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Chapter 8
Brian's POV
Doctor, doctor, give me the news
I've got a bad case of lovin' you
The label on this turkey sandwich says “lean” or “low fat” or some shit like
that, but that is total bullshit. This is complete, processed crap. And this
salad is nothing but a light green, cold, cry for help, but I’m fucking
famished. I guess I’m eating it anyway. It seems counterintuitive to serve food
that will obviously kill you in a hospital cafeteria.
At least I’ve got good company.
“Here. You can have these chips. I don’t want them.” Jennifer can tell I’m still
hungry and dissatisfied with my lunch. I take them. She looks at her watch.
“It’s going to be at least fifteen more minutes before he gets back down here.”
She sighs. I nod.
“I’m going to step outside for a second and smoke if you don’t mind. I won’t be
long.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll be right here.”
****************************************************************
I navigate the hallways of Allegheny General and find my way back outside to the
de-facto smoking area and light up. This is the other thing that always confuses
me about hospitals: the smoking area is always populated by doctors, nurses, and
critically ill patients. Completely baffling.
The last hour or so inside the hospital has been an eye-opening experience. I
probably need time to digest it. I can’t decide who I’m more frustrated with
right now—myself or Justin. I need to call him anyway, and worry about that
later, I guess. I call his cell phone, hoping he can find it somewhere in the
twisted sheets I left him in.
“Hello?” My sleepy blond piece of everything.
“Hey sleepy head, Lindsay and Gus are going to pick you up in about three and
half hours to have dinner at the diner. You need to be sure you’re up and
dressed.”
“Okay. What time is it?”
“2:00. I’ve got a couple of last minute work things to do, but I’ll meet you
guys there. But listen, don’t forget. Set that alarm on your cell phone so
you’ll get up. I’ll spank the shit out of you if my son walks in and sees my
blond piece of fuck naked in my bed, got it?”
“Mmmm, hmmm.” He’s totally zonked.
Was that a yes? I wait for an answer. “Justin?” More waiting. “Justin! Wake up!
I’m serious.”
“I’m here. Don’t be mean to me when I’m jerking off Brian.”
“You little fucker.” I hang up on him. This kid learns too fast. I should stop
paying for his education. He clearly doesn’t need one. I call him back.
“You’re too late now. I’m all done.”
“You like it when I’m mean to you, remember?”
“Do you ever let me forget it? I’m going back to sleep. Stop calling me.” He
kisses the phone before he hangs up.
His ass is so mine.
***************************************************************
Jennifer hands me the list of neurologists in L.A. when I return to our table.
“You just missed him.”
“I thought we were going to get more than three names.”
“He said these are the only ones that he knows well and are accepting new
patients.”
“Oh.” I didn’t think about that. “So I guess I’m going to talk to him about
this?” I tuck the list in my wallet.
“I think it’s probably better that way, considering he’s been lying to me for
over a year.”
And me too, I guess. Or rather, a sin of omission.
“How did you find out?”
“Dr. Madsen, Scott, and I have the same divorce lawyer, and we go to the same
country club. We ran into each other one day. It was a few days after one of
Justin’s appointments that Justin told me about, so I just casually
thanked him for taking such good care of him, and he told me he hadn’t seen
Justin in over a year.”
“And you asked Justin about it?”
“Yeah, in a very innocuous way. He just stuck to his story. His next appointment
came up—the reminders still come to my address—I asked him about it; he gave me
the usual song and dance. I called Scott; Scott told me he didn’t show up.”
“He doesn’t even talk to me about these appointments. I mean I don’t think he
does.” I need to pay better attention.
“Well, I was also concerned about saying anything because of doctor-patient
confidentiality. So, I wasn’t sure what to do. The thing that is bothering me is
that if he doesn’t feel he needs to go anymore, then just tell me or tell us.
Why the secrecy? He used to go with me all the time. The appointments were
routine. It’s no big deal.”
“What do they do?”
“A basic neurological exam. Check reflexes, hand-eye coordination, etc.”
“Does he have trouble with that?” Why don’t I know these things?
“Not usually. I mean we’re talking about a while ago now. Sometimes his right
hand doesn’t cooperate the way he wants it to or as quickly as he wants it to,
but nothing that catastrophic. Nothing he can’t—well couldn’t overcome. Just
whatever you do Brian, don’t make him think that we were just going behind his
back. I don’t want him to think that.”
“We are.” Aren’t we?
“Just make him understand the reason. That if he’s going to go all the way
across the country, he needs to do this. Tell him to do it for his mother’s
sake. I won’t even have you out there looking out for him.”
Yeah, I’ll try to make Justin do something. That’s always been highly effective.
“I’ll talk to him. I’ll find out what’s going on. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, we can plan Sunday night on the ride back. I’ve got to remember to invite
Daphne. Hey, do you think I should invite Tripper?”
“That’s your call. I’m not touching that.” That’s one subject I won’t be talking
to Justin about.
***************************************************************
Justin’s POV
“I called the office. Your meeting is cancelled. KNOCK
You know, you shouldn’t be such a twat, when I’m KNOCK showing you how much I
love you. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
You’re not going anywhere. Do you hear me, tight boy? KNOCK, KNOCK
Because no matter what happens, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.”
“FUCK. FUCK. Shit!!! I’m awake. I’m awake. I’m awake.” And I’m naked. And I
overslept. Oh shit. Where are my fucking sweat pants? Shit. Here they are. “I’m
coming.”
I have never been so happy after opening a door in my life.
“Oh thank god it’s just you Em. I thought I overslept. What time is it?”
“It’s 3:30, honey.” He pushes through the door with all of his packages. “What
the fuck happened in here? This place looks like shit and smells like
fuck!”
“Long story not worth telling.” I trudge back to the bedroom and climb back into
bed. He follows me.
“I take it you had a long night?”
“You could say that.” I bury myself under the sheets. Emmett’s eyes scan our
bedroom, which still looks worse than the rest of the loft.
“Well, okay then. I knew you two had a wild sex life, but this is a little
wilder than I even imagined.”
“Brian and I had a fight. Everything’s okay now.”
“Okay, that makes more sense. Makes me feel a little better.” He rubs my
shoulder. “I got everything you needed and I bought you a pres-ent!” He
runs back out to the kitchen and starts digging through the bags. I wish I had
his energy right now.
“What did you get me?”
He yells at me from the kitchen. “Close your eyes.”
“Okay.” I hear him walking toward the bed.
“Are they closed?”
“Yes.” I feel him sit on the bed and sit something beside him. I’m afraid to
open my eyes.
“Okay. Now before you open your eyes, let me just tell you that this is a
special gift from me to you. I have used this myself, well not this one
exactly, but it works wonders, and I think you’ll really love it. Okay, you can
open your eyes.”
Now I’m really scared. I open my eyes.
“Emmett!”
“What? Don’t you like it?”
“It’s a 64 oz. tub of ‘Butt Butter’!”
“Honey, this is what all spoiled bottoms everywhere use—you know, to recover.
Or to stay in tip-top condition--if you know what I mean. Michael uses
it.”
I hide my head under my pillow. Since when am I a spoiled bottom? Since when do
I want to know about Michael’s personal sexual habits? Gross.
I mumble to Emmett from my hiding place. “You embarrass me.” He pokes me.
“You’re so cute. I’m surprised Brian hasn’t bought you some already. I’m sure he
knows about this stuff.” He picks up the jar and starts reading me the
ingredients. I kick him.
“Get out!!” I’m so mortified. He leaves the tub on the bed and goes out to the
kitchen to unpack everything.
“Sweetie, I’m going to put all your stuff in a little pile over here. Are you
just gonna sleep all day or what?”
“I have to get up in forty-five minutes because Gus and Lindsay are coming to
take me to the diner for dinner.”
“They’re coming here to this mess? Oh no. You go back to sleep. I’m gonna
clean this up a little. You can’t have a small child walk into Brian Kinney’s
natural habitat. He’ll be traumatized.”
“Wake me up in forty-five minutes, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
I wait until Em is totally involved in what he’s doing before I open the vat of
Butt Butter. It smells really good. I put some on my ass. I hope this stuff
works.
****************************************************************
Gus is as bossy as his father. He might even be worse, if that’s possible. If he
is, that’s probably Melanie’s influence. This can’t be all Brian’s fault.
It might also have something to do with his new black leather jacket. He looks
so much like Brian today. It’s really cute. God, I’m going to miss just hanging
out with him.
The diner is busy, and Gus is too—but not busy doing what he should be
doing—eating his dinner.
“Be still, Mr. Justin.” He stares at me from across the booth, pad of paper and
crayon in hand. This is my fault; I taught him to do this the other day at
Kinnetik when he was tearing through Brian’s office, and he needed him to sit
still. I’m clever like that.
“Gus, how about if you finish drawing me after dinner? Your food is getting
cold.”
“I’m almost done.” I think he’s working on my hair because he just picked up a
yellow crayon.
“Okay. One more minute and then you have to put it down, no matter what.”
The minute ends and he shows me his picture. It’s priceless. I ask him if I can
have it, and he says he needs to “work on it some more.” I tell him not to
forget to sign his name, that an artist always signs his art.
“Okay, finish your sandwich and your french fries.” I’m almost done with mine.
“Mr. Justin, where is Daddy?”
“Why are you calling me Mr. Justin now?” This is a new thing for him, usually
it’s just ‘Justin.’
“At school I have Mr. Jason, Miss Martha, and Miss Sarah.” Oh, okay, I get it.
I’ll just add that to my list of nicknames.
“Your dad is at work. He should be here any minute though.” I hope he gets here
soon. I thought I was going to get to spend more time with him today. Not that
it mattered much, I was so fucking tired—still, it would have been nice to have
him next to me.
“What is my daddy’s job?” How do I explain this? He squirts ketchup all over his
french fries—way too much.
“’Whoa Gus. Take it easy. That’s enough ketchup. Your dad works in advertising.”
I take the ketchup bottle from him and put it back on the table.
“What’s ‘vertising?” I knew that wouldn’t make sense.
I think about how to explain this to him. I could show him a magazine, but good
luck finding an appropriate one around here. I opt for something more universal.
“Okay, you know how you see commercials on television when you watch Spongebob
and Sesame Street?”
“Yep. I love Spongebob.”
“Well, your dad helps make those commericials.”
“For toys?”
“Sometimes.” Debbie comes up and asks us if we want D-E-S-S-E-R-T, and I tell
her that we are waiting for Brian. She gets Gus some more milk.
“Mr. Justin, what’s a blow job?” It’s a good thing Debbie had returned with the
milk when he asked me that, or I would have fallen out of the booth.
“This one’s all yours Sunshine.” She saunters off. Thanks a fucking lot, Debbie.
“Why are you asking me that?” I gulp down a lot of water and wave to Debbie to
bring me some more.
“That’s Daddy’s job. Daddy has a blow job.” He looks completely sure of himself
and hell bent on convincing me. A lot more water would be really nice right
now.
“Who told you that?”
“Mommy.”
Mommy Lindsay or Mommy Mel?”
“Mommy Mel.” Oh shit. Okay. I’m talking to a four-year-old, and they don’t
always get everything right, right?
“What did she say?”
“Mommy said Daddy is busy. He has a busy job. Mommy Mel said blow jobs.”
“Where were you?”
“In bed under the covers.” Which is exactly where I wish I was right now, where
I should have stayed. I should let Brian handle this, but that would probably
involve injury or death. Maybe I can fix this.
“I think what you heard was a fight. Your daddy’s job is at Kinnetik—here, give
me that pad of paper.” He hands me the pad of paper, and I pick up a crayon off
the table. I draw a quick sketch of Kinnetik and a quick picture of his bedroom.
“Okay, Gus. Look at this. Actually, your dad has two jobs. One is making
commercials at Kinnetik. Right here.” I show him on the page where I drew
Kinnetik, and I draw a funny figure of Brian standing inside his office with a
television. Gus laughs. He liked that a lot. He loves running around Brian’s
huge office. “And his second job is over here, taking care of you.” I fill in
Gus’ room. “This is your dad, sitting on your bed, reading you a story at
bedtime. What story is it?”
“It’s Green Eggs and Ham.”
“That’s a great story. I love that book. So, those are your dad’s two jobs.
Commericals and you. Those two jobs keep him pretty busy. Here, you can keep
this picture.” I hand him back the pad of paper.
“Put your name on it Mr. Justin.” Oops, I forgot.
I sign it “Mr. Justin.” It’s the only work of art I’ve ever signed that way. It
feels like the most important thing I’ve ever drawn.
I explain to Gus that I’m going away for awhile to work in the movies, and that
I’m really going to miss him. I think he thinks I’m going to live in a movie
theater. I’m not sure.
“You can call me on the phone though, and you can still draw me pictures. Your
mommy or daddy can mail them to me if you want.”
“Okay. I’ll draw you a picture of a movie.”
“That would be great.”
“And then I’ll put in it an emelope.”
“And I’ll send you a picture back—of anything you want.”
He starts asking me if I will be in the movies every night, when Debbie’s voice
rocks the entire diner.
“HOLY FREAKING SHIT!!!!!!” The sound of crashing cups and plates and possibly a
fainting drag queen brings Gus to his feet on his side of the booth.
The guy behind sitting behind us yells, “What the fuck was that?” I shoot
him a dirty look.
“Yeah, Mr. Justin, what the fuck was that?” Gus echoes. My job is never
done.
“Come with me Gus.” I take his little hand and walk to the entrance of the
kitchen. It’s what I figured. There’s a mouse. Debbie is on a chair still
screaming orders to everyone, which is pointless because everyone who is working
right now is just as freaked as she is. She sees me in the doorway.
“Thank god Sunshine. Please get it. It’s right over here. I know it is.” I am
the official rodent catcher at the Liberty Diner, whether it’s my shift or not.
Who’s gonna do this when I’m gone?
“Will somebody get me a box, a plate, and some peanut butter, please?” I ask.
Gus clings to my pants. Kiki returns with my stuff and I set up my makeshift
trap beside the refrigerator. “He’ll come out in a second.”
“Yeah, he’ll come out in a second everybody.” Gus is now my partner in crime. I
feel so useful tonight.
As soon as I see him venture out, I motion for Gus to be still. He goes for my
trap, and I capture him in the box.
“Come on Gus. We’re gonna go take him outside and let him go.” He follows me out
back to the dumpster area.
“Can I let him out?”
“Sure.” I place the box on the ground, and he opens the flap. The mouse scurries
away into the darkness.
“Bye, bye mouse.”
“Good job, Gus.” We wave good-bye to the mouse and turn around to go back
inside.
“Hello kitty cat.”
“What?”
“Look Mr. Justin, kitty cats.” Our fast mouse perked up three small kittens
curled up on a piece of cardboard by the dumpster—one dark gray one and two that
look more orange and white. Tabbies, I think.
“Wow. They are really tiny and cute, aren’t they?” I look around a little to see
if I can see any others or their mother or anything. No such luck.
“I want to pet one Mr. Justin.” So do I. They’re adorable, but they’ve noticed
us and are starting to get restless and will probably run any second now.
“Let me see if I can get them in the box. Here, hold the box still.” The two
orange and white tabbies are easy to grab, but the darker one tries to make a
run for it. I go after it and manage to get it, such bright green eyes. I hold
it so Gus can pet it.
“Be very, very gentle.” He is. His smile could light up this back lot.
“Can I have it?” I knew that was coming.
“I don’t know Gus. That’s up to your mommy. Let me call her and see what she
says.” I explain the situation to Lindsay and see what her thoughts are. She is
surprisingly cool with the whole thing, saying that it might help Gus feel
comfortable in the new place. I figure we’ll just take the others to a shelter.
Brian is so going to kill me.
“Gus, your mom said that you can bring one of them home, but you have to help
take care of it. You have to feed it, give it water, play with it—“
“Make it go night night.”
“Right. And you and your mommy have to take it to the doctor tomorrow to be sure
it’s not sick, and so it can get it’s shots. If the doctor says the kitten’s
okay, then you can keep it.”
“Shots?”
“Yep. Just like when you go to the doctor. Which one do you want?” He chooses
the dark gray one, which upon closer inspection I think is a girl. Wise choice,
boys can be a nightmare. “Do you want to give her a name?”
“Twinkerbelle!”
“That’s a very good name because her eyes are so twinkle-ly.” He giggles.
“Let’s call your dad and tell him to hurry up and get over here.”
“Yeah, Dad, hurry up!”
I’m pretty sure Gus has totally forgotten about the blow job thing now.
****************************************************************
Brian’s POV
The last of my many errands today lands me right where this saga started a
little less than twenty-four hours ago. I stop at the store to pay Michael a
visit.
Hunter appears to be in charge. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
“Hey dude! Buy something from me so I can practice with this register.”
“No can do, shop keep. I’m in a bit of a hurry. I trust Michael didn’t leave you
alone with all the money?”
“Nah, he’s in the back.”
I walk in and spy Michael unpacking a new shipment—visions of sugarplums no
doubt doing a jig in his head.
“Hey Mikey.”
“Hey! What are you doing here—looking all scruffy, no less? You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I sit down on a stool in his backroom, relieved to just be
here, just me and him.
“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Brian Kinney.”
“Oh yeah-what? Justin coming over and bitching you out last night?”
“No-that was a huge misunderstanding. We’re fine. I’m talking about Mel
and Linds splitting up—letting me find out like that.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that. You and I have a responsibility as fathers to Jenny and
Gus—that’s all I’m going to say about that. But that’s not why you’re
here—what’s up?”
“Jennifer’s going to have everyone over to her house Sunday night for dinner and
you and your clan are invited—your mom and Carl, Mel and Jenny too. Around six.
Invite Rodney too, if you want.”
“Oh wow, okay. That’ll be fun…and sad. I’ll tell my mom to call Jennifer about
the food and all.”
“Yeah, I don’t know shit about the food. I’m in charge of the fucking.”
“Naturally.”
“Can I ask you something about Justin?”
“Yeah, but for the record, I told him this morning that I’m not going to
be the silent partner in your relationship anymore.” He has stopped going
through his shipment.
Silent Partner? “That’s not what I want to ask you about. Does he
complain about anything when you guys are working together on the comic?”
“Besides you?”
“Yeah, besides me. Anything physical, about his hand. That he’s having trouble
with anything.”
“Not really. Sometimes it takes him longer than usual to finish things, but he’s
an artist, and that’s the way artists are. I’m not usually with him when he
draws, you know. You spend more time with him than I do. Why?”
“No reason. I was just wondering. Look, I’ll see you Sunday night.” I hug him as
I get up to leave.
“We’ll all be there.”
I nod to Hunter on the way out the door.
“See ya dude!” Send his ass to California.
****************************************************************
I am almost at the diner before I realize that Emmett never called me. I don’t
even have his number on me. I call Ted; he picks up immediately.
“Greetings mysterious one.”
“You didn’t tell him to call me.”
“Yes, I did. He just walked in the door, and he’s reading your list as we
speak.” I can hear Emmett reading it aloud.
“Well?”
“Hang on a second. He just did a cartwheel and came in his pants. ‘Bout what I
expected. Em, the Great One would like a word with you.” He hands Em the
phone.
“Hello, hello.”
“Don’t do cartwheels in my place of business. You’ll break something.”
“Judging by what I just read, the only thing getting broken this weekend is your
itty bitty heart.”
Fine, bitch. “Do you have any questions about what’s on the list? I have to get
to the diner.”
“Okay, let me see, let me see.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Maybe Emmett
wasn’t the right person for this. “Okay, number one looks fine. You sure you
want me to pick that out?”
“Yeah, just make it simple and tasteful, I guess.”
“Okay, number two is the reason I did the cartwheel in the first place.” He
laughs and I can hear Theodore.
”Tell him you didn’t really do a cartwheel. You can’t even do a cartwheel.”
”The fuck I can’t. I was one of five junior varsity alternate, runner-up,
off-season football cheerleaders in Hazelhurst.”
"You were not."
“Can you bitches argue about this later, please?!” Jesus, I have got to
get to the diner.
“Okay, calm down, Prince Charming. Number two and number three: This Paul guy
will help us with this?”
“Yes. I talked to him.”
“About the one for tomorrow night?”
“Yes. The rest I’m not worried about.”
“Okay, but please let me help with the rest too. I can do it.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you, thank you. I promise I won’t do anymore cartwheels in your office if
you let me help with number three.”
“I’m not saying “yes” yet, Emmett.”
“I know, I know. Number four is no problem. You were pretty detailed. And of
course, Number five is the real reason we’re doing this anyway!”
“Yeah, I figured that would sweeten the deal.”
“I can’t wait! This is going to be fun!”
“I know. I really wanted to do it, but I just don’t have time.”
“Well, you need to be with him. We’re so proud of him. Our little Justin
going to Hollywood! Who would’ve ever thought that Brian Kinney would pick up a
twinkie, fuck him, fall in love with him, and then get to watch him become a
bigger success than he could ever hope to be? Sometimes things just work out
right, you know?”
“Do you really expect me to respond to that?”
“Oh honey, this piece of paper in my hand is all the response I need. Now go
find your sweet little blond boy and fuck the shit out of him. Teddy and I will
see you tomorrow at 2:00 pm sharp.”
Why do I feel like I just got my ass rammed by Liberty Avenue’s biggest bottom?
****************************************************************
“How much longer ‘til you get here?” Justin is badgering me on the phone. I am
anxious to see Gus. It’s been over a week.
“I’m here.” I pull up outside of the diner.
“Oh good. Go inside. Find Debbie and do what she says. Oh, and Gus wants to talk
to you.”
He does?
“Daddy?”
“Hey Sonny Boy.” I can hear Justin telling Gus to tell me that he loves me.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too.” Justin gets back on the phone.
“We’ll see you in a minute.”
That’s twice today that he’s hung up on me. He is so gonna get it.
I walk into the diner and am immediately greeted by Debbie who is serving up
equal portions of turkey meatloaf and innuendo, too bad I don’t feel like
either. She is wearing a t-shirt that I’ve never seen before:
Grandmas do it with Affection
My chest collides with her gaudy hand. I think I count six bracelets today.
“Hold it right there tall, dark, and horny. I gotta give you something.” She
places her tray on the booth where I know Justin and Gus have been sitting
because, well, I know my boys.
I sit down and finish Gus’ french fries which are unmistakable. They are the
ones drowning in ketchup. I drink the rest of Justin’s water. Justin and Gus
have so much in common: they both eat french fries like they are going out of
style, they both love a good story, and they both took really long naps today.
Debbie gives up.
“Oh fuck it. Your kid is out back. He drew you a picture, and I lost it. The
note said, ‘Don’t tell him no’ or something.”
“Um, thanks Debbie. Can I get a turkey sandwich?” Doesn’t anyone care about my
needs? I head out back. There better not be another dead body out here.
“Daddy!!!” Gus runs up to me and jumps in my arms, our heads almost collide
together. His hands frame my face. “You’re scratchy Daddy.” He rubs my stubble.
Matching black leather jackets. We look like twins. How very Kinney-ian.
I spy Justin bent down over a cardboard box. Why do I feel like this can’t be
good? I focus back on Gus who is squeezing my face and demanding my attention.
“Daddy? Daddy! I found a baby cat, a baby kitten, and Mommy said I can keep it!”
Oh shit. I carry him toward Justin and the box, his excited body jumping in my
arms. Justin stands up and gives me a “don’t kill me” smile and then kisses me,
and I almost forget that I'm still holding Gus.
“No! I kiss Mr. Justin!” He leans over and kisses Justin on the cheek. I’ve
never seen him do that before, react to me kissing Justin or Justin kissing me,
or maybe I’ve just never paid attention.
“Gus has become a little bossy Mr. Brian.” Justin gives me his flirty smile at
me as I put Gus down.
“Come here Gus, you need to zip up your jacket. It’s cold out here.” Justin
tells me he’s sorry. Gus drags me to the box and opens the lid.
“Look at the kitties, Daddy! This one is mine.” He starts to pick it up, and
Justin shows him the correct way to do it. He cuddles the kitten in his arms and
sways back and forth.
“Look Mr. Brian, he’s a natural.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“I’ve put up with it all night. You get used to it after a while.”
I point out to Justin that there are three kittens in that box and that
there is no way in hell that Lindsay agreed to that, and he tells me that our
next stop is PetSmart to get the bare necessities.
“They have an adoption center there. They'll take the other two. I called and
checked. I’m not going to leave them out here to freeze.”
“Of course you’re not. Well, let’s get a move on. Gus, put the cat back in the
box.”
“Her name is Twinkerbelle.”
“Okay, put Twink back in the box. We have to go get her some food.” And a box to
shit in. I hope Lindsay thought this through. “Justin, I hope you realize that
when Lindsay goes out of town or something, that I am not watching that
cat at my loft. Having a kid there is one thing, but not a cat.”
“Don’t be an asshole.” He whispers the last word to me for Gus’ benefit.
I pay for my turkey sandwich, and we are off. PetSmart stinks worse than Babylon
at 5:00 am, and I had no idea that people are actually allowed to bring their
dogs in there, and that sometimes these dogs actually piss right in the middle
of the aisle and that no one comes by to clean it up right away. That’s really
nice. Gus tries to stand up in the cart three times and on the last time I catch
him before he hits his head on a shelf.
“Gus, you can either sit in the cart and hold Twink, or you can walk and I will
hold Twink. Which do you want?”
“Hold Twink.”
“Okay, then it’s back in the cart.” I sit him in the back this time, which seems
to make him happier because he can look at everything Justin is putting in the
cart.
I watch Justin as he leads us all over the store, reading ingredients, deciding
what he wants, being Mr. Methodical. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Every
time he puts something in the cart, he tells Gus what it is and what it’s for.
“Okay Gus, Twink needs two bowls. One for food and one for water. What colors do
you want?”
“Ummm. Blue Mr. Justin. Blue and red.”
“Okay, here you go. Blue and red."
My son worships at the altar of Mr. Justin. I start to worry that he loves him
more than I do.
Gus and I have a long, drawn out discussion over the difference between dog toys
and cat toys. I can’t make him understand that some giant, red, rubber ball he
wants was a dog toy, not a cat toy. I finally just tell him no. He screams.
Goddamn end caps.
“What’s wrong Brian?” Justin turns around and comes back to the cart to see what
all of the hoopla is about.
“I’m trying to explain to him that these are dog toys, not cat toys, and he
doesn’t want to believe me. So now he’s mad.” His little face is contorting for
the benefit of everyone that walks by. They’re all thinking: “cute kitten, cute
kids, evil Daddy.”
“Gus.” Justin leans over the cart, holding the offending red ball in his hand.
“This toy is bigger than Twink. A kitten likes toys that are smaller. Let’s go
pick out a smaller toy. We can probably find a red one. Okay?”
He stops crying. Of course.
“Here Daddy.” He hands me the kitten—at least I’m good for something. I can hold
pussy and push a cart. What-the-fuck-ever. I watch the two of them walk down the
aisle toward the cat toys. For some reason, it makes me feel less insignificant
to tell Justin:
“He can pick three Justin. Just three.”
Gus picks out his three toys, which Justin completely scams me on because they
are three bags of toys, so now this kitten has like forty-seven toys. I
do my part too, though, and throw in some catnip because drugs don’t count as
toys.
Gus usually sleeps in the car, but not tonight. Justin points that out to me
almost immediately, after he teases me about listening to Elvis in the car.
“Brian, look in your mirror. Look at Gus.”
I glance back at him, and he is dancing, hard core, in his little leather
jacket, completely oblivious to the two of us. He really did have a good time
tonight.
“He dances better than you Brian. He must get that from Lindsay.” I flip him
off.
“He’s just happy. Hey, what’re you doing back there Sonny Boy?”
He looks up at me and gives me an honest, ‘four-year-old, I’ve been in Preschool
too long answer’: “I’m breaking it down, Daddy.”
Justin is dancing in the front seat now. Dancing and laughing. “I was afraid he
was going to say “shake it like a Polaroid picture.”
“He better not say that.” The songs ends, and Gus is kicking the back of
Justin’s seat.
“Play it again, Daddy. Again!”
“No, that’s enough. We’re almost home.” Lindsay’s new place is right around the
corner.
“Oh, play it again for him Brian. It’ll only be the twenty-fifth time you’ve
listened to it today.”
I mouth “Fuck you” to him and start the track over.
A little less conversation, a little more action please
It’s my car. I’m the King. I can do what I want.
****************************************************************
Heaven help me, I didn’t see the devil in your eyes.
“If I had known that being in a pet store would make you act like such a horny
little puppy, Sunshine, I’d have done it a long time ago.”
“Don’t be such a twat when I’m showing you how much I love you.”
My words always come back to fuck me in the ass.
“Where were you all day anyway?” he asks me, in between the kisses and the
groping that have landed us on the bed, albeit fully clothed.
“I had to take care of a few last minute things with Ted. End of month stuff.
Shit like that.”
His hands stop roaming under my shirt for a minute, and he looks at me.
“You’re lying.”
“I am?”
“Yep. You are. Your body gets tense when you’re lying. I can feel it. That’s the
thing about you. Your body speaks way louder than your words.”
“And you’re a good listener.” I feel his warm hands slide under my back and
cradle my shoulders. I love it when he lies on top of me like this.
“It’s a job requirement with you, and an occupational hazard.”
“That’s me—the double-edged sword.”
He rakes his fingers through my hair as I close my eyes. I feel him straddle me
and start unbuttoning my shirt. “I want to make you feel good.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“No, I mean really good. I want you to relax. Just let me spoil you.” He
unbuttons the rest of my shirt and frees me of it, and I do the same for him,
yanking his long sleeve gray t-shirt over his head. I try to pull him down to me
to kiss him, but he won’t let me. I prop my arms behind my head.
I bend my knees, scratching one foot on another, as he climbs out of bed and
removes the rest of his clothes. I watch him in silence, realizing that I know
every move he’s going to make before he makes it. He comes back to me, blond and
bare, and lies on top of me again. I give in to how tired I am and how nice it
feels just to have him warm and sweet and all over me like this.
I tell him that I am already spoiled rotten. He tells me he’ll be the judge of
that.
He smiles at me and I smile back as his fingers undo my jeans. I close my eyes
as I feel him tuck his fingers into my underwear and pull my jeans far, far
away.
His body lies on mine again, and he kisses me like I’m standing alone
under a streetlight, and he’s picking me tonight. His hands slide under my
pillow and curl inside of mine.
I wrap my legs over his as his lips tickle my face and squeeze him tightly. His
mouth moves behind my ear and down my neck and my hands leave his to hold him
and to keep this going.
“I fucking love that.”
“I know.”
I roll over when he asks me to and his arms stretch mine out to either side of
me. He tells me to close my eyes and to go to sleep if I want to. I don’t think
I want to.
He is gone for a second, but I don’t move or say anything. No need. I feel warm
pressure on my hips when he returns to me and straddles me again. I hear him
rubbing his hands together.
I smell California.
“What’s that?”
“Just be quiet.”
He rubs the smell of coconuts and summer down my arms, one at a time, all the
way down to my fingertips, the pressure increasing with each pass.
Fuck, this feels good.
The knots in my shoulders dissolve underneath his hands, and he is careful with
my recently mended one, sparing me unnecessary agony. Something he is doing
lengthens my neck.
I groan when he re-applies and starts on my back. I turn my head the other way,
toward the window. I feel him shift farther down my body, sitting on my legs. I
close my eyes again and think about waves crashing-one after the other. The heat
kicks on. It sounds like the ocean.
He presses the heels of his hands into my back and forces every bit of distress
in my body up and out through his fingertips, like I don’t even own it anymore.
I let out a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding.
His hands are slippery again when they massage my waist, and I realize that my
cock has been soaking the sheets this entire time. I never knew I held so much
tension in my ass. Not anymore. He meanders back up my body, sliding his arms
along mine, whispering in my ear.
“How do you feel?”
“A-mazing.” He nuzzles his face against mine. He loves it when I don’t shave.
“Now do you want to tell me where you were all day?” Just a quiet, quiet
question.
“Um, I already told you.” Just a quiet, quiet answer.
“Right.” His seductive whisper wafts through my ear, giving me chills. “Then I
guess we’re not done, are we?” A roaring wave chases me and pummels me into the
sand. I never had a chance.
He kisses me on the cheek and lets his lips trail down the rest of my body. I
look up and I can see the beach, but this is not where I was, not where I
started from. I don’t know which way gets me back to my blanket. The sun beats
down on me.
His lips surf down the crevice of my ass, and I don’t hear waves crashing or
children playing or lifeguards blowing their whistles anymore. I don’t hear
anything.
“Mmmmmm.”
I feel everything.
The splash of his tongue as it coats me makes me gasp. I shift underneath him.
“Justin.” I dig my fingers in the hot sand.
The tide is changing.
I am on my knees, my arms underneath me again. He moans as he licks and kisses
my hole. I pray. That he doesn’t touch my cock. That I don’t come on the spot.
That he hasn’t forgotten that. Surely he hasn’t forgotten that.
His tongue invades me. I am pulled out to sea. I can’t for the life of me
remember how to swim.
“Oh god. Oh fuck.” His hand snakes between my legs, his palm covering the head
of my glazed dick. I push it away. “No.” He flattens his hand on my stomach,
spreading my dampness along the way. He covers my hole with his warm tongue and
cups my balls. I feel him rise up. I call his name again--by accident.
I stare at my hands.
Lube shouldn’t be so cold on such a hot day. The initial pinch pulls me under. I
hold my breath for as long as I can.
It’ll heat up.
He is gentle with me for now, as only he is allowed to be. He is the only
lifeguard on duty at my beach. My head emerges from the water for a second.
He slides another slippery finger inside me, and when I tell him that it really
hurts, he teaches me to tread water.
He continues to lube me, to push me, and to watch me negotiate this. He tells me
I am ready.
He tells me to remember to breathe, that he’ll go slow.
I tell him it won’t matter.
Something dark swims underneath me.
Here it comes.
I curse like a mother fucker on the first push, biting my lip, and try to focus
on him, on doing this for him. He tells me that I am still holding my breath.
I can’t stay afloat any longer.
He tells me how good this feels for him, how beautiful I am, how being inside of
me makes him crazy.
I tell him that the sound of his voice drives me nuts, that I want him—that I
want him to fuck me.
God, I want him to fuck me.
I have no idea why he ever bottoms at all.
He moves inside me. I catch my breath. His hands are somewhe--
“Aaaah. Oh fuck Justin. What the fuck.”
He tells me that he loves to be inside my extremely……..tight……….ass.
I tell him that’s what I meant by moving in.
He laughs and tells me not to be a smart ass. I tell him to fuck me harder.
Now.
I dive back under the water, as deep as I can go.
He slams me against the ocean floor, ignoring my thrashing underneath him. I
feel everything tighten, rise, and rush to get to the surface. Fuck. I’m going
to drown.
I try to move or shift or something so he can’t do this, so he can’t fuck that
same spot over and over, but he’s onto me. He reclaims me hard and fast and
surrounds my cock with his warm, wet hand.
“Aaaaaah fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
He tells me that he loves me, that he won’t be gone for long…
that California isn’t that far away.
I tell him that he’s full of shit.
He pulls all the way out and crashes back into me, ending everything for both of
us.
I come all over myself, washed up on some deserted island all alone.
Goddamn sunshine. I am burnt to a crisp.
I’m never going to lie to him again.
Chapter 9
We're caught in a trap
I can't walk out
Because I love you too much baby
1:41 a.m. Saturday
morning
My last cigarette. Justin’s last cigarette, I think. I don’t know; I can’t find
mine.
The window is ice cold, but it feels good against my skin. I like this view from
the living room, hot smoke filling my lungs, cool glass against my shoulder, a
car driving past once in a while. Not much going on out there tonight, way too
much going on inside my head.
My cold shoulder. The only part of my body I can even feel right now—that and my
hand every time it brings this cigarette back to my face—otherwise nothing-naked
and numb.
It’s always the same, but always different. This thing that makes sleep a joke,
that makes the morning start at two a.m., that makes two a.m a good time to
pedal miles away from here on a stationary bike. This thing that makes me know
that I love him, and that I hate him for loving me. I fucking hate it.
It’s nothing to love someone.
And it’s always the same, but always different. And I fucking hate it because I
can’t control it. I tell myself every night that I can change it, but I can’t,
at least not the way I want. I’m so fucking tired of this. Tired of waking up
exhausted because I’m busier in my sleep than I am during the day. Tired of
waking up in the morning thinking "Thank God. Now I can get some fucking
sleep.”
These fucking dreams need to stop.
“In the first phase of the campaign, Mr. Kinney, we’re going to use some of
these images you see here to familiarize the customer with your product, to give
them a sense of what it’s about. I think you can see from what we are showing
you what direction we’re headed in.”
I can see it all right. This part of the dream is always the same. I can’t even
look at what they are showing me. I don’t have to. I know what it is. I don’t
even fucking want to think about it.
I look at my watch. Justin is late. He’s never late. Why the fuck is he late
today? This is important. He should be here. Why the fuck isn’t he here?
Apparently we are business partners.
“So, Mr. Kinney, as I was saying, after this, we’ll move into the second phase
of the campaign. In this phase, we plan on taking a few more risks---“
“Sorry, I’m late.”
He takes a seat beside me. I don’t even realize he’s walked in the door. He sees
everything when he walks into the room; he sees everything that I can see—even
my thoughts, and it doesn’t even phase him. He doesn’t even flinch. I start to
wonder if he really sees what I see—something that is obviously such a fascade,
but if he does, he doesn’t care.
“Mr. Taylor.” Mr. ShutTheFuckUp stops his presentation. Time stops. Everything
stops. For some reason everyone leaves the room; they politely excuse
themselves. I get excited for a minute because I think I’m back in my office,
that I’m going to get to fuck him. I hate this part of the dream. It always goes
too slow. It’s like fucking torture.
So I look at him sitting next to me. He looks beautiful in his gray suit; it’s
always something different. He smiles at me. He kisses me, running his hand down
the back of my head.
“Sorry, I’m late.” Again.
“Where were you?”
I hate the way I sound when I ask him this. I try to change it every night, but
it always comes out sounding the same. This is where it gets really fucked up.
This is where it’s always the same but different, the same, but different.
Sometimes he’s just come from the prom in his tuxedo, sometimes art class,
sometimes the diner, sometimes he’s dripping wet from my shower with only a
towel around him, sometimes straight from Babylon high on some shit and covered
in glitter, and once he was dripping with blood. Tonight, it was different
again.
“I was in L.A. Remember? Making the movie?”
“Oh yeah. I forgot.”
“You always forget.” His hand rubs my thigh. I keep thinking that those people
are going to walk back in any minute and that if they do, I’m going to hurt them
because I need time to remember where he was. I can’t think very fast, and
that’s not my fault.
This part of the dream moves in slow motion. My mind feels like it’s swimming in
jell-o.
“I don’t know why I can’t remember where you are.” He’s looks at me and smiles.
I’m looking at my lap.
“Because you don’t want to.” He just sits beside me and reassures me. He holds
my hand.
“I don’t?” The blue of his eyes goes on forever when I look at him. He shakes
his head at me like I’m a small child who just doesn’t understand things.
“No, you don’t. You don’t want to remember. You tried, though. That’s the
important thing.”
I tell him that I’m going to try again tomorrow. I’m going to keep trying until
I can remember.
Somehow the people know that it’s okay to come back in. The presentation starts
up again. I don’t want to be there. I want to leave, but I look over at him, and
he’s calm and peaceful and happy and relaxed, so I try to be. I try to be the
beautiful, confident, self-possessed man that he is, that some part of me is
telling me that I taught him to be. But I can’t. Or I won’t. Or something.
So Mr. ShutTheFuckUp starts up again. “In Phase Three of our campaign Mr.
Kinney—Mr. Taylor—this will be the phase where we’ll really drive your message
home, where we’ll make our----excuse me—your product will make it’s strongest
impress---“
“Your ideas are for shit.” I get up and start putting my shit in my briefcase.
Mr. ShutTheFuckUp keeps right on talking. My behavior bothers Justin.
“Brian, sit down. You’re being rude.”
“Justin, are you coming?” He ignores me. I walk to the door with my briefcase.
“Justin, I asked you a question.”
Always the gentleman, he asks Mr. ShutTheFuckUp to excuse him for a second. He
joins me in the hallway.
“Brian, what the fuck is wrong with you?” He’s really pissed. I’ve embarrassed
him. “Why are you walking out in the middle of this? This could be a good thing
here. And why are you talking to me like that?”
He doesn’t get mad at me like this that often, but I’ve pissed him off. And now
I’m mad too. “Because, Justin, that guy’s a fucking idiot. He doesn’t know what
we want. He hasn’t listened to one fucking thing I’ve said, or given me one
thing I asked for, and this is a total waste of my fucking time. That’s why.”
“You just don’t want to listen to him because he’s my father. Because you think
you know what’s best for me.”
I glance back in the room, and Mr. ShutTheFuckUp has his back to me, but I
believe Justin. I believe him when he says that it’s his father. I tell myself
that I won’t go back in that room again for the rest of dream. I feel like there
are other fathers in there. I close the door. I always forget to lock it. I
should have locked it.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. And it’s all just fucking screwed up in your head Brian. That’s
your whole fucking problem.”
“How could I possibly know what’s best for you when I don’t even know where the
fuck you are? Have you even thought about that?”
That’s the only part of the dream where I feel confident. It makes no sense. And
then I just keep yelling at him.
“I can’t remember from one minute to the next where you are or when you’ll be
back, or where or when I get to fuck you, or when I’m just paying for shit and
not fucking you, OR…”
“Or what, Brian? Or what?” He’s still yelling at me.
And then we’re not in Mr. ShutTheFuckUp’s office or building anymore. I don’t
know where we are. Some place dark. Some place inside. I can’t tell. I’m still
yelling at him.
“Or why it feels just as good to me to take care of you, to put you
through school, to worry about whether or not you get home safe at night as it
does for me to have you in my bed waiting to be fucked every single
night! THAT is my fucking problem Justin!”
He just looks at me, and I can’t stop. Nothing will stop.
“SO, ARE YOU
COMING OR NOT? I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Okay. Just let me get my stuff.”
“Fine.” And I’m relieved that we’re done arguing, that we can get the fuck out
of here, and I’m not even bothered by the fact that we’re back in front of Mr.
ShutTheFuckUp’s office again. I lean back against the wall to wait for him.
A cold blast of air hits me when he opens the door, and right when he does, he
turns around and smiles at me and says, “I’ll just be a minute. I’ll meet you at
the elevator. Just let me tell them good-bye.”
Mr. ShutTheFuckUp’s office is full of people that weren’t there before and full
of stuff. It’s all Justin’s stuff. I can’t see it, but I know that it is.
I walk down the hall and press the ‘down’ button. The moment the elevator door
opens, I hear Stockwell’s voice.
“If you say it, mean it. Right boys?” And the unmistakable crack of a bat.
I drop my briefcase. I try to run. I try to say his name. I can’t move. My legs
are cement. They won’t budge. The hallway stretches out farther and farther in
front of me. I open my mouth again and again, but nothing comes out. Absolutely
nothing.
Gus is standing in the elevator smoking a cigarette.
“Come on Daddy. Let’s go. He’s gone.”
For some reason, I can pick up my brief case now, and I can get on the elevator.
Gus isn’t smoking anymore.
“Daddy, hold me up so I can push the button.” I lift him up and show him which
one to push, and we descend.
This is where I always wake up.
It’s nothing to love someone. It’s letting them love you back that’s
unwarranted.
***********************************
2:23 a.m.
Justin’s up. I can hear him in the bathroom. It’s probably just as well. I’m
fucking freezing.
“Brian?” He sees me. I don’t feel like saying anything. I’m sure he’ll drag half
the bed with him when he walks over here. “Did you smoke my last cigarette?” He
folds me in his arms, me and the blanket, as I laugh a little and nod.
“Yeah.”
“Fucker.”
I turn around so I can pull him in front of me, so we can both look out the
window, so I can bury my nose in his hair. I just stop thinking. We stand there
for several minutes, both of us, not saying anything. Eventually, he turns
around and looks at my face. I’d rather he didn’t.
“What are you looking at?”
He lays his head against my chest, and I re-adjust the blanket. His body warms
mine. He gives me more space than I deserve sometimes—most of the time. I lift
his chin off of my chest and bring my face to his. I almost don’t want to kiss
him because once I do, the rest of me will thaw, but I do it anyway. I don’t
even know what I want from this kiss--everything—I guess. I want the innocent
part of him that kisses me like he really doesn’t know what’s coming next, that
relies on me, the tease in him that wants to entice me and please me, and the
aroused, surrendering part of him that fits my body like a glove. I want
everything at once. The light coming in from the window makes streaks in his
hair, making it seem lighter than it is. Our mouths part long enough for me to
answer him, for his arms to find their way around my neck.
“Street lights.”
I’m not sure how long we stood at the window, it couldn’t have been very long,
or whose idea it was to finally go back to bed, but he fell asleep facing me. I
think I fell asleep watching him.
It’s nothing to love someone.
********************************************************
Cause your kisses lift me higher
Like a sweet song of a choir
And you light my morning sky
With burning love
8:17 am
Morning has broken. Justin is deep in thought. I am deep in Justin-almost.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Captain Astro.” He never ceases to amaze me.
“Captain Astro? Why would you be thinking about Captain Astro when I’m
almost in your ass?”
“Yeah, do you mind?”
This is one of those mornings that I almost couldn’t resist the cardinal sin. It
took everything in my power to briefly unravel myself from him, to make myself
adhere to my own rules. I should have fucked him when we got back into bed last
night, at least then he would slept more soundly. I toss the condom on the bed;
I hadn’t even opened it yet.
“I should have fucked you last night when we came back to bed. You drove me nuts
all night pushing your ass against me and hogging all the covers.” He can do
that ass-pushing thing now if he wants, though. I’m all for that now.
“You're one to talk Mr. Kinney. Sleeping with you is a nightmare, no pun
intended, between all of your thrashing and kicking and talking in your sleep.”
“I don’t talk in my sleep.”
“Like hell you don’t. You said my name four or five times last night after we
came back to bed.”
“I must have been dreaming about fucking you.” Which is what I want to be doing
right now. I’d appreciate some cooperation. He keeps his gaze on the window.
“I don’t think so. That’s not the way you were saying it. You were giving me the
creeps.” He doesn’t want my hand on his dick right now. Fine. We’ll just spoon.
“I tried to wake you up.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I’m not surprised. You opened your eyes, sucked in this huge breath, and
grabbed my arm. You scared the shit out of me Brian.” Fuck. I did?
“Did I hurt you?” I try to look at his arm, but he’s laying on it. “Let me see.”
“No, you didn’t hurt me. You just scared me. You were looking at me, but you
really weren’t.”
“Let me see your arm Justin.” I roll over onto my back, and he rolls onto my
chest. I look at his left arm. “I don’t see anything. Does it hurt?”
“No, not really.”
“What did I do after I grabbed you?” I’ve never had the benefit or curse of
someone sleeping with me. I guess I don’t know my own sleep habits.
“I told you to let go of me--that you were hurting me--but you didn’t hear me,
at least I don’t think you did. It was weird. You just let go and kind of threw
me back on the bed.”
I rub his arm. I can’t believe I did that. Shit. “I’m sorry. I guess I was just
having a really bad dream.”
“You have them a lot Brian.” He wraps his fingers over mine. “Do you remember
it?”
“No. I never remember them. Never have.” Neither of us say anything for a minute
or so. Let’s just drop this.
“You’re lying. That’s why you were standing at the window last night, wasn’t it?
Because something woke you up?”
“Don’t worry about it, okay?” I pull him tight against me. I don’t want to talk
about this.
“How can I worry about it when I don’t know what it is?” I can feel him starting
to get upset in my arms. This is not the kind of morning I want to have.
“Justin.”
“Brian, if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me, no matter what it
is—even if it’s me.” He lets go of my hand and tucks his hand under his chin.
“It’s not you.”
“So you do remember them?”
“I remember enough to know that it’s not you. I promise.” I stare at the ceiling
my hand passing over his head. He feels less upset, less tense now, I think.
“At least you’re telling me the truth now. I can feel it.” He lets out this
sigh, and I feel him relax a little. For once I’m relieved that he can read me.
I’m lost in my own thoughts before I even realize that his head is no longer on
my chest; it’s in a much more useful location.
For some reason I don’t even feel right having him suck me after all that. I
feel like I should stop him. “Justin, it’s okay.” I stop him for a second, and
he just looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Whatever’s bothering you, just forget about it for now.” And I do. I lie back
on our bed, my hand lodged in the crook of his shoulder and forget about last
night’s nightmare, hurting him, everything. I can’t think about anything when he
sucks me off, especially first thing in the morning. I flood his mouth in no
time, something completely idiotic coming out of my mouth, and he is back in my
arms, lying with me while I regroup.
“So, anyway, back to what I was saying about Captain Astro?”
“Jesus, can’t you wait at least sixty seconds after you swallow before you start
talking?”
“Just listen.” He kisses me. “I was thinking that all of this is Captain Astro’s
fault.”
“How do you figure that?” He lies back down on my chest again, oblivious to how
destroyed I truly am after he blows me.
“Because if Captain Astro hadn’t fucking died in the first place, Michael would
have never wanted to make this stupid comic book, and I wouldn’t be leaving. I
think he should just kill Rage off in the next issue.”
No wonder I have bad dreams. “Well, I hate to tell you this but ‘major character
death’ is considered very poor taste in the fandom.” He moves up and off of me a
little, onto his side, propping his head on his elbow.
“How would you know? You’re not part of the ‘fandom’” He makes little quotation
marks in the air. I fucking hate it when people do that. Although when he does
it, it’s kind of cute.
“Well, for one thing I ‘grew up with Michael Novotny’”, I add my ‘air quotes’,
“and I am ‘Rage’, thank you very much.” And I don’t appreciate being
killed off without any warning. So there.
“Okay, well, it’s just that I just don’t want to have to make Rage two, three,
four, five and six. I don’t want to be gone all the time.” His voice gets quiet
as he lies back on his pillow again. I slide over to him, propping my head on my
elbow this time, putting my arm around him.
“I think you’re jumping the gun a little. You haven’t even sold one ticket to
Rage I yet.” His imagination works overtime.
“Yeah, but you know people are going to love it. Watching Rage rescue JT, and
watching JT suck Rage off. It’ll be so hot. I can’t wait.” His face lights up
again. There’s my Sunshine.
“Me either. If I actually see that onscreen, I really will celebrate.
I might suck somebody off.” He turns back toward me, all smiles.
“It better be me.” I go crazy when he runs his fingers up and down my chest like
this, tracing little circles around my nipples. I don’t know how he expects me
to carry on a conversation like this, but I’ll give it the ol’ college try.
“Oh, it’ll be you. And it will probably be in a movie theatre while you’ve got a
mouthful of popcorn.”
“And you can time it so that I come right during a loud action scene, so when I
yell out, nobody will know it’s because you’re sucking me off.”
Justin Taylor—The President of Imagination Nation. “Yeah, and you can yell out
“RAGE” instead of “BRIAN,” so everybody will think that you’re really watching
the movie…” I pull him closer to me.
“That’ll be perfect. Oh my god, I can’t wait for that. We have to do
that. Promise me we’ll really do that.”
He is more excited right now than Gus was about that cat last night. “We’ll do
it.” I climb on top of him, pushing him on his back and study his face, play
with his hair and think about how much I love Saturday mornings in bed, how this
will be our last one for a while.
His eyes are still far away. “This is off the subject, but”
“Your middle name is ‘off the subject.’” I kiss him slowly; he doesn’t even stop
talking. Maybe I need to work on my technique…
“Mmmmm. Cut it out. This is off the subject, but you know when you fell asleep
last night while I was reading to Gus?” Cut it out. He means the teasing,
not the kissing. He loves the kissing.
“Yes.”
“He looked at me and said, ‘Uh oh, Mr. Justin, look at Daddy.’ I just can’t get
over how fast he’s growing up. It’s amazing.”
“It’s terrifying. What’s amazing is that all three of us managed to squeeze into
his twin bed.”
“All four of us. You forgot Twink.”
“I don’t count pussy.”
“You know what? I’m not even sure she’s a girl. It’s really hard to tell when
they’re that young.” He’s so animated. He might as well be a cartoon character.
“Well, if it turns out to be a boy, he can still call it ‘Twink.’ Boys can be
twinks.”
“Very funny.” He sticks his tongue out at me. I eat it.
“You were a twink.”
“That you picked up and brought home….an annoying stray that just wouldn’t leave
you alone.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you feed them. They just keep…coming… back.” I
don’t think I’ve ever kissed him as much during one sentence as I did during
that one.
“And weasel their way into your heart.” He gives as good as he gets.
“Only the intelligent, well-bred, extremely-fuckable, candy-ass ones.”
“You forgot unbelievably beautiful.” Such a modest twink.
“That’s a given. I wouldn’t pick one up in the first place if that weren’t
true.” He grins at me and stops running his fingers through my hair for a
second.
“You’re so sweet and romantic in your own twisted, fucked-up way.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“More like an observation.”
“Well then, I’ll take it under advisement—as soon as I’m done taking you
under advisement.” My lips spend an inordinate amount of time behind his ear and
down his neck.
“You’re not taking me anywhere.”
“That’s what you think. You better quit being such a smart ass. You know what’s
gonna happen if you don’t cut it out.” He whispers in my ear. “That’s right. You
better settle down.” He moans in my arms. This time when I kiss him, he stays
with me for the duration. It’s about damn time—my ego was starting to bruise.
God, I need more mornings like this.
“So anyway, about Gus…” I should have bought him a muzzle at the pet store.
“Wasn’t he so cute last night dancing in the car? We should take him to Babylon
with us the next time we go.”
When will that be?
“I’m sure the munchers would really go for that.” I give up for awhile because
he just needs to get this out of his system. He just needs to think out loud.
His eyes are so blue this morning.
“Couldn’t you just see it? We could put Gus up on the bar or on one of those
risers, and he could dance with Emmett.” He thinks this is a great idea. I bust
out laughing.
“Yeah, and then four hours later when it’s time to go, and we can’t find him
anywhere….”
“He’ll be in the backroom.” The realization that comes over his face when he
says this is priceless. The world doesn’t need another Brian Kinney.
“Maybe I’ll talk to Debbie and see if he can spend some time with Horvath and
just put the kibosh on this dancing fetish he has.” These thoughts of Gus ending
up like me are making me sicker than watching dykes play tonsil hockey.
He scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, I see what you mean. What got me off on that
subject anyway? What was I talking about?” His eyes look off to the right, and I
give him a few second because he’ll remember, he almost always does. “Oh yeah,
Gus, reading to Gus, and you fell asleep while I was reading.”
“I fell asleep because of the way you read Dr. Seuss. You get this sing-songy
rhythmic thing going with your voice that just lulls me into dreamland.” I
imitate him.
“That’s not the only rhythmic thing I had going last night.” God I’m hard.
“Now see, you thought you were off the subject. Turns out you were dead on.”
Sometimes if you leave Justin to his own devices, he’ll end up exactly where you
want him.
“I really enjoyed it. Did you?” His sultry voice and the way he moves underneath
me when he says that gives me chills. He can go from being so sweet to so
seductive in no time flat. It makes my head spin.
“Um, yeah. You could say that.”
“Good, because so did I. It was hot.” He slides beneath me so he can kiss my
chest, suck on my nipples. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t have any
intention of seducing you last night. It just sort of happened.”
“I think it was that lotion you were massaging me with. That stuff smelled
incredible. It made my skin so smooth.” Which he can clearly tell since his
hands all over it right now. Fuck, I love watching him doing this. He starts
laughing.
“You can thank Emmett for that. It was this cream he gave me yesterday—called
‘Butt Butter.’” I rise up off of him, yank him back up by his hair, look at him
like he’s crazy. “Brian.”
“What?”
“Calm down. It’s just called that. It’s just lotion. It’s not really for your
butt. I read the container. They just sell it in one of those faggy boutiques
that Emmett goes to.” I don’t believe him. “I’m being serious. It’s a huge
container, and it smells really good, so I just thought I’d use it. I’m going to
leave it here anyway. I’m not going to go through airport security with a tub of
Butt Butter in my suitcase.”
“You can leave it at your Mom’s.”
“Fuck no, I’m not leaving it my Mom’s, you asshole. Get over it.” He hooks his
arms around my neck, pulls up, and kisses me hard, pushing his tongue into my
mouth. I swear he’s going to make me see stars. I guess I’m over it. I take
advantage of him hanging off me and slide my left hand inside his pillowcase.
I’m taking charge of this now. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for your offering to the ‘Topping Fairy’.” Bingo. “Don’t think I don’t
know about your little nightly ritual.”
“It’s not a ritual, and I don’t do it every night.” He puts his
head back down as I slide my hand out. I flash the condom in his face.
“You put a brand new condom inside your pillow case every night before you go to
sleep—your offering to the ‘Topping Fairy.’” I tease him while I open the
wrapper. “I guess it worked last night, huh? Your wish came true.”
“It’s not my offering to the ‘Topping Fairy’ you jerk; it’s just because I don’t
like to reach all the way over to your stupid ‘party favor condom basket’
every time we fuck.”
“Condoms make perfect party favors.” Don’t they?
“If you’re going to give out party favors, you should be a little more
creative.”
“Like what?” I open the wrapper. I guess I’m putting this thing on myself.
“Like you could take that Butt Butter and put it into containers and give it to
your tricks when they leave, you know. Sort of like: ‘We hope you’ve enjoyed
your one and only visit to The House that Fuck Built. Here’s a lovely parting
gift.’”
“That’s cute. Very creative. I might just do that. You’ve never complained about
my condom basket before.”
“That’s because it’s not polite to insult the furnishings when you’re just a
guest in someone’s home. Do you want me to roll over?”
“No, you’re fine. Point taken. Can you bend your knees, please?”
“Sorry.” He yawns and stretches his arms over his head, his body to arching into
mine. He lets out this irresistible sleepy moan. “Mmmmmm.“
That was fucking spectacular. He hands me the lube. I know he doesn’t keep
that under his pillow.
There isn’t a bad position to fuck Justin in. There are only degrees of
ecstasy—depending on my mood, but watching him like this is almost poetic. And I
don’t think he has any idea. This view of his body strewn on our bed is a work
of art—especially on these white sheets. That alone is driving me fucking nuts.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like this morning?” I’m in a generous
mood all of a sudden.
“Um, let me think.” I suck on his neck while he ponders my question. He better
hurry up, or I’ll decide for him. I may be generous, but I’m not very patient.
“Come here.” He whispers in my ear. Little devil.
“Oh no—not this morning. We’ll never get out of bed. Later, though, I promise.”
We’ve got a schedule to keep today.
“Okay. Well, then I’ll just have whatever’s on special.” Leave it to Justin to
think of breakfast during foreplay.
“I knew you were hungry.”
“For you.”
“For pancakes.” I smile at him as he strokes himself. God, that is so hot. “I
can get you some maple syrup if you want.”
“Stop talking about pancakes when your fingers are in my ass. I’ll come too
quick.” He’s not kidding. He will.
“I could talk about sausage.” That’s making me harder. Maybe I’m hungry.
“Only if you want to hear my stomach growl through this entire fuck. I think I’m
ready.”
“See all that talk about sausage paid off.”
“Shut up and fuck me.” This is what I’m really going to miss. Saturday morning
specials.
He looks at me as I hover over him. “Close your eyes Justin.” I wrap my arms
around him and nudge my way into the sweetest, most claustrophobic place I have
ever been. There is nothing more overwhelming than the first few seconds inside
of him. My push to get inside defeating his to get me out. Fuck, I could hang
off the edge of this cliff all day. I can’t describe this.
“Justin.”
Oh fuck, it is so hot in here, and so narrow. My private, little tunnel for one.
God, I almost forget he’s underneath me. I haven’t even moved yet. I’m not even
all the way in.
I am now.
“Oh. Oh. Fuck, that feels good Brian.” My rhythm starts, slow. I just watch him
and go with it. Nobody looks more beautiful at a moment like this than Justin
Taylor. I’m honored just to be here, really. I keep him calm, so we can enjoy
this, at least for a while. Fuck him slowly, kiss him slowly, get him to look at
me, instead of all over the place, to focus on this fuck. Get his eyes back on
mine. “So what do you want to do today?”
That figures. He wasn’t done talking. Wishful thinking.
“Oh, I don’t know. Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight?”
“I’m being serious Brian.”
“So am I. Wrap your legs around me.” His hips tilt upward for me so I can slide
in deeper.
“Do you want me to put my legs up?”
“Up to you. If you want. I’m fine like this.”
“Maybe in a minute.” He arches into my arms again as I hit something wonderful
inside him. It makes me smile. “Ah, do that again, that was amazing. Fuck Brian.
I don’t know how you do that.” His fingers dig into my skin.
“It’s pretty simple. Put Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor in a bed and stir. The
directions are on the….back….of….the…box.”
“And people say you can’t cook.” Our kissing should render him speechless for
awhile. I can’t ever fuck him without kissing him. The closer I get to Grand
Central Orgasm the stronger that desire becomes. I swear if he doesn’t shut up,
though, I’m going to spank the shit out of him.
“Okay, little less conversation, for a minute, if you don’t mind.” My lips meet
his every time my dick sinks back into his ass.
“Can I just say one more thing?” This is it.
“Fine. One more thing.” I stop for just a second and give him my attention.
“I love it when you fuck me like this.” I guess that was worth stopping for.
“Get your legs up.” His legs are on my shoulders in a heart beat, and I fuck him
hard now. I can get to all of him like this. His eyes pop open so wide when I
hit his prostate again and again—once, twice, I’ve lost track.
I feel him shift in my arms, feel his warm breath in my ear, that fucking hot
thing he does with his voice. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” He clings to me, our foreheads pressed together.
“You know what. Tell me Brian, please.”
“Oh, so now you want me to talk?”
“Brian, please.” He tightens his grip around my neck and starts licking
my ear. He’ll bite me.
“What? That I’m going to fuck your sweet little ass?”
“Yes.” He brings his lips to mine and slides his tongue in my mouth. “Keep
going.”
“That you’re my little bottom boy?” He purrs, practically growls, in my arms.
“Yes.” His moaning sends me into orbit. “More.” He bit me. Fuck, I love that.
“That all little bottom boys get their asses fucked like this? Is that what you
want to hear?” God, I love it when he makes that “fuck me” face.
“Yes. God. Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
“And you know it, don’t you? That you’re my little bottom boy, and you will
always get your tight little ass fucked like this —no matter where you are?
Right?”….Right?”
“Right. Fuck. Oh my god. Fuck.”
Jesus Christ, I haven’t fucked him this hard since……….the last time I fucked him
this hard. His ass is so tight, and warm, and slippery, holy fuck, this is
nirvana.
“And you know that this is nothing compared to how I’m going to fuck you
this afternoon……….and tonight?” His hand slaps the mattress. “Get your hands
back on me.”
“Brian. Fuck. Stop. Oh my god.” His face looks like the first time. I could come
from that alone.
“No.”
He’s about to come, but he doesn’t want to, or maybe he does. He has no control.
I do. I love this part.
“Please, oh fuck, please, Brian.” His head thrashes on his pillow. He’s almost
there.
“No.”
I don’t even need to think about my release. As soon as he goes, I’ll be right
behind him. No one could watch him come like this and not spontaneously erupt.
It’s fucking beautiful.
His fingers dig into my biceps, and then my hair, behind my ears, and down my
back. He’s everywhere. He manages to grab his cock again and jerk it a few more
times. I’d do it for him, but I’m holding him, my arms wrapped around his head
and shoulders, his head tucked tightly against my chest—our unspoken agreement.
His eyes are closed again. It won’t be long now. I can feel him tightening
around me. Christ, that’s like heaven.
“Aaaaaaah. Brian. Now. Now. Oh please. Oh my god. I love you.” And Justin
springs eternal. I am maybe ten seconds behind him. I feel myself rush into him,
rush to catch up, my experience paling in comparison to his. His body begins to
collapse in my arms. Fucking Justin is like skydiving. It’s not the plane ride.
It’s the jump and the fall.
His body peels off of mine after a minute or so, and we sink into the sheets.
“You okay?” I ask him as I realize that we're back at the beginning again, me
lying on top of him, kissing him, playing with his hair.
“Yeah. Just hold me for a minute, okay?”
“As long as you want.”
CHAPTER
9.1-DELETED SCENE-AFTERGLOW—JUSTIN’S POV
Author’s notes: This was originally the end of Chapter 9—Denial, after they'd
just made love that Saturday morning in bed after their loooooooong convo which
Justin pretty much dominated. It was cut for redundancy. But, just for the
record, I love it.
JUSTIN'S POV
That was incredibly incredible. I feel like I’m on some sort of drug. Every time
I open my eyes, he’s right there, with this quiet smile on his face. I’m not
exactly sure what he’s doing because my eyes haven’t stayed open that long. I’m
kind of out of it.
It’s always right now that I wish everyone else knew this side of Brian—how
sweet and caring he is, how he really only wants other people to be happy, or to
at least just be who they are. It feels really strange to be thinking about that
when there is cum running off of my stomach onto the sheets.
Sometimes I’m just overwhelmed by how much he loves me. I open my eyes.
“That was really nice.”
“Anytime.”
I know that he knows that I want this moment to last forever—that when he holds
me in his arms like this, especially when he’s still inside me, I feel like I’m
floating. I know he’s letting me have my moment. I can just look at him looking
at me, and I know.
It comes out really stupid when I finally tell him what I’m thinking—that if
everyone knew this part of him, they’d understand him, they’d see the full
picture.
“That doesn’t really matter to me. I don’t care if other people see this side of
me.” His long fingers feel so good in my hair.
“Well it was a stupid thought anyway because right after I had that thought, I
realized that to see that part of you, they’d have to see this part of me—lying
here naked with jizz rolling off of me.” I roll my eyes.
He laughs a little, which feels really weird because his dick is still inside
me. “I think that’s kind of the point. This part of me is only meant for this
part of you. It’s none of their business. They can think whatever the fuck they
want.”
And then I am back to thinking the same thing again. If only people could see
this side of him. The part of him that makes me feel like this. Being loved by
Brian Kinney is like winning a million dollars every day of your life and never
being able to spend it. You are rich beyond your wildest dreams and no one even
knows.
“Justin?”
“Huh?”
“Where’d you go? You’re off in never-never land again.”
“I guess I just don’t want to get up.”
“But, you’re getting hungry. Your stomach’s growling.”
“It is?” I feel so stupid, like it’s bad to be hungry or something.
And then he kisses me like I’m a starlet in an old motion picture film who just
got a three picture deal with MGM or something.
Fuck, I did just get a motion picture deal. Why does he have to kiss me like
that?
“Justin?”
“Huh?”
“Come on.”
I guess we’re going to take a shower.
Go on to Chapter 10
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