Chapter 23 - Blue Light Special.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, Justin! Blah, blah, blah-blah-blah! BLAH BLAH BLAH! BLAH. GROWL. GRRRR . . .”
The Daddy’s mouth sounds had been loud and not happy. Kevan didn’t like the loud, unhappy noises at all. He also didn’t like the way The Daddy’s face got all red or the way The Daddy’s mouth turned down at the corners or the way The Daddy’s eyes turned dark and growly. The more The Daddy growled at The Papa the more Kevan’s tummy hurt but he was almost too upset to cry anymore.
Later, after The Papa took Kevan away from The Daddy, The Papa started to make even more unhappy mouth sounds - these sounds were like the one’s Kevan made himself when his tummy hurt or when he was hungry. Kevan really, really didn’t like hearing The Papa make those kinds of noises. That was his job. The uneasy feelings became even greater when The Papa’s face got all red and blotchy and wetness started to leak out of The Papa’s pretty blue eyes that Kevan usually found so comforting. The Papa was supposed to be the calm one. The one who made the unhappy feelings go away. It was very disconcerting to find out that The Papa wasn’t always in control. That even The Papa sometimes felt unhappy.
Kevan didn’t like it at all. He figured that since all of his big people things were unhappy, he might as well be unhappy too. So, accordingly, Kevan let loose with a nice big wailing cry too.
Both Kevan and The Papa spent the rest of their drive home from The Daddy’s office making loud unhappy noises until they were both cried out.
“Thank you, Brian. I must say I’m impressed. Your ideas are quite refreshing. Maybe I should have listened to Marty and let you guys take a stab at our advertising years ago,” Clint MacGregor said as he heartily shook Brian’s hand. “Now the only problem is that I’m going to have to tell my wife, Elsie, that she was right about letting you make a pitch, and she’s going to have me eating crow for a week.”
Brian chuckled politely at the man’s quip. “Thank YOU for giving me this chance to show you what the Ryder Agency can do for you, Mr. MacGregor,” Brian replied calmly. “I should have some preliminaries ready for you to look at in about two weeks. I’m sure we’ll come up with a campaign that everyone on the PittSteel board will love.”
“I don’t doubt it at all, my boy. Not at all,” Mr. PittSteel clapped Brian on the shoulder with a bit of fatherly affection as he showed the younger man out of the conference room on the twenty-fifth floor of the huge PittSteel building. “How about you and I meet privately to review everything a couple of days before the full board meeting so we can iron out any last minute details? In fact, why don't we do it over dinner at the club? You can bring your partner and that adorable little miracle baby and that'll give my Elsie a chance to tell you all about how she's your biggest fan ever.” Clint chuckled again. “She'll get a kick out of meeting you guys in person and I'll be a hero for bringing you all together. What do you say, Kinney? Your partner won't mind, will he?”
“Of course not, Mr. MacGregor. I'm sure Justin and I would be happy to join you and your wife for dinner,” Brian assured the man, adding under his breath, “provided he's even talking to me after today.”
“Excellent! I'll have my secretary call your office to set things up.” MacGregor gushed, shaking Brian's hand one more time before heading back to his office and leaving Brian to his solitary elevator ride down to the street-level lobby.
Brian made it all the way to his car before he let himself fall apart.
The past few hours had gone by in a sort of blurry haze. He'd forced himself to concentrate on preparing for the PittSteel meeting to the exclusion of everything else. With Cynthia's help he’d gone over stacks of demographic information, committed to memory pages of corporate data and reviewed years of the potential client’s past ads. But now that the meeting was over and it looked like he'd been once again successful in roping in yet another big name client, Brian had nothing else to occupy his thoughts with.
Nothing, that is, other than the pending fallout from his earlier confrontation with Justin.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit . . . Fuck!” Brian yelled as he pounded against the padded steering wheel of the Audi with both fists.
The image of a shocked and horrified Justin - the same image he'd been suppressing from his conscious mind all day - was now right there front and center almost as if he was reliving it all. Echoes of the nasty words he'd thrown at Justin kept jolting through his memory but it was almost like the words had been spoken by someone else. Brian couldn't believe that he'd done and said what he knew he'd done and said.
Yes, Brian had been totally stressed out right when Justin had appeared. He'd had a for shit morning, what with Emmett getting sick, Kevan teething, the diaper bag falling apart, being late for a client meeting and then the lovely conversations with both Mikey and Marty - it was understandable that he'd been ready to blow a gasket after all that. But still, Brian knew he'd been in the wrong. He'd only lashed out at Justin because the boy had been a convenient target. The unsuspecting youth had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Brian had needed to vent and had taken it all out on the first person to come along.
Not that Brian expected Justin to be at all understanding about the circumstances surrounding his little temper tantrum.
In fact, if he knew his feisty little blond, there were going to be some serious repercussions. Very serious. Maybe catastrophic. Justin might have basically fled from Brian's office earlier, but the brunet knew that was only a strategic retreat and it would be followed up by a major tactical offensive sooner rather than later. And Brian would definitely NOT like whatever was coming.
However, even worse than the remorse he felt at having taken out his temper on Justin or his dread about how his partner was likely to react, was Brian's guilt over having acted the way he had in front of his son. Growing up in a household filled night and day with screaming arguments, hard fists and unreasonable punishments had been a nightmare for Brian. He sometimes wondered how he'd ever survived. And because of his less than stellar childhood experiences, Brian has sworn that he would NEVER act like that with regard to his own children. In his mind, yelling at Justin the way he had in front of Kevan was practically unforgivable. He'd sounded just like Jack on one of his worse days. Maybe Brian was just like his father? Maybe he'd turn out to be just as horrible of a parent? Maybe he didn't deserve a beautiful son or a kindhearted lover? So, it looked like he was turning out to be a shitty father - was anyone really surprised? Maybe they'd all be better off if Brian just walked away now before anyone got really hurt?
But the mere thought of never seeing his son again filled Brian with a sense of panic so strong that he almost couldn't breathe. The usually stalwart man found himself gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers as he leaned his head back against the headrest of the driver’s seat, squeezed his eyes tightly closed to hold back the incipient tears and struggled to calm his erratic breathing. No, he couldn't do it. He couldn't just walk away from his son and Justin. That would kill him.
What could he do to make it up to them, though? Brian remembered the times his own father had attempted to make up with an angry Joan Kinney - Jack would bring her pathetic, half-wilted flowers or some little bauble, all of which seemed so paltry, not to mention ineffective. That method of making amends always felt to Brian like emotional blackmail. It seemed like Jack was simply buying forgiveness while never having to actually admit any fault for the things he’d done. No way was Brian going to pull some hetero bullshit like that on Justin.
Besides, Brian never apologized to anyone. That just wasn’t his style. When he knew that he’d done something wrong he’d act like a man, admit he was wrong and then, if he could, he’d fix it. If not, he’d live with the outcome. He’d always said he didn’t ‘do’ regrets, and he didn’t want to start now.
Of course, all that being said, he still had no idea how to fix what he’d done and he couldn’t bear to think that he’d be forced to live with the consequences if that involved permanently alienating his partner and their son.
After sitting there for more than ten minutes stewing, however, Brian still hadn’t come up with a good plan. If anything, he was getting more and more anxious about the whole thing and that wasn’t helping his thought processes any. Shit! Why the fuck wasn’t this relationship shit easier? There should be a manual handed out with every single relationship that outlined all the duties and responsibilities for each party with an extensive section dealing with conflict resolution between the parties in the event of a dispute. That was what a reasonable business person would do - have a well drafted contract - and it would solve so many problems. Unfortunately, Brian had somehow never gotten the manual and didn’t remember any contract negotiations when he’d somehow become unwittingly embroiled in a relationship with an irresistible blond twink sporting a dangerously addictive dick.
With a sigh, Brian turned the key in the ignition. He hadn’t come up with any good ideas, but he couldn’t sit in the parking structure of the PittSteel building all night either. Maybe he’d come up with a cunning plan on the drive home.
Fifteen minutes later Brian still hadn’t come up with a cunning plan but that was okay because he’d found a bar instead and determined that a little liquid inspiration might help him come up with something workable. Even as Matt the bartender set the first tumbler of Jim Beam in front of him, Brian felt some of the tension he’d been suffering under drain from his body. Not all of it . . . but a little bit. And even that much relief was palpable. Maybe once he relaxed and wasn’t quite so stressed out his brain would start to function again and he could think his way out of this mess.
Sadly, that wasn’t meant to be. Before he’d started on his second drink, Brian sensed someone settling onto the bar stool next to him and when he turned to see who’d dared to interrupt his musings, he groaned. It was that annoying fanboy . . . Tad or Tab or Tip or something. Why couldn’t he ever get a fucking break? Brian really did NOT want to have to deal with some loser fanatic tonight. He just wanted to sit and drink in peace while he thought through what he was going to do. He really wasn’t in the mood for an irritating Superfanboy.
“Hi, Brian! It’s so great to see you! Isn’t it amazing that we’re both here at Woody’s tonight at the same time. It’s like ‘Fate’ is trying to tell us we should be together, isn’t it? So what are you drinking? I bet that’s a JB. Am I right? Because that’s what you always get. Well, except when you don’t really want to get drunk, and then you just have a beer. Right? I think I’ll have a JB too. Then we can be ‘drinking buddies’!” The annoying, babbling fanboy rambled on and on, his verbal diarrhea never letting up for more than a second or two at a time, while Brian tried his best to ignore the slightly creepy young man.
“How’s our sweet little Kevan-man? He’s growing up so fast, isn’t he? When I saw him the other day at the supermarket, I just couldn’t believe how big he’s getting. And he looked just adorable in that turkey hat I got him - didn’t he?” Tip or Tig or whatever kept gushing, his words finally getting a rise out of Brian when the creep started talking about Kevan in such a familiar way.
“Listen you nutcase, you keep the fuck away from my son! Do you hear me?” Brian turned around on the bar stool so that he was facing a surprised Tag, spitting his words into the startled younger man’s face and emphasizing each sentence with a finger poking into the other’s chest. “I want you to stop following me and my family around. I want you to stop sending stupid gifts and shit to my house and I want you to leave me the fuck alone! I’m NOT interested - not in you or your piles of crappy gifts. If you do send anything else to my house, I’m throwing it in the trash unopened. And if you even DARE to come near my partner or my son ever again, I’ll be getting a restraining order against you. So just take your fucked up delusions about me and get out of my face. I don’t want to ever see you again. Got it?” Brian screamed, venting all his frustrations about not only this one particular annoying fan but his whole fucked up day.
“But . . . but, Brian . . .” the fawning youth stammered, reaching out with both hands as if to reassure and calm the raging brunet. “You don’t mean that, Brian. You’re just tired and stressed out. I can see that. You must have had a really hard day at work . . .”
“Actually, Tig, I really, really, really DO mean it. Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Me!” Brian ordered, standing up so that he towered menacingly over the slight young man and pointing very decisively towards the bar’s main entrance.
Taggart backed slowly away from a totally irate Brian, looking like he was trying to melt into the linoleum while every other patron in the bar stared at the surprising confrontation.
When the boy was only a few feet away from the door, Brian added, “Oh, by the way, I fucking HATE that ridiculous turkey hat! It’s the fugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Only a total moron would buy shit like that . . . or Honeycutt. And now that I know HE didn’t buy it, I no longer have any reason not to burn that fucking piece of crap hat!”
This last comment seemed to be the final straw. Tag’s face crumpled and he burst into hot, humiliated tears before turning and running out the door. The curious cantina crowd continued to stare while they whispered comments to one another, although nobody was brave enough to approach Kinney too closely. Brian swept the entire gaggle of onlookers with one last withering glare before turning back towards the bar, muttering to himself the entire time about ‘annoying fans without any fucking sense of taste whatsoever’.
Brian’s moment of relaxation had flown away though, and now he was even more tense than when he’d come in. He quickly knocked back the rest of his drink before getting up and leaving. So much for trying to think up a plan as to how he would confront Justin. Brian was more anxious than ever. But it was getting late and he was stressed out beyond belief. He just really wanted to go home. He figured his best shot was simply to wing it and hope Justin was feeling merciful. And if his partner refused to forgive him, Brian thought he could at least beg to be put out of his misery swiftly.
After the day Brian had experienced so far, that option wasn’t looking all that bad.
Britin’s Chapel was almost silent when Brian finally got home. The only lights on inside were a nightlight in the back hallway and the small under-counter lights in the kitchen. Brian came in through the back door, hung up his coat, kicked off his shoes and left his keys on the little side table there and then walked past the closed door of the master bedroom, not quite brave enough to venture inside just yet. He padded down the hall into the Greatroom, feeling antsy and unsettled, almost as if he expected someone to jump out at him from around every corner. It wasn’t that late yet and he’d expected to find Justin and Kevan in the kitchen making dinner or playing in the living room area. The eerie quiet he was met with instead was unnerving.
Once he’d surveyed the main rooms and confirmed they were empty of all life, Brian sighed, squared his shoulders and headed back down the hall. Giving in to his cowardice for just a moment, he again shied away from his bedroom door and instead opted for a peek into the nursery. Brian was so relieved when he saw that his son was indeed there - sitting up in his crib acting uncharacteristically content while he quietly burbled to his new Uglyworm doll - that he felt his knees go all wobbly. He quickly walked over to the crib, to greet his son.
In the back of his mind, Brian had been just a tiny bit worried that Justin might be so angry that he would take Kevan and leave. He’d never really thought he deserved to be happy, or have a family or a house or a partner or anything else that happy people take for granted. He’d never even imagined it was possible for him to be happy. He knew he could be successful. He knew he was attractive and could pull any guy he wanted. But he’d always doubted that true happiness was something that HE was entitled to. So the mere sight of his son went quite a ways towards soothing the worried man’s jangling nerves.
“Hey, Sonny boy.” Brian whispered, reaching down at the same time to gently caress the boy’s soft, chubby cheek. When the touch elicited a huge, happy, drool-filled grin, Brian felt almost like sobbing out of sheer relief. “I’m glad you’re not the sort to hold a grudge, Sonny boy. Maybe you could talk to your Papa for me?” Kevan replied with a gurgle and a goo, and Brian couldn’t help but smile his first real smile of the day in response. “Yeah, I don’t think that would work either. But at least he wouldn’t bite YOUR head off . . .”
Brian looked over his shoulder at the doorway back into the silent hall and had to control a shudder. He looked back at the baby and briefly contemplated hiding out in Kevan’s room for the rest of the night. Not that hiding would make things any better - it would just be easier in the short term. But, no. Brian knew he’d have to face this head on and he might as well get it over with . . . even if he still didn’t have a clue what he was going to say when he did finally face Justin.
“Daddy loves you and he promises not to yell at you or your Papa like he did this morning ever again, okay?” Brian murmured, leaning down to leave a kiss on the top of his son’s head. The little mini-Sunshine smile Kevan beamed up at him made Brian’s heart do a flip-flop in his chest - it was so beautiful and reminded him so much of the boy’s other father. The other father that he now had to go talk to. “So . . . here goes nothing. Wish me luck, Sonny boy,”
Brian closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried to reassure himself that he could do this thing. Then he turned towards the nursery door and walked slowly along what he privately thought of as his own personal Green Mile. The approximately five feet of hallway between Kevan’s room and the master suite had never seemed so long before. Even the bedroom door itself looked ominous.
Feeling like he was on his way to face a firing squad, Brian reached out, gripped the door handle and cautiously pushed open the door.
Justin was sitting in the center of the big bed, his back cushioned by several pillows all propped up against the headboard, his knees drawn up and his arms circling loosely around his thighs. He hadn't bothered turning on any lights so the room was completely in shadows. He'd been trying to sketch earlier - back when there was still some daylight to see by - but he'd given up the feeble attempts and now his sketchbook lay abandoned next to him atop the thick, dark blue, raw silk duvet.
Justin had had a lot of time to think. He'd had time to cool off. He'd even had time to call Cynthia in order to find out what the hell had happened at Ryder that morning before he'd shown up in Brian's office. He was no longer furiously angry at Brian. No, his anger had had sufficient time to simmer down to the point that he was now just silently seething. The only problem was that he hadn't yet decided precisely where he should direct his anger.
Justin had seen the signs of Brian’s growing levels of discontent for weeks now. He knew that his partner was pretty stressed out by all the various factions of his life pulling at him in conflicting directions. When it was just their own little family at home alone, things seemed fine. But that was the only time that Brian was able to let himself relax and just be. Whenever they’d gone out in public though, Brian would morph into a completely different person. And it wasn’t always a person that Justin liked very much. Today, though, was the first time Justin had seen a side of Brian that actually frightened him.
Justin had known from the beginning that full-time parenthood was going to be a stretch for Brian, despite how much the man had looked forward to the idea of his son. He knew without a doubt that Brian loved Kevan, no matter how hard it was sometimes for him to show it. And, considering the dysfunctional childhood his lover had grown up in - a childhood where any display of affection was not only discouraged but occasionally even punished - it was a miracle that Brian wasn’t even more closed off with his feelings. All of Brian’s unvoiced insecurities about his parenting abilities didn’t help matters much either. In spite of his difficult past though, Brian was a wonderful father . . . when he let himself be. The problem was that Brian rarely let himself enjoy that role.
Lately there always seemed to be something or someone pulling Brian away from Kevan and Justin. Justin understood Brian’s desire to be successful in business - that was an inherent part of Brian’s nature and always had been. Unfortunately that was also one of those things that seemed to be pulling Brian away from his family right now. And from what Cynthia had told him earlier, it sounded like Marty Ryder was heaping Brian with new and more stressful demands at an alarming rate. It was completely understandable that Brian was feeling the strain of these extra obligations.
Justin found it a lot harder to be understanding about the impositions Brian was being subjected to by his friends and family. Between Michael’s seeming inability to give up his childhood playmate and Lindsey’s narcissistic need to be the focus of Brian’s attention at all times, it was no wonder that Brian felt pulled in too many different directions. If he didn’t know that Brian would resent any unsolicited interference, Justin would have long ago told both Michael and Lindsey to fuck off. Not that they’d listen to him, of course, since everyone seemed convinced that he was just a kid who knew nothing and - at least as far as Michael was concerned - hopefully wouldn’t be around for much longer anyway. In the meantime, though, they just had to live with these added family stressors.
So, yeah, Justin totally understood why Brian was tense, overloaded, burned out and ready to explode. To a certain extent, it wasn’t really a big surprise that Brian had slipped this morning and lashed out in order to relieve a bit of the anxiety. And once he’d cooled off, Justin had realized that the angry words hadn’t really even been meant for him - that he was just the most convenient target at the time. It was even a tiny bit gratifying to realize that he was probably the only person that Brian felt safe enough with that he could voice some of those feelings and thereby vent a little of the pressure. It was all completely understandable.
And also completely unacceptable.
Justin would not put up with being treated like Brian’s whipping boy. And he wouldn’t let Brian take out his frustration on their son either. Brian was going to have to learn some healthier ways of managing his stress. Preferably sooner rather than later.
Justin was still in the process of determining what those alternatives would be and how he was going to convince Brian to change when he heard the rumble of a car engine out back and then the whirr of the garage door opening. The luminescent numbers of the clock sitting on Brian’s bedside table showed that it was surprisingly early. Justin hadn’t expected Brian to slink home with his tail between his legs until much, much later. He hoped that was a good sign.
The creak of the back door’s hinges and the softly padding steps allowed Justin to follow his partner’s progress through the house. It was reassuring that there wasn’t any stumbling, stomping or loud expletives, which meant that Brian hadn’t tried to drink away his problems before coming home. That was an unexpected but very good sign. He was happy to note that Brian spent a bit of time in the baby’s room - the low murmur of voices telling him that Brian and Kevan were having a conversation. Another very good sign. And then there were more soft, hesitant footsteps ending at the bedroom door.
Justin waited patiently for several long minutes until the door gradually swung open and he could see the vague outline of Brian’s tall, broad-shouldered form halting just inside the doorway. He was curious to see what Brian would say, how he would start off this conversation, so Justin stayed where he was and said nothing. Brian didn’t bother with the lights. He also didn’t say anything at first, either. He just took three indecisive steps forward until he reached the foot of the bed, then turned and seated himself with his back towards a still silent Justin.
“I don’t think I can do this, Justin.” The words, when they finally came, were so faint that Justin would have missed them if the house hadn’t been so absolutely quiet - as if the whole world was waiting for Brian’s pronouncement. “I don’t want to hurt Kevan . . . or you . . . but I just don’t know how to do this thing and I . . . I can’t bear the thought that I would . . . that I would do something . . .” Brian’s voice broke and he didn’t say anything more. He just continued to sit there, his shoulders slumped, utterly still, while the old church roof timbers creaked and moaned above them in sympathy with the drama going on down below.
At that moment, all Justin’s plans to totally ream Brian’s ass for his insensitive and harsh words just vanished into thin air. He was no longer looking at an adult who should have known better and who deserved a good bollocking - he was looking at a hurt and frightened little boy who needed reassurance. It nearly broke his heart.
“Oh, Brian . . .” Justin breathed out the name as he crawled across the bed towards the smaller-than-life-sized form huddled miserably at the foot of the large mattress.
Brian startled when Justin first placed his palm on the man’s tensely curved shoulder. When Justin proceeded to wrap his arms around those shoulders though, Brian progressively became less and less stiff until, after a minute or two, he’d melted against Justin’s smaller but sturdy frame. With Brian’s face buried in the crook of Justin’s neck, the emotions that were flittering across his face were obscured but Justin could tell that the man in his arms was just barely holding back his tears by the way his breathing came in deep, halting gasps accompanied by almost imperceptible breathy sighs.
“Justin . . . I need . . .” Brian’s voice was almost pleading and, even though he couldn’t seem to find the words he needed, Justin understood what it was his man needed.
With deliberate slowness, Justin’s nimble fingers carefully began to slip the top button on Brian’s dress shirt through the buttonhole. For once Brian was an almost passive participant, taking no action on his own and simply letting the younger man take control of the situation. Trailing his fingers down the starched cotton shirtfront, Justin undid button after button until he was able to slip the entire thing off Brian’s shoulders. Brian didn’t even lift his head up from where it still rested against the side of Justin’s long, pale neck. It wasn’t until the tenderhearted blond began to track a series of butterfly-light kisses over and down the exposed shoulder that Brian even moved, and then it was only to let his head drop back so that there was easier access to his neck and shoulder and eventually to his chest.
With a gentle pressure, Justin lovingly pushed Brian backward until he was lying on the bed, still slightly curled in on himself as if to protect his vulnerable core. A stray moonbeam peaking through a crack in the louvered blinds struck Brian’s face right at that exact moment and illuminated the strongly masculine face with a hazy blue light that limned the soft, sensitive lips, the long aquiline nose and glinted off the tips of thick, dark auburn lashes. In that second, in that halo of shadowy blue light, Justin could see through every one of Brian’s masks. He was no longer the strong, powerful, untouchable Stud or the sharp as a tack businessman. He was just Brian. Just a man who was as vulnerable and insecure as any other man and who needed love maybe even more than someone who had always known love in his life.
Of course, that was Justin’s job - to love this complex and difficult, but inherently gentle man. And Justin took his job very seriously. Accordingly, he applied himself to the task with full abandon until, within only a few minutes, they were both lying naked under the moonbeam, Justin spooning Brian’s body with his own and pushing inside so as to once again forge that necessary and timeless connection. Brian grappled with his left hand until his fingers found Justin’s tangled in the baby-soft chestnut locks as he tenderly cradled the older man’s head. Brian’s right hand crossed over his body and reached up until he could guide Justin’s face down so that their lips could connect as well. And then, as soon as they were connected in every possible way, Justin began gently rocking them towards the climax that would hopefully bring not only release but much needed comfort as well.
