When Brian woke up, Justin sat at the foot of the bed. Justin’s arms were crossed over his chest. He stared at Brian’s waking body, his eyes traveling up to meet Brian’s.

Brian frowned, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck…” he moaned. “What… Fuck.” The pain in his head cut through his skull, raced down his neck and shoulders, and connected up with his ribs. He tried to lift his body up, but quickly fell back onto the mattress.

Justin stood and walked to the top of the bed, picking up the bottle of water that Brian did not remember putting there the night before. Hell, he didn’t remember much of anything from the night before. Justin unscrewed the cap from the bottle of pain meds he had in his hand, and helped Brian to sit up. Then he gave him two of the pills, and handed him the water, watching as Brian washed the pills down. After, he helped Brian lie back down.

“Are you hungry?”

Brian shut his eyes. “No. But I might throw up.”

“Seriously?”

“Not just yet. Maybe.”

Justin stood again to walk into the kitchen and retrieve a bowl. He returned to place it on the floor by the side of the bed. He sat down again, and put his hand on Brian’s chest. “Okay,” he began, “I’m going to say this. I haven’t gotten any sleep. I spent last night tailing you when I would normally have ditched you the second you started making out with another guy in front of me…”

Brian snapped his eyes open to scan Justin’s grim countenance. He might have scoffed, but honestly, his ribs felt like they had rebroken and were cutting into his lungs, and damn it, he kind of liked waking up to pills and water and someone else dealing with his pain. So he just waited.

“Yeah, Brian, that was plain mean. And so was telling me I wasn’t your wife where everyone could hear. I know damn well I’m not your wife, but I also know damn well I’m not just a guy you fuck more than once…”

“Justin…”

“No, shut up. I know you don’t really consider me the guy you fuck more than once, but it’s humiliating when you act like it. Because what else am I supposed to go on? But, right, we both know what happened to you last month and so I let you act like a total asshole because I don’t know what the fuck else I’m supposed to do, but you’re damn right I’m not your fucking wife, I’m not going to play the little martyred idiot that you seem to think defines that word.” He took a breath, terrified that if he stopped talking he’d forget what he wanted to say, and god was he tired but he needed to say this.

“Justin…”

“I’m here feeding you your fucking pills because I know you had to have pushed yourself too hard last night and I’m right, can you even move? And it isn’t because I’m your fucking wife, and sure as fuck no guy you fuck, even once or more, is ever going to do this for you. I’m doing this because I love you and I promised myself that I’d help you through whatever this is no matter how much of a bitch it is to me personally. We’re gonna get through this. So you just lay there and take your medicine and go back to sleep.”

“Justin…”

“What?”

“Can you help me to the bathroom? I gotta piss.”

As he leaned heavily on Justin’s shoulder and peed into the bowl, he said, “I know. I’m a total asshole.”

Justin didn’t reply, just watched the stream of urine as it hit the water.

“Justin?”

“What?”

“You’re tired. Come back to bed with me.”

Justin almost started crying again, this time in relief.

***

They undressed and quickly fell asleep. When Brian woke up, four pills were laid on top of the note left on the side table next to his bed. “Brian,” it read, “I’ll be back later. Call me if you need me to bring anything. Otherwise I’m getting Italian – don’t worry, no pizza. J” His phone was propped up beneath the lamp.

***

The Gay Men’s Health Alliance brochure that Kim had given to him indicated that a man named Raymond Tedeschi was on hand for counseling sessions on the weekends. Justin called before he arrived, setting up a meeting for 2:00 p.m. He now sat on the couch in the office, looking at a 40-something man, gray hair thinning, but in reasonably good shape. Justin felt comforted by the fact that after greeting him, Ray (“call me Ray”), did not take the chair behind his desk, but instead relaxed in the easy chair just next to the couch he gestured Justin to sit on.

“So, Justin, what can I do for you?”

Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, uneasy with what he was about to ask. “Well, I want to know, first, is this considered a counseling session? And, how confidential is this? I mean, can you tell anyone anything I say here?”

Ray shook his head, digesting and responding to the question. “I have a Master’s in psychology, and I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor, which means I’m certified by Pennsylvania to provide professional counseling services. As far as confidentiality, if you tell me in a private session that you have specific plans to injure a specific individual, I am bound by law to inform that individual, and report the threat. Otherwise, everything you tell me will be held in strict confidentiality.”

“You won’t tell anyone? At all?” Justin confirmed, knowing he wasn’t going to inform Ray that anyone else was in imminent danger. Well, Brian could be a danger to himself, but he was pretty sure that was not what Ray meant.

“Outside those conditions, I won’t share anything you tell me. What’s going on, Justin?”

Justin took a deep breath, and spilled. “My main concern,” he finished, after bringing Ray up to date on his life as of that morning, “is that I have no idea what I’m doing. Brian’s obviously haunted by this, and I want to help him, however I can. Normally, I’d be tempted to tell Brian to fuck off, I mean, he’s always out hunting for tricks, but the way he did it was way too reminiscent of something I thought we’d put behind us… or, maybe I’d just hoped. But with what happened, I really need to figure out if I’m handling this right.”

Ray looked troubled. “Before we continue this, I’m going to have to let you know where I’m coming from. You’re telling me that Brian Kinney was raped, by a man he picked up at a club, blondish, wearing leather, who tasered him and then assaulted him with a club which he violated him with.”

Justin nodded.

“Okay, now that I know what you’re talking about, you should know that this is a serial rapist. This is the third case, that we know of, inside the past eighteen months.”

“We?” Shit.

“I’ve been working with Kim, the woman who sent you here. We’re been trying to get the word out on this guy, but until Brian, the worst of the attacks were on street kids, and the rest of them were not considered serious. It’s a losing battle, but we’re waging it. Reports on this guy starting coming in over three years ago. They’ve escalated in violence alarmingly in the past year and a half. The police refuse to release the information to the public, because the assaults were just gay bashings, nothing new there, and you’ve had your own experience with how the system works with that.”

“But I was pretty much in the media spotlight for part of it, at least during the trial. I had to hide in my room. How come I haven’t heard of this guy?”

“You might have if you follow the papers, but your case was sensational because it involved upstanding citizens.” Ray’s tone was deeply ironic with that last bit. “The police blotters publish the attacks under ‘assaults,’ but they won’t connect them because of the confidentiality issue. One of the victims is a married teacher with two grade-school children.” He paused, and Justin slumped. Of course, the people who “mattered,” who could push for pursuit, wanted to keep the story out of the spotlight. Including Brian. “So you see the problem. What are you telling friends and family happened to Brian?”

The flush across Justin’s cheeks was immediate. “Car accident.”

“I’ve been hoping to get victims, at least anonymously, to allow the real story out.”

Justin shook his head. “If anyone knew about the attack, they could connect it to Brian immediately. He was in the hospital, and beat up very badly. Everyone knows about that part of it. He couldn’t be anonymous.”

Ray shrugged. “I’d like you to consider talking to him about making the details public. Not his name, of course, but the facts of what happened.”

“No way.” Justin was shaking his head even before Ray finished talking. “Brian could not bear having anyone know.” He thought of Debbie, and the guilt slammed into him like an anvil.

Ray just nodded his head. “Yes, of course. Maybe I’ll convince the next man. If he lives.”

Justin blinked. Oh, hell.

But Ray continued, “So that’s my agenda. I thought it only fair you know what it is. I’ve been following this case a long time, and I really regret Brian had to be hurt. I just think, if I push hard enough, maybe the next man won’t be. Maybe there won’t be a next time. Maybe if I had done more, this wouldn’t have happened to Brian.” He smiled apologetically. “But of course, that’s not why you’re here.”

Justin shifted on the couch. “Are you warning me that your agenda will get in the way of what I need?”

“What do you need, Justin?”

Justin took a deep breath. Well, he had already established that Ray couldn’t release any of this without anyone’s permission. And, obviously, he hadn’t released the information about any of the other victims, so that set a precedent Justin could count on. “I need to know how to handle this. Last night, Brian insisted on going out to Babylon, picking up any number of tricks, making out with another guy in front of me. Before all this, we had kind of taken that off the table. But besides that, he really physically pushed himself harder than he should have, and I took it personally. I’m in over my head, and I’m wondering how I should react to this. If I’m reacting the right way. What’s going to be good for Brian. What he needs from me, right now.”

“Denial and anger are typical behaviors for someone who is trying to reestablish his idea of ‘normal.’ Unfortunately, overdetermined behavior is not going to help him.”

“What will?”

Ray was silent, studying the younger man. “I don’t suppose you can get him into counseling?” And yourself, he thought, but Ray figured that Justin would resist.

Justin’s snort and head shake answered that question.

Ray nodded. “No, of course not. The best thing you can do is help him to understand the context of his situation.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean,” Ray answered, “Brian needs to connect to a supportive social structure that will help him feel some stability backing him. Trauma counseling is usually very helpful under these circumstances, since his understanding of the world now includes a huge demon, ready to jump out at him.” Great, Justin thought. As opposed to all the other ones. Ray continued, “Regardless of whether it ever does again or not, and most likely it won’t, he’ll feel it there, and it will affect his actions. As you see happening last night.”

Justin realized that this wasn’t helping. “Ray, I don’t think this is what I had in mind when I came in here…”

“You came in looking for a quick answer. There isn’t one.”

“So what do I DO?” Justin was becoming increasingly frustrated.

“You should let Brian know you’re there for him, but not, of course, at your own expense. Believe it or not, helping the police in catching this guy, and helping the community, will go a ways in giving Brian back his sense of control.”

“You obviously don’t know him.”

“I know he was responsible for Stockwell’s defeat.”

“But, see, that was something that he made happen, not something that happened to him! Brian’s got a specific personal storyline he wants put out there, and rape victim does not fit it! Telling people what happened is not going to help him restore his sense of himself; he’s the guy who makes things happen, not the guy things happen to.”

“Justin,” Ray responded. “Look. What I’ve been trying to tell you is this. Brian’s not in charge of this – he’s only the latest chapter in a horror story that started years ago. He’s not going to find closure as long as he tries to assert his dominance, tries to change the terms of what happened to him. He needs to accept what happened, that he was raped. He needs to face his negative feelings, and accept how they change his story of himself. To love and respect himself, despite this bad thing that happened to him. The only real way to recover is to accept that you can’t control everything, and just work on what you can, and let time heal the rest.”

Oh, god, psychobabble. Brian, loving himself? Accepting helplessness? This did not aide Justin very practically. “So how do I help him do that?”

“You might want to try talking to him about what happened, instead of treating it as something that needs to be avoided, something to be ashamed of. The rape is part of his life now, regardless of his anger and pain. If he talks about it, his feelings will emerge, and only then can they be separated from the self instead of festering inside. But that’s why it’s best to do it in a professional environment; you’ve described some fairly hostile behavior in Brian’s reactions.”

“Yeah, well, this professional environment has made me feel like shit,” Justin spat, incredibly unhappy about Ray’s so-called advice. Counseling. Counseling and going public. Did all professionals advocate for their own little world views?

Ray’s smile made clear that he was not terribly happy at the moment, either. “Looking reality in the face often makes us feel worse in the short run. But believe me, dealing with it, no matter how hard, is always better than running away. Avoidance tactics will destroy you. That’s how it works, no matter who you are. Even if you’re Brian Kinney.”

***

“What an idiot,” Justin muttered as he left the GMHA. Get Brian to talk about it, yeah, right. And that was just as far as talking to Justin. Get Brian to go public... Ha!

He marched over to the Jeep, and pulled out his cell to place an order at the Italian place, planning to swing by on his way back to the loft. His cell rang even as he pulled it from his pocket.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Justin? I’m sorry, am I calling at a bad time?”

“No, no, Lindsay, sorry, I just have a lot on my mind. What’s up?”

“Well, I hate to ask you this at the last minute, but would you possibly be able to babysit?”

“Sure,” Justin agreed. He was always happy to sit for Gus, when he had time. “When?”

“Well… now, actually. I know! But work has an emergency that I have to be there for…”

Justin wondered what kind of emergency an art gallery could have, but Lindsay was continuing. “…and I haven’t had a chance to make arrangements.”

“Uh, well, sure. I’d like to. But, I have to be at the loft. Brian’s still in a lot of pain. I’m helping him out.”

“Yes, I know, the car accident. That’s why I didn’t call him first. Oh, shoot, do you really have to be there?”

“Yes, Lindsay, I really do. Why don’t I pick Gus up and bring him to Brian’s? I’m sure he would love to see him. And, I’ve got the Jeep, we can just toss the car seat in the back.”

“But I know Brian’s in a lot of pain, still, from what I hear. And Gus, well, he’s a two-year old. And the loft isn’t exactly baby-proof, is it?”

“But I’ll watch him. I’m sure Brian won’t mind. In fact, I’m sure he’d love Gus to be there.” Justin thought of what Ray had to say about Brian being surrounded by loving social support. Yeah, Gus could be good.

“Well… all right. Gus has been up since early, and he hasn’t had his afternoon nap, so he should be either pretty quiet or incredibly cranky. Hopefully he’ll just fall asleep. You’re sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure. Just give me your spare key; if it turns out to be too much of a problem, I’ll bring him back to your place and hang there. But, what’s a few hours?” Lindsay was living in a new apartment, since she and Mel had broken up.

“Actually, it’s overnight. I have to go to Philadelphia.”

“Oh!”

“You might want to keep Gus in his own bed.”

“Lindsay. I have to stay with Brian. It’s not negotiable. Take it or leave it.”

Lindsay took it.

***

Brian was half-asleep on the couch, watching some terrible afternoon movie, when the knock came at the door. He groaned, rolled over, and hauled his body up, hissing at the sharp pain that assaulted him everywhere. Damn, even one of Justin’s lectures wasn’t worse than the hangover and muscle aches he felt in every cell of his body. That would teach him to try and prove a point.

“Can’t you just put the shit down?” Brian grumbled on his way to the door, anticipating that Justin, as usual, was carrying too much stuff, probably the Italian food he had promised. Brian hoped he’d gotten antipasto; he was hungry, and as usual, there was nothing in the loft worth eating. In case of an overload of packages, Justin would often kick at the door and get Brian to come and open it for him.

Brian crossed the floor, hauled opened the door with some difficulty. When the person on the other side stood revealed, Brian lost his breath momentarily. He drew it in, in a ragged inhale.

“Mom.”

“Brian.” Joan Kinney stood stiffly, eyeing him. “You look terrible.”

“Well, gee, Mom, it’s good to see you too! What do you want?”

“Can I come in?”

Brian hesitated, then stepped back and made a sweeping gesture inward. He retreated to the kitchen counter, and perched on one of the stools. He didn’t think he could continue to stand. Damn it, he was not exactly up for this. He idly ran his hand over a knife that had been left on the counter. Temptation, temptation.

His mother had placed herself at the far end of the counter, and leaned slightly against it. “That Novotny woman…” she began.

“Debbie?” Brian’s head jerked up.

“Yes,” Joan agreed, snapping her own head up and down in agreement. “I ran into her in church. She was lighting a candle. Odd woman.”

A candle, Brian thought, probably for Ben. She did that sometimes, Michael had said. Odd, illogical woman.

Odd and illogical still trumped the hypocritical ice cube standing in front of him.

“She told me you had been in an accident,” Joan continued. “I thought…”

“What, mom. What did you think?” Brian demanded when she hesitated, hoping to get this over sooner rather than later.

“I thought, well, she said it was bad. And I thought, well, it wasn’t too late…”

Brian stared, taking in her gray hair, the wrinkles around her eyes, the pinched skin around her mouth. Too late. Not too late. This, from the mother who had rejected him practically out of the womb? Who had deployed him on the battleground of the war she and his father had waged, treating him more like a weapon than a viable human being? And later, using her only son as a source of income when she had never really supported him in any way that mattered? And all this even before she got an eyeful of Justin hobbling down the stairs from his bed? Too late? Was she serious? What the fuck was this?

“Mom…” he started. “I appreciate that…” He didn’t, of course. It had to be the pain meds, making him dull and tired. Unwilling to kick up shit, unable to rally an enthused resistance. Brian just wanted to say his piece and get her to leave. And then he could think about the what-the-fuck after. Or not. But still, she was his mother. “Mom,” he tried again, “Our relationship died with your believing I could molest my own nephew. Or any child. You think you can say anything to fix that?” He was genuinely surprised to hear the lack of animosity in his voice. He was tired, too damn tired for this. Hadn’t this woman put him through enough already?

Then again, maybe, just maybe…

“Oh. Oh, Brian.” She shook her head, and stared at him, her eyes welling with tears.

Was that regret he heard in her voice? Not possible.

But here she was, at his door.

“Oh, Brian,” Joan continued, shaking her head. “I’m not talking about our relationship. I’m talking about your relationship with God.”

He didn’t react for a long moment. Then, “What?” What the fuck? God? Was he really surprised by this? Oh, hell, apparently he was.

“I don’t think it was a coincidence that that Novotny woman stopped me in church to tell me you’d been hurt in a car accident. It seemed like a message straight from God, right in his House. All I could think was, if you had died, and I had not tried to get his message to you, you would be lost for eternity. How could I let God down? The accident is clearly your wake-up call. God is calling you.”

He knew his mother was a fanatic. But, looking at her face, weeping tears for his poor, lost soul, not for his own sake but due to some loveless ideology that counted him out completely, Brian felt his stomach knot up in sudden, terrible understanding of how unreachable she was, always had been, always would be. And this was his mother. Good God. No. God was not good. God was a vengeful, twisted being.

“Hey, Brian, I know I’m kind of springing this on you, but Lindsay called me and I figured you wouldn’t… mind…”

And Justin came walking through the loft door that Brian hadn’t closed in his mother’s wake. On Justin’s hip sat Gus. Gus was just waking up from the ride in the Jeep, his eyes blinking the sleep away.

Joan turned and saw Justin, and then took in the little boy he was holding. She drew her lips inward in a gesture so familiar Justin almost gasped in shock. His eyes flew to Brian’s.

“So,” Joan’s voice cut through the sudden silence, “Still corrupting the young?”

“I’m 20,” Justin replied, at a loss of what else to say. “I’m an adult.”

“Leave him alone, Mom.”

“And this is…” Joan pointed at Gus.

At that moment, Gus came fully awake. He saw his father sitting at the kitchen counter. “Da!” He cried, holding his arms out and wiggling away from Justin’s hip.

Brian stood, crossed the floor and hoisted the child against his chest. He didn’t care how much it hurt, physically. “Hey, Gus, how ya doing?” he asked, as Gus giggled and slapped his father in an ecstasy of greeting. Brian winced, and Justin moved quickly to lift Gus away, setting him down on the floor. Gus promptly flew at his father’s legs, banging into them and holding on. Well, it was better than the ribs.

Joan stood, a pillar of salt, her face like parchment. “Brian…” she croaked.

“Justin, can you take Gus to the living area? Find some cartoons.”

Justin nodded, and toted Gus over to the couch, turning the television onto the cartoon channel. Gus promptly became distracted.

Brian grabbed his mother’s elbow and pushed her toward the loft’s exit.

“Brian! Is that, is that?”

“My son, yes, I have one, believe it or not, even us evil debauched faggots have children.”

“Brian! Children… a child, property of the Lord…”

“No, mom, children are the property of no one, they’re actual autonomous human beings, with feelings, and desires, that don’t necessarily fit your bullshit prescribed catechisms of faith.” He practically shoved her out, and she stumbled slightly. Good.

“Brian, please, listen to me! You’re my son…”

“Actually, according to you, I’m just some molesting faggot. God’s rejected me, remember? But I have a loving partner, and a child who adores his parents, which is more than you’ll ever be able to say!” And he slammed the door in her face.

On the other side, Joan slapped her hand on the metal, and Brian heard her calling his name, but he ignored her to cross to the couch, where Justin was rubbing Gus’s back. “I’m sorry,” Justin whispered as Brian sat down on the couch.

Gus turned his gaze away from Spongebob, to place his hand on his father’s cheek as Brian pulled him in close. “Gus,” Brian spoke, low, against the child’s ear. “You’re the greatest kid on the entire planet. You know that?”

Gus squealed, then giggled at the feeling of Brian’s voice tickling his ear, before sitting back in the middle of the couch, turning his gaze back to the television.

Brian looked over the little boy’s head, at Justin, whose face was a study in remorse. “Oh, god, Brian, I should have called to let you know, I just figured…”

“That I’d want to see Gus. And I do. Right, Gus? You and your Da.”

Gus turned, and before either man could react, he had launched himself across the space between him and Brian, who only saved himself from increased injury by a quick catch.

Justin got up on his knees, and crawled over to put his hand on Gus’s shoulder, pulling him back a bit. “Gus, what did I tell you about your daddy being in an accident? Boo-boo?”

“Boo-boo.”

“Right. You gotta be careful.”

Gus leaned forward, and laid his head down on Brian’s thigh, shifting his face up to look at his father. He batted his eyelashes. “Hi!”

Brian bit his lips to keep from laughing. He put his hand down on Gus’s head, and pulled the fine hair through his fingers. “Hey, buddy.” Then he reached over and grabbed Justin’s sweater. “You. C’mere,” he coaxed, moving so his back hit up against the couch’s arm rest, his left leg extending down the couch length, his right leg on the floor. He pulled Justin so that his back lay against his chest, and buried his face in the juncture at Justin’s neck. Justin felt him take a deep breath. Gus watched, before turning his back to Justin’s stomach, and leaning back. Brian chuckled as he watched his son curl into Justin, mirroring the pose Justin held against Brian.

When Gus had gotten re-absorbed in the episode of Spongebob, Justin turned his head so he could see Brian’s face. “You okay?” he whispered.

“No, I’m still hungover,” Brian whispered back. “My ribs are pissed at me.”

On hearing that, Justin immediately shifted his weight forward away from the man behind him, and said, “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t…”

“No, some pressure is good.” Well, that made no sense. Who cared? Justin leaned back, carefully this time. Justin tried again, “That’s not exactly what I meant. I’m really sorry…”

“Sorry’s bullshit.” Brian paused. “And there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I should have called,” Justin repeated.

“She was intruding. Not you,” Brian told him. He looked down at Justin’s hand, fiddling with the button on Gus’s overall strap. All Brian could see was the blonde hair, as Justin’s head had tipped downward, avoiding his gaze. Damn. His damn mother.

It had been a miracle that Justin had been there that morning at all. His presence had shocked the hell out of Brian. But if there was one morning where he needed Justin to just let things go, that had been the one. The fact that Justin had physically been in his bedroom to give that little speech of his, that had actually been, well, reassuring, yeah, he could admit that. Brian appreciated it, really, he did, and not for the reasons Justin would think. Not because Justin had asserted himself, and told him what was on his mind, although of course there was that. Not even because Justin had been there, although, of course, that was nice. No, it was that Brian had been right. He had known Justin would be fairly pissed about the night before. And yeah, the fact that he’d actually addressed his anger had kind of thrown Brian, he hadn’t really expected that, but he had known Justin was upset. And Justin had confirmed that he was! Brian. Was. Right.

Brian had no idea why he was so pleased by that, but who cared, it felt pretty good. In fact, he had woken up later that morning, floating on a haze of pain meds, feeling plain good that Justin had confirmed what Brian had known. He hadn’t really thought so much about what Justin had said past the point where he said he was going to stick around, but Brian had indeed enjoyed knowing he was right, he had enjoyed having pills and water handed to him, he had even enjoyed the note – well, not enjoyed so much as drew comfort from all that. He was in physical pain, after all; his pain was fairly serious. But the Justin stuff, none of that caused him pain. So maybe that was it. An island of ease in this whole horrible past month.

Lord, he was truly fucked up, absolutely and totally pathetic.

And Gus… now, that would have been good, to have the little man come to visit, to just have him walk through the door… well, have him carried through the door with Justin explaining how it was all Lindsay’s idea and he really wasn’t figuring out a way to make damn sure Brian wasn’t going out again tonight… as if he would be going anywhere, anyway. And then Brian could give Justin shit about being the little caretaker, and Justin could get pissed because Brian obviously hadn’t heard a word he’d said earlier, and then they would roll their eyes at each other, and hang out with Gus, and have a reason to stay home and it would all feel very normal.

Instead, his mother had arrived, telling him his attack was God’s attempt to reach him. He almost laughed. Damn, if she had known what had really happened! He’d been getting the “God’s punishment” lecture. Again.

He looked down at Justin and Gus, stretched down the couch. Justin had now tilted his head towards the TV. Both boys were wearing identical expressions, staring at the cartoon images. It would have been nice, to have Justin carry Gus in, to have the evening play out as Brian imagined it would have gone. And, no, he was not feeling sorry for himself, it wasn’t that at all, it was just that Justin knew how much he loved Gus, and had certainly been looking forward to surprising him. A much better surprise than Italian food! He bet Justin even had had such a quip prepared; Brian could just imagine. “Hey, Gus!” he would say, and Justin would smile that amazing smile and say, “Yeah, much better than Italian food, huh?” And Brian would say, “Well, I was kind of looking forward to the antipasto…” And Justin would smack his stomach, and Brian would pretend he’d hurt his ribs and Justin would look all stricken for a moment before Brian smirked at him. And then Justin would go to hit him again, but he’d of course hesitate, and Brian would actually laugh and Gus would giggle even though he would have no idea what he was laughing at.

His fucking witch of a mother had added grief to Justin’s day – hell, his week, his month. If not for her, possibly there would be none of this fucking tension stretched down the couch now, and they’d instead be sitting around the coffee table, chowing down the Italian they would have ordered as soon as settling Gus in. Yeah.

“So, what happened to my Italian?”

It took Justin a moment to figure out what Brian was talking about. “Oh! Oh, damn, I got distracted.”

“And here I’ve been, looking forward to antipasto since reading your note.”

“Oh! okay, I’ll go call in delivery.” But as Justin moved to get up, Brian tightened his arms around Justin’s chest.

“In a couple minutes.” Brian tipped his head forward, and touched his lips to Justin’s, savoring their soft firmness. “Gus was a much better delivery than Italian food.” Justin, unable to resist, moved his tongue to taste the underside of Brian’s mouth. They kissed for a drawn-out moment, and in that time Justin fully appreciated how long it had been since Brian’s lips had caressed his.

Gus giggled. It took them a few minutes to realize that he was not laughing at the cartoon.