Chapter 32 - Two Prima Donnas.

The brilliant morning sun coming through the window of his bedroom woke Brian up. Well, that and the pounding headache, the dry mouth that felt like it had been coated throughout with several layers of cotton lint and the queasy feeling in his stomach. Brian briefly toyed with the idea of trying to remember what he’d done the night before to incur such a wretched hangover, but then decided he’d rather NOT know. Instead, he just rolled over, determined to try to go back to sleep until the worst of the symptoms had abated.

In the process of rolling over, though, Brian rolled right into another warm body. Through barely slitted eyes, Brian caught a glimpse of blond hair. With a huge smile on his lips, Brian wriggled over closer to his bedmate and enveloped the toasty body in his arms. He figured if he had to have a killer headache, lying in bed with his beautiful blond was the way to do it.

“Justin,” Brian murmured into the mop of golden hair, burying his nose into the thick tresses.

The body hidden by the bed covers squirmed enough so that it was snuggled up as close as possible to Brian, a voluptuous ass pressing firmly against Brian’s groin. Brian grinned even through his doozy of a hangover, reveling in the silky warmth of the soft curves. He sighed with pleasure. This was definitely the only way to survive the morning after an overindulgent night before.

“Oh, Baby. That feels so good,” came a disembodied voice from under the blankets.

Brian’s eyes burst fully open. That was NOT the voice that he should have heard. He’d expected the low throaty whisper of a sleepy Sunshine. Not, a rather high pitched nasally yammering from someone who was definitely not his Sunshine.

In spite of his nasty hangover, Brian practically jumped out of the bed and chucked aside the blankets that were masking the body hiding in his bed, revealing a blond-haired twink of unknown origins.

“Who the FUCK are you?” Brian demanded, his own voice about two stunned octaves higher than normal.

“I’ll be whoever you want me to be as long as you keep on fucking me the way you did last night, Baby,” said a glowing visaged, twenty-something, blond twink that Brian didn’t remember ever seeing before.

The twink in question had a huge-assed grin on his not that attractive face. He had rolled over onto his back when Brian pulled off the covers and was now lying spread eagle across the expanse of the bed. The guy was buck naked and trying to appear seductive by leering up at Brian and slowly stroking his rather insignificant dick. He was also way too skinny with no muscle definition and, other than the golden blond hair that reminded him of Justin, really had no other attractive qualities as far as Brian could see. This guy was not really what he'd normally classify as 'fuckable'. He had no idea how he’d managed to end up in bed with such a gnarly little troll.

“Play time’s over. Get the fuck out!” Brian insisted, glaring at his unwelcome guest and pointing emphatically at the door.

“But . . . I really don’t mind staying, Baby. You’ve got to be the best fuck I’ve ever had. And you were so . . . so sweet last night. I thought we had something . . .” the twink pleaded, obviously confused by the change in reaction he was getting from the man who’d been so tender and solicitous the night before.

“You fucking thought wrong. Now get lost and don’t let the fucking door knock you on the ass on your way out,” Brian again demanded, picking up some clothes he didn’t recognize off the floor and tossing them at the dejected twink who was now scrambling to get out of the bed and dressed at the same time.

“Why are the best fucks always the biggest assholes,” the weepy twink shot back at Brian as he fled, trotting down the hall towards the front door.

Brian sighed with relief as he heard the apartment door open and then close. He rubbed at his face with both hands and groaned as his head throbbed again even more painfully. His head hurt too much to think, even though he suspected that he had a lot he’d need to figure out this morning. However, everything about the night before, and even a little bit about this morning was still too hazy to make sense of. Figuring that he’d do better after a dozen aspirin and a long hot shower, Brian shuffled down the hall to the bathroom.

It was halfway through a relaxing and very hot shower, before Brian’s brain finally kicked in and he started getting vague flashes of memories from the previous night. He remembered coming home from work and finding Justin and The Con-Man sitting together all palsy-walsy on the couch. He remembered heading out to a club. He even had a few vague memories of dancing and drinking way too much. He also remembered cruising the blond-headed twink but after that it all got very very confused.

Brian picked up the bottle of his favorite shampoo and started working it into his hair. The aspirin seemed to have kicked in and his headache had now died down to a dull ache. Brian was luxuriating in the hot water. He let his head drop back and enjoyed the feel of the water sluicing over him, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. He was feeling so much better. He let his mind drift and just concentrated on the pleasantness of being clean and no longer in pain.

Which was clearly the wrong thing to have done. His wandering mind, of it’s own volition, rapidly drifted onto the scene from this morning with the reluctant twink. Brian groaned aloud, wondering what stupid, lesbionic shit he must have spouted while he was fucked up out of his mind to have instilled in the twink an impression that he was ‘sweet’. It was completely out of character for him. And he must have really been out of it to have let the lout stay the whole night. He rarely sunk that low. Justin would be having a tizzy-fit if he knew the guy stayed the night. Well, at least Justin hadn’t woken him up at the crack of dawn with some god-awful noise or some other shenanigans. . .

“FUCK!” Brian’s eyes popped open instantly. “Justin . . . Oh, fuck! I’m in soooo fucking much trouble. . ." Brian whimpered at the mere thought of confronting his certain-to-be-irate boyfriend. He knew that being drunk and drugged out of his mind wasn’t going to be a good enough excuse for Justin. Digging through his memory, he thought he even remembered Justin and Condor being there when he came in with the trick late last night and the look of stunned betrayal that he’d glimpsed in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“This is bad. This is very, very, very, very bad. This is SOOOOO very bad,” Brian moaned, momentarily paralysed with dread at the thought of losing Justin over something as stupid as getting snot-puking drunk and picking up a trick then rubbing Justin’s face in it by bringing the guy home.

Brian was on the edge of panic. His already nauseated stomach clenched painfully and he had to hold on to the shower door handle to keep himself from falling to his knees from the pain and the shame he was feeling. Instead, he quickly turned off the water and dried himself off, thinking furiously of all the ways he could make it up to Justin. He knew he was going to have to fucking beg and plead and grovel to get his Sunshine back after what he’d just done. He knew he would do whatever it took. But, first, he was going to fucking murder that meddling Con-Man James. If HE hadn’t come back into the picture Brian and Justin would have still been happy and content and there wouldn’t be any reason for him to be afraid to leave his own bathroom.

Taking several deep breaths, Brian tried to psych himself up for the task of confronting his probably incensed blond boy. It took a lot more effort to stand up to a slightly-built blond youth with a serious temper than Brian would have ever thought possible. He knew this whole fiasco was totally his fault, though, so he was going to have to buck up and make the first move. However, he wasn’t prepared to do it without a little basic protection - he decided to creep back to his room and arm himself with clothing before he tried to approach the little blond spitfire he knew would be waiting for him.

Fifteen minutes later, adorned in his favorite tight designer jeans and a form fitting cashmere sweater that showed off his well toned chest, Brian thought he might finally be ready to confront the tasmanian devil-boy that was most likely waiting to chastise him. He looked himself over in the mirror one last time, wanting to make as good an impression as possible. His hair was perfect, his clothing was stylish and made him look sexy. He wasn’t wearing any shoes though. Normally, Brian would prefer to stay barefoot in the apartment, but this was a special situation. He didn’t know how things would turn out and he might have to run for it if objects started flying at his face. He decided that he needed to put on shoes so that he was fully prepared, just in case.

Opening up his already ajar closet, Brian’s eyes quickly alighted on his favorite pair of Prada boots sitting on the floor right in front of the shoe rack. He figured those would go perfectly with his casual outfit. He knew that washing up and dressing nicely wasn’t going to help much when it came to apologizing to Justin, but it couldn’t hurt. He grabbed the boots and went back to sit on the edge of his bed in order to put them on.

Just as Brian picked up the first boot, the door to his bedroom popped open and a big sleek furry grey cat edged his way into the room, somehow managing to open the door that Brian thought he’d closed securely. How, exactly, that cat managed to open closed doors, Brian would never know. He figured it was some kind of special ‘pussy power’ that he’d never comprehend. Winston ambled over to the middle of the floor where he could get a nice view of the shoe-donning ceremony and watched the proceedings patiently with only the tiniest glimpse of a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“What are you looking at, Fuzzball?” Brian said, a little freaked out by the overt attention he was getting from the too-intelligent beast.

Winston only rumbled a little discordant grumble at him but didn’t turn away from his contemplation of the scene. Brian didn’t know what to think, but he decided to just ignore the creepy creature and get on with things, ready to face whatever punishment awaited him in order to make amends. He picked up his right boot and slid it on. The toe was a bit scuffed, so he buffed it against the back of his jeans leg before moving on to the other shoe. Then, as he was bending down to reach for the second boot, Brian noticed the cat inching closer. He didn’t understand the glint of . . . he didn’t know what, in the critter’s eyes, but he didn’t really like it.

Keeping a close eye on the possibly hostile cat, Brian slipped his foot into the remaining boot without really looking at it. However, before his foot was even halfway in, he felt something wet and smooshy against his toes. His boots were not supposed to be wet or smooshy inside. Brian immediately withdrew his offended foot, noting that his toes were covered in some unknown slimy grey-green gook. Trying his best to control the gagging sensation that tried to overwhelm him, Brian looked down into the opening of the boot and saw the most disgusting mass of foul smelling hairy brown muck he’d ever seen occupying the insides of his shoe. Rushing quickly to the bathroom, Brian emptied out the disgusting contents of his boot into the tub, horrified at the sight that met him as he examined the dreck that had touched his bare skin.

Looking down at the two inch plus log of hair mixed with brownish lumps and greenish goopy bile that he’d just dumped out of his shoe, Brian couldn’t help but gag repeatedly from both the sight and the smell. It was the single-most foul thing Brian had ever seen in his entire life. “Fuck! Where did that shit come from?” Brian whined as he backed away from the disgusting sight, fighting back against the urge to hurl.

Brian tossed the infected boot into the garbage can, knowing that no matter what cleaning it was subjected to, he could NEVER put that shoe back on his foot. He quickly pulled off the matching boot and then hustled over to the bathtub to rinse any remaining gunk off his foot, making sure to scrub the contaminated appendage well with the bar of soap, washing his foot at least five times before he was satisfied that he was no longer at risk of contagion.

All the while this epic tragedy was going on, the Fuzzball responsible had been watching the funny little spectacle his new person was creating. Humans were so ridiculous. If pussy cats could laugh, Winston would be rolling on the ground giggling his furry little heart out at all the funny faces and the overall fuss the person was making over a silly little hairball. What a whimp!

As Brian retreated with haste from the foulness that was still sitting there in the tub, he accidentally stepped on the tail of the gloating kitty, who was not at all amused by having his tail and his feline dignity so utterly violated. Winston immediately let out a yowling, hissing caterwaul that scared an unsuspecting Brian, causing the human to jump forward, landing in the tub right back on top of the dreaded hairball. Brian whimpered at the unwelcomed renewed contact with the horrid yuckiness, which was again touching his bare skin. The man instantly hopped out of the tub, twice as fast as he’d hopped in. Winston continued to sit and gloat with occasional rumbling grumbles of kitty displeasure as Brian once again washed off his feet, scrubbing at them with renewed vigor as he tried to remove the gooey taint of smelly icky gloop.

Forgetting for the moment that he was still in trouble, Brian rushed out of the bathroom and ran down the hall, intending to seek consolation from Justin for the defilement of his Prada boots by the evil Fuzz Beast. “Justin! Your fucking cat did something foul in my favorite Prada boots. I’m going to have to throw them away. What the hell is with your damned Fuzz Ball anyway,” Brian whined as he sought out comfort from his usually sympathetic boyfriend.

As soon as Brian reached the main room, though, he was immediately reminded that his boyfriend was still, with good reason, rather angry with him after his shenanigans the previous night. The lovely tableau that was waiting for him in the middle of the living room was prime evidence of Justin’s current state of mind. In fact, from the look of things, saying that Justin was angry at him was an enormous understatement. Words like furious, enraged, incensed, livid and ape-shit over-the-top freakin’ pissed off, all came to mind as Brian stared at the hostile display that Justin had left for him.

In the middle of the living room area, where the coffee table usually stood, Justin had set up his easel. On the easel was a large canvas. The painting was vividly colorful - the background consisted of swirling masses of bright primary colors blended together to cover the entire canvas. On top of that base layer, Justin had used a particularly messy type of splatter technique that seemingly required massive amounts of paint being flung vigorously at not only the canvas but also all over the drop cloth beneath. However the crowning touch to this masterpiece had to be the big black lettering that spanned the entire surface that conveyed the simple message that the painting was designed to impart to the viewer - FUCK YOU!!!!!

And, as if the overt message could in some way be missed by the viewer in question, namely Brian Kinney, then one look at the particular ‘Drop Cloth’ that Justin had employed would set the observer straight. You see, Justin had opted not to use his normal plastic painting tarp. No. This painting needed a special touch. It needed something far classier than some random piece of already spotted plastic. This jewel of the visual arts deserved a designer label for it’s drop cloth.

“Noooooooooooooo!” Brian cried out as he finally realized exactly what Justin had decided to use to sop up the massive puddles of paint. “Oh, Justin, noooooo. Not my favorite midnight blue pinstripe Armani suit. Noooooooo,” Brian sobbed, dropping to his knees at the edge of the paint strewn fabric, mourning his loss and desperately trying to ascertain if there was any way to save his precious designer suit.

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“Can you fucking believe it? How could he do that? It was only a few weeks ago that that asshole was practically on his knees professing that he only wanted me and that he was ready to take a relationship seriously. Then he brings a fucking trick to our apartment? He’s such an asshole! A fuckknocker! A . . . a . . . a . . . I’m too angry to even think up an insulting name that’s bad enough,” Justin said, now well into his second hour of non-stop ranting to his best friend, Daphne. “I mean, where does he get off bringing a fucking trick to our home? And the way he just paraded him through the room in front of me. I don’t give a damn that he has a fucking lease - it was my apartment first, before he barged in and ruined my whole life . . .”

Daphne just sat there patiently, like a good friend would, waiting until Justin finally wound down. After a full twenty minutes more though, it didn’t seem like Justin was ever going to run out of nasty names to call his room mate and sometime lover. Also, it appeared that Justin was able to talk endlessly without ever needing to stop to take a breath. No matter how patient Daphne was, it didn’t look like she’d ever be able to get a word in edgewise. It was time to take drastic measures.

“STOP!” Daphne hollered at the top of her lungs, her wail finally enough to grab Justin’s attention enough to stall his ranting. “Justin, I think I get the picture. Now, do you want any actual advice or do you just want to go on raving indefinitely? Because, if that’s the case, I’m going to put in my earplugs and surreptitiously play ‘Angry Birds’ on my phone while you repeat yourself for the ten thousandth time.”

Justin was momentarily struck dumb by this announcement. He was not only hurt that his best friend would dismiss his pain so flippantly, but he was also offended that she didn’t seem as affronted by Brian’s behavior as she should. Luckily Justin’s momentary outrage gave Daphne just enough time to take control of the situation. Before Justin had thought up an appropriate reprimand for his unappreciative friend, Daphne had jumped up off the couch, grabbed Justin by his shoulders and pushed the young man down into her former spot.

“You want to know what I think?” Daphne started off on her own mini-rant. “I think you two are acting like ridiculous, ***silly men - no, wait, you’re not even responsible enough to be called men, you’re boys - trying to get each other jealous rather than talking about what’s bothering you. It’s time for both of you to grow up and start acting like adults in an adult relationship rather than pouty children.”

“What the fuck, Daphne . . ." Justin irately tried to interrupt the lecture he could already see was coming.

“Quiet, you! You’ve had your say for the past two plus hours. It’s my turn to talk so just sit there and listen,” Daphne said, pointing her finger at Justin with a dreadful frown that reminded him a little too much of his mother. “The way I see things is like this; we’re talking about Brian Kinney here, and he’s definitely a special case. Ah, ah, ah, ah,” Daphne held up her hand to stop Justin’s incipient retort at the very idea of giving Brian any leniency.

“Justin, you know as well as I do that up until a little more than a month ago Brian Kinney was a self-professed slut who didn’t believe in love or relationships. I mean, you said yourself that he has absolutely NO prior experience being in a relationship. And yet, in a remarkably short period of time after meeting you, the self-same slut fell head over heels in love with you to the point that he was willing to change his entire life. The man who could barely SAY the word ‘Boyfriend’ just got finished making this huge gesture by taking you with him to visit his family, he introduced you to everyone he knew as his fucking ‘Boyfriend’ and then proceeded to even stand up to your homophobic prick of a father. For a guy who never had an adult relationship before in his life, he seemed pretty gung-ho on the concept.”

“Yeah, but then why . . ." Justin tried to refute Daphne’s impeccable logic.

“I’m still talking!” Daphne sniped and then returned to her previous train of thought. “So, here’s this very inexperienced man - and when I say inexperienced I mean in terms of boyfriendness - who’s still new to the entire concept of a relationship, and who’s now confronted by his first ever face-to-face with that age-old foe of all relationships: Jealousy!

“What the fuck does Brian have to be jealous about. He’s the one who brought the trick into our house. I’m the only one who has a right to be jealous,” Justin insisted.

“Justin, I can’t believe how blind you are sometimes,” Daphne shook her head with exasperation. “You don’t think Connor, your ex-boyfriend - someone you dated for more than a year and even lived with - showing up in his apartment in the middle of the night and assuming that he’ll just hop right back in bed with you isn’t enough to make Brian jealous? What are you, stupid? You even admitted that you kissed him back that first night, in front of Brian! And, then, if that wasn’t bad enough, you keep inviting Connor over to hang out all week. Brian comes home how many nights this past week and finds you and Connor together? And you don’t think he’s even a little bit justified in feeling a tad insecure about this new development?”

“I think Brian was actually being quite restrained. If it was me and I found my boyfriend hanging out with some old flame, I would have kicked the bitch’s ass out the first fucking night and ordered her to never come near my boyfriend again. The mere fact that Brian didn’t kick Connor’s ass that first night he broke into your apartment was a fucking miracle. You didn’t help things by allowing Connor to come over and hang around all the time, Justin. By the way, you seem completely ignorant of the fact that Connor’s motives in sticking around are far from altruistic. He doesn’t want to be your ‘friend’, Justin. I saw the way he was leering at you the other day when I popped in to visit. I’m sure Brian’s seen it too. Just because you haven’t caught on yet, doesn’t mean that Brian isn’t aware of the type of shit Connor is capable of. So, of course, Brian’s going to eventually lose it and start a pissing contest - it was fucking inevitable.”

“So, after a whole week of putting up with Connor, when Brian can’t help himself and acts a little possessive, you have the fucking gall to walk out on him? Just because you’re young doesn’t give you the right to act so clueless, Justin. Instead of getting pissed at Brian and walking out on him, why the hell didn’t you tell Connor to get lost and talk to Brian. Try to ease his insecurities? Explain to him that you have no interest in Connor at all? Reassure your fucking boyfriend a little? If you ask me, you reacted like a spoiled little brat. Or maybe more like a bloody prick. And, after you leave, Connor goes after you to console you? Talk about adding insult to injury. I’m not saying that Brian didn’t act like an idiot too, but he’s the one that’s new to this relationship shit. You’re not. And your reaction was pretty insensitive. I mean, how did you expect Brian to act? I would be hurt too if I was in Brian’s shoes.”

Daphne’s words were having exactly the right effect on Justin. He’d been so hurt he hadn’t taken the time to think through things from Brian’s point of view. This time when Daphne paused in her little tirade, Justin didn’t try to interrupt.

“Now, all that being said, I agree that Brian was a complete jerk to bring home a trick in retaliation just because he was jealous of Connor. Although, I’m not entirely convinced that’s the whole story. You said he was completely drunk out of his mind when he got home last night. He probably didn’t even know what the fuck he was doing. No matter how jealous Brian was, I don’t think he’s the type to do something so spiteful on purpose. At least not to you - I’ve seen how he looks at you and that man has it bad for his ‘Sunshine’,” Daphne winked at Justin, trying to take some of the sting out of her words.

“Now, instead of sitting here wailing about how wronged you’ve been, princess, I think you should get your ass home and try talking to Brian. That IS what two adults in a relationship would do. If you’re not willing to even try and communicate, then I’d say there probably isn’t any real love between you and you’re just two people who live together and have great sex but you’re not ready for a real relationship. People who are in a relationship care about each other’s feelings. They talk when one or the other is feeling hurt or insecure and they don’t go off acting like Prima Donna’s when there’s a bump or two in their path.”

Justin looked up at his best friend with a sheepish look, finally acknowledging to himself that he might have had at least a little part in the mess he and Brian had landed in.

“Justin, go home,” Daphne insisted once again, this time pulling him up off the couch by his arm and leading him towards the door. When Justin seemed still reluctant, Daphne shoved him with a bit more oomph out into the hallway. “You better fix this, Justin, or both you and Brian will regret it. Besides, I'm really worried about Winston. If you two break up he’ll be like a child of divorced parents. Poor guy. He doesn’t deserve that shit. Now, go!”