Be My Downfall
(see Chapter 1 one for warnings, disclaimer, etc.)
Author's Note : This chapter took longer than usual - a flashback popped into my head and wouldn't shut up, and then angry-ballsy-Michael took its place and he wouldn't shut up either! Anyways, I tried to abate the angst in this chapt. with a small vignette from their past. Can't all be angsty, can it? This part also ends fairly depressing, but I SWEAR it has a happy ending - eventually. LOL. This will more than likely morphe into a romance fic in the next few chapters. I have enough angst as it is, watching the actual show. I need to write something romantic or else I might go insane. Feedback of all kinds is always appreciated.
CHAPTER THREE
Michael's hands were shaking. He silently cursed himself as he flipped on the porcelain faucet in Babylon's bathroom, splashing cold water onto his flushed face. Tremors ran through him as ice cold touched his sultry, hot skin. He doused his face repeatedly, furiously; as if it were possible to wash the memory away, erase the lecherous grin he'd seen on his best friend's face - a seductive leer that had been directed at him. His right ear still burned from the heat of Brian's whisper.
He raised his face, water beads trailing down his smooth skin. He gripped the edge of the sink and cursed himself yet again. Get a fucking hold on yourself, Novotony. This is fucking ridiculous. He's probably stoned, drunk - or both. This is hardly the first time something of this nature has happened.
Brian couldn't possibly be cruel enough to do this to him now. Michael looked at himself again in the mirror, the bathroom lights - which were red tonight instead of blue - making his skin appear even redder, but the soothing water had cooled his heated flesh relatively quick. Now he just looked pale.
Face still drenched in water, he moved a step over to a urinal, and unzipped his jeans. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath, trying to recall that breathing technique of Ben's. He had a feeling it wouldn't work. There was nothing that could alleviate, rid, or cure whatever it was that Brian Kinney did to his heart.
He felt the jab of a chin digging into his shoulder and arms wrap around his waist, the fingers not meeting to join at his middle; but moving in gentle, circular motions across the tight abs, mere inches away from his unzipped pants. He knew who it was before his assailant even spoke. Always did.
"Hey, Mikey. You look hot tonight." That damn whisper again. Soft, yet course - entirely sexual. Michael was livid. At himself - for getting hard just from Brian's raspy voice, hot on his neck, and from his persuasive, massaging fingers.
"Brian?! What the fuck are you doing?!" In a state of complete bemusement, he had finally managed to unfreeze himself as the motions of Brian's hands on his stomach became slower and slower, and he quickly zipped up his jeans and pushed Brian backwards and away with the full weight of his smaller frame.
"Is that for me, Mikey?" He said it like someone would who had just been handed a bouquet of flowers, but Michael knew exactly what he was insinuating.
"WHAT?!"
Brian ignored Michael's screeched query, and brushed his fingertips against Michael's moist cheek. It was hot, but it was also cold. Just the mere sensation sent titillating chills down Brian's spine.
"The blush."
Oh.
"Have I ever told you how much I love it? Makes me all tingly and fuzzy wuzzy inside," Brian said, in a goofy voice, taking a quick step towards Michael and digging his fingers into his sides mercilessly. Michael put his arms up protectively, but Brian had him effectively pinned.
"Brian...stop...tic-...-kles...reeeeaaaaal bad...please! Stop...BRIAN!" Michael was reduced to helpless fits of laughter, tears mingling with the water drops that still clung to his flushed skin. He squirmed and wiggled, but Brian held on tightly to his compact form. Brian was laughing just as vigorously as Michael, enjoying every second of his favorite pastime, a boyish smile on his face.
"Want me to stop? It'll cost ya."
Michael was glad they were alone - for the moment - in the dim, humid bathroom. He could only imagine what his breathless begging sounded like.
"Fine...anything....just..." Brian stopped at his words, and Michael panted, trying to calm his erratic breathing.
Brian looked at him, and Michael suddenly forgot about what had just happened. He forgot everything. Forgot that he was getting married two days from now. Forgot Ben. There was only Brian - his eyes sparkling with mirth, lips parted in a contented smile of breathless, shared laughter, and his warm forehead connecting with Michael's damp one. They were breathing each other's panted breaths...eyes closed....Brian's hands splayed along Michael's sides...
"Woah! - dudes, I'm like, totally sorry." The bleach blonde held up his hands in apology and backed out of the bathroom, exaggerating a wink. "I'll like, come back later." He winked at them, smacking his gum louder than necessary.
"Christ. That's just fucking lovely. Since when does anyone in Babylon have any modesty for fuck's sake?!" Michael gave Brian a light push, but Brian didn't budge. He snickered.
Regulars in Babylon knew about the two of them. That they flirted and touched and kissed - but never fucked. Never went to the backroom together. Bets and wagers had often been made - in secret of course, in fear of risking the wrath of a certain Brian Kinney - on when and if the two would ever get together. Some had their doubts, some didn't care, but most held their breath as if they were watching the progression of a dramatic TV show. After all, the pair had been coming to Bablyon together for nearly 15 years, the blatant affection they frequently showed to each other never diminishing.
"I don't see anything remotely funny about it, asshole. Now I'm going to go back out there and - "
"Hey!" Brian grabbed Michael's hand before he was out of reach. "Your payment...?" He pulled out a joint from seemingly no where and wagged it in front of his face. Their hands remained locked, stretched between them. Brian wanted to pull Michael to his body so badly it hurt. But he couldn't force this. He had to play it just right. Hit the right chords. Lure the enchanting creature to him. Seduce him slowly, and thoroughly.
Like that would be a problem.
"Brian - "....I can't be near you. I'm scared of what I might do. What you might do. Michael was bewildered - a dear caught in headlights. He didn't understand this, Brian's shifting moods and cryptic comments. Didn't understand why one second, Brian was suggestively coaxing him like a trick, and the next, tickling him like the best friends of twenty years that they were.
"Come on Mikey. Don't be such a stick in the shit. Just one? ....old times sake? I won't see you for three whole weeks, Mikey."
Or maybe, I'll be seeing alot of you, in my bed. Brian knew if he said that, Michael would probably pass out cold. So, like he'd said to himself seconds ago - slow and easy, Kinney. He had a hard enough time believing he was actually going to do this, after twenty years of repression.
"You haven't seen me for three whole weeks and I'm still here, Brian. Why is that? What's wrong?" Michael's quiet, concerned voice caused Brian to unconsciously wince. This wasn't what he'd aimed for. He didn't want words, explanations. That could come later - literally.
Brian yanked Michael to him, covering his lips with his index finger. "Shhh. Please, Michael, not now."
Michael bit at his lower lip, setting his jaw firmly in place, tell-tale signs that he was irritated as hell - angry, maybe - but was gradually giving in, like he always did when Brian was involved. All he had to do was look into that beautiful, well-known face - and everything he thought he'd gotten over in the last year concerning his best friend was completely irrecoverable.
"Why 'not now', Brian?"
"Because none of it matters right now. And don't you dare pull Ben's 'living in the now' shit," Brian said lightly. He knew Michael realized he didn't believe in any of that stuff, and Brian sometimes wondered if Michael even did.
"Okay, I won't. But that still doesn't - "
"Do you remember that time, our freshman year in highschool, when we took that boring fieldtrip to that lame ass museum?"
Michael instinctively leaned his forehead into Brian's, eyes filling with laughter as he remembered the hilarity and closeness they had shared that day, causing him to momentarily forget he was supposed to be angry at Brian, questioning him for his odd behavior.
He couldn't resist a sentimental Brian. Well...as sentimental as Brian Kinney could be, which wasn't much, but it was the only word he could think of at the moment. He knew Brian treasured their teenage years together - it was the only fond memory he had of those years, thanks to none other than Jack Ass Kinney.
"How could I forget it? Except it was not boring or lame, not after the things you did. You were ruthless."
"And you were loving every second of it."
I always love every second I'm with you, even the ones in which you act like a callous, uncaring asshole, Michael thought.
"You're a bad influence," Michael said fondly, and not for the first time.
"It's a burdening job, but it pays well."
Michael snorted, smiling. "In what? Hangovers?"
"Nope. Mikey blushes. You stayed red as a fire hydrant that whole day."
"Jesus, since when did you get so schmaltzy?"
"Since you. You're a bad influence yourself, you know."
"Thanks. I'm flattered."
"You're so pathetic."
"Well I'm not the one getting all maudlin. For a change."
"I'm never maudlin - not like you get," Brian said resolutely, enunciating each word stolidly.
Michael thought it wise not to voice his varying opinion of that particular matter. But just what had caused Brian to bring up that specific day? Hell, Michael was flabbergasted that Brian even cared to remember its significance. Very maudlin indeed, Michael mused, as his thoughts flickered over that fall day when they were fifteen, unattached, and each other's entire worlds.
FLASHBACK
Carnegie Museum of Natural History. The last place on the whole fucking planet Brian Kinney wanted to be. It was only alleviated by the fact that he would be sharing this hellish experience with the one person he always wanted to be with, Michael Novotny.
"Settle down, please. CLASS! I said settle down! We must remember that we are in a public place, and we must use our quiet voices at all times."
"'Quiet' voices?" Brian looked at their teacher with disgust. Short, round, and blessed - or rather, cursed - with a sickening sweet, high pitched voice and dithering gestures, she would have been far better off teaching a class of first graders than a horde of rowdy teens.
At the back of the pack, Brian leaned in toward his best friend.
"Betcha five bucks she's a dyke."
"Brian, ssssh! She might hear!"
"...and? I'm supposed to be scared?"
"You're supposed to be respectful. She is our teacher. And you did get me in detention last week, so don't think I'm gonna - "
"I did? You're a fine one to talk...you're the one that drew the picture, Mikey," Brian said, chuckling as the hilarious image surfaced in his mind.
"Okay, I did, but you're the one who couldn't control yourself."
"Michael Novotny! Unless I am mistaken, the words 'use your quiet voices' just came out of my mouth!" The squat figure peered over the rims of her huge glasses, thin lips pursed in disapproval.
Christ! He'd been whispering. "Sorry, Mrs. Kagley." Michael's voice was practiced; polite yet unconcerned. Ever since the little incident of a week prior, the rotund woman had jumped him for even the slightest of blunders. Not that he blamed her. The picture had been pretty unforgiving. The thing that baffled him was that he still couldn't believe he had done such a thing, being the recipient of so many ridicules himself and all. Brian brought out this bold, audacious side of him that he didn't know existed. It felt good in a way. Irksome in another.
"Now, students - the tour starts in exactly 8 minutes. I want everyone going to the rest room, getting a drink, or doing anything they need to do before we start the tour. There will be no leaving the group during the tour, and there will be a quiz at the end, so pay close attention. Understood?"
"Yes, Mrs. Kagley," the group chorused, looking pitifully unenthusiatic.
"C'mon, Mikey." Brian nudged his friend with his shoulder.
"I don't have to pee."
"Neither do I, but let's just go someplace."
"We only have eight minutes, Brian, we need to - "
"I can think of tons of things to do in eight minutes, like -"
"Allright, I get your point and I already know what your going to say, so spare me."
Brian grinned, and herded his friend towards the back of the huge introductory hall, the cathedral ceiling spilling glaring sunlight over the white, sterile walls. The place was huge - smelled weird, too - with hundreds of places to get lost in. Brian grinned mischievously.
They found a secluded corner, not far from the main entry room, with soda and various snack vending machines. Brian spared a glance around the corner, confirming that their fellow students and teacher were otherwise occupied.
He turned on his heel, facing Michael, who had been watching him. He eyed the snack machines, digging a hand in the pocket of his tight, faded Levi's.
"Want a snack?"
"Can't have food in the museum halls."
"Right. Well, you want something for later, on the bus?"
"Sure. Uhh..." Michael surveyed the contents of the machine.
"How 'bout some M&M's?"
"I don't like chocolate."
"That's just cause your Ma says your allergic to it, and I say, bullshit. It's called zits."
"Thanks, Dr. Kinney. What about Doritos?"
"Yeah. Then I can watch you lick your fingers," Brian said, smirking as he pushed the coins through the slot.
"Very funny."
Brian glanced over his shoulder at Michael's nervous laugh, to find his friend's face a highly attractive shade of pink. He didn't know whether to tease Michael, hug him, or shove him up against the wall and give him a quick kiss.
So how about all three? Well, no need to scare the shit out of him. Michael was shy by nature, Brian had learned a little over a year ago when they'd met, and he was still self-conscious when it came to his sexual orientation. Brian tried to boost Michael's confidence every chance he got, gently and gradually appeasing his reticence about his gay status. It was the least Brian could do after the endless nights of comfort Michael's arms had given him - continued to give him - those nights when he would stumble to Michael's bedroom, bruised and forsaken by his own flesh and blood - though he never saw them as such. Michael's family was his family, the only place he felt truly safe, and only if Michael were there. Home was where Michael was, he'd decided that first night Michael had tended his busted lip, cradled him in his arms and resolutely convinced Brian with impassioned words that Jack Kinney was a hateful, revolting old bastard who deserved absolutely nothing.
Brian had never heard Michael talk about anyone like that before that night; with such conviction and choked anger in his voice. No one had ever talked to Brian like that, with love and concern in their every word, every gesture. He had wondered what he'd done to deserve it, except come to Michael emotionally emaciated and weak. He had always been indifferent, existing as if nothing could touch him or tear down his carefully constructed mental and emotional walls. He'd been so sure that Michael would recoil from him, daunted and unsure of how to deal with someone who'd always appeared so invincible, so untouchable.
Yet he hadn't. And Brian had felt terrible for thinking that he would, but it was like second nature to him, for everyone else had - until Michael Novotny.
The object of his thoughts became uncomfortable under Brian's knowing gaze, and brushed past him to grab the Doritos from the bottom of the machine.
He laughed nervously as he did so, angling his head slightly at Brian's stare. "What?"
Brian stopped him from bending to retrieve the chips, and lightly pushed his shoulder, trapping him between the machine and his body. Several inches were between them, but Brian braced both hands on either side of Michael's head, staring him intently in the eyes.
"Why do you do that?" Brian's voice was innocently inquisitive.
"What?" Michael said breathlessly, brown, expressive eyes large with unease. He knew Brian was talking about his tendency to blush at the most trivial of remarks. Was Brian going to make fun him too? Surely not, but Brian made fun of everyone - could be downright cruel - and Michael hadn't the slightest clue why he should be any different or Brian's exception, although he desperately wanted to be.
"This," Brian said matter-of-factly, brushing the back of his knuckles across one of Michael's reddened cheeks.
Michael only got redder, the flush traveling down his neck. Looking down, he diverted his eyes from Brian's, at a complete loss as to what to say.
Brian ducked his head to catch Michael's eyes, bring them back to his. "Don't ever change, Mikey, don't ever try to be anybody other than who you are. 'Cause your better than anyone I know."
Michael looked at Brian with complete wonderment, his mouth hanging open slightly. He'd never heard anything...so...so spontaneously honest and heartfelt come out of Brian's beautiful mouth, and it sent a thrill down Michael's spine. Brian liked him for who he was. Michael stared into the consuming hazel eyes, as he briefly wondered just when he had turned into Mr. Rogers. But he didn't care...Brian Kinney had just said something that he had desperately needed to hear, and his heart proceeded to soar off with his brain.
Brian decided to do something about Michael's gaping mouth, so he leaned in and captured Michael's mouth in his, releasing the plump lower lip slowly as he broke the kiss. He savored the unique taste of Michael mixed with the Nehi Peach they'd shared on the bus. It was short, but it spoke volumes for both boys. It was Brian's way of telling Michael that he would never berate him for being who he was, no matter how geeky or unassertive Michael might think himself.
The moment was broken when a sharp voice fractured the silence.
"Boys."
Michael jumped three foot, but had a 300 pound snack machine blocking any route of escape he might have from his proximity to Brian's body.
The voice was cold, calculating - brimming with disgust. The physical attributes of the man did his voice complete justice - tall, 50-ish, and with the figure of a flag pole; he was the embodiment of a highly sophisticated, cultivated straight man; if the look of repulsion he was so generously sending in Brian and Michael's direction was any indication.
Brian gave him a once-over, deciding he had definitely fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Not that he was even considering fucking some old geezer like this - the thought made him inwardly cringe - but it was habitual for him to gather first impressions by physical appearance. He knew it was shallow, but he didn't really give a damn. Like this guy had any integrity.
"Just what do you two young men think you're doing?" The gaunt figure looked down the brim of his hooked nose, one hand holding a styrofoam cup and the other clasped attentively behind his back.
Brian smiled - that cunning 'go to hell, asshole' smile, and casually draped an arm over his best friend - currently rigid with sheer terror - and looked directly and defiantly into slitted grey eyes.
"I would say it's pretty obvious that we're just standing here, minding our own fucking business, and getting discriminated for it. Sir."
Michael wanted to crawl through the slot in the snack machine.
Bean Pole's expression of obvious distaste grew ten-fold at Brian's answer. He stepped forward menacingly, never breaking the staring contest, thinking he could easily intimidate the young teen.
"This is a museum. People come here to view historical displays in a peaceful atmosphere, not to view blatant displays of homosexuality. I expect you boys to behave from here on."
Brian opened his mouth, ready to spit out a retort, but snapped it shut when he felt an elbow jab painfully into his ribs. Bean Pole walked past them, a laughable military rhythm to his steps, before Brian could voice his comeback.
Peering around the corner, they watched him march towards the main desk, set down his cup of coffee and chat briefly with the blonde receptionist before moving on to discreetly converse with Mrs. Kagley.
"Shit. Do you think he's telling her?" Michael asked, his voice quivering slightly.
"Not likely, but so what if he does. Relax, Mikey." Brian squeezed Michael's shoulder briefly, then moved to survey just what was in the rest of the vending machines along the wall. He'd noticed earlier that he'd never seen some of the styles before, figuring they must be of a new design. Sure enough, further inspection revealed a sticker on one of the machines, stating it was a new design on trial in select establishments. Smart advertising move, he mused. Try it out on a small scale and see if it ranks before you lose everything if and when it flops. It was rather ingenious, actually. Instead of selling potato chips or soft drinks, it offered items that traveling families often found themselves without and desperately in need of : aspirin, Band-Aids, batteries...laxatives?! That one caused Brian to chuckle. Joan could definitely put this kind of machine to good use.
His chuckle turned impish as an idea struck him. Exactly what he'd been looking for.
"Brian? What are you up to?" Michael knew that chuckle well.
"Got a quarter, Mikey?"
"Sure." He flipped Brian a quarter.
"Brian....what are you doing?"
Brian retrieved a little box of Ex-Lax, held it up for Michael to see and rattled it.
"Revenge." Brian's smile was ruthless, and Michael knew there would be no stopping him.
"What?! Brian, no, you're out of your mind. What if you get caught...?"
"You don't get caught if you have a plan of action. Besides, it's just what the old bastard needs."
Brian opened the box, peeling 4 tablets out of the packaging. He stuffed them into his palm and handed Michael the box.
"Here."
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
"I dunno...hide it, use it, throw it away...just get rid of it." Brian fiddled with his hair as he spoke, using the minimal reflection of the vending machine. Satisfied, he started to walk - more like strut - towards the receptionist desk, but Michael's hand on his wrist stopped him momentarily.
"No, Brian...you could get in big trouble."
"What's so new about that? I'm always in big trouble. C'mon Mikey, live a little."
With that, he swaggered off, thumbs in the backs of his jeans. Michael was mortified. This was not his idea of living, it was his idea of dying - a slow, painful death at the hands of Mrs. Kagely, his Ma, and that cadaverous old man. He hoped Brian knew what he was doing. But Brian seemed to always get the results he wanted, so Michael had tremendous faith in his friend, but this was going just a little too far.
Not yet ready to come out of his hiding spot, he watched inconspicuously from the corner as Brian approached the front desk. He couldn't help but admire (okay, drool) over Brian's perfect, Levi encased rear as he seductively walked away.
"Good morning, ma'am." Brian made sure his voice was enticingly polite, his smile his most stunning. Not much effort was needed, however; he knew he was gorgeous no matter what he was doing.
The young, blonde receptionist looked up from her work, did a double take, and looked back up, her smile matching Brian's as she took in his appearance.
"Oh, good morning sir." Holy Moses, but he was beautiful. Intense hazel eyes, loose, wavy honey hair that was perfect for running fingers through; and a full, pink mouth. She gulped, realizing this was probably a mere 16, 15-year-old. "Can I help you?" But so what if she flirted a little.
Brian leaned over the desk, palms closed, both arms braced on either side - one right beside a cup of steaming coffee. Good, nice and hot - it would dissolve faster.
He saw the blonde, overly made-up woman visibly gulp. This was too easy.
He glanced at her name tag, his smile never faltering.
"As a matter of fact, you can, Jennifer. See, I have a really large family, about 30 or so, and I was wondering what the group tour rates are - similar to the tour I'm about to go on. I'd love to bring my family here."
She realized she'd been staring a bit too deeply at his eyes. "Oh, um, yes...it's uh...um...let me look." Darn! She knew tour rates by memory, or so she thought - but this kid had totally spoiled her professional concentration. She looked down at her notes and calendar, finally finding the chart that listed the rates. She had to stare at it longer than she usually did, collecting her thoughts. She'd swear on her Aunt Linnie's grave that this kid emitted sexual pheromones like fire emitted smoke.
"10% group discount on 20 or more people!," she sputtered, as if proud she'd finally found it. "Children ten and under are free, adults are $3.50...." she continued to go on, staring at the paper, but a voice, smooth as warm honey, interrupted her.
"That's just what I needed to know, thank you Jennifer." With that, the lithe young man walked off towards the rest of his group. She could only stare after, more than a little dumbfounded.
Michael watched Brian charm the pants off the unsuspecting Revlon poster girl. If she only knew. It was obvious she fell for it the second her eyes met Brian's, and Michael sighed; he knew exactly how she felt. Well, almost - he was gay, after all.
He'd gone to join the rest of his classmates (who for the most part usually ignored Brian and Michael, knowing that they would unintentionally be excluded from the inseparable pair) when Brian had walked off, but stood just outside the group and pretended to read the directory. From there, he had a perfect view of Brian's little charade.
The blonde mumbled something, then looked down, shuffling through her papers. Brian deftly lifted a hand, dropping all four tablets from his palm and into the steaming cup. You could hardly even tell that he had moved his hand.
Michael released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and suddenly Brian was at his side, a pleased smile upon his lips.
"See? Nothing to it."
Michael glared at him.
"What?"
"Your insufferable sometimes, you know that? Oh my God, look." Michael pointed with his head towards the front desk, looking as if he didn't know whether to laugh, groan, or hide.
Bean Pole had finished his overtly friendly chat with Mrs. Kagely, and was sauntering his way over to retrieve his cup of steaming coffee. He took several long sips before tossing the styrofoam into the nearby trashcan.
"Oh, shit. He drank it! He actually drank it!" Michael couldn't believe that Brian had actually pulled it off, and so smoothly - just like the brave, valiant superheroes in his beloved comic books.
"'Oh shit' indeed. That'll teach the old homophobe." Brian and Michael smiled at each other, barely able to contain their laughter.
"....and here we have the fossils of an Allosaurus, one of the largest carnosaurs of North America. Like all theropods, Allosaurus walked on two legs with its heavy tail stretched out behind for balance. An average Allosaurus weighed about 4 tons, or 3.6 metric tons, and measured 35 feet, or 10.5 meters, from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail. The largest known was 45 feet, or 13.5 meters, long. When Allosaurus stood upright, it was 16.5 feet, or 5 meters tall, and ...."
Brian inched his lips to brush Michael's ear, whispering inside. "When do we get to see the Fuckasaurus? And the Tricera-TOPS?"
Michael silenced his friend by pinching him lightly on the arm. He had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing himself, though Brian's murmured pun had made him blush - again. He wondered briefly just who he had inherited this accursed tendency from. Certainly wasn't his mother.
They had discovered two things about Bean Pole - who turned in actuality to be called a Mr. Thompson - was a: a nasty homophobe, and b: an extremely long-winded homophobe. His monotone droning was more than Brian - hell, the whole class and even the ever-attentive Mrs. Kagely - could bear. If they hadn't been standing and moving from exhibit to exhibit, the whole class would have long been asleep. It was bored faces all around - but Mr. Thompson was oblivious, caught up in his own world of ceaseless Jurassic facts. His supercilious air only added insult to injury.
Only one thing, however, kept Brian and Michael from being too bored.
Michael had begun to wonder if the expiration date was bad, and it had all been a risk for nothing. Brian, however, had calculated the time in his head. Anytime now.
No one got away with talking to him - more importantly, Michael - like that.
Brian yawned, loud and exaggerated. Being in the very back, no one seemed to notice. The toneless buzz seemed to have a hypnotizing effect.
He desperately wanted to lean on Michael, or for Michael to lean on him. But they both withheld from arrant physical contact whenever around classmates - not to mention teachers. It was just easier that way, but it nibbled away at Brian's proud soul. He wanted the world (with the exception of Joan and Jack) to know that he was gay and proud of it. He only wished Michael felt the same, but he could hardly blame him - people were cruel. And nothing tore at his heart and awakened his fury more than someone hurting Michael.
"....possessing a...talon.....ranging from...excuse me..."
Brian glanced at Michael with a knowing smirk, who was still red, but this time from constrained laughter.
Ashen and doubled over, Mr. Thompson dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead. His face contorted in pain, but he struggled to maintain his dignity and worldy-wise appearance.
".....now then, the talon is ellipsodial....when..." Dawning realization caused his slitted eyes to bug, and his body to freeze.
The teens, awakened from their daze by the vocal fumbling, eyed him with interest as he held his stomach.
Before anyone could voice concern, the wispy form was running down the hall at breakneck speed, ducking into a hallway that was blazened with the word 'restrooms' in red neon.
Giggles erupted, accompanied by relentless quips. Mrs. Kagley, confused, struggled to keep the group under control.
"Class! Enough. We shall move on without Mr. Thompson's guidance for the time being."
Livened, the teens followed in her wake, still jeering amongst themselves, delighted by the turn of events - so much so that no one noticed Brian and Michael's sudden disappearance.
The two boys crouched behind the neighboring Velociraptor display, falling against each other's shoulders in attempt to muffle their giggles. Michael let a rather loud snort escape, and Brian raised his hand to cover Michael's mouth. He motioned 'this way' with his thumb, and they sprung to their feet, creeping down the hallway.
Michael saw that Brian was headed towards the bathrooms and shook his in 'un uh, no way I'm going in there' and backed away, still giggling. Brian grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers, and pulled him along. This place was so fucking quiet, he just knew someone was going to hear them.
They reached the rest rooms, and once again, Michael shook his head. Brian motioned towards the woman's restroom, and Michael's eyes almost popped out.
But Brian had drug him inside and locked the door before he could say anything, and besides, he was cracking up too much to care.
Once inside, they laughed themselves silly. Just the image of the other so lost in mirth was enough to send them into yet another set of helpless guffaws.
"Did you see his expression? His eyebrows could've walked off with his face!" Michael followed his words with an impersonation that sent them into hysterics all over again.
The giggles finally subsided, and Michael realized that his right hand was clammy and still intertwined with Brian's. It felt good. Too good. Brian suddenly reached out and cupped his hand at the back of Michael's neck, bringing their foreheads together, playing with the soft hair of Michael's neck.
Michael felt his stomach flutter. "Brian...we'd better get out of here...someone might think..."
"That I'm in here fucking you?"
Michael turned crimson for at least the fifth time that day, but he didn't lower his eyes. He was slowly growing accustomed to Brian's brazen manner of teasing, but he was always caught off guard.
"I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're with me, Michael." Brian kissed Michael for the third time that day, a chaste brush of lips that he fervently hoped said other things that he could not say - yet. Maybe someday.
Michael smiled, savoring the softness of Brian's lips - but cherishing more Brian's hidden words, safeguarding them in his heart. Could you love somebody so much it hurt?
"Me too, Brian...but...can we get the fuck out of this woman's rest room? Please?"
END FLASHBACK
Only seconds had passed, but both had reflected back on that day.
Michael felt a sharp pang of regret mingled with sadness at the realization that he and Ben could never have something like this, what he and Brian had - half a childhood and their entire adulthood of memories and shared experiences that bound their very souls - their very being - together.
They had given each other so much, without asking or expecting...it just was. They had endured so many things that had tested and strained their friendship but never tore them apart, never altered their feelings or mutual respect for one another. When they had nothing else to cling to, they clung to each other and the boundless reserve of unconditional love. They sought each other no matter who the other might have in their life - because that temporary person could never be enough, could never take the foremost place in each of their hearts, minds, and souls. The spot that had been permanently filled since the day their eyes met.
Christ...had he just thought of Ben as temporary?
Michael knew if he was ever asked to define his relationship with Brian, he couldn't. No one could ever possibly understand, unless they had been in a similar relationship themselves. How did you explain what he had with Brian? We love each other, kiss each other, we share a bed on occasion, we complete each other, we're best friends of 20 years, we know one another better than we know ourselves...but we've never been lovers.
And more than likely never will be - the mere thought causing Michael's heart to ache. He'd given up on Brian ever committing to him a year ago...but there was still a fleeting part of him that hoped, that dreamed - but it had been effectively stifled; after it all, it had been 20 long years of hoping and dreaming.
Of looking but not touching. Of constantly stepping back over the line before both feet reached the other side.
The one thing they both wanted more than anything was the only thing that held the potential to destroy their friendship. But that was only the fear nagging away at what they knew was true - which was that nothing could destroy them.
How ironic was the fact that they had shared just about everything two people could possibly share, except for the intimacy of their bodies? It just didn't seem right. That should be the easiest part - they had all the difficult issues, the ones most couples separated over, in the bag. They could spend every second of every day together and never tire of the other's company. The could tell each other anything and everything, even their deepest secrets. Nothing could substitute the comfort and support they found in presence of each other; they knew exactly what the other needed without exchanging a single word.
So why was it so damn hard?
Very wrong way to word that, he thought - Brian was giving him a look. That look. The one he'd seen him toss invitingly to hot tricks and sexy waiters. A hazy 'come-hither' stare that Michael could feel boring into every fiber of his being.
"I'm glad your here, Mikey. With me. Like it should be." Brian's voice was soft and husky. His hot breath played across the surface of Michael's lips, prompting him to unconsciously lick them, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth with his tongue in a gesture of shaken nerves.
Michael heard himself moan as Brian's hands glided down his sides to map the contours of his body, ending their journey to smooth over his ass. He felt himself shiver, eliciting a smile from Brian.
Brian never severed his connection with Michael as he pulled him along by the hand, making for the last stall in the long row of them. Michael simply floated along behind, willing to follow Brian anywhere without question. Brian fitted himself and Michael in the small cubicle with one fluid motion, shutting the door none to gently. Michael flinched, the bang rudely jarring his brain from the muddled fog in which it was ensnared. Did Brian have to be so goddamn loud about everything?
Then, Brian did it again. Gave Michael that look. Michael heard the rushing of blood in his ears, like a dull buzz, its frantic pace matching the faint thump of Babylon's bass filled music. It was too faint to hear what song was playing, to see if it held any significance to the current situation.
Michael had heard, through the enormous, unashamed grapevine that was Liberty Avenue, certain tales concerning the sexual exploits of the legendary Brian Kinney. One that had stuck with him - one that he felt he just might be able to verify here soon - was that Brian's normally hazel eyes turned emerald green right before he fucked. A tiny part of him - very small compared to the other part - hoped the rumor was bullshit, as was most of the gossip one heard through the various, unreliable sources - because right now, Brian's eyes were a hypnotizing shade of emerald green.
Oh, holy shit. Michael felt himself pinned to the wall. Brian stooped, slowly and sinuously - much like he did when they danced - to make himself the exact height as Michael, aligning their equally aroused, heated lower bodies. Both gasped with pleasure-laden exhilaration, heads falling against each other in murmured cries.
Michael's thoughts were in a violent uproar, his body refusing to respond to his brain, and vice versa. All he knew was the delicious heat of Brian's possessive hands and warm, questing lips.
He leaned his head back on the cool metal of the stall, and heard himself gasp sharply as Brian's hands skimmed up his torso, moving to trace his neck and then his face. Brian used both of his flattened palms to push the cool droplets of water from the pale forehead and into the softness of Michael's hair, using the moisture to spike the raven locks with the persuasion of his gentle fingers, stopping only to admire his work. His Mikey.
Neck arched, pink, full lips parted in ecstasy and skin glowing with flushed, pure sexual energy...Brian had never wanted any one person more in his life. Michael was submitting to him, allowing this to happen.
His fears had been unfounded.
Michael may not be in love with him anymore - but that, Brian was sure, would soon happen - but he still wanted Brian. Had always wanted him.
Never in his his 16 years of sexual activity had Michael's body been so sensitized, so stimulated. He'd wanted this for so, so long...but his clouded mind couldn't understand exactly why it was happening now...
Brian cradled Michael's face, holding it like a precious jewl beneath his hands. He dived his head to lap the beads of moisture from Michael's neck, licking long, slow swipes with his tongue, grazing with his teeth ever so softly.
"Brian..."
"Mikey..."
What were they doing? What was this going to do to them? Other than be the most fantastic orgasm either had ever experienced, but...what had brought them here?
"Wait..."
Brian responded by covering Michael's full lips with his own, hands moving ever so slowly down Michael's trembling body...
Overcome by the feel of Brian's familiar lips, Michael's hands tangled themselves in Brian's thick hair, massaging his scalp. His kissed Brian with such intensity that he was propelled to the opposite side of the stall, mirroring the position Michael had been in only seconds before. He lifted his left leg to wrap around Brian's thigh, the contact eliciting muffled moans and unintelligible cries from their joined mouths. Brian rocked ever so slightly against him, and Michael responded in turn, evoking a soft, feral growl from deep within Brian's throat.
It was the most passionate, desperate kiss either had shared - either with one another or with another man. It made all their most memorable kisses look like mere pecks on the cheek.
Their eyes alternated between blissfully closed and fluttering open, drinking in the sight of the other so wantonly aroused. Lashes quivered against pale and tan skin, revealing irises consumed with lust; gazes that devoured with lust.
The frenzied dance continued, the pace building, but persisting with a perfect balance of clashing, tasting tongues; their desperate whimpers and hard bodies melting deliciously as one.
He felt Brian's hands grip the front of his black jeans, a single finger running slowly down the raspy teeth of the zipper...
Reality came crashing down on him like a thousand pound brick. He pulled his lips from Brian's, shocked to find that he had been fully dominating the latter part of the kiss, had been smashing Brian into the wall with surprising force. He looked into Brian's vivid green eyes, hearing nothing but harsh breathing, seeing nothing but the beautiful face - a face he had cherished, loved, and longed for since he was forteen. A face that had rejected him in the past, but continued to taunt him throughout the years.
Everything suddenly, horridly clicked into place.
Michael jumped back suddenly, as if mere contact with Brian would burn him. He backed dazedly into the farthest corner, as far away from Brian as he could possibly get. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, in vain attempt to mask the visible trembling. An equally trembling hand was slowly raised to run through his spiked hair. His youthful features were utterly lost, confused; his shaky voice overwrought with terror-stricken disbelief.
"Brian...what were we doing...I almost..."
Brian was still leaning against the wall for support, breathless and painfully hard. He stalked toward Michael, his eyes silently pleading.
"Michael..."
Michael stuck out a hand, his eyes never leaving Brian's, though against his better judgment - because he was afraid of what he knew he would find in them - or what he wouldn't. "Stop, Brian. Tell me what we were doing. Why."
"Well, Mikey, its called foreplay, and it usually leads to - "
"No shit, Sherlock. I'm being fucking serious here, asshole!!! And if you can't respect that, then we -""
"Taking a risk, Michael. We're taking a risk. One that we -"
"''Taking a fucking risk?! Is that what this is to you? A way to make yourself feel better? Like that time when your dad died?"
The anger in Michael's voice startled Brian; cut through his very being, hurt him more than anything ever physically could. He could take anything but Michael's pained anger; anger directed at him, pain caused by him.
But at the same time, it strangely aroused him. Michael was beautiful when he was angry. Michael was always beautiful, had always been - and Brian wanted nothing more right now than to join his body - along with his frantically beating heart - with Michael's.
He realized too late that he'd said entirely the wrong thing, in the wrong way, and most definitely at the wrong time. He didn't think like Michael, talk like Michael, when it came to expressing the carefully guarded feelings of his heart. He hadn't meant taking the of risk getting caught fucking his best friend in the bathroom on impulse when they both (or in his case, supposedly) had boyfriends.
Bringing up that day in the loft had hurt, too. Michael had stopped him that time - uncannily resemblant to the present situation - because Brian had said entirely the wrong fucking thing.
Isn't this what you always wanted, Michael? Fuck, he been so pissed at himself for saying something like that, for letting the silence continue, for allowing any time for Michael's eyes to fill with pain and disappointment. He could've said something, done something, to take back what he'd said, to show what he really felt. But he hadn't. He'd let the words sink, the meaning come across as if he were about to do Michael a favor, get something over with that been in the way for too long. And Michael's response still haunted him to this very day. What? A drunken fuck so you don't have to think about your dad? I never wanted that.
"What are you talking about?" Brian suddenly felt physically ill. How in the hell had they ended up like this? Arguing like two lesbians on the rag? How did he always manage to fuck things up that were most important to him?
"You know goddamn well what I'm talking about." Michael's voice broke, on the brink of tears. Tears of confusion, tears of an uncertain heart that was desperately trying comprehend what was going on.
Brian suddenly had the forgotten, magically appearing joint in his hand again, struggling to light it - his fingers were shaking. He almost had it when it was suddenly snatched from between his trembling digits and promptly chucked into the toilet. Michael lifted his foot, nudging the flush handle with his foot. Brian watched his consolation swirl down the porcelain bowl.
"Hey! That was my last one!"
Michael's arms we're crossed, his expression grim. Brian had never seen him like this - so furious and visibly confused - but it was also visible that he was trying desperately to hide it, to put forth the idea that he had his emotions under control.
But Brian knew better.
"Good. Are you high right now? Drunk?"
"No, of course not. And who are you, my goddamn nanny?"
"I'm your goddamn best friend! And you owe me a fucking explanation!"
"I have no explanation for fucking - that hasn't been given already, anyways."
Next thing Brian knew, he was shoved against the wall, Michael's body flush with his, finger poking into Brian's chest. Michael's amber eyes were black from lust and anger. Brian could not get over the fact that he'd never seen this side of Michael, not in twenty years of knowing him. For the first time, he didn't know what to say. What to do. He didn't even know exactly what he'd done, but he had a small idea -
"SHUT the FUCK up, Kinney! Do think this is funny? Do you just get a great big 'ol laugh outta making a joke of people's feelings? People you supposedly care about, always have, always will? Ring a little fucking bell?"
Brian's mouth opened, then snapped shut. The falling sensation in the pit of his stomach grew.
"Why, Brian? I am sick and tired of being your little consolation prize. I'm really sorry that you lost your job, that you and Justin aren't fucking as much as you'd like. Doesn't mean you can just come here, after pushing me away for a solid three weeks, and decide to do me."
Oh, fuck. Fuck no. He hadn't meant those words like that, this like that, not at all. How did he fix it?....what did he have to do to make the words come easily to him? The way they always did for Michael? But, this was different...he was trying to tell him something he'd been hiding for 20 years, in a different way than simply saying 'you're pathetic', or 'always have, always will.'
No to mention his past record was rather shitty. He'd pushed Michael away more times than he cared to remember. Faced with saying the words, he felt as though his tongue had been cleaved right from his mouth.
Brian took a deep breath. "Mikey, this has nothing to do with Justin, or work... or anything like that...."
"Bullshit."
"Mikey..."
"Bullshit, Brian! Bullshit! If it's not about that, then what is it about?"
Brian was too stunned to answer. He wasn't ready to answer. This wasn't how he'd planned for things to be. No.
"Were you just going to make our first time here in a greasy bathroom stall? Fuck me where its convenient for you? Take one of your thrilling risks by fucking me with my boyfriend 100 feet away? You know, the guy I'm marrying in three days?!"
Brian looked away. A single tear had traced down Michael's ivory skin, his dark eyes liquid with hurt. And it pained Brian to know he had caused it. By being a stupid, selfish prick.
He wasn't ready to tell Michael how he really felt - he had wanted to show him, make him feel what Brian had been feeling for three weeks - no, 20 fucking years. And now, he didn't know if Michael would even care.
Damn! Was he missing something? Hadn't Michael felt it too? Because Brian had never felt like he had a sheer minute ago, when Michael had kissed him, touched him like a lover would. He had never wanted it to end - because he had felt free, free to combine sex and emotion and - yes, even love - into one earth shattering experience with the person that meant more to him than anything. Because he knew Michael would never judge him for it, that Michael would appreciate it, treasure it like no one else would. He would know exactly what Brian was experiencing, and they would share it together. It wouldn't be a wasted effort for Brian to collapse his emotional shields - nothing he did for Michael would ever be a wasted effort.
Problem was, he'd failed to consider Michael's feelings, to respect his 'ethical standings'. He would never cheat on Ben...not even for Brian. Why hadn't Brian seen that even suggesting that he do so, especially with him, would only hurt Michael?
Debbie's voice was suddenly in his head, jeering at him...you can't do anything quietly, can you? You have to go and push him off a fucking cliff.
Michael was strong - Brian had told him so himself, and meant every word of it. So what had made him think that he wouldn't be strong enough to resist Brian,(God knows he had several times before this) and keep his commitment to Ben?
He'd thought that he was the only one Michael could love. He was supposed to do anything for him. Even this.
He was supposed to not care about the words. To know what Brian was going to say without him even saying it.
"Brian....aren't you going to say anything?"
He looked down, unable to take the hurt in Michael's eyes, but raised them when a wave of anger swept through his body like wildfire. Anger at himself, for not being able to say the words. More importantly - not being able to show him what felt. He'd always excelled at that, but this time, his carnal lust for Michael had gotten in the way, clouded his intentions. He was angry at Michael for letting that fucking professor come between them. He was angry at himself for screwing everything up royally by just taking what he wanted and the hell with everyone else, like Michael had told him in the comic book store that night. Furious for being who he was, and knowing he would direct his anger at the person he loved most. He wasn't called Rage for nothing.
"What do you want me say?" His words were clipped, acidic.
Michael laughed bitterly, his features becoming even more strained at Brian's indifferent response.
"I think I've been standing here telling you, Brian. Justin made a commitment to you, just as I made a commitment to Ben. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
No. You're everything, Michael. Fuck them. Fuck me.
"You don't love him."
Michael started, would have stepped back, but he was already against the wall.
"Who are you to tell me who I love and don't love?!"
"Your best friend," Brian deadpanned, echoing Michael's earlier protest.
"Well you sure as hell haven't been treating me like one. And I do love Ben. You think I'm so shallow that I'd marry him if I didn't? I've never told you that you didn't love Justin, in fact I told you just the opposite. Everyone pushes him onto you, and you let them. You can't stand here and tell me don't care about hurting him."
He wanted to tell Michael that he was wrong, he didn't love Justin, never had been in love with Justin, but he couldn't - because Michael had just decimated everything Brian had been clinging to by telling him he loved Ben. Right in his face, right when he was about to give Michael everything they'd so foolishly denied themselves. But how was it Michael's fault? Brian hadn't said or done anything anything to make Michael see - except barge in after two weeks of silence and murmur a seductive taunt in his ear. Michael wasn't a mindreader.
Fury surfaced uninhibited, fueled by the fact that someone else had what he wanted from Michael. That Michael had given it to him, when it was Brian's. Brian had never told Justin he loved him because those words could only be said to one person - and it wasn't him. It hurt more than Brian could stand that Michael didn't feel the same, coupled with the fact that Brian had went on with his life - wasting precious time - arrogantly thinking that Michael would wait forever.
So, fight fire with fire - play along like he did love Justin. Hurt Michael like he'd so nonchalantly hurt him.
And get the hell out of here, before he did something he'd never forgive himself for.
"Your right. I shouldn't take it out on you. There are plenty of guys who'd love to have me fuck 'em. I just thought you'd want to know what it was like, before you become forever bound to the Professor in holy matrimony, till death do you part."
Nothing could describe how Brian felt at that moment, as he bit out the words, watching a glistening tear roll down Michael's face for every stinging word he'd said. He hated himself for saying them, he hated Michael for making him say them.
For not knowing what he'd been trying to tell him, however crudely or unconventionally he might have went about it. Michael had always known before.
"Fuck you, Kinney. Fuck you, for lying to me everytime you said you cared about me, everytime you kissed me, touched me, was there for me...it meant nothing. To me, or to you. I'm not going to let you manipulate my feelings anymore. Just remember this : I know your fucking secret identity. Now get the fuck out of here." Michael wrapped his arms around himself - he wasn't shaking, but startlingly still. All except for the silent, streaming tears.
Brian hoped to God that Michael felt as numb as he did. He deserved it.
Brian stared at Michael for several seconds, and allowed two of his own tears to escape. He took one last look at Michael, opened the stall door, and stormed out into the chaotic vibration that was Babylon. It was 80's night, and Def Leppard's 'Love Bites' was playing.
So adrift in their own tirade - nobody existing, or important, but themselves at that moment in time - the two quarreling occupants of the bathroom stall had failed to notice the comings and goings of about half a dozen other club-goers. Not that it mattered - men in Babylon had better things to do then listen in on a hissy fit - although the heated words had raised more than a few eyebrows.
Including those of Emmett Honeycutt.
He'd walked into the bathroom, thinking it unoccupied - until he heard the most hurt, devastated voice he'd ever heard. Michael's voice.
He'd stopped dead in his tracks, ears roaring as he strained to hear and comprehend the stinging words. Even though the second word he'd heard Michael utter already named the other of half of the argument, Emmett didn't need to hear it to know. Only one person could upset Michael so badly, could put such a completely pained inflection in his gentle voice.
"...Fuck you, Kinney. Fuck you, for lying to me everytime you said you cared about me, everytime you kissed me, touched me, was there for me...it meant nothing. To me, or to you. I'm not going to let you manipulate my feelings anymore. Just remember this : I know your fucking secret identity. Now get the fuck out of here."
Emmett froze, completely still, as deathly silence - with the exception of the dull thumping of Babylon's speakers - filled the empty bathroom. The air felt hollow and thin. He couldn't begin to imagine what might've happened for Michael to say such a thing, with such tangible devastation in his voice. But then, this was Brian Kinney.
Emmett heard a door begin to open, and became a blur of pink as he dashed into the nearest stall, slipping nimbly behind the door and closing it softly. He proceeded to jump up on the toilet, thinking wryly to himself that his very pink boots might give him away. Pink Panther indeed, he thought dryly; he'd never felt more like one -slithering around craftily in - of all places - Babylon's bathroom.
This was a first, he mused, crouched up on a toilet in all his pink splendor. Him - Emmett Honeycutt - being unostentatious about something.
Through the small crack in the door, he saw a tall figure flash by like a bat of out hell. Undeniably Brian. Where the hell was he going? He was just going to leave Michael so upset? Emmett was beginning to feel acutely disconcerted. Something was not right - this was more than a little dispute between friends.
He heard Michael come out, followed by the sound of running water, overtoned with grunts and groans that could only be somebody going at it in the doorway. He then felt more than heard Michael walk by. He waited for several minutes, his legs beginning to tingle and his tight, pink pants starting to ride up uncomfortably. He made sure the coast was clear before exiting the stall, standing for several more minutes with his back against the door, trying to decide what to do.
Emmett knew Michael wouldn't tell anyone. Not something like this - he had never heard Michael say anything like that to Brian since he'd known him. So, for the time being, he decided to lay low, act as if he knew nothing. But just for now. If Michael wanted to tell someone, he would do it when he felt ready, on his own terms, and to the person of his choice.
Emmett's prided himself a drama queen, but his soft heart genuinely ached for Michael. He could only imagine what Brian might have said or done, but this time, it appeared, he'd gone to far.
Emmett just hoped he could keep his big fat mouth shut about this.
Michael splashed water onto his face for the second time that night, although this time, his face was red from crying. Sometimes it really sucked to have such fair skin.
He'd been able to stem his tears, if only because of the fact that the others would notice his puffy eyes and ask questions. And he really didn't want to be asked questions right now.
He turned off the faucet, and was horrified to look in the mirror and find red marks along the curve of his neck. Marks Brian had made - trails of passion left by voracious teeth and a hot, sensual mouth. Michael could still feel it. Could still feel everything.
So much for avoiding questions.
He touched the teeth marks and small, pink circles briefly, closing his eyes at the images his mind continued to play over and over....and over.
He turned and walked from the bathroom, feeling like he had left some vital part of himself back in that cramped stall.
Or more accurately; with the man who had just left it.
He'd never felt so numb in his life.
Brian found himself at the park. It was empty, of course - who in their right mind went to the park at 12:30 in the morning? He most certainly didn't - well, obviously he did, but he could argue about being in his right mind. Especially now.
After fleeing the oppressiveness of Babylon, he had climbed into his Corvette dazedly and begun to drive. Anywhere.
And so he'd found himself at the park against his own will, sitting in the same playground swing he sat in when he'd told Michael not to fall in love with Ben. The same spot where some anonymous woman had told them what a beautiful couple they made, proceeding to mistake Gus for his and Michael's child.
Even complete strangers had seen it. How could he have wasted so much time?
And now it was almost too late. Almost. He wasn't giving up, but he wasn't giving in, either.
He rocked the swing gently, leaning his forehead against the cool metal chains. He remembered all the times he and Michael had walked in this park, talking about anything and everything, people-watching and joking. He remembered one wintry day, before Ben or Justin, when the whole of Pittsburgh had been blanketed in a layer of white, pristine snow. How they'd went walking together on its perfect surface, and he'd stuffed a handful of the white iciness down the back of Michael's shirt. A full-out snowball fight had ensued, much like the ones they'd engaged in as boys. People had stopped to watch them, he remembered, and at the time he really didn't know why.
He felt wetness on his cheek. Shit - must be starting to rain.
Was this how it was going to be? Everywhere he went, bombarded with memories and images of Michael? He felt as if he couldn't shake his lingering presence on his skin, on his lips. His every thought was consumed by him.
He needed time - time to sort things out, time to plan out the future. Whether or not it included Michael, he had no choice. Without Michael, there was no future - as simple as that. But he desperately wanted it to, if that was also what Michael wanted.
Just the thought that Michael was so close yet so far away made something in him ache that he had never felt before. He had to get away - from Pittsburgh, from here, from Michael.
He pulled out his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and scrolled through the numbers. He took a shaky breath, and pressed dial.
"Hey, Justin. I've been reconsidering your offer. About L.A."
TBC.....