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2 - Weathering the Storm
Justin’s POV
Two months have elapsed since Justin chose Ethan
This occurs at the same time as “Getting Kane”
Semi-song fic (which I’ve never done so bear with me!)
Rated: NC17 (what’s new…)
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He walks in with a big smile. I muster a fake one in return, looking up from
my sketch...until that moment not having even noticed what I was drawing...Brian.
I quickly flip the top to cover the page and try to, as nonchalantly as possible,
put the sketchbook away as he starts to babble about his day. In the beginning
I loved this, his enthusiasm to see me...to tell me every detail of his day.
Now, I yearn for comfortable silence. Something Brian and I did so well, something
I took for granted. One of the many things I took for granted....
He tells me he bought new CDs. He has good taste in music, but initially I
didn't like the generally melancholy tone of every album he bought. I missed
my upbeat Moby and dance remix CDs that Brian would blast through the loft
as we readied for a night of grinding on the dance floor at Babylon.
Sometimes he would grab me as we passed, him going into the bathroom and me
coming out. He'd grab me and we'd dance for just a minute. He'd smell my newly
shampooed hair and I'd stick my face in his sweetly cologned neck. I never
spoke about those dances; I knew he'd stop if I pointed out the ridiculously
romantic undertone of that gesture. I miss that. Miss a lot of things...
Ethan sticks in the new Patty Griffin album and I am strangely calmed by her
sad voice and angst-ridden words. I need the softness now, and I don't want
Ethan to want to dance with me...I couldn't. And I don’t want Ethan to want
to talk to me anymore…I can’t.
The first track plays, Rain I think it’s called...Ethan sits down next to
me on the couch and slides the little booklet out of the case and starts to
read the lyrics silently. When the song is over I realize I haven't heard
a word...I've been watching him watch the words. Watching him become engrossed
in something so simple. Something I would have thought beautiful just a few
months ago...it suddenly somehow annoys me.
He looks up after he flips the track back on the CD and hands me the booklet..."Here,
it's really beautiful isn't it? What a sad song. Read the lyrics." I
take the booklet from him as he lays his head in my lap. The sweet first notes
of the song burn my ears and I force myself to concentrate because I know
Ethan, he'll want to discuss every line when the song is over. Analyze the
way the words flow, the way the stanzas break, the way the lyrics and music
pair together. And so I read them…
Patty Griffin, “Rain”
It’s hard to listen to a hard, hard heart
Beating close to mine
Pounding up against the stone and steel
Walls that I won’t climb
Sometimes a hurt is so deep, deep, deep
You think that you’re gonna drown
Sometimes all I can do is weep, weep, weep
With all this rain falling down
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
When I’m holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
Its hard to know when to give up the fight
Some things you want will just never be right
Its never rained like it has tonight before
Now I don’t wanna beg you baby
For something maybe you could never give
I’m not looking for the rest of your life
I just want another chance to live
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
When I’m holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
When I’m holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
When I’m still alive underneath this shroud
Rain Rain Rain
The lump in my throat grew and grew as each line passed until I couldn't hold
back what was welling up inside of me for one more second. As the last line
came to a close I felt the hot tears run down my face and I saw the first
one roll gently from the end of my chin and splash Ethan's cheek where it
lays in my lap. The sudden manifestation of my sorrow smacking his unsuspecting
face makes him jerk. He spins his head to look up at me, contorting his body
in an almost amusing way. He sees my eyes filled and studies my somber face
and it only takes seconds for the obvious to register with him. Pairing the
lyrics with my water-filled eyes he sits up...doesn’t know what to say. I
am happy for the mute-moment he is having.
There
is nothing to say and he knows it. Nothing that won't open a wound we'd both
hoped had healed. Nothing that won't start a fight we might not survive.
Nothing that won't make me sob and scream and say things that I will surely
regret.
I get up from the couch, break eye contact with him and head for the bathroom.
On the way, I push the back button on the CD player and turn it up. The song
starts again as I shut the tiny bathroom's door and slide down the backside of
it. I hit the floor with a thud and let the tears I tried to hide from Ethan
moments ago flow freely now, giving the white tile on the floor a much needed
cleaning.
I hear the words of the song drift under the crack in the door as they hit my
ears. I thought Ethan might turn off the music, come running to the door, beg
me to talk to him. He does none of those things.
After what I imagine is a long time I stand up and brace myself on his little
sink. I let my blurry eyes try to focus on the black spots where the white
porcelain has chipped away. I study where the rust is starting to do even more
damage. I look around at the old toilet with the wooden seat, the tattered
towels in a variety of mismatched colors, the clear shower curtain covered in
soap scum. All of things I once found charming disgust me now. The fact I long
for Brian’s overly-clean, hi-tech shower, towel warmer and custom stainless
steel sink disgusts me now.
It has been silent for too long, he's probably gone. Wouldn't surprise me. Kind
of relieves me. That's horrible, but it's true.
Then I hear his footsteps approach the bathroom door and I don't know if my
heart should soar or sink. And then it starts...his violin...sweet, apologetic,
empathetic, sad notes pour out of the instrument...pour out of him and wrap
themselves around me. He’s picked up on the notes to the chorus from the Patty
Griffin CD in just two listens. I rest my head against the door and slowly
slide down it…back into a crumpled ball on the floor. I close my tired, burning
eyes and listen.
The notes speak to me, say what he can’t. I hear that he needs me to forget
about Brian. Wants me to know he understands that it was a big love, a hard
love. Wants me to know that he’s better for me than Brian ever will be. Maybe
he’s right. Maybe he’s wrong.
When he's done I hear him set the violin and bow down. I shift away from the
door and pull it open. He's sitting level to me…I stare at him, he stares at
me. The silence is so deafening.
He slides into the door jamb and takes my head in his hands. He flutters kisses
all over my face. Resting his soft, wet lips on each of my eyelids for a long
moment. I sigh at the fact he does know what I need sometimes. I sigh at the
fact he doesn’t know what I need sometimes. I sigh at the fact I don’t know
what I need…ever.
He lifts me up from the cold, hard floor and warms me with his ever-delicate
touch. He takes me to bed and I let him. Too tired to protest, too broken down
to say no. I let him slowly undress me. Laying languid strokes over my skin
that is beginning to heat up. I let him kiss me and watch me and touch me and
love me. This is what I wanted? This is what I asked for.
I’ve let my eyes drift close and I don’t dare open them. I won’t see what I
want to see. In here, behind dark eyelids, I can make this touch come from
whomever I want it to. I can make those lips belong to whomever I please.
I suddenly think it ironic that Ethan is trying to heal my hurt with sex…no,
with making love. But, still…he’s using the act of being physically close to
bridge an emotional gap. Kind of like someone else I know…
He touches me in all the right places. We’ve been together long enough for him
to know them…most of them. There are a few spots on my body that still belong
to Brian in my mind. I could tell Ethan where to go to find them. He’d easily
see how much I love a tongue running across my shoulder blade very slowly or
kisses on the underside of my knee. But I’ve kept those things quiet. I kept a
lot of things quiet I guess.
I relax under his familiar touch and lose myself to the world of sex. It’s such
an easy thing to do. With eyes closed and senses soaring you can be anyone. You
can be with anyone.
He kisses down my stomach and on my hips. I hear his sharp intake of breath
right in front of my cock. I know he’s taking me all in. I know he’s looking at
me. But I don’t open my eyes. I don’t meet his gaze. I don’t return his lust. I
wonder if he knows…
I miss your soft, silky hair. I miss the way you taste. I miss the way you
traversed my body like you were exploring it each time anew. I miss the way you
made me come so hard I forgot where I was and who I was. So I could experience
your skill fresh again the next day. The way you made blue and orange lights
flash behind my eyes. The way you made my back arch for you, my hips thrust
toward you. The way you made me need you when you weren't even in the room. The
way you made me crave you when you were. The way you let me inside.
If I open my eyes he’ll see all of that Brian. He’ll know what you’ve done to
me. He’ll see how deep you’ve branded me. He’ll see that I’ll never belong to
anyone else. You’ll always be here…
He sucks and licks and rolls me across his tongue. I’m lost in memories of
shower sex and chaise lounge fucks and blue light lovemaking. Ethan could be
anyone. A trick at the baths, a boy toy from the back room. I’ve filled his
mouth with the ghost of Brian Kinney and a smile spreads across my face. A
smile he, undoubtedly, is mistaking is for him.
I let his hands become Brian’s hands. His lips become Brian’s lips. His tongue
become Brian’s tongue. It isn’t that I don’t know or can’t tell the difference.
I just need Brian enough to let my imagination fill in the gaps in technique
and timing.
I’ve worked so hard to not do this. I’ve tried for so long to stop dreaming
about Brian. To stop starting to call his name in the throes of ecstasy and
then pretend it was an inaudible melody, “Briooooaaaaa”.
My back starts to flex and my gut starts to tingle. Brian stops…no, Ethan
stops. My eyes, remaining closed, suddenly feel his hot breath as he comes up
to kiss me. Fill me with my own taste. I whimper a little, looking for release.
Sad I didn’t get it. And then his voice fills my ear, “Not yet…let me get there
too.”
It isn’t something Brian would say and it isn’t in Brian’s voice. My eyes
reluctantly open, grounding me in reality. I knew what was out here, I was just
happier in there. I look at him and he smiles. He thinks this is helping.
Thinks he’s making me forget about the song, forget about Brian. If he only
knew…
Brian
would have let me come. Brian would have reveled in how quickly he could make
me do it. Brian would laugh a little and lay his head on my inner thigh as I
struggled to regulate my breathing. He’d rub his soft, long hands along my
legs. He’d clean me up and smile at me. Kiss me until I was hard again. It
never took long. He knew I’d come as many times as he needed me to. As he
wanted me to. Things are different in this bed, with this man. And not
necessarily in a good way.
I flip Ethan over. If he’d caught the look on my face I’m sure it would have
alarmed him. One of annoyance, disdain, disinterest. I part his legs, rather
roughly. Land my right hand on his balls and cup them, my left hand on his cock
and stroke it. I stare at his dick and watch it fill impossibly full of blood.
It turns crimson and leaks precursors to the ecstasy that is sure to follow. He
moans and writhes under my touch. I know I do this well. I know I do everything
well. I had an excellent teacher.
I wonder if Ethan is even aware of how different Brian made me? He couldn’t be.
He didn’t know me pre-Brian. Didn’t know before I knew how to fuck, how to
suck, how to kiss, how to cuddle, how to be still, how to be quiet, how to be
cold.
He doesn’t taste like you. He doesn’t move like you. He doesn’t smell like
you. He doesn’t moan like you. He doesn’t run his fingers through my hair and
guide my mouth. Or tell me how much he loves this even though I’ve heard it a
thousand times before. He doesn’t do a lot of things Brian…but he tells me he
loves me. Tells me he needs me. Tells me he’d die without me. More than you’ll
ever say…
I almost choke on his hot, pulsing dick as it fills my mouth and tickles me
throat. Emotion swells up inside of me and threatens to release itself. The tip
of his dick meets the lump in my throat and it is more than I can handle. I
back my mouth off and rest my head on his thigh for a minute. Try to get a
grip. Try to gain composure. A tear slides down his thigh...so pale and
innocent. He doesn't notice...tears mixing with other fluids...they're wet and
warm all the same.
After another minute of my immobility he rolls me over and goes back to work on
my body. Perhaps realizing I’m a lost cause. He covers me with his body.
Envelopes me in his warmth. Wills me to not be a lost cause.
He turns me over and kisses down my spine. He rubs his hands deep into the
muscles of my back, helping me relax. I breathe deeply and close my eyes again.
He parts my legs, rubs my thighs, slips on a condom, greases me up, lifts my
hips, dips his body, starts our rhythm.
From this position I can dig my face into the sheets and lose myself. His
thrusts are slow and long, just like they always are. I’ve tried telling him to
go faster, harder, deeper. He only continues with his agonizingly slow
lovemaking. Beautiful at times, torturous at others. He doesn’t like when I
scream, “Fuck me harder.” Doesn’t like when I insinuate that I want him to be
rough with me. He doesn’t understand that primal, animalistic lust is a great
way to show someone you love them. Even if you can’t say it.
I pulse and shake and pant under him, as we both get closer. I bite the sheets
and let out a series of moans pleading with him to go faster. When he actually
does my breath is taken away and my eyes start to fill with flashes of light. I
push back, hard. I grip the mattress, tight. I scream his name, loud.
“Brian…”
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