Homecoming

*31*

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Senses and Sensibilities

Justin

I know it's crazy that I'm pissed because the whole legal thing is going so smoothly in Brian's favor… our favor. I know that.

But the thing is that for the last few days it's been one fucking crisis after another, and every time I've had to sit back and be the supportive partner, and that's fine. That's who I want to be.

But with every new drama my adrenaline levels have been bouncing about all over the place and I guess it's like the whole "flight or fight" response thing has been coming down harder and harder on the side of "fight" every time a crisis comes up; but then the crises have sort of petered out and there's been no fucking chance for me to do the fighting. So I'm kind of exhausted and wired and mad as hell, all at the same time.

Which I guess kind of explains what happens when Deb's voice bellows out of the answering machine demanding "pick up the phone, you asshole".

Before Brian can react at all, I've snatched up the hand unit.

"Have you finished?" I ask, interrupting her mid-rant.

"Sunshine?" she gasps, like she's totally amazed that I answer the phone in my own fucking home.

"It's Justin, yes," I say tightly.

"Is that asshole there?" she asks.

"If you mean that bitch Melanie, no she's not. Nor is your dick-headed son. So at the moment, the loft is asshole free."

"I meant Brian!" she snaps. "That fucking asshole has …"

"Deb!" I shout down the phone at her, so loudly that it cuts her off mid-flow and Brian, who's just reached my side, actually jumps.

"If you can't fucking stop yourself from calling Brian names, and blaming him for everything that goes wrong in your idiot son's life, then I suggest that you don’t fucking call here at all," I yell. And then I hit the off button hard, thinking that it's not nearly as satisfying as when you could actually slam the phone down onto its base.

Brian takes a step back and holds up his hands like a cowboy surrendering in a western. He's looking at me like I've grown another head, and not the one that he might like a duplicate of either.

"If you're planning to scream at everyone who calls me an asshole, you might want to invest in some throat lozenges," he advises, turning away to switch on the coffee maker.

I take a deep breath, trying to stop myself from shaking, and wait till he turns back to face me again before I say, "I just won't put up with that shit in our own fucking home."

He shrugs.

He doesn't say that he's used to it; he doesn't have to. But that's going to change.

"You did refer her son as a 'dickhead'," he offers.

I snort.

"He is a fucking dickhead!" I spit. "He's been told by his lawyer a kazillion times not to talk to Melanie, that the best way he can protect his daughter is to leave it to the lawyers. But he still met with her this morning.

"God knows what sort of a spin she's put on things, or what promises she's scattered around; and he'll believe them, and go along with whatever shit she's shoveling, not caring who gets covered in it. And then when it all goes wrong, he'll come whining and wailing about how worried he is about his little pumpkin or buttercup or whatever he's calling the poor kid this week and expect you to fix it."

Brian turns again to stare at the coffee maker as if it's about to reveal the secret of life, the universe and everything.

"I'd be worried too," he says eventually, his voice so quiet I hear him more by instinct than through my ears.

I sigh.

He's right, of course. Michael's daughter is at the mercy of a woman who quite honestly isn't behaving at the moment as if she's completely sane. Mel didn't even bring JR to Pittsburgh with her; she left her in Toronto with her new wife. It's not surprising that Michael's worried. But the problem is that when he gets scared he does really fucking stupid things.

And when they go wrong, Brian feels called upon to find a way to fix it.

It's what he does.

It wasn't just his looks that made us use him as the model for Rage. It's that inner fire he has to make things right. He'd hate to be considered any kind of crusader, but, honestly, he's more of one than anyone else I know. People like Mel, or even Ben, who are supposedly all "politically aware" and active in the community and all that shit, are just poseurs compared to Brian. Because whether it's dealing with Stockwell, or facing up to my Dad or throwing Ted a lifeline when he looked like going under or pursuing what's right for Gus … Brian doesn’t just sit around theorizing - he acts. He fucking stands up to be counted and puts himself on the line.

Every. Fucking. Time.
 

*****
 

Brian

When the phone rings again I look at him and he looks at me and while we're silently daring each other to answer it, it goes to voicemail.

When he hears Deb's voice, he grabs the phone and stabs his finger on the "talk" button twice in quick succession which of course cuts her off.

I keep looking at him and he sighs. Then he straightens up, looks right into my eyes and says, "Why didn't you answer it that time?"

For one moment I'm confused, thinking it's an accusation. Then it hits me. He knows damned well that one reason I didn't answer the damned thing was that I didn't want to hear Deb mouthing off about his behavior in daring to call her on her shit. He raises one eyebrow at me, the little twat, in the look he fucking learned from me.

I shrug.

But I don't fool him for an instant. He knows that I've got the message.

I give a fleeting thought to how much time he must have spent over the years listening to one or other of them mouthing off about me. But fuck that!

He's not that little twink anymore, and he's obviously set on making it clear to me as well as to everyone else that he's not going to suffer that shit in silence anymore.

Fair enough.

He's just putting the coffee cups on the counter and I'm just reaching to switch off the machine when the phone rings and then quickly goes to voice mail.

No surprise that it's Deb again.

But apparently she hasn't called back to ream him out, or to heap more curses on my head (although no doubt at some point she'll be blaming me for turning her "sweet little Sunshine" into an asshole just like me).

No, it's worse than that.

"Don't you hang up on me, you little shit!"

Her voice booms out at us from the machine, and she's speaking even faster than usual.

"I just want to know what the a... that partner of yours is doing for his birthday tomorrow."

Fuck!
 

*****
 

Justin

Brian grimaces and, leaving him to pour the coffee, I pick up the handset, feeling pretty kind of stupid.

"Hi, Deb," I say cheerily, as if the earlier phone calls never happened. It's the only thing I can think of to cover the fact that it seems like I behaved like the Drama Princess he used to call me over a totally innocent phone call - well, innocent for Deb. She doesn't intend any harm; "asshole" for her is like an endearment when it comes to Brian. Most of the time. She just never stops to think about how it might affect him to be called that all the time. Or how it affects me either. But anyway, it looks like I picked the wrong time to kick up about it, so I just try to do the whole innocent blue-eyed blond thing and hope for the best.

She snorts, but doesn't call me on it.

"I know it's a fucking forbidden topic," she starts, "but that … Brian can just learn to share his birthday like normal folk. God knows this family needs something to celebrate right now."

I figure that our part of the family has a hell of a lot to celebrate, but I remember that I'm talking to JR's grandmother and cut her some slack.

After a bit of umming and ahhing, we agree that she and Carl and Michael and Hunter, will put in an appearance at the loft at around five o'clock tomorrow to share the birthday cake that Gus and I are going to make in the morning. She wants to help with that, but I put her off. That's time that I'm looking forward to sharing with … my son. Besides, Gus wants to do it himself, not watch Debbie.

I keep an eye on Brian while I'm talking because I know that this will probably piss him off big time. Sure enough, when he hears me confirm the time, he abandons the coffee and does his best to get the phone off me so he can cancel the arrangements or something equally lame, but I'm fucked if I'm going to allow Mel's bullshit to either ruin Brian's birthday or to do any more damage to our already fractured fucking family. There are enough real issues between Brian and Michael and between me and both Michael and Deb without having to deal with any phantasms that Melanie has conjured up.

Gus wants to make a birthday cake for his Dad tomorrow and I know he'll fucking love it if we have everyone over to watch Brian blow out the candles and to share Gus's cake.

So whether Mr. Kinney likes it or not, we are going to fucking celebrate his birthday with a family gathering.

Anyway, what better way is there to demonstrate that Melanie has no fucking power over us anymore - at least over Brian and I - than to have this get together as if nothing she has been doing has affected us at all? She's the outsider now; she's the one who has chosen to separate herself from this dysfunctional little group and make a whole new life for herself up in Canada. And all her ranting and raving and cursing Brian is just like the big bad wolf huffing and puffing uselessly. The family Brian and I are building with Gus isn't a damned house of straw; it's solid; it's got deep foundations and strong walls and she can huff and puff all she fucking wants, she can't blow it down.

So Brian can do some huffing and puffing of his own over it, but he's going to have to suck it up and smile sweetly tomorrow for Gus's sake and let his family make a bit of a fuss over him. I dodge around the counter and ask Deb if she can do me a favor and invite everyone else and then I let him snatch the phone and when he tells her to forget all that shit I hear her laughter echo from the handset and something about 'see you tomorrow, you little asshole'.

I grin at him and when he scowls I do my best to look contrite.

I'm ready to confess to being a bad, bad boy. If he wants to punish me for that, so much the better.
 

*****
 

Brian

The little twat thinks he's won of course. And the worst part of that is that he probably fucking has. At least this round.

The truth is that although I resent the Hell out of having to "celebrate" something as fucking hideous as getting another year older, this year there are definitely other things that do deserve celebration.

Things to do with Gus and with the little twat who's giving me that self-satisfied little smirk that I've been seeing ever since his first fucking night in my bed. It was on his face when we were driving to the fucking hospital that night, because he knew he'd won the battle not to just get thrown out on that perfect ass of his. That alone should have told me how much trouble I was in. I'd never had any trouble getting rid of a trick before, no matter what they thought about it. But with him …

It's on his face now and although there's still a part of me that's tempted to do something deliberately cruel just to watch that look vanish in an instant, I've at least come far enough to recognize how fucking stupid and self-destructive that reaction is. In fact, I probably always knew that, but now I've somehow become smart enough not to let the self-destruct button trigger at every available opportunity. I swear there are times when I watch Gus and secretly acknowledge that sometimes he behaves with more maturity than I used to do when my buttons were pressed.

So instead of behaving like a pouting five year old, I just walk around the counter, open one of the drawers and take out the big wooden spoon.

His eyes widen as it dawns on him what I have in mind to do with it, and then his face gets all flushed and I let myself grin as we both realize just how hot and bothered the idea of being put over my knee and having that nice hard wood applied to his wicked little butt has got him.

I'm not sure if he'll look on it as punishment or reward, but it will definitely give us both something else to think about for a while. And after the day we've had, that can't be a bad thing.
 

*****
 

Justin

Asshole!

Using that spoon was a bit more than I'd bargained for, and my ass is still stinging.

It was fucking hot though.

And now we're both lying here relaxed and sated but I know we should get up and have a shower, because we're going to regret it later if we don't. Besides, I'm hungry.

So I get out of bed and he follows me into the bathroom and gives me a nice rub down in the shower and we're kind of all over each other, touching and laughing and just … together.

It's nice.

Surprisingly, we haven't heard anything from Melanie all afternoon, so maybe she's finally got the judge's message.

Or maybe she's concentrating her efforts on Lindsay or Michael.

Who the fuck knows?

I'm not surprised though that while I'm calling our favorite Japanese take out, Brian gives Lindsay a call.

He sounds exasperated by the time he gets off the phone, but apparently my Mom is there with her. So Brian hands the phone to me, and I talk with Mom for a while. Seems like Linds pretty much moved in on the spot this morning, since they had all their stuff with them and there was nowhere else to go. Mom thought she should do the right thing and help get them settled as soon as possible, so she called and volunteered to do some grocery shopping for Lindsay, and now the two of them are having a "nice cup of tea" while I can hear cartoons playing in the background, so I guess Gus is watching TV.

I make sure Mom knows she's invited over for coffee and birthday cake tomorrow with the rest of the family, and then Gus demands to speak to me and he's all excited about how we're going to make his Daddy a birthday cake and wants to go into all the details of what flavor it should be (no prizes for guessing chocolate) and what decorations should be on it, and everything else you could think of about a cake, but I remind him that it's a surprise for everyone, and we should talk about it tomorrow while his Daddy is at work and we have the place to ourselves. He giggles at that, and then wants to talk to his Dad, so I hand the phone back to Brian.

He's been peering at his own cell phone, but it's not until he assures Gus that he'll be home in plenty of time tomorrow to have his cake, and then says a few more words to Linds about 'just don't take her calls', and stuff, that he's able to tell me that there was a text from Ms Hershell to tell him that she's already spoken to a judge who'd been happy to issue the restraining order against Melanie.

By the terms of the restrictions placed by the Family Court judge, Mel is not supposed to contact either of us or Lindsay or Gus. But now she'll be in breach of the order if she comes within 200 yards of our dwellings (both the loft and our new place), Brian's places of business - Kinnetik and Babylon, and my studio. Which pretty much means that she can't come to the diner or Michael's store either because they're both less than 200 yards from Babylon.

I asked about Lindsay's new place, but the problem is that they can't add that to the list without disclosing the address. Gus doesn't have a new school yet, but the same thing would kind of apply, because Ms H doesn't think it's a good idea to let Mel know what neighborhood they're living in; and Brian agrees. But of course they can't issue an order to stay away from some undisclosed location, so we just have to rely on the Family Court injunctions to prevent her contacting Lindsay or Gus.

At least that's another thing crossed off the list.

Or put on the list of things to celebrate, depending on how you look at it.
 

*****
 

Brian

God bless Mother Taylor.

At least with her there, I know that Linds isn't going to be able to do anything fucking stupid - like letting that psycho cow know where she's living.

She says she has no intention of doing that; and you'd think she'd be so pissed with Mel over the whole marriage thing that it wouldn't even be in question - but it wouldn't be the first time she's done something completely fucking mindlessly stupid where Melanie is concerned.

I guess there was a time when I would have been pissed as Hell about Jenn interfering. Hell, when I wouldn't have wanted her to even know that I had a kid, let alone be having afternoon tea with his mother.

But the truth is that Jenn and I have come to know and understand each other over the last few years and now she's one of the people that I trust to at least try to do the right thing. And to have enough fucking brains to be able to have some kind of hope of working out what the right thing is. Which is more than I'd be prepared to say about most people in my life.

Meanwhile, it's been a Hell of a day, and getting some food delivered and having an early night has never looked more appealing to me.

I have to put in some time at the office tomorrow - I can do that while the little twat turns the loft into a pigsty making cake with my … our … son.

I'll try to get home around lunch time so we can have some serious boys' time together before the fucking hordes descend.

It will be good to have some play time with my two boys.

By the end of the week, I need Gus enrolled back in school, I need to get blondie's ass back into his studio to do some serious work, I need to contact the contractors who worked on the loft and talk to them about work on the new place, I need to find an architect who works with buildings of that period so we can start getting some plans drawn up, I need to find a way to persuade Mikey to just take the fucking money he needs to keep his fucking house, I need to make sure Linds has some kind of car, and try to figure out if there's any way I can help Mikey over the JR situation. Oh, and see if I can think of anyone who could just happen to need a fucking Professor to add to their payroll so that Ben won't be out of work and moping when he gets out, which should be soon.

And I suppose fucking Emmett is going to want a hand moving into his new place any day now.

It's not all fun and games being a fucking super-fag, boys and girls.

But right now …

Right now, there's just me and him and as he comes to me and puts his hands up behind my head to draw me down into his mouth, I pull back for a moment and look into his eyes. They're so fucking deep and blue a merman could drown in them. But his hands are holding me up and suddenly I wrap both my arms tight around his waist and snatch him up off the floor, holding him close against me.

He giggles, and then breathes my name, and I suck his tongue into my mouth and as he moans a little against my lips, I let all my senses savor him … sight, sound, touch, taste, smell. It's all so fucking right and satisfying and real and …

Here.

Here. With me.

Sometimes the simple fact of him is simply overwhelming to me.

I never thought I'd want this. Sure as fuck never thought I could ever have it. But here it is. In my arms, in my mouth and nostrils and eyes and ears.

God, I'm fucking glad he's home.

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