|
| |
Chapter 14
BRIAN’S POV
How do you call your lover boy?
”Come here, lover boy”
And if he doesn't answer
”Oh lover boy”
And if he still doesn't answer
1:11 am
The sheets are barely on the bed, and Justin’s not in it. His pillow’s gone too.
I follow the light to find him on the sofa in the outer room, sound asleep, the
television muted, the remote control lodged underneath him. I contemplate
picking him up and carrying him back to bed but decide I ought to have a
semblance of a bed to put him in first. Our bedroom is dark. I open the curtains
a little, the light from the street enough to re-sheet with. I’m doing a shitty
job, wondering why he got up in the first place, why I didn’t notice. Too
preoccupied to make a bed. Pathetic. Fuck it. It’s good enough.
My second trip to the outer room finds him the same way. The infomercial running
is pushing a pointless piece of workout equipment, but the model is fucking hot.
Most nights I can’t sleep he’d be excellent company for my right hand. Tonight I
was sleeping just fine until I woke up without Justin. Something I need to get
used to. The advertisement switches to the female portion of the workout as I’m
walking to the television to turn it off. The room darkens instantly. My eyes
adjust.
“Don’t turn that off.” He’s awake, kind of. I find my way back to the sofa,
trying not to bump into anything. I lean over him, pulling the remote out from
his crossed arms. I can see him rubbing his eyes in the darkness. He pulls his
feet back under the blanket he’s wrapped himself in.
“Hey,” my hand on his shoulder. “I was coming to get you, to bring you back to
bed.”
“I’m not coming back to bed. I’m sleeping out here.” He snuggles back down into
his pillow. “Put the t.v. back on please or give me the remote.” Justin drowns
his sorrows in late night t.v. like I drown mine in booze and illegal
substances. I’ve seen him like this before.
“What’s wrong?” I sit on the adjacent sofa, no room for me on the one he’s on.
“Nothing. I’m drowning you out. Go back to bed.” I don’t say anything. Silence
as we both just sit here in the darkness. “Well, if you’re just going to sit
there, you can get me something to drink.” Fine with me. I’m thirsty too. I open
the mini-fridge and grab a bottle of water for me and orange juice for him. I’m
not giving him Coke in the middle of the night. I can’t believe I’m even having
these thoughts, like he’s Gus or something. “By the way, I’m hungry too.” I grab
him a candy bar. Whatever makes him happy.
“Here.”
“Orange juice and a ‘$100,000’ bar?” Truth in advertising. Everything in that
mini-bar is probably costing me close to it. What does he care anyway? He’ll eat
anything. Just like Mikey on that Life commercial. I start laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You.”
“What?”
“My best friend is named ‘Mikey,’ and you’re just like that kid ‘Mikey’ in those
old Life cereal commercials. ‘Give it to ‘Mikey,’ he’ll eat anything.’”
He flips me off in the darkness. “What’s up your ass?” I wonder if there’s Midol
in that mini-bar.
“You.” I swear he’s already finished that candy bar. I’m not giving him another
one. “You kept telling me to ‘shut the fuck up’ and then you almost hit me. I
got tired of it, decided to sleep out here.” Shit. “And then, once I came out
here, you just kept right on talking Brian. That’s why I turned on the t.v., I
was drowning you out.”
I’ve finished my water. “Well, wake me up next time.”
“I tried to wake you up Brian. That’s when you almost hit me. You’re
fucking dangerous to sleep with, and not for the reason that people think.”
What the fuck does that mean? Whatever. “All right, come back to bed. If I start
to talk, just hit me really hard or something. I don’t want you to sleep out
here.”
“Oh that’s good, Brian. Let’s solve a violent problem with more violence. That’s
the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Dumber than walking around in
matching pink tank tops with pepper spray picking on straight people? Uh huh.
“Okay. Then you go back to bed, and I’ll sleep out here. You need to sleep.
You’re the one going to the west coast, not me. You’ll be the grumpy little
Assistant Art Director if you don’t get some shut-eye.” I hop up from the sofa,
scoop him up and carry him back to the bedroom, depositing him into our bed. His
naked, little, blanketed body much warmer than mine. I tuck him in, leaning down
to kiss him goodnight, his face surprised by the sudden change of scenery.
“Sleep tight, Sunshine.” He calls out to me as I’m walking away.
“Brian, here.” He hands me the blanket he had on the sofa, pulling it out from
under the covers. I take it from him. “You’ll be cold.”
“Thanks.” I make my way to the sofa, flipping on the t.v., a new infomercial
starting—the newest innovation in hair restoration. I turn it back off. I’ve got
a while before I have to worry about that shit. This blanket smells like him.
I’m keeping it.
*********************
If I couldn't sleep could you sleep
Could you paint me better off
2:31 am
“Can I come sit in your lap?” The scent of my cigarette must have awakened him.
“I thought you were asleep.” I came back in here to find my cigarettes and
decided to stay, this chair by the window as comfortable as that sofa. The
traffic lights are hypnotic after you stare at them for a while: green, yellow,
red, green, yellow, red--the few in this city with correct timing, my mind a
thousand miles away, make that a little under twenty five hundred.
“I’ve been awake for awhile.” He readjusts his pillow. “I’ve just been lying
here….watching you.”
“You need to sleep. The time difference and everything.”
“I can’t.” He gets out of bed and walks over to me, finishing my cigarette. I
offer him the blanket covering my legs. He wraps himself in it, sitting sideways
in my lap, leaning against me, looking out the window. He warms me. “What were
you writing? I saw you writing in my sketchpad.”
“Some stuff I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t have any other paper.” That’s not
true, but it’s passable.
“Hand it to me.” I reach down beside the chair and hand him his sketchpad. He
flips to the back page where I was writing. He was watching me. He reads
what I wrote. “What does this mean? What is this?”
“It’s information, names and numbers.”
“For what?”
“For you.” I look down at the page for the first time since I wrote the
information twenty or so minutes ago. I guess this is as good a time as any.
“You need to keep this with you when you get there. When we got here today, the
guy who parked the car for us, you remember him?”
“The guy by the curb?” He looks at me.
“Yeah. His name is John Westheim. He’s worked here for years. He’s a childhood
friend of mine, grew up on the same street, knew him before I knew Mikey.” He
smiles, cautiously. I point to the first set of numbers on the page. “This guy
here, Matthew Westheim, is his brother.”
“This guy is that guy's brother?”
“Right. He lives in Burbank, close to the studio where you’ll be working. This
is his home number, his work number, and his cell. There’s his address too. His
wife’s name is Valerie or Vera, or something. I can’t remember. I was at their
wedding, so was Lindsay. She knows them too. It was a long time ago, right after
we got out of college. Matt works for a telecommunications company, I think,
something high-tech. Anyway, he knows you’re coming out there, and you can use
his name for an emergency contact, so you’ll have somebody out there, somebody
close by that I trust, to look after you—if you need it. Not that you’ll need
it, but if you do.” I stop for a minute to make sure he’s listening to me. “Once
you get out there, after a week or so, give him a call. They offered to have you
come over for dinner. It’s not a bad idea. He’s got three kids, a huge house.
It’ll be good for you to know who they are, just in case.” He nods.
“Okay. I’ll do it, Brian.” He shifts in my lap. “I don’t want you to worry about
me.”
“These other numbers…..one of them is one of my credit cards, it’s reversed,
just in case you have an emergency before you get your own money coming in.”
“I have enough money, and Brett is going to help me get settled. I’ll be okay.”
“You’ll be fine. I know you will, Justin, but I want you to listen to me.” I
close the sketchpad, lay it on the windowsill, pulling him to me, my gaze mostly
on the world outside our window right now--the world where he’ll be. “I want you
to be careful out there. It’s going to be a lot different than what you’re used
to. The stakes are going to be a lot higher. You’re adding money, fame, and
influence into an already potent mix. You need to pay attention to what’s going
on around you, who you’re with, what they’re doing. Keep your wits about you,
keep your head clear so you can make good decisions, so you don’t get led around
by the nose. You’re young, hot, and talented—easy prey for a lot of people who
won’t give a shit about what happens to you.”
“I’m not going to let anybody take advantage of me. I’ve been around you
for four years. I’ve picked up a few things.”
“I know you have, and if you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be so confident that
you’re going to be fine out there—more than fine. You’re smart as hell Justin,
and I’m proud of you. You deserve this.” I hope I look happy. I want to be.
“I deserve you.” He plays with my hand lying on his leg.
“Nobody deserves me.” Seriously.
“I’m not going to let anybody fuck me Brian, if that’s what you’re worried
about. I don’t, not even here.” I shake my head. That’s the least of my worries.
“You don’t need to promise me that. It’s not realistic. We can talk about it
when you get back.”
“But you said—“
“I know what I said, and I meant it. I want you all to myself, but we should do
that when we can set boundaries we’re both comfortable with and can live by. But
for what it’s worth, no, I don’t want anyone else touching you, not while I’m
watching anyway. I don’t want to parade your naked ass around in the backroom of
Babylon anymore. If those boys want to see your beautiful naked body, then they
can put you through school, buy you three squares a day, watch annoying
television shows with you, clothe the mother fucking shit out of you, eat your
chicken casserole surprise, and listen to all of your endless stories. They can
work for it like I do. I’m not showing them my most prized possession for free
anymore.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me Brian.” He smiles at me, bats
his eyelashes. I pinch his bottom.
“Well then write it down.” I hand him back his sketchpad. He knocks it out of my
hand and kisses me instead. I hope he’s not gonna ask me to remember what I said
because I can’t remember anything when he kisses me like that. “You’re making me
hard.”
“You can fuck me if you want.” The thought had crossed my mind.
“I’m afraid to. If I fuck you anymore tonight, you’re going to come down with a
killer case of ‘Bottom Boy Burnout’. I don’t know how to cure that.”
“Six to eight months in Hollywood.” Out of the mouths of babes.
“No shit.”
*********************
Wise men say
Only fools rush in
“I want you to do something for me. Something that’s almost as erotic to me as
fucking you.” Almost but not quite. “And it’ll save your ass for at least a
little while longer.” He starts to get off my lap. “I’m not asking you to blow
me.” He cracks me up sometimes.
“What?”
“I want you to draw something for me.” I hand him his sketchpad, flipping to a
blank page, and a pencil. The one I was writing with, the one that was laying on
the window sill.
“What do you want me to draw?”
“That.” I point out the window. “Just draw what you see out the window.”
He laughs. “You want me to draw the parking deck. That’s really difficult Brian,
not to mention aesthetically pleasing.” He turns his sketchpad horizontally in
his lap.
“You know how you always tell me that when I’m in the backroom, it’s not who
I’m fucking, it’s that I’m fucking?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, sometimes I think it’s the same for you. Sometimes I think you just need
to draw. Doesn’t matter what you’re drawing. Just draw. Sometimes I just like to
watch you.”
“Okay. But just for the record, I think you’re being really weird. You’ve never
wanted to watch me draw something instead of fucking me.”
“You don’t get sore from drawing.”
“Actually, I do. Just in a different place.” I laugh. He relaxes in the chair,
leaning back against me again, and I watch him looking out the window at the
Fairmont’s hideous monstrosity of a parking structure outside our bedroom
window. He starts to sketch, and I feel myself relax with him, the only sounds I
hear are our breathing and the brush of his pencil against the paper. Every once
in a while his right hand shakes, and he stops, smiling at me the first couple
of times. I smile back. I’m used to watching him struggle with that. My right
hand covers his the third time when the shaking gets too much. I assume that
he’s just going to stop drawing, but he doesn’t. He switches hands. Our right
hands stay wrapped together, holding the sketchpad.
“How long have you been able to switch like that, so easily?”
“Couple of months now. I had to. I used to just use my left hand to hold my
right hand still.”
“Right. I remember. At the computer. I’ve seen you do that.”
“Well, I did that so much that my left hand was able to hold the stylus really
well after a while. I mean, one day, I was like, this is stupid. I just switched
the stylus to my other hand and gave it a shot. It took me almost a week to gain
decent control, but then I could switch pretty well. Think about it, I had to
re-learn my fine-motor skills in my right hand anyway. It wasn’t that hard.”
“Not for someone as stubborn and determined as you.” He switches again, when
he’s trying to do something with minute detail. It’s pretty cool to watch
actually. The picture is taking shape. I hold the pad for him now. We have a
side view of the parking deck from our window, just below the top level.
Justin’s picture is a perspective view, inside the last covered layer, a few
cars, a few empty parking spaces, columns, shadows. I think he’s almost
finished. He’s shading the letters “Level Five.”
“So, do you want this picture, Brian? A souvenir from the Fairmont?” He’s
filling in the elevator inside the deck. I hadn’t even noticed that. And the
stairwell now. He notices everything.
“I want to ask you something about it.” His rendition of the winding path the
cars take through the deck is almost spooky. The arrows feel like they are
pointing to a place you don’t want to go.
“Ask me what?” He shades an “EXIT” sign, my hand lying on the picture.
It’s a risk, but it’s just a picture. “I want you to tell me what’s so scary
about this.”
“About what?” He moves my hand. The picture looks done to me; he continues to
work on it. I take the pencil from him, a hundred percent sure I’ll regret this.
“About this picture. Tell me what scares you about this.” He looks at me,
studies my face for a minute.
“Can I have the pencil back?” I hand it back it to him. The next several minutes
pass between us like a scene in a David Lynch movie. One of those scenes where
the characters are pretending that everything is fine, but the audience knows
otherwise. The picture morphs, slowly, right in front of my face. I don’t say a
word as the columns holding the upper floor fill with cracks and the exits are
erased. “You didn’t have to do all this for me Brian, you know. I don’t need all
this.” His voice is deeper now.
The elevators and arrows go nowhere, the few cars littering the level are
destroyed by his pencil and eraser, one by one. “I wanted to do it.” I want to
do more. I need to do more. The roof is caving in.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, but all of this is kind of
overwhelming, doing everything for me like this, all at once. I kind of wanted
to be at the loft tonight. I wanted my last few times with you to be there, so I
could remember them there.” He stops talking for a second, concentrates
on the picture. “It just feels weird to be here, that’s all.” He cracks the
light fixtures suspended from the concrete ceiling. Each and every one.
“I guess I just need all this.” I hope he can understand this. “There’s a part
of me, Justin, that just needs to give you everything that I feel like I stole
from you.” I steal a look at his eyes to see if he is getting this. He’s a
complete poker face. “I guess I’m just trying to give you instant memories or
something.” That’s sounds so fucking idiotic when I say it out loud.
Something evil has broken through the floor of Level Five. No one is getting out
of there alive. “Memories don’t work like that Brian. Trust me. I know.” His
pencil stops punishing the paper. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was
holding.
“Listen to me, Justin,” I take his pencil away, my hand firm around his. “That’s
not going to happen to you. You’re not going to be trapped like that. No one is
ever going to hurt you like that again. I promise.” He looks at me, his eyes
dilated, still.
“You can’t promise me that. If I’d told you that I was worried about someone
hitting me in the head with a bat, you’d have told me that would’ve never
happened either.” He’s right. I would have. “Besides, I know that, logically. It
still doesn’t make a difference.”
“That’s why you need to get some help.
It’s post-traum--.”
“I know what the fuck
it is Brian. I’m not stupid.” He looks down at the picture again.
“I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you were the victim of a viscous,
homophobic asshole and my selfishness. I fucked up Justin. I made
a mistake. I don’t want you to make one too. I want you to get some help for
this once you get settled out there. I don’t want this to get any harder for you
to handle or to interfere with your life any longer. Don’t worry your mother or
me sick over this, please.”
“My mother?”
“Yeah. Your mother. She’s worried about you, too. She knows you skip your
appointments at the hospital. She just doesn’t know why. I do. Daphne told me,
by accident. Don’t go off on her.” He gets quiet. Too quiet. He looks
awful, like he’s going to be sick. “Are you okay?”
“Why did you say you made a mistake? What do you mean?” I hurt his feelings, or
he’s trying to change the subject. I can’t tell.
“What I mean is that I should have never come to your prom that night, Justin.”
He’s looking at me like I just broke his heart or maybe he’s going to throw up
on me. “Hear me out before you get upset, please. Okay?” He nods. He’s trying.
“I probably came for the wrong reason. Because I was feeling sorry for
myself—feeling old, like I had something to prove. Looking back on it now, it
was fucking stupid.” He doesn’t trust me. “But when I got there, and I saw you,
I felt completely different. Because then, it was just me and you. It wasn’t
about feeling old or proving anything to anybody, it was just about being with
you. And you looked so beautiful, and I didn’t think about anything else after
that but you. Until, it happened.”
“But you’re sorry now. Sorry that you went.” I’ve really hurt him. Shit. I don’t
know what the fuck I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know how to think,
apparently.
“Listen to me. Are you listening?” He is. That was a dumb question. “If the
situation were reversed, if this wasn’t you we were talking about, but Gus, and
some guy made a spectacle out of him like that, and he walked out with that guy
and was bashed right afterwards……..think about it. I’d fucking kill him Justin.
I just see both sides of it now. It doesn’t mean that every single second that I
was there with you wasn’t incredible because it was. It just means that I should
have been more of a man then and had that moment with you somewhere else,
somewhere where you would have been safe.”
“You mean like where we had it tonight, in a dark, empty ballroom dancing to a
band that wasn’t even playing for us?” Shit head.
“Okay, that wasn’t planned okay. That was spur of the moment. The rest of your
evening was pretty damn spectacular.” He cracks a smile.
“Yeah, it was. You were right. You suck at romance. You should stick to
seduction.” My sentiments exactly. He’s a lot more bothered by this than I
thought he would be. He’s looking out the window, a blank stare on his face.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings Justin.” It’s just one of my many talents.
“You didn’t.” Bullshit. I shouldn’t have ever wandered into this water. It’s too
deep for me. But it’s where he is, and I can’t leave him out here alone.
“I did something wrong. I can tell.” No response. “Okay, look, you’re tired. Why
don’t you go back to bed?” I reach up and close the curtain. I don’t want him
looking out there anymore. He pushes off my lap, going into the bathroom and
closing the door behind him. I’m relieved when I hear him flush, hear his hand
on the door knob. He climbs back into bed, right next to where I’m sitting now,
waiting for him. I cover him up.
*********************
I think I’ve already lost you
I think you’re already gone
“If you need me, I’ll be on the sofa.” I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. I walk
back over to the chair, retrieving the blanket.
“No.” I turn back in time to see him turn away from me, to face the direction he
always faces when we go to sleep. I’m not going to argue with him. I’m just
going to shut up. I get back into bed beside him, grateful for the warmth. He
reaches behind him for my hand. He presses it flat on the mattress in front of
him, tracing it with his index finger. “Do I know how to tie a bow tie?”
“Huh?” I can barely hear him.
“A bow tie. Do I know how to tie a bow tie? Did I know how before--?” No, he
can’t, couldn’t. I haven’t thought about that since that night.
“No. You don’t. Why are you asking me that?”
“I’m not sure why. I feel like I remembered something today, but it’s all mixed
up. I can’t figure it out. It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe I’m making it up.”
“You can tell me if you want. I’ll try to help you.” If it’s not horrible. If
it’s worth remembering.
“That’s what I don’t understand. It’s not about you. It’s about Emmett, sort of,
and then part of it feels like it’s about you.”
“Just tell me whatever you want. What about Emmett?” Emmett. He swallows. “Do
you want me to get you some water?”
“No. Today when Emmett came in here with me to help me with my new suit, I felt
like I’d done it before. Like he and I had done this before.”
“Okay.”
“And then he was tying my tie, you know before we decided that I didn’t need a
tie with this shirt—“
“Right.”
“And he’s done that before. Tied my tie. Hasn’t he?” Emmett. At Debbie’s.
“Um, I think he was the one who helped you get ready for the prom. He probably
did. We can call him if you want. We can ask him.” I’ll wake his ass up right
now.
“I think I got ready at Debbie’s, that a lot of people saw me in my tux before I
picked Daphne up, my black tux and my burgundy bow tie.” His tie wasn’t
burgundy. Mine was.
“Right. Okay.”
“Were you there?”
“No. I wasn’t there.”
“But you said you knew I didn’t know how to tie a bow tie. Why do I remember you
if you weren’t there?” He turns around in my arms, looking at me.
“I think we should talk about this tomorrow. You know, after we talk to Emmett.”
In the daylight. In closer proximity to doctors or drugs or mothers or
something.
“Whatever it is Brian, it’s coming out now. I’d rather talk about it, like this,
with you, than have it hit me when you’re not around. Please.” That shrink, that
guy I knew from the baths, the one that helped me that time. I wonder if I still
have his number somewhere. Christ.
“All right, but when we’re done, don’t zone out on me. This isn’t easy for me
either. I haven’t thought about this since that night Justin.”
“Okay.”
“I mean you just freaked me the fuck out with that picture.”
“Okay. Just tell me Brian.” This is a bad idea.
“I’m not sure, but I think I’m probably in that memory because when we were
entering the parking garage, you realized that your tie was undone. Mine was
too. I didn’t care because I wasn’t going back in. I teased you about not being
able to tie it yourself, offered to do it for you, and you decided to leave it
the way it was. I told you it looked hot that way or something. It bothered me
because I thought that people would notice that about you the minute you walked
back in—that you had my scarf around your neck, that your tie was undone. I no
sooner thought that, and then I saw him--.” Fuck. “Seems like a pretty stupid
thing to have worried about in retrospect. You probably have it mixed up in your
head because Em and I were both trying to fix your tie that night, just at
different times in the timeline. Does that make sense?” Please let that make
sense.
“Yeah. It fits a little better. It’s weird, though. When I think about Em tying
my tie, I feel sad. I feel how I felt when you told me you wouldn’t go with me.
I don’t have a lot of other emotions tied to those memories. Most of what I can
feel is just the sadness of thinking I wasn’t going with you. That’s why I get
so weirded out about it sometimes Brian. It’s like the emotions don’t always fit
the picture in my head.” I know that feeling. I call that experience: childhood.
Later in life, I called it: fucking. “I’m all right right now, though. I just
want to go to sleep. Just stay with me okay? I mean, what’s the worst thing
you’re gonna do to me? Smack me upside the head with a bat?”
“Jesus, Justin. That’s not even funny.” His sense of humor is sicker than mine
sometimes.
“If you start hitting or kicking me in your sleep again, I’m just gonna stick my
dick up your ass.” See what I mean? I’m gonna sleep so well tonight. “I’m just
teasing you, Brian. I’m trying out shock therapy on you. If I have to get
professional help, you are too.” Like father, like son.
“Who’s paying for it?”
“Who do you think?” He’s already pushing his little ass against me, and he’s not
even asleep yet.
“If you try to top me while I’m sleeping, I’ll spank the shit out of you.”
“You wish.”
At this point, I’ll take what I can get.
*********************
JUSTIN’S POV
You never let me cross to the other side now
I'm tied to the hope that you will somehow
Brian Kinney is a classic insomniac and an insensitive jerk with no ability to
empathize with other people’s feelings. Hiding your head completely under your
pillow and the covers at the same time is the universal symbol for “shut
the bathroom light off you prick; I’m trying to sleep.” He’s oblivious as usual.
He’s been scrunching and rummaging around in the bathroom for at least two
minutes.
Darkness. Finally.
Thank you.
“Phftfft. Don’t just stick something in my mouth Brian without even telling me
what it is! God.” Blech. Oh, it’s a Xanax. Now he hands me a glass of water.
“You never complain if I stick something up your ass without warning.” He
climbs on top of me after he sits the glass of water on the nightstand. I shake
my head at him.
“You didn’t even try to go to sleep. We were laying here for what? Six minutes?”
“Eight.”
“Wow, eight whole minutes. What did you take?”
“Same as you.” Which means same as me plus more. Which means we have about
seventeen minutes before he’s pretty fucked up. He would die if he knew that
he’s really that predictable. “You weren’t trying to sleep either Sunshine. You
were coming on to me.”
“That is complete bullshit.” I don’t know where he gets this shit. Oh, now he’s
got his nose right below my ear.
“Push. Push. Push.”
“Stop it.”
“Push. Push. Push.” Honestly.
“Cut it out.”
“You want me.”
“I’m tired.”
“You know you do.” Yeah, I do.
“I thought you were afraid to fuck me.”
“I’m terrified. Hold me.” Smart ass.
“I can’t resist you when you get like this Brian.” I can’t ever resist him
period.
“You can never resist me.” See? Told you. “You wanna know what I can’t resist
about you?”
“Sure.” I reach underneath my head, into my pillowcase, snagging the condom for
the occasion. There’s a method to my madness, and there’s no such thing as a
fucking Topping Fairy. If I didn’t keep these things close by, he’d be in my ass
before I could get to one when he’s like this.
“Don’t do that now.”
“Now is better. Later, you’ll be grouchy.” I rip it open and start rolling it
down his cock as he mutters under his breath at me.
“Goddamn mother fucking condoms.” He doesn’t know how many times I’ve stopped
him from fucking me raw by accident when he’s fucked up, tired, drunk or all of
the above. That is not the Brian Kinney you want to bump into in the middle of
the night. It’s just one of those things we don’t talk about. There are so many
times I almost went ahead and let him, but he would have gone ballistic on me
the next day, so I didn’t. “I fucking hate these fucking things.” Yeah, he took
more than Xanax. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you raw.” He’s on me
again, running his nose through my hair.
“More than you will ever know Mr. Kinney. More than you will ever know.”
“I do too. I think about it all the time.” This is why an ounce of prevention is
worth a pound of cure. “Every day.”
“Tell me.” I close my eyes as he slides inside me. He’s so heavy on me. He moans
slowly and deeply as he makes love to me, and I am mostly quiet. I try to keep
my breathing calm so I can listen to him. The sound of his voice is soothing,
the pitch so low. He’s getting tired.
“Tell you what?” He lost his train of thought. He won’t make it through this
fuck if I don’t keep him talking.
“Hmm, tell me what you can’t resist about me.” That was what we were talking
about, right? I can’t remember.
He lifts his head up and looks at me. I fix his hair. It’s all over the place.
“If I tell you, you have to tell me that I’m not a sick pervert.”
“But you are a sick pervert.” He is, isn’t he?
“Okay, forget it then.” His head falls back on my pillow. He’s doing something
really weird to my neck. Feels good. I lean over and whisper in his ear.
“You’re not a sick pervert.” My feet are crossed behind his ass. It doesn’t
count.
“I didn’t even tell you yet.” A smart ass mumble into my shoulder.
“I’m giving you immunity for……the rest of this fuck. Say anything you want.
You’re free and clear.” He’s so handsome when he smiles.
“Okay. Let me think…………’What I can’t resist about you……..the perverted
version.’” There are two versions? He’s clearing his throat. Oh my god. “Promise
me you won’t think I’m a pervert.”
“My god, Brian, just tell me.”
“Come a little closer.” He thinks he’s so funny.
“You come a little closer. I’m on the bottom.” He makes this big
production out of leaning down in my ear. His breath is so hot. I’m afraid my
ear is going to melt off my head.
“The first thing I can’t resist about you is that you’re so tiny, that I can
just pick you up and take you anywhere I want.” Oh how flattering. I’m portable.
He’s tickling the whole side of my face, and he knows it. “The second thing is
that you have this perfect little body that molds into mine. That you’re
warm…..and snuggly…that when I lay you on your back to fuck you, you squirm like
a little bug because you can’t go anywhere. You’re stuck right where I want
you.”
“I love you.” God, I love him.
“You’re like a little love bug.” He’s laughing at himself. No wait, he’s
laughing at me.
“It bugs me when you laugh at me.” Now we’re both laughing really hard. I love
drugs.
“You’re messing me up. You’re making me forget.”
“That’s not me. That’s drugs.”
“Those are my too favorite things: bugs and drugs.” He kisses me, sort of. It’s
sloppy and wonderful. “Stop squirming little bug. I’m trying to kiss you.” I’m
not even moving. I roll my eyes.
“Please continue.”
“Right. Ahem. Where was I?” More kissing. His hand is running down my back.
“That you have this precious little bottom that I can fuck anytime I want, as
much as I want, wherever I want, however I want.” His other hand is running up
the back of my head, grabbing my hair, pulling my head back. I swallow. “That
you have this beautiful cock that is always hard and wet for me, just like now.”
Oh my god. His thumb slicks over the head. That feels so good. I pull his
face to mine, shoving my tongue inside his mouth. He tastes like tonight. “I’m
not done yet.”
“Hurry up.” Oh my god, hurry up.
“That you have this gorgeous mouth that sucks my cock so masterfully that I
forget my name. Mmmm, that you have these full, swollen, pink lips that kiss me
until I’m incapacitated.” That he’s kissing, tugging on, sucking on, bruising.
“That you’re always tight, and pretty, and moody, and hungry, and blond, and
very fucking smart. Are you listening to me?”
“Uh huh. I hear well too.” He grins at me, lowering his grip on my cock, gentle
but firm, pumping me slowly in his hand. “But this is not perverted.”
“And that you’re way too young for me.” He tongues my ear. “That when I look at
you, and kiss you, and fuck you sometimes, you look just like a little boy to
me. Your straight little hips, your smooth little chest, your porcelain skin,
sometimes you look just like a china doll.” He’s trailing his fingers up my arm
now, my dick abandoned. He’s giving me goose bumps.
“Brian.” His hand is on my face.
“Your deep blue eyes. Your small, seashell ears. Your perfect little chin.
You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. It makes me want to fuck you and
read you a story at the same time.” His fingers are on my lips. His eyes look
like two dark pennies.
“Is it a dirty story?”
“Unbelievably.”
“If it’s anything like that one you just told me, I’ll take two million copies
right now. And you better sign every last one of them.”
“Man, I better get busy. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“You can start by finishing this fuck. You need to put your beautiful boy to
bed.”
“I do, don’t I? It’s way past your bedtime.” He cups his hand behind my head,
tucking it against his chest as we near the end of tonight’s tale. It’s not a
furious fuck, just deliberate--the way we often make love in the middle of the
night, when one or both of us has had a long day or just needs to unwind. We
come within seconds of each other, and it’s incredible, but not nearly as
incredible as just being like this, for me or for him, and we both know it. It’s
just another one of the things we don’t talk about. He pulls out quickly,
getting rid of the condom and collapses back on top of me. He’s wiped out. Good.
I hope he can sleep soundly for a few hours. He needs to. I run my fingers
through his hair as he nuzzles my neck.
I whisper in his ear that those things he just said to me meant more to me than
anything in my entire life. He reaches up in his hair, stopping my hand,
wrapping his fingers around mine.
“I meant every word of it.”
I uncross my feet as I feel him yield to exhaustion on top of me. This is what
love feels like.
He’s asleep.
EVERYTHING
AT ONCE--CHAPTER 14.1—DELETED SCENE—PURCHASE--Brian’s POV-NC-17
Author’s Notes: This was an alternate ending to Brian and Justin’s
conversation in the chair by the bedroom window in the hotel in Chapter
14.1—Sanctuary. I often write scenes to get the emotions on paper before I put
them where I want them. The beginning of this was probably an exercise in that.
The ending—well, it’s just sex. The scene starts with Brian wrapping up his
conversation with Justin about getting help for his PTSD. It assumes that Justin
has already sketched the parking deck, but that the transformation of that
picture never took place. This was a very early version of that night. Un-beta’d.
Comment w/ errors if you like. It’s always appreciated.
“And you should stick to getting help for this post-traumatic stress shit.”
“I’ll give it some serious thought. Don’t push me. I’ll get pissed and throw you
out.” His fantasy, no doubt.
“Well, I’d prefer that to you bringing a concealed weapon home in your book bag.
Hand me your sketchpad.”
“I’m not drawing you another picture.” He hands it to me.
“I know that.” I flip to the back. “The rest of these numbers are doctors,
Justin. Neurologists in L.A. that are taking new patients. They were referred by
your attending at Allegheny General. I should’ve gotten you a list of
psychiatrists too, but I didn’t find out until yesterday that you were having
these other problems.”
“You don’t have to hold my hand, Brian. I can take care of myself. I can dial a
fucking phone number. And, by the way, thank you for coming to see me while I
was in the hospital and for carrying my entire medical history in your wallet
for four years.” Nosy little fucker.
“You’re welcome, Justin.”
“You’re a shit head for not telling me.” He kisses me, pulling the blanket more
tightly around him.
“We deserve each other, I guess. Are you that cold?”
“Yes.” I reach under the window sill and turn the heat up, closing the curtain a
little. The fan kicks on immediately, the warm blast blowing my hair a little as
he kisses me again. We sit by the window kissing for several minutes, warmed by
the heat, by each other.
“You really need to get some sleep.” I tell him, knowing that if I don’t stop
this, we’ll sit in this chair and make out until daybreak.
“I don’t want to sleep without you.” I need to start wearing a straight jacket
to bed or get a psychiatrist.
“Just go to sleep. I’ll stay with you.” He lays his head back on my shoulder,
and we watch the traffic lights together. Green, yellow, red, over and over. I
run my hand through his hair as his breathing deepens and slows. I’ll put him in
bed once I’m sure he’s asleep and lie next to him anyway, sleep important for
him, still a stranger to me. “Brian, you’re going to fuck me.”
Okay, he wasn’t asleep.
“I am?”
“In this chair.”
“I think you’re taking advantage of me.” I hope he’s warming up. The blanket is
falling off of us.
“I am. I definitely am.”
I reach down for my jeans which are right beside me on the floor. My wallet was
in them, the source of all of my names and numbers. The front pocket is probably
stocked with the necessities. “You want some gum?” He laughs.
“Later.” Lucky for him, that wasn’t all I had in my front pocket. I lay my head
back and close my eyes, laying everything we’ll need on the window sill. His
hand is warm between my legs, my cock beginning to stiffen in his hand.
“That feels good, Justin.” My fingertips glaze his hips as he massages me,
enjoying the lazy pace, the warmth, the quiet, even just the darkness. He shifts
a little a little in my lap, getting comfortable. I rub his thighs. I don’t want
his legs to fall asleep. His grip tightens as my body responds to him, stronger,
but not urgent, nothing hurried. He takes his time with me, finesse few have
mastered, a privilege only he has earned. He leans in to kiss me as an insistent
moan is catching in my throat, swallowed for the moment in favor of his mouth on
mine. “Ah.” I blink hard. His thumb passes over the moist head of my dick as his
mouth pulls away from mine, and I open my eyes, smiling at him for a second.
“Just relax, okay, Brian. Let me do this.”
“Okay.”
I close my eyes again, licking my lips, feeling his hands on my chest, his
fingers grazing my nipples over and over, disappearing, and returning wet. His
tongue sucking my nipple hard, my hand grabbing his hair as he bites me, harder
as I cry out.
“Be quiet, Brian.” I pull my lips into my mouth and try, my eyes closed shut.
The other nipple bitten harder even as I stay still, only a gasp escaping. My
hand grabbing his back. His body against me again, his lips back on mine,
grinning into our kiss, his tongue powerful, invasive. “You like that?”
“Sit on me.”
“Open your eyes.” He hands me the condom, and I make quick work of it as he pops
open the lube packet. I go to take it from him. He shakes his head, coating his
fingers as he lifts his bottom up. I watch him as he slides one finger into his
ass, the pleasure on his face. His ass was meant to be fucked.
“More, Justin.” He pulls out, giving himself more, and I slide my hand
underneath him, pushing him in a little farther. The sensation too much, I slide
a finger in beside his. The ecstasy spreading across his face threatening to
dissolve both of us. “Get them out.” I take his place, letting him fuck my hand
for a minute or so, his hands gripping the back of the chair, my other hand
guiding his ass as I tap his prostate. I slide my fingers out and spread him
apart before we’re both too far gone. He reaches down for my cock. “Sit.”
Christ. That is…. the best…. fucking feeling…… in the world.
“Okay, Mr. Bossy. I said let me do this.”
“Sorry. I got carried away with the self-lubrication. You know I can’t take
that.”
“Be quiet.”
Okay, we’re back to that again. I have to remember to be quiet. Honestly, I
don’t know how he does this. I couldn’t do this. If I was riding him like this,
I’d come in seven seconds flat. Way too much stimulation. Which is probably why
I never have. Because I’d be fucking embarrassed. Although it would be the most
incredible seven seconds of my fucking life. The look on his face right now,
when he pushes back on me like that, I know he has to think about dead puppies
or something to keep from coming when he does that. I mean, I’m so deep inside
him right now, so deep. This is not the kind of sex you’d ever have with some
trick. I’d never let some trick do this to me. You fuck a trick. You don’t let a
trick ride you like this, so hard, so deep, so measured. I don’t know how he
stays so tight. I mean he fucks me for living, and he’s still this tight.
This tight and warm and wet, and I’ve got to kiss him. I can’t stand this
anymore.
“Mmm, Justin. Come here.”
I can’t be quiet when my dick is up his ass. I can be incoherent though, which
is what the fuck I’m getting ready to be, oh my god. Because he’s fucking me
harder than I can even watch. I’ll come before he does. He’s whispering to me.
“Open your eyes, Brian. Watch me.” Fuck, Justin. He’s trying to kill me. Okay.
They’re open, but they’re not looking at him. “Brian.”
“Concentrate on the fucking.”
“Look at me. You can do it.”
He’s got me by the hair. I have no choice. And then he does that thing that I
can’t stand. I mean I love it, but I can’t stand it, when he leans back a little
on one hand and rolls his hips and just smiles that happy little smile at me.
Makes me want to smack him. He’ll slow down a little with that dreamy-ass look
on his face and just ride me like I’m just one of those horsies outside of a
grocery store that you can ride for five minutes if you put a quarter in, and
he’s just never gonna run out of quarters.
Fuck, I want to give him ten thousand dollars in quarters right now.
I need to figure out how to make my own quarters.
Oh shit, I think I just did.
“Justin, I’m toast.”
He smiles. He knows. He looks down at his cock where his hand is. I need to get
with the program. I take his place. He wraps his arms around me as I push him
down hard.
“God, Brian, God.”
He trembles as his hot come spills all over my chest, my throat, my chin. I hold
onto him as much as my exhausted body will cooperate. He jerks in my lap a few
more times before he slumps on top of me, both of us a sticky, panting,
over-heated mess.
“Brian?” He mumbles into my neck as he kisses me.
“Hmm?”
“Just buy the goddamn horse, okay?”
I hate him.
EVERYTHING
AT ONCE-CHAPTER 14.2—DELETED SCENE—PILLOW TALK-NC-17
Author’s notes—In Chapter 14-Sanctuary—Brian sleeps on the sofa in the outer
room of the suite after he wakes up and finds Justin out there. Brian takes his
place. The scene opens with Justin unable to sleep back in the suite in the
bedroom. This was one scene written that got Brian back into the bedroom. Had it
actually been used, it would've been tightened up and edited quite a bit.
Unbeta’d. Feel free to comment if you see an error.
BRIAN’S POV
Brian? Are you asleep?” He’s whispering to me from the bedroom.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Asshole.”
“Shithead.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Apparently.” Silence. “Do you want me to—“
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I’m back in the bedroom, looking for my cigarettes.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to find my straight jacket, so I won’t hurt you.”
There they are, and my lighter. I climb into bed beside him. It’s funny that we
keep the same sides of the bed here, just like at the loft. I stretch out under
the covers. At least it’s warm under here. He spreads the blanket I had back out
on top of us. I offer him a cigarette.
“No thanks.” He has something on.
“What are you wearing?”
“My sweater. I was cold.”
“Take that off. I didn’t bring you any pajamas for a reason.” Actually, I
forgot, but I liked that better. His sweater just flew over top of me. “You
almost caught my cigarette. You’re a fucking circus act.”
“Don’t be mean to me. I’ve had a rough night.” He snuggles beside me, his head
on my chest. I wrap my arm around him, his fingers drawing aimless designs on my
chest. It tickles when he does that.
“You really need to go to sleep. I was serious about that.” I watch my cigarette
burn in the darkness.
“Well, fuck me again. I always sleep good right after you fuck me.” He’s not
wrong. I’m certainly not adverse to the idea.
“You need to rest your ass, too. You’re going to come down with Bottom Boy Burn
Out.” My cigarette has gone out. I reach over and drop it into the trash can
next to the bed. When I roll back over, he’s on his side, facing away from me. I
slide behind him. “Tired?”
“Worried.”
“About Monday?”
“About you.”
“It’s just a bad dream, Justin. That’s all.”
“About me?”
“About everything.”
“Who are you yelling at in the dream? Is it me? Because you’ve done that before.
I just haven’t told you. Sometimes you say my name, too.”
“Yelling shut the fuck up?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not you. It’s somebody’s name.”
“What’s somebody’s name?”
“Shut the fuck up. ShutTheFuckUp is somebody’s name.”
“That’s fucked up, Brian. You’re telling me that you’re yelling somebody’s name,
and their name is ShutTheFuckUp?”
“You’re telling me that I’m yelling shut the fuck up. I’m telling you
it’s somebody’s name. It’s not you.”
“You’re giving me a headache.”
“Do you want another candy bar?” He slaps me.
“I’d rather you just fuck me, so I can fall asleep. I don’t want to think about
this anymore.”
“Me either. Is it in your pillow?”
“Yeah, and don’t make fun of me.”
“I can’t find it.”
“Then it must be in yours. Our pillows got switched. Which, technically means,
that I should get to fuc—“
“That defeats the whole purpose of you falling asleep.”
“True. Hurry up, Brian.”
“Here. You do it. It’s more stim-u-la-ting.”
“This is the first one I’ve put on you today, I think.”
“You make me work too hard, Sunshine.”
“I make you too hard to work. That’s really cold, Brian. How much are you
using? Jesus.”
“A lot. I need to take out an insurance policy on your asshole. Insure it for
like ten million dollars.”
“That’s what you said about my hair right after I cut it. Remember? You can use
more than one finger.”
“Your hair I would insure for five million once it’s completely grown out. And
don’t micromanage my foreplay.”
“You should insure your foreplay. That’s worth a mint. That feels good.”
“If I do insure it, I’m going to be a clause in there that states that you’re
not allowed to talk during it. At little more now. At least not in the middle of
the night when you need to be going to sleep. Please start winding down.”
“Okay. No more chatter.”
“Little more.”
“Good.”
“Hurt?”
“No.”
“I’ll just do this if you want.”
“No. I want you.”
“Okay. Nice and slow.”
“See, this is what I mean, Brian. You have…….so much control.”
“We’ve had lots of practice.”
“We have, haven’t we?”
“Yeah. Okay, just relax. Be quiet. Close your eyes.”
“Where’s your other hand? I can’t-- Thanks.”
……..
……..
……..
……..He moans in my arms as I come inside him, as he comes in my hand. His
fingers reach back tightly around my bicep and squeeze as my hold on him
intensifies, as he hears me in his ear,
“Justin, we’ll never……practice…….this….enough.”
“Shhh, I know, Brian. Go to sleep.”
“Okay. Your ass is fucked and filled. Wanna kiss you good night.” He turns back
in my arms.
“Mmm, sorry.”
Cheaper than another damn candy bar. Not to mention better for you.
“Night. Night, Sunshine.”
“Gonna sleep good.”
I know.
Go to Chapter 15
|
