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

Chapter 5

POV: BRIAN

When Justin and I get home, we go straight to bed. It's after 8, goddamn it. What a long-ass fucking day. I fucking knew we'd never get out of there as quickly as I'd wanted. After we had finished eating, the conversation never stopped, and while I wanted to leave as soon as possible, Justin seemed to have been enjoying himself. So, I resigned myself to suffering through it. Besides, once Gus had awakened, it was fun to play with him. I am stunned at myself in how much I love that child. I really am. I never would have thought. I just hope I don't fuck up. "Like father like son" is maybe my least favorite cliche in the world- besides "love conquers all", of course. But once he was down for the night, I quickly lost my patience with the drivel about how Vic and Deb were going to paint Mikey's old room, where Emmett's last catering job was and what outfit Lindsay should wear to the next gallery opening, so I pulled Justin by the front of his shirt towards the door.

"Gotta go," I announced, opening the front door unceremoniously, pulling a stumbling Justin along behind me, snatching his coat from the back of the sofa and tucking it under my other arm. "Thanks, Deb..." I closed the door behind us and we were thankfully free, soon driving home in the damned Skylark.

Since I had interrupted our early afternoon session, I "comply" with Justin's desire for a night of sweat-drenched, cum-smeared fucking. My reward. His too, I could gather from the incredible and spontaneous moans and groans and whispers and yelps he uttered all night.

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When I wake up, I blearily judge by the sunlight streaming through the windows that it must be close to noon. I glance over at the clock. 11:25. Jeeeesus. Of course, we hadn't actually fallen asleep until around 4- after 5 fucks. Suddenly I notice Justin on his elbow next to me, studying me, his twinkling eyes reflecting the dark blue of the sheets.

"Fuck me, Justin…you really ARE drugging me before I go to bed!! How long have you been staring at me like a lunatic?" I murmur. I close my eyes and turn onto my back, hearing myself grunt as I shift myself on the pillow.

"Brian, you've been sleeping forever," he replies. Yeah, no shit, Sunshine.

"Yeah, well. What else do I have to do?" My voice is still hoarse from having just woken up.

"Don't tell me you're going to become some lazy assed, unemployed bum who sleeps all day in the park, lying on a bench with the Pittsburgh Daily News covering his face…"

"New York Times." I correct. "And fuck off, Justin. It's Sunday. Besides, I only lost my job a few weeks ago. I deserve a vacation."

I glance over and just barely catch a glimpse of Justin rolling his eyes before yanking his leg out from under mine. I watch as he turns and swings his body around, getting up. "So, the diner? Or shall I make breakfast?"

The thought of going to the diner makes me cringe. I do not want a repeat of yesterday's 'Brian and Justin defeated Stockwell' love-fest. "They've probably stopped serving breakfast at the diner by now. Just coffee, thanks."

As Justin goes off to make coffee, I get to thinking about what we were talking about yesterday. Sure, maybe that self-loathing, homophobic closeted cop offed himself. But I still can't shake what my gut reaction had been when Horvath told me the guy'd committed suicide. I thought it odd then. And the more I've thought about it since, I think it odder now. I shrug it off. Whatever. One less homophobic freak in the world. Who cares how it happened?

I'm still flat on my back, rubbing my eyes trying to get the weariness and sleep to disappear when Justin bounces - flying leap bounces-- onto the bed beside me. I fucking jump a foot in the air- partly because of the mattress recoiling and partly because he scares the bejesus out of me. "GodDAMN it, Justin!!!" I shout. "FUCK! What the HELL??"

"Wake the hell up!" Is his simple response, grabbing a pillow and whopping me over the head. Jesus, mature or not, I really am sharing my bed with a goddamned teenager. What the hell am I doing?? I choose just to glare at him- I'm not going to take the bait and start a pillow fight. I swear, I wonder sometimes if Daphne has had too much influence on that boy. I get up on my elbow as he hands me a cup of coffee from the nightstand.

"You better fucking not get coffee rings on that, Justin- that's one of the few pieces of furniture I have left, and it's imported from Italy."

"I used a tray," he says. Which I notice after rubbing my eyes one more time. I'm much more awake now, though, after having the shit startled the hell out of me.

"What are you thinking about?"

I hate it when he asks me shit like that. Really, actively, completely, hate it. Because usually, it is none of his goddamned business. Because usually, I'm thinking about things I'm uncomfortable thinking about anyway. Because usually, I'm thinking about him, in the context of ME... in the context of US... and I just HATE that. It's so lesbionic.

But this time, it's safe. Still, for good measure, I give him a warning glare- just to remind him that he should keep those kinds of questions to himself. "Just about what we were talking about yesterday. About that cop killing himself." I take a sip and damn near scald my tongue- choking, I almost spit out the coffee. "DAMN it, Justin!" I'm wincing as I feel the coffee boiling down my esophagus into my stomach, "...are you honestly trying to KILL me this morning?" Justin smiles sheepishly, "Sorry." He says in a small voice.

I get out of bed, coffee in hand. The last thing I want to do is stain my sheets with coffee. It would swear with the cum stains. Ha ha. Besides, they are yet one more of the few remaining possessions I have. Of course, I quietly admit to myself, I shouldn't have let him give me the cup while I was still in bed. I knew better. Still, I scowl at him.

"Sorry about that," he says again, picking up the tray and following me into the kitchen where he places it on the counter.

I relent. After all, he was nice enough to make it for me, and bring it to me. "Whatever. Don't worry about it…" I sit at one of the stools, glancing back to where the dining room set had been. Where there is now just a vast expanse of floor.

"Well, looks like we have acres of space for floor picnics, Sunshine," I grimace. Fucking romantic bullshit. Fucking Ian. "In fact, that's all we'll be having from now on." Then I realize that I sound harsher than I really feel, and I wish I'd kept my mouth shut. I actually just feel a bit at a loss as to how to proceed with life at the moment, things have changed so drastically.

I notice Justin's face twinge a little at that reference, but he rallies quickly. "Quit fucking feeling so sorry for yourself! Jesus, Brian! Remember: sorry is bullshit? No apologies, no excuses, no regrets? Snap out of it!"

I smile. God, that twink can read me like a book sometimes. It's comforting- and terrifying. "You're right." Changing the subject, "So... what do you want to do today? Fly to Spain? Shop for Armani suits? Go to New York and hit the Russian Tea Room? Sky's the limit!"

Justin smirks, "Go for a car ride in the Buick?"

God, I hate that car. Why'd he bring that up?

"We could take a picnic somewhere…?" He offers, smiling slightly.

He looks so goddamned hopeful, so beautiful, and so fucking hot, I find myself smiling and pulling him to me for a deep kiss, to which I'm pleasantly surprised he responds with a fervor that makes my cock stiffen and my heart beat faster. I take his hand and pull him into the bedroom. I'm well rested up. This should be fun. I push him onto the bed and he looks up at me grinning, eagerly yanking off his briefs to reveal the most magnificent, pink, curved cock I personally have ever seen. And… well, I've seen a LOT of cocks.

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