Title: Ode to Sunshine
Author: Rube (rube@undevout.com / )
Rating: R
Pairing: Brian/Justin, mentions of Ethan/Justin
Summary: "I think she's trying to say that Paganini is back for an encore."
Notes: I was, uh, kind of hesitant to write this, because it sounds very fucking insensitive to people with weight issues. But then I decided that I am cruel to Ethan above all others, and durendal begged me, and anyway, I have no spine.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used herein and make no profit from said usage. The last time Liberty Avenue had seen hide or hair of Ethan Gold was before Brian Kinney Lost His Job. Liberty Avenue as a collective force does too many poppers to really have a solid concept of time, but they do know that Brian Kinney has been looking for a new Job so much that he's stayed out of Babylon and his usual hunting ground, and that makes Liberty Avenue sad, so they sort of know what they're talking about when it comes to this. "Oh my God, is that The Fiddler?" someone screeched, grabbing Ted's jacket and ripping him away from studying a rack of CDs. "Who?" Ted asked blearily. "The Fiddler," Em bleated, making no attempt to keep his voice down, but at least Ethan had only just come inside and probably couldn't hear him. "Ethan Gold?" "Oh." He squinted half-heartedly and turned away. "I guess it is." "Ohmygoooood," Em squeaked, and from the noises it sounded like he was hopping up and down. "Wait until Brian gets wind of this." "Why should Brian care? Better yet, why should I?" Ted mused, flipping through a stack of Mozart compilations. Em smacked his arm, but aside from picking up another CD, Ted did nothing. "Because," Em instructed, this time having the decency to lower his voice, although it was probably because of dramatics rather than good sense, "we haven't seen a scandal like this since the ORIGINAL Ethan Gold versus Brian Kinney smack down." "Smack down?" Ted chortled, shaking his head. "Scandal? Please. Brian made the concept of scandalous pale in comparison, even extinct, when he was fourteen. Now if you'd said ridiculous, or another excuse for Brian to get high and fuck someone in the back room, I could see where you were coming from." "Teddy! Don't you understand? Our Lothario has just reclaimed his love! And now, just when they've started their LIFE TOGETHER, enter the evil… um. Evil person that Lothario hates, returning to vie for love of, er, Lothario's… love." Ted didn't say anything. He felt that Emmett's correct usage of the word 'vie' was pushing his luck enough already, forget the whole Lothario thing. "I really don't think there's going to be any smack down, Emmett," was all he said on the matter. "You just wait and see, Ted Schmidt. You wait and see." Em smiled deviously and hid behind a display stand. --- Two hours later, at the Liberty Diner, Liberty Avenue was abuzz with gossip. Brian Kinney passed by booth upon booth of whispering patrons, smirking as conversation at each was silenced completely at his arrival. Justin tagged along behind him, staring dubiously at the hushed costumers. "Shit, Brian. What did you do this time?" They slid into a booth. Justin crossed his arms on the table. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he responded airily, and before Justin could open his mouth, twisted around and called for Debbie. "Yeah?" Debbie flipped her tablet to a fresh page and snapped her gum. "Usual?" Brian nodded and went to say something else but Justin cut him off. "Like I believe that for a minute. Just a chocolate shake, Deb, thanks." "And a plate of fries, preferably one you haven't picked over first." Justin stared. "You're ordering fries?" Brian shrugged. "I'm hungry." "Brian, you've never been hungry in your entire life. Your body subsists on fat you have hidden in a pouch somewhere so that you don't have to eat any shady amounts in public." Justin's eyes narrowed. "No, you're celebrating something." "Celebrating?" Brian leveled an eyebrow at him. "What on earth would I – unemployed ad executive of the year – possibly have to celebrate?" Deb cackled. "That's not what I hear –" "Don't you have hustlers to provide for?" Brian asked archly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure they'd love it if you regaled them with your scandalous word-of-mouth reports." Justin broke in before Brian could spin a joke out of 'word-of-mouth' and 'hustlers.' Being Brian's boyfriend and chief conversationalist could be *so* tedious. "What did you hear?" "A revival of 'The Red Violin' has everybody up in fuckin' arms," Debbie crowed. Justin's brain tried to decode that from Debspeak but failed dismally. "Um, what?" he laughed. "Get it, Sunshine? THE RED VIOLIN?" "I think she's trying to say that Paganini is back for an encore." Justin wondered if there was something wrong with him, or if they were actually talking in parables of some fucked up, musical design. "And oh my God," someone said in an exaggerated whisper from the next table over, "did you see? Ethan Gold is FAT." Justin choked. Deb smacked the guy on the back of the head. "You asshole. Watch the fuckin' language." Puzzled, Justin turned to Debbie and Brian with wide eyes. "Ethan? Are you guys talking about Ethan?" Brian didn't respond, but the half-cocked eyebrow and serene expression was answer enough. "Oh my God. He's here, on Liberty Avenue? Oh my God." "Yeah," Deb snorted. "His last CD flopped, so he's come crawling back to Pittsburg. It's all over. Seems that our citizens can't keep mum about his homecoming. I wonder why?" "He lives on a street corner," Brian pointed out. "I'd hardly call that incognito." "Jesus Christ. Is he… what does he want?" Justin wondered, picking up a napkin and tearing at its edges. "Why, to give you this, of course," Brian drawled, reaching into his pocket. He slid what looked suspiciously like a CD across the table. Ethan's glossy, pixilated face stared up at Justin with watery eyes. "Ethan Gold," it read, in signature chunky font. "Ode to Sunshine." "He –" Justin couldn't formulate words. He stared down at the case, boggled. "A whole CD of tormented screeching, monument to the great love of his life, Justin Taylor," Brian sing-songed. "The dedication was pretty fuckin' touching," Deb nodded. "Six pages. That's one hell of a love letter, Sunshine." She eyed Justin carefully. "You sure you want him to be the one that got away?" Justin sputtered. "One that got away? I – I – I – he –" he raged, and then promptly felt the beginnings of an asthma attack coming on. "Oh, shit." Brian was unimpressed. "She's right, Sunshine. Even I, heartless ruffian that I am," he breathed, and Justin got the feeling he was quoting something, "was moved by his poignant plea for absolution." Justin said nothing. With shaking fingers, he turned the CD over and stared at the track listing. 1. Justified Justin paled visibly. 2. My Only Sunshine Justin gasped and felt the urge to rock back and forth in his seat. 3. His Rage A whimper. 4. The Ring of My Love Justin closed his eyes and shoved the CD away. "Jesus. I can't… look anymore." "He lends his vocals on an excellent, stylized cover of Celine Dion's 'Where Does My Heart Beat Now,'" Brian added. Justin's eyes popped open in shock. "No. Ethan's got a HORRIBLE singing voice. Oh, no." He pressed his fingers to his temple and moaned. "This is such utter shit." "Oh, I don't know," Brian said blithely, standing up from the booth. Justin was too stunned and horrified by the sick twist in events to stop him. "I think you might find Ethan's proposal to your liking." "Uh, what?" Justin snorted. "Excuse me, *he's* the one who cheated on *me,* so unless he's had memory loss of some sort, I…" A terrifying thought struck him. "What do you mean by… proposal?" "Read the dedication," Brian murmured quietly, and he was gone before Justin could even start to think about it. --- Another two hours later, Justin was sitting on Dahpne's futon and staring at her CD player in abject horror. The last wailing strains of "My Promise to Blue Eyes and Broken Hearts" had faded, and Justin was left with silence and a pounding migraine. "I need a cigarette," he croaked to no one in particular. "Like, now." Fumbling, his hands went to his pocket and pulled out a pack, and he shoved one in his mouth. "Daph," he mumbled, "do you have a light?" "I can't hear you over the blood in my ears," Daphne responded, her voice partially muffled. Concerned, Justin looked over to see that she'd smashed her face in a pillow. "Daphne," he started, ready to pull out his best pathetic, needy-gay-friend voice, but she tossed a lighter at his forehead before he could continue. Justin lit up and took a drag that demolished about half of the cigarette before continuing. "Shit," he coughed, and that seemed to be his word of the day, "what am I going to do?" "Sue for misrepresentation?" Daphne suggested. He contemplated glaring at her but a slightly hysterical part of his consciousness agreed. "I need to talk to Ethan," he decided, taking another drag. "Oh, fuck that," Daphne guffawed. "You need to talk to *Brian.*" Justin slanted his gaze at her with spiked amusement. "Why the hell would I need to do that? It's not like Brian went and…" he fought for words, waving his cigarette-holding arm in the air for emphasis, "made an entire fucking album of pathetic, mooning love songs about me." Daphne mumbled something under her breath that sort of sounded like 'that's only because he can't sing,' but Justin figured he was hearing things. "You don't get it, do you?" Daphne was launching into her Voice of Brian's Inner Conflict That He Cannot Express Because He Is A Tortured Soul With A Troubled Past But I Am Woman So I See Through His Guise mode. "Brian's, like, totally petrified when it comes to Ethan." Justin snorted. "No, really. Ethan managed to steal you away once, who's to say he can't do it again?" she reasoned. "He fucking cheated on me, Daph," he flatly pointed out. "Brian cheated on you," she countered. "Yeah, he did, didn't he?" Justin pondered the situation, but something suddenly dawned on him. "Wait a minute, you said Brian's cheating didn't count!" Daphne's expression darkened considerably. "Shut up, I know what I'm talking about." "But you said –" "So Brian's feeling pretty nervous," Daphne continued, speaking a little louder than necessary, "and here comes Ethan with this CD apology thing." "Yeah, because he's *so* going to win me back through Celine Dion." "Brian doesn't know that." "Yes, he does." "No, he doesn't. Don't question me; I know Brian." Justin sulked. "No you don't. This is stupid." "It's your love life, man," she laughed. --- Justin figured he should take care of Ethan first. Granted, Daphne had raised some considerable doubts on the whole Brian score, but it sort of insulted him that Brian thought some cheesy songs were going to make him fall for Ethan all over again. Did Brian really think he was that much of a nelly? Daphne pointed out that yeah, Brian probably thought so, and with good reason, since hadn't he been the one who'd left Brian and all that Brian entailed (gorgeous loft, great drugs, hot sex) only to live with Ethan and all that Ethan… um, to live with Ethan? "You think I'm a nelly?" was all Justin had been able to say. Daphne was pointedly silent, and when she left for the bathroom, Justin pocketed her favorite thong for trashing later. After an hour of wandering the park and a few local homeless hot-spots, Justin finally found Ethan – or, at least, found Ethan's Strad and its case, left on a park bench. The case was filled with a few pitiful dollars and a handful of change. "Ethan?" he called out warily. "Ethan?" When there was no reply, he plopped himself down next to the violin and waited. Around two minutes later, the rustling of leaves on a nearby bush alerted him to someone else's presence. "Hello? Ethan?" he tried again. "Justin?" Ethan's familiar voice, and more leaf-rustling. "Justin, is that you?" "Ethan?" Justin twisted around and stared at the bush. "Hold on, I'm trying to get back through, I had to come back here and take a pis – take a, uh, walk." Ethan struggled with the bushes for a few more moments, and Justin barely refrained from pointing out that he could just go around. Fucker had cheated on him, after all. And the guy hadn't even been hot. Finally, Ethan got a boot through. Justin turned back around to wait for Ethan to join him. "Hey," Ethan said, seconds later, sounding winded. "What're you doing here, Jus?" "I was –" He stopped dead. Ethan smiled. Or frowned. It was kind of hard to tell. "God, you look good," Ethan started, eyes hungrily raking Justin's seated body. "I'm loving this new style. It's very metro." "You, uh…" his throat startled to strangle itself at his next words. "Look… different." He waited a beat. "Did you, uh, do something with your hair?" --- The gang was silent for long, long moments. Finally, Brian spoke. "I can't fuck you anymore." Justin spit up half of his whiskey sour. "WHAT?" Brian was stone faced. "You fucked a fat person." Everyone at their table blanched, and even Michael actually looked as if he was going to bitch slap his best friend. "You sonofabitch -" "Goddamn you, Kinney –" "Brian, how can you be so –" "Jesus, I can't believe this –" "I knew you were shallow, but –" "Oh Christ," Brian snapped. "Will you save the political correctness and minorities for unity crap for someone who gives a shit? It's not that he's fat." They all glared at him. "It's that he let himself get fat." They were still glaring, but confused. "I mean, it's bad enough that he wrote those stupid Ode to Justin songs, it's bad enough that his agent dropped him for reneging on his contract –" "What?" Justin squawked. "- But that he actually let himself get so depressed over a fuck that he gained a hundred pounds? Please. Talk about showing your weakness," Brian snorted, attempting to intellectualize the obvious abhorrence. "Let me get this straight," Ben started, "because Ethan doesn't fit into your standards – which, might I add, are so mindless they defy words – you hate him?" "I don't hate him," Brian said shortly. "He's not worth the energy." They were silent at that. "I just said that I'm not fucking Justin until he goes to Jenny Craig or some shit, and admits his idiocy over writing that fucking miserable album." Justin tried to follow his train of thought but failed. Plus, he was panicking inside over the idea of Brian not having sex with him. "You're withholding sex because of Justin's exboyfriend?" Mikey actually sounded impressed. "Yeah, that's pretty much it." Justin groaned. --- "So you see," Justin concluded on a wheedling tone, "I really think you should lose the weight. For, like, your own good." Ethan stared at him. "You think I'm FAT?" "Well, uh…" On cue, Ethan's eyes started watering up. "Oh my God, you think I'm fat! I'm not beautiful to my Justin anymore!" Justin looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one around him even vaguely knew who the pair of them were. "You've always been big boned for your frame," he said softly, reaching out to hesitantly touch Ethan's wrist. "You're still… you're still hot. Yeah, you're still hot. But it's not healthy, the way you're living. And I… I care about you." Ethan sent him a withering look over the napkin he was dabbing his eyes with. "That's bullshit! It's all bullshit and you know it. You just don't want the world to know that you've been with a REAL man, instead of that swizzle stick Kinney you've run back to." "But you do know that you've gained weight?" Justin tried desperately. "Well, yeah," Ethan sniffed. "After I started touring, I had real money coming in. And… and Wolfram died. You know how I used to give him so much food?" Justin nodded, and Ethan's lower lip started to quiver dangerously. "Well, I didn't earn much money, and I spent a lot of it on cat food, and since… since my Wolfie ate so much of the food, I figure that's what kept me so thin." Justin took a moment to consider the idea. It kind of made sense. Maybe. But his mind kept running back to the mass amount of dark chocolate Ethan consumed. "But I had money, and no Wolfram, so I started to indulge in things." That prompted a thought. "But you don't have money anymore?" "No, I have some," Ethan sobbed. "Just enough for an apartment and food, but I need to play the streets for other things. I need to… to save up." "Ethan," Justin said cautiously, "have you ever thought of… oh, I don't know. Getting a *job*?" Ethan looked like someone had stomped on his Strad. "I have a job! Playing street corners." Shaking his head, Justin decided to give up that particular train of conversation. "Uh, so. Why aren't you playing professionally anymore? I heard you… reneged on your contract or something." Ethan nodded. "Yeah. You know about the deal? I had to be straight if I wanted to make it. Well…" his eyes started watering up again, and Justin quickly shoved a napkin in his face. "Thanks. Uh, after you… you… you left me… I mean, after I…" Ethan wailed. "After I THREW AWAY the best thing that ever happened to me, with one teeny-tiny, stupid little mistake, I decided that I had to find a way to tell you how sorry I was. I had to profess my love for you, oh God, and it was wonderful, liberating." Justin rolled his eyes, but tried to do it politely, as he needed Ethan's cooperation if he ever wanted to see the light of Brian's cock again. "Suffice to say, Glenn wasn't happy when I tore up that stupid fucking contract and went public with my album." A really, really vain part of Justin was actually sort of touched. "You tore up your contract? All for me?" "Yeah, baby," Ethan smiled, reaching across to cup Justin's chin. "All for you." For a moment, Justin thought it was really sort of sweet. The two of them, sitting in that little hetero restaurant, reminiscing, Ethan having sacrificed his career for Justin's vanished love, but then he took a good look at Ethan's vagina-like facial hair and plummeted back to earth. "That's nice. But you should definitely lose the weight." Upon seeing Ethan's enraged expression, he hurriedly continued. "I mean, if you want us to get back together again, I think you should be healthy, in mind, spirit, and um, body." --- Justin sighed and leaned against the loft's door. He looked out at the bare floors and sparse furnishings, first feeling a sense of disappointment, but replacing it quickly with relief. "Honey," he called, overly-jovial, but he couldn't help it. "I'm home." "What the fuck?" Brian was sitting in bed, reading. It was probably the first time Justin had ever seen him doing so. "Who told you that you could bring your domestic ass back into my loft?" Justin smirked and started to flounce towards their bed. "Oh, I dunno. I guess I told myself. I mean, I guess I thought I deserved it." Brian frowned. "What?" Justin sobered, staring at Brian tenderly. "Bri," he sighed, "you have to stop being so goddamn insecure." Brian's left eyebrow flew up. "I should have known you'd be terrified at the Ethan thing happening all over again. But you have to understand," he said, setting himself on the bed next to Brian and rubbing Brian's thigh tenderly, "I would never, ever fall for that shit again." He smiled at Brian's blank look. "That being said, I did what you asked." "Um, what?" Brian asked. "I convinced Ethan to go to a fat farm," he smiled. "So we can fuck now." Brian stared at him. "You thought I was serious?" Justin's stomach decided to spontaneously combust. "… What?" "YOU THOUGHT I WAS FUCKING SERIOUS?!" Brian wasn't so much shocked or furious as he was fucking amused. "Oh my fucking GOD, Justin. Like I could give a SHIT. He's not even that fat!" Justin tried very, very hard not to cry. "But… but you said that you wouldn't fuck me unless he lost the weight and proclaimed that the two of us were over, or something! Didn't you?" Brian was too busy wheezing to comment. "Oh my God," Justin cried. "Oh my God. I told Ethan that I wouldn't date him unless he lost the weight and cleared his body of all toxins. OH MY GOD, BRIAN. HE'LL TOTALLY TRY AND FUCK ME WHEN HE GETS OUT!" "He'll be skinny when he gets out," Brian choked. "That means if you run, he'll probably be able to catch you." Justin whimpered and buried his head in Brian's shoulder.
Author: Rube (rube@undevout.com / )
Rating: R
Pairing: Brian/Justin, mentions of Ethan/Justin
Summary: "I think she's trying to say that Paganini is back for an encore."
Notes: I was, uh, kind of hesitant to write this, because it sounds very fucking insensitive to people with weight issues. But then I decided that I am cruel to Ethan above all others, and durendal begged me, and anyway, I have no spine.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used herein and make no profit from said usage. The last time Liberty Avenue had seen hide or hair of Ethan Gold was before Brian Kinney Lost His Job. Liberty Avenue as a collective force does too many poppers to really have a solid concept of time, but they do know that Brian Kinney has been looking for a new Job so much that he's stayed out of Babylon and his usual hunting ground, and that makes Liberty Avenue sad, so they sort of know what they're talking about when it comes to this. "Oh my God, is that The Fiddler?" someone screeched, grabbing Ted's jacket and ripping him away from studying a rack of CDs. "Who?" Ted asked blearily. "The Fiddler," Em bleated, making no attempt to keep his voice down, but at least Ethan had only just come inside and probably couldn't hear him. "Ethan Gold?" "Oh." He squinted half-heartedly and turned away. "I guess it is." "Ohmygoooood," Em squeaked, and from the noises it sounded like he was hopping up and down. "Wait until Brian gets wind of this." "Why should Brian care? Better yet, why should I?" Ted mused, flipping through a stack of Mozart compilations. Em smacked his arm, but aside from picking up another CD, Ted did nothing. "Because," Em instructed, this time having the decency to lower his voice, although it was probably because of dramatics rather than good sense, "we haven't seen a scandal like this since the ORIGINAL Ethan Gold versus Brian Kinney smack down." "Smack down?" Ted chortled, shaking his head. "Scandal? Please. Brian made the concept of scandalous pale in comparison, even extinct, when he was fourteen. Now if you'd said ridiculous, or another excuse for Brian to get high and fuck someone in the back room, I could see where you were coming from." "Teddy! Don't you understand? Our Lothario has just reclaimed his love! And now, just when they've started their LIFE TOGETHER, enter the evil… um. Evil person that Lothario hates, returning to vie for love of, er, Lothario's… love." Ted didn't say anything. He felt that Emmett's correct usage of the word 'vie' was pushing his luck enough already, forget the whole Lothario thing. "I really don't think there's going to be any smack down, Emmett," was all he said on the matter. "You just wait and see, Ted Schmidt. You wait and see." Em smiled deviously and hid behind a display stand. --- Two hours later, at the Liberty Diner, Liberty Avenue was abuzz with gossip. Brian Kinney passed by booth upon booth of whispering patrons, smirking as conversation at each was silenced completely at his arrival. Justin tagged along behind him, staring dubiously at the hushed costumers. "Shit, Brian. What did you do this time?" They slid into a booth. Justin crossed his arms on the table. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he responded airily, and before Justin could open his mouth, twisted around and called for Debbie. "Yeah?" Debbie flipped her tablet to a fresh page and snapped her gum. "Usual?" Brian nodded and went to say something else but Justin cut him off. "Like I believe that for a minute. Just a chocolate shake, Deb, thanks." "And a plate of fries, preferably one you haven't picked over first." Justin stared. "You're ordering fries?" Brian shrugged. "I'm hungry." "Brian, you've never been hungry in your entire life. Your body subsists on fat you have hidden in a pouch somewhere so that you don't have to eat any shady amounts in public." Justin's eyes narrowed. "No, you're celebrating something." "Celebrating?" Brian leveled an eyebrow at him. "What on earth would I – unemployed ad executive of the year – possibly have to celebrate?" Deb cackled. "That's not what I hear –" "Don't you have hustlers to provide for?" Brian asked archly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure they'd love it if you regaled them with your scandalous word-of-mouth reports." Justin broke in before Brian could spin a joke out of 'word-of-mouth' and 'hustlers.' Being Brian's boyfriend and chief conversationalist could be *so* tedious. "What did you hear?" "A revival of 'The Red Violin' has everybody up in fuckin' arms," Debbie crowed. Justin's brain tried to decode that from Debspeak but failed dismally. "Um, what?" he laughed. "Get it, Sunshine? THE RED VIOLIN?" "I think she's trying to say that Paganini is back for an encore." Justin wondered if there was something wrong with him, or if they were actually talking in parables of some fucked up, musical design. "And oh my God," someone said in an exaggerated whisper from the next table over, "did you see? Ethan Gold is FAT." Justin choked. Deb smacked the guy on the back of the head. "You asshole. Watch the fuckin' language." Puzzled, Justin turned to Debbie and Brian with wide eyes. "Ethan? Are you guys talking about Ethan?" Brian didn't respond, but the half-cocked eyebrow and serene expression was answer enough. "Oh my God. He's here, on Liberty Avenue? Oh my God." "Yeah," Deb snorted. "His last CD flopped, so he's come crawling back to Pittsburg. It's all over. Seems that our citizens can't keep mum about his homecoming. I wonder why?" "He lives on a street corner," Brian pointed out. "I'd hardly call that incognito." "Jesus Christ. Is he… what does he want?" Justin wondered, picking up a napkin and tearing at its edges. "Why, to give you this, of course," Brian drawled, reaching into his pocket. He slid what looked suspiciously like a CD across the table. Ethan's glossy, pixilated face stared up at Justin with watery eyes. "Ethan Gold," it read, in signature chunky font. "Ode to Sunshine." "He –" Justin couldn't formulate words. He stared down at the case, boggled. "A whole CD of tormented screeching, monument to the great love of his life, Justin Taylor," Brian sing-songed. "The dedication was pretty fuckin' touching," Deb nodded. "Six pages. That's one hell of a love letter, Sunshine." She eyed Justin carefully. "You sure you want him to be the one that got away?" Justin sputtered. "One that got away? I – I – I – he –" he raged, and then promptly felt the beginnings of an asthma attack coming on. "Oh, shit." Brian was unimpressed. "She's right, Sunshine. Even I, heartless ruffian that I am," he breathed, and Justin got the feeling he was quoting something, "was moved by his poignant plea for absolution." Justin said nothing. With shaking fingers, he turned the CD over and stared at the track listing. 1. Justified Justin paled visibly. 2. My Only Sunshine Justin gasped and felt the urge to rock back and forth in his seat. 3. His Rage A whimper. 4. The Ring of My Love Justin closed his eyes and shoved the CD away. "Jesus. I can't… look anymore." "He lends his vocals on an excellent, stylized cover of Celine Dion's 'Where Does My Heart Beat Now,'" Brian added. Justin's eyes popped open in shock. "No. Ethan's got a HORRIBLE singing voice. Oh, no." He pressed his fingers to his temple and moaned. "This is such utter shit." "Oh, I don't know," Brian said blithely, standing up from the booth. Justin was too stunned and horrified by the sick twist in events to stop him. "I think you might find Ethan's proposal to your liking." "Uh, what?" Justin snorted. "Excuse me, *he's* the one who cheated on *me,* so unless he's had memory loss of some sort, I…" A terrifying thought struck him. "What do you mean by… proposal?" "Read the dedication," Brian murmured quietly, and he was gone before Justin could even start to think about it. --- Another two hours later, Justin was sitting on Dahpne's futon and staring at her CD player in abject horror. The last wailing strains of "My Promise to Blue Eyes and Broken Hearts" had faded, and Justin was left with silence and a pounding migraine. "I need a cigarette," he croaked to no one in particular. "Like, now." Fumbling, his hands went to his pocket and pulled out a pack, and he shoved one in his mouth. "Daph," he mumbled, "do you have a light?" "I can't hear you over the blood in my ears," Daphne responded, her voice partially muffled. Concerned, Justin looked over to see that she'd smashed her face in a pillow. "Daphne," he started, ready to pull out his best pathetic, needy-gay-friend voice, but she tossed a lighter at his forehead before he could continue. Justin lit up and took a drag that demolished about half of the cigarette before continuing. "Shit," he coughed, and that seemed to be his word of the day, "what am I going to do?" "Sue for misrepresentation?" Daphne suggested. He contemplated glaring at her but a slightly hysterical part of his consciousness agreed. "I need to talk to Ethan," he decided, taking another drag. "Oh, fuck that," Daphne guffawed. "You need to talk to *Brian.*" Justin slanted his gaze at her with spiked amusement. "Why the hell would I need to do that? It's not like Brian went and…" he fought for words, waving his cigarette-holding arm in the air for emphasis, "made an entire fucking album of pathetic, mooning love songs about me." Daphne mumbled something under her breath that sort of sounded like 'that's only because he can't sing,' but Justin figured he was hearing things. "You don't get it, do you?" Daphne was launching into her Voice of Brian's Inner Conflict That He Cannot Express Because He Is A Tortured Soul With A Troubled Past But I Am Woman So I See Through His Guise mode. "Brian's, like, totally petrified when it comes to Ethan." Justin snorted. "No, really. Ethan managed to steal you away once, who's to say he can't do it again?" she reasoned. "He fucking cheated on me, Daph," he flatly pointed out. "Brian cheated on you," she countered. "Yeah, he did, didn't he?" Justin pondered the situation, but something suddenly dawned on him. "Wait a minute, you said Brian's cheating didn't count!" Daphne's expression darkened considerably. "Shut up, I know what I'm talking about." "But you said –" "So Brian's feeling pretty nervous," Daphne continued, speaking a little louder than necessary, "and here comes Ethan with this CD apology thing." "Yeah, because he's *so* going to win me back through Celine Dion." "Brian doesn't know that." "Yes, he does." "No, he doesn't. Don't question me; I know Brian." Justin sulked. "No you don't. This is stupid." "It's your love life, man," she laughed. --- Justin figured he should take care of Ethan first. Granted, Daphne had raised some considerable doubts on the whole Brian score, but it sort of insulted him that Brian thought some cheesy songs were going to make him fall for Ethan all over again. Did Brian really think he was that much of a nelly? Daphne pointed out that yeah, Brian probably thought so, and with good reason, since hadn't he been the one who'd left Brian and all that Brian entailed (gorgeous loft, great drugs, hot sex) only to live with Ethan and all that Ethan… um, to live with Ethan? "You think I'm a nelly?" was all Justin had been able to say. Daphne was pointedly silent, and when she left for the bathroom, Justin pocketed her favorite thong for trashing later. After an hour of wandering the park and a few local homeless hot-spots, Justin finally found Ethan – or, at least, found Ethan's Strad and its case, left on a park bench. The case was filled with a few pitiful dollars and a handful of change. "Ethan?" he called out warily. "Ethan?" When there was no reply, he plopped himself down next to the violin and waited. Around two minutes later, the rustling of leaves on a nearby bush alerted him to someone else's presence. "Hello? Ethan?" he tried again. "Justin?" Ethan's familiar voice, and more leaf-rustling. "Justin, is that you?" "Ethan?" Justin twisted around and stared at the bush. "Hold on, I'm trying to get back through, I had to come back here and take a pis – take a, uh, walk." Ethan struggled with the bushes for a few more moments, and Justin barely refrained from pointing out that he could just go around. Fucker had cheated on him, after all. And the guy hadn't even been hot. Finally, Ethan got a boot through. Justin turned back around to wait for Ethan to join him. "Hey," Ethan said, seconds later, sounding winded. "What're you doing here, Jus?" "I was –" He stopped dead. Ethan smiled. Or frowned. It was kind of hard to tell. "God, you look good," Ethan started, eyes hungrily raking Justin's seated body. "I'm loving this new style. It's very metro." "You, uh…" his throat startled to strangle itself at his next words. "Look… different." He waited a beat. "Did you, uh, do something with your hair?" --- The gang was silent for long, long moments. Finally, Brian spoke. "I can't fuck you anymore." Justin spit up half of his whiskey sour. "WHAT?" Brian was stone faced. "You fucked a fat person." Everyone at their table blanched, and even Michael actually looked as if he was going to bitch slap his best friend. "You sonofabitch -" "Goddamn you, Kinney –" "Brian, how can you be so –" "Jesus, I can't believe this –" "I knew you were shallow, but –" "Oh Christ," Brian snapped. "Will you save the political correctness and minorities for unity crap for someone who gives a shit? It's not that he's fat." They all glared at him. "It's that he let himself get fat." They were still glaring, but confused. "I mean, it's bad enough that he wrote those stupid Ode to Justin songs, it's bad enough that his agent dropped him for reneging on his contract –" "What?" Justin squawked. "- But that he actually let himself get so depressed over a fuck that he gained a hundred pounds? Please. Talk about showing your weakness," Brian snorted, attempting to intellectualize the obvious abhorrence. "Let me get this straight," Ben started, "because Ethan doesn't fit into your standards – which, might I add, are so mindless they defy words – you hate him?" "I don't hate him," Brian said shortly. "He's not worth the energy." They were silent at that. "I just said that I'm not fucking Justin until he goes to Jenny Craig or some shit, and admits his idiocy over writing that fucking miserable album." Justin tried to follow his train of thought but failed. Plus, he was panicking inside over the idea of Brian not having sex with him. "You're withholding sex because of Justin's exboyfriend?" Mikey actually sounded impressed. "Yeah, that's pretty much it." Justin groaned. --- "So you see," Justin concluded on a wheedling tone, "I really think you should lose the weight. For, like, your own good." Ethan stared at him. "You think I'm FAT?" "Well, uh…" On cue, Ethan's eyes started watering up. "Oh my God, you think I'm fat! I'm not beautiful to my Justin anymore!" Justin looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one around him even vaguely knew who the pair of them were. "You've always been big boned for your frame," he said softly, reaching out to hesitantly touch Ethan's wrist. "You're still… you're still hot. Yeah, you're still hot. But it's not healthy, the way you're living. And I… I care about you." Ethan sent him a withering look over the napkin he was dabbing his eyes with. "That's bullshit! It's all bullshit and you know it. You just don't want the world to know that you've been with a REAL man, instead of that swizzle stick Kinney you've run back to." "But you do know that you've gained weight?" Justin tried desperately. "Well, yeah," Ethan sniffed. "After I started touring, I had real money coming in. And… and Wolfram died. You know how I used to give him so much food?" Justin nodded, and Ethan's lower lip started to quiver dangerously. "Well, I didn't earn much money, and I spent a lot of it on cat food, and since… since my Wolfie ate so much of the food, I figure that's what kept me so thin." Justin took a moment to consider the idea. It kind of made sense. Maybe. But his mind kept running back to the mass amount of dark chocolate Ethan consumed. "But I had money, and no Wolfram, so I started to indulge in things." That prompted a thought. "But you don't have money anymore?" "No, I have some," Ethan sobbed. "Just enough for an apartment and food, but I need to play the streets for other things. I need to… to save up." "Ethan," Justin said cautiously, "have you ever thought of… oh, I don't know. Getting a *job*?" Ethan looked like someone had stomped on his Strad. "I have a job! Playing street corners." Shaking his head, Justin decided to give up that particular train of conversation. "Uh, so. Why aren't you playing professionally anymore? I heard you… reneged on your contract or something." Ethan nodded. "Yeah. You know about the deal? I had to be straight if I wanted to make it. Well…" his eyes started watering up again, and Justin quickly shoved a napkin in his face. "Thanks. Uh, after you… you… you left me… I mean, after I…" Ethan wailed. "After I THREW AWAY the best thing that ever happened to me, with one teeny-tiny, stupid little mistake, I decided that I had to find a way to tell you how sorry I was. I had to profess my love for you, oh God, and it was wonderful, liberating." Justin rolled his eyes, but tried to do it politely, as he needed Ethan's cooperation if he ever wanted to see the light of Brian's cock again. "Suffice to say, Glenn wasn't happy when I tore up that stupid fucking contract and went public with my album." A really, really vain part of Justin was actually sort of touched. "You tore up your contract? All for me?" "Yeah, baby," Ethan smiled, reaching across to cup Justin's chin. "All for you." For a moment, Justin thought it was really sort of sweet. The two of them, sitting in that little hetero restaurant, reminiscing, Ethan having sacrificed his career for Justin's vanished love, but then he took a good look at Ethan's vagina-like facial hair and plummeted back to earth. "That's nice. But you should definitely lose the weight." Upon seeing Ethan's enraged expression, he hurriedly continued. "I mean, if you want us to get back together again, I think you should be healthy, in mind, spirit, and um, body." --- Justin sighed and leaned against the loft's door. He looked out at the bare floors and sparse furnishings, first feeling a sense of disappointment, but replacing it quickly with relief. "Honey," he called, overly-jovial, but he couldn't help it. "I'm home." "What the fuck?" Brian was sitting in bed, reading. It was probably the first time Justin had ever seen him doing so. "Who told you that you could bring your domestic ass back into my loft?" Justin smirked and started to flounce towards their bed. "Oh, I dunno. I guess I told myself. I mean, I guess I thought I deserved it." Brian frowned. "What?" Justin sobered, staring at Brian tenderly. "Bri," he sighed, "you have to stop being so goddamn insecure." Brian's left eyebrow flew up. "I should have known you'd be terrified at the Ethan thing happening all over again. But you have to understand," he said, setting himself on the bed next to Brian and rubbing Brian's thigh tenderly, "I would never, ever fall for that shit again." He smiled at Brian's blank look. "That being said, I did what you asked." "Um, what?" Brian asked. "I convinced Ethan to go to a fat farm," he smiled. "So we can fuck now." Brian stared at him. "You thought I was serious?" Justin's stomach decided to spontaneously combust. "… What?" "YOU THOUGHT I WAS FUCKING SERIOUS?!" Brian wasn't so much shocked or furious as he was fucking amused. "Oh my fucking GOD, Justin. Like I could give a SHIT. He's not even that fat!" Justin tried very, very hard not to cry. "But… but you said that you wouldn't fuck me unless he lost the weight and proclaimed that the two of us were over, or something! Didn't you?" Brian was too busy wheezing to comment. "Oh my God," Justin cried. "Oh my God. I told Ethan that I wouldn't date him unless he lost the weight and cleared his body of all toxins. OH MY GOD, BRIAN. HE'LL TOTALLY TRY AND FUCK ME WHEN HE GETS OUT!" "He'll be skinny when he gets out," Brian choked. "That means if you run, he'll probably be able to catch you." Justin whimpered and buried his head in Brian's shoulder.