Reverberations

Chapter 20

Part 1

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Justin

After what, even by our standards, is a pretty spectacular fuck, the rest of Sunday is actually fairly quiet. We debate going out again for dinner, but I know Brian wants to do some preparation for his meeting with Leo Brown, and after the last few days I have so many images in my head crying for attention that I feel like I'll burst a blood vessel if I don't start getting some of them down. So in the end we just order room service and have a quiet but productive evening.

I didn't bring my laptop, but Brian has printouts of everything he needs so he tells me to use his. The graphics package isn't as good as my stuff, but it will do for a start, so I download the photos I've taken here in Chicago and start going through them to assess what's there that I can use.

There are so many images jostling together through my mind - the searing blast of light that was the bombing; the jagged blacks and reds and ash grey of the aftermath; the glimmer of the candles at the vigil - fragile yet somehow indomitable; the glow of firelight on Brian's long lean body at the house, Wicked with its black and green, good and not-so-good, twining together and merging so it's hard to tell which is which; the restless light shimmering on the waters of the lake. But the one image which keeps leaping out at me is one of the Mies van der Rohe buildings. I can't remember the name, but I see it in my mind, standing there tall and unrepentant in its stark and absolute honesty. I guess it's not to everyone's taste. Maybe most people want something less uncompromising; something which uses a degree of artifice to offer at least an illusion of softness, of comfort. The van der Rohe building doesn't do that. It just says, "Here I am; this is what I am. Deal."

Kind of like Brian.

And that's what I want to capture - the way the building reflects the man's spirit in its stark refusal to compromise.

Maybe that's when I first start thinking about the real implications of what we're planning to do. I'm not sure.

I do know that when my Mom calls, although I talk to her about the house, I don't mention Brian's proposal. I don't mention it to Debbie either, when Brian asks me to call her for an update on Michael.

We both talk to her, and I tell her what a great time I'm having and how good I'm feeling, but I don't say anything really about Brian and I. Just reassure her when she demands to know (of course, like she has a right to ask) if he's looking after me. Like I'm a fucking five year old. Or some fragile little pansy who'd let him kick my ass as soon as she wasn't around to keep an eye on him.

Both Linds and Mel ask more or less the same thing when Brian calls them to check on Gus. Mel directly, Linds in that sweet-sly WASPish way, all sugar candy concern.  Jesus! Do these people have any idea how fucking patronizing they are? Even my mother treats me with more respect, more trust in my ability to make the right choices for me.

So I don't tell them anything either.

Brian and I both work for a while, and share a meal together, and then we talk a little. Brian tells me how much the down payment on the house will be, and that if the insurance money doesn't come through quickly, he'll either have to sell off some of his investment portfolio, or re-mortgage the loft.

I carefully don't ask what he'll do about Babylon if he uses the insurance money for the house. I know what a huge fucking can of worms it would open.

Ted calls Babylon Brian's playground, and of course it is. But it's more than that. It's his safe place, his haven, the place he runs to when all the pressures of the outside world get too much; including the pressure that's still a reality for all of us, that comes from being gay in a straight world where many people hate us just for existing.

Now that hatred has torn his safe place apart, and Brian has yet to deal with that, really. And I am so not going to force him to tonight.

To my surprise though, he gives a huge sigh and then sucks his lips in for a moment and says, "So … everyone else will have their two cents to say - what do you think? Should I sell the place now for whatever I can get for a heap of rubble, or should I say a big `fuck you' to the bastards and rebuild bigger than ever - and hope people want to come dance in a fucking morgue?"

I take my time answering that one. I could give him some chickenshit answer about how he should do what he wants, but he's paid me the respect of asking me, I should at least pay him equal respect with a real answer.

Finally I say slowly, "I think if you re-open, it should be different."

 

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Brian

His nose crinkles up the way it does when he's thinking (and I do not fucking find it endearing or any of that shit).

"I mean …," he starts, and then breaks off and tries again to explain what's going on in his head, "I don't mean what it is should be different, or what goes on inside … I mean it should look different. Not …"

He shakes his head this time, impatient with his inability to find the right words and I try to help out with "Change of image, you mean?"

He gives a bizarre sort of wriggly shrug, and then shakes his head slowly. "Not exactly … I mean it should claim more."

I sit and stare at him, trying to work out exactly what he's saying.

He's silent for a moment, and then he grabs a sketch book and with a few lines shows me exactly what he means. The first sketch looks like the outside of the old Babylon - kind of seedy and down at heel, and somehow, beneath the bravado of its gaudy neon signage, more than a little shamefaced - as if it would prefer to huddle in the alleyway and not be seen by anyone except the men who frequent its bars and backroom.

The next shows a sleek elegant building with a confident "I'm here, deal!" air; a building that proudly claims its space on the street. A building that isn't going to be pushed out of sight into the back alleys by anyone's disapproval.

Aside from being fucking amazed as usual that he can show all that in just a couple of quick sketches, a few black lines on a page, I'm blown away by what he's come up with.

Because he's abso-fucking-lutely right.

If I do decide to rebuild, damned right this is what it should be. Not a recreation of the old Babylon, a seedy old shed of a place that becomes virtually invisible in the daylight when the lights aren't on and there's no queue of hot guys waiting to get inside so all the nice people can pretend it's not there. This is what I want to build - a beautifully presented building that claims its share of the street, of the city, proudly. A building no one can ignore.

I nod slowly and smile at him. "My own little genius," I say proudly.

He huffs. "Not so fucking little," he boasts.

I grind and acknowledge the comment by sliding into his chair with him and groping his cock through the soft material of his sweats.

He's right about that too. Not so fucking little at all.

 

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Justin

What starts out as a casual grope develops very nicely into one of Brian's stellar blow jobs and just when he's fisting the base of my cock while his mouth and tongue are doing wicked things to the head and I think it can't get any better, it does.

Because he pulls away to find lube and a condom; then he rolls the condom down my dick and then his pants are off and he's straddling me on this dumb chair and he lowers himself onto my cock and fuck!

He doesn't do this. I mean I top him sometimes, sure. But he doesn't ride me like this.

But he is and fuck! Just … fuck!

Watching him pleasuring himself (and me!) on my cock has to be the hottest thing ever; his beautiful face flushed, the veins on his neck standing out, the muscles tensed and taut … it's too much. I wonder if it's like this for him, if watching me ride him is anything like as hot as this. Then I stop wondering, stop thinking at all.

The whole Babylon discussion gets shelved after that, along with everything else.

It's only later, lying together in bed on the verge of sleep that he says into the back of my neck, "I guess if I rebuild it that way and then sell for a shitload of money I can give the big `fuck you' to everyone."

And then he's asleep and not long after so am I.

For once it's not a nightmare that wakes me in the middle of the night. It's an amazingly beautiful dream where Brian and I are dancing together effortlessly - so in synch that the most complex steps just flow into each other, and so remote from everyone else's bullshit that it's like we're the only two people on the dance floor.

Unlike most dreams, this one stays with me after I wake up. Not just the feeling, or a few fleeting images, but the whole thing. For a while I lie there thinking about how the dance is a perfect analogy for how good Brian and I can be together when it's just us and we don't overthink things or let anyone else's bullshit get in the way, we just do it.

It's only after about ten minutes of drifting along with those thoughts floating vaguely through my mind while my body lies warm and relaxed under Brian's arm that I realize that I've just remembered my Prom. Remembered the dance, at least, which was the heart of that night - well, until Chris Hobbs' bat battered its way into the core of it all, into the core of my being - and Brian's.

I'm surprised that it's not more of a shock, more of … something. But honestly, it just feels like "oh, yeah, I remember, " and then I go back to thinking about how we can keep dancing the way we have the last few days, when it's all seemed so effortless.

Eventually I fall asleep again, thinking that I'll tell Brian sometime, but probably not in the morning, because he's got a big meeting and he so doesn't need to have to think about all that shit beforehand.

 

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Brian

I get to Leo's offices early - too early. Cynthia, who's done a lot of the creative work on the Brown account, is coming in on an early flight for the meeting so I decide to get a cup of coffee in a place across the street and wait for her.

Sitting sipping my coffee, I have time to think. Probably too much fucking time. Because all the thoughts I'd been deliberately pushing out of my mind for the last few days, ever since I decided that the time had finally come to either get over all my chickenshit phobias about being in a damned relationship and for once be the one that moves things forward (instead of making Justin drag me, kicking and screaming like a damned tranny in heat to where it turns out I wanted to be all along), all those thoughts now come crowding in.

Not the ones about feeling trapped, or tied down or any of that shit. Maybe I've finally gotten over all that pathetic bullshit. But marriage - that's a whole other thing.

But I didn't know any other way to do it, to show him - and every other fucker that is going to shove their two cents in - that I mean it. That I want this. I want him. I want a fucking life with him. And … I had to make sure not just that he knows it, but that everyone else knows it too.

Which makes it ironic, I guess, that despite the fact that it's been two fucking days since we "got engaged", neither of us has told any of the gang back home anything about it.

I wonder what that means.

Maybe he just wants to see their faces. Wouldn't blame him for that.

For myself … I want him. I do. I want a life with him. I even want that fucking house to live it in.

I just …

I don't want them all over it.

I know how this is fucking going to go. The first time I fuck up …

They'll make me feel like shit. And I'll kick back against that and behave like a total twat the way I do when I'm pushed and …

It's a fucking disaster waiting to happen.

But he wants this. Marriage, a home, all of it. He deserves it.

Which means my choices are to make him go without something that he wants and deserves, or fucking stand aside and let some other asshole give it to him.

Well, fuck that!

This time I get to be the one who actually gives him what he wants, what he deserves. That's my payoff. And I want to. I do. If it was just us …

I pull myself back from those thoughts. I have to.

For one thing, it's too fucking late now. I've committed to this, and I'm going to go through with it. No dicking around trying to second guess myself. It's too late for that now, even if I wanted to. Which I don't.

And anyway, there's no time to think about it now. Cyn's cab is pulling up and we have to prepare for this meeting.

 

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Justin

After Brian leaves, I spend some time trying to capture the play of light on the lake. It's almost impossible - in the end, I just take some film footage on my camera. That comes out fairly well and at least gives me something I can take home and work with. Along with my memories of this trip, of course.

There's a real irony somewhere that once upon a time, Brian making a trip to Chicago to meet with Brown Athletics torpedoed my dream of a romantic trip away with him, and this time round …

The last few days have been just amazing. Not because of the great sex (and there's been lots of that) or all the other things we've done - like Wicked, and the boat trip - but just because we've been pretty much on the same page, not pulling in different directions - or me pulling and Brian resisting, or him pushing and me trying to resist. I mean, we've had differences of opinion - about the house, for a start. I still think it's too big, but Brian's got his heart set on it for some dumb reason.

But the thing is that we've talked about things and he's asked for my input and taken my opinions seriously. I mean, I know he should. I'm his fucking partner after all - but it's not an easy pattern for Brian to break - being the one in control of his life, the only one whose opinions count. Of course, other people's opinions have always counted with Brian - sometimes a lot more than they should. But for him, that's all the more reason not to look as if he's taking any notice of them. If that makes sense.

So much of what he does is to protect himself from all the hurtful things that are said about him - often to his face. Like people honestly don't think he has any feelings to be hurt. I hate that. I never know how to react when someone just flat out calls him an asshole just because he doesn't behave the way they think he should.

It's like that fucking dinner party at Mikey's.

The deal was that if we'd have dinner with Michael and Ben in their new little nest, Michael would come to the Superheroes night Brian arranged (for Michael!) at Babylon. Brian just wanted to hang one night with his `best friend' like they used to. But of course after subjecting us to that fiasco of a dinner party, Michael not only welched on the deal by not turning up at Babylon, but didn't even call Brian to let him know he couldn't make it. I mean, I know he was in the middle of the thing about JR but surely he could have swapped a night with Mel or Linds - or not made the agreement at all if he knew it was his night with the baby.

But I'm somehow not supposed to get into it with Mikey over that. I'm supposed to think all that's okay, because it's not like Brian was looking forward to it, or that he'd gone to any trouble setting up the whole superheroes night in the first place, right? Because Brian doesn't have feelings so feeling disappointed and let down as well as betrayed - that's not going to happen is it?

No, according to the Mikey version (which too many of them just accept and buy into) Brian was the asshole because when those fucking neighbors of Michael's turned their prissy little noses up at him he didn't just roll over and take it. Not Michael, who instead of defending his `best friend' and telling those guys that they were the assholes, and to take the sticks out of their asses, joined in the attack and went off on Brian.

That's the sort of shit he always cops from Michael, and from Mel, and a lot of the time from Lindsay and Deb as well and it really pisses me off.

No wonder he does his best never to let on that he listens to anyone's opinions on what he should do.

At least things are better with Ted and Emmett now than they used to be.

I mean - Em never really did join in the "Brian is an asshole" chorus. And Ted doesn't either now. It's like they really have become Brian's friends over the last year or so, rather than Michael's.

Which isn't really surprising because all the crap that Michael's been saying about how pathetic it is for Brian to still want to hang out at Babylon applies to both of them as well. So I think they're both more than a little pissed off with Michael's sudden transformation into a prissy self-righteous little prick.

Part of me really wants to get in dear little Mikey's face about Brian and I getting married. I wish he wasn't in hospital so I could wave the wedding rings at him and describe our tuxes and make him listen to every fucking detail of the wedding plans.

Part of me really dreads it - because he's just going to be watching and waiting and the first time either of us steps out of line, he's going to make sure the whole world knows about it.

He would love to be the first to tell me that Brian's still fucking around.

And even more he'd love to tell Brian that about me.

Just like he did before.

Which makes me start thinking … will Brian still fuck around? Will I? I mean, I don't trick as much as Brian … especially since the little STD problem I had … but … that doesn't mean that I necessarily don't ever want to again. I mean, not want to so much but … it might happen. It probably will. I don't want to feel like total shit just because I see some guy and let him suck me off on a boring afternoon or something. I mean, if I spot some hot guy at a gallery or something - like that day way back at the beginning when I was with my Mom and there was that guy with the dirty blond hair. I mean it was nothing … even then it didn't have any relation to how I felt about Brian. Neither did the guys out in LA. They were just time fillers.

Not to mention that I don't want Brian to feel like he's in some sort of virtual chastity belt because he thinks I expect him to be pure and chaste or some shit. I know, really know, that it means absolutely dick to Brian. Telling him he can never fuck the shit out of some stranger again would be the same as telling him he has to stop drinking coffee. All it would do is make him antsy and up his stress level (and probably make him want to do it even more into the bargain). There really isn't any more to it for Brian than that, and if it's something that relieves his stress and gives him a lift … then why should it be a big deal?

Except it will be for Mikey. And the others. And not only will they give Brian shit about it, they'll try to make me feel like some pathetic idiot for putting up with it. When it's not about that. It's about us not having the same sort of bullshit ideas about being `faithful' that they do. I mean, I guess Mikey and Ben are … probably. But Linds and Mel - they've nearly split up twice because both of them have had sex with someone else. And not some big affair either - just sex. I don't want that ever to happen to Brian and I. I mean, that's crazy. It's just not that important.

Except that it will become that important if we let it.

So … I guess Brian and I need to talk about this stuff.

I mean - maybe we need to have our own definition of what our marriage should be like. Write our own vows, so everyone gets to hear exactly what we do promise each other … and what we don't.

Not that that will help, really. They'll hear what they want to hear.

It's that fucking word: marriage.

If only …

 

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Brian

The rest of the day, to say the least, doesn't go the way I expected.

To begin with, the meeting with Brown's team, instead of taking all day, is wrapped up by lunch time. Cynthia is even more delighted than I am that the Brown Athletics team is more than happy with just about all the ideas put on the table, with only a few minor amendments, but she plays it very cool as if she'd expected no less. Which makes me sure that I'm making the right move.

When it's clear that Brown's people are ecstatic with what Cynthia had come up with, I break the news that she was the main brains behind it, and then suggest that I'd like them to regard her as their new account executive. Once Leo is reassured that I will still be available for consultation should he require, and that I will retain personal interest in all of their campaigns, he's delighted to welcome Cynthia in her new role. Obviously another man who appreciates the combination of brains and talent in a hot blonde package.

As agreed between us earlier, she seals the deal by inviting Leo, together with his senior marketing people, out for lunch.

Seeing that they're all happy with the arrangement, I take a moment to tell Cynthia to speak to Ted when she gets back about her new package (which I think she'll be happy with - she fucking should be). And with all that out of the way, I ring my own hot blond to see whether he's got plans for lunch.

He sounds a little distracted when I speak to him, but I figure he's just in the middle of some creative burst, so I tell him I'm free for the rest of the day, and that we should meet and go pick up the rings. Then we can have lunch.

He hesitates again and then says, "Can we eat first?"

Of course it's nearly one, and he's probably starving, so I shrug. Why not? I ask him where he wants to eat and he suggests coming back to the hotel for room service. At first I think it's stupid - there are good restaurants in Chicago, why not go out and enjoy them. Then I realize that I want to go back and change anyway, and I think about how enjoyable our in-room snack was on Saturday, and think maybe he's got the right idea.

But all that gets blown out the window when I walk into the suite and find him sitting at the table holding our ring boxes and staring at them as if he has no fucking idea what to do with them.

He looks up when I walk in and at the look on his face without a word spoken I find myself searching around inside for the fragments of my fucking defenses so I can get them into place before he opens his mouth. He must see, must realize, because he drops the fucking boxes and comes to me quickly, saying urgently, "Brian, don't … don't do that. We have to talk about this."

I shake my head. What the fuck is there to talk about? I asked him to fucking marry me, and he said `yes'. What the fuck else can he fucking want from me?

"I love you," he says. Oh, fucking great. So it's going to be one of those, `it's not you, it's me' things is it? Well fuck that!

But before I can say anything, before I can open my mouth to blast everything I thought I'd finally found with him into fucking smithereens, he says, "I love you, and I'm planning on spending the rest of my life with you and there isn't anything that is going to change that."

Which doesn't make any sense to me at all, but his hands are around my neck now and he's making me look at him and he's smiling up at me, and he says again, "I love you, you fuckwit. Alright?"

I try to suck my lips in so that they can't reward that shit with any sort of smile, but they slide away from my control and I feel the grin escape before I can do anything about it. He sees it too, because his smile gets wider and then he presses up against me and kisses me. "I love you," he repeats.

And it's fucking ridiculous that some cheap overused … slogan … makes me feel better, but it fucking does.

I let myself smile at him for a moment, and then I pull away to walk over and open one of the ring boxes.

"You picked them up then?"

He sighs and nods. "Yeah, I … I was almost going to leave them there, but I mean … they'd been resized and everything so …"

The silence that follows that falls heavy with implications and across the room our eyes meet.

"I don't want to get married," he says.

 

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Justin

I didn't mean to blurt it out like that. I thought I'd have all day to work out what I was going to say to him. But then he rang just as I was leaving the jewelers and …

I go to him and take his hand and hold it tightly so he can't snatch it away and walk off. I need to try to find the words to explain, to make him understand, and I'm not sure that there are any. Finally I sit down at the table, and after a moment, he does too.

"I love you," I say again, still clasping his hand.

He gives one of those sarcastic little snorts of his and I realize how close he must be to just shutting down like he does when he's afraid of being hurt and the panic seems to finally kick my brain into gear.

"Brian, we never talked about what we mean by being 'married'," I start.

He gives a sort of shrug, but his eyes are on mine and so far at least he's with me, he's not about to shove me or himself off some fucking cliff just because he's scared of what I'm going to say. That's a start anyway. Actually, that's fucking huge.

I pull his hand to my lips and kiss it, and he gives me a strange look, sort of `get on with it' coupled with something that's almost like a blush. I kiss his fingers again and then say, "I love you, and I want to be with you. On our terms. The way we want it to be."

He nods, shrugs, a little irritably, as if to say `of course'. But it's not `of course'. It's nothing of the kind once you start throwing around that `married' word.

I take another breath and go on, "For me, what I want out of us being together, is to know that we both want a future together, that we both plan on being together for a long time, and that we talk about things that affect that future and make decisions about them together."

He shrugs again; this is getting into the sort of stuff that he really hates talking about, hates putting into words. Tough shit. Just this once, I have to, and he's going to have to listen.

"I kind of hope that we'd both cut back on the tricking," I add. He looks up at that, eyes suddenly intent, "But I don't want that to be a big deal, either."

He sticks his tongue into his cheek and then says, in that sarcastic drawl he's perfected for these sorts of conversations, "But, Sunshine, I thought that being "faithful" was the whole point."

Once that tone would have flattened me, it would have forced me to silence because I was so afraid of what came after. Not anymore.

"No," I shake my head. "No. That's … that's what I'm afraid of. That if we get married, then something so … so meaningless becomes a big fucking deal."

He shrugs again. "So, we decide it's not going to be. We decide to be real trendy and have an `open marriage'."

Again the tone; even his fingers, making little pincher movements to signify the quotation marks, seem to have it.

"But it's not just us, is it?" I ask.

"I'm not planning on polygamy," he snarks.

I sigh and eyeball him.

"Brian, once we announce that we're getting married, everyone and his dog are going to think that they've got the right to tell both of us where we can put our dicks - and where we can't."

He gets up then and heads for the minibar, but to my surprise, he just gets some water.

"So we don't get married because we're afraid of what everyone will say?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"No, we don't get married, because once people hear that word they think they know us, they think they know how things should be between us, they fucking think they have a right to judge us if we don't live the way they think we should, and I don't want to have to deal with all their bullshit while they're finding out how wrong they fucking are."

I pause for a moment and then say, "Do you?"

 

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Brian

I sit and take a sip of the water, trying to get my head around what he's saying.

Is he saying he doesn't think I'd be able to cut it as a husband? Well, I know a few who'd fucking agree with that.

Or is he saying that he doesn't want to be tied down? Don't blame him for that. He shouldn't be. Not at his age. Except … Except …

"Brian, I'm not saying that I don't want to be with you, I'm not saying that I don't want `forever' with you. I'm saying that I want it to be on our terms - not anyone else's.

"I didn't fall in love with some damned Stepford fag. I don't want to have to deal with you trying to be what everyone else thinks I want, or should want. I want you. If sometimes that means I don't get every fucking thing I think I want, or anyone else thinks I should want from you … well, that's just too fucking bad. Just like it is if you don't get every single thing you think or they think you should get from me. When all the crap settles … it's you I want. You I want to be with. Not some stupid fucking idea of how things maybe could be in some ideal world that I'd probably get bored with in a month … in a week even."

Now that makes sense to me.

I take another sip of water and realize that he's saying some of the things that I've been trying not to think about ever since this fucking "marriage" idea hit me. I'd be a total fucking liar if I said that I hadn't had more than a few moments of fear over what would happen when I fucked up by not being able to keep it in my pants. And not so much fear of his reaction, but … I could hear the whole fucking chorus of them now, telling me what a stupid fucking asshole I am. I don't want to be. But I'm no fucking saint, and …

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he brings up a topic that he's always steered clear of, one that has always been subtly off limits.

"You know what pissed me off about the thing with Ethan?" he says, and I have to fight not to just get up and walk away. Except part of me wants to hear this, part of me has always wondered why he was prepared to walk away from Ethan over one stupid fuck and then come to me and tell me he didn't expect me to stop tricking. I have my own ideas on what might have been going on in his head, but I have to admit to being curious to see if I got it right. He surprises me though.

"It wasn't that he fucked someone else," he says calmly. "It wasn't even that he lied about fucking someone else. It was that for months I'd been fucking pretending that I didn't want to."

 

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Justin

He looks stunned for a moment and then he laughs - a deep belly laugh. His eyes lose their wary look; they soften for a moment, and then start to glow with heat, and I know that he's heard me.

But I can't let him derail me. We have to get this settled now, right now. Or else he's going to wonder about it and overthink it and it will fester and then he'll do some stupid fucking thing just to show me that he never really did mean the whole marriage thing at all. Dickhead!

I go to him and push the table back far enough so that I can straddle his lap. He sucks his lips in for a moment and I nuzzle at his face till his arms come round me.

"I don't want them all over us," I tell him. "I don't want to have to try to either live out what other people's idea of `marriage' is or have to deal with all their bullshit when we don't have the sort of relationship that they think `marriage' should be."

I let my forehead rest against his.

"I just want it to be us," I say. "As long as we're together, and we're clear with each other that we plan to stay that way, that's all I want - all I need."

He looks down for a moment, then slowly back up at me so I have to pull back a little or go seriously cross-eyed. To my relief, his eyes shine burnished greeny-brown, not the slatey color they go when he's upset. He holds the look for a moment, his lips pulled in. Then his slow grin slides out and he leans towards me a little.

"And you couldn't have thought of all this before we got the rings?" he asks, his voice soft, his lips almost brushing mine.

I kiss him quickly. "Well, maybe some day we can just sort of sneak them on without anyone noticing," I tell him.

He laughs, like I hoped he would.

Then his eyes cloud a little, and he turns his head away, reaching for the water - but I know that's just an excuse.

I don't say anything, though, just stroke the hair at the nape of his neck.

After a moment he says, "So we do it 'our way', huh?"

"Yeah," I say. "We don't let anyone else tell us what they think we should have - we just have it all."

That brings a grin and he turns his eyes back to me. I feel him move beneath me, bringing our groins into closer contact, and I smile.

"I'm thinking that once we buy that house we really should have a fucking big housewarming party," he says.

"If we buy that house," I say.

He grins. "When," he says.

And that's when I know that he's okay with this. He understands what I'm saying and he agrees with me. Or at least, he knows that I'm right to be afraid of the power that they all have to say things that not only piss us both off, but that hurt too. I hate it when they call him an asshole, make everything his fault, like I'm some kind of retarded angel. Like I never do anything wrong and I'm just too fucking stupid to stand up for myself. And most of all I hate that I hardly ever get to be really mad at him, because they all do it for me, and they go so far over the top, that I'm the one that has to reel it back in.

But right now that's not important. Right at this minute I'm so relieved that he's okay with what has happened today that I let him get away with the whole `when' thing. If buying the house makes sure that he knows that all the rest of the "death do us part" thing is still on - just not the fucking ceremony, the words - then I can live with that damned palace of his.

And with some damned huge-assed housewarming party that he wants to give just to shove everyone's faces in the fact that we're together and we're planning on making that a permanent condition. Well, okay, maybe I kind of like that idea; maybe even like it a lot.

In fact, I put forward an idea of my own.

"I was thinking," I say, pulling on his tie to loosen it so I can get it over his head.

"Mmm … I gathered that," he answers, shrugging out of his suit jacket.

I give his side a little pinch as I start undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"If we had been going to get married, we would have had to have some sort of engagement dinner."

"Would we?" he asks, pulling my sweater off.

"Uh-huh. Definitely," I assure him, sliding the shirt down off his shoulders and bending to lick his neck.

"So?" he asks, pushing up my tee-shirt so he can nip and suck at my nipples.

"So maybe we should have a … a housewarming announcement dinner," I say, sliding my hands down to fumble with his belt.

"A what?" he asks, distracted from the important task of getting my pants undone.

"Well, a dinner to celebrate us buying the house," I clarify, struggling to my feet so that I can get rid of his pants and my own. Then I kneel between his legs and look up at him.

"Celebrate us," I tell him. And his eyes meet mine, and we smile at each other and I know everything is alright again between us because once again we're absolutely on the same page.

Then I can't talk at all for a while, because I have other, far more pleasurable things to do with my mouth.

And he seems to have run out of words except "Fuck!" and "Yes!" and "Justin!" and a few things like that.

But that's okay. Sometimes words are over-rated. And sometimes we give them too much power.

It's how you live that counts; not what you call it.

 

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Brian

I wonder how many couples decide on Saturday morning to get married and call off the wedding by Monday afternoon?

And somehow come out of the whole fiasco stronger than they were going in?

We use room service to re-fuel and then take it to the bed for a while. But after that, after cementing our new status as … housemates, live in lovers, whatever … after the heat and urgency, the panting and moaning and sweat, we lie together and talk.

Fuck! I really am turning into a lesbian.

But it doesn't feel like that. For once, talking about how I feel, how he feels, what I want, what he wants, all that shit … for once it doesn't start the fucking ants running up and down my spine, for once it doesn't feel overwhelming or threatening or any of that shit. It feels like relief, like safety, like maybe I'm finally in a place, feels like finally I'm with someone who won't take everything I say and use it to hurt me, or manipulate me. Like finally I'm with someone I can trust.

So we talk and we hammer out the shit about what we want, of who we want to be, how we want to be together.

For me … it's pretty simple. I want him. And I'm ready to do whatever he needs, be whoever he needs me to be to make that happen.

But he tells me that's bullshit. That it's not what he wants. That he wants me - warts and all. And he'll fucking deal with the rest. When I try to say that I don't want him to have to "deal", he actually laughs. Little fucker.

Then he tells me that's part of it. Part of what makes him want me, want to be with me; part of what takes his breath away and makes his cock swell and gets him all hot and bothered. He says he feels like that about me because I'm not easy; because I'm not like Ben or Mikey, or, Heaven help us, Ted. He says that if I turned myself into some sort of Stepford fag I wouldn't be the one he wants to be with, the one he … loves.

I hear what he's saying, but I can't help wondering. I mean, I feel like he's being cheated of something if I can't give him … I don't know … monogamy or some shit. Maybe not now, but someday he's going to want that … I think … I'm afraid that … if I don't, can't … give him that … then he'll start looking around for someone who can. But he's telling me I shouldn't change, that he doesn't want me to change. And that makes me feel …

I need to be able to give him what he wants, what he deserves. I need to feel that I can do that, that I can change, without him thinking I've turned into something else, someone else … that he doesn't want anymore. Isn't that fucked? I'm not sure I'm ready to stop tricking, I'm not sure I ever will be … but I don't want him not to want me to. Or something.

But when I try to explain that, he gives a little giggle and nudges me. He tells me it's not about whether or not I stop tricking, it's about why. That if ever I decide I've had enough, then that's fine. But if I stop because of what someone else thinks about it, then that's when I stop being really me; that's when I become less real, when I'd lose integrity. And so would he if he didn't call me on it.

He nuzzles my arm where it lies round his shoulder and down across his chest and says he knows that no matter what anyone else thinks, that he's not easy either. I grunt a sort of "No shit" when he says that and he laughs. So do I.

He's right, of course, that's why we're such a good match. Because we don't just coast - neither of us. Part of what makes us work is that we challenge each other, and that we never settle for being less than we are. That might make us not as easy to live with as someone who just lets everything drift, but it's the drive to keep moving, keep getting better, that makes things a lot more … interesting.

At least … that's true for him; at least I hope it is. For me … I'm not sure. I think for a long time before he came I was coasting, in a way. But I didn't know it then. I thought that being cock of the walk was what it was all about; all I was about; and that it was enough. Now it's not; I want more now. He's made me want more. And to want to be more.

He has challenged me; and I know I challenge him as well. We've both fucking "grown" through being together, much as it shits me to even think that.

But hearing him say this stuff, it gives me some sort of … validation, I guess … that I've never had before. Not from anyone else. Because what he's saying is that he doesn't just love me despite my faults - in some ways he loves me because of them, because they're a part of what makes me who I am. And that … That makes me feel … I … loved … or some shit like that.

And the thing is I fucking  believe him. I believe him because I understand what he means. I don't love him despite the fact that he can be the most demanding, irrational, pig-headed son of a bitch that ever pulled on pants - that's part of what I love about him. He drives me crazy sometimes when he goes off on one of his fucking tangents like that stupid assed pink posse shit … but it's also what makes him Justin. It's part of what fucking gives me a thrill when he turns and looks at me across a room and all the other stupid fucks just disappear for a moment and he's the only thing there that's real.

Then I wonder if it's just the "old" me that gives him that thrill. That would be fucking ironic, wouldn't it? That when I want to start to change some stuff, it turns out that's the stuff he doesn't want me to change?

But he must see that I'm, I don't know, anxious or some shit about that.

Because he slides a leg across mine and says, "Brian … if you think the fact that you like to shove your cock occasionally into a hole that doesn't belong to me is the only thing that makes you a challenge you are seriously deluded."

There's a laugh in his voice but there's truth too, and I relax a little. Guess he's fucking right about that. Little shit.

"I need to know you won't try to change into something you don't really want to be just because you think it's what I want, or who you should be for me," he says.

I give a little nod; then, when he puts his hand on my face, I look into his eyes, and whisper, "Okay."

But I need a promise from him too.

If he's afraid that I'll try to morph into some sort of Ben clone, I'm even more afraid that he'll turn his back on things that he wants to do, chances he wants to take, just because he's worried about how it will affect me … affect us.

I try to explain that to him, to tell him that it's my one big fear about this commitment thing, that it might make him turn down some opportunity, some challenge to keep things the same with us. That would gut me. That would be the thing I don't think I'd ever recover from. I try to tell him that. That if he turned something down because it wasn't what he wanted, wasn't the right thing for him, then that's okay. But if he ever turned down something that really was what he wanted to do, needed to experience, because of me then … that's just crap. It would leave me feeling like shit.

He says that he can't imagine any opportunity that would be right for him if it took him away from me, from us, but I tell him that's bullshit. He doesn't know. There could be something, and if something came up, then I'd want him to take it. Because otherwise he's the one who's not being real.

He presses closer to me then, or maybe I pull him closer. I don't know. I can feel some fucking sort of moisture on my chest, so I tell him we'll deal. If something comes along we'll fucking find a way to deal. He nods, but doesn't say anything. Not good enough.

I have to be sure about this. I have to be able to trust him to do this. I take hold of his chin and make him look at me, but I can't find the words to ask. I raise an eyebrow at him, and after a wobbly moment he nods. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

I kiss him and then he settles back down onto my chest and we talk about some other stuff. Some of it just … stuff … everyday sort of shit like what time our flight is tomorrow and whether we should drop in and see Gus on the way home. But we talk about other stuff, too. Things that I never thought I'd talk about with anyone, things that I never thought I'd say.

But somehow, by the time we're finally talked out and his stomach is rumbling and we're ready to move out of this bed - for a while at least - I feel like … like this is what marriage fucking is. That no matter what anyone else thinks or believes, Justin and I are as married as any fucking hetero couple who stand up in a church and swear their vows; as married as Mikey and Ben, or Linds and Mel; and a hell of a lot more fucking married than some pair of drunken losers getting hitched in some hokey chapel in Vegas.

 

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Justin

It feels like we lie there talking for hours. I guess we do. But I mean it really feels like … like forever. Like we're in some sort of … time outside time … I don't know. I only know this might be the most important time I've ever spent with Brian … maybe the most important time we'll ever spend together. Because for the first time really we let all the bullshit go and talk about what we want from each other and from our relationship.

I'm shocked when he tells me he's ready to change, to become whatever I need him to be. And I feel … it doesn't feel good. It feels like I've somehow led him to think that I don't want him. And he's all I've ever wanted.

I try to explain that I don't want him to be some sort of … I don't know … Gay as Blazes character … I just want him … prissy, sarcastic, vain, insecure asshole that he can be. That's all part of what makes him Brian and I wouldn't trade off any of that to have someone who's easier to live with, because they wouldn't be him.

He gets a little bit weird at one point, like he thinks I'm saying that if he changes I won't love him anymore.

So I try to get through to him that it's not about whether he changes - it's about why. I mean, of course he's going to change … we both are. We can't be afraid of that. And I'm not … we've already changed a hell of a lot and it's only brought us closer. Because we've changed at our own pace, in our own way. The only things that forced the pace were external things - my Dad throwing me out of home, Gus, me getting hurt, him getting cancer … we changed in response to those because we had to … and it's made us both grow up a lot. So if he suddenly turns into someone who likes to hang around that huge fucking mansion he wants to buy instead of clubbing every night of the week, then that's okay. He'll still be as snarky as hell about all our friends and still give Emmett shit about his clothes and Ted shit about everything and still be Brian. But if he made himself stay home because he thought that's what I wanted … then he wouldn't be Brian anymore. It makes sense to me, anyway, and it must to him too because he relaxes a lot after that.

All of which really makes me realize how rare a thing it must be for him to hear that. To hear someone say that they love him - not despite the fact that he's difficult, but because of it. To just love him unconditionally without judging him all the time. I promise myself that I'll try to give him that more often. Try to make sure that he always knows it. I mean, there are going to be times when I'm pissed off with him, that we're angry with each other. But I have to make sure that when he does something that pisses me off, that I focus on what he's done, not turn it into yet another 'you're an asshole' session. Because he must have heard that, or something even worse, just about all his life. And he isn't. No more than most people. He just doesn't hide behind a facade of niceness most of the time like other people do.

It's his turn then to get heavy. He sort of makes me promise that if there's some great big opportunity comes knocking then I won't turn it down just because of him.

I want to tell him that that's just shit, but he isn't having any of it. It's important to him, so I agree. It's not like I think that the world is going to be beating on my door any time soon. I figure that the LA thing was … not my chance, exactly, but really, you know, like a once in a lifetime thing and look what happened there. I am never going to be that fucking stupid again. I get a bit … emotional during all that, but aside from saying that at a fucking five star hotel there shouldn't be anything to set off my allergies, he doesn't get rattled by that, just holds me a bit tighter as I press close up against him.

Then we talk about a whole bunch of stuff. I've never known him so … I don't know … open.

I guess, at first at least, that I do most of the talking, and he just grunts or makes those Brian-faces, and comes out with a few words here and there … but it's enough. I know it is, because he's right there with me … I might be doing most of the talking, but we're both part of the communications.

We talk a little bit about tricking … not rules or any of that stupid shit we tried last time, but … he says something about the house being a trick free zone. So I ask him, what about the pool boy, and he says that we're not going to be able to afford a pool boy, so I'll have to take on the job myself. He gives my ass a little squeeze and says I'd look hot in short shorts but I'd have to wear like three bottles of sunscreen if I want to go topless.

So then I try to ask him about whether we can really afford the house. That's tricky, because we never talk about money, but he says it should be okay. He says we should be able to make a fairly good down payment, even if the insurance money takes a while. And that once we sell the loft, that will pay off a chunk of the new mortgage and pay for furnishing the place - at least the main rooms. I can't even begin to put into words what it means to me when he says "we" like that.

After that he says that we should see a solicitor and get some papers drawn up - insurance, and wills and things. He asks me if I'm ready to be the one who pulls the plug, and it gives me a sort of reality check that he is talking about us really being legal partners who have all these responsibilities to each other.

By the time the light dies outside the windows and we can hardly even see each other anymore despite the fact that we're lying practically on top of each other, I feel like … like this is what marriage is. How could anyone be more married than this? I bet half the people who call themselves married have never talked to each other like this. Have never been so open and honest with each other. As far as I'm concerned, we are married.

The rest is just words and pictures and what other people see. This is the real deal. This. Right here.

 

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