Reverberations

Chapter 1

Preface:

I've been trying to get my head around this for weeks. Part of my wanted to completely rewrite S5. Part of me wanted to give it up as a bad job, and just continue on from where "Homecoming" left off.  As I wasn't satisfied with the second as an option, because of the S5 legacy that it would have to deal with, and because I simply couldn't face tackling a whole re-write, I've decided to compromise.  So this is how it's going to work.  I'm going to continue on after "Homecoming". But I'm also going to throw in the occasional "flashback" and rewrite particular scenes, or story arcs, that I thought were flawed, or that just don't sit well with me.  This is the first of those flashbacks. They will have a group title of Reverberations. And they form the backstory to Homecoming. (I already know what they will be, what things I would have changed in S5, so hopefully, eventually, it will all make some kind of sense.  I hope that some of you will enjoy these. But I have to admit that this is something that I'm doing for me. As a way to exorcize the things that I just think that C/L got plain wrong. I accept that they're the writers, to some extent the creators, but that doesn't mean that I have to think that they did everything perfectly. Or that their Word is some sort of gospel handed down from on high. I think that many times in S5 they did the characters less than justice - Justin in particular. I accept their right to follow their own muse ... but this is my way of finding catharsis. of coming to peace with what they did to my beloved BJ.  So, on that basis ... here is the first of the Reverberations series (or the Homecoming backstories, if you prefer lol).

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Warnings: Not for those who think that C/L can do no wrong

Notes: It always seemed to me really dumb that they gave Brian syphilis and then had Justin freak out and go all holier-than-thou about it. I believe that we're clearly meant to understand that Justin was definitely not sitting around reading Brothers Karamazov out in LA - he out was getting laid. So it seemed to me that this would have been a much more real and effective way to deal with this issue, and wouldn't have had Justin coming across like a sanctimonious little prig.

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Justin

I feel totally freaked out. I want to get under the shower and scrub and scrub and scrub. I promised Brian that I'd cook dinner, but I feel like I should be wearing gloves and a mask. I feel totally unclean, and I feel sick because I have to tell him.

Tell him that his partner is infected. Tell him that while his partner was getting his dick sucked in LA, somewhere along the line, someone passed on a little gift.

Shit! Fuck! Double fuck!!

I hate this.

And for some reason, I'm actually angry at Brian. Angry that with all his slutting around, this hasn't happened to him. Or maybe it did, before we got together. But not since. Because he would have told me. So why did it happen to me?

Well, I know. I know that's dumb. And immature. And just plain bitchy. But …

The truth is, I'm scared.

I mean, syphilis is one thing. The doctor said that I'd only need the one shot that I had today to clear it up. But it could have been something much worse.

It was so damned embarrassing. I felt like such an idiot when he started asking me all these questions about my sexual history. I was so proud of the fact that I have never (thanks to Brian) fucked without a condom, and then the doctor tells me that if a guy has syphilis sores in his mouth and he sucks your dick, he can give it to you that way. Or if you suck his, and he has sores on his cock …

Well, I guess I figured I'd notice sores on a cock - but inside someone's mouth - who's gonna know?

The doctor told me I should make them wear a condom when I suck them, and wear one myself if I'm the blowee. But … I can't even imagine that. I mean … part of the pleasure of a blow job is the wetness and warmth around your cock. And who'd want to suck a mouthful of rubber?

I sigh.

I figure I'd better start getting dinner ready. I did promise, and Brian is going to be bitchy enough when he finds out that, thanks to me, he's been exposed to this and has to have a blood test. Not to mention the drama of making a public service announcement to the whole of gay PA if he has it.

At least I spotted the sore myself. If he had, he'd have been all over me for not taking more notice of that sort of stuff. Like he's Mr Perfect.

Oh, fuck! Stop it, Justin. This isn't about Brian. This is about you. You're the one who went slutting around LA thinking you were God's gift to the California boys, and this is the result. I mean, I guess it could have happened here. But it didn't.

Well, not unless it was Brian who gave it to me. That's a thought I guess. Then I could be angry with him. Sort of.

Although I have to admit that I'd be really pissed off if he got angry because he's caught it from me.

Bi-polar, much?

Shit! He's home.

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Brian

He's really quiet when I get home. I move into the kitchen and go to hug him and get a welcome home kiss after a hard day at the office and the little shit dodges and mumbles something about dinner being ready and I should change.

Fuck! If he's going to turn into little Mary Housewife in some damned family sitcom, he can go back to fucking LA.

I give him one of my looks, and he ducks his head and won't meet my eyes, so I know something's up. I am really not in the mood for one of his drama princess moments tonight, but …

I stick my tongue in my cheek and look at him for a long moment so that he knows that I know something's not quite kosher in our little nest, and then I figure that I might as well be comfortable for the grand dénouement, so I go up and change.

I decide that the best way to head off whatever hissy fit is coming is to be myself … so I put on my best "fuck me" outfit - the soft jeans that hug my ass just the way he likes, and a sleeveless black tee that always gets him hot.

I saunter down again barefoot and irresistible and he sees me and makes this face that tells me this is more serious than I thought because he looks … scared. And it takes a lot to make Justin look that way.

I wonder vaguely if Brett or some other Hollywood hotshot has been on the phone with another offer he can't refuse, but then I think, well, fuck it! If he's out of here, I might as well make the most of what time we've got left. So I smile at him and go get a bottle of wine - a good red that slides down smooth as silk and you only feel the kick half an hour later when you realize that it's taken your legs out from under you. If it's that sort of news, the more alcohol affected I am, the better.

He glares at the wine as if it has personally insulted him, and then the glare turns to something else, and damned if he doesn't look as if he might burst into fucking tears any minute. He's got me scared now, and I go over and take the salad and the bread (what about "no carbs after seven" does he not understand?) and put it on the table, while I try to work out if I should just demand to know what the hell is up his ass, or leave it till he's settled down a bit and can maybe just tell me calmly without all the drama that I sense is hovering over our shoulders.

He takes that decision away from me by blurting out just as I put the dishes down that he went to the doctor today.

Those words turn something in my blood to ice, and I look over at him and start to feel sick. Fuck! No, no, no! I can't deal with this.  Not if it's anything bad. I can't. I can't fucking see him in another fucking hospital bed, hooked up to all those damned machines and looking less and less like anything faintly resembling the brat I knew and … , well, the impossible little fucking twat that …

I can't do that again. I can not.

"I have syphilis."

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Justin

For a moment I thought that he was going to hit me. I really did.  He got this look on his face that scared the shit out of me. Then he sort of gulped. And then the fucker laughed.

"Jesus, Justin!" he gasped out. "I thought it was something …"

Serious, he was going to say. Like this is nothing. I want to scream at him. I want to take the fucking dinner and throw it all over him. I want … I want …

I want him to take me in his arms and tell me it's alright. That I'm not some sort of diseased whore. That …

I have never wanted more to hear him say that he loves me. Never needed it more. Not even when I was in the hospital, desperate to see him. Praying every day that today would be the day that he'd come through the door and let me know, even if he never said it, that he loved me. But he never did come through the door. And he won't give me any sympathy now. I should know by now not to expect it.  And I don't.

But that doesn't stop me needing it.

Well, fuck him!

I can get along without it. I'll just have to. As usual. Just suck it up, Taylor. You know who he is. And he sure as hell isn't going to change just because you've got something that he doesn't see as any more serious than a fucking cold.

So suck it up. And keep your eyes off his ass, and his cock, that's cradled so lovingly by those jeans, because you can't have any. Not for a week at least.

But he can. And as soon as he realizes, he'll be out the door. Off to Babylon or the Baths or even just down to the news guy on the corner. He can get it anywhere. And he will.

This is life with Brian Kinney.

So learn to live with it.

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Brian

It doesn't take me long to get over my fit of laughter. He's glaring at me now like he fucking caught it from me.

Well, he didn't. I don't think.

Fuck! I'll have to go down and have a test myself tomorrow.

I almost start glaring back at him, but then I remembered how freaked out he'd looked when I got home. I remember that look of fear in his eyes, and I can't help it, I can feel the anger slipping away from me, and all that's left is the relief.

I go over to him and take the damned casserole dish out of his hands before he can hurl it at me. I put it down on the counter, and then stand looking down at him. For a moment he ducks his head, and then, ballsy little fucker that he his, he tilts his head up and looks me right in the eye.

"It's okay," I tell him.

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him to me, so that I can rest my forehead against his.

"It's okay. It's not that big a deal."

Wrong thing to say, because his eyes, that had started to go all cloudy, are suddenly hard and angry again.

He pushes me away and spits, "Why aren't I surprised that you would say that? I mean … it's just a little STD, nothing to worry about, right?"

"Justin …"

"Brian, it might not be any big deal to you. Fuck! For all I know you've been through this a dozen times. But it's a big fucking deal to me!"

I go to reach for him again and he pulls himself out of my hands.

"I'm diseased!" he practically shouts. "I'm infected. I'm …"

"Do you want me to get you a fucking leper's bell?"

He glares at me again, picks up the dish and I'm ready to duck when he turns and takes it to the table, crashing it down in a way that had better not have left a mark on the wood.

I come up behind him and run my hands lightly down his arms.

"Justin … I just meant …"

"I know what you meant!" he snaps.

"No," I say coldly. I'm getting angry myself now, and trying to tell myself to calm down. This is my little drama princess I'm dealing with and letting things escalate into full blown melodrama won't help anyone. "No, you obviously don't."

I don't say anything more, just sit down at the table and pour myself a glass of wine. I start to pour his, but then realize that he shouldn't have any if he's been given antibiotics, so I get up and ask if he wants some water. He's serving the meal by now, and obviously fighting back tears and drama, but he nods, so I fetch a bottle from the fridge, open it and pour it into his wine glass.

He puts my food in front of me, and then sits down.

"I thought it was something …"

"Serious," he says snarkily.

I look at him for a moment, and then say, "You're talking to a man who was told a year or so ago that he had cancer."

He looks at me then, wide-eyed, and I see him flush before he looks down at his plate. After a moment his eyes meet mine again and he says, "Brian, I … I'm sorry."

"You scared the shit out of me, Justin," I state frankly. "I don't …"

I break off, and look away myself this time.

His hand reaches across the table and touches mine. I move it a little, just turning it slightly, and he takes the hint, and clasps his fingers round mine.

"I just feel so … dirty," he says.

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Justin

I don't know what I expected him to do. What I thought he could do to make me feel better.

But he doesn't really do anything at first. Just sits and nods. And then he takes my hand and pulls it to his mouth and kisses it. The back, and then the palm, and then he starts licking my fingers, and sucking them into his mouth.

At first I kinda feel scared. And then almost angry, because he's getting me hard, and there's nothing I can do about it. But then out of nowhere, I feel my eyes filling with tears, because I finally hear what he's saying to me.

I get up and go around to him and he pulls me down into his arms, and then, somehow it is alright. Well, as alright as it can be, anyway. Because he isn't making me feel stupid, or like some dumb fucking kid who doesn't know enough not to keep safe.

"You'll have to get tested," I mumble into his neck.

"I will," he says softly, nuzzling at my ear.

"And I had to have a HIV test as well," I tell him. I'm trying not to freak about that, but the doc said that I should be okay, as long as I didn't suck anyone while I had sores in my mouth.

"I know," Brian says, kissing his way along my jaw line.

"I'm not allowed to have sex for a week," I wail softly as his lips slide towards mine.

He grins at me, the bastard. And then says, "Not even long slow deep wet kisses that last for three days."

And kisses me on the tip of my nose.

Which makes me want to hit him - partly because he's right, and partly because he's deliberately teasing me, the fucker.

Ever since I first heard that line when I was a kid it's given me the shivers. I wanted that. Wanted those sorts of kisses. I never knew that I'd find anyone like Brian who could really give them to me.  Never knew what it would be like to have to go without them. He knew when I made that rule, that that's what I was thinking of. Dumb ass that I was.

And he knows all that, I actually told him in one of my madder moments. So it's a definite tease, and I think a little payback is in order. I move slightly, rubbing myself across his cock. I feel it start to harden and nuzzle into his neck again, finding that spot on his throat that he loves to have sucked.

I feel him squirm under me, and hear his breath catch.

"It's so awful," I say.

Then I kiss his chin.

"And, of course, until you're sure that you haven't got it …"

I let my voice trail away as I nibble his ear.

He gives a sort of growl and then, as I kiss his cheek, and then his chin again, he laughs.

"I guess we're stuck with each other, tonight, then, huh?"

I laugh back at him, and nod.

For tonight, anyway, I think, For tonight I have you home here with me.

He kisses the corner of my mouth.

"Let's eat," he says. "I might as well put something tasty in my mouth, since I can't use it for anything more interesting."

Before I get up off his lap, I turn his face to mine, and say softly, "Thank you."

He shakes his head.

"Don't thank me," he says. "For all we know, I gave it to you."

I shrug. "I don't think so. And anyway, that's not the point."

I get up and walk around to my chair again. I sit down and raise my glass of water to him. He looks at me for a long minute and then raises his own glass. The wine glows deeply crimson, and for a moment I'm distracted, imagining it staining his lips, turning them from their natural color to an even darker red. I want to paint them. To try once more to capture on canvas the feel of them against my skin.

His eyebrow raises, and I realize that I've been staring at him.

"I thought you'd make fun of me," I say. "I wouldn't have blamed you. Not really. I didn't think you'd understand."

He shrugs; he doesn't like hearing that. I don't blame him.

"But you really came through for me," I finish. "You really helped me, Brian. Even if you don't understand why I feel so horrible about this."

"Justin …" he starts. He breaks off, and then says, "Of course I understand. It's just … that's the way I deal with things. To belittle them. Take away their importance. That's just …"

"I know," I say. "But this time you didn't. You helped me."

He shrugs again, and looks at me as if he doesn't know whether to be insulted by what I'm saying, or to take it at face value.

I smile at him. "Brian, you never cease to amaze me."

That brings a sort of grin, the tongue in the cheek smirk that I know and love.

"Here's to amazement," he says.

I nod, and as I toast him, I think that I must try to remember this moment. Must try to remember not always to expect the worst from him. Because, when it really counts, he comes through. He always comes through. I have to remember that. And give my partner a little more respect.

"So, how do you plan to entertain me?" he asks.

I hesitate only a moment, before going for it. "Well," I say. "It's been a long time since you posed for me."

He laughs, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he blushes. Then he smiles at me, and raises his glass again. I don't know what we're drinking to, but I raise mine as well. Whatever we're toasting, we're doing it together. And that's all that matters to me tonight.

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