by Trisky
It's also her fault that I've got a sixth sense for seeing things that I'm not supposed to see, my own special brand of divining. I don't know how many times she told me my eyes were always looking for things they shouldn't be and that my mouth couldn't wait to catch the rest of the world up about what they saw. Like that one time Clarence was out back with that big haired, short shorted wife of the sheriff. I ran into the house and told her Clarence and Bobby Perkins' wife were making a litter of kittens like Tabby and Rusty did last summer. I was on my knees for three hours straight for that one. Three months later, two gun shots and one ball less for Clarence, Bobby Perkins' wife had suddenly taken ill and needed to recover a few towns away for a little while. She came back during the winter about twenty pounds heavier and looking ten years older from the sadness.
I don't know how I know these things, I just do, and I can't keep myself from saying just the wrong thing.
"You know I haven't seen either of you around Babylon much. Are you keeping the old boy busy?"
That was all I said, I swear. I mean, my God, even Clarence with his one ball and limp dick would have gotten a hard on from the vibe at that table. Was there really any point in denying that one absent Justin plus one absent Brian, multiplied by the complete absence of awkwardness between them, equaled some marathon fucking? Did anyone ever actually believe they would keep their hands off each other for long? It's just obvious. Isn't it? I refuse to believe that I'm the only that feels some kind of carnal connection between them. But then again, it *is* my burden in life to see the greater, natural order of things.
I guess if you have a vested interest in keeping your eyes closed or you just don't care enough to notice, anything is possible. And from the look Michael shot me, it became quickly apparent that he'd run out of contact solution weeks ago. We're all just supposed to continue to act like nothing has changed, and leave the healing to Michael. It didn't really change then, hasn't changed now. Just a few minor glitches in the system. It's been what, six, seven weeks since that night, which I never really thought was such a big deal anyway. So he went off with some sweet little piece, but everyone, especially Michael, acted like he was an abomination. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, is the way I feel about it. After a few visits to the porcelain gods and some sobering sense, I think that's the way most of us felt about it. We all realized that feeling sympathy for Brian is kind of like inviting the devil in for tea and then wondering why your house burned down when you turned your back. Poor Justin should have never put that kettle on the flame.
We just went on with our lives. I guess it was a little easier said than done for some others.
All I know is that if it didn't bother Brian, then I certainly wasn't going to waste my time being bothered by it. But Michael seems convinced that Brian is hiding some inner turmoil. My instincts tell me the only turmoil he's hiding is whether he should jump the diner booth and take Justin right on the table or at least have the dignity to wait until the breakfast rush is finished. See, Michael doesn't really know my powers. He thinks he's the only one who can read Brian, the real, true Brian. It's the shallow parts that he can't see, the ones that are tattooed to his forehead, no deep thinking required. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to explain chemistry. I'm sure he's right in a lot of ways, but not when it comes to those mysterious parts that he's too afraid to see. If he could have read that all along, well then we all wouldn't be sitting here staring at each other, like I'd just told them I have moments to live.
"I've just been busy." Finally, Justin interrupts three sets of eyeballs staring daggers at me. Brian's too busy measuring sugar in a spoon. He's such a child sometimes.
"I'm sure you have," Michael mumbles before replacing the dagger in Justin's direction instead. "Where's my mother, isn't this her shift?" Goodness, you'd think Justin was running around town knocking out old ladies and stealing their purses, from the accusation in Michael's voice.
"She switched with Elaine yesterday, but Elaine's kid got sick this morning so I'm covering."
"My sugar is getting impatient. Where's my coffee?" Brian holds up his spoonful of sugar, shaking it around but somehow not managing to spill any of it. If you're not looking for it, I guess you really could miss a lot, because Justin raises his eyelids from his order pad and looks right at the sugar, parts his lips so slightly, oxygen couldn't squeeze past. Everyone else just stares at him, totally unfazed.
"It's brewing. Learn some patience." If he could, I'm sure Brian would lean over and just shove the spoon in his mouth. Instead, he just smirks. I look around the table at the faces of the suddenly innocent altar boys, Ted with his hands crossed, Ben and his angelic smile, Michael the bad one who's thinking of setting off fireworks under the minister's pulpit or maybe plotting a way to bury Justin's body inconspicuously. He is, after all, Brian's self-appointed helping hand and defender against all things evil. Even his comic book says so. A slight to Brian is a slight to Michael, and Justin is guilty of the biggest slight of all. Having and discarding that mysterious thing that Michael can't read, Brian's heart.
"Honey can I get a cinnamon bun with the butter on the side?" Sometimes my mouth is good for something other than causing little catastrophes wherever I go.
"I'll just have some oatmeal." Teddy hands Justin the menu, and I think for a minute how proud I am to have such a sweet, patient partner-in-waiting. That's one time my eyes just weren't seeing what they should have. Thank goodness they opened up. Now I know I have someplace to go if, God forbid, I turn 35 and I'm still alone. Now is not the time and it probably never will be, but if we're both still unattached, that deal we struck to wind up together on my 35th so we don't end up old spinsters, alone and wrinkled, works just fine for me. He can be a pill but I see what everyone else can't. "You can just put the sugar on the side."
I scowl at him and rethink our arrangement. I mean who does he think he is? Brian? I'd like to see him manage to keep his sugar in a spoon when some blond twink practically licks his lips in anticipation. Sometimes boys are just so dense. It's just so frustrating that the rest of the world wasn't born with as much talent as I have. It's called subject, sweetie... I think. Or is it subtext? Hmmm... In any case, it's apparently up to me to point it out, *yet* again.
"Cinnamon sounds good. I'll take a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese," Ben pipes up. I don't know Ben all that well, but I think he's got an Aunt Betty stashed somewhere in his background. He's probably smarter than all of us put together, but book sense doesn't automatically give you common sense, of which, this group of merry idiots can sometimes be sorely lacking. The quota went up significantly when Ben entered the picture. I like Ben.
"Do you really think you should be eating that on your diet?" If I could give one person my powers for a day, it would be Michael, so he could open his eyes and see what he has and appreciate that, as opposed to wishing and hoping for something more. There is nothing more for *him*. I just wish he could see that, see himself and what he's worth and how much he cares about Ben.
"It's just a bagel, Michael, just a bagel." I used to think Justin had upped the common sense factor, but he must have shaken too much pixie dust out of those angel wings and shoved it up his nose because now he's stuck with my foot in mouth disease. Or probably more like too much of Brian's cock up his ass has rattled his brain. Truth be known, I don't really blame him for it. I'd have lost my own mind a long time ago if I were stuck with Brian. He's done what the rest of the free world couldn't do. He's made Brian Kinney come to him, and not the other way around. If he managed that, then he must have some kind of sense left. I know I'm right, I don't care how much everyone else wants to deny it. Now can he keep him there, and should he, is another story all together.
"I'll have eggs over easy and whole wheat bread. Hold the butter." Well now, that's an interesting development. Brian actually put his mouth in the middle of a Michael and Justin tiff that's just waiting to spill over the table. It's a good thing he ordered that dry cardboard grain it could come in handy. He could use it to mop up the potential blood, or my tears, whichever comes first. I hate seeing the two of them so at odds over every little thing. I understand it, but I still hate it.
"I'll have French toast, hold the attitude." Michael glares, the glare to end all glares. I pray Justin recalls some of his better sense. It's way too early in the morning for a scene, even for the ultimate drama queen.
"Coming right up." Bless the boy. We fall back into our conversation about abs and repetitions like Justin hadn't even been there. It's only when he's right in front of us that the world seems to come to a screeching halt. I watch him stroll away, and I see it in his walk. I see it in the way Brian has leaned so casually against the wall, his best affected pose, but his eyes follow Justin's every move. If you weren't looking for it, you'd think he was just surveying his kingdom. They're both so casual about the whole thing, Justin taking casual confident strides, Brian casually giving his ass a perusal as he moves, dumping his sugar into a napkin and playing table drums with his spoon, talking about some piece of gym equipment he wants to buy for the loft.
I watch Michael, he's lit up from within as he listens to the fascinating words about some hunk of metal, and I look over to Ben with his ever present even smile, trying to explain why it's such a good investment. Michael's face just seems to volley back and forth between his two pillars, so quickly and so often that he doesn't even notice that they're both distracted by something else all together. Brian, he's an easy read even if I'm the only one whose noticed, but I don't know Ben that well. I just know that he seems conflicted, smiling and talking, but watching how Michael laps up Brian's attention. He looks like Bobby Perkins' wife, all hooded eyes and aged features, only he hides it better. Aunt Betty would be so proud, I don't even have the urge to point it out. Okay I do, but I suppress it and wait for my cinnamon bun. When it comes, I'll discreetly rub my fingers around it and then muss with the hair on my forehead. I'll find some boy in the backroom later and work out the kneeling issue.
Brian nudges Michael to move, to clear his way for an exit from the booth. I wonder where he's going. I *know* he's not using the bathroom. Even Brian Kinney's cock has some standards, and there's no way he'd put it anywhere within inches of a stall in the Liberty diner. God only knows what he'd pick up from the urinal. Though, come to think of it, he's probably been in much closer contact with 90% of its patrons bodily fluids than he ever would be, taking a piss in the same bathroom.
"Where are you going?" I'll be sure and add Michael to my prayer list.
"I have to take a leak. Do you want to hold my hand?"
Sweet Jesus, if a big old clue hasn't fallen on all of their heads by now or lightning hasn't struck them from the heavens above, then none of my insight will further the cause. Amazingly, they all seem to just accept this at face value, like it's no big deal, and they don't even bother to watch him make his way to the back of the diner. I'm twitching, I can feel the demon seed forming in my gut, like one of those tent revivals when someone is saved and throws themselves all over the ground in gratitude. I can just feel it rising up.
I swear, it's just going to come out of me, but Ben's stare stops me. He's still smiling, still as calm as ever, but it's like he's been possessed by dear old Aunt Betty. I can just see her warning "you start with your mouth and you're gonna end up with Uncle Clary's belt". She had the fear of God thing down pat. I have to look away from him before I start chanting "I see dead people". Instead I let Teddy tell me all about his website woes as if I haven't heard it fifty times already.
I hear a tiny, shrill little whistle in my ear and I realize Brian is making little sounds between his teeth, announcing his re-arrival. This time Michael just scoots in and lets him sit in his still warm seat. It was too quick for even a messy handjob back there. He couldn't have been gone more than a minute.
"Why are you so happy?" Michael gives him a skeptical look.
Justin returns with Brian's coffee before he can answer. He waves it in front of him before settling his saucer in place, very slowly and very steadily, as Brian watches.
"Told you. Patience is a virtue."
Brian dumps what seems like a pound of sugar in the black liquid, stirs it and sips.
"Just the way I like it."
I look at all of them, and I know, just because I know these things, that they're finally catching on, like a set of dominoes. Ted catches on to me and I look at Ben who's catching on to Michael, who's slowly getting caught on to Brian, who you wouldn't know was totally caught on Justin's face the entire time if you didn't know how hollow his disinterested look seems right now. Justin, well Justin has mastered all sorts of things, Brian's game chief among them. Maybe I was wrong, maybe *Justin* is the smartest of all of us put together. He's just forced the devil to drink coffee... and show his hand.
"Justin sweetie, could I get a cinnamon stick... to stir my coffee?"
I have a feeling someone's gonna need it, somewhere down the line.