THREE DAYS IN OUR BULLSHIT DOMESTIC LIFE
Title: Three Days in Our Bullshit Domestic Life
Written By: sonofabiscuit77
Timeline: 5 Years after 509
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, Minor Character Death, Angst
Summary: AU five years after 509. What if the Babylon bomb had caused a lot more damage than in canon?
Author's Notes: Many many thanks again to my beta bluebirdgirl for your suggestions and general grammar wizardry.
Three Days in Our Bullshit Domestic Life
Thursday
Justin wakes up slowly, his eyes ungluing stickily. He moves his head, wincing in pain as something catches in his hair. Dimly, his half-awake brain registers that he’s trapped, his right leg and half his torso clamped under long heavy limbs. He suppresses a sigh and glances blearily towards the flashing blue of the clock radio. 6:07. Shit. Time to get up. He stretches his one free hand upwards, tentatively removing Brian's hand from his hair, wincing again as hairs are tugged from his scalp still entwined in Brian’s long fingers. Almost free, he squirms out of the suffocating embrace, pushing Brian's sleep-deadened body away with affectionate exasperation.
Downstairs, the French windows are half open, the long white drapes rustling lightly in the chilled outdoor air. He steps outside, toes curling in protest at the sting of the cold stone on his bare feet.
"Dad! Look what I found!" Gus emerges in front of him and grabs at his robe, waving one battered muddy sneaker over an enormous toad lying motionless on the flagstones. "I found it near the driveway, but I think it‘s dead. I'm gonna see if there’s another one!"
Justin watches him crash through the bushes that mask one side of the house, a flurry of crispy dead leaves in his wake. He glances down at the toad, its skin glistening in the bright sunlight and an undeniable air of forlornness about it. Definitely dead, he mutters to himself. A sudden wave of exhaustion sweeps over him and, trying to resist it, he raises his arms above his head, straining and stretching soporific muscles. A pair of familiar arms grab at him from behind, snaking around his chest, the harsh tang of cigarette smoke accompanying them.
“Brian.”
The press of warm lips against his neck is his answer.
"You had another dream last night," he speaks softly. "When I woke up you were holding me so tightly, I couldn’t move.”
Still no answer.
"Brian?"
Brian pulls away, actions abrupt and eyes narrowed. Avoiding Justin’s gaze, he takes another long drag on his cigarette then turns to crush the butt out in the thick glass ashtray balanced precariously on the wooden bench.
"Brian. Look at me."
"Just fucking drop it, will you?"
A high-pitched squeal coming from the direction of the garden rouses them both and they raise their heads in near symmetry to see Jenny dart across the lawn, hair tangled, pyjamas encrusted with dirt. "Jenny! Come here!" Brian’s voice is loud and brooks no argument. "Jesus, look at you,” he chastises as he scoops her up into his arms.
"Sorry Daddy," she whimpers, burying a guilty expression into the soft silk of his robe.
“I found another one!” Gus has appeared in front of Justin again, another enormous toad dangling from the end of his fingers. "Look! This one's still moving."
“Gus," Brian raises one eyebrow to his son, shifting Jenny in his arms, "don't even think about bringing that thing inside."
***********
“Brian?”
“You’re awake.”
“Brian? What’s going on? You look different.”
"Justin…"
“But you’re supposed to be in Australia."
“Justin, shut up. Listen to me. I didn’t go. There was a bomb.”
“A bomb? What‘re you talking about?”
“You nearly died. I was so fucking scared and I didn’t tell you - I thought I wouldn’t have chance to tell you… I love you.”
***********
Justin sits at the breakfast table listening to the sound of Gus crunching his way through an enormous bowl of Cheerios, a clear plastic tub containing the not dead toad is by his right elbow and Justin’s eyes can’t seem to look away from the seemingly depressed amphibian.
“You look like shit." Brian appears by his side, coffee mug in one hand and half knotted tie in the other. Somehow, despite the previous night’s lack of sleep he still manages to look the antithesis of shit, a fact that makes Justin feel simultaneously pissed off and turned on.
"What're you doing with that?" Brian slings the question in Gus’ direction. The boy has picked up the container of toad and is peering at it closely with enthusiastic eyes. "I thought I told you to leave it outside."
"It's for school. Dad said I could for my science project," he returns quickly. "Do male toads have penises?"
Jenny looks up as Gus says that word and giggles, snorting milk and Cheerios, "Can I hold it?" Her voice is pleading as she stretches an arm out towards her brother.
"No way dumbass!"
Jenny's face falls in a sudden picture of overwhelming grief.
"Go clean up. We’re going soon," Justin tells her quickly in an attempt to cut off the impending torrent of tears. She slides off the stool and exits the kitchen, feet skidding on the hardwood floor.
"So you gonna dissect it? You gonna cut it open and look at its insides?" Brian raises a ghoulish eyebrow at the boy.
"D'you think I can? That would be soooo cool."
"You'll have to ask Mr Warters," Justin tells him shortly. He rubs his fingers over his dry scratchy eyes and stands up. "Go get in the car." Gus leaves the room, eyes still fixated on his new treasure. "Where are my fucking car keys?"
"How the fuck would I know?”
Justin feels another wave of weariness overcome him and he grits his teeth, “Brian, I so don’t have time for this. You borrowed them yesterday.”
Brian shrugs, turning away from him, "On the table, last time I saw them. Quit acting like a fucking princess.”
"Fuck you!”
His response seems to amuse Brian and he laughs out loud, swooping across the kitchen to catch Justin's body in his arms.
Justin starts and drops the keys he has just found, "Brian -" he begins but Brian isn’t listening, instead he is already forcing his lips onto Justin's, pushing him back against the table, deepening and lengthening the kiss. Brian pauses for a second, pulling his mouth away from Justin's with a soft wet popping sound; he smiles slowly, a luxuriant, wicked crooking of his lips and Justin feels something melt low in his stomach, a deep liquid sensation seeping through his tired limbs like the warm burn of good alcohol. He returns Brian’s smile and they’re kissing again, long and deep, hot and familiar; arms entwined, legs entangled and groins rubbing together. Brian breaks the kiss and lowers his face, hands reaching to tug open Justin’s jeans, the stiff metal buttons of his fly yielding with a pop, pop, pop… Justin stares at him, drinking in the damp black sheen of his eyelashes, the darkened shadows under his eyelids, the wet moistness of his mouth, the light brown shimmer of the morning sun in his hair…
“Dad!”
They freeze simultaneously. “God! You two are so embarrassing!” Standing in the kitchen doorway, a sneaker dangling from one hand, Gus stares back at them, eyes narrowed with youthful outrage.
"What? Fuck!" Justin scrambles away from Brian, his hands fumbling with his pants. He bangs his knee hard against the table leg.
"My sneaker just fell apart. I'm gonna need some new ones," Gus states with another unimpressed glare.
"Gus, for Christ‘s sake, what were you doing to it?" Brian is eying the boy with exasperation, his appearance now considerably more rumpled than five minutes earlier.
"I wasn't doing anything! They're just, like, way old! I told you I needed some new ones!"
"Okay, so we'll get you some new ones," Justin sighs resignedly, "put on your dress shoes on instead."
"I can't wear them," Gus' voice is pure despair, "none of the other kids wear dress shoes at school."
"Suck it up Sonnyboy." Brian has already commenced straightening his tie and is smoothing his hair as he watches the boy stomp away.
***********
Justin sits in the car and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He watches Gus trudge through the school gates, deliberately scuffing the despised shoes against the asphalt, the container of toad still gripped in both hands. Okay, so they’re not exactly living on the poverty line but did the kid have to ruin every fucking thing they bought him? Those shoes were only a few weeks old for fuck's sake. Normally he would just laugh but right now he feels too fucking tired and too fucking irritable. Instead he opts for a long drawn-out sigh, relishing the noise in the silence of the car.
He picks up his phone and contemplates it for a moment: Should he call Brian? Finish what they started this morning? He looks at his own fingers splayed across the steering wheel in front of him, they ache to feel Brian's warm soft skin beneath them, to run them over his body, wind them in his hair… He feels himself harden just thinking about it. When was the last time they fucked? He can’t even remember - three days ago, four days ago? Shit. He casts his eyes downwards at the bulge in his jeans and thinks about jerking off. Here, just outside Gus' elementary school. Yeah, that’s a fucking brilliant idea. God, how great would that fuck over the breakfast table have been?
With another drawn-out sigh, he shifts to rest his chin on the steering wheel. His dick is softening now, tiredness getting the better of him. At the moment a nap seems the most desirable thing in the world… well maybe not the most desirable thing. But right now the longing to catch up on sleep seems so sweet. He had hopes that last night would be the night that Brian slept through the night. The night that he wasn’t dragged out of sleep with Brian’s hands digging into his flesh, Brian's voice incoherent with muffled, far-away panic. No such fucking luck.
He clenches his teeth and pushes the thoughts from his mind. Whatever the fuck, it’s pointless debating it all now. He has a serious fucking commission to finish back in his studio, and he and his dick need some equally serious fucking alone time in the shower… which will have to do until Brian gets back from work and the kids are safely in bed. He grimaces, tossing his phone back onto the passenger seat and hits the gas.
*********
“Brian, the nurse was saying that forty-six people died. I can't believe - I can't believe that that many-”
“Believe it. Cause from what I hear, that number’s set to increase.”
“Is there anyone - Brian, I haven't seen... did anyone we know - any of our friends? My mom?”
"Your mom's fine."
"Oh God, thank God, but did anyone else... was anyone else hurt?"
"...."
"Brian! Please! I need to know."
"Justin - "
"Just. Tell. Me. Tell me who fucking died!"
“Linds, Lindsay died, she's one of the forty six. And Melanie."
“Oh my God. They’re both dead?”
“Yes.”
“Both of them? Both Mel and Linds?”
"Yes."
"How… how did they die?"
“I don’t know, I have no fucking idea. Your Mom said she saw them at the bar - it’s where the worst of it was.”
“Oh my God, it's real, they're both dead?"
"They're both dead."
“Who - anyone else?”
"Mikey's dead too."
"Michael‘s dead?"
"Yes."
***********
Justin is wasting precious working time. Gus is in his room supposedly meditating on why he shouldn’t have called Nanny Monica a “stupid useless fuckwit” during the ride back from school. Justin merely sighed with a pointed glare in Brian’s direction when Monica self-righteously recounted the story; Brian stifled an obvious snort of amusement, remarking to Justin afterwards, “Well he’s not fucking wrong there.”
He stares dismally at the computer screen. He can hear Brian and Jenny’s voices come floating through the adjoining door of the den. The short thirty-second animation is playing repeatedly in front of him and his finger is itching to press the DELETE button.
“Where are we going tonight Barbie?” Brian’s version of Ken’s voice is gruff and deep, a caricature of manliness.
“To the movies,” replies Jenny-as-Barbie.
“What we gonna see babe?”
A giggle of delight from Jenny as she answers, “Annie.”
“Oh no, not again, I hate that movie!”
“Daddy no!” Jenny is obviously breaking character, “No! You’re doing it all wrong!”
“Am I?” Brian’s tone is the epitome of innocent, “But don’t you think a tough guy like Ken would prefer an action movie?”
“No! Annie is his favourite movie.”
“As I always suspected, Barbie truly is his beard.” This time Brian’s voice is a low muttered aside, Justin smiles to himself.
Jenny is, of course, unaware of the implications Ken’s movie choices have on his sexuality and is now using her bossy tone on her wayward father - a tone that so clearly betrays her maternal heritage: “Daddy! Just do what I say!”
He snaps the laptop shut and gets to his feet, lounging against the doorframe; Brian is lying sprawled across the floor, ankles crossed and feet bare, Jenny cross-legged in front of him, watching him cram the body of an extravagantly dressed Ken doll into the pink convertible. Looking up he takes in Justin’s presence, “I thought you were working.”
“I got bored,” answers Justin coming into the room and falling into an armchair, “it’s all for shit anyway. You should’ve gotten someone who knows what they‘re doing to do it.”
Jenny looks up, “You shouldn’t swear,” she tells him seriously.
“Yeah, you shouldn’t swear,” choruses Brian, grinning in amusement, “and I wanted the best man for the job.”
Justin shrugs morosely, “Well, when your client comes back to you and tells you it‘s total…” he glances at Jenny, “…trash, don‘t say I didn‘t warn you.”
“Stop being so melodramatic,” leaving Ken and Barbie to Jenny’s kinder hands, Brian gets to his feet, perching on the arm of Justin’s chair, he stretches out one hand to him. Justin leans his head into the familiar touch, letting Brian’s soft fingers run through his hair, relaxing and enjoying.
“Seriously, you should get someone in your Art Department to take over now. I‘ve got that commission from the Van Doreens and Merilee wants three more pieces for the show in January. I don‘t think I‘ll have time.”
“Yeah?” answers Brian distractedly, his eyes are fixed on Jenny as she frowns in concentration, trying to tug off Ken’s lime green velvet pants.
“Brian? Did you hear what I just said?”
“When she gets that look on her face she reminds me of Mikey,” his voice is low, soft, his eyes steadily avoiding Justin‘s. “He used to get the same look when he was concentrating on algebra or something. Of course he could never manage on his own - I always ended up doing it for him. Loser.”
Justin glances towards him, wary of the brooding expression that has crept across his face and feeling a stab of something bitter and corrosive low in his stomach as he glances back towards Jenny - his daughter, “Well lets hope she has Mel’s brains then,” he states dismissively, biting his lip, he gets to his feet.
“Yeah, just so long as she doesn’t inherit her lovely personality.” Brian stretches out one arm to halt him, “Hey!” He pulls him back into the chair.
“What?” he snaps as he half-sprawls across Brian’s lap.
Brian stares back into his face, “As far as she's concerned you're her real dad."
"Whatever, Brian. Anyway, I've got shit to do." He turns to move away, Brian stretching out another impeding arm.
"Listen to me. Biology doesn't mean shit.”
Justin laughs humourlessly and sinks back into the chair, "Sure it doesn't. Try saying that with a straight face next time Gus calls the Nanny a stupid useless fuckwit?"
"Yeah, cause he would never have overheard you saying anything like that."
“Dad?”
“What?” Justin jerks away from Brian, looking up to take in Gus who is standing directly in front of them, his expression doleful. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I’ve thought about it and I’m sorry for saying that stuff to Nanny Monica… but she is stupid! She never remembers anything I tell her and…”
“Not good enough. Try again,” states Justin firmly.
The boy sighs woefully, “I’m sorry Dad. I shouldn‘t have disrespected her.”
“Better,” Justin smiles at him approvingly. “And if you say anything like that again to a teacher or Nanny Monica or anyone else then you‘ll be punished. Do you understand?”
Gus nods quickly, eyes still downcast.
“Good boy. Now you can finish loading the dishwasher.”
“Have I ever told you how hot you are when you get your punishment on?” Brian whispers to him as they watch the boy trudge off, heaving a sigh so huge his skinny frame appears dwarfed by it.
“Oh, so that’s why you leave all the discipline shit to me? Not just so you can be the cool parent?”
“Well, that too obviously. But mainly so I can appreciate the hotness.”
*************
“Brian?"
Justin pauses at the doorway to the home office. His body is slumped forward in his leather desk chair, his head resting on one hand, the other tapping half-heartedly on the mouse button.
"Are they in bed?"
"They most certainly are."
Brian nods slowly and goes back to staring at the computer screen. Justin watches him and then smiles to himself, a wide anticipatory almost predatory smile. He moves to stand behind Brian, draping both arms over the other’s shoulders, pressing his mouth up against Brian’s ear, “What’re you working on?”
“Fucking projections.”
“Hmm, sounds dirty, tell me more.”
Brian huffs out a small sound of amusement and catches hold of one of Justin’s hands, entwining their fingers loosely, “Unfortunately, it’s not and even more unfortunately, it has to be done tonight.”
“Shit, there goes my plans for the evening.”
“You had plans? Since when?”
“Since it’s been four days since our last fuck.”
Turning his head, Brian looks up and regards him with a sudden twitch in his mouth. "Four days? We have to do something about that."
"Yeah," Justin breathes in response. He moves his face closer to Brian‘s, threading one hand into his hair, kissing him softly on the lips, feeling Brian's lips part to take him in, their mouths locking together. Breaking from the kiss, Justin exhales into Brian's face, licking the edges of his chin and kissing the corners of his eyes, breathing in his scent and tasting his skin. Brian is staring at him with a dark-eyed, flushed intensity that makes every pore in his body tingle; the gooseflesh climbing up his arms and brushing at the nape of his neck where the tiny hairs have already risen.
With an abrupt movement, Brian grabs him, half-pushing and half-manoeuvring him away from the chair. They fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs, Justin feels a laugh escape him as Brian’s body crashes on top of him. Above him, Brian‘s face is dark and shadowed. He passes one careful hand under Justin’s head, gently cradling it; he lowers his face to kiss him, slowly at first then quicker… building up to that familiar passionate almost desperation that rests on the edges of all their fucking these days. Justin breaks away and places his hands either side of Brian‘s face, “Brian,” he murmurs out loud, “fuck me.”
Brian’s expression changes immediately, a grin - wide and wicked sliding over his features. One hand goes up, reaching to palm open the top desk drawer, retrieving the condom; Justin watches him rip it open with his teeth in that graceful automatic movement he has seen hundreds, no, thousands of times before. Brian’s head lowers as he carefully rolls it on and Justin continues to stare up at his face, the red hue of arousal enhancing the perfect familiar features in a way that makes something twist deep down in his stomach. Love you, love you, love you, love you, the words beat like a mantra in his brain. He wants to say them out loud, but instead he raises his legs, wrapping them tight and high around Brian’s torso, knowing that for them this means the same thing.
**********
“I thought you were dead. I managed to get out with Tucker and we were waiting outside - I don't know how we managed to get out, he was leading me, holding onto me and my head was bleeding and there was smoke and rubble everywhere, people were shouting and screaming…"
“Go on Mom, I want to know what happened. You have to tell me.”
“I’m just so relieved you’re okay honey. We’ve been waiting for so long for you to wake up… I’d almost given up hope. You were unconscious for four days, I thought that this time - this time around, you wouldn’t make it, you wouldn’t wake up….”
“Mom! Tell me what happened. How did I get out?“
“It was Brian. He saved you.”
“What do you mean he saved me? He wasn’t even there.”
“He showed up, Justin. He just appeared out of nowhere. He forced his way back in and he stayed with you until you were rescued. He kept you alive. He saved you.”
***********
Friday
Clutching Jenny’s hand tightly in his own, Justin marches out across the field. The grass feels soggy underfoot and his sneakers squelch in protest as they head towards the twenty two cold looking boys chasing a soccer ball. He halts for a moment and glances around for Brian's tall familiar form, the murky Fall afternoon light causing him to squint. A burst of cold wind whips at his hair and he shivers, raising one hand to tighten the knot in his scarf, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck - the touch brings memories flashing into his brain, very welcome memories from the previous evening - Brian’s fingers biting into his skin, Brian’s mouth licking greedily at his lips…
“Daddy, I’m cold!” A tug on his coat rouses him from his momentary Brian induced daze and smiling to himself at his own predictability, he crouches down in front of her, yanking the zipper on her coat up to her chin and fixing her scarf. “I don’t want to watch Gus’ team!” she protests, pulling her head away from him and fixing him with an extremely unangelic glare.
Justin sighs and pulls her hood up over her pigtailed head, “We’ve got to stay. Now, let’s go and find Daddy. Can you see him?”
“He’s there,” she waves a mittoned hand, giving him a look of disdain - something she’s definitely picked up from her other father. Justin follows the direction of her hand and takes in the specter of Brian: stalking up and down the sideline with typical arrogance, shouting furious commands at the field of disconsolate boys, elegant designer coat billowing around long legs.
“I want to go back to the car!” frets Jenny.
“We won’t be long. How about I give you a ride, huh?” He hefts her onto his shoulders as a giggle of delight breaks out across her face. He stands up, gripping her small hands tightly in his own and sets off. Looking up, Brian notices their approach and begins to saunter quickly towards them. Justin pauses and takes Jenny off his shoulders, depositing her back onto the ground where she stamps her dirty sneakered feet and glares at them both.
“Hey.” Ignoring the greeting, Brian leans forward and grabs him round the waist in a sudden passionate embrace, crushing their mouths together in a kiss worthy of a Broadway musical. “Jesus Brian! Would you not do that in front of the parentals?” Justin breathes out as Brian finally lets him go and moves to sweep Jenny up in his arms.
"I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not just to avoid pissing off straight people." Brian looks about him contemptuously, taking in the mixed looks of fear, disgust and amusement being shot their way.
“Well there’s not pretending to be something and then there’s flaunting it in their faces.”
“And which would you say was more my style?” Brian bestows him with a wide shit-eating grin as he lets Jenny slide to the ground beside him.
Justin shakes his head and turns his attention to the game, finally making out Gus’ familiar shape. He’s chasing maniacally after the boy currently in possession of the ball. Justin watches as Gus lunges feet first at the boy who crumples jaggedly to the ground; completely unperturbed and having regained possession, Gus takes off in the opposite direction.
“That’s my boy,” comments Brian with evident fatherly approval.
“Wasn’t that a foul?” hisses Justin as he watches Gus's tackled opponent get shakily to his feet.
“Yeah,” shrugs Brian, not bothering to conceal his delight. “But the referee’s too shit scared of me to call one on Gus.” Justin can’t help smiling to himself as he watches the overweight, nervous-looking referee glance hesitatingly at Brian before taking off slowly after Gus’ much faster form. “So what was more important to Deb than taking her favourite person off our hands for a few hours?”
“Another benefit. When we went round there she and Emmett were in the middle of important preparations.” He rolls his tongue sarcastically over the last few words.
“Jesus. Another one?”
“Yeah.” He reaches into his pocket pulling out the tatty flyer: Benefit for the Victims & Survivors of The Babylon Bombing, Brian glances up to take it in, his expression hardening, “It’s next Wednesday. She wants us both to attend.”
“And you want us to attend this fucking charade?”
“No. I already said we couldn’t. Don’t worry about it.”
“Fuck, I hate them. I fucking hate them.” Justin glances hastily at Brian, shocked by the vehemence of his words. His expression has darkened and Justin can see the involuntary flexing of his hands as they rest protectively on Jenny’s shoulders.
“I know.” He emphasises the words softly, stretching out one hand to gently touch the other’s arm, “That’s why I told her we couldn’t go.”
“You go if you want. I know how important community shit is to you.”
“Community shit? Yeah, right!” snorts Justin sardonically. “I really want to spend my evening surrounded by people with missing limbs and hideous burns carrying on about how that fucking bomb destroyed their lives forever. Look, don‘t worry about it. We‘ll do something else - something like we did last night…” he lets his voice run into the suggestive, seductive tone that Brian loves; except Brian is still staring at the field, not hearing him nor the tone in his voice.
“She just needs something else in her life. Michael’s dead. He’s not coming back.”
"This is her way of coping with it. You know how Deb is."
"Well it's bullshit. She needs to move on. They all do."
Justin sighs, “You mean like we have? Like you have?” his voice comes out more sarcastically than he’s intended and he clamps his mouth shut, fearing that he’s gone somewhere he shouldn’t have.
Brian turns and regards him steadily, “Yeah, like we have.”
********
“Brian?” Justin enters the den. Brian is slumped on the couch, face shadowed and half-wreathed in a dense cloud of cigarette smoke. “Why aren’t you in bed? It’s after three AM.”
“Have you been working?” asks Brian, ignoring the question. His head moving in a slow soporific movement to take in Justin.
“Yes.”
“Good?”
“Yeah, I think so. You should take a look, tell me what you think. I’m thinking of including it with the other pieces to send to Merilee for the January show. Why are you still up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Justin falls onto the couch beside him, his foot colliding with a bottle of whiskey; he glances down at it, registering dismally how much has gone. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch. Couldn‘t sleep? Shit, not again.
“You’re too good for this.”
“What?” Startled, his eyes snap open.
“For this - for this bullshit domestic life. You shouldn’t be here wasting your time, living this fucking bullshit existence, you should be somewhere that’s worthy of you - living your life.”
Justin rolls his eyes, “I’m not listening to this argument again. You know what I think.”
“You’re wrong. You don’t know what’s good for you, you never have. That’s why you’re still with me.”
Justin wrinkles his nose in frustration. Ah, the morose martyr phase: Brian has obviously been drinking for a while. He stretches out one hand, tilting Brian’s chin towards him and stares into his face, “Now you’re spouting total bullshit.”
Brian raises reddened eyes, pauses for a long few seconds before pulling away sharply and drops one hand to the floor again, feeling around for the bottle. Justin watches him and then leans forward and picks it up himself.
“It’s nearly empty Brian.”
Brian wrenches it from his hands and regards the scant contents with dismay.
“Come to bed with me,” Justin catches hold of his hand and tugs at him, getting to his feet.
“I was thinking… I might just crash here,” Brian pulls his hand out of Justin’s grasp and lets his body fall onto its side, long legs dangling over one arm of the couch.
“You can’t crash here, if Gus and Jenny see you they’ll think we’ve had a fight or something. You don’t want to upset them.”
“You think too much you know,” mutters Brian, closing his eyes. “They probably won’t even notice.”
Justin kneels on the wooden floor and moves to stroke the other’s hair softly. “Come to bed with me. It’s no fun without you.”
Brian makes a groaning sound that seems to be meant as “duh obviously” and Justin smiles to himself. He presses his lips against Brian’s hair, using his soft persuasive voice, “Is it the Benefit flyer?”
“Fuck, no. Not that,” comes the slurred answer.
Justin nods and runs soft comforting hands over Brian’s back, “Did you have another dream?” he waits for an answer. He doesn’t get one. “It’ll be better if you fall asleep with me there too.”
“Doesn’t help.”
“And whiskey does?”
“Yeah. Better than anything else.”
Justin bites down another sigh of frustration, keeping his voice soft, persuasive, “Brian, tell me what you dreamed.”
“I don’t want to.” The reply is mumbled, the edge in his voice is petulant despair.
“Brian, tell me. I can make it better.” He kisses him gently around the nape of his neck. He reaches for the words instinctively, “I’m still here, this is me, real. I’m not dead. You saved me, remember?”
“I didn’t save them.” The words come out quietly, resignedly.
“Who?”
“The other people, Mikey, Linds. I didn’t save them.”
"It’s not your fault. You didn’t plant the bomb.”
Brian murmurs something indistinct, opening his eyes momentarily to look at Justin. They’re bloodshot and tired, a worn, pleading look in them. Justin’s returning smile feels glassy, weak. Brian closes his eyes again quickly and Justin swallows down his anxiety.
“Brian…”
“Justin, just fucking drop it.” With a sharp shrug of his shoulders, Brian comes back to life, shifting on the couch. He opens his eyes and flinches away from Justin’s touch.
“Brian…”
“Justin! Jesus, will you fucking listen to me? I want to forget all about it, okay?” He has reverted to his cold, in-charge, daytime voice.
“No. Not okay. I know you’re imagining you’re back in there with me, and that I’m about to die - or - or… whatever. Tell me. You helped me back when I used to have nightmares. I want to help you now.”
“You can’t help me.” Brian’s voice is flat, he looks away from Justin’s pleading gaze, tilting the bottle over his mouth to drain the rest of its contents. “This is my problem. Nothing to do with you.”
“Bullshit! Brian, it was...it was my fault. It was my fault you were there in the first place!”
“No it wasn’t!” Brian pauses in his drinking to glare at Justin in frustration. “It was my fault. My choice. I needed to know that you were okay so that’s why I went in there.”
“To save me. Yes, I know. At the risk of your own life.”
“What was my life worth?”
“It was worth a lot to me then and it‘s worth everything to me now,” Justin’s voice is sober. He pulls the now empty bottle out of Brian’s hand and gently puts it on the floor. “Stop being so maudlin. I thought you hated self-pity.”
“Yeah, it makes my dick soft.”
Justin sighs again and half-manoeuvres Brian back down onto his side, he crawls into the space in front of him, his back against Brian’s warm chest. Justin closes his eyes, the weariness beginning to overwhelm him; he can feel Brian’s breath, warm and moist on his neck. Brian murmurs something and moves his arms to encircle Justin, wrapping them tightly around him. “See?” Justin whispers. “It's easier when you sleep with me.”
**********
"Brian, what's going to happen to Gus and JR?"
"Don't worry about that - "
"Are you going to keep Gus?"
"Yes. He's my son."
"I thought you would. And JR, what's going to happen to her?"
“I’m not sure. Don’t think about it, you need to concentrate on yourself.”
“Is Deb gonna take her, Mel’s mother?”
“Justin, it’s not your problem. Don’t think about it.”
“Brian - I want to know.”
“Mel’s mother has terminal breast cancer. She won’t be raising a baby. And Deb is… she’s not her usual ball breaking self at the moment. She’s been hit really hard.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Brian - we should take her. You and me. You should get your attorney to do all the necessary legal shit so we can be guardians to both kids.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You and me. We should raise Gus and JR. Together.”
***********
Saturday
"So, what's wrong?"
"What makes you think something's wrong?" Justin squirms in the outdoor chair, squinting at the low yellow sunlight rippling through the heavy green trees.
"You forget that I’m your mother, honey. I always know when there's something wrong."
"I don't know. I'm just, you know, in a strange mood today." He picks up his coffee mug from the wooden table between them, cupping his hands around it, feeling the warmth penetrate his fingers.
"So where's Brian today?"
“Inside, in the office,” he nods towards the house, “he has a conference call.”
“He works too hard, you both do.”
Justin shrugs, turning his eyes to watch Gus and Jenny playing on the lawn in front of them. Gus evidently trying to teach his sister the basic rules of soccer, demonstrating about as much patience as his father when dealing with under-performing employees, albeit with slightly less expletives: You’re supposed to kick the ball lamebrain! No, you can’t pick it up - look, you have to dribble with it! God, you are so stupid!
“I worry about you. I can’t help it, it’s a Mom thing.”
Her voice runs over him, it’s soft, calming, familiar. He wants to tell her, share with her, some part of him still hoping she has the all-powerful Mom ability to make it all better. “I - um... Brian has these dreams.”
“What sort of dreams?”
“Nightmares. About the bombing.” He feels treacherous even saying the words.
“Well - I would say that’s understandable. Given the circumstances. I sometimes dream horrible things myself.”
“Do you?” Somehow the revelation is surprising. He rarely thinks about other people in reference to the bombing. Despite the deaths of forty nine people, some of them their own friends, despite Debbie and her endless benefits and support groups; the bombing, as with most things in his life, has always been about just he and Brian - one of the many hideous and defining events that binds them together so irrevocably.
“Of course. After what we all went through. We all must have some form of PTSD.” She smiles affectionately at him, “If you ever attended one of Debbie’s support groups, you would know that darling. There’s always a psychiatrist there giving advice on methods of dealing with it. That is the point of a support group.”
“You know we never attend those things. Brian hates anything that reminds him. He’s only ever set foot in the Memorial Center twice since it opened.”
Jennifer nods thoughtfully, “How bad are his dreams? Does he have them often?”
“He always had them, right from the beginning.” He places the coffee mug back onto the table between them, pushing at it with his fingers, eyes focused on the blue swirls of the design, “But it never used to happen very often so I didn’t really think anything of it, just thought it was normal - you know.” Eyes still fixed on the mug, he shrugs, a small sheepish movement, “But then about two months ago, it changed to about two or three times a week, recently - even more. And I hate it because it seems like every fucking night, I’m lying there expecting it… and I can’t fall asleep myself and if I ever do manage to fall asleep then… then he always wakes me up - he can‘t help it.” He can feel Jennifer’s cool appraising gaze on him and he shifts in the chair, “It‘s not his fault Mom, but I - I‘m just so fucking exhausted - and it's not like I can just go sleep in the guestroom, because we tried that and it made it worse...” He lets the words trail off, laughing humourlessly, "You have no idea how much I would pay just to be able to sleep through an entire night." He lifts his eyes to stare out across the garden, watching Jenny scamper after Gus laughing, trying to pick the ball up with her hands to his continued exasperation.
“He should see someone,” states Jennifer flatly. “You need to force him to see a professional.”
“Yeah, cause I didn’t think of that myself.”
“Honey…”
“Mom.” He parrots back her concerned tone with extra sarcasm, “This is Brian we’re talking about remember?”
“I know very well what Brian’s like,” replies Jennifer dryly. “But he needs help, you both do, you can’t go on this way. If not for your own sakes then for the children’s.”
Think of the children! Won’t somebody think of the children? Justin grimaces. When did their life turn into a fucking after-school special?
“Justin?”
“The kids are fine Mom, we’re fine. Just forget what I said. I exaggerated. You know I always exaggerate.”
“Justin -” She's poised to relaunch the attack...
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”
Every muscle in Justin’s body freezes as his eyes quickly swoop across the expanse of lawn in front of them, landing on the distraught small form of Jenny half-sprawled on the flagstone path to the right of where he and Jennifer are sitting. He gets to his feet and moves quickly towards her. Her face is red and wet with hot tears as she thrusts her knee under his nose.
“Gus made me hurt my knee! He pushed me over!” she wails. “He’s so horrible! I hate him!” A renewed burst of tears is this time muffled by Justin’s sweater as she grabs at him with tightly bunched fists. Justin wraps his arms around her closely. He can feel her entire body convulse with overwrought sobs.
“Shh, stop crying sweetheart, lets get you inside and clean up your knee, okay?”
She clings onto him tighter as he lifts her up into his arms. In the kitchen, she sits on the tiled countertop; her eyes locked on him, wide with trust and love, as he carefully dabs at her scrape with antiseptic. The sudden realisation that he’s been doing shit like this for her and Gus for five years… that he’s been a father for five years… that he and Brian have been parents for five years… hits him and his hand halts in its ministrations, he feels absurdly disoriented.
“Daddy?”
Jenny’s voice prompts him and he shakes himself; feeling as if he's been abruptly returned to his body. This is reality - this is his life, this - this comforting, nurturing... this being a father thing, this is what he does now. This is easy. This, he can do... this, he loves to do. He smiles into her small anxious face, feeling a sudden burst of love for her thick and tight in his gut; he leans forward kissing her on the nose, “Did that sting?”
She nods eagerly.
“And you didn’t cry? Well, I think that makes you a very brave girl.”
A big toothy grin is his reward.
*********
"What the fuck Justin? You want us to become the parents to two under fives? What the fuck have they been giving you in here?"
"Brian! Listen to me. I love those kids. I care about what happens to them. Their parents - our friends - are dead.”
“I am well aware of that.”
“And you’re already taking Gus…”
“Gus is my responsibility. I don‘t want you to be involved.”
“Bullshit! I’m already involved. Gus loves me, you love me. You need me. Look I know you have this stupid fucked-up idea that I should be out fucking hot guys every night and concentrating on my career, but I want more than that.”
“And you think signing on to raise two fucking kids is going to give you more than that?”
“I think it’s the right thing to do.”
“Wrong. It’s one of the worst fucking ideas you’ve ever had.”
“Why?”
“Because you are only twenty-two, you can't become responsible for two kids."
"If it’s my decision?”
“It’s the wrong decision.”
*********
"What the fuck are we doing here? You know how I feel about the fucking Memorial Center." Brian practically spits the words out, disdain in every syllable.
"Yeah I know," Justin replies evenly. Looking around him, his eyes take in the different yet familiar aspect of the street and alleyways he used to know so well. Liberty Avenue is no longer the same place it was five years ago when Brian was both the owner of Babylon and its acknowledged king. Okay, so the same stores, bars and most of the same faces are still here, but it’s not the same. When Justin thinks about it, he thinks of it as a safe kind of colourful: no hustlers, no graffiti, no discarded condoms; instead the bombing has turned it into a site of pilgrimage for all of Gay America. It’s a special kind of tourist spot and the building they’re currently standing outside - formerly Babylon, gay club extraordinaire - now The Babylon Memorial Center, is at the epicenter of this brave new world.
He moves away from Brian and taking out a key begins to unlock the Center’s heavy glass doors.
"So… I ask again, what the fuck are we doing here?" Brian lays a restraining hand over Justin's, leaving the key hanging half out the lock, and tugs him away from the door. "I'm not going in there."
"Yes, we are going in there." Justin pulls his hand out of Brian's grasp and turns to wrench the key in the door, pushing it open stiffly.
"No. Fucking. Way."
"Brian! Will you get the fuck over yourself and get your ass in here?"
Justin rarely comes here, the deliberate tragic sentimentality of the place grates on him almost as much as it does on Brian. With its grey stone and hushed ponderous silence it reminds him of a church, the crowd of squat white candles arrayed across the table on one side of the wall lending even further to the fake holy atmosphere. He stretches out one hand to the light switches by the door, the stark lighting infusing the place with an eerie glow.
Brian follows him in, voice dripping with contempt, “God, I hate this fucking place, it’s pathetic. Promise me if anything like this ever happens to me you won’t let them put my fucking picture up on the wall for the tourists to weep over. Promise me that Sunshine.”
“Brian, will you shut up? You know how close we were to having our pictures up there.”
Brian tosses him a sardonic smile and throws himself onto one of the black leather visitors chairs.
Ignoring him, Justin turns to look at the Memorial Wall - one entire wall of the main room devoted to honouring “Our Never Forgotten Forty-Nine Brothers and Sisters”,. Framed photographs of the victims arranged alphabetically, the vivid colour of their faces a deliberate stark contrast to the grey stone behind, names and dates under the smiling faces. Justin runs his eyes over them, flinching as he reaches Melanie Marcus 1968-2005 and Michael Charles Novotny-Bruckner 1970-2005.
He pauses at Lindsey Anne Peterson 1971-2005 and looks into her soft smiling face. He can see Gus in her eyes, he has the same eyes. Most of his face is Brian's, the curve of his mouth, the wonderfully expressive eyebrows, the nose, bone structure - destined to be a heartbreaker.
“She wasn’t a natural blonde.” He starts, he hasn‘t heard Brian approach. “She dyed it.”
“What colour was she really?”
“A light brown, if I recall, same as Gus.”
Justin nods and throws a quick glance at the profile beside him. Catching him, Brian turns his face slightly and smiles with a small sardonic raise of his lip, passing an arm around Justin‘s shoulders. “What are we doing here?”
“I was talking to my Mom earlier.”
“Oh great. And what words of wisdom did Mother Taylor have to pass onto her beloved offspring?”
“She thinks you should see someone. She thinks you need help. And I tend to agree with her.”
“Well the both of you should stop worrying, I saw someone - no, three someones in fact, at the baths Tuesday night. And it was most helpful.”
“Brian! Jesus, will you be fucking serious for a moment?” Justin breaks away from him, standing in the middle of the room, he stares back at Brian, his fists clenched in frustration. “I’m so fucking sick of skirting around the issue, of not confronting things! Of pretending that everything’s okay when it so obviously isn’t!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“When was the last time you managed to sleep through the night?”
Brian’s eyes narrow, “Justin…”
“Yesterday at Gus’ game you accused Deb and Emmett and everyone of being incapable of moving on - but that’s us too Brian! We haven’t been able to move on. You haven‘t…” he shrugs uselessly, the words escaping him for a moment.
A further narrowing of his eyes is the only answer from Brian.
Justin swallows and tries to find his reasonable tone, “Listen, I know it’s different for me. I don’t remember - I don’t remember any of it. I just remember being there, at the Benefit, talking to people - to Deb and Mom and Michael and Ben,” he trails off, swallowing over the burning in the back of his throat, the sting in the corner of his eyes; he doesn‘t want to lose control now, to let himself… he may as well give up if that happens. “But after that - nothing. Not until I woke up in the hospital and you were telling me you loved me.” He approaches Brian slowly, standing by him, he runs one tentative hand down the other’s arm, looking up into the closed face.
“I would be lying to you if I told you that I never feel guilty. Hey, I survived while those forty nine people on that wall didn't.” He grips Brian’s arm harder in his hand, curling his fingers around it. “But, Brian, I only survived because of you, because I was lucky to have someone who loved me so much - so much that he would risk his own ass… his own stupid ass… to save me. Those poor fuckers - they never had that.” He presses his forehead against Brian’s arm and exhales, "But then I think, why am I wasting time feeling guilty? It's not gonna bring them back. I should be feeling lucky instead to be loved in that way." He feels his voice break over the last words and he converts it into a laugh - a shaky unclear sound. Brian is still ignoring him, eyes focused on one of the shadows in the corner of the room.
A long time seems to pass until Justin hears the soft mumble of Brian's voice. “I always used to look out for him. Always, in school and afterwards.”
“Michael?” Justin whispers the word to himself and moves away from Brian, falling into one of the visitors chairs.
“And Lindsay...”
“What about them?”
“I didn’t save them.”
“And you feel guilty about it. Of course you do. But they died instantly Brian. There was nothing you could’ve done. There was nothing anyone could‘ve done.”
“Maybe,” Brian shrugs, his eyes still avoiding Justin’s gaze.
“Definitely,” repeats Justin flatly.
“But, I didn’t even think about them. The moment I heard the announcement on the radio the only thing I could think about was finding you... I remember I tried calling and calling... All I could think was make sure he's okay... make sure he's okay. When I got there that was the only thing on my mind - getting into that fucking place and finding you...” he trails off, his mouth crooking in a small sheepish movement.
“I would’ve done the same. If it had been you in there, I don’t think I would’ve thought about anyone else.” The words come out of Justin sparsely. He lifts his eyes to see that Brian has started pacing the room, walking from one wall to the other, his hands in the pockets of his long overcoat and his eyes fixed on some undetermined point. “Brian. Think about it, please. Not all psychiatrists are a big waste of time and money.”
“Sure they’re not.” Brian’s voice has returned to trusted sarcasm.
“I’m going to see someone. I should’ve done it years ago after the bashing. But I was scared. And now I figure - better late than never.”
“Oh well, good for you.” Brian pauses in his pacing and turns on his heels to look towards Justin, a slight sneer edging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m sure this is not something that would help me.”
“Why not? What makes you such a special case?”
Brian drops into the chair beside Justin, “Listen. If you think it’ll help you, then I’m completely behind you - so to speak.” He raises his eyebrow with a seductive smirk.
Justin rolls his eyes, “Brian…”
“Just don’t come back from your therapy sessions fucking hating me or something." Justin glances at him and for a moment, for a short second, he can see Brian’s vulnerable side, a glitch in the facade.
“I’ve had enough people in my life telling me you’re no good for me and I’ve never listened to any of them - so what the fuck makes you think some therapist will change my mind?” He stretches out one leg and kicks Brian gently on the calf. “And you’re avoiding my question. Why won’t you see someone?”
“I have a feeling that once I start talking about how I feel about the bombing and possible PTSD and all that shit, they’ll want to know about my fucking childhood,” Brian rolls his eyes self-deprecatingly. “And then it’ll never be over. I’ll be in therapy for the rest of my fucking life.” He turns his body away from Justin and reaches one hand into the inside pocket of his coat, locating the inevitable pack of cigarettes.
Justin watches him thoughtfully, feeling his skin begin to prickle at the resignation in Brian’s tone. “Maybe talking about all that - about your life, it might be a good thing?”
Brian grunts sardonically, flicking on his Zippo lighter. He lights the cigarette, casting a contemptuous glance at the NO SMOKING signs adorning the walls. “Trust me Sunshine. It won’t. I managed fine before, why change the habits of a lifetime?”
“Because you’re not fine. Even you can’t fool yourself about that.”
A silence descends on them and Justin lets his head fall back against the back of the chair, closing his eyes. He can still hear the even clipping of Brian’s heels on the stone as he continues his never-ending pacing. He opens his mouth to feel a wide powerful yawn stretch his jaw and realises that he can no longer hear the sound of Brian’s shoes. He opens his eyes.
Brian is standing over the candles, cigarette between in his lips, he’s holding his lighter in his fingers, lighting each candle one by one, “You’re supposed to make a donation if you want to light a candle.”
“I’ve made plenty of fucking donations to this place. Hell, I donated the whole fucking building.” Justin watches him in silence, the only noise the snap and hiss of his lighter as he continues lighting the candles, occasionally stopping to flick ash from his cigarette onto the ground.
“Tell me truthfully Brian, if all this shit hadn’t happened, do you think we’d be here now at this point?”
“Well we wouldn’t be standing in this fucking place for a start.”
“No, cause this would still be Babylon.” Justin speaks thoughtfully, looking around the cold grey walls he tries to picture it - the guys, the music, the lights, the glitter…
“And I’d still be there like the pathetic over-the-hill club boy I always was.”
“No you weren’t. Anyway, if you were here then I would say there’s a very good chance I’d be here with you.”
“No,” Brian shakes his head slowly, “you would’ve blown this God-forsaken burg a long time ago. You’re far too good for it. You’d be in New York, or London or Paris, somewhere deserving of your talent. And you’d be with some worthy homosexual who’d treat you properly, who wouldn’t be fucking scared of loving you and showing it. And you’d be successful. A big fat fucking success.”
Justin laughs, “Is that what you think? Is that my imaginary alternative universe future? The one that’s neither bullshit nor domestic? Is that what your poor paranoid brain has dreamed up for me?”
“It’s true,” mutters Brian soberly, grinding the remains of his cigarette out against the grey stone wall. “We weren’t even together when the fucking bomb went off and if it hadn’t been for that - for the kids…” He shrugs his shoulders, dropping the cigarette butt onto the table alongside the candles, “It’s what you deserve.”
“Shit! No it isn’t. You know how much I love you. I always have! Nothing could compare to you - to us - to what we have, to what you, me and the kids have! Especially not some “worthy homosexual” who’d treat me properly and who wouldn’t be scared of loving me. Jesus!” He laughs again and gets to his feet, crossing the room towards Brian. “Give me an emotionally stunted fuckwit any day over that!”
Brian looks down at him, a small smile edging at the corner of his mouth, “Emotionally stunted fuckwit?”
“A pretty accurate description, wouldn’t you say?”
Wordlessly, he wraps both arms around Justin, turning him so they’re both facing the row of candles, resting his chin on the top of Justin’s head. “Sometimes I dream that you’re dead. That I’ve found you, like I did - with that same steel bar lying across your legs, trapping you... but when I reach down and feel for your pulse, here…” Justin’s breath hitches as he feels Brian’s fingers press into the side of his neck; the blood is beating loudly in his head, the echoing of Brian’s voice vibrating through his skull, “…there’s nothing. You’re already dead.”
“Brian?” His voice is a whisper, he can feel the prickling sting of tears at the corner of his eyes.
“And sometimes, it’s not you. Sometimes it’s Mikey, or Linds or even fucking Melanie… and they’re wanting to know why I didn’t save them.”
“You couldn’t have done anything,” Justin whispers again. His vision is blurring, the small yellow flames of the candles shining, reflecting in the wetness of the threatening tears.
Brian murmurs something again and Justin turns in the embrace, snaking his arms around Brian’s neck, tugging his face towards him, he presses his mouth onto Brian’s and kisses him. It’s frantic and long, hot and deep. When they finally part, their faces are red, their lips are sore and their dicks are hard.
Brian looks down at him and huffs out a small jagged laugh, leaning to place another kiss on his lips; standing still, he clutches Justin to him tightly. "God, I don't know - I don't know what I would've done if you..."
"But I didn't," states Justin softly, "I didn't die. I'm still alive - you made sure of that." He places his hands either side of Brian's face, he speaks quietly, eyes wide, wet and intense, "We're still together Brian. Despite all this shit - you and me - us together, that's never gonna go away. And it's a good fucking thing because now we have two kids who rely on us and who love us." He pauses, placing a kiss on the side of Brian's jaw, "And yeah, okay, I admit that sometimes I do resent them - I do resent the fact that we can't do what we want whenever we want, but there is no way in hell I would ever want out. No fucking way. And I know they're not my own flesh and blood, but they feel like they are and I love them so fucking much..." He stares back into Brian's eyes, stomach contracting, voice breaking as he says the words, "And I don't know how the fuck you and me of all people ended up like... like this - as fucking parents - but we did... so..."
"So I have to get my fucking shit together, right?" Brian pulls Justin closer to him, burying his face momentarily into Justin's neck. He exhales and then lifts his head, staring into the other's face, “Do you really think a psychiatrist might help?”
“It’s worth a try.”
“Then, I guess… okay.”
Justin nods, lowering his eyes to the row of perfectly arrayed candles in front of them, “You’re so weird sometimes. Why did you light these?”
“Because they’re so pretty.” He whispers the words into Justin’s ear with a sarcastic falsetto.
“Not as pretty as me?”
“Nothing’s as pretty as you.” Justin smiles to himself, feeling Brian’s lips press another kiss against his neck. “Come on. Lets get the fuck out of this shithole. I think I’ve had quite enough catharsis for one evening.”
“Yeah,” agrees Justin feelingly.
“Shit, I need a fucking drink.”
“Woody’s next stop, don’t you think?”
“And the men's room.”
“Oh yeah definitely. But that’s just the appetizer.”
“So what’s the main course?”
“We go home and fuck over and over again until every muscle is throbbing with pain and pleasure.”
Brian laughs lowly, his hand moving to cup Justin’s crotch. “That sounds like my kind of evening.”
“Hmm… yeah,” Justin moans, turning to look at him, an evil grin edging at the corner of his mouth. “And then tomorrow, we collect our kids from my Mom’s and take them to the mall because our son needs some fucking sneakers.”
Brian groans, laughing under his breath, he drops his head onto Justin’s shoulder, “Yeah, okay. Now I really need that fucking drink.”
***********
"Justin, you’re not winning this argument.“
“Brian, listen to me. You gave up your parental rights to Mel and Linds so Gus could be raised by two people who love him and who love each other, and that’s what he’s going to get, that‘s what they‘re both going to get. With us.”
“So, you’re really and truly ready to be a fulltime parent? Have them around 24/7, getting in our way, stopping us from fucking?“
“They do sleep Brian. You know that, we’ve fucked plenty of times when we’ve had Gus over.”
“So we’re already terrible parents.”
“Yeah, but look at it this way, the only way we can go from here is…”
“Up? Yeah, thanks for that. You do realise that if we do this then that’s it for us - no more bullshit break ups? This seals the deal.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. I’m not putting Gus through anymore shit - he’s already lost two parents. He comes first for me. This is his life, it's too important to fuck up.”
“I know and that’s why you have me - I won’t let you fuck up. And as far as I’m concerned the deal is sealed. I love you. I want to be with you.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Justin…”
“Brian. Look at me. I mean it.”
“Okay… Okay. But there‘s just one thing.”
“What?”
“If we adopt her, then we stop calling that poor kid JR, we call her Jenny.”
“Oh? Umm, why?”
“Because I hate the name JR and that fucking show Dallas.”
*********
"So where'd you get the keys from?" Brian jerks his head at the bunch in Justin's hand as he carefully locks the door behind them.
"Someone I know."
"Someone you fucked?" Brian cocks an eyebrow at him as Justin drops the keys back into his bag, hefting it onto his shoulder.
"No, not someone I fucked Brian. I do happen to know some people who aren’t just past tricks.”
"Really? How's that work?"
"Shut up!" Justin hits him playfully on the arm with a short laugh. "Oh my God, look over there!” A couple are having sex. Full-on, backroom-style sex complete with law defying grunts and moans.
“Well, well, I thought it was all respectable round here these days,” comments Brian amusedly.
"I guess that's what Vic used to call the indefatigable spirit of queers."
"Yeah, the indefatigable spirit of queers to always want to get their asses fucked and their dicks sucked."
Justin watches them, a considering expression on his face, “They‘re kinda hot - how about we um forego the drink and - invite them back with us?” He looks up at Brian, eyebrow cocked, smile seductive.
“No. I‘ve got a better idea.” The grin rolling across Brian’s face is almost goofy and Justin can feel something inside him melt as he looks into his face. “This way, my young apprentice.”
“Gus made you watch The Phantom Menace again, didn’t he?” sniggers Justin as Brian pushes him into a conveniently located alley.
“Yeah, I blame you.”
“Me?” Justin’s eyes widen in mock horror.
“Yeah. You. You let Deb give him all of Mikey’s old shit and now his room looks like a geek threw up in it.”
“Aww, poor Brian. A geek for a son! Wait, isn’t that, like, karma?”
Brian kisses him again by way of response, resting his nose against Justin’s cheek, “Now, get on your knees and worship my cock.”
Justin sniggers, “Oh God Brian, how much do I love the fact that despite everything you’re still using the same old shitty lines?”
“A lot, I hope.” He whispers the words close to Justin’s ear, his breath warm and sultry on Justin’s skin.
Justin shivers in appreciation, turning to stare into the eyes he knows better than his own, his expression mirroring the desire, lust, love in the other's face, “Yeah. A lot. You’ll still be saying that to me when I’m fifty.”
“You’d better fucking believe it. Now, get on your knees.”
Written By: sonofabiscuit77
Timeline: 5 Years after 509
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, Minor Character Death, Angst
Summary: AU five years after 509. What if the Babylon bomb had caused a lot more damage than in canon?
Author's Notes: Many many thanks again to my beta bluebirdgirl for your suggestions and general grammar wizardry.
Three Days in Our Bullshit Domestic Life
Thursday
Justin wakes up slowly, his eyes ungluing stickily. He moves his head, wincing in pain as something catches in his hair. Dimly, his half-awake brain registers that he’s trapped, his right leg and half his torso clamped under long heavy limbs. He suppresses a sigh and glances blearily towards the flashing blue of the clock radio. 6:07. Shit. Time to get up. He stretches his one free hand upwards, tentatively removing Brian's hand from his hair, wincing again as hairs are tugged from his scalp still entwined in Brian’s long fingers. Almost free, he squirms out of the suffocating embrace, pushing Brian's sleep-deadened body away with affectionate exasperation.
Downstairs, the French windows are half open, the long white drapes rustling lightly in the chilled outdoor air. He steps outside, toes curling in protest at the sting of the cold stone on his bare feet.
"Dad! Look what I found!" Gus emerges in front of him and grabs at his robe, waving one battered muddy sneaker over an enormous toad lying motionless on the flagstones. "I found it near the driveway, but I think it‘s dead. I'm gonna see if there’s another one!"
Justin watches him crash through the bushes that mask one side of the house, a flurry of crispy dead leaves in his wake. He glances down at the toad, its skin glistening in the bright sunlight and an undeniable air of forlornness about it. Definitely dead, he mutters to himself. A sudden wave of exhaustion sweeps over him and, trying to resist it, he raises his arms above his head, straining and stretching soporific muscles. A pair of familiar arms grab at him from behind, snaking around his chest, the harsh tang of cigarette smoke accompanying them.
“Brian.”
The press of warm lips against his neck is his answer.
"You had another dream last night," he speaks softly. "When I woke up you were holding me so tightly, I couldn’t move.”
Still no answer.
"Brian?"
Brian pulls away, actions abrupt and eyes narrowed. Avoiding Justin’s gaze, he takes another long drag on his cigarette then turns to crush the butt out in the thick glass ashtray balanced precariously on the wooden bench.
"Brian. Look at me."
"Just fucking drop it, will you?"
A high-pitched squeal coming from the direction of the garden rouses them both and they raise their heads in near symmetry to see Jenny dart across the lawn, hair tangled, pyjamas encrusted with dirt. "Jenny! Come here!" Brian’s voice is loud and brooks no argument. "Jesus, look at you,” he chastises as he scoops her up into his arms.
"Sorry Daddy," she whimpers, burying a guilty expression into the soft silk of his robe.
“I found another one!” Gus has appeared in front of Justin again, another enormous toad dangling from the end of his fingers. "Look! This one's still moving."
“Gus," Brian raises one eyebrow to his son, shifting Jenny in his arms, "don't even think about bringing that thing inside."
***********
“Brian?”
“You’re awake.”
“Brian? What’s going on? You look different.”
"Justin…"
“But you’re supposed to be in Australia."
“Justin, shut up. Listen to me. I didn’t go. There was a bomb.”
“A bomb? What‘re you talking about?”
“You nearly died. I was so fucking scared and I didn’t tell you - I thought I wouldn’t have chance to tell you… I love you.”
***********
Justin sits at the breakfast table listening to the sound of Gus crunching his way through an enormous bowl of Cheerios, a clear plastic tub containing the not dead toad is by his right elbow and Justin’s eyes can’t seem to look away from the seemingly depressed amphibian.
“You look like shit." Brian appears by his side, coffee mug in one hand and half knotted tie in the other. Somehow, despite the previous night’s lack of sleep he still manages to look the antithesis of shit, a fact that makes Justin feel simultaneously pissed off and turned on.
"What're you doing with that?" Brian slings the question in Gus’ direction. The boy has picked up the container of toad and is peering at it closely with enthusiastic eyes. "I thought I told you to leave it outside."
"It's for school. Dad said I could for my science project," he returns quickly. "Do male toads have penises?"
Jenny looks up as Gus says that word and giggles, snorting milk and Cheerios, "Can I hold it?" Her voice is pleading as she stretches an arm out towards her brother.
"No way dumbass!"
Jenny's face falls in a sudden picture of overwhelming grief.
"Go clean up. We’re going soon," Justin tells her quickly in an attempt to cut off the impending torrent of tears. She slides off the stool and exits the kitchen, feet skidding on the hardwood floor.
"So you gonna dissect it? You gonna cut it open and look at its insides?" Brian raises a ghoulish eyebrow at the boy.
"D'you think I can? That would be soooo cool."
"You'll have to ask Mr Warters," Justin tells him shortly. He rubs his fingers over his dry scratchy eyes and stands up. "Go get in the car." Gus leaves the room, eyes still fixated on his new treasure. "Where are my fucking car keys?"
"How the fuck would I know?”
Justin feels another wave of weariness overcome him and he grits his teeth, “Brian, I so don’t have time for this. You borrowed them yesterday.”
Brian shrugs, turning away from him, "On the table, last time I saw them. Quit acting like a fucking princess.”
"Fuck you!”
His response seems to amuse Brian and he laughs out loud, swooping across the kitchen to catch Justin's body in his arms.
Justin starts and drops the keys he has just found, "Brian -" he begins but Brian isn’t listening, instead he is already forcing his lips onto Justin's, pushing him back against the table, deepening and lengthening the kiss. Brian pauses for a second, pulling his mouth away from Justin's with a soft wet popping sound; he smiles slowly, a luxuriant, wicked crooking of his lips and Justin feels something melt low in his stomach, a deep liquid sensation seeping through his tired limbs like the warm burn of good alcohol. He returns Brian’s smile and they’re kissing again, long and deep, hot and familiar; arms entwined, legs entangled and groins rubbing together. Brian breaks the kiss and lowers his face, hands reaching to tug open Justin’s jeans, the stiff metal buttons of his fly yielding with a pop, pop, pop… Justin stares at him, drinking in the damp black sheen of his eyelashes, the darkened shadows under his eyelids, the wet moistness of his mouth, the light brown shimmer of the morning sun in his hair…
“Dad!”
They freeze simultaneously. “God! You two are so embarrassing!” Standing in the kitchen doorway, a sneaker dangling from one hand, Gus stares back at them, eyes narrowed with youthful outrage.
"What? Fuck!" Justin scrambles away from Brian, his hands fumbling with his pants. He bangs his knee hard against the table leg.
"My sneaker just fell apart. I'm gonna need some new ones," Gus states with another unimpressed glare.
"Gus, for Christ‘s sake, what were you doing to it?" Brian is eying the boy with exasperation, his appearance now considerably more rumpled than five minutes earlier.
"I wasn't doing anything! They're just, like, way old! I told you I needed some new ones!"
"Okay, so we'll get you some new ones," Justin sighs resignedly, "put on your dress shoes on instead."
"I can't wear them," Gus' voice is pure despair, "none of the other kids wear dress shoes at school."
"Suck it up Sonnyboy." Brian has already commenced straightening his tie and is smoothing his hair as he watches the boy stomp away.
***********
Justin sits in the car and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He watches Gus trudge through the school gates, deliberately scuffing the despised shoes against the asphalt, the container of toad still gripped in both hands. Okay, so they’re not exactly living on the poverty line but did the kid have to ruin every fucking thing they bought him? Those shoes were only a few weeks old for fuck's sake. Normally he would just laugh but right now he feels too fucking tired and too fucking irritable. Instead he opts for a long drawn-out sigh, relishing the noise in the silence of the car.
He picks up his phone and contemplates it for a moment: Should he call Brian? Finish what they started this morning? He looks at his own fingers splayed across the steering wheel in front of him, they ache to feel Brian's warm soft skin beneath them, to run them over his body, wind them in his hair… He feels himself harden just thinking about it. When was the last time they fucked? He can’t even remember - three days ago, four days ago? Shit. He casts his eyes downwards at the bulge in his jeans and thinks about jerking off. Here, just outside Gus' elementary school. Yeah, that’s a fucking brilliant idea. God, how great would that fuck over the breakfast table have been?
With another drawn-out sigh, he shifts to rest his chin on the steering wheel. His dick is softening now, tiredness getting the better of him. At the moment a nap seems the most desirable thing in the world… well maybe not the most desirable thing. But right now the longing to catch up on sleep seems so sweet. He had hopes that last night would be the night that Brian slept through the night. The night that he wasn’t dragged out of sleep with Brian’s hands digging into his flesh, Brian's voice incoherent with muffled, far-away panic. No such fucking luck.
He clenches his teeth and pushes the thoughts from his mind. Whatever the fuck, it’s pointless debating it all now. He has a serious fucking commission to finish back in his studio, and he and his dick need some equally serious fucking alone time in the shower… which will have to do until Brian gets back from work and the kids are safely in bed. He grimaces, tossing his phone back onto the passenger seat and hits the gas.
*********
“Brian, the nurse was saying that forty-six people died. I can't believe - I can't believe that that many-”
“Believe it. Cause from what I hear, that number’s set to increase.”
“Is there anyone - Brian, I haven't seen... did anyone we know - any of our friends? My mom?”
"Your mom's fine."
"Oh God, thank God, but did anyone else... was anyone else hurt?"
"...."
"Brian! Please! I need to know."
"Justin - "
"Just. Tell. Me. Tell me who fucking died!"
“Linds, Lindsay died, she's one of the forty six. And Melanie."
“Oh my God. They’re both dead?”
“Yes.”
“Both of them? Both Mel and Linds?”
"Yes."
"How… how did they die?"
“I don’t know, I have no fucking idea. Your Mom said she saw them at the bar - it’s where the worst of it was.”
“Oh my God, it's real, they're both dead?"
"They're both dead."
“Who - anyone else?”
"Mikey's dead too."
"Michael‘s dead?"
"Yes."
***********
Justin is wasting precious working time. Gus is in his room supposedly meditating on why he shouldn’t have called Nanny Monica a “stupid useless fuckwit” during the ride back from school. Justin merely sighed with a pointed glare in Brian’s direction when Monica self-righteously recounted the story; Brian stifled an obvious snort of amusement, remarking to Justin afterwards, “Well he’s not fucking wrong there.”
He stares dismally at the computer screen. He can hear Brian and Jenny’s voices come floating through the adjoining door of the den. The short thirty-second animation is playing repeatedly in front of him and his finger is itching to press the DELETE button.
“Where are we going tonight Barbie?” Brian’s version of Ken’s voice is gruff and deep, a caricature of manliness.
“To the movies,” replies Jenny-as-Barbie.
“What we gonna see babe?”
A giggle of delight from Jenny as she answers, “Annie.”
“Oh no, not again, I hate that movie!”
“Daddy no!” Jenny is obviously breaking character, “No! You’re doing it all wrong!”
“Am I?” Brian’s tone is the epitome of innocent, “But don’t you think a tough guy like Ken would prefer an action movie?”
“No! Annie is his favourite movie.”
“As I always suspected, Barbie truly is his beard.” This time Brian’s voice is a low muttered aside, Justin smiles to himself.
Jenny is, of course, unaware of the implications Ken’s movie choices have on his sexuality and is now using her bossy tone on her wayward father - a tone that so clearly betrays her maternal heritage: “Daddy! Just do what I say!”
He snaps the laptop shut and gets to his feet, lounging against the doorframe; Brian is lying sprawled across the floor, ankles crossed and feet bare, Jenny cross-legged in front of him, watching him cram the body of an extravagantly dressed Ken doll into the pink convertible. Looking up he takes in Justin’s presence, “I thought you were working.”
“I got bored,” answers Justin coming into the room and falling into an armchair, “it’s all for shit anyway. You should’ve gotten someone who knows what they‘re doing to do it.”
Jenny looks up, “You shouldn’t swear,” she tells him seriously.
“Yeah, you shouldn’t swear,” choruses Brian, grinning in amusement, “and I wanted the best man for the job.”
Justin shrugs morosely, “Well, when your client comes back to you and tells you it‘s total…” he glances at Jenny, “…trash, don‘t say I didn‘t warn you.”
“Stop being so melodramatic,” leaving Ken and Barbie to Jenny’s kinder hands, Brian gets to his feet, perching on the arm of Justin’s chair, he stretches out one hand to him. Justin leans his head into the familiar touch, letting Brian’s soft fingers run through his hair, relaxing and enjoying.
“Seriously, you should get someone in your Art Department to take over now. I‘ve got that commission from the Van Doreens and Merilee wants three more pieces for the show in January. I don‘t think I‘ll have time.”
“Yeah?” answers Brian distractedly, his eyes are fixed on Jenny as she frowns in concentration, trying to tug off Ken’s lime green velvet pants.
“Brian? Did you hear what I just said?”
“When she gets that look on her face she reminds me of Mikey,” his voice is low, soft, his eyes steadily avoiding Justin‘s. “He used to get the same look when he was concentrating on algebra or something. Of course he could never manage on his own - I always ended up doing it for him. Loser.”
Justin glances towards him, wary of the brooding expression that has crept across his face and feeling a stab of something bitter and corrosive low in his stomach as he glances back towards Jenny - his daughter, “Well lets hope she has Mel’s brains then,” he states dismissively, biting his lip, he gets to his feet.
“Yeah, just so long as she doesn’t inherit her lovely personality.” Brian stretches out one arm to halt him, “Hey!” He pulls him back into the chair.
“What?” he snaps as he half-sprawls across Brian’s lap.
Brian stares back into his face, “As far as she's concerned you're her real dad."
"Whatever, Brian. Anyway, I've got shit to do." He turns to move away, Brian stretching out another impeding arm.
"Listen to me. Biology doesn't mean shit.”
Justin laughs humourlessly and sinks back into the chair, "Sure it doesn't. Try saying that with a straight face next time Gus calls the Nanny a stupid useless fuckwit?"
"Yeah, cause he would never have overheard you saying anything like that."
“Dad?”
“What?” Justin jerks away from Brian, looking up to take in Gus who is standing directly in front of them, his expression doleful. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I’ve thought about it and I’m sorry for saying that stuff to Nanny Monica… but she is stupid! She never remembers anything I tell her and…”
“Not good enough. Try again,” states Justin firmly.
The boy sighs woefully, “I’m sorry Dad. I shouldn‘t have disrespected her.”
“Better,” Justin smiles at him approvingly. “And if you say anything like that again to a teacher or Nanny Monica or anyone else then you‘ll be punished. Do you understand?”
Gus nods quickly, eyes still downcast.
“Good boy. Now you can finish loading the dishwasher.”
“Have I ever told you how hot you are when you get your punishment on?” Brian whispers to him as they watch the boy trudge off, heaving a sigh so huge his skinny frame appears dwarfed by it.
“Oh, so that’s why you leave all the discipline shit to me? Not just so you can be the cool parent?”
“Well, that too obviously. But mainly so I can appreciate the hotness.”
*************
“Brian?"
Justin pauses at the doorway to the home office. His body is slumped forward in his leather desk chair, his head resting on one hand, the other tapping half-heartedly on the mouse button.
"Are they in bed?"
"They most certainly are."
Brian nods slowly and goes back to staring at the computer screen. Justin watches him and then smiles to himself, a wide anticipatory almost predatory smile. He moves to stand behind Brian, draping both arms over the other’s shoulders, pressing his mouth up against Brian’s ear, “What’re you working on?”
“Fucking projections.”
“Hmm, sounds dirty, tell me more.”
Brian huffs out a small sound of amusement and catches hold of one of Justin’s hands, entwining their fingers loosely, “Unfortunately, it’s not and even more unfortunately, it has to be done tonight.”
“Shit, there goes my plans for the evening.”
“You had plans? Since when?”
“Since it’s been four days since our last fuck.”
Turning his head, Brian looks up and regards him with a sudden twitch in his mouth. "Four days? We have to do something about that."
"Yeah," Justin breathes in response. He moves his face closer to Brian‘s, threading one hand into his hair, kissing him softly on the lips, feeling Brian's lips part to take him in, their mouths locking together. Breaking from the kiss, Justin exhales into Brian's face, licking the edges of his chin and kissing the corners of his eyes, breathing in his scent and tasting his skin. Brian is staring at him with a dark-eyed, flushed intensity that makes every pore in his body tingle; the gooseflesh climbing up his arms and brushing at the nape of his neck where the tiny hairs have already risen.
With an abrupt movement, Brian grabs him, half-pushing and half-manoeuvring him away from the chair. They fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs, Justin feels a laugh escape him as Brian’s body crashes on top of him. Above him, Brian‘s face is dark and shadowed. He passes one careful hand under Justin’s head, gently cradling it; he lowers his face to kiss him, slowly at first then quicker… building up to that familiar passionate almost desperation that rests on the edges of all their fucking these days. Justin breaks away and places his hands either side of Brian‘s face, “Brian,” he murmurs out loud, “fuck me.”
Brian’s expression changes immediately, a grin - wide and wicked sliding over his features. One hand goes up, reaching to palm open the top desk drawer, retrieving the condom; Justin watches him rip it open with his teeth in that graceful automatic movement he has seen hundreds, no, thousands of times before. Brian’s head lowers as he carefully rolls it on and Justin continues to stare up at his face, the red hue of arousal enhancing the perfect familiar features in a way that makes something twist deep down in his stomach. Love you, love you, love you, love you, the words beat like a mantra in his brain. He wants to say them out loud, but instead he raises his legs, wrapping them tight and high around Brian’s torso, knowing that for them this means the same thing.
**********
“I thought you were dead. I managed to get out with Tucker and we were waiting outside - I don't know how we managed to get out, he was leading me, holding onto me and my head was bleeding and there was smoke and rubble everywhere, people were shouting and screaming…"
“Go on Mom, I want to know what happened. You have to tell me.”
“I’m just so relieved you’re okay honey. We’ve been waiting for so long for you to wake up… I’d almost given up hope. You were unconscious for four days, I thought that this time - this time around, you wouldn’t make it, you wouldn’t wake up….”
“Mom! Tell me what happened. How did I get out?“
“It was Brian. He saved you.”
“What do you mean he saved me? He wasn’t even there.”
“He showed up, Justin. He just appeared out of nowhere. He forced his way back in and he stayed with you until you were rescued. He kept you alive. He saved you.”
***********
Friday
Clutching Jenny’s hand tightly in his own, Justin marches out across the field. The grass feels soggy underfoot and his sneakers squelch in protest as they head towards the twenty two cold looking boys chasing a soccer ball. He halts for a moment and glances around for Brian's tall familiar form, the murky Fall afternoon light causing him to squint. A burst of cold wind whips at his hair and he shivers, raising one hand to tighten the knot in his scarf, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck - the touch brings memories flashing into his brain, very welcome memories from the previous evening - Brian’s fingers biting into his skin, Brian’s mouth licking greedily at his lips…
“Daddy, I’m cold!” A tug on his coat rouses him from his momentary Brian induced daze and smiling to himself at his own predictability, he crouches down in front of her, yanking the zipper on her coat up to her chin and fixing her scarf. “I don’t want to watch Gus’ team!” she protests, pulling her head away from him and fixing him with an extremely unangelic glare.
Justin sighs and pulls her hood up over her pigtailed head, “We’ve got to stay. Now, let’s go and find Daddy. Can you see him?”
“He’s there,” she waves a mittoned hand, giving him a look of disdain - something she’s definitely picked up from her other father. Justin follows the direction of her hand and takes in the specter of Brian: stalking up and down the sideline with typical arrogance, shouting furious commands at the field of disconsolate boys, elegant designer coat billowing around long legs.
“I want to go back to the car!” frets Jenny.
“We won’t be long. How about I give you a ride, huh?” He hefts her onto his shoulders as a giggle of delight breaks out across her face. He stands up, gripping her small hands tightly in his own and sets off. Looking up, Brian notices their approach and begins to saunter quickly towards them. Justin pauses and takes Jenny off his shoulders, depositing her back onto the ground where she stamps her dirty sneakered feet and glares at them both.
“Hey.” Ignoring the greeting, Brian leans forward and grabs him round the waist in a sudden passionate embrace, crushing their mouths together in a kiss worthy of a Broadway musical. “Jesus Brian! Would you not do that in front of the parentals?” Justin breathes out as Brian finally lets him go and moves to sweep Jenny up in his arms.
"I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not just to avoid pissing off straight people." Brian looks about him contemptuously, taking in the mixed looks of fear, disgust and amusement being shot their way.
“Well there’s not pretending to be something and then there’s flaunting it in their faces.”
“And which would you say was more my style?” Brian bestows him with a wide shit-eating grin as he lets Jenny slide to the ground beside him.
Justin shakes his head and turns his attention to the game, finally making out Gus’ familiar shape. He’s chasing maniacally after the boy currently in possession of the ball. Justin watches as Gus lunges feet first at the boy who crumples jaggedly to the ground; completely unperturbed and having regained possession, Gus takes off in the opposite direction.
“That’s my boy,” comments Brian with evident fatherly approval.
“Wasn’t that a foul?” hisses Justin as he watches Gus's tackled opponent get shakily to his feet.
“Yeah,” shrugs Brian, not bothering to conceal his delight. “But the referee’s too shit scared of me to call one on Gus.” Justin can’t help smiling to himself as he watches the overweight, nervous-looking referee glance hesitatingly at Brian before taking off slowly after Gus’ much faster form. “So what was more important to Deb than taking her favourite person off our hands for a few hours?”
“Another benefit. When we went round there she and Emmett were in the middle of important preparations.” He rolls his tongue sarcastically over the last few words.
“Jesus. Another one?”
“Yeah.” He reaches into his pocket pulling out the tatty flyer: Benefit for the Victims & Survivors of The Babylon Bombing, Brian glances up to take it in, his expression hardening, “It’s next Wednesday. She wants us both to attend.”
“And you want us to attend this fucking charade?”
“No. I already said we couldn’t. Don’t worry about it.”
“Fuck, I hate them. I fucking hate them.” Justin glances hastily at Brian, shocked by the vehemence of his words. His expression has darkened and Justin can see the involuntary flexing of his hands as they rest protectively on Jenny’s shoulders.
“I know.” He emphasises the words softly, stretching out one hand to gently touch the other’s arm, “That’s why I told her we couldn’t go.”
“You go if you want. I know how important community shit is to you.”
“Community shit? Yeah, right!” snorts Justin sardonically. “I really want to spend my evening surrounded by people with missing limbs and hideous burns carrying on about how that fucking bomb destroyed their lives forever. Look, don‘t worry about it. We‘ll do something else - something like we did last night…” he lets his voice run into the suggestive, seductive tone that Brian loves; except Brian is still staring at the field, not hearing him nor the tone in his voice.
“She just needs something else in her life. Michael’s dead. He’s not coming back.”
"This is her way of coping with it. You know how Deb is."
"Well it's bullshit. She needs to move on. They all do."
Justin sighs, “You mean like we have? Like you have?” his voice comes out more sarcastically than he’s intended and he clamps his mouth shut, fearing that he’s gone somewhere he shouldn’t have.
Brian turns and regards him steadily, “Yeah, like we have.”
********
“Brian?” Justin enters the den. Brian is slumped on the couch, face shadowed and half-wreathed in a dense cloud of cigarette smoke. “Why aren’t you in bed? It’s after three AM.”
“Have you been working?” asks Brian, ignoring the question. His head moving in a slow soporific movement to take in Justin.
“Yes.”
“Good?”
“Yeah, I think so. You should take a look, tell me what you think. I’m thinking of including it with the other pieces to send to Merilee for the January show. Why are you still up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Justin falls onto the couch beside him, his foot colliding with a bottle of whiskey; he glances down at it, registering dismally how much has gone. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch. Couldn‘t sleep? Shit, not again.
“You’re too good for this.”
“What?” Startled, his eyes snap open.
“For this - for this bullshit domestic life. You shouldn’t be here wasting your time, living this fucking bullshit existence, you should be somewhere that’s worthy of you - living your life.”
Justin rolls his eyes, “I’m not listening to this argument again. You know what I think.”
“You’re wrong. You don’t know what’s good for you, you never have. That’s why you’re still with me.”
Justin wrinkles his nose in frustration. Ah, the morose martyr phase: Brian has obviously been drinking for a while. He stretches out one hand, tilting Brian’s chin towards him and stares into his face, “Now you’re spouting total bullshit.”
Brian raises reddened eyes, pauses for a long few seconds before pulling away sharply and drops one hand to the floor again, feeling around for the bottle. Justin watches him and then leans forward and picks it up himself.
“It’s nearly empty Brian.”
Brian wrenches it from his hands and regards the scant contents with dismay.
“Come to bed with me,” Justin catches hold of his hand and tugs at him, getting to his feet.
“I was thinking… I might just crash here,” Brian pulls his hand out of Justin’s grasp and lets his body fall onto its side, long legs dangling over one arm of the couch.
“You can’t crash here, if Gus and Jenny see you they’ll think we’ve had a fight or something. You don’t want to upset them.”
“You think too much you know,” mutters Brian, closing his eyes. “They probably won’t even notice.”
Justin kneels on the wooden floor and moves to stroke the other’s hair softly. “Come to bed with me. It’s no fun without you.”
Brian makes a groaning sound that seems to be meant as “duh obviously” and Justin smiles to himself. He presses his lips against Brian’s hair, using his soft persuasive voice, “Is it the Benefit flyer?”
“Fuck, no. Not that,” comes the slurred answer.
Justin nods and runs soft comforting hands over Brian’s back, “Did you have another dream?” he waits for an answer. He doesn’t get one. “It’ll be better if you fall asleep with me there too.”
“Doesn’t help.”
“And whiskey does?”
“Yeah. Better than anything else.”
Justin bites down another sigh of frustration, keeping his voice soft, persuasive, “Brian, tell me what you dreamed.”
“I don’t want to.” The reply is mumbled, the edge in his voice is petulant despair.
“Brian, tell me. I can make it better.” He kisses him gently around the nape of his neck. He reaches for the words instinctively, “I’m still here, this is me, real. I’m not dead. You saved me, remember?”
“I didn’t save them.” The words come out quietly, resignedly.
“Who?”
“The other people, Mikey, Linds. I didn’t save them.”
"It’s not your fault. You didn’t plant the bomb.”
Brian murmurs something indistinct, opening his eyes momentarily to look at Justin. They’re bloodshot and tired, a worn, pleading look in them. Justin’s returning smile feels glassy, weak. Brian closes his eyes again quickly and Justin swallows down his anxiety.
“Brian…”
“Justin, just fucking drop it.” With a sharp shrug of his shoulders, Brian comes back to life, shifting on the couch. He opens his eyes and flinches away from Justin’s touch.
“Brian…”
“Justin! Jesus, will you fucking listen to me? I want to forget all about it, okay?” He has reverted to his cold, in-charge, daytime voice.
“No. Not okay. I know you’re imagining you’re back in there with me, and that I’m about to die - or - or… whatever. Tell me. You helped me back when I used to have nightmares. I want to help you now.”
“You can’t help me.” Brian’s voice is flat, he looks away from Justin’s pleading gaze, tilting the bottle over his mouth to drain the rest of its contents. “This is my problem. Nothing to do with you.”
“Bullshit! Brian, it was...it was my fault. It was my fault you were there in the first place!”
“No it wasn’t!” Brian pauses in his drinking to glare at Justin in frustration. “It was my fault. My choice. I needed to know that you were okay so that’s why I went in there.”
“To save me. Yes, I know. At the risk of your own life.”
“What was my life worth?”
“It was worth a lot to me then and it‘s worth everything to me now,” Justin’s voice is sober. He pulls the now empty bottle out of Brian’s hand and gently puts it on the floor. “Stop being so maudlin. I thought you hated self-pity.”
“Yeah, it makes my dick soft.”
Justin sighs again and half-manoeuvres Brian back down onto his side, he crawls into the space in front of him, his back against Brian’s warm chest. Justin closes his eyes, the weariness beginning to overwhelm him; he can feel Brian’s breath, warm and moist on his neck. Brian murmurs something and moves his arms to encircle Justin, wrapping them tightly around him. “See?” Justin whispers. “It's easier when you sleep with me.”
**********
"Brian, what's going to happen to Gus and JR?"
"Don't worry about that - "
"Are you going to keep Gus?"
"Yes. He's my son."
"I thought you would. And JR, what's going to happen to her?"
“I’m not sure. Don’t think about it, you need to concentrate on yourself.”
“Is Deb gonna take her, Mel’s mother?”
“Justin, it’s not your problem. Don’t think about it.”
“Brian - I want to know.”
“Mel’s mother has terminal breast cancer. She won’t be raising a baby. And Deb is… she’s not her usual ball breaking self at the moment. She’s been hit really hard.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Brian - we should take her. You and me. You should get your attorney to do all the necessary legal shit so we can be guardians to both kids.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You and me. We should raise Gus and JR. Together.”
***********
Saturday
"So, what's wrong?"
"What makes you think something's wrong?" Justin squirms in the outdoor chair, squinting at the low yellow sunlight rippling through the heavy green trees.
"You forget that I’m your mother, honey. I always know when there's something wrong."
"I don't know. I'm just, you know, in a strange mood today." He picks up his coffee mug from the wooden table between them, cupping his hands around it, feeling the warmth penetrate his fingers.
"So where's Brian today?"
“Inside, in the office,” he nods towards the house, “he has a conference call.”
“He works too hard, you both do.”
Justin shrugs, turning his eyes to watch Gus and Jenny playing on the lawn in front of them. Gus evidently trying to teach his sister the basic rules of soccer, demonstrating about as much patience as his father when dealing with under-performing employees, albeit with slightly less expletives: You’re supposed to kick the ball lamebrain! No, you can’t pick it up - look, you have to dribble with it! God, you are so stupid!
“I worry about you. I can’t help it, it’s a Mom thing.”
Her voice runs over him, it’s soft, calming, familiar. He wants to tell her, share with her, some part of him still hoping she has the all-powerful Mom ability to make it all better. “I - um... Brian has these dreams.”
“What sort of dreams?”
“Nightmares. About the bombing.” He feels treacherous even saying the words.
“Well - I would say that’s understandable. Given the circumstances. I sometimes dream horrible things myself.”
“Do you?” Somehow the revelation is surprising. He rarely thinks about other people in reference to the bombing. Despite the deaths of forty nine people, some of them their own friends, despite Debbie and her endless benefits and support groups; the bombing, as with most things in his life, has always been about just he and Brian - one of the many hideous and defining events that binds them together so irrevocably.
“Of course. After what we all went through. We all must have some form of PTSD.” She smiles affectionately at him, “If you ever attended one of Debbie’s support groups, you would know that darling. There’s always a psychiatrist there giving advice on methods of dealing with it. That is the point of a support group.”
“You know we never attend those things. Brian hates anything that reminds him. He’s only ever set foot in the Memorial Center twice since it opened.”
Jennifer nods thoughtfully, “How bad are his dreams? Does he have them often?”
“He always had them, right from the beginning.” He places the coffee mug back onto the table between them, pushing at it with his fingers, eyes focused on the blue swirls of the design, “But it never used to happen very often so I didn’t really think anything of it, just thought it was normal - you know.” Eyes still fixed on the mug, he shrugs, a small sheepish movement, “But then about two months ago, it changed to about two or three times a week, recently - even more. And I hate it because it seems like every fucking night, I’m lying there expecting it… and I can’t fall asleep myself and if I ever do manage to fall asleep then… then he always wakes me up - he can‘t help it.” He can feel Jennifer’s cool appraising gaze on him and he shifts in the chair, “It‘s not his fault Mom, but I - I‘m just so fucking exhausted - and it's not like I can just go sleep in the guestroom, because we tried that and it made it worse...” He lets the words trail off, laughing humourlessly, "You have no idea how much I would pay just to be able to sleep through an entire night." He lifts his eyes to stare out across the garden, watching Jenny scamper after Gus laughing, trying to pick the ball up with her hands to his continued exasperation.
“He should see someone,” states Jennifer flatly. “You need to force him to see a professional.”
“Yeah, cause I didn’t think of that myself.”
“Honey…”
“Mom.” He parrots back her concerned tone with extra sarcasm, “This is Brian we’re talking about remember?”
“I know very well what Brian’s like,” replies Jennifer dryly. “But he needs help, you both do, you can’t go on this way. If not for your own sakes then for the children’s.”
Think of the children! Won’t somebody think of the children? Justin grimaces. When did their life turn into a fucking after-school special?
“Justin?”
“The kids are fine Mom, we’re fine. Just forget what I said. I exaggerated. You know I always exaggerate.”
“Justin -” She's poised to relaunch the attack...
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”
Every muscle in Justin’s body freezes as his eyes quickly swoop across the expanse of lawn in front of them, landing on the distraught small form of Jenny half-sprawled on the flagstone path to the right of where he and Jennifer are sitting. He gets to his feet and moves quickly towards her. Her face is red and wet with hot tears as she thrusts her knee under his nose.
“Gus made me hurt my knee! He pushed me over!” she wails. “He’s so horrible! I hate him!” A renewed burst of tears is this time muffled by Justin’s sweater as she grabs at him with tightly bunched fists. Justin wraps his arms around her closely. He can feel her entire body convulse with overwrought sobs.
“Shh, stop crying sweetheart, lets get you inside and clean up your knee, okay?”
She clings onto him tighter as he lifts her up into his arms. In the kitchen, she sits on the tiled countertop; her eyes locked on him, wide with trust and love, as he carefully dabs at her scrape with antiseptic. The sudden realisation that he’s been doing shit like this for her and Gus for five years… that he’s been a father for five years… that he and Brian have been parents for five years… hits him and his hand halts in its ministrations, he feels absurdly disoriented.
“Daddy?”
Jenny’s voice prompts him and he shakes himself; feeling as if he's been abruptly returned to his body. This is reality - this is his life, this - this comforting, nurturing... this being a father thing, this is what he does now. This is easy. This, he can do... this, he loves to do. He smiles into her small anxious face, feeling a sudden burst of love for her thick and tight in his gut; he leans forward kissing her on the nose, “Did that sting?”
She nods eagerly.
“And you didn’t cry? Well, I think that makes you a very brave girl.”
A big toothy grin is his reward.
*********
"What the fuck Justin? You want us to become the parents to two under fives? What the fuck have they been giving you in here?"
"Brian! Listen to me. I love those kids. I care about what happens to them. Their parents - our friends - are dead.”
“I am well aware of that.”
“And you’re already taking Gus…”
“Gus is my responsibility. I don‘t want you to be involved.”
“Bullshit! I’m already involved. Gus loves me, you love me. You need me. Look I know you have this stupid fucked-up idea that I should be out fucking hot guys every night and concentrating on my career, but I want more than that.”
“And you think signing on to raise two fucking kids is going to give you more than that?”
“I think it’s the right thing to do.”
“Wrong. It’s one of the worst fucking ideas you’ve ever had.”
“Why?”
“Because you are only twenty-two, you can't become responsible for two kids."
"If it’s my decision?”
“It’s the wrong decision.”
*********
"What the fuck are we doing here? You know how I feel about the fucking Memorial Center." Brian practically spits the words out, disdain in every syllable.
"Yeah I know," Justin replies evenly. Looking around him, his eyes take in the different yet familiar aspect of the street and alleyways he used to know so well. Liberty Avenue is no longer the same place it was five years ago when Brian was both the owner of Babylon and its acknowledged king. Okay, so the same stores, bars and most of the same faces are still here, but it’s not the same. When Justin thinks about it, he thinks of it as a safe kind of colourful: no hustlers, no graffiti, no discarded condoms; instead the bombing has turned it into a site of pilgrimage for all of Gay America. It’s a special kind of tourist spot and the building they’re currently standing outside - formerly Babylon, gay club extraordinaire - now The Babylon Memorial Center, is at the epicenter of this brave new world.
He moves away from Brian and taking out a key begins to unlock the Center’s heavy glass doors.
"So… I ask again, what the fuck are we doing here?" Brian lays a restraining hand over Justin's, leaving the key hanging half out the lock, and tugs him away from the door. "I'm not going in there."
"Yes, we are going in there." Justin pulls his hand out of Brian's grasp and turns to wrench the key in the door, pushing it open stiffly.
"No. Fucking. Way."
"Brian! Will you get the fuck over yourself and get your ass in here?"
Justin rarely comes here, the deliberate tragic sentimentality of the place grates on him almost as much as it does on Brian. With its grey stone and hushed ponderous silence it reminds him of a church, the crowd of squat white candles arrayed across the table on one side of the wall lending even further to the fake holy atmosphere. He stretches out one hand to the light switches by the door, the stark lighting infusing the place with an eerie glow.
Brian follows him in, voice dripping with contempt, “God, I hate this fucking place, it’s pathetic. Promise me if anything like this ever happens to me you won’t let them put my fucking picture up on the wall for the tourists to weep over. Promise me that Sunshine.”
“Brian, will you shut up? You know how close we were to having our pictures up there.”
Brian tosses him a sardonic smile and throws himself onto one of the black leather visitors chairs.
Ignoring him, Justin turns to look at the Memorial Wall - one entire wall of the main room devoted to honouring “Our Never Forgotten Forty-Nine Brothers and Sisters”,. Framed photographs of the victims arranged alphabetically, the vivid colour of their faces a deliberate stark contrast to the grey stone behind, names and dates under the smiling faces. Justin runs his eyes over them, flinching as he reaches Melanie Marcus 1968-2005 and Michael Charles Novotny-Bruckner 1970-2005.
He pauses at Lindsey Anne Peterson 1971-2005 and looks into her soft smiling face. He can see Gus in her eyes, he has the same eyes. Most of his face is Brian's, the curve of his mouth, the wonderfully expressive eyebrows, the nose, bone structure - destined to be a heartbreaker.
“She wasn’t a natural blonde.” He starts, he hasn‘t heard Brian approach. “She dyed it.”
“What colour was she really?”
“A light brown, if I recall, same as Gus.”
Justin nods and throws a quick glance at the profile beside him. Catching him, Brian turns his face slightly and smiles with a small sardonic raise of his lip, passing an arm around Justin‘s shoulders. “What are we doing here?”
“I was talking to my Mom earlier.”
“Oh great. And what words of wisdom did Mother Taylor have to pass onto her beloved offspring?”
“She thinks you should see someone. She thinks you need help. And I tend to agree with her.”
“Well the both of you should stop worrying, I saw someone - no, three someones in fact, at the baths Tuesday night. And it was most helpful.”
“Brian! Jesus, will you be fucking serious for a moment?” Justin breaks away from him, standing in the middle of the room, he stares back at Brian, his fists clenched in frustration. “I’m so fucking sick of skirting around the issue, of not confronting things! Of pretending that everything’s okay when it so obviously isn’t!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“When was the last time you managed to sleep through the night?”
Brian’s eyes narrow, “Justin…”
“Yesterday at Gus’ game you accused Deb and Emmett and everyone of being incapable of moving on - but that’s us too Brian! We haven’t been able to move on. You haven‘t…” he shrugs uselessly, the words escaping him for a moment.
A further narrowing of his eyes is the only answer from Brian.
Justin swallows and tries to find his reasonable tone, “Listen, I know it’s different for me. I don’t remember - I don’t remember any of it. I just remember being there, at the Benefit, talking to people - to Deb and Mom and Michael and Ben,” he trails off, swallowing over the burning in the back of his throat, the sting in the corner of his eyes; he doesn‘t want to lose control now, to let himself… he may as well give up if that happens. “But after that - nothing. Not until I woke up in the hospital and you were telling me you loved me.” He approaches Brian slowly, standing by him, he runs one tentative hand down the other’s arm, looking up into the closed face.
“I would be lying to you if I told you that I never feel guilty. Hey, I survived while those forty nine people on that wall didn't.” He grips Brian’s arm harder in his hand, curling his fingers around it. “But, Brian, I only survived because of you, because I was lucky to have someone who loved me so much - so much that he would risk his own ass… his own stupid ass… to save me. Those poor fuckers - they never had that.” He presses his forehead against Brian’s arm and exhales, "But then I think, why am I wasting time feeling guilty? It's not gonna bring them back. I should be feeling lucky instead to be loved in that way." He feels his voice break over the last words and he converts it into a laugh - a shaky unclear sound. Brian is still ignoring him, eyes focused on one of the shadows in the corner of the room.
A long time seems to pass until Justin hears the soft mumble of Brian's voice. “I always used to look out for him. Always, in school and afterwards.”
“Michael?” Justin whispers the word to himself and moves away from Brian, falling into one of the visitors chairs.
“And Lindsay...”
“What about them?”
“I didn’t save them.”
“And you feel guilty about it. Of course you do. But they died instantly Brian. There was nothing you could’ve done. There was nothing anyone could‘ve done.”
“Maybe,” Brian shrugs, his eyes still avoiding Justin’s gaze.
“Definitely,” repeats Justin flatly.
“But, I didn’t even think about them. The moment I heard the announcement on the radio the only thing I could think about was finding you... I remember I tried calling and calling... All I could think was make sure he's okay... make sure he's okay. When I got there that was the only thing on my mind - getting into that fucking place and finding you...” he trails off, his mouth crooking in a small sheepish movement.
“I would’ve done the same. If it had been you in there, I don’t think I would’ve thought about anyone else.” The words come out of Justin sparsely. He lifts his eyes to see that Brian has started pacing the room, walking from one wall to the other, his hands in the pockets of his long overcoat and his eyes fixed on some undetermined point. “Brian. Think about it, please. Not all psychiatrists are a big waste of time and money.”
“Sure they’re not.” Brian’s voice has returned to trusted sarcasm.
“I’m going to see someone. I should’ve done it years ago after the bashing. But I was scared. And now I figure - better late than never.”
“Oh well, good for you.” Brian pauses in his pacing and turns on his heels to look towards Justin, a slight sneer edging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m sure this is not something that would help me.”
“Why not? What makes you such a special case?”
Brian drops into the chair beside Justin, “Listen. If you think it’ll help you, then I’m completely behind you - so to speak.” He raises his eyebrow with a seductive smirk.
Justin rolls his eyes, “Brian…”
“Just don’t come back from your therapy sessions fucking hating me or something." Justin glances at him and for a moment, for a short second, he can see Brian’s vulnerable side, a glitch in the facade.
“I’ve had enough people in my life telling me you’re no good for me and I’ve never listened to any of them - so what the fuck makes you think some therapist will change my mind?” He stretches out one leg and kicks Brian gently on the calf. “And you’re avoiding my question. Why won’t you see someone?”
“I have a feeling that once I start talking about how I feel about the bombing and possible PTSD and all that shit, they’ll want to know about my fucking childhood,” Brian rolls his eyes self-deprecatingly. “And then it’ll never be over. I’ll be in therapy for the rest of my fucking life.” He turns his body away from Justin and reaches one hand into the inside pocket of his coat, locating the inevitable pack of cigarettes.
Justin watches him thoughtfully, feeling his skin begin to prickle at the resignation in Brian’s tone. “Maybe talking about all that - about your life, it might be a good thing?”
Brian grunts sardonically, flicking on his Zippo lighter. He lights the cigarette, casting a contemptuous glance at the NO SMOKING signs adorning the walls. “Trust me Sunshine. It won’t. I managed fine before, why change the habits of a lifetime?”
“Because you’re not fine. Even you can’t fool yourself about that.”
A silence descends on them and Justin lets his head fall back against the back of the chair, closing his eyes. He can still hear the even clipping of Brian’s heels on the stone as he continues his never-ending pacing. He opens his mouth to feel a wide powerful yawn stretch his jaw and realises that he can no longer hear the sound of Brian’s shoes. He opens his eyes.
Brian is standing over the candles, cigarette between in his lips, he’s holding his lighter in his fingers, lighting each candle one by one, “You’re supposed to make a donation if you want to light a candle.”
“I’ve made plenty of fucking donations to this place. Hell, I donated the whole fucking building.” Justin watches him in silence, the only noise the snap and hiss of his lighter as he continues lighting the candles, occasionally stopping to flick ash from his cigarette onto the ground.
“Tell me truthfully Brian, if all this shit hadn’t happened, do you think we’d be here now at this point?”
“Well we wouldn’t be standing in this fucking place for a start.”
“No, cause this would still be Babylon.” Justin speaks thoughtfully, looking around the cold grey walls he tries to picture it - the guys, the music, the lights, the glitter…
“And I’d still be there like the pathetic over-the-hill club boy I always was.”
“No you weren’t. Anyway, if you were here then I would say there’s a very good chance I’d be here with you.”
“No,” Brian shakes his head slowly, “you would’ve blown this God-forsaken burg a long time ago. You’re far too good for it. You’d be in New York, or London or Paris, somewhere deserving of your talent. And you’d be with some worthy homosexual who’d treat you properly, who wouldn’t be fucking scared of loving you and showing it. And you’d be successful. A big fat fucking success.”
Justin laughs, “Is that what you think? Is that my imaginary alternative universe future? The one that’s neither bullshit nor domestic? Is that what your poor paranoid brain has dreamed up for me?”
“It’s true,” mutters Brian soberly, grinding the remains of his cigarette out against the grey stone wall. “We weren’t even together when the fucking bomb went off and if it hadn’t been for that - for the kids…” He shrugs his shoulders, dropping the cigarette butt onto the table alongside the candles, “It’s what you deserve.”
“Shit! No it isn’t. You know how much I love you. I always have! Nothing could compare to you - to us - to what we have, to what you, me and the kids have! Especially not some “worthy homosexual” who’d treat me properly and who wouldn’t be scared of loving me. Jesus!” He laughs again and gets to his feet, crossing the room towards Brian. “Give me an emotionally stunted fuckwit any day over that!”
Brian looks down at him, a small smile edging at the corner of his mouth, “Emotionally stunted fuckwit?”
“A pretty accurate description, wouldn’t you say?”
Wordlessly, he wraps both arms around Justin, turning him so they’re both facing the row of candles, resting his chin on the top of Justin’s head. “Sometimes I dream that you’re dead. That I’ve found you, like I did - with that same steel bar lying across your legs, trapping you... but when I reach down and feel for your pulse, here…” Justin’s breath hitches as he feels Brian’s fingers press into the side of his neck; the blood is beating loudly in his head, the echoing of Brian’s voice vibrating through his skull, “…there’s nothing. You’re already dead.”
“Brian?” His voice is a whisper, he can feel the prickling sting of tears at the corner of his eyes.
“And sometimes, it’s not you. Sometimes it’s Mikey, or Linds or even fucking Melanie… and they’re wanting to know why I didn’t save them.”
“You couldn’t have done anything,” Justin whispers again. His vision is blurring, the small yellow flames of the candles shining, reflecting in the wetness of the threatening tears.
Brian murmurs something again and Justin turns in the embrace, snaking his arms around Brian’s neck, tugging his face towards him, he presses his mouth onto Brian’s and kisses him. It’s frantic and long, hot and deep. When they finally part, their faces are red, their lips are sore and their dicks are hard.
Brian looks down at him and huffs out a small jagged laugh, leaning to place another kiss on his lips; standing still, he clutches Justin to him tightly. "God, I don't know - I don't know what I would've done if you..."
"But I didn't," states Justin softly, "I didn't die. I'm still alive - you made sure of that." He places his hands either side of Brian's face, he speaks quietly, eyes wide, wet and intense, "We're still together Brian. Despite all this shit - you and me - us together, that's never gonna go away. And it's a good fucking thing because now we have two kids who rely on us and who love us." He pauses, placing a kiss on the side of Brian's jaw, "And yeah, okay, I admit that sometimes I do resent them - I do resent the fact that we can't do what we want whenever we want, but there is no way in hell I would ever want out. No fucking way. And I know they're not my own flesh and blood, but they feel like they are and I love them so fucking much..." He stares back into Brian's eyes, stomach contracting, voice breaking as he says the words, "And I don't know how the fuck you and me of all people ended up like... like this - as fucking parents - but we did... so..."
"So I have to get my fucking shit together, right?" Brian pulls Justin closer to him, burying his face momentarily into Justin's neck. He exhales and then lifts his head, staring into the other's face, “Do you really think a psychiatrist might help?”
“It’s worth a try.”
“Then, I guess… okay.”
Justin nods, lowering his eyes to the row of perfectly arrayed candles in front of them, “You’re so weird sometimes. Why did you light these?”
“Because they’re so pretty.” He whispers the words into Justin’s ear with a sarcastic falsetto.
“Not as pretty as me?”
“Nothing’s as pretty as you.” Justin smiles to himself, feeling Brian’s lips press another kiss against his neck. “Come on. Lets get the fuck out of this shithole. I think I’ve had quite enough catharsis for one evening.”
“Yeah,” agrees Justin feelingly.
“Shit, I need a fucking drink.”
“Woody’s next stop, don’t you think?”
“And the men's room.”
“Oh yeah definitely. But that’s just the appetizer.”
“So what’s the main course?”
“We go home and fuck over and over again until every muscle is throbbing with pain and pleasure.”
Brian laughs lowly, his hand moving to cup Justin’s crotch. “That sounds like my kind of evening.”
“Hmm… yeah,” Justin moans, turning to look at him, an evil grin edging at the corner of his mouth. “And then tomorrow, we collect our kids from my Mom’s and take them to the mall because our son needs some fucking sneakers.”
Brian groans, laughing under his breath, he drops his head onto Justin’s shoulder, “Yeah, okay. Now I really need that fucking drink.”
***********
"Justin, you’re not winning this argument.“
“Brian, listen to me. You gave up your parental rights to Mel and Linds so Gus could be raised by two people who love him and who love each other, and that’s what he’s going to get, that‘s what they‘re both going to get. With us.”
“So, you’re really and truly ready to be a fulltime parent? Have them around 24/7, getting in our way, stopping us from fucking?“
“They do sleep Brian. You know that, we’ve fucked plenty of times when we’ve had Gus over.”
“So we’re already terrible parents.”
“Yeah, but look at it this way, the only way we can go from here is…”
“Up? Yeah, thanks for that. You do realise that if we do this then that’s it for us - no more bullshit break ups? This seals the deal.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. I’m not putting Gus through anymore shit - he’s already lost two parents. He comes first for me. This is his life, it's too important to fuck up.”
“I know and that’s why you have me - I won’t let you fuck up. And as far as I’m concerned the deal is sealed. I love you. I want to be with you.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Justin…”
“Brian. Look at me. I mean it.”
“Okay… Okay. But there‘s just one thing.”
“What?”
“If we adopt her, then we stop calling that poor kid JR, we call her Jenny.”
“Oh? Umm, why?”
“Because I hate the name JR and that fucking show Dallas.”
*********
"So where'd you get the keys from?" Brian jerks his head at the bunch in Justin's hand as he carefully locks the door behind them.
"Someone I know."
"Someone you fucked?" Brian cocks an eyebrow at him as Justin drops the keys back into his bag, hefting it onto his shoulder.
"No, not someone I fucked Brian. I do happen to know some people who aren’t just past tricks.”
"Really? How's that work?"
"Shut up!" Justin hits him playfully on the arm with a short laugh. "Oh my God, look over there!” A couple are having sex. Full-on, backroom-style sex complete with law defying grunts and moans.
“Well, well, I thought it was all respectable round here these days,” comments Brian amusedly.
"I guess that's what Vic used to call the indefatigable spirit of queers."
"Yeah, the indefatigable spirit of queers to always want to get their asses fucked and their dicks sucked."
Justin watches them, a considering expression on his face, “They‘re kinda hot - how about we um forego the drink and - invite them back with us?” He looks up at Brian, eyebrow cocked, smile seductive.
“No. I‘ve got a better idea.” The grin rolling across Brian’s face is almost goofy and Justin can feel something inside him melt as he looks into his face. “This way, my young apprentice.”
“Gus made you watch The Phantom Menace again, didn’t he?” sniggers Justin as Brian pushes him into a conveniently located alley.
“Yeah, I blame you.”
“Me?” Justin’s eyes widen in mock horror.
“Yeah. You. You let Deb give him all of Mikey’s old shit and now his room looks like a geek threw up in it.”
“Aww, poor Brian. A geek for a son! Wait, isn’t that, like, karma?”
Brian kisses him again by way of response, resting his nose against Justin’s cheek, “Now, get on your knees and worship my cock.”
Justin sniggers, “Oh God Brian, how much do I love the fact that despite everything you’re still using the same old shitty lines?”
“A lot, I hope.” He whispers the words close to Justin’s ear, his breath warm and sultry on Justin’s skin.
Justin shivers in appreciation, turning to stare into the eyes he knows better than his own, his expression mirroring the desire, lust, love in the other's face, “Yeah. A lot. You’ll still be saying that to me when I’m fifty.”
“You’d better fucking believe it. Now, get on your knees.”