LOOKING INTO THE MIRROR. A TRIPTYCH Title: Looking into the Mirror. A triptych Written By:bidyke73 Timeline: 3 years after 513, future fic Theme: Small Things Made Large. Inspired by Header Nr. 24 by testdog65 Author's Notes: No actual warnings. But: This is my first fic in English but thanks to my beta it was really fun and I'm going to do this again. Is that a warning? Please leave your feedback in the comments. 1808 words.
YES IT`S FUCKING POLITICAL,
THE WILD ONES LIKE TO HIDE
AS THE DIRTY PRIEST CONFIDES
IN THE LOVE OF BABY WHORES
NEGATIVE ARE ALL YOUR VIEWS
SO YOU TO CAN PROP UP YOUR FAKE COOL
A PUPPET ALL THE SAME
Of course I missed him at first. In fact, I prevented myself from sleeping all night, not willing to let all those memories haunt me in my dreams.
But somehow I got over it after awhile. At least, I thought so. See, I was only 22 and the Big Apple was the most exciting experience since...I tried not to think about that and worked like a dog, painted every free minute, went to museums and art galleries by day, hit the clubs at night.
I was lucky to be a big fat, fucking success and everybody was proud of me. Brian and I rarely talked on the phone. We met a few times a year, on Debbie's birthday, mom's birthday and for Christmas. He sent me a golden gardenia on each of my birthdays and a card that said that he would strangle me with it if I ever told a living soul about that. Yeah, right, Brian Kinney doesn't do romance. Or nostalgia. Brian's reassurance made me ridicilously happy. And of course, I never told anybody. Not even Daphne. This Brian was all mine.
In my third year, before my most successful show in New York City, a brief encounter in the sticky bathroom of the JFK Airport turned my life around again. It was far from being romantic, how he bent me over the sink, but something shifted when I saw our faces in the mirror, me and him in many variations.
And there I was, feeling like Jupiter without his moon. And what was a sun worth with no one to shine on? I could try to change the world but I hadn't changed. No matter what happens, he will always be there. Like he promised so many years ago.
NEW YORK MAGAZINE ISSUE MAY 2007
Yes, it's fucking political
About Justin Taylor s third show Fucking , Vernissage April 20th, 2007
Justin Taylor would know about that, he has worked in the art department of an ad agency, in a diner and as a gogo dancer before he managed to make a living with his own art.
That, in itself, is a small miracle in the art world. This young man, 25 years old, with the perfectly innocent looks of a schoolboy, can already look back at seven years of an exceptional career. Looking at the ups and downs of this short period of his life, it's not surprising how much depth his actual work already has. Being openly gay might be tolerated today, but for him, it wasn't always so easy. His own father kicked him out when he was 17, he was nearly killed by a homophobic classmate at his high school prom and he survived the bombing of the legendary dance club "Babylon", owned by his older lover and partner, Brian Kinney, the award-winning adman and CEO of "Kinnetik".
When he was barely 19, he launched the gay underground comic series "Rage" with his co-author Michael Novotny. In the homophobic comic scene, "Rage" was a little revolution of its own.
Two years later, Hollywood knocked at his door no one else but the famous director Brett Keller had a thing for Taylor's sexy superhero and his blonde, blue eyed creator. The political climate, however, wasn't on Taylor's side yet. The Bush era wasn't ready for anal intercourse on a movie screen, the film was stopped in favour of a christian epos. Other people would have been devastated but Taylor says, grinning: "I'm well-known for my perseverance. Rage, the movie will happen one day. I'll make sure of that."
Until then, Taylor hadn't compromised his values and kept on working on his fine art.
Like Andy Warhol, he studied at PIFA first, but his political beliefs cost him his university education. He moved on, like he always did.
After Hollywood, Taylor went back to Pittsburgh, took a deep breath and only a few months later, he moved to New York in order to blow everyone away. Which he did.
After a short abstract phase, he worked on his own mixture of abstract elements and modern pop-art. His birthplace, hair color, his exceptional talent, his sexual orientation - for the press he is "America's Next Andy Warhol" already. But look again. At age 25, this young artist has already a voice of his own and he is not afraid to use it. Some pieces in his newest show "Fucking" could easily be mistaken for pornography, but it is more than that. It's unapologetic, sensual and full of surprising details.
"I believe in fucking." for example, clearly a centerpiece of this exhibit, shows two men fucking in a public toilet, standing in front of a mirror triptych. They seem to have met just there but their eyes in the bathroom mirror tell a completely different story.
Of course the conservative press has noticed this angry young man, too and there are always a few incorrigibles at his openings ever since, holding up their banners against everything Taylor passionately fights for: Not only gay marriage, but the same human rights for everybody.
Justin Taylor, finally, couldn't careless about those unwelcome visitors: His works sold even better.
Sex sells. Even politics.
A Look Back
"What? Do I really have to fly to that show in Chicago myself? Uh-hu. I see. I am at JFK right now. Do you have an idea how many time this takes away from my painting? I am supposed to have at least four more pieces for the show in two weeks. Okay, then. But I need to be back on Monday. No wait, make that Sunday night." I was all in business mode, heading quickly to the counter as I stuff my cell back into my pocket, sighing loudly. I was an artist, not a businessman, for Christ's sake, but there were so many other things to do right now that I was a bit stressed out.
"Why, Sunshine, bossing around your staff already?" A raised eyebrow, hazel eyes and a suit from the newest Prada collection he was breath-taking already, but he almost suffocated me with his drawn-out welcome kiss. Totally worth the risk, by the way.
"Mmmmmh. Learned from the master. What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Same as you. Waiting for my plane. It's delayed though and yours won't be due for..." He looked at his Cartier watch, "more than one hour."
"You are amazingly well-informed about my goals and my destinations."
"I've always been." Brian smirked.
"Doubt that. I wanted you, and you played hard to get, remember?" I slowly licked my lips, enjoying his taste on them. "I believe in fucking. Getting in and out with minimum bullshit and maximum pleasure", I quoted him.
Brian laughed hoarsely, as he directed me to the bathroom. "I do believe in fucking. It's sure as hell going to happen in about two minutes."
"That's too long. I will have to find another trick who fucks me first."
"Insatiable, huh?" We were in the bathroom, his kisses made my whole body shiver in anticipation.
Never such a thing as enough." I managed to mutter against his lips, fumbling on his tie. "Patience, Sunshine. Don't kill me. You'll want to get off first. Remember Emmett and George Schickel?"
"Ewwww. Do you want to make me lose my hard-on?"
Now that was true. He stroked the bulge in my jeans and I moaned loudly. I could still make you come in your pants, sending you off on your flight all wet and sticky. I panted. God, Brian, fuck me already.
Ever the romantic. , he grinned and bent me over the sink so that we could look at each other in the big mirror triptych. Brian had chosen the toilets in the first class lounge. Every toilet had its own bathroom that could be locked for privacy.
Good thing I couldn't find some appropriate blond boy ass in Pittsburgh so I will have to fuck you. He dropped my pants and slowly spread my ass cheeks apart, applied some cold lube, soothing the sensitive flesh with his fingers, preparing me like we had all the time in the world, driving me crazy.
Such a slut for my cock in your ass. , he teased, stroking every fold of my exposed anus, fingering me just a little bit too playful for my taste. I shoved myself on these slender fingers, trying to get him closer to my sweetest spot. No such luck. He chuckled and kissed my neck ever so slowly, slipped out his fingers and did me the favour I was asking. His cock was perfectly shaped, and I liked to think that it was shaped just for me, no matter how many other men he had pleased.
I was already close, and so was he, holding me so tender that it almost seemed ridiculous at this place that probaby saw quite a few anonymous fucks. He whispered, "I always wanted you. Always have and always will. You know that, right?" I melted into his arms, weeping not only because of the powerful orgasm that shook me but also the tears I held down for years, pretending to be strong. In fact, I was strong. I didn t fall apart. Brian held me firmly, held me together and waited a few minutes until I just relaxed into his arms. He cleared his throat and spoke up again, softly: Now that you are a big fat fucking success, you could just as well come home.
I felt myself smiling my genuine sunshine smile, a version only known to Brian. Total bliss. You didn t just ask me to come home to you, did you? You so love me, Brian Kinney.
Brian shrugged and looked at me again. Dream on, little boy. I just fucked your brains out, that s all.
I started sketching the triptych in the waiting area as soon as Brian left for his own plane. As soon as I was back in New York, I painted like a mad man to get it done before the show. I almost didn t. The night before, Daph helped me to carry it into the gallery, where the rest of my stuff already waited for the visitors. On the way, I told Daphne about my plans, but she cut me off, looked at me as if I d insulted her and told me that she has seen my painting and she fucking knew. Of course, it was not for sale. And I already knew the perfect place to hang it.