Fic: Three's A Crowd [ 4 ] (1/2)
Title: Three's A Crowd
Author: museme87
Pairing(s): Brian/Justin, Ben/Michael, Mel/Lindsay, Ted/Blake, Deb/Carl
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Over the course of his and Justin's seven year non-relationship, Brian had never been one to say no to a third party addition. But when the addition is far more permanent and redefines playroom for the worst, Brian thinks twice about rekindling their old flame. [Post 5.13]
Chapter: 4
Rating: R
Wordcount: 10,248
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations, misunderstandings
Author's Note: So here's chapter four, and I'm very sorry that it turned out so long! I usually try to keep the length more reasonable. But because I went out of control this time, this chapter is going to have to be split into two parts due to LJ's character restrictions. Also, you may wonder what's going on about half way through the chapter, but I encourage you to keep reading until the chapter's end. Everything will be explained!
While her name is notorious in the ad business, Brian could never have realized before now just how true the rumors about Susanna Blackwell were. He watches her from across the table in the conference room-a tiny, old woman with the cutthroat, kill-or-be-killed temperament of a beaten down pit bull. If pit bulls wore blindingly scarlet lipstick, of course, and had enough business savvy to keep him on his toes.
He's wanted her account for ages, almost from the moment that he heard of her company and the prestige it held in the world of fragrance and perfumery. It was an impossible pursuit while he was with Ryder and only slightly more realistic under Vangard. But now that Kinnetik has gained a reputation for being the best boutique agency in the business, he has his chance. Either he gets the account now or he never will. And at this critical juncture, there's no telling which way the scales will tip.
For whatever reason, Brian senses that Blackwell questions the vision he has for her product. She's notorious for being a ballbuster when it comes to design, expecting nothing short of groundbreaking for each new campaign. It is, after all, why she's sitting with him and his team today-Smith & Martin out of New York having failed abysmally in pleasing her. Brian might have been able to appreciate that business practice-being that it's so very near and dear to his own expectations for his company-if he weren't trying to sell himself just now. He's sure he's courted her interest at the very least; the rest just comes down to convincing her that Kinnetik is the right business to see her vision through.
Just as he's about to suggest to her that they meet over dinner at some point this week and discuss Kinnetik's ideas for her product, Brian catches Cynthia's startled look from the corner of his eye. His brow pulls as he tries to inconspicuously read whatever it is that has so obviously caught her interest in Blackwell's background information. Their gazes meet briefly, Cynthia trying desperately to communicate to him that they need to talk. About what, he has no fucking clue, but he definitely wants to, especially if it has to do with this account.
"Mrs. Blackwell," Brian begins as she finishes expressing her concerns for what has to be the hundredth fucking time in ten minutes, "if you'll allow my team some time to look over your requests, I can assure you we can come up with an excellent campaign that meets your company's needs."
"I don't want excellence, Mr. Kinney. What I want is perfection," she says tersely.
He smiles, forced. "And you'll have it."
"I must stress again that time is of the essence."
Brian thinks he sees Ted rolling his eyes at that. They're all well aware of the timetable that Blackwell has all but outright demanded of them should she decide to sign the contract. It's goddamn ridiculous, and if it weren't for the fact that he's had his sights set on this account for years, Brian would tell her exactly where she could shove her time constraints. It'd be exactly the same place where she could shove her questioning of his design ability.
"We understand. I'll have my art department prioritize your account and my assistant contact yours about arranging another meeting. You should expect to hear from us within a few days."
For the first time since the old bag and company walked through his office doors, Blackwell finally looks placated by something he's said. She nods curtly and stands, her employees and partners following suit.
As he walks her toward the doorway, Brian notices her attention suddenly diverts to his desk. He turns to find what's caught her interest and immediately guesses that it's the large-scale painting Justin did for him ages ago when Justin was just starting out in New York. It spans across most of the wall, making it an imposing presence in the room to say the least. Brian likes it for that reason. Well, that, and because it exudes this raw energy-harsh and cold, yet undeniably sexual. It's palette of mostly blue shades with dabs of blacks, oranges, and whites was no doubt inspired by the light above of his bed in the loft; Justin had admitted to that much, though they didn't frequently analyze his work together.
A sense of pride wells inside him as he watches Blackwell's face morph from confused to curious to somewhere close to awestruck. He wants to say, that's right; Sunshine's a fucking genius and you should feel fortunate to experience it. But he doesn't. The smug smirk gracing his lips will have to do.
"This is stunning," the old bag admits after some time.
"Quite impressive," he agrees.
Her eyes never leaving the painting she asks, "Where did you acquire this piece?"
"I didn't. It was given to me as a gift."
"By whom?"
"Justin Taylor. He's-"
"I'm well aware of who he is, Mr. Kinney. I am a patron of the arts," she huffs, insulted apparently. "I've read of his work and had the pleasure of viewing it in person once. He is quite an accomplished young man."
"You wouldn't know the half of it."
"You're an acquaintance of his?"
"We're-"
"Partners," Cynthia quickly interjects.
Brian's eyes snap to her, completely surprised. What the fuck does she think she's saying? They're not fucking partners, haven't been for a really long time, if ever. Just as he's about to correct Cynthia, she gives him a look that's begging him to trust her. The only reason that he does is that she's never once disappointed him, and she'd better hope that she didn't just start. A mistake that could cost him Blackwell's account could prove fatal to her.
"Partners?"
"Justin is Brian's ball-and-chain," Ted adds, a touch nervously, and nods to Brian to go with it.
"I had no idea," she says surprised.
"We don't advertise it. Justin likes to keep our personal life private."
Blackwell returns her gaze to the painting, staring at it greedily as if she's never seen anything so remarkable. She probably hasn't and probably never will. Despite their differences at times, Brian would never begrudge Justin of his talent. And judging from the way Blackwell's demeanor has suddenly changed from rabid animal to calm in light of the artwork, he may have Justin to thank for this account.
"You must have impeccable taste to be able to court such an artist, Mr. Kinney."
Brian could scoff at the absurdity of that statement. Yes, he does have impeccable taste, but it sure as hell has nothing to do with his relationship with Justin. And if she thinks that Justin has any sense of taste beyond art, she really is as senile as some claim her to be. The only thing it would take to court Sunshine is a nine inch cock and some cheap flowers. Throw in a mushy Hallmark and he's yours for life.
"Thank you."
"I'll be in touch," she says with one last, hard look at the painting.
The moment Blackwell and her entourage are safely out the door, Brian turns to Cynthia and Ted. He gives them both a hard look, as if to tell them to cut the goddamn bullshit. Ted visibly squirms a bit, but Cynthia remains unruffled.
"Do you two want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" His lips thin. "Because last time I checked, Justin and I aren't married. And we sure as hell aren't partners in any sense of the word."
"I hadn't made the connection before rereading Blackwell's background in the meeting, but the old bitch has been a patron of Henderson's for the past ten years."
"Henderson's?" he asks, not understanding the relevance that has to his question.
"It's the gallery Justin worked at in 2006. You couldn't make his second show, remember?"
That does ring a bell now that she mentions it. He'd promised he'd be there but had a business meeting forced on him at the last minute by Brown. And in a genius move to help get him out of the dog house, he'd had Cynthia order two dozen calla lilies to be delivered to Justin at the gallery he was both working for and featured at. That gallery happened to be Henderson's.
"Yeah, I remember."
Cynthia cocks her hip, arms folded across her chest. "I thought the place and address seemed familiar when I went over the background the first time, but it wasn't until the meeting that I made the connection. Blackwell hardly ever misses a show, so she'd have had to run into Justin's artwork at some point. I thought it might be worthwhile to bring up. And when she said what a fan she was, it seemed like the right move to make."
"It was a fucking dangerous move," Brian scoffs. "She could have been a homophobe."
"Well she came to us, Bri. It's not as if the company is exactly in the closet," Ted interjects. "That, and considering her firmly established concerns-your sexuality not being one of them-it was a pretty safe bet that she wouldn't be offended by domestic partnership."
Alright, so they both had very valid points and reason enough to back their mini-mutiny. He doesn't feel compelled to fire them yet. In fact, Brian's rather impressed by their quick thinking and risk taking, especially considering that it didn't backfire right in their fucking faces.
"So what are you suggesting then?"
"You could always dangle the carrot in front of the horse," Cynthia says, slyly.
"Do you really think that arranging a meeting between the two of them would get us anywhere?" Ted asks. "I'm not sure a meet-and-greet is really going to sway this sort of client."
Brian is sure. At least, he's sure that it can't hurt his chances any. No one knows better than himself that sometimes all a client needs is an extra push in the right direction. Most of the time that means some one-on-one with his cock. But in this case, it could mean the opportunity to meet an artist whose work left her stunned. And the one person that can give her access to Justin? Him.
"Cynthia, if this works out, remind me to give you a raise."
"Sure thing, boss."
"But, wait," Ted stammers. "That's underhanded. It's one thing to fuck your clients, but it's completely different when you're involving Justin. He's going to be pissed if he knows what you're doing, Bri. Using him like that. You'll ruin-"
"Ruin what, Theodore? There's nothing to ruin," Brain says, walking around his desk. "Now don't you have some numbers to crunch?"
The look on Ted's face is one of exasperation, but he leaves anyway with Cynthia right behind him. When the door shuts, Brian sits and leans back in his chair, rubbing his palms over his face. This account is so fucking attainable he can smell it. And Cynthia isn't wrong; she knows how to play a client just as well as he does. That's why they're the perfect business partners.
But there is an issue, like it or not. He's put things before Justin, he's pushed Justin away. However, he's never used Justin. If it were anyone else, no problem. But, he has more respect for Sunshine than to do that to him. And as much as he'd like to pretend there's nothing left between them to ruin, Brian knows better. Justin still trusts him, and that trust should never be brought into question.
~*~*~*~
Brian waits to call him until he's in the comfort of his loft and away from all his nosy employees who don't need to hear what's about to be said. He showers quickly enough and falls onto the bed before he picks up his cell. Somehow it feels strange to talk to Sunshine anywhere else in the loft. Two years of phone sex will do that to anyone.
The phone rings and rings. Just when Brian is about to say fuck it and call back at a later time, Justin answers, winded-as if he'd been running-but pleasantly surprised judging from his tone.
"Brian."
Brian smirks, voice husky. "What are you wearing?"
"Stop it," Justin says with an amused chuckle. "Do you always have to be so indecent on the phone?"
"You used to wait with baited breath every night for me to say that, Sunshine."
"Who says I still don't?"
Justin suddenly has the complete attention of his dick. Brian knows better than to think that Justin still wants to hear that. After all, who the fuck fantasizes about phone sex? Aside from pathetic twats, no one. He tries to convince his cock of that, though, but it's still half-hard and approaching aching.
"Alright, that's enough. I don't actually give a shit about what you're wearing."
"So you just called because you miss hearing my voice?"
Brian snorts. "Maybe in your muncher dreams."
"Then what's up?"
"I need your help."
He lays out the plan for Justin from start to finish. It's meant to be nothing more than a quick face-to-face after his next meeting with Blackwell, seemingly completely accidental. They do their cute, married couple routine for her. She fawns over Justin's immeasurable talent. Then, she leaves. With some luck, she'll be begging Kinnetik to let her sign a contract with them. Justin's part is done, and everyone goes home happy.
"So?" Brian prompts.
"You've resorted to lying to little old ladies in order to get clients, Brian?"
"She's not just any old lady. She's the closest thing to the anti-Christ you're ever going to meet."
"And naturally you want her business."
Brian can almost see the smirk on Justin's perfect lips. He can also feel the urge to kiss it right off of them. Fuck.
"I didn't call to talk morality with you. Are you in or out?"
"It might be fun to be partners-in-crime again. Just like when we took down Stockwell." Justin pauses. "But what's in it for me?"
"That satisfaction of knowing that you might be instrumental in saving my ass isn't enough for you, Sunshine?"
Justin hums appreciatively. "I think I'd rather be nailing your ass than saving it. Sorry."
Brian scowls. "I'm not that desperate."
"That's unfortunate. Looks like our business negotiations are over then, Mr. Kinney. It's been a pleasure."
That little fucker. Justin knows what that voice does to him, the one that's all sultry and yet oh-so-innocent. And Brian won't even get into Justin's Mr. Kinney routine. The kid knows how to drive a hard bargain, and Brian's not too sure he can get what he wants without Justin's help.
"Justin, wait."
"I'm listening." And Brian can hear his fucking smile.
"We'll do dinner. Lunch. Whatever the fuck whenever the fuck you want it. You name the terms."
"That's a nice start."
"What else do you want? Besides that because you're not getting it."
"I've been dying for a real night out for ages.
"Uh-huh."
"But I'm going to need to find a babysitter." Justin seems to hesitate. "I know it's probably asking too much, but would you mind?"
What.The.Fuck. His brow pulling, Brian's mouth drops open as he struggles to wrap his mind around what Justin just said. That kid had fucking balls to ask him to watch the urchin. And just who the fuck did Justin think he was going to spend a romantic evening with? Did he meet someone since he'd gotten back to town? Some asshole who probably liked shitty violin music and had stupid facial hair? Yeah, that's just Sunshine's type.
"You know what? Forget it," Brian snaps and promptly hangs up.
~*~*~*~
He takes a long drag off his cigarette and a deep drink of Beam straight from the bottle. On the other end of the phone, Gus is listing off all the Christmas gifts he wants this year. Brian smiles lazily, his mind a blur from the liquor, and jots down the items in a drunken scrawl across the back of a take-out menu.
"That's all you want, Sonnyboy?"
"Dad, I told ya like…twenty things. That's a lot."
"You're too practical for a nine year old," Brian says, struggling to keep from slurring his words. "You get that from your mother."
Actually, Gus gets a lot of things from Lindsay. He may look dead like his old man, but his personality is all Linds, from mild-manners to an ungodly ability to read people. Brian does his best to be a bad influence during their monthly visits, but so far the lessons haven't stuck.
"You say that all the time."
"Because it's true."
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"You sound super sad," Gus says, his own voice troubled.
"Only because I miss you, Sonnyboy."
It's not really a lie. He does miss Gus; he misses him like he never thought he could miss anyone. They see each other a lot, more than Brian expected when the Marcus-Peterson brood left for Canada. It'll never be enough, though.
But it's more than Gus, too. He's drunken himself into a daze because of Justin, because Justin interpreted his I'm-only-in-this-for-the-fuck-and-nothing-more as I'm-okay-with-you-dating. Which he isn't. It's probably not fair for him to uncomfortable with the idea given the established terms of their agreement, but fuck fairness. Life isn't fair.
"I don't want you to be sad, Dad. Mom and Ma have the countdown calendar up in the kitchen. Jenny and I mark the day off every night before we brush our teeth. Only she's really bad and got marker everywhere. And you know what? I get to see you in, like, ten days. So you just hafta go to sleep tonight and tomorrow night. And then you do it a couple more times. And then you wake up and I'm there!"
Goddamn. His eyes get suddenly wet because, fuck, his kid is comforting him and not the other way around. And he's so damn smart and optimistic. Not the miserable cynic his father is. Gus is nothing like him in all the ways that matter, thank god for that.
"You should get back to bed," Brian says, not because he wants to stop talking but because he fears the evenness of his voice won't hold out. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"After my game."
"Yeah, after your game."
"Okay, Dad! Love you! Sleep tight!"
"You too, Sonnyboy."
Brian can hear Gus pass the phone off to one of his mothers. He really doesn't feel like talking to either of them tonight; it's much easier to hide a drunken call from a nine year old than it is from the munchers. And if it's Mel, he knows he'll be read the riot act. It's not as if he doesn't know he shouldn't be calling Gus when he's significantly more than five sheets to the wind. Most of the time, he doesn't call in this state-Brian knows what it's like to be subjected to a drunken father. But he needed to hear Gus, needed to know that at least one of his Sonnyboys still and always would love him.
"Brian? Are you still there?"
Lindsay, her voice as downy soft as always. Not Mel. Maybe there really is a God.
"Yeah."
"You called after Gus' bedtime."
"Jesus fucking Christ, Lindsay," he spits. "He's my son. I'll call him whenever I damn well-"
"That's not what I meant," she says, softer still. "You know you can call him whenever you want to. That's not even an issue. It's just that you never call past Gus' bedtime. This isn't like you. When I saw your number I thought something had happened back home."
Well, shit. He rarely loses his temper with Linds, and half the time he does it usually ends up being over a misunderstanding. Like tonight. He bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to keep himself from apologizing. Brian Kinney doesn't do apologies, and even if he did, Lindsay wouldn't want to hear it. She's one of the few people who prefers his life's philosophy-no apologies, no regrets. It's probably why he loves her so much.
"Nothing's wrong. Everyone's fine."
"You're drunk."
"I am not."
"Don't lie to me. I know your drunk voice, Bri. We were friends in college." She sighs, tone suddenly more serious. "And you never call Gus while you're at Babylon or the bars. You're drinking alone, aren't you? At the loft?"
"You're not my goddamn mother, Linds," he says with little heat.
"No, but I am the mother of your son, which I thought meant something to you."
"It does. You know it does"
"So why don't you tell me what's got you in this state? I'll listen and nod in all the right places, promise. And then we can pretend like this conversation never happened. Come on, it'll make me feel better."
Lindsay has always had a way with words, spinning things so he always felt as if he was helping her and not the other way around. Over the years, Brian's become wise to it, now picking and choosing when he decides to open up to her. He doesn't feel much like talking tonight, but he'll throw her a bone.
"Justin's in town for the holidays."
"He decided to come?" Lindsay asks, surprised but pleasantly so. "Oh, Brian. I didn't know that was a certain thing or I would have called you sooner."
"I don't need you to check up on me."
"No, no, I just…" She pauses, and Brian has no doubt she's trying to figure out exactly how to phrase whatever comes next. "How do you feel about it?"
"Linds," he sighs, taking another drink of Beam. "You don't think we're actually going to discuss feelings, do you?"
"Right. Well would you like me to say something to Gus? I'm not sure if he remembers Justin very clearly. It's been a few years."
Brian thinks that over, having never really considered it before. Gus had been around six years old the last time he saw Justin. He's grown a hell of a lot since then and has long since stopped asking or talking about Justin. It's only natural that he would, considering how Justin faded from his life.
He's not sure what to do about that issue though. Should they explain to Gus who this person is ahead of time? Or should they wait until Gus sees Justin again? He has no fucking clue, and it's probably not a good idea to make this sort of decision when he's well on his way to shitfaced.
"Let's wait. I can't think straight right now, and I sure as hell don't want to hear about how I permanently scarred him during Christmas 2010 until the day I die."
"Alright, well if you do decide that you want Mel and me to talk with him before we come down, we will. Now why don't you get some sleep? It sounds like you've had a trying day."
Trying doesn't describe the half of it, but sleep's not a bad idea. He shifts the phone to his other shoulder and reaches for the cap to the liquor. It takes him a couple swipes before he manages to get his hands on it.
"I'll give you a call in the morning, Bri?"
"I'll be fine."
"I just worry when you drink like this."
"Save your mothering for my son, alright? Goodnight, Linds."
"Goodnight. I love you."
Brian rolls his eyes and smirks. "You too."
Continue to Part Two of Chapter Four
Author: museme87
Pairing(s): Brian/Justin, Ben/Michael, Mel/Lindsay, Ted/Blake, Deb/Carl
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Over the course of his and Justin's seven year non-relationship, Brian had never been one to say no to a third party addition. But when the addition is far more permanent and redefines playroom for the worst, Brian thinks twice about rekindling their old flame. [Post 5.13]
Chapter: 4
Rating: R
Wordcount: 10,248
Warnings: strong language, sexual situations, misunderstandings
Author's Note: So here's chapter four, and I'm very sorry that it turned out so long! I usually try to keep the length more reasonable. But because I went out of control this time, this chapter is going to have to be split into two parts due to LJ's character restrictions. Also, you may wonder what's going on about half way through the chapter, but I encourage you to keep reading until the chapter's end. Everything will be explained!
While her name is notorious in the ad business, Brian could never have realized before now just how true the rumors about Susanna Blackwell were. He watches her from across the table in the conference room-a tiny, old woman with the cutthroat, kill-or-be-killed temperament of a beaten down pit bull. If pit bulls wore blindingly scarlet lipstick, of course, and had enough business savvy to keep him on his toes.
He's wanted her account for ages, almost from the moment that he heard of her company and the prestige it held in the world of fragrance and perfumery. It was an impossible pursuit while he was with Ryder and only slightly more realistic under Vangard. But now that Kinnetik has gained a reputation for being the best boutique agency in the business, he has his chance. Either he gets the account now or he never will. And at this critical juncture, there's no telling which way the scales will tip.
For whatever reason, Brian senses that Blackwell questions the vision he has for her product. She's notorious for being a ballbuster when it comes to design, expecting nothing short of groundbreaking for each new campaign. It is, after all, why she's sitting with him and his team today-Smith & Martin out of New York having failed abysmally in pleasing her. Brian might have been able to appreciate that business practice-being that it's so very near and dear to his own expectations for his company-if he weren't trying to sell himself just now. He's sure he's courted her interest at the very least; the rest just comes down to convincing her that Kinnetik is the right business to see her vision through.
Just as he's about to suggest to her that they meet over dinner at some point this week and discuss Kinnetik's ideas for her product, Brian catches Cynthia's startled look from the corner of his eye. His brow pulls as he tries to inconspicuously read whatever it is that has so obviously caught her interest in Blackwell's background information. Their gazes meet briefly, Cynthia trying desperately to communicate to him that they need to talk. About what, he has no fucking clue, but he definitely wants to, especially if it has to do with this account.
"Mrs. Blackwell," Brian begins as she finishes expressing her concerns for what has to be the hundredth fucking time in ten minutes, "if you'll allow my team some time to look over your requests, I can assure you we can come up with an excellent campaign that meets your company's needs."
"I don't want excellence, Mr. Kinney. What I want is perfection," she says tersely.
He smiles, forced. "And you'll have it."
"I must stress again that time is of the essence."
Brian thinks he sees Ted rolling his eyes at that. They're all well aware of the timetable that Blackwell has all but outright demanded of them should she decide to sign the contract. It's goddamn ridiculous, and if it weren't for the fact that he's had his sights set on this account for years, Brian would tell her exactly where she could shove her time constraints. It'd be exactly the same place where she could shove her questioning of his design ability.
"We understand. I'll have my art department prioritize your account and my assistant contact yours about arranging another meeting. You should expect to hear from us within a few days."
For the first time since the old bag and company walked through his office doors, Blackwell finally looks placated by something he's said. She nods curtly and stands, her employees and partners following suit.
As he walks her toward the doorway, Brian notices her attention suddenly diverts to his desk. He turns to find what's caught her interest and immediately guesses that it's the large-scale painting Justin did for him ages ago when Justin was just starting out in New York. It spans across most of the wall, making it an imposing presence in the room to say the least. Brian likes it for that reason. Well, that, and because it exudes this raw energy-harsh and cold, yet undeniably sexual. It's palette of mostly blue shades with dabs of blacks, oranges, and whites was no doubt inspired by the light above of his bed in the loft; Justin had admitted to that much, though they didn't frequently analyze his work together.
A sense of pride wells inside him as he watches Blackwell's face morph from confused to curious to somewhere close to awestruck. He wants to say, that's right; Sunshine's a fucking genius and you should feel fortunate to experience it. But he doesn't. The smug smirk gracing his lips will have to do.
"This is stunning," the old bag admits after some time.
"Quite impressive," he agrees.
Her eyes never leaving the painting she asks, "Where did you acquire this piece?"
"I didn't. It was given to me as a gift."
"By whom?"
"Justin Taylor. He's-"
"I'm well aware of who he is, Mr. Kinney. I am a patron of the arts," she huffs, insulted apparently. "I've read of his work and had the pleasure of viewing it in person once. He is quite an accomplished young man."
"You wouldn't know the half of it."
"You're an acquaintance of his?"
"We're-"
"Partners," Cynthia quickly interjects.
Brian's eyes snap to her, completely surprised. What the fuck does she think she's saying? They're not fucking partners, haven't been for a really long time, if ever. Just as he's about to correct Cynthia, she gives him a look that's begging him to trust her. The only reason that he does is that she's never once disappointed him, and she'd better hope that she didn't just start. A mistake that could cost him Blackwell's account could prove fatal to her.
"Partners?"
"Justin is Brian's ball-and-chain," Ted adds, a touch nervously, and nods to Brian to go with it.
"I had no idea," she says surprised.
"We don't advertise it. Justin likes to keep our personal life private."
Blackwell returns her gaze to the painting, staring at it greedily as if she's never seen anything so remarkable. She probably hasn't and probably never will. Despite their differences at times, Brian would never begrudge Justin of his talent. And judging from the way Blackwell's demeanor has suddenly changed from rabid animal to calm in light of the artwork, he may have Justin to thank for this account.
"You must have impeccable taste to be able to court such an artist, Mr. Kinney."
Brian could scoff at the absurdity of that statement. Yes, he does have impeccable taste, but it sure as hell has nothing to do with his relationship with Justin. And if she thinks that Justin has any sense of taste beyond art, she really is as senile as some claim her to be. The only thing it would take to court Sunshine is a nine inch cock and some cheap flowers. Throw in a mushy Hallmark and he's yours for life.
"Thank you."
"I'll be in touch," she says with one last, hard look at the painting.
The moment Blackwell and her entourage are safely out the door, Brian turns to Cynthia and Ted. He gives them both a hard look, as if to tell them to cut the goddamn bullshit. Ted visibly squirms a bit, but Cynthia remains unruffled.
"Do you two want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" His lips thin. "Because last time I checked, Justin and I aren't married. And we sure as hell aren't partners in any sense of the word."
"I hadn't made the connection before rereading Blackwell's background in the meeting, but the old bitch has been a patron of Henderson's for the past ten years."
"Henderson's?" he asks, not understanding the relevance that has to his question.
"It's the gallery Justin worked at in 2006. You couldn't make his second show, remember?"
That does ring a bell now that she mentions it. He'd promised he'd be there but had a business meeting forced on him at the last minute by Brown. And in a genius move to help get him out of the dog house, he'd had Cynthia order two dozen calla lilies to be delivered to Justin at the gallery he was both working for and featured at. That gallery happened to be Henderson's.
"Yeah, I remember."
Cynthia cocks her hip, arms folded across her chest. "I thought the place and address seemed familiar when I went over the background the first time, but it wasn't until the meeting that I made the connection. Blackwell hardly ever misses a show, so she'd have had to run into Justin's artwork at some point. I thought it might be worthwhile to bring up. And when she said what a fan she was, it seemed like the right move to make."
"It was a fucking dangerous move," Brian scoffs. "She could have been a homophobe."
"Well she came to us, Bri. It's not as if the company is exactly in the closet," Ted interjects. "That, and considering her firmly established concerns-your sexuality not being one of them-it was a pretty safe bet that she wouldn't be offended by domestic partnership."
Alright, so they both had very valid points and reason enough to back their mini-mutiny. He doesn't feel compelled to fire them yet. In fact, Brian's rather impressed by their quick thinking and risk taking, especially considering that it didn't backfire right in their fucking faces.
"So what are you suggesting then?"
"You could always dangle the carrot in front of the horse," Cynthia says, slyly.
"Do you really think that arranging a meeting between the two of them would get us anywhere?" Ted asks. "I'm not sure a meet-and-greet is really going to sway this sort of client."
Brian is sure. At least, he's sure that it can't hurt his chances any. No one knows better than himself that sometimes all a client needs is an extra push in the right direction. Most of the time that means some one-on-one with his cock. But in this case, it could mean the opportunity to meet an artist whose work left her stunned. And the one person that can give her access to Justin? Him.
"Cynthia, if this works out, remind me to give you a raise."
"Sure thing, boss."
"But, wait," Ted stammers. "That's underhanded. It's one thing to fuck your clients, but it's completely different when you're involving Justin. He's going to be pissed if he knows what you're doing, Bri. Using him like that. You'll ruin-"
"Ruin what, Theodore? There's nothing to ruin," Brain says, walking around his desk. "Now don't you have some numbers to crunch?"
The look on Ted's face is one of exasperation, but he leaves anyway with Cynthia right behind him. When the door shuts, Brian sits and leans back in his chair, rubbing his palms over his face. This account is so fucking attainable he can smell it. And Cynthia isn't wrong; she knows how to play a client just as well as he does. That's why they're the perfect business partners.
But there is an issue, like it or not. He's put things before Justin, he's pushed Justin away. However, he's never used Justin. If it were anyone else, no problem. But, he has more respect for Sunshine than to do that to him. And as much as he'd like to pretend there's nothing left between them to ruin, Brian knows better. Justin still trusts him, and that trust should never be brought into question.
~*~*~*~
Brian waits to call him until he's in the comfort of his loft and away from all his nosy employees who don't need to hear what's about to be said. He showers quickly enough and falls onto the bed before he picks up his cell. Somehow it feels strange to talk to Sunshine anywhere else in the loft. Two years of phone sex will do that to anyone.
The phone rings and rings. Just when Brian is about to say fuck it and call back at a later time, Justin answers, winded-as if he'd been running-but pleasantly surprised judging from his tone.
"Brian."
Brian smirks, voice husky. "What are you wearing?"
"Stop it," Justin says with an amused chuckle. "Do you always have to be so indecent on the phone?"
"You used to wait with baited breath every night for me to say that, Sunshine."
"Who says I still don't?"
Justin suddenly has the complete attention of his dick. Brian knows better than to think that Justin still wants to hear that. After all, who the fuck fantasizes about phone sex? Aside from pathetic twats, no one. He tries to convince his cock of that, though, but it's still half-hard and approaching aching.
"Alright, that's enough. I don't actually give a shit about what you're wearing."
"So you just called because you miss hearing my voice?"
Brian snorts. "Maybe in your muncher dreams."
"Then what's up?"
"I need your help."
He lays out the plan for Justin from start to finish. It's meant to be nothing more than a quick face-to-face after his next meeting with Blackwell, seemingly completely accidental. They do their cute, married couple routine for her. She fawns over Justin's immeasurable talent. Then, she leaves. With some luck, she'll be begging Kinnetik to let her sign a contract with them. Justin's part is done, and everyone goes home happy.
"So?" Brian prompts.
"You've resorted to lying to little old ladies in order to get clients, Brian?"
"She's not just any old lady. She's the closest thing to the anti-Christ you're ever going to meet."
"And naturally you want her business."
Brian can almost see the smirk on Justin's perfect lips. He can also feel the urge to kiss it right off of them. Fuck.
"I didn't call to talk morality with you. Are you in or out?"
"It might be fun to be partners-in-crime again. Just like when we took down Stockwell." Justin pauses. "But what's in it for me?"
"That satisfaction of knowing that you might be instrumental in saving my ass isn't enough for you, Sunshine?"
Justin hums appreciatively. "I think I'd rather be nailing your ass than saving it. Sorry."
Brian scowls. "I'm not that desperate."
"That's unfortunate. Looks like our business negotiations are over then, Mr. Kinney. It's been a pleasure."
That little fucker. Justin knows what that voice does to him, the one that's all sultry and yet oh-so-innocent. And Brian won't even get into Justin's Mr. Kinney routine. The kid knows how to drive a hard bargain, and Brian's not too sure he can get what he wants without Justin's help.
"Justin, wait."
"I'm listening." And Brian can hear his fucking smile.
"We'll do dinner. Lunch. Whatever the fuck whenever the fuck you want it. You name the terms."
"That's a nice start."
"What else do you want? Besides that because you're not getting it."
"I've been dying for a real night out for ages.
"Uh-huh."
"But I'm going to need to find a babysitter." Justin seems to hesitate. "I know it's probably asking too much, but would you mind?"
What.The.Fuck. His brow pulling, Brian's mouth drops open as he struggles to wrap his mind around what Justin just said. That kid had fucking balls to ask him to watch the urchin. And just who the fuck did Justin think he was going to spend a romantic evening with? Did he meet someone since he'd gotten back to town? Some asshole who probably liked shitty violin music and had stupid facial hair? Yeah, that's just Sunshine's type.
"You know what? Forget it," Brian snaps and promptly hangs up.
~*~*~*~
He takes a long drag off his cigarette and a deep drink of Beam straight from the bottle. On the other end of the phone, Gus is listing off all the Christmas gifts he wants this year. Brian smiles lazily, his mind a blur from the liquor, and jots down the items in a drunken scrawl across the back of a take-out menu.
"That's all you want, Sonnyboy?"
"Dad, I told ya like…twenty things. That's a lot."
"You're too practical for a nine year old," Brian says, struggling to keep from slurring his words. "You get that from your mother."
Actually, Gus gets a lot of things from Lindsay. He may look dead like his old man, but his personality is all Linds, from mild-manners to an ungodly ability to read people. Brian does his best to be a bad influence during their monthly visits, but so far the lessons haven't stuck.
"You say that all the time."
"Because it's true."
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"You sound super sad," Gus says, his own voice troubled.
"Only because I miss you, Sonnyboy."
It's not really a lie. He does miss Gus; he misses him like he never thought he could miss anyone. They see each other a lot, more than Brian expected when the Marcus-Peterson brood left for Canada. It'll never be enough, though.
But it's more than Gus, too. He's drunken himself into a daze because of Justin, because Justin interpreted his I'm-only-in-this-for-the-fuck-and-nothing-more as I'm-okay-with-you-dating. Which he isn't. It's probably not fair for him to uncomfortable with the idea given the established terms of their agreement, but fuck fairness. Life isn't fair.
"I don't want you to be sad, Dad. Mom and Ma have the countdown calendar up in the kitchen. Jenny and I mark the day off every night before we brush our teeth. Only she's really bad and got marker everywhere. And you know what? I get to see you in, like, ten days. So you just hafta go to sleep tonight and tomorrow night. And then you do it a couple more times. And then you wake up and I'm there!"
Goddamn. His eyes get suddenly wet because, fuck, his kid is comforting him and not the other way around. And he's so damn smart and optimistic. Not the miserable cynic his father is. Gus is nothing like him in all the ways that matter, thank god for that.
"You should get back to bed," Brian says, not because he wants to stop talking but because he fears the evenness of his voice won't hold out. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"After my game."
"Yeah, after your game."
"Okay, Dad! Love you! Sleep tight!"
"You too, Sonnyboy."
Brian can hear Gus pass the phone off to one of his mothers. He really doesn't feel like talking to either of them tonight; it's much easier to hide a drunken call from a nine year old than it is from the munchers. And if it's Mel, he knows he'll be read the riot act. It's not as if he doesn't know he shouldn't be calling Gus when he's significantly more than five sheets to the wind. Most of the time, he doesn't call in this state-Brian knows what it's like to be subjected to a drunken father. But he needed to hear Gus, needed to know that at least one of his Sonnyboys still and always would love him.
"Brian? Are you still there?"
Lindsay, her voice as downy soft as always. Not Mel. Maybe there really is a God.
"Yeah."
"You called after Gus' bedtime."
"Jesus fucking Christ, Lindsay," he spits. "He's my son. I'll call him whenever I damn well-"
"That's not what I meant," she says, softer still. "You know you can call him whenever you want to. That's not even an issue. It's just that you never call past Gus' bedtime. This isn't like you. When I saw your number I thought something had happened back home."
Well, shit. He rarely loses his temper with Linds, and half the time he does it usually ends up being over a misunderstanding. Like tonight. He bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to keep himself from apologizing. Brian Kinney doesn't do apologies, and even if he did, Lindsay wouldn't want to hear it. She's one of the few people who prefers his life's philosophy-no apologies, no regrets. It's probably why he loves her so much.
"Nothing's wrong. Everyone's fine."
"You're drunk."
"I am not."
"Don't lie to me. I know your drunk voice, Bri. We were friends in college." She sighs, tone suddenly more serious. "And you never call Gus while you're at Babylon or the bars. You're drinking alone, aren't you? At the loft?"
"You're not my goddamn mother, Linds," he says with little heat.
"No, but I am the mother of your son, which I thought meant something to you."
"It does. You know it does"
"So why don't you tell me what's got you in this state? I'll listen and nod in all the right places, promise. And then we can pretend like this conversation never happened. Come on, it'll make me feel better."
Lindsay has always had a way with words, spinning things so he always felt as if he was helping her and not the other way around. Over the years, Brian's become wise to it, now picking and choosing when he decides to open up to her. He doesn't feel much like talking tonight, but he'll throw her a bone.
"Justin's in town for the holidays."
"He decided to come?" Lindsay asks, surprised but pleasantly so. "Oh, Brian. I didn't know that was a certain thing or I would have called you sooner."
"I don't need you to check up on me."
"No, no, I just…" She pauses, and Brian has no doubt she's trying to figure out exactly how to phrase whatever comes next. "How do you feel about it?"
"Linds," he sighs, taking another drink of Beam. "You don't think we're actually going to discuss feelings, do you?"
"Right. Well would you like me to say something to Gus? I'm not sure if he remembers Justin very clearly. It's been a few years."
Brian thinks that over, having never really considered it before. Gus had been around six years old the last time he saw Justin. He's grown a hell of a lot since then and has long since stopped asking or talking about Justin. It's only natural that he would, considering how Justin faded from his life.
He's not sure what to do about that issue though. Should they explain to Gus who this person is ahead of time? Or should they wait until Gus sees Justin again? He has no fucking clue, and it's probably not a good idea to make this sort of decision when he's well on his way to shitfaced.
"Let's wait. I can't think straight right now, and I sure as hell don't want to hear about how I permanently scarred him during Christmas 2010 until the day I die."
"Alright, well if you do decide that you want Mel and me to talk with him before we come down, we will. Now why don't you get some sleep? It sounds like you've had a trying day."
Trying doesn't describe the half of it, but sleep's not a bad idea. He shifts the phone to his other shoulder and reaches for the cap to the liquor. It takes him a couple swipes before he manages to get his hands on it.
"I'll give you a call in the morning, Bri?"
"I'll be fine."
"I just worry when you drink like this."
"Save your mothering for my son, alright? Goodnight, Linds."
"Goodnight. I love you."
Brian rolls his eyes and smirks. "You too."
Continue to Part Two of Chapter Four