Title: Double Footing—part of The Other Foot Series
Author: Simon
Pairing: B/J/Steve (OC)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: While the cat's away…Justin comes to town
Warnings: OC
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP
Feedback: Hell, yes.
This story takes place ten years after Brian and Steve get together.
Double Footing
With thanks to Jude for inspiration.
"I just got off the phone with Richards—I have to go down there to finalize the deal."
Brian looked up from his desk. "When will you be leaving?"
"Tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow."
Brian leaned back in his chair. Steve had been working so hard lately, harder than usual and he hated the cold weather here in New York, so; "Why don't you stay over? You could lay around on the beach down in Lauderdale for a couple of days, get a tan, spend a lot of the company's money on your expense account and make me jealous. Of course you may then make it up to me when you get back."
Steve smiled at the possibility. "I'd love to, both make you jealous and then make it up to you but we have that meeting with Revlon on Friday and I'm the contact person."
"Well, off hand we can either move the meeting or this time they can make do with the company president instead of the chairman."
Steve smiled. "You think you can replace me?" It was less than subtle.
"I know I can't." Ten years ago Brian would never have said such a thing but since he had begun living with Steve he found himself saying the things he couldn't when he was younger. It amazed him and he wondered at the pleasure they both found in such small comments.
"Why don't you meet me there? You know you love Florida this time of year. You could take the Revlon meeting then leave from here—we could stretch it and get back Monday night."
It sounded good but, "I promised Gus I'd be here this weekend. Linds is bringing him into the city to see some play and they want to at least have dinner together."
"…Of course. Well, then why don't we go together next week?"
For God's sake. "Steve, go make the fucking pitch and stay for the damn weekend, will you? Do me a favor and take some time off, get out of the cold and lay on a beach for a couple of days. I'll be fine."
He wasn't fighting the idea too hard. Much as he'd rather have Brian come with him, he'd kill to get away for a few days. "…Well, if you insist."
"Caved like a house of cards."
"Just part of why you love me."
"Bite me."
"Yes, later…But seriously, what will you do while I'm gone?"
Brian fixed him with something close to his old glare. "I'm forty-one years old, Steve. I think I can keep myself occupied for two or three days."
"I've never doubted it, and that's what has me worried." He was smiling as he said that, knowing that it had been years since either of them had strayed. Brian Kinney monogamous—whoda thought?
Brian returned from taking Steve out to Kennedy Airport around eight-thirty that evening. They'd had an early meal so Steve wouldn't have to eat the wretched airline food and now Brian was settled in for the evening with his laptop and a stack of reports and presentations he needed to get through. Linds and Gus would be in town tomorrow and would stop by the duplex when they were ready for lunch before the museum exhibit she wanted to see then there'd be shopping with Gus, dinner and a show of their choice.
Sunday was shaping up as an actual free day, thank God and knock wood. Maybe he'd hit a bar or one of the dance clubs. It had been a while since he'd…he caught himself. What the hell was he thinking?
Beside the fact that he and Steve were as close to married as Brian ever expected to get—not that they had any rules about shit like this; he knew what he looked like now. He was forty-one years old. Old. Yesterday's news, over the hill, a crypt keeper and there wasn't anything more pathetic than some old fart fag deluding himself into thinking that his day hasn't come and gone.
It was fine. He still looked pretty good, considering—all he had to do was walk down the street to know that, but…he was over forty now and there was no point in pretending otherwise. It was a Goddamned fact.
Well, fine. Screw it. He had work to do.
Gus and Lindsay rang the bell around twelve-thirty the next day, Gus excited about seeing both his father and New York City and Lindsay obviously wanting to ditch Gus for a while so she could vent about Melanie's latest pile of bullshit. The three of them hit the Met for the Faberge exhibit, stopped in at some places Brian knew on Madison for Lindsay and in Soho for Gus, had dinner at the latest trendoid restaurant and caught the revival of Hamlet at Lincoln Center that Lindsay had gotten tickets for. Surprisingly, Gus seemed to be enthralled by the action and the rhythm of the poetry. It was nice to see—he was a smart kid and he had an appreciation beyond baseball stats.
They spent the night at Brian and Steve's place, sorry to have missed Brian's other half but still having a good time. By the time Brian put them in a cab to the airport on Sunday morning, he was ready to scream with wanting quiet. Yes, he loved them both but they made him so—tired. Linds with her constant kvetching and Gus—God, he was wonderful—was an adolescent and a handful. The Kinney genes were coming out and in spades.
God, he really was turning into an old fart.
Sunday was spent reading the New York Times and eating a bagel with cream cheese—a rare indulgence.
Around four-thirty he was feeling cooped up and opted for a walk instead of the gym; strolling along until he found himself down in the Village. It was a nice day and there was one the countless street fairs you could usually count on down in this part of the city on a weekend.
Looking through the endless booths of mostly not bad crafts and decent to 'God, these people are delusional' paintings, his attention was caught by the sounds of street musicians—a violin and a flute playing something that might have been Mozart.
They played well, a small crowd stood listening. There was money in the violin case and Brian was brought back to the small park in Pittsburgh a dozen years ago when he first heard Ethan play, shortly before Justin left him.
Intrigued, he made his way closer to hear better. No, he was relieved to see it wasn't Ethan, it was just a couple of probably starving music students from Julliard or NYU or someplace. They were a couple of young girls, college age, dressed in the usual hippie/bohemian uniform of the street artist.
God, they were so young.
Unthinking, he pulled a bill from his pocket and tossed it in the open case, earning him a smile and a look of surprise when they saw it was a hundred. He didn't care, he could afford it and they likely needed the money—and even if they didn't it was a cheap enough donation to the arts. The piece ended, the girls looked like they were about to take a break and Brian was tired of the crowd. He was getting hungry and he still had some things he should go over before he went to the office in the morning.
Choosing randomly from the dozens of good restaurants in the area he ordered his meal along with a decent wine, opening the used book he'd picked up from one of the stalls and prepared for a quiet dinner.
"Brian?"
He turned at the sound of his name. Jesus. "Justin? When did you get to New York?—what are you doing here?"
Justin lived in Colorado, last Brian heard, lived with some doctor he'd met. According to Debbie's regular updates, they were deliriously happy, in love and doing obscenely well financially.
"I opened a show at the Weidman Gallery last night and decided to stay a couple of days to do some museuming." He looked around at the Village crowd. "This doesn't look like your kind of scene; you slumming?"
"Taking a walk, getting some air." It was awkward between the two of them, after all this time they weren't really at ease together alone like this, but... "Your—what's his name? Peter? Is he with you?"
"He was on call and couldn't trade off. I'm on my own." He seemed to be sizing things up. "I was going to call you, see if you and Steve would like to have some dinner."
"He's away this weekend, won't be back till late tomorrow." Why had he said that? "Join me?"
Smiling, Justin sat down, ordering his own meal and a bottle of wine for them to share.
An hour later they ordered another.
It was around three the next morning as Brian was pounding into an ass that seemed different than the one he was used, the body smaller and more compact. The muscles under him were not as hard, the hair longer, the smell wrong, the sounds not right. He continued what he was doing to the not completely unfamiliar body as he rode out his orgasm with the sudden realization that he was with Justin.
They were at the duplex and they were in the bed Brian had shared with Steve for a decade.
Steve was in Florida.
Justin lived with some doctor.
They'd met by accident in the Village and now they were on their third round (or was it their fourth?) and Brian wasn't completely sure what the fuck had happened.
Shit.
Breathing hard, sweating, exhausted, Brian pulled himself off Justin, resettling his weight to the side and felt Justin kissing his chest.
Christ.
"You haven't lost your touch, geezer."
The old nickname Justin used a lifetime ago to annoy him. It still annoyed him.
After the two bottles of wine they had gone to a bar with dancing nearby, drank more, found someone who'd offered some coke. There was dancing and groping and then…Brian vaguely remembered them getting into a cab and Justin giving the driver the address. They had been making out in the elevator, had managed the key to the front door and then…
The sex had started in the living room on the couch, then the shower, then the bed…
"Hey," Justin's voice was drowsy, "I need to be back at the gallery by eleven—don't let me oversleep, okay?"
He didn't bother answering. He couldn't throw Justin out like he would have any other trick before he'd connected with Steve.
He was exhausted.
He'd deal with this in the morning.
At nine they were both at the small kitchen table with coffee and toast and hangovers, neither of them capable of more.
In the silence Justin suddenly understood. "You've never cheated on Steve before, have you?"
Though he didn't expect an answer, Brian gave him a short head shake in response and that single movement told him more about Brian's feelings for Steve than anything else in the last decade.
"When we were together, you never stopped tricking, did you?"
"You know the answer to that."
Justin nodded. Yes, he knew the answer. "He didn't ask you to stop, did he?"
"I found that it didn't matter to me anymore."
"Will you tell him about this?"
"I—yes. I'll have to. He'll know anyway."
"What will happen? Will he leave?" Suddenly it was important to Justin that he not be the reason Brian and Steve broke up. Brian was too happy now for him to be the reason for him to lose that.
A shrug. Brian didn't know.
"I won't tell him, Brian. You do whatever you have to."
"What about your doctor? Will this matter?"
"No. It won't be important to Peter. He has enough other interests to not notice."
"…I'm sorry, Justin. You should have—better than that."
"I'm all right, Brian." A look. "No, I really am."
A clock chimed out the time in another room. "I have to get to the office—there's a meeting I have to…"
Justin nodded. He stood up to get his shoes on. "I'm ready to go."
They went down to the street together, Brian putting Justin in a cab before getting in his own to go in the opposite direction.
"Come see the show if you want."
"Yes, I'd like that."
There were no goodbyes. They weren't needed. Justin knew that Brian would likely see his show, but only after he knew that Justin was safely back in Colorado; just as he knew Brian would find a way to tell Steve about his slip and would be forgiven.
It wouldn't be repeated and he knew that as well.
Would it have happened if they hadn't been drunk? No, probably not. Did they know that and was that why they'd gotten drunk?
Maybe.
Was the old connection still there? Well, yes it was.
But.
Justin now fully understood that Brian had a deeper connection to Steve and that was just the way it was.
At four Brian met Steve at the airport. They were, as always, discrete when they greeted one another with nothing other than a brotherly hug and small talk about how the trip had gone. Later, smiling during dinner Steve asked the too obvious question. "So, did you miss me?"
"You've no idea."
1/24/05
7