Chapter 33 - Let Loose the Pussycat of War!

Except for the slamming of doors, the angry stomping of feet and the sound of the occasional exasperated sigh, the apartment had been perfectly silent for going on eight days now. That is if you discounted the almost continual noise of the vacuum cleaner running whenever Brian was home, as he valiantly strove to keep ahead of the prodigious mess making capabilities of his roommate. There was absolutely no conversation of any kind, though.

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When Justin had finally returned to the apartment after venting to Daphne for hours, he found that the mess he’d left in the living room was all cleaned up. His ‘Fuck You’ masterpiece had been removed, and he later found it propped up on his pillow, the wet paint still dripping down onto the sheets and pillowcase of his bed. His easel was back in the corner of his bedroom where it belonged and there was no sign of the Armani painting tarp he’d been using. Brian’s bedroom door was firmly closed and Justin took that as a sign that now wasn’t really a good time to try and talk to Brian, even assuming Justin wanted to take Daph’s advice and try and make up.

Justin trudged off to his own room, unhappily getting into the lonely bed, not exactly happy to be sleeping alone again after getting used to being held in Brian’s arms most every night. Justin saw his cat, Winston, waiting in the doorway, seemingly confused about why his human was back in this room now instead of the room where the other human was pacing and grumbling. Justin walked over and picked up the cat, depositing him on the empty bed, consoling himself that at least he’d have something warm to cuddle up to tonight even if he wouldn’t have Brian. Apparently, though, Winston wasn’t feeling very lovey-dovey towards Justin tonight either. He only allowed Justin a couple of minutes of petting and then the flighty feline squirmed his way out of his human’s grip and sauntered off back towards the door to the other bedroom. He insolently meowed a few times outside the closed door, which was then opened just a crack and the cat sinuously bent around the doorframe on his way inside, before the door was quickly slammed shut again.

“Fine! Go ahead, you traitor,” Justin yelled at Winston through the closed door, feeling abandoned and lonely and even more angry at Brian for now turning his cat against him, before he retreated into his own room and slammed his own door shut.

Winston’s betrayal seemed to be the thing that set off an escalating and vicious circle of retaliatory actions between the two roommates, which started the very next morning.

Brian was, of course, up earlier and out the door for work before Justin was stirring. He paused as he passed the door of the spare room where Justin had slept, and momentarily thought about going in, kissing his blond awake and apologizing. His hand was even resting on the doorknob before his stubborn Irish pride got in the way and he talked himself out of it. Shaking his head and sighing deeply, Brian turned away and headed out the front door instead.

Justin’s first class this morning wasn’t until 9:30, so his alarm didn’t even go off before Brian was out the door. As he passed by Brian’s room, the door ajar so that he could easily see inside, Justin felt a tinge of regret that he hadn’t tried harder last night to make amends. But, as soon as he looked into the room and saw his traitorous cat lounging on Brian’s bed looking disdainfully down his little kitty nose at Justin, the young man instantly rallied. Brian was the one who started this shit. Justin didn’t need to feel guilty. Brian was the one who cheated and blew him off by bringing a trick home. And now his fucking cat was siding with the ‘enemy’? Well, Justin would show his erstwhile roomie exactly what he could expect after that kind of behaviour. If he thought ‘Little Justin’ was going to just roll over and take it, he was dead wrong. Justin was NOT a pushover. He’d show the big asshole!

By the time Justin left for school, the formerly pristine apartment was a total shambles. The young artist had taken pains to make things as untidy as he possibly could in the short amount of time he had that morning. He started with the bathroom - leaving puddles of water on the tile floor, wet towels draped over the tub and dangling in the pooling water, and shaving cream, razor stubble and other various personal care products smeared everywhere all over the mirror and the sink. The kitchen was no better. Justin intentionally left his breakfast dishes on the counter, with food strewn about at random as though he had repeatedly missed his bowl. In particular, he made sure that there was a gooey peanut-butter glooped knife waiting for Brian on the countertop - knowing that Brian hated the smell of the stuff and could barely stand to have a jar of the concoction in the apartment, let alone sitting there on the counter.

Justin left for school with a vindictive little smile on his face, wishing only that he didn’t have to work this evening so that he would be home to see the look on Brian’s face when he got home.

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Brian had a for shit day at work and was ready to just collapse at home. He was also exhausted from not sleeping well the night before - although he wasn’t ready to admit aloud that he missed having Justin’s warm little twinky body next to him, he found he just couldn’t get comfortable and he kept waking up all night, somehow worried even in his sleep when he would roll over and not find Justin next to him where he belonged.

Brian was more than ready to end this stupid little spat, proceed with the glorious make-up sex and then forget all about the ridiculous argument. He was even willing to do something that was normally far outside his comfort zone - apologize - just so long as it meant they would stop fighting. As he neared the door of the small apartment, Brian was thinking that he couldn’t wait until Justin got home from work tonight so they could resolve everything and move on.

All those benevolent resolutions simply evaporated from his mind, however, the moment Brian opened the apartment door and saw the disarray that had once been his neat, tidy living room. Justin’s clothing was strewn everywhere, there were food wrappers and waste on the coffee table, on the couch, on the floor, even on the top of the television. Brian could tell it was more than just his roommate being a little messy, as was his usual habit. This was intentional. This was deliberate chaos. This was meant to piss him off. And it really, really did.

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When Justin finally made it home from his job at the art store, a little after nine pm, he noticed immediately that the apartment had been thoroughly cleaned up. He felt a little bit bad about how over-the-top he’d been that morning. Yeah, he’d been angry at Brian, but as soon as he’d left for class, Justin had regretted being so petty. He knew that it probably took Brian hours to pick up after the huge mess he’d left. He didn’t really want to keep fighting and his actions were incredibly immature and childish. Justin knew it was time for him to stop acting like a spoiled brat, make up with Brian and apologize.

With that resolved in his mind, Justin felt so much better. He hopped into the shower and then dressed with care. He thought that maybe he would order some Thai food and have it ready when Brian got home. He made a quick run to the market on the corner and bought a bottle of red wine, figuring that it couldn’t hurt to help mellow Brian out a bit by getting him slightly tipsy. Then, he curled up on the couch with his sketchbook and waited for his man to get home.

Justin eventually dozed off. He was woken up several hours later by the noise of keys jangling in the lock on the front door, Brian's muted cursing when he apparently couldn't find the right key, and a strange thumping noise, like something was getting knocked against the wall out in the hallway. Justin sat up, ran his fingers through his hair and tried to look awake enough to greet his boyfriend.

"Mmmmm . . . Fuck, yeah!" The door came open suddenly and two only partially-clothed bodies fell through the opening, saved from falling to the floor only when one of them drunkenly grabbed ahold of the doorframe. "Hehehehe . . . " the Kinney 'Type B' trick giggled as Brian caught him just before he tumbled backwards. "My hero! Now, I want you to fuck me heroically, Stud. I want you to fuck me. All. Night. Long!"

Brian's only response was to growl as he pulled the tall, thin, dark-haired man back up to press against the length of his body so he could start ravaging the stranger's thin lips again.

Justin was shocked into a stunned silence. This just couldn't be happening AGAIN! Brian wouldn't do this to him, would he? Maybe he was just drunk out of his mind again and, like Daphne had said, didn't know what he was doing? Maybe Justin had pushed him just a little too far? Maybe . . .

Looking over the trick's shoulder, with a cold gleam in his eye that Justin hadn't thought Brian was even capable of, the tall beautiful man stared straight into his boyfriend's eyes as he deliberately unzipped his pants. He let them drop to the floor, shrugged off his already unbuttoned shirt and then walked over to the armchair across the coffee table from where Justin was sitting on the couch. Brian casually seated himself in the chair then pulled the salivating trick close enough to grab the guy's pants and yank them further down over his slim hips.

"Ride me," Brian ordered in a calm voice, clearly not inebriated so much that he didn't know exactly what he was doing.

"Fuck you, Brian," Justin hissed, running from the room before the trick could get into position.

Over the top of the trick's chorus of, "oh, yeah! Fuck me! Fuck me!" Brian heard Justin's bedroom door slamming shut and music being turned up loudly. Even as the trick was boisterously and enthusiastically riding his dick, Brian wondered what the hell he was doing. He'd made his point. He wasn't really even attracted to this stupid noisy skank. The guy had just been the easiest pick at the bar where he'd been sitting, trying to drink away his anger. Any interest he might have had in finishing this little masquerade died when he thought about the pain he'd seen in Justin's eyes. He'd caused that pain. It was enough to make anyone lose their hard on.

"Get the fuck out of here," Brian snarled, standing up and in the process knocking the trick unceremoniously to the floor.

"What the hell," the confused trick complained as Brian zipped up his pants and bent to pick up the trick's clothing off the floor.

"I said, get the fuck out," Brian ordered, tossing the clothing out into the hallway then roughly grappling the naked trick by the arm and flinging him out after the clothes.

"You fucking asshole . . ."

"Whatever," Brian kicked the door closed and cut off the whiny-assed trick's complaint in mid-wail.

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Brian was expecting to be awakened by Justin early and rudely the next morning - it was Justin's usual M.O. when he'd screwed up. He was therefore surprised when his alarm went off at the normal time. Nonetheless, he cautiously opened up his bedroom door, still expecting some type of retribution. When he didn't immediately notice anything out of the ordinary, and there wasn't any sign of an angry, vengeful boyfriend, Brian breathed a huge sigh of relief. He quickly made his way towards the bathroom for a shower, hoping that he'd somehow escaped unscathed.

Of course that hope was dashed as soon as he entered the bathroom and saw the words 'Fuck you!' written all over the mirror, the shower surround and even on the walls in various shades of acrylic paint, saving cream, pen, pencil and marker.

Brian groaned. It seemed like this minor conflict had now escalated into all out war. He suspected it would be a war of attrition and that he would not like how it would end.

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Over the course of the rest of the week, the two embattled roomies set about their separate campaigns to drive each other mad. Justin's favorite weapon was his exceptional ability to create disorder in a manner specifically calculated to cause the most annoyance possible to his OCD neatnik co-inhabitant.

Justin's capacity to make messes seemed to know no bounds. Clothing, trash and art supplies left everywhere was just the start. He left gross little piles of toenail clippings on the dining room table. Next came the trails of ground up cornflakes embedded in the carpet. Then there was the bag of chips opened from the bottom and left on the counter so that when Brian went to put the seemingly untouched bag away in the cupboard, it all dumped out everywhere.

Brian retaliated with his own best weapon - his overtly promiscuous tricking. Every night, the angry brunet would arrive home from work to a different mess that he had to clean up. His anger increased proportionally depending on the length of time it took him to restore order.

He got back at Justin by seeking out the most annoying, vocal, skanky tricks he could find and dragging them back to the apartment every single night. He'd usually make a show out of fucking them in whatever way he determined would most piss off Justin. What the young blond didn't know was that, as soon as Brian had driven him to retreat to his room with the music turned up to drown out any noise, Brian as often as not immediately kicked out the tricks.

As the tricking started to get to him more and more, Justin ramped up his offensive strategy. Now, instead of JUST being messy, he sought out more creative ways to push Brian's OCD buttons. One day, Justin went around the apartment and moved everything on every surface - the desk, the counters in the kitchen and bathrooms, the shelves in the main living area, even the things on Brian's bureau in his room - to the very edges of the furniture so they were just about to fall off. He secretly reveled in the groan of complaint that got out of Brian when he returned later that night.

Next, Justin removed all the labels off the canned goods that Brian had neatly arranged in the cupboards that first week after he'd arrived and mixed up all the cans so Brian couldn't tell what was in which can. He started to routinely take just one single bite out of his food, especially when eating fruit, and then leaving it sitting in out of the way places until it started to go bad, leaving Brian to play hide and seek with the rotting, noisome food. He figured his piece de resistance, though, was when he cut a slice of pizza out of the center of the pie and left the rest on the counter for Brian

After a virtual parade of tricks through the apartment, Brian accidentally found that the absolute best way to get on Justin's last nerve was to bring home tricks that looked more and more like Justin himself. The night he showed up with a slight young blond boy in tow, Justin actually screamed obscenities at Brian and his guest until they were forced to retreat into Brian's room. Brian made the trick sit quietly on his bed for more than a half hour while Justin ranted and stomped around in the apartment. As soon as Brian heard his roomie slam his bedroom door closed he snuck the blond youth back out with a satisfied, yet slightly guilty, feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The next morning Brian was completely amazed by the creative lengths Justin had gone to in retaliation. Somehow, Justin had managed to drill a hole sideways through a roll of toilet paper and then inserted it into the holder. He'd set up an entire army of gummy bears, gummy worms and various other 'gummy' creatures so that they were stuck to the walls, the countertops, the furniture, the television and computer screens and almost every other surface, marching along in groups or single file to Brian's utter horror.

As if all that wasn't bad enough, the discord amongst his people had driven even the cat, Winston, to his own brand of civil disobedience. The usually placid kitty was thoroughly annoyed at BOTH humans. He showed his disapproval by being extra grouchy - nipping at fingers that tried to pet him, sleeping on and consequently spreading his clingy grey fur over every piece of clothing he could find, and then scratching or digging in his claws more than strictly necessary when someone tried to move him. The reoccurrence of furballs in his footwear became so common that Brian was even starting to become inured to their grossness.

The final straw, though, came when Brian discovered that Justin had resorted to attacking his clothing once again. The night he came home to find Justin wearing HIS brand new Armani dress shirt while painting in the living room amid piles of the rest of Brian's designer clothing dumped all over the floor, Brian totally lost it. You could fuck up his home, make ridiculous, childish messes everywhere, but you did NOT fuck with Brian's clothes! Brian slapped the wet paint brush out of Justin's hand, ripped the now ruined shirt off the artist's back and then gathered up all his remaining clothes off the floor before retreating to his room.

Afterwards, Justin hid out in his own room for the rest of the night. Based on the vicious, almost feral look Brian had gotten in his eyes when he'd glared at Justin as he tore the shirt off him, Justin was pretty sure he'd just taken things one step too far. He knew that he wasn't going to like the consequences at all. It was probably best to just lay low for awhile, he thought.

Brian's retribution was swift, silent and thorough.

Justin didn't come out of his room until he heard Brian leave the next morning. He worriedly looked around as he emerged from hiding, not sure what he'd find. When, at first glance, it seemed he'd escaped unscathed, Justin sank down gratefully into the couch in relief. Since it was Sunday and Justin didn't have to be to work until afternoon, the boy took his time puttering about the apartment, eating a leisurely breakfast and doing some drawing before he finally realized how late it was and had to rush to get ready.

Justin was running so late that he jumped into the shower before the water even had time to heat up. Immersing his head under the spray with his eyes tightly closed, he let the water just run over him for a minute or two until it got warmer. Then, just as he was reaching over to the soap dish, Justin opened his eyes. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear his water-blurry vision to figure out why something didn't look right. His hand, the one now holding the soap, was colored bright pink for some strange reason. Looking down at the rest of his arm and then his body, he immediately noted that all of him was very, very pink. Taking a quick step backwards so he was out of the direct line of spray from the shower head, he groaned as he looked up and saw that the entire stream of water was a thick, dark pink color. Screaming, Justin jumped out of the shower and ran over to look into the mirror over the sink.

Sitting inconspicuously on the countertop, was an innocent looking paperboard box that was labeled 'Rit dye'. Looking back at him from the mirror was a young man whose once white-blond hair was now a lovely bright pink and whose skin was likewise painted in splotchy streams of permanent pink dye.