Homework

Chapter 7:  Not a Totally Horrible Weekend


 

Justin

Saturday is full of all sorts of domestic shit, and it makes me feel kind of stifled, let alone Brian. But by the end of the day, we've talked Daph into becoming our (well paid) night nanny; we've ordered some of the practical shit we need for this place - like the monitoring system for Gus that we can switch on in any room (to replace the totally inadequate baby monitor that only has two "outlets"); we've got a guarantee from Stephane that the work inside the house will be finished by the end of next week (including installing the monitors), and that the all the other work (including a better landing stage for the boat) will be done by Memorial Day; plus I've arranged for us to go over to Em's new place on Monday night (after Gus has gone to bed - yay Nanny Daph!) to start discussing our "house-warming" party.

Most importantly, the builders have finished for the day, Mom has picked up Gus and taken him off to be spoiled rotten for the whole night, Daph has gone home and Brian and I are alone in our house for the first time ever.

We come in from waving goodbye to Gus and just kind of look at each other, like we don't quite know where to start.

Then Brian backs me up against the glass wall at the end of the hall, undoes my pants and before I know it he's deep-throating me. It's fucking amazing, and it's only the start.

We've been fucking all over the house all week, but this time we can make as much noise as we like and we don't have to get dressed between rounds and it's just … it's freedom. It's us. And it's something we really really needed to make us feel like this is really our home. I did anyway.

We order takeout from the place a couple of blocks over that we drive past on our way here. It styles itself as "Asian fusion" which makes Brian snort, but the food's okay … they have some Thai dishes and some Japanese and some that are kind of hybrid, but it all tastes terrific to me, especially when I get to lick the terryaki sauce off Brian's nipples and suck the noodles out of his navel.

I'd put my pants on long enough to open the door and pay the delivery guy and then Brian had insisted on pulling them off again. So we eat together naked on the floor of the main room under Billy's windows while the setting sun splinters the colors from the glass into shards of light across the whole room and the reflections from the upstairs windows turn Brian's body into a kaleidoscope. Then we make love one more time on the beautiful rug Brian bought for the other house before we head upstairs to shower and change to go to Woody's and then on to Babylon,

 

*****
 

Brian

He told me later that he's wanted me to fuck him on the desk in my office ever since we've moved in.

Well, I've wanted to take him up against that damned glass wall with the light turning his hair into some kind of fucking green halo since the first time we walked into the place.

So now we've both achieved an ambition.

We achieve a couple more before we finally get dressed and head out for the evening.

Walking into Woody's feels like … it feels like old times, although it's not so long since it was just routine. Funny, it's never really occurred to me before how much of my life was made up of those kind of routines and habits, but tonight coming here has an air, not just of fucking nostalgia but of novelty; like we're here for the first time in a long while.

Fuck! Enough of this introspective shit, I need a drink.

We have a couple of drinks and play a game of pool and by then the gang is pretty much all here. Emmett has arrived, escorting the damned old queens who live downstairs from his new abode. What the fuck is it with Honeycutt and the fossils? These guys are older than Vic was. Hell, they might even be as old as good old Dan. Or that other damned ancient of days Emmett was fucking at one point. But they only hang around long enough to have one drink and then they're off … I assume they're going home to curl up with a good book, but I overhear Emmett saying (just before I move in and remind Honeycutt that his hands have no business being anywhere near little Sunshine) that the old folks are on their way to some "adult film evening". Guess even when you don't get much action yourself you can still enjoy watching hot young things go at it.

Ted and Blake arrive holding fucking hands.

I want to feel revolted, but I obviously haven't had enough to drink, because I find myself thinking that happiness suits Theodore.

Mikey turns up just after we finish our second game of pool escorting Deb. Or she's escorting him.

They're both over-fucking-whelming glad to see me, gushing about how fucking fabulous I am because I single-handedly fought the good fight and got Mikey access to his little dumpling, or princess, or whatever the shit.

All I did was hand over some fucking cash, but apparently it's enough to entrench me in the Novotny Hall of Fame – for tonight anyway. Next week the chances are I'll have done something they don’t like or haven't done something they've demanded, and I'll be relegated for a while to the Novotny Pit of Infamy, but that's the way it works. Always has.

It used to fucking hurt, but it doesn't seem to matter so much anymore.

I guess because I don’t have to rely on the Novotny clan for the only validation I got as a human being anymore.

These days, I …

I was going to say I get all the validation I need from the little blond twat who is chatting away to Emmett about how fabulous the house is going to look by Memorial Day. And from my son.

And even, for fuck's sake, from Theodore and Honeycutt.

But the truth is … I must be some kind of psychologist's dream, because I'm actually getting to the point where I can "self-fucking-validate".

Where I know I'm not a total asshole, not a total fuck up as a human being, as a lover, as a father.

Where I can recognize that Brian Fucking Kinney may not be anyone's idea of a saint, but he's not a complete write off either.

Fuck! I really need another drink.

Or a bump.

Or maybe it's time to split a tab of E.

The magic kingdom beckons and its fucking Kings are ready to give the peasants a show.

 

*****
 

Justin

We have an amazing night at Babylon.

I would have thought we were all fucked out from our activities at the house, but Brian conjures a tab from somewhere and we split it and after that things are a little hazy, but I remember bumping and grinding on the dance floor, and sucking Brian off in the backroom and riding his cock on one of the couches in the VIP area and generally having a totally faaaabulous evening.

We don't sleep too late on Sunday though, because we're keen to get our boating lesson in before we pick up Gus.

The guy comes to the house and before we go out he shows us how to take the covers off and put them on again, and how to protect the motor when the boat isn't in use. He's got a stack of pamphlets for us, too, about maintenance and stuff. Brian got him to check the boat over during the week, so we know it's fine, but of course it needs to be looked after so it makes sense for us to have some idea what's required to do that.

We both made time during the week to do the online safety course, so we know a bit more now than we did the first time we went out, but the guy takes us through the basics and also some emergency procedures. We take turns to "drive" and learn how to refuel and how to tie up and what to do if the motor cuts out and all sorts of stuff.

You don't think about that shit when you learn to drive a car, because you've been watching people drive your whole life. But, aside from one trip to some lake somewhere when I was a kid that I can hardly remember, I've never been on a boat before and nor has Brian so we need to learn everything from scratch.

It's all okay though, and the boat itself is really easy to manage. So as long as some asshole doesn't cut us off or whatever, and as long as the motor doesn't blow up, we should be fine.

We have life jackets of course; Brian arranged with the boat guy to bring along a batch of top of the range ones in different sizes. The boat isn't big enough for more than four people, five at the most. But maybe some time we might want Daph to come with us or Mom and Molly, or maybe even Deb, so Brian wants to be sure we've got the right size life jackets so whoever does come out with us can be safe.

That's the kind of thing he thinks of and just arranges without any fuss that shows how wrong people are when they say he only thinks of himself, or only thinks with his dick.

I think maybe he did used to be like that sometimes, but only because …

I think it hurt him if he really thought about how the people he loved treated him.

I mean, I've done terrible things to Brian, things that really hurt him; I cheated on him, walked out on him in front of all our friends, and lots of other shitty little things – but I've never treated him as if it didn't matter because he had no feelings that could be hurt.

And that's what his "friends" did to him all the time – especially Linds and Michael.

Like it didn't matter that Mel was allowed to bad mouth Brian in front of his son because Brian's feelings didn't count … in fact, Brian didn't have any feelings to count.

Or that Michael was allowed to keep his rights to JR just because he whined so much, but Brian was made to feel like a selfish asshole who didn't want to be bothered with being a father, because for Gus's sake he signed that fucking paper to get the girls back together.

I guess I still have a lot of "issues" about all that stuff.

Because when Michael was slobbering all over Brian last night, so grateful for his help in getting up to Toronto and helping with the lawyer and shit, all I could think about were the things that Michael said when he found out Brian had given similar help to Lindsay back when they were all fighting over the baby and forgetting Gus's existence.

So my guess is that Brian used to avoid thinking about any of them at all a lot of the time, just because whenever he thought about them all that shit got stirred up and it fucking hurt.

But it's different now; at least I hope it is.

Anyway ... we learn a lot while we're out on the water, enough to feel confident that we can manage the boat safely on the river, and we have a lot of fun.

I can't wait to collect Gus and bring him out with us this afternoon.

 

****
 

Brian

I finally get Gus to settle down for the night and go to deal with the other cranky child.

He's giving me the fucking cold shoulder as if it's my fucking fault.

It wasn't hot, there was hardly any sun, how was I supposed to know he'd get windburn out on the damned water?

He's been on the phone to Mommy dearest and she's told him that the best thing will be to use some Aloe gel shit, so of course that means that I have to go right out to the drugstore to get some. And that means finding a drug store that's open on a Sunday night and isn't full of fucking weirdos.

I tell the tale of woe to the almost-hot guy at the counter and he sells me a shitload of stuff that probably isn't going to do any good at all, but might earn me brownie points with the little shit I live with.

I find him, red-faced and irritable watching some lame movie, so I hand over the bag of stuff, telling him that the guy from the drugstore recommended that he use both the Aloe gel and some coconut oil shit to re-moisturize his skin. He sniffs, but looks at all the stuff in the bag, then gives me that WTF? look that he specializes in when he's being a complete princess-bitch and knows it and wants to pretend that it's me that's unreasonable.

I shrug. "The drugstore cowboy told me that with your skin type you should wear a good moisturizer whenever you're out in the boat, as well as sunscreen, even when there's no fucking sun."

Then I shrug again and snatch the remote out of his hands so I can look for something more entertaining to watch. Anything so I don't have to look at lobster-face over there and feel like a total asshole for not thinking of this shit earlier.

I know how fucking sensitive his skin is, no one better. The number of times he's had to soak his face in cold water, gel, any fucking thing to get rid of the beard burn when I haven't shaved before we fuck, you'd think I'd fucking remember that.

 

*****
 

Justin

Okay, so maybe I queened out just a little bit after dinner, once Gus was in bed. But after dealing with Gus asking me like fifty times if I was sure my face didn't hurt and lecturing me about how important it is to "slip, slop, slap" or some shit, I felt like Elephant Man or something.

And I know I shouldn't have taken it out on Brian.

And I should have fucking known that he'd find a way to fucking blame himself, because he's the Great God Kinney, right, and he controls everything.

But honestly sometimes I just want to be able to vent when something shitty happens without having to worry that Brian might … well, pull a Brian and take the credit or blame for every fucking thing in the universe.

I should have made sure I put on sunscreen. Or at least a moisturizer. Or both. I know better than he does how easily my skin goes red. I've lived with it all my fucking life.

So now I'm torn between going off somewhere to sulk in peace or trying to charm Control King Kinney out of his bullshit guilt-induced blue meanies.

To delay having to decide, I pull everything out of the fucking enormous bag of shit that he's been conned into buying and suddenly I feel myself getting the giggles.

The extra large bottles of Aloe gel and some kind of coconut oil moisturizer are bad enough, but he's brought home this absolutely gigantic tub of something called Burt's Beeswax Moisturizing Cream plus a huge tube of 50+ sunscreen. There's enough of the beeswax stuff for every queer who marches in Pittsburgh's Pride Parade to use and still have enough left over for the GLC's fourth of July picnic.

I mean, unlike some people we know, I've only got one face. This is enough shit to protect it for the next century.

I'm trying not to laugh, mainly just because I want to go on being in a bad mood for a while, but really, his tendency to overkill is just hilarious sometimes.

He gives me one of those sneaky through-his-eyelashes glances that he uses when he doesn't want to be caught looking and for some reason that does it.

I just put my head down and laugh and laugh. I can't seem to stop; every time I go to take a breath and try to get myself under control I catch sight of the bucket-sized tub of beeswax stuff and off I go again.

He puts up with it for a little while, then he comes over and, pushing all the shit aside, kneels between my feet. I gasp and am trying to find breath enough to ask him what he thinks he's doing, when his hands jerk my pants open and then I don't have to ask.

This is the second time this weekend that he's given me a blow job and this one is even more stellar than the one yesterday afternoon.

When he's done I try to return the favor, but he insists that his hairy balls will irritate my face, so instead, I pull him out of the media room to the rug under the windows and make him fuck me.

Then we go upstairs and fuck again in the peace and quiet and comfort of our bed and I don't care what my face looks like, or how tight the skin feels, it's nothing like as tight as my balls get when he's buried inside me; and his shoulder is still cool and comfortable against my skin when we finally settle down to get some sleep.

One way and another it's been a kind of okay weekend.

Author's Note: I know they're not wearing lifejackets in the picture. My photoshop skills (such as they are) just weren't up to adding them. But I finally found a picture that matched what I thought the boat looked like, and then I came across the photo of Randy in just the right pose, and I couldn't resist playing with them. Mea Culpa. Forgive my lack of skills and put the result down to whatever the image equivalent is of poetic licence.
 

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