This is a post-series story for severina2001
to congratulate her on a successful blogathon and just because I think she's
fantastic.
***********
“So you’ll come?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll try.” Brian sighs, lights another cigarette, hates the way
these conversations make him feel.
Justin sighs and clears his throat, tries to sound annoyed, “I’ve heard that
before.”
“Shit happens. I’m busy running a company that’s bringing in 15 million this
year.”
Justin snorts and then laughs at his snort, “Do you seriously make that much
money?”
“Kinnetik does,” Brian half smiles, he knows a lot of hard work, and a little
luck (and some ego stroking and wining and dining and flirting), has brought
him to this place.
Justin’s quiet for a minute, “You deserve everything you have.”
“I don’t have much,” it’s out of Brian’s mouth before he realizes it.
“Brian,” Justin’s voice is thin and tight and close to breaking.
“Don’t…fuck, I didn’t mean that. You know what I meant.”
“Do I?” There’s noise in the background, a door opens and closes.
“Where are you?” Brian feels like changing the subject is all that will save
him.
“My new studio, it’s actually why I called, to tell you about it. And don’t
try to change the subject.”
Brian huffs a false laugh, a nervous one, “You got a studio? Which one of us
is loaded again?”
Justin laughs, “Not me. I’m a starving artist, remember? It’s a shared space;
you’re hearing the other painters that work here. There are ten of us. There’s
a schedule posted that no one pays any attention to.” There’s a long pause,
“It’s kind of great.”
Brian hates when Justin curbs his enthusiasm.
**
He has six messages. He knows each one is from Justin. He knows they get progressively
angrier and then quiet and resigned. They’ve been through this before.
This is the third time in as many months that he’s said he’d come up for the
weekend and didn’t. He always sends the obligatory ‘something came up’ email
Monday morning. He never gets a response. Justin won’t call him for a week and
then finally breaks down. They don’t talk about the real reason Brian hasn’t
been to visit. For that matter, they don’t talk about it at all.
It’s been six months since he left and Justin aches for things that only Brian
can give him. But he doesn’t say that. He feels like this is all his fault,
but he knows Brian would hate him for feeling guilty. He honestly believed they’d
stay together, on some level, even when they were apart. And he wants to believe
the love between them, love that he finally knows beyond the shadow of a doubt
is mutual, will see them through this. But he doubts that more with each passing
day.
So he paints, pours his heart on to canvas after canvas, remembering the last
moments they spent together and how he felt more loved in those moments than
he has in his entire life.
He’s more proud of the work he’s done here in a few short months than the years
that came before. He knows he’s led a life with a healthy dose of hardship,
but he figures only heartbreak can bring on this kind of desperate inspiration.
**
“You didn’t fucking go? He’s going to kill you.”
He shakes his head, motions for her to get him coffee. She rolls her eyes in
that I am not your fucking assistant anymore way that she has, but makes
him a cup anyway.
He throws a board across the room. The pitch he’s been working on all weekend
(the one he swears he needed to stay in town to finish) is for shit. Cynthia
winces when the foam core folds in on itself as it hits the wall.
Brian takes a long sip of the bitter heat, “What the fuck are you doing here
on a Sunday anyway?”
Cynthia rolls her eyes again, “I’m always here on Sundays. It’s the only day
I can fucking get anything done. Now, seriously, why didn’t you go? What’s going
on with you?”
He looks at her for a long time, drinks half the cup of caffeine. Considers
blowing her off, but decides it might be good to have someone tell him he’s
doing the right thing. “He doesn’t need to be reminded of what he’s missing.
He needs to move forward, move on, start his new life. I’m just…talking to me,
seeing me, it’s holding him back. I can’t…” He rubs his temples and looks at
the ruined board on the floor.
“Brian,” Cynthia walks across the room and rounds his desk, perches on the edge
right in front of him. He notices that she smells nice, crisp and clean.
He finally looks up at her, knows that’s what she’s waiting for.
“You love him. You should try and make it work, Justin obviously wants to.”
“He’s young. He doesn’t know what he wants.”
She shakes her head, “That’s bullshit. What is this, the great regression of
Brian Kinney? You’ve come too far with him to act like this.”
Brian looks anywhere but at her, he knows in some ways she’s right. He’s going
back to the old model where he was sure he knew what was best, where he never
let Justin make his own decisions. But…
She stands up, “Hell Brian, give him some fucking credit. He was going to marry
you a few months ago for God’s sake. He probably still wants to.”
Brian shakes his head emphatically, “No, that isn’t how this story ends.”
Cynthia stares at Brian for a long time, wishes she understood how to get through
to him. She walks to the door but turns around as she opens it, “This is not
black and white, there are no absolutes, neither of you have to choose all or
nothing. You can compromise and make it work, or you can be fucking miserable
for the rest of your goddamned life.”
And then she’s gone.
**
This time it takes Justin ten days to call after Brian’s a no-show again.
Brian lets the phone ring four times. It’s late on a Wednesday night, he’s at
the loft (which is where Justin’s calling him, proving time and distance doesn’t
make you understand a person any less). He finally grabs the phone, letting
his desire to hear the familiar voice get the better of him.
“Hey,” he leans over to get a joint, has a feeling this one will be tougher
than the others.
“Hey,” Justin sounds surprised. Brian’s surprised himself.
“How are you?” The lighter sparks and hisses.
“Good, surprised you answered. Listen, I…” There’s a long pause and Brian waits,
knows he deserves whatever is coming. And then, “I can’t go through this with
you once a month until I am completely defeated and broken. So here’s what’s
going to happen: you’re going to get an invitation to my first opening in the
mail next month.”
Brian interrupts, “Justin,” he sits up in bed, stubs out the joint.
“Shut up,” Justin pauses, “So when you get it you can come if you want. If you
show up, we’ll talk. If you don’t…I just…I don’t know. I love you, you know
that. And I think you still love me. I want you to come. The rest is up to you.”
Before Brian can say anything the dial tone blares in his ear. He stares at
the phone for a long time and beyond the hum he hears Justin saying ‘I think’
a million times over.
**
Brian puts the crude but artsy gallery announcement on the refrigerator. Every
time he opens it for a beer, which is less and less these days, he runs a finger
over the bold lettering on the bottom left that read ‘Justin Taylor’ in deep
red. Every time he does it his throat gets tight. He wonders if that would happen
forever, or if time really does heal all wounds.
**
“You are getting on that fucking plane. I’m driving you.”
“You are not, fuck off.”
“Brian,” Ted looks sort of hot acting bossy and with his hand on his hip. Brian
quickly dismisses the thought.
“Theodore,” Brian rolls his eyes, goes back to his laptop.
“Brian, get over yourself. You love him, go after him.”
Before Brian can say a thing Ted is at his chair and physically lifting him
out of it.
“Jesus,” Brian tries to move away but Ted has his elbow tight and Brian’s bag
clutched in his other hand.
“Move it. In the car. Now!” Brian huffs a laugh but starts to walk. Behind him
Ted smiles victoriously.
**
The gallery is on two levels, Justin’s work takes up all of the bottom floor.
He has a dozen pieces being shown. There must be a hundred people here. Brian
knows that Michael and Ben are around somewhere, Emmett too. But there’s only
one person he needs to see right now.
He spots the blond head at a hundred feet. His gut clenches and his stride slows.
He stops to watch. Justin stands next to two young women clad in short cocktail
dresses. In the heat of the brief summer New Yorkers like to dress like their
Miami counterparts and they have the better legs to do it with anyway. Brian
briefly thinks about what Justin’s thighs must be like from all the walking
and the four flights up to his apartment. And his ass…
He salivates.
He starts to move again, feels like the air is thicker now. The background noise
fades away and his focus becomes sharp. And then Justin turns, as if he sensed
him, their eyes meet. Justin smiles, Brian smiles back. He wants to remember
this moment, Justin’s half unbuttoned black dress shirt and his low, fitted
jeans with paint splatters in all the right places. The way his hand curls around
his glass of wine and his lips curve up on the ends just for Brian.
Justin starts to walk, so Brian waits. They meet in the middle of a crowded
room, but they might as well be alone.
“Hey,” Brian smiles, takes Justin’s wine glass and drains it.
“Hey,” Justin smiles too, shoves Brian in the shoulder a little and takes back
the empty glass.
“This is…nice,” Brian motions to their surroundings.
“It’s,” Justin stops and starts, “It’s not a solo show, but, well there’s just
that other guy and this gallery is pretty well known…not some obscure place
in some basement….and…”
“Shut up, it’s amazing.” And Brian leans down close to Justin’s face, puts a
warm hand on the back of his neck and pulls him even closer. Just before their
lips me he adds, “You’re amazing.”
And then they kiss. It’s all the things Justin thought it would be and all the
things Brian didn’t know he’d have again. The air crackles and the skies open
up and their knees go weak and hearts thump and palms sweat and the world changes.
When he can’t breathe anymore Justin pulls away, turns his head to the side,
“Jesus.”
Their eyes meet and he smiles, “You know I almost forgot…but then, how can I
forget?”
Brian nods, smiles too, “I know what you mean.”
Suddenly there is a hand on Justin’s shoulder. It’s the gallery manager; her
smile is nearly as wide as Justin’s.
“You’ve sold two, in an hour. Come meet the buyers.”
His eyes go wide as saucers, he starts to think about the money and then just
focuses on the fact two people in this room just paid for a Justin Taylor original.
He can hardly breathe.
He starts to follow Mandy or Mindy, or whatever the fuck her name is, but stops
short. He spins around toward Brian, “You didn’t.”
Brian stares for a minute, takes a sip of his drink, then smiles, “No, I didn’t.”
Justin smiles and then jogs across the large expanse of the main floor to catch
up with the manager.
Brian wanders slowly, really looks at the work for the first time. The style
is certainly Justin’s but there’s something different here, something darker.
Something more mature than he was producing before, more astounding. There are
a few large scale works on the far wall that nearly knock Brian down. Justin
is brilliant. Knowing it is one thing, but witnessing it is another.
Brian focuses on the darkest work in the furthest corner for a long time and
experiences what feels like a revelation, even if he’s known it all along.
**
Brian loves how the streets of New York are alive and awake even at this hour.
After the show Justin was hungry, he asked Brian to come with him to some diner
he likes. He ate a grilled cheese and fries that Brian stole when he thought
Justin wasn’t looking.
Brian isn’t sure where they’re walking now, but he’s happy. He can’t believe
he almost didn’t get on the plane. Justin reaches over and tentatively takes
Brian’s hand. He doesn’t look up but he’s waiting to see if Brian will allow
this public display. He does.
They walk blocks and blocks in silence. Justin isn’t sure where they’re walking,
but he’s happy.
**
“Where are you staying?” Justin’s voice is sleepy; the sun is starting to rise.
“The Waldorf.” Brian likes how long the days are this time of year.
“Of course,” Justin laughs and stops walking. He turns to Brian and steps closer.
“Come home with me.”
“Okay,” Brian stands still, his eyes never waiver.
“Okay?” Justin’s eyebrows go up.
Brian laughs, “Okay.”
Suddenly Justin turns and jerks Brian’s hand. Brian knows where Justin lives
but doesn’t know how to get there from here. They walk down a few blocks and
turn and walk down a few more. Justin’s walking faster now, walking with a mission.
Brian isn’t sure how far Justin’s place is, but he knows he can’t wait. He stops,
pulls at Justin’s arm hard.
“Hey,” Justin spins around; his eyes are wild and full of anticipation.
Brian pulls him in tight and fast and they kiss. It’s like the gallery all over,
but stronger and longer and needier. Brian claws at Justin’s back, pushes on
his neck. He can’t get in far enough, can’t get their bodies close enough.
“I need you,” Justin pants into his mouth and Brian knows what he means. It’s
all he can do not to fuck him on this well lit street.
“Fuck,” Brian pushes them back against the brick building behind Justin. It’s
a little darker and there’s something to hold on to.
They kiss again, Justin’s hand clutches at Brian’s shirt, practically pulling
it off him.
“I can’t wait,” Justin breathes again, Brian’s so hard it hurts.
“How far?” Brian asks but puts his tongue in Justin’s mouth before he gets an
answer.
A moment later Justin pulls away, “Another five blocks or so.”
“Fuck this,” Brian’s in the street and a cab’s pulling over before Justin’s
eyes can even refocus.
In the backseat of the cab Brian puts his hand on Justin’s crotch, puts just
enough pressure there to make Justin moan. The driver watches them in his rearview.
Brian figures he’s turned on, gay or straight. He pulls Justin to him, puts
his tongue flat to his neck. He licks up under Justin’s ear, bites at the soft
flesh there he knows turns Justin into mush.
“Brian,” Justin warns quietly, he knows exactly what Brian’s doing.
Before they can get any further the cab stops short. Brian tosses a twenty into
the front seat and like that they’re gone.
The building isn’t as scary as Brian would have imagined, but the apartment
is. As Justin locks a few bolts and puts on a chain Brian runs his hands over
Justin’s ass, his tongue across the back of his neck.
“Just tell me your sheets are clean,” he laughs into Justin’s ear, takes the
lobe into his mouth and sucks hard.
“Well, I’ve only had sex with myself on them.” They laugh together, the sound
disappearing as their mouths close together.
Brian pulls Justin’s clothes away, gets him nearly naked and starts to pull
him backwards.
“Couch?” Brian mumbles into Justin’s chest as he licks down his stomach.
“Behind you,” they stumble and fall and end up half on the couch and half on
the ugly rug beneath it.
“My roommate,” Justin gasps as Brian takes his cock into his mouth. Brian sucks
hard and pulls at Justin’s hips and never even hears the comment.
When Justin’s got a pillow over his face and is writhing appropriately, Brian
pulls away.
“Condom,” he practically gasps.
Justin sits up and looks around. “I don’t know, I don’t…oh fuck.”
Brian gives him a look, “You don’t have a condom?”
Justin throws his hands up exasperatedly, “I’m not fucking anyone!”
Brian looks down at his dick, arching toward his belly and leaking at the tip,
“I beg to differ.”
Brian gets up and goes to his pants, discarded by the front door.
He hurries back to the couch, pulls Justin up to stand in front of him. They
kiss for a long minute, hands roaming and whimpers coming from Justin’s mouth.
“I’m too old for this shit, where’s your room?”
Justin lets out a belly laugh and pulls at Brian’s hand. He opens the door to
what Brian can only describe as a POW cell, but at least it’s clean.
Justin closes the door and Brian gets in the bed. As Justin turns around he
catches Brian inhaling deeply over his pillows.
Justin hits the light and Brian turns his head, “Leave it on.”
Justin nods and slides in the twin bed next to Brian, “You’re smelling my sheets.”
Brian smiles, in an almost sheepish way, “Mmmm.”
Justin smiles and kisses Brian softly. So softly that Brian has to grip the
pillow under him to keep from pushing Justin back into the bed and assaulting
his mouth.
He does start to lean in to try and get more after a few seconds. “Slow,” Justin
whispers.
Brian nods, he wants it that way too, even if his body won’t comply.
Justin moves and pushes Brian completely onto his back. He straddles Brian’s
thighs and leans down to kiss him more. Their lips barely brush, just sweet
little slips of slick skin on skin and hot breath mingling and the promise of
something more.
“Justin,” Brian says his name quietly.
Justin pulls back and they look at each other. Justin’s heart beats harder and
pushes tears to the surface of his eyes. He blinks away the wetness and bites
his lip.
“I love you,” Brian pulls their faces together again, doesn’t even want Justin
to say it back. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, never has.
But Justin pulls away, “I love you, too.” Justin smiles as relief washes over
him.
Brian pushes his shoulders suddenly, moves Justin so they lay side-by-side but
face-to-face. “You know I love you. You know that. I love you so…I fuck. Just,
don’t ever doubt that. Never.”
And Justin lets the tears come now. It’s one thing to know Brian Kinney loves
you, to absolutely positively know it, but it’s another to hear him say it and
watch the way his face softens when he does and remember how you felt the first
time he said that to you and all the times after that.
Brian kisses the tears away, always hated watching anyone cry. He feels his
own eyes swell now and realizes he was an idiot for thinking he could live without
this.
“I want it to work,” his whispers in Justin’s ear as he kisses him there and
puts strong hands against the small of his back, moving them so he’s on top
of Justin.
“Me too,” Justin nods emphatically, wipes away the few stray tears.
“So we’ll figure it out,” Brian pushes Justin’s thighs, puts a hand between
them.
“Yeah, we will,” Justin smiles and gasps as Brian’s fingers curl inside of him
and stroke the places that make Justin giggle and sigh and whimper and beg and
do everything that make Brian crazy.
“Fuck me,” Justin finally pleads when he’s had enough.
Brian laughs, but lifts Justin’s legs gently to his shoulders and presses inside
of him slowly.
It never changes and yet it’s never, ever the same. The tight heat and gentle
pull, it feels like coming home, being inside of Justin. But he could never
get tired of it, bored from it. He’s had years to discover that this is all
he needs. Justin is all he needs.
“Brian,” Justin’s eyes are shut tight and his voice is low and raspy. He reaches
up blindly and claws at Brian’s shoulders.
“Jesus,” Brian hisses and he doesn’t know if it’s from the skin breaking on
his neck or the muscles clenching around his cock.
He reaches around and tries to spank Justin but it comes out a half-hearted
slap on his hip.
“Hey,” Justin sinks his teeth into Brian’s collarbone and clenches down harder.
“Fuck you’re gonna make me come,” Brian pushes deeper, moves faster.
Somewhere in between another round of relentless clenching and Justin’s light,
constant laughter, Brian does exactly that.
Justin follow suit immediately, his cock twitching and leaking between them.
He wonders briefly when the last time he came without touching himself was.
He knows when, but pushes the thought from his mind, he doesn’t want to feel
sad right now.
They lay in silence for a long time. Brian’s heavy and sweaty and breathing
all over the side of Justin’s face and Justin can’t remember being this happy,
and maybe he never has been.
Justin pets the back of Brian’s head and kisses from his temple down to his
jaw and then over to his mouth.
“Don’t leave,” Justin’s voice is barely audible.
“I won’t,” Brian’s answer sounds like a promise and for the first time in a
long time Justin feels like he has something to believe in.
**
“Brian,” he tries to sound angry, “What did you do?”
Brian shrugs, “We needed something for over the fireplace.”
“Fuck you! You didn’t have a fireplace or a fucking apartment then. You said
you didn’t buy one!”
“When you asked me, I hadn’t” Brian signs for the delivery. Motions to Justin
to help him move the crated art to the far wall.
“Which one is it?” Justin asks quietly.
“I’m sure you know,” Brian watches Justin carefully, hopes this is going to
be okay.
“Yeah,” Justin nods, “Yeah.”
“It’s okay?” Brian rubs a hand over his lips and tries not to look worried.
Justin waits a while, stares at the crate, thinks about the way he felt when
he painted that particular piece and the way he feels right now…in this moment,
in this life.
“Yeah,” he finally sighs.
“You’re sure? I can take it to the office. I can…”
Justin shakes his head and moves toward Brian, “No, it’s okay. It reminds me
of how much I missed you then…how much I love you.” And then he smiles.
Brian puts his hands on either side of Justin’s face and kisses him gently.
“It’s the reason I couldn’t leave. The moment I looked at it, I knew I wasn’t
going anywhere.”
Justin nods and puts his face in Brian’s neck and breathes a sigh.
This is how their story begins.
The End (or rather...The Beginning)
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