Normal
Justin figures that acting nonchalant when Brian mentions going away
and Vermont in the same sentence is probably for the best. Any outward
display of emotion would almost ensure the cancellation of any plans Brian might
have.
So they talk about it without getting into details, although Justin does a little
snooping and finds the plane tickets. A little more snooping uncovers suite
reservations, and just when Justin is wondering when the hell Brian is going
to tell him about it because, Jesus Christ he cant just take off for a
vacation without telling Deb he needs his shifts covered, Brian drops the lift
tickets on the table.
If I have to hear one more time about how fucking lonely you were in Vermont
without me, Ill kill myself. Brian ponders for a minute and then
says, And that would deprive a lot of guys. So were going. Together.
Okay?
Justin hides a smile and says, Okay.
When Justin wakes up with a sore throat on the morning that theyre supposed
to leave, he thinks its best if he doesnt say anything.
* * *
He manages to muster enthusiasm for some night boarding when they get there,
conveniently forgetting his raw throat and pounding head, and sneaks four Advil
in the bathroom later. It gets him through dinner, although he avoids the wine
and hopes Brian doesnt notice, and then gives Brian a passable blowjob.
He takes longer than usual to come when they fuck and lies there limply when
theyre finished.
That good, huh? Brian murmurs into his hair, still draped bonelessly
over Justins back.
Yeah, Justin lies, and hopes Brian attributes the hoarseness in
his voice to the aftermath of passion.
I want to start early tomorrow, Brian yawns, and slides off Justin
to lie beside him. Before every amateur airdog on the mountain is cutting
me off.
Sure, Justin says weakly, and thinks that surely the tightness in
his chest will be gone with a good nights rest.
Brian chuckles. Go to sleep, you sound exhausted. I suppose I was in rare
form.
Justin wants to brat something snotty at him, but his eyes are too heavy.
* * *
Brian is gone when he wakes up.
Justin stumbles to the window and throws open the curtains, wincing and blinking
at the mid-morning sun glittering off the snow. He wishes he could appreciate
the view of the mountain, dotted with skiers and snowboarders, but the light
is making his head hurt.
He draws the curtains and heads back to bed.
Brian returns two hours later, ebullient and red-cheeked. His face is cold when
he leans over the bed and nuzzles into Justins neck. Youre
missing prime snow.
Justin shrugs away from him and burrows further into the covers. Jesus,
your nose is freezing.
Turn over, Brian says sharply, and Justin opens one eye.
Why?
Because.
Justin eases to one side, trying to suppress a cough but only succeeding in
choking on it. Brian narrows his eyes at him.
Are you
youre not
sick? The distaste in Brians
voice is palpable.
No! Justin insists, and sits up. I was just gonna get up.
Are you going back out? He swallows over the soreness in his throat and
smiles brightly.
Brian looks doubtful but relieved. Yeah. Was gonna eat something first.
They call for room service. Justin eats most of his french fries but pushes
his sandwich around. When he sees Brian eyeing it, Justin takes it apart and
eats some of the ham until he doesnt feel Brians stare anymore.
He forgets his sore throat on the mountain, although the crisp air makes his
chest tighten even more. But the feeling of boarding down on fresh snow works
like the best medicine possible, and Justin takes every mogul he can find while
Brian laughs and jumps them too. Justin thinks maybe this is sort of how the
surfers out in California and Hawaii feel.
They fall together once, when Justin cuts sharply in front of Brian and Brian
cant turn in time, and Justin gets a face full of snow for his efforts.
Brian also shoves some down the back of his neck for good measure, so Justin
spends the next hour with a damp, cold sweater inside his ski jacket.
When Justin cant feel his feet any more and his fingernails start to turn
blue even though his gloves are fleece-lined, he says, I gotta go in.
Brian looks longingly at the run they just finished. One more? he
says, and looks so boyishly charming that Justin almost agrees just to make
him happy, but his headache has returned with a vengeance.
Go for it, he waves vaguely at the run. I need a hot shower.
Dont get out till I get there, Brian replies, and heads once
more for the lift.
Justin watches him go. He starts coughing in earnest on his way back inside.
* * *
The shower is quite possibly the most blissful thing hes ever felt, orgasms
aside.
He lets the water rain down, absorbing the heat of it and feeling it burn his
toes the most, because theyre the coldest. He thinks maybe he could fall
asleep right here. Justin wonders what Brian would say if he found him curled
up on the floor of the tub.
He does sit down on the edge for a second because his leg muscles are trembling,
and leans his head against the tile. It is cool against his cheek, and he closes
his eyes.
Brian finds him that way fifteen minutes later. What are you doing?
His voice is loud in the small bathroom. It echoes off the tiles and Justin
looks up at him through the spray. Getting warm. He wonders why
it hasnt worked yet.
Brian strips, leaving a pile of ski clothes on the bathroom floor and climbing
into the shower next to him. He takes Justins upper arm and drags him
to his feet, burying his face in Justins wet neck and sucking the water
droplets there. Justin cant find the energy to even loll his head back
for Brians tongue, so he drops his forehead to Brians chest instead.
He guesses hes been leaning against Brian for longer than he thought,
because Brian suddenly puts a hand under his chin and lifts his face up. Hey.
What the hell, Justin? Are you even alive?
Yes. Justin gives his head a shake, and reaches half-heartedly for
Brians dick.
No thanks, Brian says, and moves out of reach. Look at me.
Justin brushes his hand away. Im good. Its fine.
Oh, for chrissakes. I asked you this morning if you were sick. Brian
sounds as disgusted as is humanly possible, but Justin thinks he detects worry
there as well.
Just a sore throat, he says dismissively, and then coughs hard enough
to bring tears to his eyes.
Jesus. Are you contagious? Brian looks horrified at the thought.
Probably, Justin glares, and coughs on him. Brian jumps a foot away
and grabs the paper-wrapped soap.
Now I have to be disinfected, he grouses, and Justin suddenly doesnt
want to deal with his own illness and Brians insanity all at once.
He gets out of the shower and doesnt bother to dry off. Leaving dripping
puddles across the floor, Justin climbs shivering into bed and breathes in the
scent of dryer-scorched hotel pillowcases. He wonders if the downstairs gift
shop has any NyQuil. Then he figures it doesnt matter, since hes
not moving from this bed for at least 12 hours.
Justin half-listens to Brian finish his shower and then the buzz of the electric
razor Justin got him for his birthday last year. Justin assumes that means Brians
going to check out the clubs, since he wouldnt shave for any other reason,
but he cant be bothered to care.
It sort of worries him that he feels too sick to give a shit if Brian goes out
or not.
But then, a very short time later, Brian is crawling into bed with him and curling
his warm body around Justins cold one. He smells of hair conditioner and
soap and Justin wants to cry. Thought you were going out, he croaks,
and wishes for water.
Nah, Brian says, and Justin feels him shrug. Nightlife here
leaves much to be desired.
But you shaved, Justin continues, sure that Brian will be annoyed
at the interruption of his scheduled blowjob.
Stubble gives you razorburn, Brian whispers, and rubs his smooth
cheek against Justins bare shoulder.
Justin thinks maybe he imagined what Brian just said, and falls asleep smelling
Brians aftershave.
* * *
Hes not any better the next morning.
He wants to be, he even tries getting up when he hears the room service waiter,
but one look at Brians alarmed face makes Justin think maybe he shouldnt
be walking around.
His spinning head is his next clue, and when he starts coughing again, Brian
takes him by the arm and firmly steers him back to bed. Stay here,
Brian instructs, while the room service guy hovers just outside the bedroom
door, waiting for his tip.
Okay, Justin says agreeably, and thinks that going back to bed is
the best idea Brians ever had in the history of his entire life.
Cough medicine magically appears and Justin tries to ask where it came from
because hes pretty sure Brian hasnt gone anywhere. But Brian just
glares and tosses a spoon onto the bed, so Justin swallows the sickly-sweet
orange stuff without protest.
The medicine makes him feel better enough to sit up in bed and watch Brian poke
at his laptop. You should go out, Justin rasps, feeling guilt prick
at him.
Brian grunts something unintelligible and types faster, so Justin lies back
down and listens to the clicking of the keys. Abruptly, Brian stands up and
comes to loom over the bed.
You hungry?
Justin makes a face. Blech.
Im going out. Brian pulls on his jacket and grabs his boots
and board before Justin can say Good.
He says it to the empty room anyway.
* * *
But an hour later, Brian is back, his snowboard suspiciously dry. Justin listens
with half an ear as he ambles around the suite, picking up magazines and dropping
them again. The television flicks on and then off, and finally Brian stops next
to the bed. You okay?
Great, Justin coughs, his chest constricting painfully. Fantastic.
Wanna have sex?
The corner of Brians mouth quirks. Im not that hard up.
Maybe I am. It couldnt be further from the truth, and Justin
is afraid for a second that Brian might take him up on it and Justin thinks
that having sex right now could kill him, but then Brian is chuckling amusedly
and stretching out on the bed.
Ill take a raincheck, Sunshine. You can owe me five blowjobs. Thats
about right.
Justin wants to make a witty retort, but he figures the cough medicine is making
him fuzzy because he cant think of anything to say. So he sighs and tucks
his head into the warm spot under Brians arm.
Brian lets him.
* * *
Justins vague feelings of guilt grow into something he cant ignore
when his coughing forces them both to spend a sleepless night.
He tries to retreat to the couch around two in the morning, but Brian gets up
and shouts at him to get back in bed. Justin complies, if only to keep Brian
from waking up the entire floor, and Brian throws a heavy arm over him. Dont
get up again, dumbass, Brian mutters, and pretends to sleep.
At four, when Justin tries to hide his coughing but only succeeds in making
the bed shake, Brian starts muttering again and disappears into the bathroom.
He reappears with the vile orange cough syrup and holds it out to Justin without
a word.
Justin ignores the spoon and takes a swig right from the bottle.
Nice, Brian sighs.
Oh, Im sorry, Justin snarks. Did you want some?
Brian snatches the bottle from him and slams it down on the nightstand. What
I want, honey, is to maybe fucking sleep tonight. If I have to drown
you in that medicine, so be it.
Well, Justin says, and yawns so widely he thinks his face might
split.
Thank God, Brian grouses, and climbs back into bed.
They sleep till noon, when Brian wakes Justin up and packs him into the rental
car.
* * *
Justin spends two more days in Brians bed before Brian goes crazy from
the constant coughing and drags him to the doctor. Justin figures Brian lasted
a day longer than he expected him to, so Justin goes without protest.
Three days and six pills later, Justin asks Debbie if he can come back to work.
He can tell shes about to say no, but he tries the thing on her that he
usually uses on Brian where he looks up through his bangs and blinks a lot.
She pinches his cheek and says, Dont be fuckin coughing all
over the food, all right?
He doesnt. His cough all but disappears by the end of the week, and Justin
takes as many shifts as possible. He takes overtime when its offered,
working both late and early hours, crawling into bed on most nights long after
Brians fallen asleep and waking up to catch the breakfast shift.
The guilt lingers.
Justin spent the better part of six months pondering their missed vacation,
thinking to himself that if Brian would just give in and go away with him, life
would change and birds would sing and flowers would bloom.
Then he stopped being a fucking silly faggot and forgot about going away, which
was exactly the time Brian decided he wanted to. Justin wonders if that wasnt
on purpose.
So it just all fucking figures that Justin would get sick, because he cant
remember a time when he and Brian ever had anything that wasnt marred
in some way. And usually, now that Justin looks back on it, the marring had
something to do with him or directly relating to him.
Justin loathes martyrs.
* * *
He mopes around loathing himself for another day or two before Brian hunts him
down. This only serves to send Justin further into the doldrums, because of
course he must have subconsciously hoped for Brian to come searching for him.
At least, thats what he used to do. Patterns dont break that easily.
Brian waits until half past midnight, when its too early for the drunks
to pour in off the street and too late to catch the before-Babylon crowd. He
sits in the corner booth and fixes Justin with a steely gaze until the night
manager nudges Justin and says, Youre off. Your boyfriend just ended
your shift fifteen minutes early for you.
Justin thinks hed rather work another three hours or so than get into
it with Brian, because its late and hes tired and the tuna sandwich
he gobbled at eight isnt going very far. But he shoves his apron into
the dirty linens basket next to the trash can and drags his feet reluctantly
to Brians booth.
Well, hello, Brian says sweetly as Justin plops down across from
him. Wanna come to my place? The twink who shares my space is never there.
You want me to see your etchings? Justin tries to joke, but he mistakes
Brians sarcasm for humor. Its easy to do, since Brian has about
eleven different shades of sarcastic and Justin never knows which one is which.
No, Brian says, and speaks in the low voice he uses when he wants
Justin to come while theyre fucking. I want you home.
Ive been home, Justin says lamely, and draws designs on the
paper placemat with his fork.
Mmhmm. You leave your greasy work jeans on the bathroom floor, thats
how I know youve been home. Oh, and the Vaseline got moved from the nightstand
to the bathroom counter. Jerk off much?
Justin feels himself blushing although he knows Brian jerks just as much as
he does. The only reason Brian doesnt do it more often is because his
dick is usually occupied. Justin chances a look at him.
Brian smiles and slides out of the booth. Leaning over, he whispers in Justins
ear, Whatever martyred idea youve got in your head, Justin, get
the fuck rid of it. I dont fuck saints.
* * *
Justin goes home to a dark loft that smells faintly of the expensive cologne
Brian put on earlier. Too exhausted to sleep, he pads around for a while before
ending up in the bedroom. He strips his shirt but not his navy track pants,
and sleeps fitfully in the empty bed. Ad mockups and paperwork surround him,
scattered carelessly on the floor.
He is awakened an hour later by the smell of sex and Brian. Slow and warm, Brian
crawls on top of him, sliding easily over the nylon of Justins pants and
draping himself across Justins bare back. Justin turns his face to the
side and receives a mouthful of tongue as Brian leans his head down for a kiss,
and Justin can tell immediately that Babylon was less than fruitful.
Home early, he says, and his voice is scratchy with sleep.
Brian makes a noise of disgust. Nothing even remotely close to good.
Youre spoiled, Justin murmurs, arching his neck as Brian tastes
his shoulderblade. I guess thats my fault.
What can I say? You learned from the best.
Justin chuckles and Brian presses his hips downward. Justin feels him, hard
and ready. He waits for Brian to strip them both, but Brian seems content to
rock against him instead, nestling his face in the hollow between Justins
neck and shoulder.
Justin can tell that the cotton on the inside of his pants is causing soft friction
against his own dick, and he wonders idly if he could come that way. It hasnt
happened since he was seventeen, so he figures probably not.
But Brian seems more determined for it to happen than Justin does, because he
pauses to remove his shirt but not his jeans. He slides back into the same position,
fitting himself into the crack of Justins ass and sighing to himself as
he rolls his hips. It presses Justin into the bed, and the blanket that he fell
asleep on top of is bunched between his legs. Justin realizes that every time
Brian pushes down on him, the blanket hits him in just the right spot. Justin
thinks this could be a disaster, since hes not really making any sort
of move to dislodge it, but he can probably hold on long enough to enjoy it
before he reaches a point of not turning back. And then Brian starts whispering
to him.
I could get you off, he says silkily, moving with deliberate rhythm.
Justins cock jumps involuntarily. Like this? I doubt it. Although
he thinks maybe thats a lie, since Brian can get him off just by murmuring
his name.
Really? Want to see?
Justin is about to laugh him off when he feels Brian slide a hand underneath
his bare chest to play with his nipple ring. The touch of the cool metal against
his skin as Brian fingers it is an instant dart of arousal to his cock, and
now he knows I doubt it is definitely a lie.
So fucking embarrassing.
But he cant help groaning softly when Brian purrs in his ear and grips
the sheets on either side of Justins head for leverage, using his whole
body to rub against Justin and push him against the sheets and blankets.
The only face-saving Justin can hope for is that Brian comes first.
So he puts his head down again and lets the man on top of him lull them both
into an easy rhythm, feeling how hard Brian is against his ass and reveling
in the pressure beneath him against his dick. Brian is moving with more urgency
now, breathing heavily and grinding against Justins back, not concerned
in the least that hes about to come in his jeans like an adolescent.
Justin sort of likes the spontaneity of it, but would never confess.
He lets Brian rock him against the bed and he presses his own hips down into
the blanket, amused at both of them playing like teenagers but too hard and
horny to do anything except groan and go with it.
It sort of goes a long way in shattering the martyr complex, Justinll
give Brian that.
And then thirty seconds later Justin realizes that Brian coming first isnt
going to happen, because he can feel his orgasm building as Brian rocks him
hard into the bed. He gasps out loud just as Brian bites the lobe of his ear,
and then Justin is coming all over the inside of his pants. Brian follows suit
a minute later, grunting and clutching the bedclothes.
The sticky mess doesnt seem to bother either of them, because Justin notes
that they dont move for a long time. He knows Brian isnt asleep
because his breathing remains light in Justins ear. His weight is heavy
and comfortable.
Predictably, Brian is hard again within minutes. Justin is absurdly pleased,
although he realizes it doesnt have much to do with him personally. Brians
dick is in contact with ass, which equals erection, but since Justins
orgasm didnt do anything to take the edge off, its fine with him.
Brian peels off their damp clothing and rolls on a condom without ever moving
from his position, but by now Justin is too anxious to care how he did it. He
rolls on to one hip and takes his own dick in hand as Brian slides in, both
of their necks arching from the sensation, and Justin strokes himself hard and
fast.
He knows Brian is watching him jerk his own cock because he feels Brian clutching
his hip, flexing his fingers to the rhythm Justin sets, speeding up when Justin
does and then slowing down with him too. Its a small power but Justin
uses it, taking little victories where he can. He thrusts into his own hand,
feeling Brian long and tight inside, and does the one thing he knows Brian cant
hold out on. Justin clenches his ass tightly, squeezes it as hard as he can
on Brians downstroke, and groans Brians name.
Brian chokes out, You bastard, and then comes, shuddering and groaning
against Justins shoulder. Justin lets himself come then, jerking into
his hand and spilling all over the dark sheets.
Brian pulls out after lying atop Justin for long, sated minutes. Justin watches
him slowly clean up, Brians body lean and muscular in the darkness. He
disappears into the bathroom and Justin hears the water run while Brian brushes
his teeth, and then hes out again and bending down to Justin with a minty
mouth. Justin kisses him back, Brians tongue cool from the toothpaste.
So, Brian yawns as he crawls over Justin into bed, are we
done with the hiding?
Hiding, Justin says slowly, not turning around to face him. What
hiding?
Brian snorts. God. Three fuckin years and you still dont learn.
Christ, Justin, whatd you think I was gonna do? Have a fuckin fit
because you got sick?
Justin turns his head just enough to see Brian over his shoulder. Its
been known to happen, he shrugs, hoping he sounds as unconcerned as he
wants to.
Brian takes his hands from behind his head and lets them drop to the covers
in frustration. Oh, fuck me. I cant win. Im an asshole, you
pout. Im not an asshole, you hide. Can you just fucking tell me what will
make you act like a normal human being and Ill try to do it?
Justin starts to smile a little bit at the thought of Brian Kinney doing anything
anyone tells him to do, and Brian grins too. The tension is broken, momentarily
at least, and Justin sighs and lies back on the pillows. I dont
think anyone acts like a normal human being.
Yeah, well. Normal is as normal does.
Oooh, youre smart.
Fuck you. Brian punctuates this with a kiss to Justins cheek,
and Justin feels the tiny dart of the tip of Brians tongue against his
skin.
Night.
* * *
Six weeks later, Justin comes home to find Brian fiddling with the printer for
his computer.
Goddamned ink. We need a new cartridge. Is there a new cartridge? Fuckin
printer.
In the junk drawer, Justin tells him, hunting through the refrigerator
for water.
Junk drawer. I never had a fucking junk drawer before you started living
here. Theres no cartridge in here oh, here it is. Is this black?
It looks blue. Brian stares at the box for a minute before Justin calmly
takes it from him.
Its black. Let me put it in for you, since it seems to be confusing.
He rolls his eyes at Brian, who scowls.
Fine. Just put the damn thing in so I can print something.
All right, all right. Christ, whats the matter with you? Justin
doesnt really expect an answer as he inserts the print cartridge into
the casing. He pushes the blinking light and the printer happily starts up,
resuming the job it had started before presumably running out of ink.
Justin waits while the printer spits out paper and Brian slouches on a barstool.
It finishes its job and Justin pulls the paper from its tray, not bothering
to look at it while he hands it to Brian. Brian studies it for a minute and
then says, Put this somewhere I wont forget it.
Justin eyes him strangely and takes the paper. He brings it all the way into
the kitchen and puts it on the refrigerator with a magnet before glancing at
it.
He supposes that the confirmation number for a hotel in Vail is meant for him
to see, but Justin wont risk it by asking.
~End