After I say goodbye to Ted I head back to my room, somehow managing to avoid Alia en route. I then play it cool for about two-point-five seconds before diving into the box.
I find a few things that I did, in fact, leave behind – some text books and old sketch pads filled with early drawings of Brian. There’s also random story notes for Rage. Good thing Brian sent those, as the comic is my only source of income. But almost everything else is unfamiliar. Wonderfully unfamiliar. There’s a beautifully tailored Burberry wool jacket, fully lined and both warmer and more luxurious than anything else I own. There’s a matching dark-blue scarf and hat, knit from the softest cashmere. There’s an envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills, a phone card, a gift certificate for a local cab company and another to a nearby art supply store. Yes, all just stuff that I “forgot.”
I pick up my phone to thank him but of course I’m dropped directly into his voice mail.
“Brian. Ted was here and he brought the box… and thank you. I love the coat, it’s beautiful.” I finger the soft dark wool and sigh. “And the other things. I should send all that money back to you but…” I laugh, and my laughter sounds painfully self-conscious. “I wouldn’t want to offend you. So I’ll hang onto it because I, uh, don’t wanna be rude.” I laugh again, which trails off into another round of coughing. Great, just what Brian will want to hear. “Anyhow. Sorry I missed you. I’m gonna get some sleep and hopefully get over this damn cold. Later.”
Feeling like I just made a mess of that, I slump against the mattress and reach for a pillow. I wish it were larger.
Brian-sized, even.
****
Ted:
I have a meeting with Brian in a few minutes and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s going to want a full report on Justin. I promised Justin I’d soft-sell his living conditions but I’m unconvinced that doing so will be in my best interests, especially considering that said “best interests” might involve “continuing to draw air.” And not to mention paychecks. Both, I’ve learned, are equally important.
It’s not as if Justin can hide the truth forever. One of these days, and probably soon, Brian will grow bored with the tricks he finds at Babylon and make an unannounced, unexpected trip to NYC and then it will be my ass. Well, Justin’s ass, actually, but I’m the one whose livelihood will be on the line if he catches me in any actual lies about how his Sunshine is faring up north. So I have to choose my words carefully. I certainly don’t want to betray Justin, especially now that I’ve just started getting to know him. But this is Brian Kinney we’re talking about here, and…
“Theodore? Are you listening to me?”
I blink rapidly and clear my throat. Well, this is embarrassing. I didn’t even hear him come in.
“The report!” It’s worth a wild guess. “On your desk, boss. Things are going even better than I’d initially assessed, which is a surprise. Or, I mean, not a surprise, although it’s unusual for me to--”
“Theodore.” Brian’s voice is low but commanding and carries a sharp edge. I’m glad we’re friends. Otherwise that voice might scare me. “I asked you about Justin. His apartment, his roommate, his general… situation. Is it… acceptable?”
Oh, fuck. I still haven’t decided how to answer the question but I know that any hesitation on my part will give away the game so I just start talking. When in doubt, flap your gums. I’ve learned a few things from Debbie Novotny over the years.
“He’s fine! Well, he has the cold that you knew about and was grateful for the medicine, tissues, and the rest. His apartment is small but, you know – New York City. He doesn’t mind it. He’s still adjusting, but he’s going to be fine. And he was happy to get the computer. I’m sure he’s hard at work creating masterpieces as we speak.”
The words come rushing out in a breathless flood. When I’m done, I peer up at Brian’s face, hopeful.
He stares back at me, frowning. I’m sure he’s going to say something, question something, but instead he suddenly turns and dives into the bathroom. He doesn’t even manage to get the door closed behind him before he’s vomiting.
Oh, no.
I’m right behind him, mindless of his privacy. “Brian!” I grope about for a hand towel and soak it with cold water as I watch his shuddering back. How am I going to break this to Justin? This is the worst job I’ve ever had. I wring the water from the cloth and press it against the back of his neck and then fill up a ceramic glass.
“Drink,” I order, helping him sit up and flushing the toilet. I know how he feels about foul smells that don’t originate in the back room at Babylon. I also know that he’s mortified by the fact that I’m witnessing this.
Again.
He rinses out his mouth and spits into the sink. “Not a word,” he warns me in a ragged voice. “Not a word to anyone. And most especially not to Justin. You got it?”
“Got it, Bri,” I assure him, removing the glass from his shaking hand and moving the damp cloth from the back of his neck to his face. He allows me to wipe away beads of sweat, then abruptly pulls back and staggers to his feet. I take a good look at him and frown at what I see. Sure, he’s dressed in Prada and his hair looks professionally styled and he’s clearly had a recent facial, but behind the veneer lurks disaster. His eyes are dull, his skin looks faintly green, and his cheeks are slightly sunken. I remember the look well.
“But you can’t hide this,” I continue after a moment, looking away. “You’re going to need help. Can you let us help you this time?”
He stares at me like I’m a complete stranger, perhaps one who appeared in his office to discuss God’s infinite love, then barks out a short, humorless laugh. “It isn’t the cancer. I’m fine. It’s just the flu. Relax. You’re going to give yourself an ulcer and your insurance here only covers eighty-twenty.”
I all but collapse against the sink in relief. I’d been running through scenarios of me returning to New York to deliver the bad news to Justin and none of the scenes in my head had gone well. Granted I’d only had about two minutes, but I couldn’t formulate a single outcome where Justin had ripped off all his clothes and launched himself into my arms for comfort.
“Okay. Okay.” I smile for him as I place the towel across the sink and rinse out his cup. “But you should go home and get some rest. I’ll take care of whatever else is on your schedule today, boss. Or do you need a ride?”
He stares at me with blurry eyes. “I’m done with the important stuff,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “And I can drive. But I mean it.” He waggles a finger in the general direction of my face. “Not a word to anyone, or I’ll have your ass. And not in a way that you’d enjoy.”
Got it, boss.
**
Justin:
I don’t want anyone to think I didn’t try.
I admit that I didn’t do much for the first two or three weeks. I mainly slept, blew my nose, gulped cold medication and lived on the meager sugar-rush found in throat lozenges. I also did an excellent job of avoiding my roommate and obsessively checking my phone messages every time I woke up. By the time I started feeling better I was having wet dreams for the first time in years. I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so lonely.
Isn’t that crazy, being lonely in a city of millions? Everywhere I went the streets were packed with people but I didn’t know any of them and no one seemed especially interested in meeting me. Even guys in gay clubs seemed largely indifferent. I was far from the only young blonde with a great ass. I wasn’t even the youngest anymore, and I wasn’t even close to the best-dressed. I’d probably be turned away at the door if not for the beautiful coat Brian gave me.
Making the rounds at the local art galleries was even more discouraging. Apparently every single person who lives in New York is the busiest person on the planet and no one could spare any time for me. I waited for one guy – not even a gallery owner, just an employee – for almost two hours before he coolly informed me that I’d have to return another time, as he had an important shipment to process.
I got a glimpse of his “important shipment” on the way out. I couldn’t say that I blamed him but I was just so discouraged. I’d never run into so many brink walls in my entire life. I didn’t even know there were so many brink walls available to run into.
At the end of my first month in New York, I sat down and took stock of my situation. I had to admit that things hadn’t gone exactly as planned. I wasn’t making any progress in becoming a world-renowned artist. I certainly wasn’t famous; not even my roommate could reliably remember my name. The “rich” part of my eventual plan was laughable. I was hemorrhaging money every week, with the proceeds from Rage my only source of income. I hadn’t made any friends, hadn’t fucked a single guy since leaving Pittsburgh, and was too worried about my money situation to try any of the famous restaurants.
But here’s what I had: A rich and gorgeous boyfriend a few hundred miles away. A fantastic review in a major publication that declared me the Next Big Thing. A portfolio of decent work that someday, someone would be impressed with. And a list of advice culled from various artistically-inclined people back home. I’ve taken it out and studied it so many times that the paper is starting to wear thin.
1. It’s all about who you know. Meet as many people as you can.
That seems like a no-brainer, doesn’t it? It probably doesn’t even belong on my list, it’s so basic, but having lots of writing on this piece of paper makes me feel better. Every numbered item is a little spark of hope and I’m hoping that one of those sparks will ignite a fire under my ass. Part of my problem is that this damn cold sapped so much of my usual energy. By mid-afternoon all I want to do is crawl back into bed. By early evening all I can think about is calling Brian.
I carefully refold my list, resolved to begin with item one, starting tomorrow.
I start forcing myself out of bed in the morning, carefully showering around Alia’s array of beauty products and dressing as nicely as possible before heading out to face New York in all its glory. It’s cold and grey and if I linger indecisively on the sidewalk, people will literally push me out of their way. It takes me a few days to adjust but once I do, I find that it’s not so bad. It’s sort of like dancing, really, only the music is the footsteps of thousands of rushed, irritated strangers. Once I learn to move in concert with them, my heart stops racing and my mind calms. I’ve joined the collective. I have been assimilated.
I might be losing my mind.
Today’s target is the café down the street. It’s an artsy little independent place filled with artsy, independent-looking sorts of people. None of them seem especially eager to engage me in conversation, so I hang around with my steaming latte (cost: $8) until all the tables are filled. Then I pick one occupied by someone without a laptop, notebook, or other form of electronic distraction and clear my throat to get his attention.
He looks up with a sharp frown.
“Um. Do you mind if I sit here?” I dip my head to indicate the empty chair.
He studies me with a suspicious expression. Is this the most paranoid city on the planet, or have I grown more threatening-looking since I arrived? But after an uncomfortable pause, he nods.
“Thanks.” I quickly slide in before he changes his mind and place my mug off to one side while I dig around inside my messenger bag. “Crowded here today, huh? Probably because the coffee is so good.”
He gives a disinterested shrug and takes a bite of his bagel.
I open my sketchpad and fumble around for a pencil. “I’m Justin, by the way. I just moved here and wow, this city is something else, isn’t it? I always thought Pittsburgh was a big city but compared to here, it’s just a quaint little town.”
He says nothing. Well, maybe he’s just carefully considering what to say to such a dangerous-looking character as myself. Maybe he thinks I’m some sort of criminal looking for a chance to swipe his sandwich or something.
I don’t look at him. He isn’t much to look at anyhow, with his frizzy hair and slight overbite. Instead, I focus my attention out the window while I begin sketching.
My pencil skitters across the page when he finally speaks. “Welcome to New York. So you’re just getting settled here, huh?”
I shift my gaze to him and nod. “There’s no better place for an up-and-coming artist, right?”
He wipes his mouth, crumples the napkin onto his plate, and laughs. “Who told you that?” He stares at me. “Unless you’re established and accomplished, I can’t think of a worse place for an up-and-coming anything. You want my advice?”
Not really.
He gives it anyhow.
“Find yourself a different city. Boston, maybe. Or Seattle. Someplace where you aren’t competing against millions of other people who all want the same things. Unless you’re independently wealthy?” He arches his brows.
I shake my head.
“Well, best of luck to you. You’re going to need it.”
I watch him stride away, then pull my list from the front pocket of my bag to make an addition.
Be independently wealthy.
Yeah, why didn’t I think of that one?
***
Ted:
I put it off as long as I could, but when I’m forced to take over a presentation for a multi-million dollar account while Brian gets up close and personal with his commode, I decide that I’ve waited long enough. As furious as I imagined Brian would be when he learned the truth about Justin’s living situation, I suspect that Justin will be even angrier if I wait until Brian is actually admitted to Allegheny General before I let him know that there’s a problem.
On the other hand, once I tell him, I’m probably going to get my ass fired.
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Cynthia looks up from whatever she’s working on and frowns at me. “Do you have any idea how many times he’s fired me over the years? Just nod and go back to work. Stay out of his line of sight for a few days and don’t mention it. Trust me, it’s not like he’s eager to find himself a new accountant and really, neither one of us is replaceable.” She shoots me a quick, bright smile before allowing herself to be swallowed up with her work again.
Maybe not, but I hate taking the chance. I know what happens when I’m not working and besides, I’ve grown to value my friendship with Brian. In the past few months I’ve seen sides of him that I doubt many other people are privy to and I don’t want to risk that. On the other hand, if he keeps losing weight at the rate he has been, I could lose him altogether. And how would I ever explain myself to Justin?
I take a deep breath and dial.
He answers on the first ring (probably because it’s impossible to place his phone out of reach in that tiny room) and sounds so happy that I’m already hating myself for being the bearer of bad Brian-related news.
“Justin.” I keep my voice low and even. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“Oh, the usual.” He’s attempting to sound light and cheerful but there’s an underlying hollow tone that I don’t like. “Hauling my laundry over to the mat. Grocery shopping. Cleaning my ten square feet of space. Sketching, polishing my portfolio, drawing some panels for Rage before Michael blows his top and turns up at my doorstep. Although it would be kind of funny to hear Alia identify him as my boyfriend. Do you think he’d have a coronary or an embolism?”
I clear my throat a little, trying to decide if that’s a good segue or the worst possible thing he could have said. Well, it probably doesn’t matter. There’s just no good way to tell him. “Justin, I’m really sorry about this, but I need you to come back to Pittsburgh. I’ll, um, get your airline ticket arranged and, uh, a taxi set up to take you to the airport. Do you think you can leave tomorrow?” Tomorrow’s Friday. Technically that’s the start of the weekend and officially, Justin doesn’t even have a job. I cross my fingers and wait through the silence.
When his voice comes again, it’s very soft. “What’s wrong, Ted? Tell me what’s going on. Why do I need to come back with no warning or planning or … anything?”
I lick my lips, a sound I’m sure travels through the phone. “I don’t want to scare you or freak you out, Justin, but – it’s Brian.”
He cuts me off, his voice climbing an octave. “I knew it!” I can hear the tears in his voice and I feel like a heel. No, I feel like whatever the heel stepped in and smashed all to hell. “It’s the cancer, isn’t it? I knew it. I shouldn’t have left right before his yearly exam. Okay, okay.” He sucks in a shaky voice. “How soon is the next flight?”
I’m already looking at Liberty Air’s schedule as we speak. “I can get you on a flight tonight, but Justin, I don’t think its cancer. He told me it wasn’t and I believe him. But something’s really wrong. He needs to see a doctor and neither Cynthia or I can convince him, so it’s going to be up to you.”
There’s a long, strained stretch of silence before he speaks again. “What about Michael? What’s Michael doing?”
I should have anticipated the question, but the honest answer is that I don’t know what Michael’s been doing. When I’m not working, I’m generally at home with Blake. I assume that Michael spends most of his evenings the same way, quietly, with his partner. Maybe I should have asked Michael to give this a shot before calling Justin, but all of my instincts are telling me that there’s only one person to whom Brian will listen.
“When has Michael ever convinced Brian to do anything? I’m afraid he’d just make this harder for you, Justin. You’re the one that Brian needs.”
Justin draws in another deep breath but he sounds steadier this time. “Okay. I’ll go pack.”
**
Justin:
It isn’t until I’ve boarded the flight and have my seatbelt fastened that I realize I should have pressed Ted for more details about Brian’s illness. Not cancer, okay, but some sort of stomach ailment. That wouldn’t be any fun, but is having a stomach bug such a big deal? On the other hand, it wasn’t like Ted to turn something minor into a big drama-queen freak-out, so it was probably a good thing I was headed home. Even if it turned out to be nothing, I’m going to be with Brian soon and there’s really no downside to that.
I arrive at the loft at a little past eleven and let myself in. I don’t even consider the possibility that Brian’s at home at eleven o’clock on a Friday night, life-threatening illness or not. So I’m not surprised when I enter the bedroom to drop my bag on his bed and find it empty. It isn’t until I walk towards the kitchen for a bottle of water that I spot the Brian-sized lump on the couch and nearly drop over dead from a heart attack.
Somehow I manage to bite back a girly shriek and crouch down to study his face. I can’t see much of it, as he’s buried under a heap of blankets, but I can make out his beautiful dark hair and the curve of his nose. Settling down on the floor, I smooth my fingers through his hair and frown at the unfamiliar texture. It’s been a few days since he washed it, I realize with a start. Shit, something really is wrong with him.
“Brian?” He stirs a little but doesn’t wake. I try again, a little louder. “Brian? Wake up, Brian. What are you doing on the couch? Come on, let’s go to bed.”
“…told you.” He makes a sleepy little snuffling sound that’s just critically cute. “’m not here. Go ‘way.”
“Brian.” I give him a little shake this time. “Brian, it’s me. Justin.”
One eye pops open to regard me with drowsy disbelief. A second later, he sits up so suddenly that I almost go toppling over backwards. “Justin?” He rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
There’s gratitude for you. But at least I know he’s not dying or anything. If he’d greeted me with hugs and kisses, I’d know for certain that Ted was right.
“I’m here to take care of you.” Maybe honesty isn’t the best policy in this particular case but I’ve been too worried to concoct a cover story. “I heard that you’re knocking at death’s door and that for some reason, you decided to keep that a secret from your partner.”
He continues to stare at me like he’s seeing a ghost as he drags both hands through his hair. It doesn’t help matters any. He has the worst case of bed-head that I’ve seen in years. “I’m fine,” he informs me at last. “You didn’t need to come here. I’m going to kill Theodore.”
“The fuck you will.” I snap on the lamp beside us and frown as I get a better look at him. At first glance he looks like himself, but as my eyes adjust to the light I can see that his skin has a faint yellowish cast, his eyes appear sunken and his features appear slightly – off. I stare hard at him, trying to determine exactly what is wrong and what is different.
Of course he doesn’t just sit there and let me examine him. He pushes himself to his feet and makes a grab for the blankets but it’s already too late. I gasp in shock and he fixes me with a look that instantly silences me. It’s his “don’t say anything or else” look and I know better than to talk right now, so instead I stare.
No wonder Ted was so insistent that I come.
Brian appears to have lost twenty pounds since I left for New York City, and he never had an ounce of fat to spare. He’s just skin and bones now, his previously well-defined muscles withered and wasted. He looks like he belongs in the hospital. He looks like he’s ready to fall over.
I’m not even remotely surprised when he suddenly drops back onto the couch and presses a hand to his forehead. I’m instantly right beside him, linking my arms around his chest and pressing my head against his neck. “Tomorrow,” I whisper in a choked voice. “Tomorrow, we’re going to see your doctor.”
He’s silent for awhile but eventually buries his face in my hair and sighs. “It’s no big deal,” he whispers back. “Just the stomach flu. I needed to drop a few pounds anyway.”
He attempts to laugh, but we both know that’s bullshit.
****
Michael:
I’m trying to work here, not that Justin would have any clue what that’s like anymore. He’s been in New York for over a month and he still hasn’t bothered to find himself a job. Likely because Brian’s supporting him and won’t admit it because of Boy-Wonder’s “pride.”
“Michael? Are you even paying attention to me?” Oh, God forbid I ignore anything Justin has to say. I dump the stack of comics I was scanning to the floor and smile brightly. Well, over-brightly, maybe. But is it my fault he’s so damn annoying all the time?
“I am. You’re dropping off your panels for next month’s edition and you’ve finished your revisions for me. Thanks. And then you wanted to talk about a new plot where JT is hermetically sealed off from Rage while Rage slowly dies from some horrific wasting disease…” I stop and frown. “Wait. A wasting disease? You mean like HIV?”
His mouth drops open and God, he looks dumb like that. I wonder if he does that around Brian? Surely Brian can’t find that look attractive. Well, except that he probably solves the problem by shoving something in there.
“Not like HIV,” he replies quickly. “God, no. I’d never… that’s not even…” I smile as I watch him flounder but decide to take mercy on him before he literally ties his tongue into a knot. I don’t think Brian would forgive me for that. Speaking of which—
“Is Brian home yet? Ma wants to go visit him as soon as he’s well enough for company. And he could call me, you know. Why does it always have to be me looking around for him anymore?” I can hear a distinct whiny note in my voice but I can’t seem to help it. Well, who could blame me? Between a best friend who ignores me most of the time and dealing with the annoying love of his life, I don’t think anyone would handle this as well as I am.
Justin shakes his head. “They decided to keep him overnight for more IV fluids,” he says quietly, glancing about the near-empty store in case someone happens to be listening in. “He’s badly dehydrated and he’s lost of a lot of weight. You really didn’t notice how sick he’s been?”
Now that just pisses me off. “I noticed! But what could I do? I ask him how he’s feeling, he says he’s fine. I tell him he looks awful, he tells me to go to hell. I suggest a checkup, he tells me to mind my own fucking business.” I shrug. “But you’re here now, so I guess everything will be okay.”
He stares at me with an expression that’s so Brian-like that I wonder if he practiced it in front of a mirror. “Michael,” he replies quietly. “I can’t stay. I’m just here for a few days and then I need to get back to New York. I need you to help look after him. Can you do that for me? Please?”
And now I’m really mad. “What the fuck? I’ve been looking after him since before you were born! I think I can manage! Besides, he’s an adult and he can take care of himself.”
Justin stares at me, not even blinking, and gives a stiff little nod. “We’ll talk about the next issue later, then,” he replies distantly. “I need to get back to the hospital. I told Brian I’d be there for dinner.” With that, he turns and walks out of the store and into the bright afternoon sunlight.
I’m left feeling like shit. How does he always manage that?
****
Justin:
I make it back to the hospital just as the dinner cart is being rolled into Brian’s room. I instantly hit the dimmer on the harsh overhead lights and linger in the background until the aide has his tray positioned within reach and approach only once we’re alone. “Hey.”
He grimaces at me but I’m pretty sure I can make out a glimmer of pleasure beneath his act. I really have to search for it, though, because he just looks awful. I’ve never seen him this pale and thin, and the dark smudges around his eyes worry me. The IV snaking into his arm doesn’t help matters any, either. It looks so wrong.
I pull a chair over to the side of his bed and try on a smile. “So. Are you going to eat whatever delicacies the hospital cafeteria provided for you, or do I get the pleasure of pinching your nose shut and shoving them down your throat?” Maybe I should reconsider this “art career” thing. Clearly I’d be a natural as a nurse.
He fixes me with a look. “The only thing I want you shoving down my throat…” he begins, but I whip the cover off his dinner tray and that shuts him up. There’s some sort of pasta and red sauce with meatballs, a limp-looking salad, a sad little heap of once-frozen vegetables and a pale circle that’s maybe pudding. Or possibly yogurt. Or perhaps dipping sauce for the vegetables?
“I don’t care,” I tell him before he can even start with his objections. “You have to eat it. All of it. You lost a lot of weight while you were sick and you need to regain your strength or you’re just going to get sick all over again and then I’ll be forced to interrupt my dazzling New York art career to come back here and take care of you.” I pick up his fork and stab a meatball. “Eat.”
I expect an argument about carbs and fat or whatever but instead he takes the fork from my hand and eats the meatball. It takes him four bites and a lot of chewing, but he manages to swallow and I’m so pleased that I lean over to kiss his tomato-smudged lips.
“You don’t have to be here,” he grumbles while tentatively poking at vegetables that have seen better days. “Fucking Theodore. I was sending him to New York to report back on you, not send tales the other way.”
I’m shocked that he would admit that’s what he was doing and for moment all I can do is blink at him. He must still be feeling really awful if he’s willing to admit that without me even asking. I consider working up some outrage over being looked after, but all I can do is smile. It’s not as if I didn’t know what Ted was up to and besides, how pissed off can a reasonable person get over concrete proof that Brian Kinney gives a shit?
Of course, neither of us are widely known for being reasonable people.
“Well, too bad. He told me and I’m here and you’re stuck with me. Now drink your milk.”
He reaches obediently for the little carton and the straw and I think I could get used to this. “My cross to bear,” he sighs after taking a sip and making a face. No doubt they delivered it luke-warm. “Just how long am I stuck with you, anyhow?”
“Until Monday. So if you were hoping to score any action during this visit, I suggest you eat all your food, don’t bitch at the nurses over your IVs, and store up your strength for tomorrow.”
“Monday.” He nods and chews at his lip while contemplating the rest of his plate. He spears up a forkful of salad and gives it a filthy look as excess dressing drips back onto the plate. “You shouldn’t have come.”
I feel my smile slip and coldness spreading through my body. I knew that was what he was going to say, but it still hurts to hear it. “I’m sorry,” I reply at last. I’m too tired to parry or banter anymore. I’m way, way overdue for a nap. I stand up and take another look at the IV bag before leaving. It’s more than half-full and ticking away just as it should be.
Before I can move away from the bed, he reaches up and clasps his hand around my wrist. “But I’m glad you did,” he adds quietly. I meet his eyes and we stare at each other for a long time. Even tired and pale and sick, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I lean over and press a long kiss against his forehead.
“I love you,” I murmur. “Now, stop complaining and eat. I mean it. Every last bite.”
“Yes, mom,” he agrees sarcastically, but then the salad is transferred to his mouth and soon the entire plate is practically clean.
I’m impressed.
****
Debbie:
I can’t believe that asshole didn’t tell me he was sick. What sort of a mother does he think I am, anyhow? I would have been over here taking care of him if I’d known. All he had to do was pick up the fucking phone and call.
“He does have a fucking phone, doesn’t he?” I slam the casserole into his empty fridge and toss the Tupperware container filled with chopped iceberg lettuce on top of it. I don’t understand the point of a refrigerator that never has any food inside. He could just store his water bottles and beer on the window ledge and save himself the money it takes to power the damn thing. Not that lack of money is one of his problems.
“He does,” Justin replies uneasily. I know he’s not thrilled that I was standing at the doorway when he arrived with Brian, but that’s just too bad. They’ll have to hold off on the marathon fucking session for a bit longer because I have a few things to say and they’re gonna be said whether these two want to hear them or not.
“And he remembers how to make it work, right?”
“Deb, whatever it is, can you please just get on with it? I’m tired.” Brian is leaning against the counter and I admit, he does look tired. In fact, he looks like hell, and seeing him like that makes me even angrier.
“Of course you’re tired!” I might be talking a little louder than strictly necessary, but sometimes these damn kids require extra volume to get through to them. “You’re tired because you’ve been sick for weeks and didn’t bother telling a single person. I would have been here taking care of you if I’d known! Instead, I don’t find out until you’re in the fucking hospital and only then because my kid mentions it in passing. This is just like the last time, all over again.”
Justin slides into the space between me and Brian as if he might need to protect one of us from the other. “Deb, it isn’t,” he informs me in the soft, measured sort of voice that you might use with a raving lunatic. “It’s nothing like that and everything is okay. I’m here now, and Brian’s been treated at the hospital and everything’s going to be fine. But if it’s okay with you, we just walked in the door and we’d like to relax for awhile. It’s been a long few days and…”
“And so you’re fucking kicking me out?” I stare at him, incredulous. “Fine! No problem. I’m leaving, but not before I have a few words with you.” I stab a finger towards Justin’s chest. “A whole month you’ve been gone and have I heard anything from you? Gotten so much as a single phone call? No!” I plant both hands on my hips and glare for all I’m worth. “You think that just because you move away, we’re not family anymore?”
Brian starts to say something but closes his mouth with an audible click before he can get going. The boy is smart, I’ll give him that. And of course he is. I practically raised him myself and I raise smart boys. He’s also looking even paler than when he arrived and is leaning against the marble countertop as if that’s the only thing keeping him on his feet.
“Debbie.” Justin’s voice has taken on a pleading tone. “Can you yell at me later? Tell you what, I’ll call you as soon as I get back to New York and you can yell at me for as long as you like, okay?” He’s no longer really looking at me, though. His worried gaze is on Brian. Apparently having decided that I’m not going to launch myself at his boyfriend and throttle him, he moves to Brian’s side and slips an arm around his waist.
I sigh. “I didn’t come here to yell at anyone. I just wanted you,” I jerk my chin at Brian, “to know how hurt I am that you were so sick for so long and you never once called me for help. And you,” I nod at Justin, “to know that even though you’re living in another state, you’re still my kid. You don’t just stop calling me because you’re not working at the diner anymore. Okay?”
“Okay,” Justin agrees quickly while Brain nods. Brian’s been nodding since I started talking, which means he probably wasn’t really listening to a word I said, but what the fuck can I do? At least I said what needed to be said.
“Okay,” I echo with a nod of my own. “Now, you get him to bed and try not to jump his bones right away. He looks like he could use a good long nap before you start the 24-hour sucking-and-fucking fest.”
“I’ll do my best,” Justin agrees genially, moving away from Brian’s side to open the loft door for me. “Thanks for the food, Debbie. We appreciate it.”
They don’t appreciate it nearly enough, if you ask me.
**** Justin:
After slamming the loft door, I lean against it and breathe out in relief.
“Brian, I’m so sorry. I had no idea she’d be here or I would have called Michael and told him to head her off.”
He’s leaning as heavily against the counter as I am the door. “Like he could have stopped her,” he sighs. “One of these days, I’m going to get a top-of-the-line security system installed here. And hire a doorman to guard the entrance to this floor.”
“An armed doorman,” I amend, moving over to wrap my arm around his waist again and steer him in the direction of the bedroom. “Come on, let’s go take a nap. I can’t remember the last decent night’s sleep I’ve had and I’m practically nodding off on my feet.”
He eyes me with a knowing expression. “Mmm-hmm. You’re the one who’s dead on your feet.” He stumbles a little over the steps, moving as if he hasn’t climbed them in a long time. “It couldn’t possibly be that you’re trying to salvage your elderly partner’s pride.”
I scoff as I toe off my sneakers and start on the buttons of his shirt. “Yeah, you’re practically ready for the old-folks home. Just give the word when it’s time for me to wheel you away. You don’t think it’s too late, do you?” I pause my efforts and widen my eyes dramatically.
Of course, he bites. “Too late for what?”
“To buy us a pair of side-by-side cemetery plots, of course. With you being at such an advanced age, they might charge us triple or something. You know how you elderly are taken advantage of at every turn in this country.”
He swats at my ass and laughs. “You laugh now. Wait until you’re staring down the barrel at forty and we’ll see how many jokes you’re cracking.”
“Speaking of cracks.” I slide my hands between the fabric of his shirt and his arms. Thin as he is, his skin still feels wonderful, soft and supple and not even remotely ancient. I reach down to unfasten his belt and unzip his pants, which isn’t as easy as it sounds when you’re busy grinding against someone.
He links his arms around me and pulls me down to the bed, panting into my ear while I attempt to figure out the arcane restraint system that holds his pants in place. It’s like my brain has short-circuited and the system malfunction has traveled down to take up residence in my trembling hands. “Brian,” I groan helplessly. And, as always, he instantly knows what the problem is and lifts up his hips, shucking off his slacks in a single, practiced move. Sometimes the years of experience he has on me really pay off.
“Hurry,” he whispers, pushing my head down with enough force to surprise me. I barely graze my tongue over his belly; it’s too upsetting to feel how much weight he’s lost. Instead I take the head of his cock directly into my mouth, not bothering to tease. I don’t think he’s in the mood to have things drawn out tonight. I suck him gently, swirling my tongue around again and again until his fingers plow into my hair and grab handfuls. I pull him deeply into my mouth and do my best not to gag as he thrusts forward again and again. He’s babbling something, but I can’t quite make anything out aside from my name, “please,” and “yes.”
I don’t even have time to relax my throat and draw him all the way in before he’s crying out while his entire body spasms. I wrap my arms around his hips and hang on tightly, doing my best to breathe through my nose until he’s done and my head is cradled in his lap, the fingers that had previously been on the verge of tearing my hair out by the roots caressing my scalp instead. “Sorry,” he whispers distantly.
“Bullshit,” I whisper in return, turning my head to smile up at him. Sitting up slowly, I remove my clothing item by item. First the t-shirt, then my socks, then my jeans. My hand is on the elastic band of my boxers when Brian suddenly grabs my arm.
“No. Wait.”
I arch a brow at him while he struggles to sit up. Either I sucked the very life-force out of him a minute ago or he’s still quite a ways under the weather. I link my arms around him, helping in the most unobtrusive way I can manage. “We can take it easy tonight, you know,” I offer as he presses his body against mine, filling my nose with his musky, spicy scent and making my mouth water again.
“Shut up.” He runs both hands down my back, then pulls away far enough to look me up and down. Apparently he likes what he sees because his cock is hard again and then he’s pressing our groins together and moaning at the contact.
“I’ll shut up,” I agree, arching against him and pressing my lips against his, “when you start fucking me. Think… of it… as… incentive.”
“Mmm.” He continues to grind against me for awhile until I make a warning sound and attempt to pull away before I embarrass myself. He laughs a little and pushes me into the mattress again, pausing only to pull the pillow beneath my neck and adjust it so my head isn’t at an awkward angle.
The lube is cold as always but warms as he pushes a finger inside me, gently working his way in and out and waiting for me to adjust. No one has topped me since the last time Brian and I were together but I’m panting with impatience and urging him to hurry, hurry, please. I can’t seem to stop myself from pushing back into his hand even as I hiss against the pressure and wince through the burn. “Now,” I manage. “I’m fine, just… now. Please.”
He hesitates for a few seconds before tearing open the condom and rolling it on with a hand that trembles more than mine once did and then finally he’s pushing his way inside me, no longer being slow and careful or even gentle. I wrap my legs around him and urge him onwards, faster and deeper and crying out as he complies. I’m saying his name, I think. Or maybe one of the other countless words that mean the same.
I don’t last much longer than he did. As soon as his hand touches my throbbing cock, I lose what little control I had and spurt between us again and again while sobbing out cries which are joined by his an instant later. When he finishes he collapses on top of me, breathing heavily and sloppily kissing my face.
“Not bad for an old man,” I whisper into his ear.
****
Ted:
I thought Brian would want to take Justin to the airport himself, but apparently he’s got a meeting that only he can conduct, so the task falls to me. I wouldn’t normally mind spending a few hours with Justin, especially hours that don’t involve me traveling across state lines, but when I pick him up at Brian’s loft he’s quiet and distant. He scarcely glances at me as he climbs into the front seat.
I’m afraid it’s going to be a very long trip.
“We have time for breakfast if you want to stop,” I offer, thinking that the promise of pancakes and bacon might perk him up, but he shakes his head and continues to stare out the passenger-side window as I drive.
I know I should probably just keep my mouth shut but I suppose it’s not in my nature to leave well enough alone. If it were, I probably wouldn’t be on my forth post-college career. “I’m sorry you have to go back so soon. I know everyone would have liked to have visited with you… and I’m sure this hasn’t been easy on you or Brian, either, with you only having a few days together.”
He finally looks away from the window and settles his tired-looking eyes on my face. He looks so pale and drawn, likely because Brian kept him up for every minute of the weekend fucking his brains out. Selfish bastard.
“I’ll make time for everyone on my next trip,” he replies at last, sounding a million miles away instead of just in the next car seat over. “It feels like I just got here, like I just got off the phone with you and I’m waiting for the taxi to take me to the airport. And now you’re already bringing me back?” He sounds like a confused little kid, like he honestly doesn’t understand how I could do something so mean to him.
I return my eyes to the road and focus on the task at hand, delivering Justin to the airport without crashing the car. I don’t want to think about what Brian would say if I were the cause of any bodily harm befalling his Sunshine. Of course, if he’d done this himself, he wouldn’t have anyone to blame. I’m still pondering that when my mouth pops open again. “Brian should have been the one to drop you off.”
Justin startles a little at my tone and I realize that I sound a lot more accusatory than I intended, probably due to the dressing-down that the Brian Kinney in my head gave me after I informed him of the six-car pileup I caused en route to the airport.
“He couldn’t.”
I nod, not bothering to take my eyes off the road. I understand. And I manage to keep my comments in check until we pull into the short-term parking garage and I reach for his overnight bag. He drops a hand onto my wrist and I freeze.
“Ted, what am I going to do?” He sounds so young and sad, so lost. Nothing at all like the determined young man who inspired Brian Kinney to propose or the fiery spirit who stood up to his homophobic father or the confident kid who went to Hollywood to make an ill-fated movie. Right now he sounds every bit as alone as I imagine he must feel, heading back to an unsympathetic city with only his own resources to rely upon.
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do.” I pause for a breath because I’m making this up as I go. “You’re going to stop approaching New York City like it’s temporary because the longer you do that, the more you ensure that it will be.” I fall silent until he makes eye contact again and I’m certain that he’s listening. One of the things I’ve learned while working for Brian is to demand an attentive audience. “You’re going to get a job, even if it isn’t related to your art career. You’re going to immerse yourself into your life there, starting with work that gets you out of that apartment. Once you’re employed, you’re going to meet people. You’re going to have an unbearable overlord of a boss who takes advantage of you but that will be okay because you’ll bond with your fellow wage-slaves over it. The more people you meet, the more connections you make, the more it’s going to feel like home.” I soften my voice and place my hand on top of his. His fingers are freezing. I wonder why Brian hasn’t bought him a pair of good fur-lined gloves. I’ll have to mention that to him. “It’s going to be okay, Justin. It’s just going to take some time.”
To my surprise, he laughs a little, laughter that sounds faintly bitter to my ears. “Just some time,” he echoes. “Of course.”
I twitch a smile into place as I study his expression. I remember how utterly open he was when he first started working at the diner. At this point, he’s almost as difficult to read as his partner. I guess people really do become more alike the longer they’re together.
He’s quiet for so long that I consider suggesting that we get him inside and through security but he speaks again before I can say anything. “Would you do this? Would you leave Blake and go to another state in hopes of… of advancing your career?”
“I can’t answer that,” I reply truthfully. He gives me a sharp look and I shake my head. “I mean, because Blake and I aren’t you and Brian.” I’ve known for years that I’m not and will never be anything like the magnetic Brian Kinney, force of nature, larger-than-life stud of Liberty Avenue, but lately another comparison has been niggling at the back of my mind, insistently ignoring my attempts to push it away: Blake is never going to be Justin Taylor, either. It isn’t fair to him, of course, but it’s there. The two of us are never going to capture every eye on the dance floor at Babylon. The two of us will never agonize over a period of separation.
He considers my words for a moment or maybe he doesn’t hear them at all, because the next thing I know his head is pressed against my shoulder and he’s sobbing like a little kid. I’m so shocked that it takes me a moment to respond. Justin has always been so strong, even after the bashing. I wrap my arms around him and rock him a little, doing the best I can given the awkward position afforded by the car seats, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just cries and shakes against me until the sobs trail off into painful-sounding hitched breaths. I don’t say anything. There’s nothing I can say to make any of this better.
When he’s finally able to speak again, his voice is torn and ragged. “I don’t want to leave him, Ted. This sucks so much, I can’t tell you how much.” He doesn’t have to. The tears soaking the front of my shirt tell the whole story. “I want to give New York a shot. I don’t want to disappoint people or not live up to my… my potential, but why does it have to be so hard?”
Impulsively, I pull him against me again for a gentle hug and run my fingers through his hair while murmuring the sort of comforting words my mother had for me when I was little. I try to imagine Blake crying over my departure on a business trip and nearly laugh at the absurdity but I catch myself just in time. That would be terrible. Justin has no idea.
As I stroke my fingers over his cheekbones and help him pull himself back together, I ponder how strong Brian must be in order to let him go.