Dear Brian 

Chapter One

 

It had been a Hell of a long week, a Hell of a long day and a frigging long year, too, if you wanted to come down to it. It was Friday night and Brian had just managed to finally approach his own front door at almost ten o’clock at night. There had been meetings all day long followed by a lunch meeting with some potential contacts he’d had to schmooze, then more meetings and all wrapped up with Vance going to dinner with clients and leaving him at the office to clean up loose ends and problems left behind by the moron twins when they left.

 

Fuck, he was tired.

 

There was a package leaning against the painted gray steel, a brown paper bag of some kind of take out—Chinese by the smell.

 

Justin, thank you.

 

He slid the heavy door open, walked through with his briefcase in one hand and the bag in the other, putting both on the counter. He was too tired to go out, Damnit, but he’d have some of the food, a shower and then just fall into bed. After all, tomorrow was another day.

 

Taking off his suit jacket, he opened the food. Cold noodles, beef and broccoli and steamed dumplings, all his favorites, and they were even still hot—except for the cold noodles, of course. Excellent. He’d thank the boy in the morning when he stopped by the diner, but right now all he wanted was food, and bed to sleep.

 

He liked this part of sort of having a boyfriend, or whatever Justin was to him at this point—a friend, certainly—he liked that someone was actually thinking about him. It was a nice feeling.

 

He took the food over to the couch, eating while he watched the news and weather. He’d promised to take Gus tomorrow and he wanted to see if the weather would allow a visit to the park.

 

Yes, clear skies for tomorrow. Setting the alarm, he turned off the lights, decided that a shower would wait until the morning, stripped off his clothes and went to bed. He was asleep by eleven thirty, content that Justin had thought of him even if he hadn’t come over tonight to stay.

 

The next morning he was at his usual booth at the diner with the usual friends. It was a Saturday morning ritual to meet around ten there, have a late breakfast and then get on with their days. Justin came over for their usual orders carrying the coffee pots.

 

“Did you have to work really late last night, Brian?”

 

“I got home about ten or so.”

 

“You had dinner?”

 

“I had takeout.” Justin just nodded a ‘that’s nice’ and filled his coffee cup without comment, playing it close to the chest with everyone around. OK, that was fine. It was no one’s business, anyway. “I’m picking Gus up in a little while, you want to come with us?”

 

Justin brightened. “Yeah, that would be great.” He looked over at Debbie, knowing he was about to ask if he could get off early, she just shook her head. “Uh, why don’t you pick me up here after you get Gus, OK?” 

 

Brian had seen the look, too. “Yes, I think that might work.”

 

Two hours later he three of them were in Schenley Park on a perfect spring day. The sky was blue and cloudless, the temperature was warm and the flowers were blooming. Gus was running now and starting to speak partial sentences, making his wants known with the determination of a toddler.

 

“Daddy—push me higher!” that was the swings.

 

“Daddy—again!” more swinging.

 

“Daddy—ice cream!”

 

“Gus, you know how to ask.”

 

“Daddy—ice cream, please!”

 

“Alright, but no telling your Mom’s, OK? This is a secret, got that?”

 

“OK.”

 

“Brian, he’s wearing that ice cream. There’s no way they’re not going to know.” Brian knew that, he didn’t care.

 

They had exhausted the entertainment possibilities of the playground, as far as Brian was concerned, anyway. “Alright, Sonnyboy, where to now? Would you like to see dinosaurs?” Laughing, they heading over to the Carnegie Museum to see the stuffed Dodo and the fossils. Buying the child a tee shirt printed with glow in the dark dinosaurs, Brian took the sticky shirt off of his son, changing it for the clean one.

 

He wasn’t completely stupid.

 

They wandered through the galleries and the exhibits, Gus exclaiming over this and that, pulling them both by the hand as things caught his eye. He loved the wall that showed an early horse, the one about the size of a small dog and wanted one as a pet.

 

He had been begging Linds and Mel for a kitten for months now, being refused until he was older. Evidently, Lindsay had read an article about kids not being old enough for pets until they were about six. This did not prevent him from begging both his father and Justin for the longed for kitten, both of them putting him off, knowing the Mother’s feelings. This was something Brian wasn’t going to get into with them. Unlike Justin, he didn’t even like animals.

 

Gus loved the museum displays of very dead and somewhat dusty stuffed animals in the halls of Mammals, wishing he could take them all home and begged, when they finally left, to be able to go to the arches for a clandestine fat laden dinner.

 

Later, Happy Mealed—with Brian having a salad— the two men dropped the child off at home, fooling neither of the women about their day and none of them particularly caring.

 

“Want to hit Woody’s with me tonight?” They were on their way back to Brian’s for a real dinner Justin had planned on making for the two of them.

 

“I don’t know, maybe. I have to get up early to finish a project for Monday. Maybe for a little while.”

 

When they got back to the loft after a quick stop at the Giant Eagle, Brian carried the bag of groceries and Justin grabbed the mail. Justin still spent part of his time living at Jennifer’s and tended to only stay with Brian three or four times a week—not enough for either of them, but they had both decided not to push things while their being back together was still new. They were taking it slow.

 

Justin made the Chicken Cordon Bleu that he knew Brian would only eat once or so a year, putting it in the oven to bake for an hour. Closing the oven door, he went over to where Brian was checking some pie graphs on the computer. Coming up behind him, sliding his hands around the older man’s chest, kissing the back of his neck, Brian leaned back into the embrace, feeling the soft lips on his neck and on his shoulders where the sleeveless tee ended.

 

Turning, he asked “How long until dinner is ready?”

 

“Less than an hour.”

 

“I think we could use a shower, you think?”

 

“I think. Maybe a quick one.”

 

Taking his hand, Brian led him up to the bathroom, lifting the PIFA tee over his head then sinking gracefully to the floor, Justin’s hands relieving him of his own shirt as he sank down.

 

Opening Justin’s jeans, he slid them down the pale legs. Kissing the slightly soft planes of the boy’s stomach. Justin’s hands cradling his head against his abdomen. They remained like this for a minute or two before Brian left off his nuzzling and rose again, turning to the small enclosure to turn on and adjust the water.

 

Removing the rest of their clothing, they both stepped into the spray, closing the glass door behind them. Justin started gently stroking Brian’s shoulders, his back and down to his hips, gently, carefully, sensuously, enjoying the feelings of the water running over his body and the slippery feel of Brian’s skin with the thin coating of soap slicking the way, removing any friction.

 

Without warning, Brian’s hands were on Justin’s shoulders, turning him to the wall, pushing him up against it. Pressing his body close he whispered, “Do you mind? Like this?” Justin shook his head, turning his face to be kissed as Brian reached the ever-present condom wrapper in the soap holder. Hearing the foil rip and the sound of it being rolled onto Brian’s cock, there were no words as he was entered.

 

Several quick minutes later, they were both catching their breath as Brian took the tube of shampoo, using it to gently clean Justin from his hair to his legs, rubbing every inch of him and soothing flesh that had been roughly used, unintentionally bitten and bruised.  In minutes they had both finished cleansing one another and had moved on to toweling one another dry with the heated towels from the new rack Brian had decided would be a good idea last winter during the endless deep freeze the city had been caught in. Justin had to admit that they felt damn good on a cold night.

 

Back in the main room after their relatively brief break for relaxation, Justin busied himself with the final prep for dinner while Brian sorted through his mail. He had the bad habit of sometimes allowing it to pile up during the week and the stack was at least a foot high.

 

Most of it was bills and junk mail, but there were a couple of personal things that he actually wanted to read.

 

One was a thank you from one of last year’s interns, telling him that the recommendation he had written for her, along with the call he’d placed to the head of the department was what had gotten her into the grad school she had been hoping for and she would be grateful to him all her life. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he was pleased and touched that she had taken the time to write to him. She had been a nice girl and talented, reminding him of Daphne.

 

There was a letter from an old co-worker, now out of work and hoping for some openings at Vanguard.

 

The guy was second rate, but had helped Brian early in their careers. This would be awkward. He didn’t want to completely blow the guy off, but he didn’t really want to give him a job, either. If he sent him elsewhere and the man screwed up, Brian would look bad.

 

Shit.

 

He’d meet with him. Maybe he’d improved.

 

Maybe. It could happen. Unlikely, but it could.

 

Crap.

 

The third piece of personal mail was a card. It was Hallmark and was covered with Victorian looking hearts and flowers, all pink and red and had an actual satin bow tying the painted rose stems.

 

On the inside were just the three words.

 

“I Love You.”

 

It was unsigned.

 

Jesus, Justin must have been having a twat moment.

 

Well, damned if he was going to mention anything that twee. It would just encourage him.

 

“Brian? Dinner.”

 

The rest of the weekend was relatively uneventful. They had hit Woody’s after all, then gone back to Brian’s for a couple of hours in bed before falling asleep. As promised, Justin had left about lunchtime to work on his assignment and Brian spent the rest of the day going over bills and doing more clean up from the previous week’s screw ups.

 

Partner. Lot’s more money, which was nice, but he was getting tired of walking behind everyone with a bucket putting out their fucking fires.

 

Around one in the morning he decided that he’s had enough and simply shut down the computer and went to bed.

 

The next morning he walked back into his office after a pitch to Duquesne University who were trying to attract more and better students. It was about eleven and he was about to start returning the pile of phone messages when Cynthia poked her head in.

 

“Brian? These were just delivered for you.” She placed a vase with two dozen red roses on his desk.

 

He looked at her like she was perpetuating a not very funny joke. “Who the fuck sent me these?”

 

“There’s a card.”

 

Of course. He took the stiff paper from its holder in the flowers, opening the small envelope. It just said, in flowing script, “I love you.”

 

“You and Justin must have had some weekend.”

 

“Fuck off.” What was the twat thinking of? He knew that Brian hated crap like this and he didn’t have money to throw away on the kind of gesture that would be guaranteed to simply annoy Brian. It had to be Justin, but he wanted to check something.

 

Looking at the Florists name on the gift card, he dialed the number.

 

“Hello? Did you just deliver roses to Brian Kinney at Vanguard?…You did? Do you remember what the person looked like? …It was placed over the phone?…Could you tell me the name of the person who placed the order?…Why not?…Client confidentiality? Jesus.”

 

Next he dialed Justin’s cel. It answered on the fourth ring.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Why did you send me flowers? You can’t afford that kind of shit.”

 

“...Why would I send you flowers?”

 

“That’s what I’m asking.”

 

“It wasn’t me—did someone really send you flowers? You must have made an impression on someone, stud.”

 

“You really didn’t send them?”

 

“Why would I do that even if I could afford to? You hate stuff like that.”

 

“…Did you send me a card a couple of days ago?”

 

“Brian, you have a secret admirer.” Justin was laughing.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Brian, this is great!” He was really laughing now.

 

“Later, twat.”

 

“Later.”

 

When he looked up, Cynthia was standing in the doorway, smiling. “You’re eleven thirty is here. Mr. Glass from Pittsburgh Steel. I’ve put him and his people in the main conference room.

 

“And fuck you, too.” Laughing to herself, she went back to her desk.

 

Hoping that maybe this would be the end of whatever was going on, Brian went to his next meeting.

 

After giving the pitch and taking the clients to lunch where they had said that they would think about what he had proposed and get back to him by the end of he day, he was back at his desk by three, wanting to check whatever had come in while he was away.

 

He hit the intercom button.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Get these fucking flowers out of my fucking office.”

 

“What would you like me to do with them?”

 

Too easy. “You can take them home if you want the damn things.”

 

He booted his computer. He had mail.

 

There were the usual things: invitations to various professional dinners and seminars, some things from friends here and there, a few pieces of spam, some unwanted porn crap and one with a return address he didn’t recognize: Yourfan@aol. Normally he’d just delete it, but something made him hit read—Hell, with that return address, it could be anything.

 

 

Dear Brian,

 

I’m the one who sent you the card and the roses.

 

The other night I knew that you were working late and when I saw that you hadn’t had time for lunch and hadn’t stopped anywhere to get food, I was worried that you’d be hungry, so I got you the Chinese food. Those are your favorites, right? It’s what you usually order. I really had to hurry to beat you home!

 

When I dropped it off I was afraid that you’d see me, but I hid in the stairwell and I guess that you didn’t realize that I was there. I hope not. I wouldn’t want to scare you or think I’m a weirdo or anything.

 

You should be more careful about who the other tenants let into your building. Anyone can get in and I’d hate if anything happened to you.

 

I’m sending you a couple of pictures I took on Saturday, too. I thought that you’d like to have them. Gus is a beautiful kid—God, you have every right to be so proud of him. I wish I had a kid like him.

 

Anyway, you can stop worrying about anything from now on. I’m keeping an eye on you.

 

Yourfan.

 

 

He downloaded the attachment to see four pictures of them that weekend. One was of Brian pushing Gus on the swing, one of him spilling the ice cream all over himself, one as they looked at the dodo and one at McDonalds.

 

Holy fuck.

 

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