(companion piece to Variations – a Justin POV version of this fic.)
Brian’s POV
Episode 216 gap filler
Rating: R
Fuck me. Ben can be an asshole. Ha ha, knew he had it in him. Fuck, Michael
looks like someone just ran over his puppy. Guess he’s as shocked by Ben’s reaction
to the party as all the other dumbstruck idiots in here. Whatever, maybe he
doesn’t like parties.
Ouch, little fucker. Justin just elbowed me hard. What the fuck is his problem
anyway, keeps looking at me like I didn’t get him the best fucking birthday
gift of all time. God, that was hot. My dick is tightening inside of my jeans
just thinking back to Justin fucking the shit out of that guy a few hours ago.
Mmm, I curl my lips and look at Justin, we have no reason to not be at home
fucking now. Then he looks at me with this wide-eyed, accusatory stare. I follow
his glance to Mikey, in the corner by himself, head hung low, looking like he
might cry. Everyone is clearing out of this party and fast. I understand that
Justin thinks I need to console Michael but fuck he’s an adult. Another nudge
and a harsh glare from Justin and I find myself walking toward Mikey. How the
fuck did that kid gain so much control over me?
I place my hand gently on his shoulder, "Mikey, fuck him." Michael
looks up at me with wet eyes trying to force back the unshed tears, trying to
make them go back where they came from. He hates to look weak in front of me.
I rub my hand gently over his shoulder as he searches my eyes for explanation.
I, of course, have none. All I can do is stand here and be his friend. God knows
he’s been mine more times than I can count or even remember.
Justin is suddenly beside us, he gives me a look that tells me he’s leaving.
I can see him joining Melanie and Lindsey at the door and I know that he’ll
get home safely, and undoubtedly be waiting at the loft when I find my way back.
"Come on Mikey, let’s get the fuck out of here." I nod toward the
door and then walk away from him to retrieve my jacket. I stop at the liquor
table, thinking it wise to take back the $40 bottle of Merlot Justin and I brought
as our contribution to the party. I don’t drink the shit, a shot of Jim will
do me any day, but Justin likes wine with dinner. I notice on the corner of
the table there is a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and fuck me, it’s
a pretty decent one. I look around at the now nearly vacant apartment and think,
what the hell. I snag the bottle and then head for the door. I have a feeling
I’ll be needing this more than Ben.
I lead Michael into the hallway where he does an about-face and pouts at me,
"Where are we even going?" It comes out so whiny I want to slap him.
"Well, you certainly aren’t staying here princess. I thought I’d take you
home." My eyebrows raise as I wait for him to comply and continue walking
down the hall with me. "I don’t want to go home…" he searches my eyes
for approval, but he finds none, "I just want to get drunk." I roll
my eyes and let out a little sigh. I couldn’t let Mikey know it but I was really
eager to get back to the loft, to get back to Justin.
"Fine. We’ll go to Woody’s and have some shots." I push his back and
force him out of the building. Stashing my liquor in the back of the jeep I
grab my cigarettes. Mikey and I have decided to walk to Woody’s, it’s only a
mile away and I know I’ll need nicotine to deal with this shit.
He is walking quickly and babbling on like a lunatic about the party. "After
all I went through, to do something special, to surprise him, to make him happy.
How could he humiliate me in front of everyone like that?" It’s easy. It
isn’t about you. It’s about him. I could easily see it in Ben’s eyes. Michael
isn’t a selfish person like I am. It’s hard for him to recognize it in others.
His upset is turning into anger, which I actually enjoy a little more. But,
the fucker is walking so fast I can’t get my cig to light, "Hey, will you
slow down?" He barely glances over his shoulder and continues his diatribe.
"And here I am thinking he’s so wise and so together, you know that he
lives on some higher spiritual plane than the rest of us poor, dumb mortals.
Boy did he have me fooled! Was I fuckin' stupid!" Ben was pretty high up
on his pedestal. All that Eastern philosophy and meditation crap had Mikey believing
that Ben knew more than the rest of us.
Tired of listening to the pity party already, "Hey, are you finished?"
He bites back, "Why? Are you in a hurry to pick someone up?"
"No I’m just tired of hearing you play variations on the theme of poor
little Mikey." My remark, while caustic, is honest.
Not at all amused by my attempt to shut him up, "Oh, I’m so sorry I bore
you."
"Then try another song." I’m no longer feeling like being Mikey’s
shoulder to cry on. Plus, it’s fucking freezing out here.
"What did I do? Besides throw him a goddamned party?"
I contemplate telling Mikey how I really feel. What I know to be true. That
I understand why Ben reacted the way he did. But the truth generally hurts coming
from me, so I refrain and offer the best advice I know how, "Never mind
forget it. Go to Woody’s, get drunk, throw up, pass out, you’ll feel much better
in the morning."
Michael is completely unsatisfied with my cop out answer, "No, tell me!"
Well, if he insists, "You want too much, you expect too much. And then
when you’re hero disappoints you, you’re poor little heart gets crushed."
As I hear myself say the words I understand exactly why I know where Ben is
coming from, that used to be me. I was the hero falling from grace, screwing
Mikey over. Somehow it is a relief to no longer be the disappointment.
Anger
flashes in his eyes, he wants to hurt someone and because the truth came from
me I’m an easy target, "What’s the alternative? To expect nothing…to want
nothing like you?" I stop and suck in a deep breath. I really have nothing
to say to that. It is true. I expect very little from the few people that are
in my life. I know that everyone will disappoint you in one way or another. Why
give them the chance?
I walk silently behind Michael to the front door of Woody’s and then take a
chance on speaking, "This is where I get off Mikey. I’m going home."
He looks back at me with his big hurt eyes, most of the anger toward me having
diminished. I can tell he is not surprised by the news of my departure. He nods
and then swings open the heavy mahogany door, escaping inside to find solace in
a friend who will listen, Tequila. I jog back to the jeep. To keep warm, I tell
myself. But, really I know that I just want to see Justin. It’s getting late,
only a few more hours of his birthday. Nothing can top this afternoon’s little
surprise but I think we have a couple more mind-blowing fucks left in us. My
ass hits the seat in the jeep and I realize just how cold I must have been, it
stings. I shift the gears and race through downtown Pittsburgh toward the
loft. As I pull into my spot in front of our building I can see the corner
windows from where I sit. It’s dark. No lights. That’s strange.
The elevator screeches to halt on the top floor and I extract myself from
behind the gate just like I have a million times before. I slide open the heavy
steel door to our home to find it empty. I wonder where Justin is. He didn’t
seem angry or anything when he left Ben’s with Mel and Linds. He was the one
who wanted me to console Michael. He can’t be angry about it now, can he?
I resolve that he’s likely just gone for something to eat with the girls. He’ll
probably be home soon actually. I stick the champagne in the fridge and the
wine on the counter. As I watch the base of the dark bottle slide across the
shiny metal surface, an idea starts to form in my mind. I do have a few more
hours to make Justin’s birthday a little more like he wanted. I may not do
flowers and singing telegrams, but I got him one hell of a hot trick and I’ll
end this day on a romantic note. I’ll surprise the shit out of him.
Grabbing a box of white candles from the closet that I’m fairly sure are left
over from Michael’s party last year, I start to arrange them around the bed. I
set them out rather haphazardly, just making sure they aren’t too close to
anything flammable. I light each one, there’s a least a dozen. I turn off the
blue lights behind the bed, standard fare around here, and it shifts the color
in the room from cool to warm. It’s a nice change actually.
I amble around for a moment, as if searching for something else to do. I really
have nothing here. Just myself, a bottle of champagne, some lit candles. That’s
enough, isn’t it? Is this what he wants? Fuck me if this isn’t enough. He’s
lucky I snagged the bottle of Moet and dragged out the candles. It’s just a
fucking birthday after all.
I pour myself a glass of Jim and slip into my blue robe. I want to wait in a
primed position on the bed, but who knows how long he might be. I wander around
the loft a little bit, noting how empty it seems without him here. He’s always
making noise. He doesn’t even mean to, but life is louder with him in it. I
don’t so much mind the amplified volume of things. Somehow the stillness, the
quiet, seems eerie to me now.
In order to block out the white noise ringing in my ears I waltz over to my CD
player to liven things up. I see Ethan’s CD case is still sitting on top where
Justin left it this afternoon. Once he got a load of my gift he forgot all
about that violin playing child prodigy. I pick the jewel case up in my hand
and carefully observe the photograph of Ethan on the front and his name half
cocked in rock star fashion across the left side of it. Ethan Gold, well aren’t
we quite the stud. He really is pretty fucking cute. I’d do him. Maybe I can
have Justin lure him back to our place one day soon. Might be a nice
after-school snack.
I hit 'play' on the stereo and listen intently as Ethan’s talent fills the
room. Justin’s right, he is amazing. I’m not one for classical music. If I
can’t fuck to the rhythm it is hardly worth my time. But I can see where the
sweet whine of strings would be alluring. It’s quite romantic, that must have
been why Justin was enthralled.
Setting the CD case back down I cross the loft, turning off most of the lights
as I go. I stop in the kitchen to uncork the champagne. I send the cork flying
and watch the bubbles spill out over the opening. I slip my lips around the top
of the bottle and begin to take in the sweet yellowish liquid. I wait until the
foam has stopped rising and then head off for the bedroom. Justin should be
here soon enough, or at least I hope he will be.
Not ten minutes pass when I hear the elevator begin to make its ascent. I
eagerly wait for the grate to shift and his keys to jingle. These comforting
sounds that I know so well, that I associate with his homecoming, leave my
stomach wrenched in anticipation tonight. Finally, after what seems like
agonizing minutes, the door slides open and I hear him cautiously come in.
Surely he’s already recognized the music from Ethan’s CD on and seen that the
lights are all out. I know he’ll be rounding the corner and up the steps in
just a few moments.
"Brian?" I hear him call my name with such hesitance and wonder in
his voice that it almost makes me chuckle. I remain calm and subdued though,
"Where were you?" I answer back at him.
"I took a walk. Why are you home? I thought you’d be out with
Michael." A walk eh? That’s interesting. It’s cold out for a walk; I
should know I had to chase Michael for a mile on this bitterly cold evening. I
shake the overanalyzing of his outing out of my head immediately and reply,
"Well I’m not. Come in here." I couldn’t really care less where he
was. I just want him in here with me, now.
I can hear his feet start to take him across the wood floor. He moves near and
I can feel my eyes open wider and my gut tighten a bit. When his eyes land on
me and then dart from the champagne to the candles and back to me, I smile
slightly. His look is one of shock and a little suspicion and appreciation and
love.
I lift my hand and motion to him in a come-hither fashion. He bites his lip and
starts to strategically move toward me, losing his clothing with every step.
Naked and quivering a little he kneels on the bed in front of me. I sit up to
level myself with him. I tip the bottle of champagne back and take a long
swallow if it. I tell him it’s good as some slides down my chin. Justin
immediately lurches over and runs his warm, wet tongue up my chin and onto my
lips. Ending in a deep, sweet kiss. For a moment I am lost in that kiss and
then I remember a detail that will help sober the moment, "Stole it from
Ben’s party. I don’t think Mikey will be needing it." His eyes flash a
moment of disappointment. I suppose I didn’t need to tell him I’d swiped the
bottle from the party, but there’s no reason to let him believe I went out and
bought it just for him. Is there?
I
hand him the bottle, as if to make amends. He accepts and smiles a little. Then
he takes some long gulps from the bottle and I watch as the bubbles go straight
to his brain. We pass the bottle back and forth and pour it into each other’s
mouths. We kiss and touch and caress and unwind. We breathe and whimper and
roll and rock together. I have to say, this alcohol-included foreplay is nicer
than I’d even anticipated. I start to stroke Justin’s cock as my tongue fills
his mouth and my lips press his so hard I know it must hurt. The moans coming
from him aren’t going anywhere but into me, and I’ll take them, all of them.
Then I start to trail my tongue down his body. I play on his neck, his
collarbone, his nipples, his navel and then his crotch. But, just before I get
to the sweet spot he sits up and pushes me off of him. Assuming he wants to
play I roll over and wait for him to smother me but, instead my eyes meet his
and the look he’s giving me is one of disdain, not of lust.
"Why should I take this and relish it and love you for having fucking
stolen a bottle of champagne and lit some fucking candles?" The words hit
me so hard because I wasn’t prepared for them, at all. To be fooling around one
second and berated for lack of romantic fortitude the next was shifting gears
too quickly for me. I watch his eyebrows furrow as the disappointment in me
takes over his whole body. My immediate reaction is to hurt him back, "Oh,
I’m sorry, the pomp and circumstance were going to come after the sex. I
thought we’d fly to Paris later for your star-studded surprise party."
Instead of folding, like I hoped he would, he continues, "A hustler, you
got me a fucking hustler. And now you are trying to make up for that grave
error in judgment with this half-assed attempt at romance. Like you even know
what it is." The entire day flashes through my mind. The roller coaster of
emotion I’ve been on over this kid’s birthday.
I went from adamantly denying the day existed to buying him what I thought to
be a fucking fabulous gift to candles and champagne. What the fuck else does he
want from me? What an ungrateful twat. This teaches me to give a shit.
Now I’m just pissed, "Fuck you. He was hot, and you weren’t balking while
you were fucking his brains out. I’m sorry if it wasn’t up to your birthday
standards. I don’t know why I even tried." I get up off the bed; I want to
be away from Justin right now. I grab the champagne from the nightstand, I am
the one who stole it after all, and start to walk away from him. I kick the
bottle back and open my throat open taking the rest of the celebratory liquor
into me. Some of it begins to splash down my neck and I laugh at the idiocy of
the situation. Justin does not look amused.
"God Brian, I just need for you to give a shit. To tell me you give a
shit. I don’t understand why you don’t get that. I didn’t need some fucking
stranger in my bed on my birthday. All I wanted was you. All I wanted was for
you to wish me a Happy Birthday. It’s all I fucking needed. Don’t you get that?
Don’t you understand me by now?"
It isn’t about me wishing him a Happy Birthday. He needs to hear that I love
him, and that’s the one thing I can’t give him. I know that and he knows that
and every other fucking person on this planet knows that. Why can’t we just let
it be? Why can’t he be satisfied with who I am? Why can’t he be happy with what
I give him, how I show him what he means to me? They’re just words. No one ever
really means them. They’ll only ending up hurting him.
Because I can’t begin to tell him the truth I have to be an asshole,
"Obviously I don’t understand you Justin, and you don’t understand me.
Let’s just fucking forget it all, shall we?" My words come much harsher
than I intend but I’m not taking any of it back now. Plus, he’s asking too much
of me. Expecting too much. He and Michael should start a club of boyfriend
worshippers where they can work out their fallen hero issues together.
I’m headed for he kitchen but he’s following, "Fuck you Brian. You still
don’t hear what I’m saying. All I’m trying to do is tell you what I want. What
I need from you is very little. And you can’t even give me that." He has
no idea how much he needs from me. How much he takes from me. What it takes for
me to live this life, to come home to him each night. It’s enriching in so many
ways, but it’d disheartening in so many others. My daily struggles are
something he could never begin to comprehend.
I sneer at him for not understanding me. "What, all you wanted was for me
to tell you was Happy Birthday? Well Happy fucking Birthday Sunshine. May all
your dreams come true." I don’t mean to push him away so forcefully with
my words. But the way I’ve dealt with conflict all my life is to add fuel to
the fire. I never back down, never apologize, never throw in my hat. If it’s a
fight he wants, it’s a fight he’ll get.
Suddenly the anger melts off his face and it is replaced by a look of mourning.
He starts to walk away and I raise my hand to touch his back as he goes. But I
don’t, I just leave it hanging there in the air, representing the apology I
won’t make, the words I won’t take back, the heart I won’t mend, the damage I
won’t fix.
I walk up the steps and past the bed where he’s tucked himself in tightly. I
enter the bathroom and stand in front of the vast mirror and peer back at
myself. In my own eyes I see love and hate and life and death and right and
wrong and I can’t distinguish any of it. It all dwells inside of me; in places
so deep I can’t imagine ever finding them. They swirl around and get mixed up
and generally all of that emotion in me comes out in dry wit and biting
sarcasm. I rarely say anything I mean, or rather anything that is meaningful.
I slide in bed next to him and get a chill from the distance between us. I’m
used to his warm body up close to mine, I like it when he drapes his arms over
me as we sleep. Back-to-back we lay together, probably each thinking about how
the fuck we ended up here. I can only imagine the thousands of thoughts running
through his mind at this moment. As if to transfer thoughts to him
telepathically, I will him to get up and walk away. Leave me Justin, save
yourself the heartache that will come. If you do it now it will hurt less. I
can’t believe I’m thinking these things. But, I know if he severs the tie it
will be easier for me. He can walk away and live his life and leave me behind.
He needs more than I can give and that’s the end of it.
My thoughts are interrupted by Ethan’s sickly sweet sap filling the loft again.
I realize the auto timer on the CD player must have kicked on. It does that
sometimes. Justin and I both roll toward each other as the music dances on the
air between us. He stares at me, as if to ask, did you orchestrate this moment?
Are you trying to apologize? And with my eyes I want to tell him, Yes, yes I
did. I’m so sorry for everything. Please forgive me. But my stare remains
empty and I force myself not to reach out and hold him and tell him everything
is going to be all right. Because it probably isn’t.
End
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