Reverberations

Chapter 14

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Brian

I can feel him eyeing me sideways as I start the car. I brace myself, trying to find the strength to keep from biting his head off.

I'm an asshole. It's well established; and if there was any doubt, then Deb has just made it very clear. Well fuck her. Fuck all of them.

All I wanted to do was to get out of there. Get Justin out of there.

I don't know what the fuck she expects me to do about Ben's little rampage.

I pulled him off that old bastard as fast as I could get to him. But I'm not a fucking superhero. I couldn't smuggle him away from under the eyes of the cops and hundreds of witnesses. And I wouldn't have if I could. What the fuck good would that do?

The best thing Ben can do is get a good lawyer, and plead temporary insanity or some shit. And then put all their assets into Mikey's name so that when that bigoted old bastard sues, they don't fucking lose everything. Maybe they can actually take advantage of the fact that the law doesn't recognize their marriage and make it work for them for once.

I'm not a fucking lawyer. I called Ted and told him to earn his keep by working out what has to be done to get Ben bailed. I even said that if they need cash Ted can draw a check on my personal account.

No matter what Deb or anyone else thinks, that's all I can do. For Ben at least.

And Ben's not my main concern anyway.

My main concern is that my partner has his first Opening tomorrow night … no, tonight, now. And the whole fucking universe seems to be determined to make sure he gets absolutely no pleasure out of that fact.

Well, the universe can go fuck itself.

He's going home, I'm going to fuck him into a coma and he's going to sleep for as long as he needs to. Then we'll get dressed, and we'll go to the gallery, and he will have a faab-ulous night.

And if anyone thinks they're interfering with that they can kiss my ass.

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Justin

I could feel his anger and frustration building as he stood in the park surrounded by the shambles Ben had made of the vigil and got screamed at by Debbie for not "doing something".

I don't think I've ever come nearer to hauling off and slapping her. What the fuck she expected Brian to do is anybody's guess. He actually asked her that and all she came out with was some bullshit about "get your ass down there and make them let him out".

Just how the hell Brian was supposed to do that, who the hell knows? Certainly not Deb - she's just reacting as always and expecting Brian to fix everything. And when he can't, he's a selfish shit.

At least tonight he stood his ground for once. I was so damned proud of him. He called Ted, made arrangements for Ted to contact Mel and do whatever was necessary to get Ben bailed, up to and including coughing up on Brian's behalf whatever cash was necessary. But he refused to go chasing off down to the police station on any fucking wild goose chase, like he's the damned hero and nothing can be done to help Ben without him.

Instead, he told Carl and Emmett to look after Deb, and then we left.

But he's still seething. The air in the car is so thick with his frustration that it's almost choking me.

Of course, the real problem is that we both know she won't let this go. She'll hold it over Brian and punish him for it like she always does when he doesn't kowtow to whatever it is that she thinks he should do.

It makes me so angry I want to scream back at her and see if I can slap some sense into that thick skull that she passed on to Michael.

I realize that it's not just Brian's frustration that's sucking all the air out of the atmosphere, and I take a deep breath and try some of the relaxation techniques I was taught to use during my panic attacks after the bashing. They help, and I feel the tightness leave my chest.

I reach out and put a hand on Brian's thigh as he pulls the car into our parking space. He turns to look at me, and all I see in his eyes is concern.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod, feeling suddenly exhausted.

I guess shock, trauma, lack of sleep and now Ben creating a whole new drama will do that to you. I'm not even sure I have the energy to climb out of the car; but I have to. I don't want Brian worrying about me. He's got more than enough on his plate.

Quite apart from this latest drama with Ben and Deb's bullshit, he's still reeling from what happened last night. I mean, his best friend is in hospital; and okay, they haven't been getting along very well lately, and Michael's hardly been acting like any sort of friend at all, but he still matters to Brian. If he'd died last night, while things are so bad between them, Brian would have been devastated. And … he really was scared about me. It was there in his face when he came looking for me right after it happened, and still more so later, when he tried to tell me for once how he felt. I wanted to fall into his arms and just hold him forever, he looked so freaked out and vulnerable.

Plus, it almost seems to have slipped everyone's notice, but it was his business that got blown to smithereens. In fact, it was much more than that, because Babylon was always far more than a business opportunity to Brian. It was his haven, his safe place. Babylon was where Brian always took off to when the outside world got too hard to handle. The place where he could put all of the pain of his past, all of that fear and anger, all of the fears and insecurities that ride him constantly out of his mind for a while.

And last night that haven got blown apart by other people's fear and anger. And he hasn't even begun dealing with that yet.

I want to get inside, and get him into bed and let him fuck me into the mattress if he's got the energy, so he can for a little while longer put off thinking about what losing Babylon will mean to him.

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Brian

We switch off all the phones, and turn on the alarm and finally, finally fall into bed. I guess I was more tired than I thought, because the last thing I remember vaguely is trying to tell Justin to roll over and the next thing I know I'm waking up with his hair in my mouth and his drool on my shoulder.

I feel like I should be pissed off by that, but instead I find myself working my arm loose to wrap it around him and draw him even closer for a moment so I can breathe him in. Something inside me that has felt cracked ever since I heard that damned radio announcement on Wednesday night comes together again in that moment. He's here. He's safe. He's mine. Despite all the dramas, he's here and we're together. We get to face whatever drama today brings together.

I look around trying to work out what time it is. The way the light is spilling in tells me it's a long way past dawn.

Fucking amazing.

We've slept the night through without sex, without drama, without anyone even trying to beat the door down to get to us. I can't remember the last time that happened. I'm not sure it ever has.

Right now though I need to get out of bed. I've never seen much appeal in golden showers, and I'm damned if I want to ruin yet another duvet.

I brush my lips across his forehead and slide out from under him. He mumbles some kind of protest and then burrows back down into the bed clothes.

I figure while I'm in the bathroom I might as well shower. No point in waiting till he can join me; hopefully he'll sleep for a while yet. Then I make coffee, and resign myself to checking our messages. Might as well get that over with too.

There aren't actually very many.

One from Ted telling me they couldn't get Ben bailed last night; and then another from earlier this morning saying that he was out now, and the criminal lawyer Mel had advised him to see was hopeful that under the circumstances they might be able to keep him from being charged.

Deb, of course. One from last night all weepy because poor Ben was locked up. And another two this morning … one asking where the fuck I was and why wasn't I at the courthouse with them, and another later telling me that if I was interested Ben was out and I'd better turn up at the hospital some time today.

There was a boring one from Ben, all "thanks" and yada yada. Who gives a fuck? I did what little I did for Deb and for Mikey. The professor isn't one of my biggest fans, and I'm not one of his. He's okay. He makes Mikey happy. But he's too damned sanctimonious and self righteous for my taste. I haven't forgotten the "biggest whore in Pittsburgh" line even if he has. Not that I give a fuck what he thinks of me. But coming from the guy I fucked every which way including loose at the White Party, it was such a load of hypocritical crap.

He wasn't exactly down there for the scenery. He was looking to get laid, just like the rest of us. But now he comes on like he was all but a virgin till he hooked up with Mikey. Fucking bullshit!

There's one from Jennifer, asking what time she should get to the gallery tonight. I find myself smiling at that, at least someone's fucking remembered; but it reminds me that I haven't found out yet whether Justin will be free to come to Chicago with me on Sunday night.

I clear off all the messages and then ring Lindsay. I'm still pissed with her, but, aside from wanting to sound her out about Justin, I need to know that she's okay.

She's all subdued and weepy when I ring, and then goes into that sweetly concerned mode, asking how Justin is. I have to bite back the response that if she'd really been concerned about Justin she would have called yesterday. Or even shown up at the vigil last night. It fucking amazes me that she and Mel have this reputation for being so fucking community minded when they're MIA most of the time when anything's really going on.

She tells me then that her and Mel are back together. She tries to put a spin on it that it's going to be such a great thing for Gus, because it will mean that he has a stable home base. What she's actually telling me, of course, is to let go of any idea of me playing a major role in my son's life. He has his two Mommies again now, so Dadda is once more surplus to requirements.

God knows why the fuck they've decided to try again. They've just about destroyed each other twice now, and the whole idea that their relationship is anything vaguely approaching stable is just fucking laughable. Maybe they got rattled by what happened Wednesday night. Or maybe they just bonded over some imagined threat that I pose to their ownership of my son. Who the fuck knows?

I sound Linds out about whether Justin will be needed at the gallery after tonight and she's pretty vague. I have the feeling she's totally lost interest in the fact that he has works on show. Well, maybe she's just feeling guilty for the shit she tried to pull on him. As well she should.

Anyway, it doesn't give me much to go on, so I hang up and then I call Sydney. I tell him Justin's sleeping and that I wanted to check what time he should be at the gallery. Sydney makes all these concerned noises and tells me to let Justin get as much rest as he can; that under the circumstances as long as he gets to the gallery by five, everything will be fine. I ask him about what sort of commitment he expects from Justin over the weekend, and he mumbles something about Saturday, but says that after that there shouldn't be any need for Justin to be around. I smile, and thank him. Then I get up and pour myself some more coffee.

I check on Justin, but he's still sleeping soundly. Thank Christ for that anyway.

That gives me time to work out some sort of strategy.

He hasn't mentioned my proposal again, so I guess he really does think I didn't mean it.

How the fuck am I going to convince him I did? I do. I want this. I want him to know that I'm as committed to this fucking relationship as he is, and it seems like lately marriage is the only barometer of commitment that counts. So marriage it's going to be. Closely followed I guess by the damned house and the mortgage.

I consider options and toss aside the fucking obvious ones. Sending him a romantic note in a dozen red roses will probably only bring on his allergies - for real for once. Dropping to one knee in the middle of Woody's is only an invitation for someone to spill beer on my head. Putting an announcement over the PA at Baby ….

Fuck!

Babylon.

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Justin

I wake up feeling slightly hung over the way you do when you sleep too long into the day. I roll over and grab my watch and sit up with a jerk when I see the time.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I should be at the gallery by now helping to … well, something. Sydney will be having conniptions.

I scramble out of bed and stagger down the steps. "Fuck, Brian!" I complain. "Why did you let me sleep so long?"

He looks up at me from the couch and by the look in his red rimmed eyes I realize something is seriously wrong. I see the phone near his hand and just about panic. Michael? Ben? What the fuck has happened?

I bite back the temptation to let fire with all those questions, trying to keep my panic from spilling all over him as I silently cross to sit next to him on the couch. He sticks his tongue in his cheek and gives me a pale ghost of a grin.

"Relax, Sunshine. I've spoken to Uncle Sydney and he's fine. He said to tell you to rest up and make it there by around five and all will be just fine and dandy."

I allow myself a small sigh of relief and then set about the delicate task of getting this stubborn asshole to tell me what the fuck is bothering him so much that it looks almost like he's been crying. In pursuit of that, I reach for his hand and curl my fingers around it.

His lips twist a little more, like he knows exactly what I'm up to, but all he says is, "I've cleared all the fucking messages from the loft phone and my cell - yours is up to you. I'd be tempted just to delete the lot."

I nod. O-kay. Could be that there's just been another outpouring of bullshit about what a selfish asshole he is, but that wouldn't normally make him look like his best friend's just died. Okay. Not a good cliché under the circumstances.

"Heard from the hospital?"

He gives a shrug. "I called. He's `resting comfortably' whatever the fuck that means when they've just dug out your spleen."

"We could leave a little early. Drop in on the way to the gallery," I offer.

He nods without saying anything.

I rub my head against his arm and he moves to let it fall around my shoulders. I nestle closer. His fingers tangle idly in strands of my hair.

"So how many messages did Deb leave?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

He huffs a dry laugh. "Only three."

"So are you an asshole for not going down to the jail house and busting Ben loose or an angel for getting Ted to organize the bail?"

He shrugs.

"Silly question, huh?"

"You need to start thinking about what you're going to wear to dazzle them tonight," is his only response.

I move away a little, then, knowing that's the signal that he doesn't want me to push any further. But as I'm getting up, I make one more try.

"Was there anything from Carl?"

He sighs. And it sounds … wounded. I almost sit down again, but know that's not the way to get him to respond, so I just keep going and move slowly to the steps.

When he speaks, his voice is hard to recognize, it's so shaky.

"He says it'll be next week at least before we can get anyone in to look at the place, start assessing the damage."

Damn! It's finally hit him what he's lost.

I turn and come back to him, standing in front of him and pushing myself between his knees. He spreads them for me and looks up at me like he's trying to decide whether I'm about to shove my cock in his mouth or drop to my knees to suck his and either is okay with him.

Instead, I run my hand down his face. Words about rebuilding and all those comfortable platitudes tremble on my tongue, but I refuse to let them out.

That's bullshit. He can't rebuild the sense of joy and excitement and everything that Babylon meant to him just by putting up another building. It doesn't work like that. I should fucking know.

For a long moment we don't move, then he makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh and a sob and turns his face to nuzzle into my hand. I rub my thumb across his lips, and he opens them to catch it with his tongue, pulling it inside his mouth. He sucks on it for a moment, then his eyes meet mine again, and this time the lost look is replaced with something else, something hot and hungry. I find myself suddenly aware of my nakedness, for all the right reasons. I feel the heat from his look as it wanders over my body, then suddenly I'm falling back down onto the couch and he's twisting on top of me.

We wrestle into position somehow and then have to stop long enough for him to retrieve lube and condoms from the stash we keep under the couch cushions. By then I've got one leg up along the back of the couch and the other is hooked round his hips. He flips the cap off the lube and squirts some into me, the sound wet is deliciously obscene, then he pauses for a moment, his eyes meeting mine with a question in their depths.

I give him back look for look, then, when he's still slow to get moving, I buck my hips up against him. He grins then, a lustful, feral twist of his features and then he's pushing inside, hard, but not too fast. Not at first.

I reach up and grab the back of his neck, dragging his mouth within reach so I can mash my lips against his; no gentle romantic kiss, just a full on assault on his mouth, till he gives way and lets my tongue force its way inside. He sucks it deep and then pulls back to let it slide slowly from between his lips. I arch up against him and his cock hits all the right places as he begins to thrust in earnest. Then his mouth is on mine again, biting and sucking; my lips already feel swollen, bruised, but they're still seeking more, desperate for the taste of him. When our mouths part, they roam over his neck, his shoulders, any place they can touch, till his lips come within reach again. And all the time he's rocking into me, my cock trapped between us, rubbed and teased against his belly.

I want this to go on forever. There's no room to think here. No room for thoughts of bombs or failure. No place for fear, there's nothing except this, this heat, this overwhelming need … and him.

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Brian

It doesn't last long enough. It never does. But while it lasts, it's … everything else fades, dissolves, until all that's left is him, and the way it is between us.

I've used sex for pain management ever since I blew my load for the first time, but it's never been the way it is with him. Sometimes, getting blown at Babylon, or fucking some strange ass in the backroom, I almost forget what I'm doing. There are a few seconds white out when I actually come, but the rest of the time can be pure fucking boredom. I don't know if I ever recognized that before Justin. I guess I must have. I just didn't really know how different it could be.

With Justin, it's never boring; it can be so fucking intense … Sometimes now, when I go cruising for strange ass, it's not for the thrill anymore, it's to get a break from that intensity.

But sometimes, like today, that intensity is just what I fucking need.

I let my lips drift across his shoulder one more time, then pull out of him and deal with the condom.

The Beam is still calling me, but I reject the lure now as I did earlier, because the last thing he needs tonight is me pissed and agro, and the two things usually go together. Besides, there's still time for us to take a shower together, and that's a far more attractive prospect than the bottom of a glass.

He writhes into a sitting position and then leans over to kiss me.

"That was hot," he grins.

I nod. It was. It definitely was.

He moves closer and lets his head rest against my shoulder for a moment. I turn to look down at him, but he's staring into the distance.

"Brian, you don't think it's a mistake, do you?"

Okay, he's lost me. I try to work out what he's thinking … what's a mistake? Us? the bombing? Ever letting him outside the fucking door again while those fuckers are on the loose?

"You don't think it's too soon do you? That my work …"

Fucking hell! He's talking about his damned painting.

"Justin!" I snap, so he looks up at me startled. "Listen to me. Are you listening?"

I don't give him time to answer, taking his wide eyed shock at my tone for consent. "Your work is fucking brilliant. It's time it was on show. The only way it can improve now is for you to start getting feedback from someone other than your professors - who might think they know a lot, but they live in La-La Land. They've never had the nerve to move outside their safe little academic theories, and they know stuff all about life in the real world. So put it out there. If there are critics who don't like it, listen to what they say and make up your own mind if they're right or not. If they are, do something about it. If they're not, fuck `em."

I look down into those eyes that are part of what passes for my soul, and suck my lips in for a moment, before I go on, "Now come and fuck me."

I get up, pulling him with me, and drag him up the steps to the bed. Then I fall onto it, and let him have his way with me.

I don't often roll over for him. If this doesn't settle those jitters and convince him that he can do anything, nothing will.

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