The List

Part 15

In the end, love will find a way.

Someone was banging on the loft’s door. Brian stirred on the floor of his bathroom, and promptly puked. He was wearing a wife beater and his pants were around his ankles. From the ambient smell, he assumed that he had not only thrown up, he had peed himself as well. He was profoundly drunk. Without standing, he laboriously took off his pants and dragged himself into the shower, careless of the pieces of broken mirror that littered the floor. He crumpled at the bottom of the enclosure and passed out again.

When he woke up once more, Mikey and Ben were there, shoving disgusting towels in a garbage bag and spaying the floor with some pine scented shit that made Brian want to throw up all over again. The professor was rinsing the floor with buckets of water, making Brian glad he had a drain in the middle of the floor.

“Give me your shirt,” ordered Mikey, and Brian knew from experience that when he was this drunk, it was best to do what Mikey said, because Mikey was sober and not very patient. If he didn’t obey, Mikey would smack his naked ass, hard, and not in a kinky kind of way. He struggled out of the shirt and tried to throw it piteously above the glass, just to have it come back and hit him smack in the face. It reeked. Mikey opened the shower door and reached for it, a look of disgust on his face, and after shoving it in the bag with the towels, turned the water on to full cold. Brian howled in misery, but felt infinitesimally less drunk after a moment.

“Wash yourself, Brian.” Michael dropped the soap in front of him. Brian was incredibly grateful when the water was turned to warm and did the best he could, sitting on the floor, hearing them talk about alcohol poisoning and ethylic coma and noticing vaguely that there was blood running down the drain. He stumbled out into Ben’s arms and was wrapped in a dry clean towel and put into bed. The sheets were clean.

“Shit, Ben. Look at his hand. He needs stitches. I guess you’re right. We’ve got to get him to the hospital.”

The next time he woke up, he was in a hospital room with an IV in his left arm, a heart monitor in place and a thick bandage on his left hand.

His knees hurt like a bitch, as did his throat, and he didn’t feel all that great otherwise though he was sober. Ben was sitting in a chair by his bed, reading, and Brian felt too embarrassed to even speak. He was going to kill Mikey. It was one thing for his best friend to see him at his worst, but he had no right to drag his husband into it. Brian must have made some noise, because Ben looked up, and of all things, smiled at him. He laid his big hand on Brian’s right one. Brian didn’t even have the strength to pull his hand out.

“Hey, Brian. Man, am I glad you’re awake. You scared the shit out of me. Michael swore you’d be all right, but god…” He took his hand away, probably remembering whom he was talking to. “Uh… In case you’re wondering, it’s Sunday night. You’ve been here since this morning. You… you had your stomach pumped, 12 stitches placed in your left hand, and five in each knee. Michael went home to get some rest about an hour ago. Visitors are allowed till 10:00 PM, and since I don’t have classes in the morning, I said I’d stay a little longer.”

Fuck. Brian had obviously been on a major bender. It had been a long time. Since his mother died, in fact, and even then, he hadn’t ended up in the hospital. Well, it sure as fuck worked. He had no recollection of why he’d done it.

“…stomach?” he croaked.

“Uh… What did they pump out of your stomach?”

“Yeah…”

“An awful lot of vodka, a lot of ketamine and some Ecstasy, as well as some stuff they are still analyzing. The doc thinks… He thinks the ketamine mixed with the alcohol could have very easily killed you, but Michael insisted you weren’t trying to commit suicide, and I seconded that. He believed us, I think. You’re not on suicide watch or anything. He said you could leave in the morning. Michael brought you some work clothes. He figured as long as you could stand, you’d insist on going in.”

Thank god for Mikey. Vodka? That meant he had been out of bourbon and he always had at least three bottles in the bar. And special K? What the fuck had he been thinking? K and booze did not mix. He did not do that alone in the loft because he knew it would very likely kill him. He suddenly really didn’t want to remember what he’d been trying to forget, but was pretty sure a drink right now was a bad idea, never mind impossible to procure. Maybe he’d be lucky. Maybe he’d done enough damage to his brain that the amnesia would be permanent.

Ben was looking at him as if he wanted to say something, so Brian turned away. He didn’t need a lecture, even disguised as Buddhist philosophy. He needed out of the fucking hospital, and back to work. Fuck. He'd cancelled Friday, and he’d missed his visit with Gus on Saturday. Something really fucked up must have happened. And he did not want to know what. Not now, not yet. He felt like shit, groggy and nauseated. He closed his eyes and must have fallen back asleep, because when he woke up again the lights were off and Ben was gone. A nurse was changing his IV bag.

“It’s just fluids, to rehydrate you,” she explained.

Which is probably why he had to pee like a racehorse. “… Bathroom.” His voice was all fucked up, from the tube to pump his stomach no doubt.

She nodded, and brought the IV post around.

He walked to the bathroom, aware but not caring much that she could see his ass with that stupid hospital gown open as it was in the back. He emptied his bladder, washed his right hand, and with great relief, brushed his disgusting furry teeth and tongue with one of those hard toothbrushes with the toothpaste already on the bristles that he found on the bathroom shelf. He wished he could floss, but with the bandages on his left hand, it would have to wait. He made it back to his bed. The nurse was still waiting for him. He was kind of grateful, because she helped a lot getting him back in it.

“I need to leave early tomorrow morning,” he said.

“I know. Your dark haired friend said he was coming for you at 7:30. Your paperwork is all signed. I’ll wake you up at 6:30, so we can take off your IV and your bandages. I’ll redo them before you shower. I’ll use a second skin. It should be all right. You’ll have to take antibiotics for ten days. The doc wouldn’t prescribe anything for the pain. There’s too much stuff still in your system for your liver to work on. You’ll have to make do with Tylenol. It should be all right, but not perfect.”

She was awfully nice and accommodating. Yet he was not getting a “I want you to fuck me“ vibe from her. She was just kind, maybe.

“Thanks,” he said.

She smiled warmly. “Whatever it was that made you do this to yourself, it’ll get better, you’ll see,” she said.

He looked at her, no longer liking her at all. She could take her pity and shove it.

She laughed, a soft yet melodic sound. “Don’t take my head off. I’m just telling you what your big friend told me when I asked him if there was any chance you’d do this again in short order. He said no, that it would all work out, and that if you managed not to be a complete asshole, everything would be fine.” She grinned at him. “So I guess that will be my advice to you. Don’t be a complete asshole.”

He still didn’t want to work at remembering what his problem had been, but he couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Sometimes I can’t help it,” he admitted.

“Excuses are bullshit,” she replied impatiently. “I’m disappointed in you.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, then smirked at her adding, “All right, Nurse Ratchett. God forbid I should disappoint you, you are such an important person in my life, what with fifteen whole minutes of history between us. I promise I won’t be a complete asshole.”

She pretended to wipe her eyes, and said in a fake tremulous voice, “You make me so proud…”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. She was really funny.

With a grin, she left with a parting shot. “You’re not half as ugly looking when you smile…”

The clock on the wall said 2:30. He had four more hours. God. He felt like death warmed over. He closed his eyes and fell asleep again.

When nurse Ratchet shook him at 6:30, his vacation from reality was over. Sunshine. The phone message where he’d sounded so hurt. The fiddler. The list. It was all back, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than his stitches, as the nurse unwrapped his left hand.

He should have known better than to break his fucking rules. This is what happened when you cared. The problem was easily resolved. He wouldn’t fucking care. End of problem. Then he had a funny thought. “Don’t be a complete asshole.” He looked at the nurse’s wavy grey hair, as she was bent over his hand, working carefully.

Don’t be a complete asshole. He’d promised her, whoever she was. Ben had said it would be all right. He must have talked to Justin. Brian felt a huge surge of hope, and it scared him shitless. He knew from experience that hope hurt even more than… caring. Maybe her advice should not have been “Don’t be a complete asshole”, but “Don’t be such a fucking coward…”

The nurse looked up at him and smiled. She was a beautiful woman really. Probably fiftyish, maybe less, maybe more… the grey hair threw him off. She had dark blue eyes with laugh lines.

“Here, put this on.” It was a latex glove. She added a tight rubber band around the wrist. “You can go shower, now. Try not to use this hand too much or it will really start hurting.”

Brian showered and shaved with a horrible single blade razor, and finger-combed his hair. Why hadn’t Mikey thought of his toiletries? His hand was hurting. He came out to find his clothes laid out on his bed. He removed the latex glove and took a look at his palm through the second skin. Fuck. There was a nasty jagged cut, with a lot of stitches. How had he done this? He had cuts on his knees too. Jesus.

He started getting dressed, and had just put on his dress shirt when the nurse returned. She buttoned his shirt for him, helped him with his socks and pants, zipping him up, cinching his belt, and after raising his collar, put his tie around his neck and knotted it perfectly.

“You are very good at this,” Brian commented.

“Thank you,” she said, without adding the explanation he had expected. She grabbed his hand and looked at his palm. “Yes. It’ll be fine. The second skin will come off on its own in a few days. Don’t get it wet too often. She stepped back and looked him up and down critically. “You sure clean up nicely… Well, my shift is over. Your friend should be here soon. Take care.”

“Uh… Thanks.” Somehow that seemed inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say.

She smiled and left. He put on his suit jacket and his ankle boots. He sat on his bed, wishing Mikey to walk through the door, even though it was only 7:08. He took a deep breath.

“Don’t be a fucking coward, Kinney,” he told himself. He closed his eyes. He was still tired. And there was this awful pain in his chest. But it was time for a little self-reflection.

Justin… God. That was the name of the pain in his chest. Justin. How could you grow to love someone so fucking much in two short weeks? Fifteen years of staying as far away as possible from that bullshit emotion, and only fifteen days to ruin those long years of hard work by falling for a little blond, blue eyed twink. Just to be proven right almost immediately, that love hurts, and hope hurts, and you are better off wanting nothing, having nothing, so you are never disappointed and never hurt.

But that was bullshit. Even if he were to hurt for a lot longer, the past few days of loving Justin and of being loved by him had been worth it, and god damn it, he would not retreat like a scolded dog with his tail between his legs. He had never before hesitated to go after what he wanted, regardless of the odds.

Ted was twelve years older than Blake, and their relationship hadn’t been a walk in the park. Ben was HIV positive for fuck’s sake, and he and Michael had to live with that fact. That fucking list may well have been the apogee of his asshole days, but he had never lied to Justin, had never pretended to be anything more than he was and still the boy had loved him. Hopefully, he still did, and Brian could convince him he was worth another chance.

Even if Brian could have been, Brandon was right, he didn’t want to be a club boy forever. He was 33 years old; it was time to think of bigger and better things, like opening his own ad agency for starters… And giving love a chance.

When Mikey arrived, Brian was more than ready to go. He greeted his friend with a hard hug and a kiss on the lips, the only apology and the only thanks Mikey expected. As they walked out, Michael kept stealing glances at Brian. Obviously the whole episode had freaked him out, especially since he probably had no clue what had precipitated it. Even after speaking to Justin, it was possible the professor had decided not to share with his husband what he might have considered a confidence.

Sitting behind the wheel of the Corvette, Brian turned to his best friend. “Everything’s going to be all right, Mikey. I promise.”

Michael’s face got all scrunched up and red for a second and he sniffed loudly, obviously trying really hard not to break down and cry. He took a few deep breaths, managing to keep his emotions under control. “I got really scared this time, Brian, alcohol and K…” was all the reproach he had, though Brian was evidently keeping major things from him and had put him through hell.

“I promise, Mikey,” Brian said again, his hand on Michael’s shoulder, and he knew that would be enough for Mikey to understand it wouldn’t ever happen again, but that what had caused it in the first place was not going to be a topic of conversation.

Michael looked at him and nodded, took one more deep breath, then said, “Let’s go have some breakfast.” At the diner his husband welcomed him with a smile and wrapped his arm around him, one more sign that Mikey hadn’t had an easy time of it, making Brian acutely aware of how selfish his actions had been.

Brian's throat was still sore, and he couldn’t stand the idea of food. He just asked for black coffee. He sat and only listened to the conversation, but that was close enough to his modus operandi of not participating unless there was some sarcasm to dish out so that no one noticed. It seemed that Drew and Emmett had been inseparable all weekend but that the football player was back on the road again. Emmett did look happy. Maybe they had come to some sort of understanding.

“What about you, Bri? Where were you all weekend?” asked Ted. He must have known Brian had played hooky on Friday…

Brian smiled a little smile, and answered his standard. “Something came up…” The way Blake thoughtfully looked at him, it was obvious he’d talked to Justin too, though he had no way of knowing of Brian’s little jaunt to the emergency room. Brian left for the office as early as he could get away with.

He brought Cynthia a lemon bar as a peace offering and was glad he had when he was greeted by the look that could kill. She grabbed the white bag with a snort, letting him know that this paltry attempt at soothing her was nowhere near enough.

She did however throw at him a canister of mousse she had dug out of her purse. Though it might have left a bruise had he not deftly caught it before it hit him in the face, he was grateful and quickly went to the bathroom to civilize his hair.

He spent the morning on the phone, returning calls and thanking clients for their understanding in view of the family emergency that had either delayed their appointments or caused them to have to wait until after the weekend to hear from him. By lunchtime, he felt he had done penance enough, and was glad to note his afternoon looked like any other.

It would start with a short meeting with Craig Taylor, and go on to back-to-back meetings with potential new clients. One was a company that made recumbent cycles, and the other with the City of Pittsburgh sanitation department. They needed help launching their new recycling program, apparently trusting Vangard to make garbage sorting look sexy. Vance had a real hard on for that one because it was a foot in the door to the golden land of city contracts, and since the mayor was also a representative in the state Senate, of statewide contracts as well.

Brian was feeling a bit better, so he ate a protein bar and a Granny Smith for lunch, with plenty of water, as he reviewed what he knew of the recycling program. He had been conscientiously drinking water all morning to continue to rehydrate and help his body get rid of the toxins he had so enthusiastically loaded it with over the weekend, so he decided a trip to the men’s room would not be remiss before his afternoon’s appointments.
He was about to make the turn past the waiting area when he heard Craig Taylor’s voice.

“Justin?? What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you work here!”

Justin was here! Brian’s heart skipped a beat, the next one thumping hard in his chest to make up for it. A few seconds later, he was glad he had taken a moment to compose himself before going in and facing Justin since it gave him the chance to connect some pretty obvious dots.

“Hello, Craig... No. I don’t work here. I’m an independent contractor. I am doing some freelance work for one of the partners.”

“Not Brian Kinney!” Why did Craig Taylor sound outraged at the idea?

“No. Not this time. The other partner, Brandon Parks.”

“And is Mr. Parks aware he’s hired a faggot?” asked Craig. What the fuck? What had Taylor just said? That homophobic prick! Suddenly, the reason Justin had stressed the name “Craig” earlier became obvious to Brian, as well as the relationship between the two men. Justin obviously no longer wanted to call Craig what he had called him in his previous life: Dad. Craig Taylor’s little boy had not died… The asshole had lost his son when Justin had refused to deny his homosexuality, refused to live his life hiding it and Craig Taylor had thrown him out of his childhood home.

“My sexual orientation has no bearing on the quality of my work,” was Justin's soft non-reply.

“Oh, I see. So you hide your disgusting life style when it comes to getting work?” Craig’s voice sounded both victorious and full of contempt.

“I am grateful that my being gay or straight is not important to my employers.” Once again, Justin’s voice was gentle, but firm, even though his answer was vague.

“So you have told them you're queer, have you?” asked Craig Taylor sarcastically, obviously expecting a negative answer.

“Not in so many words, no.”

Brian realized that even under verbal attack, Justin would not lie, but would protect Vangard from the loss of a client. Well, fuck that.

Brian walked in, amazed at how beautiful Justin looked and at the surge of love he felt upon seeing him. He had not expected speaking to Justin under such unusual circumstances, but neither was he going to back away from the opportunity.

“Justin did not need to tell us he was queer,” Brian told Craig with a smile, “because we already knew, since he is my boyfriend.” Seeing Craig’s stunned look, he pretended to misunderstand it. “My boyfriend? You know… My partner.” He came to stand in front of Justin and talked to him now, looking into his eyes, his fingers combing the blond hair back, caressing the beautiful face. “My partner, the man I love. The man I want to fall asleep with, and wake up to, the man I want to share my life with, make love to everyday, be with through tough times, and share the celebration of good times with, my lover, my…”

“What? You! You’re a fag too?!”

Brian turned back to the man. “Why, yes, Craig. I certainly am.” He stepped behind Justin and wrapped his arm around him. When Justin put his hands on his and interlaced their fingers, he could have cried with joy and relief.

“But…but… you’re so… you’re not…”

“Effeminate? Flamboyant? An interior decorator? What Craig?”

“You never said you were gay!” yelled the man, frustrated.

“As I always say, Craig, unless it’s your dick I’m sucking, or your ass I’m ramming, it’s really none of your business.”

Craig Taylor looked green. “That’s it Kinney, we’re through. I’m taking my business elsewhere.”

Brian was busy enjoying the scent of Justin’s blond hair, of the skin behind his ear where he was kissing, of his neck. He resented having to talk to Craig the fuckwit anymore, but a fag’s gotta do what a fag’s gotta do. “There is the small matter of a signed contract and of a 50% non-refundable deposit you might want to consider,” he threw in, before returning to the task at hand.

“Stop this disgusting display, you… you pervert! That’s my son you’re molesting!”

Brian looked up from nuzzling Justin’s warm and succulent neck.

“Really? Hmm. You had given me the impression your son was dead…”

Craig looked at Justin with eyes full of disappointment and contempt. “He is. He’s dead to me.”

Brian, his arms still protectively around Justin stood back up to his full height. “You are a pathetic excuse for a human being, Mr. Taylor, and frankly, I cannot stomach the idea of continuing working with you either. But Vangard is also bound by a contract. I therefore propose the only possible alternative. I will pass your account on to my partner, Brandon Parks. You will deal with him from now on. If that’s acceptable to you, you can take a seat. I will go speak with him immediately so you and the filming crew can go on with today’s project.”

“Fine. I’ll speak with him,” spat Craig Taylor, as if he was doing Brian a favor, as if he didn’t stand to lose his $100,000.00 deposit otherwise. He sat down heavily on one of the couches in the waiting area, looking pale and disheveled. Brian wondered how painful all of this was to Justin, and he hoped he had not made things more difficult. Justin had certainly seemed to appreciate his touches, resting his head back on Brian’s shoulder, and letting a happy sigh escape while Brian worshipped his neck.

Unwilling to break contact with Justin, he held on to his hand as he walked quickly to Brandon’s office.

He knocked and walked in. “Brandon, do you have a minute?”

Brandon looked up from his computer, surprised, and then, after pointedly staring at Brian and Justin’s intertwined fingers answered, “Well, my next appointment was with Justin, so… yes, I do.”

“Craig Taylor, from Taylor Electronics, and apparently the progenitor of Sunshine here, has decided he cannot work with me due to my sexual orientation, which is aggravated by the fact that I am molesting his disinherited child. He has agreed to let me switch the account to my partner. You. The straight one, evidently.”

“Me… whose only reason for not molesting said child is that little Sunshine made the bad judgment to prefer you, the tasteless twink,” said Brandon, smirking. “Makes perfect sense to me. What’s my commission?”

“36, 37 thousand, something like that. You’ll have to ask our straight accountant, you know, the one who, in his spare time, molests his own twink.”

“36 thou? Kinney, you’ll get your reward in heaven. Well, actually, before that, because we queers must stick together, and since you’ve already done all the work, I’ll split the commission with you 50/50.”

“Thanks. He’s in the waiting area.” Brian smirked. “Don’t forget to look manly.”

“Manly…” Brandon wondered out loud. “Hmm… Should I maybe showcase my ten inches?”

“…Nah. Keep your pants on,” advised Brian. “Go to it, straight boy.”

They went their separate ways. Brandon, to earn his 50%, and Brian, still holding Justin’s hand, to his office. Watching them pass, Cynthia raised an eyebrow. Then, wisely, she called Ted and told him that the both of them would potentially have to meet and wow the recumbent cycle makers. It was a very small account. They could probably handle it.

As soon as Brian closed his office door, the adrenalin that his encounter with Craig Taylor had released burned away, and he suddenly felt exhausted and horribly vulnerable. It didn’t help that Justin had let go of his hand and was now standing in front of his desk, staring at him, his expression quite unreadable.

“Justin…”

There was so much he wanted to say, but he had no idea how to start. He just really wanted them to touch, their hands, or something, anything. He needed them to touch. Had Justin’s willingness to be held in front of Craig Taylor been for show?

He asked hesitantly, “Come closer?”

It had definitely been the right thing to say, because next thing he knew, he had an armful of blond boy holding on to him, breathing in his neck. “Brian.”

He held the slight body closely, blinking too fast, thinking stupid shit like “Thank you god, thank you…”

Against his neck, Sunshine made a funny noise, half giggle, half sob and said, “I missed you so much! It hurt so bad, Brian, and I couldn’t talk to my best friend, ‘cause that’s you, and you were the one who hurt me, and I believed it, but I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t forget us, in bed together. And that made it worse, that I was so gullible and stupid, but then I’d remember your eyes, and the way you look at me when you’re inside of me, and it just made no sense…”

“Justin… God, Justin.” Brian was so relieved. “I’m so sorry you found out like this, I’m so sorry you got hurt… You, me, it’s real… It has nothing to do with that list. I don’t care about the list, I care about you, so much, Sunshine, so much. I meant everything I said to you out there…”

Heis neck felt a little wet and he thought it might be possible Justin was crying with relief, and Brian knew exactly how he felt. He knew he owed Blake and Ben more than he could ever repay.

Finally Justin raised his head. His eyes were shiny, but he was smiling, and then they were kissing and Brian’s heart was beating so hard he was sure Justin could hear it.

Brian caressed Justin’s beautiful face. “I thought I’d lost you, Justin. I’ve tried to be honest with you about who I am, but I know this contest is beyond even what you would expect. I thought that even if you were told I backed out of it because of you, you would still see me differently, and want nothing more to do with me.”

Justin nodded his understanding, though he was looking at Brian with an expression that said Brian had been wrong, that Justin still wanted him, still loved him…“You would have finished the contest if they had taken my name out, wouldn’t you?” It was obvious Justin already knew the answer.

“Yes. I’m not going to lie. Yes, I would have.”

Again, the understanding nod. “It’s like tricking. It’s the chase, the hunt that you love. Knowing you can get anyone if you put your mind to it. The fucking at the end is just a nice byproduct.”

Brian thought about it for a minute. It was true. It was a power game, really. “How do you know that?” he asked Sunshine, curious.

“I called Brandon on Friday and asked if he would talk to me. I was so hurt, and so confused, I needed to try to make sense of it all. He tried to explain how you guys think, why you do the things you do. You have no idea how happy I felt when he told me you had tried everything you could think of to make him give up the chase, to get me off that list. He told me you’d never told him, or Max, that you’d already had me, that you’d really won. To him, that was the most telling. He’d already figured you were too protective of me for it to be just about our friendship.”

He was looking at Brian, his blue eyes trusting, loving. “Brandon really likes you, you know,” he told Brian. “He’s a good friend. He worked really hard to convince me to give you another chance. He didn’t have to. You weren’t lying to me, or pretending that whole time as I’d thought. You couldn’t tell me about the list, I get that, but you found a way to protect me anyway. And nothing you said, nothing you did when we were together was untrue. Brian, that’s all that matters to me.”

Brian had never before felt that he was loved unconditionally. But he did now. He could be exactly who he was, but he could also change, and fail, and try again, and he knew Justin would love him. He believed that implicitly. The man in his arms was everything he could ever want, and gave him freely everything Brian had never thought he’d ever deserve.

They sat on his office couch and talked, their sides touching, sometimes looking at each other, sometimes not, but feeling connected the whole time. Brian told him about the hospital, and Justin, scared to death retrospectively, called Brian an idiot. Justin admitted he’d gotten really drunk too, on Wednesday night. He’d had a whole bottle of cheap white wine, had puked all over Ethan’s bathroom rug and had passed out for nine hours. Brian couldn’t help but laugh and call him a lightweight.

It turned out to have been completely serendipitous that Justin had moved out of his place above the tattoo parlor when he did. He had been on the waiting list for student housing and a studio apartment would be available shortly because a student had quit and was leaving. If he had stayed even an extra day above the tattoo parlor, he would have had to pay another two weeks’ rent, so instead he had moved in with Ethan and would sleep on his couch for a week. For the same price as his previous rent, once he moved into student housing, he would get breakfast, a bathroom with limitless hot water and a small kitchenette. All that and no cockroaches.

A grant he’d applied for with Ted’s help had come through on Wednesday as well, and it covered most of his books and supplies. Justin had been looking forward to their dinner on Wednesday night to share all this good news with Brian. Until Ethan’s revelation about The List over lunch, that is.

“Your phone was disconnected, Justin,” said Brian, his tone admitting how much that had freaked him out.

Justin blushed. “I’m sorry. Even though I thought everything between us had been bullshit, I had the hardest time not answering your calls on Thursday. I even called you back, twice, hanging up after a few rings, like some stalker… I figured if I kept my phone number, I’d for sure break down and answer eventually, and that if you told me you wanted me, I would kiss off my self respect and come running back. So to cancel our Thursday night I called your loft when I knew you weren’t home yet, and I had my phone disconnected.

“Then I talked to Brandon on Friday after he got off work, to Ben Friday night at the diner before my shift and to Blake on Saturday morning at Ethan’s. They each saw things from a different angle, but they also all said that they knew whatever was between us was genuine and that you cared about me. I wanted to talk to you so much, but now I couldn’t get a hold of you even though the phone company reconnected my number for a small fee Saturday.”

He had worked double shifts over the weekend at the diner, to make up for Wednesday night (when he’d been busy drowning his sorrow) and also in the hope of running into Brian, but he’d also given his notice, and Debbie had already cut down his hours drastically for the coming two weeks.

“I had this appointment with Brandon this afternoon to show him my work on the travel agency, but I wasn’t sure I would see you. I was going to leave a note with your assistant to see if you would come to the diner for dinner tonight, before my shift. I can’t believe I ran into Craig.”

Brian put his arms around him and pulled him closer, until Justin was actually in front of him, sitting sideways on the couch between his legs. He kept his arms around him. “Are you alright about that? It had to be weird.”

Justin leaned against his body, welcoming the embrace. “I hadn’t seen him in almost five years, since he threw me out of the house. He looks old.”

He turned his torso so he was facing Brian, putting his arms around his neck. “I have made my peace through the years with having lost my parents’ love. Having to deal with Craig here was frustrating. I wanted to be rude and walk away, but I didn’t want to cost your company his money by revealing too much.”

He looked in Brian’s eyes and smiled, and Brian’s heart did that funny flip as his dick woke up suddenly. “Then you came to my rescue and said all those wonderful loving things… and the way you looked at me, I just wanted you so much I couldn't think of anything else.”

Brian leaned forward ever so slightly and captured the smiling mouth in a kiss. He loved the soft yielding mouth and could not help thinking of it as more than a kiss; that it was also a declaration of intent, a binding promise, an expression of his love. The light in Sunshine’s eyes when they pulled apart showed he had understood all of it.

“I love you, Brian.”

The urge to lay Justin on the couch, take off his clothes and love him was near overwhelming, but Brian also had some things he wanted to say. He lifted Justin and gently resettled him on the couch before pacing a little, trying to get his thoughts in order, checking with his strong censure mechanism that he really wanted to say what he was about to say.

Justin was sitting quietly on the couch, waiting for him to speak, apparently knowing what was going on in Brian’s head. Finally Brian stopped pacing and crouched in front of his sitting lover.

“Justin, don’t move into the dorms. Move in with me, in the loft. I want you there. I need you there to help me become the man I want to be.” He was hoping Justin would understand him, even though he wasn’t completely sure he was explaining himself well. “It’s time for some changes in my life, and I want you by my side as I make them, I want to share this time with you. I know we’ve only known each other two weeks, and that you are really young, and…”

Justin kissed him. And fuck, this was definitely a kiss Brian could learn to love. It was a “Fuck me” kiss; a “I am so horny I will die if you don’t put your cock up my ass soon” kiss.

Justin pulled away, looking so fucking hot with his pupils dilated, his lips wet and his hair messy. “Sometimes talking can make something simple into something complicated," he said. "Let’s keep it simple.” He added with a grin, “I’ll do anything you want, if you fuck me right now. OK?”

Brian chuckled, loving that man, and started stripping off his clothes. “OK.”

Lying on the couch, Justin’s smile as he slithered out of his clothes, would have turned Brian on in two seconds if he wasn’t already as turned on as a man can get. Brian was very glad he’d chosen the furniture he had for his office when he knelt between Justin’s legs on his couch and didn’t feel cramped in any way. He prepared Justin, looking in his eyes the whole time, loving the soft warmth inside his boy, loving the pink glow of arousal on his beautiful face.

He lined himself up, and looked at Justin with a smile.

Justin smiled back, said, “Please…” and Brian pushed home, both of them moaning with the perfection of it. Then he started moving, Justin’s body moving under his in perfect harmony, their bodies, their heart, their souls singing blissfully, loving this beginning to the rest of their lives.

The shmoopy end.

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