Sunday Brunch 

Justin sat at the counter, yawning and trying not to show how delighted he was at the kitchen activity. Sometimes Sunday barely even existed: the day would be one long recuperation from their Saturday night at Babylon. But some Sundays, when his head wasn't so bad, Brian wandered into the kitchen and made omelets, using the only eggs he permitted himself each week under his strict but eccentric eating rules.

Nothing would be rushed. There was no need to get dressed or ready to go out. They would just eat and talk and tease each other a little. Usually Brian made this the time when he caught up on what Justin was doing in class and what projects he was working on. Today Justin would be sure to ask more questions about Vanguard. Brian hadn't said much recently, not even to brag about a campaign. Since the art show, Justin had been trying to show - and really feel - more interest in Brian's job. But first things first. "I could run down to the corner and buy some bacon," he said hopefully.

"Too fattening."

"Just this once?"

Brian menaced him with the egg whisk. "Bring bacon into this house and I'll fry it up with your balls."

"But you eat bacon in the diner."

Brian intoned, "Twice a month, single side serving only," as if it were written on stone tablets.

Justin grinned. "Okay, doughnuts instead," he said mischievously. But Brian didn't take the bait. The mention of the diner had reminded him of something.

"I forgot to tell you, Debbie's having another one of her family dinners on Friday. I'll pick you up after class."

Justin's smile faded. "Friday? We can't go Friday."

"Why not?"

"Don't you remember? The antique market. You said we could have dinner and then go walk around and see what it was like."

Brian poured a little olive oil into the omelet pan and swirled it around. "It'll still be there next week."

"Brian, come on. You said we could go."

"Did I promise you an ice cream afterwards if you were a good boy?"

"Cut it out."

"Well, stop whining. It's not a big deal." The oil started to sizzle and he lowered the heat.

"It wouldn't be," Justin said deliberately, "if it hadn't taken me a month to get you to agree. I say I want some time with you, and it's like pulling teeth to get you to do anything except go to Babylon. But Debbie says show up and you do."

"Sunshine, you've been part of Debbie's little family long enough to know you have to show up at these dinners. She'll be after you with that hatchet thing she uses on her roasts if you don't. Besides, I haven't seen Gus in awhile."

The mention of Gus made Justin pause; he suddenly realized he hadn't seen Lindsay or Melanie, or even Vic, in weeks. Somehow Debbie always knew when it was time to get everyone together. "Well, that would be nice . . . but Brian, that's not the point. We don't do enough. I mean, just the two of us."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "You're not getting enough?"

"Nice try. But you know that's not what I meant."

"Am I taking you for granted? Is the old magic gone?"

"Oh, shut up. I'm not some complaining housewife."

"Exactly my point. Why don't you make some Bloody Marys?"

"All right." Justin gave up. He wanted to go to Debbie's, too. And after all, they were spending time together right now. They had a whole Sunday in front of them. And after their leisurely brunch, there would be a leisurely fuck - or two - to look forward to.

He went over to the liquor cabinet while Brian cracked eggs into a bowl. Justin picked up the vodka and then a bottled Bloody Mary mix, waving it. "Should I use this?"

"No, make it fresh. That stuff tastes like shit. Why did you buy it, anyway?"

"I didn't, Steven left it here."

"Wow," Brian said as if amazed. "A contribution."

"He hasn't been freeloading. My friends bring stuff when they come over. Not the brands you drink, but -- "

"Relax, it was just a joke." Brian pulled out the cutting board and reached for a red pepper.

"My mother did think it was funny to meet somebody who eats even more than I do." Justin came back to the kitchen and slid behind Brian to the refrigerator, looking for the tomato juice. "Oh, here's some."

Brian stopped chopping. "You took him to meet your mother? How sweet. Are you engaged?"

Justin gave him a bump with his hip. "I had to stop by to get my old portfolio, because the straps on that other piece of shit broke, and he came along with me. I think she was glad to meet him."

"I'll bet."

"She's glad I made some college friends. But guess what she thought?" Justin snickered. "She pulled me into the hall and asked if we - I mean, you and me - were breaking up and Steven was going to be my new boyfriend."

"And then she fell on her knees to thank God. Oops, sorry. Wrong mother."

"It was so stupid. She never has a clue."

"Just for that I'm putting in mushrooms," said Brian, who knew Justin hated them.

"Hey!"

"You should appreciate your mother more."

"I appreciate her. She just has everything half-ass backwards all the time."

"Does she?"

With the refrigerator door still open, Justin set the tomato juice on the counter, and bent to look for Worcestershire sauce. "What do you mean?"

Brian poured the egg mixture into the pan and sprinkled the peppers and some grated cheese over it. He said calmly, "Are you fucking him?"

The bottles on the refrigerator door rattled as Justin straightened. "Steven? No. No, of course not. " He stared at Brian, who was turned sideways from him, his eyes apparently intent on the omelet pan.

"He's hot."

"But I know him," Justin said. He gave a little laugh; Brian heard the false note in it. "I know his name, his number. I see him all the time. It's not what we agreed."

"People don't always keep agreements."

Justin opened his mouth but nothing came out. Now they were both watching the eggs cook, as if some great scientific experiment was being carried out in front of them. Bubbles formed on the top. Finally Brian asked, "So he never came on to you?"

Justin hesitated. Brian shot him a quick look out of the corner of his eye, but Justin had turned his head. "Steven knows I'm with you. They all know."

That's not what I asked, Brian thought. He wondered exactly what Justin's friends knew, but he didn't push his questions any further. He didn't care, anyway. He didn't.

Justin found glasses and measured out the vodka, his mouth clamped tight against what he was remembering. After they left Jennifer's, while they were standing on the bus stop, Steven had said, "So Matthew told me you have an open relationship with Brian." He sounded too eager about it. Last time I tell Matthew anything, Justin thought.

He had tried to shrug it off, but Steven kept probing. Could he be with anybody he wanted? Did they tell each other, or keep it secret? Did they have to okay each other's lovers?

"Are you crazy?" Justin said. Unwillingly, he found himself explaining what he had never meant to explain. "No, of course we don't check with each other. And we don't have lovers like that." Steven was nodding, nodding, nodding, waiting to hear more. Justin noted the flush coming up in his cheeks. Steven was quite good-looking, but Justin had never felt attracted to him for some reason. He didn't throw off any heat. He just stood there looking pretty, like a well-drawn design.

But it was beginning to seem that Steven was interested. Hoping to shock him and make him back off, Justin added blandly, "Sometimes we pick a guy up together. For a three-way."

This did shock him, Justin could see it. He felt a grim amusement for a few moments, until he suddenly saw what Steven was really after. Or rather, who he was after. And it wasn't Justin. He remembered the way Steven had stared when he was introduced to Brian at the loft. He's trying to find out if he can come on to Brian, Justin realized, feeling a sudden irrational anger at Brian. Fuck, is it always going to be like this? Do I always have to be wondering who's making a play for him now?

"That must be wild," Steven said. He placed a hand on Justin's shoulder, pretending to flirt, his smile a little eager but scared. Justin let him wait. He let Steven begin to imagine it: that he might be invited into that bed in that amazing loft, with the amazing man who owned it. Justin could see the thoughts on his face. He said coldly, "Of course, we wouldn't choose someone like you."

Steven's little flush of excitement burned into an angry blush, a dead giveaway, but otherwise he covered it up pretty well. Of course he hadn't meant that, he said; he wouldn't want to get involved in that kind of thing. Justin relented a little. He tried to explain it was nothing personal - in fact, not making it personal was the point. "Only tricks," he explained. He was firm, making it clear he wouldn't tolerate Steven coming on to Brian. "Not friends. Only strangers."

Now Justin, pouring the tomato juice, wondered why he had bothered trying to make Steven feel better. He had given too much away, and set himself up for Steven's final shot. "I really can't see it," he had said, so worldly-wise, as if he knew it all. "I don't think people who really love each other could act like that."

"That's too much Worcestershire," Brian barked.

"Sorry." Justin took a breath. "You want horseradish in it?"

"No." Brian expertly slid the omelet on to the one big round plate they would eat from together. He knew Justin had just lied to him in some way. Covering something up about Steven. Well, Justin lied often; that was nothing new. But you would think, since he did it so much, he'd be better at it.

If you fucked him just say so, he thought. Be honest, goddammit. But he won't, not Sunshine. Just like he never admitted he kissed that kid at Daphne's party. He made these stupid rules and he's the one having trouble keeping them. Meanwhile, I nearly twisted my neck, turning my head like an owl to keep that guy from kissing me in the backroom on Friday night. And now what, Sunshine's fucking his friend right here in the loft? After saying he didn't want me to bring tricks home? Who is he trying to fool -- or make a fool of?

Suddenly Brian slammed down the forks in his hand and slid the overloaded plate towards Justin. "Never mind, you eat it. I'm not hungry."

"What? But you just made it. And the drinks are ready. Come sit down with me."

"No."

"Does your head hurt? Do you want to go back to bed?"

"I'm going out," Brian said abruptly. He marched up to the bedroom and yanked the closet doors open. He dropped his sweat pants to the floor and reached for his jeans, not bothering with underwear, or with Justin's protests and questions.

"What the fuck is going on?" Justin was beginning to panic. He had no idea what had gone wrong. Brian was pulling a shirt over his head. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

Justin whooshed air out of his mouth. That was the same kind of shit he used to give his mother when she tried to keep track of him. "But what about --" Our time at home together? Our wonderful Sunday fuck? "What about the omelet?"

"Enjoy it," Brian said, and was gone without another word.

 

*****
 

"So you walked out on him," Lindsay said half an hour later. "Nice."

When he left the loft and found himself standing by the car, Brian had suddenly realized he wasn't sure where he was going. There wouldn't be much chance of picking up a trick, even for him. Not on a Sunday morning. ("This is supposed to be family time!" his mother would shout after Mass, as his father grabbed his bowling ball and slammed out the front door.)

Family time. So Brian had driven over to Lindsay's to spend a little time with Gus. Melanie, sprawled on the couch with the Sunday papers, heaved a sigh at the sight of him and announced she was going to clean up the kitchen.

Of course the first thing Lindsay wanted to know was where Justin was. Should have seen that coming, Brian thought. It was another one of those "couple" things he couldn't get used to: you were always being asked to account for the other's movements, like you had tracking devices. He tried to parry her, saying Justin was busy at home, but Lindsay guessed Justin would have come for the visit if something hadn't gone wrong. The next thing Brian knew, he was on Lindsay's patented Inquisition Rack, trying to fight off her questions while Gus assaulted his knees with a foam sword. He preferred his son's attack.

"Can I have some coffee at least?" he asked, hoping her hostess instincts would distract her.

It seemed to work. She stood up, pulling on the belt of her robe. "You want something to eat, too? We've got bagels."

Brian nodded and fumbled for a cigarette, then remembered he couldn't smoke here. Gus whapped him with the sword again, reaching higher. "Dada, down!" he commanded. Obediently, Brian staggered back and did a slow-motion death fall on to the couch. Gus giggled and climbed on top of him. "War toys aren't very PC, are they?" Brian called after Lindsay as she went into the kitchen.

Melanie was stacking the dishwasher. She was the one who had bought the sword. "It's foam, for God's sake." She banged silverware together.

"I know." Lindsay serenely stacked bagels on to a plate and looked for the cream cheese.

"It's not like it's a gun."

"He's just teasing. He doesn't really care."

"I don't care if he does care," Melanie said, feeling ridiculous. "Where's Justin?"

"I think they must have had an argument or something."

"Jesus, that poor kid."

"What now?"

"I'm tired of watching him feed off the little crumbs Brian tosses him."

"Mel," Lindsay said in her best reprimanding mother tone. "Brian's been very good to Justin."

"Define your terms."

"Oh, don't be such a lawyer," Lindsay said, and returned to Brian.

 

*****
 

Steven held out the popcorn and Justin took another slithery handful. So far the movie wasn't very good and he couldn't keep his mind on it. At least he hadn't been forced to come alone, as he had thought at first. Matthew wasn't home when he called. He and Jonathan had gone out to brunch together, apparently, and done some shopping for a present for Matthew's dad. He had tried Steven next and he had been available.

Well, after all, he's single, Justin thought. And I might as well be.

So he had a late breakfast with Steven, which he was ravenous for, since he had refused to eat Brian's left-behind omelet. By the time they were finished, Matthew and Jonathan were back, and had met them for the movies. It was supposed to be a good long one, which suited Justin. Let Brian come home to an empty loft. Justin would be damned if he'd be found sitting in it, waiting.

This thought seemed familiar. I won't wait here in your fucking loft, he had thought . . . when had he felt this way before?

Chicago. Another time Brian had walked out on him: the night he went to Chicago. The night he turned his back on Justin's carefully planned vacation with hardly any explanation -- just a cutting reminder that he was paying the PIFA tuition.

Of course later Justin had realized the business trip must have really been important. Brian had been made partner over it, after all. But did it have to be that particular week, really? Maybe Brian had grabbed at it as a good excuse to get out of a trip he wasn't really interested in. It was his idea to make it a week in Vermont instead of a weekend, but maybe he had changed his mind.

Too long a time to spend with me? Justin wondered. If he wants me to live with him - and he does, he said as much - then why doesn't he want to be with me?

Shit. This was as pointless now as it had been then. He thought, I'll never know what the hell happened. And I'll probably never know what ruined our brunch today, either.

He tried to hold on to his anger but he felt just a tired blankness. Beside him, Steven gave a sudden chuckle at something in the movie. Justin shook himself a little and reached for the popcorn box. He took another handful and then held it out to Matthew, on his other side. Matthew's head was bent to Jonathan's, whispering. Jonathan whispered something back and they exchanged a quick kiss. Justin could see they were holding hands in the semi-dark. He rattled the popcorn box to get Matthew's attention.

"Thanks," Matthew said, and took it.

 

*****
 

"Whatever happened, walking out the door isn't the answer," Lindsay said.

"I didn't say anything happened."

"You haven't said anything at all, but Justin isn't here, is he?"

"I told you, he's studying. Can't I visit my kid?" The kid in question was sitting on his lap, eating half a bagel with buttery fingers and leaning on Brian's left arm, while Brian tried to spread cream cheese on the other half with one hand. "Aren't you going to help me?" He waved the butter knife at Lindsay.

"I am helping you, but you're not listening." Lindsay smiled and took the knife. "The problem is, you just haven't had enough practice."

"Well, I usually have the use of two hands when I'm eating."

"Proving you're not a mommy. But what I meant was, you haven't had enough practice with Justin." The comical look on Brian's face made her laugh.

"We've certainly been trying," he said, with mock hurt.

"That's not what I meant. Seriously, Brian. Come on. You haven't had enough practice being in a relationship."

"Look, I didn't come here for Dear Dyke's advice to the lovelorn. Stay out of it."

"Watch your language in front of Gus, will you? You know he's soaking up new words every minute."

"What did I say?" Brian asked Gus, who tried to feed him his own half-chewed piece of bagel. "No thanks, Sonny boy. Daddy's getting quite enough here."

"Try saying 'lesbian' once in a while. After all, if we don't show respect for each other, who will?"

Gus, insistent, mashed the wet and crumbling piece against Brian's closed mouth. Brian gave up and ate it. "Yum," he said, his face contorting, then added in a singsong voice to the toddler, "Mommy's been going to meetings at the Gay & Lezzy Center again."

"The point is that if we as a community don't -- oh, no, you don't, Brian Kinney! You're not distracting me that easily from what I was saying."

"Well, what the fuck - sorry. I mean what the hell - oh, shit! What the holy HECK are you saying?"

"Everything needs practice," Lindsay said firmly, holding back another laugh that had tried to escape. "Remember you told me you didn't really know how to be in a relationship?" Brian, who had been wishing ever since that he had never admitted it, glared at her. He had known she would bring it up again. "That's because you never let yourself have one before. I made all my mistakes in college . . . Okay, okay, not all of them, obviously." She glanced towards the kitchen. The water was still running. "I learned a lot about myself and what I needed. And what a lover might need from me. That's what people do, when they're younger, having their first affairs. You try to be with someone and you find out what that means. It's practice for the one who turns out to be important. But you never did. You never practiced."

Gus leaned back into Brian's chest, still preoccupied with his bagel. Brian rested his chin on his son's soft fine hair. He gave Lindsay a rueful smile. "I didn't know Justin was coming," he said.

*****
 

Brian returned to the loft in the early afternoon. He slid the door open and paused, then thought for a moment, hearing Lindsay nag in his head. He forced himself to call out, "Hey, Sunshine! I'm back!"

Justin didn't answer. Well, of course. He was sulking, that was only expected. I ruined his happy little Sunday, Brian thought. His "just you and me" time he counts on so much. Thinks he's being subtle. He wouldn't know subtle if it bit him in the ass.

Maybe if I bite him in the ass instead.

He opened his mouth to call again, then checked himself. Instead he walked quietly through the loft, checking the bathroom and bedroom. He was startled to find the congealed omelet sitting untouched on the kitchen counter. Oh, he's going to show me, Brian thought. Planned not to be here when I got back, that would make me sorry. What a drama queen.

Justin's Palm Pilot, a gift from Jennifer, was sitting next to the omelet plate. It hadn't been there that morning. Brian drummed his fingers on the counter, refusing to think about it, and then flipped the Palm open and pressed the Address button. He knew the last thing Justin had clicked on would come up.

Steven's phone number.

Brian's fingers drummed harder. Suddenly he picked up the omelet, walked over to the trashcan under the sink, and dumped the entire mess - including the plate it was on - into the garbage. Then he checked the leftover coffee in the pot, but it smelled too bitter to drink. Finally he picked up one of the Bloody Marys. It was still unmixed, but what he wanted was the vodka. He drank down half the glass and started to pace around the loft.

To get his serious little message across, Sunshine would probably be gone for hours. Well, let him, I'll find something else to do.

Brian tried to remember what he used to do on Sunday afternoons. Before Sunshine. Before all this let's-play-couple crap. Well . . . work, sometimes. After he'd slept off the weekend fucking and drugging, he would work at home. Especially when he was a little younger and trying to earn Ryder's respect. Damn, he put in some long hours then. Now here he was, past 30, and he had to do it all again for Vance's benefit.

He paused by his computer, thinking with loathing of the presentation he still needed to rework and polish. Vanguard was having trouble with the Whitley soda account, and Vance was managing to blame him for it. When the place had belonged to Ryder, Brian had been the star. Ryder was a lying shit (more fucking dishonesty in my life, he thought) but at least he had acknowledged Brian's talents. Vance always looked at him with doubt, as if Brian's words were nothing but fabrications to cover incompetence. It wasn't his fault Whitley was going bad - the company was imploding from the inside - but the more he tried to get Vance to understand, the worse it became. Vance was too intelligent not to get it, but he welcomed the chance to make Brian squirm. I'll be fucked if I let him see that, Brian thought. I'm not explaining or apologizing to him. Or anybody else.

He took another long swallow, walking slowly around his desk, still considering. His intention this morning, after their brunch - and a good long fuck, of course - had been to work on the presentation. He might even have tried out some of the Whitley soda flavors on Sunshine. Justin was in the age group they were targeting; it might have been helpful.

Fuck it. I'm not ruining what's left of my Sunday. Vance and his bald head can go to hell.

Even while he thought this, Brian was sitting down at the computer. There was something else he was supposed to be working on. He had promised Michael and Justin a marketing plan for Rage. It was nearly done; he wanted to surprise them with it soon.

He opened the file and the Rage cover appeared. Story by Michael Novotny. Brian stared at it for a moment as if he had never heard of such a person. I used to spend a lot of Sundays with Michael, he remembered. I'd meet him at the Big Q if he had been working and we'd hang out at the diner, or even Debbie's. Talk to Vic. Go to the gym. Or walk around the park.

Michael and Ben had gone out today, he knew. Some old friends of Ben had invited them over; Michael had been a little nervous, as usual. What did he have to be so humble about? Look at what he'd achieved here, with this damn comic. Justin, too, of course . . . I mean JT, Brian thought humorously. He clicked on the mouse and another graphic came up: Rage lifting JT after the bashing, leaning over to kiss him.

This one was a favorite of Justin's, but Brian could hardly stand to look at it. They wanted to create a gay comic? Great. Make a superhero out of him as Rage? Fine. Draw themselves in, too? Fine. Art imitates life. But to use the fucking bashing . . . like it was just some story somebody had made up . . .

He had never told either of them how much he hated this storyline.

I can't do this now, either, he realized. With a few quick clicks he closed the files and shut the computer down. Now what? I just sit here humbly and wait for Sunshine to come home to me? Again?

"He hasn't had any more practice than you have, you know," Lindsay had said, continuing to push at him. She had such a sweet face, but she could be so ruthless: normally Brian admired this, but not when it was turned on him. "Remember how young Justin is." (Did she really think he ever fucking forgot it?) "Go home and make up. Buy him a little something. Get him some flowers."

And that did it for him. It had propelled him to his feet and back out the door. Flowers, for Christ's sake. Didn't she know him any better than that by now? So much for family time. Maybe I should follow in Pop's footsteps and take up bowling. He grinned to himself for a moment. The vodka was starting to hit.

Then he realized he was pacing again. He thought half-heartedly of going to the gym by himself, to work off this restlessness, but no. Maybe just a walk instead. It was still pretty cold but the sun was out.

He grabbed his leather jacket and locked up the loft. Flowers, he thought again. Flowers?

 

*****

It was dark by the time Justin returned home. Now that his anger had left him, he felt ridiculously nervous about what would come next. Something in the conversation about Steven had set Brian off. It was almost as if Brian had been jealous, but that was probably wishful thinking. But now, was Brian home? Was he still mad?

Justin was instantly mad again, this time at himself. He was the one who had been treated like shit and walked out on. Brian should be worried about him.

Yeah, sure.

He pulled the door closed behind him and glanced around. The TV was on, showing a black-and-white movie from the Dark Ages with dead actors speaking in cultured accents. Not Brian's usual fare.

Brian was sitting on the couch, thumbing through a newsmagazine, hardly watching it. "Hey." He tossed the greeting over his shoulder, without looking around.

"Hey," Justin answered automatically. He paused awkwardly, still near the door.

"Where'd you go?"

Apparently they were on speaking terms, at least. Justin answered, "To the movies. We saw Midnight Angels. It sucked."

"You went with Steven?"

Justin tossed his jacket on the back of the couch and walked around to the front. Brian looked up. Justin said, "Yeah. Matthew and Jonathan came, too."

Brian nodded and looked back at the magazine. Justin started to lean over, thought better of it, and perched himself on the other end of the couch instead. "So where'd you go?"

"Lindsay's."

Justin blinked; he had braced himself for a tricking escapade. "Lindsay's," he repeated.

"I told you, I hadn't seen Gus for awhile."

"How is he?"

"He's a tyrant. The munchers say that's normal for his age. Excuse me, the les- bi- ans."

Justin smiled, sensing a joke, but didn't understand it. They seemed to be out of conversation. He glanced away, at a loss, and suddenly noticed something strange on the coffee table. "What's that?"

Brian said casually, "A present for you."

"Me? But what is it?"

"I thought you knew what doughnuts were."

"But -- " Justin was dumbfounded. There were indeed half a dozen doughnuts on the table, three of them his favorite (chocolate with cream inside ) and three with white sugar coating (his second favorite). They were all arranged in a large glass flower vase. He leaned over and took the top one. It smelled wonderful. These were the kind from the fantastic bakery two blocks over. "You do know how fattening these are? I think they're worse than bacon."

"Oh, I'm not going to eat them. I said they're for you."

"So I can eat this?"

Brian groaned and closed the magazine. "I didn't put arsenic in them. But I'm beginning to regret that I didn't. Of course you can eat it, you twat."

"I just mean, it looks like some kind of crazy still life. Doughnuts in Vase. Signed, B. Kinney." Justin grinned and took an inhuman bite, taking in half the doughnut as chocolate smeared across his cheek and chin. Mumbling around it, he asked, "Why did you put them in a vase?"

What he meant was, "Why did you buy them?" But Brian ignored both questions. He reached out and swiped a little chocolate off Justin's mouth with his thumb, looking into Justin's eyes.

Justin paused, chewed again, and swallowed hard. He looked down at the lard-laced peace offering in his hand and back at Brian. "Thanks." Brian smiled a little, watching the cream at the corner of Justin's mouth move as he talked. Justin suddenly blurted, "He didn't come on to me." Brian raised his eyebrows. "Steven, I mean. He wasn't interested in me. He wanted to fuck you. I made him back off."

Brian hooted and stuck his tongue into his cheek, making it bulge for a minute. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm not sure," Justin said honestly.

"I wouldn't have done him."

"I just - you said he was hot - "

"I told you I wouldn't do something like that." Brian looked at him levelly. His voice was colder. "I don't lie about what I'm doing."

"Honest you," Justin retorted. You lie about your feelings all the time, how honest is that? he thought. But he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. "Brian -- "

"Come watch this movie with me, now." Brian moved over a little and put his arm across the back of the couch, creating room for Justin to snuggle against him.

Justin hesitated for a moment. He had a nagging feeling they should finish talking this through; wasn't that what couples were supposed to do? But this was too good to turn down. "Okay," he said, taking another bite.

Brian watched, considering the line of chocolate on Justin's chin. Maybe I'll have some of that doughnut after all, he thought. When I lick it off him.

"I'll just get some milk first," Justin said. Brian turned his head to watch Justin's ass as he headed to the kitchen. Justin opened the refrigerator. "You want anything?"

"Not just now," Brian said. There was still enough Sunday left to them. "A little later."

 

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