Five Things Brian and Justin Found Out, Part IV
Title: Five Things Brian and Justin Found Out - Part IV: Brian and the Substitute
Timeline: S3, post 308 reunion
Rating: R
Warnings: A good deal of Michael here. But it's lovable Michael.
Summary: 4th of five ficlets that each deal with Brian and/or Justin finding out about something we didn't get to see them find out on the show. In this one, Justin finds out about the, um, imitation Justin from 301. Justin's pov. I thought this one would be shorter, but nope, still about 3000 words.
Disclaimer: The boys aren't mine, just the stuff I make them do.
Part IV: Brian and the Substitute
(Justin’s pov, S3)
“You look like shit.”
“Thank you very much,” said a sarcastic Michael, dripping Visine into his rather red eyes. “At least Zephyr remains a perfect physical specimen, despite my sorry state.”
We were at the loft, working on the next issue of Rage. Brian was at Vangard, though I couldn’t tell you how he was managing to put in a workday, considering that his current state had to be at least ten times sorrier than Michael’s.
“What the hell were you and Brian doing last night? I haven’t seen him that drunk and stoned at the same time since… shit, maybe ever. And that‘s saying a lot.”
I thought I caught Michael looking uneasy, and not just in a hungover way, as he shrugged and said, “Brian wanted to party. You know how he gets.”
“Yeah, and I know he knows his limits… usually.” I hadn’t gone with him, having promised Daphne I’d hang out at our apartment for a while. Technically, I was living with her, though most days it still felt like the loft was home. I got back to Brian’s by 1 a.m. and had several hours to work on homework and worry before the man himself staggered in.
“He was fine.”
“He was not fine.”
I said “staggered,” but that’s being kind. Brian could hardly stand for more than two seconds. He somehow managed a lap around the loft, mumbling and breaking random expensive knickknacks, before passing out on the floor. Michael and I tried to drag him to the bed, but we ended up just surrounding him with pillows and blankets in a vain attempt to make hardwood comfortable. It had been well after our 3 a.m. “curfew,” but… well, without actually living together, I guess that rule is difficult to apply. Besides, as I myself had said being with Michael didn’t count (even though he and I work together, so it’s totally different), I couldn’t really be upset. What did upset me was how Brian didn’t say a word to me. I know he was trashed, but he couldn’t even force his blurry eyes open enough to look at me for a second? And for someone who was usually such an entertaining drunk, this time he had been more… depressed. Michael’s explanations then were as lame as now.
“Seriously, Michael, what’s wrong with him?”
A beat of pretending he didn’t hear me was followed by, “Zephyr’s rock-hard abs aren’t quite as rock-hard in this panel. Maybe you could…”
Now I was really starting to worry. Michael was a terrible liar, and he knew it, but he was doing his best to keep something from me. About Brian.
“Michael, I’m not drawing anything else until you tell me.”
“Oh, that’s mature!”
“Too bad.” I dropped my pencil pointedly and crossed my arms over my chest. “I guess you’d better tell me something.”
I could see his frustration… looking around at all the work to be done, all the ideas he needed me to put on paper… then thinking about...
“Brian’ll kill me. More than usual.”
I just sat there, waiting.
“Justin, I’m not even comfortable knowing this, let alone telling…”
Stared. Waiting. I almost felt bad, though. He looked like he was in pain, wrestling with his decision. As much as I knew getting the comic done was important to him, I also knew how intense his loyalty to Brian was. If Michael did tell me… whatever it was… it would be because deep down he thought I should know.
“Okay!”
I grinned. It helped that Michael was never really that good at keeping secrets. I mean, other than that thirty years in the closet thing. He was only ever halfway in, anyway.
“Let’s just put things in terms of the comic.” He took a deep breath and held up one of my drawings of Rage and JT. “Let’s say… JT leaves Rage for pompous new villain, The Fiddler, whose music puts people into a deep sleep from which they never awaken… Hey, that‘s not bad.”
“What?” I didn’t enjoy reliving my stupidity in leaving Brian. “What does Ethan have to do with anything?”
Michael’s tight smile said, Saw through that did you? But his mouth kept on with the ruse. “So, Rage misses JT. Pretends he doesn’t, drinks a lot, fucks a lot of guys. But he misses JT so much that he does something… kind of sad.”
I realized I was holding my breath. “What does he do?”
“He searches Gayopolis for a young man who looks as much like JT as possible, so he can take him home… and pretend.”
I was still confused, but whatever I was understanding was making tears form in my eyes. “Does he find someone?”
Michael nodded. “A professional.”
No, that couldn’t be right. “Brian would never pay for… Why would he have to?”
“If you want to be able to order exactly what you want, like with a pizza, I guess that’s how you do it. I don’t know. I’ve never ordered a male prostitute before.” Michael got up and went to the kitchen for coffee, uncomfortable once he realized his pathetic ruse had ended.
I just… I didn’t know… I was speechless for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure how I felt, but the tears in my eyes were starting to fill up to the point that I couldn’t see. When Michael made his way back and sat down again, I made myself talk.
“How do you know about this? I know he’s your best friend, but Brian would never…”
“You’re right. No way in hell he’d ever tell me this. But, last night, we were at Woody’s…”
“You went to Woody’s to ‘party’?” It was a fun bar and all, but hell, my mom’s been in Woody’s… Shit, I was just interrupting out of nervousness. “Sorry. Go on.”
“We were just having beers, joking about stuff… I was boring him about the store and Ben and my mom. And then he gets this kind of… sick look on his face. I follow his line of vision and I see the back of this blond head across the bar. Your same hair, same height. I should have known something wasn’t right by Brian’s face, but I think it’s you, so I run over there. ‘Justin!’, you know, and I tap the guy on the shoulder. But when he turns around… So weird. He looked just like you, but… not at all, if you know what I mean. It was kind of like Superman and the whole Bizarro World thing, and this was Bizarro Justin…”
“Michael!” I couldn’t let him start going on about Superman, or we’d be here forever.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “So, I guess he must have seen me looking back at Brian. He obviously recognized Brian, which is no shocker. Everybody knows Brian Kinney. I figured he’d fucked this kid, which was a pretty safe bet… Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I knew it was tougher to find a guy in Pittsburgh Brian hadn’t fucked than to find one he had. That was who he was, and I loved him for it, and Michael knew that. There had to be more to the story.
“The blond kind of nodded to Brian and asked me if I was there with him. I think I said, ‘Yeah, he’s my best friend,’ or something like that. I apologized to him for bothering him, said I’d thought he was someone else. Then he looked at Brian again and said, ‘I must really look like him.’ And I guess I just looked confused, ‘cause he said, ‘The guy you thought I was… The guy he paid me to be.’”
Oh my God.
“Yeah. You could have knocked me over with a feather, too. Anyway, the kid had to go meet his next ‘appointment.’ I get back to Brian and… I made… a bad joke. Something like, ‘What, in case Justin leaves you again, you decided to get a spare?’”
“Michael! I can’t believe you said that!”
“I was kidding! But I felt bad when I realized… I wasn’t that far off. His face was about the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. And that’s when I really got it. The guy wasn’t a spare you; he’d been a substitute you. Brian was so miserable when you left him, he had to find a way to pretend you were still with him.” Michael shook his head. “He drank a lot more after that. Whatever he wanted to drink, or smoke, or snort, I didn’t have the heart to stop him. I needed to drink more at that point, too. I wasn’t prepared for that information. Shit, it felt like when I caught him wearing that scarf with your blood all over it…” His voice trailed off and he looked at me, panicked he’d said too much again.
“It’s okay,” I managed to smile. “I knew about that.”
He blew out a breath of relief, and we stared at the pages and pages of partially completed comic all around us, sitting in silence for about five minutes, until I said…
“Michael, I’m not refusing to draw, but if you think I can actually get any work done now, you’re crazy.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I kind of figured.” He picked up his share of the work and shoved it into his bag, standing and heading to the door. I followed him.
“We’ll make time to work again soon. Maybe Thursday?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Michael, thanks for telling me.”
“He just better not hate me for it.”
“He won’t. He couldn’t. And, um…” I could tell Michael was still bitter, understandably so, about me leaving Brian, and this had brought it all up again. “I’m not going anywhere. He’s all I want.”
Michael sniffed, looked about as tough as Michael ever could pull off, and said, “Good.” Then he left.
And I was left with too much information and too many thoughts running through my head. Waiting for Brian to get home.
***********
When Brian came in, I was cleaning. I always feel bad for his cleaning lady, with the things she must find… from used condoms, everywhere from his bed to the fruit bowl in the kitchen… to the broken glass of a drunken stupor all over the floor. So, I thought I’d tidy up a bit.
“What are you doing, Sunshine?” He stood there, wearing his hangover well. Sunglasses on, perfect hair and perfect suit, looking as shitty as it was possible for him to look.
“Cleaning up your mess, Moonshine.” He made a face, but the spontaneous nickname was so appropriate… even before he dropped his pants and displayed his bare ass… I couldn’t believe I’d never called him that before.
“You didn’t clean where I puked next to the toilet, did you?” he called on his way into the bathroom, still shedding clothes. “Because it was a perfect likeness of Stockwell, and I want to photograph it for the campaign.”
I laughed. “No, I just started. I was working… with Michael.”
Brian made a small “hmm” sound of acknowledgement, then started the water running. Instead of taking a real shower, he just got in and let the water blast him for about ten seconds, then got back out. He walked back towards me and my broom, quite a sight… towel haphazardly around his waist and now dripping sunglasses still on his face.
“You two get a lot of work done?”
“Not really.” I set the broom aside and reached for Brian’s hand. He let me pull him along, up the steps and onto his nice, comfy bed.
“Why not?” he asked, as he lay gratefully back and felt the world stop turning upside down.
“I guess I got distracted.” I took his sunglasses off him and strummed my fingers soothingly over his forehead. Brushing through his hair. Massaging his temples.
“Thinking about me on the job again, Taylor?” he mumbled, faux stern. “I realize Rage is me, but work is work. You’ve got to keep the naughty fantasies on hold until playtime.”
I smiled and wished I could skip to the naughty fantasies. Wished I could not ask him about what I knew I had to ask him about. But…
“I‘ll try. Um… Brian, you know how they say everyone has a double? I hear you met mine. Actually, I heard you already knew him.”
Oh yeah. Nice and casual, Justin. Meanwhile, Brian’s world was turning upside down again, thanks to me. I felt his whole body tense. Slowly, he brought a hand to his head, covering his eyes.
“Michael, you fucker. You twelve year old girl.”
“It’s not his fault. I made him tell me.”
“What’d you do? Break his fingers? Burn him with acid?”
“I, uh… I said I wouldn’t draw anymore.”
Brian laughed that laugh of his, where things aren’t funny at all. “Little piece of shit gossip queen,” he said, still going off on Michael, because it was probably the easiest thing to do right now.
I tried to pull his hand away from his eyes, but I should have known he wouldn’t look at me. He rolled over and reached for the sunglasses on the bedside table, but I grabbed them first and threw them across the loft. They landed somewhere behind the TV, with a clatter.
“Those better not have broken… They‘re Prada,” he muttered menacingly, then turned on his side and punch-fluffed a pillow, under the not particularly convincing guise of going to sleep.
“Brian, look at me.”
That wasn’t going to happen. Now he wasn’t looking at me or talking to me.
“Brian, I just want to say…” God, I wanted to say I was sorry. Sorry that I left him. Sorry that it took me so long to come back. Sorry that I ever thought I could be happier somewhere else. Variations on things I’ve said to him since we reunited, but now also… Sorry that I hurt him that much. Sorry that I really didn’t understand. Sorry that I’d thought of myself as the wounded one, when he had obviously been…
Even without seeing his face, I could feel his thoughts radiating from him… Don’t feel sorry for me, Justin. Don’t you dare feel fucking sorry for me. There was no way I could say any of what I wanted without him feeling I was doing exactly that. So… I had to try another tactic. A safer one with us, with Brian.
“I just wanted to know… how was it?“ I leaned in over him and whispered in his ear. “Who’s better?”
He lifted his head enough to look back at me… like I was certifiably insane, but at least he was looking at me.
“C’mon, you know… The real thing, or the professional pretender? ‘Cause, honestly… it gets me kind of hot to think about.”
I don’t think he knew if I was teasing him or what. “You are a sicko, you know that, young man?”
“Yes,” I grinned, nodding with enthusiasm. “So, tell me… Was he as handsome as me?“
Hmm. Judging by Brian’s swallowed laugh, I was guessing not. I liked that.
“What about his ass?”
Brian looked bored and like he didn’t understand the question. “Two cheeks… hole in the middle?”
I smiled and let that one pass. “Fine. Was he as kinky as me? What did you do to him?”
Brian sat up then and held me with a hard gaze, a little sad buried beneath a lot of challenging. “You want to know what I did to him? You want me to do it to you, maybe?”
“Oh yeah,” I nearly moaned. The thought of Brian with a guy who looked like me actually icked me out, but the reason behind it got me hot.
“Okay. Take your clothes off. Turn around. Get on your stomach, on the bed,” he ordered.
I did as he said, liking the commanding tone he sometimes used. I felt tingles shoot up my already hardening dick as I waited for him to climb on top of me and fuck me senseless. He didn’t. And I wasn’t prepared for what he did instead.
Brian lay on his side next to me and ran his hand slowly down my back. My face was turned away, so I couldn’t watch him, but I felt his fingertips glide from the base of my neck, along the curve of my spine, to the top of my ass. I shivered from the soft touch, and more so as he lovingly played with my hair. When his forehead… then his breath, then his lips… touched the skin of my back, I almost cried. This was what he had done with the substitute. This was what he had needed most from me.
I had never been more convinced that Brian Kinney loved me.
After a few more minutes of worship, I heard the tear of a condom wrapper and realized it was time. But I didn’t want a reenactment of a paid-for face-down fuck. I flipped over before he could pin me.
“You’re not following the rules. Turn over,” he growled.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want pretending. We’re both here. I want you to fuck me, looking me in the face, in the eyes, knowing that it’s me. And that I’m right where I want to be.”
I grabbed the back of his head and kissed him hard. Then he was ready between my legs… his towel having long since disappeared… and hooking my knees over his shoulders. He bent forward, and I think I finally saw him smile as he kissed me again. I could feel that sweet pressing against my hole, and just before he pushed inside, he whispered against my lips.
“Nothing’s better than the real thing.”
Timeline: S3, post 308 reunion
Rating: R
Warnings: A good deal of Michael here. But it's lovable Michael.
Summary: 4th of five ficlets that each deal with Brian and/or Justin finding out about something we didn't get to see them find out on the show. In this one, Justin finds out about the, um, imitation Justin from 301. Justin's pov. I thought this one would be shorter, but nope, still about 3000 words.
Disclaimer: The boys aren't mine, just the stuff I make them do.
Part IV: Brian and the Substitute
(Justin’s pov, S3)
“You look like shit.”
“Thank you very much,” said a sarcastic Michael, dripping Visine into his rather red eyes. “At least Zephyr remains a perfect physical specimen, despite my sorry state.”
We were at the loft, working on the next issue of Rage. Brian was at Vangard, though I couldn’t tell you how he was managing to put in a workday, considering that his current state had to be at least ten times sorrier than Michael’s.
“What the hell were you and Brian doing last night? I haven’t seen him that drunk and stoned at the same time since… shit, maybe ever. And that‘s saying a lot.”
I thought I caught Michael looking uneasy, and not just in a hungover way, as he shrugged and said, “Brian wanted to party. You know how he gets.”
“Yeah, and I know he knows his limits… usually.” I hadn’t gone with him, having promised Daphne I’d hang out at our apartment for a while. Technically, I was living with her, though most days it still felt like the loft was home. I got back to Brian’s by 1 a.m. and had several hours to work on homework and worry before the man himself staggered in.
“He was fine.”
“He was not fine.”
I said “staggered,” but that’s being kind. Brian could hardly stand for more than two seconds. He somehow managed a lap around the loft, mumbling and breaking random expensive knickknacks, before passing out on the floor. Michael and I tried to drag him to the bed, but we ended up just surrounding him with pillows and blankets in a vain attempt to make hardwood comfortable. It had been well after our 3 a.m. “curfew,” but… well, without actually living together, I guess that rule is difficult to apply. Besides, as I myself had said being with Michael didn’t count (even though he and I work together, so it’s totally different), I couldn’t really be upset. What did upset me was how Brian didn’t say a word to me. I know he was trashed, but he couldn’t even force his blurry eyes open enough to look at me for a second? And for someone who was usually such an entertaining drunk, this time he had been more… depressed. Michael’s explanations then were as lame as now.
“Seriously, Michael, what’s wrong with him?”
A beat of pretending he didn’t hear me was followed by, “Zephyr’s rock-hard abs aren’t quite as rock-hard in this panel. Maybe you could…”
Now I was really starting to worry. Michael was a terrible liar, and he knew it, but he was doing his best to keep something from me. About Brian.
“Michael, I’m not drawing anything else until you tell me.”
“Oh, that’s mature!”
“Too bad.” I dropped my pencil pointedly and crossed my arms over my chest. “I guess you’d better tell me something.”
I could see his frustration… looking around at all the work to be done, all the ideas he needed me to put on paper… then thinking about...
“Brian’ll kill me. More than usual.”
I just sat there, waiting.
“Justin, I’m not even comfortable knowing this, let alone telling…”
Stared. Waiting. I almost felt bad, though. He looked like he was in pain, wrestling with his decision. As much as I knew getting the comic done was important to him, I also knew how intense his loyalty to Brian was. If Michael did tell me… whatever it was… it would be because deep down he thought I should know.
“Okay!”
I grinned. It helped that Michael was never really that good at keeping secrets. I mean, other than that thirty years in the closet thing. He was only ever halfway in, anyway.
“Let’s just put things in terms of the comic.” He took a deep breath and held up one of my drawings of Rage and JT. “Let’s say… JT leaves Rage for pompous new villain, The Fiddler, whose music puts people into a deep sleep from which they never awaken… Hey, that‘s not bad.”
“What?” I didn’t enjoy reliving my stupidity in leaving Brian. “What does Ethan have to do with anything?”
Michael’s tight smile said, Saw through that did you? But his mouth kept on with the ruse. “So, Rage misses JT. Pretends he doesn’t, drinks a lot, fucks a lot of guys. But he misses JT so much that he does something… kind of sad.”
I realized I was holding my breath. “What does he do?”
“He searches Gayopolis for a young man who looks as much like JT as possible, so he can take him home… and pretend.”
I was still confused, but whatever I was understanding was making tears form in my eyes. “Does he find someone?”
Michael nodded. “A professional.”
No, that couldn’t be right. “Brian would never pay for… Why would he have to?”
“If you want to be able to order exactly what you want, like with a pizza, I guess that’s how you do it. I don’t know. I’ve never ordered a male prostitute before.” Michael got up and went to the kitchen for coffee, uncomfortable once he realized his pathetic ruse had ended.
I just… I didn’t know… I was speechless for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure how I felt, but the tears in my eyes were starting to fill up to the point that I couldn’t see. When Michael made his way back and sat down again, I made myself talk.
“How do you know about this? I know he’s your best friend, but Brian would never…”
“You’re right. No way in hell he’d ever tell me this. But, last night, we were at Woody’s…”
“You went to Woody’s to ‘party’?” It was a fun bar and all, but hell, my mom’s been in Woody’s… Shit, I was just interrupting out of nervousness. “Sorry. Go on.”
“We were just having beers, joking about stuff… I was boring him about the store and Ben and my mom. And then he gets this kind of… sick look on his face. I follow his line of vision and I see the back of this blond head across the bar. Your same hair, same height. I should have known something wasn’t right by Brian’s face, but I think it’s you, so I run over there. ‘Justin!’, you know, and I tap the guy on the shoulder. But when he turns around… So weird. He looked just like you, but… not at all, if you know what I mean. It was kind of like Superman and the whole Bizarro World thing, and this was Bizarro Justin…”
“Michael!” I couldn’t let him start going on about Superman, or we’d be here forever.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “So, I guess he must have seen me looking back at Brian. He obviously recognized Brian, which is no shocker. Everybody knows Brian Kinney. I figured he’d fucked this kid, which was a pretty safe bet… Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I knew it was tougher to find a guy in Pittsburgh Brian hadn’t fucked than to find one he had. That was who he was, and I loved him for it, and Michael knew that. There had to be more to the story.
“The blond kind of nodded to Brian and asked me if I was there with him. I think I said, ‘Yeah, he’s my best friend,’ or something like that. I apologized to him for bothering him, said I’d thought he was someone else. Then he looked at Brian again and said, ‘I must really look like him.’ And I guess I just looked confused, ‘cause he said, ‘The guy you thought I was… The guy he paid me to be.’”
Oh my God.
“Yeah. You could have knocked me over with a feather, too. Anyway, the kid had to go meet his next ‘appointment.’ I get back to Brian and… I made… a bad joke. Something like, ‘What, in case Justin leaves you again, you decided to get a spare?’”
“Michael! I can’t believe you said that!”
“I was kidding! But I felt bad when I realized… I wasn’t that far off. His face was about the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. And that’s when I really got it. The guy wasn’t a spare you; he’d been a substitute you. Brian was so miserable when you left him, he had to find a way to pretend you were still with him.” Michael shook his head. “He drank a lot more after that. Whatever he wanted to drink, or smoke, or snort, I didn’t have the heart to stop him. I needed to drink more at that point, too. I wasn’t prepared for that information. Shit, it felt like when I caught him wearing that scarf with your blood all over it…” His voice trailed off and he looked at me, panicked he’d said too much again.
“It’s okay,” I managed to smile. “I knew about that.”
He blew out a breath of relief, and we stared at the pages and pages of partially completed comic all around us, sitting in silence for about five minutes, until I said…
“Michael, I’m not refusing to draw, but if you think I can actually get any work done now, you’re crazy.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I kind of figured.” He picked up his share of the work and shoved it into his bag, standing and heading to the door. I followed him.
“We’ll make time to work again soon. Maybe Thursday?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Michael, thanks for telling me.”
“He just better not hate me for it.”
“He won’t. He couldn’t. And, um…” I could tell Michael was still bitter, understandably so, about me leaving Brian, and this had brought it all up again. “I’m not going anywhere. He’s all I want.”
Michael sniffed, looked about as tough as Michael ever could pull off, and said, “Good.” Then he left.
And I was left with too much information and too many thoughts running through my head. Waiting for Brian to get home.
***********
When Brian came in, I was cleaning. I always feel bad for his cleaning lady, with the things she must find… from used condoms, everywhere from his bed to the fruit bowl in the kitchen… to the broken glass of a drunken stupor all over the floor. So, I thought I’d tidy up a bit.
“What are you doing, Sunshine?” He stood there, wearing his hangover well. Sunglasses on, perfect hair and perfect suit, looking as shitty as it was possible for him to look.
“Cleaning up your mess, Moonshine.” He made a face, but the spontaneous nickname was so appropriate… even before he dropped his pants and displayed his bare ass… I couldn’t believe I’d never called him that before.
“You didn’t clean where I puked next to the toilet, did you?” he called on his way into the bathroom, still shedding clothes. “Because it was a perfect likeness of Stockwell, and I want to photograph it for the campaign.”
I laughed. “No, I just started. I was working… with Michael.”
Brian made a small “hmm” sound of acknowledgement, then started the water running. Instead of taking a real shower, he just got in and let the water blast him for about ten seconds, then got back out. He walked back towards me and my broom, quite a sight… towel haphazardly around his waist and now dripping sunglasses still on his face.
“You two get a lot of work done?”
“Not really.” I set the broom aside and reached for Brian’s hand. He let me pull him along, up the steps and onto his nice, comfy bed.
“Why not?” he asked, as he lay gratefully back and felt the world stop turning upside down.
“I guess I got distracted.” I took his sunglasses off him and strummed my fingers soothingly over his forehead. Brushing through his hair. Massaging his temples.
“Thinking about me on the job again, Taylor?” he mumbled, faux stern. “I realize Rage is me, but work is work. You’ve got to keep the naughty fantasies on hold until playtime.”
I smiled and wished I could skip to the naughty fantasies. Wished I could not ask him about what I knew I had to ask him about. But…
“I‘ll try. Um… Brian, you know how they say everyone has a double? I hear you met mine. Actually, I heard you already knew him.”
Oh yeah. Nice and casual, Justin. Meanwhile, Brian’s world was turning upside down again, thanks to me. I felt his whole body tense. Slowly, he brought a hand to his head, covering his eyes.
“Michael, you fucker. You twelve year old girl.”
“It’s not his fault. I made him tell me.”
“What’d you do? Break his fingers? Burn him with acid?”
“I, uh… I said I wouldn’t draw anymore.”
Brian laughed that laugh of his, where things aren’t funny at all. “Little piece of shit gossip queen,” he said, still going off on Michael, because it was probably the easiest thing to do right now.
I tried to pull his hand away from his eyes, but I should have known he wouldn’t look at me. He rolled over and reached for the sunglasses on the bedside table, but I grabbed them first and threw them across the loft. They landed somewhere behind the TV, with a clatter.
“Those better not have broken… They‘re Prada,” he muttered menacingly, then turned on his side and punch-fluffed a pillow, under the not particularly convincing guise of going to sleep.
“Brian, look at me.”
That wasn’t going to happen. Now he wasn’t looking at me or talking to me.
“Brian, I just want to say…” God, I wanted to say I was sorry. Sorry that I left him. Sorry that it took me so long to come back. Sorry that I ever thought I could be happier somewhere else. Variations on things I’ve said to him since we reunited, but now also… Sorry that I hurt him that much. Sorry that I really didn’t understand. Sorry that I’d thought of myself as the wounded one, when he had obviously been…
Even without seeing his face, I could feel his thoughts radiating from him… Don’t feel sorry for me, Justin. Don’t you dare feel fucking sorry for me. There was no way I could say any of what I wanted without him feeling I was doing exactly that. So… I had to try another tactic. A safer one with us, with Brian.
“I just wanted to know… how was it?“ I leaned in over him and whispered in his ear. “Who’s better?”
He lifted his head enough to look back at me… like I was certifiably insane, but at least he was looking at me.
“C’mon, you know… The real thing, or the professional pretender? ‘Cause, honestly… it gets me kind of hot to think about.”
I don’t think he knew if I was teasing him or what. “You are a sicko, you know that, young man?”
“Yes,” I grinned, nodding with enthusiasm. “So, tell me… Was he as handsome as me?“
Hmm. Judging by Brian’s swallowed laugh, I was guessing not. I liked that.
“What about his ass?”
Brian looked bored and like he didn’t understand the question. “Two cheeks… hole in the middle?”
I smiled and let that one pass. “Fine. Was he as kinky as me? What did you do to him?”
Brian sat up then and held me with a hard gaze, a little sad buried beneath a lot of challenging. “You want to know what I did to him? You want me to do it to you, maybe?”
“Oh yeah,” I nearly moaned. The thought of Brian with a guy who looked like me actually icked me out, but the reason behind it got me hot.
“Okay. Take your clothes off. Turn around. Get on your stomach, on the bed,” he ordered.
I did as he said, liking the commanding tone he sometimes used. I felt tingles shoot up my already hardening dick as I waited for him to climb on top of me and fuck me senseless. He didn’t. And I wasn’t prepared for what he did instead.
Brian lay on his side next to me and ran his hand slowly down my back. My face was turned away, so I couldn’t watch him, but I felt his fingertips glide from the base of my neck, along the curve of my spine, to the top of my ass. I shivered from the soft touch, and more so as he lovingly played with my hair. When his forehead… then his breath, then his lips… touched the skin of my back, I almost cried. This was what he had done with the substitute. This was what he had needed most from me.
I had never been more convinced that Brian Kinney loved me.
After a few more minutes of worship, I heard the tear of a condom wrapper and realized it was time. But I didn’t want a reenactment of a paid-for face-down fuck. I flipped over before he could pin me.
“You’re not following the rules. Turn over,” he growled.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want pretending. We’re both here. I want you to fuck me, looking me in the face, in the eyes, knowing that it’s me. And that I’m right where I want to be.”
I grabbed the back of his head and kissed him hard. Then he was ready between my legs… his towel having long since disappeared… and hooking my knees over his shoulders. He bent forward, and I think I finally saw him smile as he kissed me again. I could feel that sweet pressing against my hole, and just before he pushed inside, he whispered against my lips.
“Nothing’s better than the real thing.”