Brian solicits an unlikely source to help in his bid to pursue his blond lifeguard; Justin ponders what to do about his ever-increasing attraction to Brian.
Same Time...
Brian's mouth gaped open as he watched Justin make good on his promise and leave. What the fuck just happened? He was being turned down for sex? That never happened to him. He was always the one to reject someone, not the other way around. He groaned as he shifted in his chair, partly from the dull pain in his foot, but also from his still painfully-hard cock. Holding Justin in his arms and kissing him seemed to have that effect on him, even more so than with other men.
He heard the suite's door closing quietly and knew that Justin had, indeed, left. And now, with the added problem of his foot, he was going to be out of commission when it came to surfing for the next few days; maybe even until his visit was over. He closed his eyes, hearing the sounds of the beach below: the seagulls, the excited shrieks of children, the crashing of the waves, an occasional slapping of a volleyball from a court nearby. What had started out as a wonderful way to de-stress and enjoy one of his favorite pastimes had deteriorated and evolved into something much different.
"Aaargh!" He growled as he shook his head. Justin both exasperated as well as impressed him with his tenacity and his stubbornness. And while he had been telling the truth when he told Justin that he enjoyed a challenge, that was only part of it. He was finding himself wanting to learn more about this particular young man, about what made him tick, what his hopes and dreams were, and what he enjoyed. He already knew he had a definite passion - and aptitude - for art. But apart from that, and the fact that he had a sharp sense of humor (and didn't care much for short jokes), what exactly did he know about him? All he knew was that he would certainly like to find out more. But how?
He brushed his hand through his hair restlessly. Gingerly swinging his legs around, he made sure to put weight only on his right foot as he stood up a little unsteadily at first and held onto the arm of the chaise and then the wall before hopping over to the sliding glass door and entering his suite. Sitting down heavily on the wicker couch, he took a few moments to catch his breath. Damn stingray. Well, if that fucker thought it would stop him from enjoying the rest of his vacation, it had another thing coming. Letting out a single, deep breath, he reached over to press the LCD display for the assistance center that was built into the side table.
"Yes, Mr. Kinney, how may I help you?" a cultured voice responded; he had to say - he was impressed that they bothered to check the caller ID before they answered. The ability to identify which guest was calling was one more feature that Craig Taylor had installed in all the rooms to make his establishment stand out from the rest of the others.
"Yes, could you please transfer me to the surfer shop?"
"Yes, Sir, one moment, please," she told him; a few seconds later, he could hear the phone ringing.
"Surfer shop, Emmett Honeycutt speaking."
Brian ignored the way-too-bright chirp on the other end as he replied, "Honeycutt, come to my room."
There was a pause on the other end. "Uh..."
"Brian Kinney," Brian said with thinly-veiled impatience. "1287. How fast can you get here?"
"Do I...Uh, need to bring anything?" was the hopeful reply. He could hear a definite sense of barely-concealed excitement on the other end.
"Just get your flashy ass over here!"
Brian slammed the phone down before Emmett had a chance to respond, leaving the other man open-mouthed and thoroughly flummoxed.
Emmett looked at the suite number twice to make sure he had the right one before he knocked, still wondering what the 'surfer god' wanted with him.
"Just open the fucking door," was the growl from the other end. "Can't you see it's not shut?"
Okey, dokey, Emmett thought wryly as he pushed the door open to enter. He couldn't help gawking at the ostentatious surroundings, having never been in one of the exclusive, private guest suites before. His room that the resort supplied for him was adequate and comfortable, but nothing like this lavishly-appointed one. There was none of the kitschy-type furnishings here that you normally spotted in a guest room. Everything was obviously high quality and well-made for the more privileged guests.
"Do you mind?" he heard a voice say as he blinked to come out of his half-trance. He turned his head in the direction of the sound and for the first time noticed Brian sitting in a butternut-colored, leather recliner in the corner of the open great room. The sliding glass door to the outside was open, letting in a light breeze amidst the sound of the crashing waves nearing high tide. "Sit down."
Emmett nodded as he scooted in a little closer and took a seat on the edge of the couch nearest to Brian. "You commanded me to grace you with my presence, so here I am," Emmett joked. Brian, however, didn't crack a smile, so he settled on a different topic.
"How's the foot?" he asked curiously, noticing the other man cradling a towel under it. He had to admit - even injured the man was extremely handsome with his lightly-muscled arms, long legs, and bronze colored skin.
"How do you think it feels after having the equivalent of a porcupine quill stuck in it?" he groused with a huff. "It's damn painful; although not as bad as before," he conceded as he recalled how this other man had had a small part in that. "Thanks for helping Justin with the water earlier," he grumbled. "It did help."
Emmett nodded, still not sure why he had been summoned here. "I'd do anything to help him," he replied sincerely.
Brian nodded, pleased. That was what he had been hoping. "Good. Because you're about to get a chance to do just that."
Emmett frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You and he are friends." At least Brian had guessed as much; he had observed them together on more than one occasion, and they always seemed quite chummy or were laughing and joking with each other.
"Yes," Emmett responded as if that was a forgone conclusion. "What exactly do you want, Mr. Kinney?"
Brian shook his head. "Fuck that. Brian."
Emmett nodded. "Okay, Brian, then. What do you want with me? And what does this have to do with Justin?" he asked, somewhat suspicious now. He always had possessed a certain protectiveness when it came to his friend.
"I just want some information, Honeycutt, that's all; don't get your panties in a twist."
"What kind of information?" Emmett asked, a little miffed by how the other man seemed to make him feel about ten inches tall. Maybe he would help him, and maybe he would not. He was beginning to see how Justin could get irritated with this man.
Brian pondered how to answer that without appearing too interested. "I...just want to know more about Justin; what he likes to do, what his goals are. I can't believe he wants to be the next Big Kahuna for the rest of his life."
"He doesn't," Em confirmed. "He's much too ambitious and talented for that. Although his father probably wouldn't mind." Emmett winced. "Pretend you didn't hear me say that; I need my job, as menial as it is."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Brian probed.
Emmett sighed, figuring someone like Kinney wouldn't let that go. "Well, he has accepted - rather reluctantly - his son's sexuality, but he thinks Justin's wasting his time by pursuing art as a career. From what Justin's told me, he doesn't feel his son can make a living by - as he points it - drawing 'pretty pictures' or sketching landscapes that are sold at starving artist sales."
Brian bristled; his previous opinion of his client apparently was accurate. "What an asshole," he growled. "Justin is a very talented artist. He is not some cookie-cutter drone who would spend his life cranking out some tourist shit."
Em peered over at him in grudging astonishment. "No, he isn't. But how would YOU know that?"
"I saw some of his work before dinner last night," Brian explained. "The painting and sketches out in the hallway near the dining room. He's fucking amazing. He could get a job as an artist in a lot of professions." Even working for me, Brian thought to himself. He would put a lot of my own seasoned employees to shame.
Emmett nodded, silently encouraged by this man's praise of Justin's work. Something told him he wasn't just an admirer of his art, either. It seems he may have just been correct about him after all. "I agree," he told Brian. "But I think his father would be more than happy to just let him be a career lifeguard."
"Well, his father is full of shit," Brian told him flatly without any reservation. "And I'm not going to waste any more breath on him."
"Won't get an argument out of me," Emmett agreed. He paused. "So what exactly do you want with me, Brian? And what does this have to do with Justin?"
Brian pressed his lips together, trying to figure out how to answer that without coming across as some lovestruck - or at least lust-struck - fag. "Presently I'm not exactly on Justin's friends list," he began as Emmett guffawed softly.
"No, you're not," he told Brian wryly. He wasn't sure how much Justin wanted him to know, but he felt a certain allegiance to his friend. "He told me about your lunch. For someone who supposedly admires his talent, you sure are good at making him feel like a little child."
"Well, he wasn't exactly displaying his more mature traits during lunch, either," Brian felt a need to point out. He sighed, however, as he admitted, "I guess I could have treated him a little differently, though."
Emmett's right eyebrow lifted in surprise; he never thought he would hear that sort of acknowledgement come out of this guy's mouth. "Why does that matter to you?" he asked him without preamble.
Brian inhaled a slow breath through parted lips to build up some courage before letting it out; this was a whole new territory for him. "Because," he began tentatively, "...I care about him. I'd like to get to know him better." There, it was out; that hadn't been quite as bad as he would have feared.
"Get to know him better?"
Brian snorted. "What are you, a parrot? Yes, yes, I just told you! I want to find out more about him. What kind of food he likes. What he likes to do besides draw. What his background is. What his ambitions are. That's where YOU come in."
"Me. Why don't you just talk to him? That's what most people do when they want to get to know each other."
"Justin isn't exactly talking to me at the moment," Brian countered. "He came by a little while ago to check up on me, and I think that only made things worse."
Emmett frowned. "How so?"
Brian exhaled a heavy breath; this wasn't getting anywhere. "It doesn't matter. I don't really even know what happened. All I DO know is that we seem to keep getting off on the wrong track, and I want to change that."
Emmett scrutinized the other man carefully. He wasn't sure just what to make of Brian Kinney yet, but there was something in his voice that almost sounded contrite. Hadn't he himself told Justin that he thought Kinney liked him? Perhaps it was time to give Justin a nudge in the right direction, especially if Kinney's desire to treat Justin as more than just a one-time diversion was the truth.
"Okay, let's say I believe you. What can I do about it?"
"Well, you work in a surfer shop. How much experience do you have around the ocean? Do you have CPR training?"
Emmett laughed. "Well, I don't have much occasion to play rescuer inside the shop - not unless someone locks themselves in the restroom."
Brian sighed. "Will you please just answer the fucking question?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Emmett huffed. "No, Brian, I don't have CPR training; although I'm damned brilliant at mouth-to-mouth if you ever need a replay of the other day." He smirked at him.
"Sorry, Honeycutt, been there, done that." Well, that was true enough, but he suspected when it came to Justin he would not grow tired of practicing...and practicing...and practicing... "So you're not certified to be a lifeguard?"
Emmett snorted. "No, not by a long shot." Emmett shook his head, wondering where this was all leading to. "What the hell are you driving at? Just spit it out."
Brian sighed. "Okay, this is what I need. And your job is to tell me how I can get it."
Next Morning...
Mom passed the cereal over to me as I sat down at the private dining table. "Honey, I heard what happened yesterday with Mr. Kinney when he was out surfing. How bad a sting was it?"
"Not too bad," I told her as I covered a yawn with my hand, wondering how she had found out. "He'll be sore for a few days, but the barb didn't remain embedded in his foot. He was resting pretty comfortably last night when I saw him, so unless something changes he should be okay in a couple of days." Oops.
Sure enough, my mother eyed me from across the table as she digested what I had said. Thank God my dad wasn't around, or I'd probably be getting the fifth degree to go along with the stare. "You went to his room?"
My face warmed as I thought back to the two of us going hot and heavy on the chaise lounge; at least at first. "Yeah," I told her, trying to sound nonchalant. "I just wanted to check on him after I treated him down on the beach. I was the lifeguard on duty, you know."
She smiled at me; a sort of I'm not quite buying that story kind of smile. Aloud, however, she replied, "That was considerate of you, Honey. I'm glad he's doing better. I understand those stings can be quite uncomfortable - and even serious sometimes."
I nodded, relieved that she wasn't making a big deal out of it, as I stuffed some Cheerios into my mouth in a not-so-subtle sign for my mother not to dwell on the topic. "Where's Dad?" I asked with my mouth half-full in an attempt to change the subject.
"He had to meet with his insurance agent this morning," she informed me as I nodded. That was fine with me; having my father away for breakfast normally meant less drama and more peacefulness would prevail.
"So you don't think Brian will need to be seen by the doctor?"
I shook my head, groaning internally that she hadn't moved on from the situation with Brian. "No. Not in town, anyway. Dr. Fugate can see him if he gets worse. But I think he'll be fine in a few days with a little rest as long as he stays off the foot." That thought inexplicably filled me with sadness, though, because I realized in a few days Brian would be gone and quite possibly never coming back. As exasperating as the man was, I had to admit I was attracted to him - and that I would miss seeing him.
My mother nodded thoughtfully as she took a sip of her coffee. I thought I saw a gleam in her eye as she suggested, "Well, maybe you should go check on him occasionally just the same. After all, he IS staying in one of the VIP guest suites."
I knew those guests were always treated to the very best, but why was my mother suggesting I do it? "Mom," I protested. "That's what the housecleaning and wait staff are for. He has the assistance center at his beck and call; let him contact one of THEM. I have lifeguard duty, remember?"
"I know," she told me as she eyed me quietly. "Justin?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"I'm...Sorry that you didn't get the summer job you really wanted. I know you never intended on being a lifeguard here all summer, but I'm sure your father appreciates it."
I couldn't help scoffing softly at that statement. My father might have needed a lifeguard, but I was just a convenience to him in that regard; he knew my true passion lay with my art, although he never thought I could make a living at it. I sighed. "Mom, you know he thinks I'm wasting my time with going to art school in the fall."
"That's not true, Honey!" she insisted to me. "He thinks you're very talented."
I rolled my eyes skeptically. "I doubt that. There's a big difference between doodling, as he calls it, and making a living at it. I don't think he has that much faith in me at all, Mom."
She eyed me sympathetically from across the table. "Give him time, Justin. He's worked hard all his life - and put a lot of money into this place to make it successful. He's always been more of a 'hands-on' type of person. He's never been what I would call a cultured person who appreciates the arts. He's paying for you to go to school, Sweetheart. That should mean something. Prove to him just how wrong he is."
"Part of my school," I reminded her. I had a partial scholarship, also, based on my SAT scores and GPA from high school. I doubt if dear old Dad had had to pay for the full ride, he would have done it. After all, he wasn't contributing toward the used car I so badly wanted to have. The thought of commuting from here by bus to school every day, carrying an art portfolio, books, and other supplies, didn't make for a very happy picture. That was the main reason why I had agreed to lifeguard in the first place; at least it would give me some money toward a used mode of transportation.
My mother nodded in acknowledgment. "Okay; part of it." She opened her mouth as if she were about to say something else, but stopped.
I frowned. "What?" I could see the hesitation on her face. "Mom?"
"Nothing," she initially said before she let out a deep breath. "Justin, are you sure this is what you want to do? Couldn't you maybe add a minor to your studies just to be safe? Like maybe business...or even art history...something to fall back on, just in case."
I looked at her aghast as I scooted back from the table and stood up.
"Justin...I only meant..."
"I have to go, Mom, or I'll be late for my important job," I told her tersely, shaking my head in aggravation as she sputtered an apology. I turned and grabbed my windbreaker, water bottle, sunglasses, and sun blocker and rushed out before she could reply further, ignoring her calling my name as I slipped out the private back door of the dining room on the way to the beach.
