Principles
Justin wonders what it would be like if Brian just woke up one day and stopped
tricking. He imagines it often in his head, playing out the scene in a hundred
different ways, trying to decide which one is the most favorable and what his
reaction would be.
What really happens is that Justin is the one who stops tricking, and it takes
Brian nine days to notice.
When he does, his voice is accusatory.
You didnt let the new guy blow you. The one with the killer stomach.
His eyes are narrowed on Justin while Justin wonders if three oranges will be
enough for two glasses of juice.
Huh? Oh. No, I know. Wasnt in the mood, I guess.
Youre always in the mood.
Justin just shrugs and thinks he better let Brian have the juice.
* * *
Brian comes home late from negotiations with the company he is freelancing for
and stops short in the doorway. Justin is sitting at his computer wearing sweats
and a t-shirt.
Youre not dressed, Brian says.
Im not going out, Justin says, like that explains everything.
Brian slams the door behind him. The fuck does that mean.
Why is that hard to understand?
Oh, dont do that. Dont get all righteous and lofty.
Justin blinks slowly and turns back to his computer with a shake of his head.
Okay, he says in a tone that Brian interprets as his dont
upset the crazy man voice.
Im going out, Brian says loudly.
I figured, Justin answers, and adjusts the blue of his picture from
cerulean to indigo.
Brian discovers he really doesnt have anything else to say. He changes
out of his suit into his jeans and when he leaves, Justin is muttering to himself
over his artwork.
* * *
The sex doesnt change, which makes Brian even more suspicious. He wants
to draw some sort of correlation between Justins outside sexual jaunts
and the current affairs in their own bedroom, but cant find one. Justin
is just as eager and open and willing as always, which normally would please
Brian to no end, but instead it pisses him off.
I know what youre doing, Brian warns him late one night when
Justin is still sated and warm beneath him, although Brian really has no fucking
clue.
Justin turns his head to look behind him and Brian has to will himself not to
smooth away the damp lock of hair stuck to Justins forehead. About
what? Justin asks, confused.
You stopped fucking guys, Brian tells him. And dont
give me some lame excuse.
So, what? Im fucking girls now?
Youre not fucking anyone! Brian fumes.
Justin looks pointedly over his shoulder to where Brians dick is still
in his ass. Whats that?
Dont do that thing where you pretend you dont understand.
I know theres a brain in that pretty blond head. Brian disentangles
himself and moves to sit against the headboard.
Justin pushes himself up on his elbows. Since when does it matter who
I fuck?
Since you stopped.
* * *
Brian forgets about it for another two days because he manages to convince himself
that it isnt important. He remembers at the Giant Eagle.
Fleet Week at Babylon, he says casually, while inspecting the salmon
in the meat case. All-you-can-eat navy boys.
Cool, Justin answers, but it sounds to Brian exactly like How
boring.
Wear the silver mesh. Youll get more ass than you know what to do
with.
Can we get the good bread? That low-carb shit isnt bread.
Not all of us are this beautiful by accident. Some of us need to work
to keep our girlish figures. Brian puts the low-carb bread in the cart
and jerks the basket out of Justins grasp. So, you want to meet
me there after Im done at work, or should I stop by and get you?
Uh. Neither, I think. I want to finish the thing I was working on.
He does not sound apologetic. Brian wants him to.
Put that crap back on the shelf. You do not buy wine at the grocery store,
and especially not in jug form. What thing are you referring to?
Not like you have schoolwork anymore. Slightly cruel, but Brian feels
dickish.
Rage, is the vague answer, while he cruises the aisle for cheap
liquor.
Brian takes Justins chips out of the cart when he isnt looking.
* * *
It doesnt really get embarrassing until other people start to notice.
Wheres Justin? Ted shouts over the thumping bass.
Brian looks around at him in mock surprise. Theodore! Out on a 24 hour
pass?
Hes been home for two weeks, Emmett yells in his other ear.
We had a welcome home party that you ignored.
Brian chooses to ignore that too and leans both elbows on the balcony railing.
His eyes follow a brunet across the dance floor who looks like hes got
a sock shoved in his pleather pants. Brian maybe would have fucked him if it
werent for the pleather.
So where is the young lad? Emmett asks, after shooing Ted off to
the bar to fetch another Scarlett OHara.
Brian debates how to answer and settles on who gives a fuck. Its
not my night to watch him.
Emmett snorts delicately. Its always your night to watch him. Why
hasnt he been catting around lately? Not normal for a growing boy.
Brian lifts one shoulder in a see-how-much-I-dont-care shrug. I
didnt notice.
Mmm, Emmett says nonchalantly.
Brian eyes him. Isnt there someplace else you can practice your
pathetic attempts at conversation?
Sure, Emmett says, unoffended. He spots Ted returning from the bar
and pushes off from the balcony. Ill leave you to keep tossing pennies
into the fountain of youth. Oh, wait
hes not here. Ta.
Brian watches him flounce down the stairs and spin Ted toward the dance floor.
Ted looks pitifully happy.
* * *
When its been fifteen days to Brians knowledge he
takes Justin out to dinner and tries to get him drunk. He figures drunk Justin
is more apt to tell him whats going on than sober Justin, who doesnt
fuck around anymore and makes him nervous.
When Justins cheeks are flushed and he starts giggling uncontrollably,
Brian hauls him into the bathroom and pins him face first against the cubicle
wall. He doesnt even bother lowering his own pants, instead finding it
easier to just unzip and take his dick out. Justins pants are around his
ankles, the little whore, and he spreads his legs and presents smooth, beautiful
ass.
Brian presses into him, not caring that theres no lube, wanting Justin
to just fucking feel it and want it and need it, and if the way Justin is whimpering
is any indication, he does.
Brian puts his forehead on the wall next to Justins ear, and with a slow
thrust, says The wine steward wanted to do this.
Justin sucks in breath and shakes his head, and Brian can see hes stroking
himself.
He wanted you, Sunshine. He wanted you more than he wanted me. Which
totally isnt true, but Brians on a mission.
Justin arches his neck and says Youre so hard, ohmygod, hurry up.
Just hurry, Brian, Im gonna come any second.
Should I invite him back with us?
No, Justin groans. No.
Why? Brian purrs in his ear, making sure to nuzzle the tiny hollow
behind Justins lobe. Hes hot. I bet hes good for a couple
rounds.
I dont need him, Justin pants. I dont need anyone.
Theres you. Thats all there is.
And then he gets it, and its not a relief or an answer or the epiphany
he thought it would be. Its Justins reasoning, pure and simple,
and Brian is fucking furious.
Fuck you, Brian hisses in his ear, and Justin comes with a sharp
intake of breath.
* * *
Brian has plans to ignore Justin completely until he comes home two nights later
and sees him talking to Chris Hobbs.
They stand outside the building, and even from a distance Brian can practically
feel Justin vibrating with anger or fear or disgust or something, he
cant tell the emotion but as soon as he touches Justin hell know.
And he waits, waits to see what Justin will do and how it will play out, and
he stands there tense and ready and he waits.
The conversation is short, and Brian is too far away to hear clearly, but their
voices project a wicked sort of hate that he doesnt need to be close to
to understand.
After what seems like an eternity but is probably closer to five minutes, Brian
lets out the breath he is holding and watches Hobbs saunter slowly away from
Justin, not in any fucking hurry at all. And just when Brian is wondering whether
or not to even tell Justin he was there, he sees the little motherfucker turn
around.
Taylor, he calls, and Justin turns on the apartment steps. Brian
curses him for it, curses Justins fucking innocence and trust that cant
be squelched no matter who kicks him out or calls him faggot or
beats him on the night of his senior prom. So fucking trusting.
Hobbs smiles at him from halfway down the street and mimes swinging a baseball
bat, and then he is gone. Brians gaze goes immediately back to Justin.
Justin stands like a statue for a fraction of a second, staring down the empty
block, then abruptly turns and goes in. Brian looks at the sky.
* * *
He is in the shower when Brian makes it upstairs, so he leaves Justin to scrub
the distaste away and changes into his oldest, softest jeans.
Brian does not go in, even when he hears Justin slam his fist against the shower
door. The pounding reverberates through the loft. Brian sincerely prays for
the glass to hold because he just doesnt want to replace it right now.
Justin comes out and his skin is red enough to make Brian think that the water
must have been scalding. Must have gotten in his eyes, too.
Im not going out, he says abruptly, upon seeing Brian lounging
on the bed. Quit asking.
Brian makes a graceful shrug. Did I ask?
No. But you would have made some asshole comment about it. I dont
need asshole comments. In fact, I dont need anything, so just get dressed
and go out and fuck till you die. Leave me your Palm Pilot in your will.
He stalks down the bedroom steps and Brian hears him tossing pots around in
the kitchen.
Brian slouches down on the bed and contemplates the ceiling until Justins
curiosity gets the better of him. He pokes his head into the bedroom.
What are you doing?
Relaxing, Brian says, eyes still on the beams above him.
Thats not how you relax. I dont see any pot. Or liquor. Or
dick.
Brian reaches over and produces a joint from the nightstand. He lifts the waistband
of his jeans and cocks an eyebrow as he looks down. I got two out of three.
I think theres some Gray Goose in the freezer.
Whatever, is Justins clever response, and he huffs back into
the kitchen. Brian continues to lie on the bed until he hears breaking glass
and Justins muffled curse.
There is blood and one of the good wineglasses on the kitchen floor, and Justin
is standing at the sink. His head hangs down and there is a dishtowel wrapped
around his left hand. Brian only discovers the trembling when he gets close.
Let me see, he says, and is surprised when Justin does.
The cut is shallow but long and is persistent in its bleeding. Brian probes
it gently for glass and Justin holds the counter in a death grip with his other
hand. Fuck, Brian, youre not digging for gold in there. Fuck!
If youd stop shaking, I could see better, Brian says calmly,
and Justin curls his hand closed.
I can do it, he mutters, and turns to rinse it at the sink.
Brian turns him back. Dont be a baby. Just let me clean it.
He dampens the towel and wipes Justins hand carefully, picking out shards
of glass with his fingernails. When it is clean, he ushers him into the bathroom
to bandage it.
Justin watches Brians dark head in the mirror, bent over his task. Chris
Hobbs was here. He doesnt mean to say it but it comes out anyway.
I know, Brian says casually, taping the gauze. I saw you on
the street.
Justin draws a shaky breath and Brian watches a soft droplet splat against the
white cotton bandage. He ignores it.
I think he likes me, Justin jokes, and Brians heart squeezes
painfully at the attempt at bravery. He looks up, and Justin presses the heel
of his other hand against his closed eyes, fighting the tears away. When he
opens them again, they are clear and blue and Brian thinks of rain.
* * *
Michael calls at ten and wants Brian to meet him and Ben for a beer and a reminder
of why domesticity is for pussies. Brian thinks about asking Justin to come,
but South Park is on and Justin seems firmly ensconced on the couch. After ensuring
that there are no lingering effects of ChrisfuckingHobbs, Brian goes.
He returns from Woodys at half past midnight to find Justin still awake
on the sofa with all the lights off. Waitin up, Sunshine? You know
better.
Justin just looks at him with wide eyes and long lashes and Brian suddenly remembers
song lyrics he heard on the radio this morning, something along the lines of
be my savior and Ill be your downfall.
Brian wonders when honesty stopped being his best policy.
Justin, he says, and tries to project boredom into his voice, are
you ever going out again? Because this is getting really fucking tiresome.
Brian knows that him even asking the question belies his words, but hopes Justin
wont notice.
Justin always notices. Brian. Jesus. Its not like Im cramping
your style or anything. Does it really matter?
It matters! Brian explodes, surprising both of them. It matters
because youre trying to make this a happy little fucking queer home! This
is not a home, Justin, and we are not in a relationship, and we
will never be life partners. So quit with the dramatics and just go out
and fuck someone already!
Oh, Justin says sagely. Okay. Were back to this.
What? What in hell are you being so condescending about? Brian is
suddenly furious again, conveniently forgetting his anxiety over Hobbs and bleeding
Justin. The fury feels better. More familiar. Much more welcoming than the worry.
Justin peruses Brians face, not in the least cowed by his anger, which
of course pisses Brian off even further. Brian sneers, Youre useless,
and goes to the bar, where he yanks his Jack Daniels out of the cupboard and
pours a shot.
Justin turns on the couch and sits up on his knees. He rests his hands on the
back of the sofa and watches Brian slam down the liquor.
Brian, Justin says softly, look at me. I mean really look
at me. At who I am.
Brian looks, despite his fury and helplessness in the face of Justins
power.
Brian looks.
I do not want to change you, Justin says, and his eyes are so young
and so old all at once. Were done with that. Were past that.
If I want something to change, the only thing I really have power over is me.
Did you not get that, when we got back together? I said it, didnt I?
And Brian feels a tiny, miniscule flash of shame, because even though Justin
had said the words, Brian hadnt believed him. Brian hates liars. Especially
when the liar is himself. The feeling of helplessness grows until Brian feels
caged, trapped in his own anger. He runs a hand through his hair and eyes Justin,
standing there as calm as you please, and has the overwhelming urge to fight
or fuck or scream or hit; he needs an outlet because this is just too much goddamned
feeling for one day.
I love you, Justin continues, as if Brians emotions arent
already reeling.
Brian sets his jaw stubbornly at that, but Justin smiles a smile too wise for
a kid barely two decades old. Go ahead, freak the fuck out, its
not like you didnt know. Not like I havent said it before or anything.
Brian raises his eyes to the ceiling. Jesus, he mutters. Grant
me patience.
Justin chuckles and repeats himself. I love you. You asshole.
Brian stares at a spot over Justins shoulder but his lips quirk slightly.
I know, he says, not unkindly.
That youre an asshole?
Watch it.
Justin gets off the couch and takes a step closer. You think you know,
he says. But the words are surface, Brian. Theres more underneath
that you never see. You wont see. You dont want to see. He
pauses and takes a deep breath and Brian tenses, sensing Justin has something
to say that Brian isnt going to like. It wont make you less
of a man to let me love you.
Brian hears the words and wants to be angry at this punk of a kid for his insight
and wisdom, because no one should be able to see into his psyche that way. Especially
if theyre twenty years old and wearing scuffed Adidas sneakers. He knows
he wants to be pissed, should be fucking raging at Justin for his impudence,
his goddamned nerve for telling Brian what does or doesnt make a man.
But Justin has crossed the floor and is standing close, so close that Brian
can see the fine gold tips of his eyelashes, and Brian just cant muster
the energy to be mad. And especially not when Justin threads his fingers through
Brians and brings Brians hand to his mouth, and he can feel warm
breath as Justin whispers to him.
I never said I was trying to make us a couple, he murmurs
against Brians skin, which is ridiculous anyway, Brian knows. Theyre
already a couple and Brian doesnt quite understand how that happened.
He fought it hard enough. Its just that
huh. Im not
sure what it is, Brian, I just didnt feel like fucking strangers anymore,
you know?
And Brian doesnt know, because fucking strangers is part of his genetic
makeup and its as natural as eating or breathing or
well, fucking,
and Brian cannot admit to himself even a little bit that Justin finds him to
be enough. Because that would be admitting something about his inner self that
could possibly be redeeming, and Brian doesnt do redemption. Even for
himself.
Especially for himself.
So when Justin looks up at Brian and sees wonder on his face, he decides not
to comment on it. Instead, he touches his tongue to Brians knuckles, tasting
salt and warmth, and skims his mouth down to the edge of a finger. Justin puts
his tongue there too, feeling Brian tighten his fist subconsciously, and takes
the finger into his mouth where he sucks on it until Brians hand goes
limp and his eyes are closed.
Sex as a weapon, Justin? Wherever did you learn such tactics? Brian
tries not to shove Justin to the floor, because that most likely would demonstrate
a lack of finesse.
From fucking strangers, Justin grins against his hand.
Brian laughs, he cant help it. Sometimes the kid is just genuinely amusing.
But then amusing changes into something else when Justin lifts his shirt over
his head and presses against him in the dark; smooth skin and soft sighs against
Brians neck and Brian instantly wants him. Just him, only Justin, and
Brian doesnt care that he ranted and railed at Justin for wanting the
same thing.
Brian thinks Justin is enough in this minute.
Justin is fiddling impatiently with Brians fly, his bandage impeding him,
and Brian bats him away. Take it easy, youre going to hurt something.
Jesus. Are you always this lame? No wonder you dont want to go out. Youre
probably embarrassed by your lack of skill.
Justin makes a face. Why do you always talk when Im trying to seduce
you?
Thats what this is?
Christ. Just shut up.
And Brian does, dragging Justin to the couch because the bedroom is so fucking
far away, and he needs. Brian needs.
Justins sweats off, Brians buttonfly undone, practiced rip of a
condom wrapper and Brian is in, pushing and breathing and needing. Justin faces
him, legs spread wide and urgency on his face and pressing back, whispering
and whimpering his name.
Brian.
Brian feels, puts his forehead against Justins and concentrates. Its
so goddamn tight, Justin knows how to squeeze him as he pulls out and contract
as he pushes in, and Brian has to quick, think of baseball or the stock market
or Melanie, because he cant come yet.
Not yet. Not when he wants to watch the boy beneath him close his eyes and draw
sharp breaths as his cock rubs against Brians stomach. Not when Justin
arches his neck beautifully and Brian leans down to bite on it, wanting to mark
him and leave a reminder for tomorrow, because tomorrow Justin might decide
to go tricking.
Tomorrow.
Brian pauses to feel Justin around him and Justin protests with a wiggle and
a groan and a whispered, Brian, not now. It almost does him in,
but he holds on by thinking of junk bonds and insider trading and then he can
breathe again.
Justin has his hands in Brians hair and is dragging his mouth down, not
kissing him but just holding Brians lips a breath above his own while
he rubs against Brians stomach, desperate for friction. Brian revels in
the neediness, capturing it, wanting it. Wanting Justin to go out of his mind
and remember who sent him there, wants to hear him say Brians name while
he comes.
But then Justin proves himself a worthy opponent, because he starts lifting
himself up to meet Brians thrusts, opening himself wider, and although
Brian grits his teeth and yanks Justins hair to tear his mouth away from
Brians throat, its too late and Brian comes hard, so hard that he
feels his stomach clench and cant help gasping, Justin. Jesus Christ,
Justin.
Justin finally reaches the right rhythm and arches up against Brian, clutching
Brians bicep and leaving half-moon marks on his shoulder, panting against
his chest and muttering, Yes, oh God. Stay there, please, dont move,
pleaseohpleaseohplease. He stops for a fraction of a second, freezes in
place with his eyes screwed shut, and draws a sharp breath. Brian can feel him
jerk slightly against his stomach, then a spreading warmth.
They lie tangled and Brian listens to the ticking of the kitchen clock and Justins
breathing.
After a time in which Brian is sure that Justin has fallen asleep, he eases
out slowly, mindful of Justin being sore in the morning, but when he looks up,
Justins eyes are luminous. Hey, Justin says softly, and the
smile he gives Brian is so fucking full of sunshine that Brian feels guilt pricking
at him. He settles himself in the tight space on the couch behind Justin and
starts finger-combing Justins hair just to listen to him purr.
Mmm. Do that more.
Demanding bitch, hmm? Brian hums against his ear, making Justin
giggle and shrug against him.
More silence, which Brian finds comfortable.
Justin breaks it. Emmett called before.
Yeah? Whatd Queen of the Damned want? Im not fucking going
to his little benefit at the hospice, I already told him.
Nah. He was checking if we were going to the Shake N Bake at Babylon.
And what did you tell her majesty?
I said youd probably be there. And
and that youd tell
me all about it when you got home. Okay? His tone is unsure and hesitant,
and Brian doesnt like it. If youre going to have fucking principles,
then youd better sound goddamn confident about them.
Are you asking me or telling me?
Justin turns his head and grins up at him with such pure joy that Brian is torn
between wanting to cry and wanting to fuck him again.
Telling you.
~End