door open, as his mother walked through, kissing him on the cheek before she took to the stairs. “Even better,” her voice floated up to him.

Justin poured himself more wine, and sat at the table, brooding over the dark coloring. “Fuck,” he muttered, and took a long swallow.

V

Brian opened the loft door, to find Michael standing there, his hands in his pockets, looking like shit.

“Hey,” Brian greeted, letting him in. “You look like shit.” He moved to the couch and shrugged on his t-shirt.

Mikey eyed him. “Yeah, well, I feel about the way I look. You look… surprisingly good.” Brian’s muscles had increased slightly. Maybe it wasn’t that noticeable. Michael noticed.

“I've been getting to the gym a little more.”

“Well, I guess I’m relieved you aren’t drowning yourself in booze and sex with that extra time.”

Brian stopped the glare he felt forming at his brow, and glanced over at the t.v., instead, taking a deep breath while he flicked it off. He moved over to the kitchen, got himself a bottle of water, looked over at Michael who shook his head, rejecting the proffered bottle. “Nah, booze and sex didn’t work too well last time, figured I’d change my tactics. You should try the gym. Did you sleep in those clothes?”

“I’m just… I guess I just miss Ben.”

Brian stilled. Then he shut the refrigerator door, very slowly, and turned back. “It’ll get better.”

“How are you doing?” Michael propped his chin up in his hand.

“My husband didn’t die. I don’t have any excuse to sleep in my clothes.” Brian slid onto the stool across from Michael, rested his head on his hand in a similar posture.

“I don’t know… we’re both kind of pathetic, aren’t we?”

That comment elicited a smirk. Brian realized he hadn’t actually smiled in a while, not even sarcastically. “It’s just us again. Just you and me. Like old times.”

“Yeah…” Michael breathed, watching his best friend, looking into those amazing, beautiful eyes, eyes he knew so well.

Brian didn’t break the gaze, just reached out, took Michael’s hand in his. “Do you still wonder, Mikey?”

“About what?”

“I’ve wondered…” Brian breathed, his eyes boring into Michael’s.

Michael shifted, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, but he did not pull away. This was BRIAN, after all. His best friend. Surely, he didn't mean to make Mikey feel... weirded out. “What?”

“In the end, it’s always just us. You’re always there. You’re the one who’s always there for me. It would just be so much easier, if I could… just…” He stopped, looked across the space at his friend.

Brian wanted to have that blank filled in. He was leaving the blank open, waiting for Michael to fill it in. Michael felt a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach, what he once might have identified as excitement. He wasn’t sure what to call it now. Dread? Something like that. Something like grief. “You and me.”

Brian smiled, but sadly. “Yeah. Together forever.”

“Nothing’s forever. Aren’t you the one who always says that?”

“Great,” Brian returned, letting go of Michael’s hand and straightening up. “More of my words thrown back in my face.”

Ah. Michael didn’t always get the big picture, but he got Brian. As usual, this wasn’t about Michael. Brian, holy fucking mother of god, Brian was lonely. But not for Mikey. Michael saw it then, the big picture, laid out in front of him, those brilliant flashes he got every so often. Michael knew he wasn’t the brightest guy in the world all the time, but every so often he saw straight through to the heart of the matter. And that heart he saw was usually Brian's.

“Some things last longer than others,” Michael finally said, watching Brian chug half the water in the bottle.

Brian set the bottle down on the counter with a thud. “Like you and me.”

But Michael was shaking his head. “Like you and Justin.”

Brian’s eyes sharpened, but he said nothing, just watched Michael watching him.

“Justin says that you never learn anything because people like me always give you exactly what you want no matter how you treat us. So, what? you wonder how we’d be together, because you’re feeling vulnerable over Justin leaving you, and I’m supposed to just jump into your arms? As if we’re some freaking statues, locked in time forever? I hate to tell you this, but you got brought to life somewhere along the line, and it wasn’t me who did it. This isn’t about me, Brian. This is about him. Face it. Face it.”

“I’m not fucking Galatea.” Brian stood abruptly, ignoring Michael’s what-the-fuck look, yeah, he had meant to shut him up with that one. He moved to the pack of cigarettes on the counter by the sink. He lighted one and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.

But Michael wasn’t shutting up. “You’ve got to deal with the fact that you’re in love with him, instead of just reaching for the nearest thing to keep from trying to stop feeling something that hurts. You wouldn’t be good for me. Ben was good for me. You wouldn’t be good for me.” Repeat it, Michael, he said to himself. It’s true, remind yourself. He would crush you. If you didn’t kill him first.

“I’m not much good for anyone.”

Holy shit, Michael thought, when did he start sounding so pathetic? “Fuck you, Brian, that’s bullshit. You do plenty good. You do plenty bad. So welcome to the human race.”

Brian flinched, and coughed on the smoke dragging into his lungs. “What?”

“You’re only using what you think I could offer to escape dealing with your feelings for Justin. Well, fuck you, I got my own problems, you think I have time to let you use me like that?”

Brian watched as Michael stood and moved to the door. “My mom’s having dinner Sunday night. I stopped by to tell you to be there. Well, to see how you were. But you’re obviously fine. Or at least you want me to think you are, even though you obviously aren’t. So sit here and feel sorry for yourself but make sure your ass is at my mom’s Sunday or she’ll hunt you down.”

Brian raised an eyebrow, which slowly moved back into place as he listened to Mikey let himself out of the loft, slamming the door behind him, only silence left in his wake. Well, fuck.

* * * *

“Oh, well, fuck.” Brian looked up at the sound of Justin’s voice, not having heard it in well over two months. Well, two months, three weeks, four days, but who was counting?

Debbie bustled past Justin, after shutting the door that let him in. “Can I get you anything to drink, Sunshine?” she asked, completely ignoring his flustered reaction.

“Yeah, a beer if you have one,” Justin answered, not taking off his coat. He wasn’t sure he was staying.

“I can leave,” Brian offered, straightening from the slouch he had assumed on the couch.

“No, it’s fine, stay, I’ll go.”

“Justin…”

Justin glanced down.

“I had no idea you were invited. Really.”

A flicker of a smile touched Justin’s lips, and the flush that had suffused his cheeks when he saw Brian sprawled out on the couch receded. “Yeah. I think it’s a Novotny conspiracy.”

“What do you say we just put up with it, don’t take the bait. That way they’ll see, whatever they got cooked up isn’t going to work.”

Justin took a seat in the chair across the way. He pressed his lips together. “You can do that, you’re used to not showing anything. I might get a little pissy.”

“Have you learned nothing from the master?”

Justin shot a look at him, but saw Brian’s lips twisted in a grimace of self-mockery, and he relaxed. Well, as much as he could. His stomach was still lodged somewhere under his tongue. “I am the master of expression, not of the granite face.” He took his coat off, threw it over the back of the couch.

“Here you go, Sunshine!” Debbie sang, coming back into the room with an open bottle of beer. “You okay, Brian?” She nodded at his glass.

“Yeah, thanks, all set.”

“Hey, guys. Glad you could make it,” Carl entered the room from the kitchen, and sat down at the other end of the couch, followed by a nervous Michael.

“Sure,” Justin answered. “Just for the record, Michael, it’s not gonna work.”

“What… sorry,” he finished, glancing from Justin, to Brian, and back. “Ma invited Justin, I didn’t know.”

“And how convenient, we’re the only guests.”

“No one else could make it.”

“Uh huh.” Brian looked over at Justin, who shrugged. “Fine,” he said, as Justin echoed, “Whatever.”

Yeah, Brian thought. We are too cool for school. And I am screwed without lube.

“Stop staring at me,” Justin said sharply, not looking in Brian's direction, just fiddling with the stem of his wine glass. Michael had left the table to take a call from the hospital; Carl and Deb had moved to the kitchen to get coffee and dessert.

“I’m not staring.” He wasn’t. Really.

“Fine. Then stop looking in my direction every three seconds. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Brian pressed his lips together, and looked away.

Justin snorted a half-laugh. “Well, great, for once he does what I want.”

“You told me not to look at you.”

“And you always do whatever I say.”

“Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?” Brian turned his gaze directly onto the man sitting next to him. Fuck it. But Justin was looking away.

“I’m not,” Justin returned.

“I ask you to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, and you evade the question. Then you’ll be pissed off because we don’t talk. I suppose we could sit here and talk about the weather. It’s awfully cold out, don’t you think?”

Justin looked back now. “Weather, movies, television, all acceptable topics…”

“But nothing about how I can’t sleep when you’re not there.”

“Brian… I thought the idea was to show everyone how civilized we can be.”

“So you care more about what other people think than you do about us.”

“There is no us!”

“And you made sure of that.”

“I’m not the one out fucking everything that moves!” Justin jumped up, pushed his chair back. Debbie turned from the coffee pot, and stared over, but the two men at the table didn’t notice her, nor the look Carl shot Deb, the slow shake of his head. They stood, motionless, not wanting to interrupt.

“You fucking well knew who I was all along!”

“Yeah, you’re right. I knew.” Justin turned his back and strode to the couch, grabbing his coat.

“That’s right, run away. Keep running away from me. It’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“Fuck yourself, Brian, give me one good reason to stay and listen to your bullshit!”

“Because I love you!” Brian yelled. Michael had walked in the back door from taking a call in the back. He blanched, glanced at his mother, closed the door softly.

“It’s not enough!”

“Fine, how’s this, there’s been no one else since Babylon exploded, and I hate the fact that the last guy I fucked three months ago wasn’t you!”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Justin scoffed, hugging his coat to his chest. But he made no move to leave.

“It’s true,” Brian continued, gripping the back of the chair in front of him so tightly his knuckles went white. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“So you’re off your game. And I guess… what? That’s my fault?”

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

Justin didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say himself. He was furious, furious that Brian had sprung this little fact on him. He hadn’t expected it. Fuck, he should have listened to his mother. He should have been prepared for the sweeping gesture. Brian Kinney, Mr. Showman himself. All in service to his own needs. Justin didn’t doubt it was true, Brian was really disciplined when he wanted to be. But he wondered if Brian even recognized how much bullshit was in his own actions. “So what, you expect me to fall into your arms? As if I should congratulate you, being able to keep your dick to yourself for longer than a day?” And how long would it last? A week? A month if he was lucky? Brian would have what he wanted. And nothing, nothing would change. Why should it? Brian always got what he wanted. The sweeping show, but no promises, no sacrifice. Just a big show, based on bullshit.

“Justin…”

“That’s not the point, that was never the point!” Justin continued, his voice tight. He moved forward, stalking toward Brian, pushing him back down into the chair behind him, towering over him. “You just always have to be on top, you never give me an inch, and DON’T YOU FUCKING SAY IT, I know ALL ABOUT your nine inches and so does all of Pittsburgh and half the world! And it’s not that I didn’t know who you are, it’s that you’ve become every frozen object set against me that I can't move! And you’re as trapped in your own bullshit, bullshit that yeah, I went along with, but I DON’T ANYMORE!” He leaned over Brian’s body, trapping him in the chair. “I know I’m making you uncomfortable right now, holding you down like this, but you make me feel this way ALL THE FUCKING TIME, totally trapped, no way out! You can’t even help it, it’s who you are, it’s what you’ve made of yourself, Mr. Top Dog himself, no changing, just one permanent pose, it's all about you, only you, just you, not even an inch, not even for me, and you call that love?! It’s almost like you enjoy how fucked up you are! I can’t stand it, and I’m sure as hell not going to bash my head against the ungiving material that is Brian Fucking Kinney anymore! So I’m leaving now,” he straightened, “and don’t you dare say a fucking thing about me running away. I am choosing to leave, I'm not running from shit.” With that, he stalked across the room, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him.

Brian sat, breathing heavily. What the fuck.

“Brian…” Michael started, and Brian’s head whipped around, startled. He took in the three people standing like statues, stunned, across the room. Then he stood so abruptly that his chair tipped over, and he strode to the front door, opening it and tearing out into the night, after Justin, not bothering to grab his coat on the way.

“Fuck. Brian Kinney hasn’t had sex for three months? Is the world ending?” Deb chuckled, and saw the look on Michael’s face. “Oh, lighten up, baby.”

VI“Stop!” Brian roared, sprinting to catch up with the lithe figure striding down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, hunched forward against the wind. “Justin, fucking slow down, stop!!”

He wouldn’t. Brian caught up, grabbed his arm. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Justin spat, wrenching his arm away from Brian’s grip.

“Fine, just stop, then!”

Justin stopped so abruptly Brian almost crashed into him. He planted his feet, and glared. “What?”

“That was fucking unfair!”

Justin’s eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“What the fuck was that all about? I make you feel like you’re in a cage? What the fuck? Everything I’ve done to help you find your own way…”

“What about our way, Brian? What about that? It’s always, this is my way, now find your own and if you don’t like the way I decide things, fuck off! When did you decide you get to say what’s good for me? for us?”

Brian swiped his hand through his hair, impatient. “It’s not…” he trailed off. Damn it, he’d left the house so pissed off, and now, face to face with Justin’s anger, he felt gutted. “I don’t… damn it, Justin, I don’t know how to do ‘us’ shit.”

“It’s not about what you know or even what I know! It’s about what we feel, WE, WE, can’t you fucking get that? You don’t, you just don’t and I’m so fucking tired of fighting for you…”

“You’re fighting me now.”

“Fighting you’s easy, fighting for you’s different, and fighting for us is just fucking impossible when I’m the only one doing it!” Justin shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched into his coat. “Look, I know you think you love me…”

Brian glared at him, gritting his teeth.

Justin snorted at the look. “Yeah, just like I loved you that first night.” He had, damn it. But Brian didn't get that.

“Yeah,” Brian answered. “Just like that.”

Again, Brian caught him by surprise. Justin wasn’t sure what to say, and his shoulders braced against the cold wind. “You should go back in, you’ll freeze solid.”

“No.”

Justin took in a deep breath. More dramatic bullshit. But oh, god, he wanted to think… “Brian…” he started, only to watch Brian’s body start to shiver involuntarily. Without thinking, he stepped forward, and wrapped himself around the other man’s body, stepping into the familiar place. “You’re going to freeze.” Shit. He realized what he’d just done. After all his, ‘don’t touch!’ But he didn’t pull away. His hands met at the small of Brian’s back, rubbing.

“Not now.” Brian’s arms pulled Justin to him, wrapped around the shoulders, relaxing into the feel of Justin’s hands on his back. He dropped his head down into the warmth of the neck beneath him.

“Brian… I can’t keep doing this for you.”

“So let me freeze.”

“I really should you know.” He didn’t, couldn’t. Fuck. He couldn’t leave Brian out in the icy wind. Damn it! He should, fucking god, he should, he should just not give a fuck, walk away, the asshole wants to freeze to death, so? Let him! But he didn’t move, just melted into the familiar form. They were quiet for a moment. Justin did not want to end this, but knew he was only indulging himself. He turned his head, and saw they were standing next to Brian’s car. “Do you have your keys?”

“Why?”

“We should get out of the wind. Your car?” He nodded down at the vehicle.

Brian looked to the right. “Right.” He fished his keys out of his pocket, then glanced back at Justin, who was waiting for him to unlock the door. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

Justin shook his head. “Probably not. Get in the car.” Brian unlocked the passenger door, and elbowed Justin aside when he moved to open it. “Other side.” He handed him the keys.

Justin sighed. Brian and his symbolic bullshit. The great ad man. See, I can give up the driver’s seat. Big deal. One night. One time. It never lasted. Or repeated.

He moved around the car, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel. He turned the car on, hoping it would heat up soon.

“So.” Brian said to him. Now that they were alone, he wasn’t sure where to start. He tapped his thumbs on his knee. He glanced over at Justin, who was staring out the windshield, not looking at him. He studied his profile.

“Why haven’t you fucked anybody for three months?” Still, Justin didn’t look at him, just stared front.

Brian didn’t answer at once, just looked down at his thumbs, the nervous tapping.

“Brian.”

Brian stilled his hand, looked over. His hands itched to reach out and communicate that way .He knew it was a bad idea. Justin didn’t know how different touching him was from touching every other non-Justin thing out there, god, he couldn’t know the difference, because he was only on the receiving end. And Brian had never told him. Never fucking told him anything. Never told him that Justin was the only one who touched HIM.

But the feel of Justin… totally different. His palm, fingers, itched with the desire to reach out, to remember, to live the memory. It couldn’t be that good. But it was. He knew how Justin felt. He missed how Justin felt.

He knew he was taking too long to reply. He took a deep breath. “Am I too late?” he asked, instead of answering the question.

Justin turned his head. He looked at Brian, steadily, considering. “You can only say you love me because I’ve left you. You’re not really taking a risk, because I’m already gone. It might have meant something when I cared.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Can we spare the degeneration into a he said/he said pointless production? Just tell me if it’s too late. I’ll accept whatever you say.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to accept it,” Justin mumbled.

“What?” Brian turned in the seat, reaching out when Justin continued to stare down the road, into the night, touching his leg, turning Justin’s attention to him. “What was that?”

Justin wasn’t sure whether he should repeat something he had not planned to say. He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the headrest behind him. The fighting, the anger, easy to release, to force the barriers outward, to explode it outward, so easy, satisfying. Burn it to the ground, end of story. But when it came time to actually make some sort of assessment of what lay in the wake of the years, to actually let go, well, it had seemed so easy three months ago. And it all hurt, so much. Maybe too much.

The problem was, this was his pain. Not Brian’s. And Justin was beginning to understand pretty much what his mother had been trying to tell him. Brian couldn’t solve this for him. He had to decide what he wanted for himself. And then, he had to decide if what he wanted was something that accommodated, that could be accommodated by this beautiful, beautiful bastard sitting next to him. A bastard who loved him. As much as he could.

Was it too late for them? Was Brian too late for him? More to the point, did Justin trust that Brian really meant this? Well, he was sure Brian thought he did. But did Justin have any faith in him anymore? He’d had his faith shattered so many times. He was on his own, too much, emotionally. A partnership was not merely financial, or sharing a bedroom. He needed to be able to lean on someone every once in a while in other ways.

But it seemed what he needed was never really there. And what was he to go on? Hope? He’d been hoping for far too long.

Was it too late? No. Not really. Depends on how Brian reacted to whatever Justin told him.

So the point was what to tell Brian now. Not whether it was too late or not; three months ago, he would have said yes, now, he didn’t know. It depended. He wanted to give Brian a chance here; he would give Brian a chance here, but he wasn’t sure he wanted Brian to know that. Maybe it was too late. But it depended on what Brian’s reaction was, not just sitting here in this car, definitely not in the words he could come up with, but from this point out. He didn’t want Brian to know that; he didn’t want to feel like maybe Brian was on best behavior. Yeah, yeah, Brian didn’t do that, but the point was, Justin might think he would. Maybe his feelings weren’t quite dead yet. Maybe it would be better if they were. But he hadn’t quite killed them. Only Brian could do that. And what, was this a breath of life into what Justin had been sure was dead material? Was it too late? He didn’t know. He knew he had to find out. Though he didn’t have much hope.

Well, shit, right now all he could focus on anyway was Brian’s hand, still resting on his leg just above his knee, the fingers flexing, gently pressing into the lower part of his inner thigh, and he couldn’t think with that desire stirring in him, for that hand, those long, perfect fingers to move upward…

Yup, there it was, as if he and Brian thought on the same wavelength, the touch lifting so that only the tips of fingers whispered over the material of his pants leg, the hand moving up an inch and stopping, resting, waiting. Flexing, touching. Brian’s touch. “I told you not to touch me.”

The fingers stopped their press into his flesh, but Brian didn’t lift his hand away. Justin opened his eyes, looked across the space in the car. Brian was watching him. “You told me not to touch you out there. You’re not telling me not to touch you in here. Do you want me to stop?” Again, the lifting of pressure, the touch of one forefinger gliding upward, stopping as it brushed against the proof of Justin’s arousal, at the top of his inner thigh. Flexing fingers against soft flesh, the brush of knuckles against the head of his dick.

I can take this, it doesn’t make a difference, Justin thought. Like a test or something. I’ll pass this.

Another part of his brain laughed maniacally at himself. Excuses. He always craved Brian’s touch.

He put his hand over Brian’s, stopping the caressing motion. Brian’s hand was still cold. “Brian.” He suddenly felt very calm. “I used to think when you touched me, it was different. But now it just feels like you’re staking a claim. I was only ever the proof of how fucking hot you are. But it’s not enough anymore. And I realized, that was a shitty way to be looked at. Some kind of trophy, in homage of your perfection.”

Justin felt Brian’s arm stiffen, could see his body tense, but he held his own hand firm over Brian’s, and wouldn’t let him move it when he would have pulled away. “Do you know,” Justin continued, as calmly as he could, forcing the bitter bile of memory to remain buried in his guts so as not to choke him, “that fuck-off you had with Brandon was probably the most humiliating thing you ever did to me?”

Brian did not look away. “Justin… it was just a game. It didn’t…”

“…mean anything, I know. It never does. You love me. All those fucks mean nothing. Blah blah blah. It wasn’t the guys. It wasn’t even Brandon, I never felt threatened by him. You guys weren’t ever going to be a couple. It was the bet. You literally put your ass on the line, Brian.” He swallowed. He doubted Brian would understand this. He had been trying for so long to come to terms with what had happened, with that stupid fuck-off, that stupid bet, and he had been trying to figure it out the night Babylon blew up underneath him, and then he was in the hospital and leaning into Brian’s body… looking for comfort in Brian and encountering only another man’s smell.

And he had seriously snapped. The entire future spread out in front of him in a split second, one big fuck-off, Brian never understanding the ramifications of his actions, how they affected Justin, Justin always second to Brian’s dick, to Brian’s ego.

“It wasn’t the guys, it wasn’t even the terms. It was the payoff. You put your ass on the line. If you lost, you would have bottomed for another guy. And it wouldn’t have been me. And everyone knew.”

“I wasn’t going to lose.”

Justin smiled sadly. “You don’t get it. Everyone knew. You were willing to bottom for someone. Someone not me. The result doesn’t matter. And it wasn’t just the public humiliation. You want me to believe you love me? And that’s how you prove it? I always come in second, to your dick and your ego.” He turned his face fully toward Brian, not trying to stop the tears that began to form in his eyes. Fuck it. He was man enough to admit he had emotions, unlike some people, and this particular memory ripped a gaping hole in his guts so deep that he had allowed the Babylon explosion, and Brian’s unwillingness to commit in more general terms, to cover this one. It was just too fucking painful.

“Justin…”

“You don’t get it.” The steadiness of his voice surprised him; he would imagine it would have been less firm, because he was definitely crying now. “You don’t get it. You just don’t get it.” Firm, sure. Just unable to speak coherently.

Brian bit his lips together, and, with the hand not still held against Justin’s thigh and the familiar feeling of his now-soft dick, he placed his palm on Justin’s cheek and wiped the wetness away with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s bullshit.”

Brian smiled sadly. “I know. But I am, anyway.”

Silence stretched out between them, and to Justin’s relief, his eyes stopped leaking. Brian continued to stare at him, both hands touching Justin now, and Justin closed his eyes, knowing he would feel the soft press of Brian’s lips against his own in the second before he felt them, the gentle pressure of the tip of Brian’s tongue against the inner flesh of his lower lip, a brief contact, before its withdrawal. “Tell me,” Brian said, quietly. “Tell me what you’re thinking, right now.”

“I don’t want it to be too late,” Justin answered, before thinking about what he wanted to say, before thinking about thinking about Brian’s request, and just complying. It was easier. Just easier. He just wanted one thing to be easy, just one thing. “But I don’t think it matters what I want. It doesn’t matter what I want with you.”

“It matters.”

“Not as much as what you want for yourself. No matter what I want for us.”

Brian breathed out, a sudden hiss, and leaned his forehead against Justin’s. Their noses touched, and he leaned down, and kissed him again. He pulled his head back, and they sat, just looking at each other.

“So now what?” Brian asked.

“I don’t know.”

Brian leaned back in his seat, but kept his hand on Justin’s leg. “How ‘bout you drive this car to your place?”

“Um… I don’t think fucking’s going to help us right now. In fact, I don’t really…”

“I thought you’d want a ride home. Unless you’d rather walk?” Brian arched an eyebrow. “And since you’re in the driver’s seat… I know, fucking’s not a good idea. I wasn’t suggesting that.”

Justin took his hand off the top of Brian’s; Brian’s hand slid away, and he put it back in his own lap. They pulled smoothly into the street, as Justin drove toward his apartment. “You really haven’t fucked anyone for three months?”

A grunt came from the side. Justin glanced over at Brian’s pained look. He smiled. Just a little.

“And you hate it wasn’t me. Last time.”

Brian glanced over, to take in the profile as Justin pretended that the road seriously occupied his attention. “Well, the last time it mattered…” he trailed off, realizing how stupid that sounded. He cleared his throat. “Last time with you, it wasn’t just fucking.” Not much better. He wanted to say “making love,” but he just couldn’t. He was fairly overwhelmed with everything he had already said. And he didn’t want Justin to think he was going over the top, just to get him back. He meant to use these words, he meant what he said. But damn. Words. So fucking complicated. He wasn’t sure if he was fucking up or not. He hated this. But it was okay, he could hate this. He just had to slog through to get to the other side. Just gotta figure out if what’s waiting on the other side would be worth it.

Brian studied the firm jaw, generous lips, the high cheekbones, but knew all that was second to what the eyes revealed. Windows of the soul. Indeed. Yup, worth it. Every excruciating scream of the nerves he had to go through to force out the truth, putting name to the feelings he would rather keep in, where they were safe. Safely suffocated.

They rode in silence. Justin pulled up to the curb in front of his building, and turned the car off, then turned his body sideways to face Brian. “Here’s the problem.” He was glad Brian had let him drive himself home; he had had time to think, time without Brian’s hands on him. His voice was hard again. He saw he had Brian’s attention. “There’s no reason for me to believe that you mean any of this.”

“Have I ever said anything like this to you before?” Brian’s tone was not in his usual pitch of logical reasoning. Nor argumentative, the second thing Justin might have expected. More… vulnerable. Sad, maybe. The last line of defense, a feeble attempt.

Justin’s own voice softened in response. “No. But maybe you think you mean what you’re saying, but won’t really be able to give me what I want.” Fuck. But what the hell. He wanted. He wanted more than what he’d been given so far. It was the truth. Might as well admit it. And maybe Brian was right; he hadn’t been fair in holding back what he wanted, how he felt about the things Brian did. He’d accepted too much, too long.

“What do you want?” Brian leaned toward him, but he did not reach out otherwise.

This time, Justin did. Just a gesture; he put his hand on Brian’s face. “I want to not have to answer that question.”

They stared at each other for a moment, searching. Justin sighed, and moved to open the door, and exit.

“Wait.” Brian put his hand on Justin’s shoulder, restraining him. Justin looked back, questioning. “I want to… um. Look.”

Justin waited. Brian. Stuttering. Cool.

“I have a meeting in New York next Friday morning. Would you come with me? Thursday night? We could stay through the weekend. I’ll be done with business Friday afternoon, we can go to the museums. And separate rooms…” Brian rushed to add. “But. I don’t know. Just us. Away from here. For a couple of days.”

Justin looked into his eyes, saw fear. Brian was scared. Good. “I’ll think about it,” he answered brusquely, and pulled away to open the car door, leaving Brian to watch him disappear from view as he walked into his building.