Finding Your Own Way Back

Chapter 5

Meanwhile, Emmett, Ted, Michael and Ben were in their usual booth at the Liberty Diner. Looking at Michael's long face, Debbie bit her lip. "What's he done now?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Who?" Debbie sighed, resisting the impulse to give her son a well-deserved swat. "Brian. That's who." Was there ever anyone else?

"Nothing, Ma. Brian hasn't done anything." Except take that lying, cheating, cock-hungry twink back. Fucking Boy Wonder, my ass. Christ, Brian really is cock-whipped, he thought.

"Uh huh. You know, kiddo, you really can't lie to me."

Deciding he'd spare his lover the inquisition, Ben jumped in. "Debbie, it's nothing." He laid a hand on Michael's knee, gently applying pressure.

Not believing that for an instant, she decided to drop it for the moment. But only for the moment. Only one man had the power to make her son look like that. Brian fucking Kinney. "So boys what'll it be?"

"Eggs, side of link sausages, and toast." Ted said.

"Blueberry banana pancakes," Emmett said.

"Bowl of wheaties." It was Ben's standard breakfast.

"Eggs, toast, side of buttermilk pancakes. No remarks," Michael said.

As Debbie disappeared to put the order in, muttering darkly under her breath, Ted asked, "So where is Brian today? It's not like the God of Fucking to not come in bragging about his adventures in bed."

Michael shrugged. Thinking bitterly that he was probably giving Justin a high protein breakfast of his own, direct from the source. "I don't know." He knew his jealousy wasn't rational but damn if it didn't make him feel superior.

"It's unlike the King of Liberty Avenue to miss a Friday night at Babylon," Emmett observed. Especially since he and the gorgeous blond twink had called it quits. "Fucking anything new, Michael?"

Rapidly losing his appetite, Michael felt Ben's fingers grip his knee. "I don't want to talk about Brian," he snapped.

The four friends looked at each other. Michael and Ben, of course, had a pretty good idea where Brian was and what or who he was doing. Ted and Emmett were left to speculate as to their missing friend's whereabouts. Michael's thoughts grew progressively dark. It was difficult not interfering in his best friend's life especially when he felt it was a mistake. Never mind the fact that Brian was fucking miserable without him.

Across town, Brian and Justin had pulled into a fairly cozy upscale restaurant. "You'll like the food," Brian reassured him. He'd had business meetings at this particular restaurant a couple of times and found the food quite palatable. He'd also found the maitre'd incredibly willing to perform on command. Brian had fucked him wearing the chef's hat. It didn't hurt that the owner was also a client. And he was surprisingly adventurous and limber.

"Why so far from Liberty Avenue?" he asked, betting he knew the answer.

As they were seated, Brian lifted his eyes from the menu and replied honestly, "Less chance of running into the guys. And besides the food here is better."

Studying Brian, Justin noted the lines and angles of his face. He wished he had a sketch pad. As if Brian could read his thoughts, and at times Justin thought he could, the man said, "I bet they have some paper around here. Want me to ask? I do know the owner."

Of course you do, Justin thought. Before he could respond, the waiter returned with Brian's coffee and his soda. "Monsieur Kinney."

"Yes," he said cautiously. Did I fuck you? He gave the waiter an appraising look before determining that it wasn't a former trick. Or at least not one he remembered.

"The owner said anything you want is on the house." Damn, this guy is fucking hot. What I would give to have him fucking the shit out of me.

"Steak au tartare. Scrambled eggs." He looked to Justin.

"Scrambled eggs and whole wheat toast."

Brian raised an eyebrow, more than a little surprised at the anemic quality of Justin's breakfast order. "Something wrong?" he asked as the waiter slipped away. He hadn't felt this awkward since he'd realized he'd fucked his best friend's lover, complete with ropes.

"No."

"Bullshit," he said quietly. He wasn't about to get into it but he didn't want Justin to sulk the entire meal either. "Something's bothering you. Out with it."

Justin sighed, knowing Brian wouldn't just let this go. Sometimes he did if it was something he didn't want to talk about but he rarely afforded Justin the same courtesy. "How do you know the owner?"

"I fucked him."

Duh. Doesn't take a Rhodes scholar to figure that one out, he thought, darkly. Brian's inability or unwillingness to be monogamous had been a contributing factor to the demise of their relationship. He also knew that Brian honestly felt that fucking a virtual smorgasbord of men was entirely different than what Justin had done. It was, Justin admitted, because emotion wasn't involved when Brian had someone pushed up against a wall. It was almost mechanical for Brian.

He looked at his young lover. He realized that not only did he not want to fuck this up on the second day, he couldn't afford to. His heart simply couldn't bear the pain. His heart had dropped when he'd seen Justin in the Art Department. Yeah, he'd been pissed but he'd also been relieved that Justin was taking the initiative. He had also wanted to draw the blinds and lock the door and fuck Justin till he was screaming his name on the conference table, but had understood that it had to be on Justin's terms. He recognized the contemplative expression on Justin's face. It told him that the blond was thinking entirely too much.

"Justin," he said, getting his attention.

"Hmm?"

"I spent a weekend with Philippe in Philly trying to get the account. I fucked his brains out. On the bed, in the shower, in the elevator. Nine inches cut, right nipple pierced with a barbell. Gave great head." Though it wasn't as good as you.

"Nice introduction, Kinney. What the fuck are you doing in my humble establishment?" A voice asked with a light French accent. The voice fairly dripped sophistication. Who is this? He is very beautiful.

Justin had the grace to blush while Brian simply smirked unapologetically. "Philippe, you bastard. How are you?"

"Good. Haven't seen you in a while. I just got back from Venice and Milan."

"Go down the Grand Canal?"Brian asked, a wicked edge to his voice, the double entendre calculated.

Philippe rolled his eyes and Justin smiled. He observed Philippe and noted that the guy was hot, tall and dark. And older by Brian by at least five years. He had a slight look of the Mediterranean about him. "Yeah. The men there know how to give head and fuck. I lost count of how many times I ended up in sixty-nine."

The words had Justin wondering for a moment just who had fucked whom. It wasn't a question he usually had when it came to Brian, because the man was so blatantly a top. This guy seemed like a perfect match for Brian: cool, charismatic, successful, and he defined sex. Exuded sex like a fine cologne.

"Brian, mon ami, you going to introduce me to your friend?" A slight hesitation on the last word did not go unnoticed by either man.

"Justin Taylor, this is Philippe Delacourt. He owns this restaurant along with two in Philadelphia and one in Chicago."

He met Philippe's eyes, saw the question in them, and gave a slight shake of his head. Sorry, Philippe, this one is not up for grabs. Not sharing. He wasn't interested though there was a time not so long ago when he might have considered it.

Considering Justin's expression and the newness of their reconciliation, he went on to say, "He's an art student at PIFA." He didn't feel it prudent to mention Justin's role at Vanguard.

"Really? What medium?" Philippe asked.

The question shocked Justin. "Graphic design. I do the art work for the gay comic book Rage." Courteous, he thought, wary of any former trick of Brian's who expressed interest in him.

Brian sat back in his chair and watched the interplay between Justin and the restauranteur. "Very daring," Philippe said. "Brian was the impression for Rage. Oui?" He'd seen the comic and thought it an intriguing notion. A gay superhero.

"Yes."

Philippe spared a look at Brian whose expression had shifted to convey the message clearly: He's mine. Hands off! Understanding fully the territorial nature of Brian Kinney and his allure, Philippe said, "Let me go check on your order. Justin, it was a pleasure to meet you. Brian, I'll see you in a few months to discuss some new concepts for our ad campaign. Your meal is on the house, of course." He gracefully left them alone.

"Nice guy," Justin observed. Definitely your type. Too old for me.

"Yeah, he is," Brian said, taking a sip of coffee. "Having second thoughts, Sunshine?"

"No. Just curious. He's hot." Shut up, Taylor.

Brian's smile was brittle. He wasn't going to play this game. "I'm sure you could fuck him. Take him in the back, push him up against the deep freeze, and let your talented tongue do all the work. Fuck him until he's moaning your name."

Recognizing the bait for what it was and refusing to be a fish, he said, "Not interested." And he wasn't, though it wouldn't have been the first time he'd fucked one of Brian's former tricks. You couldn't live in Pittsburgh and share the same playground and not pick up one of Brian's discarded toys.

Brian took a sip of coffee, grimacing as he realized it had grown cold. He made a face and Justin laughed. He'd seen Gus wear the same expression. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about Gus."

A rare, genuine smile appeared on Brian's face. He loved his son though he hadn't thought he would. The ringing of his cell phone prevented him from responding. He glanced at the Caller ID display, saw it was Lindsay, and said, "Hey, Lindz. What's up?"

He listened a moment, aware Justin was studying him. "You need me to watch Gus?"

He smiled softly. It was a surety that no trick ever saw Brian Kinney in "Daddy" mode. "Yeah, I can do it. I'm eating breakfast but we'll be by to pick him up after we're done eating. Have a bag packed for him. I'm sure you and Melanie wouldn't mind a little time alone, to reacquaint yourselves with each other."

He listened another moment and then said, "Yes, I said we. Lindz, it's not a trick. I wouldn't expose Gus to that. Even I have more principles than that." His voice now had a slight edge to it. "See you later."

He met Justin's eyes. "Sorry about that."

"Lindsay need you to watch Gus?"

Brian nodded. "You mind?"

"Of course not. I adore spending time with Gus." He also liked seeing Brian out of his element with a near three-year-old.

Brian drained his cup of coffee, relieved that their food had finally arrived. "This looks wonderful." Steak so blue it still mooed. "Sunshine."

Justin had plowed into the pile of fluffy scrambled eggs with the same abandon he used when sucking Brian's cock. Brian had to admire the kid's enthusiasm. "Uh huh," he said, mouth full.

Amused, Brian said, "Swallow. I was just going to ask if you're ready to let Lindz and Melanie know." He was actually surprised that Michael hadn't told Melanie. After all, they were expecting a child. An idea that still had him horrified. Who'd have thought that Michael's sperm would actually like Melanie's egg. The horror! The horror!

"Yeah," he said. He'd come to the realization that no matter how much he and Brian wished to keep their reconciliation under wraps they couldn't. And besides he was proud to be with Brian, even though their relationship wasn't a norm even among the varied denizens of Liberty Avenue.

Brian cut another piece of steak and smiled at Justin's nearly horrified expression. "It's not like I ordered veal," he reminded him. "I guess you're okay with letting people know."

Justin shoveled up some more eggs and nodded. He waited to swallow before saying, "We can't keep the whole world out. Can't control everything." Then, he said, echoing Brian's words from so long ago, "No apologies. No regrets."

"No turning back," Brian finished.

Their eyes met and each knew that they understood each other. Justin wasn't yet fluent in Brian-speak again but he was getting there. They finished eating in relative silence, half-expecting Philippe to re-emerge but he didn't. Both were relieved for different reasons.

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