Chapter 25 - Percipience.

Percipience:  The knowledge gained from the process of coming to know or understand something or someone.

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Brian's POV 
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Jennifer Taylor. Do I believe her? And even if I do, is it really any excuse? How could she not see all the damage Craig's version of 'love' was doing to her son? Why should her recent change of heart make any difference at all?

Then again, at least she has apparently had a change of heart. St. Joan did the same thing - ignoring everything Jack did to me for all those years - and still, to this day, refuses to admit that she did anything wrong. Joan didn't even have the lie that Jack beat me 'out of love' to hide behind. She knew that her husband was a vicious, mean, sadistic drunk who beat her kids for no other reason than he could and Joan still did nothing. 

So, does the fact that Jennifer hid behind the convenient lie her husband gave to the world, excuse the fact that she ignored the abuse of her son? I guess that decision really isn't mine to make. It's up to Justin. I'm not sure I can ever forgive her. But I'll let Justin make up his own mind.

However, I don't have the leisure to sit and worry about Jennifer Taylor right now. I have a few more last minute errands to run before tonight and I'm running short of time. I call Emmett as I walk to my car and confirm that he's finished his assignment - he tells me he'll be dropping off the package for Justin at my office within the hour. Good. That gives me just enough time to make one quick trip to finalize everything and then, I can head back to the loft to get ready for my date.

Yes, I'm taking Justin on a DATE. I have to remind myself not to panic at the mere thought of the word. I tell myself it's not that big of a deal. Even though the only official date I've ever been on was a total disaster which ended in my fucking the waiter in the men's room and my date leaving in the middle of the meal, it doesn't mean I'll fuck up this time, too. Millions of fags do this dating thing on a regular basis and most of them survive just fine. I'm sure that if I really put my mind to it, I'll do fabulous, just like I do with everything else. Plus, despite my relative lack of experience in the dating arena, I'm reasonably sure that Justin has even less experience - I refuse to count any of his customers from his time as a street hustler as a date.

By five thirty, everything is ready - or at least as ready as I can make it. I arrive back at Kinnetik just as Cynthia is heading out for the day. I tell her not to expect Justin or me in the office before noon tomorrow and she gives me one of her knowing smirks, then tells me Em's package is on my desk before she heads out the door. 

Alright. Here goes nothing. I buzz Justin on the intercom and ask him to come up to my office. Then I sit back in my big leather desk chair and wait. 

"Brian?" he taps tentatively on my door as he comes in. "You needed something?"

"Yes. I need you, Sunshine," I say, smiling at the smear of blue paint on his cheek and his paint spattered clothing. "What have you guys down in the art department been doing? Celebrating Divali? What's with all the paint everywhere?" 

"I was working on your new VooDoo Donuts campaign with Jessica. We have a great idea . . . " He's about to start into a description of their new artistic endeavor but I effectively shut him up simply by kissing him, leaving him quiet but smiling.

"Here.” I hand him the package Em brought earlier. "Now, no discussion. It's just clothing, Sunshine. No big deal, but the restaurant we're going to doesn't include paint splattered cargo pants on its dress code. So, just go change and we'll get going."

He looks at me sheepishly but doesn't complain. He takes the package and heads to my bathroom to change. He comes back out after fifteen minutes looking completely transformed. Gone is the casually dressed, paint-covered twink. Now I'm looking at a handsome, stylishly dressed young man ready for a night on the town. 

Fuck, he's so beautiful. I'm amazed at the change from that sad, sick, grey-tinged waif I first saw a little more than a week ago in a hospital bed, to this. He now looks healthy and his skin has a rosy glow to it that wasn't there before. His eyes have regained a brilliant sparkle. His long hair is clean and brushed back off of his face. And Emmett did wonderfully with the clothes - Justin's wearing a pair of soft grey dress slacks topped with a white button down shirt and a pale blue cashmere sweater - it looks perfect on him. I can't wait to tear it all off him later.

"Do I look okay?" Justin asks with concern, still not confident in his own beauty.

"You look perfect," I tell him truthfully, unable to stop myself from cupping his chin and bringing his mouth up to meet mine for a long, slow, devouring kiss that even takes my breath away. 

I eventually manage to pull away from him. He's one big smile from ear to ear. I remind myself again that I've lasted all week and another couple of hours isn't going to kill me. Throwing him down on the desk right now and pounding into him till he was reduced to a happy pulp would certainly put the kibosh on all my carefully made and ridiculously romantic plans. So I reassert my flagging self control, tuck his hand into the crook of my elbow in true gentlemanly fashion and lead him out to the car.

"The Fairmont?" Justin asks ten minutes later as we drive up to the front door of the hotel and five star restaurant situated just a few blocks from Liberty Avenue. 

"Yep. Pittsburgh's finest luxury accommodations - or at least that's what their brochure says," I jokingly respond.

"Wow. I've never been inside. I used to walk by though, sometimes. It looks gorgeous."

"It is. So, come on inside and see for yourself," I answer, getting out of the Vette and handing the keys along with a healthy tip to the valet. 

I maneuver Justin through the well appointed lobby filled with artwork that I know he'd love to stay and admire. However, we have dinner reservations at the hotel restaurant so I don't give him much of a chance to dally. The hostess is already waiting for us at the entry podium.

"Mr. Kinney. Your table is ready. Right this way," she says without delay, earning her and the restaurant even more of my respect.

Justin seems overwhelmed but I had expected that. One of my errands earlier had been to stop at the restaurant and preorder our entire meal - thus no embarrassment on his part with menus or ordering. Brilliant, right? And there's the added advantage of not having our meal interrupted by potentially distracting waiters asking what I'd like to have tonight. 

The hostess seats us at an intimate booth in the back where there's already a bottle of champagne chilling in the ice bucket. I don't even have to ask before a sommelier steps up and pours two glasses for us. The service here is fantastic.

I raise my glass for a toast and Justin does the same looking both excited and nervous at the same time. "To the successful completion of the first week of the Kinney-Taylor Treatment Plan," I offer as we clink glasses, laugh a little and then sip. 

There's an awkward moment that follows where we both look into our glasses, not knowing what to say. But before it gets too weird, Justin clears his throat and asks softly, "Brian, um, what am I supposed to do now?"

"I have no fucking idea, Sunshine," I answer, laughing loudly with relief. "This is only my second date ever, so I have no fucking idea what to do next either."

And after that it's easy. He asks about my first date and we both end up laughing so hard at the description of my date's face when he walks in on me and the waiter that I think I almost piss myself. And to my utter surprise, the conversation just flows from there effortlessly. If I'd known dating was this easy, I might have done it more often. Then again, probably not, since, until Justin fell into my life I really didn't see the need.

After the fifth course - a slice of triple chocolate torte for Justin and a double espresso for me - I sign the room charge slip and lead Justin on to part two of my plan.

The Fairmont's bar is known to turn into a busy singles pick up spot during happy hour or on the weekends. Of course it's mostly heteros, but the hotel is so close to Liberty Avenue that it's relatively gay friendly. There's even a small dance floor and occasionally they have live jazz or some lounge lizard piano singer. But, on Monday nights, they just put a dance mix CD on the stereo and the place is practically dead - which suits me just fine. I already talked to the manager and substituted my own music for their loser stuff. So now Justin and I have the dance floor all to ourselves.

When we enter, there's an old Drifters tune playing - I'd forgotten this was even on the CD - which happens to be a guilty favorite of mine.

"Care to dance, Mr. Taylor," I ask, holding out my hand and half bowing to my prospective partner.

"I'd love to, Mr. Kinney," Justin says and takes my hand with a mock curtsy, causing us both to chuckle.

We drift around the dance floor together to the sounds of this goofy old song and I realize that I'm incredibly happy. This is fun. For once, I'm not out here to prove a point or make a conquest or keep up any image. Nobody here knows me or cares what the fuck my reputation is back on Liberty Avenue. That gives me a sense of freedom I've never had before.

So I let myself go. We dance and laugh and act silly and romantic and I really couldn't give a crap. I twirl Justin around and dip him like in one of those classic movies I watch all the time. The kid isn't a half bad dancer, either. Probably from all those church socials his parents forced him to attend. 

As the music fades, I give in to my secret romantic side, and pull Justin to me for a long, hot kiss. I think the music's already halfway through the next song before we notice it's even changed. I had planned to spend a lot longer here, drinking, dancing and generally getting both Justin and I in the mood. But, I don't think that's going to be necessary. I'm definitely in the mood already, and my leaking cock obviously doesn't think more dancing is needed. Looking at Justin's flushed complexion and sparkling eyes, I don't think he'll mind much if we move on, either. 

Fuck, I'm really pretty good at this date thing after all.

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Justin's POV
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This is the best night of my entire fucking life. I've never had this much fun before or felt this unbelievably special. I can't believe Brian's done all this for me. ME! Dinner, dancing, an actual real DATE. And he looks so happy, too. He's laughing and joking and teasing me. We're goofing around like a couple of teenagers in love. It's insane - this can't really be the same Brian Kinney I've heard his friends talking about? But, whoever this is, I simply love it! 

When he kisses me right there on the dance floor at the end of that corny old song, I think I'm going to melt into a happy puddle right there at his feet. But, apparently, there's more still to come in this date. Normally I'm not big on surprises, you know, because not too many of the surprises in my life have been happy ones, but so far I don't hate being surprised by Brian. So, when we leave the bar and, instead of heading to the front where the valet parking stand is located, Brian leads me towards the elevators up to the guest rooms, I'm not really worried at all. I'm just going to let Brian be in charge and let him take care of me tonight.

Brian pulls a key card out of his jacket pocket once we're in the elevator, swipes it across a security pad on the elevator control panel and then pushes the button for the top floor. I'm not going to say anything. I feel like this might be one of those fairy tales where, if you speak, it all disappears. So I'm just going to wait and see what other wonders this night will produce and not jinx it by talking.

The elevator opens up onto a small foyer with only one set of ornately carved double doors. There's an elegant plaque next to the doorway that reads, 'The Presidential Suite'. Brian's key card works on this door too. He goes ahead of me, swinging both doors wide open and then standing aside to let me enter.

Oh-My-Fucking-Shit! It's a beautiful suite with, I don't yet know how many rooms, all decorated in a modern minimalist style that perfectly matches Brian's personality. The main entryway and living area alone look like they're almost as big as Brian's entire loft. There's a formal dining area off to one side and a smaller, more comfortable media room and office area on the other side. There are open doorways on both sides leading to what appear to be bedrooms. I feel like a little kid scurrying down the hallways to discover all the hidden rooms. I find two regular bedrooms, a small kitchenette and laundry facility and an amazing, huge master bedroom with a giant hot tub/jacuzzi bath, a walk-in closet and a bathroom I could personally live in happily for years.

Brian follows behind me at a more sedate pace. I think he's getting a kick out of watching me go nuts. Once I've opened all the doors and feel like I've found everything there is to discover, I run back to Brian and stand on my toes so I can reach up and kiss him - it's the only way I can think of to express all my excitement right now.

"You like?" Brian asks.

"Yes. I love it! But, Brian, you know you didn't have to do all this. I would be happy to just get you even without all this," I tell him honestly.

"So? You get both. You don't mind, do you?" he asks, his lips curling in, the way they do when he's trying to hide his own enjoyment. 

"Not at all. But I just want you to know that you are all I really want." It's important for me to make him understand that.

"Justin, how do I prove to you that you deserve ALL of this and more? You should have already had a lifetime of moments like this. I want to give you at least a taste of what you missed. I want to give you more, actually, but you have to agree to let me," Brian says, his eyes radiating his sincerity and maybe . . . something more. "Will you let me do this for you, Justin? Let me give you at least one night of having everything you deserve."

But I don't have to answer right away because, right after he says this, my lips and tongue become very busy playing with his lips and tongue. And after that I almost forget the question. But Brian reminds me again, as his lips move up the side of my neck, by whispering against my skin in between kisses, "will you, Justin? Let me do this?"

"Yes." I breathe the word out joyfully.

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Brian's POV
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Now that it's finally time to do this, I might feel just the slightest bit nervous. Which is fucking stupid, right? I've fucked hundreds, if not thousands, of guys. This should be pretty much routine by now. Except it's not. With all those other guys I never really gave a fuck about whether or not they were enjoying themselves. As long as I got off, well, that was really all that mattered. If they had a good time too that was merely a nice little bonus for them.

Tonight was different. I actually cared about this man. I wanted him to enjoy himself. And I wanted to be the man that brought him that pleasure. But I knew Justin's history - or at least part of it - and I suspected that doing this the right way for him, wasn't going to be all that easy.

I was already so hard just from holding him and kissing him that it felt like a steel rod was poking up through my pants. But I could feel from Justin's body, that wasn't the case for him. Fuck. I wanted to smash my fist into the groin of the man who had done this to him. Fucking Craig Taylor had a lot to answer for and I was planning on beating those answers out of him myself if I had to. But that wasn't going to help me get anywhere right now.

So, as much as I just wanted to tear his fucking clothes off him and throw Justin onto the mattress right this instant, I wasn't going to do it. I was going to slow down, figure this out and do it right. My dick isn't very happy about this decision, but I seem to be getting a little better about not doing EVERYTHING my dick orders me to do.

"Come on, Sunshine," I say, untwining our bodies and pulling him after me to the other room.

I sit him down on the couch and then go to pour two more glasses of champagne from the fresh bottle that was cooling in the ice bucket on the bar. I bring the drinks back to the couch, giving Justin one as I settle into the corner of the overstuffed furniture. As soon as I'm seated, I pull Justin around so that he's sitting between my legs, his back leaning against my chest and my arms circling his slender body. It's the most natural, comfortable and comforting position I can imagine and I've noticed we often end up like this when we're talking about tough issues. Which, unfortunately, is what I plan to do now.

I let us both have a few moments of quiet while we sit and sip our champagne. In between sips I'm nibbling at his long slender neck and my hand has already found its way under his shirt tails to the warm skin on his belly. Then, since it's already down there, I let my hand find its own natural segue down to the topic I want to deal with; it slips past the waistband of his slacks and then under his briefs to the well endowed cock within.

I'm just lightly stroking at the tip of his cock with my index finger, but for most guys it would be more than enough to get a rise out of him. Not Justin though. I can tell he likes the sensation - his head falls back onto my shoulder, his eyes are closed, his lips are slightly parted, and his breathing is getting faster and more ragged. But despite these signs that he enjoys what I'm doing, he's not getting hard at all.

"Justin. Tell me what happened. Please. I need to understand before we go any further," I ask him.

His body stiffens slightly at my request. He knows exactly what I'm asking. I'm sure this isn't something he wants to talk about. I need to understand though. I'm just not sure I can go through with the rest of my plan for tonight if I don't get some explanation. But I try to wait patiently while he determines just what and how much he's comfortable disclosing.

"I'm not really sure why this happens, Brian," he eventually begins. "I've started remembering some things this past week - I know what I'm remembering is a part of it, but . . . I feel like there are still parts I don't remember or understand."

"Can you tell me what you do remember?"

"It's bad. I don't think you want to know."

"I probably don't. But I think it might help you to talk about it, Sunshine. So tell me and I'll do what I can to help," I offer.

"My father caught me jacking off to this magazine. It might have happened more than once, but I remember this one time so clearly. He told me it was a sin, that I was a dirty pervert and going to hell. Then, to punish me he . . . " Justin hesitates, but when I tighten my arms around him and kiss his cheek he goes on. "He tied my hands behind my back with a leather belt so I couldn't touch myself and made me kneel, naked, on the hardwood floor, praying for forgivenes. He made me stay there for a long time - more than a day."

"He'd come by every so often and show me the magazine I'd been looking at - he said it was to test me and see if I'd learned my lesson. And every time I saw that fucking magazine, no matter how hard I tried not to, I'd get hard again. So he'd rant and rave at me again and sometimes throw cold water on me or toss his gin and tonic in my face and then tell me he'd be back for another test later."

"I think I eventually passed out or something because I don't remember how it ended. But I never jerked off again after that."

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Justin's POV

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"Fuck, Sunshine," is all Brian says when I finish telling him my story. 

I can't see his face because he's sitting behind me. He's holding me really, really tightly, too - his legs wrapped around mine and both his arms squeezing around my arms and chest. I can feel his face hidden in my hair. His breath comes out choppy and uneven as if he's struggling to hold something back.

Shit. I shouldn't have said anything. I hope I haven't ruined things. The night was going so well, everything was perfect and then I opened my big fat fucking face and now it's all going to turn to shit, isn't it? 

The scalding angry tears start leaking out then. I don't want them but I can't stop them. And I can't even free my arms from Brian's embrace to wipe them away so they just drizzle down my cheeks unimpeded. I'm so angry right now, but there's nothing I can do about it.

"Don't cry, Justin. Don't give your fucking father the satisfaction of making you cry. He doesn't deserve it," Brian whispers to me.

"I'm not crying over what my father did. I'm crying because I've ruined this beautiful night," I try to explain. "Everything was so wonderful - the dinner, dancing, this beautiful room - and now I've ruined it all. You're never going to fuck me now - who would want to considering all my baggage. And now the week's over and I don't have anything again. I don't get to have you and I won't even have anything good to remember because I ruined it."

"You're so fucking stubborn, aren't you, Sunshine? You simply refuse to listen to anything I say," Brian says, his voice sounding annoyed rather than angry, though, as he lifts me up and turns me around to face him. "You haven't ruined anything, Justin. We're still here and the night isn't over. And it really doesn't matter that this week is over because we have next week and the week after that and hopefully a hundred more weeks after those. I'm not going anywhere, Justin."

"I keep wondering what it's going to take to get you to trust me," Brian continues, linking his hand to mine as he speaks. "How do I make you understand? I don't care that the week is up. I DON'T want you to leave. I wouldn't have done all this - the room, dinner, even a fucking date - if I was just going to fuck you and then kick you out in the morning."

"Look at me, Justin," Brian orders when I try to turn my head so as to avoid his intense hazel glare. "Now, listen to me, Justin. Are you listening? Tell me, are you listening?"

"Yes," I say. "I'm listening."

"I don't want you to leave. Not tomorrow and not ever. I want you to stay with me - live with me - at the loft, for as long as you want to stay. Do you understand that?"

No. Frankly, I don't understand this at all. "But, you won't even fuck me because I'm so broken and useless. Why would you want me to stay with you?"

"You're not broken. You're definitely not useless, Justin. And I may not have fucked you yet, but you've already got more of me than any other man ever has. I've never felt so . . . comfortable, I guess is the word . . . with any other man. It makes me happy just to spend time with you, to talk, or just hang out. I even had fun on our fucking date tonight. I like being with you. That's why I want you to stay. And I really can't believe I'm saying this, but it doesn't seem to matter that we haven't fucked - I still want you to stay."

"So. Let's just enjoy the rest of our night and quit worrying about all this other shit," Brian concludes. "Why don't we try out that hot tub and finish off our champagne. Then we'll just see what happens, okay? No pressure - we have lots of time because you're NOT leaving anytime soon. Right?"

When I don't respond right away, Brian starts to look worried again. "Please, Justin. Say you're not leaving. You will stay?"

I have no idea how this is going to work, but I can't say no to him. "I don't want to leave, either, Brian. If you really want me to stay . . . I guess we can try it."

"Yes!" he grins, smacking a kiss onto my lips. "Now, you get your bubble butt into that hot tub and I'll be right back with the bubbly."