Homecoming

*7*

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Future and Past

Brian

I should treat that remark with the contempt it deserves. "Saving it for us"! Fuck! That is such a blatant attempt to add a few bucks to the price that it's laughable. But beside me I feel Justin's reaction, feel it gut deep. And for some reason that triggers some sort of visceral response in me, so that the ability to mock those idiotic words just fucking deserts me.

"What do you mean?" he breathes, his voice a little higher than usual. He suddenly sounds very much like that seventeen-year-old stalker I used to know.

The old guy, what's his name … Dan .. smiles at him and reaches over to pat his hand.

"We'll talk about it later," he says, getting up to open a cupboard and pile some fat and carb ladened fucking cookies on a plate. "The subject is making Brian uncomfortable."

The old bastard gives me another one of those darkly mocking looks as he tops up my coffee and his own. Then he sits down opposite my partner, who has already started on the cookies, and smiles at him again. "Brian tells me you paint, Justin. Is that your favorite medium?"

The guy is fucking lucky he's a walking corpse or I'd seriously have to think he was hitting on Justin right in front of me. My hand seems to wander of its own accord to rest on Justin's knee and he turns to me with one of those smiles. I almost reel from the force of it.

It takes me back to a night a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far fucking far away. Overcome by that memory, I lean in towards him and then hesitate, just like I did then. And just like then, his smile reassures me, and I kiss him.

Kiss him soundly, right in front of this old reprobate who seems so intent on baiting me. Take that, fucker! Dream of it tonight!

But then I remember that this old guy's partner, the man he'd lived with for over forty years, died not all that long ago, and I feel suddenly ashamed of my thoughts. I sit back and give him a look, pulling my lips in while I try to work out how to apologize, without actually apologizing.

Before I can say anything, though, he smiles at me. A real smile this time; and I see that the kiss hasn't offended him or made him feel his loneliness even more than he must always do; see that in some way it might even have eased it for a moment or two. So then all I need do is to make sure my lips don't slide into a smirk when I smile back.

I'll say this for him, he might be old, he might be grieving, but he's not bitter enough to resent our happiness. In fact, he seems to share it. He sits back in his chair and takes a contented sip of his coffee, while Justin turns to him to belatedly answer his question. I sit back myself, turning slightly so I can watch my Sunshine as he waves his hands around and talks about oils and water colors and then moves on to computer graphics, words tumbling out of him about working with tools this guy has probably never seen. Dickerson might have used Correl or one of the other design packages in his engineering work, but nothing like the latest art programs that Justin has mastered.

It gives me a shock to realize while I sit and watch and listen, that I already feel at home here, in this house. We haven't even begun to discuss the nitty gritty yet, but unless dear Dan simply refuses to sell to us, which doesn't seem likely the way he's behaving, it doesn't matter what the price is. Justin wants this place; and so do I.

We seem to have found our new nest already.

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Justin

I suddenly hear my own voice going on and on and can feel myself blushing as I stumble to a halt. I wish Brian had shut me up a little sooner. He didn't have to let me make an idiot of myself like that. The old guy was only being polite to ask me, I should have just told him "oils" or something and shut up.

I give Brian a little glare and he raises an eyebrow at me and grins. Mr. Dickerson laughs.

"Don't worry, Justin," he says. "I knew what I was likely in for when I asked the question. My Billy was the same. Ask him about his work, and he lit up like a bonfire and could talk all night about it."

"Sorry," I tell him. "I've just got back from a while in New York, where you can't talk about it like that. You can only talk in abstractions and it's all "post modernist referencing of earlier forms" and shit. I hate that. That's not what it's about for me. But no one there wants to know how you feel about anything - they only want to spout their own theories, and over-intellectualize it. It's been ages since …"

I break off then, and sneak a glance at Brian who has gone very still beside me. He gives me a look, another of those, `you should have told me you weren't happy' looks, and once again I feel like an idiot. He's right. I should have told him. I should have come home months ago. I put my hand out towards him, and he takes it. Then I move my chair to sit closer to him. He huffs a soft laugh, a little rueful maybe, but still a laugh, and ruffles my hair.

I look back to Dan and he's watching us closely. Or rather, he's watching Brian.

Then he gives a bit of a laugh himself. "You and I seem to have even more in common than I'd thought, Brian Kinney," he says.

He doesn't explain what he means, just stands up and says, "You'd better see the rest of the house."

It's a bit abrupt, but I guess we should see whatever's left to see. I mean, there can't be much - just the garage. Although I guess they might have done something with the basement. At that thought, I get curious all over again, because what they have done with the rest of the house is so amazing that it could be anything.

Dan takes us once more to that fabulous space at the back of the house, and crosses to a little door beside the fireplace that I hadn't seen before. He opens it and steps aside to let us pass through. In front of us those green glass bricks form the outer wall, and the ceiling is also made of green glass, or plexi-glass maybe, so much of the light in here is green tinged, giving the place a foresty feel.

That feeling is increased like a million times by the fact that the space seems full of plants. They're everywhere - in tiers all along that glass wall, hanging from the ceiling, growing all up the end the wall on our right that I guess is the wall of the garage. Only the other end wall to our left, the one that looks down to the river, is relatively clear of them. Like the wall in the main room, it's made almost entirely of glass, clear this time, and the plants all seem to be leaning towards it; because that's where the brightest light is coming from, I guess. It's heading towards late afternoon now, and the most amazing golden flood is steaming in through that huge window. In the center of that light, surrounded by this indoor forest, is a big, beautiful wooden Jacuzzi.

We so have to have this house.

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Brian

If he wasn't sold on the house before, he certainly is by the damned hot tub. He loves the things. Mind you, sharing a hot tub with Justin isn't exactly a hardship for me either; although the word `hard' definitely comes to mind thinking of our experiences in them.

It's as if he hears me thinking that, because he bumps my shoulder with his, and gives that mischievous little fucking giggle that I love. It's so damned misleading because it makes him sound like an infant, and it always comes when he is thinking things that mark him as anything but; to those in the know that childish giggle is a definite fucking giveaway that he's thinking the thoughts of a hot and horny man. For some reason, I always find that contrast an incredible turn on, and I can't resist pinching his ass as he moves in front of me.

He yelps, and Dan gives us another of those indulgent looks and tells us that the space is heated, or can be cooled in summer, and that, as in the main room, the glass doors open right out, so in the summer it has almost an outdoor feel.

"But the plexi-glass in the ceiling has UV filters," he adds, with a glance at Justin's fair skin. "Billy turned red as a lobster in the sun."

Justin grins at him, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

I'm starting to wonder what the heating costs are going to be in this place, but before I can frame the question, Dan takes us out through the glass doors. The decking stretches right across the front of this room, and he walks to the end and heads down the steps. I'm making a mental note that we'll have to install some sort of gate at the top for Gus, and don't immediately take in what I'm seeing.

"Are they all solar panels?" my more observant partner asks, and I look where he's pointing. There are three terraces to the rock garden before it reaches the grass slope down to the river, and each is lined with what do, indeed, turn out to be solar panels.

Dan reaches the ground and turns to smile at Justin, as he skips down the last few steps to join him on the bluestones which form a type of patio across the width of the house before curving round to begin the path down through the terraces.

"State of the art," he responds. "The system is designed to store the power and use it when needed. They provide nearly all the heating for the house, and," he says, opening yet another glass door immediately under the edge of the deck, "for this."

The doors here concertina open, and although he only pulls them part way, it's obvious that they fold back completely on each side. Theoretically, this is the basement; but because of the slope, it's actually ground level on this side of the house. It's bigger than I expect and my guess is they took out the original wall and extended the space so that the decking now forms part of the roof.

Then they installed a fucking swimming pool.

"We always kept it slightly heated," Dan says. "Even in summer, because being under here it's always shaded. But the heating can be turned off during the summer months if you prefer."

O-fucking-kay. Dan's talking as if he really means to sell us the house, and judging by Justin's delighted squeak, he really means for us to buy it.

"It's only five feet deep," Dan says, "but it's long enough to swim laps."

Damned right! And it's deep enough for Gus to drown in.

"Are there any other doors?" I ask, wondering just how much drama it's going to be to keep it always closed off when Gus is around. If Gus is around.

Dan shakes his head. "No. No. We didn't want any accidents so we made sure we could lock it up easily."

I nod. That's a relief, anyway. Now all I have to worry about is the river. And if we put some sort of gate at the top of the deck, then Gus shouldn't be able to get down here at all without one of us with him. At least for the next year or two.

"Brian has a young son," Justin confides for fuck knows what reason. "He's nearly five now. He'll be coming to visit us sometimes, so we need to make sure he'll be safe."

Dan doesn't seem phased by the information, he just nods. "The gates that we used to use on the stairs are still in the storage room, next to the jacuzzi."

I feel suddenly weary of dancing around the subject. I need to get this deal done.

"So, what's the asking price?" I ask abruptly.

Dan grins, one of those mocking grins that make me sorry he's too fucking old to take on. "Do you mean the asking price I told the estate agents, or the price I'd give to you?"

I can feel myself bristling, because now he's just gaming us. Justin, though, smiles at him and says, "It's our first real home together, Mr. Dickerson."

He's all but purring and batting his eyelashes.

"Dan," the old buzzard murmurs.

"Dan," Justin breathes. And if I'd thought that maybe Dickerson was coming on to him, Justin is definitely flirting. But hey! if it gets a few thou off the price, he can charm all he wants - up to a point. And with someone this old, it's never likely to get to that point. Not unless Viagra is even better than I remember it. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy feeling like the third wheel, though.

Dan gives another mocking glance at me, and, drawing Justin's hand through his arm, starts leading him literally down the garden path. I follow feeling like fucking Queen Victoria: not at all amused.

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Justin

I can feel Brian's glare on the back of my neck, but I concentrate on smiling up at Mr. Di… Dan.

"Did you mean it when you said you were saving it for us?" I ask. Brian might think that I'm the easy touch here, but he should remember that I'm also the clever little devil he taught me to be.

Dickerson hesitates for a moment, and when he speaks I think that even Brian, who seems to think he's a devious old bastard, must hear the pain in his voice.

"Billy would have said so."

It's awful. I think about how I'd feel if this were me forty years from now, talking about Brian, and wish I'd never mentioned it. I can only give his arm a squeeze, and sort of rub my head against his shoulder to show how sorry I am. I try to apologize, but he cuts me off.

"No, no!" he says, briskly. "No … I was the one who brought that subject up."

He gives a long fucking sigh, and steers me to a seat on the second terrace. It looks out across the river, and I squeeze up to let Brian sit next to me. He puts his arm around my shoulders, as if he senses that what Dan is going to say might not be easy to hear and that I might need to feel him close.

But Dan doesn't say anything for a long time, just sits and stares at the light playing on water. Finally, just when I can feel Brian getting really antsy beside me, he says, "We talked about it, Billy and I. About what would happen when he was gone. We had months and months to talk about it."

He breaks off for a moment, and then says, his voice all hoarse and scratchy, "He was worried about me. Worried about what I'd do. So we made plans together. Planned out how I'd go back home to England. Go to the places there that we used to know. Say goodbye from both of us."

He stops again and I feel dreadful, because he's obviously finding it hard not to cry, and I can tell he's like Brian - it would hurt his pride in a major way to cry in front of us. Especially in front of Brian. I touch his arm, and he gives me a twisted smile.

"We talked about what to do with the house," he finally goes on; and then he gives a sort of laugh. "I told him I didn't want any fucking fag haters living here. He told me it couldn't be that hard, even in Pittsburgh, to find a decent pair of fags to take over the tradition of upsetting all the neighbors."

Now he really does laugh. "I told him I didn't want any of those fucking heads up their arses so-called `A-gays' either."

Brian gives a snort of laughter himself at that, and, over my head, their eyes meet. They really are alike. I can see it in them. Some sort of … I don't know … `outlaw' sounds lame, but it's something un-tamed. Something that doesn't see any need to live by anyone else's rules - gay or straight.

I feel my pride in Brian, my pride in being Brian's partner bubble up in me.

The best thing Brian has ever done for me, and he's done a lot, is to teach me that lesson. To teach me that the only person whose rules I must live by is myself. It's when I've broken my own rules that I've fucked up my life; not when I've broken anyone else's.

Of course, I guess I've made Brian break most of his, but that's different. Most of those were bullshit anyway. He needed to outgrow them. And he has. We're ready now to make our own rules, and not like those pathetic things we came up with in Babylon that night. This time they need to be real rules; rules that aren't about putting limits on each other, aren't a whole list of `thou shalt nots'; rules that are creative, that are about things `we must do' to build a life together. Things like `we must communicate when we're not happy with how things are'. And `we must make sure our partner's fucking opinion counts for more than anyone else's' (otherwise known as the `we must tell Them to butt the fuck out' rule).

I'm mentally promising myself to talk to Brian about that, but the way Dan grins at Brian then breaks my train of thought. His eyes gleam just the way Brian's would as he says, "It narrowed the field a little. I didn't want straights, I didn't want mincing pansies, and I didn't want ball-less fags who were trying to pretend that their shit didn't stink. I told Billy it would be hard to find anyone who'd fit the bill, and he said …"

There's the slightest quaver in his voice, and then he goes on, "He said, `They'll come. The right couple. And you'll know them when they do.'"

He drops his eyes to the ring on his right hand, and says softly, "I didn't really believe it, but I learned long ago that it was best to listen to Billy when he gave me advice if I didn't want to fall on my arse."

He looks up. "So I waited," he says simply, "And you finally showed up."

He gives a real smile now, and says, "Where the fuck have you been?"

I open my mouth to say something, when he goes on, "Oh, yes, farting about in New York."

He gives Brian a look that's almost a glare and says, "And don't tell me … you told him he had to go. Told him he'd regret it if he didn't. Told him he had to give his career a chance. Didn't you?"

I don't have to look at Brian to know he's got his tongue stuck in his cheek and is about to come out with something outrageous. Before he can, though, Dan says, "Oh, don't bother! I can hear the conversation now. It's the same fucking idiocy that I spouted to Billy fifty years ago."

He looks at Brian, who has the sense to shut up and not say anything. Dan nods.

"Thought as much. It's like I said … we've a lot in common, you and I."

Then he smiles at me and pats my knee before he slowly pushes himself to his feet. "But you're a lot like my Billy, too, I think. He had the right good sense to come home to me, and not let either of us make that mistake again. It strikes me that you're the one with the sense in this relationship."

I feel myself blushing, as I hear Brian snort behind me. I get up and turn to tell him to behave himself, but although he's trying for his cynical face, his eyes are shining at me like he agrees with Dan, and for some reason that makes me blush more. He stands up, laughing, and makes a small movement of invitation that lets me rest my forehead for a moment against his chest. I feel his hands on my arms and his cheek brush my hair and then he's letting me go and we're both following Dan as he makes his slow, painful way back up the steps towards the house.

Watching him, I realize that he must find it almost impossible to get around this house and garden these days. Not only is he stuck here without Billy, he can't even enjoy the place itself the way he once did. I feel my hand seeking Brian's, and the warmth of his fingers around mine banishes the fear I suddenly feel that this is what life is going to be like for one of us, fifty years from now.

"The listed asking price is one point five," Dan says, suddenly all business like. "You can have it for half that if you can settle in the next two weeks so I can get the next boat out of New York. I promised Billy I'd sail back, the same as we came over."

Holy fuck!

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