wren_kt7oz | Reverberations #11

Next chapter of Reverberations.

Warnings: Content is suitable for adults only. If you click on the links you are signifying you are old enough to read such content.

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Last time, Brian had an epiphany, and was heading home to celebrate with Justin, only to have his plans for sharing sugary treats in bed derailed by Deb's arrival.

Reverberations #11

Brian

I’m thinking it’s going to be hours before we get rid of Deb, but when I start clearing all the messages from the machine and she hears the shit that Mikey’s been laying on Justin, she gets all fired up and nothing little Sunshine can say can stop her heading out of here to let her son know what she thinks of the way he’s behaving.

Part of me would like to be a fly on that wall, but mostly I know I’m well out of it. And now we finally have the place to ourselves again, so I’m wondering if he’d still be interested in the couple of pastries I stashed away for him when he says, “I promised Mom I’d go to see her today. Do you want to come?”

He gets one of my death stares for that. Of course I fucking want to come - but not to his mother’s. He grins at me and wiggles his hips as he heads for the bathroom. I sigh. Looks like I’ll have to settle for a shower. Oh, well. If I put the pastries away in something airtight they’ll keep till he gets back from Mommy’s.

*****

Justin

It’s good to spend some time with Mom, and it gives Brian some time to process how he’s going to deal with Michael without any pressure from me. He was thinking about going to the gym when I left, but I don’t know if he would … I think he was worried about maybe bumping into Michael and Ben.

Even I couldn’t believe the stuff that Michael said in those voice mail messages, and I’m used to expecting pretty much anything from him when he thinks I’ve stopped him getting his way over something. I don’t know who he was most mad at - me for calling him on his shit, or Brian for not smacking me down for doing it. Kept whining on about how he’d never stand by and let anyone talk to Brian that way, which is such a crock. How he could possibly come out with that one after all the shit those assholes threw at Brian during that damned dinner party, while Michael just stood by agreeing with them is fucking beyond me. What a fucking hypocrite he is. Michael always expects Brian to put his “best friend’s” feelings first, but he never considers Brian’s at all, unless it suits him.

I give Emmett a call on the way home from Mom’s so that’s out of the way and hopefully that means there’ll be be one less person hammering our door down.

Emmett tells me that Deb came home really upset. She hadn’t been able to reach Michael and Ben. They weren’t answering their phones, and she didn’t want to go all the way over there if they weren’t going to be home. Anyway, apparently they’ve made a point of telling her that she should wait to be invited. Not that that would stop Deb normally, but according to Emmett she’s pretty much pissed off with them over the fact that they never have invited her and Carl over for dinner, so she’s sort of pointedly waiting for that invitation. Problem being that of course Michael and Ben don’t even seem to have noticed that. Color me surprised. I mean, they’re both so “sensitive” and “caring”. Yeah, right.

But even I can’t believe they’ve never had her over there. Those friends of theirs - Esau and Jacob or whatever their names are - have been to dinner at least three times that I know about. Michael had to dash off from two of our meetings about the comic to get ready for them, and then there was the infamous dinner party when we got invited as well. But Michael’s never invited his mother? I mean, I guess I don’t invite Mom to the loft, either. But that’s different. We don’t actually invite anyone to the loft. Most of them show up more than enough without any invitations. And nice cozy dinner parties aren’t exactly our idea of a good time. But if you’re into that whole thing, then you could at least invite your Mom once, surely. Especially when she can bring her partner and you can play at that whole suburban couples thing together.

Which reminds me that Mom actually tried to persuade me that going out to dinner with her and that Tucker would be a good idea. I mean, she even wanted me to bring Brian. As if!

The thought makes me grin, and I make a note to remember to tell Brian; at least that will be one laugh for today.

I walk back into the loft to find the air is hot and syrupy with tension. Brian, determinedly nonchalant, is sitting on the floor playing cars with Gus. Lindsay is perched on the edge of the couch, and I can’t help but notice the way the high spots of angry color in her cheeks make such a strong statement in the monochrome palette of the loft. I stoop to ruffle Gus’ hair, and exchange a look with Brian that substitutes for the ‘welcome home’ kiss we’d share if we were alone. There are times when Brian’s reluctance to engage in PDAs makes perfect sense to me, and this is one of them.

As I’m straightening up, Lindsay says prissily, “I don’t appreciate being threatened, Brian.”

Uh oh.

Gus smiles up at me with his father’s slow shy smile, and says sweetly, “Hi, Dus!”

“Hi, Gus!” I respond, ignoring Lindsay for the time being, in case the words trembling on my tongue spill out in front of her son. “You want to come with me and get a drink and a cookie?”

He jumps up happily, and while Lindsay bristles, Brian shoots me a look that only an expert in Kinney-ese would recognize as one of gratitude.

“We’ll wash our hands first,” I tell Gus and he scampers ahead of me up the steps and into the bathroom before Lindsay can intervene. I shut the bathroom door and take as long as I can over the hand washing before taking Gus down to the kitchen and keeping him occupied choosing between milk and juice, and selecting a cookie.

Brian and Lindsay are talking quietly but intensely and I keep Gus with me till Lindsay finally stands up and calls Gus, telling him they’re going home.

She gives me a tight smile as Gus hugs me goodbye, and purses her lips in that angry WASP look she shares with my mother when Gus launches himself at Brian. He hugs his father tightly, giving him two big wet kisses.

“One for now and one for Ron” he tells Brian giggling.

Those words make Lindsay’s expression become even more pinched and prune like. The “one for Ron” game was something Brian started one day when both he and Gus had become fed up with Mel’s seemingly incessant “you can do it/have it/play with it ‘later on’”; it’s seriously as if she never wants Gus to have any fun with Brian, to have any pleasurable experiences at all while Brian’s around, so everything fun has to be postponed till after he’s gone. But Brian’s had the best fun at her expense, because now saving things for ‘Ron’ has become a private game between him and his son.

Brian grins back at Gus now and returns the kisses loudly, “One for Gus”, with a slurpy smack of lips against Gus’ cheek, another sloppy kiss, and then Gus’ voice chimes delightedly above his father’s deep rumble, “and one for Ron!” They grin at each other and hug again.

“Love you, Dadda,” Gus says.

“Me too,” Brian responds and Gus giggles again.

It’s their little farewell ritual and it’s so damned cute Brian’s said it makes him want to puke. That’s what he’s said. But right now his eyes are bright, and his hand ruffles his son’s hair with a restrained tenderness that makes my throat ache.

Linds and Gus leave, and the loft falls silent. Brian’s eyes aren’t bright now, they’re dark and stormy, his mouth held in a tight straight line.

I know better than to push. If he wants me to know what’s going on between him and the Munchers, he’ll find a way to tell me. If he doesn’t, me pushing will only trigger one of his frantic little boundary keeping episodes. They still bother me - but not because I’m as needy as I was, not because I’m desperate for Brian to “share” with me as some sort of proof of my place in his life the way I used to be. Now they bother me because it’s such a strong symptom of all the hurts in his life that he still feels the need to guard himself that way. I guess now they bother me for Brian’s sake, and not for mine.

So instead of making a big thing of whatever had been going down with Lindsay, I tell him about Mom’s dinner invitation.

As I expect he gives a bark of harsh laughter. Then, which I don’t expect, he says, “You should go though.”

I shrug. I do feel a bit guilty that I’ve given Mom such a hard time over Tucker. But, I mean, seriously! It’s hard not to react badly when your Mom suddenly turns around and gets herself a hot boytoy.

He doesn’t say anything else, just sighs and gets up to go to the bathroom. I’m standing at the fridge, trying to find something that we could maybe have for lunch when he comes back. He takes a bottle of water and drinks about half of it in one long swallow. I watch his throat work, fascinated as always by how long and beautiful a line it makes.

He catches my eye and there’s a shade of a grin in his as he pulls down a glass and pours the rest of the water into it.

I find the container with the pastries in and pull those out. Then I start to make coffee. He stands watching, sipping at his water. Finally he says quietly, “She’s moving back in with Mel.”

I turn around surprised. I sure as hell haven’t seen any sign that they were ready to kiss and make up.

He pulls a face, “Just to save on expenses,” he says in a fairly good impersonation of Lindsay in sweet and reasonable WASP mode.

I stare at him. “Well, that’s fucked!”

He nods.

“I mean, they should either get back together or just move on,” I go on. “It doesn’t make any sense to share the same house if they’re both just going to be miserable.”

He shrugs. “Apparently they’ve gone through just about all their savings since Linds moved out.”

I’m busy with the coffee and not looking at him when he says, even more quietly, so that I only just catch it, “She wanted some money to help get them back on their feet.”

I force myself not to throw the coffee pot at the wall. Of course she did. Brian’s been giving her money for her rent, and money for Gus, plus he paid for the lawyer for the custody hearings … and she still wants fucking more. Some days I don’t know which one of them I think treats Brian worse. At least Mel is honest about hating him. Linds professes to love him, and still treats him like shit, like he only really matters to her when she wants something.

When Brian is out of the equation, I like Lindsay and Melanie. I do. And they’ve been good to me. Lindsay even leaned on her boss to get a couple of pieces of my work included in the “emerging artists” show the gallery has coming up next week (fuck! it’s next week!). But the way they both treat Brian just drives me nuts. I can’t interfere though. Especially not today. Not after last night. So I just finish making the coffee, and then let it set for a moment while I get the cups down.

I hear him sigh, and then he says, his voice raw, “I asked her how much Michael was contributing.”

That just about stops me in my tracks, but I don’t want to interrupt the flow so I keep on with what I’m doing without saying anything, without even looking at him.

His voice is so bitter and mocking as he goes on that it seems to burn my ears. “She explained that since Mikey has joint custody of JR, and looks after her for one third of the time, that he doesn’t have to give them anything.”

I do turn then, I can’t help myself. I find myself looking into eyes that are brimming with years of hurt; a whole lifetime’s worth, concentrated into this moment.

He gives a half laugh, and his lips twist into that self-mockingly bitter line that I hate, that makes me ache inside.

“I told her it didn’t seem fair that Mikey got to have his kid, without any other contribution, while all I get to do is hand over my checkbook.”

As he pauses and sucks in a deep painful breath I can only stare at him.

“She said that I never wanted to be Gus’ father anyway, and I shouldn’t pretend that I am now, shouldn’t make like I’m ready to be part of his life; that I’m never going to be ready to take responsibility for him the way Michael has for JR.”

Bitch! I think violently. Fucking cunt bitch!

“I told her if I wasn’t his father, then why the fuck should I pay a fucking penny for anything?” His face twists once more and he looks away, trying to hide his pain. “That’s when you walked in.”

He looks back at me then, his head up, trying to keep the pain from his face, but only succeeding in making it even more obvious.

“We should talk to them, see if we can have Gus here more,” I urge.

“Fuck no!” he almost screams, shocking me into silence.

“Jesus!” he says, and turns away, walking off.

“Brian, why not? If they expect you to pay maintenance for Gus then …”

He stops, whirls in his tracks and stalks back towards me.

“Do you remember the last time we baby sat?” he demands. “Do you?”

“Yes, of course I do. We had a great time.” I can’t see where he’s going with this.

“Do you remember why we had to stay with Gus longer than we planned?”

He’s standing right in front of me now. Looming down at me, his eyes the dark muddy color that means he’s really upset.

“Because JR got taken to the hospital,” I say uncertainly, trying to work out what he’s getting at.

He nods.

Then he turns away and grips the counter with both hands, his knuckles white and strained. “What do you think would have happened if that had been Gus?” he asks.

I see it then, see what he’s afraid of; realize that he’s right to be afraid. I’m trying to find words that will give him some sort of reassurance without sounding like totally bullshit platitudes, but I can’t think of any. I can only touch his hand. He nods in acknowledgement of all I’m not saying.

“How long do you think it would have been before they’d let me near my son again?” he asks, his voice harsh with the tears he won’t let fall.

Oh, Brian! my mind wails silently, as I stoke his hand.

“I love you.” I hear myself blurt out.

Holy fuck! What the hell made me say that now?

***

Brian

It’s such a total fucking non sequitur that at first I can hardly take in what he’s said. When I do, I have no fucking idea how to react. My gut turns over when I work it out, when I realize he’s finally said those words. His timing is fucking amazing, because I don’t think I’ve ever … not fucking needed to hear them, not that. Just … it was good timing. That’s all. They were good to hear.

Which is a revelation in itself, because once I would just have slid straight back into asshole mode and told him what a crock I thought “love” was, and given him one of my famous speeches to prove it. Instead, still not quite knowing how to react, how much I want him to see, I play for time by reaching for the coffee pot.

He gives a strangled sort of laugh, and I look at him for the first time since those words spilled out between us and nearly laugh myself at the look on his face.

“I would have thought you’d go straight for the Beam,” he says, trying to lighten things, to get us back on track.

I pour coffee into the two mugs he’s placed ready, and shovel sugar into mine, to keep myself from … whatever; then I shrug. “Not like it’s any fucking surprise, Sunshine,” I tell him, bullshit artist that I am.

He laughs properly then, a light ripple of relief. I think for a moment about how fucking pathetic it is that my lover of over four years (never mind that detour with the fiddler), is afraid to even say those fucking words to me because he thinks I’ll open fire on him with all my masterful sarcasm.

What a dickhead I am.

How the fuck does he put up with me?

Why does he?

How the hell can he love me?

I turn to him to try to find the answer to those questions, and then as his eyes meet mine and his hands tangle in my shirt, I don’t have to. There aren’t any answers. It’s something that’s just there between us; has been since the first night, I guess; although that - whatever it was - we felt then was only a glimmer of what’s grown between us since.

I still can’t find a way to say those words back to him, but at least I can let him know I don’t hate hearing them from him. At least I can do that.

And the fact that doing that will take my mind off the mess I’ve made of things with my son, and my son’s mother for a while is just a bonus.

I take a sip of coffee and lean forward to give him a coffee flavored kiss, a gentle brush of my tongue against his, then I nod towards the steps. “I had plans for these,” I tell him, picking up the plate of pastries. “But they weren’t plans I could share with Deb, much as I love her.”

I hope he can hear what I’m trying to tell him.

He has to be able to hear it, because that’s probably the closest I’m ever going to get to saying it to him.

And right now, my heart fucking hurts, and everything I think about seems to just make me feel worse. Except this. Except him. And I want him to know … all the things I can’t find words to tell him.

But even without the words his eyes light up, and he lunges and takes my mouth in a deep kiss before spinning away with his own coffee cup in hand and heading up the steps, waggling his ass in a way he knows will make sure I follow. With a flood of relief, I know he’s still onto me.

*****

Justin

We get another call from Ted an hour or so later, just after we’d stumbled out of the shower, to say that he’s spoken with Mel, and apparently the comics that Michael handed out last night were from a small batch that the printer had sent on ahead. So Mel has advised Michael that the best thing to do would be to call the printer tomorrow and tell him that there’s been an error and get the rest printed with the extra panel back in place. Bet Mel just loved having to do that.

There will be a cost, Ted says, but he’s made Mel see that as Michael caused the problem, the extra cost should come out of his share of the profits.

I can tell from Ted’s tone that Mel is not happy. Not happy with me, and not happy with Ted either. But I bet she’s somehow found a way to blame it all on Brian.

Which is so totally fucking unfair, because it wasn’t any one of us who created this situation, least of all Brian.

I stammer out some sort of thanks to Ted. I try to let him know that I understand how difficult a situation it must be for him, but he shrugs it off.

“Michael was an asshole,” he says bluntly. “And what he did was illegal. I wouldn’t be any sort of friend if I didn’t point that out to him, and try to get him to put things right before he got himself into real trouble.”

“Well, I really appreciate it,” I tell him gratefully. “So does Brian.”

Brian sticks his tongue out and makes a barfing noise. Ted hears it, and laughs.

“I can tell,” he says. “Tell the Boss I’ll see him tomorrow. Bright and early. There’s a finance meeting at nine.”

I laugh myself at that and hang up. Seems like Ted is quite capable of holding his own with Brian lately. A finance meeting first thing Monday morning! That was so not Brian’s idea.

I fill Brian in on what Ted has said and then we just potter around for a while. I feel restless, and I’m not sure what to do with myself. Brian on the other hand seems unusually listless, draped along the couch, languidly flicking through a magazine.

Finally, I’ve had enough. “We need to get out of here,” I tell him. “Go have dinner somewhere and then head to Babylon, or the Baths, or … something.”

He shrugs. “It’s a little early for dinner, Sunshine. Even for you.”

He lies there a moment longer, then he stands up and heads up to the bedroom, opening the closet, and starting to pull out clothes.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he says.

I perk up at that. Babylon and the Baths weren’t really what I wanted, but they were the best I could come up with to break Brian out of his lethargy, and get rid of my own restlessness.

He pulls on old jeans and a soft woolen jumper, things that cling and subtly caress his body, but not at all the sort of stuff he’d wear to go clubbing in, so I pull on cargo pants and a hoodie. His sigh over my clothing choice echoes all round the loft.

“Get over it,” I tell him, “They’re comfortable.”

We head downstairs, and to my surprise, he ignores the car and heads down the street. I jog a little to catch up and realize that he’s making for my studio; my studio - something inside me buzzes happily at those words.

“Brian, what …?” I gasp, trying to keep up with him.

“I feel like lying around. You’re looking for something to do. Seems like there’s a perfect way for those two things to go together,” he tells me.

Suddenly, all the irritated restless twitchy energy that’s been building inside me ever since last night seems to convert to something much more vibrant and dynamic, and I can’t wait to start work. I’m ahead of him when we hit the stairs, and by the time he comes through the door, I already have a new canvas up on the easel.

Brian settles himself on the ratty old couch that I scrounged from Mom’s garage and waits for my instructions. I ask him to turn the couch a little, away from the light; then, my mind already brimming with color and texture, I start sketching. I’ve moved right away from life works lately, more and more into semi-abstracts, where undefined shapes and forms express the inner-ness of things, not their outer appearance. In this work, though, the two things seem to come together; the beauty and graceful elegance of the figure on the couch is central to the painting, but it’s not all that I work to capture. I want the world to see his pain, his vulnerability, his essential goodness. But at the same time, I don’t want them to see Brian. I want them to see themselves, to see others, to see those things in all of us. In each of us that potential for suffering, for vulnerability, for goodness lies somewhere - however hidden under layers of imperviousness or success or even violence and evil. I believe that. I couldn’t paint, I couldn’t look at the world the way I do, and try to capture it on paper or canvas if I didn’t believe that.

By the time I realize how hard I have to squint to see what I’m doing in the fading light, I’ve caught the basics of the piece. The central figure, his face turned towards the light, but hidden from the viewer, lies stretched across the foreground, softly outlined in charcoal. A wash of blue covers most of the canvas, while the background shadows are limned in the other colors I want to use - fiery green, deep crimson, and a brooding gun metal gray. The blue conveys the overall sadness of the piece, while the crimson and gray hint at the underlying pain and anger. But contrasting with all of them is the clear vitality of the green, with its inevitable associations with growth and renewal and an irrepressible life force. And around the green, the tone of the blue changes from a sad faded tone to a clearer, more vibrant sapphire - the color of healing.

I sigh, knowing I’ve gone as far as I’m ready to go tonight - even if I could conjure up sufficient light. At the sound, Brian stretches lazily, and getting up, turns on the light.

I blink a little and smile across at him, more grateful than I could ever express to him for giving me this - for sharing this afternoon with me in this way.

*****

Brian

Silly twat! God knows what he thought he was achieving, working on until he probably couldn’t see his brush, let alone his model. When I turn on the light he blinks at me like a little blond owl.

I’m overcome with a rush of pure affection for him, which is a sure sign that I need a fucking drink. Probably many drinks. But first, if I know Justin, I need to feed him.

I stand well out of the way as he cleans his brushes, and don’t even attempt to steal a peek at the painting. When he’s ready he’ll let me know.

“You can look if you like,” his voice echoes from the stairs as he clumps down to wash his hands in the little bathroom down on the landing.

I move in front of the painting to see what he’s done.

I don’t know what I expected, but it’s not this. It’s not this sense of recognition, this feeling that all the emotions that have been flooding through me all day are splashed there on display. I’m glad that at least he’s hidden my face.

Though, to be fucking honest, if you didn’t know the artist, you wouldn’t know who his model had been; and probably not even then. Not even my closest friends would see me the way he sees me - not as an object of lust, or even desire, not as some up himself fucking asshole who doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks. Not even as some pathetic broken loser, only held together by his arrogance and his sex appeal. Only Justin would see this me - this man who feels pain, and anger and even despair - but who can feel other things too. This man who may not be free with his love, or even his goodwill, but who still holds those things inside him somewhere, where they surge around looking for a way out, however little ability he feels to express them.

I stand silent, staring into these daubs that are like some fucking mirror, showing me my own soul, till he comes up beside me. It gives me some deep sense of comfort, a sense of fucking satisfaction that thanks to him, to his insight and his talent, at least something good came out of this shit of a day.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask what I think. But I can feel his hunger for my response sucking at the air between us.

“Not bad,” I tell him, pulling him to me, so I can rest my chin against the top of his head as we look at his work together. “Not bad at all …”

My hands caress his arms and I try to use them to convey how fucking amazing I think he is. “My own little genius. Now …”

I’m about to revisit his earlier plans for the evening when his stomach rumbles. He tenses, knowing I’m going to laugh at him, so instead I kiss his neck.

“Sounds like you need to be fed,” I tell him.

He sighs, and nods. I don’t have to be a fucking genius to figure out that however much he might be looking forward to dinner, the rest of his earlier suggestions don’t actually hold much appeal for him.

For me, however, there’s a lot to be said for going out and having my dick sucked by some anonymous mouth before I bring it home and put it where it belongs. This little session aside, it’s been a total fucker of a day. But I don’t want him to be pissed with me, and I don’t want him to feel … abandoned; as if his feelings don’t count.

I try to soften the blow. “Justin, I own the place. I need to be seen there occasionally.”

He turns to me and smiles, clearly determined not to let my continuing desire for meaningless sexual encounters with strangers get to him.

“I know. But I don’t think I’ll come. We can have dinner and then I might just relax at home. Or maybe go over to Mom’s.”

Fuck it! He was just there this morning.

“She’s going out tonight with Tucker, and Mol’s staying over at Dad’s. I could have a bath.”

There’s real longing in his voice now. It’s the one thing he misses at the loft. He even told me in some ways he liked Ian’s place better because at least it had a bath. Fucker!

But he’s put an image in my mind now and it won’t go away. Justin … naked … wet … relaxed …

Fuck! I should go to the club tonight. I’ve hardly been there this week. Then I look at him. He’s got this ‘what the fuck?’ look in his eyes, puzzled by my sudden stillness, and his nose is scrunched up in the way he does when he’s confused. My gaze moves down to his mouth and I think about how fucking talented he is with that. And once more the picture of him naked … wet …

Fuck it! The club will get along just fine without me. That’s what I pay a manager for.

For a moment, I actually toy with the idea of heading on over to his Mommy’s, then I realize what a fucking cock flattener that would be. No, that won’t work. And the solution is oh so very obvious.

Pittsburgh may not be the Big Apple, but it does have some half way decent hotels, and one of them at least will have a room with a nice big tub - maybe even a jacuzzi.

“Get a move on,” I tell him. “We have to get home and changed for dinner.”

“What?” he says. “I thought we could just go to that Chinese place on …”

“Oh, no, Sunshine,” I tell him. “If we’re going out on a dinner date, we’re going to do the thing in style.”

He turns and stares at me, and then his eyes light up. “A date?” he says, trying to play it cool.

I grin at him.

“Aren’t you a bit ahead of yourself?” he grins back. “You haven’t asked me yet. Maybe I have other plans.”

So do I, Sunshine, I say to myself. So do I.

But time for those after dinner.

“If you’re going to turn me down every time I ask you out for dinner, I might just stop asking,” I tell him. Which makes him look puzzled for a moment. Then he remembers. That was back in the Stockwell era. Fuck! Is it really that long ago since I took him out? Well, I guess I didn’t even take him then, as it turned out.

“Come on,” I tell him. “I promise I’ll even eat some of your dessert.”

He laughs out loud at that and shoves me with his shoulder as we spill down the stairs. We walk along the street with our arms brushing together and he slides against me as I drape an arm around his shoulders. He spends the entire trip home trying to get me to tell him where I plan to take him for dinner, but I just shake my head. I tell him I have to get something from the car, and send him upstairs to start the shower - he reeks of paint and thinners, and now it’s all over me as well.

Once he’s safely out the way, I make a couple of calls. First to the Renaissance. Not my style, but I know they have spa tubs in some of their suites. After I making sure their booking desk knows I expect one, and that I also expect a decent fucking bottle of champagne on ice waiting for us, I call the Opus restaurant downstairs. I’ve heard a couple of good things about it from visiting clients - especially about the dessert menu. So that makes it an ideal choice.

That done, I bound up the stairs. As I do, my epiphany of this morning comes back fresh into my mind, and I realize that somehow it’s still okay. All evidence to the contrary, just by being me, and doing what I most want to do - fucking him into the mattress after a long slow suck and fuck fest in a hot tub - I can make Justin happy.

Just the thought of how he’s going to look when, after dinner, I take him upstairs and he sees that fucking spa makes my pants tighten. He is not going to believe it.

Or maybe he will. He’s always had more faith in me than I do in myself.

That’s what makes this work. He gives me a reason to believe in me.

And hopefully things like today show him that I believe in him too. Hopefully he fucking understands that spending all afternoon on that lumpy couch shows that I believe in him as an artist; that telling him about my conversation with Lindsay shows that I believe in him as my friend; and that doing this tonight shows that I believe in him as my partner. That I trust him - trust him not to take advantage of me, trust him to know what it says about how important he is to me, and most of all, that I trust him not to make me look stupid by spilling his guts tomorrow about how romantic it all fucking was to all of our so-called friends.

*****

Justin

Brian joins me in the shower but he’s not in the mood to fool around. I guess that’s okay. But it does make me realize that I don’t have a clue what his plans are after dinner. I guess he wants to leave his options open. And that’s really okay with me.

He’s given me so much in the last couple of days - so much support, so much reassurance, so much love - that I’m not going to be at all rattled if he heads off to Babylon for a few hours. I’m past the stage of worrying that people like Michael and the munchers will read that as me “settling”; as if what Brian and I have is somehow less than what they have because we’re not monogamous. To me, what we have is so much more, because we know that a minor sexual encounter with some stranger doesn’t threaten it. Mel and Linds have split up - twice, for crissakes - over something that for Brian and I wouldn’t even have been a blip. As far as I can see, that makes our relationship stronger than theirs, whatever they might think, because it can’t be fucking derailed by something so trivial.

Anyway, tonight I’m looking forward to a long soak in a real bathtub. It’s the one thing I’d change about the loft. Well, that and having a room for Gus, but I don’t want to think about that right now.

At least now I understand why Brian’s been so weird about spending time with Gus lately. In one way it’s infuriating that he couldn’t just tell me weeks ago what was going on in his head. In another, it’s pure Brian that he didn’t.

This is why people think he’s a totally self-centered shit who doesn’t care about anything but getting his dick attended to - because he never lets anyone see all the stuff he worries about. He just keeps it all locked up inside. I guess part of that is about maintaining his image, and part of it is just him being a control freak; but mainly I think it’s simply that he’s afraid. He never lets people know what he cares about because if he did they could use it against him. That’s totally true about the situation with Gus.

If Mel and Linds had any idea of how much spending time with Gus really means to him, they could take him for everything he’s got.

Anyway, he’s told me about it now, which means he trusts me, at least; which is major, and I’m not going to let him down. I’m not going to be like Michael and harp on about it. I’m going to let it rest, and just make sure that he knows that whatever he needs to do I’m going to support him - whether what he needs is to try to get some sort of visitation rights, or to head off to Babylon to forget about it all for a while, .

Once he’s toweled off, though and starts getting dressed, the clothes he pulls on are totally not what he would wear to Babylon. I don’t mean that he doesn’t look hot, he always looks hot. But they’re not his King Stud/Super Slut look, just a nice pair of tailored black pants and the deep burgundy shirt that for some reason he dismisses as completely “last year”, but which he knows I love him wearing.

O-kay. Now I finally get what he’s telling me. And although I truly wouldn’t have minded him ditching me after dinner for Babylon or the Baths, the fact that he’s clearly letting me know he isn’t planning to makes me a very happy gai boi. Looks like someone is going to get very lucky tonight.

on to #12

Current Mood: thankful
Current Music: Midnight on the Water