I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
But that was just a dream
Just a dream
*************************
He wakes the next morning feeling sober and new.
He thinks of the events of the night before as if they had happened to some other body, at some distance from the one curled up in this too hot apartment. Some other body, somehow connected but no longer the same.
He thinks of Michael's anger, of Ethan's joy.
Of Brian's eyes.
And though he settles into this newfound sense of self, of freedom, he is haunted in his retreat by that last final look. As indecipherable as the rest of Brian Kinney.
Except that Justin Taylor had Brian Kinney's number a long time ago.
And if he's fair, if he's honest with himself, lying in another man's bed, he knows there was something there, in Brian's eyes. Something at once imploring and resigned.
He also knows that it is not enough. Not anymore.
He is sick to death of trying to read the planes of Brian's face, as if they were ancient runes to be studied, to be deciphered. He is tired, so tired, of having to ask for things that most people are dying (living) to give.
For so long all he wanted was to be close to this man. This force that is stronger then anything he has ever known. And yet he has succeeded in repelling it.
He has seen the face of God.
And he has turned away.
*****************************
Sex with Ethan is newer then he had expected. With Brian he felt experienced, almost infinitely so. Sex with Ethan is tentative, more awkward, messier. The newness makes it both less and more real.
Ethan is beautiful. He radiates beauty the way people say that Justin radiates joy. Sometimes Ethan is so beautiful it hurts to look at him.
It is not the same way, though, that it hurts to look at Brian. Looking away from Brian is like turning away from a too bright flame. Looking away from Ethan is pensive and bittersweet. With Brian he would look back almost immediately. With Ethan he catches the next glimpse out of the corner of his eye.
Ethan sleeps late. He is not used to all night clubing and fucking, not on a street musician's salary. Justin wants to get up, run around the room, make breakfast, but he does not feel comfortable invading the space around him. He stays in bed idly sketching, his hand twitching from trauma and exhaustion.
Ethan wakes with warm words and sweet caresses. Ethan says "love" not "fuck", but when Justin reaches for the box of condoms it is empty.
"Guess we used them all up."
Justin pulls away but Ethan stops him, "It'll be okay, this one time. I've been safe with everyone else".
Justin remembers slick skin, harsh words and kinder eyes, which seemed (at the time?) like sentiment.
"No" he says softly, as he reaches for the boy with his mouth.
*************************
Later reality begins to set in.
"I have to go to the loft. I've got an assignment due tomorrow. I need the computer."
Ethan starts to say "I'll come..." but Justin stops him with a hard look.
"No...no."
He turns back on his way out the door, "Don't look at me like that. I'll be right back."
Ethan smiles but it does not reach his eyes.
*************************
Justin circles the block twice and stands in front of the building for ten more minutes before convincing himself that no one is home. There are no lights, no shadows, no blue glow above the bed.
The loft seems bigger, colder. He realizes with a jolt that it is no longer home.
He is disassembling the computer when he hears the door sliding along its hinges. He looks up, the moth again drawn to the flame. His heart is in his mouth but when his eyes meet Brian's there is a strange familiarity that eases the tension.
Brian eyes him, nods towards the computer.
"I didn't think you'd take it".
"It's...it's just until I can transfer the files", Justin hears the hesitancy in his voice and forces himself not to cringe.
Brian's face does a brief, almost inward spasm. He looks angry, and then suddenly tired.
"Justin, it's yours".
Justin wants to argue but he has learned some things over the last few months.
"Thanks", he says, his voice softer then he meant it to be. He tucks the computer under his arm and grabs the duffel bag at his feet.
Justin makes his way towards the door. He wants to say something, but he has never been here before.
"For everything", he finds himself rasping out. "Thanks for everything". He tries to smile, but falters. "It was...you...I..."
Brian's eyes are as indecipherable as ever, but he holds Justin's gaze for a tiny eternity.
"Be careful", he says.
And it's almost enough.
****************************
Lyrics from "Losing My Religion" by REM.
Feedback is good. Come on, you know you want to; cl.47@rogers.com.
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
But that was just a dream
Just a dream
*************************
He wakes the next morning feeling sober and new.
He thinks of the events of the night before as if they had happened to some other body, at some distance from the one curled up in this too hot apartment. Some other body, somehow connected but no longer the same.
He thinks of Michael's anger, of Ethan's joy.
Of Brian's eyes.
And though he settles into this newfound sense of self, of freedom, he is haunted in his retreat by that last final look. As indecipherable as the rest of Brian Kinney.
Except that Justin Taylor had Brian Kinney's number a long time ago.
And if he's fair, if he's honest with himself, lying in another man's bed, he knows there was something there, in Brian's eyes. Something at once imploring and resigned.
He also knows that it is not enough. Not anymore.
He is sick to death of trying to read the planes of Brian's face, as if they were ancient runes to be studied, to be deciphered. He is tired, so tired, of having to ask for things that most people are dying (living) to give.
For so long all he wanted was to be close to this man. This force that is stronger then anything he has ever known. And yet he has succeeded in repelling it.
He has seen the face of God.
And he has turned away.
*****************************
Sex with Ethan is newer then he had expected. With Brian he felt experienced, almost infinitely so. Sex with Ethan is tentative, more awkward, messier. The newness makes it both less and more real.
Ethan is beautiful. He radiates beauty the way people say that Justin radiates joy. Sometimes Ethan is so beautiful it hurts to look at him.
It is not the same way, though, that it hurts to look at Brian. Looking away from Brian is like turning away from a too bright flame. Looking away from Ethan is pensive and bittersweet. With Brian he would look back almost immediately. With Ethan he catches the next glimpse out of the corner of his eye.
Ethan sleeps late. He is not used to all night clubing and fucking, not on a street musician's salary. Justin wants to get up, run around the room, make breakfast, but he does not feel comfortable invading the space around him. He stays in bed idly sketching, his hand twitching from trauma and exhaustion.
Ethan wakes with warm words and sweet caresses. Ethan says "love" not "fuck", but when Justin reaches for the box of condoms it is empty.
"Guess we used them all up."
Justin pulls away but Ethan stops him, "It'll be okay, this one time. I've been safe with everyone else".
Justin remembers slick skin, harsh words and kinder eyes, which seemed (at the time?) like sentiment.
"No" he says softly, as he reaches for the boy with his mouth.
*************************
Later reality begins to set in.
"I have to go to the loft. I've got an assignment due tomorrow. I need the computer."
Ethan starts to say "I'll come..." but Justin stops him with a hard look.
"No...no."
He turns back on his way out the door, "Don't look at me like that. I'll be right back."
Ethan smiles but it does not reach his eyes.
*************************
Justin circles the block twice and stands in front of the building for ten more minutes before convincing himself that no one is home. There are no lights, no shadows, no blue glow above the bed.
The loft seems bigger, colder. He realizes with a jolt that it is no longer home.
He is disassembling the computer when he hears the door sliding along its hinges. He looks up, the moth again drawn to the flame. His heart is in his mouth but when his eyes meet Brian's there is a strange familiarity that eases the tension.
Brian eyes him, nods towards the computer.
"I didn't think you'd take it".
"It's...it's just until I can transfer the files", Justin hears the hesitancy in his voice and forces himself not to cringe.
Brian's face does a brief, almost inward spasm. He looks angry, and then suddenly tired.
"Justin, it's yours".
Justin wants to argue but he has learned some things over the last few months.
"Thanks", he says, his voice softer then he meant it to be. He tucks the computer under his arm and grabs the duffel bag at his feet.
Justin makes his way towards the door. He wants to say something, but he has never been here before.
"For everything", he finds himself rasping out. "Thanks for everything". He tries to smile, but falters. "It was...you...I..."
Brian's eyes are as indecipherable as ever, but he holds Justin's gaze for a tiny eternity.
"Be careful", he says.
And it's almost enough.
****************************
Lyrics from "Losing My Religion" by REM.
Feedback is good. Come on, you know you want to; cl.47@rogers.com.