Incendiary

Chapter 11 - Salvage

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BRIAN

I hold my breath as I wait for him to say something. Anything.

Finally he smiles and shakes his head. "I don't need something like that to be happy, Brian. Besides, it's not very practical for the kind of life we live. Cab fare home after a night at Babylon would be a bitch. We don't play tennis and the stables would probably wreak havoc with my allergies."

I hadn't thought of that. Any of it. I hadn't really thought about much at all except that it was something he wanted. Or maybe not, I realize, as he continues.

"I like being close to things, to be able to walk to the store if I have to. And the diner and Deb's. Maybe some day, when we're older, that kind of place might suit us more, but not right now. And even then, it would have to be a place that makes us both happy."

My expression is serious as I regard him. No smirking. No sarcastic, caustic remarks. "I just … I know how much you want what Michael and Ben have. You know how I feel about marriage and all that shit, but a house, I can do a house."

And I can. For Justin.

He leans forward and kisses me softly. "And I love you for offering. As for what Michael and Ben have, I don't want to have to go to another state or another country for a piece of paper that won't mean shit when we get back home. If I ever get married, I want it to be official and legal. Here, where we live."

"And if it does become legal and I still feel the same way, then what?"

He shrugs. "Then I guess we'll deal with it at the time. Your views on some things have changed in the last few years, who's to say you won't change your mind about marriage somewhere down the road? Who's to say I won't?"

He's got a point there. My views on certain things have changed. It's obvious, even to me, that I can no longer claim that I don't believe in love. I guess it's possible that, maybe, marriage can be more than an imitation, heterosexual union that by its very nature is doomed to fail.

Maybe.

Possibly.

"In the meantime," he says, "I'm more than willing to compromise."

I frown suspiciously. "Compromise?"

He drapes his upper body over mine. "I would love to be married to you some day, but that's not the most important thing. This is. Us. Together. Not just sharing the same space, but really together. I want the commitment and mutual respect Michael and Ben have, but I don't want to be them, Brian. I don't want dinner parties with Monty and Eli. I don't want to have to get up every three hours to feed a newborn, I don't want to have to help a teenager with his Calculus homework. I want what we had after the Stockwell fiasco. What we had after the cancer. I want us to be together because we want to be, not because we have to be."

Ahh. There it is. The other big 'C'. "And by commitment, you mean no tricking."

He's silent for a moment as he looks into my eyes and I know he's weighing his response carefully. I know he doesn't like it. I know he wants to be the only one I want. And he is, in more ways that I ever thought possible. In more ways that I feel comfortable telling him. But there are times when I need something else. Fucking with no emotion. Pure release without the need for thinking about anything other than getting off.

"It's more the reasons than the actual tricking," he finally says.

I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue. He looks away for a moment and considers what he wants to say. When his eyes return to meet mine, they're a little duller. A little sadder.

"When we're together, I want the emotional connection. I need it. If there are times when you need something other than that, I'd honestly rather it wasn't with me."

Christ. Maybe he really is on to me.

"But…"

Here it comes.

"It's different when you're doing it to prove something. Or … to hurt me."

I frown. "I don't…"

"Not always, I know that," he says, cutting me off. "But every time you trick to prove, either to yourself or everyone else, that we're not a couple, that you still believe only in fucking, it hurts, Brian. The message may be for the rest of the world, but I'm the one who gets it loud and clear."

My jaw clenches against my will, but I don't say anything.

"But the times when the message is for me hurt more."

I want to refute his comment, but I know I can't. Not truthfully. There have been times when I've tricked to make a point. That I was still free and unfettered. That he held no claim to me.

Even once I realized it was no longer true. Maybe never had been.

And, if I want to be honest, those times were rarely satisfying in the true sense of the word. Sure, I got off, but it wasn't always worth the disappointment I'd see in his eyes later, even once he learned to hide it fairly well. In fact, it was often that thinly veiled disapproval that would send me right back to the backroom, just to prove that I didn't need his approval. His or anyone's.

God, I can be such an asshole sometimes.

I take a deep breath and pull my lips between my teeth as I think about how to respond. If I'll respond.

"Justin, I can't promise…" Christ, not only can't I promise him anything, I can't even tell him what it is I can't promise.

Did I mention I'm an asshole?

"I don't want you to make promises for me, Brian. I know you'd keep them, but every time you found it hard, every time it went against what you wanted to be doing, you'd blame me. Maybe not knowingly, but you would. We'd both end up miserable."

Then where does that leave us? I wasn't kidding when I said I had no fucking clue where to go from here. I feel, no, I know something should change, but I'm damned if I know what it is.

"But if I were going to. Make promises, I mean. Which one would you most want to hear?"

He looks surprised at that. Shocked, really. And why shouldn't he be? I've agreed to his rules in the past, but I've never really asked him what he wanted from me. What he expected. Maybe I was worried that it would be too much.

Or worse, too little.

He's looking at his hands as the fingers of one pull at the bandage on the other. I cover them with one of my own, stilling their movement and causing him to look up at me with an expression reminiscent of a deer in the headlights.

"This isn't some mindfuck, Justin. Just tell me. I really want to know."

He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. "God, Brian, this is harder than it probably should be."

No shit.

"Tell me."

He huffs a nervous laugh and shakes his head. "I want to say I'd like to hear you promise that we'll always be together. Happy. In love." He looks down at his hands again and back up again, his expression sad. "But I don't know that that's a promise anyone can really make."

He'd be surprised to know I'd love to hear that same promise. But he's right. There are no guarantees. "Probably not."

He nods once and looks down again, studying the bandage that's now frayed at the edges for a long moment. This time, when his gaze meets mine, it's clear and confident. "Then I guess the promise I'd most like to hear is that you'll try."

I raise an eyebrow. That could mean almost anything. "To…?"

"Christ, Brian, I don't know. Take your pick."

Great. He's pissed now. Maybe it really was, as I suspected, an unfair question. But that doesn't stop me from wanting an answer.

He lets out an irritated breath and shakes his head. "Try to at least act like you want this to work between us. Try tricking when it's something you really want to do instead of something everyone else expects. Try to be an actual human being instead of a fucking asshole."

Despite his obvious anger, I feel my lips twitching in amusement. He's right on all counts, of course. He's managed to unwrap the sheet from his legs and is almost off the bed when I grab him by the wrist and pull him back. He lands with his chest on mine, fiery blue eyes staring down at me like lasers.

We just stare at one another for a long time. "I should have been in the loft last night," I finally say quietly.

"What? Jesus fucking Christ, Brian."

"Settle down and let me finish, twat."

He presses his lips together, but his eyes are still testament to how angry he is as they shoot accusing daggers my way.

"If I'd been there when the fire started, maybe I could have done something before it got out of hand, or at least called the fire department. I would have been there when you got home and you wouldn't have had to think I was inside." I pause for a moment, watching the emotions play through his eyes. "And I wouldn't have been in the backroom trying to convince myself of something that hasn't been true for a long time."

Blond brows knit together as he stares down at me. "And what would that be?"

The silence stretches between us as I stare into his eyes. "That I don't want this," I finally admit. "That I don't want you."

His eyes register surprise before softening into something else. Something uniquely Justin. "You really are an asshole sometimes."

I have to laugh at that. It's true. But only he can say it with such absolute, unwavering affection. "Yeah, I know."

He lowers his lips to mine and we get lost in a slow sensual kiss. When it's over, what seems like an eternity later, though not nearly long enough, I pull him close and whisper in his ear. "I promise to try."

He pulls back a little and an instant later that megawatt smile is beaming down at me. He kisses me softly. "Thank you."

And that's enough for him. No promises of monogamy or rings or a big house complete with family. Just knowing that I believe in us, in him, enough to try. And for some reason, that makes me want to give him more.

Someday.

Maybe.

In the meantime, the least I can do is show him that I, too, am willing to compromise.

"What do you say we make it official?"

"Huh?"

I laugh at the expression of incredulity on his face as I pull him more fully on top of me, our bodies aligning together like they were designed to do just that.

"Do you, Justin Taylor, take me, Brian Kinney, to be your unlawfully, unwedded non-husband, to have and to hold, to fuck and be fucked, more the latter than the former, naturally, for better or for worse, until it's legal in the state of Pennsylvania at which time we may or may not choose to do it right, depending, of course, on how I feel about pseudo-hetero conventions at that time?"

I watch his expression change from horrified surprise to amusement and then to something that can only be described as pure unadulterated love.

Maybe this compromise thing isn't so bad after all.

"I do," he whispers, leaning down to kiss me long and deep.

I'm laughing a little as we part. "You're getting a little ahead of yourself, Sunshine."

He adopts his most serious expression. Or as close as possible given the grin that keeps threatening to emerge.

"Do you, Brian Kinney, take me, Justin Taylor, as your unlawfully, unwedded non-husband, to have and to hold, to fuck and be fucked, the frequency of each to be renegotiated as circumstances deem necessary, for better or for worse, until it's legal in the state of Pennsylvania at which time you can bet your ass we'll be doing it right so long as you've come to realize that it can be whatever we want it to be and not just a pseudo-hetero convention by that time?"

"You changed the script," I tease.

"We've always fared better writing our own," he replies with a shrug and a mischievous smile. "Why change now?"

He's right. Most of our problems arise when we try to do things the way everyone thinks we should. Left to our own devices, we'll probably do just fine. "In that case, I do."

He smiles. "You may now kiss your extremely hot non-husband or whatever that makes us."

I oblige with a toe-curling kiss that leaves him breathless. When we finally part, I look deep into his eyes. "I think that makes us stuck with each other."

His smile could light the whole fucking room. "I can live with that."

For the first time in my life, I think I can, too.

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