Chapter 34 - When The Deed Is Done.

“Dad? What the hell . . .” My father was the absolute LAST person I had expected to see.

“You think you can just come to MY Club and embarrass me by showing off all your faggy ways and get away with it? . . .” Craig continued to rant, not even really acknowledging my question. He pointed over his shoulder with the hand holding his highball glass and, in the process, sloshed the liquor all over himself, but he was apparently too drunk to care. Behind my father I could just barely see the ashen face of my ‘date’ for the night, Ethan. “I saw you, you know,” he slurred. “I SAW what you did! You’re disgusting. Kissing this other fucking pansy here. And, what’s even worse, all my friends and business associates saw you too, damn it! Do you KNOW how fucking humiliating that is? It’s bad enough I have to live with the fact that my son is a damned butthole ranger, but now you’re going to flaunt your sexual deviancy in the faces of all my friends? Fuck you, Justin! FUCK you!” 

Okay, so Dad was more than three sheets to the wind and on a total tear. Not that this was a new experience for me - I grew up dealing with his random drunken nights where he would come home from the Club and talk to my mom like a piece of shit. But this was definitely not something I wanted to deal with right then. Especially not with Ethan looking on. 

“Dad, I think you’ve had a little too much to drink. We should probably get you home,” I said in my best calming voice. “You’re going to regret breaking that door when you get the bill from the Club in the morning, you know.”

“Fuck that! And don’t you dare try to ‘manage’ me, you fucking little fairy. If anyone needs to leave this Club it’s YOU! We don’t need your type around here. So take your little fuck buddy and get the hell out of MY Club before anyone else sees you and realizes I’m related to such trash!”

Yeah . . . So much for trying to reason with my drunken, homophobic, asshole of a father, right? I mean, a guy can only take so much. I’d known how much he hated my being gay from the moment I came out to him and mom, so the slurs against my sexuality were kinda expected. What I couldn’t take was the nastiness with which they were being delivered. Or the way he was basically trying to force me to hide myself and hide the fact that I was gay. I wasn’t going back into the closet for an ignorant bigot like Craig Taylor - especially not so he could save his reputation with his equally bigotted buddies. So, despite my best intentions of trying to help Craig get out of the Club without any more of an uproar, I kinda lost it at that point.

“You know what? Fuck YOU, Craig!” I yelled back at him, stepping forward to get right in his face. “I couldn’t care less if you or your snobbish friends are offended by my kissing another guy. It’s the 21st Century for fuck sake; get over your neanderthal prejudices already! I’m GAY, Craig! YOUR SON IS GAY! And I’ll always BE gay, so hiding me from your friends isn’t going to help. Hell, if anyone is an embarrassment here, it’s you, prancing around here, drunk out of your fucking mind, breaking down doors and screaming out your bigoted bullshit!”

I stood there, chest to chest with the sad, old, bastard that was my father, and stared him defiantly in the eye. I was so done taking his shit. I was done with hiding myself so HE wouldn’t be embarrassed by me. I was tired of him being the embarrassment. And I was done listening passively to his constant denigration. For the moment, I’d even forgotten that he still held the purse strings to my education trust fund. I was just so sick and tired of dealing with his prejudices and I wasn’t backing down again.

Unfortunately, I’d also sorta forgotten just what a bad idea it was to have a face-off with an irrational drunk. 

Craig returned my stare for about thirty seconds, getting redder in the face the entire time, that vein in his left temple enlarging and throbbing, faster and faster as his temper took over. He was literally snorting with anger, his breathing becoming more rapid but having no outlet other than his widely flaring nostrils since his mouth was puckered up in an ugly frown. Out of nowhere, the image of an angry cartoon bull popped into my head and I snickered at the comparison. 

I realized a second later that my laughing was probably a mistake.

My little huff of laughter was the last straw for Craig. He furiously smashed his now almost empty whisky glass to the concrete floor, causing shards of glass to fly everywhere. Then Craig lunged at me, wrapping both his newly freed hands around my throat so he could shake me and strangle me at the same time. I tried to pry his fingers away but I was no match for his insane and drunken strength. Worse still, as he was shaking me, the impetus of his movement carried us both along until my back was up against a section of the shelving, and each subsequent shake he delivered caused my head to crack painfully against the rough metal edge behind me. I tried to fight him off but I wasn’t very effective; he had sixty pounds on me and his righteous fury gave him the advantage. My few efforts to punch or kick him in an attempt to defend myself only seemed to make Craig more angry. As my oxygen levels began to dwindle, I focused on the face I could still see standing in the doorway beyond Craig’s shoulder, but Ethan seemed frozen in place and either unable or unwilling to help me. 

I don’t know how long the struggle with Craig lasted. It felt like it went on forever. It could have been only a few minutes, or it could have been hours. Time ceased to make any sense as he shook me and knocked my body against the shelving while slowly choking me. I fought back as best I could, ineffectually hitting him or kicking at his shins. Nothing seemed to penetrate the violent madness I saw stabbing out at me from the once familiar eyes of the man who was supposed to be my father. Meanwhile, the pain in my head was making me dizzy. My sense of hearing had become disconnected and all the sounds around me felt distant and delayed, causing me even more confusion. Then the lights of the storage room began to dim and my vision tunneled so that I could no longer see anything outside the fisheye lens version of my father’s looming face as he attempted to kill me for the sin of being gay.

Just when I was about to pass out completely, I saw this blur of motion coming up from my left. Suddenly Craig was gone and there was nothing holding me up, so I began to collapse towards the floor. Something, or rather someone, caught me just before I hit the cold, hard concrete. I felt two strong arms hoisting me back up to my feet as I gasped for air like a fish out of water. I clung to the tall, sturdy body wrapping itself around me. All I could do was breathe and try not to fall completely apart as I dazedly held fast to the only support I had.

My vision was still sort of wonky, and what I could see was clouded by the tears that had sprung up unwanted, so I wasn’t entirely sure what came next. It seemed like everything was happening at once. My hearing returned just as a roar of rage erupted from somewhere on my right. The next thing I knew, whoever had been holding me up was gone. I teetered on my unsteady legs, eventually sliding down the wall of shelving behind me till I was slumped in a heap on the floor. 

Meanwhile, in front of me, my father and Brian were duking it out in what looked like an all-out death match. Ethan The Impotent had scooted around the combatants, who were taking up much of the middle of the room, to come to my side; I tried to bat away his overly-solicitous pawing but it felt like I was fighting off an octopus. And, to make the chaos even more perfect, right at that moment our tiny room was unexpectedly filled with what felt like about a hundred maroon-vested Club staffers, all of whom were shouting and bumbling around doing fuck all, but mostly getting in the way. 

When one of the Club guys came over and started groping at me along with Ethan, I figured I’d had enough. I punched someone - not sure who, but I think it was maybe Ethan judging by his later reaction - and freed myself from the concerned caregivers trying to hold me down. It took a bit of effort, but I managed to struggle to my feet, only to find that the staffers had already pulled Brian and my dad apart and were holding them on separate sides of the room. A quick scan of both of them reassured me that my father had clearly got the worst of the fight; he was slumped on a pile of boxes, blood dripping down onto his dress shirt from a large gash over his left eye and the corner of his mouth was torn and swollen. Brian, on the other hand, was still on his feet, still struggling to free himself from those attempting to hold him back, and the only visible blood on him was that decorating his clenched fists. 

I waded through the sea of officious do-gooders to get to Brian. He didn’t seem to see me at first, he was so focused on his foe across the room, but that didn’t stop me from wrapping my arms around his waist and just holding on for dear life. Eventually, my presence seemed to penetrate the fog of fury surrounding him. I saw him blink and shake his head a little, as if trying to clear away the confusion, then he looked down at me and smiled as if nothing else around us mattered. I beamed my best Sunshine grin back at him and my Eggy gently returned my embrace. For that one moment of peace, it was like we were all alone in that tiny room and none of the surrounding pandemonium could touch us. It was too good to last though.

“Justin. Justin! Talk to me. Are you okay?” The annoying twang of Ethan’s voice as he continued to pull at my arms finally broke through the bliss of my reunion with Egbert. “Shit! I thought your dad was going to kill you. When he came over and asked me where you were, I never thought he’d try and kill you. I just thought . . . I didn’t know why you’d snuck off without me and I was kinda pissed at you for missing my performance, but I swear I didn’t know he’d go batshit crazy like this when I told him which way you’d gone. He just blew up at me . . . I’m so sorry, Justin . . . Fuck, you’re still bleeding. You need to come sit down. We should call a doctor to check you out . . .”

Brian had distractedly resisted all of Ethan’s attempts to get me away from him but the mention of me bleeding seemed to finally wake him up. I thought at first he would recoil, what with the whole OCD germaphobe thing, but no. Instead, Brian’s hand came up to the back of my head, tenderly examining with his fingers to see how bad the cuts to my scalp were, and then pulling his bloodied hand away with a renewed glint of anger. But, rather than relinquish me to the importunate Ethan, Brian bent down, scooped me up into his arms and turned as if to head out the gaping door leading out into the tunnels. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going with my son!” Craig bellowed, lurching up off his pile of boxes and moving so as to block Brian’s escape. I was impressed with the fact that he was even able to still function considering how beat up he still was, not to mention that his drunk had only got drunker. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, Buddy, but you’re not taking my faggot son anywhere until I get some answers.” Craig turned his attention down on me with that familiar disdainful sneer. “You never answered me, Justin. I asked what the hell you were doing down here. The Club staff told me you were asking around last week about rifling through these records, but they told you to get lost. So what? Now you’re sneaking around without permission anyway? That’s just like you; a spoiled brat. You always were a fucking disappointment - and not just because you’re a pathetic little fairy who can’t stand up for himself. I see you found yourself a defender though. Should have known . . . What with you flaunting your ass around and making goo-goo eyes at every queer in the City . . . Embarrassing me all over again, just like you did at the damned Christmas party . . . Figures you’d eventually find an even bigger fag than yourself to fight your battles for you.”

Okay, still bleeding and shaky after having been practically killed, or not, I wasn’t putting up with any more shit from the likes of Craig Taylor. 

“Put me down, Brian,” I directed, and he reluctantly obeyed, but remained standing like a bulwark at my back, holding me up and supporting me with his hulking presence. Which gave me the confidence to stand up to Craig again. “Fuck. You. Craig! You don’t get to tell me I’m the one in the wrong after you just attempted to murder your own son. What I’m doing and who I do it with are no longer any of your fucking business. I’m through with you. And, for the last time, I’m gay - that’s NOT going to change no matter how much you claim it embarrasses you - so get over yourself already, you fucking troglodyte!” 

I started to turn away from him, now that I’d had my say, but apparently he wasn’t through with me. “Not so fast, boy!” Craig grabbed my shoulder and wrenched me around till I was facing him again. “You don’t get to disrespect me like that and then just walk away. I’m still the head of this family and you’ll either do as I say - which includes not shaming the Taylor name with your disgusting, perverted lifestyle - or I’ll cut you off completely. I’ll disinherit you. And then you can say goodbye to your fairy art school and your mooching faggot friends and everything else MY money buys you. What do you say to that, you fucking pansy?”

And there it was. The ultimate WASP threat. Do what I say - behave the way I dictate - or I’ll take away the money. I’m sure that was pretty much the same argument the Carnegie family used on poor Billy when they sent him off to the wilds of the Western Territories all those years ago. Only I wasn’t some scared little faggot like Billy and this wasn’t 1886. I wasn’t going to hide myself. I wasn’t going back in the closet to please my father or anyone else. Fuck it all! They couldn’t change me and they won’t hide me. I refuse to be silenced. 

“No,” I replied, my voice steady and strong despite the way my body was shaking.

“What did you say?” Craig bristled, as if he couldn’t believe that anyone would defy him.

“I said, ‘No’. I’m not going to hide myself or pretend to be something I’m not just so you can pretend to have a ‘normal’ son. I won’t do it,” I maintained stubbornly.

Craig seemed honestly surprised by my rebelliousness and for half a second I thought maybe he’d back down. But then he seemed to find his resolve and snarled back at me. “Fine! If that’s what you want, so be it. But that’s it, Justin. I’ve had it. You either leave off all this ‘gay shit’, and come home with me right now, or you never come home again!”

I paused and mulled over his ultimatum but still couldn’t see any way I’d be able to live the pretence he expected of me. So my answer was clear. “Never again,” I said, my voice a little shaky from the emotion of it all, but my resolve as solid as ever. “Did you hear me? I said, NEVER AGAIN!” Craig looked shocked that I’d choose my morals over his money, but what had I expected? “Go! Get the fuck out of here! Go on, Craig!” I screamed at him, now in almost as big a rage as he’d been in earlier. “I’m never coming home again. Never fucking again!”

“Justin, stop,” Brian cautioned, his arms cinching more tightly around my waist and his face coming down to nuzzle at my ear. “He’s not worth it. Let’s just get the fuck out of here and go home.”

I nodded wordlessly. Brian reached down, slid an arm under my knees, and hefted me back up into a cradle hold. Then, without another word, he turned back to the tunnel door, snatched up my phone from the ledge where it had still been broadcasting the facetime call to Brian’s computer, and carried me out of the whirling chaos of the tiny storage room. I could hear Ethan calling my name but then someone closed the door behind us and it was silent and dark and we were all alone once more.

I truthfully don’t remember how we made it back to the Triangle Building. I vaguely remember holding up my phone in flashlight mode to light our way while Brian mostly carried me over and around all the obstacles and corners until we made it safely back to his apartment. I felt disconnected from it all. I didn’t completely come back to myself until I felt the water from Brian’s shower pelting down on my skin from above. And damn that felt good. Washing away all the dirt and blood and anger and fear. Even the slight sting from the shampoo when Brian began to wash my hair felt good as I knew it meant he was cleaning away the stain of that horrible scene. I looked down and saw that the water pouring off me was tinged with red and, as much as I didn’t want to, I tried to push Brian away. There was blood - lots of it - and as out of it as I was, I still knew to protect him from touching it more than he already had. 

“I can do it,” I protested, shoving at his hands as I pushed myself away from his supportive body - which I hadn’t realized I’d needed until it was too late. My body swayed and I could feel my legs shaking beneath me. 

“Stop it, Justin.” Brian’s voice was stern, yet strangely soothing, as he pulled me back into his arms. “Let me wash you, for fuck sake. You’re covered in all kinds of disgusting blood and shit from the tunnel and who knows what else.”

I tried to pull away again, but he held me tighter. 

“But I’m bleeding. It’s getting all over you,” I said weakly. 

“I know,” Brian sighed loudly. “Just let me do this, okay? The water from the shower is rinsing it all away. I’m fine.”

I nodded, which only made me feel dizzier than before. So I scrunched my eyes shut and wrapped my arms tighter around his waist as he worked at cleaning me up. But it was his purring baritone words that seemed to hold me up more than anything else.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Justin. The way you handled your dad . . . The way you stood up for yourself like that. I’m really fucking proud.”

That’s when it hit me. What my father had said to me - the ultimatum he’d given me - and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. It was a weird feeling; I had stopped loving my father a while ago, but hearing him talking to me like I meant absolutely fucking nothing to him, it had hurt like hell. I hadn’t been prepared for that. I felt like a wuss for crying. Logically, I knew I was better off without him, so why was it affecting me so much. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay, Justin. He’s not worth it.”

“I . . . I know. I don’t know why I’m crying about it.”

“Because he’s your dad and you still love him.”

I shook my head as I sobbed. “No, I don’t. I hate him. I fucking hate him so much . . .”

Brian nuzzled my cheek as he rubbed soothing circles on my back. “No you don’t. You think you hate him. But you don’t.”

“No,” I could feel the hate boiling up inside of me again. “I really do hate him, Brian. How can you even think that I don’t. After what he just did? What he said?”

“You hate what he’s become . . . and I get that. You SHOULD hate that man. He’s a disgusting bigot and doesn’t deserve your love. But . . .” He was silent for a moment as though he was thinking carefully about what he wanted to say. “He hasn’t always been like that, right? I bet you have good memories of him from when you were a kid - and that’s the Justin that’s crying. The Justin that looked up to the man who protected him from whatever shit you were scared of as a kid. That’s the Justin who’s hurt. It’s okay for THAT Justin to cry over what he’s lost.”

Eggy’s reasoning made sense. Until I was a teenager, Craig had been a great dad. My father would chase the monsters I had imagined out of my room when I was little and, when I was a bit older, I would go to work with him and sit in his office doing my homework. Those times together were something we both looked forward to. When I was younger, he was always boasting to his friends about how smart I was, how I was going to do great things with my life, and I guess any kid would love that sort of attention. 

“Yeah, I guess.” I sniffled loudly. 

“It’s like . . . With Donal . . . *sigh* . . . I hate that man with everything in me. I hate what he did to me. He was a piece of shit. He was a nasty bully who took advantage of a young kid when I had no one else . . . But he wasn’t always like that. Not to that extent anyway . . . When I first came to live here, and my Aunt was still alive, he’d take me to the park to play soccer. He would stand there proudly and watch me as I had a kick around with some of the other boys . . . Unfortunately, those happy moments didn’t last very long. And yet, by the time he died . . . I wanted nothing more than to celebrate. I was free from him. Free from his controlling bullshit. But as much as I wanted to be happy, part of me was still fucking sad that he died, you know? I didn’t WANT to be sad for him. I hated him. But I guess nine year old Brian popped into my brain and, for a while at least, made me forget all that messed up shit he put me through . . . So, what I’m trying to say, Justin, is . . . It’s okay to grieve what you had. It doesn’t make the hate you feel for him now any less valid.”

See, Brian got me. He understood exactly how I was feeling at that moment. I didn’t care I had lost Craig; we hadn’t been close ever since I came out. But, I couldn’t forget all those wonderful memories I still had from when I was a kid. 

“Thank you, Brian.” I shivered under the cooling shower water. 

“Come on, let’s get you out of here. You’re as clean as I can get you. Which is saying a lot, you know, because NOBODY knows how to clean better than me,” he joked and I smiled even though I didn’t feel like laughing quite yet.

I followed him out of the shower, walking straight into his arms, where he wrapped me in his largest, fluffiest towel and pulled me into the bedroom. 

“Lay down,” he ordered, pointing to the bed. 

I did as I was told and watched as he wrapped his own towel tighter around his waist. Then he walked towards me, pulled my towel off, and proceeded to crawl up the bed until he was kneeling above me, his own longer legs straddling my thighs. I felt small with him perched over me like that, but it was a comfortable smallness; like, I knew I’d be okay, because my smallness meant his largeness could contain me. For once it was okay for me to be small, and scared and in need of protection.

“Hi,” I smiled up shyly into his dark hazel eyes.

He returned the smile. 

“Other than your head, do you hurt anywhere else?” Brian asked softly. “Do these hurt?” His fingers had found their way to my neck and were stroking softly at the obvious bruises that had been left there by Craig’s fingers. 

I nodded gently, not wanting him to stop what he was doing. “Yeah. A little.”

As soon as I said that, he took his fingers away, and I heard myself moan in protest. But I needn’t have worried because his lips soon replaced them. For about half a second I contemplated asking him, teasingly, if he was gonna kiss ALL my booboos better. Then I told myself not to be a complete moron, because of course I didn’t want him to STOP kissing me - I never wanted him to stop kissing me - and I forced myself to just keep my fucking mouth shut. Which was a smart idea because, luckily, the kissing didn’t stop at the bruises on my throat. Instead, my personal Florence Nightingale continued on, his lips leaving gentle caresses all down my neck, over my chest, along the line from my sternum to my navel, and beyond. I was a little disappointed when they took a detour just before they reached the good stuff, but the kisses trailing sideways over the thin skin covering my hip and then down one of my thighs almost made up for it, and I was in no real hurry. 

But then everything went to hell again when the lips reached about calf level. “What the . . . ? Brian’s head popped up and he started to run his hands over my leg. “Oww!” He held up his finger so I could see the welling drop of blood at the tip. 

“What the hell?” 

I sat up so I could better see what was going on and noticed the smattering of small, angry wounds dotted all over my left ankle and calf. I hadn’t noticed those injuries until just then - I’d been too focused on the more serious and painful wounds to my head and neck. Now that it had been brought to my attention, though, the previously dull throbbing in that area became much more insistent. 

Brian, who was hunched over so he could inspect the area more carefully, reached down and carefully plucked something out of one of those tiny gashes, holding whatever he’d found up to the light. “It looks like glass. How’d you get glass in your leg?”

I thought back to the altercation with Craig. It was all a little hazy - fear, adrenaline and getting your head bashed into the wall will do that to you - but I distinctly remembered when Craig had dropped his glass tumbler to the floor and it had shattered into a million pieces. I hadn’t felt anything when it happened, probably because I was too busy trying to peel his fingers off from around my neck, but now it definitely hurt. 

“Craig dropped his whiskey glass,” I explained to Nurse Egbert, hissing loudly as he plucked another small piece of glass from my leg, this time with a pair of tweezers he kept in his bedside drawer - I wasn’t entirely sure what he used them for, as my hairy lover was . . . you know . . . always incredibly hairy, but they did come in handy this once, so yay. 

“Stay still,” Brian ordered brusquely before he proceeded to inspect and prod and tweez at my ankle for another ten painful minutes. “Shit, that’s quite a bit of shrapnel in there, but I think I got it all. Fucking snobs and their expensive leaded crystal stemware - that shit will cut through clothing, not to mention skin, like it was butter. Hang on a sec longer and I’ll bandage that for you.” 

And before I could protest or tell him that I didn’t think the small cuts, despite their multiplicity, needed a full-on bandage, he was gone. A minute later he was back with the most extensive first-aid kit I’d ever seen. It was the size of a small piece of luggage. I mean, hell, this guy was ready for the apocalypse or something. I’m pretty sure most hospitals aren’t that well-equipped. I didn’t say anything, though, because I didn’t want to interrupt my knight in shining armor as he ministered to me.

“There, I think that should take care of it,” Brian concluded as he applied the last piece of surgical tape and sat back to survey his work, nodding his head in approval. 

“Thank you for taking such good care of me,” I told him, smiling at him sincerely. 

I watched as he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, never meeting my eye, and then began to put all his supplies back away in the first-aid kit. 

“I mean it, Brian. Thank you,” I reached out with one hand to stop his fussing, hoping he’d look in my eyes and know how much I meant my gratitude.

Brian cleared his throat nervously, stubbornly refusing to make any sort of eye contact at all. My man really didn’t like it when I showered him with praise. He was so cute when he played bashful, although nowadays he didn’t have that bushy beard to hide behind so I could see him even when he wanted to hide.

“Well, good . . . So, um . . . Now that you’re all taken care of . . .” he said, stumbling slightly over his words. “How ‘bout you take care of me?” 

I looked up at him quickly, I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say - and he wasn’t making it easy as he was still refusing to look at me - but why would Brian need taken care of? Had he been injured in the fight with my dad? I felt terrible that I’d been so worried about myself I hadn’t even thought to ask if HE was okay. I can be such an ass sometimes.

“Of course, Brian. I’m sorry about my father. I never meant for you to get in the middle of all that. I’ll never forgive him for hurting you. Just let me check you over. Lay down,” I smiled, moving out from the center of the mattress so there was room for him to lie down in my place. 

“No, it’s not that . . . I’m not hurt,” Eggy cleared his throat nervously, making me so fucking confused. 

“Okaay . . .”

I was thoroughly perplexed. If he wasn’t hurt, why did he need me to take care of him? Then I watched as Brian stood up, pulled his towel off, and exposed his beautiful body to me. His dick was right at eye level and I wanted nothing more than to take him into my mouth then and there. But before I could even touch him, he’d moved around me and flopped down on the bed, rolling over onto his front and burying his face in his folded arms with his bare ass on display, ever so slightly wiggling as though it was trying to get my attention. 

By the time I managed to tear my eyes away from his glorious ass, I noticed he’d somehow managed to locate a condom and was now holding it out to me - his head still resting heavily on his arms so that he wasn’t looking at me - waving that little foil packet in the air like a flag. Even then it took me a full sixty seconds before I figured out what he was asking for. And when I did cotton on, holy fucking shit, I couldn’t believe that was what he wanted. Was he actually suggesting that he wanted me to fuck him? Was that really what he was asking me to do? I was in shock. Brian giving up control like that hadn’t even been on my radar. Especially not when we’d only just reached the fucking stage a few days before. But, even though I was surprised and a little unsure, I sure as hell wasn’t gonna wait around and let a good thing like that pass me by.

I snatched the packet out of his hand and rolled it on as fast as I could without causing myself any serious damage. I grabbed the good lube off the nightstand and climbed onto the bed next to my man. And then I kinda froze because . . . Well, because this was big. This was really big. Huge even. And serious. And I needed to do this right. For both of us. 

I ran my left hand lightly down his back, outlining his spine with the tips of my fingers, and enjoying the way his muscles rippled under my touch. When I got to his glutes, I could feel him tensing up, so I stopped, letting my hand linger, just cupping the rounded edge of him with my palm until his cold skin warmed to match my own body temperature. When I felt him relaxing again, I let my hand drift over to his other buttock so my right hand could join in on the fun. At the same time I repositioned myself so I could settle on the bed between his thighs, using my knees to spread his legs wider until I had room to proceed. My kneading thumbs eventually drifted low enough to tease apart the softly fuzzed cheeks, revealing a perfectly star-shaped knot. Making use of the lube, I went to work, gently prying, intent on untying that protective knot. Working at it. Worrying it. Jimmying at the locked opening. Hell, by that point I wanted to get inside him so bad I didn’t care what I had to do to accomplish the feat. If I had to fucking break in, so be it. Brian didn’t call me his Burglar for nothing. And while all this was going through my mind, I was also thinking to myself how glad I was that nobody could hear my mental commentary on what I was doing, because that much purple prose was just pathetic. Whatever. 

“Hey, Romeo? I think that’s probably good enough,” Brian’s sultry voice broke into my inner monologue - thank fuck - and reminded me to focus. “I know it’s been awhile, but I’m not exactly a virgin, you know. I’m not gonna break or anything. So, if you wouldn’t mind . . .”

“Right. Sorry. I got a little distracted,” I muttered.

“I could tell,” he smirked - and I don’t know how I knew he was smirking, cuz I still couldn’t see his face, but I just KNEW he was smirking at me, you know?

“Moving on,” I declared. 

After which things just seemed to flow more smoothly. I grabbed a pillow and shoved it under his hips, stretched myself out so I was in the right position, and used one hand to align myself, before slowly, carefully but confidently, pushing against the restricting twist of muscles. After a heartbeat of resistance, they finally gave enough to let me slide in. 

And there it was. I was doing it. I was inside my formerly-hairy hermit. I was fucking Brian! Shit! I could hardly believe it was happening. I was seriously the luckiest SOB on the fucking planet because I was getting to fuck the most gorgeous man who’d ever lived! Look at me go! I felt like Superman or something. I was INVINCIBLE! Fuck my father! Fuck all homophobes ever! Fuck the world! Nothing else would ever matter now that I had this! 

“You can go ahead and move now, Sunshine,” Brian’s voice directed, breaking into my elation.

“Oh, yeah . . . Well, here goes nothing,” I mumbled to myself as I started moving.

Once I really got going it was even better. I mean, I’m not one to brag, but . . . Oh, who am I kidding, I love to brag . . . It was AMAZING. I may have had more experience at bottoming, but I was one fucking fantastic top, too. I had my usually reserved Stylite moaning and writhing and . . . Well, you get the idea. Plus, Brian and I just meshed, you know? So, when he finally came and we both collapsed into a soggy, sweaty, sated heap, I don’t think I’d ever felt more elated in my entire life.

So, yeah, that happened. 

I’d also, for those few precious moments, forgotten completely about the Club, my father, my injuries, and even the fact that I was now a penniless, disinherited, soon-to-be-former art student, with no future prospects whatsoever. Which, now that I thought about it, had probably been Brian’s intent all along. At least, I HAD forgotten until the way we’d landed, laying on our sides with our legs tangled together, put too much pressure against my cut up ankle, and then it all came back to me in a rush. Welcome to my emotional roller coaster, folks. I went from the high of making love to my wonderful, caring boyfriend, to utter desolation in sixty seconds flat. 

“Sshhhh. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine,” I heard Brian crooning in my ear, not even realizing until he said something that I’d been sobbing. “We’re both gonna be just fine. We’ll fix this. We can do anything together, Sunshine. Right? Come on. I mean, hell, if you can fix me - get me to the point, after just a few weeks, where I not only left the building for the first time in a decade, but feel semi-sorta-not-totally freaked out sitting here in bed with cum smeared all over me - you can do anything, Brat.”

I snorted through my tears and just held onto him tighter. “I guess. I mean, I even got you to like snuggling.”

“Yeah . . . No. This isn’t snuggling. This is comforting a sad twink. I still don’t snuggle.”

“Riiiiiight,” I kidded him. 

And then I snuggled even closer to him and we fell asleep.