Spin and Fall

Chapter 4: Lose

Warming up on the bike for his work out, Brian smiled, thinking back to the previous night. JT had warned him he’d get his ass whooped at pool, but just how much better than him JT actually was had still come as a surprise. He played like a professional, really. It was a pleasure to watch. Brian realized he had vaguely hoped to beat him because he really, really wanted to fuck him, and though JT had been perfectly clear that it would not happen, Brian had believed that if he lost, the blond would honor their bet. Oh, well.

He’d loved the fact that JT did not rub it in after his crushing defeat but instead kissed the hell out of him. When he’d sensed a man standing next to them after their kiss and remembered they were not in Capitol Hill, he had braced himself for some sort of confrontation, but once again, Seattleites had surprised him. The man only wanted to play pool, and even joked at how turned on his girlfriend was, watching them make out. He loved this town.

His own dick had been semi hard all evening. JT bent over a pool table was one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen, both because his amazing ass was on perfect display, and because he played with such assurance and skill. His self-confidence was very sexy… Brian thought of going dancing, but while that sounded like fun, he could dance in the Pitts anytime. Truthfully, even though it meant taking it up the ass yet again, he’d much rather go back to JT’s apartment and fuck. So they did.

JT did not seem to have a job outside of school, yet he drove an expensive car and lived in a very nice apartment. The art on the wall was superb as were the few pieces of furniture, and the Persian rug in the living room was, well, Persian. All of it showcased his eclectic but perfect taste, more colorful, yet not unlike Brian’s own. The entire place was neat and uncluttered, though that could be on account of his visit.

Certainly, Brian had noted some obviously new acquisitions. An espresso machine, two plates, cups and sets of silverware which they used for eating takeout, a beautiful set of crystal tumblers and an unopened bottle of J&B, some guava juice and non-fat milk in a fridge that otherwise showed a striking resemblance to his own, containing only poppers and Perrier.

The sheets on the giant bed were beautiful, 600 count and a deep indigo color, the towels in the bath thick and of the highest quality. The top shelf of the medicine cabinet was weirdly empty, though the middle shelf was a bit crowded. It contained a box of new toothbrushes (just like his did at home), a large bottle of Scope, and some allergy meds. He’d not been snooping, just looking for floss, which he’d eventually found.

So JT had an unknown source of income and had hidden some of his meds. He didn’t have loads of clothes or shoes, and there were coupons for Scope, shampoo and conditioner and for an oil change under a bowl of apples in the kitchen. His behavior did not strike Brian as that of a trust fund kid, but as that of someone who had earned his money. And he did not seem ill. Would he have hidden his pills if he were HIV positive? Brian really doubted it. He was so forthright. He’d have probably mentioned it before they fucked the first time.

Reaching a cruising interval on the bike, Brian’s mind wandered back to their fucking the night before. He got an instant erection. Fuck, he had loved every second, even if there was a twinge in his ass, sitting on the bike’s narrow saddle. It was as if JT understood Brian’s natural desire for dominance and was trying to satisfy him in every way he could - other than bottoming. Brian had only jokingly taken the handcuffs out of his suitcase.

But Justin had brought his wrists together and let Brian attach him to the bed. Brian had realized it was a really big deal for JT, because he’d seen a flash of real fear in the blond’s eyes and had felt the man’s heart drum against his ribs like a caged bird. Yet JT had made himself completely vulnerable, accepting the nipple clamps, and even, at the end, the blindfold. Brian had totally gotten off on withholding JT’s orgasm until he begged. Of course he would never have abused JT’s trust, but he had been awed by how far JT was ready to go to please him.

Again later, JT had let Brian control their fucking, when Brian knew, from experience, that much of the pleasure of doing it doggy style was to grip the hips of the man your cock was buried in and pummel his ass to your heart’s content. But Brian had been the one doling out the pleasure, and he had loved it, loved JT begging for harder, and faster, as if Brian was fucking him and almost passed out yet again feeling the blond empty himself in the condom, deep in his ass, while screaming his name…

Yet his favorite last night had been his one true bottoming experience, with JT completely in charge--of his ass, of his cock, of his lips--fucking him with Brian’s knees on his shoulder, watching the pleasure on his face, jerking him off expertly with his hand. Brian had shamelessly panted and moaned and bucked, eventually losing all thought, overcome with the pleasure of it, riding the waves of overwhelming bliss.

He finished his ride and got off the bike, starting his upper body routine. Tonight he’d have an ass to fuck, some random trick to demonstrate his skills as a top. Maybe he could make JT understand just how much he wanted, needed to fuck him.

*****

When the buzzer signaled the trick’s arrival, Brian could not wait. JT looked hot as fuck with his tight red top and drawstring pants only held up by his unbelievable ass. Even with their mutual blowjobs in the shower, Brian had been hard for his ass all fucking evening… The trick, Patrick, or whatever the fuck, was totally Brian’s usual type: Tall, dark, muscular. They wasted no time starting in on him, Brian kissing him and JT playing with his cock. That boy was in for a treat. Yet, somehow, before they really got going, Brian found himself searching JT’s eyes, trying to tell him through his look, “It’s you I want. It’s you I’m going to be fucking, no matter whose ass I’m in…”

It felt so fucking good to finally be totally in charge, to feel from Patrick’s rigid cock how much the trick wanted JT and then to deny him. JT was hot and sexy and perfect and his. He made sure JT was watching when he entered the trick, and he knew that each time he pushed into the trick’s ass, the trick’s tongue pushed in JT’s. Just that thought was enough to make him want to let loose his load in the welcoming ass. He made the guy come first, but never broke eye contact with JT as he let himself reach that high, and fall.

JT closed his eyes on his orgasm in the trick’s mouth, and Brian was weirdly happy that it was nothing like the screaming releases JT had when it was just the two of them together, just as Brian’s orgasm fucking Patrick had been but an echo of the pleasure he shared with JT.

In the shower with Patrick, he’d gotten hard again, thinking of how it would feel to sink his cock in the dark-haired trick while JT was fucking his ass, to be sandwiched between the two. He grabbed a condom from the soap holder (JT kept condoms in a lot of the places where Brian kept them in his own home) and turning Patrick against the wall, pushed in his still loosened hole. Fuck, that was good. He held off for a while, hoping JT would come and make his little fantasy a reality but, finally, let himself fuck Patrick hard and fast, coming with a deep shudder.

He opened his eyes to meet JT’s laughing ones.

“There better still be hot water left…” JT teased. Brian wanted to stay in. He still wanted Justin to fuck him, but who knows what Patrick would feel authorized to do then. So JT entered as they exited. Shit, if only Brian had waited another ten minutes to fuck Patrick… Oh, well…

Once out, he was more polite than he ordinarily was to tricks, since Patrick had been JT’s guest, but he let him know his part in the evening’s entertainment was over. Patrick was a bit reluctant to leave, apparently still hoping JT’d have a turn at his ass (that’s why he’d come after all), but Brian eventually convinced him to get lost. Brian had enjoyed topping, but definitely wanted to finish the evening alone with JT.

He turned off most of the lights and changed the sheets to deep violet ones, which would look beautiful against JT’s skin, before he got into bed. After a few minutes, he got his laptop out and checked his e-mails. Lindz had sent him new pictures: some of Gus, some of Gus and JR and a couple of herself with the kids. He transferred them to his i-photo library. The only pictures in there were from Lindz, except for a few Mikey had taken of him with Gus, including the very first ones in the hospital room. He went back to those.

He missed Gus so fucking much, with Wendy and baby JR close seconds. He intellectually knew JR wasn’t his, but his heart apparently felt differently. He’d cropped Mel from the few pictures where she’d appeared. He knew it was unjust, but he blamed her for his children and his best friend being so fucking far away.

Gus was getting so big. Five years old already. He decided to go to Toronto the following weekend. He couldn’t come back to Seattle so soon anyway or… What the fuck? When had he decided to come back to Seattle yet again? No fucking clue, but there it was. He’d be back. He wanted to. He wanted to be in this bed. With JT. Holy shit!

JT finally came in from the shower. He’d been in there forever. “Five more minutes and I was sending in a rescue party,” Brian joked.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting for me.” JT looked…subdued.

Brian opened the bed and his arms to him in invitation and turned off the light, holding the slight body against his, feeling an unusual tension there.

“JT, are you all right?” That sounded so lesbianic, but who fucking cared?

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He fucking wasn’t, the twat. “Bullshit.”

“OK, I’m not, but I will be. I’m allowing unimportant things to get to me. It happens sometimes. I will be fine. I always am.”

Fuck. Had Brian done something stupid? He reviewed the past couple hours in his mind and could think of nothing. He had fucked the trick alone in the shower. Surely that wasn’t it. Almost afraid to insult JT by insinuating it, he asked cautiously, “It’s not about… my fucking Patrick?”

Justin chuckled. “No, of course not. I’m glad you had a good time. It just seemed that earlier… It seemed you were perhaps asking me something, though I may have been projecting, and however much I wish it could be otherwise, if you were indeed asking, the answer is no.”

“Oh.” He had been asking something, in a way. Asking him to recognize his true nature, telling JT how much he wanted him, asking him to understand him, to please let him top.

“Were you asking?” asked JT, quietly.

“JT, sex with you is… amazing. It’s…”

“I know. I’m there too, usually.”

Brian had to grin at that. “Twat. But JT… I’m a top.” There. He’d actually said it. He knew JT had felt it, but… “Unbelievably, with you, I find myself willing to… uh…“

“Take it up the ass?”

“Repeatedly. But I know how incredibly good it would be, with the chemistry between us, to… to fuck you.” It was true, of course, but there was so much more to it, really. “But it’s not just that, JT. I enjoy being with you, talking, just hanging, working side by side with you… holding you. Waking up with you. I… I want to fuck you because… because I want you.”

Oh god. He had not just said that out loud, had he? He fucking had. And what’s fucking worse, he’d meant every word. He suddenly stopped worrying about whether or not he still had a cock because something was very wrong with JT. His body was… vibrating, almost. He was angry. Big time. Shit, shit, shit. He must have really fucked up somehow. Brian was desperately trying to find something to say to diffuse the situation, but since he did not understand the source of JT’s fury, he was at a complete loss.

“I’m sorry, Aidan. I cannot give you what you need.”

JT’s voice was weird, repressed, contained. The words had obviously cost him. He was majorly upset, but somehow, Brian now realized that he was not the cause of that anger. Then the meaning of the words registered. JT really meant them. He was sorry. And he had said cannot, not won’t or don’t want to.

“Not ever.” Brian was not asking a question, really. Just letting JT know he’d heard him, heard his meaning.

“No.”

One syllable… Brian would never top JT, never have the pleasure of knowing him that way. Brian realized what he felt. Disappointment. He’d wanted it, because a top was who he was, but also because he was so fucking good at it, and he had wanted to share that with JT, had wanted to please him that way. Brian kissed his temple, holding him tightly, confirming he understood. He thought about how he’d felt, watching JT strip in front of Patrick and him. That… possessiveness. His ass, his cock. He’d wanted to top JT, to fuck him, so as to own him, possess him for that moment in time, come in his ass to claim him somehow. It was all so confusing, so weird, so unlike anything he’d felt before. Just a few days together, and JT was so fucking… precious to him. As much so as anyone else in his life, save his son and daughter. Fuck. More so. More precious than Deb, his substitute mother. More than Em and Ted and Lindz. God… More precious than Mikey. He had wanted to fuck him to celebrate, to affirm that feeling.

He wasn’t sure how, but he knew JT was not asleep. Earlier there had been that powerful anger there, but now he radiated hopelessness. What the hell had happened to his boy to make him so, so sad? Brian thought about his earlier discovery of his intention to return. Did knowing that returning would always mean bottoming change how he felt about it?

…No. No, unbelievably… no. Being with JT was more important than his natural sexual inclination. Being with him sexually was beautiful, powerful, perfect, no matter the roles they played. Suddenly, he needed to feel that close to JT, the closeness that only sex could bring, though with JT, it would always only mean one thing… So be it. He spoke softly, not wanting to surprise him.

“Then I’ll take what you can give, JT. Please, I want you inside me…”

JT’s hand was trembling as he caressed Brian’s chest and Brian realized JT had believed his inability to change roles had meant that Brian would give up what they had. Their kiss was soft and achingly sweet. JT dismantled every defense, every resistance to total abandon that Brian had, and when he entered him, Brian let out a cry of pleasure and gratitude.

JT was such an amazing lover, so incredibly skilled and generous. It occurred to Brian that for the first time in his life, he was being made love to, each touch, each caress, each kiss an act of love. Carried on a flow of delight, he lost himself in JT’s eyes, in his inner light, in the softness he saw there. They reached completion together, their fingers intertwined, their bodies bathed in sweat, their minds filled with pleasure with no room for thoughts or concerns. Brian loved that JT lapped up every bit of his cum off his chest and fell asleep immediately after, on top of him, his head on Brian’s heart.

Brian ran his fingers through the soft sweaty blond hair, enjoying JT’s weight on him. He was fully conscious that here, with JT, he was a different man than he was in the Pitts. There were no rules here, no one to judge him, to remind him of who he was and who he ought to be. He was discovering who he could be, unfettered from his image and reputation. He had no one to please but himself and this small blond man, and pleasing JT was easy. It seemed he did that just by being himself.

This was not the real world. They didn’t interact in any significant way with anyone else, not even that trick. They were an island unto themselves. Where were JT’s Friends? His family? If Brian had been in the Pitts and had failed to touch base with Mikey for two days, his friend would have beat down the loft’s door on the third. But he was not in the Pitts. He could forget the bullshit he’d been spewing since he was fourteen and that his friends held him to. He did not have to be a cynical, heartless asshole with so much armor he could hardly breathe, allowing him to withstand anything that came his way, but keeping him apart from everyone, even Mikey.

He kissed the top of JT’s head. Here, on this island of two, he was free. He could let himself feel. He could let his body enjoy complete surrender, talk about anything he was interested in, admit to liking literature, the smell of freshly cut grass, and soft, gentle wet kisses that lasted forever. He said softly, just to prove to himself that here he could both have and admit that feeling, “I love you, JT. I love you.” And because the sky did not fall, and really, nothing at all happened except that he felt really good, he added, smiling at how absurd he was being, “Making love with you is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever done,” and, “I love when you push your cock inside of me,” and, “I would have loved to fuck you JT, but even if I never can, I’m never giving you up,” and finally, “I wish we could make love raw.” He chuckled softly. He was never saying any of these things again, no matter where he was. But he had said the words and meant them, and no one anywhere could ever take that knowledge from him. He decided it must be really late, and he must be very tired. Closing his brief moment of insanity the way he had started it, he kissed the top of the blond head again.

He closed his eyes, sighed and fell asleep.

*****

 

Brian had no difficulty identifying the strange hollow feeling in his chest as his flight took off from Seattle. Within two minutes of the Audi’s door slamming shut on JT’s smile, he’d started missing the man like crazy.

The day had been awesome. Once again it rained buckets, reducing Brian’s desire to venture out of the apartment to a big zero. From waking up to the smell of espresso brought to him in bed, to laughing his ass off as JT read out loud for him “The Stranger,” Seattle’s bizarre, hilarious, fascinating weekly, to trading blow jobs back and forth not once, not twice but three times, they’d stayed in bed till noon.

Then they’d taken a bath in JT’s huge clawfoot tub, with a bubble bath that smelled of green, growing things. Somehow it had ended with JT fucking him in the cooling water, their enthusiasm creating waves that spilled over both ends, making it very fortunate that the builder had had the foresight to place a drain in the middle of the floor.

They’d somehow ended up back in bed, and JT, after Brian had denigrated his twink wear, had modeled his club shirts for him, wanting to prove their effectiveness. All were very tight and very short, and he’d showed them in action, dancing to a club beat, with nothing else on. Despite their previous activities, it didn’t take long for them both to be hard again. Brian had pulled JT back to bed and kissed him lightly on the lips before he had whispered, “Trust me” in his ear.

He had turned JT over onto his stomach, lubed his crack and frotted his cock between the perfect cheeks while lovingly jerking JT’s cock, his arm wrapped around the slim hips, holding them tight. After a bit of hesitation, JT had pushed back against him, increasing the friction, and they had kissed the awkward kisses you share when you fuck from behind, making the experience almost real. Frotting had never felt like this before, and Brian had closed his eyes, imagining for a moment that he was fucking JT bareback. They’d come together in a deep, raw orgasm, and JT had turned over, pressing their spend cocks together, wrapping his legs around Brian’s waist as they kissed for a long time.

They’d actually fallen back asleep and had needed to shower and dress quickly for Brian to make his flight. They’d shared one last kiss in the car, and Brian had had to hurry to get to the gate before his flight closed.

They had not discussed another trip any more than they had during his previous visit, but Brian knew he would be back. Benex had liked his ideas and had signed a preliminary agreement. He had a few things he needed to add to his presentation and he knew that this would also turn into a nice fat contract.

The team at Conaussy had been thrilled with the final product, and they had put Brian in touch with a small store chain, Sim and Sam, that specialized in all things running. So far they'd been able to rely on their dedicated following rather than widespread advertising, but in today’s market of grow or die, they were seeing the writing on the wall and were ready to expand. Conaussy’s recommendation had convinced them that Brian was the man for the job.

It was actually a very interesting venture and Brian was truly excited about it. It didn’t hurt that their main threat was the giant REI, who had shown no interest whatsoever in Brian’s expertise. It would please him to no end to reduce the larger company's share in the running market, especially given how they'd summarily dismissed him and his campaign ideas. More than that, bringing Sim and Sam on board could mean the beginning of more referrals in the area and the end of his need to cold call Northwest companies to get their business.

He spent the whole flight working. During landing, he remembered gladly that Ted was coming to get him and looked forward to their drink. He laughed when he was welcomed to the Pitts by a heavy downpour. Putting his bag in the trunk of the running Mercedes, sitting in the heated seat and folding his umbrella almost felt like a déjà vu. He grinned at Ted.

“Theodore! Had a nice weekend?”

Ted looked a little shocked by Brian’s friendliness but got over himself quickly enough. Brian gave him the positive news from the Seattle business front, and they stopped at Mahonney’s on the east end of Liberty Avenue for their drink, because, unsurprisingly, Brian was starving and had a craving for their chicken Marsala. He smiled to himself when Ted ordered a Perrier.

 

*****

Brian was in a freakishly great mood. The news from Seattle was good, but Ted had an inkling that there was more to it, though Brian did seem really enthused at the idea of creating a campaign for those Sim and Sam stores.

That Brian had ordered not only the drink they’d come in for, but also some chicken dish that he was now eating with gusto, after seven, was as telling as anything that it was not business as usual for Mr. Kinney. He actually looked…happy. Not as in “I’m getting my cock sucked,” or as in “Let me point out how stupid you are,” the normal Brian kind of happy, but in an almost spooky for him, “Life is beautiful,” kind of happy.

“So,” he asked now, looking like he was really enjoying that chicken, “anything new at Kinnetik?”

All was well, really, but suddenly Ted had this urge to give him pleasant news, feeling weirdly protective of him. He realized how rarely he’d seen Brian like this, how even at the best of times, it always looked like something was weighing on him, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Oh! Right! He did have something good.

“Cynthia received an unsolicited job application on Friday, for a position in the art department,” he said. “The guy’s right out of school, but she said his CV is really impressive. He sent in a piece he wrote about the psychology of hidden sexual imagery in modern advertising. Cynthia started reading it when she opened his material and just couldn’t put it down. She brought it to me to read this weekend. She said it’s your approach, theoretically analyzed and perfectly explained in a nutshell. I read it; Blake’s read it. It’s brilliant. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you'd written it. Both Cynthia and I think we should definitely interview this guy. You’d have someone in the art department who really gets what you’re doing.”

Brian looked very interested. “Where’s this guy from?”

Ted tried to remember what Cynthia had said about the guy. Colorado? Right.

“He’s from Denver, I think.”

“Hmm… I wonder what school. Bachelor or Master’s level?”

That, Ted knew for sure, because Cynthia had harped on the fact that the only other person in the department with a Master’s degree was Carrie…

“Master’s.”

Brian frowned. “Uh. Maybe there’s a school I don’t know about. Anyway, go ahead and interview the guy. We could use some brilliance down there…” Brian smiled, taking a sip of beer between bites. “That is good news, Theodore.”

Ted was ridiculously pleased. “I have his paper in my car if you want it.”

“Sure. I’m jet lagged. I could use some good bedtime reading.” He put down his fork, his dinner finished. “Did you and Blake do anything good this weekend?”

And it actually looked like he was interested. What had happened to the Real Brian Kinney?

It had been one of those weeks when Blake had to work all weekend and was on call every evening, so they really hadn’t done anything. They’d only seen each other from midnight to ten in the morning, though when he got home, Blake was usually a bit wired and they’d put that to excellent use. Ted suddenly remembered who he was talking to and grinned.

“We fucked twice in the shower, once on the couch, twice in bed, and once in the entry’s coat closet.” His cock twitched at the recollection. Blake had been hanging his coat, and his ass had looked so… “That one was particularly hot, actually,” he added, boldly.

Brian looked at him, his beer halfway to his mouth, his eyebrows halfway to his hair, and then grinned back. “Good man, Theodore… That ought to keep the young man happy.”

Ted looked at his watch. 11:35. “Speaking of which, he gets home at midnight. We should get going.”

Brian drank the last of his beer and waved Ted’s money away. “And they say I think with my dick,” he joked. “Theodore Schmidt, accountant by day, tireless top by night…”

Ted was surprised. How would Brian know he was a top? Before Blake, he’d taken anything he could get, regardless of his preferences and at first, with Blake, he’d tried to be magnanimous… until after a particularly good fuck when Ted had topped and the younger man had confessed that he liked it that way much better, and would Ted mind…? God, now he was hard.

He followed Brian out, still wondering how the man would know something so intimate about him. Finally, once they were both seated, he had to ask.

“Bri,” Hmm, gee. This was embarrassing. Oh, stuff it. “How do you know that I’m a top?”

Brian looked at him in complete surprise, as if the answer was eminently obvious.

“Seriously?”

Ted gave him his best “Do you think I would ask something this embarrassing if I knew the answer?” face.

“I’ve known you… how many years?” asked Brian rhetorically. “Do you have any doubt about my preference?

That was stupid. He was Brian Fucking Kinney. He’d been seen fucking every man in Pittsburgh. “Like that’s even close to the same thing…” Ted replied. “There’s been plenty of times when I’ve happily bottomed…”

Brian looked at him, with the funniest little smile. He chuckled to himself and said, “Like I haven’t…”

Ted didn’t realize his mouth was hanging open until Brian closed it for him.

“So,” Brian said, the subject obviously closed and never to be reopened again, “where is that guy’s paper?”

Ted had imagined that last bit. Or misunderstood it. He knew he had. Of course he had.

“Glove compartment.” He’d imagined it. The sun rose in the east; 2 plus 2 made 4; and Brian Fucking Kinney topped. The end.

Brian got the sheaf of paper out and was trying to read the guy’s name by the light of the small bulb in the glove box.

“Justin Taylor,” Ted said, helpfully.

“This is pretty thick,” said Brian. “Did Cynthia get anything done on Friday?”

Ted chuckled. There was a conversation he wanted to sit in on. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s meeting.

“I do sometimes win an argument with her, you know,” said Brian, catching his meaning. Ted could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Only when you threaten to fire her, and we all know how serious that threat is…”

Brian joked, “No, really, there was that one time back in 1998…”

“Is that when she was half dead with food poisoning?” teased Ted. They both burst out laughing.

Ted pulled up in front of Brian’s building. It was raining again. Brian got out of the car, opened the umbrella, which he had apparently carried in his coat pocket, grabbed Justin Taylor’s paper and reminded Ted, “The trunk, Theodore.”

Ted popped the trunk open, and, after he heard it slam shut, watched Brian walk to his door with his easy feline stride. Even in the drizzly rain, Brian was the picture of elegance and grace, holding his umbrella in one hand, his garment bag in the other, Justin Taylor’s paper under his arm, not a hair out of place, his clothes a compliment to his perfect physique.

Ted had known Brian for… twelve years. Only since Brian had become his boss had he realized that the man had always been his friend. Early in their acquaintance, he’d secretly worshiped and envied him and through the years had in turn hated, pitied and admired him. And now he was discovering something new: that he really cared about the man.

He’d often asked Blake why he sometimes ranted against the family’s attitude towards Brian, in particular against the behaviors of Mel and Michael that Ted often had not even noticed. Blake had always answered, “Everyone needs someone on their side, Ted, even Brian Kinney.”

Until tonight, it had never really made sense. Brian hadn’t ever needed anyone. Tonight he saw the Brian Blake had apparently always seen. He saw… a man, not a living myth. And whether Brian would ever know it or not, whether he would ever care… whatever might come, Brian had Ted Schmidt solidly on his side.

 

*****
 

Justin went from the airport to the gym. He ran for an hour, did abs, stretched, went through his upper body cycle, showered, sat in the sauna for twenty minutes, showered again and talked for a while with Lance, the instructor who taught the Saturday morning step class that was such a killer. He finally drove home, picking up some teriyaki on the way. He ate while reading an article for school, then dressed in club clothes (the shirt he had worn while Brian pretended to fuck him and some well fitting jeans) and went to Cuffs.

After greeting Jim the bartender, who was a really nice guy and cute as well, with a slim body, a head of very short red hair and a crooked smile, he took some E and danced away, grinding on whatever body was available.

The night before, he’d woken up in a cold sweat, after fighting himself out of a nightmare. The nightmare. Aidan had been deeply asleep. Justin had gotten up, shaken, and gone to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. Back in the bedroom again, he’d gone to the window and had looked out into the night, forcing himself to confront his demons.

Chris Hobbs. Rick Moody. K.C. Harren. Evan Hudson. Zach “Fog” Fogerson. Skyler Barnett. Alex Kohler.

K.C. had died two years ago of an overdose. All of the others were accounted for, and most of them had remained in Denver. There were only two exceptions. “Fog” had been accepted to Florida State but had gotten kicked out after warming the bench for eight months, when he had pleaded no contest to the rape of one of the cheerleaders; he was now serving six years in Coleman. And Sky was in Utah, working in his uncle’s Hyundai dealership, married with three kids already. None of them were anywhere near Washington State. None of them were anywhere near any of the places he’d applied for a job. Guys. Just guys with little lives, little minds, little futures. Unimpressive, unremarkable, pathetically common guys. He’d taken a deep breath. Fuck them. Fuck them all!

He’d stood there for a long time, not thinking at all, just hearing his heart beating, just breathing, watching his breath fogging the window and defogging it in turn. This would have been the perfect time for a cigarette, if he’d ever smoked. Finally, he’d stretched and turned his back to the window. On his way back to bed, he’d tripped on Aidan’s computer. What had he been looking at when Justin had come in from his shower? Curious, he’d opened the laptop.

I-photo had been up. There’d been a picture of a little boy on the screen. Hazel eyes, chestnut hair… that mouth. Justin’s lungs had seemed to have shrunk. (“Daddy! You’re home! You’re home!”) He’d looked at the Latest Import. The little boy. The boy and a baby girl, a year old maybe, with large chocolate brown eyes and dark hair. The baby with a woman. A blonde woman, though not naturally so, if the dark roots and brown eyes were to be believed. Still. Pretty. Thin. Beautiful hands. A gold wedding band. Smiling happily.

He’d switched to Library, and had gone back in time. The first photo was of Aidan, holding a newborn, smiling to the camera, looking a little freaked, like a new dad, so fucking happy. Another with the baby reaching for his cheek. It was a beautiful image. Most of the pictures were of the child. As a baby, as a toddler. Quite a few were of the child with his mother; she was always smiling, happy, sometimes looking at the camera with love in her eyes. Love for the photographer. Love and complicity. And confidence in the fact that her love was returned.

Then there were pictures of the new baby. Unlike her brother, she did not look much like either of her parents, but she was really cute. And her rosebud mouth spoke of Aidan’s choice, Aidan’s commitment. The choice of a life in the straight world, a commitment to a future with that woman, these children.

He’d put the last photo of the boy back on the screen, and closed the computer. He’d gotten up again, and had gone to sit in the living room. He had not been crying. He’d wiped his face, furious at himself. What the fuck had he thought? This. This is exactly what he’d thought the last time Aidan had been in Seattle. When had he forgotten this possibility? All of a sudden, because it turned out that Aidan was a top, that he’d topped a lot there was no longer the possibility that he lived a straight life?

A lot of men were away on business half the time. Why had Justin imagined Aidan was only ever away on business in Seattle? He could very well be away from his wife and kids three or four days a week. Every week. Fucking guys. Lots and lots of guys. Of which Justin was one of many, one he’d bottom for, for a change of pace, perhaps, or because he’d just had that itch. What the fuck had Justin thought last night meant?

“Then I’ll take what you can give, JT. Please, I want you inside me…”

He’d thought… Fuck it. Who cared what he’d thought. He’d been wrong, obviously. Aidan had just wanted a fuck. It had meant nothing. He wiped his eyes for the last goddamn time.

This was all for fun, nothing more. And that was great, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it what he himself always looked for? Fun without commitment? Something simple and easy, like what he had with Mark, with Jim, with so many other guys? He needed to get a fucking grip and remember that. This was all about having fun, and until Aidan left again, they would. And after he left, Justin would have more fun.

He was practically done with school. He had finished his requirements. He had send his job applications out on Tuesday, could start getting answers as early as Monday. As soon as he had a job, he would move on from Seattle to somewhere new, with new people, new friends, new clubs, and new guys. Start a whole new life.

And so, today, he and Aidan had done just that. They’d had fun. And now he was out, having yet more fun. At two he left with Jim, took him home and fucked him while Jim leaned on the back of the couch. Then he blew him in the shower, and fucked him doggie style on the bed, holding his hips so tightly he knew there would be bruises, making Jim scream when he came and shooting so hard himself he worried for a second he had blown the condom.

They had been asleep for about an hour when the nightmare came. When Jim managed to wake him up, he had his back pressed into the corner of the room, his lower lip practically bitten through, keening like a hurt animal, his face wet with tears, snot and blood. Jim had vivid scratches on his chest and arms. Justin cried his heart out in Jim’s neck, then let himself be put back in bed, let his face be cleaned with a warm cloth, and let Jim press ice to his damaged lip.

Jim held him for the rest of the night, caressing his hair, kissing his temple anytime he fell back asleep and back into the dream. He woke up to his cock being lovingly sucked, for a long time, until he came in Jim’s warm welcoming mouth. To say that he was retrospectively embarrassed for the spectacle he had made in the night would be putting it mildly, but Jim just smiled at him and said, ”What does a trick have to do to get some fucking espresso around here?”

Acknowledging his infinite kindness, Justin answered, “Tricks just get kicked to the curb and can get their fix at the corner Starbucks (which they both knew was a lie, Justin always treated people nicely), but friends only have to ask.” He made lattes for both of them, and, after he decided that since he’d already missed his first two classes he might as well bag the whole morning. They drank them cuddling on the couch, reading Justin’s New York Times.

His lip hurt like a bitch, and after dropping Jim home, he stopped by his dentist who actually placed two stitches to close the deepest cuts, and gave him some foul crap to apply to the area with a Q-tip four times a day.

On a high note, he was thrilled when at 1:00 PM, a woman named Cynthia something or other called from Kinnetik in Pittsburgh to invite him to come in for an interview. He asked if he could schedule it during the weekend, since he still had classes to attend. She made his appointment for that Saturday at 2:00 PM, telling him to expect an e-ticket within the hour. She sounded really nice.

After his afternoon classes, he turned in his thesis in the approved transparent slide grip folder with the required title page, the table of contents and biography and the quasi mandatory acknowledgments to his completely incompetent and uninterested thesis adviser. He had thought long and hard about the dedication and, in the end, chose to dedicate his work to Molly - the only person in his life who deserved that honor. He drove home, exhausted after his short, restless night.

As soon as he came in, he got his meds out from the back of his sock drawer and, self-medicating as usual, took some Trazodone. He’d not felt any symptoms of anxiety, and given that he had not suffered any anxiety attacks for a long time, he really didn’t want to get back on Zoloft. As tired as he was, he didn’t think he would need Xanax, but he’d be damned if he was going to revisit his past every night in his dreams. Trazodone seemed to work well, and he would up the dose every night for the next couple of weeks. It had done the trick before. He knew that Jeff, one of his regular fucks, who also happened to be a physician at one of those doc-in-a-box clinics, would happily write him a new script.

He tried hard not to think about why the dreams had returned, so suddenly and with such violence. It was so fucking pointless, it was not even funny. Unconsciously pressuring himself to try and overcome his past, for a man to whom it would have meant nothing except another fuck. So pointlessly stupid. So stupidly pointless.

He did some homework, yawned hugely, and caught up with the classes he’d missed that day by reading the notes a classmate had emailed him earlier. He didn't have any close friends in Seattle and, as he was planning his move, he was somewhat grateful for that. But it never hurt to be friendly, and Justin liked the loose comradeship he had with a few of the other grad students, especially when he was in need of class notes.

After catching up on school, he cleaned his bathroom and took a shower. Wandering still wet and naked into the living room, he read about the companies he’d applied to again, deciding Kinnetik was definitely his favorite. He liked their style, and the pervasive use of sexuality in their campaigns - whether blatant or artfully suggested - definitely would be right up his alley.

He got pissed at himself for avoiding sleep and was trying to find the courage to go to bed when the phone rang. It was past eleven. What the fuck?

“JT.”

“Hey, JT, it’s Jim. Uh… listen, I’m off at two again. Do you want me to… If you wanted, uh… I could come over and sleep. I mean just sleep, I’m not trying to… I know you don’t do boyfriends, JT. I’m not…"

“Jim, I don’t think that’s a good…”

“JT, fuck it. I thought about it all day. What the fuck would have happened if I hadn’t been there to wake you? I don’t know what’s wrong, man, but shit. Last time I stayed over, you slept like a baby. Your lip… This is new, isn’t it? Maybe new… again? My brother’s got PTSD. Iraq. Till you’re better, if you wanted… I don’t mind.”

Justin eyed his bed resentfully.

“I have meds. I’m fine, really, Jim. Thanks.”

“Desyrel? My brother takes Desyrel.”

“Generic Trazadone, but yeah. Same thing.”

“When did you start taking it?”

“Uh… Today.”

“JT? I’ll be there at 2:15, OK?”

God. He was so goddamn relieved. He sighed in surrender.

“Yeah… Thank you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed, giddy with relief. “OK.”

He put on some drawstring pants and laid in bed, watching episodes of the Sopranos on his computer until the downstairs bell rang and he got up to open the door for Jim.

“Hey, JT”

“Hey.”

“I’m just gonna brush my teeth and crash, OK? I’m bushed.”

Justin smiled at him. “Me too. I’ll be in bed.”

Five minutes later, Jim came to bed, wearing boxers. He lay down, and Justin reached over and turned off the light. His clock said 2:38.

“Do you want me to spoon you?” asked Jim.

“Oh, god no. That’d only make it worse… Can I put my head on your shoulder?”

“Sure. I love the smell of your hair.”

Justin laughed and moved into position. Jim sniffed his hair. “Really. It smells great.”

“Shut up, you flirt.”

Jim laughed. “Take a compliment, Blondie. G’night.”

“G’night.”

He woke up screaming at 4:41, Jim shaking him and calling his name. He blew his nose, wiped his face, and cuddled back next to his friend, who kissed the top of his head.

When the alarm went off at eight, he turned it off immediately and then closed the door to the bedroom before showering and getting ready for his 9:00 AM class. He’d planned ahead and had his clothes on the chair in the living room. He left a set of keys and a brief note on Jim’s things.

Thank you. I’ve upped the dose, and I should be fine tomorrow night. But if you’re willing, I wouldn’t mind company tonight. If that’s OK, then just let yourself in. JT.

He hated needing other people. But a man should know when to ask for help.

At 11:00 AM, his cell rang.

“JT”

“It’s Jim. Hey, I’m not working tonight, so I can be there whenever.”

“…What do you do, usually, when you don’t work?”

“I mostly stay in, watch TV, relax…”

“You want to come early? Get take out?”

“Sure. Sounds good. But I noticed you don’t have a TV.”

“No. But I’m horny as all get out. Maybe we can think of something to do.”

Jim cracked up. “Fuck, yeah…”

“Exactly.”

And they did, and it was really good. Justin slept well, until 3:18, when Jim woke him up, caressing his face and hair, saying, “Hey, JT, you’re OK, you’re OK…” Justin sighed with relief, and smiled at Jim who kissed him gently, running his hands in his hair, over his naked torso, pulling at the string of his pants, rolling him on top of himself. Justin kissed his way down the freckled body, slipped off the boxers, and sucked JIm's cock as he prepared him. He fucked him face to face, Jim’s legs crossed behind his lower back, kissing him almost the whole time. Jim came without being touched, looking into Justin’s eyes, biting his lips. Justin followed him, pulsing a sweet orgasm deep inside the fit body. He pulled out gently, took off the condom, and fell asleep again on Jim’s shoulder, Jim’s arms around him.

Justin got up quietly again, letting Jim sleep. Before he left for his eight o’clock class, he picked up his extra set of keys, which Jim had left on the console. He’d be fine tonight, and however grateful he was to Jim, and however nice the previous night had been, he did not do boyfriends, and he definitely didn’t want to send the wrong message. He did not want to encourage what he’d seen in Jim’s eyes when they’d fucked in the middle of the night. He was leaving soon. As soon as possible.
 

*****
 

Brian walked into the weekly meeting fifteen minutes early, and as he expected, only Ted and Cynthia were already there.

“Plotting a mutiny?” he asked, jokingly.

“Talking video games,” Ted replied.

Brian waited for the explanation he knew was coming.

“Rage. You know, the one with 'the controversial gay hero' and the 'positive image of homosexuality' that surprised everybody by selling like hotcakes.” Ted made actual scare quotes in the air with his fingers, obviously quoting from one of the nerdy computer magazines he read.

Brian had bought a copy of Rage for Hunter at Christmas, because it had been on his list and had been impressed as he watched Hunter play. Well, actually, Cynthia was in charge of the buying and wrapping of his gifts, and he was pretty sure that she had delegated it to yet another party. Watching Hunter play the game, he could see why it was popular. It kicked ass (homophobic ass, to be literal), and the graphics were amazing.

Rage had been the first mainstream video game rated NC17--not for violence, though there was plenty of it, but for sexual content. This had raised a stink at first, since it did not seem to show anything between the hero and his partner not seen a hundred times before on other video games between the heroes and their lady loves. That is, until people managed to pass the gauntlet of level four by discovering that Rage could be freed from his heretofore apparently insurmountable frozen state by a very graphic blowjob from his blond boyfriend, if the player had accumulated enough safety points.

“What of it?”

“Justin Taylor was responsible for the basic game scenario and for the graphics. It was his senior project for his BA.”

After reading the man’s paper till late the night before, Brian had already made the decision to try to hire him, so this was icing on the cake. He dropped the now well-thumbed bundle of pages in front of Cynthia.

“Get him here. If he looks as good in person as he does on paper, I want him, for Carrie’s job.”

After the look Cynthia and Ted exchanged before Ted spoke, he knew they’d had the same thought, and that Ted was just playing devil’s advocate when he asked, “Carrie’s job? Are you sure? He has no managerial experience…”

“Yes, and she has tons and sucks, so, what the fuck.” Brian shrugged and sat down between them.

Cynthia swept off the paper and put it below her stack as the art department arrived en masse. “I’ll make the call,” she said.

The meeting was positive in every way. Brian loved doing things his way and watching them succeed. Plus Grant had nabbed a client from Vangard. It was a small one, but it made Brian very happy nonetheless. Someday, he would sink Gardner Vance.

When he came back from lunch (from working out and getting his dick sucked in the steam room, dreaming of JT’s mouth…), Cynthia announced that Justin Taylor was booked in for an interview--this Saturday.

“Shit.”

“What?” she asked frowning. “There’s nothing planned this weekend.”

“Which is why I made plans to go to Toronto and visit my kids.”

“Shit. You can’t reschedule.”

It was not a question. As he’d told Heather, his kids were his priority. He’d already told Gus he was coming, and the boy was on cloud nine. Cynthia clearly knew that.

He still felt the need to add, “Gus expects me.”

“Do you want me to reschedule Taylor?” Cynthia asked dubiously.

“Do you think this is the only unsolicited job application Taylor has sent?”

Cynthia made a face that said it all.

“You and Ted can handle it,” decided Brian, facing the unavoidable. “Hiring is in your job description anyway, isn’t it?”

Cynthia sighed a martyr’s sigh. “What isn’t?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Firing,” answered Brian pointedly, with a sadistic smile.

She genuinely guffawed and then grinned at him. “You’re so cute when you think you’re the boss.”

“I don’t do cute. Devastatingly handsome, yeah. Hot as hell. Sexy as fuck. But never cute.”

“Cute as a button,” she insisted.

“Don’t you fear me at all?” asked Brian in a pained voice.

She left his office, laughing.

TBC…

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