Reverberations

Chapter 10

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Justin

I'm so stunned after Ted's call that I can only stare at the machine. I want to replay the message to make sure I heard it right. I'm almost reaching for the button when Brian gives a laugh and my eyes go back to him.

He looks surprised too; but I can tell that he's pleased, even if he is hiding that reaction under his usual Kinney-front.

"Good ol' Theodore," he says, "always looking out for the bottom line."

I want to say something, something about how overwhelmed I am, how shocked that Ted, of all people, would take a stand against anything Michael did. Especially if it meant taking Brian's side against dear little Mikey. But that all sounds so childish that I can't find words to express what I mean without sounding like a bratty six year old. And anyway, maybe it isn't all that surprising.

I mean, Brian and Ted have become much closer over the past year. I saw that for myself when Ted confronted me at Babylon that time he thought I'd left Brian and was there to rub Brian's nose in it.

Plus, there have been all the cracks Michael has been making about it being time that Brian grew up and all that stuff; about how pathetic it was for someone Brian's age to still be hanging out at Babylon. I guess Ted might feel that they apply even more to him. I mean, he's older than Brian anyway, and he did go through all that shit with the hair color and plastic surgery and stuff earlier in the year; mainly so that he could do better with the guys at Babylon and the gym. So I guess he could be just as hurt as Brian by all the things Michael's been saying, even if Michael wasn't directly talking about him at the time.

All of that flashes through my mind really quickly, and just as I'm thinking that Ted might be as pissed off as Emmett was the other day, the phone rings again. This time, because we haven't cleared the other message, it goes straight to voice mail.

Somehow I'm not surprised this time that it's Emmett himself.

His first words seem to be to Ted, because he's saying something like "you should have let me say something before you hung up".

Then he realizes he's recording and says, sounding kind of flustered, "Oh, oh, well … Justin, honey, I just wanted to make sure you're okay, and to let you know that Auntie Em thinks you did the right thing. Love you. Talk to you tomorrow. Oh, and Brian too."

I'm trying to get my head around that when Brian moves away and up the steps to the bedroom.

I suddenly remember that he's supposed to be heading to some sex party tonight, and although I'd rather he were staying here with me, I don't want to make a big thing about it either.

Instead, I go into the kitchen and check the refrigerator to see if there's anything I can turn into a quick snack. Stress always makes me hungry.

Once the refrigerator door is open though, I find myself straining to listen to Brian moving around in the bedroom, and trying to work out what he's doing. When I hear the closet door open and close, and realize that he's getting changed, I feel this sudden wave of anger surge through me. Fuck!

I don't care if he goes and fucks fifty guys. It's not about that. It's just … I want him here tonight. I want to feel like … I feel my eyes stinging, and have to take deep breaths to try to stay calm.

When he comes down the steps from the bedroom I force myself not to look at him, not to check what he's wearing, because that will only get me thinking how hot he looks, and wondering how many guys he's going to fuck, and I'm so not going there.

I'm not Michael, and I neither want, nor expect Brian to deny himself what are to him a simple, uncomplicated pleasure and a way to deal with his own stress. Some guys play golf, Brian has anonymous sex. It really isn't any different, and just because tonight I'm feeling … I don't know … upset, whatever, I can't … I won't, turn into a total pussy and demand that he stays at home with me.

I know his response to that kind of bullshit will be something like, "We're not married, Sunshine."

And it's when he says things like that that I realize why he's so against marriage.

For Brian, marriage is all about having to do things because you're obligated to do them, because you're expected to do them. It's about being nagged and hounded if you don't live up to those obligations and expectations. It's about handing over your freedom to really be yourself, to do what's right for you, to someone else in exchange for some bullshit idea of safety. He sees it as some pathetic trade off, trying to strike a bargain with Fate that if you give up your life as an individual, you'll never be alone; you'll never be lonely.

No wonder he's so vocal about what a crock he thinks it is.

For me, that's not what marriage is at all. For me it's about trusting that the other person will want you to do what's right for you, that they'll support you and go on loving you; and that you will each be able to be yourself, more than ever, because you support each other to do that.

So while I hate that Brian feels the way he does about marriage; and sometimes it hurts when I think about how it means we're never going to marry, what makes me so fucking sad is the irony of it all.

Because the thing is that it was Brian who taught me what marriage can be. I learned what's important in a relationship not from watching "nice" married couples like Mel and Lindsay, or Ben and Michael, and certainly not from my parents. I learned them from Brian. I learned about freedom from how Brian has always encouraged me, forced me even, to pursue my own dreams in my own way. I learned about support from how Brian has always supported me in doing that - from helping me with that lame club at school, to pushing me onto the plane to LA. In a way, what I think marriage is, is what I already have with Brian.

So what makes me really sad about his whole anti-marriage thing is that Brian can't see that. It hurts that he doesn't feel the same way. I guess because it makes me think he doesn't feel that same unstinting support from me.

That's why it's so important to me that I don't go all clingy and turn into his worst nightmare when something's happened to stress him out and he needs to take off and get blown in some backroom somewhere just to unwind a little. Even when, like tonight, I'm feeling my own stresses and I'd like him to stay with me and fuck me into the mattress to get rid of them. I can't always be putting my own needs first. I have to let him know that it's okay for him just to be him. That he doesn't have to live up to some bullshit expectation for me to feel okay about our relationship.

Because I do.

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Brian

When I hear him open the door to the fridge, it pretty much torpedoes any lurking hope that he might share my belief that heading off together to this sex party would not just be a great way to unwind and offload some of the stress that Mikey's damned housewarming has caused, but also the perfect way to blow off all the people who think they know us, think they know what's best for us, what we want, what we need.

I didn't really expect him to, though. He hasn't said anything about it, but he hasn't been tricking a lot since he got back from LA. I think he's still spooked by his little brush with the wonderful world of STDs. Okay, I know he is. So Justin's coming out to party with me was never going to happen. Which just leaves me to work out what I'm going to do now.

Once, I would have just gone, without a second thought. That was "Before". Before the bashing. Before he became so much a part of my life that nothing was the same anymore.

Then, before Ethan, I would have gone because I felt like not going was too much changing if I didn't; because it felt too much like giving in, giving him control. So I would have put on my sluttiest clothes and just headed out. Only problem with that little scenario was that I would then have spent the night feeling like shit, and consuming even more drugs and alcohol than usual just to live with the image of the hurt in his eyes.

Even last year, before the cancer, before LA, before really knowing how much there is to lose, and how easy losing it could be, I would have gone. I might have "discussed" it with him; given him the option of either assuring me that it was okay (whatever he really felt), or being shot down by one of my famous "we're not married, Sunshine" speeches.

Fuck! Before Mikey's little stunt tonight, I might still have pulled that one, dickhead that I am.

But it's not "Before". It's now. And right now, I might be stressed, and pissed off by what happened tonight, but for once, it's not about me. It's about him. About my fucking partner, about the one person I really want to know that he can count on me. It's about the fact that he's the one who was really hurt by what happened tonight; about how it built on all the other hurts he's taken in the past few years. About that fact that the least he deserves from me is that I don't add any more hurt right now. About the fact that he deserves my support, my understanding. My love, even, for what that's worth.

So blowing him off and heading out to some fuck party to get my dick attended to really isn't an option. It's counter productive to my goals, as the little shit told me once. At least, it is if I want to show him who I want to be, show him how I want things to be for us.

So now's the time that instead of living down to everyone else's expectations, I get a chance to live up to some of my own expectations of myself. Not his expectations of me. Mine.

I've always said it's not about what you say; it's about your actions, what you actually fucking do. So what am I going to do right now, this minute, while my partner's out there trying not to turn my taking off on him into some big soapy drama?

For once, the answer to that one is easy.

I pull on my sweats and an old tee and head down to him.

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Justin

I'm still standing in front of the fridge when I hear him come down the stairs. I'm determined, absolutely determined, not to make a big thing out of this, so when he comes up behind me, and the scent of his citrus spice cologne tingles my nose, I tilt my head back against him and say, "You smell good. You'll have all the pretty boys wanting to lick you to death."

He huffs a laugh. "Why don't you come with me and protect me?"

I just shake my head and finally start pulling some food out of the fridge. "I'm just going to have something to eat, and then maybe watch a movie or something. I'll see you later."

I admit that I'm avoiding looking at him.

I'm trying to be okay with this. I am. And I will be.

But …

If he looks into my eyes he'll see that I'm not, not right now.

He reaches past me and for some bizarre reason opens the door of the freezer. While I stand, trying to work out what he's doing, he stretches one long finger out to tap on the lid of the container that holds the sinfully delicious, top of the range, high fat content ice cream that's the only kind he'll eat … and then only if it's served right.

Not wanting to think about other things, I concentrate on the image of him and the ice cream, and idly contemplate what a mass of contradictions he is. He bitches and moans about how much extra work he'll have to do if he has so much as a mouthful of that stuff, but suggest buying a low fat brand and he practically faints from the horror of the prospect of eating any of that "tasteless cheap shit".

While his finger strokes the container, his breath is hot on my neck, a nice contrast to the cold air still spilling over me from the open doors.

I want to believe this means he's actually going to hang around here and not go to that damned party, but I'm still afraid to turn and look at him. Instead, I let my hand wander back to his thigh. I suppose I'm sort of thinking that maybe I can find a way to persuade him to stay here with me, but when my fingers come in contact with the thick cotton of his sweat pants, I realize that I've been played. Or rather, that I've played myself.

My breath huffs out in something like a long gasp of relief, and I lean back against him. He takes that as the invitation it probably is, and pulls the ice cream from the freezer, at the same time running his tongue around my ear.

"Fancy an ice cream feast, Sunshine?" he purrs, his free hand reaching past me on the other side to swing both the doors shut.

I turn in his arms, suddenly just not wanting to think any more.

I want to feel … feel him, feel me; feel happy, feel relieved, feel loved.

He's here. He stayed here with me. For me. And there are no words that could tell him how grateful I am. There are actions, though; and as his tongue touches mine, I lift one leg and hook it round his thigh, pulling his groin tight against mine.

He laughs, a deep low rumble, and wrapping one arm round my waist, lifts me, and more or less carries me out to the couch.

There are times when actions truly do speak louder than words, especially where Brian is concerned and tonight he shouted from the rooftops how much things have changed between us, how much he loves me. So now I concentrate on making sure that my actions speak just as loudly. Not just about what it means to me that he stayed here with me, but about how it affects the way I see our relationship. Tonight was a milestone for me in really believing that Brian believes in us, that Brian is willing to fight for us, to put us first; that Brian really wants us. I've always known that he wanted me. But understanding that he wants us to work as much as I do, I think maybe that's new. I think that's what I've always wondered about. And now, for some stupid reason, it's suddenly clear to me.

Guess it seems dumb that it's taken me this long, but there have been so many ups and downs, so many things that have fucked things up between us at various times - the bashing, Stockwell, Brian's cancer, the damned movie. It didn't help that I was so young when we started; or that Brian carries around so much baggage from all the years before he met me. Not just from his childhood, but from all the times his so-called friends saw fit to treat him like shit. They not only enabled his worst behavior, they gloated in it. It made them feel so superior, so much more evolved.

Anger surges in me, but I don't want to think about them right now. I don't want to think about anything; and I don't want Brian to either. While he moves round trying to make sure we won't be interrupted, I strip off my clothes. Then, as he finally comes to me, I pick up the ice cream. I just need to fetch a spoon. I wiggle my ass at him as I head for the kitchen, and on the way back, I sway my hips so that my half erect cock swings heavily.

He's naked now, spread out not on the couch, but on the chaise longue, and it's not the thought of the ice cream that has my mouth watering.

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Brian

Last night, before we starting in on the ice cream, I took time out to switch off all the phones, turned down the speaker on the machine, locked the door and switched on the alarm. This morning, though, I'm still deliberately avoiding checking to see if there are more messages. While he goes right on sleeping, his breath a slight wheezy rattle, I piss, clean my teeth, put the coffee on, and then, figuring he deserves … something, to refuel, at least … after his stellar performance last night, I pull on my coat to jog down and get him some of those wicked pastries he likes so much for breakfast.

He didn't wake up when I left the bed, which means he must be totally wrecked. I'm not surprised. I'm feeling a bit worn myself. But he … he excelled himself. One of those times when I can only hang on while he rides my cock and hope to Hell he doesn't break it off. Fuck! but it was hot.

For a moment, I'm ready to thank my lucky stars or whatever that I didn't go out last night. I sure as Hell wouldn't have found anything half as hot at that lame-assed party.

Then, with a sudden shock, I realize luck had nothing to do with it. Not last night. Last night I chose to stay with him. I made a decision, and for once, it was the right decision. Not because it was the so-called "right" thing to do. Or not only that. But because … because I came out the winner all the way around.

I not only had a spectacular fuck … series of fucks … but I got to share them with the man who really has become my partner. Then this morning I got to wake up and I didn't have to feel like a total shit because for once I hadn't behaved like a complete fuckwit whose only brain is in his pants. So now I get to feel like maybe I'm finally getting a clue, and maybe I can give him enough for him not to have to leave me; that maybe he isn't going to have to go to someone else to get the kind of love he needs, the kind of love he deserves. I get to feel that maybe I can actually give him that, and what's more, I can give it to him without having to cut my balls off to do it.

It's a revelation, boys and girls. It's a fucking epiphany.

With a rush that makes me feel like … I don't know, like I can handle anything, as long as he's with me, I bound up the stairs.

First, I'll make sure that the coffee's okay. Then I'll clear all those messages. Then I'll wake him up, and feed him pastries in bed, and lick all the sugar from his lips, and then …

All those plans are put on hold when I open the door and hear her voice.

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Justin

When the pounding at the door starts I wait for Brian to respond to it. Then it gradually seeps through my brain that he's not in bed with me. Shit! I must have been more tired than I thought; I nearly always wake up at least when he gets out of bed in the morning, even if I do go straight back to sleep. While I haul myself up and pull on enough clothing to at least be able to answer the door, my mind is making some sort of inventory of the sounds in the loft. No shower, no tuneless humming while he shaves, in fact no noise of any movement round the loft, just that damned pounding and … my heart, that had begun to lurch a little for some weird-assed reason, settles back into a steady rhythm as I take in the burps and gurgles coming from the coffee maker in the kitchen. Wherever Brian is, he hasn't gone far, and he's not planning to be long.

Warmed and bolstered by that thought, and by the sting in my ass, and the sweet ache of my muscles, I haul the door open.

Debbie.

It figures.

I hope wherever he is Brian stays away long enough for me to deal, and get rid of her. He so doesn't need her shit on top of everything else.

She stomps in, her eyes darting around the loft.

"Where is he?" she demands. "I want to talk to that asshole right now."

I stifle the urge to tell her to take herself off to Mikey's in that case. "He's not here," I say quietly. "What do you want, Deb?"

"You know what I want, Sunshine. I want you and that asshole to apologize for making a shambles of my son's party."

I shake my head. I know my best hope of getting rid of her in a hurry would be just to agree, but I can't. I just can't. And the fact that she's here, pushing Mikey's agenda in our faces is just making me angry all over again.

"Ain't gonna happen, Deb," I tell her flatly.

She bristles, even the hair in her wig seeming to fizz with indignation.

"You owe me that much, you ungrateful little shit," she says. "You both do."

I look at her for a moment, weighing my options; but I'm angry, and I'm sick of this shit, so despite the fact that I'm afraid Brian's going to walk back into the middle of it, I finally figure, what the hell, and just let it spill, even though I know she's probably never going to really hear what I'm saying.

"I'm not Brian," I tell her, quietly. "You can't play that game with me."

She stares at me, her face going red and her jaw sticking out. "What the fuck does that mean? Listen, Sunshine, I took you in when your own family …"

"You took me in. Yes. And I will always be grateful for that. But you can't play on that with me the way you do with Brian. You can't use it to get me to let Michael off the hook every single time he fucks up."

She glares at me, but before she can say anything, I go on, the words spilling out of me, my voice getting louder now, "You've always done that to Brian. Always. You still do. You twist things and somehow make him responsible for everything that goes wrong with Michael, and if you can't do that, you make him feel guilty if he doesn't at least put everything else in his life aside to clean up whatever mess Michael has made. And Brian's always let you."

I look her in the eye and lean forward a little so I'm right in her face.

"But I'm not Brian," I repeat, "and that game doesn't work with me. Brian wasn't responsible for what happened last night. I was the one who let Michael have it, and there is no way that I'm apologizing to him. He more than asked for it. He behaved like a total shit, and then he goes running to you and everyone else crying about how mean I was to him when I called him on it.

"Well, you know what?" I shout into her astonished face, "Too bad! Too fucking bad if his party got messed up. He should have thought of that before he changed the one fucking panel I wanted put into that stupid fucking comic and then sprung it on me in the middle of his party, like the sly lying little sack of shit that he is."

I guess I know what's coming because I'm already starting to duck when her hand comes up. But before she can swing, her arm is caught, held, in a tight grip and a harsh voice that I hardly recognize says, "You. Do. Not. Hit. Him … in the head. You hear me? You don't do that. You don't ever do that."

Fuck me!

One look into his face, and all thought of Debbie, Michael, or anyone else has gone. I move towards him and he lets go of her to put his hand on the back of my neck, squeezing it gently. I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his chin and he presses his forehead against mine for a moment.

Then, together, we turn to Debbie. Her eyes are on Brian, wide and startled. She's been shocked into silence, and her cheeks are white under her makeup, the blush suddenly too red, turning her face into a clown-like mask.

"Brian," she says, all worried Mom now. He lifts his head to stare down at her. I can still feel the tension radiating from him.

Her eyes turn to me, and suddenly they fill with tears, "Sunshine, I'm sorry. I didn't mean … I didn't think …"

Brian snorts, and somehow I know he's thinking just what I'm thinking - that that's probably just what that asshole Hobbs said, "I didn't mean … I didn't think …"

Like somehow that makes it okay to lash out at someone - as long as you don't think about it first, it's alright. What a load!

But I can't think about that right now.

I step forward a little, putting myself between Brian and Deb, keeping her attention on me, so Brian can have time to get his head back from the space that he only visits in nightmares; never, if he can help it, while he's awake.

"Deb, the thing is … this is between Michael and me. It doesn't involve Brian, it shouldn't involve you."

"You're both my boys," she protests, but feebly.

I smile at her. "We're big boys now. We have to fight our own battles, and clean up our own messes."

She looks at me for a long moment, and then, to my horror, the tears that had been threatening, spill down her cheeks.

"Why is he behaving like this?" she wails. "It's just like when he was with David. He just … he just turns into someone I don't even know."

I pat her arm helplessly, while behind me I feel more than hear Brian sigh. He walks off towards the kitchen.

"If you want to turn off the fucking drama, you can have some coffee," he says over his shoulder. "But it's too early in the morning for this."

She settles herself on the couch, obviously determined now to talk this thing to death.

She shakes her head at me. "Sweetheart, I don't blame you for being mad at him."

I grimace, and sit beside her. "Deb, I meant it. You should stay out of it." I might as well have saved my breath.

"I was right there in the diner when you two were planning how you were going to launch this issue," she says, as if I hadn't said a word. "It was such a great idea. Such a good way to support the cause and get publicity for the comic."

Well, she obviously had been listening, because that was just what we'd worked out, why we'd decided to do it that way.

"And then he just …"

She looks at me again with those lost eyes, and I feel myself getting angry with Michael for all new reasons. "I don't understand him, Justin. I really don't. He's been so … so spiteful … not just to you, or to that asshole you live with…" Brian walks in just then to hand her a cup of coffee and a Danish, and she gives him a ghost of Debbie's normal shit-stirring grin, before going on "but to everyone. To Emmett, even. And God knows, poor Emmett deserves better from him. Em's never been anything but a good friend to Michael, but the other day that son of mine was in the diner telling me how ridiculous those new friends of his thought Emmett's TV show was, and how Michael was embarrassed to admit that he knew him, and how it was a relief when they took it off the air. And poor Emmett walked in. I didn't know where to look."

Her voice wobbles, and she looks so sad that instead of wanting to kick her out, I want, more than ever, to kick Michael's ass from here to Harrisburg for making her feel this way.

To everyone's surprise, including his own, probably, Brian sits down next to her and gives her a big kiss on the cheek.

"Don't worry about it, Maw," he advises. "Mikey's just a bit carried away with the whole suburbia thing. He'll grow out of it."

Over her head, our eyes meet, and the rueful grin in his lets me know he had other plans for this morning than comforting Deb over the behavior of her asshole son, but … she's our Mom too, I guess. With a stifled sigh, I head for the kitchen to fetch the coffee pot, and some more of the pastries. Looks like she might be here a while.

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