Reverberations

Chapter 5

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Justin

As it turns out we don't go to my studio. Instead, after we fuck and eat and fuck again, we head out to Babylon. It's not something we really discuss, but somewhere along the line we both get the yen to show all our retarded friends that contrary to all their predictions, expectations, and, in one case at least, I suspect hopes - we're fine. Better than fine. We're fabulous.

Given the perfect opportunities and excuses to fuck things up big time, maybe past repairing, we didn't. We hung in there and actually fucking talked to each other - well, a little, anyway. Enough to sort out the truths from the myths and lies.

It's that last one that's sticking in my craw. I can accept that Emmett, hearing the story from Mikey would spread the news about the "competition" all over Liberty Avenue (like the heap of shit that it is). It would have sounded convincing, coming from Michael. I know just the tone of voice Michael would have used to tell him, too. That "oh, Brian is being so bad, but he's still my best friend" martyr-whine that drives me completely nuts. And no doubt it would have come with a whole lot of "Justin is putting too much pressure on him to become a real couple, and Em, you just know Brian's never ever going to want that".

I can understand that Em believed it. But … it was a lie. Brian obviously thinks that dear little Mikey just took him seriously when he shouldn't have. But … the whole thing was Mikey's suggestion, and … I think he wants Brian to do it. I think that he got the word out as quickly as he possibly could so that Brian couldn't change his mind and shoot the idea down in flames. I think Michael believed that once the challenge was out there, Brian wouldn't back off from it.

I don't know that he's doing it deliberately to make trouble between Brian and I - although that would hardly be anything new - but I do know that he's doing it to try to keep Brian locked into the persona that Michael feels most comfortable with. And that's what's really pissing me off.

Michael doesn't really want Brian himself anymore. He's in love with the nice cozy little life that he has with Ben. But for some sick reason he needs Brian to be trapped in the life of clubs and drugs and sex that they used to share together. So every time he gets an opportunity to push Brian back there he grabs it with both hands; and then takes every opportunity to snark at Brian for never changing. I guess for the first time in his life he's found a way to make himself feel superior to Brian and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he can. No matter what he does to his "best friend" in the process.

It makes me want to do him some serious damage because Brian gets hurt by all this in all sorts of ways. Not least of which is having to deal with the spiteful things that his best friend has said and done to him lately. Like at that damned dinner party he sprung on us. He bargained Brian into coming and then ambushed him with those sanctimonious new friends of his. As far as we knew, it was just going to be the four of us. That's why Brian got them the damned sling. It was meant to be a sort of "just because you're Dads now, doesn't mean you still can't have fun" thing. A joke. But then we turned up, and those twats were already there, so I think Brian changed his mind altogether about giving it to them - until Mikey pissed him off so much by the way he was fawning all over those guys and actually joining in while they savaged Brian, that Brian decided to lash back.

But now, after all of that, after all the things Michael has said about Brian never growing up and all that shit, he's the one who's trying to push Brian into getting into this lame competition with Brandon. As far as I'm concerned, he's one seriously sick little puppy, and if Brian didn't have this need to have some sort of family (which means Deb and Mikey) I would so happily kick him to the curb.

But … that's not an option, so I just sit and simmer as we head towards Babylon.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Brian

I'm not sure how we decided to head out to Babylon. I mean, we go most nights. Or at least, I do. And he makes it there three, maybe four, nights out of seven. But I really didn't have any thought of going tonight, and yet, suddenly, we're on our way.

The ride makes me think of one of those old silent cartoons. Nobody says anything, but Justin's sitting there fuming so intensely I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. It would be funny if … well, if it wasn't so fucked up.

I know that he's angry with Mikey. Hell, so am I. But Justin's anger is different from mine. Justin … Justin won't let it go. He might damp it down, might not blow up at Michael, but the anger will still be there. And the only reason he won't tear Mikey a new asshole so big they could use it to park Concorde, is … me. He'll keep a lid on it for my sake. Just like he did at that fucking dinner party.

He was angry that night, too. But he didn't add fuel to the fire, he didn't fire off the salvos of his own that he must have been dying to. He just sat there and tried not to make a scene - like the good little butter-wouldn't-melt fucking WASP that he most definitely isn't. We didn't talk about it. Big fucking surprise. But I overheard him on the phone to Daphne and … he was pissed. Majorly pissed. But then he dropped his voice and all I could catch of the next bit was something about "Brian" and "family" and "need" and so I understand all too fucking well why he doesn't say anything. It's because he thinks I need Michael. Well, and Deb. Which I guess is true. It's why …

But I don't want to think about that. I don't want to think about anything but getting to Babylon and heating up the dance floor with him and proving to everyone that …

That I don't fucking have to prove anything anymore.

I'm thirty-three years old. I run my own very successful ad agency and the hottest club in town. I have a beautiful kid who doesn't yet hate my guts. I live in a fabulous loft, drive a classic car, and wear only the hottest designer clothes. Most importantly, tonight, just like every other night, I'll be sharing my bed with someone who, as well as being smart, beautiful and talented, just happens to be the hottest fuck I've ever known. Someone who, contrary to everyone's predictions, even mine, has put up with all my shit and is still here, still with me. A man who, un-fucking-believable as it may seem, loves me. Any night, Justin could have any guy in the place, and he wants me; he chooses me. He loves me.

What the fuck do I have left to prove?

They can eat my shit.

I don't have to prove anything to anyone anymore. Except maybe to him.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Justin

Brian doesn't even stop for a drink when we get to Babylon. As soon as we get rid of our coats, he drags me straight to the dance floor. Not that I'm complaining. If I can't punch dear little Mikey's face in, or at least slap it till his head spins round, I guess dancing is as good a way as most to get rid of all that pent up aggro. I relax for a while and let the beat pulse through me, converting all the anger-energy into something more positive. Brian's doing that weird-assed scrunched down thing that he does, but he's swaying so close to me that I can feel his body heat, even though we're not touching. Yet.

Even as I think that, his hand snakes around my waist, pulling me closer, so that now our groins are brushing together and the heat between us is building and driving out all thoughts of everything except him, and how fucking good it is to be here with him, knowing that every other guy in the place wishes he was me. Or him. Or one of us. Or they just wish they could get a part of any action half as hot.

I slide my arms round his neck and pull his head down, tilting mine right back so that he'll lick at my neck. For some reason, the feel of his tongue lapping at the sweat that builds in the little hollow of my throat sends me half crazy. He knows it too, and teases me a little, licking everywhere but where I really want him, but then he gives a long, wet sweep of his tongue on just the spot and I damned near come in my pants. It's a good thing we fucked before we left, but that seems a long time ago now. I pull away from him, hooking my fingers in his belt, and tug him towards the back room.

Brian might not feel that he's got anything to prove, I don't know. What I do know is that I need to prove something. Not to him, but to all these other assholes who think that they can fuck with us. I need to prove that he's mine.

He might never say those words. He might never even tell me right out loud that he loves me.

But he's mine. And I am not going to be suckered into giving him up, letting him go, again.

Like they say … `fool me once'.

From here on in, I'm staking my claim. And they can all, all of them, fuck off and out of our lives if they don't fucking like it.

I'm not that pathetic little blond twink anymore who barely knew which way was up. I've learned a thing or two along the way; and what I've learned best is - don't mess with me. I will not put up with people messing with our heads any more. I just won't.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Brian

I don't know exactly what's going through his head, though I can guess some of it, but by the time he drags me into the back room, pushes me up against the wall and attacks my mouth with his tongue, I've stopped thinking about anything much but fucking him senseless. He's hot and ready for it, too. We fucked not long before we left, so he doesn't take much preparation and once I push into him, he thrusts back against me so hard that for a moment I'm seriously afraid he'll damage my dick.

We get our rhythm going though, and it's all hot and tight and `harder', `faster', `more', and we're both sweating like pigs before we finally come - me just before him, him all over my hand; so I rub my fingers across his open mouth before I suck them into my own. The taste of him and the smell of our sweat provide the final garnish on a memorable fuck.

Then, when we've pieced ourselves back together, I wrap my arm tight around his waist and lead him out of there.

On the way, I see that loser Brandon. He's busy pretending he hasn't noticed me, but I can tell from the way he's careful not to look in my direction that he damned well knows I'm there. I wonder if he was watching us. Let him look! He's not going to be touching either of us any time soon, so let him think about what he's missing.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Justin

In a long list of intense fucks, that one will stay in my memory as one of the hottest.

I guess we were both out to prove something - not to each other, we know where we stand. But to all of the gossip queens who've no doubt been taking bets all day on how I'd react to the latest piece of bullshit. The thing is that if Mikey was hoping that by spreading the word about it quickly he could force Brian into going along with that totally lame competition, he seriously miscalculated. Because right now, instead of other people's fucking opinions pushing Brian into proving that he's still the stud of Liberty Avenue, all they're doing is firing him up to prove that he has nothing to prove.

Except that we're together.

That's what we're both about tonight, and I can feel the eyes on us both as we walk out of the backroom, wrapped around each other tighter than cling film. Yeah! That's right. Look at us. We're tighter than we've ever been, so you can all go fuck yourselves. Especially Michael.

On the way back to the bar Brian points out this Brandon guy who is supposed to be his competition. I shake my head at him and have to stop myself from laughing out loud. They seriously have to be kidding.

Even when I was a know-nothing 17-year-old twink I would never have compared him to Brian. If he'd hit on me that first night, I'd have turned him down flat.

Brian reads my thoughts and grins. "Don't fancy taking him for a test drive, Sunshine?"

I look up at him with his own tongue in cheek look and he laughs, and hooks his arm around my neck.

I pull him even closer and the feel of his breath on my face makes me hard all over again. He just grins, the bastard, and then Emmett's there, and Brian lets me go to start talking to him.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Brian

Emmett's at the bar when we get there. So I leave Justin to get the drinks, and pull Mr Honeycutt out onto the dance floor. He looks nervous. He fucking should. I let him dangle for a minute, and he blurts out, "Michael's here somewhere. He was looking for you."

This is not good news; I'm still mad at Mikey and Justin wants to empty his ball sac and use it for a paint rag, but right now, it's Emmett I want to talk to. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"So, tell me all about this competition, then," I say, all nice and friendly.

He looks even more nervous, but says, "Well, the way I hear it …"

"The way Mikey tells it," I correct him.

He bites his lip and nods silently.

I huff an acknowledgement, and then shake my head. "Rumors of my participation have been greatly exaggerated," I tell him.

"Brian …"

I stop dancing then, and lean close to him.

"Stop it," I tell him. "I want the whole thing stopped. Blame Mikey, blame Brendan, blame the fucking Pope. But make it clear that the whole thing is a total fucking lie. I don't want to hear another fucking whisper about it. You understand?"

He looks alarmed. "But Brian …!"

I grab his shirt and pull him closer; then I take a deep breath, get a hold on my temper and let him go. But I keep my eyes on his, drilling into his head so that he can see I mean it.

"Emmett," I take another breath, and then I find the words to go on. "Justin's hurting over this. You understand? Spreading that crap around … it's hurt him. I …" I break off and shake my head.

He looks sorry, then. Too fucking late, but at least he has the grace to look ashamed of himself. "Brian … I thought … Michael said …"

I nod. "Just stop it," I tell him again as I walk off the dance floor to find my partner before he finds Mikey.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Justin

Ted appears just as I get my drink. He stops to say something to the guy on the bar, and doesn't see me at first. When he does, he looks around nervously.

Smart man.

But he's not the one on my shit list at the moment, so I say, "Hey, Ted," nice and happy, and he relaxes a little.

"Seen Michael around tonight?" I ask.

He sort of shrugs, and then he seems to brace himself, and forever earns my respect by saying very quietly, "Justin, I know there's a lot of stuff going on at the moment, and I'm not saying I blame you, but if you've come to rub Brian's face in the fact that you're leaving him, please don't. Not here. It isn't fair. This is his place now. It would be even worse than …"

My eyes go wide and I stare at him. Worse than last time, he means. Worse than when I left with Ethan. Before I can respond, he goes on.

"I don't want to take sides. I'm just saying … please think about it. I know you wouldn't really want to hurt him like that."

I stand and just stare at him for a moment; at this man that we all tend to poke fun at a lot; at this man who is Brian's friend. Finally … he really is Brian's friend.

I smile at him, suddenly

"I'm not going anywhere, Ted," I say. I think he mistakes my meaning at first, and thinks that I'm just determined to stay and cause drama, because he looks even more unhappy, and seems to be trying to find words to argue with me. But then he gets it. I guess I look too happy to be in the middle of some huge drama with Brian, because he gives a shy little smile and says very soft and sincere, "I'm glad, Justin. I really am."

I nod at him. Then I figure I might as well try to work out exactly how the grapevine got hold of this one.

"So … you hear that from Mikey too?" I ask.

Now he looks nervous again.

I sigh. Of course he did.

"I rented some studio space," I tell him. "Some fucking place to paint where Brian won't have to have conniptions about me maybe possibly splashing paint anywhere near his fucking designer furniture. How the Hell did Mikey manage to make that into me moving out?"

He doesn't say anything. And suddenly he doesn't have to. We both know the answer. Mikey made it into me moving out because he wants that so much he can taste it. He wants to have Brian back to being dependent on him for all the love and warmth in his life. He wants there to only be Mikey and Brian and no one else ever. At least, not for Brian.

Those days are passed now, of course. Aside from anything else, there's Gus. Plus the others in our little band are beginning to see Brian very differently; which is why Ted is standing up, confronting me about my presence here, doing his best to protect the man when not so long ago he would have been sitting on the sidelines ready to enjoy the show - the more heartache and angst the better.

Things have definitely changed, me most of all. But none of that stops dear little Mikey from trying to push them back to how they used to be - at least as far as Brian is concerned.

I shake my head. I'm about to ask him if he knows where Michael is, when Brian reappears. He walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, angling his head forward to try to catch a sip of my drink.

I pick his up off the bar, and, turning in his arms, hold it up so he can drink from it without letting go of me.

There was a time when someone behaving like that at Babylon would have drawn his most scornful comments. Just last week, probably.

But not tonight.

No, not tonight.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Brian

Part of me is thinking that if we get any more couply I'll puke. But something else in me is psyching me into pushing our status as a fucking couple down the throat of everyone in the place. I hope they fucking choke on it.

I take another sip of my drink and then capture his lips with mine, letting the liquor spill into his mouth. He presses against me and suddenly all I want to do is get out of there. I've done what I came to do, and maybe if we leave now, I can prevent any bloodshed. Because something tells me that he's not in the mood to cut Mikey any slack tonight. And to be honest, neither am I.

Just as I straighten up and grab my drink to down the rest of it, he appears. Him. Brandon.

He gives me a cool look and then leers at Justin. Justin, the twat, looks him up and down and then laughs in his face.

"As if …" he says, and leans against me.

Brandon does his best to give him a classic `your loss' look, which just makes the little shit giggle. They guy doesn't have much option but to try to ignore this, so he turns to me as if Justin is of no account

Wanker!

"So … what's this I hear about a competition?" he asks.

Justin gives me a look, says, "I have to see a man …" and walks off.

I sigh, and look at Brandon. Then I shrug.

"You wanna be cock of this dung heap?" I ask.

He raises an eyebrow and gives me his best unimpressed stare. Fucker! I invented that look.

"You're welcome to it," I tell him. Then I lean in close.

"But you will never be me, you will never have what I have, you will never know what I know. Not unless you're a hell of a lot smarter than I take you for, and have the devil's own luck into the bargain."

I look over to where Justin is dancing with Em.

"I've had everything this place has to offer, and I've walked off with the best thing that ever sashayed through its doors. You'll never even know what you've missed."

The fool says something about "just another blond twink" and I laugh.

"That blond twink would eat you for breakfast," I tell him. "He's more of a man than the pair of us sorry assholes put together. And he's got the equipment to show for it."

I take another look at Justin. He's dancing up a storm, lost in the music, giving himself totally to the beat. His white silk and linen blend pants cling tightly in all the right places, and the slinky little blue top shows off the muscle definition that's beginning to come from his hours at the gym. His hair is gleaming under the lights, and his skin has a faint sheen of sweat that gets me hard looking at him. I want to smell and taste him; want to lick the sweat from his throat the way he likes.

Brandon's wrong. Justin's not the precocious little twink who won the King of Babylon contest any more. He's a hot, beautiful and entirely desirable man; what's more he's a man who, especially when he's in this zone, radiates an incredible sexual energy. He really is the hottest fuck I've ever had.

For a moment I stand struck dumb by the knowledge that he's mine; that no one else in the place has a chance with him. Not tonight; not any night, if the past is anything to go by. It strikes me afresh how fucking amazing it is that, whenever he's had the choice, he's chosen to go home with me. Every time. Well, except for the fiasco with the fiddler, and I'd left him precious little choice that night either.

All this crosses my mind in a flash, and reluctantly tearing my eyes away, I pay Brandon the courtesy of looking straight at him as I say, "If you really think you need some lame-assed competition to make your reputation around here, then you're already a loser."

He holds my eyes a long moment and then he smiles. "At least let me buy you a drink," he says.

The guy might have some class after all, but I blow him off.

Justin's out there all hot and sweaty, and if I grab him and get him out of here now, not only will he be more than ready for some hot sex, it might add a few hours to Mikey's life span.

I turn to the barman, and indicate Brandon. "What he wants to drink tonight … it's on the house."

The guy - Keith? … Kevin? … Justin would know … grins. "Sure thing, boss."

He smiles at Brandon then like he hopes that my generosity will buy him points with the new stud, and Brandon nods at me.

Guess honor is satisfied all round.

I give him a grin, and then forget all about him as I head out into the heaving throng of rutting men to claim the one who belongs to me.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

Return to Reverberations