Chapter 17 - Accommodation.

Accommodation:  The act of supplying something needed for convenience or to fulfill a need.

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Brian's POV

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"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."

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Justin's POV

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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.

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Brian's POV

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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.

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Justin's POV

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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.