Homecoming, Part 1/4 (and an Epilogue)
CowLip owns the characters. This is not profiting me. Quite the opposite.
Written for the "Worlds Apart" challenge at neverenough_bj.
Thank you, jans_intentions, for the beta.
Warning: Brian/other, angst.
Homecoming, Part 1
“Justin? Justin, honey? You said you wanted to be up by eight.”
Justin groaned and clutched the pillow beneath his head, tempted to roll over and bury himself in a tight roll of blankets and goose feathers, but shook himself quickly. No. He sat up before he was claimed by the desire for sleep to take him over, and shook himself free from the slight disorientation of waking up in the guest room at his mother’s condo. “Yeah, thanks mom,” he answered, listening to her hurried response, telling him she was leaving for work, letting him know Molly had left for school, and not to forget that the house and car keys were on the kitchen table; don’t lose them. Her steps receded. From downstairs came the faint sound of the front door opening and closing, and then all was quiet.
He forced himself out of bed, across the hallway and into the shower, where he quickly went through the morning ritual, piss, shower, shave, slap on a bit of aftershave for that fine first impression - not too much nor too little - and then he moved back across the hall to get ready for his appointment. He wondered if he should be more nervous. He wondered if he should be nervous at all, because he wasn’t, he really wasn’t, even though he was contemplating changing his entire life. Again. Maybe that was it. He’d change his life so utterly and so quickly - the last time when he’d moved to New York approximately eighteen months ago - that the prospect of doing it again didn’t even faze him. In fact, if anything, he felt nothing more than challenged. He wasn’t sure if he needed that at the moment; New York was pretty fucking exhausting.
He glanced at the clock and knew he’d have to hurry, so he took his clothes down from where he’d hung them the night before, pausing to run his fingers down the front of the brushed cotton/silk blend of the cobalt blue shirt he planned to wear. Brian had bought it for him, almost two years ago, but it was a classic cut and still good as new.
Brian.
Justin took a deep breath. Now he felt a slight flutter around his stomach, as if a cat’s whisker had lightly brushed at his abdomen. “Fuck,” he whispered. That was the real question mark, wasn’t it? The one thing sure to send those shivers coursing along his nerves. Justin wondered if that would ever go away.
* * * * * * *
“Are you Ms. Carwin?” Justin asked, glancing from the door sign to the young woman sitting behind the desk. He’d expected someone much older. And wearing something more professional than a plaid work shirt over a plain white tee. He bet she had on jeans. And tennis sneakers, too.
“Laura, please. Mr. Taylor?” she asked.
Justin smiled in response. “Justin. I hope I’m on time?”
“Close enough. Have a seat.” She reached for a buried file and pulled, so that the others on top of it fell onto the floor. “Damn it! Sorry.” She smiled, glancing over at him. Justin reached down to pick the folders up from where they’d fallen. Was she apologizing for swearing, or for the files hitting his shoes? “Thanks.” She took the files from him and tossed them toward the side of the desk, where they precariously landed on top of the stack. She had already opened his file and swiveled to her computer. “So, you want to talk about registering for fall, and basically finishing up your degree, right?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” He took a deep breath, prepared to launch into the explanation he’d rehearsed on the plane ride in from New York yesterday. “I’m exploring my options, actually. I’ve been living in New York City. I looked into taking courses there but none of the schools have reciprocity with PIFA…”
Laura nodded absently; she remained looking at her computer screen. Justin desperately wished he could see what she was reading there, just so he would know exactly what to say next.
“Okay,” she said, “According to this, you don’t have enough credits to just take a few classes somewhere else and transfer the credits in to fill out your requirements here. I assume you were looking into transferring to another school and staying in New York?”
She was looking at his transcript. Justin felt his shoulder muscles relax as he agreed. “Exactly… I thought about transferring my credits here out, but most of the programs at the same level as PIFA’s are at schools with general course requirements that would add on at least another year of classes.”
“Not a big fan of math and science, are you?” Laura laughed, finally looking over at him.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I’m interested in art, not calculus. And I’m really not interested in being an undergrad for three more years. So I figure I’d check out coming back.”
“Well, that’s much easier, especially since you need to do the internship, and it’s easier to apply to companies we already work with.”
Justin nodded, not commenting. He was still fairly burned about his excellent work at Vanguard being totally uncredited.
“So, you are definitely thinking about returning to us? That would be great!”
He wondered how she could be so positively cheery without even knowing him. Great, a knee jerk bureaucrat, he thought, and felt a touch of annoyance. She obviously didn’t know the leadership here at this fine institution. “I guess you haven’t seen my record,” Justin snapped.
“Well, actually, I have,” Laura replied, her laughter abruptly dying. “I was here when you got suspended. It’s a small school, everyone knows everything. Even us administrator types. I was also here when Stockwell was indicted, and a lot of people thought you were a hero, one of those persecuted political crusader types. The problem is, business hates crusaders, and educational administration, for better or worse, is big business. Sort of! Bottom line, you undercut your employer. If you have that big a problem with the business your company is doing, you don’t sabotage the company providing you with a livelihood, you either try to change it by working in the system, or you get out. Turncoats may be following their conscience, but it’s hard to respect a traitor, don’t you think?”
Justin worked very hard to be sure his chagrin did not show up on his face. What did he think? He thought this woman talked too much.
She must have seen something of his reaction on his face, because she said, “That isn’t necessarily my opinion, though. In fact,” she dropped her voice and leaned forward conspiratorially, “one of my colleagues heard I had an appointment with you, and practically salivated. He absolutely adores you, says you’re the most interesting student here in years, and he made me promise I’d do everything I could to talk you into returning.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really.” She sat back. “Controversy, it’s great for artists. But the fact is,” she continued, picking up his file, “You don’t need that kind of promotion. Your work is great. Rage is well known. So? You’re welcome to come back any time. I assume, though, you wanted to stay in New York?” She shut his file, and tossed it onto the stack, where it promptly slid onto the floor, taking a slew of others with it. Justin bent to retrieve them, allowing himself a moment to decide how to respond. He straightened, and placed the files back on her desk, carefully being sure they were on a flat surface and stayed put.
“I want to get my degree,” he finally answered. “New York is great, but I want to widen my options. I want to qualify for more work so, I can, you know, eat.”
“I know what you mean. I love New York, but it’s so insanely expensive.”
“Did you ever live there?”
“No, but I do go there with Julian, sometimes. Oh, sorry, you know, Professor Levin? Have you ever taken a class with him? He teaches some life drawing and oils classes, something like that. He’s teaching ‘still life with oils’ this fall, if you’re interested. Fine arts, anyway, right up your alley. He has a bunch of pieces in the galleries up there.”
“Yes, I saw some of them. Actually, I ran into Professor Wakefield up in the city a couple of months ago, at a gallery opening of some of her work. She recognized me, and suggested this. So here I am.” He didn’t say that he had originally dismissed the idea. But the idea had apparently not been dismissed so lightly by his subconscious, because he kept returning to it. And dismissing it. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to return. But he was a hell of a lot closer now than he had been two months ago.
Brian.
“Oh!” Laura laughed. “So, seriously, Justin, do you want to come back?”
“What would I need to do?”
“You mean, would you need to sign a loyalty oath or something?”
This time, finally, Justin laughed, startled as it rumbled out of him like a boulder in an avalanche. “No, I mean like needing to apply, or write an essay explaining where I was, or any formal paperwork…”
She shook her head. “Nope. Until you formally withdraw, or transfer, you’re an active student. As long as you don’t owe anything, you can just register for the fall.”
* * * * *
Later, he tried to excuse what he did next, or more specifically where he went next, by telling himself that he had been distracted. Yep, he was distracted, trying to figure out if he was going to come back to Pittsburgh.
But come back? Come back here? Come back to Pittsburgh with his ass the only thing to him still inflated? It felt like a step back. But it wasn’t, it really wasn’t, and he had promised himself on the plane ride down that he would keep his mind open. He had told himself to make no snap decisions, certainly none based on emotion, until he had all the facts in hand. And this was a big not-step-back, this would be a step forward, right? He knew he wanted to get his degree. He had to get his degree, damn it, living in New York like a pauper was just stupid. Even worse, it was frustrating. It wasn’t that he was getting nowhere; he was building the road under his feet, as Jim would say, and god knew Jim would know. It took a long time to succeed. Nothing happened overnight, and in New York things only happened overnight after you’d been working at them for years, for years and years. Getting his degree was a way of opening up his options, so he could at least get an art-type job and stop battling the grabby paws of patrons at a restaurant night after night, making him too tired to focus on his art during the day. It was smart, and god knew PIFA had a great program. He was closer to done here then he would be anywhere else, so it wasn’t like he was coming back to his starting point; it was more like he would be taking a step back to take more steps forward. The real question was, was his inclination in this direction motivated by his desire to get his degree alone? Now that was the real question, and he shied away from that thought violently. He hadn’t talked to Brian in just about a year. He couldn’t be a factor.
He wasn’t a factor.
“Justin!!! Oh my GOD!!!”
He was so focused on puzzling out his options, that he literally jumped. Justin looked up, only at that very moment realizing he had opened the door and stepped into the diner, to see Emmett leaping up from his place at a booth against the far wall toward the back.
Shit. He hadn’t really been ready to visit old stomping grounds. Especially when he took in the man who had been sitting across from Emmett, who swiveled around to look over his shoulder at Justin.
Brian.
Feeling sick, and totally at a loss, Justin focused on Emmett’s approach, allowing the man to catch him up against his strong, tall body, and hug him hard. “Oh, my GOD, I haven’t seen you in ages! You’re so lucky Debbie’s not here, she’d kill you for not telling us you were here! I assume you haven’t told us, Michael’d have let us know, wouldn’t he?” Emmett turned and glared at Michael, who was biting his lip and staring from Justin, to Brian, who had kept his gaze focused on Justin’s face.
“No, Ma didn’t tell me anything, and she would have. What are you doing in town, Justin?” Michael stood up, gave him a brief hug, before sliding back down to sit.
“Sit, sit!” Emmett commanded, but Justin, all too aware that Brian hadn’t stood, or even said anything, just shook his head. This was wrong, this was all wrong. He hadn’t meant to see Brian this way; he hadn’t meant to see him at all unless there had been a warning, preparation, not just for his sake, but for Brian’s, too. This was too unexpected; it looked careless. Worse, it looked thoughtless, as if Justin couldn’t be bothered with thinking of how Brian would feel if he just showed up. As if he expected him not to give a shit, as if Justin didn’t give a shit. And that wasn’t the case. That was so not the case, but it looked bad. Fuck, this looked really bad!
And Brian, Brian who looked just as amazing as ever, maybe a bit thinner. Did he look thinner? Sitting there like something carved out of marble, except for the eyes, the eyes that were alive with… what? Justin couldn’t tell at all, he was too busy panicking.
“Um, no, I…” Brian wasn’t moving in to accommodate him. Was he as shocked by this sudden encounter as Justin was? But that was fine, it wasn’t as if Justin wanted to sit and make small talk. In fact, he was feeling a bit sick from the shock of suddenly seeing his ex… whatever he was. But, god, did Brian look good, even better than Justin remembered, and he realized he must be staring, so he ripped his glance away to smile nervously at Emmett and Michael again.
“It’s okay, there’s not a lot of room anyway,” Michael chimed in, his glance moving from Brian to Justin and back. Justin sent him a small, grateful smile, about to follow it up with any excuse at all to quickly retreat, but Brian chose that moment to speak.
“Have a seat, Sunshine,” he finally said. “What are you doing in our little burgh?” He picked up his cup of coffee, and raised one eyebrow.
“Um, well.” Justin allowed Emmett to tug him down onto the end of seat next to him. “I’m just, you know, in to see my mom…” He realized Brian hadn’t moved from his seat, not because he wasn’t being welcomed, but because someone else was sitting on the seat next to Brian, closer to the wall. The guy wasn’t that small, it’s just that he was a stranger, and Justin, now that he turned his attention to the inner corner of the booth, wondered how he’d missed him. Greek. He was definitely Greek, with those high cheekbones, and dark, classic features. He looked vaguely like a guy Justin had fucked a couple of months before, who had gone on and on and on about his trip back to “the old world” for so long that Justin had stuck his dick in his mouth just to shut him up. This guy was much better looking, though, the deep liquid eyes beneath carefully groomed eyebrows and long lashes framing eyes that stared at him curiously.
“Hi,” Justin said, actually relieved there was something else to focus on. “I’m sorry, we haven’t met.”
“I’m Adam.” The guy smiled, full lips, generous smile. And his forearm resting with casual intimacy on Brian’s shoulder.
His forearm resting with casual intimacy on Brian. On Brian.
“Brian?” Justin couldn’t help the question, his gaze flying to Brian’s.
“Adam, this is Justin. Justin, this is Adam. Adam’s the guy I fuck more than once.”
Justin stared at Brian’s unwavering, inscrutable regard, feeling a sudden white noise blot out the background. His eyes fell to the table top. “Unlike me,” Justin whispered. He knew the script.
There was silence for far too long, and suddenly Justin realized he was looking at the scratched surface of the table and he didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there like that. “You know what? I gotta go.” He had no idea where his voice was coming from, but it kept talking, and that was good. “Um, Michael, I was gonna stop by Red Cape later, I brought some, um, Rage stuff…” He stood abruptly. He had to leave, before he vomited in everyone’s coffee. As he swiftly made for the door, he heard Michael calling, “Justin!” and Emmett’s hiss, “You didn’t tell him?”
But he just kept walking, forcing himself to only walk until he got out of the diner where he could run.
“Justin!”
Michael fell in step next to him.
“Justin, you can’t be upset…”
He kept walking, hoping he would get to his mother’s car before he actually had to hit Michael, thereby risking his only steady source of reasonable income. Damn it, he needed Rage, probably as much as Michael did. “Okay, but you did stop speaking to him!”
Justin stopped then. “Is that what he told you?”
Michael had walked on another step before he realized Justin had halted. “No, but he used to tell me about the emails you would send, and then one day he stopped talking about them. Okay, so I assumed you stopped sending them…”
“He never answered them, Michael. Or, he’d write a line for every twenty I’d write, just asking me if I had enough money. Or if I was eating. He never said anything about himself. And any time I’d call him, I’d ask him, I’d ask him ‘when are you coming to see me’? and all I’d get was silence. I got tired of doing all the work.”
“Well, he sucks at that stuff, you know that.”
“I needed more than that. I needed more!”
“Isn’t that why you left in the first place?”
“Who is he?” Justin abruptly changed the subject, unable to stand hearing the very questions he’d been avoiding coming from Michael’s mouth.
“Who, Adam?”
“No, the fairy godfucker, of course Adam! Where’d he come from?” He refused to ask why Michael hadn’t told him. Brian was his best friend. Justin had moved on. Ben told him not to interfere. Blah, blah blah.
Michael pulled his head back, but then his eyes ran over Justin’s face, so Justin wondered how he must look, to have that expression of fucking sympathy crawl into Mikey’s gaze. “He’s nobody, really. Really, Justin, Brian said he was a trick, something like that, a trick that came to…”
“Dinner,” Justin finished when Michael trailed off, realizing all this implied about the insinuation of Brian’s… whatever, into Sunday night over at Michael’s mother, into Brian’s life. Brian’s tricks didn’t come to dinner; Justin should know. “When’d this happen?”
“A few months ago,” Michael answered.
“Do they live together?”
“Live together? Brian? No… look, I don’t think it’s like that.”
“Then what is it like? Cuz they looked pretty comfortable together.” Together. Brian with someone else. Justin’s throat started tightening up. “Do you mind if we go in here? I need some water.” Justin abruptly turned into a corner drug store, and headed toward the back, desperate to get the taste of acid out of his mouth.
“Sure…” Michael trailed him through the door, and over to the cooler, up to the cash register where they waited in a short line. “After you left, he didn’t go back to tricking.”
Justin snorted. It’s not that he really doubted Michael; the man wasn’t clever enough to have a great deal of guile, but that was the point. Michael wasn’t exactly Sherlock Holmes in reading the signs. Brian wouldn’t have to put much effort into deceiving him. Or, more to the point, Michael would have been looking for Brian’s usual modus operandi. If Brian had changed his method, ordering tricks up off the internet more frequently, for example, Michael would only see the outward sign of change in habit.
“No, I mean it. Okay, he probably had a trick over to the loft every so often, but he stopped going into the backroom constantly, and I didn’t see him just snagging guys for quick blowjobs randomly. We’d go out, guys would cruise him, I’d point them out and he’d just shrug! I thought he was sick again, but he wasn’t. It wasn’t that.”
Justin paid for his water, ignoring the way the cashier avoided looking at them. “I doubt he’d tell you, anyway.”
“He used to delight in telling me all about his tricks, thank you very much,” Michael reminded him, holding the door open for them to emerge. The sun was hot after the frigid air of the store, but at least it wasn’t making Justin feel like his skin was cutting into his bones anymore. He twisted the top off the water bottle and took a deep gulp. The liquid loosened his throat, and cooled the burning in his gut.
“I heard about Adam from my mother,” Michael continued. “She said people in the diner were talking about how Brian’d just seemed to lose heart for fucking like a jackhammer…”
Justin snorted water out his nose, and choked.
“You okay?” Michael asked, thumping him on the back.
“Like a jackhammer!” He couldn’t help laughing.
Michael glared. “I’m quoting my mother. But, yeah, after you’d left, when he actually fucked someone, the guy would talk like he’d hit the lottery or something.”
“Brian? Not fucking around?”
“Weird, huh? I asked him about it, too. He just shrugged and said in that sarcastic way he has, ‘What can I say, Mikey? The thrill is gone.’ Then he sort of laughed, but he meant it. He missed you. He did! I was worried, and then one day, he shows up, and Adam was with him.”
“Who is he?” Now Justin genuinely wanted to know. Now that the shock had worn off a bit, he started to remind himself that if he was moving to Pittsburgh, he wouldn’t be coming back.. Michael was right, anyway, he and Brian hadn’t spoken for so long. Seeing him with someone was a shock, of course. He just wished he’d been more prepared. That’s all.
“He’s some photographer. He’s a nice guy.”
“I’m really not ready to hear that.”
“Well, does it make a difference? It’s not like you and Brian are together!”
* * * * *
That question echoed in Justin’s brain later, after he had stopped crying, determined to dry up and not to let his mother know anything was wrong. The truth was, Justin had hoped… okay, he had expected Brian to come after him. When he’d left for New York, he had expected Brian to not just let him leave, end of story. If Brian had come after him a year and a half ago, it would have meant he had changed, really changed, not just the kind of scary change that comes from shock and isn’t real. Going from being a pure hedonist to being monogamous, no, that wasn’t real change. But if Brian had come after Justin, that would have been a real change. If a snarky, complaining Brian had followed his ass to New York and set up a weekend at the Four Seasons every so often, it would have meant same-as-usual Brian had changed his no-pursuing policy. It would have meant Brian was capable of revising his policies, and it would have meant that the kind of life Justin wanted was possible, with a partner who could accommodate someone outside his own personal needs, while not changing his entire personality. It would have meant that Brian hadn’t gone back to being a pure hedonist, that he would care about more than what was directly in front of his dick alone. Justin had hoped (had been certain) when he left that Brian would come after him.
And then Brian hadn’t.
Justin barked a laugh, stopping when it emerged from his throat as a sob. Instead, it turned out, Justin himself had been unable to accommodate someone outside his own personal needs. He had created an expectation, and decided Brian should magically fall into it. Apparently, Brian really had changed; his needs had changed, and Justin had been unable… unwilling to see it, because those needs didn’t jibe with his own. Because Justin had wanted his own ambition. He hadn’t really wanted to deal with Brian’s needs. Brian hadn’t needed New York, he’d needed something else, and Justin had wanted New York. Justin had wanted to have it all, his own way. Just what he thought was Brian’s approach, a complete lack of compromise, that was exactly how Justin had conducted himself. As Emmett had once observed, Brian had raised Justin well.
By the time Jennifer came home, Justin had pulled himself together, taken his second shower of the day, and was cutting up vegetables for a primavera. Molly was sitting at the kitchen table and doing her homework. Jennifer paused to kiss Molly hello before bestowing a similar greeting on her son. She leaned back against the counter. “I could get used to this!”
Justin smiled, and glanced over at her. “Actually, Mom… are you serious about that?”
“Why? Is there more to this than a very long overdue visit?” Jennifer leaned back against the counter.
“Well.” Justin focused on chopping the carrots into even bits. “Actually, I did come back to see you, I did! But this morning, I went over to PIFA. That’s why I needed to wake up early. I’m thinking about going back.”
“Oh! And…?”
“They actually want me to return.”
“That’s always good for the ego.”
Justin looked up at her sharply. Behind them, Molly piped up, “Are you moving back to Pittsburgh?”
Glad for an excuse to focus anywhere but Jennifer’s sharp gaze, he turned in his sister’s direction. “I’m thinking about it, Molls. Would you be upset if I temporarily moved into the guest room?”
Molly smirked, typing even as she answered him. “Just so long as you don’t take up all my time in the bathroom. Besides, Dad’ll hate it, anything Dad hates is cool with me.”
Justin turned his head in time to see the look of real distress on his mother’s face, so he continued to address his sister. “Does he still hate me, Molly?”
“He’s an asshole,” Molly shot back, still typing even as her mother’s sharp reprimand of “Molly!” drew her attention fully onto the two standing near the stove. She rolled her eyes. “It’s true, Mom!”
Jennifer set her lips, unable to refute the charge, but obviously not liking Molly’s language.
“I’m sorry, Justin,” Jennifer began, but Molly interrupted her. “Don’t be. At least you don’t have to spend time with him. Him and his born again girlfriend, they’re so ridiculous.”
“Craig thinks I encouraged my own daughter to wear all black and dye her hair purple.”
“Purple?” Justin had a hard time imagining his cheerleader-cute sister in the described getup. He eyed her strawberry blonde hair and candy pink shirt. Goth Molly?
Molly grinned at him, “Yep, Dad thinks I worship the devil.”
“Because…” Jennifer prompted.
“The coven thing was a joke!”
“She did research! Your sister convinced her father and that Cheryl that she was a witch. She had the Wickie rituals and history memorized.”
“You said you were proud of me! And it’s Wicca, Mom.”
“I was proud of you for the research, not the joke.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Anyway. He’s an asshole, Justin, he has no sense of humor at all.”
“But he hates me.”
“He hates everybody who doesn’t agree with his really stupid way of looking at things. He’s totally immature, thinking everybody needs to be just like him. Jesus died for you, god is great, the gays and feminists are ruining the world, abortion is evil, oh, until they come up with a test to figure out which fetuses will be gay or feminist, then off with their little pre-born heads! You know, poor little white guy rant. I’m almost glad the economy is going to tank, I hope his store goes bankrupt.”
“Don’t say that!” Jennifer exclaimed. “Your father’s business isn’t the only one that affects.”
Hearing the note of alarm in his mother’s voice, Justin studied her sharply, and realized he hadn’t sincerely asked how she was doing. She was his mother, so he just assumed she was fine. Surely, she would tell him if she weren’t. He closed his eyes briefly, absorbing his own stupidity. He had a bad habit of assuming that if people he loved weren’t so fine, they’d tell him. He really had to stop making such assumptions. Shaking himself mentally, he looked fully at his mother, determined to set aside the issue of Craig. Nothing he could do about that asshole, and his mother had bigger problems he maybe could address. “The real estate business is stagnating, huh.”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Mom.”
Jennifer’s gaze fell onto the carrot sticks Justin had finished cutting up, and her fingers nervously picked one out of the pile, tossing it into her mouth and crunching on it as Justin continued to stare. “Yes, okay, things aren’t so great. But we’ll be fine, and of course you’re welcome to stay here. If you and Molly can work out a bathroom schedule you both agree on.”
Molly’s mouth twitched upwards into a smile, but she had long turned back to the computer. From the giggling erupting from her, Justin assumed she was on line. He was grateful she wasn’t paying attention when Jennifer abruptly asked him the one question he was avoiding.
“You’re sure you’re coming back for school, Justin? Not for anything else?”
He didn’t even ask her to what she was referring. “Did you know about Brian’s boyfriend, Mom?”
Jennifer took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me change out of my work clothes before I answer that?”
“If I get you a glass of wine, will you answer my questions more directly?”
Jennifer smiled. “I knew. Everyone knows. Apparently, it’s quite the bit of gossip.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d been gone over a year and a half when Brian and this man showed up together. And I know you weren’t talking. I didn’t want to upset you for no reason. Would it have mattered if I said anything?”
Justin focused on not slicing his fingers to ribbons along with the red pepper. “I don’t know. We hadn’t been talking for over a year at the point when Michael says he showed up.”
“I think he was lonely without you.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Brian? Tell anyone anything? I don’t know if he even acknowledged it to himself. I talked about it with Debbie, about how lost he seemed. It wasn’t noticeable, not like that. His friends apparently didn’t notice anything. Just our motherly instinct.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Justin took a deep breath, trying not to sound accusatory.
“You were busy in New York. You hadn’t even been home for the holidays.”
Justin shrugged. “I told you… it was just bad timing. I had to work.”
“I know, honey.” Jennifer regarded her son for a long moment. “Are you coming back here for him, Justin?”
The red pepper was going to be chopped too small if he continued. He had taken care of all the prep work necessary for dinner, and cooking should wait for at least a half an hour, so he made himself set down the knife, and gave his mother the courtesy of looking at her despite his own discomfort with the question. “I better not be, huh? No, Mom, the reasons I want to come back, it’s not about Brian. New York’s not the place for what I want to do right now.” He paused, and thought about how best to explain. “New York’s amazing, like there’s a heart thumping under you anytime you’re on the street. Brian thinks the thumpa-thumpa of Babylon is hot, it’s nothing compared to New York all the time. But it sucks if you have no money. The life of a starving artist is not romantic. You have to work, at a real job that pays for what you want to do, but then there’s no time to do what you want to do. And without money, I couldn’t set up the kind of work I really wanted to do. I can’t afford the kind of space I need for the work I want to do right now.”
Jennifer watched, warily. Justin realized he hadn’t answered her question.
“PIFA can help me. I can get my degree to open up options for financing myself. And I can work on some projects I have in mind, that I simply don’t have time and space for while living in New York.”
“So, you plan to go back to New York after finishing at PIFA?”
“Why do I need to decide that right now? I don’t even know if I’m going to come back yet! I’m just looking at my options!”
“Is Brian an option?”
“Not anymore!” Justin spit out, and then stopped, horrified. Jennifer folded her arms over her chest, as Justin hurried to change the subject. “I wouldn’t be coming back for him. But I haven’t decided. I’m still thinking about it. I am!”
Jennifer studied him. “Okay. Let me ask you something.”
“As opposed to the non-interrogation up to this point?”
Jennifer huffed a breath, and ignored that. “Don’t think about it, just answer this question immediately: Standing here, right now, do you miss being in New York?”
“No.” Justin paused, and considered that. “Yeah, I love it, but do I miss it? No. Being away is a relief. I feel like I can breathe again.”
The smile on Jennifer’s face seemed a little sad. “Okay, honey. I’m going to go change my clothes. I’d love for you to stay with us and go to school, if that’s what you think you want to do. I’ll be back in five minutes; why don’t you open that bottle of wine you suggested? You look like you could use a drink.”
* * * *
When Justin pushed into Red Cape Comics later that night and saw Ted and Michael huddled over some papers, he groaned. Damn it, he really wasn’t in the mood to see Brian’s accountant, and yeah, okay, so that wasn’t fair, but he just couldn’t deal with Ted right now. He wanted to absorb himself in Rage, in the drawing, in the moment of creation. With Rage, he escaped into a world outside the one where he had bills he couldn’t pay, a bank account that was rapidly dwindling, and prospects for which he had to fight. Gayopolis took him away from his beloved, but emotionally exhausting creative projects. Rage was easy. He knew the world Rage inhabited, a world Justin could just wing into and shape as he flew through. He could already feel the image coming to life in his head, pulsing in the tendons of his hands, the colors and shapes turning his and Michael’s fantasy into a solid vision on the page. So what if he was indulging his nostalgia for the hard-core Rage; Rage drove him crazy, but he knew it, he knew Rage intimately, and he was in control of the figure, the story. All right, Mikey was in control of the story, but he could usually talk him out of stupid story lines.
He’d talked Michael out of some seriously bizarre shit. But then, Michael had talked him out of turning Rage into a pus-covered disease carrier, so he supposed they were even.
“Hey! Justin!”
“Hi, Justin. Good to see you,” Ted greeted.
“Hi, Ted. How are you?”
“Okay, and you?” The phrasing was careful as ever, but Ted’s face seemed more relaxed, so even though the wrinkles had deepened around his eyes and mouth, he looked more appealing. Something had settled in there, although…
“Is your hair red?” He probably shouldn’t have said anything; it just popped out.
Ted’s face turned the same color Justin asked about. “Well, um, yeah… but it’s just mahogany highlights. Is it really red?”
Justin laughed and shook his head. Damn it, he should know better than to tease Ted. “No, it’s just the overhead light caught a glint of it. Definitely mahogany, very distinguished. So, are we meeting, Michael?”
“Actually, Ted’s part of today’s meeting. I wanted you to hear this. Well, ’cause, okay. Here’s the thing. Right now, we’re selling an average of 750 issues a month, right?”
Justin unslung his bag from around his neck. “If you say so.”
“Right. It’s 750 a month, and we average just over two issues a year. Ted thinks if we push up to three issues a year, we’d push the numbers closer to a thousand. Anyway, even if we don’t do that, what I’m thinking of, is incorporating.”
“Incorporating?”
“It makes really good sense, we’d save a ton of money in taxes, and we could even invest in trying to expand our readership. What this means, is that we write off our expenses against the corporation, and each month we draw a salary from the corporation.”
“Wait… where does the corporation money go?”
“Oh, that’s the beautiful part of it.” Ted’s face came alive as he spoke. “The corporation money pays for everything that supports your production of the work, and you write it off on the corporation expenses. So it’s not taxed. Well, it’s not taxed as income. That means, if your home is the work space, the corporation pays your rent. It pays for whatever art supplies you expense each month…”
“Wait, even if I use the supplies for other stuff, like, say, school?”
Michael glanced at him sharply, but Justin ignored him.
“Yep, even that.” Ted continued talking, explaining that setting up Rage, Inc. would allow them to use another third of the income to support their living expenses, instead of paying it off into income tax. At least, that’s what Justin thought he said. Ted seemed to understand it, that was for sure. “All you need to do, is figure out how much you need for spending cash each month, and that will be your employee income. The corporation will pay the rent on your work space, in other words, your rent, your supplies, as well as any entertaining costs, traveling to any conventions for promotion, and any advertising.”
“Which means we can try to expand our reader base. Maybe you could do some promotion in the West Village!”
Justin hesitated.
“Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”
“Sure,” Justin answered, turning to Ted. “Isn’t it a bit complicated?”
“Not for a brilliant accountant! I can’t tell you how much money I’ve saved Brian. We had a party when he became a millionaire, actually, he’d never have saved that kind of money if I hadn’t…”
Justin bit his lip, and Ted trailed off.
“Sorry.”
“No, Ted, it’s okay. How much do you charge?”
Ted read the glint in his eye, and laughed. “You can be my wingman when you’re around. Holidays and whenever.”
“Oh! I thought…”
Ted shrugged. “He fell off the wagon. We broke up. I’m actually a good catch…”
Justin mouthed “good catch?” to Michael, who smiled.
“…but I have to attract the introductions first. You and Michael are the perfect wingmen. Well, when you’re around.”
Justin could not let the perfect opportunity to address the subject pass. “I’m going back to school. At PIFA. So I’m going to be around a lot.” He grinned, realizing how right the decision felt. A relief, as if a huge bird that had perched, pecking at his upper back, suddenly flew off, and he felt a sudden, unexpected, and joyful lightness. His smile shone in the gloomy room. “So let’s see if we can push it up to a tertiary output, since I’ll have more time, and we can collaborate much more easily.”
“Tersh… what?”
“That’s three a year, Michael,” Ted supplied. “That’s great! Welcome home!”
Michael chewed on his lip. “Does Brian know?”
* * * * *
“Does Brian know, no, Brian does NOT know,” Justin muttered to himself as he paid the cab driver who had picked him up at his mother’s condo. He might have to pick a car for himself if he was moving in with his mother. He wouldn’t be able to keep borrowing hers. Not that he needed it tonight, since he was planning on getting 1) drunk and 2) laid, not necessarily in that order, and so here he was at Babylon. He considered his dwindling resources as he tipped the cabbie. He figured he still had enough to cover his first semester, and then, hopefully, he would qualify for loans. He’d have to visit the financial aid office and get some solid advice. Living with his mother would probably allow him to save more, but he really didn’t want to do that unless absolutely necessary, no matter their discussion. And besides, from the discussion tonight, it sounded like he wouldn’t have to worry about rent so much. God knows, it would be nice not to have to fight Molly for shower time. Besides, if he got a cheap place close to PIFA, he could save on car insurance, to say nothing of a car loan, if he even qualified for one. Plus, his mother’s place was hardly equipped to handle the sort of art work he was itching to get back to. His place in New York had seriously limited the size of the canvasses he had been able to work with.
But, for now, Justin only wanted to celebrate his decision. Remembering his discussion with Michael, he had specifically asked them if Brian still frequented Babylon often. Justin only came here tonight because he had been assured Brian tended not to go out much during the week. Plus, according to Ted, Brian had a big presentation tomorrow, and Ted would kill him if he showed up looking like shit.
“Well,” Ted had added, after Michael shot him a look, “I only thought that. I didn’t say that.” Under Michael’s continued scrutiny, he added, “Okay, Brian never looks like shit.”
But, of course, where Justin Taylor and Brian Kinney were concerned, the gods had their own little laughs. Just after Justin emerged from the back room after a very satisfying second fuck, and made his way over to the bar to look out at the dance floor, wondering if the bartender had served him immediately because of the smile or because he remembered him, he saw Brian, dancing with his new boyfriend. His new whateverthefuck. Boyfriend, Justin schooled himself, hoping that feeling would stop sneaking up on him. It had to; he’d never survive otherwise. He swallowed his liquor down, hoping to get back that drunk feeling he’d had not five minutes before.
He forced himself to watch. Brian still couldn’t dance. Adam apparently could, but had slowed to Brian’s tempo to accommodate the slightly taller man’s arms around his shoulders. Adam wasn’t short; in fact, he was only an inch or two shorter than Brian. But Brian was such a commanding presence, he dwarfed everyone. Justin smirked slightly, watching the two men, more specifically, watching Brian, remembering how he had needed to sync in with dancing Brian or risk a neck injury. It hadn’t mattered; Brian always turned their private space into an area pulsating with a different beat, his own Brian space, much, much hotter and more rewarding than simply grooving to the music. Brian’s shirt was open, and Adam kissed his way up the tender side of Brian’s neckline, up to his jaw, before Brian pushed his hand into Adam’s hair, holding his head in place to be thoroughly kissed while his other hand descended to the small of his back, and he ground their hips together.
Justin turned back to the bar, signaling for another drink. Maybe if he got drunk enough, he could stand this until it became familiar. If he moved back to Pittsburgh, he’d have to get used to this, unless he planned to avoid all the places he used to go, to avoid Debbie’s and Red Cape, the diner and Woody’s, to say nothing of Babylon. And fuck that, fuck Brian, fuck whatever had or hadn’t happened between them. This was Justin’s home. It always would be. Until Brian kicked him out of Babylon, it was still the place with the hottest guys, and Justin would be fucked if he was going to abdicate to Popperz just because he had a history with the stud… oh, right, ex-stud of Pittsburgh. He ordered a triple, and had swallowed half of it when he resolutely turned back to the dance floor to scan for his next trick. He didn’t need to look at them. Eventually. Eventually he would stand it. Right now, he needed more sex, more booze, and a bit of oblivion.
Adam was laughing now, having grabbed Brian by a belt loop, and was trying to drag him off somewhere. Brian was smirking, and then he raised his eyes to the bar…
And their gazes interlocked, for a long moment. The amusement in Brian’s face fell away. He continued to gaze in Justin’s direction as he said something in Adam’s ear. Adam smiled, and nodded, and then moved toward the stairs, in the direction of the VIP lounge. Brian sauntered across the dance floor to the bar.
For a moment Justin considered bolting, but he was just drunk enough to quash the immediate impulse. Brian drew up next to him, and ordered a beer. Then he turned to consider the young man in front of him. “Well, well, if it isn’t the ubiquitous Justin Taylor.”
“I’m not stalking you, Brian.”
“And why would you be? I just came over to say hello, and to let my bartender know your drinks are on the house.”
He could handle this flash of annoyance. “I can take care of myself.”
“Ah. Flush with cash, are we? So, you’re doing well.”
The questions were a little too close to those Brian had emailed him, always the attention on Justin, never offering anything of himself. “So how are you doing, Brian? And how long did you wait after we broke up before you decided to replace me?” Right for the jugular. Brian’s face went blank immediately.
“Oh, we broke up. Is that what happened.”
“You know damn well what happened!” Yup, he was definitely drunk. That last drink should have been a single. Actually, he should have gotten out of here the second he saw Brian. It was too soon.
“What I do know, is that you’re starting to sound like a betrayed housewife, and we both know we were never married. So, if you’ll excuse me, the… what did you call him? Right, your replacement is waiting.” Brian slammed the shot glass down on the bar and sauntered off, in the same direction Adam had gone.
Justin left immediately, as he should done ten minutes before. He failed to see that Brian had turned on the stair case, and was watching his hasty retreat.
* * * *
Brian’s brooding gaze cut through the gloom of the half-lighted VIP area, to watch Adam, naked, kneeling, sucking the cock of a beautiful man, while he stuck his dick deep in the mouth of another man, and a third fucked his gorgeous ass. While he had made a token protest to Brian’s desire to watch him in a foursome (“You sure you don’t want me to suck you off?”), he clearly enjoyed the arrangement. Brian could watch this forever. Adam was absolute, classic beauty. Naked and fucking, his aesthetic perfection was even more apparent. Some men were actually scary to watch as they fucked; they got way into the feeling and contorted so that bits of their bodies curled up in horrifying ways. Not Adam, who was used to being watched so that arranging himself in graceful poses was secondary to him. He had worked his way through college as a model, and was now working behind the camera. Brian had not tired of watching him in all the time they were together. Adam had caught his attention, an attention that had seemed to have flagged markedly after Justin’s departure. That waning interest had bothered Brian. A lot. The loss of interest in other men had scared him; Brian had actually scheduled a medical appointment to make sure that physically, everything checked out. It had.
Adam had been the first man to really capture Brian’s interest since… since. The first time Brian had seen him, he’d wanted him with a sharp pull he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Oh, he’d been fucking around, but as he’d told Mikey, the thrill was gone. His dick enjoyed it far more than he did. He still remembered the first time with Adam, the satisfaction of sinking into a tight ass and really, truly enjoying the total absorption he hadn’t felt in ages. When Adam had begun to show up in the same places Brian frequented, he hadn’t denied himself a repeat of that pleasure - again, and again. Now they played together. It was fun; it was easy.
He sat in the big chair reserved for him in the VIP lounge, his dick in his hand, stroking it lightly and waiting for that sharp pleasure he felt at Adam’s gorgeous perfection to hit him. But despite the increasing speed of the writhing naked tableau across from him, Brian’s desire seemed to be slowing down.
White-blond flashed in the corner of the room, and Brian’s breath caught as he turned his head to the left, his stomach clenching sharply. But it was just Kit, a regular to the lounge area.
Kit smiled at him, and Brian gestured him over. It had been a while since his dick had been anywhere outside Adam’s ass, and Brian suddenly felt annoyed by that fact. More than happy to be of service, Kit made his way across the room. A triumph to share with the boys tomorrow, claimed by the legend. Brian was so exclusive these days.
Brian felt strange lips slide over him. He closed his eyes.
Part 2
Written for the "Worlds Apart" challenge at neverenough_bj.
Thank you, jans_intentions, for the beta.
Warning: Brian/other, angst.
Homecoming, Part 1
“Justin? Justin, honey? You said you wanted to be up by eight.”
Justin groaned and clutched the pillow beneath his head, tempted to roll over and bury himself in a tight roll of blankets and goose feathers, but shook himself quickly. No. He sat up before he was claimed by the desire for sleep to take him over, and shook himself free from the slight disorientation of waking up in the guest room at his mother’s condo. “Yeah, thanks mom,” he answered, listening to her hurried response, telling him she was leaving for work, letting him know Molly had left for school, and not to forget that the house and car keys were on the kitchen table; don’t lose them. Her steps receded. From downstairs came the faint sound of the front door opening and closing, and then all was quiet.
He forced himself out of bed, across the hallway and into the shower, where he quickly went through the morning ritual, piss, shower, shave, slap on a bit of aftershave for that fine first impression - not too much nor too little - and then he moved back across the hall to get ready for his appointment. He wondered if he should be more nervous. He wondered if he should be nervous at all, because he wasn’t, he really wasn’t, even though he was contemplating changing his entire life. Again. Maybe that was it. He’d change his life so utterly and so quickly - the last time when he’d moved to New York approximately eighteen months ago - that the prospect of doing it again didn’t even faze him. In fact, if anything, he felt nothing more than challenged. He wasn’t sure if he needed that at the moment; New York was pretty fucking exhausting.
He glanced at the clock and knew he’d have to hurry, so he took his clothes down from where he’d hung them the night before, pausing to run his fingers down the front of the brushed cotton/silk blend of the cobalt blue shirt he planned to wear. Brian had bought it for him, almost two years ago, but it was a classic cut and still good as new.
Brian.
Justin took a deep breath. Now he felt a slight flutter around his stomach, as if a cat’s whisker had lightly brushed at his abdomen. “Fuck,” he whispered. That was the real question mark, wasn’t it? The one thing sure to send those shivers coursing along his nerves. Justin wondered if that would ever go away.
* * * * * * *
“Are you Ms. Carwin?” Justin asked, glancing from the door sign to the young woman sitting behind the desk. He’d expected someone much older. And wearing something more professional than a plaid work shirt over a plain white tee. He bet she had on jeans. And tennis sneakers, too.
“Laura, please. Mr. Taylor?” she asked.
Justin smiled in response. “Justin. I hope I’m on time?”
“Close enough. Have a seat.” She reached for a buried file and pulled, so that the others on top of it fell onto the floor. “Damn it! Sorry.” She smiled, glancing over at him. Justin reached down to pick the folders up from where they’d fallen. Was she apologizing for swearing, or for the files hitting his shoes? “Thanks.” She took the files from him and tossed them toward the side of the desk, where they precariously landed on top of the stack. She had already opened his file and swiveled to her computer. “So, you want to talk about registering for fall, and basically finishing up your degree, right?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” He took a deep breath, prepared to launch into the explanation he’d rehearsed on the plane ride in from New York yesterday. “I’m exploring my options, actually. I’ve been living in New York City. I looked into taking courses there but none of the schools have reciprocity with PIFA…”
Laura nodded absently; she remained looking at her computer screen. Justin desperately wished he could see what she was reading there, just so he would know exactly what to say next.
“Okay,” she said, “According to this, you don’t have enough credits to just take a few classes somewhere else and transfer the credits in to fill out your requirements here. I assume you were looking into transferring to another school and staying in New York?”
She was looking at his transcript. Justin felt his shoulder muscles relax as he agreed. “Exactly… I thought about transferring my credits here out, but most of the programs at the same level as PIFA’s are at schools with general course requirements that would add on at least another year of classes.”
“Not a big fan of math and science, are you?” Laura laughed, finally looking over at him.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I’m interested in art, not calculus. And I’m really not interested in being an undergrad for three more years. So I figure I’d check out coming back.”
“Well, that’s much easier, especially since you need to do the internship, and it’s easier to apply to companies we already work with.”
Justin nodded, not commenting. He was still fairly burned about his excellent work at Vanguard being totally uncredited.
“So, you are definitely thinking about returning to us? That would be great!”
He wondered how she could be so positively cheery without even knowing him. Great, a knee jerk bureaucrat, he thought, and felt a touch of annoyance. She obviously didn’t know the leadership here at this fine institution. “I guess you haven’t seen my record,” Justin snapped.
“Well, actually, I have,” Laura replied, her laughter abruptly dying. “I was here when you got suspended. It’s a small school, everyone knows everything. Even us administrator types. I was also here when Stockwell was indicted, and a lot of people thought you were a hero, one of those persecuted political crusader types. The problem is, business hates crusaders, and educational administration, for better or worse, is big business. Sort of! Bottom line, you undercut your employer. If you have that big a problem with the business your company is doing, you don’t sabotage the company providing you with a livelihood, you either try to change it by working in the system, or you get out. Turncoats may be following their conscience, but it’s hard to respect a traitor, don’t you think?”
Justin worked very hard to be sure his chagrin did not show up on his face. What did he think? He thought this woman talked too much.
She must have seen something of his reaction on his face, because she said, “That isn’t necessarily my opinion, though. In fact,” she dropped her voice and leaned forward conspiratorially, “one of my colleagues heard I had an appointment with you, and practically salivated. He absolutely adores you, says you’re the most interesting student here in years, and he made me promise I’d do everything I could to talk you into returning.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really.” She sat back. “Controversy, it’s great for artists. But the fact is,” she continued, picking up his file, “You don’t need that kind of promotion. Your work is great. Rage is well known. So? You’re welcome to come back any time. I assume, though, you wanted to stay in New York?” She shut his file, and tossed it onto the stack, where it promptly slid onto the floor, taking a slew of others with it. Justin bent to retrieve them, allowing himself a moment to decide how to respond. He straightened, and placed the files back on her desk, carefully being sure they were on a flat surface and stayed put.
“I want to get my degree,” he finally answered. “New York is great, but I want to widen my options. I want to qualify for more work so, I can, you know, eat.”
“I know what you mean. I love New York, but it’s so insanely expensive.”
“Did you ever live there?”
“No, but I do go there with Julian, sometimes. Oh, sorry, you know, Professor Levin? Have you ever taken a class with him? He teaches some life drawing and oils classes, something like that. He’s teaching ‘still life with oils’ this fall, if you’re interested. Fine arts, anyway, right up your alley. He has a bunch of pieces in the galleries up there.”
“Yes, I saw some of them. Actually, I ran into Professor Wakefield up in the city a couple of months ago, at a gallery opening of some of her work. She recognized me, and suggested this. So here I am.” He didn’t say that he had originally dismissed the idea. But the idea had apparently not been dismissed so lightly by his subconscious, because he kept returning to it. And dismissing it. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to return. But he was a hell of a lot closer now than he had been two months ago.
Brian.
“Oh!” Laura laughed. “So, seriously, Justin, do you want to come back?”
“What would I need to do?”
“You mean, would you need to sign a loyalty oath or something?”
This time, finally, Justin laughed, startled as it rumbled out of him like a boulder in an avalanche. “No, I mean like needing to apply, or write an essay explaining where I was, or any formal paperwork…”
She shook her head. “Nope. Until you formally withdraw, or transfer, you’re an active student. As long as you don’t owe anything, you can just register for the fall.”
* * * * *
Later, he tried to excuse what he did next, or more specifically where he went next, by telling himself that he had been distracted. Yep, he was distracted, trying to figure out if he was going to come back to Pittsburgh.
But come back? Come back here? Come back to Pittsburgh with his ass the only thing to him still inflated? It felt like a step back. But it wasn’t, it really wasn’t, and he had promised himself on the plane ride down that he would keep his mind open. He had told himself to make no snap decisions, certainly none based on emotion, until he had all the facts in hand. And this was a big not-step-back, this would be a step forward, right? He knew he wanted to get his degree. He had to get his degree, damn it, living in New York like a pauper was just stupid. Even worse, it was frustrating. It wasn’t that he was getting nowhere; he was building the road under his feet, as Jim would say, and god knew Jim would know. It took a long time to succeed. Nothing happened overnight, and in New York things only happened overnight after you’d been working at them for years, for years and years. Getting his degree was a way of opening up his options, so he could at least get an art-type job and stop battling the grabby paws of patrons at a restaurant night after night, making him too tired to focus on his art during the day. It was smart, and god knew PIFA had a great program. He was closer to done here then he would be anywhere else, so it wasn’t like he was coming back to his starting point; it was more like he would be taking a step back to take more steps forward. The real question was, was his inclination in this direction motivated by his desire to get his degree alone? Now that was the real question, and he shied away from that thought violently. He hadn’t talked to Brian in just about a year. He couldn’t be a factor.
He wasn’t a factor.
“Justin!!! Oh my GOD!!!”
He was so focused on puzzling out his options, that he literally jumped. Justin looked up, only at that very moment realizing he had opened the door and stepped into the diner, to see Emmett leaping up from his place at a booth against the far wall toward the back.
Shit. He hadn’t really been ready to visit old stomping grounds. Especially when he took in the man who had been sitting across from Emmett, who swiveled around to look over his shoulder at Justin.
Brian.
Feeling sick, and totally at a loss, Justin focused on Emmett’s approach, allowing the man to catch him up against his strong, tall body, and hug him hard. “Oh, my GOD, I haven’t seen you in ages! You’re so lucky Debbie’s not here, she’d kill you for not telling us you were here! I assume you haven’t told us, Michael’d have let us know, wouldn’t he?” Emmett turned and glared at Michael, who was biting his lip and staring from Justin, to Brian, who had kept his gaze focused on Justin’s face.
“No, Ma didn’t tell me anything, and she would have. What are you doing in town, Justin?” Michael stood up, gave him a brief hug, before sliding back down to sit.
“Sit, sit!” Emmett commanded, but Justin, all too aware that Brian hadn’t stood, or even said anything, just shook his head. This was wrong, this was all wrong. He hadn’t meant to see Brian this way; he hadn’t meant to see him at all unless there had been a warning, preparation, not just for his sake, but for Brian’s, too. This was too unexpected; it looked careless. Worse, it looked thoughtless, as if Justin couldn’t be bothered with thinking of how Brian would feel if he just showed up. As if he expected him not to give a shit, as if Justin didn’t give a shit. And that wasn’t the case. That was so not the case, but it looked bad. Fuck, this looked really bad!
And Brian, Brian who looked just as amazing as ever, maybe a bit thinner. Did he look thinner? Sitting there like something carved out of marble, except for the eyes, the eyes that were alive with… what? Justin couldn’t tell at all, he was too busy panicking.
“Um, no, I…” Brian wasn’t moving in to accommodate him. Was he as shocked by this sudden encounter as Justin was? But that was fine, it wasn’t as if Justin wanted to sit and make small talk. In fact, he was feeling a bit sick from the shock of suddenly seeing his ex… whatever he was. But, god, did Brian look good, even better than Justin remembered, and he realized he must be staring, so he ripped his glance away to smile nervously at Emmett and Michael again.
“It’s okay, there’s not a lot of room anyway,” Michael chimed in, his glance moving from Brian to Justin and back. Justin sent him a small, grateful smile, about to follow it up with any excuse at all to quickly retreat, but Brian chose that moment to speak.
“Have a seat, Sunshine,” he finally said. “What are you doing in our little burgh?” He picked up his cup of coffee, and raised one eyebrow.
“Um, well.” Justin allowed Emmett to tug him down onto the end of seat next to him. “I’m just, you know, in to see my mom…” He realized Brian hadn’t moved from his seat, not because he wasn’t being welcomed, but because someone else was sitting on the seat next to Brian, closer to the wall. The guy wasn’t that small, it’s just that he was a stranger, and Justin, now that he turned his attention to the inner corner of the booth, wondered how he’d missed him. Greek. He was definitely Greek, with those high cheekbones, and dark, classic features. He looked vaguely like a guy Justin had fucked a couple of months before, who had gone on and on and on about his trip back to “the old world” for so long that Justin had stuck his dick in his mouth just to shut him up. This guy was much better looking, though, the deep liquid eyes beneath carefully groomed eyebrows and long lashes framing eyes that stared at him curiously.
“Hi,” Justin said, actually relieved there was something else to focus on. “I’m sorry, we haven’t met.”
“I’m Adam.” The guy smiled, full lips, generous smile. And his forearm resting with casual intimacy on Brian’s shoulder.
His forearm resting with casual intimacy on Brian. On Brian.
“Brian?” Justin couldn’t help the question, his gaze flying to Brian’s.
“Adam, this is Justin. Justin, this is Adam. Adam’s the guy I fuck more than once.”
Justin stared at Brian’s unwavering, inscrutable regard, feeling a sudden white noise blot out the background. His eyes fell to the table top. “Unlike me,” Justin whispered. He knew the script.
There was silence for far too long, and suddenly Justin realized he was looking at the scratched surface of the table and he didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there like that. “You know what? I gotta go.” He had no idea where his voice was coming from, but it kept talking, and that was good. “Um, Michael, I was gonna stop by Red Cape later, I brought some, um, Rage stuff…” He stood abruptly. He had to leave, before he vomited in everyone’s coffee. As he swiftly made for the door, he heard Michael calling, “Justin!” and Emmett’s hiss, “You didn’t tell him?”
But he just kept walking, forcing himself to only walk until he got out of the diner where he could run.
“Justin!”
Michael fell in step next to him.
“Justin, you can’t be upset…”
He kept walking, hoping he would get to his mother’s car before he actually had to hit Michael, thereby risking his only steady source of reasonable income. Damn it, he needed Rage, probably as much as Michael did. “Okay, but you did stop speaking to him!”
Justin stopped then. “Is that what he told you?”
Michael had walked on another step before he realized Justin had halted. “No, but he used to tell me about the emails you would send, and then one day he stopped talking about them. Okay, so I assumed you stopped sending them…”
“He never answered them, Michael. Or, he’d write a line for every twenty I’d write, just asking me if I had enough money. Or if I was eating. He never said anything about himself. And any time I’d call him, I’d ask him, I’d ask him ‘when are you coming to see me’? and all I’d get was silence. I got tired of doing all the work.”
“Well, he sucks at that stuff, you know that.”
“I needed more than that. I needed more!”
“Isn’t that why you left in the first place?”
“Who is he?” Justin abruptly changed the subject, unable to stand hearing the very questions he’d been avoiding coming from Michael’s mouth.
“Who, Adam?”
“No, the fairy godfucker, of course Adam! Where’d he come from?” He refused to ask why Michael hadn’t told him. Brian was his best friend. Justin had moved on. Ben told him not to interfere. Blah, blah blah.
Michael pulled his head back, but then his eyes ran over Justin’s face, so Justin wondered how he must look, to have that expression of fucking sympathy crawl into Mikey’s gaze. “He’s nobody, really. Really, Justin, Brian said he was a trick, something like that, a trick that came to…”
“Dinner,” Justin finished when Michael trailed off, realizing all this implied about the insinuation of Brian’s… whatever, into Sunday night over at Michael’s mother, into Brian’s life. Brian’s tricks didn’t come to dinner; Justin should know. “When’d this happen?”
“A few months ago,” Michael answered.
“Do they live together?”
“Live together? Brian? No… look, I don’t think it’s like that.”
“Then what is it like? Cuz they looked pretty comfortable together.” Together. Brian with someone else. Justin’s throat started tightening up. “Do you mind if we go in here? I need some water.” Justin abruptly turned into a corner drug store, and headed toward the back, desperate to get the taste of acid out of his mouth.
“Sure…” Michael trailed him through the door, and over to the cooler, up to the cash register where they waited in a short line. “After you left, he didn’t go back to tricking.”
Justin snorted. It’s not that he really doubted Michael; the man wasn’t clever enough to have a great deal of guile, but that was the point. Michael wasn’t exactly Sherlock Holmes in reading the signs. Brian wouldn’t have to put much effort into deceiving him. Or, more to the point, Michael would have been looking for Brian’s usual modus operandi. If Brian had changed his method, ordering tricks up off the internet more frequently, for example, Michael would only see the outward sign of change in habit.
“No, I mean it. Okay, he probably had a trick over to the loft every so often, but he stopped going into the backroom constantly, and I didn’t see him just snagging guys for quick blowjobs randomly. We’d go out, guys would cruise him, I’d point them out and he’d just shrug! I thought he was sick again, but he wasn’t. It wasn’t that.”
Justin paid for his water, ignoring the way the cashier avoided looking at them. “I doubt he’d tell you, anyway.”
“He used to delight in telling me all about his tricks, thank you very much,” Michael reminded him, holding the door open for them to emerge. The sun was hot after the frigid air of the store, but at least it wasn’t making Justin feel like his skin was cutting into his bones anymore. He twisted the top off the water bottle and took a deep gulp. The liquid loosened his throat, and cooled the burning in his gut.
“I heard about Adam from my mother,” Michael continued. “She said people in the diner were talking about how Brian’d just seemed to lose heart for fucking like a jackhammer…”
Justin snorted water out his nose, and choked.
“You okay?” Michael asked, thumping him on the back.
“Like a jackhammer!” He couldn’t help laughing.
Michael glared. “I’m quoting my mother. But, yeah, after you’d left, when he actually fucked someone, the guy would talk like he’d hit the lottery or something.”
“Brian? Not fucking around?”
“Weird, huh? I asked him about it, too. He just shrugged and said in that sarcastic way he has, ‘What can I say, Mikey? The thrill is gone.’ Then he sort of laughed, but he meant it. He missed you. He did! I was worried, and then one day, he shows up, and Adam was with him.”
“Who is he?” Now Justin genuinely wanted to know. Now that the shock had worn off a bit, he started to remind himself that if he was moving to Pittsburgh, he wouldn’t be coming back.. Michael was right, anyway, he and Brian hadn’t spoken for so long. Seeing him with someone was a shock, of course. He just wished he’d been more prepared. That’s all.
“He’s some photographer. He’s a nice guy.”
“I’m really not ready to hear that.”
“Well, does it make a difference? It’s not like you and Brian are together!”
* * * * *
That question echoed in Justin’s brain later, after he had stopped crying, determined to dry up and not to let his mother know anything was wrong. The truth was, Justin had hoped… okay, he had expected Brian to come after him. When he’d left for New York, he had expected Brian to not just let him leave, end of story. If Brian had come after him a year and a half ago, it would have meant he had changed, really changed, not just the kind of scary change that comes from shock and isn’t real. Going from being a pure hedonist to being monogamous, no, that wasn’t real change. But if Brian had come after Justin, that would have been a real change. If a snarky, complaining Brian had followed his ass to New York and set up a weekend at the Four Seasons every so often, it would have meant same-as-usual Brian had changed his no-pursuing policy. It would have meant Brian was capable of revising his policies, and it would have meant that the kind of life Justin wanted was possible, with a partner who could accommodate someone outside his own personal needs, while not changing his entire personality. It would have meant that Brian hadn’t gone back to being a pure hedonist, that he would care about more than what was directly in front of his dick alone. Justin had hoped (had been certain) when he left that Brian would come after him.
And then Brian hadn’t.
Justin barked a laugh, stopping when it emerged from his throat as a sob. Instead, it turned out, Justin himself had been unable to accommodate someone outside his own personal needs. He had created an expectation, and decided Brian should magically fall into it. Apparently, Brian really had changed; his needs had changed, and Justin had been unable… unwilling to see it, because those needs didn’t jibe with his own. Because Justin had wanted his own ambition. He hadn’t really wanted to deal with Brian’s needs. Brian hadn’t needed New York, he’d needed something else, and Justin had wanted New York. Justin had wanted to have it all, his own way. Just what he thought was Brian’s approach, a complete lack of compromise, that was exactly how Justin had conducted himself. As Emmett had once observed, Brian had raised Justin well.
By the time Jennifer came home, Justin had pulled himself together, taken his second shower of the day, and was cutting up vegetables for a primavera. Molly was sitting at the kitchen table and doing her homework. Jennifer paused to kiss Molly hello before bestowing a similar greeting on her son. She leaned back against the counter. “I could get used to this!”
Justin smiled, and glanced over at her. “Actually, Mom… are you serious about that?”
“Why? Is there more to this than a very long overdue visit?” Jennifer leaned back against the counter.
“Well.” Justin focused on chopping the carrots into even bits. “Actually, I did come back to see you, I did! But this morning, I went over to PIFA. That’s why I needed to wake up early. I’m thinking about going back.”
“Oh! And…?”
“They actually want me to return.”
“That’s always good for the ego.”
Justin looked up at her sharply. Behind them, Molly piped up, “Are you moving back to Pittsburgh?”
Glad for an excuse to focus anywhere but Jennifer’s sharp gaze, he turned in his sister’s direction. “I’m thinking about it, Molls. Would you be upset if I temporarily moved into the guest room?”
Molly smirked, typing even as she answered him. “Just so long as you don’t take up all my time in the bathroom. Besides, Dad’ll hate it, anything Dad hates is cool with me.”
Justin turned his head in time to see the look of real distress on his mother’s face, so he continued to address his sister. “Does he still hate me, Molly?”
“He’s an asshole,” Molly shot back, still typing even as her mother’s sharp reprimand of “Molly!” drew her attention fully onto the two standing near the stove. She rolled her eyes. “It’s true, Mom!”
Jennifer set her lips, unable to refute the charge, but obviously not liking Molly’s language.
“I’m sorry, Justin,” Jennifer began, but Molly interrupted her. “Don’t be. At least you don’t have to spend time with him. Him and his born again girlfriend, they’re so ridiculous.”
“Craig thinks I encouraged my own daughter to wear all black and dye her hair purple.”
“Purple?” Justin had a hard time imagining his cheerleader-cute sister in the described getup. He eyed her strawberry blonde hair and candy pink shirt. Goth Molly?
Molly grinned at him, “Yep, Dad thinks I worship the devil.”
“Because…” Jennifer prompted.
“The coven thing was a joke!”
“She did research! Your sister convinced her father and that Cheryl that she was a witch. She had the Wickie rituals and history memorized.”
“You said you were proud of me! And it’s Wicca, Mom.”
“I was proud of you for the research, not the joke.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Anyway. He’s an asshole, Justin, he has no sense of humor at all.”
“But he hates me.”
“He hates everybody who doesn’t agree with his really stupid way of looking at things. He’s totally immature, thinking everybody needs to be just like him. Jesus died for you, god is great, the gays and feminists are ruining the world, abortion is evil, oh, until they come up with a test to figure out which fetuses will be gay or feminist, then off with their little pre-born heads! You know, poor little white guy rant. I’m almost glad the economy is going to tank, I hope his store goes bankrupt.”
“Don’t say that!” Jennifer exclaimed. “Your father’s business isn’t the only one that affects.”
Hearing the note of alarm in his mother’s voice, Justin studied her sharply, and realized he hadn’t sincerely asked how she was doing. She was his mother, so he just assumed she was fine. Surely, she would tell him if she weren’t. He closed his eyes briefly, absorbing his own stupidity. He had a bad habit of assuming that if people he loved weren’t so fine, they’d tell him. He really had to stop making such assumptions. Shaking himself mentally, he looked fully at his mother, determined to set aside the issue of Craig. Nothing he could do about that asshole, and his mother had bigger problems he maybe could address. “The real estate business is stagnating, huh.”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Mom.”
Jennifer’s gaze fell onto the carrot sticks Justin had finished cutting up, and her fingers nervously picked one out of the pile, tossing it into her mouth and crunching on it as Justin continued to stare. “Yes, okay, things aren’t so great. But we’ll be fine, and of course you’re welcome to stay here. If you and Molly can work out a bathroom schedule you both agree on.”
Molly’s mouth twitched upwards into a smile, but she had long turned back to the computer. From the giggling erupting from her, Justin assumed she was on line. He was grateful she wasn’t paying attention when Jennifer abruptly asked him the one question he was avoiding.
“You’re sure you’re coming back for school, Justin? Not for anything else?”
He didn’t even ask her to what she was referring. “Did you know about Brian’s boyfriend, Mom?”
Jennifer took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me change out of my work clothes before I answer that?”
“If I get you a glass of wine, will you answer my questions more directly?”
Jennifer smiled. “I knew. Everyone knows. Apparently, it’s quite the bit of gossip.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d been gone over a year and a half when Brian and this man showed up together. And I know you weren’t talking. I didn’t want to upset you for no reason. Would it have mattered if I said anything?”
Justin focused on not slicing his fingers to ribbons along with the red pepper. “I don’t know. We hadn’t been talking for over a year at the point when Michael says he showed up.”
“I think he was lonely without you.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Brian? Tell anyone anything? I don’t know if he even acknowledged it to himself. I talked about it with Debbie, about how lost he seemed. It wasn’t noticeable, not like that. His friends apparently didn’t notice anything. Just our motherly instinct.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Justin took a deep breath, trying not to sound accusatory.
“You were busy in New York. You hadn’t even been home for the holidays.”
Justin shrugged. “I told you… it was just bad timing. I had to work.”
“I know, honey.” Jennifer regarded her son for a long moment. “Are you coming back here for him, Justin?”
The red pepper was going to be chopped too small if he continued. He had taken care of all the prep work necessary for dinner, and cooking should wait for at least a half an hour, so he made himself set down the knife, and gave his mother the courtesy of looking at her despite his own discomfort with the question. “I better not be, huh? No, Mom, the reasons I want to come back, it’s not about Brian. New York’s not the place for what I want to do right now.” He paused, and thought about how best to explain. “New York’s amazing, like there’s a heart thumping under you anytime you’re on the street. Brian thinks the thumpa-thumpa of Babylon is hot, it’s nothing compared to New York all the time. But it sucks if you have no money. The life of a starving artist is not romantic. You have to work, at a real job that pays for what you want to do, but then there’s no time to do what you want to do. And without money, I couldn’t set up the kind of work I really wanted to do. I can’t afford the kind of space I need for the work I want to do right now.”
Jennifer watched, warily. Justin realized he hadn’t answered her question.
“PIFA can help me. I can get my degree to open up options for financing myself. And I can work on some projects I have in mind, that I simply don’t have time and space for while living in New York.”
“So, you plan to go back to New York after finishing at PIFA?”
“Why do I need to decide that right now? I don’t even know if I’m going to come back yet! I’m just looking at my options!”
“Is Brian an option?”
“Not anymore!” Justin spit out, and then stopped, horrified. Jennifer folded her arms over her chest, as Justin hurried to change the subject. “I wouldn’t be coming back for him. But I haven’t decided. I’m still thinking about it. I am!”
Jennifer studied him. “Okay. Let me ask you something.”
“As opposed to the non-interrogation up to this point?”
Jennifer huffed a breath, and ignored that. “Don’t think about it, just answer this question immediately: Standing here, right now, do you miss being in New York?”
“No.” Justin paused, and considered that. “Yeah, I love it, but do I miss it? No. Being away is a relief. I feel like I can breathe again.”
The smile on Jennifer’s face seemed a little sad. “Okay, honey. I’m going to go change my clothes. I’d love for you to stay with us and go to school, if that’s what you think you want to do. I’ll be back in five minutes; why don’t you open that bottle of wine you suggested? You look like you could use a drink.”
* * * *
When Justin pushed into Red Cape Comics later that night and saw Ted and Michael huddled over some papers, he groaned. Damn it, he really wasn’t in the mood to see Brian’s accountant, and yeah, okay, so that wasn’t fair, but he just couldn’t deal with Ted right now. He wanted to absorb himself in Rage, in the drawing, in the moment of creation. With Rage, he escaped into a world outside the one where he had bills he couldn’t pay, a bank account that was rapidly dwindling, and prospects for which he had to fight. Gayopolis took him away from his beloved, but emotionally exhausting creative projects. Rage was easy. He knew the world Rage inhabited, a world Justin could just wing into and shape as he flew through. He could already feel the image coming to life in his head, pulsing in the tendons of his hands, the colors and shapes turning his and Michael’s fantasy into a solid vision on the page. So what if he was indulging his nostalgia for the hard-core Rage; Rage drove him crazy, but he knew it, he knew Rage intimately, and he was in control of the figure, the story. All right, Mikey was in control of the story, but he could usually talk him out of stupid story lines.
He’d talked Michael out of some seriously bizarre shit. But then, Michael had talked him out of turning Rage into a pus-covered disease carrier, so he supposed they were even.
“Hey! Justin!”
“Hi, Justin. Good to see you,” Ted greeted.
“Hi, Ted. How are you?”
“Okay, and you?” The phrasing was careful as ever, but Ted’s face seemed more relaxed, so even though the wrinkles had deepened around his eyes and mouth, he looked more appealing. Something had settled in there, although…
“Is your hair red?” He probably shouldn’t have said anything; it just popped out.
Ted’s face turned the same color Justin asked about. “Well, um, yeah… but it’s just mahogany highlights. Is it really red?”
Justin laughed and shook his head. Damn it, he should know better than to tease Ted. “No, it’s just the overhead light caught a glint of it. Definitely mahogany, very distinguished. So, are we meeting, Michael?”
“Actually, Ted’s part of today’s meeting. I wanted you to hear this. Well, ’cause, okay. Here’s the thing. Right now, we’re selling an average of 750 issues a month, right?”
Justin unslung his bag from around his neck. “If you say so.”
“Right. It’s 750 a month, and we average just over two issues a year. Ted thinks if we push up to three issues a year, we’d push the numbers closer to a thousand. Anyway, even if we don’t do that, what I’m thinking of, is incorporating.”
“Incorporating?”
“It makes really good sense, we’d save a ton of money in taxes, and we could even invest in trying to expand our readership. What this means, is that we write off our expenses against the corporation, and each month we draw a salary from the corporation.”
“Wait… where does the corporation money go?”
“Oh, that’s the beautiful part of it.” Ted’s face came alive as he spoke. “The corporation money pays for everything that supports your production of the work, and you write it off on the corporation expenses. So it’s not taxed. Well, it’s not taxed as income. That means, if your home is the work space, the corporation pays your rent. It pays for whatever art supplies you expense each month…”
“Wait, even if I use the supplies for other stuff, like, say, school?”
Michael glanced at him sharply, but Justin ignored him.
“Yep, even that.” Ted continued talking, explaining that setting up Rage, Inc. would allow them to use another third of the income to support their living expenses, instead of paying it off into income tax. At least, that’s what Justin thought he said. Ted seemed to understand it, that was for sure. “All you need to do, is figure out how much you need for spending cash each month, and that will be your employee income. The corporation will pay the rent on your work space, in other words, your rent, your supplies, as well as any entertaining costs, traveling to any conventions for promotion, and any advertising.”
“Which means we can try to expand our reader base. Maybe you could do some promotion in the West Village!”
Justin hesitated.
“Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”
“Sure,” Justin answered, turning to Ted. “Isn’t it a bit complicated?”
“Not for a brilliant accountant! I can’t tell you how much money I’ve saved Brian. We had a party when he became a millionaire, actually, he’d never have saved that kind of money if I hadn’t…”
Justin bit his lip, and Ted trailed off.
“Sorry.”
“No, Ted, it’s okay. How much do you charge?”
Ted read the glint in his eye, and laughed. “You can be my wingman when you’re around. Holidays and whenever.”
“Oh! I thought…”
Ted shrugged. “He fell off the wagon. We broke up. I’m actually a good catch…”
Justin mouthed “good catch?” to Michael, who smiled.
“…but I have to attract the introductions first. You and Michael are the perfect wingmen. Well, when you’re around.”
Justin could not let the perfect opportunity to address the subject pass. “I’m going back to school. At PIFA. So I’m going to be around a lot.” He grinned, realizing how right the decision felt. A relief, as if a huge bird that had perched, pecking at his upper back, suddenly flew off, and he felt a sudden, unexpected, and joyful lightness. His smile shone in the gloomy room. “So let’s see if we can push it up to a tertiary output, since I’ll have more time, and we can collaborate much more easily.”
“Tersh… what?”
“That’s three a year, Michael,” Ted supplied. “That’s great! Welcome home!”
Michael chewed on his lip. “Does Brian know?”
* * * * *
“Does Brian know, no, Brian does NOT know,” Justin muttered to himself as he paid the cab driver who had picked him up at his mother’s condo. He might have to pick a car for himself if he was moving in with his mother. He wouldn’t be able to keep borrowing hers. Not that he needed it tonight, since he was planning on getting 1) drunk and 2) laid, not necessarily in that order, and so here he was at Babylon. He considered his dwindling resources as he tipped the cabbie. He figured he still had enough to cover his first semester, and then, hopefully, he would qualify for loans. He’d have to visit the financial aid office and get some solid advice. Living with his mother would probably allow him to save more, but he really didn’t want to do that unless absolutely necessary, no matter their discussion. And besides, from the discussion tonight, it sounded like he wouldn’t have to worry about rent so much. God knows, it would be nice not to have to fight Molly for shower time. Besides, if he got a cheap place close to PIFA, he could save on car insurance, to say nothing of a car loan, if he even qualified for one. Plus, his mother’s place was hardly equipped to handle the sort of art work he was itching to get back to. His place in New York had seriously limited the size of the canvasses he had been able to work with.
But, for now, Justin only wanted to celebrate his decision. Remembering his discussion with Michael, he had specifically asked them if Brian still frequented Babylon often. Justin only came here tonight because he had been assured Brian tended not to go out much during the week. Plus, according to Ted, Brian had a big presentation tomorrow, and Ted would kill him if he showed up looking like shit.
“Well,” Ted had added, after Michael shot him a look, “I only thought that. I didn’t say that.” Under Michael’s continued scrutiny, he added, “Okay, Brian never looks like shit.”
But, of course, where Justin Taylor and Brian Kinney were concerned, the gods had their own little laughs. Just after Justin emerged from the back room after a very satisfying second fuck, and made his way over to the bar to look out at the dance floor, wondering if the bartender had served him immediately because of the smile or because he remembered him, he saw Brian, dancing with his new boyfriend. His new whateverthefuck. Boyfriend, Justin schooled himself, hoping that feeling would stop sneaking up on him. It had to; he’d never survive otherwise. He swallowed his liquor down, hoping to get back that drunk feeling he’d had not five minutes before.
He forced himself to watch. Brian still couldn’t dance. Adam apparently could, but had slowed to Brian’s tempo to accommodate the slightly taller man’s arms around his shoulders. Adam wasn’t short; in fact, he was only an inch or two shorter than Brian. But Brian was such a commanding presence, he dwarfed everyone. Justin smirked slightly, watching the two men, more specifically, watching Brian, remembering how he had needed to sync in with dancing Brian or risk a neck injury. It hadn’t mattered; Brian always turned their private space into an area pulsating with a different beat, his own Brian space, much, much hotter and more rewarding than simply grooving to the music. Brian’s shirt was open, and Adam kissed his way up the tender side of Brian’s neckline, up to his jaw, before Brian pushed his hand into Adam’s hair, holding his head in place to be thoroughly kissed while his other hand descended to the small of his back, and he ground their hips together.
Justin turned back to the bar, signaling for another drink. Maybe if he got drunk enough, he could stand this until it became familiar. If he moved back to Pittsburgh, he’d have to get used to this, unless he planned to avoid all the places he used to go, to avoid Debbie’s and Red Cape, the diner and Woody’s, to say nothing of Babylon. And fuck that, fuck Brian, fuck whatever had or hadn’t happened between them. This was Justin’s home. It always would be. Until Brian kicked him out of Babylon, it was still the place with the hottest guys, and Justin would be fucked if he was going to abdicate to Popperz just because he had a history with the stud… oh, right, ex-stud of Pittsburgh. He ordered a triple, and had swallowed half of it when he resolutely turned back to the dance floor to scan for his next trick. He didn’t need to look at them. Eventually. Eventually he would stand it. Right now, he needed more sex, more booze, and a bit of oblivion.
Adam was laughing now, having grabbed Brian by a belt loop, and was trying to drag him off somewhere. Brian was smirking, and then he raised his eyes to the bar…
And their gazes interlocked, for a long moment. The amusement in Brian’s face fell away. He continued to gaze in Justin’s direction as he said something in Adam’s ear. Adam smiled, and nodded, and then moved toward the stairs, in the direction of the VIP lounge. Brian sauntered across the dance floor to the bar.
For a moment Justin considered bolting, but he was just drunk enough to quash the immediate impulse. Brian drew up next to him, and ordered a beer. Then he turned to consider the young man in front of him. “Well, well, if it isn’t the ubiquitous Justin Taylor.”
“I’m not stalking you, Brian.”
“And why would you be? I just came over to say hello, and to let my bartender know your drinks are on the house.”
He could handle this flash of annoyance. “I can take care of myself.”
“Ah. Flush with cash, are we? So, you’re doing well.”
The questions were a little too close to those Brian had emailed him, always the attention on Justin, never offering anything of himself. “So how are you doing, Brian? And how long did you wait after we broke up before you decided to replace me?” Right for the jugular. Brian’s face went blank immediately.
“Oh, we broke up. Is that what happened.”
“You know damn well what happened!” Yup, he was definitely drunk. That last drink should have been a single. Actually, he should have gotten out of here the second he saw Brian. It was too soon.
“What I do know, is that you’re starting to sound like a betrayed housewife, and we both know we were never married. So, if you’ll excuse me, the… what did you call him? Right, your replacement is waiting.” Brian slammed the shot glass down on the bar and sauntered off, in the same direction Adam had gone.
Justin left immediately, as he should done ten minutes before. He failed to see that Brian had turned on the stair case, and was watching his hasty retreat.
* * * *
Brian’s brooding gaze cut through the gloom of the half-lighted VIP area, to watch Adam, naked, kneeling, sucking the cock of a beautiful man, while he stuck his dick deep in the mouth of another man, and a third fucked his gorgeous ass. While he had made a token protest to Brian’s desire to watch him in a foursome (“You sure you don’t want me to suck you off?”), he clearly enjoyed the arrangement. Brian could watch this forever. Adam was absolute, classic beauty. Naked and fucking, his aesthetic perfection was even more apparent. Some men were actually scary to watch as they fucked; they got way into the feeling and contorted so that bits of their bodies curled up in horrifying ways. Not Adam, who was used to being watched so that arranging himself in graceful poses was secondary to him. He had worked his way through college as a model, and was now working behind the camera. Brian had not tired of watching him in all the time they were together. Adam had caught his attention, an attention that had seemed to have flagged markedly after Justin’s departure. That waning interest had bothered Brian. A lot. The loss of interest in other men had scared him; Brian had actually scheduled a medical appointment to make sure that physically, everything checked out. It had.
Adam had been the first man to really capture Brian’s interest since… since. The first time Brian had seen him, he’d wanted him with a sharp pull he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Oh, he’d been fucking around, but as he’d told Mikey, the thrill was gone. His dick enjoyed it far more than he did. He still remembered the first time with Adam, the satisfaction of sinking into a tight ass and really, truly enjoying the total absorption he hadn’t felt in ages. When Adam had begun to show up in the same places Brian frequented, he hadn’t denied himself a repeat of that pleasure - again, and again. Now they played together. It was fun; it was easy.
He sat in the big chair reserved for him in the VIP lounge, his dick in his hand, stroking it lightly and waiting for that sharp pleasure he felt at Adam’s gorgeous perfection to hit him. But despite the increasing speed of the writhing naked tableau across from him, Brian’s desire seemed to be slowing down.
White-blond flashed in the corner of the room, and Brian’s breath caught as he turned his head to the left, his stomach clenching sharply. But it was just Kit, a regular to the lounge area.
Kit smiled at him, and Brian gestured him over. It had been a while since his dick had been anywhere outside Adam’s ass, and Brian suddenly felt annoyed by that fact. More than happy to be of service, Kit made his way across the room. A triumph to share with the boys tomorrow, claimed by the legend. Brian was so exclusive these days.
Brian felt strange lips slide over him. He closed his eyes.
Part 2