Peeling myself from Brian's back, I tried to remember why I didn't shower last night. Oh yeah, I was fucked into a coma. Judging from Brian's prone position, I returned the favor.
Tracing my finger along his spine, I wondered when our big decisions won't involve such drama. True, I wasn't planning to be back this soon, but circumstances change. Contrary to Mr. Kinney's beliefs, he can't control everything. Especially me. This pattern of sarcasm, selfless argument, and earth-shattering sex was exhausting. Well, the earth-shattering sex can stay.
Brian stood on the stairs, breathing hard. "Fuck you."
Justin hesitated on the landing, listening.
"Go to hell, Kinney." It was a voice Justin didn't recognize, harsh and low.
He heard a thump and a slamming door, and then Brian came up the stairs. "You heard?" His jaw was tight.
Justin nodded. "What are you going to do?"
Brian shoved his hand through his hair. "Take out a contract on him? Leave the Pitts? Swan-dive off the roof?" He still sounded angry even when he laughed and pulled Justin against him. "Fuck your brains out and not think about it?"
Brian looked out of a large window at the snow falling to its inevitable, sludgy death. Exhaling, he stubbed the end of the cigarette out and picked up his drink. Taking a sip of the amber liquid, it burned down his throat and a false sense of warmness spread though his chest. Lights twinkled in the distance and the city, through the gauzy haze of falling snow, was a frozen winter wonderland. He felt an arm wrap around his stomach and breath against his neck, and warmth spread throughout his entire body.
I should have taken the stairs, this elevator ride is way too short. I really need to postpone the inevitable tirade and punishment that is surely awaiting me behind that gray steel door. I know the last time something like this happened he did not speak to me for nearly five days and did not h ave sex with me for two of them. I told him it would never happen again, but we both knew my track record is pretty piss poor.
I pull open the door not knowing what I will find. “Hey Justin, I am home.”
I bet if I call him right now he will be asleep, eating, or somewhere else, doing someone else. I always seem to screw up the time-difference thing. I bet he thinks I am checking up on him, but I am not. Well, ok sometimes I am. I just cannot tell time way over here. Counting backwards, especially while drinking, really sucks. Screw it, I am going to call him. I want, no need, to hear his voice.
“Hi, it is me.”
“Damn Justin, do you have any fucking idea what time it is?”