Would he be cooking? Sketching? Taking a nap? Listening to music? Doing his homework? I was about to unlock the door but hesitated. What would happen tonight? Would we fuck? Would we talk? Would he just grab his jacket and go out? Would he piss me off so badly that I'd just grab my jacket and go out to find someone else to fuck? Oh no, no, no. Not in a million years would I trick while he was staying with me.
He had been living at the loft for what, three days? He hadn't been there much. He had had school, a shift at the diner, he had gone to see Daphne, he had hung out with the boys... He just hadn't been there. Today I knew he was there. Well, at least I hoped he was. Whatever. I wanted to talk to him, fuck him, watch TV with him, anything, even fight with him if necessary. I just needed a reaction out of him. The first night after he had asked if he could stay he had insisted on sleeping on the couch. I had let him, even if I hadn't wanted him to. The next night... let's just say I had made sure he had already been in bed when he had fallen asleep.
I wondered again what he might be doing. Where he would be sitting. Would he be happy, angry, tired? I unlocked the door slowly and opened it quietly, taking a look around. I saw something I had *not* been expecting. He was lying face down in the middle of the fucking floor.
"Justin!" I shouted without thinking and threw my bag and my jacket on the floor, practically running to him. "Jesus fucking Christ!" I shouted as I turned him around to lie on his back. His eyes were closed. I searched for a pulse for what seemed like years but couldn't find one on his wrist. I was just about to listen to his chest when he coughed quietly and turned his head towards me without opening his eyes. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding and just sat on the fucking floor for a moment, unable to move. Then I shook him, gently. When that didn't have any effect on him, I shook him more firmly. Finally, Justin opened his eyes. He looked in my direction but had trouble focusing his eyes on me.
"Hey," he whispered when he finally recognized me and gave me a weak smile. "Did I pass out?"
For fuck's sake, he wasn't injured. He was just... drunk. I had never seen him so fucking drunk. I had thought something was really wrong with him, damn it. He had actually scared the shit out of me, but no, he was just *drunk*!
For a moment I thought of getting up and leaving him there on the floor, but then I decided to help him to bed instead. Hell, if I had left him there I could have stepped on his hand or something like that. Shit. How do I handle a drunken Justin? The kid should come with a fucking manual.
"Yes, you passed out," I told him angrily and grabbed a good hold of his arm, lifting him to his unsteady feet. But when I tried to lead him to the bedroom, he refused to even try to walk.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked with an innocent look in his eyes.
"I'm putting you to bed," I told him and tried to drag him with me again.
"I don't want you to," he announced proudly, trying to wriggle free from my grip.
I stopped. We just stood there, Justin leaning heavily on me, his smile and eyes clouded by alcohol. I looked down at him and asked, "Don't you want to sleep?"
"I shouldn't sleep in your bed. I know you don't really want me to sleep in your bed," he said, a sad, drunken look replacing his drunken smile. "You don't want me here at all, do you?"
I sighed. I was in a position where I could say anything and he wouldn't remember it later on. "I want you here, Justin, even if I don't tell you that too often."
"Liar," he said, lifting his chin.
"Come *on*!" I tried, pulling him with me a few steps towards the bedroom again. Then he just refused to go any further.
"Let go of me!" he yelled, yanking his arm away. Without my support, he fell heavily to the floor. Apparently he was too tired to try and get up again, so he just lay there. I knelt down next to him.
This was *not* how this night was supposed to go. Fuck, I didn't even *know* how the fucking night was supposed to go. Oh yeah, actually I did; he was supposed to be cooking, we were supposed to eat, then we were supposed to fuck and then he was supposed to tell me he was staying. Yeah right, like that'd have happened anyway.
"Justin..." I said hesitantly, trying to sooth him. "How much have you had?"
"Not nearly enough," he said arrogantly. "Not nearly enough, since I still feel the fucking pain." He said it with a smile, making it look like he was talking about how beautiful the fucking weather was.
I was somewhat surprised by his words, but still wanted to get a reaction from him - a reaction that was from him and not the alcohol - so I encouraged him to keep on talking by saying, "What pain?"
He shook his head slowly, dreamily, from side to side, with a smile on his lips. "The pain... you know... I get to be here, in your place... I get to see you every day... I get to be fucked by you occasionally... but you're still... *not*... mine. And you never... will be."
What? "What are you saying?" I asked aloud. Then I added sarcastically, "That you're still 'head over heels' in love with me?"
"Yes!" he laughed. "I love you, Brian Kinney, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone." He laughed again, only this time it actually sounded happy.
Do you? Oh fuck, Justin's 'positive attitude' had apparently changed me. I actually felt *hope* when he said his words. Fuck, I didn't want to hope. The kid had really changed me, and I didn't like it a fucking bit. Don't hope, don't trust, don't believe. Fuck you, Justin, for changing me. "Then why don't you stay here, permanently?"
"Yeah right! Like you'd like that! You don't want me here, do you?" Now he was already giggling. "You don't love me," he added softly, looking at me straight in the eye.
"Yes, Justin, I want you here." Then I said the words I had been telling him in my dreams every night since we had started seeing each other again. "I love you."
It was easy to say them, those three fucking words; he wouldn't remember them in the morning. And he knew it, he looked at me and stated, "Why don't you fucking tell me that when I'm *sober*?"
Because it's too fucking hard. "Maybe I will." I knew I wouldn't.
"Do you mean that? Do you really love me? Say it again, it sounded so good coming from your pretty mouth," he said, trying to touch my lips with his fingers but missing them and touching my cheek instead.
"I love you, Justin Taylor." Fuck, that was easy. I felt like I was playing some stupid game. I kissed him lightly.
"Oh that's good. Now take me to our bed so that I can get some sleep, will you, honey?" He giggled again and said, "That sounded good, too. *Honey*. Mind if I call you 'honey'?"
I sighed and shook my head a bit amused, then lifted him off the floor and carried him easily to my - our bed. The moment he felt the mattress underneath him he began to doze off. By the time I'd gotten him out of his jeans and shirt he was already asleep. I lay down next to him and whispered one more time, "I love you." I couldn't help but smirk at the sad irony. He wouldn't remember a single fucking thing in the morning.
~Feedback more than appreciated~
He had been living at the loft for what, three days? He hadn't been there much. He had had school, a shift at the diner, he had gone to see Daphne, he had hung out with the boys... He just hadn't been there. Today I knew he was there. Well, at least I hoped he was. Whatever. I wanted to talk to him, fuck him, watch TV with him, anything, even fight with him if necessary. I just needed a reaction out of him. The first night after he had asked if he could stay he had insisted on sleeping on the couch. I had let him, even if I hadn't wanted him to. The next night... let's just say I had made sure he had already been in bed when he had fallen asleep.
I wondered again what he might be doing. Where he would be sitting. Would he be happy, angry, tired? I unlocked the door slowly and opened it quietly, taking a look around. I saw something I had *not* been expecting. He was lying face down in the middle of the fucking floor.
"Justin!" I shouted without thinking and threw my bag and my jacket on the floor, practically running to him. "Jesus fucking Christ!" I shouted as I turned him around to lie on his back. His eyes were closed. I searched for a pulse for what seemed like years but couldn't find one on his wrist. I was just about to listen to his chest when he coughed quietly and turned his head towards me without opening his eyes. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding and just sat on the fucking floor for a moment, unable to move. Then I shook him, gently. When that didn't have any effect on him, I shook him more firmly. Finally, Justin opened his eyes. He looked in my direction but had trouble focusing his eyes on me.
"Hey," he whispered when he finally recognized me and gave me a weak smile. "Did I pass out?"
For fuck's sake, he wasn't injured. He was just... drunk. I had never seen him so fucking drunk. I had thought something was really wrong with him, damn it. He had actually scared the shit out of me, but no, he was just *drunk*!
For a moment I thought of getting up and leaving him there on the floor, but then I decided to help him to bed instead. Hell, if I had left him there I could have stepped on his hand or something like that. Shit. How do I handle a drunken Justin? The kid should come with a fucking manual.
"Yes, you passed out," I told him angrily and grabbed a good hold of his arm, lifting him to his unsteady feet. But when I tried to lead him to the bedroom, he refused to even try to walk.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked with an innocent look in his eyes.
"I'm putting you to bed," I told him and tried to drag him with me again.
"I don't want you to," he announced proudly, trying to wriggle free from my grip.
I stopped. We just stood there, Justin leaning heavily on me, his smile and eyes clouded by alcohol. I looked down at him and asked, "Don't you want to sleep?"
"I shouldn't sleep in your bed. I know you don't really want me to sleep in your bed," he said, a sad, drunken look replacing his drunken smile. "You don't want me here at all, do you?"
I sighed. I was in a position where I could say anything and he wouldn't remember it later on. "I want you here, Justin, even if I don't tell you that too often."
"Liar," he said, lifting his chin.
"Come *on*!" I tried, pulling him with me a few steps towards the bedroom again. Then he just refused to go any further.
"Let go of me!" he yelled, yanking his arm away. Without my support, he fell heavily to the floor. Apparently he was too tired to try and get up again, so he just lay there. I knelt down next to him.
This was *not* how this night was supposed to go. Fuck, I didn't even *know* how the fucking night was supposed to go. Oh yeah, actually I did; he was supposed to be cooking, we were supposed to eat, then we were supposed to fuck and then he was supposed to tell me he was staying. Yeah right, like that'd have happened anyway.
"Justin..." I said hesitantly, trying to sooth him. "How much have you had?"
"Not nearly enough," he said arrogantly. "Not nearly enough, since I still feel the fucking pain." He said it with a smile, making it look like he was talking about how beautiful the fucking weather was.
I was somewhat surprised by his words, but still wanted to get a reaction from him - a reaction that was from him and not the alcohol - so I encouraged him to keep on talking by saying, "What pain?"
He shook his head slowly, dreamily, from side to side, with a smile on his lips. "The pain... you know... I get to be here, in your place... I get to see you every day... I get to be fucked by you occasionally... but you're still... *not*... mine. And you never... will be."
What? "What are you saying?" I asked aloud. Then I added sarcastically, "That you're still 'head over heels' in love with me?"
"Yes!" he laughed. "I love you, Brian Kinney, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone." He laughed again, only this time it actually sounded happy.
Do you? Oh fuck, Justin's 'positive attitude' had apparently changed me. I actually felt *hope* when he said his words. Fuck, I didn't want to hope. The kid had really changed me, and I didn't like it a fucking bit. Don't hope, don't trust, don't believe. Fuck you, Justin, for changing me. "Then why don't you stay here, permanently?"
"Yeah right! Like you'd like that! You don't want me here, do you?" Now he was already giggling. "You don't love me," he added softly, looking at me straight in the eye.
"Yes, Justin, I want you here." Then I said the words I had been telling him in my dreams every night since we had started seeing each other again. "I love you."
It was easy to say them, those three fucking words; he wouldn't remember them in the morning. And he knew it, he looked at me and stated, "Why don't you fucking tell me that when I'm *sober*?"
Because it's too fucking hard. "Maybe I will." I knew I wouldn't.
"Do you mean that? Do you really love me? Say it again, it sounded so good coming from your pretty mouth," he said, trying to touch my lips with his fingers but missing them and touching my cheek instead.
"I love you, Justin Taylor." Fuck, that was easy. I felt like I was playing some stupid game. I kissed him lightly.
"Oh that's good. Now take me to our bed so that I can get some sleep, will you, honey?" He giggled again and said, "That sounded good, too. *Honey*. Mind if I call you 'honey'?"
I sighed and shook my head a bit amused, then lifted him off the floor and carried him easily to my - our bed. The moment he felt the mattress underneath him he began to doze off. By the time I'd gotten him out of his jeans and shirt he was already asleep. I lay down next to him and whispered one more time, "I love you." I couldn't help but smirk at the sad irony. He wouldn't remember a single fucking thing in the morning.
~Feedback more than appreciated~