Finding Your Own Way Back

Chapter 14

When Justin finally awoke it was to a sun filled loft and the realization that he was smack in the middle of Brian's bed, with the sheets around his waist. Huh? He wondered as he blearily looked around. "Brian," he said, voice quietly ringing throughout the loft. As there was no immediate answer he realized that he was alone, that Brian had apparently gone out. Looking at the clock on the bedside table, he saw it was nearly noon. Christ, he thought, I slept forever but then he and I did spend nearly the entire night fucking and talking. Unusual behavior for Brian.

Staggering to his feet, he let the sheet drop and padded naked into the bathroom to take a piss, wishing that Brian was there to help out with his morning hard-on. Deciding to take a shower because the sight that greeted him in the mirror wasn't pleasant even though he looked decidedly fucked-out, Justin could see the streaks of cum and sweat on his skin. Jesus Christ, he thought, we wore each other out. Remembering how Brian had called him a dirty boy turned him on. Amazing the things that I find arousing. Brian offering me my own come to lick out of his hand is one of them. So he didn't totally disagree with his lover's assertion that he was a slut for come, as long as it was Brian's.

After taking a shower at a temperature that Brian would undoubtedly find cold, he pulled on his gray sweatpants and sat down on the sofa. He figured Brian had gone to the gym or something. After all, why would he disturb his usual routine just because they were back together? What the fuck? Why am I double guessing him? Now. Stop psychoanalyzing him, Taylor.

Before he could continue with his current train of thoughts, he heard the loft door open. "Hey," Brian said, as he saw the prone figure on the sofa. "You're up."

"Well, I was," Justin teased, seeing the light dance in the depths of Brian's hazel eyes. "I woke up and you weren't there with me."

It was on the tip of Brian's tongue to retort that he'd lived that reality for far too long but he simply smiled. "I had stuff to do."

"Uh huh." He noted that Brian was in casual weekend attire: a black wife-beater and his leather jacket and a battered pair of Diesel jeans that lovingly cupped his package. "You look hot."

"I know." Brian was smug as he approached Justin. "So do you want this?"

"I always want that," Justin purred.

"Not that," Brian said, amused. "I meant the coffee. Aren't you the tiniest bit worn out from last night?" Then it occurred to him what he'd said and he nearly groaned.

"Did I wear you out, old man?"

"Little boy you know you didn't. But even I need time to recuperate. I'm the one who woke up this morning early to go get you coffee."

"It would be even better if you were naked."

"You just want to see my dick again."

"Always." Justin said, sitting up as Brian stood in front of him, fingers tugging the shirt free of his jeans. "You're overdressed."

"I'm your willing servant," Brian said, smiling as he raised his arms.

Before Justin could attack the lower belly with his tongue that he had just exposed, they heard a loud banging on the door. "Oh, Christ," they echoed in unison.

"If that's Mikey," Brian vowed, taking a step back from Justin reluctantly, "I'm going to fucking kill him. And feed him to the fucking vultures."

Seeing the dangerous look on Brian's face, Justin simply nodded. But he followed Brian to the door, pulling it open. Then Brian's face darkened. "Mom," he said, the simple word at once an oath and a curse.

Justin closed his eyes. Oh, holy hell. Just take me now. He wished for one of those transporter beams like on Star Trek. "Brian," Joan Kinney said, her voice the approximate temperature of a glacier.

"Mom," he repeated. "Why are you here? I think we said all we wanted to say to each other when you called the cops on me to accuse me of molesting your grandson. After all, because I'm a fag I must like touching little boys. Christ."

"Brian," she began, then noticed Justin. "Who is this child?" she said, arsenic dripping from her voice like molasses.

"I'm nineteen," Justin said, belatedly realizing that was bound to cause her less comfort. To her it would be a mere child when compared with Brian's age of thirty-two. "I'm not a child."

"What are you thinking?" she asked, turning to her son.

"That he's hot," Brian said, taking pleasure in seeing her wince. "That he's mine. That he's got a perfect ass."

"Are you trying to get God to smite you where you stand? Do you want to send me to an early grave? Do you think that will make you happy?" Joan asked, voice quavering and Justin took a moment to wonder if she'd been hitting the cooking sherry before mass. He knew Brian was taking a form of pleasure out of needling her so.

"You know, Mom, I rarely think about you. I am happy."

"How can you be happy with this---this---" she couldn't finish the sentence.

"This what, Mom? What were you going to say?"

Joan glared at her son, an expression so familiar to Justin that it took his breath away. Brian wore the same expression when he was pissed. "This child."

"This child as you call him is a man. He's not a boy," Brian said, the look in his eyes warning Justin not to say anything. "He's an adult. And he's standing right here, Mom."

"I thought we raised you better. That Jack and I gave you better values. I don't know where we failed."

Justin bit his tongue. "I think you should go." The quietness of his tone was deadly.

"Brian, I'll----" she began.

"You'll what, Mom?"

Meeting his eyes, she straightened her spine and said, "I'll pray for your immortal soul, Brian. That you see that living as a sodomite can only bring you pain. That the sins of the flesh aren't worth the eternal damnation you'll be facing."

Without a word, Brian pulled Justin closer to him. "Mom, you remember him, don't you? You know the day you came over to give me the chocolate cake. We stood right here and had this same fucking conversation."

"Don't use such language," she said, the effrontery clear to her even if it was lost on her son.

"Why not, Mom? After all, the term fucking is old. And it seems to fit me so much better than making love, doesn't it? Because only straight folks can make love. That's something that we fags can't possibly enjoy. Right, Sunshine?"

"Brian Aidan Patrick Kinney," she said, horrified.

Looking at Justin, Brian said, mockingly, "Justin, honey, I got the full name. I should be scared now, shouldn't I?" He met his mother's cold eyes and said quietly, "Get the fuck out before I call the cops and have you thrown out."

"I'm still your mother."

"And a fine one you've been," he said, derision seeping into every word. "Claire's a washed-up divorcee and I fuck men. And you stood by without saying a word when your dearly departed husband beat the shit out of me. So go be a fucking martyr to the cause for someone else. Saint Patrick has left the building in this home. I want you out of here, Mom. Oh, there's a bottle of vodka over there if you want one. It's so much better for your soul than those votary candles you insist on lighting."

Stunned at the vitriol in Brian's tone, Justin could only watch as his lover walked slowly into the bedroom and sank down on the bed. But it was clear to him just how hurt Brian was by his mother's callousness and judgmental behavior.

"Why are you with him?" Joan asked, her voice weary; her words an unconscious echo of Melanie's.

"Because I love him."

"You love him?" she said incredulously. "You're a mere child. And he's a monster. He molested my grandson."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that her grandson was a fucking liar and homophobe but he refrained. "No, Mrs. Kinney, he didn't. Brian may have sex with men but he's no pederast. And for you to come into his home and attack him in front of his partner is inexcusable. You, as an allegedly Christian woman, should know better. Now I think you should leave."

"Do you even know my son?"

"Better than you, Mrs. Kinney. I'm the one he came home to after his father died. I'm the one who almost died in an attack because I went to a prom where my older male lover attended. I'm the one who has seen Brian in moods you can't even imagine. I'm the one who has seen him sacrifice his own comfort to make me comfortable. He takes care of those he loves. I love him more than you. You say you love your children but Claire's miserable and Brian's damaged to the core. You should take your hypocrisy elsewhere. Go fuck up someone else's life."

"How dare you," she hissed, somehow getting her second wind. "How dare you be so insolent to me, young man?!"

Before Justin could respond, they heard a strong, quiet voice say from the bedroom, "Mom, get the fuck out. He's here because he's the only one who thinks I matter. That I'm worth giving a shit about. And he speaks for me. When have you ever done the same? I won't ask you again to leave."

Wrapping what remained of her tattered dignity about her like a cloak, Joan walked with a rigid carriage to the drink cart and picked up the most expensive bottle of vodka. The irony was cold and not lost on Justin as he watched her walk out. Once again she'd fulfilled her son's expectations of her. Staring after her for a moment, he went to close the door behind her and lock it.

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