Chapter 19 - Discourse.

Discourse:  The formal and orderly and usually extended expression of thought on a subject; To talk or converse.

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Justin's POV

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Why does He do that. Why does he do all these nice little things right when I’m prepared to be angry with him or distrust him or run away. It’s not fair. How dare he give me these wonderful, caring presents when he so obviously doesn’t care for me that way.  He’s so fucking aggravating and part of me wants to just throw the fucking phone and the keys in his face and run away screaming from this place. Unfortunately, the other part, the traitorous weak part, wants to kiss Him. The two parts are pretty equally matched, which means that I’m stuck here not able to do anything. Damn Him!

“Justin?” Brian says, softly, as he moves closer to me and puts his left arm around my waist. “Please say something so I know you’re okay.”

“Don’t touch me!” I yell and pull away from him, standing up in front of the couch so I can glare down at Him. “Just stop it, Brian. Why are you doing this? Why do you give me all these things - presents. I don’t understand you at all.”

“Justin, what’s wrong. I’m giving these things to you because I want you to be able to come and go as you want and at the same time I’ll know you’re okay. What’s so wrong with that? I don’t understand why you’re upset.” Brian answers back, his tone bordering on angry.

“What’s wrong is that I can’t do this, Brian. I can’t be whatever it is you think I should be. I don’t . . . don’t know how to be for you,” I end, lamely.

“I don’t expect you to be anything except what you are, Justin. What is it you think I want.”

“I don’t know. That’s why this is so hard. One minute I think you want me to be something and then the next minute you completely change. How the fuck am I supposed to read you?” I’m yelling and pacing now, so angry again that I can’t keep still.

"You obviously don’t want me physically. I thought that was what you wanted and I was perfectly willing to give you that. But you told me no, that you're not going to fuck me and that you just wanted to help me, yada, yada. Since then I've been trying all week to figure out what you do want and I'm stumped.

"You didn't seem to mind the hand job last night or the blow job the other day. And I caught your act in the shower the other day when you were saying my name while you jacked off. So I was starting to think that maybe you did want me, at least a little bit."

"But then you go get your rocks off at the baths today. Clearly you don't need me when you've got half of gay Pittsburgh throwing themselves at you. I mean if you'd rather use one of them to take care of your needs, instead of me who's actually living at your house and wanting . . . I mean willing to . . . To provide that service, then I'm left back at square one, not knowing what the fuck you want out of me."

"I don't WANT anything from you, Justin," Brian says, his anger almost equal to mine from the sound of his voice.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Brian," I yell back. "Everyone wants something. If its not sex, then what is it? Why are you doing this, hmm? WHY?"

"Fuck if I know why. Especially when you're acting like such a twat."

Brian's apparently finally had enough since he gets up, stalks to the kitchen and pours himself a large tumbler of Whiskey. He stands there leaning against the counter, his back to me and the rest of the loft, while he sips at his drink. All the anger that was sustaining me drains out again and I'm left exhausted and too weak feeling to stand so I just sink down onto the couch again, and wait.

When He finally comes back, he's much calmer. His drink is practically gone so I surmise it's been a while that he was standing over there but time is doing that slippery thing where it goes at different speeds depending on what you're feeling so I don't really know how long it's been. He sits in the chair on the far side of the coffee table from me. I guess He needs some space, too.

"That first night when I saw you in the hospital, when you weren't even awake yet, I knew there was something about you that I couldn't get away from," Brian says very hushed. "I didn't sleep that night at all, you know. The next day, when I caught you trying to escape - you could barely stand and you were only wearing that flimsy hospital gown with no shoes, no jacket, nothing - you were so hurt and small but so determined. You reminded me of me. I got scared when I looked in your eyes and saw all this pain. It reminded me of me when I was living at home, back before I met Michael and Deb. I thought I'd escaped from all that pain years ago, but looking at you, it felt like it all came back."

He gets up and refills his glass, then takes a long swallow before continuing. "I guess what I want from you, Justin, is to not be scared any more. To not feel that empty hollow feeling that seeing you brought back. I can't let you go until I know you are okay. If I can make this okay for you, then maybe I can be okay, too."

"So I am just your pet charity case," I almost cry at the realization.

"No, you're not, Justin," Brian slams his glass down onto the table between us. "You're a lot fucking more than just a charity case or my pet hustler or any of the other terms you keep using to put yourself down. But you asked me what my motivation for helping you was, so I told you. It's not sex or money, it's self preservation - pretty standard motivator."

"But whatever my original motivation was for helping doesn't define you. You're not just what I need from you. You're this remarkably strong, beautiful, young artist. You're incredibly smart. You're so fucking talented you've got half my art department falling over themselves with jealousy. And when you're not stomping around being a stubborn idiot, you're amazingly easy to be with - I like just being with you, watching a movie, working together, whatever - I've never done this with anyone else. I've never enjoyed just being with someone the way I do with you. It's fucking freaking me out, I admit, but I like it, too."

"Plus you're fucking wrong when you say I don't want you. I do. I want you so bad sometimes I'm sure that I'm never going to be able to keep my promise and stay away from you for the rest of the week. But, you're not ready for that, Justin. Fuck, you're standing here telling me that unless I fuck you, you don't know 'how to be'. Don't you see how wacked that is? I'm not gonna fuck you just so you feel useful."

"So, to get back to your original question - what do I want from you? I want you to stay. I want you to let me try to help you because by helping you I feel like I'm helping myself too. I want you to get better, to realize what a fucking remarkable person you truly are."

"And then, when you're ready, I do want to fuck you, but I won't do it until you can truthfully tell me that the reason you want me to fuck you is because you want it, because you want ME. And not for some fucked up reason like you feel you have to or because you don't know how to define yourself without it. Does that make any sense to you, Justin?"

"You didn't go to the baths because you didn't want to be with me?" I ask, just to clarify the one point that I'm still unsure about.

"Shit, no. Justin, I only went there today because . . Fuck! . . . I guess the real reason I went there was because of the shit Ted and Emmett were saying this morning at breakfast," Brian confesses. "You remember how they were giving me shit about being 'tamed'. Like there was something wrong with me taking care of you or some shit like that."

"See, I have this reputation - Brian 'Fucking' Kinney, the Stud of Liberty Avenue - that's what Mikey calls me. And, well, when the guys started ribbing me about losing my edge and all, it got to me a little. It shouldn't have - its none of their fucking business who I fuck or don't - but, it did bother me a little. So, I guess I just thought I needed to prove them wrong. And what better way to prove you're still The Stud, than with well orchestrated public sex, right?"

"And, by the way, I don't appreciate you calling me a whore. I don't care who approves or doesn't approve of my lifestyle, but I'm not a whore. Yes, I fuck around a lot, but I prefer the term 'promiscuous', thank you very much," Brian teases me a little, peeking out of the corner of his eye to see if I'm laughing or still angry at him.

I can't keep back a tiny, scared smile. I'm still spooked about whether or not he's going to get mad about being called a whore - he may be joking about it now, but that doesn't mean he won't get angry later. And I need to process everything else he just told me, too. There's a metric fuck ton of information he just gave me and it's gonna take a long time to go through it all. But I guess I can give him something - a kinda smile - to let him know I'm not running away yet.

"Let's get out of here," Brian says, rising to his feet abruptly. "I'm ready for a break, how about you? Why don't we go get some food and we can pick this back up later."

He holds his hand out to me and I take it. I'm definitely ready for a break. Why is every day I spend here with Brian so emotionally exhausting? I wonder what his life was like before I came along and if he's as worn out by this whole process as I am. Will it ever end? Will a week be enough?

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Brian's POV

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All the things I just said . . . I can't believe I said half that shit. I REALLY need a break after all that. What I want is a fifth of Beam, a couple of bumps and a good fuck, but none of those things will help the situation with Justin, so I guess I'll settle for dinner and getting out of the loft.

It's really early - not even 6:30 yet - plus I had a really good work out instead of lunch earlier, so I decide I can risk the carbs and take Justin to this Asian Noodle House around the corner. I assume that after everything Justin will be feeling super insecure and I'll have to order for both of us, but I'm wrong. The server approaches him first and he just pipes right up and orders a chicken satay rice bowl. I guess he's still riding that wave of angry independence he's been on all afternoon. Way to go, Justin. Even if it does mean we've spent the last two hours arguing, I guess.

I'm only halfway through my grilled Maki when my cell starts to ring. I see it's Lindz so, of course I take it, stepping out of the restaurant to talk. It turns out the art show auction at the GLC was a huge success. Gus' class tile project brought in $500 for their class. And it turns out that the Munchers were the winners in the silent auction of a spa weekend for two.

"I know it's an imposition, Brian, and it's last minute, but the package is for this weekend," Lindsey pleads over the phone line. "There's no time to get a sitter and Debbie's working both Friday and Saturday nights, so she can't do it. Do you think you could watch Gus for the weekend? Please."

"Sure, Lindz. No problem. But, I've got a huge presentation tomorrow afternoon, though so I wouldn't be able to come pick him up till after 6:00. Any chance you could drop him off at Kinnetik for me? I'll have Ted play Auntie till I'm done with my client."

"You're wonderful, Brian. Thank you, thank you, thank you," Lindsey gushes. "I'll drop him off around 4:00, if that's okay. We can pick him up from you at Debbie's on Sunday. You and Justin are coming to family dinner, aren't you?"

"I don't know if Justin's ready for a full family dinner, Lindz. Fuck, the idea gives me nightmares sometimes. Hasn't the kid been traumatized enough?" I'm only half joking - family dinners can be brutal, and Justin may not be ready yet. "Why don't we play it by ear, Lindz. Just call on your way home Sunday and we'll work it out somehow."

"Okay. Thanks again, Bri. I know you've already got your hands full helping Justin but this is really going to be a nice getaway for Mel and I. So, thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome, Mom. Later."

When I get back to the table I notice that Justin, polite little boy with food issues that he is hasn't touched a bite of his food since I left. He's probably just been sitting there, staring at it and letting it get cold the whole time I was gone. If he wasn't so adorable, he'd be outright annoying. I sit and indicate to him to get back to his food.

"Lindz needs me to watch Gus for the weekend," I tell him. "I hope you don't mind that he'll be staying with us."

"He's going to stay at your loft?" Justin seems surprised.

"Yeah," I respond. "It'll be fine, you'll see. He's a good kid. A little exuberant sometimes, but not too hard to take care of. Maybe we'll take him to the zoo or something. When was the last time you spent the day at the zoo, Sunshine?"

"Never."

"Really? You've never been to the zoo? Even as a kid?" I ask, thinking there must have been at least one field trip to the zoo when he was in school.

He shakes his head. "No. My class went one time, but I was being punished for something so my father refused to sign the permission slip and I had to spend the whole day sitting in the secretary's office."

"Well, that just sucks. It's about time then that you got a trip to the Zoo. We'll take Gus on Saturday." I propose and I get a kick out of watching his face light up when I say it. "Fuck, even I got to go to the zoo as a kid, Sunshine. Of course I got in trouble when I wandered off from the rest of my class to watch them feeding the tiger and then Jack beat the crap out of me as punishment when I got home, but at least I got my trip to the zoo."

Thinking about Jack brought to mind some of the things Justin said earlier about his father. I had a lot of questions about the guy. He seemed, if it was possible, more of a monster than Jack. I mean, Jack was a drunk, a womanizer and he beat me, but there was nothing calculating about him. Jack was just a dumb brutal drunk. Justin's father seemed somehow much colder, more calculating. If possible, crueler.

I'd been putting this off long enough, I guess. I sigh, not really looking forward to the discussion that I know we have to get to but determined, nonetheless. Time to tackle Daddy dearest, Justin.

"Is your father still alive, Justin?" I ask him.

He nods, setting down his chopsticks at the same time. I know how he feels - talking about Jack can kill my appetite sometimes, too.

"You've never said his name."

"Craig. Craig Taylor."

"What does he do for a living?"

"Owns a chain of electronics stores - mostly out in the suburbs."

"And your mother?"

"Her name is Jennifer. She never worked - my father wouldn't let her." Justin's voice is a lot softer when he speaks about his mother.

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Don't know. It's been a long time."

Enough with the preliminaries already, Kinney. Get on with it.

"You said earlier that he'd be proud of you - that you'd proved him right? What did you mean by that, Justin?"

"He'd say things to me. Especially after he found out about . . . He said I was trash. That I'd never amount to anything. That I was . . . A p-pervert. That I would go to hell and that I deserved it."

"Ahh, yes. The religion card. I know that one well," I interject. "The last bastion of the bigot - if you can't find any other justification for your hatred, then you can always fall back on religion and claim that whatever you dislike is a sin. It's very convenient, don't you think? My dear mother is particularly good at using that convention. I take it your father was into religion?"

Justin nods but doesn't say more.

"So what about you? Do you believe the religious line?" I ask him, curious to see if he'd internalized all the crap his father had handed him, like so many children did, or if he'd rejected it in rebellion like me.

"No. My father always used it to hurt me. All the stuff the minister would say about The Lord being loving and good just vanished when my father talked about God. So I learned pretty early on not to trust in that god since he was so powerless that he'd let someone like my father use him to hurt me in spite of his supposed goodness. Pretty whimpy as gods go, I always thought," Justin manages a little smile as he says this, humored by his own joke, and I chuckle along.

After I pay the bill, we start the walk back to the loft. I'm relieved that he lets me put my arm around his waist again as we walk together. I've already had plenty of introspection today, so I'm not going to even let myself worry about how 'tamed' that makes me. I just go with it.

But we still have a lot to talk about, so I decide to keep pressing forward. "I take it your father wouldn't like me much? What was that before? 'Cock whore'? That's a little harsh, I guess, but I've had people call me worse. You don't believe that, though, do you? I mean, what your homophobic father believes is one thing, but you don't really believe that I'll just stick my dick in whatever convenient hole comes along, do you?"

Justin gives a tiny shrug, his mouth all screwed up tight like he's trying to hold back something that he wants to say.

"Justin?" I press, since I'm sure he needs to get this out even if I don't want to hear it. "Why did you say those things about me, really."

"Were those guys at the baths good?" Justin asks, surprising me with the seemingly random change of topic.

"Not especially. They weren't bad but they weren't all that memorable either." I answer honestly.

"I'm pretty good, you know. At least lots of my clients have told me I'm a good fuck," Justin says, matter-of-factly.

"After having spent a little time fondling your lovely sweet ass the other morning, I'm quite sure you are. But what's that got to do with why you said all those rather nasty things about me earlier, Justin?"

"It's just that, well, if you really needed to get off . . . If you needed to . . . Why couldn't it have been me?" He finally blurts it out. "Toby said . . . He made the comment that rent boys must not be what they used to be if you had to go get more at the baths."

"I told you, Justin, my going there today didn't have anything to do with that. I was just making a point. And I thought we'd already established that Toby is a shit who knows nothing. A soon-to-be-fired shit at that."

"Yeah, but it . . . It still hurt that you didn't want me. That's why I said that shit," Justin confesses. "I'm sorry for saying all that, Brian. I just wanted . . . I wanted you to want me."

Enough with the inadequate words already. I stop and turn Justin around so he's facing me, then pull him in tightly against me. With a hand on each side of his head, my fingers feathering through that gorgeous long blond hair, I tilt his face up so I can kiss him thoroughly. It starts off almost tender, our lips touching lightly. But he opens to me at once and that tiny movement sends jolts of electricity down through my spine and directly to my balls.

"Justin," I sigh into his welcoming mouth and delicately lick my way inside.

Shit, those plump, full lips of his were just made for kissing, weren't they? Between sucking and nibbling on those delectable lips, I'm also licking and tasting. I'm amazed at this sweet, responsive boy and how wonderful he tastes to me. I'll never be able to get enough of this; I'm sure of it.

"How is it you taste so sweet even after eating spicy Asian food, Sunshine?" I finally manage to voice my wonder between bites, but he's not allowed a chance to answer because I immediately dive back into my own special feast.

If anyone needed further proof of exactly how much I crave this boy, the huge erection pressed between us now should do it. I drop one hand to his lower back and use it to press him harder against me. My dick loves this, apparently; it's jumping and twitching against Justin's stomach with a mind of its own. I really wish I could accommodate its desires, but the poor guy will have to wait. For now, I concentrate on kissing this sweet little blond thoroughly enough to dispell any doubts he might have that I do indeed - very desperately - want HIM.

I only stop kissing him when it becomes apparent that, if I continue, I'll be at serious risk of cuming in my pants.

"Justin, I do want you. Can't you feel how much I want you? Just give it some time, okay."

"Okay," he says with a nod as he licks at his now bruised lips, making me moan at the mere sight.

“You’re killing me, Sunshine,” I groan. “Please take me home and shove me in a cold shower before I embarrass myself”.

He giggles a little but takes my hand and begins leading me home.