InsaneJournal

Graphic Number 24: "Second Thoughts"
Title: Second Thoughts
Author: vamphile
Timeline: Post 513
Rating: PG-13
Warnings, if any:
Author's notes: Thanks to the artist and my beta.
Graphic: 24 by testdog65




I wake up a little disoriented, and a little disoriented about why I’m disoriented, and then I realize something’s missing. To be more accurate, it’s that someone is missing. The breeze blows the curtains and the moon is so fucking bright that I don’t even need to find a light switch. Brian looks almost backlit, standing and staring out over the pool.

I take a long drag from his cigarette and lean my head against his back. “You okay?”

He doesn’t say anything. That’s not surprising. He never responds to that question. No matter how open he is about other things, there are some that will never change. He leaves me to pick the truth out of the silence.

The good news is I’ve gotten better at it. He is okay, but he’s questioning something, and there’s a part of me that wants to get him to cut that out. When he questions something in the middle of the night, I’m often left grasping for a handhold while careening off a cliff in the morning.

I put my hands on his shoulders and he leans into my touch. That’s a good sign. “I’m here.”

He nods and then turns, and fuck, that’s what he’s questioning. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’m not leaving.” He nods again and that’s even worse. He’s not questioning that I’m going to be here, he’s questioning if I should. Well fuck me, it’s not his call to make. At some point in this particular round of mental gymnastics that he’s doing I’ll have to remind him of that, but at the moment I’m just going to be here.

He leans in to kiss me, and I’ll be fucked if I’ll let him even think it’s some kind of goodbye. “Brian. I missed you, too.” He doesn’t say anything, but does push me back towards the bed. He makes love to me. Slowly, almost reverently, and we fall asleep wrapped around one another.

I don’t wake up disoriented in the morning. He seems to be a little lost, though. I join him in the shower. He doesn’t really say anything until we’re both almost done with our coffee. “Maybe we should keep a place in New York.”

“If you want a place there, sure, but I like it here. I’ve done more in my studio here than I ever could in New York.”

He doesn’t believe me.

“Brian, I’m where I want to be.”

“Good.”

“Do you really believe it’s good?”

He pours us both more coffee and seems to be considering the question carefully, which I guess is better than him admitting outright that he thinks I should be running away from him as fast as I can.

“Justin, what if it’s…”

He stops and I’m surprised. He usually plans so carefully before he actually addresses shit like this. “What if it’s because I haven’t experienced enough? Because you brainwashed me? Because I’m experiencing some sort of Stockholm syndrome thing after being with you for so long that I can’t even fathom any other options?”

He doesn’t say anything but his expression lets me know that I’m dangerously close to right.

“Brian, at any point, between my meeting you when I was seventeen and now, have I ever, I mean ever, done anything I really didn’t want to do?”

“You almost did, if I recall.”

“Yes, almost, several times, but did I ever actually follow through with some of those phenomenally bad ideas?”

He doesn’t answer but he leans back, taking a deep gulp of his coffee. Okay, good, he’s willing to listen. He’s willing to let me convince him this is where I have to be. I really fucking hope that I’m not going to still be giving these little pep talks on our fortieth anniversary, you know, if we could ever decide on a date or how long we’ve been together.

I start again. “Brian, you know that when I thought I wasn’t where I should be, I left. Do you think that’s somehow changed?”

He doesn’t say anything, and one day, maybe, he’ll actually respond, but for now, I’ll just let him process it. “You want to get rid of me? You can, I mean, if you really really want to, but if all you want is for me to be where I should be, then you’re going to have to accept that not only is it my decision now, but it has always been my decision, and I’ll keep making the same one. I’m going to keep choosing you.”

He kisses me and then presses his forehead against mine. His hands are on either side of my face. My eyes are closed, but I feel him nod slightly and pull away slowly. “I’ve got to go to work.”

“Me, too.”

He leaves, and I wonder if I’ve gotten anywhere. I may have, but it also may be temporary. I can’t worry about that now, so I get back to the studio and spend most of the morning mapping out a new series on the computer. When he comes home, I’m half asleep.

He hangs up his suit, and when he kisses me he smells like reheated pizza. “You found dinner.”

“Yeah, thanks for leaving me some.”

When he fucks me it’s sort of intense. I fall asleep with his hands in my hair and his cock in my ass, but I wake up disoriented again. It’s after four and he’s staring out the window, again. Well, I tried understanding and gentle, and I’m not doing this every fucking night until we both die or kill each other due to sleep deprivation.

“Come to bed.”

He ignores me so I get up, and try really hard not to sigh. I take his cigarette from him again, but this time I just stub it out. Then I finish his drink and pull him back to bed. I fit myself between his thighs and kiss him, holding his face the way he held mine this morning. When I pull back, I make sure he’s looking at me, not at my forehead, or the spot on the ceiling just above my head, or my chin, but in the eyes. It takes a second but he focuses and I just hold his gaze. I don’t say anything but ten minutes later, when I’m inside him, and he’s rolling his body under mine, when his legs are wrapped around me, and he’s just this side of demanding, I let out a long breath and whisper that I love him.

We both come and wake up a little grungy. That’s okay. I blow him in the shower and am in the studio before he’s picked out the right shoes to go with his tie. He calls at five, and we decide to meet in the city for dinner. We do eat, and then end up at Babylon, and fucking, in a sweaty, hazy, floaty, E-induced fog, first in the VIP lounge and then back at the loft. If he spends half the night staring out the window I don’t notice, but I think I was more passed out than asleep.

We get breakfast, and a loud berating about not seeing everyone enough at the diner, and then Brian goes back to Kinnetik. It’s Saturday, but being the CEO apparently has some drawbacks. On the other hand, he’s really rich, so it has its benefits, too. I head back to my studio and by the end of the day can actually taste how close I am to laying paint to canvas.

Brian doesn’t get back until late afternoon. He works out and is sweaty and on an endorphin high when he decides it’s a good time to pull me away from the computer and blow me. It’s really hard to argue with a man who won’t talk but will use his mouth like that. He stands up, and is looking over my shoulder at the screen. I lean back against his sweaty chest, and he rests his chin on my shoulder. I move to pull his head in for a kiss and he returns it, but then leaves.

When I see him again, he’s showered and offering Chinese food. There’s a part of him that thinks I should be somewhere else? He’s insane. I join him in front of the TV and spend the rest of the evening stoned and making out with him while we sort of watch things blow up in a movie Michael swears is the best adaptation of a comic book to screen since the original X men movie.

When I wake up to see him staring out over the vast expanse of the backyard at five am, I decide to just ignore it.

Two weeks later I’m ready to scream. He’s fine, we’re fine and it’s all good. After two years away, it’s honestly good to be back, to be home. After all the shit we’ve been through, and all the barriers to communication we managed to hurdle while maintaining a long distance relationship, how is it that a month after I’m home it all starts to fall apart again?

Well, actually, I know how it happened. Brian’s happy. Brian hates being happy; it makes him anxious and dangerous. So now we’re both happy which means I’m fucking walking on eggshells and waking up to see him brooding almost every night… although I think he’s figured out that I don’t like to see it. He does it in another room now. I’m not sure if that’s progress. I don’t think it is.

Michael calls and is fucking giddy about being able to have a Rage planning meeting in person, so I meet him at Red Cape and we pitch ideas. I have a good sense of where the next issue is going by the time I leave, and figure I’ll have plenty of time to draw it now that I’m no longer taking half hour showers. I refuse to blow Brian in the shower on the nights he gets broody. It’s leaving me extra time, but not in a good way.

When I get home, I go straight to the studio, but stop at the door. Brian’s there, running his fingers along the lines of the first piece in the series. It’s not done, but it’s starting to really shape up into something that’s honestly better than even I pictured it. I step away, interested in his reaction. He seems to nod to himself and I move to the kitchen.

Whatever he’s just decided… I need a beer before I’m ready to hear about it.

He joins me but he doesn’t say anything about the work. We talk about Rage, and Michael, and his plans to see Gus in two weeks, but he never mentions my paintings.

I join him for a swim and then we fuck on the lounge chair. When I wake up at five in the morning he’s lying beside me. I kiss him and close my eyes. He pulls me closer in his sleep.

In the morning he announces that he’s giving up smoking.