Brian exited the bathroom and looked at his still sleeping lover with a small smile. They'd spent a great deal of the night fucking, just as they had every night since Justin's return home from New York three months ago. At moments like this, he could allow himself the luxury, however briefly, of wishing that it would always be like this. That the next turn in Justin's career wouldn't separate them by too many miles or so much time that they'd never find their way back. He wanted to believe that the worst was behind them, to be able to take Justin's assurances at face value, that he'd already made a name for himself, that he'd be as successful painting in Pittsburgh as in New York or Paris or fucking Milan for that matter.

That was actually one thing Brian had no doubt about. His young lover had garnered considerable respect in the art world during his two year absence and his work sold quickly for increasingly large sums of money. The only thing growing faster than his bank balance was the list of people wanting to purchase a Justin Taylor original for their own.

But such success had a way of changing people. Granted, the changes he'd seen in Justin in the last two years had been positive ones and likely had as much to do with time as with success. He'd come back more confident, more mature. Granted, he'd always claimed to be the most mature person Brian knew and that was an accurate description, for the most part, but that maturity had broadened, reaching out to encompass all facets of his personality and molding him into a more well rounded individual, one capable of handling both the business and creative aspects of his craft as well as his personal life.

In short, he'd truly become what Brian had always wished for him. He was, without a doubt, the best homosexual he could be.

And a better man than Brian probably deserved.

Shaking off the uncharacteristic musings, he got back to the task at hand, that of fixing the loose handle on the bathroom cabinet. Since he rarely used them, Brian kept everything he owned in the way of tools stored down in the basement where they couldn't disrupt the immaculate order of the loft.

Letting himself out quietly, he headed down the stairs to the small storage room. Boxes of Justin's stuff were piled neatly where they'd placed them upon his return, cohabitating with Brian's possessions in the small enclosure, perhaps mirroring their life together.

Or possibly ready and waiting to be moved out whenever the next opportunity presented itself.

Irritated by the morose thoughts that kept creeping into his mind, he busied himself with looking for the tool box. As he moved a pile of larger cartons, he discovered a large, flat object covered with a paint-spattered drop cloth and carefully tucked away in one corner of the room. Curious, he pulled away one corner of the protective covering to reveal an unframed canvas decorated with strokes of muted color. As he pulled more of the cloth away, he was easily able to identify it as Justin's work, even without benefit of the name and date scrawled in the bottom right corner. His gaze did light on that for a moment, though, if only to determine when the work had been done, and he was surprised to learn that it was nearly two years old. Why had he never seen it? And why did Justin have it hidden away in the storage room when finished works were routinely stored in his studio or decorating the walls of some gallery somewhere?

Pulling the canvas all the way out, he discovered that, even in the dim light of the room, he could make out images where he'd initially believed there to be only abstract swirls of color. Forgetting the tool box, he carefully carried the painting upstairs to the loft.

Once inside, he propped it on the coffee table and sat down facing it, getting his first real look at the work. The canvas had been creatively divided into three sections, each with a different colored background that melded seamlessly into the next. On each panel was a collection of images, each distinct, but at the same time blending artfully into one another along with a text that flowed gracefully through each one in cursive brush strokes.

Starting on the left, he studied the words and the scenes depicted among them.

Dare to try…

A young, seventeen year old Justin Taylor stood forever captured beneath the familiar lamp post on Liberty Avenue and Brian had to smile as he acknowledged how much that one moment had changed his life.

The smile faded, however, as his eyes moved to the next image, the two of them, again on Liberty Ave., but in a far more sobering depiction. Justin's first real outing after the bashing, Brian guiding him through the street, arms wrapped protectively around the slim body.

Not wanting to dwell on that time in his mind's eye, he moved quickly on to the next image, that of Justin at his computer, the one Brian had bought him to help with his art when the younger man had been ready to give up. He gazed at it for a moment, taking in the determination shining in those blue eyes and couldn't help feeling a sense of pride, knowing that Justin's current success wouldn't have been possible without the courage to battle the limitations so unfairly inflicted upon him. Swallowing the lump rising in his throat, he quickly moved on to the next segment of the painting, easily finding the words so masterfully woven into the background.

… Dare to Be …

Another bittersweet montage of memories. The two of them dancing at the prom, an image likely culled from photos rather than memories that still evaded his lover. As painful as his own memories were, he allowed himself a moment to bask in the love that shone in their eyes as they danced together, oblivious to the rest of the room and to the world itself.

The next image brought another small smile. The two of them standing on the steps of Woody's following Stockwell's defeat. The moment directly following Brian's declaration that he'd lost everything.

Not everything

The words, as well as the confident promise in Justin's eyes still warmed him and he lingered on that image for a moment before moving on to the next. Again, the two of them, this time with champagne glasses in hand, toasting the opening of Kinnetik, love and pride shining in the two sets of eyes locked on one another.

The final scene depicted the two of them basking in both the afterglow of their lovemaking and the warmth of the fire that burned in the background. The night they'd spent at the house in West Virginia. He swallowed hard as the emotions surrounding that time came flooding back to the surface of his mind. It had been a mistake; he realized that now. The feelings, on both their parts, had been sincere, but the timing had been horribly wrong. They'd made the right decision in canceling the wedding, he had no doubt about that, but there was no denying the love and joy he'd felt as Justin had gazed into his eyes and accepted his proposal. He'd drawn on that more than once during Justin's absence and, while he'd never admit it to anyone, it had helped sustain him through some long, lonely nights.

Reluctantly, his eyes abandoned that particular moment frozen in time in order to seek out the third and final portion of the artwork.

… Dare to Dream

Unlike the others, the images depicted there were ones unfamiliar to him. The two of them standing together with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Sleeping, nestled in each other's arms on a sofa far different from the one on which he currently sat. Upon closer inspection, he noted the added lines in both of their faces and smiled in slight amusement. They were older, still together, still obviously in the loft, though the décor had changed considerably. He briefly wondered if Justin saw them there for the rest of their lives.

It's where we first made love.

That wasn't love. I gave you a rim job and fucked your brains out.

Mmm. It was love to me.

He was pulled from his memories by the sight of the next and final image. The two of them again, still older, standing side by side and beaming with pride at what could only be Justin's depiction of an adult Gus, standing in a church and surrounded by flowers. The sincere affection in his son's face left no doubt that he was watching the love of his life walk toward him and Brian couldn't help looking off to the right of the canvas as though he'd be able to see the woman, or man, who would eventually put that light in Gus' eyes.

"Brian?"

He startled slightly at the sleepy voice, turning to see Justin standing beside him with a carefully guarded expression on his face. "I found this downstairs," he said quietly.

Justin allowed his gaze to wander from his lover to the painting and back again, holding Brian's own for a long moment before nodding once and taking a seat at his lover's side.

With a desire for closeness born from the emotions and memories the painting had brought forth, Brian took his hand, entwining their fingers and waiting for his lover to speak.

"Remember my first New York review?" Justin finally began in a soft voice. "I'd been living there about six months at the time."

Brian nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the painting. "Justin Taylor, the daring young artist from Pittsburgh."

"That's the one," Justin said with a small grimace. "Everyone was so proud. My mom, Debbie…" He paused for a moment, casting a sidelong glance in Brian's direction. "You. You all believed it, that leaving everything to take my shot in New York took some sort of fucking courage when really I was just … scared. Scared of not taking the chance and regretting it later. Scared of finally getting everything I'd always wanted. Scared that getting married would change you … change us." He huffed a mirthless laugh. "I wasn't the 'daring young artist from Pittsburgh' that they were writing about; I was a fucking coward who couldn't even paint after that review, afraid that everyone would see something in my next piece that would reveal the real Justin Taylor."

"The real Justin Taylor is probably the least cowardly person I know," Brian said, raising the hand he held to kiss it gently. His next words were accompanied by a small frown. "I saw you at least once a month while you were gone; why didn't I know about any of this?"

"Because I didn't want you to," he replied, his tone sad. "I knew you'd want to fix it and you couldn't. It was up to me to find out if I could live up to what they saw in me, what I wanted to see in myself… what I wanted you to see in me." He leaned back, his head on Brian's shoulder as they both looked at the painting. "And in the process of doing that, I decided that sometimes real courage comes from just trying. From just being yourself and holding on to your dreams no matter how hard others try to take them from you." He was quiet for a moment. "Before I realized it, I'd painted this."

Brian let go of his lover's hand to put an arm around him, pulling him closer and dropping a kiss on the top of the blond head before turning to regard the painting again in silence. "Why have you hidden it away all this time?" he finally asked quietly.

He shrugged. "When I was in New York, it was just too private, too personal to show anyone else." He was quiet for a moment. "I used to take it out and look at it every once in a while, whenever I needed to be reminded why I was there and where I wanted to end up."

"And now?" Brian prodded, unconsciously tightening his hold on the other man.

Justin snuggled closer, slipping his arms around Brian's waist and pressing a warm kiss to the side of his neck. "Mmm. Now it's just a painting." He trailed a line of kisses up to Brian's ear and nipped gently at the lobe. "I don't need a visual reminder of my dreams when I'm living them every day."

He would have said something snarky in response to such a statement six years ago. Hell, maybe even six months ago. It was one thing to finally admit to his feelings, quite another to admit a desire to share in Justin's dreams. He couldn't - wouldn't - entertain thoughts of them together down the road, not when there was always another opportunity waiting just around the corner. Another L.A., another New York.

But even as the thoughts meandered through his mind, he realized that there were no such images in Justin's dreams of the future. Every depiction centred around them, the two of them. Living together, traveling together, watching Gus grow. Together. From that first night on Liberty Avenue to a future more distant than Brian had ever dared conceive, Justin was there, by his side.

He turned his head to look at his lover, capturing the wandering lips in a light kiss even as he studied the expressive blue eyes. In them, he could see that Justin, too, was aware of how Brian would have reacted to such a statement not so long ago. The twink he'd met under that lamp post might have pushed and prodded, but the man currently by his side had been strong enough to bide his time. He'd painted his dreams onto that canvas, hiding them away so they couldn't be carelessly destroyed with thoughtless remarks. Safeguarding them until such a time as he felt safe enough to share them, secure enough in their relationship to risk exposing them to the sometimes harsh elements of reality.

And Brian knew, in that instant, that he'd guard those dreams with his life.

Without a word, he pulled Justin close for another kiss, this one long and deep. Hands groped at sweats and skin until they were both naked, Brian's longer body blanketing that of his younger lover. When his lips finally released those of the man beneath him, it was to blaze a trail along his jawline and down the creamy expanse of skin at his throat. He worshiped the smooth chest with his mouth, his fingers following the trail with feather light touches.

"Brian," Justin gasped.

He responded to the plea in his lover's voice by moving lower, depositing a kiss on the head of the hard cock jutting out from its nest of curls before pushing the other man's legs back and laving the full ball sac with his tongue.

"Roll over," he whispered, releasing his grip on the trembling knees and sitting back.

Justin was quick to comply, his body already awash with anticipation and pure need. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the feel of soft leather against his chest, Brian's hands on his skin as he positioned him, raising his hips. A soft moan escaped his lips when he felt cool air dancing over his hole, imagining the look on his lover's face as he spread his cheeks to gaze at the dark pucker hidden there. "God, do something…"

And Brian did.

Settling himself between the younger man's legs, he bent his head to blow softly over the twitching opening for a moment before tracing the folds lightly with the tip of his tongue. When he got the desired reaction, that being a long, low moan from his lover, he began to intensify his ministrations, putting every skill he'd ever learned into a rim job to rival all others.

By the time he finally lifted his head, lips glistening, hazel eyes filled with desire, Justin was little more than an incoherent puddle of need. Without words, Brian urged the younger man onto his back, gazing down into the flushed face that stared back at him through pupils so dilated he could scarcely make out the blue around their edges.

Unable to resist, he allowed his lips to land on Justin's claiming a long, sweet kiss even as one hand reached for the condom and lube they always kept at the ready.

He had to relinquish the kiss in order to ready himself, but their eyes remained locked on one another as he stroked the condom onto his straining dick, the emotions flowing between them being far more effective in their silence than words ever could.

Brian shifted his weight at the same instant Justin pulled back his legs, each well versed in the mechanics of this act they'd perfected over the years. Their bodies moved as one, effortlessly, pleasantly, achingly familiar but still every bit as thrilling, as overpowering as it had been their first time.

Justin's back arched as his lover filled him, an arrangement of nonsensical, breathy sounds escaping his lips as his eyes held the ones above him captive. Whether hard and fast or slow and seductive, their initial joining never failed to fill him with an all consuming warmth. Complete and utter fulfillment. The knowledge that this, above all the New Yorks and Hollywoods of the world, was where he was truly meant to be. It could never be captured on canvas, wasn't something that could be taught or learned. It went beyond the scope of language and intellect, time and distance. A realm in and of itself where all that mattered was the two of them, together in more than just the physical sense, flying high on emotions that they'd never put into words, but were nonetheless heard loud and clear, acknowledged, accepted, cherished and given back in equal measure.

And by the look in those hazel eyes staring down at him, he knew that Brian was finally ready to accept it for what it was.

Brian took a moment to revel in the feel of himself buried deep inside his lover's body, his gaze equally imbedded in the blue one holding his. So much more than just sex. Probably had been for longer than he'd care to admit.

But there was no denying the emotions shining in those deep, blue eyes at the moment. Love, commitment, promise. All things he'd tried hard to deny in his life. Had denounced, time and time again, in favour of meaningless encounters with faceless bodies.

Things that were currently being offered so freely to him by the one man he'd never be able to admit wanting them from.

Justin could have anything, anyone. A life in New York or California or Paris. A lover who was strong enough and whole enough to love him without reservation. Someone who could adequately express his feelings and give back everything he'd been so willing to give from the first moment they'd met. He could have any of it, deserved all of it.

And yet, all he really wanted was Brian.

Blue eyes mirrored the painting that presided over their coupling. Their past and present. Their future. Together. It was all there, just waiting for him to be able to reach out for it, to accept it and trust that it came with no strings, no hidden agendas. It was all exclusively his, had been all along. Through the fiddler and the movie and the interminable New York separation, it had always been there. A belief in him, in them, that was so much stronger than anything life had thrown their way. Seeing it through Justin's eyes as he'd gazed at that painting, he was finally able to see what had been right in front of him all along. Not just see it, but really, truly believe it. That maybe Brian Kinney really was more than what others saw. That maybe he was deserving of such devotion, of having everything he'd forced himself not to want.

For a brief moment, he wished he had even a fraction of Justin's talent, that he could adequately express his acknowledgement of Justin's dreams, his willingness to accept them as his own. Words were untrustworthy, could be twisted and turned to ugly remnants of what they were meant to be, but true emotion didn't lie. It seeped out of the images Justin created with his brush just as it did from the depth of his eyes. It was real and honest and without regard for the opinions of strangers, family or friends. Theirs alone to nurture and protect. He only wished he had some way of telling Justin that he finally got it. Really got it.

And as a sweet, almost shy smile touched Justin's lips, he knew, without a doubt that he'd somehow been able to do just that.

Infused with a new level of emotion, he put everything he had into their lovemaking, moving with long, sure strokes that reached to the very core of their souls. His lips claimed Justin's, his arms pulling him close as both the kiss and their mutual desire deepened. Soft gasps and breathy moans were swallowed by one another as they climbed towards the heights of ecstasy at a pleasurably slow and sensuous pace until the emotions and physical sensations overwhelmed them and they exploded together in orgasm unlike any they'd ever experienced. Free and unfettered, they flew over the edge, each confident that the other was by their side, would still be there when they finally fluttered, satiated, back to earth.

They lay in each other's arms afterward, Brian's back pressed against the sofa, long arms cradling Justin to his chest. All was quiet in the loft except for their breathing as it slowly returned to normal.

"The bedroom," Brian finally said quietly.

"Mmm," Justin murmured sleepily. "Sleep first. You can fuck me in the bedroom later."

"No, Twat," Brian breathed, slapping one bare ass cheek playfully. "The painting." He was silent for a moment. "We should hang it in the bedroom."

Tilting his head, Justin looked up to capture the hazel-hued gaze. "You sure? We don't have to hang it anywhere, you know."

Brian's eyes flicked to the painting for a moment before returning to meet Justin's. "You took the time to paint it," he said, trying for an offhand tone. "The least I can do is put up with seeing it on a daily basis."

Justin easily read the words behind the words, the ones expressing appreciation not only for the work, but for all the things it represented and what they meant to Justin, to both of them. "I love you, you know," he whispered.

Brian landed a kiss on his forehead, then another on his lips. "Yeah," he replied, his eyes expressing a tenderness he rarely dared show. "I know."

Justin smiled again, his heart hearing the words returned without distortion. After reaching up to kiss his lover lightly, he snuggled back into the warm embrace, allowing himself to drift easily off to sleep.

Brian held him, his gaze fixed on the painting for a long moment before he, too, closed his eyes to sleep. Once again, they stood on the threshold of a new stage in their lives together. One where he, too, could finally dare to dream.