CHAPTER FOUR
Brian's Loft was the most awesome place Justin had ever seen. He loved the way it still retained its original character as a warehouse: a vast, cavernous space with huge windows looking down on the street below; crude, unadorned iron beams and support pillars and plank flooring; everything open-plan except for a raised bedroom area surrounded by frosted glass panels to give a minimal sense of privacy. To his artist's eye it formed a more effective setting for the expensive Italian furnishings, scattered shag rugs and designer kitchen area than any modern building could, and Justin stood looking around appreciatively.
"I really like your place."
"Thanks." Brian took off his overcoat and tossed it over the back of a long white leather sofa, revealing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. Justin guessed it had to be Armani or something ... whatever it was, Brian sure as hell looked hot in it. In fact, Justin thought without a shadow of a doubt that Brian was the most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on. A year ago, when he still had a life and a future to look forward to, he had fantasized about losing his virginity to someone exactly like Brian ... but even so, it really hadn't occurred to him that Brian might be gay, even though he normally didn't have a problem picking it up. He supposed it was because Brian had been acting so macho when they first met, and what with Gus being his son and meeting Lindsay ... well, he'd just assumed the guy was straight.
Unfortunately, Justin didn't think he was wrong about Brian being a Grade A asshole.
At the moment he didn't care. He had a roof over his head for tonight, and whether it was a gesture of pity or guilt or remorse, whether this guy thought he was a junkie or a hustler or a pathetic runaway, he'd be warm and he'd be safe. He'd worry about tomorrow in the morning. Although, he had to admit the way Brian had pulled that name, Jason, out of the air had nearly freaked him ... still, it had to be coincidence. He put down his backpack.
Brian was heading towards the bedroom, pulling off his tie. "I'm gonna grab a shower and get changed. Then you can use it."
"I'm fine," Justin protested. It was his standard response.
Brian paused at the bottom of the steps, tie dangling from one elegant hand. "Sorry to mention it, Sunshine, but you're rank. That sofa's from Milan, and you're not stinking it up."
Justin felt his face burn. "I keep as clean as I can," he said, with all the dignity he could muster.
Brian looked at him steadily. "I'm sure you do. You're still taking a shower. And if you haven't got any other clothes to put on, I'll find something." He walked up the steps and into the bedroom, pulling the sliding glass panel closed behind him. Then it opened again, and Brian poked his head back out. "Oh, and if you were thinking of absconding with some of my valuables, forget it. I armed the alarm on the door." He smirked and closed the panel again.
Justin let out a long breath. Asshole. He sighed. It was true, he was smelling ... he'd been sweating on and off for a few days, and he could feel his t-shirt sticking clammily to his back. It didn't matter. He was too tired and sick to fight anymore ... he needed a good night's sleep, and then maybe he could shake off this fucking cold and the headache and fucking think clearly. He took off his jacket, unlaced his heavy boots and pulled them off, flexing his sore toes thankfully, and set them on floor beside his pack. He removed the small stash of dollars from his sock and after a moment's thought, stuffed it into the depths of his pack. Not that the guy looked like he'd need Justin's money, but you could never be too careful. He dug out some clean clothes ... well, relatively clean clothes ... he had a deal with the owner of Liberty Laundromat whereby Justin refilled the detergent dispenser and took out the trash in return for free washes, so he always had something dry to change into, but he tried to use the place as infrequently as possible. The last thing he wanted to be was predictable in his movements or his habits; in fact, he mostly tried to be invisible, surviving below the eyeline of society in general. So far, he'd succeeded.
He laid cargoes, t shirt and clean underwear in a neat pile on the smoked glass coffee table, and placed his towel, toothbrush and soap on top of the clothes. He folded up his jacket and stowed it in his pack. He looked around for somewhere to sit where he wouldn't contaminate anything, and picked one of the chrome and leather dining chairs as being the safest bet. He flopped onto it with a weary sigh, and closed his aching eyes. He just wanted to go to sleep.
"What are you doing over here?" Brian's voice made him jump. He looked up to see Brian standing beside him, regarding him quizzically while he towelled his wet hair. He was barefoot, dressed only in a pair of jeans, and Justin tried not to stare at the smooth, tanned skin of his chest.
"I didn't want to mess up your nice furniture," Justin replied honestly.
"Oh." Brian had the grace to look a little shame-faced. "Well, you can use the shower now. It's through the bedroom."
Justin hauled himself to his feet, wondering when every movement had became so much of an effort; if it had been down to him, he'd have spent the rest of the night on the chair. He went to retrieve his wash things, but stopped when he heard Brian's voice behind him.
"What the fuck is that?" The guy was staring at his hand like he was holding a slug.
Justin blinked at him. "My toothbrush?"
"You put that in your fucking mouth?"
Justin studied it. The bristles were bent out of shape and stained, but it was functional. Just. Better than nothing, anyway.
"I've got a spare one you can have." Brian's face was still wearing an expression of disgust. "And if you're planning to use that," he indicated Justin's towel, "forget it. The idea is to get clean and stay clean, not rub the dirt back in." He shuddered. "There are clean ones you can use in the bathroom."
Under normal circumstances, Justin would have told the patronizing bastard to fuck off; right now, he was too weary to summon the energy. He trailed up the bedroom steps. But when he reached the top, he was startled out of his lethargy.
Brian's bed was vast, dominating the sleeping space; it stood on a polished wooden plinth like an altar, draped in midnight blue sheets and duvet. In place of a headboard, a series of fluorescent blue tubes were set into the wall, making the whole thing look like it was bathed in moonlight. It was, Justin realised, a personification of the man himself; imposing, assertive; sensual yet arrogantly masculine. He couldn't help but wonder fleetingly what it would be like to be invited into that bed, and whether Brian's sexual prowess lived up to the promise of the setting he had created for it. Justin felt uncomfortably sure that it did.
He made his way across the thick, plush carpet, past the full-length fitted mirrors on the doors of the closet, and into the bathroom beyond. The first thing he noticed was the shower stall, which was probably the largest he'd seen, panelled with frosted glass like the bedroom. The rest of the bathroom was tiled in white and black, with a gleaming black toilet suite and a fitted double sink unit set in marble, backed by more mirrors.
The guy certainly liked looking at himself.
Justin peeled off his damp clothes and slid back the shower door. He turned on the water, adjusting the temperature to as hot as he could stand it, and groaned with pleasure as the power spray jetted down on him. More than anything he hated to be dirty, and this ... well, this was like dying and going to heaven. He closed his eyes, turning his face into the spray, loving the feel of hot water sluicing through his hair. Then he turned his back and let the jet soothe his aching muscles, while he breathed in the steam and felt the tightness in his chest ease. He looked around for soap, and spotted a tray set out of the reach of the spray; he found an expensive-smelling bar of soap, shampoo and conditioner, and a handful of condoms.
It seemed the guy liked sex, too. At least Justin knew now why the stall was so large. He lifted the bottle of shampoo and squirted some into his palm, then rubbed it into his hair. Oh, God, that felt so good. He massaged his scalp with his fingers, working up the lather, inhaling the exotic scent of, what? Orchids? He didn't know, but it smelled amazing. He stuck his head under the spray, rinsing his hair until he could feel the strands squeaking, and then picked up the soap and began to wash himself. He worked methodically, cleaning every inch of his skin, imagining strong fingers running across his chest and belly and thighs, and closed his eyes as he felt himself harden. No, Justin, don't go there. Not a good idea. He sighed again and leaned his palms against the glass of the stall, letting the water wash over him, determined to make the most of this moment of luxury. He felt cleaner than he had for a year.
Eventually, reluctantly, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He pulled a fluffy white towel from the rack on the wall and dried himself, then realised that he'd left his clean clothes on the coffee table. He wrapped the towel around his waist, picked up his dirty clothes and went back into the bedroom.
The kid walked down the steps from the bedroom with nothing but a towel wrapped round him, his ratty old clothes bundled in his arms. His wet hair was tucked back behind his ears, and his pale skin was glowing. He was way too skinny; Brian could count every rib and his collar bones were too prominent, but he had to admit the boy had a nice breadth to his shoulders and good musculature; his belly was taut and flat, his hips slender. If he put on thirty pounds or so he'd have a hot little body there, no doubt about it, despite his lack of height ... Brian's eyes skimmed over the flawless skin, the tight, rosy little nipples and felt his dick twitch. Fuck that. He didn't go for chicken, ever. No matter how cute it was.
"I forgot my clothes," Jay explained, nodding at the small pile on the coffee table. He stuffed his dirty things into his backpack, picked up the clean clothes and padded back to the bedroom. He had a nice back, Brian thought; a very nice back. And oh, God, it looked like he had a cute ass, too. Brian groaned.
He cleared his throat. "Um ... I heated up some soup," he called, pitching his voice so that Jay could hear him. "I don't have much in the way of food ... I usually eat take out. But Lindsay brought some canned stuff for Gus ... I figured you ought to eat something. There's bread, if you want some."
Jay reappeared, his assets well hidden again by a pair of baggy cargo pants and a shapeless t shirt. It had probably been bright red originally, but now it was faded to a dull pink. Brian noticed he was wearing one black sock and one navy. "No, the soup will be fine," Jay replied, coming over to the breakfast bar where Brian had set a bowl of tomato soup. He perched on a stool and picked up a spoon. "Thanks."
"No problem, Sunshine." Brian watched for a moment, thinking that the kid didn't look that enthusiastic about eating. "Not hungry?"
Jay shrugged. "You know what it's like when you've got a cold ... you can't taste anything. But this is fine. Really." He spooned in a mouthful.
"Well." Brian fidgeted, aware that he was almost hovering. "I'll go dig you out a blanket."
He went up to his bedroom and pulled a spare blanket from the top of the closet, hesitated for a moment and then grabbed a pillow from the bed. By the time he got back Jay was already at the sink, rinsing out his bowl. Either the kid was starving, or he'd hardly touched the soup.
Brian dropped the blanket and the pillow on the sofa and turned. Jay was standing watching him, and for a moment their eyes met. Then the kid dropped his gaze, but not before Brian saw his cheeks flush.
He was not sweet. Definitely not fuckable. Not in any way.
Shit.
Brian ran his hand through his hair. "Um ... I guess you could do with a sleep, right?" he asked hurriedly. "Because I'm going to bed. To read. So ... um ... I'll turn everything off ... the streetlamps give enough light for you to see what you're doing ... and I'll see you in the morning, right? And ... um ... I'll drop you wherever you want."
Jay smiled faintly. "Yeah. And thanks for this ..." he indicated the sofa, "and the soup. I really appreciate it." He paused. "And thanks for not giving me up."
Brian nodded curtly. He picked up his cigarettes and his lighter, and went round the Loft pulling plugs and turning off lights. He didn't look once at the kid unfolding the blanket and shaking it out. Nope, didn't even notice.
He strode up to his bedroom and pulled the panels firmly closed behind him. He kicked off his jeans, sliding naked between the cool cotton sheets and propping himself up on his pillows. He reached over to his nightstand for an ashtray and balanced it on his chest while he lit a cigarette. What a fuck up today had been. All he'd wanted to do was to give Gus back to his Mommies and then unwind at Babylon, have a few drinks and a few poppers, and see if the Pecs of Death winner was worth giving his personal approval to. Instead of which, he was spending his Friday night in bed ... alone in bed ... trying to figure out what the fuck he was going to do with the teen headache he'd been saddled with. And not thinking about the said headache's sweet little virgin ass that was currently occupying his sofa.
No, not thinking about that at all.
TBC
