Chapter 18 - Betrayal.

Betrayal:  The breaking or violation of a presumptive contract, trust, or confidence that produces moral and psychological conflict.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

Assholes. Why do they seem so amazed that I do actually have a heart and occasionally want to help someone. Emmett and Ted just keep rubbing it in and giving me shit. What's the big deal - so I ordered breakfast for Justin. They don't know how tough it is for him - not that I'm going to tell them because it's none of their business - although I wish they'd back the fuck off. But, no, they keep on for like a half hour about how Brian Kinney's been tamed and shit like that. It doesn't end till Justin and I leave.

I laugh it off like always, but it really rankles. All morning I keep thinking about it. Were they serious about some of the shit they said? I haven't 'lost my edge' - that's bullshit. I'm still the Stud of Liberty Avenue. I haven't gone out clubbing in five days and they're already predicting my demise. Well, fuck them.

Maybe I just need a break from twink sitting. It's been days since I've had any real time to myself, let alone any action. I know Justin still needs my help, but I feel like I'm going to completely lose it if I don't get some 'me' time. So, lunchtime comes and I tell Cynthia to order lunch for all the employees - that way I know he'll get fed and it doesn't seem like I'm just codling him.  I ask both Cynthia and Ted to keep an eye on the twink and I head out to do lunch in my own way - at the baths.

I come back to the office an hour and a half later feeling much more relaxed - I finally got my dick in someone, well actually several someones - after days of hand-job-only neglect and it felt fabulous. Plus, after that performance, I'd like to see Ted or Emmett, or anyone else for that matter, tell me I've lost my edge.

But I do feel a little anxious about leaving Justin on his own for so long. Okay, I know it's ridiculous - he's been living in the streets for years, taking care of himself just fine, so what could happen to him in the hour and a half I've been gone? Cynthia isn't at her desk when I come in so I decide to head straight to the art department to check on my blond myself. Only, Justin isn't there. Toby, the guy who has the desk right next to where Justin's been sitting, tells me he left about forty minutes ago but he doesn't know where he went.

"What the fuck, Ted? I'm gone for little more than an hour and you've lost him again," I'm yelling as I enter Ted's office.

"Sorry, Bri, but what the hell are you talking about?" Ted responds.

"Justin. He's gone. I told you to keep an eye on him, didn't I?"

"I did. He came and had lunch with everyone else in the conference room and then he went back down to the art department with Toby and Jessica," Ted explains. "Fuck, Brian, he's a grown man, you didn't expect me to sit with him and hold his hand the whole time you were gone, did you?"

"I expected him to still be here when I got back from lunch, is what I expected. He's not . . . He's not well yet. He gets . . . Fuck. I've got to find him. Call me if he shows up back here." I start to head out of Ted's office but stop and yell back over my shoulder, "And, Ted, get him a phone with that GPS tracker shit so that once I find him you can't lose him again."

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Cynthia tells me that Brian has an appointment and I'm supposed to come join the other employees for lunch up in the conference room. I grin at the idea that I'm included in as one of the 'employees'. I've never actually had a job - outside of street hustler, that is - so it feels nice to be included in with these other people.

Okay, I admit I'm not big on conversation, yet, but I do enjoy sitting and listening to the others talk. They're mostly talking about work stuff or personal family stuff. I can't really relate to a lot of it, but it feels friendly so I listen and nod or smile where it seems appropriate.

Toby, the guy who has the desk next to where I sit, has been kind of a shit to me all week. He's made a couple of jokes about me just walking in and taking over the Daddies' campaign, implying that it's because I'm fucking Brian. If he only knew. But so far I've been ignoring him. He's just a garden variety asshole - nothing special - and at least he's not a homophobe.

At lunch today, though, Toby seems to be on a roll. I didn't think everyone here at Kinnetik knew about me - that I come from the streets or that I'm a hustler part-time - but Toby's either been told something or found out on his own because his jokes are starting to hit closer to home. He makes a nasty joke about a rent boy and winks at me while he barks out the punch line. The jerk. Then he comes over and sits next to me and asks how I like Brian's loft - he tells me he's heard it's the premiere fuck pad in all of Pittsburgh. I'm trying to ignore him, but this time he just seems to want to press.

After he still doesn't get a rise out of me with two or three more tries, Toby moves to a new tactic. He waves Derek, one of the ad execs, over to 'join' us. Then Toby strikes up a conversation about seeing Derek at some club the night before. They eventually get the topic around to Brian and detail some of his 'exploits' at this particular club. Derek, who's actually not a bad guy, shoots a couple of glances my way while they're talking, like maybe he's a little unsure how much he should be saying, but Toby eggs him on.

Toby then manipulates the discussion around to Brian's appointment this afternoon. And somehow Toby just happens to let it slip that Brian's appointment involves the orgy room at the local bath house. He's giggling at the innuendos he's making like a schoolgirl - it's really inane. But it does get to me, even though I'll never let him know that.

I follow the rest of them back downstairs after lunch is over but I don't stay. I grab my coat and head out. I don't want to sit next to that creep for the rest of the afternoon and I really need out of here to clear my head. Fuck 'work'! Brian can get some other flunky to draw for him, I figure.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

I find him at the same park where he was the last time he ran off. As soon as I see that shock of bright blond hair I start to breath again. My relief is mixed with a little anger though - I'm getting a little tired of having to traipse around after Justin every time he gets some stupid idea in that little blond head of his. What the hell was wrong this time, I wonder.

"Justin? Why did you run off again," I demand as soon as I'm near enough to speak to him, although I'm sorry the minute the words come out of my mouth because of the harsh tone I said them in.

I get a disdainful look back from him but nothing more. I sit next to him on the bench, trying to rein back my temper. It isn't easy.

"I thought we had an agreement that you would stay for one week, Justin. Aren't you going to honor your promise?" I can't help asking.

"You said I could go wherever I wanted during the days," is the emotionless response I get.

"You could at least tell me where you're going. I had no idea if you were hurt or not or where you were."

"What are you now, my warden? Do I have to get your permission before I go anywhere? I don't remember agreeing to let you keep me under constant surveillance. I don't like being kept inside places, Brian, and if that's your plan, count me out."

The anger in his voice throws me. Justin has always been this shy, hurt thing that doesn't speak out or talk back. This man is a different animal altogether. He's angry. No, not angry - he's incensed, irate, furious. This wasn't a Justin that I could comfort or protect. I didn't know how to respond to this Justin at all. And I have no idea what had brought this Justin out of his hiding place.

"Justin, what the fuck is the matter? Why are you acting like this? Did I do something to you?"

He laughs. Loudly. But it's an ugly laugh full of hatred and anger and pain.

"No, Brian. You didn't do anything to me. I did it all to myself."

"Sunshine, please, whatever's wrong, just tell me," I say, trying to placate this new, scarier Justin by talking softly and putting my arm around his shoulders.

"Get your hands off me," he practically screams and bolts away from where we were sitting. "You stink, Brian. You smell like another man's cum. Don't you dare touch me."

"Justin? What . . . What are you saying?" I'm completely taken off guard by the venom in his tone and his actions.

"At least I come by the stench honestly. I admit I'm a whore. I do what I have to in order to live. I don't have a choice. I've been driven to this by my loving father. But you . . . You, Brian . . . I suppose you're just a whore by nature. My father was right, I guess - all fags are really just cock whores aren't we? We just can't keep our dicks out of whatever convenient hole that happens by."

"Fuck, he'd be so proud of me if he could see me now - I've just proved every vile thing he ever said about me to be true. I mean he was sure I'd turn out to be no good trash. I'm exactly what he said I'd be. A fucking whore. That's what I am. Only I used to just whore for money or food. Now I whore for much more important stuff right? Acceptance, comfort, happiness? I'll do anything just to let you keep me like your little lap dog - that's what you think, isn't it? ISN'T IT?"

"Well, not any more! You can keep your happy homo home, Mr. Kinney, and all the lies that go along with it. They're really no different than the lies that went along with my father's ideas of a happy family. I didn't buy into his lies either. I'm done being your little pet psychology project. Your boy toy that you took off the streets that you get to brag about to all your friends. 'Oh, Brian's so nice to take in the poor street kid'. 'You're so wonderful to take care of him, Brian.' Well lah de dah! I'm not a fucking charity. I don't need your shit and I don't need YOU."

"Just leave me alone. I'm not buying what you're selling any more," he says, then turns his back on me, standing about ten feet down the path with his legs braced and his arms crossed, his chest heaving with pure rage.

What the FUCK!?!

There were so many different issues in what he'd just screamed at me - so much information - that I was having trouble grasping it all. I had no idea where to start. I didn't see how I was going to get through all that rage to find out the core of what was really bothering him. But fuck if I was going to give up on him. Not yet - maybe not ever.

"No," was all I managed to say, but I really meant it.

"What? What do you mean 'No'? I told you to leave me alone. You don't get to just say 'No'." Justin says, turning back to face me, still angry but now also the tiniest bit curious.

"I said, no. I'm not going to leave you alone. I promised you I'd be here for you, no matter what, so I'm not going to leave you alone. Plus, you promised me a week and I'm not going to let you out of your promise. You can scream at me if you want, but I'm still not going anywhere."

"What part of fuck off don't you get, Brian?"

"The part where you promised me you'd stay for a week and let me try to help you. I told you I'd probably fuck it up completely, but you promised to stay regardless. So I'm going to hold you to your promise."

"What if I don't want to stay any more? What are you going to do? Are you going to lock me up in your loft?"

"No. Of course not. I'll just keep following you around for the rest of the week annoying the crap out of you until you agree to talk to me."

I say this in all seriousness, actually. I meant it - I really would just keep after him until he broke down. But the way it came out sounded pretty silly. It takes us only a minute or two until we're both smiling at each other over my stupid tenacity.

"Fuck, Brian," Justin says as he finally returns and sits on the far end of the bench.

"That doesn't happen till the end of the week, Sunshine."

"Yeah, right. At least for me," he mutters.

"I take it this has something to do with my not fucking you?" I ask, tentatively.

"No. Not exactly. But it does have to do with the fact that you're letting all your friends and employees think we're fucking when we're not. And they're all convinced that the only reason you're doing anything for me or that I'm getting to work at Kinnetik is because you can't live without my tight, hot ass. Meanwhile, you get all the ass you need at the Diner or the baths."

"It's one thing when I sell my body for money, you know," he says in a small hopeless voice, the rage now gone. "At least then it's honest - the client gets a service he wants and I get what I need: money. But with you it's all just fucked up. You don't want my body. You have half the men in Pittsburgh practically throwing their asses at your dick. You want something else from me - something . . . I'm not sure what. And instead of just paying me you try to sell me on all these happy feelings, making me think I'm being included in your life but it's all a fucking lie."

"Then you say you want me to trust you, to talk to you and that you'll help me out of the goodness of your great big heart. But from what I hear, there's serious doubt that that organ even exists. Even if it did, how the fuck do I trust you when I watch you lying to everyone around us every day? I already expected you to lie to me but you can't simply demand that I trust you then, can you?"

"I wish you'd just fuck me and get it over with. At least then all the shit everyone's saying about me and thinking about me would be true. But no, I guess I'm just not good enough for the great Brian Kinney."

"That's not true, Justin. What you're saying is wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start," I begin to explain, but he interrupts me.

"Whatever, Brian. Either fuck me and then let's move on, or start being honest with everyone and start telling them you're not fucking me. I'm not good with lies."

After that, Justin falls quiet, just sitting there looking into his empty hands as if he expects to find some answers there. I'm quite literally speechless. Where do I even start after that tirade? I'm sure that there's more to what he's said than is easy to determine on the surface. But even the issues he's brought up that are clearly visible are so complicated that I have no idea where to begin.

Something Ben said surfaces in my mind - he said that abuse victims have trouble forming stable relationships because of trust issues. So, underneath everything Justin just said - under all the misconceptions, half-truths and hurt feelings - the bottom line is really just trust, right? He doesn't trust me. I've done something or some things that he sees as disloyal or dishonest and it's bringing up all these other issues he's been worrying about. So, I have to be honest with him, earn back his trust and then, maybe, we can work out the other stuff.

Okay, let's start with the easiest issue, then. Either I fuck him or I come clean and tell everyone I'm NOT fucking him. Normally I'd pick the first option without delay, but, especially after this latest fiasco, I'm even more convinced that neither of us are ready for that right now. So, the second option will have to do.

"Justin, the only reason I haven't straightened everyone out about what they suspect we're doing is that I didn't think it was any of their business. I wasn't trying to imply by my silence that we were fucking. And I wasn’t trying to use your presence in my loft or my life to prove my manhood or any crap like that. I had no idea that was how you were interpreting it. But, if it will make you feel better, I'll tell anyone who asks or comments the truth, that we’re not fucking. Will that help?"

He just shrugs. He's sitting at the far end of the bench looking all small again now that his anger has dissipated. I scoot towards him and again try to put my arm around his shoulders, but he still flinches away.

"Fine. You're still angry. But can we at least take this discussion back to the loft or at least the office? It's fuckng cold out here, Sunshine."

He shakes his head 'no' and shrinks even further away from me, seemingly getting smaller still.

"Why not?" I ask, truly perplexed at this new turn .

"You're still angry," is all the explanation I get.

"So what? You're still angry, too. We need to work this out, I just don't want to have to do it out here in the cold with strangers walking by and looking at us as if we're nuts. Let's go home and you can yell at me more there, Justin."

"I don't want to go there with you while you're angry."

"Why?"

"You'll . . . What if I don't want to stay? What'll you do?"

"Do you think I'll hit you? Justin, I would never do anything like that. I swear."

"It's not that. I just don't want to go inside your house. You'll . . . If you don't want me to leave then . . . "

"Fuck, Justin. I won't keep you there if you truly don't want to stay," I finally say, thinking maybe I've hit on the real point of his fear. "In case you haven't noticed, my loft doesn't have any walls or doors - except the bathroom of course, but there's no lock on it either. And the front door only locks people out. You can't be locked in, Justin. All you can do is lock me out, but I really hope you won't."

I watch as he works through this information. The idea that no one could lock him in again, that he's safe, is overwhelming. He crumples into me, finally letting me hold him. But it's not for long. He scrunches up his nose at me and starts to pull away almost immediately.

"I know. I stink. Let's go home and I'll shower and then we can try to figure this out. Okay?"

Justin nods and lets me take his smaller hand in mine as we head towards home.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

While Brian takes his shower, I wander around in the loft. He's right there are no doors except the front door. I test that out - I use Brian's keys to lock it and find that even then I can always open the door from the inside. Even if the alarm was activated, I might set the alarm off but I could always get out. The front door also keeps out people you don't want in. You can keep someone out but never lock them in.

This is the safest place I've ever been. Physically, at least. I'm still not sure how safe I am here internally.

Brian kept talking about this loft as 'home'. 'Let's go home', he said. Like I'm part of the concept 'home'. That part I still don't trust. I've never had a home, just houses. I need to clarify that with Him.

He comes out of the bedroom dressed only in an unbuttoned pair of jeans. His hair is damp and rumpled. He's so beautiful. I want to . . . But, no, I quash those thoughts down right away before they can take root in my psyche. I'm not falling for that again - Brian doesn't want me that way so there's no reason to let any false hope build up. I'll just serve out the rest of my week and then leave.

"Just let me call Cynthia and let her know where I'll be, okay?" Brian tells me as he picks up his phone. "Everyone's probably freaking out since I just ran out of there without telling anyone where I was going."

"Cynthia, hey . . . Yeah, I found him. I'm going to work from home the rest of the day. . . You'll have to reschedule that for Monday, and give him my apologies. . . Of course the meeting with Daddies' is still on for tomorrow afternoon. Have someone bring over everything and I'll prep for the presentation and do any last minute revisions from here. We'll still have tomorrow morning to make last minute changes if we need to. Thanks, Cynthia."

Brian turns to me. "Okay, my afternoon is cleared, Sunshine. So let's talk."

He grabs two beers from the fridge and a bowl of grapes and brings them over to the coffee table. He sits and holds one bottle out to me. I don't want to do this. I don't want to have this conversation. I don't want to sit next to Him and be tempted again. I don't want to let Him in again even a little. But I fucking promised and I know He won't let me out of that promise so I have to sit and I have to talk to Him and I have to let Him hurt me all over again. So I take the beer - I'm gonna need it.

"Where do you want to start, Sunshine?" He asks but I just shrug since it doesn't matter where we start if it's all going to end in the same pain.

"My choice, huh?" Brian says. "Well, let's start with what people have been saying to you. First of all, I want to know who it is that's been saying shit."

"It doesn't matter who," I start to say, but He interrupts immediately.

"Yes, it does. If it's a so-called friend talking shit about me, that's one thing. I'll straighten whoever it is out and that'll be that. But I've got a few enemies in this town, too - you don't get where I am without making some people jealous - and if it's one of them spreading rumors, then I need to know so I can do damage control," Brian explains. "So tell me who's been talking and what they've been saying."

"Mostly it's just been your friends. Ted and Emmett at breakfast this morning, Michael, those sorts of comments. They all think you're fucking me - that I'm just your long term rent boy. Which would be okay if it were true, I guess . . ."

"And I already said I'd set them all straight. Who else?"

"People at your office."

"Who at my office," Brian says, his voice getting menacing all of a sudden.

"Toby, for one," I say, a little uneasy about what Brian's going to do. "He knows I'm a hustler and he's said some stuff, made some jokes. Maybe a couple others, too, but Toby's the worst."

"I didn't know you were going to tell everyone at your work about me, Brian," I add, getting a bit angrier as I say it. "It's not like I care really, it's just that . . . When I know people know about me I act different. I don't let them see me or get to know me, you know. I can keep them out if I'm just the street kid. But I thought that maybe they liked me or wanted to be friendly or something so I talked to people there. I let them see me. And then creeps like Toby say shit to me and I'm not prepared, you know. If I'd been ready for it - if I'd expected it - it wouldn't have got to me so bad. Why did you have to tell them all about me, Brian?"

"That little shit. Toby's just jealous because he doesn't have a tenth of your artistic talent, Justin. He's the artist who did the original Daddies' boards and I took the account away from him when I decided to go with your idea instead. That's why he's saying shit. It's just to get back at you for taking his account."

"Yeah, but how does he know about me? You and Ted were the only ones who knew about me, Brian. But Toby was telling all these rent boy jokes at lunch today and winking at me and . . . Somebody told him about me."

"I didn't say anything to anyone about you, Justin. I swear. I wouldn't ever tell my employees about anything in my personal life. I've fired more than one for talking about me like that before and they all know it. It's not like I hide that I'm gay or what I do, but my employees know better than to spread any rumors they hear or talk about anything they see. I take loyalty issues very seriously, as Toby will soon find out."

"I don't know how he found out about you, Justin. But it wasn't from me and I seriously doubt it was from Ted. Ted might give me shit to my face but he's far too loyal and he likes his job way too much to be caught dead talking about me to anyone else. It has to be someone else. Don't worry, I'll figure it out, and in the meantime we'll fix this first thing tomorrow morning. Okay?"

"I suppose."

We sit in silence for a few minutes after that. I can tell Brian is trying to work out what he's going to say next. Whatever it is, I can tell he's not happy about it.

"I guess we also need to talk about me going to the baths this afternoon?" Brian finally spits it out as if the very words taste bad to him. "You obviously know that's where I was over lunch and I take it that you've got some issues with that?"

"No. Not at all," I answer.

"Good. Because it's none of your business anyway," Brian says, brusquely. "So if you don't have a problem with it, then what was all that crap about me being a cock whore and asses being thrown at my dick and . . ."

Brian is thankfully interrupted by the door buzzer. He gets up, goes to the door and lets in Ted, who's been delegated to bring the work Brian asked for. Brian talks to him quietly for several minutes out of my earshot, probably asking him about what we were talking over earlier. I'm not listening - I'm just glad for the break since I didn’t really like where the conversation was going earlier. I hope Brian is adequately distracted by his conversation with Ted that we don’t have to go back to the same conversation when he’s done.

Before he leaves, Ted comes over to where I’m still sitting on the couch waiting for Brian’s return. He looks even more sheepish than usual, which is saying a lot for the unassuming accountant.  

“Justin. Brian told me about what Toby was saying to you today. I’m sorry that you’re having to deal with that,” Ted explains. “I want you to know that I didn’t say anything to Toby or anyone else about you. Wherever he got his information it wasn’t from me. What you do and what’s in your past is your business and nobody else’s, at least as far as I’m concerned. I’ve got more than a few skeletons in my own closet and I wouldn’t want anyone talking about my past either, so I know what you must be going through and I’m really sorry. And, if anything Emmett or I said earlier made you uncomfortable, then I’m sorry for that too. We didn’t intend to be mean or cause problems, we were just joking around with Brian and we didn’t really think about what we were saying - or at least I didn’t. I’m truly sorry that you were upset by all that. Really. Can you please forgive me?”

“Sure,” I say, actually touched by the apology - I’ve never really had one before so it felt kind of nice.

“Please don’t let Toby and his type keep you from coming back to Kinnetik, either,” Ted adds. “Everyone really likes your work and I think, if you give it time, you’ll really get to like most of the other employees there.”

“Thanks,” is all I can say.

“Well, see you tomorrow, hopefully,” Ted waves goodbye and turns to leave, “Bye, Brian.  Sorry, again.”

“Theodore,” Brian says, noncommittally as he sees Ted out.

When Brian comes back he’s got two items his his hands. He sits on the couch, closer to me than where he was sitting before he got up earlier and hands me a small box. It’s wrapped like a present and I’m not sure what to do with it so I just hold onto it until he gives me directions.

“Open it, Justin,” Brian orders, so I do.  

Inside is a brand new, state-of-the-art smartphone. It’s one of those that does pretty much everything: it talks, tells time and the temperature, it can locate itself if it’s lost, not to mention all the other regular stuff like taking pictures, sending emails, connecting to the internet, oh, and, operating as a telephone, too. I look at it in utter confusion - I’ve never seen anything even remotely this cool and I have no idea what Brian wants me to do with it.

“It’s yours, Justin,” Brian says, answering the confusion in my countenance. “And before you get angry at me over the fact that it’s too much, just let me explain, okay. You’re right that I have absolutely no right to control where you go or what you do. You’re an adult. You should be free to come and go from here whenever you want. But I can’t help it if I get worried when I don’t know where you are. So this is a compromise. As long as you have this phone with you, I can find you if I need to and I don’t have to track you down all over the city.”

“Plus, if you need anything - help, or you get lost, or whatever - you can always call me. My numbers are already pre-programed in for you. Just press and hold the big button on the bottom and say, ‘call Brian’ and you’ll be automatically connected to my cell phone,” Brian demonstrates. “You can reach me at any time, okay. I’ll always take your calls no matter what.”

“And here,” Brian gives me another little box, this one isn’t wrapped and it’s even smaller than the first one. “It’s keys to the loft. That way you can come and go when you want. I’ll show you the alarm codes later, okay.  Just, please don’t leave for good without talking to me first.”

I open the smaller box and see a small key chain with a fob shaped like a little painter’s pallette. It’s even got a small brush lying across the palette. Attached to the chain are three differently shaped keys. It’s wonderful.  

“So, will you please stay, Justin?” Brian asks me again.