Title: First Anniversary
Author: Simon
Pairing: Justin/Brian. Craig shows up
Rating: PG-13 language
Summary: Just what the title says
Warnings: none
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
Archive: Yes
Feedback: Hell, yes.
First Anniversary
"Cynthia, I'll be leaving a little early today, around four, so make sure that my schedule's clear."
"Alright. You have a big date or something?"
"Or something."
"Isn't this your first anniversary?"
"Fuck off."
"It is. I knew it was coming up pretty soon. What plans have you made?"
"None of your fucking business."
She leaned in to where he was sitting behind his desk, kissing his cheek. "Happy anniversary, sweetie."
Allowing himself the smallest of non-smirking smiles, he managed, "Thanks. Now get your ass to work."
Around two o'clock he was going over the new thirty second national spots for Liberty Air when the intercom went off. It was the new secretary, the one who started last week. She was clueless.
"Excuse me, there's a Mr. Taylor here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment, but perhaps you could..."
Shit, what the Hell was Justin doing here? They were going to hook up back at the loft around six thirty. "That's alright, show him in."
Without taking his eyes from the monitor screen, he said, "I told you I'd be home around six, what the fuck are you doing here?"
"I wanted to speak with you, if I you don't mind."
Looking up he saw Craig Taylor standing a few feet from his desk. Leaning back he studied him for a moment then indicated one of the chairs across from him. Craig sat, seemingly relaxed and at ease.
"What do you want?"
"I want my son back."
Oh, crap. "Then you should be talking to him." He was stating the obvious.
"He won't speak to me."
"That's your problem, Craig."
He sat back in the chair. "Look, I know what you think of me, but Justin is still my son, I'm still his father. I still love him and I want ..." He trailed off, seemingly out of words. "He told me that you have a son. Can't you understand what Justin means to me? If he were your son—could you walk away?"
"...If he were my son I would allow him to live his life and accept him as he is."
"Look, Brian, why Justin?" He was speaking conversationally. "That's what I don't understand. He's not your equal—or is that the attraction? The fact that you can so easily dominate him, is that it? I've tried to understand and I simply don't. How can you remain interested in someone who, compared to you is a child? Or—is that the reason?"
"What's between Justin and myself is personal and, frankly, none of your business. If you have questions for your son, call him."
"Jennifer told me that you two went up to Vermont about a year ago and got married. Is that true, you really went through with it?"
Craig glanced down at his hand on the desk, Brian's eyes followed. The ring was obvious; Brian made no effort to hide it.
"You were at Bill and Claudia's the day before we left for Vermont. You did what you could to convince Bill to somehow stop us and then you went after Justin before he threw you out. Jen said that she told you after the fact that we'd gone through with it and you didn't come to the party she had for us when we got back. Did I miss anything?"
"I had my lawyer look into it, he told me that as long as you had blood tests and a license and all of that, it's probably legally binding."
"Yes, it's legal and you know that. You can stop trying to jerk me off here. Were you hoping to belatedly do something about it?"
"Look—Brian, I just want..."
"What? You want Justin back the way he was when he was ten or fifteen? You want him to be the way you thought he was before you knew that he's gay?"
Craig stopped. He didn't want to argue with this man. He knew that he'd lose and push Justin further away in doing so. "I'd like to try to reestablish contact with my son."
"Then call him."
"I tried, he won't take my calls." He paused before going on with the obvious request. "I was hoping that you would speak with him, get him to call me or meet with me."
Brian hesitated, before he could answer Craig went on. "Please, Brian. He's my son. I just want him to know that I'm still his father."
"You were a shit to him. You refuse to allow him to be himself, you cut off his schooling, and you shafted Jennifer and Molly during the divorce, not to mention that you tried to kill me twice. Why the fuck should I help you?"
"Because we both love him."
"You're going to have to come up with a Hell of a better reason than that." The intercom buzzed, he hit the button.
"Brian? I'm sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Vance is with me, he says he needs to speak with you right away."
"Tell him to come in." He turned his attention back to Craig, briefly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm working." Craig knew he was dismissed. The door opened, the man he assumed to be Vance came in with a couple of ad mockups.
"I'm sorry, Brian, but I'd like your input with this before the clients arrive. Am I interrupting?"
"Mr. Taylor was just leaving."
"Brian, will you talk to him? Please? He'll do what you ask him to do."
"In fact, Justin makes up his own mind. Now, if you'll excuse me?" He turned his attention back to his monitor but added, almost as an afterthought, "Call my cel number. That's the phone he usually has with him."
Vance took the opportunity to get started. "Brian, these colors, I'm just not sure about the shades that were used in this central logo..."
Craig paused by the new secretary's desk, identifying himself as Brian's father-in-law and asking if she would happen to have Brian's cel number. Checking a Rolodex, she gave it to him. Sitting in the front seat of his car a couple of minutes later, he dialed. A few rings and then,
"Hello?"
"Justin? It's Dad—please don't hang up."
"I'm on my way to class."
"I just want to talk to you...Please Justin."
"Today isn't good. I'm busy."
"Justin, I need to discuss something with you."
"I told you, I have class all day and then I have plans." There was a silence as Justin walked the last fifty yards to the entrance of the Painting and Sculpture building. He wanted to just hang up again, but knew that Craig wouldn't quit until they had it out. Goddamnit. "...Fuck it. Fine, Come over to the loft about five, five thirty." The connection was broken.
At almost exactly quarter after five Craig was walking up the steps of the building. Justin had buzzed him in, his manner curt. The place looked like a dump from the outside. Alright, maybe that was too strong, but it sure as Hell didn't look like the kind of thing Justin had been raised with. It looked like the kind of place that needed to be fumigated weekly.
The top floor, that was what he had said. In fact, that was all he had said.
The only thing he saw when he got to the landing was a large, dented metal fire door painted an ugly medium gray. He knocked, a minute or so later it slid noisily open. It needed oil.
Justin met his look, said nothing, but stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him.
Glancing around as he walked in he saw that the space was a showplace. It was clean with spare lines and reflected sophisticated tastes and a lot of money. Well, never judge a book and all of that.
He immediately followed Justin to a kitchen area where he appeared to be in the middle of preparing some elaborate dinner. Craig followed, sitting himself at a bar chair on the opposite side of the counter. He noticed that the dining room table was set with what was obviously good china and linen, unlit candles were on every surface, waiting.
"What are you making?" He watched Justin slicing vegetables, the gold ring on his finger catching the light as he worked. His hair was longer and he seemed—older, less innocent, more confident and assured.
"Eggplant parm with pasta and shrimp."
"Sounds good."
He spoke without looking up, his attention on the sharp knife and his work. "Why do you think I want to listen to whatever you have to say to me?"
"I was hoping that we could try to put the misunderstandings behind us. I miss you, Justin."
"Well, I don't miss you. A couple of years ago I did, but I got over it when you didn't bother to even pick up a phone to see if I was out of the coma."
"You know what was going on then. Brian was always at the hospital and I couldn't stand to lay eyes on the man at that point." Justin glanced up at him. "I blamed him for everything. You know that. I honestly believed that if it hadn't been for him you wouldn't have been hurt."
"You still think that. If he hadn't gone to the fucking prom, Hobbs wouldn't have flipped out."
"Can you honestly say that it hasn't occurred to you?"
"Yeah, whatever. And what about the last two years? You remember, when you screwed Mom and Molly in the divorce, cut off my tuition, offered to disown me? That all water under the bridge, too?"
"...I was hoping that we could at least make a start."
Justin put the knife down, wiping his hands on a towel, finished with what he was doing. "This isn't a good time. We have plans tonight. I told you that." He started to move away, to cross up to the bedroom. Craig followed.
"I know. I saw Brian this afternoon." Justin gave him a steady look, but wouldn't ask, just waited him out. "I went to his office."
Still just the hard look.
"I told him that I wanted to talk to you but that you wouldn't speak to me. He's the one who said I should call you." Still nothing. "We didn't argue, Justin. It was a talk."
"Have you called off your lawyer? The one who was checking up on whether our marriage is legal? What about the PI you had after Brian? He still on your payroll?"
Craig looked down at his hands. "I know that you and Brian are legally married. Your mother told me that you're listed on his benefits as a legal spouse and that you're in his will." He looked at Justin who was getting out clean clothes to change into, nice clothes.
"The Investigator was only so that I would know what kind of a man you had gotten involved with." He spread his hands in a gesture of pleading. "I had to know, Justin."
Justin just shook his head. "Did you really think I'm enough of a twat to fall in love with a bastard?" He took a blue vee-necked sweater out of a drawer, the color matching his eyes. "So what did you find out about him?"
"What you already know. Beyond the basics of his job and background, I found out that he's promiscuous..."
"Was. He's not now."
"....That he's a drug user and drinks too much."
"He's cutting down."
"That he's fathered a bastard child who he rarely sees."
"He loves Gus and sees him as often as he can—and he gives him a lot. He's set up a college fund for him and gives his mother's all kinds of money to help raise him."
"I also know that you left him once."
"That was almost two years ago."
"Justin, he's..."
"...My husband. I love him and you're not going to break us up, so if that's why you're here, get the fuck out."
"Justin I wanted to tell you that I'm getting married again. It's next Saturday and I'd like you to be there."
Justin stood up from where he was bending to get something—a wrapped box—from a drawer and just looked at his father. "Does Mom know?"
"Of course she does, so does Molly. In fact she'll be there. Justin, I was hoping that you'd be my best man."
"What about Brian?"
"You want him there, I take it."
"You want me, you accept him." Justin gave him a steady look, like the one earlier, but with even less warmth.
"If you want him there, he'll be welcome."
"Welcome or tolerated?"
"I said he could come. I want you there—I really do."
"Dad—you're just jerking me off. All you're doing is playing the devoted father to the hilt. You don't give a shit if we're on good terms or not. You just want to make some crapfilled statement about how liberal you are by having your fag son and his queer husband at your wedding to your new arm candy. Well, fuck that." Grabbing the clothes he had just picked out into his hands, he slammed into the bathroom, door banging shut behind him.
"Justin, Damnit." Shaking his head, Craig went down to the kitchen area to regroup.
Fine, this was probably not the best time to do this, but the wedding was in less than a week and if he didn't at least make an effort Susan would have his balls. Besides, he really did want to try to get back with his son. He was—well, fuck, he was his Goddamned son for shit's sake and he wanted them to be able to at least sit down and have a beer or something, but he was at a loss about this.
What was he supposed to say about the whole thing with Brian? And what was Brian to him now, anyway? His son-in-law?
Jesus.
It wasn't even that Brian was gay—although he wasn't thrilled about that. He just really hated the arrogant bastard.
It was personal.
Brian was one of those guys he had always hated.
Better looking, better built, smarter, more money, more confidence and always with hot numbers after him.
It didn't help that in this case the hot number was his son.
The door buzzer went off, startling him. He could hear the water in the shower.
Walking over to the entranceway he looked at the control panel, pushing the button for the intercom. "Yes?"
"Delivery for Taylor?"
"Yes, come up. Top floor." Why not? Obviously Justin would be a few minutes yet.
There was a knock at the door, he pulled it open. A deliveryman was there with five enormous vases—urns, really—filled with roses in every color. A huge rainbow of at least a couple hundred flowers and greens and baby's breath.
"Taylor?"
"Yes, thank you." He signed, giving the man a twenty. He pulled the delivery into the main room, wondering what to do with them. Jen always added water when she got flowers. He might as well.
It was their anniversary. Of course.
It was an extravagant gesture and the sort of thing that would be guaranteed to make Justin happy, to make him feel loved and cared for and about. It was the sort of thing that would have made Jen cry once and then the scene would dissolve into the bedroom—door closed in case the kids were wandering around. Against his will he started picturing how the evening would end in this place. Shit.
God, Justin was his mother's son. Always had been. They were so alike, so righteous, so determined, both going about getting exactly what they wanted in that quiet way they shared.
There were times he felt like an interloper in his own home.
Well, this Saturday he and Susan will be married and it would work out this time—the way he had thought that things would work out with Jen once. Susan had been talking about starting a family. She was younger, only twenty-six and he wasn't all that surprised, but he wasn't sure about that.
He had thought that he was long done with diapers and two o'clock feedings and God knew that the expense was something that she wouldn't be all that concerned about. Goddamnit.
Shit. Always some fucking complication.
Well, maybe he could just get himself fixed or something.
He heard the bathroom door open; saw Justin walking down the bedroom steps. He was dressed in the nicer clothing he had taken out a few minutes ago and Craig had to admit that he was a handsome youngster. He and Brian must make an attractive couple.
"These arrived a couple of minutes ago."
Justin saw, of course, the hundreds of flowers, his smile as happy as Craig had ever seen it in all his years, in all the times he'd seen his son happy.
His hand went to touch the velvet of the petals as he leaned in to smell the masses of color.
"I thought that you're allergic."
"Brian made sure that I took my medicine this morning before he left for work." He had moved one of the large vases to the table, off center so that they would still be able to see one another when they ate. As he placed the flowers he saw the card in among them. Taking it out of the small envelope he read quickly, wiping his eyes as he did so.
"Dad would you mind leaving? Brian will be here any minute and I'd like to be alone with him." He was still looking at the flowers with something close to amazement.
"Would you think about it? Let me know?"
"Think about what?"
"If you'll be in the wedding?"
Absently, distracted, he made a half attempt at an answer. "Yeah, sure, I'll call you."
"Justin?"
No answer.
"Justin?"
"Hmmm?"
"...I'm glad that you're happy."
He nodded, his attention still on the flowers. "Thanks."
As Craig walked out to his car parked across the street, he saw Brian pull up to the curb, park and get out. As he walked to his building, he was carrying a bouquet of what were probably another two dozen roses, red this time, wrapped in florist paper.
He stayed by his car for a few minutes, hoping to see them through the windows, maybe see them embrace or something, but they weren't close enough for anything to be seen from the street. As he got in his car he thought of the look on his son's face when he read the card from his husband and wondered if anyone had ever looked like that when they thought of him.
When Justin heard the door sliding open he was in the kitchen, adding water to the rest of the flowers. Turning off the sink he met Brian before he had gotten more than five feet into the large room. His arms were around him and they were kissing while Justin was murmuring "Thank you" into Brian's mouth.
"So this has been a good year?"
The smile that had started in earnest with the flowers spread again, he nodded. "A good year, yeah."
"You're glad that we went through with it, that we aren't just living together?"
He managed a damp nod.
"I thought that you took your allergy meds this morning."
"I guess that they must have worn off." He pressed himself against Brain. "Oh, shit, I wanted to have the candles lit when you got home but my fucking father showed up and I didn't get to it and I still have to get the eggplant in the oven and—."
"Give me a minute to get changed and I'll do the candles, twat. You put the food in."
"You sure you want to eat first?"
"You mean the food...?"
Justin followed him up to the bedroom a minute or so later, catching him shirtless and with his slacks undone. "I can help you with that."
"I thought that you might be able to."
"Rough day at the office, honey?"
Justin pushed the clothes off of Brian's lower body, watching his husband watch him remove the fabric, hear it pool on the floor in a slither of silk and cotton. He was naked, Justin completely dressed.
Taking the older man's hand, he led him the bare yard to the edge of the bed, sitting him down, kneeling between his knees and pushing him gently back so that he lay on the bed with his feet still on the floor. Raising himself enough to reach Brian's mouth, he kissed his lover, gently, with passion, his tongue sliding carefully into the familiar, exploring, tasting and then moving on to his chin, his tongue trailing a line of suckling and nibbling down his throat, across the collarbones to the breastbone and down to the chest. He moved his mouth to Brian's left breast, mouthing it, teasing while his fingers did the same to the other side. He could feel Brian's hands in his hair, encouraging, asking for more.
He moved down to Brian's navel, tonguing that, drawing circles around it, playing with the few hairs that started there before they made their trail downwards. Moving to the inevitable, his chin bumped against the hardness tipped with wet, glancing up to see the look on Brian's face, their eyes caught one another as they shared what they were doing, knowing that it was a give and take despite Justin being fully clothed. A look lasting just a few seconds and then Brian was pushing his head back to the job at hand.
His mouth covered the head, his throat opened to receive the size his tongue played along the surface and delved into the slit and Brian couldn't hold out against what he had been looking forward to all day.
Swallowing as he heard the moans and gasps, Justin smiled to himself.
This was love. This was power. This was good.
He moved up enough to kiss Brian, knowing how much he loved kissing and wanting the closeness himself. "Do you realize that we've made love every night or morning—or both, since we were married except when you had to go to New York a couple of months ago?"
"And you're still not pregnant."
"Yet." He kissed Brian lightly then sat up. "I'm going to check on dinner. You come out when you're ready."
Half an hour later they were eating the meal Justin had spent several hours preparing. "You know my father was here this afternoon. He said that you told him to call. Why?"
"Because you want to talk to him."
"He told me he's getting married next weekend. He even said that you could come. He wants me to be best man or some bullshit like that."
"...I think you should do it."
"Fuck that."
"Don't be an asshole. You'll make him look good if you do. Show him that you're the adult."
"After all the crap he's pulled?"
"...I know, but it seems to me that he's trying."
"And why should I give a shit?"
"Because he's your father and this is probably the best chance you'll have of patching things up."
"But he..."
"If my father had tried or cared half as much as yours does things might have been different for me. Don't piss on what you have." He reached across the table, taking Justin's hand.
"Brian, I know your father wasn't..."
"Give this to me."
"What?"
"That's what I want for our anniversary. I want you to go to your father's wedding. I'll even go with you if that matters."
"You hate him."
"I'll get pleasure out of watching him hate the fact that I'm there."
"...Alright. I'll call him tomorrow."
"But Brian, if he does anything to..."
"Justin, I'm tired of talking about your father, the matter is settled. Now, can we move on to desert?"
Justin got up, carefully chose several of the roses, smiled at Brian and walked up to the bedroom. "Give me a second." Marking time, he cleared the table. When Brian caught up with him a couple of minutes later he saw that the flowers had been pulled apart, the petals strewn across the velvet comforter, the bright spots making a stunning contrast with the rich navy blue.
Later that night, when their anniversary was actually over and it was the next day, Brian held Justin and asked him if he would have liked to have gone out instead of staying in.
"I wanted to be with you. That was all I cared about. You know that."
"I got you something." He reached into the drawer on his side of the bed. There was roll of papers, wrapped and tied with a satin ribbon. "Go on, open it."
Undoing the expensive paper, Justin found a set of Architectural drawings. "What's this?"
"Remember a couple of months ago I told you that I was thinking of buying the space below us? I did. These were the ideas I had for it." He looked like he was afraid that he'd gone too far. "If there's anything you don't like there, we can change it."
"Brian—this is amazing." A wide spiral staircase connected the floors of what would become a duplex. There was an area designated for Justin's studio and another as Brian's office. Another section would be turned into a bedroom for Gus. They would retain the bathroom, making some changes and the kitchen would stay, but made smaller.
He hugged Brian, his attention really on the space and the design. "Could we move the studio to the other side, just flip things? The light will be better that way."
"Yeah, sure—it's alright? You like this?"
"Shit, Brian, can we afford this?"
"You know that new magazine I launched ten months ago?"
"Yeah, of course. What about it? That bonus went into Gus' college fund."
"Yeah, but the deal was that if the launch was a success and if they doubled their advertising pages in six months, the bonus would double."
"No fucking way. You did it?"
"Yeah."
Justin threw his arms around Brian, hugging him. "I'm so fucking proud of you." He broke off. "I have a present for you, too, but after this it's too lameass. I wanted to get you something special, but I..."
"You're such a twat. What did you get?"
He reached under one of the many pillows piled on his side of the bed, pulling out the flat package.
Opening it, Brian saw the leather bound sketchbook, the pages a rich, creamy vellum that felt almost like satin. Page after page were filled with Justin's drawings, months, possibly a year's worth. They told the story of the two of them. There was a sketch of him standing under the streetlamp that first night; there were sketches of the family, of Babylon, of Gus and areas of the loft. One showed Brian at his father's funeral, another several were of Rage. There were pictures of the prom, of Daphne, of Brian's old jeep and his new 'vette, everyone at the diner.
It was all there. The entire book was filled.
"It's OK, isn't it?" He honestly seemed to think that it would seem too much like a child handing a painting to their parent to hang on the fridge.
"...Yeah. It's OK."
"If I had it to do over, getting married, I would."
"We still have problems, Justin."
"I know, Fuck em."
"After I fuck you again, OK." He rolled Justin over onto his back, moving up the younger man's body, but the lovemaking was stopped before it had a chance to start again.
"You're really happy, Brian? I mean, no regrets?"
"No serious ones—and you?"
"No serious ones. I love you."
"I know."
"That's more than most have."
"I know—that's why I want you around for a long time."
5/30/03
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