Homecoming

*42*

 

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Putting Things in Perspective



Justin

I guess I should have expected it, but I just didn't. Sue me.

My Mom turns up with Tucker in tow.

I so don't think it's appropriate to leave them here together to look after Gus, but when I try to pull Brian aside to tell him that, he stares at me like I've gone out of my mind and then nearly pisses himself laughing.

Asshole!

Okay.

I suppose it is kind of funny to think that way – like my Mom is some fifteen year old girl who's going to be here alone with her boyfriend.

And I have promised myself that I'll be more supportive of her thing with Tucker.

That would be so much easier if he had a real fucking name. Tucker! Honestly. It's just like fucking "Hunter".

What is it with these young guys and their lame names? Are they just trying to be cool, or what?

Still, I suppose at least Tucker's being so damned young is one of the reasons Mom's stopped giving me grief over the age difference between Brian and me. And anyway, it's not like there's anything I could do about them being together, even if I was a big enough prick to try.

So I finally decide to ignore Brian's snorts of laughter as we say goodbye and just concentrate on having a good time.

 

*****
 


Brian

For some reason, he still gets his panties in a pandemonium over Jenn and her toy boy. Personally, I say good luck to her. Tucker's almost hot enough for me to fuck. In fact, on a slow night at Babylon I'd definitely do him. So why shouldn't Ma Taylor enjoy herself? I bet her prick of an ex didn't waste any time in finding a little bimbo to help him get over his mid-life crisis. Or his trauma over having a fag for a son, or whatever it is that the asshole tells himself has ruined his life other than his own bigoted stupidity.

I think for a moment little Sunshine is going to give Daddy a run for his money in the making an ass of himself over something that's none of his business department, but he finally gets his head around the futility of throwing a hissy fit over whatever he thinks his Mom and her boyfriend are going to be doing other than watching the pile of DVDs they brought with them and gets his ass out of the loft and on the road to Woody's

It's Saturday night, so of course the place is busy (though I note it's not as busy as it used to be before the new street-side bar in the Babylon complex opened up), but kind of surprisingly Ted and his blond are there, and we find chairs and pull them up to their table. I prepare myself for some boring prattle about opera or the state of the country's finances or whatever, but actually they're comparing the relative hotness of a couple of TV vampires, so it could be worse. I don't watch either of the shows, but my own blond does, so I've at least seen the guys they're talking about. They're both kind of hot, I guess, but with one notable exception, I don't usually go for blonds, so it's the dark haired one I'd vote for. If I had any intention of dignifying their conversation by getting involved in it, anyway.

As it happens, a pool table opens up just as Emmett arrives. He's got the drag queen chef in tow, who sits down alongside Ted's little counselor and they get into some heart to heart over who knows what deep and meaningful shit, while the rest of us have a game.

For a little while, it's almost like very old times. Except of course that Mikey's not here. He's up in Toronto trying to sort out his own custody issues.

And Justin is. He's playing a good game too, which since for some fucked up reason he's playing with Ted against Emmett and me, means that I'm going to have to take him down or I'll never fucking hear the end of it.

In the end it's Emmett who sinks the winning fucking ball. Don't ask me how that happened, but at least it means that my team won so I'm spared the little twat's gloating.

We have one more beer and then it's time to head for the magical kingdom of Babylon.

 

*****
 


Justin

I get this incredible rush as soon as we walk through the door. It's the smell of horny men and cum and booze and various illicit substances all filtered and enhanced by the lights and the incredible energy of the music and I feel like flying. We ditch our coats and grab a quick drink, then I head for the dance floor and leave Brian propping up the bar with Ted and Emmett and the others.

I'm not sure what he's got in mind for tonight, but I wouldn't say no to a threesome if the right candidate comes along.

I can feel Brian watching me, so I step it up a notch, moving my hips in the way I know will get him all hot and bothered. A few guys try to move in on me, but I just sway out of their reach.

Then I see the one I want to play with. He's not all that tall, maybe an inch or so taller than me, but he's got really great muscle tone, the way Brian likes them, and he's just a little on the chunky side, the way I do; no body fat, but kind of stocky and solid.

It really is funny about the attraction between Brian and I because we are both the opposites of the physical types we normally go for, if that makes sense. I'm not usually attracted to the tall skinny types, and Brian certainly isn't into twinks, or even slim-built men. He goes for the gym bunnies, and I go for the more stocky body type and yet …

Well, guess that's love for you. Although I'd never let Brian hear me think that, let alone say it.

Anyway, I let this guy dance closer than any of the others and, just when he's reaching out to put his hands on my hips, I feel Brian slide up behind me. He doesn't hold me, just rubs his crotch across my ass. I think I'd recognize the feel of his cock anywhere, and anyway, his aftershave is teasing my nose and the hairs on my arms are kind of standing on end a little, the way they do when Brian's around; especially when he's in predator mode.

I sense him eyeing up the guy over my shoulder and then he purrs into my ear, "Want a little toy to play with tonight, do we, Sunshine?"

I don't answer, just press my ass back against him, still moving my hips that way he likes, and lean my head back against his shoulder. I sneak a glance up at him. He's looking at my catch with that tongue in cheek smirk that lets me know he's in the mood to play as well.

The poor guy looks a little rattled, but I feel Brian nudge me forward and I reach out and stroke the trick's right nipple through the sheer fabric of his shirt. He hisses and I pinch a little.

That's it for the foreplay, I think, and I let my hand drop down and grab his belt and we head for the backroom with Brian right behind us.

As soon as we get past the entrance, I let go of the belt and move my hand a little lower, firmly gripping the guy's cock through his jeans. It seems like it's a nice size, and I suddenly know exactly how I want this to play out.

We find a free bit of wall and I put my back against it and slide down, opening my own pants on the way so that if he looks down he'll have a nice view.

Then I open his. As I'm getting out his cock, his pants are jerked further down and his hands come out to brace themselves on the wall above my head. I look at his cock – it is kind of a nice one, not all that long, but lovely and thick, good for sucking - and as I go to it I hear the rip of the condom pack and then a moment later the cock head I'm suckling jerks in my mouth as Brian enters him.

Deny us what you will, Brian and I are good at this anyway, and our trick doesn't last long. That's okay, we didn't really want him to. Brian doesn't even come, he just pulls out as I stand up. Our playmate is looking kind of dazed, like it was all over way too soon for him to even register what's happened, but he doesn't get much chance to think about it, because before he quite knows what's going on, I've sheathed my own dick and taken Brian's place. A moment later, Brian, after fumbling his way into a fresh condom, is pushing into my ass and this time we both plan on making the ride last a little longer.

At first the poor guy starts to protest. He's just come and he's probably a bit sensitive and not really ready to go again. Or so he thinks. But I haven't been fucked morning, noon and night by the fuck master general for years without learning a thing or two, and as Brian is prepared at this stage anyway to let me set the pace, I use some of the stuff I've been taught and it's not long before the guy is all 'yes, oh fuck yes'.

It's around then that Brian kind of takes over and insists on setting the pace for the rest of the fuck.

And what a memorable fuck it is. Maybe not on our top ten list, but definitely in the top 100.

It's only after I've come and our trick has come for the second time that I feel Brian shudder against my back.

He pulls out and my asshole clenches spasmodically, protesting at his absence. But I have the feeling it won't be for long.

We sort ourselves out and tell the barman on duty at the bar near the backroom to make sure that our trick gets his drinks free for the rest of the night and then we head up to the VIP area.

There's a kind of murmur – not of applause exactly, more like appreciation – as we make our way there and I realize that we'd attracted quite an audience.

Well, hopefully we gave them something to jerk off to for a while. I know the memory is going to be company for me some night when Brian's away on business and all I have to keep me company is my right hand – or my left. There are advantages to being ambidextrous.

 

*****
 


Brian

For some reason that fuck in the back room puts everything else that's going on in perspective for me. Sometimes I wonder if I know who I am anymore. I mean, suddenly I've acquired, not just a live in partner, but this guy who actually does fucking share my life; and a son. Not just a kid that grew from my sperm, but a son who is dependent on me at the moment for stability and happiness and … heaven help him, for love; he's depending on me to make sure that he knows he's loved.

On top of all that, I'm about to move into some house in the suburbs. Well, okay, it's not really the suburbs in the sense that it's not like where Justin grew up. But it's not a big house right away from everyone else either. It's a place with fucking neighbors and all that shit. The house isn't even all that big. I'd always thought if I moved at all it would be somewhere so huge that … I don't know, I guess I could get lost in the place or something if we had guests or whatever.

But this place won't be like that. In that way, it won't be that much different from the loft.

I'm not saying I don't want to move. The little twat loves the fucking house, and I can live with it. At least with that fucking big-assed space at the back it has style; it will make a statement. Even the front is going to be so much fucking better now that Justin is waving his magic wand over it. Well, aided and abetted by Stephane and fucking Marty and shit-loads of my … our … money of course.

But all of that is …

It's so completely fucking different from how I thought my life would play out; from whom I thought I was that sometimes it …

I guess it kind of freaks me out maybe a little.

But right now …

Now I know that I can have all that, all that shit I thought I'd never have, never want, never be able to achieve, let alone sustain … I can have everything that other people have and still be Brian Kinney. It doesn't mean that I think I'm going to be attracting an audience to watch the fuck-meister (and his hot as hell apprentice) at work forever. But it does mean that I don't have to dwindle into some meek little suburbanite domesticated house fag either.

So when we get upstairs, I don’t feel any need to keep broadcasting that discovery; instead I steer us into the cubicle that's reserved for the owners – myself included. Once in there, I roll the wooden blinds down and lock them in place, hang a figurative 'do not disturb' sign; well, I make sure there's a chain draped across the outside – same message.

Then I let him push me down onto the couch and lie back while he starts moving those lethal fucking hips of his in a slow teasing rhythm. Before too long, though, he's speeding up a little and now each little bump and grind is accompanied by the revelation of a new patch of flesh.

By the time he's naked, I'm hard and as horny as hell. The fuck downstairs seems like it was in another fucking lifetime.

He moves a little closer and I grab him and pull him down on top of me. He gives that irritating, idiotic, inane little giggle that drives me totally nuts and I roll him under me and it's a good thing there's another condom in my pocket because I'm not sure I could have …

Well, it doesn't matter, because he's rolling it on me and then yes, thank you Jesus, I am finally, finally, sliding into him and able to claim the long, leisurely fuck that has been denied to us all week.

Neither of us are in any hurry, and we take our time; changing positions a couple of times along the way before he settles on top of me, my cock sheathed in his beautiful tight ass and I can watch the way he rides me, using my dick to pleasure himself. And me.

It is so … fucking … beautiful.

I wish I had even a fraction of his talent at putting images on paper or canvas or screen so I could somehow fucking capture how he looks right now. And how he looks at me. Like somehow just by lying here and letting him give me this incredible pleasure I'm making his world better, satisfying more that just his body, that somehow I'm making him happy.

 

*****
 


Justin

I need this. Oh, God, I need this. I just have to … yes, that's it … just … oh fuck!

I need to come, but I don't want this to end.

I try to slow down, to just hold still for a moment, to let the feelings ebb a little, but …

Oh, God, he looks so fucking hot.

His face is flushed, and the veins in his neck are standing out a little and his lips are parted just enough so I can see the tip of his tongue. It's almost the same color as the head of his cock when I suck him; so I lean forward and press my mouth to his and suck his tongue into my mouth and it is so lovely and slick and velvety and it tastes like beer and Beam and Brian.

Then I pull back so I can watch him some more.

But I seriously need to come.

I can feel that sweet hot tingle in my balls and at the base of my spine and then I feel that amazing rush right through my body and my cock is spurting and I feel Brian judder under me and his cock throb in my ass and …

The next thing I know, his hands are on my hips, gently trying to lift me up, but I feel boneless.

I struggle to get off him and it's actually fucking painful pulling off his cock because he's still semi-hard.

He kind of deflates once I pull away though and I help him get rid of the condom. He sits up and gestures towards a cabinet I hadn't even really noticed. It has two doors – one side holds wet wipes and towels and the other hides a small mini fridge. I pull that open and find some miniatures – I know he'll want the Beam so I have the vodka. There are glasses and ice and even a freshly sliced lime in an airtight container. I add that to my vodka and strain out the stray juices into my glass as well. Then I toss him the wet wipes and towel and stumble back to him.

Once we've cleaned up we just kind of curl together on the couch with our drinks. It isn't cuddling if the hot sex makes you cuddle.

Or something.

 

*****
 


Brian

It's not that late when we get back to the loft – just after midnight. Jenn and her boy-toy are drinking coffee and watching some movie. Jenn says they can finish it later, so they get ready to leave.

I go up to check on Sonnyboy. Ma Taylor says he didn't stir while we were out, so I just want to make sure that he hasn't had any accidents, but everywhere I feel in the bed is dry. He was okay last night, too, so maybe he's feeling more secure and there won't be any more issues. I made sure we got some protective sheets and stuff for his bed at the house, but hopefully we won't need them.

He looks so small, lying there. But he looks happy too. I don't remember ever feeling free enough to sleep like that – sprawled out the way he is on his back. I was always hunched in on myself, trying to protect myself even in my sleep. I touch his hair, so fucking relieved that he seems to feel safe with me. I know he should. I know that it's natural, how it should be. Hell, it shouldn't even be in question that he feels safe with his old man.

But I sure as fuck never did; and I've always kind of felt that … that I was doomed to be just like good old Jack. But I guess I was wrong.

Because I'd chew off my own fucking fingers before I'd ever lift a hand to hurt my son.

 

*****
 


Justin

I have the best friend in the whole fucking world.

She arrives just when I am getting ready to kill either Gus or Brian – Gus because he's so hyper and running around everywhere and asking 'are we going yet, Dus, are we?' like every second minute, and Brian because he is being so ridiculously anal about using those stupid garbage bag tie things made from plastic covered wire to tie up and tag every single fucking cord for every piece of shit electronic equipment in the loft. As if it matters which cord you use as long as the connections fit.

If it had been up to me we would have just shoved all of the cords into a box and sorted them out when we got to the house and I bet it wouldn’t take half as long as it's taken Brian to do it his way. And we still have to go through them when we get to the house to work out what goes with which bit of equipment.

And if he tells me one more fucking time that he's used colored post its to wrap around the ties so he knows what each cord belongs to I seriously will use one of them to strangle him.

But once Daph arrives things kind of calm down. She suggests that I take Gus to the park while she and Brian load up the cars with the boxes. I think she should go, since I don't feel right bailing on them, and in the end Brian shoves both of us out the door and tells us that if he really needs help he can call Emmett.

So Daph and I take Gus out so he can run off some of his energy. It's kind of funny because we get accosted by an old lady who says that our little boy looks just like us. Um … not really, lady. I mean I'm fair-skinned, blond and blue eyed, and Daph is well, mocha with dark hair and eyes and Gus has his father's coloring – all olive and hazel and chestnut. But I guess people see what they want to see.

Anyway, while Gus is playing on the swings and the slide, Daphne and I just sit and talk for a while. I tell her about one of the pieces that I've been planning out. I don't think it's what I want for the Warhol show, but I do want it finished for the New York show in October.

I first started working on the idea when I was in New York; I knew that I was angry, and I thought it was with Brian. I'd been kind of stewing over the fact that I was all alone in New York, and feeling horrible and like he didn't want me enough to fight to keep me with him, and that made me think of the time with Ethan and how easily he let me go then. And even LA.

Although, with LA I had been the one who decided. I couldn't really blame Brian for that one because he didn't even know anything about it, before I'd told Brett I would do it. So it was when I was thinking about LA that I realized that I wasn't just angry at Brian, mainly I was angry with myself, for some of the choices I've made. And LA was really the big one.

I know that to everyone else it seemed like a no-brainer that I should go; that I had to take the opportunity when it was thrown into my lap. But …

I'm telling Daph about all this shit that has been going on in my head, and trying to explain … well, to work out for myself really … why I keep feeling like going to LA to work on the movie was something that did major damage to my relationship with Brian; like it really undermined his trust in us having a future together, and it seems like it's maybe only now that he's really starting to believe in it the way I do – like it's something so inevitable that the stars would have to fall out of the sky to prevent it happening. But I know that he never ever blamed me for heading off to Hollywood, so I'm not really sure why thinking about it makes me feel so bad.

Daph gives me one of her 'duh!' looks, and when I go all 'what? why?', she asks me what I would think if it happened to someone I knew.

I kind of don't get what she means and finally she says, the words seeming to tumble out of her mouth like she's been saving them up for a long time, "Look, if I'd had this on again off again thing with a guy that I was crazy about, and we'd just gotten back together when I found out I had cancer, and I freaked out and told him to go away, so he did for a while. And then he came back, and I had the treatment and was still feeling totally shitty and I had to wait for my next check up before I even knew if they thought the treatments had maybe worked and while I was trying to cope with that he got this incredible job offer that was going to take him out of state for who knows how long and he just accepted it without even talking to me about it, and he didn't even tell me for days. He kind of let me think that everything was fine and he was going to be right there with me if the results didn't go well, and then he sprung it on me that he was heading off to the bright lights and leaving me behind. If all that had happened to me, what would you be thinking about the guy?"

She speaks really quickly the words just rushing out all in a jumble, so that it's only my long experience with Daphne that helps me to understand them, but I do and they kind of make me feel a little bit sick. Because put like that it sounds so fucking cold. But really, that's exactly what I did to Brian.

Fuck! How the fuck did he have the courage to let me come back to him?

And I didn't even come straight home. I kind of hung around in LA for a while; partly because I just didn't want to face everyone, but partly because I was still hoping, I guess.

Shit!

Now I know why thinking about the LA thing makes me feel the way I do.

And the ironic thing is that if they'd made the fucking movie, it would all probably have been worse. I probably would have been offered other stuff and …

Who knows when I would have pulled my head out of my ass and got home? And whether Brian would have still been ready to take a chance that I might stay.

I start to laugh.

All this time I've kind of thought that having the movie cancelled was one of the toughest things in my life. And I still hate the reason that those gutless pricks pulled the plug on it. But really, not having it go ahead was probably one of the luckiest things that's ever happened to me. Because, quite apart from Brian, I didn't really want to be doing that shit anyway. I know I once thought I wanted to work in animation. But I was a kid then. I had no idea. Once I hit PIFA and started trying all these different styles and techniques and exploring how to express my thoughts and feelings and put them out there for other people to share … there was no going back to the mechanics of anything like animation – let alone set design.

I laugh even harder at the thought of what a narrow escape I had in so many fucking ways.

Daph is looking at me like I've gone slightly crazy and Gus comes running over to see what I'm laughing about. I pick him up and swing him round and tell him it's time to go.

On the way back to the loft, as Gus is doing his hopping over cracks thing again, I give Daphne a hug.

"Thanks, Daph," I tell her. "You really helped me put things in perspective. Not just about Brian … but about me … my life. You're the best."

She kind of shrugs, but I can tell she's really happy because she gives this little skip like she used to when we walked from the school bus stop together.

I am so lucky to have her for my BFF.

 

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