///~///~

Chapter 13 - Just Relax.

Unfortunately, getting Brian away from his friends and back to the loft proved more difficult than Justin had expected. 

Back in the fall, when Justin had been trying to win Brian’s attentions, he’d followed the man around for a couple of nights - or, as Michael put it, he’d stalked Brian - and gotten a glimpse of the Stud in his natural environment. He’d noted the heavy drinking, the drug use, and the bottomless buckets of boys. But he’d never seen Brian quite so out of control. That afternoon there was a desperation in the man that was almost painful to watch. Brian easily gave in to his well-meaning but deluded friends’ offers to buy him drink after drink after drink. Before the clock struck two in the afternoon, he was already more than half drunk. But getting drunk wasn’t really helping much, or at least that’s what Justin’s keen senses were telling him.

Strangely enough, getting drunk didn’t help lower Brian’s emotional barriers. If anything, he got even more closed off from Justin the more he drank. He became a virtual wall of blackness; the only emotion Justin could read from him was a wretched hopelessness that blocked out everything else. It appeared that Brian was even better at holding his emotions than he was at holding his liquor.

So much for Justin’s plan to stick around and help support Brian. If he couldn’t get in at all, he couldn’t very well provide any comfort. Especially not once Brian had moved on from drinking to his next, even more destructive, coping mechanism: Sex.

Brian had been getting cruised from the moment they walked into Woody’s. Justin figured it was par for the course with a man as gorgeous and compelling as Brian Kinney. But, at least at first, Brian had ignored the stream of guys walking past. He’d paid attention to Justin. He’d made sure Justin had a drink and that Emmett wasn’t hitting on the boy too blatantly. As he got more and more soused, though, Brian got more and more distracted. Before long, the time Brian was spending returning the looks from the guys cruising him outlasted the time he spent paying attention to Justin. 

The Gang didn’t help matters much, egging Brian on, pointing out new hot guys to tempt him with, and even betting on which trick Brian would take on first. So, when a particularly attractive muscle queen wearing a Lycra shirt that molded perfectly to his well-defined pecs - whom Michael had waved over with a gesture towards Brian, as if offering up his inebriated friend for the taking - stopped next to their table and smiled down at Brian with a suggestive grin, the stud was off in a heartbeat. And all Justin could do was watch as Brian followed in the other man’s footsteps, heading towards the men’s room, without another look back at the blond youth.

Things deteriorated from there.

Meanwhile, Justin tried to keep his head down while he fended off his own bevy of admirers. Emmett hadn’t been wrong about all the attention he’d get from the guys at the Tea Dance. It was almost like there was a neon sign above his head flashing ‘Fresh Meat’ or something. He’d been cruised, had phone numbers shoved in his pockets, been brushed up against, fondled, and even pinched, so many times he’d lost count. And that was before Brian had disappeared on him. After Brian fell down the rabbit hole of his drunken lechery, Justin was fairly swamped with guys trying to get into his jeans. Brian’s friends were no help at all; they were too busy laughing at the antics. Needless to say, this was pissing Justin off.

The final straw came when a huge black man with a shaved head and biceps bigger around than Justin’s whole head cornered the boy next to the bar and looked like he would refuse to take ‘no’ as an answer. Justin had already slapped away the man’s roaming hands two or three times as the creep tried to insist that he needed to see if Justin really was that pale all over. He was starting to panic a little by that point because what he could read of the guy’s emotional state proved that he wasn’t at all above taking what he wanted regardless of Justin’s willingness or lack thereof. 

So, when Justin saw Brian stumbling out of the backroom towards the bar one more time, the kid decided that enough was enough. He reached for the whiskey sour glass another patron had left on the bar nearby, threw the whole drink in Mr. Insistent’s face, and while the big guy was still blinded by the stinging alcohol in his eyes, promptly kneed the big lug in the balls as hard as he possibly could. Then Justin grabbed Brian by the hand and forcibly towed the barely ambulatory drunk out of the bar, ignoring Michael’s complaining, which followed them out the door. 

He didn’t think either of them were in any shape to drive, so they ended up walking all the way back to the loft through the snow-clogged streets. The walk was probably a good idea, though, because the cold and exercise went a good way towards clearing Brian’s head. By the time they made it all the way home, the big guy was becoming much more stable on his own feet and had ceased his drunken mumbling. The secure warmth and empty quiet of the loft was a welcome experience for them both once they were inside and the door shut behind them. 

Brian went directly for the sofa, collapsing with a groan. Justin detoured past the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge along the way, and then joined his host. Brian groaned again when Justin’s weight on the cushion next to him jostled his head. 

“Uhhhhhhngh. Why do I do this shit to myself,” he moaned.

Justin unscrewed the cap off one of the water bottles and held it out in front of Brian’s squinting eyes. “Here. Drink.” Brian grabbed the bottle and took a swig of the cold water then moaned again. “They say the majority of the symptoms associated with a hangover are caused not by the alcohol itself but by the dehydration associated with drinking.”

“Thank you, Mr. PSA,” Brian grumbled with another pathetic whine, but immediately went back to suckling at his water bottle.

Which was when Justin had another of those intrusive flashes where his immediate surroundings were momentarily replaced by an image of somewhere else. This time the room he was looking into was dark, as if the space didn’t have any windows to let in even the faint, snow-laden, winter light. In the darkest corner of the dark room was a wooden box of some kind lying on the dingy carpet - maybe a drawer taken out of a larger dresser? - filled with a pillow and an assortment of tattered blankets. And, amid that fluffy nest, Justin glimpsed a dark-haired baby boy. The child was lying there all alone. His face was blotchy, as if he’d been crying, and a bubble of snot was crusted under the little nose as the infant sucked at a bottle just like his father. The similarity between father and son right at that moment was so obvious it was breathtaking. 

But that was all Justin got; just that one brief glimpse. Then the vision was gone again, causing the empath to gasp from the abrupt loss of the connection. Every time this happened, Justin felt almost like Gus was being physically torn out of his grasp. If he could only hold onto the vision, Gus would be safe. He’d be found. He’d be returned to his father. That Justin’s visions continued to fail, felt like a personal lapse. One which he was determined to correct.

“What?” Brian asked, pulled out of his post-drunk misery by Justin's audible inhalation. “Did you see something? Is it Gus?” Brian tossed aside the now-empty water bottle and sat up straighter, pulling at Justin’s arm to get the younger man’s attention. “Tell me what you just saw, damn it!”

“Yes. Yes, I saw Gus,” Justin replied, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ve been getting brief flashes of him all day. But there’s nothing substantial. Nothing that would help me find him.” 

“Fuck,” Brian moaned, once more sinking back into the cushions of the sofa in inebriated dejection. “Poor Sonny Boy . . . I feel fucking useless . . . Can’t do anything . . .”

Which was exactly the opening that Justin had been waiting for. 

“There IS something you can do, Brian,” Justin broached, turning so he could appeal to his companion more directly. “That’s actually why I came over here today; I think I figured it out. I think the connection - the reason I’m seeing all these visions of Gus - is YOU! You’re the link.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Brian shook his head and screwed up his face in a dismissive frown. “I’m not some damned ‘missing link’. That’s bullshit.”

“No, you are, Brian. I’m sure of it,” Justin insisted, scooting even closer to the man he was trying to convince. “Just listen to me. Please.” Brian rolled his eyes and looked away, but Justin wasn’t deterred. “My friend, Daphne, and I figured it out this morning. See, I never had shit like this happen to me until after I met you . . . Yeah, I was able to read people’s emotions, but it was NOTHING like this. But then, almost immediately after I met you, I started dreaming about you and seeing these visions of whoever it is that ended up taking Gus. And the only link is YOU.”

“Fuck that. You can’t blame your deviant, perverted brain functions on me,” Brian complained. 

Brian spent a few moments struggling to get off the couch, pushing away the restraining hands when Justin tried to hold him in place, and stumbled over to the drinks cart on the far side of the dining room table. Justin slumped on the sofa, annoyed but not yet ready to give up. He just had to think of a way to convince Brian to try the experiment he had in mind. But it wasn’t going to work if Brian drank himself into a coma. So, with a sigh, Justin straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin a little higher, and got up to trail after his reluctant assistant. 

“Stop, Brian,” Justin grabbed the bottle of Beam out of Brian’s hands before he could pour any of the amber liquor into the waiting tumbler. “Just listen to me for a minute. Please. I think I know how to find Gus, but I can’t do it without your help.” That seemed to get Brian’s attention. “Look, I know this all sounds a bit fantastical, but it’s the only explanation that makes ANY sense. And if I’m right, we CAN find Gus, but we’ll have to work together.”

Brian exhaled with a subvocal grunt but didn’t struggle as Justin began to tow him back towards the couch. Justin took that as a good sign. Now he just had to figure out how to put his nebulous theories into words. Words that would convince this emotionally closed-off man to finally, and fully, open up to him.

As soon as they were seated again, Justin started in on explaining his hypothesis. “So, the way I figure it, that first night we spent together, we somehow connected.” Brian snorted, mumbling a quiet ‘duh’, which caused Justin to smile, but didn’t stop him for long. “No. I mean, like, REALLY connected - not just physically but emotionally as well - which is why it was so fucking amazing, by the way. I’ve never connected like that with anyone else before, Brian, so it’s no wonder that I kept seeing you in my dreams afterwards.” 

Brian shrugged, a smug grin on his lips, like he was used to being dreamed about by his former lovers.

“Stop. It’s more than that,” Justin insisted, continuing. “I think . . . I think you might be an empath too, Brian.”

That earned Justin a scoffing sputter from the man and Justin felt a wave of disbelief wash over him coming from Brian’s direction.

“Would you please just listen before you form an opinion,” Justin demanded a little more petulantly than before. “Because I think it’s that connection between us that’s going to help us find your son.” His statement caused Brian to finally shut up. “The way I see it is this; I’ve never connected to anyone like I did with you because I’ve never met another empath as strong as I am. And it’s that connection that’s linking me in to these visions of Gus. Because there’s no other reason why *I* would be seeing someone going after YOUR son, Brian. I mean, except for those few brief moments at the hospital, I have no connection to your son. And I sure as hell don’t have any connection to whoever it is that took your son. But YOU do. So see, it has to be you; you’re the one connecting me to Gus and the kidnapper. There’s no other reason I would be seeing all these things. I’m having these visions of Gus BECAUSE of my connection to you. Which also explains how you’ve occasionally managed to somehow see into MY dreams.” 

Justin stopped, looking searchingly into Brian’s face, trying to read him. Trying to see if the brunet was buying the explanation he’d offered up. Unfortunately, it seemed like Brian’s reaction had been to clamp down even tighter on his emotions than usual. Justin was sensing not just a blank wall, but an almost repellant sensation, as if Brian were trying to actively push him away. All of this just served to further confirm his earlier suspicions, though. If Brian weren’t a closeted empath, he wouldn’t have that kind of emotional power. Brian could deny it all he wanted - to Justin as well as to himself - but all the evidence pointed to the very thing he was trying to refute.

“Even assuming this fairy tale you’ve invented is true,” Brian responded, his words conveying the dismissive attitude he was trying to block out, “how the fuck does that help us find Gus? So far your fucking ‘missing link’ hasn’t been that reliable.”

“Exactly!” Justin pressed. “Our connection isn’t working to let me see Gus because YOU keep trying to block me out. Just like you’re doing right now.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything,” Brian maintained.

“Yes, Brian, you are. You’re blocking me. Maybe not consciously, but I can feel it. All I’m getting from you right now is this blankness. It’s like you’re not even there. You’re just a big, emotional nothing. Which I’ve never experienced before, either. Only another empath could have that much control over their emotions; enough to be able to block me out. Most other folks are so emotionally unaware of themselves they don’t even know I’m reading them. But you . . . You are actively blocking me, Brian. And I think it’s that blocking that’s cutting me off from seeing Gus’ kidnapper.”

Brian continued to shake his head, looking everywhere but at Justin, with his mouth set in a stern line of disbelief. Justin was willing to wait him out, though. He’d said his piece and offered up his argument. It was the only logical explanation he could see. Now it was up to Brian to decide if he was going to continue on his stubborn, emotionally closed-off path, or if he’d open himself up to the possibility that Justin was offering, and along with it, the possibility of finding his son before it was too late. 

It took Brian a full five minutes of deep thought before he finally spoke up. “This is total bullshit, you know. I’m not some fucking empath. I don’t even believe you’re a damned empath. It’s all a bunch of new wave, touchy-feely, nonsense. It’s like some fucking Sci-Fi Channel crap . . .” Justin held his breath, waiting for Brian to come to some conclusion, and hoping for Gus’ sake the man wasn’t as obdurate as he appeared on the surface. “But . . . Fuck it all! . . . It’s not like I can do anything else to help my Sonny Boy until fucking Tuesday, so . . . So, what does your ridiculous theory say we should do about all this, huh?”

Inside, Justin was jumping for joy and doing a mental victory lap in celebration that Brian was at least willing to listen to him. He knew this was going to work. He just had to figure out how to break through Brian’s heretofore impenetrable wall of emotionlessness. 

“I’m not one hundred percent sure what we need to do,” Justin began to outline his idea now that he had Brian’s tacit compliance, “but it just feels like, when you get all defensive - for whatever reason - and close yourself off to me emotionally, it blocks me from sensing the kidnapper. It’s only when YOU are emotionally open, when you let your guard down, that I’m getting these tiny glimpses into what he’s doing. Soooo . . . Basically, what we need to do is figure out a way to get you to drop your emotional barriers and let me in all the way so I can use our connection to get to the kidnapper,” Justin concluded.

Another scoffing exhalation evidenced Brian’s skepticism, but even so, he didn’t pull away from Justin, which the boy took as a hopeful sign.

“So, if I’ve got this straight,” Brian summarized, “I’ve got to ‘open myself’ to your empathic abilities so you can link through me to the pervert who took my son and then you’re going to mine that connection to somehow locate the fucking kidnapper . . . Is that right”

“Yeah. Basically . . .”

“This is totally, fucking, insane. You realize that, right?”

“You got any better suggestions?”

Brian sagged even deeper into the couch cushions with a sigh, shook his head, and even rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. It might not be a rousing endorsement but Justin would take what he could get. Anything short of actual hostility would work for him. 

Now came the hardest part; figuring out how to put his theory into action.

“Whatever. Just . . . What do you want me to do?” Brian capitulated.

“Actually, I don’t really know,” Justin conceded with an awkward smile. “I guess . . . Maybe . . . Just relax and try to open up so I can make a solid connection?”

“This is so fucking stupid,” Brian mumbled, even as he let Justin pull him bodily around so they were facing each other, sitting sideways on the sofa. “The shit I let myself be talked into . . .”

“Stop with the negativity,” Justin ordered as he took both of Brian’s hands in his own. “It doesn’t help.” Brian sighed again but didn’t say anything more, so Justin continued. “Okay. Just . . . Just relax while I try to reach out to you.”

“Relax? That’s it?” a still skeptical Brian asked. “I guess I can try . . .”

Justin kept ahold of both of Brian‘s hands as the two men squirmed around on the couch, trying to find the most comfortable and relaxed positions. Eventually they fell still. Brian looked up, staring directly into Justin‘s eyes, seemingly searching for something there. Justin refused to look away, holding himself as open as possible, and hoping to lead by example. But even then there was a palpable edge of resistance coming off his reluctant subject. Justin griped the two large hands even tighter with his own, trying to visualize the connection he was hoping to make, and letting all his attention focus on the man sitting in front of him.

Several long, tedious, minutes elapsed without any noticeable change before Brian spoke up again. “Is it working?”

“No. Not exactly . . .” Justin reached out mentally, one more time, and still felt the same resistance. “You do understand what the word ‘relax’ means, right?”

“Yes, twat. I have a Communications degree, you know. I do understand the meaning of the word ‘relax’,” Brian rejoined snarkily.

“Well, then, do it already,” Justin grumbled, shaking his head and trying once more to focus. “You’re about as relaxed as a stiff prick . . .”

Justin’s little joke got a snicker out of the tense man, which helped at least a little in the relaxation department.

“Try this,” Justin suggested. “Try visualizing a door in your mind. Then, reach out towards that door, grab a hold of the door knob, and open it. See yourself letting me in . . .”

Justin sensed a little spurt of annoyance from his test subject, which was at least some progress. He continued to hold Brian‘s hands, trying to impart a sense of relaxation through his touch. Unfortunately, all he got back was a muddled, unfocused, semi-inebriated, haze. Justin couldn’t tell if Brian’s stubborn refusal to open himself up was intentional, or just some unconscious defense mechanism, but it looked like he had his work cut out for him.

Then the young empath had an inspiration. Instead of trying to force himself into Brian‘s mind, he mentally relaxed himself, and pictured himself inviting the older man’s consciousness into his own mind. At the same time he physically relaxed his own body, leaning back until he was lying against the arm of the couch, and pulling Brian’s body after him until the larger man was laying on top of him. Which definitely seem to help relax Brian, at least physically. Their bodies being in physical contact felt natural to both of them, and before you knew it, Brian had made himself completely comfortable. His lanky form was pressed all along Justin‘s torso, his head resting atop the smaller man’s chest. Justin let go of Brian‘s arms and wrapped his arms around the larger pair of shoulders, getting them both as comfortable as possible. 

And it seemed to be working too. At least at first. Justin could feel the tension and stress of the day draining out of the big, strong shoulders. He felt the long arms and legs noticeably loosening. He felt Brian’s weight becoming imperceptibly greater as gravity pulled their bodies closer together. He even felt the first vestiges of cracks opening in Brian’s emotional barriers, and he diligently applied himself to widening those minuscule openings.

And it was all going so well . . . until he heard the first tiny, snuffing snores.

Apparently, Justin’s relaxation techniques had been too effective. Either that, or Brian’s afternoon of heavy drinking had finally taken its toll. Somehow, though, the frustrating man had managed to fall sound asleep with all his defensive walls still up and infuriatingly intact, leaving Justin lying there, trapped under one hundred and eighty pounds of passed out drunk.

///~///~