Chapter 1 - Reposted by permission of the author, LovelessSouls.

 

Smoldering

 

by Tagsit

 

Based on the story 'Smolder' by LovelessSouls

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1 - Decompose.

 

 

 

Decompose: Decay into nothingness.

 

The dim lighting due to the darkened clouds in the sky brought forth a depressing atmosphere for many of the inhabitants of Pittsburg on what may have been its coldest day on record. The cold wind pierced even the warmest of jackets of those few brave souls who wandered the streets that afternoon. One lone figure seemed adverse to the cold effects as the wind picked up speed and began a heavy onslaught.  He wore naught but a thin light jacket, jeans that looked a size or two too big and he had shoes riddled with holes. To anyone whom may have gotten close enough to see, his complexion was deathly pale and bottom lip had split from the cold. His whole body shook as he carried on, but his face showed no indication of effects the cold brought on.

 

 

 

His mind began to wander, as it often did, and he thought of what colors he would use for a painting of such a day like this, or if the children from his drawings last summer would return this summer. Things that at one time, what now seemed many lifetimes ago, would have brought him joy, but now instead acted as a simple passing of time.

 

 

 

As time slowly ticked by and the day made its way towards end the figure found shelter under a bridge in a park he frequented often. Pushing up as close to the wall as he could the figure folded into himself not for warmth, but for protection from any who might stumble upon him. He had learned that valuable lesson some time before and it was one he had never forgotten. With but a sigh passing his lips the figure stared out into the night waiting…

 

 

 

~~*~~

 

 

 

I cannot remember when exactly my ability to feel stopped. I am not even quite sure how long it has been since I last saw the place I called home. Home, it is one of those words people tend to use loosely, like the words ‘love’ or ‘happy’. Home is something, just a word, people have stereotyped as a pleasant place to be, but pleasant was never a word that came to mind in my memory of the place. Home is a place for families, but the people in my ‘home’ surely could not of been considered my family. Family would imply ‘happy’ when paired together with the word ‘home’. It is then assumed that the ‘family’ in the ‘home’ are ‘happy’ and thus ‘love’ each other and that leaves no reason for people, outsiders, to see anything more or look any deeper at the ‘family’.

 

 

 

I then, lived in a house, for house is a word that does not hold the same connotation as home. In comparison the word house seems colder, less personal. I lived with people, not family, because while blood may have genetically related use to one another we were not happy and did not love one another. I lived in a house with people. To my knowledge I have never known happy or family and I have never had a home, but if you were to ask the neighbors of that house they would have told you otherwise.

 

 

 

Time has become irrelevant; I have long since stopped seeking out warmth, in any sense of the word. To say I have stopped feeling completely would not be complete truth. I remember, what seems like ages ago now, when I had first found myself on the streets, that I constantly searched out warmth. Warmth from the cold, warmth of other people. When I had lived in the house, at the very least the people were familiar and while we did not get along, and most of the time I wished nothing more to be as far away from them as possible, I could rely on the fact that they were there and did not seem to be going anywhere. I learned quickly, the hard way, there were no such assurances here. The life I have become accustomed to is not pretty. In fact, even now, after however much time may have passed, there is still a part of me that is ashamed of who I am and what I have become, though recently I have noticed that even that feeling of shame has begun to fade.

 

 

 

I find that I spend most of my days wondering different areas of the city. Through experience I have learned which areas are safer than others, although safe is a relative term. In the winter I do not travel far from Liberty Ave. though, weather can have a drastic affect on people’s behavior. At nights I sell my body and after I sleep in one of my regular spots if I am even able to sleep that night at all. The actual act of sex for money is just that, all it is is a job. A job that gives me the ability to make it through life. The way I look at it is that I keep regular hours, rates and have never let another man fuck me raw. I even make sure I get tested regularly, though I have no real explanation for why I try to keep myself safe or why I even still care, it just feels like something important, like it has been ingrained in my head over and over.

 

 

 

~~*~~

 

 

 

It is a day like any other. The sun has come back out, but judging from how others have dressed the temperature must not be much warmer than before. The sun’s return, though, has brought back the normal hustle and bustle of the day. I woke from under the bridge to a vehicle’s obnoxious horn blaring into the pre-dawn filled minutes of yet another morning. By my best estimations I slept for a little over two and a half hours. The edginess of being awoken so abruptly has yet to leave me. In the hours I have been awake I have found myself, on several different occasions, unconsciously pressing my hands to my pockets and other various parts of my body, checking that I still have what few possessions I have managed to keep with me.

 

 

 

I was paid way more than usual two nights ago. The trick was nervous, too nervous, and came from my barely fondling his balls, through his pants I might add. He insisted on giving me a blow job, but between his jittery movements and mumbling on about his wife and kids at home it felt like forever before I finally came. His droning on and on about his family was more likely to make me sick than anything else, so, while not safe in this line of work, I tuned him out. In the end everything seemed to have worked out, I made three-hundred, up front of course, and he got his hour as a homo before he returned home to his picket fenced homo hating suburbia. I typically don’t take but one or two clients every few nights or so and with what this particular trick had been willing to fork over I could be set for a while, granted it is not stolen off me.

 

 

 

Thus bringing me back to my current predicament; separated and located on several different places on my body was nearly all of the money I had received from the other night, I had hardly used any of it yesterday. It made me uneasy to have so much on me and I had become hyperaware of the few people around me in the park. I often come to the park in the early morning when I am staying near Liberty Ave. I like being able to gaze up at the stars some nights and the colors of dawn and dusk are intriguing even still. Before, in my other life I would have used all the different hues I saw to express myself in a way the others in the house never understood. Glancing up I notice the sun has started to rise over the tops of building in the distance and slowly I begin my trek towards the infamous street.

 

 

 

In the time I have been living on the streets I have not stepped foot into Liberty Diner. I have though, back when I first started out on the streets, rummaged through it’s dumpsters. An unfortunate side effect of growing up WASP is that I have not been able to go into establishments unless dire necessity dictates my doing so. The longer I gaze at the colorful building the more I feel hunger clawing its way into the forefront of my mind. I reluctantly begin to pull myself away from the bright and lively colored building as I mull over my appearance and glance up to study my reflection as I pass a store’s large window. My hair has grown long; its originally blonde color has now been dulled, though I suspect it is in slightly better condition considering I managed about a ten minute cold shower maybe 5 or so days ago. My light jacket is worn down and has a small tear in the area of the right wrist and its grey color black in a few spots. What little I can see of my shirt, from the zipper opening of the jacket, is the relatively the same blue color it was when I purchased it from a little second hand shop a few weeks back. My gaze begins to travel back upwards, only allowing a quick glance at my ill fitting jeans and torn shoes. Finally, my gaze rests on my face and I unconsciously bring a hand up to rub at a spot of dirt on my cheek. My complexion has taken on a deathly pale look, the bags under my eyes only add to my death warmed over appearance.

 

 

 

It is my eyes that haunt me the most though. While staring intently into their now almost grey color, I feel but for a fleeting second, a stab of pain. Pain from anger, pain from anguish, pain from agonized and pristine defeat, but most of all pain from wanting to be loved. As soon as the crippling feeling had come forth, it was gone and I found myself turning to walk away. I want to run, escape, and get away from it all. Momentarily I am frozen in place and that’s when a voice breaks through my barrier of panic, standing out above all the other early morning noises. I feel control of my body returning to me and I begin to run away wanting far away from this place and the commotion around. My shoes decide at that moment to give out and I am soon tumbling to the ground. The soft thud and momentary pain from my body making contact with concrete brings back the panic to escape, but I realize it is too late, because the voice is drawing ever closer.

 

 

 

~~*~~

 

 

 

He told me his name is Emmett and despite how many time I have tried to dissuade him from his tirade of apologies, I honestly feared it may have never ended. After helping me get back on my feet the tirade began and nearly fifteen minutes later it was still continuing at a fairly regular rate. Emmett had brought my inside the store he worked at and whose window I had found myself staring intently into while studying myself. Torso, being the name of the store, was filled with a wide variety of clothing in many different colors and designs. I must admit the glitter and sparkle of the store unnerved me some. Not but a minute after the thought had crossed my mind Emmett seemed to have noticed my attire and instantly began flitting around the store grabbing articles here and there before thrusting half of a fairly large pile into my own arms and guiding me back into a changing room.

 

 

 

This brings me to now, stripping off my clothes to try on new ones, showing them to Emmett and allowing him to gush over his choices. I have begun to noticeably tire though, his personality is quite draining, along with the taking on and off of clothes. My eyes have become heavy and my limbs are beginning to feel as though they are filled with lead. Trying as quickly as possible to get my own clothes back on I stumble as my legs give out and for a second feel but a fleeting moment of pain.

 

 

 

~~*~~

 

Brian’s POV

 

~~*~~

 

 

 

Rubbing my forehead gently in an attempt to abate the oncoming headache I sigh heavily and get out of my car as I begin my walk into the hospital to find Theodore and Emmett. It would seem that while working today one of Emmett’s customers had passed out on him while trying on some clothes. Emmett, blaming himself for God knows why, had managed to convince the paramedics into a ride to the hospital with said stranger. Of course, today would be the day that Theodore’s car is in the shop and Cynthia is home with the flu, leaving me with the responsibility of getting Theodore to the hospital and to Emmett’s rescue. I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath before passing through the doors that open into the emergency room. Spotting Theodore comforting Emmett in one of the far corners I make my way there and lean against the wall while waiting until Theodore gives the signal that we can leave. I close my eyes briefly and block out the noise from the general hustle and bustle of the E.R. Feeling a tap on my shoulder I turn and look at Theodore who then points at a doctor talking to Emmett a few paces away. Emmett is on the verge of spilling more tears as he turns and looks at me for help and I sigh as I go over to find out what is wrong.

 

 

 

It appears that hospital was more worried about getting paid than caring for some gay street kid, or at least that’s the condensed version of the story the doctor gave me. Which only led to fueling my frustration over this situation to anger, I assured the doctor I would pay and followed a nurse to quickly fill out some paper work over the matter. Upon returning I was latched on to by Emmett before he began to pull me down the hall and through a door in which I nearly fell from the abruptness of my own stop. My eyes became transfixed on a pale blonde sleeping on a hospital bed in the middle of the room. I immediately become confused by my actions, seeing as the kid was not even close to being my type, but of one thing I am sure, the little drama princess resting in the sterile hospital was wrapping us all around his little finger, without even being awake.

 

 

 

Chapter 2 - Waste.

 

 

Waste: to destroy or consume gradually; wear away

 

 

My eyelids feel heavy and I find are difficult to open. I can feel slight warmth on the left side of my body. I struggle to fight off the feeling of fatigue and to become more alert. I clench my hands at my sides and suppress a whimper when I pick up my arm to bring my right hand to my face. Gently rubbing my eyes I begin to adjust to the disturbing amount of sunlight flooding into the sterile room. A groan escapes my lips as I come to the realization that I must be in a hospital. While my eyes finish adjusting to the light a headache begins to pound away at my skull as bits and pieces of things I must of heard while I was out of it comes floating to the surface.

 

“Hang in there sweetie, you’ll be just fine soon…just hang on…” Came the voice I distinctly familiarize with the sales clerk from the store I was in, Emmett, the one who wouldn’t stop apologizing for spooking me. I can make out other sounds, the blaring of a siren and clashing of metal against concrete. Worried rushed tones then followed by loud belligerent ones. There are several other repeating voices I do not recognize as it all begins to blend together. I press my right hand roughly against my forehead willing it all away when one voice begins to stand out above the rest of the clatter.

 

“Honeycutt be more careful…Just let him sleep, I’m sure he would appreciate it if you would give him his arm back…Forget this I’m leaving…”

 

Then silence.

 

A silence more deafening than all the noises before combined. It was unsettling and almost made me wish for the chaos of the noise back. Whimpers pass my lips and the struggle for control becomes a losing one. With as rapt movement I can manage I discard the sheets from the bed and while leaning heavily against my right arm I swing my legs off the bed and proceed to slip off the side and collapse on the floor.

 

I knew I hadn’t been on the floor for more than a few minutes, logically, but my perception of time was much slower than average. Nausea settled heavily in my stomach and the brief relief from the pounding headache was over. I cannot honestly remember a time ever feeling this helpless and my mind screamed for escape. My mind was in absolute turmoil as I began to attempt to stand. On shaky legs I make my way to the door and grip the handle tightly whilst pulling it open, peeking my head out and checking the down the left and right of the hall. I notice that down on the left side there sits a nurse’s station, unoccupied. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly I start making my way down the hall towards the right. Keeping as close to the wall as possible I having notice a sign indicating a staircase. Not far from the end of the hall another broke off to my left. I hear a faint ding of the elevator, but paid it no attention, making my way past and see the door to the stairwell growing near. I steady myself, taking another deep breath, before reaching out for the door’s handle. My hand nearly makes it when I feel a hand rest on my shoulder and everything I had tuned out came rushing back into my ears. My body tenses at the touch and I begin to tremble as I force my body to turn and come face to face with the owner of the voice from before.

 

 

 

~~*~~

 

Brian’s POV

 

~~*~~

 

Sleep evaded me last night; my thoughts kept drifting back to Emmett’s blonde street kid. The hospital had located an old school I.D., from two years ago, naming the kid Justin Taylor at an approximate age of 18-20 years old. His clothes were well worn and after having searched them for any other personal effects I had asked the hospital staff to put them into a bag for the kid to decide what to do with them later. Using the sizes indicated on the clothes and adjusting them some by the rough judging of his size I made a call for a new set of clothes to be delivered to his room by this morning.

 

I left last night when I couldn’t stand Emmett’s fawning over the kid any longer. I almost felt for the kid knowing without a doubt that Debbie will have heard of Emmett’s ordeal and will be rushing to the kid’s side sometime this morning to fawn like Emmett had.

 

I find myself once again parked in the Hospital’s parking lot and I slowly exit the Corvette and walk in the building towards the elevator that I know will bring my closest to the kid’s room. Stepping off the elevator I bring my gaze up mentally preparing myself for walking into the kid’s room when a flash of blonde catches my eye as it disappears around the corner and down the hallway. Picking up my pace I round the corner just in time to see the kid, Justin, taking a steadying breath and reaching out for the door handle to the stairs. Moving more quickly than even I had realized I grabbed for his shoulder and bite out his name. Feeling him tense under my hand I gather my patience and wait as his fear filled eyes turn towards me.

 

“Justin,” I state with as much calm as I can muster. “Where are you going?”

 

While I briefly reflect on the seeming stupidity of the question I just uttered Justin began to withdraw into himself having only a brief second of recognition of me. Turning, I lead him back towards his room, my hand never leaving his shoulder. A quick glance at the empty nurse’s station brings hints of anger to my mind, but I push it aside to deal with later, the quivering boy before me was of more importance at the moment. I guide him through the doorway and towards his plain and sterile looking bed. Gently I release him from my grasp and watch as the kid walks over and climbs back into his bed, still in a daze like state. Pulling over the sheets till all but his head was covered by him then leaning back and staring wild eyed at the ceiling.

 

Sighing, I pull the door silently shut behind me and walk over to the room’s solitary window. I begin working on collecting my thoughts, I know I must keep myself as calm as possible around Justin. Wait. For what reason exactly do I care? With a gentle shake of my head I take what I thought was only a few moments to collect and calm myself, I turn to the clock and see that nearly thirty-five minutes have passed. Bringing my head down towards the kid’s bed his eyes ensnare my own. I know I should look away, but I cannot. The color of his eyes seems dulled, subdued, like the life in them had left long ago. They hold within them pain that rivaled any I had seen before, even in my own all those years ago. I continue to keep his gaze until I notice the slow tensing of his body. He blinks, breaking the connection, and I gradually make my way over to his bed. Standing beside him I make one last glance over, assuring myself that he is fine, physically at least.

 

“I wouldn’t recommend trying to run again, I’m sure Auntie Em will be here soon to look after you, most likely along with one or two others.” I utter leaving the room.

 

~~*~~

 

Justin’s POV

 

~~*~~

 

A distinct feeling of doom had settled over me when I turned around and was able to put a face to the ever haunting voice. He is beyond description in physical appearance, making him seem god like, but there is undoubtedly more there. When our eyes met I looked past the captivating hazel of his eyes and found way more behind them. At first he seemed almost completely my opposite, but there were things that he had learned to hide well, just around the edges. The complexity admittedly scares me quite a deal and I felt the tension return to my body preparing for escape. I feel my eyes flutter close and back open again, breaking our connection. He moves towards my bed, stopping when he reaches its side. He informs me whom I assume is Emmett will be arriving sometime soon and there is a probability he may bring others. Oh and not to attempt escape again.  Then he leaves and after hearing the door click shut I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

 

It was gone now, leaving with him. My chest constricts with unimaginable pain and I roll to my side, back now facing the door, upset by my abandonment. I wanted it back; though to be honest I am not even sure it has a name or if I could adequately describe it. I just know I hurt when it left, he took it with him and I don’t know his name. What if he doesn’t come back?

 

~~*~~

 

A nurse came in to check on me about nine and brought with her some clothes that had been delivered for me to leave in tomorrow. I am definitely ready to leave here, but I’m worried about how I am going to pay for all of this. The nurse informed me I was brought in after collapsing in a store. I am being treated for exhaustion, malnutrition, and the early stages of a cold. Tomorrow I will be released into the care of my friends and will need to be carefully watched for a week or so to make sure I am eating and sleeping properly and keeping up with the meds they are giving me for the cold, in hopes of nipping it in the bud before it progresses any farther.

 

I have spent the last three hours trying to figure out who might these ‘friends’ be when a loud and boisterous Emmett enters my room followed by a louder and more exuberant woman.  

 

“Good afternoon, baby!” He exclaims rushing to my bed side and taking hold of my hand. “You don’t know how relieved I am to see your lovely eyes staring back at me again.”

 

He sighs, pats my hand and moves two chairs, one to each side of the bed. Emmett then gesture to the woman arranging flowers in a vase on my night stand to have a seat in one of the chairs around my bed. With each of them sitting the woman begins speaking to the both of us, I can’t make out what they are saying though. My body is once again caught in fears embrace. The two of them have surrounded me, cornered me to this one solitary spot on the bed. Have I always been this afraid of people? I can’t recall having ever having a particular problem like this being around tricks. A familiar unsettling feeling washes over me and I begin to feel exhausted. I close my eyes in hopes of feigning sleep well enough that my two visitors will leave. Thankfully, after a bit of time passes and Emmett has been assured by the woman that I am merely sleeping they both leave and I give into the exhaustion.

 

~~*~~

Brian’s POV

~~*~~

 

I stopped back in again a little after one to check up on the kid, but he was sleeping. I noticed the chairs in his room had been moved and inquired about it at the nurses’ station when I went over to ask if his clothes had been delivered. I had decided to let my anger from earlier go at their lack of paying attention. Life would move along a lot smoother without having a handful of potentially pissed off nurses’, the kid was leaving tomorrow anyway. My inquiry brought me two important answers. Yes, his clothing I had ordered had arrived and had been stored under his bed for safe keeping, and Emmett and Deb had been by. When leaving they had informed a nurse that the kid had fallen asleep about thirty minutes into their visit and that he hadn’t spoken the entire visit. I found myself at home not long after that, a definite advantage of being the boss of your own company. It wasn’t like I was having a particularly productive day at any rate.

 

I’m about to meet the boys for another wonderful evening at Woody’s followed by a sexually appetizing night at Babylon. Normally the excitement of the oncoming hunt at Babylon would have sufficed me, but tonight my thoughts seem to be jumbled.

 

~~*~~

 

I slept better last night, but still not quite back to the restful peace I have become accustomed to passing out with exhaustion each night. I plan on spending a few hours in the office before going to pick up the kid in the afternoon. I also want to clear my calendar for the next few days, with the exception of two campaigns. One I need to present and the other I need to brainstorm. Arriving at Kinnetic, I filled Cynthia in on what I wanted done in my absence and what had gone on in hers.  

 

After feeling everything had been taken care of and planned out for the next few days I noticed that it was nearly noon. I set the notes I needed for the new campaign in the passenger seat of my Jeep. I opted to take the Jeep over the Corvette today not wanting to worry about getting the kid and all of his stuff to fit, plus the Jeep is safer in the snow. I park my Jeep as close to the entrance of the hospital as I can and feel relieved that this is the last time I will need to park here for what I hope is never, or at least a long long while. Walking out of the familiar elevator and down the hall to the kid’s room I make quick notice that there are nurses at the nurses’ station when I hear Debbie’s voice carrying out of the kid’s room. I quicken my pace and open the door to see Debbie holding one of Justin’s arms in what I assume is an attempt to get him out of his bed.

 

“C’mon Sunshine, we need to get you dressed so I can get you home and all settled before my shift.” Debbie explains pulling lightly on Justin’s arm. I could tell he was terrified and I wanted nothing more than to gather him in my arms and protect him, even if it was from Deb.

 

“Debbie release him your scaring him.” I command in the calmest voice I can manage. I walk over to the bed catching Justin’s gaze and holding it. Not even turning to see who had entered the room behind me.

 

“Brian, what do you mean? I need to get Sunshine back to the house. I have a shift this evening.”

 

“I don’t think you understand Deb, but since I have been paying for Sunshine’s stay I will be the one taking him home for his further recovery.” I answer working my way between her and Justin, taking her hand from his arm and gently rubbing it.

 

“Brian you couldn’t possib…”

 

“Debbie I think Brian should take Sunshine home. Come on, let’s leave the two alone so Brian can get everything in order and they can leave.” I recognize as Emmett’s voice interrupting.

 

“Well Sunshine’s an adult, let’s let him choose.” Debbie huffs.

 

I sigh and nod at Justin still holding his gaze, his eyes widen and he looks past me for a moment before looking back at me. “I want to go with him.” He whispers bringing a hand up to his nose and sniffling. I hear the two leave knowing they heard Justin loud and clear and give him a quick smile before getting up and gathering his new clothes from under his bed.

 

“You go and get changed into these, while I collect the rest of your stuff. Has the doctor already been in to see you?”

 

He nods, moves off his bed and heads into the restroom reappearing about ten minutes later. I take quick note that the jeans are a bit big on him, but the rest seems to fit just right.

 

“Justin, do you want to take these flowers with us?” He shakes his head vigorously in response and I walk over to him holding out my hand. He takes it, giving me a thankful smile and we head out of his room. As we pass the nurses’ station I make sure that he has indeed been discharged and we head out into the cold making our way as quickly and safely to the Jeep as possible.

 

Once on the road he begins going through his things pulling out what I would assume is several wads of cash from different articles of his old clothing. He seems to find it all or at least doesn’t show his disappointment if any of it is missing. The ride gives me time to stop and wander for the first time today if I am doing the right thing or what I am even doing to begin with. I could have simply allowed him to go with Debbie. I know he would have been well taken care of and I wasn’t worried about the money. Parking the Jeep I move to get out of the vehicle and walk around to the passenger’s side and am surprised to find not only find him already out of the vehicle but holding all of his things and holding out his hand filled with money, head down.

 

I reach up and rub the bridge of my nose and then reach my hand out towards his, but instead of taking the money I lightly grab his wrist and pulling him into the building with me.

 

"Save your money.” Is all I say on the subject and he simply stuffs it into a pocket on his jacket.

 

I pull out my keys as the lift reaches the top floor and unlock the door to loft. I usher him inside and pull the door shut the unmistakable metal clang ensuring our finally being alone and home.

 

 

Chapter 3 - Refuge.

Refuge: A place of shelter, protection or safety.

Previously:  “I pull out my keys as the lift reaches the top floor and unlock the door to the loft.  I usher him inside and pull the door shut - the unmistakable metal clang ensuring our finally being alone and home.”

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

The boy just stands there looking around him as if he's in some alien spaceship after having been forcibly abducted. It's like he's been living on the streets for so long that he doesn't remember what the inside of a building looks like or what to do once he's there. I tentatively stretch out one hand to touch him on the arm to guide him further inside, but my touch causes him to flinch violently so I drop my hand to my side.

"Justin," I speak to him calmly and in a hushed voice - the way you would speak to a frightened animal. "This is my loft. You're going to stay here with me tonight.  Okay?"

He looks into my eyes, but there is still so little comprehension visible there that I'm not sure he's even heard me. I'm going to have to take charge a little more forcefully, I decide.

"Why don't you start with a shower? Follow me and I'll show you the bathroom," I say as I take three steps towards the bedroom, beckoning towards him with my hand.  

I'm relieved to see that he's following me, always keeping at least ten feet between us. I walk up the three steps to the bedroom and turn to the left into the bath. Unfortunately, the confined space will no longer allow Justin to maintain his distance, so he halts outside the room, staring with a distressed look on his pale countenance. I'm going to have to get a bit more forceful if we're going to get anything done here today.

"Justin.  Come here, now," I direct, pointing to the tile floor right beside me.

The shy blond shuffles into the room obediently, his gaze directed downward, and stands where I've indicated. He will not look me in the eyes, though.

"I want you to take a shower now, and don't forget to wash your hair. When you're done, put your dirty clothes and the towel in the hamper over there and put on these clean clothes," I order, handing him the bag of clothing which we brought from the hospital. "Then, once you're dressed, come back out to the kitchen and we'll get some food. Do you understand, Justin?"

All I get is a small nod. He doesn't actually make a move towards the shower, though, and he's still avoiding looking at me directly. I figure that I'll give him some space and see what happens, so I smile at him reassuringly and back out the door, closing it after me. I hear the water in the shower turning on almost immediately, so I head out to the kitchen to look through my pile of take out menus and decide what we'll have for dinner.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

 

It's way too clean here - that's my first thought as I step through the door of his place. I'm afraid to go in because I don't want to get anything dirty. They kinda cleaned me up back at the hospital, I guess, but I still don't feel clean enough to be in a beautiful place like this. So I just stand still by the door, not knowing what to do.

That's when He touches my arm and it feels like a jolt of electricity zaps through me. I don't mean to jump the way I do, it's just that, on the streets, except when you're deliberately selling yourself for the cash, nobody ever touches you - at least not without the intent to do something bad to you - so it surprises me when He touches me like that. It didn't feel bad though - I kinda didn't mind Him touching me and I wish I hadn't flinched like that because it made Him pull his hand away.  

That's when He tells me that I'm going to be staying here with Him tonight. He says my name so softly - I've never heard anyone say my name like that and it makes this small prickling of pain start up in my gut. I get to stay HERE, with HIM? This just makes no sense. This can't be right. I mean it was kind of Him and Emmett and that lady to take me to the hospital when I passed out and all, but why would He bring me here to stay with him? I don't understand at all. He doesn't act like a normal John at all.

When He adds that I get to take a shower, I almost moan aloud with the anticipation. I don't even remember when the last time I had a real shower was. I don't think the occasional quick, cold shower at the local mens’ shelter, where I sometimes stay when it’s just too bitterly cold out even for me, counts.

I know He must be thinking I'm incredibly stupid because He's talking to me like He would to a child. It's not that I'm an idiot. I just can't believe that this is happening. I really do understand His words, I just can't believe that these nice things He's saying are directed at me.

Finally, I sense He's losing his temper or something since His voice gets louder and more demanding. He orders me to His side. I'm ashamed that I'm acting like this - like a complete idiot or something - I can't even look at Him I'm so embarrassed.  

I feel even worse when He starts to explain to me again that I should shower, wash my hair and dress in clean clothes - He must think I'm mentally impaired or something. Shit. I don't want Him to get that impression of me - I just can't quite get ahold of my reeling brain yet - nice things like this don't happen to people like me and it's really throwing me.  

Finally He leaves and I find that without Him here to distract me, I can actually function. I quickly pull off my clothes and head for the shower stall. Having already turned on the water and let it warm, when I step under the spray a cross between a sigh and a moan passes my lips. The water feels amazing on my skin and I am so grateful to be able to take a hot shower again. Using His soap, I clean every bit of my body. I love the scent of His soap - 'sandalwood' - the name of the perfume comes to my mind from somewhere in my distant past. Then I wash my hair three times and use the conditioner I find as well. It feels so luxurious that I'm reluctant to ever get out. But, I don't want to anger my Host either, so I eventually turn the water off, dress and head back out to the main room where He's waiting for me.

 

~~*~~

Brian’s POV

~~*~~

 

The boy sure does clean up well, I have to give him that. He still looks almost deathly pale, when he finally decides to venture back out of the bathroom, but the grey tinge to his skin is gone. His eyes are looking a little bit less haunted. The clothes I had Ted get are baggy and probably came from the Big Q, but even with that camouflage, I can tell his body is very nice. And, that glorious mop of long golden hair is, well, glorious. He could obviously use a hair cut but other than that he's simply beautiful - I try to tamp that lesbionic thought down as fast as it arises but it's not going away because the truth of it is standing right next to me. This boy is damn hot.  

"That's much better, Sunshine," I say, the silly pet name I heard Debbie using for the boy earlier falling so easily from my tongue. "You look practically human now.  So, come here and tell me what you want for dinner - I thought we'd order from the deli down the street tonight, if that's okay with you."

I show him the menu and he looks at it for several minutes. I'm just about to give up and order for him, when he shyly points to a small sandwich near the bottom of the a la carte section of the menu. He's biting his lip and darting sidewise glances at me as if he's afraid of something. Is he afraid I'll think he's being greedy if he orders a real dinner? His reticence is making me angry, although I'm not sure if I'm angry at him or at whatever the circumstances are that have left this kid in such a deplorable state

Thinking back over what the 'At Home Care' instructions from the hospital said about the boy's severe state of malnutrition, I mentally double that portion and decide to order him a green salad and a side of pasta as well. Oh, and better get him something sweet for dessert, too. This boy could use a couple of pounds on him as much as he needed that shower.

While I'm ordering the food, Justin wanders off looking around the loft. I'm just glad he's not standing there catatonic anymore. I get distracted by a call from Ted at the office as soon as I hang up with the deli, and don't notice what happens to the boy in the meantime. When I finally get Ted straightened out and pocket my cell phone, I look around and immediately get concerned since I can't see Justin anymore. While the loft isn’t exactly small, the open floor plan makes it fairly simple to look around and locate someone in the main rooms pretty quickly. The fact that I didn’t see Justin right away made me think that he’d gone into the bedroom or bath. Since I was curious about what my silent companion might be up to, I quickly trotted up to the bedroom to see if I could find him. A cursory look around, though, didn’t turn up any hot young blonds, so I headed back out to the main room.

By this point I was starting to get a little nervous about what the boy could be doing. Did he somehow leave while I was on the phone with Ted? I didn’t think so, but if not, where could he be? I was about to begin hollering out for the boy, when I happen to step to the far side of the sofa and notice that several of the cushions are missing. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the bright white fabric of one cushion lying on the floor in the corner between the bedroom and the entertainment center. On closer inspection, I find my missing blondie - huddled in a ball on the floor atop a pile of cushions and partially hidden by the free-standing CD holder and a floor lamp.  He is sound asleep, a light little snore issuing from his stuffy nose.

“Oh, Sunshine,” I whisper, the forlorn sight eliciting all sorts of silly emotions that I'm not about to acknowledge.  

I grab a spare blanket out of the closet and cover him up, deciding to let him sleep where he is for the time being.  

I head over to my desk and spend the next twenty minutes working on the campaign for Daddies' Board Shop* - an up and coming skateboard, snowboard and ski manufacturer whose income last year, surprisingly enough, topped $5 million. Who knew that catering to a bunch of ski bunny slackers could be such big business? The company had come to my attention a couple of months ago when I met the CEO and her son at a social event in New York. They were floundering with their unexpected success and I knew I could lure them into the Kinnetik fold with a more structured advertising campaign. I had preliminary boards and a stack of ideas from my art department with me but nothing had really struck me yet as being that one perfect idea. I fumble around a bit with some additional brainstorming but toss it all aside when the buzzer rings to let me know our dinner is finally here.

After I pay for the food and carry the take out bags over to the coffee table along with some drinks, I notice that my guest is no longer sleeping peacefully. Justin is thrashing about on his pile of pillows, his head tossing from side to side and little whimpering noises coming from his cracked, sore looking lips. I start over towards him, intending to wake the boy from his nightmare and bring him over to eat.

Watching this sad hurt little boy in the throes of his dream, my anger is almost boiling over - how could anyone let this happen to such an enchanting boy? What hell has this kid been through in his short life already that could make him writhe in his sleep like this. I’m struggling with this feeling that I somehow need to make this right - to protect and care for this boy that I don’t even know and who has only said six words to me in the past two days. Why do I feel so protective of this little street kid?

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

 

I am brought to consciousness, my breathing erratic and heart racing. I sit up abruptly and try to calm myself as the chaos of my thoughts drowns out reality. I had been in the grasp of a nightmare filled with familiarity. As I calm, I start thinking back, trying to remember, but stop myself, deciding it may be better just not knowing at this moment, or ever.

I hear shuffling behind me and I turn my body around quickly to see the outline of a figure making its way towards me. The room is dark. Even though I think it’s still pretty early, it’s winter, so the sun sets around six in the evening and nobody has turned any lights on in this area of the loft yet. As the figure nears me, though, I can finally make out His face and realize who it is. He looks at me, questions in His eyes. I drop my gaze and look away, ashamed, and bring my knees up to my chest, hiding my head between my legs and my chest, huddling deeper into my nest of pillows and a blanket I don’t remember.

I feel the large cushion under me dip as He kneels next to me, but the man makes no move or attempt to touch me. We sit there for an undetermined amount of time, until my breathing has evened out. Taking a deep breath, releasing it and taking another I am finally able to get my thoughts in order. I still feel so tired - I don’t remember ever being this tired before, which says a lot after having been on the streets as long as I’ve been. I long to go back to sleep and feel like I could sleep for weeks, months, more maybe. But then the uneasiness from the nightmare creeps back to my consciousness and I shy away from sleep again.  

Before, if I had awakened in the night, I never seemed to be able to fall back asleep. Did I always have nightmares before? Were they the reason for my loss of sleep? I had become readily accustomed to so few hours of sleep while on the streets. Sleeping in the cold, in whatever hole I could find, wasn’t exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep to start with, but what if there was something more to it? Did I want to know? Not really.

The man must have been reading the emotions racing across my face. He had risen to stand in front of me, holding out His hand for mine, His head turned away. Grateful, I put my hand in His, briefly enjoying the strength and warmth being connected provide. I allow Him to pull me to my feet and I admire His patience as we make our way towards the couch. He sits himself down and pulls me onto His lap, His arms closing about me. I don’t know what to do with these feelings of comfort and caring - they are completely alien to me - but, I don’t dislike them so I try to will my body to relax into the comforting embrace. Finally, I manage to let go of the tension in me enough to lay my head back against His shoulder. Finding this to be a comfortable spot, I close my eyes and wait, completely at a loss as to what is coming next.

Just as the feeling of comfort seeps into me, a different feeling arises and pain erupts in my chest, taking my breath away. My body becomes rigid and I feel moisture pooling in my eyes. Instinctively I know the pain isn’t physical, but that knowledge brings me no peace of mind. Part of the pain is fear. Why is this man being so kind to me? What happens to me now? Will I be able to live back on the streets - survive - after this?

Part of the pain is anger. Who did my father think he was to condemn me to this life? Part of the pain is anguish. How did I end up alone? Why can’t I be loved? Is there something wrong with me? The pain was many other things, in a way it was everything that is me, but these were the parts of most importance.

The arms wrap around me even tighter, locking me in a warm, secure embrace. The man doesn’t say a word, but I know that He’s there and worrying about me. I fret over the fact that I’m such a bother to Him and after He’s been so nice. I’m so much trouble. Why is He bothering? He doesn’t let me go though, even when I struggle a little to try to get away. His arms stay strongly around me, holding me together until the panicky feelings start to subside. The pain doesn’t go away. Not completely, but it subsides just enough when he is holding me.

“Are you hungry, Sunshine,” He whispers into my ear as soon as my breathing has calmed enough that He can tell I’m going to be okay.  

I nod, loving the feeling of His strong chest against my cheek as I move my head. I love the feeling and the sound of the small chuckle He makes then, the vibrations rippling through my skin and matching the low throaty sounds of His laugh. Why do we have to move?  I don’t want to ever leave here - this particular time and space is perfect. Even though I am hungry, I wish I didn’t have to move right now. The man squeezes me once more, though, and then shifts my body off His lap so He can lean forward and arrange several take out boxes of food.

Food. It smells so good. I got several meals while I was in the hospital yesterday and this morning, but it was the same tasteless, bland food you get at the shelters or the soup kitchens. Whatever was making these smells was REAL food and I hadn’t had much real food in such a very long, long time. I was salivating like a dog waiting for its kibbles as I watched the man, His deft hands opening boxes and moving several towards me. There’s a roast beef sandwich - a large one, not the small one I’d indicated to him before. There was also a green salad - with real, unwilted lettuce and spinach and crisp bean sprouts - a pasta salad and even a real chocolate milk shake.  

“Whoa. Slow down, Sunshine,” He tells me with a small laugh as I start to stuff the sandwich in my mouth as fast as I can swallow. “It’s not going anywhere. I don’t want you choking to death trying to inhale that sandwich instead of chewing and swallowing it.”

I realize that my manners are a little lacking and quickly set the sandwich back down in the take out box, worried at how badly I’m behaving in front of Him. I want this man to like me for some reason. I don’t want Him to think badly of me, so I stop eating right away - He shouldn’t have to watch my miserable table manners while He’s eating his own food. I’ll just wait till He’s done and then I can eat and that way it won’t offend Him. I sit back with my hands in my lap, looking down at the floor, and I wait for Him to finish.  

 

~~*~~

Brian’s POV

~~*~~

Shit. Why did I say anything? I was only joking about how fast he was eating and now he won’t eat at all. I shouldn’t have made any comments until after he was done eating. He needs to eat a lot more than I do, annoying kid.  

“Justin. I didn’t mean that you should stop eating,” I try to explain. “Please, finish your food. The doctor said you are severely malnourished and gave me strict orders about getting you fed on a regular schedule. You need to eat as much of that as you can. I didn’t mean to make fun of you. Please. Eat.”

He still won’t look at me directly - it’s starting to creep me out, but I guess I understand that he’s been so traumatized, living like an animal for so long, that he doesn’t feel comfortable around anyone. I hope he’ll get over it. Soon.  

Since he still isn’t eating, I decide to give him some space and I clear away the remains of my own dinner, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the boxes and other trash and heading for the bar to pour myself a Beam. Allowing him time to work through his thoughts I find myself wandering a couple of times around the loft, wondering again just what in the hell I think I'm doing. I decided it was too late, or early, to be bothered by what I'm doing, though. There's something compelling about this boy and I'm not going to just give up on him - it seems like too many other people have already done that.  

I finally settle back at my computer, looking over the Daddies account documentation again. When I look up a few minutes later, I note that Justin has begun to eat again - this time a bit slower and not as if someone was going to steal his food if he didn’t ingest it as fast as possible. I let a half smile reach my lips at the sight. This will work, I tell myself, still only half convinced but very determined nonetheless.

*A real Portland business - voted one of the best places to work in Oregon last year.  I have no affiliation with this business, nor do I profess that they have any affiliation with QAF or my writings, but I just think these guys are so cool, I thought I’d give them a shout out in my story. Check out their website if you have time: Daddies Board Shop - Portland, OR

 

Chapter 4 - Shelter.

Shelter: Something that physically protects, especially from danger.

 

~~*~~

Brian’s POV

~~*~~

By now it’s about 9:30 pm and, as expected, the usual crowd starts to hound me to join them for the night out at the bar or the club. First I get a call from Ted. He’s calling from Woody’s and just wanted to let me know that the gang is waiting on me for drinks before they head over to Babylon for the night. I tell him that I’m not sure I can make it tonight. I can’t really elaborate on why, though, because before I can get anything more out, I hear the buzzer sounding on the loft’s front door so I end the call with Ted and answer the buzzer.

It’s Michael at the door, of course, coming to drag me along to the bar with him. Somehow or other he’s not really in the loop about Justin, who is sitting patiently on the sofa waiting for me.  

“Hey, Brian. Who’s that?” Michael asks, pointing rudely over at Justin while the boy appears to be trying to make himself invisible by sinking into the couch cushions.  

“That is Justin. He’s my GUEST, Mikey.” I say, trying to emphasize the ‘guest’ part so Michael will curb his rude curiosity.

“What’s he doing here, Brian? We need to get going to Woody’s. The guys are already waiting for us. You’ll have to kick this guy out quick or we’ll miss them.” Michael states brusquely, giving Justin a dismissive glance.

“Mikey! I just said that Justin is my guest. He’s not going anywhere. Don’t you and your mother talk like five times a day? I would think you would have been brought up to date regarding Emmett’s little lost street urchin already.” I say as I grab ahold of Michael’s shoulder and try to maneuver him back towards the door.”

“That’s the kid Emmett found? I didn’t know he was coming here with you. I thought Ma was going to put him up at home for a couple days. Nobody said you were going to be playing babysitter.” Michael shakes off my guiding hand and walks back to the sofa so he can more fully examine the interesting new specimen currently being cared for by the Liberty Diner gang, myself now included.

“The ‘kid’ has a name, Mikey - it’s Justin. And, he’s sitting right there listening to you. You don’t need to talk about him like he’s not here or deaf or something,” I admonish my callous friend.  

“Sorry. But whatever, Brian. We need to get going. You aren’t even dressed yet,” Michael dismisses the obviously insignificant twink in a blink as he concentrates on getting me ready for our standard Thursday night bar and club hopping.     

“Not tonight, Mikey,” I say immediately, again trying to impel Michael towards the door. “I’m going to stay home tonight. Justin is still settling in and I don’t want to abandon him for the night. You go on and enjoy your night with the guys and I’ll see you later, Mikey.”

“What the fuck, Brian? You’re not coming out with us tonight?” Michael appears to be astounded by the fact that I’m not going out for one night - apparently I’ve become a little too predictable, I think, if Michael can’t imagine my staying home for one single night.  

“You do speak English, don’t you, Mikey?” I snark, as I more forcefully drag my friend to the door. “I’m staying home tonight. Is that too hard for you to understand? Go on and play with your little friends and have a good time, Mikey. I’m a big boy and I can entertain myself for one night. Bye bye, Mikey!” I say and I slide the loft door closed in his face before he can protest further.

“That was Mikey, Sunshine,” I comment to the boy as I return to sit next to him on the sofa. “He’s a twat, but sorta my best friend. Don’t pay him too much mind - he was raised by a raging queen and a single Italian mother, so he pretty much has no manners. He’s got a big heart though, if you can see it through all the bluster.”  

Justin actually snorts softly - it's the closest thing to a laugh I’ve heard from him so far - and he smiles a tiny half smile while he carefully examines his foot so as not to have to look at me directly. This is definitely progress.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I’m actually full. I haven’t felt full in . . . well, I don’t know if I’ve ever not been at least a little hungry. I like this feeling a lot. But I feel even more sleepy now that I’ve eaten. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I don’t want to sleep while He is here, though. I can’t believe I fell asleep earlier. I don’t want to waste a single moment of time that I can spend with Him. I’m sure that this can’t last and that soon I’ll be alone again. I still can’t forget the feeling of Him holding me in His arms earlier. I want to feel like that again. And if I can’t feel that, I want to at least listen to Him talking and watch Him moving around. If I let myself sleep, I won’t be able to see Him anymore and that thought makes the pain in my gut throb a little more strongly.  

Then the other man comes into the loft. The other man talks too loudly and moves around a lot and waves his arms about too much. I don’t like him at all. He’s talking about me the way people usually talk about me when they see me on the streets - like I don’t mean anything, like I don’t count for anything and they can say anything about me they want and I won’t understand or at least I won’t care.  

He tells the other man to stop talking about me like that, though. He is actually standing up for me to his friend. No one has ever stood up for me before. Ever. Well, not since Daphne, but she’s been gone a long time now so it probably doesn’t even count. But He’s telling His friend to talk to me directly. Then He tells His friend to leave and that He’s going to stay with me tonight!  He says my name and says He’s not going to abandon me for the night. I’m afraid to believe what I hear. I just won’t listen, I decide. I won’t count on anything. I’ll just wait.

Then He makes the other man leave and He comes to sit with me again on the couch. He makes a joke about his friend not having any manners and I almost even laugh. I don’t remember laughing for a long time. It feels strange but good. He makes me feel good - sort of safe.  

Then I remember the other man called Him something . . . Brian. Yeah. I remember hearing Emmett calling him that now too. He is Brian. That’s a very nice name, I think to myself. Brian.  

Brian starts to pick up the remains from my dinner and I’m startled back to the present. I’m scared and embarrassed that I’ve left a mess for Him to clean up. I scurry to my feet and grab the boxes and other trash out of his hands and quickly take it all to the kitchen, throwing it all in the trash and getting a towel to wipe off the table where I might have dropped something or made some other mess. Brian grabs my hand as I return to the coffee table and takes the towel away from me.

“You don’t have to do that, Justin. I have a cleaning service to take care of that. I appreciate you cleaning up the take out boxes but you don’t have to wipe down the tables or anything,” Brian says to me, as he carefully guides me to sit back down on the couch. “Now, we still have dessert. Do you think you can eat more? If not, I can save it for you for later.”

There’s more? Fuck! I can’t believe there is more. I remember the concept of dessert, but for so long now there’s only been ‘food’ - you eat what you can when you can get it and there isn’t any room for a concept like ‘dessert’, which entails something extra over and beyond ‘food’. I have no idea how to respond to such a concept anymore. Brian is standing there waiting for me to tell him somehow if I think I can eat more and I can tell he doesn’t understand why this is so hard for me. How the fuck do I explain to him? In the end all I do is nod again like some idiot bobble-head doll that can’t do anything else.  

Brian doesn’t seem to mind though and he comes right back with a plate loaded with what looks like chocolate cake. I hear myself moan at the mere sight of anything that delicious. It’s almost erotic how excited I get from the sight of that slice of cake. I remember that I love chocolate. I haven’t had any in a long time but I remember the taste. It’s just too much, though. The food, the shower, the warm safe place to sleep earlier. Now, chocolate cake and He is standing there watching like I’m supposed to know how to handle all this. I can’t do it. It’s too much.

 

~~*~~

Brian’s POV

~~*~~

Okay, I wasn’t ready for Justin’s reaction to the dessert I just put down on the table in front of him. He sat there staring at the plate for a couple minutes like I’d tried to feed him rat poison and then he just burst out into sobs and tears. What the fuck? Who cries over chocolate cake? If he didn’t want it he didn’t have to eat it, but I didn’t expect him to start to cry.  

I’m really, really not good at this whole caregiver thing, I think. What the fuck was I thinking bringing the kid here?  I can’t even seem to get him fed without heaps of drama. I really hate dealing with anyone who’s crying - probably just another one of the reasons why I’m totally turned off by most women. The sight of Justin crying though doesn’t strike me the same way - I’m not turned off, I just want to make the tears stop somehow.  

I start to take the cake away back to the kitchen. I figure I’ll put it away in the fridge for Justin for later and if he changes his mind he can eat it then. But, as I start to walk away with the plate, the sobbing from the little blond gets even louder. I’m completely lost as to what to do.  

I put the plate back down on the coffee table and move around toward the sobbing boy, trying to move slowly so as not to spook him. I manage to sit next to him and awkwardly put my arm around his shoulders. I just hold him and wait until the crying quiets and the tears stop. He’s sitting there with his head leaning on my shoulder and I can feel his shaking slow down and eventually notice his breathing has become more regular.  

When I angle my head to look down at him, I almost laugh - he’s fallen asleep again. The kid has cried himself to sleep over a fucking piece of chocolate cake - this is a first for Brian Kinney who has never held anyone while they cried before, let alone a cute little blond street kid who got overly emotional over his dessert. If he wasn’t so fucking adorable, I would probably start laughing at the little drama princess. Instead, I carefully lie him down on the couch, grabbing a cushion and the blanket from the pile he’s left on the floor and tuck him in to sleep.

I figure I’ve done all I can for the boy as far as the malnutrition and the exhaustion are concerned. The cold will take care of itself - all I have to do is to remember to give him the meds tomorrow morning. I guess sleep is the best remedy for him, so I let him get on with it and I go back to working on the boards for Daddies’ Board Shop.  

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Someone cries out in the dark and it brings me awake immediately. It turns out the cry was from me. Another fucking nightmare. Thankfully I don’t remember what this one was about either. I really don’t want to know. It has to be about my father though, since I wake up with that feeling of panic I always get when I think of him. The panic and fear that the nightmare has left behind aren't going away and I wish I could forget those as well.  

I feel the couch dip near me, but Brian makes no move to touch me. I feel bad that I’ve woken Him up now too. Eventually, I allow Him to pull me to my feet and I again admire His patience, given the early hour, as He tows me towards His bedroom. We make our way towards the bed at a sluggish pace, my legs aren’t working particularly well yet. When we reach the bed, I lie down in the space He provides for me. He gets into the bed next to me and I roll over so my back is towards Him - facing away from Him is easier than looking Him in the face. His arms wrap around me and lock me in a warm, secure embrace. I close my eyes and wait for exhaustion to take over. I wonder if He's gonna fuck me now. Brian doesn’t say a word, but I know that he hasn’t succumbed to sleep because His breathing is still shallow and not even.  

“Sleep, Sunshine. Leave your musings for when the sun is shining,” Brian whispers into my ear.

The sound of his voice is so comforting - in a way I can’t even begin to explain. The pain in my gut left over from the nightmare still doesn’t go away completely, but it does subside again just enough, while He is holding me, that I manage to get back to sleep, sheltered in the strength of His arms.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

I can't sleep. I can't stop wondering what the hell must have happened to do this to the kid. I mean, I'm no stranger to abuse - growing up with Jack and Joanie as parents, I've seen my share of shit. But compared to Justin, I feel practically well-adjusted.

Every time he falls asleep, he wakes up screaming after only an hour or two. I don't think he even realizes he's doing it. This is the third time tonight he's bolted awake. There are still never any words to his terror, just panic filled screaming. And when he wakes, it's like nothing's happened - he just blinks at me, still saying nothing, then rolls over and goes right back to sleep. He seems so complaisant about it all - like this isn't anything unusual for him - like he somehow expects his life to be like this. I, on the other hand, am a complete basket case.  

What the hell am I going to do? One night of this I can probably handle, but does this go on every fucking night? Which brings me back to wondering again what could possibly have done this to him. Somehow I don't think it's just from being on the streets - this goes way fucking deeper. And for some reason, I just really, desperately want to help him but I have absolutely no idea even where to start.

I must have eventually fallen asleep because my ringing cell phone wakes me. It's got to be after 10:00 am since the pale winter sun is actually high enough to shine over the top of the neighboring building and in through the loft windows. I'm a bit groggy at first - all I can do is fumble around on the night stand until I find the offensive ringing device.

"Kinney," I croak.

"Hey, Bri," Michael's overly cheerful voice drills into my eardrum. "Just checking to see how your night in with the street twink went."

That comment wakes me up enough to wonder where the boy is, since he's obviously not here next to me in bed.

"Can't talk now, Mikey. Gotta go," I manage as I hang up.

I don’t want to just yell out for Justin - he's so jumpy, I'm afraid to frighten him by calling out. So I get out of bed and go looking for him instead. I can tell almost at once that there's something wrong. It's too quiet and too neat. I already know somehow that he's gone. I still need to make sure though, so I get up and look.

The first place I check, after briefly poking my head into the bathroom, is the corner where Justin made his little nest of cushions yesterday afternoon.  All the cushions are gone - placed carefully back on the couch - and the blanket is neatly folded and draped over the sofa back. Then I notice that all the new clothes I got him are likewise folded in a neat pile on the coffee table. Shit, I have a really bad feeling now.  

There's no sign of him anywhere around the loft. I finally throw caution to the wind and call out his name - just in case he's hiding somewhere - but there's no answer. When I come to the kitchen, I see that there's something large and white sitting on the counter. When I'm near enough, I see it's a drawing made on a large sheet of paper - on closer inspection it turns out to be the back side of one of the preliminary drawings my art department did for the Daddies' Board Shop account. Next to the drawing is a small pile of ragged, crumpled dollar bills - it looks like about fifty bucks altogether.

Shit. He's gone.

 

"Michael, meet me at the Diner in fifteen minutes," I'm yelling into the phone as I pull on my clothing, already heading towards the door. "It's an emergency. Oh, and call Em and Ted and get them down there too. We're gonna need help. The kid is missing."

Chapter 5 - Rescue.

Rescue:  To save someone from a dangerous or distressing situation.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I'm just not used to sleeping much past dawn.  Once the sun comes up, people start to show up and I'd better be on my way if I don't want to get hassled.  So I'm up at about 7:00 am, even here in His loft.  I remember waking Him up a couple times during the night - I feel bad about that, so I try not to make any noise and just let Brian sleep some more.  

While he's asleep I wander around and let my curiosity free a little - yesterday I was just too tired, it seemed, to spend any time really looking over my surroundings, but I've got time now so I indulge. This place is beautiful. Too nice, in fact - it makes me nervous touching anything, since I'm afraid I'll break it or get it dirty. So I just look and try not to touch anything.

On His desk I see a bunch of pictures and drawings that interest me. I study some of the drawings for a bit. I'm fascinated by the ideas I see - the ideas are really inspiring, but I think I might be able to do a better job on the drawing, so I sit at the desk and draw on the back of one of the papers for a while till I'm satisfied with my work. I think it looks really good - it's a pretty good rendering of a longboard with a cool business logo drawn on it, a trail of smoking flames in the board's wake. I think the picture will go well with the advertising slogan Brian was apparently playing with. I hope He likes it. I put my drawing on His kitchen counter where I'm sure He'll see it when He wakes up.

I wish He was awake already. It's getting late and I probably should get going. I never like to outstay my welcome when a John's been nice enough to let me stay the night. They usually don't like it much if you're still hanging around when they get up.  

But I sorta liked Brian, and I'm kinda sorry he never did get around to fucking me. I feel like it was my fault - I really wasn't feeling all that great and I did fall asleep on him twice. He was so nice to me too - feeding me and letting me shower and all. I think maybe he or one of his friends even paid the doctors for when I passed out. I almost decide to stay and see if he still wants to fuck me to pay him back for everything.

I change my mind, though - it's always best to just get out early in the mornings. The last thing I want is to piss Him off by staying when I should be moving on like I'm expected to. But, since he was so nice, I decide to leave him some money to pay him back in case he paid for the doctor. I only have a bit over two hundred left at this point - I wish I could leave more, but I figure $50 should be a start at least. I put the money on the counter next to the drawing I made. Then I change back into my old clothes and quietly slip out the door, back to the streets where I live.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

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Everybody has his or her marching orders. Em and Ted are looking down by the river where there are a bunch of homeless camps. Michael and his new boyfriend, Ben, are going to go over to where the hustler boys hang out and see if they can get some info from them. Lindsey and Mel, who conveniently happened to be having breakfast at the diner already, are off to go talk to the director of the homeless teen shelter and then the teen resource center at the GLC. Deb is spreading the word through the Diner's clientele while she works. That should cover all the known bases in and around Liberty Avenue.

The only problem with our plan is that I somehow get the feeling that Justin won't be found in one of the usual places - if so, someone would have seen him around before now, and that definitely wasn't the case. The kid was a complete newcomer on the Avenue - before he turned up in front of Torso and passed out the other day, no one had ever seen him. But from the way the kid acted, he'd been on the streets a long time. So where had this above average looking kid been hiding all this time?

The only clue I have is the torn and crumpled flyer I find left over in the pocket of the jacket I'd let him borrow earlier. It was from one of those religious based homeless shelters - it wasn't on Liberty, but wasn't that far away either. That’s where I head first.  

Shit, I hope we find him quickly - it feels even colder out today than it did the day Emmett found him passed out in front of Torso. The weather report is calling for snow later in the day, too. I don't want Justin outside on a day like this. He’s still sick - he hasn't even taken the meds he'd been given at the hospital. Another night on the streets in below freezing temperatures would probably finish him off for good. That thought chilled my blood more than the frigid temperatures outside.

The guy at the Third Street Baptist Shelter didn't recognize my description of Justin, but he did recommend that I try over at the Presbyterian Church - because of the arctic temperatures, they were keeping the doors to their soup kitchen open all day long today and word was apparently out on the streets already. So I trudge over there and start asking around to see if anyone had seen Sunshine recently.  

Paydirt! One craggy old street veteran - he looks like he’s about ninety, which means he’s probably only a meth addict a little older than me - recognizes my description of Justin and tells me to check out the park a few blocks away. He says he's seen Justin hanging out there in the past - sometimes drawing the kids on the playground and trying to sell the drawings to their doting parents.  

I really hope this guy's right. The snow is already starting to fall and I can't imagine that thin-framed kid out on the streets tonight. I remember the feel of his slim, trembling body in my arms last night and I start to panic a bit. I want him back. I don't want to even think about Justin out here in this cold. I wish I knew why he'd left. I wish I knew how to help him.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I was right before to wonder how I would survive back out here after leaving His place. I wish He hadn't been so nice to me. If He'd been like just another John, I wouldn't still be thinking about Him. That's always the problem with the nice ones - you get unreasonable expectations and then it hurts even more when you end up back where you started.  

I really should know better. That's one lesson my father taught me well. He always said that I took too much for granted. He used to say it was for my own good when he'd lock me in my room without food for days. You never wanted to get to where you took shit for granted, he'd tell me. It made you appreciate what you did have all the more when you were never sure if you'd get whatever it was - food, warmth, attention - ever again.  

You especially didn't want to take people for granted. When they disappeared, like they always did, it hurt even more than when you lost the physical shit like clothes, food, possessions. That's why you never, ever, under ANY circumstances, let yourself get close to anyone.  

I try to get Him out of my head again. I know I'll probably never see Him again, so I should just forget about Him and get on with thinking about finding something to eat. I definitely shouldn't be thinking back to all that delicious food He gave me.  

That's when I remember the chocolate cake I never got to taste and I want to cry again - I really would have liked to taste that cake. Shake it off Taylor - remember, stuff like that isn't meant for trash like you. You're better off not having tried the cake - you'd just be thinking about it all day and wishing for more and that was exactly the kind of unproductive thinking that would get you in trouble.  

I think maybe I'll use some of the money I have left to get a burrito from that little store off the park. Their burritos are huge - one of the best values around - and I feel like maybe splurging on food will help get my mind off Him. So, I head towards the park and my lunchtime plans.  

With my Honkin' Huge Burrito in hand, I walk towards my favorite bench to sit and eat. I always try to sit here near the playground when I eat. I like listening to the kids laughing and playing and watching the happy parents - it's like one of those sitcoms from the seventies about the happy family where the kids are always getting into some snafu that everyone ends up laughing over in the end. Watching the little fictions played out here is almost as entertaining as having the actual television.  

There aren't many people out today though since it's just too cold. There is only one dad and his kid - who is probably about 5 or 6 - out playing in the snow. I have a fuzzy memory of playing like that in the snow with my mother, so watching these two makes me smile and I lose track of time while I'm sitting there.  

I don't know how much longer it is when I notice someone has joined me on the bench. I almost jump up and run when I look over and see that it's Him. Fuck. How did He find me? And why? Is He pissed at me about something? I know he didn't get to fuck me because I wasn't feeling good, but I didn't ask him for any money. I even left him some to pay for the doctor. Shit, why is He here? Why is He looking at me like that? I was just starting to get Him out of my head and now He’s back, making it harder again.  

"Justin, why did you leave this morning?" He asks me. "I was worried about you. I have Emmett and Michael and practically everyone else I know, out looking for you. You're still sick, you know. The doctor said you should be in bed, or at least resting. You definitely should not be out here in the cold, especially without a much warmer jacket on."

I'm confused again by His words. I really don't understand why He's here looking for me. What does He mean He was worried about me? Why? My head feels hot and funny and I really don't want to have to figure this out right now. What does He want from me? I just want Him to go away so I can watch the kid and his father play some more and then maybe find a place to sleep.  

"Justin? You don't look very good. What's wrong?" Brian asks, looking at me, then he slowly reaches over to turn my chin so I'm facing him. "Shit. You're burning up with fever, Sunshine. You shouldn't be out here in the cold like this. Come on. You're coming back home with me and you will NOT leave again until I say it's okay. Do you hear me?"

I would protest but I feel so weak all of a sudden. Brian has scooted nearer to me on the bench now and He's put His arms around me again. It's warmer with Him next to me - his body blocks some of the wind. I start to feel dizzy-like, even with Him holding me up. What was I going to say?

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

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Thank fuck I found him when I did. He's burning hot, in spite of the fact that he's sitting here on this exposed park bench in the snow. I thought the cold the doctor mentioned would be getting better by now, not worse. I have to get him home and into a warm bed. He seems so confused again, poor kid. I wish I knew why he left this morning in the first place.  

Before I get up, I quickly phone Michael and tell him to call off the troops. I remember to tell him to have his Mom bring over some hot soup for the kid when she gets done at the Diner. Then I scoop up the boy and start to carry him back towards where I left the Jeep.

"Brian," I hear him rasp quietly, his throat obviously sore from this cold.  

"Hey, you CAN talk, Sunshine. I was beginning to wonder. But save it for later, okay. Right now I'm taking you back home. You just rest," I order, while his long dark blond eyelashes flutter closed and he falls asleep again.

I manage to get Justin back to the loft, strip off those filthy clothes and get him in bed under the covers, but at that point I'm completely lost as to what to do next. I have vague memories from old movies about putting sick kids in the bathtub to bring down their fever, but I don't have a bath and for some reason I don't think a shower will work the same. Also, Justin missed his morning dose of the meds the doc sent home and now I'm not sure if I should give him the next dose or not. Do I try to wake him up and make him eat or just let him sleep? Shit, sick little blond twinks should come with instruction manuals - I'm so fucked.  

In my utter state of panic I resort to my last best option - I decide to call for help. I would normally call Debbie in a situation like this, but she's working till after the lunch shift and I can't deal with this alone that long. I opt instead for calling Lindsey. She's a mother - she has to have the right genes for this kind of thing, doesn’t she? After she finishes chortling at my distress, Lindz agrees to come right over to help.  

Once Lindz arrives, everything calms down pretty fast - well at least I calm down. She tells me to leave Justin in bed - forget the shower or waking him to eat or take his meds. She does get a sports bottle and fill it with ice water and puts it by the bed and tells me to make sure he drinks as much water as possible when he wakes to make sure he stays hydrated. I can do that. She calls the doctor for me and gets the okay to continue with Justin's meds when he does wake. I can also give him ibuprofen to help bring down the fever. Then Lindz makes the two of us lunch and she forces me to sit down and eat. And she doesn't even laugh at me too much for freaking out before.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I'm totally disoriented when I wake up. I don’t know where I'm at or how I got here. It looks familiar but I'm not sure why. I'm in a bed in a house, though, not on the streets in one of my more familiar hidey holes.  

My head is killing me - I have a headache like you wouldn't believe and I feel achy all over. Did I get beat up again and just not remember? I don't know where my clothes are either. Maybe I'm at another John's place. That doesn't explain why I don't remember where I'm at though.  

I keep drifting in and out. I don't usually take drugs - mostly because I can rarely afford them - but the way I feel, maybe someone slipped something to me. It wouldn't be the first time. It's not a very good high, though, my head is pounding and my throat hurts and I feel really cold even though I'm under a pile of blankets. Shit. Whatever it was I took, I wish I hadn't.  

The next time I wake up, it finally all makes sense. Brian. I see Him. He comes into the room where I'm sleeping and He smiles at me. So that explains why this place seems familiar - He must have brought me back to His loft for some reason.

He's carrying a mug of something hot - I think it's coffee. It smells so wonderful - I can even smell it through this stuffy nose. I wonder if He'll let me have some. I feel so fucking cold and I think that might help me warm up, but I'm hesitant to ask Him. At least not until I find out why He's brought me back here.  

"Hey there. Glad to see you're finally awake, Sunshine," He says, still smiling at me. "I was beginning to think you weren't gonna wake up at all. Are you hungry?"

Actually, I'm not very hungry, which in and of itself is pretty weird, since I'm always hungry. I just shrug - I'm still nervous about why I'm here again so I don't really want to say much yet. I wish I knew where my clothes are, though - all my money was in them as well as my other stuff. I mean, I don't really have much anymore, but I don't want to lose what I do still have.  

"Justin, please talk to me. I can tell you're upset about something. But I won't know what’s wrong, though, unless you tell me." Brian sits on the edge of the bed next to me, holding out the coffee cup as He speaks, and I grab it before He changes his mind.  

"My clothes?" I croak around the rasp in my throat.

"I'm washing them for you," He says. I must still look worried or something, though, because He quickly adds, "Don't worry, all your stuff is over there on the dresser."

I sit up in the bed so I can sip at the coffee. Brian is still sitting next to me. He looks concerned. He places one hand on my forehead. His hand feels cool - it's nice. The coffee tastes great and feels good on my sore throat. But I'm still cold.

"You still have a fever," Brian states, still with that worried look. "I’m afraid I don’t actually own a thermometer, so I don’t know how high your temp is. Maybe I should take you back to the doctor?"

"No!" I don't want to go to the hospital or even to the doctor - even though this last time wasn't that awful, I have bad memories of those places.

"Okay, okay. No doctors," Brian quickly agrees, trying to keep me from jumping out of the bed. "But you have to promise me something, Justin. You have to promise that you won't leave again. Not until I tell you it's okay. You'll never get well at this rate if you keep wandering around in the cold. Plus, I don't want to have to keep tracking you down in the snow. Do you promise?"

I'm still not sure why He's trying to keep me here. Brian seems nice, but I still don't like it that He won't let me leave. I don't like to be kept inside places. It reminds me of my father. But if I don't agree He said he'd take me back to the doctor, and I like that idea even less, so I reluctantly nod. I guess I will stay, at least for now.

"Good. Thank you. Now, you need to try and eat something so you can take your meds. Deb brought you some homemade chicken soup. I can tell you from personal experience that it's pretty decent stuff - she used to stuff me full of that shit when I was sick as a kid."

Brian hands me some clothes that He pulls out of a dresser drawer. These look like the clothes He brought me when I was at the hospital. I wonder briefly why he has clothes that are clearly not his size or style. I guess it doesn’t really matter, though. I put them on and follow him out to the kitchen. He tells me to sit at the kitchen island while he heats up some soup for both of us. He makes me drink a large glass of water while we wait, telling me something about dehydration. I’m kinda not really listening anymore though since my head still hurts really bad. I don’t remember ever feeling this tired and weak. I would really like to just go back to sleep, but He’s working to make me food and everything, so I have to stay here and be polite and pretend to listen.

Finally the food is ready and He gets me a bowl. It tastes fantastic. The hot soup makes my throat feel a lot better. I guess I am hungrier than I thought - I manage to eat pretty much the whole bowl. Then Brian gives me a couple ibuprofen and another large white pill that I’m supposed to take. I swallow obediently. Now what, I wonder?

 

Chapter 6 - Confusion.

Confusion:  A lack of understanding; uncertainty.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Okay - I’ve managed to get him fed and given him his meds. Now, what? I really suck at this caregiver shit. At least he seems a little better since he ate. I’d really like to get him to talk to me a little and explain what happened this morning - why he left. Weird, huh? Brian Kinney wants to ‘talk’? What the hell is the world coming to.

So far, the boy has said less than ten words to me. I don’t know why he doesn’t talk. He strikes me as intelligent - you’d have to be to survive on the streets at his age - and there’s something about the occasional spark in his eyes that tells me there’s a lot going on inside his little blond brain, but he just doesn’t seem to be able to let it all out. I can’t help wondering why. So, the next part of my plan is to try to get him to talk to me.

I grab his hand, ignoring the way he still flinches whenever he’s touched, and lead him to the sofa. He seems upset at first, looking back over his shoulder at the kitchen area. I let him pull his hand free and he immediately rushes back, picks up his bowl and the few serving utensils I’d been using and washes them by hand, setting everything on the counter to dry. Then he picks up a towel and wipes down the counter where we were sitting. Once he’s finished cleaning up after us, he moves back to stand by my side complaisantly, waiting for whatever I choose to ask of him. It’s eerie watching him - it’s like he’s compelled to clean up before he can do anything. I’m all for neatness, but this doesn’t seem right, somehow.

I set that thought aside to deal with another time. I hope that eventually, the mystery that is Justin Taylor will all come clear. For now, though, I just want to focus on this morning. Once he’s finished his self-imposed chore, he obediently follows me to the sofa and sits where I indicate, waiting for me to start.

“Justin, I think we need to talk. Is that okay?” He bites at his lip nervously when I say this, studiously looking at the carpet rather than at me and seemingly making his body smaller by folding in on himself. “Well, if you don’t want to talk, I guess that’s okay. I guess I’ll just talk then and if you want to comment, well, just join in when you’re ready."

“Do you understand that you’re really ill?” I ask, noting his small shrug of indifference. “You passed out the other day when you were with Emmett. The doctor said it was due to severe malnutrition, exhaustion and the onset of this cold you have. All three together are what’s causing you to feel so lousy. The doctor warned me that if we aren’t careful this cold could get worse and you could develop pneumonia. You just can’t keep going like this - if you go back out on the street before you’re well, you could die. That’s why I want you to stay here until you’re better. Do you understand?”

He shakes his head ‘no’. He’s let his head fall forward and his face is obscured by his long hair - it’s as if he’s trying to hide from me. I can tell from his body language though that he’s very upset by what I’ve said. I let my hand rest on his wrist - I feel like the sense of touch will help me make a connection with him.

“What don’t you understand, Justin?” I wait but he doesn’t answer. “Do you understand that you’re sick - that you have a cold?”

A nod.

“Do you understand that you’re malnourished because you haven’t been eating right for a very long time?”

Another nod, this time with another shrug.

“And that you haven’t been getting enough sleep - your lack of sleep is making it hard for your body to get well?”

Only a shrug this time.

“Well, it’s true. You need more rest in order to get well again. That’s what the doctor said, at least. I guess that you’re used to the lack of sleep, but you don’t normally have to fight off a virus at the same time either.”

What am I missing here? He obviously understands that he’s sick even if he doesn’t agree that he needs to get more rest or eat better in order to get well again. You wouldn’t think a street kid would object to getting fed on a regular basis or having a warm place to sleep. So what is it that he doesn’t get?  

I’d better hurry and figure this out, though, his eyelids are starting to droop with fatigue. Here I am trying to explain how he needs more rest, but keeping him up at the same time. I just feel like I won’t be able to rest until I understand what the problem is. Even hiding behind that sheet of long hair, there is something so compelling about this boy. He brings out this need to help him that I can’t, I don’t want to, avoid.

“What is it that you don’t understand, Sunshine,” I muse half to myself. “I just want to help you. I want you to get better.”

“That,” Justin’s response is so quiet I can barely hear him. “I don’t understand that. Why? I’m trash. I'm nothing.”

Ouch. His words cause me an actual, physical pain. It’s like a stab in my gut. He thinks he’s ‘nothing’? What happened to this boy?

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I’m glad that Brian finally stopped with all the talking. I don’t really like talking much. Plus, I’m tired again and even though the headache is gone, I still feel achy and sore. I just really want to sleep some more. He must see how tired I am because He gets up and takes me back to the bed and let’s me lie down again. I think I’m asleep before I’m even all the way lying down.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

I put him into bed and watch him sleep for the longest time. I bring in a chair from the other room so my presence won't disturb him. I sip at my third tumbler of JB while I ponder what he said to me earlier.  

He thinks he's 'trash'. Something to just throw away when you're done using it. But who would throw out a perfectly good sunshine?

When he's asleep he's abso-fucking-lutely beautiful. He's so peaceful. All the fear and pain I see in his eyes when he's awake is gone now. He's so pale, though. If it weren't for the slight wheezing caused by his cold I wouldn't be sure he was still alive.  

But even asleep he scares me. He makes me feel all these emotions that I've refused to acknowledge for a long, long time. I want to take care of him. I want to take away all that pain for him. I haven't even fucked him yet but I think I lo . . . I care about him a lot.

I don't even recognize myself. Where the fuck has Brian Kinney gone? Who the fuck is this sentimental twat crying into his drink over some pathetic little blond street kid? And how the fuck can anyone fix this?  

I need another drink.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

'You are a worthless piece of shit. You know that, right? I don't know why I even bother with you. I try to teach you - to show you how proper children are supposed to behave - but you are so fucking stupid you apparently can't even learn that. Can you? No, you can't. I work hard all day and when I come home I just want to relax and unwind and what do I find instead? This!'  

The letter from the school counsellor is crumpled in his hand and he's waving it in my face.  

'Now I have to go down to that school of yours and deal with some bleeding heart liberal, namby-pamby school counsellor who thinks she knows better than me how to raise my son. Bullshit. What the fuck does she mean that you're displaying signs of severe depression and anger management issues? Have you been acting out again? You are such a fucking waste of my time. You are so stupid you can't even manage to get along with a bunch of sixth graders? You stupid piece of shit. You waste of time piece of trash . . .'

'Dad, please, I didn't do anything. I promise. John Pierce was the one who started it. I didn't mean to get into trouble. Please don't be angry, Dad. I'm not worthless. I'm not trash. Please, Dad. I'll do better, please don't be angry."

'I'm so sick of seeing your lying piece of shit face right now, Justin. Just get the hell out of my sight. How can you keep doing this shit to your mother and me? Don't you think we have enough to deal with without your antics? Go to your room. I don't want to see or hear from you until Monday, you hear me? Don't you dare come out of that room til I tell you. You just sit in there and think about all the trouble you cause your mother and I.'

"Don't, Dad. Please don't lock me in my room. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll be better . . . No, Dad, please. No. Please let me out. Please. Please . . ."

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

"Don't, Dad. Please don't lock me in my room. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll be better . . . No, Dad, please. No. Please let me out. Please. Please . . . "

This isn’t like the other nightmares. I can’t seem to wake him up. He keeps repeating that over and over. When I crawl into bed with him to try to hold him, I can feel that his skin is ridiculously hot. His fever is back. He’s shaking so violently it scares me.  

“Justin. Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. Shhh, Justin . . . ,” nothing I’m saying or doing is helping - he’s stuck in this nightmare and he’s burning up with fever.  

Fuck leaving him in the bed this time - It’s back to my classic movie training. I drag the boy out of bed and carry him to the shower. I adjust the water till it’s barely lukewarm and sit with him under the spray - all his clothes still on since I never did get him undressed before. The water seems to be helping finally, though. I’m sitting on the shower floor holding him and rocking him and he finally stops crying out. He’s still shaking, but not as bad.  

He’s quiet now. He blinks up at me like he’s just waking up and can’t figure out where we are or why we’re in the shower with all his clothes on. He doesn’t seem all that upset anymore - I’m the one that’s freaking out now. I’m still holding him and rocking and whispering nonsense. “Shhh. It’s gonna be okay, Justin. It’s okay . . .”

He touches my cheek with his hand, lightly tracing my jawline and stroking his thumb across my lips to quiet me. He’s comforting me now? If I don't get a grip, I'm gonna be crying in about thirty seconds. I take a deep breath, reach up to shut off the water and stand up. Justin follows suit. I start to help him out of the soggy clothes, letting them drop to the tiles below. Then I pull a towel off the warming rack and carefully dry both of us off.  

I'm exhausted, but Justin won't come back to bed until he's picked up the wet clothes, deposited them in the hamper and hung the towels back on the rack. Then he compliantly follows me back to the bedroom and gets in bed when I pull back the covers for him. I crawl in too, curling myself around his back and holding him tightly, as if my feeble arms can protect us both from the demons that are haunting us.  

The door buzzer wakes me hours later. Justin is still asleep - after last night's nightmare, at least he slept quietly for the rest of the night. I think his fever has broken too, since his skin feels much cooler this morning.

Our visitors turn out to be Lindsey and Gus, bearing a shopping bag full of breakfast supplies. And, even better, coffee.  

"Morning, Bri," Lindsey greets me with a kiss on the cheek. "Gus and I came to check on your patient and see how he was doing. But, from the looks of you, maybe I was worrying about the wrong boy."

"It was a long night. Thank you for the coffee." I respond.

"And bagels. Here, take Gus and I'll get everything set up," Lindsey says, handing me a squirming three year old while she starts to putter in the kitchen. Gus has way too much energy for me this morning though so I quickly give up and put him down. I sit with my coffee and watch the tyke running around investigating every nook and cranny.

"So, why was it such a long night - or don't I want to know?" Lindz teases, waggling her brows in my direction.

"I wish it had been something you wouldn't want to hear about. Unfortunately, I was kept awake by the kid's nightmares," I admit. "I think I'm in way over my head, Lindz."

"I'm sure you're doing fine, Brian," Lindsey assures me. "I'm proud of you, you know. Trying to help this kid - nobody's sure why you're doing it, but it's a good thing."

"Fuck if I know why either, Lindz."

"Daddy, there's a boy named Jus'n in your bed. I told him we brought you guys breakfast and he said that was good because he's hungry. Can I take a bagel to him, Mommy?" Gus prattles as he runs back into the kitchen.  

"No, sweetie. Bagels are too messy to eat in bed," Lindsey answers. "Why don't you go tell Justin to come join us here and we'll all eat together in the kitchen."

"Okay. Be right back. Daddy, don't eat the sprinkle donut - I picked that one out special for me." Gus warns me as he runs back towards the bedroom.

"I promise not to eat your donut, Sonny Boy," I holler after the rapidly retreating small figure.

Five minutes later, Gus comes back, leading a bemused Justin by the hand. Gus is apparently telling Justin about his preschool class at the GLC. The whole class is working on an art project that they will auction off at the center's art show next week.  

"So we each get to put our hand prints on a tile and we get to decorate them too to make them look like flowers or animals or other stuff," Gus explains. "Then this guy that works at a 'scramic' store is gonna fire them - that doesn't mean he's gonna shoot at em with a gun, you know, it means he's gonna put all the tiles in a big oven and cook em - he 'sprained it all to us and we got to go to his store and look at the oven. I think it's called a 'kill 'em'."

"It's called a kiln," Justin corrects the babbling child.

"Yeah - that's right. A killen. I 'member, now. Anyway, after they're fired then Ms. Clark is gonna frame them all, special like and when its all done we're gonna sell it and use the money to build a new swing set for the playground. I can't wait. Do you like to swing?"

"Swings are okay, I guess," Justin answers as if he's seriously contemplating the question.

"Breakfast is ready, Gus. Come wash your hands and leave Justin be for a while so he can eat, too," Lindsey directs. "Sorry about that. I'm Lindsey, by the way," Lindz introduces herself to Justin, offering to shake his hand, but he just stands looking at her with that almost perpetually confused look on his face.  

Lindz glances at me, not sure if she's done something wrong. I shrug. I don't know what to tell her since I still haven't figured the boy out either.  

"Mommy, Jus'n's an artist like you," Gus explains as he leads Justin to a stool at the kitchen island and proceeds to tuck into the bagels Lindz places in front of him. "He likes to draw mostly, he said. I told him you like to paint. He said he's never got to paint much 'cause his Daddy thought it was too messy. You wouldn't mind if me and Jus'n painted though, would you Daddy? We'd be real careful and cover the floor so we wouldn't get the paint everywhere. Would it be okay, Daddy?"

"I suppose so, Sonny Boy. But not today, okay. Justin hasn’t been feeling too well lately and the doctor said he needs to get a lot of rest. So, let's plan on painting another day," I try to explain, letting Justin have a way out in case he really doesn't want to paint with Gus and was just humoring him.  

"Okay. I 'member when I was sick once and I had to stay in bed for two whole days. Don't worry, Jus'n, Daddy will take good care of you. When I was sick he brought me a new coloring book and he even stayed and read me a story. Did he read you a story last night?" Gus inquires.

"No. I was too tired last night for a story, Gus," Justin answers, smiling at Gus, and shocking me since this is the most words I've heard him say in one sentence yet.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I wake up to find this cute little boy jumping on the bed. When he sees that I'm awake, he plops down in front of me sitting cross legged and tells me his name is 'Gus'. Then he asks me about a million questions in less than five minutes, never waiting for me to actually respond. The only thing he does want to know is my name and if I want a bagel - apparently he's here with his mother and they brought breakfast. I tell him my name and that, yes, I'm very hungry and I would love a bagel.  

Then he leaps off the bed and disappears without saying anything further.

By the time he comes back, I'm up and dressed. Gus holds my hand and pulls me after him towards the kitchen. He's busy telling me about an art project his class is doing. I tell him I like art too. He says his mother likes to paint. I tell him that I draw - I used to like to paint but I had to stop because my father didn't like all the mess.  

Gus is a sweet kid. He's easy to talk to - kids always seem easier to talk to than adults for some reason. I think it's because they don't have as many preconceptions.

It really surprises me that Brian has a kid, though. Gus' mother, Lindsey, seems nice but I just can't see her and Brian together. I wonder if they were married. They seem to be too good of friends to have ever been married, though. I just don't get it - I can't see Brian with a wife and a kid.  

Lindsey fixes me a bagel and I'm really hungry. I eat it right then even though I feel uncomfortable eating with all these strangers around. Gus eats only half his bagel, then offers the rest to me.  

I'm not sure I should take it. My father would have been angry if I ever left any food on my plate. You were supposed to eat what you were given and be thankful you got anything at all. If you didn't eat what you were given in my house, you probably wouldn't get anything at all to eat the next meal. Gus doesn't seem worried about not finishing his food though, so maybe it's okay. I try to watch Brian out of the corner of my eye to see if it looks like he would mind. I would really like more food but I just don't dare accept - I don't want to get Gus in trouble.

Lindsey is watching me as I sit there thinking about all this. She doesn't say anything to me though. Gus is still talking and talking. Neither Brian nor Lindsey seem to mind Gus talking during the meal. They don't even seem upset when he occasionally interrupts one of them. I'm not used to this kind of situation at all - it makes me uncomfortable but it would be rude to ask to leave so I just sit and wait.  

"Justin, would you like another bagel?" Lindsey asks after awhile. "There's plenty. If you want more, just help yourself."

Damn. Should I take another bagel? She offered it, but I don't know. Why is she being nice to me? What am I supposed to do here?

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

 

Something is obviously bothering Justin. His easy manner, relaxed and talking comfortably with Gus, is gone all of the sudden. He's biting at his lip - a sign I've already come to understand means that he's confused or upset by something. What the fuck could be so confusing about eating breakfast, though?

Gus is the one who breaks the tension. He clambers down off the kitchen stool, walks around the island and takes the little white paper bag which holds his special sprinkle donut around to Justin. Gus puts the bag on the counter in front of the confused blond.  

"Here, Jus'n. You can have my sprinkle donut." Gus offers with his typical outgoing confidence.

Justin looks like he's moving into panic mode and I'm on the verge of intervening - Gus made a really huge gesture here and I don't want him to get hurt by Justin refusing. But I guess my concern is overblown since Gus handles everything with perfect aplomb.

"It's okay, Jus'n. You don't need to be scared. It's okay with you if Jus'n eats the donut, Daddy, isnt it?" Gus looks to me for approval, even though I'm not sure why.

"It's fine with me, Sonny Boy. But isn't that your special donut that you picked out just for you? Why are you giving it to Justin?"

"Because Jus'n is sad. I don't want him to be sad. Eating this pretty sprinkle donut would make me happy, so I want him to eat it instead and then he'll be happy." Perfect three year old logic.  

"That's very sweet of you, honey. You're being very generous," Lindsey offers the boy her support. "Daddy and I both think it's okay for Justin to have the donut. Go ahead, Justin. Please. You don't want to disappoint Gus, do you?"

Justin smiles shyly at Gus and slowly reaches for the donut. It's like he's still not sure if it's okay to eat it. What does he think - someone will get angry at him for eating a fucking donut. That seems to be what Gus thinks, though.

"Come here, Sonny Boy," I hold out my arms for the boy, who happily jumps into them, all smiles and confidence over his coup with the donut. "It was very nice of you to give your donut to Justin, Gus. That was such a kind, generous thing for you to do. I think you deserve a special reward for being such a good kid, don't you? What do you want, Sonny Boy, for your reward?"

"Brian, you don't have to . . .” Lindsey starts to intervene.

"I know I don't, but I want to Lindz. Come on, Mom. Let me spoil the kid a little," I beg.

"Fine. You do realize, Brian, that you are the biggest pushover ever, right?" Lindsey admonishes.

"I'm NOT a pushover. I'm a doting father. It's completely different, Lindz," I correct her. "So, Sonny Boy, how about we all go down to the Diner for second breakfast and you can get a replacement donut AND a milkshake to go with it?"

"Yay! Come on, Jus'n. Do you know about second breakfast? I love second breakfast - Gramma Deb always makes me a 'Stachio milkshake. She's kinda silly, but she's really nice too. You'll like her. Come on, Dad. You gotta get dressed so we can go. Come on!"

Thank you, Gus. Maybe I need to take 'Justin lessons' from you. You apparently understand more about this kid than your Dad.  

 

 

Chapter 7 - Misconception.

Misconception: A view or opinion that is incorrect because based on faulty thinking or understanding.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

I peek into the rearview mirror at Gus and Justin, sitting together in the back seat of the Jeep, quietly conversing.  I'm amazed at how easily they get along.  Justin must be approaching 50 words being spoken at this point.  Seeing him smiling, relaxed and almost happy makes me feel content.  I catch Lindsey using the vanity mirror on the flip side of the passenger sun visor to do the same and we share a secret smile watching 'our boys'.  

When we pull up to the Diner, I have a sudden inspiration, and quickly kneel down next to Gus so I can whisper my request into his ear.

"Sonny Boy, I need you to do me a favor," I whisper. "You know how Justin is a little shy, right?  Well, I don't want your Gramma Deb or the guys to frighten him by being all noisy or trying to hug him and all talk to him at once. You know what I mean?"

Gus nods his head vigorously - even though he's not quite four yet, he's more than aware of how loud and boisterous the family can be.  

"So, Gus, do you think you can run into the Diner, quick-like, before I bring Justin in and ask Gramma Deb and the others to tone it down a bit until Justin's a little more used to everybody?"

"Sure, Dad.  I can do that." Gus asserts, proud of his special mission. "Jus'n, you wait here with Dad for a minute.  I gotta go do something. But I'll be right back, okay."

Gus promptly marches away towards the Diner's front door, Lindsey looking at me questioningly as she follows in his wake.  I chuckle quietly at the sight, congratulating myself on my brilliance.  If I'd gone in there and tried to tell Deb or Em to back off until the kid had acclimatized, they would have scoffed at me, thinking I was being condescending or judgmental.  But if Gus asks them the same thing, they'll just think he's being adorable and they'll 'play along' to humor the boy.  

I pull Justin over to me where I'm leaning against the side of the Jeep. I wrap my arm around his shoulders, not thinking about the surge of affection that's come over me, but just wanting to feel him close. His pliant, smaller body easily fits itself into my side and we stand together like that, comfortably, waiting for Gus to return.

"Okay, Jus'n, you can come in now," Gus directs us.  "I told Gramma Deb about how I gave you my donut, and she said that Daddy was right and I def'nly should get a special reward. She's making me a banana root beer float, she said. I never had a floating banana before but she said I'd like it, so I guess I'll try it. Do you want one too, Jus'n? Daddy, can Jus'n have a floating banana beer, too?"

"Of course, Sonny Boy.  Both you and Justin can have whatever you want, as long as it's okay with your moms." I smile at my boy indulgently, watching as he grabs Justin's hand and tows him into the restaurant.  

Gus has done a really good job at preparing the rest of the family too. As we enter and head to the back booth nobody has jumped up to greet us or anything.  The most we're subjected to are a few nods and waves.  And, we make it all the way to the booth and are seated before Deb even approaches.  

"Brian. Sunshine.  How are you boys doing this morning?" Deb asks, pulling out her order pad, fishing a pen out of her wig and cracking her gum as she nears our booth. "You look a lot better than you did the other day, Sunshine. So what can I get you this morning? Gus said you were interested in second breakfast?"

I'm not ready to deal with the whole range of Justin's food issues again this morning so I proceed to take control of the breakfast ordering. I tell Deb to bring him a short stack of pancakes, a side of bacon and another of fruit, some orange juice and a coffee. I figure I'll just tell him to eat what I get him for now instead of dealing with all the problems that seem to arise when he's asked what he wants. The worst thing that can happen is that he'll be too full.  

I order myself an egg white omelette and wait while Lindz and Gus order more for themselves. Maybe if Justin sees that there's plenty of food available, he'll get over his insecurities. Since he doesn't object to what I've ordered, and he's not doing that lip biting thing, it must be okay.  

Once Deb's done taking our order and moves away, Emmett and Ted come over to say hello. I'm impressed at Em's restraint - he doesn't run up and hug anyone, calling them 'Sweetie' or 'Baby'. He simply says hi, asks how Justin is feeling and says how much better he looks. Like I said, incredibly restrained. Ted, being the through and through accountant that he is, never has problems with restraint. After they've each said their piece, they return to their seats at the counter.

Wow, I'm utterly amazed at how well behaved the family is being and I give Gus a thumbs up sign to let him know he did a great job. Gus grins and gives me a return thumbs up. He's such an amazing kid - I really never thought I'd enjoy being a Dad, but then again I never knew there were kids like Gus.  

I catch Justin looking at Gus and at me. His expression is hard to read. His eyebrows are drawn together and his forehead wrinkled. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly as if in disbelief or disapproval? With my right hand I reach up to stroke away that little frown and then I rest my hand back on his thigh, squeezing once in reassurance. The frown goes, but the worry lines on his forehead never disappear completely. I wish I could make them go too.

"Daddy, I gotta use the potty," Gus interrupts my moment of lesbionic contemplation, thank goodness.

"Okay, Sonny Boy. Let's go then," I say, smiling at the little boy, then I lean over and leave a light kiss on Justin's temple. "Be right back, Sunshine."

I do realize as I get up to follow Gus, just how silly and sentimental that little gesture is, but I refuse to give the staring Debbie and Emmett the satisfaction of looking at all ashamed.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Brian's lips touched my face. He kissed me. In front of all these people - his friends and family - he kissed me.

Brian had kissed me and, after he left, even though it felt so juvenile, I couldn't help it - I smiled - a big silly, goofy grin. It was like, with that one little kiss He'd told everyone around us that I was His. I'd never felt like this before - I couldn't even name the emotions that small gesture brought out in me, but if I had to guess, I'd say maybe I was feeling happy.

I vaguely recall that Brian might have kissed me briefly both back at the hospital and during the night at His loft when he was trying to wake me from my nightmares. But this is different. This was public, this was possessive, this was . . . painful, almost.  

I don't recall anyone ever kissing me before. Not my mother. Definitely not my father. Not even a friend - not that I'd ever really had a friend after my father forbid me to see Daphne. There had never really been anyone in my life who would want to kiss me, other than the occasional John - but I never let a John kiss me - it was one of my rules.  

Having Brian kiss me now suddenly made the rest of my life feel so . . . bleak. I'd never really contemplated it that way before, but then again, before now I'd never really had much to compare it with. But after watching Brian with Gus and his friends, and remembering all the little touches and smiles Brian had given me, I was starting to realize that maybe there should have been more?

I wish that I hadn't started thinking about that now. Suddenly I'm not hungry anymore. I look down at my plate and see there is still food left, but I no longer think I can eat. Would Brian be angry though if I wasted all this food? What am I going to do? I want Brian to like me - I want him to kiss me like that again - but now he'll be angry at me for wasting food. The more I try to figure out a solution, the more upset I get and the less I feel like eating.

I'm still sitting there worrying and losing that almost happy feeling when Gus comes running back out from the toilet. He starts to climb onto the bench across from me, but when he looks in my direction, he stops, comes around to my side of the booth, crawls over to me and puts his small, soft, warm arms around my neck. He squeezes once, as hard as his little arms can do it.  

"It's okay Jus'n. You don't have to eat any more if you don't want to. Sometimes I can't eat all my food either," Gus whispers to me, but I'm still unsure, and I glance towards the doorway where Brian has just appeared. "Daddy never gets mad at me when I don't finish. Sometimes he even let's me put it into a box and take it home to eat later. Just ask him Jus'n. He won’t be mad, really."

"Problems, Sunshine?" Brian asks as he nears the booth and sees Gus talking to me.  

"Daddy, Jus'n can't eat anymore. Is it okay if he takes the rest home for later?" Gus asks on my behalf.

"If you don't want any more, you don't have to eat it, Justin. I wouldn't bother taking it home though. Pancakes don't keep well, you know. Just leave it," Brian answers, picking Gus up so he can slide back into the booth next to me.  

Brian is smiling at me and he rests his arm around my shoulders. I love how he is constantly touching me. I like his warm, strong hands. I remember that he kissed me and I feel better again. I think maybe it's okay if I don't eat any more.

"Are you feeling okay, Sunshine?" Brian is looking at me with concerned eyes. "You're probably getting tired. We better get you home for a nap. Lindz, you and Gus okay from here? I think I need to get Justin back home."

"Sure, Bri. I'll call Mel to pick us up," Lindsey says. "You take care, Justin. Get lots of rest so you can get better. Hey, Bri, if Justin's feeling up to it, why don't the two of you come over to the house for dinner tomorrow night? I think Gus would love to spend some more time with his new friend."

"Yes! Please, Jus'n! Please, Daddy? Please." Gus pleads.

"Sounds good to me, Gus." Brian gives in easily. "As long as Justin is feeling well enough. But right now, I think Justin needs to get home and get some rest. Come on, Sunshine. Give me a hug goodbye, Sonny Boy."

As Brian heads towards the cash register to pay for our breakfast, I overhear Emmett and his friend talking quietly. "That's something I never thought I'd see - Brian Kinney, acting all domesticated? Can you believe it?" Emmett comments.

"I give it a week, tops," Ted replies. "Then Brian will be back to usual, fucking every guy that moves."

"I don't know, Teddy. I've never seen Brian acting like that - being all protective and all. It’s so sweet."

"Oh, come on Em," Ted disagreed. "You gotta admit the kid is hot. With that cute little bubble butt and those gorgeous big baby blues? I'm sure Brian's just enjoying having his own personal in-home hustler for the time being. I'm not saying Brian's not doing a good thing taking care of the kid, and all, but I just don't see this lasting. Once the kid is feeling better, Brian's going to eventually get bored and he'll be back to the 'Fuck-em-all' Brian Kinney we all know and feel ambivalent about."

"You're probably right, Teddy. But, still, I've never seen Brian acting like this . . ." Emmett replied, turning as he said it to look around in my direction, and belatedly realizing that I'd been standing right behind them this whole time.

"Justin, baby, I didn't know you were there. You know we didn't . . ." Emmett started to explain but was interrupted by Brian returning to see what had held me up.

"Ready, Sunshine?" Brian says, taking my hand in His larger one. "Oh, hey guys. We gotta get going. But that reminds me, Honeycutt, if you're not busy this afternoon, I'd like to employ your personal shopper skills."

"Don't call me Honeycutt, Bri. But I'm not busy and you know how I love to shop, so I'm yours for hire if you need me. I can come by the loft later, if you want, and you can give me my marching orders."

"Sounds great, Honeycutt. Come by around 2:00. Talk to you later, Theodore." Brian responds then guides me towards the exit.

Brian seems to be in a good mood as we get in the Jeep and drive back towards His loft. He keeps looking over at me and smiling. I'm not sure why. I'm beginning to wonder.  

"So, you'll talk to Gus, but not to me, huh. Sunshine? What's with that," Brian teases.

"Gus is a sweet kid," I smile, remembering some of the funny things he'd said to me this morning.

"Yeah. He's really great," Brian is obviously pleased by my praise of his son.

I have so many thoughts rolling around in my head at this point that I'm quiet for a long time. Brian seems amused by something - I hear Him chucking and look over to see Him smiling at me.

"I think I'm starting to figure you out, Sunshine. When you get quiet, staring off into space and chewing at your lip like that, it means you're worrying about something. Tell me, what's eating at you now?" Brian prods me.

Which of the whirling questions in my head should I start with, I wonder?

"What?" Brian keeps on at me. "Come on, Justin. What is it?"

"Gus . . . Umm . . . You and Lindsey?"

"Ohhh. No no no - there's no 'Me and Lindsey'. I'm 100% fag, Sunshine," Brian says, laughing aloud.

"But, Gus?"

"Lindz and I have been friends since college," Brian explains. "When she and her partner, Melanie, decided a few years ago that they wanted a kid, I agreed to help out with a little sperm donation. That's all. They are Gus' primary parents. I just put in the occasional unscheduled cameo appearance."

That explained a lot. Both about the relationship between Him and Lindsey and a little about what Ted and Emmett had said. It did raise even more questions about other stuff, though. I would have asked a few more questions if we weren't already at the loft by this point. I was sort of out of time, I guess.

"If you're tired, you're welcome to go back to bed. Or you can watch television or a movie," Brian directs when we get inside, pointing me toward the big screen TV in the far corner as He heads toward the desk. "Make yourself at home, Sunshine. I'm going to check my email and make sure there's nothing critical at work."

I sit on the couch but I don't turn on the television. I'm still mulling over what I heard at the Diner. What Ted and Em were saying makes sense to me. Especially now that I'm clear in my head about Brian and Lindsey.

I admit that I'd been a bit thrown by meeting Lindz and Gus this morning. The thought that Brian was straight or bi or whatever had confused me. I had begun to think that Brian had brought me here to his home for some reason other than the obvious. I know now that was silly of me, but He had been giving me some really mixed signals, you know. I mean, the kiss earlier and telling me last night that he just wanted to help me get better. But once I knew for sure He was gay, the stuff Ted was saying made more sense.  

I'm clear again in my mind why I'm here. Brian was truly being very nice to me. But I'm feeling much better and I guess that means I'm running out of time. I'd better start making myself useful. It was the least I could do after all He'd done for me.  

Time to get to work, I decide.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

I'm sitting at my computer, answering emails and doing some research on the Internet, when I look up and see Justin standing in front of me stripped down to his briefs.

He's doing that thing where he won't look at me directly and he's biting his lip again. He's so thin I can see each and every bone in his body. But he has a wiry strength to him at the same time. His beautiful pale skin is flushed with a tinge of red, as if he's excited or embarrassed about something. I wasn't prepared for this vision, and I'm having trouble controlling my reaction to the tempting sight in front of me.  

"Justin? Umm. What's wrong?" I manage to ask, shifting in my chair to relieve the suddenly uncomfortable tightness in my pants.

"Do you want to fuck me now?" Justin offers, matter-of-factly.

I was definitely not expecting that. And here I thought I was starting to understand him a little. Nope. I'm completely lost again.

 

Chapter 8 - Perception.

Perception:  The process of becoming aware of something through the use of one’s senses.

~~*~~

"Do you want to fuck me now?" Justin asks, matter-of-factly."

 

~~*~~

Brian’s POV

~~*~~

This is a trick question, right? I mean, look at the beautiful boy standing here in front of me in nothing but a pair of tight black briefs. Of course I want to fuck him. He's gorgeous - a little on the thin side for me, but beautiful nonetheless. I've wanted to fuck him pretty much ever since the first time I saw him at the hospital. But, as I'm coming to expect with Justin, I get the distinct impression that there's a lot more to this question than appears on the surface.  

Instead of answering right away, I get up from my seat at the desk and move over to the sofa.  

"Justin, why don't you come over here," I suggest, patting at the sofa cushion next to me.

Justin saunters over towards me, wiggling his ass rather provocatively. Then he sits next to me, his body half turned, his thigh rubbing against mine as he sits. He gives me a simpering little smile that I really don't like much. Something about this is so wrong. His attempts to be seductive are actually turning me off - although I'm not sure why.

"Justin, I really appreciate the offer, and I do find you incredibly hot. But, um, can I ask why you're offering right now? You're still sick and . . ." I just know I'm missing something - his face visibly falls the more I speak. "Justin, please don't get upset and don't go into that shell of yours. Just tell me why you asked me to fuck you right then. I don't understand and I don't want to hurt your feelings but . . . What the fuck, Justin? What the fuck am I missing here?"

"You don't want me?" Justin says, his voice hushed.

"God, Justin. This has nothing to do with whether or not I want you. There's something more going on here that I don't understand." I stop myself when Justin starts to pull his body away from me, retreating to the far end of the sofa. "Justin, stop moving away from me."

My more forceful, direct and simpler demand seems to have finally gotten through to him - Justin stops moving and just sits compliantly on the couch as if waiting for further directions. Okay, I think, at least I have his attention. Now, I just need to figure out the right questions to ask to get to the answers I need. Easier said than done, though.

So, what do I need to ask him? Asking him 'why' questions doesn't seem to work - maybe because the questions are too open-ended. I need to start with questions that have simpler, more direct answers, I think.  

"Justin, do YOU want to have sex right now?" I start off with what I hope is an easy question, but one I'm not sure of the answer to, since I get a weird feeling that, while he's offering to fuck, it's not what he really wants.

Justin shrugs, still not looking at me.

"Well, I've definitely had more enthusiastic lovers, Sunshine." Now where do I go? So, if he's not particularly in the mood but is making the offer, does he think I want this? "Justin, did you think that I wanted sex from you?"

A nod and a shrug.  

"Why did you think that?" I add.

Nothing. Shit, once again the question was too broad. Fuck, why is this so hard?  No more 'why' questions?  

"Justin, is your throat still sore?"

A nod.

"Do you still feel tired and achy?"

Another nod.

"So, you ARE still feeling Ill?"

A nod again.

He's starting to squirm like he will bolt any time, but I need to work through this a bit more. "Please, just sit still," I order as I stand and begin to pace while I think. "I need to work through this and I need you to sit and wait until I'm ready. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Justin answers, his tone dispirited.

He admittedly still feels ill. He's not really into jumping my bones. But, he thinks I want sex so he's willing to offer himself up just like that? Skipping over just what it was about me sitting at my computer that made him think I needed to fuck him right then, what is it that's causing him to react like this?  And when I don't take him up on the offer, why is his response to act almost sad. What did he say - he was upset that I didn't want him?  

Then I finally connect what he just said about me not wanting him with what he said last night about him being nothing - being trash. Shit, this isn't about any physical attraction between the two of us - this is about Justin being worried he isn't wanted, that I'll think he's just trash.

Something must have happened to make him think I wouldn't want him here unless he was willing to put out? What it was, I had no idea - there really didn't seem to have been anything that occurred this morning to have brought this on. But that was irrelevant. I needed to address the underlying insecurity first. This was just like when he disappeared yesterday morning - I had to make sure he knew I wanted him to be here with me and that I didn't have any ulterior motives as to why.  

"I need you to understand one thing, Justin," I say, sitting back down on the sofa next to him and capturing his hand in mine. "I WANT you to stay here with me at the loft. I told you before, I want you here so that I'll know you are safe and that you'll have someplace to live, at least until you are well again. I don't expect you to clean up or have sex with me or anything else in exchange for being here, Justin. I just want you to stay. I want you to get well."

"If anything else happens between us - and I'm not saying I wouldn't like that, Justin - But I'd only want that if we BOTH felt the same attraction, the same desire. I don't want you to feel obligated to have sex with me. That's not me - I'm not in the habit of hiring hustlers for sex. Not that I have anything against hustlers, either, it's just that I'd rather my partners want to be with me, not just that they want my money."

"Does any of this make sense to you, Sunshine?" I ask, afraid I might have lost him again since he's diligently staring at the couch cushion and I can't tell if he's even listening.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

What the fuck? He doesn't want to fuck me? What the hell DOES He want? I've been here two days now. He and His friends both confirmed what I'd already known - that He's gay. He told me I have to stay here until he says. But if He doesn't want to fuck, then what the hell else does He think he's going to get from me? I don't do a lot of the kink some of the other street boys will do - I'm not going to let him whip me or bareback me or any shit like that. So what does this guy think?  

Why does this man cause me to react the way he does? I don't want to let him get to me this way. I don't want to feel these feelings he keeps bringing out in me. This morning he made me feel almost happy when he kissed me. Then he made me feel all connected to him with all that father/son bonding crap with Gus. Now I feel angry. And a little bit rejected. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to feel.  

It's not easy out there - fuck, it's not easy anywhere, but especially on the streets - and that numb feeling is one of the only ways I know of to protect myself. Now this guy comes along and after only two days he's threatening to break apart the numb that I've worked so hard to build up. Before Brian, the worst thing I occasionally felt was embarrassment over how pathetic and dirty I'd become and even that was fading. Now I'm feeling bad and confused and . . .

Fuck this. Fuck it all. I'm outta here. I don't care what the fuck Brian wants. I can't do this. If I stay here much longer I'll be useless once I'm turned back out to the streets. I have to get out of here, NOW.

I jerk my hand out of His grasp and start to put on the clothing I just took off which is still sitting folded on the coffee table. Then I remember that these aren't really even my clothes - mine are off somewhere being 'washed'. Well, fuck it, I'm not leaving here naked - if He's gonna take my real clothes, then I have no choice but to wear these.  

Once I'm dressed, I run back to the dresser in the bedroom and gather all my stuff that Brian took out of my other clothes earlier. When Brian sees me pocketing my wallet and other personal stuff he grabs my hands, ostensibly to stop me, but I'm not going to let him. I tear my hands out of his grip.

"Let go of me, right now," I hear myself scream at Him. "You can't keep me here against my will. You can't force me to stay. You're not my father."

That almost gets to him. He stops and just stares at me for a time, while I search for my jacket. But He's fast and gets between me and the door.  

"Justin, I'm not letting you leave," Brian says, sounding a little panicky.

"Like hell you're not. I don't take orders from you or anyone else for that matter.  Get the hell outta my way, Brian."

"No. I'm not moving until you agree to sit down and actually talk to me, Justin." Brian is trying again to grab my hands and pull me back to the couch. "You don't get to just storm out of here, all fucking angry, without explaining to me why you're leaving again. Especially after you promised me yesterday you wouldn't leave."

All this anger that I don't even know I have just boils up at this point. I give up trying to hold it back and let it all out. I haven't been this angry feeling in a long, long time. I've NEVER let it all out like this.  

"Why the hell am I here, Brian? I'm a hustler. It's what I do to make enough money to stay alive. But you apparently don't want to fuck me. So I don't understand what I'm doing here. I don't do any other kinky shit. So, if you don't want to fuck me there's no reason for me to stay."

"I don't want you here just to fuck you, Justin. I can find hustlers who don't have the beginnings of pneumonia. I can also find plenty of tricks to fuck that I don't have to pay. I didn't bring you here because you were a hustler or because I needed to fuck you. I brought you here because I . . . "

"Because you what? You're gay. According to your friends you normally fuck everything that moves. So if you don't want to fuck me then what? You brought me here because you pity me - poor little street boy? You think if you take pity on the poor sick kid then what - it'll make up for everything else shitty you've ever done in your life? Well fuck you. I'm not some charity project. I don't need all your touchy-feely crap. I don't want to be saved. I don't want you to take care of me. I've been taking care of myself for a long time now, thank you very much."

"It's not pity. I don't do pity, it makes my dick soft,” Brian answers, not quite yelling but pretty angry nonetheless. “I don't know what it is. But I don't want you to leave. And, for your information, I do want to fuck you, It's just that that isn't all I want. And I don't want to fuck you just because you feel obligated. I don't particularly want to be somebody's pity fuck either, Sunshine. If you don't WANT me then I'm not going to fuck you."

"Whatever. I'm outta here. Thanks for everything. See ya." I say as I head for the door again.  

"You're not leaving, Justin," Brian jumps up and grabs my arm. "You're still too sick to be out there in the cold. You'll fucking get pneumonia and die, you stupid twat."

"Let me go!" I try to pull out of his grip but he's too strong.

"No. I said you're not leaving. Not like this."

"Let me go. You can't keep me here. Please. Just let me go." I'm yelling at Him but he won't let me go, damn it, and I feel tears starting to pool in the corners of my eyes. "Let me go. Let me GO! You can't keep me here. Please. Please. Please, please, please."

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Justin collapses in a heap on the floor by the door. A second ago he was standing there larger than life, arguing with me, yelling at the top of his lungs. He was finally talking - well, yelling, but at least finally communicating. And then, it all changed when I tried to keep him from leaving. What the fuck happened?

Now he's huddled into himself in a little ball on the floor, rocking back and forth, whimpering, sobbing and mumbling incoherently. I liked the screaming, angry Justin better. That kid I understand. This kid scares me.  

"Please don't. I promise I won't do it again. I promise. Please, don't lock me in there again. Please, please, please. Let me out, please." I can just barely make out what he's saying.  

"Justin. Shhh." I kneel next to him and scoop him into my arms, feeling the endless trembling ripping at his compact frame. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you, Sunshine. It's okay. I won't keep you here if you need to leave, but just calm down, okay. Shhh."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it, dad. Please let me out. I'm so hungry. I'll be good, I promise . . ."

Fuck. It was his fucking father that did this to him? He's crying now and pleading for his father to let him go. The goddamned fucker. It sounds like he locked him up and starved him on a regular basis. I guess there were worse parents out there than Jack and Joanie.  

I want to do something to help him, to make this stop, but what? Justin isn't really even aware of what's going on around him. It's like he's lost in his horrible memories. I feel like shit for bringing this on. I didn't mean to trigger this. I had no idea. So what the fuck do I do?

I always do my best work in my bed, right? I pick the boy up and carry him to the bedroom, depositing him in the center so I can crawl up next to him and wrap the duvet around him. Then I just sit there with him, holding him, rocking and waiting until he quiets. It seems to take a very long time.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Brian.  

His arms are around me again. I was ready to leave. I'd made up my mind to leave here so I could get away from this temptation. I don't need to deal with Him. I don't want to have to deal with the way He makes me feel. Shit, I don't want to deal with any of this. Why is He doing this to me. I don't want to have to deal with messy, weak emotions and that's what happens when I'm around Brian.  

"My father's name was Jack. The bastard died a couple years ago - good riddance," Brian is speaking directly into my ear, his mouth so close against the side of my face that I can feel the vibrations from his soft, deep voice on my skin. "When I was a kid, he used to drink a lot and he would get angry at just about anything. I was usually the easiest target for his anger."

"My mom said it wasn't his fault - he just had a bad temper. She said that was the way the Lord made him and that we should forgive him. Of course he wasn't beating the crap out of her on a weekly basis. I, on the other hand, didn't feel real forgiving most Saturday nights."

“I was lucky though. I met Mikey when I was about fourteen. I could always escape to his house when my dad was being especially horrid or when my mother, Ste. Joan, was being overly judgmental or frigid. Debbie was more a mother to me than Joan. She would patch me up when I got hurt, take care of me when I was sick, hug me when I was sad - although I made her swear on Michael's head that she would never tell anyone about those times. And Michael was like a brother to me. We looked out for each other. We were always there for one another, no matter what. It was like having a real family."

"I get the feeling you didn't have anywhere to escape to, though, did you, Sunshine? Did you have any friends or family who could have helped you?"

He understands. Shit. That's going to make it even harder to pull myself away from here. I don't want to let him in - it always hurts more if you let someone get close. When they eventually disappear or are ripped out of your life, it's that much harder to patch up the hole they leave when you've let them get close.

"Watching you - seeing you in pain - hurts me, Justin. I don't have a fucking clue why. I'm not the kind of person to get involved in other people's problems. Not ever. I don't usually get involved with anyone, in any way, because I don't want to deal with all the shit that entails. Mikey and Lindsey are pretty much my only friends. Other than that, well, maybe there are a few others that come close to being friends, but not many."

"So, what I'm saying, Justin, is that I don't really know why I feel this way right now. But I do - I feel responsible for you. I want to help you. I want to be there for you when you don't have anyone else. I WANT to take care of you."

"I know you don't need me - that you're perfectly capable of fending for yourself. And, it's NOT pity. I've been there myself - I know how much pity, especially from strangers, even well meaning strangers, can grate on you. But, I do know that it was easier for me when I had people I could trust and depend on like Deb and Vic and Michael."

"I could be that person for you, if you'd let me, Justin. I'll try not to ask too much of you. But, if you let me, I can help you. I can be there when you need someone to listen or patch you up or just be there when you need someone."

"What about when you disappear? Who will patch up that hole?" I can't help asking, fighting against the happy sounding lies he's trying to sell me.

"I won't disappear, Justin. I will never just disappear. If you let me in, I promise to stay," Brian whispers, the sincerity in his voice almost palpable. "I never make promises I'm not willing to keep, Justin. So, you should know that if I say I won't disappear on you, you can count on me."

"That's not what your friends think. They're convinced that you're gonna get tired of your ‘personal in-home hustler’ within a week and then you'll be dumping me back on the streets where you found me so you can return to fucking as usual," I can't help but throw this back in His face, although seeing His hurt expression when I say it makes me instantly regret my words.

"So, that's what this is all about? Who the fuck told you that?" Brian gets so angry, so rapidly, that I'm scared again and I pull the blanket further over myself so I don't have to look at his red face and angry eyes.

Sorry, Sunshine," he instantly regrets his outburst and I watch, amazed, as he visibly reins back his temper. "Whoever told you that was wrong, though. You know better than anyone that I didn't bring you here as my personal rent boy - if I had, I wouldn't have turned you down earlier," he says with a not-quite-grin."

"Plus, no matter what they think my motives are, if you were to ask anyone who knows me, they would tell you that I never make promises lightly and I never break a promise, no matter what it costs me. I lived through my family breaking too many promises to me as a child - I will never willingly break a promise to someone else, Sunshine. NEVER."

“I can't do this, Brian,” I finally admit to him. “If I stay here much longer I'll be useless once I'm back out on the streets. It’s too hard to turn it all off when I go back. I can’t have feelings out there - it hurts too much. I’d be better off just leaving now. Please let me just go.”

“Then don’t go back. Stay here, Justin,” Brian is pleading with me. “Or, if you can’t or don’t want to stay here, we can find you someplace else, but don’t go back out there alone. If something happened to you - if you got sick or hurt - it would kill me.”

Damn, how I wish I could believe Him. I feel so comfortable here in his home, in his arms. The wrenching pain in my gut tells me, though, that I shouldn’t believe him. It can’t be that simple. It can’t be true. Too many times, others have told me that they were just doing something to help me - something that was in my best interest, even though I couldn’t see how - and it was always a lie. But I really wanted this lie. I wanted Him.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I,” Brian asks, his forehead pressed against the side of my face still. “I’m asking too much and pressing too hard. How about this, Justin - can you agree to stay for just one more day? Stay with me till tomorrow afternoon, okay. That’s not too much to ask and I’ll feel better if you get even just one more good night of rest.”

One more day? I guess it’s not that much. I’m already fucked from the short time I’ve been here, what’s one more day?  

“Fine. One more day.” I quietly voice my acceptance.

 

 

“Thank you, Sunshine,” Brian says, kissing me once on the cheek and then, using his strong hand to tilt my chin up so my lips meet his, leaving a second light kiss on my lips, before enfolding me back into his arms and lying us both down together on the bed.  

 

 

Chapter 9 - Engage.

Engage: To occupy, attract or involve someone's interest or attention.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

"Hey, Blue Eyes," Brian's low toned voice nudges me awake. "I'm going to go take a shower and then finish up some work, okay? You don't have to get up - I just wanted you to know where I was. You just stay here and sleep some more, if you want."

I nod, allowing my eyes to drift closed again. Before Brian gets up though, he rolls into me, mashing his cock against my hip. He is incredibly hard.

"That's to remind you how much I don't want you, Sunshine," he teases, leaving a small chaste kiss on my forehead before he rolls away and gets up.  

He expects me to get back to sleep after that?

I hear the water coming on in the shower. I hear sounds of traffic from the street below the loft. These are comfortable, homey noises and I'm worried I'm becoming too used to them already. I did agree to stay for one more day, though.

That's when I hear the door buzzer ringing. Brian's still in the shower. So, I quickly get up and run over to the intercom to answer it.

"Hey there, baby. It's Em! Buzz me up, Scottie!" is the response I get, so I press the button to release the door and let this interesting friend of Brian's in.  

"Justin, sweetie, I have to apologize for earlier," Emmett starts right in. "Teddy and I were just being catty, you know. Both of us love Brian. He's really a great guy and ultra generous. And there's no way Teddy meant what he said - he adores Brian. Brian has helped Ted out of some really tough spots in the past, you know. It's just that we all have this image of Brian as one thing and it's hard to let that image go enough to see the real person behind the image sometimes. So, bottom line, just ignore all the shit you heard us talking this morning, okay Baby. We're just a couple of nasty gossiping queens and you shouldn't listen to a thing we said."

"I can vouch for the part about them being nasty gossiping queens, Sunshine," Brian adds as he pads out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his slim hips.  

"Oh? And like you've never been heard gossiping over a beer or two at Woody's, Mr. Kinney?" Emmett teases.

"That's different,". Brian returns. "All I ever gossip about is who's fucking who and how big their cocks are. That's not even really considered gossip between queers, just vital statistics."

"Well, whatever floats your boat, honey. Now, let's get down to real business - Emmett Honeycutt, personal shopper extraordinaire, here to spend your money with wild abandon," Emmett announces with a small bow and a flourish of his hand. "All I need is your directions on where you want it spent."

Brian walks to the counter and retrieves his wallet as he speaks. "Well, to start with, Justin needs clothes and shit. I only got him a few things the other day - enough to get him home from the hospital. But he's definitely going to need more.  At least a couple weeks worth - and don't forget to get him a better coat - the one you've got now Sunshine is so thin it wouldn't keep out a light summer breeze, let alone the type of arctic blast we've been getting lately. Just get him everything - but, hold back on the Emmett Honeycutt flame a tad, okay. The boy needs clothes he can actually wear out in public, you know.  

"Don't worry, Brian. I would never hold a neophyte like our boy here to MY fashion standards." Emmett confirms.  

"I was going to send Justin along with you to share in the fun, but after hearing about all the shit you're talking about me, I'm not sure you can be trusted," Brian adds as he hands his credit card over to Em.

"I already apologized for that, Brian," Emmett responds, sounding hurt and embarrassed at the same time.  

"Well, the man of the hour should get the final say, anyway. So, Sunshine, did you want to join Emmett's shopping extravaganza or just hang out here?" Brian asks, looking in my direction.

"Brian, I don't really need any clothes," I protest, already knowing though that it's futile to resist.

"Yes. You do, Justin. See, my cleaning service only comes twice a week and I hate doing laundry. So, if you don't get more clothes, either we'll have to be doing laundry daily or we'll have to have the service come every other day. Either of those options will just make me grumpy. Therefore, the best alternative is to just get you more clothes." Brian explains.  

"But, for only one day?"

"Please let me do this for you, Sunshine," Brian leans into me and whispers in my ear, and I find I just can't say no.

"Good." Brian states when he sees I'm not going to object. "So, what do you want to do? Are you going to join Honeycutt on his shopping adventure or stay here?"

"Stay?"

"Looks like you're on your own, then, Honeycutt. Make sure you get his sizes before you go." Brian directs. "And, when you're done with the new wardrobe, we need food too. All I have in the fridge is beer and poppers, neither of which are on the reccommended foods list the doctor sent home for our patient here. Get everything you think we'll need, Honeycutt. But make sure it's mostly on the healthy side. He doesn't need empty calories. Anything in particular you like, Sunshine?"

Who me? I'm so overwhelmed already that I can barely manage to shrug, let alone add to this ridiculous shopping list.

"Okay, clothes and food. No problemo, señor. Anything else?" Emmett asks.

"That's enough for now," Brian says, dangling the keys to the Jeep over Em's open palm. "If I think of anything more, Honeycutt, I'll call you."

"Don't call me Honeycutt, Brian," Em demands, then turns to me. "Last chance to change your mind, Sweetie? No, well then, I'm off! See you boys later. So long."

"Don't wreck my Jeep, Honeycutt!" Brian yells after the retreating, chortling figure. "Oh wait, I just thought of one more thing."

Brian runs out to the landing and stops Em, but I can't hear what he's adding since I've already headed off to the kitchen for a bottle of water.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

By the time Emmett arrived, I was already starting to think about what I needed to accomplish today for work and how I could incorporate the fantastic drawing Justin had made yesterday into the campaign. I'd been thinking of a couple ways I could revamp the multimedia spots to include the logo design. The boy's art skills were therefore still at the forefront of my thoughts when they were interrupted by discussions about Emmett's shopping extravaganza.

The images of that artwork, unsurprisingly popped back up when Em asked if there was anything else he could get while he was out. Maybe that was a way I could further connect with the kid. If I could get him to believe that his artwork was as good as I knew it to be, hopefully he would start to feel that he was worthwhile as a person too. Anyway, it was worth a try. So, at the last moment I ran after Emmett and told him to add some art supplies to his list.

After we get Emmett on his way, I go back into the loft and look around to find where Justin has hidden himself. Justin is one of the quietest men I've ever known. He has a peacefulness about him that manifests itself as a profound sense of utter quiet. So, even when you know he's in the house you still sometimes feel compelled to look around for him just to make sure.  

This is one of those times. I have to scan the room twice before I finally realize he is sitting at the kitchen island waiting patiently for me. When I lock eyes with him, he gives me an almost-smile and watches while I move off towards the computer.  

After about twenty minutes, he comes and looks over my shoulder with evident curiosity to see what I'm working on. Without saying anything, I hand him a sheaf of research materials I'd scanned earlier which have some bearing on the boards I'd been revising. Justin takes the papers and walks over to the sofa where he sits and reads the entire stack diligently.  

Then, several minutes later, he returns to where I'm sitting, picks up some blank sheets of paper, a graphite pencil and two of the demo boards the art department had prepared for me and takes them all back to the living room. Instead of sitting on the couch this time, though, he places the boards on the coffee table and sits on the floor. I watch him off and on out of the corner of my eye, curious as to what he's come up with. But I restrain myself, waiting till he's ready to show me whatever it is.

He studiously works at the boards and his sketch for over a half an hour - tracing over sections with a graphite pencil, rubbing at the paper occasionally with his index finger, erasing and then redrawing sections. Every once in a while the bare tip of his pink tongue will dart into view. Having already filled my quota of lesbionic thoughts for the day, I refuse to let myself think of this as cute. Nope - not cute at all.1.

When he's finished, I can sense his hesitation. He keeps looking in my direction surreptitiously. Once he's worked up the gumption to bring his idea to me, it's as if he feels a blindside attack will work best - he heads first towards the kitchen, then angles towards the door and finally comes up to me from behind my left shoulder.  

The closer he gets to me the more his confidence seems to ebb. His pace gets slower and he drags his feet more and more. When he finally reaches me, he thrusts his masterpiece at me and then promptly retreats back to the couch, not even waiting till I've looked at it before he assumes he's failed. The little spark of creativity I'd been admiring while he was drawing has vanished completely.

He hasn't failed though - the artwork I'm looking at is magnificent and his idea to incorporate the whole skaterboy love of body art into the campaign by using tatoos to display the business' logo and some of the principal products is brilliant.  I've already got some ideas in mind for the perfect models to use for the print ads - a couple of my buddies from the gym would be perfect. The idea is hot, edgy and, as far as I know, unique. I'm completely blown away by not only the concept but also the fabulous art work.  

Now, how do I go about proving this to my skittish guest?

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I don't know why I did it. I have no idea how I got up the courage to even attempt such an idiotic thing. One minute I was watching Brian working on something for a client, then Brian gives me all this demographic research, and the next minute I'm drawing. I'm sure it's just a pile of shit like all my other stuff. But, it felt good to be drawing again - almost fun. I haven't had much opportunity to draw for a long time and this just felt so good. But why the hell I thought to bother Brian with my doodling, I'll never know.

Brian obviously has professional artists that prepare these display boards for him. He doesn't need some rank amateur like me to redo his staff's work. If he had wanted my help he would have said something. Shit, now I'm fucking embarrassed. I wish I could run over there and grab that sketch back from him and erase it from his memory completely.

Once I'd picked up that pencil and made the first mark on the paper, though, I just couldn't stop.  I didn't want to stop. I can barely remember the last time I drew or painted or created anything. When I first ended up on the streets there hadn't been time. Then there hadn't been any resources. I finally came to realize my father had been right, that there wasn't any place in my life for art. He was always right, even when I fought him, I'd known he was right.  

So I guess when Brian showed me those drawings I just sort of lost it - I wanted to draw so much. Call it temporary insanity, I guess, or blame it on my staying here way longer than was good for me. But now that I've given Him that sketch to look at I feel like I want to simply crawl in a hole somewhere and die. I'm sure he's going to hate it. I've been told often enough that I shouldn't waste my time on art - that I just don't have what it takes. I should have known better.

Of course, he'll pretend like it's good just to be nice to me - that's the way he is. But obviously he'll only be lying. He's going to see how completely pathetic I am. Well the good news about that is I won't have to waste my time hanging out here for a whole other day.

All the energy I felt just a few minutes ago is gone now. I feel exhausted all of a sudden. Maybe Brian won't mind if I just go lie down in bed again for a while and rest. I start to get up. Unfortunately, Brian is blocking my way. Why won't he just leave me alone? Why is he smiling at me? Jesus, I'm so fucking tired of trying to make sense of everything here. It's just too much fucking work. I want to just go lie down so badly I'm almost ready to cry but He's still standing there in my way, damn it.

"What do you want from me, Brian," I manage to ask through my overwhelming fatigue.

"I don't want anything from you, Sunshine. I want to give you something," he says.  

The happiness and excitement in his voice force me to look up into his eyes. The sight of Brian's eager joy is like a current of cool water washing through the middle of me.2. I feel refreshed - the tiredness Is swept away with the tides. Brian is happy with me, I can tell and I want to revel in the feeling.  

Then he leans down towards me, tilting my chin up with one long finger so that our mouths are only centimeters apart. And, never letting go of my gaze, he touches his lips to mine, softly at first but with increasing firmness. His sweet breath, redolent of peppermint, envelops me.  Brian's moist breath runs down the nape of my neck, curling along my spine. A sense of peace runs through me along the cool currents. My body throbs with safety and I feel so joined to Brian in this moment that I can almost feel the pulse of his happiness along with my own.3.

"Your drawing is amazing, Justin. It's perfect for the campaign I'm working up for this account. If it's okay with you, I'd like to use your drawings and ideas in my presentation," Brian's words are as sweet as his kiss but don't make total sense to me.

"You want to use my work? You like it?" I ask, needing to be clear on this. "You're not just saying that?"

"No, I'm not just saying that. I love your work and I want to use it. May I?"

"Sure," is the total extent of my answer.

"Thank you. I know this is going to wow the client, completely," Brian beams at me, placing his hand at the small of my back to guide me back towards his desk. "Let me show you some of the other things I was thinking about and get your input."

Brian and I spend the next few hours going over his pitch. He listens to my ideas about everything. No one has ever listened to me or asked my opinion about something like this. He actually takes into account my ideas and suggestions.  

As we talk, I sketch what he describes and then we revise it together or scrap it or change it completely. In the end, when Brian starts to pack up our work, saying he'll have his staff finalize it all tomorrow, I feel like some small part of me that I thought had died is coming back to life.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

The sparkle that comes into his eyes as we work together makes me want to shout and jump for joy and grab him and kiss him all at the same time. Is this what will bring Justin back to life for good? Fuck, I hope so.

And, with perfect timing, it's at that very minute that I hear Emmett jangling my keys out on the landing. I smile over at Justin who smiles back at me wholeheartedly for the very first time. I see now exactly why Deb gave him that silly nickname - his full uninhibited smile is so bright it's practically a rival for any sunbeam. Sunshine lights up the entire room when he smiles like that. I instinctively reach for his hand and I'm thrilled when he enthusiastically squeezes mine back as we head towards the door to greet our happy little shopper.

"Well, you're not going to believe what I was able to get for you, darling. I hit ALL the sales. It was fabulous! I've got at least two weeks of lovely new duds for you, Sweetie. I can't wait to have you try them all on for me. You are going to look soooooo hot." Emmett is gushing about his conquests before he's even inside the loft.

"I know you said to go with a more restrained fashion sense, Brian, and I did, really, for the most part, but I did break down a little in the end and pick Justin up a couple of clubbing outfits that you are just going to drool over - I know I did, imagining that adorable little bubble butt in the outfit I picked out. Oh, I just can't wait. You have to bring him to Babylon tonight so everyone can see . . .” Emmett continues, amazingly without seeming to need to breathe in order to talk endlessly.  

He is unloading shopping bag after bag from the lift as he speaks, handing off his purchases to me, to Justin or just heaping them on the furniture when our hands were too full to take more. I’m amazed that he's somehow managed to hit so many stores in such a short time period. But of course, I'd already known Em's powers of shopping were virtually limitless - which was exactly why I'd thought of him for the job.

Once all the clothing bags are unloaded, he grabs one or two in particular, shoving them into Justin's hands and then herding the boy off towards the bedroom.

"Now, Sweetie, you just go put this on for me, so I know I got your sizes right. That way you don't have to try everything on for me right now. Go on, Babydoll. I just can't wait to see what you think, Brian." Oh Emmett - that man sure can gush, but you have to admire his full-on flame.

"While he's changing I'll hurry back down and bring up the groceries," Em advises. "If you help, Bri, I think we can manage it all in only one more trip."

"I'm surprised you had time to get the groceries too, considering how many stores it looks like you hit for the clothes, Honeycutt," I kid him as we venture down to the parking garage to get the rest of his booty.

"Of course I managed the groceries. I also managed that special little request of yours, Brian," Emmett says, winking at me conspiratorially. "Justin's gonna just love what I got. And, don't worry, Brian. I swear not to tell anyone what a big, sweet, softie you're turning into."

"Watch out how you use the word 'soft' around me, Honeycutt," I growl at him - all in fun, though, and I'm oddly not really bothered that he knows about my feelings towards Justin.  

We unload heaping bags full of food from the back of the Jeep. I'm not sure how many people he thought were going to be living at my loft, since it looks like he's bought enough food for at least twenty. I'm also not sure how he managed to get all this, plus the umpteen million shopping bags full of clothes, in the car at the same time. Emmett - the miracle worker of shopping.  

The last bag he pulls out of the car from the floor of the front passenger seat is a large, beautifully adorned gift bag with a large white silk bow. He hands it to me, winking again, and then gathers up several grocery bags in his large hands before heading to the lobby with his store of goodies. While we’re waiting for the lift he also hands me back my credit card and keys along with a pile of receipts. I hand him back a couple of large bills to pay him for his time, although I'm not sure why since he so obviously enjoys this too much for it to have been considered working.

"Thank you, Brian." Emmett says demurely, knowing me well enough that he knows I won't tolerate anything more effusive.

"Thank you, EmmyLou. It looks like I definitely hired the right queen for the job. No one but you could have bought so much in such a limited period of time. You are truly amazing!" I give him my standard tongue-in-cheek, back-handed compliment, which he graciously accepts for what it is.

Struggling slightly under the pounds of groceries, we make it back upstairs and Emmett immediately starts unpacking and putting away the groceries, while I pour drinks for everyone - knowing that I at least need one after that harrowing experience. Emmett accepts his rum and coke while deftly juggling several containers of yogurt, two wedges of cheese and what appears to be half the shopping aisle full of various condiments. Well, I think to myself, I did tell him to get everything.  

By this point I'm starting to wonder what happened to Justin, who's been up in the bedroom, supposedly changing into his new outfit, for much longer than it usually takes a teenager to dress. I finally can't take it anymore and have to go check on him. What I find is a half naked young man, sitting on the floor, with the shopping bags Emmett had forced on him arrayed around him in a semi-circle as if to provide a protective barrier. He seems dazed. He's made no attempt to try on any of the items lying half out of the bags.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Once again Brian has gone overboard. I'm looking at these piles of new clothes and I know I just can't do this. Why does he always have to push it too far? I was actually feeling so happy about drawing and working together with him on his presentation. Why did he have to go and ruin everything like this?  

This isn't something you do for someone who's only going to be around for one more day. This is something you do to keep someone indefinitely. But I can't let him tie me to him like this. I can't - I won't let him in. Once you let people in, either they hurt you themselves or someone else will use your feelings for them to hurt you. Either way the only result is pain. I already have enough pain. I refuse to let him do this to me when it will only add to the pain.

I'm still just sitting there frozen when He comes into the room. I can't look at him. If I let myself look at him, my resolve is likely to break apart. I'm still trying to work my way back to numb - it's not working very well because I now have to get around that little bit of happy that's far too distracting. If I look at Brian I know I'll be lost again - I can't look at him or let myself think about him kissing me or that piece of happy or anything else that will break me.  

"You don't like the clothes?" Brian says quietly.

I refuse to answer him. I can't say anything that will distract me. I won't let this happen to me.

"What's wrong? If you don't like the clothes, I'll have Emmett exchange them," Brian sounds confused, but I'm not going to look at him.

"Justin?"

Go away. Please go away. Please. I just can't do this.

"I don't understand, Justin. What can't you do," he asks - shit, I didn't realize I was speaking aloud.  

Brian kneels down beside me. He's trying to see into my eyes as I try to keep my head turned away. He manages to get hold of my chin, holding it still and cupping it with the palm of his hand, his thumb stroking across my lower lip. He captures my gaze, finally, and the worry and concern in his eyes cause angry tears to burst from mine, melting whatever numbness I'd rebuilt and allowing the despair to take over.   

I hate how my anger always seems to come out in tears. I hate how weak it makes me look. I wish I could yell, scream, rave, even hit something, but I can't. All I can ever seem to manage is tears. It's not due to sadness though. It's rage that I just can't express.

"Shit. I did it again. It's too much, isn't it?" Brian understands.  

He gets up and begins to gather the bags and clothing together. He hands me a pair of simple cargo pants and a long-sleeved tee and takes all the rest away, tossing it all into the closet and sliding the door closed. Then he carefully pats my shoulder, letting his fingers trail across my cheek as he pulls away.

"Get dressed, Sunshine. I'll take care of the rest," Brian says as he walks out of the room, leaving me exhausted from the roller coaster ride of emotions he's taken me through today.

 

~~*~~

 

Footnotes:

1.  Smolder, Chapter 4.

2.  Full credit for much of the beautiful imagery I’ve used here goes to Jim Grimsley, from his wonderful novel, Dream Boy. See, p. 12.  While I haven’t quoted his work directly, if you read the original, you’ll see where much of my imagery comes from.  All credit to the master!

3.  Id., p. 121.

 

Chapter 10 - Disconnection.

Disconnection:  Disjunction;  State of being disconnected, severed or detached.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Slow down. Slow down. Slow down. I keep repeating my new mantra to myself. I need to slow down before I scare the kid away completely. I remember what it's like to be scared all the time and to not trust. Thankfully it's been a long time for me, but I still remember. I have to keep reminding myself that Justin is still living in that reality now. He needs time. This isn't something you get over in just a couple days - if ever. But if I want to help him, if I want him to stay, I have to stop pushing so hard.

Emmett must have overheard some of what went on in the other room because he has a very strange expression on his face when I return from talking with Justin.

"Everything okay, Brian?" Em asks.

"I hope so, Emmett," I answer, not completely convinced of the fact myself. "I think we're going to skip the club tonight, though. Lindz and Mel invited Justin and me for dinner - I think that's a little more Justin’s speed right now."

"Of course, Bri. I didn't mean to push, you know. I . . . You're doing a good thing, Brian," Emmett said sincerely, squeezing my arm in support before starting to gather his things up to leave. "I put a plate of bread, cheese and fruit out for you two on the counter, just to tide you over till din-din. Just call if you need anything more, Bri. Ta ta for now, Bri! Bye, Justin."

Justin had silently come up behind me as Emmett was speaking. I didn't realize it until Em said goodbye to him as he was heading out the door. Justin looked once again composed - his indifferent mask firmly back in place.

"Hungry? Emmett made us a cheese platter," I point to the treat where Em left it.

Justin nods and heads over to retrieve the plate, carrying it towards the table. I gather water bottles and napkins and follow. We sit. We eat. We don't talk. That easy camaraderie we had earlier has disappeared. I don't like it at all and I have to find a way to get it back.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Brian has calmed down a bit since Emmett left. He's giving me my space. He's not pushing. So why do I still not like it. The ball of pain in my gut seems to be leaking into my system again.

I'm standing at the kitchen sink after tidying away our snack when I sense Brian has come up behind me.

"Hey, you," he says quietly. "I'm trying, okay. I didn't mean to overwhelm you. Please don't pull away."

I feel his strong yet gentle arms coming around me. His right hand is sneaking under the hem of the shirt to find the skin of my belly while the other wraps tightly around my chest. He rests his cheek against the top of my head and I feel him sigh as if this moment is all he ever wanted in life.  

This is such stupid shit. He won't fuck me - even when I offered plain out - but now he wants to stand here all sad-like and hold me? I should tell him to go screw himself. I can't though. My traitorous body seems to want this. So I say nothing.

I should pull away. I shouldn't let this happen - but I just can't make myself move. He is hypnotizing me with the small circular patterns he's drawing on my belly.  

After countless hours like this, or maybe it's only seconds, I feel the warmth from his groin growing up between us. His one hand has slipped down from my chest to my waist. His other hand brushes lower too and I can sense his disappointment at what he doesn't find. But he says nothing at my lack of matching heat.   

He kisses me once on the side of my neck, then gives one more squeeze and releases his hold on me. He moves away slowly, trying not to be obvious as he adjusts himself. I feel frozen in place. Frozen in time. My body already misses the contact. In my head I am screaming, telling myself to run, get away from here, this is dangerous. My body isn't listening.

"Are you ready to head out to dinner?" Brian asks while I'm still standing there frozen. "We should probably get going. Gus gives me such a hard time when I'm late. I think Mel puts him up to it."

"Dinner?"

"Oops. I forgot to tell you, Lindz sent an email earlier and switched our dinner plans to tonight. Mel couldn't do it tomorrow," Brian explains. "I hope that's alright with you. I wouldn't want to disappoint Gus."

"Sure. No problem," I manage to say even through my still frozen state.

"I know this has been a long day for you. We don't have to stay late, though. I promise. It's just that Gus wants to see you again and I try never to disappoint my Sonny Boy if I can help it. Plus, I can't cook for shit, while Lindsey's meals are pretty good, so it's either dinner at the girls' or takeout again here."

"I don't mind going to dinner," I say again, it's as if Brian needs reassurance of this.

"Okay. Um, just give me a minute and we'll get going." Brian says as he retreats into the bathroom.

I'm still standing frozen in the same place wondering how long this disconnect between my mind and my body will last.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Shit. He wasn't hard at all. He really doesn't want me. I thought before it was just the sense of obligation that was a turnoff for him. Or, he was just feeling too poorly. But maybe he's just not attracted to me at all. Now what do I do? I'm hard as a fucking rock and the gorgeous hot blond in my living room couldn't care less.  

Fuck it - I don't have time for anything other than a quick, unsatisfying whack off.  

Ten minutes later I come back out to the main room, ready to head out to the munchers' for dinner, and I find Justin standing in the very same place, in the very same position, where I left him. I'm about ready to break down myself at the thought of dealing with yet another crisis. What's wrong with him now, damn it? I take several deep breaths before approaching him to find out what can be done.

"Justin? What is it? What's wrong?" I ask, as patiently as I can at this point.  

"Huh?" Justin responds, turning to look at me as if he's just waking from a deep sleep.  

"Are you ready? You seem upset again. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I'm ready."

Again, Justin responds, but seems so distant and closed. But I'm not going to take on another intervention today, so I just let it slide and head for the door, assuming that he will follow. I probably shouldn't have assumed anything though, since he remains rooted to that spot, almost oblivious to the fact that I'd moved. I turn back, place a hand on his shoulder and physically guide him towards the door. It seems that my touch is enough to motivate him, at least sufficiently so that we make it to the car.

Once we're at the Munchers' I let Lindz take over a bit so I can get a break. What I need right now is a drink, so I help myself to the bottle of scotch they keep in the kitchen. I know I told Justin I would be there for him, and I will if he'll let me, but I can't do it right this minute. I'm just a little too frustrated, too tired and a tad bit pissed off after everything that's happened today. Lindz is playing the perfect suburban hostess, which she loves to do every so often, so I just sit back, sip my scotch and let her.  

And Gus, well he's being his sweet little self, and I can at least relax enough to enjoy my time with my son.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I can tell Brian is angry with me. I knew he would be. I should have told him no. I should have left this morning. I should never have agreed to stay here. I can't be the person he wants me to be, and I know I should just leave, but . . . I wish I could find a way to stay.  

In the past two days I've actually felt happy for the first time in . . . I don't know how long. It hurts to feel again. But, now that I've felt it, I crave more. I know it's impossible. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up. But I would really like to feel a little bit happy again. I'd like to make Him happy. I know it's fucking impossible. I'm not the kind of person that gets to be happy. I'm not the kind of person who deserves happy. I'm definitely not capable of bringing happiness to others.  

I need to leave now. It's already too late to avoid getting hurt - it's gonna hurt like hell - but if I leave maybe it's not too late to keep the pain bearable.

All of these thoughts are going through my mind on an endless loop while my body just continues on autopilot. Sometimes I feel like a puppet - operated by strings someone else is pulling, and I can't even see who it is holding the strings, while my mind is off doing something completely different. There's no connection between what I'm thinking and how I'm acting. No one except me can tell this, though. No one else understands that sometimes I just have no control over my traitorous body.  

So here I am, sitting in this happy family home, pretending to follow along with the conversation but in reality having no clue what's going on around me. My mind is stuck in this rut. I need to get away, but I can't make my body move. It wants to stay.  

Gus is looking at me now with the oddest expression on his little face. His head is tilted to the side, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth is all pursed up and sideways. I feel like a rare bug he's captured and is examining to see if maybe he should dissect it. I don't like it - it's as if he can see inside my jumbled mind and can sort through all my noisy thoughts to find some kernel of truth that even I'm not aware of. Okay, I know he's just a little kid, not even four yet, but that look is way too wise for his years and he's freaking me out.  

Before it gets too bad, though, Gus jumps up, runs out of the room and up the stairs and then returns straight away with a huge storage box full of crayons and a stack of drawing paper. He goes right to work, clearing off a space on the coffee table in front of where I'm sitting and then setting up his supplies. When everything is arranged the way he wants it, he points at the box of crayons.

"I don't think Mama will let us paint right now because it's too messy for right before dinner. So, we'll have to just color instead, Jus'n. Here's your paper. What should we color?" Gus says, already convinced that I'm joining him in his artistic pursuits.  

I shrug - it's the best I can do right now with my head still stuck on it's treadmill of worry.

"Well, I'm going to color a picture of me and Daddy playing soccer. He's really good at soccer and sometimes he takes me to the park and teaches me. You could color a picture of your Daddy, too, Jus'n," Gus suggests.

Panic. I'm NOT drawing my father. I'm not drawing anything. I need to get out of here, NOW.  

"I don't think Justin wants to color a picture like that Gus," Lindsey interrupts - she must have seen my nearly hysterical response.

"Okay. You can draw something else then, Jus'n. If you want, you can draw my Daddy too," the boy suggests, smiling up at Brian angelically.  

Watching Brian smiling back at his son with that doting, almost silly grin on his face, I think that maybe I can draw that. Yes, I'll color a picture of Gus' daddy, too. That suggestion doesn't make the panic well up inside. So, I draw Brian and Gus together.  

It comes out pretty good, too. When Gus is done with his picture, we exchange drawings - Gus says I can have his picture if he can keep mine. I nod my agreement as I study the picture of two stick figures - one taller than the other - with a black and white ball on the green surface between them, and large scribbled trees all around under a smiling yellow sun. It's the picture all kids are supposed to draw when they imagine their family. I'm glad Gus has that image in his mind. I've never had a picture like this, though.

"This is really good, Justin," Lindsey says, scrutinizing the drawing I made, which she's extricated from Gus' grubby paws. "I'm not kidding - I work in an art gallery here in town and I used to teach art at a local high school, so I know what I'm saying. You have some amazing potential. It's a little raw maybe, but with some training . . . Did you ever consider going to art school?"

That makes me laugh. Art school? Oh yeah - I'll get right on that, I think. Although, since I don't have an address, wherever will they mail my acceptance letter? What the fuck is she thinking? Most days the only thing I have the time to worry about is whether or not I'll have enough money to buy food. Art school - that's a good one.

"You should see the work he did for me this afternoon," Brian interjects, an almost proud tone to his voice. "Justin came up with some great ideas for a campaign I'm going to pitch for a potential client next week. And, his artwork was phenomenal. I can't wait to show it to the client. The CEO is this completely off the wall type and I just know she's going to go for the unconventional approach Justin came up with."

"That would be so cool, Jus'n. You should do it and then you could be an artist like Mommy or an 'Ad Zec' like Daddy," Gus decides to weigh in on my future career options. "They both have really fun jobs. Mama's job sounds fun too - she's an attorney and she gets to go to court and talk to judges and sometimes she breaks other attorneys balls - but she says she doesn't want me to be an attorney ‘cause I'm too nice and it's too mean a job. Since you're nice, you probably shouldn't be an attorney either. But you'd be a good Ad Zec or an artist."

Gus' little speech causes everyone to laugh, which thankfully gets them all off the topic of my career choices. Thank you, Gus. Melanie starts to explain to Gus that she doesn't really break anyone's balls, but Brian is laughing so hard and interrupting with snide comments so often, that Mel gives up. Gus has already moved on to his next drawing, so he really isn't paying any attention, anyway.

"Here, Jus'n. You can have this picture, too. That's me and Emily. She's my bestest friend at school. She gave me a red pencil yesterday - she had one blue one and one red one and she let me choose which one I wanted. She's real nice. Who's your bestest friend, Jus'n?"

"When I was about your age, I had a best friend named Daphne," I tell Gus while the adults are busy discussing something else. "She had the prettiest, curliest hair I'd ever seen. Sometimes she'd let me brush it if I was careful not to pull too hard. She used to always trade me her ham or turkey sandwiches for my peanut butter ones."

"That's nice. Is Daphne stil your friend?" Gus asks, innocently.

"No. I don't see her anymore."

"Why not?"

"My father didn't like her. He said she got me into too much trouble at school. So, he told me I couldn't see her anymore. And when I disobeyed and snuck out of the house one time to go to see her, my father made her parents agree not to let me visit any more. After that we stopped being friends." It's not the complete story, of course, but I wasn't going to tell Gus all the things my father said and what he threatened to do to me and to Daphne if I ever disobeyed him again.

"I think that's sad. Maybe now that you're all grown up you could be friends with Daphne again?" Gus suggests.

"I don't know where she lives anymore, Gus. Besides she probably wouldn't want to be my friend now anyway."

I didn't realize how quiet it had become in the room while Gus and I were speaking.  When I look up, three sets of eyes are staring at me. Damn it.  It's too hard to keep my guard up around Gus. He's too innocent and trusting. I want to take it all back or sink into the cushions of the couch or maybe just disappear. I wish they would all stop looking at me.

Good thing Gus comes to the rescue again. He pipes up to ask how much longer it will be till dinner, which serves to break the tension. In short order dinner is served and I manage to make it through the rest of the night without embarrassing myself any further. Hopefully they've all forgotten my little story about Daphne - at least for now.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Gus asks me to read him a story after supper and then I put him to bed. He is the only person I've ever felt comfortable with when it comes to talking about difficult topics like emotions. He asks me questions now about Justin that I'm not sure how to answer, though.  

"Daddy, why is Jus'n always so sad?" Gus starts off with probably the toughest question of all.

"I don't know, Sonny Boy. I think he's had a pretty hard life."

"I wish he wasn't so sad. I wish I could make him be happier," Gus opines.

"Me too, Sonny Boy. Me too," I say as I bend to give the boy a kiss goodnight on his forehead. "Happy dreams, Sonny Boy."

"Thank you, Daddy. I always have happy dreams after you kiss me goodnight," Gus says as he snuggles deeper under his covers. "Maybe you should give Jus'n a goodnight kiss tonight too. That way he'd have happy dreams and wouldn't be so sad tomorrow."

"That's not a bad idea, Sonny Boy. It's worth a try at least," I agree. "Now, no more talking. It's off to dreamland with you."

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

It feels later than it actually is. All the time I've been on the streets I've always felt perpetually tired. So why is it that tonight I feel more exhausted than I can ever remember? I think it's because I've lost some of the numbness.  

As soon as we get to the loft Brian suggests I shower and get into bed. He says I look tired and that he's afraid I did too much today. He thinks I'm still too ill to be up and about all day like this. I would argue with him if I had the energy.

The hot shower feels so good on my tired, sore muscles and my cold skin. This is another thing that will be hard to leave. I relish the feeling of clean and warm together. The bed is also clean and the covers are warm. The mattress is soft and welcoming.  

I'm almost asleep when Brian finishes his shower and slides into the bed next to me. I'm lying on my side facing towards Him. I automatically tense up as He nears. I'm afraid He'll want to touch me. I'm afraid He won't want to touch me.  

"Happy dreams, Sunshine," is all Brian says as he leans down to place a kiss on my forehead before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes.

As tired as I am, though, sleep doesn't come right away. Images from the day keep rolling in my mind: Breakfast with Brian, Gus and Linsdsey; Later at the Diner where Brian kissed me in front of everyone; Here at the loft, working together with Brian on the presentation; Brian holding me, stroking me, his obvious desire pressing into me, his lips on my neck.  

Damn it. I want these things again. Even though I know I don't deserve these feelings and shouldn't want them.  

I wish I was able to have happy dreams. I can already feel the bad ones licking at the edges of my consciousness though. What are happy dreams, I wonder?

 

~~*~~

*Bang, bang, bang.* Shit. 'Just a minute.' Maybe I can finish. 'You open this door right this minute, young man, or you'll live to regret it.' Fuck, not now - I'm so close. Just. One. More. Minute.

*Crash*. 'What in the name of God do you think you're doing you filthy, disgusting pervert. Get your hands off yourself this instant.'  

He's pulling me by the hair, dragging me out of the bathroom. It fucking hurts.

'Dad, please, stop. Please let go of me, it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

At least the magazine closed when it fell - he can't tell which picture I was looking at. Fuck, he hasn't even let me pull up my pants. I'm so fucked this time.

'Justin Taylor, this is the most disgusting display of perversion I've ever had the displeasure to experience. How dare you molest yourself like this. You know this is a sin, don't you? Answer me when I ask you a question, boy!'

'Yes, Sir.' I'm standing in front of him with my head bowed. If I don't argue too much, maybe this will end quickly.

'I don't think you do understand. You're far too flippant, young man. Get down on your knees this instant and start praying that the Lord can somehow, someday, find a way to forgive you.'

I'm down on my knees. I'm pretending to pray. Mostly I'm just trying to listen to figure out where he's gone and what he's likely to do next. Shit, he comes back with a leather belt in his hands.

'Hands behind your back, young man,' he orders and I don't dare disobey.

Instead of hitting me with the belt, though, he's using it to tie my hands together behind me.

'Since you can't seem to control yourself, I'll have to teach you how. You will stay here praying on your knees with your hands tied so you won't be tempted into further sin until you've learned control, young man. I don't want to ever, EVER, see or hear you molesting yourself again, do you hear me? NEVER. You are a dirty, sick, perverted boy who has no sense of decency. You are not to move out of that spot until you can prove to me you've learned your lesson. Do you hear me, boy?'

'Yes, Sir.' I groan, realizing now that this isn't going to end anytime soon.

Hours later, he finally returns. I'm swaying, trying to stay up on aching sore knees. My shoulders ache from having my arms pulled back at such an uncomfortable angle. My hands are numb from lack of circulation.

'Have you learned your lesson young man?'

'Yes, Sir. Please, Sir, can you please untie me now, it hurts.'

I'm not sure you've fully learned your lesson, boy. Let's test your resolve.'

He's got the magazine I was looking at earlier. He's looking through the pages. I don't even know which pages he's looking at, but just remembering, I'm getting hard again. Fuck. Not now. Please not now.

'I thought so. You're still unrepentant. You goddamned disgusting pervert. If your hands weren't tied you'd be all over yourself with lust again, wouldn't you? That's fine with me, boy. You'll stay here all night if necessary and if that's what it takes. You will never touch yourself inappropriately again in this house. DO YOU HEAR ME? Do you? You are going to learn to keep your dick and your hands under control. And until you do, you'll be spending all your time here on your knees, praying for God's help.'

He tosses the contents of whatever he's been drinking in my face. The alcohol stings in my eyes but the pain and the cold at least get rid of my hard on. At least until he comes back for the next test.

~~*~~

Disoriented. Confused. I'm awake but I can't remember at first where I am.  

"Justin? Shhh. It's okay. Just another dream," Brian whispers, only half awake, spooning around me even more closely.

I remember the dream this time. I remember what he used to do to me. How could my own father have done that to me? I wish I didn't remember the dream.  

I can't stop shaking. Brian must sense my fear now too. He's holding onto me more tightly. He's rubbing my shoulder, my back, my stomach, anywhere skin can touch skin.

"Shhh, Justin. I'm here. You'll be okay. Can you tell me what's wrong?" Brian is mumbling whatever words he thinks will help calm me.

"I remembered something. Something about my father. I'm scared, Brian. I'm so scared."

"It's okay, Justin. Your father isn't here now. He can't hurt you," Brian says, trying to comfort me by leaving a string of tender little kisses along my neck and jaw between his words.

"It's too late. He's already hurt me. I'm broken. There's a hole inside me where my father tore out whatever I was before. The empty hole is so big, it hurts and there's no way to fix it."

"I know about the holes. I have a few myself still," Brian empathizes. "They get smaller over time, though. I can help if you let me."

I'm still trembling. I don't know how to make it stop. It feels like the only thing keeping me in place is Brian with his tight grip on me.  

"What can I do? How can I help you, Justin." Brian sounds worried.

"Don't let go. Please don't let go."

 

Chapter 11 - Dichotomy.

Dichotomy:  The division of a whole into two conflicting or contradictory parts.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Monday morning.  Unfortunately I have to get into the office today - I already took too much time off last week to stay with Justin. But I can't bear the thought of leaving him here alone. I would estimate that the chances of him still being here when I come back are basically nil. So, I guess that means Sunshine is coming to Kinnetik.  

I wish I didn't have to move though. Justin is sprawled over me, sound asleep. I hate to wake him, especially after the hard night he had. It took us both more than an hour to get back to sleep last night after his dream/memory. Even though he wouldn't tell me what he'd remembered, I knew it had to have been absolutely horrendous considering how upset he was.

Right now, though, he looks so incredibly peaceful. His face is nested in the crook of my neck with his hair covering us both. The smell of his breath, of his skin, pervades the whole bed; odd how sweet it is to smell this boy, this man, from so close. We are bound together by the weight of his leg draped across my thighs and his arm thrown over my chest. We are, we have been, all night, practically one. Joining us further is the heaviness of my erection, pressed between us#. How can it be that I feel protected, lying here now with this slight young man's body covering me, when all I want to do is protect him.  

My only question now is how far can I take this without pushing him away. I desperately want to touch him, to hold him, and oh so much more, but so far any attempts I've made in that direction have backfired. Having him sprawled across me like this, though, so deliciously displayed, is killing me.  

Go slow. Remember, Kinney. Go slow.  

"Hey, Sunshine," I whisper, stroking his hair away so I can see his face. "Time to rise and shine. We have a 9:30 am appointment with my art department."

"Mmmm," he rolls over with a contented warm murmur, making me instantly regret the loss of contact with his warm skin.  

"Want to join me in the shower?" I can't resist the attempt, even though I know it's pushing our self-imposed boundaries.  

He shakes his head, no, snuggling back down further into the mattress. At least my offer didn't cause him to bolt. This is progress, I'm sure of it.  

I also can't resist leaning over to kiss those soft, coral pink lips before I finally tear myself from the bed and shuffle towards another lonely shower. I don't remember jacking off alone this much since I was in high school. Justin must be something beyond special - nothing short of amazing could force Brian Kinney to keep servicing himself like this when I just know how many fags are out there dying to give me a little attention. Justin or no Justin, a trip to the club has undeniably got to happen in the near future.  

I'm out of the shower, starting the coffee and contemplating what I can put together for Justin for breakfast, before the blond finally stumbles out of the bedroom, dressed only in a pair of loose sweat pants. Did I just moan aloud at the sight of him? The sexual frustration is definitely at ultra high levels.  

As he sits and I start to assemble bagel fixings, I notice the gift bag from the art supply store that Emmett left at the end of the counter yesterday. Perhaps this might be a good way to acclimate him into the office. Anything I can do to tempt him to stay a little longer. I know if I don't he will insist on leaving this afternoon as we agreed, and I'm dreading that prospect.  

When I set the bag in front of him, next to his plate, he watches it warily as if there's something deadly hiding inside. He makes no move to open it. A random thought flits through my brain - how long will he just sit there watching the bag if I don't prod him a little?

"Open it," I direct.

Justin, still wary of the dangerous beast within, pulls at one end of the ribbon very slowly. I have this childish impulse to tear the bag open for him, shredding all the wrapping paper and shoving the contents forcibly into his hands. Lucky for me and my wavering impulse control, Justin finally gets the bow all the way off and peeks into the bag. He looks at me inquisitively before reaching inside for the tempting treasures within.  

The first thing he pulls out is a large rectangular bundle, loosely wrapped in tissue paper. I smile and nod at him, trying to encourage him to proceed. Annoyingly, Justin appears to be one of those people who carefully untape and refold every sheet of wrapping paper as they go. The suspense is killing me and I know what's inside. I don't understand how he can move so slowly.

Finally he gets the paper off to reveal a pad of drawing paper. He gingerly sets the pad aside and then continues at his lethargic pace to extricate and unwrap everything in the bag. He never makes eye contact with me throughout the whole process. In the end he has a small pile of graphite and colored pencils, a box of pastels, even some watercolor paints and brushes sitting beside him.

Justin looks up at me then with evident confusion. He says nothing, but the questions he wants to ask are clear.  

"It's for your art. Just a thank you for all the hard work you put in helping me yesterday," I explain, trying to downplay the 'gift' part of it, emphasizing instead the idea of rewarding his work. "I was hoping you would come to my office with me today and put in a little more time working on this. It would be a big help if you'd join me when I meet with the art department to finalize everything. You could use some of these things when we're working on the boards."

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I know Brian is waiting for me to say or do something. He's giving me all these wondrous things. What he doesn't know is that he's giving me more than just things - he's giving me back a piece of me. A piece to fill in that gaping hole inside me: My art.  

My heartbeat is racing and I feel like I can't get enough oxygen. The bleeding pain in my gut is throbbing uncomfortably. But I don't think any of this shows on the outside, because Brian is just sitting there waiting for me to do or say something. If he knew how battered I felt on the inside I think he'd be reacting somehow.  

Can I take these things and this missing puzzle piece of my lost self? There will be consequences, I'm sure of it. I'm afraid it will add to the pain. If I take back this missing piece and then for some reason it's torn away again, it might kill me. But I'm not sure I'm strong enough to resist and turn it away. My fingers want to feel the pencils in their grip - it's an almost physical need, now. I want to tear open the boxes, seize hold of a pastel and create something, anything, right now. But, would that pleasure be enough to justify the loss that will ensue later when it's all gone again? If I were smart I'd walk away now.

I'm not smart. I'm weak. I want these things. My father would love to see this. It completely justifies his opinion of me - that I'm weak, that I have no control and that I'm a whore to my desires. Well, who am I to disappoint dear old dad?

"Thank you, Brian," I say quietly, letting my fingertips glide over the pile of art supplies, slowly becoming comfortable with the thought that they are 'mine'.

"You're welcome, Sunshine," Brian says, his happiness that I've accepted his gift so clearly evident in his tone. "Do you think you can help me some more today at work?"

Brian may think he’s being subtle, but he’s not. I know he’s going to try to use this to keep me here longer.  What I’m not sure of is whether or not I’m going to let it work. I actually kind of like the idea of seeing Brian’s work. I really enjoyed that part of yesterday. It felt so. . . . fulfilling? . . . to share ideas and work together with him. I know that it’s dangerous to give in to these feelings, these desires. But what the fuck - I’ve already admitted my weakness and accepted the art supplies, I might as well get totally fucked and let myself give in on this too.

And, since I’m being flagrantly weak and giving in to all my wanton, whorish desires this morning, I let myself have one more treat. I purposely get up from the kitchen stool, walk around the island and stand in front of Brian.  Raising up onto my toes, but not looking Him in the eyes - I’m not that bold, yet - I KISS HIM on the lips. Just once. It is the most I can do - the most I have ever done. I can’t believe I’m being so out of control. I’m having trouble breathing again in reaction. But, I’m also secretly thrilled that I’ve dared this.  

“Thank you. I’d like that. I'd like to come to your work and help you on this, Brian,” I manage to say, in between gasping for air and trying to keep my body from imploding from the weight of the possible consequences of my actions.

Brian tries to hide his glee by rolling his lips in as he smiles. It's utterly useless since I can see in his eyes how excited he is by what I've said. It's pretty adorable though. Damn, what the hell has gotten into me this morning, I wonder. I haven't been this daring or bold in . . . Well, ever. And, no matter how scared I'm feeling at my recklessness, the tiny bit of pride I feel at giving Him back a little bit of happy makes it all worthwhile.

I just hope it doesn't all come crashing down on me later.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Yes! It worked! Not only did he accept the present of the art supplies, but he agreed to come with me to the office today. I think this means I have a chance to keep him from leaving today. The relief I get from that makes me feel ten pounds lighter.  

Oh yeah - he kissed me, too!  

So what if it wasn't the most passionate kiss ever.  It was the first time Justin ever initiated any type of physical intimacy. That is a VERY good sign, I'm sure of it.

Fuck. When did I get to be so over-excited by a goddamned kiss? One that didn't even involve tongue? What-the-fuck-ever. I'll think of the consequences later. For now, I'm going to just concentrate on getting us to the office and engaging Justin in something that will take his mind off of leaving.

I'm still mindful of Justin's negative reaction to Emmett's clothing excesses, so I pick out something for him to wear and direct him to the shower while I call Cynthia and Ted to make some impromptu arrangements. By the time Justin is showered, dressed and has packed up his new art supplies, I'm dressed and ready to head out as well.

I really hope this works.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I'm admittedly impressed. First, Brian comes out of the bedroom wearing a beautiful designer suit - nothing like the expensive but casual clothing I've seen him in so far. Then, instead of the Jeep, he drives me to his office in an amazing forest green classic convertible Corvette. Finally, we arrive at his office - an outwardly unassuming building with a trendy 'Kinnetik Advertising' sign on the front - which turns out to be an incredibly elegant and well appointed office inside. I mean, I'd figured he had money from the look of the loft and the way he just casually tossed his credit card around, but I really had no idea he had this kinda dough.

He ushers me into the building and introduces me to his assistant, Cynthia, and his CFO, Ted, who I, of course, already know. I hear Brian immediately issuing directions: have the Daddies’ Board Shop team in his office in ten minutes; he wants to meet with the other ad execs at 10:00 am and then someone from the Art Dept. at 11:00; Cynthia needs to call this person and that person for reasons x,y and z; and, oh yeah, order in some food for the 10 o'clock meeting (this last direction was given with a smile at me - Brian's still very serious about sticking to the 'Feed and Care Instructions For Your New Twink' from the hospital and he seems convinced I'll waste away if not fed hourly).

"Make yourself at home, Sunshine," he says to me when we reach what I assume to be his office.  

I curl into the far corner of the big leather couch, pulling out my new sketch pad and the colored pencils that I've been itching to use. I try to make myself small and inconspicuous while Brian bustles about doing his corporate exec act. I'm feeling so content right now - it should be scaring the shit out of me, but I'm intentionally ignoring the tendrils of worry wriggling around back there. I'm trying to just let myself stay right here in the present. I'll think about it all later. Now, I just want to sit, draw and enjoy watching Him being all forceful and happily busy.

The first meeting - the one about the potential new client that I helped Brian with yesterday - goes well.  Brian proudly introduces me to his team and beams at me as he shows them what I've drawn. I don't recognize the feelings his behavior causes inside me - I don't think I've ever felt like this before. I know that I've never experienced someone actually voicing pride in something I've done, something I've created. When the others start asking my opinion on various changes or expansions, I'm almost too surprised at first to respond, but I do in the end and I'm amazed that they are actually listening to what I say.  

At the second meeting, I'm a little less surprised when Brian introduces me to everyone. He encourages me to eat, rather than talk during this meeting. But I listen, fascinated, as he and his staff go over several campaigns in different stages, showing design ideas, display boards, copies of print media spots already completed, while Brian fires off his directions, ideas, kudos or recriminations.  

Watching Him in his element like this is eye opening. Brian is . . . well I have no words to describe how He is - it's a combination of forceful, excited, intense, intelligent and more that I can't even identify. If I was still capable of such feelings, I'd say He was incredibly sexy right now.

Every so often I feel Brian’s watching me like a physical touch. I raise my head and meet his gaze across the breadth of the room. Our shared smile is a secret it seems like only we can grasp. The space between us never feels far.

After that, Brian must think I'm getting bored, even though I'm not, since he directs Ted to give me a tour of the place while he finishes up with one particularly intransigent junior exec. As I'm gathering my stuff together, I hear Brian telling Ted to give me an empty desk in the art department. I also hear him quietly tell Ted not to let me leave. So silly. Like His pet accountant could keep me here if I really didn’t want to stay.  

With this hyperawareness I seem to now have related to His presence, I know exactly when he comes into the room where I've been sitting at an unused desk. He lays his sturdy large hands on my shoulders, massaging them slightly as he peeks to see what I'm drawing now.

"I know you didn't ask me to work on this," I start, apologetically. "I had an idea though.  You don't have to . . . "

"Stop. You can work on anything you want to, Sunshine," he assures me, emphasizing his words with his lips, brushing a slight kiss against my cheek as he speaks. "I like this, too. I had noticed that Adrian's designs seemed to have some problems with their perspective, but this eliminates the issue entirely. It's great. We'll make sure he gets this later. Right now, though, it's lunchtime."

We walk the couple blocks over to the Diner. His friend Michael and a hulking big guy I haven't met yet are in the back booth, and Brian escorts me in that direction.  

"Mikey. Professor. How are the two of you on this fine winter afternoon?" Brian asks, in teasing mode, as he slides into the empty booth seat after me. "Mikey, you remember Justin? Ben, this is Justin. Justin, Ben here is Michael's other half. He's a professor at Carnegie Mellon."

More of Brian's friends to meet. For a guy who claims not to have many friends, he certainly spends a lot of time introducing me to people. I nod a greeting at Ben and then devote my attention to my menu to try to escape the renewed scrutiny from our lunch companions. Brian and the two others chat the whole time.

Brian and I happen to be sitting on the side of the booth facing the Diner's front door, which gives us a good view of the rest of the patrons. There's one other diner, in particular, whose attention seems fixed on our booth - he's tall, slender with longish dark hair and puppy-dog-sad brown eyes. After gazing in our direction for quite a while, he gets up, walks past the booth and moves on towards the rear of the restaurant where the restrooms are located. As he passes by our booth, his right hand trails along the edge of our table and continues up Brian's arm and shoulder. The man doesn't even glance sideways at Brian but he manages to get all his attention nonetheless.  

"Excuse me a minute," Brian says breathlessly as he quickly follows the enticing brunet into the back.

I'm not going to look up at all. I don't want to engage in conversation with Michael or Ben. I'm going to just keep focused on my menu. I very slowly and carefully read the printed descriptions of every single entree offered. When I'm done reading it through the first time, and Brian hasn't yet returned, I start over again at the top of the menu.  

Brian finally gets back before I've finished reading a second time through about the items 'From the Grill'. He's got a painfully blank expression on his face. Michael, on the other hand, is grinning adoringly at his friend in pure schoolboy fashion. Ben appears to be spending almost as much time contemplating his menu as I am.

"Did Deb come by for the orders yet," Brian asks, finally breaking the silence.

"Nope. She's been busy with that large table over by the door. You're good still, Bri," Michael replies, still smirking.

I'm busy trying to slide farther against the wall. Brian smells like sex and that man. I don't like the combination, and if I could, I'd get up and leave altogether. I'm trapped here, though, so all I can do is slide as far towards the wall as I can get, making myself as small as possible in the process.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

It had been days since I'd gotten sucked off - even longer since I'd fucked anyone - and I had a serious case of blue balls. Having Justin around 24/7, touching him, kissing him, even having him in my bed, and not being able to do anything about it wasn't helping. I really, really needed this. At least I thought I did.

But if that was the case, why was this fuck so unsatisfying? The guy was hot enough and his ass was just dying to be stuffed full of my aching, underused cock. But every time I looked at him I kept hoping to see blond hair, not brunet, and blue eyes, not brown. So, I got off, yeah, but it definitely lacked . . . something.  

Back at the booth Justin is trying his disappearing boy trick - making himself so small and quiet and still that if you didn't know he was there and weren't looking for him you wouldn't even see him. Ben is looking around at anything but me. And Mikey's grinning at me with his patented 'My Best Friend Is So Cool Because He's Such A Rebel and Aren't I Cool By Extention' smile. Altogether, it combines to give me the distinct impression that I've somehow fucked up, royally, without knowing how. Again.

I figure my best recourse is to bluff my way through. So, I ignore them all, wave down Debbie, and start to give her my order.

"Have you decided, Sunshine?" I ask the lump in the corner of the booth that passes for Justin, but when I get no response I go ahead and order for him. "Bring him a Bacon Cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate shake, Deb."

"What's the matter, Sunshine? You're still looking a bit peaked. Isn't this asshole looking after you the way he should?" Deb addresses the lump of boy.

"I'm fine, Debbie. Thanks for asking," comes Justin's polite yet unhelpful response.

"Brian, that boy doesn't look good. You'd better be letting him get enough sleep, you hear me?" Deb starts in with her mother hen act. "I don't care what the hell your dick's telling you, I'm telling you that Justin needs rest and plenty of healthy food in order to get well. He does NOT need to be getting fucked backwards and forwards all hours of the day and night. If you can't keep your dick under control, I'm coming over there to collect Sunshine. Do you hear me?"

"Debbie, you don't need to lecture me. I'm not fucking him relentlessly day and night. And, even if I were it wouldn't be any of your business." I have to defend myself even though I know it's useless because she isn't even listening, most likely.

"It IS my business if I say it's my business." Debbie responds, slapping the back of my head as she stalks away.

"Ma! Leave Brian alone," Mikey simply has to add in his two cents. "He's doing a lot more for this kid than anybody else. Brian didn't have to take him in and he shouldn't have to change his whole lifestyle just because he's trying to do a good thing."

"Shut the fuck up, Michael. You don't know what you're talking about any more than your mother does. You both need to back off and stay the fuck out of stuff that isn't ANY of your business." I'm getting really pissed off at both the Novotny's now.  

"Brian, I'm just . . ."

"I know what you're just doing, Mikey, and you need to stop. Okay?"

"Fine. Whatever, Brian. See if I ever stand up for you again . . .” Michael's protests eventually wind down just in time for our food to arrive.

Justin is still huddled in the corner, though, and doesn't even look up when his food comes. He looks so small again. I was getting used to him being a little more confident - maybe not physically larger but when he was drawing or working with me on Kinnetik stuff he somehow seemed larger. Now he's back to being a small hurt little kid. It gives me a sour taste in my mouth and a trickle of fear drips down my spine.

"Justin? What is it?" I lean in to ask him quietly, but he recoils even further from me. "Please, Justin. I don't know what I've done wrong. You have to talk to me, Sunshine."

"Brian, can I speak to you a sec," Ben speaks up for the first time, getting to his feet and indicating to me that he wants me to follow.

"Sure. I'll be right back, Justin," I reassure him as I get up to follow Ben, who is already stepping through the front door.  

"What's up, Ben?" I ask when we're standing outside in the frigid cold.

"Well, I'm not a professional psychologist or anything, but I was watching Justin while you, Michael and Deb were arguing just now and I think you've got a lot bigger problem on your hands than just a sick street kid," Ben starts to explain. "His reaction was pretty much typical of someone who's suffered from longterm abuse. He seemed to initially have a negative reaction when you went with that trick - he got quiet and started to withdraw. But when you came back and then started to argue with your family, it got a lot worse, fast."

"The more the three of you argued, the more frightened and withdrawn Justin became. He probably came from an abusive household where that type of argument was pretty commonplace and usually preceded something even worse. I know that you three argue like that all the time and to you its just another way you show concern for each other, but someone from a highly abused background, like I think Justin is, won't be able to see that. It's only going to frighten him. I think you might be in over your head, Brian. This kid probably needs extensive professional help."

"I know you're right, Ben. Shit. The little that Justin's told me . . . well, it makes my childhood seem like a fairy tale. I don't think he'll be open to getting any professional help, though. I'm struggling just to get him to agree to stay with me," I'm actually happy to confide in Ben, who I respect a lot. "Ben, whatever anyone else thinks, I haven't touched him - well, I've touched him, but, I mean, I haven't fucked him - he's too fragile, you know? I want to help him, though. What do I do?"

"I don't know, Brian. If he's not open to getting help, all you really can do is be there for him." Ben says, laying a large sympathetic hand on my shoulder.

"That's kind of the problem. I could only get him to agree to stay with me through today. I'm afraid he's going to insist on leaving and then . . . If he goes back out there on the streets, Ben, I have a bad feeling that he won't last very long."

"You're doing the best you can, Brian. It's all you can do." Ben says, then turns to go back inside.

Except that the best I can do just doesn't seem to be enough.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

"I don't care what the hell your dick's been telling you . . ." Debbie yells at Brian, but in my mind, the voice belongs to someone else.

'I don't care what the hell your dick's been telling you, boy. I will NOT have you fucking around with some hot little piece of brown sugar. The next thing you know, you'll be getting her pregnant and we'll be paying through the nose for the bitch to be sitting around on welfare raising another unwanted half-breed spawn who'll grow up to be just as worthless as it's mother.' my father is lecturing me as I huddle at the dining room table across from my mother.

'Craig, I think you're jumping to conclusions,' my mother tries weakly to defend me. 'Justin and Daphne are both good, smart kids. They're simply good friends. They aren't like that.'

'Yeah, right, and if you believe that I've got a bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you. How naive can you be, Jennifer. You know as well as I do that this little pervert has no control over what he does with his dick. If he's sleeping with her, he's sticking his dick in her and it's just a matter of time till you and I are raising a fucking mulatto brat.'

I would laugh at him if I wasn't so fucking petrified of where this was heading. I'd still managed to keep the one little piece of info that I knew would end it all out of his awareness - if he only knew how far off base he was about Daphne and I he would shit a brick. But there's no way in hell I'm going to tell him I'm gay.

'I see, as usual, that I'm going to be the only one willing to stand up and make the hard calls here, Jennifer,' Craig says, pretending to be put out by having to be the disciplinarian, but inwardly relishing another chance to use his power to grind me into the dirt. 'Justin, you are forbidden to see this Daphne girl ever again. I will not have you fucking around with her and I'm not going to be forced into raising some half-breed brat. Do you hear me, Son?'

'Please, dad, don't say that. Daphne and I have been friends since we were five. She's my only friend. I swear we're not like that. We're just friends.'

I'm pleading. He's long ago driven away any other friends I've ever had. Without Daphne I'll have no one. Then I see that thin, tight lipped smile he gets, which he immediately tries to hide, and I realize that's exactly what he wants.  

It doesn't matter what excuse he's come up with. His real purpose is to separate me and Daphne. This isn't about me asking to stay over there this weekend. This is about something different. I wrack my brain to figure it out and then suddenly remember that call he got three nights ago when he sent me out of the room.  

That was the day Daphne met with the guidance counselor at school. She promised me she wouldn't say anything. But she must have let something slip. Damn it. That call must have been from the school. And now Craig is using this excuse to punish me and to keep Daph away as well.    

I'm not going to let him do it this time. I'm not. I'll sit and pretend to listen and agree with him, but I'm not going to let him take Daphne away too.

"Justin? Justin. Hey, Justin, please snap out of it. You're scaring me." Brian's voice finally seeps through the memories from that other time, and I blink to try to focus back on him.

"I think he's coming around. Everybody needs to just back away and give him some air, please. Thanks," that's Ben's deep baritone voice.

Why am I lying on the bench of the booth, halfway under the table? I don't remember how I got here. I see several faces looking down at me, most of which I don't recognize. What the hell's going on? I try to sit up but it's awkward because of the angle of the table. Brian is there helping me immediately.  

"What the hell was that, Brian," Michael is stage whispering over my head. "One minute he's sitting there all quiet and then he's passed out on the bench? Should we take him back to the hospital do you think?

"No!" I state emphatically.

"Shhh, Justin," Brian is there, his arm around me, warding off the others who are staring. "I already promised you no doctors, remember? It's okay. I've got you. It's okay."

"I think we should let Brian handle this, Michael," Ben is saying, trying to hush his partner's continued offers of helpful advice as he single handedly manhandles Michael and Debbie away from where Brian and I are now sitting alone.

My head is throbbing. My mouth is dry and my pulse is racing. I'm only sure I'm still sitting here because of the reassuring weight of Brian's arm around my waist.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Fuck. My heart is pounding a million miles an hour. That fucking scared the shit out of me. Ben and I are just coming back into the Diner when I hear yelling and look over to see a dozen bodies milling around the booth where we'd been sitting.  

I race over and instantly panic because I can't see Justin. Michael is leaning over the table saying something and gesticulating wildly while some tall dark skinned man is bending over and pulling on what looks like Justin's arm. I shove the man out of the way and slide into the booth, lifting Justin's head up onto my thigh.  

Thankfully, I can see he's breathing, panting almost, so I don't do anything other than sit and wait and talk to him. It only takes a moment or two before his eyelids begin to flutter and then he's fully awake again, blinking and looking around confused. He tries to sit up but can't without help because of the overhanging table. So I help him. He seems fine after that, except he's still a little confused. Ben gets Debbie and Michael away in a flash and I take advantage of the reprieve to get Justin out of there as fast as I can.

Memo to self - no more Novotny family time for Sunshine for a while.

We make it back to Kinnetik and I deposit him on the couch in my office, pulling out a spare blanket we keep for emergencies from the closet to cover him. I'm not sure if maybe I'm not the one going into shock though - I'm shaking, my skin feels clammy and my head aches ferociously. I decide that I would be wise to share Justin's blanket and I sit close to him, pulling the warm comforting boy and his blanket over, breathing in his closeness until we've both calmed a little.

Cynthia is hovering, confused and unsure of what to do when I finally look up. It's very disconcerting and un-Cynthia-like. I guess it's good to know I can still surprise her occasionally - I wouldn't want her to get too complacent in her job, now would I?

"Hey, Cynthia. I think Justin and I have had enough fun for one day. Would you mind calling us a cab. Oh, and here are my keys - can you ask Ted to drive the Corvette back to the loft for me later?" I quietly issue directions.

I wonder what the fuck happened to all the easy going happiness from this morning and how things could change so abruptly and so drastically.

 

Chapter 12 - Resolution.

Resolution: The act of determining upon an action or course of action, method, procedure, etc.; The mental state or quality of having a firmness of purpose.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

The warmth of the bed tries to pull me back towards unconsciousness but I’m rested enough and I don’t want to go. I need to be awake to think. Now is a good time, too, since Brian is still sleeping here in bed next to me. My time is up and I need to figure out what I’m going to do.  

This is it - it’s definitely afternoon. In fact, judging by how dark it is outside the windows it’s probably closer to evening than afternoon. I’d told Brian I would stay with him until this afternoon. My time is up and now I have to make a decision. If I really want to go, then I should do it now, while he’s still asleep. It will be easier if I just leave right now without confronting him. The problem is, I’m not sure if that’s what I want to do any more.

I carefully extricate myself from his always encircling arms and scoot far enough away from Brian to prop myself up and look down at his handsome sleeping face. I like it that whenever we’re together it seems like Brian has a need to be touching and holding me. Even in his sleep, he seems to gravitate towards wrapping me in his embrace. It’s very comforting and . . . nice.  

He’s a good man. I could see that from the start. He didn’t have to take me in here. He tries so hard to care for me - make me eat properly, buy me clothing and medicine, even buy me what I need to feel more whole like the art supplies.  

That’s sort of the problem. He’s nice. He’s kind. I like him. I’m even sort of beginning to trust him. That’s always a bad thing.  

You should never trust anyone. If you trust them, allow them inside your defenses where they can see the real you, then you WILL get hurt. I’ve always been hurt when I trusted anyone. I don’t want to be hurt ever again. That’s one of the reasons I’m where I’m at now - living on the streets you don’t get put in a position where you feel the need to trust and that means you will always be safe from the pain.

Well, at least I thought I was safe. Until I somehow managed to pass out in front of Emmett’s store and ended up as Brian Kinney’s ward. Now, like it or not, I’ve started to trust Brian and I’m already feeling like it’s too much. I know it’s only a matter of time now before I get hurt again. Even though I don’t think Brian will mean to hurt me, it’s inevitable. However, I could walk away right now and never look back and the pain I would feel would probably be bearable. If I stay any longer, it will only get worse. But, If I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I want to leave, even knowing how I’m setting myself up for more hurt.  

I let my hand brush over the soft, clean cotton sheets on Brian’s bed. It’s nice sleeping in a warm, safe, clean bed again. I stroke my hand over my stomach. It’s so VERY nice to feel full and to know that it’s likely that I’ll have plenty to eat no matter when I get up. My eyes trail over the pile of clothing Brian took off me when he put me in bed earlier. It’s even nice to have clean, warm clothing again - clothing that I’m not embarrassed to be seen in.

But those are just the physical things about staying here. They are nice but I could, and have, lived without them and I could do it again if I had to. It’s much harder to gauge all the less tangible things about staying here and whether or not I want to give them up.  

I like feeling safe - or at least as safe as anyone can be in this shitty world - but I feel at least physically safe here. No one is likely to come rob me of the few dollars I have left from my last John or knife me for my shoes or jacket. You can never be sure you are safe on the streets.  

I like feeling useful. Working with Brian yesterday here at the loft and today at his office was eye opening. I’ve never felt like my opinions or talents were worth anything. Today, I felt different. It felt like other people cared what I thought and even, maybe, appreciated what I was doing. I even got the impression that Brian was proud of me and what I was doing and saying. That was one of the best moments of my entire life. I can’t even begin to explain how that made me feel - I don’t have the right words to describe those feelings. I liked it a lot, though. I’d really like to feel that way again - it was addictive, I think.

Okay, now for the more difficult admission - I like feeling cared for by Brian. Ugh. That hurts just thinking it. I know how stupid it is to set myself up like this. I KNOW BETTER. But, I can’t seem to help myself. I like knowing he’ll be there to take care of me when I’m scared or having a bad nightmare.  It’s so pathetically childish, I know. But I can’t seem to turn off these feelings either. It feels good to be here with him.

Looking down now on his strong features, relaxed in sleep, I can see every line, every fold of his expressive, handsome face. I can’t seem to get enough of just looking at him. I wish I hadn’t left my sketch pad and pencils at Brian’s office - I would love to draw him right now.  

When I think about leaving him, I get this tight feeling in my chest and I can’t seem to get enough breath. He’s said that he wants me to stay. He hasn’t said for how long though. What if it’s only for a few more days or weeks. He’s never said he wants me to stay forever - and even if he had I wouldn’t ever believe something as ludicrous as that. I’m not that gullible. But, so what? What if it is only for a few more days?  Is it worth it to enjoy a few more days here where I so want to be when I know that the longer I stay the harder it will be when it ends? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Brian sniffs in his sleep and rolls towards me, automatically reaching out to ensure himself of my continued presence. When his hand brushes against my hip, he gets this sweet, little smile on his lips. It’s a completely unconscious gesture - free of any pretension or guile - and it’s all that was needed to sway my decision irrevocably. I want this. I want to be here with Him. I want this man and I want Him to want me, to want to keep me with Him. I don’t care about the consequences. I want to stay.

Decision made. I’m going to stay. At least for the time being. And I’m going to find a way to make him want to keep me.  

It shouldn’t be too hard. I have been doing this for a living for a while now. I know how to make a man want me. It’s part of my job, right? Well, I’ll just consider this part of the job too - he’ll keep me here and I’ll keep him entertained so that he wants to keep me. It’s just quid pro quo.

Looking down at the beautiful, toned and muscled body, I admit that it won’t really be that hard to force myself to entertain him. The sheet fell away when he rolled over just now and I can see all of him down to that very pretty cock of his. He’s half hard already and I allow myself a moment to admire the long lines of that well shaped and generous cock. If I’m honest, I almost want that part of him too - even though I don’t really have those feelings any more.  

After what I’ve been remembering the past few days about my father, I have a pretty good idea why I don’t have those feelings any more. The goddamned fucker. He’s really fucked me up royally, hasn’t he? I really wish I could feel like that about Brian. If anyone, it would be Him.  

 

 

I don’t need that though. I can do this, regardless. I’ve even figured out how to get myself reasonably hard sometimes when a John really wanted to suck me off. I don’t ever really feel it, but I can pretend. And I know that’s what Brian wants, so I can do it for him too. I don’t want to watch him going off with another trick again - funny how that felt so . . . I don’t know, but not good. I can do what I have to in order to keep Brian happy, though. I can be what he wants and give him anything that trick could.  

And then he’ll want me to stay here with him for longer.  

 

 

~~*~~
Brian's POV
~~*~~

Mmmm. I’m having a really great dream. Ahhhh, yes! Someone with really talented lips and an amazing tongue is worshiping my cock. It starts with a long, slow, wet tongue tracing its way from my balls all the way down to the head. Then the tongue delicately flicks in and out of the sensitive slit a couple times causing my dick to jump and twitch. And, finally, a wet, slippery mouth encompasses all, sucking me in hard and making me hard at the same time.

That's about when I realize I'm not asleep and this isn't a dream. This is Justin. His mop of long, wild, golden hair is covering my crotch, tickling at my belly and along my inner thighs, as his head bobs up and down. Underneath that golden screen, I can feel his full lips hugging along the length of my fully engorged cock, his tongue twirling intricate patterns over the skin of the head, licking and sliding over the hard ridge and stroking along the length of the shaft.

With each bob, my dick sinks deeper into his throat. The sense of suction is increasing. He's speeding up now, too. Ohhh, he's good. Really, really good. Then, all possibility of rational cognitive thought disappears completely as he deep throats me and all I'm aware of from that point on are the rolling waves of pleasure flowing out from my dick to the far reaches of my body. My fingers are curled into Justin's glorious blond locks. My toes are curled into the sheets still covering them. I'm not sure, since my eyelids are closed, but I think even my eyes are curled back into my skull.

That's when Justin, using the utmost of skill, takes me all the way over the edge. At the same time he cups my balls delicately in one hand, sticks a wet, questing index finger from his other hand up my asshole, and starts to hum in the back of his throat as he swallows me deep one more time, wiggling his nose in my pubes when he can't get me any deeper. There's no slow build up, no gradual cresting of waves of pleasure - fuck, no, this feels like a nuclear explosion has just gone off in my gut and I'm shooting so hard and such quantities down his throat that I'm amazed he isn't drowning

It takes quite a while for the neural synapses connecting my brain to any part of my body other than my dick to re-initiate to the point that I'm physically capable of thought or speech. The first thought I manage is 'Man, he's fucking fantastic. That's absolutely the best blow job I've ever had in my long and promiscuous life.'

I don't get to the more rational and questioning, 'What the fuck was that for?' and, 'Why is Justin giving me a blow job, when not more than an hour or two ago he was practically catatonic with fear?', for a minute or so more. I mean, far be it from me to refuse a blow job that fantastic, but something about this isn't right. I'm going to have to clear my head enough to figure out what's wrong very soon. As soon as my breathing is back to normal, I decide.

Justin isn't going to make returning to rational thought easy though. He's already crawling up my body, leaving sweet little wet trails of kisses on my torso. When his lips meet mine and I can taste my jizz on his tongue, I almost forget again what I'd meant to ask him.  

But when he sits up on my chest, wriggling his ass provocatively over my groin with that simpering, unattractive little smile on his face, it dawns on me - this is 'Hustler Justin', not my sweet, unassuming, needs to be cared for and protected Justin. I'm not a huge fan of Hustler Justin - it's just so evidently a fake persona for him. Not to mention that I don't want to be hustled. At least when I'm able to think rationally, that is.

"Hey, Justin. Whoa. Slow down there, Sunshine," I'm saying as I ward off his questing hands, obviously determined to prepare my cock for Act II. "Not that I didn't enjoy the wake up call, but you don't need to do this, Justin. Really. I'm good for now. Let's slow down a bit."

Fuck - Brian Kinney telling a naked twink in my bed to slow down and that I'm not interested in fucking? Are pigs flying outside the windows? Is the world coming to an end? Where is this coming from?

Justin is pretending not to hear though and he's already reaching toward the bowl of condoms on the nightstand with one hand. With the other hand, he’s got a firm grip on my dick and is stroking me, bringing me back to a semi-hard state already, in spite of the phenomenal blow job. If I’m going to stop this, I need to act quickly since I’m already losing my train of thought again. God that feels so good. See, what did I tell you?

“Justin. Stop. Justin!” I finally get his attention by practically crawling out of the bed from under him, toppling him and freeing my cock from his nefarious clutches at the same time. “Please, Justin. Can you just stop for a minute and talk to me? Okay?”

“What’s wrong, Brian? You liked it didn’t you?” Justin simpers some more, crawling on hands and knees after me across the bed. “I know you want this. I watched you earlier with that trick at the Diner. And I heard what Debbie was saying - you didn’t deny it. You want to fuck me. I know you do and you should. I shouldn’t be acting so selfish. So just fuck me already. I want you to. You want to do it. So just do it already.”  

“Shit. This is about that trick? Justin, I didn’t go with that trick to make you feel guilty or anything. I just really needed to get off. It meant nothing. He wanted it and so did I, that was all. You understand that, right?” I’m trying to explain but obviously doing a shitty job of it since it isn’t deterring the predatory twink crawling around on the bed in pursuit of my admittedly willing cock. “Justin, please stop, okay? I can’t think straight with you crawling around on the bed naked like that. Please. Just. Stop.”

“I don’t want you to think ‘straight’ Brian,” Justin jokes. “I want you to think about me. I want you to think about fucking me. Sticking that enormous, beautiful cock up my ass and fucking me. That’s what you should be thinking about, Brian. There’s absolutely nothing ‘straight’ about that.”

I’m finally driven completely out of bed at this point since Justin uses that last ‘straight’ to launch himself at me. There’s definitely something really, REALLY wrong here - I’m scrambling to find my pants, practically running away from a beautiful naked man begging me to fuck him. This is really, REALLY wrong. But I don’t stop to contemplate the wrongness - I simply flee from the scene, practically running towards the kitchen to escape from the terrifying twink and my predictable response if he does actually corner me in my present condition (i.e., hard as a steel rod).  

I grab a bottle of water, thinking to hopefully cool off my libido as well as quench my thirst. I’m panting like I just ran a marathon. Oh, fuck it - drinking the water isn’t working, so I just pull the waistband of the sweat pants I’m wearing away from my body and dump the remains of the ice cold water bottle down my crotch. Which, by the way, does work quite well and relieves my hard on almost instantly. I sigh at the relief I get from once again feeling all rational brain connections fully functioning.  

It may not work for long though, since a naked Justin has followed me out of the bedroom and I can’t help but like what I see. I haven’t really gotten a chance to see Justin fully naked yet. He’s always had at least his briefs on before. And while I could tell he had a nice package, what I see now is more than just ‘nice’. It’s . . . ‘respectable’. And the full effect of that trim, compact body, not an ounce of extra body fat except maybe in the rear on that ample bubble butt of his, along with his lovely thick cock bouncing against his thighs as he walks, is almost enough to counter the ice water still dripping from my pubes.  

The only thing saving me from a return to ‘Rocky’ is the look on Justin’s face. He’s still trying to maintain that affected and ingratiating little smile, which luckily for me, is a complete turn off. Before he gets to me, I decide to take control of the situation instead of letting him continue to run the show. I reach over, grab Justin by the hand and pull him after me to the couch, where I wrap him in a conveniently situated blanket. Once I have the naked Justin factor under control, I sit next to him and, holding both his struggling hands captive in my own, begin to deal with this situation.  

“Justin, why are you doing this? I thought we’d discussed this already,” I start the discussion as soon as I feel calm enough to do it right. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to have sex with me. Not because of you staying here and definitely not because of me going off with some stupid, meaningless trick or because of some mindless drivel Debbie said.”

“You said that if we both felt the same it would be okay,” Justin interrupts, chewing on his lip again in that adorable manner he has when he’s worried or thinking. “I’m feeling a lot better. I know you want this or you would have told Debbie that we weren’t . . . Well, I’ve decided I want this too. I want you to fuck me. So, what’s the problem, Brian? I want to do this for you. Please let me.”

“I’m not sure, Justin. You say you want this, but it just doesn’t feel right,” I try to explain, even though I’m not sure what I’m trying to say, either. “It feels like . . . like I’m just another client you’re trying to service. It doesn’t feel like you want ME. It makes me think that you’re just doing this out of some feeling of obligation or . . . something. I don’t know, but it’s not you. Not the Justin that I want. This is you being a good little hustler and . . . I guess I want more. Does that make any sense?”

“But, I do want you, Brian,” Justin is on the verge of tears again, I can hear it in his voice. “I want to do this for you. I want . . . I want to . . . to stay.”

The last words are said so very quietly that I’m almost not sure I hear them. But as soon as their meaning reaches my consciousness, I feel elated. He wants to stay. He’s not going to leave. That’s . . . that is all I wanted, ever. I’m almost so overwhelmed by this declaration that I let myself get distracted from our real conversation. Almost.

“That’s fabulous, Justin. I’m so happy that you want to stay here, with me. But I told you before that you don’t have to feel obligated just because you’re staying here. I don’t expect you to reciprocate just because you want to stay here. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I don’t expect you to let me fuck you in return. Not until you’re ready, okay.”

“But, I do want you, Brian. I do. It’s just that I can’t . . . I don’t . . . I don’t have those feelings any more. My father . . .” Justin stops and I watch the struggle on this face as he fights for control over what he feels and what he wants to tell me. “I want you to want me. I can be what you want and I can give you anything that a trick could. I want to do this for you. Please let me.”

“Justin, you’re breaking my heart, you know that right?” I say as I once again scoop him into my arms. “I wish I could make this all right for you. I wish I could make it so none of this ever happened. I do want you, Justin. I want you to stay with me for . . . for as long as you like. I want to be with you - in whatever way you can be with me. Maybe we’ll get to the point where there’s more, Justin, but for now, I’m happy just being here with you like this. Okay?”

“I DON’T want you to try to replace a fucking stupid trick - I don’t think of you like that. You are so much more than that faceless trick could ever be. And I hardly ever listen to anything Debbie says to me - so you shouldn’t either. It doesn’t matter what she thinks I need or what anyone thinks my motivations are. You know, that, right? I just want you here and I want to be here for you,” my explanations start to falter, but I’m trying to get this out and be honest and open with Justin, since I know that is what he needs more than anything else.  

“Let’s just . . . take it slow, okay? I want you to be completely comfortable with whatever we decide to do. It’s okay with me if you can’t . . ."

“Shit. I’m hopeless at this, Sunshine. I’m pretty much the last person you ever want to have a conversation about feelings with, you know. My father did his own number on me - maybe not the same as what you went through - but one of my hangups has always been talking about shit like feelings. It’s not ‘manly’ - at least not according to my Pops.”  

“So, we’re both a little fucked up, you know. If you can bear with my shit, I’ll try to do the same, okay? Just, don’t . . . you don’t have to be what you’re not. Not for me or for anybody. And part of that is not pretending to be ready to fuck if you’re really not.”  

Justin is tucked into my side. He’s sniffling a little but not overly upset and I think I’ve finally managed to explain myself adequately. I’m glad he’s decided to stay.  

I’m fucking exhausted by all this emotional bullshit. The world didn’t come to an end though. I talked about my feelings with another man and apparently it’s okay. Fuck. What the hell is the world coming to?

 

 

Chapter 13 - Inception.

Inception:  The initial stage of a developmental process.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

'. . . you don't have to be what you're not. Not for me or for anybody. And part of that is not pretending to be ready to fuck if you're really not.'

That's what Brian said. He's still holding me and he sounded sincere when he said all of this. But the words really don't make any sense. How could a man like Brian ever really be content to be with someone and not be able to fuck him.

The few comments I've heard from Brian's friends completely undermine everything he's just said to me. His friends are just waiting till he gets tired of me before they expect to see him back fucking everything that moves. His foster mother believes he's fucking me. Even his best friend, Michael, seems convinced that Brian and I are fucking. Basically, from everything I've heard, Brian Kinney doesn't sound like the type to have platonic relationships.   

So, even if he's sincere now, I figure that's unlikely to remain the case for long. Face it - nice guy or not, if he's not getting his needs met by me, he's bound to move on to someone else who will meet them. Which means I only have a limited amount of time to figure this out. I've decided I want to stay and I'm determined to find a way to work this. Whatever I was doing that tipped him off that I wasn't into this wholeheartedly, well I have to determine what it was and fix it. I need to make Brian want me around as much as I want to stay. I will figure this out, somehow.

"Brian, what if I never can get those feelings back? I really do want to be with you. But I haven't been able to . . . I don't get those feelings any more. Ever. Not since my father . . .” How much do I tell him without completely freaking him out, I wonder. "I do want to be with you, so why is it a problem if I can't . . . you know? You can still do everything you want to me."

"Enough. You're a determined little Twat, aren't you," Brian says, half teasing but also half serious. "Justin, I want you, too. I've never in my entire life had a blow job like that one. And you're about the hottest piece of ass I've ever had here in the loft. I swear that if you were really ready, I'd be on you in no time flat. In fact, I'm probably more surprised than you are that I haven't already jumped your ass, ready or not. I guess I just want to be sure that it's what you really want too. So, please just believe me for now when I say I'm serious about doing this right and taking things slow."

Hmm? He sounds so sincere. Fine. I'll go slow-ish. But nothing says I can't push things a little.  

"You're sure you won't be angry with me if I can't . . ." I ask as unassumingly as possible.

"I'm sure, Justin."

"Does that mean no kissing, either?"

"Do you want to kiss me? I mean, really?" Brian asks, but I can already tell I've hooked him.

"Yes. Please."

And that's all it takes to get Him to start making out with me there on the couch. I won't push it. I won't push Him, because I really do like him and I want to be here. But I'm not giving up on this either because . . . I don't trust him. No matter what he says and no matter that I think he really believes what he's saying right now, I'm not that naive - I know that there's no way this can work if he's not fucking me.  

So I'll find a way to get him to fuck me and I'll make this work. And I won't let myself feel guilty about manipulating him like this. I know better than to trust anyone in this kind of situation. It's just the way things are, right? I have to do this because, the nicer he acts towards me, the more I want to stay.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Excuse me, has anyone seen a dick lying around here? I think I've lost mine. I mean, really - there's this fucking beautiful naked man sitting on my lap, begging me to fuck him and I just told him no? Am I completely insane?  

I can understand that I did the noble thing the first time - despite what some people think about me, I'm not a complete asshole - I would never take advantage of someone in a bad situation just for my own pleasure. Justin was sick and he's been abused and that first time he offered himself to me I can see why I backed off.

I can even see why I did the same earlier tonight - still doing the noble gentleman thing, right? But he's still doing it - he's practically throwing his hot naked litte ass right onto my dick and I'm still telling him no? What is my fucking problem?  

Right now, Justin is sitting in my lap, the blanket I wrapped around him earlier fallen so that it's barely covering one of his thighs. His wiry, strong, yet thin arms are around my neck, pulling me in tighter. His soft, soft, pliant and talented lips are busy kissing me, licking, nibbling at my lips, my jaw, my neck. Remind me why I'm trying to keep my hands from wandering over that flawless, warm skin? Why do I still vaguely feel that I shouldn't be doing this? How the fuck can I think clearly with my hands and my lap full of naked twink?  

I really need to get some space - physically - from this situation in order to think. Either that or I need to throw Justin down on the floor right now and fuck him senseless. No, there WAS a reason I had told him that I didn't want this. I can't remember what that reason is right at this very moment, but I'm not going to let myself be manipulated that easily.

Space. Yes, get up and move away and get some space. That's the first thing to do.  

Food. That's a good excuse. He needs food. We didn't really get to eat much of our lunches, what with him passing out at the Diner and all. So, I'll get up, go get us dinner and get my head a little clear and figure this out. Good plan, Kinney.

"Hey. I'm getting hungry. How about you?" I manage between tongue fuckings. "I should go pick us up some dinner. Justin? Dinner?"

I can tell by the growling of his stomach that I have some part of his attention, at least. I gently extricate myself from his groping hands, sliding him off my lap and stand up, pulling my lips away last of all. It's not easy to pull away from that lusty naked body. Only the tiny alarm bells still going off in a closed chamber at the very back of my brain make it at all possible.

"I'll be back soon, okay. How about another cheeseburger to replace that one you didn't get to eat earlier?"

Justin's nod is all the answer I need. I notice that he's still chewing away on his lip, which means everything is not exactly fine in Justin's world. But, since I'm still apparently dickless, I don't need to struggle too hard against the thought that surfaces telling me how adorable that little habit is, do I?

Returning from the bedroom, now fully dressed, I let my fingers run through his hair as I pass him, still seated nakedly on the sofa. "Later."

I'm not more than a block away, walking because I really can use the cool night air to help clear my head, before I pop out my cell and dial the only person who's had any concrete ideas about this situation so far.

"You've got to help me, Professor. I'm so fucking totally in over my freaking head. What do I do?" I practically cry into the phone as soon as I hear Ben's voice saying 'hello'.

"Is everything okay, Brian?" Ben's tone is full of genuine concern.

"No. It's not okay. I have no idea how to help Justin. I really want to - call it payback for what my own father did or whatever, but I need to do this. I need to help him, but I'm fucking lost here. So, help me, Ben. Tell me at least where to start."

"You did hear me say that I'm not a psychologist, right? And that you probably need professional help?" Ben tries to qualify his involvement.

"Yeah. And you saw his reaction to Michael's suggestion about taking him to a doctor right?" I counter. "I did get him to agree to stay with me for a while longer, but that's not going to make much difference if I can't figure out how to get through to him."

"Well, generally speaking, the approach towards treatment for all types of abuse is to get the victim to work through his fears, process his memories and work through all the pain. There are some specific therapies, especially for the PTSD related symptoms - I'd have to research those a bit more, though. However, the overall treatment is fairly simple."

"What the fuck does all that mean, Ben?"

"You have to talk to him, Brian. Get him to talk about what happened to him and then work through how it's still affecting his life today," Ben's suggestion is simple but so fucking complicated at the same time, damn it. "You could start with what happened today. That was a significant dissociative event - that means it was a 'big deal'. Find out what he was remembering, what triggered it and why he practically passed out from the memory."

“Okay. Talk to him. I can do that,” I offer.

“It’s not that simple, Brian,” Ben is laughing on the other end of the line. “Once you get him to start talking there’s going to be a lot of stress. And you’re not exactly the poster-boy for people who handle stress well.”

“Thank you for the advice, Professor, but I can do without the added commentary,” I interrupt him before he really gets into listing my limitations, but I’m not quite ready to hang up yet either, so I have to remain sort of polite. “So, Ben, what about the other part - you know, what I told you about not fucking him? That would probably be a really bad idea, right?”

“I don’t know, Brian. It’s your call,” Ben is still chuckling, but I can tell he’s serious too. “Adult survivors of child abuse have a really hard time forming stable relationships. They tend to find it really hard to trust their partners. They can be cold and manipulative at times and at other times completely insecure and easily hurt. Plus, they have a very hard time opening up and being accessible with their feelings, which makes knowing what your partner wants and how to please him pretty difficult.”

“Great. So, he’s me, just even more screwed up - is that what you’re telling me?”

“Pretty much. Plus, if you decide to pursue a sexual relationship with him before he’s worked through some of these issues, it might just exacerbate his current problems. You need to be careful, Brian. Not only is Justin likely to get even more hurt, but, you’ll get hurt too,” Ben cautions.

“Fuck. Or, I guess I should say, no fuck,” I say with resignation. “Well, it’s not like I didn’t already know that, I was just hoping for a second opinion, you know. It’s just not that easy to remember all this when there’s a gorgeous naked blond sprawled on your bed. Thanks, Ben.”

“Anytime, Brian. And, I’ll look up those other therapies for you, they might help if you do get him to open up and talk.”

“Later.”

I hang up on Ben just as I arrive at the Diner and reach to open the door. Debbie is still there, unfortunately, so I have to spend the entire time my order is cooking reassuring her about Justin’s well-being. At least we don’t have the ‘stop fucking the shit out of the patient’ discussion again, because I might lose it big time if we had to do that one again. I guess I finally reassure her enough though, since she finally lets me leave with a paper bag full of take out boxes and a cardboard drink caddy.  

On the walk home I carefully work out a strategy on how to handle my dire twink situation. Brian Kinney has always been at his best when he has a good solid plan to work from. And this one should, hopefully, get me what I want and, eventually, get Justin what he seems to want too. I just have to sell it to him the right way. But who better to sell something than an Ad Man?  

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I’m not happy about how Brian was acting when he left here earlier. It was like he was running away from me. Fuck. I’m fucking this up already, aren’t I?  

I wish I knew him better so I could know what he liked and then I’d know how to approach this. I was practically throwing myself at him though and he just got up and ran away. What more can I do? Probably nothing. He probably just really doesn’t like me that way. I know what he said, but if that were true he wouldn’t have run away from me. I can’t change the fact that I’m broken and useless and can’t please him the way he really wants. I wish I could. I wish I could be what he wants.  

I’m terrified that he won’t want me to stay now. I made my play and utterly failed. He’s going to come back and throw me out, isn’t he? Why did I tell him I wanted to stay? Why did I do it? Now, he’s going to come back and toss me out and I’ve already let him in and it’s going to fucking hurt. Why can’t I do anything right? Ever? I’m such a fucking loser - I should have known not to even try this. Shit. Shit, shit, shit . . .

“I’m back, Sunshine.” I hear Brian say as he bustles in through the door, while I sit where I’ve been ever since he left, rocking back and forth, trying not to explode with worry. “I’ve got you a replacement bacon cheeseburger and fries. Hope you’re hungry.”

He sets the bag full of food on the kitchen counter and then comes around to the front of the couch, looking at me with concern. He doesn’t sit next to me though. He looks down at me for a few moments, then walks off to the bedroom and comes back with a pile of clothing which he lays in my lap. He does ruffle my hair affectionately a little, but he doesn’t stay. He goes back over to the kitchen island and starts to serve the food, putting my burger and fries on a plate which he sets in front of one of the kitchen stools. I’m putting on the clothing he left me in the meantime.

“Justin. Come. You need to eat, Sunshine,” Brian directs, his voice soft but insistent.  

I do as I’m told - no sense in making it worse than it already is, right? I might as well get one more good solid meal out of this deal before he kicks me out. But it’s hard to make myself eat. The food all tastes the same and I wish He would stop watching as if he’s making sure I finish it all. I remember my father used to watch me eat like that. It’s making me nervous and I’m even less hungry than I was before.

“What’s wrong with your food?” Brian asks, still watching as I barely choke down another bite. “If it’s too cold I can nuke it for you.”

“It’s fine,” I lie.

Brian puts down his own sandwich and looks at me intently. He’s obviously mulling over what he’s going to say to me. I put the burger down and sit quietly, waiting for him to finally get around to it. I’m ready, I guess. I will just get my old clothes out of the bureau where I saw him put them and that’s all I really need. Maybe he’ll let me keep the coat and the new shoes, I think. They would be really nice to have - it’s pretty cold out there still, although it’s not as cold as it was the day Emmett found me.  

Brian interrupts my contemplation of what I may and may not be able to take when I leave by capturing my hands and pulling my body around to face him.  

“I wish I could tell what was going through your brain when you get like this, Sunshine,” Brian says, smiling at me. “I see the wheels turning so fast that It’s almost frightening. But I can’t tell what the thoughts are that are making the wheels spin. This would be so much easier, you know, if I could just tell what was going on in there.”

“You don’t want to know,” I say, simply. “It’s not a nice place.”

“Yeah. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? But I’ve got a plan to fix that,” Brian says. “Let’s go sit at the table and I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking, okay?”

Shit. This is it. I can feel the tears of anger boiling up in my eyes. I don’t want to cry in front of him again. Why is my body always betraying me like this. I don’t want to let him see how much this is going to hurt. I blink furiously to keep the tears back as I follow him to the table.

“I was talking to Ben earlier, Justin, and he said some pretty intelligent things. Which isn’t all that surprising since he is a Professor,” Brian is trying to ‘lighten the mood’ - fuck him, I wish he would just get it over with. “He said that you won’t get better until you talk about what’s happened to you and work through it a bit. Now, I know that you don’t want to go to any doctors - don’t worry, I’m not suggesting that at all - but, I thought that maybe you could talk to me. I’ve been there, you know. Maybe not the same things you’ve experienced, but I can at least understand what you’ve gone through a little.”

“I can’t promise you that I’ll know what to do or say to help you. I can’t even promise that I won’t fuck it up altogether. All I’ll promise is that I’ll listen. I’ll be there for you if you’ll agree to talk to me and tell me what it is that’s happened to hurt you like this.” Brian is speaking in a low voice, while he holds my hand and rubs little ticklish runes into my palm. “And, I know it won’t be easy, for either of us, Sunshine. So, I thought we could make it less horrible by having a reward waiting at the end - you know, like an incentive program?”

I’m listening. I almost quit listening to him when he started in about talking and working things out. Blah, blah, blah. I’ve been handed that line before and I wasn’t going back to that. But Brian caught my attention with the idea of an incentive program. That’s new. I wonder what kind of incentives he’s thinking of offering.

"Here's my proposal, Sunshine," Brian looks at me, his eyes weighing my response as he speaks. "First, you have to promise to give me one week - let's say until midnight next Monday. During the day you can come with me to work or you can stay here or you can go out on your own - I don't really care, but you can't leave here for good. Both of us have to agree that we'll be back here every night by, say, six thirty.

"Second, you and I will talk every night, even if you don't want to. Even if I don't want to. We will try to do the therapy shit that Ben says you have to do before you can get better. And don't give me that look - I don't particularly go in for all this new age therapy crap either, but I'm willing to try it for one fucking week and if I can put up with it, so can you."

"Third - assuming we don't crack before the end of the week - if you stick with me for the entire time, and provided you still want to when we're done, I'll fuck you. But until the week is up you have to agree to back off with the whole temptation thing, okay? Trust me, you're plenty tempting just sitting there fully dressed. I won't be able to concentrate on anything all week if you're constantly traipsing around naked and plopping down in my lap every time I sit. You have to understand, Justin, I do find you very, very, very attractive - that isnt the problem - its just that, I don't think me fucking you is going to help matters much. At least not in the long run. So, no matter how much I want you, and no matter how much you think you want me, we need to hold off."

"Let's at least give it one week and see if that doesn't change your mind, okay?" Brian says as his voice fades along with the end of his pitch.

"So . . . I agree to stay and do this pseudo therapy shit for one week, at the end of which you finally fuck me, and then what?" I ask.

"I don't know what happens then. You'll be free to go if you want, I guess, but I hope you won't want to." Brian responds, not exactly answering my real question.

"And if I don't want to go? What then?"

"You'll stay, I guess." Brian replies almost sheepishly.

"For how long?"

"I don't know, Justin. I can't promise you anything, okay. Can't we just do this for one week and then figure out what comes next when we get there?"

Brian looks even more uncomfortable than me at this point, which I find incredibly humorous since this whole ridiculous plan is his idea. But, altogether, I suppose it's not such a bad deal. I get to stay for a minimum of one week - there are no promises after that, but really when do you get assurances about anything in life. At the end of the week, he'll finally fuck me and I'll get the chance to try and make him see that keeping me longer is a really good idea for him. In the meantime, there's no more pressure and I don't have to worry about being tossed out on a daily basis if I don't/can't perform.  

So what's the downside? I have to agree to talk about things I don’t want to even think about, let alone discuss. With someone I don't particularly want to have know all my secrets. And there's no guarantee this will even work. At the end of the week Brian may just throw me out in spite of everything. Meanwhile, I've let him get in deeper, inside my defenses. The deeper I let him in, the more likely he is to hurt me. How badly do I really want to stay here?

I don't really want to be Brian's pet psychology project. I don’t want to be fixed. I can't be fixed. I know it's impossible. I've been told enough times by my father that I'm hopeless and I can never be fixed. Why the fuck does Brian feel like he has to fix me, anyway?

Maybe I should just leave. I know what I decided earlier but that was before all this psycho babble shit. I just wanted to stay here with Him, be with Him here where it was safe and warm and clean. I wanted to be with Him so I could feel Him near me and know He was here. I want to have Him touch me and hold me when he's asleep and I want to feel protected and cared for. But . . .

But, once he knows what's really inside me, he won't want to do any of those things.

 

 

Chapter 14 - Flashback.

Flashback:  A sudden and disturbing vivid memory of an event in the past, typically as the result of psychological trauma.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

I can see by the way his eyes are darting around, anywhere but on me, that he's not sold on my proposal yet. I watch, with a growing feeling of dread, as he gets up and walks over to the large loft windows, staring off into the city lights as he muses over what I've said. He presses the palm of one hand against the cold pane of glass, his face a mask of misery and fear, while he works through how he'll respond.  

A good salesman knows when to push his product, though. Anytime you see your target start to waiver, you step in and distract him before he can voice that 'no' that's hovering unsaid on his lips. So, I hop up and interject the first distraction I come across.

"Look. It's snowing again," I say as I point out a few large flakes drifting downward outside the window. "You can't go back out there tonight, Justin. Please. Just stay and let's try this. Please."

I back my plea with a touch. I purposefully come up behind him, place my hands on his slim hips and use my leverage to pull him back against my body. I'm hoping that the contrast between our warm bodies pressed together and the stark, cold desolate picture outside the window will win him over.

I get the impression that he almost longs to be back out there on the street. I can empathize - things are always less complicated when you have fewer choices. On the street, his only choices are where to sleep, when to eat (assuming there's even enough money for food), and how to make enough money to buy the food. There are no complicated questions like, 'should I risk opening up to this virtual stranger and telling him all my secrets'.

Maybe if I start?

"My older sister, Claire, was a mistake. But my parents were Catholic, so there wasn't any question about what my father was expected to do. I've got to give him a little credit for at least stepping up to the plate on that, I guess," I start telling him, whispering my story into his golden hair, though I have no idea why I'm sharing this particular story. "They got married. But things were already going downhill fast when my mother discovered she was pregnant with me less than two years later. Dad wasn't so gullible or so religious or whatever by that point, and he promptly demanded that Joan go get an abortion. Joan wouldn't do it though. And here I am, thirty-some years later as proof.

"But, my father never let me forget how little I was wanted. He must have told me that story a hundred times. It was almost like he was proud of trying to get rid of me before I was even born. I never told him how much it pissed me off every time he told me the story, though. I just sat there and listened and said nothing. I wish now I'd told him just once what a fucking asshole he was for always rubbing that into my face."

"It was my mother," I hear Justin saying after I eventually fall silent. "She used to say she sometimes wished I'd never been born. She wasn't saying it to be mean, though. She was just sad and didn't want me to have to suffer. She would usually be crying when she said it. Usually after my father had done something mean."

"Did he hit you?" I had to ask, even though I was afraid of what the answer would be.

"No. Not really. I mean, I got spanked occasionally just like any other kid when I was little. And when I was older he slapped me once, but I was really mouthing off to him that time - It was right before I left. But other than that he didn't hit me."

I guess that's good." I offer, although I'm not sure what even more horrible shit Justin must have gone through - what was worse than getting hit, that could have caused what I've seen.

"Today at the Diner - you remembered something about your dad, didn't you?" I've got my arms wrapped firmly around him now so he should feel supported when I finally get around to asking him about the incident from earlier. "Can you tell me what you remembered?"

"Did your Dad know you were gay," he asks me, completely out of the blue.

"No. I didn't tell him until a couple months before he died."

"Me neither. At least not at the time. I knew I was gay by the time I was fifteen, maybe earlier. But I knew not to tell my father. He definitely doesn't approve of homosexuality," Justin seems lost in his memory - it's as if he's talking to himself now, unaware of my presence at all. "It's funny that he never figured it out, though. Well, maybe he did but never admitted it to himself. Maybe that's why things kept getting worse and worse about that same time. I wonder."

"Anyway, my best friend was a girl named Daphne. We were pretty much inseparable from the age of five until the end of my sophomore year.  We would always sleep over at each others houses - well, more at her house than at mine. We shared everything: books, music, gossip, even sometimes clothes. We were always together at school and lots of the time away from school too."

"By the time we were sophomores, things at home were getting pretty tough for me. I started falling behind in school, I was falling asleep in classes and other shit. So I got called into the school counsellor's office a lot. I didn't tell her anything, of course - my father would have been really, really pissed off at me for that.

"But, after I got in a fight with someone outside the boy's locker room - because I'd been watching the jocks soap their dicks in the shower and got caught, of course - the counsellor called Daph in to see if she would give some explanations about what was going on with her best friend. Daph let something slip about how I was having trouble with my father - I'm sure it was something relatively innocuous that Daph didn't think would get me into trouble. But the counsellor called my father to discuss it and the whole thing resulted in my father making up some lame ass excuse to justify forbidding me from hanging out with Daphne ever again."

"I had this idea that I could fight him. I wasn't going to let him get away with this. I waited till everyone was asleep and snuck out to go see her. I told Daph a little about what was happening then. We talked almost all night. We had some childish plan about how I would come live with her and everything would be all better," that memory makes me laugh. "My father figured out where I was the next morning and when he and Daph's mom found us, we were spooned up together, in our underwear, sound asleep in her bed. They of course assumed we were intimate. He said the meanest things about her and to her. And to her parents. Nobody listened to anything Daph or I tried to say. See, my sneaking out only helped his plan more. I played right into his hands and gave him the excuse he needed. I was so stupid."

"By the time he was done, Daphne was crying, her parents had insisted that I leave and never come back and my father had accomplished his real goal, which was to strip me of the last person in the world who cared about me. He'd taken my last friend away. After that he even pulled me out of school - said I'd be better off being 'home schooled'. It was like my mother's wish had come true - it was just like I'd never been born, like I didn't exist at all. No one knew or cared if I was alive. No one saw when I disappeared."

"You didn't disappear. You're here now," I say, holding him tightly in my arms to demonstrate my point.

"No. That boy is gone. He's dead. I'm nobody."

No one said anything for a very long time after that. We just stood there together - each one's physical presence supporting the other and reminding us that we were really still here. Justin was so quiet again and so still. I didn't know how he could say what he had without becoming furious. I was - inside I was screaming and raging and I wanted to hit his father over and over again. Outwardly, though, I was almost as calm as he was. I wondered if inside he was just as angry but even better at hiding it than me.

"Why did you think of that when we were at the Diner?" is all I can think of to ask, even though it no longer seems important.  

"It was something Debbie said - when she was arguing with you she used the same words my father said to me that day. 'I don’t care what the hell your dick is telling you . . .'," Justin's imitation of Debbie is spot on. "Isn't that strange? Two such very different people in two completely different circumstances, using the same phrase? What are the odds, huh?"

"Didn't you ever see Daphne ever again?" I eventually ask.

"No. After that he pretty much kept me inside and didn't let me see anyone. I didn't get to see hardly anyone for weeks at a time, sometimes. Not until I finally left."

"What about then. Did you go see her after you left?"

"No. She wouldn't like me. I'm not the person she was friends with for all those years. It's better that that boy just disappeared."

Outside the window the snow is coming down much more thickly now. I briefly notice the way it creates a halo effect around the street lights below. It's going to be another miserably cold night out there and I'm glad my Sunshine will be here, inside, with me, instead.

"See, we can do this, Justin," I say, finally breaking the silence after several long sad moments.  

"But what good does it do? I don't feel any better. Do you?" Justin asks.

"No, I actually feel really shitty right now and I'd like to find your father and beat him to a bloody pulp. That's Jack's influence, I know, but sometimes I'm almost willing to concede he had a point," I snort softly and shake my head at the admission, but I don't want to go there now. "I don't know if this did any good at all, Justin. But it didn't kill us either."

 

~~*~~
Justin's POV
~~*~~

 

I remove myself from Brian's clasp and walk back to the couch. Every place on my body where He was touching me still vibrates with his energy. I can feel where his lips were whispering into my hair and my scalp, where his fingers gripped my upper arm, where his other hand touched the skin on my stomach, his pinky hooked around a belt loop so his fingers could keep up their constant little motions without losing their place.  

Brian's physical self is so overwhelming and demanding, sometimes it almost makes me forget there is anything outside this room. It's nice to be able to escape from the outside world. And even the bad memories we've been talking about just now feel distant - like they can't touch me while I'm here with Brian.

I can distance myself and escape from the memories, but what I can't escape is the sensation of the bitter cold wind inside me, gusting through that torn place in my gut where my father made a hole in me. The feel of the wind even has a ghost of a sound that I hear in my head - it's a high pitched wailing noise, like you'd hear at the coast on a stormy day, or when a child is crying and rocking himself to sleep alone in his room. I can deal with the memories. But I'd really like to stop the wind inside and the noise it brings with it.

"One week." I say to Brian, as I retreat, for now, back to the comfort and safety of Brian's bed.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

We're lying in bed, our limbs loosely threaded together. I wait and listen as Justin's breathing gradually changes, deepens and evens out. I lie awake a lot longer, feeling the rhythms of my body as they gradually slow, matching his.

I hope Ben is right and that we can fix this. Talking about the horrors of our individual childhoods doesn't strike ME as being very productive. It just seems to bring the hurt and sadness back closer to the surface. I'd been able to keep that particular memory of Jack pretty far down in my subconscious for a long time. Now it was right there staring me in the face, so to speak. This is going to help Justin, how exactly?

I do finally fall asleep, Justin's fragile frame still near enough that I'll hopefully know when his demons come back, which they inevitably do in the night. I don't have long to wait, either. I feel him getting restless and hear his incoherent complaints before very long. I'm actually getting rather good at his, I think. I curl my body around him protectively, shoosh him gently until he quiets. And we both settle back to sleep without Justin even coming fully awake.

I really hope Ben is right about all this.

All this mid-day napping and early to bed crap has my body clock really confused. I don't think I've been this well rested since I got my first fake ID. Which probably explains why I'm wide awake at 5:30 am. So what do I do for the next two hours until it's time for me to get up for work?

Justin is lying next to me on his back, his limbs akimbo. I can smell his warm young man scent pervading everything around me and, being so well rested, it doesn't take any time at all for the sight and smell of him to get me incredibly aroused. I made him and myself a promise, though. I'm not going to give in to my desires. I'm going to get out of bed right now, take a cold shower and not think about the boy lying in my bed wearing only a pair of tight, skimpy briefs.

That's what I tell myself. However, as I start to slide out from under the duvet, my movement rouses Justin, who rolls over, pulling my wrist with him as if to use my arm as a cover. This maneuver causes the front of my body to come into contact with his entire length while my innocent right hand just happens to land conveniently on top of his crotch.

And, he's hard. For the first time since he's been here.

The sight and smell of him, the feel of him pressed against me, my cock achingly hard, held between our bodies, and now his hard dick in my hand. I'm not a fucking saint. No one would be able to stop themselves under these circumstances, right?

I grab onto that lovely, thick anchor, through the thin cotton briefs, and start to rub my thumb lightly over the head. There's the tiniest bit of wetness leaking through at the tip and it eggs me on. I can't control that tightening feel in my gut at the same time my own cock twitches a little in anticipation against his thigh. My hand is gripping more tightly now and I let myself stroke him a little more forcefully.

Even that might have been alright if I hadn't lost control even more and let out a gasping moan. "Unh, Justin . . ."

"Mmmm, Brian," I hear as Justin sighs contentedly and moves to snuggle back into my groin even more.  

That's when he freezes. His body becomes stiff and his breathing becomes ragged. I can feel his heartbeat racing. That beautiful handful of boner I had, vanishes almost instantly and he jerks himself away out of my hand. All I'm left with is an armful of trembling blond who is in full blown panic mode already, struggling to get away from me.

"Please, stop. No. I didn't mean to. Really. I'm so sorry. It'll never, ever happen again. I didn't mean to. I couldn't help it. Please don't. Not again, please . . ."

Justin is crawling away from me across the bed. He's begging and pleading with me - to do what, I don't know. I'm still sitting here immobilized with shock and surprise. He doesn't start to quiet until he's all the way in the corner of the room, partially hidden by the night stand. But even then he's still obviously not here in the present

moment. His eyes are focused on something or, more likely, someone who's not here and he continues to mutter while tears stream down his beautiful scared face

I couldn't have just kept my fucking hands to myself?

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I'm not even fully awake when he yanks the blankets off me and commences yelling about how I'm an abomination, a sinner, a deviant of the worst kind and not fit to live in a decent home where I'm an embarrassment to my family. What the fuck does he expect? What sixteen year old doesn't wake up with morning wood and his hand on his crotch? He expects me to be able to control my autonomic body responses now too? I wasn't even doing anything. I was asleep for fuck's sake. Fuck this.

I'm just about to finally stand up to the asshole for the first time and tell him exactly what I think of his ridiculous demands when he abruptly walks out of the room. Moments later he returns, my mother now being hauled after him. She's standing there still blinking, still only half awake herself.

Before I can react to this new development, he stomps over to where I'm sitting, grabs a handful of my hair in one hand, yanking my head back and towing me to my feet, while he clenches the waistband of my pajama pants with his other hand and literally tears them off me. I'm half standing, half cringing, completely exposed in front of my parents, with an involuntary hard on and my father ranting about my deviant behavior. I watch, horrified, while my mother drops to her knees, crying, her hands trying to cover her face to hide her own embarrassment.

My father uses the painful leverage he has on my hair to force me to my knees and then throws my head down, releasing my hair finally. I try to catch myself with my hands, but he kicks them out from under me with one easy motion of his foot, causing me to fall flat on my stomach, my chin knocking painfully on the hard wooden flooring at the same time.

'See what you're doing to your Mother, you ungrateful little piece of shit,' he's screaming at me, pointing at my weeping mother. 'I've told you before, boy, that you will not abuse yourself in my house. How many times have you been told? Huh? Answer me! How many times have I told you that this behavior will NOT be tolerated?'

'Many times,' I answer, my head bowed in submission the way I know he expects, no longer in the mood to try to stand up to him.  

'And you're not repentant at all, are you? Well, we'll see what another day of prayer does for you. Get up and get the belt.'

'Father, please, I wasn't doing anything. I was asleep. Really. Please. I've already learned my lesson and I never ever do anything inappropriate like that anymore.'

'Are you calling me a liar, you little son of a bitch? Are you going to try to deny what your mother and I just saw with our own eyes?'

'Craig, please, calm down,' my mother tries to intervene. 'I think you're overreacting. Can't we just . . .'

'You think I'm overreacting, do you? Do you know what this little pervert is up here in his room doing all the time, Jenn? Do you want to know? Well I'll show you, and then you can tell me if I'm just overreacting, hmm.'

Then, father stalks over to me and hoists me back up to my knees. 'Show your mother what it is you're spending all your time up here doing, boy. GO ON! I want her to see just what it is her precious little boy is doing with his dick all day. Then we'll discuss exactly what punishment is appropriate.'

'Craig, this isn't necessary.'

'Do it, you little pervert. NOW!'

'Father, please. I don't want to do this. I promise I'll be better. Please.'

'Don't you dare disobey me on top of everything else, young man. Either you do what I say right this minute or you won't eat again for the rest of the week. I swear to god I'll lock that door and I won't open it again till its time for church on Sunday.'

Oh god! It's already been two days since the last time he let me out to eat. My stomach clenches painfully at the thought of going even another day, let alone the rest of the week, without food. I have no choice.

Closing my eyes to try to hold back the hot angry tears that refuse to stop, I reach down and begin fisting myself. I lost my hard on about ten seconds after he tore my clothes off, but he doesn't care. I'm expected to put on a show to prove how depraved and perverted I am. That's what he demands. Whether or not I'm in the mood for it really doesn't come into consideration. So I keep pumping, ineffectively, while he goes on about MY indecency.

'Open your fucking eyes up, boy. I want you to see what you're doing to your family. I want you to see just how hurt and humiliated your mother is by your actions. This is all your fault and until you learn to control yourself, boy, you'll keep hurting her like this.'

So I open my eyes and watch my mother crying while I jack off in front of her at my father's direction.  

All in the name of decency.

"Justin. Sunshine. Please talk to me. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I had no idea . . . What can I do? . . ."

I'm confused. It sounds like Brian's voice, but it can't be. Brian wouldn't be kneeling on the floor next to me crying. My head is pounding and I can't seem to focus my eyes very well. But the person kneeling next to me, talking to me, sounds like Brian. I need to figure out what's wrong and help him, but I'm having trouble concentrating.

This damn migraine makes everything seem fuzzy, as if the whole world was wrapped in a thin layer of cotton. Thankfully it's dark in here or I'd be in even more pain. I try to slow my breathing and focus my thoughts - that typically will help push the headache pain away far enough that I can get to somewhere safe and quiet where I can rest till its gone. So I try to ignore the sounds of fear and crying and focus on breathing for a few minutes.

I do manage to reach out my hand and find His, which seems to cause the sounds of panic to stop. Once that distraction is gone, it's remarkably easier to concentrate. He's sitting next to me, now, squeezing my hand but thankfully not otherwise touching me - I get so sensitive to even the slightest touch when I get these headaches, so I'm glad Brian isn't trying to comfort me in his usual manner.

"Justin, can you please just tell me what I can do to help you. You look like you're physically in pain. What can I do?" Brian says in a much calmer voice.

"Aspirin. Not Tylenol, though, please. Just plain aspirin," I manage.

 

Chapter 15 - Disclosure.

Disclosure: The act of making new or previously secret information known.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Brian is back almost before I notice he's gone. He's got a large glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. That's strange - his hands are shaking and he's having trouble getting the bottle open. I take it from him, open it easily and dump several into my palm without bothering to count them, then swallow before handing the bottle and the empty glass back to him.  

Brian kindly just lets me sit for a few minutes until the aspirin starts to take effect. He's still sitting on his knees in front of me when I finally open my eyes.  His face looks blanked out - like someone took an eraser to it to try to wipe off all the emotions. But, his eyes shine through full of pain and fear and . . . Guilt?

"Justin, I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know what to say - normally I'd be the first one to tell you that saying 'I'm sorry' is bullshit, that it's what you do that counts and by the time you get around to 'sorry' it's too late, but, really, this time I mean it. I had no idea this would happen and I'm kicking myself for what I did. I really, truly am sorry . . . "

"Brian, stop," I say, grabbing one of his flailing hands to halt his incessant apology.  "I have no idea what you're talking about, Brian."

He lets out his breath in a whoosh then, not quite looking me in the eyes, he starts to explain. "It was me. I did this  . . . I didn't mean to but . . . I was, um, playing with you, you see. I woke up early and you were still sleeping but you had this huge boner. It's the first time I saw you like that since you got here, and I couldn't resist. I started rubbing you and I was getting pretty hard myself and . . . Well, the next thing I know you're crying and crawling away from me and then . . ."

"Oh. Yeah, well, that would probably do it," I respond, maybe a tad too nonchalantly.

"What? What do you mean, 'that would do it'? Are you accusing me of something? I swear I didn't know that any of this would happen, Justin."

"No, Brian. I'm not saying that at all. It's just that, I can see where that would set me off. It's kinda happened before, so I can see why what you did would cause the same reaction."

"This, THIS, has happened before? What happened at the Diner was bad enough, but you're telling me this happens to you so often that you're not surprised by it at all? Fuck!" Brian curses as he collapses backward until his body is leaning against the edge of the bed, his mouth open slightly in pain and a single tear running down his left cheek.

"Brian? What I meant was that you didn't do this. It's not your fault. Please, Brian. Don't do this," I'm still struggling with the pain and fuzzy-headedness from the migraine and I'm not sure how to fix this but I'm sure that I don't like seeing Brian this sad and vulnerable.

When Brian still doesn't respond, I'm sure that he's had that change of heart I knew was coming. I knew that what was inside me was ugly and probably too much for anyone to handle. Brian had no idea what he was setting himself up for when he proposed this whole 'therapy' idea. I guess it was always only a matter of time before he came to his senses.

"I knew this was a bad idea. I'm sorry for scaring you. Just give me a minute and I'll be out of your hair," I start to get up but his strong hand darts out quickly to stop me.

"Stop. You're not going. Just . . . just give me a couple minutes to process this, okay. But, don't leave, please."

So we sit together on the floor for a long time while Brian thinks. When he finally has a grip on himself, he pulls me with him back onto the bed and tugs the blankets up to wrap around us. I hadn't realized how cold it was sitting on the hard wood floor for so long. We're both half frozen, but Brian's hands chafe against my arms allowing friction generated heat to build up and surround us.

He's really a good man. I can't believe he would be willing to do this - to put up with this. It really wasn't his fault either. I wouldn't have minded in the least if he wanted to play with me - not that I'd be able to stay hard for long, probably, but I wouldn't have minded if I'd been awake. I'm just not good with getting taken by surprise with that type of thing, you know.  

It has happened before, twice, when I've made the mistake of falling asleep when I was with a John. They were both pretty freaked out too - of course neither of them took me back into their bed and held me until I felt better, either.  All in all, Brian is handling this rather well, I would say.

But, I wouldn't hold it against him if he decides he wants to back out of our arrangement now that he has a better idea of what it involves.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

 

I can't believe he's so complaisant and unconcerned by these episodes. I'm still shaking. Watching him just about scares the shit out of me and I'm not the one reliving the nightmares. Once again I wonder if I can do this. Can I help him at all, or am I only going to make it worse?

"Brian, it's really okay. You can do whatever you want to me. Just make sure I'm really awake first. If not, sometimes my brain gets a little confused is all. I wouldn't mind if you want to play with me, in fact I'd really like it if you would. You said we couldn't fuck, but . . ." Justin offers, completely unconcerned.

I just barely manage to hide the shudder the idea of touching him now brings on.  It's not this kid's fault. But I'm not touching him again until some of this shit gets resolved no matter how itchy my dick gets.

"You were talking to someone and crying. Do you remember what that was about - what happened to bring that on?" I ask, the morbid curiosity too much for me.

"No. That one, I never remember. I just wake up with a migraine that hurts Iike a mother."

"What did I do to bring it on? It wasn't just because I touched you - we touch all the time. Maybe not like that, but in other intimate ways. And I'm sure you've . . . well when you were hustling you let them touch you. You don't always have that reaction?"

"No. I told you, it's only when I'm not quite awake. The rest of the time, I'm fine. Wanna test it out," he says, waggling his eyebrows at me, still trying to distract me.  

"I don't think so, Sunshine. Sorry, but I'm still freaking a little here," I say, but I try to smile to lessen the impact of my words.

Right then my alarm finally goes off, causing both Justin and me to jump but breaking the tension as well. This is not how I thought I'd be spending the last two hours. Too bad my other plans didn't work out. I can't believe what an ass I was, though. I can't say I don't regret what I caused here this morning. And I'm definitely sorry, even if the words themselves are bullshit. I promise myself not to ever cause Justin to have that reaction again if I can help it. The only problem is that until I know what exactly triggered this episode I won't know what not to do. Which means we'll have to pursue this a lot further, no matter how tough it is. We have a fun night ahead of us, I'm afraid.

"We should talk more about this tonight, Sunshine. But for now let's get up and showered and I need to get to work. I need to finalize that campaign you thought up. Do you want to come or stay here today?"

"I'll come with you to work," Justin says eagerly. "Can I help with the final display boards?"

"I was hoping you'd offer. Come on, Sunshine."

The rest of the day goes great. I spend the morning in meetings while Justin is happily ensconced in his spot at the empty desk in the art department. From what he told me later as well as what I heard from Ted and other employees, he is getting along with everyone and has been coaxed into helping out on a couple of additional projects already. I have lunch brought in rather than subject Justin to another trip to the Diner with the accompanying Novotny family drama.

After lunch we take a field trip over to Ript Gym for a photo shoot using some of my buddies for the Daddies’ Board Shop campaign. Justin, I think, enjoys himself there, although I'm not sure what he thinks about all the guys coming on to him and handing him phone numbers. He's smiling when we leave though so I'm not going to worry too much.  

So we get through the day without any further drama. Although I'm still on edge and feel like I'm walking on eggshells all day waiting for another episode. I'm not looking forward to night two of our therapy plan. I don't think Justin is either since he seems to get jumpier as the clock nears 6:00. And, since I feel we can both use a little fortification before our little private session, I decide to risk a stop at Woody's on the way home.

Since Ben, Michael has become a lot more of a homebody these days. Which means I rarely see him out at the bar or the club on weeknights. Unfortunately, tonight seems to be one of the few nights he's not home trimming his pubes with the professor. Instead he's propped against the bar just waiting as Justin and I come in the door.

It's not that I don't like seeing Michael, don't get me wrong. I love him like a brother, but he doesn't always think before he opens his mouth. Strike that - he never thinks before he opens his mouth. His greeting to us is a case in point.

"Hey, Brian! About time you got here. I was just about to call you," Michael crows as soon as he sees me, completely ignoring Justin. "Are you going to Babylon later? Ben has some faculty meeting tonight so I'm free all night if you want to hang out. I just talked to Em and he's on his way over with his latest squeeze, some doctor type, I guess. I think he's maybe a shrink or something. Hey, maybe he could take a look at your pet twink over there for you. . . "

I watch as Justin's eyes get huge at the mere mention of meeting with a doctor. Way to go, Mikey!

"Good evening, Michael. It's lovely to see you tonight as well. My pet twink here, who by the way does have a name, would probably greet you as well if you had been polite enough to say hello to him," I begin the manners lesson as I pull out the barstool next to my friend. "Now, as for the rest of your breathless diatribe, no, I'm not going to Babylon tonight - Justin and I already have plans - and, further, we won't be asking Emmett's latest fuck to examine Justin, regardless of whether or not he's a real doctor. Now, how about you start this conversation over, more politely, and say hello to Justin before you launch into planning my social calendar for the night."

"Shut up, you asshole," is Michael's predictable response. "I get enough lectures on fucking manners from Ma and Ben. Lay off, won't ya. Sorry, Justin. I didn't mean anything by all that."

"See, Justin. I told you that underneath that rude exterior was a cranky, slightly less rude, young man," I comment, eliciting a small chuckle from Justin, who visibly relaxes on the barstool next to me.

We manage to survive the rest of the next hour at the bar with the guys. Emmett's new love interest turned out to be a podiatrist, NOT a psychiatrist, which goes a long way towards reassuring Sunshine. And Ted shows up, too, after not much longer, which is good because he's always served as a moderating influence on Michael - at least when Ben isn't around. So we end up leaving Woody's a little more relaxed than before and I'm sort of ready for another night trying to crack Justin's shell.

"Do you want to stop for dinner on the way home or just order in?" I ask as we get into the Vette.

Justin's lack of response gets my attention at once. I'm not sure why a simple question like where or what we should eat should stump him so badly. He's doing the lip chewing thing though so I know there's some problem. It's a sure sign that we should just get to the loft and get started on our work anyway, so I don't bother stopping on the way.

As soon as we get inside I try a little experiment. I hand Justin a stack of take out menus. It's quite a handful - I don't edit any out, but instead give him the whole shebang.

"Why don't you pick something out for us to eat," I direct him, immediately walking away to change out of my business suit.

When I come back five minutes later, he's still standing in the same spot with all the menus in his hands, looking down at the pile but not going through them. It's as if he's frozen in time. He obviously can't deal with making this choice - a choice most people wouldn't find difficult in the least. Just decide what type of food you're hungry for, find a decent looking restaurant that serves that kind of food, look at the menu and choose your entree and then call in your order. I pretty much do it daily. Justin can't, though.

Taking the menus out of his hands, I lean my forehead against his and smile to reassure him it's okay. Then I send him off to wait on the couch while I order Thai and grab two beers from the fridge for us. Time to get started.

"What's the food thing about, Sunshine?" I ask to get the ball rolling.

"Um. I just . . . I can't choose, you know. It's too much. Too much to choose from. How do you pick from so much," Justin is having trouble explaining.

"It's more than just that, though," I try to frame my question better to help him focus on a real answer. "You can't choose what you want to eat a lot of the time, I see that, and I even kind of get it that someone who’s been living on the streets without much to eat would have trouble dealing with an overabundance like that. But there's also what happens when you don't think you can finish your meal and you get all nervous. Then there's the time you broke down crying when I tried to give you that piece of chocolate cake. So talk to me, Sunshine. Tell me about the food shit."

"He used food to control me." Justin answers simply with a tiny shrug as if that were a normal thing to say.

"Your father?"

"Yeah. If I didn't do what he wanted he would lock me in my room and I wouldn't get food for days sometimes," Justin's explanation is given so calmly and he speaks with too little emotion as he says these things - that's almost as frightening to me as what he's saying. "He had the only key. My mother was afraid of what he'd do to me if she went against him, so she mostly wouldn't try to stop him. Only if it went on for more than a few days - then I'd sometimes hear her arguing with him to let me out."

"When I did get to eat, he would watch me sometimes. He was very particular about my manners and that I not wolf down my food or spill or anything like that. And he didn't like it if I wasted food. If I didn't eat everything I was served, I wouldn't get anything to eat the next meal. Even when it was something I didn't like. Once he even made me eat scraps out of the trash as punishment for complaining about something I didn't like."

"Lots of times when I was being punished he'd make me sit at the table and watch while they ate. That was really hard - if my stomach growled or I said anything, it usually meant another meal added to my punishment. And sometimes he'd even put food in front of me but I wasn’t allowed to touch it - those times it was often something really good, like a dessert - something I really wanted but I knew if I took it I would just get in even more trouble.”

“The worst times were when he’d put the food down in front of me and then change his mind and take it away. I never knew what to expect - sometimes he was actually nice, you know, buying food I really liked as a treat. But I didn’t ever know when he would change his mind and take it away. So I learned not to start eating until I was sure he wouldn’t take the food away. That’s one of the reasons that I sometimes can’t choose what to eat - I get a little bit crazy and worry that whatever I choose, especially if it’s something I really want, it will be taken away.”

“That explains the cake I guess,” I offer.

“No. that wasn’t the problem with the cake, Brian. That was just me being a bit overwhelmed. It was the first night I was here and I didn’t really know you. I didn’t know if you were serious about giving me all this stuff and the food. It was so good. I hadn’t had that much real food in so long and then you gave me the cake and I just felt like it was too much. Too good to be true, you know?” Justin explains. “That didn’t have anything to do with my father. Well, not really. Except that I felt guilty about not eating it after you offered it to me because I knew not to turn down whatever I’m given.”

That happened to be when the door buzzed, announcing our dinner had arrived. I got up, paid for the food and Justin helped me bring it back over to where we’d been sitting on the couch. I watched as he made a concerted effort to choose his own food and fill his own bowl without waiting for my approval. I could tell it was hard for him but I was really glad he was trying. We shared a little insider smile after he sat down with his full bowl and started eating.

“What was it that he was punishing you for? How old were you - fourteen, fifteen? - what could you possibly be doing that was bad enough to lock you in your room without food?” I ask after we’ve both had a few mouthfuls of Pad Thai.  

“Anything, really. If I made a mess and didn’t clean it up before he saw it. If I talked back to him,” Justin is talking more freely now, opening up, but I still feel a little odd listening to him talk about these things without seeing more anger from him. “Before he pulled me out of school, I started getting into trouble a lot in class and he would punish me for that. Sometimes I didn’t know what he was punishing me for, but he would always come up with some excuse, even when I knew what he was telling me wasn’t the real reason. Like what happened with Daphne.”

“And there was other . . .  stuff.”

This last part is added in a much different voice than Justin was using before. It’s quiet and I can hear the pain coming through finally. Whatever the ‘other stuff’ was that he was punished for was a lot more serious than what he’d been disclosing so far. I’m just about to ask about this other stuff, but Justin gets up abruptly and starts cleaning up the coffee table and the take out cartons and puttering about. He really isn’t ready to talk about the other stuff right now, I decide. Plus, after this morning and everything thing we’ve dealt with tonight, I figure it’s enough. So I decide to let it slide for now.

When he finally finishes cleaning, and comes back to sit next to me, he’s calmer but still looks like he’ll bolt if I try to pursue the substance of our last conversation. But I head off on a completely different and, hopefully easier, tack.

“So, what can I do to help you with the food issues, Sunshine? You don’t really want me to always decide for you what you’re going to eat? You’re amazingly open about eating what I’m choosing but it can’t always be what you want. So, tell me - what do we do about this?”

“I don’t mind you choosing,” Justin says with a big smile at me. “Really. So far it’s all been pretty good.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. I don’t like playing the adoring gentleman who picks his date’s meals for him. You need to choose for yourself. And you need to feel comfortable telling me no when you don’t want something. Any ideas how we work that?” I ask.

He shrugs and shakes his head. Oddly enough, discussing how to get him to start making his own choices about food is more uncomfortable for him than talking about the abuse he suffered for years at his father’s hands. I marvel again at the crazy and horrible things parents do to their kids.  

“Okay. I have an idea - it’s something that Lindsey does with Gus, amazingly enough. I know it’s sort of silly, but maybe it will work. Lindsey has been trying to teach Gus not to be such a picky eater, especially when he’s out to dinner or eating at someone else’s house. Gus knows that he isn’t supposed to turn down foods he doesn’t want in those situations because it would be rude, but Lindsey also wants to give him a little out sometimes - sort of a reward for not being rude. So they set up this signal where Gus can tell his mom when he doesn’t like something he’s been offered. If he doesn’t act out and make a rude fuss, she lets him not eat whatever it is. The food just sits on his plate but he doesn’t have to eat it.”

“I know that’s sort of childish, but maybe we can adapt the idea? If you don’t think you’re up to ordering for yourself, for now, you can just tell me. Maybe just say, ‘what do you think’ or something like that. It can be our secret code. Then I’ll order what I think you like. But, if you don’t like what I choose, you can just give me a signal, and I’ll know to pick something else.”

“What kind of signal?” Justin asks, his tentative smile lets me know he’s actually excited about this idea.

“Whatever you want. It should be something simple and something that won’t draw attention, though.” After thinking for a moment or two, I offer an idea, “how about if you just tap my arm? It’s simple and no one will notice it even if we’re out in public. How does that sound? Can you do that even though it’s a bit childish? That way we can work up to you making more and more of the decisions. What do you think.”

“I think you’re brilliant, Brian,” Justin says, beaming his full sunshine smile at me and then scooting over so he can wrap his arms around me for hug and a long, happy kiss.

 

Chapter 16  - Amelioration.

Amelioration:  Steady improvement towards becoming better or improved.

 

~~*~~
Justin's POV
~~*~~

I love the idea Brian came up with about the food stuff. I don't care if it's basically the same thing his four year old is doing. I think it will work. And even if it doesn't, the fact that Brian is so willing to listen to what I say and then take my needs into account to find a workable solution is making me almost giddy. I can't wait to try this out. I might even actually tell him if I don't like something.

He didn't laugh at me or make fun of me when I told him what my father did. I didn't feel embarrassed. It was easy to talk to him. And he backed right off when he saw it was getting to be too much. Then he went that extra step and asked me how He could help me. He's fucking amazing.

Brian says we've done enough for one night and that maybe I should head to bed. He's going to shower and maybe do some work, he says. I am tired, although the head cold is pretty much gone now so I have more energy every day. But, I'm too excited to sleep right now. What I really want is to do something for Brian to show him how much all he's doing means to me.

My first thought is to follow him into the shower and show my appreciation in a very physical way. But, I can't ‘cause he made me promise to tone down the temptation thing. Then I remember the sketch I started yesterday - I'd remembered to bring the art stuff Brian had given me back from the office today and I could work on the sketch while Brian was doing his work.  

I'm wrapped in a blanket and curled up in a chair by the loft's huge plate glass windows when Brian comes out of the shower dressed in faded jeans and a warm pullover. He nods in my direction and proceeds straight to his desk, opening his computer and typing away. I'm finishing the sketch I started of him and Gus from breakfast yesterday. We're both quiet and content, each busy with our own pursuits.

That's when it strikes me how strange this scenario really is. I'm actually happy. I'm more than happy - I'm content and warm and happy and comfortable and relaxed and serene and satisfied and . . . All these other adjectives that have never been me ever before. My god, how did this happen?

This isn't me. I shouldn't be here and I shouldn't be feeling all these nice feelings. The more I realize how comfortable I've become, the more frightened I get. This is the very thing I was hoping to avoid. Getting comfortable somewhere, liking someone the way I like Brian. I've let this happen and now I'm completely fucked, aren't I?

When this all goes away it WILL kill me.

 

~~*~~
Brian's POV
~~*~~

I'm thinking about how nice this is - Justin and I both sitting in the loft, each working on his own stuff, in a companionable silence. It's kind of 'homey'. Okay, it's also a bit weird because this is not the typical Brian Kinney M.O. Normally, the only time I've got another man here it's only for long enough to fuck him and he's out the door as quick as I can get him back into his clothes. Actually, that's not true - sometimes I even throw them out before they get back into all their clothes.

But this feels surprisingly nice. I could even get used to this. Okay, maybe not every night of the week - that would likely drive me insane, but it wouldn't be so bad on occasion.

I finish responding to the last of my emails and close up my computer. That's when I realize I haven't heard anything out of Justin for a long while. As I near the chair where he's sitting I note the slightly shell shocked expression on his face. This time I have at least some idea what might be bothering him though, and I'm not too worried.

"It's sort of too much, isn't it?" I ask as I take the forgotten sketch pad out of his fingers. "I was just thinking the same thing, Sunshine. All this domestic bliss and spending the night in together - it’s weird, isn't it? But, it's not that bad. You might even get used to it someday."

And when he finally blinks and looks into my eyes I know that I was right - we were both thinking about almost the same thing. It's hard not to be frightened of feeling happy, when you're so used to feeling bad all the time. I remember how it used to hit me just like it is with Justin, right after I'd moved in here and realized I'd finally escaped from my parents and their lifestyle. I understood how overwhelming it could be. This I could help him with.

"Don't think about it for now Sunshine. Let's just go to bed. I'm sure there's more bad stuff likely to happen tomorrow and you'll feel less scared by that than you do now. But, really, it'll be okay."

 

~~*~~

I wake up in the morning with blond twink sprawled face down all over me again.  My hand had, of its own volition before I was even awake, found and grabbed hold of one lovely full butt cheek. I could really get to like this. That is, if I was only allowed to do something with the luscious blond twink.

Mindful of yesterday morning's events, I crank my neck so I can leave a kiss on the first piece of skin I can find - I think it's an ear but it's hard to tell from this angle. "Wake up, Sunshine. Don't want to scare you again but I don't really want to let go of your perky little ass cheek yet either. So you better wake up and let me fondle you a little before we have to get to work."

"Mmmm." Justin's standard good morning mumble comes out, accompanied by the merest wiggle of his ass.

My hand can't help squeezing and kneading that perfectly firm flesh just a bit more. I hope he's awake enough this morning. Oh, what the hell, I reach my other hand around, let it grab it's own plump ass cheek, and use my leverage to pull him up and settle him more firmly on my chest and stomach. Now I have much better access to those tempting cheeks and I can fondle them much more fully. I also now have access to lips to kiss rather than just an ear. So I do.

"You do know that this hot little ass of yours should be illegal, don't you?" I ask when our mouths break apart enough to allow speech. "It's far too tempting. You make it very difficult for me to remember my promises, Sunshine."

"So, forget 'em already," he teases.

"You know, I've never done this before," I say a few kisses later.

"What? You've never played with a guy's ass before? And I thought you were so experienced," Justin is in such a teasing, playful mood today - I love it.

"No, you twat! I meant I've never NOT fucked a guy that was here in my loft - in my bed even," I explain. "Of course, I never had a reason like I do now, either. But, I'm just saying, it's a first for me. I'm actually impressed that I can show such restraint. I never thought I could do this."

"You can do anything, Brian," he whispers into my ear and solemnly seals the words inside with another kiss.

"Well, if I don't get away from you right this minute, that won't be true any more will it, because I'm not going to be able to stop myself from plowing into this plump perfect ass. So, it's off to ‘cold-shower-land’ for me, Sunshine." I say as I upend him abruptly and run to the shower before I break all my promises.

 

~~*~~
Justin's POV
~~*~~

Brian doesn't close the bathroom door on his way into the shower. I hear the shower door click open and then closed and the water being turned on. I'm lying here still in a sleepy daze when I hear Brian say my name. I get up and move towards the bathroom but stop when I get a glimpse of the mirror over the washstand. From where I'm standing I have the perfect angle to watch Brian in the shower by way of his reflection in the mirror, and it's a fascinating sight.

Brian is standing directly under the shower head with the spray pelting down on his skin. His left arm is braced against the side glass panel. His head is bowed, his eyes closed. His right hand is clenched around his beautiful full dick and he's pumping himself furiously.

"Justin." he says my name again then moans quietly.

The thrill I get from hearing him say my name is accompanied by a hot little spark of warmth deep in my gut. The feeling surprises me but I don't get time to think about it too much because the scene I'm watching demands my full attention. Brian's hand is moving much faster now, sliding over his soapy skin easily. His look of concentration is so intense it almost makes me want to laugh. The little mumbles and whimpers he's making are mostly drowned out by the sound of the water.

Then the hitch in his breath warns me it's time. After two more pumps, I watch as all his muscles clench. Then streams of thick white cum stream out of his twitching cock, spraying spurt after spurt over the walls of the shower.

"Oh fuck, Sunshine," he groans as his body slumps back against the other side glass panel behind him and he milks out the last few drops of cum.

My body slumps back against the door frame at the same time. Brian jerking off in the shower is the hottest thing I've ever experienced in my life. On top of that, he was thinking about ME while he did it. Fuck, that was amazing!

I'm breathing heavy and my heart is racing just from watching. And then I notice it - I'm semi-aroused for the first time in practically forever. Okay, it's not a full-out stiffy, but for me it's pretty remarkable. I want to reach down and feel myself. It's just such a surprise that I don't even think about what I'm doing at first.

As soon as I do touch myself, though, it disappears. Shit. I shouldn't have . . . I'm not supposed to . . . Fuck. I feel the panic starting to rise up inside me. I want to fight it. I don't want to give into it again. Not this morning - not when I'm feeling so good. I close my eyes and concentrate on just breathing to hold off the fear.

"Hey, you," Brian's voice comes along with the feeling of his lips leaving a small peck on my forehead. "Shower's all yours, Sunshine. Hurry up, though. I thought we could stop by the Diner for breakfast and see how our new system works out."

That's all it takes. Brian says this to me and I'm instantly fine. All the panic just drains out of me. I know he'll make it okay. So, I breathe easily again and head into the shower to start getting ready.

 

~~*~~

Brian’s POV

~~*~~

The Diner is ridiculously crowded this morning, so we just take seats together at the counter rather than waiting for a booth. Debbie is running around like a chicken with her head cut off - in other words, she’s completely happy and in her element. She’s grousing with the customers, alternately cursing at them and petting them the way she does. She stops her endless rounds long enough, though, to come barreling over to us when we enter to give Justin a huge bear hug. I almost stop her but one glance at Justin’s grin and I know he can handle this, so I shrug and let her have at him.

“Sunshine! You look so much better! Good job, Brian,” Debbie gushes as she clears off the counter in front of us and swipes at the counter with a rag. “You guys take a seat and I’ll be right back. Fuck. It’s busier in here today than the Liberty Baths on ‘No Towel Night’.”

“The one good thing about Deb,” I tell Justin as the red-headed spectacle retreats, “is that you almost never have to help out with the conversation. She just does all the talking and never really gives you a chance to answer anyway.”

Justin’s still laughing at my little joke when Deb returns with clean coffee cups and the carafe. “What’s so funny, huh? There’s no time for jokes anyway, boys. I’m too busy this morning. So, what are you having?” Deb takes her order pad out of the pocket of her apron and licks the tip of the pencil she pulls out of her wig.  

I look over at Justin to see if he’s ready. He’s smiling but he shakes his head ‘no’ at me. So, I start to order.  

“I’ll have my usual, Deb. And you can bring Justin a short stack of pancakes,” I start off but I’m interrupted by a tap on my forearm and I look over at the grinning blond next to me who shakes his head a little. “No? Okay . . . how about . . . bacon, eggs, hash browns and wheat toast with orange juice and a bowl of fruit on the side.”

 

 

Justin nods at me and his grin is so fucking huge that it feels like you could turn off all the lights in the restaurant and his smile alone would still light up the whole place.  

“You two are fucking adorable. You know that, right?” Debbie says, looking at me with sheer amazement on her face.  

“Thanks, Deb, but we’ll skip the commentary this morning and just go with breakfast instead, hmm?” I snark back at her since it’s what she expects and I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.  

“I’m just saying . . .” Deb says as she moves away to place our order.

“Way to go, Sunshine,” I murmur quietly to my companion. “I’m proud of you. How did that feel?”

“Good. Really good,” Justin responds quietly and I can’t resist, even though we’re here in the Diner and there are about fifty queers watching me - I lean over and give Justin a quick kiss on the cheek in celebration.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I DID IT! IT WORKED! I can’t believe I just told Brian no when he was ordering food for us and he didn’t get annoyed and he’s actually proud of me and I didn’t freak out or anything. This is amazing. I’m so excited that I’m not sure I can keep sitting here. I almost don’t want to wait for my food now - I feel like running and screaming and . . . whatever. But I just sit here on the Diner stool next to Brian and wait patiently for my food and celebrate inside.

 

~~*~~

Brian’s POV

~~*~~

“Sorry to interrupt, Brian, but you have an insistent visitor,” Cynthia’s voice rings over the intercom. “She refuses to make an appointment and come back another time.”

“Give me one clue and I bet I can guess who it is; How much do I normally want to avoid seeing this person?” I ask.

“I’d say you’d probably be happier meeting up with a gang of gay bashers armed to the teeth with pitchforks when you were alone, dressed in a tutu, right after a Pride parade.” Cynthia posits.

“Oh. It’s my mother. Fine. Send her in,” I say with resignation.

“Brian. I really do NOT like that receptionist of your’s. She is so rude. You should definitely say something to her,” are the first words out of St. Joan’s mouth as she barges into my office.  

“Mother. Lovely to see you, too,” I say as I submit to the obligatory peck on my cheek as she greets me. “Cynthia is just doing her job, mother. I told her an hour ago that I was busy and didn’t want any interruptions and she was just trying to follow my directions.”

“Well, I don’t care. She doesn’t need to be so rude about it,” Joan grouses.

“So, to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your visit today,” I say, ignoring her complaints about my very capable and wonderful assistant, to whom, I remind myself, I should give a huge raise since she did such a good job pissing off my mother for me.

“Well, your nephew, Peter, is having his Confirmation this Sunday and I thought it wouldn’t kill you to come to church to support him. You hardly ever spend any time with the family. It’s not right that you have distanced yourself from all of us. The Bible tells us to honor our families, which includes spending time with them,” Joan complains.

“You know how much I just love spending time in church with my loving family, but, I’m sure Peter would rather just have me send him some money. What’s the going rate for a Confirmation these days? $100. $200?” I ask, already getting my checkbook out of the drawer of my desk.  

“Don’t be so flippant, Brian. Your soul is in need of some real attention, young man. When was the last time you were in a church? I’m just looking out for your best interests, you hear me?” Joan begins her usual religious rant, at which point I normally just tune her out.

“Here, Mom. Give this to dear little Peter and tell him I’m so very happy he’s being Confirmed into the Church of Hypocritical Old Men Who Like to Abuse Young Boys. I hope he turns out better than his juvenile delinquent brother did.” I say as I hand Joan the check I’ve just written.

“Brian! I will not listen to such sacrilege. You can say or do whatever you like, unfortunately, in your own life but you will not talk like that about the church in my presence. If it weren’t for the church and Reverend Tom, I don’t know what I would have done these last couple years since your father died . . ."

I might have made the effort to shut her up eventually, but, unluckily, at this point Justin bursts through my office door, waving a mock-up board in his hand with a big smile on his face. He skips over to me, swings my chair around and plops himself down in my lap, wrapping his arms around my neck and planting a huge kiss on my lips to top it all off.  

“Look, Brian. The mock-ups are done. We just finished them and they turned out fantastic. I just couldn’t wait to show you,” Justin gushes, clearly proud of his first fully completed ad campaign boards - and who could blame him - it’s just that his timing really sucks.

“Brian! What is the meaning of this!” Joan’s affronted squeak from the visitor’s chair finally gets through to Justin’s overexcited mind, shutting him up fast.

“Mother, this is Justin. Justin, meet one of my own demons - my mother, Joan Kinney,” I belatedly make the introductions.

Joan fumes. Literally. I swear I can actually see steam coming out of her ears and her nostrils are flaring. And, amazingly enough, she’s actually speechless for the first time I can ever remember. For about two minutes, that is.  

Then she gathers her purse to her bosom and stands up. “I had no idea you were . . . How dare you, Brian?”

“What? How dare I introduce you to my current squeeze? I thought you were just going on about how I shouldn’t distance myself from the family. Well, if I’m going to be spending all that time with you guys, you’ll probably want to meet my boyfriend, right? Can I bring a date to the Confirmation on Sunday? What do you say, Justin - would you like to waste your entire Sunday morning being ranted at by my zealot mother after we spend a useless hour in church with the rest of my screwed up family? Doesn’t that sound fun!”

“You know you’re going to Hell for this, Brian, don’t you? I can’t believe you would do this to me.” Joan is already retreating towards the door.

“I didn’t do anything to you, Joan. I’m doing it to Justin here! He doesn’t seem to mind though, do you Justin? And you know what,” I yell after her retreating back as she hustles out of my office door and past Cynthia’s desk, “I’d rather spend an eternity burning in hell than one ridiculous Sunday morning sitting in church with my so called ‘family’.”

As soon as she’s gone, I stomp back into my office and slam the door closed. I drop into my desk chair, still so angry and resentful that I can’t focus my thoughts. If I had something nearby that I didn’t care about ruining, I would throw it, but I can’t even focus enough to figure out what to throw.  

It’s at least ten minutes later before I start to wonder where Justin went to when all this blew up in our faces. It wasn’t his fault, really. The show down with my mother had been brewing for years. I had just been carefully avoiding her as much as possible ever since my father died. As much as I hated the brute that was my father, once I was old enough to stand up to him and he knew he couldn’t hit me anymore, he was actually easier to be around than my mother. Ever since he died, I’d known that I would eventually have to have it out with St. Joan, too. I just didn’t think that day would be today. But, now that it’s over, I actually feel relieved.

So, where DID Justin go? I don’t remember him leaving the office when I was tearing after my mother as she left. He must have gone though - he’s nowhere in sight right now. But the fact that I don’t know where he is makes me very nervous. That was a pretty big blow out for him to have to watch. It was fucking traumatic for me and I’m not the one barely able to hang on to reality half the time. This could be very, very bad.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

"You know you're going to Hell for this, Brian, don't you . . ."

'I knew you were a fucking pervert. All these years I just knew it. But I had no idea how truly sick you really were. My God! What have I done to have such filth be foisted off on me. There's no way under the heavens that you could be my son.'

My father's face has turned an ugly greenish-purple and I can see the veins in his temples throbbing with every word he yells at me. I've never seen him this angry - which says a lot since I don't remember many days in my life that he was ever not angry for at least some part of it. But this is beyond anything I ever even dreamed of.

'I've done everything I could to raise you right. I've taken you to church every Sunday since the day you were born. I read the Bible to you even as an infant. You've been shown discipline and what prayer can do, and you still defy me and the Lord in this despicable, horrible way? How could you do this to me? To your poor Mother? How will we ever be able to show our faces in public again? My God, I wish you'd never been born rather than that you would shame us like this.'

He's still waving around the sketch book he found under the loose floorboard in my closet. I'd been hiding it there for years and I'd thought it was a safe place. Then today, when he found the jacket that had fallen off the hook behind my door, he decided to punish me for not taking care of my clothing properly by giving away all my clothes to charity. He said that since I didn't appreciate what I had, he'd give my clothes to someone who would. I'd appreciate the hard work he does to earn the money to buy those clothes after I've had to go naked for awhile.

He went into my closet and began pulling out all my clothes, throwing them into a pile in the center of my room. Then, by accident, he kicks the loose board causing it to rattle and it instantly draws his attention. It only takes him thirty seconds after that to pull up the loose board, discover the sketch pad in the crevice below and flip it open to reveal page after page of drawings of nude men.

The pile of clothing has been forgotten. My earlier transgression has been eclipsed by the much greater sin of finding men attractive. I'd tried for so long to keep this from him. I let him pull me out of school and drive Daphne away, all because I was too cowardly to tell him about this. He wouldn't have had the excuse he needed to do those things if he'd known about THIS. But I thought I could keep this hidden and be safe.

I was so wrong.

'Where's the rest of it?' he screams in my face. 'Is there any more? Any more filthy drawings or painting or pictures? Tell me, right now?'

'No. There's nothing else.' I answer.

'I want you to gather all this together and meet me in the driveway in five minutes. You better have every sketch pad, pencil, crayon, brush, whatever. If I find even one piece of scratch paper left up here afterwards you'll regret it. Do you hear me?'

'Yes.'

He's dumped out the old metal trash can and pulled it out to the middle of the driveway. There's some newspaper wadded up in the bottom and he's squirting lighter fluid onto it as I near. Then he looks at me with that evil tight lipped little smile he has and tosses a match into the can to light it all on fire.  

'Go on, boy. All of that filth goes into the fire. You know you're going to hell for this, don't you? Well this should give you a taste of what you will meet with if you don't repent, boy.'

'Go on!' he's saying to me, no longer yelling because we're outside and he wouldn't want the neighbors to hear, but with a controlled fury that's even more frightening.

When I don't move, he grabs my wrist and pulls me so close to the flames that I can feel the heat singeing the hairs on my arms and face. He hisses into my ear that if I don't burn it all he will and then I'll regret my actions even more. I don't doubt that at all. So I do as I'm told.

One by one my drawings go into the fire. My whole lifetime's work. Even the drawings and pictures that aren't of nudes - they all go. Then my pencils, brushes, paints, everything. I put it all in that can and watch it burn. When he laughs at the tears falling down my face and calls me a 'fairy boy' for crying, I think that's when the hole inside me explodes open. That's when he finally takes away the last pieces of me that I was trying to hold on to. That's when that boy disappeared.

And nobody even noticed. 

 

 

Chapter 17 - Accommodation.

Accommodation:  The act of supplying something needed for convenience or to fulfill a need.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

"Justin. Justin, please snap out of it. Fuck."

I've been calling his name and talking to him for ten minutes now and nothing's changed. It's like he's stuck in whatever memory he's trapped in. I feel like shit - why do I keep putting him in situations that trigger this reaction. I'm fucking hopeless at this therapy shit.

It took me almost twenty minutes to find him in the first place. I never even thought to try in the bathroom shower.  How he got in here, not to mention why, I have no idea. I didn't even see him the first time I looked in here because the shower is this huge open unenclosed area surrounded by half walls. At first glance I didn't see him. It wasn't until I came through the second time and actually walked around the wall and looked into the shower that I saw him huddled in the corner out of sight.  

All together it's been more than forty minutes now. I'm starting to wonder at what point I call in help. What do you do in situations like this? He's not physically hurt, so calling an ambulance seems overkill. Not to mention how much he hates doctors. But he won't respond at all except to flinch or cry out when I try to touch him. I can't move him. He's fucking catatonic and I have no idea what to do.

"It's Brian," I yell into my phone when I finally decide I need help. "Ben, can you come to my office right away? It's Justin. I need help, please."

"I'm on my way," is all Ben says before he hangs up.

Have I said before that I really think Ben is a great guy? Michael has no idea how much he lucked out when Ben fell for him. Yeah, he can be annoyingly Zen - all calm and turn-the-other-cheek-like when you just really want to scream - but that's also why he's exactly the guy you want around when you just really want to scream.  He's also incredibly loyal and always willing to help just about anyone. Which is why he's the one I just called.

I'm still sitting on the cold tile floor of the shower when Ben arrives. Cynthia shows him straight back. Justin's condition hasn't changed at all.

"What happened," Ben asks right off.

"My mother came for an unscheduled visit," I answer. "Justin wasnt aware that St. Joan didn't know her son was gay and he was a little too demonstrative while she was here. She of course came to the inevitable conclusion and immediately began spouting her religious crap about me going to hell, blah, blah, blah. Not that big a deal from my standpoint; in fact I'm kinda relieved it all came out, you know. But it shocked the shit out of Justin. He's been like this for almost an hour now, Ben. He just sits here. He won't let me touch him. What the fuck do I do?"

"Justin? Can you hear me?" Ben says as he squats down next to the unresponsive man. "She's gone. You're safe, Justin. Can you please wake up now,"

Ben waits about thirty seconds but when he gets no response he stands up, pulling me up along with him, and takes several steps away from Justin. Before I can even ask any questions, Ben adjusts the shower nozzle so it's pointing at the corner where Justin is sitting and flips the handle to turn on the water.

The water is probably freezing when it first comes out, but not even that gets a response out of Justin at first. After two or three minutes though, Justin starts to blink. Then he shakes his head to get the water out of his eyes and looks up at us utterly confused.

"Welcome back," Ben says and promptly shuts off the water.

"Fuck. I could've done THAT!" I complain to Ben as I grab a towel and hurry over to dry off my Sunshine.

Ben laughs his unassuming deep baritone laugh. "It's Occam's Razor, Brian - the simplest solution is generally the best."

"Here I was expecting some Zen Ben alternative therapy that involved incense and chanting. Instead all you give me is a cold shower?" I'm still complaining, but in a much more lighthearted mood since Justin's obviously coming around.

"Justin, can you tell me where you are right now?" Ben directs his question at the still blinking blond that I'm vigorously rubbing down.

"Bri. . . Brian's office?" Justin is able to respond.

"Good," is Ben's only comment. "I'll wait outside, Brian."

"Brian, why was I in the shower with my clothes on?" Justin asks as I start to strip off his wet clothes. "I don't feel feverish or sick like before when you did this. I'm confused."

"It's okay, Sunshine. You're not ill this time. You just had another bad episode and I couldn't get you to snap out of it. Ben decided to try the cold shower thing - which seems to have worked."

"Bad episode?"

"Yeah . . . I'll explain in a minute. Hmm, I don't have any clothes here that will fit you even close. Why don't you just wrap up in this blanket for now and we'll figure something out later," I suggest as I hand him the blanket we used just a couple days ago.

Ben's waiting on the couch for us. Justin's still not acting 100% so I guide him all the way to the couch and sit with him, my arms wrapped around him to keep in the warmth from the blanket. Justin's leaning against me heavily as if he's very tired. Fuck knows I am after all that.

"Justin, do you remember what happened to trigger this episode?" the professor asks as soon as we're settled.

"Not really. Umm. I was . . . I'd just finished up on the boards for the new account.  I was excited to show Brian how good they turned out. I was going to bring them in here. I . . . I don't remember what happened after that." Justin says, his hand gripping my arm.

"Do you remember Brian's mother, Joan, was here?" Ben prompts.

Justin shakes his head but says nothing. His grip on my arm is becoming almost painful and he's chewing at his lip again so I know just how agitated this line of questions is making him. I see Ben start to pose another question but before he gets more than a few words out, I feel Justin tap my forearm twice. He's looking down so I can't see his face, but I instantly understand the gesture.

"Ben, I think Justin's a little overwhelmed right now. Right, Justin?" I feel him nodding at my words. "Maybe we can take a break from the questions for now."

"Sure," Ben readily agrees. "I didn't mean to push. I was just trying out something I read about. I did some research for you Brian after we spoke the other day. There are some really simple but effective PTSD therapy techniques I thought you two might be interested in - I've got printouts in my car for you or I can just forward you the web site info."

"PTSD? Like for soldiers and cops and shit?" I ask, not sure how this applies.

"Exactly. But it also often applies to victims of abuse - especially psychological abuse, which is what I'm assuming Justin is dealing with. See abuse victims have the same problem soldiers or other trauma victims have with not being able to look back on the events and memories that are causing them pain in a productive, healthy way. The therapies out there to treat PTSD help abuse victims to learn how to approach the painful memories and process the emotions they stir up in a positive way."

"The kind of therapy I was trying to explain to you the other day is called 'Prolonged Exposure Therapy' - that's where you repeatedly go over the event or memory causing the problems. The more often you go through that memory, each time prepared with a more positive response, the less impact it will have on you. Obviously there's more to it than that, but that's the jist of it."

"Or, if you've got your mind set on the Zen chanting thing, Brian, you could try 'Mindfulness Based Therapy'. That approach is sort of the opposite of the Prolonged Exposure theory. Instead of focusing on the past memories, the patient tries to only focus on the present moment and on good things and feelings. Each time the bad memory is triggered, you try to maintain the focus on the present and if your mind does wander back, you learn to redirect your thoughts and emotions. It's more like meditation, I guess, which is why I like it." Ben continues.

"Anyway, I'm sure you'll find something in the pile of info I found that will work for you two," the professor finishes with his well-meaning lecture.

"Thanks, Ben. And thanks for coming over here to help me," I say. "I think maybe Justin's ready to head home for today. We'll look over that stuff tomorrow."

I'm getting up to walk out with Ben when I feel another tap on my arm and I look down at Justin questioningly. I'm not sure which part of what I just said he disagrees with, though.

"Hang on a sec, Ben. What is it, Justin? Do you want Ben to stay?"

He shakes his head.

"Do you want to go over the therapy information now?"

Another shake.

What else was there? I kneel down in front of him, my hands braced on his thighs. "I'm afraid you're just going to have to tell me what you want Justin. I can't figure out what it is you're trying to say."

Watching his face, I'm amazed at how difficult it is for him to tell me what it is that I said that he doesn't agree with.

"Can we stay?" he finally manages to ask, his voice so low that if I weren't kneeling right in front of him, I wouldn't have heard him. "I want . . . I want to revise the boards and . . .  and finish the art for the print ads."

That makes me smile, in spite of all the drama. Justin's excited about his project. Maybe the art is the thing that will pull him through this?

"Okay, Sunshine. We'll stay, but don't wear yourself out. Now we just have to find you some clothes. Wait here and I'll see what I can do."

 

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I wasn't being completely honest with Ben. It's true I didn't remember anything about what happened in Brian's office earlier. But that memory I'd been stuck in, I remembered that. I remembered, now, what my father had done to me all those years ago. But I wasn't going to talk about it. Not right now with Ben there. Not even if it had only been Brian. That memory hurt too bad and I wasn't going to let it out at all if I could help it. What I'd really like is to cram it back down where it had been hiding so I don't have to remember it at all.

Brian comes back with some sweats and a tee he's borrowed from someone and I gladly put them on. The sooner I get back to what I was doing earlier, the less I have to think about that memory. My fucking father always did have to ruin everything good in my life - I had been so excited and happy about how the boards had turned out and all I wanted to do was show them to Brian and get his revisions so I could finalize them. But now everything feels tainted by that memory. I hope once I get back to work I'll forget again and go back to being happy.

But that isn't going to happen. The whole rest of the day is wrong. I can't concentrate and I keep making mistakes. I hate making mistakes on the boards. It's frustrating. I've had to redo one part three times now and it's still not the way I want it. It's all going to shit and it's all his fault.  

I guess I don't realize how late it's getting until Brian comes down to get me. Most of the others from the art department have left for the day already. The room is pretty empty and mostly dark except in my far corner at the unused desk I've taken over. That's probably why I don't notice Brian when he comes in.

When I fuck up the same part of the drawing for the fourth time I throw the whole board on the floor in disgust. I'm so angry that my hands are shaking - which likely explains why I keep fucking up. But, it's not right. It has to be right for Brian and I'm going to make it right, damn it.

"I thought I told you not to wear yourself out, Sunshine," Brian says, making me jump a little since I had no idea he's standing behind me.

"I'm fine. I just can't get this done the right way."

"You're tired. You need to take a break. I'm sure you'll get it the way you want it tomorrow, after you've had a chance to rest, sunshine," Brian soothes me by laying his steadying hands on my shoulders. "Come on. You've got to be starving - I can see from the unopened bag over there that you didn't even touch the lunch I ordered you. Let's go get some dinner and head home."

"But I wanted to finish this."

"It'll keep till tomorrow," Brian insists, taking the pencil out of my hand and putting it in the caddy on the edge of the desk before pulling me to his chest for a hug. "Getting you fed is my top priority right now. Then we need to get back to the loft because you look angry and tired and the only cure I know for that is to kiss you till you're fucking breathless and then take you to bed. So let's go - I've got things to do, Sunshine."

I like when Brian teases me like this. I much prefer him playful rather than all serious and worried about me. So I give in and follow him out to his car, content to let him take care of me for a while - I can tell how happy it makes him even when he tries to hide it. He's sweet like that, you know?

We go to a quaint little Italian restaurant for dinner. It's the cutest little place, complete with red checkered table cloths and melting candles in old straw covered Chianti bottles. We help the owner out with future decor provisions by drinking another future candle holder full of Chianti with my Pasta Bolognesi and Brian's Eggplant Parmesan. I even ordered my own dessert tonight, thanks to the fortifying effects of the Chianti, I suspect.

I'm really enjoying it all too, until I make the mistake of telling Brian that I think it's romantic, which causes him to shut right up and start acting all serious and cold. He proceeds to tell me that's ridiculous and that he only eats here because it's the best Italian food in the Pitts. Silly man - I've never met anyone as romantic as Brian Kinney. We both know it, no matter what he says. But, he lets me hide stuff from the outside world, so I'll let him hide this if he thinks he needs to.

When we return to the loft, I do something even more bold - again, I blame it on the Chianti - I ask Brian if we can take the night off from the talking thing. It's already been a long day with a lot of 'firsts' and lots of emotional ups and downs. I don't think I'm up for any more. Brian lets us have the night off, probably just as glad as I am.

Instead, Brian puts an old Marlon Brando movie into the DVD player and we cuddle together on the couch under a blanket watching the movie. I remember not to comment on the cuddling or how romantic the movie is, and just enjoy the time together with Brian. He recites almost the entire movie, line by line, as we watch.

I have another of those almost freak-out moments while we're sitting here like this. It's been less than a week since I was sleeping on the streets at night and eating out of dumpsters - it feels surreal to be here now in this beautiful loft apartment with this beautiful man, happily curled up in his arms watching a movie together like a 'couple'. This can’t be me. I'm certainly not allowed to feel this content or safe or cared for. Brian must have some sixth sense though when it comes to me getting worried, because he leans into me right at that moment and whispers into my ear.

"Shhh, Sunshine. It's okay," is all he says, but it's all that's needed and I stop myself from taking that thought track.

No, Brian Kinney isn't romantic at all.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Justin was really on edge tonight so I'm glad we take the night off and don't try any more 'therapy'. Instead we watch Viva Zapata! It's one of my favorite movies of all time and I've got pretty much every line of dialog memorized. Usually it drives everyone crazy to watch it with me because I like to recite my favorite lines as I watch. Justin doesn't seem to mind though.

The only downside to our cozy little evening in is that I'm not distracted by anything enough to keep from noticing that my dick hasn't been inside anyone in days. It's definitely trying to tell me how neglected it feels. Having a warm, soft, blond twink in my lap for hours on end doesn't help at all. Fuck me and all my stupid promises about not touching him for at least a week. What the fuck was I thinking?

I'm sitting here getting more and more uncomfortable when I just can't bear it anymore and I slip my left hand, which is already around Justin's waist, under the hem of his shirt and revel in the feel of the smooth toasty warm skin I find there. What is with this lesbionic need I seem to have developed to touch him all the time? I always seem to have my arms around him and I crave the feel of his skin. It must be testosterone poisoning from going for so long without a decent fuck. All I know is, that creamy, smooth, ivory skin just begs to be touched and licked and bitten and . . . And this line of thinking is not helping at all with my very large problem.

Thankfully, the twink saves the day. Strong, slender fingers reach for the zipper on my jeans and, the next thing I know, my heavy dick is out of my pants and lying twitching in Justin's palm. Somehow he's found the emergency tube of lube that I keep hidden in the cushions on the couch and he's squeezed out a handful before I'm really even aware of what's going to happen here. Then, without any discussion, Justin commences with a gloriously welcome hand job.

"Justin," I start to protest, albeit rather weakly.

"Shhh. Watch your movie," he orders and I happily obey.

His grip is remarkably strong considering how slender his long fingers look. He's not at all unsure of what he's doing though. He wraps those long fingers around my shaft and starts pumping me with a slow steady rhythm. His thumb draws little circles around on the head, flicking at the sensitive slit every so often, causing me to start a bit each time.

I'm finding it increasingly difficult to keep watching the movie, especially after he starts to increase his pace at the same time he begins leaving a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses and nibbles down the side of my neck. He starts to vary the tightness of his grip, squeezing even tighter every third or fourth thrust which makes me moan aloud. Then he uses his other hand to reach around and lightly squeeze my balls in rhythm with his pumping and I'm hopelessly lost, cuming so quickly I'm almost ashamed. His hand is dripping with my cum and I have to moan again when Justin brings it to my mouth, letting me lick some of myself off his fingers, while he does the same. Our tongues meet as we do, which allows us to end this with a long, wet, sticky kiss, my cum smeared over both our faces.

"Thank you, Sunshine," I say quietly as he finishes zipping me back into my pants. "You have no idea how much I needed that."

Justin doesn't say anything. He just squirms himself closer so that my arm falls naturally into place around his shoulders, pulling him tighter into my side where he belongs. I think I hear him sigh.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I'm getting better at handling the Diner. The first couple of times we came here the noise and confusion really cowed me. But I'm starting to feel more comfortable. Even Debbie with her loud voice, pinching fingers, and crushing bear hugs is becoming more familiar and not so frightening. We're sitting with Ted and Emmett this morning and even their constant sniping at each other and snarky comments about everyone around us, doesn't throw me.

When Deb comes for our order, Brian begins to order me bacon and eggs again. When he gets to the side of fruit, though, I tap his arm and nervously interrupt. He smiles encouragingly at me, waiting to see what I'll do.

"Oatmeal, please," I add, as loudly as I can seeing as I feel like I'm about to faint.

"You like oatmeal?" Brian asks, and when I nod, he shakes his head and laughs. "Well then, I guess he wants oatmeal, Deb."

"Coming right up, Sunshine," Debbie gushes and bustles away, as Brian plants a gentle kiss on my cheek to reassure me.

"Excuse me, Teddy, but have you seen Brian Kinney around here anywhere this morning," Emmett asks as soon as Deb is gone. "I thought he was going to be joining us for breakfast today, but this man sitting across from us is clearly an imposter. He's not nearly callous and heartless enough to be Brian Kinney."

"I don't remember ordering any sarcasm with my breakfast this morning, Honeycutt," Brian answers, tongue in cheek. "You're welcome to keep your comments to yourself, you know."

"Sorry, Boss," Ted adds. "I have to agree. I'm worried about you. You haven't yelled at anybody at the office all week and you haven't even fired me in days."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, Theodore, I'll fire you as soon as we get to the office this morning. Dont forget to remind me," Brian teases back.

I'm just a little bit annoyed at Emmett and Ted for giving Brian such a hard time about being his normal nice self to me, but he doesn't seem to mind, so I let it go for now. Meanwhile, they're all laughing and joking with each other so easily. I'm envious. I've never had a relationship like these men have. I might even feel a bit left out, but Brian is always there, smiling at me, holding my hand or squeezing my thigh under the edge of the table so I know I'm included.

I’m almost getting used to being included in Brian’s life.  

Why do I suddenly feel so scared.

 

 

 

Chapter 18 - Betrayal.

Betrayal:  The breaking or violation of a presumptive contract, trust, or confidence that produces moral and psychological conflict.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Assholes. Why do they seem so amazed that I do actually have a heart and occasionally want to help someone. Emmett and Ted just keep rubbing it in and giving me shit. What's the big deal - so I ordered breakfast for Justin. They don't know how tough it is for him - not that I'm going to tell them because it's none of their business - although I wish they'd back the fuck off. But, no, they keep on for like a half hour about how Brian Kinney's been tamed and shit like that. It doesn't end till Justin and I leave.

I laugh it off like always, but it really rankles. All morning I keep thinking about it. Were they serious about some of the shit they said? I haven't 'lost my edge' - that's bullshit. I'm still the Stud of Liberty Avenue. I haven't gone out clubbing in five days and they're already predicting my demise. Well, fuck them.

Maybe I just need a break from twink sitting. It's been days since I've had any real time to myself, let alone any action. I know Justin still needs my help, but I feel like I'm going to completely lose it if I don't get some 'me' time. So, lunchtime comes and I tell Cynthia to order lunch for all the employees - that way I know he'll get fed and it doesn't seem like I'm just codling him.  I ask both Cynthia and Ted to keep an eye on the twink and I head out to do lunch in my own way - at the baths.

I come back to the office an hour and a half later feeling much more relaxed - I finally got my dick in someone, well actually several someones - after days of hand-job-only neglect and it felt fabulous. Plus, after that performance, I'd like to see Ted or Emmett, or anyone else for that matter, tell me I've lost my edge.

But I do feel a little anxious about leaving Justin on his own for so long. Okay, I know it's ridiculous - he's been living in the streets for years, taking care of himself just fine, so what could happen to him in the hour and a half I've been gone? Cynthia isn't at her desk when I come in so I decide to head straight to the art department to check on my blond myself. Only, Justin isn't there. Toby, the guy who has the desk right next to where Justin's been sitting, tells me he left about forty minutes ago but he doesn't know where he went.

"What the fuck, Ted? I'm gone for little more than an hour and you've lost him again," I'm yelling as I enter Ted's office.

"Sorry, Bri, but what the hell are you talking about?" Ted responds.

"Justin. He's gone. I told you to keep an eye on him, didn't I?"

"I did. He came and had lunch with everyone else in the conference room and then he went back down to the art department with Toby and Jessica," Ted explains. "Fuck, Brian, he's a grown man, you didn't expect me to sit with him and hold his hand the whole time you were gone, did you?"

"I expected him to still be here when I got back from lunch, is what I expected. He's not . . . He's not well yet. He gets . . . Fuck. I've got to find him. Call me if he shows up back here." I start to head out of Ted's office but stop and yell back over my shoulder, "And, Ted, get him a phone with that GPS tracker shit so that once I find him you can't lose him again."

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Cynthia tells me that Brian has an appointment and I'm supposed to come join the other employees for lunch up in the conference room. I grin at the idea that I'm included in as one of the 'employees'. I've never actually had a job - outside of street hustler, that is - so it feels nice to be included in with these other people.

Okay, I admit I'm not big on conversation, yet, but I do enjoy sitting and listening to the others talk. They're mostly talking about work stuff or personal family stuff. I can't really relate to a lot of it, but it feels friendly so I listen and nod or smile where it seems appropriate.

Toby, the guy who has the desk next to where I sit, has been kind of a shit to me all week. He's made a couple of jokes about me just walking in and taking over the Daddies' campaign, implying that it's because I'm fucking Brian. If he only knew. But so far I've been ignoring him. He's just a garden variety asshole - nothing special - and at least he's not a homophobe.

At lunch today, though, Toby seems to be on a roll. I didn't think everyone here at Kinnetik knew about me - that I come from the streets or that I'm a hustler part-time - but Toby's either been told something or found out on his own because his jokes are starting to hit closer to home. He makes a nasty joke about a rent boy and winks at me while he barks out the punch line. The jerk. Then he comes over and sits next to me and asks how I like Brian's loft - he tells me he's heard it's the premiere fuck pad in all of Pittsburgh. I'm trying to ignore him, but this time he just seems to want to press.

After he still doesn't get a rise out of me with two or three more tries, Toby moves to a new tactic. He waves Derek, one of the ad execs, over to 'join' us. Then Toby strikes up a conversation about seeing Derek at some club the night before. They eventually get the topic around to Brian and detail some of his 'exploits' at this particular club. Derek, who's actually not a bad guy, shoots a couple of glances my way while they're talking, like maybe he's a little unsure how much he should be saying, but Toby eggs him on.

Toby then manipulates the discussion around to Brian's appointment this afternoon. And somehow Toby just happens to let it slip that Brian's appointment involves the orgy room at the local bath house. He's giggling at the innuendos he's making like a schoolgirl - it's really inane. But it does get to me, even though I'll never let him know that.

I follow the rest of them back downstairs after lunch is over but I don't stay. I grab my coat and head out. I don't want to sit next to that creep for the rest of the afternoon and I really need out of here to clear my head. Fuck 'work'! Brian can get some other flunky to draw for him, I figure.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

I find him at the same park where he was the last time he ran off. As soon as I see that shock of bright blond hair I start to breath again. My relief is mixed with a little anger though - I'm getting a little tired of having to traipse around after Justin every time he gets some stupid idea in that little blond head of his. What the hell was wrong this time, I wonder.

"Justin? Why did you run off again," I demand as soon as I'm near enough to speak to him, although I'm sorry the minute the words come out of my mouth because of the harsh tone I said them in.

I get a disdainful look back from him but nothing more. I sit next to him on the bench, trying to rein back my temper. It isn't easy.

"I thought we had an agreement that you would stay for one week, Justin. Aren't you going to honor your promise?" I can't help asking.

"You said I could go wherever I wanted during the days," is the emotionless response I get.

"You could at least tell me where you're going. I had no idea if you were hurt or not or where you were."

"What are you now, my warden? Do I have to get your permission before I go anywhere? I don't remember agreeing to let you keep me under constant surveillance. I don't like being kept inside places, Brian, and if that's your plan, count me out."

The anger in his voice throws me. Justin has always been this shy, hurt thing that doesn't speak out or talk back. This man is a different animal altogether. He's angry. No, not angry - he's incensed, irate, furious. This wasn't a Justin that I could comfort or protect. I didn't know how to respond to this Justin at all. And I have no idea what had brought this Justin out of his hiding place.

"Justin, what the fuck is the matter? Why are you acting like this? Did I do something to you?"

He laughs. Loudly. But it's an ugly laugh full of hatred and anger and pain.

"No, Brian. You didn't do anything to me. I did it all to myself."

"Sunshine, please, whatever's wrong, just tell me," I say, trying to placate this new, scarier Justin by talking softly and putting my arm around his shoulders.

"Get your hands off me," he practically screams and bolts away from where we were sitting. "You stink, Brian. You smell like another man's cum. Don't you dare touch me."

"Justin? What . . . What are you saying?" I'm completely taken off guard by the venom in his tone and his actions.

"At least I come by the stench honestly. I admit I'm a whore. I do what I have to in order to live. I don't have a choice. I've been driven to this by my loving father. But you . . . You, Brian . . . I suppose you're just a whore by nature. My father was right, I guess - all fags are really just cock whores aren't we? We just can't keep our dicks out of whatever convenient hole that happens by."

"Fuck, he'd be so proud of me if he could see me now - I've just proved every vile thing he ever said about me to be true. I mean he was sure I'd turn out to be no good trash. I'm exactly what he said I'd be. A fucking whore. That's what I am. Only I used to just whore for money or food. Now I whore for much more important stuff right? Acceptance, comfort, happiness? I'll do anything just to let you keep me like your little lap dog - that's what you think, isn't it? ISN'T IT?"

"Well, not any more! You can keep your happy homo home, Mr. Kinney, and all the lies that go along with it. They're really no different than the lies that went along with my father's ideas of a happy family. I didn't buy into his lies either. I'm done being your little pet psychology project. Your boy toy that you took off the streets that you get to brag about to all your friends. 'Oh, Brian's so nice to take in the poor street kid'. 'You're so wonderful to take care of him, Brian.' Well lah de dah! I'm not a fucking charity. I don't need your shit and I don't need YOU."

"Just leave me alone. I'm not buying what you're selling any more," he says, then turns his back on me, standing about ten feet down the path with his legs braced and his arms crossed, his chest heaving with pure rage.

What the FUCK!?!

There were so many different issues in what he'd just screamed at me - so much information - that I was having trouble grasping it all. I had no idea where to start. I didn't see how I was going to get through all that rage to find out the core of what was really bothering him. But fuck if I was going to give up on him. Not yet - maybe not ever.

"No," was all I managed to say, but I really meant it.

"What? What do you mean 'No'? I told you to leave me alone. You don't get to just say 'No'." Justin says, turning back to face me, still angry but now also the tiniest bit curious.

"I said, no. I'm not going to leave you alone. I promised you I'd be here for you, no matter what, so I'm not going to leave you alone. Plus, you promised me a week and I'm not going to let you out of your promise. You can scream at me if you want, but I'm still not going anywhere."

"What part of fuck off don't you get, Brian?"

"The part where you promised me you'd stay for a week and let me try to help you. I told you I'd probably fuck it up completely, but you promised to stay regardless. So I'm going to hold you to your promise."

"What if I don't want to stay any more? What are you going to do? Are you going to lock me up in your loft?"

"No. Of course not. I'll just keep following you around for the rest of the week annoying the crap out of you until you agree to talk to me."

I say this in all seriousness, actually. I meant it - I really would just keep after him until he broke down. But the way it came out sounded pretty silly. It takes us only a minute or two until we're both smiling at each other over my stupid tenacity.

"Fuck, Brian," Justin says as he finally returns and sits on the far end of the bench.

"That doesn't happen till the end of the week, Sunshine."

"Yeah, right. At least for me," he mutters.

"I take it this has something to do with my not fucking you?" I ask, tentatively.

"No. Not exactly. But it does have to do with the fact that you're letting all your friends and employees think we're fucking when we're not. And they're all convinced that the only reason you're doing anything for me or that I'm getting to work at Kinnetik is because you can't live without my tight, hot ass. Meanwhile, you get all the ass you need at the Diner or the baths."

"It's one thing when I sell my body for money, you know," he says in a small hopeless voice, the rage now gone. "At least then it's honest - the client gets a service he wants and I get what I need: money. But with you it's all just fucked up. You don't want my body. You have half the men in Pittsburgh practically throwing their asses at your dick. You want something else from me - something . . . I'm not sure what. And instead of just paying me you try to sell me on all these happy feelings, making me think I'm being included in your life but it's all a fucking lie."

"Then you say you want me to trust you, to talk to you and that you'll help me out of the goodness of your great big heart. But from what I hear, there's serious doubt that that organ even exists. Even if it did, how the fuck do I trust you when I watch you lying to everyone around us every day? I already expected you to lie to me but you can't simply demand that I trust you then, can you?"

"I wish you'd just fuck me and get it over with. At least then all the shit everyone's saying about me and thinking about me would be true. But no, I guess I'm just not good enough for the great Brian Kinney."

"That's not true, Justin. What you're saying is wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start," I begin to explain, but he interrupts me.

"Whatever, Brian. Either fuck me and then let's move on, or start being honest with everyone and start telling them you're not fucking me. I'm not good with lies."

After that, Justin falls quiet, just sitting there looking into his empty hands as if he expects to find some answers there. I'm quite literally speechless. Where do I even start after that tirade? I'm sure that there's more to what he's said than is easy to determine on the surface. But even the issues he's brought up that are clearly visible are so complicated that I have no idea where to begin.

Something Ben said surfaces in my mind - he said that abuse victims have trouble forming stable relationships because of trust issues. So, underneath everything Justin just said - under all the misconceptions, half-truths and hurt feelings - the bottom line is really just trust, right? He doesn't trust me. I've done something or some things that he sees as disloyal or dishonest and it's bringing up all these other issues he's been worrying about. So, I have to be honest with him, earn back his trust and then, maybe, we can work out the other stuff.

Okay, let's start with the easiest issue, then. Either I fuck him or I come clean and tell everyone I'm NOT fucking him. Normally I'd pick the first option without delay, but, especially after this latest fiasco, I'm even more convinced that neither of us are ready for that right now. So, the second option will have to do.

"Justin, the only reason I haven't straightened everyone out about what they suspect we're doing is that I didn't think it was any of their business. I wasn't trying to imply by my silence that we were fucking. And I wasn’t trying to use your presence in my loft or my life to prove my manhood or any crap like that. I had no idea that was how you were interpreting it. But, if it will make you feel better, I'll tell anyone who asks or comments the truth, that we’re not fucking. Will that help?"

He just shrugs. He's sitting at the far end of the bench looking all small again now that his anger has dissipated. I scoot towards him and again try to put my arm around his shoulders, but he still flinches away.

"Fine. You're still angry. But can we at least take this discussion back to the loft or at least the office? It's fuckng cold out here, Sunshine."

He shakes his head 'no' and shrinks even further away from me, seemingly getting smaller still.

"Why not?" I ask, truly perplexed at this new turn .

"You're still angry," is all the explanation I get.

"So what? You're still angry, too. We need to work this out, I just don't want to have to do it out here in the cold with strangers walking by and looking at us as if we're nuts. Let's go home and you can yell at me more there, Justin."

"I don't want to go there with you while you're angry."

"Why?"

"You'll . . . What if I don't want to stay? What'll you do?"

"Do you think I'll hit you? Justin, I would never do anything like that. I swear."

"It's not that. I just don't want to go inside your house. You'll . . . If you don't want me to leave then . . . "

"Fuck, Justin. I won't keep you there if you truly don't want to stay," I finally say, thinking maybe I've hit on the real point of his fear. "In case you haven't noticed, my loft doesn't have any walls or doors - except the bathroom of course, but there's no lock on it either. And the front door only locks people out. You can't be locked in, Justin. All you can do is lock me out, but I really hope you won't."

I watch as he works through this information. The idea that no one could lock him in again, that he's safe, is overwhelming. He crumples into me, finally letting me hold him. But it's not for long. He scrunches up his nose at me and starts to pull away almost immediately.

"I know. I stink. Let's go home and I'll shower and then we can try to figure this out. Okay?"

Justin nods and lets me take his smaller hand in mine as we head towards home.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

While Brian takes his shower, I wander around in the loft. He's right there are no doors except the front door. I test that out - I use Brian's keys to lock it and find that even then I can always open the door from the inside. Even if the alarm was activated, I might set the alarm off but I could always get out. The front door also keeps out people you don't want in. You can keep someone out but never lock them in.

This is the safest place I've ever been. Physically, at least. I'm still not sure how safe I am here internally.

Brian kept talking about this loft as 'home'. 'Let's go home', he said. Like I'm part of the concept 'home'. That part I still don't trust. I've never had a home, just houses. I need to clarify that with Him.

He comes out of the bedroom dressed only in an unbuttoned pair of jeans. His hair is damp and rumpled. He's so beautiful. I want to . . . But, no, I quash those thoughts down right away before they can take root in my psyche. I'm not falling for that again - Brian doesn't want me that way so there's no reason to let any false hope build up. I'll just serve out the rest of my week and then leave.

"Just let me call Cynthia and let her know where I'll be, okay?" Brian tells me as he picks up his phone. "Everyone's probably freaking out since I just ran out of there without telling anyone where I was going."

"Cynthia, hey . . . Yeah, I found him. I'm going to work from home the rest of the day. . . You'll have to reschedule that for Monday, and give him my apologies. . . Of course the meeting with Daddies' is still on for tomorrow afternoon. Have someone bring over everything and I'll prep for the presentation and do any last minute revisions from here. We'll still have tomorrow morning to make last minute changes if we need to. Thanks, Cynthia."

Brian turns to me. "Okay, my afternoon is cleared, Sunshine. So let's talk."

He grabs two beers from the fridge and a bowl of grapes and brings them over to the coffee table. He sits and holds one bottle out to me. I don't want to do this. I don't want to have this conversation. I don't want to sit next to Him and be tempted again. I don't want to let Him in again even a little. But I fucking promised and I know He won't let me out of that promise so I have to sit and I have to talk to Him and I have to let Him hurt me all over again. So I take the beer - I'm gonna need it.

"Where do you want to start, Sunshine?" He asks but I just shrug since it doesn't matter where we start if it's all going to end in the same pain.

"My choice, huh?" Brian says. "Well, let's start with what people have been saying to you. First of all, I want to know who it is that's been saying shit."

"It doesn't matter who," I start to say, but He interrupts immediately.

"Yes, it does. If it's a so-called friend talking shit about me, that's one thing. I'll straighten whoever it is out and that'll be that. But I've got a few enemies in this town, too - you don't get where I am without making some people jealous - and if it's one of them spreading rumors, then I need to know so I can do damage control," Brian explains. "So tell me who's been talking and what they've been saying."

"Mostly it's just been your friends. Ted and Emmett at breakfast this morning, Michael, those sorts of comments. They all think you're fucking me - that I'm just your long term rent boy. Which would be okay if it were true, I guess . . ."

"And I already said I'd set them all straight. Who else?"

"People at your office."

"Who at my office," Brian says, his voice getting menacing all of a sudden.

"Toby, for one," I say, a little uneasy about what Brian's going to do. "He knows I'm a hustler and he's said some stuff, made some jokes. Maybe a couple others, too, but Toby's the worst."

"I didn't know you were going to tell everyone at your work about me, Brian," I add, getting a bit angrier as I say it. "It's not like I care really, it's just that . . . When I know people know about me I act different. I don't let them see me or get to know me, you know. I can keep them out if I'm just the street kid. But I thought that maybe they liked me or wanted to be friendly or something so I talked to people there. I let them see me. And then creeps like Toby say shit to me and I'm not prepared, you know. If I'd been ready for it - if I'd expected it - it wouldn't have got to me so bad. Why did you have to tell them all about me, Brian?"

"That little shit. Toby's just jealous because he doesn't have a tenth of your artistic talent, Justin. He's the artist who did the original Daddies' boards and I took the account away from him when I decided to go with your idea instead. That's why he's saying shit. It's just to get back at you for taking his account."

"Yeah, but how does he know about me? You and Ted were the only ones who knew about me, Brian. But Toby was telling all these rent boy jokes at lunch today and winking at me and . . . Somebody told him about me."

"I didn't say anything to anyone about you, Justin. I swear. I wouldn't ever tell my employees about anything in my personal life. I've fired more than one for talking about me like that before and they all know it. It's not like I hide that I'm gay or what I do, but my employees know better than to spread any rumors they hear or talk about anything they see. I take loyalty issues very seriously, as Toby will soon find out."

"I don't know how he found out about you, Justin. But it wasn't from me and I seriously doubt it was from Ted. Ted might give me shit to my face but he's far too loyal and he likes his job way too much to be caught dead talking about me to anyone else. It has to be someone else. Don't worry, I'll figure it out, and in the meantime we'll fix this first thing tomorrow morning. Okay?"

"I suppose."

We sit in silence for a few minutes after that. I can tell Brian is trying to work out what he's going to say next. Whatever it is, I can tell he's not happy about it.

"I guess we also need to talk about me going to the baths this afternoon?" Brian finally spits it out as if the very words taste bad to him. "You obviously know that's where I was over lunch and I take it that you've got some issues with that?"

"No. Not at all," I answer.

"Good. Because it's none of your business anyway," Brian says, brusquely. "So if you don't have a problem with it, then what was all that crap about me being a cock whore and asses being thrown at my dick and . . ."

Brian is thankfully interrupted by the door buzzer. He gets up, goes to the door and lets in Ted, who's been delegated to bring the work Brian asked for. Brian talks to him quietly for several minutes out of my earshot, probably asking him about what we were talking over earlier. I'm not listening - I'm just glad for the break since I didn’t really like where the conversation was going earlier. I hope Brian is adequately distracted by his conversation with Ted that we don’t have to go back to the same conversation when he’s done.

Before he leaves, Ted comes over to where I’m still sitting on the couch waiting for Brian’s return. He looks even more sheepish than usual, which is saying a lot for the unassuming accountant.  

“Justin. Brian told me about what Toby was saying to you today. I’m sorry that you’re having to deal with that,” Ted explains. “I want you to know that I didn’t say anything to Toby or anyone else about you. Wherever he got his information it wasn’t from me. What you do and what’s in your past is your business and nobody else’s, at least as far as I’m concerned. I’ve got more than a few skeletons in my own closet and I wouldn’t want anyone talking about my past either, so I know what you must be going through and I’m really sorry. And, if anything Emmett or I said earlier made you uncomfortable, then I’m sorry for that too. We didn’t intend to be mean or cause problems, we were just joking around with Brian and we didn’t really think about what we were saying - or at least I didn’t. I’m truly sorry that you were upset by all that. Really. Can you please forgive me?”

“Sure,” I say, actually touched by the apology - I’ve never really had one before so it felt kind of nice.

“Please don’t let Toby and his type keep you from coming back to Kinnetik, either,” Ted adds. “Everyone really likes your work and I think, if you give it time, you’ll really get to like most of the other employees there.”

 

 

“Thanks,” is all I can say.

“Well, see you tomorrow, hopefully,” Ted waves goodbye and turns to leave, “Bye, Brian.  Sorry, again.”

“Theodore,” Brian says, noncommittally as he sees Ted out.

When Brian comes back he’s got two items his his hands. He sits on the couch, closer to me than where he was sitting before he got up earlier and hands me a small box. It’s wrapped like a present and I’m not sure what to do with it so I just hold onto it until he gives me directions.

“Open it, Justin,” Brian orders, so I do.  

Inside is a brand new, state-of-the-art smartphone. It’s one of those that does pretty much everything: it talks, tells time and the temperature, it can locate itself if it’s lost, not to mention all the other regular stuff like taking pictures, sending emails, connecting to the internet, oh, and, operating as a telephone, too. I look at it in utter confusion - I’ve never seen anything even remotely this cool and I have no idea what Brian wants me to do with it.

“It’s yours, Justin,” Brian says, answering the confusion in my countenance. “And before you get angry at me over the fact that it’s too much, just let me explain, okay. You’re right that I have absolutely no right to control where you go or what you do. You’re an adult. You should be free to come and go from here whenever you want. But I can’t help it if I get worried when I don’t know where you are. So this is a compromise. As long as you have this phone with you, I can find you if I need to and I don’t have to track you down all over the city.”

“Plus, if you need anything - help, or you get lost, or whatever - you can always call me. My numbers are already pre-programed in for you. Just press and hold the big button on the bottom and say, ‘call Brian’ and you’ll be automatically connected to my cell phone,” Brian demonstrates. “You can reach me at any time, okay. I’ll always take your calls no matter what.”

“And here,” Brian gives me another little box, this one isn’t wrapped and it’s even smaller than the first one. “It’s keys to the loft. That way you can come and go when you want. I’ll show you the alarm codes later, okay.  Just, please don’t leave for good without talking to me first.”

I open the smaller box and see a small key chain with a fob shaped like a little painter’s pallette. It’s even got a small brush lying across the palette. Attached to the chain are three differently shaped keys. It’s wonderful.  

 

“So, will you please stay, Justin?” Brian asks me again.

 

 

Chapter 19 - Discourse.

Discourse:  The formal and orderly and usually extended expression of thought on a subject; To talk or converse.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Why does He do that. Why does he do all these nice little things right when I’m prepared to be angry with him or distrust him or run away. It’s not fair. How dare he give me these wonderful, caring presents when he so obviously doesn’t care for me that way.  He’s so fucking aggravating and part of me wants to just throw the fucking phone and the keys in his face and run away screaming from this place. Unfortunately, the other part, the traitorous weak part, wants to kiss Him. The two parts are pretty equally matched, which means that I’m stuck here not able to do anything. Damn Him!

“Justin?” Brian says, softly, as he moves closer to me and puts his left arm around my waist. “Please say something so I know you’re okay.”

“Don’t touch me!” I yell and pull away from him, standing up in front of the couch so I can glare down at Him. “Just stop it, Brian. Why are you doing this? Why do you give me all these things - presents. I don’t understand you at all.”

“Justin, what’s wrong. I’m giving these things to you because I want you to be able to come and go as you want and at the same time I’ll know you’re okay. What’s so wrong with that? I don’t understand why you’re upset.” Brian answers back, his tone bordering on angry.

“What’s wrong is that I can’t do this, Brian. I can’t be whatever it is you think I should be. I don’t . . . don’t know how to be for you,” I end, lamely.

“I don’t expect you to be anything except what you are, Justin. What is it you think I want.”

“I don’t know. That’s why this is so hard. One minute I think you want me to be something and then the next minute you completely change. How the fuck am I supposed to read you?” I’m yelling and pacing now, so angry again that I can’t keep still.

"You obviously don’t want me physically. I thought that was what you wanted and I was perfectly willing to give you that. But you told me no, that you're not going to fuck me and that you just wanted to help me, yada, yada. Since then I've been trying all week to figure out what you do want and I'm stumped.

"You didn't seem to mind the hand job last night or the blow job the other day. And I caught your act in the shower the other day when you were saying my name while you jacked off. So I was starting to think that maybe you did want me, at least a little bit."

"But then you go get your rocks off at the baths today. Clearly you don't need me when you've got half of gay Pittsburgh throwing themselves at you. I mean if you'd rather use one of them to take care of your needs, instead of me who's actually living at your house and wanting . . . I mean willing to . . . To provide that service, then I'm left back at square one, not knowing what the fuck you want out of me."

"I don't WANT anything from you, Justin," Brian says, his anger almost equal to mine from the sound of his voice.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Brian," I yell back. "Everyone wants something. If its not sex, then what is it? Why are you doing this, hmm? WHY?"

"Fuck if I know why. Especially when you're acting like such a twat."

Brian's apparently finally had enough since he gets up, stalks to the kitchen and pours himself a large tumbler of Whiskey. He stands there leaning against the counter, his back to me and the rest of the loft, while he sips at his drink. All the anger that was sustaining me drains out again and I'm left exhausted and too weak feeling to stand so I just sink down onto the couch again, and wait.

When He finally comes back, he's much calmer. His drink is practically gone so I surmise it's been a while that he was standing over there but time is doing that slippery thing where it goes at different speeds depending on what you're feeling so I don't really know how long it's been. He sits in the chair on the far side of the coffee table from me. I guess He needs some space, too.

"That first night when I saw you in the hospital, when you weren't even awake yet, I knew there was something about you that I couldn't get away from," Brian says very hushed. "I didn't sleep that night at all, you know. The next day, when I caught you trying to escape - you could barely stand and you were only wearing that flimsy hospital gown with no shoes, no jacket, nothing - you were so hurt and small but so determined. You reminded me of me. I got scared when I looked in your eyes and saw all this pain. It reminded me of me when I was living at home, back before I met Michael and Deb. I thought I'd escaped from all that pain years ago, but looking at you, it felt like it all came back."

He gets up and refills his glass, then takes a long swallow before continuing. "I guess what I want from you, Justin, is to not be scared any more. To not feel that empty hollow feeling that seeing you brought back. I can't let you go until I know you are okay. If I can make this okay for you, then maybe I can be okay, too."

"So I am just your pet charity case," I almost cry at the realization.

"No, you're not, Justin," Brian slams his glass down onto the table between us. "You're a lot fucking more than just a charity case or my pet hustler or any of the other terms you keep using to put yourself down. But you asked me what my motivation for helping you was, so I told you. It's not sex or money, it's self preservation - pretty standard motivator."

"But whatever my original motivation was for helping doesn't define you. You're not just what I need from you. You're this remarkably strong, beautiful, young artist. You're incredibly smart. You're so fucking talented you've got half my art department falling over themselves with jealousy. And when you're not stomping around being a stubborn idiot, you're amazingly easy to be with - I like just being with you, watching a movie, working together, whatever - I've never done this with anyone else. I've never enjoyed just being with someone the way I do with you. It's fucking freaking me out, I admit, but I like it, too."

"Plus you're fucking wrong when you say I don't want you. I do. I want you so bad sometimes I'm sure that I'm never going to be able to keep my promise and stay away from you for the rest of the week. But, you're not ready for that, Justin. Fuck, you're standing here telling me that unless I fuck you, you don't know 'how to be'. Don't you see how wacked that is? I'm not gonna fuck you just so you feel useful."

"So, to get back to your original question - what do I want from you? I want you to stay. I want you to let me try to help you because by helping you I feel like I'm helping myself too. I want you to get better, to realize what a fucking remarkable person you truly are."

"And then, when you're ready, I do want to fuck you, but I won't do it until you can truthfully tell me that the reason you want me to fuck you is because you want it, because you want ME. And not for some fucked up reason like you feel you have to or because you don't know how to define yourself without it. Does that make any sense to you, Justin?"

"You didn't go to the baths because you didn't want to be with me?" I ask, just to clarify the one point that I'm still unsure about.

"Shit, no. Justin, I only went there today because . . Fuck! . . . I guess the real reason I went there was because of the shit Ted and Emmett were saying this morning at breakfast," Brian confesses. "You remember how they were giving me shit about being 'tamed'. Like there was something wrong with me taking care of you or some shit like that."

"See, I have this reputation - Brian 'Fucking' Kinney, the Stud of Liberty Avenue - that's what Mikey calls me. And, well, when the guys started ribbing me about losing my edge and all, it got to me a little. It shouldn't have - its none of their fucking business who I fuck or don't - but, it did bother me a little. So, I guess I just thought I needed to prove them wrong. And what better way to prove you're still The Stud, than with well orchestrated public sex, right?"

"And, by the way, I don't appreciate you calling me a whore. I don't care who approves or doesn't approve of my lifestyle, but I'm not a whore. Yes, I fuck around a lot, but I prefer the term 'promiscuous', thank you very much," Brian teases me a little, peeking out of the corner of his eye to see if I'm laughing or still angry at him.

I can't keep back a tiny, scared smile. I'm still spooked about whether or not he's going to get mad about being called a whore - he may be joking about it now, but that doesn't mean he won't get angry later. And I need to process everything else he just told me, too. There's a metric fuck ton of information he just gave me and it's gonna take a long time to go through it all. But I guess I can give him something - a kinda smile - to let him know I'm not running away yet.

"Let's get out of here," Brian says, rising to his feet abruptly. "I'm ready for a break, how about you? Why don't we go get some food and we can pick this back up later."

He holds his hand out to me and I take it. I'm definitely ready for a break. Why is every day I spend here with Brian so emotionally exhausting? I wonder what his life was like before I came along and if he's as worn out by this whole process as I am. Will it ever end? Will a week be enough?

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

All the things I just said . . . I can't believe I said half that shit. I REALLY need a break after all that. What I want is a fifth of Beam, a couple of bumps and a good fuck, but none of those things will help the situation with Justin, so I guess I'll settle for dinner and getting out of the loft.

It's really early - not even 6:30 yet - plus I had a really good work out instead of lunch earlier, so I decide I can risk the carbs and take Justin to this Asian Noodle House around the corner. I assume that after everything Justin will be feeling super insecure and I'll have to order for both of us, but I'm wrong. The server approaches him first and he just pipes right up and orders a chicken satay rice bowl. I guess he's still riding that wave of angry independence he's been on all afternoon. Way to go, Justin. Even if it does mean we've spent the last two hours arguing, I guess.

I'm only halfway through my grilled Maki when my cell starts to ring. I see it's Lindz so, of course I take it, stepping out of the restaurant to talk. It turns out the art show auction at the GLC was a huge success. Gus' class tile project brought in $500 for their class. And it turns out that the Munchers were the winners in the silent auction of a spa weekend for two.

"I know it's an imposition, Brian, and it's last minute, but the package is for this weekend," Lindsey pleads over the phone line. "There's no time to get a sitter and Debbie's working both Friday and Saturday nights, so she can't do it. Do you think you could watch Gus for the weekend? Please."

"Sure, Lindz. No problem. But, I've got a huge presentation tomorrow afternoon, though so I wouldn't be able to come pick him up till after 6:00. Any chance you could drop him off at Kinnetik for me? I'll have Ted play Auntie till I'm done with my client."

"You're wonderful, Brian. Thank you, thank you, thank you," Lindsey gushes. "I'll drop him off around 4:00, if that's okay. We can pick him up from you at Debbie's on Sunday. You and Justin are coming to family dinner, aren't you?"

"I don't know if Justin's ready for a full family dinner, Lindz. Fuck, the idea gives me nightmares sometimes. Hasn't the kid been traumatized enough?" I'm only half joking - family dinners can be brutal, and Justin may not be ready yet. "Why don't we play it by ear, Lindz. Just call on your way home Sunday and we'll work it out somehow."

"Okay. Thanks again, Bri. I know you've already got your hands full helping Justin but this is really going to be a nice getaway for Mel and I. So, thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome, Mom. Later."

When I get back to the table I notice that Justin, polite little boy with food issues that he is hasn't touched a bite of his food since I left. He's probably just been sitting there, staring at it and letting it get cold the whole time I was gone. If he wasn't so adorable, he'd be outright annoying. I sit and indicate to him to get back to his food.

"Lindz needs me to watch Gus for the weekend," I tell him. "I hope you don't mind that he'll be staying with us."

"He's going to stay at your loft?" Justin seems surprised.

"Yeah," I respond. "It'll be fine, you'll see. He's a good kid. A little exuberant sometimes, but not too hard to take care of. Maybe we'll take him to the zoo or something. When was the last time you spent the day at the zoo, Sunshine?"

"Never."

"Really? You've never been to the zoo? Even as a kid?" I ask, thinking there must have been at least one field trip to the zoo when he was in school.

He shakes his head. "No. My class went one time, but I was being punished for something so my father refused to sign the permission slip and I had to spend the whole day sitting in the secretary's office."

"Well, that just sucks. It's about time then that you got a trip to the Zoo. We'll take Gus on Saturday." I propose and I get a kick out of watching his face light up when I say it. "Fuck, even I got to go to the zoo as a kid, Sunshine. Of course I got in trouble when I wandered off from the rest of my class to watch them feeding the tiger and then Jack beat the crap out of me as punishment when I got home, but at least I got my trip to the zoo."

Thinking about Jack brought to mind some of the things Justin said earlier about his father. I had a lot of questions about the guy. He seemed, if it was possible, more of a monster than Jack. I mean, Jack was a drunk, a womanizer and he beat me, but there was nothing calculating about him. Jack was just a dumb brutal drunk. Justin's father seemed somehow much colder, more calculating. If possible, crueler.

I'd been putting this off long enough, I guess. I sigh, not really looking forward to the discussion that I know we have to get to but determined, nonetheless. Time to tackle Daddy dearest, Justin.

"Is your father still alive, Justin?" I ask him.

He nods, setting down his chopsticks at the same time. I know how he feels - talking about Jack can kill my appetite sometimes, too.

"You've never said his name."

"Craig. Craig Taylor."

"What does he do for a living?"

"Owns a chain of electronics stores - mostly out in the suburbs."

"And your mother?"

"Her name is Jennifer. She never worked - my father wouldn't let her." Justin's voice is a lot softer when he speaks about his mother.

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Don't know. It's been a long time."

Enough with the preliminaries already, Kinney. Get on with it.

"You said earlier that he'd be proud of you - that you'd proved him right? What did you mean by that, Justin?"

"He'd say things to me. Especially after he found out about . . . He said I was trash. That I'd never amount to anything. That I was . . . A p-pervert. That I would go to hell and that I deserved it."

"Ahh, yes. The religion card. I know that one well," I interject. "The last bastion of the bigot - if you can't find any other justification for your hatred, then you can always fall back on religion and claim that whatever you dislike is a sin. It's very convenient, don't you think? My dear mother is particularly good at using that convention. I take it your father was into religion?"

Justin nods but doesn't say more.

"So what about you? Do you believe the religious line?" I ask him, curious to see if he'd internalized all the crap his father had handed him, like so many children did, or if he'd rejected it in rebellion like me.

"No. My father always used it to hurt me. All the stuff the minister would say about The Lord being loving and good just vanished when my father talked about God. So I learned pretty early on not to trust in that god since he was so powerless that he'd let someone like my father use him to hurt me in spite of his supposed goodness. Pretty whimpy as gods go, I always thought," Justin manages a little smile as he says this, humored by his own joke, and I chuckle along.

After I pay the bill, we start the walk back to the loft. I'm relieved that he lets me put my arm around his waist again as we walk together. I've already had plenty of introspection today, so I'm not going to even let myself worry about how 'tamed' that makes me. I just go with it.

But we still have a lot to talk about, so I decide to keep pressing forward. "I take it your father wouldn't like me much? What was that before? 'Cock whore'? That's a little harsh, I guess, but I've had people call me worse. You don't believe that, though, do you? I mean, what your homophobic father believes is one thing, but you don't really believe that I'll just stick my dick in whatever convenient hole comes along, do you?"

Justin gives a tiny shrug, his mouth all screwed up tight like he's trying to hold back something that he wants to say.

"Justin?" I press, since I'm sure he needs to get this out even if I don't want to hear it. "Why did you say those things about me, really."

"Were those guys at the baths good?" Justin asks, surprising me with the seemingly random change of topic.

"Not especially. They weren't bad but they weren't all that memorable either." I answer honestly.

"I'm pretty good, you know. At least lots of my clients have told me I'm a good fuck," Justin says, matter-of-factly.

"After having spent a little time fondling your lovely sweet ass the other morning, I'm quite sure you are. But what's that got to do with why you said all those rather nasty things about me earlier, Justin?"

"It's just that, well, if you really needed to get off . . . If you needed to . . . Why couldn't it have been me?" He finally blurts it out. "Toby said . . . He made the comment that rent boys must not be what they used to be if you had to go get more at the baths."

"I told you, Justin, my going there today didn't have anything to do with that. I was just making a point. And I thought we'd already established that Toby is a shit who knows nothing. A soon-to-be-fired shit at that."

"Yeah, but it . . . It still hurt that you didn't want me. That's why I said that shit," Justin confesses. "I'm sorry for saying all that, Brian. I just wanted . . . I wanted you to want me."

Enough with the inadequate words already. I stop and turn Justin around so he's facing me, then pull him in tightly against me. With a hand on each side of his head, my fingers feathering through that gorgeous long blond hair, I tilt his face up so I can kiss him thoroughly. It starts off almost tender, our lips touching lightly. But he opens to me at once and that tiny movement sends jolts of electricity down through my spine and directly to my balls.

"Justin," I sigh into his welcoming mouth and delicately lick my way inside.

Shit, those plump, full lips of his were just made for kissing, weren't they? Between sucking and nibbling on those delectable lips, I'm also licking and tasting. I'm amazed at this sweet, responsive boy and how wonderful he tastes to me. I'll never be able to get enough of this; I'm sure of it.

"How is it you taste so sweet even after eating spicy Asian food, Sunshine?" I finally manage to voice my wonder between bites, but he's not allowed a chance to answer because I immediately dive back into my own special feast.

If anyone needed further proof of exactly how much I crave this boy, the huge erection pressed between us now should do it. I drop one hand to his lower back and use it to press him harder against me. My dick loves this, apparently; it's jumping and twitching against Justin's stomach with a mind of its own. I really wish I could accommodate its desires, but the poor guy will have to wait. For now, I concentrate on kissing this sweet little blond thoroughly enough to dispell any doubts he might have that I do indeed - very desperately - want HIM.

I only stop kissing him when it becomes apparent that, if I continue, I'll be at serious risk of cuming in my pants.

"Justin, I do want you. Can't you feel how much I want you? Just give it some time, okay."

"Okay," he says with a nod as he licks at his now bruised lips, making me moan at the mere sight.

“You’re killing me, Sunshine,” I groan. “Please take me home and shove me in a cold shower before I embarrass myself”.

He giggles a little but takes my hand and begins leading me home.

 

Chapter 20 - Gratification.

Gratification: The pleasurable emotional reaction of happiness in response to a fulfillment of a desire or goal.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

We take a break from our discourse when we get back to the loft. Brian needs to concentrate on preparing for the meeting with the Daddies’ Board Shop people tomorrow. He pulls me in to help him and we spend a couple of angst free hours just working together. It’s such a relief.

When Brian thinks he’s ready and there aren’t any more changes or corrections needed, at least none we can work on till we get to the office in the morning, he packs everything back up in a briefcase and he tows me behind him to the bedroom. It’s pretty early still, but I feel like I ran a marathon today - how is it that sitting on a couch just talking about feelings is so utterly exhausting? But, I’m out like a light.

After breakfast at the Diner the next morning - I ordered my own oatmeal again and a chocolate milkshake instead of orange juice - we rush to Kinnetik so the art department can make some final changes to the boards before the Daddies’ people get here at 1:00pm. I’m sitting at the desk I’ve been using, working on another idea I had for a cute little bakery called VooDoo Doghnuts* - it’s really a pretty small account, and not what Kinnetik usually takes on, but for some reason this funky, alternative bakery struck some nerve in Brian and he’s been doing their advertising for years. I’m sketching out a drawing for a new Spring campaign based on an idea I saw one of the other artists working up. I’m even contemplating approaching Jessica and asking her to work together on the idea, although I’ve never tried to work with someone like that before and I’m a little shy around the loud, outgoing and rather butch dyke.  

“Hey, Justin,” Ted says as he nears my desk, startling me - he’s been passing through the department handing out envelopes to everyone and chatting and I didn’t expect him to bother with me so I hadn’t really been paying attention to him. “Here you go. Don’t spend it all in one place!”

“Huh?” I say, holding the envelope he gave me out and looking up at him with evident confusion.

“It’s your paycheck. Brian said to put you on payroll. Normally, I wouldn’t have cut you a check yet since you haven’t worked a full pay period, but I thought you could use it after having such a tough week,” Ted says as if me getting a PAYCHECK is a NORMAL thing. “I still have a bunch of paperwork for you to fill out back in my office, but we can work on that next week sometime, okay.”

And then Ted walks off towards the next desk in the room, handing out similar envelopes to other people. I set the strange object in my hands down on the desk in front of me and just stare at it. This is . . . this is beyond way too much. I can’t process this at all.  

A fucking PAYCHECK?

“Justin? Are you okay? You look a little . . . odd,” Jessica is standing next to my desk and looking down at me with very concerned eyes.  

“Hmm?” I respond, still staring at the offensive envelope.  

“You look a little weird. I just came over to see if you wanted to go and get a cup of coffee with me and Felicia. But, if you don’t feel good. . .” Jessica says, still obviously worried about me.

“I’m . . . I’m fine, just a little surprised is all,” I manage, finally looking away from the envelope and up at her.

“Well, do you want to come and get a coffee? I wanted to ask you about helping out on something and I thought we could chat at Starbucks' instead of here - I really need a break. And to get out of this place for a few minutes. Join us,” Jessica says, smiling at me in a comradely way.  

“Um, sure. But . . . I don’t have any money.” Saying that makes me look back at the scary envelope again.

“No biggie. You can buy next time. Let’s go,” Jessica says and hoists me out from behind the desk by my arm, practically dragging me towards the exit.  

Having coffee with Jessica and Felicia - the receptionist who Jessica recently started dating - is actually pleasurable. They are pretty easy going and seem nice. Jessica even approaches me about helping on the VooDoo Doughnuts account and we discuss my idea before heading back to the office where I plan to show her my preliminary sketches. 

 

 

 

It’s like having friends.

When we get back, I notice that Toby’s desk is cleared off and even his pictures and other personal stuff are gone. I’d feel bad for him if he hadn’t been such an ass. He got what he deserved, I guess. Wonder if he’ll learn not to talk trash about his co-workers in the future.

Shit. Co-worker? I think I’m going to have to deal with that envelope. I sit down in front of it and try to work up some courage. Why I’m so fucking freaked out by a piece of folded paper, I have no idea. Finally, I brace myself, pick the fucking thing up and, without letting myself think about it, I tear open the flap on top. Inside is a weird looking piece of paper with the bottom third perforated so it comes off. There are lots of numbers all over it and acronyms for stuff I don’t know anything about. The one part I do understand though is where, on the bottom part, it says, ‘Pay to the Order of’ and then has my name typed in, ‘Justin Taylor’. And there’s another number with a comma in it even. I’ve never had that much money at one time before in my entire life. This has to be a mistake.

“Ted, um, sorry to bother you,” I say as I knock on his open door. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

He takes the paycheck I’m holding out to him and looks it over. “No. I don’t think so. This looks right to me. Brian said to start you at the standard intern salary for now. I know it’s not that much, but Brian said he didn’t know how long you’d want to work here so we decided to put you on the books as an intern for now. If you decide to stay for the long term, I’m sure Brian will make some changes. But $35,000 per year isn’t that bad as a starting salary.”

He hands me back the check and I turn to walk away without saying anything more. Thirty-Five Thousand? Dollars? What the fuck am I going to do with thirty-five thousand dollars. All I can think about is trying to hide that much money in my clothes so it doesn’t get stolen off me while I’m asleep under some bridge one night. It’s impossible. It’s fucking impossible. It makes no sense. Why has Brian done this to me? AGAIN!

I don’t know how much longer I was sitting at the desk in the art department - MY desk, I guess I should say now that I’m officially an employee - when Brian touches me on the arm to get my attention. Apparently he’s been standing here saying my name for several minutes and I hadn’t even blinked, causing him to start to worry again. When I do look up at him, I can’t stop the frustrated tears from leaking out of my eyes. He carefully gathers me up, the offensive check still gripped tightly in my fist, and guides me to a small conference room used by the art department which is luckily empty right now.

“What’s wrong, Justin,” Brian says, sitting down next to me at the conference table and holding the hand that’s not holding the check. “Jessica and Ted both said you’ve been upset all morning. Are you okay? Come on, Sunshine. Don’t do this to me today. We’ve got a presentation to do in about forty-five minutes.”

I shove the check at him. He’s got to know that this is impossible. Doesn’t he?

“Oh, good. You got your paycheck. I wanted to surprise you with it,” Brian says, looking all happy and excited.

“Argggggghhhhhh!” I groan and collapse with my head braced on my folded arms which are resting on the table in front of me.  

“You don’t like your paycheck?” Brian asks, noticing that I’m still upset.

“This is impossible, Brian. You have to see that. Don’t you?” I say into the folds of my shirt sleeves.

“What’s impossible about getting paid for working. You’ve been working here all week and you’ve done a great job.We’ll see in about an hour if it pays off with the Daddies’ people, but even if it doesn’t, you’ve put in the work and deserve to be paid for your time. That’s how this works, Sunshine.” Brian explains, laying his hand on the back of my neck and gently rubbing it to try to soothe away my hurt.

I decide to start with the least of the issues surrounding my getting a paycheck and go from there. “I don’t have a bank account.”

“We’ll get you one,” Brian says, as if it’s that simple.

“I don’t have any ID. You can’t open a bank account without ID.”

“We’ll get you new ID. I’m sure Ted will know what to do and where to apply to get you all that shit. In the meantime, you can just cash it at the bank. I’ll call ahead to the manager, he’s a buddy of mine, and as long as I’m there with you, he’ll cash it for you.” Brian says, so reasonably.

“I can’t carry around more than a thousand dollars. People get their throats slit for having shoes that are too nice. I won’t last a week with that much money on me.”

“Well, first of all, you don’t have to carry it all with you all the time. You can leave some of it back at the loft and only take what you need. And, secondly, you’re talking like you’re going back to the streets or something. That’s not what you’re planning are you?” Brian says, finally beginning to get a little concerned.

“Where else do you expect me to go when you’re done with me?” I demand. “Your week is up in three days. Three days, Brian! Then what? I’m a fucking street hustler Brian. I can’t be carrying thousands of dollars around on me. I have nowhere to spend that much money anyways. It’s fucking impossible.”

“Justin,” Brian says, turning my chair to face him so that I can’t hide my face in my arms anymore. “I don’t want you going back to the streets at all. Don’t you understand? You don’t have to. You have a job, now. You have money. If you don’t want to stay with me you can get your own place. You don’t have to be a street hustler, Justin.” Brian is saying these things, but I’m still having trouble with the sense behind the words. “I don’t want you to be a hustler. I want you off the streets for good. You don’t belong there. You’re too good, too talented and . . . You just shouldn’t be on the streets, okay.”

No. Not okay. This is not okay. I’ve been living on the streets for . . . Actually, I don’t remember how long it’s been, but a long time. And in all that time I’ve never once thought about NOT being on the streets anymore. I’m not the kind of person that gets a job and has a normal life. I don’t get to have that. Do I? I'm living the life my father always said I would end up in - me being a total loser is exactly what he predicted would happen - I mean, he’s always been right before, so why should now be any different? This life is what I’m supposed to be living. People like me don't get to have real jobs. I can’t take this money, can I?

“Stop, Justin,” Brian demands, pulling me to my feet. “Just stop thinking so much. Put the check away for now and don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with that later. Right now, I need you to focus. I came down here to get you so we can prepare for the Daddies’ meeting. We don’t have time to deal with the check or anything else. Can you please just focus and help me with this presentation and we can work out everything else later”

“You want me to help you in the meeting?” I ask, almost as overwhelmed by that request as I was by the check.

“Yes, Sunshine. It was your idea. You can sell it better than anyone. Plus, you deserve to get the credit for it from the client. I want you in the meeting with me and Ted. So, come on. Pull yourself together and let’s do this. You CAN do this, Justin. I know you can,” Brian says, already assuming that I’m going to agree, as he tows me after him towards his office.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Alright, I didn’t expect that response to the little surprise I had planned. I thought putting him on payroll and giving him an actual paycheck would make him happy. But, no. Memo to self - don’t EVER try to surprise Sunshine. The better approach with Justin is to work up to things - whether it be presents, money, dessert, whatever - you first tell him about it far in advance, let him get used to the idea and then, eventually, he’ll work around to the prospect. Live and learn, Kinney.

In the meantime, I have a presentation to get ready for and I can’t deal with overly-emotional twinks right now. I really, really hope I’m not making a big mistake by including Justin in this meeting. Yeah, he deserves the credit. And I do think he can sell his idea better than anyone; assuming he isn’t lost in la-la-land, that is. When he’s focused and interested in an idea - the way he was the day he came up with the campaign - he’s engaging, intelligent, and the perfect person to sell his idea. But when he’s not focused . . . Let's just hope this isn't one of those times.

After I get him back up to my office, pry the offending paycheck out of his hand, and put it out of sight in my desk drawer for the moment, he luckily calms right down. I think this is going to work. I outline my presentation strategy for him and he makes a couple of intelligent comments before Ted comes in with a stack of papers and all the numbers we’ll need. I finally start breathing again and I’m able to focus myself.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

The meeting is going really well. The Daddies’ people seem totally excited by the idea of using body art to display their logo and products. We show them the mock up ads we’ve already prepared using Brian’s muscley gym buddies with the tattoos airbrushed on them. If they go with television ads, I have this idea to use moving, morphing tattoos that change as you watch them. It will be great visually and Brian’s company has this amazing technology that will make it easy to work. The CEO and her son both seem captivated by the ideas.  

When it looks like they’ve almost bought the idea and all that’s left to work out are the numbers, Brian tells me that I can go. It’s almost 4:00 pm and Lindsey should be dropping Gus off any time now, but both Brian and Ted are still busy. So Brian pulls me aside and asks me to see to Gus for a while until they can get things wrapped up. No problem. I’m ready to be out of here anyway; as fun as it was to present my idea to potential clients and watch them eat it up, it was also tiring and stressful.  

Brian has perfect timing. Right as I get out to the lobby, I see Lindsey coming through the doors with Gus in tow and a largish duffle bag over her shoulder. Gus runs right up to me and jumps up to get a hug. He’s really adorable and so easy to love.

Lindsey is running late so she doesn’t quibble that it’s me and not Ted or Brian taking Gus off her hands. She tosses the duffle bag on the entryway couch, shoves a list of emergency phone numbers and instructions at me, kisses Gus, kisses me too, and then she’s off. She must really be looking forward to spending time at the spa with Mel, I guess.  

Gus is immediately interested in where his Dad is, but when I explain that he’s in a meeting and we’ll have to wait for him, he doesn’t give me a hard time. I offer to take him down to ‘my desk’ in the art department and set him up with some paints so we can paint together. He’s VERY enthusiastic about that idea. I’m still not all that familiar with where everything is downstairs, though, so I have to enlist Jessica’s help. Together we get Gus set up in front of a drafting desk with some paints, standing on a small step stool so he can reach, and covered in an old dress shirt put on him backwards and buttoned up the rear so he’s completely covered from chin to toes and won’t get any paint on his clothing.  

While Gus paints, I go back to my drawing and we work together, me helping him out every so often to remove finished works and set him up with new paper or paints or whatever materials he needs. Jessica is apparently getting into the act too, arranging little still life displays for Gus to paint. Not much actual work gets done in the office after Gus’ arrival, but we all have fun and, as Jessica says, it is Friday afternoon, so what does the Boss expect.

“We did it, Sunshine!” Brian’s voice comes booming through the room as he lopes down the stairs and into the room. “Daddies’ just signed a two year, $2 million commitment! And its all because of your idea. You were amazing in there and they ATE IT UP!”

“Daddy!” Gus interrupts Brian’s celebration speech, jumping off his stool and running towards his dad covered neck to ankles in paint. I manage to snag the back of the paint shirt as he runs by, preventing any contact between Gus and Brian’s charcoal grey Armani suit.  

“Hey, Sonny Boy! You look like you’ve been having fun.” Brian says, finally noticing his offspring and winking at me in thanks for saving his suit. “I’m NOT going to hug you though till you’re out of that smock. What have you been doing? Taking a bath in the paints? Did any of it make it onto paper, or is it all on you, Little Man?”

“Silly, Daddy. Of course the paint made it onto the paper. I just spilled a little a couple times. Jus’n said it was okay though because he got me all covered up by this paint shirt,” Gus gushes, already trying to squirm out of the paint shirt so he can get to his Dad. “Come see what I painted, Daddy. Jus’n and Jessica have been helping me. I’ve been doing ‘Still Lives’ - that’s where you paint stuff that isn’t moving, Jus’n said. It doesn’t mean that the stuff you’re painting has to still be alive though. That’s what I thought at first. Funny name for paintings, huh?”

Brian is smiling indulgently down at the smaller version of himself as Gus babbles on. The doting father oohs and aahs appropriately at the various works of art his child has created while I work to get the area cleaned up so we can leave.  

“Thanks for doing all of this, Justin,” Brian says as we finally get Gus’ hands cleaned and he bends down to give his son a big hug. “I didn’t know the meeting would run so late. Gus seems to have had a great time. You look a little worn out though. Hey, Sonny Boy, how about we pick up a couple pizzas and a movie to take home with us and we can have a pizza and movie party at the loft tonight? How does that sound?”

“Yay! That sounds super, Daddy! Jus’n, you can help me pick out a movie, okay?”

 

 

 

Gus proceeds to grab both of us by the hands and starts to tow us towards the doorway before I’ve even got my coat on.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Gus and Justin are sprawled out on the floor, lying on cushions and watching some inane animated movie about a fish. We’ve moved all the furniture out of the way so that our ‘party’ won’t be impeded. The two of them managed to polish off almost an entire pepperoni pizza by themselves. I had a couple slices of veggie pizza, which they both turned up their little button noses at. Then they proceeded to eat an entire quart of chocolate ice cream. I have no idea where they put all that food; they are both so small, relatively speaking, but both have apparently bottomless appetites.  

This feels good. It’s been a good day. I could get used to this.

 

 

 

 

*Another Portland, Oregon original.  Check out their very alternative web site!  VooDoo Doughnuts - The magic is in the hole.  

 

 

 

Chapter 21 - Adumbration.

Adumbration:  To suggest, disclose or outline partially in a vague manner so as to foreshadow upcoming possible events.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I'm almost twenty years old. I shouldn't be this excited about a trip to the zoo. But I am. It's hard to tell from the way Gus has been bouncing around in the loft and the car - it might be excitement or it might just be all that sugar we fed him last night - but I might even be more excited about the zoo than the boy is.

Gus' family apparently are 'members', which means they go to the zoo about once a month. Or so it seems from the way Gus talks. Before we get there Gus has already described to me almost every exhibit. But, since they go all the time, I get the feeling that it's not nearly as big a deal for him as it will be for me.

We're even having breakfast at the zoo. Apparently this is sort of a tradition for Gus and Brian - they always start their zoo trips with breakfast in the restaurant that's built into the aviary. That means that while you're trying to eat your food, all these fancy, brightly colored tropical birds are flying about over your head just beyond a glass partition. It's fun, but a little disconcerting.

I'm getting used to the Diner and ordering breakfast there from Debbie, but this is a much more elegant restaurant and I don't know the menu here yet and I'm a little nervous about spending the day with Brian and Gus and . . . Well, let's just say I'm too overwhelmed to attempt ordering food myself today. I let Brian order for me the same as he does for Gus and I'm only a little bit ashamed, but I'm really too distracted by the birds to worry for long.

After breakfast, Gus takes charge of the outing. He drags us EVERYWHERE! I'm not joking - we have to see every single exhibit and there is a specific order that Gus has planned carefully. I'd love to go slower, read all the signs and watch the fascinating animals, maybe even sketch some in my drawing pad that I brought along in a backpack I borrowed from Brian, but that is not allowed according to Gus' mental adgenda. I think that maybe I'll come back to the zoo all by myself sometime and take my time.

We have greasy burgers for lunch while sitting near the elephant exhibit. Lucky for us, the weather has turned and it's actually pretty warm out, although I think we'd have to sit here for lunch even in a blizzard, from the way Gus acts. Then we have to go to the Northwest Tundra exhibit and the Amazon Rainforest exhibit before we are finally allowed a break to sit in the open air amphitheater while we watch a show where several of the zoo animals perform rather cool tricks - eagles are flying free around my ears, trained geese clean up trash off the stage, a trained skunk even comes out and does handstands. I'm absolutely amazed by all this. I thought zoos were just sad animals in cages, but I guess I was way off.

My favorite part of the day comes next. Gus talks Brian into going with him into the corral to pet and groom the pigmy angora goats. Brian looks horrified at the idea of stepping in goat shit and brushing smelly little goats with curry combs, but he does it nonetheless for Gus. I use my nifty new camera phone to snap a couple of great photos and plan to later draw at least one scene that is adorable - the two of them sitting on a rock, Brian holding a baby goat in his lap while Gus pets it.

Gus finally begins to tire about two in the afternoon. Thank fuck because I'm about to pass out from exhaustion by then and I can tell from Brian's expression he's feeling the same. We trudge back out to the car, load Gus in, and head for home. Gus is sound asleep in his carseat before we've even left the parking lot.

Back at the loft, Brian carries Gus from the car and puts him into the bed. I'm watching as Brian tenderly pulls the blankets up to the boy's chin. He tucks him in and then kisses him sweetly on the forehead. When he turns around, Brian has the sweetest smile on his lips that I've ever seen. It hurts my heart to look at it for some reason, and I almost feel like crying, but I don't know why.

Brian gets us both beers and we crash together on the couch. Images from the day are zooming around in my head. It feels like I'm missing something but I'm too tired to think straight. I let my eyes close for just a second.

'That sort of display is disgusting if you ask me. Look at those two kids - acting like such know-it-alls, interrupting adults who are speaking, correcting the minister even - it’s ridiculous. I tell you, one day Frank and Cece are going to regret not disciplining those kids better.'

'Craig, it's a church picnic. It's not like it's some formal event where the children would be considered to be acting out. Besides, it's none of our business,' my mother cautions him.

'I don't care if it's just a picnic. It still galls me to see such impertinent, presumptuous children. They're a bad influence on all the other kids, Justin included. Those children need to be taught a lesson,'

Father goes on and on in the same vein for almost the entire picnic. The more he talks, the more nervous I get. He can't teach those other kids a lesson, which means he's likely to want to teach me one instead.

I was watching Jimmy and Grace Peters. They didn't seem impertinent to me. They seemed happy. Their dad was encouraging them to recite passages for the minister from some book or play they'd been reading. Their dad was laughing at them and teasing them and they all seemed just . . . Happy. But my father didn't like seeing them being happy, I guess. Maybe that's why he seemed intent on making sure I'd never be happy either.

'Follow me, Justin,' he says as soon as he pulls the car into the driveway at home.

He indicates I should take a seat at the kitchen table. I wait while he brings me paper and a pencil. He's pacing back and forth in front of the table for several minutes before he eventually turns towards me and I prepare myself for the lecture I know is coming.

'Did you see the improper way those Peters brats were behaving today at church, Justin?' I nod, knowing that I dare not say anything. 'I don't EVER want to see you behaving in such an impertinent, indecent and presumptive manner. It was disgusting. If I were their parent I'd have been mortified to be seen with those children.'

'So, just to make sure that we never have that experience, I think it's important to review 'The Rules'. I'll dictate and you will write. Then you will copy the rules out one hundred times so we will be sure they've sunk in sufficiently. Pick up the pencil, Justin.'

'Number one: Children should be seen and not heard. Number two: A child should never interrupt an adult when he's speaking. Number three: A child should never criticize or correct an adult, especially in front of another adult. Number four: Children should always be polite to all adults at all times. Number five: A child should never pretend to know more than an adult. Number six . . .'

"Justin. Wake up, Sunshine. You're dreaming," Brian's voice penetrates my dream. "Bad one?"

"No. Just . . . My father, being my father," I answer.

"Tell me," Brian prompts.

"He had lots of rules. About everything, really. But mostly about what I couldn't do."

"Yeah. Jack was like that too. Only his rules seemed to change a lot depending on whatever I was doing that annoyed him at the time. He'd come up with these new rules, shit I'd never heard of before, and then after he beat the crap out of me he'd complain about how shitty my memory was that I couldn't remember the rule that he'd just made up but was sure he'd told me a hundred times," Brian explains.

"My father was the same," I tell him. "Only it was harder for me because I had proof that he kept changing the rules. When I was about twelve, he sat me down one Sunday and made me write down all the rules. He stood in front of me and dictated them to me while I wrote them down. There were fifty or sixty altogether. Afterwards he made me copy them all out one hundred times each. I didn't even finish that night. I had to finish up the next day after school. And he told me to keep the stack of papers when I'd finished," I relate to him the basis of my dream.

"So here I was thinking I finally had the list - the rules - all you needed to know. If I just played by these rules then I'd be okay, right? I was actually kind of relieved to have to sit and write these all down, you know, because now it was all clear and it would be easy from here on out, right?"

"But it didn't work. There were always new rules. At first, I'd go back to the original list and read through it to try to find out where I'd gone wrong. Like, maybe I'd missed something? Maybe this new thing was there on the list and I'd somehow forgotten it or something. But, no. It wouldn't be there. Then, for a while, I'd add the new rules to the list, thinking that eventually I'd get a complete copy."

"But it never worked like that. Once I even tried to use the list to prove to him that I hadn't broken the rules, that his new rule wasn't there. That's when he took the list away and burned it. He said that I was being presumptuous; that I shouldn’t try to out-think my elders and I should never correct him. He was the adult and knew better and I knew nothing. And he burned the list to make sure I wouldn't ever know."

"It was never about the rules, Justin. It was only about the power. The power to make you do what he wanted whenever he wanted it. At least that's what it was with Jack," Brian said quietly, kissing my temple as he spoke.

"Gus?"

"Fuck no! I'll never do that to Gus. Never," Brian states emphatically.

"You know, I was always afraid to have kids," Brian adds after a few moments of silence. "I never would have done it if Lindsey hadn't gotten me a little drunk that night and then backed it up with tons of flattery. And even then I told myself that I'd just be the sperm donor and not a parent. I didn't want to fuck him up the way my parents screwed me up, you know?"

"Then, when I saw him that first night and held him in my arms . . . I don't know. Something happened. I just knew I wanted to be in his life. I wanted to take care of him and make sure he didn't get hurt. Now, I can't imagine my life without him in it."

"You're a good dad, Brian," I tell him, leaning into his shoulder and snuggling deeper into his embrace. "I watched you today. You have some rules - not many - but the ones you do have are reasonable and, for the most part, you apply them consistently. Gus is lucky to have a dad like you."

"Thanks. It means alot that you see that and . . . Well, just thanks."

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

When Gus wakes up from his nap, we head to the Diner for dinner. Gus needs some Gramma Deb time and Justin and I could use the break. After ten minutes, though, I'm not sure this was such a good idea. The Diner is packed with the pre-club weekend crowd. And boy are these guys horny tonight. I have to send more than a few on their way, but I never trick when I've got Gus. I mean, how brazen do you have to be to come on to someone sitting at a booth with a four year old kid, especially when I've got my arms around another man. That's fucking bold. By the third 'I'm not interested' even Justin is getting a bit peeved.

So I hustle them out of there as soon as possible. We stop at a toy store on the way home and I indulge my boys by buying them enough video games to keep them busy the rest of the night: Pajama Sam for Gus and Halo for Justin. Weirdly, Justin tells me he's never played a video game before, since his father wouldn't allow them. I have plans to educate him about this later, when Gus isn't around.

After I get them home and set up on the computer, I realize I might have made a mistake. Justin seems much more interested in helping the little boy, Pajama Sam, conquer his fear of the dark, while Gus would prefer to blow the fuck out of aliens. I guess those age recommendations on the side of the box really are just suggestions after all.

Eventually I convince Gus its time to get some sleep. We make him up a bed on the couch and Justin and I head into the bedroom. Where the fuck does Gus get all that energy, I wonder. When I see my own face in the mirror as I'm getting ready for bed, I realize that the answer is that he sucks it out of me. Even though I'm horny as hell after all those propositions earlier at the Diner, I'm out like a light.

Something hot and hard pressing against my side wakes me up early the next morning. My little ray of Sunshine is sporting an awesome amount of morning wood today. If only I was allowed to do something fun with it. But, besides my promise not to, there were also the tricky issues of Justin tending to freak out whenever I touched him unawares, as well as my growing realization that, as soon as I did start to indulge some of these fantasies, that boner would disappear faster than the free condoms in Babylon's back room.

I've been wondering about that issue a lot. It's something that Justin hasn't told me about yet, except by way of passing comments that he  doesn't, or maybe can't, get those feelings anymore. But if the boner poking into my side is any indication, he most definitely CAN get those feelings. So, what's causing the malfunctions the rest of the time?

I guess that too will eventually come out in one of our 'therapy' sessions. I really hope it's not a permanent problem - Justin wasn't exactly far off the mark with his 'cock whore' comment, I suppose. I do like a man with a nice cock. And, Justin's would definitely qualify as nice, provided it's fully functional. Not that that would ever stop me - just one more of the benefits of being a top. But, it's just one more thing that he has to deal with that he shouldn't have to face.

Since I cant do anything to help him with that or any other issues he might have right at this very moment, though, I give over worrying and let myself just enjoy the feeling of waking up with this lovely young man in my arms on a lazy Sunday morning. My mind starts to drift through various fantasies involving that lovely young stiffy and it's beautiful blond owner. Aaah, what we could do if only . . .

"Daddy? I'm hungry. What's for breakfast?" says my not-yet-four-year-old, who is standing at the foot of my bed, thumb in mouth and rubbing his sleepy eyes, causing my delicious fantasy to screech to an unattractive halt.

I motion to him to come around to my side of the bed, putting a finger across my lips at the same time to warn him to be quiet.

"Give me just a minute to get up and get dressed, Sonny Boy," I whisper. "While you're waiting maybe you could look at one of your books quietly. We don't want to wake up Justin yet. He needs his beauty sleep, you know."

"That's silly, Daddy. Jus'n doesn't need any more beauty sleep. He's already pretty enough, don't you think?" Gus whispers back, not so quietly.

"Yes, Gus, I think he's pretty, too. But how do you think he got that way, hmm? It takes a lot of sleep to get that beautiful," I reply, noting the smile spreading across the beauty's face as I speak. "Now, go on and let me get ready."

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. You can open your eyes now since I know you're not asleep anymore."

"Don't want to. I'm too comfy and relaxed," Justin complains, rolling back slightly, enough to allow me to disentangle my legs from the sheets.

"Well, it doesn't look to me like you're that relaxed," I say, purposefully reaching down to brush against his briefs-clad crotch and the stiffness still evident there.

"Mmmmm," he says at first, arching to press himself against my hand, but almost at the same instant getting that worried, lip-biting look on his face as the hard on melts away. "Damn."

"We need to work on that, Sunshine," I whisper, kissing his worrying lips before I get out of bed and head for the shower.

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Damn it. Damn, damn, damn. What the fuck is wrong with me? There's nothing I want more in the world, right now, than to have Brian lying in bed with me playing with my dick. But I can't stay hard. It's so fucking frustrating.

Fuck my father for doing this to me. I've started remembering things a little and I know they're part of it. I don't remember everything yet - I know there's something else that I just can't remember - but I do know it's his fault. I just don't know if it can be fixed.

'Sleeping Beauty' - I laugh to myself at Brian's teasing nick name. I wonder if he does, really, think I'm pretty or if that was just for Gus. Do I want him to think I'm 'pretty'? Why? What would that mean, anyway? Tomorrow is the end of our week and I'm still unsure what's going to happen to me after that.

It's so confusing. I don't know what I want. I can't quite figure out what Brian wants. I don't know where I'll be three days from now. The only thing I do know is that I'd really like for Brian to come back to bed and fuck me right now - screw waiting for one more day - only he won't do that. And, that ball of pain and uncertainty that lives in my gut, the one that was feeling much better the past few days, is starting to grow and ache again. I don't do stress and uncertainty well.

No time to wallow in my insecurities, though. I hear a muffled crash from out in the living area and jump out of bed, pulling on sweats as I go, to see what mischief Gus is up to this early. Luckily it's only a minor disaster, and it takes the two of us only a couple minutes to restock the DVDs that had been knocked over.

By the time Brian emerges from the bedroom, showered and dressed and looking, if possible, even more yummy than ever, I've got Gus seated next to me on the sofa occupied with a pencil and paper, teaching him how to draw some basic shapes and use them to make other figures. Brian seems surprised and maybe even a little impressed that I've managed to control the four year old so easily. He gives me a smile and shakes his head a little as he walks towards us.

"What do my two favorite boys want to do today?" Brian says, scooping us both into a big hug with his strong, long arms.

"We're doing art, Daddy. Jus'n is teaching me to draw like a real artist. You wanna learn too, Daddy?" Gus asks, showing his dad the man made of triangles, circles and rectangles I drew for him.

I don't have to say anything - my growling stomach gives away what I'd like to do first this morning. Brian giggles at the rude noise and nuzzles into my neck. God he smells so good after his shower. I let myself breathe him in for a minute and I can almost forget . . .

"Daddy, I think Jus'n is hungry. You better get us fed some breakfast," Gus directs his father, setting aside the drawing materials.

"You're right, Sonny Boy. I'd better get you both fed. But that means you have to get dressed, young man. So hurry up or Auntie Em will have already eaten all the pink Fairy Princess donuts at the Diner before we get there."

"He better not have. I always get a pink Fairy Princess donut on Sundays. Gramma Deb saves one for me special. You can have a chocolate Prince of Darkness donut, Jus'n - they’re good too, but not as good as the Princess ones . . ." The rest of what Gus was going to say on the all important subject of his morning donut is lost as he pulls a shirt on over his head, inside out on the first try, unfortunately.

I head to the bedroom to get dressed myself while Brian facilitates the dressing of the preschooler, which seems to involve a lot of giggling, tickling and occasional shrieks of laughter. By the time I'm done, Gus has all his clothes on, right side out this time, and Brian is kneeling in front of the couch tying on Gus' sneakers. They are so good together. Gus has no idea how fucking lucky he is to have a father like Brian.

I sigh, shake my head to dispel the melancholy, and plaster a not-too-fake smile on my face as I near the two. Both of them look up at me at the same time wearing identical sweet smiles. It almost makes me want to cry. I'm a mess this morning. What the fuck is my problem? I need to adjust my attitude before I ruin the day for Gus and Brian, though, so I quickly turn away until I can get myself back under control.

When we reach the Diner, we do find Emmett there, as Brian predicted, but the donut he's about to eat doesn't resemble anything a princess would have on her. Em's donut has two round blobs at one end with a larger, longer piece of donut sticking up between them and it says 'bite me' written along the shaft in curly pink frosting. He's just about to stab into one of the balls with his fork as we all pile into the booth with him.

"Morning boys!  And how are you, Gus, Sweetie? I was just about to start on my morning Cock-N-Balls. I figured I'd let myself indulge since I didn't get one last night, you know," Em says as he forks the donut in question.

Emmett's Donut!  

 

"Auntie Em, you didn't already eat my Fairy Princess, did you?" Gus asks with great seriosness in spite of all the giggles his question raises.

"Of course not, darling. Gramma Deb has your Fairy Princess waiting for you behind the counter. I'll hold out for my own Fairy Prince; and in the meantime I’ll just make do with any random cock-n-balls that come along," answers Em, forking back into the treat on his plate already.

"Gus, why don't you run over and tell Gramma Deb we're here and get your donut," Brian suggests, good naturedly shaking his head as the boy runs off to find Deb. "Shit, Honeycutt! Couldn't you lay off with the sexual innuendos a little bit. The kid isn't even four yet?"

"Sorry, Bri. But you know, with Debbie Novotny as a grandma, he's heard a lot worse already,” Emmett apologizes. “Besides, you were the one who hooked your dirty donut making client up with Debbie in the first place. I can't help it if their donuts are not child appropriate.”

Ted joins us and everyone is busy laughing at Emmett as he playfully licks the last of the cream from his donut off his fingers. I'm not laughing for some reason though. I'm still on edge and nervous. I feel like something bad is going to happen.

Deb comes barreling up to the table at that point to get our orders. She doesn't seem to be her usual bubbly self though, which makes me even more tense. It's got to be something bad, and from the sly glances she's darting my direction, I'm afraid it's something about me.

"Morning boys! Brian, you want your usual?" Debbie asks, getting directly to the point, which in itself is unusual for her.

"Sounds fine, Deb," Brian replies then looks my way. "Sunshine?"

I can't do it today. I'm way too worked up so I just shake my head at Brian who sighs and orders my breakfast for me. He squeezes my hand under the table to let me know it's okay.

"I'll get those orders right in for you guys," says Deb as she stows her order pad back in her apron and then turns back to Brian. "Brian, can I talk to you real quick."

Brian gets up and follows Deb to the far side of the Diner. I can't hear what they're saying, but they keep looking back at me the whole time. Fuck. I have this strong urge to run. The only thing keeping me in my seat is the fact that Gus is sitting next to me which means I can't get out of the booth without shoving him aside. Finally, Debbie hands Brian a piece of paper which they both look at before they turn to look at me.

As Brian comes back to the booth, paper in hand and Debbie at his heels, I feel like I'm about to either faint or explode - I won't know which until I find out what's on that paper.

"Gus, honey, why don't you come with me and we can see if Julio has any special treats for you in the kitchen. How's that sound," Deb says, clearly getting Gus away so we 'adults' can talk.

Brian is pretty calm though. He's not visibly angry or upset, which helps me a little. He slides back into the booth next to me. Then he pushes the piece of paper towards me along the table top.

"Someone's looking for you, Sunshine." Brian says quietly.

I look down at the 'Missing Person' flyer sitting on the table in front of me and see my own picture staring back.

 

 

Chapter 22 - Catharsis.

Catharsis:  The process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

"Oh my goodness. Is that really you, baby?" Emmett cries out, grabbing the flyer out of Justin's hands to peruse the picture and written description more closely. "It is. Where'd you get this, Bri?

"Deb saw it down at the police station last night when she stopped by to see her police dick boyfriend," I tell him, carefully watching an unresponsive Justin out of the corner of my eye. "Horvath pulled up the original report for her to peek at. It was filed by Jennifer Taylor - Justin's mother."

That announcement got a bit of a reaction from my silent blond finally. I'm not sure it was a positive reaction though - at the mention of his mother's name, Justin collapses backwards, slumping against the back of the seat. His face turns an ugly ashen grey color. His breathing is rapid and I'm starting to worry about hyperventilation. I knew he was likely to be upset by this, but I was thinking it would be a return to his anger from the other day - I hadn't expected the withdrawal again. Fuck, when am I going to figure this kid out?

"Justin? Sunshine, look at me," I try to get his attention. "This might not be a bad thing. Your mother wouldn't have done this if she wasn't worried about you. Maybe she wants a second chance. You said that she tried to stand up for you and protect you. Maybe she still wants to try to do that and that's why she's trying to find you."

"What if it's him? She's only doing it because of him?" Justin mutters.

"If it's really your father looking for you, you just tell him to fuck off and leave you alone," I try to reassure him. "Justin, I won't let him hurt you. You're an adult now and he can't legally make you do anything but if he tries something I'll stop him, no matter what. I promise, Justin."

"You can't promise that, Brian," he finally speaks, snorting in derision at my noble offer to protect him. "He's got money. He has friends with even more money. You can't protect me against him if he really wants me."

"Bullshit. Justin, I swear. I don't care how much money the fucker has, I won't let him hurt you. Do you hear me?"

Justin says nothing. He's still slumped in the corner of the booth looking like he's trying to make himself so small that he disappears from view. Ted and Em are blinking in shock across the booth from me. While they both know a little about Justin's background, neither knew this much about the issues with his father. Or maybe those shocked looks are just because they aren't used to seeing Brian Kinney acting all über-protective. Either way, they're as silent as Justin, so we're all just sitting here in complete silence when Gus returns with a chocolate-milkshake-bearing Debbie in tow.

"Look what Julio made for me, Daddy. I got to watch him put the milk and the ice cream in the blenner and everything," Gus delights in his treat, but stops mid-sip when he senses something is wrong at the table and, with unerring instincts focuses on Justin. "What's wrong, Jus'n? Do you feel sick?"

"I'm okay, Gus," Justin manages to say. "I just saw something that scared me a little. But I'll be okay."

"What'd you see?" Gus asks, looking around the room as if he is expecting ghosts to pop out from under the tables.

"It's nothing. Just an old picture."

"Can I see, too?" Gus asks in a tiny voice.

"It's nothing too scary, Gus," I say, grabbing the flyer to show the boy, not wanting to get him all worried over nothing. "it was only that Justin saw this flyer.

"Hey, that's you, Jus'n! What do the words say, Daddy."

Shit, now I have to try to find a way to explain this all to my very innocent son.

"It says that I'm 'Missing', Gus," Justin starts to explain on his own. "See, my father wasn't nice to me. He's not like your father who loves you and takes care of you. My father was mean. So, I ran away from him a long time ago. And now, my mother is trying to find me again so she had the police send out these flyers. That way when I see the flyer, like I did just now, I know that she wants to talk to me and that I should call her."

"Oh," Gus shrugs his understanding, as if a parent being so mean that he drives away his son makes perfect sense. "Are you gonna call her now that you saw the flyer?"

"Maybe. But I need to think about it first." Justin says.

"Okay. But we get to finish breakfast first, right?" Gus says, apparently concerned that Justin's need to call his mother is going to interrupt the more important objective of getting his tummy filled.

"Of course we'll finish breakfast, Gus," Justin easily concedes that food always has a higher priority than family drama.

Justin sits up and, when our food arrives, he begins eating as if everything is normal. I catch Gus patting Justin's hand with his smaller one every so often and watch Justin's corresponding smiles at the boy.

It looks like the morning has been saved by the four year old. Again.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Gus is yelling at the top of his lungs, pretending to be a pirate and climbing all over a brightly painted play structure at the park where we go after breakfast. Brian is sitting next to me on the park bench, his arm draped casually over my shoulder while he watches his offspring's exploits. Me? I'm sitting here quietly having a total mental breakdown.

The Missing Person flyer is safely folded and tucked away in the rear pocket of Brian's jeans. But it's image is all I can really see. Why? Why would she do this? And why now? It makes no sense.

Before we left the Diner, Deb sat down at the booth and explained what she'd found out about the original missing persons report filed by my mother. It said that I was last seen at a relative's house in Philadelphia? The report had been filed several months ago - about two years, therefore, after he'd made me leave. So why would she have waited so long to do this and why the lie about the relative? Why bother to look for me at all?

And, most importantly, what the fuck do I do about it?

"Tell me about her. Your mother," Brian says quietly from his place next to me.

I guess it was obvious that I'm still obsessing over that flyer. But how do I describe my mother to him? My perceptions of her are so skewed by my fear and hatred of my life back then. I'm not sure I even clearly remember what she looks like anymore. Everything I experienced was seen through the haze of my misery.

"She's petite and blonde, like me. My father didn't want her to work so she stayed home and took care of the house and me. It's funny, though - even though I know she was a stay-at-home mom, I don't remember seeing her around the house as much as I do my father. I guess you could say she was always eclipsed by my father who has a much larger personality," I try to explain, sifting through my hazy memories.

"I think she felt sorry for me. She wasn't very strong though. My father always won every argument. She always backed down and let him do whatever he wanted," I finish, a little bit sad that I really can't say anything more positive about her.

Brian reaches over and strokes my cheek. It's such an intimate gesture for such a public place and it surprises me. Fuck. He's so strong and so sure of himself, it makes me almost ashamed to be such a pathetic, timid, frightened faggot. He's been through some of the same shit that I have, so how come he turned out so much stronger than me?

"I could talk to her for you," he offers almost shyly, apparently unsure how I'll respond to this idea. "I could find out more about what she wants and make sure that your father really isn't the one behind all this. Then, at least you'd have more information, and you could use that to decide what you want to do next."

"You'd do that for me?" I'm astounded and still a little confused by everything this man is willing to do for me

"Of course. If you want me to," he answers. "Sunshine, I'd do any . . . I'd do a lot more than that to help you."

"Okay," I decide to try to be as strong as he is for once.  "Maybe you could just call her. But, don't tell her where I am."

"Alright, I'll call. Do you want me to go do it right now?"

"No. Tomorrow's soon enough," I tell him because I'm not yet that strong.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

After the park, Gus talks us into taking him to see the latest animated movie. I really wasn't that hard of a sale though since, even though I couldn't give a crap about the adventures of some weird little animated man and his horde of semi-evil mutant assistants, I do enjoy an hour and a half long span of time where Gus sits still. Plus, I don't mind making out with Justin in the darkness of the theater during the movie, either.

I wish Justin would perk up a little, though. I know he's still freaking out over the Missing Person flyer, but, still. He's just so quiet and sad and still. I'd much rather have the angry, yelling, ranting version back, please. Him I can deal with. This quiet man next to me is more difficult.

After the movie we head back to the loft where I manage to talk Gus into a short nap. I use the time to go through my email and do some work. Justin sits in his favorite chair over by the window and draws for awhile, but when I look up later, I see he's fallen asleep. Aah! Peace and quiet at last!

"Father, please. I don't want to do this. I promise I'll be better. Please."

Justin's cries warn me that he's lost in another dream or flashback. I feel so bad for him having to go through this over and over. I wonder if it's always happened like this or if it's only since he came here and we started our 'therapy'. Poor kid, though, if he had to bear these experiences all alone out on the streets.

I'm over to the chair where he was napping in seconds and I pull him down onto the floor where I can hold him as I try to comfort him. It's not working this time - I can tell this is a really bad one. He's not calming and I can't even seem to wake him up. Shit. What do I do? The shower again? I figure I'll wait on that for a while and instead I just sit with him, holding him and talking to him.

"I'm sorry Mom. I'm so sorry. . . "

"Shhh, Justin. It's okay. You're safe. It's going to be okay," I keep whispering comforting nonsense at him hoping he will calm eventually, but so far it's not working.

"Daddy? What's wrong with Jus'n?" I hear Gus say as he pads out of the bedroom where he was napping, trailing his favorite 'blankie'.

Shit. Now I'm not only worried about Justin but also about Gus seeing this and getting scared himself. Bad timing, Sunshine.

"It's okay, Sonny Boy," I try to reassure the boy, even though I'm not all that calm myself. "Justin's having a bad nightmare is all. You've had scary dreams sometimes, right? That's all this is."

"Why doesn't he just wake up then and make it stop?" Gus asks, logically.

"He can't, Gus. Sometimes his nightmares are so bad he gets trapped in them and it's really hard for him to wake up. We just have to sit with him and wait."

Gus does just that. He sits on the floor on the other side of Justin and pats at him affectionately and whispers nice little comforting nothings just like me. Maybe it helps, since within five minutes, Justin stops muttering and his eyelids begin to flutter.

"G-Gus?" Justin asks, clearly confused by the circumstances of his awakening.

"He's awake, Daddy. Jus'n it's okay. My Daddy's gonna take care of you," Gus repeats, squeezing Justin's hand.

"Sonny Boy, can you do me a big favor? Can you please run to the kitchen and get Justin a bottle of water out of the fridge?" I ask, and the boy jumps up happily and scampers off.

"Is Gus alright? Did I scare him?" Justin asks immediately as soon as the boy is gone.

"Maybe a little, at first, but he's a trooper. He just wanted to sit and help take care of you. He's so great. I love that boy so much." I respond, letting all my pride show.

"Here, Daddy. Here's the water. Can I do something else to help?" Gus says as he sets the water on the floor near my side.

"Thanks, Sonny Boy. You're a huge help. Now, go into the bathroom and get a towel for me. You need to get it a little wet - not drippy, sopping wet, but just a little damp, okay? And bring that back here, too. Can you do that?"

"Yep! I'll be right back."

While Gus is off on his errand, I make sure Justin drinks some of the water. I can see he's trying to cover his eyes to block out the sun coming through the big loft windows. He must have another migraine.

"Hey, let's get you into the bedroom where there's not so much light," I suggest.

"Um hmm," Justin mumbles but helps out when I pull him to his feet and then shuffles along at my side with his eyes closed as I guide him to the bed.

Gus meets us there with the wet, slightly too drippy but pretty good for a four year old, towel which I use to wipe away the sweat and tear stains off Justin's beautiful pale face.

"Gus, will you stay with Justin for a minute while I go get some medicine for him?" I ask the little boy who's perched on the foot of the bed, staring with huge eyes at the scene taking place.

"Sure, Daddy," he agrees immediately and moves up to Justin's side to take my place while I go find the aspirin.

When I get back, Justin is sitting up with his back leaning against the head of the bed, one arm wrapped around Gus while the other is still covering his face to ward off the light. I move around to the other side. I shake the aspirin bottle to tell him I'm here and he holds out his open hand. I shake out three but he indicates he wants more so I add three more to the pile then give him the water to wash them down. Then I crawl onto the bed too and encircle both boys with my own longer arms, and we wait there together till its better.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Gus is such a sweet kid. He's sitting with me, holding my hand and trying to comfort me, doing all the things he sees his father doing. Watching the two of them together, seeing how kind they are, both to me and to each other, brings on the tears again.

This is how it should have been for me. It's how it should be for every child, isn't it? To have a loving, kind father who takes care of his son and cherishes him. Not a father who yelled at me, insulted me, punished me for nothing and caused me to learn to fear him. I could have had this?

I should have had this. Damn him to Hell! What right did my father have to take this away from me.

I finally realize that my father was wrong. He was the one who was worthless, not me. He failed as a father long before I failed as a son. He was the one who was a worthless failure. He didn't even come close to living up to the standards a father should have met. It was him, not me, that was worthless trash and he was the one who didn't deserve to live.

I deserved to have a real father. I DESERVED better. ME. I deserved better.

 

Chapter 23 - Revelation.

Revelation: A surprising and previously unknown fact, esp. one made in a dramatic way.

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Family dinner at Debbie’s - what can I say?  Even those in a stable emotional situation often find it horrific and frightening. I wasn’t sure how Justin was going to handle it, especially after the day he’d had so far. But, Debbie wasn’t going to let us out of the Diner this morning until I promised on Gus’s life to bring the three of us to dinner tonight. So here I was with my son and Justin in tow and not sure what was likely to happen.

Strangely enough, though, Justin has been in a better mood this afternoon after he woke up from that last nightmare. He didn’t say much afterwards - probably because Gus was there - but he seemed . . . different. I did ask him, briefly when Gus was occupied watching TV what the dream was about, but he said he didn’t remember it. So that wasn’t what caused this change. I planned to ask him about it later tonight when the munchers had taken back their sweet but nosy preschooler.

As we entered the kitchen, there was a roar of laughter out of those already present - Ted, Emmett, Mikey, Ben and Vic. Ted was handing over what looked like a twenty to Emmett who was bouncing in his seat and clapping. It looked like we’d missed something rather entertaining.

“Goodie!” Emmett exclaimed as he palmed the money Ted reluctantly let go of. “I mean, goodie for winning the bet, but also that he finally did it! It’s about time he came out and told the truth. I mean, really . . . nobody ever really believed he was straight, did they?”

“Hello, boys!” I say as I pulled around a chair and joined the circle around the table, while Gus ran off to watch TV and Justin found a chair in the corner. “Why is Theodore paying you, Honeycutt? Did you finally break down and give him that blow job he’s been begging you for?”

“Ha ha, Brian. Not that I wouldn’t, Teddy, but I’d never charge you,” Em said, giving me a dirty look. “If you must know, Brian, I just won a little wager we had about a certain celebrity that I just knew was gay. Teddy didn’t believe me so we bet on it and lookie here in today’s newspaper. He finally came out!”

“Theodore, you should know better than to bet against Emmy Lou’s gaydar.” I admonish the abashed accountant.  

“I know. I know. But that guy? How the hell did he know that guy was gay.  He had a fucking fiancee for christ’s sake.

“From the article, it looks like the guy didn’t have much choice about coming out,” Ben comments. “Seems he was caught in fragrante delicto at a gay club in L.A. Not really the place you would hang out if you weren’t gay, I’m afraid.”

“Ouch. That’s NOT the way to come out,” Emmett sympathizes. “He would have been much better off just making an announcement, like civilized gay boys do, rather than getting caught like that. When will these Hollywood types learn?”

“Yeah. Like there’s a GOOD way to come out?” Ted asks.

“Well, there’s definitely better ways than that!” Michael adds his two cents. “So how did you do it, Em?”

“Well . . . I didn’t exactly have to come out, per se. I was always a little bit out there, you know. Let’s face it, you can’t look like this,” Emmett says, standing and spinning with his hands in the air as he spoke, “in Hazelhurst, Mississippi and hide the fact that you’re gay.”

 

 

Everyone was laughing at Emmy Lou’s antics when Ted added his story. “I got outed in college. Turns out the fraternity I joined didn’t really take kindly to me and Eric Downey being discovered naked in the alumni room. I really liked that fraternity, too.”

“Poor baby,” Deb joins the conversation. “Sometimes I think Michael here had it too easy - what with me and his Uncle Vic as the only family he had, he didn’t really have to worry about coming out. In fact, we both got tired of waiting for him to get around to it so I ended up telling him he was gay when he was fifteen, just to get it over with. Ha!”

“What about you, Brian? What happened when you came out?” Emmett asks me, the curiosity figuratively dripping from his tone.

“Well, I didn’t ‘come out’ like you lot. I just started going to the clubs and the bars as soon as I got my first fake ID. I was practically living here by that time already so I didn’t really have to tell these guys, did I? It was a piece of cake.”

“Yeah, but what about your family. What happened when you told them,” Em pushes.

“Well, I told Jack just after he told me he was dying of cancer. First, he almost hit me and then he told me it was a shame I wasn’t the one dying. As for St. Joan, well, she just found out the other day, thanks to Justin here and his boundless enthusiasm.” I smile at Justin to ease any possible sting from my words, but surprisingly he’s smiling at me. “She apparently wasn’t prepared to see Justin hop into my lap and give me a big wet one on the lips. I’m afraid it drove her screaming out of my office. Haven’t had to talk to her since, which is just fine with me. I’m really thankful to Justin for finally ridding me of her.”

“You never told your mother until just now?” Emmett’s amazed. “I can’t see the Stud of Liberty Avenue hiding that he was gay from his mother.”

“I wasn’t ‘hiding’ it, Honeycutt. I just didn’t care enough about her to bother telling her. There’s a big difference. Frankly, it’s none of her business who I fuck so if I’d never got around to telling her, I don’t see what the big deal would have been.” I respond.

“Don’t call me Honeycutt.” Em demands, completely ignoring the point I was trying to make while everyone around the table laughs at how annoyed he gets.

“I got caught giving the son of one of my father’s store managers a blow job in the store bathroom,” Justin says in a quiet but strong voice from the corner where he’s sitting.  

Everyone looks over at Justin in amazement. Nobody expected him to say anything - he really isn’t much for talking in crowds in general and most of the people here hadn’t heard him say more than a dozen words total so far. And even I, who had heard him talk a blue streak when he was angry or at work, didn’t expect him to pipe up on this topic.

“Well, actually, I didn’t really get caught giving a blow job, since my father and Charles Hobbs walked in on us before I really got started. But that’s what I was planning on doing, if I’d had the chance. All I had time for was getting Chris’ pants down and rubbing him a bit to get him hard. I didn’t really know what I was doing at the time, since it was my first blow job, so I probably could have moved faster and got to the real business before we got caught, but  . . .” Justin continues with his story.

“What happened then, Sweetie?” Em asks in a hushed, almost awed tone.

Justin snorts and shakes his head with a sad little smile on his face. “Chris caved to save his own ass. He claimed that I had come on to him and coerced him into going into the restroom with him. The liar - he was the one who talked me into it, telling me that his dad was giving my father a tour of the loading docks and storerooms and they’d be busy for hours so we’d have plenty of time. It didn’t matter though, my father would have blamed me for it anyway. Then my father pulled me out of the store, took me to the back parking lot, handed me one hundred dollars and told me to leave and never come back again. He said if I came back to the house or to any of his stores ever again he’d have me arrested for trespassing. So I left.”

Nobody says anything after that for a long time. What was there to say? Finally, Deb, comes over to Justin, puts her arms around him and gives him a smooch on the top of his head.

“When was that, Honey?” She asks.

“I don’t know. Two or three years ago, maybe.” Justin replies, his eyes locked on mine as he speaks, as if I’m his anchor to the present. “It was in the fall. I had just turned seventeen that spring. It seems like a long time ago.”

 

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

I don’t know why I tell everyone about when my father finally kicked me out of the house. It’s just that they were all telling stories about how they came out and It seemed like a good time to tell my story too. I guess I shocked them all because no one’s saying anything now. I feel bad about ruining the mood like that.

But oddly enough I don’t feel bad about telling my story. It felt good to tell someone finally. These people have all had similar experiences, or at least it sounded like it from their stories. I felt like it was safe to tell them my story.

What feels really good is when Brian stands up, comes over to where I’m sitting, moves Debbie aside and pulls me up to him. He wraps those strong, firm arms around me and holds me tight. Then, in front of all these people - his friends and family - he kisses me. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to because I know that he’s telling me more by his actions than he ever could with words. That feels really good.

And then Lindsey and Mel come in the front door and everyone starts talking again and my little moment of drama is forgotten.

 

 

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

 

No matter how much I love spending time with my son, I’m glad when Mel and Lindsey take Gus home with them after dinner tonight. I think that Justin and I have some major issues to talk about tonight and having a four year old around will not facilitate those discussions. Strangely enough, though, I get the feeling that having Gus around this weekend helped Justin somehow. All I know is that after he woke up from that dream and saw Gus there trying to take care of him, something in Justin’s manner changed and maybe we have Gus to thank for that.

Debbie loads us up with enough leftover lasagne and cannoli to last the two of us for at least a month and we head to the door. Justin has been quite gregarious and talkative all night and it turned out he was the hit of the party. We get a whole chorus of ‘good nights’ and ‘call me’s and even a ‘see you for lunch on Tuesday, Sweetie’ as we leave. Justin is making friends. I’m elated but also totally confused by his 180 degree change in attitude.

After we get home and get all the leftovers stowed away in the freezer, I steer Justin to the couch with a beer in hand, and prepare to deal with all the fallout from the dream earlier and the disclosure of his outing at dinner. That was a huge deal - telling this group of virtual strangers about how his father threw him out of the house after he was caught with another man. I’m expecting a kid who’s about to fall apart, who’s teary eyed and sad and who needs comforting.

What I get is something altogether different and unexpected.

I get a happy, contented Justin who says to me, “dinner with your family was fun. Thanks for talking me into going. I was a little nervous about having them all together like that, but it wasn’t that bad. And I really like Uncle Vic. He and I were having a fun conversation about what it was like when he first came out back in the sixties. Shit, that must have sucked.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my Sunshine?” I ask the pod person sitting next to me.

“Huh?” is all Justin says, looking at me like I’m the one that’s gone crazy.

“Justin, you’re freaking me out here. I thought you’d be all upset after telling everyone at dinner how your father kicked you out and everything.  Why aren’t you upset?”

“I don’t know. Actually, it felt good to tell about it. And your family were all so nice to me afterwards. I don’t feel bad at all, though, Brian. I’m okay. Really.” Justin tries to reassure me.

“Okay. Then, what about that dream you had earlier. It was a bad one. Do you remember anything about that? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Sorry. I don’t remember it,” Justin explains. “That’s the one dream that I never remember. I think it’s something about my mother, because I kinda remember seeing her face - she’s crying in the dream - but that’s all I ever remember about that one. I only know that I always get a horrible migraine afterwards. But I can’t really talk about it because I don’t really remember any more.”

“Okay, so then, tell me about this big attitude change. You seem different tonight. If it wasn’t the dream, then what happened to change your mood so radically?” I ask, getting to my real point.

“It’s nothing, really,” Justin tries to deflect my concern about this topic, but I’m not going to let him off the hook so easily and I shake my head to make him stop. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but it’s really nothing. I just realized that I didn’t deserve to have such a shitty father.”

“I don’t get it. Why would that change things so much?” I have to ask.

“I was watching you and Gus both trying to take care of me when I woke up from that dream. You are so great with him. And you can see how Gus has learned to be just as caring as you are - he was sort of copying you, holding my hand and patting my shoulder and telling me it was going to be okay - just the same way you do. And it just seemed to click in my brain that this is how it’s supposed to be for a father and son. It’s supposed to be safe and kind and caring, with the kid learning how to be a good person from watching his father.”  

“And then I realized that I didn’t get that from my father. I got yelling and him insulting me and telling me I would never amount to anything and that I was a failure. And that’s what I got on his good days. On the bad days I didn’t even get that. And, well, it made me angry. I should have had a father that was caring and taught me how to be a good person but I didn’t.”

“So, it turns out my father was the one who failed, not me. He was the one who was a worthless loser, not me. I deserved better but I didn’t get it because he was a complete failure as a parent,” Justin smiles up at me, and I’m confounded at the transformation I see in him. “Once I realized that I wasn’t the one who was a loser and a washout and a failure, I just felt . . . better.”

“But you’re not a failure, Sunshine. I’ve been trying to tell you that for days,” I tell him.

“I know. But I didn’t see it until today. Before, it was just words you were saying. Now, I get it.”

Justin has this enchanting little smug smile on his lips as he says these last words. It’s too enticing. I have to lean in and kiss that goofy happy little smile and taste that new self-awareness he radiates. He kisses back rather too enthusiastically and we lose about a half hour of time before I carefully pick him up out of my lap and extricate myself from the dangerous position I had been occupying.

“We don’t really have to wait till tomorrow, Brian,” Justin tempts me. “It’s already after ten. What’s a couple hours?”

“You might be all energized and excited by your big revelation, Justin, but I’m exhausted. I’ve had a whole weekend of go-go-go Gus and traumatized Twink and I’m about to pass out I’m so tired,” I tell him. “I’m far too tired to do this the right way, Sunshine. Plus, I have plans for tomorrow night, sooooo, you’re just going to have to wait.”

“I’m not good at waiting, Brian,” Justin teases me. “And it’s not like I haven’t done this before, you know, so ‘doing it right’ isn’t really that big a deal for me. Let’s just do it ‘however’ and do it ‘right now’.”

“Sorry, Sunshine. If you want Brian Kinney, you’re going to have to wait,” I say, removing his wandering hands from my waist - well, really from my ass, since they really were wandering rather rampantly by that point - and kissing him chastely on the forehead before heading towards my lonely shower.

Hopefully, it would be one of my last lonely showers, I thought to myself with a huge grin on my face while visions of my plans for tomorrow spun through my head and I once again jerked off in the shower alone.

 

 

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

It’s Monday morning. I’m so excited and scared that I woke up at about four am. I’ve been lying here ever since waiting for Brian to wake up. I’m not sure if I’m happy about this day or not. It feels like I’ve been waiting for this day for weeks or months, not just mere days. Today is the day that I get to find out exactly what it is about Brian Kinney that makes all those men at the bars and the Diner and even on the streets want him so badly.

Well, that’s not exactly true - I already know why they want him, probably better than they do. It’s because not only is he absolutely gorgeous on the outside, but he’s a truly good man and it shows through even when he’s not aware of it. Most people probably just see it as him being attractive - they can call it ‘sexy’ or ‘hot’ but it's much more than that. I’m convinced that he wouldn’t come off half as physically attractive if he wasn’t so beautiful inside as well.  

And there’s also the fact that he simply radiates sex pretty much all the time.

My excitement about finally getting to experience that part of Brian’s life is tempered though by the realization that today is the last day of our week. I don’t know what’s going to happen after today. I’ve been getting a bit complacent, I now realize, about this whole arrangement. It was really nice to actually know where I was going to sleep at night and that I was definitely going to get to eat. I find that I really like the whole consistency thing. Not knowing what’s going to happen after today is eating away at me. It’s turning my happy excited into a more nervous excited.

Anyway, I’ll find out soon enough what will become of me, so I just need to stop worrying and get on with it. And, Brian’s alarm is set to go off in about ten minutes so I figure I’ve waited patiently long enough. Time to get started on the good part of the day, I think. I decide to dive right into the good - I squirm my way under the covers and find my way down to the part of Brian’s anatomy that I’ve been thinking about for the past three hours.

One thing I’ve learned over the past week is that He always wakes up hard. And not just normal, morning wood hard, but really, really hard. Perfect for what I’ve got planned. And, although he’s been wearing his briefs to bed this week to cut back on the temptation, he's so deliciously hard that his dick is already peeking out the top of those briefs providing me with easy access.

My plan is to go slowly enough at first that I don't wake him up right away. That's going to be difficult though because I'm really excited. I take a deep breath to steady myself, which is totally counterproductive since that causes me to inhale his sleepy warm male scent which just inflates the excitement level even higher.

Fuck going slow, then. Instead, I pull his briefs down below his balls, grab his cock with one hand and his balls with the other and suck him into my mouth in one fast steady pull. I hold him there, using my tongue to play with him a little and enjoying the feel of his blood pulsating just under that silky smooth skin. Then I suck him in even deeper til I feel his curly pubes tickling at my nose. I can tell he's fully awake now by the gasps I hear penetrating through the blankets.

Time to get serious. I pull back and then drive down again and again, easily setting up a good steady rhythm. I'm licking and sucking and bobbing up and down. He's moaning and his hands are locked in my hair as he guides my head. He's been such a good boy this week - keeping his promise hasn't been easy and it's left him oh so very, very horny. I'm afraid all my hard won skills in the felatio department would be wasted this morning - he's not going to last more that a few more minutes. So instead of concentrating on skill, I just go for speed and ramp up my pace even more.

His hips stop their gentle rocking motion and his breath catches as he reaches his climax just at the same instant the bedside alarm clock goes off. Spurts of his salty hot cum hit the back of my throat at the same time the *Waa-Waa-Waa* of the alarm hits my ears. I lick up the rest of my morning treat, burrow out from under the pile of blankets and greet a smiling Brian who is still breathing hard and hasn't yet let go of my hair.

"Good morning. It's Monday!" I say as I reach over to shut off the alarm.