Breakage

Part I

Thanks once again to my wonderful beta, philflam, for seeing this through - and sometimes seeing right through it. This series would not have existed without philflam's help and encouragement.

*****

Brian tried to hold on to oblivion just a little longer, but it was no good. He was awake. He rolled on to his back and opened his eyes into the darkness. After a moment he leaned up on his elbow, to look past the sleeping form beside him at the clock: almost 4 AM. An hour that wasn't good for anything except sleeping, and he wasn't. Once again.

The anxious dream he'd been having was fading away, but he knew Vance had been hounding him in it. That was an "again," too. After riding him all day, now Vance was riding him at night. And not the way Brian liked to be ridden -- Justin's way.

He rolled on to his left side to spoon up against Justin's back, cradling an arm around him. Justin was breathing deeply, sleeping deeply. These days once he was asleep, he stayed asleep. Not like when he was first out of the hospital. Guess it's my turn for nightmares, Brian thought. He realized there had been something else, the dream about Vance had turned into other images and sounds. Music? A man's voice singing. Feet gliding. Long white threads of silk and a dark wetness seeping into them.

Brian buried his nose and chin into Justin's hair, pushing the dream memory away before it could become focused. For a few long minutes he matched his breathing to Justin's. But it didn't work. He could borrow Justin's rhythm, but not his peaceful sleep.

Well, he decided, Justin would have to wake up, too. There was no chance in hell Brian could get back to sleep now, not without a little help, and Justin would taste better than Jim Beam, the only other help on hand. This would be the third time in a week he'd be waking Justin up in the middle of the night, but Brian had no compunction about that: at his age, Sunshine could go without a little sleep easily enough. Brian kissed the back of Justin's neck while his right hand started to roam down Justin's body. It's not like he has to go to work tomorrow, Brian thought. He'll sit in class, take some notes, it's no big deal. He doesn't have a senior partner to worry about.

But he does have an exam, Brian suddenly remembered, just as Justin's breathing broke. He stirred and rolled over towards Brian, who automatically slid his left hand under Justin's head and neck. Justin made noises in the back of his throat, burrowing into Brian's chest. Brian hesitated. Justin had been studying for this exam for days. He must be worried about it.

Justin came momentarily awake and murmured, "You 'kay?"

"Yes, go back to sleep," Brian whispered, and Justin slid into dreams on the word. He'd never remember it in the morning.

Brian realized he was trapped. His left arm was under Justin's head, and in rolling towards him Justin had locked his legs around Brian's knee and thigh. So there was no getting up to get the Beam either.

He stared into the dark, feeling Justin's warm skin pressed against him. Brian knew he'd still be here, waiting and sleepless, when the alarm went off. It wasn't the lack of sleep that was so bad, though. That was just an annoyance that could be warded off with coffee tomorrow. It was having to just lie here, and think.

And try not to remember.

 

*****
 

Brian got into work early, giving himself time to stop by the art department. But when he reached his own office, Gardner Vance was already there, sitting in front of Brian's desk - a bad sign for a Monday morning. "The early partner catches the worm," Brian said, and dumped his briefcase on the floor. He waved the Starbucks bag in his hand. "Want one of my lattes?"

"There'll be nothing but worms today," Vance said sourly. "More than one latte? Were you expecting company for breakfast?"

"No, just laying in a supply of caffeine." He held out the coffee, but Vance shook his head with impatience. They had a lounge with two perfectly good industrial coffee pots always brewing. Brian's take-out latte annoyed him, for some reason. Then again, nearly everything about Brian annoyed him. He was annoyed when Brian didn't do what he wanted him to, and he was doubly annoyed when Brian did something better.

"Shelley Martin wants me to meet her after work today," he said, referring to the head of Advertising at the Whitley soda company, an account that had been in trouble for some time. "Guess what that means."

"She has a crush on you?"

"Try again."

Brian sat down, put his gleaming shoes up on the desk, flipped open his first latte, took a swallow, and spoke to the ceiling. "The rumors were true, and Whitley's been bought. And we'll be shown the door."

Vance stood up. "We're going to take a bath on this. And the books look bloody as it is. I'm holding you responsible."

"Hold what you want," Brian retorted. "I'm not responsible, and you know it."

"This was your client, you won the account. You'll have to clean up the mess." Vance stalked towards the door just as Cynthia came in; they nearly collided.

"Good morning," Cynthia said in her best ice tones.

Vance looked at her and back at Brian. "You may have to start in your own department," he said, and was gone.

Cynthia asked, "What's wrong with him? Is it Whitley?"

"Yep," said Brian, taking another sip that burned his tongue. "And he intends to squeeze my balls until they burst."

"I don't see how he can blame you." Whitley Sodas had been brought in through an agency competition. Brian's concepts for targeting a younger market had won it, but there had been little time to implement his ideas. Rumors soon ran that Whitley would be taken over by Upstart, another beverage company based in Florida. The new Upstart executives would be certain to bring in their own advertising people.

"Companies get bought up every day," Cynthia protested, as if it were a new thought, and not something they'd been saying to each other for weeks. "You have no control over that. It has nothing to do with Vanguard or your work. It's just bad luck."

"And bad planning," Brian said. Cynthia looked quizzical, but Brian stopped himself from explaining. Cynthia was his - his - well, just his. But she was also an employee. And as a partner, Brian had new obligations to keep company business confidential. It "wouldn't do," as Vance would put it, to explain what he had discovered when he made partner: that Vance had overextended himself, buying out Ryder and expanding too fast. Even with Brown Athletics and Nass Financial, the newest accounts Brian had brought in, they were still running in the red. The loss of Whitley couldn't be sustained without cutbacks.

The perks would go first, including the quarterly bonus Brian had been counting on. PIFA's tuition had slashed into his cash savings, and the tuition notice for next semester would be in soon. The few stocks and mutual funds he had bothered to invest in had soured like everybody else's. There wasn't much to fall back on.

And after the perks were cut, there might have to be lay-offs at Vanguard.

"Brian?" Cynthia prompted. He looked at her as Vance had, realizing that here was someone else he had to protect somehow. "Hold my calls," he said.

Two hours later, he was still looking through Ad Age and other industry magazines and surfing the Web at the same time, with his feet on his desk. When he was still there at lunchtime, Cynthia came in and tossed take-out sushi on to his desk. Brian barely grunted an acknowledgement. "You know, it's not my damn job to feed you," she said.

"So don't."

"You want a sparkling water with that?"

"Like sparkling wine, like sparkling wine," Brian said under his breath.

"What?" He didn't answer. Cynthia, not a naturally nurturing type, grumbled and said, "Oh, eat something, for Christ's sake." She knew Brian was trying to read between the lines of hiring announcements and press releases, taking guesses as to which companies might be ripe for a new agency, a new campaign, a new idea. He was trying to find a potential client to pitch and win. Shaking the fruit out of the tree was the hardest part of the business. "See anything?" Brian shook his head, and she returned to her desk. Ten minutes later she buzzed the intercom.

"Justin on line two?"

"I said no calls."

"I didn't think you meant Justin."

"I meant no fucking calls!"

But a moment later the door opened and she stuck her head in. "He says it's really important. Brian? He won't get off the phone." Brian glared at her. He knew she was capable of flustering a hard-driving CEO with a few frozen words. But she wouldn't be rough on Sunshine, oh no, not since their little get-together at Justin's art show. They were pals now. Let a woman sob all over your chest and she was your best friend for life.

"I can't hang up on him," she protested.

"I can," Brian said, and grabbed the phone. "What the fuck, I'm busy!"

"Well, fuck you too! Your cell phone's off and you won't take my call? I can't find the sketches I did for the Rage poster, I looked everywhere. Have you seen them?"

"And you think that's a crisis?"

"Have you fucking seen them or not?"

"I brought them here this morning." Justin spluttered something, then fell into an enraged silence. Brian tilted his head up at the ceiling and said as casually as he could manage, "I'm having the guys in the art department do some variations on them, to see what works best for the party invitations." In fact, he had been coaxing quite a bit of work on Rage from the art department, behind Vance's back -- and Justin's. Everything was almost ready.

Justin was nearly choked between relief and exasperation. He got out, "I was afraid I left them at school or on the bus. You should have told me you were taking them."

"Whatever."

"You should have asked me!"

"So is the crisis over? Can I get back to my unimportant work and my petty little problems now?"

"Look, those aren't from the computer, I can't just reprint them. I did them by hand. Do you have any idea how long it took me?"

Brian did. He winced away from the image of Justin, tongue between his teeth, struggling over the sketch pad until his hand started to shake too hard to continue. Justin had packed it all away then, but not before Brian saw the frustrated anger on his face. "That's why I thought it would help to get the invitations done here." Justin didn't answer. "I really am busy, can you bitch about this later?"

Justin hung up and stood glaring at the loft. In his frantic search for his sketches, he'd tossed books and papers everywhere. Now he'd better clean it up, or the big shot ad man would get pissed.

Fuck, let him, does he care how I feel? Walks off with my stuff, doesn't even bother to ask. I guess he thought he was helping.

Well, he is helping, Justin admitted to himself. I don't know what's worse, when he ignores me or when he tries to help me.

He grinned at the thought and started to clean up. As he made neat paper piles, he wondered if he had broken in on a meeting or something with his insistent phone call. Brian had never refused his calls before, that he could think of, so there must have really been something going on.

And I swore I was going to pay more attention to his job. My petty problems, he said.

Did I miss something?

Justin called back, this time asking Cynthia humbly if Brian had one more moment to talk to him. Somewhat to his surprise, he was put right through.

"Now what?" Brian sounded resigned.

"I was just wondering, how much of a problem do you have, really? Is something wrong?"

"Now, dear, " Brian said in a mocking falsetto. "You mustn't worry your pretty little head."

"Cut it out. You said you'd tell me more about what's happening at work, remember? I want to know." A long sigh came over the phone. Justin waited.

Finally Brian said, "We're losing a big client and Vance is chewing me a new asshole over it."

"Oh. Shit." Now that he had the information, Justin wasn't quite sure what to make of it, or of Brian's flat tone. "Which client? Not Nass Financial?"

"No, Whitley. The beverage company."

Justin floundered, "I realize that's bad, but how bad? I mean, Vanguard has other clients, so -- ?"

"Yes, but it's not good to rely on just a few for an agency this size, you need a bigger stable. I'll have to drum up more business."

Justin immediately felt he was on more solid ground. "You can do that," he said with confidence.

Brian looked at the magazines on his desk. "Sure," he answered. "Don't you have a class?"

Justin laughed. "You're blowing me off again."

"Sunshine, when I want to blow you, you'll know it," Brian said, and hung up.

 

*****
 

"Don't worry, I'm here to save the day," Brian called later that evening, sliding the loft door closed behind him. He swooped down on Justin and Michael, sitting together at Justin's computer, holding a bundle of layout boards in front of him like a pizza box.

"You must be Rage," Michael said, smiling.

Brian thrust the bundle at him and leaned over the desk. Justin, who was never sure if he'd be greeted with a kiss or not, smiled too as Brian briefly pressed his lips to Justin's cheek.

"What is all this?" Michael asked, trying to look through the unwieldy boards. A document on top fell to the floor.

"One marketing plan, three possible timetables for succeeding issues, suggested logos for the company you two had better form, and layouts for a Rage launch ad and poster," Brian rattled off.

"Jesus," Justin said, at the same time Michael let out a whoop of delight. "I thought you were just doing invitations? You shouldn't do all this. My poster was enough."

Still standing behind him, Brian wrapped his arms around either side of Justin to display two cards, one in each hand. "Which party invitation?" He leaned his head in beside Justin so they could study the graphics together. Both designs were based on Justin's drawings, with some of the elements adapted to suit an invitation format.

"They're both good," Michael said. "But I thought it was going to say, 'Rage is coming.' Who wrote, 'Feel the Rage'?"

"I did," Brian said. "Well?" he asked Justin. "Which one?"

Justin thought his opinion was really being asked for. "This one. The lines are cleaner."

"Wrong," Brian said triumphantly. He tossed Justin's choice on the table and waved the other under Justin's nose. "This one. And the same for the first poster and ad."

"Oh," Justin said rather sourly. "I didn't know it was a quiz."

"Should we order in?"

"We ate already. I brought you a turkey plate from the diner. What do you mean, it's wrong?"

Brian headed for the kitchen, still waving the other card. "This one is a teaser, which is much better for a launch. You're not sure what it is but you're intrigued and want to know more." He pulled a covered dish from the refrigerator and hunted for a knife and fork.

Justin objected, "But 'Rage is Coming' - "

"Doesn't go anywhere. What if we want to roll out with more later on? A series of posters? You need something flexible."

"But -- "

"Feel the Rage is flexible. It can become Know the Rage. Then Grab the Rage. Or, let's see . . .Discover the Rage. No, no, I got it - Discover the Rage in You."

"We already did that," Michael teased. "We discovered it in you, anyway." Justin, startled, glanced at him. His own memory of Brian's Raging was a little too painful to bear a joke.

"Live the Rage! That's a good one."

Justin snorted. "Try living with Rage," he said to Michael. "But doesn't it sound like a call to get angry?"

"You don't get it. That's a good thing. According to current pop psychology, anger is empowering." Brian held a fork up in the air as if it were a picket sign. "Fear the Queers! We demand equal rights!" He lowered his fork. "And lots of gay superheroes, of course."

"Oh, so now you're supporting the community?"

"Fuck the community. I'm trying to sell comic books. Then we'll be rich." He added lightly, "And all our money worries will be over."

"Like you have any."

"Brian knows this stuff," Michael said to Justin. "He knows how to sell."

"No, really? Thanks for explaining. But it's our work, Michael."

"And marketing is my work," Brian said. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

"But I don't want you to take care of everything."

Michael had thought of his own objection. "'Feel the Rage' is a double meaning, right? I mean, Rage is a person, so if you feel him -- ?"

Brian's answering grin was so wicked that Justin was distracted. He said smiling, "Oh, there it is! You always gets sex into your selling."

"Sunshine, I get sex into my everything."

"Everything?"

"Name it."

"Name a wish?" Justin laughed. "Right now?"

Michael recognized some kind of private sex joke going back and forth. "Come on, cut it out! I don't want to hear this. So when's the party?"

"Week from this Saturday, at Babylon. I rented the place out. The Sap hated to give it to us. He doesn't seem to like our Sunshine much anymore, since he quit his dancing job. But money talks. We can hire an emcee to -- "

"Michael and I were talking about a reenactment," Justin interrupted firmly, his serious tone back.

"A what?"

"We want actors to do a mini-play. They can act out the story of the first issue."

"It would be cool," Michael agreed.

Brian, who was putting the turkey dish into the microwave to reheat, paused for a moment, then closed the microwave door. "The story of the first issue is the bashing."

"We'll need actors who look like Rage, JT, and Zephyr," Michael said.

"You want to stand there and watch a bashing in real life?"

There was something in his tone that made Justin, glancing through the layout boards, look up. A moment before, Brian had been all animated, his restless hands moving and moving; now all of a sudden he was still. His face had taken on that mask-like look that hid everything. Justin said slowly, "Well, of course it's not real life, Brian."

"Fuck. You think that's what people want to see at a dance?"

"Dance?"

You can dance, yes the music's fine, like sparkling wine, go and have your fun . . ."I mean party," Brian said loudly, as if he were talking over something.

Michael said, "Brian, that's what the first issue's about. It'll be great, don't you think?"

Brian shrugged. His voice had gone flat. "Whatever you want. It's your comic."

Oh, you noticed, Justin thought, but he said nothing.

"I roughed out a script already," Michael said. "But how do we go about hiring actors?" He looked at Brian, sure that Brian would have the answers. But Brian was rubbing his forehead, eyes closed.

"What?" he asked Michael. "I can't hear you."

"I asked you about the actors. Brian, are you all right? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. My head hurts."

Michael stood up and went into the bathroom. Brian said to no one in particular, "We need non-SAG actors. I'll call a booking agent tomorrow. She handles our models, she'll know somebody."

Justin said, "I think acting out the story is a good idea. It's exciting. It would bring Rage to life. Literally."

"Nearly brings JT to death, though, doesn't it?"

"Jesus, Brian. I'm beginning to wonder if you even like our comic."

"I said it was good, really good. Remember?"

"When you were apologizing," Justin said. When you were trying to clean up your mess, he thought. He wasn't sure that counted.

But Michael was back, walking over to Brian. "There are so many exotic creams in there, I almost gave up trying to find aspirin. Here. No, take it, it'll help your head. But eat your dinner, too."

"Yes, mother."

"Fuck you," Michael said cheerfully, and pulled Brian's dinner out of the microwave. Brian stood by passively and let him set it up on the counter. Michael even poured out a glass of bottled water as Brian settled himself. Justin, who hadn't moved from his desk chair, watched them together. "So what's going on at the office?" Michael asked.

"Total shit."

"Is it Whitley?"

"Yeah. We're on a death-watch now."

"Well, no wonder you have a headache. But it's not your fault."

"That doesn't fix it."

Justin looked down at the rejected party invitation, the one he had chosen. He traced Rage's outline with his finger, apparently deep in thought, but listening to every word as Michael went on asking questions. Brian went on answering.

Michael already knew about the account.

"I have to go, I'm meeting Ben," Michael finally said. He gave Brian a shoulder pat, then leaned over for a quick kiss. "So you'll take care of finding the actors? Great. Hey, JT," he called over to Justin. "See you tomorrow. I'll polish up the script tonight and you can tell me what you think."

After he was gone, Justin went over and sat beside Brian at the counter. Before he could say anything, Brian asked, "Did you bring up the mail? Where is it?"

"On the counter. Next to your elbow. In the same fucking spot I put it every fucking day."

"Temper, dear." Brian took a bite of his dinner and started opening envelopes. "Look at this crap," he said, criticizing the advertising. He was about to point out what was wrong with this headline or that graphic. Justin said hurriedly, "I didn't realize losing this account was so much of a problem. You didn't tell me."

"I believe I did. How'd your exam go?"

"Not as bad as I thought," Justin said, a little surprised Brian remembered. "Actually, it was pretty easy, except for the last essay. Look, if the account -- "

"Why didn't you open this? It's for you, it's from PIFA."

"I didn't see it." Justin took the envelope. "The Bursar's office. Well, that can't be good." He tried to give Brian an easy smile.

They had known this was coming; it wouldn't be a problem. They had the tuition payments all worked out. All the same, Justin's stomach had knotted up. He opened the letter and scanned it. "It's the notice about next semester," he began, and then broke off.

"Well?"

"Oh, fuck it." Justin smiled crookedly. "I guess it doesn't matter. You'll just own more of my ass for awhile."

"I already own your ass. What are you talking about?"

"The tuition's going up."

Brian put down his fork and reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette. "How much?" Justin handed him the letter. "That's more than ten percent. Closer to twelve. That's a big fucking jump."

"Is it a problem? You have it, don't you?" Justin's brows furrowed; this was a new thought.

Brian shrugged. "Sure."

"We'll have Melanie draw up new papers, okay? I want to keep the loan account straight."

This was familiar, somehow. Brian lit his cigarette. As he took the first long drag, a rasping voice came back to him, sounding in his mind: I'm keeping strict accounts, the voice had said. Every goddamn penny.

"I'll pay it all back," Justin said.

"I know," Brian answered, just as he had answered his father. Mr. Executive is treating. . . Don't let 'em tie you down, you hear?

No, Pop, Brian thought in answer, and Jack went on: That's what they all want to do, no matter what the hell they say. . You and me, we're a lot alike. We weren't meant to settle down.

Justin was rubbing Brian's knee, looking worried but trying to get Brian to smile. Brian thought, You think you want to hear all about it, Sunshine, but you don't.

"Brian?"

Don't let 'em tie you down.

"Do you still have a headache?"

Laugh and sing, but don't give your heart to anyone. Brian said fretfully, "I've got some stupid song in my head, I don't even know what it is."

Justin saw that he had stopped eating, that he was pulling hard on the cigarette, that his fingers were drumming on the counter. Already his eyes had glanced towards the liquor cabinet. In a minute he'd want to go to Babylon.

Suddenly Justin launched himself off the kitchen stool right into his arms. Brian had just a moment to brace for the impact, half-laughing as he held the cigarette off to the side. Justin put his arms around his neck and pulled him into a fierce kiss. When they broke it, he beamed up into Brian's face. "Name your wish."

He had been hoping to take him by surprise. But Brian shot back, "Suck me off."

"Wow, you didn't have to think about that, did you?"

"I think about it all the time," Brian retorted. "Don't you know that by now? What do you know, anyway?"

"Come to bed," Justin answered grinning, "and I'll show you."

 

*****
 

An hour or more went by. After the granting of his wish, Brian became a little rough when they started to fuck. He was taking it fast, but Justin was in the mood to savor it. He murmured, "Easy," to slow Brian down, his hands stroking, soothing and teasing all at the same time. Brian smiled down at him, his eyelids half-closed, and settled into a gentler pace. Afterwards he began to drift off. "Hey," Justin said in his ear.

"Mmm. I didn't get enough sleep last night."

"Again? Your insomnia's really coming back."

"I'll get up," Brian said thickly, and rolled away from him. "We can go out."

"No, that's okay," Justin said, sorry he had roused him. "We can stay home." Brian looked at him sideways. Justin kept his face neutral and closed his mouth on all the wrong things: Let's have a night at home. It'll be cozy. Just the two of us. "You should probably take it easy one night, if you're tired and things are rough at work," he said instead. "I don't mind."

"Oh, you don't."

"No, not if you'd rather not," he said, trying to make it sound like a sacrifice. Brian narrowed his eyes at him, but before he could speak the phone rang.

"One of your buddies?"

"I don't think so," Justin said.

Brian leaned across him and picked it up. "What?" he barked, and Justin stifled a laugh. Barely holding the phone to his ear, Brian nuzzled into his neck to tickle him. Justin made a playful grab for his hair, but Brian suddenly sat up, beyond his reach. "Vance," he said into the receiver. He mouthed to Justin, "What time is it?" He seemed bewildered, as if it were the middle of the night.

"A little after nine," Justin said, checking.

On the other end of the line, Vance said, "I'm calling to inform you I just finished my dinner meeting with Shelley Martin."

"So? Did you get laid, or did we get fired?"

"The latter."

"Well," Brian said, "We knew that was coming." Justin ran a comforting hand down Brian's spine, but he pulled away from it. Justin sat up beside him but didn't touch him again.

"She was quite regretful. It's not in her hands, you know. She spoke very highly of you."

"You're making me tingle all over."

Justin whispered, "That's my job."

"The accountants are coming in early tomorrow. We have to make plans. Be in the office by 7:45," Vance said.

"I'll check my calendar and get back to you."

"7:45," Vance repeated, implacable, and hung up.

Staring straight ahead, Brian handed the phone to Justin, who put it back. "Brian, why don't we -- "

"Fuck it, let's get in a couple of hours at Babylon." He rolled off the bed and headed for the closet. "I need a drink."

What else did he need? Justin looked at their rumpled bed. The duvet had fallen to the floor. "There are drinks here," he said. "And other things."'

"Sunshine," Brian said.

It was a warning; Justin heard it clearly. Brian would go with or without him, of course. Justin had already spent several nights home studying, lately, while Brian was out. Brian had returned long before three, but . . .

Justin had had too much time to listen to the silence in the empty loft. "I'll come with you," he said, and he didn't even sigh.
 

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