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Gradiva
Warnings:
Some chapters are heavy on smut, others are not. Overall, NC-17.
A fair amount of angst.
A little S&M, but nothing major at all.
Not beta-ed and written between midnight and 5 AM b/c of lack of sleep.
Random Meta:
lenajill
wanted Biblical references. Blame her.
I didn't put too many otherwise it would be a philosophy paper. If you really
want me to do that, I will, but not in a fic. I found my old notes on the Bible
and Nietzsche, so ... yeah, you REALLY don't want that.
viola69 and lenajill better be satisfied b/c I ain't rewriting this again. Also, they gave me the plot... or some of it. And pointed out stuff wrong with the original.
I didn't do the thing where Justin confronts Joanie, because:
(a) Justin is far too WASPY for a real smackdown with a woman, IMHO.
(b) Justin is fairly non-confrontational unlike, for instance, Craig.
(c) Randall and Cael are doing a fair amount of drama and smackdown, so not
going to steal their thunder.
I didn't want to RESOLVE the ending, so it's as Myrna would say "Hopeful,
if not happy."
References are from Nietzsche's "The wanderer and his shadow," "The Birth of Tragedy," and the "Antichrist." And of course, the Bible. And Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead."
* * * * * * * * *
Brian's cellphone is not being picked up. Justin's mother has told him that the loft will be sold in two weeks, and that she has no idea where Brian is going to live after that. Justin has heard about Joanie as well. Brian showed up at the diner the day after the backroom debacle, kissed Justin affectionately, sat down and ordered coffee. Emmett, Michael and Ben were sitting across him, telling him that the situation with Hunter looked promising. Brian swirled his spoon around in the coffee and said suddenly that his mom died two days before. There were sounds of shock and sympathy, and Justin wondered why Brian always announced these things in public this way. It was probably a way to gauge what others' reactions were so that Brian would have some idea what he himself was supposed to feel. But nobody had heard from him in a week, and he'd all but moved out of the loft.
Justin enters the comic store with the latest Rage sketches tucked under his arm to see Hunter leaning against the counter and leering at him.
"Where's Michael?"
"Diddling in the store room. He should be back in a minute. He told me to stay here because he says I'm distracting him from counting copies."
They wait in silence. Hunter is the first to break it, "So you're doing the sketches for Rage?"
"Yes."
"And Rage is Brian?"
"Sort of. Brian was the inspiration." Justin is very, very bored.
"He's really hot."
"Fuck off." Hunter is a royal pain.
"Hey, the only reason he keeps you around is 'cause you're cheaper than the others. The last guy cost him three hundred for just one night."
Justin frowns, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You're only charging him a hundred dollars a night. The other guy cost him three hundred."
"What other guy?"
"The one before you." Hunter says patiently, then realizes, "Oh my God, you don't know? A long time ago, we got word that someone was scouting for a one-nighter. The specification was blond, blue eyed, short-ish, small build, twink. Friend of mine fitted the bill. Came back talking about the best fuck he'd ever had, described every detail."
Justin's voice is small, disbelieving. "What makes you think it was Brian?"
"He described the loft to a tee! Gave us the address... how do you think I found you that night when I delivered that cop's spunk? Big naked-guy picture on the wall, blue neon lights..."
Justin turns away. He doesn't want to hear anymore. Hunter couldn't have known that the lights used to be blue. He chooses the easy route and yells, "Michael!"
Michael comes in looking flustered and covered in dust. He looks irritated, but then he always looks irritated, especially around Justin.
"Hey. You brought the new Rage sketches in?"
"Yeah." Suddenly Justin is desperate, and he has to know where Brian is, even if it means admitting to Michael that he doesn't know. "Do you know where Brian is?"
"He moved out of the loft."
Justin rolls his eyes. "I know that. Where is he now?"
Michael smirks, "Well, whaddaya know? He actually up and left you? How poetic."
"Michael..."
"Maybe he found a musician." Michael laughs, amused by his own joke.
"Jesus Christ! I fucked up, okay? Why won't you let it go?"
Michael's look turns serious, "I don't approve, but for whatever reason, he forgave you, and happens to love you. He needs some space right now, okay? And if you were even a third of the man he is, you'll put up with it and not run off crying into another man's bed. Because if you hurt him again, I swear I'll break your little neck."
Justin appreciates the honesty, he really does, but Michael doesn't know what's best for Brian. Hell, Brian doesn't know what's best for Brian. He leans into Michael's personal space and sneers at him in an amazing imitation of Brian Kinney. "Mikey," he says sarcastically, "If you don't tell me where he is right this fucking minute, I will go to Deb and give her such a sob-story of Mikey hurt me that you won't sit down again, ever." When in doubt, blackmail your sibling.