Incendiary

Chapter 2 - Spark

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Brian

I look out at the sea of bodies on the dance floor and let the primal pulse of the music course through my body.

Thumpa

A distraction, forged through its own monotonous nature, chasing away all need for rational, coherent thought to leave room for only the most basic of human instincts.

Fucking

Sucking

Coming

Sensation without having to feel. Wanting without having to need. Taking without having to give, give, give.

The thing about being the best here is that I never have to worry about disappointing. They know what to expect and they get it. In and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit.

Neat

Clean

Efficient

Not like the fucking advertising business.

The thing about being the best there is that everyone inevitably wants more. You do a kickass campaign once, they want even better the next time around. You're constantly expected to top yourself, to outshine your own brilliance. It's one thing to outthink and outperform everyone else.

It's a lot fucking harder to outdo yourself.

Especially since advertising is no longer the only thing that expects the seemingly impossible from me. There's Justin, the twink who turned my world upside down and then left with visions of Hollywood dancing in his head, only to return with a whole new set of expectations.

Monogamy

Marriage

Fucking suburban bliss

Not that he's ever come out and demanded any of those things, exactly, but it's obvious how much he wants them nonetheless. The brief flicker of sadness and envy that flashes through his eyes when we're with Mikey and the professor in their pseudo-hetero heaven. The disappointment in his face when the need for meaningless sex rears its ugly, though not unsatisfying head.

I know what he wants, what he needs. I'm just not sure I can give that to him. Not now. Maybe not ever. And while I'm trying to decide exactly what it is I want, what I need, I can feel him slipping away from me.

Further

And further

And fucking further

I see it in his eyes every time a little bit of the hope dies. Every time he forces himself to realize that I may not be capable of becoming all he thought I could be. Every time he doubts his reasons for coming back and the choices he continues to make that keep him with me.

I never thought I'd want a relationship and all the shit that goes with it. Never thought I could have it. Never thought it would ever have a place in my life. In my head. In my … God … my fucking heart.

But I do

And I can

And it does

Where the fuck did that come from? Those are the very ideas I've fought so hard against. Condemned Mikey, my best friend, for. It's ideas like those that smudge the lines between what we are and what they want us to be.

This is who I am

What I do

Where I belong

I grab the good looking redhead who's been making eyes at me for the last ten minutes and head for the backroom to reestablish the fact that I still have my own ideals. I have to refrain from rolling my eyes at the expression on his pretty face. He looks like he just won the fucking lottery. And in a way, he did. The only one that matters, here and now, at any rate.

All Brian Kinney

All fucking

All the time

I offer him a predatory smile as I lean back against the wall and push him to his knees. I close my eyes in anticipation as he undoes my jeans and frees my throbbing cock. It won't be the first blowjob I've received here tonight, but it's bound to be the best.

I grimace as he starts, his enthusiasm doing little to make up for his incompetence.

"Cover your teeth," I tell him as I reach for the phone vibrating in my pocket. He looks up at me as I flip it open, uncertainty shining in his big, not-blue eyes. One hand on the back of his head while the other raises the phone to my ear. "Who told you to stop?"

He resumes the task at hand… er.. mouth and, once I'm satisfied that he's taken my previous instruction to heart, I answer. "Kinney."

"Brian! Thank God!"

"Not that I ever tire of hearing that," I say, smirking into the phone, "but what the fuck do you want, Mikey?"

"Where the Hell are you?"

I have to stifle a gasp as the trick slides into a most satisfying rhythm. "Where all good fags go to die, Mikey, where else?"

"Well you'd better get your dick out of whoever's mouth or ass it's in and get down to the hospital. Carl called and told us the loft is on fire and Justin's been taken to emergency."

I'm pushing the trick off and zipping up before the words fully register. "What?"

"He's Ok, just some smoke inhalation and what they think are minor burns on his hands."

I'm heading for the exit, checking my watch. "What the fuck was he doing there? He's supposed to be at the diner until midnight."

"Ma sent him home early because he was fucking exhausted, Brian. The place was already on fire when he got there and he thought you were inside."

"Fuck," I mutter. "I'll see you there."

I snap the phone shut and shove it into my pocket, not once breaking my stride. So many thoughts are racing through my mind that I don't even try to make sense of them, allowing them free rein in whatever disjointed, unorganized order they choose to surface.

"I'm working 'till midnight; can you pick me up?"

"I'll be working, too. I've got less than a week to come up with something brilliant for Remson. If I'm not there by 11:30, call me."

"Don't worry about it. I'll get a ride or take the bus."

Fuck. He shouldn't have been working at the fucking diner anyway. He'd spent the morning pounding the pavement looking for a job and the afternoon painting out his frustrations over the slim pickings to be had without a college degree. Then, Deb had called and asked him to fill in for a shift or two since Kiki's apparently out with the flu. Fucking twat can't seem to say no to anyone but me.

I'm surprised to find my thoughts have occupied me all the way to the hospital. As soon as I make it through the emergency entrance, I can hear Debbie's voice.

"We are his fucking family!"

"What's going on, Deb?" I ask as I approach her. "How is he?"

"How the fuck would I know?" she demands, obviously angry. "They won't let anyone back there with him who isn't a fucking blood relative."

I turn to the nurse who's regarding us with an inflated sense of authority. "I'm his partner and I want to see him. Now."

She looks like she's about to argue, then thinks better of it. Smart. "Just let me check with the doctor."

"Do that," I tell her. "Quickly."

She nods and disappears through a door, leaving me to turn to where Debbie and Michael are waiting. "What the fuck happened?"

Debbie is trying hard not to cry so I turn to Michael.

"I only know the paramedics were already treating him when Carl got there. Justin told them you were still inside. The super says he found Justin trying to get into the loft and he had to drag him out. Literally. Carl called Ma, Ma called me. By the time I got hold of you, Justin was already on his way here in the ambulance. She wouldn't even let us back there to tell him you're alive."

"He thinks I'm dead?!" I ask, outraged.

"Brian?"

I whirl and see him standing with the nurse, his hands bandaged, tears making fresh tracks down soot-covered cheeks.

Without a word, I close the distance between us. He's in my arms before I even realize it, his voice practically sobbing in my ear.

"Brian. Oh, God, Brian."

"Shhh," I whisper, holding him tighter. "It's Ok. I'm here. I'm Ok." I wait until he calms a little before pulling back to look at him. "Are you all right?"

"I thought you were dead," he says, as though that is supposed to answer my question. "God, Brian, I thought you were fucking dead."

"I'm not," I assure him, cupping his face with both hands to calm him. "Look at me. I'm right here. I'm fine."

He's suddenly hugging me again, his bandaged hands clamouring for purchase on my back. "You said you'd be working at the loft. I thought… I saw the fire and I kept calling for you… I thought… But you weren't there. Thank God you weren't there."

I hold him close, letting him ramble, knowing he needs to vent the relief and residual terror. He takes a long shuddering breath and lets it out in a rush. Pulling back, he searches my face as though to confirm I'm really there. I try to smile, but it dies a frozen death on my lips at the next words out of his mouth.

"Where were you?"

Fuck

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