Car Trouble
Justin
We just sat together on that bench for ages. Not speaking; Brian had told
me all he wanted to get off his chest. He didn't need me to comment on it.
He just needed me to know, and to understand.
I understood all right. I more than understood what a total prick his "best
friend" is. God! I wish I'd been there when Mel laid into him. I know that
Mel and Brian don't exactly get along, and sometimes to be honest I think
she can be a real bitch. But she's an honest bitch. And she would never take
kindly to someone cheating one of her friends. Especially
after what her and Lindz went through with
Ted.
Emmett told me about that. He was so upset about it, and he paid back all
the money, but I think Michael pulling the same sort of stunt must have just
about sent Mel into orbit. I so wish I'd been there.
But right now, I really wouldn't want to be anywhere but here. Brian's arm
is warm around me, and mine is still tucked behind him, holding him while
we just sit and enjoy being together. The clouds have cleared now, and you
can see the sky. The stars are bright, and there's the tiniest sliver of
a new moon reflecting in the dark water of the river. It's getting colder
and I guess we should move soon, but this is just
"Ridiculously romantic," I hear myself saying.
He stiffens beside me and I realise that I should
never ever have used the "r" word - well, the other "r" word.
"Wh
what?"
"Brian, it's okay. It was a joke. I mean I know
we're not some het couple, c'mon!"
He sits very still for a moment, and very silent. His silence is so deep
it could drown the world.
Then he says, "I said that, those exact words. The night
"
He stops, but I know which night. There's only one night he would ever have
used those words. It's a killer that it's the one night of all those that
we've spent together that I can't remember.
I rub my face against his shoulder, but don't say anything. I'm not sure
that my voice would work, and besides, there's nothing to say.
He turns his face to me, and our mouths find their way to each other without
our brains seeming to have anything to do with it. It's a long kiss.
Sweet and wet.
Then he huffs a little sigh and says against my lips, "Ridiculously
romantic."
And kisses me again.
Then, as one, we stand and take each other's hand and start the walk back
to the car.
Brian
I can't believe he said that. I don't know if it means that he's starting
to remember, or if it was just a fucking fluke.
I don't know if I want him to remember.
As long as he doesn't, then we can go on from where we are now. Maybe if
he remembered, he'd
we'd
try to go back to how it felt then,
and that would be such a huge fucking mistake. Things are good now. Better
than they were then. That night might have been romantic, but this is real.
This is
this is how our lives can be. Every
day. Every night. Not all happy sappy like
some het sitcom; not all drama all the time like
some damned soap. Just
life
good bits, bad
bits. But together.
Which makes even the bad bits okay.
I'm going to need enough help not to fuck this up without trying to recapture
that night. Maybe he is too.
But
I know he feels cheated. I know damned well that's why he pushed
so hard before with all the romance shit
because he couldn't remember
that night, and he wanted it back. And I refused to give it to him.
To even try.
Except that I did try. With Daph
at the loft, and later in the parking garage. I did try. And it nearly
killed me. It tore me apart all over again. I just couldn't go back there.
I realize that I've put my arm around him and pulled him close to me as we
walk. His arm is round my waist now, so I guess I'm stuck with walking like
this all the way back to the car.
Shit! the car. I still have to talk to him about
the car. As if I haven't fucking talked enough
tonight.
But I want to go looking tomorrow, while we both have the time, so I guess
it's either tonight or tomorrow morning.
If I put it off till then, then at least I'll be sure of getting some tonight.
But he'll be even more pissed with me tomorrow.
Funny how I'm so sure that he's going to be pissed with
me.
Maybe I can find a way to spin it. I mean, this afternoon changed things
a bit. And I'm Brian Kinney for fuck's sake. I should be able to sell this
to him.
Except that he usually sees right through all my bullshit,
almost before I start. Still, I have to try. And I've surely racked
up some brownie points tonight. So even if he is pissed, he might still come
across. Hell! he'll be as horny as I am after just
sitting close like that for fucking hours. This is probably the best time.
Get him a bit hot and bothered, and tell him then while he's a bit distracted.
That way
"Brian, what are you thinking about?"
Shit!
Justin
Normally I would never ask him a question like that, but I swear as we walked
back to the car you could practically see the wheels turning. There's this
look that he gets when he's planning something and he's not sure I'm going
to be thrilled about it, and that look was all over his face. I figured whatever
it was, it was better to get it out in the open.
Maybe he just wants to go to
I'm not really up to it, but that's okay. He can go. I know he'll come home
to me eventually.
It's funny, you'd think that after feeling so close
to him tonight, the thought that he might want to go out tricking would just
about kill me. But it's sort of the opposite. I know, really know, that it
just wouldn't mean anything more than that he's had a rough week, and needs
to relax a bit.
He gives me a sort of "sprung!" look, but we get to the car just then and
so there's a few minutes while we get in and turn
the heater on, and get rid of our coats, that he gets not to answer.
Then he starts the car and says just about the last thing I'd expected to
hear. "I was thinking about going looking for a car tomorrow."
He's driving around again in his dream car and he
shit!
"No, Brian," I say firmly. "No. Not happening."
He is so not buying me a car.
"Justin
"
"No!" I don't even let him get started. That's the only way with Brian.
He's all too good at talking people into things
"Justin, please. At least listen."
I fold my lips together and just stare out the window. I will not be his
little boy toy. I will not.
"Look
when I bought this car
Michael called it boyfriend
replacement therapy, and I guess it was in a way."
I can't believe he said that. I turn my head to stare at him. We pull up
at some lights just then, and he gives me a look. Then he shrugs.
"Justin
you know
you know how I am. When you left, I
"
his voice fails for a moment and I have to touch him. I put my hand on his
arm and he gives a little grin as the car moves forward again.
"Anyway, I went into
you know
back to being
"
He laughs a bit and nods. "Yeah. That's it. So having
a car that only had room for me and my trick de jour,
that was
it was part of it."
I nod. "Yes, okay, I see that. But what
"
"That's not exactly who I am though any more. Is it?"
I fall silent, not quite knowing how to answer that. Not without setting
off major hissy fits anyway.
He laughs again and reaches out to squeeze my thigh.
"Justin, I need
we need
a car that we can use to take Gus out
with us. We can't do that in the `Vette."
I bite my lip. I hate to admit it but that does make sense.
"I thought when I picked my new company car I could choose something
you know."
"A family car," I giggle. I can't help it. It's too good an opportunity to
tease him.
"Fucker!" he says, but there's no anger there.
I grin at him.
"So you want to go shopping for a family saloon."
"Fuck no!" he shudders. "Another Jeep maybe. I don't
know. Something like that. Something big enough
for you and me and Gus
and the new baby, I guess, later on. But not
shit!"
"Okay, something big enough, but still cool and sexy."
"Exactly."
"So we use that whenever we want to take Gus anywhere, and the rest
of the time it sits in the garage."
He sneaks a look at me.
"Well
" he says.
"Brian!"
"Justin," he says back.
"Brian everyone will just think that you bought me a car. I hate that. I
hate it that
"
"Not everyone," he says quietly. "Michael."
I blush because he's hit the nail on the head with what my real problem is.
We arrive home then, and once more there's a pause in the conversation while
we get ourselves out of the car and into the building. This time, I'm the
one who gets the extra time to think up a response.
In the elevator he pulls me close and starts kissing my neck, sucking on
the pulse spot just below my jaw which he knows drives me crazy. I push him
away.
"Just tell me one thing," I demand.
He rolls his tongue around his cheek, but nods.
"Never mind the `Vette. Were you planning on buying
a second car anyway?"
He sucks his lips in for a moment, then as the elevator
arrives at the top, he nods. I sigh. At least I can rely on him to be honest
about that sort of stuff. Well, about most things; unless the biggest lie
he's telling is to himself - like with all that
`I don't believe in love' bullshit.
We get the door of the loft open, and he starts again, "Justin, listen
"
"No. I've told you. I won't have it, Brian. I won't."
"Look, before, when we didn't have the money, then you wasting time you don't
have, riding all over town on the damned buses, made some sort of sense.
But now that we do
"
"I don't."
His head goes up and back like I've slapped him. He takes a deep breath,
and then says steadily, "*We* have the money. *We*
do. Or what's the point?"
I stare into his eyes for a long moment while my heart and my brain fight
it out. My heart is saying, `Yes! Yes! Yes! He's right.' and my brain is
saying `this is too much, too soon, slow down'.
Somehow, I shake free of both of them and move into a clear space where all
the possible paths our relationship could take from here seem to spread out
before me, branching in so many different directions it should be nothing
but confusion, but for some reason the right path is suddenly really
obvious.
The right path is the one that doesn't hurt Brian. The
one that doesn't throw back in his face all that he's trying so hard to give
me. I don't mean the damned car. I mean his trust, his love,
his commitment to me, to us. The right path is the
one that doesn't sacrifice all that in no better cause than my false pride.
I smile at him a bit shakily, and he relaxes and I see in his eyes that he
knows it's alright. That he knows I've heard what he's saying to me. And
that I agree.
It is *we*. It has to be *us*, or what we're doing, everything we've been
through doesn't make any sense at all.
His eyes get that glow in them then and he sticks his tongue in his cheek
again.
"Besides," he drawls, "the `Vette might be as sexy looking as hell, but it's
fucking useless when it comes to real action."
I go to him and, taking hold of his belt, pull him forward against me. He
gives me the same tongue in cheek grin and I grab his shoulders and push
down on them hard. He sinks to his knees and kneels there, looking up at
me.
Slowly, I undo my pants.
His eyes aren't on my face anymore, and his tongue flicks over his lips.
I feel my cock jump just at the sight of it.
Without using his hands at all, he leans forward and mouths and licks at
my cock until it hardens. Then he presses his open mouth against the underside
of the shaft and I can feel his tongue fluttering against the largest vein.
It feels incredible and I let out a little moan.
His mouth moves up to cover the head and he suckles it gently. I reach down
and start fisting myself while he goes on suckling and I feel the
precum start to weep from my slit. I'm getting
close, and I don't want to cum like this, but I don't want him to stop,
either.
He takes the decision from me, slurping up the
precum with his tongue and then standing and kissing
me deeply so I can taste myself in his mouth.
He kisses me again, his hands cupping the back of my head and tangling in
my hair. Then he drops a little kiss on my nose.
"Bed," he says. "It's too fucking uncomfortable out here."
Brian
We fucked each other damned near into a coma and
now we're just lying here together and nothing in my whole fucked up life
has ever felt this good.
I don't want to think anymore. Especially not about the moment when I thought
it was all about to go to Hell. The moment before he smiled at me and saved
me. Again. But there is one more thing I have to
make sure he knows.
While he's curled against my side with his head in the hollow of my shoulder,
I say, "Justin. I understand about the need to feel independent, to stand
on your own feet. I do."
I want to tell him that he more than stands on his own feet, more than pulls
his own weight, that he's fucking carrying me plus all
my baggage half the time, but I don't know how. So I just say, "Let's
go tomorrow and look for a car. We'll insure it for both of us, but after
that I'll leave it up to you whether you want to drive it."
He gives a sort of chuckle, his breath tickling my bare skin.
"You won't pout if I decide not to?"
"Probably," I answer sleepily.
He kisses my shoulder.
"Sometimes it's sexy when you pout," he says.
"Mm," I grunt. I'm relaxed now that I've told him. I'm almost asleep.
His arm wraps around me a little bit tighter.
"Thanks, Brian."
I'm not sure what he's thanking me for exactly. I don't know if even he's
sure. But it doesn't matter. None of that matters. Only
this. Only this place that's us together.
Only this warmth and safety and peace.
Justin
We wake up fairly early in the morning, and, instead
of just fucking the extra time away, we decide to get up and get going. Without
talking about it, we both know that we want to be out of the loft before
anyone can come round to visit. They can't barge in on us anymore, at least,
but that's not going to stop them trying to hammer the door down.
For the same reason we don't go to the diner. Neither of us
want to deal with Mikey - or with Deb, who is bound
to stick her nose into it on dear Mikey's behalf.
God only knows what he's told her about it all, but it doesn't matter. No
matter what's happened, what Michael has done, how many people he's hurt
- Ben, me, Mel, Brian - it's going to be all Brian's fault, and I just can't
hear that this morning.
Suddenly I'm really glad that I can quit my job at the diner. I love Deb,
and hell, yes, I'm grateful to her. But she
she's Michael's mom. When
it all comes down, that's the thing that counts. Which
is okay. I mean, everyone's got a right to expect their mom to be
on their side. But it seems like it's always at Brian's expense. She can't
accept that darling Michael might behave like an idiot or a total little
shit because that's what he is, so it has to be Brian who has "made" him
act like that.
Jesus! He's over thirty, and he's still getting away with blaming his friends
for leading him astray. My mom wouldn't let me get away with that when I
was five. She would never have let me get away with blaming any of my actions
on someone else. I guess I should thank her for that, because I sure as hell
wouldn't have wanted to grow up into Michael.
That thought makes me chuckle as we get out of the elevator, and Brian quirks
an eyebrow at me.
I can't explain, so I just nudge him with my shoulder and say, "So, are we
looking for another Jeep, or something a bit less
"
"Less what?"
"Oh, I dunno. Gay?"
He gives me one of his patented Kinney you're on thin ice looks and I laugh
again.
"Well, macho-gay, then."
"Shit!"
"C'mon, Brian. You know it. It's every gay boy's dream to have a car like
that to strut their stuff in. It might as well have
a "I'm a big horny Top" sign on it."
His eyes twinkle with laughter then, and I grin at him, happy to see it.
"Now that might be an idea. Except that I won't be the one driving it. We'd
need to paint a "I'm really a sweet and soft little
Twinkie bottom" sign to go on the back."
As we walk to the car I punch his arm.
"I was hard enough for you last night," I retort.
"I made do," he grins.
"I seem to recall that I did the making
I made you pant," I back him
up against the car, not caring if anyone sees us, and rub one hand over his
crotch, while I put the other up round his neck.
"And I made you moan," I kiss him, and slide my arm around him so that my
hand leaves his crotch, and cups his ass.
"And I made
"
Kiss, squeeze.
"You
"
Kiss, squeeze.
"Scream
"
Deep kiss, harder squeeze, grind up against him.
"And beg
"
Deep and deeper kiss. Hardly any breath now.
His hands holding my head at just the right angle for his
tongue to stroke the roof of my mouth, both my hands on his ass now, pulling
him harder against me.
"Me to fuck you."
The last words take up all my breath and after that
there's just the sounds our mouths make on each
other's.
Then he pushes me away.
"Fuck!" he says. Appreciative and exasperated and frustrated
all at once.
"Later," I say, opening the car door. "We have to get the
fuckmobile first."
As we drive off it suddenly comes to me that I'm going to drive the car,
our car. I'm not only going to drive it, I'm going to flaunt that I'm driving
it.
Michael can interpret that as another example of my using Brian all he
wants.
I know what the real interpretation is. Brian and I both know what it really
means. It means we're `we'; we're `us'. It's as much a symbol of that as
if he'd put a fucking ring on my finger. And a hell of
a lot more practical.
Now I can hardly wait to find a car. And to show it
off.
Maybe we should have lunch at the diner on the way home.