Agoraphobia

Chapter 7

“Do you mind if we kiss and lay like this for awhile then? Brian, I haven’t hardly touched another person in my life … and you make my entire body thrum … I’ve cum so many times since you dropped by just yesterday afternoon, it rivals the number of times I've cum in the last 7 years. Um, shit, in the last 35 hours or so, I've cum maybe… 9 times." (Why am I revealing this!???)

"You haven't cum more than 9 times in the last 7 years???" Brian shivers. "I guess the gay porn sites you surf online don't do it for you, huh?"

I snort. "Well, I'm exaggerating about cumming just 9 times in 7 years. But we haven't even fucked and you turn me on so much… it's like I have this visceral, raw, sexual reaction to you I've never felt before." Brian is now rolling his eyes and smirking. "And other feelings I have for you keep getting stronger, too…” I blurt out, then instantly blush and turn away.

“Lord, Justin, you’re getting maudlin and you’re fucking waxing poetic. Cut the crap.” He leans up and sucks gently on my neck and then trails his luscious lips in feathery kisses to my mouth… fuck! He probably kisses me more to shut me up than anything else. I *was* starting to get a little maudlin there. But I don’t care so long as he's kissing me now. We finally part slightly and look at each other.

I notice that Brian looks conflicted and I suddenly get concerned. “Justin," he says, clearing his throat. "I think you think you’re falling in love with me- me, a man you met only yesterday. Not only is love a crock of shit, but even if *you* believe in it, love is *not* what you’re feeling for me. You’re lonely. I’m the first person you’ve talked to in a long time. From what you've said, I'm also the first man you’ve kissed or even touched at all intimately. Sunshine, you have a crush, based on years of isolation…” he stops there. "What you feel is not love. Don't get hurt."

I don’t say anything for awhile. I know a crush. I had a crush on Ashton Kutcher a few years ago. And what I feel for Brian isn’t a mere crush. (But it's weird that Ashton and Brian look a lot alike.)

Plus, I know me enough to know that this isn't a crush. But I also know that Brian's very set in his beliefs about love, boyfriends, etc… “Oookay," I say finally. "But Brian, I haven’t been lonely. I was – am- afraid of people; except you. I'm not afraid of you at all. I really enjoy you. I feel at ease with you. I feel safe with you. I don't know if you understand how unbelievable that is. And it's not just that I enjoy your company and feel 'at ease' and 'safe' with you- I really… fuck, never mind."

I find myself hoping he doesn't take a chopstick and stab me in the eye for all this stuff I'm saying. I'm *trying* to keep from crossing lines with him, but I just can't seem to! Yet when he doesn't react by yelling at me or killing me, I impulsively continue. "Yes, I love the talking because you’re interesting, intelligent, funny, true to yourself and straightforward, and yes, I love the physical because have you SEEN you? Shit, having had no human contact for years, I can't believe that I get this Adonis at my door – it's kind of amazing... But that's not all of it. It's you, Brian.

"This is NOT a crush. So, I don’t agree with you about how I feel about you- but let’s just let it go at that and we can talk about the fucking/making love/love/crush/isolation thing later."

Brian looks at me awhile, like he’s studying me. “Well, I honestly can’t tell you how to feel. But I’m just warning you. I'm warning you about me and about what I suspect our feelings are based on. And I've told you my feelings about love.”

“So noted. Plenty of times. Your bases are covered. No obligation.

"Now: enough talk.” I lean down for another deep kiss and we grind against each other for what seems like only minutes but in fact is more than an hour. He’s a fantastic kisser. I’m scared to ask him how I kiss, having had no experience. We’re both moaning and our kisses go from hot and wet to gentle and tender and back again. I’m embarrassed to say I cum three times just from this contact; thank the lord that I have the robe partially covering my cock between us.

“How many times have you cum, Sunshine?”

Oh shit! So much for terry cloth, eh? I feel myself get warm, blushing deeply and I duck my head into the crook of his neck. I don’t say anything for a moment or two.

He sees that I'm morbidly embarrassed. “Justin, it’s hot; all we’re doing is kissing and I’ve felt you cum at least twice.”

I lift my head and look at him sheepishly. Then I hold up three fingers and he grins at me wickedly. “Very nice,” he says and I know my blush deepens.

“Have you? Cum, I mean? Tonight?” I ask shyly.

“No, Sunshine, but I could have; I’m just a little more experienced than you- don’t worry about it, honestly. You’re an excellent kisser for someone who’s never done it before.” I smile. He kisses me again. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up? I’m sure it’s not very comfortable being all slimed up.” He winks.

I reluctantly stand, embarrassed that I’m hard aGAIN and I go into his bathroom, which he points out to me. I get cleaned up and he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor when I get back. My robe’s a little wet since I had to wet a paper towel to get my cum off the cloth. Fuck, I feel so loose and good and wonderfully spent, even if still a little embarrassed.

I notice Brian’s on the phone ordering something- we did some serious damage on the Thai, and it’s been out here on the floor for hours now.

“What’d you order?” I ask when he hangs up.

“Are you staying?”

That stings. “Um. I… I don’t…I don't have to if you have plans or want some privacy, n…no.” As usual, when he unnerves me, I stammer. It's become an annoying pattern.

“You’re welcome to stay if you want. I just ordered Indian. I’ll have to go grocery shopping at some point. Though I’m not much of a cook.”

“Um. Brian, I cook well. I have groceries that were delivered the day before yesterday. Want me to cook instead of ordering Indian?” I ask shyly.

He smiles. “Sure- if you go get the supplies. Can you do that alone, or do you want me with you?”

“Could you come with? I’m still a relative out-of-my-apartment virgin." Brian laughs at that, which makes me grin. "Brian, don’t forget to cancel the order you just placed.”

He does so, and yet again, he walks the distance between our apartments with me. There and back, he reminds me that we still have the photo album to look through – I think he does that mostly to distract me from any rising panic I might have in the hall, which works because I quickly gather the supplies and we walk back to his apartment without me freaking out. Georgia follows us to his apartment; Georgia: ever Brian's adoring fan.

“Hey, Sunshine, while you’re cooking, do you mind if I go run a quick errand?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

"I won’t be long.”

****************************

I happily cook up some chicken breasts with orange juice and mustard on a bed of rice; it's tasty but will be odd enough to surprise him. I hope he likes it. I’m pretty sure he will.

It takes 30 minutes on the stovetop to fully cook both the rice and chicken so I leave it simmering on the burner with the lid on. I set the table and put out some water bottles at each setting. I don’t know if he wants beer or wine or soda- he can choose when he gets here.

I eye the photo album and I figure I’ll wait for Brian to show me the pictures- they might inspire more stories. And possibly him straddling my back again to show the photos to me.

I can’t BELIEVE I hyperventilated when he did that.

It was just that he was so close, pressed against me, wrapped around me, so strong yet gentle, and his head right next to mine as he spoke softly in my ear- it drove me wild. Not to mention the feeling of his quite obviously huge cock hard against my back! Dammit- I’m getting all hard again just thinking about it. I’m going to need a testicular transplant – my nuts are going to drain away at this rate! Although, that's not what I’m finding to be the case; it's like there's more cum in me than I ever had before.

I pick up the album and put it on the table, away from where the food will be. Just then, Brian comes through the door, something hidden in his overcoat. At first I think it’s a bottle of wine by the way he’s holding it; but then he goes to a box and pulls out a large fishbowl, puts it at the center of the table, and presents me with a bag. A bag with a goldfish happily swimming inside.

I laugh and at the same time, I'm so fucking touched, I’m also crying like the wuss I seem to have become in the last two days. I take the bag with the pretty goldfish and pour the little guy into the large bowl. “Thank you, Brian! This is so… well, fuck it, Brian- it’s sweet! Did you get a water purifier so we can add a little water?”

He makes a face at my mentioning that he's done something sweet; but he produces a small bottle of water purifier and a thermometer. “The temp of the water you add shouldn’t be over or under 2 degrees different than what he… she? you decide that part, Sunshine… anyway, the temp shouldn't be 2 degrees different than the temp of the water the fish is in now.”

“You know a lot about this…”

“My son has become a fish freak and I learned the hard way through him how to treat a tank right. Fish can be very sensitive; although goldfish are pretty hardy.”

“Does the tank need a heater? Stones? Plants? A little castle or a bubbly deep sea diver by a chest of gold-painted plastic coins?”

He crinkles his nose at my last two suggestions- I knew he would. “I have a small filter somewhere in this mess of boxes, along with some natural colored pebbles- none of that hot pink shit. That can be for Emmett’s tank." I quietly chuckle at that. Brian doesn't notice. "I have some fake plants too, and a 10-gallon tank. I have all of this somewhere in these boxes. It all just needs to be rinsed off – but Jus, we’ll want to keep the fish where he is while we prepare the tank. I just wanted to get the fish out of the bag into the big bowl so the water can oxygenate a bit,” he adds. He hands me the purifier and goes to root through the boxes. “Dinner smells good,” he says as he rummages. My gaze shifts from the goldfish to Brian. I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy towards him but I keep my mouth shut about that.

Then what he just said registers. “Oh, shit! Dinner!” I rush to the stove and turn off the simmering concoction. “I hope you like it, Bri; it’s chicken breasts with orange juice and mustard over rice.”

“Huh?” He pauses in his search for fish supplies with his ass in the air over a box, looking over his shoulder at me. “Doesn’t sound very good,” he comments glibly.

I grin. Fuck, I want to go over and caress his firm ass. “You’ll be surprised, Brian. It’s dry mustard, not French’s. It’s good food. I got it off an Uncle Ben’s wild rice box.”

“I’ll trust you up to the first bite. If I don’t like it, I’m calling the Indian place back.”

“It's a deal. What I'm making has curry in it too, so it’s Indian-esque.”

He smirks and resumes looking for the stones, tank, plastic plants and filter. He’s finally successful and comes over to put it all on the counter. “We can prepare the tank after dinner, if dinner's ready. The fish should be fine as he… she… as it is right now.”

Grinning, I serve Brian and then me, and put the pot of food on a hot plate away from our centerpiece- away from my… from our fish. “He’s very pretty,” I remark, looking closely at the shiny orange goldfish.

Brian rolls his eyes. “Pretty? What is *he*- a drag queen? He’s *dashing* if it’s a he,” Brian smirks and takes a bite.

I anxiously watch as Brian chews and swallows, waiting to see what he thinks of the food I've prepared. “Not bad,” he says. I've come to know that that's the highest form of a Kinney compliment and I smile broadly.

“Toldja!”

He snorts. “Whatever. So, what’re you going to name him/her? Er, the fish?”

I chuckle. “The fishie's a he. And I'm not naming him Gil!”

“'Fishie'? You are SOOOO gay!

"And Gil was a nice fish! A survivor, too, might I add. No way that fish in the movie would have survived being in that jar or being poured into a water jug in a restaurant or any of that shit. He'd have been dead within 10 minutes with that treatment.”

“You really like 'What About Bob', don't you?” I laugh. "I mean, you know it pretty well."

“No. I hate that movie, to be honest. Well, not 'hate'- but I'm sick of it. My mom likes it and every time I visit her, she invariably puts it in the VCR. I’ve seen it a lot. I tolerate it because she… well, as I said, Mom likes it.” He looks down. "She relates to it, I suppose."

“Well, it’s a sweet movie, really- the doctor’s a loser, but it’s a decent story. It’s kind of nice to see someone with my disease not only overcome it for the most part, but to see my disease dealt with humorously. Agoraphobia is kind of a marginal disease in the public eye; it’s nice that it’s not overly stigmatized in the movie.”

“I don’t know. I guess if you and Mom like it, the movie's okay- you're the experts. It's just that I actually found it kind of offensive to people with anxiety issues. I mean, Bill Murray- er, Bob- wasn’t completely agoraphobic in the way that you and Mom are and were; but it made Murray’s mental issues clownish…”

“It’s a comedy, Brian. It made equally as much fun of Dreyfus’ character; in fact, Bob was the likable one, not the doc.”

“Whatever. I don’t feel like critiquing an inane movie like ‘What About Bob’ over dinner.”

I chuckle. “Fine. But let’s see… what do you think of the name ‘Jiminy’ for our fish?”

“As in the cricket in Pinnochio? And 'our'?”

“Yes, 'OUR'. And, yeah- 'Jiminy'- why not? Jiminy Cricket was pretty cool, wearing a top hat and spats.”

Brian smiles at that. "You like that look, eh? Puttin' on the Ritz?"

I giggle. "Yeah. I think you'd look fucking hotter'n hell in a top hat and spats, Brian!" And I'd never thought about it before, but fuck: he would! "JUST a top hat and spats," I add, grinning evilly.

Brian snickers. “Hm. Maybe we'll go out and paint the town red someday.

"So, you really want a three syllable name like 'Jiminy' for a small goldfish?" he continues. "Interesting.”

"Yes, I want a big name for our small fish."

Brian rolls his eyes and gulps some water. Then he asks if I want a beer.

“Nah, thanks. I don’t want to walk home under the influence; I may end up down the block,” I say softly.

Brian laughs lightly and doesn’t bother to get a beer for himself.

“You go ahead though, Brian, if you want.”

“No- remember? I steer on these little walks of yours,” he says. I giggle and Brian looks at me funny. “I can’t believe you giggle.”

“I know. But I can’t seem to help it; but I haven't giggled or laughed in years till you showed up at my door yesterday.”

He rolls his eyes. ”So you've said. Still, I’m not sure how to take that, but whatever.”

“I meant that I haven’t giggled or laughed in years. You’re a good man; you make me feel like it's okay to laugh,” I say in all seriousness.

Brian ignores me and starts to clear the dishes.

I figure Jiminy is fine for the time being- he really has plenty of water and space in his bowl. Setting up the tank is more for aesthetic reasons. So, I get up and grab the photo album.

Brian says nothing as he rinses the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

I can’t help it- I scoot over to where we were before on the floor and crack open the album.

I’m faced with the most beautiful picture I have ever seen in my life: Brian, shirtless, unaware of the camera, holding his baby son cradled in his large hands in front of him. He’s looking at the newborn with such love it takes my breath away; he's leaning down to kiss the baby on the forehead. The caption reads “Newborn Gus with his Daddy”. Sounds like the munchers talking there- Lindsay, most probably, from what little I know.

“Brian…” I breathe.

He comes over wiping his hands on the dish towel to see what I’m looking at. “Fuck. You haven’t gotten past the first page?” is all he says.

“Brian, this is beautiful. I want to paint it. You look so in love; you're smitten! How old is Gus here?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, first of all, I didn’t know Lindsay was taking my picture; in this album, a lot of the pictures with me in them are sniper shots. In other words, I had no idea. Secondly, I think he’s about a week old there. Within a minute of this picture, Mel kinda ruined my mood by bitching at me yet again not to drop Sonny Boy.”

“Drop him? Why, had you before?”

“Of course not. It's just… it's just that Mel hates me, remember? She wants me out of her and Gus’ AND Lindsay’s life.”

“But you’re Lindsay's best friend- and more importantly, you're Gus' father!”

“Not by right, I'm not Gus' father. It’s a long, sordid story. All I can say is that at least I have a form of an ally in Lindsay. Not a very vocal one, but she does insist that I get to see my son sometimes, that I be a part of his life. She doesn’t have to, though, and Mel pushes her hard to keep me away from Gus because of my promiscuous lifestyle. I'm a bad influence, she says.”

What a bitch. “You signed over your parental rights? Why?”

“As I said, long story. Short version: Lindsay and Mel were having serious problems and Mel had no rights over my son. They pushed me hard to convince me to give Mel my rights so they could be a family again. Mel was such a cunt about it. She hounded me about it till I felt like, for Gus to have a whole family who loved him, it was in his best interest to give in. There were other factors like French au pairs and other things I don’t want to go into… Anyway, I always have said no apologies, no regrets." He sighs. "I ate my words on that when I signed over my rights to Gus. I regret doing it. But mainly I did it for Lindsay and Gus. And she hasn’t forgotten it; so as I said before, she kind of runs interference with Mel on at least that one point. I get to be with my son. When they say I can.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No apologies… no regrets…” he mutters unconvincingly.

Fuck. He sounds so sad. “Brian, why does Mel have such strong negative feelings about you?”

“I’m not sure. Emmett's proffered his opinion, unsolicited. Emmett by nature hates mean-spirited people. And Mel is, especially when it comes to yours truly. Emm says, unlike when he and I tease each other, we don't mean to really hurt; Mel does. Usually I ignore what she says or fight back if I feel like it. Anyway, Emmett says he thinks she’s jealous of me for all sorts of reasons. Linds and I are close, and have known each other a very long time. We even dated for a brief and tragic moment ages ago. He thinks Lindsay still has something for me, which he says has also made Mel jealous. And then there's the obvious, Linds and I have a child together. I think he’s crazy as far as her having 'something for me'- she’s a lezzie for shit's sake. Still, she and I have a very close bond together.

"Emmett's the only one who's said anything about it out of all the freaks- again, mostly because he just plain doesn’t like viciously mean people, and again, Mel can be viciously mean… mostly with me. The only time it bothers me is when she does it in front of my son. Which is often.

“Fuck this, Justin, I don't want to talk about Smelly Melly. Turn the page and let’s get this over with,” he adds.

I absorb the little story he just told me and I think I genuinely hate Mel. I take one last long look at this *extremely* hot father and his adorable son and turn the page.

Brian sighs. “Yet another case of candid camera. That’s Lindsay,” he points to a pretty blond woman who is holding Gus out to Brian to be held. “That’s Mel.”

I almost snarl. "Oh." Why I feel so protective of Brian I have no clue- he can very well take care of himself. But I can’t help it. “Who the fuck is *that*?”

Brian chortles. “Read the caption under the photo, my friend. That is your favorite person, Debbie.”

“That’s a wig, right?”

“Of course. She always wears it. She’s a real character.”

“I guess.” In the image, Debbie is fondly looking on as Lindsay hands Gus to his father. It looks like she actually does love Brian; she looks very proud of him. I guess when it comes to ‘Mikey’, Debbie has a blind spot and that's why she was so cold with Brian when she asked him to cut Michael out of his life.

I look down at all the picture labels. “And that’s Michael next to his mum, huh?” I point to the short, dark-haired, not very attractive man who is looking on the scene with his arms crossed across his chest. He looks mad and is standing away from the rest of them. “What’s up his ass?”

Brian laughs. “He was just having a hissy fit because this was his birthday party and Gus was soaking up all the attention. Mikey can be petty sometimes.”

“I’ll say! He looks like he wants to kill you and your kid!”

“No, he’s okay with Gus. He was just on the rag or something that day.”

I turn the page. I read the labels below the next image. “So this is Emmett and Theodore…” I can see what Brian means – Emmett looks very out and flaming; Theodore looks a bit stodgy but there’s no malice in his features -unlike Mel and Michael, for example.

“Actually, everyone but me calls Theodore ‘Ted’ or, in Emm’s case, ‘Teddy’. Still, whatever you wanna call him is fine. Sometimes I use 'loser'," he adds. "But yes, this photo is of the two of them last Christmas, decorating some poor Charlie Brown tree at Deb’s. Usually, she goes all out and gets a huge tree. This year, we all went to the tree lot and Gus took pity on this pathetic piece of kindling, so we got it. Sonny Boy had just seen a 'Charlie Brown Christmas' for the first time- well, for the first time that he could follow what was happening. That kid is so empathetic, he was literally crying for Charlie Brown and that ridiculous tree.

"I don’t dare let Gus see 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas'- *I* don’t even like it and I'm an insensitive asshole. I can't help but feel terrible for that poor dog.”

“But it ends well,” I offer.

“So what? That dog had to suffer a lot before the ending. I think Gus would have nightmares if he saw it.”

“Gus sounds like a sensitive little boy.” Probably a lot like you were, I think to myself. Until that Grinch of a father of yours beat you up every time you showed your sensitive side. I smile though. Empathy and kindness are still very definitely alive and well in Brian Kinney, just hidden behind a bit of snark.

“Yeah," Brian agrees. "Gus is very sensitive to others, be they cartoons or real. He adores animals- I'm guessing he's going to grow up and be a tree hugging environmentalist." Brian snickers. "He gets his sensitivity from Lindsay- sure as hell not me- *certainly* not from Smelly Melly. Mel rants and raves around that muncher house like a bitch on wheels.”

“Why don’t you bring Gus up here for a little while? I’d love to meet him- he’s 4 now, you say?”

“Yeah. He's 4. Almost. But Mel wouldn’t have him visiting me here. Actually, she wouldn't have him visiting me at all, if she had a say. She’d have a fit if he were to come all the way here. She'd lose it.”

“Fuck, Brian- you aren't scared of that bitch. But couldn't you have them all up here to stay for a little while. Again, I’d love to meet Gus. And Lindsay. Mel can stay home for all I care.”

Brian chuckles then shrugs. “I’ll be going there this upcoming weekend.”

I look down, ostensibly at the picture. But I'm cursing my agoraphobia. I feel badly I can’t go with him and meet this beautiful little mini-Brian. And meet Brian's friends and family.

Brian seems to notice my sudden silence and out of the corner of my eye I see that he cocks an eyebrow at me. “I’ll see if I can arrange something, Justin,” he says finally.

I grin and turn the page. There’s a photo of what appears to be everyone Brian’s told me about, standing around the Charlie Brown tree which is now fully decorated. “Hey, the tree looks pretty good!” I exclaim. “Just like at the end of the 'Charlie Brown Christmas' cartoon after everyone fixed it up all nice!”

"Between Emmett and Debbie, they garished it up pretty good. Gus was thrilled.”

“So, who’s Vic? You didn’t talk about him,” I ask, noting the label under an older gentleman.

"Which is stupid that I didn't; he’s been a big influence in my life. He’s a patient, kind man. He's Debbie’s brother. He's been HIV positive for some time now and has his ups and downs. But he’s wise, and much quieter than the rest of the family- especially compared to his sister and nephew. He’s very low-key and I went to him many, many times when I needed help or advice when I was young- er, younger. I guess in my regaling you about all the crazy characters in my little life, he’s so quiet I didn’t think of him in the context of all the high drama. But it’s not because he isn’t a great man.”

“He looks…”

“Older and a little weak. He is. But he’s got a powerful personality which hasn’t faded with age or the disease or the meds he has to take.”

I look at the other faces. “So there’s Mel again, huh? Shit, she looks mean!” I examine the picture closely and see that she’s pulling on Gus’ little hand like she’s getting him away from Brian. But Gus is turned toward Brian and is reaching for him with his one free hand. The child looks like he might throw a fit if she doesn’t let him go to his father. Brian looks like he’s about to crouch down to tell his son to go with his momma. “What the fuck is going on between you, Mel and Gus?” I blurt out. “Is she taking Gus away from you?”

He sighs. “Yeah. Fuck knows why Linds included this picture in the album- except I think it might have been the only one with a shot of the final, decorated 'Charlie Brown' tree before the film ran out."

"Gus looks like he's going to cry if he doesn't get you to hold him! He looks miserable!" It seems like Mel is yanking his little arm kind of hard to get him from Brian, too, but I don't say anything about that.

"Yeah, two seconds after this picture was taken, Gus threw a tantrum and even if we’d had more film, they’d all include a sad Gus. It was too bad- he loved that tree.”

“If you can get Gus to come visit and have one of his mothers to come, I think he'd love it. And as I said before, Mel can stay in Pittsburgh. I really don’t think I could stand her, Brian. I'd probably end up in a huge battle with her.”

“Aw, but you’re so shy and retiring and polite, Sunshine. You’d suffer through it,” he grins, tongue in cheek.

“I don’t think so…” I mutter and turn the page. “So, here's another of your ‘Mikey’, holding up a comic book. How appropriate!” I mock.

“Now, now, Justin. You’ve never even met him. Who knows- if you do meet him, you two might fall in love and elope to Toronto to get a nice quickie gay marriage. You two are about the same height, after all.”

“No WAY. No offense to your best friend, but he’s not my type at *all*.” I swat Brian on the arm but at the same time, I move closer to him. He’s sitting next to me on the floor; this time he's made no attempt to sit behind me like before, straddling me with both legs with the album in front of us. My asthma attack scared him away from trying that again, dammit. I decide to take a chance and I insinuate myself onto his lap.

“Justin…” he says, his voice low and wary.

“Nothing sexual, Brian. Just comfortable. My small body fits perfectly within your tall, firm frame, don’t you think?” I’m wheedling a little, even though what I say is true.

Brian sighs and wraps his arms around me. “Maybe, but I can’t sit cross-legged with your fat ass on me. My legs will fall asleep. Scoot up a sec.” I ignore the slight barb knowing if he thought I had a fat ass, he wouldn’t have been playing with it so much earlier when we were making out. I do as he asks and I grin as he resumes his position from earlier this afternoon, his long legs easily framing mine, a good 6-7 inches longer than my own, if not more. He has no shoes or socks on and I notice how beautifully shaped his feet are.

Okay, Taylor, you said not sexual. You're getting all hot and bothered… well, even *more* hot and bothered.

"This okay? You aren't going to flip out again, are you?" he asks quietly.

"No. I won't," I smile.

He then grasps the album in my lap and turns to the next page. In order to see though, he has to rest his chin on my shoulder again. Not sexual! Not sexual! Not sexual, Taylor! I focus on the image. It’s of Brian and Gus on the beach.

“Where’s this?”

“New Jersey, the other armpit of America besides the Pitts," he chuckles. "Maybe I should start calling my home the 'armPitts'. Anyway, New Jersey has some nice beaches for the most part, and it's close-ish to where we live. So, Lindsay, Gus and I have been several times. This was the first time Gus’d seen the ocean and he was blown away. I kind of am every time I see it, honestly, even though I've been many times. It's so vast, it's almost intimidating. Or, a better phrase'd be awe inspiring.”

“I’ve never seen the ocean,” I whisper.

“You will. You’ll see it, Sunshine.” He releases the album in my lap and gives me a small squeeze before opening the album back to that image.

“Did you know this shot was being taken?”

“Naw. I didn’t even know Linds brought a camera, for chrissakes. I was too busy playing with Gus in the waves to notice.”

I admire his sleek body in the photo, in his tight but not too tight swim trunks. “Glad to see you don’t wear Speedo’s.”

"Oh?”

“I just think they’re tacky and unflattering. I suppose they wouldn’t look that way on your body, but most men who wear them, shouldn’t.”

“Hm. I just don’t like the way they feel. Besides, I’m a modest guy.”

"Yeah. Uh huh.” Well, he *is* a little modest, actually. He doesn’t flaunt himself, when just about anyone who looked like him would. Well, I haven't seen him flaunt himself. He’s got good taste- he's simply very comfortable in his skin.

I examine the picture further. “Look at how hard Gus is laughing! He looks like his little head’s gonna open up like a flip top lid! Hell, Brian, *you're* laughing harder than I've ever seen you!”

I can feel him smiling against the skin behind my ear, the slight roughness of the 5 o'clock whiskers make me 'hmm' a little and lean back into him a little more. He doesn't seem to notice. “Yeah- we had a ton of fun. He swallowed too much salt water though, and his little swim fins kept popping open. I finally gave up on the fins and clipped him in the back bubble I had as a kid. I don’t even think they make them anymore. It's like a big Styrofoam egg that you hook around your waist; it rests against your back and it buoys you up. It looks ridiculous, but it's better than drowning and it's actually less annoying than those stupid blow-up swim fins that hinder so much of the freedom to move your arms. You have to keep a close eye though, because the bubble doesn't necessarily keep your head above water.

"Linds was glad I brought it, even if it was as old if not older than me- I think it was originally my sister Claire's."

I can hear the smile in his voice behind me and my heart warms as he reminisces. "But the real challenge that day wasn't the swim fins; the real challenge came later: getting all the sand out of every crack and crevice on his body. As you can see, he still had some of his baby fat and the sand worked it’s way into the rolls; not to mention into other places I'm sure you can guess.”

“The sand must do the same to adults,” I say grinning. I caress his strong, tanned arms that hold the album in front of me. "Just not into any rolls of fat- at least not on you. You have no rolls of fat."

He chuffs a laugh. “Sand doesn't discriminate- so, yes it does the same to adults. I did some body surfing while Linds played with Gus; when I got out of the surf finally, I found I had a little sand turd in the bottom of my suit.”

I burst out laughing; that’s not something I would expect Brian Kinney to say. “Gross!”

“It wasn’t a *real* turd, Justin. Lord. It just happens as you ride a wave all the way to the beach, the sand is all churned up and goes everywhere. It will collect where it gets trapped, and typically most of it winds up in your suit.”

“Up your crack?” Lucky sand, I think silently, stifling a giggle.

“I said: everywhere. Mostly in the little turd in your suit, and it gets in your hair. At least in my experience.” He pauses, seeing I’m about to say something about pubes; “I mean the hair on your head, you freak. But your pubes, too.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“Fuck- it’s a blast. The sand part is just a small complication to enjoying the beach. In fact, taking a fresh water shower afterwards and cleaning up becomes something you look forward to." He kisses my neck and I melt. "You’ll see.”

I sigh and smile that he again promises that I’ll get outdoors and see the beach someday. “Will you take me to see it? The ocean?"

"Suuuuure, why not?"

"I mean it!"

Brian leans close to my ear. "I'll take you. Just keep getting better so I don't have to deal with an inhaler and a fainted, heavy bubble butt, okay?" he whispers, not at all harshly. More, very sexily.

What incentive to overcome this agoraphobia!

"You've done really amazingly so far," he adds.

I take deep breaths to avoid hyperventilating. "Thanks to you, Brian," I say huskily.

"No. It's all been you. But let's move on, shall we? Turn the page." Now his voice is back to normal- still sexy as hell, but he's not being seductive anymore (or he's not *trying* to be, anyway). Fuck! This man has my soul, heart, mind and libido in a blender and it's set on puree.

I clear my throat but I don't turn the page. "Um… um, well. I like this picture, Brian. You should have it blown up, along with the one of you holding newborn Gus without your shirt on. You should have them blown up and you should frame them.”

He groans. “Linds has done that and attacked my office with a hammer and nails, plastering these images up all over the walls. Sure, it’s nice to be surrounded by photos of Gus, but it also means that gaggles of women and even men coo and ooh and ahh over the pictures while I’m trying to talk business or reel in a client. Everyone seems to think it’s so cute or hot or whatever when a father spends time with his kid. And every single drooling idiot adult says Gus looks just like me.

"It’s stupid. Now that he's 4, he's growing and is looking a little like me. But every time someone sees a photo of my butterball baby and tells me he looks like me, I want to gag. He's always beautiful, always. But a baby is just a little pink meatloaf with fingers and toes.”

I laugh, knowing Brian has loved Gus from the moment he first laid eyes on him the day he was born. He's never seen Gus as a 'little pink meatloaf with fingers and toes'. And whether he accepts it or not, from the photos I've seen so far, anyone would know Gus is Brian's even from the day he was born, baby fat and all. But I just lean back against Brian, reveling in his warmth, still caressing his lean, sinewy arms. “If the photos Lindsay has put up around your office bother you so much, why don't you take them down?” I ask.

“Lindsay, Cynthia (my secretary), Debbie and most of my regular clients- male and female- would have my balls if I tried.”

“Awwwww. Poor Brian,” I tease.

“Shut the fuck up. Linds even switches the photos out periodically, forcing me to take the older ones to my *loft*! My fuck pad! Nice, eh? I bring a trick home and they coo and ooh and aah all over them just like my coworkers, employees and clients! Sometimes I have to drag the tricks away from the pictures to fuck them!" He pauses. "Besides, that's not really a part of myself, my life, I want tricks to see. But there's not much I can do about it.”

I'm touched but I say nothing. He has no qualms showing me this part of himself, his life. "There's not much you can do about what? About your warm fuzzy side, you mean?"

"Shut up!"

I turn the page, grinning. “Whoa!" I exclaim when I see the next picture. My grin disappears and I feel myself literally drooling. "Ummm. Whoa," I repeat more quietly, in awe. "Look at you…”

"Ruined my manicure,” he comments glibly.

It’s a picture of Brian rock climbing on a sheer cliff; he's shirtless, sweaty, tan, his muscles are taut- yumMY! He's wearing loose-ish, army green shorts down to above his knees and there's a white towel dangling from his back pocket. His face is turned to the side and his brow is furrowed from the bright sun; he’s concentrating, unaware of the camera. It’s fucking sexy and beautiful. In fact, it would fit into any magazine ranging from GQ to Vanity Fair to Outdoors Magazine. Actually, if this was a look back in the day of the classical Greeks, he'd be a model for a god! Shit. Listen to me! All I am is a drooling idiot anymore. Still: ‘Ruined his manicure.’ Yeah, my ass.

“I didn’t know you did extreme sports like this,” I finally manage to choke out.

“That was back in college. I don’t anymore.”

“Wow. You haven’t aged, have you?”

Brian chuckles at that. “Are you using constant, gagging flattery to try to seduce me, Sunshine? You've been laying it on pretty thick.”

I smirk, although if it would work, I'd lay it on even thicker. But I'm just being sincere. "Shut up. Why’d you stop climbing? And who gets manicures in college?" I tease.

He ignores my manicure comment. “I dunno why I quit. Got busy. I may do it again.”

“So, who took this photo?”

“College friend. He climbed with me a lot. Brandon.”

“Gay?”

“No. But he could care less that I was. My other climbing buddy was gay, though. Peter. Before you ask, yes, we hooked up a few times. Nothing serious.”

“Are you still in touch with any of your college friends?”

“Fuck, you’re perpetually full of questions! I feel like I should just give you a magic 8 ball and save my voice!"

I snicker.

"I'm in touch with some college friends- no one very closely except for Lindsay. Turn the fucking page- this is taking too long!”

Not for me- I find it wonderful and sexy hot and heartwarming all at the same time. The added bonus of Brian’s body flush against my back and his voice low in my ear merits mention, as well. But I dutifully turn the page. Mel, Lindsay and Gus. Gus and Lindsay look good. Mel has this nasty look to her. She seems to naturally have a sneering curl to her lip or something- nothing she’s probably aware of. It just doesn’t look pleasant. Go figure.

Gus is decidedly more grown up in this photo.

“This is a little more recent; Gus is about 3 and a half here,” Brian tells me.

“He’s maturing into a very handsome boy- tall and handsome like you. In fact, he looks like you more and more as he gets older, Brian.”

“Hmf. Poor kid.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you moron.”

I turn the page. It's the 'whole gang' at Christmas again, this time sitting around the dinner table getting ready to eat an enormous turkey. There are a lot of people, though, so I’m sure they made a good dent in it. Christmas decorations are everywhere and the date on the caption tells me that it's the Christmas after the Charlie Brown tree.

At the table, Brian’s sitting next to Emmett and Michael. Lindsay’s next to Emm, and is carefully guiding a plastic cup to Gus' lips. I guess by his age, he no longer needs the sippy cup. There’s an empty chair next to Gus, so Mel must be taking the picture. Nobody seems aware of the photo being shot, so there’s a lot of dynamics going on in the photo that I find intriguing. Brian’s laughing nearly hysterically at something Emmett’s doing with his knife and fork- I can’t see what he's doing because the turkey is blocking the view. I've only seen Brian laughing like that in the photos where he's playing with his son. “What are you laughing at here?”

“I dunno. I was plowed by then.”

“You really don’t remember?”

“Not clearly, but I think Emmett was making his knife and fork into legs with yams stuck to the ends as feet. I think he was making them kick dance while he sang ‘YMCA’ or something campy like that. As I said, I was plowed and most likely high, too. Low brow humor can appeal to me in that condition.”

I laugh. In the pic, Brian's really laughing his ass off- I make a note to myself to get him to laugh like that with me at some point, be he drunk, high or sober. I love the way his sexy, calm, predatory look that he normally wears has changed into a sexy but goofy expression.

I notice now that Michael looks quite somber in the picture. “*Now* what’s the matter with Michael? He doesn’t seem to take a happy picture.”

“Fuck, Justin, I don’t know. I just told you I was drunk and high.” He looks at Michael in the photo. “He’s got his ‘I need attention’ face on. I try to keep my distance from him when he's like that. He gets clingy and whiny and haughty.”

“The same ‘I need attention’ face he had on at his birthday party when everyone was cooing over baby Gus?”

“That’s the one.”

“Is it anybody's attention he wants, or just *your* attention?”

“I have no fucking idea what he wants. As I said, he gets annoying in that mode.”

I quickly turn the page. Last one, I notice. And I’m blown away. “Oh, fuck! Brian, this is absolutely beautiful!” It’s a picture of him obviously laughing hard with his son on his lap and Gus is laughing like crazy; they're riding a merry go round. Gus is standing on Brian’s legs, facing his father as Brian’s large hand keeps him up and safe with the other holding the pole. As I said, Gus is laughing incredibly hard in Brian’s face and Brian is laughing and quite obviously saying something to his Sonny Boy.

It is so unguarded, so happy, so spontaneous and shows the huge amount of love between Brian and his boy, I think it could win awards- it’s not hokey or staged or tacky. It’s real. Fuck me: out of all of Brian’s 'family', Gus is obviously the kingpin to his father. And from what I've now seen, it appears that Brian's the kingpin to everyone else, especially his son.

Aw, fuck me. I’m sniffling.

“Are you fucking crying over a photo of me acting like an idiot with my son at the fair? Justin, come ON.” He sounds slightly exasperated. “You are one of the weepiest people I’ve ever known.”

“I have allergies, you ass. That’s all.”

“To what? Laminate? Gimme a break. I know by now that you're a total sentimental sap. Quit it.”

“Shut up,” I sniff. I turn the page to the end of the album and see that a picture of all of Brian's friends and family is plastered to the back of the binder. All are there except Brian, and they’re all waving- including little Gus. And the caption reads, ‘Visit often, come back soon and we’ll miss you! Asshole! --- LOVE, all of us’

Brian regards the photo. “Yeah. They emphasized the word ‘love’ for a reason.”

“Because you don’t believe in it.”

“Pretty much, yep.”

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