If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be a Mystery, Would It?

Chapter 10

POV: BRIAN

It's close to noon when I finally wake up. Justin's still sleeping. At least he's not lying here staring at me this time. That little shit still has some stalker in him, I swear it.

Fuck. Fuck! I can't believe I let what happened last night happen! Where was my Goddamned brain at? Was I just thinking with my cock?

No.

No, I know I wasn't just thinking with my cock. Or, more accurately, my ass AND my cock. I glance over to the other side of the room and see the still wrapped condom Justin had 'frisbee'd' there the night before. I was genuinely ticked when he did that. He was behaving like a twat. So, why did I bottom for him? Or. With him. Because. Shit. Because I trust him. Because I wanted it. Because it's been- fuck! Years. And it's never been like it was last night. And… Jesus. Because I care for the little shit. I realize with a small twinge that again, I fell asleep holding Justin all warm and sticky. And I'm the one responsible for the 'sticky'.

I can't give him what it is he wants. Not yet. It's just not safe. Yet. Christ. Am I really considering fucking only this 19-year-old twink for a year or more to be sure I'm negative? To be sure it's safe- he's safe? To give him what he wants?

…What I want… too…?

I look at Justin's sleeping form. There's a slight smile on his face that I can't help but snicker at. I reach over and brush away the hair that has become stuck to his forehead from dried sweat and sleep. And probably from a little cum, too, I grin to myself.

That boy needs a haircut, I think. But I personally prefer it like this, so I'm not going to say anything. It's so soft, so incredibly soft… and I love to slide my fingers through it when we make… when we fuck.

So, Kinney. Kinney, you stupid, sorry-assed bastard: What the FUCK are you doing? What have you gotten yourself into? You're becoming a cross between Jessica Fletcher and Carol fucking Brady. I try to push thoughts about last night away and instead think about what to do next with the Stockwell situation. The latest version, I mean. For the moment, at least I hope, it's unlikely that Mikey and the kid are in any immediate danger- if Debbie and Ben AND Horvath don't know their whereabouts-- which apparently, since the two have left fucking Blue Balls, PA, they don't-- I doubt if Stockwell is focusing too much on them. With them out of town, he has nothing to be too concerned about. And Hunter's mother- well, I'll have to think about that bitch later. I don't see her as a life-or-death threat to either of them.

But we do need to get some answers- if Stockwell is really capable of killing, what's stopping him from doing it again if someone crosses him? Right? I mean, what if Hunter does know something that would ruin dear old Mr. Family Friendly, and he comes back to town? I wonder if maybe we shouldn't try to track ol' Gair down. Not only could he maybe help keep Hunter away from his bitch-assed mother, but he might have a few bits of information to fill in some gaps. Why would Stockwell kill Reikert instead of Gary and Hunter? Reikert seemed more than willing to remain in the closet, silent- he was even going to be the one to take the rap for killing Kemp. Fuck, the guy was even outwardly supportive of Stockwell and his campaign. I guess that might not be too cool for Stockwell if he were arrested for killing the kid, but...

Maybe Stockwell didn't want any mention of Reikert and Kemp to hit the news at all? But it was pretty stupid to kill Kenny boy- I mean, really, what better way than that to ensure that the affair would hit the news? Surely he knew that the press would dig, would find out something about the dead man's 'secret' life. I just happened to beat them to it, in a way. Reikert's sudden death sure made my ad hit home- much moreso than if he had still been alive.

I guess I should back up a little. I'm - we're all- assuming that Stockwell killed Kemp and Reikert. Maybe someone else did. But who else had a motive? Could Gary have done it? He sure seems to have a testy little temper- or, I believe he does, anyway, from what I've read in a couple of his letters. Could he have killed in a jealous rage? Maybe. But twice? And once dumpster boy was out of the picture, who would he have had to be jealous of? Surely not Hunter...

From what I know- which, fuck, is minimal at best- Stockwell and Fairy Gary are the only two who appear to have motives. And neither of the scenarios I can come up with concerning their motives is logical.

But, hell, we're dealing with a murderer (or murderers?) here- logic is probably not the guilty party's strong suit.

Sighing, I mull over the confusing situation. Another question is: what the fuck's the deal with Gary disappearing and leaving Hunter to fend for himself on the streets again? He'd been so happy to have found him, to have him back with him, to have him safe and away from his cunty mother. But it would appear that the kid had been back out on the streets for weeks or even more before the noble Mr. and Mrs. Bruckner had taken him in. And, yet ANOTHER thing that sort of puzzles me is, how did Hunter's mother track him down?

Justin stirs and I find that I've been looking at him the whole time I've been thinking, my fingers playing idly with his hair. Fuck ME! I really and truly am becoming a goddamned lesbian! I quickly pull my hand away and roll onto my back before he opens his eyes. He's always pretty groggy and out of it when he first wakes up- I decide he is unaware of what I'd been doing. It's a decision I make out of necessity. I have to keep my sanity.

Justin smiles briefly and then elongates into a quivering, grunting stretch. "G'mrning…" he mumbles, sighing as he relaxes and slumps back onto the pillow. He turns to me with a sleepy smile.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" I exclaim, plastering my best shit-eating grin on my face and purposefully using a tone of annoying cheerfulness. He just rolls his eyes, yawns, and shifts onto his back, one arm behind his head.

"So," he pauses, rubbing his eyes, "I see you must have found the stash of drugs I've been putting in your water at night…" He cocks an eyebrow at me and grins lazily, still half asleep.

I wince on the inside. Shit. I try to rally, "Yep. I'm testing it out to see how deeply you sleep and for how long, so that when I kill you, you won't make a fuss." I put my hands in a stranglehold around his neck and give a slight squeeze. "That way, the neighbors won't hear any screaming and call the cops."

Justin guffaws lightly, batting my arms away. "They're used to screaming from this loft, Brian. You could fucking kill me when I'm wide awake, screaming my bloody head off, and no one around here would blink an eye…"

"Smartass," I smirk, leaning over to give him a kiss. His lips are so soft and warm, I linger for a bit. The amazing thing about Justin is that he almost never has morning breath. I can't count the number of times I've woken up next to some nameless trick and nearly thrown up with the smell emanating from the other side of the bed. It makes it that much more necessary to kick them out of the loft before falling asleep. But Justin has a sort of musky, heady smell to him in the morning- not unpleasant… in fact, downright pleasant. I feel his hand on the back of my head, caressing the back of my neck as he returns my kiss. Enough.

But I don't pull away. I shudder slightly- last night was unbelievable, but there was more to it than just that. There was some kind of line I crossed, whatever the fuck that means- I honestly don't know. It's just how it feels-- and what scares me is that it felt completely fine. It terrifies me. Never, ever, have I allowed myself to give myself over to someone, to trust someone, like I did last night. Except for Mikey; I trust him implicitly. But not like this. This goes beyond friendship, and fuck me if it doesn't freak me the fuck out.

"You reek. Brush your teeth." I finally say, pulling away. Quite honestly, I don't want to think about this right now- at all.

Justin grins, knowing I don't really mean what I'm saying. But he holds his tongue, kisses me on the cheek, then pulls himself up and pads over to the bathroom, buck naked. I watch him thinking, 'Thank God that kid knows when not to push me. Or, usually knows, that is. Well, knows this time.' Gawd.

The little shit.

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