Homecoming

*13*

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Almost Ridiculously Romantic

Justin

Whatever issues I might have with Lindsay, right now I could hug her. Getting Gus on the phone to Brian is the best thing that she could have done - it's probably the only thing she could have done to make him really believe that they're coming.

Even Lindsay wouldn't get Gus' hopes up if she didn't intend to follow through.

By the time he puts down the phone, Brian's whole being has just … lightened. If I didn't want to send him into a complete hissy fit, I'd tell him he looks ten years younger. Well, five at least. But having a healthy regard for my own skin - not to mention my sanity, because he'd obsess for days about it - I don't mention that. I just give him a hug and then for a while I don't want to let go because it feels so good to just be able to do that.

I'm about to say something totally lame about it when he sticks his tongue into his cheek, cocks his head on one side and says, "Fancy a night out, Sunshine?"

That's when it hits me that it's Saturday night. So much has happened in the two days since I got back that I'm losing track.

I look at him and his eyes are glinting with mischief and I know we have a full day tomorrow packing and shit; but it's Saturday night, and suddenly I want to dance. I want to go to the new Babylon and hit the dance floor, and the bar, and the back room with Brian and really celebrate being back. Celebrate us being back together - on our terms; no one else's. Ever. And I want to shove that in the faces of all the people who thought that we were over; that when I left it meant the end, that I was fucking "moving on" from Brian. Like there was any place that would be worth leaving this to "move on" to. And by the look on his face he feels the same way, has the same desire to show everyone exactly who we are. To fucking flaunt ourselves, not in the faces of the straights, but in the faces of all the people in our so called "community" who would have loved to see us crash and burn – if only to give them something to gossip about.

Well, we'll give them something tonight alright. And by tomorrow, every fag in Pittsburgh will know that I'm back, and we're back and we're better and badder than ever.

I give him a grin and let him see that we're pretty much on the same page about this and without any further discussion (except him bitching about the fact that I didn't bring any clubbing clothes home with me in the one small bag I figured would last till my stuff arrives by carrier on Monday) we head off.

He surprises me though, when he parks nearer the diner than to Babylon and asks if I want to fuel up for the evening.

I guess seeing that Deb wasn't working this morning, it's a given that she'll probably be working tonight. In fact, that's probably the real reason we're here. In the past two days we've sorted out a lot of the shit in our lives. We've figured out that despite our worst fears - mine and his - we're back together, stronger than ever in what every fucker who has ever doubted us is going to have to admit is an honest-to-fucking-God long-term relationship; and we know that from here on wherever we go and whatever we do, we're going together. We've sorted out where we're going to live – just about sold one place and bought another. And we've taken at least baby steps towards sorting out what's going to happen with Gus. That leaves two biggies – Deb and Mikey. And as they sort of come as a package, and knowing that if we can sort Deb out she'll probably do a lot towards fixing things with Michael (as much as they can be fixed, anyway), it makes sense to start with Deb.

But I don't want to. Not tonight.

I just don't want to have to put up with her shit and try to wheedle and placate her when really I figure that it's she who should be apologizing to Brian for all the crap that dear Mikey has heaped on him and that she has no doubt added her bit to as well. I'm tired of all this shit – Mikey and Deb, Lindsay and Mel. I had to play nice with Lindsay because of Gus, but I'm damned if I see any reason at all why either Brian or I should have to cop any more flack from either of the Novotnys over things that have absolutely nothing to do with us.

I know that they both need someone to blame for what has happened to Ben – but you know what? The only person to blame is Ben. He'd be the first to say that violence is wrong and that it never solves anything. And that's exactly what Deb told me way back when I was going through all that shit at St. James. So the fact that as soon as someone said something that upset him, he forgot all that, and just lashed out – that's down to him. No one else. Not even the bigoted bastard who made the comment – because no one deserves to be bashed and kicked just because someone doesn't like what they say.

But of course, Saint Ben can't possibly be the bad guy in any situation, so the easiest thing to do is play the `let's blame Brian as usual' game.

And that is so fucked that I just don't want to deal with it.

Not tonight.

So I stand beside the car for a moment, and then walk around to him and hooking my fingers into his belt loops, tug him towards me a little.

"Not tonight, okay?" I say.

He sucks his lips in and looks at me for a moment, then nods, and twisting me round so he can wrap his arm around my neck, he just walks us down the street to the new Babylon.

 

*****
 

Brian

Truth is, I'm fucking … relieved, I guess, when he lets me know he doesn't want to deal with Deb and all that shit tonight.

I mean, she's going to be pissed that I didn't rush little Sunshine round to see her as soon as he fucking landed in Pittsburgh, and the longer we leave it the worse it will be, but … it's been a fucker of a day and tomorrow will probably be worse. All I really want to do tonight is to have a few drinks, a dance or two, maybe a backroom blow job for old times' sake and to see the looks on the faces of all the fuckers who thought he'd fucking left me forever, thought I was some pathetic loser, desperately fucking holding onto some dream of him coming home to me that was never going to happen. I want to watch them salivating over the sight of him heating up the dance floor and then choking on their own fucking drool and envy when they see us together.

Then I'll take him home, and fuck him into the mattress and tomorrow we'll wake up and get on with our lives.

But tonight - we party.

 

*****
 

Justin

I'd seen photos, of course. Brian had even sent me some footage of the rebuilding and the new stores and stuff. And there had been footage of the opening up on youtube. But I still wasn't prepared for what it was like. This is exactly what I meant when I told Brian it should claim more for itself than just a spot in the alleyway.

The building is fucking huge. At least, compared to the old site. The stores look kind of interesting too. And I like the look of the new street-side bar. It looks like a cool place to hang out if you just want a quiet drink. Not as noisy and stuff as Woody's. More … sophisticated, I guess. Not that there's anything wrong with Woody's if you want to hang out and play pool and stuff. Just that this place is classier; somewhere I can imagine going for a drink before dinner, or after a show, sort of thing. It's more New York than Pittsburgh, but walking past I can't see many free tables, so I guess maybe there's more class in Pittsburgh than people give credit for.

The club itself seems bigger, too.

There are three bars, I remember. One on the ground floor entrance level, and two downstairs, one of which is almost inside the backroom. Well, it's got two counters - one facing the dance floor, and the other facing the short corridor that leads right into the backroom. So you hardly even have to leave the backroom to get a drink. The second downstairs bar is across the other side of the club. There's a slightly elevated area with some seats and stuff. Not couches or anything - just bar stools, but there's a long counter along one wall, and a couple of pillars with counters built around them, so you can take a breather and sit with your drink and enjoy watching all the hot guys.

We hand our coats over to the cloakroom attendant - who is a very hot young twink. I hope he's older than he looks. Then Brian waves his hand around.

"Where to first, Sunshine?" he asks.

It's funny. I should have been nervous about coming back here, I guess. But somehow … I don't know how he's done it, or how the designers have done it - but this place is so different from the old Babylon, and yet at the same time so familiar, that I don't even think about the last time I was on this spot. I just feel the old tingle of anticipation and tug at his hand.

"Drink first," I say. "Then dancing."

I run my tongue over my lips and lean close to him as I say, "And then we can try out the backroom."

I can feel the eyes on us as we get our drinks, and a few guys say `hello'. Then we hit the dance floor and everything else fades away in the beat and the heat and the sheer fucking joy of being home.

Later he fucks me in the backroom - like he says, `for old times' sake', and then we take a visit to the VIP lounge which is hidden away on the ground floor. There is a door from the back of the lounge that opens into a hallway and then out into the alleyway behind the club, but the entrance customers use is from the dance floor, up a small stairway near the dj's booth, and it's guarded by security.

VIP passes aren't handed out all that freely. Some people have like lifetime passes. Some get them with special memberships or some shit, and a couple of `night passes' get handed out each night allowing the owner and a guest access to the VIP lounge for the night. They are really highly sought after, Brian tells me. I believe it. The security guards, bar and cloakroom staff take turns to pick one lucky guy each night (and I can just imagine how they choose) and the dj's get to pick one. So if the dj sees someone on the floor who's really hot, or dancing up a storm, then they can "reward" them with a VIP pass. Brian says it all works pretty well. They've made sure that the security - both the staff and the systems - are top notch, so if there's even a hint of trouble it gets dealt with quickly.

The lounge also has its own bar - which is really an extension of the main ground floor bar - although you can't see it from the main bar. There are some couches up here, a corner with two huge flatscreen TVs - one showing porn and the other close ups from the dance floor - with remotes that let you change the angle and zoom in on the hottest action and stuff. There are also five cubicles set along one wall which are each fitted with a padded bench and a couch and these kind of wooden blinds that roll down and you can lock them in place - so if you want to fuck, you can do it in comfort, and in public or in private just as you choose. There are even condoms, and wet wipes and stuff to clean up afterwards.

Of course, some guys just fuck on the couches in the TV corner, and that's okay too.

We get another drink, and some water - we've both had half a tab of E so we need it - and then Brian raises an eyebrow at me and gestures to the center cubicle. The blind is down, with a `reserved' sign on it, but when I grin at him and nod, he just walks over and yanks the blind up - "Owners' privileges", he says.

I leave it to him to decide whether or not he wants to pull it down again and walk over towards the bench. It's at just the right height that if I kneel on it and stick my ass out, it will be perfect for Brian.

But before I can get into place, he grabs me and pushes me down on my back. My ass is right at the end of the bench, and he kneels and yanks my pants down. Something in his urgency, in the set of his mouth and the way the muscles in his arms are so taut and hard, makes my cock jump and my mouth go dry. Almost as if he reads my mind he hands me another bottle of water that seems to come out of nowhere, and then my pants are jerked off my feet along with my shoes and my legs fall open and I'm just lying there, splayed on the bench, naked from the waist down while he kneels there and looks at me.

I'm vaguely aware of other faces beginning to hover just on the edge of my sight, somewhere beyond the doorway of the cubicle, but all I can focus on is Brian. His face is so intent, staring at me, that my cock feels it like a physical touch and starts to thicken and swell. His mouth is a luscious swell of deep red flesh - like some wickedly succulent fruit, and his eyes - his eyes are mesmerizing, huge and darkly glowing, with gold flecks like sparks deep in the peaty green. I try to raise my knees, to find purchase for my heels on the bench, but he pushes my feet off the bench to the floor again and just spreads my knees wider.

Then his tongue, moist dark reddish purple, almost the same color as his cock when it's erect and hard and wet with pre-come, slides out of his mouth and I watch it mesmerized till his head dips and it disappears between my legs and I feel the first soft wet touch on my balls.

What follows after that is like a master class in giving a blow job and I can only hope that the guys watching appreciate it. I sure as fuck do.

When he finally lets me come, it's so intense that I think I maybe black out for a moment. When the blood finally starts flowing to other parts of my body I manage to prop myself up on my elbows and stare at him. He's sitting back on his heels, looking as fucking smug and self-satisfied as he deserves to. I push myself up and reach out for him. He grins and dodges, standing up more easily than someone who's been kneeling for that long has any right to be able to do. Then he holds out his hand to me and when I take it, he pulls me up and into one of his kisses. One of those kisses. One of the long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days - or at least seem to.

And after that I, for one, need another drink.

He helps me clean up and get dressed and I can only try not to blush at the sly looks and catcalls and the round of applause that we get when we finally emerge from the cubicle.

Brian, of course, just treats it all as his due and completely ignores it. But from then until we leave his arm is snug around my waist, or my shoulder, or else his hand is firmly gripping mine, and I'm so fucking happy that I feel like flying or laughing or singing. It reminds me of the night we went to see Wicked. I feel kind of the same way. And for the same reason.

Him. Him loving me makes me feel like this.

It's just like …

"The best night of my life," I say softly as we get to the car.

And feel him freeze beside me.

 

*****
 

Brian

What the fuck?

Where the fuck did that come from?

I stand and stare at him and he smiles at me.

I swallow hard, trying to choke down the … fear, panic, terror - all of those - that those words bring back to me.

But he's still fucking smiling at me. And although I don't look round, can't tear my eyes away from him, I somehow know that at least this time there's no fucking psycho with a baseball bat about to lurch out of the shadows and smash this smile to pieces.

Then he reaches out and takes my face in his hands and rescues me again. The way he did when he came looking for me and told me he at least didn't blame me, didn't hate me for letting that bastard near him; the way he did when he whispered, "I need you inside me"; when he had the balls to tell me I should take him back; when he fought through my pride and fear and force fed me chicken soup; when he stood waving his ass at me as I struggled in agony on that fucking stationary bike; and most of all when he walked in the door three nights ago and said, "I'm home."

His touch somehow cuts through all the terrors and leaves me free to reach for him. He comes into my arms and his are somehow wound around me and his face is hot against my neck and I don't know if I'm shaking, or he is, but gradually it stops, and then he whispers, "I remembered the dance a while ago. But I didn't know if I should tell you. And just then - just then I remembered that, saying that to you."

Something hot and bitter and sweet swells in my throat, choking me, and he goes on, "And you said something about it being `ridiculously romantic'."

Then all I can do is hold him and try not to fucking fall apart.

 

*****
 

Justin

It's a while before he lets me out of a death grip that seriously rivals Debbie's, but finally he lets go enough for me to get an arm up round his neck and pull him down for a kiss.

"I love you," I whisper against his lips.

And hear a thousand answering `I love you's' in his ragged breathing and feel them in the tremors that are still shaking us both.

 

*****

Brian

I guess we should talk about all this shit, but he doesn't seem to need to, and I don't think I can. I need some time to process this. This is fucking huge. Something so big that …

For a long while I was almost glad he couldn't remember. Not that he got hurt, fuck no! But if we couldn't go on from where we'd been in those moments, then it was better that he didn't have any … expectations, hope, whatever, that we could get it back. It was better that he couldn't remember, because I knew I'd never be able to put myself out there for him like that again. I knew I'd never have the fucking courage to try again.

Then I guess in a way I fucking resented it. He was pouting around, demanding fucking romance, when he couldn't even remember the most ridiculously fucking romantic moment in his whole fucking life. I almost got the courage to try again with the Vermont trip - and look how well that turned out. If he'd been at the loft when I got back, when I walked in with the champagne and announced myself as his fucking partner, who the fuck knows? But he wasn't, he'd pissed off to Vermont without me on my fucking dime and left me looking and feeling like a total twat.

So after that any fucking chance that I was going to let him dick me around with floor picnics and all that bullshit he was learning from the fucking fiddler was never going to fucking happen.

And, hell, yes, I resented the fuck out of the fact that I'd really put myself on the fucking line for him and he couldn't even remember it.

But since then we've … we've somehow got it together. On our own fucking terms. And okay, a blow job in the VIP lounge might not be a fucking bouquet of roses, but … it's what I can do to show him how I feel about him, and tonight, the way he's been lit up like fucking Times Square on acid - tonight he heard what all that was telling him - fuck! telling everyone - about how I feel about him. And he understood the message. And it was enough.

So … I don't know how I feel about him remembering that fucking dance, and those moments after it. Those moments when we were fucking in love or some shit like that anyway, and we were happy about it, and we both knew that. Those moments we were both ready to see what came next without queening out over it, to take some next fucking step into our future.

Those moments that got blasted out of his brain, I'd thought forever.

Leaving me alone with them, with all their fucking sweetness and hope and devastation. Trying not to remember them - although the thought of losing them, of me not being able to remember them someday when he was long gone and the memories were all I'd have nearly tore me to shreds. And feeling both resentful and relieved that he'd forgotten.

But he's sitting beside me while I drive to the loft, his hand resting lightly on my thigh, like it usually does, and he's quiet and … happy.

I can see it in the corner of his mouth and in the way his eyes crinkle at me when I pull up at a stop sign and turn to look at him.

"Stop worrying about it, Brian," he says suddenly. "I don't want to go back to being that fucking stupid kid any more than you want me to. I just … remembered, that's all. It doesn't really mean shit anymore. Just … I'm glad to have that night back, you know? The good things about that night."

I can only nod and grunt agreement. And then we're at the loft and he's heading upstairs and into the shower and I follow and he asks what time we need to get up to get out to the house and whether he should set the alarm and then we're in bed, and although on principle I know I should be fucking him senseless, somehow we just fall asleep, still damp from the shower instead of from sweat and cum.

 

*****
 

Justin

The next few days are just crazy.

Between the packing and shit out at the house, and bringing all the stuff we need back here and trying to find room for it - including the painting I started, and then trying to find more room for all my stuff when it arrives from New York - it's a wonder we don't wind up killing each other a dozen times over.

But finally we have most of the stuff that we need right now crammed somewhere into the loft, and one of Brian's minions has arranged storage for everything else, so there's really only the painting which is propped on an easel in front of the big windows and Brian is so right - this place is going to make a kick-ass studio.

We've organized all of Lindsay's travel. Although she still seems not to be sure if Mel is coming or not, we've booked tickets for her and JR as well just in case. And we've booked them a suite at the Marriott.

I also found time to call Dan and arrange to take him out to dinner on Wednesday night. Brian did a lot of eye-rolling over that, but I just told him to suck it up. I thought Dan was … interesting. Sad, of course, and lonely, and unbelievably ancient. But with spark and steel still there, at the core. I can imagine that when he was younger he must have been really a lot like Brian. And an amazing face. I'd love to paint him, but I guess if he's leaving soon there won't be time. Maybe he'll let me take some photos …

Plus I caught up with Mom again, and with Molly and even Tucker. I mean, seriously, if she had to get herself a boy toy, couldn't it have been someone with a real name. "Tucker" sounds like a fucking dog. But he's okay I guess. Mom seems happy, anyway, so I guess that's all that counts, really. And Mol likes him.

So now it's Tuesday night, and I still haven't seen Debbie - although she's been leaving messages. I did try to call her, but she wasn't home, and it's no good calling her at the diner. But I have the feeling that if we wait any longer she's just going to go ballistic, so we call and when she says she's not working tonight, we invite ourselves for dinner and head over, stopping on the way for a few bottles of wine. I think we both feel like we're going to need them.

I still don't really want to do this because I don't want to get into the whole Mikey-Ben-the house-the money thing, but it's got to be faced sometime so we may as well get it over with.

But surprisingly it goes okay.

Emmett's there, which helps. He's about to move out, he tells me later while Deb's in the kitchen, because he's found a little place that he can afford a mortgage on. It's in an old house that has been split into three apartments, not all that far from Liberty Avenue. Seems a pair of old queens own the ground floor place, and a retired lesbian school teacher (`just like some old English actress' he says) owns the second floor, and they've been dreading who was going to buy the top floor place because the last owners were a psycho pair who were always having screaming dramas on the stairs. Apparently they're ready to welcome Em with open arms, and both the queens and the lesbian have already invited him for dinner and offered to supply him with all he needs to know about the neighborhood - from where to get the best fish to where to get his leather chaps mended.

I'm really glad for Em. I hope it works out because he's a good guy and he deserves to have some good things happen to him for a change.

So between catching up on what's been happening with me and why I'm home and all that, and talking about Em's new place, and what's been going on at the diner and how Carl is still hoping Deb will change her mind and marry him, and how she thinks maybe she should because she doesn't want to have to deal with his family if anything happens to him and they're not legally married, and she can't be selfish and just think about her own feelings she has to do what's best for him … and so on. So with all that, not a lot is said really, about Michael. Or Ben.

Only when we're putting on our coats and about to leave she comes and puts her hand on my shoulder. "I'm really fucking glad you're home," she says. She jerks her head towards Brian and lowers her voice as if that will stop him hearing what she's saying when he's only a couple of feet away.

"He needs you," she goes on, "even if he'd never admit it. And with Michael behaving the way he is - well, he needs you even more."

I stare at her in surprise for a moment, unable to figure out what to say.

She gives me a sad little smile. "He's my son, and I love him," she says, "but he can be the most stupid, self destructive stubborn asshole I have ever met in my life."

Then she raises her voice a little, "And that includes you, Kinney, you asshole."

Brian just gives her a sort of sheepish little grin, and she smacks his ear, but gently. "I love you, kiddo," she whispers into his ear before giving him one of her huge smoochy kisses on the cheek.

"Love you too, Maw," he says softly.

"I know you do, kiddo," she answers. "And I know you love him too. And that you don't deserve the way he's been lately. But he's in pain, you know?"

She looks up at him, and I realize that she's looking old. And tired. All this shit has really taken it out of her. Realizing that, I find the anger that had started to simmer in me slide away. No point in being angry with Deb. I might just as well save it up for Michael. He's the one who's really earned it.

Brian hugs her awkwardly, and then she turns to me and I'm engulfed in one of her death hugs. For some reason that makes my eyes go all watery and I find myself hugging her back. There are things that drive me crazy about Deb, but I can't just forget that she was a mother to me when my own mother didn't know how to be. It's why I understand so well the hold she has over Brian – because there are strong echoes of it in my own psyche.

So although I'm not Brian and the hold with me doesn't go as deep, and though I'm not blind to how much she and Michael are alike in the way that they use people's affection to manipulate them, I am suddenly aware of how much I've missed her.

I kiss her cheek and tell her I'll come into the diner one day later in the week and see her and then we make our escape.
 

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