Revelations
The night Brian finds
out Justin doesn't like broccoli is a normal Thursday in every other respect.
He watches Justin surreptitiously push it out of the way and go to work on the
lemon chicken instead. He doesn't eat the grains of rice that are touching the
broccoli.
"Why aren't you eating that?" Brian frowns. He doesn't cook that often,
but he knows how to steam vegetables, goddammit.
Justin looks up with his mouth full. "Don't like it," he mumbles around
the chicken.
"Since when?"
"Since always." He takes a sip of wine and clears his throat.
"But you like cauliflower."
Cauliflower isnt green.
You eat Debs string beans. Those are green.
Brian, what the hell? I dont like broccoli. Ive never liked
it. Why do you care? Justin scoops the last of his rice into his mouth
the part not touching the broccoli and swipes at his face with
his napkin.
I dont, Brian replies tersely, and takes Justins wineglass
out of his hand on the way to the kitchen.
* * *
Brian watches Justin and Daphne giggle together on the couch. He can see one
fair head and one dark one over the back of the sofa, and is momentarily envious
of how easily they lay curled upon each other. Brian wants to work on the background
of the ad layout on his computer but finds himself listening to their conversation
instead.
So you think I should give him a blowjob before we have sex for the first
time? Daphne has a new boyfriend and Brian smirks to himself.
You dont want to give it all away, Daph. Blow him first, fuck him
second. Justin says this with authority.
You gave it all away, Brian interjects, and Justin ignores him but
Daphne beams over the edge of the couch.
And then he told me about it, she says cheerfully, and Brian snorts.
I did not, Justin protests hotly, but Brian knows its a lie
because Justin told anyone who would listen about the night he got his cherry
picked.
Daphne sighs and struggles to sit up, pushing Justins legs off her and
reaching for her jacket. The news said were not going to get snow
for a few days, she informs no one in particular. Brian understands why
she and Justin get along so well. Both of them tend to talk whether anyones
listening or not.
I bet by tomorrow, Justin says, and puts a hand on his left shoulder.
Is it hurting? Daphne asks, and Justin shrugs.
A little.
Brian looks up at this and watches Justin absent-mindedly rub his arm. Is
what hurting?
His shoulder, Daphne answers, putting on her wool hat. The
one he broke.
Brian blinks. Broke?
When he was twelve. He climbed up a basketball hoop to get my sweater
that was stuck there. He came down a lot harder than he went up.
How gallant, Brian says dryly, still eyeing Justins shoulder.
Not really, Daphne replies cheerfully. He was the one who
threw it up there. He felt bad when I cried, so he got it down. Sucker.
Justin smiles ruefully. Now I have my own built-in weather forecaster,
he says. Hurts before it rains or snows.
Handy, Daphne laughs. Bye, Brian. Justin, text me, okay?
And then shes gone, and Brian notes that its a lot quieter without
her, but thats not necessarily a good thing.
You broke your shoulder, Brian repeats, watching Justin pick up
the discarded throw pillows.
Yeah, Justin shrugs. It sort of sucked.
Why didnt you ever tell me about it?
Whats to tell? It hurts every time it gets cold. I thought you noticed.
How would I notice that? Brian snaps his laptop closed and leans
back in the swivel chair.
Justin accepts the silent invitation and straddles his lap. What do you
think the Icy Hot under the sink is for? My dick?
Hey, Im not one to question anyones sexual aids. Brian
punctuates this thought by rolling his hips under Justins firm ass.
I wouldnt cross sexual aids off your shopping list,
old man, Justin says against Brians mouth, and gives his top lip
a gentle nip.
Im not the one with arthritis in his shoulder.
Its not arthritis, Justin murmurs in his ear, and Brian feels
the ever-present erection against his own. It just gets a little stiff
in cold weather.
Among other things, Brian notes, and Justin grins.
They fuck in the chair, slowly, and by the time Brian comes, hes forgotten
about Justins shoulder.
* * *
The air is cold and bites at Brians exposed cheeks, and he is thankful
for the fleece-lined leather protecting his hands. Hes pretty sure the
metal bar on the diners door might stick to anyone unfortunate enough
not to be wearing gloves.
He unconsciously searches for a tousled blond head and spies it in the second
booth from the corner. Justin sits with Emmett, familiar blue hoodie making
his eyes stand out in sharp contrast to his wind-reddened cheeks, hands wrapped
around a coffee cup.
He doesnt see Brian, so Brian meanders slowly across the crowded restaurant
full of Debbies regulars, and arrives at Justins booth in time to
hear Emmett say, Sweetie, we all come to the realization sometime. Some
of us do it early, some of us do it late, and some of us live in denial and
never do it at all. Yours sounds pretty normal to me.
I guess, Justin murmurs, and then Brian sees him laugh. Whats
normal these days anyway?
Exactly, Emmett agrees cheerfully, and squeezes his hand across
the table.
Neither of you are normal, Brian comments, dropping into the booth
and receiving a bright grin from Justin. What the hell are you talking
about?
Oh, the young lad was regaling me with stories of his youth, Emmett
sighs.
Hes still a youth, Brian says, and raises a hand to Debbie
for coffee.
And arent you lucky, Emmett grumps. He was telling me
about The Realization.
Brian blinks at him.
You know, Emmett says, waving his coffee cup around. The Realization
we all have. When we know were gay, and oh fuck, what are we going to
do with our lives? Then we move on? That Realization?
Brian looks at Justin, who is studying his hot chocolate intently. I dont
think I know that story, Sonnyboy, he says sweetly. Why dont
you share it?
How can you not know? Emmett says. Everyones lover knows
how their partner discovered the world of gay.
Brian smiles benevolently at Justin, who avoids Brians eyes and swirls
the liquid around in his cup instead. Yes, Justin, Brian says sweetly.
Everyones lover knows that. He knows Justin picks up on the
sarcasm because the corner of his mouth tightens.
Poor Justin, Emmett giggles, square-dancing in eighth grade
with a boy.
Justin chances a look out of the corner of his eye and Brian puts his tongue
inside his cheek. And thats the big discovery?
Realization, Emmett corrects. Its the Realization.
Justin was paired off in eighth grade P.E. with
who was it, honey? Brad?
Chad, Justin smiles a little, Chad Terrance.
Yes! Chad. And Justin. Square dancing. And that was when our brave wee
Justin realized that he got that special tingle when he and Chad do-si-doed.
Brian snorts and Justin shifts uncomfortably. Not a real exciting story,
Justin says.
I could have discovered that for myself, Brian says, if Id
known it. Hes pissed off at himself for being pissed off, so to
hide it he gets up and shrugs his jacket back on. Later, boys.
He leaves them both sitting there, Emmett blissfully oblivious and Justin staring
sullenly at the tabletop.
* * *
Brian observes Justin for two weeks while pretending he really isnt. He
buys Charles Chips in the can at the store and leaves them on the bar at home.
Justin is happily devouring them when Brian gets home from work. Thanks!
he says as soon as Brian walks in the door. Whyd you buy these for?
Arent those the method of heart attack you prefer? Brian hopes
theres still bourbon left in the cupboard because it was a fuck of a day.
These are the best. But you never buy them. You make me eat Baked Lays.
They were on sale.
On sale! Justin giggles. Do you even know what on sale
means?
Fuck, Justin. I saw them, I bought them, I figured it would get me a blowjob
or two. Why is this an inquisition? Brian is irritated suddenly, because
all he really wanted to do was show Justin that yes, he does happen to know
some things about him even if its just the brand of potato chips
he likes.
Justin is eyeing him strangely. Yeah, hey. Its not an inquisition.
Thanks.
Brian grabs his keys from the counter and goes to the baths without changing
his clothes.
* * *
Dinner at Debs on Sunday is loud and warm and familiar. Brian eases back
in his chair and drops his fork on his plate. No, he says firmly,
when Debbie hovers with the pan of ziti, ready to plop a second helping.
Skinny bastard, she mutters, and delivers Brians share to
Ben, who beams at her and digs in.
Put that plate in the oven for Sunshine, she says to Vic, motioning
to the overloaded dish next to the stove. Hell be along in a while.
Where is he? Michael asks, pretending to care, and Brian shrugs.
I dunno. Panhandling? I hope he brings home more tonight than last night.
Debbie clucks at him. Hes at Melanie and Lindsays, like he
is every Sunday afternoon. You know that.
Melanie and Lindsays. Brian feels his own brow furrow and
tries to wipe his expression clean.
Oh yeah, Michael chimes in. With Gus.
Gus? Ben asks, and Brian is oddly grateful that someone else asked.
He watches Gus for them on Sundays, Michael mumbles around a mouthful
of bread. Probably so they can go to a hotel and fuck. Ow! He rubs
the back of his head where Debbie delivers a stinging slap.
Why the fuck does he do that? Brian demands, his voice rising.
Because hes a good boy, Debbie nods, setting a Boston cream
pie in the middle of the table. All parents need some alone time. Justin
volunteered to watch Gus for a few hours on Sunday afternoons. Hes been
doing it for three months, Brian, are you fuckin blind?
Yes, Deb, Brian says, standing up and throwing his napkin down on
his empty plate. I guess Im fucking blind.
* * *
Justin wanders in close to ten oclock, foil-wrapped leftovers in hand.
Hey.
Hey. Brians eyes are blurry from staring at his computer screen
and he wonders if a hit or two of the joint in the bedroom would help. He figures
probably not.
Deb sent you pie. She said you left without dessert. She also said you
were behaving like a moody asshole, and I said how was that any different from
how you normally act? Justin puts the pie in the refrigerator and goes
to drape himself over Brians shoulders. Thats not a good font.
Try Garamond Bold.
Brian does. It works, so he changes it.
So
youre being kind of weird, Justin tests.
Brian brushes him away. Quit breathing marinara in my ear.
I could breathe somewhere else, Justin grins, kneeling down next
to Brians chair and reaching a hand between his legs.
Later, Brian says brusquely, and Justin sits back on his heels with
a thoughtful look.
See? he says. Weird.
Brian slams his laptop closed and pushes away from the table. You know
whats weird, Sonnyboy? The fact that you know me well enough to know when
Im being weird. Thats whats fucking weird, Justin.
Justin frowns and looks at the floor. He raises his eyes to Brians again
and Brian can see the puzzlement there, Brian can fucking see every goddamn
emotion Justin feels because his eyes never lie, and Brian has no fucking idea
how this twenty year old kid can be so transparent and such a mystery at the
same time.
Were supposed to know each other, Justin says carefully. Were
partners.
Yeah? Brian asks. Partners? You like that word, dont
you? He gets up and stalks to the bedroom, leaving Justin kneeling on
the floor with a wrinkle in his forehead. He tears open the top drawer of the
nightstand and rifles through it, looking for the joint. When Brian turns around
again, Justin is standing at the foot of the bed.
I do like that word, he says defiantly.
Brian rolls his eyes. You would.
Whats that mean? Justin crosses his arms and Brian prepares
for full fight mode.
It means that you twist it to fit your own cozy definition of it, Justin.
It means that knowing someone only works when youre
the one who knows shit. Is it a fucking game or something? Do you go and chuckle
to yourself when you find out theres something else I dont know
about you? Do you and Daphne keep a scorecard of how many things you can find
out about me while keeping yourself a goddamn mystery? Brian is yelling
now, and he cant help it, and he also knows how ridiculous he sounds.
This only serves to feed his unexplainable fury.
Justin cocks his head and looks at him curiously. I dont hide anything
from you, Brian. Did you ever think about opening your mouth and asking?
And then hes gone, and Brian hears the loft door close. He doesnt
slam it, which says a fuck of a lot more than if he had.
* * *
Brian doesnt get as high off the weed as he was hoping to, which either
means that his dealer fucked him, or his head is too full of other things to
absorb the effects of the drug. He chooses the former.
He is studying the ceiling when Justin comes back an hour later. Too short for
a trip to the back room, too long for a quick pout in the stairwell, so Brian
really has no idea where he went or what to expect. He watches the ceiling some
more, and waits.
Justin stands like a wraith in the doorway for five minutes before Brian lifts
his head to contemplate him. Back so soon? Pickings slim?
Justin blinks, slowly. Brian notes the blue of his eyes in the half-light. You
know stuff, he says.
I know stuff, Brian repeats, and lays his head back down on the
pillow.
Yeah, Justin says softly, and Brian feels the bed dip as Justin
puts one knee on the edge. You know lots of stuff.
Mmm, Brian says thoughtfully. Youre right. I know how
to pitch an ad. I know how to drive a manual transmission. I know how to give
a rim job thatll make the virgin Im screwing worship me forever.
Thats a lot of stuff.
I mean stuff about me, Justin tells him gently, and Brian closes
his eyes against it because he can handle anything from Justin but tenderness.
Tenderness sparks things that Brian Kinney doesnt want to deal with outside
of his own son.
Justin slides across the bed and winds up stretched out along Brians length,
smelling of wind and rain and Brian guesses he wasnt out tricking or sulking
but just walking instead, walking and thinking, because lately Justin has taken
to doing that.
Brian realizes that maybe he does know some things after all.
You know what I like, Justin whispers against his neck, nuzzling
into the hollow behind Brians ear. You know how to get me so hard
that I cant even think. You know how to suck me off like no one else.
He brings a leg over Brians hip and nudges his erection into Brians
side. You just know me, Brian.
And Brian closes his eyes and listens to Justins soft murmurings, letting
the words wash over him and allowing them to be oddly soothing, breathing in
Justins scent and the fresh clean smell of his hair. And when Justin gathers
himself even closer, close enough to press hard into Brians hip and make
small noises in his throat, Brian turns to his side and expertly strips them
both.
Naked and lean and tangled together, Brian puts his knowledge to work, gaining
confidence with each sigh and whispered assent from Justin. He draws his tongue
across Justins stomach because he knows it will bring goosebumps, he tugs
the silver nipple ring because he knows it will cause Justin to gasp and open
his legs wider, and he entwines his hand with Justins because he knows
it will make Justin clench his fingers around Brians tightly enough to
bring a twinge of pain.
Brian knows all of it, and uses it to his advantage.
They fuck face-to-face because its Justins favorite position and
because Brian doesnt fuck anyone else that way, ever. The intimacy
of it is enough to make Brian look away sometimes, to avoid Justins eyes
because everything he doesnt want to see or is he past that now?
is always right there, staring at him, and most of the time Brian just
avoids the issue altogether.
But sometimes, the avoidance of it isnt as important as the dealing with
it, which Brian finds himself willing to do more and more, and thats just
fucking scary as all hell. But when he can make Justin arch and writhe and whisper
his name, dealing with the intimacy seems to be exactly what Brian wants to
do.
Maybe hell consider the ramifications of that in the morning.
Right now, he wants to consider instead the boy beneath him, the one meeting
his gaze without blinking, the one with his tongue darting out to moisten his
top lip before bringing Brians head down to his mouth. Brian kisses him
once, hard and fast, and then breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Justins
while he squeezes one hand between them to take Justins cock in a firm
grip.
Justin bucks at the contact, his teeth making white marks in his lip. Brian
knows what to do now, he knows all he has to do is whisper something dirty and
Justin will come, spilling all over Brians hand. But then it would be
over, Brian reasons, and he doesnt know why its so important because
theres always another fuck where this one came from, but there it is.
In the end, it turns out that Justin knows some stuff too.
He clenches his ass tightly around Brians dick, making Brian gasp unexpectedly
and squeeze his eyes closed, and Justin doesnt let up. He sets up a rhythm
of squeezing and releasing, timing it with Brians thrusts, until Brian
grunts, Fuck, Justin, this is about to be over if you dont stop.
Thats the idea, Justin laughs, and then groans when Brian
brushes his thumb over the wet head of his dick. He opens his eyes and looks
at Brian. Together, he insists, and Brian wants to laugh off Justins
romantic notion of sex, but somehow he cant.
So he rolls his hips and strokes Justins length, and Justin closes his
eyes and swallows hard and whispers his name, and then theyre both coming
and pushing against each other and Justin is shaking beneath him.
* * *
Im thirsty. Soft whisper.
So get up.
Comfortable.
So quit whining.
But thirsty.
Jesus! He gets out of bed with an annoyed sigh.
No ice! It "
Hurts your teeth. He pauses in the doorway, looks back at the boy
in the bed. I know.
~End