I was walking in the park by my house yesterday, grasping at the last vestiges
of fall and taking many photographs, when I accidentally wrote this story in
my head. I'm sure I forgot some parts, but what do you want from me.
***********
Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor, of television's now defunct Queer as
Folk, star in this post-series story that examines 24 hours in the life
of a sick, sick boy...
The pounding sounded distant. Far off enough even, that Justin rationalized
it must be on a neighbor’s door. Though, in all honesty, he knew it wasn’t.
A long moment passed and the pounding ceased. Justin sighed and released the
pressure on the pillow that had been covering his head.
Suddenly his bedroom door flung open, causing him to sit upright in a panic.
He tried to look around, but everything was black. He went with his gut reaction
and started to scream.
Hands were on his bare skin inside of half a second and a loud voice boomed
over his own shrill shrieking, “Fucking Christ, Justin, shut up.”
The pink, silk padded eye mask with “Princess” written in silver script (the
one he claimed he’d stolen from his ex-roommate) was ripped from his head and
tossed into his lap. Brian sat next to him, gripping Justin’s upper arms tight
enough to bruise, clad in a black double-breasted Armani with a cigarette behind
his left ear and an annoyed expression on his face.
“You scream like a fucking girl…or should I say princess.” Brian’s grimace
gave way and a small smile crept out.
Justin fell back into the bed and groaned.
“Nice to see you too, dear.” Brian stood and crossed the room.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Justin grabbed the princess mask and put
it back over his head, the thin elastic band settling back into the groove it
had made in his head in the three days he’d been wearing it.
“Your mommy was worried and gently suggested I get my ass up here and fuck you
better.”
“My mother said no such thing.”
“You don’t know her as well as you used to.” Brian fingered a half-done canvas
in the corner and looked out the window onto Avenue B, lit with moonlight and
storefront neon and loud from the Friday night crowd looking for somewhere to
go.
Justin inched the mask up his forehead and gave Brian the evil eye. Since Brian
started having dinner with Jennifer regularly, the two had become a dynamic
duo whose sole purpose was, apparently, to drive Justin slowly insane.
Brian sat down on the bed next to Justin again and took the mask away, tossing
it through the open door out into the living room.
“I brought…stuff,” Brian motioned to the small black leather carry-on sitting
on the floor.
Justin rolled slightly toward it and meekly said, “What?”
Brian shrugged, “Your mother packed it.”
Justin looked around a bit more, “Where’s your stuff?”
“At a hotel.”
Justin screwed up his face, “How chivalrous. Drop off the care package my mom
packed and then go order room service at the Waldorf. Classic.” Justin rolled
away from Brian.
“The W, actually. And the plan was for you to come too, but if you’d rather
stay here…”
“What?” Justin already felt the misstep burning in his gut.
“I got the room so you could recuperate in style.” Brian pulled open some dresser
drawers looking for anything Justin could wear for thirty blocks.
Justin groaned, “Oh.”
“Yes, well.” Brian threw sweats on the bed and barked a few orders, disappearing
into the living room and talking quietly on his cell phone.
Brian hung up his phone and glanced toward the open door to find Justin sitting
on the edge of the bed with his sweats in his hand.
Brian walked across the room and watched as Justin sat motionless.
“Justin?” Justin looked up abruptly, as if startled out of sleep.
Brian’s face got serious, “Come here.” He acted put off as he helped Justin
to his feet and into pants and a t-shirt. He was careful with the boy though,
gently sliding the cotton over his skin and holding him firmly.
“Anything else you need from here?” Justin just shook his head. Brian wondered
if he should call someone.
”I can go, I’ll send Molly to her dad’s for a few days.”
Brian shook his head, “No, it’s easier for me to go. I can work from there.
And, Jennifer, isn’t it time we hired someone to take care of Craig?”
Jennifer laughed, she had a brilliant smile (the one she’d given her son), “You
have no idea how often I have that thought. But, really, I can go. I haven’t
been up there since last year.”
Brian paid the bill discreetly, Jennifer’d stopped arguing long ago. “No, really,
if it’s okay, I’d like to.” Brian paused and wiped his slick lips, “I need to
go see him about something else anyway.”
Brian leveled Jennifer with one of his looks. She knew he meant business, but
she had no idea of what kind. The only thing she’d come to understand about
Brian over the years, was that he was never to be questioned. Luckily, she’d
also learned that he was a good man, a very good man. And this realization allowed
her to trust him with her son, implicitly.
Now, in the back of a cab headed across town, Justin rests his head on Brian’s
shoulder and coughs in a way that makes Brian wince (though he tries to hide
it).
Justin notices, as he notices all things about Brian. “I’m sorry. I should have
just called to tell you I wasn’t dead. You shouldn’t have come.”
Brian runs a hand through Justin’s hair and kisses his sweaty temple, “Yes I
should’ve.”
It wouldn’t be the best weekend they’d spent in New York, but Brian hardly minded.
The thought of being stranded in a hotel for a few days with Justin was frankly
the most appealing thing to happen in a while. Even if Justin slept and coughed
and nothing else, it was something better than what Brian had been used to lately.
“We’re here,” Brian nudges Justin (who’s fallen asleep) and pays the fare.
Brian lets Justin lean heavy against him as they wait in the lobby for the elevator.
In the room Brian pulls down the sheets and hustles Justin underneath. He sits
down and opens up the black bag Jennifer had pressed into his palm (he remembered
nothing of her fifteen minute instruction set, but figures Justin knows what
the fuck it is all for).
“What do you want out of here,” Brian holds things up and makes faces and amusing
comments that make Justin laugh lightly.
Suddenly Justin puts a hand on the back of Brian’s neck and pulls him down so
that he can kiss him. Brian starts to open his mouth and push his tongue into
Justin’s but Justin pulls back, “Stop, sickness.”
“First, I don’t get sick. Second, when the fuck has that ever stopped you?”
Justin shakes his head, “This is bad, Bri. Bad, bad. Bad.”
Brian laughs and leans down close again, this time Justin lets him have his
kiss. Tongue and all.
Before Brian is ready to pull away he feels Justin slipping back into dreamland.
He pours some purple liquid and a few white pills down the boy and turns off
the light and closes the door. He’d gotten a suite so he could work while Justin
sleeps. Nothing like giving your staff a virtual beating across state lines.
Brian orders a steak and opens the bottle of liquor he’d packed and smiles,
there are worse ways to kill a night.
**
Brian wakes to a strange vibrating underneath him. He runs a hand under his
body, wondering what a vibrator is doing in the crack of the couch he is sleeping
on.
Turns out to be his cell phone. He has six missed calls:
Jennifer Taylor
Jennifer Taylor
Mikey
Jennifer Taylor
Mikey
Jennifer Taylor
And doesn’t that just sum his life right up?
He looks at the clock, it’s just before 9am. She answers on the first ring;
he apologizes and gives her an update.
He’s not dead.
He’ll be fine.
He took the medication.
I will make him eat the soup.
Yes, I will tell him you love him.
He quietly opens the door to the bedroom where Justin still sleeps soundly.
He promises Jennifer that he can see her son breathing and that he will have
Justin call her himself when he wakes up.
**
Ordering room service that includes bacon, sausage and pancakes is clearly a
malicious tactic to wake Justin up, but Brian tells himself that Justin will
not able to smell it through a closed door (which is bullshit) and decides not
to feel guilty.
Not five minutes after the silver cart lands in the room the bedroom door creeps
open and Justin stands, bleary eyed and half-dead, in a stream of sunlight.
His hair is matted to his head and his boxers are half down his ass and a yawn
splits his face in two. Brian turns away for fear his own smile will eat him
alive.
Pretending to mess with some juice he mutters, “Not dead yet?”
“No,” Justin croaks. “Man, my throat. I can walk now though.”
And he does walk, across the room and up close behind Brian. He leans against
him. Justin feels warm and heavy. It makes Brian sigh.
Justin smiles to himself, “I’m sorry you had to come all the way here to watch
me sleep.”
Brian turns around and hands Justin a glass of juice, “I didn’t watch, I went
out and stumbled on this amazing orgy…” Brian trails off as Justin punches him
weakly.
“Stop it. I’m dying. Remember?” Justin slumps down onto the couch.
Brian sits next to him and feels his forehead gently, like a good mother hen,
“How do you feel?”
Justin thinks about his answer for a solid minute, which Brian appreciates,
“I feel better than I did yesterday, but I still might die.”
Brian nods, “Are you hungry?”
Justin smiles and puts his head on Brian’s shoulder, “I love it when you pretend
to take care of me. And I’m not hungry, but thank you.”
“Pretend,” Brian scoffs, “This isn’t pretending, dear, this is it. Take it or
leave it.”
“Take it,” Justin yawns again. “I think I need to go back to bed.”
“Christ, boy, you just slept 16 hours straight and I’d bet the three days before
that.”
Justin nods and starts to get up, but falters, so Brian stands to help. Justin
lets out this odd whiney noise that makes Brian laugh. He sounds like a little
boy, it turns Brian on. He leans over and picks Justin up, eliciting a yelp.
“Back to bed for you then,” Brian carries Justin back into the bedroom and places
him gently on the bed. “Sleep as long as you want.”
Justin smiles and his eyes slip closed, “That was kind of like you carrying
me over a threshold.”
**
Brian figures he knows Justin’s feeling better in the same way he’s always known
when to get on a plane and show up in New York unannounced. It’s also the same
way he knows when he sees a sweater Justin will like. It’s the same way he knows
when he should insist Justin come to Pittsburgh for a few weeks for a break.
It’s the same way he knows how to touch him and where to kiss him and when to
take his time and when to hurry. It’s how he knows if Justin feels like liquor
or beer, comedy or drama, top or bottom, hot or cold, slow or fast. It’s inherent;
it’s become part of his being. It’s a way he’s never known another person, least
of all himself, and never will again.
Justin’s snoring lightly and that means he’s still pretty deep in it, so Brian
sits gently on the edge of the bed and smokes a cigarette. He knows this won’t
wake Justin; he adjusted to the smell of burning tobacco permeating his air
in his sleep long ago.
Brian’s two cigarettes and one cocktail into his Saturday night when Justin
stops snoring. He’s another cocktail and another four cigarettes in when he
decides to open the blackout curtains and let the moonlight in. They’re fifty
stories up and the quiet is deceiving. When Brian looks out the window the city
is bright and bustling below. But this high up all he’s got is moonlight and
black sky and the occasional lit window. Brian wishes he had binoculars, he
can only imagine the voyeur he’d become if he lived here. When he lives here…
Brian checks the clock, it’s nearly ten. Justin’s officially been asleep for
almost 24 hours. Brian pushes the sheets back gently, not wanting to wake Justin
before he’s ready. He sits lightly on the bed and looks at Justin, really looks
at him, from the tip of his messy head to the start of his ankles (his feet
disappearing beneath the sheets, hidden from view). Brian leans in and breathes
in deep. Justin smells like sickness, cough syrupy and warm and unshowered.
Brian likes the smell.
He lies down next to Justin. He gets close enough so that he feels Justin’s
breath on his shoulder. He counts how many days it’s been since they last had
sex. He gets hard as he calculates it right down to the hour: 40 days and fifteen
hours he figures. He’d left on a Monday morning six weeks ago. That is about
their average, six weeks in between visits. Brian always likes when Justin can’t
make it that long and calls Brian, pleading for a few nights. Once last year,
Brian flew up on a Wednesday night and fucked Justin senseless until dawn, when
he flew back home. He hadn’t been in New York for more than ten hours, but it
was worth the ridiculous same-day purchase price for his first class seat.
Justin murmurs and Brian turns to look at his face. He’s nearly back in the
world now. Brian leans close and brushes their lips together. Justin’s body
reacts, following Brian’s face as it moves away. Justin’s face down which leaves
Brian only one logical choice.
He gets his tongue nearly inside when Justin stirs and starts to move.
“Be still,” Brian says against Justin’s left thigh. Justin is suddenly very
awake and, though a little confused, feeling good.
Justin wonders what time it is, what day even, as Brian spreads his cheeks and
licks a fat, slick, strip up the inside. The cool air makes Justin shiver down
to his core. He thinks about when he last showered.
“Brian,” he tries to roll away.
Brian’s hands hold tighter on his hips, “What are you doing?”
“I need to shower! I’ve been sick for like a year.”
Brian laughs, “Like I haven’t eaten your ass under worse conditions, settle
down.”
Justin blushes and Brian’s head come up to witness the pink play across his
cheeks. Brian smiles wide before putting his head back between the warm, white
thighs in front of him. He loves that Justin can still be embarrassed by things,
lots of things really.
It only takes a few teasing licks and half-probes before Justin starts begging.
Brian prides himself on the speed with which he redirects Justin’s concerns.
From cleanliness to orgasm in under ten seconds.
Justin starts to murmur Brian’s name, along with a few expletives and other
undecipherable things, and then he buries his face in the pillow. Often embarrassed
by what comes out of his mouth when Brian’s tongue is up his ass.
Brian spanks him lightly, “Let me hear you.”
Justin laughs and turns his head and lets the words pour out.
Fuck. I need. Stop. No. Go. Yes. Please. There. Goddamn. Hot. Make me crazy.
Perfect. Fuck. Please. Please. Please.
Brian makes him come with a firm tongue and a firmer grip. Justin yelps and
pumps his hips and sinks deeper into the moist sheets.
“Christ,” he mutters and closes his eyes.
Brian lies on top of him, carefully, and kisses the side of Justin’s face.
“Turn over,” Brian lifts his body and Justin complies.
Justin’s eyes open to watch Brian settling down on top of him again. Brian pushes
his tongue into Justin’s mouth.
“See, you taste good,” Brian smirks, Justin blushes…again.
Brian brushes the hair from Justin’s forehead, “How do you feel?”
“Good, now.” Justin smiles and kisses Brian again. When he pulls away he adds,
“Wanna fuck?”
Brian nods and grabs a condom, he’s pushing inside before Justin has a chance
to spread his legs. Brian pushes at his thighs and tries to go slow, but Justin’s
bearing down and clawing at Brian’s arms and chanting, “More, faster, deeper,
now.” And Brian wants to be gentle, but come on…
**
“Do you think other people have this?” Justin’s voice is small and muffled by
the pillow folded in half and shoved under his head.
Brian opens his mouth and shuts it again. His gut reaction is to feign ignorance,
but he decides against it, “No.” He rolls to face Justin and they stare a while.
Brian drags on the cigarette he just lit and Justin steals it for a puff every
third drag, he’s counting.
Justin finally smiles, “They don’t, do they?”
Brian smiles back, “No.”
“It makes me feel good. To have found it, you know.”
Brian laughs, “And at such a young age.” Sarcasm drips from his voice.
Justin punches him in the arm, “But seriously.”
“But seriously,” Brian mocks Justin and then they laugh together.
Finally Brian grabs Justin by his upper arms and pins him to the bed. Looming
over his lover he notes the light is finally back in his eyes. “They don’t know
what they’re missing.” He kisses Justin, deep and wet to prove he means it.
Then he adds with a smirk, “Thank God or the suicide rate would soar.”
Justin laughs at the thought of Brian feeling sorry for all the people who would
kill themselves if they knew what real love was (real love and phenomenal sex),
the utter despair that would consume them upon realization that they’d never
experienced it.
“Well, then you’re stuck with me. Cause I’m never gonna find another you, and
I don’t want to have to kill myself. Death is messy.” Justin smirks. Brian reaches
for the bedside table.
A familiar leather box appears and Brian smiles down at Justin. “About that…”
He opens the box and takes out two familiar platinum bands. “Since I carried
you over the threshold already, I thought we could make this official.”
Justin feels his throat tighten and his chest clench, “Brian.” He takes the
bigger ring and leaves Brian with the smaller one dangling on his index finger.
Brian whispers, “To never having to blow our brains out.”
Justin nods, “To never having to blow our brains out.”
And they laugh and kiss as they trade rings.
End
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